#now. however. I wanted to use songs that were made for this playlist ages ago. and these two were the ones I found not that long ago.

[sovamurka]

Congratulations, my second bayana playlist somehow turned into a linguafrankenstein monster because my melomaniac philologist ass decided it was a great idea to put Russian, Croatian, English, French and German songs in one place.

[thatredheadwriter]

Mine

steven grant x reader (mentions marc spector x reader)

The suit, the suit is amazing. Honestly it is. But you can’t help but be the slightest bit annoyed when it erases the marks you leave all over him. Lucky for you, Steven’s more than happy to let you have another go.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Steven Grant of the show Moon Knight (with mentions of Marc Spector). This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18 (or the age of majority in your locale). As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Mentions of canon-level violence

Swearing

Cute pet name for reader

Marking/biting

Possesiveness kink (use of the word ‘mine’ a lot, not jealousy)

grinding/dry humping

Spit as lube (kinda, you’ll see)

P in V penetrative sex

Unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

Riding (female on top)

Creampie

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

You had a love-hate relationship with Khonshu the moon god.

While others might balk at your open animosity towards a deity with his power, you felt it was perfectly justified given how much he fucked up your life and your boyfriend’s life. Well, technically boyfriends, plural. It was a little confusing sometimes, being in a relationship with both Marc and Steven, and them being part of the same system, but oh if they didn’t make it worth your while every chance they got.

But no, sometimes you couldn’t stand Khonshu, and this was one of those times.

You’d spent the entirety of your lazy Sunday afternoon sucking hickeys and leaving little love bites on Marc as you wasted the day away drinking cheap wine and watching horrible television. Beautiful crimson scratches decorated his back that night once he was finished with you.

You put in all that work, painting his skin so beautifully with the evidence of your love, only for it to be gone as he stood before you now.

Now, you were grateful for Khonshu. He’d saved Marc’s life all those years ago and it’s true that without him you would have never met either of them, and it is his armor that protects them when they’re fighting evil, or whatever. And you were grateful for the armor itself. You’d seen Steven shishkabobbed, Marc stabbed and shot, and the armor allowed them to come out completely fine, better than fine really.

But did it always have to undo your masterpieces?

Every time one of them would call up the suit, its healing properties would magically undo the constellation of marks you’d worked so hard on, usually just hours earlier.

Steven played with the hem of his sweater, watching as you worked in the kitchen of your shared flat. He could tell something was bothering you. It was in the way your brow stayed furrowed even after you’d scrubbed away the stubborn spot of dried cake batter from the counter and how you were silent, rather than humming a song from one of the fifty different playlists you had for cleaning.

Typically he wouldn’t disturb you. As a neat and tidy person himself, he understood wanting to work alone for a bit, finding calm in the monotony of cleaning. But something was eating at you, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He made his way around the bar and came to stand behind you at the sink where you were wiping out coffee mugs from breakfast. His arms wrapped around your middle as he leaned in to the side and placed a chaste kiss to your left temple.

You sighed, a further sign of your irritation.

Steven took the dripping mug from your hands and set it in the drying rack before taking a step back from you. His lingering hands on your waist pushed and pulled, prompting you to turn and face him.

“What’s wrong, dove?�� he asked, head tilted like a confused pup.

You were chewing on the inside of your cheek before you answered a simple, “Nothing.”

“I know when you’re hiding something,” he pushed, hands reaching out for your hips once more, his thumbs running in soothing circles over your lower abdomen.

You looked at his cocked head and raised eyebrows and sighed in defeat.

“It’s stupid, that’s all,” you turned back to the sink and reached in for something else to watch.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Steven said from behind you.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“How can it be stupid if it’s bothering my dove?” he asked, moving your hair aside so he could kiss the back of your neck.

His sweetness made you smile and roll your eyes a little.

You turned back to face him, wiping your hands dry on a nearby dishtowel.

“No, no, it’s just that…I hate it when…” you trailed off, wringing the towel in your hands.

“Hey, hey,” Steven leaned down until he was eye level with you, “You know you can tell me anything. What is it?”

“I just hate it when that stupid suit undoes all my hard work,” you confessed with a pout.

“The suit? What are you talking about?”

Your hand reached up and traced down the side of his neck, and his eyes widened in recognition. His face contorted as he stifled a chuckle and he managed to frown a bit.

“I’m sorry, darling. I know how much you like marking me.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head into his chest. He allowed your weight to push him back into the counter behind him. When you opened your eyes, you realized his exposed collarbone was right there and you took a moment to appreciate the fact that he never replaced his old stretched out jumpers.

With your arms still wrapped around him loosely, you moved just a bit so you could kiss your target before nipping at it lightly. Steven tensed underneath you as you began to work at the spot, sucking a fresh mark into the delicate skin.

Once you were satisfied with that one, you moved up higher, nose nudging his jaw as you searched for the special spot that made him putty underneath you. You knew you had it when he moaned in your ear, the sound making your core throb.

“Shit,” he whispered as your teeth sunk into the spot, leaving a pretty little mark.

“Love marking you Stevie,” you hummed, pulling him down so you could nip at his earlobe a little bit. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he sighed shakily. You could feel his cock hardening in his sweatpants up against your thigh, and you couldn’t help but grind against the growing bulge as you tangled your hands in his curls, still damp from the shower, and pulled his head back to give you full access to his jaw.

You finally pulled away after kissing and sucking down the hard line of his jaw, satisfied with what you’d done so far, and admired your work.

“God, Steven, you’re so pretty,” you breathed, running a hand over the stubble he hadn’t bothered shaving. Your thumb traced his bottom lip before you cupped his jaw and pulled him into a kiss.

Steven was an amazing kisser, despite his self-proclaimed lack of experience. Marc liked to claim it was muscle memory. But Marc’s lips and Steven’s were entirely different. Marc’s kisses were hungry and desperate, and yet somehow incredibly precise. Steven, on the other hand, he was soft and sweet. His mouth could be hot and needy, too, but he was always more gentle, more sloppy.

As  you pulled away from him, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging on it just a bit before releasing him completely.

“I want you now,” you murmured into the hollow of his throat, letting your hand come up to play with the gold chain that always hung around his neck.

“Then you can have me,” he smiled down at you.

Keeping as close to him as possible, you tugged him around the counter and pushed him towards the couch. There was no way you were making it all the way to the bedroom, not when he was just so beautiful and all yours.

You straddled his lap almost instantly, pulling his face down so you could pepper it with kisses and making him giggle. Your heart soared at the sound an you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle yourself.

“I love you,” you grinned at him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you too,” he pecked you on the lips, once, twice, then the third kiss turned into something much deeper.

Your hands wandered up and down his chest, coming to a rest at the hem of his sweater for a moment before slipping underneath and caressing the warm skin there.

“Take it off f’me,” you urged, earning another giggle from Steven as he reached down to pull the worn fabric over his head and toss it onto the other end of the couch. You made a mental note to steal it later, as it was one of your favorites.

Your palms flattened against his chest to push him back against the couch cushions so you could kiss and nibble along his now exposed chest. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your sides and reaching down to knead your ass.

Little grunts of ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘so good’ left his lips as you worked across the wide expanse of bare skin, intent on leaving plenty of marks. Unconsciously your hips began to grind into his lap as you worked, his hands making you feel wonderful things.

“Mmm, “ you sighed, resting your head on his chest for a moment and listening to his steady heartbeat. Your hips were moving more deliberately now, your desperation growing as you rutted into him. “Need to feel you, Steven.”

He swore under his breath as you moved back a bit so that you could pull down his sweats and access his hard cock, finally freeing it.

You hunched over a bit and spit into your hand before wrapping it around Steven’s cock and pumping a couple times. His head was tossed back against the couch as you worked, mouth forming words that you couldn’t quite hear.

When you stood up, he whined, head snapping up to find you and figure out what made you leave him, but what he saw more than made up for it.

You were pulling your t-shirt over your head, revealing the delicate flesh of your breasts and stomach. Steven’s hands explored your body as your thumbs hooked in your short and panties, pulling them down your legs in one quick motion.

Steven’s hands on your hips helped to guide and steady you as you moved to straddle him once more and position yourself over his cock.

The two of you groaned in tandem as he filled you, taking a moment to enjoy the closeness. Your arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders, holding him closer that you ever thought possible.

“God, I could stay like this forever,” you panted, your grip loosening so your hands could roam his back.

“I-I don’t know about forever,” Steven laughed breathily. His hips rutted up against you involuntarily and you bit down on your lip so hard that you were afraid you’d drawn blood.

You began rolling your hips in a circular motion, grinding his hips into you. Both of you were trembling groaning messes, a tangle of body and mind and soul.

His pubic bone ground against your clit so perfectly, your mouth opened in a silent scream. Steven saw this as the perfect opportunity to capture you in another open mouthed kiss, teeth knocking against each other as both of you gasped for breath.

You changed your approach a little, electing to bounce up and down on him a bit. Steven helped of course, thrusting up into you as much as he could.  Your hands tangled in the short hair at the back of his head as your pleasure built.

“Fuck, Steven. M’gonna cum,” you whined, dipping your forehead to rest on his shoulder as he took the lead, fucking up into you with all he had.

“Come on, you can do it, dove,” he whispered in your ear. One of his hands left the bruising grip he’d had on your hip to slide two fingers in where your two bodies met. They curled up, rubbing hard on your clit.

You came fast and hard and it felt like every molecule of your being was vibrating on the same frequency. The only thing in your universe was Steven underneath you.

Steven was still chasing his own high and as he became lost in the throws of his own pleasure, he was worried about dropping you or allowing to slide off of his lap, so he carefully rolled you over to rest your back on the couch.

He slipped out of you only for a moment before he was inside you again, thrusting irregularly and you knew he was close. You drew him to your body as his climax built and scraped your nails down his back. The slight sting of pain mixed with the sensation of your cunt squeezing him finally took him over the edge. 

“Fuck,” he swore into your ear as you sucked one last hickey on the side of his neck. His heart rate was slowing and his breathing became more steady as he finally pulled out of you.

“Mmm,” you hummed blissfully as he sat back on the couch, a tired sigh leaving his swollen lips. “I got you all marked up again. Now everybody’s gonna know you’re mine.”

He laughed at that, but stopped suddenly, cocking his head as if he was listening for something.

“Marc wants to know if you’re up for round two in the shower,” he said, slight flush to his cheeks. He’d just fucked you raw, and now he was getting embarrassed. Steven always managed to make you smile with how cute he was.

You smiled, lolling your head back to study the ceiling.

Steven cleared his throat, “He says…well he says it’s our turn to leave some marks on you.”

The thought had your thighs rubbing together, wanting to feel their teeth on you, mouth all over.

“I think we can make that happen,” you grinned at him before jumping up and moving towards the bathroom.

“Hey, Marc,” you addressed the alter, “First one in gets to pick the water temperature.”

You watched as Steven’s whole body tensed and his eyes rolled back in his head before he jumped up, chasing after you. Marc was competitive, and you loved to get him worked up so you could get him worked up.

thatredheadwriter’s Masterlist

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 2: Suspicions

AN:  Yeeaaahhh this one’s pretty much all from Levi’s POV.  Get ready for some cat and mouse, guys.

Also I’m working on a playlist.  hehehe. I love my playlists.  Some songs just fit SO WELLLLL!!!!

Characters:  Levi, Vampire!Reader, Erwin, Various BG Characters

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language

Word Count:  5102

<----Previous Chapter    Masterlist    Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

Levi leaned against the stone wall beside him, arms crossed over his chest and the shade of the roof mostly hiding him from view as he stared pensively out at the open field.  The horse training was finished for the days, and the horses were being allowed time to roam in the open field for the time being.  One individual, however, was spending some one on one time with a mare, walking through some common techniques to get a horse to trust you.

At first, he’d wondered why she was using such a long rope, since he was fairly certain the distance between a horse and a potential rider during this exercise wasn’t supposed to be that far.  Quickly Levi realized that if she got much closer, the horse was not having it.  It was truly afraid of her, though she appeared to be making some headway, if she was able to lead the horse around on the long rope while the other horses stayed clear.

Horses that had been trained and bred to retain nerves of steel and ignore their fears, especially in the presence of Titans and the chaos of a battle, and apparently all of them were at least skittish around her.  That’s what he’d heard from the stablemaster, anyway.

Not a minor detail to be overlooked.  And a problem, if she couldn’t get around it.  Clearly, though, she was putting in the effort and time to fix it, and she didn’t mind going at the proper pace instead of trying to rush it.  From what he’d been able to observe, she was also approaching the situation with an admirable amount of patience, no outward signs of frustration or anger when she reached a setback and had to back up a foot or so on the rope instead of shortening it a little more.  Her approach changed slightly each time, too, attempting to adjust to fix whatever she’d done wrong the previous try.

Well, at least she had some positive character traits to be discovered alongside the worrisome fact about the horses he wasn’t going to ignore.  So he could give her some merit while his suspicion raised a little more.

“Captain.”

Levi turned at the sound of his title, noticing the individual approaching him from the main building, a file in hand.  He snapped a salute when he reached Levi, then held out the file for him to take.  “You asked for the file on Cadet Y/N L/N.”

Levi nodded and took the file from him.  “Thanks.  You can go,” he said in a distracted tone, already opening the file as the soldier walked away.

His eyes scanned the information in the file, which was surprisingly scarce.  Her place of residence was formerly Wall Rose, there was no living family, no record as he thought there might be after their spar.  She ranked sixth in her class--which didn’t at all match the spar they’d had, and gave further credit to his belief she was purposely holding herself back even when it mattered for placement.  Maybe she wanted to avoid the spotlight?  She wanted her talents to be recognized, but she didn’t want them front and center since she was still trying to scrape by without her full potential being noticed.  She excelled in individual evaluations, especially the physical and instinctual, but seemed to have some problem with others.  It was noted in her file that she was a loner and outcast during training, suggesting teamwork might be a point of issue with her.  The opinion of her classmates might shed some light on that matter--it could have easily been the other party and not necessarily her that was the issue.  Some of her classmates had joined the Scouts as well, if he remembered correctly, so there were some around that could be asked.

Levi reached the end of the file far sooner than he expected.

There weren’t any official documents giving age or place of birth, just an inked in note marking that she was in her early twenties--older than most new recruits, strangely enough--and the name of the town she was born in.  There weren’t any legal documents, and no visible records of her existence before she started leaving a trail behind in Wall Rose two years ago, with a rented space in her name and her official application to join the Cadet Corps the only real official documents here.

That shouldn’t have been possible.  Of course, if she lived in the Underground beforehand, it would make perfect sense for her to have no trail until she surfaced, but it was right here in ink that she was born within Wall Rose.

Had she lied?  Had she somehow managed to get topside without official immigration and slipped right through the fingers of the authorities?  The Underground would have fit a little comfortably in his working picture of her--loner, exceptionally skilled in combat and other physical areas, not having a record before two years ago, the street fighting skills…

He wasn’t going to write off the Underground yet, but how she might have gotten topside needed some fleshing out before he could consider it more seriously.

Appearing out of the blue and an unknown past only made Levi’s unease grow.  Maybe if there was more, he could have deduced what her reason for joining the military--hell, joining the Scouts--was.

More questions, and not much in the way of answers.

Dissatisfied, Levi returned to his position resting against the wall with the file now tucked under an arm, watching as the speckled grey horse with the black to white mane gradually came closer to her as the rope slowly shortened, but it’s caution and unexplained fear still kept it out of her arm's reach.

The new recruit in front of him was so nervous he was trembling.  He might have thought he was hiding it well, but it was plain as day to Levi, who was leaning against the wall sipping on his cup of tea with eyes fixed forward on the recruit sitting on the other side of his desk.  He’d called the young man in as a sort of character reference for L/N, asking him to state his opinion on the young woman’s abilities and if they were an asset to the Scouts.

His final question, however, had caused the recruit’s suddenly shifty demeanor, and Levi’s gaze narrowed slightly at him when he hesitated.

“Are there any qualities you feel she possesses that would be harmful to the Scouts?”

The recruit across from him couldn’t look Levi in the eyes, on the brink of saying something, but for some reason holding himself back.  Levi waited for several moments before there was a spark of impatience starting to grow in him.

“Spit it out.”

The recruit’s shoulders hunched slightly, and he started to haltingly speak.  “She doesn’t exactly get along with other people.”

Well, that could mean a lot of things.  Levi wasn’t the friendliest person in the world, but that didn’t stop him from doing his damn job.  Antisocial didn’t necessarily count as something that negated her ability to perform in the field.  This kid needed to be more specific.

“Does she start fights with her comrades?” Levi asked bluntly.

“No, but she has been in a few--”

“Does she fail to communicate in the field?”

“Never, though--”

“Is she incapable of working as part of a group?”

“Not really--”

“Does she take actions that could cause harm to other members of the team in the field?”

“I haven’t--”

Levi let out a slow sigh.  He kept interrupting the recruit because he didn’t need long winded answers that spun the narrative a certain way.  He already knew he couldn’t entirely trust the feedback this kid was going to give him, because either he would downplay her abilities and up-play her flaws to make himself look better, or vice versa to make her look better, all based off the assumption Levi was asking because Levi was looking to have her join his squad.

It wasn’t too far off the mark, but Levi was considering adding her less and less the farther he dug into her background.  And while he knew he couldn’t trust much of what the kid was going to say to his face, that wasn’t the point.  It was what came after this that mattered the most, and it still gave him something to work with to get a little further in his investigation.

She communicated and worked just fine in a group, and while she had been in fights before, she hadn’t been the one to start them.  It was starting to look more like harassment of some degree on the other side that kept her from interacting much with her peers.  Aside from the pretty much confirmed antisocial behavior outside of the field, of course.

“You have to be more specific than ‘she doesn’t play well with others.’  I don’t always get along with other people--that doesn’t keep me from doing my job,” Levi deadpanned.

The recruit was really struggling to get it out now, his face all twisted up as he tried to rework his words.  “While her skills are undeniable, socially, her relationship with her peers is...poor.”

Is that really what this amounted to?  No one liked her because she wasn’t friendly enough with them?  “Your complaint is that she’s not a social butterfly?”

“It’s more than that, sir, she’s not…”

Levi waited another five seconds before he decided this wasn’t being productive anymore.  Time to kick him out of the office and go on to the next part, then.  “Either come up with a solid answer, or I’ll take your silence as a no so you can leave to take care of that constipated look on your face.”

The recruit looked put out and frustrated, but he ended up standing from the chair and leaving, Levi watching him silently from over the rim of his cup and eyes lingering on the door after it had closed.

This sneaking around behind the scenes getting dirt on people was usually more Erwin’s speed, but Levi had been around Erwin long enough to pick up a few tricks of his own to use when necessary, like in moments like this.  Levi could be subtle when he wanted to.

A few moments after the recruit walked out his door, Levi finished his tea, set down the empty cup on his desk, and followed after him, keeping far enough back that he wouldn’t be noticed.  Just as he’d suspected, the recruit found his way back to another pair of recruits and proceeded to go about cathartically bitching about the situation.

Levi missed the part where the other two asked why Levi wanted to talk to him in his office, but since that wasn’t the important part, Levi wasn’t too concerned, stopping just around the corner and pressing his shoulder against the wall to listen in to what they really had to say about L/N when it wasn’t being filtered by the intimidation of speaking with a superior.

“Of course miss ice princess is being considered for Captain Levi’s squad.  Why wouldn’t she?” the recruit who had been in Levi’s office was fuming.

“I don’t get why you two are so upset--if Captain Levi’s already asking about her, surely that’s because she has the potential, right?” asked the young woman in their group.

“You didn’t train with her--you didn’t see how downright infuriating she was!  If it wasn’t for the occasional lost spar round or missed question on a test, or a margin behind someone else in an endurance test, whatever it was, she still somehow managed to look perfect.  Even if you were ahead of her, it was like she was right there behind you!”

“Not to mention she didn’t even seem to try,” the third one muttered.

“Exactly!  We’d work our asses off, and then she would waltz in and do whatever they asked her to as if it was as natural as breathing!  It was so--so--so infuriating!”

“Sounds like you’re jealous,” the woman surmised.

“Wouldn’t you be upset?  She didn’t even try!  Then to make matters worse, she always acted like she was above us.  Yeah she usually beat us all in everything, but she didn’t even try to be nice about it.”

“Yeah--I know this girl who tried to be friends with her part way through training.  But she was always treating her like a plague--she’d move further away from her, or she’d ignore her attempts to talk to her or actively dodge her.  She made it pretty damn clear she wasn’t in the Corps to make friends.  And she was like that with everyone--she never let anyone get closer than necessary to her.  Sure, she’d give you some tips in the middle of training, but it was always just what was necessary, and she never let the conversation move to anything personal.  She’s a bitch,” the friend added.

“I figured all that time spent by herself, she was just focused on her training.  It got me certain that she was going to be top of the class--some say she should have.  Hell, I thought she’d be pissed when she got sixth, but I swear she looked pleased.  Pleased!  And I thought she wanted to at least make the top five with how fucking perfect she seemed.”

“Okay, so she was antisocial in training and she’s good enough at what she did that it made you all jealous.  I still don’t see anything that would make you hate her so much.  I’ve seen her around a few times and she doesn’t seem nearly as frigid as you all say.  Distant, yeah, but she seems...warm, if a bit melancholy,” the woman said thoughtfully.

“Don’t let it fool you.  She’s probably just trying to make a better impression now that she’s where she wants to be and is about to get placed--possibly in the best squad, now, too, apparently.”  There was the sound of a boot scuffing the stone, then a thwack of a broom handle being thumped against the offender’s head.  “Ow!  And she’s not warm and she’s not innocent.  I don’t know what she was doing, but she was up to something during training, even if we couldn’t prove it.”

“Oh?  And what was it?  She managed to get an extra loaf of bread on her plate?” the woman asked almost mockingly.  Clearly she wasn’t convinced by their ranting.

“One of the most infuriating things about her was how she could break the rules and still get away with it!  She used to sneak out all the time at night while we were in the Cadets, but no one could ever catch her.  Even when we gave the instructors a warning that she would be sneaking out again soon, she still wouldn’t get caught, and we’d get in trouble for lying about a classmate.  Not once was she caught, and we had classmates that could attest to her not being in bed at some point in the night, so we knew it was happening!  But we could never prove it.  It still drives me nuts to this day!”

“If you kick this floor again, I’ll hit you even harder--you are not messing up the cleaning job I’ve been working so hard on!” the woman fumed suddenly, and there was a bit of a scuffle before things calmed down again.

“I swear, if Captain Levi puts her on his squad I’m going to be so fucking--”

“Look at the bright side, you probably won’t have to deal with her anymore if that happens, because you’re nowhere near that league,” the friend teased.  It sounded like there was going to be another scuffle breaking out, so Levi finally stepped around the corner to make himself known.

“Oi.”

The two boys immediately panicked, while the woman snapped to attention, eyes flickering to a fresh scuff mark on the stone with a clearly upset face to see the two were already back to mucking up her hard work.  Levi ignored the two who were scrambling to their feet and trying to snap to a salute, walking past all three without even glancing at them.

“Get back to cleaning.  And find another place to bitch about superiors,” he added before he continued down the hall and out of earshot once more.

Idiots.

There was nothing wrong with a little bitching to get it out of your system, but at least have the decency to do it somewhere less public where anyone could find and hear you.

However, Levi officially had some honest first hand accounts of her relationship to her peers, and a lead he could follow further into this mystery.

She snuck out a lot at night when she was in the cadets, huh?  He wondered if she was still doing that now…

It seemed he had something to do now in the hours insomnia kept him from sleeping.  He could keep an eye out to see if she was sneaking out, and try to figure out where she was going on these little escapades if they were, in fact, continuing after leaving the Cadets.

The more he looked into her, the more uneasy he became.  He was already at the point where he knew he was going to have to bring up his concerns to Erwin, but he was going to make sure he’d gone as far as he could with this investigation of his before he went to Erwin.

For the first few nights after hearing about L/N’s nightly escapades in the cadets, Levi didn’t catch anything amiss.  He was well aware of the best spots in this building to sneak out at this point, and had several points he liked to retreat to for some alone time that just happened to give him a good view of the surrounding area.  He was fairly confident that if she tried to sneak out, he would be able to spot her as long as he was looking--which he was.

By the fifth night, he seriously considered the possibility that if she was doing something shady such as meeting a co-conspirator in the the night, the wise thing would be to cut all communication once she was inside the Scouts.  If her nightly actions were something dastardly like that, then it was entirely possible that he wouldn’t see her sneak out because she wouldn’t make the attempts now in such a high risk area.

Still, Levi kept an eye out, always near a window at night so he could peer out into the darkness and see anyone trying to slip away if it did happen.

At long last, almost three weeks after the recruits had first arrived, he managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a hooded figure moving in the darkness away from the building.  Believing it to be L/N, he got up from his seat immediately, taking the less forgiving but more direct route of climbing out the window and down to the ground so he could close the distance before she left his sight entirely and he lost track of her.  Going through the building down to the ground floor and to a proper exit would have taken him too long, so his unconventional route was one he didn’t second guess.

Landing quietly on the paved stones, Levi crept forward at a walk that was barely restrained from becoming a jog for the first few moments, keeping to the shadows like his quarry as he attempted to follow after her.  He wasn’t armed in case there was trouble, mostly because he didn’t get the luxury of enough time to grab a weapon--he’d only caught a fleeting glimpse, so he’d had to act instantly.

Levi managed to catch up to where he would want to be on a tail after two streets, feeling himself settle down internally once he was the desired distance away.  She didn’t slow down, plowing forwards with a purpose that told him she knew exactly where she was going and she was going to waste no time getting there--he just had to keep up.

Yes, she.  He didn’t have confirmation that it was her, but he was operating off the assumption it was between the story he’d heard and the fact he’d been waiting for something like this to happen and her to be the culprit.

He continued to follow her street after street, taking several corners, occasionally losing sight of her before he caught movement again and continued on the path.  After a few minutes, however, he realized these direction changes weren’t exactly pointed and purposeful, but random.  They happened too suddenly and without warning for them to be planned.

She knew he was following her, and she was trying to shake him.

Hoping to make her think that she lost him, Levi slowed down his pace, allowing her to pull a little further ahead, far enough away it would be more difficult for him to follow, but at the same time it would give her the impression that he was too far away and that she lost him.

Levi managed to make it a few more streets this way, catching the edge of a cape or a flash of movement as she turned a corner to give him a direction, until suddenly, he realized he couldn’t hear footsteps or any other sound in the night, and he no longer had even a fleeting visual on her in order to give him a sense of direction.

That wasn’t possible.  Pulling back had been risky, yes, but he’d been sure he could still keep track of her.  And he should have at least been able to hear footsteps in the distance, because she would have had to speed up to lose him so suddenly.

Did she have ODM gear hidden under her cape?  Had she taken for the skies to get out of visible range of the streets?

Wanting to test the theory before she could get too far, Levi used window sills, boxes by stalls, wooden awnings, whatever he could to climb up to the roof of one of the buildings, turning around swiftly with his head on a swivel as he tried to catch a glimpse of movement, a figure moving through the night either on ODM gear or on the streets down below.

Nothing.  It was just him standing alone on this roof in the night’s silence.

Where the hell had she gone?

“Levi...why didn’t you bring this to my attention sooner?”

Levi scowled, meeting Erwin’s serious expression head on before he turned to move again, occasionally crossing the floor at an extremely slow pace, stopping for a while before he would turn around and move again.  Considering Levi usually remained stationary, it counted as a sign of unease.

He had just come to Erwin with what he knew about L/N, which admittedly wasn’t much.  For the most part, he was simply telling Erwin about his concerns and a bad feeling that he’d been harboring since meeting her.  He did have some legitimate red flags, like her apparent trips out into the night that were continuing here at the Scouts and her lack of a record from before two years ago with nothing to show she might have been from the Underground.

“Because it was just basic curiosity at first, but the more I heard, the more I had to be concerned about,” Levi said pointedly, lips pulled down in a prominent frown as he mulled over everything in his mind.

“Well, based off what you’ve been able to find out, if she is a threat, how much of a threat would she be,” Erwin asked patiently, his eyes continuing to track Levi as he moved about the room.  Levi stopped, turning his head slightly in Erwin’s direction.

“Erwin...she had me.  In that spar on the training grounds.  But at the last second, she shifted and threw the match,” Levi explained quietly.

“...I see.”

Levi turned around all the way to see Erwin sitting forward in his chair, hands laced together in front of him and pressed against his lips, eyebrows furrowed together in contemplation.

“Don’t mark her as an enemy in your mind, yet, Levi.  Let this play out a while longer, first.  This may be a situation where we need to spring the trap after it’s set to truly know the situation.  So far, she hasn’t done anything to hurt humanity’s mission regarding the Titans.  I don’t like how many unknowns there are with her, either, which is precisely why we have to approach this correctly.  There’s as much a chance we could be wrong as there is that we can be right about her intentions.”  Erwin’s hands carefully folded back over one another on top of the table, Erwin turning his gaze on Levi with that expression of his that usually appeared when he was mentally calculating a gamble.  “Continue your investigation as you see fit, so long as you don’t outright antagonize her.  We don’t want to risk driving her off, if these skills your glimpsing are as strong as your intuition tells you they are.  She could still be a great asset if she’s truly on our side.  Keep an eye on her, try to figure out at least if her intentions align with our own or run against them.”

“And you?” Levi asked suspiciously, looking to see if that gambling air about Erwin was tipping over into the dangerous side of things.

Erwin hummed.  “I’ll do some digging of my own, see what I can find.  Of course, if you can’t find anything concrete by the next expedition, going beyond the walls will allow you to get not only a stronger grasp on the skills she’s bringing to the table, but will help with figuring out her general intentions.”

“I don’t like the thought of having to babysit while we’re out there,” Levi returned flatly.  Expeditions were far too unpredictable as they were without adding a mysterious woman of unknown capabilities and intentions along for the ride with the task to keep a sharp eye on her and evaluate her every move.

“Then perhaps you’ll want to find out if you can trust her out there or not, first.  I know you can’t guarantee finding the answers to all of your questions in such a short amount of time, but you could at least find out if she will have the back of her fellow scouts on the first expedition,” Erwin said with a pointed look.  Levi could already tell this mess might get a little ugly, but at the very least, knowing he could trust her not to turn and kill someone on the expedition would go a long way in making his job digging into her background a lot easier.

After Levi gave a nod of confirmation, Erwin continued.  “In the meantime, I’ll make sure she’s placed in the formation so that she’s within your sight at all times.  Considering the rumors you’ve stirred up that you might be looking to recruit her to your squad, it would only make sense for you to be watching her out in the field to see how she does.  It’s also a nice excuse for you to make a few more direct inquiries to L/N, herself.  You’ve done plenty of work in the background, I think it’s safe to say you can start approaching her as well.  Subtly, of course.”

“After she shook me last night, she might already be on edge,” Levi pointed out.  She had to have known someone followed her.  There were no guarantees that she knew it was Levi, and he didn’t think she’d had the chance to confirm who was following her any more than he’d had a chance to confirm if he was following her.

“Then be careful about it.  But whenever you come to a decision about whether she’s a danger or not, I want to know.  This will go a lot smoother and faster if we’re sharing information.”

“I’m not stupid, Erwin,” Levi said with a long-suffering sigh, straightening up.  “Anything else?”

Erwin’s lips twitched upwards towards a smile, his hands moving to a drawer to pull out some paper and ink.  “Have fun making a new friend.”

Levi scowled again, turning to leave after it was clear Erwin was ready to move on to the next thing.  He was a little worried about this task to test L/N’s intentions to help the scouts before going out into the field, especially because he knew that look of Erwin’s meant he would set it up and Levi would simply have to observe.

But, he did have his own ways of testing her out as a person, and some people he could get to help without having to inform them of everything behind it.  He was already observing her from a distance and could safely continue to do so.  With the rumors going around he was looking to take her in under his wing, he could use that to his advantage to ask a few questions and approach her at the right times.

Yet, despite the fact he knew he would have help in prodding at her to see a bit more of what she was made of, he couldn’t help but notice that his sense of unease that had been tickling in the back of his mind was not shrinking.  If anything, it only seemed more prevalent.  As long as he continued to have this feeling of unease about her, he wasn’t going to let the matter rest.  He was going to figure out what she was hiding, if only so he could assuage or confirm his suspicions before they grew wildly out of control.

At least it seemed Erwin shared his concern, confirming it wasn’t all in his head, and there was cause to worry.  He only hoped they could figure out what was going on here before they had to spring the trap, as Erwin had suggested.

Levi shook his head.  He could worry about that, later.  First, he had a recruit to get a feel of before they went outside the walls, and he had to make sure he didn’t spook her while learning what made her tick.

Thankfully, he already had a pretty good idea where to find her in her down time, with all the work she’d been putting in to fix the one glaring flaw in her ability to go outside the walls.

The stables.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo

Wings in the Dark Tags:  @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs

[flamboyant-king]

— SHIP QUESTIONS (but I just filled them all out anyway)

Herb and Clover!

When I’m sad, I do ship memes to feel better. These are based on headcanons and AUs I have yet I hide. Sorry, I’m making yall see this, but I like sharing my ideas even when I can’t draw them hgjkdf (sorry mobile users i think)

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet? While Herb was still serving in the army, he was trying to give one of his troopmates first aid in a burning town. Clover appeared at the top of the cliff after exiting the forest. The burning town terrified him, he wanted to run back into the forest, but he knew whoever was down there needed help. So at the top of the cliff he let loose a healing melody, hoping it would help. The music overtook the sounds of chaos as the notes fell upon those suffering below. The wounds of the soldier slightly fade away from Herb’s troopmate’s side. The pain becoming bearable and the man calming down. Herb bandaged him up and someone else carried him to safety. Herb told them to go on without him as he looked up at the cliff. Wherever that music came from, he is grateful. But they first really met in Herb’s garden hehe

What was their first impression of each other? Herb: The melody is enchanting. Tranquil and yet melancholic. There is a literal goddess in my garden. I don’ know what to do, but I should say hello, I think? Clover: He looks...so familiar...

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? The bar squad just gave each other look everytime they see Herb and Clover hanging out. Like, “Are they dating because they should???” After observation from Milennial Tree and Wind archer, they think Herb is the perfect suit to watch over their little Clover.

Who felt romantic feelings first? Herb felt them first. Almost immediate love at first sight. He immediately wanted to see Clover again and invited him to come to his garden every morning. Just the two of them every morning in a place only for them. The thought of this made him so embarrassed and giddy. Clover also smelled like grass, so even if he wasn’t in his garden, his “safespace,” just being by Clover made him feel at home. Clover still had lingering feelings for Shamrock when he spent time with Herb. Only after did it grow out of that and went for just falling for Herb himself.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings? Clover tried to resist only because he didn’t want to fall for Herb because he reminded him of Shamrock. He didn’t want to do that to him. But when he realized that he was in fact just falling for Herb because he’s Herb did he let it happen.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? Herb: It does feel like fate to see you again. Clover: I don’t want to keep thinking back to him, but if reincarnation is real...No...No I shouldn’t think like that.

What would their lives be like if they had never met? Herb would be lonely all by himself in his little garden. Clover would still be traveling with nowhere else to return home to.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go? It just happened naturally. Slowly getting closer. Spending every morning together, turned into afternoon, and into nights, and just spending every waking moment together. They didn’t even need to say anything or ask each other out, they just knew how comfortable it was to be with each other that they wanted to stay that way.

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like? The first time it felt like an actual date was when Clover invited Herb to a little private concert in the woods. Herb offered to bring picnic supplies. They walked through the forest until they could find a nice spot to settle on. They crossed over a stream on a fallen tree. Clover slipped on the moss and fell to the side but Herb jumped to catch him. Waded through the ankle deep water so fast to make sure Clover didn’t get wet, because “walking around in a soggy skirt seems uncomfortable.” Herb was holding Clover in his arms and Clover just looked at him. Thinking. Admiring. Clover wrapped his arms around Herb’s neck and stayed there. They both “soaked”  in the moment before Herb stood Clover back on the log. Clover didn’t let go of his hand. Herb was his support for the rest of the tree. But even after they were past the stream, they didn’t let go of each other’s hands.

