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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

#bun writes #bun writes: drabbles #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader

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nam-nam-joon · 4 years

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Pairing: lucas/wong yukhei x reader

Genre: meet cute; rich kids AU

Wordcount: 10.6k

Warnings: lots of swearing; yukhei punches someone

Summary: one word is all it takes, and the opaque glass dome surrounding him cracks, and then there's you peeking in through the opening.

notes: i started this in february '19, when i was in san fran, and very much walking through the fashion district and marvelling at the sketches in the boutique windows of dior, and watching the actual rich people around there. and i've loved @stormae 's rich kid AUs for so long, i wanted to try and write my own :)

The first time he sees you, he doesn’t know it’s you yet.

And he also doesn’t see you, not really.

That is, his mind registers a person crouching off to the side as he steps up to the crossing, one hand in his pant’s pocket, the fingers of the others lazily curled around the thin velvet strings of a small bag, carrying a bottle of the expensive scent his mother always leaves a hint of wherever she goes.

That she forgot at home before this trip, and sent him to fetch for her, because of course they didn’t take Doyoung with them for this weekend trip to the fundraiser in the city by the bay.

And in lieu of their usual boy-for-everything, the next best thing is of course their own son.

He doesn’t mind.

It gives him an excuse to saunter around the streets of the high society neighbourhood their hotel is located in, somewhere among the sparkling city lights of downtown.

A breath escapes him.

It is a city like any other. The only difference with this one are the light buildings and summer etched into every corner and crevice, even though the temperatures aren’t quite there at this time of the year.

Running his mother's errand gives him an excuse to breathe in the air that smells of big city, of a million different foods, like gasoline and a bit of freedom, too.

When he walks the streets like this he can be nobody. Just another face in the crowd - a very expensively dressed crowd, but nonetheless. Here he doesn’t have a name, doesn’t have watchful eyes on him scrutinizing his every move, like his father likes to do. Noone there to clutch at his arm and whisper harsh words to him, in a tongue foreign to most of those surrounding them, behind the back of those who take selfies with their new purchases safely tucked into bags that boast the name of brands. His mother’s words are unforgiving about anyone falling outside her perception of no less than perfection, of people like his father and his colleagues, and ultimately, him and his friends.

Because, really, they’re the next generation of perfect people, carefully raised and curated by the last generation of perfect people.

But then there’s movement from the end of his field of vision and you step into it from the right, hand brushing back a few stray hairs that escaped into places they're not meant to be in and the first thing he sees is the way the headlights of passing cars momentarily create a glowing circle around your head, the way the traffic lights tint your face into a multitude of colours, and his eyes, usually so fleeting and only ever interested in the horizon, can’t let go.

They slip down your body with a practiced ease that has been second nature longer than he can think.

He doesn’t know anything about you other than you look absolutely ethereal bathed in the unassuming shine of artificial light.

But then his gaze runs down the length of your body and he comes up empty handed. Not one piece of clothing that you’re wearing bears the label of a designer he’s familiar with.

The washed out pants are rolled up over the worn out converse, there’s the hint of a flannel peeking out beneath your open jacket that seems just light enough to not cause sweat on this early spring's evening. The model of your phone is that from four years ago, but that’s all he can recognize.

Although it tells him enough.

And yet…

Another vespa zips by and in its headlight something at your belly blinks up. A small flutter spreads through his stomach as he takes in the knobs and levers, the metal and beaten black plastic. The long lens with its round cover and your left hand protectively curled around the whole creation, cradling it so close that he can’t think other than to immediately assume it’s just a part of you.

“Hey.” He says, before his brain can stop his mouth. It comes out low and even, a smirk playing around his lips.

The light switches to green, after what feels like an eternity, and you begin to walk before turning your head in his direction.

But instead of the million little things he is so used to hearing in return to one of his “Hey”'s - you don’t say anything. You just look at him and smile, you look into his eyes and smile. And then your gaze leaves him, without a second look, without scanning him. Without seeing him.

It has the smirk threat to slip for a second.

“So, uh, I noticed your camera. You really like photography, huh? Is it a hobby of yours?”

You stop at the next corner and turn into the direction of the setting sun flooding the street that gently slopes down in front of you, lift the camera and keep quiet for a moment. His gaze is fixed on the way your fingers turn a ring close to where the lens meets the rest of the camera, making adjustments, before your body seems to freeze for the fraction of a second that it takes until the camera clicks and you lower it.

Your eyes meet his again and he notes how your right hand automatically turns a little lever, a ticking noise emitting from the case in your hands for the duration of the movement.

“Yeah, you could say that. But I mostly just like to take pics of pretty things, or things I like. It’s not really- Not like I earn money with it or so.”

He nods. “Been here before? In the city, I mean." Then he adds. "I’m Lucas, by the way.”

He waits, one step ahead of you, until you put the cover back over the lens and slowly catch up to him.

“_______. And nah, First time for me. You?”

“Me neither. You like it?”

“It’s alright.” The grin on your face screams that your passive tone is a lie, and his lips curl into a grin until you crack and join in. “Yeah, I love it. Been here for a week now and am still finding new favourite spots every day. What about you? Here for a vacation?”

If only, he thinks, as his eyes catch on the dark clouds opposing the radiant sunset.

“Family trip.” He says instead.

“Oh, awesome! I’d love to have my fam here now- it would be so nice to go sightseeing with them. Where have you been already?”

His eyes trail back to yours, slightly irritated at the energy you just revealed, and the passion behind your words when speaking of the people that created you.

“Just arrived today.” He says, and it’s only half a lie. But he doesn’t know how to explain that his parents aren’t the type to go sightseeing with their offspring; that the idea of his mother in her Manolo’s strutting over the local tourist hot spot bridge is… bizarre.

“Oh, okay.” You say, and he can sense the slight dent his answer gave your enthusiasm. “Well… where do you wanna go? What stuff are you here for to see?”

You add, after he keeps quiet for a moment while trying to come up with a smooth save.

“The… bridge.” He says, as it is the first thing falling into his head. A knowing smile has your eyes glinting, like you are somehow able to see through him.

It has an uncomfortable feeling spread inside him - the pretense he always dresses in to keep his parents - his friends, everyone around him - happy so much more important than some pretty person his mind couldn’t let go of after laying eyes on.

The subdued panic wells up in his chest. He briefly considers walking off, especially now that your head is tilted down and his feet are in your direct line of sight.

The black sock sneakers carry the little printed letters that spell ‘Balenciaga’ along the outer sides, their low rise only allowing a thin slip of skin to show around his ankles before the elastic band of his pants covers the rest of the leg that the sun touched with a tan again, now that he’s away from the snow of winter.

He almost holds his breath.

All of his friends are like him.

Young, good looking.

Wealthy.

You’re no less good-looking and yet as different to him as night is to day.

Your eyeliner is a bit messy towards the outer corners of your eyes, like you had wiped at it, forgetting it was there. There’s frizz making short hairs stand up over the rest of where it is kept together. He can see it’s been a while since you last plucked your eyebrows, but all of it contributes to an image that is so much more human than what he’s used to.

You’re not proper, with skin smooth as if airbrushed like the girls his mother wants him to converse with at events, you have your camera to snap keepsakes of your travels, alone, in a city that is not your own.

You’re walking these streets without fear, and without caring that almost everyone else here is dressed in clothes that, a single item alone, probably costs more than all of yours combined.

There is something fierce inside you that he catches a glint of as a Tesla purrs by and your eyes flash over the car; the way your eyebrows quip upwards for a moment and your lips purse, and suddenly he feels awfully aware of what he’s wearing.

Of how confident you look, how comfortable, without a single brand name lining your side.

Your eyes meet his again, and this time, they stay longer. Flit around and take in all his features before you open your mouth and the spark of mischief beautifully adorns your expression.

“I know the perfect place to see the bridge. Wanna come?”

“Wh- Now?” His eyes fly to the smart watch on his wrist, the time ticking away, and the notification that his mother send him a message, asking about her perfume.

“Yeah. Now. Unless you got somewhere else to be?”

He has. He really has.

“Uh… can I meet you sometime later? Like… eleven, maybe?”

Is that disappointment on your face?

“Ah, I see. Sorry for going in like that, I thought… Nevermind. Hey, look, if you need to go, I won’t keep you.”

This expression he knows, although it’s strange to see on your soft, warm face that holds no trace of the practiced smiles and pleased looks that cover the features of him and his friends. You’re pulling back, distancing yourself.

He swallows down the panic that rises in the pit of his stomach against all the rules and mental restrictions he built over the course of miserable years of splendor and grandeur; the very same walls you crept around and instantly closer to his soul than anyone since his childhood nanny.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I really do want to go with you. It’s just- My parents- I have to bring this to them, and they’ll expect-”

He notices, notices the way your eyes catch on the little bag he holds up, and it’s a pinprick into his chest as he remembers the triple digits he paid for with his travel credit card.

But then your eyes touch his again, and they’re not hard, not unforgiving, not condescending. Just curious.

He gapes at you as you look up at him without a single wrinkle of displeasure on your face.

And in that moment he makes a decision.

“You know what, fuck my parents.” He steps around you and lifts a hand, a cab setting its blinker almost immediately to respond to his call. “I’ll bring this to them and then we can go to see the bridge.”

He pauses with the door held open, wondering why you’re still standing on the sidewalk, camera in hand.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I don’t really have money for taxis.”

He furrows his brows and puts one arm over the door. “It’s alright, I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”

When you slip into the seat next to him he tells the driver the address of his parent’s hotel and the car leaves the curb.

“Four Seasons, huh.” You say flatly.

“Yeah. My mother won’t stay at any other.”

It comes out matter of fact, and he has to look over to see the shadow of a grin around your lips before he realizes your sarcasm is such a subtle tease he didn’t pick up on it at first.

“Are you sure they won’t kick me out?”

He brushes past the portier opening the glass door for you, but as he turns around to look back at you he catches you mouthing a thank-you at the young man in the neatly pressed uniform.

“Of course they wouldn’t. Just- just wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You grin and shake your head.

“Hey Lucas!” You call out then, as he waits in front of the elevator. “Wear something plain, okay?”

“Where do you think you’re going.” Comes the voice from his father, stern and with the disapproval so expertly woven into it that he has long since stopped hearing it.

“Out.” He says flatly, picking up his leather jacket he left draped over one of the chairs on his mother’s side of the bed on his way out, back down to you after switching pants and shoes. The flask with perfume is safely clutched in his mother’s hand. It clinks against the marble vanity as she sets it down.

“Lucas! We have an event scheduled, you cannot be-”

“That’s not my name!” He interrupts the higher voice of his mother, his own voice suddenly spiking.

It’s the name _______ knows you by, an evil little voice whispers in his head that he shoves down.

“That’s not my name.” He repeats into the heavy silence after his outburst, more controlled. “Don’t pretend you care about me being there with you, I would just get in your way, as usual. Have fun getting drunk.”

