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luimagines · 3 years

Note

Hi! I have a request, but first i wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! The length + amount of time you put into these prompts is insanely good. Now! Onto the request, how would the boys react to a reader from a more modern era? Maybe a more modernized hyrule or our current point in time?

Masterlist

Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm happy to see the response even if this blog is still relatively new.

I hope I do your prompt justice.

I probably could have done a headcanon list but I was hit with inspiration.

I also might have given Reader some backstory.

Scenario below the cut! It’s long, take caution.

It was a cool night, but you didn't mind. Your bed was warm, the WiFi was fast and even if it was three AM on a school night, you managed to keep yourself giggling with cat videos and blursed memes until the words and colors merged.

A night well spent.

But it led to questionable decisions.

Even if the shredded cheese in the fridge was beginning to seem a more and more enticing snack, your body was tempted to succumb to slumber.

Until a large purple light encompassed the entirety of your window.

Something was in your backyard.

Aliens. Your tired brain supplies and you sprint to the glass and push away the curtains. Is this it? Is this where I'm kidnapped and never seen or heard from again?

You pull out your phone and open up the camera.

"Pics or it didn't happen." You remind yourself and snap a few before showing your face.

What you see isn't what you're expecting. Instead of a flying saucer in the sky beaming down a laser or a weird pear shaped space craft on top of the grass, there's a single panel of glowing light, swirling with black accents that creeps in a circular motion.

"Cheese and crackers...." You gasp and begin to blatantly stare at it with no regard to whether something may be coming out of it.

You wait and nothing happens.

You wait some more and nothing happens.

You spend an hour watching this portal that has appeared out of nowhere, waiting for something to happen, willing for something to happen. But you get nothing.

The unknown stares right back at you, unblinking and unchanged.

Go through it. A voice tells you. What if there's something on the other side?

"I'm going to die." You gulp and take a deep breath.

Who else gets a chance like this? The voice talks again. This could be a grand step towards a more modern society. A whole new world could be on the other side, waiting, reaching out, calling to humanity!

You think you a see a shadow move behind the portal and out of sight but it’s gone before you can even process it.

"Should I call the police?" You step away from the window, ignoring the thoughts, the voice- you're too tired to know if it's your own any more. What's the plan? How does one go about something like this?

Where’s your sense of adventure? Pack a bag and go! What if it goes away?

That last thought seems to get through to your tired brain and for a reason beyond your understanding, it latches onto it.

Now you’re excited.

You run to the closet and take out your old backpack. It used to be for school but it was fancier since it was the only one you could get. The bag had a replaceable water bag with a plastic straw connected through the back of it and the straps have just worn down enough to where they’re actually comfortable. It doubled as a hiking backpack and came with its own insulated lunch box that clasped on the back of it.

It’ll finally serve its purpose.

You quickly roll up your favorite blanket and strap it in tightly beneath the lunch box. You’re quick to take out two extra outfits and pack them as well as change out of your pajamas.

Ok. What would you need? You don’t know where you’d be going so this has to a catch all kind of deal.

You pack away your swiss army knife first for good measure. A solar powered charger for your phone and an extra pair of socks follow suit even after you’ve picked out the extra clothes.

You take out the water bag and run to fill it all the way to max capacity as you think of any other necessities.

You’d need food. You have a small jar of peanut butter and granola bars that can fit in the lunch box. You can bring your extra water bottle and put in the side pockets of the backpack, and maybe bring some of those powered flavor packets your brother loves so much. You think he has lemonade and some green tea ones.

Those would be great. He won’t mind, hopefully.

You let the bag overfill momentarily before running back to shove it in your bag. with the lid screwed tight.

Next you run to the kitchen, grabbing the first things that you thought of already and begin to look around for more.

You grab an unopened pack of beef jerky, a bag of veggie sticks and a half eaten bag of dried mangos.

During your search you grab the water bottle and fill that too.

You return to your room with your bounty and begin to carefully put everything in the box. With some more deliberation, you run back to the kitchen and make yourself a quick sandwich, eat it, make another one and pack that as well.

You look out side the window and the portal is still there.

The sun is beginning to rise now so you’re trying to go as fast as you can, unless you want to neighbors to think something is going on.

Even if it is.

You’re about to leave but in a stroke of brilliance, you run to pack sunscreen and bug spray as well. You see a small first aid pack that was bought recently for when you would take your family vacation but you reason that it might one of the most important things you’d have if you got hurt.

Into the bag it goes.

You grab your hoodie before you leave the door, wrap it around your waist and pocket your phone, your headphones and your wallet.

You feel immediately under packed when you step outside and see the portal up close.

It’s weirdly triangle shaped, you think and step closer.

You reach your hand out and try to touch it. It feels as if you put your hand through a humidifier but it’s not wet. It’s misty and cold but not necessarily unpleasant.

An idea hits you right before you take your first step through.

You pull up one of the earlier photo’s you took and send it to your friend’s group chat. It showed up in my backyard. I decided to make a bad late night decision and I’m going through. If you never hear from me again, I want you all to fight over my electronics. Winner takes all. Godspeed.

And you step through.

You had first assumed that it would merely take you tot he other side but very quickly realize that you have to walk through it.

The first part still had a little light but with time, it got darker. So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.

You kept walking.

As fast as the light disappeared, it came back and you stepped into the light of an open field, right in front of one, two, three, four, nine males that had appeared to be traveling towards you or rather, towards the portal.

The portal disappears in the process.

“Oh so we didn’t have to go through it! We had to gain another member!” One of them yells. “Would have been nice to know before we packed everything up!”

“Ho boy, where am I?” You ask and tighten your grip on your backpack. Why didn’t I bring a weapon?

They all had long tunics and swords on their backs. Old fashioned leather boots and hand bracers were the norm in this group and you realized very quickly that your jeans and t-shirt had wildly missed the memo.

“Dang, I didn’t think I’d walk into a LARP group. Sorry about that.” You sheepishly smile. “I had no idea where the portal was going to take me. But if you would be so kind-”

“Wait, what’s LARP?” One of them speaks up. He was a dirty blond and somewhere in the middle of the group height wise. He wore a white cape like thing with blue designs on the back but you didn’t recognize the symbol.

“Live Action Role Play?” You tilt your head. “It’s why you’re all dressed like that? Right?”

“This is just our clothes.” What appears to be the youngest bounces up to you. “What are you wearing?”

“First I could grab in my closet.” You admit and look down on it. It’s one of your comfiest shirts and best looking pants. You’re a little proud of yourself for finding those in the dark.

“Weird.”

“We’re heroes. We’re all named Link.” Cape guy speaks up again. “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the same boat?”

“Heroes?” Your eyebrows furrow together. “I’m not a hero and my name’s not Link.”

You’re quick to tell them your name and you watch as the confusion covers their faces. “My brother’s name is Link though if that helps anything.”

“Oh we needed him!” The youngest groans and it instantly irks you.

“What would you need with a five year old?” You deadpan and cross your arms.

The information stuns the group.

“The portal showed up in the middle of the night and I’m the one that went through it. I’m pretty sure I was the only awake to even see it. Are you telling me that it was for my little brother?” You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little pissed. “My baby brother was supposed to go through it? He was asleep! He’s five. What kind of logic is that?!”

“Well...” The biggest and oldest of them runs a hand over his face. You think he has some cool tattoos and sick scar going across his eye but he looks about as angry as you feel, so you don’t say anything. “It appears the gods truly do not care for the hero’s maturity, only his existence.”

“Ok...What’s with all this hero talk?” You bite back. “What did... Where am I?”

“Hyrule.” The second with cool face tattoos speaks up. He’s got a large fur pelt around his shoulders and you have to tighten your grip against your backpack again to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Even so you feel yourself deadpan even more. “Hyrule? Like the ancient empire? The one that collapsed more than two thousand years ago? That Hyrule?”

You’re inclined to not believe them and write all of them off as crazy... but you also walked through a portal. And your grandma did say that magic existed in the strangest forms.

They all share looks of concern and some begin to murmur quietly amongst themselves but you’re too far gone to even notice.

“Did I time travel?” The idea hits you like a bus and you feel your eyes widen as you stare beyond the group. You quickly take our your phone and unlock it.

No signal.

“Is that a type of Sheikah slate?” Someone asks you.

“I don’t know what that is.” You reply automatically. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?”

“Why don’t you tell us what year you’re from and we can start from there?” The darkest brunette of the group speaks up.

“202x PC” You say robotically, not really processing the world around you anymore.

“That’s...” The blond with a long blue scarf speaks up with a slight hiss. “...Beyond any of our timelines. You see, we all come from different worlds and eras of Hyrule’s history.”

“I don’t think you’re the farthest down anymore, Wild.”

“This would then make them my successor, right?”

“It would make their brother your successor.” Someone amends. “I think they just jumped in his place.”

“Leave my brother alone.” You snap back into the present, pocketing your [hone again. “Ok, you know what, screw it. I don’t know what you’d want my brother for but I’m here now. I’d gladly take his place if it means he gets to stay home!”

“Hey.” A boy with pink hair stalks up to you looking a little more serious than you’d like.

“Nice hair dude, way to defy the gender norms.” You smirk a little before genuinely grinning, hoping to quell the tension. “What product do you use? It looks like Artic Fox but not every place sells their brand.”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about but what happened to Ganon in your world? How have you been handling it?” He snaps and places his hands on his hips.

“Ganon? Like my old principle? That’s a name I haven’t heard in forever.” You’re confused again. “Last I heard he joined the police force only to be reassigned out of state. I don’t know what’s happening with him. Kinda hope he gets fired though. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not someone you’d want in that kind of position of power, you know.”

“Police force?”

You blinked and look them all over. They look very medieval. “Oh... You don’t have that...”

You begin to think about your history lessons and what they might be familiar with if they’re telling the truth about being from Hyrule.

“Ya’ll got knights?”

Many, almost all of them nod, a few with face of despair already on them before you finish speaking.

“It’s kind of like that. Mixed with a towns guard position... kinda. They enforce laws... at least they’re supposed to but the whole system is flawed and racist and really needs to be dismantled for the abuse of power that they have-”

“Abuse? Of power?” You have their attention again.

“It’s stupid and it won’t really make any sense if I try to explain because I doubt you have anything similar but it’s basically a group of people given the right to treat the public in anyway they like for their own benefit because they have no one telling them that they can’t.” You groan and slowly begin to feel your lack of sleep catch up to you.

You slowly reach to behind you and sit down on the dirt, looking at all of them. “Mr. Dragmire wasn’t like...Demise or anything but he was a huge jerk. No one liked him. He liked me though. I remember that. I was the envy of the whole school because I somehow got on his good side while everyone else wants to strangle him. I think he was transferred for some misdemeanor or something like that... like he might have been throwing hands with someone he wasn’t supposed to. I never heard all the details. I didn’t really care for it when it happened either. I’m pretty sure he lost that fight though. The dude looked like a blast of wind could have knocked him over let alone someone’s knuckle sandwich.”

“I would love to hear more about this.” The youngest sits next to you with a large grin on his face. His eyes are bright and his body language reminds you of your cousin Zelda. You instantly think they’d get along like a house on fire. “What are your monsters like?”

“Monsters?” You tilt your head. “Be a little more specific bud, it depends on where you’re from.”

“You have that many?!”

“It depends on if you believe they’re real or not.”

“Speaking of monsters, can you fight?” The shortest walks up to you. You like that his tunic is stitched up with multiple colors and designs. It gives it personality, you think. “Do you have a weapon you’re more comfortable with?”

The question throws you off your rhythm and you don’t fight your wince. “What would happen if I say that I do not, in fact, have any sort of weapon on me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Pink guy speaks up again. “That pack is huge, there has to be something in there.”

“It’s food, water and extra clothes my guy.” You lean back against said backpack since it won’t let you lay down with it still on. “Not a lot of space for anything else. I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat though. Karate’s a good way to fight out stress.”

“Your bag’s not magic?”

“Why the hell would it be magic? ...Are you trying to tell me magic actually exists?” You raise an eyebrow as your eyes begin to close against your will. “I know my grandma said it does but I thought she meant like fairies and shadow demons.. and bigfoot. Can’t forget him, he’s the real MVP... You know...Children’s bedtime stories and stuff like that, it’s not real. But like magic magic? Magic items and the like? Find me Tinkerbell and I’ll show you Neverland, that’s what I say.”

“Are you serious?”

“Second star to the right, straight on till morning.” You respond.

There’s a moment of silence as the group in front of you processes your words. It’s hard to tell their reaction since you’re not looking at them but you no longer have the energy to do anything else.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” It’s the one they called Wild.

“I...” You try to open your eyes. They don’t budge. “I haven’t slept in nearly 20 hours... I think. I might have past 24 hours a while ago actually. Portal showed up at like four in the morning... I had to get up at six and I didn’t sleep at all before then.”

More silence.

“Great another one.” Someone scoffs.

You snort.

“Why did we pack up camp again?”

“No one kill me.” You say right before you lose consciousness. “Please and thank you.”

“They’re doomed.”

“Have some faith Vet. They stepped in for their little brother. That has to mean something?”

“They’re in for a rude awakening, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #is this readers origin story #maybe?#i got a little carried away with this one #had to stop myself before i went even further beyond #i don't know if I want to continue with this as a story or just throw out some headcanons with modern reader #i like to think that everything i write takes place in a separate universe #especially the ones where they catch feelings #might throw out what they think of reader #might not #depends on you guys!#let me know what you think!

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

Text

BP Headcanon / One Shot: Raising A Kid With Lisa

Requested By Anon: Lisa / Reader while they're raising a kid

Quote Requested By @ssamssamu: "I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was… not love at first sight exactly, but- familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you."

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Slight Angst, Happy Ending

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

A/N: This one's kinda long, guys 😳 I hope you enjoy, though. Thank you for the requests!

PS ~ Your child is female in this

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Dear lord... 🛐🤰

Let's get started

First off: milf

Second off: you'd either come home to find her, your child, and your 5 cats passed out, or chaotically playing with one another

WHEN YOU'RE NEW PARENTS:

If you give birth, she's literally the most supportive wife ever

Getting you any and everything you need, no matter the time of day or night

"Lis?" You ask into the darkness, voice coming out rough as it slips past your sleepy lips. Her soft snoring is cut off in an instant as she wakes up, ready to help.

"I'm here, my love." She yawns, quickly stretching before reaching forward to take your hand into her own.

"Can you get me some ice chips?" You wince, hating to make her trek all the way down the hall when she was comfortable and sleeping so well.

"On it, baby." She stands and brushes her lips against your forehead, reassuring you that she doesn't mind the task.

"Thank you; I love you," you call after her as she walks towards the door. She turns to you just as she reaches it, pressing a kiss to her fingers before holding a finger heart up for you.

"I love you more."

----

"Here you go," she says, helping you sit up in the hospital bed. "I got you a little water with it, just like you like." She raises the cup for you, tilting it so that the cool liquid can slide towards your lips, soothing your dry mouth. The styrofoam squeaks lightly, momentarily accompanying the sound of the beeping monitor that's keeping track of your vitals.

You gently push the cup away after you're satisfied, wrapping your arms around her waist as she puts it on the bedside table. She cuddles you back, kissing the top of your head.

"Thanks again, babe. I don't know what I'd do without you." You mumble against her, still exhausted from all that you went through earlier today. She crouches down beside you, taking your hands within her own as she looks up into your eyes.

"You've made me the happiest woman in the world, Y/N/N; I have you and our cute little baby girl now. I think that's more than a fair trade for getting ice chips at 3 in the morning."

You laugh, leaning forward to rest your forehead against hers.

"We did pretty good, didn't we?" You ask after a moment, gazing over at the clear bin your daughter is laying in, resting peacefully.

"We sure did." Lisa says, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She raises a hand to your cheek, cupping the soft skin as she looks at you tenderly.

If she gives birth, you'd do everything for her as well and take good care of her as she recovers

She'd try to be a bit more independent, though, just because that's how she is

She secretly loves when you surprise her with just what she wanted, but was too shy / stubborn to ask for

You come back into the bedroom with a pint of ice cream and two spoons in hand, clad in one of her oversized shirts.

"I got your favorite," you smile, saddling up next to her on the bed. She sits up with a shy grin, feeling beyond lucky to have someone like you.

"Thank you baby," she says, taking a scoop of the sweet treat as you stick it out to her. She sighs as the flavor coats her tongue, reminding her of all the reasons it's her favorite.

"You know," she starts after a minute, grabbing your attention mid-bite. "You taste even better than this."

She smirks as you nearly choke on the ice cream, coughing a bit as it trails an icy path down your throat.

"Yah, jagi! Are you trying to kill me?"

She doesn't want to feel like a nuisance

You reassure her that she isn't at all, and eventually she listens to you

Lets you help her more and cater to her needs

Repays you in the form of cuddles and millions of sweet kisses

As soon as she can safely take care of herself, she's back to normal (aka, being a crackhead)

If you adopt or have a donor, oh boy

That child is spoiled the moment you lay eyes on it

Raising her as your own

You agree to tell her about her past when she's older, if she wants that

Constant reassurance of your love for her

Telling her how proud you are of her

---

She'd be teaching your kid dance moves before she could even walk

"Lis, baby, she literally just bent her knee."

"I don't know what you're talking about. She was definitely practicing the move I taught her last night."

Almost always making a mess when she feeds her (though that's not entirely Lisa's fault... babies are messy)

Seriously, both of them completely covered in baby food and milk when you walk in

Lisa asking if she can buy a hazmat suit for when it's her time on diaper duty

Pouting when you say no

She decides to wear goggles, gloves, and a face mask instead

Singing softly to your daughter as she rocks her to sleep

Sometimes falling asleep in your rocking chair with your baby in her arms

And you find them and just 🥺

WHEN YOUR DAUGHTER IS A TODDLER & UP:

Visiting Lisa's family and your own when you can

Very wholesome memories being made with them

Food fights

She is 110% down to act silly and do anything your kid wants

You unlock the front door of your shared home, tiredly rubbing your neck after a long day of work. The sound of one of your daughter's favorite movies playing on the living room TV brings a smile to your face, and you quickly set your things on the kitchen table before joining them.

Upon stepping foot into the room, you comically narrow your eyes.

"What are you wearing?" You ask both of them as an amused smile grows on your lips.

Lisa turns to you now, appearing to have been so invested in the movie that she hadn't even heard you come home. You start to wonder if maybe she was the one who wanted to watch the movie all along.

A tin foil hat rests atop her head, matching the adorable, mini-sized version that your daughter is modeling. Lisa's grin widens cutely as she looks you up and down, happy to finally have you back home.

"Here mama, we made one for you, too!" Your daughter says excitedly, giggling as she hops up and runs towards you, cap in hand. You crouch down so she can put it on you, feeling your heart melt at the happy look in her eyes; she's proud of herself, and so are you.

"Thank you baby, it fits just right." You praise, lifting her into your arms as Lisa stands up and approaches you.

"We missed you, lovey." She presses her lips to yours, humming against them when you bring a hand to her hip to pull her even closer. You pull away before you can get too invested and scar your child for life, opting instead to cuddle into the cozy embrace that Lisa offers to the two of you.

The warm material of her sweater brushes against your skin as she brings her arms around both of you, protecting you from the slightly chilly air of the room.

"You know, I still have no idea what the hat's for..." you smirk, feeling your daughter raise her head from where it previously came to rest against your shoulder. She scoffs, sounding offended that you don't know the answer.

"It's to protect us from aliens. Duh," she rolls her eyes, making you and Lisa chuckle. Clearly Jennie has been giving her some sass lessons lately.

"My most sincere apologizes, princess," you bow your head in mock shame, doing your best to conceal your smile.

"Let's go sit back down. I wanna hold my girls," Lisa declares softly, kissing your temple as you go to agree.

The three of you make your way back to the couch, snuggling up close as Lisa presses play.

Very affectionate

Constantly squishing your cheeks and gushing about how cute you are (she does the same thing to your daughter too)

Spoils her (and you) rotten

Matching onesies

Matching outfits, totally coordinated (usually Celine or some other designer brand)

Pillow / blanket forts

"Queen Y/N, requesting entrance." You announce with a smile, hands full of snacks for the three of you as you sit back on your knees in waiting.

From inside, you hear Lisa say, "Your Highness, there's a guest at the door. Would you like to see her?"

Your daughter's faux royal voice almost makes you crack up. "Oh, alright. Open up." She commands, sounding British.

Lisa parts the front two blankets, doing her best to conceal her grin as she locks eyes with you.

"SNACKS!" Your daughter shrieks, completely breaking character.

"No no no! Wait--" She eagerly rushes over to you, knocking you over in the heat of the moment. Your mom skills kick in and allow you to angle the bowls correctly and keep most of the food in, though a few stray pieces of popcorn fall out and land in your hair.

"Oops... sorry mommy," your daughter says, snickering softly.

Lisa leans over you, peering down at where you now lay on your back. She smirks as she picks some of the popcorn out of your hair.

If you're preparing a meal for the three of you, they'd turn on some music and come hang in the kitchen with you

Dance battles everywhere

Lisa doesn't always let your daughter win, either, and it makes your little girl all the more competitive

Taking your daughter to street markets to introduce her to new foods and develop her palate

Betting on what foods she'll like more

Lisa getting sulky when she loses, and never shutting up about it when she wins

PICTURES PICTURES PICTURES

Lisa's always taking pictures of you all to add to your family photo book

More like photo books

Seriously so many pictures. She just can't get enough of how cute her little unit is

Taking trips to local cat cafés to let the gang play

Lisa convincing you to let her get another cat

"Pleaaaase?" She draws the word out, wrapping her arms around your waist. You glance over to where your daughter is surrounded by a sea of fluff balls, almost unable to be seen. She's laughing her head off, filling the room with her cute giggles as the kitties brush against her.

"Just one more. Last one." Lisa says, gathering your attention again.

"You said that last time," you quip.

"I mean it this time."

"I feel like that's a lie..."

"If you let me get this cat, there'll be a reward for you later." She husks the last part out, letting her fingers trail to the back of your neck to rest there. She leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek, then your jawline, smiling against your skin when she feels your heart beat a little faster.

"Fine, Lisa. But this is the last one," you point a finger at her, pushing her back slightly.

"Thank you, my love. You won't regret it." She smirks, head held high as she slaps your butt and goes to the crate to pick her cat of choice.

Roadtrips

Sightseeing and exploring

Teaching your daughter how to take good pictures, too

"My little prodigy" - Lisa (🥺🥲)

You and your daughter go to Lisa's performances anytime you're able

Cheering the girls on, fully decked out in BP merch

"BLACKPINK IS THE REVOLUTION!" Your daughter screams, bonking her light stick against her head wildly. From the vantage point of your front row seat, you lock eyes with Lisa before glancing down at the little human with an amused smile. Lisa laughs when she notices her, leaving only the backing track to play for a second. She giggles again and points to you before picking back up with the song, a wide smile on her lips.

The other members look down and laugh, too, clapping for her.

Your baby has too much energy for her own good -- something she definitely got from your wife.

Visiting the girls often

They always love to see both of you

Jennie makes food for her and spoils her with lazy days, Jisoo teaches her how to play video games and be more of a crackhead, and Rosé teaches her to paint and sing (and also speak with an Australian accent)

"Nœř"

They all have a secret handshake with her, different for each member

Which you think is absolutely adorable

They always take such good care of her

Always showing up for her school recitals and performances

When you pack your daughter's lunch, Lisa will usually sneak extra sweets into her bag, thinking you don't notice. You do, but you'd never tell her that. Seeing her think she's actually being sneaky is cute

Your Relationship With Lisa

Playful banter

She still makes time for you

Likes to be connected in some way as often as possible. Holding hands or pinkies, back hugs, kisses, gentle caresses, cuddling, etc. -- anything she can do to constantly remind you of her love.

You both always look forward to date nights

You drop your daughter off so the girls can watch her, or you call a sitter

Lisa takes you wherever you wanna go

Some past places: the park (to stargaze), the roller rink, fancy restaurants, art museums / galleries, couples dance classes (when you want to practice a new style and have an excuse to dance the night away together), or even just the couch

Sometimes both of you are too exhausted to go out, so you opt to stay in instead

Other times she wants to get all fancied up and see how gorgeous you look in your outfit of choice

She loves to show you off

"Damn, baby. How do you get hotter every time I see you?"

You look over at her with an incredulous expression, still clad in your oversized shirt with you hair pulled back.

"I haven't even gotten ready yet..."

"Still sexy," she coos, coming up behind you to give you a hug. You settle back into her arms, sighing softly when she trails soft kisses along your shoulder, towards your neck.

"I have to shower," you inform her, releasing the words gently. Part of you knows you'll be late for your reservation if you let her continue, but you can't find it in yourself to care. You've been aching for her touch lately, both of you caught up with the stressors of life. But she's here now, letting her hands roam to the places she knows they shouldn't be.

"Lis..."

"You know," she pecks the mark she just finished making on your neck, feeling satisfied as it darkens before her eyes, "I'm in need of a shower, too." Her fingertips flirt with the waistband of your panties, dipping underneath the material to caress your skin.

"Didn't you get in a couple hours ago?" You ask, furrowing your brows in genuine curiosity.

She laughs at that, letting her head fall against your shoulder as she stills her movements.

"Y/N, can't you just go along with it? Jeez, let me flirt with you."

Both of you chuckle together now, giggles mixing together as they fill the air of the room.

"Alright, alright. Go ahead."

"You look-- No, you know what? Let's just get in. I'll show you instead."

One of the best showers of your life ;)

You somehow managed to make it to your reservation on time

Lisa had to help you walk, though

Cause, ya know

Wöbbĺý łəğ§

Flirted like crazy at dinner

But was also very romantic

As a plane blinks by in the distance, merely a speck on its journey across the dusky sky, Lisa ponders on what her life would've been like, had she not met you. That lonely looking plane symbolizes what she'd probably be doing right now: flying somewhere for tour or brand deals. Every flash of its lights is like a call out to the universe, searching for something it doesn't yet have. It reminds her of how she felt before she met you -- like something was missing.

"I love you, Y/N/N, so much," she says out of the blue, looking over to you. "I'm lucky to call you mine." She says sincerely, gazing into your eyes with a big smile. You turn her into a lovesick, giddy teenager just by being yourself. One look from you is capable of sending her falling all over again.

Her fingers intertwine with your own, hands resting on the table.

"I'm so proud of us. There's no one I'd rather grow old with." You bring her wrist to your lips, kissing it tenderly. Her heart melts at the action, and she cups your cheek in her palm.

She takes you to the park after dinner, right back to the place you met

It leads to a big sentimental talk about when you fell for one another and realized you were in love

You take a bite of the froyo you got as desert on the way here, looking over to her as she begins explaining.

"I knew I did from that first moment we met. It was… not love at first sight exactly, but- familiarity. Like: oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you."

She looks so sweet after she says it that you almost melt right then and there. You put the container down on the bench beside you before turning back to her. Curiosity shines in her doe eyes as she waits on your answer.

"Oddly enough, it was the same for me," you start, feeling your cheeks tug up into a smile as the memories come flooding back. "As soon as I made you laugh that first time -- when I saw your face light up after I told that stupid joke -- I knew it was you. I never knew what I was missing until I met you."

She cups your cheek, rubbing the pad of her thumb across it as tears begin to well up in her eyes. Years ago, when both of you happened to be in this very spot at the same time, you had no idea what life had in store for you. She had no idea that when she accidently bumped into a complete stranger, that that person would become her world.

