#stop shaming me for my five dollar words) anyways i remember where i was when the final chapter translation dropped. in the back seat of my

[cinnabeat]

ill never fucking get over the s class test in fairy tail like all these high stakes happening and they win and all your feeling is relief and then fucking acnologia shows up and absolutely obliterates everyone and then immediately after you get a fucking time skip like i will never be ashamed for crying when this happemed

[seijorhi]

hello, i love your writing and was hoping if u could write a yandere kuroo x reader where he corners her in a corner and kenma is there and is getting off from it 😳 thank u !

Asdfghjkl this was supposed to be posted on Sunday I’m sorry, bby!! I hope it’s worth the wait! 💕 also, loved this request so thanks for sending it in 😊

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader, Kenma Kozume x Female Reader

TW dub con, coercion (kinda?), stalking, humiliation

Helping Hand

There’s a certain peace you find in the looming stacks of the library after the sun sets. It’s quieter then, less people milling about. You don’t have to fight for space or books, and considering you have midterms soon and essays coming out of your ears, that makes it the perfect study environment.

It’s only a little after eight, the library’s still open for another two and a half hours, but on the fourth floor it’s almost a ghost town - just how you like it. There’s a professor tucked away in the back corner, piles of books built up around him, an older librarian with her trolley, slowly re-shelving books, and two other guys around your age sitting huddled at a table a few down from yours - the textbooks and highlights spread across their desk having been long since abandoned in favour of literally anything else.

Honestly, you’d wonder why they’d bother coming to the library at all if it wasn’t an almost daily occurrence. Most days you were there, so were they - usually together, although it wasn’t uncommon to see just one of them camped out between the stacks as you made your way to your desk. The duo, one tall and lean with a shock of messy dark hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the other smaller, more reserved, with bleached hair and dark roots in serious need of a touch up, seemed to prefer this time to study too - not that they ever seemed to actually do all that much studying.

Usually the blonde ends up absorbed in his switch while the other casually thumbs through whichever book is closest.

So long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb you, who were you to judge?

You don’t really remember when they’d started to appear, only that they’d quickly become a fixture in your refuge - distantly familiar presences like strangers travelling on the same bus to work each day. They smile (well, the dark haired one does) and nod whenever you happen to look up from your notes and catch their eye, and while you’ve only spoken a handful of words to the both of them, they always seemed nice. 

Nicer than the clearly overworked professor muttering away in the corner at any rate, which makes them the logical choice to approach when you find your bladder uncomfortably full halfway through your self imposed study session. Realistically, you know at this time of the night nobody else is likely to make their way up to the fourth floor, much less have any interest in your shitty, old laptop or the five whole dollars in your wallet - yet you find you making your way over to the twosome’s table anyway, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks.

“… don’t want to,” you overhear the blonde mutter, his attention wholly focused upon the game in his hands. “Things are fine, why change that?”

His friend sighs, “Because you can deny it all you want, but I know you better than that. I know I’m not the only one who wants more. You can’t just sit back and…” he trails off suddenly, hazel eyes flickering over to you in surprise. 

Confused by his friend’s sudden silence, the blonde lowers his game and glances up - only to still at the sight of you.

You swallow down your nerves, plastering what you hope is a friendly enough smile across your face, “Hi, uh… sorry to interrupt you guys, but would you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I go to the bathroom? I won’t be long or anything, I just don’t like leaving my stuff out in the open,” you say with a sheepish laugh, well aware that you’re rambling like an idiot. 

It’s the dark haired one who answers, a wide grin breaking across his face as he nods, “Yeah, no worries. We’d be glad to.”

You smile back, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach (he does look kind of cute grinning like that), thanking him again before rushing away in the direction of the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for your thoughts to drift away from the duo back to the essay you’re mid-way through drafting. You have a sinking feeling that the argument you’re trying to use in the fourth paragraph is essentially a just rehash of the point you made in the first. By the time you unlock the stall door and make your way over to the sink to wash your hands, you’re starting to debate the merits of scrapping the whole thing and starting fresh with new ideas.

You still technically have time, it’s not due until the end of the month, but you just kind of want it done so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then again, that’s kind of your feelings towards the semester as a whole. 

Who are you kidding? University’s kicking your ass this year.

The ancient hand dryer’s almost deafening as it clicks on - it masks the sound door swinging open and the footsteps that echo out from the tile floors.

It’s only when your eyes flicker up to mirror that you see that you’re no longer alone-

Standing right behind you is the guy from before; the tall, dark haired one. 

- and jerk in surprise, stumbling backwards with a choked yelp.

It doesn’t hit you right away - no, that’s relief that has you drawing a hand over your chest and letting out a shaking laugh. “You scared the hell out of me!” you say, bracing yourself over the sink to try and calm your breathing.

No, it doesn’t hit you quickly. Realisation is slow - creeping through your veins like ice as your eyes flicker back up the mirror. 

He hasn’t moved. 

He’s smiling, grinning really, but there’s something… something off about it. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes… Why isn’t he saying anything?

W-why isn’t he moving away?

Your heart, still hammering from his shock of his sudden appearance, squeezes uncomfortably and your eyes slowly widen.

“Wh-”

A rough, calloused palm slaps across your mouth, smothering whatever words you’d been about to speak. “Ah, ah. Gotta keep it down, sweetheart.”

He winks at you in the mirror, taking a tiny step towards you and you squeak, breathing in sharp, shallow pants through your nose as a warm, muscled chest presses against your back. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’tcha?” he chuckles. “Relax a little - promise I don’t bite.”

With one hand wrapped around your lips the other creeping across your waist, his words don’t exactly bring you a lot of comfort. 

It makes no difference either way - you’re paralysed, shaking and trembling, but utterly unable to move as he noses at the column of your throat, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You could scream, but there’s no guarantee anybody would hear you. You could try and fight him off, but he’s taller than you, and you’re willing to bet stronger as well.

Will he hurt you if you try and resist?

Is he gonna hurt you anyway?

You’ve heard the stories before about men who follow women into empty bathrooms and the awful things they do, but you never...

Those things don’t happen in places like this. The library is supposed to be safe, he- he’s been-

Your stomach drops.

Weeks. 

He’s been visiting the library with his friend, sitting across from you for weeks.

His eyes bore into your reflection in the mirror like he can hear every terrified thought that passes through your head, and with excruciating slowness you’re forced to watch as his lips brush a kiss against your cheek, lingering and sweet - a mockery of tenderness. 

A scared little whimper is all you can manage, and even that is swallowed up by the sound of the bathroom door squeaking open once more. 

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening.

A faint burst of hope flickers to life.

You might not be a fighter, but this might be the only chance you have. You shriek again, the sound woefully muffled, and writhe against your captor’s tightening grip as slow footsteps round the corner.

Please, you think as tears stream silently down your face. Please help me.

What little hope you have is quickly - brutally - extinguished as your would be saviour steps into view.

Your legs shake and you’re almost positive that if it wasn’t for the strong arms wrapped around you, you would have crumpled to the floor.

It’s his friend, the blonde, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching the scene before him - you struggling against an iron grip, gagged and terrified - like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Your captor chuckles, relaxing his grip as his hand drifts upwards to palm at your breast and you want to die. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Shut up, Kuroo,” the blonde groans as he makes his way over, but he barely glances at his friend before his catlike eyes come to rest on you.

Your cheeks are burning, a potent mix of shame, nausea and dread churning in your stomach as you’re crudely felt up, but under the blonde’s attention you freeze.

While his face is a blank mask of apathetic disinterest, those golden irises are piercing in their intensity as they study you.

The glint in his eyes is as unmistakable as it is stark; anticipation - like a house cat watching a golden canary flit restlessly in its cage.

The hiccuping sob comes unbidden, choking at your throat as you wail against the palm at your lips. You’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your entire life, to slap yourself awake and realise that it’s nothing but a stress induced nightmare because this can’t be happening.

Why you?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this?

“Relax,” Kuroo repeats, leaning down over you again, “we’re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna have some fun, that’s all.” You think he’s going to try and kiss you again, but instead his tongue darts out and he licks at the silvery tear tracks, groaning softly.

You shoot the quiet blonde a desperate, pleading look. He hasn’t lifted a finger to stop what’s happening, hasn’t done anything other than stare at you, but even as his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile you hold out on the shadow of a prayer that maybe, just maybe-

Kuroo follows your wide, panicked gaze and almost snorts. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, baby. Kenma’s not gonna help you. He wants this just as badly as I do.” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away more tears, “C’mon, on your knees.”

He doesn’t give you a choice - the hand on your shoulder forces your shaking knees to buckle and you fall down to the bathroom floor.

The tiles are cold against your bare legs, but the shivers that wrack through you have little to do with the temperature. It’s far too late to regret the short skirt you’d thrown on that morning.

Kuroo hums appreciatively, lifting his palm to tap it a few times against your cheek like you’re an adorable little puppy who’s just learned its first trick, “It’s a good look for you, baby, but I think it’d be even better without this-” his fingers tug at the collar of your top and his grin widens, “- in the way.” 

Yet he makes no move to take it off for you. One look into his eyes, the glittering amusement darkened with lewd desire and you know that he won’t.

He wants you to do it, to play along in their fun - to be an active participant in your own humiliation.

And really, what other choice do you have?

It’s impossible to ignore the bulge straining against his jeans as your trembling fingers grip the hem of your top and reluctantly yank it upwards. There’s a sharp inhale - Kuroo you think - and a whistle as it comes off, baring your lacy bra and the soft skin underneath to their hungry gazes. 

Only for a moment. 

Staring resolutely at the floor you’re quick to try and cover what little modesty you have left, bringing your arms up to wrap around your chest-

Except a hand catches at your wrist and tugs it back, and when you glance up you find it’s Kenma’s. 

“… Don’t,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

You let your arms drop, hands clenching into shaking fists in your lap, fingernails biting into your palm.

The sound of a zipper being pulled undone is almost deafening in the quiet bathroom. Fresh tears sting at your eyes, but you can’t bear to look at either of them as Kuroo reaches inside his pants and frees his cock.

The hand that cups your cheek is surprisingly gentle as he coaxes your face back towards him and the achingly hard member in his grip. “See Kenma, I told you - change ain’t always a bad thing.”

His dark eyes flicker back to you and he grins, “Open up, sweetheart.”

[litafficionado]

Four Questions with Garielle Lutz:

I’m extremely beholden to Garielle who took the time to respond to my silly, garbled, childish, intrusive questions. You can purchase her latest book Worsted here and here, among many other sites.  --------- Q.  You've attributed the resuscitation of your literary career in quite considerable measure to your teacher and editor Gordon Lish. It seems like you guys are particularly close, even as you seem to have largely confined yourself to Pittsburgh(mostly driven by your erstwhile teaching career but also by your liking the city over time). How does it feel to hear someone like Gordon speak so highly of you, “I think there’s more truth in one sentence of my student [Lutz] than in all of [Philip] Roth. Lutz gives [herself] away. “The speaking subject gives herself away,” says Julia Kristeva. I thoroughly believe that. What you see in Lutz, [her] lavish gift, is [her] refusal to relax [her] determination to uncover and uncover. It is, by my lights, quite wonderful, quite terrific.[…]Lutz is entirely the real thing?” Does one feel vindicated? How do you navigate the waters of self-effacement and self-indulgence as a writer and as a person? A.  I haven’t had a literary career before or after studying with Gordon Lish.  I don’t think one finds one’s way to him in hopes of launching a career.  Anyone with vulgar ambition along those lines would have been shown the door pretty quick.  I would never presume to be close to Gordon or to feel that I am part of his life other than in my role as a student. He dwells in another realm entirely. I attended his classes and tried to grasp, to the best of my abilities, the things he was saying about how to get from one word to the next.  He also talked about how to free a word from the constricting range of its permissible behaviors, how to drain it of every sepsis of received meaning, until there is nothing left of the word but the skeleton of its former self, just the lank, gawky letters sticking out this way and that, and then how to fill the thing up again, to the point of overspilling, but this time with something that would never have been allowed to belong in there before, and then see whether the word, now close to bursting, can hold up and maybe have a new kind of say.  I’m always surprised and relieved whenever Gordon says anything approving about anything I write.  I think that for a lot of his students, his opinion is the only one that counts.  

Q.  You've said, "A typical day goes like this: noon, afternoon, evening, night, additional night, even more night, furtherest night, then bedtime, though I don’t have a bed or furniture of any kind.” Have you always been a lychnobite, sensing the overwhelming superabundance of life after the sunset or is it a relatively recent development facilitated by your retirement from teaching? Do you consider yourself in any way to be a minimalist? Does your room bear any resemblance with a sparsely lit opium den where all exchanges happen at the floor level?

A.  I think the pandemic has had a lot to do with it.  Lately I’ve been up until five, sometimes six.  But I’ve always found mornings the harshest and ugliest part of the day (maybe it’s just because of the place where I live, but I never open the blinds anyway).  There can be something awfully scolding about a sunrise the older you get  Evening seems to extend every form of leniency, and in the dead of night, expectations go way down, which is where they maybe ought to stay.  I do spend all of my time on the floor, but my apartment doesn’t bear any resemblance to an opium den.  It’s more like a crawlspace or the back of a  dollar-store stockroom.    

Q. Even with your reputation of being a page-hugger than a typical page-turner, how do you decide which books to read apart from your line of work? Do you try to keep it largely in the familiar territory, like exploring the oeuvre of a time-tested writer? How does one unshackle oneself from this constant niggling that one ought to read so many books? Here's Ben Marcus: “When I was in graduate school, there was this sort of cautionary adage going around by the poet Francis Ponge that we can only write what we’ve already read and one way to hear that is you’re just sort of doomed to kind of regurgitate everything you’ve read and so if you’re just reading all the popular books, the books everyone else is reading, in some sense you’re maybe unwittingly confining yourself to a particular literary practice that’s gonna look pretty familiar. I remember at the time thinking, okay well if that’s true, if I’m just fated to that, then I’m gonna read things that no one else is reading. I loved to just go to the library and pretty randomly grab books, because I think for a little while, and I’m kinda glad this passed, but I really just had this feeling that a writer just consumes language and just sort of spits it out. So it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t have to be a great novel for it to be worth-reading. And I still read very little fiction in the end compared to non-fiction, essays, works of philosophy, science. And the other sort of dirty secret is: I don’t finish a lot of books. I just don’t care enough. I only finish a book if I have to or if I really want to. And, often, I’ll stop reading a book three pages from the end. I think that as writers, we probably feel a lot of pressure about what kind of a reader to be, what kind of a writer to be in, and we feel this shame, like “I haven’t read DH Lawrence, I’m such an asshole.” You begin to feel like you’ve these deficiencies and you gotta make them up and you never will and a lot of it is just kinda tyrannical. Of course, obviously, we must be naturally motivated to read and read and read and read but I guess I just started to notice that…I got a lot of my ideas by just reading…e.g. a gardening book…like the weird way a sentence was structured.” Then there's Moyra Davey: “Woolf famously said of reading: “The only advice … is to take no advice, … follow your instincts, … use your reason.” A similar thought was voiced by her elder contemporary Oscar Wilde, who did not believe in recommending books, only in de-recommending them. Later, Jorge Luis Borges echoed the same sentiment by discouraging “systematic bibliographies” in favor of “adulterous” reading. More recently, Gregg Bordowitz has promoted “promiscuous” reading in which you impulsively allow an “imposter” book to overrule any reading trajectory you might have set for yourself, simply because, for instance, a friend tells you in conversation that he is reading it and is excited by it. This evokes for me that most potent kind of reading — reading as flirtation with or eavesdropping on someone you love or desire, someone who figures in your fantasy life.”“What to read?” is a recurring dilemma in my life. The question always conjures up an image: a woman at home, half-dressed, moving restlessly from room to room, picking up a book, reading a page or two and no sooner feeling her mind drift, telling herself, “You should be reading something else, you should be doing something else.” The image also has a mise-en-scène: overstuffed, disorderly shelves of dusty and yellowing books, many of them unread; books in piles around the bed or faced down on a table; work prints of photographs, also with a faint covering of dust, taped to the walls of the studio; a pile of bills; a sink full of dishes. She is trying to concentrate on the page in front of her but a distracting blip in her head travels from one desultory scene to the next, each one competing for her attention. It is not just a question of which book will absorb her, for there are plenty that will do that, but rather, which book, in a nearly cosmic sense, will choose her, redeem her. Often what is at stake, should she want to spell it out, is the idea that something is missing, as in: what is the crucial bit of urgently needed knowledge that will save her, at least for this day? She has the idea that if she can simply plug into the right book then all will be calm, still, and right with the world. […] Must reading be tied to productivity to be truly satisfying […] Or is it the opposite, that it can only really gratify if it is a total escape? What is it that gives us a sense of sustenance and completion? Are we on some level always striving to attain that blissful state of un-agendaed reading remembered from childhood? What does it mean to spend a good part of one’s life absorbed in books? Given that our time is limited, the problem of reading becomes one of exclusion. Why pick one book over the hundreds, perhaps thousands on our bookshelves, the further millions in libraries and stores? For in settling on any book we are implicitly saying no to countless others. This conflict is aptly conjured up by essayist Lynne Sharon Schwartz as she reflects on “the many books (the many acts) I cannot in all decency leave unread (undone) — or can I?”” What way out do you suggest? Do you deem it worthwhile to eschew any shred of obligation and be propelled in any direction naturally? Like you said you found grammar books and lexicons more engaging and enjoyable than the novels.

A.  I seem to remember that in some magazine or another, James Wolcott once said “Read at whim.”  That has always sounded like the best advice.  And I assume it means to feel free to ditch any book that disappoints.  Like Ben Marcus, I’ve had experiences of abandoning a book just a few pages from the end, but I often don’t make it that far in most things anymore.  I came from a long line of nonreaders, so I’ve never felt any guilt about passing up books or writers that so many people seem to talk about a lot, and I don’t expect other people to like what I like. Some books I’ll start about halfway in and then see whether I might want to work my way back to the beginning.  Others I’ll start at the very end and inch my way toward the front, one sentence at a time, and see how far I can go that way.  I seem to remember that in The Pleasure of the Text, Roland Barthes recommends “cruising” a text, and maybe something like that is what I’m doing at least some of the time, if I understand what he means.  And every now and then I’ll read  a book straightforwardly for an hour and afterward wonder whether the time might have been better spent staring off into space. Too many books these days seem ungiving.  It’s the ungivingness that disappoints the most.  A lot of contemporary fiction has the gleam and sparkle of a trend feature in a glossy magazine, and I can appreciate the craft and the savvy that go into something like that, but I am drawn more toward stories and books that demand being read slowly and closely, pulse by pulse, the kind of fiction where everything--what little might be left of an entire blighted life--can pivot on the peal of a single syllable. Q.  I'd like to ask you so many questions. But let this be the last one for matters of convenience. Also, in a capitalistic world, one's enshrouded with guilt for taking one's time without being remunerative in any way. Among the books and films that you recently encountered, which ones do you think deserve rereads/rewatches? A.  I used to feel like the woman you’ve described so movingly above, someone who questions her choice of books almost to the brink of despair.  At my age, though, I no longer have a program for reading, a syllabus or a checklist, and I’m okay with knowing there’s a lot I’ll never get around to.  I’m happy being a rereader of a few inexhaustible books and chancing upon occasional fresh treasure.  The one book that has shaken me the most in the longest time is Anna DeForest’s  A History of Present Illness, which will be out next August.  It’s a blisteringly truthful novel written with moral grace and unsettling brilliance and an awing mastery of language.  A couple of recent books I have read in manuscript, books that totally knocked me out with their originality and uncanny command of the word, are Greg Gerke’s In the Suavity of the Rock (a novel) and David Nutt’s Summertime in the Emergency Room (a short-story collection).  I haven’t watched many movies in the past few months, and the ones I watched aren’t ones I’ll probably be rewatching anytime soon.  

[velvetthunder1999]

Sweet Collision

4. The Assistant

Summary: As Liz starts working at the DEA she and Peña are getting to know each other a bit more.

Warnings: Occasional swearing

Word count: 2K

Javier Peña x Reader

Episodes

“And just a signiture there,” said the woman, pointing at the bottom of the page. You signed it. “And we’re done. Welcome to the DEA.”

You sighed and put down the pen. The last two weeks had been the most unusual period of your life. Peña had to arrange millions of things, had to talk to the right people and basically create a new title of work, that you could use on your papers. According to this, you were ‘Elizabeth Landon - DEA Associate, Evidence Photographer Assistant.’ Yes, it was a mouthful. The last of the paperworks lied in front of you on the table, from where a woman with grey hair collected them. She sent another smile towards you, then left.

“So?” a familiar voice came from behind you. “Everything all right?”

“Hey,” the tense feeling in your stomach loosened a bit. It was good to see someone you had actually met before.

Peña walked in and grabbed your brand new ID badge from the table.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“I… have no idea. Really.” You looked at the badge. “I still have a part-time job at the magazine. I won’t be doing much around here. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just a piece of plastic.”

“A very valuable piece of plastic,” he sat on the table and looked up at you from there. “We filed the photograph. Thank you.”

You nodded and casted down your eyes. You knew you made the right decision. It was still frightening. Peña probably felt your mood change, because he stood up.

“Want me to show you around?”

You nodded thankfully.

“Sure!”

“Come on,” he indicated towards the door with his head, then followed you outside. “This way.”

You went through a wide hallway and ended up in a big room with a bunch of tables and agents talking or running around. Phone were ringing, printers were buzzing, and someone laughed loudly in the moment that you stepped in.

“All cramped up here,” Peña nodded and walked further in. “That’s Gonzáles, that’s Muñoz and Valencia. That’s my table and this - this handsome gentleman is Murphy. My second. Definitely under me in rank.”

“Fuck off, Peña,” said Murphy. He was buried in some paperwork. You chuckled and he looked up. “Oh, hey. Evidence Photographer, am I right?”

“Something like that,” you said. “Elizabeth Landon. Liz.”

You shook hands.

“I was just showing her around,” Peña said, looking over Murphy’s shoulder and checking out what he was doing. “We already have the riport of this.”

“Yeah, I’m just looking for something.”

“What?”

“Something we might haven’t noticed before.”

Peña looked over the papers himself. His face was in deep concentration and you started to understand, why was he chosen for the job he was doing. He nodded to himself, then patted Murphy on the back.

“Save a few pages for me as well. Come on, Landon. Over there.”

You were glad that you could continue the tour, because you didn’t want to be a burden while they were looking over staff.

“So, you’re starting tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you said, following him on the corridor.

“Good. This is the darkroom, on the left. Unfortunately you’ll actually have to work sometimes,” he smirked to himself. Then the two of you turned right. “And this is your office. Well, not only yours, I guess.”

You stepped into the small room which was three size smaller than the one Peña, Murphy and all those other agents had. This one had only one window, and had three tables in it, of which two was already occupied. There was no one sitting at the tables at the moment, but they were packed with all kinds of papers and folders.

“Well, that’s it, basically,” Peña said, looking around, not exactly impressed. “I’m afraid I cannot show you the rest.”

“Out of my jurisdiction as Evidence Photographer Assistant?” you nodded with a grimace. “No, I get it. I mean, this is nice. If we just… throw away all this garbage, get new chair and tables, and hit an other whole in the wall as window, then I think that would really cheer up the place.”

Peña let out a small and short laugh. Then he looked at his watch.

“I’ll be heading out soon.”

“Oh…,” you said awkwardly. “Sure. Fine. Thank you for this.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “You know what, let’s mention it. You’ll owe me one, how ‘bout that?”

You smiled.

“I might be owing you much more than just one.”

“Yeah… we’ll see.”

The two of you stared at each other, not sure how to end the conversation. Finally Peña cleared his throat and turned halfway away awkwardly.