The heavy oak door cuts off his parent’s voices, the nagging one of his mother and the scolding one of his father.

When he rips the clean, neat button down off of him it almost feels like he's shedding a layer that reeks of his parents. He dumps it in one of the artfully concealed trash bins and tugs the white tee shirt he's wearing underneath out of his pants.

He knows he’ll pay for this little act of rebellion, this act of defiance, but when he leans his head against the cool tiles in the elevator, he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

You greet him with crossed legs sitting on one of the decorative, uncomfortable couches in the lobby, the latest Vogue open on your lap.

“Finally. The receptionist was creeping their hand closer to the phone to call the cops on me by the minute.” You grumble, and it’s really not your fault, but he tips his head back and laughs.

He catches you as you eye the plain white shirt, the leather jacket over his arm. Your eyebrows rise as you take note of his shoes - the Balenciaga’s are gone, replaced with a pair of Adidas, so new they practically sparkle.

“What.” He ducks his head to meet your gaze, but you refuse to meet his as you exit the hotel.

“Just look at you. I can’t take you anywhere like this, people will think we’re super good targets to mug and then leave in a ditch. Here, put this on. And give me your jacket.”

He’s too baffled to refuse to take the flannel you just shrugged out of. It’s still warm when he takes it, and it smells more like the scent he only caught a trace of when you sat next to him. He draws a deep breath and hopes you won't notice.

It’s big, at least for you, but on him, it fits. Out of your backpack you conjure up a smaller, slouchier bag, littered with patches that carry unknown town’s names. A water bottle and a polaroid camera find their new home in it, before you stuff your own jacket into the bigger bag and hand it to him. He takes it, again, slinging his arms through the hoops and adjusting them so they fit him.

“C’mon, bend down a little, won’t ya? I’m not a giant like you.”

He complies against his better judgement, cautious eyes under worrying eyebrows keeping track of your facial features, watching out for any trace of malice that might appear as you come close.

It's all he can do to not flinch too heavily when you lift your arm.

Your hand ruffling through his hair, messing up the slicked-back look, catches him off-guard and he’s left to stare at your face in wonder after you lean back, satisfaction radiating from you.

“There, better. Now you’re just a backpacker like me, with fresh splurged-on shoes. Let’s go.”

He offers to take another cab, to wherever you want to go, but you simply shake your head.

“Half the fun is getting there.” You tell him and his burning calves as you climb what is possibly the steepest street he’s ever encountered.

He admires the way you push forward, always half a step in front of him. At the top you look back to where he’s briefly catching his breath, beckoning him forward with a smile.

His jacket looks good on you, he notices. The sleeves are so long that you can make paws out of them, and in the fresh, almost cold evening air, you do, which he thinks is adorable. In a good way.

It takes longer than he thought, from the bustling core of the fashion district across town. You lead him through the criss-crossing streets, point at stuff, and show him things he’d never notice otherwise.

It’s long since pitch black dark before he’s following you through a patch of trees, down a slight slope.

“You sure this is the way? I-”

“Yeah! It’s just one more corner, bridge should be there then, don’t you fret! I’d never lead you astray.”

Doubt sparks sharply in his thoughts, but he fights it down.

He doesn’t know you, not really, he reminds himself; even after a cab ride and a trek across the city spent talking, but it’s this or the fundraiser.

His breath stinging his sides or his mother's manicured fingers pinching him to keep him from slouching.

The refreshing air, heavy with moisture and the smell of trees, or the stuffy warmth that has him light headed without any alcohol - that is saturated with perfumes so thickly he could cut it into pieces.

He steps in a puddle and his adidas aren’t so white anymore, he’s pretty sure he walked himself a blister somewhere and the cold is beginning to seep in, after the hills of the city are behind you

“Lucas! You coming?”

The name is another setback, another pinprick, but he jogs up to where your voice comes from.

The sky behind the trees is oddly red, as if a great light is illuminating the clouds.

He’s only reached you when you already turn, and he wants to call out for you to stop, wait up, and then…

And then he sees the bridge.

The two towers rise high into the night’s sky, six streams of cars flow between them, one side white, one red lights.

It connects the curving street to the dark mountains across the water, where the trail of light vanishes between the sloping tops.

“It’s good, eh?” You smile up at him, suddenly back by his side. He nods and swallows, unable to look away.

The sight shouldn’t be special, he’s seen bridges like these lit up all over the world, so why is this one so breathtaking?

He hears the snap of the shutter, the clicking of the film being turned, once, twice.

He turns his head just in time to hear it click a third time, and he needs a moment before he realizes the last picture definitely has him in it.

“Hey! Did you take a picture of me?”

“So what if I did?” Your grin is shit-eating wide, and he feels himself give in.

“-That’s not allowed.” He says for a lack of anything better when it looks like you’re still waiting for an answer.

You laugh and turn to the front, admiring the sight again.

The countless headlights sparkle in your eyes, the red glow shining on your face.

He gets the urge to snap a picture as well, and in that moment understands you a little bit.

This close, shoulder to shoulder, the details of your face stand out differently.

He should say something, break the silence that’s stretching uncomfortably between you, but there’s nothing coming to his mind.

You turn your head and meet his eyes, and deep down he dreads the comments that will come, about him staring, about him not conversing, about him being rude.

But all you do is smile up at him like he’s the nicest thing you've seen all day, and inch a bit closer.

“It’s cold, no?” He breathes in, breaking eye-contact in favour of the dark water and the park spreading out around you.

“You want your jacket back?” You’re already lowering your backpack’s strings before his hand catches yours, pauses your movement.

“No, no it’s fine.”

“You sure? I can handle it, I’ve got my own jacket. You don’t have to be all tough, don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Trust me, I’m good.” His hand lowers, and he smiles.

“No it’s not!” You speak up, catching his palm in your own. “You’re all clammy! Here, take your jacket back and give me mine, c’mon.”

No matter how much he protests, you don’t take no for an answer, and fifteen minutes later he’s begrudgingly trotting along the beach on the other side of the street, back towards the city, wearing his own jacket.

Your connected hands gently swing between you.

Now and then you sigh, and then take a breath as if wanting to say something, but then you don’t and he’s left to wonder.

The moon breaks through the clouds now and then, bathing the wide walkway in silver-grey light, and then shrouds itself again.

“What’s on your mind?” He brings out, after another sigh of yours.

Your eyes meet his, your face open even though you’re biting on your lip and struggle with words.

But he meant what he said, doesn’t look away, even stops and tugs you to follow his example.

“I’m just,” You begin, looking off into the distance. “Every vacation comes to an end. Guess I’m both relieved and sad about it at once.”

“When do you go back?” He can’t believe he hasn’t asked until now.

“Next week.”

“That’s still some time.”

“I know. It’s what I keep telling myself, but… Time flies. One moment you’re arriving in a new city and the next you find yourself leaving. Life is so fast sometimes and it’d be nice to... Live slow. You know?”

Oh, he knows.

He’s never known anything slow.

The cars he and his friends drive are fast, whenever one of those friends takes an interest in a girl or a boy or anyone, really, they’re fast to proclaim their love and date and then fast to break up. The planes that are bringing him from city to city are fast, the way he only has to tap his plastic on the card reader and it rings up his purchase, fast.

But you’re slow.

You walk, everywhere, you tell him, and he listens. You talk slow, too, there’s a lot of breaks between your sentences, he learns, and occasionally you’ll pick up a topic to talk about that he thought you’d finished already and moved on from, just to add another perspective he hadn’t considered.

The ocean is slow, too, with the waves rolling on the sandy beach and barely grazing the stone steps you sat down on to watch the water.

“Can I lean into your side for a while? I’m not feeling so well.” You say quietly, barely above the wind and the waves.

He turns his head, takes in how your eyes are a bit distant, staring out over the rippling surface.

Instead of answering he puts his arm around your shoulders, shuffles closer until the length of his thigh touches yours and he can tug you into the side of his body.

Both your arms snake around his waist, under his jacket, and because it is right there and not doing it seems weird, he leans his cheek on the top of your head.

This is fast, too, he muses, cuddling the same day you met; but his sore feet and the hours of walking around and talking make it seem like he's known you for longer.

He can’t remember any of his friends ever having talked so much with him.

The bar in the basement of the hostel is loud, filled to the brim with people, there’s music pumping between the walls and he doesn’t know anyone but you.

You vanish to put away your bags and even though this is a place he should feel more comfortable in, he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s because it’s not so dark that he can still see everyone, and everyone can still see him, and everyone is dressed much like you, if not a little more shabby and run-down.

He’s stood by the bar, waiting for two small colas, because they don’t sell the champagne he usually goes for.

“That’ll be nine bucks mate.”

He waits for the clerk to put the card reader out for him, and when the guy doesn’t, he feels the annoyance bubbling up.

“Card?” He says, irritated.

“Sorry buddy, cash only.”

“What?!”

“‘scuse me says so up front.” The guy shrugs, hands inching closer to take the cheap plastic cups away.

“I got it!”

He turns and you’re back, with hair fresh up and shockingly clothed with just a single t-shirt. Gone are the layers and layers from before, and it's like you're a different person.

You put a note with a ten on it down on the counter, politely say thank you upon receiving your change and then turn, handing one cup to him.

He feels strange, still riled up because of the embarrassment and because you were the one to save him, and because you seem to not find fault in that, just smile and take a sip.

“I’m Yukhei.” He blurts out.

Your eyebrows twitch closer together. “I’m ________.” You repeat.

“No, I mean… That’s my name.” He shifts, uncomfortable.

“And Lucas?”

“That’s… That’s my western name. The one my parent’s call me by. But… Yukhei is my real name.” He takes a sip as well, almost cringing at the sugary taste.

“Do you prefer Lucas or Yukhei?” You take another sip, and your eyes are so soft again.

“-Yukhei.” He answers, looking into them.

“Come on guys, make some room for Yukhei and me alright?”

He preens, unseen by anyone but himself, under the way you call his name, and he takes another sip, almost used to the taste by now.

Under a lot of shuffling and grumbling the present people free up a tiny space on the bench and you motion for him to sit down.

As soon as his butt hits the worn out wood, he finds you in his lap, using him as a seat for yourself.

The hand not busy holding his drink comes up to your hip by instinct, he looks up at you out of wide eyes, lips twitching but finding no words for the bold move.

He's had people grinding down on him in clubs everywhere, this shouldn't feel different. It does. This is so much more intimate.

“Everything alright? If I get too heavy I can get off?” You turn and are a lot closer to him than he thought, noses almost touching.

“Huh? Uh, no, I’m good, don’t- Don’t worry. Is this okay for you?”

You nod, half listening to a conversation happening at the table again.

Over the course of the next hour you go and refill your own and his cups, with fanta this time, which he likes a bit better. Every time you come back to him he looks up at you and expects you to demand a seat for your own now, but every time you shuffle back into his lap. The hand on your hip slowly extends each time until you take his fingers and drag them over until his arm is lying around your belly.

His chin is on your shoulder whenever you’re there, but he mostly listens and doesn’t contribute to the chats much.