She wouldn't feel complete without you, and neither would you without her. The life you've created has taken sacrifices and courage, but you know you'll always have one another no matter what. She makes the hard days bearable, and the good days unforgettable. She's your reason, just as you're hers.

"I love you--"

Both of you say the phrase at the same time, laughing when you realize it. It's a sweet moment, plucked straight out of a romcom.

She leans forward after a few seconds to kiss your lips, reclaiming them for her own.

Holding hands as you walk through the city

Not wanting the night to end

You stop in a couple other thrift shops and take some pictures together before deciding to go home

You catch up on some movies / Netflix / trashy TV that you've been wanting to watch together, finally having enough time to do so

She holds you close, snuggling up against you and not letting you go

Fights

Of course, they're inevitable

Never fun

You both communicate well, though, so they don't happen too often

But when they do, they usually start over little things, your annoyance only heightened by the stress you're constantly under

It's tough on Lisa, being an idol on top of everything else, and it's tough on you to have to raise your daughter alone sometimes

You don't fight in front of her (your child), and you don't say things to attack each other's character. Sometimes you just get loud because you're frustrated and trying to get the other to understand things from your point of view

You usually take time to cool down and then come back together later, once you've had time to think and reflect

After putting your daughter to bed, Lisa comes to your shared bedroom.

"Y/N/N, baby, I'm sorry. Please open up, I need to see you." She says quietly, resting her forehead against the door. She's beyond disappointed in herself, baffled by the fact she could treat you in such a way.

You look over to it, weighing your options as you toy with your wedding ring out of habit. This was a particularly nasty fight, and you hated every second of it; the anger in her eyes broke your heart.

She hears shuffling from inside, and she stands up straight. When you open the door and lean against it, eyes red and cheeks puffy from crying, her heart sinks. It's not surprising that her words hurt you so much, but knowing that she caused you pain in any way is almost too much to bear.

She purses her lips as she gathers her thoughts, and you momentarily look down to the floor, scuffing your foot to busy yourself.

"I never should've said any of that to you. Work has just been stressing me out lately with the comeback and all, and I took it out on you. I was wrong," she says, fresh tears spilling out of her eyes. She quickly wipes them away, not wanting the moment to be about her. She knows if she breaks down in front of you right now, you'll be forgiving her in an instant and wrapping her in the embrace that she's been in dire need of all evening.

That's exactly why she doesn't give in; now isn't the time to be selfish. She sniffles, willing the tears away as she finds the words she wants to say to you. She has to make things right.

"You're everything I've ever wanted, and I treated you like that? I'm ashamed of myself, Y/N. I'm not asking you to forget about this; I just want you to know how sorry I am."

You let a shaky breath out as you look into her eyes, deciding on what to do. You can tell she's being genuine; her fear of losing you is real, and she's doing everything she can to prove how guilty she feels.

You drop your hand from the knob and step through the threshold of the door, wrapping your arms around her neck. The second you do, her tears finally begin spilling out again. Your hair tickles her nose as she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, securing her arms around your waist like her life depends on it. You cry together, letting out all of your stress and frustrations while muttering out strained apologies and I love yous.

"I forgive you, Lisa." She sobs a bit harder at that, and you feel her lip tremble. You stay like that until you both calm down, your sniffles fading to hitched breaths every now and then.

"Come on, let's go take a bath."

She decides to take over, wanting to make it up to you. She has you sit down and relax while she lights some candles and fills the tub with your favorite scents and oils

She comes back out into the bedroom to get you as the tub fills up

She carries you back to the bathroom, cradling you lovingly in her arms

You get in and cuddle, massaging the pain and tension away from each others shoulders

Very soft way to end such a stressful day

She reassures you that she'll be better for you and that she never wants to lose you or jeopardize what you have

You believe her, and to this day she's never been like that again

You still argue from time to time, but you both listen more and stop things before they can escalate

When All Is Said & Done

At the end of the day, Lisa always makes sure you know how happy you make her and how much she loves her life with the both of you

Even though things get hard sometimes, you wouldn't want to do it with anyone else

One day, when your daughter is away at school, Lisa and you are snuggled up on the couch, watching some TV

"Y/N/N?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Let's make another baby."

270 notes · View notes

dynyamight · 3 years

Note

omgomg 11 for bkdk!!!!!

send me a writting ask

11. Both of you wore the same ugly Christmas sweater to a party

“I absolutely love it!” Ashido squeals in delight.

“I fucking hate it.” Bakugou growls, jaw clenched.

While Sero and Kaminari are hollering and wheezing on the floor, Kirishima gives a soft, supportive smile. “Look at you.” He says easily, “Now, you’re an actual star, Bakugou”

When he said he’s the fucking the star of their group, Bakugou did not mean it literally.

With arms spread awkwardly, Bakugou stood in the living room in the most gaudy green, Christmas sweater, fuzzy all over. There were faux garlands going across around his torso and arms, with red and yellow bells jingling from them. The muscles in his chest and arms that he once was so proud of, terribly helped to widen the entire tree look.

And, right on top of his head, Bakugou has his wildly blonde hair, tousled, spiked, and gelled by Ashido’s hands. It created to give an illusion that his own damn head, was the fucking star.

“I’m not going.” Bakugou relents firmly.

“No, no!” Ashido whines, hugging him around his back. “Please! You will totally win the ugly sweater contest at the party. And, you know we need that prize money!”

“You mean, you need that prize money, to help pay rent.” Kirishima deadpans.

Ashido pouts in his direction. “Me. We. Same thing.”

Sero heaves a tired laugh, wiping tears off his cheeks. “God, the way he’s just T-posing, without realizing.”

Bakugou raises a brow. “The hell does that mean?”

Kaminari cackles, still rolling on the carpet. “Nevermind that!” He barely voices between laughs, “His hair! His fucking hair!”

“Don’t mind those two.” Kirishima reassures Bakugou. He places a comforting hand onto his tense shoulders. “We’re all looking ridiculous.”

Which, true. Bakugou scans over his group of extras, finally taking in their dumbass outfits.

Kirishima was a red brick chimney, with Santa’s ass sticking out in front. Ashido had an oversized sweater, stating in bold letters, “FEEL THE JOY”, and silhouettes of hands on each boob. Sero wore Santa with obviously red eyes, hitting a blunt, and the words “GET LIT” in this nice cursive. And, Kaminari had red solo cups stuck to his sweater, a walking beer pong table, for fuck’s sake.

“We’re the absolute worst.” Bakugou snorts.

“I swear, if no one goes all out like us, I will feel personally attacked.” Ashido sighs, letting go of Bakugou. Instead, she looks over her phone. “I texted Jirou to remind her and her girlfriend to go big, or go home.”

Sero sputters in another fit of laughs. “M-Momo in an ugly Christmas sweater! N-No way!”

Kaminari snickers right alongside him. “Momo doesn’t even wear anything ugly to begin with!”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, tonight!” Kirishima laughs, shaking his head. “If Bakugou’s going out as a damn stumpy Christmas tree, so can she.”

“I’m fucking stumpy?” Bakugou asks. That’s not-

“Okay, chop, chop!” Ashido claps to the group in the apartment, speed walking in her knee high boots to the door. “To the party, we go, everyone!”

On the cramped car ride, Bakugou tunes out the atrocious caroling of his friends, blasting Kaminari’s Christmas classics playlist. There’s a long night awaiting him, and he’s borderline doubting he can survive.

He usually doesn’t go to these late night, drunken parties. That’s more of, well, everyone else’s thing.

Bakugou would prefer to spend Christmas Eve by his quiet self, avoiding anything Christmas related, in fact. Just a day off work, cooking a nice, warm meal and watching his favorite horror movies under a heated kotatsu.

Alas, his friends begged him to attend this ridiculous Christmas party, instead, hosted by the damn, annoying Aoyama, of all people. Though, he is surprised the guy had the gall to extend an invite his way.

And, yeah, maybe he hasn't gone out in awhile, and actually was willing to show up.

So, here he is. Bakugou Katsuki, readying himself in a small ass car to get egg-nogged-wasted for the Christmas cheer, or whatever they say.

Besides, Kirishima offered to give a ride back home, if two hours into the party he still wasn’t feeling it. That’s his best friend, for fucking sure.

After passing the gates, the car rolled through the private community and pulled up to Aoyama’s residency, shortly after. There wasn’t any parking in front of the house, heavily decorated with lights, inflatables, and a fucking snow machine.

“We need a group photo with that!” Kaminari exclaims in the backseat, face smushing the window. From the passenger seat, Ashido agrees excitedly.

So, Kirishima had to move up a few houses down, in order to find an available spot for his car. The walk was a bit bothersome, the nipping cold, winter air bites at everyone’s faces and noses. But then, Sero yells for a race down to the front doors, undoubtedly to help the group warm up.

Bakugou won’t lie, he totally ran out of breath to those damn doors.

They all waited patiently for Ashido, last and stumbling in her heels hurriedly. It takes Kirishima walking back, and ushering her with his arm, so she can rush over safely.

“Gross, they’re actually cute together.” Kaminari sticks his tongue. Sero and Bakugou roll their eyes.

When Aoyama greets them, he blasts the whole group with a confetti popper. “Merry Christmas! Happy Hannakuh! Happy Kwanzaa! Happy Holidays!” He sings aloud. He shakes his whole body, ringing the bunches of bells that are all over him.

Bakugou feels a headache forming.

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Sero corrects, right beside him.

“Ah, well, tonight, it’s all the holidays combined!” Aoyama laughs, “Now, get inside! The heater’s blasted on, of course.”

And, hell, at least the damn heater’s nice.

Bakugou eyes all over the entrance way, pictures of Aoyama and his family plastered over the walls, with large garlands hanging between them.

The loud commotion of the party echoes from the living room, to his left.

“Here, we brought some drinks!” Ashido gingerly proclaims, with both her and Kaminari handing over the bottles of whiskey to Aoyama. “The essentials, duh!”

“Please! You even got my favorite brand!” Aoyama gasps.

Kirishima coughs over Bakugou's ears. “Yeah, that shit was expensive.” He whispers.

“It ain’t even that good.” Bakugou hisses back.

They both smirk at each other, before letting out airy laughs.

Bakugou lets the rest of his group go in front of him, before stepping over to the living room. Seated and standing throughout, different, unfamiliar faces were gathered together. Groups had already formed; a dancing and twirling circle, a card game circle, a conversation only circle, a drinking circle, and even a circle surrounding the tall Christmas tree at the corner of the room.

It doesn’t take long for the group to split.

Aoyama pulls Ashido towards the rest of the girls, huddled around the fireplace, sipping on hot mugs of chocolate. Kaminari hurries to his tired eyed, purple friend, Sero jogs towards Sato and Tokoyami, and Kirishima is surprised (read: jumped) by Testutetsu and his friends.

Which left Bakugou still standing by the entrance.

He slowly trudges his way around the living room, eavesdropping on the different conversations, in order to see if that’s the circle he wants to join.

But, even after overhearing and eying at the last circle, Bakugou decides he doesn’t want to join any.

Kirishima better uphold his damn promise. Cause, this shit is boring as hell.

He doesn’t know what compels him to do it, but Bakugou decides to grab a drink off the long table of assorted drinks and finger food, and simply sit on one of the couches. Oddly enough, no one was seated over to where he was looking.

Taking a red solo cup of who knows what, Bakugou starts walking around the crowd, and hurries to the open couch.

And, just his luck, he bumps into someone right as he tries to sit down.

Luckily, neither his drink, nor the other person’s, spill. But, as Bakugou looks over to his right, ready to offer a curt apology, he halts.

Staring back at him, was a damn idiot, in the same ugly Christmas sweater as him. And, on top of his head, he wore a springy star, jumping in the air.

“O-Oh, sorry.” The freckled stranger voices, woobly smiling. “But, I think one of us has to change.”

“You need to change.” Bakugou states firmly, settling down close to the armrest of the couch.

The grinning guy seats himself next to him, thighs pressing together. “Well, I arrived here first. So,” He shrugs teasingly, “If anyone’s changing, it’s you.”

Bakugou huffs, taking a sip of the beverage in his hand and trying to avoid any further conversation.

And, instantly, he almost spits that shit out.

“What the hell?!” He blurts. The sweet, sugary flavor of the obvious vodka-mix coats all over his mouth.

“Yeah, I took a sip, and that drink is a little too sweet for me, too.” The stranger chuckles, shaking his head.

“Who fucking brought this?”

Bakugou hears the stranger hum. “If I had to guess, it was probably that Ashido I spoke with a while ago.”

“Hell nah.” Bakugou defends quickly. “We came together. I would know.”

“Really?” The stranger’s face lights up, in recognition. “Wait, are you perhaps her boyfriend?” He asks excitedly. “She did say he's the most attractive person in the room.”

Bakugou snorts. “Hell nah. I would never.” He throws a nonchalant toss of his head over Kirishima's direction, where he was talking to a group of other guys. “Her ‘attractive’ boyfriend would be Shitty Hair, over there.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Bakugou notices he fumbles with his own red solo cup, in between his scarred hands. “I— There’s just so many people here, I only know a few.”

“I don’t know anyone else, other than my close four.” Bakugou clicks his tongue, “Fuck, I guess close five. Jirou and I are cool.”

“Well, you definitely know more than me.” The guy chuckles, “I just know Aoyama and Ochako.”

“The hell? Then, why did you show up?”

“Designated driver.”

“..Fucking lame.”

The guy laughs out loud, and Bakugou enjoys the genuine mirth that slips through his lips. “I really was hoping my luck would help me meet people! But, uh, I guess it’s been a freaking lame night.”

Begrudgingly, not wanting to get up and grab a different drink, Bakugou willingly swallows down a gulp of Pepto Bismol. He lets out a quick cough. “Well, you met me.”

“..That is true.” He smiles back. “Pretty good luck I have, huh?”

“Bad luck.” Bakugou huffs, “It’s bad luck.”

“Oh really? Then,” The guy points at Bakugou. “Is your name Kyuu?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, but is unable to hold back his laugh. “I’m not literal bad luck, dumbass.”

“Then you’re not so bad! I bet your name isn’t even that bad, either. Nothing is as bad as-”

“Bakugou.”

“Hm?”

Taking another sip, Bakugou looks back at those evergreen eyes. “My name.”

Those freckles scattered over his cheeks are covered by the red flush that slowly floods him. “Ah, m-my name’s Midoriya. Hi.”

“Hey.” Bakugou lifts his cup up. “Happy Holidays, or whatever.”

Midoriya smiles softly, before clinking his cup together with Bakugou’s. “Happy Holidays, or whatever. From one ugly Christmas tree to another.”

“Which, you seriously need to fucking change.” Bakugou reminds in fein resolve.

With a small push on his shoulders, Midoriya giggles, raising a quip brow. “Don’t start demanding, when your hair’s looking like that.”

"The fuck's wrong with my hair?"

"Everything."

Bakugou barks a laugh. "You got some fucking nerve. With your stupid dangly star."

"Perhaps, you could say our stars aligned, tonight." Midoriya shakes his head, blushing once more. He looks away. "Ah, sorry. That sounded way cooler in my head. Forget I said that."

Fuck. Fucking shit.

Bakugou blames it all on the Christmas energy, contagious and destroying him from the inside.

He blames the damn Mariah Carey that’s uplifting his own damn stubborn spirits.

He blames the smell of Gingerbread and Cinnamon, wafting in the air, and the toasty, cozy heat that wraps around him, snug.

Because, now his heart’s melting, over this damn idiot in the same ugly Christmas sweater as him.

#star responds #YOU SAID YOU LOVE CHRISTMAS?? I LOVE CHRISTMAS #anyways i was SO CLOSE to adding a mistletoe to this but i decided not to #midoriya would combust to flames & bakugou would hate to have their first kiss in front of people he didn't even like #anyways thank you so so so so much for this!!#it’s literally august & i’m out here spreading Christmas cheer #bakudeku #bkdk #fi-nn #FICLET

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enter-the-nomicon · 3 years

Note

I’d be lost at a party w nomi’s family and I’d feel SAFE

For some reason back then I thought the nine to be more of emotionally distant or turbulent folk. It seemed like a lot of early death and strife what with nomi’s parents dying early, the younger siblings going off doing their own thing, and the older two being reluctant pseudo-parents (not to mention the complicated stuff between daiku and nomi which seems like a whole different can of worms) I guess I had the impression of a ‘family that wasn’t ever the same’ kind of estranged distance where they only really spent time together for ninja/family duty’s sake, and that the portrait was a rare occasion the kids all genuinely came together for one time. Anyways old etn analysis aside, lots of buzz for nomi’s family — how about randy? Any character arc in general for our sweet rowdy boy?

(ALSO SORRY but can u elaborate on nomi’s scars and tattoo for fanart purposes :0c I’ve been drawing them off the whole time then aa)

Ajdjsjkajdshshjks, I don't know, Naru and the twins would be looking for easy pranking prey.... So, maybe stick to Yui or Daiku just to be safe 😂

Oh, don't let these head canons fool you LOL. Not everyone got along and things are far from perfect between the Norisu family. Funny enough, I'm not a huge lover of angst, even if I'm good at dishing it out here and there, but I wanted these head canons to be fun and not riddled with unbearable angst lmao.

But also, I think people tend to paint death and loss as a deep well of sadness, when in reality, death is different for everyone. How it affects people, and how they might cope with it is different. For Nomi and their younger siblings, the death of their parents was a tragedy, but none of them were really alive long enough to grasp that pain. Especially, the twins who were babies.

Compare that to Daiku, Yui, and Nobuyuki who knew Naomi and Daisuke. Now for them it does hit a lot harder, and that pain has caused a profound change in all of them. Daiku became determined to protect everyone, he became colder and more dedicated to his duties, he pushed most of the family away, and he tends to keep his feelings under lock and key. Yui did everything she could to take care of her siblings, forgoing her own grief to try and be there for others. Meanwhile, Nobuyuki had to swallow the pain he felt to keep the family together, continue to uphold duties, aid the village, etc.

They weren't estranged necessarily, but the family was definitely changed.

Oho, there are a few character arcs I have in store for Randy that I can't wait to dive into and explore. One of them involves Theresa and confronting his own feelings 👀

Another, and this one isn't really a secret since of ETN was heading in this direction anyway, and so this arc focuses on Randy learning to be a ninja without the Ninja mask. :)

There's another arc that focuses on him and Howard, but I'll keep this one under wraps still 😉

I haven't had the chance to design ANYTHING. Nomi has scars on their back, but I haven't gotten the opportunity to really map them out ajsjdjshhd.

However, I do have some inspiration on what Nomi’s tattoo may look like. It’d be huge, spanning across their entire back in red ink. The design would probably combine the rings on the Nomicon’s book cover, the Sorcerer’s lock seal and the protective seal for Plop Plop. But instead of cranes, it has a dragon. So, no solid designs for any of this. Sorry about that! 😅

Maybe if I have time, I’ll draw some fanart and maybe reveal what’s so special about these tattoos 😉😉😉😉😉

Anyway, here are some photos for what I was referring to:

#not art #ETN related #Nomi's family #Nomi Norisu #randy cunningham #Theresa Fowler briefly mentioned #howard weinerman #I might just go ahead and reveal the big thing about Nomi #I'm too eager to see people's reactions to wait LOL #Until I have the chance #just keep in mind that Ninja's can alter their appearance #Nomi has weird tattoos based on important seals in the show #and Nomi can't be the Ninja #but is it really because of a sense of shame and dishonor?#Or is it something else....#ETN

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freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

Peace Like A River Part 3

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.8K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural @someone-get-a-medic @bensrhapsody @deakyclicks @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @minigranger @simmisblog @assembledherethevolunteers @lookuptotheskiesandsee @readinghorn @riddikuluslypotter @doingalrightt @misslolasworld If you want to be added, let me know!

A/N: Glad you guys are liking this one! Hope you enjoy this next part! Shit gets real lol

Part I Part II

Part 3 here we go!!!

The following day, you went shopping with Stacy and Violet to find a gown for the charity gala. Boston wasn’t quite the shopping dream of New York, but it still had plenty to choose from. It reminded you of the first time you went to the Emmys and shopped for a dress. It was the most glamorous thing you had ever done.

“That’s really the only time you’ve been gown shopping?” Stacy wondered. “What about when you got married?”

“Henry and I had a courthouse wedding,” you said with a shrug. “We were twenty years old and couldn’t afford a big event.”

“I’m sure you still looked beautiful,” she insisted with a smile.

“It hardly matters now,” you returned, holding the door open for her and Violet as you went into the first boutique.

An associate immediately came over and offered to help. Her name was Lisa and she was about your age, with a wide, eager smile. You took her up on her offer since you tended to get lost in places like this.

“Go ahead and pick out anything that catches your eye, and I’ll get you a glass of champagne,” she said sweetly.

She went into the back while you perused the racks of gowns. They were designer and beautiful. You tried to imagine Gwilym’s face at each one. Violet called to you from another rack.

“Mommy, look! Try this one!”

She had her hand on the skirt of a poofy pink ball gown. It was a bit young for you. You were certain it was meant for a girl’s quinceañera and not a grown woman’s charity gala, but Violet was so excited about it. You sighed and smiled.

“Alright, tell Lisa when she comes back to put it in my fitting room,” you said.

Lisa emerged with two glasses of champagne and a sippy cup of sparkling grape juice for Violet. When Violet showed her the dress, Lisa shot you an uncertain look, but you shrugged.

“Just to try on,” you said. “We can indulge her a bit.”

You and Stacy pulled a couple other gowns that captured your attention while Lisa put the ball gown in your changing room. Then you headed that way. Stacy took one of the chairs and Violet sat in her lap. Lisa closed the curtain and helped you into Violet’s choice first. You were surprised it fit you, but laughed when you saw it in the mirror. You looked ridiculous in it.

“Ready to show them?” Lisa asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” you returned.

She pulled back the curtain and you stepped out. You gave a twirl as Violet gasped.

“Mommy, like a princess!” she cried, clapping.

You laughed. “I don’t know if it’s right for tonight, but maybe next time, sweetie.”

She hung her head. “Aw, but it’s so pretty.”

“I do want to send Gwil a picture,” you said, and Stacy pulled out your phone.

“What are you going to say?” she wondered.

“I’m gonna tell him I’m wearing this,” you told her. “Just to mess with him.”

She giggled as she snapped a photo. “He’s gonna know you’re joking.”

You took your phone and typed out your message.

I’m wearing this tonight and you can’t stop me.

“Even so,” you said. “At least it’ll make him laugh.”

Gwilym was in the airport, waiting at his gate when his phone dinged and he saw the message from you. He opened it and did in fact burst out laughing.

Love it, he wrote back. Did your abuela make it for you?

You looked at your phone as Lisa unzipped the dress and you chuckled. You couldn’t believe he’d had the same thought as you about the dress’s most probable purpose.

Actually, Violet did, you replied. She’s an incredibly talented seamstress.

He quickly sent back, She certainly is. Is there money to be made with such a gifted child?

You gave Stacy your phone back so Lisa could continue to help you out of the ball gown. It was truly a beautiful dress, and some girl would be very lucky to wear it, whether she was coming of age or just going to the prom. But it was not for you. Lisa took it out of the changing room and helped you into Stacy’s pick.

It was a red, sequined gown that was skin tight. The neckline plunged almost to your belly button and the slit in the skirt came all the way up your thigh, almost to your hip. It made you incredibly uncomfortable. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of the scar on your right side.

“Do you wanna show them?” Lisa asked. “You look dynamite in this.”

You shook your head and looked away.

“Are you trying mine on?” Stacy called.

“Yeah!” you returned. “Are you trying to make me look like Jessica Rabbit or is that just a coincidence?”

She laughed. “It was completely intentional.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see you. “I’m not coming out, I look...well, I look bangin’ but a little too bangin’.”

Finally, you got into the dress you picked out. It was a black, satin dress that was fitted at the top with a loose skirt. It also had a slit, but it didn’t go up nearly as high. The sweetheart neckline and thin straps across your shoulders were very flattering. It was hard to convince yourself that you were beautiful, but as you gazed in the mirror in this dress, you knew you were. You could really imagine yourself beside Gwilym, and that he would be proud to have you on his arm.

“Wow,” Lisa breathed.

When you stepped out, Stacy choked on her champagne. Violet’s mouth fell open but she was grinning.

“Mommy’s a queen!” she exclaimed.

All of you gushed over the dress as you looked in the mirror. It was decided quickly that it was the dress. You looked too beautiful in it to not get it. They all helped you pick out shoes and accessories as well, so your whole look came together. Even you had to admit you looked absolutely killer. You were so excited to show Gwilym.

That night, he picked you up. Stacy came to stay with Violet while you put the finishing touches on your makeup before heading down to the lobby.

“Hey, Stace,” you said as she greeted your daughter. “You sent my letter this morning, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” she assured you. “But try to focus on Gwilym tonight. Dear Friend will still be there while you have a good night.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course I’ll focus on Gwilym,” you said. “I was only double checking. Now, how do I look?”

“Incredible,” she told you, smiling.

“Okay, Vi, c’mere and give me a hug,” you said, kneeling down to wrap your arms around her.

“Have fun, Mommy,” she said, kissing your cheek. “I love you!”

“I love you too, precious,” you replied.

You rose to your full height and headed out the door, shooting them one last little wave before it closed behind you.

When you made it to the lobby, you spotted Gwilym, already waiting for you. He looked dashing in his suit and tie. You beamed at him when he spotted you and you began walking toward each other. His eyes went wide as he took you in.

“My God,” he sighed, looking you up and down. “You look...breathtaking.”

A blush crept up onto your cheeks. “Thank you!”

He didn’t answer as he continued to gaze at you.

“Gwil?” you said. “Are we gonna go or are you gonna stand here and stare?”

“I’m perfectly content to stand here and stare if you’d rather skip the gala,” he teased.

You shoved him playfully. “Let’s go, you idiot.”

He smiled and offered you his arm. You took it and followed him to a waiting car. He helped you into the backseat before sliding in beside you.

“So how’ve you been since we last saw each other?” he asked.

“Great, actually,” you told him. “I haven’t heard a thing from my family, and - perhaps best of all - I’m in love.”

Genuine happiness crossed his face as he smiled at you. “Are you really?”

“I am!” you said, giddily. “It’s such an incredible feeling.”

“The most beautiful and natural of feelings,” he quoted.

Your heart nearly stopped and you sucked in a sharp breath.

“W-what did you say?”

“The most beautiful and natural of feelings,” he repeated, brow furrowing at your reaction. “It’s a Tolstoy quote.”

“Yes, but-” you shook your head. “Never mind.”

Your heart hammered against your chest as you replayed this moment in your head. Could it be that your friend, Gwilym, was actually Dear Friend? They were certainly similar. Both were well-read, educated, English, and very kind. But that couldn’t possibly mean they were the same person. Thousands of people had those traits. And thousands of people had read Tolstoy. It was entirely likely that Gwilym and Dear Friend both were familiar with such a quote. You told your heart to slow down. It was just a coincidence.

“What about you?” you asked to change the subject. “How’s your love life?”

He chuckled. “I feel strongly for someone. But, I’m still not sure how she feels.”

“How strongly are you feeling?” you pressed.

He flushed and looked at the floor of the car. “Well...I’m very much in love with her.”

“Do you think she loves you too?”

“I think it’s likely, but she hasn’t said it.”

“Well, just talk to her,” you suggested. “I mean, relationships are all about communication. It can’t hurt to ask her the blunt question and she how she takes it.” You put your hand on his. “Sometimes, you have to take a risk.”

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “And really, Y/N, I am so glad for you. Even when we first met, I thought that of everyone, you were a person who deserves true love and happiness.”

