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lovelylogans · 4 years ago

Note

so idk if requests are still open for wyliwf but i’m a sucker for dee in aus and it seems like he gets a bit of redemption before the most recent oneshot. If you feel up to it, i’d love to read something on that

debutante

part of the wyliwf verse.

chapter one | next chapter

notes: this ask was sent right after odds are! look, i know i’m overlooking several of the rules of the debutante ball, but honestly, so did gilmore girls, so. source material, here. i hope this can serve as a distraction for some of you today—please go out and vote if you are able and if you haven’t already! also happy birthday logan!!!

A debutante or deb (from French: débutante, “female beginner”) is a young woman of aristocratic or upper-class family background who has reached maturity and, as a new adult, comes out into society at a formal “debut” or possibly debutante ball. Originally, the term meant the woman was old enough to be married, and part of the purpose of her coming out was to display her to eligible bachelors and their families with a view to marriage within a select circle.

or: logan wants to dismantle the cis-heteronormative patriarchy with his bare hands and teeth if necessary, roman delights in dresses, virgil fucking hates tuxedos, patton’s really proud of his son, and dee thinks those sanders’ might not be so terrible after all.

⁂

“i need a dress.”

patton blinks, glancing up from the kitchen table where he’s organizing his notes for midterms for his business degree. bright side, last set of midterms patton would ever have to take! dark side, midterms. “just, like, generally, or…?”

the slight attempt at a joke dies when he catches the look on logan’s face—clenched jaw, eyes flashing—and he sets down his papers.

“i’m coming out,” logan continues.

“kiddo, you did that when you were about eight,” patton points out. “remember? i said i loved you and i was proud of you and i’m so glad that you trusted me enough to share that moment with you and thank you for telling me, and we went and got ice cream at lucy’s, and then you tried to use the whole sentimental thing to get me to ask out virgil because you were supposed to have a positive gay role model in your life, as if us being separately gay wasn’t enough in this town whose main tourist attraction is its rich history, from the times of our founding fathers to the times of pride.”

patton’s quoting the most recent town brochure, here.

“no, dad,” logan says, and arches his eyebrows significantly. “i’m coming out.”

the double-meaning clicks in his head.

“no,” patton says, hushed—he isn’t sure if it’s in awe or horror. “like—like, debutante coming out? or, um, wait, like—like—?”

“the male equivalent is a beautillion, and no, i mean like debutante coming out,” logan says.

patton pauses, waiting, but logan says nothing, until patton says, “kiddo, either your attempts at trying to push this information into my brain via telepathy aren’t working or my brain’s too fried from midterms to catch the implications of what you’re saying, i’m gonna need more details than that.”

logan drops into the other seat at the kitchen table, huffing out a slow breath.

“you remember dee.”

“your former rival turned weird allies that are still sometimes rivals, yes,” patton says.

“who came over to our house once.”

“for the gsa poster-making thing?” patton says.

“right,” logan says, and arches his brows, waiting for patton to catch on.

“when… he mentioned he was also trans?” patton elaborates.

“right,” logan says. “i think dee’s parents are trying to out him, because they informed him of their intentions to sign him up for the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball.”

a cold feeling crawls uncomfortably in his stomach.

presenting him to society. a debutante ball. undeniably, harshly female. one of the main benefits of the timing of patton’s coming out had been so he wouldn’t have been a debutante—the very concept of doing that had given him this exact same cold, crawling feeling.

“dee gave me about five separate explanations as to why, of course, so i don’t particularly know why they’re choosing to out him now,” logan says briskly, “but i have a plan as to how that’s not going to happen.”

“you’re… going to be a debutante,” patton says slowly.

“well,” logan says, and fishes out a piece of paper from his backpack. “hopefully, not just me.”

FIGHT THE PATRIARCHY, the title screams in huge letters, then subtitled with Become a debutante or an escort today! Why should women be the only ones who have to go through this? Be a better feminist and put on a dress, if you’re a boy, or a tux, if you’re a girl, and if you fall outside of the gender binary, the choice of debutante or escort is up to you. Contact Logan Sanders for more details. there’s two copies—one blank, and one with an already modest list of names. which is probably to be expected, debutante balls were a big deal at chilton, except the usual names that would be listed under escorts are listed under debutantes, and vice versa.

“dermot, tristan, brad, henry, roger,” patton reads off, slow, and then he looks up at logan. “and madeline, lem, lisa, summer, and ivy.”

“well, it’s hardly fair that girls have to go through all this primping and glamming up just to be seen as presentable to society,” logan says briskly. “boys should come out into society, too.”

“which is your cover story,” patton says slowly, putting it together. that cold, uncomfortable feeling is turning into a warm glow that’s turning up the corners of his mouth.

“right,” logan says. “if a group of boys will show up in pretty white dresses, all very serious about their intentions of being presented to society, with their escorts of girls in tuxes, then—”

“then everyone will think dee is part of the ploy.”

“exactly,” logan says. “his secret is kept under wraps and no one has to know.”

patton leans abruptly over the table to wrap logan up in a hug.

“hey,” logan complains, but patton just squeezes a little tighter.

“you are,” he says, choked up, “such an amazing friend, kiddo.”

it sounds like something he and christopher might have done as a prank back in the day—christopher in the dress, patton in the tux—but this—this—

patton lets go of him, grinning hugely. “i am so proud of you.”

“so you’re okay with it?”

“okay with it?!” patton laughs. “you’re protecting your friend from getting outed in a way that would be very embarrassing and schooling high society about how weird it is that they still present their daughters like they’re cattle for purchase! of course i’m okay with it!”

“so, dress?” logan asks, and honestly, patton’s just about ready to grab his wallet and haul logan to the finest dress store he can find, before logan continues, “if grandma still has it, we could probably steal the one she was intending to use for you from the cellar.”

that cold feeling is back. “ah.”

logan blinks. “what?”

patton sits back down. “i forgot about your grandparents.”

“what about—?”

patton chews at his lip. “mom’s a part of the daughters of the american revolution.”

“why does that matter?” logan says, and patton sighs.

“oh, you know by now that things work differently in grandma’s world than ours,” patton says. “just—i definitely support your right to do this, but just… know that if a fight comes out of this, i will not regret it or back down, okay? i’m always on your team.”

“well, i know that,” logan says, like it’s obvious, which, fair, it probably is, or at least patton hopes so, it’s his job as a dad to be on his kid’s side. “i’ll bring it up at dinner on friday, we’ll see how it goes over then. they’re less likely to yell at me.”

“it’ll just be us and grandma, your grandpa’s in… i think copenhagen?” patton says, considering, and waves a hand. “some historical city across an ocean, anyway, and virgil’s working.”

virgil is almost always working on friday nights. it’s only partly because he owns the diner, but it’s also because, well. friday night dinners. patton doesn’t blame him for avoiding them—even with the buffer of a couple months, it’s not exactly an easy relationship between him and patton’s parents.

“well, that’ll be something,” logan says briskly, then stands. “i’m going to go put one of these sheets on sideshire high’s bulletin board.”

“good call, a ton of kids here would want to crush heteronormativity and an excuse to wear a pretty dress slash tux,” patton says. “i’m betting you’re gonna ask roman?”

logan looks like he’s trying not to flush, and he adjusts his chilton jacket. “he’s the one letting me in. he’s still there for cheer practice.”

“ahhh,” patton says, only a little teasing. “well, let me know what your plans for the afternoon are, it’ll probably be virgil’s for dinner tonight, ‘cause,” and he lifts up a sheaf of his papers for emphasis.

“isn’t it always?” logan points out, and, with that, he departs.

“my little baby, off to destroy people!” patton calls teasingly after him, grinning, so proud he feels like he’s about to burst.

“i’m destroying the cis-heteronormative patriarchy!” logan calls, and then there’s the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut.

patton’s going to take him on a trip to bookstore and he’s buying him everything he wants.

⁂

“granmè, i’m home!” dee calls, dropping his backpack at the door and hanging his bowler hat on the coat rack.

“hello, mister slange.”

“nanny,” dee acknowledges. he’d address her by her first name, if he knew it. he admires that about her; it’s something they share.

nanny soledad used to be his nanny, back when he’d needed such things; she’s from the dominican republic, which his parents thought was “close enough” to being haitian that it would be enough to help him adjust. which is accurate enough geographically, but not culturally. honestly, he’s surprised his parents even bothered to look as far as geographically.

but now he is too old for such things, and his grandmother’s memory problems are growing more and more apparent by the day, so nanny had made the transition from the ancestral slange manor to the slange family townhome, where his grandmother evelyn lives.

the townhome is a bit run-down, in comparison with the manor; no multiple wings, no murals on the ceilings, no precisely selected statues in the alcoves. instead, the townhome is a conglomeration of furniture collected by the family over the years; all of it high-quality, expensive, but almost none of it matching, with persian rugs thrown down over almost every hardwood surface, armchairs cluttering the spare corners, paintings hanging dilapidated with no rhyme or reason to their collection. it feels a bit squashed and claustrophobic, sometimes, with its dark woods and narrow hallways and secluded rooms, in comparison to the aggressively, purposefully airy nature of the manor with its open floor plan and silver accents and crisp, neutral colors.

the townhome is closer to chilton, so dee had reasoned to his parents that there was no reason to keep using too much gas to have him make the commute home every night. his parents, frankly just happy to have him out of their hair, had acquiesced swiftly.

well. they tended to like him out of their lives, until they needed him for something. until he needed to act like a doll. dee pushes those thoughts away; he’s thought about it quite enough today.

so dee and his snakes and his clothes were stationed in one guest bedroom, nanny and martha in the others, and dee would return to the ancestral home on weekends and long breaks. it would stay that way for as long as he and nanny could get away with it.

especially with the latest developments. dee suppresses a shudder at the way he’d handled himself earlier in the day, and instead turns his attention to nanny.

“where is she?”

“your grandmother’s in the greenhouse,” nanny says, then, seeing the look on his face, “not gardening, you know i would be supervising if she were.”

“the azaleas are in bloom,” dee acknowledges. “she does like the azaleas.”

“that she does,” nanny says, and falls into step beside him. “i’ve had martha gather some cuttings sent up to her room. bertie is out running errands, but he should be back in time for supper. ingrid will be in later for dinner and should be sticking to the menu, unless you have other requests. it’s lobster linguine tonight.”

“all fine,” dee says, and winces to himself at how distracted he sounds. he needs to stop thinking about it. he needs to focus on the now. the present. thinking about his parents’ ultimatum looming over his head would do no good right now.

“now, she’s taken her medicine for the afternoon and requested some tea. would you like some as well, perhaps a snack?”

“whatever she’s requested will suffice,” dee says. “thank you, nanny.”

nanny nods, and departs for the kitchen. dee continues through the house, to the backdoor, and into the greenhouse.

greenhouse is a bit of an exaggeration. it’s really more of a solarium that’s been overcrowded with pots and planters, in addition to the gardens outside. there’s floor-to-ceiling windows, and the room is overwhelmed with wicker furniture. it’s calming, in here; to say that there’s a lot of earth tones would be an understatement, and the light filters in gold and tangibly warm.

it’s the most open-air part of the house, but less like the manor; if the manor was like some renaissance painter’s imagination of heaven, all pearly white clouds and soft pastels, this was an impressionist painting’s portrait of a landscape—plants and woods and life, verdant and vibrant and vivid.

the greenhouse is also the warmest room in the house, which he’s sure is part of why it’s his grandmother’s favorite. dee’s already moving to shed his capelet and gloves; if he doesn’t, he’ll get disgustingly sweaty.

his grandmother is sitting in her favored rocking chair, seemingly not having heard him open the door. her reading glasses are perched on her nose, about to slip off, and she’s deeply absorbed in her book.

“hello, granmè,” he says in french.

that makes her look up, and she smiles at him, reaching out her hand.

“hello, my sweet,” she says warmly, and he reaches out and squeezes her hand carefully—he has an irrational fear that one day, if he forgets his strength, if he squeezes too hard, he’ll snap the delicate little bones in her frail hand easier than blinking. she switches to french. “did you have fun at school?”

he scowls, settling in the rocking chair beside hers, separate by an end table that’s teeming with books. “it’s school, grand-mère.”

“that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun,” she says. “did you learn anything interesting, at least?”

that logan sanders is just as unsurprisingly terrible at comfort that one would expect?

instead, he says, “we’re supposed to start reading sula for homework today.”

she brightens, as he knew she would—his grandmother adores all things toni morrison—and they begin talking about books, and other works by toni morrison, and their favorite parts of said books, which eats up the better part of the fifteen minutes it takes nanny to deliver the tea tray to the greenhouse.

“thank you, nanny,” evelyn says, still in french. nanny nods—she’s fluent in spanish and portuguese and english, not quite in french, but she knows enough to get by in a conversation—and withdraws from the room without a word.

dee swiftly takes the teapot before his grandmother can attempt to pour it herself—her plus a heavy pot of near-boiling water was a hospital visit waiting to happen—and switches to english, saying, “would you mind plating some of the battenburg for me, granmè?”

“as long as you have a crumpet,” she says. “you’re a growing boy, noodle.”

“yes, yes, fine,” he sighs, pretending to be put-upon at both the pet name and the insistence of somewhat healthy eating. “a crumpet too, then.”

he fixes her cup as she likes it—two sugars, a splash of cream—and trades her teacup and saucer for a plate of snacks before he works on making his own tea and she arranges her own plate. he notices that she has reached for none of the savory options, instead opting entirely for sweets.

dee hides his smirk in his tea.

they continue chit-chatting about all kinds of things as they work their way slowly through tea, a holdover from his english grandfather. even though grand-mère’s french, she’s too fond of teacakes and snacking in general to really do away with it, even nearly two decades after his passing. they talk about the azaleas (yes, they look exceptional this year) running the household (bertie was going to visit his grandchildren next week, yes he’d make sure bertie would pass on her hellos, yes he’ll manage fine without him, it’s not like nanny and martha and ingrid won’t be here) and his academics (yes, he thinks the semester’s going well.)

they talk about everything except the thing that’s weighing most heavily on his mind.

she might not know. she might not even remember.

dee pushes that thought away. once they’ve finished their tea, he excuses himself to do his homework, leaving her to her book and her admiration of the lilies, and nanny smoothly institutes herself in his chair, with the guise of a magazine to make it seem like she wasn’t supervising his grandmother.

dee picks up his capelet, gloves, and backpack on his way up to his room. back at the manor, he has a whole wing, but here he just has his room. it suffices.

he sits on the bed, briefly, in sight of the full-length, gilt-edged mirror, to sweep the capelet back around his shoulders and ensure that it’s sitting on him properly; he could probably get away with taking off his binder, as he’s home and they aren’t expecting visitors, except he very much does not want to do that right now. he pulls on his gloves, covering his vitiligo-ridden left hand first; his dermatologist swears his particular case is segmental, which typically doesn’t expand with time, but it feels like it has been.

but then again, it is just his left side affected. so. perhaps the woman who’d been to school for twelve years and was a specialist in his particular condition was right.

dee toes off his loafers, debating crossing the room and entering his walk-in closet to store them properly on the shoe rack, but decides against it—the singular item of clutter makes his room seem a little more lived-in.

it’s not that he doesn’t like his room here; they hired decorators to redo it back when his grandmother moved in and he started spending more time here, years ago, so the walls are a subtle shade of gold, with an accent wall plastered with an art-deco black-and-gold theme was behind his bed. his bed is massive and plush. everywhere he looks, things are black, gold, and white, in that order of frequency.

it’s just not very… well. lived-in.

his room at the manor house is worse, though. just about the only thing he likes there is the aesthetic of the gold. the chandelier and tufted wall and personal tv and absurdist decor that screamed “this is too expensive for you to even look at!” he could do without.

he might have to look at it all the more, soon. he’s dreading it.

“homework,” he reminds himself, “homework.”

he makes a beeline for his desk, where his snakes are settled in their vivarium, all lazily sunning themselves under the heat lamp, tangled together in a loose pile.

“layabouts, the lot of you,” dee informs them. luke, leia, and han do not seem to care.

dee settles at his desk, getting out his agenda, his books, and his notebooks. he gets out his favorite pen and sits, ready to get started on his to-do list for the day.

and that’s where his brain stops focusing on school, and starts focusing on what happened at school.

there are several locations in chilton that seem like they were designed specifically for crying.

the most popular ones are the almost-always abandoned bathrooms near the journalism lab were a good bet for most, with the stress of deadlines; and, considering they tended to share with the chemistry and biology labs, that was tripled, and therefore the most commonly-used choice. it wasn’t uncommon for med-school-aiming seniors to duck out around finals week and return after a carefully scheduled five-minute crying break, red-rimmed around the eyes. most were polite enough not to mention it to their faces.

then there was the kiln room; considering it was mostly empty, all bare walls and concrete, excepting for the periods of time where there were ceramics classes or art club, of course, it went mostly empty, and tended to be the discerning choice for arts-inclined students.

and then there was the option that he had opted for today; steal into the senior’s lounge, near the rear exit of the school, and hunker up into the most hidden corner, giving himself until the bell for the next class bell rings to have his breakdown where no one, not nanny or ingrid or bertie or martha or god forbid granmè would be able to hear him, the urge he’s been holding in since he descended from a lie-in yesterday morning to see his parents both sitting at the table. at granmè’s house. to speak to him.

which, really, was never a good sign in the first place, but even for his parents it was a particularly fucking terrible—

the exit door opens.

shit. shit.

dee hastily uses the ends of his capelet to wipe at his eyes and then rummages in his backpack, yanking out the first book he lays hands on, hoping against hope that he can pass it off as skipping class, he can manage that, his reputation wouldn’t even take a hit for that, whereas if someone like louise fucking grant caught him crying—

“are you skipping class?”

dee makes a show of glancing up, nonchalant, at the person who’s spoken.

“are you?” dee contests. logan sanders shakes his head, his hands braced on his backpack straps.

“no,” he says, then, “the bus popped a tire on the way to school.”

“another count against the bus,” dee murmurs, and he turns his attention back to the book, feigning a loss of interest.

logan has not walked away. in fact, he’s walking closer. dee clears his throat, hoping that he won’t get close enough to see his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. he’d specifically planned this particular crying jag so no one would see his puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“are you skipping class?” logan repeats. dee stifles a curse. damn journalist.

“so what if i am?” dee says, and he might have pulled off his airy tone, if his voice hadn’t cracked on the last word. dee coughs, to cover it, but now logan is walking closer.

“were you… crying?” logan says uncertainly.

“no,” dee lies. and honestly, getting caught might be worth it for the expressions that wars across logan’s face—pained awkwardness overwhelms it, but there’s concern, and discomfort, and a sense of do i have to, and honestly, if dee wasn’t in such a shitty mood it would be pretty funny.

“may i sit?”

“will you listen if i say no?”

“probably not,” logan admits. “even if you weren’t crying, which i’m pretty sure you were—”

“—i wasn’t—”

“—your attendance is as good as mine, i’d still want to know why you were skipping class.”

dee makes a show of sighing, but shoves his backpack a little further away and scoots further into the corner. logan nods, settling his backpack beside dee’s, and sits close to dee. not quite side-by-side, but just far enough away that it’s clear he’s offering dee the choice to lean closer. it’s strangely thoughtful. he remembers, distantly, logan at his birthday party; he’d ducked hugs a lot of the time, only accepting it when he couldn’t substitute a handshake. he wonders if logan doesn’t like physical contact, and tucks away the idea of investigating that for potential use later.

logan pauses, before he says, almost kindly, “the book’s giving you away. you’re reading the scarlet letter. we read that last quarter. i highly doubt you’d be rereading it. you made your dislike known enough as we were reading it, not that i blame you for finding it dull and archaic. it is dull and archaic.”

dee bites back a curse as he makes a show of glancing at the book. he knew he should have cleaned out his backpack after midterms, but no, he’d been too busy—

“i like the scarlet letter,” dee lies, and logan looks at him, arching an eyebrow.

“try again.”

“what?” dee says. “i could.”

“you literally overrode class one day to complain, at length, about how stupid the plot is, how overblown and over-long the prose is, and that hawthorne desperately needed an editor. which i agree with, by the way.”

“well,” dee says. “i could still like it.”

“please,” logan scoffs.

he turns the book in his hands and reduces a shudder. god, what a terrible book. he’ll toss it as soon as he gets home.

“well, i like sleep,” dee says lightly, “and one should always have sleep-inducing material on hand. it’s remarkably effective. i like it for that reason, how about that?”

logan smiles, with a little hum of acknowledgement. a i don’t believe you but i think your excuse is funny enough that i won’t press you on it hum. dee’s heard it many times.

they sit in silence for a couple minutes. long enough that dee thinks that he’s going to get away with it—if they’re quiet until second period, then dee can steal away and have an excuse ready by lunch, if need be.

except logan clears his throat, and dee braces himself.

“if you’d like to… talk,” he says stiffly, and he coughs again. “i am—here. clearly. not just physically, as i am now, but as a means of support. i suppose.”

dee rolls his eyes. “how convincing,” he says, and ignored how clogged-up his voice sounds, all of a sudden.

“yes, well,” logan says. “of the many things my father’s taught me, one thing he apparently hasn’t been able to pass down is being particularly good at navigating these… emotional kinds of conversations is not one of them.”

dee would laugh at the look on logan’s face when he says emotional, if his brain wasn’t stuck on my father.

“your dad,” dee says, a strange tone in his voice, before he can stop himself.

logan’s dad, who was raised in this environment, in this world, and, somehow, had managed to be openly, proudly trans.

logan’s dad, who had been trans, without his parents attempting to publicly interfere with the way he presented himself.

must be nice.

“yes,” logan says cautiously. “what about my dad?”

dee takes a deep breath, and, immediately, two concepts begin to war in his mind.

don’t tell him, one side screams. the whole reason you’re out here is because you don’t want people to see weakness!

he has access to a unique perspective that, to your knowledge, is only shared by yourself and that other person, he argues with himself. and the largest part of this that would be kept secret, he already knows. and you have blackmail in hand if he were to suddenly confess with this additional quest for information.

dee lets out his breath. he says, “does your dad talk about the way it was for him? back then.”

logan stiffens, ever so slightly, in surprise.

“not often,” he says, the cautiousness still lingering in his tone. “he’s only ever really told me a little; bits and pieces. not details, you understand, but…”

logan pauses, collecting his thoughts. dee almost snaps at him to hurry up; usually, logan’s a decent enough public speaker, but the whole dramatic pause thing he did sometimes was really quite annoying.

“i know that it wasn’t easy, for him,” logan says. “that in part, the reaction helped fuel his desire to run away, in addition to my existence and the further stigma that’s associated with that. there are likely old issues of the jefferson that could provide the nastier details; i’ve given him my word i wouldn’t seek them out. i don’t particularly want to. in addition to the writing skills of the jefferson being terrible, i am not particularly inclined to read transphobia and terrible rumors about anyone, much less my father.”

another pause. then, “he had a bonfire for all his dresses and skirts.”

dee turns to him, startled. logan’s dad? that soft little puffball?

“i know,” logan says, seemingly agreeing with how out-of-character it seemed. “my other father—christopher—helped. he’s been saving stories of his various teenage rebellions, too. he used to be rather…” a brief hesitation. “a rabble-rouser.”

dee snorts. it sounds very snotty and terrible and he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

(also—well, dee had known that logan was technically a hayden, it was just he hadn’t really heard logan outwardly express it, ever. he knows that christopher is located in california, somewhere. he wonders how logan handles that. something to look into.)

“why do you ask?” logan says.

“you know why.”

“all right, that was poorly phrased,” logan says. “why ask about this now?”

dee hesitates. logan adds, awkwardly, “if you don’t want to answer—”

“it’s… fine,” dee says stiffly. he clears his throat. he looks at his shoes.

logan is one of the smartest people you know, he reminds himself. he wouldn’t tell. he knows you’d immediately move to destroy him if he told.

keeping his eyes on his toes, he says, forcefully light, “my parents have entered me into the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball. apparently, they’ve decided to stop humoring this phase i am going through, as i am now sixteen, it is time to cease such childish rebellion and enter society properly, as a—” dee stops, abruptly.

“as a gender which you are not,” logan finishes for him. his voice is very, very quiet.

dee clears his throat, and redirects his gaze from his shoes to the wall across from them. he’s very conscious of logan’s eyes on him, examining him, staring at his face for any sign of weakness.

“dee,” he begins, haltingly.

“it doesn’t matter,” dee says, except for the fact that it very much does matter.

“that’s not,” logan begins, then, “i don’t,” and then, a frustrated sigh, before he says, “i’m sorry.”

“don’t,” dee snaps. “i don’t want your pity.”

“the definition of pity is the feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others,” logan snaps back. “as a fellow member of the lgbtq community, of course i feel sorrow and compassion at the information that someone does not have the support of their parents, and that lack of support will cause that someone will be outed publicly without their consent.”

dee doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to stare at the wall. his jaw is clenched so tightly he thinks his teeth might break from the pressure.

“is there anything i can do?” logan says stiffly.

dee keeps his eyes on the wall. “no,” he bites out.

they sit in awkward silence for a few more seconds. it feels like an hour. then:

“what if i stopped it?”

dee scoffs.

“what?” logan says.

“please,” dee says. “it’s the dar debutante ball.”

“we can get you out of it.”

“the bill’s already paid,” dee says.

“then we’ll stop the ball,” logan says.

“i’m sorry, have you met the ilk of your grandmother and her friends?” dee says pointedly. “you think you’re going to rob them of the chance to trot their precious little darlings around in a circle for all the men to drool over?”

logan’s back straightens. dee, finally, turns to look at him.

it’s like dee can see the lightbulb go off over his head.

“what?” dee says.

“nothing,” logan says, except he’s smiling.

“what,” dee snaps.

“nothing,” logan repeats. “it’s just—i might have an idea.”

“might,” dee repeats.

“might,” logan agrees. he’s clearly about to say more, but the bell rings, and there’s the beginning of shuffling steps that means people will emerge into the hallways. logan scrambles to his feet, swinging his backpack over his shoulder, before, belatedly, offering a hand to dee.

dee considers it. he accepts. logan helps haul him to his feet.

“your idea,” dee says, picking up his own backpack.

“you’ll see,” logan says, and dee huffs at him, before beginning to head off to his next class—

“dee?”

dee turns, and logan offers an awkward little facial expression that might be a smile.

“if you want to talk about it—”

“we aren’t friends,” dee says, cutting off whatever platitude that he’s clearly building up to. an idea. probably a lie to try and make dee feel better.

“i know that,” logan says, firmly. “but if you ever do… want to talk about it.”

“i will,” dee says, and tacks on, “if i want to.”

“okay.”

“but i probably won’t.”

“that’s fine.”

dee hesitates. “but if i do—”

“i’m around,” logan says simply.

“i doubt i will,” dee says, attempting to resume his haughty expression.

“you know where to find me, if you do,” logan says.

dee rolls his eyes, as if that conversation was very trying and not something that threatens to create an even bigger lump in his throat, and resumes his route to his science class.

“mister slange, dinner!” nanny calls, and dee startles. he clears his throat and puts down his pen, rising to his feet.

“coming, nanny!” he calls down the stairs.

find him. right. like the idea of talking to logan sanders about anything else in his life is even slightly appealing.

no, he tells himself. the idea of getting to know logan sanders? maybe even becoming something other than rivals? not even a little bit nice.

⁂

as soon as virgil comes out of the kitchen, roman has this Look on his face that makes virgil immediately say “no.”

“you don’t even know what i’m asking yet!” roman protests.

“i can tell you’re plotting something just by the look on your face,” virgil says.

“ah, but technically i’m not the one plotting, logan is,” roman says, and, well. that’s outside the norm. roman tends to be the plotter of the things that give roman That Look on his face, the one that reminds virgil only a little painfully of remus.

“okay, why am i involved in the thing that logan’s plotting?”

“patton’s in on it too,” roman points out. “and, uh, my mom.”

virgil pauses, contemplates, and says, “i don’t know if that’s a warning sign or not.”

“well, logan and i can explain when patton and him get here for dinner,” roman says. “in the meantime—”

“please don’t order something that will make your mom kill me for violating your meal plan too terribly, i don’t think i’ve recovered from last friday,” virgil says wearily.

“ugh, fine,” roman says, and orders something that is at least passably healthy, which he could really teach to his boyfriend and—and virgil’s boyfriend.

virgil’s boyfriend, patton. nope, even after two and a half months, it’s still bizarre in the best possible way.

by the time virgil puts roman’s order in, and carries out about three more, he’s carting a tray across the diner as the bell jangles and two familiar faces walk in.

“hey,” patton says, and leans in to give him a brief, welcoming kiss. habit. routine. thrilling. patton runs a thumb along virgil’s stubble, grinning at him.

