#ive actually never have had a sofa as big and as comfortable as the one that was alredy in my apartment when i moved in

[meirimerens]

watching La Grande Vadrouille in my sofa laptop on my knees sleepy time tea on hand. this is all this is about

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 20] FINAL

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, sex toys, shibari, dom!seungcheol, dirty talk, overstimulation/forced orgasms, squirting, degradation, name calling, daddy!kink, gags! 😍💕 ✨HAPPY NEW YEAR!!✨ Here’s to more fun fics in 2021! I can’t believe this is our last chapter though omg 😭 It’s been suuuuch a journey and a privilege to write this little series out! I’ve honestly thought about a camgirl/boy series for like, over a year now, and I’m glad I finally did it! I completed one of my goals! 🥺💕 2020 was definitely a wild one, but I want to thank you all so fuckin’ much for supporting me and stickin’ it out with me all year! Here’s to more in the coming year!💕 Also I was proofreading this at the dining table last night thinking my roommate wouldn’t come out of their room but they did(while I was making dinner and my hands were dirty so I couldnt close my laptop ☠️) and they walked past my laptop and now I’m convinced they saw my fucking smut fic right in the open so yes my little mini-break next week is MUCH needed cause I am ✨embarrassed✨ 🤣 I’ll still do my inbox roundup tomorrow and probably answer a bunch of small thirst posts ‘n stuff throughout the week but there won’t be any drabbles! For now, enjoy chapter 20 🥺, have a safe weekend, and remember that I love you~ ❤️🍒💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 COMPLETE

Seungcheol wakes up much earlier than you do the next morning; pressing a kiss to your forehead as you groan and snuggle deeper into your pillow.

“Baby, I need to go run some errands for a little bit, okay? Just keep sleeping, you don’t need to get up yet. But, I made breakfast and put it in the microwave for you when you decide to get up later.”

His voice is muffled and you can barely understand what he’s saying but you nod; a soft sigh on your lips when you drift back into dreamland. He takes his time getting ready, checking his phone notifications as he gets dressed and places a note on the nightstand knowing that you didn’t catch a single word he said.

‘Hey, did you get everything I asked for?’

Jimin🧍🏻: of course, who do you think I am? Jeongguk?

Jimin🧍🏻: and btw, i’m just giving you a crash course okay? We don’t really have a ton of time

Jimin🧍🏻: did you watch those tutorial videos I sent you?

‘Yeah, I did some practice on my breaks, but I guess you can tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.’

Jimin🧍🏻: okee, i’ll be waiting. Don’t get here too late!

‘I’ll be otw soon. Thanks again, Jimin.’

“Ow--damn, okay, you don’t need to tug on it so much!”

“Sorry, I’ll be careful! And why are we practicing on you anyway?! Couldn’t you just have shown me pictures or something?”

“How else will you learn if not on an actual body? It doesn’t work the same way, Seungcheol.” Jimin pauses, checking himself in the mirror. “Also, keep in mind she does have boobs so just… go slow, okay? It’s not gonna sit like this on her.”

Seungcheol blushes a crimson red; biting the inside of his cheek at how amateur he was at this.

“Okay…”

Seungcheol is gone for a lot longer than you anticipate and although he replies quickly to your texts, you can’t help but be curious about where he’d gone and what he was doing.

Especially knowing that the two of you had to film tonight and knowing that everything was up to Seungcheol.

A shiver rolls down your body at the thought and you quickly try to shake off the nerves that seem to slowly invade your body when your mind starts to wander.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure…”

“I’m home!”

“Where have you--oh, that’s… a b-big box? Um, should I be concerned...”

Seungcheol grins, shrugging as he sets it onto the kitchen counter. “Just some supplies for tonight. I had to go pick them up from a friend but I had to make sure everything was right.” He notices the way you can’t seem to take your eyes off of the box; eyes twinkling when he makes his way towards you.

He tilts your head up to meet his in a searing kiss, lips easing into a smile when you wrap your arms around his neck and melt under his touch. You moan against his lips just before he pulls away; staring dreamily at him while his hands start to roam over your clothed body.

“We have a long night ahead of us, sweetheart. Let’s pamper you a little before then, hmm?”

j__min: ??? where’s the loverboy

j__min has donated $200

angelhan has donated $75

therealchan99 has donated $50

xcaliburDK has donated $75

xcaliburDK: is that the sybian? Haven’t seen that in a looong while

You bite your lip and nod, somewhat shy as you sit alone in front of the camera. “Seungcheol’s still… setting up but he told me to start! I’m a little nervous, to be honest…” Your eyes flit to Seungcheol who rummages through the box in the kitchen and from the angle you’re sat in, you can’t see a single thing he takes out.

Earlier, he’d cooked you your favorite meal and even took the time to give you a full body massage before the two of you cuddled on the sofa and watched a movie. To you, it seemed a little too suspiciously tame and you only found yourself more nervous when he made you drink two glasses of water and ever so quietly announced it was time to start getting ready for the camshow.

“He’s being so suspicious! He was even gone for a few hours earlier today…” You mumble; brows furrowed at the camera before checking the comments.

It still amazed you every time with how much money you and Seungcheol made from the camshows and videos and it made you feel even better knowing that everyone loved the chemistry the two of you had together. There were a lot of video requests and ideas mixed in with the comments at any given time and you were definitely ready to pitch some to Seungcheol now that you’d rebranded your channel to be a couple’s channel instead.

“Almost done, sweetheart!”

gc__koo: he told me to watch cuz he was being suspicious with me too 

gc__koo has donated $50

alphagyu97: what is he even plotting

alphagyu97: i am excited to see the sybian again tho ngl

artist8hao: pretty baby gonna squirt for us again?

universe_WZ: hell fuckin yea let us see how fuckin wrecked you get on that machine

You feel your pussy clench around emptiness at their comments; already feeling yourself getting wetter and wetter with the anticipation.

Movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention and Seungcheol walks towards the bed with a wide smile and the same box in hand. “Ready?” You can only nod back slowly, watching as he dumps the contents of the box right next to your body.

gc__koo: oy

chwenon: oh shit

sleepy_wonu: oh baby, you’re in for it now

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

Your entire body fills with warmth as you look over the various objects; unsure of where to really look first. “I, um--”

A stack of red ropes sits next to a small bullet vibrator that sits next to a ball gag that sits next to a pair of EMT shears and your eyes immediately flit up to Seungcheol who only smirks back at your shocked expression. “I had some other toys I wanted to use but I figured I should go easy on you, y’know? Since you showed me some mercy last night.”

Nodding, you reach out towards the ropes, touching them shyly. “Why red?”

“Thought they’d be on theme for you, babygirl.”

Seungcheol takes his time; remembering Jimin’s words when he tugs the ropes around your wrists.

“Colour, babygirl?”

“G-green… daddy…”

He nods, sitting up on his knees behind you as you sit on the sybian and face the camera. You bite your lip, somewhat embarrassed that you were already soaking the toy underneath you as Seungcheol worked to bind your arms behind you.

“D--daddy, where did you l-learn this?” You whisper, somewhat curious if this had anything to do with why he was gone for so long earlier in the day.

“Mm, daddy’s friend Jimin was kind enough to help me get the tools and teach me a few tricks to make sure I kept my babygirl safe. Wasn’t that kind of him?” You nod gently, gulping when you shift atop the machine slightly in hopes of relieving some of the growing sexual tension in your body. “Why don’t you thank him properly, sweetheart?”

Your hazy eyes make eye contact with the camera, head tilted slightly. “T-thank you, J-Jimin… for--for helping daddy…”

j__min: omg a shoutout ive made it

kitty_junjun: we never thought we’d see the day

tangerine_kwan: and here we all thought you were gonna be the bad guy huh

hoshi_tiger_xx: like when u only see previews of the book online but the rest of it is different ykwim

Seungcheol makes sure your arms are bound snug enough but not too tight; leaning away slightly to admire his rope work. “Feeling okay so far, babygirl?”

Nodding, you whine back slightly. “Y-yes, daddy… But… my--my pussy wants s-something…” He laughs in return, readjusting so that he’s sitting on your side this time to give himself easier access to start the rest of the bindings.

“Is that so? You’re gonna have to be a little more patient this time ‘cause daddy’s not done yet.” He starts working on the rest of the harness; going slow and checking in with you often to make sure none of the ropes were digging into your skin or making you uncomfortable. “You’ll have to forgive me a little though, I’m admittedly a ‘lil inexperienced so our pretty babygirl is only going to be tied up in this pretty harness for tonight.”

gentleman_josh95: the fact u even took the time to learn just for her

gentleman_josh95 has donated $100

artist8hao: seriously, the dedication

kitty_junjun: we stan a man who knows safety and etiquette 

Comments of reassurance and donations flood in at Seungcheol’s small apology and although the two of you are in your own world; you can tell from just the amount of pings coming from your laptop that they all seemed to be encouraging him.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as Seungcheol continues to move around you on the bed to finish the harness and a smile graces his lips when he starts to secure the last knots in the back. He can’t help but mentally pat himself on the back at how neatly he’d done it for his first time.

“There. All done, baby.”

Your eyes flit to the laptop’s screen to see yourself; cheeks hot when you see how fucked out you already look and he hadn’t even touched you properly or turned on the machine.

The star harness Seungcheol had tied looks pretty with red ropes and you can’t hide your smile at how good it looks on you too either. “Ah, daddy made it really p-pretty… Thank you.”

This time, Seungcheol nods, letting you admire yourself as he silently reaches for the small remote for the sybian, switching it on.

Your entire body lurches forward as soon as the vibrations attack your clit and you immediately find yourself moaning and grinding down onto the machine as he gives you some relief.  

“You’re welcome, babygirl. Now let’s really have some fun, huh?”

You need to cum.

Badly.

“Awww, is my pretty baby drooling? Does it feel that good on your sensitive ‘lil clit?” He teases, smoothing down your hair as you cry around the ball gag in your mouth; drool seeping out from the side of your lips when he raises the vibrations a setting higher.

You don’t know how many times he’d played with the settings and edged you by now, but all you do know is that the urge to cum only grows stronger as you grind against the machine, soaking it with your wetness as you chase the pleasure building up in your body again.  

Surely cumming was okay, right? He never said you couldn’t.

You whimper around the ball gag, eyes fluttering shut when the tension in your body snaps in the blink of an eye and your thighs clamp down onto the sides of the machine. Throwing your head back, you moan against the gag and ride out your high as Seungcheol watches you from the side.

“Mm, bet that felt good, huh? But I know you want something in that greedy ‘lil cunt of yours, don’t you? You want daddy’s cock slamming into your tight ‘lil hole ‘til it’s full of my cum, right, sweetheart?” He licks his lips, turning off the sybian as you slump forward.

universe_WZ: shit shes so sensitive

chwenon: especially with her arms bound like that i bet she’s on cloud nine rn

gentleman_josh95: her cute lil head is probably all fuzzy already from all the sensations

therealchan99 has donated $100

gc__koo has donated $75

j__min has donated $150

All you can do is whimper and nod; teary eyes blinking back at Seungcheol as he smirks and leans in towards you.

“Mmm, you’ll get what you want eventually. But for now, you’re gonna cum again.”

He turns the sybian back on, licking his lips when he sees your body tensing again. It was always easier to get you to cum a second time and his point is proven when you mewl around the ball gag a few minutes later; chest heaving in stuttered breaths as you try to shy away from the toy still vibrating against your overly sensitive clit when you’re quickly thrown into another orgasm.

“You always cum for daddy so easily, don’t you, babygirl?”

Your head feels fuzzy after already cumming twice in such a short span of time but you nod, head lolling to the side as Seungcheol finally turns the sybian off for good.

Seungcheol gives you a second to catch your breath before he’s scooting in and fiddling with the clasps at the back of your head to take the ball gag off.

A thread of saliva connects your lips to the gag and you whimper at how good it feels to be able to actually speak again. “D-daddy…” Drool drips from your mouth as your lead lolls forward and Seungcheol is quick to bring a hand up to keep your head up as he looks into your lust filled eyes.

“Colour, sweetheart?”

“Still g-green…” He nods back, checking to make sure none of the ropes had shifted. “Would you like some water before we continue, baby?”

“Yes, daddy…”

He fetches you a glass of water, tilting it against your lips as you down the entire glass and you find yourself a little surprised at how needed it was. “Thank you, d-daddy…”

“You’re welcome, babygirl. Ready to keep going?”

You nod, a little bit more energized. “I hope everyone, mmh, l-likes the show so f-far~” Your teary vision prevents you from reading the comments and before you can even make an effort to, Seungcheol is already helping you off of the machine and helping you sit on the bed across from him.

alphagyu97: ugh she looks so fucking good in that harness

angelhan: right? That shade of red looks so good against her skin too

angelhan: so fuckin pretty

tangerine_kwan: pics for the private room later? Plz i beg

Seungcheol takes this time to take off his boxer briefs, cock curving up against his abdomen when he’s fully naked across from you. He wraps a hand around his cock, moaning and spreading the precum down his shaft as you watch. “D’you want this, baby?”

Your lips fall open in a silent moan as you watch Seungcheol jerk himself off and you can’t help but squirm. “Y-yes…”

“Tell me exactly what you want then. Let them hear what a filthy little slut you are for me.” You can’t help but feel miserably empty watching him and despite having already cum twice, you want his cock fucking you open and making you cum again.

“I--I--”

“Yes, babygirl?”

“I, ngh, I want d-daddy’s cock… Please? Ah, I--I wanna feel you fucking my--my pussy into the, mmh, s-shape of your c-cock… And I w-want you to c-cum inside my--my slutty little h-hole…”

Seungcheol scoffs, hips shallowly thrusting up into his enclosed fist. “That’s right. You’re just my slutty ‘lil babygirl that lets me use all her tight holes how I please, right? You like it when I cum down your throat and in your pretty ‘lil ass. But we all know you like it best when I cum in your hot ‘lil cunt. Makes you feel all warm and full, doesn’t it? You like it when my cum is dripping out of your spent cunt and sliding down your shaky thighs.” This time you nod furiously as you whine back in response.

“P-please… Can’t wait any--anymore!”

This time, the impatience takes over as you slightly tug on the ropes; whining when they don’t give. “Daddy!”

And this time, he gives in quicker than he anticipates, growling as he reaches for the EMT shears to cut you from the harness. “Don’t let your arms down, no matter how much you want to. You’re going to strain your arms if you move too fast so let me handle it, okay, sweetheart?”

The sudden gentleness in his voice has a giddy warmth pouring over you as you nod and sit still while he cuts at various points of the harness to make the ropes fall loose around your arms and chest. You keep your arms in the same position like he requested and you soon feel his hands roaming your skin and massaging your arms to get the blood flowing again.

“You’re so good for me, baby.” He whispers against your hair, leaning down to kiss your shoulder before he slowly easing your arms down from being folded behind your back.

He continues to massage your arms for a few more minutes before it’s you that’s getting impatient. “Daddy… Can you fuck me now?” Whispering, you slightly turn your body to the side to meet his gentle stare.

Seungcheol laughs under his breath, nodding. “Lay on your back for me, legs spread.”

You follow his orders as you quickly scramble to get into position; legs spread wide for him to situate himself between.

“Mm, your pussy is still so fuckin’ wet. I wanna taste you on my tongue, baby.” Whines spill from your lips as you shake your head ‘no.’

“No! My p-pussy feels empty, I need y-your cock, daddy… ‘n I’m so wet, you can probably, ah, just s-slide your cock in…”

He wraps a hand around his cock just as you wrap your legs around his waist and he guides himself until the head of his cock is right at your entrance.

Neither of you say a word as he slowly starts to sink his cock in; guttural moans on his lips when he meets no resistance and bottoms out in a singular thrust. “Holy fuck, your cunt is so fuckin’ wet. Shit, and so t-tight!” You clench around him, already feeling good with his cock inside of you as you beg him to fuck you hard and fast.

“Ngh, p-please fuck me like--like I’m your, hah, c-cocksleeve… I want it f-fast, daddy!”

He grits his teeth at your words; drawing his hips back before snapping them into you just how you wanted. “Fast, hmm? All you think about in that pretty head of yours is my cock pounding you open, huh? Slamming into you so fuckin’ good, it makes your toes curl when you cum.”

Seungcheol starts a quick pace, already feeling the pleasure building up for himself when you’re reduced to garbled noises and broken cries of his name. The heels of your feet dig into the small of his back as you try to press him in closer and he’s quick to reach for the small bullet vibrator left on the bed next to your body.

“Your body is so fuckin’ sensitive, I can already feel how tight you’re getting around me. So fuckin’ greedy to cum too. Already came twice and you still want more. You’re not satisfied until your whole body is shaking underneath me, huh, sweetheart?” He turns the small toy on, pressing it to your clit as you yelp and let out choked sobs.

“Ah, ngh, d-daddy, my--my clit’s t-too sen--sensitive! I--I can’t--!” Squirming, you feel the pressure building up obscenely quick; bottom lip quivering when he takes one of your free hands and makes you hold the toy to your swollen clit.

“Just a little more, sweetheart. Don’t you wanna cum?”

He angles his thrusts to graze against your g-spot and loud cries of his name leave your lips in a hurried, jumbled mess when he only doubles his pace.

The sound of donations and comments pour in like water and get lost within the ringing in your ears; unable to even warn Seungcheol that you’re about to cum when you feel your entire body starting to lock up underneath him.

Your lips part in a silent scream and your back bows off of the bed, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cum for the third time. Seungcheol growls, fucking you through it as you squirt all over his lower half.  He finds it harder and harder to thrust into you as you cum, but he feels himself quickly following suit with your warm walls fluttering around his cock.

“Fuck, baby, that’s right. Squirt for me, get me fuckin’ soaked while you cum.” He uses a free hand to make sure you keep the toy pressed to your clit, growling when he starts to unload his cum inside of you. “Mmh, gonna fill your cunt up with what you want, baby.”

A shaky moan leaves your lips as you feel him throbbing inside your pussy; walls clamped down onto him in a vice grip as you ride out the remnants of your orgasm.

“Ah, d-daddy’s cumming suh--so much inside of my p-pussy…”

Whining, you feel Seungcheol’s grip on your hand give way as he rides out his pleasure and you take the opportunity to turn off the small bullet vibrator while he doesn’t notice.

You watch his face contort in pleasure, hips still shallowly thrusting into you as his entire body shivers above you.

“D-daddy’s so h-handsome...” You mumble, cheeks hot when he cracks a smile through the pleasure wracking his body and chuckles under his breath. 

“Thank you, babygirl.” 

After you end the show, Seungcheol makes sure to cuddle with you on the bed for a little while longer.

“One more glass of water, baby.” You whine in response, pouting up at him before he gets up from the soaked sheets. 

“But I already had a glass! If you have a piss kink just say so, ‘Cheol!”

He lets out a boisterous laugh at your comment, trudging back to the bed from the kitchen with another glass of water for you. “You need to be hydrated, sweetheart. You came three times and we played a little more rough today. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

“Fine, but you didn’t deny my comment.” You snarkily reply, taking the glass from him as you down the water. 

“Don’t make me have to punish you again! I’ll have you know I still need to get you all washed up and change the bed--”

A faint pinging has the two of you turning to the laptop; still on your camming homepage from where you’d checked the revenues from tonight’s show. 

A small [1] sits above your inbox and Seungcheol is quick to turn to you with an eyebrow raised. “I thought you turned off the messaging system on your profile?” 

You tilt your head in confusion, handing him the emptied glass. “I did. The only messages I should get are from, like, the actual system admins or other creator accounts which, I haven’t received any ‘til... now, I guess?”

Seungcheol sets the glass down onto the nightstand before he takes a seat next to you, dragging the laptop closer as you go to check the notification. 

“’Love&Letter Films’? Aren’t they one of the biggest adult film companies?” Mumbling, you click on the message, giving yourself and Seungcheol a second to process the message that stares back at you; a shocked smile on your lips.

‘Hello!

I hope this message finds Cherry and Seungcheol well. 

We, at ‘Love&Letter Films’, have really enjoyed the shows and videos from your channel throughout the years and we really have enjoyed watching the growth of your channel and the addition of Seungcheol to it. The dynamics between the two of you are rare in this industry and we’ve yet to see anyone like the two of you in this market. 

The shows from the last two nights have proven that the two of you have the right kind of chemistry to film together for bigger productions and we would love to hire you for a few film productions we have planned in the upcoming weeks as a feeler. Of course, all expenses paid by us if you would kindly take our offer. 

We love the various scenes and roles that the two of you take on with ease and we would love to help propel your careers forward, should you pursue a career in the adult entertainment industry. 

Please don’t hesitate to contact me as I’ve listed my contact information below. I’m excited to hear from the two of you and hope to work with you in the future on many projects.

Respectfully, 

Kwon Soonyoung, L&L FILMS CEO’

[clanoffetts]

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

Chapter III

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blossoms.

warnings/things to note: swearing; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); no use of ‘Y/N’; my fc for Paz is Winston Duke, I don’t describe Paz too much at the moment, but just know that’s who I picture!

word count: 6.4k

karyai - main living room of the covert - a big chamber for talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack.

ba’vodu - uncle/aunt

-

The birds of Yavin IV’s song was calming as you came into full consciousness. The sleep from the night before was much needed, and very refreshing. You opened your eyes and looked to where Paz had been before you’d fallen asleep. He wasn’t there. Neither was your sleep mask. “Kriff!” You flung your body onto your right side, looking away from Paz’s side of the bed.  

Shit. Shit. Shit. You’d told him you wouldn't look. Hell, you told him it was impossible for you to look. And here you are, no mask over your eyes. What if he’d been there? After all the time you’d spent convincing him to share the bed with you, that it’d be safe. Sure, you hadn’t actually seen him, but the possibility frightened you. You couldn’t violate him like that, even if it was an accident. You couldn’t live with yourself. 

A few minutes of deep breathing later, you got out of bed, and headed into the ‘fresher. You wanted so badly to take another shower, to relax under the water, but you knew it was important to save water, not sure if the covert had water to spare for your journey. You’d have to be content with washing your face and pretending. 

You stared in the mirror, into your own eyes. You replayed the night before: the vibroblade that now sat with your stuff, the idea of Paz taking you to his home and meeting his family, learning his traditions. The pure bliss you were in as you fell asleep, and then the violent jerk of the morning’s close call. Your eyes were no longer as tired as they had been when you’d looked at yourself last night. 

You threw on jeans and a shirt, and finally left the safety of the ‘fresher. Would Paz be mad about the mask coming off? He was so hesitant as it was, you were terrified that this would push him away, make him realize that there’s too much risk in a relationship with a non-Mando. 

“Kebiin’ika?” Paz called as he heard the door to the bedroom open. 

“Yeah?”

He stood up and met you halfway between the room and the common area. “How’d you sleep?” He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a half hug before leading you to the table you’d sat at the night before.

“Pretty good,” you said, taking a seat. “Paz?” He hummed and sat down a bowl of some type of porridge in front of you. “Are you mad at me?”

The helmet snapped up to look at you. “Why would I be mad? If you think you broke the towel rack in the ‘fresher, you haven’t. It’s always been like that.”

“No, Paz,” you said. “About the sleep mask. It came off last night. I’m so sorry, I thought it would stay on. I’m not really a wild sleeper so I don’t know how it happened, but I understand if you’re mad at me-”

“Kebiin’ika,” he says, cutting you off. You suck in a big breath, not realizing how long you’d been rambling. “It’s not that big of a deal to me, it was an accident. You didn’t see my face, right?” 

You nodded. “Right.”

“See? No creeds broken,” he says. He can tell you’re still a little shaken up, and moves to lay his large, gloved hand over your small one. “If I didn’t trust you, mesh’la, I would’ve slept on the cot. I knew the mask came off when I woke up this morning, but I trust you enough that I know you wouldn’t use the opportunity of me being asleep to look, even on accident.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you swear you could hear a smile on his face. “Are you sure? I know I didn’t see anything this time, but I would understand if you want me to take the cot from now on.” He ushered you closer to him, his arm around you. It was a bit awkward with all his armor and clothes, but the heart was there. “Kebiin’ika,” he said. “I’m comfortable with sleeping the way we did last night as long as you are. I’m not worried.”

You sighed, leaning into him. The beskar was cold and you just wanted to feel him, his warm skin. “Ok,” you say. “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”

“Good,” he replies. “Now, why don’t you finish eating while I call the covert. Tell them that I’ll be there shortly to pick up some of our supplies, ok?”

You nodded, and he let you out of his embrace. While spooning the food into your mouth, you watched him at the hull, punching some numbers into his gauntlet and then speaking in what you assumed was Mando’a. It was such a beautiful language, especially coming from Paz’s mouth. And he spoke it with a pride in his voice that he didn’t have when speaking Basic. 

“Alright, mesh’la,” he said as you got to the bottom of the bowl. “I’ll be back soon, no more than two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“Yes, two hours,” he laughed. “It may be sooner, but you never know. Mandalorians take a long time to say goodbye.”

You smiled at him. “Alright, have fun,” you say.

“Oh, I will,” he replies. You watched as the mountain of blue beskar exited the ship and mounted the speeder the two of you rode the day before. A lot has changed since then, you thought. Before you knew it, Paz Vizsla was gone and a dirt cloud took his place.

-

Paz’s ride back to his home didn’t take too long at all. And when he arrived, he spotted Din and Grogu on some rocks outside the entrance. 

“C’mon, Grogu,” Din is saying. “You can do it.” Grogu sat on a rock opposite Din, with his eyes closed. In Din’s hand was Grogu’s beskar ball. Grogu and his ball were inseparable. 

As Paz dismounted and began walking towards the hangar, Grogu’s eyes shot open and he let out an excited shriek. Paz didn’t speak fifty-year-old-toddler, but he figured it was something along the lines of “ba’vodu!”. 

Din turned around, too, and stood. He picked up his little foundling and greeted Paz half way. “How was your evening?”

“Nice,” Paz says. “Yours?”

Din nods. “Mine was ok, but I don’t have a pretty mechanic in my room like you do.”

Paz rolled his eyes. “Din, it’s not like that.” 

Grogu made a sound of protest. “Hm,” Din said. “My Jedi son seems to think differently. He’s never wrong about these things…” Din teases. 

Paz stops just as they’re about to open the blast doors. “Din, Grogu,” Paz says. “Just between us?”

“Just between us,” Din says, and Grogu babbles. 

Paz sighed, was he really doing this? He was. “We’re courting.”

“I knew it!” Din exclaims, and Grogu laughs. “I knew it, Paz. So what’d you give her?”

Paz patted the empty sheath. “Vibroblade.”

“Classic,” Din says. “What will you propose marriage with? Something of her homeworld’s tradition? Or wait and exchange blades that Armorer makes?”

Paz shakes his head, and he’s smiling beneath his bucket. “Maker, Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Though he figured it’d be blades. You didn’t seem too fond of being reminded of Alderaan. “But I’ll put your name in if we need a wedding planner.”

“You better,” Din replies. “Armorer will want to know, too.”

Paz nodded. “I know. I’m not sure I’ll tell her this time. I don’t want word getting out.”

“She won’t tell anyone, you know that.”

“I know, but still,” Paz said, finally punching in the code and opening the doors. “But we’ve got a covert of eavesdroppers.”

There was a child tending to one of his chores just inside, and as soon as he spotted Paz, he practically lunged at him. “Paz!”

“Hey, ad’ika,” Paz says, taking the young kid up onto one of his arms. “I didn’t get to see you yesterday!”

“I know,” he said. “My buir had me at home practicing math. Math! Can you believe it?”

Paz laughed. “Knowing your buir? Yes, yes I can.” 

The group walked further inside the winding the halls of the covert, adding new people to their crew as they saw them. Eventually they reached the karyai, and everyone got comfortable on the many cushions, chairs, and sofas littered about the room.

Paz stayed standing. “Sorry, everyone,” he said when he noticed their disappointment that he wasn’t going to be there long. “But I’ve got my end of a deal to hold up, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” Paz noticed that at the mention of a her, helmets turned to the side, looking at each other, silently gossiping. 

“Then come in here, Paz,” Armorer says, at the doorway to her forge. “And we’ll discuss what you need.” 

Paz obeyed, making his way through all the Mandalorians relaxing in the karyai. He closed the door behind him, and sat at Armorer’s table. “We’ve compiled some things for your journey,” she says. “It’s not much, but it’s what we have. It’s in the hangar, I’m sure Clan Djarin would be happy to assist you in taking it back to your ship.”

“I’m sure it’s more than enough,” Paz replies. “Thank you, Armorer.”

She nodded. “Now, how happy was your mechanic at being left on the ship for so long yesterday?” 

Paz could hear her smirk. “She got bored. Wasn’t there when I got back,” he said. “I almost lost my mind, but she was just in the little town, shopping.”

Armorer let out a soft chuckle. “And you’re trying to tell everyone you aren’t smitten? Maker, Vizsla, I’d think you’d be better with convincing by now.”

Paz sighed. “You’d think.” 

Armorer’s stare bore into him. For Mandalorians, it usually wasn’t intimidating when another looked at you through their visor. It was normal. But Armorer’s presence was different, she was intimidating. “Where is your vibroblade?” 

Kriff. “It’s right here,” he said, patting the sheath on his left side, where his second vibroblade sat. 

“No, not that one,” she said. “The one I forged for you when you donned your helmet. I swear you had it yesterday.”

Well, he might as well tell her at this point. She wouldn’t believe that he’d lost it, this blade had Mandalorian and Vizsla carvings in it, he rarely used it in combat. “Don’t tell anyone this,” Paz said. “I want it to be a secret for now, ok?”

She nodded. 

“I gave it to her. The mechanic.”

Armorer sucked in a breath so sharp that her vocoder picked it up. “As a courtship proposal?” Paz nodded. “I wish you both many blessings, many warriors,” she said. Paz didn’t know if you wanted warriors, but Armorer’s blessings were traditional, and carried a lot of weight.

“Thank you, Armorer,” he replies. “I will pass along the message.”

“If you two are courting, then why didn’t you bring her here? Are you still going on your journey?”

Paz nodded. “She has unfinished business in the Hosnian system,” he didn’t tell her what business. It wasn’t his place, and Armorer understood. “We’ll be back, though I’m not sure when.”

“Long hyperspace travel will be good for your relationship.” Armorer entered counselor mode. “Building trust and love.”

Paz always felt a bit awkward when she became a psychologist. So he just nodded. “Anyways, you said the supplies were in the hangar?” 

She nodded. “Take care of her, Paz,” she said. They both stood. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Paz repeated. 

Paz exited the Armorer’s workshop. Back in the karyai, some people had gone back to their rooms or to tend to their duties, but many still sat around. “Din?” Paz said to his friend.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t happen to know where Bezza is, do you?”

Din nodded. “Last I saw she was in one of the sparring rooms.” Paz thanked him and headed off down one of the long corridors towards the training rooms. 

All the sparring room doors were open except one. Paz opened it gently, and looked inside. Bezza wielded the beskar staff Din had brought back with him. She was sparring with a reprogrammed droid, the only one in the covert. Paz watched with pride as she jabbed at the droid, careful not to hurt it too much. There were still children that would need to learn from sparring with the machine. 

As she landed a final blow, the droid declared her the winner, and she backed off. Paz clapped from his place at the door. “That was very impressive,” he said. “You’ve gotten used to the armor quite well.”

“Paz!” She dropped the staff and walked towards her friend. “No one told me you were here.” 

“That’s probably best,” Paz said. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not repeat it, ok?”

Bezza nodded. “Ok. But if you tried to bring a Loth-cat in again, I’m not making any promises.”

Paz laughed. “It’s not a Loth-cat. It’s about my girl.”

“Your girl?”

Paz nodded. “We’re courting.” 

Bezza threw her arms around her ba’vodu. “Paz that’s wonderful!” Their beskar sang as he patted Bezza on the back. When she finally let go she said, “Are you guys staying here? When do you think you’ll marry? I know Mandalorian courtships tend to not last long, but she’s not a Mandalorian so-”

Paz cut off her rambling by saying, “I don’t know. Like I told Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Bezza laughed. “Of course you haven’t. How many people have you told, Paz? You know if you tell the wrong person, your courtship will be the topic at many dinner tables tonight.”

“I know,” Paz replied. “Only you, Din, and Armorer know.”

“Ok,” she said. “So I take it you’re not going to stay here?”

Paz shook his head. “We’re off to Hosnian Prime as soon as I get back with the supplies.” Somehow, Paz could sense Bezza’s disappointment. He wanted so badly to be there for her, help her through her losses, but he’d made a promise to you. A Mandalorian’s honor was their everything. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be there, but we’ll be coming back here. Maybe even to stay.”

“What’s even on Hosnian Prime?”

Paz sighed. He wanted to tell her, to give her a detailed reason so maybe she felt better. But, again, it wasn’t his place. “She has some business to take care of, Bez.”

She nodded, somewhat satisfied. “Can I walk with you to the hangar?” Paz nodded and they left the sparring room. All the way there, Bezza asked questions in typical teenage fashion. What’s her name? What’s she like? What color is her hair? And Paz answered them all. He figured you wouldn’t mind, and they weren’t too personal. All her questions reminded Paz of just how young she was. Other Mandalorians would understand not to ask those questions, just as Bezza would, in time. 

In the hangar were Din and Grogu and that kriffing ball. Din had already loaded the speeder bikes with the fuel and food, and was now just killing time with his son. “Din!” Paz called. “I’m just about ready.”

Paz turned to Bezza. “When I get back we’ll start a plan for your training. There’s still a lot to get used to in the armor, especially with the jetpack.”

“Ok,” she said. “Hurry back, alright? And be safe!” Paz and Bezza exchanged a few more goodbyes, and he promised to pass on her hello to you. 

Finally, Paz and Din had mounted the speeder bikes. Grogu sat in a carrier on Din’s chest, obviously excited to feel the wind whip around his long ears. The men had unspokenly made it a race, revving their engines and attempting to pass each other without knocking their cargo loose. 

-

You sat outside the ship, taking in the fresh air as the Mandalorians arrived in a cloud of dust, Mando’a, and a baby’s shriek. A baby? You thought. 

You got on your feet and approached the speeders. To your surprise, the Mandalorian in unpainted beskar greeted you by name. Quite a lot kinder than the stare he’d met you with when you’d first arrived. “Hello,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then your eyes finally dropped from the helmet to the carrier on his chest. “Who’s this?” 

“My son,” the Mando said. “His name is Grogu.”

You smiled at the baby. “Hello, Grogu,” you said, and introduced yourself to him. Grogu’s tiny little arms reached out for you, and with Mando's permission, you picked him up. “You’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you, Grogu?” He babbled excitedly. 

The two of you stood back as Din and Paz began loading the supplies onto the ship. “Your dad is very strong, Grogu,” you tell him as Din lifts a large crate off the bike and into the cargo hold. “Are you going to be strong like him?” Grogu gives you a strong response. This kid has to be a handful, you thought. Grogu stayed gripped onto you, his three little fingers wrapped around your one, gurgling and babbling like he made all the sense in the world. You, of course, humored him, and had a deep conversation about the inflation of credits as the shift from Imperial credits to New Republic credits took place. 

Eventually, the men were done, the ship was loaded and refueled. “Alright, Grogu,” you say. “I think your dad will be wanting you back.” You placed a kiss to the top of his odd green head, and attempted to hand him over to the Mando. Grogu had other ideas. His fingers stayed gripped on the back of your t-shirt. 

“Grogu,” Din said. “We have to go. Come on.”

You laughed at the little baby, amazed at how he’d become so attached to you in such little time. “Go on, hon,” you coax. “Your uncle and I will be back soon, I promise.” His big, dark eyes looked up at you, and then he allowed you to pass his little body to his father, who fastened him into the carrier. 

“Safe travels, you two,” Mando said, and attached the bike Paz rode to his own, and him and Grogu were off. 