It was your turn to blush. “That means a lot. Thank you, Gwilym.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“Now, tell me about this ex,” you said. “Why did you need a date so badly?”

“It’s a bit weird,” he began. “We only went out a few times, but it was never serious enough where we slept together or anything. I figured out rather quickly she was using me to network.”

“Ew,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Why are you going to her stupid party?”

“Y/N, it’s for charity,” he reminded you. “Just because I don’t necessarily like her doesn’t mean I don’t care about important causes.”

“What is this important cause?” you wondered.

“The proceeds are going to a women’s shelter here in Boston,” he said.

You huffed. It was hard to argue with that.

When you reached the venue, Gwilym helped you out of the car and you walked inside. It was an art gallery and you wondered how any of this worked. You figured if an organization had the money to throw this sort of party, then they had that money to give to the cause. The need for people to parade about their wealth in order to give to the “less fortunate” made you a bit sick. It was a beautiful party, but you found it hard to appreciate.

You walked over to the table where they were serving drinks while Gwilym went to say hello to some people he knew. That first crisp sip of wine was great and helped ease some nerves that had risen. You always felt out of place in these circles. A tall, blonde woman approached you with a nasty nice smile on her face.

“Hi,” she said, her voice dripping with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. She already didn’t like you, you could tell. But for what reason remained to be seen. “I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you told her. “I’ve never been here before. Are you the hostess?”

“I am,” she replied, in that same uptight, trying to hard to seem calm and gracious voice. “I’m Helen Albright and I’ve organized this event. You must be here as a plus one.”

“I am,” you told her, resisting a brutal urge to mimic her tone. “I’m here with Gwilym Lee.”

You saw him approaching out of the corner of your eye. Helen didn’t see since her back was facing him. You gave a subtle pump with your hand to signal him to stop. He did, a bit confused, but stood close enough to hear what you said.

“Oh, yes, Gwilym and I are old friends,” she said. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

“Yes,” you answered. “I’m his girlfriend. Didn’t you two kinda...have a thing?”

She laughed humorlessly. “It was nothing really.”

You let out a low whistle. “I don’t know how you got out of it.”

You caught Gwilym frowning, and held back a laugh. Helen looked confused.

“What...what do you mean?” she wondered.

“Honestly,” you said, under your breath, but Gwilym could still hear. “He’s a bit too much for me in bed.”

Gwilym choked on the sip of whiskey he was taking, and you bit your lip to stop your smirk. Helen looked astonished.

“What?!” she gasped.

“Yeah,” you went on. “I used to think I’d love starting every day with two or three orgasms, but after a while, it gets to be kinda overwhelming.”

“T-two or three?” she squeaked.

You nodded. “And that’s just with his mouth.”

Her cheeks were turning bright red. Gwilym’s mouth was hanging open, just gawking at you.

“He seems like your typical nice guy, but girl, in the bedroom, he is a straight up animal,” you continued. “I think I might have to end it because it’s so much, but I’m honestly afraid I’ll never have sex this good again.”

She was wringing her hands and could not look you in the face. Her proud head finally lowered. Her cheeks were pink and sweat beaded at her hairline.

“How did you manage it?” you asked. “Letting that go?”

“I - well - we never - I didn’t -” she sputtered.

“Oh, I see,” you relieved her. “You never got there. Well, it’s probably for the best. I mean, I’m basically ruined for all other men.”

At this point, Gwilym could take it no longer and approached, slipping an arm around your waist. You beamed at him.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” he returned, kissing you on the forehead. “I see you’ve met Helen.”

“I have,” you said.

Helen finally turned eyes on Gwilym, and you saw a fresh hunger there as she looked him up and down. You got to her. She regretted what she had done.

“H-how are you, Gwilym?” she asked, batting her eyes.

“Excellent,” he said smoothly. “This really is a wonderful gala you’ve thrown. How do you do it?”

“Well, I’ve got lots of time on my hands,” she said with a casual shrug, recovering at last from her blushing.

“Lucky,” he said. “Not us, right love?” He shot you a smug look. “We stay very busy.” He accentuated the last word with swift pat on your ass.

You gasped and giggled when his large hand made contact. It sent a wave of heat through you that took you by surprise. A sudden image flashed through your mind - Gwilym, shirt off, lips on your neck, hands on your rear, and hips between your thighs. You cleared your throat and took a sip of wine to bring you back to reality.

“Very busy,” you said huskily, furthering the joke which had frustratingly turned against you.

Helen sighed and excused herself at last, giving Gwil one last wistful look before disappearing into the crowd.

“You are a naughty thing, aren’t you?” he said, removing his hand.

You looked smugly at him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Don’t pretend you didn’t, either.”

You rolled your eyes. Then it was time for dinner and speeches. The food was delicious but the speeches went on forever. Once again, you found yourself resting your head on Gwilym’s shoulder and closing your eyes. When they were over, he nudged you gently awake. You shook out your shoulders and clapped as the last speaker left the stage.

The room was cleared and a jazz band took the stage so people could dance. You were surprised at how many couples were already on the floor as soon as the music started. In your experience, people were too nervous at first. But, you told yourself, the alcohol had already been flowing all night, so maybe everyone was already well in the mood. Gwilym stood up and offered you his hand.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

“Sure,” you replied, taking his hand and letting him lead you onto the floor.

He spun you into his arms and you swayed together to the tune. It was sweet, with the sax on the melody, which you loved.

“So, tell me more about this woman you’re in love with,” you said. “How come you didn’t ask her to come to this?”

“She’s not here,” he answered. “We’re sort of long distance at the moment.”

“What’s she like?” you wondered.

“How much time do you have?” he retorted.

“All night,” you said sweetly.

“Well, she’s smart,” he began.

“Smart?”

“Yeah. We discuss literature and philosophy and music. She’s really well-educated. I admire that about her.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Naturally.”

You smiled. “‘Naturally’ as in her beauty comes naturally or ‘naturally’ as in ‘of course she’s beautiful’?”

“Both,” he replied.

“What else?” you continued.

“She’s been through a lot,” he said. “Sort of like you. And yet, she’s incredibly kind. Her experience didn’t make her hard. She has a very soft heart.”

“A soft heart,” you repeated, letting those words form carefully on your lips.

“Yes,” he said. “When we first started talking, she was defensive. But after a while, she became more open hearted and she told me things she had never told anyone.”

“Sounds like a great foundation,” you said. “I do hope she loves you too.”

“You and me both,” he chuckled. “What about your man?”

“Oh, he’s amazing,” you gushed. “Really, he’s one of the most understanding people in the world. And he really understands me. He’s gentle and sweet. A real Disney prince of a guy.”

He smiled, but it faltered.

“You know, Y/N, you can talk to me about things without making a joke to lighten it,” he said. “You don’t have to be defensive around me.”

It was like he’d pulled the pages out of your heart and read them to you. You wanted desperately to yank them back inside. To keep them to yourself. Locked away where only Dear Friend could access because he had never actually stood in front of you. Humor was your absolute defense mechanism. The wall that kept the rest of the world from your scars. Gwilym, faster and easier than Dear Friend, had blown a hole through it. You could not joke your way out of this.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m still getting used to easing tension.”

“I’m not saying you can’t joke around,” he returned. “You are funny. But you can tell me that you love someone without having to tease yourself or him so it’s not too serious. It is serious. And you’re allowed to feel it.”

The urge to make a snappy retort was overwhelming. The further he pushed behind your defenses the more uncomfortable you became.

“I love him so much,” you said earnestly. “He means the absolute world to me and I want to marry him and have his children and grow old together. He makes me soft.”

It felt clunky, but it was honest.

“Now that was a real moment,” he said, a gentle smile claiming his lips. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “That felt...really good.”

“I’m glad you shared with me.”

You continued to dance and as the evening wore on, you found yourself even more comfortable with Gwilym. He took you back to your hotel when you were both too exhausted to carry on. It was even harder to say goodbye this time.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he said.

“Thank you for a great evening,” you returned. “Really, I had a wonderful time. I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Let’s do it again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You embraced each other. You held him for a long time, grateful to have such a friend. He kissed the top of your head while you hugged and then you slowly broke apart.

“See you soon,” he said.

“Bye, Gwil.”

He left. You headed for the elevator and to the sixth floor, where your room was. You went down the hall, your heels making a dull thud against the carpet. When you came into your room, you found Stacy and Violet asleep on the bed, cuddling as Looney Tunes played on the TV. Smiling, you switched it off before slipping out of your dress and into your pajamas. After you washed your face and brushed your teeth, you joined your daughter and assistant. You felt whole.

The next week, while you eagerly waited for a letter from Dear Friend, you thought about Gwilym a lot. If you were being honest with yourself, you had to admit you had a bit of a crush on him. Spending this time together and becoming vulnerable with him really made you feel connected to him. But, you both were in love with other people. You were resolved to just not act on your crush. They were harmless, and once you met Dear Friend you wouldn’t have it anymore.

You sat in your hotel room in Chicago, going over some notes for your set, making small adjustments based on the reaction from the last crowd. Stacy came into your room with an envelope and you leapt from the bed.

“Thank goodness!” you cried. “This is so much harder to do on the road.”

You tore it open and began to read.

Dear Friend. Now that we are clear on our feelings for one another, I think it’s time we met! You asked where I am in the world, and I’m glad to report I’m finally in the United States. I’m carrying your love with me, darling. I know you’re in Los Angeles, and it’s a long way to go, but I’m going to be in Atlanta in two weeks. Is it possible for you to come and meet me?

You checked the date on the letter. It was from a week ago, when you were in Boston. That meant he would be in Atlanta a week from now, the same week you were going to be in Atlanta on your tour.

Dear Friend was going to be in the same city as you. At the same time. And he wanted to meet you. The color drained from your face.

“What is it?” Stacy asked.

“He wants to meet,” you said. “He’s going to be in Atlanta next week.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Oh, my,” she gasped. “What are you going to do?”

What were you going to do?

145 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 4 years

Note

For the winter/holiday prompts. Gency 23

23. Introducing an S/O to family for the first time

Remember how I headcanoned Concept Mercy as Mercy’s cousin whose family raised her after her own parents passed away? Elijah? Ah well it was back in 2017, I don’t blame ya.

—-

It was a bright day made brighter by the snow all around. Genji glanced out the car window at the mountains rolling past as Mercy drove.

“So…” Genji’s fingers drummed on the side of the pie tin he was holding, “How much did you tell them about me?”

Mercy glanced over from the steering wheel, “Not too much. I mean… for the first few years there was all the ‘Doctor patient confidentiality’ business, and of course the Blackwatch non-disclosure agreements, so I couldn’t really talk about you to anyone aside from McCree and my therapist until Overwatch collapsed.”

Genji turned his head over at her with some alarm but she just chuckled a little before turning her eyes back to the road. “Good things,” she said, continuing to drive through the hills of Switzerland.

Genji eased up a little in his seat.

“…Mostly,” said Mercy with a wry grin.

Genji huffed. “I’m fine with ‘mostly,’” he said, a smile in his own voice. He traced his fingers along his scars self-consciously. “Are you sure he’s okay with…?”

“Elijah’s one of the reasons I got into medicine. He’s seen more than his fair share of scars, too,” said Mercy, “If you’re uncomfortable though–”

“…No,” Genji said firmly after a bit of hesitation, “He’s your family. He should see my face.”

“He’s wonderful, Genji. He’s going to love you,” said Mercy as they pulled up the driveway to a large but cozy-looking Heimatsil-styled house nestled against a hill overlooking Thun. Mercy’s boots crunched in the snow as they both stepped out of the car, but Genji’s footsteps were nearly silent out of habit.

“….what if I messed up the pie?” Genji said, his voice hollow as he gave a glance down to the pie, “I’m good at cooking, but baking is more… chemical…if I messed up the crust–”

“He’ll love the pie, too,” said Mercy, looking down at the lattice-crusted apple-and-pear pie, “And Héctor always cooks way too much anyway, so–”

The door to the house swung open and a tall black man in a red cardigan with feathery blonde hair similar to Mercy’s stood in the doorway. His face lit up.

“Meine kleiner cousine!” He rushed out the door and took up Mercy in a tight hug that all but knocked the wind out of her. Genji couldn’t help but think of the way Mercy embraced him with the full speed of the valkyrie suit as Mercy made a “Hoof!” sound with her cousin’s impact.

“Look at you!” Elijah pulled back from the hug, cupping Mercy’s face in his hands, smooshing her cheeks, “Little baby Angela, all grown up–”

“I’ve been grown up for quite a while now–” said Mercy, affectionately swatting his hands off before giving a playful shove to his shoulder.

“You can live 100 years but you’re still little baby Angela,” said Elijah, folding his arms. He perked up and glanced over at Genji and Genji instantly shrank a bit where he was standing.

“Is this him?” said Elijah, looking back at Mercy.

Mercy gave a nod and Elijah instantly seized one of Genji’s hands in a handshake so hearty it jostled all the way up his prosthetic arm. It was all Genji could do to keep the pie they had brought balanced in one hand.

“I’ve heard so much about you!” said Elijah, beaming before releasing Genji’s hand.

“You-you have?” Genji said helplessly, circling his wrist.

“Well–in terms of how much Angela bothers keeping in contact with her family…” Elijah spoke with a clear parodic level of guilt-tripping.

“Eli…” Mercy said with an eyeroll.

“Quite a bit. In relation to how much else we’re hearing…” said Elijah, “How goes the vigilanteism?”

“It’s not vigilanteism–” Mercy started with a slight laugh.

“It’s a little bit of vigilanteism…” said Genji.

Elijah glanced between them. “I like this guy,” he said, sticking a thumb at Genji, “He’s honest.”

Genji perked up a little.

“Come on! Come in! Both of you!” said Elijah, gesturing back at the house, “Let’s get out of this cold!”

The air of the interior of the house was warm and thick with sweet and savory smells. Genji paused in the hallway where several pictures were hanging. There was a happy looking family featuring what appeared to be Elijah as a child. He could make out the family resemblance aside from the hair better between Angela and Elijah looking at the photo, noting the similarities in their jawline and the distance between their eyes and eyebrows. He continued down the hall a ways and his eyes fell on a large group photo of that same family, now with a couple Genji actually recognized–A woman with heavy pale blonde hair and a man with brown hair that flared out feathery around his head. They were both beaming and holding up a ruddy-faced little bundle of a baby. He recognized the way they smiled instantly. Angela’s parents. His eyes flicked back to the baby in the photo, trying to trace out Angela’s features in that round pink face.

He continued down the hall, not really noticing how far behind he was falling behind Angela and Elijah, who themselves seemed to be caught up in small-talk. He came upon another photo, not a big group photo, but a family portrait: Elijah, looking to be about 13 or 14, his parents, and a small girl with feathery, pale blonde hair tied back by an orange ribbon. There was an exhaustion well beyond her years in her eyes, despite her forced smile for the camera.

“Héctor!” Elijah called, snapping Genji’s attention away from the photos, “Guess who’s here!”

“Not Angela?” said an olive-brown skinned man with graying hair leaning in from the kitchen with oven mitts and a tray full of just-out-of-the oven eggplant tart.

“That smells amazing, Héctor,” said Angela, stepping into the kitchen and kissing Héctor on the cheek.

“I try,” said Héctor with a grin and a shrug before setting the tray down.

“We brought a–” Angela hesitated briefly as Genji briskly caught up with them, pie still in hand, “A pie.”

“And this is the famous Genji?” said Héctor, tilting his head.

“No,” said Genji, “I mean–yes, I’m Genji but I’m not–” he cleared his throat and the heat vents in his shoulders steamed with some embarrassment.

“Elijah, I told you not to scare Angela’s date,” said Héctor.

“I didn’t!” said Elijah.

“I’m not scared,” Genji said with a chuckle, “It’s a pleasure being here, really.”

“Hmmm—” Hector looked down at the pie skeptically, his brow furrowed, “That had better not be a pre-made crust–”

“It’s not!” Genji blurted out.

But Héctor just snickered with his hands on his hips, “Kidding! No pie snobs here, believe me.”

“Says Captain ‘will spend 3 hours making puff pastry from scratch,’” said Elijah, strolling into the kitchen.

“Because the store-bought stuff doesn’t puff–” said Héctor, “It expands, it doesn’t puff–too chemically designed around longer shelf life. Pies, though, everyone knows the only thing that matters with a pie is the filling and–nope–no–uh uh–you are not distracting me–I told you it’s still cooling—” Elijah at this point had skirted around the group and was threading an arm past Genji’s shoulder to get at the eggplant tart, only to have Héctor wave him away.

“This is what I have to deal with, Angela,” said Elijah, looking back at her, “Ever since he went from flights to instructing he’s gone full Betty Crocker.”

“I prefer Yotam Ottolenghi,” said Héctor, running a pizza cutter in neat diagonal slices through his tart.

“It’s cabin fever, is what it is,” said Elijah as Héctor quickly and gingerly arranged the tart slices on a decorative plate as Elijah and Angela got drinks for everyone.

“You were a pilot?” said Genji as Héctor carried the plate over to a coffee table in the living room and they all took their seats.

“Experimental Pararescue Unit, RJAF,” said Héctor with a narrow salute, “We were Raptoras before Raptoras were Raptoras… and…before we hemorrhaged funding and Helix bought all of our flight-suit technology after that Slipstream incident with Overwatch. Then… yes, I was a pilot, and now I teach.”

“…Oh…” said Genji.

“Eh. All history,” said Héctor with a hand wave.

“Ancient history,” said Elijah, finally snatching a slice of eggplant tart off the plate.

“Rude,” said Héctor.

“And I came home from Doctors Without Borders and took over head of surgery at when Angela abandoned us,” said Elijah, taking a bite of eggplant tart, “oof–hot–” he exhaled.

“I warned you,” said Héctor.

“I didn’t abandon you,” said Angela with a wry grin, “And…” she huffed, “Honestly there were a lot of points where I wished I stayed in Switzerland but…” she gave a glance at Genji, “I think it was worth sticking around, in the end.”

Genji smiled at her.

“So you met in the old Overwatch,” said Héctor, “Were you there with her during the… uh… explosion?” he caught himself, “Unless that’s too invasive.”

“No, it’s fine. I um, I wasn’t there.” said Genji.

“He had already fulfilled his contract and left–There were already a lot of problems. And you know I was on my way out at the time,” said Mercy.

“But we stayed in contact through the past five years after,” said Genji, “We wrote each other letters. And when we finally met up again, well…” he shrugged a little.

“Why don’t you write me letters, Héctor?” teased Elijah.

“Did you not see the ‘Dirty’ post-it on the dishwasher? Height of romance,” said Héctor, taking a bite of his own eggplant tart.

“Heard you two have been living together as well,” said Elijah, looking back at Mercy, “How’s that going?”

“It’s nice,” said Mercy, “It makes it feel a lot more like a home.”

“Home?” Elijah blinked, “How long are you planning on staying in Gibraltar?”

“Until we can stop Talon and Null Sector at their sources,” said Genji, reaching over and putting a hand over Angela’s.

“It’s the most easily defensible headquarters we have,” said Mercy,

“Angela…” Elijah huffed her name a little bit before itching at his hairline, “Meine kleiner cousine, saving the world as usual…” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about me,” said Mercy, sipping her drink, “I know what I’m doing.”

“You’d better,” said Elijah, gesturing towards her with his glass, he looked at Genji, “And you! You’d better watch her back.”

“I will,” said Genji.

“He does,” said Mercy, elbowing Genji with a smile.

Dinner that night was a beautiful maqluba with a sort of Swiss rusticity to the flavor. They chatted, ate, and drank, and swapped stories of what they had been up to in the past year. In truth, Genji felt like he was half-expecting some sort of tribunal, some kind of interrogation. Mentally he knew that wasn’t what was going to happen, but physically it had felt like what was coming. Back in the Shimada clan, potential spouses were considered with the same deadly seriousness as the Shimada clan would consider every other business venture. He knew his parents loved each other, at least, but just listening to Elijah and Mercy and Héctor laugh and tease and talk to each other made him realize, “Oh–this is what meeting your partner’s family is normally like.”

The pie, thankfully, was approved by Héctor though Genji suspected Héctor may have snuck some extra cinnamon into the pie before reheating it when no one was looking, and Genji and Elijah volunteered for dishes while Mercy and Héctor chatted in the living room.

“So,” said Elijah, scrubbing a plate, “Has she met your family yet?”

Genji tentatively rubbed his dishtowel over the plate he was drying in a circle, trying to figure out how to answer that question. Should he just start talking about bringing Angela to meet the Shambali? Or would that seem like dodging the question. The Shambali were a family too, weren’t they? Zenyatta, in his own way, was family…

“Or is that a ‘complicated overwatch thing’ too?” said Elijah, setting another wet and clean plate aside.

“Both of my parents have passed on,” said Genji, “My brother is really the only blood family I have left but… getting in contact with him is difficult.”

“Angela was the same way during those few years of relief work,” said Elijah, “I’m a little jealous you were able to stay in contact with her the way you were. With her it was always, ‘Can’t talk. In Venezuela now. Can’t talk, my flight to Poland’s about to take off. Can’t talk, new truckload of patients in Giza.’ I know the explosion at Zurich was rough on her, and I know she didn’t like being on all those posters, but she has a bad habit of trying to carry things alone.”

Genji smiled a little, knowing Angela would go beet red with fury hearing anyone comparing her to Hanzo. “She’s getting better,” said Genji, putting several dried plates away.

“Oh I know she is,” said Elijah, handing him another dish, “She’s here and she brought you, didn’t she? That’s a big uptick over the last 5 years.”

Once dishes were done, they continued chatting for a couple hours longer until they reached the general consensus of heading to bed for the night. Elijah showed them to the Angela’s old room.

“The guest room,” said Angela.

“Angela’s old room–” Elijah said a bit more insistently, opening the door to a room with an entire wall occupied by bookshelves, and a bed that was just a little too large for it. The room had apparently gone through some rough updates from “study” to “little girl’s room” to “Teenage girl’s room” to “Guest(?) room” but it was large and comfortable enough for both Angela and Genji, and their luggage. Elijah bid them both good night and left them to get settled in.

“I know they’re overwhelming–” said Mercy.

“They’re not overwhelming at all,” said Genji, “This is just… new to me. I mean… I don’t think I’ve ever been someone people take home to their family until fairly recently.”

Mercy snickered. “Well Zenyatta introduced you to the Shambali, didn’t he?”

“Well… yes, but that was different–they were there to help, to heal, and Zenyatta was already having disagreements with Mondatta on which direction the Shambali should be heading. I wasn’t sure if the Shambali wanted me to be a symbol of bridging the gap between humanity and technology. I don’t think the end goal was necessarily–” He caught himself.

“Necessarily…?” Mercy repeated the word to let him complete the thought.

“…necessarily making me a part of the family,” said Genji.

Mercy blinked a few times and then glanced off as she pulled on her own pajamas.

“Are you okay?” said Genji.

“Yes–yes–I am,” said Mercy, “Just… after I came to live here, the first few weeks were hard. I mean, yes, Elijah and his parents were my family, but they weren’t my parents. They looked after me because I was their family, of course, but that didn’t make me the child they had signed up for. No one wanted me to feel like an obligation, and Elijah always made a point of acting like I always belonged here, which helped–it really did, but…I’m sorry, I’m ranting,” she ran a hand through her hair.

“You’re not ranting,” said Genji, pulling off his own shirt and some of the plates on his prosthetics.

“But he really does see me as family,” said Mercy with a huff and a smile, “That’s why he’s always fussing and trying to keep in contact.”

“Do you not feel the same?” said Genji, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“I want to, I think I’ve just… always been scared to,” said Mercy, taking a seat on the bed next to him, “Like the second I really accept that, I could lose him, too.”

Genji leaned in and kissed her on the temple, pulling her into a light embrace as she slumped some of her weight against him.

“But… I like this. And I’m glad you’re here. Even if Overwatch just… eats so much of our lives, it’s nice… thinking that… there are people waiting for us just outside of it.”

“He’s not some distant concept,” said Genji, taking her hand, “He’s your family, he’s right here, and he wants you to stay in touch.”

“Eli put you up to this, didn’t he?” said Mercy, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“A little bit, but I’m also saying this as the guy desperately trying to keep in contact with his own blood family, who, I’m willing to admit, is not nearly as nice as you.”

Mercy’s nose crinkled up before she huffed. “Fine,” she said, stroking her hand down the side of Genji’s face, “I’ll work on that. Though you do know that means I’ll be dragging you along for whatever ridiculous family things Eli and Héctor put us up to.”

“I’m fine with that,” said Genji.

“We’re talking charades, spending 8 minutes at the dinner table trying to remember an old acquaintance’s name, arguing over an 800 piece puzzle, and embarrassing home movies,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“Oh I’m very much looking forward to that last one,” said Genji.

“Even if it means baking more pies?” said Mercy.

“Absolutely,” said Genji, leaning in and kissing her.

#gency #concept mercy

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vulcan-highblood · 4 years

Text

Fashion God - Part 1

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia / My Hero Academia

Pairing: Gen?? Characters: Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku Summary: Izuku desperately wants to be a fashion designer, but can’t find a model who will wear his clothes. Izuku is shocked when a crude blonde boy mysteriously appears in his room to “help” him achieve his dream. It can’t possibly be that simple! [A/N: This turned out longer than expected. I basically did a timed-write, and here’s what I came up with in an hour. I’m planning to go back and finish this with another timed write or two, so for now, enjoy part 1. This story was prompted by a lovely anon, but I did adapt it slightly to fit the idea I ended up having. I hope you enjoy it! It’s a pretty out-there AU, but I’m happy with it.]

Midoriya Izuku loved fashion. He loved it more than life itself, as could be attested by the deep bags under his eyes and his poor fingers, which had been stabbed by needles so many times that he was pretty sure he had built up scar tissue. Izuku wanted nothing more than to make it big in the fashion world, but he was from a small town in the middle of nowhere. He read all the magazines, watched videos of his favorite designers, and used whatever materials he could get his hands on in his backwater town. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find anyone to wear his clothes. He’d offered to sew for his mom, he’d offered to make costumes for the school festival, he’d tried countless times to get anyone to model for him, but the only person he’d ever found that was willing to wear his clothes was… well, himself.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the way the world worked, sometimes. He just needed some way to get attention! Once he could capture the hearts and imaginations of the fashion world, he’d be able to share his vision with the world. But for now, he sewed alone in his room, wishing things could be different.

And then, he saw the announcement. Yagi Toshinori, the designer who created the world’s current top brand, AllMight, was looking for an intern. But rather than go to the fashion schools, he was opening the internship up to anyone willing to submit a fashion line that they felt embodied who they were as an artist, and submitted photos online. It was his chance! But Izuku found himself facing the same challenge as always - no models.

Despite the setback, Izuku decided he’d just model all the clothes himself. That would be fine, right? It wouldn’t be as nice as he’d like, but hopefully his clothes would speak for him. Throwing himself into his work, Izuku began researching, trying to decide what his theme would be. AllMight’s designer, Yagi, had urged competitors to “make their story”, and tell him something only they could share. Izuku wasn’t sure how he could do that, but he thought that trying to tell a story would be interesting. He just had to decide what story that would be.

Google told him that story writing was all about writing from experience. But Izuku had only just graduated middle school, he didn’t have much in the way of life experience to share. Still. He had been rejected, frustrated, and abandoned at every turn by people who claimed to support his dream but were never really willing to put in the work to help him. He knew what it felt like to be abandoned or forgotten. Sometimes, facing this challenge made him feel like a lone warrior, staring down a terrible horde of demons.