To his surprise his trips to Tokyo, Monaco or Dubai sound a lot less glamorous, exciting and adventurous compared to what some of the people here, not even much older, can talk about.

One backpacked his whole way down the Rocky Mountains, across a whole continent; another hasn’t been home in two years and is looking to get another visa somewhere else already.

One has just arrived from their plane coming in from the other coast, and another travelled all of the north and is now looking for something a little more southern.

He learns that you’ve been to quite a few places yourself, listen intently as you recall memorable moments and rant about impossible people you’ve come across.

He squeezes once after a loud round of laughter has mostly died down, and even though you’re currently talking to a girl diagonally across from you, your own hand comes up to cover his and squeeze back, and he doesn’t think twice about it but knows you heard him, told him to hang in there.

Once you’ve both said your words you turn to him, curiosity on your face. The way you’re sat, twisted, is a little unstable and so you put a hand on his shoulder, to keep steady.

“Hm?”

“Where’s the bathroom here?”

“Ha? Oh, it’s through that door, on the left side, you just have to follow- Do you want me to show you?”

He feels silly, already mentally beating himself up about not being man’s enough to just go, but already you’ve stood up, linked your hands and are pulling him along.

“You okay? You’ve been so quiet?”

He feels like his ears are half deaf, now, in the silent hallway after the door to the bar shuts.

“Just… tired.” He avoids your question, but not entirely, either.

“Shit, you arrived today, I forgot… Hey if you wanna get out of here just tell me.”

He nods and mirrors your smile before pushing open the door to the washroom.

You’re still there when he comes out again, leaned against the wall, tapping on your phone.

“All done.” He announces, bouncing his hands by his hips, and you smile at the cute voice he puts on.

"Wanna go back inside? Or have enough yet."

He rubs a hand over his neck and looks to the side.

"I think I can stomach another cola. Or fanta. How much do I owe you?"

You shake your head and wave a hand.

"I’ll send you a bill, pretty boy. Come now, don’t think you get a lot of chances at getting out of your ivory tower to mingle among the common folk, eh."

He wants to open his mouth and disagree, and then he doesn't

You squeeze his hand and part with him before you get back to the table, motioning in the direction of the bar and likely referring to the last drink he mentioned, and he nods and goes to sit back down.

You join him soon after, leaning forward a bit to squeeze between the table and his legs, and over your shoulder he catches the leer of one of the guys that’s been eyeing you a little too much all evening.

But you don’t seem to notice and so he clenches his hand into a fist and presses it against the wood.

Soon after, one of the girls from the right side of the table puts her drink down and gestures towards him.

“What about you, where are you from? You staying in the hostel as well?”

He answers, as best as he can, and he’s had a lifetime of dodging and carefully evading clear answers and if the others are aware of him shifting the topic of conversation around and asking for more travel stories of them, they don’t say anything.

You wiggle out if his lap and whisper you’ll use the restroom really quick and that he better not dare to run off, and then your reassuring weight is gone and he’s alone at the table but it feels safer than sitting at one of the round tables of a gala, with crystalline flutes of bubbling liquid and stiff jackets all around.

The door to the hallway closes behind you and the guy from before turns to the person next to him, an ugly grin spread on his face, and says something low on his breath. Following a sudden impulse he gets up to head to the reception of the hostel upstairs and doesn’t really hear the spoken words, and part of him doesn’t want to, and another part strains his ears to pick it up nonetheless.

When he comes back the same girl who’d asked before directs another friendly question at him and his attention momentarily slips.

But not for long.

His eyes find the door when you push it open again, and in the same moment he hears the two guys clearly.

“..._______ such a slut.”

At once the anger is back and his fingers flex.

“What?” He says, and it’s louder than anything else he’s said this evening. The others at the table pause in their chat, and he feels eyes on him. “What did you just say?”

The guy glances around and then leans back, fake confidence mixing with real one.

“I said what I said. Cute ass, too.”

“Apologize!”

The guy pulls a face. “Why should I? She isn’t here and it’s not like she didn't have it coming-”

He’s on his feet before he can blink and then there’s a sharp pain on his knuckles and the guy is curling forward, pressing a hand to his mouth and cursing.

Right afterwards the guy rises to his feet, and to his satisfaction Yukhei notes that he’s a couple inches taller than the asshole, a little broader too, even though the other guy looks like he packs more muscle.

“You wanna fuckin’ go?” The guy hisses, red seeping between his teeth and eyes glinting.

“Apologize and we won’t have to.” He growls, hand still clenched.

"Yukhei!"

He hears you exclaim into the awful silence that suddenly fills the dingy space, but the adrenaline is rushing in his veins, his blood loud in his ears.

"Stop it!"

"Do you know what he called you? How he’s talking about you behind your back?"

The fury about someone reducing you to a glimpse, a fraction of who you really are, just based on your shirt slipping a little too low-

As if he isn’t just as bad.

Giving you a once-over upon first seeing you, running a mental checklist of brands you were sporting, how compatible your styles were.

He knows how shallow him and his friends, but especially his mother and father are. And maybe that's why his anger is boiling over now, roiling in his stomach. Because he knows he's no better, because in just a couple of hours spent with you he's lived so much more than in the months preceding this trip alone.

But there's your hand on his elbow, the warm skin of your palm as your fingers weave between his, and even though the asshole is still dabbing at his busted lip, sneering so ugly, he lets you. Lets you tug him away, out between the people staring from their seats, into the weird hallway and up the flight of stairs.

"You really don't care that guy called you that? For no reason, at all?"

He doesn't mean to sound this accusing, this hurt that you rejected his offer to stand up for you. At the top of the stairs you turn back, fingers twitching in their hold on his hand. He looks down into your face when he comes to a rest next to you, rubs his thumb over the back of your hand once.

"Of course I care." You blink, and he worries his eyebrows because he doesn't understand. "I don't like being labelled like that, by assholes like him. But it happens all the time. And even if I would've spoken up about it, which I would have, by the way, that- speaking up should have been enough. I'm not going to fucking deck a guy just because he can't handle me showing as much skin as I want. Worse things have happened."

"But-"

"I appreciate it, you standing up for me. But you don’t have to, I can handle it alone.”

The words of protest are heavy on his tongue but he swallows them down.

“I think we need some fresh air.”

He hears you mumble.

The clouds that move across the expanse of darkness above are the colour of rust.

He’s quiet again, but for a different reason than before.

Now and then he sneaks glances at you, wondering when it would be a good time to open his mouth again.

You lead him, again, around corners and across streets until he’s lost his way for sure and could only find his way back by taking a cab.

Then again, he was sort of lost as soon as you brought him out of the fashion district already, so this isn’t that much of a change.

“Hey, you hungry?” You ask suddenly, stopping in front of a fast food restaurant. “I’m hungry. Let’s go in.”

He doesn’t object.

The cup of ice cream he got with your enthusiastic approval is nice and cool against his bruised knuckles.

Through half a pack of crispy golden fries already he sees you pause, with your gaze locked on his hand.

“It’s not-”

He starts, after you swallow and he practically hears you complain already.

“It doesn’t hurt, don’t worry. I’m sorry- I- I’m not sorry about hitting the guy. He deserved it. I’m sorry he said that about you.”

You close your mouth and take a sip of the drink. Just one shared cup, without a lid or straw, because you said there is enough plastic in the oceans already.

You look away from him, put the cup down and reach for his hand.

He wants to object and pull it away but you glare at him and he doesn’t want to upset you further and so he lets you examine it.

There’s a soft, barely there touch to his raw knuckles and his eyes are darting back in time to see you put the most careful of kisses first to where the skin is sensitive, and then to the back of his hand.

He feels himself calm down. It’s like his entire being is solely focused in this moment in your touch. For just a moment nothing else matters.

You lean back and sigh, not letting go of his hand.

“What am I gonna do with you, hm.”

He hopes it’s a question you don’t intend him to answer, because there are no words coming to his mind.

He holds the door open for you as you exit the 24 hour restaurant. The air here in the city is a little less crisp than out at the bridge, but it’s still fresher than inside. His legs ache, and the soles of his feet burn, reminding him of the amount of walking he’s done trailing after you today and then there’s the flight from the morning and he’s very suddenly very tired.

So much so he stumbles and bumps your shoulder, even.

“Hey, Yukhei? You okay?”

And you look at him again, with your eyes so soft, and his hand clenches around the bandana you got out from who knows where and wrapped around his knuckles as a makeshift bandage.

“Just tired.” He whispers, head filled with the image of your face lit up by the restaurant’s neon signs beside you two and the glow of the streetlights to the other side.

“Maybe that’s a sign to head to bed then.” You grin at him, but despite your words, there’s no flirtatious meaning behind them, no other intention than innocent honesty.

“Would you like to come back to my hotel?” He blurts out, hand curling around your bandana over his palm, feeling the tightness of it and the small pain as it stretches over his skin.

There’s doubt on your face.

“The four seasons? With your parents? I don’t know…”

“We could get a room at another hotel. Without my parents. Just… us.”

And he doesn’t mean anything else than what he just said either and instead he’s silently hoping, wishing, you won’t leave him. Not yet. Not like this.

You smile.

“Are you paying?”

“Of course.”

The smile widens into a grin.

“You’re cute when you make puppy-eyes. Okay fine, I’ll bite. Where are we going?”

“To catch a cab.” He huffs. “My feet are killing me.”

“New shoes,” You whistle and pat his arm affectionately. “Yeah, I’m praying for your feet man.”

The big black expensive wooden door clicks close behind him almost without sound.

He doesn’t care.

It’s not the Four Seasons, it’s the next best thing, but the room he left his card for at the front desk is bigger than the dingy bar at the hostel alone, and his chest warms at the sight of awe on your face.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He hears, and turns from the panorama window overlooking the city to see you resurfacing from the bathroom.

You’re holding on to the door frame and seem to be caught between anger and wonder.

“There's a bathtub the size of a fucking swimming pool in here. The fuck. And-” You lift a hand and he sees a bottle of lotion or shampoo in your grasp. “This shit costs sixty bucks! What the entire hell.”

He grins, and it’s one he settles into easily, one of the million-dollar-smiles that are his trademark.

“Like what you see?” He lifts an eyebrow.

You shake your head and put the bottle down, gingerly, as if it isn’t made of plastic and would probably survive a good toss across the room.

The mahogany floating cupboards you pull open reveal a set of bath robes and pyjamas so soft you push your face into the first shirt you pull out, turn to him and shake your head again.

“Wanna take a swim in the bath-pool?” He asks, because he feels the exhaustion with every move, settling deeper into his bones.

You nod and follow him as he crosses the room.

The tub is big, he thinks, but not the biggest he’s seen or even been in. He turns the faucet on and even in here the windows reach from ceiling to floor, allowing glimpses of the streets far below.

You shoo him out to get in first.

The foam is so thick he has to search for your face upon coming back in.

He hears you giggling and then a portion of it moves and there’s your smiling face.