Finally, you were able to give Paz a hug. “Ready, kebiin’ika?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Let me call Leia before we go,” you say. “I forgot to this morning.”

“Ok, I’ll be waiting in the cockpit whenever you’re ready.” He turned around and disappeared onto the ship. 

You held the holoprojector in front of you, anxious. Surely Leia would want to see you, right? After all your time together…

You sat the projector on a rock and sat down in front of it. You punched in the numbers Leia had sent you a while ago, and waited. Finally, a young girl answered. “May I ask who is calling?” You told her your name. “And who are you calling for?”

“Leia,” you said, and then cringed. “Uh, her royal highness.” You’d never really grasped the royal protocol. 

The girl looked closely. “Is the princess expecting you?”

“Uh, not really,” you said. “But we fought in the Rebellion together. She gave me this number, told me to call if I needed her.”

The girl nodded, and walked out of frame. Hopefully, she’d return with Leia. She did return, but no princess in sight. “Her royal highness will meet with you shortly.” And then she was gone again. 

You sat looking around at the trees, taking in your last minutes on a planet for some time. And even when you got to Hosnian Prime, it would be way different. Hosnian Prime was busy, unlike Dantooine and Yavin IV. 

“Finally!” said a voice. Leia’s. She stood in holo form on the rock, an elegant white dress covered her form and her hair was in two braids down her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you.”

“Leia!” you exclaimed. “I’ve wanted to call, but you know how I felt when the war was won…I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me.”

She frowned. “Oh, stop that,” she said. “I’ll always want to hear from you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get on the line, Korrie is quite protective of me.” 

“I understand,” you smiled. “You are a very important person, your royal highness.”

Leia laughed. “Now, what did I tell you back on Alderaan about formal titles?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a normal person when you’re with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I take it you’re a bit exhausted with decorum at the moment?”

She nodded. “And it doesn’t help that Threepio is the decorum police, either.” The two of you shared a laugh at the droid’s expense. You didn’t know how Leia could stand C-3PO all the time. “Enough with my complaining, are you ok? Is there something you need?”

“Well, I was calling to see if you’d receive me on Hosnian?” you asked. “I want to catch up with you, maybe even a few friends from the old days?”

Leia smiled. “Of course I’ll receive you! When are you leaving? And where from?”

“Yavin IV,” you say. “And hopefully as soon as I hang up with you, if that’s ok?”

She nodded. “That’d be great. I’ll have Korrie send you the coordinates. I can’t wait to see you!” Leia had a way of making anyone feel comfortable, and you couldn’t wait to be in her full presence again. You exchanged goodbyes, and Leia disappeared from the rock. 

Back on the ship, you grabbed a fruit bar from the kitchen and sat in the cockpit. “How was your princess?” Paz asked as he copied the coordinates from your holopad. 

“Good,” you replied. “I had no reason to be anxious, really.”

Paz put a gloved hand over yours on the armrest. “I’m glad it’s working out, mesh’la.” 

“What’s that word mean? You’ve been calling me that all day.”

His thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand. “It means ‘beautiful’,” he says. 

“Mesh’la,” you repeat. “It’s a beautiful word, no wonder it means beautiful.” Paz chuckled a little at your awe. 

His hand left yours and landed on the controls. “Ready to head out?” You nodded, mouth too full to properly respond, and the take off sequence was activated. The ship rose out of the clearing, and you watched as Yavin IV grew smaller beneath you. You saw a building off in the distance, it looked half underground, with a large hangar at the front. 

“Is that your home?” you ask, pointing out at the structure. 

Paz nodded. “Indeed it is,” he says. 

“That was part of the Rebel base once,” you say, remembering your time here. “I didn’t spend too much time on that part, though. There was a main hangar a little farther down, but after the war Leia had a lot of it removed, so the wildlife could return to normal,” you say. “Guess not all of it was taken.”

The ship finally reached the atmosphere and Paz guided the ship through it with grace. The jump to hyperspace was made, and the ship was on autopilot for the next three days. 

Paz turned to you in his chair. “We live in a rebel base now?”

“Indeed you do,” you say. “I think a lot of that building was quarters for officers and stuff. I’ll bet Leia can tell you when we arrive.”

“You want me to come with you to meet her?”

You looked at him, a little confused. “Of course I do,” you tell him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be there and I’m sure that a princess has room to spare. Besides, it’ll do you some good to sleep on a proper bed for a few nights.”

“Are you sure, kebiin’ika? Mandalorians aren’t greeted too kindly.”

“Maybe not in the Outer Rim,” you say. “But that far into the Core? And a guest of Princess Leia’s? I’m sure it'll be ok.”

He nodded. “Ok, then. I’ll come with you.” You smiled at him, wishing so badly to smile at his face and not his helmet. You took his hand in yours, stood up, and led him to the little common area. There was a small sofa pushed against one of the walls, and you motioned for him to sit. 

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and retreat back to the cockpit. When you return, Paz is sat on the sofa, still as can be. It was still a little creepy, how he could just sit there. You held up your holopad. “First thing to know about dating me is I need designated snuggle and holodrama time.”

He laughed. “Is this a common thing or just a kebiin’ika thing?” 

You sat down next to him, a little confused that he was wondering if cuddling and watching holos was common. “Am I your first girlfriend, Paz?”

“If I say yes will you think I’m weird?”

“No, I won’t think you’re weird.”

“Then yes,” he said. You looked at him, feeling a wave of sadness. Had this man been cuddled ever? Hugged? Loved? You cared for him so much already, and you wanted him to feel those things. 

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s a me thing, but it’s an important thing,” you laugh, setting the holopad up to project against the blank wall of the ship. A show about a Jedi and a Twi’lek healer’s unrequited love played on the wall, a slight silver hue brought by the metal of the ship. You moved to cuddle against him, but the armor was stubborn.

“Could you, like, take some of this off?” You say, gesturing at the metal.

He feigned surprise. “You haven’t even taken me out, mesh’la, and you expect me to strip?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just lose some of it so I can cuddle you.” He obeyed, the cuirass and pauldrons going first, and then the gauntlets and gloves. He was left in his fly suit, made of a coarse weave fabric. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would do. You moved his arm around you as you settled into his chest. You could tell he wasn’t too sure what to do. “You’re warm,” you sigh.

“Sorry, mesh’la,” he says.

“Why are you sorry? It’s nice. Hyperspace gets cold,” you tell him. He was a little tense at first, he wasn’t used to this, he really hadn’t been properly cuddled since before he lost his buire so long ago. 

Paz looked down at you, your head resting against him as you took in the predictable plot of the show. You were relaxed, almost like earlier that morning when he’d woken up. The mask had been gone, and your eyes had gently fluttered in your sleep. Paz felt a tightness in his chest, a feeling he’d been having a lot since you’ve been around. It’s gotten more and more intense, especially as you curled yourself into him. Your touch was burning into his skin in an amazing way, and he knew he’d be able to feel it long after you’d get up. He repeated your it’s nice in his head. No one had ever told him that touching him was nice. In fact, most people hated the touch of a Mandalorian. If they even lived to hate it. 

As the drama went to an ad for some kind of Bantha milk, Paz felt you move to look up at him. “Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you can’t tell me what your Mando friend looks like under his helmet,” you say. “But can you tell me how he fits his ears in the helmet?”

Paz laughed. “What?”

“Well, if his ears are anything like his son’s, I’d imagine it’s hard.”

He threw his head back in a bellow of laughter. “Mesh’la, my friend and his son aren’t the same species. Grogu is a foundling.”

“A foundling?”

He finally recovered from his laughter, and his breath steadied. “Yeah, Mandalorians take in children who’ve lost their parents. My friend was a foundling once, and his son is a foundling.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well that explains the ears, I guess. You weren’t a foundling were you?” You remembered him saying something about Vizslas being important on Mandalore. 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The Vizsla line goes as far back into Mandalorian history as I can trace. But most importantly, Tarre Vizsla, who was a Jedi, created the Darksaber. Whoever wields the dark saber is the Mand’alor, our ruler.”

“Who is the Mand’alor now?” you ask. 

He shakes his head. “There isn’t one. Mandalore isn’t the same as it was, it hasn’t been in a very long time. Before I was born, even.”

“Well, you’re a Vizsla aren’t you? Shouldn’t you wield it?”

He laughs a little. “That’s not exactly how it works, mesh’la. Well, it worked like that for a while, but now you must win the saber in combat. Except no one knows where the saber is.” His voice had gotten sad, and he was running his right hand over his left while they sat on your back, some kind of self-soothing. “Besides,” he says, “There’s a lot of Vizslas out there I’m sure, and I don’t want to be a king. That is not the path that I follow.”

“I understand. It all becomes...a bit much,” you agree. Leia had offered you multiple positions on multiple committees in the new Senate, all dealing with labor laws and droids with a bunch of political nonsense you didn’t care to wade through. Not to mention having to represent the voice of mechanics all over the galaxy. No. Too much stress. 

“Kebiin’ika,” Paz says. “As much as I like this old, lumpy sofa, don’t you think we’d be more comfy laying in bed?” 

“I’m starting to think you’re a mind reader, Vizsla,” you say. The two of you awkwardly untangle in a mess of limbs and beskar clangs as you accidentally collide with his cuirass that lay on the floor. “Sorry,” you say, moving his armor up onto the sofa and off of the floor. 

“Don’t be,” he reassured. “Beskar is practically invincible.”

The two of you made it into the bedroom, you set your holopad up properly to project onto the blank white wall ahead of the bed, there for this reason exactly. The show was brighter now, and clearer. It was technically late afternoon by Yavin IV time, but in hyperspace it was hard to tell. Paz got rid of the armor on his lower body, the codpiece, thighs and knees, and shins. He also kicked off his boots. 

He looked so beautifully mundane. Doing something that he’d done a million times at this point, probably, and he was an expert. Could do with his eyes closed. And you loved it, you wondered if his brow furrowed under the helmet when he had to prod a clasp a little harder, or if he let out a soft huff when a piece was finally removed. 

He climbed onto the bed and motioned for you to sit between his legs. Kriff, his legs were big. 

You settled between his legs, back against his chest. His hands sat awkwardly on his thighs. “You know you can touch me, right?” you say, moving his hands to lay around your middle. 

“I have to remind myself, mesh’la,” he says. “You’re not a quick fuck. You’re someone I want to be slow with, I’m just not sure how to go about it.” You were a bit surprised at how blunt he was, but honestly? You appreciated it. He wouldn’t be playing games with you. 

You squeezed his hand. “We will go however slow as you want, alright? And don’t be afraid of me, ok? You can ask me anything.” 

“I know, cyare, and I’m grateful for that,” he says softly. He wanted to kiss the top of your head so bad. He’d seen it in holos before, but never really understood the appeal until now. 

At some point, you’d fallen asleep in the Mandalorian’s arms. It wasn’t until an hour later that he woke you up. “Kebiin’ika?” He’s whispering as much as the vocoder will let him. His voice is deep in your ear, and briefly becomes a part of your dream until you finally wake up. 

“How long was I out?” You ask, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you. 

He stood up, stretching his arms, too. “About an hour, I think. I dozed a bit, too.” 

“I’m hungry,” you complain. He agrees, and you’re off to the kitchen. You start making sandwiches with a few of the vegetables you knew he’d bought back on Dantooine. You smiled at them, filled with a bit of nostalgia. That greenhouse of Aliria’s was always a peaceful place. 

Paz is doing the same, though he’s making two sandwiches. You presume it’s because he’s such a large man, and such a strong man too. When you had relaxed into his chest, he was comfortable, a layer of fat that told you he took care of himself, and underneath you knew were strong, hardened muscles. 

“Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to sit with our backs to each other?” you ask. “So we can eat together instead of in shifts?” He nods, finishing up his sandwiches. You grab your plates and make your way to the sofa. He moves his armor back onto the floor a bit clumsily, and has to remind you that beskar is strong. He’s facing to the right, you to the left, backs together. 

“You can lean back on me, cyare,” he says, and you smile at the switch of the nickname. It was kind of nice, not knowing which endearment would envelop you when he opened his mouth. You hear a click and hiss, sounds you’d heard the night before, and then the clunk of his helmet on the ship’s floor. 

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” he says between bites. “Armorer and Bezza said to tell you hello.”

You remembered who Armorer was, but your brow furrowed, trying to recall where you’d heard the second name. “Bezza is the girl who you bought the journal for, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind my telling her about us. I’m the closest thing she has to family at the moment.”

You smile. “Of course it’s alright, Paz,” you say. “I’d love to meet her. She sounds very sweet.”

Paz felt a wave of joy rush over him. Bezza was very special to him, even more so now. And now you were special to him, too, and he wanted nothing more than for you two to get along. “If I would’ve known I would’ve brought her with me to the ship instead of my friend,” he said. He had to catch himself before saying Din’s name, knowing that Din was very particular about his name. Bezza, on the other hand, was a more modern Mando. “Maybe once I teach you to use that vibroblade, I can teach you how to wield a staff. Then you two could spar.”

“I don’t know, Paz,” you say. “I’m sure you’re a fantastic teacher, but I don’t see myself holding my own against a Mandalorian in combat.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll train you the Mandalorian way. One day, mesh’la, you will hold your own.”

A silence followed, you could hear the crunch of the chips he’d put in his sandwich as he bit. 

“Is Bezza your foundling now?”

Paz swallowed his bite. “Maybe if she was younger I’d take her in, but she’s practically an adult. I wouldn’t want to insult her by insinuating she still needs caring for.”

“Everyone needs caring for,” you say, leaning your head back against him. “I’m twenty-six and I need caring for, emotionally anyways. I’m not sure how old you are, but I’m sure you do, too.” 

He wasn’t at all shocked that you were twenty-six. He was, however, shocked that his age didn’t ever come up. “I’m forty-three,” he said, hoping that wouldn’t scare you. It didn’t seem to, so he continued. “And I guess you’re right, but still, I can care for her without taking her in.”

“I guess,” you said, and decided to let the topic of Bezza rest for a bit. “Do you think you’ll ever take in a foundling?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to father some kids as well, but also take in foundlings. Not only is it important to the Tribe, but I love kids. That’s why I’m their teacher whenever I’m not out hunting.”

“That’s sweet, Paz,” you tell him. “I’d like a kid, too, I think. Though, it scares me. Making a person inside my body for almost a year.”

“Mandalorians say to train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger,” he says. “I’m sure you can see why. Having children is important, it’s even in the Mandalorian wedding vows: ‘we will raise warriors’.” 

You smile up at the ceiling, picturing you and Paz having a wedding. Some weird mix of Mandalorian and Alderaanian culture, exchanging Mandalorian vows. Maybe it was a bit early to be thinking about this, but you didn’t care. 

-

You watched as Paz cleaned the plates from lunch. He volunteered to take your plate, and now he stood at the sink, scrubbing away the residue of the condiments and components of your lunches. Again, he looked so beautifully mundane, gloves gone, revealing his dark skin to you. Through the bubbles of soap you saw small pink scars littering the top of his hands. He scrubbed away with the brush, working diligently. Again you wondered what kind of face he makes when he concentrates. Does he stick his tongue out a little? Bite on the inside of his lip? 

You thought back to the wedding you’d put together in your mind. You thought about how after those vows were exchanged you’d get to see the face he makes not only when he concentrates, but when he’s happy or frustrated, too. 

He was such a mystery, but also easy to read. It confused you in the best way possible, and all you wanted was to read chapter after chapter of Paz Vizsla until you got to the part where you’d get to see his face, kiss his face, talk to his eyes rather than a visor. Someday, you told yourself. Someday. 

tag list (send me an ask or reply and i’ll add you!!) - @remmysbounty

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 4/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: fam this response is crazy it really is…thank u all so much for the love, kudos and comments, i’m so sorry if i’ve not managed to reply to urs yet but know that i’ve read them all and cherish every one and i will get round to replying and yelling some love and thanks at u soon!!! pls enjoy this chapter in which A'whora does not possess the flat’s shared brain cell at any point. that being said, i wish all the readers of this fic a very pleasant italicised ‘oh’ xo

last chapter: January-Tayce and A’whora still had unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December.

this chapter: October- The gang make plans for their first year together, Tia gives everyone plans for the evening, and A'whora has a realisation that will change the dynamic of her friendship with Tayce forever.

***

“Bimini, what is it you’re actually doing?”

A’whora’s intrigued by the way her flatmate’s sitting on the sofa: legs crossed, notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and looking deep in thought. They’ve not long since stretched over the smoke detector with a sock, having long since established nobody in the flat minds them smoking indoors as long as the windows are open. Lawrence is beside them on the other end of the sofa having been to all the lectures that’re required of her already today and has got a bright pink, blue and purple-flecked ball of yarn hanging from two knitting needles, with which she seems to be knitting some sort of cosy accessory. It’s a wholesome picture that’s playing out in front of A’whora, one that’s miles away from the raucous, drunk nights they’ve all shared in the first month of uni so far.

“Okay, here’s what it is,” Bimini starts, clicking their long nails together. “I am making us a freshers bucket list, and I want your input.”

“Ooh!” Lawrence perks up beside them, and A’whora, interest piqued, picks up the bowl of pasta, butter and cheese she’s spent all of five minutes making and crosses the room to sit beside her flatmates.

She knows it’s only been a month so far, but she really loves everyone she’s living with. For a start, there are four of them that take classes at the art college (the ‘art hoes’, as Tayce calls them), so they all get to walk to lectures together and hang about between classes and workshops with each other depending on how their days are going. Bimini is almost always in the flat, with not a lot of contact hours making up their journalism degree, so they’re a comforting presence for A’whora to come home to at whatever hour of the day, always asking how she is and always offering to make her coffee. Tia is sweet and funny (if ever-so-slightly grating to her at first) and they’ve bonded over being the only two flatmates seemingly able to keep the place clean and tidy. Lawrence is endearing and big-hearted, if A’whora spends half her life hoping that her next prank isn’t involving her in some way (Ellie is usually the butt of them). Ellie herself is one of A’whora’s closest flatmates; they’ll often stay up half the night finishing prototypes or assignments together, all while watching a film which they have spookily similar taste in- they’ve agreed on 101 and 102 Dalmatians, Hocus Pocus, and The Wizard of Oz so far.

And then there’s Tayce, who A’whora thinks is both the absolute carbon copy of herself and yet also so different, the yin to her yang. Tayce has been her closest friend in the flat since day one when she booted the door to her room down and dragged her out of her emotional stupor, and that’s really what’s set the tone for the rest of their friendship; Tayce, upbeat and motivating, constantly and infectiously helping A’whora feel the same way even when she doesn’t want to go out, or doesn’t feel like dragging herself out of her room for a chill flat night with the others, or even when she just feels like a heap of shit. She’s such a fun and positive person to be around, relentlessly optimistic and goofy, and she brings out that side of A’whora too. As opposed to during sixth form and high school, where she’d put up a front to make sure nobody fucked with her, A’whora finds that at uni she can be the person she truly is and let her guard down a little.

This includes being open about her sexuality for the first time ever. She’s out to her family (for the better or worse), but nobody else back home knows (not even her friends) and she wants to keep it that way for now. But at uni things are different- nobody knows her here, nobody has these preconceived ideas of who she is and who she has to be, so she’d taken the plunge and been open about everything. None of the others had cared of course, in fact they’d all been too excited about the fact there’s not a single straight person in their flat comprised of four lesbians (Tayce, Lawrence, Tia and A’whora), one bi (Ellie) and one pan (Bimini).

“What’ve you got so far?” A’whora asks Bimini, sitting down on the sofa opposite her two flatmates.

Bimini reads off their notepad. “Casino night, bottomless brunch…get the train down to Newcastle, have a big night out, stay out all night an’ get the first train home-”

“Christ, that’ll be a challenge for me, you know I get sleepy around midnight,” Lawrence chuckles.

Bimini shrugs. “We’ll just get you an IV drip of Ellie’s Monster, you’ll be alright.”

“What else’ve you got?”

“That’s it so far.”

A’whora spears a pasta spiral, tilts her head in thought as she eats it. “Get drunk in a lecture.”

“Aw, good one!” Lawrence cries enthusiastically. Bimini, for their part, frowns with disapproval.

“Wait, no! Not a good one. Not a good one at all. It’s alright for you art school bitches, you’ve got some lectures together and you can coordinate, where does that leave me n’ Tia?”

“I guess that leaves you…downing a bottle of five pound chardonnay on the back bench of a lecture hall like a tramp with a drinking problem,” Lawrence shrugs, A’whora yelping out a laugh as Bimini shoves Lawrence with their foot.

Just then, there’s movement in the hall and as A’whora turns around she’s greeted by the sight of a tired-looking Tayce and Ellie walking into the kitchen. They shrug off their coats and take off their shoes and dump their bags on the kitchen table with a huff before they walk over to the others. Tayce spreads herself out over the sofa that A’whora’s sitting on, thudding her feet onto her lap without asking permission, to which A’whora instantly pushes them off her and gets a glare and a smirk in return.

“Lawrie, are you knitting?” Ellie laughs, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her.

“Yeah? And?”

Ellie snorts in amusement. “Just didn’t realise we were living with a wee granny.”

“Well actually, bawbag! I was in the middle of making you a scarf because I can’t stand to listen to you talking shite about how you’re cold every time we leave the flat, but I can leave it if you want,” Lawrence explains. A’whora thinks it’s funny how Ellie backtracks immediately; she can’t tell if she’s blushing or just out of breath from scaling their block’s stairs. Bimini gains control of the conversation, tilting their head in intrigue.

“How were your lectures, huns?”

“Shit, thanks for asking,” Tayce groans, thudding her head down dramatically against the sofa cushions. “I don’t know, I just can’t concentrate when I’m getting talked at for an hour at a time. I need to be doing stuff, you know?”

“Feel that,” Ellie joins in, deflated. A’whora can sympathise- she loves the practical elements of her course, but not so much the lectures. She’s glad she shares a lot of them with Ellie, and the two of them can dick about and text each other and doodle designs in their notebooks while keeping one ear on whoever’s speaking.

“Well if you want to be doing something, you can help us with this,” Bimini suggests, explaining the bucket list they’ve been making.

The girls get settled and the ideas start to flow, Lawrence putting her speakers on for background noise as they all come up with new and increasingly more chaotic exploits. Ellie suggests trying every cocktail in Levels which gets scribbled down into Bimini’s notepad, and Tayce suggests going to Levels sober, which doesn’t get afforded the same appreciation. A’whora comes up with crashing the catered halls for breakfast one day, which they all agree is a good idea but the chances of it actually happening are low considering the earliest riser in the flat is Tayce and even she doesn’t waken up til half nine on a weekend.

“What’re some clubs we’ve not been to yet?” Bimini asks, shrugging. “Could put those down, try an’ visit every one in the city?”

Lawrence snorts derisively. “You go to Underground if you want your phone stolen, Velvet if you want to be bullied by fifteen year olds in the toilets, and Crystal if you want to subject yourself to painful misogyny and probably some light sexual assault.”

“So none of those, then,” Bimini murmurs.

“Those are all really het as well, though,” Ellie wrinkles her nose up in distaste. Then her face lights up as she gets an idea. “Oh! Put down Pride in July.”

“Nice one,” Bimini nods as they scribble down Ellie’s suggestion, the others making little hums of approval.

The conversation goes on for quite some time. Halfway through it Tayce seems to decide she’s bored of lying down and instead moves to sit on the floor between A’whora’s legs, asking her to play with her hair. They’ll do this sometimes- it’s a routine they fall into, A’whora being able to style Tayce’s endlessly long, straight hair and Tayce finding the whole thing therapeutic. They have a lot of little routines like this: they’ll sit close together on the sofa during a flat movie night and take turns leaning on each others’ shoulders, spontaneously give each other hugs at random points throughout the day, trace patterns into each others’ palms when the other seems stressed.

It’s nice. A’whora’s never really had a friendship like this, soft and caring and kind. In school her group was the kind that made catty jokes about each other then buffered them with a “love you!” afterwards and took kissy-face group selfies only to bitch about each other on a private group chat mere hours later. If it was a wolfpack then it was rabid and cannibalistic, and it had seemed like a full-time job ensuring she was never the runt of it. What she’s got with all her flatmates now- especially Tayce- makes her feel like she can finally breathe.

“What about the Centurion Challenge?” Lawrence suggests with a small gasp, breaking A’whora’s reverie as she expertly twirls Tayce’s hair into a loose and chunky French plait.

“Jesus Christ, Lawrence,” Ellie mutters in amusement.

“What’s the Centurion Challenge?” Bimini asks, pulling a face.

Lawrence gives a blythe shrug as she elaborates. “A hundred shots in a hundred minutes.”

A’whora ruins Tayce’s braid in shock, her hair untwisting itself from the braid as if it’s outraged too. The cry she gives joins in harmony with that of Tayce’s and Bimini’s. “A hundred shots? You’d fucking die!”

“Not of vodka! Obviously not of vodka! I know we all have one communal brain cell between us but Christ, can one of yous not use it?!” Lawrence protests. “It’s a hundred shots of beer. Don’t shit yourselves.”

“Aw, well that’s alright then,” Bimini pipes up sarcastically. “What’s actually wrong with Scottish people? Is your breastmilk spiked with whiskey? What d’you get instead of Cow and Gate formula, just cocaine?"

“Actually, a hundred shots of beer sounds more doable to me,” Tayce shrugs, and A’whora can feel her relax against her lap.

“I’d need to change it, I can’t stand beer,” A’whora considers. Ellie cocks her head in consideration.

“Well what alcohol do you like?”

“Fucking none of it,” A’whora laughs. “Cocktails. Vodka cokes. Anything where there’s juice to cover it up.”

Tayce twists her head to look up at her, a little twinkle of mischief in her eye. “I think the challenge ceases to be a challenge when it’s reduced to one hundred watered down shots of Woo Woo, Rory.”

As the others blurt out a laugh A’whora glares down at Tayce, but she can’t help but break out into a giggle too when Tayce grabs her knee and gives it a playful wobble, letting her know she was only joking without even having to say a thing.

A’whora’s not sure what time it is when she hears the front door swing shut and Tia emerges from the hallway, her long hair all messed up from the seemingly ever-present wind outside and almost obscuring the bright smile plastered on her face. “Hey, huns!”

“Oi oi,” Tayce greets her from her position on the floor. “What’s got you so smiley?”

“Nooothing,” Tia smirks, dragging the word out playfully. “Just got an invite to the night out of a very cute girl in my MT society…and she said you guys can all come too. Pres at her flat and then out to The Avenue. Evening plans sorted?”

“Oh, love that!” Bimini gives an enthusiastic clap. “Go on then, who’s the girl? Whose night are we crashing?”

“Her name’s Veronica,” Tia smiles bashfully. “She’s so lovely. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind you coming! She’s got one of the big flats over at Gourock Court so it’s not like it’ll be packed.”

“You don’t exactly want to go to a party that’s not going to be packed,” Ellie screws up her nose. She looks unimpressed and her tone is flat. “And even if it is, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a flat party with a ton of new people, Tia.”

A’whora’s face drops and she locks eyes with Lawrence simultaneously, who’s got an equally incredulous look on her face. “Els, are you unwell? You never turn down a night out.”

Ellie shrugs quietly, not giving much away on her face. Tia, obviously keen to move to the girl she’s crushing on, carries on persuading her. “C’mon, Eleanor, don’t be such a fucking…square! It’s the musical theatre society, we’re just a walking Pride festival who all happen to be able to hold a tune. There’s loads of fit lesbians?”

“Well if I wasn’t convinced before, I sure am now,” Tayce purrs, a little smile appearing on her lips and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. A’whora feels her laugh come out weakly. She doesn’t know why, but an odd, uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in her gut. She can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is or why it’s put itself there.

“And there’s gonna be so many musicals on the playlist!” Tia continues to insist, despite being met with Ellie’s sour face. “I know you’ll love it! They’d probably even play stuff from Shrek if you got them drunk enough.”

A’whora can’t help but scrunch up her nose in distaste. “Hey, I’m only coming if they play fucking…normal people music as well. I’m not gonna be sat in a room with twenty white kids trying to rap to Hamilton or whatever the fuck it is.”

Tia rolls her eyes, plants her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Calm down, A’whora, you’ll still get all the top 40 dance-pop shit you love so much.”

“To be honest, it sounds class. And The Avenue’s always good,” Bimini cuts in calmly. A’whora does have to agree with that. They’ve not been there in a while- the bar across the road from the city’s most popular LGBT club- and its selection of early 00s pop princess tracks combined with its deal of two vodka mixers and a shot for a fiver makes it a guaranteed good night out.

“Well it seems like we’re all down, even if this stroppy cow isn’t,” Tia smiles happily, sticking her tongue out at Ellie for good measure. Ellie finally heaves a world-weary sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically as she relents.

“Ugh, fine! Fine, but this Verruca or whatever the hell she’s called better be the hottest bitch on the planet for you to drag us all out with your MT weirdos, Tia Maria,” she grumps. Tia ignores her bad mood and lets out a cheer which the others join in with, and A’whora resolves to interrogate Ellie about her Bitter Betty attitude later on. Preferably when they’re both drunk. That always makes things easier.

In the melee of excitement, Tayce twists round from her position on the carpet, folds her arms and rests them on top of A’whora’s thighs. “Right. You need to come help me choose an outfit if we’re going out. I need to look fit.”

A’whora smiles with pride. “Ooh, personal stylist duties? I’m honoured.”

“Well I’m hardly gonna ask Tia, am I?” Tayce giggles quietly, and A’whora joins in like it’s a little secret they’re sharing. “Or Ellie. She’d just send me out in one of her bodysuit/skirt combos. I swear to God that girl is like Marge bloody Simpson. Open up her wardrobe and she’ll have twenty sets of the same outfit. Serial killer behaviour, that.”

At this point A’whora is laughing so much that it draws the attention of the others, who eye them with suspicious stares. “What the hell’s so funny?”

A’whora gives Tayce a mischievous look. “Tayce just called Ellie a serial killer.”

Tayce yelps in outrage at having been called out, and as Ellie narrows her eyes Tayce leaps up from the floor and tugs A’whora off of the sofa with her. “That’s taking it out of context, you absolute hound! Come on, help me pick something.”

Tayce’s fingers stay curled around A’whora’s hand all the way down the corridor and into her bedroom. It’s a feeling that A’whora likes because it makes her feel close to her friend, and Tayce taking her hand is like an affirmation and a reassurance all in one; that she likes her, that their friendship has reached the level where hand-holding has become acceptable, that A’whora is worthy of being liked, of being someone’s friend- their real, proper friend. The validation sets her heart off like a flare. It’s nice to feel wanted.

A’whora perches on the edge of Tayce’s bed as she scrapes the coat hangers in her wardrobe and throws outfits onto the bed like a tornado, each more gorgeous than the last and all ones Tayce would look stunning in. That’s something that always strikes A’whora about Tayce; just how beautiful she is, how absolutely blessed with the God-given good genes. The way she looks serene and ethereal without makeup, walking to lectures in the morning with the sun hitting her face and giving her skin a glow. The way she paints for a night out and knows how to accentuate everything about her face that’s already perfect, a feat that would seem like an exaggeration if A’whora hadn’t seen it for herself to confirm it’s true. She frequently finds herself having to hold back from giving compliments to Tayce because if she started she’d never stop.

“Okay, first thoughts are…” Tayce announces unnecessarily loudly, and A’whora laughs at the way she’s talking as if she’s a stylist on a morning TV show. “…I’m thinking something black.”

“Of course you are,” A’whora interrupts with a laugh. “Tayce wearing black. How predictable.”

Tayce gives her a shove on the shoulder that’s too hard and makes her fall back against the mattress. “Shut up! I’ll wear something other than black when Lawrence wears something other than purple, how’s about that?”

The pair of them giggle at the joke as Tayce rifles through the clothes she’s shortlisted, holding up a black leather jacket and a black bralet with an intricate lace hem. The combination makes A’whora’s eyes fly wide open in appreciation.

“This?” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her inquisitively. The fact she’s obviously seen her reaction makes A’whora feel a little self-conscious and she doesn’t particularly know why. “Because I’m wanting to wear either my wet-look leggings or my black vinyl skirt with the zip up the front, and I don’t know if that’s too much leather effect stuff?”

“It’s too much,” A’whora nods, physically unable to help her honesty. “Also I think you should wear the skirt because you’ve got good legs and you should get them out any chance you get. But also the bralet won’t go with it because it’ll make your proportions all wrong.”

Tayce smiles appreciatively as she throws the bralet back into her wardrobe as if A’whora’s given her a command and not a suggestion. “See, this is another reason why you’re the queen of outfit advice. Bimini wouldn’t give me this level of honesty, they’re too nice.”

A’whora feels a warmth spread in her chest at the compliment, but she doesn’t show it. Instead she snorts, nods in agreement. “Yeah, because you could come out dressed in a pair of child’s pyjamas and they’d still say they love it. They’d say it’s very Y2K or something.”

Tayce lets out a cackle before holding up the skirt and leather jacket, humming in thought. “Okay, so you’re saying ditch the jacket but keep the skirt.”

“Yes.”

“And ditch the bralet.”

“Yes.”

“So you want me to go out in a skirt and a pair of heels and nothing else,” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her, and as A’whora bursts out laughing and protests she has to fight off a blush at the thought of her best friend topless in heels. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt with a zip that could just be pulled down to leave her in-

The heat floods A’whora’s face like she’s been smacked and she shifts on the bed in an attempt at dissipating the feelings that’ve hit her like a tsunami. Inappropriate. Weird. Way too weird. Don’t do that again.

“What about the bright blue fur coat you’ve got? Because you could have an all black outfit with that as a bit of colour,” she suggests, shrugging lightly in an attempt to pretend that she hadn’t just been thinking about Tayce in the way she had.

Tayce’s face lights up and she points at A’whora with one hand and reaches into her wardrobe with the other. “Love that. Okay, top?”

“Are you addressing me? I’ve never topped for anyone,” A’whora attempts a joke. If Tayce can make jokes like that to her then she can do it right back.  

“That’s very clear, baby,” Tayce shoots in response without missing a beat. Before A’whora realises it, she’s flexing her toes. What the fuck is happening to her? She needs to steer this conversation back on track.

She thinks for a second. “You’re a size eight, right?”

“In theory. The amount of pot noodles I’ve been chucking down my neck since I moved in is very quickly rendering that a distant memory, I’ll tell ya,” Tayce says, as she leans against the door of her wardrobe and folds her arms.

“I’ve got a black lace bodysuit that would go with that. It’s a ten so it’ll fit. D’you want to try it?”

“Well despite the fact a skirt and a bodysuit was the very thing I just roasted Ellie for always wearing…that sounds lush. Thanks, Rory Roo,” Tayce agrees, the nickname-of-a-nickname setting off the click of a small pilot light in A’whora’s heart. She’s about to ask if she wants to come try it on just now when she hears both their names being yelled from the kitchen.

The pair of them head back through to find that Tia has changed the playlist on the speakers from the chilled-out, calm acoustic one that had been playing to her early 00’s tunes. Combined with Bimini half-singing, half-yelling along to Murder on the Dancefloor and the blast of the extractor fan as Ellie stirs something in a big metal pot at the hob, it’s a far cry from the calm, cosy scene that A’whora had witnessed in the kitchen some hours prior.

Ellie had been the one who had shouted on them, and she whips around from the cooker when she realises that Tayce and A’whora have come through. “I’m making dinner for me, Bims and Tia, you wanting some?”

“Depends what it is. Come on, talk it up, Ellie. Give us some options,” Tayce shrugs with feigned disinterest, and A’whora can’t help the bubble of laughter that bursts from her mouth as Ellie narrows her eyes at her.

“It’s spaghetti and meatballs, and your alternatives are fuck off or die,” she shoots back savagely, and the whoop of shock and laughter that goes up from the others soars above the music and the fan. Tayce laughs good-naturedly in spite of the barb.