So he decided trying an interpretation on “old and new”, drawing on inspiration from old Japanese mythology, artistic motifs, and fashion. There was lots there - beautiful angles, layers on layers, coarse fabrics and smooth silk, princesses, castles, warriors, generals… He spent hours poring over his history textbooks from school, then any books he could find on ancient lore. He looked at books of art, trying to get a feel for the way clothes and fashion had developed in ancient Japan. He began to draw up designs for how to transition these looks from ancient Japan to the modern-day catwalk. He pinned, he sketched, he wandered through museums, and borrowed library books, throwing himself into the design process with fervor.

He prayed as he worked, begged any god that might be listening to please, please let him win this contest, let his designs show enough potential, let him be enough, let him finally leave his small town behind and show his ideas on a world stage.

He needed a miracle to pull this off.

“Do you know how much a miracle fucking costs these days, kid?” came a drawling voice from behind him.

With a shriek of terror, Izuku dropped his sketchbook and whirled around to face the strange figure that was standing in the middle of his bedroom. “Who are you?” he demanded, shrinking back in his chair. “What do you want?”

“Who am I?” the young man snapped, pointing to himself, shooting Izuku a disgusted look. “You’re seriously asking that?”

“You just appeared in my house!” Izuku protested, “I think it’s a reasonable question!”

“Fucking look at me,” the man - or was he a boy? It was hard to tell, Izuku realized with a frown - gestured to himself. He was clothed in baggy shorts and a tank top. He looked like a kid who wore what was comfortable and still looked good wearing it, but that probably wasn’t what he’d meant for Izuku to notice when he’d said it.

“What am I looking for?” Izuku asked, beginning to feel like he was on trial in his own bedroom.

“I -” the young man - kid - boy - whatever - glanced down at himself and did a double-take. “Oh, what the fuck?” he snapped, looked back up at Izuku, down at himself, and sighed, flopping on Izuku’s bed. “This just got complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, glad to be feeling less threatened but instead finding himself 100% more confused.

“Here’s the thing,” the kid sat up, his scarlet eyes fixing on Izuku as he ran a hand through pale blond spikes. “I’m a god.”

~~*~~

Normally, when Katsuki appeared to a supplicant, they fell down on their face and got real chummy. Not this moron. Oh no, he was too busy fixing Katsuki with a concerned look.

“Right…” the boy said, carefully fumbling on his desk for his phone. “Is there someone I can call for you? Do you have a family?”

Katsuki shut his eyes briefly to resist the urge to light the room on fire. “No, I’m here for you. Because you called me.” And because he’d fucked up, but he wasn’t going to be telling this green kid that, because it would seriously damage his reputation as a powerful god, and Katsuki was not about that shit.

Green-haired kid narrowed his equally green eyes. “I didn’t call anyone, I can prove it, let me open my call log.”

“Not like that,” Katsuki snapped, standing once more so that he could gesture more dramatically. It felt good to gesture. He hadn’t appeared to a mortal for some time, he’d forgotten how fun it was to gesture at them. “You prayed. Here I am. Answering your prayer.” He struck a pose.

The green kid blinked. “I’m confused.”

He sure as hell seemed to be confused. Most people these days were, since they seemed to forget so easily that their prayers were going somewhere. Half the time Katsuki suspected that people prayed just to hear themselves talk, not because they actually expected divine intervention. Which was bullshit. Because the gods were fucking busy, and didn’t deserve to get a bunch of bullshit calls from people who didn’t have the faith and conviction to really appreciate the work that went into answering their prayers. That was one reason why appearing to a petitioner felt so satisfying - giving that hard evidence of work in the spirit world so that they had to give credit where credit was due.

“Did you, or did you not, visit a temple literally yesterday?” Katsuki reminded him.

“But that’s because my mom wanted to finish her pilgrimage,” the green kid protested, “I just… prayed because… she said to…”

Katsuki watched the understanding dawn slowly across the dumb kid’s face.

“Wait. So you came because I prayed at the temple yesterday?”

“Hell yeah I did!” and because he’d been fucking forced to come because of some paperwork bullshit, but the kid didn’t need to know that. “So I’m here to help you achieve your dream.”

“...oh,” the kid said slowly, “Well, I mean, what I need most is models. Can you, um. Hire fashion models for me?”

Katsuki blinked. “I’m sorry, you prayed for fashion models?”

Green kid blinked back at him. “I thought you were here to answer my prayer. How do you not know what I asked for?”

Because he hadn’t been paying attention to it. And because he hadn’t thought it would matter, yesterday, when he’d been collecting the prayers from the temple. Turns out it had mattered. A lot. “I just thought you were aiming small because your faith was weak. But you could just ask to, you know, win the contest. I can do that.”

Green kid shook his head, unruly hair flying. “That’s not fair, I want to win because I deserve it, not because I got some god to do it for me.”

Katsuki wanted to point out that he was rather simplifying a complex process and since basically everything happened due to some deity’s influence, what did it really matter which deity was doing the influencing? But he also didn’t want to bother explaining that. So instead he just sighed. “So what do you want?”

“I told you,” Green kid said, “I want models to wear the clothes in my fashion line.”

“I can do that,” Katsuki said. He’d have the models ready for this kid quick as could be, and then he’d be back in the heavenly realms and free of this detail-oriented bullshit for another decade. Simple.

He should have known better. Nothing was ever that easy.

#bnha #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #mha #bakudeku #maybe #au

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catchandelier · 4 years

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We’re staying at a hotel tonight, or so has been the repeated line from higher perches than mine, as I don’t have the money in this relationship and I don’t drive either. In the normal course of life- even the abnormal course of life under quarantine- my lack of driving was no great hardship. I have legs and I am glad of their use; and before the quarantine, I had a rather good grasp of the public transport system. At the very least, I could get where I meant to when I meant to, and back home again in a reasonable time.

I wonder: will the bus stops still be there? The train stations? The bank isn’t, after all.

Some of the graffiti down lake street as we headed out: No Justice, No Peace; Fuck 12; George Floyd Presente!; Make Being Black Legal; Mama I Can’t Breathe. These are also the slogans that stuck. The only one I requested explanation of is the significance of 12, and thus why it should get fucked; 12 references an outdated police code for drugs, or perhaps a segment officers tasked with the apprehension of those selling drugs.

On our way out, I saw murals untouched by violence of any kind, unmarred by spray paint; I saw ordinary people, in their long sleeves and masks and gloves, with trash bags and brooms and a will to help; I saw the empty burned out husk of a store I shopped in last year; I saw USPS mail cars being loaded onto a truck of their own in preparation for evacuation; I saw police cars hiding behind concrete dividers, kin or kind to those seen during highway construction. It strikes me now that the police in that car perhaps think the concrete will protect them. It won’t; but they will still be surprised when it doesn’t.

I am outside the city now, and from the window of my room I can see the airport (instantly obsolete the day it opened, poor thing) and no planes fly from it, and now under curfew there are no cars, or at least very few, passing by in the night. This of course means there is very little interfering noise from here back and back to the heart- I can hear all the sirens downtown from all the way at the airport. I can hear it through the glass window. I can hear it through eight stories of air and a wide parking lot and fifteen-twenty-half an hour of highway. It is faded and distorted by distance, but I Know; faded enough that I almost thought the sound was ringing only in my head. It isn’t; and I was still surprised that it isn’t.

I am thankful I can’t hear the pop of teargas. It sounds like gunfire; which is to say, it sounds like a small firecracker, or a champagne popper with depth. The movies are for entertainment; they don’t have to show you, or let you hear, the truth if a bit of film-flam makes for the better story. I can say now, I prefer the story. Would that all guns were just heavy toys to make it easier to pretend.

Friday morning from behind our front window; a building about a block away was on fire, the flames licked and danced above the blocking roof of the bank, which also (eventually) burned; and it was a very strange and poignant moment, when brown smoke smeared the sky grey to the left of my position viewing the fire, and to the right, the clear blue sky dazzled with clean white clouds I’ve come to expect this time of year. In the windowsill, our noisy and bold cat, who is quite small in size- such that I sometimes forget she only weighs eight pounds when I haven’t picked her up in a while. On the couch, below the window, our other cat, nervous and desiring only to be at someone, anyones, side. He, I think, ate a brick when no one was watching; perhaps it is his slight personality that makes his dense body such a shock. The small one doesn’t care if you hold her; the large one wants to be put down, now, after a measured count of eight.

The foul smoke that rose from this conflagration- and the others that dotted the city- so nauseated me that day, I did not eat until half past noon, when my head ached with hunger. The miasma of tear gas diluted in the air was so thick on the Wednesday before the Thursday before that day, I couldn’t help getting a pernicious sinus headache that I woke with, and went to sleep with, and could not escape even in filtered air.

The poison was already inside me, you see.

I was reminded that day of this: although people have their squabbles and ruinations, the greater whole of nature doesn’t give a shit. The cat in the windowsill slept; the cat on the couch was no more nervous than he always is. Somehow, I find it heartening. The world goes on. The poison is cleared; and if damage remains, so what? I am alive to be damaged, and heal.

As we left, I saw there were people sweeping the streets of broken glass-front shops and a building that was only a little bit still on fire, mostly on the roof, or so I heard; I couldn’t actually see it from my spot in the car. There was a dollar store burned to rubble, smoke still rising from its leech colored soot-blacked bones; the liquor store, the bank, the targets, and more still, looted and burned. And more people coming to see and join and fight; my friend Hannah who went out today- yes, this very day- and stood in protest at the capital, which is St Paul. My friend Hannah, who is brave, and white, and this day in such terrible danger I felt as if time would not move until I heard she was safe again. She is safe, just to gut that small moment of tension for you.

(I will thank you not to conflate Minneapolis with St Paul. The Twin Cities have different counties, and were built in different eras of urban design; one is Catholic and one is Protestant; one is moneyed and the other classed; one has a garbage disposal service that works, and the other has ruined their alleys with mercenary action. Prince came from Minneapolis, not St. Paul. I quite like Minneapolis and Minnesota, for all its warts and horrors, and I will get snippy about this little thing. The big things, I think, are well past snips.)

South Minneapolis is home to a number of anarchists, and to them I give thanks- for it is they who had a whole entire fire hose- a real one- and perhaps a wrench, and it was our block’s community that wrangled the thrashing thing in place long enough to douse the bank. My father, and my stepmom’s sisters husband, were among that community. They are also quite brave, I think.

My personal notes on the escape and subsequent confinement inherent in fleeing riots and rioters and flames and other such insurrections:

Bring a book. Bring your game system- Switch, Xbox, gameboy etc. You might think it’s just a digitized version of cocaine or opium, but oh what a blessing to be able to not think and worry about things you have no power to change; to escape somewhere the world can not touch but in such and such prescribed way, and that you can change in any way you’d like.

Animal Crossing is a very good game.

You will stay longer than a night, pack for longer than one night; you will get tired of food rationed from what you can order. You will not get tired of not having to do dishes, but you will get tired of not having a full sized trash can or any replacement trash bags.

You will get bored, and miss your homely comforts, the weight of your bedding and the mess of your things. You will miss your pets and your projects and your games you left at home because they were too heavy to take with you.

You will miss your laundry room. Bring laundry detergent, and dryer sheets, and that pouch of coins you never use because why would you.

You will not miss the noise; but the new uncertainty, laid atop your back (which aches from the weight of plague’s uncertainty) like a fine sharp knife, will steal sleep from your eyes and thin your last nerve to the very edge of breaking. Even with the silence, and perhaps the privacy.

You will want to start fights and be rude and cruel for no reason other than you know how, and can, and are bored, and you can only really control yourself at this point. You won’t actually do these things because you’re still a person, for now, and you’d like to still be a person at the end of all this.

You will continue to hope for an end, and ignore the news as best you can because it’s all lurid and terrible and you really just want a breakfast where you don’t have to aggressively find reasons the world isn’t a terrible place.

(The world is not a terrible place, for clarity’s sake. I’m just a little tired of the weather and cnn at free breakfast when all I want is an omelette and some juice.)

You’ll find ways to cope, again; you’ll find ways to resolve yourself to waiting, again. You’ll start a new book, or a different project, or take a nap. You’ll make a new schedule, to stave off boredom, again.

You will and should and can do all of those things; I give you permission. But.

Under absolutely no circumstances can you allow yourself to believe that the deprivation and calamity we are experiencing right now is in any way normal. Let no one, not even yourself, convince you that this- this state of the world, the quarantine, the too-closeness of your family and the distance from your friends, your skin crawling over itself with restless unending boredom- is normal. Revolution is necessary; it is not normal. Quarantine is necessary; it is not normal.

Aim for acceptable. But don’t accept it.

Oh, and if you’re up to it, do try and take more than two nearly good photos of a total five- human memory has an unfortunate habit of failure. Scars and memories fade away; but photographic glory is forever.

[To gut some more of that dramatic tension for you, we’re all safe and at home now. But the rebellion rages on.]

#RiotZone #show them what rebellion means #rise up #godspeed rebels

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

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Chapter 2: Sisters

A/N: Here's chapter two! I hope you enjoy. I'd love if you left a review! :)

~~~~~ "Turn your head to me. No, not that far, just a bit. Yeah, perfect." I take four photos, each one at a slightly different angle. Riley had asked for a photoshoot to advertise her new designs and Ollie had offered to model. He's currently wearing black pants and a vermilion button down with a white pattern on it. "You look good." He winks at me. "You think so?" "You'd look better if you took it off though," I reply with a smirk. "Oh, get a room, you two," Riley says, exasperated from where she stands by the window. I laugh. "Ollie, let's get one more of you standing and then you can change into the next one."

~~~~~

The days blur together. My schedule involves waking up at twelve in the afternoon, working for ten hours and then going out the until two or three in the morning. I still find a new girl in the clubs every few nights, but I don't take any of them back to my place. Fancy's making biweekly trips up to London and I find that I actually look forward to seeing her. She pulls a new trick on me every time and it's enough to make me curious about what else she's got up her sleeve. Eventually, I stop going out altogether, just filling my time with work between her visits.

We're sharing a smoke after another night together, sitting in bed with the sheets covering our bodies. She's got her leg flung over me, and her chest presses into my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, holding her close. I resist the urge to kiss the side of her head. I've already crossed a line by becoming exclusive with her.

She holds the cigarette up to me, her fingers lightly brushing my lips. I inhale, letting the smoke fill my lungs before letting it out. I blow it gently in her face, watching as she crinkles her nose. It's cute. Not for the first time, I'm struck by her beauty. I wonder if she'll let me take photos of her. I haven't touched my camera in months, but I want to capture the expression on her face and the way the lamp light strikes her hair, turning it metallic. Before I know what I'm saying, I ask her if she'll model for me.

She puffs on the fag, contemplating. "I didn't know you were a photographer."

I shrug. "It's just a hobby."

"Are you a professional?”

"I make money off it, if that's what you're asking."

"I'll pay you in something better than money," she says, a naughty gleam in her eye. She moves to sit on top of me, grinding her hips suggestively. I pull the cig from her lips, stroking her face.

"I only accept cash."

She leans into the touch, turning her head to kiss my arm. I realize the exact moment when she notes the scars. Before I can pull away, she grabs my wrist.

"Are you ready to talk about this now?" she demands, tracing the marks with a finger. I shiver at the touch.

"No." She doesn't fight me when I retract my arm. I drape it off the edge of the bed, turning my palm down so the scars are hidden again.

"If you've got a problem, you should talk to somebody."

I shoot her a sharp glance. "And that somebody is you, I guess?"

"I mean, I'm here." She rolls off to the side, resting her head on my shoulder. A few quiet moments pass before she says softly, "I've been there, you know. I never did anything, but I thought about it."

I try to think about her, this flirtatious, lively, devilish woman, as I had been. I can't imagine her holding a knife to herself, crying in the dark. "You love life."

"I love distraction," she corrects me. She turns her head up and I can feel her breath on the bottom of my chin. I don't move as she admits, "I've got an ex-boyfriend I'm trying to forget."

Me too. I don't say the words out loud. It's not true, I'm not trying to forget him. I'm just trying to forget his sorrowful eyes as I left him in that villa. I'm trying to drown out the sound of his pleading voice, begging me to stay, saying we can get through the shit together. I often wish I had just listened to him; had turned around and let him hold me in his arms, murmur that he loved me, and continued on. My life would have been different. Better. Instead, I had been scared and walked away.

Fancy reaches a hand up, brushing away the tears I don't realize have slipped down my face. Her hands feel warm to the touch. She sits up and watches me for a moment, her eyes searching for something. Whatever she finds, it makes her cup her hands on my jaw, leaning toward me. This kiss is gentle, none of the rough passion we usually share. Her lips are soft against mine, feather light and tender. It feels more intimate.

She lays back down, resting her head on me again. She traces circles on my skin.

"He was abusive," she says randomly. It takes me a moment to realize she's gone back to the topic from before. "So I left him. And now I fuck around to try and remove the feeling of his hands on me. I thought once what it would be like to be rid of him permanently, but I wasn't brave enough."

"There's nothing brave about it," I say. My words are bland, toneless. I stare at the ceiling. "It's a cowardly move."

"You can't help what you feel."

I close my eyes. I've never spoken about almost killing myself to anyone. Nobody has been with me long enough to notice my attempt. I'm not sure if it's annoyance or relief I feel that Fancy wants to talk about it. On the one hand, someone would know. On the other… someone would know. The thought of placing my secret in another person's hands is terrifying to me. But there's a part of me craves the trust that would come with it, and the intimacy. I take a deep breath and Fancy goes motionless.

"I ran away from someone I shouldn't have," I start shakily. "I made a lot of mistakes after that. I almost got married but I left her too. I had my own business but it wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. It just got to be too much. So I decided it would be better if I just ended it. I came really close too."

"What was it like?" The curiosity in her voice makes my eyes fly open.

"What?"

She sits up and stares at me, a peculiar light in her eyes. "In that moment. What was it like?"

I think about the night five months ago when all my festering emotions came to a head. I can still feel the sharp metal on my arm. The pain had been almost unbearable as I dragged the knife along the taut skin. The blood had been warm as it dribbled out. I remember lying down, the sheets rough against my back, holding my phone to my face for a while, watching a video of my love's face, listening to him say my name over and over again. The thought that he would be the last thing I saw, the last person I'd hear had been like a balm on the fear that welled up in my chest as I felt consciousness leave me.

"I was petrified at first," I admit after a while. "Then my mind went blank and I was more at peace. I was ready to die."

"But you didn't."

My mouth twitches. "No, I didn't. I woke up an hour later." I don't mention the text that I saw when my eyes opened. The message from the one person I never thought I would hear from again, as if he knew what I had done. It had been a simple hello, and I had responded in kind, intending to leave it at that, but he kept sending texts, keeping me from drifting off into oblivion again. I don't tell her that I called him, just to hear him talk to me. He couldn't have known he was talking to me after an attempt at my own life, but I could tell he knew something was wrong. His voice had been kind and soothing as he spoke.

Fancy touches my face, bringing me back to the present. "I'm glad," she whispers. She gives me that gentle kiss again. But as she moves down my chest, I realize it's not her I'm seeing but him. I imagine it's him trailing down my body, rubbing me in the right places. When she looks up at me, it's his eyes I see, warm and loving. I blink and he's gone and I feel a pang of sadness course through me. I stop Fancy before she can go any lower.

"Later," I say, pulling her back up. She nestles against me. Before long, she's asleep, her breathing slow and steady. I continue to stare blankly into the air, one arm around her body. My mind is a whirlwind of memories and thoughts. After all this time, after all the women I've slept with, even after almost a year with one of them, he's still the only one I can think about at the end of the day. His laugh echoes around my head. I can see his half smirk as if he were standing right in front of me. I wonder what he would say if he were here.

Fuck, Freddy, you look awful.

I smile a little at the thought. Those are exactly the words that would leave his mouth. Then he would proceed to fix me up, making fun of my methods of drowning him out. He wouldn't hate me for what I did to him, he would just try to pick up where we left off. He would kiss me, and say everything would get better, now that we were together again.