“Well… See you around.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

He waved and then left. You went to check out the only table in the office that didn’t have personal belongings on it, only garbage. You picked up some files and sneezing from the dust put them into one huge pile. This way you could at least put down your bag.

“Landon!”

You jumped and turned towards the door. Peña was back, hastily leaning against the doorframe.

“You wanna grab a drink later?”

“S…sure” you said, being a bit surprised, but didn’t mind the offer.

“Good.”

“What…What time?” you asked as he was already turning away. He turned back awkwardly.

“What?”

“What time?”

“Oh… Seven?”

“Okay.”

“All right. Meet you outside?”

“Sure.” ——

“No seriously, I swear that I cannot even look at a watermelon anymore,” he said and finished his drink with a restrained smile on his lips. “Not after that summer, anyway.”

You snorted.

“I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at that.”

“How about both?” he asked and raised his glass, signing for another round. “You’re good?”

“I could do with another one,” you nodded towards the bartender and he appeared with new drinks for the two of you.

The bar Peña took you to was a quiet one, with lots of small tables and an open area above which if you looked up, you could see the sky with its shiny stars. There were a few people around, but it wasn’t crowded. There was chatter in Spanish everywhere around you, and you were genuinely having a good time.

Peña was now looking up at the small television in the corner. In the news, they were showing a building in the distance, a building that you knew was the prison that was keeping Escobar locked away. You glanced at Peña; he finished his drink with a sudden move and ordered another one.

“Do you think you’ll get ‘im?” you asked him quietly. He looked at you, then back to the TV, then at his refilled drink. It took him a long time to answer.

“That motherfucker deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”

“I…I’ve heard that the people still love him.”

He scoffed.

“They love him because he makes them love him. If he gives money to the poor, wouldn’t you stand next to him?”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s done? All those deaths… bombings… that plane and that reporter… why don’t people care about that?”

“They do. But when he appears with bags full of money, people tend to forget.”

He drank and you watched. You felt a horrible taste in your mouth.

“It’s a shame, because anyone could see that people love this country.”

“Yeah… Real shame he preaches about it while he’s the one destroying it.” He hesitated for a moment while he searched for money in his wallet. “There was this kid… Me and Murphy were trying to get one of Escobar’s hitmans. And I almost got him. I was this close. And then this… ten year old runs out of nowhere and holds a gun at my head.”

“What?” you said, your full attention on him. Peña had a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Of course he ran away. The hitman, too. We didn’t get shit. Before we got there, they killed a girl. She had a baby. Murphy has her now, with his wife.”

You realized that your mouth was open. Peña seemed to get lost in his own thoughts.

“There’s a standing bounty of 350 000 US dollars on any DEA down here. Not you, of course,” he smirked at you, but there was nothing happy about it. “Evidence photographer.”

“Assistant,” you said, to at least cheer him up a bit. He chuckled darkly.

“Assistant. Yeah.” Then he was back in his dark thoughts. “There’s a reason we worth that much. We’d do anything to stop him. Carillo… he’s the best soldier I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve seen him on TV,” you said, remembering a tall figure. “It’s good to have someone you trust. After what Danilo said… you know, my cop friend… I guess it cannot be easy to work in the system when the system is dirty.”

He turned to you and looked deeply in your eyes. Even though he had like five drinks in him, his sight was clear and determined, like always.

“You talk like someone who has seen a lot of shit.”

You chuckled.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t say that. And I’m not planning on seeing any kind of shit. I want a normal life.”

“That sounds… That sounds nice.”

He turned away and looked down at his hands, holding the glass. There was something on his face that made you think, and all of a sudden you realized that you felt sorry for him. His life was hunting for Escobar. He chose this; but it came with so many things that tied him down, that a normal life probably seemed impossible for him. Even if he didn’t necessary want it, it is always nice to have an option.

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole,” you said to him. He looked up.

“You’re not to first and not the last, sweetheart. Don’t worry about it.”

“And I don’t like it when you call me a sweetheart.” You raised your eyebrows, but you were not being rude about it. He smiled to himself, and you realized that you might just seen him smile for the first time. It looked… incredibly good on him.

“All right then,” he nodded ceremoniously. “Cariño”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked, pretending to be offended. He was taken aback.

“Don’t tell me you don’t speak Spanish. How did you survive down here is a mystery to me.”

“All right, fuck off,” you said and drank. He was still smiling.

“So why did you come here? Of all places where they speak English?”

“To be honest I just randomly chose a place in an advertisement calendar. It really didn’t matter where I’d go. Until it’s not home,” you added under your breath.

“Why?”

You looked up. He seemed genuinely interested. He wasn’t smiling anymore and you found yourself looking for words before you were able to answer.

“I just… I come from Seattle. I have a sister who’s a kindergarten teacher, I have a mom who’s a professor, I have a dad who’s a doctor… and I’m doing photography,” you tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I got tired of their nagging. My sister’s not so bad, but… jesus, my parents were just on about it forever. So I decided to leave. I saw a picture of Bogotá in a calendar. And… here I am,” you finished awkwardly.

“There’s nothing wrong with doing what you love.”

“Yeah, look where it got me,” you said darkly. Peña chuckled.

“It’s not so bad, Cariño”

“Oh, my God, are you going to try and teach me Spanish now?” you laughed and rolled your eyes.

“If you want me,” he shrugged and you drank.

“I’ve been trying, by the way,” you said, pointing a finger at him. You started to feel the alcohol. “And I want you to know this before you think I’m just some lousy idiot who expects everyone to speak English, just because she cannot learn another language. But I just haven’t got the time. Or the energy. Or the company to talk with.”

“What about your friend?” there was a certain way how he said the word friend. You shook your head.

“Danilo’s fine. A bit much sometimes. Asks me out weekly. I wish he would stop.”

“Why don’t you tell him to stop?”

“Well, that’s a good question, isn’t it?” you said melancholically and finished your drink.

[keanuvibe]

Bodyguard (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 6

A/N: Hi! I return with some good old fashion smut :) I love y’all, thank you so much for supporting this fic honestly.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swears, smut

The burning taste of alcohol scorched your throat as it went down. The buzz of an old box TV sat on a shelf near your seat, but it was drowned out by the bar life that hummed around. You didn't bother to take part in socializing; you weren't planning on staying too long, just enough to get drunk and then leave. You couldn't be too hungover anyways, as the gala is tomorrow evening. You only slipped out because you needed time to yourself before the possibility of being murdered by your cousin tomorrow. You didn't understand why your father couldn't just give Santino what he wants, and not put your life on the line. I mean, you did agree to the situation; they gave you the option to say ‘No’.

The past week has been interesting, to say the least. Firstly, you and John slept together. It was everything you’d hoped, and it definitely wasn't expected. Certainly not back when you first met; his handsome figure sitting so proper in the living room. Often, you find yourself thinking back to when you'd first met. He was so quiet, reserved, seemingly collected. Ruggedly handsome and such a mystery as well. That was back when you saw him in nothing but suits. You've fallen so incredibly hard for this man. Someone who you probably wouldn't have glanced at twice on the street. 

Next, the events leading to the gala had begun to cause you anxiety. The possibility of being killed isn't something you want to face. However, your parents are taking heavy precautions. Your mother had you fitted for a dress, tactical in case things went awry. 

Tuesday - 3:45 PM

“Look at you! So stunning.” Your mother cooed, spinning you around so she could see the dress you’d put on. The seamstress stood to the side, arms tucked behind her back and measuring tape around her neck. 

“And the fabric is-”

“Bulletproof up to close range, knife proof, and waterproof.” The seamstress spoke, cheerfully finishing off the sentence. You looked over to her, nodding quietly before looking back at your reflection. The dress fit well, it resembled a fit and flare with a heart shaped top and slit up to the top of your thigh. The design made it easier to move and access hidden weapons, while also looking classy and sexy. It did accentuate your breasts nicely, and the slit for your thigh showed a delicious amount of skin. The curve of the article gave you a nice hourglass shape as well.

“Aspetta che John ti veda in questo.” [‘Wait for John to see you in this.”] Your mother giggled, sitting back onto a small couch. You blushed a deep rouge, scoffing at her comment. 

“What? I know you like him, darling.” She responded to your attitude with a smile, sarcastically rolling her eyes. 

“Mom- I-” You began, but stopped yourself as the seamstress undid the zipper, allowing you to slip out of the article. The woman then took the dress into another room, leaving you and your mother alone. You quickly slipped back into your clothes before turning around to face your mom.

“What, baby?” She questioned, sipping a glass full of champagne. 

“I have something to tell you.” You murmured, sitting next to the woman. You looked up to your mother and she gazed back at you, blinking her long eyelashes. For as long as you could remember, your mother always had her makeup on. In fact, she's always been put together; even at five in the morning. 

“Go on, then.” She waved her hand, encouraging you to continue. Nerves fluttered about your stomach and you shifted in your seat. 

“I-” You stuttered, casting your eyes to your lap. “I think I have a crush on him.” Your mother's hand placed itself onto your shoulder as she scoot closer. 

“I know, la mia bellezza.” Your mother chuckled. “It was easy to tell after a few months.” [‘My beauty.’] She murmured, softly moving some strands of hair that had fallen in your face. The room was quiet, save for a small radio that played classical piano music. 

“I-I don't know what to do.” You paused, “Mom, what if this life isn't for me? I appreciate you let me have the store fronts, but I don’t want them anymore.” You spoke, looking towards the woman. Your mother pushed a glass of champagne into your hand and forced you to sip it. 

“I know you don’t want to be apart of this, really. We gave you those fronts to try to keep you around. The fact Santino dragged you further in… We’re sorry.” The woman murmured, looking down to her lap.

“I’m going to stay, and help you. But afterwards… I’m moving out. I found a place further down in the city. John helped me find it, actually.” You spoke, a little excitement added to your voice. Your mother looked back up, a small grin crossing her lips. She nodded, leaning in and kissing the top of your head softly. 

“I support you. Your father might be harder to convince, however.” The woman answered, setting her glass down.

--

Right. You nearly forgot you told your mom about liking John, and confessing the want to leave. You already put a deposit down anyways. With your father’s money, you can afford to live on your own. He'd put enough away in a savings account, starting when you were just a baby.

 John helped you find the place too, searching the old fashion way; through ads in the paper.

“This one has a lot of natural light.” John held these newspaper for you to see. You grabbed the sheet from his hand and studied the small black and white photos.

“How can you even see that?” You squint, prompting John to chuckle.

“It says it in the description, little one.” He humored, a cheeky grin crossing his face. You blushed, chuckling to play off your embarrassment. 

“There’s plenty of closet space. I could keep a few things there.” He spoke, standing up and adjusting his position to hover over your shoulder. You felt butterflies soar through your stomach at the comment and nodded furiously. 

“Yes, please do.” 

--

On top of all the other stuff, your father gifted you new weaponry;  A pistol set with an ankle strap, and a new set of knives. It felt nice that he cared, but you've never actually been apart of one of your fathers missions before. Sure, you've done some dirty work and left a few bodies behind; however, this mission is different. More dangerous, on top of being risky. 

 The scrape of a bar stool next to your own echoed throughout the space, but you didn't bother to glance at the person. The bartender was quick to take their order before the figure cleared their throat.

“This is the bar we were first introduced. Our fathers had a meeting here.” Santino’s voice chilled you to the bone and you froze, stuck staring into your drink. You heard the light of a match as he lit a cigarette and took a puff, smoke blowing directly into your face. 

“You remember, no?” He then asked. You finally looked up, greeting his smug expression. 

“I do.” You answered, taking a large swing of your whiskey. “Why are you here, Santino?” You finished. 

“May we not speak like civilized humans? We are famiglia after all.” ‘[Family.]’ He answered cooly, taking a puff from his cigarette. You rolled your eyes, gesturing to the bartender for another refill.

“You think no more of us than you do an ant on the street. We are not family; We are merely, devastatingly, blood related.” You spat, facing your cousin fully. He seemed a bit taken aback by your outburst, but quickly shook it off with a laugh and a sip of his own drink. You two fell into silence as you turned back towards your drink. You swirled the dark liquor around before gulping down the liquid. 

“Where's your boy, hm? No play toy tonight?” The man asked after a few moments. You knew he was talking about John. “Do your parents know about your activities?” Anger bubbled deeply in your chest. How did he know that in the first place? You two were very strict about no affection until behind closed doors. 

“I stepped out without him.” You tried to keep the rage under control, taking another hefty sip from your drink. Santino clicked his tongue at your answer. 

“Shame, I’d love to meet the guy whose been killing all my men.” Your cousin murmured. You furrowed your brows, confusion lacing your brain. 

“We've only had a few instances with your fools, what do you mean?” You asked, looking back towards the man. He looked at you, realization crossing his features. A short laugh escaped his mouth.

“You don't know?” He grinned mischievously.

“Tell me.” You demanded, your hand balling into a fist. The obvious amusement radiated off your cousin from your situation. What the hell could he be talking about, and why has John been ‘killing all his men’?

“Your… boyfriend, has been sneaking out at night, cousin. Into my warehouses, slaying the men in his way. I know he's seeking me. John Wick could never touch me.” Santino’s last comment was snarky, cold, and spoken with a deep seeded hatred. You felt shock cross your body upon learning new information. Why hadn't he told you?  He could've been killed and you would've never known. Drunk words were to be had when you get home. 

“Well. That sounds like a problem for you.” You responded. Though you were upset at John for keeping this a secret, you were grateful he'd put such a large dent into Santino’s resources. Your cousin scoffed, finishing off his drink and setting the glass back onto the bar. He threw a twenty dollar bill next to the cup before turning to face you. You watched carefully as he placed his ring-clad hand over your shoulder, leaning closer to your face. 

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N).” He spoke lowly. His hand pat your shoulder a few times before he removed it and exit the bar. Though you didn't look at his face when he’d spoken, the sinister feelings behind it stuck with you; even after he’d already left.

--

Stumbling through your bedroom door, your fingers searched the wall before finding the switch and flipping on the light. You groaned at the brightness, too drunk to be dealing with it. You felt a little dizzy from the dark liquor you'd drank, but managed to walk to your bed, sitting on the edge. With a little effort, you began tugging at the zipper on your dress in an attempt to remove the article. Going to bars used to be fun, you could carelessly get wasted and sleep with some random guy. Now you couldn't leave the house with fears of being killed. 

Stripping off the dress, you sighed, laying back onto your bed and shutting your eyes. A quiet knock on your door triggered a low groan to escape your lips as you sat up, wobbling your way over to the door and tugging it open. Your drunk eyes met the sight of John. He looked down at your figure and raised his brows as the scent of alcohol hit his nostrils.

“Sneaking off on me again?” He questioned, pushing your figure back into the bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. You stumbled back from his minimal force, and whined at him.

“Don't p-push me.” You drunkenly spoke, folding your arms in frustration. “You're the one in trouble h-here! Mr. I’ve Been Sneaking Out To Kill Santino’s Men.

“That's a long name.” John deadpanned. His eyes scanned down your body, causing you to remember you'd stripped off the clothing you had on. 

“Don't change the topic.” You walked past him to get to the bed, bumping his arm on your way. He quickly reached out, grasping your bicep and pulling you up to his chest. You tried your best to let the drunkenness fill you with courage as his dark eyes stared you down. You'd never seen John look at you like this before; angry. 

“I am protecting you.” He whispered lowly and through his teeth, “I’m doing what I have to, to keep you safe.” His eyes traveled down your nearly naked body; goosebumps covered your skin as he did so. You felt like prey to an animal, like a delicious looking gazelle to a lion; a ferocious, dark haired lion. 

“What're you staring at?” You slurred, furrowing your brows. The grip he had on your arm shifted pressures as his mouth collided with your own. The man let go, instead grabbing under your ass and picking you up. He swiftly turned around, tossing you onto the bed with force. You studied his face as he slowly approached your weakened figure, noting how dark his eyes had gotten. You'd made John so mad, he was no longer John. You'd caused John Wick to emerge. 

“Don't move.” He spoke deeply. The sound of his belt buckle echoed throughout the quiet room and John whipped the slim article from his pant loops with a Crack!. The man set the belt into your bed, grabbing your ankles afterwards and pulling your body to the edge of the bed roughly. A little whine escaped your throat as he grabbed your wrists, holding them together above your head before tying the belt around them. 

“You want to act bratty? Like you're the boss?” He questioned, raising his brow and spreading your thighs roughly, “Let me remind you who’s in charge.” John finished. He placed his thumb over your still clothed clit with a firm pressure, rubbing slowly. A moan left your lips and you squirmed your hips at the sensation. His free hand came down quickly, grasping your hip tightly and holding it down so you couldn't move.

“No moving.” He murmured, running his finger along your panty line. The feeling tickled, but you tried your best not to move in fear of his punishment. He hummed in appreciation, gently pushing your underwear to expose your core. He let out a soft groan at the sight, running his pointer finger up your slit, gathering the wetness up. You let out a pathetic whimper as he tapped your clit on the exit. 

“So gorgeous.” John praised, running his hand along the curve of your waist. You felt a blush crawl up your cheeks and turned your face to the side to hide it.

“Look at me.” He commanded, his fingers grasping your chin and moving your head. The man studied your expression. He saw the lust hazing your eyes, the alcohol too. There was another emotion hiding behind the other two; fear. It made him smirk knowing he was back in charge  and he stood straight again, beginning to loosen his tie. You watched as he took the item off and approached your figure. He leaned down, placing the tie over your eyes and quickly knotting it. 

“Can you see?” He asked. You could tell by his voice that he'd moved back to the end of the bed. You shook your head ‘No’ as a response. Johns footsteps padded faintly and you hear him shuffling around before his large hand grasped your ankle. It caused you to jump, not being able to tell when he was going to touch. 

“I won't hurt you.” He murmured, fingertips dragging up your leg. You shuddered at the sensation, your senses heightened at the loss of your sight. Johns fingers shocked you once again, hooking into the hem of your panties and pulling them down. The cool air hit your hot core and you shivered at the temperature shock. 

“I missed you.” He whispered, leaning down. His face sat close to your heat and he gently kissed the skin of your inner thigh. You felt his scratchy facial hair scrape the delicate skin near your pussy. The hotness of his breath coated your clit, and just as he was about to give you what you wanted-

“Please!” You blurted, squirming your hip. The silence was deafening, however John finally spoke up.

“I told you not to move.” You felt chills expose your skin at his comment. The man was swift to move away from your core. He grabbed you and flipped you over so you lay on your stomach instead of your back. His fingertips dragged along the length of your leg, starting at your achilles and ending at the curve of your ass. He gently grasped the flesh, squeezing it before a swift Slap! stang soft skin. You released a short cry at the sensation, whimpering afterwards as the man's hand gently massaged the skin he’d just assaulted. A second slap came down moments after, prompting you to cry out again. The overwhelming sting from the sharp slap tingled across your ass and you let out a defeated whimper. 

John’s large hands ran along your back, meeting the clasp for you bra. In a single swift movement the man had undone the article. The sensation of little kisses littered your back as he made a clear pattern down to your ass. His beard scraped the still raw skin, but the little pain it brought felt good. 

“Are you ready to behave?” He then asked. You nodded, vision still blocked by his tie. You could hear as he moved around again before he gently flipped you back over, pulling you to the edge. The quiet noise of his zipper echoed the quiet room, followed by the drop of an article of clothing. John’s calloused hands found themselves wrapping around your ankles, holding your legs up in the air. The gentle, yet excited, breaths that left his throat sounded throughout the room and you let out a quiet whine. 

“I know baby.” John answered to your plea. He reached his hand down, rubbing your exposed clit with a firm pressure. He gathered your wetness onto his fingers before giving himself a few pumps using the slick. An excited knot formed in your belly at the sensation of his rubbing, prompting you moan softly. His fingers left your clit but were replaced by the tip of his cock, caressing the bundle of nerves. Wishing you could see his face, you huffed from frustration. Your arms were still tied together above your head with the belt, and your vision still blocked by the tie. Seeing John’s pleasure only added to your own. 

In a single swift thrust, John had fully entered your heat. A cry left your throat at a loud volume, the satisfaction of finally being filled overwhelming your senses. The man started moving slowly, allowing you time to adjust to his large size. Pleasure coursed through your veins, and despite the man's rule, you began to move your hips with his. He removed his hands from around your ankles, resting your legs over his shoulders, before moving them down. He ripped your bra off, hand quick to grasp onto the flesh and fingers eagerly playing with your nipple. More waves of pleasure navigated your figure, the familiar warm feeling beginning to grow in your lower belly. 

Keeping his rhythm, John leaned forward and connected his lips with your breast, littering hickies across the soft, fleshy skin. Moans echoed the room, you being too drunk to care about keeping them under control. His thumb expertly rubbed your clit, only added to the fire within your belly. His mouth connected with your nipple, only doubling the pleasure you were feeling. John adjusted the position of his hips slightly, causing the head of his cock to rub against your g-spot. 

“Oh- Oh- I’m going to cum,” You breathed, the pit in your belly close to exploding. John took your words as a challenge thrusting harder. With a cry, your orgasm erupted throughout your body. Your finger and toe tips tingled as your muscles repeatedly flexed and relaxed. John let you ride out your orgasm, thrusting deeply before he too finished. His large body slumped onto your own, both of you breathing heavily. The man took a few moments before he lazily untied your hands and blindfold. 

“Whoa.” You spoke as soon as he took the fold off. He smirked, leaning on one elbow so he could face you.

“So, are you going to obey now?” He questioned, finger running up your body and between your breasts. You nodded swiftly, biting your lip. Although, once in a while you’ll have to misbehave. You two laid there quietly for about ten minutes before getting dressed in pajamas. Once clothed, you returned to your bed, both of you climbing in. Most of the time John stays until you are asleep. Then, not to raise suspicion, he returns to his bedroom across the hall. It was the only way you got away with ‘sleeping together’. John still didn’t know that your mom knows about some things. Thankfully, your father still doesn’t. You didn’t know when to break the news; speaking of bad news. Santino. The bar.

“John?” You questioned, turning to face him. He currently laid on his back, a book in hand. 

“Yes?” He answered, pausing his reading to look at you. He studied his handsome face, before speaking up.

“The bar I was at- Santino showed up. We- We spoke.” The words faintly floated from your lips. John sat up, his focus picking up on you. “You’ve been leaving at night, taking out certain camps with Santino’s men?” It was spoken like a statement, but lingered as a question. 

“Yes. I have.” He spoke, not breaking eye contact. Even though he was the one in trouble, his gaze made you feel like you were the scolded child. 

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” You huffed, “I could’ve helped.”

“(Y/N), stop.” He spoke, but more commanded. You held your mouth open, but no words escaped. “I did it because I can’t see you getting hurt. You’re-” He paused, “You’re clumsy.”

Your cheeks flamed a hot pink at his words, embarrassment coursing through your veins. So, maybe you were a little… clumsy when it came to combat. You allowed yourself to get hurt by only two men in the alley- who you could’ve easily taken in your glory days. You’ve allowed your guard to lower, and so has your skills. You’d just stopped caring about it all; Up until John showed up. 

“Okay. I-I appreciate it.” Your voice floated out in a whisper after a few moments of silence. He nodded, returning to his previous position and continuing on with reading. You stared at him for a few more seconds, sighing before giving up and laying down. 

“What else did he say?” John questioned. You shrugged, your thoughts rummaging through your memories of the conversation. 

“Where's your boy, hm? No play toy tonight?”

“Your… boyfriend,”

“John Wick could never touch me.”

“He’s definitely threatened of you.” You spoke. It sounds like something a man trying to cover up his cowering confidence would say. John nodded; a little smirk growing on the corner of his lips. You got to admit, it was a little sexy to see him turned on by fear. But, there was also the fact Santino knew about your relationship with John; he could tell your father. 

