#and my last paper had to be on exactly what my instructor wanted me to write about

[merlinfromberlin]

Downsides of becoming a queer historian you don't realise until you are in waaaaay too deep:

sometimes you have to read an article on "TrAnSvEsTiTeS" that was written by a white straight cis-man in, like, the seventies and it's just a guy who took Freud too seriously and is like: Men wear women's clothing because their mothers were ~homosexuals~ (if you know what I mean) who project on their little boys and their fathers were beta b#ches who let the household be run by a woman and didn't protest.

And all that while doing research for your paper that's due in four days that's about a really cool topic like - in this case the question of whether or not St. Mary/Marinos can be understood as a trans person and it's really fascinating because like, you can definitely read Marinos as a trans man from a modern point of view - even though it's always a curious discussion because obviously we can never know what Marinos would have chosen to call themselves. Except that we literally know that he would have rather been punished severely for fornication and fathering than child than tell people that he had a vagina. Like. As in Marinos told noone, they only found out after his death - so, I don't know what you want me to make with that, but that's not very cis. And that's basically what my essay is about. :D

And then there come the 80s and 90s scholars again and there all like this person is definitely a WOMAN - like, what do you mean, SHE lived her whole life as a male monk in a monastery and rather get expelled than tell people about HER vagina that made it impossible for HER to father a child and never told anyone and people only found out SHE was a WOMAN after HER death? Well Obviously SHE was in denial about HEr Womanhood.

Or- my favourite cishet interpretation of the story: well, obviously that story is written for cis men because St. Mary is a personification of the guilt men have for desiring women the shouldn't and acting on that because you see- she was punished for it and she couldn't have done it but it isn't revealed until after her death so men have stories that make them feel guilty and help them stay on the right path.

But like. Seriously. It's an absolut shit-show.

[the-authoress-writes]

Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing

A MavDad/PennyMav Fic

Synopsis: What do paperwork and a manicure have to do with Pete Mitchell getting the happy ending he never thought he would?

Everything, apparently.

Warnings: Fluff—pure, unadulterated fluff with feels.

Author’s Note: At last, I fulfill my promise to write something for Mav!

I couldn’t be happier to finally write something where Mav is the star, and not the wingman, literal or figurative.

Honestly, this story idea has been floating around in my head for a while, and here it is!

I know I should be working on the next chapter of Wherever You Go, or heck, even my faceclaim post for said fic, but this just wanted to be written already, and hopefully, now that I’ve gotten it out of my system, I will be able to get back to writing that.

I swear I didn’t plan to post this around Valentine’s Day, but hey, I’m not complaining!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my schmoopy MavDad indulgence!

“Honey, have you done your homework?” Mav heard Penny ask Amelia, from where he was drying the dinner dishes in the kitchen.

“Did it this afternoon, Mom, and I told you, the light is better here.”

“Okay, alright, let me just open a window before you suffocate us with the acetone,” Penny chuckled.

“Thanks, Mom.”

The sound of latches opening and glass bottles clinking together tinkled through the air, and the shadow of Penny crossing to open the window behind the breakfast nook fell across the counter next to him.

The cool breeze of a San Diego fall evening washed in, much like the distant tide.

A few soft footfalls later, warm arms wrapped around him. “Pete, honey, you coming up soon?”

Cracking a smile at the muted gag from the dining table, he sighed, leaning back against her. “I’ll try—I have a shit-ton of paperwork that Cyclone dumped on me.

The disadvantages of being an instructor and squadron leader,” he ruefully smiled, though he didn’t really regret taking the TOPGUN job and the position of CO of the newly created VFA-223, the “Black Cloaks”, comprised entirely of the Daggers and those who had been selected for the detachment training—or Maverick’s Ducklings, as Cyclone had dubbed them.

She nodded against his back. “Alright, come to bed when you’re done, okay?”

“I’ll be there.”

It was one of the best decisions in his life to work at his relationship with Penny—they had no chance of working when he was younger; his soul was too haunted, his heart, mind, and body chasing ghosts while also fleeing from them, but now… well, now, his mother’s engagement ring was sitting in the drawer of his desk at work, just waiting.

For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

The right moment, he guessed.

Mav heard Penny’s footsteps start up the stairs just as he placed the last glass in the cabinet, and after a wistful exhale, he grabbed the reluctantly-owned attaché case that Ice would have cackled over him having, which contained the classwork from his TOPGUN students, and the relatively sensitive training run reports of the Black Cloaks, setting it down at the dining table, across from where Amelia was… doing something to her nails.

He began working on the papers, and soon realized she was doing her nails.

After a while, Amelia murmured, “How’s the paperwork going?” a smirk like her mother’s on her face.

Belatedly, he realized he’d been watching her work instead of reading his reports. “It’s uh… paperworking,” he muttered lamely.

“I bet it’s better than watching nail polish dry.”

He blinked—she had her mother’s and her grandfather’s dry wit, that was for sure.

After that pointed reminder, the two of them worked in silence, the sound of a bottle of clear polish eventually punctuating the air with a sound of finality.

She blew on her hands for a while, then set them down on the table.

He soon felt the weight of her stare, and let it rest on him for about five minutes before he interjected, “How’s the uh, manicure?”

“Good.

The paperwork?”

“… It’s…”

“Boring,” she dared, raising an eyebrow.

He debated the consequences of telling Amelia responsibility was boring, but the truth was, no matter how interesting the maneuvers were in the air, the constraints of report language made them boring.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Figured.” She blinked, thoughtful. “Do you have to do anything special with the paperwork?”

“Not really, just read them over, and make sure that what they’re saying in the report matches up with what happened in the air.

And then I have to grade my students’ homework.”

Amelia nodded, and after a pause, she asked, “You any good at multitasking?”

Even though he wasn’t sure where she was going with this, he replied, “Pretty good.”

It was part of his job after all, especially since he switched to single-seat; having to calculate things like AOA and airspeed relative to the limitations of his aircraft, all while flying faster than the speed of sound, among other things.

“Okay.

You read those reports and grade that homework.

I’m going to tell you about my day while I give you a manicure.” She inhaled, something hesitant in her eyes. “Unless… unless you don’t want me to bug you—it’s teenager stuff and all that—”

He cut her off, “I’d love to hear about your day, Amelia.”

It hit something in his heart to see the quickly concealed shock in her eyes.

Yet another strike for Penny’s dick ex-husband in Mav’s book.

“You would?”

“Yeah, of course, kiddo.

But uh,” Mav scratched the back of his neck, “is the manicure really necessary?”

Like a flash of lightning, she leaned over the table and grabbed his hand, scrutinizing each finger and his palm, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Ugh—yeah.”

He hedged, “I’m pretty sure it’s against regs for me to have pink—”

“Relax, old man, there is such a thing as clear polish—Admiral Stick-in-the-Mud won’t see a thing.

And I need something to do too, I’m not even halfway tired yet.

Fixing your trainwreck hands oughta do the trick,” she gestured.

He laughed, switching the papers to his right hand. “Alright, Skylark, go to town.”

Amelia ducked her head and grabbed her nail file, failing to conceal her smile at the nickname he’d given her shortly after he and Penny got back together. “Okay, so, um, at school, math is my first subject, and honestly, whoever said math should be the first class of the day needs to be punished…”

Almost two and a half hours later, the paperwork was done, Mav’s nails were cut, filed, and polished, his cuticles trimmed, hands moisturized, and he knew every dirty, juicy secret of North Island High.

Amelia drowsily packed up her nail kit, which was the size of a small toolbox, while he did the same with his attaché case, and as a team, they checked the doors and windows of the house, making sure everything was secure.

The task done, they ended up back at the dining room. “All hatches battened down, Captain,” she sighed.

At his slightly perplexed frown, she rolled her eyes, “Seriously—you’re in the navy.”

“Like I told your mom, I don’t sail boats, I just land on them,” he chuckled.

“Well, it means everything’s good.”

He softly clapped his hands together, “Alrighty, let’s get to bed then.”

Amelia snorted, “God, you’re so old, who even says alrighty non-ironically anymore?”

“Alrighty isn’t cool anymore?”

“No.

Was it ever?”

“Uh…”

She shook her head, “Remind me to get you up to date, I can’t have you embarrassing yourself out there—you’ll lose all your cool.”

Mav immediately pointed, “So you think I’m cool?”

Caught like a deer in the headlights, she tried to backtrack. “I mean, don’t—don’t all you naval aviators think you’re like, the coolest or something?”

“No, no, no, no take-backsies; you think I’m cool,” he grinned.

She winced, “You’re killing me here—‘take-backsies’?”

“Come onnnn, Skylark.”

“Ugh, fine,” she groaned, “you’re—you’re sort of cool.”

“I’ll take it, kid.”

She smirked, then looked at her nail kit despairingly. “Seriously regretting bringing the whole thing down.

It’s heavy as hell.”

He reached for it, “Lemme get it for ya.”

Amelia attempted to bat his hands away, “No, I can carry it, Mav.”

“I got it—just focus on getting yourself up the stairs.”

She visibly debated the idea of arguing, but a yawn cut her off, and with the element of her eyes closed, he used the opportunity to gently wrap an arm around her shoulder and usher her up the stairs.

“You should have let me carry it—you’re too old to carry heavy stuff,” she muttered, mindful of her likely sleeping mother.

“I can carry this for you, don’t worry about me.

And next time you do my nails, you can carry it.”

They had arrived at her bedroom door, and she stopped short. “Next time?”

“Yeah, who else will help me get through my paperwork, take care of my hands, and let me know if Micah takes Kenna instead of Alyssa to Junior Prom?”

A smile curled the corner of her mouth. “I guess someone has to help you stay in the brass’ good graces so they don’t ship you out to the asscrack of America for not doing paperwork.”

“Can’t afford to leave you and your mom, Skylark.” And he really didn’t want to leave this time, not when he finally had so much to stay for.

“Or the chicken.

And the ducklings.”

“Yeah, them too,” Mav laughed quietly, similarly mindful of Penny, before handing the nail kit to her. “Anyway, here you go, Amelia.”

She took the nail kit, looking at him for a beat, like she had something to say, but wasn’t sure about whether to say it.

Finally, she said, “Thanks.

And, uh… I… I—I know I like giving you crap, but, I—I like—having you around, Mav.

And I—I…” she trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose, “you know what, never mind, I’m rambling, your disaster hands made me tired.”

He knew that she wanted to say something else just then, but he let it go, not wanting to pry. “I really, really like being around too, Skylark, and if I have anything to say about it, I won’t be going anywhere.”

“That’s good,” she smiled, swallowing thickly. “I, uh, I better go—gotta get that good sleep.”

“Alright, kiddo, goodnight.”

“Night, Mav.”

After a sleepy smile, she softly shut her door, and he continued up the stairs, getting into bed beside a sleeping Penny, wrapping himself around her, quickly drifting off to sleep.

“Alright, Daggers, good work on the hop, head to the hangar, and we’ll review the maneuvers,” Mav clapped his hands, looking at his squad, most of whom dispersed to the aforementioned location, save for Bradley, who hung back.

“I seriously don’t know how you do it, you crazy old man,” Bradley laughed, his Caravans doing nothing to hide the child-like glee in his eyes. “I thought we’d all learned everything our first TOPGUN sessions and during the detachment training, but somehow, you manage to teach us something new every time.”

“Well, I got to make sure you kids know everything I do, so you all can continue to terrorize the Navy when I retire,” Mav grinned.

Bradley scoffed, “You say that like you’re going to turn in your papers today—we both know the brass’ll have to drag you from your F-18, Mav.” His son in everything but name and blood paused, a twitch of his mustache the only giveaway of his rising concern. “I mean—you’re not doing that any time soon—right, Dad?”

He wrapped an arm around Bradley, “Nah, not about to leave you to the skies just yet, Baby Goose.

Not until I make you all better than me.”

His “Until I make sure you can survive anything,” went unsaid, but his boy, ever perceptive, leaned into the contact and murmured, “Love you too, Dad.”

“Love you more—” Mav cut himself off as he went to run a hand through his hair, frowning at his hand.

There on his thumb, in bright, varnished red, was a neatly drawn heart, and the letter U.

Distantly, he heard Bradley say, “Mav?

Dad, you okay?

What’s wrong?”

“This wasn’t here last night,” he muttered, showing Bradley his thumb.

The worry eased from his son’s face, replaced with amusement. “You let Skylark do your nails?”

“Yes, I did—sue me—but Roo, this wasn’t there last night, I distinctly remember making Amelia use clear nail polish.”

Bradley took his hand, scrutinizing it. “It looks like there’s top coat on here, so she put this last night.”

Mav couldn’t help the surprise on his face.

“Sue me, sometimes Phoe makes me paint her toenails,” the younger pilot muttered.

“How is that possible—I saw my hands after she did it; this wasn’t there.”

Bradley thought for a second, before the metaphorical lightbulb lit up. “Invisible nail polish.”

“What?

That’s a thing?”

“Yeah—absolutely.

It goes on clear, but stand in the sun or heat up your hands, it’ll turn the color it’s supposed to be.”

As Mav absorbed this information, the puzzle pieces came together in his head, what Amelia had been trying to say before they said goodnight, and tears sprang to his eyes.

“Dad?”

“Amelia loves me, Baby Goose—I can’t bel—I don’t—”

Immediately, Bradley took him into his arms. “Hey; Dad, listen to me: you deserve all the love in the world, okay?

And I am so sorry for my hand in making you feel like you don’t deserve love, but you do, Dad—I can assure you, you do.

I’m really happy for you.

Maybe now, you can muster up the guts to bust out that box that’s been hiding in your desk.”

Mav gasped, “How did you—”

“I saw it when I asked for some Post-It’s last week.

Seriously, you didn’t even make an effort to hide it.”

“You—you’re not mad I didn’t tell you?” he gulped.

Bradley smirked, pulling back, “Dad, I knew this was coming a long time ago, and really, as long as you’re happy and healthy?

I’m on your wing.”

Mav reached up, cupping Bradley’s face. “You’re a good kid, Baby Goose.”

Regret twisted his boy’s face. “Could have been better.”

“I love you regardless, kid.

Now come on, they’re probably all wondering where we are, let’s debrief so we can get outta here sooner; I need your help at the mall.”

“Su—wait, what?” It was amusing to see Bradley stop right in his tracks.

“I need to get something for Amelia; but I don’t know where to start.”

“I…” the younger pilot opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, before finally shutting it with a click and sighing, “I guess we’re going shopping later for Skylark, then.”

Mav eagerly slapped him on the arm, wide grin on his face as he dashed back to the hangar, and Bradley tried to not to feel that this mall mission was like stealing an F-14 all over again.

“Pen, Skylark, I’m home!” Mav ventured, hoping for the first time, that Penny wasn’t home.

“Just me, Mav, Mom’s still at The Hard Deck!” Amelia called back, and relief flowed through him; it made this a whole lot easier.

He followed the sound of her voice to the dining room, where she was bent over a textbook, and he pulled up the chair next to her. “Hey kiddo, you got a minute?”

Amelia froze and swallowed thickly, shutting her textbook slowly, an unreadable expression on her face. “Mav, I swear, if you have gotten yourself shipped off again, I am not going to be the one to tell Mom—”

“No!” he yelped, “it’s not like that.

I just wanted to talk to you for a bit.”

“Okay,” she breathed, still skeptical.

He reached out and took her hands in his right. “I got your message.”

She frowned, “I didn’t call you this—” she cut herself off at his meaningful look at his hand. “Oh—that.” She frantically shook her head. “I—I was just playing with you, it doesn’t—“

“I don’t think you were,” he gently pressed.

“I—I—Mav,” she breathed, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights.

He pulled her into his arms. “I love you too, Amelia.”

And God, it broke his heart to hear her gasp, “You do?”

“Swear on my wings, Skylark,” Mav solemnly nodded into her hair.

He held her tighter against him as she sniffled, her small frame trembling.

When her trembling and sniffles subsided, he drew back. “Now, I have a pretty big question to ask you, Amelia.

It’s one I’ve actually wanted to ask for a while, but something held me back; I think I’m ready to ask now.

You up for it?”

She swiped the back of her hand across her face. “Shoot.”

He pulled a small, black velvet box from his jacket pocket, and opened it, laying it on the table. “You think your mom would like that?”

Her jaw dropped. “You…”

“Mm-hmm.

I’m asking your permission to marry your mother.”

She dared, “Hypothetically, what if I say no?”

Mav inhaled, wincing, “I would ask you to reconsider, but I’d respect that.”

A deep frown creased her brow. “You would deny yourself happiness just because I didn’t want you to marry Mom?”

He took her hand again. “Amelia, you and your mom are a package deal; the last thing on earth I want is to come between you and your mother.

And if that means that this never gets used… well, so be it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice shook, “You love Mom, right?”

He couldn’t help a soft smile. “I’ve… I’ve loved your mom for a long time, kiddo.

Yeah, I love her.”

“And you’re not going anywhere anytime soon, right?”

“If I have my way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Wordlessly, she nodded.

“Yeah?”

Nodding again, she stated, “Yeah, you can marry my mom.”

“Thanks, Skylark,” he beamed, wrapping an arm around her. “You don’t know what that means.

And hey, I have something for you.”

Mav pulled out the small, white bag he’d tucked in his bomber. “I had an idea of what I wanted, and Bradley told me this store was a good place to find what I was looking for—apparently, he’s bought here before.”

Amelia carefully took the box out of the bag, revealing a silver Pandora bracelet with a double charm of a silver swooping bird encrusted with small blue stones, a small round medal behind it saying “Time to fly” with stylized birds on it, and a simple, custom silver medal engraved with his handwriting, saying, “I love you too.”

Mav couldn’t help rambling, “It’s a Pandora bracelet, you can add charms to it if you want, I just wanted to give you something special; I was always going to give you this even if you didn’t give me your permission to marry your mother—”

“Mav.

This… this is too much,” Amelia breathed, interrupting him.

He twisted his mouth self-effacingly. “Nothing’s too much for those I love.”

Tears welled in her eyes again, and this time, she lurched forward into his arms.

He held her for a long moment, before pulling back to look at her. “Now, I need your help.

You and I need to get your mom here early, and you need to help Brads when he comes over in a bit; he’s bringing the food.”

Amelia’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to ask her tonight, aren’t you?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Didn’t know you were capable of making a plan, Mav,” she smirked.

“I am amazing at making plans, Skylark—come on, let’s get to work.”

Under the pretense of Amelia being very under the weather, both she and Mav had managed to get Penny home before the sun had even gone down—Penny burst through the door, gasping for breath. “Pete—Ames?”

“Here, Mom,” she called out from her seat in the dining room, exchanging happy glances with Mav and Bradley.

“What’s wrong, how are you feel—” Penny stopped short when she caught sight of the trio of Mav, Bradley, and Amelia at the dining table with shit-eating grins on their faces, connecting the dots that she did have. “You weren’t feeling sick, were you?” she addressed her daughter.

“It was my idea, Pen, we didn’t know how else to get you home faster,” Mav sheepishly spoke up, throwing himself on the figurative sword.

“Pete!”

“What?

I wanted us to… celebrate—family, you know?

Have a family dinner with your kid, my kid.”

Amelia piped up, “And my allergies were acting up really bad today, Mom.”

“You’re a bad influence, Pete.”

He stood, approaching her, his million-watt smile on full brilliance. “Aww, you love me.”

She stared stonily, before her eyes softened and the corner of her lips tipped up under the assault of his gaze and smile. “Unfortunately.”

Amelia and Bradley playfully gagged simultaneously, causing both Penny and Mav to laugh, to which Bradley spoke up, “Well, I still have to heat up the food I brought, because we didn’t know when you’d get here, Penny, so why don’t you two go for a walk on the beach, do whatever two old people in love do?”

Mav teasingly pointed, “Remember who kicked your ass in hops this morning, Baby Goose,” while Penny crossed her arms, seamlessly picking up the thread, “And who can raise the price of your drinks, Rooster.”

Bradley raised his hands in surrender. “That is freaky as hell.

Let’s leave them to it, Skylark, I need a wingman in the kitchen.”

Without even a peep of protest, Amelia followed Bradley, but not before giving Mav a supportive wink.

“What was that about?” Penny narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend.

“What?”

“That wink Amelia sent you.”

“Did she?

I didn’t see anything.”

She tilted her head skeptically, but he continued, “Why don’t we take Baby Goose’s suggestion and go take a walk on the beach?

It’ll be nice, sweetheart.”

Despite the feeling that Mav was up to something, she nodded and laced her arm through his offered elbow for the suggested beach walk, not knowing the other hand tucked in his bomber pocket was wrapped around a little black velvet box.

It was a nice evening, warm, but with a breeze coming in off the ocean, and the sunset was gorgeous.

Penny walked along the shore, arm in arm with Mav, just enjoying each other’s company in a way they wouldn’t be capable of over thirty years ago.

They had both grown so much as people, in so many ways, big and small, and she tilted her head, briefly leaning it against his shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he murmured, a smile in his voice.

She chuckled, “You’re corny.

But I was thinking about us.”

“Hmm—good thoughts?”

“Yeah.

I don’t think we could have had this years ago.

I’m so glad that we have it now, before it was too late.”

He sighed heavily. “That’s on me, Pen.

I am more sorry than you know—so much wasted time.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Pete; the time was right.

And we still have time, it’s not like either of us have a foot in the grave.”

“It’s less time than I’d like.”

She smiled softly, “You romantic.”

“I try,” he joked, soon growing serious. “But… as much as I wish it weren’t the case, I guess the time was right for us.

Even just five years ago… I’d have crashed and burned us, and there’d be no hope after that.

But now… look at us.”

“I know.”

“Penny… there’s so much I want to tell you, but I don’t know if I have the words to describe them,” he breathed, tone intense.

She ran her hand soothingly up and down his arm, knowing he was just collecting himself.

“I—with you, solid ground feels just as much like home as the sky always has.

Your love makes me feel free, when I’ve never wanted so much to stay in one place before.

You know all my issues, my shortcomings, my fears, and yet, you’re still here.

I don’t deserve a woman like you, but somehow, you chose me.”

“Pete—”

He stopped them, took both her hands in his, and slowly knelt in the sand, before he plucked a black velvet box from his jacket pocket. “All this is to say, Penelope Marissa Benjamin, will you make me the happiest man on earth and make me your husband?”

She gasped, her eyes darting from Mav’s earnest face to the beautiful solitaire diamond set in a simple band of yellow gold. “Isn’t it supposed to be ‘be my wife?’”

“I’m marrying up, here,” he grinned, continuing, “so what do you say?

Because Captain Benjamin-Mitchell definitely has a ring to it.

Though your dad would probably have a heart attack at the thought of me having his last name too.”

