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keanureevesisbae · 4 years ago

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sugar sugar - october.

Summary: Henry invites her to a rooftop party and that is only the beginnings of a whole lot of changes for Becky.

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Just an idiot who doesn’t take no for an answer, but that’s it.

Wordcount: 8.5k 🙈

A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter (and please Tumblr, don’t eat comments anymore, thank you very much)

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

October 1st 8 p.m.

Henry asked me if I wanted to go with him to a rooftop party. I mean, of course I wanted to go with him, because I’ve never been to a party like that. However, as I try to find something to wear, I’m left with barely anything. The money he gave me, went straight to the bank to pay off a tiny bit of my severe debt. I kinda want to ask Henry to just pay it all off, but I’m too scared to ask him.

But now I sorta wished I spend it on clothes. I don’t even know what one wears to a rooftop party.

I slip on my black heels after I put on a simple black shirt with long sleeves, that’s tugged in a grey checkered pants. This looks sort of sophisticated.

I hope.

With my purse in hand, I walk out of my door. I know Henry is already here, so now I only need to sneak passed mister Del Rossi.

Let’s just hope he is watching some series again.

After I peeked around the corner, I see he is too invested in a different movie, so I shoot out of the building without him noticing me. Once I’m outside, I see Henry leaning against his Range Rover.

He looks so expensive. I think his belt is probably worth more than my entire outfit. The black slacks accentuate the firmness of his legs (and probably the firmness of his ass too, but only time will tell) and he paired it with a tight white blouse, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong underarms and probably severely overpriced watch.

Instead of greeting him, like you usually do when you see someone you know, I let the words: ‘I’m severely underdressed,’ slip, whilst stopping in the middle of the curb.

’No, you’re not,’ Henry says. ‘You look perfect.’

Perfect isn’t a word I would associate with me. Ever. Even my parents and siblings would agree that perfect and I don’t go hand in hand.

‘Excuse me, what?’

‘You look perfect,’ he repeats. ‘If you think you’re underdressed though, you and I could go shopping first. We have time.’

‘Really?’ I ask. ‘I mean, you wanted to go to the party tonight. Don’t you wanna be on time?’

‘There is a thing called fashionably late,’ he says. ‘Besides, I don’t want you to feel underdressed.’

Is this honestly my life now? I sort of say I want something and he just puts his life on hold, simply to give it to me?

I could get used to that.

‘How much time do we have left?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is there even a store open now?’

‘We have all the time in the world. Now get in, Becky,’ he says with a smile, ‘I know a place that is still open.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When Henry says he knows a place, he really does know a place. He takes me to the most luxurious boutique in the entirety of Manhattan and the owner (who is a lot smaller than Henry, but wow, is he very handsome. Totally someone I would break my neck for if I saw him passing me) holds up his hand when he spots us. ‘Henry, what a surprise.’ His brown eyes land on me and he smiles even brighter than before. ‘Hi there, I’m Peter.’

He holds out his hand and I carefully take it. ‘I’m Becky, nice to meet you.’

‘What can I do for you today?’

‘We’re going to the rooftop party at Gino’s,’ Henry says, his hand possessively in the dip of my waist, almost as he wants everyone in the store (and that includes the four rich looking guys in the back of the store) to know I’m with him. ‘And we want something for her to wear. Though I think she looks beautiful already, she should feel comfortable.’

Excuse me, my legs should not feel this wobbly.

Peter nods. ‘Well, I have just the thing for you. Walk with me, Becky.’

Henry squeezes my waist, before I walk with Peter to the left of the store.

‘So,’ Peter says, ‘are you enjoying this type of lifestyle?’

How does one respond to this implication, especially when it’s true? ‘Hm, what?’

‘Oh love, I know all about what you two have,’ he says. ‘Henry and I go way back.’ He goes through the clothing racks, as his eyes scan every item on the it. ‘We went to high school together and became best friends. We still are. So, after college, he goes to start Midnight and became filthy rich and I didn’t. I worked in cheap clothing stores after studying fashion and when he saw me struggle, he gave me the head start I needed. And now, look at me. One of the greatest boutiques here in Manhattan.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘Does he give away money like that all the time to anyone?’

He shakes his head as a chuckle leaves his lips. ‘No,’ Peter answers. ‘He barely does it. Only to charities, but he always does it anonymous. You know, it was my idea to sign him up for Sugar Sugar. He is getting pretty lonely.’

‘How?’ I ask. ‘I mean, how does someone who looks like that, doesn’t have someone in his life?’

‘He is…’ Peter starts, ‘wait a minute, how do I say this? Keen on a solitary life.’

‘But why did he sign up then?’

‘Because the solitary life isn’t doing him any good.’ He smiles and says: ‘Becky with the good hair was the first profile to pop up on his feed and it was all he needed to see.’

I’m oddly flattered. ‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Why?’ I try to think about my profile picture, which was a very plain picture of me sitting in the grass during a picnic with Genevieve and Viola.

‘I don’t know. We signed him up and he was sold the second he saw your pictures and read your profile. He didn’t even check other profiles, just clicked on yours to send you a message.’ Peter has obtained a set: a tight black skirt with a white long-sleeved crop top. He ushers me to follow him and like a puppy I trail behind him. He grabs some black shiny boots, with a high thin heel after he asked for my shoe size. He even takes some jewelry with him.

Peter hangs everything up for me in the dressing room, as Henry takes a sit in a chair. ‘Show me when you’re dressed, okay?’ he says to me. I nod and when Peter stepped out of the dressing room, I close the curtain behind me.

While I’m changing, I hear them softly talking. I lean towards the curtain with my ear and try to decipher what they are talking about, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.

Is it true though, what Peter told me? Was Henry really sold the second he saw my profile? Meaning, he is not lying when he calls me beautiful?

I look at myself in the mirror and grab the silver collier and the matching ring. This looks amazing, I think to myself, as the skirt and top give my such an hour glass figure. My work attire is a star in hiding the few curves I have and my other clothes don’t quite accentuate it. I put on the heels and open the curtain.

‘My oh my,’ Peter says as I step out. ‘You are stunning.’

‘Thanks to you,’ I chuckle. ‘I absolutely love it.’

Peter walks over to me, pulling the skirt a little straighter. ‘You know, I love every piece of clothing in this boutique, but it’s always the model who makes it work. You sure you don’t want to model for me?’

I should not be blushing. ‘I don’t think I would be good enough for that.’

‘Nonsense,’ Peter says. ‘You don’t have to say yes straight away, but think about it.’ From the looks of it, he is dead serious.

Henry stands up and gets closer to me, causing him to literally tower over me. He grabs his hand in mine, inspecting the ring. ‘Peter,’ he says, ‘do you have a ring that is a little bit more delicate?’

His friend nods and walks into the store to grab a different ring. Henry gently pulls the ring off my finger.

‘What do you think?’ I ask him. ‘I mean, you’re probably gonna pay for it.’

‘I am gonna pay for it,’ he says with a smirk. ‘What Peter said: you’re stunning. I think I’ll be making everyone very jealous with you by my side.’

I highly doubt it, but this sure is a nice compliment.

Peter comes back with a different ring and after they exchanged them, Henry slides on the other ring around my finger.

This sure gives me enough to work with for my next dream, I can tell you that. The ring is a little bit more delicate, but when I look at it, it’s indeed better around my finger. ‘Perfect,’ Henry says. ‘You want a clutch to match with this?’

‘I’d rather have a purse,’ I mumble.

I don’t have to tell Henry twice. ‘Peter, could you grab some purses for her to check out?’

The store owner hurries back to the store once again, this time to fetch us some purses.

‘Should I put my other clothes in a bag?’ I suggest. ‘I can do that, while we wait.’

I already turn around, but Henry pulls me back. ‘No,’ he sternly says, ‘stay here.’

While Peter gives us four purses to show, he is actually the one that puts my other clothes in a bag, neatly folding it in a way I never do that. I pick a black and white purse, though I really like the pink one. It’s just that I’m not confident enough to pull off a bright pink purse with this outfit.

After Peter cut out the tags off my clothes and Henry paid for them (it was a good two thousand dollars, my poor heart), he receives the bag with my clothing from his friend and we say our goodbyes to Peter. ‘Can we go here more often?’ I ask Henry, as he opens the door for me.

‘If you want that, of course.’

Once we’re seated in his car again, I look to the side. ‘Thank you, I absolutely love it.’

‘Good,’ he says, starting the car. ‘You look like an absolute vision, Becky.’

✤ ✤ ✤

I know about how valets work, but I’ve never seen it happen in real life. I actually thought about working as a valet, but then I remembered I don’t have a drivers license, so that possibility went off the table fairly quick.

Henry held up his hand when a valet guy wanted to walk around the car to open my door, only to do it himself. He offered me his hand and once I took it, he helped me out of the car. Now, we’re stepping into the elevator that’s prettier than the entire apartment building I live in.

‘Gino is a good friend of mine,’ he says. ‘His parties are usually pretty okay, but if you want to leave, just let me know.’

‘Okay,’ I say.

‘And I don’t know how your alcohol tolerance is,’ he continues to say, ‘but his drinks are pretty strong, so watch out for that.’

Good to know. I can’t handle alcohol very well, except maybe a nice wine. ‘Is there wine?’ I ask him.

‘I’ll check for you. Also, remember not to take drinks from anyone, but me, okay?’

I scoff. ‘How old do you think I am?’ I ask. ‘I’m a grown woman, Henry.’

He smiles. ‘Well, you know, Becky,’ he continues to say, ‘Gino might be nice, but his friends are not always.’ He looks to the side. ‘If I were you, I’d stay close.’

‘I was thinking the same,’ I mumble, my cockiness dissolving as we speak. ‘I’m not really good at parties,’ I admit. ‘My last party was prom and it was horrendous. And that with people I actually knew.’

He nods. ‘Another reason to stay close.’

We step out of the elevator and oh my gosh, the aesthetic of the rooftop party is beautiful. I see golden lights everywhere and with the terrace heaters, the place has a nice temperature, so I’m not freezing to death in this outfit. I hear some music, watch some people dancing in the middle of the roof, whilst other are standing near the bar or sitting on large lounge sofa’s.

Okay, the people seem okay, just they all look so expensive, while I on the other hand look really poor, even in this two thousand dollar outfit. Is Henry absolutely sure he wants me to interact with these bouche people? I mean, I am part of his reputation now. If they think low of me, I honestly don’t mind, since I’ll probably ever see them again, but if they think low of Henry, because of me… That can’t be good, especially because he pays me to be by his side.

Henry must sense my discomfort, because after he places a heavy hand on my lower back, he leans down to my ear and whispers: ‘If I were afraid you were gonna embarrass me, I wouldn’t have taken you here. Just be yourself.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘Henry, I’m not even content with myself. I can fake something, get an alter ego. Just give me a minute to prepare.’

‘No,’ he says sternly, ‘I want you.’

My knees barely recover from that comment. He wants me…

…to be by his side, without putting up an act. This has no sexual meaning what so ever. We agreed on that, I know that. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Just me. Sure?’

He chuckles. ‘Sure,’ he confirms. We walk towards a table and he hands me a glass of wine, before getting himself some whiskey.

Rich men really drink that?

His hand has risen from my lower back, to the midst of my back, his thumb caressing the bare part between my skirt and crop top. It’s such a casual and simple gesture from his side, but it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, with added heart palpitations.

‘If anyone asks,’ Henry says, ‘you’re my date.’

I actually wonder if anyone is even gonna notice me, because has Henry seen himself? Right when I want to say something to him, a man walks up to us. ‘Henry, you made it!’

‘Gino, nice to see you again.’ Henry holds out his hand and the two shake hands.

Oh, Gino is quite handsome as well. Does Henry only know beautiful people? I thought Peter was to die for already, but Gino sure is a sight for the eye as well. ‘Hello there,’ Gino says, a lovely smile appearing on his face.

‘Hi,’ I say, not quite sure if I should introduce myself or wait for him to ask my name.

‘This is Becky,’ Henry says, when he senses my incapability to be polite. ‘Becky, this is Gino.’

‘Nice to meet you, Becky,’ Gino says, shaking my hand with full enthusiasm, that my shoulder nearly gets dislocated. But it’s nice to be welcomed to someones party with this much excitement. Especially because I have never met the man before.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ I finally manage to say. ‘I love the aesthetic of the party. Very warm and beautiful.’

Gino smiles. ‘You know, you’re the first one to actually say something about it.’ He looks at Henry. ‘I like her.’

He ushers us to follow him to a lounge couch in the corner and while we trail behind, I tug Henry’s hand. ‘He likes me?’ I ask him. ‘Did he really say that?’

‘He did,’ Henry says with a smile.

I watch Gino shooing people away from the couch and holds out his hand, gesturing for us to take a sit. Henry and Gino both wait till I’m seated and I place my purse on my lap, since I’m not sure how far up my skirt you can look if I just normally sit. When I crossed my legs as well, Henry places his hand on knee, as he talks business with Gino.

My entire skin burns, even the part where his cold ring is making contact with my leg.

While I’m slightly disappointed that Henry and Gino aren’t involving me in the conversation, I realize it’s not about me. Of course it’s not about me. I’m tagging along with Henry, who is much more important than I am and who has business to do, even at a party.

I let my eyes wander over the people, who all seem to know each other. People kissing each other on the cheeks as they approach someone. Women wrapping their arms around some guy, who pulls them close as they clink their glasses.

‘Where are the restrooms?’ I ask them.

‘Near the elevators,’ Gino answers. ‘On your right hand.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ I look at Henry and softly say: ‘I’ll be right back.’

I place my empty wineglass on a table and walk through the people towards the restrooms. Not to pee or anything, but to regain my thoughts. Everyone here is so pretty and gorgeous and I feel so out of place.

I mean, even the bathroom is decorated in such a pretty and rich manner, and I’m none of that. I look into the mirror and decide to touch up some of my lipstick. I do some breathing exercises, because I feel like I’m totally working myself up.

After a short break from the party, I decide to walk back to the lounge couch. I push myself through the enormous crowd of people, but when I’m really close to Henry and Gino again, I bump into someone.

‘Oh, shoot, I’m so sorry,’ I say.

The guy who I bumped into smiles at me and all of the sudden I’m in desperate need of a pair of sunglasses. Why are his teeth so white? Is that even healthy? ‘No, it’s okay,’ he says. ‘Who you here with?’ he then asks me.

‘I’m with him,’ I say, pointing at the lounge couch, only to see Henry already looking at us.

‘Want something to drink?’

Yeah, that’s a no. I’m not accepting a drink from someone who clearly has had one too many. ‘No, but thank you for offering,’ I say, taking Henry’s advice on not taking drinks from anyone, but him to heart. ‘I’ve gotta go.’

I want to walk passed him, but the man grabs my wrist tightly. ‘Come on, one drink.’

I barely learned anything in juvie, but there is one thing I learned pretty damn quickly: if you want to break yourself free from someone’s grasp, rotate your arm towards their thumb. They can’t hold onto you, even if they wanted to and seeing this man’s level of intoxication, I think it’ll be doable.

I twist my arm towards his thumb and like I predicted, he lets go of me. ‘No thanks,’ I say, quickly walking up to the lounge corner. Henry is on the edge of his seat and when I approach him, he stands up. ‘Was he harassing you?’ he asks me, his eyes a few shades darker, as he places his hand on my upper arm.

Why does Henry look like he is ready to skin the guy alive and why is that so hot?

‘No,’ I say.

‘It sure looked like it to me.’

He wants to pass me, but I place my hand on his chest (okay, that was the original plan, but it lands on his stomach). ‘I took care of it, Henry,’ I say, as we both look at the guy who is still rubbing his hand, meaning I took him by surprise. ‘I promise you, I’m fine.’

He clears his throat, almost as if he has to restrain himself not to do anything about it. He simply nods and when the two of us sit down again, he places a heavy hand on my leg, as he talks to Gino about more business stuff. His grip on my leg slightly tightens every time the guy looks our way.

While I might not understand a lot of it, I am completely drawn in by the way Henry speaks. He sounds so confident when talking about something of his own field of expertise. Tine goes by, but there isn’t a second I’m bored.

I wrap my arm around his and place my cheek against his thick upper arm.

That sparks his attention. ‘Look at you,’ he says with an endearing smile on his face. ‘You tired, Becky?’

‘No,’ I say, but that’s a lie. In all honesty: I’m dog tired.

‘We’ve been here for quite some time,’ he says, looking at his watch. ‘Two hours nearly.’

‘We’ve been here for two hours?’ I ask him. It sure doesn’t feel like that. No wonder I’m tired, it’s way passed my bedtime. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I think we should go.’

‘No, we don’t have to, not if you’re still busy.’

‘We’re going,’ he tells me.

Yeah, I can’t argue with that.

I sit up straight and when he is standing, he holds out his hand for me to take. While I’m perfectly capable to get up myself, I gladly take him up on his offer. We say our goodbyes to Gino (who actually pulls me into a hug, as apparently you do when you’re rich? I don’t know) and once we’re in the elevator again, I can’t hide my smile. ‘Gino’s nice.’

‘He is.’

‘You’re not mad about the other guy, right?’ I ask.

He scoffs, but I feel like that is the answer to my question.

‘It’s not that bad, Henry.’

‘It was to me,’ he says.

The valet pulls up the car and Henry helps me in the car again, a trait I very much appreciate and hope it never stops. Whilst Henry drives me home, I lean back against the seat and turn my head to the side. ‘What’s up?’ he asks me, turning the steering wheel with just one hand.

‘I never heard you talk that much about work,’ I say. ‘It’s nice to hear you talking about something you’re passionate about. You know, you talk a lot with your hands, once you get thrilled about something. It’s endearing.’

Henry laughs. ‘Endearing you say?’

‘Oh, right, you’re a tough guy. Endearing doesn’t match with your reputation.’

He stops the car in front of my building. ‘Thanks for going with me.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘If Gino has another rooftop party, please invite me. I love the way he decorates it. Or lets it decorate, I don’t know. I feel like there should be a little bit more orange and yellow added to it. Not those neon colors, but those warm and soft— Henry, why are you laughing?’

‘It’s nice to hear you talking about something you’re passionate about,’ he says with a smile. ‘You want me to walk with you?’

’No, if my landlord sees me walking in with a man like you, I have no idea how he is gonna react and I don’t want to find out.’

He opens the door for me after he got out himself and hands me the bag with my old clothes. ‘I’m taking you shopping soon,’ he says.

I like how he tries to formulate it as a question, but fails. Shows me that no matter how much money he has, he is still human. ‘Really? We’re going to Peter again?’

He nods. ‘Among other shops, yes.’

‘Great, sure. Thank you for tonight. I really had fun.’

‘Me too,’ he says.

I don’t know how to say goodbye to him, so I simply smile and walk towards the entrance of the apartment building. I look over my shoulder one more time and shyly wave at him.

I quickly run up the stairs and once I’m in my room, my phone beeps in my purse. Henry transferred a thousand dollars to me? Thank you for your company tonight, Becky it says in the description.

I can’t help but smile, though it doesn’t last very long, because I know that I have to save part of this money to pay off mister Del Rossi and the rest for my debt.

Meaning that I can’t enjoy it yet.

But that’ll come soon, I’m sure.

October 3rd 2 p.m.

Henry takes me shopping like he promised, but after the morning I had in Retro House, I continue to yawn and feel absolutely exhausted. Even in the dressing rooms, I sometimes just sit on the little stool, hoping to regain some energy. However, I pull myself together fairly quickly when I realize Henry is here to pay for everything my heart desires. The least I can do is be a nice shopping partner.

We decide to take a bit of a coffee break at a nearby cafe and thankfully that means I can get some caffeine in my body. I sure need it.

‘You’re tired,’ Henry notes.

Okay, I’m not doing a very good job at hiding it apparently. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. Rough morning at the restaurant,’ I say. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes as the soft sun rays shine on my face. ‘I also slept like shit last night.’

‘You want another job?’ he asks.

I open my eyes again, to look at him. ‘Oh absolutely, but I have very little to offer,’ I say. ‘I’m not qualified for anything.’

‘How about you just quit your job?’ he suggests.

I choke on my own spit. Did he honestly just say that I quit my job? As lousy as working at Retro House is, I can’t just stop. ‘Excuse me, what?’ I ask. ‘That I’m pretty dependable on you already is out of my own comfort zone, but quitting my job? Seriously? What do you want me to do with my time? Take your credit card and shop till I drop?’

Come to think of it, that actually sounds like something I would thoroughly enjoy.

Henry chuckles. ‘I was going to offer you a different job,’ he says.

While the fantasy of me walking downtown with Henry’s credit card in my thousand dollar purse, an assistant who carries my bags and a little chihuahua walking next to me in a matching outfit runs through my mind, I realize that another job might be better for my pride.

‘Oh,’ I say, as the idea of a new job sparks my interest. ‘What type of job?’

‘Midnight is looking for someone who can work in the archives. It’s currently a mess there and it’s only getting worse, unless someone is there to organize it.’

I think I can actually do that. ‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I don’t want to work for you because you feel sorry for me.’

‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ Henry tells me. ‘I want to give you an opportunity to make money, before your writing career takes off.’

I snort. ‘Yeah, like that’ll ever happen

He tilts his head. ‘It’ll happen, Becky, I’m sure of that. You know, the money you earn with this job, can go to your bank account and you save up.’

‘Are you serious?’

He nods. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered.’

This is an amazing opportunity. I mean, working in the archives, that’s a job I would actually quite love to do. This will give me the opportunity to provide for myself and work on my books, while Henry still does what he does as my… I really don’t want to think about the word…

The things he does as my sugar daddy.

But there is one thing that is holding me back. ‘I can’t take you up on that offer,’ I say. ‘You see, your office is too far from my place. It’s around an hour by car. I don’t have a car, nor can I drive and… Going with public transportation is just something I can’t afford.’

‘You can’t drive?’ he asks me.

I shake my head.

‘You want to be able to drive?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe on abandoned roads somewhere else, but not here in New York. That just gives me stress.’

Henry nods. ‘Well, I’ll arrange a car for you to pick you up whenever you have to go to work. However, on your first day, I’ll pick you up, so I can help you around, get you a bit more familiar with the place.’

My eyes widen. ‘Seriously?’

‘Of course,’ he says.

‘Isn’t that a hassle? I mean—’

‘I don’t mind driving,’ he interrupts me, ‘and I don’t mind picking you up.’

I feel like I can’t argue with that, so I nod. ‘How much money would I make?’

‘Around three thousand a month, but you and I can negotiate about that.’

I think three thousand a month is absolutely fine, especially because I can pay back mister Del Rossi in no time once I have a steady salary. ‘Henry, I don’t know how to thank you. This is absolutely amazing.’

‘You can thank me by accepting the job. We’ll sign something tonight.’ He pulls out his phone and says: ‘I’ll have my assistant working on that. I’ll call him right now.’

✤ ✤ ✤

Becky: LISTEN UP LISTEN UP

Becky: I quit my job!!

Genevieve: You’re a full time sugar baby now?

Genevieve: I mean, I thought the sites told you not to do that?

Becky: No, I have another job.

Viola: Oh really??? Tell us all about it!

Becky: Meet Midnight’s new archivist: Miss Rebecca Kim.

Genevieve: Beck, you serious? You’re gonna work for your daddy?

Becky: Yes I’m serious and whenever you refer to Henry, either use his full name or the term SUGAR daddy.

Genevieve: I’ll think about it 😉

Genevieve: It’s just that daddy has a nice ring to it.

Genevieve: Daddy Henry omfg

Becky: ANYWAYS

Becky: I’m gonna make 3000 a month!

Viola: I love my bf, but at this point I want what you have.

Viola: I want to make $3000 a month, whilst also getting lovely gifts too.

Viola: I’m so happy for you!!

Genevieve: BECKY!!! I HAVE A GOOD IDEA!!

Genevieve: GIVE HIM BLOWJOBS WHILE HE IS WORKING AND YOU’RE UNDERNEATH THE DESK!!

Becky: GEN, NO!!!!

October 7th 7:30 a.m.

We settled on the normal three thousand a month, since I don’t want special treatment simply because I am Henry’s sugar baby. We also decided that Henry offered me the job, after visiting Retro House a few times and we got to talk about something I want to do with my future. I mean, it’s not a total lie, so it’s easy to sell if anyone asks.

After he called his assistant, we went to even more stores, because I need to dress to impress, especially on my first day of work.

And today is the day. I would lie if I said I wasn’t nervous, because last night I couldn’t sleep at all. I was tossing and turning, to a point I fell off my bed.

Twice.

Henry kept his promise and picked me up and we’re already ten minutes on the road. But the traffic is really bad today, however I feel like it wouldn’t matter if I was late on my first day, when you drive along with your boss, a.k.a. the CEO of the entire company.

Henry leans back in his seat, as he watches the road. We’re standing completely still and that makes me even more nervous. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, ‘it’ll go fine today.’

‘Really?’ I ask him. ‘I mean… I don’t know why I’m so nervous. What if no one likes me?’

‘Impossible,’ Henry retorts within a second. ‘You have a very likable personality, Becky. If someone doesn’t like you, maybe I should fire them.’

That should not make me this giggly from the inside, but it still does. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

Henry pulls up, only to stop shortly afterwards. The road is jam packed and he is getting very frustrated now, though he tries his best to hide it.

‘Do I have breaks?’ I ask him.

‘You can have as many breaks as you want,’ he says.

‘Henry, I don’t want special treatment just because I’m your… You know what. I want to be just like one of your other employees.’

He chuckles. ‘Well, since you work from eight—though I think today you start at nine, with this traffic—till two or three, you should have two breaks of thirty minutes.’