“hey yourself,” virgil says, and jerks his head. “roman’s in a booth over there, and apparently i have a plot to be brought in on?”

and then patton… puffs up with pride? literally, puffs up. whenever he’s proud of logan, his posture gets better and he puffs his chest out a little and his chin tilts up, like logan achieving something is an achievement for patton, makes him more confident in himself. virgil guesses a lot of logan’s achievements owe at least a little credit to patton’s parenting, though, so it’s a fair trade. logan doesn’t seem to be complaining.

“that you do,” patton says, a little smug.

“okay then,” virgil says. “brainstorm your pitch and i’ll be right over.”

he drops off dinner orders—mrs. torres and a gaggle of other older ladies who coo and giggle and wave to roman, who blows kisses back, because he’s the default adopted son/grandson for any active older woman in town—before he sidles up to the sanders/prince booth.

“right, okay, orders, then plot,” virgil says, flipping to a new page in his notepad and clicking his pen.

patton and logan put in their orders—virgil successfully convinces them both to trade in something unhealthy for either a salad (patton) or a side of vegetables (logan)—which he notes dutifully, before he slides in beside patton in the booth.

“okay,” virgil says, and he nudges patton. “pitch.”

“my idea, actually,” logan pipes up, and virgil obligingly turns his attention to the younger sanders.

“so,” logan says, folding his hands. “i am coming out.”

“um,” virgil says, dropping his gaze pointedly to where roman’s resting his hand on logan’s wrist. “you did that. like, eight years ago.”

“that’s what i said,” patton says, pleased.

“let me rephrase,” logan says, and his nose wrinkles. “i am coming out in the sense of the viennese waltz, i will be deemed of good breeding and marriageable age, must have dowry, seeking males with a trust fund, fluffy white dresses, et cetera.”

“oh, jesus christ,” virgil says. “what friend roped you into being an escort for this thing? because that is not a friend.”

“keep listening,” patton chides, a laugh in his tone.

“well, that’s the thing,” logan says. “i’m not going to be an escort.”

virgil considers this for a moment. “i’m not following.”

“logan’s creating an army to charge upon the daughters of the american revolution so we can destroy the patriarchy,” roman says, bright and perky.

“i’m recruiting like-minded members of the next generation to make a statement about gender equality,” logan corrects. “in other words: i shall be the one with a dowry, seeking males with a trust fund, in a fluffy white dress.”

“uh.”

“me too,” roman says sunnily. “i’m going to be wearing a fluffy white dress, too. plus a ton of other kids in our grade—the idea’s really caught on. ooh, logan, we can recruit some of the dance girls as escorts!”

virgil tries to picture it: a group of boys in dresses, girls in tuxes, gasping, scandalized rich people. the idea brings a smile to his face.

“oh, good idea, we should send put a sign-up sheet in the studio,” logan says.

“wait, you said i was going to be involved,” virgil says, his brain catching up with him. “where do i fit into all that?”

“well,” patton says. “isadora and i decided to set up a kind of etiquette-and-dance crash-course day for all the kids involved, because despite my best efforts i have not purged the viennese waltz or my numerous etiquette lessons from my mind—”

“you, cultured?” virgil teases, and patton smacks virgil’s arm playfully.

“with no help from you, thank you very much,” patton says. “anyway. since isadora and i are teaching the kids, and there will be an influx of fluffy white dresses and tuxes…”

it clicks. “alterations.”

“got it in one,” patton says cheerfully.

virgil’s a pretty decent tailor, for an amateur—he’s done his fair share of hemming dance costumes, or fixing suits, even some emergency repairs for some wedding dresses, over the years. he’s about to say something along the line of are you sure i should do this, i don’t think i’m qualified for something so fancy but then he catches the hopeful look on logan and roman’s faces, and—

“all right, fine,” virgil says, and he stands. “just let me know when and where, yeah?”

logan grins at him, and roman chirps a thank you, and patton giggles, soft, as virgil makes his way back for the kitchen.

fancy debutante tailor. he guesses he can handle that. it’s not really a step outside of the norm, so it’s not like he’s doing anything super out there, like the kids are.

virgil thought too soon.

by the time he re-emerges from the kitchen, ready to wipe down the counters, patton and logan are at the table finishing up the last of their meals, and roman’s at the counter, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes snapping to him.

“hey,” virgil says. “you need a refill of water? because i’m telling you now, if you’re going to try for dessert, you may as well give up now—”

roman rolls his eyes. “no. it’s about the debutante ball.”

“okay,” virgil says, and tosses his towel over his shoulder. “what about it?”

“it, um,” roman says, and clears his throat. “ugh. apparently, your father’s supposed to present you at the ceremony.”

“oh,” virgil says.

“and, um, since i don’t really have a dad,” roman begins.

“i could alter a tux for your mom?” virgil suggests. “since everyone’s already doing the whole ‘screw gender’ thing anyway.”

“i—no, no, she’s probably going to do backstage stuff to make sure that the sideshire kids aren’t spooked by the rich people,” roman says. “plus, she’d hate wearing a tux.”

“yeah, fair enough,” virgil says. he thinks the only time he’s really seen her dressed up is when she has to, during a recital or performance or something. “okay. i could help with the tux of… i forget his name, what’s that guy who was your one-on-one instructor during the nutcracker? sergio, right? i could drive you to visit sergio—“

“sergio is in portugal,” roman says, looking an odd mixture of helpless, amused, and frustrated. “y’know. where he’s from?”

“oh,” virgil says. “um, there’s always taylor? you know he’d be super into the whole pomp and circumstance thing.”

“taylor,” roman says. “virgil. you of all people. recommend taylor.”

“i know, okay, i know, but i’m kind of coming up blank here,” virgil says.

“coming up blank?” roman repeats, the frustrated part becoming more clear.

“i’m trying here,” virgil says. “you could—”

“oh, for god’s sake, dumb-utante, i’m trying to ask you to escort me,” roman snaps.

virgil’s jaw drops. just a little.

“oh,” he says.

roman flushes a brilliantly bright red, and looks down at his shoes.

“i—just, whatever, okay, you don’t have to,” he mutters, and scuffs the toe of his shoe over the diner floor. he needs new ones—the white, rubbery part of his converse is overrun with mud and sharpie doodles, the aglets frayed, part of the high-top worn from where roman grabs it to shove his foot into it every morning discolored.

remus used to wear green converse, sometimes, the most casual in his extensive collection of costume-style clothes. he remembers telling roman this, when roman was pretty little and ms. prince had enlisted virgil to take roman out for back-to-school shopping, and virgil had bought roman his first pair. he’d been little, then. six, he thinks. maybe seven. they’d gotten ice cream after. roman had gotten rum raisin, and virgil ended up having to eat the rest of it when roman pronounced it “ucky” and roman had ended up getting his usual chocolate-cherry. virgil had made roman pinky-promise that he would get a small one, so he wouldn’t spoil his dinner.

but roman prefers high-tops, and remus had always gotten classic chucks. roman loves red, and remus loved green.

they’re different, remus and roman. like night and day. it still makes virgil feel a little strange whenever he thinks about how much longer he’s known roman than he’d known remus—really, it had topped out a few years ago, much longer if virgil was just considering how long he and remus had been friends. so much of his relationship with roman was built on the basis of being the last of remus’ friends still in sideshire, other than ms. prince, and so he was one of the only ones who could tell roman about his dad. do what his dad would have done.

remus probably would have bought roman his first pair of chucks when roman was a baby, those little tiny shoes that can sit comfortably in the palm of virgil’s hand with plenty of space to spare.

but remus is dead, and so buying roman his first pair of signature red shoes had fallen to virgil.

basically everything remus would have loved to do with his son had fallen to virgil, really, if ms. prince hadn’t taken care of it first.

apparently, your father’s supposed to present you at the ceremony.

“no,” virgil says, strangely choked up. “that’s—that’s a good idea. cool. i can, um. i can do that.”

“really?” roman asked, eyes snapping up from his shoes. he smiles like remus when he’s plotting, that much is true, but when he smiles when he’s just happy—all virgil can see is roman.

“yeah, sure,” virgil says, and then he coughs into his elbow to clear whatever’s lodged in his throat. “just, uh. just keep me updated on, y’know. details.”

roman’s grin grows a bit more delighted, a bit more remus-like. “are you crying?”

“what? no,” virgil scoffs.

“because you sound like you’re about to start crying.”

“i was chopping onions,” virgil says lamely. “this has nothing to do with you.”

“oh, i better check my calendar again, i didn’t realize it was opposite day,” roman says gleefully.

“you’re the most obnoxious teenager i’ve ever met,” virgil says, and roman laughs, even as he’s backing away, slowly, toward the door. virgil rolls his eyes, and moves to wipe down the counters.

“and you have to wear a tux!” roman calls, and virgil’s head snaps up.

“wait, what, no way—“

“shave off the five o’clock shadow, too, i won’t be looking scruffy by comparison!” roman calls, opening the door. virgil scowls, rubbing a hand along his face—yes, he goes stubbly sometimes, especially during winters or when he’s busy, but he doesn’t look bad with facial hair, he just looks a bit off today because he woke up late—and the reality hits him. a tux. dressing fancy. being involved in a high society ceremony.

“the tux is bad enough!”

“you’re forgetting the tails, the cumberbun, plus white gloves!“ roman says, ticking it off on his fingers.

“i take it back!” virgil calls. “i’m not doing this anymore!”

“too late, i already signed you up!” roman shouts, and disappears from the diner before virgil can yell at him anymore.

a tux. tails. white gloves.

a cumberbun.

dammit, of course roman would manage to net him into some kind of makeover.

⁂

it’s been a shitty day so far.

something kept interrupting his sleep last night, so when he finally managed to get to sleep, he slept through his alarm. granmè was already having a bad memory day, repeatedly calling out for her dead husband and not recognizing nanny, which means she probably won’t recognize him, so he had to keep out of their way, and as he was walking out the door he saw bertie holding up something ensconced in a garment bag, lips pursed in disapproval, whose length could only mean the arrival of a fluffy white dress, a nice reminder of the thing that dee was dreading.

and it isn’t even eight yet.

“move,” dee snarls to the particularly amorous couple blocking the path to his locker—really, people, it was seven forty-five in the morning, did they always have to start the day attempting to tie their tongues together?—and they shuffle aside, to a vacant stretch of wall, presumably to resume their excessive pda.

dee rolls his eyes. typical.

except—

“slange,” one of the makeout participants says. dee ignores him, placing the books he’d had to bring home for homework in and pulling out the books he’d need for his morning classes.

“hey, slange, i’m talking to you,” he repeats.

dee rolls his eyes with all the sarcasm he can muster, and directs his gaze to them; summer, absently wiping some stray lipgloss off with her finger, and tristan, leaning over.

“what,” dee says, in the crispest tone he possibly can.

“didn’t take you for a troublemaker,” tristan says, grinning still; dee notes, sourly, that summer could probably spare some energy to wipe off the sticky lip gloss on tristan’s chin, too.

“excuse me.”

“oh, right, right,” tristan says, and rolls his eyes. “fighting the patriarchy, excuse me. hey, if that excuse is enough to make it look good on your college resume, you wouldn’t happen to know how to—”

“you already know all the people in our grade who write papers for a fee, dugray,” dee says, already exhausted and snippy and—he hates to even admit it to himself—confused. “take it up with henry, if you must. and wipe off your face before you go to class, you have holographic glossier smeared everywhere. it’ll give you away to julia, she doesn’t wear lipgloss.”

summer gapes at him, and immediately begins to screech something along the lines of “what is that supposed to mean, i knew you didn’t block her like i told you to!” but dee’s already tuning it out, slamming the locker door shut and making his way to homeroom. frankly, summer should have dumped tristan the second he told her that she wasn’t allowed to talk to other boys. the pair of them were toxic together—half the material he had on tristan were things that he wouldn’t want summer to know.

the other half would, if it made its way to the right hands, get him sent off to military school.

dee’s saving most of the rest of that for when he gets really annoyed with tristan.

he might be there in ten minutes if he didn’t get an answer—what did tristan mean, trouble-making? and tristan dugray, fighting the patriarchy. please. tristan’s as emblematic of a toxic, rich, straight white boy that there could be. tristan adores all the trappings of the patriarchy; it better allows him to pursue whatever girl he wanted into being his girl of the week, despite the fact that they weren’t particularly wanting to be his girl of the week, whenever he and summer were on a break (and, most of the time, when they weren’t.)

except that isn’t even the only time.

henry, dermot, lem—even shy little brad, who usually breaks out into cold sweats at the sight of him since the whole theater incident in sixth grade, seem to be attempting to make eye contact with him as he walks down the hall, like they were in with him, or something. like they were suddenly friends.

dee stews, furious, at the very idea they could know something about him that he doesn’t know—until he sees lisa approaching logan sanders, who seems to be loading up his backpack.

dee frowns. logan wouldn’t like lisa—well, obviously, he’s gay, but also, lisa subscribes to her parents’ politics, including the epithets of “fake news,” and he’s pretty sure that alone would spring logan into a furious tirade like little else could.

dee pauses.

fight the patriarchy, tristan had said. trouble making.

“what if i stopped it?”

and then he moves immediately toward the locker.

“—long as you don’t say why, then yes, of course,” logan says.

“duh!” lisa chirps. “hilarious, lo-lo, seriously.”

logan’s face twists up as politely as he can manage at the sound of a cutesy nickname, but he can’t really say anything, since lisa’s already flouncing off to be discriminatory and heartless on her parents’ orders.

presumably.

“what,” dee says, “was that.”

“i know,” logan says, turning back to his locker. “lo-lo. what am i, a puppy?”

“not that,” dee says. “you know she’s—”

“a terrible person who stands against everything i am, yes,” logan says mildly. “but she’s wealthy and has a fair amount of—” a near-sneaky glance at a notecard in his hand— “clout, amongst the puffs.”

“the puffs?” dee repeats, his voice already sounding strange.

“you know, the secret sorority,” he says nonchalantly. “one of them, at least, and certainly the most desired to join—”

“i know who the puffs are,” dee says, in a tone that clearly denotes do you think i’m stupid, i’ve gone to this school for longer than you have.

“ah,” logan says. “right. well, i would have gone through francie jarvis, who is less diametrically opposed to—” he makes a sweeping gesture up and down his body, “but she was absent yesterday, so. lisa was the obvious in.”

“why do you need an in with the puffs?” dee says.

logan glances up and down the hall—god, way to show off you’re discussing something sensitive—before he pulls a leaflet out of his backpack, handing it to dee.

FIGHT THE PATRIARCHY!

dee skims it, and feels his eyebrows rise higher and higher, even as his throat gets disturbingly closed up.

“i noticed that a lot of the puffs are due for their debutante ball,” logan explains, even as dee stares at the—the excuse, the excuse that logan’s pulling for this elaborate ruse, that, if it works—

i won’t be outed.

dee swallows, hard. he folds the leaflet back up, and clears his throat.

“the puffs are a decent enough start,” he says, voice perhaps a bit thicker than normal. “as they’re the most socially prized secret society at chilton, it was a good place to begin—people will want to emulate them, especially those who are attempting to get puffed. mostly freshmen, but there are a few sophomores who are sixteen that’ll join. but you need to pivot your focus—the old crows and the skull and dagger would probably gain more participants per club capita.”

“old crows?” logan says uncertainly.

“the secret society for a select few seniors,” dee says. “who have likely already had a coming out, but it’s not uncommon to do multiple. skull and dagger would probably love an excuse to cause chaos, but that’s sorted, so long as you bother tristan some more. and if you’re going to come at it from the fight patriarchy angle, you’re going to need to get the clairosophic society involved.”

“the…?”

“another secret sorority,” dee says. “do you only know the puffs?”

logan abruptly looks sheepish, and dee sighs, put-upon.

“well,” he says. “clearly, you need my help pulling this off. of all the secret societies at this school, only ten are worth mentioning—”

“only ten?!”

“—so we can get people through those,” dee says, “and yes, ten, i thought you were a journalist, aren’t you supposed to know how to research these sorts of things?”

“well,” logan says. “i’ve already gotten a group of kids from sideshire, but clearly, i’ll need your help on the social side at chilton.”

a beat, and then, uncertain, “if you’re okay with this.”

dee stares at him for a long few seconds.

“if this works,” dee says carefully, trying to directly telepathically communicate i am okay with you attempting to cover for me like this, please count me in, “you’re going to have a hell of a college essay on your hands.”

a grin breaks out on logan’s face.

“as if i don’t have three drafts written already,” he says, and dee allows himself to grin back at him.

“now,” he says. “the clairs,” and logan readies a notebook, and, if dee were at all prone to clichés, he might say something like, this is the start to a beautiful partnership.

but he isn’t. obviously.

⁂

logan has his game face on.

patton’s seen this face countless times before; before he walks into mayor porter’s office to demand answers beyond pr statements, before they entered charleston’s office his first day at chilton, when coming face-to-face taylor after his latest piece that critiqued the way he handles town government.

he’s seen it while they were driving to the exact same place, too; before holiday parties, before birthday dinners, before the first-ever friday night dinner. but he hasn’t pulled up to the sanders’ mansion looking like that in months.

patton puts the car in park, removes the keys, and wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers for what must be the dozenth time that night.

“i’m on your side,” patton reminds him.

“i know,” logan says and opens the car door, ready to storm up to the door and… well. tell emily that he was going to join the debutante ball.

which she’d probably be thrilled with, if he was the one escorting a girl in a white dress.

it would almost be a little funny to think about, if he wasn’t so nervous—emily expecting patton to go through a debutante ball in a fluffy dress, only to be derailed by the fact that he wasn’t a girl and, you know, the teen pregnancy; emily then expecting logan to escort a lovely young lady on his arm only to be turned around by logan doing it in a fluffy dress.

patton wipes his hands off on his pants again before he rings the doorbell.

he has never seen the woman who answers the door before.

which isn’t surprising; new maids crop up at his parents’ house like weeds. he’s really hoping that therapy would help make a dent in that habit of his mother’s, but no dice yet.

“hi,” patton says, as kindly as possible—he always tries to be as kind as possible to the maids, just to make up for whatever future tiny offense that they might get fired for. one time he got grounded for two weeks for helping esperanza polish silver and practice his spanish. poor esperanza, he’d liked her.

plus, ever since the whole “being a homeless housekeeper” thing, his sympathy had really only escalated for them—he feels a level of solidarity, even if he’s not a housekeeper anymore.

“hello,” the maid says; she has an accent, patton thinks probably german. she’s blonde, and patton can see only half her face from the way she’s practically hiding behind the door.

“you’re new?” patton asks, and she nods.

“okay, well, hi,” patton says, offering a hand to shake. “i’m patton—”

she shakes his hand hurriedly, before pulling back further into the house.

“—and that’s my son, logan. what’s your name?”

“liesl.”

“hi, liesl,” he says warmly. “i’m emily and richard’s son, she’s expecting us for dinner?”

“oh! please, come in,” she says, flustered, opening the door further.

“i, uh,” she says, “can i, um. get you a drink?”

“you know what, that’s okay!” patton says brightly. “we can handle it.”

a pause, before patton says in an undertone, “if you’d like to hide in the kitchen before my mother gets down here, please go for it.”

a look of relief breaks out on her face. “really?”

patton nods.

“thank you,” she exhales, and scuttles off to relative safety.

logan waits until she rounds the corner, before he says, “she won’t last another day.”

patton sighs, moving to hang his coat on the rack. he would tell logan that’s not a very nice thing to say, if he wasn’t right about it. “i know, poor thing.”

as they continued into the living room, patton could hear his mother coming down the stairs; less than a few seconds later, she rounded the corner, landline phone firmly affixed to her ear.

“—don’t forget that the dar meeting’s on tuesday, it’s at three o’clock and all the women are extremely punctual…”

emily makes eye contact with patton to roll her eyes, as if to curse the entire customer service industry; patton shrugs at her, just a little, before he lightly bumps logan’s shoulder and murmurs “soda?”

logan nods, drifting off to investigate the latest influx of tiny figurines that definitely weren’t there last week, and patton goes to the drinks cart to prep their drinks for the evening.

her mother’s talking about heddy cubbington—ah, so she’s talking to a caterer, then—and patton leans into her line of vision just enough to wiggle a bottle of gin at her, mouthing “martini?”

okay, he might try and make it a smidge stronger than usual. honestly, if she’s a bit off her game from more gin than usual, then maybe she won’t freak out as badly as patton is kind of expecting her to!

but regardless, his mother nods, even as she’s telling the caterer about her very precise tasting methods that they’ll have to follow to a t, and patton reacquaints himself with the process of preparing a martini exactly as his mother likes it—there was a stint of about a month or so when the hotel’s bar staff was incredibly short, way back in the day, so he picked up a few cocktail tricks here and there.

he wonders if he could still manage to do a lidless shaker flip without spilling anything.

before he can try, though—and probably hear his mother’s outcry about trying his absolute hardest to stain her rug—his mother hangs up on the phone with a fervor, rolling her eyes as she did so.

“honestly, sometimes it’s like the only person with any sense,” she huffs.

patton hums, carefully straining the martini into one of the coupes. he would do a martini glass, but those tend to spill more, the coupes hold more liquid, and she prefers the material of the coupes anyway—less likely to have fingerprint smudges, which also means one less thing to use to potentially snap at poor liesl. “troubles with the dar, mom?”

(okay, so maybe he’s busting out his old tricks to put his mother in a good mood—there’s almost nothing his mother likes more than gossiping and snipping at the members of the dar that aren’t pulling their weight, and once she’s expelled a bit of energy ranting like that, it usually meant less energy could be spent ranting at him.)

she sighs, settling on her usual spot on the couch. “constance betterton is running this event into the ground—” patton presses the martini into her hand, and she looks startled, momentarily, before thanks him briefly and continues on her tirade, including the perils of unsold tables and constance’s absolute inability to plan a function.

patton hands over logan’s soda and directs him to the couch before he can crack open any books of interest, because logan will probably spend most of the dinner ignoring them if that happens, and since richard is on a business trip again that means it will be just him and his mom, and with how nervous he is over logan’s upcoming proposal he absolutely cannot do that, and then he goes and makes himself a plain club soda because him drinking sounds like a not-great idea right now.

by the time that particular train of conversation runs out of steam, it’s enough to carry them to the dining room.

“so, logan,” emily says, as liesl attempts to set a land speed record for serving salads in her quest to get back to the kitchen, “is there anything new in your life?”

patton’s pretty sure that it would be impossible to pick up on who’s more nervous, him or liesl.

“there is, actually,” logan says, somehow entirely unfazed. “dee slange—you remember, you took me out to lunch with him and his grandmother evelyn—”

“oh, yes,” emily says, “wonderful woman, incredibly talented gardener. she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat.”

“—we’re arranging a bit of an extracurricular project,” logan continues.

“oh?” emily says, sounding interested. she picks up her fork and begins to eat her salad. “you two are getting along, then?”

“we’ve come to an understanding,” logan says coolly, and even as nervous as patton is, he can’t but grin a bit at his son. we’ve come to an understanding. really, logan, it wouldn’t hurt to say that you’re friends now.

“wonderful,” emily says briskly. “good that you’ve put that petty rivalry behind you.”

patton bites his tongue rather than start on a rant about the seriousness of physical assault.

“quite,” logan says.

“so, what’s this project?” she asks, with a slight gesture of her fork. “you two are interested in journalism, from what i hear, is it something like that?”

logan sets his fork down. “actually, grandma, it has to do with you, tangentially. mrs. slange is a member of the daughters of the american revolution. like you.”

“a research project, then?” she says. “richard will probably have some books for—”

“not really,” logan says. “we’re both arranging for greater participation in the debutante ball. i’m coming out.”

patton holds his breath. here we go.

emily chuckles. “the correct term for the young gentlemen is escorting, logan. are you both escorting young ladies, then? anyone i know?”

“oh, i used the correct term,” logan says mildly. “i’m coming up with a partner later, but i was actually going to ask if you ever bought a dress for dad to use before he came out.”

emily lowers her fork.

patton’s pretty sure that even if he was about to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to.

“i’m going to be a debutante,” he says, very slowly, as if explaining something he thought to be obvious.

“you’re not serious,” she says disbelievingly.

“i am,” logan says. “we have approximately twenty-five participants so far, and we’re recruiting more. so. do you have a dress or not?”

“that’s absurd,” emily says. “i mean—my grandson, gallivanting about in a dress, how will that look?!”

“you were going to let dad do it,” logan points out, and before patton can say hey, nice point! emily swivels to face patton, piercing him through with a glare. “did you put him up to this?!”

before patton can squeak out anything, logan putting down his fork with a clang louder than necessary, and she turns to face her grandson.

“i was simply asking if you had a dress,” logan says. his voice is very, very even. the game face has reappeared. “i can ask again, if you’d like. do you have a dress suitable for this occasion, or should i shop for my own?”

emily and logan stare each other down. patton’s eyes dart between them both.

his mother has a variety of nicknames: the cobra, from her antiquing friends, because she’d squeeze and squeeze at you until you complied. wicked witch of the west, by some of her shopping friends, over the levels she’d go to over something as simple as a pair of shoes.

christopher had joked once that “people considered what patton’s mother would do in a given situation, dialed it back, and they’d have what mussolini would do, then they’d dial it back, and they’d have what stalin would do, and then they’d dial that back and then it starts approaching what a sane person would do.”

she’d once forced an ex-president out of a hotel room because theirs had been bigger than theirs. a president. of the whole united states.

patton’s gearing himself up to provide as much supportive parent backup to logan that he possibly can, and also cursing himself for taking the time to hang up his coat, because if he hadn’t and just kept it with him they could make a quicker escape, and palming the car keys in his pocket. he puts together comebacks for my friends will be at this event and undignified and what will people say?!

and then patton takes a closer look at his mother’s face. it’s not her version of the game face, patton notices.

and then patton puts together what that expression is, with no small amount of surprise.

she’s calculating.

she’s calculating, patton realizes with no small amount of shock, if it’s worth it to go up against logan.

because logan is definitely wearing his game face, coupled with a defiant, angry look that, with another shock, it reminds him of him. it reminds him of him when he was a bit younger than logan is now—and, he realizes, his mother must be recalling those hellion days too.

at last, his mother sighs, wipes her mouth a napkin, and stands. “i might have something suitable.”

patton’s left sitting there, gaping. his mother. his mother backed down. his mother. did not fight with logan when it was clear what he was doing would interfere with her social status.

his mother!

“well?!” emily snaps. “do you want to see it or not?!”

he and logan exchange a look before they scramble out of their seats, heading after her as quick as they can.

they’re going down to the basement, which holds a conglomeration of things and also patton’s second-most-frequently-used sneak-out route. the wine cellar’s down here, along with his parents’ collections of luggage, and matching white wardrobes filled with all kind of things, and gifts from granny trix that his mother has refused to display over the years, and art and furniture deemed out-of-fashion but were still held fondly enough to be stored in the house—it was, by far, the most disorganized segment of the sanders’ mansion.

of course, there were still clear paths to each segment of the basement, so it wasn’t as disorganized as, say, patton’s garage, but still. disorganized by his parents’ standards.

so patton follows logan who follows emily, past life-sized dog statues, past a stack of steamer trunks and matching carry-on luggage, past framed paintings of some of patton’s old family members, past the rows of old wines stored for an occasion fancy enough for them, past candlesticks and antique tables, past crates and cardboard boxes filled with, patton’s sure, more of the same, until they get back to yet another white wardrobe.

“it’s in here somewhere,” his mother says, already flipping her way through rows and rows of hanging garment bags, before she makes an “aha!” sound and plucks free a garment bag that looks identical to all the rest, before sparing it a fond glance.

“we got it in london,” she says fondly, “never actually worn, of course, but goodness, the plans i had for the seamstresses…” and patton feels a squirming sensation in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in a very long time; the same one he’d get every time he was dragged into a department store, the same one he’d get every time he knew he had to wear whatever was laid out on the bed for whatever party or get-together his mother was having, the same one he’d get when his mother’s friends, over for tea, would croon, my goodness, how pretty you are!

patton clears his throat before his mother can start reminiscing on the times of dresses and skirts past, and says, “maybe show logan the dress, mom?”

“oh,” she says, seemingly successfully jolted out of whatever fashion-induced daydreaming session she’d fallen into, “yes” and unzips the garment bag, to reveal—

well, patton doesn’t know what he’d expected, really. all he can see is a lot of white, puffy tulle.

“can i try it on?” logan says. “just to see it.”

emily hesitates, clutching the delicate fabric, before she hands him the garment bag with no small amount of reluctance.

“we’ll be upstairs when you want to give us a little fashion show,” patton says, carefully catching his mother’s elbow before she can rethink any of this. “let us know if you need help zipping it up or anything?”

logan nods, and begins the process of carefully unearthing the dress as patton steers his mother back up the stairs.

“he’ll need help getting into the dress,” emily protests.