What was their first kiss like? It felt right. All the days leading up to it felt like they could have kissed just right there. They greeted each other the same each morning. Clover groggily walked into the garden and gave Herb’s apron a tug. Herb turned to Clover with a smile. He just had to lean in naturally and it was done. They held it for a few seconds. Herb pulled away then it struck what he just did. “Clover, I’m so sorry! That came out of nowhere. I should’ve asked or s-something.” Clover looked at him still processing what had happened, then his face turned pink. They both just stood there embarrassed before Clover asked for another.

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)? They were each other’s first relationship. Clover has been in love many times before but was always afraid to make it official knowing he would outlive them. Herb isn’t the social type, it was actually Sparkling that approached him and forced him into familiarity. But Herb never went out of his way to get to know someone enough to start dating.

What’s their height difference? Age difference? Clover’s at the perfect height to peek over Herb’s shoulder. Clover ages slowly, so a 100 years it he equivalent of a human year of growth. So clover started slowly aging after 18 years, now he’s 700+ years thus making his body 25 years old. Herb is 26 hehoo.

What’s their relationship with each other’s families? Clover’s family is lost to time. He doesn’t know who his real parents are and his adoptive parents died centuries ago. Herb admires Milennial Tree and he’s friendly with Wind Archer. Clover is also familiar with Sea Fairy through Milennial Tree.

Who takes the lead in social situations? Herb is usually one who tries to blend in with the background and slip away from social situations, yet he’s very approachable. He uses Clover to mellow out social situations, and Clover is very talkative and friendly. So by having Clover there, Herb can direct everyone’s attention away from him and onto Clover.

Who gets jealous easier? Clover likes all of Herb’s friends, but Herb does get a bit jealous when he sees Clover hanging out with them. He’s keeping his eye on Mint Choco even though he knows Mint Choco and Cocoa are dating. Irrational Jealousy.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear? Clover’s got good ears so Herb would whisper so quietly that no one but Clover can actally hear him even if it’s not directly in his ear. So Clover is the one who would tend to whisper in Herb’s ear. However, since Clover’s ears are so sensitive, Herb whispering in them would tickle. Herb would use that to his advantage sometimes. He isn’t one to dirty talk, but when they do get uhhh dirty, he loves to see Clover shudder when he brushes his lips against his ear and breathe compliments to him.

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first? Clover would say I love you in ways without using those words, through poems, music, gestures, and actions. So Herb would say “I love you” first but Clover said it first.

What are their primary love languages? Hugs! Clover likes to sit in Herb’s lap and Herb would rub his head.

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines? Clover is more poetic so he wouldn’t use cheesy pick up lines. Herb would research some bad ones and tell them to Clover, though. Just to make him laugh.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA? All the time. As often as they could. Whenever they’re in the vicinity of each other.

Who initiates kisses? Clover! He looks up at Herb with pleading eyes that Herb knows to bend over and give him a peck on the lips. And Clover would sometimes just wrap his arms around Herb’s neck to hold him there a bit longer.

Who’s the big and little spoon? Clover’s the little spoon. He loves being surrounded in Herb. Herb just holds little plants so often, of course he’d keep Clover in his arms.

What are their favorite things to do together? Gardening, of course.

Who’s better at comforting the other? Clover has more comforting words to offer, but Herb’s hugs are just what Clover needs to feel safe.

Who’s more protective? Herb! It’s his instinct to protect the smaller things. Like plants, animals, Clover.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection? Despite all the words they can say to each other, physical touch speaks real volumes. Just laying together is a whole romance novel.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise? https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzQcU45t2mctSxvM0JpOG3UCzxQVMAGsB

What kind of nicknames do they call each other? Honey...because Bees. *badumtss*

Who remembers the little things? Clover never forgets.

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes? Herb would. He would make the ring himself in the Jewelry shop. The proposal wouldn’t be flashy even. It would happen where they have always been. Alone in Herb’s garden. Clover sitting on his stool strumming his lute and Herb would walk over and kneel down. Take Clover’s hand into his and say “I have something to give you--” and he’d open the ring. “--the rest of my life.” (Adding context to the answer, they’ve talked about it before how Clover would outlive him and Herb feeling insecure about being just a chapter in Clover’s life. Shamrock being the prologue pssh. But Herb was just like “I would love you for the rest of my life. I just hope I become more than just a story you tell.”)

What’s the wedding like? Who attends? The wedding would be in the forest! Mystical and Magical. All the animals would be invited and everyone in the kingdom. Sparkling, of course running the bar. Mint Choco and Clover would have a little performance. Gingerbrave gets to be the ring bearer! Milennial Tree never gets tired of weddings so he’s crying. Wind Archer is the priest just because. It’s like a Disney movie or some shit.

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like? No kids, only plants and funny woodland critters that visit. Although, Cookiesnap requires their combined attention.

Do they have any pets? Cookiesnap?

Who’s the stricter parent? Herb! Gotta make sure Cookiesnap doesn’t eat any of the other cookies. Clover would usually just play with Cookiesnap.

Who worries the most? Herb! Clover can be a bit airheaded and wander around into danger. But also, since Clover is sickly, Herb has to carry him around.

Who kills the bugs in the house? No kill, just relocate.

How do they celebrate holidays? They always go out and travel. Always away but still together.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? Clover! Herb is a very early bird. Herb would wake up and see Clover cozily lying on his chest, head burried in his neck. Herb would kiss his forehead and try to go back to sleep. But he would just lay there and relish in the moment.

Who’s the better cook? Herb, even though they both fucking eat dirt, Herb has more experience cooking with actual ingredients.

Who likes to dance? Both! Although, it’s hard to dance together when one of them is playing the music. So when Clover is playing music, Herb dances with the flowers, but when they dance together, Clover sings as Herb hums.

[red1culous]

Sweat part 1

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7.

One of the things you hated about working with the Avengers was how insanely fit everyone was. You wouldn’t exactly call yourself a shapeless potato but you were nowhere as sculpted or as svelte as your other team members.

You had just joined the band of heroes two months ago and were working under Maria Hill as a Shield agent. She had taken the time to show you around the place because you were one of the few applicants Fury himself recommended. Being new to the team you were eager to impress.

Maria herself was of slight build but you knew she was tough having one day crashed into her after turning a blind corner. Her elbow caught the side of your face as you both collided and it left you with a nasty shiner that lasted a week.

So you made it a point to become fitter and stronger. That meant visits to the gym. Your anxiety however got the better of you and visiting the gym when everyone else was there was certainly out of the question. So you purposely set your alarm for 2 hours earlier so you could get a full workout before anyone else was even awake.

The first time you entered the gym was daunting. All those big machines seemingly mocking your puny existence. You pushed past the fear and soon you were brave enough to play your music loud from your phone speakers and you started to relax a little and enjoy your early morning sessions more.

Then something you never could have dreamed of happened turning your world upside down.

After a 10 minute cardio warm up you headed to the chest press machine. You were feeling good this morning. Stretching and limbering up a little your playlist started on a new song, one that you particularly liked. It had all the right beats in all the right places. You soon got lost in the music and started to do a little dance on the spot as you stretched your arms and legs out . You were so caught up in the music you almost screamed when you felt a gentle tap tap tap on your shoulder. Turning around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash you were stunned by the sight in front of you.

Natasha Romanoff.

WTF.

“Hi. I’m Natasha. You ok?” she cocks her head concerned at your dazed expression.

“Hi! Sorry I just didn’t think there’d be anyone here. I’m Y/N” you hoped she hadn’t heard the enormous swallow you just did with how dry your throat suddenly became.

“Yea I know. Fury has said some impressive things about you. And that man says nothing about anyone so that’s a huge compliment” she smiled tying up her hair into a neat ponytail. Your eyes were inexplicably drawn to her biceps as they flexed and bunched up at the simple action.

“Uh ok” was all you could muster shaking your head trying to clear your mind.

“Sorry, do you mind if we share the gym? I promise to stay on that side” she points to the other end of the gym and you instantly felt like a monster.

“What no! No don’t do that. Sorry I just wasn’t expecting anyone here so early. Plus I’m not used to doing this whole gym thing” you ducked your head feeling a blush blooming across your chest and rising to your face.

“Oh you really don’t look like you even need the gym” she counters.

Wait. Was that a compliment?

She continues, “how about we spot for each other? I haven’t trained with another girl in ages. It’ll be nice since this place is usually a playground for the boys and their dick measuring contests”

And that’s how you found yourself working out with Natasha Romanoff, or Nat as she insisted you call her. This was insane. What was even more insane was the outfit she had on. She was wearing a black tank top that ended just under her breasts exposing her abs. All the abs. The way it twitched with every movement she made was even more distracting than her leg and calve muscles that were clearly visible under the ridiculously tight spandex pants she wore. If you knew you would be partnering with her you would’ve probably not worn your moth eaten college t-shirt and 100 year old track pants.

Right this moment she was stood in front of the chest press machine counting your sets. She was making light conversation and whenever you struggled she would assist slightly. Her words of encouragement did help a little. You were actually having fun.

“I like that you’re always smiling when you’re working out” she says in between counting you to 10.

“Nat, this isn’t me smiling” you pant out, “this is me gritting my teeth holding back my swear words” this got her laughing which caused you to laugh and drop the weights unable to hold them up yourself.

“Ok 10 more smartass let’s go” she straightens up wagging a finger at you.

If working out with the Black Widow was stressful, not knowing where to look with her standing right in front of you was worse.

Should you stare at her abs? No that’s awkward.

Stare at her face? Nope, worse idea ever.

Stare at the floor at her feet. Yes that might work.

“Up up! Keep your head and eyes up so your posture is straight” she tuts reaching for your chin and pushing it up.

Well that idea went to hell fast. Next up was the bench press machine.

She excitedly says she wants to go first and of course you’re not going to argue. Your arms were still burning from the 50 reps she had you do. So now you’re stood to her right looking everywhere except where she has lay down. Suddenly you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with your arms.

These appendages are they meant to hang loosely by your side?

Should I hug myself?

“Earth to Y/N. Hey quit dreaming and help me out here partner” she breaks you out of your reverie.

Did you think this was not going to get any more awkward? Seemed like the world was adamant on proving you wrong today.

Natasha has you standing with one leg on either side of her torso as she effortlessly lifts and lowers the bar. You’re assisting but you think she could do this without you and probably just as well with one arm. Still you can’t complain. When else would you ever find yourself in this position with Natasha Romanoff.

“Your turn” she cheerily says and she starts to get up. Sensing your hesitation she gently pushes you onto the machine taking the position you occupied only minutes ago.

“You didn’t even break a sweat, Nat” you pout.

“You’ll be fine I’ll help” she says more confident of your abilities than you are.

“I’ll break my neck more like. You better not let this…oooof” you grunt as you feel the full weight of the bar unable to finish your sentence.

“Ok trust me I’ll hold it too” she shimmies further up your torso and bends slightly so she can support more of the bar with you. This has her close to your face and somehow the bar feels heavier than before.

She went easy on you and let you off at 30 reps instead of 50 because towards the end of the count she was lifting more than you were. Your arms truly felt like jelly. Working out with Natasha would be the death of you no doubt.

“What do you want to do next rookie?” she says still looking the way she did when she walked into the gym that morning. You were pretty sure you looked like you had just walked to the moon and back.

“Is dying an option?” you say as you lay on the floor with a towel over your face having just completed a set of leg raises, push ups, crunches and Russian twists.

“How about some stretches? It’ll help with the aches” she lifts a corner of the towel covering your face and peeks at you as she smiles.

So now you are prone on the floor and the Black Widow is practically on top of you stretching out your hamstrings, quads and glutes.

“HOW IS THIS RELAXING!?” you’re practically writhing under her hands, “I FEEL LIKE SOMETHING IS GOING TO SNAP”

“It is relaxing! You’ll thank me tomorrow” she’s smirking at your childish antics. Honestly your idea of stretching was incense, low lighting and soft music. This felt worse than working out.

“Ok let’s swap you big baby” she coos.

“Urgh thank god I was about to pass out already” you jump to your feet and give her space to lie down.

“Uh you’re going to have to help me I don’t know what to do” suddenly feel the awkwardness return as you watch her laying on the floor.

“Ok squat here and put one hand here” she pulls you down in between her legs and places one of your hands on her upper left thigh, “now hold this down and press this leg up” she guides you so her right leg is resting on your shoulder.

“Uh…like this?” you asked blushing again. Why does this feel so intimate?

“Yea but push harder” she says as she lays back down on the mat, “harder Y/N I’m not going to break” it sounded like a command now.

“This is a weird angle are you sure …” she interrupts you by tugging roughly on your round collar so that now your face is inches from hers, “I did ballet I’m flexible don’t worry I like the deep stretch” she’s smirking again still holding onto your collar.

“R-right I’ll be sure to remember that” you whisper stutter your response. You’re starting to think she’s doing this on purpose.

You’re thinking back to all the touches. A hand on your upper arm. Her squeezing your shoulders a few times when you said they were sore. Her standing behind you with her hands on your waist to show you how to properly execute a squat without causing injury to your back. Or her taking your hand and placing it on her stomach to better illustrate “which muscles will be activated when you’re doing core exercises properly”.

Sure it could be her genuinely trying to help….but what if it was something more.

After a few more positions where you find yourself either laying across her or straddling her, Steve walks into the gym and coughs awkwardly behind the both of you. You jump off of Natasha and stand ramrod straight fidgeting with your fingers.

“Hi Y/N you’re here early. Are you done already?” he asks sweetly.

“Yeah Y/N and I are done here Steve” Natasha answers for you picking up her stuff.

“See you tomorrow morning same time Y/N” she says as she saunters away towards the shower rooms.

“Right yeah tomorrow” is all you manage to get out as she makes her way out of the gym.

“What was that about?” Steve asks you as he starts unpacking his gym bag and grabbing his water bottle and towel.

“I guess I have a new workout buddy” you say smiling ear to ear.

“Hmm…”

“Hmm? Steve don’t leave me with a ‘hmm’”

“No it’s just that Nat hates working out with anyone. I guess she likes you” he says hiding a knowing smile as he fake wipes non-existent sweat off his face.

“Hmm” you say picking up your phone and towel, slinging it over your shoulder and making your way towards the exit.

“Hey, now what’s that supposed to mean Y/N?” Steve calls to you.

“Nothing Steve” you continue with a bounce in your step and a smile on your face, “means nothing at all”.

Tagging: @natasharomanoffismywife​

[mintseesaw]

harana | jjk

translation: n. the act of wooing/courting someone by serenading him/her

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, f2l au, drabble

word count: 3.5k

warning: none // rating: pg-13

requested by bebe athena @rookiegukie​. Im sorry it took a while, but i hope you like it hun! You may still submit your requests for the drabble game Paraluman Playlist until the end of August. ✨

note: this didnt turn out as initially planned changing after jk released his latest cover so i highly rec u to listen to 10,000 hours by jjk (cover) while reading it hjfjgdjdkgm  also it’s a first for me to delve into f2l trope ljggdhd yall forgive me if it’s too cliche bwahaha

“Hyung! ______-noona is here!” A kid who opened the door for you announced your arrival rather loudly, recognizing him as one of Jungkook’s cousins. You pushed through inside the nostalgic interior of the Jeon’s household. Nothing much has changed in the past two years.

Soon after, Jungkook appeared from the doorway you remember as the door leading to the kitchen. He’s decently dressed and when you say decent, you meant he’s not in his usual attire of anything black and over-sized. Nonetheless, he’s handsome as ever. You’re not gonna deny the fact.

“Hey!” He greets, face lighting up at the sight of you, biting back a smirk as he skims the length of you adorning a cute, yellow dress. He glances down at your hand holding a gift-wrapped present for his mom before draping an arm over your shoulders.

He feigns a frown, “You shouldn’t have bothered. Mom will appreciate you making it on her birthday.”

“Well, unlike someone I know, I’m thoughtful enough to prepare something for Auntie.” You tease, knowing he possibly bought nothing for his mom.

He scoffs, only proving your assumption right. “Yah! Don’t sound too enthusiastic, I’m the son here.”

“So what? I’m your mom’s favorite!” You retorted back.

“No you aren’t!” He snapped, while his mouth unconsciously juts forward in defeat.

Your eyebrow arches. “Is that a challenge I hear?”

Jungkook nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. “Forget the competition. We’re here to make my mom happy.” He quickly dismisses, distracting you as he leads you straight to the garden area which you could already see where the guests are gathered through the glass doors.

As expected, the said small party looks simply classic with a touch of Mrs. Jeon’s sophisticated taste. Average-sized square wooden tables are neatly scattered in the expanse of the garden with uniform vintage table setting that coordinates well with the floral decorations in the vicinity. In front, a makeshift platform was made behind a decorated linen with pinned letters “Happy Birthday Mom!” Behind all the tables is where the buffet table was placed.

You’re actually relieved that your simple puff sleeve dress matches with the theme of the party, forgetting the guilt of having to wear the dress without borrowing it from your sister.

Mrs. Jeon was happily chatting with her guests but when the sliding door breaks open revealing you tucked under Jungkook’s arm, the present smile on her face stretches wide and immediately shuffled towards you and Jungkook’s way. 

Mrs. Jeon audibly gushes just as you handed your gift and welcomed you with a warm, tight hug. “Thank you, dear.”

Jungkook took it as his cue to leave you two for a second.

When she draws back, she appreciatively give you a once over. “Oh, you look so lovely on your dress!” Mrs. Jeon clapped her hands. You smiled shyly in return.

“Thank you for coming, dear. It’s been ages since the last time I’ve seen you. Come here and get some food.” She says.

It’s true. After you’ve been in college two years ago, you’ve hardly stayed in your hometown for more than two weeks, hence, you couldn’t squeeze your time here to pay the Jeons a visit. Mrs. Jeon became your guardian whenever your parents were in business trips back in the days, and during the times of your stay at their house, you’ve grown much closer to her just like your second mom.

By the time you reach the buffet table, Mrs. Jeon caught Jungkook in the act of getting a piece of sushi straight from the chafing dish, and his poor soon right away earned a whack on his arm from his mom.

“Use the tongs!” She reproaches which made him flinches dramatically.

Such a baby.

You bit back a chuckle as Mrs. Jeon went on with “Go to the kitchen and refill the dispenser!” Jungkook pouts but obeys his mom without complaining. However, he made sure to shoot a fake glare at you before he disappears from the doorway.

Mrs. Jeon then handed you an empty plate. “Here, ______. I know you like pasta.”

Your eyes widened a little. Perhaps, you have not recovered from the surprise painted on your expression, hearing it come from her that she caught a glimpse of your slight shock state. Why should you be surprised when Jungkook knows it as well? He might have told her or something.

“Oh don’t be surprised, dear. My boy always asks me to cook pasta whenever you come around.”

Isn’t it his favorite food? “It’s… his favorite... right?” You began but ended up questioning the validity of your knowledge.

She laughs, “You know he could eat anything edible but cannot live without his portion of meat every day.”

“Oh.” It was only that moment it registered to you. His mom is right. He’d always make it a point to consume all your stocks of meat whenever he shows up in your dorm in the most unexpected days. His university is not too far away from yours. Yet, this guy thinks it’s worth the two-hour drive just to get to your dorm and pester the shit out of you.

“I’m so happy you’re able to make it on my birthday. Will you stay in town for the rest of your break?”

“Uhh… I was supposed to focus on saving up through my part time jobs this summer but my mom threatened to disown me if I don’t stay here during summer break.”

“Oh she’s being reasonable, honey. Believe me, I’d do the same thing if Jungkook refuses to go home at least once a month, unless of course, if he runs off with you.” She remarks in a teasing manner, earning a profuse blush to appear on your cheeks so abruptly.

Since you left home for uni, you actually believe Mrs. Jeon had forgotten about your shared interactions back then. Yet, here she is, still having faith that his son has actual feelings for you. She told you many times that she’d want a daughter like you or, at least, be her in-law. She always regarded it in a playful tone so you used to get mixed signals whether she was really serious or not. But then, you’d say the overused line: “we’re only friends”. She would then give you a knowing look and insisted that she knows her son well. Fortunately for you, she made it a point to only tease you whenever Jungkook was out of earshot.

By the time Jungkook came back a few moments later, you’re already seated in a vacant table at the farthest back. Jungkook occupied the seat next to yours, taking notice of the half-finished food on your plate.

“What time are you leaving?” He asks the moment he plopped down the chair. Your head cocked to the side to meet his gaze.

“Are you trying to make me leave early?” You prompted suspiciously.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna drive you home, idiot.”

“Well, you don’t have to. I can… walk.”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” He mutters under his breath.

Your eyebrows quirked but you spoke no more. He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. Did he mean his mom will force him to drop you off at your house just like the old times?

As the night progresses, the small celebration has pumped up with lively cheers from their relatives, incited by the impromptu program prepared by Jungkook’s cousins which was mostly filled with fun games. At some point of the said program, a small commotion on the side of the makeshift platform started to build up. The next thing you know, his cousin, the mastermind behind the entertainment portion of the party, caught yours and Jungkook’s attention when she announced his sudden participation in the program through a performance.

“Our boy Kookie here recently recorded a cover and he’s here to perform the live version and showcase his talent to our dear guests. Everyone, let’s welcome our very own Jeon Jungkook onto the stage!” His cousin enthusiastically says through the microphone. On cue, everyone in the garden, particularly his cousins, roared in earsplitting screams of cheer.

He blinks, completely perplexed. He was not given a heads up prior, much less told that he would perform a song in front of an audience. Hesitant due to his nerves, he backed away subtly just as he reaches the side of the supposed stage. However, his cousin caught up with his attempt and pushed him not too gently toward the platform, and even placed the microphone stand in front of him, giving him no room to say no. The expectant look of his relatives left him no choice but to just— his eyes suddenly caught your figure at the back when you stood up and went to the buffet table.

His heart thuds so hard against his rib cage that he’s afraid everyone can hear it through the mic, including you. He’s sure he’s as white as a paper by now more so that his nerves are getting the worst of him.

That song is not just any song he simply did a cover of. It was the song he meant to sing for you when the right time has come, when he’s ready to pour his heart out to you.

He sucked a deep breath once more, and slowly breathed out once more. Instinctively, his eyes fluttered closed when he heard the music began playing.

Ready or not, it’s now or never.

 Do you love the rain? Does it make you dance

When you're drunk with your friends at a party?

At the sound of his voice filling the air of the summer night, you spun back around to face him. That’s how he missed the look on your face just as how you missed the chaotic cheering of his cousins as they piled up to the side of the platform.

What's your favorite song? Does it make you smile?

Do you think of me?

Hearing the beautiful lyrics wholeheartedly sang by Jungkook, the same one who stole your heart a long time ago, you couldn’t control your heart as it started racing so wildly, tiny specs of heat slowly spreading in your chest. Thoughts began to swirl in your mind – giving you the anticipation. The possibility. The potential love affair. That the friendship would develop into something more.

Before the next verse comes, Jungkook peeled his eyes open, however, he didn’t expect to see you awestruck there across his line of vision from the back, and meeting your expressive eyes. If he didn’t know better, he would have mistaken the glint in your eyes for something else.

Maybe just… maybe you like him too.

When you close your eyes

Tell me what are you dreaming?

Everything, I wanna know it all

You look so beautiful. That the thought of you alone could easily make his heartstrings twist so cruelly in his chest. Oh how he wishes you’d let him spoil you the way he’s been dying to. He’d be the luckiest man to ever live to have you as his girlfriend.

Jungkook didn’t know how he managed to put up the courage to return your gaze, never have you looked at him the way your pretty eyes are staring back at him now with the genuine fondness in them. Somehow, as he gets lost to his emotions, he suddenly couldn’t find the strength in him to take his eyes off of you.

I'd spend 10,000 hours and 10,000 more

Oh, if that's what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours

Butterflies erupt crazily in your stomach, goosebumps start to appear on your skin and your cheeks heat up as he held you captive under his wistful stare. The longingness and the passion they hold, the twinkle of his orbs as his doe-like eyes are digging straight to your soul, what it is all for?

And I might never get there but I'm gonna try

If it's 10,000 hours or the rest of my life

I'm gonna love you

He’s always been a constant figure in your life since the moment you two became friends. He didn’t miss any important celebrations that involves you since then. And even though Jungkook has been vocal about being overprotective of you dating guys he didn’t know, none of you ever tried to address anything remotely related to romantic love. It gave you the temporary relief, because you’ve been pushing your feelings back in the depths of your heart since the moment you realized you’ve fallen in love with him.

You never had the guts to test the theory, but leaving wondering what if… When have you visited the thought, again? You have long disregarded the possibility because you believed he loves you like his sister. Nevertheless, you’re lucky to have met him and be the only constant in your life.

Do you miss the road that you grew up on?

Did you get your middle name from your grandma?

When you think about your forever now

Do you think of me?

Jungkook’s face stretches in a subtle smile, forgetting about his nerves, his sweaty palms and the guests who kept looking back and forth between him and you in curiosity while he seems magnetized at his view. You.

When you close your eyes

Tell me what are you dreaming?

Everything, I wanna know it all

You smiled, recalling the times you two were inseparable. The times he let you cry on his shoulder, when he used to help you sneak out in the middle of the night, be your chaperone, witnessed you getting drunk for the first time in your life and even that one time a senior stole your first kiss. It was the first time you saw Jungkook that angry, beating the shit out of a poor guy two years ahead of us over a single peck. Your memories with him didnt end in high school for he didn’t stop making efforts to see you, regularly visiting you frequent enough that he’d made himself home at your place.

Ooh, want the good and the bad

Everything in between

Ooh, gotta cure my curiosity

In the midst of serenading you, he recollects the memories he shared with you. The day you two were introduced to each other was still as good as new in his memory bank, or the times that you encouraged him to push through to audition to his dream role that you even learned to play his audition piece just so he could practice with you every day after school. His basketball games with you as his personal cheerleader, the times that he couldn’t hide his jealousy when you dated someone else, the immature fights that always led him to drink his heart out as if you two had broken up, and you nursing him back to sobriety. When you two were separated in college, he’d always make a way to bother you whenever he’s drunk and you’d end up going to his place and ceaselessly irk him while he rotted from hangover.

His angelic voice singing the rest of the song lulls you further into your thoughts, gathering each memory like a missing piece in the puzzle. Why didn’t you see all the signs back then? Were you blinded by your then-infatuation over him that you failed to hint his own feelings? He never gave you a reason to make you think he likes you more than a friend nor tried to hide anything from you, right?

Shortly afterwards, you were pulled back into the reality when you hear the cheers of the guests, signaling the end of Jungkook’s performance. Your eyes silently follow him as he sheepishly walk out of the platform, going onto the same path he took before.

Jungkook didn’t meet your gaze as he strutted toward the ice cooler on the side of the buffet table to get a bottle of alcohol which is just a few steps away from you. Twisting open its cap with such urgency, he took a long swig from the bottle to calm his traitor nerves, then pretends to busy himself on the variety of food laid on the table while feeling the weight of your stare on his back. Nervous that you understood the purpose behind his impromptu performance and that your silence was your hint of your rejection to his feelings, he didn’t try to talk it out to you the entire night. Yet, he feigned indifference when he sat on the same chair in the table next to you.

As the rest of the night rolls, the tension undeniably grows in between you two. Yet bearable enough to have you two stay glued on your seats despite the countless times you caught him staring at you, or you at him all throughout the night.

None of you dared break the silence and somehow, along the way, the tension has particularly become unbearable inside the car while he drove you home. Your house was just two blocks away and you bet it would take him faster to get there should he not intentionally slow down his driving with only a hand on a steering wheel while the other rested on the open window of his door as his fingers anxiously pinch his lips.

You chose to break the tension, feeling the need to speak up before your heart bursts out of your chest. And the moment you did, Jungkook coincidentally started to talk too.

“So…”

“About that…”

You met his eyes when your head jerked to the side to peer at him.

“What?” You immediately ask, curious to know what he would want to say after that, his heartfelt singing.

“Uh—“ He drawls, suddenly losing the words he was supposed to utter the second he made an eye contact with you. He shifts his eyes back to the road, feeling himself cower under the weight of your stare.

He clears his throat, putting up a pretense of a courage. “What do you think of... my performance?”

There was a moment of dead air inside before you manage to form an answer. “It was beautiful… I like it. You know I’m in love with y-you– I mean your voice. I love your voice.” You laugh awkwardly, while you’re incoherently screaming in your head at your almost slipped up.

Jungkook’s face flushes and he could already visualize the sudden boost of serotonin in his system hearing the validation he needs the most, the one coming from you. “Thank you.” He mumbles shyly.

It was that moment when the car arrives in front of your house. You shoot him a look, said your thanks and bid him goodbye before you climbed out of the car. You couldn’t deny the disappointment that was rushing so abruptly into you while you pad the distance across the gate of the house. For the nth time, you have hoped for something that was not even real to begin with.

However, your heart jumped out of almost joy when you heard Jungkook’s voice call your name out just as you’re about to close the fence gate.

“What’s up?”

“Okay before I tell you something, do you promise to remain best friends with me if… if you don’t… if somehow… oh god whatever— just promise me!” He panics, making you frown in return.

“I-I promise?” You say in an uncertain tone.

Jungkook held his pinky out.

“Pinky swear?” He prompts. You raise an eyebrow but let him hook your pinky finger with his to seal the promise of a lifetime friendship. 

“What is it?” You say in the most gentle way possible. If this is the moment you’ve been dreaming to happen since you were in high school, you have to encourage him to talk before you could stop yourself from advancing to his personal space just to kiss him without any further ado.

“_____I-I tried my best not to… n-not to see you in a different way. But god you’re always making it difficult for me to forget about it when you keep giving me reasons to want things I shouldn’t have–”

“Jungkook–”

“Please, let me finish before my legs give out.”

You chuckle all the while your vision blurs from the moisture in your eyes. The anxiety on his face gradually dissolves into relief when he saw the smile creeping into your face.

“I can’t keep dating anyone and pretending they’re better than you. I’m an idiot, I know.  But it’s always been you, ______. It’s you that I want and I can’t possibly live this life without you–“ You didn’t let him finish when he finally said the words you have longed to hear for years. You lean in to touch his soft, inviting lips with your own.

Jungkook staggered back at the suddenness of your move. Once he had recovered from shock, he cupped your jaw to deepen the kiss. He sighed against your supple lips. And for the first time since he has nurtured his feelings for you, the weight in his chest has been lifted off, replacing it with warmth and relief that only you could bring in his longing heart.

*unedited

 mintseesaw © 2020 | photo credit

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 1/? (Taywhora) - Ortega

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

a/n: i honestly have begun this wip with glitter and jesus. i have no idea how many chapters it’s going to have or what exactly the plot is going to be…all i know is that it’s fwb (flatmates with benefits) to lovers taywhora with a background love triangle involving Ellie bc she’s my fav. pls enjoy and pls leave me love because i am a keyworker so really one comment = one 6pm clap xo

P.S. the Friday mentioned in this fic is the one A’whora’s obsessed with and was dancing to on her insta…not the popular Rebecca Black song. also 100 points to anyone who knows the song Lawrence and Ellie get excited about in the club.

content note: they’re freshers at uni in the UK and this country has a binge drinking problem xo. please don’t expect any of these girls to be acting responsibly. if you think you might be influenced by a fic talking about alcohol, smoking, sex and drugs, this might not be for you luv xo

**

December- Fell in love with her in stages

A year ago if you had asked A’whora what she was doing on a Tuesday night, the answer would’ve been mundane.

Homework, maybe, if she could be bothered. She could always copy it from Mocha in registration, after all. Making tiny outfits for Barbie dolls out of fabric scraps, very probably; she hadn’t stopped doing that just because she was older, the only difference from when she was nine was that she didn’t make her Barbies talk anymore. Invariably she’d stay up til’ well past her bedtime, earphones plugged in to her laptop and trying not to sing along to the playlist of dance music she’d spent a year cultivating. She’d poked fun at her Mum for still giving her a bedtime at the big age of eighteen, but she’d maintained that while her girl was living under her roof it would be bed by eleven on a weeknight and out no later than three on a weekend.

These rules, however, were quickly disposed of as soon as she’d got the keys to her uni flat. As soon as she’d found out her other flatmates were just as riotous and chaotic as she was and loved a night out just as much, her weeks had been filled with nights she’d never forget in bars she couldn’t remember, heads against speakers and sore feet from heels and ridiculous pre-drinks with even more ridiculous cocktails.

One such cocktail is the one her flatmate’s making for her now. Ellie doesn’t have any of the professional equipment a usual bartender would, but that doesn’t seem to stop her- the messy countertops are a treasure trove of obscure liqueurs and alcopops, and Ellie twirls a yellow-blonde curl around her finger before giving a gasp of satisfaction as her hand settles on a sticky green bottle.    

“One shot of apple soors, half a can of blue Monster, top up the rest with vodka,” she explains as she works with the various bottles and cans quickly, pouring into the pint glass they’d stolen from one of the pubs on a bar crawl during Freshers Week. She hands it to A’whora with a cheeky, mischievous grin on her painted face.

A’whora sniffs her glass and feels her nose wrinkle up involuntarily at the concoction her flatmate’s poured for her. “Els, if I drink that I’ll die.”

Ellie, to her credit, simply gives a snort of disapproval in response. Her pink acrylics click against the quarter bottle of vodka as she tightens the lid and replaces it in their freezer, all shiny and slick with frost. “Well if you are gonna take three hours to get ready then you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences of playing catch-up, babe.”

“Bitch,” A’whora jokes, rolling her eyes before sipping from her glass. The mixture makes her screw her face up so she takes another sip, then another until the weird sour-sweet-burn in her throat becomes more like a cocktail than cough syrup.

“Good, right?” Ellie prompts her, leaning against their kitchen counter proudly.

“No,” A’whora deadpans, causing her friend to burst out laughing. Then, realising something, she cocks her head. “Wait a second. What the fuck did you call the green drink?”

Ellie frowns. “Soors.”

“…Sourz?” A’whora says back to her, already giggling at the difference in dialects.

“Don’t play the pronunciation game with me, bitch.”

“Oh, I absolutely will when you’re just saying it wrong.”

“Lawrence!” Ellie shouts through to their other flatmate, sitting on the sofa and frowning at the bluetooth speaker as if it’s personally committed some crime against her. Ellie holds up the bottle as Lawrence snaps her head round, dark curls flying over her shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Liquidised heartburn,” she says instantly. A’whora snorts as Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Fuck’s sake. What’s it called?”

“Soors,” Lawrence shrugs back at her, and Ellie gestures triumphantly at A’whora who can only pout in reply.

“Listen, I can get Tia, Bims and Tayce through here and they’d all outnumber you, so. Shut it.”

“Yeah bet you’d love to get Tayce through here, A’whora,” Ellie smirks, raising both her eyebrows at her in an infuriatingly smug expression.

A’whora is clamped for a couple of reasons, the first being the God-awful nickname all her flatmates use against her. She’d managed to acquire it the first time they’d all played Never Have I Ever together and A’whora had drank for pretty much every situation or scenario presented to her. Before she’d known it, her very lovely, very Disney Princess-esque first name had been replaced by a pun that Bimini had come up with in the midst of their third rum and coke, and thus Aurora was dead and A’whora was born.  

The second reason for her silence is a result of the mention of one of the girls she’s living with. A’whora had never really expected to develop a crush on any of her flatmates, which had been a ridiculous thing to assume- given the fact she’s attracted to girls and was going to be living with other girls, the odds would dictate that at least one of them would be her type. Luckily, though, she hasn’t developed any feelings for any of them. At least, that’s the lie she’s telling herself, as the cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward.