‘That’s long,’ I note.

‘I like to give my employees a lot of breaks,’ he says. ‘Helps them to keep concentrated. You can grab your lunch in the cafeteria, it’s all free, so don’t worry about that. You can hang around there, but the view from the archives is lovely, so who knows you want to stay there. That’s up to you.’

I look to the side, at the exact moment Henry runs his tongue over his bottom lip. ‘On normal days,’ I say, ‘do I see you?’

‘You can come up to my office whenever you want.’

‘Henry,’ I mutter, ‘I’m just like your other employees.’

‘I know that,’ he says. ‘But I literally personally hired you. Meaning you’re not like my employees to begin with.’

I let out a chuckle. ‘Mhm, we’ll see.’

✤ ✤ ✤

The exterior of the Midnight building is magnificent, but the inside is even more ravishing. The floors shine, the walls are either painted or covered in wallpaper, I can’t tell the difference and even the ceiling is decorated.

I receive my own pass that gives me access to any room, including the upper floor, which is Henry’s office where only he, his assistant and people who are invited are allowed. He shows me the floors and I try to ignore every glare I receive from people who are obviously surprised and confused by the CEO giving me a tour of this place.

We finally arrive on the seventeenth floor and after we walked through a long hallway, we arrive at the archives.

And to call this a mess, is an understatement. I don’t think I have ever seen this much paper unorganized on the floor in my life. ‘How is your company this successful?’ I ask Henry, who stands behind me, taking in the mess. ‘This is absolutely appalling.’

‘It is,’ he admits. ‘You’re still up for the job?’

‘I think I am,’ I mumble. ‘Just tell me how you want it and I’ll start right away.’

Henry explains he wants everything put in folders, boxes and preferably both alphabetized and sorted out by year. That is something I totally agree with.

After I placed my bag in the only free space of this room (the right corner), I crouch down to collect some paper, making sure the entrance is sort of free from paper. Henry walks around the corner, trying to find a label maker, stapler and other office supplies I might need.

The door creaks and I feel this enormous pack of paper land on my back. I wince as I look over my shoulder, to see this guy with such a smug grin on his face.

‘Excuse me,’ I ask, ‘what’s your problem?’

‘Just bringing some paper,’ he says.

‘Are you blind? Can’t you see I’m trying to organize this place?’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, just giving you more to do.’

I clench my jaw. Is this man for real? Firstly, he attacked me with paper. Secondly, he has the audacity to call me sweetheart. What’s next? He asks me to take off my clothes and organize this mess naked, while he grabs some popcorn, to enjoy the show and gives me more to do here?

‘Well,’ I say, ‘since it’s my first day here, I don’t think it would be nice of me to ram this pack of paper up your ass, but let me tell you this: if you ever have the nerve to throw a something in this room, I swear to—’

‘Mister Miller,’ I hear behind me. ‘Causing trouble again?’

The color in Miller’s face disappears, as he gulps, realizing Henry has both seen and heard what he said. ‘No, sir, absolutely not,’ he stammers.

Henry walks over to us, placing a box next to my feet. ‘Let’s have a talk outside,’ he says, placing his hand on the guy’s shoulder, ready to escort him out of the room. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he says to me, before walking out.

I open the box Henry placed next to my feet and I see a lot of supplies. I massage the spot on my back, where the thick pack of paper hit me. I bruise like a peach, I know that. A strong wind could break my nose and I’m sure I’ll feel this unfortunate meeting of this pack of paper against my back for awhile.

‘You’re alright?’ I hear Henry ask, when he comes back.

‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘What happened to him?’

‘Just a small downgrade of his job description.’ The nonchalance in his voice cannot be missed. He seems like a tough boss, someone who applies the rule ‘one strike and you’re out’, but at the same time, he seems like the boss that would give you as much time off as you need, when you have a personal matter and actually visits you to check in with you. ‘I have a last minute meeting,’ he tells me, ‘but you’ll manage, right?’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘If you need anything, just text me. I’ll arrange something for you right away.’

Of course he will. I nod. ‘Okay, thanks, Henry.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He simply nods and walks out of the room.

✤ ✤ ✤

Working at Retro House, left me with defect: I can’t take a long break, not even one. If I took a fifteen minute break during an eight hour day, that would be a reason to celebrate. Now, I can take breaks whenever I want, how long I want.

That’s too much freedom in the work environment.

It just doesn’t feel good to chill around, while I could also be working. However, at around one in the afternoon, my lack of sleep is slowly catching up with me and I sit in the corner, stapling some papers together. It’s just that the way the sun shines onto the spot, that makes me even more drowsy than I already was.

As I stare out of the window, I realize Henry’s right. The view is beautiful here. My eyelids become heavier and heavier and I slowly drift off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I’m sleeping, but I wake up when I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder. I jolt awake, ready to karate chop the person who touches me, only to see it’s Henry. ‘Oh,’I say, ‘I’m so sorry. Don’t think I’ve slept the entire time. I just felt a bit tired and I guess I drifted off to sleep and—’

He shushes. ‘No, no, none of that. I can see how much work you’ve done in one day.’

He’s not mad? ‘You’re not mad?’

Henry frowns. ‘Why would I be mad?’

‘I don’t know,’ I stammer. ‘Just… Never mind. How was your day?’

‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I think you’re done for today. You’ve done enough.’

‘Henry, my shift isn’t over.’

He smirks. ‘Well, the boss says it is.’ He holds out his hand and helps me up. ‘I’ll take you back home.’

When we’re in the car, Henry doesn’t quite say anything. While I’m figuring out what to say to him, he takes a deep breath and says: ‘I’ll be busy for the next two weeks or so.’

I should not be disappointed, yet I am. ‘Oh, okay.’

‘I won’t be able to meet up or see you at work.’

That’s a bummer. ‘That’s fine,’ I say to him.

‘Tomorrow a driver will pick you up,’ he continues. ‘His name is Laurence, he drives me around from time to time. Very nice man.’

‘Alright,’ I say.

‘And if you need anything from me, you can always text me.’ He looks to the side as he waits for the red traffic light. ‘Promise me, Becky.’

I chuckle as I nod. ‘I promise, Henry.’

October 21st 9 p.m.

Working in the archives is pretty much a solo job. I’ve snapped at people multiple times, before they get a chance to throw papers into the room and now, everyone gently places their papers on a designated table.

Maybe people don’t like me because of I yelled at them, but come to think of it: I only yelled at men.

A group of women asked me to join them on their lunch breaks. While at first glance, they didn’t seem like the type of people I’d personally pick out to eat my lunch with, they are very pleasant to be around with and I’m happy they invited me.

They, of course, all have their own lives, with husbands and children, but it’s nice to not spend my time alone.

I do however have slight issues with stopping today, because the room finally looks a bit more presentable. It’s nowhere near done, don’t get me wrong, but it’s nice to see the entire floor.

With my bag over my shoulder, I wait for the elevator doors to open. These passed two weeks, I indeed barely saw Henry, but he did transfer a thousand dollars to my bank account (with the description ‘just because’). He sometimes texted me, reminding me to take my well deserved breaks and to not only work on organizing the archives, but also work on my book, as it—and I quote—“doesn’t write itself”.

While the elevator takes its sweet time to come up to the right floor, I see that Laurence texted me that unfortunately he has a family matter. I quickly text him back that it’s okay and that I hope everything will be okay for him soon. I step into the elevator. I want to press the button to go to the ground floor, but my eyes land on the button for the upper floor.

I know Henry is in the office today and I could… You know… Talk to him.

I’m not gonna lie, but I missed him. I really wished it wasn’t like that, because I don’t think you should attach to your sugar daddy that much, but I can’t help it. I miss being around him.

When I press the button to go to the upper floor, I have to scan my pass, granting me access. The elevator takes me all the way to the top and when the doors slide open, I can already see Henry sitting behind his desk.

He looks up and smiles when he notices it’s me. ‘I was wondering when I would see you up here.’

‘Well, I don’t have a ride home. Laurence has a family matter.’

‘Yeah, so I’ve heard,’ he says. ‘He texted me a second ago. It’s pretty severe, so he won’t be able to drive you for a while.’ He nods for me to come closer.

‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ I say. ‘If you give me his address, I’ll send him a card.’

‘I’ll text you the address.’ He pats on the wooden top of his desk and I carefully take a seat. ‘You know, I’ll drive you back to your place, just have to save something and log out. Tell me: how are you?’

‘I’m good,’ I answer. ‘I really like it at the archives and it’s finally getting a bit more organized, meaning I can properly start very soon.’

‘I’ve seen it this morning, before you arrived,’ he says. ‘It looked good, Becky. Very proud of you.’

When was the last time I heard those words? I don’t think someone—besides Viola and Genevieve—has ever been proud of me. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

He leans back in his chair. Henry looks tired, as if these last two weeks have been pretty hard on him.

‘How are you?’ I ask him.

‘Better now you’re here,’ he quietly says, almost like he doesn’t want me to hear it, but I heard it and I’m so gonna text this to Genevieve and Viola. ‘You know, I have an offer for you.’

‘Oh, okay,’ I say. ‘Tell me.’

‘I could buy you an apartment.’

My eyes nearly roll out of their sockets. ‘What?’ I want to add a ‘No, that’s not necessary’ to it, but I know Henry long enough to realize that’s not gonna work. ‘Where?’ I ask.

He seems surprised by me not resisting the idea (believe me, I’m quite shocked myself), but he quickly regains his composure. ‘Madison Square Park Tower.’

I gasp out load. ‘What? That shit is expensive,’ I exclaim.

‘I can afford it,’ Henry says with a smile.

‘I’ve checked those apartments out before with Viola and Genevieve. It’s very very expensive, Henry. Isn’t it even a bit out of your price range?’

He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, your profile said your fortune was ten million.

Henry scoffs, almost like he’s offended. ‘Well, you can multiply that by a few.’

I am in shock. By a few? What’s a few? How much money does this man have? I don’t think I can respond to this. He is honestly that wealthy? Oh my, this is unbelievable.

This man is a catch.

‘I have a penthouse in the same building,’ he says, ‘so you can travel with me to work if you want.’

‘Of course you have a penthouse,’ I mutter. ‘If I were to say yes, just know that I don’t want a penthouse. An apartment is more than enough.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks me. ‘I can buy you a penthouse.’

‘Promise me, only an apartment,’ I say in the same tone I use to everyone who walks into the archives, before they throw their paper in the room.

He smiles. ‘Okay, only an apartment. Want to check it out?’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’

I clear my throat. I should be asleep, but going to Madison Square Park Tower weirdly does not happen to me a lot, so I nod. ‘Okay, sure.’

✤ ✤ ✤

My jaw is probably dislocated by the time we finished our tour on the twenty-fifth floor in apartment 25B of Madison Square Park Tower. Henry is that rich, he can literally ask the receptionist for a key, because he wants to check out an apartment and she just gives him it!

What kind of sorcery is this?

The place is totally up my alley, if I were rich and able to afford it. There are so many opportunities and possibilities to redo this place with the walls and the floors. Decorating the interior to my likings.

‘You want it?’ Henry asks me.

Yes! ‘I don’t know,’ I say to him. ‘I really don’t know, Henry.’ I stand near the window, admiring the view.

Becky, you so want this apartment. Just listen to your gut, ignore that voice of reason.

‘It’s a lot of money and I feel like you are losing yourself,’ I say to him. ‘Remember, I am your sugar baby, not your best friend like Peter, or your girlfriend. What if you and I stop for this arrangement? I can’t afford this apartment, even with all the money I’m saving and are gonna save.’

Henry lets out a deep sigh, but doesn’t say anything.

‘I very much appreciate all the things you do for me. Really. The laptop, the phone, the job. You are giving me the opportunities in life I never knew I could have. But… This is not just a studio. This is millions of dollars.’

He sits on the windowsill, crossing his arms.

I have probably fucked up big time, but that doesn’t stop me from adding: ‘You only know me for a month, Henry. I can’t accept it.’

‘I’m paying for the place,’ he says, ‘and how you want to furnish it, allowing you to save the money you make and I give you. When you and I stop our arrangement, I’m selling the place again, probably with profit and you have the kick start you need on your bank account.’

Okay, I think I can live with that. Emphasis on think. ‘You really want to do that?’ I ask him one more time. ‘Absolutely positive?’

‘Of course, otherwise I wouldn’t have offered it, Becky. I want to buy you this place, so you can move out of… the place you’re currently living in.’

‘For someone with my former salary, it was a great apartment. It even came with a hallway rat.’

He looks to the side, slightly mortified. ‘Please accept my offer.’

I take a deep breath. I know if I say no, I’m going to regret it and Genevieve will kill me. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I accept your offer.’

‘Good,’ he says, ‘it’s yours next week.’

✤ ✤ ✤

‘Mister Del Rossi,’ I say, as I run into the his condo. He lets out a loud scream from his bed and then I realize, it’s almost midnight. Of course he was sleeping. I should’ve knocked or he should’ve locked his door, because it’s not safe that I can just barge in.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks me. ‘Unless you have the money—’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ I say. ‘I’m moving out soon.’

While he first looked slightly pissed because I woke him up, he now seems furious and ready to strangle me.

Which is very understandable.

‘But,’ I quickly say, ‘if you have around one more month of patience, I’ll pay you five months worth of rent and you can keep my deposit.’

Now I have piqued his interest. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I have an amazing job now, an opportunity to move to a different place and I promise you, I’ll pay you. Like, at the end of November probably.’

He thinks about it, but knowing he can keep the deposit, must make this decision quite easy to make. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘but I need you to sign something, miss Kim. I’ve had it with you and your promises.’

I totally don’t blame him for that. ‘Of course, mister Del Rossi. Thank you so so much!’

‘And now get outta here.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ I walk towards the door and before I close it I say: ‘Sweet dreams, mister Del Rossi.’

October 22nd 7 a.m.

Becky: Girls, I’m moving

Genevieve: What? Seriously? Daddy Henry bought you a place?

Becky: 🖕🏼🖕🏼

Genevieve: I’ll take that as a yes 😉

Viola: Finally you’re moving out of that dump.

Viola: Where are you moving to?

Becky: Madison Square Park Tower

Genevieve: You need a roommate? I’ll dump Greg right away to move in with you.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x becky kim #asian ofc #Becky Kim #sugar daddy!henry cavill #sugar sugar #sugar sugar masterlist

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bluearson · 4 years ago

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Dancing King in Quarantine

Warning: ‘Daddy’ mention once & Reader’s contact name for him is Daddy D The news played quietly in the background as breakfast cooked on the stove. You were getting ready to go out and buy more groceries before lockdown, slipping on a hoodie that threatened to drown you in its folds. At least it smelt just like your boyfriend. You shot Dabi a glance across the room, a grin plastered across your face ear to ear. There was something comforting about seeing the raven haired man impatiently holding a spatula as he watched over pancakes. “This fucking sucks.” he complained as he shuffled through a playlist looking for the perfect song.

“The song.. or cooking breakfast? You know I-” You reached over to snatch the spatula out of his hand. Dabi’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist firmly but not enough to hurt. “I said I was going to cook us breakfast today. Thank you for your offer to help though little mouse. I promise, Daddy has it covered. Let me take care of things.” He kissed your cheek and slapped your ass with his free hand. “Don’t worry about a thing, I wouldn’t burn down the house on purpose.” You traced a pattern onto his bare chest before pressing your hand firmly on his chest and giving him a kiss on the lips, “You sure you don’t want me to wait to eat breakfast with you?” “Stop worryin’ bout me and get that cute ass in gear before all the good stuff is gone sweetheart. Breakfast will still be warm for you, I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee ready. Maybe even a warm bath if you’re back within the hour.” “Okay... I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.” With one final parting kiss you left the warm comfort of your apartment and made your way to the grocery store. You spent most of your time sending texts back and forth with Dabi asking if you had enough of something and then trying to explain what you were talking about when he couldn’t find it easily. To: Daddy D -I’m on my way home! ( ˙꒳˙ ) Read 2:15pm From: Daddy D -Plain, Blueberries or Chocolate chip? Read 2:17pm To: Daddy D -Surprise me! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ -I’ll eat anything you make („• ֊ •„) Read 2:17pm You struggled to get your key out when Dabi opened the door, he traded you a mug full of coffee for the bags in your hand. He offered you a small smile as he stepped aside and gestured for you to come in. The kitchen island counter was cleaned except for a plate of pancakes, eggs and a small bowl full of fruits. Dabi kissed your cheek again before taking the rest of your bags away from you. You made yourself comfortable, staring down the man who made a pretty convincing double of your boyfriend. The pancakes were neither gooey nor almost burnt, the eggs were a perfect consistency and you swear you got a few whiffs of bacon. “Did you eat all the bacon, Dabs?” He froze in place for a moment, offering up no response for what felt like an eternity as the silence stretched on between the both of you. He shifted his glance from his task of putting away groceries for you to your face as if he was calculating what to say next. “No.” He pointed to the microwave, “I saved some for you.” You beamed as you sipped your coffee. You thanked him for breakfast and showered him in compliments about how much better his cooking was getting. You swear you saw him even blushing as you paid your compliments. Together with your beloved you lazed around together on the couch for a cuddle-movie night session to forget about the state of the world outside the comfort of your home. “I’m boooooored” you bemoaned as you stretched out and sprawled across your boyfriends lap. “What do you want me to do about it?” He asked, absent mindedly trailing a hand across your tummy and tracing patterns into your skin with a finger. He leaned down and peppered kisses along your jawline as he played with your hair. “Care to dance with me?” He whispered. Your dominant hand searched for his hand lacing your fingers together as you pressed a kiss into his backhand. You nodded solemnly, releasing the hand that you had momentarily captured to get up on your own. Dabi managed to swiftly scoop you up before you had the chance to stand up on your own though and rose up off the couch like you weighed no more than a bag of grapes to him. He gently set you down and smirked as he snatched your phone off the couch to surf through your collection of songs and queued up a bunch that he liked after connecting it to a portable speaker. He held his hand out as the first song began to play. It was a little slower than the usual upbeat music you were used to hearing him blasting through his headphones. Together you glided across the living room, careful to mind the furniture and not cause one another to have a fresh set of bruises peppered along the others thighs from unremarkable circumstances. You both got lost to the rhyme and sway of the music together. The rasp of his laugh makes your heart swell, it’s almost musical to your ears. You took a seat as you watched him lose him himself to one of his favorite songs, singing along at the top of his lungs and god.. you loved every second of it. It sent flutterers throughout your core, to watch him become so comfortable with you. You sung along after the chorus repeated, joining him on the “dancefloor”. After three more songs passed you both began rearranging furniture so that you had more room to dance. Dabi was ecstatic when you gave him the go ahead to play whatever he wanted. Proudly he belted the lyrics after the G note hit. Your eyes lit up as you realized what song it was. Together you both got lost in the throws of the dramatics, pantomiming along to the lyrics, thrashing around, the occasional headbanging, and of course.. you’ve both had your fair share of rockstar moments. It was a night to remember. “If you were a rockstar would you write songs about me?” You asked tentatively as you nursed a warm cup of tea while Dabi made himself comfortable sprawled out on the floor. “Uhh.. yeah?” He popped himself up on an elbow, “I’d write total bangers about you. The media would ask me who’s my muse and shit and I’ll tell em it’s all bout the MVP.” “Would you keep me your little secret if it meant you’d be more popular for not being publicly taken?” You mused as you took a long sip of your tea. “Do you have some sort of fantasy about me becoming a world famous rockstar you failed to tell me about?” He laid back down to stare up at the ceiling, “I dunno.. I don’t think I’d really care about being like.. you know popular just because of my looks.” He grimaced, “I’d want to be popular for my music, cause people like my sound and it resonates with them. If you didn’t mind the problems that could occur with being public about our relationship in that scenario.. I wouldn’t mind.” “What if I made a recording of your laugh and sold copies of it? You know.. in this scenario.” “If it’s made into a song I want a cut, if it’s just my laugh straight up I think that’s really weird but I hope it’s overpriced and limited edition so you know the super fans would be all over it.” “You didn’t even need time to think about it huh?” “If I can make money off just laughing I would. Sadly there’s not really a market for it considering the only people who hear me laugh well.. are my friends and you.” Taglist: @some-kindofgnome @humanitiesstrongestchicken

#Lighting the Bonfire #Dabi #Dabi bnha #Dabi x Y/N #Dabi x Reader #Dabi fanfic #soft Dabi #tw daddy mention

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lilithfairen · 2 years ago

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Opinions and terrible takes on Tokyo Mew Mew's cast so far~

Ichigo: Fun protagonist, much cat-like. Lots of quirky moments and Excellent Faces. Starts off more-or-less in the romantic relationship, which is nice, and it's mostly fodder for comedy. Her parents are fun too when they show up. Quite likeable heroine. Questionable take: If Ichigo acts like a cat, why doesn't she freak out in water and chase after the bird?

Minto: I'd have to say my least favourite of the bunch, not because she's bad but because the rest are just more fun. Rich snobby girl, kind of lazy, plotlines about being rich and snobby. The Zakuro crushing was good, might have good interactions later on. Questionable take: Does she get paid in tea because she does so much less work than everyone else? Or is tea horrendously overpriced at the Mew Cafe?

Retasu: uwu dork~ Very memorable intro. Canadian in spirit, good expressions too. Hasn't really gotten any focus episodes so far, aside from her debut, hoping to see more of her. Questionable take: I wish that, like Ichigo's cat-ears, her ribbon-doodleboppers got to come out more. Like say, to strangle people who annoy her.

Bu-Ling: Monkey kid. Very energetic and amusing. I like the way the story set up her enthusiasm for performing specifically for money (I do remember that bit about her storyline) and she's always giving silly quips. Kind of hogs the spotlight, really, especially in contrast to Retasu. Questionable take: I have yet to quote the relevant Peter Gabriel song but I imagine it will happen sooner or later.

Zakuro: Nice debut and setup as the lone wolf of the group. I like the bit about her being unhappy with having been made a Mew and viewing The Two Guys as selfish for it. Seems like she'll be the mature badass of the group for a while. Questionable take: I bet the translators who did Mew Mew Power had fun censoring out all of the cross motifs. Zakuro gets crucified when

The two guys: Shirogane is a jerk with his moments, Keiichiro is the suave partner. Curious about all of their SCIENCE~! and what's behind the Mew Project. Questionable take: Keiichiro could use a girlfriend.

Aoyama: Kind of plain, but usually a nice guy. Not really a focus of the story despite Ichigo's romantic aspirations, which is nice. Has his moments. Also has a clone for some reason? Questionable take: I'd probably dump someone if they found me unconscious and just sat there for three hours straight, myself.

Quiche: When Ichigo nailed him in the gut last episode, I kind of wish her knee aimed a bit lower. Questionable take: Oh wait, hoping for his death isn't questionable at all. Get Daruizen'd, bleeptch.

The Furries/Scalies: Top-tier. Colourful designs with neat details and accessories. I'm talking of course about the female ones, because all of them have been Pretty Furries while the one male MotW was an ugly monster that farted. Really. Questionable take: [censored]

#tokyo mew mew #ramblings

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let-them-read-fics · 4 years ago

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Winner Takes All

Drum roll please....🥁.... I'm very happy to present to you: the return of Gamer Jisoo and her infamous Pikachu hat. I know I know, very exciting.

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,479

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff Galore, A Few Curse Words

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: First off I'd like to thank you guys for the love on my other gaming fic; seeing you enjoy my work really encourages me. With that being said, I should note that I don't know much about gaming conventions -- I apologize if I get some details wrong in this writing. I hope you enjoy it regardless. Happy reading!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“Lisa, I’m scared! What if she tackles me? You know how she can get when she’s excited…”

The throaty chuckle that leaves the maknae works to calm you down, and you find yourself smiling despite the nerves. “The girls and I will be there to keep you safe, don’t worry. Jisoo-monster can’t hurt you.”