“if he needs help, he’ll ask,” patton counters, firmly. “he’s sixteen, he’s helped roman with a lot of elaborate costumes like that before. he’ll manage. let’s give him a bit of privacy.”

patton glances back in enough time to see logan shooting him a grateful look, and patton shoots him a thumbs-up—he’d always hated it whenever his mother barged into a dressing room to “help,” so he’d always tried his best to let logan have his privacy when it came to this kind of thing.

also, okay, maybe the weirdness of having his pre-selected debutante dress he’d never worn or even really known about coming back to haunt him in some way is getting to him, just a little bit.

“how did this idea get into his head?” she asks suspiciously, as soon as they’ve cleared the last of the steps and relocate to the living room; patton crosses to sit on the couch, and maybe walks a little slower than usual to get an answer straight in his head.

“i don’t… exactly know, why this, i mean,” patton says slowly—which is a little true, he doesn’t know exactly why logan chose this course of action over anything else—and fiddles with his suit jacket. “um, but i know it’s important to him. and dee,” he tacks on unnecessarily. “so, i’m all for it. a thousand percent.”

she surveys him, before she says, “you know more than you’re letting on, though.”

“not my story to tell,” patton says, and it surprises him, how firm his tone is. “but i am really behind logan doing this.”

she sighs, as if he’s a child all over again. “you would be behind logan doing anything. will you keep that attitude if he decided to drop out of school tomorrow?”

“okay, first of all, that sounds more like me,” patton points out. “in fact, that was me. logan is at least channeling any trouble-making tendencies toward something productive.”

“productive,” she says. “the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball—”

“—is an outdated, sexist ‘tradition,’” patton says, using finger quotes, “that will, at worst, turn out to be a college entry essay for logan, and at best be a nice, eye-opening event to some of your friends, who, if i recall, were not particularly enthusiastic about that whole upholding,” time for finger quotes again, “‘the promise of equality for all, and we share an obligation to help our nation fulfill that founding promise.’”

emily’s eyes widen, and oh boy, patton sure said a lot more than he meant to there, so he braces himself for what might be a fight, but luck happens to be on patton’s side tonight.

“dad?” logan calls.

“yeah, kiddo?”

“i need help with the buttons,” logan says, voice distinctly closer than before; like he’s hiding around the corner.

“okay, well,” patton says, about to get to his feet to go and help, but then logan turns the corner.

the dress, patton sees, is… surprisingly simple, for his mother’s taste. there’s delicate, appliqué straps, with a modest scoop neckline. the bodice is delicately embroidered, and the skirt is unadorned tulle.

the dress is simple, he realizes, a little startled, because even before his mother was shopping for it, he had made his distaste for elaborate dresses and gowns clear. she must have picked this out for him in an attempt to garner his good graces with this dress; this was what she must have thought his tastes would have looked like.

he still would have hated it.

it twists up his stomach a bit more, thinking about what would have been, what his mother probably thinks should have been, but patton plasters a smile on his face, rising to his feet, pushing that out of his mind and trying to focus on how logan looks in the dress, not on the fight that would have happened if patton had seen this dress, if he’d had to wear it, before he’d come out.

it’s a little bit short on logan, but that’s to be expected—patton had been a pretty short teenager, and logan’s taller than patton is even now, after a half-foot testosterone-induced growth spurt. the skirt would have swept along the ground if patton was wearing it, if he’s calculating right; as it is, it hits logan somewhere above the ankles, giving it a “fifties flare skirt” kind of vibe. the bodice isn’t really thought out for someone with as flat a chest as logan’s, either, but at least it follows the path of his torso—no need to try and lengthen that.

“very handsome,” he says, before he rounds to logan’s back to examine—ah, yes, as he expected, the buttons up the back are all delicate and tiny and fiddly, and almost impossible for logan to fasten on his own, because he’d never had practice with things like this before. “yeah, okay, let’s see how you fit into it—gosh, i must have been almost a foot shorter than you are now when mom ordered this dress. we’ll definitely have to alter it—”

“do you have a tailor in mind?” emily says.

“virgil’ll do it,” patton says absently, as he’s a little surprised at how easily his fingers remember to maneuver the little pearly buttons—muscle memory, he guesses—and glances up to see his mother arching her eyebrows disbelievingly.

“i know he sews,” she says, voice clearly tinged with doubt, clearly about to say but.

“uh-huh,” patton says, turning his attention back to the buttons. “he’s really good at it, too. he’s done some emergency fixes on wedding dresses and stuff, so he knows how to work with gowns.”

there’s a soft hmph.

“he’s going to be altering dresses and tuxes for the sideshire kids involved in this,” patton continues, then, “all right, hon, that’s the last one. is it too tight, too loose…?”

“fine, i think,” logan says. “tight, but i think i can manage for now.”

patton flips a strap of the dress that’s gotten all twisted around, before sidestepping the skirt—they’ll need to get a crinoline so that it puffs out properly, patton can tell—and observing the entire look, how it seems now that logan’s fully dressed.

it’s a bit odd, definitely. logan’s only ever really worn dresses when he was roped into it as a kid, mostly while playing dress-up with roman—logan’s always been pretty attached to jeans or slacks to pair with his ties or bowties—so seeing logan in a dress is an unusual enough occurrence that it strikes patton’s brain as something completely new.

the dress, as delicate-looking as it is, combines with logan in a strange contrast that works; he looks nice in white, and all the delicate details seem to change what they emphasize—the scoop neck makes his collarbone look graceful, demure, but the thin straps emphasize the broadness of logan’s shoulders, the muscle there. the dress is all soft, sweet femininity, a look that logan doesn’t rock very often, because all the rest of it is logan—who usually favors a straight-forward, business-like, traditionally masculine look.

he looks good.

“give us a twirl, kiddo,” patton says, mostly teasing, but logan obliges, lifting himself onto his tiptoes to spin himself around, the skirt flaring and settling. patton applauds.

and then he smiles, because logan is kind of smiling, but also kind of trying to hide that he’s smiling, because it’s probably the first time in about ten years that logan’s spun around in a long skirt, and hey, skirts of any kind might mess with patton’s gender dysphoria, but he also remembers how satisfying it is to spin around in a really long skirt.

logan plucks lightly at the skirt to make sure it’s all hanging straight, before he glances over and says, and patton only knows it’s tinged with slight nervousness because of how well he knows him, “what do you think, grandma?”

patton turns to look at his mother for the first time since he’d started fastening logan’s buttons.

emily’s staring at the pair of them. and staring. and staring. patton’s about to prod logan to maybe ask again, before—

“heels,” she says.

“what?” logan says, glancing up from the skirt.

“that dress will never work if you don’t wear heels,” she says, a glint in her eyes.

logan says, “heels are scientifically proven to cause foot, ankle, knee, and back problems. also, they are a tool of the patriarchy, designed to slow a woman down.”

“oh, it’ll be required,” she says. “as well as elbow-length kidskin gloves, pantyhose, a crinoline—”

“that’s ridiculous,” logan huffs.

“uh-huh,” patton says absently, recalling his own experiences with heels. “that’s a debutante ball, kiddo.”

“and if you’re going to do the thing, you may as well do it properly,” emily says decisively, standing up. “i might have a pair of heels that will fit you, just so we can see the amount of height you’ll need—”

and she’s off, heading straight for her closet. in retrospect, patton thinks, he probably should have expected his mom being more on board when it came to clothes.

“help,” logan says, looking at patton pleadingly.

“hey,” patton says, holding up his hands with half a laugh, “this was your idea.”

logan looks like he’s sincerely regretting it.

⁂

virgil’s putting away the last of the dishes he’d washed (patton would probably get on him, later, for doing chores that patton was going to do later, and how you don’t have to do that, honey!! but he was bored, he did some dishes, sue him, also patton always gives him this smile whenever he does things like this, so it is for slightly selfish reasons) when he hears patton’s car pull into the driveway, and the motor cuts off.

virgil smiles to himself, and makes sure that he’s put everything away properly, before he meanders over to the couch and tries to make it seem like he hasn’t been cleaning patton’s kitchen. he’s obviously going to get found out as soon as patton notices his sink is empty, but.

he can hear logan’s voice floating through the door, “—glad she took it okay, but dad, you had to stop at that store right then—?”

“i probably should have warned you,” patton, a laugh in his voice, “but honestly, well. you are gonna have to wear the gloves and crinoline at least, and since you’ve never—”

the door opens, logan carrying a garment bag, patton carrying a shopping bag, “—walked in a pair before, it’s probably smart that you—virgil, hi, honey!”

virgil rises automatically to his feet as patton’s face brightens, and patton rocks up on his toes to give him a greeting kiss.

“i thought you were working?” patton says.

virgil shrugs, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “things were slow enough, i figured i could let jean close. hey, l, is that the dress?”

“it is,” logan says.

“so that went okay?” virgil says, and logan scowls, ever so slightly.

“virgil’ll need to see you in the heels you’re intending to wear to get the hemming right,” patton says. “won’t you, virgil?”

“yeah, i’ll have to use it to see if the skirt needs more length—and heels, huh?” virgil says, glancing at logan.

logan scowls even deeper. “grandma seems to be under the influence that if i’m going to be a debutante, i’m going to have to do it properly. therefore, heels.”

“and elbow length kidskin gloves, and a crinoline,” patton says, ticking them off on his fingers. “i have a list.”

“should probably wait until you get the petticoat to tailor the dress,” virgil says. “could i see it, though? you don’t have to put it on or anything. i brought a—”

“oh!” patton says, catching sigh of the torso-only mannequin sitting in the corner of the room.

“i’ll just keep it here for logan’s dress,” virgil says. “i figured a headless one would be less… creepy.”

“it’s appreciated,” logan says, before he hands over the garment bag, and virgil unzips it, starting to unbunch the skirt and wrestle it onto the mannequin.

“i hate heels,” logan grumbles. “have you seen the studies on what wearing these things on a regular basis will do to your spine?”

“uh-huh,” patton says.

“not to mention your feet,” logan says, scowling at the shoebox like it’s morally offended him.

“also,” logan continues, “heels are an invention of the patriarchy! they were originally meant to help men secure their feet in stirrups, and then it became a symbol of nobility and class, so they’re inherently classist, too!”

“oh, absolutely agreed,” patton says.

“i can’t believe grandma insisted on heels,” logan says. “flats would be fine.”

“yeah, i probably should have guessed she wouldn’t let that part go, given the lessons,” patton says.

logan glances up, frowning. “lessons?”

virgil glances away from where he’s fluffing out the skirt of the dress, too, to see patton with a strange look on his face; half nostalgia, half regret. it’s a look he usually gets when he’s talking about growing up in the sanders house.

“oh, yeah,” patton says, reminiscent. “as soon as i was deemed old enough, we had walking practice lessons, me and your grandma.”

“…what,” virgil says. because. what?

patton laughs, just a little. “yeah, every day for half an hour a day, one summer! she’d make sure i had proper posture in heels. i had to balance a book on my head, too, to make it even more cliché.”

logan looks, perhaps, a little cowed. virgil, on the other hand, is just—

sometimes, it knocks him totally off-guard, whenever patton talks about the various absurd things he had to do, pre-transition, as the sole scion of a rich family. etiquette lessons and country clubs and going to the opera and flower arranging and walking lessons. patton remembers a lot of it, clearly—of course he does, for so long it had been deemed that patton would be a house spouse who raised kids for a similarly wealthy scion of an esteemed family—but it always throws virgil off, just a little.

he briefly pictures patton—long-haired, in the admittedly few pictures patton has shown virgil of himself at that age—chin tilted carefully up, but not too far up, one of the too-big grimoires from richard’s library wobbling on his head, eyes fixed on one of the portraits emily has dotting the house, walking loops around the living room as emily critiqued his posture and stance with a hawkish eye, the click-click-click of heels on hardwood the only thing to break up her commentary.

“i mean,” patton says, breaking that particular mental image. “you know. at least you’ve only gotta wear heels for this one thing. women are expected to wear heels all the time. and since you’re selling this to a lot of chilton students as experiencing what women experience for a day…”

“…i will shut up about the heels,” logan mumbles.

patton ruffles his hair, and, seemingly detecting the mood that’s dropped over logan and virgil—thinking about what it would be like, to be raised like that—and says, in a gentle tone, brushing logan’s hair back into place, “heels really aren’t so bad, once you get used to them. it does just take a bit of practice, i promise.”

logan sighs, and looks at the box a smidge less distastefully than before. “i suppose i’ll have to try it to see.”

“that’s the spirit,” patton says brightly, and virgil shakes himself and refocuses on fastening the buttons of the dress, before stepping out from behind it to get the full effect.

“it’s a bit short on you, huh?” virgil comments, already digging around in his breast pocket for the notepad he usually uses to take orders.

“i think it’ll look very audrey hepburn once we get the crinoline,” patton offers. “the flare skirt thing, y’know.”

virgil nods, jotting this down; as he is, he asks, absently, “logan, was it tight, loose, itchy, anything like that?”

“tight,” logan says immediately, “and a bit itchy.”

virgil’s brow furrows thoughtfully as he considers what to do about that—brick davis had already stopped by the diner to tell him their nickname they were going to use while they were considering other names to eventually adopt and show off their dress, and they had some sensory issues and had already told him that they loved the shape of the dress, but they already knew that if they could feel the itchy gemstones it would be enough to make them have sensory overload, so he was already brainstorming fixes for that—but he jots it down all the same, before reaching out to pinch at the skirt and lift it, then let it go, just to get a sense of how it moved.

“i mentioned earlier that it makes sense, since i was probably a foot shorter than he was when mom ordered that dress,” patton says. “but if there’s a way to just loosen it a bit, maybe, and make the flare skirt thing look more intentional?”

“that’ll all be in the,” he gestures, “crinoline, petticoat, whichever you get. a crinoline would probably be the better choice, if you really want the fifties vibe—logan, you’re cool with the fifties vibe?”

“fine by me,” logan’s voice floats from the couch, then, “how is this supposed to work?”

both patton and virgil glanced over in enough time to see logan holding up a high heel—white, of course, and very sensible-looking and, if virgil had to guess, three inches tall, maybe four, at the highest.

patton blinks. “putting them on already?”

logan shrugs, and says, intentionally casual, “if they take practice, why not start now?”

patton pauses, before he clears his throat and crosses the room, and says, “yeah, okay. do you need help?”

virgil crosses the room, too, if only to get a look at the dress from a full-view angle, and he hears a ka-CLUNK as logan staggers to his feet. he turns in enough time to see logan pinwheeling his arms wildly, and patton reaching out to balance him.

“whoa, easy,” patton says. “let’s not walk yet—”

“not that i didn’t before, but i now, truly, know that i never would have been cut out to do pointe with roman,” logan announces, arms stilling, but still held out for balance.

patton laughs. “there’s a bit of a difference there—he’s been on tip-toe since he was learning to walk, honey.”

“you wouldn’t let patton set you down on wet grass until you were three,” virgil points out, which is true—he and patton had laughed a lot back then as logan had avoided bare feet on grass at all costs, doing some interesting baby gymnastics in his attempts to avoid it.

“i hardly see what that has to do with my balancing capabilities,” logan mutters, a little embarrassed, the way a teenager always is whenever someone brings up baby stories.

“okay, speaking of tip-toe,” patton says, “you’re putting all your weight on your toes, you gotta let the heel touch the ground.”

virgil leans a little to see—and indeed, logan is balancing on his tiptoes, as high as he can, the white heel hovering off the ground. logan, slowly, lowers and lowers until the heel thumps as it hits the ground.

“good,” patton says, hand still on logan’s shoulder. “let’s just get used to how that feels, yeah?”

logan frowns. “the weight distribution is different than i expected. i thought it would all be in the toes, not in the—” he cuts himself off.

“heels?” patton finishes for him. “that’s all okay, just—i’ll let you know how to walk. but you’re kinda getting the feel for it? is it okay if i let you go now?”

logan nods his assent, so patton takes a step back—not far enough that he wouldn’t be able to lunge for logan if logan fell—and logan wobbles, just a little, but he manages to regain his balance quickly enough.

“they hurt,” logan says, frowning.

“toe-pinching like it’s too small, hurt, or—?”

“i think it’s my feet aren’t used to it hurt,” logan admits.

“that’s perfectly normal,” patton says. “your grandma used to tell me to throw on shoes super early so that my feet would get all nice and numb.”

“that’s sick,” logan says. “the patriarchy is evil.”

“amen, brother,” virgil says dryly.

logan preoccupies himself with shifting his bodyweight this way and that, trying to grow accustomed to it, so virgil goes over to inspect the dress a bit more—this dress, honestly, will probably be the most adjustment-intensive, so it’s probably good that it’s logan’s dress—half-listening to patton and logan discuss how logan should distribute his weight and any adjustments he might need to make to his posture and on and on.

considering patton was incredibly short, back then, it’s honestly probably a miracle that this dress even slightly fits logan well enough—and honestly, the fifties skirt effect would probably save virgil a lot of work, rather than spend any time on figuring out how exactly the lengthen the skirt to brush the floor. it’s not like virgil can really start any work right now, considering he really does need to have logan in the heels and crinoline to really get a feel for how the dress looks, but he can gather a few ideas on supplies he might need, fixes he could use for any potential problems.

it looks like his days are going to be filled with those kinds of questions for a while. brick davis wasn’t the only sideshire high student asking virgil to help with their dress; a large chunk of roman’s class had followed his lead, since, to virgil’s everlasting amusement while comparing him and remus, roman was a popular kid that people wanted to emulate, and roman’s friendship slash tutorship of all the students of isadora prince’s dance studio meant that there would also be an influx of tuxes—which, fortunately, were probably going to be way less labor-intensive than any of the dresses.

virgil’s busy jotting down things he might need to bring over or buy, not just for logan’s dress, but for all the dresses and tuxes of the sideshire kids, when patton says, “all right. walking time, do you think?”

“walking time,” logan agrees, with the grim, matter-of-fact determination of someone about to start to climb everest.

“okay. now, remember, let’s start with half-steps, slowly, we can work your way up to your usual walk slash pace,” patton says, and virgil glances up in enough time to see logan cautiously put a foot forward.

he wobbles, and patton lunges forward, catching his hands—”i gotcha, i gotcha,” patton says, a bit of a laugh in his voice, as logan sways his way back to a balanced stance. a stray thought tickles the back of virgil’s brain, but he can’t quite identify what it is before patton starts talking again.

“don’t walk heel-toe, i’m sorry, i should have mentioned that—try putting weight on your toes first.”

“okay,” logan says, and renews his grip on patton’s hands, before carefully stepping forward once again. the thought pings at virgil again, and his brow furrows, ever so slightly, trying to identify what it might be.

“that’s it,” patton says, encouragingly. “just like that! you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

and that’s when the thought clicks into place—it’s déjà vu.

virgil’s brain flashes—logan, all of sixteen, not quite secure on his feet, but nevertheless trying to walk forward, patton moving backward with him, their hands clasped together.

it reminds virgil of logan learning how to walk.

and the mental image blooms into his mind, crystal clear, like it was yesterday; logan, all of ten months old, wearing his tiny overalls and his tiny t-shirt and his tiny little tennis shoes, mouth open and showing off all of his newly-grown baby teeth, tongue sticking out as he’d take one toddling step forward, two, patton kneeling on the black-and-white diner tile and saying in the exact same, near-laughing tone, that’s it, honey, that’s it! papa’s gotcha! c’mon, lo-lo, you got this! the sight of logan walking new enough that it was enough to stop twenty-three year old virgil in his tracks, watching eagle-eyed as patton shuffled backwards on his knees, eyes wide, encouraging and watchful, and so thrilled as logan babbled a stream of nonsense at him, stamping his way forward, hands wrapped around patton’s fingers.

and a laugh breaks through the memory, and suddenly he’s back in the present; virgil, all of thirty-nine, watching a nearly-full-grown logan, in his officious suit jacket and tie, struggling to take a few steps forward in his new high heels, brow furrowed still, but no childish urge to stick out his tongue; patton, taller, healthier, happier, overall, voice deeper but the tone’s still the same—absolutely thrilled at the concept of logan learning how to do anything, another milestone for logan to succeed in, another instance to celebrate.

virgil remembers, too, logan’s soft, chubby little baby hands, wrapped around virgil’s fingers, staggering toward him, the way virgil’s voice would get softer and how quickly it became second-nature to catch logan if he fell. logan’s shrieking laughs, logan’s babbling in his ear, logan’s cries going quiet when virgil shushed and rocked him. the sweet, babyish sigh logan would let out whenever he fell asleep against virgil’s chest; his head resting against virgil’s shoulder, his weight and warmth in virgil’s arms.

logan’s far too big for that now.

virgil’s heart pangs—when did they all get so old?—but especially at the sight of logan, almost an adult, taller than patton, nearly as tall as virgil, and almost as old as patton had been that day he’d crashed into the diner for the first time.

and now here he was; in high school, and preparing to be presented to society as an adult. granted, as somewhat of a prank. but the idea’s still there; logan is almost an adult. soon, logan would be making his way in the world.

soon, he wouldn’t need them to hold his hands.

“you got this!” patton cheers, as logan slowly, gradually, walks a lap of half-steps around the room without wobbling too much, without the fear of falling down. “you’re gonna be a heels-walking professional by the time of the debutante ball!”

virgil swallows, and echoes patton, voice perhaps a bit thicker than usual, “yeah, kid, you definitely got this.”

logan glances up from the ground to flash a quick smile in virgil’s direction, and virgil takes a deep breath before he crosses the room to take a look at how logan’s handling it; sure, patton had had walking-in-heels lessons, but virgil had definitely worn heels more recently than patton had.

and logan still needs them to hold his hands, for now. just a little while longer.

#anonymous #ask #my post #text #my fic #my fanfic #the sideshire files

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cyn-00 · 4 years ago

Text

Moreid one shot, 22 - "strings"

Another one inspired by season 5, episode 10 "The slave of duty", though with an entirely different focus compared to my other fic based on that same episode (which btw was my FIRST can u believe that)

I'm gonna remind you of a couple things that are important to understand this work (the plot of the episode/case aren't tbh): this is that period in the show where Morgan is taking Hotch's place in leading the team; plus Reid's been recently shot in the knee so he has his cane and everything. The first dialogue is word by word reported from the show and then I go from there ;)

@upsetti0spaghettiii and @rollcreditsyall asked me to tag 'em <3 hope u like it

Read it on AO3

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"We need fresh eyes..." Rossi mumbled, more as if telling himself than the rest of the team.

Morgan acknowledged the older man's hint and sighed deeply, sinking further in his swivel chair. "A'ight, listen up,"

He continued once everyone's eyes darted up to him almost as quickly as they'd dart up to Hotch - which always lit Spencer up with pride, somehow.

"I want everybody to go back to the hotel and try to get some rest. We're gonna have to pick this up again in the morning."

Prentiss poorly contained a taken aback expression. "Wha- we're giving up?"

Reid was this close to piercing her skull with a laser-glare, because Morgan was RIGHT - how could she not see that they were getting nowhere? But then again: would've looked like he was playing the part of the blindly supportive boyfriend. Which, he never did.

"No." Morgan shot his head up to glance at her; albeit with anything but malice in his eyes. "We're gonna take a break. We have to give the profile at morning roll and none of us has slept since the funeral."

Realization; painted on Emily's features. Now do you see? Reid wanted to ask - he didn't, of course.

"Once Garcia can get us a paper trail, then we can expand our canvas. 'Till then there's really not a lot we can do." Morgan concluded, and silence fell in the room like a heavy blanket, smothering whatever other retort his teammates may raise.

Reid waited for the others to exit the room before standing up and making his way around the desk, straining against the searing pang that shot up from his healing knee at the motion.

He settled behind Morgan's chair and let his free arm loosely encircle him from behind, resting his palm on the man's broad, tense chest.

After unnecessarily checking once again that there weren't any nosy officers peeking from outside, he carefully bent down to reach Derek's temple and place a lingering kiss there.

"You did the right thing." he murmured, and immediately felt the other man releasing a breath at his words.

"I know." Derek responded shortly, finally moving from that concerningly petrified position to place his palm over Spencer's hand, pressing more firmly to discourage him from breaking contact.

Spencer allowed his tired eyes to flutter close for a few seconds as he rested his cheek on his boyfriend's head, relying on his trusted cane not to let him fall headlong on the moquette - "who's the idiot that decided putting moquette in a police station conference room was a good idea?", he recalled the comment Derek had whispered to his ear a few hours before, and he recalled thinking that only someone as obsessed with everything furniture-wise as Derek Morgan could notice and care about such a thing as a police station flooring. "Pfft... good luck with washing that if someone spills coffee".

The thought awakened him before it could bring a stupid, unbidden smile to his lips.

Washing. Soap, warm water, shampoo... he needed a well deserved-

"Shower." Derek's voice and the noise of lips briefly smacking on his palm resonated in the genius' half-asleep ears. "Need a shower."

Spencer smiled now. "Me too."

"I know. Could hear you thinkin' about it." Derek left another kiss on Spencer's wrist before gripping on the armrests to stand up, needing him to lift his warm cheek seemingly melting on the top of his head to do so.

"C'mon," he encouraged, turning around to finally take a look at the man's sleepy face.

"Gotta help Goldilocks here shampoo up." he grinned warmly, tilting his head.

Spencer only snorted, because with that damn smile what the hell could he say to the man.

Reid sighed deeply as he slumped onto the toilet lid, resting his cane against the tiled wall of the bathroom.

He took off his jacket and pulled his sweater vest over his head, and the second he began maneuvering with his tie, a pair of hands landed over his.

He glanced up slightly annoyed, but gave in to let those hands do the work nonetheless.

"It's the pants I struggle with, not the upper part of my body." he specified for the millionth time - the millionth time he'd found Derek helping him get out of his tie and shirt even though he could do that by himself just fine.

Morgan arched a brow and scoffed, keeping his gaze leveled with the collar of the other man's button-up. "What's in it for me if I don't at least get to undress my boy, uh?"

Spencer contained a smile, ducking his head to look at Derek's hands proceeding to undo the buttons once he'd slid the tie away.

"Not exactly the type of undressing you'd wished for, I'm guessing..." he mumbled sheepishly after a couple seconds.

Derek's eyebrows furrowed now. He said more with those eyebrows of his than he did with his words.

"Any type of undressing you is the type of undressing I wish for..." he trailed off, and Spencer noticed his shirt had magically slid off of his shoulders and was being untucked from his slacks.

Derek's smile grew as his pupils traced from the skinny man's hips up to his chest and laced with his eyes at last.

"It's that I enjoy the view regardless, pretty boy." he added winking, before placing a kiss right over the man's heart.

Spencer didn't say anything. His usual "whatever you say" or the like would only supply him with Derek's eye-roll and another cascade of cheesy praising followed by Spencer's impulse to kiss him and then a few other things which he didn't have the physical strength to engage in, in that moment.

So he settled for thinking those things, lost in his own head while his eyes followed each one of Derek's careful motions that only resulted in layers and layers of clothing peeling off of his body, unable to pinpoint when exactly he had propped up to let the man pull his pants down to his ankles.

The only thing he managed to feel, right after the piercing cold ceramic under his thighs once his slacks were no longer cladding them, was the noise of the brace straps and the sensation of it freeing his leg and then-

"Ouch- Waitwaitwait, Der- wait" he pleaded through gritted teeth, as a twinge of pain awakened him from his pleasant reverie.

"I'm sorry baby, I know this part always hurts like hell" Derek said, and they both knew the 'part' he was referring to was the one where Spencer had to stretch his leg, numb and strained from having it caged in that hellish plastic brace for hours straight.

Spencer nodded and let his boyfriend do the rest - the first couple times he had tried to protest and get through everything on his own, feeling nothing short of a burden and decidedly embarrassed. Now, though, he knew there was no point in arguing, not simply because arguing with Derek when it came to taking care of Spencer was pointless to say the very least; but mostly because Derek was inexplicably good at taking care of him. Doctor Reid could surely brag about his PhDs, but Derek seemed to own every medical training in the world when he had to care for Spencer's pain.

The other man rose to his feet for a few seconds, taking the forgotten plastic stool in the corner of the room and placing it in the shower, before starting the water to get it as warm as Spencer liked it. Which meant, 3rd-degree-burn warm.

He returned to kneel in front of the naked genius in his briefs and mismatched socks only, smiling fondly at the sight.

He gently grabbed Spencer's ankles to slip off his socks - it made his toes curl and Derek adored it - and wrapped his strong arms around his boyfriend's skinny torso to pull him up to his bare feet.

Spencer only slightly hissed and grasped onto Derek's shoulders like his life depended on it - which, it kinda did, seeing how the worryingly sharp edge of the marble bathroom counter seemed to be waiting just for the man to wobble under the weight of his recently wounded knee.

Derek hooked his fingers in the elastic band of his boyfriend's underwear and let it fall to the floor so the other could step out of it - just a week ago that same, easy action almost cost Spencer to trip over and smash his skull straight into the sliding glass door of his shower; but Derek pushed that memory away because acting like the overly protective boyfriend wasn't gonna make things any better or easier, anyway.

