#let me tell you wearing a binder and walking in this heat did NOT mix

[area51-escapee]

Went to San Antonio today :)

[seacottons]

uni!au with ateez — [ part one ]

—[ san - performing arts ]

ironically, you met when you helped him after a taller male shoved him down whilst in a heated argument.

he burst out laughing when you asked if he was okay.

“don’t worry, we’re just practicing our lines!”

you quickly glanced up at the building and grimaced once taking sight of the gleaming silver ‘performing arts building’ plaque.

of course.

to say you were embarrassed was only scratching the surface.

you had no regrets, because the incident was the catalyst that formed your friendship and eventual relationship.

will never let you live that moment down.

“remember when you tried to save me from mingi?”

“i thought we promised not to bring that up again-”

“why can’t i? i was saved by an angel that day?”

san invites you to both his dance and theatre shows.

will appear to be very professional on stage, but you catch his eyes frantically darting to the crowd to try and spot you.

and once he does, he will repeatedly smile and wink in your direction.

you’re always early, so you manage to snag a seat in either front two rows.

likes when you bring him bouquets as a congratulation gift after his performances.

gets very loud backstage just to let everyone know you bought him a gift.

a huge show-off.

is very good at facial expressions.

you fall for every time he pretends he’s crying or hurt when you don’t give him attention.

he will imitate different characters and repeat after actors while you two watch movies together.

“it sounded sexier when i said it, right (y/n)?”

is a very clingy cuddle bug.

and a leech.

will always have his arms around you while walking at campus.

loves to give you back hugs.

is the type to wait outside for you until you finish class.

and takes you to the cafeteria afterwards for lunch.

embarrasses you in said cafeteria by spinning the lunch tray while waiting in line.

also likes to spin your phone just to freak you out.

also the type to excitedly text you about the donuts and coffee they’re giving away at the library’s breezeway.

likes to refer to you as ‘angel’.

will beg you join the different clubs he’s in.

and then brag about you to the others once you do.

will hype your choice of attire even if he’s already seen you earlier that day.

the type to also sneak you a latte in the middle of your class.

also the type to sneak in with you during your auditorium classes.

you regret it sometimes because he leaves no room for you to pay attention to your professor.

often times, so much so that you have to lightly pinch his side in protest.

“do you want me to fail this class?”

he likes to participate in the many events held at campus.

everyone knows him.

challenges you to dance offs in the middle of campus.

you refuse and push forward a startled mingi instead.

“mingi wants to have a turn this time!”

also likes to lay in your arms whilst you play with his hair.

“were you a cat in your previous life?”

he will then proceed to meow in your ear.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

—[ hongjoong - fashion design ]

dating him would consist of always admiring his new projects.

supplying him with unhealthy amounts of coffee.

trying out new pieces he made.

offering to carry his overly large portfolio binder sometimes.

sitting down and listening to him rant about how his roomates fail to wash clothes properly.

he has a guide taped to the washing machine with the different symbols of clothing labels.

“no, san, you can’t use shampoo as detergent.”

“but seonghwa finished all the detergent!”

using seonghwa’s lint rollers to remove all the fabric fibers stuck on hongjoong’s clothes.

you scold him while cleaning the bleeding scratches on his fingers from his sewing needles and pins.

“don’t worry, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

“but i don’t like seeing you get hurt, you bum.”

you bought him strawberry bandaids because he thought they were cute.

sometimes, when he has time, he’ll custom make clothes just for you.

he insists on having multiple matching outfits.

will ask you to model his work for his social media page.

thinks you look best in skirts.

you’ll be the source of comfort during presentation week.

he’ll be a wreck whilst making a new collection.

but you’re always there to pick him back up.

most of the time, you’re the source of his inspiration as well.

you insist he shouldn’t sit for hours writing essays or sketching numerous ideas for future work.

but he’s stubborn as a mule.

nights with him include binge watching fashion shows or cute cartoons.

or painting your nails.

you both enjoy coffee dates when you have time.

he tells you he wants to open a fashion line one day.

you’re trying to stand still as he plucks numerous pins into the dress you’re trying on.

“what do you think i should call it?”

“hj couture? does that sound too basic?”

he pauses momentarily before spooling the leftover red thread.

“(y/n). i’ll call the line (y/n).”

—[ wooyoung - culinary arts ]

invites you to his dorm and cooks for you.

his apartment always smells of warm spices and comforting meals.

pretends his roommates’ teasing doesn’t affect him, but the tips of ears always glow red.

will always bring over leftovers he made in class.

“i just thought you wanted to try this mille feuille.”

“which one is better? the salted rosemary loaf or the oregano and olive oil one?”

loves to bake and cook with you.

will make your birthday cake from scratch and will go all out decorating it.

has an annoying habit of taking pictures of you mid-bite.

“delete that right now.”

“but babe, you look so cute.”

“jung wooyoung!”

will wrestle with you as you attempt to take his phone away.

“okay, look! i swear i’ll delete it!”

he saves it in a hidden folder.

calls you his ‘cupcake’ or ‘sugarplum’.

teases you nonstop when you fail at something in the kitchen.

“babe! no! gentle folds! you pulverized those poor blueberries!”

“but the instructions say to mix!”

“the dough isn’t supposed to be blue!”

he’ll whine nonstop about how much he hates baking bread in class.

“do you know how abnoxiously long the fermentation process is!? i’m losing my mind.”

will wave and yell your name to catch your attention if he spots you nearby at campus.

you hear him every time.

he’s just that loud.

drags you to new restaurants just so you can rate them with him.

also drags you to go cutlery shopping.

accidentally dropped a plate in the store.

and when the employee came sauntering in the aisle suspiciously-

“(y/n) did it.”

once gave you food poisoning by accident.

you never wanted to eat scallops again.

you don’t mind his hands smelling like garlic or ginger most of the time.

or stained with spices.

“turmeric is a bitch.”

“woo, who wears white while cooking with turmeric anyway?”

will show off and brag about his knife skills.

demands to race with you to see who can chop the vegetables the quickest.

“you’re going down, (y/n).”

“uh- i don’t think i ever stood a chance to begin with.”

he lets you win sometimes though.

will beg you to visit him at his part time job at the cute cafe not too far by.

you always try to when you have the time.

and when he finds out you went to the rival cafe across the street one day..

“on a scale of 10 to 10, how bad is kang yeosang’s cooking?”

“what?”

“answer the question, (y/n).”

“woo, it’s 3 a.m.”

the next day, you explained that you were merely invited by your classmates to that particular cafe because one of them was a former employee there.

he childishly ignored you with crossed arms and a subtle pout.

“your jajangmyeon is much better. they didn’t even like the food there!”

he finally perks up with a large smile.

“wait, really?”

you think he looks endearing with his apron and chef’s hat.

will post cheesy captioned pictures of you after serving you delicately decorated plates of food.

‘two delicious meals for tonight, hehe.’

“gross. did you really have to say that?”

—[ jongho - kinesiology ]

you met him at the university gym and instantly clicked.

found yourself months later agreeing to go out with him.

a giant goofball.

sometimes makes faces at you while you exercise across the gym.

makes sure you watch him when he deadlifts.

loves when you hype him up.

opens all the jars for you.

and cuts all the fruit for you.

“why use a knife when you have my hands, love?”

you nearly choked on your saliva when he punched open the watermelon.

“can we ever just have a perfectly sliced watermelon!?”

“no- unless i break my arm one day.”

insists you jog with him around campus early in the morning.

likes to practice wrapping elastic tape on you.

you own half of his hoodies.

takes you to watch basketball matches.

then challenges you to a match when you go on dates to the park.

will persistently tease you about your poor aim.

and will absolutely not let you have the ball for more than a few seconds.

“stop cheating!”

“i’m not cheating! you just suck!”

joined you in some of your elective classes.

will also wear sleeveless shirts because he knows how flustered you get while his sculpted muscles are on display.

“what did professor kim just say?”

“what?” you tore your gaze from his biceps to glance at his face.

“are you staring at my arms again?” he snickers.

“no,” you say too quickly, face heating quite considerably.

despite his teasing, he’ll always baby you and take care of your needs.

has the cutest gummy smile.

you like to call him your gummy bear.

he hated the name at first, but grew to accept it over time.

likes to randomly pick you up.

sometimes will throw you over his shoulder.

has a habit of patting your thighs.

sometimes asks you to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

your eye bulged at the sight of a mop of ruby hair.

“don’t say anything.”

“you like apples so much you dyed your hair red?”

“i lost a bet.”

“you look cute though.”

you tugged at his tresses, smiling as you admired the shade against his tanned skin.

“baby?” you brushed his bangs away to display his forehead.

“hm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye.”

“i’m-,” he sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, face scrunching in a mock grimace, “i’m going to throw up.”

[toysoldiers-rwby]

How did May come out as trans to Winter? Also I love Show Your Teeth and your art is gorgeous please keep up the outstanding work :3

Thank you! My art style is a really weird combination of line and lineless so I worry people dont like it sometimes lol. Sorry this took awhile, I wanted to answer it as a short fic.

Winter was always the lead in everything. Even her sister's tenth birthday party. There were whispers around the room that May ignored. It was stupid comments by adults who knew didn't know her. They barely knew where the fuck their money comes from and didn't have the balls to say it again as the music stopped and the Schnee sisters took a deep bow to finish their dance.

May stood at the side, little ways from her annoying cousin and family. After she embarrassed Henry, they only brought May for show.

Like how the Schnees dragged their protegee eldest around.

Winter walked to their usual spot before her eyes even focused on her. "Eyes up, Marigold," Winter said with a smirk.

May glared hard, the heat in her face a mix of anger and embarrassment. "What are you wearing?" She said, hating the natural low tones of her voice. It took months to perfect her octave but she couldn't use it in public... not even Winter.

The Schnee stared at her with a condescending raised brow. Silence was louder in the right context and this one screamed 'idiot, oblivious' and 'baited.'

"A suit," Winter brushed imaginary dust off her flat chest. May looked back up at that smirk. Winter was gifted in every way May wished she was. Especially in terms of body. They were only teenagers but it was obvious Winter was going to grow into a beautiful women while May...

May growled, glaring at the floor and glancing away.

Winter invaded her brooding space, arms crossed over that flat chest. "It's weird," May said.

"And I should care what a silver medal thinks," Winter said with a roll of her eyes. May clenched her fist.

"The only reason you won was because of stupid technicality!" May quietly yelled. Their last tournament was suppose to be a draw. The buzzer rang as they both lunged, rapiers bending into their protective armor at the same time.

Only May's foot was a bit off. The few inches in height she had over Winter used against her, deducting points and putting Winter in first.

"Then you should stop caring about it," Winter said with a shrug.

May's face was burning again, shoulders pinched. A few adults went silent around them, unsure if they should intervene or let the combat trained teenagers fight. They both glared at them, challenging the cowards to speak up. Almost immediately May's own family looked away, almost scared.

May scoffed and Winter sneered.

"A rematch without those stupid rules," May said. She was itching to get out of the suit. It was too tight around the wrong places and showed off what she knew she lacked.

Winter glanced towards the crowd, feet rolling to the balls of her heel-less shoes. Weiss was standing at the stairs, greeting guess with her mother who was nursing a cup of wine. Whitely was standing bored behind them.

"Come on," Winter said, giving May a light nudge and quickly ducking into the dark corners of the room. They laughed softly, pulling a hidden lever the and dashing into the servants corridors.

Finally free from her parents rule and Atlasian protocols, May pulled the tie loose and Winter undid the cuffs to move her arms around a little easier.

"Okay seriously, Schnee. How the fuck did you get your chest flat?"

"Compression, usually called a binder."

May licked her lips, staring at Winter's back. The girl looked good in everything but looked the best when she was confident. Which wasn't fair because she was too arrogant.

"Why would you hide-" May nearly bit her tongue off once she realized what she was saying. Stupid, Marigold. "I mean are boobs that much of a hassle?" She tried to joke.

Winter groaned eyes, shoulders finally slacking free from that Schnee image. "Strap watermelons to your chest and see how running feels."

"Sounds like a bet," May said with a laugh. For a moment she lost concentration, the low tones slipping a higher than 'normal.' May cleared her throat and nudged Winter. "Loser does whatever the winner tells them too."

"Fine. I won't be responsible if you get disowned,"

"Don't bribe me into losing, Schnee," May said with a smirk. With the servant corridors running hidden paths directly to each room, Winter lead them to the training room with just a few bad turns.

Luckily fencing equipment was fairly neutral. Downside it was completely ridiculous and made them both look like marshmallows. May giggled quietly in her mask. Somehow Winter managed to look good as a stupid marshmallow.

They took their places on the floor. May swung her rapier a few times. She never liked it but it was another class with the only rich kid her age. Henry would never count and he wasn't a fighter anyway.

"Ready to lose?"

"Don't tempt fate a second time, Marigold." Winter taunted an ungloved hand running the length of the training blade. "Ready when you- Hey!" Winter dodged back with an angry yell.

May laughed, openly and honestly, enjoying how her practiced high pitch bounced off the sound proof walls.

"Don't tempt fate, Schnee!" May yelled back. Winter scowled swinging her rapier hard against May's instead of the elegant and soft parry they were taught. May stepped back with each block, clicking her tongue and waving a finger. "For shame, Winter. Tis' not a barbaric cutlass". May said and ended by mimicking their teacher.

Their female teacher, near perfectly.

May stilled completely horrified. For a second she was happy the mask helmet thing completely covered her face. Then she hated it because Winter was laughing hard and shaking her head.

"Don't cheat!"

"You're not even fighting right!" May argued deflecting as much of Winter's swings as possible and straight up running with a laugh when Winter did an illegal lung and stab for her.

"I thought this was a fight without those 'stupid' rules," Winter taunted chasing. May smirked throwing her helmet at the Schnee and activating her semblance. Winter grunted, almost falling back as shock and impact hit her. Winter pulled off her helmet and threw it into the empty space May moved from. "Of course a Marigold would run and win by cheap shots."

May dropped her semblance nearly appearing inches from her face. Winter didn't scream, she never did but she did jump back rapier aimed for May's chest. May laughed, easily parrying, blade gliding down her blade and stabbing her hard in the chest.

Winter grunted falling back and rubbing the spot. "Ow... reinforcing it with Aura really was cheap."

"Only stupid people limit themselves," May mock. She held up a hand, offering to help Winter up. Winter only took it when she wanted to, good mood or no.

Winter looked at it, thinking for a moment. Then she stared hard into yellow eyes. "So what am I doing?"

May grinned, tapping the rapier against her shoulder. "I always wanted see you black hair but..." But May's heart suddenly twisted in pain. She watched as Winter removed the marshmallow fencing garb. She forgot about that... binder thing.

Winter looked back up May with a frown. "If you ruin my hair..."

"I'm not touching your hair princess. Even I'm not that evil," May drawled rolling her eyes. Winter... Winter wasn't like other Atlesians. She was better than the bullshit.

"Call me May and..." Treat me like a girl? May cringed at that thought. It didn't feel right but it was better than being called he. Or... Swallowed hard, throat flexing into her truly natural tone, "Don't call me guy. Not when it's just us."

"May Marigold, huh?" Winter said. She looked at the hand May held out for her. She smiled and took it, pulling hard. May gasped in her high pitch voice. She was suddenly sprawled on the ground next to the Schnee. "Nice to meet you."

"You're such an ass," May grumbled but playfully shoved her back.

tl;dr Winter and May skipped a party to play fight, but loser has to do whatever the winner demands. May asked to be called by her preferred names and pronouns.

[itsthesmolthings]

There Might be Something Outside Your Window, But You Just Never Know

The sun was setting, leaving long shadows all around the diner. Party Poison and Fun Ghoul were either in their rooms or on the roof looking at the stars- Kobra couldn’t quite tell. Jet Star sat across from Kobra Kid in the nicest booth in the diner, which wasn’t saying much because the diner never really got taken care of. The Girl was in her closet bedroom, probably drawing. The diner was very quiet, the only noise being the rustling of Jet shifting positions every now and then and the tapping of Kobra’s foot. He was feeling a little anxious, to be perfectly honest. The day was far too calm and he feared chaos would erupt from the cold night. On top of that, he bruised a rib and couldn’t wear his binder so dysphoria was eating away at him. 

“You okay, Kobe?” Jet Star asked, recognizing that his foot tapping was because of anxiety. 

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” Silence stretched on for a minute or two before Jet spoke again.

“You don’t seem fine, what’s bothering you?”

“Just a bit anxious, it’s nothing, really.”

“Can I ask what’s got you anxious?” Jet Star seemed genuinely concerned, so Kobra Kid decided to open up a little bit.

“The day was calm and I dunno, it feels like BLI might find us or somethin’. Probably just me being paranoid though. It’s nothing.” 

Yet again Jet paused before speaking. “That’s a valid concern, Kid, but nothing’s gonna happen, okay? We’ll be fine, and hey, if shit does go down you got us. Plus, BLI has got no clue where this diner is. We’ll be fine.”

The two killjoys sat in silence for who knows how long, until suddenly there was a tap on the window. Jet and Kobra’s heads whipped towards the sound, but there was nothing to be seen.