——————

The next day came and flew by, the evening presenting itself faster than you would've liked. Now, here you stood in your bedroom, mother zipping up the gown from the seamstress’s shop. You studied yourself in the mirror; your hair had been styled in a low bun out of your face and perfect for combat. Your makeup was elegant however, you donned a smokey eye with black and brown shadows, as well as a dramatic set of false eyelashes. The dress your mother finished zipping made your breasts look perfect, and it showed off your body nicely; as well as the slit up to the thigh.

“You look stunning.” Your mother smiled. You just now noticed she’d been staring at you through the mirror too. You gave her a sad smile before turning your attention away and towards putting on shoes. Tonight was the gala... Tonight, there is a good chance you’re going to die. Anxiety hadn’t left your gut all day, however knowing John was to be at your side gave you a little security.

“Where is John?” You asked, turning around and looking at your mother. She blinked at your sudden question before answering. 

“He’s just outside the door, waiting. We’ve got to leave in five minutes.” She spoke, pushing your purse into your hands. You nodded, swiftly gathering the rest of the things you'd need. You made sure your weapons were secure in their strapped on spots. The ankle strap was hidden by the long length of the dress, and the thigh strap was hidden on the inside of the slit. Taking one last deep breath, you exhaled loudly and stepped towards the door, opening it with determination. John looked at you as you exit the room, a little smile he was trying to contain covering his face. 

“I’m ready.” You spoke, a hint of faux confidence covering the words. John nodded, leading you out of the home and towards the car. Your family would be taking separate cars to the event, for safety and get away reasons. It was just easier this way. John guided you into one of the vehicles, following in afterwards himself. He gestured for the driver to go, then hit the button to raise the divider. His other hand creeped onto your exposed thigh slit, and you bit your lip at the sensation of his calloused fingers gliding across smooth skin. 

“How are you feeling?” John asked quietly. You took the moment to admire how stunning he looked as well. He had gelled back his hair, and combed his beard. He also wore one of his all black three pieces. 

“Nervous.” You spoke, your eyes returning to his face. He nodded, leaning down and capturing your lips with his own. You sighed into the kiss, some nerves beginning to calm down. He broke the kiss first, the hand that had been resting on your thigh giving it a squeeze. 

“I’ll be beside you all night. I’m not going anywhere.” John’s words felt like a warm blanket, and you leaned into his side, wrapping your arms around his one. The man's head rest on top of your own, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. The comfort didn’t last long however, as the car began to slow down, eventually coming to a stop. Your gaze moved to the window, noticing the large building that the gala was hosted in. Herds of people were standing outside, shuffling in and out of the building. Many reporters were also outside, taking pictures of famous people in attendance. John untangled your bodies and climbed out first, opening the door for you. You took a deep breath, gathering your purse and making sure your straps were secured before sliding out yourself. John held out his arm for you to wrap your own around; which you accepted. 

“Are you ready, baby?” He spoke softly. You nodded, letting your bodyguard take the lead.

---

Master List

[artificialqueens]

Happiness Isn't Here, Chapter 1, (Jan-centric) - Joley

ao3 link

“Jan?” her coworker gently shaking her by the shoulder wasn’t enough to jolt her awake. So she repeated her name louder and shook her a bit harder. “Jan!”

Jan picked her head up, a piece of paper stuck to her cheek. The coffee cup next to her had yet to be touched and her briefcase was still open at her feet, only partially unpacked. “Huh?” As her eyes adjusted the world into focus, she remembered that she was at her desk, in her office, at work, rather than her desk, in her office, at home, where she had passed out last. “I’m awake! I’m good, I’m fine. What’s up?”

The woman arched her brow, but decided it wasn’t worth harping on the issue. “Right, anyway. Here are the updates on the Wilson case,” she said, dropping a manila folder on Jan’s desk. “And not for nothing, but you might want to look alive. Word is you’re looking at a promotion to junior partner by the end of the week, it wouldn’t hurt to do what you can to seal the deal.”

It wasn’t clear to Jan if the woman had said anything else after ‘junior partner’ – a ringing started in her ears that drowned everything out. Her head started pounding and the room started spinning, she could barely focus on the muffin she grabbed and took a bite out of, hoping that it was just an empty stomach that made her feel so sick. When she did finish the muffin, she was relieved that her surroundings were now staying still, but it didn’t alleviate the knot in her stomach or the tightness in her chest.

Air. She just needed some fresh air, that was all. She hung her blazer on the back of her chair and bolted through the office, only stilling to catch her breath when she was in the elevator. Having been up on the fortieth floor, it stopped a few times on the way down, making her start to fidget and bounce on her heels until she finally hit the ground floor.

“This is good news, Jan. Why aren’t you happy?” Jan leaned her head against the wall and groaned. “Why can’t you be happy?” She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that she’d feel better when she opened them.

While she had calmed down, yes, she couldn’t say she was feeling much better. She stared out in front of her, at people of every shape, size, and color walking around, then further up at the bright lights, albeit more subdued in the daytime. Her eyes ended up fixating on one of the billboards animated on another skyscraper. It was an advertisement for some sort of ice cream, showing a woman in a peaceful, open space and taking an indulgent spoonful. It read, ‘where is your happy place?’ and transitioned to another ad shortly after.

“Well, that’s a little on the nose,” Jan murmured with a roll of her eyes. But she did pose the question to herself – where was her happy place?

Theatre camp. Oh, how she loved and longed for that summer, the one she might argue was the peak of her adolescence. Every day she got to perform, whether it was improv or reenacting songs and scenes from her favorite musicals. And every night, she got to make new memories of another, more intimate kind.

Jan decided to siphon whatever lingering serotonin she could from those memories as she stood up. She had only just turned to head back into the building when–

“Jan? Jan Sport?”

“Yeah?” Jan, at first, wasn’t sure if she was still daydreaming. She had to be, because the last time she had heard that distinct voice… No way. Okay, there were simply too many coincidences in a row for it to not mean something. “Oh my god, Crystal? Is that really you?”

Crystal beamed brightly and nearly knocked Jan over when she hugged her. “This is so crazy!” When she finally let go, she took a step back to look Jan over – a lot had changed in the ten years since they had last seen each other. “And you got even hotter, crazy. What’re you up to these days?”

“I work there,” Jan pointed at the building behind her. “Law firm. Busy, boring stuff. What about you?”

“I was in charge of props and scenery for an Off-Off-Broadway show, but the run was cut short. It turns out, people didn’t want another musical about a historical figure. It’s a shame, I thought Van Buren had potential,” she explained. “Bad timing, huh? I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Jan deflated as the sparks of excitement started tapering out. “You are? To where?”

Crystal’s smile weakened, a tinge of embarrassment in her expression. “Back to Springfield. I know it’s not as… exciting as Manhattan, but it’s where I’m happiest. Sometimes that’s what’s gotta come first, y’know? I miss being that happy.”

The cogs were already turning in Jan’s mind. This was kismet, it had to be. There couldn’t have been a more obvious hint unless it was a neon sign literally blinking in her face. “Absolutely, I totally get it. And good for you for prioritizing like that, I’m sure it’ll save you a lot of money too.”

“Definitely. But hey, let me give you my number. If you’re ever in the area, let me know. I’d love to catch up,” Crystal smiled, putting her number in Jan’s phone when the other girl all but shoved it into her hand.

“You certainly will,” Jan quickly assured, sending Crystal a text when she got her phone back so she would have her number as well.

——

Jan looked at her phone, at the six missed calls she had from her mother, and debated whether or not she should call her back before her plane boarded. It came down to the choice of whether she wanted to be crippled with anxiety before or after she landed. At least if she did it before, she could take a xanax and sleep through the flight. So, on the seventh call, she answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Alexis shrieked. “Missouri? You’re moving to Missouri? I couldn’t even find it on the fucking map! I tried to google it and the first result just said ‘why?’. You were just about to get the junior partner promotion, what is the matter with you?”

“Cities like Springfield need people like me, Mom,” Jan explained. “There’s never gonna be a shortage of talented lawyers in Manhattan, but I could do some real good out in the Midwest. I already have a job, an apartment, everything���s fine.”

Alexis muttered indistinguishably under her breath, trying to calm herself. “I just don’t understand why you would want to throw your life away for that shtetl. What does Springfield have to offer you?”

Jan sighed. “You wouldn’t understand, I don’t expect you to… But this is something I need to do.”

“Alright,” she relented. “Text me when you land.”

This wouldn’t be the last conversation they had about this, Jan knew that. But as she boarded the plane, she was relieved that the conversation didn’t go half as badly? as she thought it would. She would still need a xanax, but at least she would sleep soundly.

For most of the five hour flight, Jan got the sleep she so desperately needed, and it wasn’t long before she began the tedious process of moving into her new house. She had surprised herself by deciding to become a homeowner, but she couldn’t resist how much further a Manhattan dollar went in the Midwest.

Jan had just finished up with the movers when she began to feel like she was being watched. She turned and noticed a woman about her age – perhaps a few years younger – leaning against the railing of the front porch, looking at her with an intrigued expression. “Hi!” She chirped to, who she assumed, was her new neighbor.

She narrowed her gaze. “Are you a cop or are you in the witness protection program?”

“Neither? I just moved here from New York,” she explained.

“Why?”

She shrugged, looking around. It was a suburban neighborhood, similar to the one she had grown up in, but more middle class (and she was sure she was the only person with any Jewishness in their DNA in a twenty mile radius). The houses were both spacious and spaced out and everything was calm, if not a bit bland. “Change of scenery.”

Her neighbor wasn’t convinced, but dropped it for the time being. “Right… What’s your name, city girl? I’m Jaida.”

“Oh my God. I haven’t even introduced myself,” Jan jogged over to her and extended her hand. “I’m Jan Sport, so nice to meet you, neighbor.”

Jaida looked at her oddly, but shook her hand nonetheless. “So what do you do exactly?”

“I’m a lawyer. I got this great offer at this firm by a lovely Canadian woman, I simply had to take it,” she gave a clearly rehearsed answer. “What about you?”

“I’m a student,” Jaida answered flippantly. “I actually gotta finish some work. Good luck with your Canadian lawyer job.” She went back inside before Jan could offer a response.

Not that Jan was perturbed. She shrugged as she walked into her new home. “She seems cool.”

——

“Once again, we are so excited to have you at our firm. We thought we received your resumé by mistake, to be completely honest,” Brooke Lynn remarked as she took Jan on a tour of the office.

Jan had a bright grin on her lips as she looked around the office, admittedly only listening to every other word or so. “Uh huh, cool. Hey, is the cell service bad out here or something? It’s just that I texted my friend two days ago and I haven’t heard back from her yet, and I’m sure she’s been trying to reach me.”

Brooke furrowed her brows in confusion. “Hm… No, that’s not really an issue out here. Anyway, this is your office. It’s no Manhattan view, but I think you’ll settle in fine.” As they left the office, her attention suddenly shifted. “Oh, Brita! Brita!” She flagged down a woman by the copy machine. “This is Jan, the Harvard-Columbia grad I was telling you about.”

Brita stood upright, offering a tight-lipped smile. “Hi, so nice to meet you. I’m Brita,” she greeted and looked Jan over. “I love your Hermès bag, it looks real.”

“Oh,” Jan tilted her head, “it is real. I got it on sale, though.”

“Of course you did,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “What, exactly, are you doing all the way out here anyway?”

Jan had already become adept at handling this question. “I needed a change of scenery. Couldn’t be a city girl forever.”

Brita’s brows rose suspiciously and her arms crossed. “Ah, yes, the standard NYC-Springfield move. You have any family out here? Friends?”

Jan blinked rapidly and cleared her throat. “Nope, not a soul. Just needed to start somewhere fresh. NYC isn’t as perfect as it is in movies, you know.”

“I know,” she retorted sourly.

Brooke clapped her hands together. “Well, I’m glad you two are getting along. Jan, don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.” And with that, she had dipped back into her office.

Brita watched Brooke’s office door shut before redirecting her attention to Jan. “Okay, she’s gone. So, why are you really here?”

Jan frowned. “I… just told you?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself. I love a good mystery.”

“Right… Anyway, I’m gonna go do work. You know. Because this is my job.” Jan slowly backed away, before turning on her heel and walking off at a normal pace.

Brita scoffed, turning to look at her coworker, who had been watching silently from the next cubicle. “Can you believe that bitch, Aiden? Oh, look at me, I moved for a ‘change of scenery’,” she mocked the cheerful lilt their new coworker spoke with.

Aiden rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Exactly!” Brita nodded. “Ugh, I’m so glad you see it too. I’m gonna crack that nut.”

——

Overall, Jan had deemed her first day of work to be a success. But that was eclipsed by the fact that she still hadn’t heard from Crystal. To distract from her frustration, she stopped by a local bar on the way home, Pony Express.

Well, ‘bar’ didn’t seem to be an accurate title, despite everyone seeming to refer to it as such. Aside from alcohol, it also had a kid-friendly menu that catered to the children that frequented from the soccer leagues that played on the adjacent field and their families.

“Hi,” Jan greeted as she sat at the bar, though her eyes were fixed on her phone. “Could I get a vodka cranberry, please…” she looked up long enough to read the bartender’s name tag, “Gigi?”

“Sure,” Gigi answered, looking Jan over as she made the drink. “Are you new here? I’ve never seen you around before.”

She had yet to tear her eyes from the screen. “Yeah, just moved here from Manhattan. Got a great job offer. And I have a… friend that lives out here, but I’m still waiting to hear from her. She must be having phone problems or something.”

“No kidding,” the bartender hummed. “My best friend just moved back here from Manhattan, maybe you know her,” she joked.

Jan missed the joke in it. “Maybe I do, what’s her name?” She asked, finally managing to look at Gigi, acknowledging her beauty in the back of her mind, but much more interested in her answer.

Gigi chuckled at her reaction. “Crystal Methyd, she was there to do art for this historical play or something.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, that’s so crazy! That’s my friend! I, um, do you know where she is right now?”

“No… but I can tell you where she’ll be tonight. Our friend is having this party. You should come, maybe with me.”

Jan arched her brow, a slight smile on her lips. “With you? Like, you’ll pick me up in your car and everything?”

“Yeah… like a date. That’s generally what it consists of.”

There were a few beats of hesitation before Jan nodded. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the perfect excuse. “Alright, it’s a date.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Gigi’s mouth. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

By the time she had returned home, Jan had warmed up to the idea. If there was anyone that could get her in Crystal’s direction, it would be a close friend. And she and Gigi were strangers, surely there would be no hard feelings. She just had to play it cool and casual.

Maybe spending the following two hours doing her hair, makeup, and picking out just the right outfit wasn’t ‘casual’ per sé, but it didn’t matter if she looked good enough to catch Crystal’s eye from across the room, like in every cheesy movie she’d seen (and loved).

“Hey,” Jan greeted as she made her way to Gigi. She took careful steps as she walked – her dress was tight and her heels were high, and it took a lot of effort to appear effortless.

But it did seem to work on Gigi, who was struggling with the subtlety in looking her over. “You look… fucking hot.”

Jan beamed brightly. “Thank you! Let’s go, we’re burning moonlight,” she said as she got in the car.

“Who says that?” She murmured to herself as she got in and drove them to the party.

The party was already well-populated by the time of their arrival, allowing them to seamlessly blend in. Despite the party being hosted by one of Gigi’s friends, Jan was the one smiling and waving at anyone she made eye contact with, while Gigi kept more to herself. They managed to get drinks and find a spot to stand and chat in, though Jan’s attention was divided.

“What are you looking for?” Gigi asked after the third or fourth time she noticed Jan not listening. “Crystal? Why are you so worried about finding her, you have a thing with her or something?”

Jan snapped back to attention, shaking her head hard enough for her ponytail to swish about. “No, no, no, it’s nothing like that. We were just such good friends and I haven’t seen her in ages, and it’ll be great to surprise her, that’s all.”

While not entirely convinced, Gigi decided to drop it at that, mostly because she’d received a text that distracted her. “Oh, speak of the devil, guess who just texted me,” she remarked as she looked at her screen. “Looks like she’s not gonna make it here, though. Her girlfriend looped her into a family thing.”

That one word made Jan’s heart sink into the pit of her stomach and she had to blink away the tears of frustration and sadness that threatened to make a sudden appearance. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘girlfriend’?”

The suspicions Gigi had started to grow from Jan’s crestfallen reaction, but she answered nonetheless. “Yeah, they’re high school sweethearts, kinda went on and off in college, I think. They took a break when Crystal moved to New York, but they’ve been back together for… I don’t know, a couple months? Not really on my list of primary concerns.”

“They’re high school sweethearts, that’s so sweet,” Jan said in a breathy gasp, as if she were forcing the words out of an unwilling mouth.

“Are you okay?” Gigi asked, putting her free hand on Jan’s upper arm to steady her. “You seem upset.”

Jan set her drink down on a nearby table and took a breath. “Me? Upset? No, I’m totally fine. I’m just… surprised. That’s all.”

“Really? Because if you have feelings for Crystal or something, it’s–”

Jan cut Gigi off by cupping her face and kissing her. Much to her relief, she felt the other girl relax into the contact. She dragged the kiss out for another moment or so before letting go and standing upright, trying to read her face to see if she had been convincing enough.

“Okay,” Gigi chuckled softly. “Not upset. Point taken.” She shoved her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket as she tried to figure out what was supposed to happen next. “Do you wanna… go find some snacks or something?”

“Actually,” Jan clapped her hands together, “why don’t we get out of here and go back to my place?”

At this point, Gigi had given up on questioning Jan’s answers. She found her odd and somewhat over the top, but it intrigued her, it kept her hooked. “Sure, tonight’s been weird enough, might as well see how this ends up.” She linked arms with her and they walked back out of the house.

The car ride consisted mainly of Jan relying on every flirtation method she knew – she played with Gigi’s hair, rested her hand on her thigh, anything to keep her from asking too many questions. And once they had arrived and promptly relocated to Jan’s bedroom, things escalated quickly. They were making out heavily, limbs interlocked and hands roaming each other’s body. But through the moans, Gigi noticed something that took her right out of the moment. “Are you crying?”

Jan sniffled and wiped her eyes as subtly as she could manage. “What? No, it… it’s just allergies, honestly,” she assured despite her lower lip trembling.

“Yeah, no, I’m out,” Gigi pushed herself off the bed. “You’ve got something going on, clearly. Maybe we’ll try this again another time. Or not. Who knows? Anyway, um, goodnight.” With that, she turned on her heel and left, despite Jan’s protests and insistence that she was fine.

“Fuck…” Jan groaned and flopped onto the bed once she was alone.

——

Jan had been hoping to distract herself from the last night when she got to work that morning. And at first, things seemed to be going well. But barely a couple hours into the day, she found herself cornered into the break room by Brita. “Oh god, now what?” she groaned.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, little girl. I’ve got you all figured out,” Brita smirked. “I know all about Crystal Methyd, how you’ve checked her instagram fifty-four times since you landed in Springfield. You’re obsessed with her and that’s why you moved here.”

Jan’s throat tightened and she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. “No, no, because that would be crazy and I am not crazy. Crystal and I dated for a few months when we were sixteen, I barely know her,” she insisted. “I moved here for work and Crystal just happened to be here!” she paused to try to collect herself. “I mean, yes, she’s the one that mentioned Springfield when I ran into her. And yes, when I ran into her, it made me feel happy, like glitter was exploding inside of me, and…” Her eyes widened and her face paled. “Oh my god, I’m crazy. I-I’m crazy and stupid and horrible and–”

Brita gripped Jan’s arms firmly and looked into her eyes. “Hey, do not talk about my new friend like that,” she snapped, then waited for the younger woman’s expression to soften. “Sweetie, you’re not crazy. I get it now. You’re just in love.”

“I’m your friend?” Jan asked, brows knitted. “I thought you hated me.”

Brita shook her head. “I hated that you lied to me, silly.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” she smiled, only for her face to drop almost instantly. “Also, I’m not in love, I just told you I–”

“Shh,” Brita put a finger to Jan’s lips. “You don’t have to defend yourself against destiny, you’re so brave for pursuing it. This is the start of a beautiful love story! And I’m gonna make it happen for you.”

Jan smiled warmly. “You are?”

Brita nodded brightly. “Of course, honey,” she noticed Jan’s eyes drift to her phone while she spoke. “What’s up?”

Color rushed back to Jan’s face as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, eager to make sure she read her screen correctly. “It’s Crystal. She wants to know if I wanna get lunch with her sometime.” The two coworkers – now friends – squealed in delight before scrambling to figure out how to word her reply perfectly.

It wasn’t until after she sent it that Jan’s face fell. “Wait… Crystal has a girlfriend. Her friend, who I met once and definitely did not almost hook up with, mentioned it.”

Brita shrugged. “Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy? They always have a girlfriend in the beginning. Don’t worry about that,” she assured. “Besides, I’m sure she’s not that great.”

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Goth Boss (2)

Warning: language, angst, mention of self-harm, 

summary: Tony stark x daughter goth reader. The avengers find out that Tony has a secret teenage daughter and make tony ask her to visit. But when they meet her the avengers find out why she was kept secret.( could bucky and Steve he terrified of how y/n looks since they are from a different time and seeing a goth girl for the first time scares them) (tony has a strained relationship with y/n as she grew up without him and he kept her secret) 

Part 1 | Part 2 |

 They were in an old-timey diner late at night sitting in a booth in the back and keeping a low profile. (Y/n) was looking out the window at the passing cars and closing stores while Tony was more focused on the black coffee spiked with a hint of Vodka in front of him. She got a cup of black tea in front of her. Neither of them said anything and the air around them was very tense.

(Y/n) was aware that her mother sat down and told Tony all the significant things he missed in her life the good and the bad. He was surprised to learn how many things she missed he was more surprised to learn that she actively tried to get him involved in these things.  He missed so many things and he had only himself to blame.

When a problem arose with (Y/n) Tony simply threw money at it without even learning what the problem was and pushed it on to others. But what really surprised him was that (Y/n)’s mother didn’t use any of the money he gave her not even the child support. She had a couple million dollars on the side due to this.

“Are you going to keep staring at your coffee or are you going to talk?” she sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead ”It’s Sunday night I have school in the morning I have a test tomorrow and I haven’t even studied for it .” 

“Geometry test, right?... Peter told me and since-”

“Cut the shit Stark. What do you want?”

“I thought we were going to try” he laughed awkwardly “ You know you don’t have to call me Mr. Stark”

“Baby steps. Now Mr. Stark you better start talking before I start walking. I don’t have all night” (Y/n) was extremely tired and tired (Y/n) was moody (Y/n) and she didn’t have time for bull shit like this, unfortunately.

“ I talked to your mother. I never realized how much of your life I’ve missed-”

“I call Bullshit” (y/n) said leaning back and crossing her arms a look of irritation on her face “ I... I missed my very first day of school because you said you would take me and you never showed up but mom didn’t have the heart to tell me you weren’t coming and I waited. Later in life, I learned you were partying in the Bahamas. I remember the first play I was in I called you nonstop to make sure you would come you were on a yacht off the coast partying again. Or the father-daughter dance I got dolled up and waited all night for you, I was the only girl in school who didn’t go the other girls without fathers managed to get their older brothers, uncles, and grandfathers to take them. You didn’t show up for anything. Except for that one dance recital, you showed up at the very end smelling like booze and swaying on your feet we took you home and I tried to show you the video but you passed out of the couch hours later you woke up sick and rushed to the bathroom you never made it... you threw up on me instead.”

“she- your-”

“Mom never knew because I didn’t tell her I cleaned up and dragged you back to the living room. I was seven. After that, I stopped doing dances, plays, and recitals I never liked them anyways I only did them to get your attention. But after that night I realized that if that was the attention you were going to give me I didn’t want it. I rather have those monthly five-minute phone calls than threw up in my hair.” (Y/n) looked down at her remaining tea it was cold she chugged it down.