It's just. Spencer was so fragile. There was no denying that. His brain was worth all their brains added together if not more, but dammit could a bruise stain his fair skin for weeks on end; reason why they'd given up on hickeys a long time ago - at least visible ones - in light of the fact that ever-lasting purple marks weren't exactly a good idea in their line of work.

"Derek, uhm, I'm taking a wild guess your fully clothed self doesn't know how cold it is in this bathroom, but, it's cold." Spencer's complaint brought him out of his head.

He looked down at himself and, indeed, he was fully clothed still.

"Wanna bet that I won't be as cold as you? You just like to whine a lot don't you?" Derek teased, pulling his henley off.

"It would be decidedly stupid of me to bet on such obviousness ? It's granted that you won't feel as cold as me considering that I'm skinnier; muscle heats up the body through metabolism as well as fat which works as an insulating-"

Reid's babbling was cut off by the man's laughter.

"...what? What's so funny?"

"I finally got naked for you and that's still not enough to stop your fact-spewing?"

Derek saw Spencer gulping and scanning him from head to toe.

"...right" he murmured, biting the inside of his cheek.

Morgan brought the other's pink-tinted face back up with his hands, lifting his gaze from where it was lingering on some undefined area very much below his usual approximately 5'8-something horizon line, and placed a kiss between his eyebrows.

"Come on. I ain't gonna risk you getting a cold on top of everything else." he said softly, securing Spencer's waist with two hands from behind to lead him first into the shower.

And thank God that one was an actual shower, instead of that bathtub the two of them barely fit in with a half-unhooked plastic curtain from that crappy motel the team found themselves having to spend a whole 6 days in, just a couple weeks before. And thank God for the stool, also, because helping Spencer through a shower while either standing or sitting on the floor were provenly exhausting techniques for both of them.

Derek eased his boyfriend into said stool and could immediately see him relaxing under the warm water. He dropped on his knees and started untangling the man's matted curls with his fingers - Spencer had confessed that, before Derek, he only used to untangle the knots with a comb after having showered because he didn't have the time or patience to do otherwise, but Morgan had rightfully reminded him that he had not one but two sisters, hence he was so used to observe how carefully their mom routinely brushed and braided their hair when they were little he could repeat the process by heart - so at the end of the day, "I might be bald but I sure know more about curls than you do, pretty boy".

After having managed to loosen maybe a couple of major tangles at most - nothing out of the ordinary - he reached for the shampoo and squeezed a generous amount on his palm, smearing it on both hands before spreading it onto Spencer's mop of hair.

Morgan had always wondered how the hell the kid always smelt so good; the rare times he could perceive something other than the cozy smell of coffee that almost perpetually imbued Spencer's aura. For some unfounded reason, his first guess had been that the source of such sweet smell must've been Spencer's cologne. After a month at most of knowing him, though, the hypothesis that the lanky genius with the crooked tie and that cardigan Morgan couldn't picture as anyone else's but his grandfather's actually wore cologne, was thrown out of the window. So he'd quite confidently settled for option B, which entailed that the scent had to have something to do with the detergent he used for his clothes. Little did he know he would find himself in Reid's bathroom some night after a case, and his eyes would be caught by a plastic, peach-pink bottle of shampoo that, to his "surprise", smelled like...like Spencer. Like something sweet and fruity with a spicy hint of cinnamon. And it's not like Morgan wasn't aware of the notorious, rom-com cliché that the aphrodisiac smell of the person you're hopelessly pining over is more likely due to their shampoo than anything else; it's more that he didn't want to give in the realization that not only Spencer's hair looked good - and, much later on, felt good twirled around his fingers - but on top of that it smelt good. Oh, dammit, my crush's hair smells like heaven which only adds to the fact that he probably fell from there, seeing how it makes him look like a downright ANGEL. Come on. Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan would've preferred without a smidge of doubt to remain unbeknownst of that, for the sake of his poor heart.

Poor heart, indeed, when Spencer started literally purring close-eyed under the soothingly kneading motions of Derek's digits through his hair. There was really no reason to keep on massaging the shampoo on Spencer's scalp for 5 minutes straight, if not that sight.

"Spencer?" he called, failing to contain the urge to lean in and peck at his lips.

"Hmm ?" the dopey man hummed in response.

"Sweetie, don't fall asleep on me here, yeah?"

" 'm trying. But you're not helping." Spencer mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his fingers from the water streaming down his face to open them in slits.

"Ah, so now it's my fault that you get all dreamy when I play with your hair?"

Spencer frowned. "Uhm, yes ?"

The other man chuckled. "Alright. Got the message." he claimed before standing briefly to his feet to grab the sprayer.

"Mmh' no this is even worse..." Spencer mewled when his boyfriend started rinsing his hair with warm water, running his fingers through it to be as thorough as possible.

Derek burst out laughing. "You're unbelievable, I swear to God." he said, making quick work of the rinsing process or else he would've undoubtedly have to drag a passed out, naked Spencer out of the shower.

He put the sprayer back in place and took the shower gel - he had to use the unscented, cheap, exceedingly liquid sample from the hotel - and poured it on his palm.

Spencer held out his hands in a cup-like shape as if waiting for Derek to give him a share of the gel. He looked up at him and arched a brow.

The genius rolled his eyes. "If you don't provide me with something to do I'm gonna seriously fall asleep in here."

Derek nodded and complied. "Lame excuse."

"For what?" the other asked like he didn't know when actually he knew.

"For laying your hands on me?" Derek teased with his 'you can't fool me' tone. "But I ain't complaining, just so we're clear..." he smirked.

After that, Spencer gave up on countering further but his expression didn't waver much; and Derek couldn't even relish in the satisfaction of holding that comment 100% accountable for the flush dyeing Spencer's chest and neck, because it could've very well been mostly due to the steam and hot water.

Both started spreading the gel onto each other's shoulders and necks and torsos, and Morgan wouldn't have managed to tear his gaze away from the skinny man sat in front of him even if he'd purposely tried. Spencer's concentrated expression was the same whether he was solving Schrödinger's equation or he was stirring his coffee with a spoon.

Hazel eyes locked with Derek's after a while, only for a split second before their owner launched himself into his arms; a soapy hand cupping the back of his neck and a warm muzzle burying in his slippery shoulder.

Derek didn't question and simply indulged in the hug, tracing circles with his thumbs on the nubs of Spencer's spine as he let his cheek lean against the top of his head.

"Thank you." a muffled whisper breached through the continuous noise of water thrumming on ceramic and glass and steel surfaces.

"Stop thanking me, kid. I love you." how many times had Morgan found himself saying those exact words, if maybe arranged in different fashions, throughout 5 years of working with Reid? Only difference was that the last bit hadn't always born the meaning it bore now. Almost, though.

After one or two minutes more - Derek couldn't quite gauge, and the fact that Spencer most definitely could brought a slight smile to his lips - Reid let go of the hug; and it was only because being soaked from head to toe blurred out things a little that Morgan couldn't swear the man was a second away from crying.

Reid looked down at his wrinkly finger pads.

"We're wasting an unnecessary amount of water." he said with a small grin curling one edge of his mouth. If Spencer's previous expression rendered almost unreadable by that soaked-head-to-toe situation hadn't been enough to go by, his current tone and the look that went along with it surely were.

However, Morgan didn't mention it, and the couple spent the rest of the shower rinsing the bubbles off of their bodies in soothing quiet.

The comfortable quiet kept going unhindered as Derek helped Spencer up and out of the shower, as he wrapped a towel around his bony hips, as Spencer brushed his dripping hair with a wooden comb while watching the standing man put on his sweats and t-shirt. Their exchanges merely fond glances here and hands caressing cheeks there and fingers bumping on skins like silent reminders that they were together in this just as much as in everything else that might come in their way and break them, whether inside or out or both it didn't matter as long as they were Spencer and Derek and Derek and Spencer.

And so together they walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, both pleasantly surprised by how they managed to not let Spencer slip on the steam-coated floor.

In a matter of minutes he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, which wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as sitting on the crappy stool or the toilet lid, much to Spencer's relief.

And Spencer Reid was notoriously not one to count his chickens before they'd hatched, but this time...

"Oh baby...does it still hurt so bad?" Morgan asked with full-on worry creasing his handsome features, at the sight of his boyfriend screwing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw while his leg bounced up and down - the leg not injured, that is. He'd caught Spencer doing that sometimes during work and he'd quickly figured it was his way to cope with pangs.

Spencer simply nodded his head frantically and grabbed both the man's hands to squeeze them in a knuckle-whitening clutch.

His boyfriend's sigh was so deep Spencer didn't need to actually see to picture the rising and falling of his chest as visible to the naked eye.

"I'm gonna get the pills the doctor prescribed you and I don't wanna hear you complain." the man asserted.

The second Reid felt him on the verge of standing up, he squeezed his hands even tighter and made an effort to open his eyes.

"No, nonono I- I took it 2 and a half hours ago I can't take anymore for another hour and a half at least." he protested, shaking his head vigorously and staring pleadingly at him.

Morgan sighed again, and this time Reid could see it.

"Ok, alright, then...did you bring that ointment he gave you?"

Spencer's pupils fidgeted around in thought.

"Yeah. Y- yeah, I- I have that in my bag." he replied, stuttering with the abruptness of his realization.

Derek stood up for real now, fetching said ointment.

He came back a minute later and resumed his kneeling position, squeezing some of the balm on his fingers and warming it up by rubbing his hands. He started massaging it onto his boyfriend's knee, and the heavy mass weighing on his chest was lifted like magic when Spencer's muscles relaxed and his deadly grip on the blankets loosened.

Another 'thank you' was about to escape Spencer's mouth, but then he opted to swallow it and instead relish in the sensation of Derek's thumbs rubbing the slick balm in circles at either side of his wounded kneecap; watching him as though if he didn't keep an eye on him he would disappear.

He didn't know how much time had passed, because that was one of those few occasions he'd allowed himself not to keep count of things - most of those occasions were the ones he spent with Derek - but it must have been quite a while because by the time Derek spoke up again, the pain had melted away and his knee was glistening and warm and his heart was fuzzy and vibrating inside his ribcage.

"Better?" the man asked.

Spencer waited a second for him to raise his gaze from the task at hand and direct it toward his, and for the smile that he knew was coming to actually come, before answering.

When that happened, he said: "Definitely."

And if Derek's grin didn't widen it was just because it couldn't get bigger than half of his face, and because it had to be a crime to smile more brightly than that.

"Alright then. Gonna get cleaned up and then I'll help you with pj's."

Spencer opened his mouth to dismiss his offer but was immediately cut off by a finger raised threateningly at him.

"Nope. I don't wanna hear it, I told you." Derek reprimanded before heading to the bathroom.

The few minutes Morgan spent washing his hands and pacing around the room to get the other's t-shirt and flannel pants were enough for the warm and fuzzy feeling to seep out of Reid's skin and be replaced by unsettling thoughts he never enjoyed wallowing in, but especially not in that moment.

It was exactly that same feeling from earlier reoccurring to him, the feeling that if he let Derek out of his sight for a second he would lose him - more specifically Derek would leave him. And of course during work the time they spent apart was much more than the one they spent together, but in a working context it was simply...different. Different in a way Spencer couldn't name. It was when they were alone that the feeling came back to choke him with its evil claws; and it was such a foreign one considering that Reid had spent most of his childhood AND adulthood alone, so one would simply guess he was used to it. Maybe it was exactly that: that he'd got so used to being alone he couldn't help but cling onto the first thing that made him not alone, and if in the beginning that thing had been his team and later on the team stopped being enough and it became Dilaudid, now that thing was Derek, and Derek was more than enough for the time being - Spencer was pretty confident he would be enough for the rest of his life, but what if it weren't mutual ? What if Spencer wasn't enough for Derek - for that matter, how could Spencer be enough for anyone? What if Derek left ?

"-encer? Baby you good in there?"

Then what would the next thing be and would a 'next thing' even exist or should he just settle for being alone all over again, only this time he would know the feeling of NOT being alone - would he ever recover from that?

"Hey, kid, c'mon now,"

Could he forget what it had felt like not being alone and learn to suffice for himself?

"Spencer seriously, talk to me ?"

Could Spencer Reid learn to finally FORGET if forgetting meant surviving?

"Spencer, come on baby you're starting to scare me here."

Reid ultimately managed to snap out of his head and realize Morgan had been trying to pull him out of it all along. He felt a hand cradling his jaw and words reaching his eardrums and his name being called in endless sequence.

He shook his head and gaped for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm here, sorry I- just, I was...thinking, I'm sorry..." he swallowed and jerked his eyes away from Derek's because the look he was giving him was a bit too much.

Morgan released a heavy exhale, as his hand shifted to rest on the back of Reid's head, massaging his nape to ground him again.

"Sorry."

"Don't start. Just tell me what you were thinking."

A grimace of reluctance crinkled Spencer's sweet face. "...do I have to?"

"Yes." Derek asserted. "Puppy-eyes won't work this time."

Spencer bit his lip to contain a lopsided, amused smile.

"Well," he shrugged. "it was worth the shot."

Derek snorted in response, visibly relaxing at having managed to reclaim their usual playful banter.

The other man was grateful that Morgan hadn't pried, instead reaching a hand out beside the spot where Spencer was sitting to grab his fresh pair of briefs. The warm-fuzzy feeling partially found its way back through Spencer's bloodstream at the thought that Derek probably knew by now how he was more likely to talk brake-free and open heartedly when he wasn't being overtly pressured to do so.

Derek carefully untucked the towel from around Spencer's hips and rose to a half-standing position to prop him up a few inches from the bed and slide it away from underneath him. He helped the man's long legs inside his underwear and lifted him once again to pull it up; he took the slightly moist towel and used it to ruffle Spencer's hair in the attempt to wipe it dry a little - again: a cold wasn't the greatest idea at the moment - gaining his signature nose scrunch and finally, Spencer started spilling.

"I was thinking about this whole...situation." Reid murmured with a sigh.

Morgan considered his words for a few seconds - uncaring of having probably given the man the impression that he wasn't listening - while minutely un-messing the strands of brunette, damp hair he'd messed up with the towel and adjusting them behind Spencer's ears.

"Meaning?" he asked at last; more to give the man the liberty of elaborating how he wanted than because he hadn't picked up on the 'situation' he was referring to.

"Meaning...you taking on Hotch's role temporarily ?" Spencer supplied, raising his pitch at the end as though it were a question.

"What about it, sweetie?" he urged on gently, stopping his ministrations to rub his hands up and down Spencer's sides affectionately.

"I, uh..." Reid cleared his voice. "I just realized that- well, m- maybe it's that I didn't want to think about it so that's why I'm realizing it only now but, anyway; I realized that if...if Hotch isn't coming back..." he trailed off, looking down at his knees.

Derek took the hint and started moving again, picking Spencer's flannel pants and guiding his feet inside them.

Spencer waited for the lift-and-pull-up part to be over - because it was too draining to do that AND talk simultaneously - before conjuring his train of thought again.

"If Hotch doesn't come back, you'll be the new Unit Chief." Reid said, once he was sitting down.

Morgan hesitated, furrowing his brows in confusion as to why Reid would feel the need to state the obvious.

"Yeah." he simply confirmed.

Spencer visibly refrained from explaining, choosing to spend the next few seconds picking at the worn fabric of his pajama pants - now that he wasn't naked anymore and finally had something to fiddle with - sticking uncomfortably to the layer of ointment covering his knee.

As per usual, Morgan's brain was struggling to keep up with his boyfriend's pondering.

But then it hit him.

"Oh..." Derek dropped his gaze; his confused and apprehensive expression fading away to make space for a melancholic and apologetic one.

"...yeah" Spencer murmured. But then decided that a monosyllabic answer wasn't enough, and opted to unfold his thoughts more clearly.

"It means that...that you'll be our superior- my superior, hence we couldn't...you and I, we, we won't be allowed to..." he gulped. He knew his bottom lip was trembling. He could feel it. But he had to say it, or else the concept would eat him alive.

"...to be together anymore. Right?" Spencer concluded with a quivering voice.

Derek wanted to get back to doing what he was supposed to be doing to give them both some more seconds to digest that, but for some reason he feared that if he'd proceeded to help Spencer in his last piece of clothing, the man would've looked even more vulnerable and small in that saggy t-shirt than he did now that he was bare in any sense of the word in front of him.

So he slowly brushed his hands down Spencer's lap to entangle them with his.

"...unless I choose not to." he mumbled.

The genius' scowling glance shot up.

"What?? No. No, I won't let you do that."

Morgan sighed, tilting his head. "Spencer-"

"No, Derek. I couldn't live with myself knowing that you turned down the greatest job opportunity of your life to stay with me."

And that much was the truest statement Spencer had ever made, even if the only thought of breaking up with Derek made every cell in his body ache and his heart bleed out and his bones shatter like a china cup dropping on a granite floor.

Derek stared at him for a while with flat-out disbelief pasted on his face.

"Spencer," he started, and immediately shook his head, unable to contain a snort. Spencer's frown didn't but intensify at that.

"Kid, look. I know that you'd respect my decision to accept the job. I know it because you're one of the most ambitious and over-achieving people I know and I feel nothing but blessed to have someone like you by my side." he paused. "You inspire me in that sense, you know?"

Spencer didn't answer, but his gaze softened instinctively.

"But it's because I know you respect everything I do that I'd be disappointed to know that you made the exception to NOT support me if I decided to turn down the offer."

The words hit Spencer in a certain spot at the base of his skull, but he couldn't bring himself to be ungrateful for Derek being so honest and blunt about the matter.

So he nodded.

Derek continued, because he wasn't convinced at all that the man had got the message.

"And believe me when I say that the reason why I wouldn't accept it isn't because I pity you or I don't wanna leave 'poor Spencer' alone or whatever." he made the air-quote gesture and untangled a hand from Spencer's to bring it to his cheek.

"It's because to me accepting a title that by the way, I'm not even 100% sure that I want, it's not worth leaving the person I'm in love with."

With that last bit, Derek didn't need to forcibly bring his boyfriend's chin up to meet his eyes - Spencer had instantly done that on his own initiative.

"I would NOT be able to leave you, Spencer. For my sake, not out of pity. I know myself." he whispered, stroking his thumb on the other's cheek.

Spencer kept returning the other's stare for what they both perceived like 30 minutes, in search for the slightest hint of lie in Derek's eyes. Which, obviously, he gladly failed to summon.

So he inched closer and pressed their lips together, because kissing Derek seemed like the easier way to both reply to his confession and stop his bottom lip from trembling with the force of emotion welling up in his eyes.

Derek's mouth went along as his arms encircled his boyfriend's dainty frame to carefully shift him closer, until his body was the only thing keeping him from falling off the mattress. He captured every silky motion of Spencer's tongue with unmatched slowness; as if the more thorough the kiss, the better he could savor the man's unspoken words and enshrine them forever in his mind, only fueling his already unarguable conviction that no, he couldn't let this man slip away like it wasn't him that kept Derek's lungs breathing and his heart pounding and his limbs working.

With one last smack of lips Spencer gasped out of the kiss, keeping their foreheads glued together and his eyes shuttered because it was clear now that he didn't need to see the man to know he wouldn't leave, but his skin couldn't do without the feeling of Derek's against it nonetheless.

Slowly, he opened his lids and noticed the pair of pitch-black eyes in front of his were staring at him.

He smiled when he spotted a bright glimmer deep inside them, and was returned with a smile of Derek's own.

"Plus," Morgan's hoarse voice gently poked through the silence, as both his hands rose to cup the other's face.

"I know we shouldn't profile each other and all that, but dad really doesn't know what to do with himself when he's not with us, so my money's on him coming back." he joked.

Spencer burst in the prettiest giggle Derek had ever heard and let his head fall onto the other's shoulder.

"Y-yeah, mine too." he agreed once he'd recomposed himself enough to straighten in his seat again.

"Let's put this t-shirt on and go to sleep, uh?" Derek offered.

The genius nodded, and in a matter of 5 minutes at most, the two were a mess of entangled limbs - both injured and not - instants away from falling asleep; with a few less doubts stinging their hearts and just as many newfound strings keeping them together.

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itisannak · 5 years ago

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Luke x Firefighter!(Y/N) (Smut Fic)

Summary: Luke really likes the firefighter who treated him after a fire. And she does too. How do a firefighter and a rockstar mix, though? (Smut / Unprotected Sex / Doggy Style / Oral; Female Receiving) (T.W: Injuries / Hospital Setting) (Request: @saphseoul) (Words: 9.6k)

"Ok, but actually, whose idea was it to put an egg in the microwave?" I ask, putting the sleeve of the blood pressure monitor around the man's bicep. He mumbles something under his breath, looking at his hands; I knit my eyebrows together, trying to figure out what he said. "What was that?" I ask him and he sighs. "I was out of utensils and I wanted to eat something quick. And what's quicker than an egg? Can you ask if the fire damaged the house a lot?" He asks me and I hum. "Well, the kitchen was nearly burned down..." I reply and he groans, throwing his head back and bringing his hand to run it down his face. "Calum's going to kill me..." He groans, making me chuckle. "Your boyfriend?" I ask, getting in the fire truck to pick up an oxygen tank. "What? No... My best friend... I was supposed to house sit for him. How can I tell him I burned down the house?" He asks me before I help him with the mask. "Well, you didn't completely burn down the house. I have seen way worse... And you can either do it yourself, or I am pretty sure the insurance company will do it for you." I chuckle, turning the oxygen on. "Deep breaths. You are going to be fine." I smile at him, starting to gather up all the stuff I've taken out of the medkit.

I take the mask off his face, turning the tank off and climbing in to put it back in place. "You have oddly soft hands..." He comments like it is the strangest thing ever. "I guess I do. Alright, pal, you are as good as new. Well, to the extent that you can, I guess." I state, patting his shoulder. "Luke." He says and I tilt my head, looking at him in confusion. "Look where?" I ask and he sighs desperately. "No... My name is Luke." He extends his hand and I roll my eyes at how stupid I must have seemed to him. "Oh... (Y/N)." I shake his hand and he chuckles at me. "So... Um... I was wondering... Like, it is kinda stupid... But um... Fuck, sorry. Lemme start over." He stutters, fiddling with his fingers. "I would like to take you out... Sorry, this sounds dumb... I mean, I would love to see you again. When my face is not covered in smoke and you don't have to make sure I won't die. Shit, that is even worse." He sighs frustrated; his eyes dart everywhere but on me, his face turning red as he babbles the words. "I... This is the first time this has happened to me... I don't know what to say..." I am the one to stutter now, earning a chuckle from him. "This is too awkward... It's painful to look at..." My colleague Vic states as she puts the equipment in the back of the truck. "My shift is over at 9. There is a bar we go to after shifts, on the 9th and 36th. I am going to be there. Along with other firefighters. So, if you are one of those creeps, know that they will probably help me take you under." I state and he hums. "I'll see you at 9:30, at the bar on the 9th and 36th." He smiles at me, jumping off his seat in the back of the truck.

"You got a hot date tonight, I heard." Vic teases me, wiggling her eyebrows as I fix my shirt and tilt my head at her. "You were right in front of us when he asked me, stop mocking me." I reply and he coos at me. "I am not mocking you." She protests and I huff. "You don't think this is too impulsive, do you?" I ask, leaning against the lockers. She walks to me, fixing a strand of hair behind my ear. "I am proud you finally didn't overthink before doing something." She states, her eyes forming little lines as she smiles at me, cheeks getting pushed up from it. "He didn't look like a creep, did he?" I ask again, biting my bottom lip. "He looked like white Jesus, stop worrying over everything. You can always call me if you feel like you are in danger." She offers and I huff. "You are going to be there, either way. I told him to meet me at the bar after the shift." I state and she hums. "Smart." She pats my back and moves ahead to get ready.

I sit on the bar, taking a sip of my beer while I check the door for Luke to walk in. Vic, along with our colleagues Maya and Clint, is sitting on the other end of the bar, occasionally giving me a thumbs up for encouragement. Luke walks in, spotting where I am sitting and rushing to me. "Hi... I am so sorry I am late." Luke states, pulling a stool closer before he motions the barman over. "Did anything happen?" I ask him and he shakes his head. "It will sound stupid, but my dog was whining every time I tried to get out of the house." He scratches the back of his head, looking at me for my reaction. "You have a dog?" I ask excitedly, making him smile at me. "Yes. A bulldog-terrier girl. Her name is Petunia and she looks like the cutest piggy you've ever seen." He replies, making me coo. "Do you have any pictures?" I ask him and he hums, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through his gallery, chuckling as he turns his phone to me. On the screen, there is a picture of the dog, holding a stuffed fox as she lays on the couch. "She is so cute, I can almost forgive for being late." I state and he brings his hand to his chest, sighing in an obviously sarcastic way. "Do you have any?" He asks me. "What, pets?" I ask him, bringing my beer to my lips. "Yeah." "No... My work hours are crazy, I couldn't take care of anyone else but myself." I reply and he nods. "I get it..." He mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. "You get it, huh? What do you do for a living?" I ask him, sitting up a little better. "I am a musician. I am the lead in a band, we are quite known, actually." He replies, smiling charmingly at me. "You are?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. "We are called 5 Seconds of Summer. 5sos for short." He states, making my eyes go wide. "You are the underwear song guy?" I ask in shock, making him sigh and close his eyes. "I... Fuck... We have a lot better songs than that one." He states, taking a swig from his beer. "I bet you do. But that song... That song slapped, dude. I still listen to it when I work out." I state and he hums. "You should really listen to our songs after that one." He suggests, making me bite the inside of my cheek. "Maybe I will. Any suggestions?" I ask and he chuckles, arching an eyebrow. "Maybe I will give you some suggestions on our second date. Scratch that, on our first date, because this is not a real one. Your friends over there have been giving me the death glare since I stepped in." He points out, gesturing to Clint. I look at them, finding that Clint wishes glares could kill, which only makes me giggle. "I am the baby of the station. They are looking out for me." I brush it off, clinging my bottle against his.

"Wine?" Luke asks me as we walk into his living room. "Yes, please. Red." I reply, looking around me; his house is fancy, like decor magazine cover fancy. "Can you wait here? There is someone I want you to meet." He says as he hands me the glass. I smile and nod, knowing damn well he is going to bring his dog out; a classic girl-magnet move. He leaves the living room, letting me just wander around it as I wait for him to come back. I wasn't expecting him to have such a tidy and clean house. I mean, we've been going out for 3 weeks now, and he always gave me more of a care-free vibe, to set it politely. "This is Petunia." He announces, walking into the living room with his dog following behind him. I gasp, kneeling down to pet the dog. "Hi, pretty girl." I coo, scratching behind her ears. "You are so cute." I sing as she lays on her back and shows me her belly. "Thank you. My friends say she looks like a gargoyle." He kneels next to me, stroking her as well. "But she is so cute. Cute lil' tuna." I reply, squishing her droopy cheeks. "So, I had to pull some strings and ask a few people, but, I got you something." Luke states, getting up and bringing a baby blue box near me. I look at him suspiciously, making him prompt me to open the lid. Inside I find a bunch of vinyl, all from his band. "I remember you said you have a vinyl player but not a lot of vinyl, so I thought since you told me you liked the 'Underwear song', I thought you should first get introduced to our records on vinyl. You said you like the sound and feel of vinyl, so... There, I guess." He seems a little awkward, scratching the back of his neck as he looks on the floor. I coo softly, running my fingers down the cover of the vinyl on top. "This is really the sweetest thing. Thank you." I lean in to press a kiss on his cheek, but as he raises his head to look at me, my lips land on his. It feels so weird, electricity hitting me straight away. And that was for just a moment.

We pull away from each other almost instantly, and I really look anywhere but him. Fuck, I screwed this up. "I am sorry. I didn't know you were... Fuck, sorry." He mumbles; I know he has seen how red I look right now. "It's ok... I... It was... nice." I struggle to let out the words, biting my lip as I turn to look at him. "Yeah, it was very nice... Pity, it ended so soon." He states, a little more confident now. I feel flustered, but excited, wanting nothing more than his lips on mine; he really, really has soft lips. "Well, we can always do it again..." I say self-assured, waiting for his reaction. "I guess you're right." He replies, smirking at me. "To be clear with you, I meant now. We can do it again now." I state and he chuckles. "Yeah, I got that." He assures me, scooting closer to me. His hand goes to my jaw, keeping my head steady as he leans in for a kiss. His lips are extremely soft, warm, and they go so slow against mine. I move closer to him, not breaking the kiss, and straddle his lap, bringing my hands to his shoulders to support myself. Hesitantly, his tongue makes his way past his lips and to mine, almost asking me for permission. I part my lips, letting his tongue slip in my mouth; it is actually very fun, having to test the waters with someone from scratch.