“I’m joking, ‘course I’ll take some.”

A’whora wrinkles her nose. “You’re making meatballs for a meal that Bimini is gonna eat?”

“They’re not real ones, dipshit,” Bimini pipes up from over on the sofa. “It’s that Birdseye Green Cuisine shit, innit.”

“Birdseye Green Cuisine shit,” A’whora repeats disdainfully. “If you ever go on The Apprentice, Bim, Alan Sugar’s gonna shit himself at your selling abilities.”

Tayce snorts, tries and fails to cover it up. When her eyes rest on A’whora they share a little smile, and A’whora’s grows bigger when she thinks about the way they’re both so in sync all the time.

“They’re nice, I promise! Veronica’s talked them up loads, she told me she’s been trying to eat more veggie things,” Tia insists, with an entirely unnecessary namedrop of her crush. A’whora relents and says she’ll have a small bowl before jumping out of her skin as Ellie bangs the spoon against the pot somewhat aggressively with a face like thunder.

Before A’whora can ask Ellie about her bad mood, Tia speaks again as she scrolls her phone to change the song. “Honestly, Ellie, you’re a star for doing dinner. Thanks so much.”

“Aw, don’t be silly, doll! It’s nothing!” Ellie turns around from the hob and bats the compliment away, shooting Tia a dazzling smile in return. It’s funny the way her demeanour seems to instantly do a complete 180 at the praise, and it makes A’whora wonder what’s changed.

She’s distracted, though, by the way Lawrence enters in her dressing gown with her hair up in a towel, obviously having come straight from the shower. She pouts and whines in a very un-Lawrence way as she lingers at the doorframe between the hall and the kitchen.

“Guysss, does anyone have an ID they can give me for tonight?”

“What about your friend? Who was it…Rosé?” A’whora shrugs, and Lawrence fixes her with a wide-eyed stare of incredulity.

“Oh my God, A’whora! I never thought about asking the girl I’ve been borrowing ID from since the start of uni! Thanks for that!” she says sarcastically, Bimini giving a yelp of laughter and A’whora leaning off the countertops and swiping at Lawrence in retort. “She’s using it. She asked her girlfriend and her flatmates for me but they’ve all got plans. I felt like a fuckin’ daytime TV charity advert.”

“For just one pound a week, you could help an underaged child get blackout drunk on triple trebles,” A’whora puts on a dramatic, concerned voice, proud of the way it makes Tayce blurt out a laugh.

“It’s such fucking bullshit,” Lawrence huffs, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. “I mean my eighteenth’s in five days and I’ve been drinking in parks since I was fourteen, how can I not just be let into a fuckin’ bar?”

“Grow up and order a fake one,” Ellie shakes her head with incredulity, smashing the wooden spoon against the pot again with a bang-bang-bang to get the excess pasta sauce off.

“Just you pipe down, hen, you shouldn’t even be at uni. In fact, have you even completed primary yet?”

The two girls stick their tongues out at each other, a mirror-image of petty bickering that makes A’whora laugh. Luckily Bimini steps in, shrugging as they open their purse.

“Here, babe. I’ve still got my course friend’s provisional from when she dropped it on Gordon Street when she was off her face. I ain’t given her it back yet an’ I’m sure she wouldn’t care if you borrowed it. She’s chill.”

Lawrence accepts enthusiastically, bouncing over to Bimini and thanking them gratefully. A’whora watches her face drop, though, when she takes a look at the photo.

“There’s no way this’ll work.”

Bimini tuts and shakes their head, the picture of casual composure. “It’s fine, babes, they never look properly anyway.”

Lawrence drops the hand that’s holding the license to her side and fixes her friend with an astounded glare. “Bimini. This girl is black.”

As the others screech with outrage and mirth, Bimini waves Lawrence’s concerns away blithely. “It’ll be dark! It’s fine! Asttina an’ you have both got similar…well…you’re both girls, an’ you’re about the same height. Give or take a few inches.”    

“Christ. I’m going to have to just forward roll past the bouncers, aren’t I? Then draw a fuckin’ club stamp on my arm in Sharpie.”

“Oh my God, stop moaning!” Ellie sighs from her position at the hob, bangs the spoon again for emphasis. “Look, I’ll ask Pippa from flat 2, alright? You both have brown hair, so…that’ll probably be enough.”

A’whora thinks it’s interesting the way Lawrence doesn’t shoot something back in her foghorn of a voice like she normally does. Instead she smiles warmly, dashes over to the kitchen where she hugs Ellie from behind, squeezing her tightly at the stomach and making her flinch in surprise.

“Thanks, Ellie-Bellie,” she sing-songs, swaying her aggressively from side to side until Ellie bats her away, flicking the spoon in a way that threatens to shower them both in marinara sauce.

“Right, that’s plenty. Don’t even do things I enjoy for that long.”

“When’s this gonna be ready, Els?” Bimini shouts through as Lawrence lets go. “ ‘Ave I got time to do my makeup before it?”

Ellie shrugs. “If you can do your makeup in ten minutes.”

A’whora kicks her leg out in Tayce’s direction and jerks her head towards the hall. “Do you want to try on that bodysuit before tea?”

Tayce nods enthusiastically in agreement, so they go back along the corridor with a shout to the others telling them they won’t be long. A’whora holds the door of her room open for Tayce and her heart sinks in embarrassment when she realises she forgot to make her bed this morning.

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologies, to which Tayce gives a cry of a laugh in response.

“A’whora, have you seen my room? You’re fine, kid, don’t worry.”

A’whora thinks that’s true- Tayce’s room is a state, but somehow it seems to suit her. Tayce’s room with the crowded bulletin board, desk covered in sweet wrappers and sketches, floor carpeted with clothes that need washed and outfits that didn’t make the cut. The cracked picture frame on her window-sill of the first selfie the six of them all got together on the first night of freshers and the huge cheese plant that sits next to her bedside table, Tayce’s pride and joy. They’re all little intricate shards that join up to form a perfect picture of her personality, and A’whora thinks it’s sort of perfect.

She looks out the bodysuit from its neatly Marie Kondo-d place in her wardrobe and hands it gently to Tayce. “Try it and see. It’s a small 10 anyway so it’ll probably be fine for you.”

Tayce accepts it gratefully and hooks a finger around both of the straps, letting the rest of the material fall out of its perfectly folded little parcel. She gives a little gasp of appreciation as she looks at it. “Oh yes, baby. I think this’ll do just fine.”

A’whora feels good- proud that she’s managed to find the perfect piece for Tayce’s outfit, to help her look as inevitably gorgeous as she knows she will. The smile on her face falters, though, when Tayce shoots her a wink and leans against the wall with her shoulder. “This is gonna get me someone I can pop off my acrylics for, I can tell. You’ve got the best taste, girl.”

“Are you actually going to try and get with someone tonight?” A’whora injects a laugh into her question that she’s banking on sounding genuine, otherwise it comes across as accusatory and that’s not what she means it to be. Or is it? She doesn’t know. “You know how messy nights at The Avenue always get. Last time we were there Lawrence got so drunk she told us she couldn’t see, remember?”

Tayce laughs her off with a shrug. “Well then I’ll just have to be careful with my drinks, won’t I?”

A’whora gives a false laugh, tries so hard to get it to meet her eyes. Why is she so pressed about this? She gets with girls on nights out too, she’s brought the occasional one night stand to the flat. Tayce is allowed to do the same.

So why does she feel ever so slightly gutted?

If her smile looks fake (which it is) then Tayce doesn’t notice, and she only shoots her a smile as she opens the bedroom door. “You’re an angel. I’ll pop this on then be back in five.”

A’whora takes the opportunity of Tayce having left to make her bed, and as she does so she feels lots of little thoughts dart around her mind like minnows, none of them staying in the same place for long enough to be able to be deciphered. She manages to catch a few before they flee away and she clings to them, turning them over in her head: why does she feel so bothered about the prospect of Tayce finding a girl at the party, talking to her and making a connection and laughing at her jokes? Why had it felt like a punch to the gut when Tayce was joking about doing so? Why does she have this part of her that feels like an idiot for setting Tayce up to look her best and knowing that it’s for the benefit of somebody else, somebody that doesn’t know her like she does?

And then her bedroom door opens and A’whora turns around and lays eyes on her best friend. Tayce in her high heels and bare legs and the skirt with the zip. Tayce with her baby blue fake fur coat and her straight, dark hair tumbling over its shoulders. Tayce in the bodysuit- A’whora’s bodysuit- with the lace and the mesh that clings to her chest like it was designed just for her. There’s something about the fact that she’s wearing something that belongs to A’whora that makes something inside her chest tingle, the fact it’s a little piece of her in Tayce’s jigsaw puzzle that seems to fit regardless of the difference.

“What d’you think?” Tayce smiles, all too aware of how drop-dead stunning she looks.

And then the realisation hits A’whora like a train.

Oh.

Fuck.

She’s screwed.

[potionsprefect]

The Familiar Face

Pairings: Ethan Ramsey x Victoria Clarke

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: The past has a nasty way of coming back to haunt you and Victoria must learn to deal with it

Category: angst, fluff

Chapter One: Nomination

It was a relatively quiet day at Bloom Edenbrook. There wasn’t any traumas coming in, the diagnostics team were not very busy. The day was spent catching up on paperwork from the previous day.

Victoria Ramsey walked down the corridor to the ER with a file in her hands. She had just successfully diagnosed a young girl with a rare form of Leukaemia and was about to put the files away. As she walked down the corridor, she could see the many doctors and nurses of Bloom Edenbrook working away with patients, refilling IV stands, bandaging wounds and drawing blood.

Victoria passed the office of the leader of the diagnostics team. He was probably busy with paperwork like Victoria was. She thought about going in and taking his mind off of all of it. She would once these papers were filed away. Then they could steal a few moments together before they got back to work.

Being with Ethan had made Victoria feel a kind of happiness she had never felt before. One that made her never want to leave his side. They had been married for just over 4 years. Life couldn’t be more perfect.

Victoria was surprised that Ethan was open to the idea of children. It was him that brought it up, saying that if he could get used to the idea of marriage, he could definitely be a father. And that’s exactly what happened. They had a twin boy and girl, Luke and Lily Ramsey.

As Victoria got closer to the ER, she noticed there was a large group of interns gathered in the doctors lounge. As she looked into the room, she saw them all transfixed on the TV screen.

“Do you reckon he’ll win the nomination?”

“He has to! He’s so popular amongst the older voters and they make up a large amount of the population!”

“You won’t catch me voting for him. He’s a creep.”

“Shh! They’re about to announce the votes.”

Victoria walked closer to the TV screen to see what was happening. It was the nomination for who to nominate to represent the Republican Party at the Presidential Election. Victoria had avoided reading anything about the election or watching the coverage on TV. She wanted no business in dealing with politicians or deciding their future.

“It gives me great pleasure to announce that former Mayor and Senator of Massachusetts Ed Farrugia has been selected as the Republican Party’s nomination for the upcoming US Election!”

The name Ed Farrugia was a name she wanted to leave in the past. Flashbacks to that night played across her mind and her hand started trembling. She knew she should get out of there as soon as possible. But for some reason, Victoria was rooted to the spot, watching Ed be congratulated by fellow nominees and hearing his name be chanted by the crowd.

“It’s a great honour to receive the nomination in my home state. And I make this promise now. We are going to do great things, we will get this country back on track and make it the same America everyone admired us by. I will do all I can to make America a safe and welcoming place for all. Thank you!”

The place erupted and some of the doctors watching nodded and murmured in support. Victoria realised she had heard enough and stumbled out the room, nearly walking into the doorway. She had to get out of there and fast.

As quick as she could, Victoria went to the one person who could calm her nerves down easily.

“Please be in your office.” Victoria said as she made her way down the hallway and into his office. She breathed a sigh of relief when he was sat at his desk.

“Hey.” Ethan said barely looking up from his desk. When Victoria didn’t respond he looked up. He noticed the distress on her face, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Ethan said jumping up from his seat, guiding Victoria to the sofa and sitting down next to her, pulling her into his arms.

“I...” Victoria couldn’t get the words out, instead she just sobbed into his arms. Ethan looked at his wife with concern, he hadn’t seen her this distressed since that night. Something big must’ve happened. “He’s running for President. He’s actually doing it.”

Ethan knew exactly who she was talking about. She might’ve managed to avoid reading the news but he didn’t. He regularly looked for updates on Senator Ed, wondering what he was up to.

“It’s okay.” Ethan comforted her stroking her back. Once the tears had subsided, Ethan got up and made Victoria a cup of coffee setting it on the table.

“Why is he doing this? How can he do this?” Victoria sighed.

“Because he’s a very powerful man who wants a very powerful position.” Ethan replied.

“But hasn’t his reputation declined in the years? How did he get enough support?” Victoria asked.

“Unfortunately people who support politicians from the beginning can’t have their minds changed. And there were enough of them for Ed Farrugia.” Ethan sighed.

“You don’t think he’d come here do you? Start gaining support outside the hospital? I know he said he was backing down on his rehab bill again but he could easily change his mind and what about-“

Ethan cut off Victoria by pressing his lips softly to hers, cradling her face in his hands. She melted into the kiss before pulling away and rested her forehead against his.

“If he ever does come here I’ll make sure he doesn’t set foot inside the hospital. I will make that very clear at the next meeting I promise.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Victoria laughed hugging Ethan.

“You didn’t have to do anything. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.” Ethan said.

“Don’t be silly Ethan.” Victoria giggled. “Will you do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Will you call your Dad and get him to bring the twins back tonight? I need to cuddle my babies.”

“Of course, I miss them too.”

— — — — —

A simple phone call and Alan was more than happy to bring Luke and Lily Ramsey back early. The twins however were sad that they were ending their sleepover at Grandad Alan’s house early but were excited to see mummy and daddy again.

Ethan kept an eye on Victoria throughout the reminder of her shift, he tried to persuade her to go home but she insisted she was ok. Ethan knew how stubborn his wife was so didn’t press the matter further. He did however turn off the TV in the doctors lounge, something the interns complained about but one silenced look from Ethan made them keep their mouths shut.

Ethan had also spoken to Naveen and Leland and told them that Victoria and him would be taking a week off in order to spend some time as a family, Naveen had no problem with it at all, Leland had tried to argue against Ethan but Ethan’s mind wasn’t about to be changed. He was going to take care of his wife, spend some time with his family and that was the end of it.

When they got home, they ate dinner and then retreated to the sofa. Victoria turned on the TV and was immediately met with coverage on Ed Farrugia.

“You don’t have to watch it Vic.” Ethan said.

“It’s ok. I know I’ve avoided it all so far but I’m not now. I’m not afraid of him. I never have been.” Victoria smiled.

The doorbell then rang and Ethan went to answer it. He was met with the smiling face of Alan and the excited faces of Luke and Lily.

“Daddy!” Luke and Lily immediately ran into Ethan’s arms, the latter bending down to greet the two tiny humans.

“I missed you both. Why don’t you go find mummy? She’s in the living room.” Ethan smiled at the twins watching them run off down the hall to find Victoria.

“You were exactly like that at their age.” Alan laughed.

“Yeah and now look at me.” Ethan replied although he couldn’t fight back a small smile. “Thank you for bringing them back early. It’s just been a tough day and Victoria really wanted to see them.”

“It’s not a problem. I did see the news earlier and I understand.” Alan smiled.

“I know. I can’t believe he would do this. He’s nothing but a...” Ethan checked behind him to make sure the twins were out of earshot. “A bastard.”

“I agree. I won’t be voting for him.” Alan replied.

Ethan said goodbye to Alan and made his way into the living room where he saw Luke and Lily cuddled up with Victoria. He sat down on the sofa and Lily curled up against his side, on the verge of falling asleep. Not wanting her to fall asleep where she was, Ethan picked her up and carried her to her bedroom.

“No Daddy. I’m not asleep.” Lily murmured laying her head on his shoulder.

“You’ll be more comfortable in your bed.” Ethan said carrying her up the stairs and helping her into her pyjamas. Victoria brought Luke up and both parents tucked their children in giving them a few kisses before they retreated from the door and went back downstairs.

“Do you reckon I can make them stay small forever?” Victoria said slumping back onto the sofa.

“I reckon you couldn’t stop them if you tried.” Ethan chuckled putting an arm around Victoria. “Although if you’re getting broody again...”

“No way. Two is enough for me.” Victoria laughed.

“I’m glad we agree on that.” Ethan grinned.

“Do you think Ed would win the election?” Victoria asked after a period of silence.

Ethan wasn’t sure how to answer that. Republicans were very powerful people and sometimes, powerful people did big things. Ed Farrugia was still popular amongst the public, apart from those at Bloom Edenbrook.

Ethan would never forget that night. Nearly having Victoria slip away from him was one of the worst moments of his life. Today he did all he could to protect her and if that meant refusing to let Ed Farrugia visit Bloom Edenbrook Hospital then so be it.

“I don’t know. He’s still a very popular man no matter what we think of him. Many people don’t know what went on.” Ethan sighed.

“That’s true. I wonder what the others will make of it. I hope Bobby and Danny’s family haven’t seen the news.” Victoria sighed.

“It’ll all be ok. Whatever happens. We’ll get through it.” Ethan replied. “Now am I going to have to carry you to bed or are you able to walk to the bedroom?”

“Are you trying to get me into bed Ethan Ramsey?” Victoria smirked.

“Is it working?”

“You’ll have to find out.” Victoria winked, walking to the bedroom.

Ethan followed her quickly not wanting to disappoint her.

— — — — —

New series is here! Had this in the drafts for a while.

Apologies if the way I’ve written how the nominees for President are chosen or the timeline for when they are chosen are incorrect. I am not American!

Also I’m not 100% sure what party Ed Farrugia represents and I don’t think it’s ever specified in the book, and I researched that Massachusetts hasn’t had a Republican Senator since the 80s but as this is a fictional world and given Ed’s attitude throughout book 2, I’ve placed him as a Republican, just to make the fic more interesting.

So, Ed Farrugia is running for President! Who would’ve thought! 😉

The big question is will he win the election?

Tag list: @ohchoices @openheartfan @queencarb @genevievemd @iemcpbchoices

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream, V

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count:7, 733

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way; He doesn’t fumble the chance to touch her, and so he presses a hand to the small of her back and follows her as she sways, humming the song that’s playing, is it the way you love me, baby? is it the way you love me, baby?, ignoring the obvious implication as they move. She puts her face in to the crook of his neck, inhales the clean scent of him. His sweater is soft and he’s hard against her, humming along too. They shouldn’t be like this, here, but Iris is starting to get caught up in it, their story. (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

The Way

Woke up this morning

With a smile on my face

Barry: I had to look for crime clues at the bottom of a snake pit today. Hope your day was better than mine.

Iris: Well, I had to go off on a freshman student for coming at me about her shitty article, so not likely.

Barry: Yeah? Did it get physical?

Iris: Don’t be a cliche.

Barry: :)

Barry: Watched an episode of this Bridgerton show you like. I don’t get the hype.

Iris: Two words: Simon Bassett

Barry: Hmm.

Barry: I’m certain I look better.

Iris: Don’t lie to yourself like that.

Barry: Damn. Burn.

Iris: How will you ever recover?

Barry: I’m sure if I get you spread out over my face, I could.

Barry: And get you to forget about Simon Bassett too.

Iris:

Barry: Iris?

Iris: Sorry; I spilled my coffee.

Iris: I’ve thought of my next question.

Barry: Yeah?

Iris: What would be an ideal date for you?

Barry: Any one that you’re on with me.

Iris: That’s a cop out answer, Bear.

Barry: Bear?

Iris: I’m trying it out.

Barry: I can get behind that. Bears are polite dicks, right?

Iris: I hate you.

Barry: I’ve got a couple of scratches on my neck that prove you don’t.

Iris:

Barry: Baby?

Iris: Be serious. Ideal date.

Barry: I am.

Barry: You make me smile, Iris. You’re pretty and kind, even if you get a little grumpy sometimes. I’ve had a great time with you, when we’re walking around or having dinner or eating sandwiches by the lake. When we’re getting high or having sex.

Barry: And I want to keep getting to know you. So I am being serious. My ideal date is any one that you’re on with me.

Iris: How am I supposed to even respond to that.

Iris: Be ready on Tuesday at 6. Can you swing it?

Barry: I can.

Iris: Dress a little dressier than casual.

Barry: Did you get them?

Iris: Yes, Barry, they’re beautiful. What are they?

Barry: They’re called camellias.

Iris: I was very surprised to see them on my porch when I got home. And I love the vase too.

Iris: Really. Thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever gotten me flowers before.

Barry: Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. I can’t wait to see you on Tuesday, baby.

Iris: Me either, Bear.

Iris: I think I still smell you on my couch, and I cleaned it. That’s ridiculous, right?

Barry: Only if me being able to still smell you on my fingers is.

Iris: What are you doing to me, Barry?

Barry: Nothing you aren’t already doing to me.

Barry: I was grinning down at my phone earlier and Chester and Cisco started giving me shit about you.

Barry: They told me I’m whipped.

Iris: Better than your boss announcing in her office that she’s glad you’re apparently getting good sex.

Barry: You are.

Iris: 🙄

Iris: Not lately.

Barry: Soon, baby.

Barry: And Iris?

Iris: Yeah?

Barry: I am.

Barry: Whipped.

“Who’s on the phone?”

It’s another Sunday night, a week after she’s last seen Barry. Mid-term prep and a triple homicide case have kept them both busy. They’ve exchanged a few text messages throughout the week and have tried to meet up for coffee once, though their schedules didn’t align.

She’s done her usual Sunday cleaning routine since she didn’t get a chance the week before and she’s even taken the time to condition and twist out her hair instead of flat ironing it as she normally would. Now, she sits back in one corner of her sofa, Law & Order: SVU playing in the background on the television and Linda and Wally sitting on the other side of the couch and in the armchair, respectively. Her laptop is in her lap and she’s cleaning up her “Loving” post before she officially posts it. Linda is writing, likely working on her new manuscript, and Wally is doing homework, books laid out on the arm of the chair and on the floor too.

She doesn’t answer right away because she’s unsure if she’s ready to tell yet. They’ve been texting all week and Iris feels even more like a teenager with a crush. She’s been going to bed with images of him in her head, of his kiss and his touch and the fact that he really did make her come all over his face on a blanket outside by the lake. And she can’t ignore the fact that she likes him. He’s funny and the likable kind of asshole and he says these sweet things that catch her off guard every. single. time. The flowers he’d dropped off when she was still at work on Friday are sitting on the counter, a mix of red and white flowers with open petals, short stems, and big green leaves.

“Iris?”

“Hmm?” She looks up from the last messages, I am. Whipped., and it’s to stare at her brother and best friend, who are watching her back. “What?”

“Who’re you texting?”

“I’m not texting anyone.”

“For a storyteller,” Linda says, “you are a horrible liar.”

“Take the phone, Linda,” Wally says, and Iris looks over at him, appalled. Wally is a handsome kid, 20 going on 37, with skin the same dusky shade as Iris’s and dark brown eyes, his hair tapered on the sides and higher, curlier on the top.

“What do you mean take my phone?”

Linda carefully sets her laptop to the side, and before Iris can ask another question, Linda jumps over to the side of the couch, reaching for Iris’s phone.

“Get away from me, you idiot,” Iris screams, and with Wally’s encouragement, Linda climbs onto Iris’s lap and snatches the phone from her hand. Wally hops up from his own seat to hold Iris down so that Iris can’t get up. She tries to struggle against him, but it’s no use. For a limber thing, Wally is strong.

“Who is it?”

As Iris makes note of the fact that she should definitely change her phone passcode, she settles under her brother’s hold as Linda looks through her phone.

“We’re gonna have to talk about privacy,” she grumbles.

Luckily, the text messages don’t go back as far as she’s known Barry, but unfortunately, there’s no hiding their budding relationship.

“Who is Barry?” Linda says, eyebrows raised high as she slides through. “And where can I get one?”

“You already have one,” Iris replies dryly.

“I guess,” Linda says, “But Dan’s not telling me he wants me to spread out on his face in a text message.”

“Iris!” Wally shouts.

“Wally is too young to hear all of this,” Iris tries.

“Oh please,” Linda says. “Let’s not forget that I caught him and that Johnathan guy hooking up in a closet at your dad’s house. Your little brother was on his knees.” That she adds with a saucy little grin.

“Can we actually not talk about me or the apparent fact that my sister’s getting tongued down by someone named Barry?”

“I’m okay with that.”

Linda bounces back to her side of the sofa, still holding on to Iris’s phone. “Well, I’m not. I mean, Wally I am 100% fine with never seeing you deepthroat a dick again. But I do want to know why my best friend is apparently out here pussy whipping white men named Barry and I don’t know about it.”

“How do you know he’s white?”

She gets the eye from both Linda and Wally.

“Okay, fine. He’s white. But he’s really nice.”

“Alright.” Linda catches her gaze and holds it, her brown eyes curious and, if Iris isn’t mistaken, a little sad. She glances over at the still beautiful bouquet of camellia flowers. “So he’s white and nice and he’s apparently buying you flowers too. Tell me more.”

Maybe this is what she needs, some girl-talk. There’s no real reason that she hasn’t told Linda about Barry, other than they haven’t really had real time to talk since their brunch a couple of weeks back. Well, and maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s the reality that she doesn’t know what’s happening with her and Barry, not really, and (in her head) there’s a sort of taboo about speaking on it, about making it real when it isn’t.

“He’s…” she starts, and then she pauses. “I need wine for this.”

“Me too!” Wally says as she disappears into the kitchen. She hears Linda tell Wally that he’s still not 21, even though his birthday is only a couple of weeks away, and so he can’t drink, but Iris pours up three glasses of the red wine on her counter anyway. There’s no telling what the conversation will bring.

She carefully takes the glasses back to the living room. The other two have fully abandoned their work and are sitting on the sofa waiting for her. They both make grabby hands for the wine and she passes the glasses over before plopping down in the middle of them.

“Okay, first things first,” Wally starts. “How’d you meet him?”

“I went out dancing,” she answers. “I guess a few weeks ago at this point. And…”

“A few weeks?” Linda interrupts.

Iris sips from her glass to avoid making eye contact after the bit of ire in Linda’s tone.

“Yeah,” she continues after a pause. “I went out and we came back here. He was gone the next morning and I thought that was it. But then he showed up a week later and we hung out again. I saw him at the Fall Fest after our brunch, Linda, and we had dinner. Last Sunday, he took me on a picnic.”

“Okay,” Linda says, “but tell me about him.”

“I don’t know; he’s…” she searches for what to say, to put words to the ways she’s been seeing him in her head, to the way she’s been feeling him in her heart. “Maybe nice is too easy a word because he’s not really nice. He’s polite; like he pays for meals and he walks me to my car and he says please. But he’s also got a little oomph to him, ya know. Like he doesn’t look like it, but he’s a little bit, a little commanding, and…”

“Wait, what do you mean commanding? Like is he trying to tell you what to do? Because…”

“No, Wally. I mean like...”

“In the bedroom?” Linda guesses and Iris nods. “Nice.”

“Good for you,” Wally says.

She waits until they’re done laughing at her irritated expression.

“Sorry,” Linda says. “He’s a freak. What else?”

“I don’t know. He’s kinda funny. Like, he doesn’t tell jokes but he’ll say something to try to push my buttons and it makes me laugh. Or he’ll laugh at himself and that makes me laugh too. And even though you can tell he’s pretty confident in himself, there are still these instances where he’s a little awkward and he blushes and it’s...sweet.” And he makes me feel a little less lonely, she doesn’t add, and like he could be someone that I could come to count on.

Her brother and best friend are both quiet after this and when Iris looks from one to the other, she frowns.

“What?”

“Iris, you like him.” This from Linda.

“It’s only been a couple of dates,” she deflects.

“Yeah,” Wally agrees, “and he’s already calling you baby.”

Linda hums. “That might have a little to do with the pussy whipping.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

“In any case,” Linda says, before Iris can respond. “If he’s all of this, why are you keeping it a secret?”

“Because I don’t know what we’re doing. I thought it was just sex. I mean he came back over after the first time for sex. But now, it’s, it’s…”

“More?” Linda tries.

“Right.”

“And you’re afraid that it’s gonna end before it even starts.”

Iris doesn’t know how Linda does it. She’s always been able to see right through Iris, in a way that would be scary if she didn’t appreciate it so much. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? Iris is scared because it’s only been weeks and she likes this guy so much already. Even after their first night, when Iris was sure she’d never see him again, she’d felt a stirring of something in her gut, something strong and big and, and important. And it doesn’t make any sense, because all they’ve really done is have sex, albeit phenomenal sex, and talk about their hobbies a little. But she’s feeling feelings she’s never felt before and it’s all a bit...much. Feelings like this don’t last. They falter or they change, turning into things undefinable, charged, angry.

“It’s too soon, though, right?” She tries. “Like, we still don’t even really know each other and…”

“Don’t do that, Iris,” Wally interrupts, his voice a warning.

“Do what?”

“Think about ending it,” Linda says. “Ride it out. I know you have this need to try to figure out how things will end. And I can understand that. But, Iris, this man likes you. He’s telling you his feelings. And you obviously like him. So let that be okay for now. Trust that.”

Iris is not expecting the cute one-story modern farmhouse she pulls up to. It’s made of gray brick and white shiplap and there’s a flower garden on either side of the walkway that leads to the porch. A swinging chair hangs on one side of the porch and a couple of rocking chairs sit on the other and if Barry wasn’t already walking out of the house when she stopped her car in front, she might think she was at the wrong place.

The weather has gotten cooler in the evenings and so he’s dressed in a pair of dark plaid slacks that fit to the long length of him and a sift black sweater. She stifles a hysterical giggle at how it matches her own white cashmere sweater tucked into a black pleated skirt that hems just under her knees. She watches him stroll to her car and climb in.

“I was gonna come to the door and get you,” Iris says. “Like on a proper date.”

He shoots her a grin, cheeks pink. “I, uh, I was excited to see you.”

She hears Linda in her head saying, ‘you obviously like him; let that be okay for now,’ and so she smiles at Barry.

“You’re so sweet, it’s irritating.”

He gives her a wider dorky grin and she can’t help but smile back, wider than before.

“And this house is really nice.”

His smile turns softer, sadder. “Yeah. It was my parents’. Just want to keep it nice for them.”

“Well I don’t know if you’ve turned the inside into a dungeon, but you’re certainly keeping it nice outside.”

“Thanks, Iris. I’ve learned that I’ve got quite the green thumb trying to keep it up.” He wiggles his hands at her as she’s putting the car into drive and pulling off.

“Wait, so you tend to garden yourself?”

He nods. “Yeah. Both of my parents were into gardening. Well, my mom really liked flowers but she couldn’t really make anything grow. So she got my dad into it and he could, which annoyed her to no end.”

Iris shoots him a soft grin. “Is that what the tattoo is about? I’ve been wondering.”

“Yeah. I get two new flowers every year, one on my mom’s birthday and the other on the anniversary of her death.”

“That’s really sweet, Barry.”

She turns her attention back to the road. A man who, in addition to what she’s seen so far, is committed to keeping his mother’s memory alive? Yeah, she’s fucked.

Greenwood Art Gallery has only been open for a few months. A nod to the name of the neighborhood down in Tulsa that was once the home of a Black cultural and economic mecca, the art gallery features art by Black artists across the diaspora. Tonight is the opening night of a new artist showing, a young woman named Lauryn Morgan who’s a Central City native. Iris and Wally had gone together to their first showing, a curated collection of art focusing on Black American culture through the centuries. The showing tonight is called “The Way,” and is a series of art, canvas paintings and mixed-media prints, that focus on love in all of their forms.

The gallery is in a beautiful space in a reconstructed warehouse. There are a few exposed brick walls, but the place is largely filled with white walls and great lighting, art taking up every corner of the room. There is a large crowd there, when Iris walks through the front door with Barry at her side. Her black pumps have a silver ankle chain and a tall stiletto heel that puts her to his shoulder, and would make it easier to reach out and grab his hand. She doesn’t. Not yet, at least.

They stop first by a bar set up in one corner of the room. It’s a pretty wooden structure manned by two women in black dresses, both of their hair in locs and falling down their backs. The song for which the artist’s collection is named is playing from a speaker, Jill Scott’s sultry, smiling voice making the words jumped out of bed, took a shower, dressed; cleaned up my place; made me some breakfast, toast; two scrambled eggs, grits; grabbed my keys, grabbed my purse; grabbed my jacket, off to work; beaming all the way down third sound like some sort of ode to life and love. Iris insists on paying for their first glass of wine since it is her date, and they bicker good-naturedly about it as they wait for one of the bartenders to pour over full glasses of the chilled white wine.

“I’m paying for the next one,” Barry tells her, and she just shakes her head, mumbling “we’ll see” as she takes the glass from the brown-skinned woman with a smile.

“I’ve been wanting to come here,” Barry says as he presses a hand to her lower back as they move further into the room. It’s packed; the crowd seems like the normal art crowd around Central City, twenty- and thirty-somethings dressed in everything from tulle skirts to ripped jeans and boots to full on suits. The sea of faces run the line in skin color, from darker than chocolate and paler than vanilla and then all of the flavors in between. It’s one of the things she finds fascinating about Central City, an idea that is pushed every time she writes a new story about the power of people coming together, pushing stereotypes, making targeted efforts to understand.

“My brother and I came when it first opened,” she answers. “But I’ve been reading up on this artist and I’m really excited to see her work.”

Barry nods. “Thanks for wanting to share it with me.”

“Art is just another way that people tell stories,” she gives a little shrug. “And Black stories are extremely important to me.”

He gives her that look that he does, that wondering, curious sort of look, as if he’s always trying to understand what lies beyond the surface to what she isn’t actually saying. Maybe that is what he’s doing. Because then he nods again and smiles before pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I hear you,” he says seriously. “And I want to learn about that, to celebrate that.”

And well, okay then.

“What’s the story behind this one, do you think?”

It’s the first time Barry has really engaged with her. He’s been content to follow her from painting to painting, making small comments about how he likes this one or that one, but otherwise just following, watching. They started at one end of the exhibit, where it had been a little crowded and they moved along the lines of the walls, stopping at the ones placed haphazardly in the middle of the room too.

The art has been phenomenal, some platonic or familial, others romantic or erotic. She’s seen some featuring groups of Black women of various shades at a wine night or reading in a library; Black men playing pickup basketball or talking smack at the barbershop. She’s smiled at the ones that remind her of when she and Wally would sit on the couch watching movies or when her dad would try to comb her hair before he decided to just shell out money to get her hair professionally done.

The romantic canvas paintings have been her favorite: the one of a man and a woman dancing, their faces out of the frame, their bodies aligned and in shadows, the viewer understanding that this is not only a dance; another of two women lying in bed, one woman’s dark breasts bared, the other with a sheet covering the curve of her hip, the love evident in their pleased expressions; yet another of two men, standing in an embrace in the light of a window, towels tucked into their waists, the one with waist-length locs tucked into the neck of one with a high fade. It goes like this, with the mixed media prints of individuals celebrating their femininity, their masculinity, their androgyny.

The one Barry asks about is tucked away in the farther end of the exhibit. They’re alone back here for the most part, with people still largely at the front of the gallery, the occasional guest walking through to take a quick look before leaving. The painting is beautiful, another man and woman, in 20s era clothing, a sultry blue dress pushed up high on her thigh and a pair of suspenders falling off of his shoulders. He’s holding a saxophone and a microphone cord is wrapped around her bangled wrist, but there’s no mistaking that they aren’t playing for a crowd at the moment.

“It looks like the 20s era which, outside of the rampant racism, seems like a time I would have actually like to visit as a Black person. The art, the music, the literature. Everything was so, I don’t know, intimate, I think. People weren’t afraid to lay it all out in their art.” She turns to find him watching her, his expression thoughtful and a touch sensuous, like he’s think of laying it out, laying her out right now. She licks her lips, slowly, and continues, “They’re taking a break from making music; or rather, they’re making another kind. It’s why I love music, especially blues and R & B. Music is a story too, heightened senses and heated bodies and it’s feeling.”