I close my eyes, his face swimming in my mind as I drift off to sleep.

~~~~~ The next morning, Fancy wakes me up by poking me in the side.

"Hmm?" I mumble.

"I've just gotten a text from my sister."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, I just haven't gone to see her in a while. She's asking me to come visit."

"Alright, go ahead then," I say, starting to roll over, but she catches my shoulder. She asks shyly,

"Will you come with me?"

I open my eyes slowly to look at her, surprised. Increased intimacy, yeah sure. Exclusivity, fine. But meeting family? I hadn't realized we'd reached developed a relationship that meant enough to warrant that. "I don't… I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I mean, we're not really anything, are we?"

"Come on, it's been months. I haven't been with anyone else. Unless there's someone on the side for you?" She hovers over me, lips pursed together in a cute little pout. I give her a reassuring kiss.

"There's not."

"I've already told them I'm seeing you, so they want to meet you."

I raise a brow. "You told them about me?"

"I had to explain why I wasn't visiting anymore. So, will you come?"

I hesitate. There is a line in the sand that I'm not sure I want to cross. She is asking for something more from me and did I really want to start going down this path? All three of my last relationships ended terribly and I hadn't been with anyone seriously in two years. But Fancy had pulled me out of a downward spiral. I'm not losing myself in alcohol and smoke every night. Instead, I am almost sane again, and I look forward to seeing her texts every day. She makes me want to live again. The least I could do would be to do this for her.

"Yeah, alright," I say, sitting up.

"Well come on then, get up. We've got to go! " She yanks the blanket off with a happy shriek.

"What, right now?"

"They want us there for lunch." She rummages in my closet while I take a shower, pulling out a simple black shirt and a pair of jeans. It doesn't do anything for my pale features, but I don't complain. Nothing could make me look better. Next to me, she looks like a bright flower, in a little red dress and a yellow scarf wrapped around her neck.

Within an hour, we're standing outside a white building with balconies jutting out above the street. The townhouse looks pristine with its window boxes and autumn wreath on the door. Fancy clasps my hand and squeezes tight.

"Ready?" I give her a slight nod and we walk up to the door. She taps rapidly on it, then takes my hand again. She seems nervous. A minute later, the door opens to reveal a woman who could be Fancy's twin. She's got the same burnished auburn hair, though hers is cut short to her shoulders. They share the bright brown eyes that reflect the warmth of the sunlight. The woman turns those eyes to me, running them down my body before letting them rest on my face for an uncomfortable amount of time. She smiles tightly.

"This is him?" she asks. Even their voices sound similar.

Fancy leans into me. I suspect it's more to support herself than to comfort me. "This is Freddy."

"Is he sick, or does he always look like this?"

"Mercy!" Fancy chides, pushing her way inside.

"Well, come in then. Grace has just arrived so we can start."

We follow her sister into the house. The inside is just as perfect as the outside. Everything looks professionally cleaned and the couches look like they haven't been sat on for years. She leads us to the kitchen off to the side, to the table in the middle of the room, where another woman sits in front of a bag of Maccies. Her blonde hair hides her face, but when she hears us walk in, she lifts her head, flinging her hair behind her.

"Oh, thank god," she says, tearing into the bag. "I'm starving."

"Grace, don't be rude. Say hello before you stuff your face." Grace already has chips in her mouth. She mumbles a hello around the food, giving me a little wave. The red-haired woman rolls her eyes and turns to me. "That is Grace."

I can't help the bark of laughter that comes out. "Sorry," I say as all three of them give me weird looks. "It's just your names. And you're eating fast food. It doesn't seem like it fits."

Mercy smiles winningly. "It's a guilty pleasure. Come on, sit down. We weren't sure what you wanted so we just got you a burger and some chips."

"That's fine," I tell her, taking my place next to Fancy. She rests her hand on my knee with a little squeeze. She lets her sisters grill me on where I'm from, my family, my job. I learn that Mercy is a psychiatrist and Grace is a doctor at the local hospital. They each have husbands who are notably missing. When I ask, Mercy just says,

"We didn't want you to be intimidated."

They tell me stories about growing up together and I admit to feeling a little jealous. As an only child, I never had interactions like that. When they run out of childhood stories, they go back to asking me questions. When the food is gone, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. On my way back, the sisters' voices float to me and I stop short.

"Is he sick?"

"No.”

"I can see the entire bone structure of his face. Is he a druggie?"

"No!" Fancy shrieks. "He's got his own business. Now, stop it, both of you. He's just had a rough time of it. He's a good person. He makes me feel… happy again."

"It's good to see you smiling," Mercy sounds soft, caring. "You look like less of a wreck too."

"Thanks."

"Honestly," Grace says, "I never thought you'd find anyone else after— ow! What?"

"Don't say his name, not in this house.”

"Sorry."

"Listen, Fancy," Mercy's voice takes on a cautious tone. "Mam asked after you yesterday. Asked if you'd like to come to Christmas dinner this year."

There are few moments of uneasy silence pass by. I can't walk in there now, not when there's clearly a moment going on, so I stay in the hallway, listening.

"Why?" Fancy finally demands. Her words come out clip and chilly.

"She said she regrets what happened between you two. She'd have called you herself, but she doesn't have your number."

"It's been seven years."

"She wants to make amends, Fancy," Grace says.

"Why?" Fancy asks again.

"She's been thinking about family. She wants us all together this year. Start over."

"She's the one that kicked me out."

"Yeah, and she made a mistake. Give her a chance."

"Why should I, when she never gave me one."

"Be the bigger person, Fancy."

"What about Da? Is he going to let me come back?"

"Da will do whatever Mam wants."

Fancy is quiet and then I hear her push her chair back. I push away from the wall I'm leaning against and make it look like I'm just on my way back. I walk into the kitchen at the same time she walks out and we bump into each other. I steady her with a hand.

"Are you alright?" I whisper to her.

"Fine." She looks to her sisters over her shoulder. "I'll consider about it."

Mercy nods. "That's why I told you now, so you'd have time to think on it."

Fancy smiles wryly. "Thanks. We're leaving now."

She grabs my arm and drags me down the hallway. I give a quick wave goodbye before we're out the door. The car ride back is silent and tense. I let her brood until we're at my place again. She goes to the bedroom while I set about making a pot of tea for us. When I bring the steaming mug to her, I find her lying in the bed with the covers over her head. I sit on the edge, putting the cup on the ground. I rub her through the blanket.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She groans. I climb over her and settle in the bed on her other side. When she lifts her head, I see that her eyes are red and puffy, streaks of makeup running down her cheeks. I pull her toward me, tucking her head under my chin. We lay like that for an hour, her sobbing into my chest, me holding her tight. When her weeping turns into soft whimpers, I ask again,

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Instead of answering me, she tilts her head up and starts kissing me. She shifts on top of me, the need for distraction evident in her touch. I oblige her. She moves with a fierceness that hasn't been present since the beginning of our relationship. It's like she's trying to forget the world again. So I kiss her lips, her cheeks, the space between her neck and shoulders. She moans and grinds herself against me in fervor. I flip her over and start dragging her dress up her legs. She paws at my chest, bunching my shirt in her hands. I pull it off, letting her fingers roam my chest. But this is not the moment for slow and passionate moves. Our coupling is rough and quick. When we're done, I roll off her, letting her shift to her side, her back to me. I tuck her in close and breath in her scent. Right as I'm about to drift off, she stirs. She turns over. I can feel her watching me, so I crack an eye.

"Do you love your parents?" I just nod my head. "I don't. Does that make me a bad person?"

I prop myself up on an elbow, looking down at her. Running a finger along her exposed shoulder, I say, "I got lucky with my parents. They've been there for me through everything. But if yours weren't good to you, you aren't obligated to love them."

"My mam wants me to come home for Christmas."

"Do you want to go?"

"I don't know." Fancy buries her head in the pillow again. "I haven't seen them in seven years. It would be nice, but I don't know if it will turn out like she thinks it will."

"That bad?"

"They kicked me out because I wouldn't go to medical school and I haven't been back since. What would you do?"

I haven't seen my parents in six years, haven't been back to their home in ten. I'd jump at the chance to spend the holidays with them, but they've loved me from day one, so it's hard for me to answer her. I settle for,

"Can you forgive them?"

Fancy glares at me. "Are you my shrink?"

I shrug. "It's important. If you can't find it in yourself to forgive them, then you shouldn't go back. Not until you can put the past behind you."

"You're incredibly attractive when you're talking sagely. Come here," she stretches her hands out to me.

I give her a smirk. "Again?"

"Just hold me, idiot."

I pull her close to my body. She falls asleep with her head against my chest.

#romance #story time #love #opening up #freddy #writblr #writing #writer

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lucastheunlucky · 4 years

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Ease of Learning - Orion&Luke

Summary: Orion accepts a part time job at Yum!Pizzeria and meets Luke! They make food together, learn how to prep for a restaurant, and find great enjoyment in each other’s company. @3starsquinn

Set up: [text] I’m in the kitchen, just come in and on through. Bring some knives if you have them, and wear rubber soled shoes.

Lucas finally had help and he was probably a little too giddy about it. This week has been the nicest week he’s had since he was shot in the head. Almost five fucking years for him to have this, and to think people had such nice lives all the time. Lucas already had everything laid out, cleaned, and prepared, and to hopefully seal the deal with the trainee. He had taken the time to get a new white, chef’s shirt for them so it felt a little more official. It was completely a bribe, but he couldn’t help it. He could find help for the front, cashier, and waitress staff, but not in the kitchen because he always kept himself isolated. This was a huge step for Lucas. He sat down at the main station, writing out a new recipe he had worked on, not pizzeria related, but Lucas’ future fine dining restaurant that resides only in his head now. Soon. He had a photo on the wall now, a sketch of the new concept. Eventually this place will be truly his dream.

Orion only owned hunting knives, and he only kept them begrudgingly just in case the situation were to ever arise that they were needed. Luckily, Ricky was into cooking and owned some pretty decent knives, which Rio was able to borrow for the evening. He had been inside the pizza places for more times than he could keep track of. It was a local favorite and the best pizza place in town. Rio didn’t have a ton of experience with actual cooking, which made this position a bit more ideal for Rio’s situation. Pretty much the only thing his family had employed him to help with when it came to cooking was prep work. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Rio was the most detail oriented and meticulous of the Quinn family. Plus, he had good reflexes, like supernatural reflexes. He got to the door to the restaurant and knocked at it, spotting who he assumed would be his boss through the window and waving towards him. It wasn’t until the door opened that the tingling sensation shot through Rio’s body. There was a werewolf, somewhere around here. His tried to focus his hearing out for a moment, to see if he felt anybody around the place. But all he could sense was Lucas, opening the door to let Rio in. A giddy smile broke out across Rio’s face. He could only imagine the meltdown his parents would have had if they knew that he was working for a werewolf. A werewolf! Amazing. Rio happily held his hand out as an introduction. “Hey there! It’s Orion. Or Rio. Whichever you prefer. I’ve probably said this a million times already, but I really appreciate this, I can’t wait to get started.”

Lucas felt the enthusiasm immediately, and fed off of it to ease any concern. The other was a handsome younger man, with bright eyes, and Lucas felt a slight pang at how the youth held this special kind of energy. One, he probably wouldn’t have anymore now that he was in his thirties. Lucas shook his hand with a firm grip, palms rough. “Come on--” he chuckled, walking him into the pizzeria, and back in through the kitchen doors. Not a lot of people have seen this area, and Orion, well-- he will be the first person ever to work next to Lucas in the kitchen. It was a strange feeling, to let someone else into his space, but Lucas was trying with everything he had, to not let this hunter have so much control over his life. And in here, his pizzeria now that the deed was transferred-- he wanted to make a work family. “The kitchen is simple in design, we cook in a stone oven, but he have gas ovens as well for other things, that’s a smoker for the meats, and all the prep gets put in here,” he hulled open a large fridge where a bunch of empty containers usually filled with ingredients. “You know how the menu works, since I change it every day, you will have a different prep list. Which is nice, it shakes it up. So,” he pulled out the chef’s shirt and waved it between them. “Put this on, and let me see how you cut an onion.”

It was a bit surreal, following his boss behind the counter and following him to a portion of the pizza place that he had never seen before. After spending so long at the counter ordering, it seemed weird to walk behind the counter. Or maybe the weird part was that he had never had a job before and this was all new to him. Either way, it was a mixture of excitement and nerves. He nodded, familiar with the new choices every day. It was pretty easy to tell how passionate Lucas was about the place, which could only be a good thing. When Lucas pulled the chef shirt free, Orion was so excited for the chef shirt until he realized that the chef shirt was short sleeved, which meant… Oh boy. He couldn’t not wear it, right? That probably wasn’t an option. Rio stood there for a moment long before grabbing it and slipping it over his long sleeve shirt. He sighed, rolling his sleeves up to the sleeve of the chef shirt, exposing a string of scars and bruises along his arms. He immediately jumped into washing his hands and pulling one of the knives that he borrowed from Ricky out to cut the onion, hoping that they would not talk about the scars or bruises and just focus on the prepping. “So, uh my friend taught me that we cut off both ends and then cut the onion in half, take the skin off.” He spoke aloud and did the motions as he said them, trying to remember what Ricky had done while cutting them. “Once you have it in half you can just kinda… chop it” He said, cutting sections from the onion into what looked like sort of a half moon shape. “You probably need it like chopped into tiny pieces, right?”

Lucas gave Orion some space, not wanting to be all up in his area quite yet. He noticed the scars, but Lucas was also a creature riddled with them. He hated when people looked at them or asked questions he couldn’t explain about them, so he just acknowledged how hard that motion might have been for Orion, and stood calmly, with that understanding without bringing it up. “That shirt makes it feel official right?” he chuckled to keep the mood light. “Well, first-- you should sharpen your knife.” Lucas had set him up for failure, but it was a good way to remember. “Always do that step first, so you don’t cut your fingers or squish the vegetables.” He pulled out his japanese blades, with beautiful orange handles, and sharpened it quickly. “You are close, from here, lay it like this and you want to aim for about half inch pieces of onion. Unless-- I call for strips which happens sometimes, especially with the bbq pizza’s. Chop down, take your time until you get the motions, hold your fingers like this so they don’t get caught. Then you can go faster--” Lucas showed the motions at a good pace on his own board, which was actually harder cause he does it so fast all the time. “This is called a small dice-- which vegetables do you think get cut up like this?”

Orion glanced down at the shirt that Lucas had given him, “It really does. I feel pretty legit.” He smiled, thankful that his new boss hadn’t mentioned the scars. It was stupid of him to show them off anyways. “Right, right. Sorry. Of course that makes sense.” He sighed. Strike one he supposed. Though it didn’t seem to bother Lucas much. He had told Rio that he would train him how to do it properly. So this was training, and a nice, peaceful training at that. “Woah Those knives are really cool.” He stared at the design on the blades. He watched Lucas cutting the onions, clearly way more fluid than his parent had ever been with a blade. Though they had never really claimed to be great cooks. “Got it. I can do that. I mean, I can do that with practice.” Luckily for Rio, he was a pretty fast learner. “Uh..” Rio tapped his fingers against the cutting board to think of what a pizza place would use for small cuts. “Onions, obviously. Peppers, probably. Maybe like tomatoes, if you add any in your pizzas. Something like that?”

“You will get it quick, don’t worry,” Lucas smiled about the knives, they were very special to him. “They are neat right? I worked years to get a legitimate set. There are a lot of knockoffs on the market.” Lucas nodded to the few he said, and pulled out a plate that had all of them cut correctly in the varying ways he liked on a beautiful spread. “Most are sliced-- mushrooms, banana peppers, jalapeno’s, the ones cut down the side like those. Then you have the smallest, minced. That, you won’t do for a while cause it’s the hardest. But, if you practice these other cuts, I’ll show you and you can practice at home. So, using that plate as a guide-- lets prep for tomorrow.” He quickly pulled over the menu, laying it out between them. “We are doing three pizza’s, see what we need? I always label it well. Lets just get some practice in, don’t worry about making it perfect. I’ll do it with you, and if you don’t know just ask alright?.” Lucas tied an apron on, and cracked his knuckles, and got to work.

Orion liked this. It was almost relaxing, in a way that cooking had never been for him before. But Lucas was a calming presence. Patient and warm, it was a welcome change. Lucas showed off exactly what the cuts were supposed to look at and Orion tried studying each one, hoping that just staring at them long enough would make it stick in his brain. It worked for books. “Perfect. My roommate loves to cook, I’ll make sure to help prep. Get some good practice in.” Despite Lucas telling Rio not to worry about it being perfect, Rio knew that he was going to worry about it. He had always been a perfectionist. But this was the new Rio. The one that didn’t bother with the Quinn name. He could be more chill now. The new and improved Rio. He looked at the menu, “Well this sounds amazing.” Rio laughed. Maybe he’d need to stop by and pick some up for himself and his roommates. “Definitely. Please just yell at me if I’m doing anything wrong.” He joked, jumping into it as well to get started on the prepping.

For the first time in almost five years, the sound of two knives against cutting boards echoed in the kitchen. It warmed Lucas’ entire soul, in a comforting and familiar way that he used to cook in the kitchen with his family before he went into hiding. He knew, all along, he wanted this feeling back, almost desperately, but always fear hid in the back of his mind. Luring him to be hesitant. The man who captured him, tortured him-- didn’t have to infect this place. His pizzeria, and maybe in the future, something more fine in nature. He paused Rio a few times to correct how he was holding the knife, pulling his hand back on it, or fixing the rocking of the blade, but Lucas could see that the other had some kind of experience holding a blade, maybe just not cooking ones. Lucas cleaned his knives, and watched the other work for a few minutes, cherishing the moment-- hoping, he’d like it here. A soft smile twitched his lips. “Two hours have gone by ya know--” he said with a knowing sound. “Set an alarm when you are here, time-- flies when you prep, especially while alone. How are you feeling about it?” Lucas pulled out a slab of bacon, slicing down thin pieces. “You hungry? Cause for some reason, I want breakfast right now.”

Orion fell into an easy groove working next to Lucas. Every now and again Lucas would help readjust his grip on the knife or show him some trick to make the cutting easier, but it was always done with good spirits and with the best of intentions. It honestly didn’t really even feel like work. When Lucas mentioned that two hours had already gone by, Rio barely believed it. “Seriously? Woah. I didn’t even notice.” He shrugged. “I feel great. Like this is too good to be true.” Rio definitely didn’t consider himself lucky enough to deserve this. He had been so nervous about starting to work that he had practically spiraled once he accepted Lucas’ offer and Erin’s. But both places seemed really cool. “Holy crap, really? I’m always starving. Like, all the time. This is amazing.” He bounced excitedly, a grin plastered on his face. “What can I do to help?”

“Haha, same-- same,” Lucas suggested, both because he’s hungry, but also to see how Rio would do with orders shooting at him. That’s if he eventually wanted to tackle the kitchen while open then doing prep. He pointed towards the cast iron skillets. “Turn the gas on the stove to high flame, get that pan hot for me.” He sliced down the large piece of meat to create a stack of bacon for them, tossing it onto a plate, and brought it over to the stove. “If you look in the walk in fridge, there are eggs in there, and cheese of course,” Lucas couldn’t help it, he loved cheese sprinkled on his eggs since he was a little boy. The pan heated up quick, and Lucas put the bacon in it, the sizzle immediate. He flipped on the hood, the smoke traveling up and out of the small space, and smell-- it was already to die for. “Crack those eggs for us, put them all in a bowl. I can eat six eggs-- if you can believe it. Haha. I haven't had dinner yet, so it needs to stick. Cube some butter from there,” he pointed, “and dice up some scallions. Don’t salt anything yet--”

Hoping not too screw anything up, Orion made a mental list of what he needed to do. He started with the oven, flipping it on high and grabbing a pan to start heating it up. He then slid over to the ginormous fridge and slid inside of it, searching around for a long minute until he hunted down the eggs and cheese, grabbing a carton of eggs and a few separate bags of cheese, “I wasn’t sure which kind of cheese you preferred so I grabbed… all of it. I can eat literally anything.” He set the eggs and cheese down on one of the counters and took in the smell of the bacon. Amazing. He laughed at Lucas, popping the carton of eggs open and pulling eggs out one at a time, cracking them into the bowl and putting the empty shell back into the carton for the moment. He wondered if large appetites came with Werewolf territory? Hunters tended to have a bigger appetite than regular humans, because they had to give energy for the heightened senses and strength. It was only logical that werewolves would be similar. After cracking all the eggs, he hunted down the butter next, starting to cube it before asking, “How much should I cut? Like a whole stick? He probably should know something like that, if he was an actual adult that cooked ever. After he cut those, scallions would be next. “Do you cook here a lot on your own time too? Or do you have your own fancy set up where you live?”

“No, about four tablespoons or four decent slices,” Lucas peered over at Orion working hard, making sure everything was right, and taking the time to find the right ingredients. A blossom of pride filled the wolf, and a kind smile surfaced while he flipped the bacon in the cast iron. “Make sure you separate the tops and bottoms of the scallions.” He didn’t even peer over at the stuff being prepared, accepting however he did them in a show of trust. “I, heh,” Lucas never bragged or boasted about himself, he always got a little shy over stuff which is why in high school no one really knew he wasn’t just a football player, but also a huge science club nerd. “I actually have training in fine dining if you can believe it. I also have been studying authentic Chinese cuisine for about five years now. My home set up isn’t as nice as this, so I do tend to cook here if I can. I experiment a lot, I want to have a really nice place eventually.” He reached for the eggs, pushing the bacon to one side of the pan to let the fat heat and coat the pan before tossing the eggs in. With a pair of chopsticks he grabbed each cube of butter, folding it into the eggs as he broke the yolks and let it all cook in bacon fat with gentle motions to fold them into stacks. “Get a small pan, heat a little oil, and toss those white scallions into the pan, keep them moving so they don’t burn. Hey, those don’t look too bad.” He complimented on the scallions. “Then get plates, this will be one in two minutes.”

Orion followed the boss’ instructions for the butter and passed it off to him when he began working on the scallions. Unsure exactly what to do with them, he resorted to cheating a bit, if this were some sort of graded test at least. He pulled a video up on his phone, watching a few seconds of it before following them himself, cutting up some not perfect, but decent scallions. “Chinese cuisine?? That’s so cool! You know back in the Zhou dynasty rice was considered a luxury. It was insanely priced and only the richest classes could afford to eat it. It’s crazy to think about that, since rice is such a common staple in so many cultures nowadays.” He rattled off, immediately happy to have something to talk about. Even if it was nerdy. “I think it’s really cool that you have this space. It’s easy to tell how much you care about it.” Orion grabbed a small pan and took a minute to hunt down the oil, pouring it into the pan and setting it on the stovetop. “Thanks! Full disclosure, I totally googled it to find out how to cut them correctly.” He laughed, outing himself and finally tossing the scallions in the pan, pushing them around in the pan. This was how people kept them from burning, right? After a minute, Rio followed Lucas’ directions and went to grab plates, “This smells amazing”

Lucas actually didn’t know that bit of information, and he’d have to remember it. “My neighbor has all these old family recipes, none of her family is here in the states, and she filled my head with them so they’d not be lost. If you really want some good cooking though, she is the one to stand next too, she’s got that grandma energy-- and love in all her food.” When he disclosed he googled it Lucas couldn’t even fault him. “I get it, just watch your phone in here, I have lost many of mine in a bowl of tomato sauce by accident.” Lucas placed the bacon, and eggs on the plates, taking the warm scallons to sprinkle on the side. The slices of the green parts of the scallions he mined quickly with his knife, then sprinkled it on top with a crackle of salt and pepper, and a dash of cayenne powder. “There,” he wiped the edges, and picked both plates up and moved them over to a table in the corner. Setting them down, he grabbed forks, and a water for them, and pulled his chef shirt off, tucking it on the back of the chair. He waited for Rio to sit before he did, and settled. “I’m sure you will be busy with everything, but know this place doesn’t need to be stressful. Even if you can only work two hours that’s enough to get me by. So-- thank you, for wanting to try it out.”

It looks like they had wrapped up for the night. Or at least to eat.Orion followed Lucas’ example, taking the chef shirt off and rolling his sleeves back down. He instantly felt better with his arms covered again. “Your neighbor sounds great, that’s nice of her to share the knowledge.” Obviously, Rio was a fan of sharing knowledge. He wasn’t sure who would major in history that didn’t like sharing information with others. Plus the whole Scribe thing. He slid into the empty chair at the table and took a long drink from the water. He had been so preoccupied with the prepping that he hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was. With the oven on, the place got pretty hot. “Of course. Well, again I really appreciate the flexibility. I want to help out as much as I can, and hopefully make your life a little easier.” It honestly seemed too good to be true. A boss that wanted him to work at his own pace and understood that he had a life outside of work. But this wasn’t the time for sappy admissions, it was food time. Rio used his fork to stab a large portion of the eggs and stuff them into his mouth. “Holy” He started saying, but stopped himself so he could finish chewing the food he had in his mouth. “This is amazing, holy crap. You’re like a food wizard.” He laughed once he was done chewing and right before inhaling another bite.

“Food wizard--” he repeated with a breathless chuckle, diving into his own meal. Highly amused, but Lucas always, enjoyed watching people eat his food, the way it lit up their face. The shock, the joy, the savoring. All good emotions and a moment of calm for anyone. They always settled down, sat, leaned, or just stopped worrying about their lives when they ate something he made. It was peaceful, and joyous, and it was why Luke wanted to be a chef. He seemed like a good guy, he hoped his life was okay, not too stressful, filled with more fun than pain. Maybe here could be enough of an oasis, it’s always been for him. “Text me when you are working, and I’ll work around it. I’m very flexible, and if we need to close for a day of scheduling it’s okay. Also, don’t forget, every once in a while we have that gross pizza challenge night. You should bring some friends next time, or, if you wanted to make up some bad concoctions for people, you can help me.”

Orion kept stuffing the food in his mouth as he listen to Lucas. He tried slowing himself down a little. He had spent so much time eating alone in the Scribe headquarters that he had sorta forgotten about manners. Plus he wanted to savor the taste and enjoy the food that he was eating instead of scarfing it all down in a single sitting. “Sure, of course. I can- whatever you need. If you ever need me to come in some night or another time just let me know and I’ll work around it as best I can.” He laughed, remembering the gross pizza challenge but never coming for it. “I think of at least three people that would very willingly come to that challenge. I’ll make sure to bring them along next time.” It felt weird even to him, saying that he had three friends. “I’ll definitely start brainstorming some ideas for that, it sounds fun I can’t believe I’ve never been to one.”

“Awesome, please do, not that I run out of many, most people have requests now after their friends fail some combination,” Luke continued to fill Orion in on the business, where things are, and how long things should take. Showing the times and the organized boards where the information was just in case he needed it. The night didn’t always move so quickly, so easily. But having another person here was already making the space feel like a real kitchen. One, that maybe someday could have two, three chefs in it.

#x: orion #x: ease of learning #{its soft :) }

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ilovereadingandilovebreathing · 5 years

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Uh....Mom?

Mother’s Day is a tricky occasion for Sal Fisher.

Warnings for mention of parent death, crying, mourning, anxiety, and mention of mild injury. Sprinkles of fluff with a dash of angst and hurt/comfort. Happy ending(ish. As happy as you can be here, I guess.)

Sorry that formatting does whatever the hell it wants where paragraph spacing is concerned 🙄

It was a sunny Friday afternoon in Knockfell, but Sal Fisher’s hunched shoulders and slow trod could snuff out the brightest light that day. He shuffled toward the school doors, usually as hopped up as anyone else to be free for the weekend, but the anxious dread swirling in his gut flushed out the typical weekend excitement.

“Hey, Sal!”

Sally stopped and turned slightly as his best friend reached his side, a wide grin on his lips. “You ready for a weekend of fun, just the two of us, all weekend long?!”

“But, Larry-“

“No excuses this time, dude. We’re gonna beat all 7 levels of-“

“It’s Mother’s Day weekend.”

Larry swallowed his words and froze, staring at Sal in unfiltered horror. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit I can’t forget AGAIN. I forgot last year, and- Aw, MAN. I was so ready for a fun weekend....”

“We can still have fun tomorrow?”

“Nah. I promised Mom I would spend the whole Mother’s Day weekend with her this year since I forgot last year. Dammit. Ah well, we’ll have to settle for chick flicks, but if we fall asleep next to her instead of on top of her, she won’t get as annoyed.”

“We?”

Larry paled just a shade. “W-well since...you know...I thought you might be okay with hanging out with us this year. Henry usually just works anyway, right?”

“Right...”

“So you’re in? Please? You don’t have to help with chores or anything, of course, since she’s not really your mom, but you can keep me company. Pleeeease?”

Something about that stung more than Sal expected. Sal had mourned his birth mother a long time ago, and sometimes the old pains flared up, but...that wasn’t what made his heart stutter and a frown pull at his lips.

“Plus, we’re moving out for college next year, so who knows if we’ll be back!”

“We’re not moving far, Larry.”

“But who knows how busy we’ll be!”

“Fine. Okay. Not like I have anything better to do.”