And then he moans into my mouth, he fucking moans into my mouth as if this isn't supposed to turn me on. His hands make their way down my neck, the grazing of his fingers making my skin erupt in goosebumps. I feel like a teenager, fooling around with my crush in a totally innocent way, but definitely having the horniest thoughts. "You are a fucking good kisser." He moans, pulling away from me to catch his breath. He stares at my lips, twisting a strand of my hair between his fingers. "You are not bad yourself either." I giggle, stroking my thumb over his cheek. "Lu, I... I don't wanna... I mean... I..." I stutter and he hums, pressing his lips on mine for a short moment. "We don't have to if you don't wanna. This is nice enough." He replies, making me feel warm inside. "Thank you." I utter, and he chuckles. "For what?" He asks, stroking my hair softly. "For respecting my boundaries. It is refreshing." I state, making him smile. "So, I was thinking of ordering some pizza and putting on some of the vinyl. I would love to be here when you discover more of my music." He suggests, resting his hands on my hips. I giggle, looking at him in the eye. "Would I destroy your plans if I said I have already listened to your albums on Spotify?" I ask him and he gasps. "You have? Crap, I would have loved to be there... Did you like them?" He asks me, staring at me excitedly. "I loved Youngblood. It was... fuck, it was beautiful. So lyrical. It had pain, hope, everything in between. I loved the rest as well, but Youngblood just stuck with me." I reply, bringing my hand to his hair. "If you liked Youngblood that much, you should wait until our next one drops. It is our best work to date." He states; he sounds so excited, so eager for it, it makes me feel woozy. "I can't wait." I lean in, bringing my lips to his.

I wake up in the morning by Petunia licking my face. I didn't realize I had fallen asleep, I last recall leaning my head on Luke's shoulder as the B side of Youngblood on vinyl started playing. And now I am laying on the couch, with a blanket covering my body and Petunia hovering above me. I giggle, sitting up and petting her before I get off the couch and fold the blanket. Petunia jumps off, walking slowly out of the room. I decide to follow her, hoping she will guide me to Luke, who is nowhere to be seen in the palpable house.

Petunia stops in front of Luke, who is standing by the stove, cracking eggs inside the pan. "Glad to see you are not putting them in the microwave..." I state, making him scoff and roll his eyes. "Sooo glad I send Petunia to wake you up." He mocks me, passing me a mug of coffee. "Why didn't you wake me up when you realized I fell asleep?" I ask, leaning my head on his shoulder as I watch the pan sizzle. "I remember you told me you don't like driving at night. And come on, I am not an asshole, of course, I would let you crush since you fell asleep on me." He protests, turning to look at me with knitted eyebrows. "So, you are not asshole enough to wake me up, but you are asshole enough to put me on the couch instead of a warm, nice, soft bed..." I point out and he hums. "You wake up in a stranger bed, the night after you told the guy you've been seeing for less than a month, that you don't want to take your make-out session any further than just that... How would you feel?" He asks me, putting the eggs on a plate. "Thoughtful. Thank you." I reply as he passes me the plate. I find it very sweet, actually wholesome that he went through the trail of thought, just to make sure I wouldn't get worried or upset. "Plus, I slept on the other couch. And my couches are comfortable as fuck." He replies, turning around to press a kiss on my lips.

"I need a drink. Definitely, at least one drink." Maya says as we get off the fire truck. I am still in shock, my heart pumping in my chest, even though it has been hours since we managed to contain the fire. "(Y/N), you joining?" She asks me. I stay speechless, thinking about the intensity of my night. "(Y/N)? Are you ok?" Maya asks, snapping her fingers in front of me. "I need a shower. And I need... Screw this, I need dick." I reply, leaving my helmet on the side. I rush to the locker room, going to my locker and picking up my towel, ignoring everyone else. I just hope he is home, that he is not having any interviews, any studio sessions, any fucking shit famous people have to do.

I knock on his door, bouncing on my feet as I wait. I am jittery, a bit nervous about seeing him now, but most certainly sure about how much I need him right now. He opens the door, smiling at me with his cheeks popping and his skin glowing with a beautiful flush. "Hi. I wasn't expecting you." He cheers, moving from the door for me. "Are you alone here?" I ask, fidgeting with my fingers as I look at him. "Yeah. Are you ok?" He asks me, looking at me a little worriedly. "You don't have anywhere to be, do you?" I ask, nearly pleading for him to say he is available. "No, I am free. (Y/N), are you ok? You seem, upset, to say the least." He asks me, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I will be. I need you." I state, looking at him in the eye. "You need me for what?" He asks in confusion. I huff and roll my eyes, frustrated about his innocence at this point. "Luke, I need you. Really need you." I repeat. "Oh." He manages to let out, staring at me as he licks his lips. "It's fine if you don't actually..." I begin but he pulls me in by my wrists and crashes his lips on mine. His fingers hook in the belt loops of my jeans, pulling me as close to his body as possible. "Bed?" He asks me and I shake my head no. "Here." I reply, sliding off my top and dropping it on the floor. He stares at me in shock, licking his lips hungrily at the sight. "Bed. Now." He growls, making my breath hitch in the back of my throat. I love the roughness he is letting through, my core pulsing for him. I nod my head, following him mesmerized and a little too excited for what's to come. "I'll go bring condoms. Make yourself cozy on the bed." He says, sternly, unbuttoning my jeans before he turns to walk away.

I walk into the bedroom, getting rid of my clothes. Thank God he didn't have to see me in the stupid floral panties I had as a spare in my locker. It's weird, standing in the bedroom, naked and alone while he is looking for condoms. I don't know where to stand, how to stand, how to basically wait for him... It is all weird and rushed and I... "Fuck me." I hear Luke from behind me. I turn around, finding him in his boxers, leaning against the door frame. "Yeah, that's the plan." I state, chuckling at him. "Smartass." He comments, walking to me. He pushes me on the bed softly, making me bounce against the mattress. I whimper in surprise, watching him hover over me. "Are you gonna fuck me, or..." I begin but he leans down, kissing me to shut me up. His hand travels down my body, grazing the curve above my hips softly before he reaches for low on my stomach. "I'm gonna touch you. Ok?" He asks me, tapping on my skin softly. I hum in agreement, letting him lower his hand to my sex. He brushes over my outer lips, making chills run along my spine. "Let's see how wet you are." He whispers, parting my lips and letting his finger slip on my clit. He runs his finger down, circling my entrance and picking up some wetness. "You really need me, huh?" He asks, making me nod vigorously. "What was that, pretty girl? Use words." He insists, pressing his fingers on my clit before he rubs on it slowly. I breathe out funny, causing him to smile. "I need you, Luke. I fucking need you so much. Please." I cry out, biting on my bottom lip. "You sound so good." He shakes his head, lowering his boxers and freeing his cock. I pulse around nothing; it looks so much better than I expected.

He slips the condom on quickly, stroking his length as he kneels between my legs. "Ready?" He asks me, gripping on my thigh as he angles my leg up and lines up to my entrance. I moan, watching him spread my legs more before he thrusts in me. "Fuck... Fuck, oh..." I moan, feeling him as he stretches my walls to accommodate his girth. "You are so fucking tight around me." He groans while I pulse. "Feels good, doesn't it?" I ask, causing him to smile at me. "Feels fucking awesome." He pulls out for a second before he slides back in. I reach down, digging my nails into his wrist as he pounds on me. "Harder." I beg, making his eyes glisten. His hand grips on my thigh, pushing it back until it nearly touches my chest, just to get access to me. He goes in harder, groaning as I tighten around him, his chest heaving as he looks at me with pleasure twisting his pretty face. "Luke..." I moan, turning my head so one side of my face is pressed against the sheets. "Yes, baby?" He asks, leaning closer to me to kiss my neck. I sigh; his lips feel like heaven on my skin. "Eat me out." I plead, arching my lower back as he thrusts in, even harder than before. I feel my stomach numbing and my brain going fuzzy at the edges. "What?" He asks through hushed breathing. "Eat me out..." I push his head down, sliding back to relax more on the bed. "Yes ma'am." He sighs, slipping out of me.

I try to take deep breaths while he settles in between my thighs. His lips travel along the inner part of my thigh, where it is soft and sensitive. I lick my lips, watching his messy head of golden curls get lost between my legs. He reaches my bikini line, bringing his tongue out to toy with it a little. I wiggle on my spot, becoming a little too ticklish. "I bet you taste so fucking good." He whispers, bringing my legs to his shoulders and scooting me closer. He parts my lips with his fingers, running his thumb over the wet part before he buries his face in. His tongue goes straight to my clit, circling it slowly and making me feel every stroke he is making. He sucks softly on it, keeping eye contact with me. Instinctively, my hand tangles in his locks, pulling at them as he lowers his tongue to my entrance. His nose is pressed against my clit, while he fucks me with his tongue; and I swear, he does it so well. "You are so good at this. Too good at this..." I tremble, making him chuckle against my core. "I was right. You taste so fucking good, baby." He resurfaces for a moment to draw in a breath, stroking his thumb over my clit. "God..." I cry out as he goes back to eating me out, focusing on my clit now and using his fingers to pump on the right spot inside me. "Oh fuck... Luke..." I moan, feeling my stomach tighten. I gulp the knot in my throat, my toes curling as this gets too good right now. "Stop, stop..." I tap out, making him nearly jump up. "What, did I do something wrong?" He asks, looking at me worriedly. "No, you did everything right. Everything. I just need you inside me... I am close and I want to cum around your cock. Please?" I gasp, making him nod, with his lips loose and his eyes scanning me. "You are going to keep me on my toes, aren't you?" He asks, wrapping my legs around his waist before he enters me again. He gives me all he's got, thrusting inside me at a fast pace. He goes deep, holding onto me by my thigh as I writhe underneath him. "Luke..." I moan while he pants for air. He reaches between our bodies, bringing his thumb on my throbbing clit and stroking it fast while he thrusts in me. "I know, princess. You are pulsing... It feels good around me..." He replies. I blink rapidly, arching off the mattress as I feel my orgasm get closer. "I wanna cum... I wanna cum so badly." I whimper. "Cum around me, baby." He encourages me, stroking my clit fast. I buck my hips up against his, keeping him inside me as I cum, walls convulsing and brain going into a spiral. I don't even mind how stupid my o-face looks, I just take my high, letting out slurred curses. "Fuck, princess..." He groans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. He barely thrusts, sinking in the feeling with me.

He collapses next to me while I bring the covers to wrap them around my body. He smiles as he looks at the ceiling, while I still try to catch my breath. "Why today?" He asks, resting his weight on his elbow and looking at me. "What do you mean?" I ask him, turning on my side and facing him. "We've been out on so many dates, you've slept over my place 3 times, I've stayed at yours for a whole weekend. There were many opportunities for us to have sex, why today?" He asks me, scooting closer to me. "I... There was this call at work. It was a huge fire downtown, lots of flammable material, we've barely made it through with no casualties. And I... well, some colleagues were injured, not too serious, but heavy enough to be rushed to the hospital. I decided I didn't want to wait any longer. I like you, Luke. I really do. And I didn't want to hold back anymore. I decided to live the day, I don't know what will happen next time I get called to a fire or an accident, or... Whatever, you know. I like you too much to get hurt before having you, before getting to experiencing you in all your glory. So, I got off my uniform, jumped in the shower, put on whatever clean clothes I had, for god's sake I came over to have sex in floral underwear. And then I drove over, hoping that you would be here, so I could finally have you... And you were, and this was... magical, better than expected." I state and he gives me a side smirk. "Were you hurt? Were you in danger?" He asks me, bringing his hand to stroke my hair. "No, no, I am fine. I was just... Shocked." I reply and he hums. "Well, I am always here to help you feel better after calls. Any way I can." He licks his lips, looking at me softly. "Well, you are way better than drinking it away." I state, stroking his cheeks with my thumb. "Am I now?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at me. "So much better than booze." I emphasize the words, making him hum happily. "I am famished... Wanna grab a bite somewhere?" He asks me, making me shake my head. "I'd much rather order in and have you on this bed for the rest of the day." I suggest and he sighs happily. "Sounds much better than what I suggested." He replies, tilting my chin up to bring his lips to mine.

"What's that smell?" I ask Luke as I walk into my kitchen. "Good morning to you too... Well, there wasn't much in your fridge, so I used your eggs and milk to make pancakes. You need to load up before you go to work." He replies, handing me a mug of coffee. "You are literally the best boyfriend ever." I state, standing on my toes to kiss his lips. "I know." He says cockily, moving his eyebrows. "But, you picked the most chill day to fill me up. I won't need the extra energy today." I state, sipping on my coffee. "Why?" He asks, flipping the pancake in the pan. "We have an open day today. Basically, a bunch of kids and their mothers will drop by, we will hand candy and badge stickers and let the children take pictures wearing helmets and climbing on the trucks." I reply and he makes this happy sound that makes my stomach jump. "Holy fuck, this is the coolest thing ever. Lucky kids." He cheers, making me chuckle at him. "You are welcome to drop by if you want." I propose, making him gasp in excitement. "Really? I've always wanted to climb on a truck." He pushes a pancake on my plate. "Sure. I'll just tell my captain that you're my boyfriend and you're harmless, no problem." I shrug my shoulders, smiling at how cute he actually is. "Great. I'll drop by and pick you up. We should really go grocery shopping for you." He states, walking to me and pressing his body against mine. I bring my hands around his neck, stroking the hair that cascades it. "I'll wear my pretty floral sundress, the one you like so much. We will make a date out of it." I smile, causing him to lick his lips and smile. "And then we come back and I cook for you." He whispers, placing his hands on my hips and pressing his lips on my forehead. "Do I really want you to? Need I remind you we only met because you burned down Calum's kitchen?" I ask and he scoffs. "First of all, it was part of the kitchen. And second, I have become so much better, you should really stop teasing me about it." He pouts and I coo at him. "I am not teasing you, I am just reminding you how we met." "I am kinda thankful I put that egg in the microwave..." He murmurs, pushing some strands of my hair away from my face. "Quick question about today's plans. Is sex anywhere on the schedule?" I ask and he hums. "With you, wearing that floral dress? Definitely lots of it." He replies, pressing his fingers under my chin and tilting my head back enough for him to reach my lips.

"(Y/L/N), your boyfriend is here." Clint announces, making me smile from ear to ear. "Hey, you, little girl. I leave you in charge of the candy. Everyone gets one. You are the captain now." I say to the little frizzy-haired girl who stands in the back of the queue. She walks up to me and I hand her my helmet along with the crater of candies before I walk away. Luke is by the entrance, smiling at me as I walk towards him. "You look hot in uniform..." He whispers in my ear as I hug him. "I know." I reply, kissing his cheek. "Come on in. I have a fake helmet, which will probably only fit Tuna, and candy and a shiny sticker budge for you." I say, taking his hand in mine. I guide him in, picking one of the helmets and handing it to him. "You really don't need to do that..." He mumbles and I hum sarcastically. "I am giving you the full experience." I reply, squeezing his hand. "You think this is funny?" He asks in surprise and I shrug. "Well, life is so miserable, we have to find ways to make every day a little funnier." I state, leaning my head on his shoulder. "Oh, Maya over there is going to give you your firetruck tour." I stop right in front of her, pushing Luke towards her. "There he is, the special little guy." She mocks, making me glare at her. "Go with her, I told her to be kind to you." I lean in and press a kiss on his cheek. I watch him from afar as Maya gives him a tour, enjoying him being excited as he climbs on. "He is cute." Clint stands by me, making me smirk. "He is." "Pretty nice guy." He comments and I nod. "I think he is the best." "You think?" "I know he is the best." "Good. Hope he knows I'll break his ribs if he breaks your heart." He says sternly. "Alright, Hulk. Let's calm down. He won't break my heart, not this guy." I smile, staring at Luke and the way his smile makes his whole face light up.

"I talked to your captain today. Neat guy, very cool dude." Luke comments as I serve the spaghetti on our plates. "Not so cool if you are working with him, but go on." I reply, making him chuckle. "Anyway, he actually told me what a hard worker you are and how you haven't taken personal days off since you started your service." He states and I shrug. "I didn't really have any reason to." I pass him his plate and he hums. "Well, it's time you do." "Why?" I ask him, eyebrows furrowed together. "Because I want you to join me on tour. We have a few dates in Europe, just 2 weeks and 3 days, and I really want you with me." He brings his lips to my forehead, resting his hands on the small of my back. "You know I can't afford that." I mumble and he sighs, running his thumb over the dip on my back. "I can! It will be our anniversary gift. And I know that you worry about your paycheck, but you really shouldn't. I wanna help you cover your expenses, I wanna help you with whatever you need." He rumbles, making me smile at him and what a sweetheart he is. "Europe sounds kinda fun." I mumble, rolling my eyes playfully. "It is. I promise. I will inform the management to take care of the details. I am so excited..." He squeals, pulling me to his chest for a hug. "You are squeezing me..." I giggle, feeling him nearly crash my ribcage. "I am sorry. I am so happy you are coming." He can't keep his dorky smile off his face, making me reach up to kiss him.

Luke's hand inches down my back, his lips pressing a kiss on my forehead while I trace a pattern on his chest. "This is the calmest I have been in the past month." I whisper, pressing my ear against his heart. "Glad to help with that." He says a little cockily. "I... I have been thinking about it for a while... I have been holding it in, which is really stupid, but..." I begin rambling, losing my words as I try to tell him how I feel. "I love you too." He smiles at me, tilting my chin up so he can look at my face. "Let me say it." I whine and he raises his hands in defeat. "I am not good at expressing feelings, I have always had a hard time not suppressing them, but I want to be honest with you and mostly myself. I love you. I feel safe with you, happy. It is weird because no one else has made me feel like that before, but you do and I just can't keep it in anymore. You make me happy, every single day. I love you." I say, looking at him as he smiles softly. "I love you too." He whispers, leaning closer to bring his lips to my lips.

He moves to straddle me, cupping my face in his hand as the other supports his weight on his elbow. "Shouldn't you be getting ready to leave for that interview?" I moan while his lips move to my chin and then my jaw. "In a bit..." He murmurs, his tongue peeking from between his lips and tracing a figure on my sweetspot. "Don't start things you can't finish..." I whine, throwing my head back further into the pillow the moment his hand goes from my face to my hip and then my lower stomach, toying with the hem of my underwear. "Oh, I can and I will finish." He chuckles, slipping a finger under the waistband of my underwear. His lips travel to my collarbone, sucking softly on the dip of them. I blink rapidly, still not used to the feeling of his lips on my skin. "I want you..." I utter, causing his hand to slip into my panties and cup my sex. He rubs his fingers on my clit, making me tense up at the stimulation. "Need to get your pretty little pussy wet for me first." He whispers, bringing his hand under my t-shirt. He brushes over my nipple, feeling the perked-up little bud before he brings his head under my t-shirt too. His mouth attaches to my breast right then, lips sucking hungrily as he lowers his fingers to my entrance. He pushes 2 fingers in, making my entrance stretch around his digits. He pumps them up, grazing over my spot with every move of his fingers. "You are so wet already. Were you thinking of me taking you?" He asks me, flicking his tongue over the tip of my nipple. "Please, Luke. We don't have much time. I don't want you leaving without finishing this..." I whine, squeezing my thighs together, causing the pressure on my spot to rise. "You are right." He brings his head out, making his hair fall messily on his face. He takes his hand out of my underwear, bringing his fingers to his lips. "Taste like heaven." He mumbles while he flips me on my stomach, raising my ass in the air.

"Look at fucking that..." He grips onto it hard; I swear, I will be covered in marks while this trip lasts. He lowers my panties, bringing the lacy underwear to my thighs and freeing my core to him. His thumb presses between my folds, stroking over and over again until he lines up the head of his cock to my entrance and thrusts forward. I gasp as he does, mouth going agape and hands gripping onto the pillow below me. He doesn't wait around for me to adjust before he thrusts into me with force. "Fuck... Fuck Luke..." I cry out, pulsing around him. "Shut up, princess. We don't want you being heard by everyone, do we?" He slaps my ass, pounding inside me. My stomach is tight, every thrust feeling like a punch in the gut. I grip onto the pillow harder, bouncing back to meet his thrusts. "You wanna fuck yourself on my cock, pretty girl? You wanna take my cock deep inside you?" He hisses, bringing his hand to the front of my body, grazing his fingertips over my clit. "Fuck, Luke... Fuck, I might cum now..." I whimper, turning my head to look at him. "Your little pussy is pulsing around me already. It feels so fucking good around my cock... But you will have to wait. Can you wait for me, babygirl?" He asks, rubbing his fingers on my clit fast, while his cock jams inside me, hitting on my cervix.

I whimper, shaking my head at him as I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. "Oh, I think you can, little brat." He chuckles, slowing down before he gives me a single powerful thrust, sending me a little forward. "I really can't. I wanna cum... Please." I beg, wiggling my hips and taking all of him inside me. "Cum and I'll make you regret it." He says sternly, slapping my clit as I squeeze around him, arching my back. Everything feels tingly, my toes curling as I moan louder with every thrust. "Please, Luke... I am a mess. Please..." I bet everything that my face is the reddest it has ever been. "Not... yet..." He hisses, becoming sloppy with his pounding. I fight with everything within me to hold back, trying not to focus too much on the sound his skin makes as it slaps against mine, or how good he feels, throbbing inside me. "Cum for me, pretty girl." He growls, grabbing my hips and forcing me to stay glued to him. I feel his cock pulse inside me, gasping as I hit my orgasm. My eyes go wide, my stomach tightens and I feel like collapsing on the mattress, but Luke keeps me steady, until he finally cums, pulling out of me and shooting over my ass. "Fuck, you look so good like that..." He praises, grabbing the tissue box from the nightstand.

I finally fall chest first on the mattress, gasping to catch my breath. "Am I supposed to let you leave me right now? Am I supposed to let you go to that interview now?" I ask and he chuckles. "I will be back very soon. By the time you're back from the spa and get ready for dinner, I will be here." He replies, pressing a kiss on the top of my ear. "Spa? Dinner?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows together. "Yes. I made a reservation for us tonight. Be pretty for me. Even prettier than you are now if it is possible..." He plants a kiss on the back of my neck. "Are you going to be pretty for me?" I ask and he hums. "The prettiest I can be." He whispers, making me smile. "What time should I be ready?" I ask and he takes a breath before replying. "Around 8:30. The reservation is at 9." He replies, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck.

"First day back from paradise, huh?" Maya asks, cocking an eyebrow playfully at me. "Yeah... I wish I was still there. I legit cried on the plane back home." I sigh, shutting my locker. She coos at me, patting my shoulder softly. "Was it that good?" She asks and I nod. "I didn't know life could be so stress-free. Well, for me, because he was on edge all the time. Shows, interviews, meet and greets. He had so much to do." I state, bringing the memory of him on tour in my brain. "Did he spend any time with you at all?" She asks and I nod, biting my bottom lip. "Every second he was free, he was with me. He was literally like a male protagonist from a romantic movie. He wined me, dined me, absolutely romanced me every chance he got. I thought I savored him enough to last me until the next time I would see him, but I was so wrong. I have been missing him since the second I went through the airport security." I pout and she chuckles at me sarcastically. "Poor baby (Y/N)..." She fake-coos at me, making me roll my eyes at her. "Don't tease. I mean, he has been on tour before since we have been together, but I miss him so badly right now, I would drop everything to go visit him again." I explain and she laughs, only to be stopped by the siren calling us to an emergency. "You'll tell me more afterward. And don't forget my gift." She points at me before running off while I slip my boots on.

I wait until the clock turns 12 so I can call Luke, who has probably just woken up in Germany. I press the facetime icon on my phone, bringing Petunia to my chest as I lay on the couch. "Hey, baby." I cheer, waving at him. He smirks and rubs his eyes, looking at the screen sleepily. "There are my girls... I've missed you both." He pouts, running his fingers through his messy locks. "We've missed you both as well. How's Germany?" I ask, stroking Petunia's head. "I haven't seen the city yet. We made it to Berlin late last night so we came straight to the hotel. I've been sleeping since. How was your first day back?" He asks me, smiling at me. "It was... eventful. We got called in for a house fire first thing in the morning. It was fine, everyone made it out of the house but the building is kinda fucked up. But I brought the first box of my stuff to your house." "You mean our house." He chuckles and I nod. "Yeah, I mean our house. It is still kinda hard to believe you asked me to move in." I admit and he moans happily. "You didn't see that coming? I was building the ground for so long. I've told you a million times that I love seeing your face first thing in the morning." He comments and I shrug. "There is a huge gap between saying you love seeing my face in the morning and actually asking me to move in with you, especially while you are on tour." I point out and he hums. "Did you eat anything today?" He asks, changing the topic. "Yeah, I went for drinks with Maya and grabbed a bite. Aren't you supposed to head to breakfast?" I ask and he nods. "In a bit. I wanna see your pretty face some more." He whines, making me smile at him. He looks so adorable sleepy, that if I was there, I would be cuddling him all day long. I just smile, taking in his face. "I miss you, pretty boy." I run my finger over my screen, pouting at him. "I miss you too, angel. I will be back before you know it, I promise." He assures me, eyes sparkling brightly.

I open my eyes, nearly going blind at the bright white lights above me. I look around, trying to blink until my vision becomes unblurred. There is a bunch of nurses around me, or at least I think they are nurses... A lot of people wearing medical clothes are surrounding me, making me panic. What happened to me? "Hey, hey. She is awake." One of the people on the medical team announces, making everyone turn to me. "(Y/N), stay calm..." One of the doctors tries to stop me from thrashing around. "(Y/N)... You were in a fire, you inhaled a lot of smoke, you lost consciousness due to monoxide poisoning. You need to keep the mask on." The doctor tries to explain. My head hurts, a headache forming to the front of my head and spreading to my temples. "(Y/N), you need to stay down. Follow my finger." One of the doctors steps in, moving her finger in front of my face, to a virtual line across my periphery. "Good. Now, squeeze my fingers." She instructs, placing her fingers in my palms. I squeeze her fingers and she nods, smiling at me. "Good, no signs of neurological deficiencies." She comments. I feel like I am hyperventilating, my eyes refusing to focus on anything.

My doctors decided to keep me in for observation, just to exclude the possibility of organ failure. The team cramped up in the room just an hour ago, but now I am left alone, moving my leg in jitters. My phone rings, making me pick it up from the little table next to my bed. I see Luke's contact pop up on my screen, bringing a smile to my face; he is the only person I really wanted to talk to right now. "Hey, bub." I smile as I accept the call and the video call goes live. Luke looks at me terrified, upset. I can tell he has been crying, his eyes are red and puffy and he looks tired. So, he knows... "Are you ok?" He asks me, gulping thickly. "I am fine. They are keeping me in for observation." I reply and he nods. He covers his face, sobbing and making my heart aching for him. "Baby, I am ok. I am fine, it is over. Hey, please don't cry." I try to console him, but he only sobs harder. "I... I can't do... I can't do this again... I thought I would die when they called me... I felt the earth crumble beneath my feet. I can't go through that again. I can't worry whether you'll make it home safe. I can't live in fear that something bad will happen to you..." I feel my heart stop, my stomach becoming tight and the urge to throw up taking over me. I bite the inside of my cheek and fight the tears that brim in my eyes, bracing myself for what I am about to say. "Say it. Say it, Luke. No need to be a coward now, say it." I nearly taunt him. "Please don't make it hard..." He pleads. I nod my head and swallow my pride, looking at him in the eye. "Ok, then. I'd hate to make this hard on you. It's over, Luke. I'll send Maya to pick up my stuff from your house and I will call Crystal to take care of Petunia." I say in my calmest voice, even though I feel like breaking down. "You don't have to... I mean, I won't be home for weeks and you can take your time." He suggests and I chuckle. "No need to worry about me anymore. Isn't that the reason you are breaking up with me?" I ask, but hang up before he could actually say anything more.

"Are you sure I can stay? Your boyfriend?" I ask Maya as she places pillows and covers on her couch. "He is fine... You can stay for as long as you need." She assures me, taking a seat on the armchair by the side of the couch. "I don't want to be a burden. I promise to find a new place within a week..." I state and she chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. No need to rush, stay as long as you want." She states, curling up on the armchair and bringing her beer to her lips. "You know, I thought he was the one... I thought we would last." I utter, leaning my head against the back of the couch. "I thought you would too, kid." She smiles sympathetically.

We rush out of the firetruck, heading towards the burning house. "You stay in the med truck." Captain orders and I nod. I haven't been cleared for duty yet, even though there have passed several weeks since the incident. I honestly don't trust myself either. Not only because the monoxide poisoning was traumatic, but the breakup has taken a huge toll on me. I have been living alone for a couple of weeks now, but I can't bring myself to actually live in the empty apartment. I sit on the edge of the truck, swinging my legs as I wait. Med duty is the most boring in the beginning but full-on action after a while. All the burns and trauma, trying to keep the person safe until you reach the hospital, times like this make me love my job, make me grateful for my certification. "Hey, girl... Wanna switch?" Maya rushes to me, plastering a psycho smile on her face. "No. Why?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows together. "Nothing, I thought you might want to take a walk... I can cover for you." She points to the street, making me chuckle sarcastically. "I am good, thanks." I stand up as someone from the team calls for incoming. "My offer is open if you change your mind. Alright, bring him in." She calls moving from the entrance of the back of the truck.