“Okay, okay, fuck, Jet we gotta go or something,” Kobra spluttered out as his heart sped up. Adrenaline started pumping through his veins and he jumped up out of his seat. “Go to the roof and look for the others, I’ll check rooms!”

Kobra Kid burst into the room he thought Party Poison and Fun Ghoul would be in, but there was no one. The window, however, hung open. 

Kobra ran out of the room towards the roof to find Jet Star. Jet was climbing back through the small window near the ceiling they used to get onto the roof of the diner. His foot was just barely on the first crate he hauled himself onto in order to reach the window. 

“Jet! The window is open in Party’s room, I think they got taken or something, we gotta look for them!” 

“Shit okay, I’ll look around here, go to Dr Death’s and get some help.” Jet Star looked properly panicked at this point, and Kobra Kid could feel his heart racing in his chest, feeling as though it might collapse. 

Kobra ran out the front door of the dinner and around to the back to find his motorcycle missing. Tire tracks illuminated by the last of the sun’s light went around a sand dune. Kobra Kid sprinted towards the dune, hoping the thief wasn’t too far away and that his brother and Ghoul were okay.

The tracks curved around the dune and there lay Kobra’s bike. It was still warm, and not too far away was a shrub where he found Party Poison and Fun Ghoul hiding and laughing their asses off.

Kobra tried to choke out something like, “you motherfuckers,” but his throat would not cooperate. Party Poison saw him and recognized what was going on and instantly ran over to their younger brother. 

“Kobe, Kobe, it’s okay, it’s okay, we were just playing a little prank, I’m so fucking sorry.” Party Poison put their arms around Kobra Kid and squeezed, but not too tight. Fun Ghoul, still laughing about the prank, half jogged half walked over. 

“Why did you guys do that?” Kobra Kid finally managed to say. “That wasn’t fucking nice!” Fun Ghoul’s expression changed from amusement to guilt. 

“I’m sorry Kid, shit, I didn’t realize it would hurt ya.” Fun Ghoul went to mess up Kobra’s hair, but Party Poison shot him a glance that screamed I will fucking kill you if you touch him right now so he refrained. 

Jet Star, scared half to death, came running around the dune and stopped suddenly. “Party? Ghoul? Kobra? I thought… I thought something happened?” Jet Star’s terrified expression quickly changed to confusion and then to concern when he saw Party Poison hugging Kobra Kid. “What the fuck happened?”

“Well, Party and I, we were just having fun right? And I got the idea to like, fucking hide Kobra’s motorcycle and like, laugh with Party when Kobra freaked out. We snuck out Party’s window so you guys wouldn’t see us and ask us shit, and I dunno, Kobra must have assumed the worst and thought we got ghosted or some shit. Regardless I am so fucking sorry.” Tears started welling up in Fun Ghoul’s eyes as he realized how much he hurt Kobra Kid with his prank. 

“Dude, Kobra thought BLI had gotten you and Party. You fucking terrified him. He’s had a rough day, it was a dick move to prank the Kid.” Jet Star smacked Fun Ghoul across the face hard enough to leave a red mark. “Don’t you fucking dare prank Kobra like that again. That was an asshole thing to do.”

“Let’s get back to the diner,” Party Poison said. “Ghoul, grab Kobe’s bike and bring it back please.” Party put his arm around Kobra Kid’s shoulders and guided him towards the diner. “I’m sorry Kobe, I promise we won’t prank you like that again,” he said to Kobra Kid. Fun Ghoul’s usual playfulness was entirely gone by this point and he looked ready to start sobbing. He never meant to hurt Kobra, he loved him, but he fucked up. 

They got back into the diner, and Party Poison walked Kobra back into his room to have some alone time to try to feel better. 

Party Poison turned to Fun Ghoul. “We fucked up. We gotta make it better. Go get some water from the rain collection, I’ll grab some tea.” With that, Poison disappeared into the kitchen and Ghoul walked out to the side of the diner to collect some water. Guilt was eating away at him, but he hoped Party Poison’s idea of making Kobra some tea would help him feel better. 

He carried the bucket they used to bring in water into the diner, where Party was mixing together various leaves and pouring them into a small bag they used for tea. “Make a fire on the stove, why don’t ya?” The stove in the kitchen was broken, so they had to make a fire to heat up water, but they didn’t mind. It could be nice, putting in the effort to make a fire. Fun Ghoul made the little campfire looking structure and pulled out his lighter he had found on a supply run months ago. It was black but he had painted it with some green and white to add some “flavor,” as Party Poison would say. He lit his structure and within about a minute he had a decent fire and placed the bucket over top of it to boil.

10 minutes later, the water was at a rolling boil. “Ay Party, it’s tea time!” Ghoul shouted, bringing Party Poison into the kitchen. He set the makeshift tea bag into a mug Cherri had left at the diner, and carefully poured the water over the tea bag. 

“Bring this to Kobra for me please. Tell him we’re sorry.” 

“Got it.” Fun Ghoul grabbed the mug and walked towards the room Kobra was in. When he entered the room, Kobra was sitting against the wall looking out the window. It had been shut by then, but he still only focused on it. “Hey, Kobes?” Ghoul began, “We’re sorry. Pois and I didn’t mean to hurt ya, we thought it would be a harmless prank, but I was an idiot. We fucked up and I’m sorry. Here, Pois thought you might like some tea.” 

Kobra looked at Ghoul, his eyes red and puffy. He lifted his hand, made it flat, touched his chin with his fingers, and brought his hand forwards. Thank you. 

“No problem, Kobes. I’m sorry for what we did. I hope you enjoy the tea.” With that, Ghoul handed the mug to Kobra Kid and left the room. Everything wasn’t made better by the small gesture, but it helped. By the end of the night, Kobra was feeling much better and the Four were back to enjoying time together. After, of course, Jet Star smacked Ghoul and Poison around a little bit as revenge.

[allmonstersxarehuman]

Fire meets fate

A/N: Oh Hi. This is a rewrite, I have a sample of a fic with the same name. Not to proud of it.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem! Reader 

Word Count: 2,379

Warning: Slow build up, light smut, Angst. I think that’s it.

Summary: Y/n worked for Tom, after things started to get heated things turn sour. A year later while out with friends he sees him and things start to again turn bad.

She let her body slightly move to the rhythm of the thumping music, the taste of sweet liquor clung to her lips. Y/n’s eyes roamed over the sea of sweaty bodies that occupied the club, one of the things she loved to do was watch the interactions and differences of the people who were intoxicated to the ones who were looking for a quick fuck. A loud shrill of girly voices broke her from the trance that she was in, she looked at the bodies that were connected to the voices and put on her best smile. “You always do this Y/n, how come you never want to just let loose and dance.” Y/n laughed at her group of friends as she took a sip of her beer. “You guys know exactly why. I’m fine, remember I am here to make sure you ladies don’t embarrass yourselves.” She teased giving the group a wink. The female knew that they would leave it alone, they knew it wasn’t smart to keep pushing her. Y/n gave them a smile, but that soon dropped when a pair of familiar brown eyes caught her attention, those damn eyes. Tom Holland. The man that kept her on edge, in the most deliciously horrible way. He had her wrapped around his finger and he knew it. She coughed shaking her head and excusing herself from the group and rushed into the bathroom and locking it behind her. Walking to the bathroom counter she gripped the marble and sighed trying to catch her breath, seeing him here wouldn’t have been a shock if she had known that he was going to be back in Los Angeles.

THE YEAR BEFORE:

Y/n started working for a company becoming an assistant it wasn’t ideal, it was a job that would help her towards her career as a journalist.

“Y/n, this is Harrison Osterfield and Tom Holland.” A male voice said distracting the female from the paper work she was working on. See even though she had a temp job of becoming a “co-assistant” she still had confidential papers to sign and read through. Y/n looked up and smiled at her boss and the other men standing next to him. The male that she came to know as Harrison extended his hand out to her, the action made her instantly smile, she did appreciate when someone was polite enough to use a proper greeting than a short wave; taking his hand she gave her most professional smile. “Y/n Y/l/n, but I’m pretty sure Gary told you already. It’s very nice to meet you both.” She spoke as her handshake with the blonde ended while the other male, she figured was Tom just gave her a nod and a wave. “Well, I leave you in the trusted hands of my best employee. I will meet you guys tonight at the party?” Gary said snapping his fingers and pointing them at the trio, before leaving. Y/n laughed softly and shook her head at his words. “So, Gary was telling me that you needed a co-assistant?” She said sitting on the couch watching the two males. “Uh, yeah I usually am Tom’s assistant but I have recently started to venture out on my own so I won’t be able to be around as much as I used to; I just figured I could use some help.” Harrison spoke sitting across from the female. “Understandable, is there any specific things I should know about allergies or phobias?” Y/n said keeping a polite smile as she took out a binder of things from note paper to small pieces of information about her two new clients. They seemed to talk for about an hour, with Harrison doing most of the talking. As they were leaving she said she would meet them at the party as she had a few more things to do before.

-10:00pm 2 hours into the house party-

Y/n sat a drink in hand as she listened to her boss talk aimlessly, she got very lucky to work with someone as sweet as Gary. Her attention then switched over to her clients Harrison had been chatting up a female since he arrived, Tom however sat next to her. As he drank his beer the actor started to lossen up, Tom turned to look at her and smiled letting out a small chuckle. “Is Gary always this animated?” She smiled taking a sip of her drink. “Usually, but when he has gets over is when he really shines.” Y/n laughed.

That’s when things started to kick off, it started off with glances then soon turned into conversations and playful banter; but 3 months into her being his assistant things became more and more intense. Playful banter turned into shameless flirting that soon ignited into something bigger. It wasn’t supposed to happen Y/n was supposed to being doing a job, not doing the client. They had both started to have casual sex, agreeing with each other that no feelings were to be involved. Towards the end of her temporary assistant job she knew she needed to cut it off, not because her employment was ending but because feelings were getting in the way. So here she was standing outside his hotel room trying to figure out what she was going to say, as she was about to knock the door swung open revealing a female wearing a revealing outfit, Y/n already knew who she was the female was the hairstylist intern. The female smirked and licked her lips before walking out, not far behind was a smirking shirtless Tom marked with cherry red lipstick. His smirk turned into a shocked expression and then he quickly threw on a t-shirt that lay on the floor. “Uh, Y/n what- um what are you doing here? I thought you had the day off.” He spoke nervously. Y/n held back her tears, she feared that this would happen. “I came to check on you but turns out you are doing just fine.” She swallowed thickly. “Anyway I won’t sugar coat it, but what happened between us the last few months has been a mistake. I was also here to talk to you about my job coming to a close, but I will talked to Gary and made sure that you are all taken care of for the rest of your trip we have also already talked to Harrison and he is willing to finish up. It was a pleasure working for you Mr. Holland.” After she finished speaking Tom went to open his mouth to talk to which Y/n held up her hand. “Goodbye Tom.” Was the last words she spoke to him, and continued to ignore him as he called out her name.

Present Time:

Y/n tried to breathe, she stared at herself in the mirror trying to hold herself together. ‘Why are you getting so worked up? It was a year ago, you weren’t dating and you went there to break it off. So why does it hurt to see him.’ A knock on the door snapped Y/n away from her thoughts. “Um, just a minute.” She said clearing her throat. Upon opening the door she was pushed back into the room her back now pressed against the door, causing her to panic for a second before looking up to come face to face with the person she was trying to avoid. “Tom you were about to get punched in the face.” She spoke breathless. The comment made Tom smile placed his hands against the wall on either side of her head. “I have to talk to you about that day.” He spoke softly his breath was a mix of mint and beer, it was intoxicating it was making her mind fuzzy; or maybe that was the alcohol in her system. “Tom, its fine. We had an arrangement, and that doesn’t involve you having to explain yourself to me.” She spoke biting her lip. “We both know that’s a lie Y/n, there is something more. Something intense, it scares the hell out of me and I know it scares you too.” He whispered his perfectly crocked nose bumping mine, his lips brushing teasingly against mine. “Tom. It started out as something for fun, something to let loose. It never involved commitment. It’s started to become something that neither of us could control, a fire that is was raging out of control and in one way or another someone was bound to get burned.” She whispered my eyes closed shut. “And that person was unfortunately me. If you had felt that way you could’ve said something instead of burying your cock into someone else’s pussy. Which she let me know it had been going on for a while before I found out.” Tom pulled back to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “That part is not true, that was the first time and we didn’t even have sex. She came to introduce herself and before I knew it her lips were on mine and I couldn’t help myself. I knew your job was coming to an end and panicked.” He said frustration evident in his voice. “You don’t think I was panicking. I stood outside your hotel room trying to figure out what to say, I originally went there to tell you that we needed to stop because I wasn’t going to be around anymore. But when I saw her with you, it all changed it felt as if my heart was torn from my chest. But when I panicked my thought wasn’t to hook-up with some stranger.” She said attempting to push him away from her. But his firm hands took hold of hers only to pin them above her head, his lips trailing from Y/n’s temple to her jaw. No words were needed, they both knew what was about to happen. Even though she hated him, she also knew that she wasn’t strong enough to resist. Tom brought his eyes level with hers, a smug smirk on his lips as he crashed them against her pink ones it was a dance they both knew, as lips molding together. Fingers laced together like puzzle pieces, this was different than other times they had done this time they didn’t rush; every move seemed to be calculated. They both knew that there was no turning back now.

Their lips pulled apart just so we could breathe, he let her hands go tapping her bum and Y/n knew exactly what he meant so she lifted up her dress revealing that she hadn’t worn any underwear. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, she shrugged. “You could see the lines through my dress.” Tom shook his head before picking her up and setting her on the bathroom counter after he had locked the door. Leaning back on her hands she watched him intently as Tom pulled himself out of his trousers and used one hand to rub the tip of his cock against her already wet entrance while the other was placed close to her own hand that was settled on the marble counter. “Please Tommy.” She whimpered softly. She looked up to see that he had a smug grin on his face, she wanted to make a witty remark to speed up the process; but never got the chance because instead of words a loud moan escaped Y/n’s lips as he had slammed into her without warning. He exhaled sharply as he resisted the urge to move his hips before letting her adjust, considering it had been a year since they last slept together. The delicious stretch made her head fall backward as whimpers continued to fall out of her mouth. “Move Tom.” She spoke breathless. He didn’t have to be told twice, he started to thrust aiming his hips just right to hit that specific spot that made her legs feel like jelly. That was one of her favorite things about sleeping with Tom, he didn’t have to be told how hard, fast or what needed to be done; he just knew. He knew her body, just like she knew his. Her eyes closed then re-opened only to see that Tom’s brown eyes were already focused on her face, it was very different to the usual look he would give her. There was something much deeper, something that seemed to be eating at him. Before she could think more about his odd behavior, he picked up his pace pulling her closer to him so he was buried to the hilt. Her eyes closed instantly more moans coming out of her lips as she gripped his shoulders. After a minute his movements stopped suddenly, she looked at him confused he’s never stopped in the middle of them having sex. “What’s wrong Tom?” Tom looked at Y/n intensely. Something was off about him, everything felt different like something changed in him or maybe it was her. The words that fell from his lips shocked her and would change everything. “I love you. You aren’t just a quick fling to me. I meant what I said earlier, there is something between us that can’t be explained. Its fate we both know it.” It took a few seconds for her to wrap her head around the situation. She pushed him away from her whimpering at the loss of contact. It was like his words broke a spell, she stood up pulling down her dress and slapped him. “No you don’t get to say that. You don’t get fuck some girl, let a year pass, no phone call and expect to have sex with me and tell me that you love me. No I won’t be fooled by it Tom. This was a complete mistake. If you loved me you shouldn’t have let me leave. If you claim us being together is fate then it wouldn’t have ended the way it did.” She growled her eyes clenched. “I’m done being played, I fell in love with you while having a fling. But my biggest regret was falling for you in the first place.” She said opening her eyes not caring if tears were running down her face. “Goodbye Tom.” Y/n spoke before walking out on him.

[heli0s-writes]

VI. Three Conversations

Summary: You have three conversations, respectively, with Peggy, Steve, and Sam. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Very dialogue-based! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Not too much happened here as far as ~*~Steve-time~*~ goes, but sometimes break-ups be like this, y'all.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The phone in your hand feels like it weighs a damn ton.

Steve’s message echoes through your apartment, bouncing off the walls of your brain, too. Honey. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Stupid!” You chuck the phone on your bed where it bounces into the dresser before tumbling to the floor with a thud. The insult is both for yourself and Steve, and you huff the entire time as you finish getting ready and head out the door for your first workday. In your head, a single string of words spin uncontrollably: How could he? How could he? How could he?

 “You all right there?” Heather’s concerned voice snaps you out of the miserable derailing train of your thoughts—crashing right into a cliffside.

“Hm? Yeah. Totally fine.” You smile at her. The two of you are exiting the gym together and heading to lunch. The morning has been full of professional developments which feel like what hell might be if it was led by your Operations Manager—monotone, unqualified, boring. The packet of strategies in your hand is heavy and you’ll probably shred it with your bare hands once you return to your room. You’re in quite a mood.

In the teacher’s lounge sits a spread of pastries to celebrate the first workday. You know exactly where it’s been ordered from and you pass right through the room. Jessica Sweetwater calls out to you to try out the pie and you grin, promising to come back as soon as you drop off your things.