On an impulse, she takes his hand and pulls him close, her other hand resting on his shoulders. They’d finished their wine and placed the glasses in one of the discreet bins placed around the gallery a couple of prints ago and they’re empty-handed. He doesn’t fumble the chance to touch her, and so he presses a hand to the small of her back and follows her as she sways, humming the song that’s playing, is it the way you love me, baby? is it the way you love me, baby?, ignoring the obvious implication as they move. She puts her face in to the crook of his neck, inhales the clean scent of him. His sweater is soft and he’s hard against her, humming along too. They shouldn’t be like this, here, but Iris is starting to get caught up in it, their story. It’s hard to hold on to fear, when he’s like this with her. They’re doing nothing but dancing in a crowded art gallery; they’ve done nothing but stare and laugh and fuck. But it’s been more, hasn’t it? A story she’s been writing since the moment he asked her to dance.

“You can feel it, right?” she asks, a little quietly. The sounds around them are stark, the low murmurs of the other guests, the laughs they emit. She can feel his heavy breathing and hers is no lesser, mixing with the tap of her heels on the wood floors, the thick tapping of her heart she wouldn’t be surprised he could actually hear. But they still seem to be in some sort of bubble, one where she can only focus on his humming, a baritone that hints at a nice singing voice, and the feel of him holding her.

“Yes,” he responds, just as quietly, and Iris doesn’t know the question she’s really asking the answer to. Or, maybe she does. Maybe it was written before she understood that it had been for her, and all she’s done ‘til now, and all she’s been ‘til now, has led her here. Maybe all of the stories she has written have prepared her to live in her own, to cling to this feeling, even if society would have her think it’s too soon or too much or far too scary. But she won’t voice it, not for real, not until those vestiges of fear are all gone.

They move, only for moments more, wrapped up in one another, his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder, until they hear the sound of shoes on the floor and the muffled sound of laughter, pulling them away from each other.

They leave the gallery soon after that, and Iris is starving. She, likely against her better judgment, makes the decision to take Barry to Golden’s. She knows that Linda is tending bar tonight and the food is amazing, and she thinks that maybe it’ll go a little way in mending the bend between her and her friend. She can understand her sentiment; rarely do Iris and Linda keep secrets from each other. Iris knows that it’s been her own shit that’s kept her quiet, the feeling like she’s floating out on a piece of string and it would take only a snap for her to break away. Maybe keeping Barry quiet had been her way of holding on to him for as long as she could before he floated away too.

She parallel parks in an empty spot about a block away from the restaurant. She gives in to the urge to take his hand and they walk up the street. Central City is bustling for a Thursday night, the start of a weekend for many. She hears the music from a band playing from somewhere down the street and sees other couples walking hand in hand, smiling off to their destinations. Golden’s is just as packed when she walks in, but the host notices her immediately.

“Hey Iris,” Kamilla grins, the short perky woman waving as they walk up to the booth. She’s got skin a touch darker than tan and big brown eyes that always seem to be smiling as much as she does.

“Hey Kamilla,” Iris greets. Y’all are packed tonight.”

The other woman nods, her dark hair waving against her shoulders as she looks at the group of people waiting for tables along the side of the wall. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s up but we’ve been slammed since we opened for the dinner hour.”

“How long’s the wait?”

“Well, for you, not long. There are a couple of seats open at the bar or you two can go in the alcove. Xuan and Theo had some friends sitting back there, but they should be finishing up soon. I can put you at the bar until the table’s ready.”

Iris smiles widely. “You’re a saint. Thanks.”

“Anything for you, you know that.”

Kamilla leads them through the throng of people to the bar. Iris’s hand is still clasped in Barry’s and he squeezes once to indicate that he’s following. There are only two seats at the bar available, at the far end, away from where Linda is currently pouring drinks. It’s a long U-shaped bar, about ten seats along the longer side, two of either side of the U. The other bartender is down on their end, a slim woman named Allegra with light-honey colored skin and long dark brown hair. She sees Iris and waves, and then raises an eyebrow at Barry sitting beside her.

“Who’s this?” she asks when she walks over, noticing the way Barry is sitting sideways with his legs open, splayed out so that Iris is surrounded by him.

She and Allegra are not so much friends as they are acquaintances, stopping and chatting whenever Iris comes to hang out.

“This is Barry. Barry, this is Allegra.”

“Oh, so this is Barry.”

The sound of her best friend’s voice in sing-song comes from behind Allegra, thick hair swinging against her neck. She’s got a cryptic expression on her face, as she looks from Barry to Iris back to Barry again, also taking in his posture, their body language explaining what they haven’t said yet.

“He’s cute,” Linda says, winking at Barry, who blushes a little.

“Yes. Barry, this is my best friend Linda; Linda this is Barry.”

Barry gives up an easy smile and puts a hand out for Linda to shake. “It’s good to meet you. Iris has told me a lot.”

“Hmm, I hope more than I’ve heard about you.”

Snickering at her tone, Allegra leaves them to go handle another order.

“Don’t be rude because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” Linda grumbles. She turns back to Barry. “But she’s right. I’m sorry for being rude. I really am glad to meet you.”

“This is your parents’ place, right?” he asks, looking around, obviously impressed. “Iris told me about it. I’m excited that she brought me here.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You came on a good night. We just started our new menu.” She pulls a plastic-covered menu from below the bar for him to look at. “Kamilla told me she’ll get the table in the alcove ready for you. I’ll whip y’all up something to drink while you wait.”

Linda gives her a pointed look and then she’s gone, cute navy blouse billowing behind her. Iris faces Barry, who’s watching her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other sitting on the sliver of skin from where her skirt has ridden up her thigh.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“That seemed like a lot.” He gestures towards Linda.

Iris sighs heavily. “Yeah. I’m sort of in my head about some stuff and Linda is taking it a little personally that I haven’t told her about it.”

“You mean me?”

“Partly,” she answers truthfully. “I, I didn’t always know how to talk about you. But it’s not just that; I’ve been dealing with some feelings of…listlessness. And I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“Iris, I…” He licks his lips, slowly, and leans in, close enough that she can smell the mint and wine on his breath. “If I’m moving too fast, I get that and I can pull back if you want. But I’m in this, to see where we can go.” His stare is insistent. “And you can tell me, if you want, about whatever else is bothering you. I’m always willing to listen.”

Before she can respond, Linda walks back over with two long-stemmed martini glasses, pale orange liquor filled to the brim.

“Ginger martinis,” Linda announces. “Something I just put on the menu.”

“In addition to being a badass writer, Linda’s a bomb bartender too.”

“Oh, you’re a writer too?” Barry wonders.

Linda smiles at Barry. “Yeah. Mostly fiction, though I dabble in personal essays. Nothing like our girl over here who can take someone else’s thoughts and make them come to life.”

“She is good, isn’t she?” Barry punctuates the question with a hand rub up her thigh. That makes Iris look up, startled, because they’ve never talked about her work before.

“You’ve read my work?”

“Of course,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “I’m working my way through your blog. I have been since you told me about it at the Fall Fest.”

Iris exchanges glances with a satisfied Linda.

“You hear that, Iris? Barry has been reading your blog since you mentioned it weeks ago. It’s almost as if…”

“Alright!” Iris interrupts. “Thanks, Linda. Goodbye.”

Linda laughs, throwing another wink at Barry before she blows a kiss at Iris. “I love you and have fun. Call me later.”

She’s done eating when he throws his napkin on top and slides over to her side of the booth. She blinks at him in confusion, but he just shrugs and says, “I wanted to be next to you.”

She scoots over to let him in, though it’s a tight fit, as she takes a sip from her water glass. They’re waiting on dessert, a decadent ginger créeme brûlée that Xuan created. It’s her favorite thing on the menu.

Iris thinks back on the course of their dinner. It’d been about as perfect as their picnic date, how conversation just seemed to flow. He tells her a bit about working as a forensic scientist and how he likes to use his love of science and problem-solving to help catch the bad guys. That leads into a conversation about her dad, a police captain for CCPD, and Barry is delighted to find out that he actually knows her father, a man he says he can tell wants nothing more than to do the right thing.

Iris talks a little about What a Life You’ve Lived , still a bit surprised that he’s reading through it. He asks deeper questions about a couple of the stories that really caught his attention. He likes that they read like short stories instead of interviews because they make the stories more fascinating. He wants to know how she chooses stories, what’s her writing process, if she does interviews or if they just send in and she cleans it up.

“A little of both,” she answers. “They send the story and then we set up an interview and we go from there. Sometimes they’re in person or on a video call. Some people prefer just emailed conversations because it keeps some of their anonymity.”

They laugh while they eat as they talk more about some of his more interesting cases, her funnier stories. Iris never really orders any food; Linda or her parents usually just tell the chef she’s there and the cooks do their thing, bringing out courses as they see fit. So they up her portions and Barry and Iris eat from the same plates, fighting over some of the items, like the garlic bok choy Iris always falls all over herself for and the shrimp and pork shumai that Barry attempts to eat more of.

Linda brings them another martini and on top of the glass of wine, she’s in a hazy sort of place. She isn’t drunk, but she does feel a little lighter, enchanted by the food and the drink and the company. Golden’s becomes a little more seductive at night, with lowered lighting and soft music, and the smiling, muted conversations that come with a date night. And so even though they eat and they laugh and they play, they do more. They make eyes at each other over the time of their glasses, watch a little too long as the other runs the teeth of a fork across the tongue. They caress one another’s hand when one goes for a bite of food. They tangle their legs, the feel of Barry’s hard, fabric-covered calves on her softer, bare legs far too arousing for how innocuous the movement. It’s teasing and it’s provoking and Iris feels it all down to the core of her.

So when he slides into the seat beside her, she brazenly throws her legs over his thighs under the guise of giving him more room. She’s thankful it’s darker where they are, that’s it’s more hidden where they are. Barry doesn’t miss a beat, placing a hand on her thighs and rubbing lightly. Their dessert arrives shortly thereafter and the waiter takes note of their changed positions with a smirk.

“You’ve got to try this,” Iris says, picking up one of the small spoons to scoop up a bit. “It’ll literally be the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

“I don’t know,” Barry hums, sliding his hand higher up her thigh under her skirt. His palm is warm and a bit soft, an interesting contrast to the slightly calloused tips of his fingers. “I’ve had you in my mouth.”

He takes a bite like he hadn’t just said that, tongue licking around the spoon. “But it’s a nice second.”

“You’ve gotta stop,” Iris says, staring down at the spoon, momentarily wishing it was her. “You really just gotta stop.”

His answering grin is lopsided. “I don’t really think you want me to. Why else would you put your legs up on me like this?”

She gasps in mock shock. “What are you trying to say, Bear?”

His grin turns dirty. “I want you to say that name a little differently in a minute.”

He moves his hand up, taking the fabric of her skirt with him, tapping at her thighs to part them. She does it easily, dropping one of her feet back to the floor so that she’s spread for him. The skirt is pliant enough that she can spread as wide as she wants and it still covers her.

“Eat the brûlée,” he suggests. “Give your mouth something to do.”

He tips those long fingers up the middle of her thighs, up one side and down the other, up one side and down the other. It’s slow, like he always is, and for someone who’s claimed to enjoy running, he’s always taking his time.

And every time he goes up one side and down the other, he makes his way higher and higher, higher and higher, until his fingers are skimming her panties, lightly tracing the edges of the silk material. She jumps, a little gasp escaping her parted lips.

“Eat,” he orders. It’s crazy, how turned on how she gets because of him. Every time he murmurs some increasingly dirty thing, every time he uses those far too skillful fingers to touch her, she feels herself soaking her panties with no shame. She’s been just on the verge of wet since she picked him up and saw him standing there in all that all black that had made his pale skin and pretty eyes stand out in stark contrast. Now, though, she knows that were she to look, she’d see a darker green right in the middle of the crotch of her panties. It shouldn’t be so easy, not the way they are together, not the way they’ve always been together. It should sometimes be awkward and fumbling and…and...

“Fuck,” the curse startles her out of her own musings when slides his finger under the fabric of her panties.

“I told you to eat, Iris,” Barry reminds her, and she picks up the spoon with no further delay, scooping up a portion of the dessert and putting it in her mouth. At the same time, he slides a gentle finger along her slit. She’s imbued with, with awareness: the sweet taste of sugar on her tongue, the sweet feel of his digit sliding into her; the shock of the lemon-ginger filling her mouth, the shock of him pushing another finger in and to the knuckle. She lets out a silent moan against the spoon, taking his advice and eating so that she doesn’t fall back on the chair with her mouth wide open in ecstasy.

It’s a lesson in restraint, the next several minutes. He massages her as she eats, his fingers sliding in and out of her, in and out her, scissoring, and sliding, and rubbing, and then repeating the process. Her hips start to rock against his hand, undulating as she tries to get closer, as she takes his fingers and clenches around them. Her hand tightens on the spoon she’s using, and it’s a struggle to keep her eyes facing forward and not rolled in the back of her head. Because still with the two fingers fucking into her, he thumbs at her clit, rubbing in slow circles. She wishes that she could look down at them, to see what those long, pale fingers look like disappearing inside of her wet, pink flesh; but she can’t and even still, she can recall the look of it from their time on the couch. It feels like that did, when he was playing in her, but different and maybe better.

Because now he knows a little bit about what gets her off quicker, about the fact that although it’s torture when he’s fucking her at a snail’s pace, she likes the be fingered like that. She likes when he crooks his fingers, just a little, and when it feels like a gentle stroking instead of an all-out assault. She likes when he waits ‘til her clit is hard and peeking from its hood before he touches it, and then keeps at it, rubbing in small, slow circles. And “god, Bear,” does the creme brulee make this something else, make it more rousing, make it sexier, make it sound like go 'head, really get your groove on; cause tonight my man's coming through...i got another, nasty, freaky, just right way in mind; tonight, I'm gonna beat the high score. He slides in and out, he rubs slow circles, she rocks her hips like she would if she could be impaled on him right now.

And he leans closer to her, watching her face as he fingers her, mumbling as he does, “yes, baby, ride my hand, soak my hand, baby,” his voice barely above a whisper. It makes Iris jerk hard against the table. Barry attempts to slow down, but Iris all but gives up the idea of eating and grabs at his wrist. “No, don’t stop, Bear.”

He lets out an easy chuckle, twisting his wrist so that he can push deeper, his palm now rubbing against her clit, his fingers curved in her pussy.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” he whispers into her ear, and Iris whimpers at the dark timbre of his voice washing over her. “Hmm, you seem like you’d like that. Huh, Iris? Does the thought of all these people seeing you bite those sexy lips as you try not to scream get you off? Do you want them to hear how you sound right now? How you’re so wet I can almost hear you over them talking right now?”

“Bear,” she moans and it’s louder than she intends and Barry reaches out to tuck her into his neck. And she can’t answer, doesn’t know if she is getting off on them like this, but she feels her orgasm coming, hard and fast but smooth, gliding through her like it’s the easiest thing her body has ever done.

When she comes around his hand, clamping her thighs around his wrist, she stays tucked in Barry’s neck and bites down, because the creme brulee is all gone, and fuck if this doesn’t feel good. She makes a strangled sound in her throat and hopes that she bites down hard enough to muffle it, even if it marks him. She hears his own low groan, rumbling near silently in his chest, and Iris thinks that makes her come even harder, eyes shut tight as she savors it. She rides it out, clenching and unclenching like a vise over his fingers, and tasting the sweetness of his skin, feeling his hardness under her thigh.

“They’re never gonna let me back in here, Barry,” Iris whispers in a labored breath, after.

“It’s fine,” he says as he pulls his hand out of her. He looks at it for a moment, at her slick glistening on his skin, and then he puts the two middle fingers in his mouth, groaning at the taste of her. Iris thinks she almost comes again.

“They don’t even know what’s going on,” he continues, oblivious to Iris who’s watching him with blown eyes. At least she thinks he’s oblivious until he wipes the rest of her off on a cloth napkin and then shoots her a salacious wink.

She shakes her head, partly in amusement, and she smoothes her hands down her thighs above her skirt. Her one leg is still thrown across him. “How do you even get me to do shit like this? I’m so embarrassed. I was such a good girl before I met you.”

His chuckle is a rumble against her. “You are good, baby. So fucking good.”

She lifts her head, because something about that last part seems like more than just teasing. He curls a hand around the back of her neck, making her hold his gaze.

“You smell good,” he says. “You taste good. But more than that,” he pauses as places a hand on her chest, just above her heart. “You are good.”

“You don’t even…”

“Don’t,” he stops her. “Don’t say I don’t know you. I mean sure, I still haven’t figured out all the things that anger you or what you’re like when you’re stressed. But I’ve watched you talk about your family and I’ve seen the compassion you have for the people you write about and… and when I tell you you’re good, I mean that.”

She tucks herself back into his neck after that, wrapping her arms around him to acknowledge his comment, to try to tell him what she doesn’t know how to say yet. It would make sense that she move away from him, that she set herself back to rights. It would make sense that she step back, to clear the haze he’s got her in, to make sure she’s reading this story correctly. But something else tells her that she might be, that she might even be reading it a tad too slowly, so she stays right where she is, his hand rubbing up and down her back. And she closes her eyes, hoping that the story doesn’t end too soon.

Is it the way you love me, baby?

Is it the way you love me, baby?

Is it the way you love me, baby?

Is it the way you love me, baby?

[judylicious]

And When He Smiles I Swear I Can’t Breathe

Alan Rubin x fem!Reader

Word count: 1,655

Fandom: Blues Brothers

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Blues Brothers characters or movies. This refers to Alan Rubin as a character in the movie, not the real Alan (although he obvsly played himself but you know what I mean)

I’d like to add that I made everyone of the band a few years younger (so the age gap between the reader and Alan isn’t that big), so he’s approx. in his early 30s.

Sophia & Lisa are two OCs created by two lovely people within the fandom.

Warnings: none

Chapter IV

A few days past and Sophia and Lisa had a hard time to get a hold of Charlotte. She barely was home and spent a lot of time in classes or in the College’s own library. Her plan was to keep herself distracted from thinking about Alan and also putting more effort into her studies had settled her parents in some way. At least they were asking less questions and leaving her alone for most of the time.

One day the two friends went by Charlotte’s home again, hoping she’d be there. And as she opened the front door, her friends were purely delighted to see her again. “Hey hun, we’ve been trying to reach out to you.” “Yeah I’m sorry, I was pretty busy studying. Please come in.” “You’re parents home?” “Nope, fortunately they’re not.” “We really have been worried about you.”, Sophia said and took a seat on the couch. “I know and I’m really sorry, I had some trouble with my dad and you know how I prefer to isolate when things become though.” “We’re always there for you.”, Lisa reassured Charlotte and they both sat down beside Sophia. “We are meeting the boys Friday night for a casual get together and thought it’d be lovely if you joined us.” “Just Lou and Jake?” “Yes exactly.”, Lisa replied to her. But Sophia shot the girl with the red hair a commanding eye. “A-and Alan.” “Well, to put things straight he said he’d be there if there was a chance of you being present.”, Sophia explained. “What? Girls this ain’t funny.”, Charlotte said and wanted to get up but her friends hold her in place. “The last times we met the boys he asked about you, wanted to know why you wasn’t with us.” “Alright don’t toy with me. The last time I saw him, he had some blonde woman in his arms.” “Look I don’t know who that woman was, perhaps we was unhappy with the situation between you two and was simply trying to distract himself.” “You know what men are like.”, Sophia also trying to comfort Charlotte. “He really asked about me?” “Yes, yes, he did! A few times actually!” And just the day before yesterday. I told you the very first night he’s crazy about you.” Charlotte needed a moment to think about it. “Well, okay, yeah, why not!” “Great, I can’t wait for the three of us back together, we really missed you.” Sophia gave her friend a tight hug. “If anything’s wrong, call us. Please.” She gave her friends a warm smile. “I will. Oh, Sophia before it forget… I hope you gave Jake an appropriate welcome the other night.”, Charlotte said with a whimsically grin. “Oh you bet I did. We didn’t even made it home without, you know. So finally my car’s inaugurated.”, Sophia boasted with a big laugh. “Woah remind me to never ride along in your car ever again.” “Well in that case you shouldn’t use my apartment’s door anymore either! Or sit on my sofa, my kitchen table-“ “Damn girl, I got you!”, causing the three girls to scream with laughter. “No seriously Jake’s a wild boy,  couldn’t wait for him being back but there’s no better feeling than falling asleep in his arms, cuddling into his chest.” “Well, we certainly are happy you got him back for now.” “Truth to be told you were pretty narky without him.”, Lisa rolled her eyes joking.

Until Friday there were going so many thoughts through Charlotte’s head and she constantly told herself not to get her hopes up again. Yes, he asked about her. But that didn’t mean anything necessarily. He still could be interested in a casual hook, especially after what Lou had told her. But tonight would give her a harmless opportunity to learn more about him and that “issue" without making a fool out of her by asking him out directly.

Charlotte picked out a nice dress and did her make up in front of the mirror, while dancing and singing along to one of the boy’s albums. When she was satisfied with her look, she grabbed her coat and jumped on to the next bus heading city centre. 

They agreed to meet at this little bar with live music, which especially gave young, newcomers of the rhythm and blues scene a chance to gain experience.

Sophia and Lisa waited for Charlotte in front of the bar. “Hiya girls, am I running late?” “No, not at all, the guys are already inside but we didn’t want you to walk in on your own.” They gave each other a hug before Charlotte went inside first. She let her gaze wander through the room and found Jake sitting at a table near the small stage where a young girl with a guitar was performing. Lou was walking towards the bar, where no less than Alan was sitting on one of the barstools, a lady leaning into him. She was tugging and fiddling with his shirt, his hands grabbing hers and the upper part of his black, silk shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his chest hair. Her face only inches away from his. And that was all Charlotte needed and wanted to see. She turned on her heel, squeezed past her friends and straight through the door. “Wait, Charlotte where’re you going?” Hearing her name, Alan looked to the door and saw a baffled Lisa and Sophia, who quickly noticed the woman that was almost on his lap by now and they gave each other a concerning look.

Lou carefully grabbed the woman, trying to pull her away from Alan. “Miss you’re drunk. You’re surely doing better if you go home.” “No, get your hands off of me. I’m in the middle of a conversation with this very handsome man, can’t you see?”, the woman slurred. “We’re not!”, Alan claimed. “I’m sorry but I already told you, I’m not interested.” “No, no, you gave me those eyes, I can always tell.”, the woman persisted. Luckily the bartender chipped in “Listen, Ma’am, we called you a taxi, it’s waiting outside and will bring you home. You are way to drunk to be in my bar and I won’t approve of you molesting other guest.” Jake started up from his chair and he and Lou both grabbed on arm of the lady, dragging her outside, placing her carefully in the car waiting outside. “Thanks guys.”, Alan thanked the two as soon as they got back in. He greeted Lisa and Sophia and they all took a seat at the table next to Elwood. Alan looked at the girls, “Charlotte, she…?” “Is probably home by now.”, Sophia finished for him. “There was nothing going on, SHE approached me, I wasn’t even interested.” , he tried to explain himself. “We know that, Charlie’s just… overreacting sometimes, when it comes to things like these.”, Sophia told him and Lisa felt the need to correct her, “she’s overcautious, that’s all.” The three musicians gave the girls a curious look. “Her ex cheated on her for quite some time. Problem was he was an employee of her dad, he introduced the two.” “Some young and rich wanna-be.”, Sophia added. “Everyone knew he wasn’t good for Charlotte but her dad thought so much of him it was hard for Charlotte to convince him otherwise. So she had a hard time when she was trying to break up with that guy. Her father simply didn’t let her and she had so stay with him.” “That’s shit, man.”, Lou mumbled. Alan looked taken aback. “She knows not every man is like him but if a guy she likes is surrounded by women every time, it scares her off.” “No chances for you then, Mr. Fabulous, huh?”, Jake joked and gave him a bump with his elbow and Alan said nothing but lowered his eyes. “I’m sure she will understand that she was wrong to judge the situation from what she saw only.”, Lisa said with a smile and laid her hand on Alan’s arm. Lou though quickly grabbed Lisa’s other hand and she understood that little hint by removing her hand from Alan’s arm causing him to chuckle about the cute couple next to him. 

For the rest of the night the four tried to cheer up the trumpet player but didn’t success. He had been looking forward to this evening so much. He understood that Charlotte was being cautious after what had happened with her ex but was as disappointed he didn’t even had proper chance yet to show her how much he liked her.

The next Monday afternoon Charlotte’s father got home excitedly. “Sylvia darling! We won the case against ‘Jones & Johnson’! They finally decided the verdict, what a triumph.”, he praised and gave his wife a big kiss. “We’re all going out for dinner, tonight. This calls for a celebration. Tell the girls to get ready and dress up!”

On schedule for their reservation the family got into their car. “You know I still think you and mum should enjoy this night on your own, you deserve some quality alone home.”, Charlotte tried to bluff it out. “Nonsense, you two are joining us.”, her dad told her. “What was that restaurant called again….?”, the youngest sister enquired. “Ugh, don’t even bother to tell us, I bet it’s just another snobby French place”, Charlotte snapped and laid her head against the window.

As they reached the posh restaurant, the bored girl ambled behind her parents, checking out the place. “Chez Paul.”, she mumbled the name of the place and scoffed. “Good evening, Sir, we have a reservation at 8, for Ellington.”. She heard her father say. “Of course, welcome at the Chez Paul, Mr. Ellington. Please this way.” And at the first word Charlotte had already recognised that voice. His voice. So soothing and sexy, like the melody of her favourite song.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III

[groovybaybee]

Greener - IV

I, II, III

(4k)

cw: mentions of abuse (nothing too intense but better safe than sorry), alcohol consumption

I am in the ocean. The water is warm and comforting as it hugs up against me with each gentle wave. It is calm and peaceful and in turn I am calm. I am in the ocean and I am calm.

 You’re in your kitchen.

“Fuck off,” I whisper, eyes squeezed tightly shut as if they could shield me from the reality of the voice in my head.

 I am in the ocean.

 BUZZ

 I ignore it.

 I am in—

 BUZZ

 BUZZ

 With a deep exhale, I open my eyes and face the brutal reality that the unkind voice lingering in my brain had been right. I am in my kitchen. The bright smiling faces tacked to the walls seem to mock me as I desperately try to regulate the rise and fall of my chest. My lungs unaware that I am not in the middle of a hundred-metre sprint and can probably relax a little.

 Against my better judgment, I pick up the phone that had caused me to spiral in the first place. Quickly, I close Twitter, wishing I had never let myself fall down the thread of comments. I had known it would only cause me to panic but, almost masochistically, I did it anyway.

 Thought I was supposed to be the one organising collaborations with big artists?? Nice work kiddo. Response to the video is pretty good so I can look into booking some studio sessions…

 My focus falls away from my manager’s message. Of course, he saw this as a positive thing. It is a positive thing, really. Only a crazy person would find discomfort in their dream career being boosted along. This is the kind of thing I have always wanted. I want to make music. I want to have people see me and connect with me. But now that the opportunity is there all that I feel is fear.

 You always were ungrateful.

 For once, I do not try to argue with the bad part of my brain. I am ungrateful. How could someone get what they want and find reasons to still be the victim? I do not deserve any of this. How could I, in the sea of so many, be lucky enough to find traction in this industry? Yet all I want to do is run.

 It is not even as though all of the new feedback is negative. To a degree, it would be understandable to want to run away were that the case. No, people were actually incredibly supportive of Harry and I’s impromptu duet. Complimentary even. I should be jumping for joy, but instead I find myself clutching for the countertop beneath me to tether me to the Earth.

 Instinctively, I reach for my phone again, quickly dialling the first number I can think to.

 “Hello lovely lady,” Lucy answers brightly.

 “Luce,” I gasp, mouth remaining open but unable to find the words as my throat seems to tighten up.

 “What’s wrong?” she asks, suddenly serious and I can picture her sat bolt upright. When I can’t formulate a reply, she speaks for me, “Are you at home? I’ll come over.”

 “Yeah.” I manage to breathe out.

 Time seems to warp as I listen to the background noise of Lucy buckling herself into her car and taking the short trip to my house. Only when I hear her set of keys in the lock do I hang up the call, something about her presence comforting me even through the phone.

 “Let’s sit down, yeah?” Lucy says when she sees my face, undoubtedly wide-eyed as gravely breathes pass quickly between my lips.

 She places a hand on my back and eases me away from the counter until my body meets the soft embrace of the sofa.

 “Count to ten with me?”

 Her voice is gentle and reassuring as she watches me, no doubt assessing how severe my state is and which battleplan she needs to access in order to help me calm down.

 When I nod, she waits for me to utter a shaky and broken, “One,” before repeating it and moving from the sofa.

 “Two,” she encourages.

 She opens a window and moves back to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water as I reach “Four.”

 We count together until we reach ten. Not unlike the other times we have done this, she waits for a moment as she observes if I need to start again, or if I am suitably calm enough for her to move on to the next step in her care plan. Deciding on the latter, she passes me the glass of water.

 Gratefully, I take a slow sip.

 “Want to talk or want distracting?”

 “I feel…” I start quietly, uncertain as a sigh passes my lips, “I feel ungrateful and a bit overwhelmed.”

 Lucy just nods. No judgment in her gaze as she digests my words. They dissipate into the air of the living room, sinking into the furniture and slipping under the tape of the unopened moving box in the corner.

 “Is this about the video? Because if it is I’m so sorry for posting it, I just thought you two sounded so good and fit so great together and maybe you’d get a bit more recognition which you deserve completely and—”

 “Lu,” I sigh with a small smile as she rambles apologetically. I pull her into a hug which neither of us expect. “I love you so much. You always know what’s right and you go out and do it. I’m just a bit batshit at the minute and can’t accept the good in things.”

 “I love you.” Lucy mutters into my hair.

 We sit for a while, arms wrapped tightly around one another, swaying slightly. Neither of us want to be the first to move, simultaneously needing to provide comfort and bathe in it. A smile fixes itself on my lips, one Lucy has always been capable of coaxing from me, even during my worst nights. But that is exactly the reason the smile carves its way on to my cheeks; it’s us. It has always been Lucy and me and it will be Lucy and me until our arms can’t hug and our lungs can’t laugh.

 “I think,” I say softly, resentfully pulling away from our embrace, “it’s time to go through his stuff.”

 Lucy nods, eyes a little watery. She sniffles once and that is enough to settle her.

 “Shall I get wine?”

 I cannot help the small bubble of laughter that bursts between my lips, but I nod, nonetheless. We move to set about our own tasks; Lucy gets a bottle of Shiraz and pours two glasses as I pull the, ever so slightly dusty, cardboard box into the centre of the room and peel away the tape sealing it.

 I wait for her to return before opening the flaps, needing her next to me more than I could ever admit. Not that I would have to. She gives me a reassuring squeeze on the arm when she notices my sharp intake of air.

 No going back. I force myself to believe that and open the box.

 Peering into the box, it is less full than I remember, and that in itself pushes me along. On the top, lay a few t-shirts he did not come to collect. I place them in a pile on the living room floor, mentally noting it as one to donate. Beneath the shirts are a collection of photographs, some loose and some framed. Lucy stills beside me, nervously awaiting my tears. They would not come just yet. I remember placing the most upsetting things at the bottom. My heart clenches at the thought of seeing them again, but I push ahead.

 I flick through the photographs, placing the newly empty frames to the other side of the box. It is not nearly as saddening as I had expected. Being able to pass over a timeline of our relationship is almost cathartic, knowing that I do not have to wait weeks and months between these happy memories captured in film.

 “I loved that jacket.” Lucy says softly as we peer at a picture of my ex-boyfriend and I at the beach one night.

 “So did I,” I smile, fingers running lightly over the glossy image, a bright red faux leather jacket which matched my painted smile. “Will didn’t.”

 Lucy’s body slumps beside me and I feel the angry starting to stir inside of her. I put the stack of photos on the floor, deciding not to keep any, and peak back into the box. I can hardly help the laugh that rises from my chest when I see the next item. Not from joy, but from its sheer ridiculousness. My hands reach into the cardboard and pull from it a bathroom scale.

 “You know,” I start, sadness and amusement mingling in my chest, “he fixed these, so I was always ten pounds heavier.”

 Unable to see the dark humour that I do, Lucy’s eyebrows knit together furiously, teeth biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep her from screaming obscenities.

 I place the scale down on the ground before reaching in to retrieve the last item in the box. The second my fingertips touch the tape, the smile erases from my face.

 Deep breath in.

 Lifting the final photograph from the box, my heart breaks yet again. The memories from that night flush my mind, my whole body quickly covering in goosebumps in an attempt at defence.

 Lucy is silent next to me, waiting for me to say something or react at all. I bring the image closer, throat drying a little more with each inch it nears. I gulp harshly, desperate for some of the moisture collecting at my eyes to travel to my mouth.

 I stare down at the picture of myself in my parents’ garden, mum and dad on either side of me, the three of us beaming uncontrollably. We were happy and excited, I was moving to Los Angeles in a few weeks, completely uncertain if I would be able to make my dream into my career.

 Turning the photograph over is what send tears falling.

 Our sweet Violet,

Words cannot describe how proud we are of you. You are so brave it makes us question if you were adopted without us knowing. You have always been your own person and that is what makes you so very special. It is also the reason that we know you will succeed no matter what you do. You are a wonder. Go forward and show the world.

So much love,

Your biggest fans xx

 The words are beautiful, so sweet and encouraging that reading them now makes me feel a fraud. Tracing my thumb over the lines of tape holding the fragments of the photo together, a gentle sob erupts from inside me. The torn object makes my heart ache enough to think it were trying to mirror it.

 “This was the day I left him,” I manage to force out between sniffs and sobs. “When he ripped this… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

 Reliving my breaking point is something I often find myself doing, experiencing the extreme high of my first ever headlining show, and subsequent extreme low when Will pointed out how unflattering the stage lights were. He took that night from me, stole its joy and tried to grind me back down to a level beneath him.

 I cry hard into Lucy’s shoulder, not caring right now that I was ruining her t-shirt. She does not seem to care either, instead just rubbing my back soothingly and letting me get out the emotions I have kept locked away for so long.

 It is only when I feel Lucy’s body shaking against mine that I pull myself away. My tears stop the second I see hers falling.

 “I’m so sorry.” She gets out, eyes bloodshot as deep but silent sobs wrack her body.

 “It’s okay.” I coo, hating seeing my best friend cry more than any object in that box.

 “It’s not. I’m supposed to protect you and I didn’t see what he was doing to you.” She is starting to hyperventilate as the tears fall faster and heavier now.

 “Hey,” I whisper, placing a hand either side of her head to get her to focus on me and really listen, “No one did, not even me.” My voice cracks slightly at the admission, but it is what we both need to hear in order to forgive ourselves even the smallest amount.

 Our breathing regulates, the tears start to dry, and I look back to the image with a fond memory.

 “Do you remember the day we left?”

 Lucy gives me a breathy and snotty but genuine laugh. “Yeah. Mum packed me about five boxes of chocolate fingers.”

 “And they wouldn’t let us go through security with them so we had to stand and eat as many as we could.”

 We share a laugh at the fond memory, glad to remember ourselves so sweet and naïve.

 I pick up an empty frame from the floor, slipping the taped-up photograph inside and set it on the coffee table.

 “I’m not letting him have any more of me.”

 She nods and we sit for a moment.

 “Thank you for always being next to me.” I say, a lump forming in my throat yet again, however this time, my heart swells instead of breaking.

 “You and me.” She says with a soft, slightly teary smile as she extends a pinky finger for me to connect with. Of course, I do.

 * * *

“He said he wants to talk when he’s back from New York.” Lucy tells me nervously as she stares down at her phone.