Clint carries Luke in, making me freeze for a moment. He is still conscious, but he had to be carried in by someone. "Do you think she'll kill him?" He asks Maya as he leaves the gurney. "If she doesn't, I might." She threatens, eyeing Luke, who looks just as nervous as I do. "Guys, mind taking this elsewhere? I am not going to kill anyone." I state, giving them my death glare. "Let's put this on." I fix the oxygen mask on his face, but he lowers it before I could turn on the oxygen tank. "You need that. And I need you to put it on so I can take a look at the burn at your leg." I sigh, picking the mask again. He pushes my hand away softly, stopping me. "Luke, please." I tremble, looking at him with tear-glazed eyes. "One moment. Just give me a moment." He gasps before coughing. "No moment. You need that if you don't want your lungs to explode." I point out, fixing the elastic on the back of his head. He surrenders, letting me put the mask on his face. "Deep breaths." I suggest, moving to take a look at his leg. "Second degree... Let me clean this and dress it before we take you to a hospital." I say, turning around to grab the kit. I hear him take breaths, somewhat rhythmic, which is a good sign. At least he won't die in my hands.

"I can accompany him to the hospital if you'd like... You can go rest." Clint offers and I shake my head. "I am fine. Really." "Isn't this kinda like how you met?" "Kinda. But it doesn't matter. Work before anything. I got this. I'll meet you back at the station." I smile and he nods. "If you need anything..." "It is just a drop-off." I reply and he hums. "It's not and you know it. But you know yourself better." He waves me off, letting me climb back into the truck. I sit on my seat and buckle up, watching over at Luke. He tries to remove the mask, but I shake my head at him. "Don't." I breathe out, turning my head away.

"(Y/N), my office." My captain calls, making me sigh as I drop my cleaning rug in the tool kit. I walk towards the office, closing the door behind me. "The man you transferred to the hospital earlier refuses treatment if he doesn't talk to you first." He announces, making my eyes go wide. "Is he insane?" I ask, taking a sit on the chair in front of the desk. "You tell me. They have been trying to convince him but he says he will only do it if you go there. The doctors said that if he keeps refusing they will have to release him." "Can he do that?" I ask. "What, refuse treatment? Of course, he can." He states, shrugging his shoulders. "No, ask for me, practically blackmail me..." I explain. "Well, apparently... Why do you want to do, (Y/L/N)?" He asks me and I take a deep breath. "I can't let him receive no treatment for a second-degree burn. He is going to get infected." I reply, bouncing my leg and biting my lip. "Well, you can. But do you want to?" He asks me, making me throw my head back, look at the ceiling, and huff. "I will be back as soon as I can." I promise before I jump up.

I walk into the emergency room, already feeling that everything I felt the night he broke up with me is rushing back to me. "Hi, a patient asked for me. Male, in his twenty's, has a burn on the left leg, refuses treatment..." I explain and the nurse nods. "Bed 5. Please be fast, the ER is getting overwhelmed." He begs, pointing toward the beds. I smile politely before I turn to walk to Luke's bed. He is sitting there, cross-armed and furrowing until the moment he sees me. "Are you stupid?" I ask, looking at him sternly. "I broke up with you, do you really have to ask me that?" He asks and I roll my eyes at him. "Why aren't you letting them treat you?" I ask, trying to calm myself down. "You didn't let me talk to you in the truck. And I really want to talk to you, because I haven't slept in weeks." He says, huffing at me. "I'll listen to you, while you take the treatment you need." I say, surrendering if that means dumb-head is not going to get an infection. "I'll take that." He says, letting the doctor finally approach him. "I messed up. Big time..." He admits, hissing as the doctor washes the wound. "You need to be more specific. My captain is this close to putting me in suspension." I state, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "I broke up with you because I was scared of losing you. Because I was afraid of you getting hurt on duty. And then you got hurt and I nearly died at the thought of something worse happening to you. I thought breaking up with you would be the best choice, that I would finally get rid of the tightness in my chest, but I was so wrong. I was worried because I love you, and breaking up with you didn't stop that. I am still worried about you getting hurt, I am still waking up with a tightness to my chest, I am still wondering if you will be alright. Fuck, I don't know what more to say. I love you, I need you back, I can't go on without you. It is driving me insane." He explains through hisses as the doctor takes care of him. "What makes you think that you will feel calmer if we get back together? I am still going to have the same job, you are still going to have anxiety because that's what it is, you are having anxiety attacks. I can't get back with you and then have you break up with me. I can't go through that again. You left me when I was hurt, you broke up with me over a video call. Do you know how bad that hurt? Do you know what big of a toll it took over me?" I ask, trying to whisper so the whole hospital won't learn our business. "I am a piece of shit and I deserve you leaving me and never talking to me. But I love you, I love you... And I promise to do whatever it takes. You deserve better, and I want to become better for you. I'll... I will do anything. I will sign up for therapy, I will learn to live with this... I promise to do better, I will never hurt you again. Please." He begs. "Please tell me you didn't set the house on fire just so you could see me again..." I sigh, making Luke shake his head. "No. I left the stove on after cooking and fell asleep on the couch." He replies, making the doctor chuckle. "You truly are a mess without me..." I point out and he nods. "I can't even tell you how big of a mess I am ever since the breakup." He looks at me with pleading eyes. I shake my head and roll my eyes, walking a little closer to him. "Oh, Luke... What am I even going to do with you?" I ask, cupping his face in my palms. "Apply antibiotics cream on his wound and dress it up 2 times a day until the follow-up because I really don't think he is capable of doing it himself?" The doctor asks me and I nod, leaning in to kiss Luke softly. "I will make sure of it, doc." I say after we part, making Luke hum.

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ikenbar · 4 years ago

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Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH4 PT8

aaaand we back in the angst. Don’t worry about sitting pretty in it tho. expect those fluffy moments to hit soon B)

Warnings: Angst, heated arguments, talk of death; explosions; and harsh flashbacks, big swear for the swear jar, mad twists, Adri being an OG, the thickening of some epic plot, and a cliffhanger leaving you begging for more >:D

(Chapter Four (Victor and Gavin) Prologue, and part one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven can be found here!)

Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D

And an additional note in a previous part of chapter four part three here! (I promise these notes are important)

Chapter four:

Part eight:

Victor leaned back, clearly thrown off guard by my words. I sat up straight and pulled my hands from Victor’s. “I need to get back to work.” I said, moving to stand. Victor, coming to his senses, quickly stood and pushed me back down.

“No, you’re not.” He boomed, standing over me, giving me no space to try and stand again, “And we are going to the police after work.”

“No, I’m not!” I said with the same determination before. I pushed Victor roughly away from me. He stumbled back enough to give me space to get back onto my feet. I threw my plate of food onto the coffee table half-hazardly as I glared at Victor with determination, “That guy is mine! I will be the one who takes him down. So no, I’m not going to the police. And neither are you.”

“Is that a threat?” Victor growled and he walked back up to me. He towered over me, obviously trying to intimidate me. I merely looked up at him, a cocky grin slinking onto my face.

“Nope!” I chimed, folding my arms proudly, “It’s your word against mine, Victor, and all you know is what I’ve told you. Sure you can go to the police with speculation, but you have no evidence to support your claim. I’d know. I also have no evidence.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Victor rolled his eyes, “Ike, this is way over your head!! Do you have one good reason to keep this to yourself?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh really?! What is it then?!”

“… it is my business. Not your own."

"Ike-"

"Now if you'll excuse me," I moved to walk away but Victor stopped me. He grabbed my arms and held me steady in front of him, forcing me to face him. I looked up and glared at him.

"One reason, Ikamara." Victor's tone had changed dramatically. I relaxed my glare, "Tell me one reason we shouldn't go to the police and I'll drop it." I froze. Every part of me screamed to keep pushing Victor away, to protect him from getting too close and knowing too much. But, after one last look in his pleading eyes, I knew that he wouldn’t let me get away with pushing him off any longer.

I closed my eyes and sighed, "... he killed my friend.”

Victor's fingers twitched around my arms.

I twisted myself from his grip as I recalled the events of that horrible day. “... We were following a lead into a warehouse. There was a secret room… a bomb… an explosion… I had to bring him back to life… with my own bare hands." My voice cracked. That image of Gavin’s lifeless body held form in front of my eyes, "It’s only a matter of time until it happens again… and…” I paused. Then, without hesitation, I looked unfalteringly up at Victor, locking eyes with him, “It’s not going to be you. Not if I can help it.” Victor looked down at me, eyes flooded with those familiar undecipherable emotions.

Before he could say anything, my eyes flickered next to him, where they landed on a fourteen year old boy staring at his phone. My face suddenly felt like it had been set on fire. It was then that I became very aware how very not alone Victor and I were.

I jumped back from Victor and looked around the room, preparing rounds of lies and explanations in my head…

but I stopped.

No one was moving. They were all posed in one motion, all looking over at Bart, who hadn’t moved an inch from his position on the floor. Not even Lola had wavered from where I had seen her last, with her small hand posed over Bart's knee.

No one was moving. No one was breathing. Everyone was frozen.

Almost like they were stuck in time.

I looked back at Victor in disbelief. He was watching me, eyebrow arched and hands in his pants pockets. He looked as calm and stoic as ever…

… As if he knew exactly what was happening.

My disbelief sunk into curiosity was I studied him, questions posed on my tongue. Victor merely sighed as a small smirk pushed up his cheeks. “Dummy.” He muttered, moving to sit back down on the floor. I opened my mouth.

Just then the room snapped back to life. Bart groaned as he reached over and rubbed the baby Lola’s head. She giggled and fell onto his knee, slobbering on his suit pants. “Ah that’s probably how that anonymous tip got out.” Bart lamented, as if he was continuing where he had left off, “The reporters coming here is my fault.”

“Oh, Bartholomew.” Chris sighed, making me snap my head to face him, “You’ve got to learn how to keep your mouth shut! It’s gonna be the death of you! Or more, in this case, Ikie!... Ike?” Chris finally looked up at me. His perfect smile wavered slightly, “Something wrong?” I hesitated. Had they not heard a word of what Victor and I talked about? I literally said I was being targeted! Did… no one care?

I stole a quick glance at Victor. He was sitting casually at the end of the coffee table, eating his food once again as if nothing happened. I narrowed my eyes.

“... No.” I said, straightening my expression and posture, “I… Bart, what did you mean by anonymous tip?” Bart looked up at me through the gaps in his fingers.

“Hm? Oh I called our inside in the media.” Bart replied, sitting up, “She said that she got a call telling her about what happened. All the way down to the place your office was. It was because of my big mouth, Ike. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved Bart off limply, slightly lost in thought, “Did she say whether or not this person was male or female?”

“No. She said that they used a voice modulator.” Bart said, intrigue and blind curiosity dripping from his tongue, “One that made their voice seem lower and more mechanic. Whoever it was, they really didn’t want to be found out.” I hummed and furrowed my brows.

Who would modulate their voice for an anonymous tip?

“Evie, dear.” Maria said from behind me, making me turn to face her, "Are you sure everything is alright? You look worried.”

“Yeah.” I said slowly, “I need to get back to work. Thank you for the meal.”

“But, you’ve still got some food left!” Sam chuckled gesturing to my half empty plate.

“I’ll heat it up during my next break.” I moved past the couch and away from the group, “Besides, I have a lot I need to do before I go home today.”

“Wait, Ike!” Bart quickly scooped up Lola and stood up from the floor, “I wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t think you should take your bike home today.”

“What?” I snapped my head around.

“At least not until this whole thing blows over.” He said, throwing his free hand up defensively as he walked over to me, “I don’t want anything happening to you while on the road. That thing is a death wish as it is. Then you throw in some reckless reporters-”

“And someone will aggressively write a story about my driving? ” I arched my eyebrow, “I’ve been driving that bike for years, Bart. I’ll be alright.”

“You could still get hurt!” Maria spoke up from the couch, “You never know what these people would do to get a story.”

“Maria, I’ll be fine.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to my desk, “I can take care of myse-”

“Oh. my. GOSH!!” Adri shouted from her place on the couch, causing everyone to jump. She glared at me sinisterly. “You drive a two wheel drive that has had more accidents than the average vehicle! Not only that but you just got out of the hospital! Do you really want to go back in?!?” Everyone in the room was frozen in place, speechless because of Adri’s sudden outburst. Adri, reading the room, breathed a loaded sigh, “All they are asking you to do is get another ride.” She continued, arching her eyebrow and glaring at me, “That’s all! Is that really too much to fucking ask?”

“Swear jar.” Ashton spoke up for the first time that day. Adri whipped her head around and glared at him. I hesitated, looking around the room. Nearly everyone’s eyes were on me, waiting for my answer. I could read the same emotion on each of their faces.

It was an emotion I was tired of seeing.

I sighed. “I need to ride the bike home-but,” I said quickly before anyone could interrupt me, “I'll get someone to pick me up and drop me off at work starting tomorrow. Minor, would you-”

“I’ll take you.” A cool voice came from the coffee table, making all of us turn to face it. Victor stood up, empty plate in hand and determination on his face. I looked at him in disbelief.

“N-no. You’ve done enough alre-”

“It wouldn’t be out of my way.” Victor said simply, walking to the trash can beside his desk to dispose of his plate, “I drive by your complex on the way home anyway.” I opened my mouth to argue more but Victor held up a hand, “If you are really concerned about the trouble, I’ll add the gas money to your investment fund.” I shut my mouth and glared at him. There it is again. The investment.

“Yes!” Bart pointed at Victor happily, “Let’s do that!”

“Bart-” I started, trying to regain control of the situation.

“It’s settled then!” Maria said, standing from the couch and clapping her hands, “Ike will ride with Victor from now on!”

“Hold on!” I tried again, but was interrupted once again.

“Wait does this mean Victor has to pick me up from school too?!” Sam asked with both excitement and worry.

“I’ll send a driver to pick you up.” Victor said, walking back to his desk.

“Sweet! My own personal driver!” Sam beamed, looking at me for approval. I arched my eyebrow. Sam’s smile plummeted. “...I-I mean,” He quickly said, throwing his hands up, “Not that you aren’t a better personal driver! I mean one outside of the family! I-I bet this driver has nothing on you, Ike!... Evie?” Sam smiled at me innocently. I rolled my eyes and looked over to Victor. He was also looking at Sam with a complacent expression. Sensing my stare, he turned to face me.

“There’s no getting out of this, is there?” I asked dully.

“No.” Victor, Bart, Maria, Adri, and Sam said at once. I sighed and turned back to my desk, where I sat in the chair and ran my face through my hands.

“I still don’t like the idea of you going out alone tonight.” Bart said uneasily. I pulled my hands down my face and looked over to him.

“I can go with her!” Adri said, raising her hand from the couch. Maria glared at her.

“You have school.” She said in her menacing motherly tone.

“Didn’t you hear?” Adri said, flashing a devious grin, “Today is a half day! I was going to hang out with friends after school but I’ll just spend the night with my favorite sister instead!” Bart and Maria glared at their newest foster daughter in silence.

“...I’m too worried for Ike’s safety to double check that.” Bart finally said, keeping his squinty eyes on Adri. Maria turned to me.

“Would you be ok with Adri spending the night?” She asked sweetly. I looked back at Adri. She grinned at me and winked. I hesitated. She obviously had something planned. But what? What could I have for her? Maybe she planned on ditching me to hang out with her friends? But then why would she be so persistent in getting me a ride home? And why was she so angry before? What caused her attitude to change so quickly like that… There really was only one way to find out.

“Sure.” I said, turning to face my computer, “but I warn you, Adri, my life at home isn’t very exciting.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Adri chimed.

“I’ll follow Ike home and be sure she is safe.” Victor said, standing from his place at his desk. He put his hands in his pockets and looked over to me. I looked away disgruntledly.

“Can I come?!” Sam asked hopefully, looking between Bart and Maria.

“You have soccer practice today, mister.” Maria scrubbed his head roughly. Sam whined but didn’t say anymore. Maria smiled and looked over to Victor. “I’ll give you a copy of the kids’ schedules. Be sure to send me the bill.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor waved his hand dismissively, “I’ve got it handled.” I rolled my eyes. He sure was wasting a lot of money just to prove a point.

“Then it’s settled!” Bart clapped, “Adri will go home with Evie today and Victor will follow. Then he will take her to and from work until everything is cleared up! Great! Now! Let’s finish eating in my office and let Ike and Victor get back to work. Say goodbye to Ike kids!” Bart jogged happily to the coffee table and started packing the food back into the bags. Everyone complied to his demands and scattered thank yous and goodbyes came from various voices in the room. I stood up as Sam came running up to me. He jumped up and gave me a big hug.

“Don’t worry.” He whispered in my ear, “I told Adri I called dibs on the next sleepover.”

“Noted.” I said as I ruffled his hair. Sam laughed and pulled away from me, just in time for Chris to replace him. He lifted me up in the air and rocked me back and forth, all while squeezing the life out of me.

“Be safe, Ikie!” He said in between the swings.

“You too.” I coughed, giving him a few pats on the back, for it was all I could do in that situation. Chris dropped me and walked away. I just barely had time to breathe as Adri approached me.

“Sister!” She said, holding her arms out wide. I winced slightly but that didn’t stop Adri from wrapping her arms around my neck. She pulled me close to her, letting her head rest next to my ear. I hugged her back, patting her lightly on the shoulder.

"I can't wait for tonight!” Adri whispered into my ear as she rubbed my back slightly, “Especially since you're gonna tell me all about that pretty little target on your back.”

All my blood pooled to my feet.

“H-how…” I stammered.

“What, you think your little conversation with Victor was left unheard?” Adri chimed, “‘Do you really think it will stop the man who will do anything to see me dead?!’ ‘He sent a bomb through my ceiling!’ ‘It’s my word against yours!’ Really, Ike, it’s like you’re trying not to hide it. Though it does surprise me that I was seemingly the last person to know.” I tightened my arms around Adri’s body.

“This stays between us.” I spoke seriously and coldly, “Understand? Not a word to Bart and Maria.”

“Geez, alright!” Adri gasped as she tapped my back, “I promise I won’t say anything!” I eased my grip and pulled away from Adri. She keeled over, rubbing her stomach and breathing deeply. I ignored her show as I looked over to Bart and Maria.

They were talking merrily to Victor as if there was absolutely nothing to worry about. I furrowed my eyebrows. I had said I was being targeted when I was with Victor so, why aren’t they talking about it? Why aren’t they worried? If Adri heard the conversation then shouldn’t they have as well? Just what happened when Victor and I were talking?

“Hey,” Adri patted my head, forcing my attention to her, “You can’t keep your thoughts to yourself anymore. You’ve gotta tell me what you are thinking or I will just be someone with valuable information! You wouldn’t want that just walking around willy nilly, right?” Adri grinned mischievously.

“Well” My voice fell an octave as I folded my arms and arched my brows, “there is another way I could make sure that information doesn’t leak…” Adri’s grin quickly fell from her face. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, kid.” I said, patting Adri on her shoulder, “After all, I’m your favorite sister.”

“How can you make that sound so menacing and kind at the same time?” Adri chuckled nervously. I winked at her before ushering her forward, leaving room for the rest of our family to say their goodbyes.

>>>

Once everyone had left, Victor and I sat quietly at our desks. I tapped my pen on my desk, lost in thought.

“So,” Victor said without looking up from his computer, “You’re an evolver.”

My pen fell from my hand.

I tried to speak but my words had gotten lodged in my throat. How could he have known?! Was it the way I pushed him to the ground?! I didn’t use that much power. Maybe I miss judge my evol more than I’d like to admit.

“I had my assumptions but,” Victor continued in between my silence, “I wasn’t completely certain. But now, it’s quite clear why you insist on taking care of yourself.”

“H-how?” I managed to stutter, turning to look at Victor. Victor scoffed as he turned to me

“Are you that slow? You really didn’t notice anything strange during our conversation earlier?”

My eyes widened, “So I wasn’t imagining that!... That was you?” Victor gave me a look that I received far too often.

“What do you think?”

“So you’re an evolver too? Wait, so your evol is to freeze people in place?”

“Dummy.” Victor sighed as he turned back to his work, “I can control time.”

“Can people still hear us when you do that?”

“No.”

“...what?”

“Do you really think I would start that kind of a conversation in front of your parents?” Victor retorted, turning back to me, “Let alone your siblings?”

“Wait.” I shook my head and held up my hands, “You’re saying no one else could have heard our conversation?”

“No.” Victor turned back to his computer, “Not unless they were also evolvers.”

“... what?”

“They had to have been an evolver to have heard our conversation.”

My heart stopped.

Victor, noticing my change in attitude, turned back to me. “What is it?” He asked, seriousness easing back into his tone. I opened my mouth.

A knock came from the door. “Sorry, ignore me.” Adri came into the room, looking down at her phone, “Maria forgot her diaper bag so I… came… to” Adri looked up from her phone to see Victor and me staring at her, “... Unless you guys have some sort of emotional connection to it. Then I can tell her it wasn’t there-”

“N-no.” I cleared my throat and gestured to the sitting area, “Go ahead.” After a moment of confused silence, Adri did as I said and continued walking into the room. I started mindlessly tapping my pen on the desk as I watched Adri, thinking over everything Victor had just said.

“...Oh, and Adri?”

“Hm?” Adri hummed.

“I’m excited to have you over tonight.”

“Oh really?” Adri sang, picking up the bag and turning to look at me.

“Yeah.” I nodded and stopped tapping my pen, “I get the feeling we have a lot of bonding to do.”

(Next)

#ehehehhehehehheheh #you know thats right #we got twists #we got turns #we got things you probably guessed from the moment you met the character #but i bet you wont guess their evol #go on #send me an ask with your theories #ill wait #mlqc #mr love #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfiction #mr love fanfic #mr love victor #mr love ikes choice #ike n bar productions #ikamara bikira story #fanfiction

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xillveart · 5 years ago

Text

Summer Solitude pt. 2

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC)

Story Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic

Story Warnings: Cursing, brief sex (vaginal) and fingering, A LOT flirting, playful spanking, vague mentions of kinks, mostly fluff and just silliness

Words: 4,047

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

Written for the @bnhabookclub ‘s members bingo event!

Crossed off: Trickery (not on my card, replacement of an accidental repeat)

Bingo Masterlist

Art in banner by me

“Get your hand off my booty. You’re gonna mess up my tan.”

“Tan? Utsuro, you don’t tan. You burn. You’re already pink, you know. You need more sunscreen.” Bakugou’s hand ran down along the back of Koge’s thigh, the pressure of his grip and natural roughness of his palms bringing a small sigh of pleasure from her lips. Laying on her stomach, she had sprawled out on a blanket the couple had placed in the grass near the water, soaking in some of the hot summer sun. Sitting beside her, Bakugou was content to munch on some watermelon, stabbing squares of the juicy fruit with his toothpick before bringing it to his lips. Along with his munching, he was a tad handsy, unable to really help touching Koge or stroking her skin, which was something the petite woman loved.

“I just put some on, like… ten minutes ago.” Turning her head, Koge rested her cheek against her folded forearms, eyes scanning his bare back. Each movement he made to pick up another piece of fruit flexed his broad shoulders and caused his muscles to ripple, bringing a heat to Koge’s cheeks that wasn’t at all related to the sun. Even his arm as it moved with his continuous slow stroking of her thigh had her stomach fluttering, nearly mesmerized by his form. What was worse, his skin was shiny and wet with remnants of the lake water, as he had just come back up from a quick dip while Koge soaked in the sun.

And as she watched a droplet of water slide down along his side, she knew that she had made a mistake making that bet earlier. Now she was really paying the price.

Koge knew that Bakugou could tell, too, and he wasn’t taking this challenge lightly. Sure, he wasn’t jumping her bones every second he could, but he was still doing exactly what Koge had expected. In between his more casual affection, he’d randomly toss in a more sensual touch, a lingering of his lips, or a flash of his crimson glare that could set Koge off in seconds. Even now as he focused on eating, his fingers trailed along her inner thigh, lightly brushing against her clothed sex. If he was doing it on purpose at the moment, she couldn’t be sure, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ask and give away that she was struggling.

“Gimme a bite?” Koge smiled up at him as he glanced over his shoulder in response to her words, his cheek puffed out as he chewed. Compliant, Bakugou stabbed a new piece, leaning back and supporting himself with his elbow to easily bring the fruit to her lips. Koge was quick to open wide and hold it between her teeth while Bakugou pulled the stick back, humming softly in happiness as she ate the juicy treat. “Mmm! That watermelon is really sweet!”

“I can think of a few things that are sweeter.” Staying in his laid-back position, Bakugou licked some of the watermelon juice from his fingers, once again sending a heat rushing through Koge like a fire.

Jerk! He’s too good at this.

“Yeah, me too. Like grapes. Or just candy.”

“Sure, Utsuro.” Smirking in his silent, smug victory, Bakugou pushed his still damp hair back out of his face, the water slicking it back and causing it to cling to itself. “If that’s what comes to mind.”

Unable to handle gazing upon his glistening chest and abs, Koge shoved her face back into the blanket as casually as she could, silently screaming in her mind and cursing herself for being so stupid. “Is there something else that should have come to mind?”

“I already know something else came to mind.”

“I’m not saying it!”

“What? Struggling not to lose?”

Koge could hear the smirk in his voice, her skin tingling as his fingers lightly and slowly trailed down her spine. Huffing, she rolled over on her back away from him in hopes that he couldn’t reach her anymore. “I won’t lose!” Glowering at him, she pushed herself up to sit on her elbows, having to control the screaming urge to look down at his body. “You promised you wouldn’t try hard!”

Bakugou scoffed, taking a large bite out of a larger slice of watermelon, since all the little pieces had been eaten. It was as if he were purposefully showing off his impressive bite and teeth, which was just another turn on for Koge, who couldn’t help but imagine those teeth sinking into the skin of her inner thighs. “Utsuro, I’m not trying hard,” Bakugou paused to lick his lips, ignoring the juice of the fruit that dripped onto his chest from the slice in his hand. “You’re just horny. You can’t win.”

“I’m not. You are trying hard, everything you’re doing is so extra!”

“I’m just eating watermelon. It’s not my fault you’re seeing that as sexual.” Taking another bite, the blonde munched away before tossing the slice back into its large bowl, searching for a napkin that he used to wipe his mouth and chest of the dribbling juice. “Fuck that shit gets everywhere.”

Huffing, Koge flopped back to lay down, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared up at the blue sky. “I hate you.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“See, now you’re just working against yourself, jokes like that will get you no pussy.”

“Shut up,” Leaning over, Bakugou caressed her flushed cheek, kissing her lips softly. “You’re too cute to argue.”

“Don’t pull that with me,” Koge gripped onto his forearm lightly, not wanting him to back away. “You know I can’t resist your sweet talk.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bakugou kissed her again, scooting his body in closer to half-hover over her easier, one of his legs coming to rest casually between hers. “All I have to do is call you the B-word and you’re gonna lose that bet real quick.”

“Calling me a bitch only works in certain situations, love.”

“I don’t mean that B-word.”

Cheeks growing hotter, Koge narrowed her eyes at him, nudging his nose with hers lightly. “Don’t you dare. That’d be cheating! Especially with your voice still being a little raspy from losing it the other day while you were sick… You’d make me cum just from your voice.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou chuckled, letting his hand slide down from her cheek to instead rest on her stomach. “Then what? I’d make you cum with my voice, but that’s not enough for you.” His lips still dangerously close, Bakugou didn’t break eye contact with her as his fingers trailed down across her skin towards her hips. His touch was so light it made Koge’s entire body tingle in ticklish pleasure, almost finding it hard to not twitch away. “You’d need more.”

“You don’t know that.” The involuntary waver in her voice didn’t go undetected, a new smug smirk spreading across Bakugou’s lips.

“I do know. I know, because your slutty little body craves my fat cock inside you. It can’t be satisfied until I’ve fucked you into a crying stupor.” His lips were right up against hers now, brushing as he spoke and only teasing Koge’s parted mouth with a hint of a kiss. She knew exactly what he was doing, yet she couldn’t pull away or resist him, her breathing growing heavier with her anxious energy. She wanted him so bad, but how could she give in already, only a couple of hours after their bet had been placed? Instead of any protest, only one word could slip from her strangled throat.

“Katsuki…”

“That’s right, baby,” Bakugou’s smirk only grew more wicked at Koge’s physical reaction to the pet name, her body arching up into his touch as his hand slipped beneath her bikini bottoms, two of his fingers stroking along her already soaking wet cunt and teasing her clit just as the word left his mouth. “Say my name and give into me.” His lips crashed down onto hers without any resistance, her mouth even opening eagerly for him to completely take control. Suddenly, a rush of pleasure as his fingers dug into her needy pussy snapped Koge out of her haze, making her squeal and wiggling out from under him, fumbling to her feat.

