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dreamwritesimagines · 3 years

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Burn The Witch 5 - Cross Your Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Lying is supposed to be easy for spies.

Series Masterlist

You were beginning to think undercover operations were some sort of punishments given to agents, because lying was one thing, but creating a whole life around that lie was another.

Not only were your knives replaced by a bunch of paintings on the wall, you now had some photos in frames; old photos of people you didn’t know, people who were supposed to be your “cover” family.

You’d still prefer to have your knives on the walls though.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear, and heard Chloe’s laugh.

“I am on your side, I just can’t do anything about your uniform.”

You plopped down on the couch, setting your heels down on the floor.

“Bucky might be from 1940s, but he knows that it’s the 21st century now,” you said, putting the heels on, “No reason to make me dress like a….weird pin up waitress.”

“It’s a part of your mission,” she reminded you, “What, you can kill a target with a wine glass but a pin up costume is where you draw the line?”

You clicked your tongue, “Anyone can kill someone with a wine glass. It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Babe it’s not rocket science, you just break the bowl part, then use the stem to stab them in the—“ you got distracted when you opened the kitchen cabinet, “I’m sorry, why do I have so many kitchen supplies?”

She held her breath in excitement, “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know what to do with most of them.”

“Cover Y/N likes cooking!”

“And the real Y/N can’t stand her,” you deadpanned, making her stifle a laugh.

“So he hasn’t texted you yet?”

“Barnes?” you asked, “Not yet. Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty of taking a look at his messages the other day.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” you said, “He’s seeing someone else?”

“No no, not at all,” she said, “He’s totally single, and probably ready to mingle. With you, that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He and Wilson were talking about you the other day. Well, more like Wilson was telling him to get his shit together and ask you out.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to ask someone out via text,” you said, “I think he will come to the shop one of these days.”

“Why?”

“He looked sort of….” You searched for the word in your mind, “Uh-clueless?”

“Clueless?”

“Yeah, you know how assassins usually flirt,” you ignored her noise of disagreement, “He wasn’t like that.”

“You really need to focus on the personal details of his file.”

You scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, “I know his favorite weapons, what knives he—”

“Personal file,” she repeated, “You know there’s more to people than their weapons of choice right?”

“I might have to engage in combat if I’m ever compromised, and do you know how many people walked away alive after engaging in combat with the Winter Soldier in all these decades?” you asked, “Three. Three people; Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and they are legends. I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

“Just memorizing his arsenal can’t help you in this mission,” she said, “Did you know that he hasn’t exactly dated since becoming the Winter Soldier? His ex Connie ended up having 3 kids and a long career at the post office—“

“What am I supposed to do Chloe, stalk grandma’s Instagram?”

“No, she passed away 5 years ago.”

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’m already knee deep in my own cover, I can’t get into Barnes’s past when it’ll give me no advantage in the mission.”

“Y/N-“

“Trust me,” you cut her off, looking in the mirror to fix your uniform, “I have everything under control.”

***

You had maybe like one thing under control and that was the milkshake you were currently pouring into a mason jar. After a crash course in different recipes yesterday, you barely needed any help from your coworkers and seeing that the shop wasn’t very crowded, you didn’t have to rush.

And now you knew how to make three things; pasta, eggs and milkshakes.

If Keith were here, he would’ve said those were 3 main food groups.

“Tara, we’re running low on maraschino cherries,” you said as you shook the can and your new coworker turned to you.

“Oh that’s okay, there’s another jar are under the counter.”

You put the cherry over the whipped cream, and handed the jar to her. “There you go.”

“Another week of working here and you will come up with your own recipes,” she said, “Tell me the truth, are you like a spy sent by a rival company?”

You stared at her, then forced a laugh.

“I wish,” you said, “Maybe I’d be paid more.”

“Good point,” she said and walked to give the milkshake to the customer while you put the empty jar aside, then went under the counter to search for a new jar.

“Strawberries….” You read the labels out loud as you heard the wind bells chime by the door, “Figs, berries—cherries!”

You reached out to grab the jar and stood up but as soon as you did, you caught the sight of the figure by the door and held your breath, the jar slipping from your grip before you caught it mid-air.

“Bucky.” You breathed out, before you remembered to plaster a smile on your face.

Naïve, soft hearted civilian.

He stole a look around as if he expected someone to attack him at any seconds in a milkshake shop before he stepped closer to the counter you were standing behind.

“Hi.”

“Hi-hi there!” you said, putting the jar down, “You came!”

“You sound surprised,” he smiled and you shrugged your shoulders, shooting him a mischievous look,

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

He hissed in a breath, “Ouch, was it that late?”

“Just a little,” you said “So what can I get you?”

He looked up at the board over the wall, “What are my options?”

“Well, we have Unicorn Cotton Candy, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Candy Cane Passion, Lavender Macaron—“ you stopped talking when you saw the clueless look on his face and cleared your throat, “Or hey, maybe chocolate? We have chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” You took a mason jar from the shelf to get to it and he grabbed his wallet, making you raise your brows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on—”

“I’m going to make you an overly complicated milkshake if you try to pay for this,” you warned him, shaking the can before putting whipped cream on top of the milkshake, “It’s on the house, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quickly, making you point at him with the straw.

“Either way, I’m warning you. I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Consider me intimidated,” he said with a grin as he put the cash into the tip jar and you narrowed your eyes.

“Bucky.”

“Well technically, tip doesn’t count.”

“I wonder where I heard that before,” you muttered under your breath while he walked to pull himself a seat.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, reminding yourself that your cover probably wouldn’t make dirty jokes and went to place the milkshake in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You waved a dismissive hand and rested your elbows on the counter, leaning in slightly.

He was gentleman enough to not check out your cleavage, instead kept his gaze on your face, making you suppress a smile.

“You were right,” Bucky said, his eyes darting around the café after a couple of seconds, “About how this place looked. It is creepily accurate.”

“Really?”

“I mean we didn’t have a neon flowers corner, but…” he trailed off, “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Is that why you look like you expect someone to jump out of shadows and attack you?” you asked and his head shot up before he scrunched up his face.

“That obvious?”

“Not that I have lots of experience but so far none of the customers looked this uncomfortable while drinking a milkshake,” you said, “Is it because deep down you actually wanted to try Unicorn Cotton Candy?”

“Oh no, I’m good with classics,” He held up his milkshake, “No I just think that I’m a bit….uh, rusty.”

“Rusty,” you repeated, “On what?”

“On this.”

You batted your lashes, looking up at him and you could almost feel him being lured in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” you said softly after a beat and he gulped, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just that you’re—“ he cleared his throat, “You’re very beautiful and it’s been decades since I last asked someone out for a date.”

Winter Soldier, credited with over 100 assassinations, you reminded yourself Don’t lower your guard, it’s just a cover.

Don’t believe in your own cover.

You bit down a smile, tilting your head.

“Well, I didn’t think you were rusty,” you said and he raised his brows.

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” you said, “For the record, I’m definitely going to say yes.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, “Once you actually ask me, that is. With words, not an implication.”

His smile was almost playful, “With words, huh?”

“I’m old fashioned like that,” you taunted him, “Let’s see how we can make it less awkward for you though. Would you feel more comfortable to ask me out if you knew some weird stuff about me?”

“You know, that would help a lot actually.”

You tapped your fingernails on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be in deep thought. Your superiors had always said the best cover stories were somehow based on real life without revealing your identity, so you figured telling him random things about you wouldn’t hurt or put the mission in danger.

“Well, I really like grapes but I don’t like the skin, so I end up peeling every grape I eat, one by one,” you counted with your fingers, “I watched a documentary once and now I can’t swim in any lakes because I keep thinking I’ll get attacked by that weird flesh eating bacteria. When I was sixteen, I was the president of the chess club but I had a boyfriend who didn’t believe in the moon landing—”

“I heard about the moon landing!” he said quickly, “I didn’t get around to watch it yet though.”

“Oh my God, you should.”

“What else?”

“I’m scared of peacocks,” you confessed, “I know everyone says they’re beautiful but they look like they’re waiting for the right time to attack you.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself not to laugh and he pressed his metal fist on his lips, his whole attention on you.

“You can’t laugh!” you exclaimed and he shook his head, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I’m not!” he managed to hide his chuckle with a cough, “Keep going, this is very helpful.”

You heaved a sigh. “Well, do you want to hear the most embarrassing one?”

“Absolutely.”

“I normally keep my phone on mute 24/7 but since last week it’s been on full volume because I was terrified I’d miss something important.”

The amused light in his eyes got softer and he lowered his hand, a smile warming his face.

Hook, line…

“I was um— I was hoping for you to call, you see.” you said, averting your gaze from him to look down for a second, biting on your lip.

His voice was raspy; “Were you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, mumbling an inaudible maybe, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping up to lock your gaze in his.

“What time do you get off work today?”

And sinker.

Time to pull back.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, “I work at the soup kitchen tonight.”

“Oh –I thought you said it was on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I did, I’m just covering for a friend tonight. Family emergency, she says.” you said and pushed your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight, “But my shift is over at 6 tomorrow and I can be ready around 7, I live really close by. If you’re- if you’re free, that is.”

“I am.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“It’s a date,” he repeated and stood up, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.” You smiled as he walked out of the shop and Tara came closer to you.

“Wow, you’ve been here a month and you met someone that hot?” she said and winked at you, “Good job there.”

Right.

Good job.

***

“So, wait—“ Chloe came closer to sit between you and Keith, holding a huge bowl of popcorn, “He just showed up?”

“Mm hm.”

“And you have a date tomorrow?”

Keith uncapped your beer and handed you the bottle as you rested your feet on the coffee table.

“You’re being careful, aren’t you?” he asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No, he’s buying this whole naïve soft hearted civilian thing,” you said while Chloe snatched the remote from Keith’s hand, ignoring protests.

“And are you?”

You dragged your eyes from the list of movies on the screen. “I want a horror movie.”

“Well too bad, I want an action movie.”

“We’re watching a rom-com and that’s final!” Chloe pointed at both of you, making you groan.

“Why does this keep happening?” Keith asked to no one in particular and she snapped her fingers.

“It’s my turn and my place so I pick the movie,” she said and shot you a look, “I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way. You don’t….you don’t have feelings for Barnes, right?”

Keith stole a look at you before turning to Chloe,

“I don’t think our dear friend here wants a relationship beautiful,” he told her, “Not after what happened the last time.”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as a shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know Barnes all that well yet, but I can assure you he’s not the type to—“ you paused, “Do something that cowardly.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Where is that asshole anyway?”

“Hungary,” Chloe said and you raised your brows.

“Undercover?”

“Yeah. I hope he gets compromised and dies there.”

“Very unlikely,” you murmured, “Anyways, what brought this on? My feelings for Barnes?”

“It’s just that I recently read Vincent Smith’s file,” she said, “You guys remember Vincent?”

“Who?”

“His code name was Marco.”

“Oh, I remember Marco!” Keith said, “That guy took down a whole unit by himself. What happened to him?”

“He is missing.” Chloe said and you pulled your brows together.

“Since when do agents go missing and we don’t know where they are?”

“Since they fall for the target.”

“No way,” Keith chuckled, “Badass spy Marco fell in love? Poor idiot.”

“You’re a terrible person, Keith.”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, did you say he fell for the target?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports from his handler. And now he’s missing, and I don’t want you to run away with Barnes like Marco did with his target.”

You and Keith exchanged glances and you clicked your tongue.

“Chloe babe, he’s not missing.” you said “He’s dead.”

She pulled back slightly, “You don’t know-“

“Yes I do. You don’t fall for the target and compromise the whole mission, not unless you want to end up dead.”

“There’s no report of that,” she insisted and Keith sipped his beer.

“What did his report say, sweetheart?”

“That he was removed from his mission before going missing.”

Keith scoffed, “Rest in peace Marco, you won’t be missed.”

“How do you know—“

“Because that’s the code,” you said, “If the report says he was removed from his mission and went missing, it means he was killed by an agent on our side.”

“We killed our own agent?” she exclaimed and you turned the beer bottle in your hand,

“He stopped being our agent the moment he fell for the target.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, worry etched into her expression, “Y/N, please, please promise me you won’t somehow get too involved in this mission and fall for Barnes and put yourself in danger.”

You let out a small laugh, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“It’s the Winter Soldier we’re talking about,” you reminded her and chewed on the popcorn, “Trust me, that would never happen.”

“Cross your heart?”

You heaved a sigh and clinked your beer bottle with hers.

“Cross my heart honey,” you assured her, “There’s no way I’d sign my own death warrant by doing something that stupid.”

Chapter 6

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #marvel #bucky barnes x you

608 notes · View notes

palbabor-writes · 3 years

Note

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them.

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE.

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at.

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes. Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town.

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed.

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.”

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off.

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar.

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while.

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you.

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch?

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor.

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth.

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction.

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle.

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands.

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor.

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.”

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind.

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves.

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious.

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his.

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer.

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off.

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move.

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly.

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take.

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along.

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it.

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness. It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins.

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar.

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer.

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well.

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter.

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers.

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law.

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him.

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered.

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too.

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight.

The white shine of his hair always gives him away.

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?”

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against.

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke.

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you.

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.”

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger.

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?”

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it.

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark.

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze.

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his.

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now.

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness.

******

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him.

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension.

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions.

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine.

******

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened.

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation.

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features.

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness.

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly.

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion.

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists.

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens.

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might.

Late one evening, your phone rings.

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive.

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly.

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor.

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so...

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you.

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you.

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.”

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this.

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want.

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting.

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him.

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him.

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you.

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you.

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips.

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks.

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on.

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult.

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth.

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you.

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips.

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh.

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes.

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth.

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front.

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good.

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands.

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes.

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking.

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips.

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him.

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking.

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration.

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him.

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his.

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you.

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him.

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue.

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you.

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience.

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?”

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection.

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor.

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you.

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head.

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different.

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed.

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher.

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.”

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes.

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished.

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous.

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs.

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent.

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind.

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have.

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality.

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going.

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin.

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall.

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub.

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it.

He’s never been alone, not like this.

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same.

He needs to see this through.

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away.

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple.

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go.

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin.

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme.

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on Tomura’s dick #and his trauma #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tenko shimura #shimura tenko #reader insert

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #ironstrange x reader #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark fanfiction #stephen strange fanfiction

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too-attached-to-fiction · 4 years

Text

Love Illustrated | Steve Rogers

Masterlist here

Word count: 2447

Requested: no

Prompt: I doodle on napkins between orders and i leave them for every regular that comes in and one day you leave a drawing for me

a/n: not doing any sequels for this. I just wanted some fluffy Steve Rogers content.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, JUST SLOW!

~~~

Your best friend picked up another doodle you had left on the counter, observing it carefully. Above the hum of the espresso machine, he called out to you.

“Have you ever considered doing this as a job?” He held up the drawing you had made of them earlier in the morning, just after you had opened up the cafe. “You’re better at this than talking to people.”

You rolled your eyes, glaring at him. “That’s what I’m going to college for, dumbass.” You said.

Lucky Cafe was a small building, just a few blocks from Stark Tower and right next to a subway entrance. Taylor, your best friend, had opened up the shop the minute he was out of college. You, on the other hand, had been working in the shop since high school, and had started taking community classes a year ago. Due to your anxiety, you found it easier to hide behind the cash register and make whatever low-fat soy chai was ordered.

“Well, Edith is starting to move toward the counter. Better start on that London Fog,” Taylor said, taking his rightful place at the cash register.

“On it.” You mumbled, just as the old woman reached the counter. You quickly grabbed the milk to start steaming it and a teal mug from the shelf above you.

“Hi Edith, London Fog?” Taylor asked in his cheerful, my-smile-is-always-this-wide tone.

“As always.” Edith said, making amicable chit-chat with Taylor. You smirked to yourself. Kiss up.

As you waited for the milk and water to heat up, you grabbed a pen and started doodling on a spare post-it note. Today, Edith wore a purple sweater, something you’d seen her knitting for the past few weeks.

You were finally satisfied with the doodle when the water and milk were ready, and once everything was assembled, you took the mug and the post-it to her. She beamed up at you when she saw the small drawing.

“It’s beautiful, (Y/N).” You smiled back shyly before walking back to the other side of the counter.

Just as you returned, Taylor’s eyes widened as he looked through the glass doors. “Holy shit.” He mumbled. “New customer, (Y/N)!” He tugged on your apron, and you looked up. Holy shit was right. There was a blonde man coming closer to the doors of your cafe, wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans.

“He’s a fucking Adonis.” You mumbled, barely coherent. Still, you rolled your eyes. “We get them all the time. Stop ogling him and get ready to have a human conversation.” You sat on your stool, trying to figure out what to draw next.

The bell over the front door rang, but you didn’t bother to look up. You could still feel Taylor’s nervous energy practically radiating from him.

“Hi, welcome to Lucky Cafe! What can I get you today?”

“Just a black coffee.”

“For here, or to go?”

“Here, please.” The man said, and you glanced at the empty coffee pot.

“We’ll bring that out for you in a few minutes.” Taylor said, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

As soon as the man left the counter to find a seat, you leapt up, starting a new pot of coffee. While you waited for it to filter, your hands found the pen and post-it, and you sketched a basic outline of the man.

“Looks more rough than usual.” Taylor observed, making you jump. You swatted his shoulder gently.

“Shut up.” You shot back, too lazy to think of a proper insult. Taylor only laughed, and the front door rang again.

The machine beeped, and you carefully poured the coffee into a mug, grabbed the light blue post-it and a small plate. You tucked the post-it underneath the mug and plate in hand before walking out and delivering the drink.

“One black coffee.” You said, the two of you exchanging polite smiles. “If you need anything else, we’ll be at the counter.” You ducked your head as you walked off, palming the back of your neck.

Anyone who wasn’t Taylor made you nervous. You were surprised you had been able to get those two sentences out to this new customer. Normally, you could barely utter one.

Your shoulders instantly relaxed as you got behind the counter again, and carefully, you eyed the stranger as he found your drawing of him. He smiled at it, folding and tucking it in his pocket before he opened the sketchbook he had brought with him.

Steve knew you were watching him. He’d seen the way you and Taylor had looked at him from across the street. Still, not wanting to embarrass you, he chose to brush that off.

The drawing you had given him was nothing short of a normal sketch - and yet, it was undeniably him. You had gotten his features down perfectly within a few strokes of your ballpoint pen.

This continued on for a week or so, with Steve coming into Lucky Cafe and receiving a sketch of himself every day. He kept all of them in his nightstand, safely tucked away from Tony and the rest of the team.

By now, he had worked up the courage to say something. He knew you were painfully shy, because you never stood behind the register. You were always behind the espresso machine.

So if he couldn’t talk to you at the counter, he’d have to figure out how to communicate with you.

He started bringing his own post-it notes. He wondered how you made sketches so effortlessly in between customers, when he disliked everything he drew for you.

It took another week for him to be happy with his own sketch of you. He had been sitting near the take out counter, where you normally sat on your stool while you doodled. Without thinking too much about it, he drew you - your hair tied up, the black apron over your (F/C) t-shirt. When he left, the post-it note stayed where he had been sitting.

You made quick work to pick up the empty cup and the tip he’d left, but underneath it all was his drawing for you. You stared at it, wondering how he’d known all this time that you had been sketching him.

Just below the drawing, he’d scribbled out his name and number.

Steve Rogers, you thought, you’re going to be the death of me.

~~~

For the next few days, you didn’t see him. Taylor and Lyra, the other part-timer, had both promised you that they’d tell you if he came in. By the time he came back, he had almost left your mind completely.

Almost.

When he entered the coffee shop for the first time in days, you gave him a small wave from behind the espresso machine. He grinned and waved back after ordering his usual.

You were up in a flash, bouncing behind the counter as you waited for the new pot of coffee to finish. Lyra smirked at you.

“Ready to talk?” She teased, and your face went hot. “Relax, I’m just teasing you.”

Steve sat in his usual spot, in the corner of the cafe. You brought the steaming mug over with the post-it tucked into your apron.

“Thank you, for the drawing. That was really nice.” You said quietly, bringing out today’s drawing.

“I figured I should return the favor. What’s your name?”

You pointed to your name badge with a raised eyebrow. “(Y/N).”

“When do you get a break?”

Twenty minutes later, you were walking along Steve through the crowded streets of New York City. Summer was dying down, and the leaves had started to turn color everywhere. “So, Steve, what do you do?”

“I work for the government.” Steve said carefully, trying not to act suspicious. “Is the coffee shop a full time gig?”

“I’m a full time student at CCNY. The cafe just pays the bills.” You adjusted the bag on your shoulder. “I’m actually studying to be an animator. Well, trying to, anyways.”

“How long have you been drawing?”

“Longer than I can remember.” You replied, a soft smile gracing your features.

Steve listened as you walked, your quiet voice flowing nervously. It had been a long time since you went out with anyone that wasn’t Tyler.

Eventually, you made him talk about his past. He picked bits and pieces from his childhood carefully, which made you all the more curious.

When you reached the community college, you looked at Steve. “Thank you for walking me. I’ll, um, I’ll text you. I-if that’s okay.” Your fingers unconsciously fiddled with the hem of your sweater.

“Have a good class.” He said, raising a hand in greeting before going into the crowd of New Yorkers and students leaving CCNY.

A month passed, with Steve walking you to class after your shift most days. Sometimes, he didn’t come into the shop for no more than a week. Taylor and Lyra did their best to distract you during those times, knowing that he brightened your day every time he walked in.

“Are you free on Thursday night?” Steve asked one day as you served him his coffee. You stuck the post-it on the table, avoiding his eyes.

“I think so. Even if I was scheduled for work, Taylor would probably make sure I’m free.” Your face warmed. “What do you have in mind?”

“I wanted to take you out to dinner. A date, if you will.”

Your eyes met his hopeful ones. You couldn’t help but nod, too speechless. In no universe did you ever think that you’d be going out with Steve Rogers.

“Is that a yes?”

You nodded again. “Um, I-I’ll t-text you my address.”

He watched as you rushed off, amused as you practically raced behind the counter and whispered something into Taylor’s ear. His smile only grew as Taylor high-fived and hugged you tightly.