You shake your head as you grab the tickets, stuffing them in your pocket and mentally preparing yourself for the surprise. Lisa takes your hand and drags you out the door in a rush, her happiness plain to see.

~~~

The sounds of your foot falls against the linoleum work in tandem with the beating of your heart, and you do your best to conceal your grin. The last thing you want to do is give the plan away at the last second.

Upon opening the door, you find the other 3 girls sprawled out on the floor in various positions, bodies exhausted from dance practice. So much for protecting you.

“Where were you guys? We were starting to get worried.”

When you take too long to reply, Jennie raises up onto her elbows, narrowing her eyes. “Y/N…”

Shit. You’re toast. The girls’ eyes search the two of you quizzically while your brain goes into overdrive in an attempt to find a believable excuse. Everyone knows you’re a bad liar, and you’ve just been caught in the act.

“LisawashelpingmewithasurpriseforJisoo.”

The words leave your lips in a rush, but your girlfriend doesn’t miss her name being thrown in there at the end. Her eyes dart up to yours, and she perks up.

“OYE! What was that?”

Releasing a sigh, you repeat yourself. “Lisa was helping me with a surprise for you.”

Jisoo’s stupid smirk from across the room makes you giggle, and you roll your eyes. She stands up and walks over, wrapping her arms around you.

"A surprise, huh?" She asks cutely, her eyes shining even brighter than usual as she raises her eyebrows repeatedly like a dork. Both of your smiles widen as you nod at her, allowing your hands to run through her mussed hair. Seeing her so excited makes everything worth it, and you know you'd spend every dollar to your name in order to keep her as happy as this; she deserves nothing less.

As she leans in to press a kiss against your lips, her hands work their way down to your hips, resting there. Too caught up in the moment, you fail to realize that her fingers have hooked their way into your pockets.

Her lips vibrate against yours as she lets out a confused mumble, her fingertips brushing over the foreign material. She gets the jump on you, quickly snatching the tickets from your jeans, and you watch her face as she reads them.

Every moment that passes feels like an eternity, the air void of any sound as you and the girls wait to see her reaction. She's still just staring at them, running a finger across the material as she rereads the info printed there. A pang of insecurity runs through you at her continuous silence, and you can't help but speak up.

"I know they're not the premium access ones, but we still get to--"

"They're absolutely perfect, Y/N. I don't know what to say." Her voice is gentle and quiet, and your heart softens at how precious she looks right now.

"You didn't have to do all of this for me." She says, unbelieving that she deserves such a gift. Determined to remind her of how much she means to you, you cup her cheek and coax her into looking into your eyes.

"After everything you do for me, this is the least I could do, baby. You're worth every bit of it and then some. I can't wait to take you."

She pulls you up against her again, wrapping her arms around your shoulders as she whispers words of gratitude and praise into your ear.

A minute later she pulls away to give everyone in the room a warning.

"Prepare yourselves -- incoming scream in 3...2...1…"

Jennie, Lisa, and Rosé all scramble to the farthest corner of the room, tripping and sliding the entire way while you just cover your ears and laugh. They look like characters out of an episode of Scooby Doo.

"AHHHH I love them!" She suddenly shouts, throwing her hands up into the air triumphantly as she does a little happy dance with the tickets. Her joy is contagious, and soon the rest of you are all bouncing around with her in celebration.

-----

"Ready, my love?"

Upon poking your head into Jisoo's room, you find her sitting at her vanity, smoothing out her hair before she puts on her signature Pikachu hat.

"Just a minute." She responds, sending you a soft smile through the mirror. You lean against the door frame to admire her until she's done, studying how elegant she looks while doing even the simplest thing. How you managed to get so lucky is beyond you, but you thank your lucky stars for her every day.

Once she's finished, she turns around in her chair to get a good look at you. A light pattern of blush rises to her cheeks at the way you're looking at her, head over heels and hopelessly devoted. A grin tugs at her lips as she approaches you, dusting off your shoulders and fixing your shirt just like a married couple would.

"I'm so in love with you."

Jisoo's heart speeds up at your words, still getting just as giddy as it did the first time you confessed to her. She bats her eyelashes and looks at you as if you hold the key to the universe.

"No way! Me too; I'm pretty great, aren't I?" She plays, making you roll your eyes and laugh. Of course she has to mess with you in the middle of a serious moment.

"I'm kidding. I love you more and more every day, Y/N." She says, taking your hands within her own as she loops them around her waist. Her eyes meet yours again, and she leans in to kiss your cheek.

"Now come on or we'll be late. I can't wait to school you!" She says, sticking her tongue out at you.

"Oh you are so going down. Just don't cry when I beat you." You retort, mocking her as you pout and make your lip tremble.

She playfully pushes you out the door, cackling as you almost fall. You say goodbye to the girls, making sure to give them all big hugs before leaving the dorm.

----

The convention center is bigger than you had ever imagined it'd be. Past the security line at the entrance, the space opens up immensely with two large hallways sprawling off on either side of the main performance room. High ceilings tower overhead, their support beams decorated with various posters and guides. Some staff members sit at a long line of tables to greet guests and offer information about the scheduled events.

"Good afternoon, ladies. How're you doing today?" One of them asks as you approach.

"Good, thank you. And you?" Jisoo says, smiling excitedly.

"I'm doing just fine. Is there anything I can help you with?" The woman is kind; you like her.

"Do you by chance have a map?" You inquire.

She nods, reaching underneath the table to fish the complimentary guide out of one of the boxes.

"Here you go."

"Thank you very much. I think this is all we need; have a great day!" You cheerily reply, bowing your head to show gratitude.

"You're welcome. Come back if you have any more questions; we hope you two enjoy your experience with us!" She sends you one last smile as you step out of line and allow the next guest to take your place.

After scanning your eyes across the busy area, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all that's going on, you spot some tables near the large front windows of one of the expo halls.

You direct Jisoo's attention to them, and you swiftly make your way over there.

"Be cool -- I snuck us in some snacks because everything here is overpriced as hell."

You whisper to her, stealing a glance around the two of you before opening your coat like some sort of drug dealer. She lets out a little giggle as she eyes the assortment of candies and food you brought, saying: "You smart."

"Alright, let's plan out our route."

She nods in agreement, pulling a chair up next to yours so you both can look at the map.

Various fandoms have booths and rooms set up throughout the building -- everything from movies and tv shows, to any video game you can think of. Because of the scope of experiences offered, the tickets weren't easy to come by: you had to pay a pretty penny to even get the "cheap" option. Nevertheless, that's the last thing on your mind as you notice how happy Jisoo is right now. Her eyes dart across the paper, taking in all of the different sections and committing them to memory.

"I heard that the Harry Potter wing has butterbeer…" you start, nudging her shoulder with a smile.

She lights up at this, quickly deciding that you should start your trip there. "Okay, let's begin with it. Then we can check out some of the other movie franchises in that hall, and come over to the video games after."

You glance down at your phone to check the time before adding, "That'll work out perfectly. Overwatch and PUBG are having major tournaments later, so we'll be there in time."

She stands up to snatch a pen from one of the nearby help stands, and returns to her seat soon after. A scribbling noise can be heard as she circles the different places you want to go, adding stars beside the ones you guys are most excited for.

"Done!" She declares, placing the cap back on the pen and setting it to the side.

"Lead the way, pretty girl." You purr, grinning at the way her eyes turn into those famous little crescents as she smiles. She slips her hand into yours, interlocking your fingers as the two of you begin your journey.

----

"Y/N IT'S SO ADORABLE!" She yells, pointing to one of the Animal Crossing plushies that adorns the table in front of you. You push the brim of your newly-purchased Star Wars hat out of the way so you can get a better look at what she's talking about.

"Awww." You coo, reaching into your pocket to grab your wallet without hesitation. After buying it for her, you have her stand by one of the latest posters so you can have a mini photoshoot.

"You're so beautiful."

She loses focus on posing for the camera now, her eyes shifting from the lens to your own. You nearly melt from the look of pure adoration she's sending you, and she takes that as her opportunity to compliment you back.

"And you're the cutest thing ever." You hide behind your hands, shielding your blushing cheeks from further scrutiny.

"Stop it." You command, feeling her arms snake around your waist as she approaches you.

"Never," she starts, pulling your hands away so she can pepper kisses across your face. "I'll spend every day reminding you how precious you are."

"Ya know, my heart really can't take all of this love. I'm surprised it hasn't burst yet."

"Well it'll just have to get used to it." She declares, nodding curtly with a final look of determination taking over her features.

"I'm in love with a dork, everyone." You say to an imaginary audience, taking a step back as you motion to Jisoo. She slaps your shoulder playfully before dragging you to the next booth.

---

For the past 2 and half hours, the two of you have hit up just about every spot you intended to. You've accumulated bagfuls of bracelets, necklaces, shirts, and other memorabilia from nearly every shop you visited, and the thought makes you happy. Jisoo can decorate the dorm with her figurines and merch, and she'll be reminded of today every time she sees them.

"The big Overwatch match is about to start, so we can check it out until the PUBG one begins, if you want."

"Okay, but can you help me put this necklace on before we go?"

You nod in affirmation, taking her over to a nearby bench to set your things down and help her. She scoots up next to you and pulls her hair to the side as you fasten the small clip behind her neck. The piece matches yours, and you grin as her fingers come up to toy with the material.

She spins around to face you as she expresses her thanks, quickly moving on to rant about the tournaments. She giggles eagerly, mind completely wrapped up with thoughts of the games as she gushes about the things she's looking forward to.

You're doing your best -- honestly, you really are -- but Jisoo's lips look so kissable right now that you can't help but lose focus. They purse and pout as she rambles on, and you do your best not to stare.

You fail miserably, though -- after finding that your eyes have been nearly glued to her lips for the past 5 minutes, your gaze always dropping back down to those heart shaped pillows, Jisoo smirks. The sight makes you weak in the knees but you try not to show it.

"Awww, does somebody want a kiss?" She teases, making kissy noises at you while you blush and look away.

"Yeah, and what about it?" You challenge, turning back to her.

Content with how much she's teased you (for now), she rests a hand on the back of your neck as she draws you in closer to her body. Her other hand rests on your thigh, rubbing small circles onto the material of your pants. The moment is innocent enough at first, but the combination of her soft lips against yours and her ministrations on your leg soon makes your blood pressure rise.

Feeling the stares of other guests passing by, you decide to pull away. She chases your lips, though, pressing one more peck to them before looking into your eyes.

Your pupils are blown wide; your lips a little darker now, and Jisoo pats herself on the back. You're artwork to her, and she loves to see what she's capable of doing to you.

"If you keep looking at me like that then we’re gonna miss a big portion of this match.” You say lowly, just loud enough for her to hear. Her eyebrows raise in surprise at what your words imply, and her lips settle in their famous heart pose.

"Come on then, let's go inside." She says, tugging you up along with her. You guys will have plenty of time for that, later; for now, the most important thing is the event.

-------

Upon entering the spacious room, your ears are filled with theme music being played over the speakers. Chatter from fellow fans can be heard as well, and you take a moment to look around.

Countless rows of chairs stretch out in front of you, all neatly lined up towards the large stage across the room. A vast majority of them are already taken, but you happen to spot 2 empty ones in what appears to be the 4th row.

"Come on, let's grab those seats." You say, pulling her from her geeked-out stupor. She continues to gape at the layout of the room as you lead her to the chairs, her eyes wide in wonder. Large projectors on either side of the stage take turns displaying pictures of the starting players from both teams. Multicolored lights also shine at various points throughout the room, moving about in predetermined patterns and motions as they cycle.

Within 10 minutes, the elite players make their entrance, sending the room wild. Introductions are made, and they all take their seats at the different computers lined up on stage.

"How's everyone doing?" The MC's strong voice booms into the microphone, echoing loudly across the performance hall. The crowd shouts its response and you laugh at how loud Jisoo bellows out her own.

"We have an amazing set for you here tonight. Teams from across the world have flown in to compete for the 150,000 dollar cash prize, as well as the title of Overwatch league champions!"

The teams clap along at this, some pumping themselves up for the match while others try to appear cocky and unaffected.

"Our first teams, hailing from the US and Australia, are beyond excited to be here. Let's give them a hand!" He steps back to allow the cameras to get the best possible view of the gamers, and the footage is cast onto big banners hanging from the ceiling. Now everyone, regardless of how far back they're sitting, are able to see them well.

After the MC interacts with the crowd a little more and some of the players speak to their supporters, the match begins.

Jisoo is never very far from you, always close enough to point out certain things that she notices and comment on their techniques. She's like a sponge, soaking in the different ways to improve her own skills. As much as you love video games yourself, it's hard to pay attention to the game when she looks so unbelievably happy.

Many rounds later, after the winners are announced, you cross your fingers and take a deep breath. There's one final thing that you didn't tell Jisoo about earlier...

"Now, it's time for what you've all been waiting for! We'll be selecting 3 audience members to join us on stage and play against one another. Let's see who wants a spot!"

The MC shouts cheerily with that million dollar smile plastered onto his face. It's easy to see that he loves his job, and you've enjoyed watching him interact with everyone tonight.

The large crowd erupts at this and you have to fight to contain your knowing smile. You really have a knack for surprises.

"Jisoo, baby, stand over here. I think you'll be able to get their attention better."

A subtle nod passes between you and the event organizer you met with earlier, and he says something into his headset. Thankfully Jisoo hadn't questioned why your previous "bathroom break" took 10 minutes, and you were able to make an arrangement with the staff.

"Pick me!"

"OVER HERE!"

"I can beat 'em!"

Various shouts and whistles sound out around the venue, all the hopeful candidates vying for the MC's attention. He leans down to listen to his assistant when she taps on his shoulder, informing him of your plan. With a smile slowly spreading across his lips, he looks in your direction and his eyes lock with yours. "Alright, everyone. Who thinks they've got what it takes?" He asks, walking down the stage stairs until he's face to face with the sizable audience. The cameras track his every move as he slowly walks up the large center aisle, some people clapping and reaching to high five him. "The three people I select will compete in a free-for-all for first place. The winner gets 200 dollars and a t-shirt signed by our league champions." His announcement spurs the crowd on even more, somehow, and they cheer at such a great prize. "You, with the Call of Duty shirt!" He calls into the mic, pointing to a teenage boy who looks like he's about to pass out from being noticed. He joins the MC, and together they make their slow voyage towards the back of the room.

"You, miss, with the Smite hat!" The young woman celebrates with her friend, and you smile as you watch them do a special handshake on the jumbo screen.

Now, with two enthusiastic players in tow, the MC ambles his way back up to the front. He tries not to make it obvious that he already knows who the final pick is, and thankfully he's a skilled actor. He knows just how to keep the crowd excited and make them think they still stand a chance.

"Yes, yes, I see that you're all eager to show your talents. But earning this final spot will take some convincing. Quick, everyone strike an epic player pose!"

Collective shuffling from the audience sounds out in waves as people scoot their chairs out of the way to make room for their stances. Jisoo, however, takes a different approach: with a steadying hand on your shoulder, she places one foot on each of your seats and stands proudly. One of her hands sits on her hip while the other rests an invisible gun on her shoulder. She glances at the MC with a raised brow and steely look in her eye.

Damn, she's good. After seeing how well she's doing right now, you doubt that she even needed your help in the first place. That makes you feel a little better about rigging the results, so it's a true win-win.

"Pikachu hat, it's your time to shine!" He laughs, motioning for her to come over. In an instant, her previously cool demeanor crumbles and she's left looking like a giddy little girl. She gives you a sweet hug before walking over to the trio.

-----

After introducing themselves to the room, the 3 hopefuls all sit down next to each other. You can see them eyeing the winners that have gathered around to cheer them on, more star struck than competitive in that moment. Well, at least the other two are: after allowing herself a minute to geek out, Gamer Jisoo™️ takes over and a serious aura befalls your girlfriend. She cracks her knuckles before getting comfortable in her seat, and she steals a glance at you. Her cheek tugs up ever so slightly, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

You make a heart with your hands and blow her a kiss, and she winks at you in return.

"Let's give them some encouragement!"

The crowd sounds off once more, and the three of them wish each other luck.

It's not a new discovery that your girlfriend is gorgeous, but something about how focused she is is so attractive. She's already taken down at least 5 other players, completely wiping the floor with them while barely batting an eye. Within a few more minutes, only Jisoo and Amelia, the other female audience member, remain.

"It's neck and neck as our last two competitors face off in the final stretch of the game."

The MC looks genuinely invested following his announcement, and you can almost see the inner 5 year old in him popping out. That's something that you love so much about video games: they can really bring the inner child out of anyone and distract them from life's stressors.

Jisoo's tongue darts out of her mouth, tracing over her lips in concentration as she considers her next move. You can practically see the wheels turning as her eyes dance across the screen, watching the movements of her enemy with the utmost focus.

Poor Amelia seems to be sweating buckets beside Jisoo; the pressure must really be getting to her. She looks intimidated, but she doesn't back down from the challenge.

And then, it stops. Jisoo fires one final, calculated shot, taking her opponent down within a second.

In what feels like slow motion, your eyebrows shoot up to your forehead in surprise and you stand up with a shout. You raise your arms above your head, screaming her name as you celebrate and cheer. You're the first thing she looks to once she realizes she's won, and that simple fact makes your heart grow 10 sizes. She smiles adorably as she observes you, grinning even deeper as confetti shoots out of the canons and onto the stage. She raises her head to watch it flutter down, shimmering in the lights as it rides the swirling air currents.

She's proud of herself, and so are you.

The same event organizer from before approaches you, informing you that you have the all-clear to go greet Jisoo on stage. And that you do: you race towards the stairs, practically flying up them and into her waiting arms. You pick her up and spin her around, getting lost in the feeling of her giggles vibrating against you.

"You did amazing, baby." You say, taking note of how the curve of her jaw is highlighted by the stage lights.

"Thank you, Y/N. For everything. Today has been amazing."

The MC grins at you approvingly, happy to see you guys so ecstatic. Ever the altruist, Jisoo makes sure to go shake hands with her opponents and raise their spirits before coming back to talk to the crowd.

Once the man has her attention again, he says, "Congratulations, Jisoo. How does it feel to win?"

"It feels great! I have to thank my beautiful girlfriend, though; she's the reason we're even here today." She says humbly, reaching over to squish your cheek.

A chorus of "ooh's" and "ahhh's" leaves the crowd, all of them gushing at how cute the two of you are. You spot yourself on the jumbo screen and blush with embarrassment.

His assistant returns with the cash and shirt promised to the winner, and she holds it up for the cameras. The fresh signatures gleam in the light, some of them written with glitter markers while others are in traditional sharpie.

"Here you go! Enjoy!" He cheers again, motioning for the audience to join him. Everyone does, and Jisoo clutches the material close to her chest triumphantly. The two of you watch everyone send their praise, and she rests her head on your shoulder to fully soak in the moment.

You eventually exit the stage, waving to all of them as you take your leave.

With the event now over, you head back to your seat to gather up your belongings and head to the PUBG panel.

"I love you." She says, causing you to pause your movements and look up at her.

"I love you more." You tease, pulling her in close as you plant a kiss to her temple. She hooks an arm around your neck once you finish grabbing the bags, walking out into the expo hall again.

"So, since you're rich now, can we go to the arcade on the second floor?"

"Um, duh. Next mission: Beat Y/N. PUBG can wait."

You grin cheekily at her confidence before pulling out of her embrace.

"Race you there!" You shout, laughing as you take off towards the elevator, giving yourself a major head start.

"Cheater!" She yells, giggling as she chases after you.

#jisoo kim #jisoo #blackpink #blackpink imagines #blackpink oneshot #blackpink scenarios #blackpink x reader #kim jisoo x fem reader #kim jisoo #jisoo x fem reader #video games #gamer jisoo #jisoo turtle rabbit kim #blackpink fluff #let-them-read-fics #park chaeyoung #jennie kim #lalisa manoban

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Satisfied, Part 12

First

I’m going to start answering comments at the bottom but before the taglist now so you guys can get straight into the chapter (unless it’s really important like taking a break or something)

Also I’ve decided to move all the Wayne kids closer together in age. Damian’s 18, Tim is 21, Jason is 23, Dick is 25

~~~

She didn’t go to the coffee shop the next day. Partially because she wasn’t getting her overpriced coffee paid for (at least not without a lot of whining), but mostly because she wanted to do some research where people couldn’t see her.

She sighed as she flipped between all fifty of her tabs, resting her head on her hand. She could hear Tikki trying, and failing, to make her something to eat in the kitchen.

Who could the bat family be? They had to have a lot of influence and/or money to get as much information as they did. She flipped through the most wealthy people in Gotham and its surrounding area, but where was the cutoff? How was she to know that they weren’t middle class people who saved for expensive things?

And then there was the tiny case of the near-slipup on the rooftops. Nightwing was about to call Robin something. He wouldn’t have been saying ‘friend’, he wouldn’t have had to pause like that. What had he been about to say? She hoped it wasn’t ‘boyfriend’, they had what seemed to be a 10 year age gap. Her best assumption was they were going to say ‘brother’, which implied at least most of the bat family was related.

Her eyes found their way to the tab with a picture of Bruce Wayne. He was standing alone, his kids never had pictures taken of them out of respect for their privacy, but everyone knew of his penchant for adopting kids with dark hair and blue eyes.

Great. She’ll never know, then. How was she, a designer, supposed to get close to the Bruce Wayne?

On a completely unrelated note, the next day she stood outside of a gate with Tim. Her eyes locked on the weird symbol on the gate, trying to place where she’d seen it before, but her brain couldn’t seem to find it. Oh well, it was probably just one of the rich people she’d researched yesterday.

Tim placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You can not let my dad adopt you.”

She gave a small eyeroll, pushing his hands off and smoothing out her dress. It had taken forever to get a dresscode out of Tim, because he insisted that ‘you could wear a burlap sack and my family would love you, just relax’, but he eventually just told her formal. Not helpful. There’s levels of formal, Tim. She had settled for a plain red dress with a black belt.

“I don’t think my parents would be all that excited if I traded them out after a few days here.”

He nodded. “That’s good. Use that.”

“Use tha--?”

The gates swung open.

Tim took a deep breath as if to steel his nerves. “At least Damian isn’t here. You get to meet the nicest of the family first.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He got out of it,” he shrugged.

They stepped inside. She stared up at the high walls. She pulled out her phone and took a picture in case she messed up with Tim’s family so bad that she wasn’t allowed back.

The moment she walked in someone pulled her into a hug. “Thank you!” He cried.

Marinette blinked and gave him a short pat on the back. “You’re... welcome?”

He pulled away and held out a hand to shake. “Sorry, I was just so excited to meet the person who got him to take a day off. I’m Dick.”

“You’re... you’re what?” She said, her eyebrows shooting into her hair.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, right, French. I’m Richard but, in America, that gets shortened to ‘Dick’.”

She blinked once, then just chose to accept it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Marinette.”

“How’d you do it?”

She gave a small shrug as they began walking to the dining room. “I don’t know. He just offered.”

Dick sent her a skeptical look, then looked at his brother as if to confirm.

“In my defense, she looked really stressed.”

“More stressed than you usually do?” Came a voice from above. She looked up to see yet another guy leaning over a railing to look at them.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “I thought you guys were adopted, how do you all look exactly the same?”

The newest grinned. “Dad’s got a type.” He hopped the railing and landed next to them.

She narrowed her eyes slightly as she took a better look at all of them. Tim’s dodge could be put down as self-defense, but hopping a railing and landing without getting hurt?

She blinked as a hand was thrust in her face and gave a weak smile. “I’m Marinette, nice to meet you.”

“Jason.”

Her brain was blaring alarms, trying desperately to tell her something, but it all came out as ‘AHDKFSFHDLKSNDG’, which wasn’t all that useful.

She shook his hand.

It wasn’t until she walked into the dining room and her eyes landed on the Bruce Wayne that she finally figured everything out. Her hands flew to her mouth as she stared at him in stunned silence.

Then she wheeled on Tim and pulled him down by the collar of his shirt. “You’ve been a Wayne this whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “I didn’t want you to use me for my money.”

“Please, I knew you were rich from the get-go, it wouldn’t have mattered if you were ‘goes to Disney twice a year’ rich or ‘could buy Disney if you wanted’ rich. You should have at least warned me outside the gate!”

Bruce dropped something on the desk and Marinette squeaked quietly, letting go of her captive. It was a file of some sort. Crap, was this an interrogation or something? Was that a rich people thing? Do they do in-depth research on people that talk to their kids?

The man slid the file over and she opened it to see... adoption papers?

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding,” she mumbled as she flipped through them. She glanced up at Bruce. “How did you get these so fast?”

“I have them on me at all times at this point,” he explained.

She blinked a few times and then slowly closed the file. “I’m sorry, but I have parents already.”

Everyone (except Tim) seemed stunned. She heard Jason whisper: “Is that allowed?”

Despite the slight confusion, everyone took a seat at the table. There was quite a few seats, but she was amused to see all the kids opting to sit next to her.

Dick rested his head on his hands from his spot across the table. “So, what do you know about Ladybug?”

She did her best not to tense.

“Subtle,” said Jason sarcastically from her right. He turned back to her and gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, ‘bout that. He’s been obsessed since she appeared, and most of his research has been a dead end. He’s grasping at straws.”

She forced a small laugh. “I’m too clutzy to ever be Ladybug, you can ask anyone.”

Dick groaned. “And I don’t suppose you know who it is?”

“Nope.”

Jason, apparently eager to change the subject every two seconds, asked: “How’d you two meet?”

She glanced at Tim, who was shaking his head so fast she thought it’d pop off, then turned back to his brothers and father. “We met at the coffee shop. He spilled coffee on me.”

She heard Tim’s head hit the table as he groaned.

Jason was cackling. “Awwww, Tim is in a coffeeshop AU!”

Dick grinned. “Next you’ll tell me he offered you free drinks for life or something.”

“Well, actually,--.”

She couldn’t even finish, Jason was laughing so hard.

Bruce seemed less amused. “I would hope that he did, and for the shirt. too.”

She smirked and looked at Tim, who seemed to sense what she was going to do before she did it. He sent her a short look, a ‘don’t you dare’, before she spoke: “Actually, he revoked my coffee privileges.”

The poor kid sighed and closed his eyes. His father was glaring daggers at him, so, after a few seconds of him struggling, he finally gave in. “Fine, I’ll pay for coffee again.”

She cheered and gave Jason a high five.

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re children.”

“Like you’re so much better!” Complained Jason. “You’re only two years older than me!”

Marinette rolled her eyes and reached out to poke Tim’s face until he finally looked over at her.

“He lives!” She cheered softly and he shook his head and sat up some, a smile playing across his lips.

Bruce chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He’d been watching the four for a little while. They seemed like they’d get along...

“Tim, have you invited her yet?”

Tim went red.

“I’ll take that as a no. Do you want to do it or should I?”

The kid took a deep breath to steel himself, then gently poked her shoulder for her attention. The moment she looked at him, though, he froze and couldn’t seem to get any words out.

Marinette’s head tipped to the side. “Um...?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I’d like to, on behalf of my son, invite you to the Wayne Gala.”

To everyone’s surprise, the girl didn’t smile, or thank him, or really react positively at all.

Marinette released a quiet sound, like a balloon deflating, as she slumped into her seat and covered her face in her hands. Tim rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

“What’s wrong?” Came Dick’s voice.