Heather closes the door when you’ve both returned to the dusty room with the still-stacked chairs and desks. The windows are drawn. She flips on one light switch when you plop down in your swivel chair.

“Got anything for me to do?” She volunteers meekly. She knows something has happened between you and Steve; it’s hard to hide and too easy to put together.

“No, it’s okay. Enjoy your lunch.” What are the five stages of grief again?

“Huh?” Heather asks. You shake your head—must have said it out loud.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The phone rings, and you absently fiddle around in your pocket for it. Steve’s face lights up on the screen— now cracked from when it pitched into the corner of the dresser. It’s a picture the two of you took together on the couch, with your head against his shoulder, eyes closed and laughing. He’s smiling too— perfect white teeth as he looks into the camera. Full brown beard. Ocean eyes, olive flecked. Damn it.

Your hand shakes, and from across the room, Heather sends you a sympathetic glimpse before she steps out and closes the door.

“Hello.” You say in monotone.

Silence on the other line greets you back.

You ask again, steeling your voice, and finally, a shuddering breath passes. Steve stutters your name a few times before asking, “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” Your brain is melting. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you know he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s been crying because his voice is a bit scratchy and gruff. You probably do too.

“I- I uh… What can I do?”

Abrupt anger burns out the sympathy in you. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” and then it quells as quickly as it had arrived. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You mutter, face heated. “No! I’m not sorry.”

You’re backtracking and unable to find the right feeling to begin with—Hurt? Resentment? Disappointment? Or understanding? Because all of them are here, mixing together in a sickly-sweet potion.

Then, a wretched sob escapes, and you feel so stupid for breaking down over just the sound of his voice.

“Oh baby,” He sighs, “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.”

It pours out of your eyes and nose and mouth like the smashing of an hourglass, releasing a summer’s worth of sand. You press your hand to your forehead and try to hold it back, but it continues relentlessly.

You scold him angrily in-between choked sobs. “You didn’t even call. You did nothing, Steve. Fuck. I understand your priorities. I know you love Sarah and want what’s best for her. I do too, you know!”

“I know—”

You gasp and cut him off, take a breath to calm your voice. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.” He whispers, “You’re not. It’s me. It’s all my fault. I know I have no right to ask you...” He pauses. “I-- Yester—Sarah asked if you were coming to the airport.”

A scoff finds its way out when the anger returns. Tears well up again in your eyes. Fuck! Why is he doing this? “Her flight lands at eight Friday night. She really misses you.” He continues. “She... would like to see you. I do too.”

“Is that right? You want to see me after the last two weeks? Fuck you.”

You hang up, slamming the phone face-down on the table while another sob wrenches itself from your throat.

Pulling your shirt over your face, you muffle the howling scream in your palms.

—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You show up at the airport fifteen minutes early and park your car underneath the shade of the blue section. Lot 5. A three-minute walk across the way. Your last workday consisted of rearranging your room back to its former glory. Dusting. Hanging posters. Sorting books and changing out colored butcher paper. Laminating so many things. Writing 24 new names on binders. And journals. And folders. And workbooks.

You dragged yourself home at 3:30 and took a swig of wine and a long nap. Your wrists hurt. Your feet hurt. Your heart, most of all, hurts.

Then, you spent the next three hours debating whether or not this was going to be either fine, or goddamnstupidwhatthefuck. So far, it has been fine.

Now, as you cross the street and see Steve standing with his fists shoved in his pockets, the switch reverses and fine becomes goddamnitstupidwhatthefuck. How does his beard stay so fucking --- ugh! His hair has grown, too, the ends of it flipping out when it touches it neck.

You take in a shaky breath with every step your feet cross the road’s white block lines. Your hands come up to smooth your white and orange flower print blouse, but you put them back down. There’s no one to impress here, you chide yourself.

Steve’s smile is wary and sad, and he dips his head low to regard you. His greeting gets lost in the honking and bathumpthump of cars running over speed bumps. “She’ll be out soon. Want to go in?”

You step behind him, holding onto the strap of your purse like it is the only thing to keep you on earth. Through the sliding doors and into the bag check line, the two of you stand awkwardly, waiting until the next teller is available. You let your thoughts loose amongst the strangers with roller bags and pressed suits, or mothers wearing sweatpants, teenagers returning from summer vacations, finding anything else to care about but him.

“Sorry sir, there’s no unaccompanied minor by that name on the flight.”

Steve shakes his head, “That can’t be right— look, it’s my daughter and we need passes to get her at the gate.”

“Sir, the passenger with that name isn’t traveling alone. You’ll have to wait by luggage pick-up for them.”

Steve frowns and steps away as you follow him. He shakes his head, “I didn’t know Peggy would be coming back with Sarah.” He tells you in a hushed voice, “If you.. if you want to leave… I understand.”

Part of you wants to disintegrate from this airport, not just leave. Leave is a term that sounds serene, normal, decidedly rational— a term for people who have the grace to choose to depart. Your departure would be instant, like being struck by lightning and cremated on the spot.

But it’s already too late. You are already here, with him. And it is 8:38, the plane has already landed. So, you smile defeatedly and shake your head. “I’m fine.” The former Misses Peggy Rogers will shatter you with her perfect white teeth and prim posture while Mister Rogers stands watch and you’ll kiss Sarah on the cheek before you go home to pick up what’s left of your pieces.

Steve doesn’t push it. He only leads you to baggage claim 6 and stares at the flight of stairs that disappear up to the second floor. The first wave of arrivals streams down with scattered footsteps. Two families and a few young men with backpacks come to stand by the dusty conveyor belt. A few more passengers follow them before the crowd picks up with a steady current of arrivals.

Clicking heels and a high-pitched voice alerts you of the one arrival you are here for.

And then you see them, walking down the escalator because Peggy Carter doesn’t stand still for anything. Even on an already moving platform she is face-forward and in motion by her own accord. Sarah follows her with the same determination, holding her hand and slipping through standing people easily.

“That baby cried a lot, mumma. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Shh, Sarah. It’s rude to say those things. Babies cry, it’s natural, my love.”

“Did I cry a lot?”

“Yes, darling, you did.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing them, and you exhale just a little bit for him. You could cry too, like that baby, because the wave of emotions crashing over you is exploding saltwater into every single wound that has been punctured into you this summer. Seeing them, the three of them now, all together, is the final nail in the coffin. The final puncture, and the final seal— hard, metal, definitive.

You are the lonely remainder in this familial equation.

Sarah catches sight of you first and takes off as soon as her feet hit the slate tight-knit airport carpet. She’s yelling your last name in between shrieks of “Daddy!” and when you think she might pause to say hello to her father, she leaps forward into you, instead.

Third time is the charm, you think, as she careens into your arms and you pitch over with a small squeal. It happens too quickly, you’re too far away, and Steve doesn’t catch you this time. The idea of how fitting it all is tears a laugh from your throat.

“Sarah!” Her parents exclaim in unison as they both rush forward. You put your hand up when Steve bends down and brush yourself off, picking bits of fibers from your knees. Sarah doesn’t give you a chance to stand as she reaches into a pink and orange fanny pack around her middle.

“Look!! I used the camera a lot! Look at this horse with a carriage! And this man with the tall hat just like in our Snapshots book when Nate went to the U.K.!”

She dumps the contents of her pack out onto the floor and all over your legs as you stare on, open-mouthed. “Thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me use the camera!” She surges forward into your arms again and wraps all four appendages around your body.

You’re glad you wore pants as you pat her back with a smile, “I’m happy you liked it, Sarah. C’mon, let’s clean this up.” You quickly scoop as many polaroids into your hands as possible so that neither of the other adults will try to help you. Sarah tugs open the mouth of her pack and you slip them in before standing.

Steve and Peggy exchange firm, grim lines of their mouths, speaking in low tones to each other about why the flight has changed—why Peggy’s in town, and why she didn’t tell Steve. You stand around awkwardly and clear your throat. “Well—uh, Sarah. You ready to go home?” You ask, eyes fixed on the young girl. She blinks by your side, as if suddenly remembering that she hasn’t said a word to her father at all.

“Yeah! Daddy!” But mid-step, she turns around to tug at your hand. “Can you come over for dinner again?”

Steve shushes her and lifts her up onto his hip, “You don’t want to spend time with your dear old dad, Sarah?” She’s ready to argue with him, but Peggy steps up and pinches her cheeks.

“Steven, would you mind getting our bags from the luggage claim?”

He sends the two of you a worried look, but his daughter has already hopped out of his arms and tugging him towards the crowd of people who wait for their bags. You are left alone with the former Misses Peggy Rogers and her flawlessly lined red lipstick.

“Hello.” She smiles carefully, placing her hands together. You stare on, as if gazing into the sun, blinded by her composure. The two of you must look like complete opposites—her in a pressed black suit and matching pencil skirt, creamy silk button up decorated with delicate lace collars, polished black heels pointing forward directly at you who is dressed down in a blouse and blue jeans. Your ballet flats are well-worn and dirty. Your hair is a knotted and tangled bun.

“I know what you must think of me,” Peggy begins, sending you a sad smile. “I just—well, I had business in the states, but I really wanted to come and apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blurt. “Apologize?”

She laughs a disappointed tone, as if she’s scolding herself, “Green’s never been a good color for me. And I suppose I needed the reminder.”

What the fresh hell is she talking about, you think as you continue to listen as much as you can. If that comet is coming to incinerate you, you only wish it would hurry up.

“Sarah wouldn’t stop talking about you when she arrived. Really, the whole time. And I… I just felt so replaced that I acted selfishly and irresponsibly—I.. I was so jealous. I knew who you were, of course—” Yes, of course. You’ve been sending her weekly newsletters all year, the same as you send every other parent in your classroom. You begin to shake your head- to stop her from continuing because you can’t bear to hear any more of it, but she pushes through, and her will is leaps and bounds stronger than your own.

“I saw how… changed Sarah was. How she’d grown. And I know that I have you to thank for it. I just… I felt as if suddenly my little girl had forgotten all about me and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined what you and Steve have.”

“Had.” You correct her candidly. “And thank you. For your apology. But I’m just Sarah’s former teacher—I’m not your replacement, in any way. Really.”

You slip away from Peggy’s apologetic brown eyes and linked fingers. You don’t bother to look behind you when she calls out to you. Your muddy flats stomp as quickly as they can out the sliding doors and back into the safe confines of your car where you blare the radio as loudly as you can to drown out the static fritz in your mind.

--

The lights in your apartment are turned off, save for the one strand of Christmas lights you line around the perimeter of your room. The walls glow a melting array of peach and rose, dappled with blue-green, and you plant yourself face-first into the mattress that smells only like detergent. He’s been washed out. You sigh.

In bed, you think about Peggy Carter’s apology and her manicured fingers clutched together and squeezing themselves so tightly.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not even the person you’re most upset with.

It doesn’t matter at all.

The first day back to school is in five days, with a whole new set of children who require your attention. You have bigger concerns than your crumpled little feelings.

--

There are thirteen students in the gym who sit bouncing their knees. You’ve met some of them at the early open house yesterday and some of their parents at the orientation after the final Monday workday. You remember a few—Kalyn, Carson, Phoebe, Meredith. Some were harder to recall, like the set of similar-lengthed brown hair of two girls.

They file in slowly before the first bell, and soon enough you meet all twenty-four pairs of big eyes full of wonder as they search around the tops of their classmates’ heads looking for familiar friends from Kindergarten.

You read them a book—First Day Jitters, about a character who is afraid of the first day of school because she doesn’t know if her peers will like her at the new school. At the end of the story, it turns out the character is the teacher and the class erupts into laughter and asks you if you are nervous.

Yes! Of course! you reply. You are. They titter and wiggle their heads. Your heart is about to burst.

At recess, you chat with Heather and walk around the grassy path, keeping your eye on as many of your students as possible. Jared scrapes his knee in a rather physical game of soccer, and you catch Ruby before she slips off a swing. When you blow the whistle to line up, you see that second grade is already filing out the back door.

It’s complete and utter chaos. They stream down the ramp and screech and your mostly single-file line begins to wobble and curve. Heather briskly walks back and forth down the row to reel them in, counting the tops of heads by twos, making sure all are present.

“Woah! It’s okay. Let’s scoot over so the big kids don’t run into us!” You call over the shouts of a hundred children.

The other first grade classes aren’t faring any better as more yelling breaks out.

Just as you think you can begin leading them back in, a body crashes into the back of your legs and you stagger.

It’s Sarah. She’s pressing her face into your hip and there are two rivers running from her eyes. “I wanna go home!” Behind her are Harper and Grayson, both shyly waving.

“Sarah,” You say firmly, taking a second to signal to your previous students. Then you try to peel her grip from your legs, “Sarah, I have to go with my class.” Her teacher stands by the railing, giving you a silent plead with her eyes. All morning, she mouths, hasn’t stopped.

“No! No no no no! Please please please!” She’s heartbroken, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could be the balm to ease her crying. If she keeps this up, she’ll likely vomit. “Please don’t go please don’t go! D-”

“Sarah!” You put a finger up as you kneel, then you motion for Heather to take the rest of the class inside. “Sarah Rogers, listen to me.” The hiccupping ceases for only a second.

“You’re in second grade now and I know it’s tough, but you have to stop.”

Then, it gets louder, more panicked, almost to a shriek as she grips you tighter. You’re in way over your head as the last child in your class disappears into the school, and your brain is spinning every possibility you have to find one that is best suited for this situation. You mouth a message back to her teacher—who graciously nods, and then you tug Sarah along inside. She sniffles the whole way and when she gets to the door to your room, she’s wailing again. “Stay here.” You say.

Heather starts the kids on lunchtime, and you grab your phone. “Sarah. I’m going to call your dad. He is going to talk to you. You may eat lunch with me. And then you are going to go back to class. Okay?”

She nods tearfully.

“But this is the only time. This cannot happen again.”

She nods once more.

Steve picks up on the second ring—alert, confused, a little hopeful. “Hello, Mister Rogers,” You say as calmly as possible even as his daughter continues to sputter in the background. It’s like you’re reading a television prompter, but the plan in your head must go just right or else Sarah’s breakdown is going to also cause the rest of your kids to panic.

“Sarah is having a very emotional morning. I have invited her to eat lunch with me, but could you please console her just for a second?”

He pauses- begins to say yes, halts, begins a different sentence, but finally, he stops and breathes a sigh. “Yes. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

The wall of necessary professionalism separates you both.

--

Lunch is spent mostly fielding off Sarah’s questions about when you’ll come back to her house. She speaks much too loudly about the time you watched The Little Mermaid and soon enough the rest of your class wants to know when you’ll be visiting each of them for a sleepover.

“Not a sleepover!” You exclaim, but the moshpit of voices only responds with, “Yay, sleepover!”

Heather is laughing so hard she’s pitched over her desk. You grumble and put your head down before escorting Sarah back to her class at the end of lunch.

Her teacher meets you at the door and ushers her in quietly.

“Thank you so much.” She sighs, “Apparently it’s been like this for days. Dad walked her to the room this morning really tardy and he was... not happy.” She says the last bit painfully and you can just imagine what Steve must have looked like. “He said he’s not working today but I wasn’t sure if calling him was a good idea. First day, you know?”

You push your hair from your forehead, hum a little because it’s Wednesday and Steve isn’t working? Also—being tardy is very unlike him.

“Yeah. I mean...” You find your words again and peek through the door’s window to where Sarah has laid her head down. “You’re fine, Christine. It’s... this happened at the end of the year last year. She should be okay for the rest of the day. Esther is usually pretty good with her, too. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes. And Esther sent her back. I’m pretty worried—if this is frequent, does she need a behavioral plan?”

Oh Christ, you think, it’s really not that serious. And Steve is going to lose his mind if he gets summoned to sit in a conference for behavioral intervention in the first week. You shake your head quickly, “It might be too early to tell. Can you send her to my room at dismissal? I’ll talk to dad at the end of the day.”

Your colleague smiles and thanks you again before slipping back into her class. You wander down the hallway, take a deep breath, and return to your own post.

--

Sarah links her fingers through yours and stares at her feet as she walks. “I’m sorry.” She says as you lead her down the ramp and around the dismissal cones. “I don’t like school.”

“Don’t say that, Sarah. You liked school last year.”

“No. I like you. I don’t like Miss Parsons.”

“You don’t know Miss Parsons. You might hurt her feelings if you say that.”

“Daddy says you are upset with him. And that you can’t be his friend anymore because he did something wrong…. did he hurt your feelings?”

You shut your eyes for a second, and you hope Sarah’s out of harm’s way. You hope a little that somebody’s SUV full of children will pummel right into you. Let you splat over the traffic circle. Add a little color to the concrete.

“He said he was very sorry.” Sarah peers up at you with those giant doll-eyes.

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Can you come over today?”

“Sarah... it’s not that simple.” But to her, it certainly is. Saying sorry means, you take responsibility for what you did—the wrong that you did—and it is an all-absolving expression. Then the hurt and the wrong disappears and then you can be friends with that person again.

The world of adults is not that simple, but Sarah Rogers does not yet live in that world.

“Daddy!” She perks up at the sight of the familiar blue sedan.