“Come in, it’s amazing.”

He’s reaching for the belt around his robe and you cover your eyes like a child. It feels weird, being allowed such privacy, when all the other girls he’s usually around would eat up any and all chances at seeing him.

He sinks into the foam, on the other end of the tub, because you only agreed to this if he kept his distance and there was no ‘accidental’ touching involved.

He can’t seem to bring himself to mind.

Every other girl he would have met somewhere, in a club or else, and they’d have at least rolled in the sheets once by now. But not you. It feels more thrilling than he could have expected.

“What are you thinking about?” Comes your voice and then a tiny mountain of bubbles gets parted and he’s able to see your face again after sinking into the water.

He shrugs, because that is his go-to answer.

“No thoughts, head empty?” There’s a quirk around your smile like he’s supposed to know what it means but he just nods.

“Tired.” He says, and only after it leaves him does he realize how often he’s said it.

“Are you, really?” You ask, and your voice is softer than before. “Putting what you feel into words is difficult.”

“Yeah, it is.” He agrees, and cups a handful of foam between his palms. “I don’t know. I don’t really need to say what I feel, if I shrug or say that I don’t know, it’s enough for people.”

His eyes glaze over.

“And right now? I mean, you’re tired, but what else is in you?”

“Huh?”

You gesticulate but you're a bit out of focus.

“I, for example, I’m tired too, but also happy because I got to show you the bridge, and I’m in awe at being here, in a hotel room bigger than a house, in a tub with a cute boy I met this afternoon. There’s more, but just, you know?”

He puts an effort into blinking and clearing his eyes, and turns your words over in his head.

“I feel… Tired from travelling, and from my parents wanting me to be like them and going to the fundraiser with them and be seen as their perfect son. I’m… Seeing the bridge was nice. No, not nice, it was… Amazing. It shouldn’t be but it was one of the nicest- most amazing things I’ve ever seen. I liked watching the ocean with you, I felt… Like I could pause and take a breath. This is nice, too. Sharing the tub but not… doing anything.”

He shuts his mouth and it’s strange how light his chest feels suddenly.

“Wow.” It slips out.

Across the foam, you smile at him.

You make him get out of the bath first, cover your eyes again and tell him to leave the room so you can come out, too, but then after you come out looking scrubbed clean and fluffy wrapped in your bathrobe, he goes back in to wash the gel out if his hair and the metaphorical dust of travelling off his skin.

You’re watching the skyline when he re-emerges, smelling like the expensive shampoo and lotion the hotel supplies.

The spaghetti top fits you nicely, he thinks as he approaches, and hugs you from behind.

You stiffen in his hold, just for a moment, and then you relax again, cover his hands with yours.

“It’s so pretty.” A yawn breaks the last word and he chuckles, even though he’s just as tired.

“I know.” He says, but his head is leaned against yours and his eyes are closed.

He wakes to white sheets and the soft golden hues of dawn.

For a moment he doesn't recognize who's in bed with him, hair sprawled over the pillow and half buried under the blanket.

Did he get drunk last night?

But when he reaches back in his memory there's no haze, no blurry images, everything is clear and he remembers everything.

It's you, there with him.

He lifts his head.

It's quiet in the spacious room.

Only the sunlight comes in, and it touches everything into a magical glow.

And among that you sleep soundly, curled around your hands fisted in the sheets, and he leans over to the bedside table, fishes his phone up from there and snaps a picture before he can lose the precious sight.

Then he puts the device away, lays back down and continues watching you, even though his eyes droop once more.

It seems like a dream, everything that went down yesterday, but he is once more reminded that it isn't when he reaches out to brush hair away from your face and sees the bruise on his knuckles, standing out against his skin.

His heartbeat is loud in his ears.

His chest is a bit tight, like his heart is too big for it, and he softly exhales in hopes it might soothe the ache.

He dozes off again, wondering if this is what love feels like.

A hand combing his hair rouses him from slumber, the pad of a finger rubbing his cheek.

He blinks his eyes open and squints at your radiant smile, almost as blinding as the sunlight from before.

"Hey," He rasps, and swallows and clears his throat.

"Hey." You answer, smile impossibly brightening. "Slept well?"

"Mhm, yeah? You?"

You laugh and lean your forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah. This bed is like a tiny cloud. I feel so refreshed."

"That's good." He smiles and yawns and stretches.

Your fingers touch the smooth expanse of his stomach, revealed as the blanket slips away, and he cracks mid stretch and giggles.

"N-No- Mercy, mercy please! Please!"

The giggles turn into a laugh as you push up into a sitting position and he twists and turns and bats half-heartedly at your hands.

"No." He breathes, trapping your wrists in his palms and pushing himself up as well. "Don't. Bad… Bad human."

Your eyes sparkle again and it's the cutest thing he's seen.

"Okay, okay. I yield."

Satisfied, he lowers your hands.

"Wanna order breakfast?"

"What?" Your eyes widen. "Like, up to this room?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't there like, a buffet downstairs or so?"

"Maybe? I don't know."

He shrugs, and it's the truth. He doesn't feel like he has to pretend he knows everything.

"Let's get washed up and go downstairs. I wanna have a look at all the rich people in their morning attire."

He purses his lips and is about to tell you there's nothing special about that, really, but his thought process gets cut short by your palm on his cheek and your lips pressing a soft smooch to the other.

He's left gaping while you hop off the bed and vanish in the bathroom, and only after the lock clicks into place does he feel his entire face burn, cheeks tingling with the ghost of your touch.

He brings his own hand to the spot your lips were in just moments prior and is absolutely powerless against the big, flustered grin spreading on his face.

He gets up and out of bed, stretching once more and feeling as good in his skin as he hasn't for a while now, and just unlocked his phone to check for messages when the lock clicks across the room and the door opens.

"We didn't order-"

The words die in his throat at the two figures waltzing in, not even bothering to close the door behind them.

"What did you think you were doing, young man?!"

His mother's words drip venom that could have left black burned holes in the plush carpet under her steps.

At once his shell is back, the hardened surface that had peeled back in your presence.

"Taking money out of your account, eating at a… At a fast food restaurant? Are you out of your mind?"

"You know I usually think you should be allowed your freedom but I'm agreeing with your mother here." His father helpfully supplies, hands behind his back from where he wandered over to the window.

"So what if I do with my money what I want? It's not like it matters to you?"

"That's enough. Get dressed, we're going back to our hotel. Gods help us none of the-"

"No." He says, and feels something welling up inside him.

His mother pauses, glaring at him.

"-Nobody saw you out, that would be such an unnecessary-"

"I said no."

His volume increases alongside his anger at being ignored and talked over.

"Lucas, pull yourself together. Why you would book another hotel room when you have one next to ours is useless spending, not to mention-"

A door opens behind him and he turns. His stomach hits the floor between his feet.

He forgot about you, hidden in the bathroom.

You're carefully closing the door behind you but pause when you realize all eyes are on you and the conversation stopped.

"Good morning." You dip your head slightly, eyes flicking from them to him.

"Lucas, what is that."

His mother asks, not turning her eyes away from you, and you're obviously left speechless at such blatant rudeness thrust in your face this early in the day so you keep quiet.

"This is my friend, mother."

His tone is freezing as he crosses the space separating you and takes a hold of your hand. "Not that it concerns you."

"Lucas," His father speaks up, hands outstretched in front of him. "You know we don't mind you socializing, but someone like that…?"

He obviously means the messy bun you put your hair in, the simple - cheap - outfit with the worn flannel around your hips.

Nobody of their standing would be caught dead like this.

He bristles under the comments, his chest filling with a prickling rage, but then you squeeze his hand and he looks down into your wide eyes and the half hidden panic in them.

"I'll go now. Thank you for everything, Yukhei."

You slip away from him and give his parents the widest berth you can manage before picking up your shoes and taking your jacket off its place by the door.

"No, wait-"

He hasn't asked you for your number yet, or Snapchat, or Instagram or anything; it feels like you're slipping through his fingers and he knows if he doesn't get you to stay, somehow, you'll be gone in a heartbeat and he'll never get you back.

Cinderella running as soon as the clock strikes midnight, but unlike her prince, he doesn't even have a shoe that would allow him to find you again.

"Lucas-" His mother warns him, but with a hate-filled look he's out the door, heart hammering away in his chest at the prospect of losing you.

Losing soft, warm, you, with your slow words and your camera and your view of the world that's so different from his.

He manages to wrench a hand between the doors of the elevator just before it closes and he's panting and high strum when the metal slides back and allows him in.

"Yukhei? What-"

He turns and sees his parents come out the door, and hurries to press the 'close doors' button even though neither of them would do as he did and sprint to catch them.

As soon as the cabin moves, he turns to you, hands feeling jittery and out of breath.

"Can I have your number? Or social media, or address or… anything? Anything I can reach you with?"

"Yukhei…" Your eyes are still wide as you look away from his face.

"Please." He swallows and tries to calm his erratic breathing. "Please, you're- You're the fucking best thing that's happened to me in months, months, okay, I don't- I don't want to lose you, I want to, I want for us to have breakfast together and do stupid tourist shit together and I just want more time with you, please…"

The doors open and reveal the first floor, and the presence of an elderly couple shuts him up momentarily.

They get on and upon seeing the button for the ground level lit up already settle against the opposite wall.

He catches your eyes again.

"Please."

He whispers.

"Boys like you aren't good for girls like me, Yukhei." You tell him, cupping one of your hands over his cheek, and with a sadness on your face that installs more fear in him than his parents showing up unannounced.

"What do you mean?" He asks, and wraps his own fingers around your wrist.

The doors open again and reveal the lobby, and everyone gets off.

"I mean…" You sigh and look around, at the brown suitcases with golden letter print, at the names flashing from every purse, shades or shoes. "I mean, boys like you... Don't spend much time or thought on girls like me. We don't mix and match. We're too different. Boys like you… Lose interest in girls like me once they get what they want."

He knows you're right and he hates it.

He wants to say something, anything, but his tongue weighs too heavy and you look like you know your words are true to the bone.

"And, your parents…" You lift your eyebrows and tilt your head, having said enough.

He feels powerless and he hates it, but unlike with his parents he can't act up, he can't step out of line, he can't risk a slap or punch in exchange for a brief moment of exhilarating freedom. Because you are freedom in the shape of a person already, and he is at a loss at what to do.

"Let me prove you wrong."

A plead. He knows your time together is running out and he knows he's grasping at straws but he's desperate.

"I appreciate that."

A beat of hope in his chest.

"But you don't have to, really. You have nothing to prove to me, Yukhei."

"Lucas!"

He freezes at the shout, the voice of his mother reaching out of the elevator.

"It was so nice getting to know you."

"No- No-!"

And you're slipping from his hands, are gone faster than he can gather his thoughts and defreeze his tongue and all that's left of you is one more kiss, quick and fleeting, pressed to his other cheek and then you're skipping to the exit, look back once you reach the door, with a smile on your face.