Tayce is different to Ellie, Lawrence, Tia and Bimini, though. None of the others get A’whora so flustered when they speak to her, none of the other others get her heart racing so fast it threatens to fly out her ribcage. She doesn’t feel the same sense of dizzy joy when she’s alone with any of the others: only when Tayce makes dinner with her, or when she comes to her room at ten at night for chats, or when they play Tayce’s stupid video games together and she beats her way-too-many-consecutive-times in a row to be considered fair. A’whora has tried to explain it away as just wanting to be liked, just wanting to be good friends, just just just until she can’t justify her own excuses any more and has instead resigned herself to repressing the feelings she has for her friend. The tension between them is building, though, and it’s only a matter of time until something happens.

“BITCH!”

A’whora jumps a little, flinching as she realises she’s gone too long without a comeback. Ellie’s expression is expectant and impatient as she clicks her fingers once, twice, three times in her face.

“Shut up, Ellie-phant,” A’whora manages to mumble almost incoherently as she turns on her heel, walking through to the living room area to sit with Lawrence and join her on her quest to making their speakers work.

Their flat is an odd one. The front door leads to a prison cell-style line of equally pokey rooms- Lawrence’s, Tayce’s, A’whora’s, Bimini’s, Ellie’s and Tia’s respectively- and two bathrooms. Then another door opens out onto two hobs, endless cupboards and grimy, cluttered countertops, and a scrub of shitty green carpet and three worn out red-purple sofas that look as tired as Bimini does when they come home from a random afterparty just as A’whora leaves for lectures. It doesn’t in any way look like a normal flat, but A’whora supposes they’re about as far away from normal as a sentient slice of cheese.

“Oh babe, you must be crushing crushing. I don’t think I’ve heard you come out with a comeback as shit as that in the whole four months we’ve lived together,” Ellie continues the conversation, buzzing behind her like an annoying fly.

“It wasn’t shit, it was good!”

“Lawrie, what’s a good comeback to me calling A’whora a whore?” Ellie appeals to her friend again.

“Rich of you to be calling anyone a whore. You come from a long line of whores. You’re a whore, your maw’s a whore, your maw’s maw was a whore. There’s cave paintings of your ancestors wi’ twelve dicks in their mouths. There’s tapestries of them gettin’ shagged left, right an’ centre. There’s clay sculptures of them being whores. Pipe the fuck doon,” Lawrence reels off, Ellie growing more and more breathless with hysterical laughter beside her and A’whora falling into giggles too.

“Well this was a weird time for me to enter the conversation.”

A’whora feels her heart lift and her face light up when she turns around and sees Tayce walking through to join them, the posture of a model with her fingers curled elegantly around the stem of a wine glass. She flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she sits down on the small sofa beside A’whora, and she wonders how Tayce can sit in a way that makes the stained, battered, scratchy upholstery seem like the set of a high fashion photoshoot.

“Just talking about you,” A’whora sticks her tongue out at her, laughing at the way Tayce reels in fake horror and Lawrence explodes with laughter across from them.

“The valour, the bravery and the backbone,” Tayce grumbles, rolling her eyes. Her gaze rests upon something behind A’whora- the back of the sofa. Maybe there’s a new rip in it, God knows how that can have happened. She holds back a gasp, though, when Tayce reaches out and runs a gentle finger down her spine against her bare skin; an advantage of the sparkly backless cowl neck top she’s wearing that she hadn’t known existed until now. “Speaking of backbones, you’re such a skinny minnie.”

“Did you go to the school of backhanded compliments?” A’whora teases, deflecting from the way her heart’s still thrumming in her chest at the contact.

“Shush, you. You know you look bloody gorgeous,” Tayce says back to her, and even though there’s a laugh to her voice A’whora knows she means it. Her heart’s still going like a train but she can chalk that up to the half can of Monster Ellie’s dumped into her drink, so when she mutters out a thanks hun, same to you she hopes it doesn’t sound as insincere as it feels.

The thing is, she does look gorgeous. She’s dressed in a black lace bodysuit with straps that criss-cross up the back and a tight leather skirt that makes her legs look even longer than they already are. She’s opted for heels like A’whora has (unlike Ellie and Lawrence who have designated night-out trainers stained with spillages of drinks gone by) but hers have straps that are laced all the way round her calves and tied with a knot at the top. Everything about her outfit makes everything about her look outrageously good, and A’whora thinks it should be illegal for anyone to be this ethereal.

Tayce looks as if she’s about to fire something back at her judging by the little smile on her face but she’s interrupted by an outrageously loud boom from the speakers, as something that could be Lady Gaga but is too deafening to be deciphered screams through it. As the girls all flinch there’s a frantic diminuendo that comes from Lawrence mashing the volume button until the pitch is finally bearable and they can all take their hands off their ears.

“Lawrence, did you get the speakers working?” Ellie quips sarcastically, to which Tayce and A’whora burst out laughing and Lawrence almost elbows Ellie off the sofa opposite.

In the melee A’whora almost doesn’t notice Bimini and Tia come in, and they look ready to start the night if a little panicked.

“What the hell was that?” Tia asks quickly, opening the fridge and grabbing her bottle of premixed Malibu and pineapple before perching herself on the couch beside Ellie. “I thought part of the building had exploded.”

“Nah that was just my vagina, babes,” Lawrence says offhandedly, the others either screeching with laughter or groaning in anguish. Bimini crosses the room with their selection of drinks cradled in their arms and budges Tayce and A’whora up with an oi, oi!, A'whora’s pulse thudding at her wrist as a result of her close proximity to her crush.

No- her friend. Her friend who’s never going to be anything more than that.

With the six flatmates assembled, drinks poured, and tunes on, their pre drinks can begin. Pres at their flat often look like drinking games, yelling along to early 2010s pop, tipsily booking taxis and then touching up their makeup in the waiting time before they arrive. Tonight is no different; they bicker about where they want to go and eventually decide on the union because although it’s “too het” according to Ellie, it’s admittedly cheap and a good night out. A’whora chips into the conversation every five minutes with shady, catty jokes that Tayce howls at and leans into her side and clutches her arm or her hand or her thigh.

The contact is nice. They’ve reached that stage of their friendship where they’re touchy and close a lot of the time- A’whora’s constantly playing with Tayce’s hair and Tayce thinks nothing of just walking into A’whora’s room and getting under the duvet with her. They throw their arms around each other and bump shoulders as they walk and touch legs on the sofa, much like they’re doing now. A’whora has never been a cuddly type of friend- to be honest, she still isn’t- but there’s something about doing all this with Tayce that she doesn’t mind. It’s a comfortable kind of intimacy, a knitted blanket of sorts, but it’s a fragile space for Tayce to occupy too and A’whora knows it’s risky to let her rip a wall down she’s never been aware of til now.

The night rolls along and with every refill of A’whora’s glass the music gets turned up a little more, a little more, a little more until they’re all having to yell over each other as they play wiggly wiggly woo, who’s most likely to. It’s all fun and games until it gets to who’s most likely to sleep with a flatmate, and there’s a confusing mess of finger-pointing where Lawrence points to Ellie, Tayce points to Lawrence, and Bimini, Ellie and Tia point to A’whora.

“Fuck off, why’s it me?” she screeches in outrage, trying to cover up the fact her cheeks are burning and that Tayce seems suddenly all too close to her.

“Because! It’s you! It’s A’whora!” Bimini laughs, their accent making them seem all the more mischievous and shit-stirring.

“Well! If I’m sleeping with a flatmate that must mean one of you’s gonna be involved, doesn’t it?!”

“Right, sorry, yeah,” Bimini nods understandingly, before immediately switching to point to Tayce. There’s an arena-crowd roar that erupts from the others, one that makes A’whora laugh and blush scarlet at the same time. She sneaks a look at Tayce, who’s regarding her with much the same expression.

“I’m down if you are, hun,” A’whora jokes-but-not-really, shaking Tayce’s arm as if it’ll take away from the weak joke she’s trying to make. Tayce only shoots her a wink with her tongue trapped between her teeth.

“In your dreams, love.”

A’whora’s glad of the others laughing so she can pretend to join in, occupy herself with something other than the overwhelming urge to reply to Tayce with exactly.

The rest of pres fly by tipsily and incoherently. They get a noise complaint from the weird flat underneath them which seems solely comprised of six boys who never go outside, which prompts them to book taxis even though the union is only about a ten minute walk away. A’whora helps Tia re-glue on her eyelashes in a rush and Bimini spontaneously fills a hipflask with Ellie’s apple sourz, “for the road”. When the taxis roll up outside Lawrence hurries them all out the door with the urgency of a mother of five, and before long they’re standing in a queue around the block, Bimini and A’whora sharing Tia’s huge puffer jacket because neither of them thought to pick up coats in their haste to leave.

Tayce pulls a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, flips the little cardboard lid of them open and offers them round to the others. A’whora takes one because Tayce is offering, and really Tayce could offer them grenades with the pins pulled out and A’whora would accept if only to get her smile flashed at her again or the chance that their hands might touch during the transfer. A’whora thinks Tayce is every public health campaign’s worst nightmare as she watches her hold the cigarette between her index and middle fingers, wrap her lips around the end and inhale. Her cheekbones are razor-sharp as she drags then lets the breath go, red lipstick on the paper and the smoke curling up into the sparkly, dark night sky.

She is beautiful.

It’s because she’s beautiful that A’whora shouldn’t be surprised by the events that begin to unfold as they enter the club. Ellie immediately makes her way over to a booth, picks up the little sign that says it’s reserved and chucks it onto the dancefloor to get trampled underfoot and covered in sticky cocktail spillages. Tayce’s round is first because she lost Ring of Fire back at the flat so she goes over to the bar for shots, promising she’ll be only a couple of minutes and the others believing her; the way she looks ensures she never has a long wait time at the bar.

So they wait. And they wait. At first they don’t even notice how long they’ve waited- the tunes are good and loud and so they all yell along happily. Until Lawrence turns to the others with narrowed eyes.

“Here. Where the fuck is Tayce? She’s been ages.”

They all scan the bar, and Ellie suddenly points dramatically over to the other end of it. “Oh!”

Because Tayce is standing at the bar with no drinks and no interest in any of the bartenders taking drinks orders. She’s talking to a tall blonde with a dazzling smile and a low-cut crop top, and something inside A’whora burns and sinks at the same time. Tayce is allowed to be talking to a pretty girl. She’s not not allowed to. But it doesn’t make her any less jealous of the attention she’s giving her.

It’s a horror movie she can’t look away from. She’s aware that Ellie has gone to get the drinks instead, but that’s all she can absorb from her surroundings. She tunes out of the conversation at the table as she continues to watch the two of them interact. The girl’s got muscles, and her hair falls in neat waves on her shoulders, and she’s smiley and charming and doesn’t talk much, preferring instead to listen to Tayce. A’whora is different. A’whora is constantly on transmit; loud and opinionated and gobby and, okay, sometimes a little bit judgemental. She can’t do charming and demure. She can’t be what Tayce is very clearly interested in.

A thud next to her causes A’whora to whip her head round, tearing herself away from the scene playing out in front of her and ripping the plaster off.

“Fuck’s sake. Jaegerbombs with Red Bull? Puh-rison!” Ellie half-whines, half-shouts.

“Red Bull is the standard, not everyone can have the same taste in energy drinks as a sixteen year old virgin gamer,” A’whora narrows her eyes, gratefully accepting the drink from her nonetheless and shotting it back as if it’ll help blind her, or perhaps forget what she’s seeing.

“God. Who pissed in your coco pops?” Ellie fires back, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Bold of you to assume anything specific has happened to make her this bitter, mean and salty,” Tia jokes from A’whora’s side, and as the others scream and laugh A’whora in turn fixes her with a glare, wishing momentarily she had laser beams for pupils.

“Ooh, that’s made me want a tequila,” Lawrence cries enthusiastically, too loud even from the other side of the booth.

“Eh, excuse me! I just got you a Jaegerbomb, finish that first,” Ellie chastises her like a world-weary parent, pushing the glass towards her friend and sliding her hand over the table, sticky with the ghosts of questionable drinks’ past. A’whora has to snort at her tone.

“Yeah Lawrence, finish your Jaegerbomb or you won’t get any dessert. Listen to your responsible Mum whose eyelash is coming off.”

A big roar of laughter flies up from the others, and it’s Ellie’s turn to glare at A’whora this time. She looks as if she’s about to say something back when Bimini sniffs their glass and frowns.

“Is Jaegerbombs vegan?”

Everyone apparently wishes to ignore the lack of grammatical sense to their sentence, and it’s Lawrence who responds first. “They’re vegan in the same sense that bleach is vegan?”

Bewilderingly satisfied, Bimini raises their glass to the middle of the table and the girls join them, cheering as they all clink them together and chuck the drinks back. The fact A’whora can’t join in leaves her eyes to fall on Tayce and that girl again. Tayce is smiling and it’s the brightest thing in the club, laughing as the girl flips her hair and touches her hand and tells some joke that’s obviously not as funny as anything A’whora could say. She wonders if she’s ever made Tayce smile like that. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but she can’t remember.

“You know they used to use Jaeger as cough medicine? And for ages it was drunk by, like…old Tories who went on deer hunts,” Tia reels off excitably, and A’whora can’t help but roll her eyes affectionately at her friend’s bizarre general knowledge. “There’s this rumour that it’s got deer’s blood in it.”

Bimini splutters, coughs, and chokes all at once. As Lawrence slaps their back entirely too roughly in a way that’s about as helpful as a water gun at a house fire, A’whora can’t help but turn to face Tia incredulously.

“What the fuck did you say that for?!”

Tia shrugs, too tipsy to register A’whora’s disbelief. “Fun fact.”

“You didn’t think to pipe up with that when Bims was asking if it was vegan?”

“It’s just a rumour!” Tia says defensively, then turns to Bimini to check they’re okay. A’whora huffs in exasperation, folding her arms and throwing her back against the supposedly cushioned walls of the booth. As she stares straight ahead and ignores the fuss her friends are making, her eyes fall on Tayce again and her heart hurts more than it should to see her with her phone out and the girl beside her doing the same. They’re so clearly swapping numbers. They’re allowed to swap numbers. It’s not like A’whora’s got dibs on Tayce, it’s not like she’s got any right to feel a burn in her stomach and a flame in her heart and a feeling of something slipping away.

“Right!” Lawrence all but yells, forcing A’whora to tear her eyes away. “I’ve finished my Jaegerbomb, Mum, can we get tequila now?”

Ellie sighs. “Fine! But you’re buying me this one, bitch.”

“I’ll come with,” A’whora says, thinking she’ll need at least ten more units of alcohol to stop feeling feelings.  

“We’re going for a boogie, catch us up,” Bimini decides, as Rhythm is a Dancer blasts on the overhead speakers and Tia lets out a whooo! that’s way too white for a mixed-race girl.

So they move, A’whora bum-shuffling her way out of the booth and following Lawrence and Ellie, her feet sore in her heels. She purposefully blocks Tayce out of her peripheral vision as she leans against the bar, but she’s only separated from her by about six people also waiting and if she tilted her head forward she could definitely catch her eye if she wanted.

“Rhythm is a dancer, two for one at Asda,” Ellie sings along, bopping her head enthusiastically. A’whora laughs weakly, her proximity to Tayce and that bitch she’s talking to entirely too distracting.

“Shut your hole and tell me what you’re wanting,” Lawrence orders her. Ellie drums the palms of her hands against the bar as she semi-shouts sambucaaaaa, and A’whora asks for a vodka. She’s aware she’s mixing entirely too many spirits and her hangover tomorrow will be potentially life-threatening, but she doesn’t care.

“Tayce is still there. Should we shout her over and see what she wants?” Ellie suggests, craning her neck. A’whora firmly shakes her head.

“She’s wanting that baby Hulk she’s been talking to all night, apparently,” she all but spits, shocking herself at her venom. It’s clear she shocks the girls as well, and Lawrence turns around and simply raises her eyebrows at her.

“Men’s dress trousers in a hotel.”

A’whora can only blink. “What?”

Lawrence pauses for dramatic effect (or perhaps that’s just the Jaegerbomb making its alcohol content known). She points a finger at A’whora, then finishes whatever point she’s making. “Pressed.”

“Purrr!” Ellie laughs in agreement, grabbing A’whora’s shoulder and shaking it in an action that’s probably meant to be gentle but almost shakes her bone out of its socket. “Oh my God, that totally explains why you’ve been such a bitch all night.”

“This wee cow’s been a bitch her whole life,” Lawrence joins in. A’whora knows she’s got a proper face on by now, Dot Cotton licking piss off a nettle, but she can’t help it. She hates being wound up and she makes this perfectly clear to her friends via her furious silence.

“Nah, but tonight she’s a jealous bitch,” Ellie sticks her tongue out at her, and A’whora huffs.

“I’m not jealous!” she lies. “I’m just pissed off that she comes on a night out with us and she spends it talking to some random bitch she barely knows instead of her friends.”

“Wait. Oh my God, do you fancy Tayce?” Lawrence asks, a bull in a china shop on cocaine. Before A’whora can defend herself Ellie barks a laugh.

“Aw Lauzza, come on to fuck! Have you ever walked in when it’s been just the two of them? They’re so fucking flirty it’s disgusting.”

“DISGUSTEN!” Lawrence shouts, and it goes about ten percent of the way to drawing A’whora out of her mood.

“I don’t flirt with Tayce! I don’t fancy her either!” A’whora cries, exasperated. She realises too-late that her volume may have been too loud, but when she looks over at the topic of conversation again she’s both disappointed and relieved to see that she hasn’t registered a thing. “Anyway, you know you can’t shag your flatmate. It’s like the first rule of having flatmates. It would just make everything awkward.”  

“That the only thing stopping you?” Lawrence looks at her pointedly.  

“The bartender’s free,” A’whora glances just over Lawrence’s shoulder, and she turns around so fast it almost makes her feel dizzy. While Lawrence orders it leaves Ellie to turn to A’whora and pat her hand sympathetically.

“Why don’t you just go up to her?” she suggests. “I mean would it be so bad if you did just shag and get the pent-up tension released and then you can both just move on? I mean it’s not like you want to be her girlfriend or anything.”

A’whora presses her lips together and doesn’t reply. Her silence seems to communicate too much as Ellie’s mouth drops open a little and she fixes her with a pointed stare. “Oh, A’whora.”

“Look, I don’t know,” A’whora rushes to defend herself, her words spilling out over themselves in the way they sometimes do when she’s tipsy. “Like obviously she’s gorgeous but also, like…I do like her as a person as well, and I like being around her and just enjoying her company-”

Ellie splutters a giggle. “Enjoying her company, are you eighty years old in a care home?”

“I’m gonna slap you in a minute, shut up!” A’whora laughs incredulously. “But, like, I just…I don’t know if she likes me back like that, you know?

Ellie frowns. “I think, then, my advice would be…don’t shag her if you don’t think you can keep it to just that. ‘Cause obviously you don’t want to end up getting hurt.”

“Right, yeah,” A’whora replies, nodding.

If she’s honest, she’s disappointed. Obviously she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to sleep with Tayce- because fucking look at her- but just like Ellie said, she knows she would end up getting hurt if anything happened between them. Tayce would probably consider it a one-time thing and A’whora would be let down, or it would turn into some long, drawn-out friends with benefits scenario that would probably make everything worse.

The thing is she can only repress her feelings so much and tonight she’s feeling like one of Ellie’s cans of Monster that Tia shook up as a joke and ended up spurting out its contents so violently that there’s still a green-blue stain on their kitchen wall. A’whora’s way too close to telling the girls about every time she’s pictured her and Tayce falling asleep together and waking up together, every time she’s imagined them planning actual dates, every time she’s wanted to kiss her on the sofa- not necessarily even a kiss kiss but just a peck on the cheek, a soft one pressed to the crown of her head, a little one against their knuckles as they hold hands.

It all sounds ridiculous and silly and way too high school. Nothing seems to work the same at uni. Everyone just seems to shag, hook up, kiss strangers they’ll never see again in the shadows of grimy clubs. Everything seems to happen when everyone’s drunk. Everything’s done out of lust rather than love. Everything is so short-term because you can’t plan for the long term if you wake up and don’t remember the night before.

A’whora loves uni, but she doesn’t like that.

Besides, she’s already done all that in high school anyway. Sixth form had been like a crash course in freshers’ week; if she wasn’t drinking in parks or going to house parties she was sneaking into nightclubs using a fake ID that even Stevie Wonder could’ve seen right through. She’d half-heartedly slept with boys and figured out she liked girls when a sleepover after a party took a turn. She’d tried smoking and she came to the conclusion that she didn’t like it enough to buy her own cigarettes, she’d tried mandy once and that was once too much for her. All of that has prepared her well for uni- she’s street smart and has her head screwed on (for the most part- she’s still testing her limits as far as alcohol’s concerned). But feeling like she’s feeling for Tayce is uncharted territory, and out of everything she’s already done and experienced A’whora finds it hard to believe there’s not an age limit on this sort of thing because it all feels more risky and dangerous than smoking roll-ups in a children’s playpark at one in the morning ever did.

A wayheyyy! from Lawrence cuts through her thoughts and she accepts the shot she’s holding out to her, wordlessly clinking it together with Lawrence’s and Ellie’s and slamming it back as if it’s some form of medicine she desperately needs.

“It’s so weird that you don’t do the whole lime and salt thing,” Ellie wrinkles her nose at her friend, who in turn punches one of her own tits with what seems to be pride.

“‘Cause I’m made of strong stuff, babes. Right, what’s the conclusion on this one? Does she fancy Tayce or no?”

“Surely this is a bathroom stall conversation?” A’whora pouts, annoyed that her feelings for Tayce have been brought back up.

As Ellie relays to Lawrence what she’d said to A’whora, A’whora momentarily wonders if she’s in control of anything in her life any more.

Lawrence nods when Ellie’s done. “Smart advice. ‘Cause it would make things awkward for the flat. ‘Magine trying to make a Pot Noodle in the middle of a live-action episode of Eastenders.”

A’whora screws her face up in confusion. “All episodes of Eastenders are live action?”

“Y’know what the fuck I mean,” Lawrence rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Well we’ve given you our blessing and basically we represent the whole country, so. Go for it.”

“Thanks, Nicola Sturgeon, good to know I have your approval,” A’whora smirks at her, amused. When some Becky Hill song comes on over the speakers she takes it as her cue to smooth down her skirt, flip her hair over her shoulder and rest her little shot glass back on the bar. “Right, we going to have a dance or what?”

As she takes her friends’ hands they all but strut over to the dancefloor, and A’whora can see Bimini and Tia pulling shapes that they probably think make them look mysterious and sexy but actually just make them look as drunk as they no doubt are. Before A’whora can push through the crowd, Lawrence tugs her and Ellie back a bit.

“Here, I think I’ve remembered something Tayce told me once, if this is of any use to you?” she begins.

All of A’whora’s nerve endings light up like one of those colourful optical fiber lamps she had when she was small. Her eyes have clearly flown open and her mouth’s dropped slack without her even having to try, so desperate is she for what Lawrence is about to tell her. Ellie’s beside her equally expectant and anticipative, and Lawrence laughs at the pair of them before she continues.

“It was the pair of us and Tia…Christ, when was it…cannae mind. Think you’d gone home for the weekend and Ellie was doing something wi’ Bims…anyway, coupla’ bottles of wine in and we start playing wee stupid games. We’re doing snog, marry, avoid and Tia gives her…fuck, cannae even remember. Let’s say it was Ellie, Bimini and you. Now I can’t remember what she said for the other two but…” Lawrence pauses dramatically, and A’whora is a hair’s breadth away from practically begging her for the information she’s taking so long to impart. “…she said she would marry you because then she’d get to shag you more than just once.”

A’whora doesn’t think her eyes can go any wider but she somehow manages it. She doesn’t really know how to react but Ellie’s doing enough screaming to suffice for the two of them.

“When the fuck were you gonna tell us that?! Fuck, I can’t believe you never told me that! When did this happen?!” Ellie practically screeches in her face.

“Telt you I cannae mind! Maybe like…a month ago? I don’t know,” Lawrence supplies unhelpfully. Usually A’whora would try to rip the piss out of the way her accent’s gone ten times more Braveheart than usual after her series of drinks, but all she can think about is what she’s been told and, well…she can’t help the butterflies in her heart and the way a satisfied, triumphant grin spreads slowly onto her face.

Ellie’s equally as excited beside her. She whacks A’whora on the arm as she squeals with enthusiasm. “See! Now we know she likes you too!”

A’whora feels as if she’s made of glitter and confetti as she spins around in the direction of the bar. Her heart gives a dip on its rollercoaster of emotions as she sees that Tayce has somehow caught the attention of a different girl- long, dark hair and a blue and orange outfit and a mouth that’s moving at about a mile a minute.

There’s a second before A’whora makes to turn away in disappointment when Tayce’s pupils suddenly flick over to rest on her. Tayce’s self-assured expression and body language seem to falter when she catches A’whora’s eye, and she shoots her a little smile that- if A’whora didn’t know the girl better- she’d say was shy.

“Now the challenge is actually getting a chance to talk to her,” A’whora pouts. Chatting up Tayce and maybe getting to fall into bed with her really isn’t a time-sensitive issue; it doesn’t need to happen tonight, but A’whora’s had a chaotic combination of alcohol that makes her think there’s really no time like the present and hey, maybe this is her one and only chance.

“Well, we can keep an eye on her and when she’s free, then that’s your chance,” Ellie smiles, supportive and excited.

“What chat-up line are you gonnae use? I’ve got a cracker you can have if you want,” Lawrence insists, and A’whora and Ellie share a doubtful look.

“Go on.”

“What did one haggis say to the other haggis?” Lawrence begins. Without giving the other girls a chance to interject, she finishes. “…’Gonnae shaggis?’ ”

“And on that note,” Ellie shakes her head and rolls her eyes, taking both of them by the hand and pulling them into the crowd to join their other friends.

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget about the object of her affection chatting to random girls on the other side of the room when Bimini’s grabbing her and almost launching her across the dancefloor with their euphoric pogo-ing along to each and every song that gets played. The five of them drunkenly bum-ba-ba, bum-ba-ba along to Head & Heart and cheer for Tia when she does Nicki’s rap in Swalla without even stopping for breath. A’whora laughs in confusion with the other girls as Lawrence and Ellie get way too excited, squealing and clutching each others’ hands when some clubland tune that’s apparently much bigger in Scotland than it is in the other three corners of the UK gets put on, the lyrics of which seem to consist solely of the words up-up-up and awayyy. Bimini and Lawrence collect more drinks from the bar and A’whora very nearly knocks Ellie’s out of her hand when Friday comes on and she punches the air.

And then Tayce is on her own.

A’whora’s heart almost siezes up with how fast it jolts into full-blown palpitations because this is the moment she can finally go over and talk to her, the chance to turn their friendship into maybe something more even if that something more is only a random hookup after a night out, but it only takes the time for her to shake Ellie’s arm and point in Tayce’s direction for her to see that, yet again, she’s been approached by someone tall and confident and stunning and everything that A’whora wishes Tayce thought about her.

Her face falls and Ellie snaps her fingers in her line of vision, forcing her to look at her and the motherly expression of tough love she’s wearing.

“Hey. When has anyone ever stopped you getting your own way?” she yells at her over the music, and A’whora laughs half in amusement and half in agreement. As she falls silent, Ellie jerks her head towards the bar. “Go get her, bitch.”

It might be the alcohol, but it hits A’whora with a ironically sobering clarity that Ellie’s right.

So she takes a breath in and struts confidently over to the bar, practically able to feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins (although that could well be the caffeine from the second Jaegerbomb she’s downed this evening with Bimini’s encouragement). She smooths down her skirt so the split runs up the front of her thigh and not the side, adjusts the neck of her top so it’s framing her chest the way she wants it to. She could be nervous but the combined alcohol she’s drunk so far this evening pushes that feeling to the back of her head, replacing it with all-consuming confidence that she can feel from the inside out. She looks good, better than good, and she knows she can flirt even though she’s never really tried to flirt with Tayce. Well, never intentionally.

Okay, that’s maybe a lie.

The realisation that she’s actually going through with this is enough to make her want to freeze to the spot but by some miracle she’s still walking forward until she’s three, two, one steps away from her flatmate and the girl at the bar with too much plastic surgery and hair the shade of a vomit-coloured highlighter pen. A’whora wedges her shoulder in between the pair of them, hears the girl give a little tut/sigh hybrid from behind her but A’whora’s not really interested in bickering with her, not when Tayce’s eyes have fallen on her and she’s looking at her, really looking at her with a little playful smile on her painted lips.

“Hey baby boo,” Tayce says by way of a greeting, and A’whora feels her heart melt just a little. She’s being adorable, but she’s not going to let that damage her confident, composed exterior. Until Tayce follows up by running a hand down her arm and lacing their fingers together. “I haven’t seen you all night, I missed you.”

With that, A’whora feels the little cocky smirk she’s wearing break out into a shy grin, one that she hopes doesn’t look as ridiculously goofy as it feels. “Well. Maybe you would’ve seen more of me if you hadn’t been playing Take Me Out with half the bloody girls in here.”

“Who, me?” Tayce gasps, clutching the gold chain around her neck and pretending to be affronted. A’whora doesn’t mean to roll her eyes but she clearly does, and the small giggle she draws out of Tayce as a result makes it almost worth it. The squeeze Tayce gives her hand turns that almost into a definitely, as does what Tayce follows up with. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know.”

“You’re cute…all the time,” A’whora claps back, wishing she had some sort of drink in her hand to press against her face as she feels her blush start to bloom across her cheeks.

“I know, babe, that’s why I’ve been getting my drinks bought for me all night,” Tayce winks.

If Awhora uses that as a signal to pull her bank card from her bra, that’s nobody’s business but her own. The way Tayce’s gaze flicks to her chest lights a match in her heart. “Well…let me buy you one and then you won’t have to miss me so much.”

Tayce’s awed smile spreads slowly onto her face and they agree on tequila shots, the phase of the evening where they were nursing their drinks left firmly in the dust as the bartender hands them a salt shaker, two little shot glasses and two wedges of lime. The way Tayce’s tongue slides over the side of her hand before she sprinkles the salt and the way their eyes meet as she licks it up makes A’whora’s mouth dry, so the tequila’s welcome for a split second before she remembers why she hates it, the flavour and sheer strength of the alcohol akin to being hit by a truck.  

As she grabs desperately for the lime like it’s an oxygen mask on a crash-landing plane, Tayce laughs and shakes her head pityingly. “You always end up ordering tequila and you always, always hate it.”

A’whora blinks as she composes herself, gives a little shiver of recovery. She cocks her head at Tayce inquisitively. “I didn’t know you remembered that.”

Tayce looks to the ground as she smiles, tucks a piece of her long hair behind her ear. It’s endearing and soft and it makes A’whora panic, so she presses her lips together and raises an eyebrow at Tayce questioningly. “So, how’d your little episode of Blind Date go anyway?“

"Gosh, you’re really pressed about this, aren’t you?” Tayce’s eyes are narrow as she smirks at her, and now it’s A'whora’s turn to look embarrassed. The soft laugh Tayce gives is reassuring so A'whora’s gaze drifts back up again and their eyes meet as she speaks again. “Well, there was, uh…blonde lady. Blonde lady with the muscles and the eyeliner. God, what was her name?”

“This is off to a flying start.”

“Kameron!” Tayce yells in her face as she remembers. It makes A’whora snort with laughter, something that’s probably wildly unattractive but she knows Tayce has seen her do it before. “And then there was, uh, Priyanka. I remember her name because she kept telling me every two minutes. That was a wild conversation.”

“Uh-huh. Who was the bitch I elbowed out the way?”

Tayce smirks at her, wobbles a little in her heels and steadies herself against the bar. “That was…Detox.”

“Radox?”

Tayce splutters. “Detox!”

“Should’ve called herself Botox, would’ve been nearer to the mark,” A’whora turns up her top lip. Tayce explodes in an outraged laugh beside her, clutches her wrist in a way that makes A’whora hope she won’t be able to feel her rapid pulse.

“Says Aurora Georgia Boyle, who asked for lip fillers for her eighteenth and was actually allowed to get them!”

“Don’t full name me, piece of shit!” A’whora gasps in mock-offence, shakes herself away from Tayce’s grip but finds her inexplicably nearer to her than she was before. She’s not necessarily complaining, though, because her whole left side is against Tayce’s right and there’s some form of other-worldly magnetism that seems to keep them pressed together. It makes her heart flutter so she tucks a section of hair behind her ear before she frowns. “I never told you that. How come you know that?”

“You did tell me! Back in freshers week! You just don’t remember,” Tayce giggles, poking her cheek with one acrylic nail. It should hurt more than it does. Maybe it does hurt and A’whora can’t feel it. She’s had a lot to drink.

It’s the alcohol she blames when she hooks an arm around Tayce’s waist, tilts her head and drops her volume to a murmur. “You seem to remember a lot of things about me.”

Tayce’s eyes widen just that little bit. “Well you’re a bit of an unforgettable person, really.”

Her words make A’whora’s heart light up so much that she can feel herself glowing from the inside out. She brings her other arm around Tayce in a tight hug, her hands joining at the small of her back, and Tayce mirrors her so they’re both anchoring each other. It’s hard for her to remember whether they’ve ever shared a hug like this before. It seems too intimate for friends, but A’whora doesn’t mind.

“Tayce.”

“Rory,” Tayce replies, mimicking her whine and the way she draws her name out. A’whora likes the nickname she gives her probably more than she should; she supposes it’s because only Tayce uses it and because it’s rooted in her actual given name.

A’whora pouts, squeezes Tayce’s waist. “I missed you tonight, you know.”

“Missed you too. Missed you so much,” Tayce murmurs back.

She’s already said it, A’whora knows she’s already said it, but with the way they’re both gazing at each other it seems to mean something more, something different. It’s ridiculous- they’re both drunk, and famously no good decisions have ever happened when two people have had this many assorted shots, but somehow it feels like all of this is just right.  

A’whora drops her head to rest it on Tayce’s shoulder and she feels her arms tighten around her in response. Her lips graze her neck as she murmurs against it. “Not leaving me again.”

There’s a pause where she can’t really see Tayce’s expression or how she’s reacted. Her heart freezes, and the terror and reality of having crossed the line between friendship and whatever the hell this is suddenly consumes her whole body. She’s relieved, then, when Tayce eventually mutters against the crown of her head.

“All yours, baby.”

And she presses a kiss to her hair. Just like A’whora’s been dreaming about for so long.

She feels giddy and dizzy with absolute euphoria, so it’s that she blames when she puts her lips against Tayce’s neck again and plants one, two, three little kisses there in quick succession.

“Tayce,” she whispers again. She doesn’t really know what she wants to say or how to say it, but she knows she doesn’t want to go back to the dancefloor, and she doesn’t want to be with their other friends. She just wants her and Tayce together for however long she’ll let it be that way, and she doesn’t even care about the busy bar or the drunk students that bump into them every so often or the stares from the rowdy group of rugby lads that would usually make her feel intimidated, but not when she’s with Tayce.

When she’s with Tayce everything seems a little bit better somehow, just by her being there.

So maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the tequila, or maybe it’s the feeling of having Tayce’s arms around her that makes A’whora tilt her head back up again and meet Tayce’s waiting lips with her own. There’s none of the usual hesitation or awkward pause that comes with kissing someone new because really the amount of times A’whora’s imagined this, dreamt about it, thought about it in daydreams that completely unhook her from reality, it’s as if it’s happened before.

Nothing has prepared her for the real thing though. How Tayce brings a hand up to rest at her jaw and how the other stays placed against the bare skin of her back, warm and supportive. How the both of them sway a little, unsteady in their heels as if they’ve been knocked for six. How Tayce’s body is close against hers and A’whora pushes a hand in her hair in an attempt to somehow bring her even closer. How kissing Tayce leaves her breathtaken and satisfied yet somehow amplifies her feeling of longing, because the more she gives to her the more A’whora wants and with every second that Tayce’s lips are on hers she can only feel the heat that’s pooling in her stomach growing more and more intense.