“I’m so happy for you.” Taylor mumbled as he hugged you. “God, that took way too long.”

~~~

That Thursday evening, Steve appeared at your apartment door, with a small bouquet in hand. You smiled, promising come back after you had placed the flowers in a vase.

Three subway rides later, the two of you were sitting in a tiny Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. The waitstaff seemed to know Steve well, offering you warm smiles and earnestly telling you only good things.

“Do you come here often?” You said after you’d ordered.

“Enough.” Steve laughed. “My coworkers and I helped them out of a tough spot a year or two ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we helped a lot of places rebuild after the whole alien thing.” You nodded. The invasion of 2012 was a huge deal in New York. You remembered ushering at least twenty people into Lucky’s basement, where you all crouched around the crank radio. Taylor was somewhat of a survivalist, and for once, you were glad that he was over-prepared.

“That’s incredible.”

Another two months passed, with Steve going away more and more often. Even though you missed him, you got caught up in work and school often, distracting yourself. You passed your winter finals with ease, and found refuge in Lucky Cafe. If Taylor and Lyra noticed Steve hadn’t been around, they didn’t say a word.

Your phone buzzed as you were walking home from work. You stopped on the sidewalk only to find Steve’s name on your phone screen.

Steve

3:45 PM

Can you come over?

3:45 PM

Yeah, of course.

In your two months of dating, you’d only been to Steve’s apartment once or twice, and both visits had been extremely short. He was generally private about his work, and there was a part of you that always felt like he was holding his breath around you.

Still, you navigated through the streets of New York with ease, as you had done for years, and appeared at Steve’s doorstep.

He greeted you with a warm hug that made you practically melt. When he was away, there were usually a few texts back and forth, but no calls. Both of you avoided calls like it was the plague.

“Is there something wrong?” You asked when he finally let go of you, ushering you inside. “Or am I just overthinking everything?”

“I have something to tell you.” You raised an eyebrow as he sat across from you in the small living area. “We’ve been invited to Tony Stark’s annual Christmas gala.”

“O...kay?” You looked at him in confusion. “And that’s a problem because…”

“Promise me you won’t freak out or tell anybody what I’m about to tell you.”

“I won’t!”

Steve gave you a meaningful look. “I’m Captain America. I’m the leader of the Avengers.”

You opened your mouth, at a loss for words. “Steve-”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but Stark’s my teammate and he’ll probably make some dumb jokes at the gala and I wanted to tell you before he beat me to the punch.” Steve rushed. “They know about you. Do you… do you want to come with me to the gala? As a date?”

“Um… can I think about it?” You asked weakly, trying to wrap your head around the news. Looking back, it made sense. Steve was certainly built to be Captain America, and his “work trips” were probably missions for the Avengers.

A grim look crossed his face. “Yeah, of course.”

As soon as you stepped out into the cold, you bit your lip. You knew that you should have said yes. That’s what you wanted to say when he had first told you, but all of the new information made your head spin. What if he put himself in danger in the next mission and got himself killed?

Even with this new information, he was still Steve. Steve, the guy who always ordered black coffee and left drawings as tips. Steve, who made you feel less invisible and didn’t care about your anxiety.

When Steve walked in the next morning, you perked up as usual. But this time, instead of your usual post-it note, you brought over a larger piece of paper. You shyly presented it to him.

“I, um, made this. For you.” He opened the folded paper to find a picture of himself, split down the middle. Half of him was him in his civilian wear; the other half was him in the suit, complete with the helmet.

Down in the corner, in small writing, you had written the following: The world may know you as Captain America, but I know you as Steve Rogers.

“I love it.”

“Is it too late to RSVP for that gala?” He grinned, leaning up to kiss you.

“Not at all.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x reader #avengers imagines #avengers being happy #avengers being a family #not requested #captain america imagines #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #fluff with a little angst

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bleedinghearthalstead · 4 years

Text

SWAT!Jay / Upstead AU

A/N: Part 11. Post Bruised Ego. Crossposted on AO3, link on my blog.

They've come to realize that they're missing a lot of kitchen essentials and unless Jay is willing to dive into the tinned cans tucked into the back of one the cabinets, they are definitely in need of a grocery run.

It's been a while since they've been grocery shopping together. Since they're both barely home, their fridge rather resembles one of a bachelor than of a married couple, mostly empty except for condiments and random take-out containers and that old bottle of milk that probably went bad last week. But now that Jay is home with a broken hand, they've come to realize that they're missing a lot of kitchen essentials and unless Jay is willing to dive into the tinned cans tucked into the back of one the cabinets, they are definitely in need of a grocery run.

When Jay suggests that they go to Costco, Hailey raises an eyebrow at him. Jay is usually the get in, get what you need and get out type of shopper, so it really is a testament to how bored he is at home and it's only been a week. She doesn’t want to know what else he’s going to come up with in the next five. Hailey quickly makes a list of what they need – wow, they're apparently out of salt – and they're off to what she knows is going to be a much longer shopping trip than she had planned for.

They've barely stepped foot in the warehouse and Jay has already wandered off towards the electronics on sale, leaving Hailey with their cart. She thinks about calling after her husband, but she just rolls her eyes at him and keeps walking towards the food section in the back. He better not be looking at that 70 inch TV that he was talking about with Will the other night. Hailey methodically goes down every aisle – if they're here already, she might as well make the most of it and find some of those hidden sale items. She remembers going shopping with her mother, one of the few things she and her mother did together – just the two of them since her brothers hated it – and they’d make a fun game out of it, doing a treasure hunt for those elusive limited offers. She’d run ahead of her mother, ducking and jumping, running back and forth the aisles, trying to glimpse the highlighted price signs. Both of them would rejoice every time Hailey found a treasure. She marvels at how fondly she looks back at such a mundane thing as buying groceries.

Half an hour later Hailey finds Jay in the cereal aisle, one-handedly pushing his own cart, already filled with all kinds of things. "Jay!" She walks over to him, her eyes widening at what is in his cart. "What in the world…"

"Oh hey, babe." Jay gives her a blinding smile and throws two large boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into his cart.

She rummages through the items he’s gotten so far and they definitely do not need 1,875 q-tips or 200 trash bags or that tub of 115 dishwasher detergent pacs. And is that a 2 pound tin of peanuts? She spots something blue and silver at the bottom of the cart and she scrunches up her nose in disgust. "Oh God, is that a 24-pack of Red Bull?!"

"Leave it," he laughs and slaps his wife’s hands away.

She sees that he’s also already been to the meat section and got two whole chickens, four racks of ribs and what looks like ten pounds of ground beef. "Who’s gonna eat all of that?"

Jay shrugs and scratches the back of his head. "I thought I’d invite the guys over for a barbeque." And now she knows how bored Jay really is, if he’s willing to cater for eight guys who eat like they’re bottomless pits, with a broken hand no less. Hailey sighs, knowing that this is going to happen whether she wants it or not.

"Alright," she huffs and looks through the rest of his cart – there's burger buns, but there's nary a vegetable in sight, and no, she’s not gonna count the massive glass of pickles. "How about some sides and some other drinks?"

Jay’s brilliant smile is back and he leans down to peck her on the lips. "You’re the best."

In the hopes of speeding things up, Hailey types out a list on her phone and Jay’s phone pings a few seconds later. "You get those things and I’ll get the rest. Meet at checkout in twenty?"

He looks at the items she sent him and nods, checking his watch. "Copy that."

"Oh," Hailey stops him with a grin, "and can you get me some tampons when you get the toilet paper?"

"Orange or green?" Jay sticks out his tongue at her. He knows she tries to catch him off-guard sometimes, but honestly, it's not the first time he got her tampons and it's not like he minds.

She winks at him. "Yellow."

"Yes, ma'am." He'll get her some tampons, she'll see.

On her round to get the last few things on her own list (a.k.a. the things that they were actually planning to buy before they got here), she catches Jay stuffing his face with food samples four times, and every time he waves and yells at her to try this or that with his mouth full. And every time she pushes her cart quickly down the next aisle, shaking her head at his antics.

After she gets everything they needed, she gives him the full twenty minutes and another ten afterwards just browsing through the store before she goes to checkout, but her husband is nowhere to be seen. Hailey tries calling him, but it just keeps ringing until it goes to voicemail. Sighing, she guesses that Jay got lost somewhere in the cheese section, looking for the feta cheese that she put on his list. Waiting for another five minutes, Hailey decides to pay and get a sundae from the food court while she waits for him.

"Babe, over here!" She hears his voice as soon as she’s past the cash registers, surprised that he beat her to the food court. He’s holding a half-eaten hot dog in his right hand and balancing another one on his cast, a soda cup tucked into the crook of his elbow. Jay looks like a food spill waiting to happen, so Hailey hurries towards him, saving the hot dog that is precariously perched on his arm.

The toppings are piled high and there’s extra sauerkraut, just the way she likes it. She smiles up at Jay and thumbs away a drop of ketchup from the corner of his mouth before she stands up on her tiptoes and gives him a quick kiss. "Thanks, babe."

He raises an eyebrow at her when she takes her first bite. "Who said that one’s for you?"

His wife giggles and retorts with a raised eyebrow of her own. "Let’s see you try and take this away from me."

"Oh no," Jay laughs, "I'm only gonna make that mistake once." He finishes the rest of his hot dog in one bite – his cheeks comically bulging as he chews – and washes it down with a couple of big gulps of soda. He takes Hailey’s cart and leads her to where he left his while she eats her hot dog.

"Hey, Raymond," he walks up to an employee, "all good?"

"Yeah, man, your carts are over there." The guy points at two carts (he did say carts, as in plural, Hailey thinks) that are pushed against the wall next to him.

"Thanks, buddy." Jay fistbumps the guy and pushes Hailey’s cart over to the others.

Hailey almost chokes on the bite of hot dog in her mouth. The last time she saw him half an hour ago, he had one cart that was already ridiculously full and he walked out with two? She doesn’t even know how Jay did it. It’s hard enough to push two carts by yourself, but he can’t even hold on to the other one properly with his cast? And how did he even get the stuff in the cart? She forces herself to swallow down the bite and blurts out, "What the fuck?"

A woman with two little kids walking by glares at Hailey and Jay snorts loudly. She doesn’t even notice, still staring at Jay’s two overflowing carts. One of them is definitely the one that she saw him with, only now thirty rolls of toilet paper and about 300 tampons stacked on top. The second one is loaded with three 24-pack trays of beer, three big bottles of bourbon, a six pack of Coke bottles and a gallon of orange juice. And it’s all piled on top of a…

"Is that a mini fridge?!" Hailey's voice goes up an octave. She turns to Jay who looks at her like the cat that ate the canary, big grin and all. Jay bought a mini fridge. Hailey pinches the bridge of her nose, but can't help the laugh that escapes her. She knew one of them was going to buy something they didn't need, but this definitely beats the yoga pants and sports bra that she treated herself to.

"It's actually a stainless steel cooler on wheels," Jay explains proudly. "It's got its own bottle opener and cap catcher."

Laughing out loud, she hands her half-eaten hot dog to Jay who gladly takes it and continues to wolf it down. She pats his good arm. "Honey, you get all of that stuff in the car, I don't care how."

"And what are you gonna do?"

"I’m getting a sundae," she announces and walks off. Behind her she hears Jay roping that poor guy Raymond into helping him with the carts. Then she hears him call after her. "Babe! Get me a strawberry sundae too!" She shakes her head with a smile and gets in line.

#upstead #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #pure fluff and humor #upstead doing mundane things #bhhfic #swat!jay au

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fourmarkdove · 4 years

Text

Wings.

Title: Wings.

Summary: Bouncing back into the dating scene after a bad breakup seems like a good idea until your Tinder date becomes an absolute nightmare.

Paring: Vampire!Henry x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst, physical and a hint of sexual assault, violence, blood, dissociation, murder (most foul). You know, the usual. Please avoid if you trigger easily.

A/N: Inspo based on this edit (above) of Vampire!Henry by @demivampirew

“I’m going to go to the bathroom!” you shouted to your date over the hard thumping house music.

Surprisingly, he looked exactly like his Tinder profile picture, with his perfect blonde haircut, clean lines of an expensive suit, bioluminescent grin. It seemed odd he refused to meet his brown eyed gaze to yours, electing to keep his sunglasses on during dinner, but you cared less and less as the top tier mixed drinks kept coming. He’d thrown his arm comfortably around you way too early, smiled much too brightly. But if you were completely honest, it’d been so long since your last date, before that rough break-up, and you were starving for the attention. It’s not like you were a one night stand kind of woman, certainly not with a smooth, nearly perfect, stranger but if the situation presented itself you were pretty sure you were going to jump on the opportunity - not because he was as amazing as his profile said he was. He was actually quite boring, despite the flash and swagger, tossing cash around like he legitimately owned the nightclub he took you to after dinner.

In the bathroom, you pressed your hips firmly into the edge of the counter to keep from tilting on your fuck me heels. Applying a fresh bit of lipstick, you felt giddy, despite all of the alcohol pumping through your bloodstream. The room spun and you were hazy but in a fun way.

You are a sexy bitch. Smiling at yourself in the mirror, you decided you were going home with him.

He gripped your hips bruisingly hard and kept ramming his bulge against you every chance he got. He even started to kiss and nip at your neck, right there on the dance floor with people pressed in all around you. Who does that? People who find other people incredibly desirable and not at all desperate for validation, that’s who.

Your drunken logic, like your lipstick, was flawless.

After adjusting your push-up bra so your breasts lifted even higher from the black dress you wore, you stumbled back out the door to where he was waiting, leaning against the wall, your tiny purse strap dangling from one of his fingers.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“Mm I think so,” you purred hazily, running your nails over the buttons down the front of his shirt. He gripped your hand so hard you squeaked. His crushing grip hurt as he dragged you through the writhing mass of dancing bodies. You were going to get fucked. And you were going to feel it tomorrow.

“Uber?” you questioned, pulling out your phone the moment you cleared the club doors and were slapped with the shudderingly cool night air. Damn. You should have brought a jacket.

“Nah, we’ll walk,” he griped, leading you a few steps down the sidewalk. “My place isn’t too far.”

You made it exactly three steps teetering on those fuck me heels before you rolled your ankle on the uneven sidewalk and cried out in pain.

“I’m so s-sorry, Bryce,” you whimpered, leaning against a sign post to slip off your heel. “Give me a minute.”

He glanced over his glasses at you and then further down the street. “Come on, babe. Worry about it when we get to my place.”

“I think I might have pulled something. It’s really swelling up. Will you please wait a moment?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he hissed menacingly. “I guess we’ll just have to do this here.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he fisted your hair and yanked hard at the roots.Your hands flew around his wrist, attempting to free yourself as he dragged you toward the darkened alley beside the club. Stumbling in only one heel, your throbbing ankle gave way again and you howled painfully, begging him to let you go. In the rush pry yourself from his grip, your purse swung from your body and landed on the sidewalk.

“Please stop!” you sobbed when your back grated flush to the stone cold brick wall behind you.

He held you by the throat, taking his time pulling off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket. There was no hurry now that he had captured and caged you in with his body. He hovered, blown out eyes black as midnight, and breathed in the warm scent of your skin, nuzzling along your hairline.

“You’re a fucking tease; you know that, yeah?” he breathed, tipping his head and playfully edging your strap off your shoulder.

“No, I’m really not,” you gritted, holding onto his wrist for dear life. In your peripheral vision, you noticed your purse had fallen open and spilled its contents under the buzzing orange streetlight. Fuck. Mace was in your purse but too far to manage now, especially on a sprained ankle.

He took advantage of your sideways glance, pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. Pressure and sharpness made you gasp audibly. He sighed, savoring the moment and you licked over your bottom lip to find the sting.

“You fucking bit me!”

His grin shown dark, stained with your blood. Wordlessly, he jerked your head to the side and sunk his canines into the soft place between your shoulder and neck. You cried out in shuddering pain, attempting desperately to shift your weight onto your injured side so you could at least give him a swift kick. He had you pinned too well though and any movement made him just grip tighter.

Bare shoulder blades scraping into the bricks behind you made you arch from the wall, but he pressed a thigh between your legs and forced you back onto it, his other hand roaming freely all over your body; grasping, kneading, bruising.

Letting out a choked, desperate cry, you felt your vision going dark. The lightheaded sensation swept through your body and your grip on his wrist loosened. You felt sick and hot and just wanted to escape your body.

You neither saw nor heard your date’s attacker approaching, but the pressure release and being tossed into the gravel shocked you semi-conscious. Through hazy vision, you made out two men scuffling and two others arriving from under the buzzing streetlight.

Shouting. And growling.

Pulling yourself up to sitting, you attempted to stand but the pain and disorientation proved too much. Instead, you dragged yourself to the doorway behind the club and held your breath, trying to stay quiet. Hot liquid pooled in the dip above your collarbone which you instinctively pressed your hand over.

The shouting ceased with a sickening click followed immediately by two men dragging a limp body right past you down the alley in the direction of the dumpsters.

A massive form in an all black suit loomed large over your hiding spot and the proximity made you shudder in terror. Flicking on his phone flashlight, he crouched down and laid it beside you.

“You can call the police and I’ll wait here with you. But I’d prefer you let me help you inside.”

His deep voice felt warm, like an embrace to your senses. A dark curl fell against his tense, worry-lined forehead which he pushed back but fell right onto its original place.

“My ankle…” you redirected, anxious to get his steady gaze away from your face. You had yet to look him in the eye.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he slipped it around your body while looking over your swollen appendage. “Hmm, we should get some ice on that.”

Pulling the smooth fabric up close against your cheeks, you burrowed down into his jacket that could have wrapped around you twice over. It was still warm and smelled like sandalwood and soap.

Awash with sympathy, his blue-eyed gaze returned to your pained face. His brows lifted in the center waiting for your decision.

“Maybe some ice,” you suggested, “for my shoulder, too?”

Fishing keys out of his suit pants’ pocket, he put one into the lock above your head and turned it.

“You work here?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, sliding a thick arm under your legs and another behind your back, lifting you up off the gravel like you weighed nothing at all.

Dumpster lids at the end of the alley slammed open. The jarring sound rattled your nerves and you instinctively buried your face in his dress shirt’s collar.

“You don’t need to look at that, darling,” he instructed gently, rubbing a thumb against the small of your back.

Once inside, he flicked on a series of small golden lights down a long hall and into a pristinely presented office. Just past the desk with leather chairs was an executive washroom similarity decorated to the rest: mostly black marble with gold trim around the huge mirror that filled almost an entire wall.

Setting you down gently next to the sink, he slipped from your grasp to wash his bloodied knuckles. Your wide eyed gaze peering out from under his over-sized suit jacket made him smile just slightly.

“What’s your name?” He took a folded towel from the sink and dried his hands.

“Y/N.”

“Henry.”

“I’m not sure I should be in here.”

He arched a curious brow, removing his cuff links. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Looks expensive and I might be sick.” You cringed inside but it was the truth. Your skin was clammy and you kept swallowing hard, trying not to think of your anxious stomach turning over.

His amused smirk faded. Rolling up his sleeves, he pushed them up his forearms and stepped up between your knees.

When he came that close, you stared straight ahead at his broad chest, particularly the third button down that strained to keep his shirt closed across his pecs.

Black button on a black shirt with black thread going through two holes. Kind of a shiny button. Almost. Not quite matte. It’s a nice shirt. On a nice man. He smells nice.

“Darling?” he called gently, tugging at your not-so-conscious thought. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. They were the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen. Saying nothing, heat rose to your cheeks and the corner of your lips ticked slightly upwards.

“Before we get to that ankle, I’d like to have a look at that shoulder,” he pressed two fingers to the lapel of his jacket you wore.

The moment he applied even the slightest pressure, you recoiled to the back of the jacket and closed your eyes tightly.

“Easy now, I just want to get you bandaged up,” he rumbled in his deep baritone.

“No.” You appeared to withdraw further into his jacket. “Please… don’t… touch me.”

Sighing deeply, he disappeared a moment and returned with the first aid box and set it next to your thigh. Popping it open, he rifled through bandages and located a pair of scissors, offering them to you, handle first. “Go on, take them.”

You frowned but pried your hand from your grip on the fabric around yourself to hold the scissors. Pressing a palm on the counter next to your knee, he leaned down so you were both eye level.

He searched your gaze for a moment. “In case you were worried, now you have a weapon. You won’t need it, but I do need to have a look at you though.”

Biting your bloodied lip, you nodded and felt an odd sense of relief. He lifted his brows in the center and asked if he could peel back the blood slickened jacket from your chest and you agreed, but immediately regretted it. Hissing in sharply, you clutched the scissors and looked up at him for any indication as to how bad it really was.

He maintained the same expression, however: focused, concerned, but controlled. Once he had your shoulder fully exposed, he reached around and quickly collected one of the hand towels, applying such hard pressure to the gaping bite wound that it made you wail in pain.

“Fuck,” he grunted, checking under the towel edge, adding a second to it and pressing down with the same painful pressure. “I didn’t think he had it in him to bite you as seriously as this.”

“Serious?” you repeated, feeling quite detached from your body. You touched the tendon working along his forearm, over his wrist and hand forcing the towels into the bite so severely, any additional pressure and he could have snapped your clavicle with his bare hands.

“You’re bleeding. Badly.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

Jaw clenched, he corrected, “I can get it to stop but you’ll need to trust me and you won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” An overwhelming sense of dread filled every corner in the darkest parts of your mind. It made you choke on tears. “Nothing matters.”

“Of course it does,” he nudged gently, lifting your head with his elbow. “What were you drinking tonight?”

“Um… a-appletini. Caramel.”

Flashing a brilliant smile, down at you, he applied both hands’ worth of pressure to your shoulder again, making you whine. “After we get this sorted, we’ll sit down together and you can drink all the appletinis you want. On me.”

“N-no, I… c-couldn’t- I…”

His warm chuckle resonated through your chest. “Of course you can. And will. I own this place and a dozen more like it, Y/N. We’ll sit down together at any one of them that you like, promise.”

“Like… a date?” The words tumbled out of your mouth but in fairness, you weren’t sure the perfectly gorgeous man before you was real or just a dream. It had to be a dream because what would someone who looked like him want anything to do with someone like you?

“Like a date,” he repeated, leaning over and nuzzling your head back up. He huffed a frustrated grunt. “Come on, stay awake.”

Touching foreheads, your eyes opened lazily and you stroked the stubble along his jawline. “S-sorry I... ruined y-your... jacket...”

Worry strained his features; you were fading quite literally in his hands. “Let me do this. Please.”

“Mm...” your hand slipped from his cheek and the sweet solitude of sleep consumed your consciousness, rendering your body limp.

In an instant, the towels were slapped onto a soaked pile on the floor and his massive hands wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you up as his mouth descended to your neck. Your head dropped back, and he pushed tendrils of blood soaked hair over your shoulder so they swung against the mirror making a slippery mess of the glass. He tongued over every inch of your exposed flesh, coagulating the fresh blood rising to the surface with his saliva. The scissors you held clattered into the sink basin.

Dark liquid smeared all over his lips and cheeks, he lifted his head, panting. His bright ocean blue eyes were filled with the red rage and blood lust from the taste of warm, fresh blood. Pushing his fingers into your hair, he tenderly lifted your head and dropped his shoulder to cradle your forehead against the crook of his long neck.

His brow furrowed when he tugged his saturated jacket down the rest of the way, exposing your injured shoulder blades in the mirror. Licking his thumb pad, he stroked over each bloodied wing in the reflection.

He made his way with you still in his arms back to the couch in his office and laid down heavy with you positioned atop his chest. Who knew if you would remember any of what had happened - or if despite his best efforts - if you’d wake up at all?

#vampire!henry #fourmarkdovewrites #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

I Just Wanna Dance With You, 1/2 (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary:

Brooke and Vanessa work at the same strip club, and Brooke takes Vanessa under her wing to help her out. But when business at the club slows and Vanessa desperately needs money, they resort to a risky scam to stay afloat.

(Hustlers au)

A/N:

Hustlers au is here! I honestly came very close to writing this last year, but decided to do Mateo’s Eight instead. It was really fun to finally take this on, and there are a lot of people to thank for this one! First off, thanks to thackeryisatop for posting about this idea, and then to Ortega for nominating that I write it. They were both super encouraging and open of me taking on the idea, and I really appreciate it. Also, thank you so much to Writ for betaing and supporting me with all of this, especially because this fic is so different from what I normally write.

I’ll be honest here: writing smut is not my thing, so there WILL NOT be any explicit sexual content in this. I wanted the sexier aspects to be vague/implied and just parts of the overall vibe. This also does differ from the movie a bit—I streamlined certain parts of the plot and removed others entirely, so it won’t follow it exactly. Regardless, you don’t need to know the movie to read this. I really hope you enjoy, and I’d appreciate any feedback you have. I’ll have the second part out as quick as I can with school starting soon.

Title from Gimme More by Britney Spears.

—

Every night, Vanessa leaves A’keria and Silky in the noisy dressing room, settles herself among half-drunk business men that are sleaze wrapped in suits, and watches her.

Every eye in the place stays locked on the stage as Britney Spears trickles over the speakers and she emerges in a glittery red panty set that matches her lips perfectly, long legs encased in fishnets that make them even longer, show off the beauty beneath those thin strands of lace. She flips her blonde hair and drops into a split that makes the men cheer, bills fluttering like confetti.

The dim stage lights brighten in the face of someone worth watching, casting a golden glow as the woman grips the pole and spins herself around. Vanessa watches with the rest of the men, jealousy curling in her stomach as they throw fresh-from-the-ATM bills stamped with double digits and pictures of old men who were just as rich as they are. Bills they don’t give Vanessa.

The woman calls herself Destiny, though Vanessa knows it’s not her real name. With the way men let their money-stained hands linger on her pale skin as they tuck bills inside her fishnets, Vanessa doesn’t blame her for using a fake name. Hell, Vanessa uses a fake name, and she’s nowhere near as popular.

Destiny leaves the stage, blowing kisses to the men still cheering. She always heads to the roof of the club in between her performances and sessions in the private rooms, and tonight, Vanessa follows, chasing that magic and mystery of her, wanting tonight to be the night she finds out more.

Destiny gazes out at the city, looking more like a person out here than she does inside, where the stage makes her a goddess. In the night air, you could almost believe she’s human. Then that eyebrow raises as she takes in Vanessa, and she’s an angel again.

“Where’s your coat?” Destiny asks.

“Left it inside.” Vanessa shivers as chilly air hits her.

“Here.” Destiny opens up her coat, a massive faux fur thing big enough for both of them.