 “Could be a good thing.” I argue, reaching out my hand to lift my nearly empty wine glass from the coffee table. I bring it to my lips carefully, my laying position on the sofa not aiding my slightly messy actions.

 “I don’t know, he got funny the other day when I left his place.” Lucy mutters, gulping at her newly replenished glass.

 “Luce, I’m going to be completely honest with you.” I say, sitting upright and trying to avoid the urge to hiccup as I move. “I think he likes you, and I think you like him too… and I think that scares you a bit.”

 Lucy pauses, chewing on my words before responding with a sigh, “I think you’re right.”

 “When aren’t I?” I tease, earning an eye roll, “Seriously though, Joseph is great, and he would take care of you.”

 “That’s scary.” Lucy whispers to herself more than me, “What do I do if I’m not the one looking after people?”

 “You’ll always have to look after me.” I joke, squeezing her knee lightly.

 “That’s what I got Harry for.” She teases, unknowingly making my stomach squeeze just at the mention of him. “What?” she laughs, noticing my sudden silence.

 I tell her everything. Running her through every moment with Harry, from our first date excitement, to accidentally on purpose friend-zoning him, to breaking the surface on my past relationship. As I describe each of our encounters, I recognise the lightness in my chest when I speak his name. Each small interaction I recall seems to stoke the embers in my chest, burning hot and steadily as I catch her up.

 “I think you like him but you’re afraid.” Lucy repeats my own advice back to me with a smug smirk.

 “Wouldn’t you be?” I defend.

 “Oh definitely, but if you like him why are you waiting around. Be brave.” Her voice is so calm and matter of fact that her words seem nothing but logical, all my excuses flying out the window as I let her advice sink in.

 Except for one.

 “I don’t think he likes me like that, maybe he did at the start… but not anymore.”

 “You can’t know that unless you ask him.” She replies, again as if it’s the most blatant thing in the world. Which I suppose it is.

 Maybe I should be brave. I look to the newly framed photograph and find my answer. Maybe I will be.

 * * *

 Lucy made me text Harry that night before she left. He replied before I had finished locking the front door.

 Yesss are you free Friday? I potentially have an idea – Harry

 Before I know it, I find myself in the car park of The Forum in Inglewood, Harry’s hand slipped effortlessly into mine as he guides us through backdoor after backdoor.

 Adrenaline courses through me as we wind through corridors, hearing the support act through the overhead speakers. We had already missed part of the show and were desperately trying to make up for the time lost sat in traffic.

 Harry takes care of everything, shaking hands with everyone we interact with and thanking them graciously when they help us locate our seats. I watch him, slightly awe-struck, as we make our way to our little section by the balcony. The space is more private than general seating and I wonder what strings Harry had to pull to get such incredible last-minute tickets.

 “Comfortable?” Harry asks as we get settled.

 I nod, afraid that if my mouth were to open, I would let everything slip. Who could blame me though? The kindness and sincerity behind his eyes are enough to make anyone swoon.

 No time to dwell on the way his eyes glide across my face, the crowd roars, almost making me jump as they drag me from my daydream.

 Up on stage, Fleetwood Mac take their positions. A kick drum meets with the first few notes of The Chain, sending thousands of screaming fans into overdrive, ecstatic to see their idols in the flesh. Harry and I easily fall into that category, excitedly squeezing the other’s hand as the song builds.

 “Oh my God!” I scream, head thrown back momentarily, unable to contain my wonderment at whatever cosmic coincidence allowed this to by my life.

 It is loud. I feel the drums rattle in my chest, bass swirling in the pit in my stomach. My free hand grips the bar of the balcony, desperately trying to tether me to reality before I float away into whatever heavenly dream I have fallen into.

 The show goes on, each passing song appearing to be a fan favourite as the crowd only grows wilder and more liberated. I watch with glee as each and every person moves freely, dancing and singing excitedly as Second Hand News transitions into Say You Love Me.

 My gaze flits back to Harry for the hundredth time since the show began, admiring the joy radiating from him. It is infectious and feeds me until my rays begin to pour out of me as well.

 Harry is goodness. Any other day, I would have used this as a reason to drive a wedge between us. He brought happiness while I worried that I drained it from the world.

 But here, with him, I know the truth. I feel the good and the beauty in the world, and I know that I am a part of that. I do not drain him, we fill each other up.

 “Harry,” I desperately call over the music.

 Instantly, his eyes are on me, smile still present but quickly glancing over me to ensure my wellbeing.

 “I’m sorry I friend-zoned you!” is all I can think to say. Somehow, it seems to be enough. Harry lets out a beautifully easy laugh, dimples deep-set in his cheeks as he lets go of my hand in order to wrap both arms around me.

 “It’s okay.” He chuckles, quickly letting go of me and turning me towards the stage so as not to miss anything. His arms linger around me, hugging me slightly from behind, swaying us almost anxiously.

 “We don’t normally do requests, but this will have to be an exception.” Stevie says, her voice light as a playful smile finds its way on to her face. “This is Skies the Limit.”

 “I was going to choose Storms but didn’t want to see you sad.” Harry utters in my ear, confirming every complimentary thought I have of him.

 My jaw struggles to stay closed as I watch the band play my song. Harry did this for me. My favourite, non-depressive, song is playing in front of all of these people. For me. Because of him.

 His name tumbles from my lips, breathless and unbelieving that I am not existing in some kind of simulation.

 I turn to look at him, gobsmacked, when I find his tentative gaze. Never have I seen him so timid, as though I might think this gesture too much. I mean, it is. There is no way on Earth someone could deserve to feel so cherished. No one could possible earn this heart-swelling sensation. No one is worthy of this level of care. But here I am. I get to be with him and being with Harry is like every birthday rolled into one. He drives me wild and keeps me calm, often managing to do both simultaneously.

 For once, I do not care what anyone else thinks. All that matters is the man standing in front of me and the decision I need to make. Am I going to let this pass me by and shy away from potential happiness yet again? Or will I be brave and take a chance?

 Harry watches me cautiously as my brain tries to spiral and twist itself into knots of self-doubt. But every wonderful decision I have every made required an element of risk. What would my younger self think if she saw me fumble this chance? She was always so fearless, why can’t I be?

 “Remember at Lucy’s? You asked what I’d do if I wasn’t scared.” I say, palms starting to sweat as I feel the edge of the cliff approaching fast.

 Harry nods.

 “I didn’t tell you that if I weren’t so scared, I would let myself fall for you...”

 Our eyes search the other’s face; mine desperate for any sort of reaction, his cautiously awaiting a hint of insincerity.

 “Funny thing is I don’t think it will stop me.”

 And like that, the cliff is far behind me and I wait in limbo for any response.

 My heart wishes for Harry to scoop me up in his arms, bend me low and kiss me like a solider coming home from war. My mind worries that he will throw up over the side of the balcony from sheer disgust at the very notion. However, Harry provides neither anticipated response. Instead, a stifled smile spreads across his face.

 “I know,” he grins, “Lucy told me.”

 “For fuck’s sake!” I laugh incredulously, my head thrown back in despair and amusement. I should have guessed she would continue meddling. “I’m going to kill her.”

 “Do you think you could wait a while to do that?” Harry asks when I finally meet his eyes again, his hands slipping up my back, pulling our bodies ever so slightly closer together.

 “Why?” I sigh, half-joking.

 “So I can do this.”

 Each of Harry’s hands settle on either side of my head, a thumb instinctively grazing across the soft skin of my cheek. I have just enough time to register his touch before his lips come down to meet mine.

Our first kiss is fuelled with longing and ignited with hope. A new type of excitement spreads through my chest as his lips melt with mine, soft and sweet, as all fears and doubts seem to drown out with the roar of the arena. Some other time I will tell Harry about Will and how he affected me, and things will be okay, because with Harry things are okay. He makes them okay. And with heaving chests and his forehead pressed against mine, for the first time in a long time, I feel the potential for a free kind of love.

masterlist

[yandere-ac]

Hi I've been dealing with some personal issues, and I wish I could share with you a concept I have: darling having trust issues because her ex boyfriend only used her for her body. She tries to cope with feeling like a sex object by trying to help others feel better about themselves, she sees the internal beauty of the "ugly villagers" and she tries to bring joy to them on a daily basis. Curt is my fav villager, and I'll love to see his yandere side in this scenario. (Is it too edgy ;^;??)

Yandere Curt x Reader

Midnight

Nothing good happens at midnight. It is the time of bad decisions and when people don’t think straight. It’s the time when everyone is asleep, so you are completely alone.

“Hey Y/N! Look what I made!” The gorilla in front of you said as he showed you a macaroni picture of you and him. “Aww, it looks great Al! Good job!” You said as you smiled at the big ape in front of you. He pulled you up into a big bear hug and spun you around a little. “Aww chucks, thank you Y/N!“

Y/N L/N was a sweet girl, always seeing the best in people around her. She brought smiles to everyone and could light up a room in just a couple of seconds. She was infamous for having an island full of ugly villagers. All of them were unconventional and unattractive in the community. And that’s one of the many reasons she felt the need to take them all in. She made sure to spend time with each and every one of them. Diva, Rocket, Al, Tabby, Barold, Jambette, Moose, Gigi, Moe. They all had special activities that you liked to do with them. But by far your favorite of them all was Curt. The bear always made sure you were comfortable and safe.

Once on a rainy day you had run into Redd. He had looked at you and smirked. “Why hello there cuz! Didn’t expect to run into you” he said as he let out a laugh. “Oh...yeah...hey Redd...” you said quietly as you hugged your arms, keeping your composure closed off and cold. You didn’t like Redd. Not at all. He made you very uncomfortable. The way he used people to get what he wanted, discarding any and all feelings...he reminded you of...him.

“Ah cheer up cuz. You look like someone’s just died! Can’t you give yer old buddy ol pal Redd a smile” he said, this time showing off his teeth while smirking. He was now invading your personal space, putting his arm around your shoulder. “Umm no I think I’ll just get goi-“ “is there a problem here?” Suddenly, you were interrupted by a strong voice, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. It was Curt! He’d seen how uncomfortable you were and came to interfere. “O-Oh! No not at all! I was just talking to my friend Y/N about-“ before he could finish the sentence Curt aggressively shoved him away from you. He stood in front of you as some sort of shield, crossing his arms as he short a glare to Redd. “Yeah? Well she’s clearly uncomfortable with you. So why don’t you bug off before you hurt yourself you fraudster!” Curt raised his voice when he said this, asserting his dominance over the fox. He wasn’t gonna let some lowlife fox mess with you. With that, Redd quickly scurried off, tail between his legs and ears tucked behind his head. And sure enough, Redd didn’t show up to your island for another few months.

“Humph...are you alright Y/N” Curt said, turning around to talk to you, his gaze became much softer when speaking with you. “Yes, I’m alright Curt. Thank you” you answered as you gave your friend a hug. While Curt usually wasn’t one for physical touch, he’d make an exception for you. Wrapping his big arms around you as he stroked big circles around your back. “It’s okey now, fuzz ball. Curts here, curts gotcha...”

Ever since that day you trusted him completely. You had some trouble trusting others ever since the incident. Sure you loved the other residents and always tried to make them happy but you didn’t exactly trust them enough to open up to them. You did however trust Curt with that information. It was an ordinary day, you were inside of first house knitting together. You were making a beanie and he was making a sweater. The two of you were making small talk as you knit and soon Curt came with a question that you didn’t know how to answer.

“Y/N? Can I ask why your always so nice to everyone? Its not a secret that you don’t exactly have the most...conventional villagers...yet you continue to invite us and give us homes...why?” He asked, looking at you completely puzzled. “Well...ive always wanted to help people that feel sad or angry. And because I know you all have it rough in our community, I wanna make sure that everyday is a treat! I know how it feels to be treated badly so I try my best so that you guys don’t have to feel that” you said, very nonchalantly. But this caught Curt right off his guard. “Say what! Who has treated you badly!? WHY would they ever treat someone as sweet as you bad!?” Curt yelled out. “Oh...yeah. So...you remember back when Redd came to the island?” “And harassed you?” “...yeah...that one...well theres a reason Why I felt so uncomfortable...” Curt was looking at you very intensely, he wanted to know who would dare to lay a finger on you. “Well...you see...way back before I moved here, I used to live with this guy...my uh- my boyfriend actually and...well I though we had a perfectly normal relationship. I loved him and I thought he loved me. But as it turns out...that wasn’t the case...” you could feel yourself choke up at some parts of the conversation, the stinging feeling of tears welling up in your eyes were present. “Every time we would make love he would refuse to ever look at me...a-and he would never want to do any normal couple stuff...i-i-” you felt a big hand on your shoulder. Looking down at you were Curt, his eyes saddened and mouth in a frown. Needless to say, he got the picture. He brung you in for a big hug as he slowly and gently stroked your hair, whispering reassuring coos. After a few minutes Curt finally broke the silence. “What’s his name...” Curt asked. You didn’t find the question strange at the time so you answered. “Eliot, Eliot Reynolds” Good...he’d deal with him later, but now he had to comfort you. “He sounds like a coward...don’t worry, he’s never gonna hurt you again...” And so he simply wrapped his big arms around your form. You cried in his grasp as he soothes you. He offered to stay the night at your place which you accepted. Little did you know he was planning on doing something dastardly.

You fell asleep in your bed while he slept on the couch, but the thing is, he wasn’t sleeping at all. No, he was waiting until you fell asleep. Once he was sure you were fast asleep he snuck up, going to your computer. Searching in Eliot Reynolds, he smirked when he saw the first result.

“Eliot Reynolds, young owner of five star Island Fallington” he was signed up to various social media platforms and had foolishly left in the name of his island. And with that, Curt went over to the dodo Airlines in order for a midnight visit to good old Fallington...

The next morning you woke up, sun shining through a gap in your blinds. Stretching for a while before going up, you found Curt sleeping deeply on the sofa. Poor guy probably couldn’t sleep, there was a brown stain on his shirt, you waived it off as him probably going for a midnight snack and spilling on himself. Looking over at his sleeping form you couldn’t help but smile, he’d been so sweet lately. You appreciated his help and support so dearly. You loved him so much, and would hope that when the dust has settled, you two could become closer.

But he wasn’t worthy of your love.

Because after all. Anyone who goes out after midnight, anyone who murders a man in cold blood with an axe isn’t worthy of someone so pure. Nothing good ever happens after midnight. Curt proved that when he flied to Fallington...

[hecohansen31]

Not The Right Time

The Story Of How He Found Out:

Ivar+Reader (Modern! AU)

(Chapter 1: The Story of How We Ended Up There)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know it’s been a long time since I post this series, and I just wanted to also thank you for the warm welcome you showed it, I was immediately prompted to write more since I felt like it was very wanted.

I am also glad I was able to portray such a theme in the best way, enough not to seem judging or annoying and I am going to repeat that if you feel judged even in the slightest, please let me know and tell me what I could do to make it better.

I hope you’ll like it, again and any feedback is more than welcome!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: It isn’t coincidence anymore when Destiny is trying its best to push you together, even exposing your ‘small secret’ to Ivar.

WORDS: 8 K

WARNINGS: Pregnancy, Unexpected Pregnancy, Pregnancy at a Young Age, Mention of Abortion (and Being Harsh About it), Heartbreak and General Angst, Abandonement Issues and Being A Single Mom, Mention of Infertility, Talk about Custody Battles and Custody, Use of The World ‘Cripple’.

Ivar had a hate-love relationship with taking care of his nephew and niece.

He certainly hated being waken up at 8 p.m. on a luxurious Saturday morning just to babysit his brother’s children, meanwhile he and Torvi went ‘shopping for the newest arrival’, which meant they would probably screw around the entire day.

But he loved the way his niece and nephew’s eyes would light up softly as they came to him, immediately almost tackling him to a ground in a way that made him want children of his own.

Had he ever been able to have one…

Freydis hadn’t been there when the call had arrived.

He remembered she had to go through some treatments and although he had insisted to go with her, she hadn’t wanted him.

‘It’s just… womanly things… I would feel more comfortable going alone’ and he had immediately respected the wishes of his goddess.

So, in the end, he was extremely grateful for the children’s company who had convinced him to drive to another park from the one near his house, because… ‘this one was better, uncle Iv’.

He drove there and let the children quickly spatter themselves around, after they had both thanked him with a quick kiss, keeping an eye on them, not wanting to let them wander too far away:.

Once Hvitserk had been tasked with the ‘babysitting’ since Ivar was busy with some medical visits and he had come back home without the children.

Thankfully the McDonald’s employees had called Torvi and Ubbe immediately, after they had found their children in the fast food restaurant …

He got his phone out, since he thoroughly hated to acknowledge the stares people always sent his way when this happene.

Some would eye him as if they were worried he would grab their children and run, but the actual worst was when they would stare at him with soft pity in their eyes.

So, he preferred to check his phone, shooting a small look at the children who were running freely, around the small park, over the slide and in the little sand box.

And then he saw you.

You weren’t in your job uniform, a loose sweatshirt and a pair of skinny and worn out jeans with some rips on the knees, the entire outfit completed by a pair of dirtied sneakers.

Your hair was in an high ponytail as your eyes sprinkled over the park.

He didn’t know how you could be so fascinating even in that ‘worn out’ mise, but as you turned lightly to him, he was finally able to understand why: your smile was the prettiest thing he had ever seen, and almost attracted by it, he got up and moved to you.

He didn’t know why he did it, but he just felt like seeing you closer, discovering that you hadn’t lost the little moles under your nose and your nails were still painted of the brightest colors, after all this time.

You also hadn’t lost the lovely curves you always had owned, but they fell in a different and more mature way now.

He stopped staring at them as you raised your face meeting his gaze.

And immediately that smile disappeared from your face.

And Ivar didn’t know what to say.

His curiosity had gotten the best of him, but now that he was in front of her, he didn’t know what to do.

So, he went with kindness.

“… hey” it was a weak mumble, but it was all he could utter, as you shieded away your gaze from him, definitely nervous and at unease “… I swear I am not stalking you!”.

“Are you sure, Ivar Lothbrock?” the way you taunted him with his name and his surname made a shiver appear on his back, as it moved down its spine disappearing under his skin “… we haven’t met each other in five years and then suddenly… we met each other two days in a row?”.

“… well that might indeed make you doubtful, but I come bearing good intentions” he prompted immediately, raising his hands and a small laugh came onto your face “Maybe you should take it as a sign that we need to seriously take that coffee, one day”.

“Too busy” you tutted lightly as you shook your head, your small smile becoming algid cold and he knew better than to insist, although his body wanted nothing more than to meet you again.

But he just didn’t understand this impulse.

Why, most of all, it happened when he was happily tying the knot with his lovely fiancée?

He was even trying for a child, undergoing hours and hours of physical and psychological therapy.

Still, how did they say?

You could never forget your first love.

“… I know that we didn’t leave on the happiest note” he mumbled not even truly knowing why he was saying that, although he had wanted to tell you this right after the aching confession on that diner that damned day “… but I missed you”.

The revelation shook you, enough that you weren’t able to properly hide your thoughts and surprise, shown with the way you moved your eyes away from his, not facing him but unable to close your mouth in a stern expression, as your hands were clutched together tight.

“… I… “ he was ready for the worst of insults, maybe a small ‘I missed you, too’, although it wouldn’t have been in your personality, but he certainly hadn’t expected  a small child moving towards them, or better… crawling towards them.

“Mommy, mommy!” he called out softly as he moved towards you, adjusting his shirt, a bit dirtied by the wet ground of the park, but he didn’t seem to care, shooting you a beautiful smile, the ones that only children had “… can we stay a bit longer?”.

And if the crawling hadn’t already put him on guard as the child raised his head, he showed him the same blue eyes he saw each day in the mirror.

He shot you a look, as you immediately shrank away from him, moving towards the child as you helped him up, easing him onto the light braces you had in a small fabric bag beside you, Ivar hadn’t noticed.

You helped the child in them expertly, as he continued on pleading on staying more but you were a woman on a mission.

And Ivar was a man glued on the ground beneath his feet.

“Eric, sweetheart, we promised that we would have had lunch with grandma and you also need a bath” your tone was sweet but stern, but it wasn’t tender because of his situation, but more because of a motherly instinct.

As the baby has his braces again, he was able to stand upright and he turned to Ivar, almost asking for some help with his mother, but as he did so, he realized that Ivar wore similar braces the search of pity became surprise.

“Mom, mom! He is like me!” there was no intention to shame him, but simple childish naivety and joyful happiness, but you immediately turned away from Ivar, and shot him one last look, as the big burly man not only found him stuck on the ground, but also speechless.

“It was nice meeting you Ivar, but I hope that you won’t found me again”.

And like that, you were gone.

With what looked like his child.

---

You weren’t able to properly feel safe till you heard the door slamming as Eric complained lightly about ‘wanting to play more’.

Your mother appeared from the kitchen, her hair still damp from the shower she had had.

To try to help you and Eric she had taken a small job at the florist shop near your house: she had always loved plants and flowers so she actually enjoyed working there, and sometimes would bring small plants home to ‘brighten the mood’.

“Eric, (Y/N)?” she looked at you weirded out by your early return: usually Saturday you would go out with Eric and then stay there till lunch time, to work the rest of the afternoon at the diner, having the night off for your small bartender job “… you are early”.

“It’s mom’s fault!” complained Eric, whenever he would do that he would resemble Ivar very much, making you almost want to raise your voice at the small boy, but you tried to calm yourself well aware that he didn’t know that you had done this to protect him “.. and there was a man like me at the park, today, grandma!”.

“Eric, go take a bath” you put more sternness than you should have in your tone, regretting it as the boy stumped his way to the bath and mother sent you a worried look, but you waited for the shower water to run before you answered your mother’s non-verbal question.

“I saw Ivar at the park, this morning” you mumbled and your mother immediately came closer to you, as you slowly slumped onto the sofa “�� I had seen him yesterday, already, but I… thought it was a coincidence”.

You felt panic washing through you as you tried to breath deeper in order to regain some kind of control over your body, which was trembling horrendously.

“… sweetheart… did he see Eric?” your mother tried to bring some order to your chaotic mind as you tried to adjust yourself in a more comfortable position.

“Yes, he did”.

And then came the realization that Ivar now knew about your child.

“Baby of mine, don’t panic” he mumbled softly, as she tightened her grip around you, drawing relaxing circles onto your back “… he might not…”.

“Mom he is a cripple, but he isn’t stupid!” you shouted, immediately covering your mouth with an hand to stop the horrid sound from leaving your mouth, worried about Eric hearing you “… I am worried… what if he… comes here? What if…?”.

“He has no right to him” your mother spoke with confidence “… he broke up with you, he didn’t have the right to know there and he doesn’t now, don’t forget it”.

“He is rich, mom, he might… he might get Eric…” Gosh you couldn’t even think about the possibility of Ivar coming for Eric.

Although he had admitted, back then, he never wanted children, you had seen the look on his face as he had taken in Eric, realizing it was his.

You were worried.

“Don’t worry your pretty head, (Y/N)” she hugged you tighter as she tightened the hug “… it is your child, it isn’t his”.

“I can’t live without Eric” you uttered lightly as she softly cooed in your neck to help you calm yourself down “… I don’t know what I would do without him…”.

“… then it won’t happen” she gave you a comforting pat “… don’t think about things that haven’t happened yet”.

“Mom, I…” you didn’t know what to say anymore, the anxiety slowly burning through you “… I know, thank you”.

“Nothing to thank, sweetie, it’s my job” Eric appeared on the threshold of the kitchen, the towel almost making him trip on his own feet “… and our little man might need a bit of help”.

Helping Eric made you calm down a bit, as the little boy told you all about the fact that he had been able to get himself up the small castle stairs by himself all alone.

‘Coach Broadwick, said that I need big hands if I want to be a goalie!” he squealed as you brushed his hair together to dry them faster ‘… grandpa would have been proud, wouldn’t he?”.

“Of-super-course, sweetie!” you smiled at him softly, before you proceeded to smack his entire faces with kisses, as you helped him put his shirt, your mother called you both out for lunch “… let’s see what grandma made for us”.

As you turned, thinking that you had closed the Ivar’s debating, he muttered:

“Did you know the man that was like me, mom?”.

Although you had vowed to avoid lying to you child, you wished you could do it this time, with a light heart.

“He was an old friend” you muttered your tone so quiet that even Eric seemed to understand that it was better not to ask for more “… now we better hurry or grandma’s delicious lunch will be cold!”.

And Eric seemed to finally relax himself, forgetting all about that man.

And you hoped Ivar had done the same.

---

Ivar wasn’t able to simply forget the sight he had seen at the park.

You and a child.

His child.

Because it was either that or you had a fetish for fucking crippled men.

He didn’t know what to do, immediately choosing to leave the kid to their respective parents since he felt like he was slowly spiraling through what looked like’ memory lane’.

He excused his action with Ubbe, justifying it as Freydis needing a hand at the fertility clinic and his brother didn’t say anything simply asking whether he could do something more.

‘Let me know if I can do something for you’ had replied weakly Ubbe, not a true offer.

He couldn’t help him with what he needed.

But somebody else could.

He stumbled all the way to Heahmund’s apartment, an elegant loft which matched perfectly the personality of the distinguished lawyer.

Who was fucking a girl onto the table of his kitchen.

Ivar simply coughed to let his presence known and the girl immediately almost stumbled away from the kitchen, Heahmund’s cock sloppily leaving her, as she fell onto the ground, her knees weak for the amazing sex.

“What the fuck, Ivar?!” instead shouted Heahmund, annoyed and angered, it wasn’t the first time it had happened and he seemed almost used to it, retrieving his boxers from the ground “… it is fucking Saturday morning”.

“… I had the need of a professional consult” he simply replied, muttering lightly as Heahmund pushed his shirt onto the poor girl, barely able to calm herself, but glad for the shirt.

“Fucking come back Monday” the girl sneaked to the bedroom, probably to retrieve her clothes.

“It’s urgent”.

“How can it be so fucking urgent to disrupt my lovely Saturday morning?” replied immediately Heahmund, pushing a hand through his hair shaking them lightly.

“I have son” muttered Ivar and Heahmund promptly stopped what he was doing.

“… no, you fucking don’t, son of a bitch of a cripple” shouted back Heahmud, coming towards him in a threatening way “… you told you couldn’t get your cock up!”.

Once the company had gone pretty well and they had gone out to party: it turned out that Ivar was a sad drunk and had dunked onto Heahmund is entire family’s history.

“… I could… once” he couldn’t still believe it “… she was an old school sweetheart, it was my first time”.

And yours.

He remembered the way your face had morphed in pain and the blood that had coated the sheets of your bed, the way you had rushed to hide them, obliging Ivar to throw them.

‘Please my parents will fucking get angry with me if they found out I had sex!’.

How pissed had they been when they discovered you were carrying a child?

“What you are telling me… is that, my friend, who constantly complains he can’t get it up, once did?” and before Ivar could glare at him a skeptic look “… and had a fucking child? How fucking low are the chances to get pregnant on your first try?”.

“The gods love me” replied Ivar, a smug smirk on his face, although he didn’t understand why.

“No no, God fucking hates you” mumbled Heahmund as he sat onto his sofa, meanwhile Ivar moved onto the farthest armchair, checking it for any body fluids “… and how did you discover?”.

“I met her in a park, and she had her child with her” Heahmund was the one to send him a skeptical look this time “… he had braces, like me… I know he is my child Heahmund”.

“And you believe that because he had braces, he might be your son?”.

Ok, honestly that sounded creepy.

“… Heahmund, the timing is perfect, and the braces aren’t simply there for show, he fucking has osteogenesis imperfecta!”.

“Then why don’t you go to her house and talk with her about this?” shout back the lawyer, making Ivar still on the spot.

He had seen the way you had shrank away from him as he had taken in your son.

You had hidden him from Ivar, willingly.

He was sure.

Hence, he couldn’t just barge in your house and ask for explanations.

“… she hasn’t simply forgotten to notify me the fact that she was pregnant, Heahmund, she hid it willingly” and then he felt like he had to share what had happened in that diner, not so long ago “… I broke up with her a few weeks after we had… we did the deed… it wasn’t anything serious… my brothers had dared me to do it, since they said we were too clingy… and I… I would have cleared the entire thing the following day…”.

“That is a truly enlightening lesson on toxic masculinity believe me” humored him Heahmund, as he adjusted on the sofa “I’d say she has her reasons to make you stay away and I… don’t understand your need to meet her and the son… look at you: you are successful, you have a beautiful soon-to-be-wife and you are trying for a child”.

But he couldn’t just simply shake off his son’s eyes.

The joy in them, the way you had naturally acted with him that honestly had brought a smile onto Ivar’s face.

It wasn’t easy to simply forget about this.

“She works as a waitress” Heahmund gave him a simply skeptic nod as if to say ‘what about it’ “… what if she can’t take care of my child? What if she has money troubles?”.

“I’d avoid saying that to her face… women don’t take easily words like that”.

“I just want to try to make this right”.

Something in Ivar’s tone got the best of Heahmund, who huffed annoyed, but replied.

“… we take the law outside of it for a bit, or you are going to scare her… try to set up a meeting with  her and talk about the child, make sure that you tell her you are doing this for the child’s wellness”.

“Ok” that sounded reasonable and he could check out the diner he had gone to yesterday to try to talk to you: at work you certainly wouldn’t have thrown a fit “… and this goes unsaid, but… don’t utter a word to Freydis”.

“… my lips are sealed” and then eyeing the almost dressed woman he was just fucking on his kitchen table a few minutes before, he muttered hungrily smiling at her “… but now I have business to attend to”.

---

Lunch with Eric and your mother had eased your nerves although you were still nervous about Ivar.

But working helped you ease the stress, keeping your mind busy, as you scurried around the tables, thinking that not only you were covering the afternoon shift, but you would be working till midnight at a nearby bar.

And then, you saw Ivar.

He was sat onto one of the table, and not only you almost stumbled onto one of your fellow coworkers, but you were sure that you were having hallucinations, till Ivar got up, catching your gaze onto him.

And then he moved towards you.

And you run your way out back in the kitchen, an amazing idea, had Will been there.

But the kitchen was empty, since Will had moved onto the bar stool to chat amicably with Mrs. Innbitt, a nice older woman who had lost her husband a few years ago and would try every receipt Will would give her.

You were just able to steal a small look at the barstool, because as you turned Ivar was upon you.

You let out a shocked screech, immediately shutting yourself with a hand onto your mouth, hoping you hadn’t alerted anybody, although you definitely felt uneasy.

Not only Ivar was closer to you than it was healthy, but it immediately brought you back to the child discourse.

“… now you are officially stalking me” you mumbled, as he backed away quickly, immediately understanding your discomfort.

“Maybe I am doing it because you hid my son for five years” he replied, shocking you enough that you were the one to take a step back, stumbling onto a small table with flour on it, your hands absorbing it, staining them white.

“It isn’t your son” it wasn’t a proper defense, but it was all you had in mind.

“… oh, then you have a fetish for cripples” this time it was Ivar who had raised his voice and you gave him a hateful glare, being the one to tell him to ‘kindly fucking lower his voice’.

“What the fuck, Ivar?” and now it was all rage “… you come back five years and expect everything to fall on its place?!”.

“… I would have expected you to tell me, at least, that you were pregnant with my child”.

Although he hadn’t screamed, his words hurt you even more, and you shrank in yourself, as your legs lightly trembled.

“… it isn’t your child” you were simply able to utter, as he simply shook his head.

“(Y/N) don’t treat me like an idiot” he stammered, and in his tone you could almost feel the Ivar you had known, begging desperately to be allowed to show his worth “… the kid… he is like me, I have seen myself enough times in the mirror to know what ‘osteogenesis’ is like”.

“He is my child, solely mine” you muttered, grabbing onto the table, as you dug your fingers in it “… you are simply a sperm donor”.

Ivar seemed taken aback and the young Ivar you had seen in his look quickly disappeared.

“… that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be part of his life, (Y/N)”.

You hated the way his name sounded in his mouth.

Because it sounded like the only way it was pronounced.

“No, I chose what is and isn’t part of his life” you shouted back, although you were well aware you must have sounded like a dictator.

Ivar seemed taken aback from your anger: you had never been like that with him, but you had certainly grown up so he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

He took a big breath to collect himself.

And then spoke.

“…I know, but I also know what it means for a child to grow up without a father” he spoke, each word slowed down to represent its meaning “… don’t let him become me”.

“That’s what I am doing and that is why I don’t want you near him”.

“Then I don’t think there are other solutions” he looked at you in the eyes “… I do think that I’ll have my lawyers know…”.

That was your worst nightmare.

Your eyes froze onto him and your hands moved on their own onto his arms, surprising you and him, as you immediately retreated, but you still saw Ivar’s nostalgy in his eyes.

“… please don’t”.

You wouldn’t have enough money to support yourself and Eric’s health, paying for a lawyer and battles for the custody of a child were long and tiring.

“… then give me a chance!” Ivar sounded sincere, almost desperate in his attempt to meet your son “… I am not asking for him to become my son, just… I want to know him”.

Something broke inside of you.

But you couldn’t surrender so quickly.

“… what made you change your mind?” you asked him, bringing yourself to look at him in the eyes, in order for him not to lie to your face “… about children… you didn’t want to have them, back then…”.

“I…” he seemed not to know it he, himself “… me and my fiancée are trying for a child…”.

“He won’t be your surrogate child or a training dummie” you immediately spoke out, your tone stern but not broken “… he is a child, and if you want him to be… if you want to…”.

“I know this isn’t easy to accept” his tone was strangely soothing “… but I don’t mean to hurt him”.

“… you better” you took a deep breath, getting away from the table “… I am thinking about this… I’ll give you an answer before next Saturday”.

He seemed baffled by the fact that you were attempting to take time but allowed you with a small nod.

“… I’ll leave you my number” he simply mumbled, as you moved out of the kitchen.

Dread was setting on your stomach in that moment, but strangely you stole one last look at Ivar who was searching his card in his wallet, being able to stare at him without him noticing.

He had certainly changed in all the ways that heightened his figure, bringing him to gain muscles, but his expression had remained the same shadowed and grumpy, in a way that got your heart to gently shudder at that sight.

But you immediately turned as Ivar found the card and moved towards you, limping in that way that he hated but to you it was as familiar as if a day hadn’t passed since you had first met him.

And fell in love with him.

“I’ll call you” you mumbled, taking the card and he tried to smile at you, but worry still shone on his face, and although he hadn’t a reason to want your child to be also his, he… seemed to want it…

… desperately.

“I hope you do” he mumbled, before walking away and turning one last time, effectively surprising “… can I… can I at least know his name?”.

“Eric” you should have avoided saying it, not wanting Ivar to find him, God only knew what that cunning shit could do.

But he simply seemed out of his wits, amazed by the name.

“It’s a good name”.

---

You had named your child Eric, a typical Norse name, meaning ‘ever ruler’.

It couldn’t simply be a coincidence.

It meant something.

You still had somehow a respect for Ivar in naming the child that way, which could show that, although you had been truly cold-hearted with him, you still… latched onto him.

As he did with you.

The memories and the desire to be closer intensifying as the memory of your child came to replay in his mind.

Eric had his eyes, but he had your smile, open and careless, in a way that made him carefree and frail.

He wondered whether he wouldn’t fall asleep at night because his legs hurt too much.

He certainly had back then.

If his braces were comfortable enough.

If you kissed him on the forehead as Aslaugh always did with him.

If being a parent meant worrying, he certainly was on the right way.

He fell onto the bed, completely exhausted, as he tried to kick off his unlaced boots, a message on his phone shining to show a message from Heahmund.

‘How did it go, baby daddy?’.

He was barely able to unlock his phone before he felt the telltale rummaging of keys against metal signaling that Freydis had come home and he made sure to lock his phone, pushing it into the first drawer of his bedside table, as he adjusted onto the bed, stretching himself and pushing the braces off the bed, knowing it pissed off Freydis to find them there.