Steve steps out of the car sporting a cap and sunglasses. It really is his day off. He rushes over, “Hey.” He breathes when his feet finally point at you and still.

“Hey.” You motion for Sarah to get into the car and she does, waving to you and yanking the handle until the door swings shut. “She cried all day. Before and after lunch with me.”

Steve puts his face in both his hands, “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been like this since she got home.”

“Since Friday?” You ask in disbelief.

His defeated nod almost breaks your heart. “It’s constant. Nothing helps. We’ve gone to the movies, the pool, made her favorite dinner... which apparently has now become the yuckiest thing, and she just...”

“Did you talk to her mom about it?” You venture to ask, steeling your heart that begins to squeeze at the idea of Peggy. “Did she experience this on the trip?”

He takes off his sunglasses and you see the deep blue that rests below his eyelids. You feel as tired as he looks as the sun beats down on you both. “Yes. She said the only thing that helped was the camera.” Steve looks slightly uncomfortable and you sigh because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Now that Sarah is back home, the camera has finished serving its purpose. Now she needs more. And he thinks she needs you.

“Christine is thinking about a behavioral plan.” You admit, and then correct yourself when Steve doesn’t seem to recall the name, “Parsons. Steve, your child’s teacher. Christine Parsons.”

He shakes his head, “Shit. Sorry, I knew that. What is a behavioral plan?”

You explain the process of him being called into a conference and how the teacher will outline with interventionists ways to implement and manage behavior modification. You try your best not to use the kind of jargon that only educators understand, but it’s really hard to explain to a man that his daughter is throwing a tantrum and needs to be mediated with without making it sound like she’s just a brat. Because she’s not.

“Jesus.”

“It sounds worse than it is... but it is kind of bad. Especially since...” You shrug, unsure of how to word the next part. How would you say it if you didn’t know him? It would be so disengaged, you think, and you really need for Steve to understand that it is urgent.

“Because she wasn’t like this with you last year?”

“It’s not me.” You reply, “And it’s not her teacher, either.”

“So it’s me?” He steps back, crossing his arms. No, he’s not understanding at all. You almost roll your eyes at the way he cocks his eyebrow and pulls his mouth, but another teacher breezes by and smiles so the exasperation you have pushes itself down. You forget sometimes that Steve Rogers isn’t perfect. He can also be a little snide and short-tempered.

He’s looking at you now, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar, standing defensively with his weight on one leg.

“Okay,” You sigh, exhausted by him. He wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t who you were. “This is really neither the time nor the place. I’m not your child’s teacher. Take it up with her, Mister Rogers.” And then you turn to walk away but damn your conscience—it pulls you back despite how angry you are with him.

You wish you could say fuck you like you’ve done before but little Sarah is sitting in the car bopping her head along to the radio and you can’t stop thinking about how she was bawling her eyes out for five hours today.

“Listen up, Steve.” You announce, “You and I aside, I’d like to impart some knowledge onto you as a professional, and also a bit as a child of divorce.”

Stepping closer, you glare into his eyes, which are now wide with shock at your firm tone.

“Your child is suffering, and that is a bold word, but it’s true. She doesn’t know it, but you do, and I do. And because you are privileged enough to afford her the courtesy—I suggest you take her to a child therapist who can talk to her about her emotions and work through them before they fester into something worse.”

He swallows, “Therapy?”

“Yes. Therapy. We have a school counselor, but Sarah does not want to see her. And unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than Esther. Take her to therapy. Go for forty-five minutes once or twice a week and see the difference it will make. It will. Don’t think about the stigma. Think about your child.”

Steve opens his mouth again, but you push right through his protests, “From my personal experience, I wish I had that option. But instead—as you know-- my rough patch involved a lot of running away from home. My mother did not know how to talk to me, and I did not know how to talk to her. A therapist would have helped both of us if we could have afforded it—or even known about it.”

Then, quieter, you frown. “Steve, even if my attempts weren’t serious—and even if Sarah’s acting out might not be as bad as you think, what happened with my mother and I changed our relationship for years. Do you want that?"

A soft banging on the window pulls both of your attention back to the car where Sarah has started pressing her face to it until her cheeks become flattened white circles against the glass.

“Daddy!” Her voice is muffled, “Daddy! I’m hungry! Is Miss Marnie coming? Or am I going with you?”

He whips over to her and then back to you. You wave to Sarah one last time and then begin to cross the street where cars carefully pull around the bend and back out the circle. “Take the advice, Steve. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Steve calls faintly at your retreating back. “Okay.”

Thank God, you think. Thank God that Steve Rogers loves his daughter more than his pride because you have figuratively eviscerated him in broad daylight. A part of you is so sad that it had to be you who tells him this—in this way. But you’re not confident that anyone else could have. He loves Sarah. He loves her so much that it’s easy for him to become defensive about it, and you know it hurts him to realize that his love alone isn’t enough to raise her.

With a final tight-lipped smile, you respectfully go back inside.

--

The second day runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of summer breeze as you Clorox wipe down twenty-four desks smeared with Elmer’s Glue. How they manage to do this in such a small amount of time is both fascinating and disturbing.

On the fourth day, you arrive at work to a surprise back-to-school Teacher Breakfast and you head to your classroom without another thought. Later on, as you hear from Heather, there were no Rogers-es in sight. You grumble a little at the thought of missing out on two free yogurts and a bagel. But alas, life moves on just fine without both the breakfast and the Rogers-es.

You return to equilibrium in the following weeks: in bed at eleven, up at six, work-work-work, repeat. Wine still exists and is soothing. Your cabinets are stocked once again with tuna. British Bake Show is still fantastic and bless Noel Fielding for dressing himself. There are no more sightings of Sarah in tears and no more run-ins with Steve in parking lots.

On a bright Saturday morning, you put on some flower-patched denim shorts and head to the PTA picnic where it is crawling with parents and children on the front lawn of your school. There are checkered red and white blankets and corn-hole games set up all around. In the middle are three picnic tables side-by-side littered with tinfoil trays of food. Even a popsicle truck is parked to the side.

You put your contribution in the middle of the table after waving to familiar faces in the crowd. Edward’s mom is there, wearing apple-shaped earrings and you smile at how he’s grown so much. It’s barely a second after you set down the homemade rice-krispies that someone comes by and peeks over your shoulder.

“Those look awesome.”

Turning, you tilt the brim of your sunhat away from your face to find the source of the compliment. It’s hard to see, because the sun shines right into your eyes when you try.

“Thanks!” You blink the burn away and try again. “Sorry—wish I could actually look at you when I talk to you!”

The man laughs a little and reaches forward to take a star-shaped treat from your tray. “Nah. Honestly I’ve just been walking with my eyes shut for the past twenty minutes. Forgot my sunglasses.” He takes a big bite of the treat and a leg of the star gets crushed into his mouth.

“How’s it?” You ask timidly when the blinding afterimages fade away and you can finally make out his features. The first thing you see is –Jesus, that adorable gap between his front teeth. True to his word, his eyes are squeezed tightly.

“Oh man, these are so good. And you cut them into stars? You must be a teacher.”

You laugh again because his mirth is so infectious, “I am. First grade. And thanks!”

“Mmf—don’t let the kids see me. I’ve been eating all their desserts.” He swallows the mouthful and brushes the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m Sam.”

You give him your name and shake his hand, even though both of you have little sticky spots from the marshmallow.

He steps to the side when a student of yours comes tumbling over and gives your leg a hug. You make a bit of chit-chat with her before something else shinier comes along and she’s bounding across the yard to a newly set up face-paint stand.

“So…” You motion vaguely, “What brings you to—”

“the PTA Picnic? Since I’m obviously too good-looking to be a teacher or a dad?”

You shrug shyly, ignoring his overt teasing, “Well, I meant the dessert table. I’ve only seen you here, and you’ve admitted to stealing sweets from all the children.”

He crosses his arms and laughs again, showing you that gap in his teeth and the round shape of his high cheekbones. Gosh, he’s really charming, you think. Sam picks up another treat from your aluminum foil tray and rolls his eyes in exaggeration.

“You know how in The Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka is super paranoid that his competitors sent spies to steal his ideas?”

“O…kay…”

“Right, right—yeah not a good way to start a conversation, I definitely see that now.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I’m like the spy because look at all these desserts and… listen, I just started this new job and you can never have too many ideas, right? Baker, by the way.”

You realize you are frowning at him when he sends you a curious look.

“My Wonka reference put you off that bad, huh?”

“You’re a baker?” You’re blighted or something. Another freakin’ baker? There must be a neon sign that is pointing them to you, and you would really like for that sign to shut off.

“Yeah. You might have heard of the place before—pretty popular. Oh! There’s my boss.” He tips his finger in the air over your head and you don’t need to turn around to see who his boss is. Instead, you pull the brim of your hat down and sigh. You can already hear Steve’s unyielding strides reaching the table.

He stops next to you and whispers a quiet hello and you respond in the same clipped tone. Sam looks suspiciously between the two of your suddenly stiff bodies and raises an eyebrow. “Is this?” He waggles his finger back and forth, “Oh. This is… Oh… shhhhhhhhit…”

After circling the dessert table for the last half-hour since his arrival, Sam Wilson suddenly finds the corn-hole game on the other side of the lawn very interesting. He doesn’t even bother to come up with any kind of excuse as he takes two long steps away from Steve and then books it because as a relatively new employee, flirting with your boss’ ex-girlfriend seems like a sure-fire way to get fired.

Next Chapter

[slafkovskys]

rulebreaker ▹ t. zegras

my masterlist!

-

“ugh,” you hear patrick groan from behind you, “you two are so sweet i think you gave me a cavity.”

you feel your face flush as trevor presses a kiss to your neck and pulls his head back to look at his friends that have sat their stuff down at the table, “i think i know a dentist that can help with that.”

you giggle as he raises his fist jokingly, “be nice, trev.”

you greet all the boys with a smile and a wave as they sit, before looking down to your open binder. you turn the page as trevor rubs your leg that was thrown over his. you pick up your pen and cross through a word that you’d misspelled, correcting it above.

to anyone who didn’t know the two of you, and even most who did, it looked like the two of you were a couple. the two of you might as well be attached at the hip, the only exception was when trevor had games and the three classes you didn’t take together. honestly, if it were up to trevor, you’d be almost a year deep in a relationship at this point, but you had made it clear you didn’t want to be a distraction to him the year before the draft. obviously, both of you just conveniently seem to forget the deal you made to wait until afterwards.

twenty minutes later over the lunchtime chatter and as you strike out an entire sentence, trevor leans over, “what’s for dinner tonight?”

he often found himself at your house more than his billets. so much so, that your mother had taken the liberty of getting him a key made so he could let himself in whenever he so pleased. despite this, he also often found himself sneaking through your window at night to lay in bed long after your mom was asleep to do the same and let himself out before she woke up.

you shrug looking at him, “probably breakfast. i’ve been craving some pancakes. should i be expecting you?”

it was a stupid question that you both knew the answer to. nevertheless, he answered, “as always.”

-

“where’s trevor at?” jax whines for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. he sits beside you with his sippy cup on top of the paw patrol blanket the two of you were meant to be sharing. “he hasn’t been over in forever.”

you roll your eyes and prop your feet on the coffee table, twirling a loose string that was attached to one of the rips in your jeans. “he was here on wednesday,” actually he was in your bed last night but that was information that the four year old didn’t need to know, “and he had practice. he’ll be here soon.”

just as you say those words, you hear a knock at the door and the aforementioned key turning in the lock. jax’s eyes light up and he throws the blanket off of him, knocking his cup on the floor with it. you huff before picking it up and sitting it on the table, thanking everything that it was spill proof.

“speak of the devil and he will appear i guess.” you turn around and lean against the couch to watch trevor appear in the living room with jax in his arms.

“hahaha,” he fake laughs and drops a squealing jax on the couch, “you love me so much and you know it.”

you roll your eyes despite both of you knowing that it was damn well true. you look to jax and tickle his stomach, “will you help me make the batter?”

he looks to trevor who’s now leaning against the back of the couch. “trevor helps too?”

“he’s a bit of a freeloader. he might not be much help, babe.” you run your hand through the boy’s hair and shrug. you yelp when you feel trevor thump the side of your head, then immediately press a kiss to the throbbing spot.

“let’s go, jax. we can do this without her.” trevor picks up your brother and takes him into the kitchen. with a shout, he asks you where you keep the pancake mix.

you tell him the cabinet and then announce your going upstairs to change. you pull off your jeans and sweater and settle for some sweatpants and a bu shirt instead. you take off your makeup too and pull your hair into a loose ponytail.

you jog back down the stairs and into the kitchen where you find jax on the counter whisking the mix under trevor’s supervision. “look y/n!”

you raise your eyebrows at the slightly watery mix you’re presented. you look at trevor who shrugs. “that’s looks good buddy!”

knowing jax, he wouldn’t let you try and add any dry mix to even it out unless he wasn’t in the room. so you ask if he wanted to pick a movie to watch and he cheers. you grab him and sit him on the couch, getting to the kids section on netflix and handing him the remote. he clicks on the first thing he sees and that distracts him enough for you to weasel your way back to the kitchen.

trevor now sits in one of the chairs on his phone, the mix abandoned in front of him.

“you can do it without me huh?” you ask as you grab the bowl and dump out the mix into the sink. you clean out the bowl before setting it back on the counter and pouring the correct measurements.

he raises his hands in surrender, “i tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen to me. he’s stubborn like his sister.”

you roll your eyes and turn on the stove. you put the pan on the burner so it can heat up and open the cabinet for the spray. for some reason, probably your mom’s boyfriend, it was pushed far back on the third shelf instead of the first. after huffing in annoyance, you feel trevor press himself against you and grab the yellow can.

“that’s was so cliché, trev.” you pop the cap and spray the warm pan, running the whisk through the mix one more time before dropping it in the sink. “can you get the syrup and butter for me please?”

“just wait until my 79 days are up,” he pulls the handle on the refrigerator, “we’re going to have the most cliché relationship.”

you’d be lying if you didn’t pause when he mentioned the 79 days. 79 days from now was the monday after draft weekend, a.k.a. the day you’d said you would enter into a relationship with trevor if he was still interested in you.

“what if you wind up hating me in 79 days?” you ask as you dump some batter into the pan. you look at trevor who leans beside you and laughs, throwing his head back. “what? it could happen.”

he snorts, “i’ve been obsessing over you for almost a year, y/n. there is very little you could do that could make me hate you.”

“why?” you ask. “why have you stuck with it for this long? everyone else probably would’ve just moved on, you’ve got options. i mean, i know for a fact that jayne from civilization has a thing for you.”

“i would be completely and utterly stupid to move on, y/n.” he watched as you flipped a pancake. “if you want to see options you can ask jack to show you his instagram dms.” you snort at that. “and there’s one problem with jayne.”

you look at him for his response.

“she’s not you.”

and in that moment, a decision was made. every rule you’d given yourself in the past year was thrown out the window as you let the spatula drop to the floor and you abandon the stove. you throw your arms around his neck and catch the slightest glimpse of a smirk as you press your lips to his.

his hands gripped your hips as he pulled you to him. you gasp as he lifts you up and places you on the counter. your legs wrap around his waist as your mouths fight in a kiss that had been a year in the making. a year's worth of waiting, of want, of tension were coming out all at once and you couldn’t believe you’d been holding back.

the seconds feel like hours and neither of your feel the need to pull back and breathe, that is until a little voice shocks the both of you. “y/n, why is trevor trying to eat you?”

at that moment you and trevor jump apart. your mouth is agape as you try and search for the words to explain to your little brother. when you finally took the chance to breathe the smell of something burning alerts you, “the pancakes, shit!”

you quickly turn the stove off and run water in the pan, still panting. you lock eyes with trevor who’s wearing a shit eating grin. you quickly clean up the mess and light a candle, announcing that the pancakes that were already on the plate would be sufficient for the three of you.

as you cut up jax’s pancakes, trevor presses up against you again. “so, what now?”

you shrug and grab the syrup, “you waited almost 365, i think you can last 79 more.”

you grab both your’s and jax’s plates and walk into the living room, smirking at trevor’s groan of ‘are you kidding me?’

[starker-garbage]

trans peter; first time.

requested by nonnie: “trans peter, starker, nff, I’m bad at asking but i love trans peter and i need some nff things rn”

thank you for the ask, nonnie <3

all characters are portrayed as 18+ *first time, trans!peter, daddy kink because,,, i’m me,*

Something Peter has always been private about, even to Tony, was the fact he was trans. Usually, he was fine with it. It wasn’t something weird or wrong, it was his story, and it proved how strong he was, but knowing that didn’t stop dysphoria.

It also didn’t stop him from being insecure and embarrassed when it came to his relationship with Tony. Tony was more than amazing about everything. He didn’t even care that Peter was trans. ‘Pete, you’ve always been you, the fact you’re trans isn’t going to change the way I feel,’ was his exact words when Peter told him about his transition, which made Peter cry even more than he already had been.

For a while, Peter was scared to let Tony touch him, he was scared that Tony would decide that Peter was to curvy or something to the equivalent, basically that Tony would react to every insecurity Peter already had.