Vanessa slips inside, her arm searing where it presses against Destiny’s. She hopes Destiny can’t feel her heart racing. Destiny has always seemed untouchable, so effortlessly beautiful that it’s slightly intimidating, especially with how she finishes her makeup before anyone else and returns with fistfuls of cash. She’s a pro, an idol to the newer girls like Vanessa, and as much as Vanessa has wanted to talk to her, get close to her, she hasn’t quite worked up the nerve. But she has the courage now, and Destiny’s face is warm and kind as she huddles beside Vanessa.

“Did you like what you saw?”

“What?” Vanessa’s face warms, because even though A’keria and Silky tease her every night and warned her that Destiny would catch her spying eventually, she didn’t really believe them.

Red lips pull into a wicked smile. “Did you like what you saw? I always see you out there with your mouth wide open, you better hope no flies come in—“

“My mouth wasn’t open that wide,” Vanessa protests feebly.

“Uh-huh.” Destiny winks, actually winks, and Vanessa has to grip the edge of the building to stay upright.

“How do you do it?” She blurts.

“Do what?”

Vanessa sighs. “You make more in one number than I do all weekend. How do you do it?”

Vanessa needs that money, needs it more than she’d care anyone to know. And no matter how much she flips her hair and winks and smiles, the money just doesn’t come the way it does for Destiny. Vanessa wants to be bitter, but she can’t deny how much Destiny deserves what she gets. Vanessa just doesn’t understand why she can’t get it too, why bills fly for Destiny but have to be wrestled from sweaty hands for her.

Destiny bites her lip, lipstick so perfect it doesn’t even get messed up. “Vanjie, right?”

Vanessa nods. “My real name is Vanessa.” She’s not sure why she says it. Maybe because underneath that perfect makeup, she knows Destiny is trustworthy somehow. Or maybe because she just wants this woman to know her, know the real person she is beyond her makeup and boots and lacy gloves.

“Vanessa,” Destiny repeats, and the name seems more special on her lips. “To answer your question, I don’t know how I do it. It helps if you treat them like friends, I guess.”

Vanessa nods. It seems so simple, but she hasn’t mastered it, can’t think of clients as anything but clients whose money she needs to help her mom. “I wish I could,” she mutters.

Destiny sighs. “Look, you’re beautiful, Vanessa,” she says, and Vanessa’s stomach leaps. “And that’s what they want–an escape with a beautiful girl. They want the fun, and that’s what you have to give, not the reminder that you’re gonna pay your bills with their tips.”

Vanessa’s heart sinks. Destiny is right.

She looks at Vanessa with the brightest green eyes Vanessa’s ever seen, smooth yet sharp like pieces of sea glass. They’re a part of her you can’t get from the stage, something you can only see if you’re close enough to her. The real person, not the illusion. “I’ll tell you what. Can you come here early tomorrow?”

Vanessa nods.

Destiny smiles, and that smile, like everything else, lures Vanessa in. “Good. I’ll teach you.”

“Thanks, Des—“

“And call me Brooke.”

—-

Vanessa doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into when she walks into the club early the next night. It’s strange to be here during the day, the overhead lights revealing scuffs in the tables and the straws and trash littering the sticky floor. The illusion is gone, and the club is just a cold room rather than the warm fantasy it promises at night.

Brooke is in leggings and a white tank top that shows off the firm muscles peeking beneath her skin. She’s softer somehow, gentler without the hard rhinestones and blinding glitter she’s usually armored in.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Brooke says.

“Hey.”

“You ready?”

Vanessa nods firmly. “There won’t be a test or anything after, right? I’m not so good at tests.”

“There might be.” Brooke gives a mischievous wink and points to a black chair right before the stage. “Sit there. I’m gonna do one of my routines for you. Watch me, okay? Watch how I dance just for you, like me and you are the only ones here.”

“Me and you are the only ones here.” Vanessa grins, swallowing hard against the idea of them being alone.

Brooke rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s just us here now, and you want every client to feel like it’s just you and them.”

Vanessa nods, and then Brooke takes the stage. She shakes out her arms and stretches her long legs, grips the pole, and begins.

The change is jarring–she’s not Brooke anymore; she’s Destiny, both the person and the thing itself, the thing mesmerizing men and making them want to spend hundreds on her, because she’s their destiny. She’s equal parts danger and dangerous, a lit cigarette just begging you to take hold and breathe her in, even if you know it’s wrong.

Watching her this close, Vanessa is mesmerized. If she had money, she would throw every cent on the stage, but it’s more than that. It’s the way each movement is light and delicate, the way she holds you in her gaze and smiles right at you, the way she rests a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder and makes her shiver. Vanessa wants to reach out and touch her, pull her into bed and sleep beside her, all because of this dance.

“Now, these are moves for the pole, okay?” Brooke’s voice snaps Vanessa out of her dream.

She does her best to focus as Brooke shows her the different grips and spins, coaching her to smile and shake her hair through them all.

“What if I don’t have muscles?” Vanessa asks, pointing to her arms. They’re not flabby, but there’s no way in hell she can pull herself up like Brooke.

“You have muscles!” Brooke insists.

“I don’t.”

Suddenly Brooke’s hand is in hers, pulling her onstage. “Come on, you try,” Brooke coaxes. “I’ll spot you. You won’t fall, I promise.” The danger is gone and she’s just Brooke now, and Vanessa trusts the promise even if it might burn her later.

She grips the pole and pulls herself up, following Brooke’s orders to point her toes and smile as she spins around, and she’s flying. She’s a fairy flying through the air, drunk on Brooke’s smile and flashing her own to the invisible crowd.

With a burst of courage, Vanessa climbs, shimmying and twisting her way up, muscles burning. Brooke’s hands are waiting below, strong and sturdy and just waiting to catch her, and some part of Vanessa wants to fall and let those hands do what they’re waiting for. Let those hands touch her and hold her tight. But she also wants to make Brooke proud, show her she can do this, and Vanessa pulls herself up with a massive grunt.

“Lose the grunt at the end and you’re golden,” Brooke praises as Vanessa slides down, steadying hands cupping Vanessa’s hips and making her heart skip a beat.

“Will do.” They perch themselves on the edge of the stage, and Vanessa watches her legs swing a much shorter arc than Brooke’s and can’t help but smile.

“Were you at any clubs before this?” Brooke asks.

“No. This is my first … y’know … job.”

Brooke nods.

“I never really planned on this,” Vanessa continues. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it! I just–I have a day job, and my mom is sick and outta work, so she lost her work insurance, and I started doing this to get more money to cover her treatments.”

“I get it,” Brooke says. “Sorry to hear about your mom.”

“Thanks.” Vanessa sighs. She’s glad Brooke didn’t pry, because she’s sick of talking about her mom’s illness, sick of thinking about it and how it might take her mom away from her. She wants to focus on Brooke instead, because Brooke takes the weight of it all off Vanessa’s shoulders somehow. “What about you? You’ve been here a while, right?”

“You saying I look old?” Brooke teases.

“No, no! Just that you’re so good,” Vanessa says quickly.

“Nice save.” Brooke smiles, though it quickly turns to a frown. “I, uh, I used to dance with the city ballet. You hit 25 in ballet, and you’re basically ancient. I left the company five years ago and decided to keep dancing, make some good money.”

Vanessa nods, because Brooke’s toned muscles and delicate grace make sense now, another piece of the puzzle that adds up to her. And this close to Brooke, intoxicated by her perfume and the soft curves of her shoulder, Vanessa wants to find more pieces.

“Think we can do this again tomorrow?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke grins. “You got it.”

—-

Nina marches over to Brooke’s station like a woman on a mission. She’s the only decent one of the club’s owners, and would happily take things over herself if she could get the other owners to give up control. She’s a mother to the girls, always ready with a listening ear, and the click of her heels over the tile is comforting, a sound everyone counts on when they need help.

“Am I hearing things, or have you made a friend?”

Brooke sighs. “Well …“

“Brooke made a friend! Kam, Pri, Brooke made a friend!”

Kameron and Priyanka crowd around Brooke’s station, whispering in excitement. Brooke groans and hides her face in her hands.

“A friend, and she’s not even imaginary?” Priyanka squeals. “I’m so proud of you, Brookie!”

“I didn’t think I’d see the day you made friends besides us,” Kameron says.

“You’re one to talk,” Brooke shoots back. “Have you texted little Miss Asia yet—“

“Yeah, you never shut up about her,” Priyanka says.

“That’s enough of that.” Kameron quickly returns to her makeup, and Priyanka follows, using the opportunity to make fun of Kameron instead.

Brooke sighs, finally facing Nina’s broad grin. “Look, I think Vanessa’s nice. She—she reminds me of myself, when I started. Figured I’d give her some tips, look out for her.”

“You mean look at her.”

“Nina,” Brooke whines. She’s had her eye on Vanessa since she started here, she’ll admit that. Vanessa is absolutely beautiful, one of the most beautiful women Brooke’s ever seen. There’s real joy and passion in her, the kind you can’t teach, can’t really find in many people. Vanessa is a breath of fresh air over dirty money and sickly-sweet liquor, and Brooke’s had more fun with her than she has in a while. She wants to help Vanessa, make sure she keeps herself safe from the darker aspects of the club and uses the lighter parts to her advantage. Make sure she doesn’t lose that joy. Brooke’s just helping, that’s all.

“I’m just teasing, Brooke,” Nina says fondly, rolling her eyes. “It’s good that you’re getting to know her. She seems great, from what I’ve seen.”

“She is.” Vanessa really is, and Brooke can’t help but marvel at how quickly she picked up Brooke’s steps, how beautiful and free she is in her routines.

Not that Brooke has feelings for her or anything. She’s just helping.

—

Brooke decides to give Vanessa the lowdown at their next practice. Her knowledge of clients is based on years of collecting information, from each leather wallet pulled from a tailored suit to each set of eyes that seek to own her. She knows how things at the club work, and when you know the rules, you can play the game.

“There are three levels of clients,” she explains to Vanessa. “The ones at the bottom are so desperate for power, to be on top, that they’ll break out hundreds if you smile. Guys in the middle are… in the middle. They don’t do much one way or another.”

Vanessa nods, eyes wide as she waits for the rest. Brooke can’t help the thrill in her heart at having Vanessa’s eyes on nothing but her, soaking in her every word. Part of Brooke has always liked the thrill and rush of attention, whether on a fancy theatre stage in silk or a sticky club stage in fishnets. But the thrill is that more intense and intoxicating in the form of Vanessa, in the form of letting someone close to her, close enough to know her name and not the persona she creates.

“The ones on top—they’re the ones who blow thousands a night and it doesn’t even make a dent. They have a private entrance, but even if they got caught, they’d never see the consequences. They want attention, want you to show off for them. They’ll treat you like dirt but pay you like you’re gold, and you can milk them for every cent they’re worth. That’s where the real money is.”

Brooke has found her success, found a nice apartment with more than enough space for her and her cats, found security in her life, all from the bills those men in the top tier slide her way. With practice, Vanessa can get that same success.

Vanessa nods again. “I think I always get the middle guys. They all look the same. Like someone copy-pasted them or somethin’.”

Brooke snorts loudly, a far cry from the gentle laughs she does for her clients. This is her real laugh, one that hardly anyone can wrestle from her.

“Hey,” Vanessa says suddenly, “do you have time to get coffee? Then we can talk somewhere nicer than this.”

Brooke just smiles.

—

The more Vanessa watches Brooke, the more tiny signs of the real her poke through her mask of makeup and confidence. There’s the way she starts chewing on a cuticle, before looking at her manicured black nails and immediately stopping, or how she spills some coffee over the edge of her mug after an enthusiastic nod. It’s like getting a peek behind the curtain, and Vanessa is going to treasure each glimpse she can get.

It’s nice to be here and just talk to Brooke, free of dazzling lights. At the club, there’s idle gossip in the dressing room, and it’s fun, but it’s not personal. It’s a way to pass the time between numbers and client sessions, to laugh before they go out there. But now she gets to just talk to Brooke without interruptions, her heart racing with each of Brooke’s smiles.

“You said you had another job, right?” Brooke asks.

Vanessa nods.

“So, what do you do?”

“I do makeup at a department store. I like it, you know? Getting to talk to people, make them feel good.” Vanessa smiles to herself at the thought of all the clients that have sat in her makeup chair, their grins at how confident they felt after her help. “The pay is okay, but not enough for things like medical bills.”

“I get it,” Brooke says. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“Yeah. Once I get enough money here, I should be good with just that job.” Vanessa pauses, glancing over the strange look of sadness on Brooke’s face that quickly disappears. Is Brooke sad about the idea of her leaving, or something else? Brooke doesn’t talk too much about herself, but Vanessa wants to know more about the old Brooke that used to dance, and maybe she’ll talk. “Did you have any jobs besides ballet?”

“No.” Brooke takes a sip of coffee. “I went right from that to this, and the pay’s been enough that I don’t need anything else. Don’t really know what I’d do anyway.”

Brooke still seems a little upset, and Vanessa decides not to press anymore. She really can’t see Brooke doing anything else, if she’s being honest. There’s just something about the way she moves, like the whole world aligns and stops for a moment when she’s dancing. It’s magical, and Vanessa’s heart leaps just at the thought. She changes the conversation to the cat she’s thinking of getting, and things are okay.

—

It’s a week later that Vanessa gets her first top-tier client. From what Brooke’s taught her, Vanessa is getting better at recognizing them. Every inch of their outfit is expensive, from coat to shoes. Their walk is firm and confident like they own the place. And they hold out hundreds with the casual air of a dollar bill.

She walks past the hall’s dim red floor lights, each one illuminating a plain black door. Vanessa takes a breath before the room she’s using and reminds herself to be like Brooke, to give the man attention, like he’s the only one she’s doing this for, even if she’s already done it tonight. Vanessa walks in, and she walks out with over a thousand dollars.

Rinse and repeat.

—

“It’s working, huh?”

Vanessa looks up from the stack of bills she’s struggling to stuff into her knee-high black boots. Brooke stands next to her, grinning smugly, while Brooke’s friend–Vanessa’s pretty sure the redhead with the muscles and tattoos is Kameron–grins behind her, giving Brooke a push until she bumps into Vanessa.

Vanessa laughs as Brooke swats Kameron away and turns back to her. “It sure is working,” Vanessa says. “Got so much money I can’t even get it in my boots.”

“Can I help?”

Vanessa nods, and then one of Brooke’s hands curves around the back of her knee, the other carefully unzipping her boot. Vanessa doesn’t breathe as the zipper slides down and Brooke delicately arranges bills around her calf, soft fingertips brushing over her skin. She’s close enough that Vanessa can smell her perfume, close enough to grab Brooke and maybe kiss her–the zipper screeches back into place, and Vanessa straightens up.

“Thanks,” Vanessa says, trying to remember how to breathe.

“No problem.”

“Damn, Vanj,” A'keria mutters, open-mouthed in the chair beside Vanessa. “Destiny needs to teach us all how to get that coin.”

Silky nods, swinging her hairspray in excitement. “Miss Destiny’s Stripper School. I’d sign up.”

Vanessa shushes them and finishes getting ready. Brooke winks at her after she’s done, and Vanessa pretends her next lap-dance is Brooke.

—

It happens fast.

One day, Brooke hears some news report coming from Kameron’s phone, a guy in a suit talking about fiscal collapse and crisis and economy again and again. Say economy three times, and a middle-aged white man in a business suit will appear like Beetlejuice. It’s all they ever talk about, and Brooke doesn’t think much of it, just goes to work and comes back with her usual wad of cash she had to mop off the stage floor.

A few nights later, there are empty seats in the club. When the music stops, it’s quiet enough to hear ice cubes clinking in glasses, hear the rustle of the one or two single-digit bills they hand her.

Brooke walks off stage in confusion. For the first time in over a year, her wad of tips is slim enough to fit in one hand. She heads straight to Nina’s office, where Nina is running a hand through her messy hair and drinking from a bottle of wine.

“What the hell is going on, Nina?” Brooke asks. “It’s totally dead out there.”

Nina sighs. “It’s the stock market. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but stocks are down, apparently, and those Wall Street business men aren’t coming anymore.”

“Are we … we’re not gonna close, are we?” Brooke’s stomach is twisting in knots just at the thought of losing all this. The same knot that had formed when Vanessa said she would leave after she had enough money, because Vanessa has quickly become one of Brooke’s favorite parts of the club, a part she doesn’t want to lose. But she might lose it all depending on what Nina tells her.

“No.” Nina takes another swig of wine. “We’re staying open, but your tips won’t be like they usually are. The real rich ones will still come in, but I doubt they’ll spend as much.”

“I–” Brooke shakes her head, needing to get out of here. It’s too stuffy in here, the wine burning her nose and the bright office lights burning her eyes. She runs to the roof, the coolness clearing her head and allowing some air to reach her lungs.

What is she supposed to do now? Brooke joined the strip club because it made sense–it gave her a performing outlet without the constant body aches from ballet, a chance to use the dancing ability she had trained decades to perfect. A way to keep the thrill of performing, the love of a crowd, when she couldn’t be on a theatre stage anymore. She can’t walk away from this, try to find whatever minimum wage job will hire someone whose place of employment for the last five years can’t go on a resume. She’s wondering if she’ll have enough saved up to weather the next however-many months when the roof door slams, and hoarse sobs arise.

Vanessa.

Brooke immediately forgets her problems and runs to Vanessa, who’s shaking with sobs. She wants to wrap Vanessa in a hug, let her arms circle that soft skin, but she stops herself. Touch is something they do all night. They touch bills and stripper poles and men, everything washed away with the apricot soap Nina stocks the bathroom with. But if Brooke were to touch Vanessa, it would be different from touching a client. More personal. And Brooke knows she won’t erase that touch no matter how much she scrubs her hands.

Instead, she pulls Vanessa to the edge of the building, uselessly whispering that it’s okay, even if she knows it’s not. When Vanessa is finally able to talk, she looks up at Brooke with bloodshot eyes burning with exhaustion and sorrow, and again Brooke wants to hug Vanessa and let her rest inside her arms.

“I’m guessing you heard,” Brooke prompts.

Vanessa nods. “What am I gonna do, Brooke?” she cries. “I was starting to make a lot of money, but it’s not enough. I–I don’t have enough to help my mom, and if she doesn’t get her meds and everything then she’ll …” A fresh sob erupts from Vanessa, and Brooke doesn’t hesitate this time. She pulls Vanessa into her arms and gently rubs her back as she cries. Vanessa is real and solid, realer than anything the club offers. She smells like coconut and Brooke wonders when she started liking that scent so much. Wonders when she started liking Vanessa so much, because she can’t deny it anymore. But Vanessa doesn’t need that now; she needs help.

Brooke selfishly hadn’t even thought of Vanessa and her mom when she first heard the news. Now, she has to accept how bad things are, what might happen to Vanessa’s mom without the money Vanessa needs. The money she can’t get anymore. If only they could take that money that the really rich Wall Street guys still have and give it to Vanessa and the other girls somehow …

But maybe they can.

The wheels in Brooke’s head are spinning, weaving together a plan. It’s risky, sure, but they don’t have a choice. They all have bills to pay. Some of them have relatives to care for and medication to buy, and hell, just normal lives to live. Brooke might lose her home depending on how long this lasts. The other girls might lose theirs too, might even lose their jobs if it comes to that. And Vanessa will almost surely lose her mom. Vanessa always talks about her with such love in her eyes, with such joy in the memories of the two of them cooking or dancing together. She doesn’t deserve to lose that. Brooke has to do something.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Brooke says gently, “I think I have an idea.”

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #nina west #kameron michaels #priyanka #silky nutmeg ganache #akeria davenport #branjie #lesbian au #hustlers au #implied smut #i just wanna dance with you #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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atypicalbipolar · 3 years

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Questions about the psych ward you’re afraid to ask

I was inpatient at three different hospitals in the Boston area between 2017 and 2018. Newton Wellesley Hospital (NWH) January 2017, McLean June 2018 and Mass General Hospital (MGH) twice September 2017 and November 2018

What about my phone? In January 2017 NWH did not allow cell phones. I went to the ER (at my hospital, MGH) with my mom in crisis. She had my phone, and kept it with her when they decided to admit me and send me to NWH. If you ended up on this unit with your phone they collected it with your valuables and handed them over to security for the duration of your stay. There were two computers in the OT room that we were allowed to use when the room was staffed. (So beware of logging into sites you had two factor authentication set up for new computers)

The other two places allowed phones with restrictions. At MGH the nurses kept our chargers locked in the laundry closet, all together. I still have my medical id sticker on my charger. If I remember correctly you had to surrender your phone at night. At McLean they supplied their own bank of chargers out in the common areas. We needed to be up and out of bed for vitals before we could use our phones.

You’re encouraged to not be on your phone so much, as you’re there for treatment. It’s hard to strike a balance because I did want to stay on social media, but I didn’t want to say anything about being in the hospital. The first stay at NWH was actually helpful for me as a detox. I do use my phone too much and being psychotic and on social media is not a good mix for me.

What do I wear? I wore my clothes in each unit. But each place had different expectations. At MGH it was perfectly acceptable for you to spend the day in your hospital PJs as long as you kept your hygiene. I hated those PJs, they were too warm and ill fitting so I wore my own clothes during the day.

NWH had an expectation that you were dressed in your own clothes. I remember they had a washer and dryer and staff would assist with laundry. What's important to know is that everything you bring in is screened for contraband and unsafe items. You can't wear clothing with drawstrings and that includes shoelaces. A lot of my sweatpants and hoodies had drawstrings. For one pair of sweats I let them cut the drawstring because I really wanted to wear it.

This is one of the reasons why it's helpful to have family or friends have access to where you live so you can get some creature comforts. And when I heard the laundry machine wasn't the cleanest at MGH I just cycled a few days of clothes with mom.

Do they feed you? Yes and it's hospital food. That means at both NWH and MGH I was given a menu to order each day, like any other patient there. There was also a fridge/cabinet area off the common room for snacks and drinks. Instead at McLean Sodexo had a contract to provide food. There was no menu as they brought meals to the dining room. You didn't have a choice in food but if you had your phone and cash you could call for delivery. There were binders of menus by the entryway. But as someone who has to keep an eye out for crohn's food triggers I did not enjoy having less control over my food.

Where do I sleep? The number of patients on the floor is based on the beds they have. At NWH I had a roommate and we had a room big enough for drawers/shelves, chairs, but shared a desk. We had our own bathroom, but had to be let into a common shower by staff. The unit was pretty old and claustrophobic and the plumbing and heating proved that. At McLean it was similar, except there were common floor bathrooms and showers.

MGH had real adjustable hospital beds and bathrooms with showers attached. Staff will still do their 15 minute checks and will knock on your bathroom door.

Checks? Staff must visually count you every 15 minutes. The person who is assigned that role will usually have a clipboard or list to check everyone off. At night it means opening your room’s door and visually spotting that you’re in bed, alive. After the first couple nights you usually can ignore it.

If you are having a hard time and dealing with suicidal ideation, or intrusive thoughts, you should let staff know. They may put you on a 5 minute list, meaning you’ll see them around more often.

What do I do? You’ll be assigned a care time to work on a treatment plan. Usually a psychiatrist and nurse will meet with you each morning, sometimes there’s more people like a social worker on your team as well. Whatever brought you to the hospital will be worked on, with the goal to stabilize you. That is their priority. In the meantime between rounds, meds, and meals there are groups scheduled. What’s available depends on the unit you’re in. There could be morning and evening check-ins where you just talk about the day as a group. Could be light exercise or yoga groups. Pet therapy and music therapy break up the day but it's all dependent on staffing levels. The pets are handled by volunteers for example when I saw them at MGH.

Back when I was at NWH I remember there were a lot of groups. From right after breakfast until post dinner check out. At MGH there were far fewer. The big difference was MGH’s visitor policy so the evenings were a lot more open. At NWH there was only a certain time in the evening that family and friends could visit during the week. And yes you’re expected to go to groups. Staff keeps track, and notes will go into your file. It will help, if not right now, then later when your care team sees good progress notes in your file. Even if you’re not into it, it’s a way to pass time and stay out of your room.

Weekends are quiet, sometimes to the point of utter boredom. There’s less activity and you will often just see the doctor on call instead of your assigned team. Depending on staff coverage there might be some structured activity, like open art block but not nearly as much as during the week. They emphasize visitor time.

Can I go outside? Depends on how the unit is set up and staffing. McLean is on a campus and I was there in June so I was lucky to go outside. There was a level of privilege - staff needs to know you're stable enough to go out. NWH had a little enclosed outdoor space that staff worked hard to clear ice from. I was so glad to get out. But unfortunately you can't go outside if you stay at MGH. There's not enough staffing or much of a protocol. Besides, the closest outdoor space to Blake 11 is right at the front entrance where cars do drop off.

What are rounds? All three of the hospitals are teaching hospitals meaning they’re affiliated with a medical school. I didn’t just see a psychiatrist. At the bare minimum I also saw a resident, a doctor who is in training and has picked psychiatry as their specialty. I remember a couple days the doctor let the resident interview me. I am pretty relaxed when it comes to teaching hospitals as I’ve only ever gone to MGH. But they have to ask you for permission. They want you to be involved in your treatment plan and give consent. If you're not comfortable having more bodies in the room then necessary you should speak up. And if you talk to your assigned nurse for the shift they will relay a message to the doctor.

What’s a shift? The floor has to be staffed 24 hours. There are different coverage levels for each shift. Night is the lightest for example as everyone is supposed to be asleep or in their rooms and quiet. Day shift is the busiest, with people running various groups as well as rounds happening. I remember NWH had 3 8 hour shift rotation and MGH had 2 12 hour shift rotation. I remember when I first went to MGH I was so confused because everything was different from NWH. They even called their non nursing staff different terms, probably because of the job requirements.

How long do I stay? Everyone’s treatment plan is different. For example someone who arrived after you may leave before you do. Generally your care team will try to figure out what’s going on and a game plan when you meet them for the first time. I’ve stayed about a week, maybe a little more depending on the stay. I stayed longer at NWH, but it was my first admission and I had a psychotic break while on steroids so it was more complicated. And my last stay at MGH was longer because we were doing a major treatment change, and rediagnosis. I woke up on the unit at MGH again and asked for a sleep study, but the attending had looked through my file of all the other admissions and diagnosed me as bipolar. I switched over to lithium which needed to be monitored and increased slowly.

What's next? For me I went to partial after I was discharged. I remembered as a teen when I was diagnosed with Depression I went to partial after being in the hospital. I found it's helpful to ease the transition. You might have only been hospitalized for a few days but it's a completely different routine. It's like going from 0 miles per hour back to 60 very quickly. Partial is a therapy program set up with structured groups during the day but you sleep at home and commute.

Tips

It is easier staying in the hospital when you can have visitors, especially someone who can bring you things. It is easier to have your phone to coordinate visitors.

Unless your psychiatrist and you agree to prearrange an admission, you will most likely be coming from the ER. Two times of the four I was put into an ambulance and sent to another hospital. The other two times I was sent upstairs to MGH’s unit on Blake 11.

Odds are there is no air conditioning. Don't expect any windows that can open either. Sometimes the temperature in the unit really varies, so you might want to wear layers.

You do not need to make friends. It does help to pass the time if you can talk to people, and you may feel less alone. If there's issues with your roommate you can ask staff for help.

Figure out when the meals should be delivered so you're ready. Sometimes they are late or they forget your tray. Try to be nice no matter what. I've never gotten warm food that was too cold for me but I've heard staff offer to nuke it in the microwave.