“Six!” She cried.

“You have something against musicals?” Said Jason.

She lowered her hands just enough to glare at him. “I have to make six outfits in four months.”

“You don’t have --,” began Tim.

“I have to! Make! Six outfits! In four months!”

~~~

When Marinette is done with the gala outfits will I show you what they look like?

I’ll do you one better. I’m showing them now because it took a longgggg time and I KNOW I will forget if I wait until then.

I tried to match their personalities with their posture and clothes. I kinda forgot Penny’s character though lol so now she’s kinda like Nathalie.

Also that took forever. If ya’ll want that again you gotta pay me. Christ.

Why is she making an outfit for Adrien if they aren’t friends?

They aren’t on bad terms, they just grew apart due to a difference in ideology. But, beyond that, she has her reasons. You’ll find out when Adrien comes by.

~~~

Taglist

@thatonecroc @comet-kun @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth

#god really gave me all the talent huh #yea yea hubris will be my downfall whatever #timinette #timari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #maribat #satisfied

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zigtheeortega · 4 years ago

Text

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !]

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

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As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took.

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.”

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere.

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her.

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –”

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

#playchoices #platinum #raleigh carrera #raleigh carrera x mc #platinumweekend #my fic #jade writes choices fics #tbh i really loved writing this one - it's really special to me !!

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years ago

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The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x Reader (This was gonna be a oneshot, but it turned into a chapter for this. Also, I don’t like Valentine’s Day, but if you do, hope you had a great one! A/n2- I know a couple chapters ago, the reader and Keanu talked about something her company was launching for Christmas, in favor of propelling this plot forward, that doesn’t mean that they’re in December, it means they’re prepping for the coming December. Also, realistically, things like that would be months in the making and I don’t why I’m still talking but yeah. Also, I had a very specific idea in mind for the dress, so here it is, if you feel like looking at it-> dress)

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6

Chapter 7- Surprises

“I’ve dreamed of this a thousand times before but in my dreams I couldn’t love you more.” Martina Mcbride, My Valentine.

“Hey!” Y/n beamed, putting her cell to her ear as she leaned back into the chair in her office, “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“What?” Keanu teased on the other end, wherever he was; Y/n could hear a machine in the distance and she automatically assumed that he was at Arch, “I missed my girlfriend and wanted to hear her voice,” Keanu laughed lightly.

On her end, Y/n playfully rolled her eyes; ever since Julie had called them a couple about two weeks ago, Keanu had not missed an opportunity to call her his ‘girlfriend’. “Okay boyfriend. But you did drive me to work this morning,” to be fair, Y/n hadn’t ever missed a chance to call him her ‘boyfriend’ either. Glancing at her watch, she added, “And that was two hours ago.”

“Okay, you got me,” she could still hear Keanu’s smile in his words and as he sat in his office at the shop, he toyed with a pen, pushing the little plastic button over and over as he absently stared at the screen of his laptop, where he had a list of the best restaurants listed out with contacts. “I’ll admit, my call is not spontaneous.”

“So you didn’t miss my soothing, melodious voice? I’ll try not to be offended,” Y/n teased.

Keanu chuckled, “I never said that!” He defended, “I....your voice was very missed.”

“Okay,” Y/n pulled on the edge of her desk, bring herself closer to the white varnished oak table, barely looking at the work laid out on her computer as she continued talking to Keanu, “So what’s up?”

“I was just wondering....” Keanu trailed off, not really understanding why he was so nervous. That was the kind of thing you did with a girlfriend right? Take her out for Valentine’s Day? Keanu always liked the idea of the unofficial holiday; spoiling the person you loved, just because, and that year, for the first time in a while, he’d have someone to spend it with. Though, ever since he had started looking into things they could do together, there was a lingering uncertainty that gnawed at him; telling him that it was too soon to expect that much. Still, he had somehow mustered up the courage to ask her, or rather, muster up the courage to decide that he’d ask her eventually, “Maybe we should talk about this in person?”

“Why?” Y/n scrunched up her nose, standing abruptly to walk over to the window behind her desk, heels clicking softly on the tiles. The view of the city from her office never proved to be disappointing; working in the heart of the city meant that something was always happening on the street nearly fifteen stories below; entertainers putting on gleeful performances, random filming for movies or television shows and on a rare occasion, a fight spilling out from a bar in the middle of the day. On that day, there were costumed dancers on the pavement and a crowd had gathered around them, though Y/n could barely pay them any attention, too caught up in trying to siphon Keanu’s words out of him, “You called to tell me something, so just tell me.”

“Yeah, but, wouldn’t you prefer to talk in person?” He paused and Y/n could almost imagine him sitting across from her, biting his lip in hesitation, “It’s about Friday.”

“Friday? What’s Friday?” Suddenly, she was racking her brain, trying to remember was significance the coming Friday could possibly hold. His birthday was in September, so wasn’t that it. It definitely wasn’t hers. As far as Y/n was concerned, Friday was just a regular, run-of-the-mill start of the much anticipated weekend.

Again, Keanu hesitated before speaking, “The 14th. Valentine’s day. You didn’t remember,” he huffed quietly, sounding defeated.

“I.....no....I just....” Despite her efforts, Y/n couldn't find a viable excuse, because really, she had forgotten, “I didn’t. I’m sorry,” she sighed, shaking her head. Usually on Valentine's day, it would just be her and Julie watching implausible rom-coms over chocolate and wine, but just a couple weeks prior, Julie had thrown herself into helping an author turn his book into a script and Y/n had been so busy, juggling different projects; most of her down time had been spent with Keanu and he hadn’t even mentioned Valentine’s until then. Besides, it had never been her favorite day either; overpriced flowers, dinner packages that cost triple the amount of the meal. To Y/n it was all just a marketing scheme to get people to spend more money than they needed to and people acting all mushy and overly-sentimental in a way that typically made her cringe was just an unfortunate bonus. It was safe to say that she wasn’t a romantic at heart. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Y/n finally continued casually, filling the silence.

“It is,” Keanu determined, “I was thinking; we could go out. We could go to a nice place, have dinner, dance if you’re up to it,” he paused for a minute and when Y/n didn’t anything, he continued, “There are some great places that should be fun. Most of them offer the same things, it’s just up to preference, you know? French food versus sushi, that kind of thing. I’d have to make a reservation today though”

Which meant she didn’t have a lot of time to think about it.

“Oh!” Y/n chuckled nervously, how was she supposed to tell Keanu, who had already started to plan a romantic evening, that she thought Valentine’s day was just an over-commercialized non-sensical day abused by industries across the board. “I don’t know Ke, Valentine’s day isn’t really my thing. Maybe we could just hang out? Watch a movie over take-out?” Even as the words left her mouth, Y/n cringed, there she was, stomping all over his romantic evening so she could sit at home in her pajamas.

Keanu took a while before answering that time, though even when he did, he sounded deflated and disappointed. If there was a way to tell your extremely sweet, romantic-at-heart boyfriend that you didn’t do hearts and flower on a day specifically meant for just that; it certainly wasn’t the way Y/n had just done it. “Yeah, okay. I gotta go Y/n. I’ll pick you up later.” And just like that, without even a hurried good bye, Keanu was gone and Y/n felt like more of a jerk than she ever had.

With a huff and a sigh, she flopped back into her white leather chair, tossing her head back, “Way to be an asshole Y/n,” she mumbled.

The day had gone by quickly and eventually, Y/n was slipping her laptop back into it’s bag. Keanu had informed her, via text, that he was just about ten minutes away. Of course, after their awkward interaction, she had texted him and told him that she was fine taking a cab or Uber-ing home, but like the perfect gentleman, he had brushed her off, assuring her that he wasn’t upset and that he would still pick her up. Though, when she asked him on a spontaneous lunch date just after that, he had politely declined and Y/n had ultimately gathered that he was in fact, at the very least, disappointed.

So, instead, she had spent lunch on the phone with Julie, trying to find ways to fix things. They had eventually worked one out, and as Y/n spent the rest of her afternoon going through the motions of putting things in place, for the coming Friday, she put her actual work aside. By the time she had chosen a dress online, that would, hopefully, be delivered on Thursday night, and made other necessary preparations, it was just about time to leave.

On the elevator ride down, Y/n sucked in a breath; she had never been good at apologizing, but was willing to do it so she could mend things with Keanu, she hated the idea that he might be upset with her more than she cared about maintaining her pride.

By the time the reflective metal doors slid open, she had already worked out a vague idea of what she was going to say when she saw him. To her surprise though, Y/n found that it would be sooner rather than later, considering he was standing in the downstairs lobby, leaning against the vacant receptionists’ desk. He was dressed in the same thing he had worn that morning; a leather jacket with a plain grey t-shirt underneath along with a dark pair of jeans and his favorite pair of brown, boots. She had learnt that Keanu was very attached to them.

“Hi,” she tried to smile, approaching him slowly, and to her surprise, he pecked her on the lips, offering to take her laptop bag, “Thanks,” she breathed.

“No problem,” he nodded, already starting to walk towards the automatic doors at the entrance. He seemed quieter than usual, no asking about her day or if she wanted to stop for dinner on the way back to her place, nothing. He did however, still open the passenger door of his sleek black Porsche for her.

She slid in, buckling her seatbelt as he made his way over to the driver’s side. Wordlessly, Keanu peeled away from the curb, easily melding into L.A’s evening traffic, “Are you still staying over tonight?”

“I don’t think so,” Keanu kept his eyes on the road, “I’ll just drop you off and head home.”

“Oh,” she frowned. Y/n’s mind pushed her to speak, and as she battled with her conscience, briefly looking out the window, not in the slightest comforted by the Valentine's day merchandise dominating the storefronts. Everyone seemed to be going all out in anticipation of the day, even at work, a group had organized a gift exchange, something she had made sure to stay clear of, and their marketing department had devised an entire promotion around perfumes as presents for the day. “I’m sorry,” she finally croaked, turning in her seat to face him, “I don’t anything for Valentine’s day and I automatically assumed that we’d just do nothing together. I didn’t realize how important this was to you-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Keanu shook his head, for the first time since their too short kiss, he glanced at her, his tone soft, “I should be the one apologizing . I sprang that on you, and we haven’t even been together for that long. I didn’t even ask if you wanted to do something, I just thought you would and ran with the idea.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Y/n smiled faintly, putting a hand on his knee, “Keanu, you have every right to want to do something romantic on Valentine’s day; it’s our first one together, I should have been more open to the idea instead of shutting you down. And if we’re a couple, then we need to compromise, like a couple,” taking a deep breath, Y/n smiled giddily, asking, “So, Keanu, will you be my Valentine?”

Chuckling despite himself, Keanu looked at her through the corner of his eye, “You’re serious?”

“Yes, now answer me before I start feeling stupid,” Y/n giggled.

Playfully, he scoffed, “Well I can’t say yes until I know what being your Valentine entails. Or is it top secret?”

Squinting her eyes in indecision, she hummed, “Nah. If you must know, it includes dinner in Beverly Hills, we’ll dress up nice, have some champagne and maybe do some dancing. French food, not sushi, I’ll never eat raw fish.”

“Not a compromise you’re willing to make?” He teased.

“Nope,” she sung, “What do you think, be my Valentine baby?”

Chuckling louder, Keanu nodded, “I’d like that. But I hope you’re not doing this because you think we need to. I’ve been thinking, if what you want is take out and a movie, I can do that; as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter what we do.” As they stopped for a red light, Keanu leaned over to kiss her, that time, their lips locking for a bit longer.

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna work. I spent an hour on hold trying to get that reservation, we eat there, or die trying,” Y/n joked.

“Okay,” he chortled.

“Okay. Oh, but I have one condition, well technically two,” Y/n waited for Keanu to offer her a curious glance before continuing, “No flowers; never buy me flowers. And no expensive gifts.”

“So you’re taking me to dinner at a French restaurant and I can’t buy you something nice?” Keanu huffed, “That doesn’t seem fair,” he pouted.

“It doesn’t have to be expensive to be nice,” Y/n mused, just as they were nearing her building, “I’m sure you'll figure it out.” As Keanu turned into the underground garage, Y/n’s brows furrowed, “You changed your mind about staying over?”

Effortlessly, he pulled into the empty spot next to her car, shutting of the engine, “Yeah, since we’re not doing it on Friday, maybe we can do it tonight, if the offer still stands.”

“It does,” she grinned, letting Keanu take her bags as they got out of his car, “And, coincidentally an offer for dessert just opened up.”

Friday night had come sooner than Y/n had expected and as planned, she was getting ready for her date with Keanu. Unlike the night Y/n had gotten ready for their first date, she was a alone; Julie had informed her that she’d be our with her author friend that night, which was odd, but Y/n didn’t want to pry, yet.

Finishing up with her make-up, Y/n was about to get into her dress when she received a text from Keanu informing her that he was just getting out of the elevator. Hurriedly, she shrugged on her robe and hurried to the door, “Hi!” She greeted with a kiss, his hands gripping her waist.

“Hey,” Keanu beamed against her lips, “You smell good.”

Y/n giggled, “So do you. And you look amazing,” she mused as they broke. Keanu had switched out jeans for a pair of well-fitting slacks and his black t-shirt looked exceptionally stylish under his deep navy blazer.

“Thanks,” he kissed her again, letting Y/n lead him towards her bedroom so she could finish getting dressed. When she undid the knot in front of her robe, the material fell off her shoulders and he sucked in a breath as she was left standing in nothing but a white lacy bra and matching panties. Next to him, on the bed, was a pink floral dress that he assumed was the new one she had told him about the night before. “Are you sure we have to go?” He watched as she disappeared into the closet briefly, returning with a strappy pair of nude heels.

Y/n chuckled quietly, “We do. I bought that dress specifically for tonight.” Keanu made a humorous noise of mock defeat and Y/n just laughed as she slipped into the dress. “Zip me?” She asked, going to stand in front of Keanu. Wordlessly, he stood, pressing a hand low on the small of her back as he dragged the zipper up.

“I like this,” he smiled behind her, kissing the top of her head.

“The dress?” She inquired quietly, turning to face him, his hands still on her.

“No,” he shook his head, furrowing his brows, “I mean yes, it looks great on you,” Keanu smiled, taking her in; the silky material went down to her ankles, with loose ruffles at the neckline and hem and a stylish knot at the waist. “ You look amazing, but I meant that I like watching you get ready; it’s....nice.”

Y/n’s smile faltered and for a second, their new relationship felt all to real. Watching a significant other get ready, that was something so....invested. She couldn’t really pin point how, but somehow, it suddenly dawned on her that their relationship was getting very serious very quickly. Though the thought frightened her, it was gone almost as quickly as it came and all Y/n could do was smile and move on to getting into her shoes.

“Ready?” Keanu asked when he thought she was finished.

“Ready,” Y/n confirmed, taking his arm as they left her apartment.

The restaurant was marvelous; the elegant décor contained within stylish stone walls lined with decorative bottles of wine. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, emitting a light dim enough to perfectly compliment the romantic ambiance created by the soft violin music. Y/n and Keanu’s table was on the back patio, where a manmade pond ran under a wooden bridge, colorful fishes swimming the length.

The menu was prefixed, accompanied by complementary champagne and wine. They sat close together, their chairs pulled close so Keanu’s arm could drape around Y/n’s shoulders as they spoke softly. They were halfway through their dessert when Keanu shifted to get something out of his pocket, “I got you something,” he smiled.

“So you mastered the art of nice but not expensive?” She raised her eyebrows, anxious to see what he had gotten her.

“Sort of,” Keanu’s hand lingered in his breast pocket on the inside of his jacket, “I figured expensiveness is subjective.”

“Oh?” Y/n scrunched her face, amused, “I’m not following.”

Without another word, Keanu produced a rectangular velvet box held closed by a red silk ribbon, “Before you say anything, open it. Please?”

Against a dark cushion, sat one of the most beautiful necklaces that Y/n had ever seen. A simple, heart shaped diamond, probably just a little bigger than her thumb nail, hung from a thing white gold chain, glittering in the mood lighting. Y/n smiled despite herself, “Ke,” she breathed, “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He inquired; hopeful.

“Of course,” she sighed breathily, meeting his eyes, “But I can’t accept this. We agreed on nothing expensive and this must have cost a fortune.”

Reaching over to lift it out of the box, Keanu spoke as he undid the back clasp, “I told you, expensiveness is subjective. Besides, it could be worth a million dollars and it wouldn’t be enough to show you how I feel. You like it, and that’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” Y/n submitted, blushing as Keanu’s hands brushed the back of her neck, “It’s perfect,” she kissed him, her fingers going to the gorgeous diamond that now sat comfortably under the hollow of her throat.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, and for a minute, his lips quivered as if he wanted to say more, though, in the distance a scuffle broke out; two hulking security guards arguing with a couple men. Neither of them could hear what they were saying, but it didn’t matter because not long after, they hoisted up by the back of their collars and dragged away.

“What the hell was that?” Y/n sat up straighter, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on, but still not able to understand the cause of the commotion was all about.

Immediately, Keanu had his suspicions, though, he didn’t want to worry Y/n without being sure, so instead, he just brushed it off, “It’s probably nothing, why don’t we just finish up here?”

Already dismissing the issue, her sweet smile reemerging, “Okay, sure,” she pecked his cheeks, his scuffle tickling her lips, “Thank you again for the beautiful necklace.”

When the valet brought his car around, Keanu held the door open for Y/n, his hand on the small of her back as she got in. Just as Y/n was about to duck into the vehicle though, a sudden flash from across the street distracted , but by the time she was looking up again, it was gone, “Come on babe, it’s late.”

Giggling, Y/n rolled her eyes, especially when Keanu bent in to help her get strapped into her seat belt faster, “Someone’s in a hurry,” she teased lightly.

“Yeah, well its Valentine’s day; I want to be alone with my lady,” with one final kiss, Keanu shut the passenger door, jogging to his side of the car after tipping the valet. Without a second to spare after getting in, Keanu was pulling off, navigating traffic with a bit more haste that usual. “I was thinking,” he began when the restaurant was far out of sight, “We could go back to my place instead, if you want,” after all, it was closer, and with all the security that his neighbors had, it was less likely that some would try something there.

“Sure,” Y/n nodded. It was Friday, and she didn’t have to work the next day, so it would be a welcome change of pace.

“Great,” he smiled, though something in the gesture seemed less genuine, like he was faking it. Keanu put a hand on Y/n’s thigh, gently squeezing as his other remained on the wheel.

“Everything okay?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he offered her another tight smile, “You?”

“I’m good, Keanu,” Y/n chortled, “Tonight was nice, I’m glad we did this.”

Nodding absently, Keanu barely glanced Y/n’s way; instead, his gaze occasionally shifted from the road to the rearview mirror, “It was. We’re almost there, okay?” He assured, though, it really sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

“Okay, no rush,” Y/n put her hand over Keanu’s.

With the speed he was going at, the ride to Keanu’s house in Hollywood Hills was nearly cut in half and in what felt like no time, they were secured in his garage; the heavy steel door shutting out the outside. It was only then that Keanu seemed to relax again and Y/n had wanted to ask what had gotten him so flustered back at the restaurant, but something in the back of her mind kept saying that he wouldn’t tell her.

They entered his place through the side door and Keanu immediately hit a switch on the grey painted wall, illuminating the long hallway. Y/n had only been to Keanu’s place once before, just to spend the night, so she stood there awkwardly waiting on his cue before moving again. “Wine?” He suggested.

“I’d love some,” Y/n obliged, letting him take her hand and lead her towards the kitchen. Keanu’s house was far bigger than her apartment and Y/n thought that if she were to explore it on her own, she might get lost. While when Y/n had first met him, she had taken him for a minimalist, his home easily reflected that Keanu’s tastes favored bold structures while provocative art that stood out against the black and grey décor.

He left her in the living room, returning minutes later with an open bottle of red and two glasses. “Happy Valentine’s day,” he smiled softly.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” Y/n mirrored, clicking her class to his, humming after her first sip.

Comfortable silence hung between the two for a while, though, eventually, Keanu started fidgeting nervously, toying with the stem of his glass. Discarding her glass on the coffee table, Y/n scooted closer, placing her hand on his thigh, “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Keanu took a large sip from his wine, hesitating again before he spoke. Though, before he did, he took a deep shaking breath and as he shifted to meet her eyes, Y/n felt the air around them change, just like it had the first time they spent the night together. Except that time, her heart started beating erratically and something told her that what they had was about to change, though, she couldn’t decide if it was for the better. Clearing his throat, Keanu set his glass down next to hers, taking her hands, “Y/n,” he began, his breathing a bit heavy, “Back at the restaurant, I...uh..there’s was something I wanted to tell you.”

“Okay,” she nodded, and already, she knew where he was going with that, and she really couldn’t let him. What would she say if he said what he was about to? Y/n didn’t know, but she knew that she couldn’t trust herself to say it back, even if she returned his feelings, it would be reckless to lay their hearts down that soon; they’d just be setting themselves up for heartache. Her nerves bubbled and Y/n started working out ways to stall, searching for a way to change where things were going. Then it came to her and just like that, before he could say the words, Y/n pounced, crashing her lips to his, definitely catching him off guard. In an instant, she was in his lap, straddling Keanu; one hand pressed to his chest, the other tangled in his hair, “Why don’t we talk tomorrow?” She offered between hot, heavy kisses.

“I really wanted to-”

“Shh,” she said, her lips travelling downwards, her fingers moving to undo his pants as she ground on his lap. She had certainly taken him by surprise, but it didn’t take long before Keanu was responding to her body on his; his arousal pressing into her thigh.

“Are you sure?” He swallowed tightly as Y/n slid off of him, her knees hitting the floor with a soft thud as she urged his pants and underwear to his knees.

“Of course,” she grinned mischievously, “I want to thank you for my beautiful gift,” Y/n winked.

Keanu was about to say something, though he wasn’t sure what, because, before he knew it, Y/n’s lips were around him and the only thing that left his lips after that, wasn’t really the profession he had in mind.

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @baphometwofl666 @kindainlovewithkeanu @a-really-bi-girl @soarocks

#Keanu reeves #Keanu reeves x you #Keanu reeves x reader #Keanu reeves fanfiction #Keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick #fanfic #john wick x you #john wick x reader #the one that stays #they one that stays chapter 7

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1052

surveys by lets-make-surveys

1 - Who was the last person to knock on your door? Were they there to see you? Nina usually knocks briefly in the evening to let me know it’s time for dinner. Other than my ex in the past, I don’t let anyone stay in my room for long. Knocking and peeking into my room is enough.

2 - Have you left the house yet today? If not, do you have plans to leave the house later on? No, as it’s only 10 in the morning and I don’t really have a reason to be out somewhere this early. I might go out to buy presents for more relatives, but that’s only if I feel productive enough today. We’ll see.

3 - What’s your favourite brand of chocolate? What type of chocolate bar from that brand is your favourite? The older I get the more I feel like gagging from the idea of chocolate bars lol; they’re all just so sweet. These days my top three would be Hershey’s cookies and cream bar, Whittaker’s chocolate peanut butter bar, and Twix bars. I also love Reese’s, but they aren’t bars.

4 - Have you ever met someone in person who you first met on the internet? Do you have plans to do that anytime soon? Yes, I’ve done this before and I’ve recounted the stories on here multiple times. As for the second question, yeah I technically do? I’ve only met my workmates online so far, so I’m constantly looking forward to the opportunity to finally meet them all in real life.

5 - What was the last thing you used a blender for? I’ve never used a blender. We don’t even own a blender.

6 - Have you ever got into an argument with a stranger on social media? Do you remember what it was about? Yeah, but I don’t even remember what it was about anymore...I do know it was this year, and the person deleted the comment that I replied to not long after.

7 - When was the last time you cracked your joints? Is that something you do often? Now that you reminded me, I just did. I do it at least once a day, whenever my fingers start to feel tight and tense.

8 - What time is it right now? If you weren’t doing a survey, what else would you be doing right now? It is 1:52 PM. I’d be heading to the mall to buy more presents, but I don’t feel like getting out of bed yet. I’d also do embroidery, but my online orders are taking a while to arrive :( My online shopping app says I'll be getting them by Jan 3rd, but the shipping tracker says it’s already being shipped from China to here so I’m looking forward to receiving it this week. I hope that’s the case; otherwise it’ll miss the point of being my hobby this Christmas break.

9 - If you had ten minutes to run around an empty supermarket and fill your trolley for free, what’s the first aisle you’d go for? The fancy meat/fish section. Then I’d go to the condiments/spice section, then frozen food, then chips.

10 - Aside from Tumblr, what websites do you visit the most and why? YouTube, because I find videos a soothing distraction; Twitter to keep me updated on local and international news; Reddit for quirky posts; and Wikipedia so I can continue learning trivia I’ll never have to use but want to gain anyway.

11 - Has COVID had any impact on your Christmas plans this year? What’s going to change or be different to normal? My dad is home for Christmas this year, which is one silver lining from Covid. But my relatives living abroad who usually fly back to the Philippines for the holidays obviously won’t be able to this year, so we’re not gonna have a packed family reunion like we normally do. Everything else is the same, but I think the biggest thing about this whole thing is that I can barely feel Christmas coming this year. I think it’s going to feel like such a plain Friday this week; and that makes me a little sad.

12 - What’s your favourite flavour of cake? Are you any good at making that kind of cake? My favorite flavor is chocolate, but my favorite kind of cake (which I enjoy a lot more than general chocolate cake) is cheesecake. I cannot make either, nor can I bake at all.

13 - Do you prefer sweet or sour candy? Sweet. I hate any sour foods with a passion lol especially sour candy; it is my absolute least favorite taste. I don’t find anything enjoyable or fulfilling about it.