So, Peter wasn’t really comfortable with making love to Tony yet because that would take a lot.

But now, he was more than ready.

He knew by now, Tony wouldn’t leave him over it, he knew that Tony loved him, and even if it took a lot to take that first step, he knew he wanted it. He also knew that Tony would understand if Peter backed out, and so, as the two were sitting on the couch watching ‘Friends’, Peter sat up and straddled Tony’s waist.

Tony looked at him with a confused look, the last time they had tried this, it ending in a lot of tears from Peter. Peter simply nodded to ease Tony’s worry and began kissing the older man, soft and sweet.

The kisses slowly got longer and more hot, Tony’s hands roamed Peter’s body, his tongue exploring the other boys mouth. Peter let out a moan as Tony’s hand groped his ass. The younger male began grinding his hips slightly, feeling Tony’s erection against him.

Tony’s lips moved from his and down to his jaw, leaving little hickies all the way down to the junction between his neck and shoulder, “My beautiful baby boy,” He mumbled against Peter’s skin as Peter leans his head back, exposing more of his neck to Tony.

Peter didn’t hold back the moan that escaped his lips. He also didn’t hesitate to tug at the hem of Tony’s shirt. Tony began working his own shirt off. Once the article of clothing was off and discarded onto the floor, Peter stared at Tony and blushed. He had such a hot boyfriend, sometimes he couldn’t comprehend it. Tony smirked at Peter’s reaction, after all it was yet another boost to his ego.

Peter propped himself up a bit on his knees so he was a head above Tony, he dipped down and kissed the older man passionately, heat building up in the pit of his stomach. Tony brought his hands back up to Peter’s body, his hand slipping under the younger’s shirt, feeling Peter’s smooth skin against his own calloused hands.

Tony pulled away and looked Peter in the eyes. “You’re far to dressed for this occasion,” Tony said, in his own, arrogant way of making sure Peter was okay with all of this.

Peter knew it was going to have to happen, I mean, that’s what happens during sex, you get naked, and he felt dumb for the small hesitation because he’s been shirtless in front of Tony before, even before he had gotten top surgery (of course he was wearing his binder at the time, but still). It just felt harder now since it was going to be more, but after five seconds of intense panic in his own mind, he smiled despite his blush.

He backed away from Tony slightly, still resting himself on his knees. He pulled off his shirt and tried to stop blushing, but for some reason, that seemed impossible. After discarding his shirt, instead of going back to kissing Tony, he lowered himself off the couch, placing himself between Tony’s thighs.

“Can I?” He asked, looking up at Tony through his eye lashes. “Can I please, Daddy?” The boy asked, his hands resting on the man’s bulge.

The word made Tony go crazy, but managed to hold himself back from not gripping the younger boys hair. Instead, he smiled sweetly and looked down at Peter. “Well, only because you asked so nicely,” Tony says, his voice low as one of his hands reaches down to brush Peter’s cheek.

Peter smiles as he slowly pulls down Tony’s pajama pants, revealing an extremely hard cock, still trapped in the thin fabric, which had a wet spot from precum. Peter couldn’t help the pride that he felt knowing he was the cause of Tony’s hard cock.

Not being able to resist any longer, he pulled down the boxers, Tony’s cock springing up. Peter placed his hands on the shaft, pumping them up and down, spreading the pre-cum all the way down to the base before finally licking the cock from base to tip, taking in the head, swirling his tongue around experimentally. “Oh, fuck,” Tony moaned from the feeling.

Peter took that as a good sign and began taking in more of Tony’s cock, bobbing his head up and down, his hands resting on the man’s thighs.

“You look so beautiful like that,” Tony moans out, his hand reaching down to Peter’s hair. “On your knees for me for like good little boy,”

Peter couldn’t help but let out a small moan at the praise, Tony’s hand pushing him down, forcing him to take more of his cock until Peter could feel the head in the back of his throat. At that, Tony’s grip loosened as he began gently thrusting (?) into Peter’s throat.

“You take my cock so good, baby boy,” Tony groaned as he continued thrusting, watching as Peter gagged around his cock, his throat moving around Tony’s cock, threatening to push him over the edge at any second.

Tony pulled out of Peter’s mouth, not wanting to end this too soon, and with Peter’s mouth, it could have easily ended in a few more thrusts. Tony pulled Peter up and kissed his red, swollen lips. “Did I do good, Daddy?” Peter asked, looking at Tony.

“Perfect,” Tony said, his hands feeling Peter’s sides. “Absolutely perfect,” Tony practically whispered as he looked at Peter with hungry eyes, picking him up and laying him down, kissing his lips, his abused neck, and going lower this time, down his sternum to his tummy.

Peter was making quick, breathy sounds mixed with moans as Tony got lower and lower, his hands holding down Peter’s hips as he bucked up. “Daddy,” Peter moaned as the man used his fingers to slip between his waistband.

“Yes?” Tony asked cockily.

Peter writhed as he gripped at the sofa. He moaned as Tony kissed his waistline. Tony wasn’t going to do anything without Peter saying it, and why not have some fun with it?

“What do you want, baby boy?” Tony asked, kissing hips hips and sucking lightly, leaving red marks on the boys skin.

After struggling to find words for a moment, Peter let out a strangled “You - please,”

Tony made a tsk noise. “I’m not really sure you what you mean, sweetheart?” He asked, looking up at the boy, who had one hand in his hair, eyes shut.

“Please -” He struggled to get out. “Please,”

“Baby boy?” He asked, dragging out the ‘boy’. “I need you to tell me, sweetie,”

“Fuck me, Daddy,” he asked, his voice shaky.

Tony brought his lips down on Peter’s stomach again. “Well, that isn’t the proper way to ask,” Tony said, pulling down the blue pajamas covering his legs, working them down towards the knees, and pulling them completely off.

And Tony wasn’t going to do anything else until Peter asked nicely. And that was taking a lot of effort for the boy, clearly, “Fuck me,” There was a pause. “Please,”

“I don’t know if that’s the best way to ask -”

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Tony please, fuck me, please, Daddy, Oh god, Please,”

Tony smirked as he went down, pulling Peter’s boxers down, revealing his wet cunt. Peter gasped, the new feeling overwhelming but also great. “fuck,” Peter moaned as Tony’s mouth got closer and closer to his folds.

Tony grabbed Peter’s legs, spreading them further apart as he ate Peter out. The boy was moaning - writhing under Tony’s touch.

Tony brought down two fingers and inserted them into Peter, pumping them in and out slowly at first, increasing the speed as the tension in Peter’s shoulders eased. “Oh, Tony, please, Oh, my god,”

Tony kept going, inserting another finger. He scissored his fingers, watching Peter’s reaction at new things he tried.He kept thrusting in his fingers, hitting Peter’s g-spot, leading in Peter crying out in pleasure.

Tony removed his fingers from Peter, going back down and licking his cunt, taking in the taste of his beautiful boyfriend. Peter was moaning Tony’s name as he crept closer to his orgasm. And if it wasn’t for Tony pulling away, trailing kisses back up his his neck, he would have.

“Want Daddy to fuck you, Baby boy?” He asked. “Fuck you until you can’t walk straight for days?”

Peter let out a moan and nodded his head. “Please, Daddy,”

Carefully, Tony inserted the head of his cock into Peter’s warm cunt. Peter’s breath began picking up as Tony went in deeper, spreading him open in very new ways. He wasn’t planning on moving fast, just rocking back and forth slowly for a bit, allowing Peter to get used to the new sensation.

“Oh, Daddy, fuck,” Peter moaned once Tony was all the way in, “F - ah  - Faster, Daddy, please,”

Cautiously, Tony sped up his pace, Peter forgetting all other words besides Tony’s name. “You look just right, under me like this, writhing as I fuck you with my cock,” Tony cooed as he thrusted faster, watching the facial expressions the younger boy made below him.

Tony knew he could cum any second by just looking at the boy, and it took all his might not to do so. Peter was clawing at Tony’s back as he got closer and closer to his orgasm. “T- Tony,” He warned, “I’m about to - ah - I’m about -”

“Hold it, baby,” Tony said, as he began thrusting, not only faster, but harder. “On three, sweetheart, okay?”

Peter let out a moan as he postponed his orgasm, though he didn’t know if he’d make it till three.

“One,” Tony groaned, pounding into Peter.

“Two,” He said, Peter’s stomach tightening as he held it back.

Peter let out a cry, waiting for the moment where he could let go.

“Three,” Tony said, gripping the couch arm as he came, Peter letting out the hottest moan Tony’s ever heard in his life.

They were both quiet for a moment, lips catching each others in soft, passionate kisses. “You were so good, baby,” Tony mumbled against Peter’s skin before kissing him again. Peter’s chest was falling and rising as he kissed Tony back, the pale hands running in Tony’s soft hair.

||i know the whole countdown thing is a bit of a cliche or whatever, idk, i personally don’t really like how this turned out, but i hoped you liked it, nonnie <3||

[daveyjacobss]

notes

patrick “finch” cortez x reader

[newsies modern au]

12 days of christmas: day one 

summary: y/n has the biggest crush on the boy who sits next to her in english, and his friends keep asking her to give him things.

a/n: hello everybody, it's been a little while !! so this is the big surprise i've been hyping up: i'm doing 12 fics for 12 days of christmas!! i can't promise it's going to be every day for 12 days, and it might end up going past christmas, but i will have 12 posted by january. hope you enjoy this one bc i quite liked it and i love my boy finch :)

____________

English was Y/N's last class of the day, and she tended to look forward to it. The teacher, Miss Mullen, was always nice and open to all questions and discussions - and her tests were easy. Most of the time she just let everyone run wild while discussing the books and short stories they read, almost always ending up very far off topic. Sometimes it would lead to a heated debate and everyone would watch as people stood up and turned red and screamed at each other.

Y/N adored it.

And, though she would never admit it to anyone but herself, the boy who sat next to her certainly helped her pro-English attitude. Patrick "Finch" Cortez was far more popular than Y/N and had an enormous group of friends. He was smart and funny and insanely attractive. Sometimes, he would turn to her and ask her questions or make comments. She could have swooned just at the sound of his voice lowered so that only she could hear it. He always asked her, too, even though plenty of his friends were in the class. She supposed it was because she actually paid attention enough to know what was going on, unlike Race and Albert - two of his friends who sat behind him and her.

He talked a lot in general, too. He would contribute to the conversations and make jokes about the books. Y/N was sure that anyone who was looking in their direction could see the way she stared at him like he was some sort of god descended from the heavens. She could only hope that they would be too entranced by him to notice her. She just couldn't help but admire him - he was practically perfect. He didn't get perfect grades, but he always tried. He was on the soccer team, and on game days when the boys wore their jerseys he looked so damn good. And he was just so kind.

Some of the other boys on his team were arrogant and rude, but he never was. She didn't think she had ever seen him push around anyone the way some of the other popular people did. His whole friend group, big as it was, was probably the nicest group of people Y/N had ever had the pleasure of knowing. (Not that she really knew any of them. Her and Crutchie were friends, as were her and JoJo, and Sarah Jacobs was her lab partner, but she didn't really know them all that well.)

One class, while they had been discussing Lady Macbeth, someone had gone off on a bit of a tangent that lead to a conversation solely about Shakespeare. Which, in turn, lead to a conversation about Romeo and Juliet. Romeo, another friend of Finch's who sat on the other side of the room, had immediately brought himself into the conversation and winked at the whole class, making everyone laugh. But, as the conversation continued, it was Finch who dropped from his seat to his knees to deliver a dramatic rendition of Romeo's lines during the balcony scene - talking right to Y/N.

She sat in shock for a second, face flushed with warmth, amazed that he seemed to have remember it word for word. Albert and Race were absolutely dying behind her. Laughing slightly so as not to seem so flustered, she quietly replied with Juliet's lines, the words somehow passing through her lips as if she had always known them. She wasn't even sure she could have repeated it if someone asked, it was a bit of a miracle she remembered at all.

Finch had given her a bright smile, and it was worth it. Anything would have been worth it to see that smile on his face, all his attention on her. The class was full of laughter and even Miss Mullen was chuckling as she tried to get everyone to settle down.

"Return to your seat please, Finch," she said. It was only then that Y/N had realized he was still on his knees looking up at her. Somewhere during his lines he had grabbed her hand without her realizing it, but once he let it go it felt cold and tingly. She couldn't breathe for the rest of the class.

___________

It was only a week after that that JoJo brought up Finch while he and Y/N were working on calculus homework together during study hall.

"Hey, you have english with Finch don't you?" He asked. She nodded, her cheeks warming despite herself. He smiled at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and it made her uneasy. "Could you give this back to him? I borrowed it because I forgot mine." He handed her a history textbook and she stuffed into her bag while muttering "sure thing."

The problem was, of course, that Y/N had never been the one to initiate any conversation with Finch. She always let him speak first. She didn't know how to talk to him if she wasn't just responding to something he had said. But she took he book anyway, and tried to take deep breaths as she walked to her English classroom. When she got there, Finch's desk was empty, and so were Albert and Race's. Breathing a sigh of relief she quickly took out his textbook and set it out on his desk before pulling out her English materials.

He walked in with Race and Albert only a minute or so later. They were laughing loudly, but they quieted some as they made their way to their seats. Finch looked at his textbook in confusion and Y/N tried not to look up from the  note she was writing herself to remind her about her science homework.

"How did this get here?" He asked, looking back at his friends, both of them shrugging in response. Y/N took a deep breath as quiet as she could before looking up and opening her mouth.

"JoJo asked me to give it you," she said. "He said you let him borrow it." She could hear Race and Albert snicker behind her and felt her face burning. Had she said something wrong?

When she looked at Finch he was glaring at them, his own face tinted pink. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion on instinct, titling her head at him. He looked back at her and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing.

"Thanks," he smiled, sliding into his seat. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," she grinned back, trying to ignore the heat in her face. He looked down at his desk, opening the cover of the book. He looked confused again and pulled a piece of paper out of the book, presumably left there by JoJo. Y/N turned so she wasn't facing him directly, not wanting it to seem like she was trying to read his note. But she turned back to him when he made a strangled noise, his face entirely red. Race snatched the paper out of his hands from behind him, reading over it quickly. He burst out laughing, handing it to Albert. Albert accepted it eagerly, letting out a joyous hoot when he read it, crumbling it up and throwing it at Finch's head.

Finch glared at both of them, his face still burning red. Y/N tried not to stare too much, but she too intrigued, and extremely confused. What on earth could JoJo have written? Maybe it wasn't from JoJo, maybe it was from a girl. That would explain how flushed he got, and it would explain his friends' teasing. She tried not to think about it, feeling as disappointment settled in her chest. It had been a foolish hope anyway, to think that maybe she had a chance with Finch of all people. He was too good for her, for anyone.

Finch turned as if he was going to look at her but she looked away quickly, turning back to her papers, frowning. She could feel him looking at her, but she was determined not to give in. Eventually, he looked away and class started.

They didn't talk to each other once all period.

________

Sarah was next. They were finishing up a lab together, putting away all the chemicals and cleaning off the table, when she pulled out a sweatshirt out of her bag. (Y/N briefly wondered how on earth she had even fit it in there with all of her books and binders.)

"Hey, would you mind returning this to Finch? You have last period with him, right?" She smiled kindly at Y/N. Y/N could never say no to Sarah, she liked her too much. (Except for when Sarah proposed mixing chemicals that would definitely cause an explosion, then she could say no.) ("Come on, it'll just make a bit of smoke and a loud noise." "Absolutely not.")

"Yeah, of course," she answered, taking the sweatshirt from Sarah's hands as they walked out of the classroom together.

"Thanks," Sarah bumped their shoulders together and Y/N laughed. "He let me borrow it at lunch, it's been so cold in the cafeteria this week."

"Ugh, I know," Y/N groaned. "I don't understand why they can't up the heat just a little bit. There's literally snow outside."

"Exactly!" Sarah exclaimed. "Well, see ya!" She waved as she went down a different hallway and Y/N gave a small wave of her own. She tried not to think of Sarah wearing Finch's sweatshirt, of the note that had been in his textbook earlier that week. Maybe Sarah had been the one to leave it there, maybe they were a thing. It would probably make sense, they were two of the best people she knew. They would make a great couple.

She tried not to think about it.

Finch was already in English when she got there, looking at something on his phone. She'd been working on getting better at talking to him, telling herself that she didn't have a chance anyway, so what was the worse that could happen if she embarrassed herself? She walked right to her seat, dropping her bag to the floor.

"Here you go," she reached out to hand him his sweatshirt, smiling when he met her eyes. He took it back while raising an eyebrow. In the corner of her eye she could see Race's eyes go wide as he reached over to hit Albert's arm to get his attention. "Sarah gave it to me," she explained. "I had a lab period with her before this."

"Oh, okay." He took it from her, grinning. He moved to fold it, but as he did it made a crinkly sound like paper crumbling. With a confused look, Finch reached into the pocket and pulled out a paper from inside. He unfolded it, read it, and then promptly dropped his head to his desk with no regard for the possibility of a concussion from literally slamming his forehead onto a hard wooden surface.

"Oh my god," Y/N breathed out. "That had to hurt." She was barely concealing a laugh. But he merely groaned without even lifting his head, handing the paper backwards before Race could even make a move for it. Him and Albert laughed again, same as last time. She shot them a questioning look, but they only grinned cheekily.