If you're at a teaching hospital be prepared for students to visit as well. I saw many nursing students at MGH. I would chat then up. It's a change of pace. I remember a medical student was on my care team and gave me psychological testing.

#psych hospital #Boston #Depression #bipolar #hospitalization

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youngnari · 5 years

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My Love, My Home // Kim Dongyoung

—Notes : This is a rewrite from my first scenario I posted in the past and I thought the whole plot suits the man I love so dearly, i just had to dedicate it to him. I hope you all will enjoy this plot and please drop me a feedback or be my friend?

—Wc : 9302 words

—Warning : contains profanity aka swearing in some, and mentions of sexual tension

—Pairing : ceo!Kim Doyoung x female!reader

—Genre : 5 spoons of fluff + pinch of angst

—Summary : With the challenge of finding a stable job, you found it hard to achieve your life long dream on settling into a place you can call home.

Where home doesn’t always means a place you lived in, but a person

Home; under its roof, you are always protected.

It is a place you grow up in, where you seek warmth; a home is your haven from the brutal world. You could say that you spent almost your entire life in that one house you shared with your parents, because even when you moved out for college, that was the only place you ever wanted to be. You always had the urge to come back; even when you were out for holiday or a school camp and sleepover, nothing felt right but your own home.

There were many memories in your home. From the first day you entered primary school, high school graduation, stressing over your college application and praying so hard to be accepted, until the day you officially moved out for the first time into a mini version of the home you had lived in for so long.

Changes; that’s what everyone said. Your life had to move on, from living under your parents’ roof to dealing with the reality outside of your own comfort zone. You moved out of your home country and had to face college.

In that time of your life, you kind of downgraded a little. You remembered struggling to cope with your roommate, a person who was the direct opposite of you. Hence, it was hard for you to welcome her into your small bubble. But that wasn’t all, you missed home-cooked meals from your parents. You regretted not taking your mom’s offer of teaching you how to cook, resulting you to depend on campus meals on weekdays and toast with instant ramen on the weekend. You remembered breaking down, crying because of how homesick you were. You could have cared less if people thought you were weak, vulnerable for not being able to deal with the change. At that time, you wanted nothing but your home. You missed it.

But life went on, and in a snap, you were out of the college dorm and moving into a new home. A rundown apartment you thought was ready to collapse if someone accidentally sneezed on it.

When you graduated from college, you struggled to find a stable job. Every job opportunity you found you poured out your heart and soul on the resumes and during interviews. You only hoped for a job that could pay you above minimum wage, at least to give you the assurance to pay your rent and monthly needs every month. Often you found yourself stressing with bills and fees, splitting change and cash for food and groceries. Your parents always encouraged you to go through life like it’s nothing, and once you can see through your own capabilities it will get better.

It was tough, but you went through it all. For him.

A stable job which paid you generously, often you find it hard to believe the paycheck you received every end of the month. You moved to a more decent apartment where you could live comfortably, without being too paranoid about your life and having to use your life insurance. But also, a boyfriend.

And it started with a stupid, all too good to be true accident at your previous job.

2 years ago, you struggled to find a stable job. Every company that rejected you often said you were too slow, clumsy, and not good enough to work under the company. You were mad, ready to burn down the whole association, but you knew better. You walked out of the glass doors, screaming at your thin-walled apartment, and got filed for causing a disturbance in your floor.

That lead you to having to pay a fine, leaving you to spend more money that you didn’t have due to your own carelessness. So, you did what you had to do. Take any opportunities of any random job you could find, you ended up as a barista in a small café near the downtown area. It didn’t pay you enough, just barely for you to survive. But you still did it anyway, since you couldn’t find a proper job you had to do anything to continue to survive.

That café quickly become your new home.

The coffee shop opened at 8am and closed at 9pm, and you had a full time shift. You couldn’t consider the café to always be crowded; there was a decent handful of customers and they were mostly regulars. And amongst those regulars was your boyfriend—well, soon-to-be boyfriend.

You were wiping the tables and aligning the chairs on the floor to keep the whole space neat. You did all the cleaning and prepping for the shop before it opened. Right as the clock hit 8.10AM, you hear the bell chime from the door, signaling a customer had arrived. Every morning, without fail, it was the same man.

He had sleek black hair and sharp doe eyes, lean and tall. Whenever he walked into the shop, he gave off an aura of dominance and integrity. Always dressed formally with a suit, tailored specifically to fit his figure. You would be lying if you said you weren’t intimidated. But you couldn’t deny, that man was gorgeous, beautiful, and coffee deprived.

“Hello, welcome back!” You smiled enthusiastically, greeting the all too familiar stranger.

He had his eyebrows furrowed, looking at you like some outer being not from earth. How does one look so happy and jolly so early in the morning, he had thought a few times. But he wasn’t going to voice his question, as he had better things to do. His eyes scanned the menu board behind you, displaying all the beverages that were available. His gaze traveled to the display glass presenting all the baked goods, from sweet pastries to savory sandwiches.

“Today’s special is the breakfast croissant, we made a few fresh batches at the back if you are interested.” You said, catching his attention once again. He looked at you in a stoic manner, then he nodded curtly.

You took his order, ready to ask for his payment but he was ready to interject. He didn’t tell you about what coffee he wanted. You saw him hesitating, debating if it was appropriate to argue so early in the morning. You smiled.

“Americano, right?” You asked him. He snapped his head up to look at you, eyes widening in surprise.

“Americano with no sugar or syrup, extra shot. The usual?” You asked once again. He stood there for a while and nodded, and that was enough to send you off to make his order.

He watched you as you worked, hands gracefully pulling each machine together to make a cup of coffee. He was impressed, he didn’t need to spare you any word and you already knew his order. Without much thought, he had a small smile plastered on his face. But it was soon wiped away when you came back around the counter to give him his order, packed in a paper bag.

Silently, he gave you the money and you took it gratefully.

“Here’s your ch—” You didn’t have the time to give him back the change as he rushed out of the door just as he slid the paper bill.

“Thank you for dropping b—” and the door closed with the sound of the bell, his figure completely disappeared.

Thus was the pattern of your morning routine in the coffee shop. You wiped the tables and aligned the chairs when you finished mopping, and just right on time around 8.10AM he was back inside the café. Often you expected him to make small talk or even give you a small audible thank you, but he never did. You would quietly make his cup of coffee and pack the daily’s special in a paper bag for him to takeaway, then he paid you far too much from the actual total and rushed off like nothing ever happened. You weren’t complaining, but it was weird. You had your fair share of regulars coming in, often making small talk with you, even to the extent of complementing you at how well you remember their order and details despite you only working there for a few months. You smiled at them politely and went back to continue your work, closing the shop when you are done.

Walking down to the bus stop you often found yourself thinking about him and the generous tip he always left. Maybe that’s how he says thank you, you thought. You smiled a little remembering how surprised he always got when you prepared his order, it was as if you knew him personally.

But one morning, he didn’t show up.

You didn’t hear the bell chime when the clock hit 8.10AM, he didn’t come. You had his order made, the fresh batch of the daily’s special and his coffee; you waited. The clock hit 8.30AM and he still wasn’t there, did he run into traffic? You felt the paper bag getting wet due to the steam from the goods, now becoming cold. His coffee grew colder as each second passed, but you still waited. It was stupid for you to expect the appearance of a stranger, but to you he wasn’t just any stranger. He left you a bigger impression than any of your regulars, you didn’t know how to put it together. He had become a part of your routine, to the point it carried into your mind so deeply when he didn’t show up.

But he did come, late.

When the clock hit 8.55AM, the door harshly slammed open causing you to wince. He was there, panting like a wild man. His hair for once was a mess instead of the usual sleek slicked back style, blazer gripped in his hand, and his tie just hung lifelessly around his neck. You were stunned; by shock, confusion, but also happiness.

Just as you were preparing, you heard shuffling from behind the counter. You took a small peak and caught him fixing up his appearance. He moved gracefully; from the way his hands worked on the loose fabric around his neck, to him tucking in his shirt and putting on the blazer. And in no time, you saw him like how he always looked, neat and proper.

You slid the paper bag and coffee across the counter, giving the fresh order for him. He didn’t immediately pay, his eyes lingered on the untouched cup of coffee and damp paper bag at the counter behind you. You followed his gaze, cursing at yourself for not taking it to the back like you planned to.

“Sorry, that was uhm… your usual order.” You explained. His eyes turned towards you, looking at you with the most intimidating stare ever.

“Why?” He asked.

Your heart jolted at the sound of his voice. Was it possible to feel nervous yet enamored from someone’s tone? The way his word slipped from his lips; they were smooth but with a hint of seriousness at the end. You swallowed the lump in your throat, clearing it as you tried to speak again.

“Because…you always come as soon as the shop opens. And I thought you might have some important things to do at work? I didn’t want to waste your time.” You whispered out, but it was enough to be heard in the empty shop.

He smiled a little, looking at how pure you seemed. He had woken up late that morning due to him finishing a project for his company, causing him to sleep later than his usual 1am to a 4am. He woke up abruptly from his co-worker, demanding his whereabouts are. He mouthed a small fuck under his breath, noticing he was late for work and a meeting that was happening in half an hour. So, he dashed out like a madman.

The thing is, he was already late when he came into the café. He could’ve made it just in time to the company if he hadn’t made any random stops. But he did, at the café he goes to every morning. This time, it was no exception. He parked his car at the shop beside the café and went in. He winced when he looked at himself in the glass door, he looked like a mess instead of a CEO. But all the stress he had soon disappeared the moment he saw your figure jolting as the bell chimed, your eyes widening when you noticed it was him.

He smiled at your effort, liking the way how you still waited and prepared everything for him despite him being late. He couldn’t help but feel warm and soft inside and he let out a small smile. You stared at him in surprise, your mouth ajar as you heard the words coming out of his mouth. He checked the time on this Rolex and internally sighed, he was later than ever.

He quickly took his order in his hands and slid the money over the counter to you. But just as he was going to leave the shop, he gave you one last nod. This time with a smile on his face, seemingly in a good mood so suddenly.

“It’s Doyoung, by the way. Thank you.” He said, motioning towards the paper bag of pastries and coffee. Then he was out, leaving you more shocked than ever.

***

The last encounter of your so-called home during the fifth month of you worked in the café, around closing time. You were busy mopping and cleaning the empty space, ready to turn off the lights and lock the door, it wasn’t until you heard a light tap on the door that you halted all of you actions.

You spun slightly, not expecting any more customers as you had flipped the open sign to closed by then. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Doyoung.

You looked at the clock, it was past 9 at night and you were more than confused as to what brought him here so suddenly. You walked towards the door and Doyoung pointed at the closed sign by it, seemingly asking you permission if he could come in. You weren’t supposed to let anyone in at that point, but he looked different that night. He looked drained, there wasn’t any light in his eyes. So, you unlocked the door for him.

He sat on the pick-up counter, not wanting to sabotage the chairs you had just lined up. You didn’t complain, fetching him a hot drink to ease his ongoing nerves. For once you saw Doyoung in distress; his hair a mess, shirt not buttoned properly, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie hung loosely on his neck. You placed the warm mug near him, which he took gratefully. He took a sip, and he felt the sweetness coating his taste buds. He let out a small groan as he pulled his lips away from the mug, examining the brown warm substance in it.

“Hot chocolate,” you said, smiling at him.

He furrowed his eyebrows, squinting at the mug in confusion. This was not his usual coffee; it was thicker, sweet, and had the aftertaste of bitterness. Oddly enough, he liked the change. He looked at you, catching your gaze full of wonder.

“I know you usually come here for coffee. But do you seriously expect that I’ll give you caffeine when it’s already nearing 10PM?” You asked him, a tint of sarcasm lacing your tone which caught him by surprise.

“It’s good.” he said curtly, causing you to smile wider.

“Right? This is one of my favorite drinks ever!” you exclaimed, now giggling like a child.

Doyoung continued to sip the warm drink. He could feel a tingling sensation all over his body due to the contrast of flavors of the drink. Doyoung wasn’t a big fan of sweet things, he cringed whenever he thought of having to inject extra amounts of sugar in his body. This, the hot chocolate you made for him, he had to admit it was amazing. It was sweet but thick, and once he took a small gulp down this throat, he could taste the bitter aftertaste that lingered around his mouth. He had thought, coming here wouldn’t do much for his stress due to his work. You proved him otherwise, and in return he received a sweet treat.

He watched you as you cleaned the remaining dishes, not even complaining you had to serve him so late at night when it was way past closing time. You could feel there was tension on his shoulders, weight in his eyes. It was hard for you to completely ignore him and lock him out at night. You turned around, looking at his figure sitting on the counter, his eyes locked on the mug which was now empty but still in his grip, not wanting to let it go.

You went closer to his side, slowly taking the mug from his grasp. That was enough to get him to snap back to reality, his hands flinching when he felt the small touch of your hand. You paused, afraid you might had triggered him, or hurt him. But the abrupt force he caused sent a shock wave down your nerves, causing both of you to lose grip of the white porcelain mug. It fell, following gravity before smashing onto the floor. The shards flew, spreading across the shop’s front area. There were a few remaining sips of hot chocolate which splattered onto the floor.

“I am so sorry!” You said, looking at Doyoung frantically as he stared at you, equally in shock. He shook his head a little, his eyes saddened as he felt like he was the one at fault, not you. Quickly you tried to collect all the shards, careful not to scratch your hands. Doyoung jumped down from the counter and knelt beside you to help, you tried to argue but he only gave you a stern look causing you to eat your words up.

It was silence for a few seconds, all you could hear was his breathing coming from right beside you. You sighed a little, there goes a little part of your paycheck.

“Do you always work here, morning to night?” He asked, his voice small, a little hesitant.

“Yea, I took the full shift.” You replied him, tossing the broken shards in a bin once you collected enough. Doyoung nodded in acknowledgement, finally noticing how often he saw you every time he passed the shop on his way home, catching your figure closing the shop and walking away from it.

“Do you like your work?” He asked again, a little more confidence in his tone now.

You smiled sadly in response. Doyoung caught how your eyes dimmed a little, not quite knowing what he had expecting when he asked the question.

“I do like it. But I feel like I can do better.” You said, whispering the words as you reached the end. That was enough to spark up his interest more. He looked at you, waiting for you to continue but you quietly stood your ground. You grabbed a mop, quickly mopping the liquid before it dried up and became a sticky mess. Doyoung didn’t do anything much but stand on the sideline, watching every action you were doing in a daze.

“My life has been about me moving from one place to another. I identified every place I stayed as my home; from my parents’ house that I grew up in, to my college dorm, and now I live in a rundown apartment where this café is my only source of income to continue living.” You said

“Is it enough?” He asked again, his tone softer than usual with a hint of sadness at the end.

You smiled and shook your head a little, letting him know that you are barely surviving.

“My degree didn’t help me much. I applied here and there in hopes I would be hired for at least one company of my choice, but I always got turned down.” That caught his attention.

“Why?” Doyoung took another step closer, catching how your figure jolted awake by the question. You didn’t face him, afraid you might break down while recalling the harsh words that had been spat at you during every interview. But Doyoung could see, he knew your struggle was almost the same as his.

“Because I wasn’t good enough.” Your voice cracked at the end.

Doyoung wanted to fight that argument, but he didn’t know if he was in the right position to judge those people for you. He rested a hand on your shoulder, giving you an awkward pat in hopes of comforting you. Doyoung looked at his own action in confusion; he wasn’t always the best at comforting people, but he tried. You willed yourself to stop crying and hurled around to face him, and that was the moment things started.

Doyoung didn’t know what went into his mind at that moment. But when he saw the look on your face, your cheeks wet from tears and eyes still glistening, he thought you looked ethereal. Doyoung’s breathing hitched, not fully understanding the odd feeling inside his stomach. Yet, he knew what he wanted. Without a second to waste, you were caught off guard once again by this unfamiliar stranger in front of you.

His lips found their way onto yours, fitting perfectly as they molded together. You couldn’t consider it a hot make-out, it was a simple heartwarming type of kiss. You felt him pull away, almost wanting to whine, immediately missing his warmth. Doyoung wasn’t done, he pulled you in once again straight after he took another breath. His hands wrapped around you, one gripping on your exposed skin on your waist and the other around the back of your head. You could feel his grip, it was strong but not enough to hurt you, his fingers tangled through your hair, desperately trying to pull you close. You gasped a little, and he found his entrance. You swore you felt like your head might explode, the whole feeling wasn’t entirely new to you, but it felt so surreal. You find yourself gripping on his shirt, balling it up in your fist, causing him to groan into the kiss. You could taste the remains of the chocolate, it tasted sweeter than usual. You could taste him, and you wanted more.

He pulled away once again, lids heavy as he stared at your face. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew you couldn’t read Doyoung, the man was too unpredictable for you to read. He dipped his head back down for another kiss, this time much softer and slower. You smiled into the kiss, feeling his own lips twitch to form a smile, but he resisted.

That night, Doyoung waited for you to get your things and he helped you close the shop. He took your stuff in his hand, using the other to open his car door for you to sit. During that late-night drive, with the light emitted from the traffic lights, you saw him smile softly.

“Did you call your boss?” he asked, tone almost a whisper. You nodded.

“Good, your shift starts tomorrow at 8.30AM. I want to see coffee and breakfast on my desk before I arrive, Y/N.” Doyoung demanded, without a single glint in his eyes. He was serious.

He didn’t let you wave him goodbye nor did he watch you get into your apartment; all he did was unbuckle your seat belt, rushing you to get out, and he drove away in full speed.

That night, he became the reason of your on-going journey, having to settle down in a new home.

***

You could say just like that, your whole journey to seek the perfect home stopped. You finally got what you wanted. Or so you thought, almost.

Doyoung was the one who helped you along the way. That one meeting was enough to send you into a spiral of unending expectations. Because of him you finally had a stable job working under his label. He helped you find a more decent place to settle down, now living like an actual normal human being. And he is the guy of every girl dreams, he is simply too good to be true.

But, Doyoung is a great liar.

You had no idea Doyoung held up a title in the company he worked in. He had told you that night that he was a simple worker in the Kim industries, always on the edge to finish up projects on the latest technology to be released for the government security. You thought it was impressive: a man so young given such a complex duty. He lied.

He wasn’t a normal worker he said, he was the goddamn CEO. And you learnt about his title the hard way.

When Doyoung told you that he wanted breakfast, you obliged. You brought the familiar paper bag containing some pastries and his usual cup of coffee. The problem you faced that early morning was to figure out which floor he worked on. But since you were new, you had to ask the lady at the front desk at the information counter.

“Can I ask which floor Doyoung works in?” You politely asked.

Her slender fingers stopped typing on the keyboard, her eyes traveling from the monitor up to your figure. She looked confused, you could tell by her furrowing eyebrows and small frown.

“Mr. Kim?” She asked back.

You blinked innocently at her, tilting your head to show your ongoing confusion.

“He uh…just told me to bring him breakfast.” You said dumbly, but that was enough to ring a bell on the woman’s head.

“Ah! I shall assume you are Mr. Kim’s new secretary.” She concluded.

The next thing she did was escort you towards the lift, press the highest level of the building, and gave you a wave of goodbye and a pleasant smile for good luck.

And she meant it when she signed good luck.

It had been 2 weeks since you started working for Doyoung, and you thought he was out to kill you. Every single morning after you delivered his breakfast, he asked about his schedules and meetings, then the human labor started. He would send you off running from one floor to another, demanding each department for files and documents, preparing the meeting rooms by copying each file in hard copy, to answering his unwanted calls from nosy companies who kept demanding either updates of his recent projects or just an invitation for a party.

It was nearing lunch break, and you thought your legs were about to give out. You slammed the glass door open, stumbling in to slap the file in your hand on his glass table. Doyoung looked up at you through his reading glasses before lowering his gaze down again to finish reading the spread before him.

“This is the copy you wanted, and the tech department said they are going to give you the whole proposal by 5pm the latest.” You huffed, letting out a sigh.

Doyoung smiled, nodding his head a little at your report.

“Too long, tell them to finish it by 4pm or I’m giving everyone extra shifts on the weekend.” He said casually, giving random commands as he pleased.

Doyoung had expected you to blow up or get irritated by his bossy behavior at the very least. But you did nothing aside from giving him a slight nod and mumbling a small, “Noted”

“C-Can I rest for a while?” You asked, whining at the end.

Doyoung looked up from his documents, a hand running up the side of his head to scratch it. His eyes stared at you lazily, but also with a hint of disinterest. You swallowed a lump, not fully knowing what to expect from your boss. Doyoung was always so emotionless, it was to the brink you could no longer understand his moods or behavior. You sighed, dragging yourself towards the door.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t stay here.” Your whole body jerked awake, not expecting him to speak. You turn around slowly, looking at him for confirmation or if he was only playing with you.

“Come here” he commanded. His tone was different from how he usually gave out orders or asked you to finish a task, it wasn’t the usual harsh strict tone; that was gone. He wasn’t showing his dominance or giving you his typical stern look that he gave his employees, reminding them who he was and why they were chosen to work in such a prestigious company.

No, it wasn’t. His tone was small, soft like he was singing a lullaby. He seemed like he was whispering, afraid if he hitched up another octave in his voice you would break. He looked at you, seemingly needy, wanting you. That was enough to pull you to his side.

His hands were gentle, very gentle. He caressed your exposed arm, sending a jolt of electricity through your system. Then, slowly, he pulled you down. His force was enough to cause you to tumble down, but not fall harshly on him. Doyoung positioned himself to make room for you to sit more comfortably on his lap. His arm easily circled around your waist, securing yourself so you wouldn’t fall. His other travelled up from your arm, to your shoulder, neck, finally resting upon your cheek. You shivered under his touch; it was as light as a feather. Doyoung smiled at the reaction, slowly pulling you down for a kiss.

Gentle, he was so very gentle. The kiss was light, feather-like kiss on your lips, but it was enough to show how passionate he was. You sighed in the kiss, thinking how his whole living being was too good to be true. This man, right in front of you was yours. Yours, completely yours.

When he pulled away, he gazed at you in adoration. Doyoung had expected you to break in a few days from the pressure of the job, but you did such an amazing job, far better than his past secretaries. He was a proud man, his heart bloomed at the sight of you so vulnerable and hypnotized under his touch. He loved it.

He remembered the first few times you entered his office, you were fuming with embarrassment. Hiding your face in your hands, you complained about him.

“You didn’t tell me you were the CEO of this freaking empire!” You groaned out.

“First of all, it’s an industry like the name says here.” he said calmly, tapping on the metal nameplate on his desk that read ‘Kim Doyoung’ as a title and ‘CEO of Kim Industry’.

“Tell me, what did you do?” he asked. You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel offended by his accusation or impressed by his assumption.

“Did you realize how embarrassed I was when I ran to each department demanding documents and designs, then being dumb and saying ‘Oh! And Doyoung wants this done by 3!’. They were looking at me like I was mad!” You grumbled.

“I did tell you I work in this company.” he said calmly.

“Yea! But you literally own this whole building! What are you? Real life playboy, asshole, billionaire Tony Stark?!” Your voice rose the more you ranted.

Doyoung only looked at you unamused, his eyebrow raised in question.

“Okay, maybe not an asshole.” You defended. But he was still not impressed.

“…or a playboy?” You stopped, hesitating at your own description of him.

“Are you a playboy?” You asked, this time serious with concern laced around your expression. That one sentence was enough to send him into unending laughter. One sincere pure laugh that rang around his office.

Doyoung always laughed whenever he thought about it, you were simply too pure.

He had hesitated to take you in knowing how harsh the industry could be, especially since everyone saw him as a competitor. It was true Doyoung started the whole company, but he was very young back then. No one acknowledged his capabilities or ideas when he first entered the business world, everyone saw him as a child. But Doyoung proved them wrong, because he knew his own capabilities. And he used it to his own advantage, starting small and with nothing but scraps, he continued building his father’s company, completely taking it over. That was when people began to notice him, not as a kid but as someone whom they should fear.

“Go back to work, Y/N. You need to remember this is a workplace.” He said, pushing you out of his lap coldly. You looked at him in shock by the sudden change of behavior.

Your eyes rested on his figure once again, lingering on him but he didn’t respond. You sighed, tired by his sudden push and pull behavior; it was going to take a toll on you sooner or later. You didn’t argue with him any further. You simply nodded, bid your goodbye, and left his office.

When he saw the glass-door close from the far corner of his eyes, he leaned back in his seat and sighed. I’m such a dick, the words lingered around his head, pounding against his skull.

He hated himself sometimes.

Having so much pressure at such a young age did take a toll on him. Doyoung had this mechanism of pushing people away from him, from the snobs who just came to him for business opportunities, females luring him for one night stands, it exposed him to how disgusting people could get once they locked targets to settle a business for their own benefits. It disgusted him to the core.

His problem regarding issues with peoples caused him to shut off from socializing further than a few close friends and business associates. Others he pushed away as if they were nothing. The whole self-defense mechanism to protect himself didn’t just cause him to push those he doesn’t trust away, but he also pushed away those who sincerely cared.

You were no exception.

Doyoung adored you, he loved you dearly. But he was still hesitant which frustrated you to no end. You tried to understand him. You knew that he was a very hardworking man, always so passionate and enthusiastic about his work, and you adored that side of him. You thought that was one thing that made him special.

You couldn’t blame much on him. Well you wanted to, especially since the affection and compliments Doyoung spared you were close to none. Or the fact that both of you never actually went out as a normal couple. You took it in, hoping that it would all be okay. Especially since his whole empire was slowly becoming a bigger part of your life, another home.

***

You had your first argument when you passed the 8 months milestone. The reason being Kim Doyoung.

You remembered that morning you rode up the elevator to his office, carrying his usual breakfast. But as the elevator door opened, you were welcomed by the sight of him in his usual neat style, wrapped up in his suit and a suitcase beside him.