“Sweeeet! Thanks, Sally Bro. First order of business is to stop by the store for some chocolate. Thankfully, Mom hates cut flowers, so we don’t have to worry about those.” Larry continued to chatter idly beside him, finally noticing Sal’s quiet amid his Mother’s Day planning when they were in the candy aisle of their local market. “Hey,” Larry’s voice suddenly softened, and Sal’s gaze jerked toward him. “If you’re not comfortable being around us this weekend, it’s okay. I understand.”

“N-no. It’s not that. I’d much rather be with you guys than home alone....”

“So....?”

“I, um. Have something....for Lisa.” Larry stopped scanning the shelves and glanced toward Sal with quirked brows.

“Go on.”

“I just....you know....my mom....and Lisa’s been so great since I met her. The keycard when I first came, indirectly introducing us, taking care of me when I was sick-“

“A joint effort, I might add.”

“Right.” Sal sobered from the emotional hysterics he was climbing toward. “I just....I know she’s your mom, Larry; she didn’t actually give birth to me or anything, but she’s just been so good to me-“

“Sally. Dude. Breathe.” Larry put a grounding hand on his shoulder. “You know she loves you, sometimes more than me.” They both chuckled, remembering the countless messes Sal had sweetly cleaned up in Larry’s place. “She wouldn’t think it’s weird at all. I mean, you’re in our family photos, for crying out loud!” Larry chuckled. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother, dude, and the closest thing she’s had to a second child. Don’t freak.”

“...And...you’re okay with it?”

“Absolutely, dude.” Larry smiled one of his rare warm, sincere smiles before turning back to the sweets.

“So, what do you think: malt balls with chocolate or just plain chocolate?”

“Mom, we’re home!” Larry threw open his front door with a flourish and sauntered into the room toting the card and chocolate he and Sal had picked out.

“Welcome home, boys!” Lisa smiled from the couch as she reclined with an ice pack on each of her shins.

Sal’s heart leaped into his throat, and he rushed over to her. “Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, sweetheart; don’t worry.” She smiled at him and sighed, rolling her eyes. “One of those punky little new kids on the 3rd floor thought it would be funny to push my rolling mop bucket toward me as hard as he could. I wasn’t paying attention, and it did a number on my shins. Just a little bruising, though.” She patted his arm when she registered the gleam in his eye and the slight tremor in his hands. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll get those assholes later.” Larry interjected with a bite. “But first, gifts!” He thrust the bag toward his mom, and she clapped her hands together. “Mother’s Day weekend has begun!”

“Ah, so you remembered this year?” Lisa teased lightly, winking at Larry’s pout. “I’m kidding, Lar-Bear. Thank you.”

“No problemo!” Larry puffed up profoundly as he deposited the gift in his mom’s lap. She ooed and ahhed and gushed appropriately at the (grocery store) fancy chocolates and gardening magazines the boys had picked out. “Thank you, baby; you know me well.”

“Sal helped!”

“Thank you, too, Sally.”

Sal nodded, and Larry jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Not to make a happy celebration into an awkward moment, but...”

“Go!” Lisa commanded while patting for Sal to make himself comfortable beside her. “How was your day, bud?”

“It was okay. A Friday. You know. School.” Sal fidgeted, and Lisa pretended not to notice.

“The typical spiel, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Sal took a breath and plunged his hand into his backpack, whipping out a slightly bent envelope and shyly sliding it onto Lisa’s lap.

“What’s this?” She smiled warmly and tore open the paper, her eyes instantly catching the hand drawn design on the front. “Look at this! This is beautiful, Sally! You’re so talented!

“Ash and Larry are great teachers.” Sal muttered modestly; his fidgeting increased in intensity, and he glanced toward the bathroom door. Lisa took the hint easily. She flipped open the card and read silently, tears welling in her eyes as she went; she reached out an arm in silent invitation, and Sal readily collapsed into her side, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her shoulder. He felt his prosthetic hit her collar bone, so he took a deep breath and sat back up. He carefully unstrapped the piece and laid it on the coffee table, and then he shifted back against Lisa’s side, more comfortably resting against her shoulder now.

“Thank you, baby. I love you, too.” Lisa turned her head and placed a soft but lasting kiss to the top of his head; she set down the card and pulled him fully into her arms when she felt him trembling. She squeezed tighter when she felt the first sob wrack through his body. “Oh, honey.” She whispered and ran her left hand up and down his spine. “I know. I know. It’s hard for me, too.”

“Mmm?” Sal hiccuped against her shoulder and nestled his face there, guilt nipping at him as the tears slid down his cheeks. He didn’t deserve her comfort, but he couldn’t give it up.

“It’s been 19 years, and it’s still hard sometimes. It’s true what they say. It’s like a scar or an old ache. It’s not constant, and it usually fades over time, but losing a parent, especially too early, is always hard.”

“I....I feel like I never stopped mourning her, but I also don’t feel like I deserve to stop mourning her.” Sal choked out, pitiful whimpers bubbling out of him as Lisa rocked them gently. “Because....it was just so...horrible! And I just....I feel so guilty.” He admitted quietly. “I don’t....after what happened...it was so horrible, and I feel so guilty for moving on. For calling anyone else ‘mom,’ after how much she loved me and suffered at the end. I don’t feel like I deserve anything else!”

“That’s not true.”

Sal jumped a bit in Lisa’s embrace, not having noticed Larry’s return.

“Your mom loved you, and she’d want you to be happy, even if that means saying that you have two moms and not just one. She’s your birth mom and the one who raised you, but my mom is no less your mom because of biology or circumstance.” Larry crosses to the couch and sat on Lisa’s other side, looking Sal straight in the eye. “I’ll happily share her with you, no strings attached, so you shouldn’t feel guilty. I think your mom would be okay just knowing that her son is taken care of.”

“Well said, Lar-bear.” Lisa released one of her arms from around Sal and pulled her son against her side in a hug.

“I’m not super huggy, so you can have as many of those as you want.” Larry shot his mom an apologetic grin as he wiggled out from under her arm.

“Works for me.” Lisa joked, fully holding Sal again and leaning her cheek against the crown of his head, humming and still rocking him slightly as his sobs died down. “Sal’s more snuggly than you anyway.”

Larry scoffed. “I give great gifts, though.”

Larry and Lisa chuckled at the indignant grunt from Lisa’s chest. “I helped.”

“True, but I paid.”

Sally grunted again and tried to burrow into Lisa’s hold, suddenly shy now that the emotions had worn him out. “I....I know that you and my dad....are kind of seriously now. And it’s okay. If you guys...get together for real.” He quirked a sincere smile up toward her. “But... I probably won’t ever call you ‘mom,’” Sal whispered, and two hearts ached at the timidity in his tone. “I just...can’t.”

“Oh, baby, that’s perfectly fine! Lisa works just as well.” Lisa squeezed him against her and slid a hand under his chin to coax him to look up at her. “You call me whatever makes you comfortable, okay?”

“Thank you.” Sal shuddered as the last bits of pain moved through him, and he sighed, letting his exhausted body go limp in Lisa’s arms.

“This calls for a movie night distraction.” Larry cut in, hopping up to peruse their choices. “Comedy sound good?”

“Perfect.”

“Yeah, no more tears tonight, please.” Sally snorted lightly and shifted to face forward, leaning his head back against Lisa’s shoulder as Larry made a movie choice.

“Really. Thank you, Lisa.” Sal whispered toward her ear. “For everything.”

“Absolutely, Sally.” Lisa smiled and pressed a kiss to his discolored cheek. “It’s what moms do.”

#sally face #sally face fic #sally face fanfic #sally face fanfiction #sal fisher #lisa johnson #larry johnson #TAKE MY EMOTIONS BYE #mine #sffanfics

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

Text

Picture of Youth - Roman Godfrey

Title: Picture of Youth

Description: A couple chance encounters with the notorious Roman Godfrey can cause a lot of pain or pleasure, depending on how you look at him.

Warnings: 18+ smut/swearing/violence/mentions of blood/emotional abuse

All throughout school, Roman Godfrey had been a pinnacle of attention, desire, and mockery. I grew up in the same town as him- a town his family practically owned. We attended the same elementary school and later on, the same high school so I got to see all of the bouts of drama, the way he always got himself out of doing detention and most of the fights. Other kids weren't sure how to act around him because he had nicer clothes and more expensive things than the majority of our classmates. I remember a day in Autumn when a group of boys started pushing him around outside on the playground. I was nearby with my friends, hanging out in our usual spot underneath the oak trees. The heckling started to grow more audible and by the time we had made our curious ways over, a punch had been thrown. I didn't see much of what happened before a crowd gathered but I did see the aftermath of it all, one kid came away with a swollen, busted lip and Roman with a deep cut on his cheek that was trickling blood all the way down to his neck. Nobody really bothered to see if Roman was alright because he wasn't crying and didn't appear to be all that bothered that he was bleeding. He simply wiped the blood off onto his designer coat and carried on as though nothing happened, that was until the lunch period ended and everyone had gone back to their afternoon classes. That was when he got called down to the Principal's office and everyone in class hooted as he stood up from his desk and stalked off to the front of the building. But once we all started to grow up, not many people messed with Roman. They were too afraid of what he might be able to do with his family's money. He got away with smoking cigarettes on school property because he was able to charm all of the female teachers and the male teachers respected his father too much to send him away with anything but a light warning. He started dating, or rather, fucking girls and I got to hear all about it in the gymnasium locker room. "Did you know that Rosalie got caught giving Roman Godfrey a blowjob in the janitor's closet?" "I heard that he hooked up with Taylor and started choking her until she turned blue. She told me in homeroom that he went absolutely psycho and wouldn't let her leave." "What the fuck is up with that guy, anyway?" To me, Roman seemed like a regular person who just so happened to be born in the right place at the right time. He mostly kept to himself and once the senior year came I saw less and less of him, not that I was paying him any mind anyway since I had been dating my high school boyfriend Zack for nearly a year and spent most of my time with him or my best friends. It wasn't until another clear, crisp Autumn day that Roman swaggered into my life to cause chaos in that artistically subtle way that was all his own. I had an advanced photography class and we were already beginning to put together our portfolios for the final projects. We were able to take cameras from class outside and photograph things around the school premises. I had gone off on my own to try to find the best subjects to shoot before anyone else caught wind of them. My journeying brought me to the school's race track and that was when I saw Roman sitting high on the bleachers wrapped in a gray wool coat, puffing away on a cigarette. I had no intentions of saying anything to him but as I walked by he whistled. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I looked up at where he was perched at the top of the bleachers. He stood up and used his long slender legs to descend the rows two-by-two. "Hey." He said once he jumped down onto the gravel walkway. "Hey, Roman. What's up?" "Nothing." He said, looking off into the distance as though there was something else catching his attention. "Okay," I chuckled. "Cool." "You're in my photography class right?" He asked with a nod towards the SLR camera I had in my hands. With another laugh, I replied, "Well, yeah. I'm in the class but you're never there." He took one more drag on his cigarette and flicked it away using his thumb and middle finger. "Yeah, I guess not." "So, why do you hang around school if you don't go to class?" I pried. He shrugged his broad shoulders, eyes flickering from me to the camera and back to me again. "Don't know. Something to do." "It's your last year, why not take your classes?" "Seems a little pointless... For me, anyway. I have a job lined up already that's going to pay better than anything a diploma can get me." I quirked a small smile at him and sighed. It had been the longest we had ever spoken to one another and I was quickly running out of things to say to him. I found it odd that he had even struck up a conversation with me, to begin with. I hadn't really spoken to him at all since elementary school and when I thought about that it seemed like a hundred years ago. "So, what are you shooting?" "Oh, um," I looked down at the little display screen on the back of my camera. "I'm just shooting for my portfolio. We need a landscape, a macro shot, a portrait, and a still life. I only have the landscape and portrait left to do." "Let's see," he nodded towards the camera. Although I still thought it strange he was interested in talking to me, I decided to entertain him anyway by showing him everything I had done up until that point. He towered over me and watched the screen as I scrolled through the photos, nodding and hardly cracking a smile. "You're pretty good. Are you going to pursue anything in photography after high school?" He asked. "I'm leaning more towards the graphic design realm. I guess that can tie in heavily with photography." He nodded again if not to display interest than to acknowledge he was listening. "Maybe if you get really good I'll hire you at my company." "Yeah, right," I said with a laugh. "What, you don't think you're good enough?" "It's not that... I just... I don't know. We haven't even spoken to each other since elementary school." "So what?" "Well, if I do get good, I'll send you a resume." Roman shoved his hands into the pockets of his wool coat. I took a moment to just look at him. I really hadn't seen much of him at all for most of the first semester of school and he looked a lot different than I had remembered. He was the same really, but different. His hair was all slicked back stylishly, complimenting the way he dressed in that well-put-together way. He still had those mad green eyes that you could see staring at you from yards away. I also noticed the scar he had on his cheek from that day in elementary school when he had gotten into that fight with some other boys. Roman cocked his head at me after it became obvious I was staring. "What?" he asked me, smiling for the first time during our conversation. "This might be a weird question but... Can I take your picture? I still have to do a portrait shot and I would rather not make it a self-portrait." "Is that what everyone else is doing?" I shrugged. "I'm not sure." Roman pondered for a moment and then nodded his head. "Yeah, you can take my picture. I'm overdue for some new headshots." "Awesome!" "Where would you like me?" He inquired. "Hm. Perhaps just sit down on the bleachers. I'm going to take some close up so just try to act natural." "Oh, I can act natural," Roman assured me. He sat down a couple rows up on the bleachers and I followed, keeping a distance of one bench so I wasn't right up in his face. After I adjusted the camera settings I began to snap pictures of him. He looked forward into the distance towards the school with an intensity in his eyes that made him look like a real model. The way his brow bone angled and his lips fell open ever so slightly made him look portending and more intimidating than usual. "Look at the camera," I directed him. Roman turn his body towards where I was standing and glowered into the camera lens. The lineaments of his face were actually quite striking and it wasn't until I turned the lens and zoomed in on his face that I realized that Roman was actually quite handsome in a totally unique way. He had such full lips and a charming nose that turned up just the right amount. Not to mention he had godly carved cheekbones and the way his eyes settled on the camera in a way that just wasn't quite right was all the more endearing. His bow-shaped ears only lent to his profile. All in all, Roman was an easy subject to photograph. "How's it look?" He asked after I had taken about two dozen pictures of him without stopping. "Looks great." "Well, thank you." "Thanks, Roman." "You're welcome." "I should probably start heading back. We only get half an hour out here and I don't want to get in shit." "Alright. See you another time." He said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. I waved goodbye to him and slowly made my way back to class, satisfied with what I had done. I hoped that my teacher wouldn't make mention that my subject was a student well known for absenteeism but I didn't give it much more thought than that for a while.

~*~

"Babe..." I was working away on my desktop computer, finishing my write-ups for my photography portfolio and arranging them into the digital format for submission. All of our photos had to be a precise size and come with a two hundred word write up for each piece. I was nearly finished and just wanted to get my homework over with so I didn't have to worry about it for the rest of the week. My last submission was the photo I had taken of Roman Godfrey that I thought would make a great addition and fit the requirement perfectly. However, I was struggling with the write up seeing as I couldn't find anything impressively deep to say about the premise behind the picture. I was outside. I saw Roman Godfrey. I took his picture. He's really tall and smells like cigarettes. Shaking my head, I backspaced it all. "Babe!" I whipped around and saw my boyfriend laying on his stomach on my bed. He must have been trying to get my attention because his eyes were wide with expectancy. "Yes?" I asked. "Why the fuck have you been staring at a picture of Godfrey for like an hour?" He questioned. Scoffing, I answered. "I'm not staring at it. I'm doing a write-up. It's part of my portfolio project for photography." "Yeah but... Why Roman Godfrey? How do you even know that douche?" I rolled my eyes. "I don't know, he was just there. I had to take a stupid picture of somebody and he was just there." "Fucking hate that guy." I shrugged my shoulders as I looked back to my computer monitor. "He's not that bad." "Pfft," he spat. "Fuck that guy. Such a faggot." "You know... You really shouldn't just throw that word around. It's really insulting." "It's insulting that you haven't spent any time with me so far because you've been too busy looking at that shit." "My project isn't shit. Why the fuck are you being so rude?" He pushed himself up and sat up cross-legged on the bed. "I'm fucking bored. Let's bang or something fun." "No. My parents are both home." "So? We've done stuff here before when they were home." "Yeah but, I don't want to keep risking it. My mom likes to just walk in all the time." "Fine." He groaned. A few more minutes of silence passed by before he piped up again. "Will you just give me a blowjob? I'll be super quick." "No. Let me just finish up my project." "Wow. You're being a huge bitch," he said as he stood up from my bed and headed towards my bedroom door. "You would rather look at pictures you took of some random guy than do stuff with your own boyfriend?" "You're not exactly making it tempting by calling my project shit and saying stupid things." "Whatever. I'll just bounce then." "Fine."

~*~

It was lunch period and I was outside with a bunch of my friends in the smoker's pit behind the school. I didn't smoke much myself but I did like to hang out with my friends who did and there was only one legal spot for people to smoke at school and it was behind a mangled fence that separated school property from everything else. As long as students smoked behind the chain-link fence they wouldn't get in trouble from the teachers or vice principals. I was standing in a circle of my friends and Zack was beside me. We were all talking among ourselves when he looked over and saw Roman leaving the back doors of the school heading towards the smoker's pit. Once he was behind the fence he lit the cigarette that had been dangling from between his lips. I saw my boyfriend bristle at the sight of him and it wasn't long before he cut through our circle and approached Roman. "Hey, Godfrey. Got a smoke?" I heard him ask. Roman looked to each side of him and then back at him with a similar stare on his face as the one I had photographed. That insolent glare that made for a great photograph was being used against my boyfriend and I started to get worried. For some unknown reason, he had been starting to act really obnoxious and boorish, picking fights all the time with me and treating people like they were beneath him and now he was picking a fight with Roman. "Does it look like I have an extra cigarette?" Roman asked rhetorically. "Aren't you rich?" "Yeah. So what? You think just 'cause I have money I'm going to give my shit away to little fuckbags like you?" Zack slapped the cigarette out of Roman's hand before it reached his lips, causing sparks to fly. He used both of his hands to shove Roman backward but he caught his footing. As soon as everyone around noticed an altercation was about to take place, all eyes were on them. Roman ground his teeth together and took the step forward to get back in Zack's face, eyes blazing with anger. "Come on, bitch. Hit me. Throw a punch!" Zack egged him on. "Hey!" I yelled as I pushed through the people who were already starting to flock towards the two guys. "Zack, what the fuck? Just stop." "Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Zack. You do not want to fucking go there." Roman's voice was deep and dark and I could tell Zack was already losing his momentum. "Fuck you, Godfrey. Why the fuck do you even hang around here anyway? Nobody likes you." Roman said absolutely nothing as he grabbed for his pack of cigarettes and made a show of pulling another one out of the row, eyes unflinching with no signs of backing down. I grabbed Zack's arm but he jerked away from me. "Zack. Come on." "Hit him!" Somebody yelled from the crowd. "Zack! Let's. Go." I pulled on him again. He knew that Roman was not going to back off and as much as he talked a big game, Zack was no fighter. I knew he was still angry about the photographs and that was the only reason why he had instigated the encounter. After I tugged on him once more he conceded and stepped away from Roman. "You better think about who the fuck you're talking to when you run your bitch mouth," Roman spoke up as I hauled Zack away. Things only got much worse from there. After that day, Zack had taken a liking in fighting with people for no reason. Mostly it was me and when I started to have enough of his new shitty attitude he took to arguing with me over text messages when I refused to hang out with him. Things started going South for us really quickly and it even got to the point where I told him we should take some time apart. I hated mindless bullying and that's all that he was doing to me and nearly every other person he came into contact with. Zack refused to leave me be and decided to try to make it up to me by asking me out on a date for my birthday. He apologized profusely and promised that he would stop lashing out at everyone, especially me, that he was just stressed about getting into University and all the pressure was building up inside of him. With promises of a really nice time, I accepted his peace offering and went out with him on the evening of my birthday to have dinner and go to a movie. Everything had gone quite well and I was feeling hopeful that Zack was back to normal and we could pick up from where we left off. He had been gentlemanly and gave me a handmade card that he had written his own poetry in. I was happy again and we held hands for most of the movie. It wasn't until the drive home that I got to see the side of him that I was growing to detest again. Zack's dad's car started sputtering and lurching as we drove down the road towards home. He hit the steering wheel as though the nudge would get the car to kick back in but the cab started rumbling violently. I held onto my seat as we shook and started to panic. "Shit! My dad's going to fucking KILL me if this car fucks off on me!" I didn't have anything productive to offer him because I knew nothing about cars. and the longer we drove the harder the car began to rock and screech. "Maybe we should pull over?" I suggested. "I need to get this piece of shit back home." Steam started rising from underneath the car's hood and Zack's knuckles turned white as he gripped the wheel and urged the vehicle to stop being a pain in the ass. "Zack, come on. Just pull over. I'll call my dad and he can come out to get us." "I'm not leaving my fucking car on the side of the road, damn it!" He yelled. I flinched from his outburst. He had never been so aggressive before and when I looked over at him I felt a bubble of distaste start to rise in my throat. "Just pull over!" I yelled back. Zack yanked the wheel to the side and we swerved onto the gravel shoulder so fast I thought we would go crashing into the guardrail. Once he slammed on the brakes and turned the engine off I got out of the car and circled around to the steaming hood. "Fucking piece of shit car," Zack muttered under his breath. He lifted the hood and a cloud of smoke rose up and stung him in the eyes. I stepped up beside him to take a look in the car once the smoke dissipated but he pushed me aside with his hip. "Move. You don't know shit about cars so just stay out of the way." "You know, you've been a real asshole lately. I'm getting pretty sick and tired of it," I told him. "And you have been a pain in the fucking ass the whole night." I shook my head simply because I couldn't think of what else to say to him. The night air was starting to chill me and as Zack began tinkering around under the hood I made a split second decision that I knew I would probably regret. I just couldn't take being around him anymore. "Fuck you, Zack. I'm done." I stated. "Don't even bother trying to text or call me." Once I started walking down the shoulder, pebbles crunching beneath my platform wedges, Zack called out to me. "Whatever, bitch! You're a six on your best day!" It took a lot out of me not to turn around and go at Zack with my fists flying but the urge to put as much space between myself and him won the battle. I continued down the road and ignored his hollering. The walk home was going to be at least half an hour and in the shoes I chose to wear on our date, I figured it could take even longer. It was dark and getting cooler and the road was only flanked by massive thickets of trees. I got over a hill and the darkness became uninterrupted. There weren't any streetlights on the back roads but there were plenty of crickets chirping and sounds of rodents rushing through the bushes as I walked by, struggling not to stagger in my shoes. If anyone had asked me I would have told them I wasn't scared but the further I walked the more my feet started to ache and the more I regretted leaving the comfort of Zack's dad's piece of shit sedan that he treated just as well as he treated me. The more I thought about Zack the more certain I became that he wasn't right for me. When we had first gotten together he was sweet and kind to me. It was easy for him to charm me with his boyish good looks and his dirty blonde hair. Despite the fact that he had rude friends, he didn't quite fit the same mold as they did. He was quieter and reserved but the more I got to know him and the more he hung out around his basketball buddies, the more he began to adopt their shit personality traits. I started to feel tears welling up behind my eyes when I remembered he had called me a six on my best day. I knew he was trying to say whatever he could to hurt my feelings and that it wasn't something to worry over too much but when I thought about all of the time I had wasted with him, it did start to ache in my chest. I whimpered the farther I walked and felt my calves start to shake and tense as I ascended another steep hill. I couldn't take my shoes off unless I wanted to tiptoe over rocks and broken glass. Once I reached the crest of the hill I stopped to catch my breath. Rummaging through my purse, I found my cell phone and held it in the palm of my hand. I knew I could call my parents to come to get me but it was late and the thought of phoning and waking them up didn't sit right in my stomach, then I would have to explain the whole situation with Zack and that was something I wasn't ready to do. Before I pressed the button to start calling my dad's phone I noticed a car coming in the distance. I didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to myself so I held my phone behind my back and continued walking, taking extra care as I descended the other side of the hill. The closer the vehicle came the more detail I could make out and once it coasted down the road with its lights illuminating everything around it I noticed it was a dainty red Jaguar and there was only one person I knew that drove that car. At first, I thought he was going to drive right by me but he slowed down once he saw me, braked and came to a stop on the road. I saw Roman's concerned look when he rolled his window down. "What are you doing?" Roman asked me. "Uh. I'm walking home." "In those shoes?" He pointed the lit end of his cigarette at my feet. "I don't know, I guess so." "Where's your boyfriend?" "A little down the road." Roman nodded his head in contemplation then took a drag of his cigarette. A light gust of wind swept around me and set the hem of my dress to floating up around my thighs. My skin prickled with the chill and Roman sighed. "Get in." "It's okay. I don't live too far." "Get. In." "Okay." I circled around his car and got in the passenger side. Once I was enveloped in the warmth, a shiver trickled down my spine. Roman stared me down, eyes staring at mine and then trailing down the bodice of my dress down to the skirt and further down my legs. "You look really nice," he said, raising his eyebrows with sincerity. "Thanks. It's my birthday." "It's your fucking birthday?" I sighed and nodded my head. "Yeah." "What a way to celebrate your birthday," he said as he shifted gears and took off. "Um..." I got his attention. "My place is the other way." Roman turned his head and flashed me a dastardly smile. "I know." "Oh." "You don't want to end your night on a shitty note, do you?" "I guess not." "Well... Do you want to go home or do you want to come have some fun with me?" His question didn't beg answer but I nodded my head anyway and he nodded his back. I saw Zack with his head still stuck under the hood of his smoking car as we zipped by while Roman laid on the horn. I felt a small tickle of guilt but I couldn't help but laugh when Roman did. We were going too fast for me to see any of Zack's reaction but I knew that if he had noticed the red Jaguar he would know exactly who was honking at him. It wasn't long before we came up to Roman's enormous house and parked in the driveway. The estate was even bigger than people said it was. I had never seen it before except for when some kids in my history class searched it on Google Maps a couple of years ago but even that didn't do it justice. There were no other cars in the driveway and the house seemed devoid of people. I didn't manage to get a good look at the interior as I followed Roman up the spiraling steps to his room but I could see that the house was immaculate and beautifully decorated. I would have liked to look around more but he seemed eager for me to follow him. He shut the door of his bedroom after we entered and I only had a moment to take it in before he approached me. "You want something? A drink? It is your birthday after all. We should celebrate." "That's okay. I'm not a big drinker." Roman drew closer to me and his stare intensified. I felt a blush creep across my cheeks because I knew that he had brought me there for one reason. When I smiled I think he took it as a green light because he leaned over and kissed me hard. It was hard not to sigh into his mouth. Roman's lips felt so good and I knew I wanted the attention of the mysterious rich boy that everyone seemed to have an opinion about. The thing about Roman was that even though we were the same age, he seemed so much older and more experienced than anyone I knew. I supposed that came with all of the money and life experiences he must have had but there were other things about him that made it feel like he just had more in his repertoire than any guy I had ever been with, which had only been two up until then. First of all, he definitely knew how to kiss. It was downright poetic how he dragged his lips over mine, gradually working my mouth open so he could touch my tongue with his. He didn't breathe too hard into my mouth nor did he shove his tongue passed my teeth immediately. It was gentle and delicious, teeming with passion and a fierce lust that no guy had ever displayed for me before. When he pulled back I looked at him and couldn't help but soften. I remembered going through all of the pictures I had taken of him and how I had secretly remarked that the more I stared at each shot, the more strikingly handsome he seemed to me and with him standing right there, lips moist from kissing me, I felt my crush on him begin to deepen. "You want to fuck me, right?" He asked. "Um... Sure." "Sure is not an answer. It's either yes or no. Yes means I'm going to spend the night between those nice legs of yours and no means we can have a drink and a smoke, then I'll take you back home." "Yes." "Good. I was hoping you would say that." Roman said as he knelt down in front of me, letting his hands run up my calves to the backs of my knees and further up my skirt to my underwear. He spent some time rubbing my legs, getting up close so he could kiss my inner thighs. He disappeared beneath my dress and even though I could feel him, I still wanted to see him too. I lifted the edge of my dress and watched as he laid those gorgeously full lips over my skin with tenderness and desire. Each kiss sent its own tingle through my nerves and I think that's what Roman wanted to happen. "Mm, look at you. You look so cute in your adorable birthday dress. Too bad your pussy boyfriend isn't man enough to enjoy this. But that's okay... I'm going to make you forget all about him." Roman's voice was almost as stimulating as his hands and mouth were. He rose up higher and sighed when he ran his hands over the scant band of my underwear, just purring like an engine, eyes glued to my face so he could see my reactions. "Fuck... Look at these sexy little panties," his voice strummed. "These aren't the kind of panties that good girls wear... No. These are the kind you wear when you want to get fucked dirty, isn't that right? Did you put these on for your boyfriend hoping he would see?" I nodded my head, completely caught off guard by the words leaving Roman's mouth. I had never heard anybody talk that way and it excited me so much I could feel my arousal making itself apparent between my legs. "Well, I'm glad you decided to come home with me instead. Now I'm the lucky one who gets to take these off of you." Roman placed a few more kisses on my hips and ran his large hands all over my skin before he hooked one finger underneath the material of my underwear and gave them a tug. Before he proceeded any further though he took off his jacket and threw it to the side. Beneath it, he was wearing a black V-neck shirt that clung to his body in perfect shape. I had always liked Roman's sense of style. It set him apart from the rest of the guys at school, among many of his other traits. The closer his face got to my crotch the more sounds he began to make. Anything from soft sighs to quiet clicks of his tongue as he remarked how sad it was that some asshole had let me walk away from him on the side of the road. He said if it had have been him, there would be no way he would let a girl like me just walk away. His compliments acted like lube, so smooth and inviting that by the time he pulled my panties down my legs to my ankles I was already so very wet. It was another thing that made him groan with satisfaction. "Jesus fucking Christ. Look at this... Nice little wet pussy... Just glistening for me." I tried not to make too much noise as he shoved his face between my legs and ran his warm tongue up my slit, tasting the juices while simultaneously making my knees weak and gripping my thighs. "Mm... Fuck. You taste so fucking sweet. Did you know that? Did you know that your cunt tastes absolutely divine?" My mouth fell open as I watched Roman Godfrey lapping at me while I stood above him with my legs as far apart as the panties around my ankles would allow me to stand. The warmth of his mouth sent ripples of pleasure through my entire body and when he stuck his tongue out to explicitly flicker over my clit I let out my first real moan which I attempted to stifle in my cupped hand. "You like that, don't you, princess? Feels good to have your pussy eaten, doesn't it? Don't tell me he doesn't do this for you?" I shook my head no and Roman gasped softly and then rose to his feet, staring me down in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that you put all of this time and effort into looking like an absolute fucking dish and that asshole doesn't even have the balls to eat you out?" "No," I said quietly. Roman lifted me up and carried me towards his bed and in the process I managed to kick my panties off, losing them on the floor somewhere before he set me down on the covered mattress. He lifted my dress up and I aided him by raising my arms so he could pull it off of me. I was left with only my bra and shoes on but that didn't last long either because Roman went to unhook it, relishing the sight when my breasts were exposed to him. "That is a fucking crime. Look at you. You always look so innocent but I bet... You're just aching to get fucked like a naughty little slut, aren't you?" I didn't have to say much to him because he already knew that I was more than eager to receive whatever he had to give me. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone. For a moment I got worried but I didn't want to stop there. I wanted him badly. "Show me those nice tits. Yes. Squeeze them together baby. Fuck... Yeah, that's good." I bit my lip shyly as I did what he asked me to. The way he purred as I touched myself made me want him even harder but the camera in my face did put me off. I tried to overcome my nervousness but he noticed. "Roman..." I said worriedly. "You got to take pictures of me... Now it's my turn. Don't worry, sweetheart. These are for my eyes only." He snapped a few pictures of me and then set his phone on the bedside table before tearing his shirt off and crawling up on the bed, coming up behind me so he could run his fingers over my nipples and nibble on my neck. Once he had gotten more than a handful of my breasts he hugged me to his chest and pulled me back toward the headboard of the bed. I sat between his legs, back to his chest as he continued to fondle me all over and whisper in my ear. "You feel that?" He asked me as he pushed his groin into my back. "Feel how hard my cock is for you? Yeah? Do you feel how badly I want to fuck your pussy?" "Yes." His hands ran over the curve of my hips and down my legs so he could pull my knees up, giving himself better access to my opening. With one long finger, he grazed my clit ever so slightly, causing me to sigh and lean back into his embrace. "It's a shame you're not with someone who knows how to get you off. Don't worry. I'm going to make you come, then I'm going to make you come some more. Is that okay?" His voice was hot against my neck and I didn't have much left for words besides yes. "Tell me. Tell me you want me to make you come. Say it." "I want you to make me come." "Louder. Say 'Roman, I need you to play with my pussy'. Say it." "I need you to play with my pussy, Roman. I need it." "Yes," he drawled. "Yes, princess. Don't worry. I'll make you come hard. You fucking deserve it." After that, he pushed his middle finger into my mouth so I could suck on it. He kissed my shoulder, purring and delighting in the sensation before he pulled it back out and ran the pad of his finger over my clit in small firm circles. The feeling he stirred up in me was intense and I spread my legs further apart, much to his satisfaction. "Yes, open those legs for me so I can finger that tight little cunt." When he pressed his digit into me I groaned and laid my head back on his shoulder. He hissed softly as he began to work it in and out slowly. His mouth was close to my ear and he hooked his other arm around my neck but didn't pull, it was just enough to make sure I stayed close enough for him to whisper dirty things in my ear. "How's that feel baby?" "Good... So good. Mmm." I whined. "Yeah? You ready for another finger?" He asked. I whimpered but he shushed me gently. When I felt the tips of two of his fingers pressing against my opening I gasped. "I know you can handle it. After all... How are you going to take my cock if you can't even have two of my fingers inside of you?" He worked his fingers in nicely and once they were inside he began pulsing them in and out, rubbing against a spot in me that felt too good to be true. He laughed as my mouth fell open, picking up the pace as I lifted my knees up a little bit more so I could watch his hand pleasuring me. "Yeah, that looks real good, doesn't it?" He asked. "Yes, oh my god... Roman." "Yes baby, you like that, don't you? Naughty little whore. So wet and needy." Roman pulled his fingers out of me with a slick sound that only added to the ambiance of pleasure he was creating. He hooked his arm around me tighter and delivered a few swift claps to my clit, growling lowly in his throat as I tensed up from the sensation. "Oh fuck. I bet that feels really good, huh? You like it when I slap that clit? Mhm." He did it some more, five quick slaps and then a break to let me feel the dull stinging before giving me five or six more. My legs involuntarily closed around his hand but he spread them apart again and gave one of my thighs a light slap too. "No, no, baby. Don't close those legs yet. I'm not done." He rubbed my pussy slowly with enthusiasm and it felt so drastically different from the slaps that I melted back into him. The arm he had wound around my neck dropped so he could squeeze my breasts and lightly pinch my nipples. The edge of his teeth sank down on my shoulder but not too hard. It was just enough to leave light imprints on my skin. "You ready to sit on this cock?" He bucked his hips into me so I could feel how hard he was. "Mhm, yes Roman." He backed up until he was pressed right up against the headboard. Unbuckling his belt, he worked his pants and boxers down until they were low enough for him to kick them off. I bristled at the sight of his cock, thick with arousal and pulsing with blood. He was big. Much bigger than Zack and I was afraid that it might hurt to have it all inside at once. I think he could see the trepidation in my eyes but ignored it, choosing instead to beckon me with two fingers. "Come here, you. Come sit that gorgeous little pussy on me." Roman urged me. I crawled over his legs and straddled his lap and my look of unease only grew as he angled to push into me, teasing the head of his cock against my opening. "What's the matter?" "It's so... Big." "I know, baby. It's okay. I know you can handle it." He encouraged. "I promise I'll go slow." I inhaled sharply when he pushed into me deliberately, only going as far as to envelope the tip inside of me before he pulled out. "Fuck," he groaned. "I need to feel that again." He pushed up inside of me again, going further and I couldn't help but moan as the feeling ricocheted through my body. I had never felt such an intense fullness but he had been right. I was turned on enough that I could handle it. In fact, the further I sank down on him the better it felt until I was seated on his lap and the deepness hit part of me that I had never felt before. It was sharp and I lifted up again, but he was already so in Heaven that his moaning sent his head back. "Fuck! Oh, that's so good. Your pussy is so tight." He reveled. It took a while for me to adjust but once I did the sensation was beyond anything I had ever imagined. Roman began to rock me and I could feel my juices running down to coat the inside of my thighs. He looked at me like he had never seen anything like me before with his lips hanging open and brows screwed together in ecstasy, it was all so much so quickly. "Holy shit, I don't know how long I can last." He expressed. I whimpered as he pushed in and pulled out with a pace so slow I could feel every vein and ridge of his cock throbbing. Once we developed a steady and deliberate rhythm, Roman reached down and started doing that thing where he massaged my clit in circles. That was a new sensation that sent my eyes reeling back with pleasure; having something inside of me while also being played with. I couldn't believe how good it felt and he could tell how it was affecting me which caused him to smile devilishly. "How's that feel, princess? You like riding that nice big dick while I play with your clit?" "Yes, oh my god." "Yeah," he hissed again. "I bet your boyfriend is too much of a little bitch to fuck you the way I can." I agonized in every single pang of bliss and each word that fell from his mouth. It was easy to get close to the edge with Roman spouting such profanity, working himself inside of me like I had never felt before. Once he picked up the pace I really started to enjoy myself. He never took himself away from me and made sure he was bringing me to the edge with him. "Oh, fuck... I'm close. Are you going to come with me?" He asked. I nodded my head as I bounced on his lap. He used his other hand to slap my ass and I let out a whine when he began thrusting into me harder. "Yes, that's right. Come with me. Yes, yes, yes. Come all over my cock baby." The circles he drew grew ragged but he never lost the rhythm and didn't press into me too hard. He knew how to tease and the more he did so the closer I got to feeling that burst of euphoria that I knew would find me. "Come for me. Come for me right now. Right now, baby girl, yes." His words were fast and made it that much easier for me to get close. "I'm going to come. Are you going to come with me?" "Yes, Roman, fuck yes." "Do it. Come right now. Do it for me." I felt Roman's body tense, watched his abdomen flex and saw how eager he was to make me orgasm with him. It definitely did the trick and it wasn't long before I felt my climax hit me just as his hit him. His hand slowed on me but didn't let up and coaxed an orgasm out of me that was so powerful, I felt myself clenching around his length which sent him into his own orgasmic fit. He curled his long arms around me and squeezed as he growled into my chest like a panting beast, pumping out everything he was capable of until he couldn't anymore and the motions ceased. It was the first time anybody had ever come inside of me and I couldn't lie and say I didn't enjoy it. I climbed off of Roman and immediately felt his warm cum leaking out of me. He began to chuckle in that evil way that put most people off. "What?" I questioned him. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Sorry... It's just... I don't think I've come that fast since I was like twelve." "I'm sorry." Roman laughed at me and I looked away slightly embarrassed. "Sorry? No, I'm sorry. If you give me a bit we can go again." "Again?" Roman scoffed and threw his head back. "Don't fucking tell me... He doesn't eat you out AND he can't fuck you more than once in one night? Why are you with him?" "Well, obviously I'm not with him anymore." "Did he break up with you on your birthday and make you walk back home?" "No... I chose to start walking." "Shit. Well good timing for me, huh?" Roman laughed. I giggled too as he ran his hand up my leg. We sat on his bed naked together for a little longer before he scooted closer to me. I suddenly remembered the pictures he had taken of me and felt a wave of anxiety run over me. "So... Those pictures you took of me..." I struggled to say what I needed to say "What pictures?" He asked. I cocked my head. "The pictures... You took with your cell phone." Roman got up on his knees and leaned over me, framing my face with his hands. He kissed me and then pulled back. "Princess, I didn't take any pictures of you. We just started fucking when we got here and you're not going to tell anybody about it, ever." Then... His nose started bleeding and I understood what he had told me. Mindlessly, I nodded and he looked at me with that evil Roman smirk, red trickling down to his top lip.

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #roman godfrey fanfiction #roman godfrey #fanfiction

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pookapics · 5 years

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Steve Rogers x Witch!Reader - Love is a Curse - Inspired by Practical Magic - Chapter 2 - New Home, Old Curses

(YN) : your name (LN) : last name (HC) : hair colour (EC) : eye colour (FD) : Favourite Drink (BN): Band Name

Chapter 1 - https://protectthelesbians.tumblr.com/post/185063370563/steve-rogers-x-witchreader-love-is-a-curse

Your POV

“I’m a witch.” you fumbled out and awaited the look of disgust, flinching. You were used to the hatred of kids your age, the rocks they’d throw at you if you even tried to come over to play with them. Those childhood memories had scarred you. They’d marred you and made you afraid to trust again. But you didn’t see the harshness, or the hatred you’d seen in other eyes in your teammate’s eyes, only a faint curiosity which you could see in Steve’s eyes. Shyly, Steve spoke up “What does that mean exactly?” he seemed as if he was treading lightly, wanting to appear not judgmental.

That was nice for a change.

Smiling, you fiddled with your hands for a moment “Well. A witch is an umbrella term really, not one witch is the same. We have our strengths and weaknesses like potion work, divination.” you couldn’t stay still as you told them of your practice, your craft. Tony perked up at this “Wow we have a real-life Harry Potter on our team.” he teased, you rolled your eyes “We don’t have magic wands but hey, I do like the books and movies.” you admitted as Fury encouraged you to return to your original train of thought, which you did.

“I grew up learning my craft and trying to perfect my skills, but in the world of magic and witchcraft, you’ve never learnt everything. Not really.” you noted and smiled “I’m a healer mostly, I hope to do no harm in my craft mostly. I do divination and some level of potion work.” You were somehow now a little more confident, talking about your craft outside of a world filled with judgement meant that your insecurity shriveled up, you didn’t have to fear them. Nat stepped over “Can you fight?” She spoke bluntly and almost cold, you could tell she didn’t trust you yet and that made you nervous “No, in my craft I am told to not cause unnecessary harm.” You looked up at the tall red-head, she looked at you with some intrigue before stepping back “I guess I’ll be teaching you a couple of things” she noted. Nodding, you stood back from Nat and was bombarded with questions from Tony about how it worked, the whole magic thing. You kept things vague, a witch’s craft is usually a very personal one, one fraught with secrecy and personal exploration.

“Well. Though the craft is very personal, I can show you some of the things I can do.” You cracked your knuckles, your fingers tingling in preparation. Walking towards the kitchen counter, you focused and concentrated on what action you wished to put out into the physical realm. Your hand grasped a piece of paper on the counter, you gave yourself a paper cut. The group looked confused by this, wondering why you purposely give yourself a paper cut. You let the cut bleed down your finger a little, for the dramatics, before you leant in and kissed the wound. The blood began to roll back up your finger, returning back to the wound it originated from, it began to seal up gently and your finger was free of any scar from the paper-cut. As if it never happened.

Tony was the first to speak out “Well that definitely is gonna come in handy.” He chuckled, the others simply nodded, a bit surprised that you had ‘magical kisses’ but they couldn’t knock it. You smiled “that’s only one thing I can do, I’m a jack of all trades I suppose.” You felt strangely comfortable with your team, well sure Natasha wasn’t exactly best buddies with you but mostly everyone had been accepting and welcoming to your arrival. Especially Steve, who for some reason made your heart beat a mile a minute, you only just met the man and suddenly you’re fawning over him.

Pushing Steve from your mind, you turned to see your things arriving from your apartment, Fury wanted you to stay here at the Avengers Compound, so you could settle in with the team. Honestly, you were glad to be freed of your apartment which was mouldy and by the look of the ceiling, you constantly feared that Mrs Krook from upstairs would eventually come falling through with her dogs and knitting in tow, maybe even her recliner. So, you were relieved to be freed of that apartment, there weren’t many affordable options in the city so were glad that you’d been given the option which you now gladly took. Steve walked over to you “That must be your belongings.” he noted aloud, you nodded “Yep. I better get this stuff up to the new room.” Your voice was a little squeaky, your body seemed to shrivel up into embarrassment as soon as Steve talked with you. Quickly enough, off you went, collecting a few of your things and leaving Steve just standing there puzzled and wondering if he did something wrong. Steve seemed to shake of the kicked puppy look and walked over to help you “Here. Let me take the boxes.” He took the heavy boxes with ease, you tinged pink “Thanks. I wouldn’t have made it two seconds with that box, its full of my books.”

Steve nodded “Avid reader?” he asked as he walked with you through the halls of the compound, the halls were a lot more quiet than the lounge which was usually booming with voices and clattering from the lab which Tony commonly inhabited. Smiling Shyly, you nodded “Always have been. My aunts made me into a bookworm. Their house is 50 percent books with the rest full of plants and cats.” You joked, though the nerves in your stomach from being near him still lingering. He laughed “So the whole cat thing is true?” he asked innocently, you nodded “Well they’re great companions, especially when it comes to the craft.” Steve couldn’t help but smile at that, you smiled back and kept walking your way down towards your new room.

The door to your new room was wide open, somewhat empty as the hired workers for Tony moved some essential furniture into the empty room such as a bed, chest of drawers and a desk. You were somewhat planning the things you wanted to do with the room, some of your tools in your craft such as your herb pots would help this place seem homey right away. Steve put some boxes down “Shall I leave you to settle in, Ma’am?” He still acted so polite around you, compared to the others who simply called you by your name. You turned to look at him “Yeah, I’ll start unpacking” but as Steve started to walk out you spluttered “Oh! Steve! Uhm�� please call me (YN).” Steve was looking at you, his cheeks tinged red, he was stuck in one spot for a moment but got moving when some of the workers who worked under Tony helped carry your things past the threshold of your room. You thanked them before getting to work, you used your phone to listen to your favourite songs, you were more productive when you listened to (B/N). With the music blaring, you unpacked your books onto the bookshelf, you’d set up your altar last, the area where you’d keep all your tools for your craft. The room began to seem more like yours as soon as your belongings inhabited the space, your books on the shelf, the photos on the table of you and your aunts.

When most of the boxes of books and knick-knacks had been unpacked, you moved onto your clothes which you had packed into a suitcase, picking up the folded shirts and bottoms, you gently placed them into the chest of drawers. The more fancy attire was hung up in the wardrobe such as your dresses and clothes which you kept for extremely special occasions, occasions connected with your magic and family.

Witchy holiday clothes, that was the layman's term of what the clothes represented and were used for. As the music continued to play, you finished unpacking your clothes which were only a little crinkled from transport which you didn’t greatly mind to be fair. You only had 2 more boxes to unpack, these were the important boxes. These were all the equipment you used in your altar, all the tools of your trade. They needed to be carefully unpacked and placed upon an area of your choice, you decided on the small table by the window. It was small but it was enough for what you needed it to do. You put your potted plants on the window-ledge before placing your crystals and tarot cards on the table, you positioned things so it was practical but still pretty in its own right. The room looked so different than it did before, the small box-like room now looked or resembled something fantastical, with tapestries strewn across the blank, white walls and with your plants bringing some life to the lifeless room you’d been given. You were proud of how you’d decorated, the room no longer felt daunting and not a place you could call your own. But now, the room felt like yours. And you were happy about that.

With a moments silence, you looked around your new room but was rudely interrupted by your growling stomach, you were starving. Walking back through the halls, eventually you reached the kitchen which was empty surprisingly. You took advantage of this and started to make yourself something small, not wanting to waste a lot of food on one meal. “Where is everybody?” You muttered to yourself, since the lounge seemed abandoned, suddenly you heard a loud voice above you “Everyone apart from Miss Romanoff and Mr Barton are still on the compound, Miss (LN).” You squeaked and looked up and tried to find where the voice came from “Who are you?” you were slightly on edge till the voice spoke again “I am FRIDAY, I’m an AI designed by Tony Stark.” You nodded and looked around, as if still looking for the voice “Okay…” FRIDAY spoke up “Is that all, Miss (LN)?” FRIDAY asked, you cleared your throat “Uhm yes and please call me (YN)” You returned to the hob to make some scrambled eggs, a simple dish but filling enough as a dinner. You dropped 2 slices of bread into the toaster, as you put the eggs away, you used some of your powers to move the spatula, tending to the still cooking scrambled egg.

Multitasking at its best.

Reaching into the cupboards, you pulled out a small porcelain plate as the bread popped out of the toaster, toasted to your liking. With the toast toasted, you added some butter before placing the cooked scrambled egg on-top, drizzling some of your favourite sauce on top for some flavour. You realised you’d need a drink of sorts for your dinner, you searched the cupboards and searched for a glass, and there they were… on the highest shelf. Even for a tall person, reaching for the glasses would be a feat, you climbed atop the kitchen counter to try and retrieve a glass. With your fingers grasping at the rim of the glass, your arm extended as far as it could go, you’d just reached it when a voice called out “You need some help there?” You squeaked and lost your hold on the glass, the glass toppled over and fell from the shelf, you heard a quick shuffle across the room, obviously the person who’d startled you was trying to help. You reached your hands out and focused, though your mind was scattered at this moment in time. The glass froze mid-air, your powers had caught it mid-fall. With this realisation, you let out a big sigh of relief, reaching out and put the glass down on the counter, your mind now focused on who had startled you. You turned to see Steve standing there, his expression had some guilt laced in it, knowing that he’d been the one to cause this near-catastrophe. Steve rubbed the back of his neck “Hey there…” there was a sense of awkwardness, you couldn’t help but smile shyly “Hey. I should’ve been more careful honestly, I’m easily spooked.” looked up at the blue-eyed blonde with a joking look, though your heart was pounding, your chest tight. Steve let out a smile “Yeah. We never use those glasses, we just use the ones that are washed and then reuse them.” Hinting to why the glasses were atop the highest shelf “Well why are they on that shelf to begin with?” Steve smiled at your question “That’s a long story.” You smiled and picked up your dinner “Well as soon as I get myself a drink, you can tell me the story as I have my dinner.” Your cheeks tinted pink as you picked up your glass and walked to the fridge, you reached for (Favourite Drink) and poured yourself some into the glass.

With one hand holding your dinner and cutlery and one hand holding your drink, Steve walked with you to the table to sit down, you put your dinner and drink on the table. Sitting down with Steve, you settled and started to eat your dinner as he started the story you wanted to know about. As the two of you sat together, you both laughed over the story and you nearly choked on your dinner a few times due to how hard you were laughing. This small moment with Steve stirred up unknown emotions within you, on one hand you didn’t know this man one bit. But on the other hand, you felt something stirring, it felt uncontrollable, it felt like something pulled you to the avenger, it felt natural but yet constructed. It felt like fate, uncontrollable and often unable to escape from. Steve and yourself chatted, long after you’d finished your dinner and your drink, though the butterflies didn’t cease as you heard him laugh and chuckle. Without controlling it, you felt a yawn escape your lips, it had been a long day after all.

“You’ve had a long day, better let you get to bed.” Steve looked at you from across the table, you stretched “But I’ve still to clean up the kitchen!” You rose to your feet to clean the kitchen, not wanting to leave it a mess, though you were practically dragging yourself around the kitchen. You felt an arm on your shoulder “Let me do that, you’re tired and you’ve entertained me with your presence far longer than you should’ve.” Pointing to the clock, it was midnight now. You tried to retort but when you looked into his eyes, you felt your response just disappear, mind blank.

‘What is this man doing to you? One minute you’re fine and the next moment you’re a bumbling mess!’ You thought to yourself as your mind was no longer blank “Uhm.. Okay.” You gave in, but you swore to yourself that next time you’d not give in, though your heart and gut told you otherwise. Steve led you to your room, he walked you up to the door and smiled “Goodnight (YN).”

It was the first time he’d used your name, you liked it.

You nodded tiredly “Goodnight Steve.” You sneaked into your room and when the door closed, you put your hand on your chest, the feeling of your heart pounding against your chest could easily be felt through your fingertips. It felt like you could feel the blood pumping to your ever-pounding heart.

Deep down you wondered if Steve’s heart was feeling the same way, but unbeknownst to you Steve stood in the kitchen, his own hand upon his heart, he felt the heavy pounding of his heart too. Almost as if the two of your were in some way…

Connected.

END OF CHAPTER 2 ~~~~

#Steve Rogers #marvel mcu #marvel #x reader #reader insert #steve x reader #steve x you

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hymn2000 · 5 years

Text

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Alternate Ending to Avengers Endgame - for snarkofstark - C4

Alternate ending to Endgame, aka The Film That Should Not Be Named. This was done mostly to the headcanons @snarkofstark sent me about what happens (should have happened) at the end of Endgame. I have put my own twists on it, as per the first chapters disclaimer.

Previous chapters: 1 2 3

You can also find me on AO3

@snarkofstark I’m so sorry for the delay in updating! Hope you enjoy the chapter regardless (also I completely forgot about your nanotech support headcanon until after I’d written most of this, so what Tony makes is a little different. Hope that’s ok!)

Warnings/themes: alternate ending, illness, injury, PTSD (mentioned), family, recovery, hospital stuff, general mental health stuff

Chapter 4 - Maybe You’ll Get A Replacement

Peter swallowed. Tony probably hadn’t meant it, but it sounded like he was placing the responsibility of this aid on his shoulders.

“Hey, lend me your hand” Tony said. “No, the right one”

Peter held his arm out, and let Tony take hold of it. He watched him take out a black marker and start drawing an outline on him.

“I think your idea is better” Tony said, sketching in supports. “It’ll be better than clunking around in an Iron Man gauntlet. Maybe not as cool, but more practical. It’ll be easier to fix and modify if it’s just this, too. Kinda like a skeleton, right? Or a spiders web”

Peter didn’t say anything. He looked at the blueprint taking shape on his arm. It looked pretty cool, and the idea was sound - but he did wonder if it would actually work. He’d seen Tony get cross about his bad arm a lot while he was in hospital, and Peter didn’t know enough about the medical side of his condition to know whether he’d ever recover properly. But what he did know, was that if this product - this prosthesis, as it were - failed, well, Peter didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Tony’s anger again.

The sound of the door opening made Peter jump. Pepper took one look at the ink on his skin, and folded her arms over her chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Planning” Tony said. “We’ve found a better design for my thing”

“Peter, why don’t you go and have a bath and try to wash all that ink off?”

Peter knew it wasn’t really a suggestion, and he got up obediently.

“Wait, wait” Tony said, grabbing Peter’s arm. “I need to take pictures first, and then I can make a 3D simulation of it. We’ll start 3D printing it later, or at least a prototype, ok?”

Peter nodded, and let Tony take photos of his arm from all angles.

“Thanks, kiddo. You’d better run now”

Peter did, leaving Tony and Pepper together. Tony shrugged at Pepper.

“What’s that face for?”

“You remember that conversation we had about doing your physio?”

“I do do my physio” Tony said. “But my way is better and quicker”

“Oh really?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve stopped believing in me after all these years”

Pepper sighed, going over and winding her arms round him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I want you to get better. I want you to be happy, but I also think maybe you putting all your efforts into ‘fixing’ your arm isn’t the best use of your time” she said. “I love you, Tony, but I can’t let you, let this, consume you. Can’t you step back, focus on the family, and on the kid while he’s here?”

“I love you too, Pep... But I want to be able to lift my little girl up in both arms, and I want to be able to work again, properly” he said. “I can’t fix the scars, but I can sort my arm out. I just need some time to get it right”

“You always have to be so stubborn, don’t you?” she sighed. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind about this, am I?”

“I’m not putting myself above you and Morgan. You’re my priority, but this little replacement thing, this prosthetic - if you will - it’s good for all of us, right?”

“I know why you’re doing this” she said. “But do you really think getting the kid involved in making this thing is a good idea?”

“Peter’s a smart kid. He’ll be able to help do the fiddly bits and stuff that my hand can’t manage right now. He likes this kinda stuff; it’ll be fine. We’ll get this done, and then we can get on with domestic bliss, just us, here”

“That isn’t really what I meant” Pepper said. Tony didn’t respond. “Take a break. Go and get something to eat”

“I’m not hungry”

“I didn’t ask”

Tony laughed slightly. “Alright, alright. Where’s Morgan?”

“Eating. She’s the only sensible person in this household”

“God knows where she gets it from” Tony said, knowing full well. He stood up. “Fine, I’ll take a break, if it’ll make you feel better”

“Good. Now go and eat”

Morgan looked up when her father came into the kitchen.

“Are you in trouble?”

“You betcha, kiddo” Tony said, sticking a slice of bread into the toaster.

“Where’s Peter? Is he in trouble too?”

“Nearly” Tony said. “Don’t worry about him; he’s just having a bath. Hey, do you want a biscuit?”

“I’ve already had one”

“Well, have another” Tony said, finding the packet and giving her one. “Just don’t tell mum, or we’ll both be in trouble”

Morgan giggled, and put a finger to her lips, silently promising to stay quiet.

“That’s my girl” Tony smiled fondly. “So, is your school back in session now you’ve had lunch?”

Morgan shook her head. “No more school. I’m gonna play something else”

“Oh yeah, what are you gonna play?”

“I don’t know yet. Bikes, probably”

She sounded so serious that Tony couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, throwing his hands up in defence at the little glare she fixed him with. “Bikes. Very good idea”

“Can you make it light up?”

“Your bike? Sure, I can give it a go, modify the wheel spikes a bit, add a bit of flare, maybe make it so you can see a picture when the wheels are spinning. You’ll help design it, right?”

“Yep! Set it on fire!”