“ I gave up on you when I was seven. I didn’t want you anymore after that... My being goth isn’t a rebellion against you, as you said when I was 14. Me stopping those plays, dance recitals, and performances was a rebellion against you. Me turning those monthly five-minute phone calls to two-minute phone calls then every six months a minute phone call was a rebellion against you. Me doing everything in my will power to be nothing like you is my rebellion against you. Me knowing and growing to be perfectly fine without you is my rebellion against you. 

“Look at me I’m 16 going on 17. I’m going to graduate next year. I have grown into a proper, fine, and functional adult I am an amazing woman. And you contributed to none of this” 

(Y/n) stood up opening her purse and putting a few dollars on the table for her tea. She felt good right now she felt confident and she was proud of herself. She has never spoken her mind on the case of her father to anyone and it felt good to let it out even if it was only a fraction of what she truly wanted to say. With a confident smile on her face, she turned to walk away but someone grabbed her wrist stopping her. She looked down to find Tony in tears her smile slowly faded as shame and guilt began to build.

No. She wasn’t in the wrong.

“P-please... give me another chance, let me fix it. I promise -just give me another chance” her heart clenched as his lip quivered.

“I’ve given you a hundred and one chance. Every time I called you for help that was a chance, every time I or my mother dialed your number that was a chance, every ring was a chance, every sent straight to voice mail was a chance, Every tear I shed for you was a chance. And that last phone call where you said I never brought good news and that I was a problem child nothing less nothing more that was your last chance.” She snatched her hand away “ I sorry to get your hopes up but now you know how I felt every time you didn’t show up and broke a promise. I’m not giving you another chance goodbye Mr. Stark.”

And with that (Y/n) quickly left the diner and began to walk down a random street. She didn’t know where she was going but she had to getaway.

“I’M SORRY” Tony screamed as he chased her out of the diner. She turned around quickly.

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t- Sorry doesn’t turn back time and give me a real father, sorry doesn’t show up at my performances, sorry doesn’t wipe my tears, Sorry doesn’t erase the words you said, fix the promises you broke. SORRY, SORRY, SORRY. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Sorry does jack shit. Fuck your sorry and fuck your fucking tears. You abandoned me so I’m abandoning you. I’m done”

(Y/n) didn’t even realize it started raining until she was a few blocks away. She didn’t even realize she was lost until she was soaked to the bone. Running under an awning she quickly dialed the only number that came to mind she didn’t even know who she actually dialed until she heard their voice.

“Hey, what are you doing up so late?” Peter answered

“I’m lost and wet and cold. Please... h-help.” (Y/n) didn’t know why but she began to sob hard she couldn’t even hold her self up her knees buckled and she collapsed on the grown.

“Woah, Woah, baby calm down. I’m on my way can you give me a street name or something. A Name of a building?” Peter was in between panic mode and superhero/ super boyfriend mode right now. (Y/n) was a mess on the other end of the line as tried to give him the name of the building she was in front of but another sob and a mess of words he couldn't make out came out. Fortunately for Peter Karen tracked (y/n)’s phone for him and put her location up. He knew exactly where she was.

“Hold on baby I’m on my way”

It took Tony a while to gather himself then he got to his car and he let the dam break. He was sobbing like a child good thing his windows were tinted because it was disgusting. Gathering himself enough to start the engine he began to drive. He got to a light when something caught the corner of his eye he saw a someone sitting in front of a store soaking wet and crying it was a little girl. It was his little girl. Tony quickly began to unbuckle himself and step out of the car. But before he could even open the door all the way something landed in front of his daughter. 

Spider-Man.

The friendly Arachnids picked her up and quickly swung away before Tony could even react completely.

(Y/n) was shivering and shaking as Peter set her on her feet. “What happened ?” he asked as he looked around his room for a towel and dry clothes. 

“I... I told Tony I was going to give him another chance but then I thought about it and I realized I didn’t want to give him another chance. And that’s what I told him” Peter jumped as he turned around he found (y/n) standing in her underwear with her back towards him. He cleared his throat and handed her a towel over her shoulder.

“w-why were you out in the rain?”

“We were at a diner I left when it started raining and I got lost. I’m sorry for pulling you from your patrol.” Peter gave her some dry clothes without looking.

“No, I’m happy you called me. I would have come to you no matter where or when you called me” Peter felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and hug him from behind.

“Still,” she said kissing his back.

“How about you spend the night? I’ll put your clothes in the drier” He pulled her hands up to his both giving her knuckles gentle kisses.

“Thank you, Peter” 

(Y/n) messaged her mom to let her know she would be staying at Peter’s place. Of course, she had questions but once Tony’s name was mentioned she left it alone. But she did call May and let her know that (y/n) as there.

Peter put her clothes in the drier changed into some sweat pants and slid into bed with her. He kissed her forehead as he wrapped his arms around her.

“ Listen, I’m not going to get involved in your situation with Tony.” And Peter really wasn’t he knew despite them dating and their feeling towards each other she was quite envious of his relationship with Tony and she had told him this. She wanted the relationship that he had with her father. Peter knew all of this and in order to keep the peace and not upset her, he never mentioned Tony or his work with him. He changed his name in his phone to ‘The Boss’, when he talked to others about him he called him ‘The Boss’, and whenever he had to go to him he said he was going to ‘Work’. He basically made it so Tony’s name was never mentioned in the presence of (y/n). And he never mentioned (y/n) while at the tower or with Tony none of the Avengers even knew they were dating. Only their friend in their small circle May and her mother knew they were dating, that was about five people.

“I’m not going to get involved but please don’t let this drag you down don’t let this hurt you beyond repair. I care about you too much to watch you in pain.”

(Y/n) leaned forward kissing him “ What did I do to deserve you?”

“That’s my line” she laughed a bit before her breathing slowed down and she slowly fell asleep to the sound of Peter’s beating heart. 

Peter didn’t go to sleep so soon he instead spent a few more hours staring at her, stroking her hair, and gently kissing her fingers. In kissing her fingers the sleeve of her (his) sweater slid down her revealing her wrist which was covered in scars both horizon and vertical. His heart panged at the sight of her, no doubt, self-inflicted wounds. Peter choked on a cry as tears began to fall. How could she be in so much pain and no one notice? How could she hide such pain?

Peter sniffled and wiped his tears. He couldn’t question her he shouldn’t have been prying into her business even if it was by accident. But he knew now to stop questioning her on her sweaters all the time. Taking a few deep breaths and calming down Peter brought her scared wrist to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss and squeeze. He didn’t sleep at all that night.

-

(Y/n) woke up startled a loud crash traveled through the apartment. She looked around trying to see where the panic was but then she realized that this wasn’t her room and she wasn’t at home. Then a raging headache introduced itself to her along with the oh so bright light. Moving quickly she shuts the blinds it was then that she realized she was in Peter’s room and in his clothes.

“Oh shit” she whispered as she clenched the sweater shirt, that was very clearly not her, to her chest. She did not recall all of the events of last night, especially what happened once she arrived all that was blank. Did they... do it?

“Hey,” Peter said as he slowly kicked the door open carrying a tray of food “ I made breakfast” he place the tray on his desk he turns to her and notices her distress. “ Hey, hey is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“I... what happened last night?”

“Um... I picked you up in the rain after your talk with Tony swung you here. You changed out of your wet clothes, I didn’t see anything. And we went to bed. Nothing happened last night nothing like that. We slept actual sleep.”

(Y/n) sighed in relief as she fell back against the pillows. Peter then place the breakfast tray on her lap.

“You should eat. You’ve been asleep for a very long time” (Y/n) laughed a bit but then she looks out the window then to the clock on Peter’s desk. It read 10:17 am.

“OH MY GOSH WE’RE LATE “ (Y/n) was about to jump out of bed but Peter stopped her pushing her back on the bed.

“We’re skipping today. May and your mom called in sick for us. We’ve got today and probably tomorrow to do whatever. Listen don’t worry about all of that right now. Eat. I got to go clean the kitchen it was like a hurricane hit it.” He kissed her forehead and tried to quickly scurry off

“Peter?” he stopped and turned back to her “ Thank you”. 

He blushed and stuttered a bit before deciding he had nothing say and left tripping as he went. She laughed at his shy and clumpiness. He was adorable. 

It was (y/n) turn to blush when she looked down and realized her pancakes were misshapen hearts. In the hall leaning against the wall, Peter smiled as he heard her giggle. It might have taken him a good hour and a half to get it good but at least she liked them. Now he was off to clean the kitchen. Now that was going to take some time.

-

It was her lunch break and she was sitting in a park staring at her phone Peter had promised to have (Y/n) call her as soon as she had woken up it was noon now and she hadn’t received any call yet. She was starting to worry. Her phone rang.

“ (Y/N)”

“Um...n-no”

“Tony?”

“Y-yeah...You haven’t heard from (y/n)?”

“no, she spent the night at Peter’s. She wasn’t feeling well and he took care of her. She was supposed to call me when she woke up.” She probably shouldn’t have shared that information with him but she could hear the distress in his voice and she knew Tony was with her last night. “what happened last night I thought you two were coming back together?”

“She... she changed her mind... Remember that time I woke up on the floor in the middle of your living room and you were super pissed. You never told me why you were angry.”

She sighed so she told him that story. Although she had shared many stories with Tony about the bad things he did in (y/n)’s childhood she left many stories out as one she wasn't supposed to know those stories and two she knew he had no memory of any of the events and three they were all just so terrible she just wanted to pretend they never happened. Meaning a huge chunk of (y/n) childhood was missing and, although it wasn’t pretty, the man was very present at the beginning of her childhood at least everything that had dealt with Tony was forgotten or a distant memory she didn’t want.

Tony did a lot of bad things caused a lot of pain and he didn’t even know it and honestly, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. He was a better man now, sort of, she didn’t tell and wouldn’t tell of his past demons. He was trying.

“... was I really that bad?”

“Oh, Tony. You were terrible, awful, horrible. The absolute worse. You were so bad that there were days I got on my knees and prayed to Lucifer himself that he’d take you because heaven definitely wasn’t answering my prayers... you were that bad Tony.”

“I-I sound terrible, Oh I was terrible.” he laughed but she could hear his voice crack she could imagine the tears streaming down his face. “ I’ve ch-changed now. I promise I’ve changed now.”

“I Know Tony. I’ve seen it you’ve changed and you’re so much better now but just because you’ve changed doesn’t mean the past has”

“She changed her mind. She doesn’t -she doesn’t want to anymore. She doesn’t want to fix anything anymore.”

She sighed heavily “ Tony, in order to put something back together there needs to pieces and unfortunately, there are no more pieces left. You broke her she got tired of waiting for you to pick up the pieces and fix her so she went picked them up herself and tossed them out.”

Her heart broke as she heard Tony sob over the phone. They are separated, and were never together, to begin with, but she still held love for him and worried for him. But she couldn’t help him here all she could do was listen to his cries. She didn’t like it she had to do something.

“Tony, What are you doing tonight?”

“Um crying” he let out a sad laughed she could hear the tears in his voice.

“Let's meet up tonight. Let’s talk”

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[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent One-shot: The Hallmark of a New Christmas Tradition (Rated PG13)

Summary: With their plans canceled and a cherished Christmas tradition persona non grata, Kurt and Blaine come up with a new tradition - writing and starring in their own Hallmark-style movie. (1305 words)

Notes: Written for the Glee Potluck Big Bang prompt 'Hallmark' and the Klaine Advent 2019 prompt 'tradition'. Also, I'm embarrassed at how quickly it took to write this XD

Read on AO3.

“Ugh! Hallmark!” Kurt groans, closing his browser and tossing his phone across the sofa in disgust. “You disappoint me.”

“I take it you heard about the Zola thing, too, huh?” Blaine asks, retrieving the discarded phone and dropping on a cushion beside his husband.

“Yup.” Kurt snags his phone back, but only as an excuse to grab his husband’s leg and yank it over his lap. “Well, good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“Rubbish? I thought you loved Hallmark movies!”

“Sort of.” Kurt shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Blaine snorts. “It’s Hallmark.”

“Yes, but it’s formulaic! And that formula is repetitive … and kind of sexist. It’s something you have to be in the mood for.” Kurt shifts in his seat to better face his husband. “When you put on a Hallmark movie, you know what you’re going to get – successful woman with no time for family or holiday nonsense gets pulled away from an extremely important career-making decision to travel, last minute, to the small town where she grew up and care for her ailing ma/pa/grandma who raised her or whatever, and discovers the true meaning of Christmas in the arms of a rugged lumberjack who spends the first three-quarters of their so-called relationship making fun of her life decisions even though, in the grand scheme of things, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with them, besides maybe the fact that she’s going to be thirty in a few years, le gasp!, and she has yet to pop out any kids.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise when Kurt finally takes a breath. “Wow. You gave that no thought at all, did you?”

“Don’t have to. Think about it. They never change.”

Blaine’s eyes roll up as he tries to recall the plot of the last few Hallmark movies they watched. He finds himself nodding without even meaning to, his husband’s point proven. “I see what you mean.”

“Plus, no LGBTQ couples ever. At all. Not even in the background.”

“That is a shame,” Blaine agrees, eyes focused on the phone in Kurt’s hands, up to his face, then over his shoulder to the window beyond, where a steady stream of snow has been falling all morning, gathering on the panes and obscuring their view. According to the news, it’s piling up fast, which pretty much 86’d the plans they’d made to visit a bed and breakfast upstate. They’d changed back into their pajamas and opted for their fallback tradition – watching Hallmark movies. But without even asking, he knows that’s out.

Blaine grins. He’d been bummed about their circumstances before, but now he sees an opportunity. The phone, the snow, this whole conversation has given Blaine a stellar idea.

“Seeing as we’re snowed in for the weekend, maybe we can try our hands at making our own Hallmark movie! You and I can star in it!”

Kurt’s right brow arches sharply. “Are you serious? Or is this some veiled excuse to make a cornier-than-normal sex tape?”

“I’m serious! We used to do something similar back in high school! Remember?”

“Normally I try to forget high school, but yes. I remember.”

“Great!” Blaine says, genuinely excited. “Let’s start! Open up your notepad and let’s come up with a script.”

Kurt stares at his husband open-mouthed for a second, but since Blaine honestly looks like he wants to do this, he unlocks his screen and opens his notepad. “All right. Well, casting this thing shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I work for Vogue, so I get to be the career woman protagonist.”

“Plus you have a dad with a history of health problems …”

“No!” Kurt snaps, less than playfully. “We’re not including that. It’s bad juju.”

Blaine puts up both hands in surrender. Burt’s health has always been a sore spot with Kurt, even now when the man is certifiably fit as a fiddle. But Blaine can understand his fear – even if it’s more superstitious than rational. No need to take unnecessary chances. “Fair enough.”

“We can make up a fictitious ailing grandmother?” Kurt suggests in a softer, apologetic tone.

“Or a pet.”

“Ooo, that’s good!” Kurt jots that down. “People get invested in pets more than people nowadays anyway!”

“I guess that makes me the jerkhole lumberjack,” Blaine says sadly, having not thought this completely through.

“No!” Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder and kneads comfortingly. “We’ll make you the … uh … cynical struggling musician with a heart of gold!”

Blaine’s eyes light up. “I like it. I like it a lot! And I’m not from the small town. I’m just passing through.”

“Ooo …” Kurt makes a note “… a mysterious stranger with a past. Okay. Now, I come home because my dog …”

“Cooper.”

“Cooper!” Kurt laughs. “Perfect! My dog Cooper …”

“A thirteen-year-old, blind, shaggy mutt with three legs and chronic gall stones …”

Kurt stops writing to take a gander at his bitter husband. “Uh … is there something you need to pause and work out here, or can we continue?”

“Oh!” Blaine yelps as if he may not have intended to say that all out loud. “No! Continue! By all means.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I come home because my dog Cooper needs emergency surgery. And my dad thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to convince me to move back home and work with him in his shop … despite the fact that my character makes close to seventy-five thousand dollars a year.”

“Where do I come in? Where do I come in?” Blaine asks, bouncing up and down like a toddler mainlining Pixie sticks.

“You showed up in town the week before. No home, no job, no money. And your car …”

“My Harley,” Blaine corrects with an eyebrow wiggle.

“Oh, yes, your Harley needs repairs. But you can’t afford them. So you’re going to work the bill off at my dad’s shop.”

“That sounds like something your dad would do.”

Kurt smiles fondly. “Yeah, it does. Bonding over beers at the only bar in town, he finds out you’re gay, and so he connives you into helping him. You know, using your masculine wiles.”

“He gets me to seduce you? In exchange for repairing my bike? So you’ll stay and work in his shop?”

“A-ha.”

Blaine frowns. “That sounds kind of sleazy.”

“Yes, but this isn’t real life. Remember? It’s Hallmark. And it’s right on brand.”

“Surprisingly, it is. What else?”

“But you’re a drifter. A nomad. You don’t want to put down roots, not until you’ve scored that big time record contract. And my dad doesn’t want that for me – going on the road with you. So the deal is as soon as you get me to agree to stay, quit my job and sell my penthouse, you’re going to break up with me and leave.”

“So your dad doesn’t really like me?”

“No, sweetheart!” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand, kissing away the sliver of hurt in his husband’s voice. “He does! And in the movie, he’ll come around.”

“All right.” Blaine kisses Kurt’s hand back, momentarily soothed. “If we’re going to act this out, where do we begin? Should I throw on some jeans and a flannel? Grab my guitar?”

“We just got back into our pajamas. And I don’t know about you, but I’m really cozy …” Kurt chews the inside of his cheek, mischief and a smile twitching his lips. “I say we jump ahead to the epic cookie baking montage.”

“Doesn’t that usually happen before the equally epic first kiss?”

“A-ha. Which leads to making out on the sofa. And then …”

“Sex tape?” Blaine meets Kurt’s mischievous grin with one of his own. Kurt flashes his phone screen Blaine’s way, the camera app already open with the perspective flipped so Blaine sees his own grinning face.

“You read my mind.”

[honestgrins]

Cutthroat || Klaroline

She’s determined to win, but she’s not above teaming up with a rival to knock out a worse one. (Cutthroat Kitchen AU)

.

“Chef Matt,” Alaric intoned solemnly, “you are dismissed. Please relinquish your remaining funds.”

As the burly blond handed over the cash he never even had a chance to spend, Caroline bristled with the thrill of competition. Unfortunately for her, Damon and Klaus seemed just as energized, and she highly resented the elbow poked into her side. “Quarterback down,” Damon sneered next to her. “Is the cheerleader next? Maybe I’ll sabotage you with pom poms next, though I’ll be honest, the skirt would be better.”

She scowled as he leered down the line of her leg, tired of his needling and the gross stares. But she knew what she’d signed up for when first auditioning for Cutthroat Kitchen, and trash talk was the least of her worries. Working with tiny pans and utensils hadn’t been easy, but she’d managed a decent frittata in the first round, and she definitely enjoyed watching Klaus grimace at the substitute ingredients he’d been forced to use. 

Damon, though, he deserved more than a little hardship for this next round. Glancing over to Klaus, she found him watching her curiously. She arched an eyebrow and nodded to the sleazy chef between them. He smirked, which shouldn’t have left her blushing like it did. It’s just a truce, she reminded herself. Come the final round, he’s toast.

At least, she hoped. Klaus Mikaelson was something of a legend around Chicago, where she’d only just gotten her foot in the door of the industry. While she had full faith in her own abilities, the barbs about her lack of experience and youth weren’t exactly unfounded. All she could do was make up for it with enthusiasm and creativity, which the show usually rewarded. But she’d also survived high school and her sorority house, so psychological warfare was second nature to her. 

With the dark gleam of satisfaction on Klaus’s face as he nodded, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have conspired with Damon to kick him out first.

Steeling herself, Caroline turned to watch Alaric set up for the next challenge. “Alright, chefs,” he greeted with an evil smile. “For this round, you will be expected to make...spaghetti and meatballs! You have sixty seconds to shop for this basic dish. Go.” 

She rushed forward to beat Damon to the produce, eagerly filling her basket with the best tomatoes, onions, and herbs. Luckily, she was paying attention to Klaus, who’d taken to clearing the pasta shelf into his basket. With a quick pinch of the last box of angel hair, she couldn’t help a grin to match his own when she ducked under his arm to grab the crustiest bread she could find.

“Thirty seconds!”

Oil, garlic, ground beef, a few too many spices - she frantically ran through the list in her head, sure that she was missing something important. 

“And time. Chefs, please return to your stations.” Caroline bit her lip, painfully aware of the eggs she completely forgot. Refusing to let on about her mild panic, she fought to hold a blank expression as the others tried to size up her basket. It was pretty basic for most recipes, and they didn’t seem to pick up her hopefully not fatal error. “For the first sabotage, I have for you all a handy little device to hinder your opponents.” He held it up, the cuffs and plexiglas shining under the stage lights. “This is the Salad Bar to accompany your Italian classic,” he teased.

Alaric could call it what he wanted, but that was definitely a spreader bar she’d seen featured in an...adult catalog. Before she could school her reaction, however, she let out an indelicate snort. Only Klaus seemed to notice, his smirk somehow deepening with a far dirtier glint. Oh, she sighed internally, a twinge low in her belly warming her with something other than embarrassment. Interesting.

“Two thousand,” Klaus called out, not taking his eyes from her.

“Three-five,” she countered. Maybe her voice didn’t sound as breathy as it felt.

“Ten thousand.” Damon gave her the slimiest look, and it took everything in her not to throw away the rest of her cash to make sure he didn’t get to put her in some BDSM fantasy of his.

Klaus, who had yet to spend any money, glared him down. “Eleven,” he said smoothly. With plenty of money to outbid Damon’s draining budget, he all but dared him to bankrupt himself. 

“Eleven going once, twice,” Alaric watched them all with interest, then smiled. “Sold. Chef Klaus, collect your winnings and crown whomever you’d like.” He collected the money and passed over the bar with a gleeful wink. “Choose wisely.”

Pretending to consider it, Klaus all but tossed the thing at Damon. “You don’t strike me as the type to be comfortable with restraint,” he goaded. 

Gamely strapping himself in, Damon blew him a kiss. “Easy as pie, big bad,  even if it’s too bad Barbie Chef didn’t get a chance to impress us with her...coordination.”

She grit her teeth, waiting to pummel him with the next sabotage. When Alaric brought it forward, though, she nearly jumped for joy.

“Who is going to be the Egghead?” he asked, holding a little headband strapped to an egg cup. “Whoever wears this will have to balance an egg throughout the challenge. If the egg breaks, I’m happy to replace it...for five hundred dollars a plop.”

Provided she got to keep her basket, she could more than afford breaking a couple of eggs - right into her meatball recipe. But first, she had to get one of the boys to ‘gift’ it to her. “Five thousand!”

“Six,” Klaus immediately raised, meeting her eyes with a curious glance. He could really mess with her plan if he wanted to, and she felt a wave of relief when Damon shouted out another ten thousand dollar bid. Klaus luckily backed off, and she could finally breathe. 

Once Damon was announced the winner, she held back a wicked smile until he placed the gadget on her head. Unsettled, he backed away quickly, suspicious to the extreme. Alaric helpfully balanced an egg in the little cup, reminding her of the $500 penalty for each egg broken - but he never said she couldn’t use said broken eggs. Fully justified in her strategy, as soon as the timer started, she made a little bed of ground beef in her mixing bowl and let the first egg fall.  “Whoops!”

Alaric shook his head, clearly amused by her obvious scheming. “Come get your replacement, chef.”

She rushed over to him with her fine and hurried back to start breaking down her bread into crumbs, needing to toss them into the oven to dry out a bit. Chopping onions and tomatoes quickly, she fills the saucepan before Alaric could bring out another sabotage. The more quickly she can get her elements cooking, the more likely she’d get to keep them - she prayed, anyway.

“How’s that egg scramble coming, Blondie?” Damon taunted, though his voice was strained with the effort of mixing meatballs with only one hand bound awkwardly to the other. “It’d be a shame for you to drop another.”