14 - What colour is your favourite fruit? Is this a fruit you eat often? Already made my feelings for fruit clear on this blog, haha.

15 - Is your favourite restaurant an independent place or a chain? What is it that you love about it so much? It’s a chain, like most popular restaurants here. Independent places are a little hard to come by, to be honest. They make the best katsu I’ve ever had; and I also like that despite being a chain restaurant, the ambience is still quite sophisticated and date-friendly so I always feel like I’m treating myself whenever I eat there.

16 - Are you genuinely a fan of Starbucks or do you think it’s all hype? I personally enjoy everything about Starbucks. I like their coffees, their Frappes, the ambience in their coffee shops, their playlists, and their line-up of mugs and tumblers. I’ve always felt right at home in their shops and out of all the cafés I’ve been to, it’s always their baristas that have been the nicest.

17 - Do you own a Christmas jumper? What design/pattern does it have on it? No, I don’t.

18 - What’s your favourite fit/style of jeans? I was obsessed with mom jeans throughout 2020.

19 - What was the last non-essential item you spent money on? Overpriced coffee and a sandwich.

20 - Are you currently under any COVID-related restrictions where you live? Are people generally following the rules? Public places are super strict with requiring everyone to wear a face shield and face mask; before entering any establishment, people’s temperatures are taken and everyone’s also required to take a contact tracing form. Anyone under the age of 21 still isn’t allowed to go out for the most part, though I think there are some exceptions now because I see kids younger than me already going on out-of-town trips again. Some places that are big on tourism like Sagada, Batanes, and Baguio are still closed off from the public; those that have since reopened, like Boracay, follow strict protocol and everyone going there is required to undergo a swab test. Everyday Filipinos follow the rules; it’s the politicians and police force who don’t, which feels disgusting to say.

21 - What did you last leave the room you’re in to do? A package arrived for me so I had to pay for it. It was the phone case I ordered for my cousin.

22 - Have you ever read any self-help books? Did you find them useful? No. I don’t really believe in that genre, so I never felt pulled to buy a book.

23 - What’s your favourite programme on the Food Network (if you watch it)? If you don’t get that channel, what’s your favourite food/cookery show in general? All things Gordon Ramsay, man. MasterChef, Hell’s Kitchen, and Kitchen Nightmares are all *chef’s kiss* The Great British Bake Off is also great and something I like watching when I want to wind down :)

24 - Do you still watch cartoons? From time to time.

25 - Who do you know with the most number of siblings? Would you ever want to live in a huge family? My grandpa was one of nine siblings, if I’m not mistaken. I’m not sure if I know a bigger set than that. Unless my family was filthy rich, I would not want to have such a big immediate family.

26 - Are you a fan of garlic bread? Sure. I tend to ask for others’ too, heh.

27 - Do you own any personalised clothing? What’s the reason for getting it? No, not a fan. Two years ago we had a huge family reunion on my dad’s side and we had to wear these cheesy shirts that said “[Last Name] Reunion” with some cheesy motto at the bottom. My parents hated it, which made me feel better about my own feelings about the shirt lol.

28 - Is anyone else in the same room as you right now? What is that person up to? No, it’s just me here.

29 - What colours are you wearing right now? Does your wardrobe contain a lot of those colours? White, maroon, and scarlet. I have a lot of white and maroon; not so much of scarlet as I find the color too bold.

30 - Do you like adding condiments to your food? If so, what are some of your favourites? Yes. My food always needs to have soup, condiments, or sauces; otherwise I tend to feel the dish is too dry. I like mayonnaise, banana ketchup, hot sauce, and lechon sauce.

1 - What have you been up to so far today? Is that a typical thing for you to do on this particular day of the week? I’ve taken a couple of surveys and started binge-watching segments of my newest Korean reality show discovery, 2 Days 1 Night. The breakout actor from Start-Up and the newest love of my life HAHAHA is a cast member on the current season of 2D1N so I’ve been all over the show today. It’s hilarious; I can hardly believe I’m only discovering the show this late.

2 - Did you get a decent night’s sleep last night? How many hour’s sleep do you consider a decent amount? It was around five hours, which isn’t a lot to me. I usually sleep 7-9 hours these days, but I might wreck my body clock during the holiday break because I want to keep being awake and do the things I haven’t been able to do because of work.

3 - What is one silly thing that really gets on your nerves? Seeing pickles in a burger.

4 - Who was the last person you saw who wasn’t family? What did you guys end up doing together? The friendly Starbucks barista from yesterday; her name was Princess. We didn’t do anything lol, she just took my order and was super friendly about it, and she also gave me the Starbucks planner that I chose to redeem.

5 - Do you prefer hot or cold drinks overall? Cold. I avoid hot drinks now haha. Ever since I had that incident with the takoyaki, I’ve been too scared to let any hot food or drink touch my mouth.

6 - Do you own a decent set of waterproofs? If so, what do you use them for the most? If not, do you think that would be something you’d find useful? I don’t know what this is referring to, and I’m too lazy to Google right now. I’ve only ever known this word as an adjective, whoops.

7 - Do you have any plans for the rest of the day? Take more surveys, and maybe have another cup of coffee. I’ll also have to get started on a daily report I submit for work every weekday morning so that my load will be lighter tomorrow. Our office is technically on shutdown until January 4th, but some clients require a daily report every day and I’ll have to shoulder that with another co-associate. It sucks, but at least it’s the only thing I’ll have to do for the next two weeks.

8 - How often do you get your hair cut? When hairdressers were closed due to COVID, did you try cutting it yourself at home? I only go to the salon once a year, and I already did it this 2020 when I chopped off my hair and got bangs. Yeah, whenever my bangs start to get too long I either ask my mom to trim them or I do so myself.

9 - What did you wear the last time you left the house? Is that different to what you’re wearing at the moment? I walked Cooper half an hour ago and I just stayed in the same clothes I’ve been in all day, which was a tank top underneath an oversized hoodie and a pair of shorts.

10 - Would you rather have a relaxing beach holiday or a more active holiday in the mountains? The beach would be perfect right now, but I think my answer changes every time this is asked and I’m pretty sure I picked mountains the last time HAHAHA. I just realized being in the mountains would give me the same cooped-up feeling I’ve been having from staying at home for such a long time, and it might not be the best and healthiest trip for me...the beach definitely sounds more freeing and therapeutic.

11 - Do you know how to tie a tie? Nah, never learned. I’ve never been good at tying anything up, period.

12 - How old were you when you first had a sleepover at someone’s house? Did you miss home? I was 15 or 16; I’m not entirely sure anymore. Not at all, I was so excited to have been allowed to go to my first sleepover.

13 - How often do you spend time with your extended family? Under normal circumstances, we’d visit my grandma and cousins on my mom’s side once every few months or so. It was pretty regular since they’re just a stone’s throw away. But obviously we’ve since had to drastically cut our get-togethers back, and I’ve only seen them around three times since the beginning of the year. My dad’s family lives pretty far south, so I only get to see them once or twice a year even in pre-Covid days; not much of a difference there.

14 - When you get up in the morning, do you have a set routine? No. I just wake up feeling dread and have no choice but to wait for the weight in my chest to subside.

15 - Do you remember the last time you cried? Were they sad or happy tears? Yesterday in my car, in the mall parking lot. Sad tears.

16 - What do you have planned once you finish this survey? Look for another one. I misseddddd taking surveys and I plan on taking a crap ton of them this Christmas break. I may also be called for dinner, so there’s that.

17 - What was the last thing you cooked? Did you cook from scratch or just heat something up? I dunno if it counts as cooking, but I just made the DIY ramen kit that I received as a Christmas gift from the branch I was originally an intern at. Everything was already prepared in the kit and all I needed to do was boil water for the noodles and prepare the broth. Turned out surprisingly good.

18 - Are you a fan of hot chocolate? Do you like it plain or do you prefer to add things like whipped cream or marshmallows? I love hot chocolate and will order it sometimes, but given my aforementioned fear of hot beverages I always wait for it to considerably cool down hahaha. I like my hot chocolate plain.

19 - What caused your last injury? Cooper’s nails.

20 - How many tattoos and piercings do you have? Do any of them have an interesting story behind them? Just a piercing on each of my earlobes. No interesting stories...yet.

21 - What kind of flowers do you like the best? When was the last time someone bought those for you? I like peonies, though I’m not sure if my ex ever gave me a bouquet that included those.

22 - What’s the smallest thing you’ve ended a relationship over? I’ve only been with one person and I dated her twice, but I was never the one who ended the relationship either time so can’t really answer this.

23 - Would you rather order a starter (appetiser) or a dessert? Or would you be able to manage a full three courses? Three-course meal, pls. I’ve only experienced it once, when my parents treated me to dinner during my cruise gift for my 18th birthday; it was great and every dish was made amazingly well.

24 - How do you get most of your news, if you pay attention to it at all? I catch the evening news every weeknight because we keep the telvision turned on during dinner. I also get to read articles on social media.

25 - Have you or a member of your family been diagnosed with COVID yet? None that I know of, thankfully. It’s always been someone that a relative knows, but so far none of us have gotten it.

26 - Are you a vegetarian? If so, what persuaded you to stop eating meat? If not, is it something you’d ever consider? No. I have been considering it for years, but I truthfully don’t know if I could give up meat.

27 - Do you prefer rice or pasta? Rice.

28 - Is anything you’re wearing a gift? Who bought it for you? No.

29 - What’s the dominant colour in the room you’re in at the moment? I guess white, since my walls are white and that’s the first thing you see when entering my room.

30 - Did you do laundry yet today? If not, do you need to do any before you go to bed? Not my chore to do, but it was already done a few days ago.

#survey #surveys #multiple surveysss

2 notes · View notes

maikatc · 5 years ago

Text

Black Sun Tale | Ten Dollars

alright, here we go y’all

remember that this is a first draft and i’ve only barely edited it, but comments and reception is heavily appreciated!

(also @rhyseoshaughnessy because they said to) --- There is always a time in someone’s life that’s the lowest, it’s a given. Those who break down from their faults and failures, ones who are toyed with to the point of numbness, the occurrences are common to an individual’s extent.

However, ultimately the question is how to break away from the cycles, and it takes lifetimes for some to realize.

It all boils down to the differences in people and what they want to achieve in the end. Though for some that desire is left unknown, or they were left with no certain answers, including Oliver Holguin.

The day lengthened in time for Oliver by the early morning as per usual. His tired eyes slowly waking as he played through repeated melodies. Practicing throughout the nights, the song ringing out from the ukulele was beautiful to the ears. And as he continued onwards, his sight began to lighten up the bedroom.

“As lovely as you are, I will have to go,” He sang with whispers tickling his throat. His bed-hair blocked him from catching somebody in the corner of his eyes, though the light greeted him with a shelf of books and a tablet on a nightstand instead of the man.

The complicated tabs and chords flew by with his fingers. The ease of the song left him concluding his mastery. “I’m sorry to let you down.” He rung the last lyrics and strings leaving the room in echoing silence. Taking a moment of pause, he placed the ukulele back to the side. He stood up from his bed. His sore legs fumbled together to go and grab a charger. His tablet turned on to a low percentage once he connected the two together.

I need to stop using this at night, he thought while he searched for a tablature site. He pulled back his auburn bangs to read better, scrolling through lists of songs to learn. “… I need to find a new site too.” His voice croaked with soreness.

He sighed, letting the device charge. He stretched his joints in a yawn and walked out of his room. His left arm pounded asking for a scratch and reminded him to check the bathroom. The early morning traffic blasted noise through the apartment when he scavenged the cabinet filled with multiple vitamins and medicine.

His tiny arms tried to recognize the feeling of what he wanted, and he debated on just getting a stool considering his height. However, he finally reached what he was looking for and opened the cap.

Crap. The ointment cream container held almost nothing. “I have to get more before she finds out,” he muttered. His eyes stuck on the little bottle for seconds until putting it back in its place, ignoring his irritating arm, as well as his always ignored stomach.

***

Oliver sat on his living room couch, doodling on schoolwork and watching television. The velvet cushions pinched him by his skin in discomfort, though he’d been adjusted for years. Cartoons played on an overpriced T.V. as background noise with the occasional screech harming the boy’s ears. He worked with barely a care, only thinking once a question tugged his head hard. Eventually, to no avail he had to turn the entertainment off. What the hell is up with kid shows nowadays, he scowled.

Checking the clock, the arrows pointed to be ten in the morning. Oliver yawned. Twenty minutes of sleep couldn’t cope with boredom. However, from the amount of ‘good sleep’ he had gain from the past days, some rest could be assuring.

He laid down, resting his body to the cushions he sat on. His mind rang until it blurred, nothing will happen, right?

His heavy eyes shut in only half a second.

***

The sound of soft sizzles woke Oliver up. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up to see his mother standing in the kitchen across the room.

“Seems like you were tired?”

Smile, smile. “Yeah, I slept a little late last night by accident.” He scratched his head while forcing a chuckle.

She cut up vegetables from the counter, assuring him, “You know that’s alright. It wasn’t even a school night.”

The crunch of the plants getting cut up could be heard all the way from where Oliver’s mother stood. Oliver himself checked the time again to find the clock pointed only a half hour after five. Dear god that was a long time. “How come you came home early,” he irked.

“My last patient’s parents called in and said that she wouldn’t come today so my boss said I could take the rest of the day off. Hope she’s alright, though.” She placed her knife down to go and walked over to him.

“You’re talking about Lavinia, right?”

She sat with him. “Yeah, the one with her phone.”

Oliver eyed her, “Didn’t you say that she’s been starting to act weird?”

“Mhm…,” she drifted, “But you don’t have to worry about that,” she messed Oliver’s hair with her hands.

“Stop!” Oliver moved her hand away sluggishly, giving a warm smile to her satisfaction. Though her own chortles told him that he did all right.

She stood up again, shifting back to what she did prior. “So now that I’m back early, do you want to go somewhere?”

Oliver shrugged, “We can go out somewhere if you want, where do you wanna go?”

“Oliver, it’s your choice, not mine. Don’t you want to hang out with a friend from school?” She opened the refrigerator, taking out prepped meat. “Your teachers say you get along with them but you never mention anybody to me.”

“It’s fine, Mom. They’re just kind of…” He avoided her eyes, “people that I wouldn’t hang out with privately.” He tried to laugh it off though his mother’s eyes sent concern instead.

“Is this about Rowan and Ann? Because you know that that kind of stuff isn’t common-”

“Mom, that was three years ago, I barely remember it.” That’s a lie. “They aren’t the reason. Heck, I didn’t even get along with my class when I skipped a grade.”

“Well,” she placed the meat in a heated pan, “you’re almost eleven and you’re still cooped up in the house all the time.” The meat sizzled in the oil. The scent flowed through the air as they spoke.

“No, I’m not,” Oliver scoffs, “I go out to walk… sometimes at least.”

His mother clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “I have to check up on you more often.” Oliver’s eyes widened. “I’ll bring you somewhere later today after I get some paperwork done.”

The boy’s eyes lowered without facing her. “Thanks, but you really don’t have to bring down work. Uh, your patients really like you, don’t they?”

“But I should be taking care of my only kid, shouldn’t I-”

“They’ll miss you,” he interjected, squeezing his vocal tone to be reliable. “Besides, you can get more money to pay the mortgage here faster doing so.”

“Stop making smart words with me.” A click in the stove caught Oliver’s ears. “Anyways, food’s ready.”

After setting plates and utensils, they ate together in a plain table of shiny marble. The meat turned out to be pork chops, and the taste would have been mouthwatering.

“Ah, this came out perfectly. Hope you like it.” She beamed, taking another bite in the process.

Oliver cut off another piece, biting his lip. “Yeah, it’s great like always, Mom.”

“You really need to invite a friend over sometime,” she exclaimed. “It’s not fun only cooking for you and me.”

He looked down at the food, sighing, “No clue when that’ll happen.”

They went to venture through stores after lunch, only for Oliver asking to leave an hour in.

***

Oliver skimmed through video posts online, scrolling past multiple in his disinterest. Crying sweats sank through his skin, though he ignored the occasional occurrence. Chirps of his mother babbling at her friends’ calls echoed through the apartment like every other night while Oliver listened in the back of his head.

“No! Jamie, you’re getting the wrong idea,” she snorted. “He’ll bring someone home at some point… hopefully.” The sight of her crooked smile could be imagined by Oliver in a mere second.

The redhead placed his tablet to the side of his undone bed. A deep breath was enough to function himself, same went for staring at the dull ceiling.

His mind dimmed from his usual racing thoughts, taking time to go at a complete blank. His hearing and sight blurred spacing out. His eyes continued to close and open, the emptiness making it difficult to keep his eyes open wide. To stay awake, he raised his hand towards the ceiling, using any muscle he had to keep it up. The warm air of the heater blew against his arm and long-sleeve. With every joint and wrinkle on his fingers, all he could observe with thought was his skin, which had paled from his constant brown.

“Damn.” Oliver clenched his hand. The arm fell down as he hopped out of his bed to the rugged floor with his bare feet. The room was already heated for Oliver, though his decision was an exception to the discomfort. Picked up from an unused chair, the boy dressed himself in a crimson cardigan dangling down to his knees. As he fitted the oversized attire, he nabbed his tablet back to his hands and sat on the floor. “This’ll probably be better,” he slurred.

Reloading the site, a certain video caught Oliver’s eyes:

Alexa Katzmann Found Dead Indoors from Area Death. The thumbnail of news made Oliver’s eyes widen, his cold sweats rising as he clicked with doubt.

The reporter stated the repeated script about area deaths. Of course, nobody could find the real reason of the death like always. While the woman explained the exact story, the camera panned at the body. Alexa was about five as the news said, daughter of a celebrity, though they censored enough appropriately.

However, what played over Oliver’s screen made his heart beat faster, louder.

Alexa’s stomach had been ripped out, blood scattering all over against her clothes and pale skin. Everyone in the room stepped on the organs without realizing they were there. Nobody could see the same scene Oliver viewed.

He muttered to himself as the video continued to play, “No, no, no…” His breathing grew as his throat continued to burn from the air and panic.

“This is the first report where an area death has occurred indoors.” Stop saying anything. He stopped the video and tossed over his tablet as his mind raced for answers.

His scratched his arm over and over, his heart pounding over his ears to the point of needing to scream. “When?” He barely breathed out. “When did-? “

Oliver looked around his room. Now. He jumped at his ukulele case in a split second, unzipping it in barely any time. Fuck the ointment. He reached for an inner pocket, unzipping it until he heard a voice.

“You really do get scared quick, huh?” The voice stung obnoxiously, making Oliver pause and enter back to reality.

Oliver twisted his head, still shaking from the previous seconds. His mind already clicked together who it was, however. A taller figure stood right behind him, leaning against the wall with hands behind his back. The man’s messily styled hair and dirty trench coat brought more memory to who he was. The boy took a gulp before completely coming back to his senses.

“… Why are you here now, Vittorino?”

Vittorino shrugged, popping out of the wall and walking towards him. “I was bored. ‘Wanted to see what you were doing.” His dark eyes darted Oliver’s position. “I see you’re about to have fun,” he scoffed

“Shut up.” Oliver slammed his ukulele case shut. He crawled back over to his bed, turning back on his tablet and biting his lip. Of course, he’s here because of that.

Oliver continued to scroll around on his tablet, his heart still pounding loudly in his head. The screen grabbed Oliver’s attention completely.

“… You know,” Vittorino spoke after Oliver’s ignorance, “You really don’t ever go out.”

His smile could already be seen without looking. “And you mention this because?” Oliver sighed out, his head refusing to turn to Vittorino. He typed up a video to re-watch in attempt to distract himself later on.

“Because are you really going to be cooped up like some nobody?” His tone was readably different from previous conversations, from what Oliver noted. Expectations for what to come next jotted to more limited possibilities.

“It’s better like that.” No turn made again.

A grumble could be heard before a sudden, “Come on!” Vittorino appeared right to Oliver, the boy’s body flinched and turned in the process. “Enjoy life a little!”

Oliver’s shoulders lowered. “You’re being pretty persistent than normal.”

“Come on, Oliver.” Vittorino dug his hands to his pockets, a sly grin creeping through like always. “Let’s go. Just a walk with me is alright, right?”

Oliver’s eyes squinted, his mind boggling at the possibilities that could happen with the decision, considering the teen-nuisance that is Vittorino. “… Fine.” But just why would he want me to go, was the only question in his mind that moment.

After drudging out of bed and to the living room, Oliver told his mother that he was going off to a walk. Vittorino followed behind him but she made no comment, gladly telling Oliver goodbye without noticing the teen’s existence.

Obodo City was always a bustling mess.

The tourists running around, the teenagers crying over late trends and messages, the children hyper and shouting at the tall buildings and stores, even loud, annoying traffic that’s at a constant. Oliver paced through the sidewalks, crimson hood over his head as gusts of October winds blew before him. Buildings stood tall and jagged against each other that formed unimaginable shapes in the air. Balconies stood in neighboring apartments filled with laundry or autumn plants, some even blasting music while the owners took a cig. The sounds screamed at the boy’s ears while the scent of street food caught his nose easily. As Oliver’s instincts pressured him to take a bite of something, he refused, his teeth clawing at his lip.

“So,” Vittorino ignited the conversation, “How’s your day gone so far?” He took no look at Oliver and instead viewed the sites ahead, to Oliver’s bewilderment. The only thing up ahead were greyed alleys and crosswalks, similar to everything else in the city aside from the intense smoke in the area.

“… Have you been hungry lately?” The man snickered, snatching Oliver’s attention despite the rude comment.

“I just ate.” He stated, looking ahead himself, “The question wasn’t needed.”

“Just wondering,” Vittorino bent down to Oliver’s height, still walking, gleaming by Oliver’s sour expression.

Oliver’s sight of Vittorino disappeared as his figure jumped up in front of the boy in a blink. “You have to admit,” Vittorino said, wrapping a stop sign around his arm. “This city really is awesome to look around in, right?”

“I’ve been here for the past ten years of my life, Vittorino. Best that can happen is controversy protests and holiday decorations.”

“Really? What kind of stuff do you guys decorate?” Vittorino’s brows risen up, curiosity almost purring from him.

Oliver walked passed him as the crosswalk glowed green. A small crowd surrounded him as he shrugged. “Lights for the most part, nothing special.”

Vittorino appeared right next to him. “Sounds nice.”

Silence covered both of them. Oliver pondered over Vittorino’s past actions as Vittorino turned all over to view the sights of the city. Oliver followed him though the teen stared aimlessly at such miniscule of things. A tiny convenience store barely seen by a tall building and a worn-down restaurant included. Someone older than him being intrigued by such things made Oliver question his identity more than before.

Entering a cleaner street, Oliver queried, “Vittorino?”

“Hm?”

“What do you have to do with Faustus?”

The man with the trench coat stopped at his steps. Oliver took a gulp down his throat.

“Who’s Faustus,” he pondered.

“You know who I’m talking about,” Oliver spatters, “Emo kid, probably sixteen or something by now. Pale skin, white hair, blue eyes but he never shows one of them?”

“Oh! I know who you’re talking about now.” He sneered, “That isn’t actually his name, you know.”

“I figured,” Oliver murmured. “But aside from that, you have something to do with him, don’t you?”

“And what makes you think that?”

Oliver threw his hands forward. “Nobody except for me can see both of you! That’d be obvious enough.” He crossed his arms. “But you both are weirdos out of anybody that I’ve ever met.”

“That’s rather judgmental, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out who Zach is and where the hell he went since I was seven. I barely had any kind of way to figure out until you started popping up in my life.” Oliver’s unfastened hood flew out from the wind as he turned his sight to Vittorino’s eyes. He pleaded with brows furrowed, “Just tell me how you guys are related and why you both are really here in the first place.”

Vittorino’s mocking expression deepened. “Well, I guess I can admit one thing.”

“And that is…?”

“You can say that I’m hanging out with you for two favors,” He raised two fingers down to Oliver, lowering one quickly after, “but one of them is for ‘Faustus’.”

“What was the favor for?” Oliver’s head drifted to the side.

“One of them was more of an assignment out of anything, actually, but the other was so I could get some favors back.” Vittorino leaned by on a sign pole. “The one that wasn’t from the guy was basically just to check up on you from time to time. The assignment I can’t really tell. It’s about to be done though.”

“I swear to god, if you’re gonna screw me over somehow-”

“Don’t worry,” Vittorino rolled his eyes, “It’ll be beneficial for you.”

Oliver shook his head. “I don’t trust that at all.”

Vittorino chuckled and shrugged. “Fine then.” He stepped towards Oliver, slamming something to Oliver’s chest.

Oliver coughed at the impact, but caught the item he handed. He opened his hands to find a ten-dollar bill. Turning to see Vittorino, he already found the mystery to be walking away from him. He dashed to catch up with him. “Where’d you get this?”

“I asked a guy and he just gave it to me.”

“But nobody can see you…?”

Vittorino lifted a finger. “I can be seen if I want, I just usually hide myself for the sake of it.” He dumped his hands into his pockets. “You needed ointment, right?”

Oliver tensed. “Yes…” he nodded, guilt building up inside of him again.

“Go buy some then. Get extra stuff if you want,” Vittorino told. “Have fun, kid.”

He was gone before Oliver could say anything. The red-head was left alone in the street. He looked back to his hand, covered over by a single bill. Pulling up his sleeves, he stared blankly and sighed, a small puff of cold air seeping out of his breath.

“Might as well.”