When Tayce pulls away and A’whora can only catch her breath, she fixes her with a lazy, half-lidded smile that makes her insides turn to melted honey.

“That was nice,” she blinks, and she’s a second away from kicking herself- because, really?- when Tayce giggles softly under her breath. She brushes a little piece of A’whora’s hair off her face, and the gentleness of the action throws her a little. A’whora brings her arms up to loop around her neck, and she leans in close again. “I wanna do it again.”

“I want to do…a lot of things. With you,” Tayce says, casual and chill as if her words haven’t just sent A’whora up in flames.

“Like…?”

“Like…maybe come back to mine and I’ll show you, baby.”

The whole moment’s perfect enough for A’whora to almost overlook the blunder Tayce has just made, but her nature dictates that she can’t let her get away with it. “We…we live together.”

Tayce lets out a snort, bumps her forehead against A’whora’s as she despairs of herself. “Right. Well…we gonna go home, then?”

A’whora doesn’t need to be asked twice. She laces her fingers in Tayce’s, resolves to text the others to tell them they’ve left, and stumbles towards the exit with her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

When she blinks, she’s tired, she’s in bed, it’s bright, and she’s confused as all hell.

The headache hits her like a sledgehammer to the face and she blinks slowly and heavily, adjusting herself to her surroundings. She’s in her own room, she can tell that much from the photos of her and her friends from back home on the cupboard and the fairy lights on her desk that aren’t switched on. Her mouth feels like a badger’s shat in it and her eyes are all achey, and as she throws an arm up to rub at them she’s surprised when she doesn’t see any leftover eye makeup on the back of her hand.

“The kraken awakes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” A’whora flinches, her head whipping over to the foot of her bed to find Tayce sitting cross-legged leaning against the wall, her phone in her hand. She’s wearing her old leggings with the bleach stains and the hole at the calf, and a purple tie-dye sweatshirt that’s a size too big for her. Her hair’s loose and framing her face and the only makeup she has on is the little scattering of eyeliner that’s hanging tight to her lash line and has managed to escape the makeup wipe.

She looks disarmed and shy. There’s something comforting about it, because A’whora feels confused and completely on the back foot and she has no idea what’s going on. But there’s a warm smile on her face and it meets her eyes, so despite her disorientation A’whora feels safe.

“How long’ve you been there? Were you just watching me sleep like some…creepy Twilight vampire?” A’whora groans, sitting up and leaning forward and taking a deep breath as if it’ll make her headache go away.

Tayce laughs in a way that makes A’whora think the question’s flustered her, but she’s not sure. “The others went to get breakfast. I said I’d stay with you. Didn’t want you to be on your own feeling like shit and maybe having the fear.”

“I am having the fear. I don’t even know how we got home.”

The way Tayce’s face drops in what looks like abject panic makes her wonder what did happen last night. “Wait. What do you actually remember?”

A’whora’s heart is racing as she scans her mind for memories. Pres, club, drinks, booth. Tayce talking to some girl. Dancefloor. Tayce. Talking to Tayce. Kissing Tayce-

Kissing Tayce.

“Oh, no,” A’whora blurts out involuntarily. Her eyes are wide as she looks at Tayce. “We…did we? We did?”

Tayce’s face seems to relax as she bursts out laughing, and it all comes flooding back to A’whora and hits her like a train. Everything that had seemed like such a good idea last night now seems like the most awkward situation in the world now that Tayce is here, on her bed, and they’re both sober.

“Tayce, no,” A’whora whines, putting her head in her hands as her friend keeps laughing. “No! That’s so awkward. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it was a good kiss,” Tayce smiles back, somehow both coy and self-assured at once. It’s her reaction that causes a new wave of cold horror to crash against A’whora, a wave on a rock.

“Oh, Jesus. Did anything else happen?”

Tayce grows animated. “God, yeah, we had the best sex ever. Sixty-nines, scissoring, we got the vibrators involved. It was bloody lush.”

A’whora’s too hungover to realise that Tayce is winding her up until she screeches with laughter right in her horrified face. “Oh my God, Rory, your face! No I’m joking, ‘course I’m joking.”

“Thank fuck,” A’whora sighs a world-weary sigh of relief, throwing herself back down against her pillows and immediately regretting it for the way her brain ricochets against her skull and makes her headache ten times worse. “So what did happen?”

“Well, you wanted to walk back because you wanted to look at the stars, so when we got to the square we lay down and looked at the stars for a bit. And then I wanted to go get chips and cheese but you were dragging me back home because you were so horny,” Tayce looks at her pointedly, and A’whora groans with embarrassment, grabbing her pillow and shoving it over her face. “But then after we got up the stairs and in through the door you said you felt sick, so I then had to hold your hair back while you threw up last night’s pasta bake and what looked to be about fifty different kinds of alcohol into the toilet bowl. Then I had to put you to bed and stay up half the night making sure you didn’t choke on your own tongue while you were asleep. Best one night stand I’ve ever had.”

When A’whora takes the pillow away, Tayce winks at her. She feels like putting the pillow back.

“I’m honestly so sorry,” she pouts. She is sorry. Part of her wishes she could at least properly remember what it had felt like to kiss Tayce. All the memories of the moment are much too paper-thin and flimsy, butterfly wings that’re all too rapidly flying away. Tayce isn’t giving her any cause to be embarrassed, but A’whora is anyway.

So she’s not sure what Tayce is going to say when she leans forward, takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “Go brush your teeth.”

A’whora thinks she might be the first person in history to have cause of death: cringe written on her birth certificate. “You’re really adding insult to injury, aren’t you? Telling me all the embarrassing shit I did while I was off my face and then basically telling me my breath smells like dog shite.”

Tayce laughs as she shakes her head. “Just go do it, idiot.”

She’s never been one to say no to Tayce so A’whora drags herself out from under her duvet towards the little sink tucked away in the corner of her room, the cold chill of the freezing air hitting her bare arms and her feet and rendering her even more miserable. It’s only when she’s halfway through scrubbing at her teeth when it registers that she’s even got pyjamas on.

“Did you have to put my pyjamas on for me?” A’whora asks around her toothbrush, realising all too late that trying to talk through a mouthful of toothpaste is probably as unattractive as vomiting into the toilet bowl.

(The toilet bowl is definitely worse, but she’s just thinking this to help herself feel better.)

Tayce looks up from her phone and raises an eyebrow. “Nah, you managed to do it yourself. You did make me watch you put your stick-on bra on your forehead, though. Apparently it was the funniest thing in the world.”

A’whora just groans as she turns back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and following it with mouthwash just to completely clean her mouth of the various alcoholic sins of the night before. She crawls back into bed with a wearied sigh, and she’s surprised when Tayce falls on her side and scoots up beside her, laying on her side and facing her so their noses are almost touching. A’whora feels her heart lift and her pulse speed up, and it’s not helped by the way Tayce reaches out and tucks a little piece of hair behind her ear.  

Tayce trails her fingers across to cup A’whora’s cheek, and she’s almost whispering when she speaks. “Thank God. Just wanted to do this again.”

When she leans in A’whora shuts her eyes, meets her halfway, and feels every cell in her body electrify when their lips touch. If kissing Tayce in a club when they were both drunk was good, then kissing her hungover in bed is somehow even better, and A’whora’s mystified at the way her headache seems to completely disappear with every second she spends with her lips on Tayce’s, kissing her gently and softly as if they’ve got all the time in the world. Tayce smells of everything comforting- Tresemme shampoo, snow fairy shower gel, the fabric softener she uses that’s way too expensive for a student budget. Fresh and clean and somehow new. It’s the simplest heaven A’whora has ever experienced.

Tayce pulls away and they both giggle, embarrassment and awkwardness gone now that the elephant in the room’s been addressed. A’whora only realises Tayce has taken her hand when she lets it go, pushes herself off the mattress and crosses the room towards the door.

“We should do that again some time,” she smiles wickedly by way of a goodbye, and A’whora can only nod bashfully in reply and agreement. Tayce has given her hope to hold on to, and she knows she’s going to cling to it ridiculously until whatever this is happens again.

She can’t wait.

Just as Tayce opens her door and A’whora resigns herself to her leaving, she lifts her head off the pillow when she hears her flatmate’s voice again as she disappears into the hallway.

“And go have a shower. You smell like tequila.”

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 5: Ironic

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

"Woah."

"I know, right," Peter said, unzipping the inside of the suit and moving to plug it into Ned's computer. His friend continued to gape at it, fingers trailing over the fabric reverently.

"I can't believe Iron Man made this," he whispered. "I get to sit here. And touch a superhero suit. That Tony Stark made. For my best friend. This is the greatest day of my life."

"You've said that a lot recently," Peter pointed out, pulling up the schematics of the suit on Ned's computer, who turned to look at him in confusion.

"What are you doing? Are you supposed to be messing with it?"

"I'm not messing with it. I'm just going through Karen's code real quickly."

"Karen?"

"The AI," he explained. "I just want to make sure she's not gonna snitch on me."

"Snitch on you for what?"

"Uhhh, so you know those alien weapons I've been talking about?"

Ned nodded. "Yeah?"

"I'm gonna take that down, and I don't really need Karen telling Mr. Stark," he mumbled the last part nervously. Ned stared at him.

"Why don't we want Karen telling Mr. Stark again? I mean, he gave you the suit, he must think you're capable."

Peter paused, puffing up his cheeks as he took in an awkward breath, staring at the protocols showing up on the computer. He'd already spotted three to tell Mr. Stark if he was in trouble, so he knew it was the opposite of Ned's assumption.

"Actuallyyyy..." He took a deep breath. "You can't tell anyone this." Ned nodded, but he continued to press. "I mean it. Nobody. Not a soul."

"I won't, I won't! I promise, Peter. Not. A. Soul."

"Mr. Stark's my soulmate."

Ned's head whipped around to stare at Peter's shadow, his mouth falling open.

"Oh, my God... Oh, my God! He's your soulmate!!?" Peter nodded, preparing himself for Ned's excited ramblings, but he couldn't really hide the smile on tugging at his lips either, however faint it was. "This is insane! Your life is so fucking insane I think I'm going to lose it!! Have you talked to him? Wait--yeah you have! How many times have you talked to him? Have you done, I don't know, 'soulmate things?'"

"Ned, what?"

Ned threw his hands up. "I don't know, I haven't met my soulmate. I'm trying my best, Peter!"

Peter laughed, shrugging.

"I don't really know what 'soulmate things' are, but we had dinner, and he showed me some stuff in his lab."

"Oh, my God...you've been in his lab. You know you have to show me one day."

"Definitely. I'll figure it out later, just, let us get more used to each other? Maybe? Let me impress him at least, which is why I'm trying to keep Karen from snitching on me."

"Sure. Here," Ned agreed, sitting beside him on the bed and gesturing for the computer. Peter passed it over to him wordlessly. "I'll work on the protocols, you do detective work or something."

"Thanks, dude."

"By the way, and answer honestly, is that Tony Stark's hoodie?"

Peter glanced down at the red hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him, 'MIT' emblazoned on the sleeves while the faded logo sat on the front of the piece of clothing. He smiled at Ned. "Yep."

"This is so cool," his friend melted.

With an amused eyeroll, Peter pulled out his phone, clearing his throat and nervously calling, "Karen?"

The phone lit up. "Yes, Peter?"

"Listen, ah, I was wondering if you could help me. I'm trying to figure out who these guys under the bridge were a few nights ago, but I mean, I can only kind of remember part of a license plate."

"Can you tell me where you were?" Peter rattled off Liz's neighborhood. Karen was silent for a little bit before piping up again. "Was there a white van involved?"

Peter perked up. "Yes! Exactly!"

A hologram popped up from Peter's phone. Ned stopped to stare at it as they both let out an identical, "Whoa..."

Peter watched intently from the security camera as the van rolled up under the bridge to where the buyer had been waiting. Karen highlighted the faces for him.

"Okay. The two on the right, who are they?" he asked.

"Searching law enforcement databases," Karen said, pausing before answering. "No records found for two of the individuals."

"Nothing?"

"One individual identified." The recording was replaced by a mugshot. "Aaron Davis, age thirty-three. He has a criminal record and an address here in Queens."

Peter and Ned glanced at each other. Ned said, "The protocols are disabled."

"Let's pay him a visit."

  ---

"So, what's this surprise you've been talking about?"

Tony's head shot up at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. He smiled, turning from where he'd been forcing some kitchen tools into a box to take in the woman as she stepped off of the elevator. She very much looked like she'd just come out of a meeting in sharp business slacks and an exhausted expression.

"Hey, Pep. How was...London?"

"Tokyo," she corrected, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "It was tiring. How's the packing?"

"Eh, boring," he said, kicking the box lightly and shoving his hands in his pockets. "So, anyway, I think that we should reconsider moving to the compound permanently."

"Tony, we just finished all the paperwork for the tower! And most floors have been packed by now, we can't just--"

"Not the tower. Just for us. Ever thought about a nice high-rise in Queens?"

Pepper stared at him, crossing her arms. "Queens? Since when have you ever cared about Queens?"

"Well, that's the surprise."

"The surprise is that you want to move to Queens?"

"No," Tony corrected, unable to stop his bright grin. "The surprise is that my soulmate lives in Queens."

It took a couple of seconds for that to register to Pepper. When it did, her eyebrows raised and she let out a smiled gasp. "You found him?"

Tony nodded. "Yep, just swinging around New York like a maniac."

"Swinging?"

"He's Spider-Man. Well, 'man's' a strong word. Here." He waved his hand, pulling up a screen that displayed Peter's yearbook photo. Pepper cooed at him. "Peter Parker. Top of his class at Midtown High by day, overly excited vigilante by night."

"He doesn't look like he could hurt a fly, never mind stop robberies. How'd he get his powers?"

"Forgot to ask, actually. He wasn't super excited to meet me at first, actually."

Pepper snorted. "Good. I'm glad he doesn't feed your ego."

"Hey! This is serious," he pouted.

"Uhuh." Pepper gave him another kiss on the cheek. "How'd you meet him?"

"Mugging. I bought him a hot chocolate."

"Hmm. I expected something stranger given your track record."

"He ran away."

"There it is," she said. "It's all good now, though?"

"Yeah..."

"Tony?"

He hesitated. "Peter lives at a group home, and I gotta say, not super fond of his foster father."

"Is he... Does he hurt Peter?" Pepper asked. He shrugged.

"Possibly. I gave Peter some money and the guy took it. Spent hundreds of dollars on liquor. And the kid's really thin. Jumpy, too. But there's nothing to prove right now."

"I'm surprised I didn't have our lawyer calling me to say you broke into a foster home and kidnapped a kid."

Tony shrugged, giving her a soft smile. "I don't need to break down the door to say hi to Peter. Besides, kid's wary, gets nervous easily. I don't want to scare him off by being too invasive about his home."

"Good on you for learning some boundaries, Tony," she congratulated before turning just a little more serious as she glanced at Peter's picture again. "You're sure he's alright?"

"No. But he's got a new superhero suit, a phone with me, Friday, and his own AI on speed dial, an unlimited credit card, and a badge to get into the tower. He's got resources if he needs them."

"Then let's just hope he doesn't need them."

 ---

  Peter waited until the next day to find and interrogate Aaron Davis, more at Ned's insistence that they study for their Spanish quiz and to let his friend geek out over the suit than anything else. He'd stayed at his friend's house for as long as humanly possible, readily accepting whatever snack that Ned had pushed his way and going over notes that Karen gave him about Davis. It wasn't until the alarm he'd had Karen set that it was 9:40 went off did he leave.

Peter didn't like to impose on his friend so much, but Ned hadn't seemed to mind with the new addition of a supersuit and Mr. Stark being his soulmate, and the teenager couldn't help the way he was still avoiding Mr. Fowler like the plague. After leaving Mr. Stark's on Sunday and failing to stop a simple burglary, he'd hurried back to the group home, helping Eric with his homework and then cooping himself up in his room. He'd managed to avoid him the entire night and the next morning due to the man being passed out drunk in his room. Though he was still wracked with guilt at the fact that his foster father had stolen Mr. Stark's money on alcohol, he had to admit that it was at least useful.

Bidding goodnight to his friend, Peter slipped out of the apartment and hurried down onto the street where he joined the late night crowd as he made his way back to the group home. He popped his earbuds in and chose a song on his phone (that had an unlimited choice for him now, but he just stuck with his familiar Spotify playlists) as he rushed back to a place that he wished he could avoid for longer. Unfortunately, the curfew was final, so he made it back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys with five minutes to spare.

He stopped in front of the door as his hairs rose. Surprisingly, they didn't direct him towards the house, instead calling him to turn around. Peter glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of a man sitting at an apartment's steps a few buildings down. It was too dark to see his face, especially with the hat he wore pulled down low, but he looked just a little familiar. More than a little nervous, the teenager shook it off and stepped inside.

Mr. Fowler was waiting for him at the dining table. Peter paused, taking out his earbuds as Mr. Fowler turned to stare at him, chewing on a slice of pizza. For some reason, despite living in New York, the man was obsessed with frozen pizza. It was practically criminal, but Peter excused it as mind games since all the kids weren't allowed to eat any of it. Only a sociopath would eat exclusively frozen pizza in Queens.

"Pity. I was hoping you'd be late," Mr. Fowler frowned at Peter as he shuffled to a hesitant stop by the stairs. "Got another card for me?"

"No," Peter lied stiffly.

"What? No sugar daddy today?"

He knew better than to argue. "I hung out with Ned."

Mr. Fowler stared at him, but the travel agent was nothing if not a man of his word. Peter had been on time, so he waved the teenager on. Resisting the urge to scramble into the safety of his room, he whisked up the steep stairs and into the dark bedroom only lit by the lamp in the corner.

Tim was already asleep, but Jeremiah was sat on his bed going over what looked like a book report. The teenager paid Peter no mind as he dropped his bag onto the ground beside his bed and changed into a pajama shirt. He kept the hoodie on that Mr. Stark had given despite the warmth of the night as he slipped under his covers, bundling up in the reassuring fabric.

Peter didn't fall asleep for a while, grateful for the light provided by the lamp as he stared at the outline of Mr. Stark's shadow as though it were the only thing in the world. It might as well be for all he cared. Blocking out Mr. Fowler was quickly becoming a new necessity that was increasingly hard to do with the way his senses focused in on every little thing.

The entire house smelled of the man's alcohol, musty and strong and littered with the memories of a dark closet where even his shadow hadn't been able to comfort him. But the hoodie carried the fading scent of Mr. Stark that washed away his tired uneasiness, at least for the time being, and the shadow kept him preoccupied with one comforting thought. Out there, just across a bridge, was an adult who cared.

 ---

  When Peter woke up, he felt off. He wasn't quite sure how to explain it, just that he knew the day was going to go wrong before it started. He wanted to curl up deeper into the hoodie that wrapped around him like a cocoon, but forced himself to push the covers off of himself and plant hit feet on the cold morning floor.

Jeremiah's bed was already empty, so Peter assumed that he'd already eaten and left with Eric, whose school started much earlier than everyone else's. Tim was still asleep, so Peter put on a pair of pants, grabbed his bag, and woke the kid up before knocking on the door of the other kids' room. He then headed downstairs and began putting together bowls of cereal for the kids that would be stumbling downstairs in a few minutes.

Mr. Fowler was in the kitchen, leaving the teenager to shuffle around him awkwardly as the man gave him a suspicious glare that he tried desperately to ignore. He left the kitchen as quickly as possible, placing the bowls down in the kids' usual spots and then taking up his own place to quickly scarf down a bowl of tasteless cereal. By the time he was finished, all the other kids had already stumbled downstairs and begun to eat.

Peter went along preparing their bags and then taking their bowls to the sink once they were done. He had just put the last dish in the dishwasher when the other boys at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys walked out the door, leaving him alone with Mr. Fowler. The man was staring at him with the same suspicious glare as he closed the pantry and then made to grab his backpack.

"Wait just a moment, Peter," Mr. Fowler said. Peter paused immediately, holding back a shiver at the danger in his tone.

"Sir?"

"There was a pack of granola bars missing from the pantry last night." The man glared at him, clearly waiting for a reaction, but Peter just stared at him, hesitant. Which kid had taken the bars? He hadn't seen anything off in their bags, unless Mr. Fowler had just miscounted, though that didn't happen often. "Anything to say to that, Peter?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I didn't take them."

"You didn't? I find that very hard to believe. How close are you to ending your grounding?"

"Three days, Mr. Fowler."

He tutted, standing up from his chair and stepping over to Peter. The teenager couldn't stop the way he froze, tensing up and squaring his shoulders as a large, meaty hand clamped down on one. Fingers curled over the thick fabric of his hoodie, pricking at his skin.

"Well, it would be a pity if it was extended longer. You're sure you didn't take anything?"

"Nothing, sir." The hand flashed to his hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling his head down and to the side with a pained grunt. Peter forced his breaths to steady even as tears pricked at his eyes. "I didn't take anything, Mr. Fowler, I promise!"

"Then you've wasted my time, son. Do you know what makes up for lost time?"

"Wha-what? Sir."

"A bit of hard cash." Peter noticed the way the man's hand trembled. "That card was nice for the weekend, but I'm afraid I'm running a little low. Got anything else for me?"

His thoughts flashed to the newly activated card sitting in his wallet, tucked safely in his hoodie pocket. He could just give it up and walk away. Mr. Fowler would be happy and Peter could go to school, safe and sound.

Steely eyes met Mr. Fowler's impossibly strained ones. "No. I don't have any other money."

The fist let go of his hair, throwing him back. Peter caught himself in a stumble as Mr. Fowler looked at him in disgust.

"Fine," the man rasped. "Extend your grounding until next week, then. Now get to school before I'm forced to call you in an excuse."

Peter mumbled out a grated, "Yes, sir," before stumbling out the door. Instead of making his way to school, he stumbled into the nearest alleyway. The teenager sucked in a deep breath, cursing himself for the tears biting at his eyes and the panic choking his throat. He was fine. Nothing had happened. He was completely fine. It wasn't like the extension of his grounding even mattered, Peter had money to buy food when he needed it. Everything. Was. Fine.

But Peter wasn't fine. He was choking on air and stumbling on panic as he slid down a grimy alleyway wall, unable to even begin to calm down. He didn't know why he was even freaking out so bad, Mr. Fowler had only pulled his hair, but the revival of the strong smell of liquor and the closeness of the man's face to his was horribly haunting.

Peter pulled at his hair as he finally managed to wheeze in a breath, staring desperately at the shadow in front of him. Mr. Stark's fluffy hair and tall shoulders seemed to stare back at him, almost reassuring. The teenager shoved his nose into the collar of his cardinal hoodie, taking in a deep breath to drown out Mr. Fowler.

It calmed him slightly.

But not quite enough.

With chattering teeth, Peter pulled his bag off of his shoulder and tore the suit out of it. With no hesitation, he took off his clothes and stepped into the suit. Karen greeted him instantly.

"Good morning, Peter. Shouldn't you be heading to school?"

"Uh, no, no. Not today, Karen. That man, Aaron Davis? Where is he right now?"

A path was highlighted on his screen.

 ---

  "Remember me?"

Peter's voice was almost hilariously unnatural, but the man at the car stumbled back, so he guessed it worked. He thundered forward to where Aaron Davis was trying to stumble away from his car but was pulled back by the web sticking to the open hood.

"Uh, hey..."

"I need information. You're gonna give it to me now," Peter demanded half-heartedly, the enhanced interrogation mode making his voice much angrier. Maybe it was better than he thought.

"All right, chill," Davis placated.

"Come on!"

Davis paused, staring at him in confusion. Peter tried not to shuffle on his feet. "What happened to your voice?"

Crap.

"What do you mean, what happened to my voice?"

"I heard you by the bridge. I know what a girl sound like," Davis deadpanned.

"I'm not a girl! I'm a boy," Peter protested, quickly moving to correct himself. "I mean, I'm a--I'm a man."

"I don't care what you are, a boy, a girl..." the man trailed off with a shrug, continuing to load his car with groceries.

"I'm not a girl! I'm a man," he protested again. "Come on, man. Look, who is selling these weapons? I need to know. Give me names--or else."

Davis slammed the trunk shut and Peter flinched back on instinct. The man flashed him a teasing smile, shaking his head.

"You ain't ever done this before, huh?"

"Deactivate interrogation mode," Peter said sullenly. Davis huffed in amusement, shaking his head again. "Look, man, these guys are selling weapons that are crazy dangerous. They can't just be out on the streets. Look, if one of them can just cut Delmar's bodega in half..."

Davis, not paying attention in the slightest, looked up, regarding him in slight interest. "You know Delmar's?"

"Yeah, best sandwich in Queens," he shrugged.

"Sub Haven's pretty good."

"It's too much bread."

"I like bread."

"Come on, man, please," the teenager begged one last time. Davis stared at him, unresponsive, so with a dramatic throw of his hands, Peter began to walk away. "Stupid interrogation mode. Karen, don't ever do that again."

"The other night," Aaron started. Peter turned around to look at him. "You told that dude, "if you shoot somebody, shoot me." It's pretty ballsy. I don't want those weapons in this neighborhood. I got a nephew who live here.

Tentatively, Peter stepped back over, catching sight of the man's shadow. It was smaller, clearly a boy with a tall afro.

"Who are these guys? What can you tell me about the guy with the wings?"

"Other than he's a psychopath dressed like a demon, nothing. I don't know who he is or where he is." Peter sighed, leaning his head on the car roof. He was never going to prove to Mr. Stark he was worthy of being his soulmate when he couldn't even find the vulture guy. Aaron offered, "I do know where he's gonna be."

Peter perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah, this crazy dude I used to work with, he's supposed to be doing a deal with him."

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed, beginning to step away in giddiness. "Yes. Thank--"

"Hey, hey, hey," Aaron called. Peter stopped. "I didn't tell you where. You don't have a location."

Peter flushed bright red, making his way back to the car in embarrassment. "Right, of course. Yeah, my bad. Silly. Just...Yeah. Where is it?"

"Can I give you some advice?" Peter hummed. "You got to get better at this part of the job."

"I don't understand. I'm intimidating."

He crossed his arms, but Aaron only shook his head again.

"Staten Island ferry, eleven."

"Oh, that's soon," Peter realized. He began to walk away, pointing a finger at where the man's hand was webbed. "Hey, that's gonna dissolve in two hours."

"No, no, no, no. Come fix this."

"Two hours. You deserve that."

"I got ice cream in here."

"You deserve that. You're a criminal! Bye, Mr. Criminal!!"

 ---

  Tony clapped his hands together in an attempt to dust them off as he stared around the packaged remains of his lab. Scribbled formulas and problems had been wiped clean from boards, tables folded and disassembled, and prototypes all packed into boxes ready to be loaded onto the plane in a few days time. Most of what was left in his workplace was personal items and two encased Iron Man armors.

"How we looking on time, Fri?" he asked, grabbing his mug from where he'd placed it on the counter earlier and taking a sip.

"Packing for the move to the compound is on schedule, boss," the AI responded.

"Great," he said, smacking his lips at the comforting bitterness of his coffee, "How's the search for a Queens apartment going?"

"I have several different listings placed into the Itsy Bitsy Spider folder for you to look at."

"Great. Forward them to Pepper."

"Of course, sir."

Satisfied with the prospective of flipping through apartment listings closer to Peter in the evening, he glanced down at his shadow, frowning at the lack of fluffy hair there. It was Tuesday, wasn't it? He checked his watch for the time. Barely eleven. He was pretty sure Peter should be in school by now.

"Friday, is the spider-suit active?"

"Yes, sir."

He frowned harder. "Activate the Baby Monitor Protocol, I want to see what's going on."

"That protocol has been disabled, sir."

"What?"

The AI was silent for a moment before responding, "It has been disabled, along with many others. The only way to reinstate them would be manually."

Tony glanced down at his shadow again. Surely the kid wasn't messing with the suit? And especially not the protocols to keep him safe? And he'd skipped school, too.

"Call Peter."

 ---

  Peter peered over the top of the ferry roof at the men gathering below, who practically screamed shady. He kept an eye on Dronie's recording, the small robot keeping an eye on the other two guys up on the ferry, while Karen highlighted the men below.

"Who’s the guy on the left?" he asked, his spine shivering as he looked at the man.

"Mac Gargan. Extensive criminal record, including homicide. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?"

"What? No. I've got this, Karen."

One of the men that Peter had seen at the bridge approached Gargan. Peter could easily pick up his muttered. "White pickup truck."

Gargan nodded at one of his crones, who immediately began walking into the inside of the ferry holding the cars.

"Dronie," Peter whispered. "Scan the ship for a white pickup truck."

He watched the footage apprehensively as Dronie flew farther outside the ferry, x-raying the boat to pick out the truck inside. The robot then zipped over to it, beginning to scan the contents covered in the trunk but flying away and back to Peter as a man stepped out the front. His leg bounced nervously as the robot settled back in his chest, his heart beating erratically.

"Oh, this is too perfect," Peter said. "I got the weapons, buyers, and sellers all in one place."

"Incoming call from Tony Stark."

"No, no, no. No, no, don’t answer."

Despite his protests, the screen of his suit was swept away as Mr. Stark filled his screen. Peter tried not to grimace, keeping a careful eye on the men below even as the billionaire began to speak.

"Mr. Parker. Got a sec?" Mr. Stark greeted with a tight smile.

"Uh, I’m actually at school," Peter lied, ignoring Karen's correction in his ear. "I gotta get back to class, Mr. Stark, so--"

"What class?"

"Uhh--" Shit, what did he have at eleven? "Alge--"

The ferry's horn blared excruciatingly loudly. Peter resisted the urge to grimace, trying to keep an eye on the criminals below still.

"Band. I'm at, uh, band practice."

Mr. Stark stared at him, unimpressed. "That's...odd. You told me you quit band when you started swinging around as Spider-Man."

"I gotta go. Uh, end call."

"Hey," Mr. Stark protested, but the screen clicked close, allowing Peter to clearly see the people below once more. He flicked out a wrist, snapping a web onto a pair of keys being handed over.

"I’ll take those! Yoink!" He flipped, snatching the keys and webbing them to the ceiling. "Hey, guys. The illegal-weapons-deal-ferry was at 10:30. You missed it."

He webbed away the weapons from two guys quickly and threw them into the water. With a shiver up his spine, he ducked out of the way of the approaching man wearing the shocking gauntlet. The man's weaponized arm got stuck in the net on the ferry.

While he was distracted with the gauntlet guy, the other two he'd disarmed had scrambled to their feet, egging for a get away. Peter turned lackadaisically, webbing them

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast." He threw the two to the ground. "Are you guys okay? My bad. That was a little hard. I gotta say the other guy was way better with that thing. I’m honestly, I’m, I’m shocked."

This was going super well.

 ---

  Peter let out a short scream of pain, suspended between the two crumbling halves of the ferry. His arms burned as he gripped at the webs fruitlessly, but he refused to let go. He could hear their heartbeats, fast and afraid and exactly like his own. The teenager panted, straining harder than he ever had before only to continue to fail. The ferry wasn't coming back together, his webs hadn't done anything, and the entire ship was going to fall apart.

And yet he refused to let go, even as he felt his arms tear painfully. He cracked his eyes open, searching desperately for his shadow. It was currently lost in the waves crashing underneath as cars piled into the rushing water. There was a moment, so quick he almost missed it, where a car hood stayed still long enough just for him to make out the shadow.

Of an Iron Man armor.

There was a metal groaning and an easing on his shoulders. Peter looked away from his shadow.

"What the hell?" With the ferry putting itself together, the teenager let himself drop onto the ferry floor, arm raised in fearful apprehension as the sound of metal colliding echoed around the entire boat. "What the hell..."

Mr. Stark in the Iron Man armor rose into view at the windows. Despite the fact that he was wearing a mask, it was easy to tell he looked angry. Or, hopefully, he was reading too much into it and the suit was just mean looking.

"Hi, Spider-Man. Band practice, was it?"

Nope. He sounded mad too. Peter had to force down a shiver, ignoring the clapping people and swinging to the cargo hold as Mr. Stark flew under it, beginning to piece the ship back together. He followed anxiously on the ceiling, turmoil sitting heavy in his stomach as he followed the man.

"Uh, Mr. Stark?" he called nervously. He continued to skitter after the man as he flew up to the ferry's top, trying to catch the man's attention even as he continued to ignore the teenager. "Hey, Mr. Stark. Could I do anything? What do you want me to do?"

"I think you’ve done enough."

Peter couldn't even bear to look at his shadow.

 ---

  "So that’s it, you’re just gonna run?" Adrian asked as Schultz approached with his overflowing duffle bag.

"Feds were waiting for us. Now we’re on Iron Man’s radar? Yeah, I’m running. You should, too."

"You know I can’t do that," Toomes said, glancing down at the shadow of his wife.

"So now what?" Schultz shrugged. Adrian rubbed at his chin.

"Mason, can you get that high-altitude seal thing up and running in time?"

"Seriously?" the engineer asked, comically giddy despite how hilariously screwed they all were. "Yes. You will not regret this."

Adrian turned back to Schultz. "You in?"

The man glanced down on the floor, contemplative. "If we get caught, we're dead. And we have days before that plane takes off. We'll be caught before then. Stark will get us, you know that."

"So we take care of Stark."

"Take care of Stark? You're crazy. How the hell are we gonna to kill Iron Man?"

Adrian thought for a moment, thoughts creeping back to the night over the lake; a defensive boy and an over-eager man and matching shadows. Peter Parker, as had been reported by one of his men following the kid. He even went to Liz's school, on her academic team and everything. He hurt a little to do this, but nothing was more important than family.

"We don't need to kill Stark," Adrian responded. "We just need to insure his compliance."

  ---

Tony finally spotted the kid sitting on the edge of the building, his legs thrown over the side, his mask torn off his face as he stared down at the water. The bulky outline of the Iron Man armor extended behind him, an imposing figure compared to the hunched and shivering kid. The sound of sirens and helicopters rang in the distance, only feeding fuel to the fire that was his anger. It had been two days since he'd given Peter the suit and he'd already hacked it, lied to him, and endangered the lives of more than a hundred people. He'd taken Tony's tech and ran with it, doing what the man had warned the teenager not to do, and almost gotten himself killed too.

It terrified him just as much as it infuriated him.

"Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch," Tony started, hovering next to Peter's spot on the building. "I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do."

"Is everyone okay?" Peter rasped.

"No thanks to you."

He clunked down on the ground, but Peter barely even looked at him, just grasping the mask in his fingers tighter. After a tense moment, the kid turned to glare at him, a sour look on his face.

"What do you care?"

The question almost shocked Tony from his anger, but the fury managed to cling on as the suit opened, allowing for him to step out. There was a defensive flicker on Peter's face, washed away as quickly as it came, at the stiff anger glued to his figure.

"What do I care?" he echoed incredulously. "Who the hell gave you the suit that you're wearing right now? The one that you used to go fight people you weren't ready to fight. Peter, you're not prepared for this--"

"I didn't see you doing anything."

"Who do you think called the FBI, huh?" Tony demanded.

"And they got their asses kicked immediately!"

"And you did what exactly?"

Peter swallowed. A soft, angry mumble shivered from his chest. "I just wanted to be like you."

Tony glowered. "And I wanted you to be better."

Peter didn't have an answer to that, turning away with a sharp flinch to stare down at the water again where the ferry was finally beginning to dock. His face was scrunched up in cold anger. Tony stared at him, waiting, but the teenager didn't do anything. Didn't say anything. With an indignant sniff, Tony glanced between the approaching boat of people and the kid sitting stiffly in front of him.

"Okay, it’s not working out. I’m gonna need the suit back."

That caught Peter's attention. His head whipped around and he finally swiveled off of the building's edge, standing to face him. The defensiveness was back in full force now, broken only by a shiver of fear in the tremble on his face.

The teenager swallowed. "For how long?"