His mother's hand takes a hold of his elbow like a claw wrapping around prey, the rings on her fingers pressing into his skin, and her voice is talking but he doesn't hear.

He still feels your soft lips on his cheeks, the ghost of your fingers between his, and it's so little contact to what he's used to from the girl's he's usually around, and yet it feels like it meant so, so much more.

He closes his eyes and hangs his head and mentally shuts off to let the words spoken at him roll off his skin without allowing them in.

It's late and the sky is dark and he's locked in his room while his parents are out on the second evening of the event.

The screen of his phone lights up and he turns his head to check, not really interested in whatever is happening. His attention spikes when he reads the Snapchat notification that he's just been added as a friend.

Turning on his side he pulls up the new chat, and there are the little dots that indicate the other person is writing.

-Yukhei what the ruck!!!

-*f

A smile finds the corners of his lips, the first one since the more than harsh awakening this morning.

>found my gift? ;)

-what the fuck! i can't accept this??

>no take backs. get something nice and pretend like it's a souvenir from me

At least that way you could have something to remind you of him. If you want that.

-that's so much koney tho??? are u sure?

-*money ruck

-*FUCK

>don't worry about it. i owed you, you know. consider it paid back, with interest

Your bitmoji drops down and it seems like you're considering what to do next. It feels good, to know you received the envelope he left at the front desk in the spur of the moment, his Snapchat handle scrawled on it alongside a short “Please add me when you get this :)”

Then…

-did u get in trouble? bc of me?

>nah

>my parents caught me doing worse

He pauses and bites on his lip, weighting pro against con of telling you.

-do i want to know??

>hosted a party and couple of my friends had an orgy in my parent's bedroom. they came back early and…

-holy fucking shit what the fuck

He opens the camera and snaps a selfie, pouting and adding a text about being grounded for the remainder of this trip.

He holds his breath in anticipation until the little pink square next to your name fills out and he can click on it.

It's a close-up of your face, from an incredibly unflattering angle, and you're clearly not shredding an ounce of sympathy for him.

No text is added.

He sends another pouting selfie, zoomed in as well and lays on the puppy eyes thick.

The next image is half your face hidden under your blanket, with the word "no" taking up much of the screen.

He swipes into the main menu and then further to the friend page, clicking on your story.

What unfurls before his eyes is a miniature movie, single pictures taken all over the city and pieced together with selfies and you talking to yourself.

At once his heart beats a little faster.

His screen lights up, months later, and still his heart won't beat normal.

That morning a letter arrived for him - a letter, for him, in a battered envelope with an entirely foreign stamp and his name proudly on it.

It's from you.

In it he found copies of the pictures you took of him in front of the bridge, the light and dark touching his face.

And then the tiny polaroid he had asked you to take two times, one for you and one for him, and then hadn't gotten the chance to take it with him.

He'd snapped a selfie of the letter and him and sent it to you before opening it, and now he's blinking to keep the tears from spilling over.

Wong Yukhei does not cry, especially not at something like this. And yet…

But instead of an answer snap to your “omg u got mail!!” he opens the screen to a video call, and hurries to brush his eyes dry and fails when the connection stabilizes and he can see you.

It's a different time of day for you, and your hair has grown and changed, too, but the smile that's on his screen is still the same, radiant one as before.

"You got my letter!"

You exclaim, and even though it's a bit warbled and the rendering is a bit blocky, he feels your excitement.

"I did."

"Was beginning to think it got lost in the mail. Do you like the pictures? I put the polaroid in as well, did you-"

"Yeah," He smiles, and the word comes out rasped. "Yeah I- I got everything. Thank you."

You smile again.

It's so nice to see you again.

The words spill out before he can hold them back.

"So, hey," He brings up, an hour later just before you have to end the call. "I'll be flying out next month, to- Maybe we can-"

The grin on your face impossibly widens.

"You serious? My town? When?"

"Uh-" He has to minimize snapchat to pull up his calendar to tell you the exact date.

"You wanna meet up? Get to know my city?"

Warmth explodes in his chest, showing in a barely contained smile of his own.

"Yeah! Yeah that… I'd love that. More walking for me."

You laugh and then both of you fall quiet, content watching the other for a moment.

"I'm happy." You tell him. "I'm really happy I'll get to hug you properly. This-" You gesticulate towards the phone screen. "-isn't really holding up well."

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

He drops his head on his pillow and smiles.

notes: i hope you liked it :) comments/reblogs make my day, so if you send an ask or just say a few nice words, i’d love that ^-^

you can also find all my other writing on Ao3 - runningfaucet is my @ there

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 75 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Everyone had a pretty chill Christmas Eve.

This Chapter: Christmas Day. Let’s see how long the fun lasts...

***

It was stupid. Very stupid. Bianca knew it was stupid, and yet she couldn’t help her mind from spinning, from torturing her with weird little anxieties, vague feelings that she couldn’t properly pinpoint. She’d been dating younger women for years, and never given so much as a second thought to their parents. But somehow, something about seeing Courtney’s mom tonight had caused her to obsess…

Here they were, together in a gorgeous place, Courtney warm and soft in her arms, the scent of her familiar and comforting, and yet Bianca was anything but relaxed.

She really needed to chill. But the more she squirmed, the more her restless mind spun out, the more she realized that she wouldn’t be able to calm down until they talked about it.

“Court…” she whispered, moving aside her hair to press a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Mmm,” Courtney sighed, snuggling backwards, clearly content, and Bianca felt a stab of guilt. Should she really be waking her? She’d had such an awful week, and she was finally resting.

Bianca bit her lip, holding her tighter. Maybe it would be better to just deal. After all, they could talk tomorrow. She swallowed, resigned to let it go for now, until Courtney spoke again, voice sleepy.

“Are you okay, baby?” Courtney asked, shifting.

“Yeah, I just...I have a question about your mother.”

“What?” Courtney’s eyes opened and she turned towards Bianca. “What about her?”

“Well…” The truth was, Bianca wasn’t totally sure why it had popped into her head. She’s only spoken to Courtney’s mother twice before. The first time was a few weeks before, after Courtney had told her about their relationship. It had been a bizarrely casual conversation, considering the circumstances, Courtney’s mom kneeling in the garden harvesting vegetables while they chatted.

And then there was tonight. Perfectly sweet, perfectly pleasant. Something didn’t add up.

“She was just really friendly. Really...nice.”

“Well, she is nice.” Courtney still looked slightly puzzled, her brow furrowed.

“I just kind of...was expecting her to hate me a little bit.”

Courtney laughed, wrapping an arm around Bianca’s waist. “How could she hate you? You’re so lovable.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that she like...approves? I mean, I want her to approve. But I kind of figured I’d have to work for it.”

“Yeah. I mean, I get what you’re saying. But, that’s just her, I guess...” Courtney shrugged, resigned. “She and Dad have always just kind of let me do my thing. They’re not really big...disapprovers.”

“Okay. If you say so. I was kind of worried that she might just be like...faking the whole nice thing while planning my murder.”

“Nah,” Courtney chuckled. “They have their own age gap, you know.”

“They do? As big as ours?” It was hard for Bianca to tell how old Courtney’s parents actually were; her whole family looked like they belonged in a J.Crew catalogue.

“Well, no, it’s like 10 years. But in a way it’s worse, because they met when Mum was like 15.”

“Yikes...”

“Exactly. So it would be hypocritical for them to disapprove of us.”

“Being hypocritical would never stop my mom from disapproving,” Bianca told her.

Courtney laughed, curling up against Bianca and pulling her close.

“I promise they’ll be cool. And once they meet you...they’re gonna love you.”

Bianca smiled, pressing a cheek to the top of Courtney’s head. It was nice that Courtney could be so sure about her family’s support. Bianca still had her doubts, but she supposed for now she could let them go.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” she murmured. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. With presents.”

“You better,” Courtney giggled, snuggling in closer.

***

“Hey, not so fast!”

Kelly rolled her eyes, pulling her robe closer around her body as she watched her dad snatch her little brother up, putting him on his hip so he couldn’t race down the hall.

“But-” Owen pointed towards the living room, but Detox covered his little hand with his own.

“I know champ,” her dad smiled, “But Auntie Fame’s things are expensive.”

“And ours aren’t?” Juju was holding Julia’s hand, her mom waddling along. She looked exhausted, even more so than she usually did on Christmas mornings after staying up all night wrapping presents.

It was early, way too early if you asked Kelly, but her siblings had refused to stay in bed for another second.

“Darlings!” Fame smiled brightly as they rounded the corner. She was wearing a white sweater and white lounge pants, an outfit like that the most casual Kelly ever saw her. “Come quick, or we’ll simply drown in presents!”

Kelly saw Julia’s eyes widen, her mom releasing her as Detox put Owen down, and the twins ran over to the tree, a regular mountain of gifts underneath it. They began to tear into them like wild animals, shrieking and squealing over every gift.

Kelly rolled her eyes once again, saying, “You know, teaching them to worship at the altar of commercialism and become good little corporate consumers is really bad parenting. You’re totally giving them warped values.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Juju turned towards her, a look of irritation with just a hint of amusement on her face. “I didn’t realize that you were so against material things. I guess you don’t want this…”

She pointed towards a box wrapped in red and white striped paper. Kelly shrugged, pretending not to care, as she knelt down and slowly peeled the paper off, revealing a brand-new MacBook Pro. Exactly the one she wanted. She turned towards her parents with a big grin.

“I mean, I’m not against all material things…”

“Right.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, smiling wryly and giving her dad a hug then reaching towards her mom.

Juju smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before settling down on the sofa.

Fame leaned over Kelly’s shoulder and handed her a purple gift bag. “I agree with you about the material culture, dear one. So here’s something that’s...more of an experience. From me and Uncle Patrick.”

Kelly moved the tissue paper aside to look in the bag. When she saw, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Six VIP tickets plus backstage passes to see One Direction at Madison Square Garden. She leapt up and flung her arms around Fame’s neck.

“Thank you thank you thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, my love. I hope you have a wonderful time.”

“Kelly?”

Kelly looked down then to see her little sister tugging gently on her pajama pants.

“Yeah?”

“This is for you.”

She handed over a small, clumsily-wrapped present--she’s clearly done it herself, which was pretty cute. Kelly unwrapped it slowly for extra drama, prepared to ooh and ahh over whatever trinket her sister had gotten for her. Inside the paper was a small clay heart, glazed with purple.

“It’s purple because that’s your favorite color and a heart because I love you,” Julia said, her brown eyes earnest. Kelly scooped her up into her arms.

It had been a hard adjustment, when the twins were first born. Going from being an only child for the first 13 years of her life to suddenly dealing with babies who constantly needed attention was a huge pain in the butt. And now with this new baby coming, plus the pressures of high school, Kelly had been fairly checked out where her family was concerned. However, sometimes it was good to remember that the twins weren’t all bad.

“I love you too, and this is beautiful. Thank you,” Kelly told her, and got a big, beaming smile on Julia’s face in return.