“I think he’s come around to you, actually—he calls you ‘that damn Maverick’ instead of ‘that fucking Mitchell’, nowadays.”

Mav tilted his head from side to side, considering. “I’ll take it.

So… marry me?”

“Yes.

Yes, I will,” she breathlessly replied.

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, delight shining in his eyes, his hands shaking as he placed the ring on her finger.

It fit perfectly, and Mav wistfully sighed. “My mom would be so happy to see this now.

This was hers, you know.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked at the ring again, the vintage cut of the diamond now obvious to her. “Oh, Pete.”

His eyes grew glassy, and Penny immediately wrapped him in an embrace.

“I love you, Pen.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, and she held on tighter, matching his own grip on her. “I love you too.”

When she felt his hold on her loosen, she pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. “You okay?”

Mav leaned into her touch. “I am now.”

“Good.”

“The kids should have dinner ready by now.” He sniffled, clearly thinking of something. Finally, he asked, “Uh, would you mind… helping me up?

My uh, knee is a little stiff.”

Penny chuckled, shifting her hands to help her now-fiancé up, a surprised little yelp escaping her when Mav spun the two of them in a circle, his joyful laugh singing through the air.

Mav took in the scene at the dining table before him like it was a fine wine; Amelia and Bradley were animatedly sharing stories from high school, trying to see who had the weirdest stories, both of them sending him “Can you believe this?” glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking; Amelia’s bracelet catching the light as she swept her hand in an expansive gesture; Penny at his side laughing at the stories Amelia and Bradley were telling, while she repetitively ran her thumb across his knuckles, his mother’s ring sparkling on her hand.

He never in a million years could have imagined he’d have this at this point in his life; in all honesty, he had been prepared to burn in over some foreign sea or land, decades ago.

But here he was.

And if not for his wingman ordering him to teach an impossible mission, this reality would doubtlessly be impossible.

Gratitude filled his heart, and he sent a thought to the heavens; “Thank you, Ice—for everything.”

High above the San Diego night sky, a singular star blinked, sending back, even though its intended recipient would never know; “You’re welcome, Mav.”

Title is from the song of the same name.

(I really like to name stories after songs, don’t I?)

I headcanon Mav as being neurodivergent, and for me, as someone with ADHD, more often than not, having something else to focus on in the background, helps me get something that I am directly focused on done.

Invisible nail polish does exist, though let’s suspend our disbelief about how dark it can turn if the pre-change color is clear…

The charms I describe are real—you can see the bird charm here, and Pandora does offer an engraving service to make charms with your handwriting on them!

I’ll leave it up to your imagination as to who Bradley purchased Pandora for…

(That’s not teasing, I’m genuinely leaving it up to you)

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[enriqhc]

One of the things that curiously came to mind for me while reading this chapter was the use of Zoom during distance learning. I really believe that for some people, including myself, Zoom felt like a microcosm of the surveillance we have in the open world where “Big Brother” was the teachers. I was in my junior year of high school at the time, and I remember that my school required all of us to have cameras and have them on. That on its own I think brings up a point made previously and in the article about our privacy, an ironic one at that. The article suggests that many people believe that the last safehold of privacy from the camera is at home, but it clearly was not the case with Zoom learning. Yes they did not forcibly install cameras on us, but we were punished if we did not use them which was not a very consensual act.

That leads me to the next part of the reason I thought of this image, and Zoom learning more broadly relates to reading, exam proctoring. It seemed that instructors around the nation, for sure at my school, were paranoid about cheating, and I would say understandably so. Some schools, especially universities essentially had students install spyware under the guise of “exam proctoring software” that literally recorded their every move. Some software even tracked the students’ facial movements in their homes which I think is very alarming. For me, my teachers would make us angle our camera at our paper exams that we had to print or write out and unmute ourselves while we worked on said exam. That felt particularly invasive to me as traditionally, we don’t have someone looking over our shoulder during an exam. The fact that I had 7 other people in the house with me at the time became a source of concern as I was literally praying that they would not make noise or come where I was working and end up accused of cheating. Honestly, I think I got a similar feeling as I did with the images we saw in class because I knew that I was being watched but since my screen was down for the camera, I could not see at the time who was watching me while they could essentially know whether or not I was doing exactly what they wanted me too.

[holylulusworld]

I still cry

Summary: A break-up sometimes leads to worse things than heartbreak.

Pairing: former Dean x Reader; Dean x Lisa

Characters: Bobby Singer, OFC Judith, Sam Winchester

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, a break-up, abandonment, low self-esteem, tears, mentions of demons, a little Lisa hate (sorry), no happy ending, sorry, not sorry

A/N: Written for @katehuntington​​​‘s 1K Celebration (Congratulations!). My song was ‘I still cry’ by Ilse DeLange. I used the song for inspiration and some of the lyrics (in Italics). The song originally is for a passed loves-one, but I decided to use it to describe the heartbreak and pain the reader feels after she got left behind.

A/N2: For my story, Sam came back with an intact soul.

Three months after he left, … 

“How was your weekend, Y/N?” your colleague asks, watching you fold another paper flower for the upcoming school festival. 

You like to keep your hands busy to stop thinking about the love you lost. All the flowers you tried to grow in the backyard died. It’s like no one wants to stay with or stay alive around you.

“Fine,” you reply, eyes dropping to your phone once again. Since he left the night Sam jumped into the pit you always hoped Dean will answer one of your calls or at least send you a message, explaining why you weren’t enough. “I tried to renovate my bedroom.”

“That’s nice,” you hate the pity in your much younger colleague’s eyes. It’s the same look people give you any time their eyes land on you – or at least you think they can see the heartbreak you went through over the last months. “If you need help, just tell us so, Y/N. You are new to the team, but we like you.”

“I will think about it, Judith. Thank you,” how you hate that you sound like a broken record. 

I’m fine. No, I don’t need your help. Please don’t ask about Dean. Hunting is over for me. Just don’t ask…

I still cry sometimes when I remember you

I still cry sometimes when I hear your name

I said goodbye and I know you're alright now

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

Six months after he left, … 

“Kiddo, I’ve missed you,” Bobby chuckles, standing in front of your door. “Did you think you can just push me away and an old geezer like me gives up that easily?”

You huff but for a moment, you smile. “I’ve missed you too, Bobby,” you throw yourself into your friends’ arms. Ashamed you didn’t call him back you sniff silently. “I’m sorry, I just needed some time to figure things out.”

“So, you’re out of business?” watching you shake your head Bobby sighs deeply. He wishes you would’ve stayed out of the hunting business and find happiness and a nice man staying by your side. “I thought you wanted out.”

“I was – for a while at least,” choking out the words you grasp Bobby’s hand to lead him into your house. “Problem is that the monsters and demons didn’t get the memo. One day I prepare a school festival and the next I find myself surrounded by demons. I had no choice but to leave.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Bobby takes the beer you offer, grumbling as he would’ve like to see you fall in love and become a mother one day. “Did he call?”

“Please don’t ask,” you plea, not meeting Bobby’s gaze. You’re too ashamed you still hope Dean will return to you. Even though, you know better. 

“Y/N,” Bobby sighs deeply, eyes sadden at the mere sight of you. Thinner than usual, eyes missing the light you sit in front of your godfather. “I shouldn’t have asked, kiddo.”

“I don’t want to sound pathetic but talking about him makes things worse. I had hoped he would explain why,” sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room you slump into yourself. “I guess that I never was enough. You know, she’s a pretty thing, has a house, a son, and a normal life to offer. And I heard yoga-instructors are bendable.”

“Did you see her – them?” you nod, eyes not meeting Bobby’s. “Oh, Y/N,” my friend, the father I never had sniffs. “Why didn’t you tell him not to go? I know you wanted Dean to have a normal life but hurting yourself shouldn’t be part of the deal.”

“I knew only one of us will make it out alive, Bobby,” you give your friend a sad smile, shrugging when he gets up to look out of the window. “I wanted Dean to be happy. If he’s happy with someone else, I’m happy for him.”

“Your selflessness borders on stupidity!” Bobby grunts. “That boy should be here, with you Y/N. Lisa seems to be a nice girl, but she’s not you.”

“EXACTLY, Bobby,” jumping up you try to explain to Bobby why you knew Dean would leave you sooner or later. “I knew Dean will leave me, Bobby. I wanted to keep a tiny piece of dignity. In the end, he would’ve kept his promise to Sam and get out of this life, but not with me by his side.”

“How’d you know, kiddo? Maybe Dean would’ve stayed by your side and you could be happy,” your friend cries. “Jesus, I can’t believe you broke your own heart.”

“I did it to protect myself, Bobby. I heard Dean call her, okay,” sniffing you join Bobby to look out of the window. “The night after Sam jumped into the pit, Dean called Lisa asking if he can come around.”

“OH,” eyes squinting toward the old car in your ramp Bobby tries to figure out how to help you. “What happened that night? Dean refused to answer my calls so…”

“It’s a blur, Bobby,” you close your eyes, try to recall the night Dean left but all you remember are the tears running down your face when you ran after his car. The rain washing your tears away – but not the pain.

It's just that I recall September

It's just that I still hear your song

It's just I can't seem to remember

Forever more those days are gone

“Dean didn’t fight for me, that’s what happened. I told him that I heard every word and he just stood there, his keys in his hand. I saw a hint of guilt in his eyes, but this wasn’t enough to stay with me,” blinking the tears away you clutch your hand to your chest. “I told Dean to go and live the life Sam wanted him to live.”

“And he did? Just like that?” nodding you turn your back toward the window, closing your eyes for a moment. “Not even a call for almost six months?”

“No call. No message. No number he sent me in case of emergency,” it’s a matter-of-fact Dean cut you out of his life. “You know, sometimes it feels normal that he’s not with me anymore and other days, I only need to remember his name and break down, crying like a stupid baby.”

“Heartbreak is never easy, kiddo.”

“Never said so, Bobby. Honestly, it feels worse than heartbreak. I know he’s out there, living his best life but to me, it feels like he died. I guess, my heart tries to cope with the loss this way. It tells me he’s gone, even though, Dean is with her.”

“Do you like to live here?” Bobby clears his throat, wrapping one arm around your shoulders. “You can always come with me, leave this shitty town behind and be my eyes and ears. Y/N, I don’t want you to be gone one day too. I’m too old to lose my kids.”

“I could come with you,” being alone with a broken heart and your self-doubts won’t do any good. “I don’t have much to pack.”

“I got a nice guest room, kiddo. If Dean doesn’t care about you, I do,” the bitterness behind Bobby’s words brings you to tears. “I thought I know the boy better…”

I still cry sometimes when I remember you

I still cry sometimes when I hear your name

I said goodbye and I know you're alright now

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

Almost six months later, …

It’s half a year later that Sam, Dean, and Lisa step into Bobby’s house, bringing fresh tears and more heartbreak to you.

“Sammy,” the only person you greet is Sam, your best friend who magically got resurrected. “I didn’t want to believe the rumors.”

“Same,” arms wrapped tightly around you Sam watches his brother look at you. Dean tried to make you talk to him for half a day, but you just walked away, refusing to even face the man breaking your heart so easily. “I thought he would stay with you.”

“No, Sammy. Why would a man stay with someone like me if he can have yoga barbie?” you whisper, not wanting Lisa to hear. “He deserves someone who got no clue where he’s coming from and all the shit happening in his life.”

“Still-“ Bobby is the one breaking the awkward moment.

“We got a job to do, kiddo. If you want to, you can sit this one out,” nodding you look up at Sam, giving him a sad smile. 

“I will help Rufus meanwhile. You can call me when he’s gone back to his apple pie life, Bobby,” patting Sam’s chest you give your friend a soft smile. “And you’ll have a lot to explain, Mr. Winchester. I hope you will stick around so we can catch up with our shitty lives.”

You are gone before Dean gets the chance to say a word to you. He walks out of Bobby’s house to watch you drive away.

His eyes fill with tears and even when your car is long gone, leaving a cloud of dust behind, he stands outside, wondering how his life would’ve been with you by his side…

I still cry sometimes when I remember you

I still cry sometimes when I hear your name

I said goodbye and I know you're alright now

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

But when the leaves start falling down I still cry

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[rosie-moons]

Doggy Paddling || jjk

~Pairing: swimming instructor!jungkook x beginner!reader

~Genre: so much fluffy fluff

~Word Count: 2.4k

~Warnings: reader flailing around in water, shirtless jungkook (sorry not sorry), wet haired jungkook (sorry not sorry), jungkook and reader just being the cutest fluffy lovebirds, loads of softness

~Synopsis: Step 1: Drive to indoor swimming pool classes. Step 2: Enter swimming pool building. Step 3: Change into bathing suit. Step 4: Learn to swim. Easy peasy. Er, at least it was easy peasy, up until step #4. That’s when you actually climbed down into the pool and found out that your swimming instructor was possibly the hottest guy you’d ever seen in your life. Not only that, but he kept smiling at you, and it was adorable, which doesn’t make sense since someone just can’t be hot and adorable at the same time. Ugh, why must you be blessed with him for 3 months?

~A/N: Hi! This is my first fic on here, and I'm veeeery nervous... I hope you enjoy it! P.S. If you liked it, feel free to heart it, but please don't reblog!

~''~

“Mmhm, yep, you’re g-o gorgeous today,” You say with confidence, making double gun fingers at yourself in the mirror.

You’d ordered a black bikini online, in preparation of wowing everyone at the swimming lessons. It was quite simple, really, with straps over your shoulders and ties across your hip bones. The curvy blonde models on the website looked stunning in it, though. So stunning, in fact, that you pressed “add to cart” faster than you could say “add to cart”.

Your face sagged a bit when you realized you, in fact, did not look like the models in the images. Tummy not as toned with light abs, chest not as big. You sighed.

Stuffing your t-shirt, underwear, and jean shorts back into your duffel bag and setting it in the tiny locker, you took one last look at yourself in the mirror and set out on your adventure- er, if you’d call swimming lessons that.

~''~

“Y/N? Hellooo?”

You blink rapidly, snapping back to reality. You take a few seconds to realize you’re sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet dipped into the water. “Um. Sorry?”

The guy laughs, and it’s an airy, happy sound. You blush. He’s incredibly attractive, with wavy black hair, parts of it sticking to his forehead from the water. He has big, starry, eyes, almost like a doe’s. It’s hard not to get lost in them. His bunny teeth are on full display, pearly white and adorable. His whole face is adorable, in fact.

“You’ve been staring at me for, what, 15 minutes?” He teases with laughter still in his eyes. “Am I really that handsome?”

You’re about to say “yes” when he pulls you down into the pool, one arm pulled tightly across your lower back and the other scooped around your neck. You squeal. “Put me down!”

He puts you down.

Bad idea.

You just remembered that you can’t swim, and if he puts you down then you are going to drown. “ACTUALLY- *spit sputter*- DON’T PUT- *cough spit*- ME DOWN!! I CAN’T- *sputter cough* SWIM!! PICK ME UP, HANDSOME- *spit cough*- GUY!!!”

He laughs again, a sound you’re already starting to love. “Alright, alright. Your wish is my command, after all.” He takes you back into a koala position so your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist. At that you blush again. Not just from the hug part, but from you actually taking a good look at his body.

To say the simplest, it’s amazing.

He definitely goes to the gym at least 8 times a day, definitely eats only brussel sprouts, definitely has never been to the beach, or anywhere with too much sunlight (explain his fair skin then, missy), and definitely is tall.

You don’t care if that’s what’s going through your mind instead of swimming, you only care about this gorgeous man that’s smiling and is holding you in his arms. This gorgeous man that’s currently asking if you know the 4 basic stokes. Or was it sokes?

“Um…” You stutter nervously. “The 4… um… yeah, I… definitely know the… 4… stokes. Or sokes.”

He shakes his head, faking disappointment. “Pay more attention, sweetheart. You’ll never learn if you just stare at and admire me.”

“I was not-”

He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, you totally weren’t staring at my abs. Totally.” That makes you blush harder. He seems to like that, smirking just the tiniest bit. “Anyway, I was asking if you know the 4 strokes. Freestyle, backstroke, butterfly, and breaststroke.”

You shake your head. “I’ve… watched them on TV though. In the Olympics. Does that count?”

“...No,” He bites his lip for a second, thinking. Then, as though he just had a brilliant idea- his smile grows wide as the day and he nearly drops you in excitement. “LUMI!!”

An attractive girl with big hazel eyes and her hair dyed bright pink pokes her head out of the shower room. “What’s up?”

“Get over here for a second,”

She steps out, and you nearly gasp (...nearly) at how damn stunning she is. In a magenta floral printed one-piece suit, her tiny waist, wide hips, and long, long legs stand out like a dot of black in a field of white. When she walks, it looks like she’s in one of those super high end fashion shows with paparazzi all around. To be honest, you wouldn’t be surprised if paparazzi started showing up right at that very moment.

When she gets close enough, you see her nametag reads “Lumianne”. Even her name is pretty.

“Did baby boy Jungkook lose his swimming trunks again?” She teases, rolling her eyes playfully. “Do I need to call mommy?”

The guy- Jungkook-’s grip on you momentarily tightens as you watch his face flush a tomato red. “No, actually. Did you?”

“I don’t wear swimming trunks.”

“Exactly. That’s why you shouldn’t ask me.”

“But you do wear swimming trunks.”

“... JUST STOP, OKAY? JUST BECAUSE YOU JUST DYED YOUR HAIR DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE THE QUEEN OF THE WORLD.”

“Okay, okay. What do you want me to do? You know I’m supposed to be taking a hot shower right now after a day of screaming little kids kicking water in my face but you called me over so I can’t, right?. Are you gonna talk? ‘Cause if not, I’m leaving.”

“What I was going to say, before you rudely called me a baby boy, is that Y/N here has no experience in swimming-”

You kick his leg under the water.

“- and I need you to hand over the curriculum paper ‘cause I haven’t taught someone like this in a loong time.”

Lumianne rolls her eyes again. “Get them yourself. I’m going back to the showers. Bye, baby boy.”

“Wait!” Jungkook calls after her. “I can’t move ‘cause Y/N won’t let go of me!” Lumianne sighs, leaning down to pick up a few papers on a clipboard. She walks back to Jungkook, handing them over to him.

“Need anything else?”

Jungkook shakes his head, letting you squeeze him tighter as he lets go of the arm holding your shoulders. “Nope. Thanks though.”

She smiles mischievously. “I think I deserve a strawberry tart.”

Jungkook groans, swatting her away. “I bought you one this week already.”

“Only one!”

You can’t help but smile. Everyone here is so witty, attractive, and nice- you love it already. (“Only a tiny part of why I love it so much is Jungkook.” You mentally scream to your brain.)

~''~

“JUNGKOOK! NOOOO! I CANNN’T!!!!” You whine childishly, hanging on to Jungkook as though your life depended on it. He sighed for the millionth time that day.

“Y/N, the water’s only 5’6 deep. Plus, I’ll catch you if you drown. In fact, I’ll hold your back as you do it. Just please, please try to float on your back, okay?”

Only 5’6? Only 5’6?! Heck, maybe it wasn’t a lot for him, but for you…

“NO!”

Jungkook sighed again. “Listen baby, I need you to try, okay? I’ll help you, but if you keep refusing like this, you aren’t ever gonna learn to swim. Okay?” You stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. “What?”

“Did you… just call me… b-baby?!” You nearly faint as Jungkook tilts his head slightly, adorably pouting the tiniest bit.

“So I did.”

“So I did?! That’s what you say after you call me baby?!?! Baby?!?!” You splutter, heart booming and threatening to leap out of your ribcage. You’re so stupidly in love, cheeks burning red and palms sticky with sweat, and here Jungkook is just tilting his head and acting like he did nothing.

It’s so unfair.

“So what if I called you baby?” He responds, big, starry doe eyes staring at you. Ugh. This is so stupid.

You’re about to yell again when Lumianne comes back out of the showers, pink hair wet yet still so stylish. She smirks.

“Hey lovebirds. May I take a photo?”

“NO!” You scream.

“NO!” Jungkook screams.

Lumianne takes a photo.

~''~

It’s been 1 month since you started at APC Swimming, (not Attractive People Center Swimming, but rather Amazing Performance Center Swimming. The cute red haired swimming instructor who just so happened to be Jungkook’s #1 target for his “games” named Jimin told you.) and you’re proud to say that you have mastered floating on your back, sticking your head underwater for 13 seconds, doggy paddling a very short distance, and talking to Jungkook without looking like an idiot.

Lumianne- whose hair is now a striking blue- also somehow became your best friend.

No idea how.

Anyway, you also bought a new swimsuit. It was a hot pink bikini that Lumianne insisted upon, saying that it "was made for supermodels like Gigi Hadid but you should wear it anyways since it will definitely wow Jungkook".

Yes, she knew of your crush on him, and yes, she was a Hadid superfan.

After pondering whether to wear the black swimsuit Jungkook was used to or the new pink one Lumianne liked for hours in the changing rooms, you finally decide on the pink one.

He’d love a surprise…

Right?

~''~

“Y/N! How was your- um.” Jungkook clears his throat, face burning red. He suddenly becomes very interested in a purple heart tattoo on his hand. “I… like your new… um…”

“Bikini?” You finish the sentence for him, blinking innocently.

“Erm… yes. B-bikini. It… suits you… very… um… well.” He’s still picking at the tattoo, cheeks flushed and voice stuttering.

“Thank you. Lumianne picked it out for me.” You smile sweetly, climbing down into the pool.

“Are you guys like best friends now?” He blurts out, trying oh so hard to change the subject. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re both annoying at times and you’re also both really… erm…”

“Un-stylish?” You suggest, trying hard not to smirk. You know what he’s talking about, and it’s not about style.

“No, um…”

“Like the color pink?”

“Not exactly, uh…”

“Then what is it?”

Jungkook’s face is a flaming crimson now, the skin where his tattoo is reddened from picking at it. He knows you know what he’s talking about. He knows you know that he was going to say that you’re both goddamn-

“You’re both attractive, although you’re way more attractive,” It comes out before he can control it, seeming like the words have a mind of their own as they stumble out of his mouth. “I-I mean…” You watch his hand flying up to cover his mouth.

"You think I'm attractive?" You question, smiling as your heart swelled with butterflies. "Well, you're also attractive.”

He smiles wide, bunny teeth showing and twinkly eyes dancing with something like shyness and joy mixed together.

“Th-thanks.”

You continue smiling at each other for a long time, and would’ve (for hours, maybe) if Lumianne hadn’t walked into the pool area holding onto the arm of an extremely tall and muscular blonde man. She smirks.