“Actually, it’s been a big help. Hard to bind a meatball without an egg, and would you believe I forgot to grab them from the pantry?” She winked at his dumbfounded expression, primly brushing back her ponytail. “I was a pageant queen, chef. If I can balance a book on my head for an hour in heels, I can handle an egg just fine.”

Klaus laughed at that, though his big hands never stopped their flurry of activity over his station. “A tiara suits you, love, you should have brought it along.”

“The only crown won here is whatever cash you still have at the end of the day,” Alaric pointed out. “That said, who wants to replace their opponents’ stovetop for a camping stove?”

“Eight thousand!” Klaus called, knowing full well he was the only one who could afford such a bid in the second round. 

Caroline immediately moved her half formed meatballs to the sauce; her only hope would be to oven bake them both while using the tiny stove to boil water for her pasta. Though she did lose another egg to her hurried actions, it was more than worth the penalty to see Damon struggle moving his pot of water down from the counter. “Careful!” she called. “You don’t want to spill and have to start over!”

“Shut up, Barbie!”

“And I always thought the trash talk on this show was so witty,” Klaus pouted, whipping some cream into his sauce. “Don’t hold back, Damon, really let yourself loose.”

Muttering from the floor, Damon did let loose a few curse words Caroline hoped the cameras wouldn’t pick up. But she still laughed, happy to see her sauce bubbling softly in the oven. 

Klaus feigned a scandalized horror. “Such language.”

“If you’re looking for the Great British Bake-Off, you’re on the wrong side of the pond, friend,” she teased.

“Oh,” he chuckled. “The baby chef is trying to teach me something, okay.”

“Baby?!”

He shrugged, unconcerned by her offended outburst. “Come chop a few hundred onions a day in my kitchen, sweetheart, then maybe you’ll earn a gold star or two for your mum’s refrigerator.”

Eyes narrowed, she only just held back from pointing her knife in a vaguely threatening direction. “Can’t, it’s too full of awards and news clippings. Like the latest rave review from the Sun-Times. Did you know they named my restaurant as the best dining experience in the city for their editor’s list?”

“I did.” Caroline watched him in shock as he appeared entirely unbothered. “But I believe mine earned the Michelin star this year.” She licked her lips at the smug dimples peeking out from his cheeks; it really was unfair how sexy confidence could be. 

“Two minutes!” 

All the contestants rushed to plate their dishes, and even Caroline felt a little bad for Damon trying to neaten up the mess of his with one hand throwing off his balance. But then she remembered the egg sitting at the top of her forehead, and focused instead on carefully grating some cheese over her mostly passable pasta. Klaus’s, of course, looked like fine cuisine, right down to the twist of his noodles into a birds nest holding three perfectly proportioned meatballs.

To no one’s surprise, the guest judge sent Damon home with more than a few critiques for his ‘lack of polish.’ Alaric called for a fifteen minute break, and Caroline gratefully ran to the craft services table for a bottle of water and some fruit. Klaus followed at a more sedate pace, though he did steal a grape from her plate. “Thanks for teaming up back there,” she said. “I’d hate to be stuck with Damon for more terrible nicknames.”

“I’m sure you would have survived despite our machinations, love. I am impressed with your little egg game, though.”

She blushed. “Well, I’m the one who forgot the stupid eggs in the first place. Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t let me through the doors of your Michelin restaurant with that kind of preparation.”

His smile softened, and she really liked how it looked on his face. “You might be surprised. In fact,” he added nonchalantly, “I’m hoping you might stop in when we’re back in Chicago. I’ve only read about the lobster bisque you made for that glowing review, and I’d be honored to offer you the chance to make it in a real kitchen.”

“And give up my recipe to the competition? No way,” she scoffed, chest warm with pride and more than a little flattered.

Smirking at her resistance, he stole another grape. “Shall we make a wager of it, sweetheart? If I win this dessert round, you make that bisque for me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “What do I get when I win?”

Klaus just grinned, wide and knowing. “Whatever you want.“ Oh, that shouldn’t have sent a wonderful shiver down her spine. “May the best chef win,” he challenged.

Caroline shook his proffered hand with her game face on. “Don’t worry, she will.” After all, the stakes had just gotten a lot more interesting.

[basically-i-write-shit]

You know what they say about assuming

Also posted on ao3 here 

Summary:"Taako looks up from his phone at the man again, and now he’s looking around the park, confused, and then he locks eyes with Taako and yeah it’s definitely Kravitz and he still doesn’t have a kid with him and-- Okay, this is embarrassing." In which Taako thinks he's talking to a hot single dad but it turns out he's talking to a hot single dog owner. How he got them mixed up is beyond him.

Taako is hanging out at Magnus’ stupid pet shop, waiting for closing time so he can get a ride to Davenport’s house for dinner, when he sees him. The most handsome man in the world. Taako isn’t ashamed when he checks him out – discretely, of course, behind sunglasses – and likes what he sees. He looks flustered, like he doesn’t know where he’s going, and so he hops up, shooing Julia away before she can help Hot Stranger. 

“Hey, there, welcome to Hammer and Tails. You look a little lost, handsome, mind if I help you out?” 

Handsome Stranger looks a bit startled, his eyes widening a moment, and Taako smirks as he begins to stutter. “I– I, uh– Yes, that would actually be– that would– that would be really nice– uh– th- that’s rather inappropriate of a store employee to say to a customer, don’t you think?” 

“Well lucky for me then, I’m not an employee, just a regular ole’ chum,” Taako hums. “So I can’t get fired for flirting. Now, what do you need?” 

“O- Okay..?” Handsome Stranger seems to get even more flustered a moment before he fixes his sleeves absently and that calms him down a bit. “I‘m just looking for some of that Beniful stuff, I think..? The vet recommended this stuff, to help with some digestive stuff…” 

“Yeah, sure, bud it’s pretty easy to find just follow me,” Taako makes sure to walk in front of Handsome Stranger just enough for him to see his ass in the jeans he’s wearing but not too far so he gets lost. They get to the dog food aisle soon enough, and that’s where Taako’s knowledge ends pretty quickly because he doesn’t know where Magnus stocks what food. Thankfully Handsome Stranger sees the food and goes to inspect it. Handsome Stranger thanks him and grabs a bag, bringing it to the front of the store and checking out quickly. 

“Thank you so much, come again!” Julia calls after Handsome Stranger, and he leaves. Taako sighs, leaning against the counter, and she laughs heartily. “Taako…” 

“Look, Jules,” Taako stands back up, trying to seem nonchalant even though he’d literally jumped at the chance to help the stranger. “Julia. Jules. If you say a word of this to anyone, even Maggie, I’ll kill you I swear to god.” 

Julia laughs brightly, tilting her hair to the side, and she nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I’m honestly kinda surprised, though, Taako; you usually are a bit more…forward. You didn’t ask this guy on a date the second you could.” 

Taako rolls his eyes. “It’s not always dick jokes and shit, I’m not always horny– okay, I’m always horny, but not everyone else is– besides, he’s a total stranger! Like, a really fuckin hot stranger, but still a stranger.” 

“I could give you the name from his credit card info,” Julia doesn’t even look at Taako as she says that, smirk on her lips as she starts to lock up. Magnus’ voice booms through the now empty shop as he checks on the various animal enclosures. 

Taako makes the “I’m watching you” gesture, glaring at her, and hops up on the counter while he waits. 

“It’s not like I’m going to see him again, which is a damn shame, but really. This was just a nice little gift while I wait for my fucking ride.” He raises his voice a bit at the last part, hoping to make Magnus come up front a bit faster. 

“Whatever you say~” Julia sing-songs. There’s a few minutes of silence before she speaks up again. “It’s Kravitz.” 

Taako’s head lifts from looking at his phone. “Huh?” 

“His name. It’s Kravitz.” 

Taako groans, because of course now she’s invested in something that’s never going to happen with someone he’s never going to see again. 

…Which is why, when he sees Hot Stran– Kravitz again, he’s kind of surprised. He and Lup are dropping off a batch of homemade dog treats for the new puppies at Hammer and Tails when he sees an oddly familiar set of locks disappear down the dog food aisle. His cheeks immediately burn bright at the suggestive waggle of Magnus’ eyebrows – of course Julia told him, the little – and he tries to subtly shake his head but by now the whole situation had caught Lup’s attention. 

“…Anyone wanna tell me why Ko is as red as my acrylics right now?” 

Magnus bursts out laughing at Lup’s casual question, bending over the counter and almost dropping the jar of –carefully made, and will not be replaced if they’re broken, thank you very much– dog treats he’d been given. Lup just stares, unamused, waiting for an answer. 

“Koko? Wanna get this one, or am I going to have to wait for this chucklefuck to stop laughing?” 

“Sorry Lup, so– sorry,” Magnus’ laugh is a little bit quieter now, and he straightens up a bit to put the jar of treats on a shelf. “That was a good one, caught me off guard. I was just teasing Taako about his crush on one of the customers in the store.” 

“Oh, why don’t we just say it louder so everyone can hear? Why don’t we just use the intercom to announce it to the whole store? Sounds great to me!” Taako says, trying to say enough things that Lup’s attention shifts to that and not–

“Oh, you have a crush little brother?” 

“I’m older, first of all.” 

“Irrelevant. Wrong, but irrelevant. Now, tell me about this little crush?” 

Taako groans. “It’s not a crush. Far from it! I helped him in the store when Magnus and Julia were busy–” Magnus coughs a cough that sounds suspiciously like “lies” and Taako glares at him. “–And while, yes, he’s rather handsome, I wouldn’t call it a crush. We barely talked enough for me to flirt, and he didn’t seem to like that much.” 

“Please, ,who couldn’t resist our genetics?” Lup scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and Magnus snickers. “Why don’t you go talk to him while he shops, hm? I actually need to borrow Maggie for a minute, talk about a present for Angus’ birthday.” 

“You’re finally getting him a puppy? Yes!” Magnus is already over the counter and dragging Lup to the back of the store where they keep the various pets before Taako can complain. He knows that Angus isn’t his kid, but he does have to live with the brat and if he has to also take care of that dog he’s definitely not having that and– 

“E- Excuse me..? Sorry to bother you, I need to– I need to check out…” 

Taako can recognize the voice without even turning around, having fantasized a bit about it in the two weeks it’s been since he last heard of it, but he turns around just to be polite anyway. He gives a confident smile, because he’s not at all flustered at the reminder of the thoughts he’s had about this stranger. Not a bit. 

“Yeah, sorry stud, I’m still not a worker here. I’ll page one of the workers though, they won’t mind.” He says, strolling behind the counter and hitting the intercom button. Since there’s only one patron in the store that he can see, he’s a bit less professional than he could be as he speaks into the tiny microphone: “Hey, uh, Magnus, Julia, can one of you come up to the register please? Register.” 

Taako hangs up with a shudder, remembering his brief (horrific) stunt in retail before he’d started working at Angus’ school. 

Kravitz watches with amusement on his face as Taako leans against the counter, trying his best not to look too interested in him. 

“So, what’s your name? Never caught it last time I saw you.” 

Kravitz looks almost surprised that Taako remembers, but quickly shakes that look away to one of cool, collected. “I never threw it.” 

“Hm, stole that one from Heathers. Nice.” 

Kravitz plays with the hem of his shirt, embarrassed at being caught probably. Definitely that. “My name’s Kravitz. Nice to officially meet you, I suppose.” 

“Right, right,” Taako nods along, pretending he didn’t already know it. He points his thumbs at himself.  “’Cha boy is usually called Taako.” 

“Alright…Taako…” Kravitz gives a shy smile, clearing his throat a bit. This is edging on awkward territory and Taako is almost tempted to page Magnus or Julia again when Magnus and Lup come to the front of the store. Lup has – thanfully – a small kitten in her arms, not a puppy, and Taako allows himself a small relieved sigh at that. Magnus kicks him out from behind the counter now that he’s returned and Taako obliges, instead sitting criss-cross on top of it. Kravitz has a confused look on his face as his eyes go between him and Lup, and he chuckles, mouthing the word “twins” to the other man. 

Magnus is quick to check Kravitz out before leading Lup back to the back, leaving them alone again. Taako, for what it matters, decides to follow Kravitz to the parking lot. 

“So you making this place homebase for the whole dog food thing, huh?” 

Kravitz seems surprised that Taako’s followed him, but recovers quickly as he nods. “Yeah. I’m– Yeah. The food I have to buy is pretty expensive, but this place has it about two dollars cheaper than usual.” 

“Yeah, Mag doesn’t like to upcharge. He makes most of his money on puppy training classes, anyway,” Taako looks at his nails, watching the other in his peripherals. “But I suppose it’s fate, now that I’ve helped you out here twice.” 

Kravitz laughs. “I– I suppose so? It sure does sound like lady fate wants us to meet.” 

“Right, right. So how about we talk about your absolute luck t have met me over coffee?” 

“What about your– your sister? You two look a lot alike, it’s so crazy,” 

“Well, we did carpool here, but if she spends any longer in there I’m fine with disappearing for a minute.” He shrugs. “So?” 

Kravitz has a smile on his face as he nods slowly, but he looks down at his watch and cringes. “I would love to, Taako, but– but– I promised my baby girl I’d be home to take her to the park at five…” 

“Oh,” Taako nods slowly. So he’s a dad? That’s a bit unexpected, but not a deal breaker. He tries to be subtle when he checks out Kravitz’s left hand, smirking a bit when he doesn’t see a ring. Hot, single divorcee? Oh he can work with this. “Your wife can’t do it?” He asks, just to make sure. 

“I am not married,” Kravitz says with a laugh, seemingly knowing what Taako was hinting at. He seems a bit flustered. “I really would like to get to know you, but I try to keep her schedule pretty regular. I’m away most of the day, and if she doesn’t get to play at the park she won’t sleep.” 

Taako nods, pretending like he doesn’t care even though he’s actually pretty damn disappointed. “Yeah, no problem bubula, Taako doesn’t mind. But hey, y’know, I’ve got one of those – well, it’s my sister’s but I live there to watch it – so maybe we can set up a playdate?” 

“That actually– That sounds really nice, actually. Do you want to– to, uh– exchange numbers? So we can set that up?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Taako smiles and pulls out his phone, and they quickly give each other their numbers with the promise to text later. Taako is remiss to admit that he’s actually really flustered by this interaction; he denies to the end of suns how, after saying goodbye to Kravitz, he ran into Hammer and Tails and squealed like a little kid (but Magnus and Lup saw; they pretend they didn’t, but they saw). 

So he has a potential date with a hot single dad. Alright, cool. 

He supposes there are some perks to having a brat at home. Lup and Barry won’t mind if he takes the kid for a playdate, especially with how little Angus actually gets out. Besides, it’ll distract him long enough for Lup to come over to Magnus’ and grab the damn cat they’re getting Angus for his birthday and come back without the “worlds greatest detective” or whatever noticing and getting suspicious. 

It isn’t until around eight o’clock after family dinner with everyone that he even remembers he gave Kravitz his number, despite how excited chill he was earlier in the afternoon. His phone buzzes while he plops onto the couch and he pulls it from his sweatpant pockets, already rolling his eyes at a meme one of the boner squad probably sent him, but his eyes immediately widen when he sees Kravitz’s name on the screen. 

Checking his hair even though it’s something Kravitz can’t actually see, he unlocks his phone and opens Kravitz’s message. 

[8:27 PM] FROM: Kravitz ;) Hey, Taako, it’s Kravitz. It totally occurred to me we never talked about a time or anything for our little playdate. Any preferences? I’m off during weekends if that helps. 

He waits just a couple of minutes, so he doesn’t seem too excited. 

[8:30 PM] TO: Kravitz ;) Nah, no preference, stud. Down for maybe Saturday afternoon? 

Maybe Krazitz does the same back to him, which is fucking stupid and lame, because it takes five whole agonizing minutes to reply. 

[8:35 PM] FROM: Kravitz ;)  Sounds good! 1:30 good? There’s that dog park near Hammer and Tails that’s really nice. 

Taako finds it pretty weird that he wants their kids to meet at a dog park but hey he won’t judge. Maybe he’s bringing the dog too. Not the most fun for kids, but then again Taako doesn’t know much about kids anyway. 

[8:35 PM] TO: Kravitz ;) 1:30 is perfect there’s no way I’m getting up before noon on my days off lmao

[8:36 PM] FROM: Kravitz ;)  Lol. Sounds great. I forgot to ask what age your sisters’ is, but mine’s 6

[8:37 PM] TO: Kravitz ;)  Aw shit really? He’s like 10 now I think, beats me

[8:37 PM] TO: Kravitz ;)  It’s probably alright though he doesn’t even know how to play much anyway he can get a lesson from your kiddo

[8:39 PM] FROM: Kravitz ;)  It’s good to socialize her anyway, doesn’t matter what age. 

They talk a bit more about nonsense (mostly Taako flirting) before Taako goes off to bed, grinning ear to ear. 

The day of the playdate comes much too fast, and Taako almost forgot to inform Lup and Barry of his plans. Which would have been bad. Put him out a kid, and then the whole playdate is ruined. He doesn’t know much about the brat Kravitz is bringing, only that she’s six and her name is Raven. He doesn’t know if he should pack anything – a snack, a leash, some toys – but Lup, bless Lup, already has a small backpack with a couple of Angus’ favorite books and some outdoor toys with the promise of these will be fine, they’ll just run around the park, don’t worry. So he takes Lup’s car and drives across town to the park they’d agreed on and waits. 

The park is empty save for one man and his dog, a pretty big Doberman that runs around the place with ease. Taako almost thinks it’s Kravitz, because he wears a similar hairstyle, but he shrugs it off because there’s no other kid at the park. So he sits and waits in the car, Angus already reading a book in the back seat. He waits about ten minutes before he thinks he’s been stood up, and he’s about to put the car back in drive when his phone buzzes. 

[1:36 PM] FROM: Kravitz ;)  Hey I’m at the dog park where are you?” 

Huh. Taako looks around, and there’s still just that one man, looking impeccably dressed for just a stroll at the park. He frowns. 

[1:37 PM] TO: Kravitz ;)  No, I’m at the park and you aren’t. There’s no one else here. 

Taako looks up from his phone at the man again, and now he’s looking around the park, confused, and then he locks eyes with Taako and yeah it’s definitely Kravitz and he still doesn’t have a kid with him and–

Okay, this is embarrassing. 

Taako would like to blame this on lack of communication, not how utterly stupid he was for thinking the guy at the pet store buying pet food wasn’t talking about his pet. 

Kravitz walks over, smiling, and waves a bit. Taako slides out of the car, not even bothering to unlock the car since Angus is old enough to figure out how to do it himself, and gives a sheepish wave as the Doberman follows Kravitz over to the edge of the fence near the parking lot. 

“Hey, uh, so this is going to sound real stupid, but uh…” 

Angus hops out of the car, looking upset that he wasn’t let out of the car, and Kravitz looks at Angus. Then at Taako. Then at Raven (the dog! Oh how stupid!). Then at Taako again. 

And he fucking laughs. 

It’s not a full-bodied, uncontrollable laughter, but a light, teasing chuckle that sends Taako’s entire heart out of his chest and his turns his cheeks ruby red. “Taako,” Karvitz lilts, and it’s almost too embarrassing, Taako almost just gets back in the car and drives off. “Taako, did you think– Did you think we were– oh, man, did you think we were having a playdate with children?” 

“…Maybe. But this is totally your fault.” Taako says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Who calls their dogs their baby girl? Huh? That’s so fuckin’ weird, you can’t blame me for this one!” 

“I– When you said ‘oh I have one of those’ I assumed you meant dog, seeing as that’s what I was talking about. I thought I made It very clear that we were talking about dogs.” 

“Nuh-uh, bubula, you never said the word dog once while we were talking!” 

“We met at a pet shop, Taako.” Kravitz says, exhasperated, and this is all really just too funny. Angus is looking between them, confused, and clutching his book to his chest. 

“Taako? I thought I was going on a playdate,” He says, peeping into the conversation, and Taako groans. 

“Not now, Ango, I’m pretty busy trying not to die from how mortified I am right now,” He says, ever the dramatic. Angus just lets out a quiet “o- okay?..” before heading over to a bench and sitting down. The Doberman happily follows and Kravitz tries to scold her but she hops up onto the bench and plops down right in Angus’ lap, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind. 

“So, uh–” 

“Please, let’s never mention this again.” Taako says miserably, head in his hands. “I’ll never live this one down if any of my asshole family hears about it.” 

Kravitz smiles. “I suppose I can do that. On one condition, though,” 

“Anything to never have to remember this ever again.” 

“I’d like a real date, if you wouldn’t mind. Maybe without the kid or the dog this time.” 

Taako’s head whips up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. “Wh– I– Really?” 

“I would very much like it, uh…You really are someone I’d like to get to know better…” Kravitz looks embarrassed as he talks, his cheeks warm. Taako just looks at him, eyes full of amazement. 

“Y’know, after that little blunder I just had, I probably would refuse to even think about you again. But I’d actually kinda like that.” 

“Really? Great! I mean– great that you want to go on another date. This one’s, uh– I mean, we can make it a great date? We still have daylight to kill, and it looks like Raven and Angus get along pretty well…” 

Kravitz offers a hand, and Taako takes it, laughing. 

“You’re not very good with words, are you, Krav?” 

The afternoon isn’t too bad after that minor ssue is resolved, and Taako is pretty happy by the end of it. He takes Angus out for ice cream after to get him to keep quiet about the whole ‘doggy playdate’ thing, and that’s the end of that. Right? 

“Mom, dad! Taako took me on a playdate with a dog!“ . 

“Angus you little traitor–!” 

“You did what?!” 

“I’m gonna kill you, little man!” 

…He really should stop assuming things. 

[mr-chrisevans]

Meet Cute - pt. 1

Prequel to A Christmas to Remember

Word Count: 2,675

Next Chapter

Before I met Chris and before I had even a modicum of success as a writer I worked at a little cafe in Los Angeles. I was trying, to no avail, to find a job as a freelance writer for an online blog somewhere in the city but worked there to make ends meet. But when a stranger walked into that cafe little did I know everything would change.

*****

"Hey, Estelle!" I shouted from the living room of our apartment. "Do you know what happened to my nametag? I cannot find it anywhere and I have no idea where I put it." She walked into the room with her toothbrush hanging from the side of her mouth. "I could've sworn I saw it when I walked into the kitchen this morning."

"Did you check your purse?" She asked, her voice muffled as she continued brushing her teeth and walked back to the bathroom. "You always leave it in there, Laurel."

"Yes, I already looked in there," I said and ruffled through my purse one last time. "I didn't find it when I-" I paused for a moment and defeatedly pulled my nametag out of my purse.

"I told you." She said from the bathroom.

"You are a bonafide genius." I laughed and grabbed my car keys from the kitchen counter. "I'll see you tonight."

Estelle walked back into the living room. "You better not be late tonight. It's Casey's birthday and she will rip that pretty little head clean off your shoulders if you're late again."

"I know, I know. I promise I won't be late. I'll give you twenty dollars if I am." I told her and made my way to the front door.

"I will take you up on that." She laughed and waved me out of the apartment.

*****

By some miracle, I got to work five minutes before my shift started, much to the surprise of my manager.

"On time for once?" Mark laughed at me as I walked behind the counter and set my things in the back. "I hope this lasts."

"Early actually." I joked. "But I can't make any promises. You know me too well for that." I pulled my notebook out of my back pocket and started scribbling down some random notes.

He smiled at me and went back to making himself a cup of coffee. "This much is true. So, what kind of drink would suit your fancy this morning?"

I held my pen up to my chin in thought. "I'm thinking just a classic vanilla latte with some swan art."

"I'll see what I can do for you." He went back to preparing the coffee and I sat in front of the counter continuing to write in my notebook. "Any inspiration come to you this morning?" He asked, hearing my pen run against the paper.