Next >>>

#my writing #writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #black sun tale #chapter 1 #gore warning #blood warning #implication of self harm #all are kinda minor but just pointing it out #bst oliver #bst vittorino #here we go yall

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hermannsthumb · 6 years ago

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concept/prompt idea if you feel so inclined: newt had a cute but incredibly shitty local public access show as a little kid where he screeches about frogs and lizards and whatnot like a tiny coyote peterson, hermann finds out somehow and never lets him live it down ever but is also endeared because oh my GOD

hehehehe....

“You’ll be fine,” Newton says, as he struggles, in vain, to do up Hermann’s bowtie. “Really. It’s a piece of cake. I’ve done it a million times.” He drops his hands in frustration. “Jesus, how does this thing work?”

Hermann tsks, and then begins to fret a bit, one-handed, over the bow tie himself. Fretting is second nature to Hermann. Today has him fretting even more than usual: there were early alarms to be set, dry-cleaning to be picked up (Newton’s singular good suit had a large splotch of cocktail sauce on the lapel from years ago, Hermann’s good trousers had chalk on the seat and cocktail sauce from where Newton, incensed at Hermann for mocking him over his spilled cocktail sauce, smeared it in retaliation), cabs to be hailed, and, in nine minutes and twenty-five seconds, a television interview to be had. “Oh, we should’ve gone with the clip-on.”

“Clip-on’s not professional enough,” Newton says. “Everyone would be able to tell.”

The irony of Newton pointing something out as unprofessional is not lost on Hermann. Nor is the full meaning of Newton’s earlier statement; realization hits Hermann belatedly, but it still hits him. “What do you mean you’ve done it ‘a million times’?”

“Oh,” Newton says, airily. “You know.”

“I don’t,” Hermann says.

“TV,” Newton says. He finally manages to correctly knot Hermann’s bow tie, and cuts off Hermann’s attempts to question just what, exactly, he’s referring to by TV, by crowing in triumph. “Ha! There.” He curls up onto the toes of his boots--no amount of sweet-talking from Hermann could coerce him into wearing dress shoes, or even scraping off a little bit of mud from the soles--and plants a kiss on Hermann’s cheek. “Looking good, hottie.”

Hermann begins to flush. “Newton,” he half-chastises, because they’re in plain view of the backstage crew.

Newton plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, this time, and smooths his palms down the front of Hermann’s dress jacket. “Looking really good.” He noses at Hermann’s neck, and lowers his voice, “I can’t wait to until we get back to the hotel, and I can—”

“Newton,” Hermann hisses, and Newton merely grins.

The interview goes smoothly. For Newton, anyway; Hermann’s sure he sat stiff-as-a-board for all of it, his eyes wandering everywhere, twisting the head of his cane over and over in his fingers, startling and stuttering for ten seconds whenever a question was posed to him before launching into a meandering and confusing response. But Newton really did seem at home: he smiled, he joked, he bantered, he touched Hermann’s knee, flung an arm around him at one point, had an answer prepared for every single question and then some.

Hermann would chalk it all up to Newton’s rock-star flamboyance bravado if Newton hadn’t led him to suspect otherwise. As it is, it’s clear that he has done this sort of thing before.

Hermann waits until they make it back to their hotel room, and Newton is cracking open the overpriced minibar--for celebratory off-brand sodas, he said--before he accosts Newton.

“So,” he says, at Newton’s hunched-over back. “Will you tell me what you meant now?”

Newton rises to his feet too quickly and knocks his head on the top of the fridge. “Fuck,” he says, and Hermann winces in sympathy. “Ow. Tell you what I meant about what?” He presses one of the soda cans to the spot he’d just hit.

“Being on television before,” Hermann says.

A very strange look flits across Newton’s face. “Uh,” he says. “You know. Those interviews I did years ago, back in 2013 or something.”

Hermann does remember, now that Newton mentions it. It’d been around the time they’d started corresponding. Newton had gone on television to voice his support for the kaiju being extraterrestrial in origin, and everyone’d taken one look at him--twenty-three, short, pink streaks in his hair, piercings, Buddy Holly glasses with a crack running across the bottom of one lens--and ruthlessly mocked him for weeks to come. Then invited him back to more talk shows to mock him some more. “Ah,” Hermann says. “I do remember.”

It doesn’t feel entirely the truth--Newton still looks oddly shifty, like he’s concealing something from Hermann--but Hermann feels guilty for making Newton relive a bad memory anyway, so he drops it.

“Soda?” Newton says. He offers the one not pressed to his forehead, but the act seems to remind him of why he pressed the other to his forehead in the first place. “Fucking hope this doesn’t bruise,” he says, darkly. Then he bats his eyelashes. “Will you kiss it for me?”

Hermann beckons Newton over.

Two years later, the conversation has slipped from Hermann’s mind entirely. He and Newton have better things to do, after all, besides give television interviews about their work during the war and make appearances at galas which require them to buy new ties and dryclean out cocktail sauce. They’re teaching again, and working on compiling their wartime research in their free time (three books--individual and joint), and, most importantly, enjoying each other. (Newton is skilled in a lot of areas in which Hermann is not, and he’s more than happy to share those skills with Hermann.)

Then one day, Hermann walks in to his eleven-AM lecture to find half of his students huddled around a single cell phone. They snap up, guiltily, to his attention, but only after Hermann has to resort to knocking his cane against the wood of his podium and clearing his throat repeatedly.

“...Yes?” Hermann says.

None of them speak. Then, after a few shared glances, the boy who’s phone it is says “We found your husband’s old TV show.”

Hermann furrows his brow. “You must be mistaken,” he says. “Newton’s never—”

The boy holds up his phone.

“When were you going to tell me?” Hermann says, the instant he walks through their apartment door that afternoon. Newton had off today, which means he spent the day running errands and finishing up household chores (taking out the trash, loading the dishwasher). He’s also started dinner, as the pot boiling over on the stove and Newton’s bright pink apron suggest.

“Hi, babe,” Newton says. He turns down the burner and smiles over his shoulder. “Tell you what?”

“Into the Wild with Newt,” Hermann says, ominously, and Newton blanches.

The video had not, truthfully, been very embarrassing. More endearing than anything, though with terrifically poor camera quality. (Nothing like the clips of Newton at twenty-three they’d featured on Buzzfeed for days after word got out that that was the Dr. Newton Geiszler who almost fried his brain to help save the world.) Newton had been no older than ten, with coke-bottle glasses and a missing front tooth, and it’d featured him on a cheap soundstage with equally cheap (and clearly hand-painted) cardboard safari sets, along with a few oversized ferns, as he squeaked excitedly about a type of iguana. The whole thing had been no longer than twenty minutes.

What more: there were more of them. Nearly thirty more. All featuring a tiny, freckled Newton going on and on about different amphibians and reptiles and insects, often with the amphibian or reptile or insect in question resting in the palm of his hand or (in the case of a lazy-looking snake) curled around his shoulders.

Hermann is charmed. Newton is not.

“I was eight,” he moans, hiding his face in his hands as Hermann clicks play on yet another. “It was a public access thing. My uncle made the sets.”

On Hermann’s laptop screen, Newton laughs as a fat tree frog eats a dead cricket from his fingers.

“You were adorable, darling,” Hermann teases. “Look at your safari hat.”

Newton swipes for the laptop, but Hermann holds it out of his reach; meanwhile, eight-year-old Newton kisses the frog’s head with a big grin. “How’d you even find this, anyway?” Newton huffs, even redder than before. “I deleted them off everywhere.”

“My students showed me,” Hermann says. He pauses the video to scroll to the YouTube channel name; it looks as if it might be the network Newton’s television show aired on decades ago. The uploads themselves are only a few months old. “I reckon they found the old recordings and uploaded them.” He adds, heavily sarcastic, “Since you’re such a rockstar now.”

Newton hides his face in Hermann’s shoulder. “Turn it offfff.”

Hermann shuts the laptop. For now. He doesn’t stop grinning. “You should revive it. Do you still have the sets?”

“You’re the worst,” Newton says. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I married you.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #hehe this was so fun to write #frogmuppet

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mxliv-oftheendless · 5 years ago

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Black Dahlia (Chapter 1)

-blows trumpet- Bum-ba-da-dum-bum-bum-BAH! Here it is, the main story of the Black Dahlia series! I am honestly so proud of myself, because I waited until I had it all written out before I posted it; it took me ALL DAMN SUMMER, but it’s finally done! I know it’s basically Scooby Doo and KISS: Rock N Roll Mystery with an added character, but I’ve taken the time to flesh out Black Dahlia’s character a bit. Hope you enjoy!

She could hear the flowers as she filled up her watering can. They didn’t have a voice in the traditional sense, in that they formed words, but they had a voice of sorts, and that was what she heard.

“It’s all right,” she said aloud as she turned off the water. “I’m coming,”

She knew they couldn’t hear her. Once upon a time, they could… but not anymore. She couldn’t hear them as well, either. Once she could hear them as plainly as she heard everyone else. But as time passed, and as she aged, the voices faded, until they were only a faint whisper.

She went around her house, watering the various plants. Along the way she passed her radio, which had beside it a whole shelf lined with CDs. She paused at her shelf, smiling fondly at her music collection. Earth definitely had produced many amazing rock bands. They all reminded her of the music of home.

She was just finishing when the doorbell rang. She put down her watering can, went to the door, and opened it. Standing on her front porch were four young adults and a Great Dane.

“Hey, Aunt Heather!” Fred greeted her.

Heather McMann smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite nephew!”

“I’m your only nephew,” Fred reminded her, still grinning. They did this exchange whenever they met.

“Exactly. C’mere, you!”

Heather hugged Fred tightly, then turned to the others. “Hey, kids. And hello, Scooby,”

“Hi, Miss McMann,” Velma said respectfully. “It’s great to see you,”

Heather shook her head as she ushered them inside. “Velma, what have I said about calling me ‘Miss McMann’?”

“Like, that it makes you feel old,” Shaggy piped up helpfully.

“Reah, rold,” Scooby agreed.

Heather pointed at them and nodded. “Exactly,”

“Well, you look great,” Daphne interjected. The redhead looked to be in an exceptionally good mood today.

Heather grinned and flicked a lock of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Of course I do, honey,”

Once the gang had settled down at her kitchen table with drinks, and Shaggy and Scooby had raided her fridge (she made a mental note to go grocery shopping soon), Heather popped open her can of Lacroix and asked, “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from my favorite nephew and his friends?”

“Well—” Fred began, but Daphne interrupted, so excited her words came out in a rush.

“WegotacallfromKISSWorldtocomesolveamysteryandwewantedtoknowifyou’dcomewithus!”

Heather paused and looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “… Run that by me again? And slower, please,”

Daphne took a sip of her drink to calm herself, then repeated what she said. “We got a call from KISS World to come solve a mystery, and we wanted to know if you would come with us,”

Heather tilted her head curiously. “KISS World?”

Velma shrugged. “Apparently, KISS has an entire theme park,”

“Oh, I know, Velma,” She had heard about it when it opened, but had never conjured up the guts to go. It was probably overpriced, anyway. “But I didn’t think there would be any problems at KISS World. Aren’t they having a Halloween concert there?”

She never dared venture out of her house on Halloween. Not when a certain being could show up…

Daphne nodded. “Yeah, they are. That’s why they called us. If we don’t solve the mystery, the concert could be canceled!”

Heather raised her eyebrows. “Now that is a catastrophe,” she agreed. She hated it as much as anyone when a rock concert had to be canceled. But she had the feeling Daphne was a bit more concerned about a KISS concert being canceled. “So you’re going, I’m guessing?”

Shaggy swallowed the bite of his snack and nodded. “Like, yeah, of course we are! It’s KISS, man! What more reason do ya need?”

Heather smiled and toasted him with her can. “Too true, my man. But why do you want me to come along with you?”

“Well, you do love KISS,” Velma reasoned. “A lot. Why do you love them so much, anyway?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Heather glanced over at her CDs, most of which were indeed KISS albums. Her smile turned wistful for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I just do, Velma. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Well…” Fred said sheepishly. “… You’ve only left your house on Halloween once, and that was to take me trick-or-treating when I was ten. And we haven’t hung out in a while, plus you said a while ago it’s been ages since you’ve been to a rock concert. I just thought maybe, you could come with us, and after we solve the mystery, we could all go to the concert?”

Heather stared at him for a second. Then she smiled. Fred may have been a little odd with his obsession with traps and horrible acapella bands, but dang if he wasn’t the sweetest. He got it from his mother. “Aw, Freddy!” she cooed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “That’s so sweet of you!”

“So you’ll go?” Shaggy asked eagerly.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go somewhere on Halloween, just once. Maybe it would turn out okay. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The gang cheered, and Heather laughed.

Maybe it would turn out okay…

-KISSTERIA-

And that was how Heather McMann found herself sitting with Shaggy and Scooby in the back of the Mystery Machine as it rolled down the highway, with a black box of green face paint and a brush in her hands.

“Okay, Scooby, you ready?”

Scooby nodded happily. “Ruh-huh!”

“Okay, hold still,”

Heather dipped her brush into the green paint and began to paint the area around Scooby’s eyes green. The whole gang, except for Fred, had decided to dress up as KISS; Daphne was Starchild, Shaggy was Demon, Velma was Spaceman, and Scooby, in the funniest twist of irony, was Catman. Fred flat-out refused to dress up, saying he didn’t want to look stupid. Heather had refused as well, and currently wore her very ordinary outfit of black Converse, white washed jeans, a plain red shirt and her favorite black leather jacket. As usual, her pendant shaped like a black dahlia flower hung around her neck.

“Daphne, sweetie, you sure you don’t want me to draw the star?” Heather called.

“No thanks, I’m good,” Daphne replied, and returned to sketching the outline of a star over her right eye.

“Like, I can’t believe we get to go to KISS World!” Shaggy exclaimed excitedly as Heather finished on Scooby’s face. He gave her a lick on the cheek in thanks.

“And solve a mystery,” Velma added. “That’s like killing two birds with one stone!”

Scooby popped up, eager to show off his finished makeup. “Reah! Or two birds rith one cat!”

Heather laughed as she moved up to sit with Velma in the backseat. “It’s awesome to see you guys so excited,”

“Like, you look excited, too, Heather,” Shaggy commented.

Heather kept smiling. If she were to be honest, she was excited. She hadn’t left her house on Halloween in years, and now here she was, going to see the boys in concert. Almost exactly like the good old days…

“Personally, I find their sideshow act a little juvenile,” Velma stated. “But my mother told me to take a more active role in my friends’ interests.” She shrugged sheepishly at Heather. “Sorry, Heather.”

Heather shook her head. “It’s fine, Velma. We’re all interested in different things.”

“Well, I’m pretty interested in Starchild,” Daphne piped up. Her star was almost completely colored in. “He’s so dreamy,” she sighed as she went back to painting.

Heather saw Fred’s head turn slightly to glance at her, then he jerked the steering wheel to the left. The van immediately swerved left, throwing them all to the side, and causing Daphne’s brush to jerk away, leaving a black streak across her face.

“Hey!” Daphne protested.

“Sorry, everyone,” Fred apologized, though he didn’t sound sincere.

Daphne pointed her finger accusingly at him. “You did that on purpose!”

Shaggy looked at her black streak and laughed. “Like now it looks like a shooting star. Make a wish, Scoob!”

“Uh, I wish I was eating a Scooby Snack!” Scooby said cheerfully.

“Good one, dude. Uh, I wish I could breathe fire like the Demon!” Shaggy stuck out his tongue and pretended to breathe fire.

Amused, Heather put a finger to her cheek and played along. “Hmm… I wish my bluebells would listen when I tell them to grow. They’ve been real stubborn lately.”

“I wish you’d all come to your senses,” Fred said to them. “You don’t see me acting ridiculous over my favorite group, the Ascot Five, do you?” He reached into the glove compartment and took out a CD, showing five men wearing white shirts and ascots smiling cheesy smiles.

Heather rolled her eyes at her nephew as he loaded the CD into the CD player. He was literally dressed the same way as the guy in the center.

“Oh noooooo, don’t tug my ascot. Don’t tug my ascot (it’s not a scarf, no baby). You can’t have my ascot ‘cause girl, it’s mine.”

Shaggy and Scooby stuck out their tongues in disgust, while Heather’s face scrunched up as she tried to hide her disgust. How can my own nephew like such a lame band?

Luckily, Daphne ejected the disc. “Fred, please,”

“I’m just saying,” Fred insisted, “I think they’re twice the band KISS is!”

“Fred, they’re a lame do-wop band from the sixties,” Heather deadpanned.

“Yeah, and do the Ascot Five have an awesome amusement park?” Shaggy asked pointedly.

“Reah, rawesome amusement park!” Scooby agreed.

“Quit being so stupid, Fred,” Daphne said snappishly to him.

“I am not being stupid!”

“Yes, you are!”

Heather leaned over into the front seat. “Okay, okay, that’s enough. Daphne, Fred doesn’t like KISS, and that’s fine. And Fred, it’s fine that you like the Ascot Five, just don’t judge the rest of us for liking KISS. All right?”

There was a brief moment of silence, then Fred and Daphne nodded.

Heather nodded, smiling. “Good.” She turned to Daphne. “We can fix the star, I think. Or you could be the Bandit. Starchild went by the Bandit for a while.”

Daphne turned to her curiously. “I didn’t know that,”

“You really know a lot about KISS,” Velma remarked.

“Yeah,” Shaggy agreed. “Like, how do you know so much about KISS, Heather?”

Heather smiled mysteriously at them, though internally she was hit by an onslaught of nostalgia. “That’s my little secret,”

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carmenlire · 6 years ago

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Off the Record Ch. I

I’ve had this story in mind for ages and I’m so excited to finally start it! This is my second official AU and I hope y’all like it!!

read on ao3

“Lower the hem a quarter of an inch and make a note in the file to have the model wear their hair up during the Paris Fashion Show next spring.”

Magnus studies the mannequin in front of him with a critical eye, making sure that he’s satisfied with the dress. There will be a final round of alterations before he formally adds the design to his portfolio-- before it lands an official spot in his spring line-- but for now he’s satisfied.

Turning around, it’s to see Clary scribbling furiously in her notebook, making the notes he mentioned. He’d be lost without Biscuit, who’d quickly become his favorite secretary when she’d been sent over from the NYU Institute of Fashion and Design her freshman year. She was a quick study, meticulous, and had a passion for fashion that would serve her well in the industry.

Magnus is on the fourth floor of Bane Fashions, also known as his experimental floor. The area was divided into a few sections, each of which was big enough to fit an entire penthouse apartment with room leftover. The space was light and airy with exposed pipes and cement floors and it’s where Magnus kept his designs that had yet to be revealed.

A dozen apprentices and designers catch his attention and as he looks over fabric cuts and patterns and ensembles, his eye is on the clock. While Magnus worked like a dervish, he liked to relax and catch the news when he could and luckily he was spending the day in his office with no meetings scheduled until late afternoon.

Magnus barely reaches out before a latte lands in his hand. With a nod of thanks to Clary, Magnus takes a quick sip as he listens to one of his apprentices, Maia, run through a problem with him.

It’s just a few minutes discussion as Magnus tells her what the best solution is-- in his humble opinion-- and then he’s turning toward the elevators, Clary in step beside him.

“What does the rest of my day look like, dear?”

Clary doesn’t even look at Magnus’s agenda before she replies, “You have a meeting with the finance department at two and then dinner with a potential investor tonight at nine. You let them pick the restaurant and they chose--"

“Some horribly pretentious and overpriced French restaurant, I’m sure.” Magnus’s voice is annoyed as he sighs and takes another drink from his cup, finishing it off.

Investors always wanted to flaunt their cash and they always picked restaurants that considered a serving size half a carrot and a spoonful of risotto.

Making a mental note to stop by The Jade Wolf after his business dinner concludes, Magnus looks over at Clary as they step into the empty elevator.

Inserting his access card, Magnus asks, “But until then--”

“Until then, you’re free. That gives you just over an hour for lunch.”

Smiling, Magnus lets Clary off the elevator first as they walk into the executive suite. Clary’s space was directly in front of the bank of elevators with Magnus’s office right behind. His office took half the floor and was complete with a fireplace, three separate sitting areas and an ensuite bathroom. His view overlooked Fifth Avenue and one wall overlooked another design space with a one way mirror collage.

He’d bought the prime real estate and constructed the headquarters for his company almost ten years ago. It’d been a leap of faith and the cost had given him his first grey hair at the ripe old age of twenty four.

The risk had been worth it, though, and as Magnus pours a glass of whiskey-- it’s happy hour somewhere-- he brings the glass with him to the wall of windows that overlooks one of the busiest streets in the world.

He’s earned his place here. It’s a place that screams wealth and prestige yet still doesn’t take into account the thousands and thousands of hours of work and desperation that had spurred him to build his empire from the ground up.

Bane Fashions was one of the biggest players in the industry, not an inconsiderable feat when most labels were over a hundred years old. Magnus had started right here in the city and he was an alumnus of Clary’s school. He’d been on the fast track since high school and with some luck, Bane was a household name.

He’s worked damned hard, Magnus reflects as he moves over to one of the couches. Taking a sip from his tumbler, he reaches for a remote and a few seconds later a television is rising from its concealed place in a storage cabinet.

Magnus has more guilty pleasures than he can count but one that not many people would suspect is that he has a weakness for the news.

Well, one reporter in particular.

Turning the channel to CNN, Magnus sees that he has just a few minutes before the international news program switches segments. In the meantime, lunch is brought up to him by one of his kitchen wait staff and left on the end table next to his whiskey.

Listening with half an ear to a financial adviser lament about the oncoming recession, Magnus winces and hopes that he’s just another pundit full of hot air. He really doesn’t want to think about dealing with an economic downturn as well as the regular day to day stress of running a multi-billion dollar company.

The news changes to one of its field reporters and as Magnus takes his first bite of his stir fry, he relaxes into the couch, ready to learn about what’s going on in the world today.

“Good afternoon, this is Alec Lightwood reporting from Norway. The president is set to visit later this evening in order to prepare for his meeting with rival leader. . .”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus can’t help but scoff at the screen. The president was an unmitigated asshole and while Magnus woefully feels a need to keep up on the current buffoonery of the current administration, at least half the reason he liked to tune into this particular program was because of the reporter who lessened the blow with his damning good looks.

He was usually clean shaven but occasionally sported stubble that made Magnus weak in the knees. He alternated between casual and business attire according to his assignment and location and Magnus can admit that he loves the plain-- yet exceptionally well tailored-- slacks and button-ups as much as jeans and a t-shirt.

His eyes are sharp and calculating, holding an intelligence that makes Magnus want to debate with him-- about anything, even everything-- and he was reportedly a great person when he wasn’t standing in front of a camera, too. He was reputedly an amicable coworker, if a bit surly, and he was often caught at charity functions.

No doubt about it, Alec Lightwood was a triple threat and Magnus doesn’t even try to pretend that he doesn’t find the intrepid journalist attractive as hell.

“Don’t you get tired of watching that garbage?”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus doesn’t look up at the interruption. “Just because I prefer not to go through life painfully ignorant doesn’t mean that it’s garbage. I like being politically cognizant.”

He hears Ragnor scoff as he settles on the opposite end of the couch with his ever present mug of tea.

“You and I both know you don’t watch the news in an effort to be well-informed.” Ragnor’s voice becomes particularly scathing as he continues, “Oh, doesn’t Alec look so handsome reporting in Beirut. That khaki looks just fabulous against his skin. And don’t get me started on his windblown hair. I’d let that man model anything of mine in a heartbeat.”

Magnus barely keeps his lips from twitching up even as he scowls at his best friend’s hideous exaggeration. “I do not act like that,” Magnus says defensively. “And, you’re lying to yourself if the news isn’t just a little more palatable coming from his lovely baritone.”

Raising a brow, Magnus continues, “Plus, you do know that Alec Lightwood is a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, don’t you?”

“Even if I didn’t, I’m sure you’d tell me,” Ragnor replies pleasantly and Magnus is almost impressed.

He can barely tell that Ragnor’s clenching his teeth.

“Well, let me go ahead and illuminate you. Lightwood has traveled all over the world on dangerous assignments and he’s rubbed elbows with dignitaries and revolutionists alike. He’s remarkably young for having accomplished so much.”

“Other people are into bands or tv shows. You, however, get hot under the collar for a journalist,” Ragnor replies wryly.

Rolling his eyes, Magnus finishes his stir fry in a few bites that are just a bit too large. Ragnor watches him, mildly aghast.

It’s just his luck that Alec signs off a few moments later with his usual spiel and Magnus makes sure to turn the volume up just to annoy Ragnor further.

“This has been Alec Lightwood reporting from Norway with CNN’s State of the Union. Tune back in at five o’clock to hear the latest.”

Magnus’s office is silent as the screen moves back to the two news anchors at CNN’s headquarters in the City.

Magnus stands, wiping his hands on a napkin and throwing it on top of his empty plate. Making his way to his desk that’s as organized as it is overflowing, Magnus settles in his chair that overlooks the rest of the space.

Ragnor watches him for a minute, one leg crossed over the other as he sips at is tea.

“When’s the last time you went out?”

Magnus looks up from the file he’d grabbed, reviewing the financial documents in preparation for his meeting with Ragnor and the rest of the department’s team in forty five minutes.

“I don’t see where that’s any of your business,” Magnus answers primly. “Since when are you even interested in my love life?”

Pinning him with a steady gaze, his oldest friend just raises a brow. “I think you need a hobby.”

Laughing a little, Magnus looks back down at his quarterly report, sliding on a a pair of black framed glasses. He always breathes the tiniest sigh of relief when he sees that the company’s in the black.

“I went out with a lovely woman from Denmark a few months ago. We had drinks, she took me back to her place, and I was back in the office the next morning at eight sharp.”