“Calvin, meet Y/N and Jungkook. Y/N’s the cute bookworm I went shopping with yesterday, and Jungkook’s that annoying guy with tattoos. Hey lovebirds. Looks like we’re in the middle of interrupting something…” She giggles. “So we’ll leave you two alone to smooch!”

Jungkook and you nearly topple over screaming a very loud “WE’RE NOT SMOOCHING” in perfect unison.

Calvin smiles mischievously. “Lumi, do you have your phone with you?”

Lumianne nods. “Yeah, why?”

“I think you should take a photo of them,” He smiles wider at the horrified look on your and Jungkook’s faces.

“Oh yeah.” Lumianne snickers. “I should totally take a photo. I already have an album in my phone of their pictures, btw. It’s called Jungkook&Y/N kissin in a tree. I should rename it though, I just learned Y/N wants to kiss JK at a fancy restaurant instead-”

“LUMIANNE!!”

The camera clicks.

“One more photo to add to my album!”

~''~

It’s your last lesson with Jungkook. 3 months passed quicker than you thought, and you’re sorry this might be the last time you see him. Lumianne seemed to notice you were a bit sad today, and she rushed off to “do something with Calvin”.

You knew what she was doing wasn’t about Calvin, but then… what?

When you entered the pool area, you were surprised to find that Jungkook wasn’t in the pool with his usual warm greeting. Instead, all you found was a note with messy handwriting reading: “hey Y/N, it’s kook :) meet me behind the APC building”. Furrowing your brow, you look around the pool. There’s no one except you.

Picking up the note, you walk out the doors.

~''~

Of everything you expected to see, none of it was Jungkook standing in front of you with wide, nervous eyes and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. “Jungkook?”

“Oh. You’re here. Um,” He looks around, although looking for something- or someone.

“Hey Y/N-pootsie,” Lumianne steps out, hair dark crimson with matching bold lipstick and eyeshadow. She smiles, looking very satisfied with herself. “I believe Mr. Jeon Jungkook has something to say to you.”

“Um,” Jungkook shoots her a look before clearing his throat. “I, um, in fact, do have… a thing… I mean, 2 things… to say… to… you…”

“Okay?” You stare at him, and it’s curious more than anything, but to him it just seems intimidating.

“Um… I… uh…” He swallows. “Ireallylikeyouandhavelikedyoufrom thefirstdaywemet and um doyouwannagoonadatewithme?”

You blink. "You... like me?"

"...Yes."

“I… I don’t know what to say to you. There’s just no way I could-”

“It’s okay!” Jungkook yells, hurt seeping into those eyes you loved watching crinkle up as he smiled. “I-I don’t want to pressure you or anything! I-”

“Jungkook.”

“Really! If you don’t feel-”

“Jungkook!”

He paused. “Yeah?”

“What I was going to say is that there’s just no way I could refuse something like this!” You say. His eyes go even wider.

“W-what?”

You kiss him.

He’s soft.

When you let go, Jungkook has the biggest dopey grin on his face. You mirror it, starting to laugh. Lumianne stands on the side with a small smile on her face, the kind of smile you give when your daughter gets married. Sort of half sad-ish half happy for her.

“Aww, you’re both so sweet. I guess it’s time for a ph-”

“NO, LUMIANNE!”

Click.

~''~

~''~

~''~

Whewwwwww! That was loads of fun to write. Welp, now that that's over, time for a new fic (or series!)

Please heart if you enjoyed, but don't reblog!

-*+ Rose +*-

[tobesobri]

Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

*                                              *                                 *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

*                                              *                                 *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

*                                              *                                 *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

*                                              *                                 *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Cooking class

Word count: 2109     

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Very minor injury (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hey! I saw your post for a request and this idea popped into my head. Y/n is a fantastic cook, they can do everything right and make great food all the time, while Natasha usually sets towels on fire when they try. Y/n suggests that Natasha enrolls in a cooking class, and does it with them so Natasha doesn't feel so bad. Y/n ends up rewarding Natasha with little kisses and 'good job!'s for the things they do well in class, and eating bits and pieces of the foods they mess up to prove that it's still edible and they're learning

Summary: Natasha is a horrible cook so reader takes Natasha to a cooking class.

A/n: So this was an anon request so I hope whoever requested this likes it! Also this is the second fic in two days which may not seem like a big deal but I actually feel productive for once. Anyways I hope everyone enjoys and I hope to finish some of my other requests soon in case anyone is wondering, and I’m always open for new requests. 

Natasha let out a frustrated sound so you looked over, trying not to laugh at your girlfriend but failing spectacularly. 

“It’s not funny.” She whines looking over at you with an annoyed expression.

“Sorry love,” you respond, “keep going I promise not to interrupt again.” She narrows her eyes at you but turns back to her task. She’s preparing some pizza dough that she is going to use later on in the class and honestly you never thought someone could mess up on pizza dough that much. There is dough literally everywhere, the sink, counters, floor and even her face. The most funny thing however is how she is completely covered in flour from when she opened the bag wrong and it flew into her face. Surprisingly she agreed easily when you had suggested the idea, because she wanted to help out in the kitchens sometimes but she was banned from everything but the toaster for a reason the avengers called the pie incident but refused to speak further on when asked. 

You glance back over at her to see how it’s going and although everything still is a mess it seems like she has managed to combine all the ingredients properly into a ball and is now kneading it. You step towards her and give her a hug from behind, not caring that flour was now getting all over you as well. 

“Good job Tasha,” you whisper in her ear. You pull back and when you look at her face you see a slight hint of a blush. She rarely blushes but you always find it so cute when she does so you decide to make it your personal mission to get her to blush as much as possible today. She is just setting aside the dough to rise when the instructor speaks again. 

“I see that most of you have already finished, or are just finishing up with your dough and setting it aside. From what I can tell it looks like everybody is doing well so far, however before we can continue everybody should make sure their workstation is clear.” As he says the last part he seems to look mostly at your workstation as well as the one diagonally in front of you, which are by far the two most messy. 

Natasha starts clearing up the station while you brush as much flour as you can off of your clothes and wash your hands. As she continues to clear you grab a wet cloth and gently wipe down her face and arms to get rid of all the dough and flour. It takes awhile for the both of you and your workstation to be clear and once it is you realize everybody else is finished and waiting for you. 

“Ok now that everybody is done,” this time he obviously glances your way, “we are going to prepare some of the toppings for later. This part shouldn’t be hard so just follow along with the recipe and ask for help if you need it.” Natasha picks up the recipe and you read over her shoulder. 

“How about I help you with the topping but you do most of it?” You ask her. “We’ll both help cut up the peaches and make the balsamic sauce. This class is meant to be teaching you and not me after all.”

“Sounds good,” she replies while taking a peach and placing it on the cutting board. She starts to chop but she keeps slicing way too thick at the top and way too thin at the bottom. You giggle slightly and she narrows her eyes at you scowling and puts down the knife.

“I’m not laughing at you Nat, I promise.” You explain. “Well I am but can you blame me? You are a crazy good assassin that probably can kill me easily with that knife in many different ways yet you can’t cut a peach properly.”

“I still don’t see how that is funny.” She huffs but with a hint of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, here let me help you.” You grab her hands and guide them into making steady cuts. When the first peach is fully cut up you step back again. 

“Why don’t you try to do the next one on your own?” You suggest. She nods and starts to cut seeming a little unsure of herself. While it’s not perfect it’s much better than the first time so when she finishes you let out a small cheer and kiss her on the cheek. She gives a hesitant smile which you’ve learned means she feels good about herself but doesn’t know how to express it properly. You cut the rest of the peaches in silence, her slices gradually getting better. 

“You’ve already improved so much!” You praise her, your heart melting when you see her smile and blush. “Why don’t you try the next part on your own?”

“Ok,” she answers, “I think I can do this part.” She starts mixing a few of the ingredients for the balsamic glaze and you, thinking she had it under control, start to glance around because you want to see how the others in the class are doing. 

“Eeekk!” You hear Natasha squeal so you quickly look back over at her. The glaze is splashed all over the front of her and splattered all over the counter. 

“What happened?” You ask, this time managing to only laugh inwardly as to not offend her.

“I thought if I mixed it as fast as I could the ingredients would combine faster,” she states, “but then this happened.” 

You fight hard to keep your straight face, “Tasha, love, that’s not how cooking works.” 

“Well I know that now.” She responds in an annoyed tone. 

“I know and it’s okay, you can just redo it while I clean this up, does that sound good?” She nods and starts finding the ingredients she needs again while you take some paper towel and clear up the counter. Unfortunately you can’t do anything about the mess on Natasha’s shirt but luckily she purposefully wore a shirt she didn’t mind getting messy. 

“Everybody should be just about done by now,” the instructor says, gathering the attention of the class, “Right now I want you to put flour on your counters and start to split your dough up to make the flat breads. Then you can put some topping on and pop them in the oven, make sure not to burn them.” The rest of the class immediately gets to work but before you or Natasha can start the instructor comes up to you.

“I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve noticed that you’ve been having some trouble, so don’t be afraid to ask for any help,” he says, “it is my job.” Natasha is obviously not pleased by what he said and scowls at him, opening her mouth to speak.

“Thank you, we will.” You say quickly before Natasha says something rude. He nods and turns away to go back to the front. 

“I wasn’t doing that badly.” Natasha states. 

“Don’t worry about it, let’s move onto the next step, why don’t you preheat the oven?” You respond to her, avoiding her statement because she really was doing ‘that badly’. She grabs the flour and opens it, this time making sure that she doesn’t get it all over, and then starts to put it on the counter. Meanwhile you get the dough and split it up into two pieces, one pizza for each of you. 

“I’m going to be bad at this part.” She says with a small frown.

“No, no, no, don’t say that Tasha,” you rush to encourage her, “this part is the best part because it’s so fun, and it’s impossible to mess up!” 

“If you say she.” She says doubtfully and you laugh. Both of you get to work, at first just playing with the dough in your hands to get a feel for it and after that using a rolling pin to flatten the dough. When you’re finished you take a step back to admire your work.

“Huh, it doesn’t look that bad.” Natasha decides. 

“It looks amazing, I knew you could do it Tasha!” You exclaim while hugging her side and pressing a few quick, light kisses to the side of her neck. 

“I mean it’s not a huge deal.” She blushes. 

“Still, it’s pretty good,” you tell her, “but now we need to focus on putting our topping on.”

She giggles. “You say that like it’s something that requires a lot of thought.”

You gasp dramatically. “Ms. Romanoff, the presentation is the most important part of the dish, it requires a lot of attention to detail.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I forgot!” She plays along. “Why would the actual cooking part matter when you can focus on making them look good?”

“Exactly.” You tell her before both of you get to work, putting all the topping on the flatbread.

As much as you joked about it you tried to make yours look as good as possible and when you were done although it didn’t look perfect you were satisfied with how it looked. At least until you glanced over to see how Natasha did. 

“How did you manage to make yours look like it should be in a cookbook?” You ask her, truly amazed by how pleasing it looks and not even knowing how she can make something as average as topping look like art. She just blushes and shrugs, pleased with herself but not wanting to admit it out loud. 

“Anyways we should probably get them in the oven now because it looks like others are starting to.” You tell her.

“Of course, I’ll put them in!” She replies quickly, transferring the flatbreads onto two trays and shoving them in the oven. You lean over after she shuts the door and set the timer but when you look back at her and smile, you see she is standing by the sink with the water running over her hand. 

“Tasha are you ok?” You ask, immediately rushing over to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just a small burn.” You examine her hand and it doesn’t look as small as most burns people get from cooking but then again Natasha gets injured all the time so this probably isn’t a big deal to her. 

“Ok, but just make sure to take care of it.”

“I will don’t worry, I swear I’m the only one on the team who actually knows how to take care of themself sometimes. Remember the time Tony forgot to eat and collapsed?” You laugh at what she said. Although in the moment it was scary, in hindsight it was a funny story to tell. 

The two of you keep bringing up old avengers moments and exchanging mission stories until you hear the timer beep. Everybody seems to have put their flatbreads in at the same time because there must be at least ten timers going off and it’s so loud you can’t even think. Luckily Natasha doesn’t seem to have the same problem because she grabs oven mitts this time so she doesn’t burn herself again and pulls the flatbreads out of the oven.

Her face falls when she sees them. The one on the top shelf, although somewhat crispy looking, seems fine but the one on the bottom shelf is practically black on the bottom.

“How did this happen?” She asks. You take a moment to think because the only way it could have happened was if Natasha had preheated the oven to the wrong temperature but you don’t want to discourage her. 

“Well maybe you accidentally set the wrong temperature,” you tell her gently, deciding to be truthful, “it doesn’t matter though, because it still looks great!” She attempts a smile but looks thoroughly unconvinced. In order to try to make her feel better you grab the knife from earlier and cut a tiny piece off the edge. Your first instinct is to make a face when you put it in your mouth because it really does taste bad but you smile through that. 

“See Tasha? It’s fine.” 

“Y/n, it’s ok I know it’s bad and while I’m disappointed I’m not upset,” she says, “thank you for trying to cheer me up anyways.”

“Ok, fine I have to admit it was pretty burnt. But the other one looks good and besides I’m sure whatever we make next week will turn out better.” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens and you laugh at her. 

“Next week? Y/n, we’re doing this again next week???”

[dnarez]

Chapter 9 - My son, My mom

[Kind of rushed, sorry for the fast pass]

After taking the train to Fukuoka, Keigo's home city, you went to the adress that was on the official Hawks's Agency site.

You decided to walk, the weather was nice, but it could use a little wind, so you pointed your finger to the sky and made a loop like drawn with it, wind started to blow lightly, but because of how sudden it was some skirts went up, and you saw a newspaper hit a men in the face.

The path was very calm after that, but on the contrary of the outside, you were panicking on the inside, heart throbbing with anxiety, but you didn't allowed your feet to stop moving.

'What if he doesn't recognize me? No... I know that I have a little more breast, and may have some grey hair but-! It's Keigo! I want to see him! He's probably busy... what will I tell them to let me in?... oh! I can use my commission ID!!!'

You finally were getting there! The building was clear as day to you, you walked a little faster but calmed yourself down before going next to the receptionist.

"Hello, I came to see Hawks" you said with the typical 'business' voice

"Sorry hun, you can't, no fans allowed" she said not looking up.

"He's expecting me" you crossed your arms.

She looked at you up and down "That's kinda hard to belive Miss, since his schedule that I take care of doesn't have anything about MILFs"

You glared at her and showed your ID "Maybe there is something for the hero commission"

The girl paled at the card "Yes ma'am, I will tell him right now" she took the phone and called him... "Yes I know but-... It's the commission sir... she didn't- okay... yes sir" she hangs up the phone "last floor big wood door, there's no way you can miss it"

You nod to her and hold yourself back from running to the elevator, when you get there and see yourself on the mirror you frown.

Your face is starting to have marks, the scar on your chest is hidden behind your shirt, but the ghost feeling of the knife going through skin and breaking your chest bones was terrifying to remember, so you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing.

But closing your eyes made part of it worst, the flashbacks of those nights that you had to sell your body for information.

The "ding" from the elevator brought you back to today, taking a deep relived breath you get out of the elevator and go to his office door.

You knock three times, the business like knock made you cringe, but it's the way you alway knock.

"Come in" you heard his voice, and just that made you smile.

The pictures of him were everywhere on the internet, he was a very handsome man, extremely smart, kind, loving, and nothing of it was thanks to you... because you went away.

You closed the door behind you and saw that he's doing paperwork, a lot of it, the piles were even on the floor, but he had no feather on his wings "You are two hours early, this better be important, I am the number two pro hero after all" he didn't looked up from his papers, just kept writing.

Even if you saw a dozen of pictures trying to get familiar with his face, you just couldn't  be prepared enough for this.

That small child that loved to laugh with you, that ate your food with a big smile, that had nightmares and would run to you, your son... was a grown up, and you weren't able to watch any of this.

His birthdays, fights with instructors, his teenager phase, his first crush, first love, first kiss, him being an ass to the higher ups and you would have to buy ice cream for him later... all those especial moments were lost, away from you.

Keigo heard sobbing an someone started to cry, when he looked up he was in total shock. "Mom?" His voice was barely over a wisper

"Keigo I'm so sorry!" You fell on your knees and bowed down.

(For those that don't know, this is the type of bowing that it's taken very seriously on Japan, as it represent that you are truthfully sorry, it's called Dogeza)

Hawks jumped from his chair and run to you "MOM GET UP!"

"I'm so-so sorry! I didn't have a option! The mission was so long! I there were moments that I though that I would never see you again! Must have feelt so alone, must have thought that I abandoned you! But I swear Keigo! Lil birb! My son!" You raise your head and look at him kneeled in front of you "I MISSED YOU SO MUCH! I'M SOR-"

Hawks hugged you tightly "Y-you came back!" You hug him just as tighly.

"I would never dream of leaving you alone, my boy" you sink your hand on his hair and scratch it, your other and pets his lower back "I'm so proud of you Keigo, you did such an amazing job all alone"

"I wasn't alone!" He break the hug and you see his face.

"I had you with me all this time! Your coat, a-and your diary! Your dairy had so many advice in it! I always felt like you were with me, but I missed you so much mom! Are you-" he takes a deep breath and you pet his hair "are you going to stay?"

You nod quickly "Of course! There is no better place in this world for me than by my son's side" you both hug each other.

"Mom!" He buried his face on her neck, hiccuping like the little boy he was to you.

"My baby birb, you did so well until now, you truly are awesome as fuck" you kiss his cheek and he sighs.

After all you were here holding each other's hand, he felt like a weight lift from his shoulders.

"Let's go to your house, I can prepare anything you would like" you separate the hug and get up.

He nods getting up too "I want  that fried chicken you do! I never found a place that does it like yours!"

You both talk and clean each other's face.

This was true happiness...

................................ Important!

This is the ending... but not exactly,  this is actually the end to this part of the history.

Now there's still something's going around, like when hawks fights dabi, Y/n will help Aizawa with classes, Y/n had a close relationship with AFO on her mission.

But technically it ends here, the rest of this book will takes twice as long for me to do.

If you follow me on my tumblr and/or Ao3, you know that I wrote 7 works until now, to which I'm currently working on 3 constantly and 2 from time to time.

So I hope you all can keep reading my work.

[moral-turpitudes]

Swan Lake:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: This idea came to me at like 3 am and idk why, it’s totally not canon or whatever but it was fun to write. I also don’t know anything about ballet so don’t come for my neck lol. 

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, Angst, Slight Mentions of/Implied Physical and Emotional Abuse, Descriptions of Death/Fighting etc.

Word Count: 3,977

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

+ Jack Timmons (OC, albeit a shitty one)

Requested: No

Summary: After constant threats of losing her position in a prominent ballet company, Y/N feels trapped in her circumstances. That is until an infamous blue-eyed gangster stumbles upon her one night, helping her leave her past behind, because sometimes that’s the best thing you can do.

“One, two, three. One, two, three.” Y/N counted to herself as she rehearsed in the quiet concert hall. Her nerves still a mess as the ear-splitting voice of her department head played on a loop in her mind. His harsh words stinging as she continued on.

With every leap and pirouette, her toes and tired muscles screamed to be free from their routine binds that held them together. Her corset digging into her skin, the paper thin pantyhose ripping on her knees from a nasty fall, and her feet cracking and bleeding with each new pair of ballet slippers she broke-in. On nights like this, she often questioned what she was doing this for. Was it for glory? For money? For distraction? It seemed only time could tell.

Unbeknownst to her, a man looked on from the dark entrance. A cigarette in hand as he observed her movements. His eyes alert as he’d heard a man yelling moments before.

Smoke escaped his lips as he watched in silence. The only music coming from inside the woman’s head, her body moving in strict motions to the beat she’d memorized from the orchestra that would usually play during shows. Her instructors voices in her head, threatening to fire her if she didn’t do better.

She never thought that something that brought her so much joy could bring her so much pain, but that seemed to be how things went in life, at least for her.

As she ended her dance, she sat on the cold stage, untying the stiff slippers and wincing as the fabric clung to her bloodied feet. No matter the cloth she put around them, she always found cuts and blisters ambushing her skin. This was the price she paid for perfection. Dancing was her “thing.” Her one gift to the world. The one thing that she’d always have, that no one could ever take away from her.

But with tear filled eyes she looked up at the spotlight beaming down on her, the makeup that was once well kept, slowly being washed away by the tears rushing down her cheeks.

As she ripped her gaze from the blinding light, she thought she felt eyes on her. Feverishly blinking the colorful spots on her vision away as she looked out into the empty seats, where a set of blue eyes stared back, their owner stoic and unmoving.

“Hello?” She asked, her heart racing slightly as she painstakingly walked off the stage and down the middle isle towards the man. Trying her best to wipe her tears away.

“Sorry to startle you miss. Just observing.” He said gruffly, cigarette smoke escaping his lips.

“Why are you here...? What’s your name...? Who do you work for...?” She asked in a barrage of questions, her nerves frazzled as she stood before him.

His blue eyes pierced hers as he took in the state of her. Elegantly hiding the pain behind a powder pink façade.

“I stopped in while on business and I heard yelling.” He said, adjusting his peaked cap, the razor blades glinting off the dull light from outside the theater.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she realized what gang he was a part of. Remembering talk around the city that they were moving in on London. Making threats and crashing party halls more often than not.

“Everything’s fine, sir.” She said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“You don’t look fine.” He said.

“You haven’t answered my questions, sir.” She said, deflecting his comments and looking at him skeptically. With a sigh, and a long drag from his cigarette, he spoke.

“My name is Thomas, Thomas Shelby. But you can call me Tommy if you like...” He said walking towards her. Her heart racing slightly as she stood in place.

“...and I’m a man who does bad things. But don’t worry love, I have no bad business with you.” He said, gradually walking towards door.

“Wait....” She said, looking around the empty theater nervously as he stopped in his tracks.

“Why exactly were you watching me?” She asked, walking to him.

He sighed as the cigarette burnt down to the last little bit, ending with him throwing it on the tiled floor and stomping it out.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright....and then I saw you dancing to no music. It intrigued me.” He said flatly.

“How so?” She said, crossing her arms at the infamous gang leader.

“Because I can hear it too.” He said.

“You memorized the song? How? You haven’t seen the show.” She said, walking down the stairs with the mysterious man.

“My mother used to play it at home and she’d dance, quite like you. I recognized the routine.” He said, standing near the exit. The streets bustling with people under the moonlit sky.

“You don’t look like someone who listens to music. Do you dance?” She asked, beguiled by the rather handsome blinder.

“I liked a lot of things before the war. Dancing was one of them. But now?.....No.” he said shaking his head slightly as he continued.

“Sometimes life has a way of taking things from us.” He said softly, lighting another cigarette as he stood before her.