I chuckled. "Not unless you count waking up twenty minutes late and scrambling to get ready as inspiration."

"I'm sure you could do a lot with that for a story." He placed a mug next to me on the counter. "A love story. A compulsively late barista struggling to make it big as a writer meets a handsome mysterious stranger one day. It practically writes itself." He joked and sat down next to me.

I shook my head and chuckled. "I've never been one for cliche stories, Mark."

"Laurel, I hate to break it to you, but you are a cliche. Probably in the wrong city though."

"Are you telling me I should move?"

"Oh god no. You're late every day but you sure as hell know how to upsell some scones. We need you here."

"Apparently I'm the only one who knows how to do latte art around here too," I said and looked down at my coffee. "This looks more like a cartoon penis than a swan."

"We all have our weaknesses." Just then the door chimed signaling the first customer of the day. "Looks like it's time to sell some scones." He gave me a pat on the back and took his coffee over to the back counter to start doing inventory.

"Good morning!" I said to the man walking up to the counter putting on my best customer service persona and standing up from my stool. "How are you today?"

He smiled and tousled his hair a bit. He was incredibly handsome and I felt like I was blushing just from looking at him. "I'm doing pretty well. How about yourself?"

"I'm doing fine. There are worse places to be." I joked and earned a chuckled from him. "So, what can I get started for you today?"

"I'll just take a small dark roast to-go. And why don't you throw in a scone too."

"Sounds great. Can I get a name for that." I said and pulled out a to-go cup and a sharpie.

"It's Josh." He said with a smile and handed me his credit card.

"We'll get that going for you right now, Josh." I smiled at him and handed his card back.

*****

After my shift, I rushed home as quickly as I could and found Estelle already dressed and waiting for me on the couch. "Actually on time for once. That's surprising." She said without looking up from her phone.

"I'm thinking about turning over a new leaf." I joked, closing the door behind me and walking to my room.

"Knowing you that won't last very long." She shouted after me. "Now hurry up so we're not late."

I changed out of my work clothes as quickly as possible and dashed into the bathroom to do my makeup. I was ready in ten minutes, which was faster than I think I've ever managed to get ready. "I'm all set. Let's head out." I said confidently as I walked back into the living room. "Do you wanna drive or should I?"

"I'll take it this time." She stood up from the couch and grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. "I'd rather not be hungover at work tomorrow night."

"I guess it's a good thing I work at a coffee place then. Easy access to hangover cures." We made our way out of the apartment and into the parking lot, praying that we'd make it to the bar on time.

*****

We made it to the bar just in time and saw Casey and Jules sitting at a table. "It's the birthday girl!" I shouted as we got to the table and I pulled Casey into a hug.

"I can't believe you made it on time." Jules laughed as Estelle and I finally joined them.

"It's a miracle truly." I laughed. "Now I am going to go get myself a drink. I will return shortly." I slapped the table and made my way over to the bar. It was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night so I had to wait to get the attention of the bartender. As I stood by the bar I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. I was surprised to see Josh's face, the guy I had served earlier that day at the cafe. "Oh, hi."

"It's nice to see you again. I didn't expect to see you here." He was just as handsome and charming as he had been that morning.

"You know working at a coffee shop is a lot tougher than you would expect." I joked.

"I don't think I caught your name this morning."

I smiled and held my hand out to him. "It's Laurel."

"Well, Laurel, it's nice to officially make your acquaintance." He responded and took my hand in his. "How about I get that drink for you?"

"I will certainly take you up on that offer. A rum and coke, if you please." He quickly flagged over the bartender and ordered my drink for me.

Just as I was about to thank him his friend walked over and slung his arm around his shoulder. "Come on, Josh. Stop being creepy and come back to the table. I'm moments away from kicking your ass at darts."

"I am being the opposite of creepy. I met Laurel this morning at The Grind and I was just being friendly." Josh pushed his arm off and smiled at me. "This is my friend, Chris. I apologize for his crassness but maybe you'd like to join us for a round of darts."

"Yeah, it'll be a lot of fun." Chris beamed. Something about him seemed oddly familiar but I could not peg where I knew him from. And while Josh was a good looking guy, I couldn't help but fall into Chris' gorgeous blue eyes.

I almost forgot how to speak while I was lost in the handsomeness that was Josh's friend Chris. I finally regained the ability to understand and respond. Sighing, I replied. "As much as I would love to, I'm here for a friend's birthday so I have prior obligations."

"That's a shame. But I hope you enjoy your drink and hopefully I'll see you around sometime."

"That would be lovely." Josh gave a curt wave goodbye and headed back to his table while I grabbed my drink and made my way back to my friends.

"Who was that hottie at the bar?" Jules asked when I sat back down.

"Just a guy who came into work today." I shrugged off the question and took a sip of my drink. "Nothing special really." Estelle turned to look at me and gave me a prodding look. I sighed before responding. "Well, to be honest, his friend was a lot cuter."

Casey chuckled and shook her head. "He did seem more your type. I would say go for it."

"Speaking of handsome men," Estelle started, "Why isn't Alan here with us, Casey. You would think the birthday girl's man would join us for the festivities."

Jules froze and discretely shook her head attempting to warn us to avoid the subject. Casey sighed and set her drink down on the table. "He will not be joining us tonight because he is no longer the birthday girl's man." All three of us tried to console her with kind words and hugs but she brushed us off. "I'm fine guys, don't worry about it. He was an ass anyway and I'm surprised you guys didn't say anything about it earlier." She laughed. Estelle and I exchanged a quick look before turning back to her. "What was that about?"

I sighed before responding. "Well, we tried to tell you before."

"Multiple times, actually," Estelle added. "But you were a little too blinded by infatuation to realize it."

Casey laughed at our responses. "I guess you're right. His hauntingly good looks distracted me from his rotting core of a soul." She joked.

"How about a toast," Jules spoke up and raised her glass. "To a new year free of assholes with rotting cores." We all raised our glasses and cheered.

"I hope one of you is prepared to be my designated driver because this birthday girl is planning on getting plastered."

"I think Estelle will take up that mantle. In the meantime let's get a round of shots."

*****

About thirty minutes in we all had a nice buzz going and Casey insisted on all of us going to play darts with Josh, Chris, and their friends. They were incredibly inviting and we were all more than happy to be there. "All right, I say we all team up. Teams of two with a boy and girl on each team." Chris announced gesturing with a beer in his hand.

"I think that sounds like a fantastic idea," I added.

Chris smiled at me. "As the two pioneers for this idea, Laurel and I will be on a team. You may divide amongst yourselves." Josh looked a little annoyed by our pairing but Casey quickly jumped at the opportunity to be his partner.

"I hope you're good at this. I don't want to have to pull your dead weight here." I joked and nudged Chris with my elbow.

"Oh, don't you worry. We will crush this, I promise." He held up his hand for a high five and I obliged.

We played darts for a while before Estelle eventually got bored from losing to Chris and me in every round, so we decided to sit and talk instead. The conversation bounced around to a bunch of different subjects that probably were not very interesting for a sober person. Chris discretely pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and stood up. "If you don't mind me, I'm going to go outside for a second."

"I think I'm gonna join you," I added before he walked too far away and grabbed my purse to join him. Josh looked a little upset for the second time that night, but I couldn't pass up a cigarette with a handsome man.

We walked out to the porch at the front of the bar and I pulled my pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of my purse. The two of us set a cigarette between our lips. He successfully lit his while I struggled with my own lighter. "Here, let me help you." He leaned over and lit mine for me with his lighter.

"Thanks." I smiled and took a drag. "I guess this guy was standing on his last leg." I usually managed to be confident around guys I thought were attractive, but something about him gave me butterflies in my stomach like I'd never felt before and words were suddenly not my strong suit.

He smiled at me and turned to look out toward the street. "So, what do you do?" He asked.

I took my cigarette from between my lips and sighed. "I work at a coffee shop right now," I told him and leaned against the railing facing towards the building.

He turned his head to look at me. "You don't strike me as the kind of person who plans on working at a coffee shop for the rest of her life. What do you want to do?"

I smiled at his response and looked down at the ground. "I'm actually a writer. Well, a struggling one, but still a writer." I laughed. "The cafe is just a way to keep me alive for right now until I find some kind of freelance job."

"That's really cool. I wish you the best of luck in that endeavor."

"Thank you, it's greatly appreciated." I smiled and turned to face him. "So, what's your passion?"

"I'm an actor, actually."

"Oh, wow, that's really cool." He nodded along and took a drag from his cigarette. "Anything that I might have seen?"

"Maybe, yeah-" Just as he was about to finish his sentence when Jules and Estelle burst out of the bar supporting a limp Casey between them.

"Woah, what is going on?" I asked, shocked by the state Casey was in.

"Apparently she had a lot more to drink than we thought," Jules said and tried to shift Casey's weight on her shoulders. "We're gonna get her home now so she doesn't feel even worse in the morning."

I put out my cigarette and turned back to Chris with a sigh. "I really wish we could talk more but duty calls." I switched spots with Estelle to support Casey while she went to go get her car and we started down the steps out of the bar.

"It was really nice to meet you, Laurel. Maybe I'll see you around sometime." Chris leaned over the railing so he could see me before we got into the car.

I smiled up at him. "I'd like that a lot." I wanted to stare into his eyes for the rest of my damn life but was quickly pulled back into reality by Casey attempting to drag me into the back seat with her and repeatedly calling me babe. Who knew that mess of a night would lead to the rest of my life.

[myuun]

its still beyond me why my family doesnt take my marriage or comittment to jack seriously like its a fucking optional transaction

like “aw sweetie, stop playing make-belief”

uhm no non o

im literally BINDED to this person by law because i want to be. no one forced me. it wasnt a “lets jump into it” situation. ive known him for eight years. we have been together for five years. yeah we are both young but??? it really wasnt a big surprise that i would marry a guy i have been with for a while? 

and then to have the GALL to be like, “you can still come home and he can go back to his house, whatever its fine” 

thats not... how it works......

its not... optional. its not as if im being held against my will or being stubborn about being with jack. its... i literally love him. and im so sick and TIRED of hearing that love won’t pay my bills and getting the beautiful eye roll with the “the love bullshit will die after two months and then you’ll see that i was right”.

its been 26 years and not once have i thought my dad was right about literally anything 

since i moved to new zealand, i have had so many amazing moments and so many horrible ones. but today marks the WORST day YET, and i say yet because tomorrow is still a good runner-up, in my time here and all because my dad is here.

i am THIS close to losing my house 

and your petty fucking attitude when you could EASILY help us is bullshit and you fucking know it. you fucking know that you could help us pay this debt so easily and that the only reason right now we are struggling so badly is because i can’t fucking work because im waiting for my visa. and then you ask, well who’s to blame? ME? FOR WANTING TO STAY IN THE COUNTRY? 

im so SICK and tired of always  being told that my relationship isn’t going to feed me. and you know what YOURE RIGHT. IT DOESNT PAY THE BILLS. IT DOESN’T BUY ME A CAR. IT DOESN’T. BUT YOU MIGHTVE DONE THAT AND I WANTED TO KILL MYSELF.

and im getting there real quickly because whenever you look down on me with those dead eyes it makes me feel like dying. i had a glimpse of hope to think that you had come all this way to visit me but thats just fucking bullshit

you came here to shoot fucking animals and fuck your girlfriend who is CLEARLY in love with you mostly because there is no one else who could love either of you. congratulations you found each other again. its like a love story. my brother gets to see his parents reunited in a fuck show of money. 

you could help your only daughter but you refuse to because you dont give a shit. because i didn’t tell you i got married or was in an important relationship and you know why? because you RUIN everything you touch when it comes to me

do you know how many people, how many friends, how many times i have had to apologise for your bullshit? how embarrassing it is to go outside with a racist, a bigot, a homophobic bullshitter? 

to hear you over and over and over purposely be racist and an asshole towards other people... shame on you. the kindness that you supposedly show so many people, never ONCE have i seen it. you can throw your money all over the fucking world but you will NEVER buy my word because i know what kind of person you have always been. 

every time you see me you hurt me in every way and now you are hurting my husband and i can never forgive you for that. i can never forgive you for hurting him. and you will NEVER get the honor of meeting him because you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve him as a son-in-law. he is the most wonderful person in the world and you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve all this applause and smiles and love you get.

because you could’ve helped pay for so many things, but in the points where i need you the most, you tell me to fuck off. 

this is real life. this is me struggling and im not trying to say that it will get easier. i know it will never get easier. but im asking you to fucking help me. help me. help me, dad. please please please... i dont want to lose my house... i dont want to lose everything, please. 

you bought me thousands of dollars worth of clothing, but you aren’t willing to just give me that in cash so i could pay my bills. you are willing to give me a make over and cut my hair and get me jackets and shoes and underwear, but you aren’t willing to help me find a new place to live in.

how does that make sense? how can i come home with bags and bags of clothing that i got from you and face my husband when he is being torn apart by the guilt of not having enough money? i came to my small neighbourhood in a fucking bmw from the hotel crying my eyes out because i had been holding it for so long all day. i ate once because i was so nervous of seeing you and sick to the stomach of having to be with you. 

the only time i truly smiled was when i got home and jack was there and i could feel like i was home again. this is my city. this is my home. this is my husband. and you can’t take those things away from me when you always shatter me.

and tomorrow im going to spend the entire day appeasing you and trying to beg you to please... please send us the monthly money. but you won’t, you will hold onto it until you remember eventually that i’ve been begging for a month but you still refuse even though you promised. 

please god... 

these past two months i haven’t been able to work because of my visa and if this is my punishment for being happy, its too hard. its just too hard. 

you could help us so easily. so easily you could. 

but you dont even see me. you dont even see my desperation. 

you dont want to meet my husband because you cant face me being happy with someone. 

you always have to be in control. you can’t help me because you can only do so on your terms. when you per chance remember. when its your time. 

you arrived abruptly without a care in the world today as if i didn’t have a job to go to or have things to do because you dont give a shit if im busy. you know ill come running anyway because you are with-holding so much. because you are dangling what we need right there and then. 

you bought me all these clothes to show me that you definitely have the money to help us pay rent for one fucking month but that you won’t give it to me directly because you can’t be fucked doing so. 

it always has to be on your terms no matter if it breaks the person. 

it always has to be all about you. 

[sargenthouse]

An Essay by Ioanna Gika // The Creative Independent

Article via The Creative Independent

“The following piece is in the style of Joe Brainard’s “I Remember” or Ito Naga’s “Je sais,” but I have added a female voice to the conversation and format. Each sentence begins with “I know” and it centers mainly on what I have learned in the music industry, while also touching on other topics that are important to me.”

...

I know what the first song was that I played in my headphones when I was in the van embarking on my first tour.

I know that as I listened to the song, the sun was shining on my face through the van window. I could see windmill turbines in the distance like futuristic aunts.

I know that I got heckled by a man saying “go back to your country.”

I know that my family has lived in Greece, throughout Southeast Asia, throughout North America, and as a result of living in different places and of touring, my definition of home is not defined by houses.

I know that I don’t assign stupid genre terms to my own music and that most musicians don’t, but people will seek to do that anyway.

I know that the patriarchy is so deeply entrenched that when there is a male in the band, people will not only mainly focus on the male, but they will also discuss his male relatives who create music in order to explain any sliver of success you, as a female, may have.

I know that I wish I could bring my pitbull on tour.

I know that Pomeranians are cute but flammable looking.

I know that I can record up to 80 vocal takes but will most likely end up using the first.

I know from traveling on tour that vowels in the south sound drawn out and accents in the north sound closed off, and I wonder if that has to do with climate and heat escaping the mouth.

I know that it would be great if all venues could give untouched fresh food the bands do not eat to the homeless. There is so much fucking waste and I’m over it.

I know that this also goes out to bands. Be realistic about what is needed.

I know that science and nature are my religion, and that the big bang theory makes us think that we are bursting out into the universe, but often I wonder if we are being pulled towards something.

I know that there is still a lot I need to learn, and that I have watched countless hours of YouTube tutorials to learn how to do things.

I know that I watched a tutorial once before a show about how to repair a latex cat suit by a guy wearing a gimp mask.

I know that the lesson would have gone a lot faster if he had unzipped the gimp mouthpiece.

I know that my record label gave me $500 dollars to make my “Out of Focus” video and that doesn’t seem like a lot, but that was $500 dollars more than I had in my bank account that month, and I was excited to see my vision through.

I know that a male I played a show with once put a Xanax in a drink of mine and I had to manually fish it out.

I know that I was filled with such horror and shame, that it froze me.

I know that birds can sense change, and that if someone watched my Instagram Stories without knowing me, they would think I was an ornithologist.

I know that there is one type of bird that lays its eggs directly on a bare branch, and as migration is about to occur, the musical colony will fall silent. A behavior called “dread.” After dread, the colony will launch from their home branches all at once.

I know that when the bomb went off in my stepfather’s office and he had the shirt blown off his back and lost hearing in one of his ears, the Greek government did not call to wish him well.

I know that the government then cut into his pension and my mother’s pension without warning, and that the word “pension” is a strange word to put in a song.

I know that it felt necessary to put the word “pension” in a song, anyway.

I know when people say they love all music except for country, they have chosen “stomp, clap, HEY!” songs over Dolly Parton’s entire catalogue, and that means my Uber’s here.

I know that I’ve been supporting myself since I was a teenager and that my work ethic will never leave.

I know that men have compared me to other female musicians because of my hair color, body shape, or general appearance.

I know that Florence and the Machine is amazing but that I sound nothing like her.

I know that I hold my breath around people with bad energy.

I know that when Deafheaven asked if I wanted to open for them, I was honored.

I know that Deafheaven’s crowds are some of the most enthusiastic and kind audience members I have ever met.

I know that Patrick, who plays cello with me, says the word beautiful in two parts, “beaut-tiful” as if the word does a pause and pirouette halfway through.

I know that when Yelp says “this is the best sushi in Reno” it does not mean that the sushi is good.

I know that I puked on stage once.

I know that Aram, who plays bass with me, is an award-winning gay porn star, training to become a therapist, and has the most perfect pitch of any human I’ve ever met.

I know that the post-tour, re-entry feelings of depression are real.

I know that some people have it a lot easier than me and some people have it harder, and that it’s imperative to listen to the people who have it harder.

I know that every woman I’ve played with shows up to soundcheck on time and views it as a gift instead of a nuisance.

I know that the song Venom by Little Simz is my go-to right now.

I know that I stayed in a motel room once on tour where syringes laced the bathroom counter, and cockroaches climbed out behind a desk.

I know that when I am at SXSW it feels like the scene in Interview With A Vampire where the vampires are touched by sun and burst into flames.

I know that there is a planet called UY Scuti which is five billion times larger than the sun.

I know that if UY Scuti made an album I would listen to it.

I know that when my dad became sick and lost his ability to speak, he was still able to hum songs.

I know that when I played a show not long after he died, fighting the knot in my throat was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.

I know that I am deeply grateful for the support of my new music by musicians whom I hold in high regard, and equally grateful for the people who make releasing it possible.

I know that I got a message from someone saying that my new song helped them from their feelings of suicide, and that in my response I should have told them that their message helped me as well.

I know that yesterday someone on YouTube commented that I’m “awesome” with the caveat “for a girl.”

I know why I want to stop.

I know why I keep going.

[tisfan]

Hook, Line, and Sinker

Title: Hook, Line, and Sinker by @tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: R3 - dares/bets Ship: Bucky/Tony, Tony & Rhodey Rating: teen Major Tags: hangover, broship, rhodey is a good bro, dares/bets, blind date, sort of, pre-slash Summary: Tony woke up with a hangover and someone’s phone number. Rhodey doesn’t quite believe it. With Tony’s prize Shelby on the line...  Word Count: 1,885 Created for @tonystarkbingo

A/n: This is the sequel to this February’s Candy Hearts ficlet, Pick-up lines, but the story is self-contained. A requested and tipped fic for @unreliableunseelie

Tony woke up with a head full of cotton batting, a mouth full of dragon shit, and a memory of the previous evening that was entirely lacking.

He managed to roll over, away from the very annoying beam of light -- light, hah, felt more like a brain-destroying laser -- that was flooding his room, at the expense of everything left over in his stomach rebelling. “Oh, god,” he said, and then sprinted for the bathroom.

Okay, sprint was pushing it. Ambled with purpose and direction.

Whatever he’d eaten had probably tasted better on the way down, but since Tony couldn’t remember anything after he and Rhodey hit the third bar, he couldn’t guarantee it. He was just trying to find a bar that had the right ambiance.

He wasn’t sure he’d managed it.

He bid farewell to his late night snack, flushed, rinsed his mouth, spit. Used the bathroom for its other purpose, flushed again.

Considered taking a shower.

Considered not taking a shower.

Honestly, his sadiversary was getting to be old news, and he was too old to be acting like that anymore anyway.

He wasn’t even sure he really missed Steve anymore.

Did he?

He didn’t. Tony decided that, firmly. He did not miss Steve, that wasn’t going to happen anymore.

He tried to remember if he’d decided that last year, too.

Maybe he could go for a big party, his five year sadiversary next year, and then, it could all be over, over, over.

“Or you could just stop,” Tony told his reflection.

Shower.

He could do it.

Not mourning his failed relationships any longer.

He could do that, too.

Tony emptied his pockets; he’d apparently just rolled into bed, since the only thing he was missing from his outfit were his shoes and tie. And god only knew, he might have thrown the tie out last night. He’d been known to do that sort of thing before.

“New man,” he told his reflection. “New life.”

Wallet. Keys. Phone.

Cocktail napkin.

Cocktail napkin?

There were digits on a cocktail napkin. In his pocket.

“Jarvis, call Rhodey,” he told his phone. His phone did its thing while Tony finished getting undressed. “Speaker.”

“There’s coffee already prepped for you downstairs, no you didn’t puke last night before I left,” Rhodey said as soon as he picked up. “Your car is fine, we left it at the garage, and as far as I know, there are no warrants out for your arrest.”

“Thank you for that cheerful morning report,” Tony said. He turned the shower on and shivered as the water didn’t insta-heat and the first blast was cold over his forearm and hand.

“Seems like what you’d want to know,” Rhodey said. “How’s the hangover?”

“I think it’s been worse,” Tony said, stepping into the spray. It was still not as warm as he wanted it to be, so he turned it up some while he waited, cringing all the way in the back of the shower, away from the cold.

Which was stupid, because thirty seconds later it was way too hot and he had to reach through it to turn it down. He should get on the set-my-preferences shower system that would just… chime when it was ready. Like a microwave.

Except, you know, nothing like an actual microwave, because those were dangerous, even on short term exposure.

“You were doing okay, last night,” Rhodey said. “With the drinking. But then you decided to play bertie botts every flavor ice cream last night with some ridiculous little ice cream shop that’s open twenty-four seven and what the hell man, I could not keep you from eating chocolate and jalapeno ice cream at three in the morning.”

“Well, that explains my rude awakening,” Tony said. He considered that for a moment. “Did I say it was good? I mean, it sounds kinda awful, but also intriguing.”

“I didn’t eat it,” Rhodey said. “And I don’t lick another man’s ice cream cone, that’s just wrong. Especially when it’s yours.”

“So what kind did you have?”

“Maple Bacon with Jack Daniels,” Rhodey said without a hint of shame.

“Where’s this ice cream shop again? I think I’d like to go there when I’m sober.”

“We can make that happen, Tones.”

“Great,” Tony said. He filled his luffa with shower gel and was instantly drowning in some vaguely outdoorsy scented soap. “So, tell me, did I score last night?”

“You certainly did not,” Rhodey said.

“Really? Cause I got digits here that say otherwise.”

“That is a fake number, that guy totally did not give you his real number, you were being a total drunken asshole, flirting with some bar-bum. Like the worst lines ever. I wouldn’t date you with those lines.”