“I am home!” she giggled gently and any trouble he might be having was washed away from his mind, as he tried to reign himself away from the memory of Eric and (Y/N).

“I am glad you are” he mumbled softly, as she dropped her bags in the kitchen, got a small drink from the orange juice cardboard, as she always did after the long session of hormones and other therapies “… I am in the bedroom”.

She immediately joined him, her heeled shoes already off, as she discarded her coat and jacket, revealing an elegant white blouse, showing her small curves, matched perfectly with a black skirt, the image of the elegant businesswoman.

And although she was irresistible, his mind went back to you in a comfortable hoodie and worn out sneakers.

Which wasn’t good.

“… how did your day go?” she asked, as he moved onto the bed, a bit far away from him to get off her stockings.

“Ahem…” ‘I have solely discovered that my high school sweetheart has had a child with me’ “…it was nice… what about you?”.

He tried to shift the attention, grateful that the hormonal cures made her tired and sleepy.

“… as always tiring” she mumbled, moving lightly towards him, a few buttons of her blouse coming undone in a naïve provocation “… but I am glad, the doctors are saying that it’s improving!”.

“Oh, that is nice” he says without thinking too much about it “… have they told you something about me?”.

He grimaced when Freydis nodded her head, but was immediately comforted as she grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly.

“… the usual hour, next week” she mumbled gently, rubbing her thumb onto the back of his hand, in a gesture that used to be soothingly alluring for him, but now he couldn’t help but feeling like she was rubbing  piece of coarse paper against it “… I know it isn’t easy for you, but… I appreciate it Ivar, you are working for our future”.

He had never wanted to have children till Freydis had come in the picture.

He still didn’t know why he wanted them maybe it was the desperate need for something to leave behind and Freydis’ love for them.

Their relationship had definitely moved faster than it was conventionally approved, but he hadn’t minded it.

He had never had somebody who had cared for him, so when Freydis had come in the picture, so gentle and sweet, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from falling in love with her, to the point that she could ask for the moon and he would have given it to her.

He hadn’t been in love like this with you, it wasn’t this intense and maddening, it had been low and timid, in the shy way all high school crushes were born.

But it still haunted him to these days.

“… Ivar” called him Freydis and he immediately turned to her, with a questioning look “… you haven’t heard anything I said, have you?”.

“I am sorry, I just have a bit of… I am just tired”.

“So, am I” shot back gently Freydis, stirring herself so that she could make her body come closer to him, pushing her hand into his “… let’s just go to bed, and talk about all of this tomorrow”.

He nodded, adjusting himself on his side.

“Goodnight, love”.

He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed because of this, but the last image that laid in front of him was Eric grabbing your hand, as you ran away from him.

“Goodnight, Ivar”.

He wondered, at last, if you had wished Eric ‘goodnight’.

---

The entire week had been pretty tough on you.

But what was worse was the fact that Eric had realized your bad mood pretty quickly, even going as far as asking you on Sunday, before leaving for your job, if you were angry with him.

‘No no, sweetie’ you had tucked his hair behind his ears, gently kissing his forehead ‘… I am just a bit busy with some things’.

‘… need my help?’ had asked the little boy, making you smile sadly at him.

‘You already give me too much help, sweetie, just think about your soccer match!’ you had then ruffled his hair but sent a meaningful look at his mother.

Please don’t let him know of everything that has been going on.

You either found out a way to pay your lawyer or you would have to let Ivar see your child.

You hadn’t met him in five years, so you didn’t trust him, in the slightest.

Your mother, although she would have supported any decision you would have taken, insisted that you tried to mend the relationship with Ivar, even more after she had heard about his suggestion of helping you financially.

‘Mom I am not going to let him control me with money! He can’t buy his son back from me!’.

You had almost felt insulted by her proposal.

‘… but (Y/N) think about this attentively: he might help us with Eric’s cures, don’t do it for him but do it for your child’.

‘I can take care of my child’ you had retorted, and your mother had eventually dropped the argument.

Now it was Wednesday night, you had checked Eric’s homework and were getting ready for your first trial at the art gallery, worrying lightly due to your mother’s absence.

She had promised you she would take care of Eric, meanwhile you were out.

It was strange she still wasn’t back there, and when it came to an hour before the entire thing you tried calling her, worried both about work and her as Eric finished his dinner, watching the latest Avenger movie.

You hadn’t been able to get in contact with your mother till fifteen minutes had passed, and when she had answered you the situation had worsened.

‘(Y/N)… I was at the theatre, what are you calling me for?’.

“Mom you should have… you were supposed to be babysitting Eric, meanwhile I was on the trial thing at the gallery!” you remembered her, trying to understand what to do, since your mother was clearly unavailable for the evening.

You tried to remember the name of the babysitters you liked, immediately running their numbers in your memory

“… (Y/N) no you didn’t tell me, I am sure…” you huffed out loudly “… don’t huff at me young lady! It wasn’t written in the timetable!”.

And to your horror, as you moved to check, you found out you hadn’t written it, probably for the fact you were too taken by your inner turmoil and indecision about Ivar.

“… I am coming back immediately, but it’ll take me an hour, sweetie, I have to wait for Marissa!”.

You had thought, as you rushed because it was missing simply half an hour to your interview, it would be simple.

But it wasn’t… in the slightest.

Half of the babysitters weren’t available, and the other ones didn’t babysit anymore.

You didn’t trust your neighbors enough to put Eric in their hands, but the list was running short and you would be running late.

This honestly terrified you extremely aware that the job might be an amazing offer to help you take less works and stay more with Eric earning better, but you couldn’t just leave Eric alone.

The thing was starting to become low key nerve-wrecking for you, because although you loved your role as a mother, you had loved the thought of going back into a place where you wouldn’t be serving plates and calming drunkards.

You couldn’t believe that you were ruining completely that chance for you.

Then your phone buzzed again, an unknown number and you answered thinking that maybe it was one of the babysitters’ friends.

But as you picked up the call you were surprised.

“Hello, (Y/N)” Ivar’s voice was pretty hoarse through the phone “… your mother has called me”.

You almost cursed, stopping yourself a you realized that Eric was in the room.

“… what do you want, Ivar? It isn’t Sunday yet!”.

“Your mother talked about you having need of a babysitter” he ignored your indignant tone.

“No no, don’t worry I solved it” you replied, almost slamming the ‘end call’ button.

“(Y/N) I can come, I am nearby, I don’t have a trouble…”.

“Ivar this isn’t… this isn’t…” Gosh you didn’t know what to say.

Certainly, you were still wary about the thought of actually letting your son meet up Ivar, but it was a solution to a problem that was tormenting your body, enough to make you tremble.

“This isn’t an official meet up, you can give me every rule you want, I can also just stay silent for the entire night, I just…” and he took a deep breath, it was evident that he was both hopeful and stubborn and there was a desperation in his voice that froze you “… I just want to help you”.

You thought about it: you either gave up the chance for which you had been working so hard and which wouldn’t come back or you allowed the father of your child to see him, which was an alternative that scared you in a way that was completely irrational.

“I…” you didn’t know, you didn’t know what to do, but then took a small look at Eric, trying ‘discreetly’ to listen onto your conversation, and as you met those beautiful blue eyes… you were just frozen on the spot, and answered with a lower tone “… you can come, but you are not his father, you a friend of mine”.

“Thank you, (Y/N)” his tone was almost moved, and you tried to stop yourself from matching his.

“My mother will come in an hour, all you have to do is check that Eric take his medicines and gets in bed, without breaking any bones”.

“I know the drill, believe me” his voice was more joyful than sarcastic which was strange “… I am going to take care of him”.

“You better” you mumbled biting on your tongue “… this is your chance to prove me that you are worthy to be part of my child’s life, you better not fuck it up”.

---

As he had arrived you were in a black attire, a small little back outfit on you and although he was well aware it wasn’t as expensive as the ones Freydis wore, it certainly did the best it could for your figure.

He had tried his best not to stare at you, meanwhile you explained him the rules: no sugar, no movies, Eric just had to take his medicines and be in bed, he could play a bit and maybe read to develop his abilities, but he needed to be in bed for when your mother came back.

Eric, for the entire time, had remained in his room, although the door was open and Ivar had tried to take a few looks at the child, trying to see if his memory remembered him properly.

‘… Ivar I am trusting you with the most precious thing in my life, please… don’t…’.

‘I am not an idiot, (Y/N), you should know it better than anyone’ the sharpness of his tone had made you shudder lightly but you had hidden it, simply smirking at him one last way, calling Eric over, and kneeling at his side.

‘Sweetie, mommy is going to work tonight but grannie will soon be back, in the meanwhile you’ll stay with my friend, Ivar, the one from the park’ you explained to him gently, as you adjusted his cute hoodie.

‘The one like me?’ wondered aloud the boy, immediately moving to look at Ivar’s legs and crutches ‘… hi I am Eric’.

And he had shot out his hand to Ivar, leaving him confused, meanwhile you sent him a small nod, as if to allow him that grip.

‘Ivar’ he muttered, although he tried to brighten his tone with a small smile, but Eric didn’t seem to notice it, instead checking out his braces ‘… I like your braces, buddy’.

‘Ohhh, mommy got them solely for me!’ he explained enthusiastically, before he shout out a small leg to show him that at the end there were some stickers of the Avengers, meanwhile and… rather sarcastically a few of ‘The Flash’ ‘They are cool, aren’t they?’.

‘Super-duper’ he spoke, before shooting a reassuring look at (Y/N) ‘I think that we will be alright, you can go’.

‘Mommy is going to miss you’ you simply replied, not looking at Ivar and kissing the small man, who immediately washed away the kiss, faking of being ashamed.

At least him and the little man had something similar.

“Please don’t…” you spoke, one last time grabbing your coat.

“I won’t, now go and get that job”.

The smile you had was the gentlest he had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but stare at it even as you closed the door behind you, shooting one last look at Eric.

He was brought back from his trance by a light grip onto his hand, Eric.

“Want to play Avengers with me?”.

And for a moment he was thankful that Hvitserk had brought him along to see that movie.

They   didn’t spend much time discussing any plot, the small boy playing on his own and following around Ivar’s bad guy, and he immediately stopped as Ivar asked him whether he had a favorite superhero.

“It’s Thor!” he replied, immediately, grabbing the blond-haired hero “… he is super cool, and mom has told me all about him! The my… myth…mythlogy!”

“Mythology?” he replied, softly and the boy nodded “… has she told you about the time he had to dress up as a woman to get back his hammer?”.

Apparently no, with the way he shook his head immediately, lighting up interested.

The rest of the time passed with him telling his child stories, even when your mother walked in home and smirked at Ivar, although her eyes showed that she hadn’t forgotten the heartbreak he had made you go through.

‘Can you handle Eric for a bit longer? I am going to use the bathroom and then start getting him ready’ he looked at Eric who was pleading him with his eyes for another story.

‘I think I can’.

He then moved away as your mother came back, tucking in Eric and checking his bones and if he had taken the medicines and then wished ‘goodnight’ to him softly blowing a soft smile on his forehead.

He almost wished he could have done the same.

He hadn’t spent so much time with the boy, but he couldn’t help but feel attached to him already.

He had been worried to find somebody like him as a child, spoiled and grumpy, but Eric was an happy child, no matter his legs, he was active and sweet, curious enough to show that he was smart, but he wasn’t as cunning as him.

He believed that you had done an amazing good job, raising up the child.

Your mother came back, with a small smirk on her face.

“He says he wants to say ‘goodbye’ to you”.

And like that he slipped inside of the room of his son, taking a better look at it, realizing that it was a small and pretty crowded but tidy, and he didn’t know whether it was you who kept in order for the boy, himself.

But Eric soon caught his eyes again.

“… hey, Ivar!” he turned to him, stumbling closer to the bed “… your stories are even better than mom’s!”.

“I know, I know” he winked at him jokingly “… but don’t tell her, if I know one thing about your mother it is that she hates losing”.

“She does!” shouted back Eric, giggling lightly, as you always did when you heard something funny.

He wondered if you still did.

“Well I am glad you liked my stories! I hope to come over again to tell you more!” he replied, tentatively hoping that Eric speaking with his mother might convince her, although… he knew you could be even more stubborn than him.

“… I’ll tell her! And maybe we can watch ‘The Flash’ together! I can show you why I like him so so much”.

He honestly hated superheroes but due to the huge smirk on his son’s face he couldn’t stop himself from agreeing, and maybe… just maybe he would have finally enjoyed those movies.

“Of course, kiddo!” he promised, even swearing with the pinky promise, a small smirk on his own face, and the sudden realization of how small his son’s hand was instead of his, in a way that made him almost shiver at his frailty.

And he made to turn around, definitely nervous about how and what he should do next.

He knew that you wouldn’t have liked if he tried to say the things that were going around in his head in that moment, and although he knew it was a tough battle, he respected the boundaries you put around yourself.

“… Ivar!” Eric called him out one last time, his gaze focused onto his legs, in a way that showed him immediately the theme of the talk they were going to have “… do they also hurt you very much?”.

He stopped, the sunny boy he had met a few moments disappeared in a more introvert one, almost ashamed of his question, and Ivar couldn’t help but feel like that was his part, that was his legacy to him.

He had also been a scared little boy wondering what would be happening to him, if it was normal, finding a reason behind his pain.

“Yes, they still do” he couldn’t lie to his face like that “… but… you get used to it, and there are some things that can be useful for the pain…”.

“Mom always says that I am extraordinary for… the pain… like I am ever better than Flash!” he mumbled, a smile making its way on his face “… you are pretty cool too, Ivar”.

Although he hated all those stupid encouragement speeches, the sincerity in his son’s voice, shook him.

“… thank you, kiddo” and he then moved away, finding you in the hallways, trying to discard the painful heels you were wearing in a way that brought his heart back at your first prom together and how you had discarded the uncomfortable shoes, when you had hidden away from everybody in the porch of his house, bunching up the dress, to be more comfortable.

“Oh… you are back” he couldn’t help but feel stupid, but you didn’t give it too much thought, instead checking for Eric’s room, walking past him without giving him a second glance.

Eric faked of being asleep, but you still caught him, a small smirk onto your face, and you moved inside, tucking him better, as you pushed his braces away so that he wouldn’t trip over them when he would wake up tomorrow.

All the gestures of an attentive mother.

He couldn’t help but be a bit amazed, and as you finished the entire trip to Eric’s room.

You closed the door behind you, as he felt your mother doing the same, although he wouldn’t be surprised to know that she was listening with her ear onto the door.

“He seemed pretty happy” you muttered, clutching yourself tighter in your jacket.

“I hope your interview went well” he replied, a bit embarrassed suddenly.

“I’ll know in a few days” your voice didn’t let go anything in your tone, but he couldn’t help but feel like the night had gone well, no matter your worry.

“When will I know if…” ‘if I am allowed to see my son again?’.

“In a few days” your impassible tone broke a bit, letting some emotion pass “… thank you for coming”.

“He is my child, that’s the least I could do” he shot back, immediately “… even if you don’t want to accept it”.

Like that you were again still and rigid with him, going to the door to open it for him, in an obvious sign that he should go.

“… goodnight, Ivar”.

“Goodnight, (Y/N)”.

And now all he had to was hope he had done a good impression.

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[another-sonic-blog]

Amy’s Survival Guide

Synopsis: Rouge is gone for vacation but she can't just leave Shadow and Omega alone for a whole month. As a favor, she asks Amy Rose to stay at their apartment and take care of her two idiots. Amy accepts as she sees this as a great opportunity to create a friendship between the robot and the black hedgehog as well as to pay back all the favors Rouge has done for her. However, as time passes, Amy realizes that this 'opportunity' has really become her doom. Thankfully, Rouge left Amy a red notebook that will help her survive through her stay.

Will Amy create a meaningful bond with Omega and Shadow? Or will she give up as they make her life miserable?

Angst, comfort, hurt, friendship (maybe Romance I don't know yet)

4K

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Amy would be lying if she said she wasn't scared at all. Looking up at the apartment's building, her little legs tremble. She didn't know if it was because she was scared or because it was the start of winter and she wasn't wearing anything to protect her legs.

The apartment complex was, of course, the finest and most luxurious in the entirety of Central City. As if it was designed to please Team Dark, the exterior of the apartment screamed Shadow the Hedgehog as it was all black. The inside expressed Omega as the inside walls were painted in a beautiful metallic color and the decoration was completely Rouge's personality.

Amy didn't know if she could spend an entire month here. This place was too luxurious and fancy compared to her small cozy house on the outskirts of the city.

But she had to do it.

She took the elevator and pressed the number 9 button. Elevator music played, very monotone and it didn't match Amy's feelings at the moment. With a 'ring' sound the doors of the elevator opened and as she walked out she was once again met luxuries.

As she walked through the elongated hallway. Amy found other rooms that allowed her to see through due that their walls were made out of crystal ... A pool, a gym, a sauna, a movie theater.

Alright, this was getting weird.

As if she was part of a scary movie, Amy carefully looked around to find her room of destination.

And there it was, just as Rouge told her ... Floor nine, number 143.

With a gulp of her saliva, Amy pressed the bell button for a few seconds. She waited for the white bat to show up and prayed to Chaos she didn't at the same time. If Rouge doesn't show up, Amy could leave and that way she could have an excuse to leave.

"Please don't be here, don't be here, don't be-"

"Amy! You are here!"

All hopes of loving were gone as the beautiful bat smiled at her and gave her a killing hug. Amy hugged her and gave small pats on her back, however, the smile she gave him was weaker and full of concerns.

Rouge walked back to her apartment, alluding Amy to follow her and she did. The inside of Team Dark's apartment was smaller than she expected, however considering that they had the whole apartment floor for themselves, it made sense.

Disregarding the size, it was still very well spaced and big enough for three people. Rouge guided Amy to the living room in which a large plasma TV was placed in front of the very comfortable looking couch. It was a silver color and soft like a cloud, Amy could picture Rouge or Shadow falling asleep on it. On the right and left side of the couch, a recliner single sofa of the same color decorated the livingroom. In the middle, a small crystal table was placed. Amy looked around the room and if she couldn't tell any better, she could swear that Rouge was totally in charge of decorating everything. She couldn't wait to see the kitchen.

"Thank you again for doing this honey," Rouge said as she invited Amy to seat in the soft-looking sofa.

The pink hedgehog analyzed the bat's clothes. She was looking as good as always. A pink handbag, tight booty shorts and she was wearing a white loose blouse. Amy could see through her blouse that she was wearing a black bikini top, there was no doubt she was going straight to the beach.

"Remind me why I am doing this again?" Amy looked around the living room again, although all of this was nice she wasn't used to this kind of setting.

"Because I got you a date with Sonic this weekend, remember?" Rouged said. "Besides, I honestly won't be able to rest unless I know someone mature is watching over my two idiots."

Amy sighed, she was defeated. She had to be honest to herself, she didn't want to do this but Rouge was one of her closest friends, if not the closest. The beautiful bat had done many things in the past for the hammer user and it was time she paid for all of that. Amy decided to have a good attitude with this and who knows, maybe after this Omega and Shadow could be ... um in good terms?

"You deserve a good rest," Amy said as she smiled, "Don't worry about it, I'll have everything in control. Besides how bad could it be?"

"Actually, it can be ... a bit bad," Rouge opened her pink handbag and she pulled a small red notebook. She handed it over to Amy who was a bit weird out by her gesture. "I wrote you a survival guide in case anything happens, you know the basic stuff."

Amy was starting to sightly panic, not because of the survival guide itself. When she babysat, it was normal for parents to leave a notebook with small notes written on them just in case something happened. What was freaking her out was that this was a 200-page notebook and by the looks of it, Rouge had written all over it, front and back.

As she looked over the notebook she opened what seemed to be the first chapter.

"Chapter one ... understanding the basics of the powerful robot E123 Omega & The Ultimate Life Form, Shadow the Hedgehog," Amy read out loud as she eyed Rouge who had a weak smile.

Rouge scratched the back of her head in embarrassment and looked to the other side. "There's even a table of content ... but honestly don't worry about it too much, this is only if anything bad happens and if you can't reach out to me."

"Well, I certainly do appreciate the thought," Amy held the red notebook tightly. She knew that in the month she was going to be staying here, there was meant to be some type of emergency. The pink one noticed that for it to be a shared apartment, it was awfully quiet. "By the way ... Where are Omega and Shadow?"

"Omega is getting maintenance with the yellow fox," Rouge said. "Friendly reminder he needs to do maintenance every two weeks and Shadow, well ... I don't know. He is somewhere out there."

The pink one let out a small sigh a bit relieved but it was short-lived as a thought crossed her mind. "Wait, they do know that I am staying over right?"

"Oh, my look at the time! I am going to miss the plane!" Rouge placed a hand on her right cheek as she stood up from the couch.

"Wait, Rouge but-"

"You will be fine! They are nice once you get to know them," the white one walked towards along the halls of the apartment and disappeared into a room. She was quick to come back with a black suitcase and happily, she headed towards the exit door.

Amy followed from behind, still wishing that there was a way that the bat would stay.

"If anything bad happens, just call me and if I don't answer just read the survival guide," she said as she pointed at the red notebook in Amy's hand. After a pause, Rouge opened her arms and at such a gesture, Amy embraced her friend in one of her signature hugs.

"Take care, and please keep me updated with your trip," Amy said as she released Rouge from her grasp.

"I will!" Rouge said. "If Shadow and Omega bring you trouble, don't hesitate to call me as well."

With a soft nod from the pink one, Rouge gave one last smile. She knew that the pink will survive this month. Rouge opened the door and left.

As she watched the bat leave, many questions arose in Amy's head. Why didn't Shadow and Omega say their goodbyes? Why didn't Rouge tell them that Amy was going to be staying? Why did Rouge go as so far as to write her a survival guide?

Her thoughts went back again to the red notebook she was holding. It looked brand new as if Rouge had just bought it for the sole reason to write to Amy.

She thought about it, this could be a good read and by the looks of the weather, it seemed like it was going to rain anytime soon.

"Alright," Amy said to herself. "Let's do this."

It was already 7 p.m. and there was no sign of the robot nor the hedgehog. Amy had already placed her things in Rouge's room. She had brought just some necessities, pajamas, a few extra pairs of clothes, toothbrushes, deodorant, and other utilities.

Since it was already late, Amy decided to change into her pajamas. Oversize pink shorts and a white blouse that only slipped off her shoulders once in a while because it was just too big for her.

As she finished making a cup of coffee for herself, Amy sat on the very soft couch. She brought her legs up and extended them along with the elongated couch. She opened the red notebook as she took a sip of her coffee. She encountered the first page that reads:

Table of contents:

I.The basics of the powerful robot E123 Omega & the Ultimate Life Form Shadow the hedgehog ... Pg.3

II. Habits ... Pg. 10.

III. Strange mannerism ... Pg. 17.

IV. Understading Omega ... Pg. 22.

V. Understanding Shadow Part 1 ... Pg. 27.

The list continued and it was long but Amy decided to skip it and decided to just jump right into chapter one. She reached page three and Amy appreciated Rouge's extremely artistic handwriting, cursive and feminine ... it was very much like her. With that in mind, the pink hedgehog began to read.

The basics of the powerful robot E123 Omega & the Ultimate Life Form Shadow the hedgehog ...

Chapter One

If you are reading this, that means that you are lovely Amy Rose and you need some help with understanding and living with my two idiots. They can a bit rude sometimes (especially Shadow) but they mean good. But before we went into the good parts, I want to recommend you to keep this notebook to yourself and NEVER show this to either Shadow or Omega. This notebook will contain some personal information about the two. So if you want to keep living here and maybe build a bond with my two idiots, then you should follow my advice. Alright, let start with Omega, because he is easier to understand. Here are some basic points you need to know about him.

Omega:

-Rarely gets angry but if he does just give him a glass of his favorite type of oil. (Goldfire 4-Stroke Synthetic Blend Motor Oil)

-Omega shuts down completely when he sleeps.

-Although he is very overprotective of Shadow, he is always pushing him to go out of comfort zone.

-After our latest mission, Omega got badly injured and he needs to do maintenance every two weeks.

-He loves to watch Terminator, which always puts him in a good mood.

- He is a robot he still trying to figure out what it means to have friends, He doesn't many friends so if you could help him that, that would be great!

Shadow:

-He is almost always in a bad mood. There's no way you can make him feel better, just let him be.

-He hates to awaken.

-Don't go inside his room ... NEVER.

-He loves his bike if there's anything that makes him happy is riding his Harley.

-He sometimes brings a girl to the apartment, the only thing I can recommend is to leave the apartment until the next day ... bring Omega with you please.

-He loves coffee, he buys very expensive coffee beans. You shall NEVER ... NEVER make coffee out his beans.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Being afraid was an understatement ... Amy was almost shitting herself. She was seated very comfortably on the sofa, the red notebook in her hand and on the other a cup of coffee. Turning her head slowly, she found Shadow the Hedgehog staring down at her from the other side of the sofa. Vermillion's eyes showed angered and Amy didn't know what he was angry about out of the 1000 reasons there was.

"You better give a good reason as to why you are in my apartment, drinking my coffee beans." Shadow didn't hesitate to move closer to Amy. Before he was behind the sofa but now he was right in front of the pink hedgehog, next to the crystal table.

At first, Amy was scared and she didn't pay attention to Shadow's details. The black hedgehog was wearing nothing but his iconic black jacket. His hoover shoes and gloves with rings. His clothing wasn't the thing she cared about, it was mostly the fact that he was soaking wet.

"Of course, the rain must have gotten him while he was riding his bike back home."

"Are you alright? Do you want me to bring you a towel?"

Amy's response took Shadow by surprise, he didn't think too much about it as his anger was more powerful at the moment.

"Just answer my question."

Amy gulped as she sat down straight and puts her cup of coffee on top of the crystal table. She looked around nervously, thinking about how she could word her answer.

"Rouge asked me to ... stay here and watch over you and Omega," Amy said.

Shadow placed a hand on her forehead and the other on his waist, showing his frustration. "She what?"

"Rouge asked me to-"

"I heard you the first time!" the black hedgehog pulled out his phone. He was looking for some privacy and so, he walked towards the next room, which was the kitchen.

Pressing different buttons on his phone, he finally dialed the number he was looking for. He pressed the phone on his ear as he waited for the bat to answer.

"Rouge the bat speaking,"

"Would you mind telling me why on Mobius is that pink fur doing in my apartment?" Shadow asked as he tried to control his level of anger.

"You mean, our apartment honey and she is staying because I asked her to," Rouge made a pause. "I can't enjoy my vacations unless I know someone I trust is there taking care of you two."

"I am 23 Rouge! I am an adult, and I can take care of myself and Omega-" Shadow wanted to protest but he was immediately interrupted.

"Shadow ... last time I left you and Omega alone you lit up the apartment on fire," Rouge responded, she sounded a bit agitated as if she was running.

"There was a stupid fly who wouldn't stop bothering us!" Shadow said, losing the little self-control he had left. "Look, I am kicking her out tonight, I don't care if it's raining-"

"Shadow, you won't kick Amy Rose out of that apartment!" Rouge said and by her voice, Shadoe knew that she was actually very serious about this. "First of all, yes this may be your apartment as well. But when you bring your girl, you don't hear me complaining. Second of all, you own me A LOT, Shadow the Hedgehog. I have done so many things for you and although I am not one to expect anything back, I want to ask this favor of you ... let Amy stay, that's all I am asking."

Fine, Shadow had to admit that Rouge was right. The black one had recently taken interest in this girl who he had been bringing to the apartment from time to time. Even when she was a stranger, Rouge nor Omega never complained. Another thing was that he owned too many favors and apologies to the white bat. Like the time he had gotten in trouble for not finishing his report at G.U.N. and Rouge stayed all night with him to finish it. Or that time Rouge had to carry him from the bar to the apartment because he got too drunk. There were countless of times in which the white bat had helped in unconditionally, and he couldn't fail her this time when she was only asking a small favor of him.

To let Amy stay at their apartment for a month.

"Fine," Shadow whisper, he let out a big sigh, accepting his fate. "But if she ever touches my coffee or if enters my room ... I'll kick her out."

"I'll reinforce that next time I talk to her."

Although Shadow couldn't see her, he could bet all of his money that Rouge was smiling from cheek to cheek at the moment.

"Now, I have to go! I need to catch a plane! Give my greetings to Omega!" Rouge said. "Bye-bye, hug and kisses!"

And with that, the beautiful bat hung up.

To collect his thoughts, Shadow looked around the kitchen. For the most part, it was clean except that the coffee machine was moved out of it's an original place and that there was still some coffee left in the crystal mug. It was an all-white kitchen and if anything happened to it, he would know for sure that he would hear the last from Rouge.

Maybe having Amy would be good ... at least to keep the kitchen clean.

Shadow decided to go back to the living room to tell Amy that she could stay. However, he was very surprised to see that she wasn't alone. E123 Omega was sitting next to the pink one and they were comfortably chatting with each other about Chaos knows what.

"Oh, so you don't have any more bumps?" Amy asked as she looked over the metal robot. "Tails for sure does do a good job."

"Affirmative, however, the fox boy still needs to repair internal damage," said Omega.

"Internal damage?" Amy asked.

"Wires, software updates, arsenal-"

Shadow cared for the robot and if he dared say it, he considers him his closest friend. Omega's simplicity and honesty was something that Shadow always appreciated about him. It took him a while for both of them to open up to each other. It seemed like Omega and the pink furball clicked very fast ... and to be honest it kinda bothers him.

"I am I interrupting?" Shadow asked as he once again stood up in front of the pink one and the metal one.

"Not really," Amy said, still her eyes focused on the robot. An idea appeared in Amy's head as she remembered Rouge's word on the red notebook. "Actually, I was thinking we could watch a movie ... Terminator maybe?"

A silence filled the room, but fast enough, Omega responded.

"I'll make the popcorn," Omega said as he stood up from the sofa and disappeared into the kitchen.

Once again, Amy and Shadow were left in the room. The pink hedgehog was staring at Shadow for longer that she wanted to but she would be lying if she said that she didn't worry about him ... and the fact that he was still soaking wet and ruining the wooden floor.

"So um ... can I stay?" the words came out of her mouth. She was trying too hard maybe to look for validation and approval from the black hedgehog. Just like Shadow, Amy's motivation to stay was Rouge. One of her closest friends had asked her for a favor and she just couldn't fail her. The only thing between becoming victorious and not was Shadow the hedgehog, probably the strongest creature she has ever known.

Shadow felt guilty enough that the pink one was looking for validation from him. At the end of the day, he was no one to tell her what to do. If she wanted to stay, she may do so as long she follows the rules and respects his privacy.

"Yes, just don't enter my room," with that said, Shadow was ready to change into a new pair of clothes. His leather jacket was already bothering him as the friction from it pained his fur.

"Thank you!" said Amy, who was still seated on the sofa. "Also ... should take a shower right now."

"What?"

"I don't want you getting sick, get in the shower, now," said Amy as her voice changed, she meant business.

Alright, maybe Shadow was giving her too much credit before it was due.

"You don't tell me what to do," Shadow said. "I'll just change my clothes."

"Then you are not allowed to drink coffee for a week," Amy said again not bugging her. She sounded very serious and confident about herself. However, in the inside, she was just really scared that Shadow might kick her out. Omega didn't mind too much about her presence and he would do as she says but Shadow? This would be a challenge.

"It's my coffee, and you won't take it away from me."

"I'll hide it after you leave from work," Amy said. "Please Shadow don't make this difficult, I want you to take a shower so you don't get sick ... please."

Shadow was really trying to keep shi act together. He didn't want to be rude but she was making it difficult. "I am the Ultimate Life Form, I don't get sick."

"You got infected with the Zombot virus before right? Who are you to say that you won't get sick with a cold?"

Touché

The pink hedgehog has Shadow's slight interest now and although he wanted to keep complaining, his mind was empty. There was something however that could work and it was very true. However, he was too prideful to ever admit it.

Amy knew that there was something that Shadow was hiding from her. Amy had an idea of what could it be and it was worth a shot.

"And don't worry," Amy said. "We won't put the movie until you are out."

Watching Shadow's expression change from concern to relief was all that Amy needed to know that Shadow was just a misunderstood hedgehog. Amy smiled, reassuring him.

Shadow rolled his eyes, sighed and walked away into the apartment's hallway. He was actually looking forward to a warm shower. But before leaving, he whispered something under his breath, loud enough for only him and Amy to hear.

"Good."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: I am a sucker for Amy, Shadow, Omega, and Rouge interactions. So, here is the first chapter of this series. I will write as more scenarios pop up in my head but I have already thought of some really cute scenarios. Also, I know I write a lot of romantic ShadAmy. However, I plan for this story to mostly showing their friendship and platonic love. Maybe ... MAYBE, later on, it will develop into romance but it all depends on how I develop their friendship at first. So for now if you want to see their relationship as platonic or not that's up to you. I am really excited to write Amy and Omega in extreme and funny situations and just explore how they will react to each other. Anyways, thanks again for reading!

Until next time.

[thestarwrites]

All Right, All Might: CH. 5

Word Count: 3,170K

Rating: PG, Language

Painting: Toshinori Yagi X FemOC

The UA Guidance Counselor, a quirk user with Pathokenesis, is shocked to find out her personal hero All Might is coming to be a teacher. Second day of classes turns out to be harder on Patho’s problem student than anyone else.

——————— CHAPTER FIVE: Comfort Food

Keri and Toshinori sat at the table in the little sushi restaurant, she chuckled softly and let out a content sigh. Things were quiet between them for a few minutes, but not uncomfortably so. All Might looked up and smiled, “What’s so funny?”

“Its always funny to me that we can just go out to dinner and no one knows you,” She smiled warmly, “But I love it because I get your undivided attention.” He blushed softly and smiled, “It’s nice. Since I’ve been here in the city away from my agency, I haven’t much spent time with anyone… It’s just been me.”

“I know- that’s why you have that crappy apartment.” Keri laughed softly.

Toshinori blushed harder, “I-its not that crappy! My other apartment was just decorated nicer!!”

She smiled, “Its just funny, I know you, I know you don’t need to live an average lifestyle. But you do. It’s very telling that you are exactly who you claim to be. You’d rather eat comfort food than expensive cuisine.” She paused, “You’re like comfort food.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” She smiled, “Like, I know there are people that say All Might is tacky and a showboat.”

Toshinori choked on his water.

“But I mean its like, eating a warm bowl of chicken soup when you’re sick, the persona is comforting, everyone likes it. It’s familiar, it’s kind — then, you have Endeavor, who I have worked with much more often than I have with you, and he never even gives his support heroes a second glance. He’s like some fancy restaurant that only lets certain people in. You’re a corner ramen shop that everyone loves to go to.” Keri smiled.

“Comfort food,” he smiled, “I like that…”

Keri smiled at him, “So- are you ready for your first big day tomorrow teaching Hero Course?”

He took a deep breath and nodded, “I think so.”

“Tch- that doesn’t sound like my Toshi.”

Looking up at her he took a breath, “What if I overdo it and start coughing up blood.”

“You won’t. You know your limits. You’re going to do great. Remember- these are fifteen year olds that LOVE you. Just be your normal hammy self,” She giggled, “Like you were with me when we met, they’ll just die.”

He smiled a little and set his card down on the bill when it came, waving the waiter off before Keri could put down any cash, “This ones on me.”

Making a face she frowned, “You /always/ say that! I can pay too, you know.”

“I’m not spending it on my crappy apartment,” He smirked, “Come on- let’s go drink that sake back to your place, so I know you’ll be safe and you don’t have to walk home.”

“And because I have an actual sofa and not a futon.”

“And… because you have an actual sofa… and not a futon,” he blushed.

————————

Keri scanned over the paperwork briefly on All Might’s desk, Test Ground Beta - Hero Training lesson. She nodded, thinking about how working in pairs would suit these kids, she was thinking about young Bakugo again when, “What are you doing snooping around in the teachers lounge, Patho.”