“That it does.” She said, glancing at her tired hands as he observed her once more, how she stood and how her hair fell limply around her face, framing it ever so gently.

“I’m probably overstepping my bounds...Tommy. But uh, if you’re ever in need of dancing lessons...I can help. Free of charge.” She said, the thought escaping her lips on a whim. Her mind racing with wanting to dance anywhere but there in that dreadful theater.

“Free of charge aye? Do you make a lot at these shows?” He asked, his eyes boring into hers.

“No. I’m actually on my way out. Was almost fired for the last show. I wasn’t good enough.” She said looking down.

“That’s a shame. I thought you did great.” He said.

“Tell that to the department head. I’m tired of ruining my body for something that doesn’t pay. I’d rather do it for fun. At least then life might be worth living.” She said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pent up feelings slowly trickling out as the minutes passed.

“What do you do for fun, Tommy?” She asked, changing the subject.

He stood in thought, never really taking into account anything besides the noise in his head or the ache in his heart. Never giving himself the time for anything reminiscent of fun.

“I uh, work with horses I guess.” He said.

She nodded and sat in a chair near the exit, wincing and fiddling with the tulle of her tutu.

“So what do you say? Dancing or no?” She asked, a small smirk playing at her lips.

“I’ll accept your offer, on two conditions.” He said.

“Alright, what are your conditions oh infamous Mr. Shelby?” She asked, seeing a small smirk on his face. One that seemed to be uncomfortable, like it had been hidden for years.

“That you give me the name of your department head, and let me employ you.” He said bluntly.

“I’m not a killer, I’m just a dancer.” She said, looking down at her wrists. Bruises forming from many routines throughout the week and from her vile department head.

“You won’t deal with that kind of business. But I’d like to pay you. I can see that you work hard for what you want.” He said sitting next to her.

“You want me to dance for you? What like at some whore house?” She scoffed.

“No. You can dance for fun or teach or whatever it is you want to do. But a job with me, in my shop, can bring you the money you’re looking for. You won’t have to beat yourself up anymore.” He said, noticing the bruising hand prints around her wrists.

“I’ll think about it.” She said quietly, getting up and stretching out her arms, her muscles aching at the movement. Thomas headed towards the door abruptly, not wanting to keep her any longer considering he’d given orders to his brothers a while ago.

“Hey...” She said, stopping him.

“Mhmm?” He mumbled, lighting another cigarette.

“His name is Mr. Timmons. Jack Timmons. I hope you find him.” She said giving him a small, hurting smile before heading back towards the theater.

“Oh and miss?” He called back, making her turn around.

“Yes?”

“I never got your name.” He said.

“It’s Y/N...Y/N Y/L/N.” she said. Thomas nodded and reluctantly turned around, walking slowly into the night the next man on his hit list already buzzing through his mind.

As he stepped onto the cold London streets, he saw his brothers drinking and waiting by the car. Their faces covered in smoke-residue from their mission.

“Oi! What the fuck took you so long aye? We torched the bar down the road so we need to go.” Arthur said, taking a swig from a bottle of whiskey he’d stolen.

“I was doing a bit of legitimate business. Did you lot get the money?” He asked, revving the engine and peeling out onto the cold, damp roads towards Small Heath.

“Yeah. Got the whole thing. They won’t mess with us again. What kind of business were you doing in a fucking theater?” Arthur asked.

“Probably fucking one of the dancers.” John said, the toothpick dangling precariously on the edge of his mouth.

“I saw people leaving the show and decided to go there to clean off from our last raid. And I heard a man yelling at some woman there. He’s uh, been a bit of a problem but I can’t tell by how much just yet. He’s been working the woman to death for little pay...so I offered her a spot here.” He said.

“Why are you so caught up on the woman? What, is she gonna dance around the shop all day?” John asked, earning a chuckle from a drunken Arthur.

“I’m thinking she’d make a good assistant. I watched her after he left. She was the only one there, working on the same routine for an hour straight. Was bleeding by the time she was done.” He said.

“Well besides the woman, what are you wanting to do with the man aye? We’ve caused enough trouble here so far.” John said.

“I have a feeling this man is abusing the whole company or at least the woman I spoke to. She’s miserable, you can see it in her eyes. I only saw eyes like that in the trenches.” He said quietly, looking out at the sky through the thin windshield.

Over the next few days, it seemed her plight only grew as the dancers rehearsed, their instructors criticizing more than helping them as they moved to the beat. Y/N’s eyes fearful as their department head entered the room. The music stopping as they all sat on the stage as instructed.

Behind the stage, Thomas watched silently as the instructor eyed the women. The mans eyes only seeing money and fame instead of them as people. But his gaze seemed reserved for Y/N especially.

She was bruised from the repeated practice, the falls, and from the mans calloused hands that beat her beyond the theater walls. Threatening to fire her if she didn’t improve. Claiming he was “trying to save the company’s image.” Telling her she’d be working the streets in no time if she failed again.

Even though she tried her best, often putting in more work than her peers, it still wasn’t enough for Mr. Timmons and his dreadful company. The only thing getting her by was knowing that after the big show, things would settle down, knowing he’d go back to just yelling at her and occasionally at the others, instead of talking with his fists. But the pay remained the same, barely keeping a roof over her head throughout the years.

“Y/N, I’ve seen your performances these past few weeks and they’re all the same. The turns are too loose, your footing is off, and you’re out of step with the others. I don’t see why you can’t do better.” He said loudly as she stared him down. White-hot tears brimmed in her eyes as her face heated up in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. None the wiser to the blinder who’d watched it all unfold.

“Meet me backstage after this will ya? We have to discuss some matters over your position here.” He said, walking to the next girl and nodding his head. He moved on from each person giving small snide remarks, but they were nothing compared to what she’d gotten, and it filled her with rage. With a sigh, she wiped her tears and stood up. Decided then and there that she’d walk out. To make a scene like she’d dreamt to during the 5 years she’d worked there.

“Mr. Timmons...the only thing you’ll be doing backstage is shoving these up your ass.” She said, chucking the bloodied ballet slippers at him before exiting the stage and going to her dressing room, locking the door.

Thomas watched silently until Mr. Timmons excused the rest of them, leaving only him and the poor excuse for a man in the dimly lit area back stage.

As the man walked with a master key towards Y/N’s dressing room, Thomas quickly came up behind him. Hitting him in the back of the head with his gun and wrestling him to the floor. The man screaming through a bloodied mouth as he landed punch after punch to his face. Thomas soon removing his cap and slicing the mans eyes, blinding him instantly before shooting him.

Y/N watched from the doorway, dressed from head to toe in her normal clothes she’d came in with. Her eyes red and swollen from crying and her body aching from the mornings work.

She stood there silently, the sight of the man who tormented her making her smile slightly as she realized she was free of him.

“Y/N....” Thomas said, wiping the blood from his face as best he could as he stood up from the mans limp body.

“Thank you.” She said, sniffling a bit as she kept her tears at bay this time. Walking quickly out the door to the outside of the building, the cars whizzing by as the cold wind crept through her clothes.

Thomas quickly draped a nearby blanket over Timmons’ body, dragging it to the dressing room. But before leaving he retrieved the master key from his limp hand, locking the dead man inside as he cleaned up the mess from his handy-work.

As he looked in the bathroom mirror minutes later, he could see the blood on his skin, the metallic smell barely phasing him as he washed it down the drain. After cleaning up, he headed out the door, finding Y/N sitting on the pavement smoking a cigarette.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked, sitting by her and lighting his own, his hands bleeding slightly from the blows to Timmons’ face.

“Why not.” She said, fiddling with a pink ribbon in her hands that once kept her hair tightly in place.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He said, sighing as he looked out at the mid afternoon sky. The city bustling around them.

“It’s alright. I’ve wanted that to happen for 5 years. Don’t worry though, after knowing him, nothing really scares me.” She said with a small smile, relief finally hitting her as she realized she’d probably never have to face the man again.

“He’s dead though right? Like you made sure he’s never coming back?” She asked, her eyes still nervously scanning the roads out of habit as the doubt crept in.

“He’s never coming back. I’m burying him tonight.” He said.

“Make sure it’s deep.” She said, the bruises on her wrists more prominent in the daylight.

“Always do.” He said looking at her wrists with a clenched jaw. Knowing full well Timmons was behind it.

“I’ve uh, thought about your offer by the way.” She said looking down at the ribbon.

“You have aye?” He asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette. Her voice bringing him out of his thoughts a bit.

“Yeah. I’d like to try it out, if you’d still want me there. I don’t know what a ballerina could offer the company but, it beats where I was.” She said, cringing internally at all the painful memories which unfortunately often overshadowed the good ones.

“I’ve seen you work hard so far, so I figured making you my assistant would be a good position. You’ll come in at 8, and leave by 6 on most days.” He said.

“Most days? What happens on the other days?” She asked.

“On those days you keep busy so you don’t think about how or if we’ll return. You’ll help keep the shop in line along with my aunt Polly until one of us walks through the door. For your safety.” He said.

“Do all the assistants and secretaries work that late?” She asked.

“Only on those nights they do.” He said.

“Alright. May I ask one question?” She said.

“Mhmm.” He mumbled, blowing smoke from his lips. He stared at her while she thought over her words, her eyes not as miserable as before.

It made him feel better knowing that even though he couldn’t save the men in the trenches, he could at least save her. Someone who shared their same eyes, their same exhaustion, their same fear of not knowing what was next.

“Why me? You could hire anyone else. Any other woman for that matter. But you chose me...” She said, putting her cigarette out on the damp dirt road.

Thomas sighed for a moment, not wanting to tell her he couldn’t help but fall for a beautiful woman even though they’d just met. No matter her profession, he didn’t expect a ballet dancer to steal his heart so quickly and effortlessly.

“I could see you were different.” He said.

“How so?” She asked, his answer not enough as she looked into his eyes. They were like looking into the ocean, threatening to pull her under.

“When I came in after doing some business and saw you there practicing, you intrigued me. You were dancing with no music, but still trying no matter what happened.” He said.

“You saw me fall aye?” She said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, but I also saw what you did after....It’s always about what someone does after the fall, that makes a person who they are. I guess I chose you because you didn’t give up.” He said.

“And I thought it was because I was wearing a pretty pink ballet costume.” She said, smirking.

“That might also be a reason.” He said with a smirk. After a long pause, he spoke again, this time more quietly.

“For the record Y/N, I truly don’t see why the others treated you like they did....But I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He said.

“A man like you making promises? That’s a bold move.” She said, her heart racing as she held his hand gently, nervous to touch someone in a way that wasn’t done in self defense.

“I’m a bold man.” He said, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Oh really?” She said with a smirk.

“I can show you.” He said, leaning towards her as she did the same. She couldn’t help but feel differently towards him. He didn’t make her feel scared or on-edge like so many people before her. Instead oddly enough, the dashing blinder made her feel safe.

It was in that moment that he too realized he hadn’t felt this way in a while, since before the war. The only comfort he’d ever found previously was at the bottom of a bottle or beneath the sheets in a brothel. The feelings felt out of place, the noise from the war competing with the song in his head, the same one from her shows. The same one from years ago at home.

With a calloused hand, he caressed her cheek, looking into her as eyes as the sun shined into them. Their color illuminated by its rays as he brought her lips to his, a wave of relief washing over him as he felt her relax into the kiss instead of pulling away.

“So...when do I start?” She asked after he broke the kiss, her eyes trailing to his lips.

“Tomorrow. I can pick you up.” He said.

“Won’t you be tired from burying Mr. Timmons? I can drive myself.” She said.

“It’s not my first time burying someone love. I’ll swing by in the morning.” He said, getting up.

“Alright...see you then.” She said, a genuine grin forming on her face for what felt like the first time in years as she watched him head off towards his car.

Over the next few weeks, she became acquainted with everyone in the shop. Polly taking a special liking to her as she loved dancing as well.

“You’ll never catch me dancing ballet. Maybe a waltz but never ballet.” She said one morning.

“I can teach you, it’ll do you some good. Keep you strong.” Y/N said, thinking about how she’d get by with teaching in her cramped apartment.

“Tommy taking classes from you yet?” She asked with a smirk.

“God no. I think he only said that to get me working for him.” She said, thinking back to his first deal with her.

“What are you two talking about aye? We have work to do.” Tommy said, walking into his office where they sat in his chairs nonchalantly.

“Pol was just asking me if I’d taught you to dance yet. You did say you used to...but there would be no ballet of course.” She said, smirking at him as she blew smoke from her lips.

“Well, I have business at the races soon so I guess you’ll have to teach me. Especially since I’ll need someone to accompany me.” He said.

“I never thought you’d ask. What shall I wear?” She asked.

“Something red.” He said, giving her a peck on the cheek before heading out the door.

Their banter carried on like this months after her employment. The only thing different though was where she stayed. Everyone knew he’d had the hots for the woman as soon as he laid eyes on her in the theater. John joking that going to London was the best decision Tommy had ever made. Seeing as she helped him find himself again even if it was just in simple ways. From the nights spent keeping the sounds of the shovels at bay, to the weekends spent helping him learn a few dances. They both healed each other with each step. He never thought he would enjoy dancing or even something as simple as sleeping ever again, but she helped him and he helped her, and he felt the only way to pay her back was to help her still live out her dreams. Eventually converting one of their many rooms into a dance studio, where she’d help teach children on the side, without mean words and harsh fists beating her down.

By this time, she finally knew what she was dancing for, or more so who. And it pleased Thomas to see the life finally return to her eyes as she did so. Knowing that one of the best decisions she made was to dance for herself. Even if it didn’t garner any grand applause, she knew she had people who cared, and who saw the value in what she did, considering it was her gift to the world after all. Even if it was the gangly Shelby family as her audience, she knew it was better than any theater.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

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If you’d like to be added or removed, just send an ask/message! :)

[christinesficrecs]

Hey honey, how are you doing? I hope you are ok. I was wondering if you know some knew big brother or Teacher/Student fics? This would be nice. We have another lockdown here and I need some distraction. Stay safe, Christine and thank you for your amazing work!

Hey! I hope you are well! 💜

I've Got it Bad, Got it Bad, Got it Bad by RedRidingStiles | 47.7K | Mature

“Woah are those real?” Stiles found himself saying as he reached out and squeezed the man’s (it was a man and not a brick wall Stiles’ brain supplies) bicep which was bulging under the guy’s shirt. Stiles hasn’t even looked at the man’s face too preoccupied gasping at the tone muscles in front of him.

“Something tells me you’re the infamous Stiles.”

“Stiles, yes that’s my name, well it’s not really my name that’s too hard for anyone to pronounce so it’s just Stiles. Or you know, some colorful names the lower IQs of this place like to make up. But Stiles, you can call me Stiles.” Stiles rambles on, watching the man try to suppress a grin and failing. He has a gorgeous smile that made his bunny teeth present and his eyes crinkle and Stiles thinks he might be a little bit in love.

Knotty Professor by CharWright5 | 20.1K | Explicit

It wasn't the first time Stiles had totally lost focus while working on an essay, writing a topic that most definitely wasn't the assigned one. It was, however, the first time a teacher—or professor, in this case—decided that his paper was so inaccurate he would have to give the student a first hand lesson in order to right his wrongs. Which, this time, meant teaching Stiles exactly what it was like to be knotted.

The PlayLiszt by dylanssourwolf | 21.5K | Explicit

Dr. Derek Hale is one of the most qualified musicologists in the country. He’s damn proud to be one of the most sought-after specialists in the world; he’s done his fair share of travelling to colleges all over the country to to give insights on the musical structures of some of the most famous pieces of classical literature.

While he can't really play any of those pieces, he does have a particular choice of pianist when it comes to listening. Mieczysław. Derek likes to think he’s in love with the guy, even though he isn’t sure if Mieczysław is a first name or a last name or even a name at all, and he's never once gotten a glimpse of the pianist’s face. It’s about the music, the money-makers, and the guy’s hands are plastered on everything.

And We Only Saw Half the Ballet by meglimeg | 19.1K | Mature

Stiles is one of those, ‘love or hate’ kinds of students. The smart-ass, obnoxious, loud-mouthed sort of kid that a teacher will either love to teach, or hate to teach. He tends to be a hit with the older teachers and the younger teachers; the ones who are either young enough to relate to him or old enough to appreciate how different he is from the other students. It’s the ones in the middle, the ones who feel like they deserve his respect but never seem to be able to earn it, that hate him. Finstock and Harris could write sonnets about being pissed off with Stiles.

But basically, everyone has their side. Love or hate. No in-betweens.

Except for Derek. Derek’s in between. Predictably.

take a chance on me by Rena | 1.9K

"Right. I’ll just go up to him and ask him if he wants to go on a date and maybe also spend the rest of his life with me," Stiles snarks. “‘Cause that’ll go over so well."

"Hold on, you wanna spend the rest of your life with him?" Scott gapes at him and hits his shins with a pillow. "Stiles, you didn’t tell me you were in this deep!"

“‘s not like it matters,” Stiles mumbles. “I’m just one face in a lecture room with sixty students, he barely even knows I exist.”

Lydia snorts. “Oh, trust me, honey, he’s noticed you.”

Quaking Aspen by popfly | 4.6K | Mature

Stiles is a fine arts major who decides to take a sculpture class because the instructor, Professor Hale, is hot. He spends a lot of time sketching Derek instead of paying attention to the lecture parts of the class, but he still aces his final project.

[tuiccim]

Terrigenisis (Part 2)

Pairing: Avengers X Inhuman!Reader

Words: 3067

Summary: Your life is torn apart after undergoing terrigenisis unwillingly your life is turned upside down when you are deemed too dangerous to return to civilian life. You are put with the Avengers team to train and rebuild your life.

Part 1 

—————————————

A few weeks passed and you had settled into the routine of training, paperwork, and boredom whenever the rest of the team was on a mission. You had formed a quick bond with Wanda and the rest of the team was slowly letting you in. You were fluent in Sokovian. Natasha was helping you with Russian. Bucky was teaching you Romanian. 

It was Thursday and since the entire team was at the compound Steve declared it team dinner and game night. You were fairly quiet during dinner. The rest of the team bantered and laughed. During dessert, Steve had everyone write down a game and threw them all in a bowl. Being the hilarious person you are, you decided on Truth or Dare figuring it would be a fun way to learn about your new teammates. He walked over to you and asked you to pull one. 

“Alright, our game is… “ You look down at the slip of paper and see Truth or Dare, but it’s not your handwriting. Looking over at Steve, you snatch the bowl from him and look through the rest of the slips. 

“What’s up, (Y/N)?” Steve asks. 

“All the slips say the same thing, Truth or Dare. Except one that says Monopoly.” You say. 

“Bruce, we are not playing Monopoly ever again!” Natasha smirks at him, “Wait! That means you wrote Truth or  Dare, too!”

You grin at her. 

“We’re going to play the adult, no holds barred version.” Sam says. 

"I second that!" Tony raises his hand.

“Then we need some drinks and comfy couches.” Natasha says and everyone moves to the common room. Tony goes to the bar and begins making drinks for everyone. 

"Who goes first?" Wanda asks, curling up beside Vision on one end of the couch. Natasha and Bruce curl up together. 

You take a seat on the couch and Bucky sits next to you. You give him a small smile. He's been teaching you a lot at the range and your aim was improving. Steve sits on the other side of you and Sam sits next to him. Clint takes a chair with a grin on his face.

"Sam, start us off!" Tony says.

"Alright!" Sam rubs his hands together and eyes everyone in the room before his gaze settles on you. "Newbie, truth or dare?"

"Let's start slow. Truth." You say, already feeling a little heat in your cheeks.

"I'll go easy on you for this first one. How old were you the first time?"

"Uhhhh... 20."

"20? Late bloomer?" Sam smirks.

"20 is not that old for that!" You laugh, "How old were you?"

"Oh, no. It's not my turn!"

"Right, okay. Natasha, truth or dare?"

"Dare!"

"I dare you to let someone do a body shot off of you."

She turns to Bruce with a grin and Tony hands her a shot of whiskey. She settles the glass into her bra and straddles Bruce. He's grinning and bright red but takes the shot from her with his mouth and then kisses her. 

"Hot damn!" You say and giggle. Both Steve and Bucky look at you grinning. "They're so cute!" You whisper to them.

"Steve, truth or dare?" Natasha eyes the super soldier.

"Truth." Steve scowls at her jokingly.

"Do you like being called Captain in bed?" Natasha smiles wickedly.

"I don't mind pulling rank occasionally." Steve says as he turns red in the face. 

"O Captain, my captain!" Natasha teases.

"Sam, truth or dare." Steve says quickly. 

The game goes on and eventually circles back to you.

"Truth." You say avoiding the goofy and sexy dares that have gone around. 

"When was your last one night stand?" Vision asks.

"Never had one." You bite your lip awaiting the response. 

"What!?!" Natasha says. "Seriously? Never?"

"Nope."

"Wait, how old were you when you met Charlie?" Wanda asks.

"20." You say knowing exactly where this line of questioning was going to end.

"Was he your first?"

You just nod. Wanda squeals, "That's so sweet! How did you meet?" Natasha clears her throat and gives Wanda dagger eyes. Wanda's eyes widen and she looks at you sorrowfully, "I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking!"

"No, it's fine. I don't mind talking about Charlie. I was 20 and in college when we met. Saw this really cute guy at my rock climbing gym and he ended up coming over and climbing next to me. Charlie was super sweet and talkative and funny. We climbed and talked for 45 minutes and then he told me it was nice to meet me and left. Didn't ask for my number or anything and I was so bummed! So, two days later, I'm at my karate class and they are introducing a new instructor. Same cute guy from the gym. After class ended, he walked straight to me and asked me out. Said he’d been kicking himself for two days for not asking for my number at the gym. We dated for three years and then decided to get married while on vacation in Cancun."

"How long were you married?" Wanda asks.

"We were going on vacation to celebrate 8 years when it happened." You smile sadly. 

"I'm sorry." Wanda says.

"Thank you." You whisper. The mood in the room has sombered considerably. "So, anyway, that's why I have never had a one night stand. And so it's my turn to ask. Sam, truth or dare?"

"Truth." He smiles at you.

"Are you a boobs or a butt man?"

"I gotta say butt." Sam grins, "Tony, truth or dare."

"Dare." Tony says.

"Kiss the most beautiful person in the room." Sam smiles and holds out his arms jokingly. 

Tony simply lifts his hand to his face and kisses himself. "Too easy."

"That's not right, man." Sam scoffs.

"Truth or dare, Bucky." Tony smirks.

"Dare." Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Why don’t you give the new girl a welcome kiss?" Tony grins.

Bucky turns to you and says, "Is that okay with you, Doll?”

“Sure, Bucky. Lay it on me.” You smile.