Doyoung greeted you with a small nod, proceeding to type on his phone once again. You walked closer to him, wanting to peek at whatever he was doing, but he simply turned towards you and hid his phone in his pocket. He casually took his coffee and bit into his sandwich, humming in what you thought was approval.

“Are you going somewhere?” You asked him. Doyoung only nodded, still ravishing the food in the paper bag. You could only watch, not knowing how to push another on-going question that kept wandering into your mind.

Suddenly, the elevator door dinged open, catching your attention as Doyoung stayed unbothered. He sipped on his coffee, waiting for the newcomer to come over to his desk. You stared at the man in curiosity; he was as tall and lean as Doyoung, but his facial structure was much softer compared to Doyoung. He smiled widely at Doyoung, startling him by pulling him into a hug.

“Look at you! You’ve grown so much!” He said. Doyoung only nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Thank you again for coming to replace me whilst I’m gone, brother.” Doyoung replied.

“Don’t mention it, go kill those meetings! When you come back, I’m expecting an extravagant meal!” He said, making Doyoung chuckle a little.

Doyoung turned around and faced you, nodding curtly at you once again. He took his suitcase in his hand, pulling it closer to his body as he looked at you, eyes stern.

“I am off for a business meeting overseas for a few months, for the time being my brother is in chargs. Be sure to follow his orders and I expect no damages or flaws in this company whilst I am gone. Do you understand?” He interrogated, his tone pressed more firmly at the question, expecting you to answer him with a yes no matter what. You nodded, not trusting your voice if you tried to speak out.

“Good.” And he was off.

Your legs were rooted in place, scared that if you were to move an inch it might trigger a bomb in Doyoung’s mind. You let out a sigh when he disappeared. You gazed sadly at the missing male, not fully excited by his short goodbye. No kisses, no hugs, nothing.

Doyoung was still Doyoung.

“I’m Kim Gongmyung,” you snapped out of your daze, looking at the other figure present in the room.

“I’m Doyoung’s brother.”

You gaped at his statement. Doyoung had a brother? You were struck in awe. The more you looked over his features, you could see the similarities between him and Doyoung. You extended a hand for a handshake, but he only waved it off with a laugh.

“No need for such formalities, Y/N. I know you, Doyoung told me about you.” You didn’t know what got into your mind when he said that, Doyoung talked about you to his brother. Was it a sign for another step between you and him then? Or did he just tell his brother about your position in the company, merely there to serve?

“He did?” You asked.

“Well aside of mentioning he’s seeing someone, he did also say he took a new secretary in the company, which I shall assume either one is you. Congratulations, you are the only secretary who ever lasted this long with that short-tempered guy.” He remarked, tone filled with amusement.

He was very different from Doyoung. Doyoung was winter, always so cold and curt, never once showing any signs of softness, laughter or even smiles. His brother was the plain opposite; he was warm and welcoming, his face set in a permanent dazzling smile. You were very surprised and impressed by how different the two proved to be.

You sighed a little, a little part of you wanting Doyoung to be able to express himself rather than being the cold and strict boss everyone perceived him as.

Gongmyung had noticed your behavior, often looking down and sighing like a puppy being kicked. He thought back to a few weeks, how Doyoung had called him during the middle of the night. The younger had ordered him, or what Gongmyung would like to call his brother begging him to take over his company whilst he was gone. He knew Doyoung could only trust him as they grew up together, hence it wasn’t so hard for him to say yes. But the other reason for Doyoung to do this was also so there would be someone supervising you.

He had listened to Doyoung’s rants about his workplace, filled with people complaining about life and their work despite how they wanted it. But you were the one who never once let out a whine or a sigh about your work, causing Doyoung to favor you more than his other employees, regardless of your relationship. Doyoung was scared to leave you alone on his trip, he thought you might hinder him from his work. So, he asked his brother to keep his trip a secret.

Now, his brother was staring at you in amusement. You hadn’t shown any discontent with the lack of love and enthusiasm in your relationship with Doyoung; you simply accepted it.

Gongmyung had dauntlessly scolded Doyoung to not be so cold to you, to give you an exception since you were his lover. But Doyoung shrugged him off, mumbling ‘it’s not any of your business, shut up’. He wouldn’t try to argue with him, merely shaking his head in disapproval and clicking his tongue before giving him the same old speech:

“Don’t take her patience for granted, Doyoung. I can genuinely see how she really cares about you. Treat her, take her out on a date. She’s human too and she’s yours.” He would say as an opening but Doyoung always chose to ignore him.

“She’s different, Doyoung. Wait till you lose her, you will regret it.”

Those words had left Doyoung in a daze for a few days, thinking if the way he had treated you was considered fair. But the thought soon got thrown away, as he was a man dedicated to his work.

Each day went by slowly, and you hated how the time slowly slipped away.

Gongmyung was similarly strict, but not as strict as Doyoung. He would often give you tasks, orders but often leave you a question of ‘is it too much?’ which always caught you off-guard. You would often dismiss his question, quickly finishing the papers and passing them back to Gongmyung for a final check. You were proud to say that you probably left him a big impression of you.

But truly, that’s not what you wanted.

Your whole routine by then was obvious. Finishing copying files and paperwork, submitting it to Gongmyung as a final draft, and then checking your phone for any updates or replies from Doyoung. You did this for around two months, and you would shamelessly admit so far you had heard barely anything from Doyoung.

In a span of three months you came to learn his pattern of keeping in touch. He would text you approximately three times a day to ask about work: how was the company doing, and why were you always on your phone. Others such as phone calls or video calls were short and abrupt, with you calling him to check up on him and mostly being rejected with him replying ‘I am busy right now’ on text and leaving you unread for an entire day. But, if you were lucky, he would pick it up and let you talk about your day while he was fully immersed in his own world; doing his work, reading his book, or just typing madly on his laptop.

“It feels odd having to order people about my breakfast every morning, usually I have you to prepare it.” Doyoung mentioned during one of your calls. You perked up when he said that, thinking it was a way of him saying that he missed you or indicating that he did need you in his life.

“Do you miss me?” You asked him shyly. He didn’t answer.

“I’m getting used to the changes.” He finally replied, and that was a slap in your face kind of answer. You didn’t reply or continue the conversation, because you didn’t know how to.

In the end, when he noticed you weren’t talking or replying to him anymore, without a proper goodbye – he ended the call.

You didn’t know how things went downhill; the spark simply vanished.

You remembered crying over the phone, each word painful as you pulled them out of your throat. You were tired, exhausted because of him. It only started with one question, and it ended with both of you arguing.

“What am I to you?” You had asked him, examining his features through the grainy screen of your phone. You did miss him, a lot.

He paid no attention towards you, eyes glued on his papers in hand. Doyoung had noticed your change in behavior, suddenly becoming more confident and each question you threw at him becoming bolder. He glanced at his own screen, your eyes attached to his figure. You were waiting for his answer, like you always did.

“Don’t ask such nonsense right now, Y/N. Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?” He quipped.

You didn’t say anything at first, but you were done. You didn’t get any updates about his work and when was he coming back, you knew nothing. Both of you never went out as a normal couple, he never even treated you like his girlfriend. You were confused, but mostly you were tired of being pulled in whenever he needed you only to be pushed away like nothing.

“You don’t care about me.” You mumbled out, but it was audible enough for him to hear through the speaker of his phone. He got irritated; it was a very prominent expression imprinted on his face.

“What are you talking about, I do care.” He said strictly.

“Since when? Where? You always leave me behind like a clueless child. You do nothing for me, Doyoung. You pull me into your bubble just for me to end up being pushed away like trash. Do you seriously think I’m dumb enough not to notice?” You fumed, voice raising in volume.

“I’ve tried everything, I try to understand you, to support you in your work and in your life. What have you ever done for me? It’s always been me who tolerates your ego and obsession with your work, yet I never get the same from you! You never regard me as your lover, there’s nothing for me to gain in this relationship!” Every single word you threw out burned your throat; it felt dry as your eyes glistened. You didn’t care if he was still listening, you were tired.

“I love you, Doyoung. I truly do— But I don’t think you feel the same way and I’m tired.” You whispered.

“Y/N…”

“You’re right, I should get back to work. I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Kim.” And like that, his screen turned black.

Doyoung groaned loudly, a hand running through his hair in frustration. Great, he did mess up. He sighed, knowing texting or calling you again wouldn’t be a good idea. Doyoung swore he could see Gongmyung judging him, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I told you so.” He would probably say to irk him, but at this rate could Doyoung even blame his actions?

“Kim Doyoung, you are such an asshole.” He sighed.

***

You ran away from the company. Well, took a few weeks leave.

You came in to Gongmyung’s office a mess, explaining your whole mental state wasn’t to continue working. Gongmyung , understanding what had happened, gave you a smile and a wave, ushering you out of the company with nothing in exchange.

“I’ll call my secretary in as a temporary replacement, come back when you feel better!” He had said as he waved you goodbye.

It had been 3 weeks since your whole argument with Doyoung and he still hadn’t contacted you. You stare at your phone in defeat, there was not a single call or text message from him. You gave up, it was officially over. At this rate you would have to move out again and try to hunt down other jobs available. You had thought to go back to working at the café you identified dearly as one of your homes, but in the end, you crossed it off your list. Knowing too well that if you worked there again, there was a bigger chance of you seeing Doyoung, and you didn’t want that.

You sighed, walking down the pavement with your groceries. You thought again, how long did you have left before your bank account dwindled down to nothing? You stared at your groceries with a saddened gaze, things were changing so quickly.

You unlocked the door of your apartment, putting the bag on your kitchen counter. You went into your room for a change before heading back downstairs to put away the newly bought goods. You were halfway done when you were interrupted by a sudden knock on the front door. You paused, was it your landlord? But you remembered you paid that month’s rent two days ago. The knock came again, this time more rapidly. You walked towards it, peeking out the peep hole to reveal the intruder. It was Doyoung.

You gasped loudly, slapping a hand over your mouth. Your heart drummed, not wanting to face him just yet, why was he back so suddenly? It was fine, he probably didn’t hear you. You could just act like you weren’t home and he would go away; everything would be okay.

“I know you’re in there, Y/N. Open up or I’ll kick this door open.” He ordered.

Your eyes widened in shocked. Did he just threaten you? No, he wouldn’t. And you knew for a fact Doyoung was not a man who solved his problems with violence, he wouldn’t knock your door down just for this.

Before you could think for too long, you heard a click on your door as it swung open. You stared at it in surprise, not expecting the wooden door to open up so easily. You stood rooted in your place, gaping at the sight as it revealed Doyoung standing at the end, his face unimpressed.

“Didn’t I tell you to never hide your spare key under the doormat?” He hissed out with a venomous tone. You scowled at his greeting, not fully enlightened to be welcomed back by his attitude.

“Why are you here?” You mumbled.

Doyoung stopped, his irritation pausing. Then, he let out a heavy sigh.

“To apologize,” He said simply. You scoffed at his answer and Doyoung knew all too well you were not in favor of him right now.

“No, really. I am here to say I’m sorry.” He insisted. You didn’t react, you stood there waiting for him to continue.

“Look Y/N, listen,” his voice was soft, pleading for you to not push him away. Doyoung stared at you with a broken gaze. For the first time you could sense his desperation, a part of him showing how much he longed for you to be back. When you still didn’t react, he took a few breathers and continued.

“I have this defense mechanism I’ve used since I started my company, and that is being an asshole to everyone. I don’t deal with people well and I trust only so little, I do not welcome people easily in my life. I kept living that way knowing how toxic and dark the whole business world could be, especially since I’m carrying my family’s name. People come, take a few things they want, and then they disappear.” He said.

“I wasn’t so sure when I first met you, but you made our first conversation so bloody memorable I just couldn’t help but go back!” He chuckled. That one chuckle was enough to let you know he was coming out of his own shell, slowly but surely.

“There wasn’t anything much for us to start with, just a simple exchange of breakfast and coffee and I was off. But that one night, when you let me in even so late after closing time was enough to tell me that I could trust you. Because no one who I ever encountered even would give me a glance if I walked in homeless in their doorsteps. I just couldn’t help it; I fell in love just like that.” He sighed a little. You smiled at his little confession, remembering how one mug of hot chocolate was enough to give you a home and a stable job, everything that you have ever wanted.

“I always seems like I don’t care and act like I barely give a shit, but I do. I care too much to the point I didn’t need you to send me in your resume, because I wanted you. I cared so much that I told my brother about you, my family, because I know I’m aiming to go further in this relationship with you. And now, I care so much that I still come back running to find you.” He said.

His face was flushed, you could see the visible streak of pink across his face. Doyoung tried to hide it with his hand, turning his face away, but it was too obvious he couldn’t do anything about it. He sighed.

“You still didn’t warn me about having that business trip of yours!” You exclaimed.

“Because I knew you would be worried! And give me some credit, I came back two months earlier than planned. Did you know how much work I crammed in these three weeks to get an early leave?” He shot back.

You smiled a little at his effort, slowly understanding where you stood in this relationship with him.

“Still doesn’t give you an excuse to abandon me for work all the time.” You sulked. This time, Doyoung smiled.

“Because I’m planning to buy a house, a proper house for you and me.” He said.

“W-What?”

“I want you to move in with me, Y/N.” he softly said, every single raw emotion he put in that one sentence.

“M-Move in?” You gaped at him.

“You always talk about wanting to have a proper place you can settle down, a place you can finally claim as your home. I thought long about it and I’m sure on my decision. I am serious right now; I want you to move in with me. I want you to be mine.” You shivered at his words.

Doyoung took a few steps into the house, closing the gap between the two of you. Then he pulled you into his embrace. It didn’t take you too long to feel his warmth, but it wasn’t his warmth that you longed for. You longed for his familiarity around you. You missed him in general, all aspects. His glares and short-tempered mind, his orders and demanding tones, his laughter and smiles. You longed for his scent of strong musk and coffee, to be wrapped around his arms and pampered by his love. You wanted him to make you feel special, to be his.

“I want to be a part of that home of yours, Y/N.” He whispered; lids heavy as his head dipped down towards yours. Soon you felt his lips on yours, the butterflies and rapid heartbeats. You missed him.

You had always associated home to be a place you stayed, a place you could call your small bubble. But as you grew older, you slowly realized that a home could also be a person. You understood from that day, anywhere you went could be called home as long as it was with someone you loved.

That’s what home truly was, him. He was your home.

When he pulled away, he looked at you with the softest gaze he ever laid upon anyone. It didn’t take him long to pull down for another kiss, this time more desperate. You could feel his both breath against your cheeks, your skin. You thought you had reached cloud-nine. He pulled away ever so slightly, lips brushing against yours. He rested his eyes around your face, feeling himself grow warmer at the sight of you so vulnerable under his touch.

“You have no idea what you are capable of doing to me, Y/N. You are mine.” He took you in once again, this time showing you what it meant to fully become his.

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faithambr · 4 years

Text

Måten du ser ut i kveld (The Way You Look Tonight)

(Author’s Note: So I thought that I had typed up this one! Guess I didn’t, so here it is.I actually had found this from like two years ago! So happy to post it now.)

AO3 Link

It was a chilly, but beautiful night in the city of Las Vegas. The city where lights are always illuminating like stars and the buildings ever so unique. Where tourists can be treated like royalty and local celebrities would be treated like normal people. A city where everybody can party and be out of their comfort zone. After all, whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Many people would consider Las Vegas a tourist destination, but to the few it is their home. Some people may think it’s crazy to live in Las Vegas, but who would be the ones serving the tourists? Who would be the ones cleaning out the hotel rooms, finding God knows what underneath a bed or couch? Who would be the ones patrolling the Strip for trouble? Who would be the ones even giving tourists rides to their destination.

The answer would be the locals. The Las Vegas natives are the glue that would hold everything together. They are the people that have been taking care of the city and they will continue on doing so. They’re the ones that would clean up the vomit from some punk and even make sure that the punk would be okay. They’re the ones patrolling the streets, just making sure that everyone is safe and sound.

Many people would still consider it crazy to live there, but to Anna and Kristoff Las Vegas is their home. A home where they are able to provide themselves and for others. A home where everything would be open 24 hours, including liquor stores.

This is our home. Kristoff had thought while him and his fiancee Anna were getting ready for the night on the Strip. A home for us to share.

“Kristoff,” Anna mumbles while she was applying her makeup, “aren’t you going to tell me where are we going tonight?”

“Nope.” he smiles fondly down at his love.

“Oh c’mon.” Anna sighs in defeat, making her fiancee laugh. “Can you just give me a tiny hint?”

“I tell you what,” Kristoff chuckles, “you put these things on,” he quickly hands over purple jacket, hat, and her pair of boots, “and I’ll get an Uber.”

“Really?” Anna quirks an eyebrow as she quickly got herself ready for the night.

“Yep.” her love calls out just as he was feeding Sven, the chocolate lab.

“Well okay then,” Anna smiles as she stood right in front of Kristoff, “how do I look?”

“You look beautiful as always Anna.” Kristoff murmurs as he strolled on over to her.

“Oh you’re just saying that.” she teases him.

“And I mean it,” he kisses her fervently, causing her to roll her hips against his.

“Well then,” Anna lets out with a short breath, “guess I’ll have to make up for later, love.”

“And I’m looking forward to it.” he growls in reply, just as their Uber had arrived.

“Awesome.” Anna giggles as she walked on out the door with him following her like a lost puppy.

“Where to?” their Uber driver had asked Kristoff.

“The Bellagio.” he answers, making Anna smile with excitement.

“Alright.”

“Awww baby,” Anna gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, “that is so sweet.”

“Anything for you feistypants.” Kristoff kisses her fervently.

“Mmmm.” Anna bit her lip, knowing not to get too handsy with Kristoff.

_______________________

It took the driver about twenty minutes to get to the Bellagio from their cramped studio apartment, downtown.

“Oh look at this place, Kristoff!” Anna exclaims as she looked out the window. “It’s so beautiful.”

“I know.” Kristoff smiles at his gorgeous fiancee. “It sure does.”

“Oh remember the time when Mom and Dad took us here?” Anna beams with joy.

“Yeah I do.” Kristoff smirks as their Uber had dropped them off at the valet entrance. “Thanks.”

The Uber driver just nodded after Kristoff had tipped him in cash.

“Mom told us kids that we had to take our family photos at the Christmas tree.” Anna continues making her love smile. “Oh you were so embarrassed with wearing that reindeer sweater.”

“Was not.” Kristoff rolls his eyes while they were strolling on throughout the casino.

“Your cheeks were red as that sweater, Kristoff.” Anna grins as she poked him in the rib. “Your mother still has that sweater some where.”

“And I told her to burn it.” her loves groans as they stood at the entrance of the botanical garden.

“Well,” Anna giggles, “she told me that she’s keeping it for the future grand babies.”

“Grand babies?” Kristoff asks an eyebrow at her, just as he pulled out his camera.

“Yes.” Anna’s eyes danced in appreciation while her love was taking pictures of the beauty within the garden. “She wants us to give her some.”

“I see.” Kristoff states just as he was about to take the perfect shot of her. “Hold still, Anna.”

“Like this?” she whispers while she was gazing into one of the flowers.

“Just like that.” Kristoff smiles as he snaps a couple shots of her.

“So what did you get, Kristoff?” Anna asks in delight.

“A beautiful picture of you.” her love cooed as Anna looked over his shoulder at the picture.

“Aww Kristoff.” Anna blushes, making her love smile . “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” her love smirks down at her.

“Oh I have an idea!” Anna’s eyes lit up with anticipation as she gently pulled the camera away from Kristoff.

“Hey!” Kristoff calls out while Anna was trying to get someone else’s attention. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get our picture taken, you big goof!” Anna giggles as she kisses him on the cheek.

“I see.”

“Now are you two ready?” the person holding the camera had asked.

“Yes.” Anna answers.

“Alright, ready? 1,2,3....” the person had snapped their lovely picture.

“Thank you, sir.” Anna smiles while the young man hands over the camera to Kristoff.

“You’re welcome.”

“See now,” Anna gave her love a kiss, just after Kristoff had returned to her side, “do you understand love?”

“Yes I do, Anna.” Kristoff returns the favor, deepening their kiss.

“Mmm...” Anna’s eyes had fluttered open followed by a loving smile. “I have another idea.”

“And what’ll that be?” Kristoff smirks down at his love.

“You’ll have to see.” Anna winks as she pulls him on out of the botanical garden and into some shopping areas nearby.

______________________________

An Hour Later

“Oh Kristoff,” Anna exclaims in excitement as they were walking in front of the Fountains of Bellagio, “isn’t this beautiful?”

“Yeah it sure is.” Kristoff smiles in awe just as the fountains began their usual show.

“Kristoff,” Anna began, while humming the tunes of the fountains, “do you remember some of the music that my dad used to play in the restaurant?”

“Not really,” Kristoff recalls from memory, “but I do remember the times where we would stuff our mouths with black olives. You would always claim that you can stuff them the most.”

“Ah, as if.” Anna scoffs, making her fiancee chuckle even more. “You’re just saying that. Plus you used to eat the mozzarella cheese from the bin.”

“Did not.” Kristoff rolls his eyes in amusement.

“Did too.” Anna smirks just as another song was playing. “Oh I like this song!”

“Huh?” her love cocks an eyebrow while Anna was humming her favorite tune.

“You know...” Anna hums as she pulls her love in for a dance.

“Some day, when I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you And the way you look tonight.“

“Anna,” Kristoff gave her a hesitant look, “I don’t know how to....”

“Ah yes you do, Kristoff.” Anna smiles up at her love. “Don’t lie to me about that.”

“Anna,” her groans in reply, “there are people here.”

“So?”

“Alright.” he smiles down at her as she pulls him in for a slow waltz.

“Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm And your cheeks so soft, There is nothing for me but to love you, And the way you look tonight.“

As the young couple began to slow dance to Sinatra, Anna couldn’t help but relive all of the memories of their childhood. She loved the idea of seeing how their relationship came about. From being childhood friends, to romantic love interests, to an engaged couple. And look how far we’ve come. she had thought to herself, while feeling the heartbeat from her love.

“With each word your tenderness grows, Tearing my fear apart And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, It touches my foolish heart.“

Her heart was pounding at the first time she had met her fiancee when they were just children. She was about five years old when she had found out that there was going to be a family moving across the street. She remembered being so excited, that she literally ran across the street. She knew that meeting Kristoff and her family was very neighborly, yet she didn’t expect it to change her life. At the time she was hoping to be lifelong friends with Kristoff. Now, she’ll be married to him within a year. Everybody told us that we were gonna get married. she thought as she continued on reliving their childhood memories.

“Lovely Never, ever change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it ? Cause I love you Just the way you look tonight.“

It was a month later when she saw his parents working at her father’s Italian restaurant. His mother, Bulda, was the lead waitress in the front of the house, while his father, Cliff, was the head chef in the kitchen. At first, she was a bit hesitant on seeing them with her father, but then she realized that they were simply meant to stay. Maybe they knew that we were going to get married. she thought while the song was still playing.

“Mm, mm, mm, mm, Just the way you look to-night.“

Over the next few years, both families had grown close together. Both her and her older sister, Elsa, loved the idea of having someone to hang out with in the back office, while their parents were working. She figured that Kristoff didn’t really mind hanging out; therefore, she decided to play board games with him. Now those were the good times. she thought, remembering all the times she had beat him at Chutes and Ladders. Even as we got older.

By the time they all were in middle school and even in high school, both Anna and Kristoff had started to do some light work in the family restaurant. Young 13 year old Anna was a hostess, while 16 year old Kristoff was in charge of the dishwasher. They both knew that their jobs were very important, yet they were thinking about other things to do. Anna was too busy thinking about her friends and boy crushes, while Kristoff was too busy thinking about his academics and her. She knew that he had some sort of crush on her, yet she didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

“Thinking about something, Anna?” a voice had interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmm...” Anna gazes into her love’s eyes. “Remember those dates we had back in middle school, love?”

“Oh God yes.” he chuckles in reply.

“Now can you imagine what they’re thinking now?” Anna continued throughout their dance.

“My guess,” Kristoff adds much to his love’s surprise, “would be that Mama Bulda had insisted on us being together and your parents went along with it.”

“And they sure did.” Anna had stated to her fiancee.

_____________________________

An Hour Later

“Kristoff look,” Anna smiles as she pointed at one of the casinos, “isn’t the Luxor fantastic tonight?”

“Yeah,” her love replies while they were cruising on down the Strip with their Uber driver, “what about that casino?”

“It’s super cool.” Anna had answered. “Remember the time that we went to the pool together?”

“Yes.”

“And we got kicked out of there?”

“You were six and I was probably nine when you had decided to pretend to drown.” Kristoff had recalled from memory. “And your dad wasn’t paying attention, so a lifeguard had to come to your rescue.”

“Dad was probably too drunk to remember.” Anna adds.

“Yeah I remember him saying a few choice words with security.” Kristoff continues.

“In which that had caused us to get kicked out.” Anna sighs in defeat.

“But I do remember the other time when I said ‘I love you’ at the same exact location.” Kristoff smirks, making Anna blush pink.

“It was when we were celebrating my twenty-fourth birthday.” Anna gave him a loving look. “You took me out to dinner at the buffet and told me that I looked beautiful.”

“You were wearing that green dress with glitter on it.” Kristoff smiles at his love.

“Yes.”

“And then I said ‘I love you’.” he continues, making her hear flutter.

“You made me cry that night, too.” Anna kisses him on the cheek.

“I did?”

“Yes, you big dork.” Anna giggles, just as their Uber driver had arrived at their destination.

“Here you are.” their Uber driver had stated.

“Thanks man.” Kristoff answers as he and Anna had exited out of the Uber.

“Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.” Anna had read aloud as she stood in front of the clear path leading to the sign.

“Yep.” Kristoff had whispered from behind. “Dad used to tell me that the sign was a symbol of home for him.”

“Well your parents did grow up here.” Anna replies back.

“They did,” Kristoff had stated, “but to him the sign means everything to him.”

“Well I think that this is our home,” Anna had added, making her love smile, “and our future is here.”

She was right. Their home is where they grew up. Where they got to spend their childhood running down the streets, catching lizards, and collecting rocks from the deserted lots. Where they have had their own ups and downs in life. Where they would want to have the family business grow in their hands. A home that I’ll never leave. Kristoff had thought as he gazed into those childhood eyes of hers. Without her.

“Kristoff,” Anna breathes, “what are you thinking about?”

“You.” he whispers ever so softly. “Us, our home, and our future here.”

“Oh.” she mouths with a warm smile.

“And by the way Anna,” Kristoff had casually smiled as he pulled her close to his heart, “you sure do look beautiful tonight.”

“Oh you’re just saying that.” she brushes him off.

“And I mean every bit of it.” Kristoff murmurs, as he pulls Anna in for a kiss.

“Kristoff,” Anna murmurs back, “the sky’s awake. The sign is sparkling.”

“Indeed it is.” her love whispers, making her reliving all of their childhood memories.

And indeed it was.