"Forever." Peter gaped at him, shaking his head. Tony hit him with a withering expression. "Yeah. Yeah, that’s how it works."

"No, no, no... Please, please, please..." the kid rushed, his voice pitching higher.

"Let’s have it."

"You don’t understand. Please. This is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit."

"If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it." Tony stopped in his demand, pausing to stare into the distance under the guise of letting Peter absorb his words but really choking down his own panic and regret. This was how he was treating his soulmate. He hadn't known this kid for a week and he'd had maybe two successful conversations with him. And now he was yelling and bringing down and punishing. "God, I sound like my dad."

Peter stared at him, swallowing. "Mr. Stark, please I don't want you to g--"

"The suit. Peter."

He could barely even look at the kid's completely dejected expression.

  ---

Peter meandered down the street, his head down as he forced himself to bite down on tears. It wasn't that hard, he'd had a lot of practice recently after all, but he couldn't deny that it hurt. Well, he could, but not to himself.

With the loss of the suit, Peter's bag was considerably lighter. Empty. It was disturbingly similar to how he felt in the moment, like a stumbling shell of a person.

He'd fucked up. He knew he had. But he didn't think he'd fucked up enough to lose his soulmate. He'd just--he'd just wanted to try and impress Mr. Stark, to show the man that he was worthy of being the shadow that had followed the superhero--his hero--around for fifteen years. He huffed to himself quietly at the horrible irony of it all.

After Mr. Stark had demanded to the suit, well, Peter had given it to him. He hadn't had much other choice. The man had allowed for him to go grab the bag he'd webbed to an alleyway earlier and change into his clothes. Choking down panicked tears, the teenager had folded up the barely used suit, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped the card, the phone, and the badge given to him into the mask. He wanted to have given him the red hoodie too, but it was the only top he'd had, so he'd reluctantly kept it. He'd given the stuff that was no longer his to the still seething Avenger and had left. Mr. Stark hadn't ask where he was going, so he hadn't told him.

Not that Peter was amazingly sure he knew himself. He didn't want to go back to where Mr. Fowler was surely working from home. Peter was supposed to be at school, the man would be furious that he hadn't gone, and he didn't have the courage to face him right now. The ghosted feeling of a hand tugging at his hair and painful nails in his shoulder was enough to keep him wandering the streets of Queens for as long as he possibly could.

There wasn't a destination, there was barely even a journey, there was just the tired wanderings of a teenager trying desperately not to break down crying. Part of him wished he'd kept the phone, just so he could text Ned, or even lose himself mindlessly on social media for an hour or two, but Mr. Stark's words rang clearly in his head.

"Forever."

Peter shook himself vigorously, taking a wispy breath. Of course he would lose his soulmate not even a week after meeting him. Everyone else had left too, it really only made sense.

He didn't know why he'd let himself hope.

"I don't want you to go."

A painfully strong shiver up his spine forced the teenager to stop in the middle of the alleyway he'd been cutting through. Peter pulled back his sleeve, brows furrowing as the hairs on his arm rose on end. Without his phone, or the watch kept on his webshooter, the teen had no way of knowing what time it was, but it had to have been at least half an hour since Mr. Stark had taken the suit. Since he'd caused a gun to split a ferry full of innocent bystanders in half.

"And I wanted you to be better."

Peter had assumed his senses had continued to freak out from the resounding adrenaline and the complete rush of panic that had been today--from the horribleness of it all--but they still weren't calming down.

Jittery, he turned to leave the alleyway back the way he came, but there was a man blocking his way. He froze when he recognized him and the glitching gauntlet on his arm. From the bridge and the ferry. The man stalked forward.

Peter whipped around to escape towards the other end, but another man stood there as well, a different alien weapon in his hands. Peter paused again, eyes shifting desperately for an escape even as the weapon behind him charged up with a threatening snap.

"Give it up, kid," ordered the man. "Come easy, and we won't hurt you."

"Wow. So reassuring," Peter snapped. Without warning, the teenager leaped, jumping onto the wall as high as he could reach. He attempted to begin skittering up the wall, but there was another spike in his senses.

There was no time to dodge as he was encased by an annoyingly familiar blue light that crashed him to the ground straight into a gathering of trashcans. He groaned in pain as he collided with the metal, the cans tipping over and releasing their contents near and on him. There were footsteps, and he tried to push himself back up, but the man with the gauntlet approached quicker than he could recover.

The teenager stared up at him as the man smirked. The gauntlet cracked.

"Nighty-night."

Peter could only close his eyes as a metal fist came crashing down.

---

~Click for better quality~

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[lovingmyselfcore]

Protect You

Chapter One: I Have To Guard Dain; God Save Me

The Greenbriar's have their own reality TV show. Madoc is the head security guard. A mix up requires Madoc to ask his daughters to step in and help out. Taryn refuses (the beech) but Jude and Vivi accept. Jude gets assigned to Dain Greenbriar. Working for Dain, Jude uncovers some dirty secrets involving the family and friends. She strives to uncover these secrets and above all, keep her charge safe. But threats to the Greenbriar's lead to Jude guarding the youngest. Who also happens to be the biggest pain-in-the-ass. When working for his brother, avoiding Cardan was easier (she couldn't always) but now it's impossible. Deaths of people in the Greenbriar family, infidelity, love, and above all; pain. Why couldn't Vivi's father have been a carpenter?

“Can someone help me? I can’t get these damn heels Dad wants us to wear on.” Rhyia yelled, followed by some crashing noises. My older half-sister, Vivi, and I looked at each other then at where the commotion came from.

"You're closer to her," I said, stepping back with my hands raised.

Vivi sighed and steeled her shoulders back marching down to the door marked Rhyia Greenbriar.

Vivi and I were only here at all because Vivi’s father (my adopted father) had called and asked us to look after the female Greenbriar's for a short time. Vivi and I had grudgingly marched down here from our penthouse (A gift from Eldred Greenbriar to my father, for what I’m not certain) in hoodies sweatpants, and sneakers at four am.

The Greenbriar's were the family Madoc was ‘in charge of’. They had their own reality show, and my father was the head security guard. Madoc had trained Vivi, Taryn - my twin sister - and me to defend ourselves and others from a young age. Since he got the job with the Greenbriar's we had been asked to come down at all odd hours if Madoc couldn’t get any of his employees down fast enough. Taryn always refused, besides, she lived with her fiancé anyway, but Vivi and I came down until we were relieved when the actual guards showed up.

I watched as Rhyia’s door cracked open just enough for Vivi to slip in and walked across the trailer and peeked out the window, a hand resting on the pocket I had thrown my gun - well Madoc’s gun - into.

It was a grey rainy morning, the rain drizzled down, obscuring my view of the trailer only a few hundred feet away. That was where the male Greenbriar’s were at the moment, and where I was glad I wasn’t.

At another crash, I turned away from the window and half-jogged across the trailer to Rhyia’s room. I knocked with my knuckle “Rh-Miss. Greenbriar, is everything alright? Vivi?” When I didn’t hear anything my hand tightened over the handgun. Nothing ever really happened while Vivi and I were here, so I was unsure what exactly to do. Madoc had only drilled the basics in our heads.

1) Their lives mean more than ours do, protect them

2) Shoot first, ask questions later

I knocked again, more insistent. 

“Jude?” I head Vivi call. 

I relaxed a little, “Vi, what’s happening is everything alright?”

“Oh- yeah. Rhyia keeps knocking shit over.” I heard an embarrassed laugh.

Vivi slipped out the door and I could see Rhyia making a vulgar gesture before Vi closed the door behind her.

“Can you check on Elowyn?” Vivi asked. “I’m gonna run outside real quick and call Heather.”

“Oh?”

“Shut up. You know she’s in a different timezone.” Vivi pouted. “She’s up now so I’m going to call!”

I threw up my hands. “Go for it. Just don’t blame me when Dad yells at you.”

She rolled her eyes, “My central purpose on this earth is to annoy and piss off that man as much as possible,” She shrugged, her phone already in her hand, as she walked backward towards the door. “Just doing my job.”

I turned to knock on Elowyn’s door just as Vivi poked her head back in the trailer. “Don’t think of romancing any female Greenbriar while I leave you unsupervised.” She wagged her finger.

I snorted, “I don’t want to get involved with the Greenbriar’s any more than just being Dad’s clients. So don’t worry.”

I didn’t want to spend time dissecting the look she was giving me so I looked away.

I knocked on Elowyn’s door. “Miss Greenbriar? Just checking everything’s alright?”

“Yes,” Her soft voice carried through the room. “But can you zip up my dress?”

“Of course.” I let myself into her room.

I was immediately bombarded with the over-floral scent. Elowyn’s walls were covered with paintings, local artists, famous artists, and dedicated fans who sent their own work to her. There was always classical music playing from somewhere in her room, and I wasn’t sure anybody knew where it came from. Elowyn was probably one of the nicest Greenbriar’s out there, if not the nicest. But that didn’t mean I could stand being in her room for more than ten minutes and any given time.

I went over to where she was standing and zipped her dress. She saw me in the mirror and looked at me with quickly veiled disgust. I only rolled my shoulders back, I’d stopped allowing things like that to get to me a long time ago.

She vaguely shooed me out, her acrylic nails typing vigorously on her phone.

I did not understand that woman in the slightest.

~~~~~~

My phone buzzed from my hoodie pocket and I pulled it out, seeing a text from Madoc. Vivi and I were leaning against the wall again. When I’d come out Vivi was already back inside, explaining to me, with such extreme sadness I almost laughed, ‘She couldn’t talk, she had to get to an appointment.’

“He’s almost here,” I told Vivi, typing a response and sticking my phone back in my pocket.

She moaned, closing her eyes, “That means I can go back to sleep.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

She opened an eye and looked at me, “What’s the matter, Jude?”

“What? Oh - nothing, just tired and distracted.” I lied.

She hums in acknowledgment.

“Girls!” Madoc’s booming voice echoed through my skull and we pushed off the wall to go greet him.

He kissed us both on the cheek and when Vivi went to leave he held out his hand.

“I’m so sorry, girls.”

Vivi and I exchanged looks, that couldn’t be good.

“I know you don’t have college degrees in this field. You,” He looked at me, “Are under the age of 22.” I’d turned 21 last month, but Eldred had a weird rule about his official appointments being under the age of 22. “However, we’re running low and I’m going to need to assign you a Greenbriar to look after.”

Vivi actually whimpered and I just ran a hand down my face.

“Which ones? And for how long?” Vivi asked, already resigned. 

“Vivi, I want you to look after Elowyn.”

Vivi smiled. Elowyn didn’t cause trouble and was her father’s favorite. In real life, she was most everybody’s favorite too but in the show, the watchers favored the more dramatic of the bunch.

“And Jude,” I held my breath, “I would like you to look after Dain for me.”

I released a breath and nodded. Dain. I could look after Dain. He wasn’t the worst. I’m not saying he was great either. But he was okay. 

“It’ll only be for a couple of months. Again, I’m sorry.”

“When?” Vivi asked.

“Now,” Madoc winced at Vivi’s shriek. 

“Dad,” I said, “We aren’t even dressed ‘cause we were planning on going back to bed after you got back. At least let us shower, change, and eat, and then we’ll be down here. Right,” I cut a look at Vivi who met my eyes then nodded vehemently.

Madoc considered this. “I suppose that makes sense,” He ceded.

Vivi took the win and ran with it. Literally. As soon as he said that she bolted, sprinting full force out the door, letting it slam shut behind her. I didn’t waste time either, and as I ran out of the trailer I heard Madoc’s deep chuckle behind me.

Once I was far enough away from Madoc I slowed to a walk. I heard the roar of her motorcycle, and I wondered how she’d even gotten so far away so quickly. I had a sneaking suspicion she broke time and space just so she could be home and have the hot water first. She was my ride, and she just took off. Hot water superiority, I suppose.

I breathed out a chuckle (It was still too early. I wasn’t putting that much energy into laughing) and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I stuck my earbuds in my ears and pressed play on my playlist.

I hummed along to the song as I walked home. The streets were almost completely vacant, save for a few stray cars. The early morning commute hadn’t happened yet, further proof that waking us up at this hour against our will was nothing but ungodly.

I’d reached our penthouse apartment. I sighed through my nose, ‘Penthouse apartment’ it sounded ridiculous. Why did we need a penthouse apartment? Oh right, we didn’t, but I guess it was nice.

When I got up to our apartment I was proven right. Vivi was already in the shower. I went over and banged on the bathroom door, “Don’t use all the hot water!”

I tossed my gun and phone on the kitchen island, next to Vivi’s, shucking off my hoodie and tossing it somewhere.

I slipped off my tennis shoes as I walked to my bedroom. I threw myself on my bed, taking a deep breath. I hadn’t asked Madoc how long we’d be watching the Greenbriar’s, but I knew that as long as I had to accompany Dain, I’d see my least favorite Greenbriar somewhere.

Cardan Greenbriar was the bane of my entire existence. We’d never gotten along. No. Scratch that. We detested each other. When we were in high school, we were academic enemies. Cardan always made it his job to make me feel like I, a daughter born from infidelity didn’t belong in that school. With the elite. In a way, he was right. I never felt like I fit in there. No matter how hard I fought. Things got extremely messy between me, Taryn, and Cardan and his nightmare posse. By graduation, I thought I had finished with him, despite knowing Madoc worked for Eldred. Then Madoc got promoted and started asking Vivi and I to help with whatever he needed involving the Greenbriars. And now, boom. I can’t get rid of him, but I do my best to avoid him.

I distantly heard the shower turn off and I pushed myself off the bed. Vivi emerged from the bathroom in her towel, flashing me a quick smirk before she hurried to her bedroom, “I didn’t use all the hot water!”

“Sure you didn’t!” 

“Trust me more, Jude!”

“Only when you become trustworthy!”

“Bitch!”

“Love you too, sis!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

That was how most of our conversations went, though the ‘bitch’ varied depending on the argument.

~~~~~

Once I was in the shower, water streaking down my body I really thought about what watching Dain would entail, and I started to question why I was needed at all. He had his own team, who all went by codenames, and seemed to know everything about everyone, everywhere. They already were with him everywhere, behind the cameras during every shoot. The Bomb, The Roach, and The Ghost. Nobody really knew who they were, besides Madoc. But, despite my pressing, he never revealed where he or Dain or even Eldred found them. They suddenly just appeared one day, surrounded by rumors.

I do think that I’m a pretty incredible fighter. I’m good with a gun, I box almost daily. Madoc taught me how to fence and use knives as a kid. but Dain already had the three of them. What did he need me for? Maybe he personally requested me? But that would make even less sense? I suppose I would find out soon enough. 

I turned off the shower after washing my hair and stepped out.

When I exited the bathroom I had to cross through the living room back to my bedroom.

I let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a snort, “Really, Vivi?”

“What?” She exclaimed, her mouth full of sugary cereal.

“We watch that show happen in real-time,” I gestured to the TV where Vivi was watching reruns of Wicked Royals. “I still can’t get over that name. It’s ridiculous.” Vivi nodded absently, her eyes now refocused on the screen, where it was one of those one-person interviews. Elowyn was talking about some fight that Balekin and Dain had just gotten into.

“Anything good happening?” I joked.

She snorted, “Depends on your definition of good.”

I laughed (She knew my definition of good was definitely not that) and went into my room, leaving Vivi to her mindless watching.

I got dressed in a simple black outfit and pulled my hair up into a simple ponytail. It was boring, but it wasn’t like there was anybody I wanted to impress.

“Jude!” 

“What?” I asked, exiting my room.

She waved her phone in my face, “We gotta go.”

~~~~~~~~

When we arrived, Madoc was waiting for us. He ushered us along with quick words, “They’re filming already, so Vivi you go hang out behind the crew. Watch Elowyn, make sure nothing happens. Jude, I want you to meet Dain’s other bodyguards. Not all of them are in there because the others are with Dain, but meet them.”

He practically shoved me into Dain’s trailer and I only heard Vivi yell, “Good luck!” Before the door slammed closed.

I immediately took note of my surroundings and made a point of knowing obvious weapons and places to escape. (Comes with the territory if you live my life)

I turned to see them sitting in a makeshift circle on the floor, playing cards. Well, two of them. A woman and a man.

“I’m Jude,” I said, fighting the urge to shift uncomfortably.

They stared at me for a long time, unblinking and revealing no emotions.

Finally, the woman stood up and held her hand out, “Someday I might tell you my name,” She winked, “Call me Bomb.”

I flashed an uneasy smile at her but my eyes flicked back to the man, who also stood up and in an eerily similar fashion, offered his hand. “Roach,” His voice was gruff and it seemed like it rumbled through the trailer.

He tilted his head towards their discarded cards, “You play?”

“Depends on what it is we’re playing,” I said carefully. It seemed like the right answer if his slight nod meant anything.

“Anything,” Bomb said, “We’re just bored.”

“Why aren’t you out with Dain?” I cursed mentally. It was too bold. Too probing.

However, they didn’t seem offended by the question. “He usually only takes one of us with him and gives the others a job to do, but we don’t have anything.”

“Job?” I asked, but she didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge that I’d asked anything.

I was immediately on edge. I even felt my shoulders tense. Something wasn’t right here. 

“Let’s sit,” Roach said. So we sat, we formed some kind of triangular circle. I could physically feel how tightly-drawn my body was. I was like a gazelle, I had no idea whether or not a predator was about to lunge. I detested that feeling.

As Bomb collected their previous cards and shuffled Roach turned towards me, “Tell us about yourself, Jude.”

“Your Madoc’s daughter, right?” Bomb asked.

I nodded, “He took us in when we were young.”

“When did you first meet the Greenbriar's?”

I hummed, “I met them all on separate occasions. Vivi knew Rhyia since grade school, so I knew her a little less than that. I met Elowyn and Caeila next, I had tried to run away from home, but I was seven so I didn’t make it quite as long as I’d hoped. It was winter and little me was lost and freezing when they stumbled across me in an alley. I’m still not sure what they were doing there but they recognized me and handed me over to my step-mother Oriana.”

“They didn’t ask any questions?” Bomb questioned.

“Nope, nothing. Just handed me over like I was some misplaced article of clothing.”

Roach whistled under his breath and I opened my mouth to tell them about my first time meeting Balekin when somebody banged on the trailer door. Bomb and Roach spared a quick glance at each other before standing up.

Roach peeked through the peephole and let out a noise between a groan, a laugh, and a curse.

Bomb looked at him questioningly and he just responded with, “It’s the crew.”

She sighed, then gestured for me to stand up, “Dain’s going somewhere, and it’s being filmed for the show. So it’s time to see what you got, newbie.”

I followed Bomb and Roach out the door. The Ghost joined our ranks as we moved through the yard. The trailers were all in the backyard of the huge Greenbriar palace-mansion, they didn’t want the cameras capturing them before they were ready. And in their bedrooms too?? Never. 

It would have made sense to hang behind them, observe the way they moved, and the way they schooled their faces to reveal nothing. (It wasn’t hard to see how they’d warranted all the rumors) I, however, am an idiot. So I shoved my way until I was directly next to them, so when Dain’s eyes landed on me, I knew the predator had found me.

His eyes were cold but unnerving. He seemed to take in every detail about me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It sent shivers up my spine. He was waiting for this gazelle to jump.

We held eye contact for only a breath before he turned around.

I didn’t jump.

“Newbie,” Dain said, not even looking at me. “Get your,” He paused as if searching for the right word, “Compatriots, some food from craft services or something. Be useful before we leave.”

When I hesitated he snarled. “Do I have to tell you twice? I’m giving a shot at being valuable. Use it.”

The three of them looked at me, Roach’s face was the only one I could read and it seems he was saying with his eyes, “We’ve all been where you are.” Though I doubted they had, not with him. 

I balled my fists, digging my nails into my palms and pursing my lips in hopes of holding back the biting retort on the tip of my tongue. Oh, how I wanted to put this over-grown rich kid in his place. I knew I’d win in any sort of physical fight. But legally? He could destroy me. 

So, I spun on my heel and stalked off towards where I knew there would be food.

~~~~~~~

I stomped in, letting the door slam closed behind me, and banged my fist on the wall. I didn’t like him already. I hated anybody that talked to me as if they were miles above me. I hated the Greenbriar’s for their elitist attitude. I hated feeling so powerless. I hated my parents for dying. I hated Madoc for making-

“Jude Duarte, long time no see,” That voice. Despite the haze of anger in my mind, I knew that voice anywhere, that melodic lilt and seductive purr that seemed ingrained in him.

I turned around, slapping a scowl on my face, despite my urge to spill every feeling I had. Somehow, I knew there were some parts he would understand. “Carden Greenbriar, wish I could say it was a pleasure.”

He was sitting on the counter, his legs crossed in front of him. Although he was on a counter, he managed to look regal. His clothes, as always, were fashionable and worth more than my life.

He reached out with long, delicate fingers and plucked an apple out of a bowl. “Well, you could say it.” He smirked, “You’ve always been a pretty liar, Jude.” His rings and the golden highlights in his hair gleamed in the harsh, fluorescent light.

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks,” I strode forward and plucked the apple out of his hand. “And thanks for this.” I mock-saluted him with it and turned to leave, despite not completing my task, when he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him.

“Haven’t you missed me, Jude?” I shrugged his hand off and shook my head in response. I wasn’t sure how he’d leaped off the counter so fast, but with him so close to me, I was reminded of how much taller he was.

“Come on,” He said, with an indecipherable look in his eyes. “Banter with me, my monster girl. Or have you changed that much?”

“I’m not your anything,” I spit.

“There she is.” And there was that damned smirk again.

“Do everyone a favor and rot in hell, Cardan.”

“Only if you come with me.” He bowed with a flourish and kissed my hand.

I shivered despite myself. “I’m going to heaven.”

He actually let out a laugh, “Really?”

“Probably not.” I shrugged.

“Like I said,” He grinned, “Pretty liar,” He purred again, making my toes curl in my boots.

I hated the way he made me feel. I hated the way I would think of the sharp lines of his face, and the sound of his actual laugh whenever I couldn’t fall asleep. God, I hated him.

I resisted the urge to spit in his face.

I maneuvered around him towards the rest of the snacks. “Your brother’s an ass.”

“I had no idea,” He drawled, voice dripping sarcasm.

“You’re not going to ask which one?” I slammed the fridge door closed and dumped my haul into a backpack that was sitting on the table.

“Nope. Greenbriar’s are good at being asses.”

I smiled at the definite tone in his voice. “Of course.”

I tossed the bag over my shoulder and made to leave when Cardan’s hand shot out. “Just a second, and I’ll let you get back to whatever servant’s task you were doing.”

I looked at him with such hatred I could feel it in my veins. He seemed to realize he struck a nerve and his grin could put the Cheshire cat out of business.

He held out his hand as if he wanted me to shake it. When he didn’t he let out a dramatic sigh and grabbed one of the bottles of wine that rested on a shelf near his head. 

He saluted me with it, in a similar fashion to when I’d done the same with the apple.

“Until our next tête-à-tête, darling.” And, with a wink, he was out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“The Greenbriar's suck,” Was all I said as I threw myself face-down on our couch.

Vivi threw herself on top of me with a groan of assent.

I smiled despite being smushed in the cushions, “I feel validated.”

“What was that?” Taryn asked.

I yelped and Vivi jumped up from off of me.

Taryn was standing, leaning slightly against the kitchen island. She had a small smile on her face.

“Taryn!” Vivi threw herself at my twin. 

When they separated Taryn looked at me, “Jude?” She asked softly.

I shook my head, hanging back. “Not yet,”

Taryn’s smile vanished and it looked like she was going to roll her eyes.

Vivi could sense the tension and took it upon herself to distract us, “Dad gave us jobs guarding individual Greenbriars.”

“Oh. How is that going?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” I said tightly. 

“Okay,” Vivi said, exasperated. “Sit down, both of you. Let’s catch up and act like sisters.”

I opened my mouth to argue but Vivi cut me a scathing glance and I knew I couldn’t get out of this one.

The three of us sat on the couch. Vivi, relaxed, in-between Taryn and I. Taryn and I both sat board-straight, glaring at each other.

“So,” Vivi said, moving so Taryn couldn’t stare at me anymore, “What’s been happening with you since we last talked?”

“Well, Locke-” Oh god. I tuned her out but tuned back in when they looked at me like I should have an answer to a question.

I somehow managed to talk my way out of what was happening and escaped to my room.

I was ready for bed, laying and staring at my ceiling when my brain started spiraling.

There were so many things that would be expected of me. What if I messed up and somebody got hurt? What if I couldn’t succeed and get stuck working a boring 9 to 5 office job. I loved the rush I got working where I do. I, for some godforsaken reason, excelled in dirty politics. That’s how I felt fulfilled. I got used to fighting to survive as a child and now I can’t live any other way. Is that too deep? I’m thinking too much about this.

*buzz*

Cardan: I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early my monster girl ;)

Jude: I hate you

Cardan: I hate you too darling

Jude: You’re drunk aren’t you?

Cardan: How’d you know?

Jude: You’re always drunk

Cardan: Hurtful

I rolled my eyes and turned my phone off, my eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Tag List:

@ladyofbloodandroses @foreverscreaming This is already going so far off the ‘reality show’ aspect. I’m so sorry :)

[jalapeno-princess]

Broken-Hearted Girl

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 8.7K

Summary: After a petty argument escalates into Mark saying some things he didn’t mean, the two of you end up breaking up on your third anniversary. For the rest of the week, you find solace in your family and you learn how to live with a broken heart.

A/N: I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon this song but after listening to and falling in love with one of their other songs “Friend’s Don’t” by Maddie and Tae, I already knew I was going to like this one also. I recommend you listen to it while reading this imagine, the song really does tug on your heartstrings. I’ve been extremely busy for the last few weeks and so I wanted to put a hold on writing (even if just for a few days) but I’ve actually been staying up till the wee hours of the morning (I feel as if I might have insomnia but who knows) and I actually had a really bad mental breakdown earlier, so I needed something to help calm me down and take my mind off of my negative thoughts. Writing is my favorite escape from how cruel this world can be sometimes (although, my writing is literal shit haha) (and i really don’t care for how I ended this and I’m actually kind of unimpressed with this story) but I hope you guys enjoy it! (I have never been in a relationship before so I haven’t experienced the pain of a heartbreak (and I’m sure knowing my sensitive ass I would actually die)

Hey, mama, how do you get a red-wine stain Out of your favorite dress? Black mascara off a pillow case Cure a one-too-many headache Mama, can I come and maybe stay a few days? This weekend or next And hey, how do you get a red-wine stain Out of your favorite dress?

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright? I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard Mama, can you die from a broken heart?

This was not how tonight was supposed to end. Usually, anniversaries were meant to be extremely romantic. They were meant to celebrate the amount of time you’ve been in a relationship with your significant other and to relish in the love that you had for one another; yet here you were, storming out of your boyfriend—well, now ex-boyfriend’s truck towards your apartment with tears streaming down your face. 

You were too focused on getting inside and just collapsing to the ground that you couldn’t even remember how the night ended so terribly. Just a few hours ago, Mark picked you up with the intentions on surprising you for your third anniversary together. 

The two of you practically couldn’t even keep your eyes, let alone your hands off of each other to the point where Mark was just going to say fuck it and show you just how much he loved you and how happy he was to be able to call you the love of his life with his head between your thighs. However, things didn’t go as planned. 

In fact, you had a hard time processing that he told you he planned on spending the rest of his life with you just a few moments before the argument broke out. As soon as you unlocked the door and stumbled inside, you immediately sank to your knees and let out the most heartbreaking cry you didn’t think you were capable of. Not once in your life did you ever cry as much as you were right now. 

Sure, you’ve lost a few loved ones, failed a couple of very important tests here and there and sometimes you and Mark would watch some of the saddest movies every now and then but nothing ever hurt you as much as Mark’s last words did. 

My life would’ve been so much easier if you weren’t in it. 

Each word felt like a stab in your gut. At the time, you knew you said some things that you didn’t mean and that you were sure had a negative effect on him; but nothing you said was even half as bad as hearing him practically say he regrets your entire relationship. 

It made you overthink the last three years of being with him. Mark was in more or less words, the perfect boyfriend. He was quite the gentleman; he always held doors open for you, pushed you on the inside whenever you’d be walking on sidewalks, pulled out chairs for you, always asked how your day was going and if you were eating all your meals on time. 

He knew your coffee order by heart, he’d buy you cute little things he would see that he thought you would like and he even made you a few playlists of songs that reminded him of you. He took care of you as if you were the most delicate little dandelion; but that didn’t mean he wasn’t rough or dominant behind closed doors. 

Mark knew you like the back of his hand. Three years would do that to someone; he knew each and every mole, freckle, beauty and birthmark on your body. He was well aware of the scar on your knee that was shaped like Texas and how you got it from playing football with your cousins. If perfect was a person, it would be him. 

Everyone who knew of him wanted to be his friend. Mark was a social butterfly; he had a tendency to be friendly and kind to whoever he encountered. His golden heart, extremely kind and generous personality was got you to fall in love with him; on top of his indescribable good looks and charismatic charm. After knowing each other for over seven years, you’ve grown accustomed to having Mark in your life. 

Even before the two of you started dating, he was there for almost every milestone in your life. He was there when you got accepted in to the college of your dreams, he was there when you got an internship with a company you’ve been wanting for a long time, he was there for your first time getting drunk at the young age of 16 and he was the one to rub your back as you threw up the following morning. 

With that being said, he was also there during some of the darkest times in your life. When your grandmother passed away from cancer, it felt as if your entire world fell apart. She was your best friend and you were completely devastated as soon as your mom called you and told you the news of her passing. Mark was at baseball practice around the time that you were heading to the hospital, but once he heard of what happened, he wasted no time in making his way to where you were and pulled you in to his chest the moment his eyes landed on your frail figure. 

It took months of grieving, crying over her absence and Mark constantly whispering sweet words of comfort for you to come to terms with her death and you were entirely grateful that you had someone so patient and understanding as Mark was to be there for you during such a traumatic time. What was going to happen now when he was the reason why you were so distraught? 

Losing your grandmother was extremely painful and even after all these years, you weren’t completely over her death. However, knowing that man you loved more than life itself no longer wanted anything to do with you was a different kind of pain. Although there were a few times in your relationship that you and Mark would disagree, not once did a fight escalate this badly before. 

Your relationship was one that everyone around you seemed to envy. Everyone and their mothers knew just how much Mark loved you and it was obvious by your words and actions that you felt the exact same way. His mom always used to tell you that your love was one for the ages; you both cared for one another in ways that only people who were genuinely in love could experience. For two people who’ve been in a relationship for as long as you and Mark have, you were still in the so called “honeymoon stage” where you constantly had to be around each other even if all you did was laze around all day doing nearly nothing. 

Just being in his presence always made you feel so at ease; so serene. Home wasn’t necessarily a place you lived in or just a roof above your head. Home wasn’t just a place that gave you shelter; home was where you felt the safest, the most comfortable and home was where you were happiest. For the last seven years, Mark Tuan was your home and now, you were homeless. You always felt so protected and loved whenever you were around him and you hated every moment spent away from him. 

The more time you spent crying on the floor, the more you came to the realization that tonight’s events actually happened and Mark was no longer your person. Although neither of you actually called it quits, you knew by the tone of his voice and in his facial expression that it was over. Even if he were to come back to you within the week begging you for forgiveness, you don’t think you could ever forget how his words screwed you up mentally and physically. 

When you decided that you had cried all the tears you had in your body and that you were wasting your time crying over someone who couldn’t give less of a shit about you, you got up from your spot right in front of the door and slowly sauntered off in to the kitchen. Anyone who knew you were aware of the fact that you hated alcohol. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker, and you were sure it’s because you spent your teenage years getting high and wasted to the point where it was no longer fun to do now that it was legal. The bottle of red wine that was in the back of your cupboard was a gift from Mark’s friend Jackson for your birthday a couple of months ago and you didn’t want to seem rude by not accepting it since you didn’t care for red wine or just wine in general. 

But now, you were extremely grateful for his choice in gifts and you made it your responsibility to finish the entire bottle in one sitting before you went to sleep. That’s if you could even find it in yourself to even go to bed. Your mind was filled with thoughts of Mark and what he was doing right now; if he regretted what he said, if he knew you were currently suffering and beating yourself up about the argument. 

How could the two of you go from being seconds away to ripping each other’s clothes off, to you drinking imported red wine straight from the bottle to take your mind off of your broken heart? As you continued to drink the wine, it was in that moment of sitting on your kitchen floor and banging your head on your refrigerator that you noticed your front door had a dent in it. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were to go up to it and see that you broke it by how hard you slammed it out of anger, but at this point you didn’t even care. 

Your mind, your heart and your body were so numb that nothing else seemed to matter and if anything, the door represented your mental state and your relationship. Seeing as how you were the definition of a light weight, it didn’t take you long to completely knock out on the hard tile. Although that last sentence continued to replay over and over; taunting you as a painful reminder that you were living your actual nightmare, it was the fact that he gave up on you so easily as if you meant nothing to him that really killed you. 

Was he planning to breakup with you and used this argument to actually go along with it? How long ago did he decide he no longer wanted to be with you? Everything seemed to be going so good for the two of you; so when did he decide he had enough of your relationship? You weren’t surprised when you woke up the next morning with an extremely painful migraine and a crook in your neck. 

This is why you despised any type of alcohol and never understood why Mark and his friends constantly went out to bars whenever they hung out. However, you felt as if this was going to be your way to ease the pain and knowing that alone made you want to cry again. After taking a few moments to process what you were going to do for the rest of the day, you got up to take some pain killers and to look at your current state to see how much of a mess you probably were. 

Almost half an hour later, you found the strength to get up and walked to your bathroom. Your head was throbbing and your bones ached from sleeping on the floor, but nothing hurt even half as much as your heart did. As soon as you saw your reflection, you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You looked horrible. Your hair looked like a bird’s nest; tangled and all over the place. You had mascara stained on your cheeks, your eyes were puffy and if you weren’t so numb, you would’ve screamed at the wine stain in the dress you were wearing; your favorite dress to be exact. 

Mark bought you that dress a couple of months ago because he knew it would look good on you and he was right. The first time you wore it, it didn’t stay on for too long. It was your favorite dress for many reasons; not only did your boyfriend buy it for you, but as someone who was extremely insecure with her body, no matter how many times Mark would make it known how much he loved your body and thought you were the most beautiful and sexiest woman to exist, the dress made you feel beautiful. 

You wore this dress with so much confident but now, it was stained with a deep maroon color right around the chest area and it was a brief representation of the hell you were going through. Like the fool that you were, the fool who was madly in love with the person you wished you could hate right now, you checked your phone to see if he tried to get in touch with you at all and you felt your stomach sink when you saw nothing. 

No texts, no calls, no voicemails, no “I’m sorry, I made a mistake”, no “I love you” or “I miss you.” Couples went through breakups all the time so why did you feel pathetic for something you weren’t at fault for? The rest of the week felt like you were dreaming the same nightmare over and over again. You could still see the anger and rage in his eyes when he told you that you were annoying and that he wasted his night with you when he could’ve gone out with his friends. You were sure there was a chance he was with them right now and you didn’t care at all. 

If he was so quick to let you go without a care in the world, you weren’t going to allow yourself to cry over him no matter how much you wanted to. But you were only human. Three years may not be considered “a long relationship” and you were still kind of young to get married and settle down but you knew Mark was the man you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with. The two of you talked about your futures on multiple occasions and every time Mark would talk about his plans, you were in each one. 

On the fifth day, you came to terms with the idea that it was really over. You tried lying to yourself by thinking that he was going to come back and that he just needed some time to calm down, but you gave up on that idea entirely knowing how Mark could be. Two things about the older boy that you could do without was his pride and how stubborn he could be. 

He tried his best not to show you those sides of him because he didn’t want you thinking negatively of him or being afraid of him; however there were occasions where he would get in to it with one of his friends because he always had to have the last word. With that being said, you knew Mark wasn’t going to give in. He wasn’t going to initiate reconciling with you even if that’s what he wanted because that’s just who he was. 