The cold voice of Aizawa made her jump and clutch her chest, “Holy shit Shota!” She took a deep breath, “I was just looking at the Hero Course lesson plan for today.”

“Why, don’t feel like going out there and interfering with his class like you did mine?” He spat.

She rolled her eyes, “You know what happened last year.”

“Yeah. My whole freshman class weren’t fit to be pro heroes.”

“Yeah- and you just get to make that decision and be done with those kids — but you know who had to deal with the ramifications? I did.” She huffed out, “I got calls from so many angry, disgusted, sad parents.”

“Why didn’t you just calm them down,” He chuckled.

“Because my quirk doesn’t work over phone lines Shota and you know that.”

“So what, you get paid to deal with this, remember? Nezu /needed/ a guidance counselor. Usually we just counseled the students ourselves, but he had to go on and get some nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field to play nursemaid to future pros. When they’re out there, no ones going to do that for them, you’re just undoing the work we do here by coddling them.” His gaze was ice cold, “Can you go back to your own office? I came in here to rest.” He huffed.

“Yeah. Sure thing.” She turned and left, holding her hand over her mouth once she was in the hallway. Pushing her hair off of her shoulder she swallowed and took a breath.

Some nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field to play nursemaid.

God she knew Aizawa wasn’t fond of her, Midnight must have really had something over on him to help give her that birthday present at the end of last semester. She couldn’t remember him being this cruel though - maybe it was All Might. Maybe her being close with All Might was making him dislike her more than usual.

Hanging her head she walked slowly up the stairs and headed into Recovery Girl’s office.

“Hello dear — Keri, are you alright?”

Shaking her head she went and sat on one of the beds, “After everything I’ve ever been through with bullying, somehow it never stops being hard to hear - even though I’m a fucking doctor.”

She frowned, “What happened, dear?”

“Its Aizawa,” She threw her arms up, “He hates me.”

She took a deep breath and smiled a bit, “Aizawa is a strange man, but one thing you know he doesn’t like is a showboat. He doesn’t think heroes need to be in the spotlight - and now who do we have working here?”

“All Might,” Keri responded numbly.

“And who do you spend almost all of your time with?”

Keri blushed furiously, “… All Might.”

“Exactly,” she nodded, “So however irritating your presence was to him last year, now he’s attached his resentment to Toshinori onto it. Don’t mind him. You do great work here. Nezu knows how good a job you do, and he’s especially thankful to have you as a close ally to All Might, with everything he’s going through.”

She nodded, “Toshinori helps me too, its not just a one way street.”

“I know, dear, he’s very fond of you,” Patho's forehead started to glow and she clapped a hand over it, “And I know you’re very fond of him. It’s sweet, watching you two.”

“Nothing’s going on,” She spat out.

Recovery girl laughed softly, “I’m an old lady, Keri, and I know a man who is smitten when I see one, mark my words.”

“He's the number one hero, the symbol of peace. He’s never had relationships, he’s too busy protecting the world… and if he did it wouldn’t be some…” She closed her eyes, “Some nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field to play nursemaid.” She repeated Aizawa’s words and the room filled with a feeling of pain.

“You are not a nobody support hero! You are a teacher at UA high. Hold your chin up dear, sorrow gives you wrinkles,” She nodded, “Besides, All Might is looking his retirement in the face, and you know that. He needs someone to lean on, and all I’m saying is I’m glad he has you there —“

“You have a patient,” Midnight cooed as she walked in with the stretcher carrying Midoriya.

“Izuku Midoriya? Again?” Recovery Girl shook her head.

Keri jumped up, “Izuku—“ She looked at him and hung her head, thinking of a million things at once, but holding her tongue as long as midnight was there. She helped get him on one of the cots and watched as Recovery Girl performed some basic first aid, attaching an IV.

Midnight left to return downstairs to her next class as Keri grit her teeth, “All Might is going too far with him.”

Recovery girl looked up, “I won’t disagree with you.”

Patho sat beside the boy and pushed his green hair back from his forehead.

“I know you know about this special circumstance, Keri, I’m not going to pretend to think Toshinori hasn’t told you.”

“I was the first to know about Izuku,” She sighed and held his hand, her body glowing pink as she filled Midoriya with a sense of calm, even though he was unconscious, “This is not the first time Toshi and I will disagree about how he is training the boy.”

“Keri?” The older woman looked at her, “I think you should let me handle it this time,’ She smiled kindly, “He no doubt will feel remorse, but coming from an older woman and a healthcare worker might be better suited.”

Nodding Keri sighed again, “I really should get back to my office. Class should almost be over by now. I should see if anyone needs to come and talk.”

“Okay sweetheart, just leave everything to me,” She smiled and nodded.

Nodding again she waved, exiting the nursing area and heading back down the hall to her office. The elevator door opened, and there was a breathless Toshinori in his silver age costume. She looked at him and sighed.

“You’re mad again, I know,” He started softly, walking in front of her.

She shrugged, “You just…” She sighed and just leaned in and hugged him, “It’ll be alright, okay? Just go check on him, hide out for a a bit, rest,” He didn’t need to know what went on between herself and Aizawa, and if he stayed with her too long, he’d realize she was sad.

He nodded and hugged her, pulling away to go into the nurses office.

-------

Keri went into her own office, going to the bathroom she rubbed water on her face when she heard the door almost come off its hinges, jumping she looked over - Katsuki Bakugo. And he was — crying.

Slamming the door back shut he threw his bag down onto the carpet and slammed his fist into the wall.

Coming out of the bathroom she hurried over to him, “Katsuki—! Are you hurt? Whats wrong?”

He didn’t look at her, “I don’t even know what I’m - I’m doing here in your stupid office,” he started, rubbing at his eyes furiously, “I don’t need your help.”

She took a breath and moved to sit down at the kitchenette table, “You don’t have to come in here for help you know, sometimes it’s just needed to blow off some steam with someone you trust.”

“He beat me, /deku/, in the training today,” He stomped over at sat across from her at the kitchenette table, “I’m supposed to be the best. I was number one in the entrance exam.” He was babbling in a wobbled voice, “And this quirkiness freak just - he guessed my every move, he moved so fast he was- he was better than me! And its not just him - that half and half ice bastard — his quirk is so damn powerful! Some of these damn nerds I wouldn’t beat head to head in a damn fight!” He slammed his fist on the table and buried his head in his folded arms.

Keri stood and went to put the kettle on.

Bakugo looked up and sniffled, “Well — pathologic? Aren’t you gonna say something? Try to tell me that I just need to train harder and not let these bastards get me down?” She looked over her shoulder, “You aren’t here for my help, I’m just making us some tea.”

He nodded and took a shaky breath, he wasn’t here for help. Not this stupid guidance counseling bullshit. Counseling. He didn’t need council, he needed to be better.

“I think some ginger tea would do you some good right now,” She smiled kindly, turning back to the cupboards.

He nodded again, “Yeah,” biting his bottom lip he wiped at his eyes again, “How am I going to be a leader for the class if I can’t even beat shitty Deku?”

She smiled a little and took out a couple of mugs, “With some work, is all. Losing stings, no matter who is the one who lost, or who is the one who they lost to. It’s the second day of school, you have to try and be patient.”

“I can’t fall behind!”

“I didn’t say let yourself fall behind,” She turned around and leaned against the counter, “I just said be patient. You couldn’t see what the others did in their entrance exam because you were actively working, and you did incredibly. But now is the time to take stock of the class - not let yourself focus on what you feel you lack. Being a hero is about studying your opponents - and your allies.”

Coming over she set the mugs down, “Yeah, Deku does that. Studies everything.”

“Well with your intelligence I’m sure you’ll have no problem with doing the same.” She let out a soft sigh, letting herself think about Aizawa.

“Hey- “ Bakugo frowned, “You’re not yourself today, nerd.”

She looked up to him blinking, “What do you mean.”

“Tch! Don’t play dumb pathological! I can sense there’s something off, you can you know- like vent too if you want.” He crossed his arms, “Not like I have anything better to do, I can at least listen to your stupid problem so I can forget about those extras in class.”

Keri pushed the long side of her hair back, “Aizawa hates me.” She shrugged.

“He’s a weirdo. So what.”

“He doesn’t think UA needs a guidance counselor and that I am here for no reason. Today he called me a-“ she paused and closed her eyes, “A nobody support hero picking up everyone’s scraps on the field.”

Bakugo blinked at her, “Is that all?! Who the hell cares what he thinks, no one even knows who he is, so he’s not one to talk. At least you put yourself out there and do what you can. You said you got bullied in stupid high school too, do what you did with them, fucking ignore them.”

That was surprisingly insightful, “You’re right. I didn’t let that stop me then and I won’t now.”

He nodded, “And I won’t let those extras downstairs stop me now.” He huffed.

She nodded, drinking her tea, he did the same. The two of them just looked out the window as the school day was almost over. They stayed that way in a semi-comfortable silence. Keri looked over at the boy, he still looked upset, like if he thought about this more it might trigger another outburst. But she knew he would at least come and see her if he got too upset, he was here now wasn’t he?

“Tch, take a picture it’ll last longer, nerd,” he smirked at her.

She laughed and shook her head, “You’re something, Katsuki.”

Taking a breath he looked up at her, “I think I should head home, do some more thinking.”

Keri nodded and stood, “Sure, it’s getting late. You gotta get some training in if you’re going to be number one.”

“Oh. Theres no if, nerd, I /am/ going to be number one. I’ll even surpass your dumb boyfriend.” He huffed.

“Boyfriend??” She looked at him.

He laughed softly, “All Might, dunce.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she pouted.

“Mm… and Endeavor isn’t a second rate pro.”

Rolling her eyes she walked up to him as he picked up his bag, “Hey.”

“What?”

She gingerly put her hand on his back, her forehead glowing pink as she tried to calm his mind. For a moment he leaned into it. He closed his eyes and when he felt like he might cry again he pulled away, “Thats a weird quirk,” he huffed, “See ya, loser.”

“Try to have a good night Katsuki.”

He left her office and she inspected the hinges - surprisingly they held up to his explosive slamming. She ran her hands in her hair, “Poor kid… he has so much fear.” Moving back to her desk she was greeted by another sound of an opening door — this time it was Toshinori.

“Was that Bakugo again?” He asked, out of breath suddenly.

She knitted her brows together, “Yeah. He’s upset.”

“Upset— he’s so stubborn. That pride is dangerous.”

“Its more than that—“

“I should have a talk with him. He could use one of my empowering speeches I’m sure!”

“Toshinori that’s not a good idea—“

But he was gone. Keri slapped her forehead and moved to the overlook window in her office. Midoriya and Bakugo were already down there, no doubt fighting. Izuku shared the ‘fix it’ quality with Toshinori, for sure. But sometimes things can’t be fixed quick with words, sometimes things have to simmer at a boil before coming down - and if you turn the heat too high it will boil over.

She knew the small progress she had made with Katsuki that afternoon would be all but erased by the time he got home. Gathering her things together she made her way downstairs to the first floor where a few of the first year girls were mumbling to themselves.

“Hey girls, how was your second day?”

They turned around and Ochaco smiled, “Hey! You’re miss Chairo! Right?”

She smiled, “Yes, that’s me. I know you had your first hero training with All Might - how did it go?”

Mina jumped up and down, “It was SO cool!! Getting to see All Might like that! In the flesh! And getting to do some real combat!”

“It certainly was hard though,” Su commented, “And I know Midoriya got hurt again.”

She smiled, briefly looking out the window to see All Might and Izuku talking, “All Might is pretty cool, and Izuku should be just fine by tomorrow, he just needs to be more careful.”

“Whats it like- getting to be co-workers with ALL MIGHT?!” Mina squealed.

Keri laughed softly, “Well, he and I are actually good friends, so seeing him in his stupid yellow suit is just funny to me.”

Ochaco gasped and stifled a giggle about the suit, covering her mouth.

“No way!!!! You’re friends with him!?” Mina jumped.

The woman smiled, “Yes, and I’m sure as time goes on he’ll become a friend to each of you as well.” She nodded, “I’m going to head out— but if you girls ever need anything, anything at all, even if you need to vent or hide out? My door is always open.” She waved.

“Thank you Miss Chairo, ribbit.”

“Thank you! Have a good night!” Ochaco called out happily, Mina waved.

Keri walked outside, knowing the girls would still see her. Moving close she gently put her hand on All Might’s lower back. Saying something to him and then to Izuku as she bid them farewell. All Might seemed to protest before she put her hand up and smiled. They parted ways.

“Oh my gosh,” Mina gasped, “Do you think they’re totally dating?!”

[balenciagastones]

the long run - for hannah

okay so quick preface before anyone’s confused, adri wrote this for me and ive just cried for about 20 minutes over it lmao, this is just what i needed today 🥺🥺 thank you so so so much, i love it 🥺😭 xx

If you would’ve told Eric 5 years ago that he’d be sat here with the girl of his dreams and their three beautiful kids on holiday in Greece he would’ve told you you were crazy, but now looking at Hannah with their twins sitting under the umbrella has him and his first baby made a sandcastle he wouldn’t wanna be any other place. 

But let's start from the beginning. 

Let's start on that rainy Tuesday morning, where it all began, where Eric was up bright and early for training, early enough to catch a quick coffee at his favorite shop before heading into Enfield. Walking in and having the barista take his order and waiting on his phone on the side for it to be ready. That’s when SHE walked in. 

Rushing in from the rain, pulling off the hood of her jacket to reveal her beautiful long light brown hair that flowed down her back. Her bag holding books for uni that desperately needed studying, her ordering was what caught his attention making him look up from his phone and studying her as she ordered. He saw the big smile on her face as she politely greeted the barista and kindly ordered her drink before heading over in his direction, immediately giving him a smile which he returned. He thought she was just exceptionally beautiful, he could already feel the happiness she radiated off, just an amazing energy and he wanted to know more. 

He turned his head towards her and sparked up a conversation catching her off guard making himself chuckle. 

“Hi, I’m Eric.” He put his hand out. 

“I’m Hannah, nice to meet you Eric.” she grabbed his hand and what felt like fireworks shot through his arm and made him smile wide, a smile which she returned almost twice as big. 

A bit of small talk with coffee and a rushed exchange of numbers, he could tell this was gonna be the start of something beautiful. 

-

After flirty texts, long phone calls, late facetime sessions and weekly dates that fit both their schedules you can say that they were each falling, and hard. Eric couldn’t keep the smile off his face when thinking about her, and everyone around him noticed. Dele telling him that he’s already whipped and all Eric could do in response was shrug, immediately going into a spell of stories about what him and Hannah talked about that morning while on the phone on his way to training. Normally Dele would roll his eyes and just make fun of him but he could see the glint in his best friend’s eyes that told him that even just after a few weeks this girl was the one. “Do you love her?” Deles question took Eric off guard and speechless. “I-i..” he took a pause immediately bringing her to mind, thinking of the cute little faces she makes during their facetimes, the way she talked that made his stomach flipped, her smile that could make even a big man like him go weak, her bubbly personality that he could hardly believe fit in her little body, and then it hit him. “I think i do,” it was the first time he actually admitted his feelings to himself this quickly. “I love her. “ “You love her.” Dele repeated, a smile coming to his face at his best friends realization. “I gotta tell her, I’m gonna call her to schedule a date night with her tonight, tell the gaffer ill be there in 5 minutes.” Dele nodded and chuckled as he saw Eric run off to call Hannah. 

When Eric called her in the middle of when he was supposed to be training she got worried something had happened, she didn’t expect him to say “im picking you up at 8, we’re gonna go out to dinner, please say yes.” and she didn’t give it a second thought. So there she was dressed up looking herself in the mirror when Eric texted her that he was there to pick her up, and like always he was at the door waiting for her and greeted her with a kiss. She could tell something was up on the drive to the restaurant. He had one that had intertwined with hers like always but the hand on the steering wheel was tapping its fingers against it anxiously. She thought maybe he had a tough training session so she brought his hand to her lips placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles seemingly calming him as he looked over and smiled at her. When they reached the restaurant he opened the car door for her and was the perfect gentleman like always. Throughout the whole dinner he seemed a bit more calm, due to her presence, making him laugh and smile the whole night through. After they ordered dessert however she grabbed his hand and asked the question on her mind, “Soo what do i owe the pleasure of this quick planned dinner date?” she rose her eyebrows at him as she sipped her wine. He cleared his throat and chuckled a bit, “I just wanted to take my lovely girlfriend out for dinner..” her eyes screamed ‘spill it’ so he cleared his throat once again before asking for both her hands, which she put in his, “the real reason we came out was because this morning in training i realized something, I realized how amazing I feel when youre on my mind, I realized how calm and happy you make me constantly, and if i could shout it on a rooftop i would, Hannah, I love you.” He could see the tears in her eyes and he leaned over to wipe them from her eyes. “Dont cry pretty girl.” “Theyre happy tears I promise, I-i I love you too Eric.” If you think you’ve seen Eric’s biggest smile, youre wrong, his face beamed as he leaned over even more to plant a kiss on her lips right before the dessert came and then heading to his home where the two of them showed each other just how much they loved the other. 

-

Fast forward a couple months in and he’d say he had never been more right about the day they met. It was the North London Derby and Hannah was in the stands, yes the stands, stood next to his younger brothers while wearing a big 15 with Dier on her back. Cheering for him at the top of her lungs whenever he even got a touch on the ball. The game ending in their favor 3-2 with Eric scoring the winner, and he had never seen such excitement in her eyes then when she told him the story of when City won the league, with her going out to celebrate it. She met him in the tunnel, and ran towards his arms before he can make it inside the changing room, he caught her in his big arms and spun her around before smashing his lips on hers quickly before putting her down. Him promising her he’d be quick so they can head home so she stood there with Emilia, the two of them becoming just as close as there partners were, waiting for both of their men to come out, Dele coming out first and letting her know Eric was just behind him. She bid them goodbye before turning back and there he was, her man. She couldn’t help herself she pulled his neck down for a longer kiss earning a whistle from Lamela and pat on the shoulder from Winksy as they headed out. Lamela shouting, “Dier is getting some tonightttt!” making you both chuckle as you broke from the kiss. 

“Oh yes he is.” she whispered with a smirk on her lips making him peck her one more time whispering back, “god I love you” before scooping her in his arms and carrying her to the car for a very long night of celebration, if you know what i mean. 

-

Fast forward 3 more months and their sat on his sofa for their weekly movie night. Bowl of popcorn in her lap as she was laid back on his chest, clad in his t-shirt that looked more like a dress on her due to his large size. The two of them were chatting here and there and he couldn’t help but notice how comfortable she was. 

And no not just in his arms, but in general, she was here most nights, becoming accustomed to being in his arms during the night, both of them confessing to each other that they both got the best sleep when the other was next to them, she had an extra set of toiletries and entire makeup bag upstairs in his bathroom, articles of clothing that she would accidentally leave around that he would call to tell her she forgot and she would just tell him to keep it there so she would have some of her own clothes there even tho she much preferred wearing his all over the house and he wasn’t complaining. He also couldn’t stop thinking about how he loved the days she would have off from uni and just hang out at his place all day while he went to training, always coming home to her cooking or studying always wrapping his arms around her waist kissing her neck and mumbling “I could get used to this” making her giggle and turn her neck to plant a kiss on his lips. God how he wanted those days to be every day, he wanted her to come home from long school days so he can spoil her from head to toe and make her feel all relaxed when she was stressed. He wanted to wake up to her beautiful face every day for the rest of his life. And he was gonna make it happen.

He leaned down to press a kiss on her shoulder and her neck whispering “Pretty girl,” she hummed in response as she chewed on some popcorn, “move in with me.” She almost choked at his words and whipped her head back to look at him. “Are you being serious?” her eyes scanning his face for any sign that his question was a joke. “Deadly,” he cupped her face before continuing, “Hannah, I want to wake up to your gorgeous little face every morning and I wanna come home knowing you’ll be here or knowing you’ll walk through that front door right after me. If it’s too much too fast then it’s oka-” she cut him off with a kiss. Saying “you’re cute when you start going on tangents,” against his lips, “I’d love to move in with you.” A huge smile spread across his face as he kissed her one more time, so passionately it sent a shiver down her spine. The two so in love it radiated off them, he really was at his happiest in that moment. 

After the move in it felt like everything was where it should be, month of the two of them as happy as can be, always there for each other through the rough training sessions, to the long study hours, the wins and losses, the bad and good marks, through every minor injury or every bad day, they were together through thick and thin. 

Which didn’t change when Hannah was sick for 3 days straight. Eric sitting next to her holding her hair as she threw her guts up in the toilet, rubbing her back telling her it’ll pass soon. The two of them sitting on the bathroom floor, her in his lap feeling awful as he kissed her forehead trying to make her feel better, thats when she started crying. Tears hitting his shoulder making him pull her face to look up at him. 

“Whats wrong beautiful?”

“What if its not a stomach bug E, what if… what if i could be pregnant?” she couldn’t look at his face, she buried her face in his neck again still spilling tears. He just soothed her and said “If that’s the case then we’ll get through it, together, I promise.” she looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you E.” “I love you more pretty girl.” 

And he kept his promise, being there when she took the test, when the timer rang anf the both of them looked at the positive test in front of them, the both of them crying knowing that Hannah was now carrying a little creation of their love, Eric immediately getting on his knees pulling up her shirt pressing a kiss to her tummy even though she wasn’t showing yet. Mumbling “me and your mummy already love you so much.” 

He didn’t know how he could love her any more than he did, seeing her through every appointment, seeing the little bump form on her body just made her more beautiful if that was even possible, she was carrying his baby and he couldn’t contain his happiness, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and he couldn’t wait. 

So 4 months later there were the both of them smiling for the endless photographs that their families were taken the day of he graduation, both families becoming so close from the moment they met, both moms planning the wedding that same night. “Do you think they have enough pics, my feet hurt.” she whispered making him laugh giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Probably not after this.” he whispered making her look at him confused, and then he got on one knee taking something out of his pocket making her gasp, her hand immediately going to her growing baby bump. 

“Hannah, you are the love of my life, the only girl who can make me a big softie around the boys, the light in my life that i can’t get enough of, and youre the mother of our baby growing inside of you, I want nothing more than to spend the rest of out lives together… so what im asking is, will you marry me?” she flashed the big ring to her and she swore she was sobbing at this point only being able to nod as he flashed another big smile getting up and slipping the ring on her finger giving her a big passionate kiss. Pulling away to see their families taking loads of pics and videos of the amazing moment. “I love you so much.” she breathed out as he wiped the tears from her face. “And I love you so much more.” 

“We’re getting married!” she exclaimed, making everyone laugh. 

-

5 months later and they were sitting on the sofa watching the city game on the television, her still a bit grumpy she cant wear her jersey due to the big belly, she was already one week past her due date with their little girl and she couldn’t wait til the day came to pop her out, the doctor said it could happen any day but as Eric liked to say that their little girl wanted to stay in the little home Hannah created for her over the past months, “Well this little home’s rent is way past due and it time for her to be evicted.” she would grumble. 

So there she sat in a little tank top and a pair of Eric’s joggers rolled up at the waist waiting for the second half to start, Eric getting up to get her some more crips and some water hearing her say to her belly, “if city win you have to come out today please.” making him chuckle as he walked back to her handing her the snack. He sat next to her resting his head on her shoulder and rubbing her belly like he always did, this little gesture had become one of her favorite things of his, always making her feel relaxed as well as it being able to calm the little baby when she would have a kick fest inside of Hannah. She smiled down at him and placed a kiss on his head. 

The second half and there was city immediately gaining possession of the ball with Foden making a pass directly for KDB perfectly netting the ball making Hannah jump up and celebrate and thats when she felt it, a sharp pain and wet between her legs, “Ow fuck!” Eric immediately standing up asking if she was okay, looking down and seeing the stain on the joggers from her water breaking, “I knew our little girl would be a city fan, ah in your face.. Ow!” she laughed and winced at the same time 

“Okay im grabbing the bags, start heading to the car.” she nodded as she waddled over to the fron door and opening it waiting at the car for eric. After he helped her in they rushed to the hospital, calling their families and Dele and Emilia on the way there, the responses being that they’ll be there. Getting there was a breeze though Hannah’s contractions were every 4 minutes. The doctor had her in the room as soon as they got there and said she was almost ready to push. 

And 6 hours later Arden Primrose Dier came into the world and her parents couldn’t be more wrapped around her little finger. As Eric liked to say she was the spitting image of her mother with a dash of Dier hair, and he loved her endlessly. Everytime he held her little body, tears would well up in his eyes not believing he made this precious little one. His two girls becoming his world and he vowed to love and protect them always. 

-

10 months later Eric was stood at the end of aisle with Dele next to him, his brothers amongst his groomsmen. Seeing his baby girl being carried by his sister in her little flower girl dress, cooing at her daddy as he made a face at her. 

And then the music started, he took a deep breathe and then he saw her, linked arms with her grandad in her gorgeous white dress, no sleeves and a small deep V, flowery lace throughout the gown. He couldnt keep his emotions in, tearing up at the sight of the love of his life that was about to marry him and be his forever. Dele pat his shoulder smiling at him. Her grandad shaking his hand and kissing his granddaughter on her cheek so proud of her and the man she would call her husband. The whole ceremony was so beautiful, and then came the vows, leaving no dry eye in the whole venue. 

Eric went first. “Hannah, I remember the day we met like it was yesterday, you running in from the rain and immediately catching my attention, the way you immediately lit up the room with a smile on your face, I knew i just had to get to know to you, and i know that after you left that day you already had my heart. You’ve been with me through every high and low, always being my number one supporter except of course on matches against city,” everyone laughed as Hannah winked, “but whether its a win or a loss you are always by my side picking me up when i need it, you are the love of my life, and will be to the very end, I can never thank you enough for all the things youve done for me, including bringing in our little Arden into the world, there is no one I would rather have random dance competitions in the car with, I love you Hannah.” 

“Wow how am i supposed to follow that,” she chuckled getting ready for her turn, “Eric, wow where do I start, first off I love you and secondly thank you, thank you for being mine, thank you for being there after every rough day where all i want is to be in your arms telling me that everything was going to be okay, thank you for being just you, the perfect man, the one of my dreams, thank you for always listening even if I’m just complaining about something you don’t know about, thank you for giving me Arden, and for being the best daddy to our beautiful girl, thank you for being there through the long nights where you told me to go to sleep but I would stay up til I would knock out studying, thank you for always taking me to bed and making sure i slept the whole night, thank you for being there evry step during pregnancy i know i was a bit difficult,” they both chuckled, “thank you for letting me be me, I don’t know what i would do without you Eric Dier and ever since our first meeting I knew you were the one and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us, I love you Eric.” 

Everyone was just in awe of their love, wiping tears from their faces, the ceremony ending with him dipping her and kissing her more passionately than ever before. 

The entire reception was a blast, Hannah changing into her silk white dress that Eric drooled over, whispering in her ear how much he already wanted to take it off her making her blush. They danced the night away, their first dance full of tears, Dele and Emilia’s speeches were each beautiful and Eric and Hannah wouldn’t want this night to be any other way. 

As the night came to a close it was time for the bouquet toss, Hannah throwing it behind her and none other than Emilia caught it, making Eric and Winksy nudge Dele as he winked at his girlfriend. Hannah hugged her best friend before rejoining her now husband planting a kiss on his lips as they started to bid everyone goodnight. Wanting to savor their wedding night before they flew to Mykonos the next morning for their honeymoon. Giving one last kiss to Arden as she was staying with his parents while they were away they were ready 

“Ready to go Mrs. Dier?” “Ready as i’ll ever be Mr. Dier.” he grabbed her hand as they made their way out of the reception venue. 

Lets just say it was a very good night. 

-

Their 10 day trip to Mykonos was so relaxing, staying at a private villa, days filled with love making and trips to the water, as well as nights filled with fancy dinners and more love making after wards. Coming home to their little girl with nice tans and a freshly wed glow to them. 

2 months later and it was Arden’s first birthday, the two of you pulling out all the stops for your little one. The whole day going smoothly, and Arden was tuckered out by the end of the celebrations that evening. Hannah and Eric were too, laying next to each other on their shared bed as Hannah laid on her husband’s chest in silence, with him softly playing with her hair, all of a sudden she felt a churn in her stomach and the next thing she knew she was kneeling in front of the toilet with Eric holding her hair back. 

“I’d say it was a bad reaction to some food but I was wrong last time.” they both chuckled as she rinsed her mouth out with mouth wash. 

“Mr. Dier i think we made ourselves a honeymoon baby.” she laughed making him smile and pick her up and spinning her and giving her a kiss.

Little did they know at the first doctors ultrasound they’d find out some big news. 

“Congrats you two, there are two healthy heart beats.” 

“TWO?!” they both exclaimed making the doctor chuckle, “Yes, you’re carrying twins.” 

“Guess we made two honeymoon babies.” Eric said making his wife slap his arm. 

And 7 months later, she popped out two healthy fraternal twins, a boy, River Aspen Dier, and a girl, Eden Gravity Dier. River already the spitting image of his daddy and Eden looking like a perfect mix of the both of them. 

Eric and Hannah’s hearts couldn’t be more full, Dele and Emilia bringing in Arden to meet her baby siblings and even at almost 2 she showed so much love towards them both. 

  Their lives were complete. Eric had everything he could have wished, with the girl of his dreams. They were in this for the long run and they were loving every minute of it.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

First Kiss - Frank Iero x Reader

Request: hey uhhh whenever you get the chance do you think you could do something with frank like... him and the reader are good friends and theyre at each others house watching a movie or something and kinda spontaneously the reader is like "ive never kissed anyone" and then it just kinda goes on from there? maybe a high school au? you write so well for frank and honestly youre like my favorite fic writer <3

Warnings: Spoiler for “Star Trek” (2009), in case anybody hasn’t seen it (go watch it!)

Word count: 1 621

“Okay, so… Terminator?”

Frank pulled a DVD from the shelf and presented it to you.

“Not again, we watched that only last month,” you shook your head, “what about the third Harry Potter?”

“I don’t like the Dementors,” Frank complained, pushing the DVD back between the others, “one of the Mad Max movies?”

“Saw them with Pete a while ago,” you shrugged and sat down on the sofa, “The Goonies?”

“We watched those like two weeks back, Lord of the Rings?”

“Saw all three movies with Gerard last weekend,” you laid down, resting your head on the armrest.

“You hang out with too many guys while I’m busy,” Frank jokingly complained.

“Star Trek?”

“Which one,” he grinned.

“The first one, of the new ones,” you suggested and he quickly grabbed the box from the shelf, feeding the silver disc to the video player.

The music boomed through the living room and revealed the main menu while Frank dimmed the lights and jumped onto the sofa next to you.

You snuggled against the pillow, careful not to touch Frank, and focused on the starting movie.

“They should make like a Klingon synchronization,” Frank said, leaning back into the cushions.

“But no one understands it,” you argued, sitting up to take a sip of the soda you had taken into the living room after dinner earlier.

“Some people do, comparatively many actually, I think,” Frank defended, stretching and putting his arms on the headrest, dangerously close to your shoulders.

It was not like you were disgusted by Frank, or did not want him to touch you. Much the opposite really, but you did not want him to know that, you were friends after all, and you did not want to make anything weird between the two of you.

You just hummed in response and concentrated on the movie that was finally starting with the opening scene, trying to ignore Frank’s arm that was almost, but only almost, resting around our shoulders.

You were a good hour into the movie and had just witnessed the destruction of Spock’s home planet Vulcan. You had seen the movie a few times already, but you still felt a little chocked up, imagining how he had to feel at that moment. While the scene between him and Uhura, their first kiss, played out in front of you, you could not help but wonder how it felt to kiss someone. Was it normal to be your age and to never have kissed anyone? It had to be magical, to kiss someone you liked, you imagined, but how would you know.

The movie continued, but you were unable to pay attention to the storyline anymore. Your thoughts were running around in circles. What did kissing feel like? Would, when you eventually did kiss someone, that person be disappointed that you had no experience?

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you suddenly blurted out, of course at the most inappropriate of times, while one of the characters got tortured.

Frank turned to you, a look of slight surprise on his features.

“You haven’t?”

You shook your head. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have expected it, to be honest,” he confessed, reaching for the remote and turning down the volume of the TV until it was almost mute.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Frank furrowed his brows. “Of course it’s not a ‘bad thing’, everyone has their own time for things, and it’s not right to rush things, if you don’t feel ready,” he explained.

“But I do feel ready, that’s the point! But it just feels like… I don’t know. It just worries me,” you tried to make him understand, “and I mean, do you think when I eventually kiss someone they’ll think it’s a turn off, that I don’t have any… skills?”

“If someone thinks that, they’re not deserving of you in any way,” Frank replied immediately, without missing a beat.

“Have you… you know… kissed someone,” you asked, knowing that you were most likely overstepping your boundaries.

Frank giggled and rubbed his face with both hands before looking at you again.

“Would you be surprised if I said I did,” he wanted to know, watching you carefully.

“No, not really, you’re surely a catch,” you winked at him jokingly.

“I haven’t, kissed anyone I mean.”

You looked up at him and raised your eyebrows.

“You haven’t?”

“Nah, I guess it was never the right moment or person,” he shrugged.

You nodded, and looked away. Frank had never kissed anyone? You would have expected him to have some kind of experience on that matter, but apparently you had been wrong. You shot him another glance which he noticed.

“What,” he wondered.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, feeling yourself blushing. For a moment you had been tempted to ask if he wanted to try it out, but looking at him, his beautiful eyes, the soft, brown hair, you got scared he would reject you, so you kept quiet, and Frank turned the volume back up.

When the movie was over you helped Frank to put the glasses in the dish washer and cleaned up the kitchen from the cooking you had done in the evening. By now it was close to midnight, the radio was playing some trashy punk music, and both you and Frank joked around while doing dishes and cleaning surfaces.

“Hey, do you wanna go on a midnight walk,” Frank suggested just as he hung up the dish towel.

You threw a look at the clock. Indeed it was almost midnight, but you did not feel tired in the slightest.

“Sure,” you nodded and followed him to the dark hallway.

The air outside was stinging cold. White clouds blew out of your nostrils with every exhale of breath. You slowly wandered down the streets, which were painted orange by the light of the street lanterns. Frank and you walked in silence, taking in the late night sounds and the strange comfort of empty streets. You followed Frank, since he seemed to know where he was heading, and you wondered if he too was thinking about the conversation you had had earlier. Did he also wonder what kissing someone would feel like? Did he too worry that it might be weird that he had never kissed anyone? Every now and then you looked over to him, but he did not seem to notice, so you just continued walking next to him, secretly hoping that one day you would either get rid of your crush on him, or finding the courage to tell him.

You had reached the edge of a park, but Frank confidently strode along the dark path that led into the trees. For a moment you hesitated, but then you quickly caught up with him, before he would disappear from your sight.

It did not take long until you had walked up to a pond in the middle of the trees. You knew this pond was there, and in daylight it was inconspicuous, but now, at night, it had an almost magical atmosphere. Thin clouds of white fog hovered over the smooth surface of water that reflected the rising moon and broke the light into thousand sparkling diamonds. At the sides the pond was framed by the bleak stalks of dead reed in which the fog was caught up like a cloth of silk that was hung over the water.

“You wanna know why I never kissed anyone, don’t you,” Frank whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You turned to look at him, but found him already facing you. Not waiting for your answer, he continued.

“I was waiting for the right person. And once I found them, I… “

He looked at you, and gently lifted his hands to cup your face.

“I just wanted it to be… right… for both of us, you know?”

You swallowed hard, felling your heart beating in your throat, and Frank had to feel it too when he glanced down to your lips.

“May I,” he asked, his eyes big and nervous.

You nodded quickly, feeling his hands tremble slightly as he brushed over your lips. He stood so close to you that you felt the heat of his body radiating through his jacket, that you felt his hot breath fan over your cheek.