#the way you look tonight #frozen fandom #kristanna fandom #modern au

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sweettemptaticn · 4 years

Text

Discord thread featuring: Ryleigh and Bear ( @laid-bear )

Where: The Grind

When: A week after their first meeting.

Description: Ryleigh finds Bear at the The Grind and extends an invitation to make dinner for him.

Trigger Warnings: None.

RYLEIGH

In the two months she's lived in Dayton, she's visited The Grind more than any other establishment. Some people enjoy their alcohol; Ryleigh enjoys her coffee. More than anything. It's her one basic need in life, besides food or, you know, water. "Thanks, Jacob," Ryleigh beams at the barista behind the counter, slipping a five into the tip jar. She doesn't have a lot of extra cash to spare, usually, but when she is capable of tipping a little extra here and there, she does. Everyone has to do their part, right? She takes a sip of the caramel macchiato she ordered, groaning with pleasure because it's spot on perfect. "If I ever become rich and famous, I'm hiring you to be my personal barista," she winks at the male, who offers her a small laugh and an agreement he'd take it before making his next drink. Ryleigh spins on her heel to leave, eyes barely scanning the interior of the coffee shop, when she notices a familiar hulking form. Her smile widens and her feet carry her across the shop toward his table, surprised to see him stationary after his quick stop in the bakery a week or so prior. "I see you decided to give my suggestion a try," Ryleigh muses as she approaches his table. Her blonde hair is drawn into a single french braid, wisps framing her face as she peers down to the order in front of him. "Well? What do you think?" Green eyes shine with a hopeful glint, one of her small hands wrapped around her own drink as her other slips into the back pocket of her distressed denim hugging her hips. Her casual, no work today look is topped off with a light weight sweater, slouched down one shoulder, exposing her fair skin to the world - and her Gemini tattoo on her shoulder blade. "S'good coffee, isn't it?"

BEAR

It had taken him a few days, but Bear had finally made it to The Grind. It was nicer than a lot of the greasy spoon-style places he’d stopped for coffee on the road...in fact, this might have been the first time he’d gone to a dedicated coffee shop since he was in Portland. He’d ordered himself a black coffee and posted up at a table near the window with a copy of MotorTrend and the local paper but was currently much more invested in the magazine, reading an article about trucks he could definitely never afford. He was wearing an ancient pair of jeans that had seen better days but looked worn in in a way that had become trendy, fading a bit at the pockets and hem, and a black t-shirt which exposed the army of tattoos that stretched from his back and chest down to his biceps where they peeked out from under the fabric. He raised his head when he noticed someone hovering over him, cracking a bit of a grin when he saw the girl from the bakery, taking a half a beat to remember her name was Ryleigh. “Hey—“ he greeted her, giving her a nod as he leaned back a little to meet her eye. “It’s pretty good,” he said, taking a sip and nodding. “Definitely could’ve done worse.” His eyes took in the tattoo and the loose bits of hair that brushed her shoulders before they found hers again. “How’re you?”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh hopes she doesn't come off like she's staring. She's not. Trying not to. But it's hard to keep her eyes focused on one part of him when she's really fascinated by all of him. Those arms, with a peak of ink beneath the sleeves stretched over those large biceps. Under any other circumstance, Bear's size would be intimidating to her, but after their initial meeting in the bakery, and finding him here now, she's surprised to find she doesn't feel anything but comfortable in his presence. He grins at her and Ryleigh offers one of her own, trying not to think too much about how said grin only enhances his handsome features. "Just pretty good?" She pouts slightly, before rolling her shoulders forward in a small shrug. "I guess you can't win them all. Pretty good is better than not good, so I'll take it," Ryleigh nods, biting at the inside of her cheek. "I'm alright. I actually have a day off today, so coffee first and then... I'll see where the day takes me, I guess. I don't really have any plans, actually," she chuckles, her eyes drawn back to his own. "What about you? Are you settling in alright?"

BEAR

Bear liked how she looked when she pouted then smiled—she was so expressive, it had caught him off guard the last time as well. He liked it even as he found it slightly intimidating in a way he couldn’t quite explain—it was open, transparent, two of the things he definitely was not. He shook his head. “It’s good, I promise, definitely the best cup of coffee I’ve had here,” he said, flashing her another half smile before she went on. “Settling in fine—I’ve spent a literal fucking fortune trying to get my apartment together...I’ll actually have a bed next week, kind of a big accomplishment,” he said sarcastically, making it clear that he was being self deprecating. “D’you want to sit?” He offered, nodding at the chair across from him.

RYLEIGH

Her noise of amusement is a soft hum in her throat, his comment at her query making her smile wider. "You're just saying that to get on my good side," she teases gently, lifting her own cup to wrap her lips - lightly glossed, but there's no other evidence of make-up on her face save for the mascara darkening her long lashes - around her straw to drink from her own Coffee. "That's... awful. I don't have my own place, yet, because I moved in with my brother. Couldn't really afford to find one on my own, but he spends all his time at his girlfriend's place, so I guess I kind of have it to myself?" She offers in turn, shifting from one foot to the other. "Hey, a bed is a big accomplishment! And nothing to take for granted, either," Ryleigh commends. Her gaze flickers to the empty chair across from him. "I wouldn't be keeping you from anything?" She'd love to sit with him, to find out more about the mysterious handsome stranger whose smile makes her stomach twist up into tiny little knots she can't explain, but she also doesn't want to impose and keep him from something else he'd rather be doing.

BEAR

Bear wondered if he /was/ just saying that to get on her good side. The coffee was good, but it hadn’t really struck him as particularly amazing until she was asking him and then yes, it was good, great even, it was literally whatever she wanted him to say it was. He would have laughed at his own obviousness if it wouldn’t have made him look crazy. Instead, he just shook his head at her. “Definitely wouldn’t lie to you about something as serious as coffee,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. He listened to her talk about living with her brother and envied just a little the roommate situation—places were expensive in this town, and he’d already thought about picking up a second gig so I’d have a little bit to save. He shook his head at her when she asked about the seat. “It’s all yours—this thing is mostly garbage anyway,” he said, closing the magazine that he would definitely be reading again later. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad sign that he was lying—or at least bending the truth—on little things as they related to her. He wondered what that meant in the scheme of things, brushing off the thought before he nodded at the chair. “Sit.”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh narrows her eyes playfully at him. "You better not. I take coffee very seriously, it's my krpotonite," she points out, hoping he can hear the soft jest in her voice even as her lips quiver to keep her grin in check. She fails, miserably, because she's smiling at him against her better judgement and-- he's going to think you're a loon if you keep smiling like that. He closes his magazine and pushes it away, but as immersed as he'd been with it when she approaches, she doubts it really is garbage. She gladly takes his invitation, however, lowering herself into the chair opposite him, sliding her coffee onto the table in front of her, and crossing her legs at the ankle beneath the table. "So, what other discoveries have you made since our last meeting? Stumbled on any other coffee hot spots?" Ryleigh props her elbow on the edge of the table and drops her chin to rest it against the heel of her palm, her bright green eyes never straying away from him.

BEAR

Bear pressed his lips together as she teased him, trying to keep from smiling in turn. He didn’t normally smile so much. He also didn’t normally hang out in coffee shops or spend time at bakeries or see the same girl—no matter the context—more than once unless you counted a couple total coincidences and about the same number of round twos when he’d been stuck in a town during a snowstorm when he was on the road. He watched her sit, her hands, then her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that she was young—probably much younger than him. But he also knew that he’d been behaving himself, that he hadn’t said anything he regretted or that seemed to have made her uncomfortable, and here she was, looking at him with a similar sort of lingering gaze that he knew he was looking at her. He hadn’t really been /out of it/ per say, but he had been /almost/ staring, definitely a little more obvious than he’d planned to be, before he answered. “No other coffee spots,” he shook his head, pausing to take a sip from the paper cup in front of him, lid sitting next to it on the table. He toyed with the cardboard sleeve as he spoke, pulling it from the white paper cup before he systematically and absently began to shred it into neat, thin strips. “I got a job, thank G-d...thinking about taking a second, idle hands and all that,” he said, smirking a little before he met her eye again. “It’s just a bouncer gig but it pays and it keeps me up late, I’m kinda a night owl.”

RYLEIGH

If they'd been in a different city, a different place in time, Ryleigh would've already offered to do more than take up his time in a coffee shop. She would've invited him back to her place, would've been on her knees for him, and wouldn't have thought anything of it because that's what she was good for. That's what she knew how to do. Her move to Dayton meant learning who she'd once been before New York, before allowing herself to fall into a pit of someone making all of her choices for her. Her ex never would've allowed her to be friends, or even know, someone like Bear. Would've strictly forbidden it because it wouldn't have been his call and he wasn't about to have his girlfriend throw herself at the first guy who smiles nicely at her. So she hadn't been granted the luxury of many friends. She'd had her thoughts and the solace of New York rooftop to pair with school and her job. To be allowed to do all of these things she once would've had to ask for permission for... sometimes it's overwhelming and exhausting, but Ryleigh would rather feel overwhelmed than desolate any day of the week. "That's good. I haven't found any others either. There's this one place on the corner of Main that's not bad, but I use them as a last resort," she offers lightly, gaze drifting down to his hands as he pulls apart the sleeve that'd been around his cup. "Yeah? I'm happy for you! I was so thankful for Sadie, she owns the bakery we met it, for offering me a job. We used to work together back in New York when I lived there and if it hadn't been for her suggestion, I probably would've ended up somewhere else other than Dayton. I'm glad I came here, though," she explains with a small smile, her face growing warm. "Idle hands are the worst. If I'm not working, I'm usually baking or cooking something at home because I'm... a little obsessed with food and keeping myself busy. A man after my own heart... I'm definitely a night owl. Sleep isn't all that easy sometimes."

BEAR

In Alaska, growing up, there had been girls like Ryleigh. Girls who were open and bright and who smiled a lot. In a place like that, though, that sort of thing only lasted so long until it was burnished into something flatter, more even. That’s what it had been like traveling, too—girls who had seen his bullshit before and knew the routine, knew the enviable quirks and traits of a man who moved through the world by his own volition, all else be damned. He had learned that from his father, inherited it in his DNA and carried it in his blood like a virus that sometimes reared its head to remind him that it was there. That he could become just like him at any time. Bear brushed off the thought, wondering why seeing the girl made him think so much about the ways she was different, why he had to sit there and analyze the fact that she smiled a lot or didn’t seem to have any agenda other than what was obvious in the conversation when she spoke. He listened, continuing to shred the sleeve slowly, half smiling at the things she said she liked to do because it seemed to fit, the warmth of her personality and the inherent warmth in the things she described liking to do. “So it’s not just a gig to pay the bills then? You’re one of those people who can follow a recipe and it actually comes out right?” He said, acting as this was a pretty novel concept. “That explains the coffee, then,” he said, nodding at her cup after she expressed being a night owl.

RYLEIGH

"Definitely not just to pay the bills, although it's a pretty good gig getting to do something you love, isn't it?" She answers, her free hand falling into her lap to toy with one of the loose strings of one of the holes stretched across her thigh. "I went to culinary school in New York, it was the whole reason I moved there in the first place, and I graduated three months ago. Haven't really done anything with the degree yet, but one day I'll be a famous pastry chef. That's my life long goal anyway," she explains, unsure why she's so eager to share parts of herself with someone she's literally had one other conversation with. "But, yeah, to answer your question... I don't follow a lot of recipes. I'm more of a make from scratch kind of person, but if you put a recipe in front of me, I could probably do it with a little tweaking." Ryleigh adds with a small blush of heat coloring her cheeks, because she doesn't like talking about herself. She's just really passionate about food. "Yeah... it's my life blood. You tap my veins and there's probably espresso running all through them." Ryleigh lifts her head from her palm to take another sip of said coffee. He's still tearing that sleeve to shreds. "Are you a night owl because you can't sleep or because you don't like to?"

BEAR

“I’m not good at sitting still,” Bear admitted, knowing this was definitely one of his worst traits. “I’ve always worked a couple of jobs at a time from the time I was seventeen—where I grew up, you either worked and lived on an oil rig a few miles off the coast, or you became an alcoholic,” he said with a snort, tone a little wry but he was serious. “And I’m not someone who can sleep if I’m not damn near exhausted, so I’ve found the best way to do that is stay awake until I basically don’t have a choice anymore,” he said, wondering why he was going on and on about this. “Culinary school?” He asked, his tone clearly impressed. “I could see that for you,” he said, nodding at the comment about being a famous pastry chef. “You seem like one of those girls who’d have their own show and a million followers on whatever app people are using,” he said with a half grin, making the jab at himself because he was /not/ a social media person.

RYLEIGH

Something else she could understand. Not wanting to sit still. Sitting still meant too much time with her own thoughts and that was never a good idea. She focuses on his voice, on the key words to fall fro his lips. "Oil rig? Where'd you grow up, if you don't mind me asking?" Curiosity has a heavy presence in her tone, a genuine desire to learn more about this man sitting across from her. Why he wants to spend time talking to someone who's definitely younger than him is beyond her comprehension, but she's going to gladly take his attention. She's always felt older than she truly is, anyway. Especially after all the shit she's seen in her life. "I can definitely relate. To the whole being exhausted bit. It's easier when your body just gives out on you instead of spending three hours trying to sleep," she agrees, drawing invisible shapes with her fingers over the table top - using some of the condensation from her cup as it drips onto the table. "Oh, no, that's not... I don't even use social media, right now. I wouldn't want a show, though. I want people to appreciate my food, not my personality." Ryleigh offers him a small grin of her own, lower lip falling prey to her teeth out of nervous habit.

BEAR

Bear rubbed a hand over his jaw as he considered her question, wondering it the question was just out of politeness rather than interest and maybe he was boring the shit out of her. His calloused fingers rubbed over the rough stubble as he answered. “Homer, Alaska—little peninsula out near the Alaskan gulf, kinda a shanty town when you get out of the tourist traps,” he said with an embarrassed sort of smile, looking up to meet her eye. “Lots of roughnecks,” he added, shrugging before he listened to her. “You’re not one of those girls who’s counting followers and all that?” He said, looking a little surprised—he figured for a girl who looked like her, she had to be into some of the validation to some degree. She looked like she was made for it. Instead, as she talked, he listened, liking the idea of her wanting her work to speak for itself—that was something he could relate to, something he could get behind. When her lower lip went beneath her teeth, Bear looked out the window to keep from watching her, to keep from thinking about the other contexts in which she might make a face like that, tendon in his neck standing out a little against the skin as his jaw tensed ever so slightly. “I’d imagine there’s a lot to appreciate in both of those regards.”

RYLEIGH

"Wow, you're... a long way from home." There's genuine delight in her face over his answer, because Alaska. Alaska always seems like one of those places which sounds nice, in theory and would be a great place to visit, but she's never met anyone who's actually lived there. Or was raised there. His smile endears her to him even more, those little knots in her belly twisting even harder. "Roughnecks... big, husky guys like you, you mean?" She questions teasingly. "No, not really. Even when I did have social media, I didn't really care about that. I was posting more pictures of food than anything else, so... when I left New York I dropped it all together." Because she was running and she couldn't have social media presence if she was trying to stay hidden. No social media. New phone with a no name contract. Random ass car with random license plates. For the most part, she'd had it all figured out. As long as she could stay that way, non consequential, then she might even make it the rest of her life without being found. When he turns his head away, she's given ample opportunity to allow her gaze to drift over him profile, his strong jaw, the visible tendon in his neck. She clears her throat softly, his comment causing the flush of her skin to deepen and spread down her neck. He's going to think she's a weirdo as often as she keeps blushing around him, goodness sake. "How do you know? You've never tried my food. For all you know, I could be joshin' ya," she teases, allowing her own gaze to fall away from him so as to not let herself wonder if his jaw is as sturdy as it looks.

BEAR

Bear smirked a little when she called him a roughneck, turning a little to look at her with a brow cocked, looking highly amused by her comment. “I strike you as that type?” He asked, smirk growing even more pronounced because of course she was right but that didn’t keep him from being even more entertained by his question. He nodded as she talked about social media, appreciating that because /God/, he’d known some blowhards in Seattle and Portland who were very proud of themselves for getting a couple of artsy tattoos and playing mediocre bass in a Nirvana-wannabe band. He listened to her talk about New York, trying to imagine her in a city he’d never been too—hell, he’d never been east of Idaho. He shook his head a little at her question, knocking a knuckle on the table. “See, that’s where you’re wrong—I had one of your cupcakes, remember? And that thing was good as hell and I don’t even normally like sweets, so as far as I’m concerned there’s plenty to appreciate there.”

RYLEIGH

Her hands press onto either side of her cheeks as he smirks at her and asks her if he looks the type. He doesn't seem mad, so that's a bonus on her part, right? "No, I just... I don't even know what a roughneck is supposed to look like or what it means, honestly, I just... made an assumption, I'm sorry," she apologizes genuinely, a smooth chuckle easing out of her throat at her own embarrassment. Her hands drop to the table, far smaller in comparison to his own, she notices, though she'd also noticed that when they'd shaken hands back at the bakery when they first met. "Technically, that wasn't my cupcake. It was Sadie's, my boss', creation. So you liked her cupcake, not mine, but I'm not opposed to having you try one of mine. Or, if you don't normally like sweets, you could let me cook for you," she suggest with a wider smile, thinking nothing of offering to cook for a complete stranger. Sometimes, she cooks too much food, or bakes too many cupcakes, and ends up sharing everything with the whole of Aiden's apartment building.

BEAR

Bear shouldn’t have smirked more when she started stammering and apologizing but he did, the expression on his face softening a little after a moment because he didn’t want the girl to be absolutely embarrassed even if it was cute as hell. “You’re absolutely right, I’m just giving you hell,” he said, shifting so he could nudge her knee with his under the table—given his height, he didn’t have to move much to make it happen. “Basically just go-nowhere local dudes who never bothered to get an education, are good at manual labor, what have you,” he trailed off, snorting a little because now he’d just made himself sound like an idiot who was only good with a wrench. Oh well. “Wait, that wasn’t yours? Sorta feeling betrayed now, Meadows,” he said, shooting her a look but then his brows raised at the comment about baking or cooking for him. “Yeah, actually, I can barely fry an egg so I couldn’t mind eating something besides cornflakes or takeout for a change...if you’re offering, that is, I don’t wanna make your life harder.”

RYLEIGH

"Oh, thank goodness," Ryleigh looses a sigh of relief as he nudges against her knee - the knock jarring her leg slightly, but not enough for her to move away from the touch. She keeps her knee there, resting lightly against his, as he explains what a roughneck is for her. "Oh... well, you're not go-nowhere if you're here, right?" She tries to see the bright side of his statement, not liking the idea of him thinking down on himself in any way. "I'm sorry, but it's one of Sadie's greatest creations and hey, you liked it, so you can't feel too betrayed!" She argues gently, knocking her own knee against his this time, though her touch is nowhere near as hard as his own because she's so tiny in comparison. "I'm definitely offering. Are you kidding? I love cooking for people. Please?" Ryleigh makes a show of batting her pretty lashes at him, even forcing a small pout to her full mouth, drawing attention to her plush, pink lips.

BEAR

Bear couldn’t help but cock a smile at her trying to find some type of light at the end of the tunnel from his comment—he wasn’t surprised she’d gone that route, wasn’t surprised that she’d taken a self depreciating comment and turned it into the opposite of how he meant it. More than that, though, he /was/ surprised how at how appreciated the way that something akin to a compliment came from her lips. And fuck. Those lips. He let himself watch her for a moment, that now-familiar tension coming back to his jaw as he let his mind wander for a bit and then reeled it in. He wasn’t sure he could take her saying ‘please?’ to him again with that expression so he nodded immediately, readily agreeing. “Name your day,” he answered, letting his knee rest against hers still after the nudging.

RYLEIGH

She tries not to put too much focus on the warmth of his knee against her own, but she can feel that heat radiating through her, those knots in her belly becoming even tighter than before. “Are you free this Friday? I have another day off and if you have to work, we could literally do it any time? I make great pancakes,” Ryleigh offers, giving him options to work with. Hopefully. He’d said he got a bouncer gig, which could be for any of the number of clubs in Dayton and knowing how this town works, he could definitely have to work well into the early morning.

BEAR

Bear didn’t take more than a few second’s pause before he answered her, shaking his head no but then quickly nodding yes. “No, yeah, I’m off on Friday...taking a double tonight and tomorrow,” he said, trying not to think about what it was going to be like alone with her, out of public, trying to keep his head on straight. “I could make Friday.”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh smiles so wide, her dimples clear as day, when he answers her. “Perfect. Would you want dinner or something earlier?” She asks him, already working out different meals in her head that she could possibly throw together for him. “Are you allergic to anything?” Ryleigh muses, tapping her fingers on the table, surprised her drink isn’t nearly gone. With anyone else, her cup would be almost empty at this point, but she’s been so immersed in talking to him, she’d forgotten about the caffeine in front of her.

BEAR

In the back of his head, Bear wondered if this was a bad idea. Not because he didn't want to go, but because he did want to go. Badly. He listened to her talk absently, weighing in his head if it was a great idea to hang around a girl who was probably more than a handful of years younger than him, but he was taking a sip of his coffee and shaking before he realized what he was doing. "Dinner sounds good," he said, shifting to lean back in his chair and rub a hand over his head. "Not allergic to anything that I know of."

RYLEIGH

She's almost giddy at the prospect of spending more time with him. He interests her and not just because she enjoys it when he smiles at her. He's incredibly handsome and could literally have his pick of anyone in this town to spend his time with, but she's thankful she gets to do this for him, at the very least. "Alright, great. I have the perfect thing in mind, but I'm not going to tell you because I don't want to spoil anything." Ryleigh beams brightly, reaching for her coffee to finally take a sip of the caffeine.

BEAR

Bear watched her bring her lips to her coffee cup and he picked up one of the cardboard scraps he'd created and shredded it now further still, eyes on her mouth for a beat before he directed them back to hers. "I should get your number then," he said, shifting to pull his phone out of his back pocket and unlocking it, passing it to her. His lock screen was a shot of the coast back in Alaska.

RYLEIGH

"Oh, yes!" Ryleigh exclaims, realizing him having her number would absolutely be very helpful. She takes his phone from him, fingers absently brushing against his much larger ones as she does so, and proceeds to thumb her number into his phone. Ryleigh adds her name with little smiley face emoji at the end of it, before slipping his phone back to him. "Text me, call me, any time." She enthuses. "And if you need to reschedule or cancel or anything, too. Just let me know. I'm flexible."

BEAR

Bear felt her fingers graze over his and was immediately surprised at the softness of her skin, hand lingering for about a milisecond longer than necessary before he let go. He watched her for a beat, wondering if she was going to shoot him a 'hey, something came up' text sometime on Friday after he texted her so she had his number. He wasn't sure if the thought relieved him or bothered him. "Here," he said, taking the phone back from her and texting her his first name--he assumed she didn't need the last, how many "Bear"s were there in one town anyway? "In case something comes up or whatever--text me."

RYLEIGH

Her own phone dings inside of her back pocket, which she's quick to grab for and save his number. She's got a no name burner phone, simple touch screen, and there's absolutely nothing fancy about it at all. Ryleigh smiles slightly as she adds his name to the four other contacts she has in her phone, rounding the number out to five. "I'm sure there won't. I'm pretty free and this is the most exciting thing I have to look forward to this week, so thank you for giving me that," she says as she lifts her eyes to meet his, an almost shy smile on her mouth this time.

BEAR

Bear moved to put his phone back in his pocket, watching her and wondering why she was being so nice to him. He was skeptical but intrigued, unable to truly detach himself from looking forward to seeing her as he nodded at her. “I’ll text you Friday beforehand, we can figure it out,” he said, determined for some reason to give her an out.

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh slides her phone back into her back pocket, shifting in her seat, her knee brushing against his again as she does. "Sounds like a plan, but don't think you're going to get out of trying my food, mister. I mean, if something important comes up, I get it, but I promise you won't be disappointed." If there's one part of her life she's confident in, her culinary skills would be it. One of her hands plays over the table top, reaching for the magazine he'd cast aside before. "What kind of magazine is this?" Ryleigh asks, genuinely curious, her fingers drifting over the glossy cover.

BEAR

Bear cracked the tiniest smile at the word ‘mister,’ shaking his head a little at her as he kept his eyes on her. “It’s stupid,” he said, shifting to move the magazine to the center of the table, fingers brushing against hers. “Motorcycles, trucks,” he said, feeling like an idiot talking about this with a hot girl.

RYLEIGH

"Hey, interests aren't stupid. Not everyone has the same ones, doesn't make them stupid, though," she shrugs, allowing him to move the magazine, biting harder at her lip when his fingers brush against hers again. These little touches keep sending sparks of heat skittering along her skin and it's distracting. "Motorcycles and trucks? I've never been on the back of a motorcycle, but I've always thought it'd be fun." Because she definitely doesn't want to drive one.

BEAR

Bear cocked a brow at her, looking a little pleased at the comment. “I have a motorcycle—“ he said, flipping a through pages through the magazine to get past the gaudy sports bikes before he found a picture of an old school Triumph and pointed at it. “Like that,” he said, then shot her a bit of a grin. “Except mine’s from the late 70s and beat to hell, it does the job...I could take you for a spin sometime.”

RYLEIGH

Her eyes light up, her interest peaked, as he flips through the magazine to point out the kind of motorcycle he has. "I feel like I would look even tinier on a motorcycle like that. I'm already small enough, you're a giant in comparison, and this... it's a little intimidating," she muses with a quiet laugh, lifting one of her hands to squeeze her thumb and index finger together to indicate how much is a little. "Really? I'd love that." Ryleigh feels like she's taken up so much of his time already, but he doesn't seem to be in a rush to be anywhere and she has nowhere to be today, either. "

BEAR

Bear laughed a little at the comment she made about being tiny because, well, there was no denying it. “It’s a lot of metal, that’s for sure,” he agreed, mind know set on the fact that she was tiny and something about this liked that. He tried to stop thinking about it, instead focusing on her words. “Maybe after dinner then,” he said, thinking about her on the back of the bike with him and trying to imagine this—any of the things they were talking about—being normal and platonic.