A week away from work was what you needed to really try and get yourself together again. It wasn’t until your mom called asking how you were doing and if you and Mark wanted to stop by for dinner that you realized you weren’t okay nor were you ready to go out and put on a fake smile while pretending nothing was wrong. When your mom called you, you let her go to voicemail multiple times. 

Although your mom was your best friend and you probably needed someone to be there to comfort you during your heartbreak, you weren’t ready for pity or sympathy. The only person you needed was Jack Daniels. You hated what you had become in less than a weak and you hated that you allowed Mark to have this effect on you. It was only natural for you to be responding to your breakup in this way; you were only human. But you were now a pathetic alcoholic who was wasting her time crying over a man who was no longer in her life. 

Three shots of vodka, two beers and one shot of tequila later and you absentmindedly left a lengthy voicemail to your mom, telling her exactly what happened all the while begging her to let you stay at your parent’s house for a couple of days. Maybe even weeks. Deep down, you knew you needed to be around people no matter how much you enjoyed being alone because your mind always found away to think about Mark. 

You told her how Mark yanked out your heart and stepped on it repeatedly. You told her about getting drunk every single day for the last week, how much you hated him for what he was putting you through and how you hated that you were letting such a stupid boy control your emotions. You also asked her if your dad could come over on one of his days off to take a look at your door. She didn’t take long to respond back to you nor were you surprised when you heard her knocking on your door while she quickly pulled you in to her embrace once you opened it. 

“Oh yeah sweetheart, you really broke your poor door. Come here baby, mama’s got you.” 

She helped you bring your bags to the car and the two of you stayed in silence the entire ride to your parent’s house. You had a feeling she had a few questions she wanted to ask you and that there was a couple of things she wanted to say but you were glad that the only noise in her car was the sound of the air conditioner. You weren’t ready for any kind of human interaction or a conversation you knew would drive you even more crazy. 

All you wanted was for your mom to rock you back and forth like how she used to when you were younger and tell you that everything was going to be okay even if you lost all hope on it being so. When she pulled up to the garage, she told you to stay put so that she could help you get out of your car and you felt like such a child. Out of all your siblings, you were the closest one to your mom and even if you were an adult living on your own with a full time job and everything, you were always going to be her little girl. 

Seeing your child cry was always painful for a mother, but because the reason behind your sadness was something out of her control, she felt like she couldn’t do anything but console you and get you whatever you needed to try and make you feel better. Once you made it inside of the house, she led you to your old bedroom and let you get settled in so that she could prepare you something to eat. You didn’t have the heart to tell her you weren’t all that hungry; you haven’t had much of an appetite in the last week and you were sure she noticed your sudden weight loss. 

A part of you wanted to ask her to forget about it, especially because being in your old room brought back so many memories of Mark and how he would sneak in on school nights and how the two of you would stay up talking about anything your hearts desired. Being alone wasn’t something you’d think you’d ever get used to, especially because Mark was like your shadow. Wherever you went, Mark followed and unlike most people who would probably complain about his clinginess, you enjoyed it profusely. 

Knowing that Mark always craved your presence and needed to be around you to maintain his sanity made your heart flutter. This has been the longest you had to be without him and every day felt like an entire month. It’s as if time went by frustratingly slow because the universe was aware of your heartbreak and wanted to make you suffer for whatever reason you were unsure of. 

Taking a look around your old bedroom, you could feel your chest grow heavy when you saw the few pictures you had of you and Mark from when you were growing up and tears were soon building up at your eyes. The two of you looked so happy together; you were just a couple of kids who dreamt about so many wonderful things that life had to offer. Little did either of you know that one day, you would fall in love with one another before you could even comprehend the meaning behind that silly four letter word. 

You silently cursed to yourself for getting all worked up again; you came to your parent’s house as a way to heal on your own and to surround yourself with people who love you and care about your well-being. You just needed to have some kind of support system or else you’d drive yourself crazy back at your apartment thinking about what you could’ve done to have prevented the breakup from happening. The gentle knock on your door took you by surprise and you almost ended up dropping the frame. 

She released a long sigh before she walked over toward you and took the picture from out of your hands. The last thing your mom wanted to do was to make you even more upset by saying something to trigger you or cause you to overthink. But she couldn’t handle seeing you so broken; so defeated especially because you were an actual ray of sunshine. Your smile alone could light up an entire room and your personality was so bright and bubbly, people enjoyed your company because of your enthusiasm. 

As much as your mom liked Mark to the point where she would secretly plan out your future wedding with his mom whenever they’d go out to lunch together, she wanted to find him and make him regret what he did to her baby girl. She was shocked to say the least when she got your voicemail and at first, she couldn’t even understand what you were saying because your speech was so slurred and she couldn’t hear a word you were saying through your tears. Mark made it known to his surroundings that you were his entire world and all he cared about was making sure you were well taken cared of and that you were happy, healthy and got everything you deserved. You were so agitated just by seeing his photo and you wanted to scream. 

He was probably already over the entire thing and although it killed you to think like this, you couldn’t help but feel as if he was already looking for someone new. Why else would he have left you so easily? There must’ve been someone on the side but who were you kidding? That man planned an entire night out for you; to celebrate your life together. Your mind came up with all these different reasons for the breakup so you could get some closure but you weren’t stupid. You knew Mark loved you, you just couldn’t find a reason why he would tell you he regrets your relationship and wishes he never met you. 

You despised yourself for trusting Mark with your entire being; for allowing him to see each and every part of you. The good, the bad, the ugly. You hated that he was the only man you’ve ever loved with your entire physical, mental and spiritual being. You were upset with yourself for falling so hard for him and giving him the control to do such a thing to your heart. The feeling of being in your mom’s arms again after moving out almost two years ago was extremely comforting and very calming. 

She ran her fingers through your hair and continued to stay silent and waited until you stopped crying completely before telling you exactly what was on her mind. After your sobs slowly died down, she tapped on your forehead to get your attention. 

“Sweetheart, have I ever told you the story of when your father left me back when we were in college?” 

You shook your head in disagreement but widened your eyes in shock at her revelation. From what you were told, your parents were college sweethearts. Your dad fell in love with her when one of their mutual friends asked him to pick her up from work once and he was extremely grateful that their car was in the shop at that time or else he would have never met his soulmate. 

They’ve been together for over twenty years and not once have you heard this story, but now you were heavily interested. You always loved hearing stories about your parents relationship; it gave you high hopes for your own relationship and since you were going through a breakup right now, you could only hope the story would lift up your spirits. 

“We were together for only three months at the time and it was the first relationship I had where I genuinely cared for him. He was so kind, so flirtatious and used the cheesiest pickup lines to make me laugh. I knew he was going to be someone special in my life. Unfortunately, at the time your dad was the only one in his group of friends that was in a relationship. They told him that being in a relationship was “lame” and that he was still so young to be wasting his time being tied down to one girl. He tried to defend and fight for our relationship, but his friends continued to pester him over it, so he broke up with me. I was devastated, I cried for hours on end and couldn’t eat anything. But he showed up only three days later with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a bucket of fried chicken. He told me he loved me and refused to be without me. It was quire romantic if you ask me.” 

You giggled at the idea of your dad asking your mom to take him back with some Popeyes. You were upset to hear that your dad’s friends coerced him in to breaking up with her. However, you were happy to hear that it didn’t take too long for him to realize your mom was it for him.

“He’ll be back y/n. I know he will. That boy—he loves you. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, I can tell in his actions and with the way he looks at you that he’s head over heels in love with you. His mom also mentioned it a couple times; he’s—what is that word kids your age use these days? Whipped for you? She said he has stars in his eyes whenever you come up in conversation. It’s serious when a boy talks about you to his momma. One day when the two of you are married with a family of your own, you’ll look back on this little bump in the road and laugh—“

“Please don’t say that. You didn’t see the way he looked at me when he told me all of those hurtful things. It didn’t even feel like he was my boyfriend, it was as if I was looking at a stranger. It makes me wonder, did he ever really love me if he had no problem leaving me?”

“I’m serious y/n. I don’t know what things were said that night or how things ended up the way they did, but when it’s real, when it’s love, you just know. He probably looks just as bad and if not worse than you do. I know it hurts. Breakups are rough, especially because it’s obvious you and Mark were made for one another. But what have I always told you? If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, then it’s yours forever and if it doesn’t, well baby, it just simply wasn’t meant to be. He was probably just in the heat of the moment and said some things he probably didn’t mean. I’m sure he’s regretting this entire thing. Mark’s a smart boy; if he knows what’s best for him, he’ll be yours again in no time. Until then, get out of this funk y/n. There’s so many wonderful things in the world to do and to be grateful for. Do you really want to look back on your twenties and regret wasting your time crying over a boy when you could be doing so many different activities and go on so many adventures?”

You released a frustrated sigh and shook your head again. She was right. You were tired of crying and drinking so much. There was only so much alcohol your body could handle and it wasn’t worth all the hangovers. 

“Maybe we should tell your dad what happened so he can mess around with him a little bit and teach him a lesson.”

The idea and the way your mom said it made you let out a genuine laugh. Your parents were always so protective over you and it was probably because you were so kind-hearted that people tended to take advantage of how polite you could be. However, even if she meant it as a joke, you were nervous at what your dad would do if he found out about what Mark said to you and how the breakup was slowly killing you. You were a daddy’s girl and your dad never failed to do anything to make you smile; even if it meant scaring your ex-boyfriend which you knew you didn’t want him doing. 

Your mom stayed with you for a few hours until it was timed for her to make dinner and you ended up falling asleep because of how mentally exhausted you were. No matter how much your mom loved it whenever you stayed over, she didn’t want you to get used to running away from your problems and hiding when things got too difficult. She wanted you to learn to live without him on your own. Your mom knew that you were going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but one day you would heal from this entire situation and realize that your breakup was a learning experience. 

Plus, you had to return back to work sooner or later or you would lose your job completely. A cloud of sadness came once your dad pulled up to your apartment complex and they offered to walk you to your door but you weren’t sure if you’d allow them to leave if they did. They both pulled you in for hugs as they said their goodbyes and you actually cried as you watched them drive away. Why did life have to be so complicated? You were so unhappy to the point where you thought you would actually die from a broken heart. 

The aspect of dying from a broken heart was extremely devastating; you’ve heard about it on multiple occasions. It was normal for people to be so sad, so distraught and have no energy or motivation to do anything. They wouldn’t eat, sleep and only spend most of their days crying out what was left of their hearts. You didn’t think going through a breakup would cause this much damage to you and your well-being; but contrary to what your mom told you, Mark wasn’t just any boy. He was the owner of your heart and you understood that he could torment you like this because you allowed him to. 

You stopped by the mailbox to see if you got anything before heading up to your apartment. When your parents were driving you back to your place, you decided that you would actually get up and do something today. Whether it was tidying up your place from how messy it had become from your one too many drunken stupors, or going to the cleaners to get that wine stain out of your dress. As you began to approach your unit, you noticed there was something sitting right in front of your door. 

The closer you got, you realized that it wasn’t just something, it was someone. Your heart felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest when you realized exactly who the person was slumped up against the wall. It was exactly a week since your fight and you weren’t sure if it was what your mom had said about your love and how beautiful it was, or because you were miserable without him but you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and beg him to come back to you. 

You expected to be angry if you were to see him again because of all the trauma you suffered through; yet seeing him tugged on your heartstrings and it was as if you pushed the entirety of the last week to the back of your mind. When Mark heard footsteps coming towards him and he looked up to see who it was, he had to hold himself back from running towards you. Your mom was right, just like she normally was. 

This week was one of the worst weeks of his entire life. He was suffering without you. He never hated himself more than he did when he said all those things and he hated himself even more for not running after you as soon as those spiteful words fell from his mouth. You were the best thing that has ever happened to him, and if things were to end up differently that night, he would’ve been able to show you exactly what you meant to him in more ways than one. 

He wanted to call you, to text you and to tell you how stupid he was and how he didn’t mean a single word that he said to you but words were never his forte. Nor did he want to give up his pride even if it meant preventing this last week from ever happening. It was all his fault, or so he kept telling himself and he couldn’t go one more day without you in his life. It was too much for his heart to withstand. 

He was going to do everything in his power to get you to forgive him, even if it meant having to stay away from you for a little while longer for you to completely heal from this experience. As soon as he drove away from your apartment that night, he knew he fucked up and accidentally punched a hole in his wall out of anger. He was so selfish; so insensitive and didn’t think that his harsh words would have any negative effect on you. 

After hearing your little jabs at him, he wanted to hit you where it hurt the most but if he knew then what he knew now, he would’ve kept his mouth shut and just dropped you home so that you both could calm down and not say everything you both said to one another. You let out a deep breath and tried to prepare your heart to hear why he was there and to be ready to fight if the situation called for it. 

“Hey.” 

You looked up at him and you could feel tears brimming at your eyelids. He looked so tired and you knew for a fact that he must’ve cried with how his eyes practically mirrored the puffiness of yours. The dark circles under his eyes were more prominent and his face looked smaller than it already was. It made you cringe; Mark was never one to portray himself as someone weak or someone who had feelings and emoted whenever something was up with him. If he had a problem, he’d deal with it on his own and this was no different. 

Good. He deserved to have suffered as much as you did. 

“Hi. How long have you been here for?” He shrugged before scratching the back of his head; something he normally did when he felt like he was in the wrong or whenever he was embarrassed and you took it as the former. 

“Um—since Wednesday I think.” 

Your eyes widened in shock at his answer. Wednesday? So that means he was sitting outside of your apartment for the last three days? 

“Wait, you’ve been here for three days? Are you crazy? Mark, you could’ve gotten sick! It’s cold out here! And what about food? Have you even been eating? You look so malnourished, why would you—“

“You and I both know why. I fucked up. Big time. It took me a while to think about it at this perspective because I was just so mad and I wanted to blame you for the way things ended that night but I came to the conclusion that this was my fault. I’m the one who fucked up something so amazing, so beautiful and so perfect because I was a fucking asshole y/n and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

In order to prevent wandering eyes of your neighbors, you opened the door and motioned for him to walk inside so that the two of you could have your privacy. 

“Shit y/n, what happened to your door? You have to practically force it open—“

“You don’t want to know. My dad is supposed to come over this weekend to try and fix it. I think the hinges must’ve came out or something. Can I get you something to eat? Drink?” 

He shook his head and you could see in your peripheral vision that he was hesitatingly reaching out for your hand, probably in attempts to bring you to the couch so he could continue the conversation from where the two of you began from but he just walked over to the living room and took a seat. You wanted to hear everything he had to say and you were going to make it a point to let him know what this breakup did to you. 

His focus was on the multiple empty bottles of alcohol sitting on your coffee table and because he was well aware of how much you hated alcohol, it was apparent that you must’ve had it really rough if you felt the need to turn to alcohol for solace. When he felt like he was ready to talk, he turned around to face you and released an exasperated sigh. 

“I’m sorry it took so long to come here—oh, these are for you. I actually had to go back to the store because the first two bouquets actually died probably because they weren’t being watered and I bought your favorite cookies—but I got hungry so there’s only three left.” 

He handed you the beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and you giggled at the sight of only three cookies in a big container but it made you smile nonetheless. 

How romantic. 

You politely thanked him and placed both of the gifts down on the table before speaking up. 

“You should’ve called me, I wouldn’t allow you to have waited out here for me. Are you crazy Mark? What if something happened to you—“

“Then so be it. I’d probably deserve it. Fuck, you don’t understand how much of a mess I was without you and how much I’ve been suffering because the image of your pained face would not leave my mind once this entire weekend. I had a feeling you weren’t home when you weren’t answering the door but then again, you could’ve looked through the peephole and decided you wanted nothing to do with me and I wouldn’t have blamed you. The old lady next door was kind enough to offer me some food here and there but I’m sure she probably thought I was a thief or something when she first saw me. I should’ve called but you and I both know why I didn’t. I kinda wanted to give you your space because I’m sure what I said probably got under your skin. I ruined our special day and I’m sorry if I broke your heart—with the way you’re looking at me I’m sure I hurt you pretty badly huh.” 

You looked up at him with a melancholic look in your eyes; that had to be the understatement of the year. If you didn’t have your family around to help you take your mind off of your failed relationship, you were sure you would have ended up in the hospital sooner or later. 

“You broke me Mark. You made me feel like I was worthless. You made me think there was someone else or that you fell out of love with me and I genuinely wanted to die. Pathetic right? I just—I didn’t know how to function without you and waking up every morning felt like a chore. At some points I felt like I couldn’t even breathe. I’ve heard heartbreaks caused by breakups were an unfathomable pain that are impossible to bounce back from and some people even die from a broken heart I just never would’ve thought it would happen to me. Especially because we were so happy; so in love and I would have never thought one stupid, meaningless argument could cause us to separate. You made it seem like leaving me was so easy and hearing that you wished that we never dated in the first place is what truly fucked me over. I became a fucking alcoholic because of you—I blamed the entire breakup on myself even if I didn’t say anything that I knew would inflict any sort of pain to you because the idea of hurting you hurts me. It’s sad to know you don’t feel that way.”

“That’s where you’re wrong y/n. I regretted everything that I said as soon as I said them but the damage was already done. Please believe me when I say this, I didn’t mean a fucking word. That was just the anger and the irritation talking for me. My life before you always felt so empty, and once you came in to it, you made everything so much better. You filled my life with color and made my heart soar by just the mere thought of you. I could never regret you or our relationship; you’re all I could ever want or need in this hell forsaken world. You know the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you—“

“BUT YOU DID MARK.” 

You didn’t mean to yell, but it was all the built up emotions you’ve been holding in that finally released itself and you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget the way he shivered at your tone. Not once in the many years of knowing you did Mark ever see you so mad. You were always such a shy and introverted person; he didn’t think you were capable of such an intonation. He hated that he was the reason for your hostility and he was afraid that it was too late. It may have only been a week, but what you went through was enough to change your warm-hearted personality in to a cold and aggressive one. 

“Nothing will ever change the fact that you gave up on us—on me. If you knew there was a chance that your words would affect me the way that they did, then you wouldn’t have said anything at all; but you said it all without hesitation like you did mean it. I was coming to accept our breakup for what it was. Sure I was hoping you would come back; hell this is the closest I ever felt to God because I found myself praying every single day for him to show me a sign. For him to heal me and make it known that I would be okay. I’d be lying if I said I’m not the least bit content that you’re here but—I really don’t know what to make of that.” 

To your surprise, he made his way toward you and reached for your hands. As intimidated he was by how you were acting towards him, he knew he had to grow some balls and man up, or he would lose you forever and the tiny box that was in his pocket would no longer have any use. 

“I don’t know what to say or do that would explain how sorry I am and how much I wish I could go back in time and prevent any of this from happening. I don’t know how to stop you from hurting, and to get you to forgive me—I‘ll do anything to fix this y/n. Please—tell me what to do. I can’t—I can’t lose you. Tell me you don’t love me, and then I’ll—I’ll—fuck, there’s no way I can let you go. Please baby—you asked God for a sign and I came here tonight to try and fix my mistakes. That has to mean something right?” 

Hearing him sound so desperate, so willing to do whatever you wanted him to in order to bring your relationship back to what it was made you feel so many emotions. As much as you wanted him to give you some time to think, you knew you’d take him back. It was going to take some time to forgive him, and to get his words out of your mind completely, but Mark was everything you ever wanted for the rest of your life. 

Why were you going to continue suffering on your own and staying away from him when all you wanted was to have him back in your life? You cupped his cheek softly with your palm and placed a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. Feeling him smile against your lips sent a fire through your veins; Mark’s kisses always had quite the effect on you. His lips were so pink and so pretty and you loved every single moment that they were pressed against yours. 

“You can start by paying for my dry cleaning. I got a huge wine stain on the dress I was wearing because I got drunk.” He giggled in to your neck before placing a chaste kiss there. 

“Done. You silly girl. God, I missed you so much baby. I also think I have something that could win me some brownie points but I hope tonight ends the way last week should have.” 

The question of what he was referring to was at the tip of your tongue, but before you could emit anything, he was now kneeling on the ground right in front of you and pulled out a red box. Your heart began to race on a you put two and two together; he was going to propose to you. 

“I know, this is probably not how you wanted this to happen and I promise you I had different ways in mind on doing this—but after losing you, I realized that it didn’t matter how, where or when I would ask you to spend the rest of your life with me; all that matters is that I did. I was actually planning on proposing you at the beach once we were finished eating, but I chickened out like the coward that I am. And I guess I was irritated with myself and took it out on you that night and I know I said it so many times, but I will continue apologizing until I make up for all the pain I’ve put you through. I’m sorry y/n. I don’t deserve you—I don’t deserve being able to do this right now but this last week without you made me realize that I can’t live if I have to do it without you.” 

He grazed your wrist with his thumb and you were sure he did that to calm down his nerves, but it was so cute. You loved seeing him so flustered and so nervous and you loved knowing that you were the reason behind his now shy demeanor. 

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can remember. Every time I would drop you back home once we hung out back in high school, I felt this emptiness in my chest. Then I realized how much I loved hearing you laugh knowing that I was the reason behind it. I loved spending time with you and being around you. I loved the feeling I got whenever we were together. You and I can literally do nothing but I’m my happiest when I’m with you and that’s when I realized you were more than just a friend to me. These last few years with you have made me the happiest man alive. You mean everything to me baby—I wish I would’ve told you this sooner so we wouldn’t have wasted time apart but I’ll make up for it the rest of my life—if you let me of course. I’ll take good care of you my love. I’ll continue to love you and give you the world on a silver platter. Y/n, will you do me the greatest honor and marry me?” 

You were sure if someone else were in your shoes, they probably would’ve said no right off the bat. Heartbreak really did change a person. It made your whole aspect on life change for the worse and you knew you weren’t the same person you were a week ago. But you’ve dreamt about this situation on many accounts. There were times where you’d sleep over Mark’s place and you’d stay up looking at him in admiration and thinking about what your future together would look like. 

Sure, you would have preferred this surprise before all the unfortunate events that happened, but you were excited and speechless nonetheless. You sank to your knees and sat down on his lap; bringing your hands up to his face and pulling his lips up to yours. You couldn’t help the snicker that fell from the back of your throat when you felt a tear fall from his eyes on to your cheek. His hands were tight on your waist as he deepened the kiss, licking and sucking on your lips before all but gently shoving his tongue in between your teeth. When you felt his excitement pressing against your core, you pulled away and ignored the choked out whine that fell from his lips as you placed your forehead against his. 

“Yes. I would love to marry you Mark. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Thank you for coming back to me love.” 

The way he was looking up at you pulled on your heartstrings; you couldn’t wait to tell your mom of the news. You knew she would probably hit you with “I told you so” but she would also be extremely happy for you. He abruptly stood up and took you with him, wrapping your thighs around his waist. You knew exactly what his plans were as he made his way to your room and you were excited to say the least at what he was going to do with you.

Once the two of you entered the bedroom, he didn’t waste anytime throwing you on to the bed and attacking your face with kisses as he ran his hands along your body; needing to touch you everywhere. Right as he began dragging his fingers along your clothed heat, he gripped at your chin and made sure you were making direct eye contact with him. 

“You know, since your door is already broken, I don’t see any problem in breaking your bed also—ow! What? You’re going to be my wife one day soon, so it’s only natural for me to want to fuck the living shit out of you in celebration of our engagement—I’m actually starting to reconsider this whole marriage thing. Give me back that ring, I’m gonna go sell it and buy me the PS5–“

“You wouldn’t dare Tuan, I’ll end you—“

“Just shut up and let me love you damnit.” 

You couldn’t stop the laughter that came after his little complaint. You still had yet to process that Mark was currently on top of you, ready to make love to you and to show you just how much he missed you. He playfully poked your cheek to break you out of your trance and squeezed your butt as a force of habit. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I’m just really happy, that’s all.”

 He gave you his signature cheeky grin and left a long, sloppy kiss on your lips. 

“Good. That makes the two of us, and that’s the only emotion you’re going to feel now that you’re stuck with me. Now, let’s make up for lost time shall we?”

Can you ask daddy if he's got time To come and look at my front door? It got slammed last night And now it don't close right And just promise that you won't tell him everything And keep that pistol in the drawer Mama, please don't say I'm gonna laugh about this someday You didn't see the way he drove away

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright? I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard Mama, can you die from a broken heart? Oh, a broken heart

Can your knees give out from prayin' so hard? (Prayin' so hard) Can you go blind from cryin' in the dark? (In the dark) Was it ever really real If he don't feel like I feel?

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright?

How does he sleep at night? Mama, the nerve of this guy To leave me so easy Am I gonna be alright? I wanna kick myself for fallin' so hard Mama, can you die from a broken heart? A broken heart

[thehippaes]

The worst of Bangers - playlist

Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ZZ3PEFfGCqNIVWUVpFt9t?si=4842722153114449 Intro Unbearable narcissist that I am, I was thrilled to see that Isaac Asimov’s Foundation was being adapted into a big budget straight-to-the-internet TV series not because I honestly thought it would be any good, but because I hoped it might finally vindicate one of Bangers’ most (perhaps unfairly?) maligned songs if a few more people consumed the source material that it was an extremely concise precis of. As it happens I’m proper enjoying the series, faithless as the adaptation is - incorporating both emotions and women (two of my favourite things) neither of which were really even hinted at in the books. This train of thought, the fact that Small Pleasures turned 10 earlier this year, and my realisation that I find most of the Bangers back catalogue to weigh heavily on my creative soul as well intentioned but badly executed trash, led me to create a Spotify playlist called The worst of Bangers and write this accompanying blog to revisit some of the most forgotten, dismissed and/or reviled deep cuts. Before I start, these songs are included for a variety of metrics, often because they have a noted down-turn of listens on Spotify compared their album position. That’s not a great metric for a band who split up before Spotify achieved the godlike ubiquity that it now enjoys, but c’est la pomme de la terre. If you can hum any of these songs just by reading their names then you’re doing better than me 3 hours ago. Asimov When Bird was released, I remember several people telling me that this song shouldn’t have made the cut. I got the impression that some people thought it was a joke that didn’t sit that well on an album that was mostly dwelling on depression and suicide, and some others thought it was just a bit shit. Exactly nobody told me that they understood what I was getting at, so for the sake of posterity I’ll explain what it meant to me. Foundation – as I see it – is a musing on humankind’s repeated inability to learn one of the most universal lessons. The story begins with the fall of the Galactic Empire, and each subsequent generation confronts a crisis which requires rejecting the philosophy of the previous generation. Each time, the ruling forces adamantly refuse to realise this – rigidly adhering to the most recent philosophy - until one character tricks them into it and saves the day, thus ushering in a new age. I find the prescience of this to be one of the most depressing facts of human existence, and something I was wallowing in at the time, hence the song. Listening back I think the chorus is great, and Andrew’s weird bass slide in the middle is a joy. Vibrate This song is undeniably cool, but every time we played it people stared at us like we were stupid. I think it’s the emotional pay-off for Bird, after such a miserable time it’s just an acceptance that probably the healthiest thing to do is to accept defeat and plod on ignoring all the glitzy wiff-waff and intriguing mysticism in the world. This is the Bangers song I still sing to myself when I’m doing really practical DIY like building shelves. The truth that I’m more of a practical ox of a guy than an ethereal waif has been one of the healthiest realisations of my life. Stressful Festival The only thing that I ever heard said about this song was that it sounded ‘like Bangers’ on an album that largely didn’t. I think that’s bullshit, Bangers very rarely played this kind of classic on-the-beat punk vibe. Two interesting facts about this song: 1. I remember writing all the guitar riffs in Berlin after playing with De Cracks in the Ramones Museum and their Ramones-core translating much better to acoustic guitar than any of Banger’s music did. 2. While recording I puked in my mouth singing “sick to death of every one of you” and swallowed it again before coming in for the last chorus. If you listen really hard you can hear it coming up. A Quite Different Coastline In amongst the fairly weird Crazy Fucking Dreams album, this song performs especially badly with people who aren’t in Bangers. I think it rips, but Spotify figures confirm a proper dip compared to the rest of this album. I just don’t know what’s wrong with people sometimes! Bad Jokes Someone in Austria told me to my face that this song was too boring, and we pretty much stopped playing it after that. I think it has a janky song structure, and the nearest thing to a chorus it has (none of the songs on Crazy Fucking Dreams really have a chorus) isn’t that catchy, but I think the song is OK. I can confirm that nobody ever shouted for us to play it live. The Nick of Time OK, here’s a proper deep-cut. It’s the first B-side from the Blind Hindsight single, and I couldn’t remember anything about it before listening today. I remember we cut it from Crazy Fucking Dreams because it didn’t sit well with the other songs, but on reflection it really carried the core message that I was trying to get across in that album. Namely that history forgets just about everybody, so why should we feel obligated to be interested in anything that’s mainstream enough to be remembered. I suspect that the lyrics are not that relatable, but they’re a good diary entry for me to remember the first person I ever watched die. Log Jam Second B-side. I believe we only ever had two B-sides. We recorded this in our practise room in Exeter, and I seem to remember we tracked it back to front with the piano first and drums last. Maybe Hamish was at work until late or something. This is the song to drag out if anyone tries to tell you Bangers were just a gruff punk band who sounded like The Menzingers. I think there’s a weird time signature change, and that’s probably not because we were trying to be clever if you know what I mean. A man like Jack McCall This is named after the guy who shot Wild Bill in Deadwood. I loved that show, but at the time I knew I was much more a drunken cowardly shit-heel than any of the heroic (or at least stoic) characters. It was on the Good Livin’ EP which I find mostly unlistenable because of some very sketchy guitar playing. This was the weird plodder at the end which we probably played live a handful of times and then realised that nobody really wanted to hear it and it wasn’t that fun to play. Every night’s a date night On the subject on not being fun to play, this song was always a pain. Something about the timing at the start just baffled Hamish, so we ditched playing it as soon as we had enough songs. However in my mind this is one of THE archetypal Bangers songs, it’s got that lolloping, on-the-push rhythm, not a normal power chord in sight, and three quite distinct sections without anything approaching a chorus. Small Pleasures is definitely our most listened to album on Spotify, but where some of those songs really defined how Bangers were perceived, this never really landed. The Love Nest I straight up laughed out loud today when I saw we’d called a song The Love Nest. I couldn’t remember anything about it until I listened to it today for the first time in years. We played this a lot when we were relevant to the DIY scene in about 2011, and I think people used to sing along. It’s included here because I fully forgot it existed. There was a positive vibe (when no one was left alive) + Walking on the ground These two songs make up the Last Songs EP (single?) that we just about managed to release in time for our last ever show. I think we’d decided to split up by the time we recorded them, but I wouldn’t put money on it. I don’t know if we ever played Positive Vibe live, which is a shame because both songs are great. I think the album that these songs were meant to become would have nailed a good mix of dirty pop that we were aiming at in that moment. We probably would have messed it up though. Outro After I put this playlist together I went and listened to Challenger – Give people what they want in lethal doses as a pallet cleanser. I heartily recommend you do the same. Go and support Andrew and Kay’s new doughnut shop Future Doughnuts in Bristol, and visit Hamish in Cambridge. I’m doing fine. Roo

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 26: Jon

When Jon’s grandmother passed away peacefully in her sleep, not long after his twenty-fourth birthday, he quickly discovered that her life insurance and savings weren’t enough to cover all the bills that needed to be covered and put the house he’d grown up in on the market. He only vaguely remembers the whole procedure, as he was in something of a state of shock at the time, but he does remember accepting the first offer presented to him despite the realtor’s comments that he could “probably hold out for a bit more” if he wanted. Thus, he’s the only one not really startled at the speed with which he, Martin, and Tim find out that they’ve got the house.

To be clear: He’s not startled at the speed. He is, however, startled that they got it. Surely someone must have been willing to pay more for it, been better qualified. But no. They learn their offer has been accepted less than a week after the Primes’ disastrous encounter with Basira’s partner and the closing is scheduled for the following Friday. Martin theorizes that their position at the Magnus Institute gave them some extra clout. Tim jokes that it’s his charismatic personality. Jon frets that Elias might have had something to do with it for nefarious purposes.

Sasha finally does some research and tells them that it’s being sold by a pair of siblings barely out of their teens whose parents died unexpectedly and probably just need the money fast.

Martin doesn’t have much, just the little he managed to bring with him to the Institute when first escaping Jane Prentiss and the few things he’s re-acquired since then, and Jon’s things are still packed up from when he declined to renew the lease on his flat in August, so it’s mostly just Tim who needs to decide what he’s keeping and what he’s ready to part with or needs to replace. It takes them the better part of two Saturdays, but they manage to get everything boxed and sorted in time to move out the last full weekend of September.

The moving-in process is surprisingly fun. Sasha and the Primes even come to help (Tim suggests the latter so that Martin Prime knows his way around the house from the get-go, which is actually really sensible) and they make a party of it. Tim insists on setting up the sound system first, then gets everyone to contribute a certain number of songs to a playlist on some app he has on his phone. He puts it on shuffle and lets it play while they work together on the various rooms.

“Oh, my God,” Sasha moans after the eighth song that she evidently didn’t pick comes on. “Do any of you listen to a single band that’s put out an album since 1984?”

“Yes,” Martin says indignantly, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Remasters don’t count.”

Martin Prime grins. “None of mine have come up, either.”

“What did you put on?” Sasha asks suspiciously.

She gets her answer a few minutes later when, after shuffle coughs up a Spice Girls song they all tease her mercilessly about, an honest to God sea shanty comes on. Tim and Jon laugh at Sasha’s dramatic, despairing groan, but it’s hard not to respond to the Martins’ enthusiasm as they—surprisingly—harmonize along with the recording while they set up the living room.

They’re almost done assembling the new bed Tim bullied Jon into buying (“You’re not in uni anymore, you don’t need to be sleeping on a futon, and anyway, when was this made, the Thatcher premiership?” “Brown, and shut up, Tim.”), which is the last piece of furniture they need to put together, when there’s a sound from the front door—two firm, solid knocks, audible all the way upstairs. Jon nearly drops the screwdriver as his heart kicks against his ribs. It’s stupid, and he knows it’s stupid, but two knocks like that always makes him think of that book.

Tim makes a noise in the back of his throat. “God, hope the music isn’t too loud.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Martin says, but he sounds uncertain. “I-I mean, it’s been ages.”

Jon pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll check.”

He hurries out of the bedroom before anyone can comment on the clear break in his voice. He is, and there is no way to deny it to himself, legitimately afraid of what might be outside. The likelihood of it being a being of another entity is slim, but…well, there was Mr. Spider, and Jane Prentiss knocked on Martin’s door more than a few times to keep him off-balance, so there’s always the chance. It’s something he feels he can deal with, though, so he heads out to face it.

He does not, however, expect to open the door and be faced with what is either a small child or a casserole dish with tennis shoes.

“Hello,” a tiny voice says brightly from behind the dish. There’s a bit of shifting, and then two big brown eyes and a mass of curls appear over the rim. “I’ve brought you a cake.”

Jon will deny to his dying day that those words freeze his blood in his veins and make his heart stutter to a stop, but since this might actually be his dying day, he’ll be lying if he tries. His lips part, but no sound comes out.

“And a casserole, too,” the child continues, completely oblivious to Jon’s unwarranted panic attack. “That’s not as much fun, though, but Nan says it’s important to eat good, hearty food when you’ve been doing lots of work and that cake shouldn’t be a whole meal. I think there’s no point in being a grown-up if you can’t eat whatever you want, but…” The child heaves an enormous, dramatic sigh that seems too large for such a small body. “My Nan’s very, very old, and you don’t get to be old if you don’t do something right, so she must know what she’s talking about. Anyway, we made the casserole with lots and lots of cheese and she said that was okay, so at least it’s a little better.”

“Ah—thank you?” Jon manages. “H-here, let me…take that.”