"Trust me, not something you wanna know," Albert chuckled. Finch held up his middle finger in the redhead's direction, but it only made him and Race laugh harder. Miss Mullen started class shortly after, but Y/N's mind was wandering.

She supposed that that settled it, Sarah was the one sending the notes - and Y/N had absolutely no chance with Finch whatsoever.

__________

The Monday of the next week, it was Crutchie. (Truthfully, Y/N preferred to call him Charlie, but he insisted Crutchie was fine.) (She still called him Charlie most of the time anyway, but he didn't seem to mind.) They had french together two periods before her English class.

They spent most of the class talking since the teacher had given them busy work and they finished quickly and easily with each other's help. Crutchie had been showing her a funny video on his phone of a man who kept slipping while trying to stand up on ice when he startled her as he suddenly snapped and sat up straight.

"I almost forgot," he said as he reached down to where his bag sat next to his desk. "You have last period with Finch, don't you?" She couldn't help but feel a bit of déja vu.

"Yeah, why?" He he dropped a lunchbox on her desk in response.

"He left that in the cafeteria today, do you think you could give it back to him?" She smiled and nodded, glancing up at the clock. The period was over in only a minute, so they both started to pack up.

In English, Finch seemed less than shocked to have his lunchbox plopped on his desk as Y/N sat down.

"Crutchie gave it to me, said you left it in the cafeteria." She spoke as she pulled out her book.

"Crutchie gave it to you?" He asked. Now he was shocked. She nodded, smiling at him briefly before leaning down to grab a pencil from her bag.

"You should open it," Race spoke up, amusement clear in his voice.

"I really don't want to," Finch sighed, running a hand over his face. Still, he opened the lunchbox and pulled out a piece of paper without even having to look for it. He glanced at it quickly before crumbling it up and tossing it back to Race and Albert as if they were dogs he was playing fetch with. A small giggle left her mouth, and he looked at her in surprise.

"What are they, anyway?" She forced herself to ask. "The notes?" She knew she would hate the answer. She knew that. Why would she even ask that? He gave her a pained look and she felt the sudden urge to jump out the window.

"They're.... nothing." He sighed, turning away from her. "They're nothing," he repeated.

She wondered if maybe she had gotten it wrong. Maybe it wasn't a girl, maybe it wasn't Sarah. Maybe it was something bad. She hoped not.

__________

On Tuesday, Y/N had gym with Bill before English. Bill was probably one of her best friends, along with Darcy. They stuck by each other's sides during gym, doing their best to make it look like they were trying while not actually participating at all. The year before they had had gym with a bunch of their friends and the class had actually managed to be fun, but no such luck that year.

They were playing soccer and Parker, one of the boys on the school soccer team, ended up near Y/N during a majority of the game. He kept trying to strike up a conversation with her, shooting her smiles over his shoulder while he ran with the ball. Each time he scored a goal he would look back at her as if he was expecting some sort of reaction. She stuck to smiling politely and give him a thumbs up, not really knowing what else to do. Bill watched the entire thing with obvious interest and confusion, giving Y/N a look whenever he caught her eye. She just shrugged in response.

It was when the game was over and they were walking back to the locker rooms that Parker started to flirt with her. She was flattered, really, but she had no interest. He was nice and cute and all, but she didn't know him and she was still working on getting over her dumb crush on Finch (his teammate). She smiled and nodded while he talked, obviously uncomfortable.

He found her again waiting outside the boys' locker room for Bill. He walked over with a bright smile, and she considered it for just a second. It wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it? Parker was funny and nice, and he was certainly attractive. And he seemed to like her, to be interested in her. It wouldn't be so bad. In fact, it would probably be pretty good. But she wouldn't be all in, and that wasn't fair to him.

He was dropping lines into the conversation again, running a hand through his hair. She racked her brain for any way to escape without being rude. Bill was beside her in a matter of seconds, his arm thrown around her.

"C'mon," he said, not even sparing Parker a glance. "If we don't go you'll be late to English." She nodded, smiling back at Parker. He nodded at her, holding his hands up in a mock surrender at the sight of Bill's arm around her. She breathed a sigh of relief, leaning into her best friend.

"Thanks. I couldn't figure out how to let him down easy." Bill laughed at that.

"You should've just told him you'd rather bang his teammate instead." She gasped and slapped his chest while he laughed joyously. She tried not to smile, but a grin began to form on her face anyway. When they made it to her English classroom, his arm was still around her. She didn't mind, seeing as the school was cold and he provided some extra warmth. He walked her right up to the doorway, tipping an imaginary hat before continuing down the hallway. She giggled at him before entering the room, still smiling.

Finch seemed upset, she realized as she sat down. His eyes were practically burning holes into his desk and his mouth was set in a frown. Even Albert and Race behind her were quiet. She turned around to smile at them, but all they did was nod in response. For some reason she couldn't grasp, they both looked... worried? They kept glancing at Finch with something that resembled sympathy, or maybe pity.

Instantly, Y/N was filled with concern. She kept glancing her at Finch all class period, but he wouldn't look at her. A sick feeling started to settle in her stomach.

__________

Wednesday, she saw Finch after school. She was in the passenger seat of Bill's car, listening to Ariana Grande in the school parking lot. They had just been about to leave when Katherine, a friend of Bill's (and Finch's) ran up to their car to ask Bill a question about an article they had to write for their journalism class. Y/N only slightly payed attention to their conversation, bopping along with the beat to REM.

She jumped when someone knocked on her window. She rolled it down quickly, seeing Race waving at her from outside the car. She smiled at him.

"Aren't you cold out there?" She asked. He shrugged.

"'S not too bad," he answered, even though his teeth were chattering as he spoke.

"You should really go somewhere warm," she pointed out. "Like, maybe, your own car."

"Oh, should I?" He teased. (He was shivering. Literally shivering. She felt the need to roll her eyes.)

"Yes, you should. It was be the smartest decision you could make here." She retorted.

"Smart decisions and Race don't really go together," a new voice joined in. She turned slightly to see Finch walking up to join Race in standing in front of her window, grinning. Race winked at her, all dramatic and exaggerated, and she laughed. "What are you listening to?" Finch asked, leaning closer to try and hear the music. She tried desperately not to think about him getting closer, mentally blaming her darkening cheeks on the cold.

"Ariana Grande's newest album," she tried to answer, but it came out more of a whisper. He was so close, too close. He was practically leaning inside of the car. It would be so easy to meet him with a kiss, or to reach up and run her hand through his hair. (She refrained, thankfully).

"Hate to break this up," Bill interrupted. Y/N looked over to see that Katherine was gone and his window was back up. "But I've got a very cute boyfriend waiting for me to go study with him, so we're gonna leave." Y/N laughed loudly, waving at the boys as Bill rolled her window up for her.

She could have sworn that, as they drove away, Finch's jaw was dropped and Race was sporting a smirk.

__________

On Thursday, Y/N wasn't in class. Race told Finch that he had heard from JoJo that she was home sick for the day. He tried not to be disappointed. (He still was).

He had been hoping to see her, now that he knew he had a chance again. After seeing her and Bill he had just assumed they were together, and it had hurt more than he cared to admit. But, as it turned out, Bill was apparently gay and dating Katherine's friend Darcy. Which meant Y/N was single, and Finch could make a move if he wanted. Which, he did. Want to make a move, that is. But every time he saw her she looked so pretty and put together and he just choked up, never saying what he wanted to. (To be fair, he had literally quoted Romeo and Juliet at her and she still didn't seem to get it, so it couldn't be said that he didn't try.)

His friends did not make his endeavors any easier. Race and Albert had figured his crush out easily and they wouldn't leave him alone about it. Not to mention all of his friends had apparently ganged up on him. First it had been JoJo with the note in his textbook, written in all capitals letters: "ASK HER OUT ALREADY, DUMBASS!" Then, it had been Sarah with the note in his sweatshirt pocket: "Dear Patrick, man up you idiot. Ask her out and put us all out of our misery." And then, even Crutchie had joined in with the note he left in Finch's lunchbox: "just do it already dude."

And, as if it couldn't get worse, then Parker had decided he was going to spend an entire gym class flirting with her to see what happened. She hadn't returned his advances, thank the lord, but it still angered Finch that Parker had done it at all - and for what? To make Finch jealous? (Which, okay, kind of worked.)

He really didn't think it could get any worse.

Jack had left for a field trip during first period that morning for his AP Art class. Finch knew that he was supposed to be back during last period, but he certainly hadn't expected what Jack did when he got back.

It only took a few mumbles and giggles going around the classroom for Finch to look up to see what was causing the small commotion. There, through the window of the classroom door, Jack Kelly could be seen with a shit eating smile holding a sign that read: "ASK HER ON A DATE!" Finch felt his face burn with embarrassment. Race and Albert were consumed by fits of laughter.

Miss Mullen noticed after a few minutes, only turning to her class in utter confusion as a response. It was Romeo who finally got up to open the door and let Jack in.

"She's not even here, dude," he said. "He can't ask her out if she's not here."

"He could text her," Jack suggested. Romeo made an offended noise.

"He absolutely could not! That's not romantic at all!" The class seemed to be slowly catching on and Finch sank lower in his seat, pulling his hoodie up to cover his face.

"Oh my god, you wanna ask Y/N out?" Someone asked. It set everyone else off and the room erupted with noise. Even Miss Mullen seemed interested to hear the story - and Race and Albert were eager to tell it. Finch barely even tried to fight his sudden urge to throw himself out the window. Jack winked at him from the doorway before walking away. Finch scowled at his retreating figure.

When the bell rang, Finch shot up and raced to the door, closing it before anyone could leave. "This information does not leave this room, understand?" He asked. Almost everyone nodded enthusiastically.

"Are you actually gonna ask her out?" A girl asked. Finch sighed, hoping he wouldn't regret his response.

"Yeah, I'm gonna ask her out."

__________

Y/N was grateful when Friday finally arrived. Even with her sick day, the week had been unbearably long. Not to mention the strange and varied behavior from Finch that kept her reeling. (She was trying to let it go, she really was.) (It wasn't working.)

She was walking with Crutchie after French when Romeo came out of nowhere, stopping them in their tracks. She looked around with mild confusion, wondering where on earth he had come from.

"Hey, Y/N," he panted. He was unbelievably out of breath, as if he had sprinted to get there. Once she thought about it, she realized that Romeo had mentioned a few times in English that he had drama while she had french. The teacher who ran the theatre program and the auditorium were on the complete opposite side of the building. Crutchie was smiling next to her with a hand over his mouth that seemed to be the only thing keeping him from bursting out laughing. She gave up try to figure out what they were up to, just nodding at Romeo to continue. He held out a graphing calculator in front of him. "Can you give this to Finch in English? He let me borrow it and he needs it for the homework this weekend but I'm leaving early so I won't be there." His words tumbled out of his mouth at an intense speed, and she had to take a second to decipher what he had said. Sighing, she took the calculator for him.

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled. "Apparently I'm Finch's private delivery service." Romeo simply nodded before taking off down the hall. She shook her head at him, starting to walk again. Crutchie wouldn't stop looking at her and smiling. "What?" She finally asked as they neared his classroom.

"Nothing," he said, though clearly it wasn't. "Just, have a good day, you know? Enjoy English." He walked away then, going to his class. She stared after him in utter bewilderment, a frown on her face. She was suspicious, to say the least, and very wary of the entire situation.

In study hall, JoJo was acting strange, too. He kept texting like a maniac and looking up at her like he knew a secret, always the same smirk on his face. She attempted to ignore him. When the period ended, he left her with a "have a great English class!" and she practically screamed. What was going on with all of them today? Were they planning to do something to her in English? She couldn't believe that Finch would let them to do anything mean, but it didn't stop her from worrying.

By the time she made it to English she was tense and on edge. Race and Albert walked in a minute after and practically ran to their desks before leaning forward to talk to her.

"Ready for class, L/N?" Albert asked.

"Today's a big day," Race continued. She looked at them both, at their cheeky grins and teasing eyes. With an entirely straight face she looked them each in the eye before turning back around to face the front board. She could practically feel their excitement start to deflate behind her.

"Are you okay?" Race asked her cautiously as Finch slid into his seat. He looked at her, eyes filled with concern.

"Is something wrong?" God, how could anyone not fall in love with a voice like that? She was so doomed.

"No, nothing's wrong," she sighed. "It's just been...." she trailed off, not quite sure what to say. How do you tell a guy that all of his friends have been treating you strangely all day like they were planning some sort of surprise? "A weird day," she finished. "It's been a weird day."

"What happened?" He kept pushing.

"Your friends happened," she mumbled under her breath.

"What?" He titled his head like a confused little puppy. She hated him for it. (She loved him for it.)

"Nothing." She forced a smile onto her face so they would stop pestering her. Miss Mullen, the blessed woman, started class only a second after - saving Y/N form any further interrogation.

Nothing interesting happened in English. She had no idea what everyone was talking about. The only slightly unusual thing was Race and Albert constantly hitting Finch lightly on the back, whispering to him. They seemed to almost be encouraging him. She didn't have the energy to try and figure it out, so she stuck to her English material and blocked out the boys around her.

When the bell rang at the end of class she suddenly remembered the calculator sitting in her bag. She pulled it out quickly and then ran out of the room to catch up to Finch, who had shot out the door the minute class had ended - followed closely by Albert and Race. She found him in the hallway, walking swiftly toward the exit with his friends got on his trail. She raced up to him, grabbing his hand to pull him back. He looked back at her with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," she breathed, panting slightly from her small run. "Romeo said to give this to you, I almost forgot. He said you would need it for the homework." Finch stared at it like it was something alien as he slowly took it from her hands. "Right, well, have a good weekend! I've gotta -"

"This isn't my calculator," he interrupted her.

"Wait, what?"

"My calculator is in my bag. This isn't mine." He tried to hand it back to her, but she held her hands up in a mock surrender.

"Well, Romeo said to give it to you, so..." She looked to Race and Albert for help, but their eyes were trained on Finch. She returned her gaze to him as well when he sighed, reluctantly turning the calculator on. Though she couldn't make out the words, she could tell that someone had typed something out on the screen. Finch looked like he wanted to throw the thing at the wall. "Okay," she spoke up. "I really should go, Bill and Darcy'll be waiting for me. I'll see you guys on Monday."

She was half turned around when his voice reached her ears.

"Do you wanna go out with me?" She practically choked, whipping back around to face him as her face burned. She tried to respond, spluttering and stumbling over her words before finally managing a meek "what?" He took a few steps to close most of the distance between them, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as his eyes stayed trained on his shoes.

"Do you want to go on a date with me?" He asked again. "I really like you and I think -"

"Yes," she breathed, eyes wide as she looked at him with a brilliant smile. "Yes, I'd love to go on a date with you." His head snapped up as his eyes met hers, a grin spreading across his face.

"Okay, cool," he said, matching her breathy tone. "Yeah, cool. I'll - uh. I'll text you, yeah?" She nodded happily.

"I've gotta..." she pointed behind her, hoping he would understand. Her brain couldn't formulate words. Not when the boy she had spent days trying to get over was asking on her date, and being adorably nervous about it.

"Right! Yeah, okay. I'll see you soon?" She nodded again, and they stood there just smiling at each other until someone cleared their throat. She snapped out of her daze and turned to see Race and Albert watching the two of them. Her face flushed again, as she waved and started to make her way toward the parking lot where she knew her friends would be waiting.

The entire ride home she gave all the details to Bill and Darcy as they hooted and hollered at her every word.

It was Sarah who eventually explained to her what all the notes had been. Apparently, everyone but her had known that Finch had had a crush on her. The final push had been what Romeo has typed in his calculator: IF YOU DON’T I WILL.

Two weeks after he asked her out, they walked into English holding hands - a bit later than usual because they had met up to walk together, but still making it before the bell. The whole class practically gave them a standing ovation.

___________

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[wanderingalonelypath]

Sharp and Glorious

(Credit to this post)

Krem x OC companion

“You’re up late.”

Krem started, jumping out of his stance at the voice behind him. He carefully lowered his maul as he turned, seeing Skyhold’s best healer leaning against the tavern wall behind him. “Lyris!” His face filled with color that he hoped she couldn’t see in the moonlight.

She smiled at him. walking forward. She was wearing a simple brown vest over a white tunic and dark trousers, the gear she always wore while working in the clinic while she wasn’t tramping around with the Inquisitor. There was a blood stain on one of the sleeves she had pushed up to her elbows, and her auburn curls were slipping out of their bun to brush her pointed ears. She looked exhausted. She looked beautiful.

“I could say the same to you.” He said, instead of the thoughts running through his mind. He had a thousand things he wanted to say to her, every day, every time he laid eyes on her, but he didn’t. They were friends. She was beautiful, kind, brave, compassionate, clever, and they were friends. Just.

“Serah Jerald’s frost-cough flared back up again. I had to stay late and mix up some more tonic to give him so he could fall asleep, the poor thing. The others finally shooed me out but I’m way too awake to sleep.” She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms. He could see the bags under her eyes and had to bite back the urge to tell her to lay down and try to sleep; she had frequent sleeping problems. He knew, as a friend, that telling her to sleep would only irritate her.