“What was that about bad parenting and the wrong values?” Juju asked from the coach, smirking deeply as Owen climbed into her lap to show her his new sandbox dump truck.

“Uhhh...you know, you guys aren’t the worst parents,” Kelly admitted with a laugh. “I guess the new one can stay.”

***

There were few things in the world that made Bianca happier than giving presents to the people she loved. Even when she was a kid, when there was no money, she used to leave tissue paper flowers and scrunchies made from fabric scraps on her sisters’ pillows, and she never came home from 7-11 without a 100 Grand bar for her mom.

It was easier now, of, course, when she could turn every passing whim into a present, a chance to show her love. She laid a wrapped box on the pillow beside Courtney’s peacefully sleeping face and began to gently rouse her by trailing her fingers up and down her arm and whispering in her ear.

“Mmm…” Courtney made a wonderfully contented little sigh as she stirred.

“Merry Christmas, my love…”

Courtney turned toward her, a sleepy smile on her face as she held out her arms.

“Kiss me.”

“Don’t you want to open a present?”

“Kiss first,” Courtney pouted, and Bianca happily obliged, kissing her deeply as she hoisted herself up into a seated position beside Bianca, the sheets falling away to reveal her bare chest.

“So...is tits out the rule this vacation? Because I could get behind that.”

Courtney laughed. “I mean, if you agree to the rule, then…” She let her gaze drift downwards, landing on Bianca’s satin bra, then looked back up pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“Mine need support. But I'll give you a peek whenever you want.”

“Okay, fine,” Courtney giggled, pulling her in for some more lazy kisses. Once she was properly loved up, she leaned back on the pillows with a sigh.

Bianca grinned down at her, dimples deep in her cheeks as she turned her attention to the presents, ready to spoil her silly.

First, there was the sparkling silver star-shaped clutch bag, positively stuffed with jewelry.

“I had to be strategic about packing,” Bianca explained, when Courtney peered inside the clutch and gasped with delight. She pulled every item out individually, exclaiming over how utterly perfect everything was. (And Bianca had to admit to herself, she’d done an excellent job picking things that were exactly to her taste--the multicolored sapphires were a big hit.) Once she’d gone through that bag, Bianca brought over the rest of the gifts: extravagant shoes, clothes that were tailored to perfection, a faux-fur wrap that would be perfect for evenings out back in New York. The best part was Courtney’s reaction, watching her eyes get bigger and bigger with every new item, seeing her happy face shining happily.

“I have presents for you, too!” Courtney exclaimed at one point, jumping up from their bed, which by then was covered with unwrapped gifts, to grab a few items from her new suitcase. She turned back towards Bianca, the expression on her face a bit shy, saying, “They’re not...um…very big, but-”

“Come here.” Bianca gestured to the spot beside her on the bed, then held her close as she slowly unwrapped the gifts that Courtney had clearly so lovingly chosen for her. A stunning, out of print book on 1960s fashion, a vintage Hermès scarf in the bold red that Bianca wore all the time, and a pair of truly perfect art deco-style earrings.

“Do you like them?”

“I love them,” Bianca told her honestly, truly touched by the obvious care that must have gone into picking them out, and only a little concerned about how much she must have spent. “Thank you so much, angel.”

Courtney grinned, lifting a hand to cup Bianca’s cheek as she kissed her hungrily.

“I have one more for you,” Bianca said, once they separated, getting up to find the little Tiffany’s bag in her carry-on. “Well, two more, actually, but one of them isn’t really something you can wrap. And it’s not exactly...finished. So we can save that for another day.”

She retrieved the bag and headed back to the bed.

“Is it the fact that you’re taking me on this dream vacation?” Courtney said, “Because I think this counts.”

Bianca shook her head, sitting down beside her, chewing on her lip, unsure why she suddenly felt so anxious.

“So...um, this was kind of a late addition. I just thought, that maybe...um...here.” She finally just handed over the bag with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.

Courtney’s face looked curious as she carefully pulled off the ribbon from the small Tiffany’s box and opened it, gasping when she saw what was inside.

“B, is this…” Courtney touched the little sterling silver heart, then the black key fob attached to it.

“It’s keys to my place,” Bianca clarified. “Because I really...I would really like it if you moved in with me.”

Courtney’s eyes were wide, and Bianca couldn’t tell at first if she was happy or horrified. It was soon, of course Bianca knew that, but she felt strongly that this was the right thing to do, for both of them. She continued, heart in her throat.

“I love you so much, Court. And I don’t want you to go back to that place. I...I want you with me…” She reached out to softly caress Courtney’s cheek. “What do you think?”

“What do you think?”

Move in with Bianca? Move in to a fucking Upper East Side penthouse? Courtney’s brain felt scrambled, like a cartoon character who’d been hit over the head with a frying pan, as she tried to figure out all the reasons the universe would just not let something like this happen to someone like her.

“But...what about my lease?”

“Please,” Bianca scoffed. “That place is violating about 27 different rental codes. You can get out of it easily...if that’s what you want. Is it...what you want?”

Courtney gazed at Bianca, disbelief turning to breathless excitement and then sheer joy as she lunged forward, face buried in Bianca’s hair.

She was hit with a visceral memory, of watching Bianca from afar at the Halloween party less than two months ago, the stabbing pain in her chest as she watched her flirt with someone else, the inexplicable desire that had caught her completely off-guard, made her worry that she could never be worthy.

The fantasies that started out so small...the feel of Bianca’s fingers on her skin, what her lips would taste like, soon spiraling out of control and making Courtney feel crazy.

And now, Bianca was hers. Not only loving her, but loving her so much that she wanted to live together. It was almost too much to comprehend. Courtney was absolutely beside herself, nearly dizzy with happiness as she clung to her tightly.

“Is that a yes?” Bianca asked softly.

“Yes!” Courtney exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut. “Yes, yes yes!”

“Perfect…”

***

Murni was watching everyone unwrap their gifts, her house filled with chatter and laughter, a smile on her face.

Her children had arrived just before lunch, she and Raja deciding years ago that one of Sutan’s presents was that he didn’t have to wake up before 8 to make the drive out to Long Island, since her son was born with a sleeper’s heart.

[Ah!] Raja grinned, pulling the last of the wrapping paper off of her present. [Mom, you didn’t have to-]

[I did,] Murni smiled, watching as Raja held her new cookbook to her chest. It was the exact same one she had in her own kitchen, the pages even a little wrinkled too, the text entirely in Indonesian.

While Raja and Sutan didn’t have that much contact with their cousins, aunties and uncles back in Indonesia, Murni was emailing with them every single day, one of Raja’s aunties stumbling over the cookbook at a friend's house and offering to send it over.

She hadn’t had the time to keep so closely in touch with her relatives when her kids were little, when both she and her husband had to work full time to help support everyone, but now, that was a different story, Raja and Sutan coming together to pay her mortgage, utilities and basic bills every month.

[Thanks mom,] Raja pressed a kiss against her cheek, her lips incredibly soft.

Murni Amrull had never expected to end up in America. When she was younger, she and her husband had both worked in Jakarta, Raja and Sutan watched after by their grandparents in the small village they came from outside of the city, mainly seeing their parents on the weekends.

They were happy enough, but her husband had always wanted more for them. He had suggested that they try the America visa “lottery” game, and Murni had agreed, not even her wildest imagination allowing her to believe that they’d succeed.

And then. They had.

She had been hesitant, scared of the changes and scared for how their children would handle something turning their world upside down, to be taken from everything they knew. They were just kids after all, but her husband had kissed her forehead and told her that it would all be okay, and she had believed him.

They had found their home in a tiny house in a suburb in Iowa, a cousin of a cousin knowing someone they had worked with that was looking for hardworking people, and that had always been her husband.

[Open one of your presents mom,] Sutan smiled, putting a small, neatly wrapped box on her lap.

[Sutan,] Murni raised an eyebrow, but Sutan just grinned, her kids always showering her with presents even when she told them not to.

Murni had never thought she would celebrate Christmas, her faith in Islam a cornerstone in her life even after their move to a brand new country.

Everything she believed in, however, changed one day when her children had come home from school, their small faces looking so very different. Sutan was crying, his whole body moving with desperate sobs as he clung to her, while Raja looked like a thundercloud, her rage ready to tear everything and even herself apart.

They had been made fun of and bullied for not celebrating Christmas, and Murni had felt true heartbreak that day.

She could still remember how outraged she had been, how her husband had called their school, his broken English not even getting him past the secretary. The shame from those desperate days still crept up on her sometimes.

She remembered how it felt like they had tried everything, but everywhere they turned they had been sent away, no one interested in helping the weird new family that all smelled of spices they didn’t know, and had a skin tone they had never seen.

That year Murni had bought a small tree and presents for her family, cooking up everyone's favorite meal to eat together around the table. The presents they had given had been almost embarrassingly small, a tie for her husband, a denim jacket for Raja and a comic book for Sutan, but she had seen the pride on her children’s faces as they walked off to school in January, both of them glowing, and knew she had made the right decision.

In a storm, even the proudest oak could break, but a reef always survived.

“The next one is for you, Violet!” Raven grinned, getting up on her knees to hand it to her. She was sitting on the floor, already wearing the brand new diamond earrings Raja had given her.

“Thanks,” Violet smiled, leaning forward on the couch so she could take the present, her lip between her teeth as she looked for a card.

When Sutan had called and told her he was bringing someone to Thanksgiving, Murni had thought he was joking, but she was so glad he hadn’t been.

Violet was quiet, shy and painfully polite, so unlike Kahmora who Murni had never liked, and even Jinkx who was overflowing with positivity but whom she had only met briefly, the relationship and engagement ending before it had begun.

It had taken her a while to get used to Raven, to see what her daughter so clearly adored in the dark haired beauty, but she had come to love her in time, and was happy that they had decided to get married.

“There’s no name on it.” Violet looked around the room, clearly a little unsure on what she was supposed to do.

“It’s from me.”

Murni watched as Sutan raised a hand, a smile on his lips as he watched her opening the box, her jaw dropping as she pulled the wrapping paper aside.

“Sutan, another?” Violet looked up, her eyes wide, a tan box with Louboutin on the lid on her lap. “You didn’t have to- You already gave me-”

“Open it.” Sutan got up from where he had been sitting on the floor, walking over to Violet to sit down next to her on the couch, watching as she slowly peeled the red tissue paper.

“Wow…” Violet seemed speechless as she slowly turned her new shoe in her hand. Murni didn’t know much about fashion, but it was gorgeous with lilac suede, golden details and a pointed toe, the heel impossible long.

“I saw the lilac, and knew you had to have them. They’re from this year's fall collection, and I’d like to add that I found them all by myself.” Sutan smirked, looking mighty proud of himself and so like his dad. “You can’t wear them yet, of course, but you only have a few weeks left with your cast, and I figured-”

“They’re beautiful.” Violet looked up at him, gratitude clear on her face. “Thank you.” She leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss against his lips, Murni only just getting the camera out in time to catch the two of them grinning at each other.