He manages to extract the casserole dish, which certainly feels as if it’s laden with cheese; it weighs the proverbial ton. Quite possibly a literal one. It’s solid enough to anchor Jon to reality, though, and he studies his benefactor. The child can’t be more than seven or eight, at the most, with a round face and limbs hidden in an oversized, threadbare sweater that looks like it’s been handed down through more than a few generations. Dangling from one arm is a wicker basket that does indeed appear to contain a cake.

“It’s a chocolate cake with marshmallow frosting,” the child says. “I tried to write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood’ on it, but I didn’t put the tip on the piping bag right and it came off, so now it’s just a mess, but it’ll taste just as good, I promise. My Nan makes the best cakes.”

Jon smiles in spite of himself. “I don’t think I have enough hands to take it from you now. Would you mind bringing it into the kitchen for me?”

“Oh, sure!” The child practically hops over the threshold. “I always wanted to see what this house was like on the inside. Tibby used to babysit for me sometimes, but she always came over to our house, never me coming over here. Nan says it’s better that way, and Tibby always said it was laid out exactly like all the other houses, but it’s not the same as seeing it for yourself. Firsthand knowledge is best, that’s what I think. What do you think?”

“I—I think I agree with you,” Jon says. He also feels a bit like he’s staring at his younger self. “I assume you live in one of the other houses on the row?”

“Two doors down,” the child agrees cheerfully. “With the window boxes. My Nan likes to garden a bit, but she can’t bend over so much anymore, so Toby set up the window boxes for her a couple years ago.”

“And, uh, who is…Toby?”

“Oh, sorry, I thought you knew. Toby McGill. He and Tibby—that’s his sister Tabitha, but everyone calls her Tibby—they were the ones selling this house after their parents died. He’s at Surrey University now and he says he’s going to stay out there when it’s all said and done, and Tibby got a job on a boat.” The child sounds deeply impressed. “I want to be a sailor someday, too. Can you imagine getting to see the whole wide world by water and getting paid for it, too? I’d never want to leave. I told Tibby she has to save a spot on the crew for me and she laughed and promised, so I can’t wait. I’m going as soon as I grow up. I’m not going to university. You don’t need to go to university for everything, you know. I know Nan really wants me to go ‘cause Mum didn’t and neither did Dad and she doesn’t want me turning out like them, but you can turn out well even if you don’t go to university, can’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Jon says gravely. He casts an involuntary glance in the direction of the stairs, thinking of Martin. “One of my housemates didn’t go to university, and he’s one of the most brilliant people I know.”

“How many of you live here, anyway?”

“Just three of us.” Jon has no idea how much this child has seen and how many people he knows are in the house at the moment.

“Oh. There used to be three of us in my house, too.” The child scuffs a toe against the carpet just before they step into the kitchen. “And then there was going to be four, but Mum died and the baby did, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says softly, feeling a pang. “I grew up with my grandmother, too.”

The child looks up at Jon and smiles, in such a way that Jon can’t help but smile back. “And you turned out okay.”

“Debatable,” Jon says. He sets the casserole dish on the counter. “I’m Jon, by the way. Jonathan Sims.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Cane.” The child smiles up at him and hands over the basket. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Tell your grandmother we said thank you. I don’t know that any of us will have the energy to cook tonight. We’ll bring back the dishes tomorrow.”

“There’s no hurry. Nan doesn’t go anywhere.” Charlie flashes Jon a grin that’s missing two teeth, then turns and waves to the doorway. Jon glances up to see Martin, looking somewhere between worried and amused. “Hi! I’m Charlie Cane. Welcome to the neighborhood. Do you live here, too?”

“Um…yes. I’m Martin Blackwood. It’s…nice to meet you?” Martin raises an eyebrow at Jon.

“Charlie and his grandmother made us a casserole,” Jon says, gesturing at the counter. “And a cake.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” Martin smiles at Charlie and winks, although Jon doesn’t quite understand why.

“Welcome.” Charlie’s beaming smile could probably light the house for a week. “I’d best go before Nan thinks I’m doing something stupid again. See you later!”

He’s out the front door before Jon can respond, or even blink. He looks back to Martin, who isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Jon. We were just wondering if you were okay. You were gone for a while.”

Jon gestures vaguely at the front door. “I don’t think that child has many people to talk to. Or at least not many people who will listen to him.”

Martin snorts. “I think you’ve got yourself a new best friend.”

Jon almost wants to say something flippant like Just what I need, but thinking on it, he actually doesn’t mind all that much. “Considering how much I would have given to have an adult pay that kind of attention to me when I was his age, I think I can handle that.”

Martin reaches over and pulls Jon into a hug. Jon lets himself be comforted for a moment, then extricates himself gently and smiles. “Come on. Let’s see if the others are ready to eat.”

As it turns out, the others finished putting together the bed and even made it while Jon talked to Charlie, so they’re all too happy to come into the kitchen for a hearty meal. It’s exactly as cheese-laden as Charlie promised. Jon recounts his conversation, to general amusement, although something flickers briefly across Martin Prime’s face and Jon Prime shoots Jon an understanding and slightly frightened look when he repeats Charlie’s opening words. If anyone else notices, they give no sign of it.

Tim lets the music keep playing while they eat. Jon mostly tunes it out, no pun intended, and he rather suspects the others do too. But just as they’re scraping their plates clean—the food is delicious, and Tim declares he’s going to try and charm Charlie’s grandmother out of the recipe—Martin Prime suddenly tilts his head to one side, as if trying to catch a sound. A smile twitches at his lips, and he stands up and holds out a hand to Jon Prime. “May I?”

Jon Prime looks startled for a split-second, then smiles—no, grins—and places his hand in Martin Prime’s. He lets Martin Prime pull him away from the table and into his arms, and the two of them start slow-dancing.

Jon pauses, fork suspended over his plate, and watches them. Jon Prime lets Martin Prime lead him in a simple box step, one arm draped casually over Martin Prime’s shoulder, while Martin Prime’s hand rests firmly at his waist; their other fingers are laced together in a way that would make it difficult to telegraph intended moves if they didn’t—probably—know each other so well. The space between them is so little it’s a wonder they don’t constantly trip over each other’s feet, and before long their foreheads touch. The song is gentle and plaintive, encouragement from one partner to the other to trust and relax and allow the first to take care of the second, a promise that the second person won’t be considered weak or lesser if they allow themselves to be comforted.

I promise you’ll be safe here in my arms…

Martin Prime lifts his arm and spins Jon Prime around gently, and when Jon Prime comes back into the closed frame, he leans his head against the shoulder where his hand isn’t resting and closes his eyes. Martin Prime pulls him closer and rests his cheek alongside Jon Prime’s as they continue dancing. It’s one of the most intimate and romantic things Jon has ever seen, and he almost has to look away from it.

Almost. Not quite. Something keeps him drawn, and there’s a tiny part of Jon’s brain that suggests it probably isn’t just the pleasure at seeing someone who’s basically him safe and happy and in love mixed with the vague sense of longing for something like that—maybe not that exactly, but something like it. It may also be that watching the Primes slow dancing means he doesn’t have to look at anyone else.

The song plays itself out. Martin Prime turns his head slightly; Jon Prime turns his at the same time, and their lips meet gently in the middle. This time Jon does look away. He’s never quite been able to figure out how he feels about kissing, to be honest; it’s one of the things that sent his and Georgie’s relationship down in flames, was the fact that he always acted like you think I’ve got poison in my lip gloss, according to her. But he finds himself wondering for a moment what Martin’s lips would feel like against his, if they’d be as soft and warm as the rest of him. If it might make a difference to kiss Martin instead of Georgie, or Meredith, or Kelly. And that’s not a question he’s comfortable asking himself just then, let alone trying to answer.

The scrape of a chair breaks his attention, and he looks up to see the Primes sitting down like nothing happened, although they’re still holding hands. Tim clears his throat. “Who wants cake?”

The cake is, as promised, a bit of a mess—it looks like someone tried to tease out the blob created by the icing tip popping off with a toothpick or something, but the resultant design looks like the pictures someone showed Jon once of a web woven by a spider that had been fed caffeine, and the fact that the icing is bright red doesn’t help—but it is absolutely delicious.

Afterward, Tim and Jon store the leftovers while Martin and Sasha start on the dishes. Jon Prime glances at the kitchen clock and touches Martin Prime on the shoulder. “We should probably go. The later it gets, the more likely that…someone might cruise by the Institute, and I’d rather not risk that.”

Martin Prime squeezes Jon Prime’s hand gently, and Jon swallows on the sudden surge of nausea. They haven’t seen anything of Detective Tonner, and Basira didn’t say anything about her when she showed up last week to switch out the tapes, but the memory of the Primes’ faces when they stumbled back to Tim’s place to change and return his car is a hard one to shake. Even though Jon Prime swears he and Daisy eventually became friends, it’s the eventually that sticks out, and Jon isn’t sure what he’ll do if Daisy turns up at the Institute. It’s also obvious that the Primes are more afraid of her than they’re letting on.

Tim opens his mouth, probably to invite them to spend the night or something, but Sasha beats him to it. “Can you wait a few minutes? I’d rather not walk to the tube station by myself, if it comes to that, and I think you said there’s an entrance to the tunnels near there.”

Jon Prime frowns slightly. “I…don’t think I did, but there is.”

“We’ll walk with you, Sasha,” Martin Prime assures her.

Tim sighs theatrically. “I feel a little better, which is a relative statement not to be taken as approval.”

“Your objection is duly noted.” Sasha hands Martin a plate to dry.

All too soon, everything is cleaned up, just as the playlist comes to an end, and there’s really no way of stalling them further. There’s a round of hugs and see-you-Mondays, and then Sasha and the Primes head out the door, leaving Jon, Martin, and Tim alone in their new house.

It’s not that late, comparatively, so Jon suggests a card game. They’ve played most nights since Sasha went back to sleeping in her own flat; they’ve played a couple of games of Rummy or Go Fish, and Tim once tried to teach Jon and Martin a game he learned from his grandparents that uses a forty-card deck (Martin picked it up quickly, Jon did not), but most of the time they play Crazy Eights. Tim declares that they’re going to keep playing until either he or Jon or both manage to overtake Martin’s score, which is clearly going to be an impossible task, as he’s up by nearly a thousand points and consistently wins at least three or four games a night. Still, they give it a valiant effort. After Martin manages to go out while both Tim and Jon still have an eight each in their hand, though, they decide to call it quits for one night.

“Someday I’ll figure out how you keep doing that,” Jon says, shuffling the deck lightly before putting it back in the box.

Martin shrugs. “Practice, I guess? I used to play with my granddad a lot when I was younger. We kept a running total, too, and I think I was up three thousand points or so when he died.”

Tim gives a low whistle. “How old were you?”

“Nine. We’d been playing pretty regularly since I was five. At least one game every time I went to visit.”

Jon thinks back to the conversation he and Martin had in Tim’s kitchen the morning after Prentiss’s attack. “Is this the grandfather who had the cherry trees?”

“You remembered.” Martin looks pleased. “Yeah, he was my mum’s dad. I never met my dad’s family, that I remember anyway.” He pauses. “You, uh, you told Charlie you were raised by your grandmother. Was that…?”

Jon didn’t know Martin was there, but he’s kind of glad he doesn’t have to figure out how to bring it up. “My father’s mother. She was…formidable. My father died when I was two, from an accidental fall, and my mother died a couple years later. Surgery complications.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin says softly. “That must have been hard on you.”

“Harder on my grandmother, I think. I was barely old enough to remember them.” All Jon remembers of his father is his laugh, and he’s fairly certain that most of his memories of his mother come from his aunt.

Tim leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Is she still around? Your grandmother?”

Jon shakes his head. “She died just before I started working at the Institute. What about yours, Tim?”

“My dad’s dad is the only grandparent still around. I think.” Tim worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. “I’d like to think someone would call me if something happened, but I don’t know.”

Martin hums sympathetically. “Is he…in a home?”

“Not as far as I know. Last I heard, he was still living with my parents. Moved in when Granny died, just after I left for university.” Tim sighs. “We’re not…close. After Danny…”

Jon reaches over and touches Tim’s arm gently. “It must be hard on them, losing a son. No parent expects to outlive their child.”

“That’s just it. Mum refuses to believe he’s dead.” Tim smiles weakly. “No body, you know? Dad isn’t sure, but he also thinks I know more than I’ve told them. Grandfather all but accused me of having a hand in Danny’s disappearance.”

“What?” Jon blinks, shocked. “How could anyone think you’d—you would never.”

“I know, but…well, Dad’s family was always a bit conservative, blue collar and all that, and I’m…well, me. I think that’s why Dad encouraged my hiking and camping and all that. Hoped it would knock some ‘sense’ into me,” Tim says with a wry twist of his lips. “Once I came out as bi, though, I think they decided there was no hope left for me. It just got worse after Danny died.”

Martin’s expressive face closes down, and Jon’s stomach lurches. This is the most they’ve talked about their families in…ever, he thinks, but from the little bits of information Martin—and Martin Prime, for that matter—have let slip, Jon has formed a very unfavorable impression of Martin’s mother. He’s always kind of had a hazy idea that Tim’s family situation was better, especially after he heard the pride in his voice when he talked about Danny when giving his statement, and finding out that it wasn’t much better than theirs…

“How old were you?” he asks, not sure why. “When you—told them.”

“Seventeen. There was a guy I’d been seeing—nothing serious, really, but we had fun together—and we went out for Valentine’s Day. My parents were confused because they knew my girlfriend and I had just broken up before Christmas and I hadn’t mentioned another girl, so I told them about Steve.” Tim gets quiet for a second. “Mum cried. Dad just…told me to stop upsetting my mother and never brought it up again. Not until Grandfather started in on me.”

Jon swallows. “You’ve a great deal more courage than I have. I—I never admitted to my grandmother that I ever had any interest in boys, let alone dated one.”

“Only one? You’re missing out.” Tim’s grin is a pale echo of his usual one, but it is at least genuine. “How ‘bout you, Martin?”

“A few.” Martin relaxes with a visible effort that makes Jon’s heart ache. “Been out since I was fourteen. Mum reacted…about as well as she reacted any other time I told her something she didn’t like or did something she wasn’t expecting. I never brought anyone home to meet her or…really talked to her about my dating, and she only ever brought it up in relation to herself. Like saying it was a good thing there wasn’t any risk of me passing on any of my numerous undesirable traits to a helpless child.”

“I don’t think your mum understands what ‘bisexual’ means,” Tim points out.

“Probably not, but it doesn’t matter. I’m gay.” Martin grimaces. “I’m also ace, so no risk there anyway, but…”

Jon wants to say any child would be fortunate to count you as a father or I can’t think of a single undesirable trait about you, but what actually comes out is, “Ace?”

“Uh, asexual. It’s—I don’t…get attracted like that. Romance, sure, aesthetic stuff and all that, but not…” Martin gestures vaguely. “Tried it anyway, for a couple of guys I was with, but i-it didn’t go well.”

Jon’s world view shifts abruptly on its axis. Tim, though, looks suddenly worried. “Are you okay? They didn’t—”

“No, no,” Martin says quickly. “It wasn’t—I just don’t like it. That’s all.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Never bothered telling Mum that part. She wouldn’t…I’ve done enough damage.”

Tim pulls Martin into a quick one-armed hug, and Jon reaches across the table to squeeze his hand as gently as he can, but they change the subject after that.

They end up sitting up for a while in their new living room, relaxing. Tim props his feet up in the recliner and works on a crossword; Jon curls up at one end of the sofa with a book he’s been meaning to read for years that Jon Prime assures him he’ll love; Martin sits at the other end and knits. It about bowled Jon over completely when he learned that Martin made most of the sweaters he wears, but the sight and sound of him working away has become increasingly familiar in the last few weeks, especially after the Primes and the rest of the crew collaborated to get him an array of needles and knitting wool in all colors of the rainbow for his birthday. Jon usually finds the gentle clicking of the needles soothing, but tonight it’s just a hair distracting, and he keeps glancing up from the page to watch Martin’s fingers as they expertly manipulate the yarn or Tim tap the eraser of his pencil thoughtfully against his jaw while he contemplates an answer. He’s not even quite sure what he’s looking at.

Finally, Tim lays down his puzzle with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna turn in,” he says, sounding oddly reluctant. “Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna—” Martin works a couple more stitches and folds up his project. “Probably a good stopping place for tonight.”

Jon considers saying he’s going to stay in the living room and finish the chapter he’s on, but if he’s being completely honest, he’s been on the same page for however long it’s been and hasn’t taken in a single word. Silently, he slides the scrap of paper he’s currently using as a bookmark back between the pages and closes the book. “Well. Good night, then.”

“’Night, Jon.”

The bedrooms are all upstairs, two on one side and one on the other with the bathroom handy, and the three of them wish each other goodnight again before disappearing into their rooms. Jon closes the door and looks around the room, his room.

There’s not much to it, to be honest. A nightstand, a dresser, a battered desk he’s had since he was a child, a lamp and the bed. He sets the book on top of the desk and changes into his comfortable sleep clothes, then crawls into the bed and pulls the covers up over his shoulders.

It’s…odd. No, not odd. Jon can’t quite think of the right word for it. But the sheets feel unfamiliar against his skin, and they don’t smell right, either, probably because they’re new. The mattress that felt perfectly comfortable when he tested it out in the store doesn’t seem to afford the same comfort now, and he wonders if the floor model has simply had much of the stiffness tested out of it over time. Even the pillows, which he did retain from his old bedroom setup, seem determined to thwart his attempts to find a comfortable position.

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, arm draped over his midsection. He won’t fall asleep like this, he’s always been a side-sleeper, but his mind is a seething roil of emotions and he needs to get his thoughts under control before he can even have a hope of getting comfortable enough to sleep, he guesses.

Asexual. Jon probes at the word, at what it describes. I don’t get attracted like that. I just don’t like it. Honestly, until meeting Georgie, Jon had no idea that sort of attraction really existed; he thought it was just something out of the lurid romance novels his grandmother favored and he’d read once or twice in sheer desperation. It was something she’d wanted, though, so he’d tried a few times, but his efforts hadn’t satisfied her and he never really saw what all the fuss was about. He can take it or leave it, preferably the latter.

He never knew there was a word for it.

Suddenly, he wants to talk to Martin about it, about how he realized, how he knew. Where he found the word. If there are many more like—well, like them, he supposes. If that’s one of the reasons he was reluctant to tell Jon how he felt. He wants to ask about Martin’s experiences, if they were bad just because his body didn’t want them or for some other reason. A part of him also wants to cry from sheer relief. He isn’t broken. There’s nothing wrong with him. Well, not in that respect, anyway.

He sighs heavily and rolls onto his side again, plumping the pillows and curling one arm around them. They’re too flat, he thinks idly, too soft and yielding. Which is odd, because that’s never bothered him before. He can’t seem to get warm, either, which is also bizarre because it’s been an unusually mild day for late September and he’s under the duvet he’s had for years, which suddenly seems too light and insubstantial. The room is too quiet and still. It all feels…wrong, somehow.

Jon closes his eyes and stubbornly tries to force sleep, to no avail. The sense of wrongness pervades his being, curling through him and keeping him tethered to consciousness. He runs through the list of problems he seems to be having and tries to come up with which one might be keeping him awake. The only thing he can think of is the unfamiliar mattress. Everything else is exactly the way it was in his old flat.

And when was the last time you slept there? The thought hits him all of a sudden, and his eyes snap open. He forgot. The last time he slept in his apartment was the night before Jane Prentiss attacked the Institute. Ever since then, he’s been sleeping in Tim’s living room…or in Tim’s bed. With the others.

That’s all it is. He isn’t used to the silence of being alone. He’s not used to not knowing, right away, exactly where Tim and Martin are and if they’re safe. He’ll just go and check on them, see that they’re safe, and he’ll be able to get to sleep just fine.

He throws back the covers, slides his glasses back on, and heads into the hallway. Jon somehow ended up in the room by the bathroom, while Tim and Martin are on the other side of the hallway. Martin’s room is first, though, so Jon heads there. He’s as careful as he can be. Martin is probably asleep by now. He definitely seemed tired while they were still in the living room, and Jon wonders if he lingered because the other two were still sitting down there. It makes him feel slightly guilty, like he should have called it a night earlier so Martin can get some sleep. And after all, they did have a very emotionally draining conversation, which probably exhausted him as well. All that runs through Jon’s mind as he slowly, slowly eases the door open and peers around it to see into Martin’s room.

It’s sparsely furnished; nothing but a bed and one of those flimsy pop-up cloth jobs bisected into cubes, which is serving as his dresser. Martin’s laptop and phone sit on the floor, both connected to their chargers. The bed is mussed slightly and shows signs of having been occupied, but Jon’s heart rate accelerates when he looks at it. It’s empty.

There’s no sign of a struggle, he tells himself, and he heard nothing, so surely everything is fine. Martin’s probably just in the bathroom, or downstairs getting a glass of water or something. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Jon will just…go check on Tim and Tim will be fine and then he’ll go find Martin and make sure he’s fine and it…will…be…fine. He pulls the door closed and turns to Tim’s room.

The door is slightly ajar, and there’s a faint glow coming from the room. Jon hesitates, then taps lightly on the door three times before easing it open. Tim is sitting up on the bed, cross-legged and leaning forward slightly. And—Jon’s shoulders slump in relief—Martin is there, too, on the edge of the bed, one leg hanging off the side and the other tucked underneath him. They’re talking quietly, but both obviously exhausted. They look up at the sound of the door opening and watch Jon stand in the doorway. He opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what to say and closes it again.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Martin asks gently. The circles under his eyes are almost black.

“No,” Jon admits. “I—I just wanted to—” He breaks off, still not sure what to say.

Wordlessly, Tim holds out a hand. Jon lets the bedroom door shut behind him as he comes forward and takes it. Martin wraps an arm around him from behind, and the two of them pull Jon onto the bed and into a lying-down position. Tim rolls over and snaps off the lamp by his bed, then pulls the covers up over all three of them. Jon manages to reach down and snag the middle to help.

“Better,” Tim murmurs.

It’s not a question, but Jon hums in agreement anyway. Trying for levity, he says, “Shame to waste money on new beds, though.”

“We’ll be able to sleep there eventually,” Martin says. Jon only realizes how much stress was in his voice when it’s drastically lessened. “At some point we’ll probably want the space. But for now, there’s this.”

“For now, there’s this,” Jon agrees. He tilts his head back briefly to rest it against Martin’s shoulder, and Martin scoots in closer.

Tim does, too, the two of them sandwiching Jon securely between them. “Get some sleep,” he says. “It’ll be all right tomorrow.”

Jon yawns and closes his eyes, and it doesn’t really surprise him when he falls asleep straightaway. The nightmares are as present as ever, but in the morning, he can almost fool himself into believing they weren’t so bad.

Almost.

[shuatoyou]

one last summer - l.c

[day 38 of a tct summer collection]

✗ pairing; chan x reader

✗ genre; fluffy fluff and angsty angst :p

✗ wc; 3900

✗ summary; each day is spent counting down until the end of summer, you do this every year but this time around, its harder to watch the days go down knowing once the count hits zero, its time for him to go.

✗ song; pink skies by LANY <3 

✗ a/n; i cant believe this is my longest fic yet ?? i hope u guys like it !! i chose to write for chan kinda on a whim bcos i dont do that a lot and he is just the best angel ... also i thought i should involve a little bit of my signature angst for my first writing collab with my best friends if u wanna see amazing stuff click below to travel to . . .

A TCT SUMMER COLLECTION *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the alarm ringing at a time you would never find yourself awake during summer, it could only mean you had an important day to look forward to.

today was the beginning of the countdown to the last day of the last summer you had together.

“chan, wake up,” you mumble sleepily at the boy, who was in a deep sleep at the foot of your bed. he scrambled about for a second before going completely still. of course he was back asleep.

you groan at the sight of him cuddling into the blanket, even more in spite of your attempt to wake yourself up and him at the same time. although, it was cuter than you wanted to admit. perhaps your heart went slightly crazy... but that was another issue for another day. or never.

“fine don’t wake up loser, i’ll eat pancakes on my own.”

hearing that, he jumps straight up “i don’t think so.” he glares at you while you sit under the warm blankets amused at his reaction.. he sighs in defeat once he realises it was all a play for him to wake up. of course you wouldn’t indulge in a beautiful breakfast without him.

morning flies by, and before you know it noon comes around. the clock reads three pm and you’re both sprawled over the couch binging ‘a silent voice’ for the nth time. the entire movie makes you sad but after watching it so many times you become immune to the tears.

chan on the other hand, doesn't. like always he finds himself getting teary at the same scenes every time. perhaps that was one of the qualities you adored in him: he never hid how he felt even if he hated the teasing that came with it.

after deciding on a whim you didn’t want to waste the day inside, you switched off the tv and threw a box of tissues at the emotional boy.

“what was that for?” he whines, throwing the tissue box off him.

“wipe your tears. i wanna go out,” you smile cheekily before skipping off to get your shoes on, shortly followed by chan.

“we’re going out in sweats?” he questions, pointing at the lazy attire you had both become accustomed to everytime you were together.

you shrug, grabbing the keys off it’s special hanger. special because it was made by chan himself when you were both in the second grade and making matching key hangers for each other's houses was sentimental you could say. or as your parents said.

when you were both younger, they were convinced you two would grow up together and maybe get married in the future. the two of you became inseparable over a short amount of time - all because of the one day he offered you his juice carton after yours had been stolen by the class bully in the first grade. that was almost twelve years ago now and that same boy was still standing in front of you.

“what are you thinking about?” chan nudges you as the two of you walk down the same road to your usual frozen yoghurt place.

“just some stuff,” you shrug.

“like?”

“pre-school.”

he hums in response, and you take this as an indication to go on.

“our parents really dealt with our crazy friendship the daily playdates... imagine if we ended up how they wanted us to.” you smile fondly, the thought of it all was enough to plaster an expression on your face.

“don’t remind me, they would’ve married us the moment we turned 18 if we left it up to them.” he chuckles. “they think we were meant together”

“do you?” you retort.

“do i what?”

“think that?” you ask not facing him. you would rather not have him fully see the crimson building up on your cheeks.

“i don’t know, i guess. we've been friends for so long, i've never thought about it.”

you nod understandingly and walk the rest of the way in silence, a comfortable one at that. there was never anything else when the two of you were together.

maybe that’s why you didn’t want to let go yet.

“BEACH DAY!”

“ugh, do you seriously have to scream that down the entire hallway, y/n?”

“yes because it’s beach day!” you yell one more time, forcing a reaction out of him but your amusement quickly dies down after feeling the soft impact of your pillow in your face.

“heh”

chan proudly walks out the room leaving you dumbfounded but you quickly scramble back onto your feet and chase after the boy jumping on his back earning a grunt from the much taller male.

“you suck.” he groans

“be careful you are in my territory little boy” you snicker signalling to your house which had been the location of the endless sleepovers for the summer holidays.

“speaking of, i really should go back home and pick up some more of my stuff before we leave for the beach.” he mentions as he lets you down from his back and the two of you take your seats by the kitchen island.

“oh that’s fine, want me to come with you? i miss your mom anyways.”

“don’t you have your own beach bag to pack?” he asks, grabbing a plate which mimics his actions and starts piling up your plate with his favourite breakfast stuff before passing it over to him.

“i can do it later” you smile now making your own breakfast plate. chan looks down hesitating with it.

“nah it’s okay, i’ll be back quick anyways” he mumbles, picking at the food making you lift a brow without saying anything as you delve into your own happily.

he didn't want to upset you but the small little things you had been doing for him had been harder to let go of as time went by.

however it's not long before breakfast is over and chan waves a quick goodbye before leaving for his own home for the first time in ages. it was quite normal for the two of you to spend a large amount of time at one and others houses both families gave up in trying to send you two back to your respectable homes.

meanwhile you spent the time he was gone packing your own beach bag consisting of the usual tower, sunscreen and one of the disposable cameras you bought for summer memories documenting. chan had laughed at the big box that arrived at your house a month ago especially when you told him it was a box of eight disposable cameras.

“you have your phone plus a polaroid camera, why do you need disposable ones?” he asks curiously prodding at the box.

“these ones come out cuter don’t judge. plus i’ll give you one or two that we use during the many adventures for you to process and hang up the pictures in your new room” you look up at the boy hopefully as he sighs in defeat.

giving yourself a little round of applause you open up the box and immediately grab one of the cameras pulling chan closer to get a selfie.

“this one is to mark the start of our summer adventures documented by a disposable camera.”

shaking your head you pull yourself out of your daze right on time as the doorbell rings. you only assume it’s chan and you’re right as you open up the door to the boy with his hands filled.

you take one of the bags from his hand letting him into the house.

“what’s all this?” you ask curiously trying to look at the bags as best as you could through the little openings.

“extra clothes, stuff for the beach and snacks my dad brought back from japan for you. he said he forgot to give them the last time”

excitedly you rush over to the bag he held up to you, japanese snacks were one of your favourite and chan's father had made it a regular occurrence to always bring you back some after his long work trips away in osaka.

which was where the family would be moving by the end of summer hence why the two of you spent each day doing something new counting down the days till the moment he stepped onto a plane without you.

noticing the sad look on your face while you looked at the snacks longingly chan threw an arm around your shoulders.

“what’s with the look? come on we’ve got waves to catch y/n”

“i'm gonna miss you” you pout and his gaze softens pulling you away from the bags and into his embrace allowing you to relax in his arms for a bit. he thought this would happen one way or another but he only expected it when it was the last day.

“are you ready to go?” he whispers while rubbing your back and you almost wanted to say no just to be able to stay like this a little longer but nevertheless you pulled a way nodding beginning to walk over to the bags so you could put them away into the car.

the drive to the beach was only peaceful, which was normal when it came to you two. just endless music and comfortable silence but you knew the tension in the air would not decrease anytime soon due to the nature of this entire summer.

“will we still talk when you leave?” you blurt out, failing to face the boy currently sat in the driver's seat.

“why the sudden question?” his face evidently changed to the questioning look he’s always had when he was confused about something.

you shrug and he doesn’t question furthermore which you appreciated because it would’ve been tough having to explain the endless worries in your mind.

reaching forward for his phone you scroll through his playlists until you find the one song that the two of you often found comfort in when together or apart.

“we have seriously got to get over this song”

‘shut up, i love you’

you laugh at his statement but that doesnt stop the two of you from singing along to the lyrics like it was your own song. you occasionally turned to the other watching him nod along to the song, your heart was in pain. how could you let go of him so soon?

‘you're my best friend’

another morning, another day crossed off till chan had to leave by the end of summer. the thought of him leaving soon made your stomach churn to the point you wanted to scream. so many unexplained feelings and yet you had to act like everything was okay and making the last few memories this summer would be nothing. you had no energy to get out of bed and do anything today even if you knew that the day would just go to waste.

“so what are we doing today? making more memories?” chan asked right on point with your thoughts almost teasingly.

“you ask that as if i have no reason to do this.” you mumble turning away from the boy and nuzzling further into your blanket.

“there's still time before i leave y/n”

“not enough though, chan.” you finally turn back to him, frustrated that he couldn't understand why you were so keen on spending time with him.

“yeah but i don't want to do all this just for the sake of time, i want to do it because we both love spending time together. don't we?”

you nodded pitifully, struggling with the real reason why it was harder to get through summer. your feelings were a factor in it all but you couldn't find it in you to tell him.

“can we just spend today at yours?” you asked softly, scared if you raised your tone it might betray you somehow.

this time it was his turn to nod before moving closer to you, unsure of what he was going to do. you looked up at the boy who only brought you into his embrace once again, causing your heart to do countless backflips.

“you’ve been giving me a lot of hugs recently.”

“mind your own business”

you giggle, letting your breathing steady at the pace of his. your mind drifts to the fact somehow you only felt this way when he was the cause of it.

he couldn't help but smile to himself when you let go in his arms, allowing him to hold you, physical affection was never a common thing in your friendship.

‘i think our hearts are starting to show’

“let's get ready to leave, hm?” he spoke, almost in a whisper as you pulled away and met his eyes. they had that usual sparkle in them. the one you adored.

his house, you were always warmly welcomed by mrs lee who treated you like her own child, perhaps that's why you and chan’s friendship was able to last as long as it had, your families ordered each other as much as the two friends did.

“i was wondering when he would bring you around again, how’s summer been so far?” his mom asked as you took your seat on one of the island chairs like you usually would while chan went to grab a bottle of water for you and him.

“it's been okay” you smiled at the woman now sitting across from you with a kind smile waiting for you to continue. “we’ve just been chilling you know how it is.”

“has he confessed his undying love for you yet?”

“mom! what the hell?” chan exclaims in shock trying not to choke on his sip of water and you sit there stunned.

“i'm joking sweetheart” she reassures the two of you noticing the red on either of your faces, giving you a knowing smile before turning away which lingers on your mind slightly longer than you would have wanted.

it takes a moment for chan to calm down and when he does he drags you out of the kitchen to his game room hoping to get away from his mother's endless teasing.

“god, i'm sorry i hate when she does this.” he runs a hand through his hair expressing his frustration and you chuckle nervously.

“does she say this stuff all the time?” you wonder, taking your seat on chan’s gaming chair making him sit on the bean bags on the floor. but he doesn't seem to pay any attention to it while he recovers from the past events.

“sometimes, it's always stuff like when am i going to ask you out or confess or something crazy you know?” he explains, fanning himself.

something crazy… the words stung momentarily as you thought about anything happening between you guys would be crazy to him. nothing would happen anyways, not now.

he shakes his head while walking over to plug in his monitor, “my mom truly believes we’ll end up dating.” he laughs to himself but you only go red at his statement, turning around on the gaming chair dangling your legs trying to distract yourself.

he frowns at the way you turn around but does not question it any further, instead, he picks up two of his game controllers and puts one in front of you before settling back down into the beanbag.

“what are we playing?” you ask finally turning back around

“mario kart?” he states more like a question though and you agree, leaving the gaming chair to sit beside him on one of the other beanbags.

you couldn't help but think how much you were going to miss this, zoning out as you think of the last time you two played.

“if i win, you have to fulfil one of my wishes, and if you win then… whatever you want.” chan writes it all down on paper kind of like a mock contract and you laugh as he slides it over to you to sign.

“please don't wish for anything crazy or expensive” you beg jokingly.

the only response you get from the boy is a simple wink which directly sends the butterflies into your stomach like every other time he does something.

you guys start your game and immediately the tension rises as the two of you compete for first class, occasionally nudging each other to throw the other off.

“i am going to win this, i promise you.”

your words lose all meaning as the big number two appears beside your character and you huff, mad at the fact you lost to chan once again who had managed to secure first place. it was frustrating how good the boy was at this game.

“what was that?” he lifted his hand to cup his ear teasingly waiting for you to repeat your previous statement.

you shove him away from you and cross your arms still salty at the loss.

“i think i choose to use my wish now.” he looked at you now.

“fine, what is it lee chan?” you kept your arms crossed as you also turned your body to face him.

“i’d like a kiss.”

you never expected to kiss him that night, and even if it didn't make things too awkward afterwards it only made you sure of the feelings that grew for the boy.

“wanna make a bet if one of us wins?”

you look at the boy stunned at his suggestion.

“did you forget what happened last time?” you ask fiddling with your fingers.

“yeah we kissed, no big deal right?” he turned away to turn on the game and you sat with your face evident with disbelief.

“really? no big deal?”

“huh?” he looks at you, puzzled.

“friends dont just kiss…” you try your best to explain but it felt like it was going over his head from the way he looked at you with so much confusion.

standing up, you unwantedly raise your voice “all summer you keep filling your head up with these things like we can never date and all of that rubbish after we literally kissed not so long ago, does that not mean anything to you?”

“it wouldn't matter anyways, i'm leaving. i’ll be gone soon.”

“that doesn't mean we won't stop talking. you said so yourself.” you fretted with a pleading look.

he looks at you saying nothing and you can only scoff feeling all the blood rush up to your head in anger before opening the door to leave. staying would only make things worse and you knew he wouldn't try and resolve anything if you did.