“Rhodey, you’ve known me since I was fifteen. I’m pretty sure if you were going to date me, you’d have said something about it by now. Fake number, huh?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t even remember the ice cream, much less flirting,” Tony said.

“Oh, well… too bad. You two totally played tonsil hockey for a while,” Rhodey said.

“I thought you said it was a fake number,” Tony said. He rubbed shampoo into his hair. “So, if we were necking, that seems to counter the theory that it’s fake.”

“It was a pity kiss,” Rhodey said.

“Nobody gives pity kisses,” Tony scoffed. “And even if they did, no one would pity kiss me. I mean, I’m… good looking. Mostly.” He rinsed his hair, let the shower water run down his head for a while. Maybe he could drown in the shower, that might cure the hangover. Of course, it would mean drowning, and that just sounded uncomfortable. Not to mention, the whole being naked and dead thing. Would he even care about his image if he was dead, or would he be too dead to care?

Tony shook his head, which was a mistake.

“Don’t even try that false modesty bullshit, Tony,” Rhodey said. “You know you’re the thing. Mr. Thing, Mr. Third most Eligible.”

“Yeah, I never liked that shit, brings the gold diggers out in full force. One of these days, I’d like someone to like me for… you know. Me.”

“Yeah, Tones, what’s not to like about you?”

“I hear that sarcasm,” Tony said. “And you’re hurting me here, sourpatch. I am hurt. Like, there might be actual tears and everything.”

“Look,” Rhodey said, “you and that guy, you were on the same page last night, but I’m telling you, you were reading totally different books.”

“I’m gonna call him,” Tony said.

Rhodey scoffed. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.” He wasn’t.

“I bet you it’s a false number.”

“Bet you it isn’t.”

“Oh, it’s on, Tones,” Rhodey said. “A hundred dollars says it’s a fake.”

“Five hundred,” Tony said, “verses --” he paused, trying to think of something Rhodey actually wanted that Tony might feel bad about giving him. There wasn’t much; usually Rhodey wouldn’t let Tony give him gifts, not like expensive, real ones, at any rate. And Pepper kept boycotting his idea of buying Rhode Island and renaming it. She said it wasn’t a good tax write off. Spoilsport.

“The Shelby.”

“Wo-- my car?”

“Tony, you have like seventy cars. But I like that one.”

“Deal. I’ll take my winnings in cash, no trade value,” Tony said. “Jarvis, end call.”

Tony got out of the shower and toweled off. Less vigorously than normal because see previously mentioned: hung over. Got his bathrobe and made his way to the kitchen. Punched the button on his coffee machine.

Considered the cocktail napkin and his phone.

Drank his coffee.

Dialed the number.

“Mmmphs?” a voice said, a male voice, even, so Tony figured he might be getting somewhere. “If this isn’t an insanely good looking guy, I’m hanging up.”

“Well, you’re in luck today,” Tony said.

“Do I know you?” the voice wondered. “Because really, I don’t think I made friends with people who were cheerful at… ug… it’s not even nine in the morning, what kind of masochist are you, it’s Saturday.”

Already, a man after my own heart. “Um, this is probably going to sound weird, but uh… did you give your number to anyone last night?”

There was a very long pause and Tony might have thought that the person hung up, except he could hear breathing.

“Yessss,” the man said, tentatively. “If you’re a friend of Sammie’s though, and this is a joke, you let that half-assed--”

“Not a joke--” Tony protested. “I found a cocktail napkin in my pocket, and I was wondering…” Wondering what, actually. If he was the guy from last night, if they’d had a good time, if it was a nice kiss, what’s your name, what do you look like… “would you like to have an ice cream with me. Today?”

“Wha---?” The guy asked. “Are you seriously asking me on an ice cream date after a ten minute conversation in a bar?”

“Why not?” Might as well roll with it, now that he’d gotten started. “Just, no strings or anything, no nothing. Just ice cream and a little get to know you. What, coffee dates are lame, everyone does coffee dates. I drink so much coffee that it’s like having a date at the corner water cooler.”

“Yeah, okay,” the guy said. “Ice cream date. Sure, why not?”

“Okay, so… four o’clock? Um… I’ll, um, text you the address? And… I might have had beer goggles on last night, so, text me back a picture? Just to make sure, because I’m pretty sure the conversation was with an angel, or a model or something.” Tony didn’t actually remember the guy at all, but a little flattery. And he’d win his bet… right? He could part with the car if the picture was scary. Hell, even if the picture wasn’t scary, he owed the guy for letting him know what Rhodey wanted for his next present.

“Sure,” the guy said. “I’ll… uh, see you at four, then.”

“Yep!”

Fortunately, typing in maple bacon jack daniels ice cream in his search engine got him the address for the ice cream shop. He texted his date -- who… had a name. And it was probably a boy’s name, too, except Tony didn’t know it. Fuck.

Then he texted Rhodey: Got a date. Four o’clock. Ice cream shop. Cash only!

A few seconds later, he texted again. Or, if he happened to tell me his name last night and you remember it, I’ll forgive you for betting against me.

New Text From Rhodey: Bucky Barnes.

Tony stared at the screen for a long moment. Then. You’re forgiven for thinking it was a fake number because I’m not sure that’s a real name.

New text from unknown number: Selfie from the gym a few weeks ago.

Attached was a picture of a guy wearing a baseball hat and workout clothes, scowling fiercely and pulling up his shirt to reveal ridiculously sculpted abs.

Tony stared.

“You’d think I’d remember him,” he said wistfully.

Texted back See you at Four.

New text from unknown number: looking forward to it. My first ice cream date since high school.

Tony texted Rhodey again, attaching the picture.

Cash. Only. I lied. You are totally not forgiven. 

[noorakardemmomesaetre]

Southside High 

Chapter Five

Or read it on Ao3

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four 

Pairing: Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones 

warning:  lots of romance to ensue.

also, yes, I was absolutely inspired by the video of Cole and Lili singing Second Chance. no shame in my game, everyone.

Summary: Even the best fall down sometimes Even the wrong words seem to rhyme Out of the doubt that fills my mind I somehow find You and I collide - Howie Day

“Shhhh, Veronica!”

Toni throws Veronica a look as she continues stringing the bright white battery-operated Christmas lights through Cheryl’s locker, only causing Veronica to burst into a new wave of giggles. Betty can tell Toni is fighting off her own laughter as she throws Veronica another look before breaking into a huge smile.

“I swear, I can’t take you bitches anywhere.”

Betty chuckles, tossing a few more fresh red rose petals in front of Cheryl’s locker. It’s 6:00am and the girls had (begrudgingly) agreed to help Toni set up her winter formal proposal for Cheryl before she arrived for class. Veronica was walking from the entrance of the school, leaving a trail of rose petals behind her.

“She’s going to love this, it’s so red and romantic,” Veronica sighs, smiling happily as she dumps out the rest of her rose petals on the floor in front of the locker.

“And public,” Betty notes, helping Toni get the last of the lights wrapped up, “Cheryl’s favorite way to do anything.”

Toni laughs, turning on the batteries so the locker lights up like a beautiful square, metal Christmas tree. She steps back, in between Betty and Veronica, and they all admire their hard work.

Winter Formal? is written in calligraphy on a small square of parchment tied to a single red rose inside of Cheryl’s locker, the first thing she’ll see when she opens it.

“Coffee before class?” Veronica asks, smiling at her best friend and newest friend and they all head out for a morning trip to Starbucks.

Two hours later, Cheryl had (of course) said yes, completely swept away by the amount of time and work Toni had put into asking her (and the fact that every student at Southside High had stared at her with silent envy for the rest of the day).

“I can’t believe I’m the only one dating a Northsider now,” Veronica sighs, running a comb through her soft dark curls, “I feel so vanilla.”

Betty snorts into her champagne glass, shaking her head as Cheryl continues straightening her hair.

“I’m not dating Toni,” Cheryl snaps, rubbing a texturizer between her fingers before smoothing it through Betty’s hair.

“Oooohkay, Cher.”

“Someone’s in denial,” Betty giggles, setting her glass down to apply another coat of mascara.

“Me?” Cheryl asks, raising an eyebrow as she pushes Betty’s hair forward, “looked in a mirror, recently, B?”

Betty stops smiling, her mouth falling open at Cheryl’s insinuation and Veronica’s laughter next to her.

“Jughead and I are attending the formal together as journalists, ladies,” she quickly clarifies, turning her attention back to the mascara she’s applying, “you know, for the Black and Gold.”

“Oh, right,” Veronica says, taking a sip of her own champagne as Cheryl sits next to her, picking up the curling iron, “I’m sure you two have a lot to investigate tonight.”

“You two are so annoying,” Betty huffs playfully, rolling her eyes and downing the rest of her champagne.

“Careful, Betty dearest,” Cheryl teases, recurling a piece of hair that had fallen flat, “I’d hate for you to throw up all over Jughead’s only pair of dress shoes tonight.”

Veronica spits out the sip of champagne she had just taken, effectively spraying it onto Cheryl’s vanity mirror as she grins. Feeling like her cheeks are on fire, Betty pushes the glass away, glaring at Cheryl before she laughs.

She was never going to live that down.

An hour later, pounding on the front doors of Thornhill lets the girls know that their dates have arrived. Jughead would be driving Betty, Toni, and Cheryl in his dad’s truck while Archie and Veronica would follow behind in his Jeep.  

“DAMN, Cheryl!” Toni says as the door swings open, her eyes having immediately found her, “you look flawless.”

Cheryl smiles, her eyes traveling down her date’s tightly clad body as Toni walks up and kisses her cheek softly, “as do you, Topaz.”

Betty feels her friends’ conversations fall away as she notices Jughead.  

A well-fitted all-black-suit-wearing Jughead. His eyes lift to hers nonchalantly from the door frame he’s leaning against, his lips tilting up into a small smile.

Wow.

“No Southside Serpent jacket tonight,” she coolly observes, smirking as she closes the space between them, moving her hair behind her.

“No Sunday school sweater either,” he shoots back, but his eyes linger on her bare shoulders and Betty feels her cheeks burn at the thought of his lips pressed against the skin there.

Get your mind out of the gutter, goodness Betty.

“Ready?” she hears Archie call out as the group heads towards their respective vehicles.

Betty smiles to herself out of surprise when Jughead opens the door for her, offering his hand to help her into the truck.

“So chivalrous,” she says softly as she places her hand daintily into his, sliding into the front seat. His hand falls away from hers and he looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it and shuts the door with a firm click.

“Can we please play some party music, Jones?” Toni calls out from the backseat and Betty notices out of the corner of her eye that Cheryl’s fingers are casually intertwined with Toni’s, before she adds, “I’m not really in the mood for that sad, brooding shit you usually play.”

Jughead grumbles something about how Toni can always walk if she wants, before he turns the station to play the recent radio hits.

The drive to the formal is quiet sans for the new Ed Sheeran song that’s flowing through the speakers and Toni and Cheryl’s quiet whispers and laughter behind them.

Betty looks out the window, running her fingers anxiously over her lavender dress as they approach the school.

“You look beautiful.”

Betty turns to look at him, unsure if she had heard him correctly.  

“I’m sorry?”

He turns on his blinker and glances at her, before looking straight ahead and clearing his throat, “I said you look beautiful, Betty.”

Betty’s eyebrow arches as she stares at him wondering who this kind gentleman is that has suddenly replaced her asshole fellow journalist, quickly noting that the giggling from the back had quieted.

“Oh, thanks, Jughead.”

She glances behind her, as he pulls into a parking spot, to see Cheryl and Toni staring back at her, both of them smirking knowingly.

They quickly hop out of the truck, Toni assisting Cheryl and not releasing her hand as they walk towards the school entrance.  

“So, try to remember the decorations and the music that’s playing,” Jughead says, as they walk into the school together, his hands in his pockets, “for the article.”

Betty glances around, taking note of the dollar-tree streamers and tablecloths, before pretending to noticeably yawn.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

“To be quite honest, Jughead,” Betty says, smiling at his smirk and folding her arms, “I don’t know what’s more boring for me right now, you or writing about these decorations.”

He laughs, a soft real laugh, which only makes Betty smile more.

His laughter is so endearing, she thinks.

“Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, “what will make me and this article less boring for you, princess?”

His gaze falls to her pouty bottom lip, the one she has pulled between her teeth now.

“I need to dance immediately,” Veronica announces as she walks up, dragging an unaffected-looking Archie behind her.

Betty quickly turns to smile at her best friend, stepping away from Jughead and calming her now pounding heart.

“I don’t really dance,” Jughead quickly interjects and Archie throws him a sympathetic smile, as if to say, unfortunately, man, you do now.

“Just stand next to Betty and try not to look so angry,” Veronica sighs, as she grabs Betty’s hand and pulls her out to where Toni and Cheryl are already dancing in the middle of the dance floor.

There are bodies moving everywhere around them, gyrating to the fast beats of the music. It’s dark sans for the multi-colored and white lights that swirl around the dance floor and the DJ. Betty panics for a moment when Veronica lets go of her, her eyes searching the crowd for Jughead.

A hand presses against her lower back briefly and she turns to see Jughead there, a small smile on his face as the group opens up to allow him to step in.

Betty starts to wonder if that small smile is only for her, but quickly brushes the thought away. Journalists. We are here as journalists.

They sway to the beat of a few more songs, Jughead barely moving, before a slow song begins to flow through the speakers.

Veronica’s arms immediately wrap around Archie’s neck, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder as the rest of the crowd begins to couple up.

To Betty’s surprise, Cheryl offers her hand to Toni, who immediately takes it, resting her other hand on Cheryl’s lower back. Cheryl turns to smile encouragingly at Betty, before resting her free hand on Toni’s bare shoulder.

“Do you want to dance?” Jughead asks Betty softly, before quickly adding, “I’m not a big fan of standing awkwardly in the middle of large crowds.”

Betty laughs, turning to set both of her hands on his shoulders as he places his hands on either sides of her waist. She almost wants to laugh at the amount of space between them, but refrains, glancing around the auditorium as Post Malone’s, “I Fall Apart” rings out.

She looks down, avoiding his eyes as they sway gently to the beat, feeling more and more nervous. She’s never been this close to him, not while sober anyways.

“I didn’t realize we were in 8th grade again.”

Toni giggles, her and Cheryl having managed to dance their way over to Jughead and Betty. Betty feels Cheryl’s long nails press against her back, effectively shoving her into Jughead.

“Whoa,” he says, laughing lightly as his hands adjust, moving to her lower back, holding her close to him. Her arms wrap around his neck to make up for the lack of space between them now, looking up at him.

Wow…he’s tall…and he smells good…like cigarettes and…soap…

“So, what do you think of all of this? You know, for a guy who,” she starts to say, before dramatically furrowing her eyebrows and frowning, deepening her voice to mimic his, “doesn’t do school dances?”

“Ha ha,” he laughs softly as they move to the beat, and she tries to ignore the fact that his thumb is gently rubbing small soothing circles on her lower back, “well, I’m no Roger, but hopefully I’m a decent date.”

“Richie,” she corrects him teasingly and he quickly looks down at her, narrowing his eyes before breaking into that signature small smile.

The song ends and Jughead immediately drops his arms, stepping away from her. Toni quickly comes over and whispers something in his ear, a sly smile on her face as Jughead rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay.”

Toni smiles, reaching over and squeezing Betty’s arm before walking back to Cheryl and heading out of the auditorium.

“What was that about-“

“B!” Veronica squeals next to her, “Archie and I are leaving, we have some business to tend to, but we’ll be at Pop’s in a couple of hours if you and JJ want to join!”

Jughead winces at being referred to as JJ, but doesn’t say anything as the girls hug and Veronica leads Archie to the exit.

“What did Toni say?” Betty asks, turning to Jughead as a new song picks up, bodies bouncing up and down around them.

“Her and Cheryl have found their own ride home,” he shrugs, raising an eyebrow at Betty to further his point. Betty shakes her head and laughs. Damn, she thinks, my friends are completely insatiable.

“Should we go?” Betty asks reluctantly, raising her voice over the music. Jughead glances around before turning back to her.

“I’m ready if you are.”

He’s ready? Ouch.

Betty nods, smiling slightly before she begins to make her way out of the crowd, allowing herself to be pushed around by the dancing bodies that surround her. They finally get to the exit and Betty turns to laugh at a completely disgruntled looking Jughead.

He swings open the exit and steps out into the pouring rain, turning quickly to look at Betty who looks apprehensive.

“Afraid of a little rain, princess?” he grins at her teasingly and she rolls her eyes until he slips out of his jacket, holding it up and out so that she can walk underneath it.

“Race you to the truck,” she says, raising a challenging eyebrow and slipping out of her heels before adding, “unless you’re afraid of a little rain?”

She doesn’t wait for his response as she rushes out into the water, running as fast as she can, screeching loudly when she feels his arms wrap around her waist and lift her up.

He quickly turns and sets her down gently behind him before taking off towards the truck again.

“Are you fucking serious, Jughead?!” she yells in disbelief, before taking off at a sprint to catch back up to him.

Jesus Christ, for a lanky journalist, he sure is fast.

His hand touches the back of his truck as he turns to grin at her in triumph just as she slips on some loose mud, slamming into him. His arms wrap around her tightly as the wind is knocked out of him.

“Shit!” she squeals, laughing as she uses his body to right herself, looking up at him as the rain pounds down around them.

“You alright-“ he tries to ask, but is quickly consumed with his own laughter as they look at each other’s completely drenched bodies.

She quickly pushes away from him, running her fingers over her wet hair as he stares at her, his eyes dark, rain drops falling from his lashes.

As if something has awakened him, he turns and heads towards the passenger door, opening it for her and helping her climb inside.

He blasts the heaters as soon as their doors shut, pulling off his beanie and running his fingers through his damp curls.

“Sorry, but we’re not listening to this mainstream garbage anymore,” he huffs as he turns the radio to a station he obviously enjoys more. Betty places her hands over the heater, refusing to look at herself in his visor mirror and thanking the make-up gods that she had worn waterproof mascara tonight.

They drive in silence, neither mentioning how close they had been tonight, how their bodies had been pressed against each other, how his gaze had shifted to her bare shoulders on several occasions.

As they drive through Southside, Second Chance by Shinedown begins to play and Betty can’t help but smile as Jughead’s fingers begin to tap against the steering wheel.

His voice is soft, almost inaudible, as he begins to sing, “my eyes are open wide and by the way, I made it through the day.”

Betty sits back, reaching out to turn the music up. Jughead doesn’t look at her, but a smile plays on his face as he continues to sing, the music almost drowning him out completely.

“I just saw Haley’s comet. She waaaaved.”

As the music plays, his fingers continue to tap against the steering wheel and Betty can’t take it anymore, this is one of her favorite songs.

Both of their voices harmonize loudly as they sing, “somewhere in the stratosphere!”

Betty breaks out her air guitar, strumming the fake chords as he bobs his head along to the music, putting more effort into his air drumming on the steering wheel, “tell my mother, tell my father, I’VE DONE THE BEST I CAN!!”

Jughead stops singing, looking over at Betty as her voice melodically rings out, “sometimes goodbye is a second chance.”

Making a split second decision, he pulls over, putting the truck in park on the side of an empty road next to a vast field.

Betty turns, her heart pounding as he unbuckles his seatbelt, the heat in his eyes matching her own.

His lips press against hers as she unbuckles her own seatbelt, leaning forward and tangling her hands in his wet hair. His hand slides behind her neck as their kiss deepens, her lips parting as his tongue slips into her mouth. She grips his hair to stabilize herself, panting as her teeth dig into his bottom lip, eliciting a rough moan from him.

“I can’t – I need to be close to you – “ he murmurs, pulling away from her and Betty searches his face, her breathing shallow and hot before she understands. She attempts to stand, pulling her soft lavender dress up to her knees and moving so that she can straddle him.

He pulls her down, adjusting underneath her so that she’s more comfortable before her hands are tangled in his hair and her lips slam down against his once more. His fingers grip her thighs just above her knees as his kisses run down her neck, his teeth sinking in to the smooth skin.

Panting, Betty pulls her hand away from his hair, slamming it against the newly fogged window, as he continues leaving his mark on her bare skin.  

writing this fic is so much fun and is absolutely amazing, but hearing from you all is my favorite part. I love hearing your thoughts, so if you'd like to leave some, please do! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! xx

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Pelican Bar

Karen Joy Fowler (2009)

For her birthday, Norah got a Pink cd from the twins, a book about vampires from her grown-up sister, High School Musical 2 from her     grandma (which Norah might have liked if she'd been turning ten instead of fifteen) and an iPod shuffle plus an Ecko Red t-shirt and two hundred- dollar darkwash 7 jeans-the most expensive clothes Norah had ever owned-from her mother and father.

Not a week earlier, her mother had said it was a shame birthdays came whether you deserved them or not. She'd said she was dog-tired of Norah's disrespect, her ingratitude, her filthy language-as if fucking was just another word for very-fucking this and fucking that, fucking hot and fucking unfair and you have to be fucking kidding me.

And then there were a handful of nights when Norah didn't come home and turned off her phone so they all thought she was in the city in the apartment of some man she'd probably met on the internet and was probably dead.

And then there were the horrible things she'd written about both her mother and father on facebook. And now they had to buy her presents?

I don't see that happening, Norah's mother had said.

So it was all a big surprise and there was even a party.  Her parents didn't approve of Norah's friends (and mostly didn't know who they were)    so the party was just family. Norah's big sister brought the new baby who yawned and hiccoughed and whose scalp was scaly with cradle-cap.   There was barbecued chicken and ears of corn cooked in milk, an ice-cream cake with pralines and roses, and everyone, even Norah, was really careful and nice except for Norah's grandma who had a fight in the kitchen with Norah's mother that stopped the minute Norah entered. Her grandmother gave Norah a kiss, wished her a happy birthday, and left before the food was served.

The party went late and Norah's mother said they'd clean up in the morning. Everyone left or went to bed. Norah made a show of brushing her teeth, but she didn't undress, because Enoch and Kayla had said they'd come by, which they did, just before midnight. Enoch climbed through  Norah's bedroom window and then he tiptoed downstairs to the front door to let Kayla in, because she was already too trashed for the window.    "Your birthday's not over yet!" Enoch said, and he'd brought Norah some special birthday shrooms called hawk's eyes. Half an hour later, the whole bedroom took a little skip sideways and broke open like an egg. Blue light poured over everything and Norah's Care Bear Milo had a luminous blue aura, as if he were Yoda or something. Milo told Norah to tell Enoch she loved him, which made Enoch laugh.

They took more of the hawk's eyes so Norah was still tripping the next morning when a man and a woman came into her bedroom, pulled her from her bed and forced her onto her feet while her mother and father watched. The woman had a hooked nose and slightly protuberant eyeballs. Norah looked into her face just in time to see the fast retraction of a nictitating membrane. "Look at her eyes," she said, only the words came out of the woman's mouth instead of Norah's. "Look at her eyes," the woman said. "She's high as a kite."

Norah's mother collected clothes from the floor and the chair in the bedroom. "Put these on," she told Norah, but Norah couldn't find the     sleeves so the men left the room while her mother dressed her. Then the man and woman took her down the stairs and out the front door to a car     so clean and black that clouds rolled across the hood. Norah's father put a suitcase in the trunk and when he slammed it shut the noise Norah    heard was the last note in a Sunday school choir; the men part of Amen, sung in many voices.

The music was calming. Her parents had been threatening to ship her off to boarding school for so long she'd stopped hearing it. Even now     she thought that they were maybe all just trying to scare her,  would drive her around for a bit and then bring her back, lesson learned, and this helped for a minute or two. Then she thought her mother wouldn't be crying in quite the way she was crying if it was all for show. Norah tried to     grab her mother's arm, but missed. "Please," she started, "don't make me," but before she got the words out the man had leaned in to take them. "Don't make me hurt you," he said in a tiny whisper that echoed in her skull. He handcuffed Norah to the seatbelt because she was struggling. His mouth looked like something drawn onto his face with a charcoal pen.