He jokingly held up the maul. “Want to run through some moves?”

She laughed, and it embarrassed him to think that her laugh made the moons shine just a bit brighter. “There’s no way in Thedas I could even lift that thing, much less swing it around the way you do.”

He blushed scarlet at her innuendo and wasn’t sure if she meant to do it or not. He held up a finger at her and walked over to the sparring equipment some soldiers must have left outside. He traded his maul for a wooden practice sword, sharpened and weighted to mimic a real one, before walking back and holding it up for her inspection.

She shook her head at him, smiling still. “You do know I’m a mage, right? I have no idea what to do with that.”

“All the more reason to learn.” Daring, he reached out to grab her hand, placing the sword in her palm and curling her hand around it in the correct grip. “One day you might be out of magic, or someone could smite you, and then what would you do?” He noticed the grim look pass over her face and hurried on. “I mean...it’s better to be prepared, right? Just in case?”

She pursed her lips, glancing down at the practice blade and back up at him. “Alright.” She took it from him. “Show me how.”

The next half hour was filled with him adjusting her stance, careful not to let his hands linger no matter how much he wanted to, and showing her simple moves, how to block and lunge and parry. Her face grew redder and redder as they practiced, but he chalked it up to the exhaustion and the exertion of doing something her body wasn’t used to.

Lyris groaned in frustration as she failed to do the lunge he showed her again. “What am I doing wrong?” She dropped her stance, turning to him with a bit of a pout. He had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at how adorable it was. “It’s just...your feet...Just let me show you. Take the stance again.” She did as he instructed, facing a little too forward and knees a little too far apart.

He inhaled deeply, nearly holding his breath as he stepped behind her. Using his foot, he gently knocked her legs closer together, and hesitantly placed his hands on her hips. She gasped, quietly, as he turned her body so it was side face, the movement pressing her back to his front. His nose was suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of elfroot, bandages, and something deeper, spicier. He found he couldn’t pull away, no matter how improper it was, staying rooted to the spot with his nose pressed to the top of her head.

She took a deep breath, and he could feel the inhale and exhale through his chest. It was careful, controlled. Almost everything about her was carefully controlled. He supposed as a mage, and a healer as well, control was paramount to everything about her. She had the kind of control he wished he had right now because he was barely resisting the urge to spin her around and kiss.

“Is that better?” She whispered. Her stance was right but her body was impossibly stiff now.

“Yeah, but-” He cut himself off as she dropped the wooden sword, suddenly, and turned in his grip. Now they were face to face, his hands still on her hips and hers now rested on his chest. Even through his tunic and binder, he could feel the heat of them. Their faces were barely a breath apart, and he could see the stars reflected through her green eyes. He decided if he never saw the stars directly again, he would be perfectly happy finding the night sky in her eyes, infinitely more beautiful.

She was breathing heavily, even though they stopped moving what felt like ages ago. “Kiss me.” She demanded, voice hoarse and eyes shining. Even if he had a desire too, he couldn’t have refused her. He brushed loose curls off of her face, cupped her cheek, and connected their lips like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[rumowrites]

Defectum, Ch.6

Runaan awoke with a throbbing headache. Puling one arm up to clutch his face, he rolled to his side and was suddenly faced with a rapidly approaching hardwood floor. His somewhat groggy reflexes barley managed to spare him a broken nose when he collided painfully with the ground of his training room. With a groan, he rolled onto his back, staring up to the wide beam he’d apparently been occupying. The events from last night came slowly floating back and he concluded that somehow he must have climbed up there the last night and fallen asleep. Runaan counted himself lucky that he didn’t fall down while still asleep and tried to sit up. He succeeded at the second try. The bright light shining into his eyes told him it was still before midday so the assassin hadn’t slept that long after all. A sudden wave of nausea kicked him into a sprint for the kitchen sink where he lost possession of his dinner and what he remembered to be very decent Whisky.

Runaan took a cup and filled it with water before sliding to the floor, his back against the counter. As he slowly sipped the water, the elf contemplated how he could probably get hold of this mess that was currently his consciousness. The child-king just wouldn’t leave him alone, always lurking in the back of his mind to haunt him whenever he was alone.

The new weapon and training had proven to be good diversions, effectively holding his sole attention until he was exhausted enough to sleep. Aversion was the key after all. In his head, he began to structure the rest of the week. During the time he had courses to give at the academy, the Assassin usually got up extra early to get some training of his own in before meeting the recruits at eight am sharp. He also trained in the evening after his group left since the two hours in the morning and light exercise during the day still left him restless and twitchy on most days.

The five days until his new recruits arrived slowly played out in his mind. Training early and in the afternoon. Between that, he could either get a head start on some of the paperwork or continue with the new weapon. And maybe, he thought, there would be time to visit Tinker. Something about the prospect of seeing the smith again caused his face to heat up.

What if he found the idea stupid? Runaan really wasn’t an artist after all. He quickly banned the thought into the same void his consciousness got locked up in before they could drag him down. No, he would go see Tinker, maybe even today, and ask him whether he found the weapon doable. And doable was really everything he needed right now.

It took him half an hour and a glass of water before he trusted his body enough to leave his place on the kitchen floor. Runaan then did some light exercises as if that would prevent him from throwing up again but still managed to get his blood running. By the time he was finished, the elf was still coated in a thin layer of cold sweat due to the nausea that wouldn’t quite vanish.

Afterwards, he first took a cold shower and then a hot bath, slowly feeling the life flood back into his system. It took him quite a while and a lot of scented oil before his entwined hair was back in a presentable form. He ran a brush through the still wet strands until it was silky and smooth, falling over his bare shoulders like a pearly white waterfall.

He placed all his sketches and notes in a sturdy cardboard binder and grabbed his black leather shoulder bag. Not everybody had to see him carry sketches around. The less anyone knew about him, the better. An Assassins greatest asset was anonymity and secrecy. Here, he couldn’t possibly blend in due to his high status, but he could still keep a mystical aura, make himself unpredictable. The image he’d created for everyone to see was impeccable with a few minor faults in order to make it look believable. Complete perfection was always treated with mistrust. Even the dragons themselves had flaws. No living being could possibly be entirely perfect.

Every once in a while, he lost on purpose during sparring matches or placed his arrow a fraction off centre. Never often enough to seem like he wasn’t their best but often enough to look like he had bad days, too.

That way, his fellow elves simply regarded him with a mix of awe and fear but none of them wouldn’t trust him. Too many enemies of Xadia had fallen to his blades for that.

The walk to the village was quick and undisturbed. Most people were already working or running errands, so the streets were mostly empty. He caught himself walking slower once he reached the alley where Tinkers shop was half-hidden behind a bakery. He was the only customer which didn’t really surprised him since it was still early afternoon and the streets wouldn’t be busy until the evening. Some shop owners even closed middays due to the lack of customers.

The smith was nowhere to be seen but Runaan could hear faint clanging noises that most likely resulted from a hammer meeting steel. He carefully stepped further into the shop before spotting a doorway on the far right where the noise grew louder. “Hello?” he shouted but didn’t really think anyone would answer. The noise would probably drone everything else out. The Assassin waited for a few moments before carefully following the sound through the doorway and down a rather narrow hallway whose walls were lined with a wide assertion of swords and spears. The air grew drier and hotter the further he came until the hallway opened into a fairly large room. The other elf had his back turned to him and was currently shaping a piece of glinting steel into what seemed to be an axe head. “Hello?” he tried again and immediately cursed himself as the smith stopped mid-motion and whipped his head around. “Oh, I’m sorry…” Runaan stammered “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Upon seeing who the intruder was, Tinkers gaze softened into a smile “Don’t worry. I usually don’t hear the bell at the door back here. Let me just get this done and I will be right there.” He gestured for the hallway, turning back to the orange metal on the anvil in front of him. “Could I wait here and watch?” the question was out before his brain managed to stop himself. “It’s quite interesting.” He quickly added to appear unsuspicious. Tinker just shrugged while he continued to hammer onto the slowly reforming metal. “Yeah sure. I don’t mind.” The twenty minutes the smith needed to finish the raw shape were over way too quickly in his opinion. It was almost mesmerizing to watch the steady up and down of the hammer and the confident controlled movements that slowly turned a blob of hot steel into a beautiful weapon.

Once he was done, Tinker placed the Axe on one of the heavy oak tables and took off the thick leather apron that protected him from both heat and flying sparks. Runaan immediately noticed the dark rune tattoos that were entwined with his marks, filling the gap between the two rings on his shoulder. It was rather uncommon for moonshadow elves to be tattooed but it somehow suited the smith. The thin sleeveless linen shirt Tinker was wearing had a few singed spots where the sparks found their way and generally looked like the other ever only used it to work in the forge. It looked rather good on him, Runaan decided after discretely staring while the other placed the last of his tools in their respective places. The strange warm feeling returned an he had to force the blush that crept on his face away as the smith willed a few strands of hair back, showing off his impressive biceps in the process.

“So, what can I do for you?” he asked, wiping hands and face clean of the ash and grime. It took Runaan embarrassingly long to answer, so engrossed was he in those delicate fingers threading through the piece of cloth.

“It’s about the weapon-design actually. You said you would maybe take a look and tell me whether it’s doable.” Immediately Tinker nodded enthusiastically “Yes of course! It’s been too long since I had the opportunity to experiment with something new! Just…” he started before looking down at himself “…just let me change into something less dirty. I’ll be right back.” While he vanished up a set of stairs at the far end of the workshop, the Assassin took out his notes and brought them in a relatively logical order. He passed the time until the other returned by looking at some of the displayed weapons in the shop. One spear in particular caught his interest. It was a little taller than him and had a slightly curved blade on each side. Upon further examination, he discovered that it could be broken down in the middle with a switch hidden in the hilt, thus creating two swords. Suddenly someone took it out of his hands and Runaan had to summon all his willpower to not shriek away.

“Here” Tinker explained, pressing two other buttons in the hilt that retracted the middle part until it was only two hands wide and unfolded it again to an even greater length. “It’s truly magnificent.” He praised, looking at the spear in awe. Tinker smiled at him happily in return. “Thank you. Although it’s mostly for show I guess. I’m not sure if it would be really practical in battle.”

“Are you kidding me? I have a ton of strategies in my head that would profit from a parry weapon that can be broken down to get two short-range weapons!” The smith then laughed at his enthusiasm. “Well not everyone likes their weapons as complicated as this one. The main reason why it’s still here I guess. But you wanted to show me something, right?” He pointed at the stack of paper in his hands. “Yeah, yeah sure. The drawings aren’t very good though.” Tinker just made a dismissive gesture, reaching for the parchment. “They can’t be worse than the very early drafts I do.”

After handing them over, Runaan anxiously waited for a reaction as the other scanned every sheet with seemingly increasing interest. “My idea was to incorporate a set of blades with a bow for both long and short range.” He supplied after a while. The smith nodded absently, studying one of his more recent sketches. “I think it’s doable. But it won’t be cheap, materials and all.” He finally said, an excited grin spreading across his face. “Payment won’t be an issue.” Runaan stated while placing two bags filled with coins on the table. The grin now threatened to split the others face. “That’s great! Have you got any idea of the variety of materials we could use? Xadian steel, moonstones for functionality, maybe even night copper to balance the blades…” the smith continued to list different materials and their use while simultaneously scribbling the things he said on a piece of parchment. Runaan was fascinated by the other’s enthusiasm and patiently waited until Tinker had filled two pages with ideas from the top of his head. “I would have to watch you fight.” He suddenly said, fixing him with a surprisingly piercing gaze. “What?” the Assassin had still been daydreaming and now looked slightly confused. “It would help me decide on the most suitable design for the, ah let’s call it Bowblade, if I could see how you fight.” He explained, gesturing to one of his sketches. “You know, so I have an idea how you would be using it. Things like the length of the blade and handle design are usually more influenced by functionality than decoration.” Runaan nodded slowly in understandment “Sure, you could come to the courses I teach or my own training time. I could also show you some moves here but I guess it’s better for you with an actual opponent right?”

“Yes, preferably when you fight someone equally skilled. So that you really have to fight, you know?” Tinker looked at him expectantly and made a move to hand back the papers before stopping mid-motion. “Actually, would you mind if I keep them until I’m done? You had some interesting notes in between that would certainly help me.” With a smile, Runaan nodded again, glad that the other found his notes useful. “Of course, that’s what I made them for.” He went through his training schedule in his head to determine when there would be suitable sparring sessions for Tinker. “When would you like me to show you how I fight?” he decided it was easier if he just asked when the other was free. “I can open and close the shop as I please, so I could just come to your usual training times if that doesn’t bother you. I am very discreet.” Meanwhile the smith had pulled a thick unused sketchbook from one of the drawers behind his desk and neatly labelled it “Runaan” before placing it in a bag together with a few different pencils. “Could I have a piece of paper?” Runaan asked and began to pen down his usual work week starting with the new recruits. He filled in every training session and remarked below each one whether it was meant to be at his home or the academy and alone or with partners. Tinker looked at the finished week plan for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of training. You are aware that the time between your last and first training is, like, really short?”

He simply shrugged “I need the movement.” Again, the eyebrow. “Alright, according to your plan you would be training with someone in your party in roughly an hour. Would you mind if I accompany you?” the Assassin was slightly surprised to see Tinker so invested in his new order but agreed nonetheless. “If you don’t have anything to finish today. There will probably be some of the more experienced soldiers present so you will at least get a good show.”

A smirk appeared on the others face. “Oh, I have no doubts about that. Your reputation exceeds you.” He then grabbed his bag and a vest before gesturing for the door. “Let’s go!” Runaan obediently followed and together they passed the now busy streets leading out of town and towards the academy. Once there, he took the smith to his rooms in the right wing of the old stone fort. He motioned for the table in his study before vanishing in the bordering sleeping chamber to change. “Make yourself comfortable. I will be right back.”

He changed into his usual training attire that consisted of wide black pants and a sleeveless thin linen shirt. He contemplated dressing in something more official and nicer but quickly dismissed the thought. He was here to train after all. When Runaan re-entered the study, he could see Tinker sitting on the floor amidst all of his training weapons, furiously taking notes and sketching rough drafts of his blades that still looked better than Runaan’s best drawing. He quietly watched the scene before raising his voice. “You can look at the real ones, too if you like. I have most of them at home.” The smith jumped a little and nodded “Yes that would be helpful. So I can incorporate something familiar in the handles, eases the transfer.” He then stood an placed the weapons in their respective stands along the wall. The Assassin noticed him testing the weight and balance of each and every one while returning them. Something in the way he analysed every little detail fascinated him.

For today’s training, he chose two different sets of twin swords that differed in length and shape since those should be part of the new weapon. Of course, he also took his bow with a few padded arrows. He would most likely not get to use it today but took it anyways in case the others turned up later than expected.

When they stepped out into the yard, three familiar figures were already occupying their usual spot, seemingly discussing their shift plans and the best times to meet up for additional training. Tinker excused himself with the intent of searching a nice spot to sit where he wouldn’t bother anyone and Runaan continued to greet his soldiers.

“Who’s the handsome guy over there hotshot?” was Kira’s greeting to him while she discretely nodded towards the portion of wall the smith had claimed as perch. He couldn’t suppress the eye roll in response. “He is a smith and will craft a new weapon for me. You will probably see him around some more. He says he wants to see my fighting style before getting started.” She only gave him a knowing smile before stepping away to take her fighting stance. As per usual, the four started with some easier moves in changing pairs before it was three against him.

On his spot on the wall Tinker had the large sketchbook placed in his lap and was currently on his fifth motion sketch. He immediately loved drawing Runaan. His movements were so graceful and precise it was mesmerising to watch. He tried to convey as much of it in his drawings as he could. Every once in a while, he would find the other watching him with those piercing turquoise eyes of his. It always sent a shiver down his spine and he caught himself drawing a close-up of the Assassins face for a change. He also took notes on how he used the different shaped swords to figure out the best shape for the Bowblade. It would have to be slightly curved to imitate the shape of a bow but not too much so he was still able to properly use them. He also made notes of how runaan held the blades and for which manoeuvres he changed his grip on the handles.

When the fighters took a break to get something to drink, he already started to sketch out some rough design drafts and contemplated over the best mechanism to attach the blades in the middle. It wouldn’t be easy, but Tinker loved a challenge. Especially when the challenge included a handsome elf, he had now an excuse to come and watch as much as he pleased.

When the three soldiers left for their quarters and Runaan came walking over, he had over eight pages worth of sketches and notes. He felt a blush creeping on his cheeks and ears as the Assassin glimpsed on one of the pages and immediately complimented his drawing skills. They parted after a quick chat where Tinker announced he would come around some more times before starting on the final draft. Once home, he reopened the sketchbook and admired Runaan’s swift moving body until he fell asleep.

[edelwoodsouls]

Over the Rainbow

I saw Spider-Man: Homecoming on Thursday and this fic idea hasn’t let me go since. It’ll probably become a series/multi-chapter later on. Please comment, I’d love to know what you think!