“You didn’t see her again?”

Magnus looks up at that, over his glasses that he can’t abide but needs all the same. “We had a perfectly nice evening but no, I didn’t try to see her again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m busy, Ragnor,” Magnus says with exasperation. He gestures toward the mountain of paperwork in this quarter’s fiscal report, everything spread out over his desk. “Does it look like I have time to date?”

Sniffing, Ragnor just mutters, “I said you need a hobby.”

“And you think a person should be my hobby? I’m far too busy with the company to worry about my personal life.”

“No, you were busy ten years ago, fifteen, when you were just building your brand and every day was a gamble. You’re established now, Magnus. You delegate when you want to but the problem is that you just don’t want to. You work here so late that I regularly find you using your coat for a blanket while you catch a few hours’ nap on one of these blasted couches. You do-- rarely-- take vacations and you have time for yourself but is it enough?”

“I think it’s more than enough. I didn’t build Bane Fashions by--”

“Resting on your laurels, yes, I know. Still, you’re stable now, Magnus. You can afford to hire another assistant and take a step back from the company. Everyone knows that you have rigid standards and anyone you hire would be great for the job. You can trust your staff to share your vision and keep the ship headed in the right direction.”

Sighing, Magnus pulls off his glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looks up again it’s to see Ragnor patiently waiting on him.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do work more than I should but what’s the harm in it. I’m perfectly content with my little piece of the world and it makes me happy to oversee it. If I like being busy and I like devoting so much time to my brand and if the price I pay is being single, then who am I to complain?”

“Don’t you see, friend,” Ragnor starts softly. “You deserve to have both and I’d hate for you to wake up one day and resent your company when it’s all you have left.”

“Where are you planning on going,” Magnus asks with a raised brow.

Waving that away, Ragnor stands, setting his empty mug on an end table coaster. “Mock all you want, my dear, but one day you will find someone to tear down those walls you’ve built around your heart. Mark my words.”

Ragnor’s voice is ominous and Magnus can’t quite shake the feeling of foreboding that washes over him.

Deciding not to worry about it any longer, Magnus returns his attention to his work. Going to his laptop, Magnus looks over his emails for a few minutes while Ragnor comes around the desk and reviews the fiscal notes.

His phone rings fifteen minutes before his meeting is set to start and Magnus debates answering before ultimately picking up the phone on the corner of his desk.

“Bane.”

“Magnus,” the person on the other end greets warmly. “Long time, no see. How have you been?”

Chuckling, Magnus relaxes against his chair as he ignores Ragnor’s impatient look. The man had a tragic habit of being dreadfully early to every meeting and Magnus refuses to show up a quarter of an hour early when he’s the damn boss.

“Isabelle, dear, I’m fit as a fiddle. I trust that you’re well?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she says, sounding distracted for a minute as papers rustle in the background. “I’m constantly inundated with new projects and reports but I’m managing.”

“And happy as a clam about it, I’m sure,” Magnus teases.

Isabelle was the chief scientist at Idris Labs, a private think tank in the city. Magnus had gone to her years ago when he was looking for a synthetic, hypoallergenic fabric to make a line of clothes from. They’d quickly hit it off and still remain friends who occasionally grab dinner together when their demanding schedules permit.

“Don’t you know it,” she laughs along. “There was actually a reason for my call, though.”

“I didn’t think this was a social call,” Magnus replies dryly. “What do you need, dear?”

“How would you feel about a commission? I know that you rarely take them these days but I have someone who needs a suit for a gala and I immediately thought of you.”

Humming, Magnus narrows his eyes in thought as he absently twirls a pen around his fingers. “They must have deep pockets if you’re coming to me and not Nordstrom’s Rack. Do I know them?”

Magnus hears Isabelle clear her throat before she says, “It’s actually for my brother and trust me when I say that he does alright for himself.”

Interest piqued, Magnus stills his hand as he asks, “What’s his name again? Jace? It’s been so long since we spoke last that I don’t quite remember.”

Isabelle laughs so hard that Magnus is concerned before she quiets down on the other end of the line. “Oh, hell no. Jace wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit. I’m talking about my eldest brother, Alec. I’m sure I’ve mentioned him to you before.”

Straightening in his chair, Magnus has minor heart failure as he hoarsely asks, “Alec? Alec Lightwood is your brother?”

Ragnor, who was just about to leave Magnus’s office, turns back with an arched brow. Magnus doesn’t pay him any mind as Isabelle responds.

“Yes?” Isabelle’s tone is confused as she continues, “I don’t see him very often but he's lands in New York tomorrow morning and apparently he has an awards ceremony next week that he desperately needs an outfit for. He said that he’d just go to Brooks Brothers but I persuaded him to wait until I made a call first.”

Magnus’s mind is whirling as he processes Isabelle’s words and he wants to kick himself for being such a dunce. It isn’t as though Lightwood was a popular surname. He’s known Isabelle for five years and he’s never put it together that the journalist he just so happened to have a great deal of respect and admiration for was the brother to his favorite scientist.

“It’s a fifteen percent upcharge for a rush order,” he says on autopilot and immediately wants to kick himself again. For Alec Lightwood to wear one of his suits, Magnus would pay him.

He hears Isabelle laugh a little before she hopefully asks, “Does that mean you’ll do it? I know you’ve got to be busy with your company and getting designs submitted for next year’s fashion week but I figured that it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

“My dear Isabelle, getting your brother, the exceptionally well-known journalist, to wear one of my suits to an awards ceremony? That’s publicity I can’t buy. The man can wear clothes like no one I’ve ever seen before. I should be thanking you for this opportunity. Of course I’ll accept the commission.”

“Thank you, Magnus. I know that Alec does more than fine on his own but I’d love to see what you could do if you got your hands on him.”

At that Magnus can’t help but bark out a laugh. “You and me both, dear, I assure you. When is he free for the fitting?”

Magnus wheels his chair over to one end of his desk to look over his agenda.

“It’s Tuesday and we have a week until the dinner. As far as I know, Alec’s schedule is pretty much an open slate. What about something on Thursday?”

Scanning over the week’s appointments, Magnus sees an opening. “I don’t have anything that can’t be rescheduled Thursday morning. How does ten sound?”

“Sounds great,” Isabelle says excitedly. “I’m coming with him if that’s alright?”

“Of course, dear,” Magnus says distractedly as he pencils the consultation in. “I’ll draft something up later today and have a rough model ready when you arrive that morning.”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Magnus, really. I saw the opportunity and I had to take it.”

“I’m sorry, Isabelle, what do you mean? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Magnus hears a flurry of movement on the other end as Isabelle presumably moves. “I don’t mean anything, Magnus. I just meant that I think both of you would benefit from knowing each other. You know, you sell a suit, Alec has a suit. It’s a win win.”

“Right,” Magnus says, suspicious. “Whatever the case, I really have to run off to a meeting now. I’ll see you Thursday, dear.”

“Bye, Magnus. See you then!”

Magnus hangs up, returning the phone to its cradle as he looks up and meets Ragnor’s interested gaze.

“Don’t,” he warns, seeing the gleam in his friend’s eyes.

“Whatever do you mean,” Ragnor sniffs. “I’m not doing anything except trying to make it to the meeting that’s been scheduled for six weeks.”

“Don’t read more into this than there is. I know that look. That’s the scheming Ragnor look. I always end up miserably hungover and in jail when that look crosses your face.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Ragnor replies drolly, though there is a subtle smirk on his mouth.

Magnus starts toward the meeting room, nodding to Clary as they pass her desk. She’s just returning from lunch and without a hitch in her step, she drapes her coat over her chair as she answers the ringing phone.

“What are the chances that Lightwood would just so happen to need a suit from you?”

“Rather good, I’d say, considering that he often has commitments that require formal dress. Not to mention our apparently mutual acquaintance.”

“About that. Are you really telling me that you didn’t know?”

Irritated, Magnus pulls the door open so that Ragnor can enter first. Following him into the conference room, he says, “Do you really think that I wouldn’t have persuaded Isabelle to set up an introduction if I had?”

Ragnor sits down at one end of the table, Magnus taking the other. In between them are half a dozen accountants and other financial advisers from Ragnor’s department.

Opening his own file to the first page of the quarterly fiscal report, Ragnor just slides his glasses on, peering at Magnus from over the top.

“I think that I’m not coming into the office Thursday. I’d rather work from home than subject myself to being your confidante. I can only imagine what you’ll have to say after your meeting with your journalist.”

“He’s not my anything,” Magnus mutters and opens his own report to the beginning.

He hears Ragnor harrumph but neither one says anything further.

Ragnor starts in on the meeting and Magnus listens with half an ear as one of his underlings starts talking about projected versus actualized profits and expectations for the upcoming spring quarter.

He asks questions as they come to him and the meeting is two hours of Magnus reaffirming what he’d gathered from reading the report when he’d first received it a couple of weeks ago.

His company is exceedingly healthy and Magnus lets Ragnor drone on about fabric cost affecting winter profits more than anticipated. All the while, he’s preoccupied.

It’s been awhile since he last did a personal consultation. While people regularly used his designs during award season, Magnus had mostly given those over to his protege, Raphael. He was too busy in running the company to focus on the minutiae.

There were a handful of designers that fell under his trademarked umbrella. Their designs-- with final approval from him-- were part of Bane Fashions. The last time Magnus had actually designed something for a client was a few years ago when the then First Lady had come to her for her husband’s second inauguration ball.

Magnus has been so focused on next spring’s line and fixing the details that he hasn’t felt inspired lately. He’s started to wonder if he’s lost his inspiration-- and if so, how to get it back.

As he sits in his conference room though and overlooks the river, Magnus wonders if he hadn’t just need a challenge, an unexpected project.

Magnus’s mind is a whirl about color, cut, and fabric. He knows from watching Alec on the news that he favors a classic style, though he occasionally favors a signature touch.

Magnus wonders if he could get Alec into something other than a black tuxedo, debates and dismisses option after option and his fingers itch for his sketch pad.

The sun is setting by the time they reach the end of the report and Magnus asks his last question. The underlings scurry out of the room, throwing diffident nods in Magnus’s direction and before long it’s just Ragnor and Magnus in the room, watching the sky turn orange.

“Another day in the books,” Ragnor sighs, standing up and stretching. He scowls. “You were barely paying attention.”

Magnus looks up to see Ragnor looking mildly put upon. “I assure you, I paid very close attention to accounts receivable and how much my assets have increased since last year. We’re a well-oiled machine.”

He blows out a breath. “Thank Christ. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing such numbers. I’ve been in this business for fifteen years and I still can’t believe we’ve made it.”

“Well, believe it Magnus. Otherwise you wouldn’t get a chance to dress up golden boy.”

“Don’t I know it,” Magnus says absently before his gaze snaps to Ragnor’s.

“He’s not my golden boy. He’s just a reporter that I find attractive. That’s it, Cabbage. No more, no less. Who knows, he might be an asshole in person.”

“Maybe,” Ragnor says with a shrug as he gathers his papers. “That won’t necessarily stop you from flirting with him, though.”

Magnus waves that away with a sigh as he climbs to his own feet. “It would stop me from asking him out, that’s for damned sure.”

“Isn’t he going out with one of his coworkers? Lydia Branwell?”

It’s silent for a minute, Ragnor’s question hanging in the air.

“I don’t know,” Magnus mutters and decidedly does not look at his friend.

“They’re always being photographed together, you know.”

“They could just be friends,” Magnus says defensively.

“Have you ever heard that Lightwood’s strayed from the straight and narrow though,” Ragnor asks, emphasizing the former. “Don’t set yourself up for disappointment. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ve flirted with straight men before.”

“Yeah, but just when they’re homophobic assholes and you want to make them uncomfortable.”

“I’ve never heard that he’s explicitly straight so I’m choosing to keep my options open. You never know, Cabbage.”

“You can have a good idea, though,” Ragnor replies wryly and just shakes his head when Magnus sticks out his tongue.

“Go on, shoo. We’ve talked numbers but I need to finalize a few designs before I get ready for dinner.”

“Very well,” Ragnor says, “I’ll leave you to it but do try not to fall asleep in your office this time.”

“I make no promises,” Magnus says brightly and waves Ragnor toward the elevators as he goes back to his office.

Clary’s packing up for the day and they exchange a few minutes of pleasantries before he sends her on her way.

Left alone on the executive floor, Magnus sits in his chair. On one side, his view is Fifth Avenue and New York City. On the other, he overlooks water bathed in the pinks and oranges of the sunset.

His office is bigger than most apartments and his empire stretches across the world.

Magnus takes a moment to bask in his success as he’s wont to do at the end of a trying day.

He doesn’t waste long on the feeling, however, before he’s reaching for the sketch pad he keeps in one of his desk drawers.

Gathering it and his pencils, Magnus loses himself in drafting a suit for Alec. It’s a rough sketch and before he can finish it, he’s starting another one in the corner and another one until he has half a dozen possibilities on the page.

There’s classic and classic with a bold touch and outright bold and Magnus would kill to get the journalist in every outfit he’s created.

He decides to sample two, though, and Magnus swears as he looks up and sees the time. He’s running a little late but he takes the time to scan the two images and his accompanying notes. He guesses Alec’s approximate size and sends everything to the seamstress department so that they can build the suits for Thursday’s consult.

Magnus stands, running a hand through his hair before he starts toward the bathroom to get ready for his dinner.

Magnus hates investor dinners with everything he has but his company was hot right now and he needed to capitalize on that. The investors tonight had deep pockets and Magnus hopes that by the end of the evening, they’ll decide to share that wealth with him and his company’s future.

No doubt about it, Magnus thinks as he steps into his outrageously luxurious bathroom-- it was unsuitable for an office ensuite but since Magnus got ready here as much as he did his loft in Brooklyn, he’d decided to splurge.

Magnus has everything he’s ever wanted and it’s usually served on a silver platter these days. He has his business and his friends and more wealth than he can spend in his lifetime.

If he occasionally feels like something’s missing-- if there are some nights he spends tucked away in his office or roaming foreign cities while on business trips-- than it’s no one’s business but his own if he wonders if this is it, if this is what it feels like to be on top of the world.

Magnus has been at rock bottom and he’s reached his own personal mountain top and as he looks back, Magnus is pervaded by the sense that it’s unfinished. He’s checked everything off his list, has made goals and continues to reach for more.

He doesn’t know when he’ll be happy though, when he’ll be content with what he’s amassed.

Privately, Magnus has started to despair that he’ll ever feel like he’s made it, that he has everything he’s ever wanted.

He’s always reaching for more but the more he gets, the hollower he feels. Magnus doesn’t know what will fill the void but as he plays over Ragnor’s words from earlier in the afternoon, he wonders if his friend wasn’t right.

Maybe Magnus did need a hobby.

With a quiet laugh, Magnus turns off the water and wraps a towel around his hips.

Yeah, he scoffs to himself. He can’t wait to start a stamp collection.

I just need to get laid, Magnus thinks. A night-- or a weekend-- of distraction was sure to get him back on track. He just needed to blow off some steam and step away from his company for a minute before he could dive back in, refreshed.

Resolved, Magnus makes a mental note to tell Clary to clear his schedule this weekend.

Magnus has made it this long with his eye on the prize and he doesn’t see that changing any time soon.

No way, he thinks as he chooses his cuff links-- rubies to go with his red and black jacket.

Magnus doesn’t think there’s anyone out there who could ever become a bigger priority than his company and he decided a long time ago that he wouldn’t half-ass anything. He’s chosen his company time and time again. Even when it was hard, even when it was inconvenient.

Magnus shakes his head as he walks toward his floor length mirror. There’s no sense in talking about things that won’t happen. He’ll just focus on his company and maybe in six months, a year, he won’t feel like this.

He just needs a new project, something to focus all of his restless energy on. He’s grown a little stale, a little jaded.

Nothing something new won’t fix, Magnus reflects.

If his thoughts stray to Alec and the design he’d chosen, then that’s no one’s business but his own.

He always did like a challenge.

#off the record #my writing #ahh im so excited!!#ive had this brewing since like september lmao #malec fic #malec wip #fashion designer magnus #journalist alec

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klaineanummel · 6 years ago

Text

eighteen going on extinct 1/20

Kurt Fabray just wants to relax after a tough week at school, but that is shown to be impossible when he realizes that his absent father has once again blown into town. Not wanting to spend more time around him than necessary, Kurt goes to his old babysitters house, the one place he feels safe when his father is in town. While there, he stumbles upon a secret he knows he was never meant to find out - one that could change the entire course of his life.

An AU very loosely based on Mamma Mia.

I’ve written a very long author’s note on AO3 in regards to this fic, but for purposes of not eating your dashes, I’m not posting it directly here. This is another heavy one, and so for that reason I have posted extended warnings for it, which you can find here. Please read either the note on AO3, or the extended warnings before you read this fic, because it deals with a lot of heavy subject matter.

This fic is complete, and I hope to update twice a week (I don’t want to promise which days, though, because god knows I’m terrible at keeping to a schedule). I hope you enjoy, but please, please, read the warnings first.

Read on AO3

Kurt is mere seconds away from missing the bus that stops in front of the school, which means it’s already so full of students that he’s forced to stand near the front of the bus. Sure, things will clear out as the route goes along, but for now he’s pressed tightly against the bar, trying desperately not to touch anybody. He grips the bar, purposefully glaring out the window as the bus starts up, the music blasting in his ears allowing him to tune out the inane chatter of the students around him.

As the bus rattles, Kurt considers getting off a couple of stops early to grab a pizza at Little Caesars. He had a shitty day at school today, after all, and he did just get paid. It would be nice not to have to cook for once, plus he knows his mom secretly loves Little Caesars, even if she pretends she doesn’t.

It’ll suck having to either walk the rest of the way home or wait for the next bus, though.

The bus stops and somehow a few more people cram themselves in. A middle-aged woman is pressed up against Kurt’s back, and Kurt grips the bar even tighter.

Maybe he can convince his mom to drive him to the pizza place. She’ll probably go for it once he tells her he’s springing for it. Or he can just fuck it all and order delivery from Giovanni’s, in West Lima. It’s been a while since he treated himself to pizza that cost more than five dollars.

Fuck it. He had a really shitty day at school. He deserves Giovanni’s.

Someone reaches across Kurt’s face to press the stop button, and Kurt scowls. He can’t wait till he’s saved up enough to buy himself a car. Even the shittiest clunker would be better than this.

Several people get off the bus at the next stop, though, enough for Kurt to feel like he actually has room to breathe. He turns around and leans against the bar instead of gripping it, eyes lazily flicking over the rest of the people on the bus for the first time.

He smirks when his eyes fall on the new kid, sitting near the back door with his backpack in his lap, staring worriedly up at the next stop indicator at the front of the bus.

He doesn’t know the kid’s name, but he does know that he’s gorgeous. He’s a year younger than Kurt, from what he’s gathered, and just moved to Lima over the summer. He’s sat alone at lunch every day for the past two weeks, earphones jammed in his ears, slowly eating packed lunches out of brown paper bags.

He also takes the same bus as Kurt home from school, getting off four stops before Kurt does.

The boy’s eyes turn to Kurt, but Kurt doesn’t look away. He smirks and raises an eyebrow instead. The boy holds his gaze for several seconds, then rolls his eyes and looks back up at the next stop indicator.

He’s done the same thing every day for two weeks now. And honestly, Kurt is getting ready to move their relationship to the next level.

The talking level.

There’s a possibility the guy isn’t into dudes, but Kurt doubts it. Every time Kurt sees him he’s wearing one of two bowties. They’re tattered, mind, and ugly as hell, but they’re still bowties. Kurt doesn’t know any straight guy who goes out of his way to wear bowties to school.

So, either he just isn’t into Kurt, or he’s playing hard to get.

Kurt really hopes it’s the latter. The dude is smoking .

The bus stops and the girl sitting beside Bowtie Boy stands up. Kurt doesn’t hesitate, pushing his way past the few people still standing and sliding into the seat instantly.

He pops his earphones out of his ears and grins. “Hey,” he says.

Instead of turning to look at him, Bowtie Boy turns his head toward the window, prominently displaying the earphones in his ears. Kurt can see his reflection in the window, though, and grins as they make eye-contact.

The boy rolls his eyes again, then turns to look at Kurt. He plucks one earphone out of his ear and raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Kurt grins. “I think you can,” he says. He holds his hand out to the boy. “I’m Kurt.”

The boy doesn’t even glance at the proffered hand, instead keeping his eyes glued to Kurt’s. “How can I help you, Kurt?”

Kurt tilts his head. This boy’s got an attitude. “Well, you could tell me your name, for starters.”

Bowtie Boy’s eyebrow rises further. He looks over Kurt’s face, eyes briefly lingering on his lips. Then he looks back up to the front of the bus. “Blaine,” he says quietly. He places his earphone back into his ear, and Kurt smirks.

Kurt watches him for a while, but it’s clear that Bowtie Blaine isn’t going to budge. Still, he can see the way the boy is clutching his backpack tightly, fingers clenching the plain black fabric far harder than he needs to.

Definitely playing hard to get.

The name of the boy’s stop plays over the speaker, and Bowtie Blaine quickly tugs the string down. He stands up immediately and gives Kurt a withering look.

Kurt stretches out, biting down on his lip. Bowtie Blaine sighs and rolls his eyes. He takes an earphone out of his ear again and says, “My stop is coming up.”

“Not for a bit,” Kurt replies. “Why are you in such a hurry to get away?”

Bowtie Blaine rolls his eyes again. “Can you just move, please?”

Kurt stares at him, daring him to back down, but Bowtie Blaine seems resolute. When Kurt doesn’t move after about ten seconds, the boy rolls his eyes again and starts stepping over Kurt’s legs.

Kurt stays still, watching the boy struggle. He’s clearly determined, and manages to get out of the seat before the bus comes to a full stop. He stumbles a little as his foot catches Kurt’s leg, but rights himself quickly.

Before he steps off the bus, he purposefully turns around and glares at Kurt. He then shouts, “Back door please!” at the driver, and once the door opens he leaves without another glance back.

For a brief second Kurt considers getting off the bus after him, just to see where the guy lives, but before he can make up his mind the door is closing and the bus is starting back up.

Kurt slumps in his seat, tossing his backpack onto the now-empty window seat and putting his headphones back in. Whatever. It’s probably better that he doesn’t stalk this guy. As hot as he is, Kurt doesn’t need to get in over his head with a guy – again.

‘Glad You Came’ comes on his shuffle, and he scowls, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling his phone out, pressing the next button with probably too much force. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel like thinking about Sebastian now. Not after the day he’s had.

He slumps further in his seat as a song that decidedly doesn’t remind him of his ex comes on. One of the people still standing gives him a dirty look, glancing to the empty seat next to him, but Kurt ignores him He’s in a mood, and he needs people to see it so they’ll back the fuck off.

Honestly, he’s surprised it took everyone at school this long to find out that Sebastian dumped his ass as soon as he left the state. After all, Sebastian was a bit of a legend at McKinley, seeing as he was one of the few students that actually had money, was an ace lacrosse player, and good looking to boot.

When they got together everybody said it would never last.

He fucking hates that they were right. And now they get to rub it in his face.

The bus is practically empty by the time Kurt’s stop rolls around. Santana Lopez is the only other student who rides the bus all the way into Lima Heights, and she’s the next stop down. She isn’t on the bus today, though, which Kurt appreciates. She was practically the head of the ‘Sebastian is too good for you, you Lima Fucking Loser’ brigade, and she’s been giving him this annoying smirk ever since he got on the bus to school that morning. He’s glad he didn’t have to deal with her bullshit all the way home, too.

He hops off the bus with a casual wave at the driver and starts heading in the direction of his apartment building.

He decides to briefly pop into the corner store and pick up a bottle of Coke to have with his pizza; he doesn’t feel like paying for Giovanni’s overpriced soda. The college student behind the register gives him a far too judgemental look when Kurt pulls out his debit card to pay instead of the usual crumpled bills. Kurt swipes his card and scrunches his face at the employee. This asshole’s been giving him shit ever since Kurt’s card got declined for a $1.49 bag of Cheetos.

Fucking prick. It’s not like he’s living it up, working in a convenience store in Lima Heights. Kurt grabs his soda and his receipt and resists the urge to flip the guy off as he leaves.

He takes a brief swig of the two litre bottle as he walks the last few minutes between the corner store and his apartment building, considering calling Giovanni’s on his way home so he can get it at soon as possible.

When he reaches the front door to his building, his eye briefly catches on a gorgeous motorcycle in the guest parking lot. He whistles lowly, eyes roving over the gorgeous machine. It’s either new or very well taken care of.

He hopes whoever owns it has enough sense to get it out of this neighbourhood before nightfall.

He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, pausing to let a couple that lives a floor above him out. Then, he heads to the stairwell, climbing up to the third floor easily.

Their apartment is right by the stairwell, which is a pain in the ass during the weekends, but is nice after school. He unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door, calling out, “Mom, I’m home!” as he does.

He turns to lock the deadbolt back up, tossing his keys on the little table they keep by the door. It’s only when he turns back around that he notices the muddied boots sitting in their entrance.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “For fuck’s sake,” he whispers.

His mom pops her head out through the doorway into the kitchen, blonde hair curling up at the edges and smiling softly. “Hey, baby,” she says. “How was school?”

“Please tell me those don’t belong to who I think they belong,” he says, pointing at the boots.

His mom’s smile instantly falls. “Kurt…”

The sound of the toilet flushing rushes through the apartment and Kurt shakes his head, jaw already clenching.

“Kurt,” his mom repeats. “Be nice.”

“Why is he here?” he hisses.