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh's never been sure of anything more than she's sure she wants to spend more time with this man. He's funny, and kind, and yeah, he's massive, but he's not like anyone else she's met in this town. Everyone was always so extra for no reason, looking for another fix, trying to drink themselves into a stupor. It's one thing to want to take the edge off, but it's another thing entirely to throw yourself into choas because that's what you feel like you need to stay alive. She loves the friends she's made, loves her brother completely, but Bear is different, and she appreciates that about him. "Maybe, if you're not completely full off what I feed you, then yes... I'm going to hold you to that," Ryleigh agrees, unable to stop smiling at him the way she is.

BEAR

Bear caught sight of her smile and he leaned back in his seat, hand moving over his hair. He was well on to his way of being in serious trouble right now, because the way she smiled...he just wanted her to keep doing it, wanted to say whatever it would take to keep that happening because she was beautiful and he liked the way it looked on her. He pushed back his chair, magazine forgotten as he picked up the cardboard he’d ripped and put it in the cup. “Deal,” he said, meeting her eye as he stood. “Friday then,” he reiterated, needing to gather his chill before it became totally obvious he had none of it.

RYLEIGH

When he pushes back his chair, Ryleigh hopes the flicker of disappointment in her chest isn't seen. Instead, she shuts the magazine she'd been looking at with him and slips it back into the spot she'd grabbed it from. Her own hand wraps around her cup and she rises to her feet and without a counter between them, it's easy to see how much smaller she actually is in comparison, which does nothing to help her addled brain. "Friday. Just... let me know if anything changes," she agrees, wondering if she'd maybe said or done something that suddenly put him on edge.

BEAR

“Sounds good,” Bear said, looking down at her and quickly realizing he has at least at foot if not more on her. He met her eye for a beat, then reached to the side of her to pick up the magazine. He rolled up and stuck it into his back pocket, then picked up his the keys to his truck that he’d almost left behind. “Friday...” he repeated, watching her for a half a second before he met her eye. “See ya then, Ryleigh,” he said, turning and going before she could answer.

RYLEIGH

"See you," she calls, as he's walking out the door. Breathing in deep, she releases a heavy breath, before shaking her head. "Get a grip, Leigh," she berates herself in a quiet whisper, before she spins away from the table and makes her own way out of the coffee shop. Whatever happens, whether he blows her off or decides he does want to have dinner still.. she hopes he still wants to have dinner with her. Putting those thoughts out of her head, she tries her best to go about her day, to not think about what she's sure will be the highlight of her day, and she takes out her phone to shoot a text to Stevie, asking her what she's up to.

#laid-bear #( interactions. )#( discord thread. )#( ryleigh+bear.002 )

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

Text

The Morning After

This is the wip sequel to Two drunk men, a tree and a cat. It has been previously posted here in bits as I was using it to write for fifteen minutes each day at lunch. I stopped at some point because to be honest, fifteen minutes is okay to start and continue a fic, but concentration is needed to finish a fic and tie up all loose ends. So it has been sitting on my iPad neglected for a few months.

I don’t have time this morning to proof it, so it is as it was when I rush wrote it and it is still not finished, but @melmac78 was looking for a laugh and honestly, I’m thin on the ground for them, so here be another offering for what it is. It will finish it at some point, polish and archive, but for now it is still rough.

Anyways, I hope it is vaguely enjoyable ::hugs::

-o-o-o-

He was comfy.

That was the only word for it.

Unfortunately, comfort was apparently inversely proportional to consciousness, because as he slowly woke, the degree of pain in his head increased.

Ergh.

Ow.

He didn’t even have to open his eyes to know the world was spinning around him. Around and around and around and, oh god.

His arms were wrapped around something...someone...warm and for a moment, focussing on that warmth kept the ugh at bay.

Hmm, Kay?

But then he got a whiff of something rank and his stomach rolled again.

The pillow was soft.

In bed. He was in bed.

His brain was not working properly.

Concussion? He’d had a few of those in his career and this felt ever so familiar.

A frown.

No.

Not concussion.

Late night. Party. Getting married. Despite himself, he smiled and snuggled into Kay’s warmth.

Huh?

That smell again. Urgh.

“K..ergh.”

“Vir...gl?”

Huh?

No, waking up was bad. Not want to wake up. He snuggled again, rubbing his cheek up against her hair.

“Virgil, whatcha doin’?” A brother. There was a brother in the room.

“Ergmmm...go ‘way.” He held her tighter. A vague thought, and he kissed her, hoping kissy-kissy would scare whichever brother it was away and let them sleep.

“Can’t.”

“Go ‘way! ‘Sleep.”

“You’re hugging my feet.”

It took a moment for the dots to connect, for the realisation that ‘Kay’ was much thinner than usual, that her hair smelt like old socks.

Connecting now...

Virgil’s eyes flew open and came face to face with Scott’s long hairy legs, wrapped in his own bare arms.

Virgil had day old socks shoved up against his nose.

“Sh-“

Scrambling backwards sent the world spinning, the bed missing and the floor hard.

“Oh god.”

Scott’s laugh was coarse and ended in a groan.

Served him right.

Virgil rolled over on the carpet and despite himself, echoed his brother’s groan. “What the hell happened?”

“Party, dude.”

Gordon.

What the hell was Gordon doing in his room?

“What...doing?”

“You’re definitely up there on the intellectual scale this morning, Virg.”

“Shut up.”

Opening his eyes produced a ceiling and two light fixtures...no one...uh, two...oh, god, urgh.

“Lookin’ a little green there, bro.”

“G-t lost.”

“No, no, I can’t. Thunderbird Five has assigned me ‘make sure they don’t die’ duty.”

“Where is John?”

“Getting breakfast.”

Ergh, food. “Why?” Room service. There was room service.

“Apparently, the ultimate bagel shop is just around the corner. You’re not allowed to die while he’s gone.”

Virgil finally worked out how to turn his head and came face to face with a pair of feet. Sandals. And sand? “You have sand.”

“Huh? Oh, forgot to rinse them last time. A little exfoliation won’t hurt.”

A blink and Virgil just groaned at him.

“So you staying down there all day? I hear Scott wants you to kiss his feet again.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t work the first time, not workin’ the second.” A pause. There were legs attached to those sandalled feet weren’t there? “C’mon, Virg, you need a hand up?”

“How’re you so...chirpy?”

He could feel the answering grin without seeing it. “Because I am Gordo the Magnificent, ruler of all things alcoholic.”

“Stick it.”

“Such insolence from the audience. Perhaps, I won’t help you up.”

“Fine. I’m great where I am.”

There was silence for a moment and Virgil used it to close his eyes again. Ah, blessed darkness.

A sigh. “Nah, c’mon, Virg, we gotta get you onto the bed.”

“Don’t wanna move.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time and that’s how you ended up kissing Scott’s feet.”

“Huh?”

“And there’s the intellectual brother I know.”

“Go ‘way.”

“Nope.” And there were hands on his shoulders and they were pulling him up and the world was tipping and oh my god, the spinning...ergh.

A pillow hit his face and he sunk into it. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep his stomach where is was supposed to be.

“So, today is the after party.”

Oh, so Gordon was still going. “G’way.”

“Uh-uh. That’s not going to work either. You told me you wanted to visit the Gallery, so we’re visiting the Gallery.”

The Gallery.

Virgil had a rule. If he visited a city on vacation, he made a point to stop at the art gallery. His list of visited sites was now longer than his arm. He’d become quite a connoisseur of all things artistic and if he was so inclined, he had the cash to invest.

Not that he ever did. Honestly, it was more about inspiration and admiration. He did have two or three favourites stashed back on the Island, but mostly he just gazed at them.

But today...gazing hurt.

“Rainch’k.” The pillow was so soft. He let himself drift.

“You’ll regret it.” It was sung. Gordon couldn’t sing. Ugh.

“Leave me along, Gordon, please.”

“No, you made me promise.”

Augh. “‘M on vacation.”

“Scott!”

On the other side of the room, his eldest brother yelped and shot out of bed and landed on the floor. A second of silence.

“Gordon! What the hell?!”

“Time to get up!”

“Gordon, leave him alone!” Some how Virgil found himself upright on the edge of the bed. It took a moment for his head to catch up and when it did, it slammed into him. Why did he do this? This was why he didn’t do this, because this happened. Oh, his head just, oh. He shoved the palms of his hands into his eye sockets attempting to push the pain out his ears.

TBC

“Upsy daisy, up and at ‘em. The early bird gets the worm.”

“The annoying brother gets hit.”

“Now, now, Scott, that is not how a responsible eldest brother behaves.”

“Gordon, if you don’t leave the room, I’m going to responsible your head into the nearest toilet bowl and flush it until your degree in marine biology slides out your ears.”

The picture that evoked in Virgil’s head was quite detailed. “Can I help?” He didn’t bother to pull the hands from his eyes. Who needed eyes to see with anyway?

“Well, that’s gratitude for you. Here I am, preventing your deaths from accidentally inhaling a regurgitated last night’s meal-“

“I’m preventing your death by counting to ten and I’m about to run out of numbers.” Scott was actually growling.

“Okay, okay, let your deaths be on you.” The sound of sandalled steps in the direction of the door and a loud thud.

Thud?

“Gordon?” Scott called his brother’s name just as Virgil dropped his hands from his face. The room was blurry for a moment and he only caught Scott staggering across the room after he had already started moving. There was a sense of urgency all of a sudden and it pushed a groggy Virgil to his feet. Two steps and he stubbed his big toe on the leg of the bed.

“Shit. Goddamnit.”

“Language.” But it was distracted. “Gordon?”

There was no answer and as Virgil peered around his eldest brother, alarm bells started ringing in his head.

Gordon was flat on his back, out cold on the floor.

What the hell?

-o-o-o-

TBC

Virgil stumbled over to his brother as fast as he could limping. Scott was already assessing Gordon for injury.

An egg shaped lump was forming in the middle of the aquanaut’s forehead.

As Virgil’s knees hit the floor, Gordon’s eyelids fluttered. “Wha-?”

“Gordon? You with me?” Scott’s voice was remarkably cool considering the situation.

Their little brother closed his eyes again and just groaned, rolling himself into a ball.

“Hey, hey, keep still.”

“G’way.”

“Gordon-“

“I’m fine. Juss hit m’head.”

“How?” It was out of Virgil’s mouth before he could filter it.

Scott eyed him and for a moment Virgil saw double. Shit, He was never drinking that much again.

“St’pid door.”

A blink and Virgil looked up at the closed door to their room. The dots danced in his head before slamming home. “You walked into the door?!” Ow, too loud. He shaved a hand onto his forehead and tried to keep his brain inside his skull.

“Stupid door.” Gordon rolled over and sat up.

“You’re drunk.” It was a sign of how hungover his eldest brother was in how he said that statement with so much awe.

“N’t drunk. Hit m’head.”

“Because you’re drunk.” The whole concept of happy chirpy go lucky Gordon who had been torturing them both since the moment consciousness had returned appeared to revitalise his eldest brother. A huge grin spread across his face and he even let out a laugh.

Seeing that Gordon was still in mostly one piece and functioning at least at a basic capacity, Virgil wobbled to his feet and made a beeline back to his bed, only tripping over his own feet once. His pillow was so soft, so warm, augh....he let his eyes drift shut.

A vague register of a scuffle on the floor. A click of the latch and a creak of the door opening.

Scott gasped. “John?”

What now? Groaning Virgil rolled over and found his next youngest brother standing in the doorway staring down at Gordon on the floor. Scott shot to his feet.

John’s hair was all askew and his arms bore several bleeding scratches. One hand held a bag of bagels, the other a makeshift bandage around it. His shirt was torn and there was a twig sticking out of his pocket.

Virgil didn’t have the energy to ask. Scott did anyway.

“What the hell happened to you?”

-o-o-o-

TBC

John was hungry.

Sitting on his bed with only his tablet for company might have been a preferred existence at any other time, but today it wasn’t enough. Perhaps it was because technically he wasn’t alone with said tablet. Technically, he had two brothers in the room with him, but neither were particularly good company.

Amusing perhaps as Virgil was currently snuggled up to Scott’s feet, hugging them like his life depended on it. He wondered if Kayo had to wrestle the unconscious bear at night, but then realised that was information he didn’t really need.

The other factor affecting his state of aloneness was the noise.

Both Scott and Virgil were snoring like passing freight trains. Virgil was slightly worse than his eldest brother, but honestly, John would probably need some audio measuring equipment to truly tell the difference.

But all this was currently beside the point. The point now was that he was hungry. It was breakfast time and ever since Virgil had announced that this would be where they were staying for the bachelor event, John had jumped at the opportunity to breakfast at Billy’s Bagels, just around the corner from the hotel.

The online recommendation for bagel lovers had this establishment at the top of the list. This was the place, the epitome of bagel baking and he had been wanting to sample their menu for quite some time.

This was the perfect opportunity.

Except he had to keep an eye on his drunk brothers.

He had to make sure they weren’t ill in their sleep. Make sure they were safe. Because both of those factors had been removed from their own capabilities at about drink number four last night.

John had one or two drinks, but John felt he needed to be the responsible one and he was. It wasn’t often such a tactic was needed, but today it was.

But he was hungry.

Maybe Gordon could help him out.

The two youngest brothers were stashed next door. Alan was as sozzled as his eldest brothers, but Gordon seemed to be able to handle his drink so Gordon had been assigned Alan and John had tackled Scott and Virgil.

Maybe he could dash out to the store and come back.

Quietly slipping out of the room, he tapped softly on the next door. “Gordon?”

The door was shoved open so abruptly, John nearly fell through it.

“Hey, John.”

The sound of a computer shooting game screamed into the hallway. “What are you doing?”

“Killing zombies. Wanna join?” Gordon was staring up at him, a grin on his face, his hair sticking up at all angles. His face was flushed and his eyes bright.

“No. Could you keep an eye on Scott and Virgil for a few minutes, I’d like to go grab some breakfast.”

Gordon blinked. “Why not call room service? They make great pancakes.” To emphasise his point, he reached around the door and grabbed a syrup soaked piece of such a pancake and shoved it in his mouth.

John refused to react, much less comment. “I want to visit the bagel store around the corner. Could you keep an eye on the guys?”

“Sure! Alan, you’re on your own.”

The comment from beyond the door was not repeatable.

John frowned. “Is Alan okay?”

“Heh, he’s fine. I just left him at the boss battle fighting for his life.” There was a loud crash and a spray of profanity from the flickering darkness. “Well, he was, perhaps not now.”

“Gordon, you suck!”

His brother grinned and slipped out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

John was frowning, but doing his best to ignore it all. “They’re both asleep. Try not to wake them up.”

“FAB.” Gordon grinned at him again and wandered back towards the other room and slipped in quietly.

Hmm.

But Billy’s Bagels! Confirming his phone was in his pocket, John made a beeline for the elevator.

-o-o-o-

TBC

The bagel shop was a bagel lover’s dream. They had cream cheese, they had blueberry, they had one concoction that included smoked salmon, capers and blue veined cheese that sat atop a savoury milkshake.

They had hot cinnamon, sugar encrusted, chop chip, caramel glazed burritos.

It was heaven.

John grabbed a takeout breakfast, a dozen still-warm, multi-flavoured varieties and one of those savoury milkshakes.

It was too outlandish to ignore.

So half an hour longer than he had expected to be, found John Tracy tramping back to the hotel room totally satisfied with his purchases. He had even made a bulk order for Tracy Island to be delivered in the coming weeks.

The milkshake was interesting. he found himself completely fascinated by the fact that it had tiny pieces of salmon floating in it, yet it was still quite tasty. Being of the enquiring type, he eventually pulled off the cup lid and poked at the concoction inside.

Distracted, he did not see the cat.

His foot came down on something soft and not made of pavement. There was a godawful screech and that something sunk its claws into his leg.

Ever graceful in non-gravity influenced situations, John was anything but in this situation.

A yelp, a stagger, an overbalancing squawk and John Tracy hit the pavement in a heap.

The claws in his leg immediately became claws in his arm, his chest, a swipe across his face and caught in his hair, a cat screamed in his ear.

Desperate to protect his face, his arms came up and what little was left of his milkshake ended up on said face.

The resultant expletives were appropriately exotic.

Something was licking his ear.

He sat up and the cat climbed into his lap.

What the-?

“What do you think you are doing?”

The cat ignored him at first. Much more interested in licking salmon off his kneecap, but when John reached for the cat to move it, a pair of startling blue eyes peered up and deployed their entire arsenal of cuteness upon him.

Now, John knew he came across a little cold sometimes, a little on the harder side of the emotional equation, but if he was honest with himself, much of it was a facade.

Particularly where it came to cats.

But then again, considering that this was likely the cat that had tangled with his brothers last night...yes, there was that same tree, not two metres away...he should be suspect.

But, yes, this cat was cute.

TBC

Cute indeed.

Until a pigeon landed nearby.

The cat went from cute furball to feral killer in a split second. Silent and deadly it leapt at the bird.

And missed.

The pigeon being of metropolitan origin, took it in its stride, landing once again nearby. Apparently there was something equally attractive to birds as to cats in that milkshake splattered all over the sidewalk.

Or it may have been the bagel that had fallen out of the bag.

One of his precious, precious bagels.

“Scat!”

The cat jumped.

The pigeon didn’t. It eyed him.

John had never had a staring contest with a pigeon before.

Apparently, neither had the cat. It pounced yet again.

The pigeon politely flapped out of its way.

The bagel was still on the ground. Part of John wanted to give it to the pigeon, but he knew bread wasn’t great for birds and that was a hell of a lot of bagel for one pigeon.

The cat pounced again.

This time the pigeon flapped into the tree and stared down at them haughtily.

John sighed and reached over to pick up the bagel.

He’d never been swooped by a pigeon before either.

Also, the laws of gravity should have denied said pigeon the ability to snatch the bagel from his fingers.

But then gravity had always been his enemy.

Ultimately, the bagel went flying, the the cat leapt again and John ended up back on his butt on the pavement.

Ow.

This was ridiculous.

The cat obviously agreed and let it all out with a mad scrabbling of claws on bark, leapt into the tree and chased the pigeon along a branch.

The pigeon, of course, simply lifted off, hovered just long enough above John to deposit guano on his shirt, before calmly flying off.

Well, at least it didn’t get the bagel.

The cat meowed down at him several metres up.

Hadn’t this situation happened before?

TBC?

“What the hell happened to you?”

John stared at his brother and sighed. “There was a cat stuck in a tree.”

Scott blinked slowly, obviously still feeling the night before. He opened his mouth and then shut it again before holding up a hand. “You know what, I don’t want to hear it.” He eyed his brother. “Unless you are bleeding to death and haven’t told me.” Those eyes roamed up and down John’s height.

“No, I’m not bleeding to death.” Another sigh and he took the few more steps needed to get into the room and shut the door behind him.

Virgil registered only one thing. “Wh-t is that smell?!” Ugh, it wasn’t ding his stomach any favours at all.

John wandered into the kitchenette and dumped his bagels. Virgil eyed him as he walked past. “You smell like fish!” Oh, shit. His stomach rolled over. Not gonna, oh god, not gonna. He held his breath until the urge waned. “Keep away from me.”

Scott dragged Gordon off the floor and threw him at the couch. “Sit down and let us know if you have a concussion.”

Gordon groaned, but he did what his brother told him, rolling onto the couch with a grunt and closing his eyes.

The eldest brother eyed him again and Virgil groaned, forcing himself to sit up. “You take John, I’ll take Gordon. Try not to puke.” Staggering to his feet, Virgil wobbled his way over to his fish brother and planted himself beside him. “Gordon, you’re an idiot.”

A groan. “And you’re related, sucked in.”

He had to snort at that. A smile even curved his lips as his hand landed on his brother’s arm. “So proud, bro.”

“Shut up, Virgil.”

“You fell out of a tree?!” It was loud. It came from the kitchenette, and Virgil was glad he chose Gordon this time.

“John is so in the shit.”

“No more than you.”

“Heh, I’m used to it.”

Again the smile crept up on him. Was fondness a symptom of alcohol poisoning? He let his head drop against the back of the couch.

“You okay, Virg?”

“Been better.”

“Happy bachelor’s party, bro.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Gordon’s hand landed on his. Okay, now they were getting soppy.

Fortunately, John chose that moment to wobble back into the room. He dumped himself on the edge of Virgil’s bed.

“You okay?” The man had hastily applied bandaids all over him.

“Been better.”

A blink. “Scott recovered yet?”

“No, he was still reciting Dad’s fourth amendment when I left.”

Great, that meant there would likely be more as soon as the eldest finished up in the kitchenette.

“Who won?”

John blinked. “Ah, the pigeon?”

“There was a pigeon?”

“Uh, huh.” John frowned. “Uh, where’s Alan?”

TBC?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy

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ariadnelives · 5 years

Text

Chapter 18 -- The Heist

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

Sometimes, when a person makes a declarative statement, they are only referring to one specific, usually fleeting instance. For example, if someone said “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they may actually mean is “it’s cold in Lohnausfall today.” This statement would remain true even if it was warm there the next day. They could also mean “it’s cold in Lohnausfall in winter,” which would also remain true even if it is incredibly hot in Lohnausfall in the summer.

However, they could also be referring to the general, often much more permanent, state of things. In that case, when they say “It’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they mean is that it is just generally a cold place, and that whenever you visit Lohnausfall, it would make sense to bring a coat.

In some cases, both senses of the word apply. For example, if someone said “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” what they could mean is “I know it’s always cold in Lohnausfall, but wow, it’s especially cold today.”

A more relevant example would be the statement “Nicks Rizzo was bored,” which is, unlike “it’s cold in Lohnausfall,” was true both in general, and specifically at this moment.

Nicks Rizzo was bored. She rarely managed to find a moment when she was not bored, but right now, she was especially bored. The night was dark and dull and absolutely nothing was happening in the casino that you wouldn’t expect to happen at a casino.

Most movies about Cosa Nostra crime families made the life seem glamorous and filled with mystique. In reality, it was incredibly dull and almost bureaucratic. Her father, Harry “Big Top” Rizzo, spent most of his time running numbers, loaning money to desperate people so he could charge insane levels of interest, and having his goons launder his ill-gotten money through their family’s casino. It was, of course, fairly easy to launder money through a casino, since it’s one of the few forms of business where money is exchanged for neither goods nor services. In fact, most of the time, it is simply surrendered to the business in exchange for nothing at all.

Since anyone could enter with thousands of dollars of ill-gotten cash and leave with nothing, while Big Top Rizzo could report those thousands as legitimately earned casino profits, pretty much all of his illegally-obtained money was handed down to subordinates who were instructed to lose it all gambling in his casino. The family business wasn’t doing so well lately, but a recent acquisition might turn that around.

The most exciting part of the life, in Nicks’ eyes, were when a minor turf conflict escalated into a shootout. That seemed rarer and rarer lately, however, and after the fifteenth time you’ve seen six guys shooting at each other from behind washing machines in a dirty laundromat until the cops show up and they have to flee out the back, it loses some of its charm.

This was how she’d fallen in with a community of confidence tricksters, since that allowed for a little more creativity than organized crime, but even that had grown a little stale.

At this very moment, she was sitting on a gaudy red velvet couch in her father’s office, whose already low comfort level was made much worse by the baggy plastic slip-cover (placed there to avoid the same dust-covering that coated her father’s trusty but long-unused pulse handgun on the shelf behind her), watching the security hologram of the casino floor that flickered about two inches above the surface of an antique mahogany coffee table. She was, as she often did in this situation, praying to god that a rival gang would burst through the doors and try to start something.

Today, for the first time, she would not be disappointed.

On the corner of the hologram, she saw a young woman about her age jump up onto a blackjack table and brandish a fully automatic pulse rifle in the air. A thrill surged through Nicks. The unmistakable flicker of repeated muzzle flashes appeared from the gun’s tip, blowing holes in their very expensive ceiling. The hologram didn’t provide audio of the casino floor, but she imagined the young woman was shouting something to the effect of “EVERYBODY GET ON THE GROUND,” since the next thing that happened was that all of the casino patrons dropped to the floor and covered their heads. A few of the casino employees reached for concealed firearms, but the woman on the table quickly revealed some kind of switch in her hand and opened her jacket to reveal rows of explosives strapped to her body. She began speaking again, likely something in the vein of “ANYBODY MOVES AND I BLOW THIS PLACE SKY HIGH,” since even the armed employees stopped reaching for their guns and slowly kneeled down on the floor.

Several more young women filed in. All of their faces were covered by strategically wrapped scarves, and they were all strapped to the nines with automatic weapons. One of them used their free hand to pull an aerosol can out of her pocket, and seemed to aim it directly at Nicks.

Nicks smiled. These girls are clever, she thought. A moment later, everything viewed from that angle seemed obscured by a dark fog. The girl had sprayed over one of the composite cameras that formed the hologram. Nicks changed her angle so she could keep viewing the action, but it didn’t matter. Within a few minutes, all of the cameras had been painted over and the hologram on the table looked like nothing but a dark cloud.

She had to be a part of this action. She regretfully looked back at the safe behind her father’s empty desk. She knew she’d be in a world of trouble if she left the safe alone and something happened to its contents, but, she doubted anyone would be able to detect it. There was one safe hidden behind the portrait of her grandfather, which contained a few wads of petty cash and a handful of jewelry so that potential thieves would think they’d gotten away with something, but the real valuables were kept in a concealed secondary safe behind the vault’s false back.

She briefly considered staying there, but, thought better of it. Without her father’s handprint, retinal scan, and fifteen separate passcodes, it would take the system’s greatest hacker to break in, and from the look of these girls, they weren’t looking to commit cyber-crimes.

On her way out the door, she retrieved her father’s dusty Chekhov M2460 off the shelf, and quickly thought to grab something to conceal her own face.

This should do nicely, she thought, grabbing a metallic-looking cowl from one of the drawers on her father’s desk. She remembered he’d worn this to a recent masquerade thrown by a colleague who’d referred to him as a “snake” behind his back. Big Top thought it would be funny to show up to the party wearing a snake mask, and he’d paid handsomely to have a realistic-looking mask custom-made.

In the drawer, she also noticed a small device that she thought could come in handy, and hastily jammed it in her pocket.

She tucked the pistol into her waistband and left her father’s office, flagging down the two nearby enforcers to follow her. They quickly barrelled down the steps, but quietly slipped in one of the less conspicuous entrances to the casino floor, concealing themselves behind a row of large slot machines.

“We don’t need anybody to get hurt,” the main girl shouted, “My associates will be coming to each of you with a large sack. Consider them fare collectors. You are buying safe passage to the exit of this casino. The cost of admission is all the cash, credit cards, jewelry, and electronics you have on your person. Fail to provide this, and you will not be granted admission into the rest of your long, happy lives, and that’s not what anyone wants, is it?”

As if on cue, a woman who had been playing poker before the bandits arrived began to cry, and tried to make a break for the door.

The girl standing on the table did not hesitate to put three shots in her back. The woman fell to the floor and lay there, motionless. Her assailant announced, “Are we clear?”

The girls started to bring their bags to the casino patrons.

“It’s okay,” Nicks heard one of them say in a voice that was much softer than she expected, “you look scared so I’m not going to make you give us anything. Just pretend to put something in the bag and I’ll let you go safe, okay?”

This struck Nicks as strange. Why would a group of armed bandits be swayed by their victims seeming scared? Wasn’t the whole point of armed robbery to intimidate people into giving up their money?

Nicks looked at one of the other girls. She watched as a crying man in the suit reached into his pocket, brought an empty hand to the mouth of the sack, and open his hand.

It suddenly clicked with Nicks. “They’re just trying to cause a scene,” she hissed at the guards, “it’s a diversion, get back to the office now.”

They rushed back up to the office, but they were too late. The portrait of her grandfather was on the floor. The decoy safe was blown open and its contents left untouched. The false back was set aside with a note on it reading “Child’s play.” The duffel bag full of priceless religious artifacts was gone.

Thankfully, Nicks had thought to put a tracker in the bag. They wouldn’t get far. She turned on the tracking beacon and rushed back downstairs. The bandits were gone, as was the supposedly dead woman they’d shot.