“Woah, woah, that’s a bit far” Tony chuckled. “We’re not turning it into a weapon. A light up bike is good enough for now. I’ve got a whole bunch of stuff knocking about that could work. We’ll work on it some time”

“I’ll hold you to that”

Tony laughed, and gave her a little hug. She was a funny kid.

For a while, Tony managed to forget about the modification for his arm. He spent the afternoon with Morgan, planning the lighting work for her bike, and then messing about outside. The weather was mild, so there was no stopping them. Peter joined them later on. He was more active than Tony, and closer to Morgan’s speed. It was good having both kids together. Peter still happily did whatever Morgan asked, smiling and singing silly old childrens songs to make her laugh. In the middle of one of their games, Tony stopped and thought to himself just how good it was to be out of hospital, to have all this space to himself and the people he loved. Sure, things weren’t perfect, but they were getting pretty damn close.

After Morgan had gone to bed, Tony wheeled her bike into his work space, and sat down to start making the lighting modifications for the wheels. They’d brainstormed lots of ideas, but Morgan had eventually decided on a simple daisy-type flower, yellow in the middle, with pink petals, and a green border. A very cute, little-girly idea, and one Tony was sure would be simple to execute.

Peter had asked for a slab of strong wood, and he sat at the other end of the workbench, working away.

“What’cha working on there, kiddo?” Tony asked. “Didn’t know you were into woodwork”

“Well, we do a little bit at school, but that’s it, really” he shook his head slightly. “Have you got some heavy duty rope knocking about?”

“Uhh, I think there’s some out in the shed. Should be, anyway” Tony said.

They both worked quietly for a while, the sounds of their work tools being their soundtrack. Peter finished sizing his creation. He sanded the edges, and bore a good sized hole on the short sides of the rectangular block of wood. He filed the inside of the holes, and carved grooves around the edges of the block, making a dented outline on the top surface.

“What are you making?” Tony asked.

“Hm? Oh. Um... Well, I told Morgan I’d make her a swing”

Tony looked up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. We were talking a bit when we were messing about on the trees. They’d be perfect for it, yknow. I thought I could knock one together pretty easily, just wood, and then rope to tie it to the tree” Peter said. “Uhhh, I don’t suppose you’ve got a book on knots anywhere? I wanna make sure I use the safest one”

“Not as far as I know. You might just have to google it” Tony said. “That girl! She’s got you wrapped round her little finger already!”

“That’s what Pepper said” Peter smiled. “She’s sweet. I like her...”

“But..?”

Peter shrugged. “I’m still getting my head around the fact that you’ve got a daughter, yknow. The whole, being gone for five years without realising it, it’s a funny one”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Still, we’re all here. We can get back to normal - or, whatever ‘normal’ is!”

Peter glanced up at him. “Have you got a burny tool?”

“What, a soldering iron?”

“No, like, one of those burny tools you can use to write things with. I don’t know what they’re called”

“Ooh. It’s pyrography, isn’t it? I think they’re literally just called pyrography wood burning tools” Tony said. “I’ve got one somewhere, I’m sure of it”

He stopped what he was doing and started rummaging through his work bench drawers. Peter waited patiently. Tony found the old tool buried at the bottom. He turned it over in his hands before handing it to the boy.

“I’d maybe practice on some old wood first. Don’t burn yourself”

“I won’t. Thanks, Mr Stark”

Peter spent a while practising. Tony watched him, and he got up when he put the tool to the swing seat. He kept a safe distance, but kept a close eye on what he was doing. Peter’s writing was a little shaky, and darker in some places where he’d pressed harder, and lighter in others where he hadn’t pressed quite so hard, but that didn’t matter. For Morgan, from your friend Peter, it read, and he’d burnt a lopsided little heart into the wood after his name. He put the wood burner down, and Tony reached out and ruffled his hair, much to Peter’s surprise.

“She’ll love it” Tony smiled.

Peter smiled a little nervously. “You really think she’ll like it? I know it’s a bit amateur, and not really like the kind of swing you can buy”

“It doesn’t matter: it looks good. No one else will have one like that. We can put it up tonight, and it’ll be a surprise for her in the morning”

“Ok!”

Tony squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s find some rope and look up some knots, kiddo”

Putting the swing up took longer than expected, but after a lot of redoing of knots and readjusting of ropes, they got it hanging evenly on the strongest tree, close to the den.

“There! Done!” Peter said, feeling quite proud of himself.

“You should test it”

“Uh... ok” Peter sat on the swing. It didn’t fall down, which was a good sign.

“Have a swing, then”

Peter shifted awkwardly. “I feel silly”

“Get up a minute”

Peter did. Tony sat on the swing, and pulled Peter onto his lap.

“Hey! Wait, I don’t want to hurt you!” Peter said, feeling his face flushing.

“You’re not that heavy, kid, don’t worry” Tony said, putting an arm round his waist to keep him there. “Hey, if this thing can hold us two, it can definitely hold Morgan”

“Yeah, I guess so” Peter said.

Peter didn’t dare move. He was actually sat on Tony Stark’s lap. Wow. He felt a little awkward, but, truth be told, he quite liked it. Tony always felt like a safe person to be with, and this was another one of those nice, safe, moments.

“Still, better to test it properly” Tony said, kicking off to put the swing into motion.

It held up well, which they both suspected it would. It was strong and secure. It felt like any other swing now. Tony gradually brought the swing back to a standstill.

“I think it’ll be fine” he said, slowly releasing Peter.

Peter got up, and Tony did too. They both looked at the swing. Tony gave Peter a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Good work, kid. Now all I need to do is finish the bike lights, and she’ll be well away”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, cool. Can I help?”

“Sure. You can do all the fiddly boring bits for me”

Tony put an arm round Peter’s shoulders, and lead him back to the house.

Pepper watched Morgan riding her bike around with flowers lighting up on the wheels, and turned to Tony.

“You spoil her, you know”

“Well, what can I say? I’ve always been good with the ladies”

“You’re an idiot” Pepper said, kissing him gently. “It does look good, I’ll give you that”

“She likes it. That’s all that matters”

“How long did it take?”

“A few hours” Tony shrugged. “Peter did the fiddly bits for me, otherwise it would’ve been longer”

Tony sat on the new swing, Morgan on his lap, kicking against the floor to keep the swing going.

“You can go pretty high on these things once you know how” Tony said.

“What if I go too high and go right over the branch?”

“I don’t think there’s too much risk of that” Tony said, resting his head against hers. “You don’t have to go high if it scares you. You can swing just how you like”

“It’s a good swing” Morgan said.

“Yeah, Peter’s done well”

“I like the heart he drew. And the little message”

“Cute, right?”

“He’s my friend” Morgan said, putting her hands over her fathers. “But you’re my friend more”

Tony paused, and kissed her on the temple. “You’re my friend too”

Morgan craned her head to look at him. “Best friends?”

Tony smiled. “The best friends ever”

Peter felt like Tony’s plans for the arm support had been put on the back burner, so it was a bit of a surprise when Tony laid the blueprints out in front of him at the work bench that evening.

“So, this is where we got to the other night. And this is where I got to while you were with Pepper” he produced the 3D printed skeleton of the support they’d designed. “I’ve been tweaking it, but it’s still fitted to you, not me. Here”

Peter took it, looking it over. it was a lot lighter than it looked. It looked a little funny, but it looked smooth, sleek, almost like a finished product. As he looked closer, he could see evidence of the electrics and adjustments Tony had made.

“Stick it on. You’ll be able to tell me what it’s like. Morgan put it on but it was too big for her, of course. She said it looked cool anyway, so that’s high praise” he said. “Go on, put it on. Tell me how it feels”

“Is it switched on?”

“Just squeeze that bit at the back of the wrist. I’ll make it an auto thing later, but this is just the prototype, so it’s just a button”

Peter squeezed it, feeling the button click, and then slipped it onto his hand. It felt a lot better than the gauntlet. It was light, and more comfortable. The bit near the inner elbow cut in a bit, but it didn’t seem like anything that couldn’t be easily fixed.

“Well, move your hand about a bit, then” Tony said, getting a little impatient.

Peter did as he was asked, moving his wrists, moving his thumb and each finger individually, clenching and unclenching his fists, pinching his fingers together and crossing them. The resistance on the gauntlet version had been very obvious and distracting, but it was so much better on this. He could feel the support, feel the aid in moving and stabilising his fingers, especially when using pincer grip, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It did judder a little bit in places, probably due to it being a rush job, but it felt good. Promising.

Peter relayed all of this feedback to Tony, and Tony’s lips twitched, and he soon smiled.

“We’re on the right track, kiddo” he said. “We’ll tune it up, and then we’ll practice with strength and stuff before we make one for me, ok?”

“Well, ok, but... I don’t think we can test strength with me”

“Right, why not?”

“Well, uh... With all due respect, Mr Stark, I’m not the one who can’t heavy lift with one hand”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “Ok, good point. Well, we can fine tune all the rest of it on you, and then we’ll work on the strength when we’ve made one to fit me”

Peter nodded. “Sorry”

“Don’t be: you’re not wrong. Anyway, just show me where it needs adjusting by the elbow. We can sort that first, and then we’ll start on the inner mechanisms. I might need to use your hands for some of it”

“Ok. So, just this bit here? And maybe take some of the like, lines? Lines, yeah, from over the elbow bone, and like, just have it as a loop over the outlines, maybe with a band round that bit of the upper arm, if you need extra support to keep it on. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I get you. What do you think for the colour, anyway? Should we try to make a clear or flesh tone one?”

Peter thought for a moment. “Flesh tone would look weird, and I don’t think you could make a clear one: it’d just show all the inner workings. I think the black looks fine. I mean, as long as it works, that’s the main bit, right? I don’t think it matters if it’s noticeable. Lots of mobility aids are...”

“Yeah, ok, we’ll stick with the black. So, sounds like it’s working already, so that’s a good sign. I think we can get this prototype done tonight, and we’ll start on mine tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

“Ambitious” Peter said. “But considering you managed to get all of this done in like, three hours, I think it’s doable, especially with two of us”

“Good answer. Right, just a second” he went out to the kitchen, returning hardly a minute later and handing a litre bottle of pop to Peter, and keeping another for himself. “Ok, stick the stereo on, and let’s get to work”

‘Ambitious but doable’ ended up being the correct assumption. It was hard going, and sometimes Peter found it hard explaining the issues to be fixed properly, but the music in the background helped then along in calm workmanship, and eventually, the prototype was finished. They both looked at the plastic mesh, Peter flexing his arm and testing it again.

“You know, once you’re used to it, it looks kinda cool” he said. “Shall I try the weights again?”

“Sure” Tony said.

Peter spent a little while messing with the dumbbells. Even though he didn’t have the weakness that Tony had, they’d worked out that there was a definite difference between lifting heavy objects with and without the support of the prototype, and they thought it was a fairly good basis for working out strength.

“I think that’s enough testing” Tony said.

Peter put the dumbbells down. “Well, you were right in saying it could be finished tonight”

“Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?” he put an arm round the boys shoulders, and couldn’t help but laugh happily. “We’ve done it, kiddo! We’re another step - no, another leap - closer to fixing my bad arm! I’ll be back to my old self before you know it”

Peter still agreed with Pepper; that maybe this support wasn’t the best way to go, and that maybe Tony should just focus on his physio and on his family, but he couldn’t very well tell him that, and he certainly couldn’t shoot him down in his moment of triumph. So, he just grinned at him.

“It’s a pretty cool thing! I’m kinda, well, I’m pretty happy with how it’s turned out”

“You should be proud, kiddo. Couldn’t’ve done it without you” Tony gave him a quick squeeze. “Ok, it’s late, and I’ve got a feeling my lovely wife might like some company. Let’s call it a night in here”

“Ok, yeah, it’s getting pretty late” Peter said, slipping the prototype off his arm and putting it back into it’s lockable box. “I don’t think I could work much more tonight”

“It’s been a long one. Why don’t you head on up to bed? Can’t have you burning out” Tony said.

“That does sound pretty tempting. Thanks, Mr Stark”

“Still always so formal” Tony said, shaking his head fondly. “Go on, then. Goodnight, kiddo”

“Goodnight. See you in the morning”

Tony was in good spirits all day, arguably the best he’d been in since getting out of hospital. They all had a good day, and that evening, after Morgan had gone to bed, Peter had finished talking to May on the phone, and Pepper had settled in front of the telly with a glass of wine, Tony grabbed the boy and took him back to the workbench.

“Right, let’s resize this digital blueprint and get my support done, ok?”

“Ok. Did you make notes of all the fixings and stuff?”

“Yeah, I uploaded everything onto this file, and scribbled a bunch of notes after you’d gone to bed last night. Barely took a minute. Right”

Peter watched Tony playing with the projected blueprint, sizing it to his own arm and adjusting it where necessary. It didn’t take him too long to perfect the sizing, and send it to the 3D printer.

“Ok” Tony said, sitting back while it was printing, and grabbing a notebook. “We’ve worked out all the mechanisms, all the fixings, so we know exactly what we’re doing. Here, take this list, get out everything we need”

“Sure thing, Mr Stark”

Peter obediently took the list, reading it over.

“Um, Mr Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we put some music on? It’s easier to concentrate with background music”

Tony smiled. “Sure thing, kiddo. I’ve got something you’ll like”

Peter looked at him. They never really talked about music. The only thing Peter could remember telling him in the last few weeks was that he’d recently gotten into Elton John. Tony pressed play on his music - and it was obvious he’d remembered what Peter had said.

Hey kids, shake it loose together The spotlight's hitting something That's been known to change the weather, We'll kill the fatted calf tonight So stick around, You're gonna hear electric music Solid walls of sound

Say, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet Oooh but they're so spaced out, B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets, Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful Oh Bennie she's really keen

She's got electric boots, a mohair suit You know I read it in a magazine, B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets

Peter felt good. Tony was happy - or at least if not truly happy, then at least contented, and hopeful. Peter went and made them both a mug of coffee while the 3D printer was still working away, but they barely had a few mouthfuls before both mugs were left to go cold.

Tony was right: they knew what they were doing now. The guesswork was gone out of it. Peter wore the prototype, just because it felt like the right thing to do. They worked together on each part of the plastic webbing, installing everything exactly as it had been on the prototype. It was incredibly complex doing all the electrics from scratch, and Peter was glad he didn’t have to do it alone, as it felt like it was way above his skill level. Tony saw his hesitation, and kept encouraging him, demonstrating some of it, talking him through everything and congratulating every completed section.

Even with Tony’s instruction and Peter’s dexterity, it took a good hour and three-quarters to finish, but at least it was done. Peter pieced together the sections of the support, and then stayed with it in his hands, touching the inner supports and the smooth plastic. He looked up at Tony, and carefully held it out to him.

“It’ll work” Peter said, seeing his hesitation. “Mine works, and it’s just the prototype. This one will be fine too. And if it’s not, you can always blame me”

Tony laughed slightly. “You’re a funny kid, you know”

“Yeah, you say that a lot”

Tony smiled at him, took the support from him, and slipped it onto his arm. He adjusted it a little, making it sit properly. He clenched and unclenched his fist. It didn’t feel any different. It was still an effort, and it still felt juddery and funny. He frowned, and Peter carefully reached across, squeezing the button at the wrist of the support to turn it on.

“I’ll get that sensor put in some time” Tony said, choosing to laugh at himself for forgetting something so simple. “Ok, moment of truth”

He took a deep breath, and clenched his fist again. He paused, unclenched his fist, spread his fingers, crossed them over each other, tapped his finger tips against his thumb. It felt a bit weird - but effortless. He straightened his arm, and bent it again. It was... fine. It wasn’t a huge effort. He could feel the supports of the aid working, and he was grateful that he could. It definitely worked. He just had a couple more things to test.

“Hey, Pete?” he said. “Do me a favour: go and get a plate and a bag of Skittles out of the cupboard in the kitchen”

“Morgan won’t be happy”

“We’ll get her more. This is important”

“Ok” Peter went and got the Skittles and plate, and went back to Tony.

“Good. Right, I need to test something”

“Pincer grip?” Peter guessed, opening the Skittles and pouring them onto the plate.

“Exactly. It’s been very hit and miss since that whole infinity gauntlet business” Tony said. “And much more miss than hit. You’ve probably noticed”

“Yeah...” Peter watched him for a little while. “How does it feel?”

“It’s funny, because as much as I hate the whole thing, I must’ve gotten used to having a knackered arm” he said. “This feels weird, but it feels like - well, I think it’ll take some getting used to... Pass me one of those dumbbells”

Peter wasn’t so sure. Still, he did as he was asked, carefully choosing one of the lighter ones. Tony shook his head.

“No, give me one of the heavier ones”

“Are you sure that-”

“Do as you’re told”

He sounded so much like a dad that Peter was visibly taken aback. He picked up one of the heavier dumbbells, and put it in Tony’s right hand.

“You can let go now, kiddo. I’ve got this”

Peter bit his lower lip, and let go. Tony held the dumbbell for a while, turning his wrist, and then doing a slow bicep curl. He held the weight by his shoulder for a moment, and then lowered it. He managed a few quicker, controlled curls with ease, and he started laughing.

“It works! Oh god, it actually works! We’ve done it!” he grinned at Peter. “It works!”

Peter didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet. Tony put the weight down on the workbench, and stood up.

“It works!” he repeated, throwing his arms round Peter. “I knew we could do it! I said you’d help fix me, and you have! We’ve done it!”

Peter hugged him back, suddenly hit with the realisation. “So it feels ok?”

“It feels great!” Tony held him at arms length. “This is- oh my god, I don’t even know what to say! It’s always felt like such a hopeless concept, but now here we are, and it works, and I can pick up Skittles without having to concentrate for all I’m worth, and I can lift weights without my arm giving out! Oh god, this is just- I need to tell Pepper! Pepper!!!”

He let go of Peter, rushing off to find Pepper, and knocking over a mug of cold coffee as he did so. Peter stood there for a moment, not sure what to do, but opting for cleaning up instead of following Tony. He didn’t want to get in the way.

When Peter went through to the living room, Tony was still rambling excitedly to Pepper, demonstrating his new artificial strength and dexterity for her. He was trembling, his eyes watering with the adrenaline and happiness and pure relief of this triumph. Pepper had turned the telly off, giving him her undivided attention, sharing in his glory, asking him questions and trying not to let her own relief get out of hand. Maybe her relief was for a different reason, but it was there nevertheless - and seeing her husband smiling like he was had turned into such a rare occurrence, and it was simply beautiful to see.

Tony grinned at Peter as he cautiously approached.

“This is your work as well as mine, kiddo! You should be proud. I’m proud, I’m proud of us, I’m proud of you! Come here, I bet I can pick you up now!”

“Umm, we haven’t really modified the strength for you properly yet” Peter said, stepping closer. “Shouldn’t we stick with weights for a while?”

“When did this kid get so serious?” Tony said, smiling at Pepper. “Let’s give it a go. Humour me, right?”

“I’m still not sure” Peter said, but Tony’s smile was infectious, and he couldn’t help smiling too.

“Right, good. So, your legs are obviously gonna be the lighter bit, so I want them over my left arm, so stand this way, and-”

“Mr Stark, w-”

“Shush, ok, let’s do this”

“Tony” Pepper said, smiling at him. “Don’t overdo it”

“It’s be out of character if I didn’t” Tony said, and before anyone could protest further, he scooped Peter off the ground, bridal-style.

For half a second there, it was fine. But then Tony’s bad arm gave out, and as he was still holding onto the boy, he fell with him. Pepper winced as they crashed onto the living room floor, landing in a heap. Peter shook his head, as though shaking the shock of the situation off.

“Mr Stark, are you ok?!”

“I’m fine, kiddo” Tony said, pushing himself up and sitting back on his heels. He grinned at Peter, and at Pepper. “I’m good. Ok, so we need to sort out and work on the strength, but we’re getting there!”

“I told you not to overdo it” Pepper said, and she knelt in front of him on the floor and kissed him hard.

Peter made a point of turning his head away while they kissed. It was a proper kiss, too: a proper film-star, madly-in-love, kiss. They held onto each other, and Pepper could feel the strength in Tony’s right hand. His aid - support, prosthetic, whatever it was - it worked. Maybe it wasn’t perfect yet, but it worked. Tony needed that: not just for his arm, but for his peace of mind. It was another step closer to recovery. It wasn’t conventional, but that didn’t matter.

“We’ve got an audience, remember” Pepper said, after slowly breaking the kiss.

“You make it easy to forget” Tony smiled, his eyes glowing with love as he looked at her.

Pepper smiled and shook her head, looking at Peter.

“You ok there?”

Peter nodded. “I’m fine”

“Hey, what’s up?” Tony said, noticing how he was cradling his arm.

“Hm? Oh... Uh, you kinda landed on my wrist. It’s fine though!” he quickly added.

“Let me see” Tony carefully took hold of him, and Peter sucked his breath. “Sorry, kiddo”

“It’s nothing, honestly”

“Wiggle your fingers for me... Now move your wrist, like, in a circle” Tony told him. “Ok, well, it might hurt, but it’s not broken”

“Yeah, I said it was fine” Peter said, trying to smile reassuringly. “I’m fine”

“We should still get you some ice” Pepper said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“Pep’s right, kiddo. Come on, kitchen. Don’t worry; I won’t try to carry you this time”

Peter couldn’t help laughing, and Pepper did too. He was still the same old Tony, no matter what.

Tony made them all a drink and they spent a good while sat at the kitchen table. Peter didn’t seem phased by the ice pack around his wrist, and continued to smile.

“So, have you got a name for it?” Pepper asked. “This whole mixing between aid, support, thing, or whatever, is getting a bit confusing even for me”

“You know, I was so busy making it, I didn’t even think about names” Tony said. “Any ideas, kid?”

“Umm... I’ll have to have a think” Peter said. “It does need a name though, I agree with that. I keep getting mixed up with what to call it as well”

Tony laughed slightly. “Right, let’s have a think. See if we can find something that means something”

They were all quiet for a few moments, sipping their drinks and thinking.

“A.S?” Pepper suggested, not sounding overly convinced with the idea.

“Simple enough” Tony said. “Could work. Kid, what have you got?”

“I’ll be honest, the only thing coming to mind is ‘handy gadget’, and I don’t think that’s so great”

Tony and Pepper laughed at him, shaking their heads.

“I think it needs a name with meaning, even if it’s not necessarily descriptive like A.S would be” Tony said.

“Newbie?” Peter said awkwardly. “Signifying a new start?”

“It’s a decent idea: I can see where you’re coming from. I think you should have a say, anyway: you came up with the webbing design, and we built it together. We got to this point together...”

They all went quiet again. They’d left the music playing in the other room, and part of a song drifted through the door.

And if there comes a time, Guns and gates no longer hold you in, And if you're free to make a choice, Just look towards the west and find a friend

Tony and Peter looked at each other, and as their eyes met, they both knew exactly what the other was thinking. Pepper looked at them.

“What?” she said.

“We know what to call the arm support thing” Tony said.

“Oh. What?”

Peter and Tony smiled at each other.

“Nikita”

#on a side note if this were a film I've got soundtrack placements COMPLETELY figured out #hence the use of song lyrics and references in this fic #I can't believe how long this chapter is and also I could cry I can't believe I'm finally updating!#my writing #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #iron man #tony stark #endgame #avengers endgame #snarkofstark #actually not to blow my own trumpet but I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter #especially since I struggled so much writing it

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qveensbury · 6 years

Text

the honey heiress

t/w: mention of domestic violence & death, no actual description.

the episode of B99 with Sterling got me a-thinking

“She’s in Interrogation Room B.” Captain laid a folder on Zuko’s desk as she walked past.

The Honey Heiress case was a trail the 74th Precinct stopped chasing. The Kuruk syndicate grew out of anti-war and anti-oppression sentiment, educating and equipping citizens to undermine the local politics. A decade under a Northern cousin led it from gray political action to organized crime. The family went underground when Katara Kuruk staged a coup and took control.

If Katara was a comet falling to earth, Zuko was an oak tree taking root. His grandfather and father had a heavy hand in the local corruption. His Uncle Iroh ensured Zuko chose his own path apart from family expectations. Zuko was one of the youngest detectives in the city with an impressive number of collars.

Reading over the case files from the Kuruk family investigation, Zuko started to notice a pattern and the Captain let him take a crack at it.

“Ms. Kuruk,” he greeted her, closing the door behind him.

“Detective. Am I being charged with anything?”

“We just have a few questions.”

Zuko looked up from his folder. He’d seen Katara in old photos, long braids and hair loops, chubby cheeks and wide smiles.

Now, she was pixie cuts and burgundy lipstick, almost the color of blood.

Katara smiled. “Is being attractive a crime now, Detective?”

Zuko shook himself out of it. “We’d--”

“We? Do we have an audience?”

“Sergeant June is watching,” he answered quickly. “No if you could--”

“Hi Sergeant!”

Zuko pursed his lips together and began to count backwards from five. This would be career defining Ryuku. Just take a step back. If you can corner her on this incident, you could turn this case around.

“We have some pictures. We’d like you to identify.” He placed them for her to see.

Katara glanced at them and returned her focus to Zuko.

“Can you tell me what these are?” Zuko prompted.

“It looks like some jewelry. A ring and some bracelets.”

“Do you recognize anything more?”

“These were a popular design, Detective. This happens a lot in women’s fashion. One designer puts out a product and everyone copies it.” She picked up the picture, “I couldn’t identify which designer from pictures.”

“They were found on a Hayato Watanabe when the paramedics responded to a 911 call. They found him dead.”

Katara laid the photo down and leaned forward to rest her chin in her hand. “And, how do you think I fit in?”

“Your fingerprints were found on the bracelets. Care to explain how that could have happened?”

She frowned before realization dawned on her face. She snorted. “Fingerprints from a college protest still in the system, huh? Do you have a picture of Mr. Watanabe?”

Zuko pulled the one from the autopsy.

“Oh this particular speck of dust,” Katara spat. She grinned, pushing hair behind her ear and sitting back. “What can I tell you? I know his wife, probably where the little weasel got the jewelry. I gave his wife a Joo Dee set for her birthday. She was planning on moving soon.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Watanabe?”

She rolled her eyes. “Right after I convinced his wife to leave him. He told me to get out of his house and to never come back. Three months ago.”

Two months before the accident. “Did you listen?”

“Yes.”

“When did you last see Mrs. Watanabe?”

“Last week. I helped arrange for her move and checked in on her and her kids at the new place.”

“And where were you on the night of April 4th?”

“At the Yangchen scholarship reception.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes.

“How did he die?” Katara examined her nails.

“Car accident. He hit a pole.”

“How do I fit in?”

She’s mocking me. He counted backwards from five. “We haven’t ruled out foul play.”

“Was there alcohol in his system?”

Zuko sat back crossing his arms. “Why? Is there information you have about Mr. Watanabe was doing that night?”

“And why would I know that?” Katara cocked her head to the side.

Zuko didn’t answer letting his face become neutral. He looked at his files for his next angle. Something had to be there.

Mr. Watanabe was the fifth middle aged man to go missing in the past year with some ties to the Kuruk family, specifically Katara. The first four hadn’t turned up. He was the first. And hopefully, the first thread to taking down the Kuruk syndicate.

“Can I ask another question?” She waited a beat. “What are your thoughts on domestic violence?”

Zuko froze. His entire body coiled. He lifted his head slowly reigning in every impulse.

100, 99,

Katara spoke again when he hit 75. “A cop against DV. That’s rare.”

“Are you making fun of me, Ms. Kuruk?”

“I don’t joke about domestic violence, Detective. Especially when it kills so many women who look like me.” Rage filled her eyes. The kind of look Zuko expected when they discussed Watanabe.

She’s the same age as Azula.

And how old Mom was when she married Dad.

“I don’t joke about what I’ve survived.”

Katara looked at his scarred eye.

“The police do a horrible job of protecting women from domestic violence. Don’t get me wrong. Men are victims, too.”

“We--,” Zuko tried to interrupt.

“The courts are even worse. They don’t give any protection after she’s been abandoned and isolated, battered. She sees the chance to escape and she takes it.” Katara scoffed. “The few that muster the courage to kill their abusers largely end up in jail. And, they’re not safe from the same abuse they tried to escape there either. The abuse in prisons are inescapable. The courts seem to say ‘You have evidence that your partner was abusive and police record demonstrates you feared for your life. But we’d rather you die than your abuser. So 5 years for manslaughter.’ It’s a broken system.”

Zuko didn’t get it. What’s she getting at?

Katara leaned forward, “There needs to be a better way.” She seemed to answer.

The door to the interrogation room swung open.

“Katara! What did I tell you about talking to the police before I get to the precinct?”

“Counsel for Ms. Kuruk is here, Detective Ryuku.”

A short women with alabaster skin and a loose top bun entered the room. Her baton swung in an arc as she crossed her arms. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Sugar Queen?” She stared at Zuko.

“Toph, I’m over here.” Katara responded, smiling.

“This isn’t a joke,” she spun around. “Why do you pay me if you don’t take my legal advice?”

“Got it, got it counselor. I promise I said nothing self-incriminating. And I even made a friend.”

“Keep joking and I’ll raise my fee.”

Katara snorted.

“Are you pressing any charges against my client, Detective?”

“No,” Zuko sat back.

“Is she free to go?”

“Be my guest,” he replied.

“Thank you. Let’s go, Sugar Queen.”

Katara stood up and flashed a grin at Zuko. “Good day, Detective. Good luck on finding leads in the case. I do hope they’re giving you more interesting work than a car accident.”

“Thank you for your concern,” he grumbled.

She stopped in the door threshold and turned to Zuko. She glanced back at where her lawyer was taking brisk steps toward him.

His heart stopped when she came closer, leaning in. Her eyes were overwhelmingly blue.

“The bar he went to,” she began low. “Look into the family that owns it. I’ve got enemies, just like you.”

“Katara! Let’s go.”

“Don’t make me regret helping you.” Her eyes scanned his face before walking out.

“Why did you help his wife? He was abusing her, wasn’t he.”

“I don’t turn my back on people who need me.” She answered over her shoulder.

AN: Call it a reverse role AU/mob AU/modern painted lady AU. Did you spot my anger at the American justice system’s failure to protect female victims of domestic violence and the shortcomings of the battered women’s defense?????

this is what i had in mind for Katara’s look

#zutara fanfiction #zutara AU #the honey heiress #me: lol this will be a 300 word drabble #also me: writes three single spaced pages #also me: wants to write more of this AU #someone help #me: hometown glory is gonna be my last multichaptered fic for a while #also me: thinking of different shenanigans for them to get into #🙃#domestic violence tw

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