“No, no, no! No! You aren’t allowed to do that! That’s SUPER try hard mode!” Pointing an accusing finger at him, Koge was only made more flustered as his smirk returned, her heart nearly leaping out of her mouth at the sight of him licking clean the fingers he had put inside her. “Katsuki!”

“Mm, delicious. Sweeter than watermelon.”

“Ugh!” With a stomp of her foot, Koge stormed off towards the lake, not looking back at her tease of a husband in hopes it would keep her away. “You’re not gonna win!”

“You know I like a challenge, Utsuro. That cute little ass of yours is going to be tied up tonight. Just wait.”

“No, you will be buying us a hot tub! That’s what’s gonna happen!”

Chuckling, Bakugou sat up, doing his best to ignore the aching of his cock, speaking quietly to himself. “I wonder if I should tell her they’ve already ordered one? Hm… Nah.”

…

“Katsuki, you’ve really gone all out on this! When did you have time to bring all this food up here? When you said we were going on a date, I didn’t expect all of this.” Koge couldn’t resist the bright smile on her face as she munched away on a delicious slice of seasoned beef, the light twinge of Bakugou’s favorite spices tickling her lips. “Yum!”

“I didn’t. I haven’t been here before, remember?” Bakugou glanced back at her over his shoulder, though most of his attention was on the pan where he had a variety of vegetables sautéing. Holding on firmly to the handle of the pan, he used quick and precise movements to flip the contents about, reminding Koge just how dwarfed her cooking skills were compared to his. “I had my dad help.”

“You’re so sneaky.” Koge narrowed her eyes at him, her stomach fluttering in happiness from his effort and attention to their needs for the weekend, as well as making sure she was truly enjoying herself. “You’re not trying to butter me up for something, are you?”

With a click of his tongue, Bakugou brought the still sizzling pan over towards her, using a set of tongs to grab and place the veggies onto her plate. “And what if I was?”

“Then I’d say yes no matter what.”

“Damn right.” After giving himself a portion on his own plate, Bakugou placed the pan back down on a cold burner of the stove, turning the other off while he was at it. “But no, I’m not. You deserve this.”

Cheeks flushing, Koge grew a bit timid from his words, pulling her legs up into her chair to sit cross legged. “Thank you, Katsuki… That means a lot to me.”

A kiss to the top of the head was given to her before Bakugou took his seat beside her, beginning to chow down on his food. “What do you think of this outdoor kitchen set up?”

“I like it!” Koge glanced around them, eyeing the covered patio they were sat under and the row of cabinets that sported an oven and sink. From their chairs at the round metal table they were eating on, they both had the perfect view of the lake and setting sun, which painted the sky with lilac, cream, and coral hues. The glistening water reflected the masterpiece, bringing about such a calming sense of serenity. It truly was heaven, made perfect by the delicious food and the love of the man beside her. “I love everything about this place. Especially just getting to be alone with you.”

“It’s been a long time. I don’t think we’ve gotten a full day to ourselves since Natsu was born. It’s so different from how it used to be.” Bakugou paused for a moment to eat, carefully shoveling some meat into his mouth with his chopsticks. “But, it just makes this more special. Reminds me of why and how much I love you.”

“Aw, Katsuki,” Koge scooted her chair up close to him, resting her head against his shoulder. “I love you. I know adjusting to being parents and being married is really hard, but… We’re getting through it together. And even though I know you don’t think you have, you’ve been as wonderful as always, to me and the kids. Sometimes I miss it being just you and me, but I wouldn’t trade what we have now for anything.”

“Me either. Here, you have a little-” Since Koge had been looking up at him, Bakugou took a moment to wipe her bottom lip lightly with his thumb, wiping away some stray sauce. Koge giggled, her face flushed and eyes never leaving his face.

“Sorry, I’m a bit messy.”

“Mm, yeah you are.” A deep hum rattled in his chest as he kissed her. “Messy, cute little sexy thing. If you get that sauce all over you, I’ll just end up having to clean you up myself.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Some extra sauce.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get some extra special sauce later.”

“You won’t!” Koge got one more kiss before she returned to eating, which Bakugou mimicked. “You’re not going to win. I’ve done so good. You haven’t gotten me since that nonsense with the B-word.”

“For now.”

With a roll of her eyes and a playful nudge to his side, the two fell silent to eat in peace, listening to the rippling water and the sounds of nighttime creatures around them. Once the two were done eating, Bakugou presented Koge with her favorite dessert of matcha mochi ice cream and chocolate syrup, which had her drooling and beaming with delight. By the time dinner was complete, the sun was set, blanketing the lake with darkness. The little backyard paradise was flooded with crackling light, however, as the firepit had been brought to life. Poking at the smoldering logs with a long poker, Bakugou shuffled them around until he was content, leaving it resting close by before approaching his wife.

With a gentle stroke to the top of her head, he flopped to sit down beside her on the bench she had picked, letting one arm rest around her shoulders. “How’s that?”

“It’s perfect.” Koge pulled her legs up into the seat, cuddling into and resting against his side. “I love this. I want everything to be just like this when we retire. Just at the coast instead.”

“Hm. I can see that. A private oceanfront place. Though up in the mountains would be fucking nice, too. Surrounded by trees.”

“But the bugs.”

“Fuck the bugs, they wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Hmm…” Koge turned a bit to rest her head against his shoulder, her hand sliding up his torso to his chest. “You know they would be. You’d have icky creepy crawlies all over you.”

“I already do. Two icky creepy crawlies that always climb all over me.”

“Only two?”

“Well, three. Counting you. The biggest creepy crawly.” Taking hold of her chin lightly to lift her head up, Bakugou placed a tender kiss on her lips, bringing a happy hum from her chest. “Grossest, too. I’ve never seen such a gross bug.”

“I’m like your flea. Always attached to you.”

Chuckling, Bakugou leaned back comfortably again, looking up at the night sky. “You are tiny like a flea. Damn, Utsuro, did you see the sky?”

“Hm?” Resting her head back down, Koge turned her gaze to look up at the stars, a small gasp leaving her lips. “Wow! You can’t see this back home!” The night sky was more magnificent than Koge had seen in many years, with twinkling stars and swirling streams of color within the inky and never-ending blackness. It made her feel so small to stare up into the unknown, yet she felt comforted by Bakugou’s strong arm around her, knowing that even if aliens did suddenly come down to attack the planet, at least he would be there with her though it all.

“Do you believe in aliens, Katsuki?”

“Do you think we’re the only living thing in the universe?”

“No.”

“Me either. Unless we’re nothing but a simulation.”

Koge giggled softly, still mesmerized by the sky above her. “Oh yeah? Then what would all the stars be? A hologram. Geez, that one start is really twinkling, you see it? Oh look! There’s the Taurus constellation! That’s your western zodiac sign, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I don’t really know a lot about them though.”

“They’re assholes.”

“Tch, oh yeah?!” Bakugou pinched her cheek playfully, making her whine and attempt to push him off her. “And what’s yours, huh? The one that’s a little bitch, I bet!”

“Scorpio! And that’s not a little bitch sign, that’s a bad bitch sign. Don’t make me have to prove it to you.”

“Oh, and what would you do, little flea?”

“Don’t you know anything about fleas, Katsuki? They bite,” In one fluid motion, Koge sunk her teeth into the side of his neck as she crawled up onto his lap, ignoring his curses. Although the first bite was the roughest, they grew significantly less visions as she trailed them down his neck to his shoulder, though she was stopped by the strap of his tank. “I’ll bite you all over!”

“Then I’ll just have to squish you, won’t I?” With one strong arm wrapped around her torso to keep her from squirming away, Bakugou brought his full palm down onto her ass, making her burst out into giggles and squeals. “No, no, you little bug, you’re not getting away!” Another slap had Koge struggling with all her might to get away, but her strength was nothing compared to the muscular man that had her trapped. A single glance at his face told her that he was enjoying it, too, the amused and malicious smirk on his lips giving it away.

“Katsuki! This isn’t fair! You can hold me down with one arm!” Koge retaliated with another rough bite, this time right below his earlobe. At first, a hiss was Bakugou’s only reaction, until he released a low growl deep in his chest, his large hand switching from spanking to groping. With his fingers splayed out across her cheek and a firm grip, he pulled her hips in up against his, presenting to her his very obvious and eagerly twitching cock beneath his shorts.

“You’d better watch it, Utsuro, or I’m going to make you lose that bet real quick.”

“You won’t.” Smirking against his skin, Koge nibbled her way along his jawline, ending with a bite and a tug to his earlobe. “You like it when I bite you, huh? You like to be bit just as much as you like to bite.”

A deep grunt escaped Bakugou’s throat as she pressed her hips tighter against his, putting pressure on his strained member in the same moment that her teeth sunk into his neck. “This is considered giving in, isn’t it?”

“Nope. There’s nothing in the rules about me teasing you. I have to give in to you enticing me.” Holding back a sigh of pleasure at the pressure against her clit and the feeling of his cock twitching between her legs, Koge let her fingers snake up into his blonde locks, massaging and tugging in time with her bites and rolling of her hips. “You’re so submissive today.”

“Don’t fucking call me that. You’ll regret it.” The slight whine in his voice immediately had Koge feeling rushed with a sexual power that she very rarely got to experience with him, and the thought of getting to push his buttons a bit clouded any other thought in her mind.

His grip on her hips have loosened, Koge was able to maneuver her hands down between their bodies, easily slipping his hard cock from his shorts. Taking hold of him, Koge’s heart nearly leapt out of her throat at the hitching breath he took in, her thumb rolling around his tip to tease him with the precum that had been dribbling down his shaft. “Poor thing.” Koge hummed, her lips and teeth sliding along his skin. “You’ve been trying so hard all day, and this is what happens? You end up whining and just letting me do whatever I want.”

Her touch became more aggressive, slipping one of her hands into her own shorts to coat it in her own slick while she pumped his cock. “Seeing you like this really gets to me, Katsuki. I just want to eat you up.”

Bakugou’s breath grew heavier the longer she pleasured him, until his hips began to buck up into her touch. “C’mon!” He hissed between his teeth, his face shoved into her shoulder. “I want to stick my cock in you so fucking bad. Let me fuck you!”

“I don’t think so, Katsuki.”

A trembling moan left his lips, his hands gripping onto her hips tightly in hopes that she wouldn’t move. “Yes! Baby, please,” Speaking directly into her ear now, his low and desperate voice had Koge’s head spinning, unable to think about anything else but him. “Please, baby. Let me fuck you. I need it.”

Moving on impulse, Koge shifted her clothing out of the way, shifting her hips up and sinking his entire cock into dripping, aching pussy all the way to the base, the pleasure immediately making Koge tremble and bite down onto her bottom lip. Though, before she could even think about moving her hips, Bakugou’s grip on them grew tighter, and a triumphant chuckle rattled in his chest.

“I fucking got you, Utsuro.”

“Wha- a-ah!!” Koge’s voice cracked into moans as Bakugou began to thrust his hips up into her, his entire demeanor flipping like a switch. Behind the hazy pleasure, Koge began to realize that he had been doing. He had used her craving for a bit of dominance against her, making her think that she was the one in control the entire time. “K-Katsuki! That’s mean!”

“You lose, Utsuro. Now shut up and take my fat cock like a good little slut.” His threatening growl in her ear immediately broke her into submission, gripping onto his shoulders tightly as she took over bouncing on his cock, slamming it within her from tip to base. “Good girl. Show me how much you’ve wanted that fucking cock.”

It was true that Koge had been craving him since the early morning hours, but with the bet they had set so early on, she had been pushing back against him so intently that she was sure she’d win. Yet, he was able to break her without even having to really touch her himself. Sure, she was frustrated with that, but there wasn’t a single thought in her mind that told her to stop. Just feeling his cock inside her, filling up every inch of her cunt had her feeling like she was going completely mad already. She wanted more. She needed more.

“Katsuki-!”

“What’s wrong? Fucking yourself on my cock not good enough for you?” Using his strength, Bakugou stopped her from bouncing, his dick slipping out of her and leaving her aching. Whining, Koge looked down between their bodies, able to see glistening threads of her slick still connecting them together. She was so horny she’d do anything for him at this point just so he would keep fucking her.

“I-I want you to fuck me, Katsuki. Please!”

“I won the bet, you know. Don’t you think I deserve my prize?”

Koge’s heart skipped a beat, growing nervous just from the thought of what he had wanted. A rough session of light bondage and a bit of knife play, which was something they had never tried before. They had researched it before, but never got around to it with children at home, but now they had an entire house and night to themselves. Yes, the unknown was scary, but how incredibly hot it made her had her answer slipping from her lips before she could really even think.

“Please do whatever you want to me, Katsuki.”

#bnhabookclub #bakugou #bakugou x oc #bakugou katsuki #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bnha fanfiction #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #bnha oc #oc #original character #bakugou x koge #koge #cutesuki-oc #bingo

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rookie-ramsey · 5 years ago

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Baby Blues, Chapter 7 (Bryce X MC)

Description: Bryce and MC can handle just about anything. Hopefully, pregnancy and parenting fall into the “just about anything” category.

Preview: Bryce frowned and touched her arm. “Em? What is it?”

“I’m really dizzy…” Her knees went weak. Darkness started to fill the corners of her vision. Dropping their merchandise, Bryce caught her just as she stumbled forward.

Previous Chapter

Maybe Emily was mistaken, but the rest of her second trimester seemed to fly by.

“I’m gonna have to buy bigger socks and shoes. My ankles are starting to swell.” As they browsed Target for their weekly shopping adventure, she tossed a package of socks into their shopping cart. “And more maternity clothes. Nothing fits anymore.”

“If it’s any comfort, you look stunning in them.”

“Stunning, huh?” Emily grinned. “I feel reassured.”

“As you should.”

Laughing, she picked out some tops and pants, trying them on before they checked out of the store. In the next store, they perused the baby supplies.

“Check this out.” Bryce held up a box containing a baby carrier. “I can wear this on my chest and carry her around in it.”

Emily’s face softened as she imagined it. “That’s… so ridiculously cute that there should be a law against it. I’m serious. It’s illegally adorable.”

“Illegally adorable, huh? I never knew that was a thing.”

Emily shrugged. “You made it a thing.”

“I’m buying this. I can walk around showing our insanely cute kid off to everyone.” Bryce tucked the box under his arm and followed Emily to the clothes.

Emily browsed the clothes, unable to resist picking out some. “I know I buy something every time we leave the house, but… it’s so tempting, even if she won’t be here for a few months.”

“Hey, babies poop a lot and grow fast. She’ll need a lot of stuff.”

“I already know Sienna wants to plan a baby shower.” Emily picked up a package of tiny socks. “What we don’t buy, I can put on the registry she’s ordered me to make.”

As she reached for a package of pacifiers, a sudden wave of dizziness made her pause. Feeling light, she rested a hand on the shelf for support.

Bryce frowned and touched her arm. “Em? What is it?”

“I’m really dizzy…” Her knees went weak. Darkness started to fill the corners of her vision. Dropping their merchandise, Bryce caught her just as she stumbled forward.

“Emily!”

XXXXXXXX

A groggy trip to the hospital later, Emily winced and touched her head, feeling a dull ache.

“Hey.” Bryce squeezed her hand. “There you are. Do you remember the ride over here?”

“Somewhat. I mostly remember passing out in the middle of Target.”

“That’s accurate.” He nodded softly. “You almost made me wet my pants with fear, but everything’s okay. Your iron was really low.”

“Anemia.” She nodded slowly, smoothing a hand over her stomach. “The baby and I will both be fine with iron supplements and a good diet.”

“Mm hmm.” Bryce leaned over and kissed her gently. “Just don’t freak me out like that again.”

“Sorry.” Emily leaned into him. “What tests did they run?”

“A full workup to be safe. Everything else came back fine.”

“That’s good. It also means we can leave so we can enjoy the rest of our day off.”

“You need to eat something first. Then I’ll spring you out of here.”

Emily sighed, but her stomach rumbled hungrily. “Okay. Can you get me some soup and a salad?”

“Got it.” Bryce left the room, returning a few minutes later with her requested meal. When he set it on the tray, Emily sat up and started eating.

She sighed in relief as her headache began to fade. “I’m feeling better now.”

“Good.” Bryce smoothed her hair back. He waited until Emily finished her food, then helped her up. “Let’s get you out of here.” Together, they left the hospital. Instead of going back to the store, Bryce drove back to their apartment, where they curled up on the couch to work on their registry.

“Do you still want that chest carrier?”

“Hell yeah.” Bryce grinned. “I can’t not buy it.”

Chucking, Emily clicked on the item, adding it to their list. “I can’t wait to see you wear it.”

“I can’t wait to see me wear it, either.”

“Someone’s awake.” Feeling the now-familiar flutter, Emily took Bryce’s hand and settled it on her abdomen. “She’s kicking harder now.”

“I feel that.” Bryce gently rubbed her stomach, feeling another soft kick.

“What did I do to deserve the cutest boyfriend in the world?”

“Well, I have the world’s most gorgeous girlfriend. So there.” Bryce grinned. “I can’t miss a chance to one-up you.”

“You’re a goofball.” Emily buried her fingers in Bryce’s soft hair. “But you’re cute enough to get away with it, so it’s okay.”

XXXXXXX

As fast as her first two trimesters soared, the third trimester slowed to a crawl.

“I’ve never seen so much stuff before,” Emily awed as she admired the pile of presents in her old apartment.

Sienna grinned. “Not everyone showed up, but almost everyone sent you something. I encouraged people to send things you really need, like diapers, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of surprises. Your mom and I had a lot of fun planning this together.”

“We certainly did,” Allison confirmed. “It’s not every day I get to plan a shower for my first grandbaby.”

“I’m just excited to sink my teeth into one of those cupcakes.”

“Soon!” Sienna adding the finishing touches to the last cupcake. “Food’s ready! The mom gets to go first.”

“Yay.” Emily fixed a plate with the spread of finger foods and grabbed one of Sienna’s cupcakes. “I think the thing I miss most about living here is your baking.”

“What are we, chopped liver?” Elijah teased.

Bryce joined Emily on the couch. “I’ve gotta say, this is the first baby shower I’ve been to.”

Sienna shrugged. “All female baby showers are antiquated. I thought it would be more fun with all the residents.”

“It definitely is.”

“I’m just stunned that Ines convinced Zaid to come.” Emily couldn’t resist an amused smile as Ines instructed Zaid to set an oversized gift with the rest of the presents. The rest of their guests fixed their food, enjoying the snacks until Sienna started the games.

Emily arched a brow as her mom helped Sienna set up the first game. “Why do you two have so much baby food?”

“We’re going to use it for a game.” Allison smiled mischievously and handed her daughter a bowl containing slips of paper. “Everyone has to smell and taste and try to guess the flavors. You pick the first victim.”

“I feel dangerous.” Emily reached into the bowl and grabbed a slip of paper. She unfolded it and snickered. “First up… Zaid.”

Zaid’s face fell. “I knew I should have thought twice before putting my name on that paper.”

“Go on!” Grinning, Ines urged him toward the table at the front of the room. Sighing, Zaid eyed the baby food jars warily.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re going to smell each baby food and even taste it if you can’t guess it. Write your answers down, then we’ll see who gets the most right. The winner gets a gift card to a restaurant of their choice.”

She handed Zaid a piece of paper, a pencil, and a handful of tongue depressors. “Use a clean tongue depressor for each food if you taste it.”

“Did these come from a supply closet?”

“Maybe.”

Trying to stifle a laugh, Emily drew the next few names. “You’re next, Bryce and Jackie. Get in line behind Zaid.”

Jackie nudged Bryce. “I bet you ten bucks you won’t take a big bite of each one.”

“Don’t underestimate me. You’re on.” To prove himself, Bryce scooped a generous portion of a smelly green food and tried not to wince as he swallowed it.

“Why in god’s name would you willingly eat this for twenty dollars?” Zaid cringed as he caught a whiff from a jar containing an orange food. “This smells like vomit.”

“A bet’s a bet.” Bryce jotted down his answer for the first jar, then dipped a clean tongue depressor into the orange jar that Zaid set down. He swallowed it and made a face. “Not as disgusting as the first.”

“Let’s change the bet.” Jackie smirked, sniffing the jar’s contents and writing her answer down. “Twenty bucks if you make it through without puking.”

“It’s still a deal. Wanna add anything, Dr. M?”

The senior resident shook his head. “I’d rather not puke today, thank you very much.”

“I’ll give you the twenty bucks I’m about to win from Jackie if you take one bite of this.” Bryce held up one of the orange jars.

“I value my intestines more than twenty dollars!” Rolling his eyes, Zaid sniffed the last jar and wrote his final answer down, handing the paper to Sienna. “Now that my nostrils are destroyed, I’m going to sit down.”

“Thanks for playing!” Sienna grinned and took Bryce and Jackie’s papers as well. Once everyone had played, she called out the answers. “Looks like Bryce wins!”

Bryce grinned. “Lucky me.” He returned to his seat on the couch next to Emily.

“Care to explain your expertise in identifying baby foods?”\

He shrugged. “I’m talented in many areas.”

For the next several minutes, they laughed at the ridiculous games their guests played. Finally, it was time to open presents. Emily excitedly rubbed her hands together and started opening, finding several cases of diapers, as well as outfits, a car seat from her mother, bibs, and pacifiers.

“That one’s from me.” Elijah grinned as Emily opened a bag containing a tiny pair of scrubs. “I thought they were too perfect to not buy.”

“They’re adorable!” Emily added them to the stack of clothes. The next present revealed an assortment of warm hats from Sienna, followed by an oversized stuffed elephant from Zaid and Ines. “This is gonna look great in the nursery!”

Ines grinned. “Believe it or not, Zaid picked it out.”

Zaid’s cheeks flushed as he tried to look anywhere else. “Uh… you’re welcome.”

“It’s perfect. You have good taste.” Emily set the elephant on the coffee table. By the time she finished opening everything, she was exhausted and ready for a nap. As the guests started to leave, Bryce helped Sienna and Allison clean up.

“Bryce, you don’t need to help. You’re a guest of honor, too,” Allison chastised.

“I like cleaning up party messes.” Bryce shrugged and filled a trash bag with paper plates.

Emily stretched and yawned. “Mom, Sienna, thanks for planning everything. I don’t know how we’re going to fit all of this stuff in the car, but I feel like we have enough to last for months.”

“Just wait until you see how many diapers babies go through.” Allison smirked. “I thought I would need to have a truckload delivered a week when you were a baby.”

“Mom,” Emily groaned. “I think the ridiculously huge box Ethan sent will tide us over for a while.”

“At least you won’t be making trips to the store at two in the morning.”

“Yeah. Little girl should be here in four to six weeks.” For a moment, she fell silent, blinking in surprise as she realized the closeness of her due date.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Next Chapter

Tags: @elephant9998 / @mvalentine / @fortunatelywaywardsandwich / @whatchique / @achalantspitfire / @lahellacute / @virtuallytakenby / @oofchoices / @dang-lahela / @miss-whit12 / @drakeismyweakness / @sitsoncornflake / @a-tragical-tale / @bitchloveskcbaseball / @laceandlula / @paulfwesley / @bloomingsivan / @anotherbeingsworld / @vamped99 / @datynasuha / @doctorsurferbro / @loveellamae / @drethanfreakingramsey / @trappedinfandoms / @rookielahela / @macy-ray85 / @mrsdrlahela

#open heart #choices: open heart #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #bryce lahela x mc #choices

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 4 (Branjie) (and background everyone) - Ortega

a/n: something something strictly rewrite something something pls love me something something love u bye. in all seriousness thank u for reading and bearing with me in amongst this clusterfuck…next chapter is the last of the rewrites and so a new one coming ur way within the next week!

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

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

***

3rd October 2020

Vanessa takes a deep, nervous breath and looks to the ceiling. The disco ball hangs high from it and creates tiny little square reflections, chunks of glitter against the light rigging. The lights themselves are purple and blue, matching those that snake along the balcony and up the stairs and arch over the huge projection of the show’s title card at the other end of the room. There’s another projection, a yellow one that dances across the shiny lacquered ballroom floor as if it’s practising too. The judges’ table is silver and glittering and intimidating to Vanessa’s right, despite the fact that none of the judges are even sitting at it yet. The band and singers are all set up underneath the huge arch of the stairs that Vanessa has practised walking down with Brooke and the other girls and knows she’ll be walking down again in just a few hours’ time.

“Right, Brooke and Vanessa, please. You’re up!”

A little “woo!” goes up from the couples assembled in the dark shadows of the empty studio. Peppermint and Shea are leaning with their backs against a pillar, their eyes supportive but analytical. Crystal and Gigi are sitting in some of the chairs at the far back row, clapping loudly with each new routine they manage to see and whispering to each other secretively between dances. Yvie and Scarlet are both in the front row off to one side, as Jaida and Plastique are off getting some last tweaks done to their costumes. They don’t seem to mind that their partners are away and are talking excitedly to each other, Yvie every so often making Scarlet laugh so hard that she reaches out and grabs her arm or knee or hand. And Monet and Monique are on the chairs behind Vanessa and Brooke, currently screeching their heads off and pushing them forward onto the dancefloor.

It’s Saturday, the day of their first show. It’s half past four and the sky had just been starting to take on that threateningly Autumnal look halfway between grey and navy when Vanessa had arrived at Elstree studios with Akeria, her friend having to listen to her excited babbling at the thought of getting to actually participate in the competition for the first time. Vanessa hadn’t stopped talking since- not when she’d greeted all the dancers and celebrities with similar excitement, not when she’d given all the hair and makeup artists a hug and thanked them preemptively, and not when she’d been non-stop texting Brooke. To be fair, her partner had started it, so excited was she since rehearsal that morning that she’d texted her practically every available moment since. When Vanessa had finally seen her at the studios they had squealed and joined hands and jumped excitedly on the spot in anticipation of seeing their costumes, trying them on, getting to dress-rehearse and experience their first live show together. So Vanessa has been chatting excitedly the entire day.

The only point where she has fallen quiet is when she had seen Brooke in her dress for the first time.

It’s light blue with satin straps that criss-cross at the back, a bodice that is studded with dimantés, and a long skirt with ostrich feathers along the hem. It’s not the most gorgeous dress in the world but Vanessa knows it’s going to look incredible during the routine, and besides, Brooke could wear a bin bag and still look effortlessly beautiful. Brooke had looked bashfully to the floor as she emerged from her dressing room in the dress, her face ever-so-slightly red.

“It’s hideous,” she’d whispered to Vanessa, out of earshot of the costume girls who Brooke hadn’t wanted to offend. Vanessa, without knowing what had possessed her, had put her hand on Brooke’s upper arm and given it a squeeze.

“Shut up. You look stunning,” she’d smiled reassuringly at her, and the flash of gratitude in Brooke’s eyes had been all Vanessa had needed in return.

She’s in her dress now and Vanessa’s in hers too, the exact same but a royal blue instead of the sky-blue shade of Brooke’s. Vanessa’s stomach is fizzing at the thought of them both dancing in full costume, makeup and hair with an audience watching them as well.

The dress rehearsal doesn’t always run in the running order of the show and today is one of those days. Brooke and Vanessa have had to wait for some of the other couples to run their routine through whereas this evening they’re up first. They’re the ones kicking off the whole show, and Vanessa would be lying if she said she isn’t nervous. They have practised as much as they can, they can do the routine well. Now all they have to do is show the other couples what they’re up against. It’s hard, though, for Vanessa to put everything she’s seen out of her mind and focus on her own dance with Brooke. Jaida and Yvie have just finished their Jive, huge smiles on both their faces as they hit every single beat throughout, the moves coming to Yvie effortlessly as if it’s a partnership of two professionals. Before that, Jan and Jackie rehearsed their Cha Cha Cha which contained so much tension and chemistry that Vanessa became convinced that their lips were going to meet at some point in the routine.

“How you feelin’?” Vanessa whispers to Brooke as they move onto the ballroom floor. The band swap around and tune up and the singers glug water behind them. Brooke looks the most nervous Vanessa has ever seen her.

“I’m fine,” Brooke lies. Her eyes dart around in a panic, wide and white. It unsettles Vanessa so she takes Brooke’s hand, rubs her thumb over her knuckles comfortingly.

“Hey. You don’t need to be nervous,” she reassures her, despite the fact she’s swallowing down her own nerves as she speaks. “You’ve got me. It’s going to be okay.”

Brooke takes a deep breath, her lips forming a tiny “o” as she breathes out. She manages to shoot a smile Vanessa’s way, and Vanessa is slightly more at ease.

“Ready to go?” she hears a producer shout.

“Yeah!” she shouts over, as Brooke Lynn drops her hand to give the producer a thumbs up. They sit in the two chairs that form part of the beginning of their routine, there is a click of drumsticks, and a silence falls across the studio. Two notes from a trumpet, the shuffle of papers on a music stand. Vanessa’s throat is so dry. Launch show feels like a walk in the park compared to this.