You closed your eyes and took a shaky breath before you felt Frank’s lips brush against your carefully. They were cool from the cold air, and so soft. You felt warmth pulsating through them as they locked with yours and you raised your hand to wrap it into his fluffy hair. He smiled gently into the kiss before he slowly started to move against you. You followed his lead, so nervous that you were shaking a little, but holding Frank so close to you, having his hands brush over your face and neck so lovingly, made you relax.

When he pulled away, he was smiling so broadly that he seemed to be glowing, and you felt like you were too.

“Wow,” you whispered, opening your eyes again and taking in the boy in front of you.

“Yeah,” Frank smiled a little embarrassed, but when you let your hand glide from his hair to his cheek, the embarrassment melted away.

“How about we go back home, it’s getting cold,” you suggested, nodding back the way you had come.

“If we can do a little bit more of kissing…?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I don’t know, I’m gonna have to think about that first,” you joked and took Frank’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

If it were up to you, there would not only be a ‘little bit more’ of kissing.

[angrylizardjacket]

And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5486 words. Okay wow. Please bare with me, this is a long one and also a bit of a different one. Written in the style of a Rolling Stone article. Finished it at 7am. Prompt & support from the lovely @ginghampearlsnsweettea

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

Warning: Minor character death, in both senses, it’s a baby, it’s not graphic it’s just mentioned, but just thought I should let you know.

And All The Queen’s Men: how the lines blurred between Queen and and the Queen of Jazz Rock.

An article almost two years in the making, after their last tour, which I was invited along to in order to write the initial article, the rock sensation Queen split, a decision, I am lead to be believe, was instigated by front man Freddie Mercury, and though Giselle Jones had continued to make music, even before her very public, on-stage breakdown, her lawyers had me keep the article to myself. Now, with the band’s reunion, and Live Aid having been a massive success with both powerhouse musical names coming back into the public eye, I’ve invited them back to my office for one last interview, but mostly to beg them to let me publish this article.

Which, obviously, they allowed.

It’s 1985, and with them all sitting in front of me, I feel a sense of deja vu. There are some changes, of course, Roger Taylor’s hair is shorter, Giselle Jones is wearing jeans and a sweater rather than her well-known cocktail dress, but John Deacon’s still smiling at me, Brian’s looking about the room, perhaps seeing if anything’s changed, and Freddie Mercury’s draped casually on the left of the only non-Queen member of the bunch. 

But before I get into the past two years, maybe I should take you back a bit, to when Giselle and Queen began collaborating.

Giselle Jones began in the late sixties as the front-woman of a swing band in a thirties theme pub known as Modern Glamour. Tall, elegant, with a voice like honey, she had a small following of regulars that frequented the pub, but had kept her passion from music from her family, claiming she was merely a waitress at the establishment, since her father was an executive at EMI, and she didn’t want to seem like the subject of nepotism.

However, one fateful day, her father brings music industry giant to the pub for lunch, hoping to catch Giselle at work and introduce her, but as you know, they both got a lot more than they bargained for. Foster sees potential in her, and offers her a contract if she’s willing to modernise her act, and as we all know, she does.

When Giselle releases her first album in 1970, Velvet Roses, which would be the first and only “Jazz” record to hit the Top 40 charts for that year, Queen are still playing pub gigs around London, though they’re looking at recording their first album, which would eventually get EMI’s attention, but that’s still not for a while. At this point, they’re the biggest fish in a very small uni-pub pond, and they need the means to grow. So out goes the band’s van, for one night in a recording studio.

“Like, in retrospect, of course it was the right decision.” Taylor leans against the back of the sofa he’s sitting on in my office in 1982, voice contemplative and fingers locked together as he looks into the past. “But I was twenty-two at the time, selling my van was a big deal.”

“A big enough deal that you wrote a song about it.” Giselle adds, sitting beside him in the middle of the sofa. Deacon hides a smile though May doesn’t hide his snort of laughter. 

The smirked remark is at odds with her look. While the boys are all in various states of brightly patterned shirts and jeans, looking casual and comfortable; Giselle wears white, sequinned, off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her figure and hits the floor, a slit in the thigh where her leg crosses, dark skin a stunning contrast to both the white fabric of her dress, and the leather of my sofa. Hands folded in over her knee, there’s not a singular hair out of place where she’s got it slicked back; I can’t look at her directly, she’s so focused and well put-together that it’s like staring at the sun.

The contrast has always been apparent in their various works, though Mercury has, in the past, cited her as an early inspiration for his desire to add a certain classical gravitas to rock and roll, and though she hasn’t publicly stated anything, the amount of covers Giselle has performed lived could fill an album. And now, here they are, about leave for a double-billed tour of the US, which I have been asked to join.

But their connection goes back much further than this, all the way back to 1975, to the release of the smash-hit single Bohemian Rhapsody That very same year, Giselle releases her fifth single, Dinner and a Show, a lyrically dissonant, heart pumping anthem that’s a metaphor for the way any type of review fuelled her, since it meant people were talking about her work. 

You serve yourself on a platter; your putrid delights, / yet how can I refrain? / You don’t come to flatter, you don’t want to go / so come on baby, / don’t you know? / You’re treating me to dinner and a show.

Giselle’s usually silky performance is turned into a masterclass of vocal gymnastics as she slides easily from the rough intensity of rock and roll, to the smooth purr of jazz as she sings about eating critics for breakfast.

They say a free mind makes the meat so tender / now you’re on the menu and I’m a big spender

The song itself comes as a response to her former manager about how her “aggressive” move to music that more stylistically rock and roll was alienating older audiences, though Foster, still her producer at the time, was pushing for her to skew to a younger audience, and it seemed as though he had gotten his way.

The real change, however, was the B-Side of the record. After speaking to Jim “Miami” Beach, Queen’s lawyer, regarding potentially covering one of the band’s songs, Giselle reveals that she was eventually told to just ask them directly.

“I gave Miami a letter that basically explained that I’d like to cover one of their songs for my new album,” Giselle gives me a thin smile, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong, even though I’m assured by Brian that her public persona “is just like that sometimes”. 

“- and I thought it was a joke! I said ‘yeah, sure, what’s the worst that could happen’.” Mercury laughs, leaning forward elbows on his knees and eyes shinning with amusement. “I did not believe for one second that Giselle, Giselle-” repeating her name for emphasis, his hand comes to quickly rest on hers where she still has them perfectly still on her knee, a moment of solidarity, “wanted anything to do with us. Hand Held Heart had been at the top of the US charts for almost three whole weeks the year before.” Letting out a long, wistful sigh, Mercury sits back, still grinning, though he’s got this far away look on his face now. 

“So we’d been stuck on a farm, recording A Night At The Opera for weeks with no outside communications, ” May fills in where Mercury’s faded into his own memories, and Taylor slings arm around Giselle where she’s actually relaxed somewhat, hands now in her lap. Curiously, she doesn’t shrug him off. “And when we get back, it turns out that she’s put a jazz cover of Jesus, yeah, that song from our first album, on the B-Side of her newest single.”

“Freddie practically had a heart attack.” Deacon adds, patting Mercury’s shoulder fondly.

In her own way, she was continuing the trend that Dinner and a Show had started, and that seven-inch single would bestow upon Giselle the title of Queen of Jazz Rock. It hadn’t been the first time she had acknowledged the band publicly, by the time she had released the single, her public persona had gained enough traction that, a few months prior to her recording of the cover, a reporter had asked if Killer Queen, Queen’s biggest hit at the time, had been written about her. The question had been caught on camera by the reporter after one of her tour stops in the Midwest of America; the footage is a favourite of fans, including myself, of the way she doesn’t even turn, simply calls over her shoulder, ‘they should be so lucky’, and she gets into her waiting car.

“I never took offence,” Mercury tells me, both in 1982, and 1985, as I bring it up both times to consolidate the origins of their musical partnership.

“You wouldn’t, you were all starry-eyed for her back then.” Taylor leans back to address Mercury behind Giselle’s head, but only when he says it the first time, in 1982. 

“It was a bit of a dig at us,” Deacon agrees with the drummer, nodding before shrugging. “A lot of good came out of it, though.” The others seem to agree, but Giselle herself has stayed quiet. For the first time since the interview started, she looks away from me, gaze dipping as she seems inclined to speak, though she takes her time to weigh up her words before she says them, wondering exactly what will and will not be printed.

“It was a bit of s**t thing to say. I was twenty-four and I panicked, I had to keep up my... this persona.” She gestures now to herself, breaking the entire physicality as she lets herself lean back, and I feel like I can breathe, seeing her act so human. Adjusting, she lets herself rest of the slightest of diagonals, shoulder to shoulder with Taylor’s arm still around her, now with Mercury petting her knee in solidarity.

Once in the tour bus, the difference between Giselle Jones, the woman, and Giselle, the singer and personality, becomes almost jarring to see. As soon as we get into the bus, she strips off the gown she was wearing, I turn away, though the others don’t seem to be bothered by it, May takes the dress to a waiting assistant by the door, and when I turn back, she’s in a pair of sweat pants and Taylor is tossing her shirt several sizes too big for her. For the first time since I’ve learned about her, Giselle looks comfortable, looks approachable and, for lack of a better word, non-robotic, taking a hairbrush from a drawer and flopping onto one of the beds as she brushes out the gel, apparently not bothering with a shower just yet.

“I showered this morning.” She seems to have caught my confused look, and explains herself. With her guard lowered in the familiar situation, her natural voice shines through, a rich, yet feminine alto, reminiscent of her singing voice. It adds to the list of things that add character to her beyond what her “persona” could ever convey. Or perhaps that’s the point.

The bus itself is almost too small for the five performers, and I’m certain it won’t fit me, but Giselle and I watch as they cram a blow up bed onto the kitchen table. It looks stable, and for the opportunity to experience living in such close quarters with such big names, I’d take anything.

“Sorry, darling, Paul takes the only spare bed.” Mercury informs me as I shimmy up onto the bed to test if it would hold. I had thought that the vehicle was at capacity, though it does make sense that the band’s day-to-day manager, Paul Prenter, would be travelling with them. That being said, I hadn’t realised there was even a spare bed, there was only five, perhaps none of them had wanted to be subjected to the blow up bed and decided to share instead.

When we finally get on the road, I get to finally see their true dynamics emerge. We all know the Queen dynamics by now, brotherly yet volatile, at times. I had worried for Giselle at times, the concept of living with four men (five if you count Prenter, who Giselle does not seem to, when I ask her about it, though I don’t think that’s a subject I should pry about, judging by the look on Taylor’s face where I can see him lounging at the back of the bus). However, I should have not have been worried; first of all, despite the youthfulness of their appearances, performances, and spirit, these are all men in their 30s, Giselle herself being 31 at the time of writing (1982), and they all have experience living with women, and with each other.

“First tour was a nightmare.” Deacon’s joined me on the blowup bed, is sipping tea as we travel along. “We learned real quick how disgusting close quarters can be.” He’s a quiet soul, but observant, and honestly I really enjoy his company. Anyone who can weather over a decade of rock and roll and come out as calm as him deserves some sort of recognition. “It’s much better now. Mostly.” He smiles like it’s an inside joke, but won’t elaborate. Giselle and Taylor refuse to clarify what he means by that, May just laughs when I ask him, directing me back to ask Taylor and Giselle, and Mercury calls them all gossips.

It’s something about the tour lifestyle that must bring out the childishness in them all, which comes out strongly during dinner. They shove my blowup bed into the sleeping quarters when dinner is served, and the five of us manage to cram into the tiny booth the bus allows. May, Deacon and Giselle are in charge of cooking dinner, sausages, potatoes, and peas, since apparently Prenter and Mercury have taken lunch duties, and Roger has put himself in charge of getting coffee and tea for everyone in the morning.

“We should really eat breakfast.” Giselle muses through half a mouthful of food.

“I do!” Deacon, next to me, comes back with, pouring some more peas onto his plate.

“You just eat cereal from the box, Deaky, that’s not breakfast.” Taylor counters him, which just causes the rest of the table to devolve into an argument about what counts as breakfast. Prenter, who has joined us for the meal, looks like he’d rather be napping or still driving, and makes quiet work of his meal.

Roger Taylor goes to sleep after me, and wakes up before I do, and I’m not sure how he does it. Or where he sleeps, the other beds seem taken. He wakes me up on the first morning by shoving my bed, which slides a few centimeters, but isn’t about to fall off it’s perch.

“You want coffee?” I’m barely functioning at this point, and his question baffles me. “Tea? Coffee? Deaky’s cereal? We got some left over sausages.” He lists off, probably due to my clear confusion, he seems exasperated, even though he’s definitely wearing pyjamas too. He’s still scowling a little when I tell him how I like my coffee, but he doesn’t complain, and it tastes exactly like I like it when he hands it over. The bus is stationary, so he can put the cups by the bedsides of those they are for, but interestingly enough he joins me on the table/bed. 

I know the origin story of Queen, I think everyone does at this point, so I ask him instead about the subject of my article; how Queen got involved with Giselle.

“You wanna know how I met Giselle?” It’s not exactly what I asked, but he’s already thinking about it, looking past me to the sleeping quarters with a frown. He plays absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, and with the ring attached to it. “I thought everyone knew about that, the whole thing where we hated each other from the start?” When I ask if it was true, he actually laughs, though it’s more a snort of derision, if I’m being honest. “Of course not. Mostly.” They all seem to like that word, I hadn’t taken them all to be vague.

“I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” Giselle will clarify for me later that day, joining me as I take a smoke break at one of our bathroom stops, not that there isn’t a toilet on the bus, they just try to avoid using it as much as possible. She doesn’t smoke, claims she never has, but enjoys the company, while the boys are buying snacks at the gas station. I ask when it was, she gives me another thin smile, but not like it had been in the office. Here it’s the punctuation to an earlier joke rather than a judgement.

She tells me about how she actually met them all, recording her second album, after her 1972 performance on Top of the Pops, you know the one. It had cemented Giselle’s now iconic aesthetic of an off the shoulder, floor length sequinned gown, silk gloves, and bold red lipstick, dark hair falling victory curls, the whole look reminiscent of an old Hollywood star, though there was red glitter trailing from her lips, and on her gloves in a theatrical fabrication of blood. It had been a look inspired by her musical roots, and the theatricality of the then-popular glam rock, a movement which would inspire many of Mercury’s tour looks also.

She was twenty-one at the time, still “developing her persona”, when she found that the in-house recording equipment at EMI was being used by the then-still quite unknown Queen. Or rather, according to Giselle, just Taylor.

“He was packing up the last of his equipment, and he makes a pass at me, thinks I’m an intern.” We can see the boys leaving the gas station, Taylor himself heading the pack. “So yeah, told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” She laughs, seems to hold the memory quite dear. “That b******d has the gall to look me in the eyes and ask who I am.”

“Did he know who you were?” When I look at her, she’s still smiling, tipping her head to the side as the boys draw close. She seems to be paying attention to me, but not a lot.

“Yeah, told me later he was just pissed I didn’t throw myself at him. That’s why I said that, ‘they should be so lucky’ thing, actually, that motherf****r right there.” The way she says it, raising her finger to point at him, makes me think it’s a story she’s told before, one that he knows about.

“You talking about me?” Taylor yells, and Giselle is quick to answer that she is. “Don’t spill all my secrets.” It sounds like an order, but his smile says it’s not, it’s weirdly playful, a dynamic I didn’t expect from them, especially considering their history. I raise the point. She laughs at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” 

Prenter calls for everyone on the bus, and Giselle doesn’t think to clarify once we’re back on board. 

The tour, I should have mentioned earlier, is a double feature; Queen is promoting their album Hot Space, while Giselle is promoting her own, The Bend Before the Break. When I ask her about the album itself, she talks happily about a few of the songs, however when I bring up my personal favourites, Ache and Heaven Sent, she turns very quiet.

I will end up watching most of her performances, and to this day, I have never seen something as raw and spiritual as Giselle performing Ache.

The lights dim as the joyful Meant to Be finishes. On the studio recording, a double bass starts the song, long, grieving and angry notes that pick up in tempo as it’s joined by drums and a piano, and finally, her voice, low, bitter and seductive in equal measure. Here, there’s silence, as she gently croons the open lines, face illuminated by only a single gold light, as swirling red and purple lights move about the stage. 

While saying you were sorry, / you burned me from the outside, in. / Now I’m calloused all over, / And too tired to feel the sting. / But I feel the ache, / feel the ache / feel the ache. / I’ll still let you back in.

She plays the piano herself for this song, a skill, I later learn Mercury had taught her many years ago. It’s a song that tugs at your gut, gets you thinking about how you keep people in your life who aren’t the best for you. She ends the last chorus with a long, mournful wail that you feel in your bones. 

I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet as when she finishes Ache, the penultimate song of her set list, unless you count encores.

The final song of the night is always Heaven Sent, a bright, headbanging anthem with the musical gravitas of a full jazz band. It was her single from the album, it topped most charts. You know the one. The radio won’t stop playing it.

Divinity with a neon glow / it hung above his head, / promoting his next show. / Didn’t even try to find my light, / just the darkness he’d bestow. / Heaven sent me the Morningstar.

“I was cheated on.” Was all she will say about the songs.

The others steer clear of those songs as well, when talking about the album, as well as the titular song, The Bend Before the Break, though Giselle claims she has moved on from the feelings associated in all three songs.

“I wrote them first on the album, I’ve moved on.”

Each of the boys seems very protective of Giselle at times, though Taylor is by far the worst. If I’m being honest, was weird to me, they’d been at each other’s throats publicly and professionally for almost a full decade after Giselle’s initial comment, however the vitriol had died down in the past few years, so I enquire about that about halfway through the six week tour. 

“We set them up.” May is the first to answer, sipping tea with myself, Deacon and Mercury. Since both Giselle and Taylor adjourned to the sleeping quarters. I ask him what he means.

“They tell it better.” Mercury interjects, but May argues that they’re asleep anyways so it’s not like it matters. Deacon agrees with Mercury, but quiet enough that May ignores him.

“So by ‘79, we’ve collaborated together, us and ‘Zelle, I mean,” the nickname is mostly used by May and Taylor, though Deacon uses it on occasion, “a couple of times, and we love her, right boys? We love her-” looking around, both Mercury and Deacon are nodding along, responding to a story they’d both heard before, though it was interesting for my first time hearing it, “but Rog is about ready to stab her with his drumsticks, but that’s just how he is.”

“Threatened to stab me once.” Deacon adds the unnerving information with complete serenity, focused on his cup.

“Me a couple of times.” Mercury shakes his head, as if it were some schoolboy prank rather than a stabbing threat.

“Like I said, just how he is. So we decide to send them to a place where they can bond over complaining about everything else, apart from each other.” I asked how it worked out for them and I watch as their faces fall. This terrible blind date idea must have gone horribly. “They hate the restaurant, which is good, but he goes to leave and bumps the table, spilling beer all over her dress, which is bad,” well, obviously. He pays me no mind, “and she elbows him in the face when she’s putting her jacket on - still don’t know how that one happened - but he still says he’ll take her home because it’s late, except-”

“To preface,” Deacon jumps in here, adding a little more milk to his tea, “she hates I’m In Love With My Car.” The song? Deacon nods. “Rog wrote it.” I can connect the dots, but I’m still confused as to how that lead to them being friends.

“Friends.” Mercury actually laughs into his cup.

“He takes her home anyways, she tells him the song’s s**t bu the sentiment wasn’t far off.” May finishes, shrugging.

“It was a real nice car.” Deacon shrugged, before looking straight at me. “And she still hates the song to this day.” There’s an air of finality to his words that is entirely unwarranted. That isn’t the point of the story; how are they friends now? Did they hook up in his car? Is that what they’re implying, I feel like such a gossip asking these questions.

“Did they ho- ? Yeah, of course.” May laughs, and though it clears some things up, I’m still rather confused. It’s probably reading on my face, because it looks like something else is dawning on him. “You know they’re married, right?”

No. No I did not know. Now I feel like an idiot.

I wonder if The Bend Before the Break is about Taylor? I can sense I’ve touched a nerve when I ask, and Mercury abruptly changes the subject, though the air still doesn’t feel right. When I head back through the sleeping area to get a new pen from my luggage, I catch a glimpse of Giselle napping in her bunk, Taylor too, asleep with his arm around her. She’s even wearing a wedding ring. I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner. The chain with the ring around Taylor’s neck makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

For the next four days I feel like I’m being shunned, I’m the last to be told about dinner and have to eat the leftovers, Giselle barely says two words to me, Taylor just keeps glowering, and someone let the air out of my bed on the second night. It’s childish, but it’s in line with what I expect from them, regarding this sort of issue, I’m just glad Taylor hasn’t poured my coffee on me in my sleep, or spat in it. He just didn’t make it, which I suppose is probably the safest option for me.

The only apology I can think of is to offer to buy them all drinks, but it works well enough, and the next morning I wake to a fresh cup of coffee, and a very hungover Taylor. At least he’s dedicated to his job.

The rest of the tour passes without further incident. I still stand by Ache as one of my favourite musical performances of the decade, though I don’t mention it to Giselle, and now that I know the dynamic between her and Taylor, I can’t stop seeing it. Honestly, readers, they’re all over each other, which is expected from a man of Taylor’s reputation, but it’s still a little jarring to see the two of them so cozy. I must have been blind not to see it before.

When we part ways, Giselle is a little stiff with me.

“You brought up some feelings that I just... hadn’t actually dealt with at the time, which f******d me up.” She tells me in retrospect, sitting in my office with the rest of the boys in 1985. Live Aid was a few weeks ago, and since they all returned to the spotlight, I asked if they wanted to come and reflect on the past few years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that Giselle still swears like a sailor.

“A lot’s happened in the past few years.” Taylor’s still very protective of her, and after everything that’s conspired, at least from what I know, it’s warranted. We talk about the band splitting, how it had hurt the band as a whole, and even Giselle, who was at the time seeing a counsellor with Taylor. I’m hesitant to broach the topic of their relationship, though they seem like a solid until now, sitting before me, holding hands and leaning against one another.

I ask if Giselle’s breakdown was due to the band splitting, though I’m hesitant if I’ll get a response. Her smile is sad, which is mirrored by the rest of the band. I can guess her response before she says it.

“No.”

You all know the moment I’m talking about, the last concert for her last album, as of this publication, Finally, Sunlight where she had receive pleas from the audience for an encore. When she came back out, part of her makeup had been smudged around her eyes, and you can hear her sniffle over the microphone. (”I’m so sorry, I lost someone close to me, I thought I could keep it together for one night.” Dabbing at her eyes, she sits at the piano and laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “But I’ve got five more minutes left in me, let’s go, Atlanta.”) The song she plays is Somebody to Love, a slow, soulful cover, and the audience is almost unanimous in their raised lighters and slow swaying. As she goes on, she just starts crying harder, missing notes, hands shaking; the extended ‘Looooord’ before the chanting becomes a desperate wail, a plea to the heavens, and she collapses onto the piano, sobbing audibly as the instruments all come to uncertain halt and lighters go down in confusion.

From the crowd, a single voice begins to chant ‘Find me somebody to love. / Find me somebody to love.’ and a single voice turns to a theatre, full to the brim, as they sing when she can’t, still crying against the piano. Lighters go up, and together the audience and the band finishes the song where words have failed her. It was televised locally on the night, and still brings me to tears when I watch it now.

“We lost our daughter.” 

For those of you reading this who are shocked, I am too. Sitting there like a fool, not saying anything. 

“I was on tour, and Rog was at home with her,” even now, Giselle is getting a little teary-eyed, not that I blame her. Both Taylor and Mercury have an arm around her, and May has a hand on her shoulder, Deacon sitting on the back of the sofa right behind her. A unit. A family. “I wanted to go home, she was getting really sick, and I know he was doing everything he could, but I just- I wanted to be there... but my label threatened to sue me for... millions.” It sounds like it’s hard to say, and she’s wiping a tear from her eyes. I offer her the tissues on my desk. “But I should have gone home. I should have been there by her side, I should have done more.” Taylor whispers something to her and she leans against him, taking comfort in him.

“I had to call her, tell her that... that she’d passed. The day of the show. She’d been so upset for week, ‘Zelle that is, and everything just-” Taylor manages to get a great handle on his emotions, despite his misty eyes and shaking hands. “We’re alright now though, see? Nothing can tear us apart.” Though his voice does drop, so I think he’s saying it more for Giselle’s benefit. I give them all time to collect themselves, stop to get hot drinks for everyone, and everyone finally seems happy enough to answer when I ask what’s next for them.

“Music, of course.” Mercury says, now holding what was Giselle’s free hand. The rest of the gathered musicians agree. I ask if we’ll be hearing any sort of collaboration between Queen and the Queen of Jazz Rock. Taylor snickers, pulling Giselle close.

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” He ignores the rest of the men’s shouts of disgust, as well as his wife’s own gagging noise, which I can see on her face she regrets as she covers her mouth with caution, before giving the okay. 

“No, we’re okay, we’re good.” She assures everyone, before looking at me. “What he meant to say is that I’m pregnant.” She clarifies. Taylor is still grinning. 

“Don’t be gross, Rog.” May calls from the other side of the sofa, and Taylor has the gall to look accosted.

“What’s next for me, after everything that’s happened, is family.” Giselle says over the sounds of her husband’s indignant huffs, though his expression turns soft at her words, and they ignore the ‘boo’s of everyone else as they kiss.

“Could you be less gross around company?” Deacon asks, still mild-mannered as ever. This seems to be the cue for the interview to end, as Taylor of Giselle-

“It’s Giselle Taylor, by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t corrected you earlier.” She corrects me now, as [Roger] Taylor leads her out of the door. The rest of the band seem mildly exasperated at their antics, but still ready to answer my questions. After everything that’s happened, I’m a little overwhelmed, I’m not sure where to go from here.

Perhaps my next article will be on Live Aid.

[hermannsthumb]

Because I am in a mood for horrible things, what do you think of Hermann getting to close to uncovering the truth so Precursor possessed Newt seduces him into bed as a distraction? Bonus if the Precursors taunt Hermann about it later.

i know this ask is from like. august. but i literally filled this ages ago and FOR SOME REASON....NEVER POSTED IT UP. looking over it now it’s definitely because right after i wrote it i was like :( no bonus unfortunately thatd probably kill me to write

so im editing it a little bit but....here is one of the only uprising compliant fics ive ever written LOL (also the “play with your test tubes” line is ripped literally directly from the novelization. which i never bothered to read bc i hated the film but i have some Choice bits saved via a friend. like the test tubes line) rated E/18+ below cut

There’s something off about Newton.

Newton’s always been vain. He always did his hair up with too much product and wore jeans a bit too tight and stressed and fretted over even the smallest wrinkle, but he never wore suits like this before, never kept himself so perfectly shaven, never kept his waist so trim. He’s lost his soft edges, the glasses that used to frame his face so nicely. He’s colder, too—colder to strangers, colder to Hermann. They fought in the past, of course, argued incessantly, took petty jabs at each other’s disciplines, but Newton never outright refused to discuss research with Hermann before.

Hermann’s research won’t matter, Newton says, his drones will make this obsolete, Hermann’s wasting his time, Hermann shouldn’t bother.

It’s been a decade, Hermann knows, people change in a decade, Hermann himself has changed in a decade (Hermann’s a little lonelier, a little sadder, a little more spontaneous, a little messier), but there’s something off. Something wrong. Hermann can’t quite place it. Hermann—

“You should come ‘round for dinner,” Newton says. His demeanor has changed, so subtly—all business before, but now, he’s standing close, eyelids half-mast, lips curled into a lazy smile. “We could catch up. Talk about that experiment of yours. Play with your—” Newton casts a little glance at the door, then takes a step forward, drags a finger down Hermann’s chest, “—test tubes.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, mouth hanging open, and something is very wrong, but it’s been so long since he’s made love to Newton, so long since he’s been the subject of Newton’s raw desire, some ten long, long years spent without Newton’s kisses and Newton’s touch. “Ah. I.”

Newton drags his finger lower, skimming over the fastening Hermann’s trousers, and Hermann’s knees threaten to buckle. “Mm?”

“Dinner,” Hermann stammers. “Dinner would be lovely, Newton.”

“Tomorrow night,” Newton says, snapping his hand away, and he’s as brisk and businesslike as he was before. “I’ll have my people pick you up when you’re done with—” He waves his hand at the mess of Hermann’s lab and wrinkles his nose. “This. Yeah?”

“Alright, Newton,” Hermann says, heart pounding. “Thank you.” He nearly cringes at the words before they leave his mouth—how weak, how pathetic Newton must see him, grovelling like a desperate ex-lover for the slightest bit of attention. (Is he an ex-lover?)

“And, uh, wear something nice,” Newton says, looking Hermann up and down skeptically. Hermann’s hands go to his collar immediately, smoothing over it, self-conscious; he quite likes this shirt. He thought Newton would’ve liked it, which is why he wore it today in the first place. Newton doesn’t notice, just slips his sunglasses back on. He’s gone with a little wave and without a second glance.

Newton’s people pick Hermann up exactly as Newton promised the following night. He sends a big, fancy car, far more extravagant than anything either of them have owned in their entire lives, with a minibar in the back. The driver tells Hermann Dr. Geiszler insists Hermann make himself comfortable, have as many drinks as he’d like. “Why couldn’t Dr. Geiszler be here, then?” Hermann says, politely refusing the man’s attempts to take his suit coat for him.

The driver doesn’t answer.

He gets shown to the front of Newton’s condo complex, gets instructed to the right room, and then he’s riding the elevator up and standing in front of Newton’s door. He almost can’t bring himself to knock. “It’s unlocked,” Newton calls from inside as Hermann raises his hand, almost like he can sense Hermann. Perhaps some strings of their neural link remain, frayed and weakened by time though they may be. “Come on in.”

Hermann pushes open the door. Newton’s condo is far too extravagant, far too elegant for Hermann’s and Newton’s tastes, marble countertops and windows the size of walls, but that’s not what makes Hermann nearly stumble, grip his cane hard, makes him say “Newton?” in surprise.

There’s candles lit on what’s presumably the dining table, the counters, the coffee table, and Newton’s leaning against the table with a glass of wine and in a very sheer robe. It’s more like lingerie than anything. There’s absolutely nothing beneath it. Hermann snaps his eyes up, and Newton sets his glass down. “Hermann,” he says, and swoops in, throws his arms over Hermann’s shoulders. He’s so warm, so close, and it’s so much after nothing for so long, and Hermann very nearly gasps when Newton presses their lips together in a kiss.

“Newton,” Hermann repeats, feeling vaguely foolish, because he’d been hoping the night would go like this but didn’t by any means expect it, “what are you—that is—?”

Newton flutters his eyelashes prettily. “I wanted to dress up for you,” he says, and wraps his fingers around Hermann’s neat tie.

“I wanted to talk about my research,” Hermann says weakly. “We—”

Newton rubs his hips against Hermann’s, bare skin on fabric. Newton’s already hard, the head of his prick flushed red. (This isn’t right, Hermann thinks, something isn’t right with Newton, but oh, Newton is so handsome, so lovely, only more so with age, with the grey at his temples and the little lines at the corners of his eyes that Hermann wants nothing more than to kiss over and over. Hermann should’ve been there to watch him grow old.) “Research?” Newton says. He gives an exaggerated pout. Purposefully silly. It’s more like the Newton Hermann remembers. “That’s boring, man, come on.”

“I suppose—ah.” Newton leans back in and runs his tongue along Hermann’s lower lip, rubs his prick at the front of Hermann’s trousers again, and Hermann’s brain feels fuzzy.

“Come sit,” Newton says in his ear, and he threads the fingers of his right hand with Hermann’s left and tugs him forward. Hermann lets Newton pull him to the sofa and sit him down, lets him set his cane aside delicately, and then Newton settles himself down atop Hermann’s lap. “Hermann,” he sighs, nosing at Hermann’s neck, “I missed you so much, honey. I’ve been so lonely without you.” He picks up one of Hermann’s hands and slides it across his chest, just over one of his nipples, and rubs his prick against the front of Hermann’s nice dress shirt. He lowers his voice. “Do you still remember how I like to be touched?”

Of course Hermann remembers. He remembers how to draw sighs from Newton, gasps of pleasure, how to take him apart until he’s trembling in Hermann’s arms and breathing out pledges of love. He wonders if Newton remembers how to do the same for him. Hermann brushes his thumb over the nipple presented so readily in front of him and feels Newton shiver. “Newt,” he croaks (he came to talk about business, about his research), “I really could use your input on my work. Ah.” Newton worries Hermann’s earlobe between his teeth. “You see. Newton. Ah. It’s not quite finished, you see—”

“Mm-hmm?” Newton hums, working open Hermann’s top few buttons. Hermann can’t help but rub his thumb over the same nipple once more and elicit another little shiver of pleasure.

“The equation,” Hermann says, as Newton kisses his throat and Hermann strains in his trousers, “I’m missing—” Newton takes his other hand, pushes it under the fabric of the little sheer robe and down his lower back, down to the curve of his ass, and Hermann lets out a deep groan. “Oh, Newton…”

“C’mon,” Newton says, and bites at his earlobe again. “We can talk after.” He’s grinning. Hermann’s too entranced by him to do anything but nod.

Newton takes him to bed, then, to his ridiculous, absurd, oversized bed, pushes Hermann down and rides him fast, doesn’t even bother to take Hermann’s shirt off fully and leaves Hermann’s trousers bunched around his knees, cries and begs and tells Hermann how much he missed him, how much he’s wanted him for so long.

(“Why didn’t you call,” Hermann snarls, gripping Newton’s thighs hard enough to leave red half-moons against his inked skin, “why didn’t you email, or text, or—”)

(It’s the best orgasm Hermann’s had in ten years.)

“Stay the night,” Newton says later, propped up on his elbow and idly tracing across Hermann’s jaw with his finger. “I’ll make everything up to you, starting tomorrow.”

There’s a curtain covering something in the corner of Newton’s bedroom, something big, something Hermann hadn’t noticed in his previous haze of lust, and Hermann can’t stop staring. He doesn’t like it. “Newton, love,” Hermann begins.

“I’ll actually make dinner,” Newton continues, not noticing Hermann’s discomfort. Perhaps ignoring it. He nips at Hermann’s throat. “Whatever you want. Or we could go out somewhere fancy. There’s a place—”

“What is that?” Hermann points at the curtain.

Newton steals a little kiss. “Forget about that rocket fuel,” he says, lips brushing against Hermann’s. “I don’t want you hurting yourself. Or worse. I mean, what would I do without you, Hermann?”

Hermann tears his eyes away from the curtain, his chest clenching painfully. Ten years of radio silence from Newton. “You seem to be faring pretty well without me,” he spits out, bitter.

Newton straddles Hermann’s waist again, pressing kisses to his neck once more. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ve just been so busy, Hermann, and stressed, it wasn’t on purpose, I’d never blow you off like that on purpose.” He rubs their noses together. “I love you.”

Hermann wraps his arms around Newton, holding him in place. Newton has been busy, he supposes, and stressed, which would explain why he’s been so odd, so distant. He still makes love the same—vocal, enthusiastic, eager to please Hermann and be pleased in return—still kisses the same, still touches Hermann the same. He’s still the man Hermann loves. “I know,” Hermann sighs. He kisses the top of Newton’s head. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite be able to forgive Newton for all those years, but he’s certainly willing to start something new.

“Forget about the fuel?” Newton says.

Hermann really could hurt himself with ill-advised experiments with kaiju blood. (Besides: Newton’s concern is proof Newton still cares about his well-being.) “Alright, Newton,” Hermann says, unable to help his smile, and Newton steals another little kiss.

“Stay the night,” Newton insists once more. “I’ll cook breakfast.”

Newton’s bed is comfortable. Newton is even more comfortable. Hermann nods.

It’s good to have Newton back.