With a slight tinge of pink in his cheeks, Bucky leans over and kisses your cheek. You laugh as the team erupts in boos at Bucky’s chaste kiss. 

“No go!” Tony yells over the heckles of the others, “Give her a real kiss!”

Bucky leans over and whispers in your ear, “Should we show them what a real kiss looks like?”

You nod, grab Bucky by the shirt and pull him to you. He melds his mouth to yours and leans into you. You both lose yourselves in the kiss, concentrating on putting a show on for the group who cheers and yells encouragement. By the time you break apart, Bucky had leaned you so far back you were practically in Steve’s lap, who is red in the face. 

“That was definitely a real kiss.” You whisper to Bucky who chuckles and winks.

The game goes on for a while and drinks flow. Finally, everyone says good night and you head to your room. A knock on the door only a few minutes later and you let Wanda in. 

“I wanted to say sorry again for earlier. I feel like I was insensitive. Are you okay?” She asks in Sokovian. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t mind talking about Charlie. We were together for 11 years. He was a big part of my life. You weren’t being insensitive, you were just curious. Okay?” You reply. 

“Thanks. I’m just really glad I didn’t hurt you. So, ummm…” Wanda’s eyes were wandering. 

You smirked knowing exactly what she wanted to ask, “It was just a kiss.”

“Really? You don’t think maybe?” 

You just smile but a little blush starts to come to your cheeks. 

“Something is there! Tell me.” Wanda squeals.

“It was nothing really. I just haven’t kissed anyone in over a year. Damn, it felt good.” You laugh at yourself. 

“So, do you like him?”

“I’m not quite ready for that yet, Wanda. I mean, I just took my wedding band off three weeks ago. My life has been insane the past year. I don’t know if I’m in the right place for that yet.” You look at Wanda and she pulls you into a hug. 

“I understand.” Wanda says.

“I will admit that Bucky is hot. And, whoa, he can kiss.” You smile at Wanda who giggles.

“Yeah. Sleep well.” Wanda says as she leaves. 

“Night.” You say.

--

The next morning you get to the range for your daily lesson. Bucky wasn’t there yet so you pull out your favorite gun and begin practice rounds without him. You are checking your target after your first clip when Bucky walks in. 

“Hey.” You say with a smile. 

“Hey. Nice grouping. Your aim is improving.” He studies the target. 

“Thanks. I’ve got a good teacher.” You notice he seems nervous and wonder if the kiss last night is making him feel awkward. “I really appreciate all your help, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome.” He finally looks you in the eye and smiles. 

“We okay? After last night?’ You ask, feeling the need for reassurance. 

“Yeah.” He nods, “Now, reload. I want that grouping a little tighter this time.”

“You got it, Sergeant.” You smile and get back to work. 

--

At lunch time, you are in the kitchen making a sandwich. Your headphones are in as usual and you are lip syncing with the song playing. Suddenly, one of your earphones is taken out of your ear and you look over to see Bucky stick it in his own ear. 

"Thought I'd see what you're always listening to." Bucky smirks.

"Varies from day to day. Today's selection is classic rock." You finish making your sandwich as he listens along to Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult. The playlist shuffles to the next song, Carry on My Wayward Son by Kansas. You smile at Bucky, "This is one of my favorites."

"You have interesting taste." Bucky chuckles.

"Oh, this is nothing. Your head would reel at some of my other playlists." 

"I'll have to steal one of your earbuds more often. Get acquainted with the musical tastes of our newest member." 

"I shall educate you thoroughly on the music of the decades." You joke as you move to the table to eat. Bucky joins you with his food and you chat as the rest of the team filters in. 

When he finishes, Bucky hands you back the earbud and says, "I look forward to my continued education."

You laugh, "You got it, Sergeant."

--

The team is sent on another mission and are gone for over a week. You continue to train, work with Redtail, take target practice, do paperwork, and try not to be bored out of your mind. As soon as FRIDAY tells you the quinjet is landing with the team, you sprint to them. Wanda is one of the first out and you embrace her. 

“I’m so glad you’re back. How did it go? Is everyone okay?” You rush your words, happy to see her.

“It went fine. Everyone is okay.” Wanda smiles, but looks tired. “I think we are all exhausted, though.” 

“I hear you. Let me know if you need anything.” You move on and welcome back the rest of the team. Fist bump with Sam, a side hug with Nat, a smile for Vision, you greet each one of them. When Steve and Bucky are the last to exit, you hug them both. “I’m glad you guys are back. Ya good?”

“Yeah, doll, tired.” Bucky says. 

“Everything went according to plan. I think everyone is exhausted.” Steve says. 

“I’ll take care of dinner tonight. Everybody could use a good meal. Go rest up for a while, guys.” You pat them each on the arm. 

“Thanks.” Steve says as he and Bucky head in. You follow behind and go to the kitchen to begin dinner prep. 

After dinner that night, you go outside to check on Redtail and Sam joins you. You pull out an extra falconry glove for him and he grins. 

“You think she’ll come to me?” Sam asks.

“I’m pretty sure she will. She likes you.” You warg into Redtail and ask her to come.

Redtail lets out a caw as she soars out of her dogwood tree and down to Sam’s outstretched hand. She immediately begins chittering at Sam and leans into him. 

“Bring her head closer to you. She won’t hurt you.” You guide him. 

Sam brings Redtail closer to his face and Redtail rubs her head against his cheek. A display of affection you’ve only ever seen her do with you. “Hey there, Redtail.” Sam croons at the bird.

You laugh delightedly at Sam’s reaction. “You should go flying with her one day. I bet it’d be amazing.”

“Next time I do a test run I’ll let you know.” Sam says as he pets Redtail’s chest. 

You reach out for Redtail and she climbs onto your glove. “Hey sweet girl.”

“How long have you had her?” Sam asks. 

“She’s been with me about eight months now. I found her shortly after she lost her mate. I think we kinda bonded over that.” 

“What happened?” 

“Red-tailed Hawks mate for life. Hers was shot down as they were building their nest.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam says to Redtail. “And for you. I can’t imagine. It seems like you’ve been through a lot, but you, uh, you never seem angry about it.”

“Oh, I am sometimes. I don’t know. I just keep thinking it’s gonna get better. It has to level out at some point.” You say sadly. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Sam puts a hand on your arm. 

“I know. It’s okay. We all know about loss. Just some of us more than others. I feel, uh, selfish when I compare my losses to Steve and Bucky’s. They lost their whole world.”

“Doesn’t make what we go through less painful.” Sam says.

“Gives it some perspective, though.” You nod and Sam returns it. 

“You’re a pretty cool chick.” Sam smiles.

“Thanks, Sam. You’re a pretty cool guy, too. I’m glad we’ve become friends.” You turn to Redtail still resting on your arm. “And I’m glad we’re besties.” You say booping your head to hers and then lifting your arm. Redtail takes flight and you watch her for a few minutes as she makes graceful loops. 

“Well, since we’re friends. That kiss with Bucky, huh?” Sam smirks.

“It was just a kiss, Sam. A dare.” You laugh. 

“Really? It looked pretty intense”

“Really. We were just putting on a show. Besides, I doubt I’m his type.” You scoff.

“Why would you say that?” Sam raises an eyebrow. 

You roll your eyes at him and walk inside. 

“Oh, no, you aren’t getting away that easily.” Sam strides up beside you. 

“Kinda out of my league, don’t ya think?” You laugh.

“No. So, you do like him?” Sam says.

“I mean he’s hot, but is there an Avenger who isn’t?” 

“That includes you.”

“I’m not an Avenger yet.”

“You’re still hot.”

“Flirting with the new recruit, Sam?” Steve appears as you and Sam enter the elevator. 

“Just letting her know that she’s on the same hotness level as the rest of the team. Right, Steve?” Sam smirks.

“Uh, yeah.” Steve says as a tinge of pink creeps into his cheeks. 

“See?” Sam says triumphantly. 

“Paint a guy into a corner, Sam. What else could he say?” You give Sam a look. 

“What? No! You’re beautiful!” Steve says emphatically.

You stare at him for a moment surprised by his vehemence. Licking your lips, you say, “Uh, thanks, Cap.” And swallow thickly.

“Uh, yeah, I mean. You are. You’re beautiful. You shouldn’t doubt that.” Steve says. The air is suddenly thick between the two of you and Sam’s head swivels back and forth watching you both. You give a pink-cheeked Steve a small smile before he straightens and stares a hole through the elevator doors. 

You sneak a glance back at Sam who has a gleeful expression across his face as he looks at Steve. You have a feeling Steve isn’t going to live this little encounter down for quite some time. 

--

A few days later, you are loitering in the common room when you decide you should check in with Redtail. You warg but immediately drop it when your mouth fills with the taste of oil and blood. “Ugh!” You exclaim heading to the kitchen and snatching a glass of juice out of Steve’s hand to take a long drink. 

“Uhhh… okay?” Steve and Bucky are staring at you like you have lost your mind. 

“I’m so sorry!” You cough a little. Your stomach is churning. “I warged into Redtail and she had apparently caught herself a snake. I’ve never caught her eating before and I could taste it. It was disgusting!” You laugh at yourself and how ridiculous it sounded. Steve and Bucky are chuckling too which makes you feel better. “I’ll fix you another glass.”

“Thanks. What other animals have you warged?” Steve asks.

“Um, cats, dogs, a horse, a goldfish. That was funny. For a watery creature they are airheads. Lots of birds. They’re my favorite. Emu was funny. They're fighting crazy...” You list a few more animals and the guys are chuckling at your descriptions. 

“And you can’t do this with humans, right?” Bucky asks. 

“No. It’d be nice, though, right. Just take over the target and have them deliver themselves to you?” 

“Make our jobs a lot easier.” Steve smiles. 

“Speaking of the job, any idea on a timeline for me?” You knew Steve was sizing you up everyday at training. “I’m not trying to push. But paperwork sucks.” You laugh lightly. 

“Yeah, it does.” Bucky agrees. 

"It's only been a few weeks." Steve says.

"I know. I'm not asking for a pass. Just a timeline. Some goals, markers, something. I'm a planner, Steve. I need a plan." Self-deprecation evident in your voice.

"Okay, I get that. Let me work some things out and we'll talk." He says.

"Thank you." You smile. "That'll really help me."

"You're a planner?" Bucky chuckles.

"Yeah. I like to have goals. Things to work towards. I mean, I'm okay with spontaneity, but limbo sucks." 

“That’s the truth.” Bucky smiles at you. It looks like he’s about to say something more but then he turns back to Steve.

Part 3

Masterlist

[rymndsmth]

querencia (jang han seo)

🎤 hello and gather around fellow himbo lovers, here is a small fic about our beloved and his life after That guy kicks the bucket. also idk how i managed to turn this into a love story? anyways lmfao, hope y’all enjoy! 

Everything felt so different.

Truthfully, Han Seo never imagined what his life could be like, would be like, without the proverbial ever tightening noose around his neck. One that had been unexpectedly and disappointingly placed on him as a child by the one person that was supposed to remove such things. He was now free of that person, and the fear that stemmed from veering off the path set by them, but wasn’t entirely too certain that he was free of that feeling. 

His muscles couldn’t shake it. The sudden chill to the bone, the anticipation of retaliation from an act that hadn’t yet occurred. Such an act that could never occur anymore given that his brother was dead. He knew this, but his mind had never been good at accepting possibilities that were positive. 

This much was evident in the case of his relationship with Vincenzo. There was no reason why the stoic yet baby faced Mafia member would want to keep him around, at least not any that he could see. So, Han Seo spent the first few weeks asking the question both silently and aloud, will you kill me? Vincenzo had the motive, it’s not exactly like his hands were clean in his previous dealings with Babel, and he most certainly had the means.

It wasn’t until Han Seo was told that because he was trying to make amends, he wouldn’t end up in the Jang family crypt well before his time that he started to feel at ease. Still, for months after that conversation, he still had the nagging feeling that some invisible fist was lurking around every bend. 

Regardless of that, Han Seo decided he would not waste his liberation however short lived it might have been. He made up his mind that he was going to do all the things that he was either too scared or outright forbidden to do before. The first thing on his list was to clean up his business. Luckily for him, the Guillotine file made it easy to weed out the snakes in the grass and allow him to steer Babel in the direction that the core of the business was about. 

The hardest part was going to be restoring the public’s faith in the organization. Cha Young told him as much, and advised him not to agonize over it as there will be new corruption that will grab their attention (and hers). He intended to be the Chairman that such a company deserved, and therefore continued to study no matter how nonsensical and outdated the information seemed. 

The second order of business was moving out of the place that felt more like a prison than a home to one that he liked. The realtor immediately recommended a few luxury places, but he turned them down to their surprise. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had seen what the quest for material wealth had done to his family (or more realistically because he wanted to be closer to newfound hyung  and his girlfriend). 

Either way, the house he settled on had its luxuries, but in a more affordable and quaint neighborhood. Han Seo even went as far as to attempt painting on his own, which went as well as expected for someone that didn’t even know the difference between a brush and a roller. 

Being able to do what he wanted proved to be chaotic at times. There was no one to stop him from going on last minute trips to Jeju just for oranges and a quick dip into the ocean. Or to take away all the sweet and savory snacks that he found at these things called convenience stores. 

He would stay up all night sometimes, not to binge watch all the shows he missed out on, but just to sit in silence. He didn’t know that the quiet could be so nice. That it was a space of tranquility and relaxation rather than one filled with anxiety. Of course, Han Seo more often than not regretted the choice not to sleep and ended up at the cafe a few blocks from his place. 

While obviously no one had better coffee than the one at Babel, he found himself going to the cozy spot with increasing frequency because of her. The first time he saw her, she was deciding on which apple to choose from the basket beside the register. He then noticed that her canvas bag was filled with art supplies, and decided that it was a brilliant idea to draw a conclusion. 

I think the one to the right would make a great subject on paper, he grinned. 

She stared at him in a way that made him contemplate whether to not she was related to Vincenzo hyung before replying flatly:

I’m looking for the tartest one to go with my tea. 

He was left a bumbling mess of flustered sounds and rapidly blinks, not getting the opportunity to insert some retort that undoubtably would’ve put him deeper into the realm of idiot. 

The following morning he went again. No cup of coffee, not even the ridiculously overpriced espresso at Babel, would give him that jolt of electricity he felt under her gaze. And sure enough, she was there. This time her apple sat upon a folded napkin right beside her tea, and in front of them both was her sketchpad. On the page? A picture of the fruit. He couldn’t control the noise of exasperation that left him as he passed her table. On his way out he tossed over his shoulder with a grin so wide it hurt:

Nice drawing. 

Their interactions continued in that same vein. Short, filled with just the right amount of bite. The balance of who had the best and last say constantly shifting, becoming somewhat of a competition. 

You’re outside today, is that weed your subject?

As if there weren’t enough clowns in this neighborhood already.

You buy a lot of lattes for an artist that’s supposed to be starving.

Ironic coming from the gentrifier walking around a working class neighborhood in thousand dollar shoes.  

He had look up what that g word meant after their last exchange.

There was something else he never got to do in his past. Sure, Han Seo had the occasional date or two, but commitment? That was out of the question. It wouldn’t have served his brother well if there was anyone around that would motivate him to step out from his hold. The realization that he never had a serious relationship hadn’t hit him until he started to have inconvenient thoughts during board meetings about stuff like taking a long afternoon stroll, and holding hands with her.

Han Seo could barely focus on the stack of jargon dense reading before him. He sent Vincenzo a text saying that he was coming over with soju, not waiting for a reply before making the short journey to Geumga. Cha Young’s face fell when she answered the door, muttering that she thought he was her delivery, but lit up once she saw he brought along alcohol. After poking around the rice he begged for them to share and sighing loudly for half an hour, Vincenzo ushered him out. He implored him to get a hobby so that these late night visits wouldn’t become a habit.  

He was confused by that. Weren’t studying and running a company hobbies? On his walk back home he spotted a flyer that someone was offering private classes for beginners painting. The nightmare of a time he had trying to get the walls in his kitchen evenly colored popped up in his brain, instantly making him tear off one of the numbers. He didn’t exactly know how learning to paint homes was going to be a practical hobby, but hell, he would have something to show Vincenzo later. 

While he was on one of his impromptu trips to the seaside, Han Seo had his assistant set up the class for him to take when he returned. As a gift for the instructor, he thought it would be nice to bring them an extra bag of oranges. If the session sucked, or if he hated it, at the very least there was going to be something to brighten the mood. 

The day he got back, he even went as far as to tidy up the place on his own and put some fresh flowers around so the air was lightly scented. He practically waited at the door until the alarm sounded to let him know that his instructor arrived. 

Is this a joke? She huffed.

No, I didn’t even know you were the teacher! His protest was adamant. I was on a trip and even brought back Jeju- He paused. Han Seo knew he wasn’t the brightest, but bringing up the oranges seemed like it would upset her given their previous history. 

You brought back what? Her brow raised.

Mmm, good energy! Don’t you feel the vibes from the ocean? He spread his arms wide. 

Han Seo waved her inside hurriedly, trying desperately to get past the awkward exchange. Of all people, he never would’ve thought it would be the neighborhood’s cute sass machine. A small noise of happiness couldn’t be stopped from escaping him as she accepted the invitation. Her eyes scanned the place without restraint, nose wrinkling when she took a look at the kitchen. 

Where are your supplies? A slender finger ran across the surface of his counter. 

Supplies? He thought that was included in the price for the lessons. 

She sighed, placing a sketchbook, brushes, and small pots of paint onto the table. It was now very apparent to him that the advertisement did not mean what he thought it did. Thank goodness he also didn’t decide to open his mouth about that beforehand, it probably would’ve made her smack him with her bag. 

Here, the materials were slid over when he sat. Paint something.

His facial expression surely mirrored what he was thinking. Han Seo had no recollection of ever trying to do this, not even during the course of his way overpriced private school education. She urged him on with a nod, only relaxing into her chair when he flipped open the book and picked up a fine brush. 

There was nothing in particular he wanted to paint. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to paint at all. This was simply something random that came up when he needed it. 

To avoid being chastised, he dipped his brush into the light blue color and started swiping randomly across the blank page. He swapped the brush and added some dark green, then pink, and finished if off with small dots of white. At the end it looked like something a toddler would’ve considered a masterpiece. She eyed it with surprising interest. 

You clearly didn’t know what you wanted to achieve with this, or why you were doing it at all. 

Han Seo was about to interject with a prideful defense before she continued. 

That’s good. It’s better to work with an unbiased mind. Her eyes met his. Your technique is shit though. 

He laughed, like truly laughed. It was a full bellied, unashamedly loud, attack of sonic waves. She seemed to find it amusing, a hint of a smile dancing across her lips. 

Alright, let’s start with how to actually hold a paintbrush. 

There was no telling when their interactions had gone from less than playful banter to warm and friendly (still with a side of joking). Han Seo couldn’t put his finger on it. Did it happen during the second lesson where he mistakenly put paint on her hands, and didn’t settle for no when he said he would wash them off for her? 

Or was it the time he was running late for work, but the barista already had his order prepared because she told them that he was on the way? Perhaps it was the time she had to reschedule their Saturday morning for the evening instead, and all he could think about was trying to replicate the color of her alcohol flushed cheeks onto the page before him. 

Han Seo had never done the whole confession thing before, so he wasn’t sure about how it worked. An unfamiliar kind of anxiety crept up his spine as he poured glasses of wine and organized a fruit plate. Soft music played in the background accompanied by the crackle of the expensive candles he bought specifically for the occasion. Her mouth parted slightly as she took everything in once she arrived for what was supposed to be an ordinary session involving watercolors. 

Wow, got a hot date later or something? Her legs seemed to automatically take her to the table. 

Actually, He brought the glasses over to where she sat. It’s for you. 

Oh…She gasped. A few seconds passed that felt more like minutes before she picked one up and held it high. Cheers then!

Something about it made him feel like he made a mistake. Did he misread their change in demeanor towards one another? Was she truly just being kinder to him because she considered him to only be a friend? Han Seo tried to not let the embarrassment he felt seep into the room, keeping a smile locked and loaded for when she made a witty remark about stuff like him painting in the most inappropriate white button down. 

Don’t you have something to say to me? She quipped, neatly putting her things away after he finished. 

Me? I- no…I... He clenched his fists. Why couldn’t he come out and say it?! This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get. If he let this opportunity slip, he wasn’t sure if there would be one again. He had to act, he had to-

What sounded like a small growl came from her as she raked her hand through her hair. She pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt, her nose just shy of rubbing against his. 

Jang Han Seo, when are you gonna stop driving me insane? She murmured, labored breaths dancing across his cupid’s bow. 

If only she knew how true and reciprocated that question was to him too. From the moment he couldn’t fight against thoughts about her entering his mind, to the smile she wore when he stepped across his threshold, and the way she said his goddamned name, it was all enough to make him want to combust. To burst out of his skin, transforming into something or someone else entirely. A person that fully accepted that there were no more restraints on their lives, that they was no more fear and no more betrayal. Someone that was completely in control, and free to take what was theirs. And so he did. 

It was painful, almost, the first time he kissed her. The second time even more so. By the third time, coupled with the question of her tongue prodding at his bottom lip, Han Seo had shedded the last of his previous being. He cupped her face, thumbs toying with her curled sideburns as he consumed her. Quiet whimpers made way for desperate cries, shivers were replaced by the searing heat of skin on skin. 

The high he’d chased fruitlessly so many times throughout his life was finally achieved with his arms wrapped tightly around her, their bodies pressed together as she shuddered and sighed his name. He was in disbelief that what he had experienced was real, so he chased it again and again, receiving the same result each time his sweat slicked forehead bowed to meet hers. 

Han Seo would learn that it could be obtained outside of that space they filled with the tangible evidence of their desire. It was also in buying melon flavored ice pops to eat in the park together on sunny days. The look on Vincenzo and Cha Young’s face when he timidly made the introduction. Her expression when she took her first bite of Hee Soo’s tteokbokki. When Mr. Nam and her had an hour long debate on which shade of red made the most realistic fake blood color. The flashing Best Chairman Ever coming from her phone when Babel secured their biggest deal yet without any dirty deals behind the scenes. 

That feeling, one that outshone the other by such a long shot that it was nearly eradicated, had been there all along in the life he’d made. She just helped him see it.  

[lonelyreputation]

Trouble in Canada • TWO

A/N: Thanks for your patience & thanks for all your support 🥰 Only 3 months late with this 🥴 Can’t believe I’m posting TiC2 AGAIN wow I’ll forever love this series bc of you all 🤧🤧

THANKS A MILLION A MILLION FOR ALL YOUR KIND WORDS!! I love you all with all my heart 🥺🤧

TROUBLE IN CANADA PT. 1 | MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Arguing, angst, few swear words here and there

WC: 10.1K // Angst

“We need to talk.”