“where are you going?” he calls out as you’re about to go down the stairs with tears of frustration filling up your eyes.

turning around, you respond quietly to the boy, “is that all you’re going to ask?”

“what do you want me to say, y/n?”

you laugh in disbelief and struggle to keep yourself from choking out any tears, “i’ll give you time to think about it.”

with that you make sure to compose yourself enough to wave at mrs lee with a big smile by the time you’re down the stairs and she responds with a pitiful one, she most likely had heard you both. letting yourself out, you also let out the breath you’d been holding, leaving your childhood best friend all alone for the first time this summer.

walking home all alone was the worst part because your overwhelming emotions would not stay inside of you causing you to spill every sadness filled tear onto the pavements you walked on.

you made your way inside your house and without greeting your parents you locked yourself away to wallow in your sorrows for that entire weekend occasionally letting your mom in to comfort you without telling her the reason to your sadness unaware that at one point your parents worriedly notified chan you weren't feeling good sometime, it was only till you heard your mom softly knock on your door to tell you the said boy was waiting for you downstairs.

your heart wouldn't quit racing in your chest as you opened the door to her soft eyes begging you to talk to him after realising whatever happened was something to do with him. so you follow her downstairs, making your way into the living room where chan was sitting uncomfortably on the couch hoping for you to show yourself. you walked as slowly and quietly as you could trying not to notify him of your presence but that didn't work when you heard his voice call out your name making you shut your eyes tight in pain.

“i know you’re there y/n please talk to me”

freezing on the spot you decided not to go further into the room in fear of bursting into a sob at the sight of him. so you sit on the floor behind the wall separating you two.

“im listening.” you call out as quietly as possible.

“i'm assuming you’re not going to come in, that's okay.” he nods to particularly no one, perhaps himself.

it was silent as chan inhaled deeply, thinking about how what he was going to say would change things.

the atmosphere got more awkward by the second which was a new feeling for the both of you, never once had there been such a moment together.

“i'm sorry”

“i’m sorry we never sat down to talk about our feelings much lately. i feel like everythings been about me and the fact i'm…” he stopped mid sentence he was hesitating although it was inevitable one way or another you would be hearing this out loud again.

“i'm leaving y/n and i don't want to leave without telling you that you do mean more to me than just a best friend.”

your eyes widened in shock as you stood up hoping to run away from this situation but chan was one step ahead of you as he held onto your wrist, a gentle but burning touch that pulled you back towards him.

“maybe i'm too late but i'd like you to know later than never. so please say something?” he pleads, searching your eyes for some sort of a non verbal answer while waiting for you to speak up.

“you’re leaving next week… good luck.” you whisper, straining your voice enough so it wouldn't break. “im sorry too.” you pull out from his grip and walk off to your room without making eye contact with your mom who stood by the staircase with a pitiful look, all meant for you and the boy you left standing alone in your own house.

and when he left you knew that was the last time you’d see him.

“chan? you’re home quite early. how was y/n’s?”

he looked at his dad with a blank expression and shrugged his shoulders, his mom hadn't told him she saw y/n leave upset.

“it's going to be tough but i hope you’re both ready to say your goodbyes soon,” he smiled, giving his son a pat on the back.

if only it was like that and if only he could go back to reverse all the stupid things he said.

the blank feeling burdened you also as you caught a glimpse of the photos you had already gotten processed from your disposable camera.

letting go now would make it easier for the two of you when the time came though in your heart he would still be the most important person for a while until he wasn't. maybe in another world something would be different so the two of you wouldn't be where you are right now, instead in a much happier place.

perhaps in that happier place you would’ve said goodbye…

[rebel-without-cause-x]

Restoration

Jax Teller x Daughter Reader

This wasn’t requested but had an idea when “Bad Husband” by eminem came on my playlist the other day, there will be a part 2 to this as well. 

Part two

SOA Tag List:  @chibsytelford​ @talicat713​ @corebore123​ @nothingeverdies​ @teapartydreams​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @khyharah​ @itmejado​ @woahitslucyylu​ @beth-winchester21​ @minnicelli​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @trulysuccubus​

“You gonna actually behave for your father this week?” You mum asked as you packed your bag.

“Maybe, depends if he pisses me off or not” you shrugged.

The thing was your mum and dad split about 4 years ago, a year after Abel was born. They had you at a young age, at 15 to be precise, you was now 18 and had seen their relationship completely fall apart, you saw how he treated your mum towards the end of the relationship and you hated it, you hated how he made your mum feel, how you saw the whole thing. However you were grateful Abel was still too young to understand what was going on.

“Y/N please, I know you don’t get along with him but he is your dad at the end of the day” mum sighed.

“Not gonna change my opinion on him” you laughed.

Even though your parents weren’t together anymore they never actually filed for a divorce.

“Just try” mum said placing her hand on your shoulder “for Abel at least, it’s hard enough on him as it is”

“And it’s not hard for me mum” you spat “try going through school where everyone is obsessed with the sons, constantly badgering me about them, about dad, asking if the fucking rumours are true”

You knew that your mum wasn’t completely innocent in the whole relationship break down. So you had an attitude with them both.

The drive to Teller-Morrow was silent, neither you or your mum spoke because you were your father's daughter at the end of day, your mum always said it was like having a female Jax in the house, the way you held yourself, your attitude, your temper. So no words were spoken just for Abel’s sake, he didn’t need to see his sister and mum biting each other’s heads off.

Climbing out of the car, you grabbed your bag from the boot, before wandering off to find your uncles, at least you had a good relationship with them, it was just the relationship with your dad that was rocky.

You didn’t get it, he was such a good father to Abel, but with you it was a different story, one of his biggest regrets was you seeing the breakdown happen, all the arguments that happened when you were younger. Since then you saw the man that you once saw as your hero as the bad guy.

“Hey kiddo” Jax grinned, opening his arms to you.

“Whatever dad” you huffed walking by him, dumping your bag on the picnic bench before placing a cigarette in your mouth.

“She’s in a mood, sorry Jax” you heard mum say, making you roll your eyes. “Give her a couple of days and she should calm down”

“She’s so much like me it’s scary” he sighed as he watched you laugh with Tig and Happy.

“If you're gonna talk about me can you at least go somewhere where I can’t bloody hear you” you snapped not looking at them.

Jax knew that with both his kids being here with him for the week, he was going to try his hardest to mend the bridges that had once been burnt. He wanted nothing more than getting his little girl back.

“I will speak with her” Jax nodded as he took Abel into his arms, who was grinning at the sight of his daddy.

At least one of his kids didn’t hate him.

However he had a plan, he knew you loved bikes, so he had one sat in the garage waiting to be restored and he was hoping it was something you could do together and then he could teach you to ride. He knew it wouldn’t magically fix the relationship but at least it would give you a memory that wasn’t bad.

Your mum had now left, which meant you were stuck with your dad for the next week, no doubt it would be a week of you looking after Abel, it always was when you were here, the club came before you. It always had and always would.

“Table in 5” Jax shouted as he walked into the club, he didn’t miss the eye roll that came from you, he knew what you thought, you had only been here 10 minutes and he was putting the club before you. But this time would be different.

“Okay so everyone knows my relationship with Y/N is very much on the rocks right now” Jax sighed running his hand over his face. “And I know it’s my fault and I want to fix that, so this week I only want to be involved in club business if the shit has hit the fan. Anything else speak to Chibs, I need to fix things with my little girl before it is too late”

Everyone nodded, they knew how much Jax loved you, you was his first born at the end of the day and it killed him knowing that you hated him.

“Anything we can do to help we are here” Happy nodded.

“Thanks Hap but this is something I need to do on my own, I created this mess so I need to fix it” Jax sighed “If it can be fixed”

It was now Wednesday and Jax still hadn’t made any progress, the bike lay untouched in the garage, and you hadn’t spoken more than a few words a day to him.

“Uncle Hap am I being a bitch?” You sighed looking up at him as you lit a smoke.

“Honestly kiddo, I know where you are coming from but he is the only dad you are gonna get” Happy said placing his hand on yours. “I know the reasons you have for hating Jax but he misses his little girl, I’m not saying forgive him straight away but stop shutting him out”

“I miss my dad” you sighed “but you didn’t hear me say that”

“My lips are sealed” Happy nodded “you know he took a step back from the club this week to spend time with you and Abel”

“I didn’t know” you sighed running your hand over your face.

“I think he wants to restore a bike or something with you” Hap smiled kissing your head “he’s in the garage”

Trudging into the garage with your head hung low, you felt guilty about how you went off at dad this morning.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled, not looking up.

You heard him sigh and his footsteps getting closer to you.

Talk about irony, the radio had started playing bad husband, scoffing as dad placed his hand on your shoulder.

You can be a liar and a good father A good dad, but a bad husband

“Guess the song is 90% right” you sighed “you are a good father to Abel at least”

“Hey look at me kiddo” Dad said lifting your chin. “My biggest regret in life was letting you see all the fights between me and your mum. I know that has done so much damage to our relationship but I never stopped loving your or your mum okay”

You stayed silent, you didn’t know what to say.

Forever be a hero in my eyes, But there's always another side. To a good father. A great dad, but a bad husband

“Look me and your mum still love each other and we probably always will” he sighed “we just don’t work well together okay but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you”

All I want is for us not to hurt. And it's been an exhaustive search to find the words

The song was basically saying everything you couldn’t.

But I'm not so sure how to close this. I just don't know how some people can be so good At one thing and so fucked at a whole 'nother, shit, it's no wonder

You both just stood there not saying a word as Jax pulled you into his arms holding you tight.

“I’m not saying we have to go back to being as close as we once were but I want a chance, a chance to mend the bridges I burnt, I want to be in your life and not as someone you hate” Jax whispered.

Nodding your head, you sniffed as a tear fell down your cheek, this was the most you had talked in a year. All you wanted to hear over the past year was that your dad still loved you.

“You don’t have to say anything yet sweetheart” dad whispered kissing your head “now what do you say to helping your old man fix this bike up and then I would like it if you let your old man teach you how to ride”

“I’d like that” you mumbled.

The next few days flew by and your mum had arrived to pick you and Abel up. Pushing yourself off the bench you walked over to her with a slight smile on your face.

“Come on, let's get you home” mum said.

Glancing over to your dad you smiled softly before turning back to your mum.

“Actually mum, I think I’m gonna stick around here a bit longer” you nodded feeling Jax place his hand on your shoulder squeezing it softly. “I wanna stay with dad, we still have a bike to finish”

[animatedminds]

Pixar’s Soul: Review and Reaction

The first sentence I’ve always used to describe Pete Docter and Pixar’s Soul since watching it has nothing to do with the plot. It’s instead is a starstruck comment about the music: the movie begins with a cover of a Duke Ellington classic - Mercer Ellington’s “Things Ain’t What they Used to Be.” It ends with a jazz rendition of a classic from several decades later - but still quite a bit in our past - Curtis Mayfield’s soul classic “It’s Alright.” On a personal level, this would say way more about Soul that most other descriptions of it might to get me to watch it - were I not the kind of person who was absolutely intent on watching the movie day one regardless. Though I am myself a few generations after either of those artists were around, their music has been a part of my life since I was a kid and are essential on any playlist in my opinion. Curtis Mayfield’s music, especially, deserves all the love in the world, and hearing by surprise someone cover his work in a Disney movie made my entire day - and it would have, even if the film weren’t the meaningful ride it is.

But before we get into all that, lets also look at those songs. “Things Aren’t What They Used To Be” is played a la a teacher and a higher school band class: the students are learning and a bit difficult to listen to, while the music-loving teacher cringes at the front. But the choice of song tells us a lot. It’s a jazz standard: which means when it comes to jazz, it’s one of the essentials - a tune every band learns to play, and every jazz fan has heard before. The teacher is a jazzman - you can probably guess who - and the whole time he’s listening to the song you can hear him wanting to sit down and make it sound as perfectly as he hears it in his head. Remember that analogy. Heck, when you watch or rewatch the movie, remember the mindset Joe - because that’s who that teacher is, Joe Gardner, is in for that whole teaching scene in the first place: and remember how important the desire to make things perfect is to the greater story the movie is trying to tell.

“Things Aren’t The Way They Used To Be,” indeed. By the end, you have to wonder: isn’t that the point? Now the second song. “It’s All Right” is a smooth number for dancing to - not frenetic and wild dancing, but more a slow jam sort of vibe. BUt it’s the lyrics that are the most befitting the themes of the movie. Like several of Curtis Mayfield’s tunes “It’s All Right” is an ear worm of an R&B number that’s actually about being a peace with yourself. “You’ve got soul” - ha, I get it - “and everybody knows, that it’s all right.” Or, to quote instead my favorite verse of the song (I did say Mayfield was one of my favorites): “when you wake up early in the morning feeling sad like so many of us do, hum a little soul, make life your goal, and surely something’s gonna come to you.” This is before the spoilery part of the review, but they could not have picked a better song for the movie’s themes if they wrote it themselves.

Soul, after all, is ultimately a movie about how the things we do, the things we love, even the things that define us and should make us feel good in and of themselves, can become a shackle that prevents us from feeling the things that we adopt them to feel. Dreams - especially dreams deferred - can consume us rather than uplift us, and sometimes in pursuing them we may forget to live, and forget that others are living in this world and dreaming alongside us.

This, as you might be able to tell from the way I’ve described it, is a movie with a very strong, and most importantly very well related message that - as we’ve come to expect from Pixar’s output at this point - touches us in our jaded adult hearts. As a creative person with lofty dreams who has almost literally been where the protagonist is in this film - and as many in my generation also have gone through - it definitely feels like a film that was directed straight at the generation that first watched Toy Story as kids decades ago, and now feel somewhat unfulfilled as adults going into the world. Same as Inside Out (a movie specifically designed to make adults cry, in my opinion), the SparkShorts and arguably Onward (I definitely related to Bailey, some). So much like my review of Jingle Jangle, you have something of an idea where this review is going to go before the jump, but that’s okay. This movie did have ups and downs, but its just the kind of up Pixar is good at: they know they’re audience, and especially did for this gem. By the end, it can definitely make you feel as though you too can make it through, as long as you have a little Soul. However, it is not just the message, but the nuances and skill in which they relate that message (and they do come close to making decisions that could have ruined it, at times), which means it’s very difficult for me to put why this movie works into a review without SPOILERS. If you want to avoid SPOILERS, don’t hop over the pic and instead treat the above as your non-SPOILER review.

Soul is the story of one Joe Gardner, played by Jamie Foxx a brilliant early middle-aged pianist with lifelong dreams of becoming a jazz musician, who we first meet teaching part time band at a local high school. The inciting incident is an interesting choice: Joe gets a major offer - he can come on as a full time teacher, making his occupation a career! But Joe believes very much in the adage that “those who cannot do, teach” - in the sense that he wants to do. He cannot accept the position - over the advice of his mother - because that would mean giving up on his dream of being out there playing music for a living: a dream that has consumed him his entire life but which has given him nothing in return. Until now. While agonizing over the decision to take the position, Joe's life then gets a big twist: a former student of his, remembering him fondly years after they knew each other, has a hook for him to join the band of a famous jazz singer and saxophonist - played by Angela Basset (side note, here: jazz has long had a reputation for being something of a boys club, especially for certain instruments, and the choice to have the lead saxophonist and famous idol whose band Joe wants to join be a woman is a great choice that my entire jazz-loving and living family took note of). Joe is instantly elated - he rushes over and naturally aces the audition for the part in the band, and so is on cloud nine...

Until he dies. That’s when the plot really starts. Joe falls down a manhole like an astronomer in an aesop fable, and is now stuck on the slow escalator to The Great Beyond. Naturally, he’s not for that and tries to escape - pursued by overeager spiritual soul-accountant Terry - ending up in the Great Before instead, and leaving his body in a still-living coma (the implications that coma patients in general are people who are choosing not to die when they’re “supposed” to is something I’m sure the writers didn’t intend, so I’ll let it slide). There, Joe is pressganged into mentoring a pre-prepared soul for birth, helping them find their Spark for life - which Joe interprets as the one true purpose and dream they are meant to fulfill. Once he gets them their Spark, he will be able to steal a badge his mentee earns as fully fledged souls and . Luckily for his intended very morally suspect intent on spiritual larceny, he ends up with Soul #22 - and that’s #22 out of hundreds of billions - a soul who has simply never found a Spark despite having been in the Great Before for thousands of years. #22 doesn’t want to live, so she agrees to give him her patch when they’re done. But no mentor before has been able to inspire her (well, technically #22 is genderless, as she demonstrates in the story at Joe’s request, but she is voiced by Tina Fey), so how can Joe? When that proves to be too hard indeed, #22 instead decides to help Joe get back - mostly because she’s intrigued at why anyone would want to cling to life so badly - with the help of some mystics who astral project while in the Zone: where everyone goes when they’re fully immersed in what they do. This almost works, but at the last second everything goes awry: #22 gets mixed up with Joe when he returns, and so he doesn’t quite get back the way he wants to...

That’s enough plot summary for now. That’s all just the set-up anyway, for the choices in writing and concept that I’m about to talk about. As you might have been able to tell from that ominous last note, the middle chunk of Soul - almost right up until the climax, in fact - is actually a body-swap movie, a la Freaky Friday. #22 ends up in Joe’s body, so he has to get her to do the things he needs to get ready for his gig and get through the day while they wait for the mystic to bring a way to set everything right. And did I mention he’s in the body of a cat? Having been following the movie, this wasn’t entirely a surprise, but it was still not something I was entirely ready for coming in. I tend to shy away from that kind of story on a personal level, as body-swap narratives are nearly predominantly based on cringe moments and awkward misconceptions - and that sort of thing usually tends to make me want to leave the scene in question and get a cup of water until after the awkwardness passes. However, this isn’t really part of the review in the sense that I perceive that the movie being in that genre is a flaw - because ultimately that’s just an aspect of my personal taste. Rather, I use it to show just how strong a movie Soul was and how well its narrative choices resonated with its themes that ultimately while it did indeed partake in your typical body-swap narrative cringe moments - “look, the [redacted] in Joe’s body just ran into his boss / mom!” / “look, the [redacted] is having a bizarre conversation with Joe’s friends!” / etc - those moments actually add to the narrative rather than take you out of it. Joe as “friends,” as exemplified by the barber he goes to to get his hair ready for the gig when it inevitably gets ruined in a bout of hijinks (the barber being that extremely well-designed bearded character the internet went wild over). He goes to that barber all the time, talks with him constantly, and believes he knows him well. But it turns out that Joe’s so wrapped up in his wants and desires that he’s never even asked him about his life - he just assumed that the barber was like him, born to do that one thing he was good at. It takes #22′s innocent, slightly off-kilter and occasional philosophical questions about what the heck all this “life” stuff is about for Joe to learn that this person in his life didn’t even want to be where he ended up initially, he ended up there because that’s the way his life turned, but he loves it because it’s life and he appreciates the world he’s come to create around himself. Likewise, he runs into his mom, but while Joe has come to expect his mother to be dismissive of him and his dreams, it takes an accident with #22 for him to realize that he’s been so caught up in his desires and her in her preconceptions that neither of them have ever had a real talk about their relationship, nor given a chance to grow in each other’s eyes. You might notice a trend. One of Joe’s students - a brilliant trombonist - comes to tell him she’s quitting band, but she doesn’t really. She’s just insecure because the other students make fun of her. Joe knows this already - it’s become commonplace to him - so the doesn’t feel the need to do anything about it and instead focuses on his own needs. But #22 decides to talk to her on a whim, and this push and pull of insecurity but joy in what one is good at fascinates her, while it bores Joe. While - like any other New Yorker - public transit is a chore to Joe, the melting pot of people and music draws #22 in: best evidenced by the moment where Joe and #22 meet another great musician playing for tips in the subway. Joe, despite being capable of relating as a musician, just walks past him after appreciating the sound for a sec, while #22, entranced by the things people do, leaves something for him. The world is drab and lacking in vibrancy from Joe’s point of view, as evidenced by the very accurate grimy look of the high school he work at - but from #22′s seemingly jaded eyes seeing it for the first time, it’s full of wonder.

This actually creates an interesting character contrast on top of the one we already know: Joe is the idealist, and #22 is the cynic... right? Well, it turns out Joe doesn’t have much of an appreciation for the world around him - not intentionally, but still to a very strong degree - whereas #22 simply hasn’t had the chance to experience life yet and thus never knew what it was that made people want to be part of it. Life itself becomes her Spark, though neither of them realize it at the time. Lets just get the aesop out of the way now. Your dream is not your life: that’s what Soul wants to say. Things that compel you as a person may consume you, even embitter you, and prevent you from seeing the world around you for what it is. But that doesn’t make dreams a bad thing: people everywhere find that Spark from the dreams to keep moving forward - it’s just that it shouldn’t preclude living, nor should living preclude your dreams. Life is a delicate balance, and man is this movie serving up some complicated life lessons here. I immediately took this as a far more mature take on the message The Princess and the Frog stumbled somewhat through years ago (man, I’m turning out to be pretty hard on that movie in this blog). My biggest issue with PATF is that it tells us that Tiana should be less intent on her dream and find love instead, but doesn’t show us. It’s just characters chiding her for not settling down until the plot ultimately pushes a man in front of her and she realizes she should’ve been finding one all along. That’s a very harsh way of putting it, but it condenses what I’m trying to say: ultimately PATF pushes Tiana to realizations she doesn’t seem to need, whereas Soul has a similar message about life and does so by focusing on character development, about how the protagonist doesn’t have as firm a handle on his life as he thought, and thus brings us a take on the lesson that’s far less cut and dry.

If you’re a fan of The Incredibles, the comparison to Mr. Incredible is fairly easy. Joe, though well meaning and decent overall, is a very self-centered person who happens to be so for very sympathetic and relatable reasons. He just wants to do the thing he feels he was born to. He'll do anything to get back to life and do that thing, even for a single night. He’s consumed by this desire so much that he's oblivious to the people around him, unable to connect to the people he loves, and unable to find joy in anything but his dream. And man, as a young writer who knows in their heart of hearts they can do great things and feels pain at the idea of not doing so, that hits different let me tell you.

The lessons Joe learns from #22 even stick. It turns out that part of what caused Joe’s dream to fail all those time was because of that lack of connection with life. He never presented himself in a way that got people to take notice of him, he never pushed for that position he wanted even though people said no, he never made himself and his life so vibrant that he glowed in the eyes of others (and again, that hits different). That’s maybe the most simplistic message of the bunch, but as a person in the creative field it’s true that sometimes being the smartest person in the room isn’t enough: it’s making himself shine that ultimately clinches Joe the gig even after he almost lost it thanks to the day’s shenanigans.

But in the end, it doesn’t feel like he thought he would.

Remember when I said there are parts where the movie comes perilously close to kiboshing its message? That moment is one, it’s the one. Not that that moment is bad - far from it, it’s the best moment in the entire movie (and you can fight me on that if you want to). It’s because it’s the crossroads, the pin, the core of the entire film: depending on the choice they made after that point, that moment could have either been the best moment in the entire movie, or the moment that toppled everything.

The realization of Joe’s dream doesn’t feel like the explosion of confetti and catharsis that he expected. It was just another moment of his life, a great one, but it’s still just part of his life. So what does Joe do? Does he panic? Does he keep going until it feels good? Does he - as he would in a lesser movie trying to give a cookie cutter aesop - immediately quit and realize he should’ve been teaching all along? No, he does none of those things. He absorbs the moment. He realizes that at the end of the dream you’re still just living life, and that you have to appreciate that. Joe isn’t wrong for pursuit of his dream. He’s not wrong for believing that hopes and dreams make life so much more worthwhile. He’s wrong in thinking that those dreams are all that define us, and that their realization is all that makes people themselves worthwhile at all.

And in the end - though I may be getting a bit too referential for this - the unexamined life is just so much less fulfilling than the alternative.

And all that a message and a half! It hits different. It’s mature as all heck. It’s something people my age (especially in my generation), twice my age, half my age never learn. It’s a callsign that sometimes Pixar is still make movies for the people who were kids way back when Toy Story was released, and are now insecure adults wondering why the world isn’t as wonderful as they saw on the screen. It’s brilliant. I said before that Joe interprets the “Spark” to be one’s purpose in life. The one thing that makes them who they are, that they are on the planet to do. He is wrong, absolutely and utterly. And in that misconception, when #22 finally does get their Spark just from being on Earth and seeing what its life, he accuses them of leeching self-actualization over his own personal ambitions, fully believing that they didn’t find a “purpose" on her own, but just copied his. But the Spark, as it turns out, is just the joy of living, the thing that makes people want to live. It can come from a dream, or just from watching the beauty of the sun set over a leaf drifting in the wind. Only in understanding this can Joe finally understand what he’s been missing in life, only then can he reconcile with #22 and help her finally be born, only then can he walk into the world and know how he’s going to live it.

We never find out what Joe decides, whether he goes back to teaching, or continues with the band. The choice is open to him, but we never find out which one he takes - another choice that keeps the aesop from falling apart. The point of all of that wasn’t that Joe has to do one thing or another to be happy, it was that Joe needs to be happy and secure in himself before he chooses what his life should be. Either of those could make him happy. Neither of those could. But now he’s in a much better place to see it, and do what he can.

We also never find out what #22 is like when she (or he, etc) is born. The two of them never meet past the point where #22 goes to Earth. Their time together has passed, and #22′s life is now their own. And that’s a great choice either. I’ve seen the occasional person feel that the choice made in this paragraph or noted in the previous one made the story confusing, but they’re ultimately what make the story what it is. The answer isn’t the necessity of resolution, its the reaffirmation of the journey. It reminds me somewhat of Wreck-It Ralph (an example of the main Disney Studio delivering a complex aesop, rather Pixar delivering them all), where being a villain wasn’t Ralph’s problem - it was that he wasn’t happy doing the thing he loved. You have to live, from living you will learn, and from learning you will do. The sheer incredible execution of this message (as you may have guessed, it’s a fairly difficult one to relay adequately in a film narrative, and the movie goes non-traditional in conclusion to maintain it) would have made this film a recommend for me even if it wasn't also beautifully animated, very well acted, funny (there’s a Knicks joke that floored me), heartwarming and relatable. But it’s also all of those things, so I have to recommend it twice as much. It is, regrettably, another movie with a black lead where the lead spends most of it transfigured into a form that’s not a black person (a soul, and then a cat), and I’ve already seen some grumbling that instead for much of it a character explicitly coded as a white woman is in his body instead, but I perceive that as an issue that’s endemic to the industry than a fault in this movie specifically. Everyone does that, but this is the only movie I’ve seen where doing that is an essential part of how the narrative develops the characters (Joe has to not be himself in order to understand his life from an outside perspective, a la Scrooge as a ghost watching his own history), and so I don’t scorn the movie for it. I, however, would very much like Hollywood to start doing that less, and - hey - as a prospective writer that’s one of those things I plan to do my part to combat. This movie, however, gets a pass in my book in ways that the general usage of this concept does not. In short, you should see it. If you get the chance to see it right now, you should take it to feel good at the end of this incredibly insane year. If you don’t want to have to sign up for Disney+ to see it now, I get you and understand, but if you get a chance to see it later do not pass it up. It’s one of the few movies I’ve watched that are an instant buy when it becomes available on digital - and the last time a movie did that for me was BlacKKKlansman. Whatever you choose to do, do it well. Keep the spirit alive, always keep searching for the real you - because it’s not always easy to find, but it’s worth looking for - and always remember that you could always have a little soul.

[violetsbaudelaire-archive]

Title: The Cloud That Took the Form of a Demon In My View - Chapter One 

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

Relationships: Background Julie Molina/Luke Patterson

Summary: After the death of her mother and the demonic possession of her father, Julie Molina hunts the supernatural with her best friend Flynn. She pursues a nomadic life until a string of suspicious bathtub electrocutions draws her back home to hunt down a ghost. (Supernatural AU)

It had been a 13-month search and nothing had come of it. Nothing pertaining to the being Julie and Flynn were looking for. They had found and removed varying other supernatural beings but not their target, a demon whose name neither girl knew. Julie was sitting at a desk in a cheap hotel, one of many in the months that had passed. She was looking at the odd happenings around the country as she always did hoping to find a lead on their demon. Where one odd occurrence happened, another wasn’t too far behind and demons usually loved to get into trouble. Flynn had gone out to buy fast food breakfast and hadn’t come back yet. It wasn’t long enough to worry most people but it worried Julie. She tried to logic her way out of worry as she scrolled. There’s probably a long line. There’s always a long line to get coffee before work.

Just as she repeated those thoughts to herself again, she found an article. To most, it could be ruled off as an accidental bathtub electrocution. The problem was this was the third this week, all in the same city: her hometown, Los Angeles. She sighed and minimized the page. They were close to Arizona, a little while from LA but they had no intentions of returning. At least, not until the demon inhabiting her father’s body could be found. If the demon even still had it, Julie thought to herself macabrely. She shook it off. Her dad was still alive, full of demon or not. 

The door swung open and caused Julie to jump out of her skin. Her hand instinctively flew to the cross necklace she had started wearing with her other jewelry since her dad’s possession. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Flynn said, balancing a bag of food and a cup holder in her hands, “There was a long line at McDonalds.” 

Julie dropped her hand. 

“Are you okay?” Flynn asked when she saw her friend’s face. She put the food on the table and came closer to Julie. “Was there something in here?” 

Julie shook her head. “You scared me coming in.” 

“Ghosts and demons don’t use doors,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, well, someone possessed by them might. Or maybe a witch, vampire, werewolf, or something else.” 

“Anything that comes in here has a death wish. We’re the most badass hunters in America.” 

“Yeah,” Julie said, as if trying to convince herself. Then, she added more confidently, “We are.” 

“Anyway, did’ya find anything?” 

“Yeah. Ghost in LA.” 

“Are you ready to go back there, Jules?” Flynn asked softly. 

“I think so. Besides, it’s been awhile since our last ghost.” 

Flynn didn’t look entirely convinced. “It’s okay to not take this one. Someone else will get it.” 

“No, it’s okay. We won’t be there long.” 

“You’re not going to see your aunt and Carlos?” 

“I’m not ready for that conversation.” 

Flynn nodded. “Are we going after breakfast? Or?” 

“Yeah, after breakfast.” 

Los Angeles was a strange place for Julie. It was her home but it was also the place where she had lost everything she ever had. Returning reminded her of this but also of failure. It reminded her of the empty seats at her graduation. Going home meant she had to accept that her and her little brother were orphans now - not without loved ones but faced with a loneliness that could never end. Julie had to find her father, not just for herself but for Carlos. 

Flynn opened the bag and divvied up their breakfast. Julie pushed her food closer and began to eat, trying to find the bright side of this situation. Flynn was the first to come to mind. Even if the world turned against her, Flynn would be by her side. Her mother, though passed on, was still a bright side. Nothing, not even permanence of death could take her memories of joy and music that they had shared. The possibility of her dad being out there was a bright side. With this in mind, Julie finished her breakfast with her mind more at ease. 

Flynn wasn’t the best driver but she liked to drive nonetheless. Julie was the more capable driver but she was a better navigator. She found it easier to navigate when she wasn’t avoiding drivers worse than Flynn on the road. Being the navigator also meant choosing the music and Julie wanted something upbeat for the road. California had gotten so far from her and Flynn that it would be a day or two before they reached it. It was the longest road trip with few stops they had gone on in awhile. Flynn turned the key in the ignition and Julie scrolled through her playlists. She found a song and selected it just as Flynn pulled out of the parking lot. 

At some point Julie had fallen asleep. She blinked as she took in her surroundings. “Where are we? Flynn, I was supposed to be navigating.” 

“It’s okay. I’m handling it,” said Flynn. “You barely slept at all in the last motel. You needed sleep.” 

“Thanks.” 

After a minute, she added, “I should drive. You need sleep too.” 

Flynn shook her head. “I had a Redbull.” 

Julie gave her friend a look. “Flynn.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll pull over,” Flynn said and she did. Seat belts unbuckled and they switched places. Almost as soon as Julie pulled off the shoulder, Flynn was asleep. Julie looked amusedly at her friend. She drove until the sun rose again and they were just outside Arizona. 

Then it was a quick stop at a gas station to buy a less than satisfactory breakfast. It was time like these Julie missed her mom especially. It was Saturday morning and in a time that was starting to feel like an old movie, she would be watching cartoons with a much younger version of her brother and eating a fresh, hot breakfast her mother had made. 

“I said that’ll be 10.50,” the cashier said irritably. He was the usual sort someone would see at a gas station in the middle of practically nowhere: some old man whose love of life was fading faster than his hair. 

“Sorry,” Julie said quickly, pulling the cash out of her pocket. The cashier checked the money in the light then put it in the register. He slid her breakfast across the counter and asked if she wanted a lottery ticket or a pack of smokes. Yes, he had said ‘smokes.’

Julie made a face and grabbed the black bag her food had been put in. “I don’t smoke, or gamble.” She headed toward the door and added, “Have a nice day” as she went out. He didn’t get the chance to return the formality. Gas station cashiers have a way of making people uncomfortable, even if they do nothing at all. This one was no different. 

Flynn was waiting in the driver’s seat. Julie opened the bag and handed some of the food to her. Neither said anything as they made their way back to the freeway. 

California was a refreshing sight after over a year of navigating unfamiliar places. Los Angeles was especially so. Julie watched the buildings of the Citadel Outlets pass by in the window. She was home. 

The occurrences described in the article had been occurring in a residential part of town made up of mainly middle class families. The victims were disproportionately teens. The types of teens who bring their cell phones into their bathrooms. Julie wasn’t an expert on electricity but these incidents struck her as odd. Not many people got electrocuted in their bathtubs. Based on her Google searches over the past day and a half, a cell phone isn’t enough to electrocute a person in a bath. It has to be plugged into the wall. Then it has to fray or fall into the bathwater. It takes a great deal of stupidity or negligence. Put a ghost in the mix, however, and everything becomes more likely. 

Flynn was checking them into a new motel when the news of a new electrocution came in. This article confirmed Julie’s suspicions of a ghost and made this trip less of a waste of time. Nothing at all had been plugged in when this teen girl had gotten into her tub. Her mother had checked on her only minutes before her death. Then when the police arrived, a frayed extension cord had made its way from a drawer into a socket then into a wall. It was far too strange. And when Julie told Flynn, she agreed. 

Flynn pocketed their room key and they headed for the car. 

Usually Julie and Flynn’s adventures involved abandoned buildings so Julie was unsure what to say when they arrived at the Ford residence. She was too young to be a police officer and too old to be a girl scout. She knocked on the door anyway. 

A distressed middle aged white woman answered the door. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying it.” 

The woman moved to close the door. Flynn interrupted her. “We’re not selling anything, Mrs. Ford, we’re here about your daughter.” 

“It’s Ms. Ford. I’m divorced,” the woman corrected. “And the police were just here.” 

“We’re not police,” Julie said. “We hunt the supernatural. We think your daughter’s death wasn’t an accident.” 

The woman frowned. “I’m desperate but I’m not that desperate. Three boys about your age came around her an hour ago saying the same thing. They said they were looking for a ghost in this neighborhood.” 

“Don’t you think it’s weird four different teens have died the same way in the past week?” 

“Yes,” the woman said. “But teenagers are stupid.” 

“Even your daughter?” 

The woman shrugged. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” 

Ms. Ford went to shut the door again but Flynn stopped her. “Do you know where those boys went?” 

“Something about the junkyard down the road. The blonde one said something about it being a good spot to hide something.” 

“Thank you,” Julie said. “I hope you find answers” - she clutched her cross necklace - “I know what it’s like to lose those you love.” 

Ms. Ford nodded sadly and shut the door. 

“Do you think those boys are trying to find the object the ghost is attached to?” Julie asked Flynn. 

“Yeah,” she said. “But why in a junkyard?” 

“Good place to hide something you don’t want found.” 

By that point, they had made it back to their car and proceeded to get in. 

Then, it was off to the junkyard.