She rushed out the front door, following the homing signal as fast as possible. The guards attempted to follow her, but she dismissed them by saying “Haven’t you two have disappointed me enough for one day? Send the rest of the guards after me in fifteen, you two take the night off. Without pay.”

This hurt their feelings, since it was her who’d left the office unattended and ordered the people in charge of stopping intruders to abandon their posts, but as so many people do in the workplace, they swallowed their objection since their continued employment meant more to them than their dignity.

Nicks knew the streets of Lohnausfall better than anyone, she’d been sneaking out from the watchful eyes of a crime boss for years and she knew all the shortcuts. Based on the movement of the homing signal, it looked like they were heading to Belafonte Park, but they were not taking the most direct route. Four narrow alleys and two jumped fences later, Nicks arrived in Belafonte Park just in time to see about a dozen young women she didn’t recognize, and one young man she did, running up to an idling shuttle with a duffel bag that belonged to her.

“Stop right there,” she shouted. She stepped out into plain view, holding her pistol in one hand and the small device in the other. She quickly hit the switch on the device and the bandits all felt a small electric charge run through their body. Nicks heard the engine of the shuttle suddenly go quiet. “Your weapons and explosives are useless. Right now, my pistol is the only one within 30 meters that is able to fire and it’s going to stay that way for the next 20 minutes.”

“Who the hell are you?” Said one of them, a Chinese girl with a pompadour standing unmasked with blood on her shirt. Nicks recognized her as the woman who’d been shot on the casino floor. She wondered how long she had to play the table to realistically seem like a casino patron before she could be “shot” to make the robbery seem real.

The girl next to her, who was still wearing her bandana, asked “Why are you wearing a corny halloween mask?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Nicks replied.

The man she recognized, Prescott, responded, ignoring her. “This is Nicks Rizzo. Remember what I told you about her?”

“Yes,” replied a short black girl wearing strange goggles, who Nicks had never seen before, “I tried that, but we’ve established that my pistol isn’t working.”

“Prescott,” Nicks smirked, “Thought you’d have been killed when you got caught punking out on the church heist.”

“Not for lack of trying,” said the tallest bandit, also still masked, but clearly identifiable as the woman who’d been standing on the table issuing commands.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Nicks said, and gestured at the duffel bag in his hand.

“I stole it, it belongs to me,” Prescott snapped, “you just betrayed me and left me to die.”

“Let’s not get caught up into what belongs to who here,” said the girl in the goggles, “it’s not like any of us acquired this bag legally.”

“We were supposed to use this to start our new life together,” Prescott said, sounding pretty genuinely hurt, “did you ever care about that?”

“Ugh,” Nicks replied, “a new life doing what, exactly? Running low-level cons on dumb wagoners? Scamming some bumblefuck cult out of their goodies?”

“With this kind of money, we could’ve gotten out of the criminal life,” Prescott sounded close to tears, “finally settled down somewhere, you know? We finally could’ve lived on easy street for the rest of our lives.”

“What fun would that be?” Nicks chuckled, and summarily unloaded two rounds into Prescott’s chest.

Out of force of habit, the bandits all raised their guns, despite the fact that they were still completely useless. Had they brought any sort of bladed weapons, there would be one lodged in Nicks’ neck before Prescott hit the ground, but as knives are better for covert operations and this was supposed to draw as much attention as possible, no one had thought to bring any.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your little trick, either,” Nicks said, gesturing her gun at the girl in the bloodied shirt. “I watched her take a fatal dose of plasma and here she is walking around, so I’m betting in a few seconds, our friend Mr. Cain will be in fighting shape again. That is, unless I do this…”

She aimed at Prescott’s corpse and fired off one more shot, this one landing directly between his eyes.

“Now,” Nicks began, “I’m going to take my duffel bag and then I’m going to go home and take a warm bath. I’m going to let you walk away from here unharmed, and I’m not going to call the authorities.”

“Sorry, I just…” the bandit from the table began, “You have us at your mercy and you’re just going to let us go? I mean, I’m not complaining—”

“Oh yes,” Nicks said, walking up to the tall girl from the table and the short girl in the goggles, laying one hand affectionately on the tall girl’s face, “you girls are just too. Much. Fun.”

“And what if we don’t let you leave,” asked the girl in the bloody shirt, “I mean, you can’t shoot all of us, we could easily overpower you.”

As though by magic, at this exact moment, the fifteen minutes Nicks had requested was up, and several dozen mob goons sprung out, all brandishing high-powered plasma hand cannons.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, these guys were 50 meters away when I disabled the weapons, so be aware: their weapons work too! Now, give me what’s mine.” Nicks gestured for the duffel bag and the bandit with the goggles handed it over. “Boys, grab this degenerate’s body and throw it in the incinerator. Last thing we need is a buncha pigs trying to jam us up on another murder. Alla prossima, belle ragazze,” she called back, “arrivederci!”

The crew piled into the shuttle. As soon as Fastwing could get the motor running, they found their way off-world and navigated back to their station.

Tripwire was there to greet them. “So, the mission went well?”

“We didn’t get the cargo, Prescott died, and that pampered little princess has his decryption key and she’s going to incinerate it,” Sasha replied dejectedly.

“Only one of those things is true,” Tripwire said, and smirked at Ariadne. “You sure are quick on your feet, cap!”

Sweettalk looked confused. “What is she talking about?”

“I knew he couldn’t be trusted. When we got into the office,” Ariadne explained, “Prescott thought I was too preoccupied with the safe to notice him dislocate his wrist to get free of the Jumper, attach it to this, and stash it in a potted plant.”

Ariadne held out a small, visibly broken, electronic device.

“It’s a bomb,” Ariadne said. “Its detonator is configured to respond to the energy of a teleportation field. Proprietary hardware of the Rizzo crime family, to keep people from attempting to teleport valuable property out of the casino. He was planning to run off with the bag and leave us with a useless, burnt-up decryption key. So, while his back was turned, I grabbed the decryption key out of the Jumper and slipped the Jumper in the bag.”

“So,” Pilar practically beamed at Ariadne’s deviousness, “you’ve had the key this whole time?”

“Not only that,” Tripwire said, “but with their safe in our cargo hold, I’m betting the Rizzo crime family won’t be dealing in religious artifacts anytime soon.”

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lindoig4 · 5 years

Text

Across Canada

I will try to post a little more text today, but the internet service here is pretty poor so I will leave posting of any more photos until we get home. We leave the US this evening and arrive back in Melbourne before dawn on Wednesday, having missed an entire day along the way.

We took a cab to Union Station to catch the VIA Rail across the country. We have usually paid cab fares by card, but Heather used cash this time. The cabbie gave her a few coins as change and when Heather said that there should have been some notes, he said he was keeping that as his tip - about 50% of the fare. Heather argued, but he bullied her and insisted that he was keeping it. Had I been closer instead of getting our bags out of the boot, he may not have been so demanding, but it left a sour taste in our mouths as it was.

The train is by no means luxurious, obviously oldish, but it is quite functional and we are comfy enough in our little cabin. One good thing is that the bunks are bigger and much more comfortable than on the ship or the other trains we have used. We have both slept well.

On the other hand, there is no WiFi at all, only an occasional phone signal and although there are 110-volt power outlets, they won’t charge my PC - so once again, the technology has failed us. Maybe I am naive, but we are now in the 21st century and I reckon basic power and signal issues should have been sorted out years ago. As it is, the battery in my PC is flat and there is no way I can use it until we reach Vancouver at best. That means I can’t look at my photos or do much with my blog other than draft bits on my iPad.

Canada is exquisitely beautiful. It is an absolute picture postcard, full to bursting with trees and lakes. The overwhelming colour is green, with literally billions of tall skinny pointy trees. Actually, they are not that tall. We have seen very few trees more than 8-10 metres tall, but there are zillions of them, mostly densely packed with both understory and overstory. In some places, it is a bit more open, but still usually gloomy and mysterious, inviting us to explore - if only we were out there in the bush. Aspen, larch, spruce, alder, birch, pines and firs, conifers of every description, millions of stark white trunks, black trunks, all sorts, drowning in a thousand shades of green, leaves shimmering in the breeze, gleaming in the sun, with just a smattering of autumn tones starting to appear here and there.

Then there are the thousands of lakes. We must have traversed 1000 kilometres of marshy land with water shimmering through the low vegetation as far as we could see. But there are thousands of open lakes as well, from just a hectare or two to those speeding past the train for kilometre after kilometre. Did I say picture postcard? We have seen them all. The little ones that look like they came out of a cutesy 50s or 60s movie, with the summer camp atmosphere - a few canoes tied up to a little landing, a pontoon and shallow diving board, a short rowing course, maybe a pathetic little waterski-jump and a collection of quaint little huts that are probably family holiday shacks. Then there are the more remote ones, some with a tiny island or two with just 2 or 3 perfectly conical fir trees on them and a kayak tied up to a partly-submerged drowning landing that defies imagination about how one might access it - not even a hiking track, much less a road, in sight. Then we have the larger ones with a couple of small tinnies out there, each with a fisherman or two, sound asleep with their rods dangling limp over the side, or perhaps the ten deserted sheds, some literally falling down, and only a tiny Cessna anchored to the shore to suggest that anyone might occasionally visit them. We are not talking upscale Hillbilly country. This is magically picturesque country that should warrant criminal charges if anyone but us invades it. Add your own superlatives, but for me, I have run out. Simply stupendously glorious!

Later. We have just crossed the border from massive Ontario into Manitoba - after more than 20 hours heading west. Slowly, the trees and lakes seem to be getting slightly larger, the terrain is a little more open, the trees a little lighter green and the wildflowers more profuse and colourful - mainly white, yellow and mauve/purple.

For the entire trip, there has been a line of telegraph posts and cables beside the train: around 20 cables, but obviously long defunct. Thousands of the posts have simply sunk into the boggy earth or fallen over or submerged into the lakes, and many of the cables are broken or hanging limp and tangled. I am amazed that nobody has attempted to salvage the hundreds of thousands of dollars of copper out there.

As we went west, it became a little hillier and we even went through a couple of short tunnels. We also went through many cuttings where the rock had been blasted away for the track. There was a lot of red in the rocks and it is likely that some sort of algae was growing on it to make it that colour.

It was getting dark when we rolled into Winnipeg, but we had an hour and a bit stopover, so we went into the station and used the WiFi to download our email - alas, mostly more bills to pay! I had prepared a few emails to send, but they were all on my PC and inaccessible due to the flat battery!

It was a very rocky night, but we were up early for showers. I raised the blind just a centimetre or two in our cabin and could see everything there was to see. The landscape was entirely in landscape. Flat, flat, flat - all the way to the horizon. Everything looked manicured as if the farmers had risen early and swept or ironed their paddocks to welcome us. A bit later, we saw patches of forest and lots of neat (or sometimes sprawling) farmhouses, often with 2 or 3 little cottages and a barn or two, and mostly at least a field-bin or ten (or 30) and a tractor parked nearby. Many farms also have a machinery graveyard, usually at a distance from the house, with rows of rusty tractors, trucks, cars, pick-ups, ploughs, harvesters, caravans, campers and who knows what, all lined up in their final resting places, slowly sinking into the landscape. The houses all have pitched rooves, presumably to avoid too much snow collecting on them in the winter.

The paddocks are mainly cropped with wheat, barley, oats and canola, but there is also a lot of uncropped land, mostly looking too boggy to crop. Quite a bit of the uncropped land is still productive though, with miles of road and rail verges being harvested and baled for silage. It is obviously harvest time over here with quite a lot of crop already cut, but with plenty more still to go. We haven’t seen much actually being harvested, but plenty of hay bales in neatly shorn paddocks. There are a few cattle but no big herds. Also a few horses, half a dozen goats, a donkey, a young deer standing beside the track staring at me - and at least one fox scampering across the prairie with four magpies harassing it. It was nearly two days later before we saw any sheep: about 20 near one house and 3 at another – then none through to Vancouver.

There have been a few shallow lakes, mainly fairly small and at last, a few birds. We crossed one wide river, very shallow with flat mud islands and hundreds of birds: all gulls and Canada Geese as far as I could see. It is very frustrating not having any internet because I can’t identify the birds conclusively without my favourite Merlin app, but I am taking photos and making notes and hope I will be able to tie some of them down later. It is even more frustrating that Heather can sit there posting to Facebook and her blog almost any time when the SIM we purchased for me doesn’t work in either my phone or my iPad!

There were a few places along the rivers and nearby lakes where I suspect beavers were at work. A couple of creeks appeared to be dammed and there was an area near one suspected lodge where a whole lot of smallish trees had been felled – all with pencil-sharpener bases. And I saw a few flat conical structures a metre or so above the water level – again with a collection of pick-up-sticks pencil-ended logs embedded in the structure. I could be just imagining it, but the indications seemed to be there that beavers could have created the dams and underwater pyramids.

It is strange that we rocketed through the night, speeding along much faster than anywhere to date, making for a very bumpy ride - then arriving in Saskatoon where they said we were way ahead of our timetable so there would be a two hour stopover to get back on schedule. Go figure! The track we are on is apparently owned by a freight company and freight trains always have priority. This means that we frequently need to stop at sidings or on branch lines, often for half an hour or more until a freight train passes. The freight trains are massive, up to about 3 kilometres long and mostly double-deckers that roar along carrying hundreds of thousands of tonnes of cargo across the country day and night. They are not as bad as in Russia where a few kilometres of freight barrelled past us every time I raised my camera for a shot, but there must still be at least several dozen here each day.

Next time we woke up, we were in Saskatchewan and the terrain slowly became more varied, with lumpy low hills, uneven ground, more diverse vegetation, taller trees and in due course, we had an hour or so stopover in Edmonton and next morning we rolled into Jasper in the Canadian Rockies. Our Edmonton stop was marked by the start of a dramatic electrical storm. It was really ferocious with lightning flashing brilliantly around us every few seconds. We went to dinner as it was getting dark and the lightning outside the dining car was tremendous. We were soon locked up, cosy in bed, but several other passengers said the electrical storm was amazing and followed us for hours.

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movingkeepmoving · 5 years

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Hello and welcome to Berlin, Germany! For many of you this will be your first stay here, so I’m trying to make things easy for you.

First things first: Phone code is +49 Police: 110 / fire brigade: 112 1€ is 100cts.

Be aware most places might not accept card as payment method; we’re pretty far behind on this; especially when it comes to music venues. Have some cash on you!

Safety:

Berlin is a huge city and compared to its size its fairly safe if you use common sense. No specific rules apply with the exception of public transportation and tourist areas where pickpockets are a problem. Watch your bags during rush hours, at larger train stations.

The police in Berlin are competent, not corrupt; therefore, if you try to bribe them you are likely to spend at least a night behind bars to check your background. They are generally helpful to tourists. Most of the officers are able to speak English, so don't hesitate to approach them if you are frightened or lost.

Although harmless, panhandlers have started to beg at local tourist spots such as Pariser Platz next to the Brandenburg Gate, Alexanderplatz and the Museumsinsel. They are usually women accompanied by their daughters who ask if you speak English and say that they are from the new EU countries and trying to raise money to fly home. The story is false, so don't give them money, which would encourage further exploitation of the women and their kids. They also have a new tactic where they hand you a card telling their "story" and asking for money; beware that the children that they carry in their arms will search through your bags while you are reading the card. The best way to avoid this is simply to ignore them and not to respond when they ask you "Speak English?" If you feel scared, don't hesitate to contact the police, as they will help.

ALOHOL / DRINKS IN GENERAL / SMOKING

You’re allowed to drink alcohol in the streets, beer and wine is legal from the age of 16, everything else from the age of 18. You’ll notice many people will buy their drinks in Spätis (late night corner shops) and drink them in front of those shops. You might find more people doing this than finding people drinking in bars, because our bars normally open in the evening time (and are closed before that - sorry to our friends from the UK!).

We have a deposit on cans and bottles, so please NEVER put them into any bin. Place them next to the bin if you don’t care about getting 0,08ct to 0,25ct back, as homeless people often rely on this „extra income“.

You’ll pay at least 1€ deposit on bottles/glasses in venues too - even if they’re plastic cups. Keep that in mind. You don’t pay a deposit in restaurants or bars.

Brining bottles into venue won’t be allowed, due the fact venues want to sell as many drinks as possible. It’s also not a common thing to request tab water in a music venue. They might charge you for the deposit.

Smoking weed is NOT legal in Berlin / Germany. Although there will be people around the RAW area trying to sell you stuff - I can’t recommend doing this, the police knows about the situation and often watches the side undercover. (Can’t tell you how many times I saw a catch me if you can situation around here) > Welcome to Berlin, you can actually smoke in most bars if they said they’re an 18+ venue. If you don’t smoke like me, this can be rather hell. If you’re a smoker: Welcome to paradise.

Apps you should consider to download:

Citymapper: This one actually works in a lot of big cities. I used it in New York, London and Boston before. With Citymapper you'll get all the options of getting from point A to B, including cabs, uber, walking distance, local transport, etc. It also shows you if the journey is accesible, if there are any disturbances and which carriage/entry/exit you should take for the fastest route.

Uber: If you want to take an Uber it's a bit different than in your city: Uber drivers are not allowed to use their own cars, but special black Uber cars. I haven't used Uber within Berlin so far yet. With the App you can also use the red e-bikes and red e-scooters branded with JUMP. If you're not an Uber Member yet, feel free to use the following link to sign up and get a 10€ balance for your first three rides: https://www.uber.com/invite/w1rzjd

FreeNow: If you want to use cabs, the easiest way ordering one via App is FreeNow. The app also works in different cities all over Europe and as there are more cabs than Uber cars within Berlin, this option might be faster than Uber. If you want to sign app with FreeNow, feel free to use the following link: (App currently not working)

Clever Shuttle: This app connects you with electric cars only, it works like a shared Uber (so you might have a stranger on your ride), but the other passengers will never see your destination (I heard that's different from Uber), so it's safer and you actually do something good about the environment to. If you want to try it, feel free to use the following code to sign up - you'll get a ballance of 10€: 9oxujh

Shared bike services: There are a handful of services offering a shared bike system; I’ve never used one of these besides the UBER/Jump one, so I can’t really tell how they’re working and if they’re expensive of not. If you want to do a little research yourself: Donkey Republic, Mobike, Deezer, Lime - are four providers who come directly into my mind. There are also some escooter services like Lime, Voi and Tier.

Happy Cow: You’re vegan and you want to check where you can grab some food or you’re looking for a vegan restaurant / vegan options / a vegan supermarket? Check out Happy Cow, - descriptions for all the places are usually in English!

When it comes down to food: Don't expect to get served tab water for free when you're at a restaurant. It's not a thing within Germany. We also don't do refills on soft drinks either. When ordering water, make sure you mention if you want to get it with or without gas, to avoid disappointment. (We live our fizzy water, folks!) It's a common thing to split the bill when you're having food with friends. We don't have the requirement to tip in restaurants and bars like in the US, but if you're satisfied 10% are the standard.

Local Transport / BVG

While BVG doesn't run S-Bahn or local trains, they are covered by the website and can be used with the same tickets.

BVG's customer service, ☏ +49 30 19449. If you don't know how to get somewhere, or how to get home at night, BVG's customer service number. Most U-Bahn and some S-Bahn stations have call points from which you can contact customer service directly.

Some BVG buses and tram lines run 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

TicketsThe public transport system in Berlin (U-, S-Bahn, bus, tram, regional rail) uses a common ticket system based on zones (zone A, B and C). You are unlikely going beyond zone A and B, except on trips to Potsdam or to Schönefeld Airport (SXF). The border between zones A and B is the S-Bahn Ring (see here). Zone C includes trips to and within Potsdam.

The following tickets can be used for single journeys:

Single Ticket. The standard single journey ticket. It is valid for any travel within two hours of validation, in a single direction, within the appropriate fare zones. There is no limit to transfers. Return journeys are not allowed. Price: Berlin AB €2.80 (reduced €1.70); Berlin ABC €3.40 (reduced €2.50).

4-trip ticket (4 Fahrten Karte). This gives you 4 single trip tickets at a cheaper cost. Price: Berlin AB €9.00 (reduced €5.60). Short trip (Kurzstrecke).

For a single journey you can buy a cheap Kurzstrecke for €1.70, but this is only valid for 3 stops on the U-Bahn or S-Bahn (transfers permitted) or 6 stops on buses or trams (no transfers). The stations included in a short tip ticket are indicated on schedules posted at bus and tram stops.

Several options are available for unlimited travel: Day Ticket (Tageskarte). A day ticket for one person. Worth it if you are travelling more than two trips a day. Valid until 03:00 the next morning, not 24 hours! Price: Berlin AB €7 (reduced €4.70); Berlin ABC €7.70 (reduced €5.30).

Small Group Day Ticket AB (Kleingruppen-Tageskarte). A day ticket valid for up to five people. For groups of three or more, this ticket is cheaper than individual day tickets. Price: Berlin AB €19.90, Berlin ABC €20.80.

7-Day-Ticket AB (7-Tagekarte). A ticket valid for seven days. Price: Berlin AB €30, Berlin ABC €37.50.

Berlin CityTourCard. Ticket valid for all public transport services in Berlin, Potsdam and the surrounding area (depending on the covered zones) and a discount card for many tourist attractions; available in several different versions: 48 hours AB €17.40; 72 hours AB €24.50; 5 days AB €31.90. Add a few euros if you want to go to Potsdam (fare zone ABC). A folded leaflet with inner city map and an overview of the S-Bahn and U-Bahn railway networks of Berlin is included. Can be bought at ticket machines and various sales points (Berlin airports, larger train stations, hotels or online).

Berlin WelcomeCard. Unlimited travel with all methods of public transport for the validity of the ticket; save up to 50% on more than 200 tourist and cultural highlights; handy guide in pocket book format with insider tips and tour suggestions; city plan for Berlin and Potsdam and a network plan for public transport. Can be bought at various sales points (Berlin airports, larger train stations, hotels or online).

Tickets valid for only A and C are available as well, which you might need for a single trip to Schönefeld Airport from somewhat out of the way lodgings. There is only one way to get a ticket only valid in A: Deutsche Bahn offers "City Tickets" as an add-on for their long distance train tickets and in Berlin those are only valid for a single trip inside the A zone.

Reduced fares apply for children 6 to 14. Children under 6 ride free.

Purchasing tickets Tickets can be purchased in several ways. Upon arrival at the different Berlin airports, some tickets can be purchased at the tourist desk. All tickets are available at vending machines at the airports, U- and S-Bahn platforms, and passengers may also use the vending machines operated by DB at long-distance and regional railway stations to purchase the same. English and other European languages are available. You can also purchase them on the BVG app via Paypal/Credit Card, but unfortunately this app isn’t available in English yet.

Really important: Before the journey starts tickets must be validated by stamping them at the yellow or red boxes on the platforms, in buses or trams. In case of inspection, a ticket that is not stamped is invalid. (Nevertheless, if you buy a ticket directly from a bus or tram driver, it won't need stamping). Getting caught with an invalid ticket = 60€ fee; never pay this fee in cash; it’s illegal for ticket officers to charge you in cash!!

Arriving in Berlin

When arriving at Schönefeld Airport (SXF), you’ll need to buy a ticket that valid for all three zones (ABC) to get into the center. You can either buy a single ride ticket for ABC or you buy the ticket you think you’ll need for the time of your stay (7 day ticket or similar) for ABC and purchase an additinal ticket for the C zone (1,60€). You can take either a red Regional train or a S-Bahn into the city center; your ticket is valid in both. Just ask Citymapper for the next conncetion!

When arriving at Tegel Airport (TXL), you’ll need to take the bus (TXL Express) to get to the city center. Please note it’s a regular bus, not a special airport shuttle with lots of luggage space. So if you are a group or you have lots of lagguage, maybe think about sharing a cab or something similar. If you decide on taking the bus tho, Tegel is within the B zone, so you can just get your regular ticket. Also note, there are ticket machines and ticket offices at the airport, you might want to use them instead of getting your ticket from the bus driver. Take this bus to Berlin HBF / Berlin main station and continue your journey from here via train / bus.

What to do in Berlin during your stay? Here are my top 10 recommendations:

Ramones Museum: This place might be part of the official Lost Evenings programm as Flo (owner) and Frank know each other and Frank played a couple of times in their old location. They have a bar and serve breakfast, cake, coffee, and alcohol from 10 am til 10 pm. You’ll be able to purchase Ramones merch, you’ll be able to visit the Ramones Museum part and you’ll be able to check out all the photos and signatures of all the bands who played there or visited the place. It’s one of my favourite places, so you better be nice to the staff there (they all speak english really well!!)

Alexanderplatz: Don’t go up the TV tower! I’ll tell you my favourite secret spot: Go to the Park Inn hotel, go through their entrance, turn left and go straight to the lifts. Take the lift to the topmost floor and follow their signs to the terrace (you’ll have to climb 1-2 more floors on the stairs). You’ll pay 4€/person and you’ll get a wonderful view all over Berlin, directly in front of the TV tower in a height of 120m. There’s also a bar up there if you want a coffee or beer.

Eastside Gallery: When in Berlin, you need to see THE WALL, don’t you? There’s a huge part of the wall close to the Spree and close to the Lost Evening site. It’s called the Eastside Gallery and it’s painted by many different artists from all over. If you want to dig a bit more into history, you can take the M10 tram from Warschauer Straße (close to the Eastside Gallery) and take it all the way until Bernauer Straße. Here’s another huge part of the wall and some more info about it. And while taking the M10, you’ll have a great way of seeing different parts of Berlin on your way. But be aware, during the evening, this line becomes some kind of party train.

Brandenburg Gate / Holocaust Memorial / Reichstag / Siegessäule - These places are all located close to each other and you can easily reach them while starting from Berlin main station. They’re four of the most touristy places in the city, but if it’s your first time, you might wanna give it a go? You can also climb up the Staircase of Siegessäule to get a full panoramo view of the city; it’s worth it, but the staircase is super narrow and there’s no lift!

Museums Insel & Berliner Dom: Close to Alexanderplatz you’ll find the Museums Insel - and built in island with many museums, which I haven’t visited yet myself. But if you’re the museums person, you might wanna give it a go!? The Dom is close by and an impressive cathedral in the middle of the city.

Check Point Charlie: First time in Berlin? You probably want to get your photo taken in front of the world famous border crossing in Berlin. During the day you’ll find people dressed up as American Soliders in front of it too.

Flughafen Tempelhof: Visit the outdoor part of our now closed airport in the center of the city. The place of the famous Luftbrücke, where planes started to drop supllies into the East Berlin zone. There are tour through the aiport building, which you have to register for in advance, but you can walk freely on the airfield and you’ll see many people walking there during the day, or riding their bikes, or do any other sorts of sports. It’s a place for picnics, for haning around, it can be really lovely once the weather gets better.

tbc

#frank turner #fthc #lost evenings #prost evenings #berlin #germany

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