***

“No, Katya!”

“Why not?! They’re so cute!” Katya pushed the open box of flannel pajamas towards Pearl.

“Because! There’s little bunnies in Santa hats! I have a reputation,” Pearl crossed her arms.

Katya was already wearing the matching pajamas, and so was Trixie, as he set up the tripod and camera for a family photo. But Pearl was part of their family, and so Katya wanted her included.

“What, you’re too good for bunnies?” Trixie asked with a smirk.

“No, I just...you guys…”

“Pleeeease, Pearlie-Pearl? Pleeeeeease?” Katya batted her lashes, giving Pearl her very best puppy eyes. “One little tiny picture...for Killer?”

“Ugh, fine! But you have to stop using Killer to get your way. It’s emotional manipulation.” Pearl took the pajama top out of the box, slipping it on over her white tank top.

“Oh, I know. Never again,” Katya lied, grinning.

***

Violet couldn’t wait for the blessed day when she wouldn’t need her crutches anymore. She was making her way back from the bathroom, being as careful as she could not to knock anything over.

Murni’s house was filled with trinkets; flower pots, small figurines, bowls and vases and even crystals taking up every available surface.

It was homey, and lived-in, the house clearly cared for and beloved in a way that made Violet feel safe, the scent of incense and home cooked food engulfing her in it’s comfort.

Violet made her way down the hall towards the living room, the entire wall filled from top to bottom of pictures in golden frames. The first time Violet had visited, she hadn’t stopped to look at it, too preoccupied with the pain of her ankle and all the new impressions, but today, she paused when she spotted a picture of her boyfriend as a child.

It was taken outside, what looked like wild jungle in the background. Sutan was wearing a red t-shirt and holding a large fruit Violet didn’t recognise. He was smiling at the camera, beaming with pride, both of his front teeth missing as he presented his treasure. She could just about make out the date in the right corner, 1978, the picture taken with one of those old cameras that time stamped it.

“Ah, there you are.”

Violet turned her head to see Sutan peak down the hallway. He was smiling, his expression so like the one on the photo, even though his hair had grayed and he had his two front teeth.

“I told Bunda to put this stuff in an album like a normal mom,” Sutan stopped next to Violet, looking at the wall, “but she’s always done it this way.”

“It’s nice.” Violet hadn’t meant to take such a thorough look, but with Sutan at her side, it was hard not to get swept up in this obvious display of how much his mother loved him.

There were more photos of Raja and Sutan than Violet could count, showing their growth from tiny toddlers to full adults. As she looked, Violet spotted photos of a much younger Raven with short hair, of Juju with bleached blonde weaves, of Fame in an orange jumpsuit she’d never wear today and even Bianca with so much kohl around her eyes you could barely see them.

“Oh,” Violet’s eyes widened, as her gaze landed on a photo of Sutan and Raja. “Is that… Did you have pink hair?”

Sutan and Raja were standing side by side, Sutan’s arms around Raja’s waist, a gigantic grin on both of their lips. Sutan’s short hair was dyed pink, while Raja was wearing denim on denim on denim.

“It was 2004, and I haven’t listened to Detox since.” Sutan grinned. “That’s the problem with the wall. Once something goes up. It never comes down.” Sutan tapped a photo, and Violet looked at it, the bottom of her stomach falling out.

It was a photo of Sutan and a woman Violet didn’t recognize. She had caramel colored hair and golden skin, her brown eyes looking directly at Sutan, her smile as big as if he had hung every star in the sky.

It didn’t make sense, but it was clearly a wedding day photo, Sutan wearing a suit, the woman in what had to be a designer dress, a gigantic seven tier cake behind them, plates in their hands.

“Violet?” Raja opened the door to the hallway, Raven right behind her. “Bunda is asking how you want your coffee?”

“Ah!” Raven grinned. “Are we going down memory lane?” She skipped over, coming to stand right behind them. “Which one’s your favorite, Violet? Wait. Ew.” Raven made a disgusted sound. “Are you really looking at those ones?” Raven pointed to the wedding photo, and Violet realized with a sense of horror that there were several more, the woman popping up again and again in pictures that were collected in a little cluster.

“I…” Violet felt her head spinning. She had no idea Sutan had ever been married, and she had no idea who the woman was.

“Can you believe I wore that suit?” Sutan tapped the photo again. “And here I was, thinking you could never do wrong with a Dolce.”

Violet couldn’t see anything wrong with what he was wearing, but it was typical Sutan to be bothered by what he considered an outdated cufflink or a wrong shaped lapel, her boyfriend vain over things that were rarely ever noticed by anyone else.

It wasn’t like she didn’t understand those feelings, but it was amusing to see him fret, the delight cutting through her anxiety for a second.

“Look on the bright side,” Raja smiled, “Divorce means that you get to try again.”

“And hopefully have your bride make better choices,” Raven smirked, nudging Violet with her elbow like they were on the same team, like this was some big joke they were all in on.

“Please,” Sutan rolled his eyes. “Your wedding dresses are going to look the exact same in 6 years time.”

“No they won’t,” Raven huffed, throwing some of her hair over her shoulder, “because we have style.”

“Tell me again how ear cuffs still look great, Rave?” Sutan smirked.

“Fuck off, Tan.” Raja, Raven and Sutan all laughed, heading back to the living room together.

Violet knew she should probably follow, but she shot one last look at the picture, watching the stranger who was apparently her boyfriend's ex wife.

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vlogsquadssquad · 4 years

Text

Secure 2

summary: Charlie confesses his feelings and reader has to decide if that's what she wants, or if another guy has her *attention*

a/n: i’m honestly BLOWN away at part 1′s feedback. y'all really loved it so Ive been working on this all day, I hope its everything youve been waiting for! thank you to my new followers, ive been writing for a bit for fun and no one was reading my stories but after the reaction for the last story I was so motivated to write. I have A LOT more ideas and even an idea for a part 3 with smut and maybe even reader having to tell the boy she didn't choose the bad news, who knooowwsss. send me in suggestions!

warnings: language, alluding to smut at the end.

mood board:

-- YOUR POV

my life has been the most fun lately. ive been hanging out with David and he really gets me to let loose. he's always trying to top his last video which is so fun to be a part of. even if we wait around the house all day. tonight im alone though. I told him I needed to get some writing down for the last song of my album. I want it to be about being happy with yourself and secure with who you are. that you don't need another person to define who you are. but im having trouble putting that into words that rhyme. maybe I should just see what David is up to.

- daveyy (:

hey, I know I said I was busy but my mind is too cluttered and im curious what the vlog squad is up to 😉 >

< hahaa nothing actually. im by myself at the house tonight. really boring. watching movies ive seen dozens of times.

oh no! your friends realize they were too cool for you? >

< probably lmao. what are you up to?

trying to finish this last song but I can't think straight >

hey would you wanna come over? its ok if you're too busy being alone watching 50 first dates lol >

< how'd you know? 😅 id love to. chipotle?

- end texts -

“hey, loser” I say as he walks in with our food and... is that ice cream? “wait, did you get ice cream?”

“yeah, I got your favorite flavor!” he says with a smile. my heart aches at the kind gesture. “wow your house is so nice” he sets the food on my counter as he glances around.

“thank you, im really into interior design... and nice houses” i joke as i examine the ice cream David got for me. he chuckles as he gets my food out of the bag and sets it up in my living room. I put on a movie to watch but we end up muting it and just talking instead. our conversations just seem to flow. “what's a memory that stands out to you from your childhood?” I ask him. “there's so many things,” he puts his arm around the back of my couch as we sit sideways to face each other. we finished eating forever ago. “probably just all of high school. I learned so much, from my friends and my teachers. nothing academically, obviously.” he laughs. I smile to him and run my fingers through my hair. he watches my movements and for a moment its quiet.

“I think you're really smart.” I say finally. “I love how you push me, you're always there for me, and you just come up with the best ideas. you're so creative.”

“wow. what did I do to deserve your kindness?” he asks with a slight laugh.

“I can think of a few things.” our conversation became much lighter after that. after a while we went into my home studio and he helped me write. the night was filled with jokes and endless laughing but also had serious moments too. I shared very personal details about my life. but the best thing of all was that there was no camera in sight. it was just friends being friends. no clickbait. no underlying purpose for the long stay. it was perfect.

-- next day

“hey y/n could I come over and talk?” Charlie asked over the phone.

“sure, I don't have anything planned till tonight.”

“ok be there in 20.”

“what's the sudden emergency?” I ask as he walks in the door.

“there's just something I've been wanting to confess for a really long time and i’m not sure-”

“its ok Charlie, what is it?”

“I think I'm in love with you.”

my heart dropped. Im frozen in time. I don't need a relationship right now and I sure as hell can't lose my friendship with Charlie.

“I don't know what to say...”

“say you love me too!” he moves closer to me “I know you do! you always want to be around me, have me close to you, we talk all night. I know you feel it.”

I look at him with a blank expression.

“I honestly don't. I've never thought of you that way, and I'm really enjoying being single. for once in my life I'm not letting the pressure of having someone on my arm get to me, I don't need this right now, I-”

“what..? y/n. don't do this.”

“I'm not doing anything it's just the truth.” I look to the ground as his eyes fill with tears. “I think you should go.” I say.

-- DAVIDS POV, that night

- y/n/n 😋

you're still coming to my party tonight right? >

< I wouldn't miss it! so proud of you! ❤️

tonight was my party to celebrate my new show. I haven't told the fans yet but this vlog will be my announcement. we start filming for it on Monday and I've never been more excited. its exactly what I've been dreaming of all my life.

the party started to kick off and all my friends slowly started showing up. Charlie was going to perform his unreleased song tonight and everyone was already talking about it.

“hey have you heard anything from y/n and Charlie? are they dating?” Ilya comes up and whispers to me.

“no man, I haven't heard anything. I was with y/n all night last night and I wasn't exactly begging her to give me details but we did talk for hours about random stuff and she never brought him up or texted anyone. I don't know they might not be.” I say with hope shining through the cracks of my voice.

“I can just ask Charlie?” Ilya offers. he's such a good friend when it matters.

I nod and then head to get something to drink. y/n still wasn't here and I was getting antsy.

just then I hear Natalie let someone in. I peak around the corner and see y/n. she looks drop dead gorgeous. i’ve never seen her dressed up like that. I think she saw right through me and asked if she had something on her face.

“no, no, I just have never seen you dressed like that. you look great.” I look to the floor. no way she and Charlie aren't an item. they both love music and they're both flawless people. they're a match made in heaven.

“well, thank you, cowboy.” she says in a funny southern accent. she was so weird. she came in for a hug and she smelled exactly like when I first met her. I put my hand on the small of her back and for a split second I felt her push more into me.

“so where can I get a drink?” she asked as we pulled apart.

“a drink?” I ask

“yes, i’ve had a bizarre day and I need a drink.”