The cup of tea you held slipped through your hands and shattered.

Normally when a glass shattered in your apartment, Shawn would always rush forward.  He would always push you back, no walking around without shoes, he would say out of care as he kneeled down to pick up the minuscule shards of glass, don’t want you getting glass stuck in your foot.

But the two of you just stood there, looking at each other with different emotions swimming in your eyes, as the ceramic mug lay destroyed at your feet.

You had never seen your husband lack emotion in his eyes.  His eyes were always your favorite aspect of him, they were one of the first things about him that you fell in love with.  His eyes that normally held love, care, and compassion were now dark, empty, and held a hint of anger.

While his eyes held negativity, you felt the back of your eyes prick with tears, throat tight with sadness.  But you were looking at him with eyes wide of desperation––full of questioning and heartbreak–––because why on earth wasn’t he wearing his wedding ring.

You knelt to the ground, getting to work on picking up the broken mug, because you didn’t want him getting glass stuck in his foot.  It felt as if you were getting a glimpse into how this conversation with your husband was going to go; you trying to pick up the remnants of your heart that you could already feel breaking.

Once you got the small pieces together, you walked over to the trash can with Shawn’s eyes following you with every move.  You brushed the pieces in the bin and took the broom from the closet to dispose of the larger breaks.  You held eye contact with him as you walked back out into the entry area of your apartment.

His eyes trailed your every movement with skepticism, like he didn’t trust you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions at bay, as the broken pieces of the mug made a clanking noise when you swept them together.  You looked up at Shawn through your eyelashes and saw his eyebrows pulled together as if he was thinking of what to say.  

Frankly, you didn’t think you were able to say anything.  He was the one who said that the two of you needed to talk, you had no idea what you wanted to talk about. You figured that you would be listening to more of his side of the conversation than talking.

When did he take off his wedding ring?

“That was the mug I got for you on our second Valentine’s Day together,” his words were only slightly louder than the broken pieces falling into the bin, his voice cracked, “And you––you’re throwing it away?”

You stopped dumping the glass pieces into the trash, and looked up at him with sad, questioning eyes, “It’s…broken?”

Placing the dustpan on the counter, you walked out from the kitchen and stood in front of Shawn, and for the first time since before you started dating all those years ago, you didn’t know what to say.

“Are you not even going to try and fix it?!”

The pain behind his voice sounded like he was talking about so much more than a broken mug.

Cautiously, you took a step forward, eyes glancing down at his bare hand, then stared into his fuming eyes, “Why…” You gulped, eyes returning down to where his wedding ring should be.

Why was he not wearing his wedding ring?

In theory, the question shouldn’t be a hard one to ask him.  He was your husband, there were no secrets between the two of you in the decade you’ve known each other.  There were no secrets between the two of you as you slept next to each other at night, his arm thrown around you to keep you safe; there were never any secrets.

But now? Now you didn’t know.  You didn’t know the words to string together in order to ask him why he took off the ring you slid on his finger the day you promised to love each other for eternity.  

The nausea built up in your stomach slowly, bile churning with each thought that passed through your mind.    

What made him not want to wake up with you every morning?

Nothing was settling right in your stomach.  Nothing about this was a case of, oh, sorry I forgot to return your calls I was too busy.  He had dodged your calls, purposefully avoided you––his wife––and now he was standing in the middle of your home not wearing his ring.

Your house didn’t feel like much of a home anymore.

For a moment you pushed your doubts aside.  You tried not to focus on the pain in your heart as you shifted your focus on something else you needed to discuss with Shawn; your cooking instructor.  

The thought of Ethan had been weighing down on your mind ever since your last lesson.  You lightly touched your wrist, remembering the way his hand tightly circled around your wrist that day.  The glower of possessiveness he held in his eyes when he looked at you caused you to shudder at the memory.  The feeling of embarrassment flooded your entire body as the phantom pain of hot oils dripping down your back as the whole class stood and watched.

You wished you had confided in Shawn about the uncomfortable actions Ethan demonstrated during each lesson.  

Pushing your crumbling heart to the back of your mind you took a deep breath, anxiety crawling up your throat, “I need to––um––I want to tell you something.”

Feeling nervous in front of your husband wasn’t uncommon. Everyday you had spent with him felt like the day of your first date; on your toes, giddy about what the rest of the day would bring––excited to spend the day with him.  It’s what made you fall in love with him at a rapid pace.  But while you were accustomed to the affect of your heart skipping a beat whenever you were around him, this was a different kind of nervousness.

This nervousness felt more like knowingly walking into a trap instead of a blissful evening with your husband.

With another deep breath, you looked down at your sock clad feet, not wanting to see his reaction, “There was um––Something happened when you were on tour–––”

“Can’t even look me in the fucking eyes when you say it?”

You whipped your head up, eyes wide, and for the first time you were frightened of your husband.  His tone was lethal, words sharp, as his jaw was set, “I would’ve thought you could at least do that when you tell me––”

You took a step backward, “Tell you what?”

For a second the animosity he held in his eyes fell and was replaced with desperation, “Don’t,” his voice cracked for the second time as he sniffled, “Don’t make me say it.”

While you felt your heartbreak at the hopelessness in his tone, he sounded exactly how you felt on the inside.

“Shawn,” you said his name carefully, afraid that if you said one wrong word he would explode like a time bomb, “I––I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a scoff, “Okay, then,” he crossed his arms over his chest and sent you a glare so strong it felt like you were slammed into the wall behind you, “Go on.”

You knew this was something important you had to share with him.  He’s your husband, you thought to yourself, he’s here to protect you––to keep you safe––you should tell him.  But everything about him seemed off.  His stance was guarded, arms stiffly crossed over his chest, as he coldly stared at you.  

“Um, well,” you nervously twisted your sweaty hands together in front of you, “When you were on tour there was this…guy,” you shuddered at the thought of Ethan, ‘And he––There was a situation––”

“Just fucking say it,” He sounded tired, but his words were still powerful, “Fucking say it and then we can be done.”

His words felt like a dagger piercing your chest.  All of the oxygen left your lungs as you were left breathless, hand pressed against your chest to shield you in any way from his dismissive tone, “What?” You gasped out, “Be done with what?”

“You know.”

“I don’t––”

“You,” his hand reached into his over the shoulder travel bag and pulled out a magazine, “Know.” His voice was laced with venom as he threw the magazine at the floor in front of you, “You fucking know.”

Gently, you bent down and picked up the edgeworn magazine, and it automatically opened up to an article.  The pages looked crinkled as if someone had read these pages until they had the words memorized. The top right edge of the glossy paper looked like it had been folded over repeatedly. And you didn’t miss the tear stains that smudged some of the inked words.

You read the bold headline––Trouble In Canada–-over a few times before your eyes darted around the two page spread that contained an article and blurry pictures of you with Ethan; specifically on the last day of class where you were pressed up against him.  The angle of the picture made you look guilty of an act that you never thought of committing against your husband.  Your breath, along with your heart, stopped beating as you glanced up at Shawn before skimming the article.

He misses Y/n––Below, pictures of Y/n and a mystery man have appeared––Everyone around him knows how much he loves his wife––Noticable changed––It’s not going to end well.

It’s not going to end well.

You clenched the magazine in your hand, “Who’s the source?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?!” Shawn let out a laugh, “Not that I had to find out through my mother texting me a link to an article about how my wife was having an affair?!”

Your eyes widened as the magazine dropped to the ground.  

An affair.  He thought you had an affair.

Your eyes darted back to Shawn’s hands.  He nervously rubbed his thumb along the underside of the finger where his wedding band used to take up space.  He thought you were having an affair with a person who made your skin crawl.

“Who––”

“Does it matter?!” He threw his hands up as he yelled before his voice quieted down, repeating the question under his breath, “Does it matter?”

You shook your head rapidly as you walked forward, wanting to reassure him that the article had it all wrong, “Shawn, that’s not––It’s a shitty tabloid, Ethan isn’t––”

“Don’t,” You stopped walking forward and started walking backward as Shawn angrily pointed a finger at you, words laced with malice, “Say his name.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, chest heaving up and down as your worst nightmare was slowly starting to become a reality, “He’s not––That isn’t––Those pictures are not what it looks like.”

“They seem pretty self-explanatory,” His voice fell in sadness, “I would wait hours to call you––”

“Shawn, listen––”

“Hours,” he cut you off, bottom lip quivering, “to hear about your day.  I would wait hours to hear your voice calm me down because touring is stressful and you were the only person who was capable of calming me down––”

“Were?”

“––Only to find out that you’ve been running around with someone else!”

“You stopped picking up my calls!” Your voice was pleading with him, “I stayed up for hours at night wondering what I did––”

“You were having an affair!” He matched the volume of your yells, “Why would I want to talk to you?!”

He wasn’t listening to you.  It seemed as if he was so caught up in the narrative he created in his head that he didn’t want to listen to you.  He thought it was better to believe the heartbreak of you running into another person’s arms while he was the one who was left in the dust.

“Were you that lonely,” Shawn narrowed his eyes, voice gravelly low, “That you went to someone else? Christ––We have the money that you could’ve used to come out and see me! Or have you had enough of me?”

“Do you even hear yourself––”

“Was being married to me too much?” He let out a sarcastic laugh, “After years together, you can’t even handle a single year of marriage. What ever happened to for better or for worse––”

“I didn’t have an affair!”

You stomped your foot on the ground as if you were a little girl throwing a tantrum.  Your voice was high, throat scratchy from trying to hold back your tears as Shawn threw countless accusations your way.  But when Shawn accused you of making a mockery of your wedding vows to him, that’s when he crossed the line.

The room was silent, your words ringing through the apartment just as loud as the ringing in your ears.  Shawn looked shocked, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide at your outburst.  Never once had you screamed about something so desperately.  But this was your marriage.  This was your marriage to the person you thought would love and trust you until the end of your life.  And you thought he would love and trust you until the end of his life.

“I didn’t,” your bottom lip trembled as you sucked in a breath, a few tears leaking from your eyes, “I would never,” you hastily wiped away the falling tears on your cheek with the heel of your palm, “Do you honestly think that little of me?”

Shawn opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  His cruel words still floated around in the air.  After all the love songs he wrote about you not once did you think he was capable of saying words as degrading as the ones he yelled at your face.

“That guy,” you closed your eyes and brought your hands up to your forehead, trying to subdue the raging pain in your forehead from all the yelling, “Was the cooking instructor Jessie and I had for our cooking lessons.”

“I don’t want to know––”

“He,” you cut Shawn off before he could find another way to belittle your feelings, “Wasn’t very…helpful as a teacher.” You bit the inside of your cheek, mirroring Shawn’s position and crossing your arms across your chest as you bounced your leg, “Sometimes he would––”

“God,” the pain in Shawn’s voice struck a chord with you, “Do you really think I want to know what you two did together?!”

You stood there frozen, not being able to wrap your head around the situation you found yourself in with Shawn, as the two of you looked into each other’s eyes with opposite emotions.  

Your eyes were wide as they overflowed with desperation, terrified that your marriage was about to come to an end; they poured over with hurt from the devastating allegations Shawn proposed.

Shawn’s eyes were narrowed at you as they seethed with aggression, on the edge of becoming unhinged at the thought of someone stealing the love of his life right under his nose; they overflowed with untrust.  

But both of your eyes were both filled to the brim with love, not understanding how the person they vowed to love and to treasure for the rest of their lives, could hurt the other so viciously and carelessly.

“He––I’m your wife, Shawn,” you choked on a sob, “I’m your wife and you’re not listening to me!”

“You haven’t said anything!” His eyes were red as he cried right back at you.

“How am I supposed to tell my husband that another man made me feel uncomfortable when he’s accusing me of sleeping with them?!”

Shawn looked like he had more hatred to spew planned out in his head, but once the truth to your story came out, he was at a loss for words.  His shoulders dropped as fast as his face and an audible noise escaped his throat.  

A new wave of tears threatened to spill over as he looked at you, “That’s––What did––What?”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head as your eyes refocused on the lack of his wedding band on his finger.  You toyed with the diamond of your engagement ring, “But apparently I had an affair.”

Since the first time he had come back, Shawn was silent.  He was as silent as the moment he walked through the door and said words that shattered your world; we need to talk.  

He was as silent as the day of your wedding, speechless as you walked down the aisle more than ready to spend the rest of your life with him; I love you, he had said through tears, I’ll love you with all my heart until my last breath.

And as you stood in front of him, at a loss of words for yourself, you still wanted him to love you even after accusing you of the most heinous act in a marriage.

Another pregnant pause; your teeth clattered together as you failed to hold back your cries while Shawn’s fists shook at his sides.

Wordlessly, you brushed past him and picked your phone off the counter rushing to the door.  You threw on your converse, only having time to tuck the laces under the tongue, not wanting to spend anymore time in Shawn’s presence.  It felt as if the walls of your marriage was collapsing -––Your lungs were collapsing as you felt sobs blocking your airway––And with each step you took further away from Shawn, you felt your world crumble a little bit more.

You plucked a random jacket from the coat rack and before you even registered Shawn trying to call out your name, you slammed the door shut.  You dug your hands deep in the pockets as the brisk Toronto air hit your face.

Your rings were burning a hole into your skin.

A twenty minute walk on the streets of Toronto would normally relax you, but normally your hand would be hooked around Shawn’s arm as the two of you laughed on your way to a restaurant.  The streets were tainted with memories of him as you rounded the corner of a familiar street.

“Y/n?”

You sniffled as you spoke into the callbox, “Hey–Jessie? Can––Could you buzz me–me–In?”

The sound of the door unlocking brought more comfort to you than your husband had in the past month.

Not being able to stand still in an elevator by yourself, you opted to walk up six flights of stairs.  You had spent countless days at Jessie’s apartment whenever Shawn was away on tour; from when you first started seeing each other, toward the end of his Illuminate Tour, you had spent countless nights sleeping over at her cozy Toronto apartment.  The two of you would stay up late with ice-cream as you scoured every update account to get a glimpse of the boy who would text you after every show saying how he wished you were with him.

You knocked once on the door before it swung open to show a confused Jessie in a bathrobe and facemask, she tilted her head, “Lover’s quarrel?”

You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, but no amount of muffling could cover up the sound of your uncontrollable cries of grief.  Jessie’s eyes widened as she ushered you into her apartment and quickly shut the door as you fell into her arms before she turned the lock of the deadbolt with a soft click.

You stood in the entryway of her apartment, staining your best friend’s shirt with tears, as you gripped onto the back of her shirt for dear life.  Because the lifeline you normally had in your husband was thrown overboard.

Forming a coherent sentence was impossible with the sobs that tore through your chest.  You tried your hardest to say that; no, this wasn’t just a lover’s quarrel, it was something bigger.  It was something bigger than Jessie realized until she was able to decode a sentence that you kept repeating out loud until it became as familiar to you as a prayer.

He doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.

///

A few days had passed since you hastily made an exit from your apartment.  You thought the sinking feeling would leave once you were away from your husband’s presence, but instead, your heart only ached more.

Shawn didn’t have much time left in Canada before he had to head back on the road, and it caused your chest to tighten up every time you thought of him leaving you again.

But why did it matter; you thought to yourself as you were wrapped up in a blanket, knees tucked up to your chest as you leaned on the far side on Jessie’s couch.  Your hands cradled the lukewarm tea, it being the only thing that gave you warmth, he doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.

You’ve only moved from your position on the couch to go walk to the bathroom, your socks gliding on the hardwood floor because you didn’t have the energy to pick up your feet.  

It was lunch time, and just like all other three meals throughout the day, Jessie brought over the meal she prepared you and softly placed it on the coffee table with a meek smile and somber eyes, “Tomato soup.”

You nodded your head and glanced at the soup in the yellow bowl.  You took another sip of your tea.

“Y/n,” Jessie breathed out your name, trying to get your attention, as she knelt down in front of you.  But you continued to stare past her shoulder, eyes focusing on the window as the pitter patter of rain softly hit the glass

She repeated your name once more, a comforting hand on your knee, but you slowly shook your head with a wobble of your chin.  The only time you had spoken to Jessie was when you first arrived at her place and fell into her arms as you sobbed about your ruined marriage.

You were silent, just like Shawn’s communication with you since you fled your home.  

He came home without wearing his wedding ring.

Your hands tighten around your mug, tea now cold, as you bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted something metallic.  You had no verbal answer for her, just a shake of your head as you held your breath, trying to rid yourself of the lump in your throat.

The all too familiar sting behind your eyes crept back like an old friend.  You shut your eyes tight as you gasped out for a breath.

“He’s going to divorce me, Jess.”

Her hand on your knee fell limp as you brought a hand up to cover the choked sob that escaped past your lips, “I love him so much and he’s gonna divorce––”

“He would never do that to you,” Jessie’s voice was confident, something you hadn’t felt about yourself, or your marriage, in months, “He wouldn’t even dream of that.”

You removed your hand from your mouth, a gut wrenching sob shattering through your chest as you tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “You didn’t see him––The––The things he said to me,” Jessie took the mug form your hands as you wrapped your arms around your bent legs, tucking your head into your knees, “I’m so scared.”

It was a whisper, but the despair in your voice was not lost on your best friend.  

“I––” Jessie didn’t know how she felt.  She knew she felt her own heart breaking for her best friend––for Shawn as well––because she had been there with them since the start of their relationship.  She was the one who introduced you two. But she also felt anger, a betrayal, deep within her bones that made her blood boil, “––I need to pick up groceries.”

Jessie didn’t want to leave her best friend, but she wanted to pay a visit to the man who broke his promise––to cherish you forever––to her best friend.

She reluctantly stood up, staring down at you with tears in her own eyes, as you kept your head buried between your knees and the blanket.  She knelt down to press a featherlight kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “get some rest.”

She didn’t know if you would listen to her, but she noticed the exhaustion behind the heartbreak in your eyes.  And with a slight nod, you agreed that you needed sleep, readjusted your position on the couch and tried to keep your eyes shut tight so as to not let any more tears stain the blanket.

Once Jessie was positive you were asleep, she slipped on her sneakers and left her place without a jacket.  She needed the cold Canadian air to cool down the heat she felt in her body for being so angry.

The twenty minutes it would normally take her to walk to your apartment took her only thirteen minutes.  Jessie breezed through the lobby, impatiently tapped her foot as she rode the elevator up, and harshly knocked on the door until it was opened by a wide eye Shawn.

“Y/n?” Shawn asked desperately before he even registered who was at the door.

Jessie rolled her eyes and pushed past him, “Do you think she would knock on her own door?”  She scoffed as she looked around the apartment; pillows thrown astray, dishes piled up in the sink, and ruffled blankets on the couch telling her that he hasn’t been sleeping in their bed, “What the hell is your problem?!”

Shawn didn’t register her question as he continued to stare out the door, looking up and down the hallway.  Jessie knew exactly who he was waiting for, and with a sigh, she softened her voice, “She’s not with me.”

His head whipped back to Jessie as if he forgot she was there, “She––Are you––Has she been staying with you?”

All the anger came flooding back into her system as she narrowed her eyes at his question, “You would know if you tried calling her.”

He slowly closed the door and leaned up against it with a defeated sigh, “I knew she didn’t want to hear from me––”

“Are you kidding?” Jessie clenched her fists at her sides in anger, “You were the only person she wanted to hear from.”  

Shawn closed his eyes and rubbed the corners of them, not knowing what to say in response.  Jessie knew she didn’t have to tell him how terrible he acted toward his wife, she could see it with every defeated slump of his shoulders, the way their usually neat apartment was a mess, and his bloodshot eyes.

“How is she?”

Jessie rolled her eyes again, ignoring his question because she knew that he already knew the answer to it, “You have some nerve coming home to her without your ring.”

Shawn’s melancholy composure dropped and she saw his eyes narrow in irritation, “How else was I supposed to react?”  He let out a bitter laugh, “A whole magazine spread came out showing my wife with another man––”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Jessie walked up to him and poked his chest hard, “What happened to you always telling her not to believe everything she read in the papers about you? Every time you were seen with a different girl, every rumor of ‘sparks flying’ after you sang a duet with a different girl––What about everything she had to put up with with you?””

“That’s different because she knew those weren’t true––”

“So what about this?!” Jessie blew up and threw her hands in the air, “This is no different.  This is the first time she’s been caught up in something like this.”

“She was jumpy the last time I spoke to her on the phone!” Shawn defended himself, “She sounded like she didn’t want me to come home and after I saw those pictures,” Shawn swallowed as he looked down at the floor.  He felt his stomach drop as if he remembered the moment his mother texted him a link to the article.

“Everything just made sense,” Shawn whispered as he shook his head.

There was silence between the two of them for a moment before Jessie spat out, “That’s a weak excuse,” and Shawn raised his head up, eyebrows pulled together, “Did you forget what’s written on the inside of your ring?”

Shawn looked down in shame and shook his head.  He knew exactly what was written on the inside of his ring––with your handwriting––and the same thing was written on the inside of your ring; with his handwriting.

With all my heart.

Out of habit, Shawn brought his fingers to touch his ring finger.  But unlike all the other times the tips of his fingers would softly brush against the ring finger on his left hand in remembrance to you, he didn’t feel the cool metal of his ring.  Just his bare finger.

“How could you?” Jessie’s voice was barely above a whisper.  Shawn wasn’t her husband, so she couldn’t even comprehend the amount of betrayal you felt, but with being his friend since he was thirteen, she was at a loss of words, “For as long as I’ve known you…I’ve never been more disappointed in you in my life.”

Shawn ran a hand through his hair, “Jess––“

Jessie shook her head, “She always let you explain yourself––Most times she didn’t even think twice if you were out with someone else––Because she trusted you.”  Shawn nodded solemnly, “But you didn’t give her the same respect.”

“I know.”

Without sparing his feelings, because Jessie didn’t think he deserved any sympathy, she said words that knew would cut Shawn to his core, “She thinks you’re going to divorce her.”

His mouth dropped, all expressions of guilt left his face, as he stared at his friend.  He didn’t even know what he was feeling.  All he knew was that he swore his heart stopped beating and that the ringing in his ears was becoming relentless.

“She––Why would––That never––“ his hands started shaking, as he felt his eyes well up with tears, because he never wanted to picture his life without you.  His voice cracked, “Divorce?”

With a sharp nod, Jessie crossed her arms over her chest, “Well, when your husband comes home without his wedding ring on, what other conclusion is she going to come to?”

Shawn shook his head, “That wasn’t my––“

“You took your ring off,” Jessie’s eyes looked at his ring finger, noticing a sliver of his finger a share lighter than the rest of his skin tone, “I’m not married, but I know you’re not supposed to do that if you love your spouse.”