She doesn’t have time to answer. The door to the bathroom flies open and Puck steps out, rubbing his hands together and saying, “Quinn, that two-ply shit is fucking awful. You have to get yourself some three-ply paper at least; I had four-ply out in LA, felt like God was licking my ass every time I wiped.”

Puck is still laughing at his own disgustingness when he catches sight of Kurt. Instantly, he smiles. “Hey, buddy!” He opens his arms up and starts walking toward him. “Long time no see, huh?”

Kurt manages to avoid the hug, squeezing past him through the tight hallway that leads straight to the living room. “Whose fault is that?” he spits, scowling.

“Kurt!” His mom is glaring at him, but Kurt ignores her, keeping his eyes on Puck.

“It’s cool, Q,” the man says, raising his hands as if accepting defeat. They’re still wet. “I get it. Kid’s got a right to be upset that his old man isn’t around as much as he should be.”

Kurt narrows his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Puck grins. “To see you, of course. And your mom. Missed you guys.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Kurt says, snorting. He turns to his mom and says, “I’m not sleeping here if he is.”

“Kurt, come on,” she says, voice going soft in that way it always does when she wants something from him. “Your dad drove all the way here just so he could spend some time with you.”

Kurt turns to Puck, jaw still clenched. “You drove?” he asks. That’s new. Normally the guy shows up on a bus, to gain extra pity points from his mom.

“Yeah. I got a sweet new ride. It’s out front, if you want to check it out?”

“That’s yours?”

“She’s my baby,” Puck confirms.

Kurt presses his lips together, glancing over at his mom. She has a pleading look in her eye, one she only gets when Puck’s around.

“Right,” Kurt says. “Look, I was planning on going out tonight anyway, and I’m not going to cancel my plans because you decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Kurt!” his mom scolds yet again. Kurt ignores her.

“That’s cool,” Puck says, hands once again raising in defeat. “I’m gonna be sticking around for a while, so we’ll definitely have time to catch up.”

“Fantastic,” Kurt drawls. He turns on his heel and heads through the living room toward the door in the far corner, pushing it open without looking back and shutting it tight behind him.

He can hear his mom and Puck talking quietly behind his door and groans, throwing his backpack onto his desk chair and setting the bottle of coke on his desk. He kicks his shoes off and falls onto his bed.

So much for his awesome relaxing plans.

He hates when Puck does this. Decides he wants to be a dad for a week. Not that that’s ever his real reason for coming back to Lima, but he always claims it is.

Kurt groans again and turns so that he’s lying on his stomach, face pressed against his pillow. He desperately wants to scream.

As if today hadn’t been shitty enough already.

There’s a soft knock on his door, and he doesn’t have time to tell his mom to go away before she’s opening the door and coming in.

He hears the door click shut behind her, but stays where he is.

For a while she doesn’t say anything, and Kurt hopes that it’ll keep up. Maybe she’ll change her mind about whatever bullshit she wants to spew at him. She does that from time to time.

Never with Puck, of course, but Kurt can dream.

After a few minutes of silence, she says, “You know he’s just trying to be your dad.”

Kurt snorts, moving his head so he’s facing his wall. “Sure.”

“Kurt,” she says quietly, footsteps moving toward his bed. She sits down at the edge and puts a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t like the other times, okay? He’s in a good place. He isn’t here-”

“To ask for money?” Kurt finishes, sitting up. He shakes his head. “Mom, come on. You don’t seriously buy this motorcycle shit, do you? He hasn’t paid child support in eight months, but suddenly he’s in a good enough place to buy a motorcycle ? Come on, mom. Money’s the only reason he ever comes here.”

“Not this time,” she says. “He… he misses you. He misses us.”

Kurt closes his eyes. He can feel the tears wanting to come, but he refuses to let them fall. “Mom, no. Don’t do this.”

“I’m not – look,” she huffs and pushes a lock of hair out of her face, “your dad came to see you, and you’re being an asshole to him. Can you at least pretend to be civil? I thought I raised you better.”

Kurt can’t help but smile at that, despite the situation. “Yeah, right,” he says, bumping their shoulders together. She chuckles.

They’re quiet for a few moments. Then Kurt says, “He’s just going to use us again.”

“I promise it’s not like that this time.”

“That’s what you say every time, and it’s always like that. Come on, mom. Don’t be naïve.”

She turns to him, green eyes as cold as steel. “It’s not naïve to want us to have a normal family for once, Kurt.”

“We are a normal family!” He gestures between them. “You and me. That’s all we need. We don’t need him to be normal. We’ve never needed him.”

She shakes her head and stands up. “This isn’t a discussion I’m having with you again, Kurt. Your dad is staying for a few days and you will be civil to him. Got it?”

Kurt bites the inside of his cheek. She gives him a challenging look, the one he used to try and mimic for hours in the mirror. He sighs.

“Whatever,” he says. “I still have plans tonight, though.”

“I thought you weren’t working tonight.”

“ Social plans, mom. With my friends.”

She licks her lips, and he tries to ignore the way her eyes soften in pity. He hates when she does that.

“Kurt-”

“Whatever, mom,” he says. “Can you just leave? Go give him some placating story about how everything will be fine soon enough, how I’ll come around, or whatever it is you tell him that makes him think it’s okay to keep coming back here. I have to change.”

She stares at him for a few more moments, then nods. She heads back toward his door, but briefly pauses when she gets there.

“He just wants to get to know you, Kurt,” she says quietly. “He’s your dad.”

“No, he’s not,” Kurt says. “If he was my dad he wouldn’t have fucked off like he did.”

She doesn’t respond for a moment, and Kurt worries that she’s trying to come up with some kind of retort. Instead, she just shakes her head and leaves the room. He watches her go, feeling bad for taking his frustration out on her.

Still, it’s not like she’s about to tell Puck to fuck off, either.

He watches the door for a bit, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through his contacts, finding who he wants relatively quickly. He presses the call button and raises the phone to his ear.

It rings a couple of times before a deep voice answers with a surprised, “Kurt?”

“Hey,” he says, hand clenched at his thigh. “I, uh.” He clears his throat. “There’s a situation at my house. Is it okay if I stay with you guys tonight?”

He instantly receives a positive response, and he thanks his friend before hanging up, telling him that he’ll be there soon. He shoves his phone back into his pocket, then heads to his desk. He quickly empties his school supplies out of his backpack, leaving them lying askew on the desk. He then shoves a pair of sweatpants, a ratty shirt, some clean underwear, and his work uniform into it. He manages to fit the bottle of Coke in with his clothes as well. He makes sure he has his wallet too, then slings it over his shoulder, pulls his shoes back on, and heads out of his room.

Puck and his mom are sitting on the couch whispering. They stop when he emerges, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to stay at a friend’s,” he says.

Puck is the one who replies, with a suspicious, “Is this a guy friend?”

Kurt turns to glare at him. “The fuck’s it to you?”

“Hey,” his mom says, standing up.

Puck puts his hand on her arm. “It’s fine, Q.” Then, to Kurt, “I was just asking, bud. Just want you to be safe.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he says. He heads toward the front door, grabbing his keys from the table and unlocking the deadbolt. “Oh, by the way,” he says as he opens the door. “You’re going to want to put your baby in the garage for the night. It’ll be cramped, but at least it’ll be indoors. Nothing that nice lasts long sitting out in this neighbourhood.”

He doesn’t give them a chance to respond, walking out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He doesn’t even bother to stop and lock the deadbolt, instantly heading to the stairwell.

What an amazing fucking day.

Chapter Two

#klaineanummel fic #klaine fic #klaine au #klaine #badboy!kurt #kind of #pov: kurt #over 50k #(the whole fic will be)#multi chapter #fic: egoe

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thisislizheather · 6 years ago

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March Magic

Forgive the lateness of this post, but March was a busy month so LET’S TALK ABOUT IT.

So after leaving Ipsy last year (for various reasons), I’ve missed receiving a little package every month full of makeup samples. I was all set to try Birchbox, but they wouldn’t accept a Canadian billing address so that didn’t work out. Instead I opted to give PLAY! By Sephora a chance. I was a member for three months before cancelling last week. My reason for ending it was mainly because I barely got any lipsticks or highlighters or anything FUN. I don’t know if it’s because they know that I’m in my mid-thirties or because they just have an influx of specific products, but a bitch doesn’t need twenty sample size cleansers. Not this bitch, anyway. Also, sending out a foundation sample (no matter the luxuriousness of the brand) makes ZERO sense because finding the right shade makes all the difference in the world for foundations. Also, I barely wear foundation. So I ended it. Also, am I the only one who hates getting tiny perfume samples? I feel like I have so many that I feel bad about throwing out, so I just keep them in the washroom and then use them instead of air-freshener if someone (or myself) stinks up the room (#lizadvice).

I was briefly intrigued by Frank & Oak’s clothing subscription box but decided after an hour of research that it’s probably too expensive for what you’re getting, even if the clothes are gorgeous.

Of course it was upsetting to hear that Luke Perry passed away. He was definitely one of the first men that I loved on television (god, I remember every single detail of that 90210 when his wife Rebecca Gayheart was killed). Such a good actor. So wildly attractive. And man, he was one of the best parts of Riverdale. I hate thinking about that show without him.

I absolutely love spring peas, so I made this Lemon-Basil Orzotto and it was really good.

I tried this charcoal that’s supposed to clean your makeup sponge and it was kind of annoying to use. It just takes too long to get a good lathering, and my foaming hand soap does the job much better and quicker.

I’ve only used it once so far, but I think I’m really into this Bliss Jelly Glow Peel Exfoliator that I got at Target for $10. No irritation at all and my face felt crazy smooth afterward.

I have a mini version of Sunday Riley’s Lactic Acid and it’s kind of really good, too. Only a million dollars more expensive than other good facial products! Sweet! Also, you’d think having “acid” in the name would frighten people away but I guess not. Obviously never going to buy the full size because it’s not magical or anything, but happy to have tried it.

Ate at this Mexican place Pulqueria in Chinatown that was pretty good. The location is pretty cool (very NYC out of a movie) and the inside is gorgeous. The food? Pretty decent! All in all, nothing to write home about but definitely worth remembering if you’re in the neighborhood.

Got some ice cream at Taiyaki and it was the definition of plain-as-a-dick. Nothing special here.

Finally ate at Lilia in Brooklyn! Honestly, it was really great and I can’t wait to go back. I made Nathan get the spicy lamb fettuccine so that I could try it and I got the mafaldini with pink peppercorns. His was fantastic, but mine was only so-so (it was way too al dente) - I think I just ordered badly because everything else we had was incredible. They had this herbed focaccia with ramp butter special that blew our faces off. I’ve never heard of a bread special before and it’s a brilliant idea, more restaurants should do this, people go nuts for fancy bread (myself included). The cauliflower appetizer (with spicy soppressata, sicilian pesto & majoram) was amazing and the dessert soft-serve swirl was wild. I already know what I’m ordering next time: the sheeps milk cheese filled agnolotti with saffron, dried tomato & honey. The service was of course great, and the space itself is gorgeous. No idea it used to be an auto-repair shop. Is the pasta better at L’Artusi? I’ll have to order the agnolotti before I answer that question. One must be well informed before making such declarations.

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On my birthday, I took advantage of a free-facial offered from Smith & Brit in the city and it was beyond lovely. Claire (the owner) is such a fantastic woman who really knows what she’s doing and she made it such a wonderful experience.

I also took advantage of the free birthday brow arch they offer at all Benefit locations and whoa. I almost exclusively thread my eyebrows every few months, so I was excited to have them waxed for a change. I have pretty sensitive forehead skin, so I did have tiny bumps around my eyebrows for a few days afterward, but it still was worth it. They do an “eyebrow map” of how your eyebrows would best look and then wax them accordingly. And then they follow that with filling them in with Benefit products. I usually use a combination of Colourpop’s brow pencil and Milani’s waxier eyebrow pencil, but when she used the Benefit eyebrow gel wand, I was floored at how much fuller they looked. Really considering buying the mini and seeing if I can achieve that same look. Look how full!

Above Photo: Excuse the horrifying closeness of the above photo

I tried both 2019 birthday gifts from Sephora and Ulta, and talked about both of them here.

I watched all of Shrill in one evening and I can’t imagine not watching it that way. It’s perfect. I can’t stop playing this song on repeat, WHY IS IT ONLY ONE MINUTE? Other thoughts: I had no idea that the morning-after pill doesn’t work for women over 175 pounds, that’s insane!? The mother/daughter storyline is so well done it hurts. ALL of the outfits on pretty much every single woman are so fucking lovely. I rewatched that one part with the woman in red walking and buying flowers over and over it just made me so happy, I can’t describe why. And the pool party episode? I may have sobbed through some of it, and not in a sad way but in a cathartic way. It just made me feel so many things at once. Mostly about how sometimes you feel invisible if you’re self conscious or self-loathing about your body, and you feel like you don’t matter unless you fit into this idea of what you think people expect you to look like and how if you don’t fit into that, then you’re essentially a worthless piece of garbage, so you treat yourself that way on a daily basis. And how this type of thinking can last you a lifetime because it’s all you’ve allowed yourself to believe for years and years. There are so many ways that a person can feel inadequate or less than, and it’s so internally normalized because you truly believe that you’re not good enough and you never will be. It’s a depressing way to live and so many women especially live this way, myself included obviously. So that whole episode really just felt like a fucking dream of a reality. I really hope there will be more episodes of the series, I’ve never related to a television show more in my life.

I tried the watermelon makeup wipes from Sephora and even though they smell amazing, they don’t take off all of your makeup. Pass. The Avon one is still my all-time favourite.

I tried the cleansing pads from First Aid Beauty and they’re tingly, fun and great. Perfect alternative for when you don’t feel like washing your face. I don’t know if that’s their intent, but that’s how I’m using them.

Nathan’s second album came out on iTunes! Buy it! Love it! Or not! Do you!

I’ve been having trouble sleeping and one thing that has helped? Taking a hot shower before bed. Is this such common knowledge that I’m a moron? Maybe. In any case, very happy to have learned this.

Started and finished watching the final season of Broad City and it was really, really good. I always forget how good this show is. I wish it existed when I was a teenager.

Practically in LUST with Trader Joe’s Everything But The Bagel Seasoning. I’m so late to this party, but at least I finally got there. I’ve only even tried it on top of some buttered bread and I was floored at how good it is.

Can’t stop rewatching all the old Ready or Not episodes on YouTube. Also, Degrassi Junior High.

You know how sometimes you have irrationally dumb opinions on things you know nothing about? That was me with dry shampoo. I didn’t really understand it. Also, I thought it was exclusively for white women, I don’t know why? Obviously I tried some (this Amika one) and I mean… it’s kind of spectacular. I maybe shouldn’t have discovered it because I might never wash my hair again.

I visited the Everlane store in Soho (because apparently YouTube ads really do work on me) and even though it’s beautifully minimalist, it’s way too overpriced.

Tried the pizza at Lions & Tigers & Squares Detroit Pizza and it was really good. They don’t offer single slices, but it’s the perfect place to go with someone to split one. So in love with Detroit style lately. (Also, can I accept world-wide-credit for the massive amounts of pepperoni pieces you’re seeing on pizzas these days?! I’ve been ordering triple-pepperoni-well-done pizzas for DECADES and I’ve been harshly judged endlessly because of it and LOOK AT WHERE WE ARE NOW! Full credit.)

Above Photo: Pepperoni pizza from Lions & Tigers & Squares, NYC

The penultimate episode of this season of This Is Us was wildly good. There was so much relatable couple stuff, it’s so hard to even get into if you didn’t see the episode/don’t care about the show, but if you did? Email me. I could talk about it for an hour, it was so well done. It’s essentially about the give and take in a relationship and about how it’s rarely equal, and man… so, so well done. Loved every minute.

Remember how I tried and liked Bumble & Bumble’s Thickening Spray? Well, I still do but definitely don’t spray it on your roots, it works much better if you use it sparsely on the rest of your hair when damp. Maybe that’s already obvious but I’m very new to using any hair products, so forgive my stupidity.

SO excited for Jenny Slate’s new book.

I went to Beacon’s Closet for the first time and whoa. I didn’t find anything I loved, but it’s definitely one of those places you should stop in every once in awhile to see what’s there. The space is a little overwhelming, but the things that I’ve seen people get from there are gorgeous and so inexpensive.

I tried to find my colour in the Fenty collection of concealers and nothing matched, but it’s not a huge deal since I’m happy with the NARS one I’ve been using. And speaking of concealers, Colourpop just released their own and they were kind of good?? Again, I still prefer the NARS one, but the Colourpop one is actually kind of good, especially for being $6.

Finally ate at Raclette and I don’t think I’ll be returning. There are basic rules for making a good grilled cheese. I mean, I’m no scientist but you should be able to hold up the sandwich. And that just didn’t happen here. I had to use a knife and fork, which is… sad. Astoria Bier & Cheese understands these rules and still remains the best place to go if you’re in the mood for one.

I accidentally tried smoked salmon for the first time and it was really good, who the hell knew? Apparently everyone but me. I’ve never ordered it because I really only fake-like cooked salmon, so why the hell would I like it uncooked or *shudder* smoked? Also, it looks so gross! I should’ve known better though because it’s almost always true that if something looks gross, it probably tastes amazing. That’s a thing, yeah?

I tried samples (because I own a million fucking samples of every cream on planet earth) of Kiehl’s avocado eye cream and passssssss. It left my under eyes crazy red and zombie-like, so never again.

Bought a new white living room carpet from Carpet Factory Outlet on the Upper East Side and it was so cheap and great, have to keep this place in mind.

Absolutely hate this Tarte mascara, it stays on your lashes for days after you think you’ve washed it off and I don’t know why anyone would want that.

Since I’ll forever love Trader Joe’s, we tried the new broccoli and kale pizza crust and it’s even better than the cauliflower crust that we love. This one also doesn’t burn as easily in the oven as the cauliflower one, so I think this is the new favourite.

There’s a new flavour of banana pudding at Magnolia Bakery: chocolate hazelnut. It was sold out when I tried to get it, but I did get a sample and yikes. Obviously it’s the greatest.

Ate at Al Di La in Brooklyn and it was not fantastic. Their version of “gnocchi” was confusing and 1000% too spinachy. The tagliatelle al ragu (below) was obviously good, but, like, it’s so hard to fuck that up.

Above Photo: Tagliatelle Al Ragu at Al Di La, Brookyn, New York

Found this lovely-as-hell store in Park Slope, Habit. Literally everything felt and looked beautiful. In love with this one specific brand they had.

Went to a Mortified show with Harmeet who was visiting me, and it was good! We only stayed for the first half because honestly my feet hurt and we were standing and I think we both just decided, “Yeah, we get it… we’re good” and then went to Ample Hills Creamery around the corner. Love it when friends decide to leave an event early together for something more fun, not enough people do this.

FINALLY made it to Daily Provisions. Maple cruller? Heavenly. Everything-bagel-flavoured croissant injected with cream cheese? Delightful. Danny Meyer continues to do no wrong. Favourite breakfast place in Union Square.

Above Photo: Maple Cruller from Daily Provisions, Union Square, New York City

Still very much in love with this song, and as I was listening to it one day I started reading the comments as I was listening and this one YouTube comment… my god. So sweet. Maybe parts of it are definitely corny or too much or something, but my god, in the moment, I loved it:

“I heard this song when I woke up un-groggy for the first time after an abortion. It was the first time I heard it. And riding in the car beside my Mom, who had been pro-choice her entire life until the moment she was staring that decision right in the face, both of us were silent the entire song. Through every lyric, it was as if Sara had written a eulogy of my life. Everything we had been through, everything I had suffered. Everything I had seen. Every time I had to grow up sooner than I should have. Everything I had to push to the back of my mind so I didn’t lose myself completely. Everything surfaced through these lyrics. This will just be another comment lost among this thread. But if someone happens to read it - if someone who NEEDS to see this comment see’s it - know that things will always be better. TIME HEALS ALL. Even if it seems as though no one would care if you were gone. Even if it seems as though you have no purpose in this world. YOU MATTER. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes you have made. It doesn’t matter how many times you have sworn to God “you’d change” if he just forgave you for this one mistake. Hell. Even if you don’t believe in God. If you don’t know what to believe, if you’re lost, if you don’t know what to do - just keep going. Keep doing. Keep moving in any direction that is away from the heartache and pain that keeps you tied down. Let go of the past. Let go of the fear and hurt your heart endures on a daily basis. Just keep living. Keep going. Forgive. Never forget. Learn from your mistakes. Better yourself. Live for you. Find your happiness. Love unconditionally. Live.” — Shelby Grimm

Went to Momofuku Noodle Bar for the second time and it was so much better than the first time. I also ordered better. The chilled spicy noodles with sichuan sausage, thai basil & cashews (shown below) were incredible and I tried some of the broth of the spicy beef ramen that Harmeet ordered and holy shit, it was good. I’m still too… not into the idea of ramen, but that broth was fucking nuts. ALSO, their dessert special (caramelized white chocolate pie with hazelnut and puffed rice was F-U-C-K-I-N-G memorable (also below). Christ.

Above Photo: Chilled Spicy Noodles from Momofuku Noodle Bar, NYC

Above Photo: Caramelized White Chocolate Pie from Momofuku Noodle Bar, NYC

A few months ago I got dinner at Pil Pil on the Upper East Side and since it was good, I stopped in there for lunch recently and it’s probably the best lunch I’ve had in that area for sure. There’s a $4 happy hour sangria special and their lamb sliders are incredible. The fries are maybe my favourite restaurant fries in the city, they’re so crispy and drizzled with this spicy aioli and they also have a chocolate-hazelnut dessert cake that is unbelievable. I know it sounds like I love everything everywhere, but I swear I don’t.

There is a place in NYC where you can rent out really nice digital cameras for 24 hours FOR FREE and no one knows about it (the only hiccup is that you need to have state-issued ID). Sony Square is a “public space committed to showcasing innovations in products, music, movies and gaming” - which essentially means that every few weeks they change up their aesthetic to showcase new Sony products, but the camera-rental service is an always-available option. Insanely cool thing to offer.

Found amazingly soft and comfortable leggings (cheap too!) at Aerie (thank you Marla!) that I will exclusively buy from now on. (No more trash Aritzia leggings that disintegrate every three months!) Bought some of their workout pants too that have pockets (!) that were incredibly soft, too.

I saw the movie Us and really liked it. Mostly because yeah, it’s a good movie. But also because IT’S AN ORIGINAL MOVIE. I’m so sick of remakes and superhero movies that I love it when movies like this get made. I know it’s classified as a horror movie, but it’s not really, in my opinion. Plus I love when you finish watching a movie and you want to come home immediately and research as much about it as possible. It’s good, go see it!

Harmeet and I went to Manhatta for lunch (because apparently I have a Danny Meyer obsession) and it exceeded all expectations. First of all, it’s not crazy expensive despite the fact that it’s in the fucking sky (60th floor). We got the mushroom soup, the scotch snails with pork sausage in garlic butter and the French onion burger and everything was amazing. Service was perfect. Views are insane. Perfect place to take someone who’s visiting, especially for lunch. Will definitely go back.

Above Photo: View from Manhatta, NYC

Above Photo: Harmeet! In all her beauty!

Above Photo: French Onion Burger from Manhatta, NYC

Lastly, I watched the Leaving Neverland documentary on HBO. I also watched all the episodes of Surviving R. Kelly. I watched both of these within a few days and I don’t recommend anyone viewing all of these things in such a short amount of time unless you want to cry endlessly and (irrationally? Or understandably?) loathe an entire gender for a few days. And look, if you know anything about me, you know what a huge fan I am of Michael Jackson. From his music to the connection of meeting Nathan, I’ve forever loved this man in the way that all of his fans love him. For years I would think (and sometimes, ugh, say) “I don’t know that man personally. I don’t want to know about his personal life. I can’t judge him if I don’t know him.” And I’d say these things as a way of deflecting from the fact that I didn’t want those beautiful songs tarnished in my mind, as dumb as that sounds. And in an extremely similar way, I acted the same with R. Kelly. I didn’t WANT to take “When A Woman Loves” off of my iPod for years because I didn’t want to believe someone who could sing so beautifully could be some kind of monster, which makes zero sense but seems like a rational thought to people who still don’t believe these victims. The way that we worship these artists/abusers, without actually knowing anything about them (or sometimes knowing complete details of their abuse), wanting them to continue to achieve success no matter what the cost, is so unhealthy and odd and is part of a larger culture that is already designed to idolize anyone with status or more money than us. I didn’t want to watch Neverland. I knew it’d be bad. I only took down my Woody Allen poster in my childhood bedroom last year (to be fair, I don’t live there, but this should’ve happened years ago). I rarely spoke up in favor of these men, but I did stay silent when they were discussed because that was easier to do and basically what most everyone else was doing and made it feel acceptable, which is awful. I feel horrible that it took this many years for victims to be believed and it makes me sick that I’m apart of the group of people who made it impossible for victims to be heard. As hard as these things were to watch, I think they’re wildly important to see.

This one part from Surviving R. Kelly sums up one of the problems so well.

“Our society tends to compartmentalize the things we don’t want to look at, and magnifies and glorifies the things that we do. For example, if an individual is providing something to the society as music, cinema, politics - we’re more likely to compartmentalize the negative behavior and minimize it, as a way of accepting what they’re contributing.”

Jesus, a lot happened in March. Excited for April! Some upcoming things that you can expect in next month’s post: I’m going to start taking collagen (I’ve heard it helps hair growth), a family trip to Niagara Falls, a Best of Astoria post & thoughts on the new Twilight Zone. Hello, April!

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