"This is only because we love you," Norah's father said. "You were on a really dangerous path."

"This is the most difficult thing we've ever done," said Norah's mother. "Please be a good girl and then you can come right home."

The man with the charcoal mouth and woman with the nictitating eyelids drove Norah to an airport. They showed the woman at the ticket   counter Norah's passport, and then they all got on a plane together, the woman in the window seat, the man the aisle, and Norah in the middle. Sometime during the flight Norah came down and the man beside her had an ordinary face and the woman had ordinary eyes, but Norah was still    on a plane with nothing beneath her but ocean.

While this was happening, Norah's mother drove to the mall. She had cried all morning and now she was returning the iPod shuffle to the     Apple store and the expensive clothes to Nordstrom's. She had all her receipts and everything still had the tags, plus  she  was sobbing  intermittently, but uncontrollably, so there was no problem getting her money back.

 Norah's new home was an old motel. She arrived after dark, the sky above pinned with stars and the road so quiet she could hear a bubbling chorus of frogs and crickets. The man held her arm and walked just fast enough to make Norah stumble. He let her fall onto one knee. The ground was asphalt covered with a grit that stuck in her skin and couldn't be brushed off. She was having trouble believing she was here. She was having trouble remembering the plane. It was a bad trip, a bad dream, as if she'd gone to bed in her bedroom as usual and awakened here. Her drugged-   up visions of eyelids and mouths were forgotten; she was left with only a nagging suspicion she couldn't track back. But she didn't feel like a      person being punished for bad behavior. She felt like an abductee.

An elderly woman in a flowered caftan met them at a chainlink gate. She unlocked it and the man pushed Norah through without a word. "My suitcase," Norah said to the man, but he was already gone.

"Now I am your mother," the woman told Norah. She was very old, face like a crumpled leaf. "But not like your other mother. Two  things different. One: I don't love you. Two: when I tell you what to do, you do it. You call me Mama Strong." Mama Strong stooped a little so she and

Norah were eye to eye. Her pupils were tiny black beads. "You sleep now. We talk tomorrow."

They climbed an outside stairway and Norah had just a glimpse of the moon-streaked ocean on the other side of the chainlink. Mama Strong  took Norah to room 217. Inside, ten girls were already in bed, the floor nearly covered with mattresses, only narrow channels of brown rug     between. The light in the ceiling was on, but the girls' eyes were shut. A second old woman sat on a stool in the corner. She was sucking loudly on     a red lollipop. "I don't have my toothbrush," Norah said.

"I didn't say brush your teeth," said Mama Strong. She gave Norah a yellow t-shirt, gray sweatpants and plastic flip flops, took her to the bathroom and waited for Norah to use the toilet, wash her face with tap water and change. Then she took the clothes Norah had arrived in and     went away.

The old woman pointed with her lollipop to an empty mattress, thin wool blanket folded at the foot. Norah lay down, covered herself with the blanket. The room was stuffy, warm, and smelled of the bodies in it. The mattress closest to Norah's belonged to a skinny black girl with a scabbed nose and a bad cough. Norah knew she was awake because of the coughing. "I'm Norah," she whispered, but the old woman in the corner hissed  and clapped her hands. It took Norah a long time to realize that no one was ever going to turn off the light.

Three times during the night she heard someone screaming. Other times she thought she heard the ocean, but she was never sure; it could  have been a furnace or a fan.

In the morning, the skinny girl told Mama Strong that Norah had talked to her.  The girl earned five points for this, which was enough to be     given her hairbrush.

"I said no talking," Mama Strong told Norah. "No, you didn't," said Norah.

"Who is telling the truth? You or me?" asked Mama Strong.

Norah, who hadn't eaten since the airplane or brushed her teeth in twenty four hours, had a foul taste in her mouth like rotting eggs. Even so   she could smell the onions on Mama Strong's breath. "Me," said Norah.

She lost ten points for the talking and thirty for the talking back. This put her, on her first day, at minus forty. At plus ten she would have earned her toothbrush; at plus twenty, her hairbrush.

Mama Strong said that no talking was allowed anywhere-points deducted for talking-except at group sessions, where talking was required-  points deducted for no talking. Breakfast was cold hard toast with canned peaches-points deducted for not eating-after which Norah had her first group session.

Mama Strong was her group leader. Norah's group was the girls from room 217. They were, Norah was told, her new family. Her family name was Power. Other families in the hotel were named Dignity, Consideration, Serenity, and Respect. These were, Mama Strong said, not so good as family names. Power was the best.

There were boys in the west wings of the motel, but they wouldn't ever be in the yard at the same time as the girls. Everyone ate together, but there was no talking while eating so they wouldn't be getting to know each other; anyway they were all very bad boys. There was no reason to      think about them at all, Mama Strong said.

She passed each of the Power girls a piece of paper and a pencil. She told them to write down five things about themselves that were true.

Norah thought about Enoch and Kayla, whether they knew where she had gone, what they might try to do about it. What she would do if it     were them. She wrote: I am a good friend. I am fun to be with. Initially that was a single entry. Later when time ran out, she came back and made it two. She thought about her parents. I am a picky eater, she wrote on their behalf. She couldn't afford to be angry with them, not until she was home again. A mistake had been made. When her parents realized the kind of place this was, they would come and get her.

I am honest. I am stubborn, she wrote, because her mother had always said so. How many times had Norah heard how her mother spent eighteen hours in labor and finally had a c-section just because fetal Norah wouldn't tuck her chin to clear the pubic bone. "If I'd known her then like    I know her now," Norah's mother used to say, "I'd have gone straight to the c-section and spared myself the labor. 'This child is never going to tuck  her chin,' I'd have said."

And then Norah scratched out the part about being stubborn, because she had never been so angry at her parents and she didn't want to give her mother the satisfaction. Instead she wrote, nobody knows who I really am.

They were all to read their lists aloud. Norah was made to go first. Mama Strong sucked loudly through her teeth at number four. "Already this morning, Norah has lied to me two times," she told the group. "'I am honest' is the third lie today."

The girls were invited to comment. They did so immediately and with vigor. Norah seemed very stuck on herself, said a white girl with severe acne on her cheeks and chin. A red-haired girl with a freckled neck and freckled arms said that there was no evidence  of  Norah taking  responsibility for anything. She agreed with the first girl. Norah was very stuck-up. The skinny girl with the cough said that no one honest ended up here. None of them were honest, but at least she was honest enough to admit it.

"I'm here by mistake," said Norah.

"Lie number four." Mama Strong reached over and took the paper, her eyes like stones. "I know who you really are," she said. "I know how you think. You think, how do I get out of here?

"You never will. The only way out is to be different. Change. Grow." She tore up Norah's list. "Only way is to be someone else completely. As  long as some tiny place inside is still you, you will never leave."

The other girls took turns reading from their lists. "I am ungrateful," one of them had written. "I am a liar," read another. "I am still carrying   around my bullshit," read the girl with the cough. "I am a bad person." "I am a bad daughter."

 It took Norah three months to earn enough points to spend an afternoon outside. She stood blinking in the sun, watching a line of birds thread  the sky above her. She couldn't see the ocean, but there was a breeze that brought the smell of salt.

Later she got to play kickball with the other Power girls in the old, drained motel pool. No talking, so they played with a silent ferocity, slamming each other into the pool walls until every girl was bleeding from the nose or the knee or somewhere.

After group there were classes. Norah would be given a lesson with a multiple choice exercise. Some days it was math, some days history, geography, literature. At the end of an hour someone on staff would check her answers against a key. There was no instruction and points were deducted for wrong answers. One day the lesson was the Frost poem "The Road Not Taken," which was not a hard lesson, but Norah got almost everything wrong because the staff member was using the wrong key. Norah said so and she lost points for her poor score, but also for the talking.

It took eleven months for Norah to earn enough points to write her parents. She'd known Mama Strong or someone else on staff would read     the letter so she wrote it carefully. "Please let me come home. I promise to do whatever you ask and I think you can't know much about this place. I am sick a lot from the terrible food and have a rash on my legs from bug bites that keeps getting worse. I've lost weight. Please come and get me. I love you. Norah."

"So manipulative," Mama Strong had said. "So dishonest and manipulative." But she put the letter into an envelope and stamped it.

If the letter was dishonest, it was only by omission. The food here was not only terrible, it was unhealthy, often rotting, and there was never enough of it. Meat was served infrequently, so the students, hungry enough to eat anything, were always sick after. No more than three minutes  every three hours could be spent on the toilet; there were always students whose legs were streaked with diarrhea. There was no medical care.     The bug bites came from her mattress.

Sometimes someone would vanish. This happened to two girls in the Power family. One of them was the girl with the acne, her name was Kelsey. One of them was Jetta, a relatively new arrival. There was no explanation; since no one was allowed to talk, there was no speculation.   Mama Strong had said if they earned a hundred points they could leave. Norah tried to remember how many points she'd seen Kelsey get; was it possible she'd had a hundred? Not possible that Jetta did.

The night Jetta disappeared there was a bloody towel in the corner of the shower. Not just stained with blood, soaked with it. It stayed in the corner for three days until someone finally took it away.

A few weeks before her birthday, Norah lost all her accumulated points, forty-five of them, for not going deep in group session. By then Norah had no deep left. She was all surface-skin rashes, eye infections, aching teeth, constant hunger, stomach cramps. The people in her life-the ones Mama Strong wanted to know everything about-had dimmed in her memory along with everything else-school, childhood, all the fights with her parents, all the Christmases, the winters, the summers, her fifteenth birthday. Her friends went first and then her family.

The only things she could remember clearly were those things she'd shared in group. Group session demanded ever more intimate, more humiliating, more secret stories. Soon it seemed as if nothing had ever happened to Norah that wasn't shameful and painful. Worse, her most      secret shit was still found wanting, not sufficiently revealing, dishonest.

Norah turned to vaguely remembered plots from after-school specials until one day the story she was telling was recognized by the freckled    girl, Emilene was her name, who got twenty whole points for calling Norah on it.

There was a punishment called the TAP, the Think Again Position. Room 303 was the TAP room. It smelled of unwashed bodies and was  crawling with ants. A student sent to TAP was forced to lie face down on the bare floor. Every three hours, a shift in position was allowed. A student who moved at any other time was put in restraint. Restraint meant that one staff member would set a knee on the student's spine. Others would      pull the student's arms and legs back and up as far as they could go and then just a little bit farther. Many times a day, screaming could be heard in Room 303.

For lying in group session, Norah was sent to the TAP.  She would be released, Mama Strong said, when she was finally ready to admit that    she was here as a result of her own decisions. Mama Strong was sick of Norah's games. Norah lasted two weeks.

"You have something to say?" Mama Strong was smoking a small hand-rolled cigarette that smelled of cinnamon. Smoke curled from her nostrils, and her fingers were stained with tobacco or coffee or dirt or blood.

"I belong here," Norah said. "No mistake?"

"No."

"Just what you deserve?" "Yes,"

"Say it."

"Just what I deserve."

"Two weeks is nothing," Mama Strong said. "We had a girl three years ago, did eighteen."

Although it was the most painful, the TAP was not, to Norah's mind, the worst part. The worst part was the light that stayed on all night. Norah had not been in the dark for one single second since she arrived. The no dark was making Norah crazy. Her voice in group no longer sounded like  her voice. It hurt to use it, hurt to hear it.

Her voice had betrayed her, telling Mama Strong everything until there was nothing left inside Norah that Mama Strong hadn't pawed through, like a shopper at a flea market. Mama Strong knew exactly who Norah was, because Norah had told her. What Norah needed was a new secret.

 For her sixteenth birthday, she got two postcards. "We came all this way only to learn you're being disciplined and we can't see you. We don't want to be harsh on your birthday of all days, but honest to Pete, Norah, when are you going to have a change of attitude? Just imagine how disappointed we are." The handwriting was her father's, but the card had been signed by her mother and father both.

The other was written by her mother. "Your father said as long as we're here we might as well play tourist. So now we're at a restaurant in the middle of the ocean. Well, maybe not the exact middle, but a long ways out! The restaurant is up on stilts on a sandbar and you can only get here    by boat! We're eating a fish right off the line! All the food is so good, we envy you living here! Happy birthday, darling! Maybe next year we can celebrate your birthday here together. I will pray for that!" Both postcards had a picture of the ocean restaurant. It was called the Pelican Bar.

Her parents had spent five days only a few miles away. They'd swum in the ocean, drunk mai tais and mojitos under the stars, fed bits of bread  to the gulls. They'd gone up the river to see the crocodiles and shopped for presents to take home. They were genuinely sorry about Norah; her mother had cried the whole first day and often after. But this sadness was heightened by guilt. There was no denying that they were happier at    home without her. Norah had been a constant drain, a constant source of tension and despair. Norah left and peace arrived. The twins had never been difficult, but Norah's instructive disappearance had improved even their good behavior.

 Norah is on her mattress in room 217 under the overhead light, but she is also at a restaurant on stilts off the coast. She is drinking something made with rum. The sun is shining. The water is blue and rocking like a cradle. There is a breeze on her face.

Around the restaurant, nets and posts have been sunk into the sandbar. Pelicans sit on these or fly or sometimes drop into the water with their wings closed, heavy as stones. Norah wonders if she could swim all the way back into shore. She's a good swimmer, or used to be, but this is   merely hypothetical. She came by motorboat, trailing her hand in the water, and will leave the same way. Norah wipes her mouth with her hand and her fingers taste of salt.

She buys a postcard. Dear Norah, she writes. You could do the TAP better now. Maybe not for eighteen weeks, but probably more than two.

Don't ever tell Mama Strong about the Pelican Bar, no matter what. For her sixteenth birthday what Norah got was the Pelican Bar.

 Norah's seventeenth birthday passed without her noticing. She'd lost track of the date; there was just a morning when she suddenly thought    that she must be seventeen by now.  There'd been no card from her parents, which might have meant they hadn't sent one, but probably didn't.    Their letters were frequent, if peculiar. They seemed to think there was water in the pool, fresh fruit at lunchtime. They seemed to think she had counselors and teachers and friends. They'd even made reference to college prep. Norah knew that someone on staff was writing and signing her name. It didn't matter. She could hardly remember her parents, didn't expect to ever see them again. Since "come and get me" hadn't worked, she had nothing further to say to them. Fine with her if someone else did.

One of the night women, one of the women who sat in the corner and watched while they slept, was younger than the others, with her hair in many braids. She took a sudden dislike to Norah. Norah had no idea why; there'd been no incident, no exchange, just an evening when the    woman's eyes locked onto Norah's face and filled with poison. The next day she followed Norah through the halls and lobby,  mewing at her like a   cat. This went on until everyone on staff was mewing at Norah. Norah lost twenty points for it. Worse, she found it impossible to get to the Pelican Bar while everyone was mewing at her.

But even without Norah going there, Mama Strong could tell that she had a secret. Mama Strong paid less attention to the other girls and more  to Norah, pushing and prodding in group, allowing the mewing even from the other girls, and sending Norah to the TAP again and again. Norah dipped back into minus points. Her hairbrush and her toothbrush were taken away. Her time in the shower was cut from five minutes to three. She  had bruises on her thighs and a painful spot on her back where the knee went during restraint.

After several months without, she menstruated. The blood came in clots, gushes that soaked into her sweatpants. She was allowed to get up long enough to wash her clothes, but the blood didn't come completely out and the sweatpants weren't replaced. A man came and mopped the      floor where Norah had to lie. It smelled strongly of piss when he was done.

More girls disappeared until Norah noticed that she'd been there longer than almost anyone in the Power family. A new girl arrived and took     the mattress and blanket Kimberly had occupied. The new girl's name was Chloe. The night she arrived, she spoke to Norah. "How long have you been here?" she asked. Her eyes were red and swollen and she had a squashed kind of nose. She wasn't able to hold still; she jabbered about her meds which she hadn't taken and needed to; she rocked on the mattress from side to side.

"The new girl talked to me last night," Norah told Mama Strong in the morning. Chloe was a born victim, gave off the victim vibe. She was so weak it was like a superpower. The kids at her school had bullied her, she said in group session, like this would be news to anyone.

"Maybe you ask for it," Emilene suggested.

"Why don't you take responsibility?" Norah said. "Instead of blaming everyone else."

"You will learn to hold still," Mama Strong told her and had the girls put her in restraint themselves. Norah's was the knee in her back.

Then Mama Strong told them all to make a list of five reasons they'd been sent here. "I am a bad daughter," Norah wrote. "I am still carrying around my bullshit. I am ungrateful." And then her brain snapped shut like a clamshell so she couldn't continue.

"There is something else you want to say." Mama Strong stood in front of her, holding the incriminating paper, two reasons short of the assignment, in her hand.

She was asking for Norah's secret. She was asking about the Pelican Bar. "No," said Norah. "It's just that I can't think."

"Tell me." The black beads of Mama Strong's eyes became pinpricks. "Tell me. Tell me." She stepped around Norah's shoulder so that Norah could smell onion and feel a cold breath on her neck, but couldn't see her face.

"I don't belong here," Norah said. She was trying to keep the Pelican Bar. To do that, she had to give Mama Strong something else. There was probably a smarter plan, but Norah couldn't think of anything. "Nobody belongs here," she said. "This isn't a place where humans belong."

"You are human, but not me?" Mama Strong said. Mama Strong had never touched Norah. But her voice coiled like a spring; she made Norah flinch. Norah felt her own piss on her thighs.

"Maybe so," Mama Strong said. "Maybe I'll send you somewhere else then. Say you want that. Ask me for it. Say it and I'll do it."

Norah held her breath. In that instant, her brain produced the two missing reasons. "I am a liar," she said. She heard her own desperation. "I    am a bad person."

There was a silence and then Norah heard Chloe saying she wanted to go home. Chloe clapped her hands over her mouth. Her talking continued, only now no one could make out the words. Her head nodded like a bobblehead dog on a dashboard.

Mama Strong turned to Chloe. Norah got sent to the TAP, but not to Mama Strong's someplace else.

 After that, Mama Strong never again seemed as interested in Norah. Chloe hadn't learned yet to hold still, but Mama Strong was up to the challenge. When Norah was seventeen, the gift she got was Chloe.

One day, Mama Strong stopped Norah on her way to breakfast. "Follow me," she said, and led Norah to the chainlink fence. She unlocked the gate and swung it open. "You can go now." She counted out fifty dollars. "You  can take this and go. Or you can stay until your mother and father come for you. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. You go now, you get only as far as you get with fifty dollars."

Norah began to shake. This, she thought, was the worst thing done to her yet. She took a step toward the gate, took another. She didn't look      at Mama Strong. She saw that the open gate was a trick, which made her shaking stop. She was not fooled. Norah would never be allowed to walk out. She took a third step and a fourth. "You  don't belong here," Mama Strong said, with contempt as if there'd been a test and Norah had flunked     it. Norah didn't know if this was because she'd been too compliant or not compliant enough.

And then Norah was outside and Mama Strong was closing and locking the gate behind her.

Norah walked in the sunlight down a paved road dotted with potholes and the smashed skins of frogs. The road curved between weeds taller than Norah's head, bushes with bright orange flowers. Occasionally a car went by, driven very fast.

Norah kept going. She passed stucco homes, some small stores. She saw cigarettes and muumuus for sale, large avocados, bunches of      small bananas, liquor bottles filled with dish soap, posters for British ale. She thought about buying something to eat, but it seemed too hard, would require her to talk. She was afraid to stop walking. It was very hot on the road in the sun. A pack of small dogs followed her briefly and then ran     back to wherever they'd come from.

She reached the ocean and walked into the water. The salt stung the rashes on her legs, the sores on her arms and then it stopped stinging.  The sand was brown, the water blue and warm. She'd forgotten about the fifty dollars though she was still holding them in her hand, now soaked   and salty.

There were tourists everywhere on the beach, swimming, lying in the sun with daiquiris and ice cream sandwiches and salted oranges. She wanted to tell them that, not four miles away,  children were being starved and terrified. She couldn't remember enough about people to know if   they'd care. Probably no one would believe her. Probably they already knew.

She waded into shore and walked farther. It was so hot, her clothes dried quickly. She came to a river and an open air market. A young man   with a scar on his cheek approached her. She recognized him. On two occasions, he'd put her in restraint. Her heart began to knock against her lungs. The air around her went black.

"Happy birthday," he said.

He came swimming back into focus, wearing a bright plaid shirt, smiling so his lip rose like a curtain over his teeth. He stepped toward her; she stepped away. "Your birthday, yes?" he said. "Eighteen?" He bought her some bananas, but she didn't take them.

A woman behind her was selling beaded bracelets, peanuts and puppies. She waved Norah over. "True," she said to Norah. "At eighteen, they have to let you go. The law says." She tied a bracelet onto Norah's wrist. How skinny Norah's arm looked in it. "A present for your birthday," the woman said. "How long were you there?"

Instead of answering, Norah asked for directions to the Pelican Bar. She bought a t-shirt, a skirt, and a cola. She drank the cola, dressed in the new clothes and threw away the old. She bought a ticket on a boat-ten dollars it cost her to go, ten more to come back. There were tourists, but no one sat anywhere near her.

The boat dropped her, along with the others, twenty feet or so out on the sandbar, so that she walked the last bit through waist-high water. She was encircled by the straight, clean line of the horizon, the whole world spinning around her, flat as a plate. The water was a brilliant, sun-dazzled  blue in every direction. She twirled slowly, her hands floating, her mind flying until it was her turn on the makeshift ladder of planks and branches    and her grip on the wood suddenly anchored her. She climbed into the restaurant in her dripping dress.

She bought a postcard for Chloe. "On your eighteenth birthday, come here," she wrote, "and eat a fish right off the line. I'm sorry about everything. I'm a bad person."

She ordered a fish for herself, but couldn't finish it. She sat for hours, feeling the floor of the bar rocking beneath her, climbing down the ladder into the water, and up again to dry in the warm air. She never wanted to leave this place that was the best place in the world, even more beautiful  than she'd imagined. She fell asleep on the restaurant bench and didn't wake up until the last boat was going to shore and someone shook her arm  to make sure she was on it.

When Norah returned to shore, she saw Mama Strong seated in an outdoor bar at the edge of the market on the end of the dock. The sun was setting and dark coming on. Mama Strong was drinking something that could have been water or could have been whiskey. The glass was colored blue so there was no way to be sure. She saw Norah getting off the boat. There was no way back that didn't take Norah towards her.

"You have so much money, you're a tourist?" Mama Strong asked. "Next time you want to eat, the money is gone. What then?"

Two men were playing the drums behind her. One of them began to sing. Norah recognized the tune-something old that her mother had liked- but not the words.

"Do you think I'm afraid to go hungry?" Norah said.

"So. We made you tougher. Better than you were. But not tough enough. Not what we're looking for. You go be whatever you want now. Have whatever you want. We don't care."

What did Norah want to be? Clean. Not hungry. Not hurting. What did she want to have? She wanted to sleep in the dark. Already there was one bright star in the sky over the ocean.

What else? She couldn't think of a thing. Mama Strong had said Norah would have to change, but Norah felt that she'd vanished instead. She didn't know who she was anymore. She didn't know anything at all. She fingered the beaded bracelet on her wrist. "When I run out of money," she said, "I'll ask someone to help me. And someone will. Maybe not the first person I ask. But someone." Maybe it was true.

"Very pretty." Mama Strong looked into her blue glass, swirled whatever was left in it, tipped it down her throat. "You're wrong about humans,  you know," she said. Her tone was conversational. "Humans do everything we did. Humans do more."

Two men came up behind Norah. She whirled, sure that they were here for her,  sure that she'd be taken, maybe back, maybe to Mama   Strong's more horrible someplace else. But the men walked right past her toward the drummers. They walked right past her and as they walked,   they began to sing. Maybe they were human and maybe not.

"Very pretty world," said Mama Strong.