“I do love her,” Shawn spoke angrily.

Jessie tapped her foot, “I’m not leaving until you put your ring back on.”  She watched as he dug his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and pulled out a golden band.  She smiled as Shawn slipped it back into place, “You two need to talk,” she said as if it was the easiest thing in the world, “You need to listen to her because there’s more to those pictures.”

Shawn nodded his head, like he was a kid listening to his mom telling him to clean his room.  He knew they needed to talk, he knew that he messed up, but he was also terrified of what you were going to say to him.  He had never thought of divorcing you, but if the thought was swirling around in your mind…Would you want to divorce him?

“I have to run some errands,” Jessie smiled at the ring that was back in its place on his finger, “I’ll be gone for about an hour–––“

Before Jessie could finish her sentence, Shawn turned around on his heel, running to the front door to fling it open.  She heard his footsteps race down the hall and smiled to herself even more.  

Shawn was lucky that she knew where their spare key was hidden so she could lock up behind her.

///

You knew Jessie waited until she thought you were asleep to leave to pick up groceries.  So you tried your hardest to fake your rest, and when you heard the door softly close behind her, you opened your eyes and continued to stare out the window.  You didn’t have a lot of motivation, sometimes just thinking was too much energy, so you only tried to focus on the sounds of rain hitting the window and the low rumble of thunder you heard.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that for, but you started to get thirsty, and without Jessie here to refill your tea, you had no choice but to make yourself a cup.  Begrudgingly, you sat up, keeping the blanket wrapped around you like a cape, and made your way into the kitchen.  Filling the tea kettle up with water, you placed it on the stove.  Picking at the hangnails on your fingers, you lifted your head up when heard the door abruptly open.

Even if it had been Jessie returning with groceries, you still would have stayed mute upon her re-entry, and when your eyes landed on the person you least expected to see, you still stayed quiet.

He was out of breath, cheeks flushed red as his chest heaved, but you didn’t say a word to him.  You only listened to the low rumble of water boiling in the tea kettle.

He didn’t say anything either.  He was trying to communicate with his eyes; wide and hopeful that you would forgive him for being an idiot.  But you stared at him with a blank expression.

“Did you run here?”

Shawn nodded as he exhaled, “I––Jessie said you were here.”

You quirked an eyebrow, and pulled the blanket tighter around your body.  Not saying anything in response, you diverted your eyes down to the white kettle.

As you stood in the kitchen with your husband, you had never felt more uncomfortable in your life.  You never thought there would be a time you didn’t feel comfortable in his presence, just seeing him through FaceTime would be enough to make you smile; but as you stood in front of him for the first time since you saw him without his ring, you didn’t want to see him.

Your eyes were focused hard on the kettle, channeling all of your anger to the boiling water, “Thought the next time I would hear from you was going to be with Brian serving me divorce papers.”

It was a low blow, and you heard the sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t care.  He made you feel like hell for the past month of him ignoring you and then blowing up in your face, not giving yourself a chance to explain your situation to him.

“I would never––You know I would never do that.”

“Do I?” You bit your bottom lip, “I never thought you’d take off your ring.”

That cut Shawn off from saying whatever he planned because you had a point.  He never thought he would take off his ring, but he did.  He took it off, and at the time, he didn’t understand the consequences that would come with it when he returned to you.  He thought he knew everything by just looking at those pictures.  He thought the marriage was over before he stepped foot back into your home.

Hastily, Shawn lifted his left hand, the gold ring was dull under the kitchen lights, “I put–––“ he stopped talking when he saw you lightly touch the kettle with your left hand.  You only brought your hand out of the blanket for half a second, but that half a second was more than enough time for him to realize what the worst sight in the world was, “Your––You took off your rings.”

You retracted your hand back into the blanket and glared at him, “I wasn’t the first.”

“That’s not fair,” Shawn’s words were cold, “There was proof that you could’ve been––”

“Could’ve been what?” You reached up into the cabinet to grab a tea bag, “Cheating on you? Unfaithful? In a relationship with another man––”

“Stop!” He yelled as he pressed his palms against his head, eyes shut tight.  He’d been tortured with the thought of you being with someone else while he was away, he didn’t want to imagine it even more, “Jessie told me that it wasn’t fair to not let you––”

“Oh, so you listened to her and not me?” You shot back at him, forgetting about your tea. “Should I be worried about that?  Hm?  You and Jessie––”

“Now you’re just being over dramatic,” Shawn rolled his eyes.

You felt the anger bubble up in the pit of your stomach like the tea that started to lowly whistle, “No,” you raised your voice to match his, “being over dramatic was taking off your fucking ring––”

“I put it back on!” Shawn yelled as he held up his hand again, pointing to the ring on his finger, “I put it back on for you––”

“That’s rich,” you laughed out, “Because if you hadn’t dodged my calls you wouldn’t have taken it off in the first place.”

He clenched his jaw, “Well, if you didn’t sound like you didn’t want me to come home we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“If I…” Your voice cracked as you thought back to all the times Ethan made advances on you, where he made you feel uncomfortable, and it was as if you were transported to your last lesson.

With a deep breath, all anger you felt towards your husband disappeared.  You were now more sad than anything else.  Sad that he wasn’t taking time to listen about how those pictures came about.

You repeated yourself with a sniffle, “If I…” you had to pause again, feeling your throat close up because if he wasn’t taking the time to listen for the second time around, would he ever listen to anything?  

“I didn’t know how to tell you about him––How––How uncomfortable he made me feel––”

The rigidness behind his voice cut you off, “I’m your husband, you can come to me with anything, and if he made you uncomfortable, why didn’t you just change instructors?”

“Why didn’t I––What?” The shakiness of your voice was covered up by the tea kettle that was now whistling out of control, “Change instructors––He––Do you even care what he did?”

“That’s not the––”

You brought your left hand up to cover your mouth, you had cried too many times in front of him and you were tired of him not listening to you, “Leave.”

Shawn shook his head, “Y/n, I’m not leaving––”

You felt your chin wobble as you shook your head, vision starting to cloud from the build up of tears in your eyes, “Go––I––I want you to leave.”

He took a step forward, reaching a hand out to comfort you, but the last thing you wanted was for him to comfort you.  

Noticing you recoiling from his touch, he reached over to turn the stove off and poured the hot water into the mug, “I don’t––I’m not home for much longer,” his voice was desperate as he set the kettle back down on the stove top, “I’m home for three more days––Don’t––Please come home.”

You shook your head, “I don’t––You––Leave.”

He stood firmly in place, “Not without you––”

“Go!” You shouted through your tears as you pointed at the door, “I can’t be around you-–you.”  Shawn continued to shake his head, his eyes filling up with tears as you pleaded with him to leave you alone.  

Your next words were cruel, you were taking advantage of how scared he was to lose you, but that didn’t matter to you.  All you wanted was to be alone.

“If you don’t leave now,” your voice had softened but the edge was still there as tears continued to run down your face, “I don’t know what that’ll mean for our marriage.”

He didn’t move an inch, challenging your words, but you kept eye contact with him.  You wanted him to know that you were serious––serious about how him not leaving would be detrimental to your marriage––But in all honesty, you were bluffing.  You didn’t want your marriage to end as much as he didn’t.  But right now…You couldn’t be in the same room as the man you married.

His eyes were wide, not believing the ultimatum you gave him, but he didn’t want to lose you forever.  He took a step toward you, but when you shut your eyes at his movement, his heart broke and he knew the best thing to do was give you what you wanted.  And that was space.  

Your eyes stayed shut as you heard his footsteps grow further away.  You finally opened your eyes when you heard the door close.  Even with how you continuously cried for days, your eyes were not out of tears.

 You felt a new wave of sobs take over your body as you sat on the kitchen floor crying your eyes out with your tea abandoned on the counter.

///

You didn’t go back home and Shawn left for tour again.  

He would be gone for two months until he got the chance to return home to Canada.  It might’ve been selfish of you to ignore his plea for you to return home to him, it would no doubt cause him more stress than usual on tour, but for your sanity you knew returning home would only cause another argument.

You stayed with Jessie for a week longer before coming to the conclusion that you needed to return home.  While your home wouldn’t be complete until Shawn returned, you needed to be back in that space.

Walking into the home for the first time in a few weeks was strange.  It was eerily quiet, but everything looked in place, if not more clean than what you were used to.  Jessie told you that she had seen dishes stacked up in the sink among other things thrown around, so you were glad Shawn had the decency to clean up before he left.

Standing in the doorway, you looked at the bay window you sat in when Shawn returned home that afternoon.  And like a movie, it was as if you could see the whole fight play out; Shawn throwing the tabloid at your feet and then screaming at one another.  The vile words he said to you still hurt to think about, so you looked away from the window that made you fall in love with the apartment.

You slowly walked further into the apartment and everything you saw held a memory.  In the kitchen you saw Shawn trying to distract you from cooking as he did a terrible dance.  In the living room, you saw the couch and thought about the countless times you’d fallen asleep on each other in the middle of a movie.  And in the corner, where there was a little bookshelf and chairs to relax in, you saw yourself reading a book as Shawn sat in the chair opposite of you, trying to perfect a song’s chorus.

Everything coming back in waves was too much, but only a few tears leaked from your eyes.  Most of the memories that came back to you were happy.  They were full of laughter and smiles––Just like how your marriage had been.  They always say how the first fight is the worst, but you didn’t think it could get any worse than this.

Finding yourself in your bedroom, you flicked the lights on, and immediately changed into sweatpants and one of Shawn's shirts.  Part of you wished you returned home before he left, but you knew you weren’t emotionally ready for that.  So you opted for one of his t-shirts to bring you his comfort as he was halfway across the world from you.

You peeled back the covers on his side of the bed, slowly getting under, and bringing the sheets up to your chin.  You buried your head into his pillow and that’s when you lost it.  What if by being selfish and not coming home you had wrecked your marriage? You were both angry, but Shawn took a lot of things to heart, and there was no doubt you knew he felt absolutely crushed that you didn’t return home.

As if he knew you were thinking of him, your phone rang, and you saw the ridiculous selfie he took on your phone when he was nineteen.  You wanted to swipe and answer the call.  You wanted to hear his voice.  But you were scared that he would actually confirm your worst fears and say that your marriage was over.

You screened the call, and right when you were about to put your phone down and cry into his pillow more, his contact picture lit up your screen again.

With a shaky breath, you tried your best to push all your fears down as you answered the call, “Sh––Shawn?”

“Y/n,” he breathed out your name with a sigh of relief, “I––I’m so glad you picked up.”

You nodded your head against the pillow and whimpered, “I––Yeah––I––Sh––Shawn––I––”

“Please don’t leave me,” he shakily breathed out the sentence in one breath, “I don’t know––I––” You could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m such an asshole and this––You––I love you and I can’t––” You heard an ugly sob from the other end of the phone as he whispered out the best he could, “Please––please don’t leave me.”

You felt all of your fears disappear as you let out a little cry of relief, “I love you too.”

“We––We can talk––You can talk,” he corrected himself and it caused you to laugh a little, “When I get home?”

You nodded your head and for the first time, in a long time, you smiled, “I’ll be waiting.”

///

Nearly two months later, you were making yourself a cup of tea as you awaited Shawn’s arrival.  Even though the two of you talked almost every night, conversation was still strained with how you last saw each other; you shouting at him to leave threatening that your marriage could be over if he didn’t.  It was a heavy note to leave off on, but the two of you brushed it under the rug as you would recount what you did during your day and he told you about the show he had performed.

You were nervous––more nervous than you were on your first date with him––but you tried to push those feelings away.  He was your husband.  You both loved each other endlessly.  And it did ease your anxiety a bit knowing that your marriage wasn’t going to end after this conversation.

The sound of a key unlocking your door caused your heart rate to spike as you threw away your tea bag.  He was home and it was time to really talk.

Much like the ill fated day he came home without his ring, he rolled in a small carry-on suitcase and had a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.  The first thing your eyes went to was his left hand, and even though you had seen it in every picture of him performing on stage, it still brought a smile to your face seeing it on his hand.  While his left sock was raised higher than the right sock, and his t-shirt was still wrinkled, you noticed his hair was a little shorter.

“Did you get a haircut?”

Shawn dropped his duffle bag with a smile as he rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, “Do you like it?”  

You nodded your head with a smile as you passed him a freshly made cup of tea as your hands circled your own cup, “Your curls look more tame.”

Shawn laughed into his tea before he took a sip and placed the mug down.  He exhaled a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the sides of the mug like he was playing piano, and gave you a worrisome look, “Can I––Can I hug you?”

Your shoulders dropped at how uncertain he sounded.  But then again, it had been months since you last touched him.  The last time you touched him was before he left for tour the first time; before he took off his ring.

“Yeah,” you croaked out with a nod.

Within a matter of seconds, Shawn’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, hugging you like it was one of his last moments on Earth.  You circled your arms around his waist and your body was immediately flooded with the warmth of his chest.  It had been so long since you had any form of physical contact with him that you almost forgot what a simple hug felt like.

And it was something you never wanted to go months without again.

Shawn pressed a kiss to the top of your head, which made you feel giddy on the inside, before he slightly pulled away, “I––I won’t say a thing,” he whispered as he rubbed his hands up and down your back, “But I think we need to talk.”

The giddiness you felt dissipated and your insides now felt queasy.  You wanted to forget that the past few months had happened.  You tried your best to block it from your memory, but Shawn was right, you needed to talk in order to move forward in your marriage.

So you talked and Shawn didn’t utter a single word.  You explained how Jessie thought cooking lessons would be a good idea to distract you from missing Shawn, how the advances Ethan first made were a joke here and there, but then he started paying more attention to you.  He became hyperfixtated on the way you cut vegetables and how––If you change this and follow me, he would say before lightly touching you and directing your hand movements, you’ll have what you need––trying to add a double meaning to his words.

You could see Shawn’s jaw clench a few times as his knuckles would turn white from how tight he was holding the mug.  While you knew he didn’t like what he was hearing, you were appreciative that he was listening instead of arguing with you like the last time.

“And um––Yeah––So That’s––Yeah.”  You rambled off as you went to touch your wrist that Ethan harshly grabbed a few months ago.  And even though the grease burns on your back were healed, you still felt the itch of them as if they happened yesterday.

After a brief moment of silence, Shawn closed his eyes and let an aggravated breath out through his nostrils, “He…He touched you.”

You nodded your head as you took a sip of your tea, wanting to delay any sort of response for as long as you could, “Yeah,” But with his eyes staring into yours, you knew he wasn’t going to let you skip over any detail, “Those, um––That picture in the magazine…That’s when the grease spilled on my back.”

Shawn rubbed his hands over his eyes, he was no doubt exhausted from traveling, and it probably didn’t do him any good hearing this story, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

What was different than before the times you tried to talk to him about this, his voice wasn’t accusatory;  It was careful.  Careful in the sense that he didn’t want you to think he was upset with you.  Because the situation wasn’t your fault and he knew that.  

“You’re already so stressed with your job,” you looked down into your empty mug, “I didn’t want to add any stress.”

Shawn reached his hand across the counter and unwrapped one of your hands from your mug.  He laced your fingers together and held your hand tightly, “I’m your husband,” he weakly smiled at you, “The music, touring, writing––None of that is a real job––My my job to worry about you.”

While he sounded a bit defeated, you knew that he meant well.  You knew that he was only upset with himself because you were scared to go to him with something that made you uncomfortable.  He always wanted to be your person to go to whenever you felt yourself in a weird situation, and in this instance, he thought that he failed at that part of being your husband.

So you squeezed his hand back in reassurance, “I know you’re not going to forget about this,” he raised an eyebrow at you because you knew he was never going to forget this disastrous fight or forget about what Ethan did to you, “But for now, can we forget about it and take a nap?”

With a shake of his head, he let out a chuckle, “You’re right that I’m not going to forget about this,” he said as he lifted your connected hands over your mug as he pulled you out of the kitchen and down to your bedroom, “But a nap sounds fantastic.”

And for the first time in months, you walked to your bedroom with a lovesick smile on your face, trailing behind the man you fell in love with more every day you shared together.

///

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” You laughed as you tightened your hold around Shawn’s arm, “This isn’t fair!”

“It’s a surprise,” he smirked as he continued to lead the way down the streets of Toronto.  

It was a peaceful day in the capital city of Ontario.  The sun was shining, birds chirping, and you were arm-in-arm with your husband.  He had just finished the last leg of his world tour and you couldn’t be more proud of everything he accomplished.  Luckily enough, you were able to join him on tour for the last two months, and spent your first wedding anniversary in Napa, California the day before his show in Sacramento.

It was definitely an ideal way to spend your first year married to Shawn––drinking wine––And everyone congratulated you on getting through what was dubbed to be the “hardest” year of marriage.  That was the understatement of the century. And both you and Shawn would always brush off everyone joking about it because they didn’t know how hard of a year it really was.  

The whole debacle with the tabloid magazine was mostly swept under the rug, and you just told your families and the people on Shawn’s team he was closest to, that it was just a misunderstanding; A tabloid that took things way out of proportion. The only people who really knew how devastating the year had been was you, Shawn, and Jessie.

Sometimes there would be a thought in the back of your head about how detrimental another fight like that could be to your marriage.  But you always tried to shut those thoughts down as soon as possible and just focus on the good things in your life.  And right now, that was Shawn leading you to a surprise location, because he thought the two of you needed another anniversary celebration.  

“I––I’ll…” Your voice trailed off as you walked down the familiar strip of shops, “After you’ve fallen asleep, I’ll take your socks off.”

Shawn threw his head back in laughter at your poor attempt to get him to spill the surprise, “Impossible because you always fall asleep before me.”

“Fair,” you let out a sigh, “I still think it’s weird you sleep with socks on.”

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that.”

“It’s just,” you squeezed his bicep, at a loss of words, “infuriating.”

Shawn smiled brightly down at you before quickly pressing a kiss to your cheek, “But you still married me.”

With a roll of your eyes you softly hit him in the stomach, “Yeah, yeah…” But when you turned a corner, you knew why these shops were so familiar, and you almost stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, “What are we––Shawn?”

He looked back at you with a sheepish smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“Shawn,” you hesitantly said his name again, “What're you planning?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, “You know how terrible I am in the kitchen,” he glanced back at the place where you took your cooking lessons when he was away on tour.  And for a moment, the playfulness dropped from his face as he seriously looked into your eyes, “If you’re not comfortable going back in there, we can always get coffee across the street.”

You mentally made a pros and cons list in your mind.  You hadn’t been in the place you received your cooking lessons since you stormed out of there.  And as far as you knew, Ethan still worked there, which made your skin crawl.  But you were with Shawn.  Shawn would be by your side the whole time.  And you were curious to see what he had up his sleeve.

“I mean…I’m fine with it,” your voice wavered.  He raised his eyebrows, silently asking you if you were actually fine to go back in there, because he didn’t want to push you with something you weren’t 100-percent on.  So you cleared your throat and repeated yourself, “I’m fine going in, but…I think he’s supposed to be teaching today?”

A wicked smile spread across Shawn’s face, “Three o’clock couple’s cooking class with Ethan Anguis.”

Your mouth dropped and you couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, “You did not.”

Shawn smirked, “I do believe we have to check-in in ten minutes before we lose my deposit.”

You shook your head because you could not believe how ridiculous your husband was, “Lead the way.”

With a gleam of mischief in his eyes, he smiled as he bent over with his arm stretched out as he opened the door for you.  You let out another laugh as he followed you into the familiar classroom.  You were standing behind a few other couple’s but once you heard his voice, your hand instinctively gripped onto Shawn’s tighter.

He looked down at you, again, silently asking you if you were comfortable with this.  You nodded, and before you knew it, you were face-to-face with the man who had caused your marriage to be hell for a few months.  

Ethan was looking down at the check-in book, not realizing you were in front of him, before Shawn cleared his throat, “Mr. and Mrs. Mendes.”

His head shot up as he ignored Shawn’s presence entirely and only had eyes for you.  You shifted closer into Shawn’s side as Ethan sent a smile your way, “Y/n, it’s nice to see you––”

“Do you always refer to your student’s by their first name?” Shawn didn’t hide the malice in his voice, he wanted Ethan to know that you were just a student. 

Ethan’s eyes darted to Shawn for a brief second, before his eyes flickered down to your hands clasped together, and you swore you saw him glaring at your hands before he tried to compose himself before answering Shawn’s question, “She––I’ve had her in class before.”

“Then you should be used to calling her Mrs. Mendes.”

Ethan’s eyes hardened at the protectiveness of Shawn’s words as he nodded his head once, “We’ll be at table six––”

Shawn stepped forward until his lower stomach was basically toppling over the weak wooden podium, “If you do anything to make her feel uncomfortable again,” his low and threatening voice sent a shiver down your spine as he insinuated what he had done in the past, “I swear you’ll never work in a restaurant in Toronto again.”

You noticed how Ethan’s jaw clenched as his face began to turn red.  You didn’t know if it was red out of embarrassment or anger, but you didn’t want to stick around to find out.

“We’ll be at table six,” you said as you dragged Shawn by the hand.

You made it to your table and you couldn’t help but smile up at Shawn who had a proud smirk on his face, “What are you doing?”

The two of you sat down on the barstools as you waited for everyone else to get checked in.  Shawn moved his stool closer to yours so that you could sit side-by-side, thighs touching, as he threw an arm over your shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, “Just tryna cause a little trouble.”

You rolled your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder, “I love you.”

Shawn smiled brightly down, “And I love you,” his attention was briefly pulled away when Ethan called out that the lesson would be beginning shortly.  When he returned his gaze back down to you, he smiled softly, noticing that your eyes had never left him, “With all my heart.”

taglist: @fallinallincurls @alina--jpeg @adelaidestreets @5-seconds-of-mendes @particularnarry @now-that-i-saw-u @turtoix​ @shawnsmutal @vinylmendes @mendesficsxbombay @lights-on-mendes @illuminatepotter @shawnmendez @thatkidwhodreams 

[mudhornchronicles]

dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part one

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: smoking, drinking, swearing, lewd comments, mentions of racism.

a/n: We got ourselves a series, ya’ll. I cannot wait until chapter 2. I present to you – Greaser!Frankie Morales

masterlist

You gently close the door as your mother leans over to wind down the passenger side window. “You will be fine, sweetheart. It is absolutely normal to feel nervous! It is your first day after all.”

You nod and feel your tied hair bound up and down. The white ribbon falls on your cheek and you push it back. “I understand, mother. It’s just different than my previous school, that’s all.”

“And they taught you how to be a lady, did they not? You are properly educated, unlike these individuals. Now smooth your skirt down before it wrinkles. First impression matter, correct? I will see you after school. I love you!”