There’s a one…two…one-two-three-four click from the drumsticks, the music begins, and the pair of them are off. Straight away, Vanessa can tell something isn’t right. Brooke is too in her head and it shows. When they move into hold she can feel Brooke’s hand shaking, feel her pulse through the hand on her back so fast and heavy that Vanessa wants to make eye contact with her, but she can’t- it’s dress rehearsal, and she needs to be a professional. She can feel Brooke’s feet opposite her, though, and she just knows they’re not doing what they’re meant to be doing. Brooke is trying to keep up and failing, and it’s so hard for Vanessa to push through and keep dancing when she knows it’s going so wrong. They reach their bit on the steps and Brooke stumbles, the steps all coming at the wrong time and in the wrong direction. The smile is still plastered to Vanessa’s face even though she wants to stop right there, cut the band off and just talk to Brooke, calm her down and reassure her. There’s a point in the middle where she finally gets to meet Brooke’s eyes and she tries her hardest to make them comforting and gentle in the few seconds they’re facing each other. It hurts Vanessa to see Brooke’s own full of resignation and disappointment. She manages to pick things up a little near the end of the dance but there are still a few mis-steps and blunders, and by the time it’s over and the others are clapping and cheering Vanessa can already see the hurt in Brooke’s fake smile and the slump of her shoulders. She takes her by the hand, squeezes it urgently.

“It’s just the dress run, okay?” she murmurs to her, panicking as she sees what could be tears welling up in Brooke’s eyes. “You can do this, baby. You know this.”

Brooke nods harshly, blinks once, twice, three times, and the tears- if they were ever there to begin with- vanish. Vanessa wonders whether or not to hug her and then allows her heart to take over. She pulls her in, reaching up to loop her arms around her neck and burying her face against her chest. As Brooke squeezes her waist, she decides that it was a good decision.

Of course the hug can’t last forever but their hands are joined as they leave the dancefloor and return to their seats. Nobody from costume comes over to make adjustments so they can watch some more couples, not that Vanessa particularly wants to. Monique and Monet are still in their chairs. Vanessa is reluctant to face her friend but a tap on her shoulder prompts her to turn around anyway.

“Hey,” Monique hisses, and as Vanessa turns around Brooke does too. Monique’s smile is caring and comforting as she addresses them both. “Don’t worry. First dress run is always off-puttin’, it’s a new environment and the lights are down and the band’s so different to a track. You’ll be great tonight.”

Vanessa is thankful for her words as they seem to put Brooke at ease a little more. She thanks Monique and, wanting to move the spotlight off the pair of them, asks Monet how she’s feeling.

“Ready! Excited! We’re gonna wipe the floor with all you bitches,” she teases playfully. Monique laughs supportively beside her and Vanessa wants to roll her eyes at how much of a ridiculously obvious lovesick puppy her friend is.

“Well, it won’t be hard after what just happened there,” Brooke jokes, her tone not dissimilar to Eeyore’s. Vanessa raises her eyebrows at her and points a finger in her face, channels a bit of her Abuela’s tough love.

“Hey! I’m not letting you talk like that, you’re amazing. We’re gonna be flawless tonight. Just you wait.”

She punctuates her telling-off with a tap to Brooke’s nose, which finally makes her crack a proper smile. A producer shouts over for Monique and Monet, and Vanessa and Brooke clap for them and wish them luck as they take to the stage in matching little glittery playsuits, assembling themselves in their starting positions. Vanessa takes the opportunity to talk to Brooke properly now they’re alone.

“What happened?” she asks. Brooke lets out a heavy sigh.

“Just like Monique said. It’s all so different to the studios and everything just…I don’t know…threw me off, I guess,” she mutters, picking at a bit of feather. Vanessa takes her fidgeting hand and holds it gently between both of hers. The gesture seems to surprise Brooke, and all of a sudden their eyes meet, green opposite brown.

“Brooke Lynn, listen to me. I want you to know this. You can do this fucking dance.”

“I know I can!” Brooke whines, exasperated. Her expression is pained and pouting. “That’s what fucks me off about the whole thing. We’ve done it literally perfectly before. I feel like the only time I was worse than when I just did that dance was the day we started learning it.”

“Well, that’s good! I’m glad you know that,” Vanessa says firmly, enthused by Brooke’s determination. “So. What’s our game plan for tonight?”

“Do it perfectly again,” Brooke says instantly, and Vanessa squeezes her hand between the both of hers. She can’t stop the grin that creeps onto her face at Brooke’s decisive tone.

“Let’s do that, then.”

Brooke’s returning her smile and hasn’t taken back her hand and the world seems right again.

Monet and Monique’s Cha Cha Cha is the best they’ve seen so far- granted it’s the only one they’ve seen so far, but it’s good. Monique’s choreography is funny and clever and as they dance the pair tell the story of a backing singer (Monet) upstaging the star (Monique). Despite the fun they’re having the pair of them manage to only make a couple of mistakes, and Vanessa is cheering for them at the end. Courtney and Blair are next, and God, Phi Phi had been right when she’d said they had a lot of work to do. Blair plods her way through their Tango and visibly shows the mistakes she makes on her face, but Vixen still claps and cheers once they’re done as if she’s just witnessed a piece of modern art. Their performance seems to cheer Brooke up significantly, and Vanessa can practically read her mind- at least we won’t be as bad as that. As if Brooke’s able to read hers, she leans down and gives Vanessa a smug grin which makes her heart skip a beat.

They don’t stay to watch the rest of the couples. Instead they practise as much as they can in Brooke’s dressing room, which embarrassingly makes Vanessa nervous to even be in. Brooke’s all business, though, and they mark as much as they can of the dance in the space that they have.

They do it perfectly all three times.

Hair and makeup’s waiting for them, though, so they eventually relent and join the other couples who are all assembled in the huge room either getting combs and brushes swept through their hair, sponges dabbing at their face, or sitting and chatting. The pair of them are out of breath after their impromptu rehearsal, and when they enter the room a whoop goes up from Willam, who’s sat beside Courtney. Come to think of it, they both seem to be joined at the hip despite not being partnered and it’s as if the two of them are salt and pepper shakers, never one without the other.

“Oh! Strictly curse! Strictly curse! Dressing-room fucking!” she cries out, eliciting a laugh from half the room to Vanessa’s embarrassment. Before either of them can defend themselves, Phi Phi cuts in from her position in the hairdresser’s chair.

“They were probably rehearsing. Which is what we should be doing after that fuck-up of a dress run.”

Vanessa’s intrigued by the mention of how their dance went, but instead she ignores the comment and nods her head gratefully. Brooke replies, and Vanessa doesn’t miss the blush that’s crept onto her face. “Yeah, post-rehearsal sweats, not post-sex sweats. Sorry, Willam.”

Willam’s undeterred, and she shrugs lightly as she chomps on a cereal bar. “Give it time. I’ve never been wrong yet. I gotta sixth sense for this kinda shit, y’know.”

“Ooh, how come?” Courtney asks, crossing her legs and batting her lashes Willam’s way. Willam immediately swivels away from Vanessa and Brooke to give Courtney all of her attention, and Vanessa rolls her eyes long-sufferingly at her partner.

“Strictly curse, Jesus. As if,” Vanessa laughs, but it comes out more bitter than she’d wanted it to. There are still memories she associates with that phrase, she can’t help them, and even though time has passed she’s still got scars that are slowly healing.

Brooke gives a snort beside her, but Vanessa sees the way she doesn’t smile with her eyes, the way she looks almost wounded. Is Brooke…disappointed? Vanessa scrambles to follow up her comment.

“I mean, you know, some good comes out of it all the time. Obviously like Shea with Sasha…I just think…”

“It’s not something you’d ever fall victim to,” Brooke nods slowly, understandingly. Vanessa shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not it at all! Like if I developed a connection to someone on the show like that, then of course!” she explains quickly. All at once she sees a small twinkle appear in Brooke’s eye, and it sends a spark of electricity up her spine. She feels she has to justify her earlier remark and she swallows before deliberately forcing her tone to be light. “It’s just, you know…obviously after what happened last year.”

Brooke makes a face as if someone’s just dropped a very heavy object on her foot. “Right. Right. Of course. Fuck, sorry, of course you have every right to hate people talking about it so much.”

Vanessa gives a soft laugh. It still hurts and the humiliation might never dissipate but she tilts her head and smiles at Brooke. “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

They drop the topic, chat about the show instead and Vanessa explains to her how it’ll all work. The pros will do their group number first (Vanessa will change into her costume for that later, a strappy silver leotard with a fringed skirt that hangs low on her waist), which the dancers have been rehearsing all week. Then the judges come out and sit at their table and do a bit of chit-chat with Michelle. Then each of the couples come down the famous stairs and are introduced, and after that the show kicks off. With them. They are opening the whole show, Vanessa’s brain reminds her, and her stomach does a somersault. While they chat a couple of the other girls join in. Scarlet sits herself down in a free chair opposite them and chips in in between bites of mango, and Yvie pipes up every so often from her position in the makeup chair.

“Are the judges really terrifying?” Scarlet asks nervously, biting down hard on a piece of fruit. Vanessa shrugs, pulls a face.

“I mean, I wouldn’t know really. Never competed before, remember?”

Vixen pipes up from her place in the hairstylist’s chair. “Bianca can be a bitch but she’s alright when she ain’t behind the judge’s table. I think half of it is just her playing into the panto villain stereotype. Kennedy is just happy to be there, she always gives fair scores. Laganja is on a different planet, she’s hilarious. Always marks high. Shangie is lovely but you know she undermarks half the time and plays favourites the other half.”

“Well, I’ll just need to make myself one of her favourites,” Scarlet flips her perfectly curled hair and shrugs.

“You’re already one of my favourites,” Yvie says nonchalantly. Scarlet fixes her photoshoot-ready smile onto her.

“The only correct decision,” she points at her approvingly. Yvie laughs a too-loud laugh that makes Vanessa roll her eyes at just how lovesick and useless everyone in this cast seems to be. Then again, she supposes she can’t really talk. Scarlet’s talking to Yvie now as if they’re the only two people in the room. “How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Just excited! Ready to go and get some tens,” she laughs, although Vanessa knows she’s not really joking.

Vixen raises her eyebrows, amused by the girl’s cocky remark. “Reign it in, girl. They never give out tens on the first night. You wanna score above twenty-five, that’s a successful first week,”

“Well, at least nobody’s going home this week,” Scarlet shrugs easily. She’s right- there’s no vote in the first week, and all the scores are instead carried over to next week’s show. But Vanessa doesn’t see that as a chance to relax. Scores are combined with the public votes so she knows a high score in the first week puts them in a good position for the next. She knows she’s thinking ahead too much but she can’t really help it. This is a long game, like Akeria said on launch night, and Vanessa is playing it to win.

“How’re you feeling, Scarlet?” Yvie asks back. Scarlet pouts. Vanessa thinks it’s more than a little for Yvie’s benefit.

“I’m just nervous! I hope I do okay.”

“You’ll be amazing,” Yvie tells her, and Scarlet’s smile is back on her face. Yvie smirks as she finishes her sentence off with, “Like me.”

The girls all laugh. Brooke takes out her phone and scrolls it a bit, nudging Vanessa after a while.

“Cute backstage video?” she offers, and Vanessa nods happily, glad to see Brooke a little less subdued. Vanessa leans into her as Brooke tilts the camera at them both.

“Hey family, we’re just about to get our hair and makeup done, hoping they can do something to fix this,” Brooke jokes, gesturing around her entire face. Vanessa shoves her.

“Shut up, girl, you’re gorgeous.”

The compliment is out before Vanessa can stop herself, but she doesn’t miss the way Brooke’s smile gets slightly wider. She ignores the compliment with her words but her face acknowledges it. “We’ve just done our dress run, it went horribly-”

“Oh my God, the lies you are telling today!!” Vanessa’s jaw drops. She knows it hadn’t gone well, but she just doesn’t want Brooke being so down on herself.

“Tell me we weren’t bad.”

“We weren’t bad!!”

“Well we weren’t good, either,” Brooke laughs, and Vanessa has to hand that one to her. “So you guys better vote for us next week, because we’ll need it.”

“Yeah, vote, vote, vote!” Vanessa nods enthusiastically.

“For Willam and Phi Phi!” Willam ducks her head into shot, and Vanessa pushes her away as she bursts out laughing.

“Brooke and Vanessa!” someone from hair calls, and Brooke pulls a face at the camera.

“Ah! Right, that’s us! See you all later, love you,” Brooke squeals into her phone and stops recording. In lieu of a story she decides to post the video on her grid, with the caption:

bhytes: 1 hour to go! Mood: terrified! Lucky I have @vanessavanjie dancing with me!

Vanessa is heartened by the tag, promises herself she’ll reply with something later. As the hair stylist sprays Brooke’s hair to within an inch of its life, Vanessa watches in the mirror as Brooke scrolls her phone, then pauses, a stifled smile creeping across her lips and a hand reaching up to touch her face self-consciously. Vanessa narrows her eyes with interest and, refreshing the page, finds that five new comments have popped up on the video Brooke’s posted. Three of them are a series of emojis, one is well-wishes from Brooke’s One Show co-star Nina, and one in particular catches her eye.

branjie5ever05: you GUYS i can’t take it you’re so good together!!! like an old married couple!! can’t wait to see you dance! branjie 5ever!!

Vanessa allows herself to wonder if that was the comment that had made Brooke’s face light up before her mind tells her how utterly ridiculous she’s being.

Hair and makeup is a blur and once they’re done, Brooke takes Vanessa’s breath away for a second time. The pair of them never really get to see each other with a full face of makeup on- they would just sweat it off in rehearsals- so this is unfamiliar territory to Vanessa. Brooke’s beauty hits her all over again just as it had on launch night, and Vanessa feels herself dissolving into a bashful mess whose tongue has been cut out.

“Wow,” Brooke says quietly, her tone of approval sending another little spark through Vanessa’s body. The atmosphere is already so electric and Brooke doesn’t need to add to that but she won’t complain. Brooke gives her a small smile that’s almost shy as she manoeuvres herself out of the makeup chair. “You look so good.”

Vanessa smiles, mutters a soft thanks to her. Brooke keeps going.

“I mean, better than good, obviously. Really pretty,” she stutters out, and Vanessa has to try not to laugh at how endearing she’s being.

“Well, same to you, boo. If anything goes wrong, which it won’t, all you need to do is smile at the judges and then maybe they’ll ignore it.”

Brooke rolls her eyes, gives a small laugh. “Ugh, please. I’m not Scarlet, I’m not going to simp for the judges.”

Vanessa lets out a howl of a laugh which causes some of the other girls to turn their heads. She yells an explanation. “Brooke Lynn just used the term ‘simp’!!”

“What? Did I not use it right?” she blinks, unamused. Vanessa butts her head into her arm and hugs her, trying to explain how funny she finds a thirty year old TV presenter using a term she’s only ever seen on Twitter.

If Brooke’s Insta post is a countdown to the show starting, then their time is eventually up. Vanessa feels like Brooke hugs her extra tight before she goes out to do the pro dance, clingy in the best kind of way. They won’t be separated for long but Vanessa still feels her heart hammering in her chest as the dancers begin to assemble on the ballroom floor, walking through the audience who are silent in anticipation (or perhaps under strict instructions from the producers). There’s a countdown and Vanessa tries to forget that, unlike the launch show, this is live, her dancing instantly beamed into the living rooms of everyone watching. The lights begin to come up, and the commentator’s voice booms through the studio.

“Live on Saturday night, this is Strictly Come Dancing!”

The audience cheers, and the band play the first notes of Boogie 2Nite. Vanessa can hardly breathe as she watches Akeria and Phi Phi open the dance, not a single error between them as they kick and spin each other around the floor. When Vanessa and the other pros join in at the swell of the chorus there is another excited cheer that ripples through the studio and makes Vanessa’s smile hurt her face. She gets to her solo and feels as if she’s igniting as the lights beam down hot onto her and she spins, kicks one leg high into the air, melts and then finishes with a stag jump that she knows wasn’t perfect but she’s too full of adrenaline to care. She partners with Monique and the two of them have matching grins on their faces as they dance, Monique spinning Vanessa round, round, round until she’s almost dizzy. As the dance comes to a close, Vanessa hits her pose right on the last beat, holds it, and then after waiting for the audience to finish applauding she runs backstage along with the other girls, hurrying into costume to change into her quickstep dress. The wardrobe team help her change and before she knows it, she returns into the line that the partners are all forming at the top of the stairs, waiting for their names to be called out. As soon as Brooke sees her, her face lights up in a smile and she wraps her in a tight hug. She smells of hairspray and fake tan and peppermint chewing gum, and Vanessa never wants to step out of her arms.

“You were so amazing. Well, everyone was. But you were the best,” Brooke murmurs into her ear before she lets her go, and Vanessa’s whole body tingles at the praise. There’s hardly time to reply, however, before a runner is telling them that they’re to come down the stairs in just twenty seconds, and stand in the spot they’d been given earlier that day during the dress run. Vanessa’s palms are sweaty and she’s self-conscious of them as Brooke takes her hand.

“Introducing your Strictly Come Dancing stars!”

The commentator’s voice is loud through the speakers and Brooke’s thumb strokes Vanessa’s skin between her thumb and index finger as they look at each other affirmingly before stepping out onto the stairs. The lights are blinding in Vanessa’s face but she’s still smiling and waving at the top of the stairs as the audience cheers for her and Brooke.

“TV presenter Brooke Lynn Hytes, and her partner Vanessa Mateo!”

Vanessa sneaks a look at Brooke and she’s already looking at her. The coincidence makes them both giggle before they walk carefully down the stairs, Vanessa telling herself not to trip on her way down. They make their way to their space and watch and clap for the other couples while the anticipation fizzes in Vanessa’s chest. They’re first. They’re first. They’re first. If she’s this nervous, she doesn’t know how Brooke must be feeling. Eventually all the couples are assembled, and Michelle is introducing them.

“And kicking off the whole show…it’s Brooke and Vanessa!”

As the audience gives a whoop and their VT plays Vanessa takes Brooke’s arm and looks at her, making sure she’s okay. To her relief Brooke returns her gaze steadfastly and there’s a little sparkle in her eye. She doesn’t seem as anxious as she was before. The couples leave the ballroom floor, Monique, Akeria and Crystal making sure to tap Vanessa on the shoulder on their way past and whisper a quick “good luck” to her and Brooke. They sit on the chairs that the set people are running about assembling, and Vanessa hisses across to Brooke.

“You good?”

Broke nods to her. “We’ve got this.”

Vanessa’s nerves instantly leave her body. Brooke’s truly back in the room and her head is in the game. There’s a countdown of five from a runner and the commentator’s voice booms overhead again.

“Dancing the quickstep…Brooke Lynn Hytes and Vanessa Mateo!”

The drum kicks in and their performance has begun. Already it’s nothing like the dress rehearsal. Brooke’s smile is genuine and easy during their silly interview-style bit, and when Brooke takes her hand as she rises from the chair Vanessa can feel her pulse again but it’s not heavy and frightened like before. It’s full of adrenaline and excitement and as Vanessa rests her hand on her upper arm and Brooke rests hers between her shoulder blades, something just seems to click. They’re off across the dancefloor and Vanessa knows Brooke’s steps and hops are in time with hers, the intricate footwork coming so naturally to her. As they go to cross the floor again, Brooke’s smile seems to falter as she stumbles. Vanessa doesn’t let this deter her and as they meet each other’s eyes she gives Brooke a wink.

“Beans on toast!” she reminds her mid-dance, and Brooke’s confidence is back as they do the next set of steps perfectly. Their feet are going so fast that Vanessa can’t even pick up on whether or not Brooke’s made any more mistakes yet, but the majority of their first dance has been good.

They reach their little section on the steps, and Brooke gives the slightest little falter as she makes eye contact with Bianca. The judge never gives anything away so her steely gaze might have rattled her, but as soon as they’re off the steps and back in each others’ arms Vanessa gives Brooke’s hand a squeeze.

“Almost there, last section!” Vanessa tells her encouragingly. They’re back to kicking, stepping and hopping their way across the ballroom floor to their seats where they finish, and as Brooke hits her final pose and Vanessa hits hers the audience gives a loud cheer. As soon as they’ve held it for a few seconds, Vanessa squeals, jumps up and meets Brooke’s waiting arms. She knows they’ve got to go over to Michelle to be interviewed but she holds the hug for a few more moments than necessary, raising her voice over the roar of the crowd as she speaks against Brooke’s rapidly rising and falling chest.

“You did it! So incredible!!” she gasps, all out of breath. To her shock, Brooke rests a hand on one side of Vanessa’s face and plants a kiss against the other.

Vanessa doesn’t know if the past five minutes could get any better.

They make their way over to Michelle. Brooke’s got one arm slung around Vanessa’s shoulders and Vanessa’s not moved her arm from her hips since their hug. Michelle is waiting for them with a bright smile on her face, seemingly as happy with their performance as they are.

“Congratulations you two, what an opening to the show!” she smiled encouragingly, and Vanessa gives Brooke’s waist a squeeze. “Brooke, how did it feel performing tonight?”

Brooke’s out of breath as she talks. “So amazing. So, so amazing. Dress run went so badly and just having the real thing go so well…wow. Just the best feeling.”

“I told y’all she was good!” Vanessa pipes up proudly beside her, and Brooke gives a laugh and pulls Vanessa in closer to her side.

“Judges! What did you think? Shangela?”

Vanessa’s heart stands still as she comes to the first judge, smiling gently at her desk.

“Well first of all, what a way to open the show! So much fun, and Vanessa, so great to have you as part of a pairing this year, that choreo was something else.”

Vanessa can feel Brooke’s eyes on her and she flushes pink from the praise, stutters out a thank you.

“Brooke, great job tonight, you lost your footing a little bit on the steps there, but overall a gorgeous start. Just work on strengthening your core, holding your frame a little bit better, and once you do that? Lovely, gal!”

Vanessa turns her head to see how Brooke’s reacting, She’s smiling and nodding and taking it all on board. Laganja speaks next, growing animated as she gives her feedback.

“I think we have one to watch here, mama!” she cries, and the audience gives a cheer. Vanessa looks up encouragingly at Brooke, gives her waist another squeeze because she can. “So much amazing potential! You just have a natural eleganza, all light and frothy like a latté! A couple of mistakes, girl, work on not showing that on your face. Cuz when you show it, we all see it, you know? But all that aside, well done.”

Bianca’s up next, and Vanessa clenches her core in preparation. The woman could watch Torvill and Dean dance Bolero on ice and still find something to say. “Uh, I thought the footwork needed tightening up, there were bits that were just a little bit too haphazard for me, your elbow was drooping just a little bit which is not great, you did lose your footing on the stairs here…”

Vanessa can feel Brooke drooping a little beside her, a bit like her elbow had allegedly been doing. The audience boos Bianca like the pantomime villain that Vixen had mentioned, but the woman’s face cracks into a small smile as she finishes her remarks. “But what I do love about you is your energy, you have a lot of great potential as Ganja’s pointed out, and I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do when you get just a little bit more technical.”

The audience seems appeased and claps her comments, and Brooke has perked up at Vanessa’s side like a flower that’s been given a drink. Michelle turns to Kennedy, the final judge to give her comments.

“Brooke! I think you started out a little bit nervous, and what was nice was that as the dance went on you kinda came out into your own a bit. You have a lovely feminine and elegant way of moving which is really nice to see in an all-female partnership, and you seem really comfortable in hold with Vanessa, which is lovely.”

Vanessa tries to fight the blush that washes her face at Kennedy’s comment and doesn’t succeed.

“Just work on your presentation a little bit and your confidence and…yeah. I’m living for you, miss, you’re gonna be dangerous.”

Vanessa is heartened by the way Brooke’s face lights up at the praise. Michelle thanks the judges and waves them off upstairs to be interviewed by Divina, her co-host, and the pair of them pick up the hems of their dresses and entwine their hands as they dash upstairs to the auditorium (or, as it’s commonly known between the dancers, the Divinatorium). Most of the other pairs are there having watched them dance while they wait for their turn, and they all clap the pair of them as they nudge their way through.

“You did it!” Divina smiles, giving Brooke a hug as she meets them both. “Congratulations! Now, nice comments from the judges- I know Bianca got a bit pernickety there, but how do you feel about them?”

“Really happy, yeah! I just can’t believe what Vanessa’s managed to do with me in the space of two weeks, she’s been amazing. It’s all been down to her.”

Vanessa can’t help the rays of sunshine that feel like they’re emanating from her face as she looks at Brooke. Divina turns to her.

“Vanessa, you’ve been benched for a couple of years now, how does it feel to have a partner finally?”

“You know what, it was worth the wait. She’s been an absolute star,” Vanessa beams, wrapping her other arm around Brooke’s waist and pulling her close just like Brooke had done once their dance had finished.

“Worth the wait! Too cute, you two. Well, the judges’ scores are in.”

Vanessa’s stomach gives a dip. She feels Brooke’s grip tighten on her shoulder as the voice of the commentator rings across the studio. This is the moment they’ve both been waiting for. They’re about to get their first ever scores.

“Will the judges please reveal their scores. Bianca Del Rio.”

Bianca holds up her paddle. Vanessa blinks and tries not to pull a face. Because what’s on the paddle is a number, a number that doesn’t correlate with the dance they both just did.

“Five.”

Hardly wanting to look away, she keeps her eyes fixed to the screen.

“Kennedy Davenport.”

“Five!” Kennedy is holding up an identical paddle. Vanessa can’t help it- she scrunches her face up, turns to Brooke.

“Five?” she shakes her head. Brooke shrugs and smiles but Vanessa knows the scores are hurtful to her. They’re being undermarked- okay, she knows the dance wasn’t perfect and they made just a couple of mistakes, but it was at least a six, perhaps even a seven.

“Shangela Wadely.”

“Five.”

Vanessa shakes her head, trying to keep a smile on her face but wanting to storm down the stairs and give those judges a piece of her mind.

“Laganja Estranja.”

“Six!” the girl cries happily as she holds up her paddle, and the audience lets out a cheer. Vanessa relaxes a little, and she can feel somebody pat her on the back encouragingly.

“Happy with those?” Divina asks a little gingerly, and Vanessa jumps in before Brooke can say anything.

“You know what? It’s week one, and it’s a start!” she shrugs firmly. She’s not going to let this dent her confidence or Brooke’s. This isn’t the first time she’s been undermarked or disappointed in her career and it sure as hell won’t be the thing that knocks her or Brooke down.

“The only way is up,” Brooke agrees beside her, nodding fiercely.

“Well, we all thought you did amazing,” Divina reassures them both, and Vanessa flashes her a grateful smile. Divina explains to the TV audience that they can’t vote until next week, and that the judges’ scores will be carried over to the next show. She closes their interview and the audience claps them and just like that, after all the buildup, their first dance is over and they head backstage.

The moment it’s just the pair of them, Vanessa instantly pulls Brooke into a hug because God knows if Brooke doesn’t need one then she definitely does. They’re in the cream-painted corridors where the dressing rooms are, and the light is harsh and bright around them when all Vanessa wants is just a moment of darkness. She wants to be under her duvet, pulling it up high over her head and letting the shadows envelop her. As her arms circle around Brooke’s waist she lets out a sigh. Brooke returns the hug and Vanessa takes a deep, calming breath as she feels the older woman’s strong arms wrap around her shoulders and pull her in close to her chest. Vanessa’s back is against the cold paint of the wall and it’s contrasting so much with the warmth Brooke’s body is giving off. They stand like that in silence for a moment, each of them grounding the other, and Vanessa can feel Brooke’s heart through her chest. It’s intimate and gentle, and not a single word has been spoken between them but Vanessa can sense a shift in the atmosphere. She feels something change between them, a difference that somehow pulls them closer together and connects them in a way that they hadn’t been before.

“That was undermarked. You were amazing,” she whispers in annoyance against Brooke’s chest. Brooke’s arms tighten around her in response.

“We were amazing,” she whispers back. Vanessa’s not sure why they’re whispering, but she likes it, makes the moment seem more theirs somehow.

The thought appears in her head and it’s out before she can stop it. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Brooke shakes her head above her and repeats her words back to her instantly. “No, I’m lucky. So, so lucky.”

Giving another sigh, Vanessa lets her arms slide down to her side and, taking her cue, Brooke slowly releases her, but not before resting her hands on her shoulders and giving her a smile that seems to say so much without saying anything at all. Vanessa wonders how long that hug could have gone on for if she’d let it.

“Put it out of your mind. We move,” she says decisively, and Brooke gives a single nod.

“Tomorrow’s a new day, and next week’s a new week.”

They link arms and go to be interviewed for the socials and, after the moment she’s just shared with Brooke, Vanessa knows that her smile won’t have to be faked.

#rpdr fanfiction #bet you look good on the dancefloor #ortega #strictly au #lesbian au #branjie #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #monique heart #monet x change #willam belli #courtney act #phi phi o'hara #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #background jankie #background momo #background scyvie #background crygi

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