Tags: Trans Peter Parker, Bisexual Peter Parker, Panromantic Michelle Jones, Gay Ned Leeds, Bisexual May Parker, Pride, Everyone is LGBTQ+ okay, Pre-relationship,

Word Count: 2139

Also on Ao3

"I'm really sorry, dude."

Peter can feel his heart sinking already; he knows exactly what Ned is about to say.

"My mom forgot to tell me we're going to see my gran today," Ned continues, "and I can't get out of it."

Peter swallows before he can say what's on his mind. They both know that the last minute nature of this trip is entirely planned on Ned's mom's part, but neither of them can bring themselves to voice it.

"I'm so sorry, Peter. I really wanted to be there."

"It's fine, Ned," Peter manages, pressing the phone hard to his ear as he swings down from his bed. "I'll take loads of pictures for you."

"Be careful out there."

"I will."

The call ends, and Peter only just resists the urge to throw his phone at something.

He's been looking forward to New York Pride for months, ever since he came out to Aunt May last year. Until then he'd been too afraid of being caught there, of being outed before he was ready.

Last year seems like decades ago; so much has changed since then.

His outfit sits inocuously on his desk chair - a pink, white and blue striped t-shirt and black shorts; cans of pink, blue and purple hairspray - with Ned's rainbow shirt hanging behind it. Suddenly the clothes seem less appealing than before.

He could just not go. That might be easier than going alone. Besides, he wouldn't have to deal with the crowds and overwhelming loud noises, which make his ears ache and the world seem to close in on him, ever since the spider bite. Really, going to pride doesn't make much sense in his situation.

Except the parade passes right by his apartment. He remembers how painful it was to watch the rainbow flags and cheering people, so close yet so inaccessible to him, year after year. He wants to be out there, with people who understand him, not set back right where he was before. And he did say he was going to get pictures for Ned - his best friend will be able to tell if he took them from his own window rather than ground level.

"Peter?" Aunt May's voice startles him, and he realises he's been staring morosely out of the window for a good five minutes. "I thought you and Ned were planning to leave early. Won't you miss the beginning of the parade?"

He turns to look at his aunt, so open and smiling, brow furrowed with worry for him which only increases when she sees what he imagines is his crestfallen expression. She's been nothing but supportive since he came out - saving up for hormones, researching and buying the safest binders - and he can't believe he was ever scared to hide himself from her.

Before he realises it, he's crying.

Aunt May is across the room in seconds, wrapping him in a hug as he sinks onto his bed. "Hey," she soothes, "it's okay, Peter. What's wrong?"

"Ned- he, uh," Peter feels anger well up inside himself, whether at Ned's mom for all the homophobic shit she puts Neds through, or himself for crying, he can't tell. "He can't come to pride. We were- we were to do this together."

Aunt May's arms tighten around him. "Is it his mom?" She takes his silence has confirmation. "You know, I've always thought that woman needed a good slap back to reality. I've got half a mind to go over there right now and-"

"No," Peter interrupts immediately, then winces at the force in his voice. He extricates himself from the hug, wiping away his tears in frustration. "Sorry. It's just, uh, getting involved isn't the best idea. The only reason they haven't fought about it is because they've never acknowledge it, like, verbally. Confronting her about it would only make it worse for Ned."

"Well," she sounds unsure, placing a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, "he's always welcome here. I don't think it's healthy for him to live in that sort of environment."

Peter nods shakily. Before he came out to his aunt, he and Ned would fantasise about running away together, somewhere where no one knew them. Somewhere where Ned could kiss a guy and people would walk on by because it was nothing out of the ordinary. Somewhere where no one remembered Peyton Parker. Peter always liked the idea of moving to the Gay Kingdom of the Coral Sea, but the idea of spiders the size of his face freaked him out too much.

Oh, the irony.

"So why aren't you ready?"

"Huh?" Peter blinks, looking at his aunt like she's grown a second head.

She stands up and grabs one of the cans of hairspray, shaking it vigorously. "How much of this stuff do you need?"

An hour later his hair is an impressive mix of colour, and there's glitter everywhere. Literally everywhere. In his hair, stuck in stripes to his cheeks, all over his hands and arms. Aunt May has sprayed her hair too, painted her nails, and dug out a tie-dye sun dress from years ago.

He's just about ready to go when she shoves a large rainbow flag into his hands. "I bought you this yesterday, and forgot to give it to you."

Peter's eyes widen, and he throws his arms around her. "Thank you so much aunt May. I love you."

She grins widely, taking him in as they stand by the doorway. "Your parents would be so proud of you, y'know." She says it quietly, smile flickering, and Peter can feel his cheeks heat in a mix of pride and overwhelming sadness.

Aunt May shakes her head as if to clear it, smile back full force. "Let's go, or we'll miss it."

It's three in the afternoon before Peter gets another chance to breathe. He and Aunt May end up catching the parade half-way through its route, cheering on floats of rainbows and glitter explosions, flowers and flags, and a few appearances of the Babadook, which takes him a good ten minutes to explain to his aunt. After that they're quickly caught up in an impromptu dance party in the park, then taking photos with and for groups of strangers who smile and wave and joke like they've known them their whole lives.

Peter has never felt more comfortable in his own skin. Every time he sees a trans flag his heart feels a hundred times lighter, and he goes out of his way to high five the people carrying them. It's probably a hundred degrees outside, too hot for anyone to reasonably be doing anything, yet he feels as if he could run a marathon or fight off an army. He sees a guy dressed in nothing but his binder and shorts and wishes he had the confidence to do that too; maybe one day soon, he thinks.

They stop to get sandwiches, and lay out the rainbow flag to sit on. His chest is aching and he knows he should probably take the binder off soon, but he doesn't ever want to leave the park. If only every day could be this open, this happy - he's pretty sure he hasn't stopped grinning since the morning started.

"Hey, Aunt May, I'm gonna go get a badge. There's a stall just over there."

She sits up, blinking the sun out of her eyes. "Okay - get me a bi one?"

Peter blinks at her as she laughs at his vaguely stunned expression. After a moment he echoes her wide grin with one of his own, jumping up from the grass. "Sure thing, aunt May!"

He can still hear her laughter as he runs.

There are a few people crowded around the stall, picking out badges of all sorts. There are ones for every flag he can think of, ones for preferred pronouns, and various pop culture ones. He slows down to a walk, trying to decide which badges he should go for, when he hears one of the people behind the table talking.

"Sign our petition for permanent gay and trans pride crosswalks in New York? It's a show of solidarity from the city which will not only support the LGBTQ+ community, but also really piss off the homophobes."

The crowd of people part slightly, and Peter does a double take, because there's Michelle, hair as wild as usual but dyed in rainbow colours, wearing an oversized t-shirt with a pink, yellow and blue heart on the front - it's weird to see her wearing actual colour for once - her face open and earnest as she shakes a petition clipboard at someone.

The person in front of her takes her proffered pen, and Michelle looks up smugly, her eyes catching his and widening in surprise. "Peter?"

He feels almost - vulnerable as he watches her eyes take in the colours of his t-shirt and hair, but walks closer despite his heart thundering at a hundred miles per hour. In the last few months he's come to consider her a friend, and since she only came to their school in sophomore year she never knew him when he was still in the closet.

His fear is quickly assuaged as she smiles at him - a genuine, unironic smile which he doesn't think he's ever seen on her; it softens the hard, confrontational edge she usually exudes.

"What can I get you?" she shakes a jar of badges.

"Could I get a male pronoun one? And two bi?"

She rattles the jar around, fingers digging through them to find the badges he's requested, and he takes the time to look through the ones already displayed on the table.

His eyes are drawn to a set of rainbow flag badges, each with a different Avenger on them, and he can't help but smile.

Michelle clears her throat and presses four badges into his hand with a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow. He looks down: she's given him an extra one, rainbow with Spider-Man's mask on it.

His eyes widen, and he stares at her, blood rushing to his cheeks. "Wha-"

"Hey, Andy, can you cover for me?" Michelle hands the jar of badges to the guy next to her as Peter drags her behind the stall.

"How long have you known?"

"Seriously, Peter?" she rolls her eyes, entire body exuding sarcasm once again. "You're hardly subtle. You're constantly disappearing. You 'know' Spider-Man. Spider-Man vanished when you lost the Stark internship - I mean, the entire world knows that Tony Stark is Iron Man, the head of the Avengers. You finally get the date you wanted, only to bail, and your girlfriend's dad gets arrested courtesy of Spider-Man that same night?"

"Okay, but-"

"Plus you and Ned talk really loudly. Like, seriously, anyone at that party could've heard you."

"You've known since the party?" he splutters.

"I was right behind you buttering toast, dude. Just be glad it was me, not Flash, or everyone would've known."

He feels like he should be more freaked out about this turn of events, but instead he finds himself only vaguely resigned about it, and more relieved that he doesn't have to lie to her, especially since they've been hanging out more recently. He should've guessed that she knew, really, considering how observant she is.

"So are you gonna take the badge?"

"Huh?" He looks down at the badge, feeling a strange warmth at the sight of it. "I didn't know Spider-Man is an LGBT icon."

"Anyone can be an LGBT icon unless explicitly stated otherwise. Who better to look up to than the superheroes who keep us safe?"

"That's... a really inspiring way of looking at things."

"Why thank you."

They stand for a moment in silence and, for once, Peter doesn't feel the need to fill it with noise. It's comfortable; safe.

"So where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Ned? He, uh- he's still kinda in the closet with his mom."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yeah."

For a moment Michelle looks uneasy, like she's trying to decide whether or not to say something.

"My shift ends in half an hour," she says eventually.

"I'll be there. We can get ice-cream - or something?" Now Peter feels unsure; he's never been sure when it comes to girls in any respect.

"Awesome." She sounds as relieved as he feels. "I'll see you then."

As she's slipping back into the tent, Peter calls out to her. "Hey, MJ - uh, me and Ned are doing a Sense 8 marathon this evening, if you want to come?"

Her face splits into a smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Peter spends the next half an hour grinning, butterflies in his stomach that he can't quite understand, and though he can feel Aunt May's amused, suspicious gaze on him, he feels higher than the clouds.

[aloserwithakeyboard]

"So, are you ready?" I ask.

"We'll see in a second." He answers, knocking on the door.

"One second!" We hear the very familiar voice shout. There's some shuffling around before the thick gray door pushes open. As soon as I see Paige, I can't help myself from running toward them and enveloping them in a hug. I hold on tight and once Paige wraps their arms around me I can't imagine letting go.

"Hey, give me a turn, kid." Josh jokes from behind us.

I laugh, but don't let go, so he just makes it a group hug and we waddle into the room so that Paige doesn't have to keep holding the door.

"Oh my god, I've missed you guys so much!" Paige exclaims.

"You have no idea how much we've missed you." I say into their shoulder, still refusing to let go.

Josh exits the group hug and looks around the room. "You've got quite the room," His eyes trail from the purple lights to the spotted comforter and the 16 posters covering the walls, "Since when did you like Wolverine?" He asks, his nose scrunching as he looks at the blue and yellow poster.

"Oh, I don't, my roommate does. Apparently he's read the comics since he was a little kid and it was the only decoration he brought." Paige explains.

"What's your roommate like?" I ask, breaking our hug.

"You'll probably meet him later, he's at the library now. But, that's not important, tell me what's been happening! How have you guys been? I want to know everything about what's going on at home." Paige inquires.

I sit on their bed. "What do you want us to start with? It's been such a long time."

Josh moves to sit next to me and Paige sits on my other side. "Well, first you have to tell me about how you got this binder you're wearing because, holy crap, you look so hot." Paige directs to me.

I blush before answering. "I got it about two months after you left, and had it shipped to Josh's so my mom didn't see and it's actually the best thing ever."

"Yeah, and he wears it for too long all the time." Josh mumbles.

I glare at him as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Danny, that is not safe -" Paige starts chastising me.

"Paige. I know. I'm not actively thinking 'oh you know what I'm gonna do today? Wear my binder for too long.' I just have a lot to do and I lose track of time so it ends up on for too long sometimes. I haven't gotten hurt from wearing it."

"Yet. You haven't gotten hurt yet. Next time you wear it for too long, you could crack a rib or whatever else could happen." Josh tries to explain. Paige is just nodding along.

"Can we talk about something else?" I ask, "What's life like here? How have you been doing?"

"Well, the teachers are pretty cool cause they deal with all kinds of kids that have families who just don't want to deal with them any more. The food in the dining hall is questionable, but there are some days where it's really good. Mr. Tatiano walks around campus and no one really knows what he does or why he's here, but he's actually really nice and has insightful things to say and the best advice if you walk with him. The heating is pretty bad, so winter got really cold last year and one day everyone on this floor gathered in the common room with every blanket in the dorms and we all slept on the ground together," Paige pauses, "Oh! And I made some friends. Sally is a year younger than us and very sweet. She has family issues, so she doesn't really like making new connections with people as she's afraid of getting hurt. I wish you guys could meet her, but meeting two people at a time would be a bit too much for her. Then there's Jackie. Jackie barely speaks English, so he was a bit hard to talk to at first, but you get used to the mix of Albanian and English kind of quickly. His dad owns a big boat business. He, like, sells yachts or something. Teddy is the coolest. They have purple hair and the brightest smile and they're so smart. Teddy loses the key to their dorm like ten times a week and it's so stupid. They're also really into comic books, especially Squirrel Girl, who I hadn't heard of before I met Teddy, but apparently she's really cool." Paige finishes.

"They all sound awesome." Josh comments.

"What about you guys, have you made any new friends since I've been here?" Paige asks.

"Josh's sister Kailey and I really hit it off on the first day of school. We're best friends now." I joke, elbowing Josh.

"Yeah, I'm sure she loves you after you outed me to her." Josh elbows me back.

"How do you out someone who doesn't even use labels?" I shoot at him.

"He's got you there, Josh. Besides, you would've explained everything to her a long time ago if your parents hadn't stopped you. " Paige points out.

"I'm not admitting either of you are right. " Josh says defiantly before quickly lunging on top of Paige and me, pinning us to the mattress.

"Don't use your baseball muscles against us you monster!" Paige exclaims as we all start to giggle.

"PAIGE! I need your help! My brother is totally insufferable!" Someone shouts as we hear the door to Paige's room creak open, "Oh, sorry, uh- I can come back later. You look kind of busy..." The voice trails off.

Josh jumps off of us and stands next to the bed, putting his hands in his pockets as he just stares at the human standing right in front of Paige's door. I sit up so I can see. A tall, lanky form is standing in front of us. They have deep purple hair that's messy and unbrushed. They're wearing loose jeans with a red hoodie that reads 'heart breaker' with two necklaces hanging in front of it. The longer one is silver with a small purple geode at the end and the smaller one hangs right at the base of their neck with a small black sphere with etchings along the circumference of the charm. They have chunky black combat boots with rainbow laces and are standing with one hip slightly cocked to the side, their lightly freckled face looking at Josh in confusion.

"Oh, no, it's fine. Teddy, these are my friends Josh and Danny. They came to visit me today and we were just talking. Um, Josh and Danny, this is Teddy." Paige states awkwardly.

"So, you're Teddy, huh?" Josh says, extending his hand for Teddy to shake.

I quickly get up and walk over to where Josh is standing, "Cut that out, " I mutter, hitting his arm before turning to the nervous kid in front of us, "I'm Danny, it's nice to meet you."

"Um, hi." Teddy replies. Their voice is quiet and meek. Not what you would expect after seeing what they look and dress like, "Oh! Yeah, I-I'm Teddy, sorry, that was rude. So, um, you're like visiting Paige?"

Paige spoke up next and Teddys head snapped to them as soon as they started talking. A look of relief flooded Teddy's face, "Yup, they're my friends from back home. Danny was the one I was telling you about, who would switch clothes with me every morning at school and Josh was the guy I played baseball with for a while. Remember?"

"Oh! I know you guys! Well, I don't know you, but I know so many stories about you. Sorry, that sounds weird, it's just Paige likes to talk about what you guys used to do together. Like, Danny don't you play cello? That's so awesome. And Josh aren't you like the coolest kid at school?" It seems that once Teddy's shy exterior is cracked, they talk a mile a minute.

Josh laughed and I scoffed at Teddy's last comment.

"If anyone thinks he's cool there's been a huge misunderstanding." I joke.

"Hey!" Josh playfully slaps my shoulder. "I'm totally cool." He crosses his arms.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." I say, walking back to where Paige is.

"So, Teddy, what's going on?" Paige asks their friend.

"Oh, um, it's nothing," Teddy messes with and crosses one arm in front of the other, "I can come back later."

"No, stay with us. You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but please stay." Paige looks at them with pleading eyes.

Teddy drops their shoulders with a sigh, "Okay, what are you guys doing?"

"We were just catching up. Danny and Josh have failed to tell me about what's happening back home, so we have to pester them about that." Paige explains.

I take a deep breath and turn to Josh, who's muscles are very tense as we stand outside of Paige's room.

Teddy looks at me quizzically, "People are mean to you at school?"

Teddy sits down next to Paige on their bed, I lean against the wall, while Josh just stands around. I pull my sweatshirt sleeves down to cover my hands and mess with my hair.

"Nothing is interesting at home. It's just jerks at school and the same old shops around town." I answer.

Teddy looks at me quizzically, "People are mean to you at school?"