You tell your mother you love her too as you smooth down your white full-circle skirt and adjust your two notebooks on your arm. You wave a goodbye to your mother and watch as she drives her 1953 pastel yellow Pontiac your father had gifted her for her birthday.

You turn and take a good look at your new school and you immediately feel out of place. The cream-colored cement building looks old, but the lawn looks taken care of. The sounds of revving engines and the smell of cigarette smoke abuse your ears and nose. You are most definitely not used to those aspects of the place. Your old school was strict about noises and smells. The only smell they wanted lingering the air was that of perfume and the sound of the girls talking about the school curriculum.

What you see here would give the mistresses a stroke. You see couples shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, students smoking on campus, hot rods racing up and down the streets, and the boys throwing such obscene comments. As you walk up the path towards the building’s entrance, your eyes fall upon a group of five boys whose comments make a chill run up your spine.

“Hey paper shakers,” one calls out. “Why don’t cha shake those pom poms over in this direction? I’ll give ya somethin’ good to cheer about!” The guys snicker to each-other as Benny jokingly thrusts at the cheerleaders. The group hollers at the cheerleaders as they shout insults at the boys and run into the school’s building. You notice that four of them continue to laugh and yell other comments at the athletes, but the fifth just looks around and appears to shy away from joining his friends.

Dressed in black jeans, a white tee, and a worn black leather jacket, Frankie tries to hide away from his brothers’ banter. He never understood why they talk to betties the way they do and then complain that they don’t have a doll around their arm. Pope seems to be the one who is a bit like him, but that’s only because he’s felt the uncomfortableness on the receiving of impudent comments. Being Latino in this town wasn’t the most welcoming while growing up. His family was always met with derogatory comments just because of their appearance. He never understood why people thought it was okay to jump his father every other night on his way back home from work. He never understood why his mother was always denied jobs because she had an accent. He never understood why he rarely had friendships that lasted because their parents said that they couldn’t hang out with the “brown boy.”

Once he grew up, he understood what the concept of racism was. When he met Santiago, or Pope as Frankie called him, he learned that Santiago’s family left his town because they were threatened and when they wouldn’t leave, their house was broken into. The pair soon became best friends and were able to fight off their bullies with each other’s help.

Frankie had never been one to initiate a fight, but he would be the one to end it. Benny was always the fighter. Whether it was his battle or not, he would always be up to throw the first punch. When they made it to freshman year, the boys decided it would be best to create a group of friends that they could lean on when times got tough and to their luck, they met the Miller brothers, Will and Benny, and Tom, also known as Redfly.

You took a deep breath and clutched your books to your chest. You slowly walked up the stairs and as you revert your eyes down to the floor as you tried not to bump into someone and walked past the group – that was until you heard “hey there doll face, where’d you come from?”

You look up to see a tall blonde, younger than the other blonde, snicker at himself and wink at you. You look around to make sure the comment was directed at you and the group laughs. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to ya sweetheart. I’m guessin’ yousa newbie?” You widen your eyes and steadily nod.

One of the brunettes steps up to you, takes his toothpick out his mouth and replaces it with a cigarette. He takes a deep inhale and blows the smoke in your face. You wave you hand in front of your face and cough as he lets out a laugh. “You that chick that escaped Saint Catherine’s?”

You shrug and nod once more, but with a grimace etched on your face. He raises his cigarette back into his mouth and puts his hand out to you for a handshake – you reciprocate the handshake.

“The name’s Tom, but you, pretty lady, can call me Redfly. Those two over there is Benny and his brother Will. This one behind me,” he points towards one of the two other brunettes, “this one’s Santiago, but call him Pope. You’re familiar with those religious names, right?” This comment earns him an eye roll from you, but it also earns him a scoff from the final member of his little clique.

Tom turns around and looks at his friend. “You trynna say somethin’, ‘Fish?” The brunette smirks and shakes his head. Tom lets out a “hmph” and nods. “This one’s Frankie. We call him Catfish because he may seem like a kicked puppy dog, but the guy can fuck someone up if he really gotta.” You nod and look over to Frankie and find that he’s already looking at you.

You notice just how right Tom was when he described Frankie as a puppy dog. Frankie’s eyes are brown deep-set eyes are captivating. His lips are pink and plush – making you want to give him a big ol’ kiss. His rugged hair calls out to your hands to run your fingers through it. You suddenly lost the ability to speak, so you resulted in clumsily wave a hello, but resulting in your books falling to the ground.

You began to kneel over to pick them up, but a hand stopped you from doing so. Frankie bent over to pick up your things, dusted them off, and handed them to you. What you didn’t see was the boys smiling at seeing their brother be dumbstruck over a girl.

You took your books back with a shy thank you to Frankie and him saying “no problem.” He caught sight of your schedule you received in the mail the day prior and smiles to himself.

“I see you have World History first. Is it with Robinson? May I?” He puts his hand out for your schedule that is taped on the front of your notebook. You pass him your blue notebook and he starts to analyze your schedule. Once he’s satisfied, he gives you back your notebook. “I have classes near yours. I can walk you if you’d like?” Before you’re given the opportunity to answer, Frankie’s friends burst out into laughing fit so loud, the students passing by look over to see the cause of the sound – looking right back to where they were when they see who it was.

“Whatcha gonna do, ‘Fish?” Will teases, “gonna take the new girl on a grand tour of the school? She don’t look the type to give it up behind the bleachers, pal.” Frankie turns red and stutters his denial of the accusation. The boys laugh at him as he nervously tugs on his leather jacket.

“I’d love if you would, Frankie. I haven’t a clue where I’m going, and I really don’t want to get lost on my first day.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s cool.” Frankie nods and stuffs his hands in his pocket.

“Ya might wanna go now, ‘Fish. Princess here ain’t gonna wanna be late,” Tom teases. Tom nudges his head towards the other side of the building. “Let’s go Bandits. Teach’ aint gon’ misses us too much. We’ll see ya in a bit, Frankie.” The boys walk away with Pope and Will giving Frankie a pack on the back with a chuckle – leaving you and Frankie alone on the steps.

“Are they not going to class? It’s the first day and they’ll make a bad impression on their first period instructor.” You ask. You wonder why the boys wouldn’t go to their homeroom, especially being the first day of class.

“They’ll get there… eventually. We can go though. I don’t wanna make ya late or anythin’.” He gestures for you to start walking in front of him, but you won’t walk until knowing something first.

“Frankie, will you be going to homeroom? They said they would see you in bit. Are you just taking me to my classroom and skipping your first period?”

Frankie gets red and shakes his head furiously. “Nah, I ain’t those idiots. My parents would flip their shit if I had to retake a year.” You smile up at him and nod. You reach out to take his arm, as your old school taught you a gentleman should, and were shocked when Frankie pulled away as you touched his arm.

“Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“I was just taking your arm, is all.” You cocked your head to the side. Every man you’d been escorted by has always given you their arm.

It was his turn to act confused. He knew exactly what you were doing and why, but he had a reputation to uphold and it wasn’t him being a gentleman. “What does that mean? Whatcha takin’ my arm for, doll?”

“Nevermind. Shall we?”

Frankie leads you into the crowded building. Students were running everywhere, and voices drowned the pair of you. He takes you to the second level of the building and leads you down the hall and taking a sharp left. You’re a bit lower than he is, but with each step, you start to really get a good luck at the back design on his jacket.

“What does Bandits mean?” Frankie turns around and by instinct, looks at the back of his jacket.

“It’s our group. Call ourselves The Bandits,” he says with “The Bandits” in air quotations.

You stifle a giggle, and he smiles showing of his dimple on his right cheek.

“Yeah, Pope came up with it. I just ran with it.”

“Do you steal?”

“Nah. Pope just thought it sounded cool. Redfly wanted the name “The Unarrestables,” but got arrested two weeks later for mailboxing 7 blocks.” You let out a loud laugh, covering your face with your notebooks, and Frankie looks over at you and smiles. He hasn’t been able to laugh the way he just did in a long time. As you share a funny story about your former mistress skirt being caught in a window, the two of share more laughs as you ultimately arrive at your homeroom’s door.

“Here we are. Room 249… World History with Lloyd Robinson. I’ll come back for you after class to take you to second period. That cool with ya?” You smile and nod. You’re a bit sad that you made it so soon, but quickly disappears when he mentions coming back for you.

“That sounds great, Catfish. Thank you very much.” He lets out a chuckle and nods at you.

“You can call me Frankie. I like the way you say it, doll.” Just as he starts to walk away, a voice makes him freeze in place and slowly turn back around.

“Mister Morales, will you not be joining us today or is your cigarette of much more importance?”

“Mister Robinson. How’s the new kid?” Frankie nervously scratches the back of his head.

“Frankie, get in this classroom or you’ll receive a failing grade starting now.” Mister Robinson gives you a warm smile in comparison to his frown towards Frankie and goes back into the classroom.

“Wait a minute. You have the same homeroom as I do? You said yours was near!”

He sighs and holds his hands up in surrender. “I guess I’ve been caught. We have the same classes, lucky you.”

“But this is AP World History.”

“Just because the guys I run with don’t give a shit, don’t mean I don’t either.”

You stand in front of him and cross your arms underneath your breasts – eyes narrowed and staring into his. “You are just full of surprises aren’t you, Frankie Morales.”

He looks deep into your eyes and smirks. He adjusts his jacket and runs a hand in his hair. He reaches for the handle and opens the door open for you. 

“Ladies first, doll.”

[sazzafraz]

whatever its free

almost all of that doc is unsalvageable as in its just my notes to self which are. uh. not a narrative

She picks her coffee up and shifts the plate aside. The paper underneath is dirt smudged and barely legible. Sakura takes a sip of her coffee and contemplates what it would like to be truly surprised by the shape of the new world. 

The paper is old, she would have been fourteen when she saw it last, and it has not aged particularly gracefully. Underneath the official Konoha header is the tight scrawl of the jounin commander and the messy script of her shishou’s hand. Underneath that is Sakura’s own handwriting. The strokes are timid and rushed, like a little girl being scolded for stealing her mother’s lipstick. Sakura wasn’t quite a child when she signed her name to the bottom of the page but she wasn’t far enough away from ribbons and cupcakes to truly understand. 

I, Haruno Sakura ID: 012601, shinobi of Konohagakure and citizen of Hi no Kuni under our Daimyo, the 23rd of his title, do solemnly swear to never reveal the details of mission 123-575-889b. I understand that in signing this oath I agree to-

Well, a lot of things. Underneath all that, in a neat box that Sakura has never once seen filled out, is a small red stamp that says Redacted.      

And to think it was going to be such a nice day. 

so the thesis of this was going to be the thin line of sakura’s duty and morality as well as what kunoichi are in terms of ‘shadow work’ (the non pagan kind) and like. the set up was after ‘history has its eye’ which i WISH i’d finished because its conceit is necessary to most of the extended ntfs universe but, here: 

danzo is taken to trial by a jury of his peers in Oto and Konoha, considering the length and breadth of his crimes Uzumaki Karin is called in to way judgement as part of a good will diplomatic gesture. concurrently tsunade is trying to keep konoha steady while wave after wave of black ops missions are being redacted and the whole shinobi world is being forced into an awkward position by the sharp difference in values between it and the civilian populace. in the past uzumaki mito deals with becoming the wife of a very famous, very powerful man who can and does skirt the necessary politicking of ninja bullshit, accidentally setting precedents that would echo forward to danzo’s trial. along with managing her brother in law, who is absolutely NOT perfecting a jutsu that raises the dead and harvesting organs to sell on the black market in between creating humane policy, and her husbands ex, who just committed treason and is slamming bijuu into each other like its a game of paddywack and is also sometimes right? infuriating

we follow these three storylines until on the second day of his trial, after it becomes clear that the cultural differences are too wide to safely gap (the shinobi look like they want to go easy on them, the civilians are setting a precedent that will be real hard to roll back) Danzo stands up and is like ‘i have the’ wisteria papers’ of most of the people in this room hmu if u want ur secrets exposed’ and everyone just loses it

hennyways our bodies possessed, the sakura fic, was about one of these redacted missions that takes place when sakura is about 14, new to her apprenticeship and a target for assassination by danzo, tsunade plays a game of keep away sending sakura on a dangerous mission in T&I which involves her learning how to do ‘honeypot’ work. she and her instructors, a multi time failure of the jounin exams and a clan member with opaque interests, journey to what will eventually become kuebiko hospital. long story short, tsunade plays a sharp hand, danzo is nearly assassinated and sakura becomes a queenpiece in espionage, her poor disposition for it aside

and the meta story was going to be me thinking about then-11 years in this fandom and all the good work and the poor about sex in the time of shinobi. i’m not gonna name names but important here: consent. i am the most boring person on earth about this but how consent both narratively and meta-narratively has been reconstructed heavily in the last nine years or so. i started reading naruto fanfic in 2005. no one warned for anything. maybe explicit content and seme/uke nonsense but apart from that? no. and while i’m not going to get on a soapbox about this, because it doesn’t matter much, a bulk of naruto fic was written before a03, which means a bulk of its trends were too. back to consent, the concept of duty to village and a shinobi way already blurs consent. did kakashi actually consent to receiving his sharingan for example, that's a life long body alteration. can you truly consent to die and kill for your country blah blah. where this intersects with sexual consent is......wide ranging. i remember how often ‘sex training’ was part of harem fics and teacher/student dynamics and while i practice a YMMV mindset i found the inclusion as a natural outcome of being a shinobi really weird? sex work is not easy. full contact sex work is not easy. you can’t exactly train for it and while there’s certainly the idea of geisha (gross western ideas) the place that they take up culturally is not synonymous with sex. the kind of sex work exemplified in these fics again, would not be something you would want a career soldier for, too many tics and nics. and i don’t really believe the market for it is going to be so large that a dedicated team makes sense. especially when a normal sex worker would probably do fine? so this weird combination being stuck together as a realistic outcome is just baffling.

so i put sakura in it. proud sakura, who wouldn’t bend to anyone. virgin sakura, who cared about her body in a way that a kunoichi shouldn’t. and finally emotionally hurt sakura having lost her whole team to outside forces in the position of having to learn intimacy and sabotage as a form of violence. it was never going to be detailed but the point was to draw lines about the body and what it does. the female body specifically. and the problem immediately became that like, she would have to be vulnerable to do it. it became an examination of what women where willing to ask other women to endure. what sakura had to construct to be able to do it. i’ve pretty much maintained my position that of team 7 sakura is the only one whose actually good at her job. i realise now that this sounds darker than it would have been. i can’t say it was all like, current day ideas of consensual but no one would have said shit in 2008.        

tldr: sex workers as information gatherers is mildly realistic, shinobi as sex workers just generally? not so much.  

[unholyobsessions]

Little Miss Perfect

Chapter One

Pairing: Reggie x fem!Reader

Description: According to everyone around you, you’re perfect. When that perfection is threatened by a failing grade, your teacher assigns a once familiar person to tutor you. (1990s fic)

Warnings: cussing

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

: Next Part>>

You have a reputation to uphold, have had to do so since you were a child. Your family is old money, traditional and proper in all aspects of life, and there is a certain way you were taught to act.

Always stand up straight. Never let anyone see you fumble. Walk with confidence. Always wear a smile. Dress properly, there’s always someone watching.

Be perfect.

And you are. Captain of the Cheerleading team, Junior Prom Queen, Straight As, loved by anyone and everyone. Guys want to date you and girls want to be you. You’ve never had to work for anything in your life.

Well, that last one is a lie.

Nobody knows what happens behind a closed door. No one knows the countless hours spent sitting on your desk, dozens of textbooks open around you and tears streaming down your face as you try to comprehend even the slightest bit of information. The ridiculously long amount of time spent in your dance studio choreographing and perfecting every cheer routine. The numerous weekends spent inside your bathroom learning how to get the perfect wing to your eyeliner and the perfectly natural shade of blush.

Having to keep up your reputation is hard, but you’ve never known anything else.

The sound of your heels clicking against the tile floor echoes throughout the school, announcing your presence to everyone in the vicinity. When you walk down the hallway, the crowd of people parts and a shimmer of guilt tugs at your heartstrings. You make it to your locker with no faults and a relieved sigh escapes your lips. You subtly tug down your skirt, feeling the hundreds of eyes on you. You fight to keep a natural smile on your face as you turn the combination of your locker. It doesn’t matter that your head is hidden by the locker door, the smile has to stay on or you would never hear the end of it from your parents.

The sound of your name being called snaps you out of your daze and you look up to see your best friend or well, whatever she was.

You grew up with Jane but you never really hung out with her until high school. Your parents are business partners so she made an acceptable presence by your side in the eyes of your parents. You don’t agree, she’s a bitch, but you still hang out with her because you’re told to do so. She’s perfectly perfect just like you, the only difference is that she actually enjoys the little bubble your families keep you in.

You roll your eyes as she immediately launches into a whispered rant about whoever dared look her in the eyes that morning. You grab your science textbook, enjoying the familiar weight that settles in your hands. Gripping the book tightly, you gently close the locker door, a large contrast from your peers, who slam it shut with their arm or shoulder absentmindedly.

You haven’t spoken a single word and Jane seems to either not notice or not care. As soon as you turn to her though, she shuts up. It confuses you a little, sure her parents were new money but that didn’t mean that you were above her. She acts sort of like a minion and you absolutely despise it but you go through with it blindly, as you do with everything.

You start walking to your class nodding your head at Jane, a signal to remind her to smile. She does and you hope yours does not look as forced as hers does.

The day goes by smoothly, lunch having been spent with the cheer squad. The smile is genuine but you only nod along to their conversation and give short replies. It’s not a rare occurrence for you to get quiet every once in a while. And when the bell rings and they all go back to class, you meet Jane by the cafeteria doors. You go your separate ways when you get to her classroom, AP Biology, and you keep walking until you reach yours, AP Calculus.

You sit stiff on the uncomfortable desk, a pencil gripped tightly in your hand. Your teacher starts the class by passing out the tests you took yesterday. You take a deep breath, hoping that the horrible feeling you had after you turned it in was wrong and that you actually did extremely well. After what feels like an eternity she finally gets to your row and sets the test down on your desk.

Your eyes widen at the paper in front of you. This can’t be right. You don’t fail, you can’t. You know math is not your strong suit and you have been struggling the past few lessons (derivatives are hard to understand, okay?) but you never expected to see the bright red F on the corner of the page. The teacher gives you a look and you know exactly what is means. Meet me after class.

At the sound of the bell, everyone rushes to get their stuff together but you take your time, waiting for everyone to exit the classroom before making your way to your teacher’s desk. You stare at the floor, unable to make eye contact with her.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve struggled in my class y/n,” you flinch at the disappointed tone, blinking away the tears welling up in your eyes. The voice of your mom echoes in your head, Don’t show weakness.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, finally looking up. “It won’t happen again.”

“You said that last time.” When you refuse to answer she sighs. “Look I know what you go through to keep an A in this class but it’s okay to need a little help sometimes.”

This time you do answer. “I don’t need help, I never have. I’ll study more and do better next time.”

“Actually I’ve already recruited a student to help you.” Your eyes widen and your start to shake your head. “He’s one of my best students and he has agreed to tutor you a few times a week.”

“Who?” As if you invoked him by asking, the door opens. You look to your side and your breath hitches when you see who it is.

The Sinclairs are old money, go farther back than your family if you’re correct. Growing up, Reginald and you were thick as thieves. You took the same etiquette classes, had the same music instructor, had to follow the same set of rules. It was comforting, having someone who knew exactly what it’s like to live your life. But the guy standing in front of you is only a shadow of the boy you once knew.

This isn’t Reginald who would come to your parent’s fancy rich people parties, wearing an uncomfortable looking suit. Reginald who drank tea at twelve and never slouched. Reginald who is classically trained in music and would never be caught dead in anything other than black polished oxfords and a crisp button down tucked neatly into a pair of slacks.  

This is Reggie who wears thrifted flannels, leather jackets, torn black jeans and worn out vans. Reggie who was kicked out and disowned for playing bass and joining a rock band. Reggie who owns a fake ID and spends his weekends playing clubs. Reggie who you haven’t spoken to since the summer before high school, when it became dangerous to associate with the likes of him.

But apparently Reggie is just as smart as Reginald and is still a math genius. Maybe shadow is not the correct word. Because Reggie shines brighter than he ever did before.

You gape at him and he looks just as surprised. Most likely not expecting you to be the person he is assigned to tutor.

“Reggie, perfect timing. I assume you know miss l/n,” your teacher breaks the silence.

Not looking away from you, Reggie answers, “Vaguely.”

You gulp and look away from him, opting to stare at the wall.

Sensing the tension the teacher clears her throat. “Well I’ll leave you guys to set up a schedule, I have a meeting to get to.”

Neither of you move as she gathers her stuff and leaves the classroom. The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence as soon as the door shuts leaving you both staring awkwardly at each other.

“You don’t have to tutor me. It’s fine really,” you say, fiddling with the rings around your fingers, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to break.

“Don’t be dumb l/n. It’s no trouble.” The words leave Reggie’s lips effortlessly, not worried about saying the wrong thing, not even thinking before speaking and it’s hard to ignore the small strike of jealousy. “How about we meet Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays at three?”

“I can’t Mondays and Wednesdays. I have cheer practice,” You say, confidence making its way back to your voice, his relaxed composure and vaguely familiar presence easing your nerves.

Reggie shrugs. “Miss it.”

“I can’t miss it Reginald, I’m captain.” You deadpan, already tired of this conversation. If it were anyone else, you would have fought to keep a smile on your face, to sound as polite as you possibly could, but being in Reggie’s presence made your walls shake, even if it was just a little bit.

“First off, it’s Reggie. Second those are the only days I can meet.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and leans back against the wall.

“Can we meet at four thirty?” You try to negotiate.

“I have band practice.”

“Miss it.” You don’t know what takes over you causing you to say something like that. You’re not sarcastic, you’re polite. You’re not sassy, you’re proper. Reggie raises his eyebrows and it looks like he’s trying not to laugh. You can practically feel the glare your parents would have given you and it terrifies you, causing you to rush out an apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as rude. I’ll move cheer practice to four thirty. We can meet at three.” You stand up straighter and your nails dig into your palms, the slight pain serving as a small punishment for your ludicrous behavior.

The amusement leaves Reggie’s eyes and he nods his head, eyes glancing down at your hands. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought there was worry in his gaze. “Cool. Meet me at the library tomorrow. I would say don’t be late but I know you’re physically incapable of it.”

And just like that, he leaves. You stand there for a minute, shocked, confused, and slightly dazed. Taking a moment to process the interaction you realize, your parents can never find out about this.

This was supposed to go up later but i’m too impatient. Hope you like it and let me know if you want to get tagged on future chapters :))