Im about to ask her what she means when I hear Charlie from behind me

“hey, babe, you're late.” he says to y/n as he pulls her into a hug. she almost looks uncomfortable. “hey Charles, how are you?”

“i’m great, i’ve had several drinks and im thinking much clearly-er now”

“I can smell that” she chuckles

I hand her her favorite drink and ask her if she finished the song. after a short conversation Charlie pulls her to the couch where some other friends are doing karaoke. she's basically sitting on his lap and laughing. I grab my camera and record a little outside trying to not think about it.

-- YOUR POV

I honestly think drunk Charlie has forgotten about our conversation from earlier. which i’m relieved because sometimes I just need good ol Charlie and not this new one that was in love with me. sure he's a little touchy but we were always close like that.

“alright I promised David I would perform an unreleased song tonight. come on I want you to hear it.” he grabs my hand pulls me up. I have a gut feeling I don't want to be here for it.

David set up the mic outside and everyone found a seat. David sat next to me with camera in hand.

“alright alright” Charlie starts. “hopefully I don't forget the lyrics since i’m a little buzzed.” the audience laughed. “but this song means a lot to me, and I wrote it with someone in mind. someone who has changed my life for the better and made me a better man.”

oh god, please don't say my name

“y/n. you are everything to me. I wouldn't be able to be who I am today without you.”

everyone looks to me as the music starts. a love song. i place my head in my hands and David nudges me. “you ok?” he whispers.

“can you please get me out of here?” he nods his head and stands up. Charlie is looking down at his guitar lost in his music. I feel bad leaving but how could he not take no as an answer? I follow David out the door and my head is down in shame. he closes the patio door and turns to me. “what is going on? I thought you guys were dating?”

“oh god, not you too.” I groan. “just please I need to be anywhere but here right now. fast.”

“okay. let’s go.”

we go to his garage and he looks at me.

“you said fast!” he shrugs as he opens the passenger Ferrari door for me. I laugh with my head thrown back “true. but im going to need a jacket or blanket.”

“here, use mine.” he took off his hoodie and handed it to me. I hopped in the car and we were off.

“anywhere in mind?” he asks as we pull out of the neighborhood.

“nope,” I smile. “im kinda hungry though”

“alright,” he turns the car at the light. “then we’re gonna make this worth our while. I know an overly expensive place with great burgers.”

I laugh at him as my hair blows in the wind “yes! lets spend all your money!” I lift my arms and scream. David just laughs at me. we speed down the highways. ive never felt so free.

we finally arrive to the place and get seated.

“so do you wanna tell me why we left my party now?”

“i’m sorry by the way. I didn't mean to drag you from your party but...” I look down and pick at my napkin “Charlie confessed his feelings for me this afternoon.” David looked at me confused.

“isn't that a good thing?” he asked.

“not if I don't feel the same way.” I sigh and David looks surprised. “I was very clear about my feelings- or lack of. but he had been hitting on me all night and then the song. I know he was drunk but im really worried for my friendship with him.”

“I can't believe my ears.” he said almost laughing. “you, y/f/n, don't like the guy who seems like he was sent down from the heavens for you?”

“nope. he just isn't my type I guess, I don't know. I never really thought of him that way and I don't want to.”

“wow, no one will be up to your standards will they?” David laughs as he takes a drink.

“the right guy will be.”

perfect timing. the waitress comes over with our food. we thank her and get eating. he was right. best. burgers. ever!

I moan as I take another bite.

David looks me up and down with his cheeks full of burger and chuckles. “okay, y/n, calm down. it isn't no Charlie puth.”

I gasp and throw a fry at him playfully, laughing. “no... no it is not!” we both laugh harder. as we finish up David pays despite my best efforts and we head to my house so he can drop me off. the car ride was fun, we listened to all the hits and sang our hearts out. we got tons of funny looks, but nothing mattered. I grabbed his vlog camera he threw to the side and recorded him singing and then popped myself into frame and had the camera aimed at both of us. our hair was crazy and the night was wearing down on us but it didn't matter. we were just happy to be alive.

as we pulled into my driveway and David put the car in park, I looked to him. “you wanna walk me to my door?”

“already on it.”

he came around and opened the car door for me and walked me up to my door.

“thank you for tonight. it was like out of a movie. I really needed it.” I was talking softly now since it was the dead of the night and the only thing heard was the crickets.

“anytime, y/n.” David also said softly. he kept looking to my lips which made my heart beat faster every time. I know I said I didn't need a guy, but he just looks too good.

“and congrats on your show, I'm really proud of you.” I step closer.

“thank you, congrats on staying single another night.” he joked but had his hands gently placed on my forearm.

“its still early.” I whisper closer to his face now. I can feel his breath and he can feel mine. my heart is going a million beats a minute and the butterflies in my stomach are in a tornado.

“I can't write a song about you, but I can buy you more expensive burgers.”

I laugh leaning my head on his shoulder. “that's all a girl needs anyways.”

he laughs too but gently. I look up at him and his eyes are locked on mine. he places a hand on my cheek and then lower to my neck. I take a sharp breath in and connect our lips. his lips are soft, sweet, and gentle. I pull my arms up around his neck and deepen the kiss. I feel his hands slide down my back to just above my ass. I move my head to the side and open my mouth gently. he knows what to do and opens his mouth too. I feel his tongue dominate my mouth. he retracts and I close my mouth only to bite his bottom lip and then pull away. I let go and we put our foreheads together breathing heavily.

“I could do that again.” he says.

“wanna come inside?” I whisper, my hands now playing with his hairs at the end of his neck.

“best party ever.” he laughs and I pull him inside. I don't know what im supposed to tell Charlie. the heart wants what it wants?

#David dobrik #david dobrik fanfiction #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik vlogs #David dobrik fanfic #vlog squad #vlog squad fan fiction #David dobrik imagine #vlog squad imagine #Charlie puth #Charlie puth fanfic

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the-last-airblender · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: The Siege (part 1)

You gaze after him until he’s out of sight again, the same strange feeling from before distracting you to the point where you only notice the footsteps when they are right behind you.

This is part of the Run series, check out the masterlist for the other chapters

Word count: 9,2k whoops

Notes: Din Djarin x fem reader. As you can probably tell by the title, this is a AU/retelling of the season 2 episode. The whole destroy-the-base-storyline is still there, but I’ve changed the story a bit so that you can have an active role in it instead of simply following Din around. It includes a scene very much inspired by this particular tiktok hehe. I had to post this in two parts since I reached the post limit lmao.

Warnings: violence, swearing, feelinggggsss owyeahh

Summary: Cara Dune and Greef Karga ask Din to help them destroy a secret Imperial base. As it turns out, you’ve just scored an invitation to the party taking place in the mansion the base is hidden beneath.

You look up from your book when the cockpit starts to get lighter by the minute. A glance outside tells you that you have entered Nevarro's atmosphere and a wide, rocky, volcanic landscape stretches out before you as far as the eye can see. Although Duugan is mostly covered in sand, the two planets are quite similar in their apparent desolation. On Duugan people are forced to settle near the places where water can be found, making agriculture -and therefore survival- possible. You’ve often gone into the desert at dusk to sit on top of a large dune and watch the sun sink into the sea of sand. The beautiful colors the sky had turned in those moments had often put you in such a state of calm and wonder that you wouldn’t return home until it was too cold to sit still any longer. Duugan is a beautiful planet and its inhabitants are warm and hospitable. Too bad your now… complicated home situation will keep you from ever returning. You didn't have many friends there, but there are certainly people apart from Samick and Avlin that you will miss. However, after all that has happened, you aren’t sure if they will trust you anymore. The stories that are undoubtedly already being spread about you don't even have to deviate very much from the truth to scare them off. Certainly not for-

'Kira!' you blurt out.

The Mandalorian startles. 'What?'

'My girlfriend', you sigh, putting your forehead in your hand in desperation. 'Well, my would-have-been-girlfriend. She probably heard of my first escape and now she's going to hear how I killed my father and several guards and fled the planet… '

Din can't stop the wave of disappointment flowing through him and forces himself to say: 'He might have survived, if they got him to a good doctor. It's not like you stabbed his heart. '

The way you slightly shrink in your chair tells him that his remark wasn't quite as uplifting as he'd hoped.

'Still', you say, 'she hates violence and I'm fleeing halfway through the galaxy. Even if I found a way to see her again, there's no way she'd even want me anymore. Ugh, I always do this!' You rub your face in frustration. 'Every time I have a good thing going with someone, my recklessness sweeps in and ruins it. Last time, my ex and I were at a bar and when a girl came onto him, my drunk ass punched her in the face.'

Din silently smiles, for more than one reason. He would pay good money to see you drunkenly punch a flirting girl.

'Also, I ... might or might not have ... thrown a knife at her. If it wasn't for the alcohol, I would've hit and probably killed her. Needless to say, he immediately broke up with me.' You cringe at the memory. 'Luckily, my dad never found out.'

A silence falls as he starts the landing. When you look out the window again, you see that you’re just outside a town that appears to have been dug out of the rocky hills. A gigantic freestanding gate gives access to a wide street that is flooded with people. Vendors advertise their wares under self-fashioned sunscreens and people walk in and out of the houses embedded in the hills. Clouds of dark dust rise up as the Crest touches down and much to your surprise, you appear to be awaited. A dark-skinned man in a long coat and a very muscular woman slowly approach the ship, while Din shuts down the engines and gets up from his seat. You hastily put your book in your bag and hesitantly stop him when he’s about to leave the cockpit.

'Look, I need you to know that I'm eternally grateful for your help', you say, looking straight at where his eyes should be. 'And I'm sorry for everything that happened to you because of me-'

‘None of the things that happened there were your fault’, he interrupts.

For a moment you are dumbfounded, not entirely sure if you agree with him. 'Still, thank you. I was so relieved when you showed up. I don't really know what I would've done if you hadn't.'

'You would've found a way', he says, sounding so sure that you look away, your cheeks reddening. 'Besides, you did the most work in that courtyard.'

‘That's not true, my brother was a great help’, you shrug shily.

For a moment, he doesn't answer. Then he remarks: 'Chavez got away.'

You manage to keep your face neutral. 'I noticed.'

'Do you think he'll come after you?'

'Nah, he's got a city to run. Besides, he wouldn't be able to find me even if I walked around with a big-ass target on my back.'

'Good.'

The pod floats after him as he climbs down the stairs and before you follow him, you quickly wipe the dust off your face and loosely re-drape your headscarf. You throw your bag over your shoulder and climb down the stairs. As you walk through the hull and past the now empty pod to the lowered platform, voices reach your ears.

'And you, come here, little one! Has Mando been taking good care of you, huh?'

You smile at the tone clearly intended for the childs and hesitate for a moment, fiddling with your dress.

'Looks like you two have been busy', you hear the Mandalorian say.

'I myself have been steeped in clerical work', says the other male voice again. 'Marshal Dune here is to be thanked for cleaning up the town.'

Your hand grabs the handle of the dagger on your belt for a moment and with a deep sigh you muster all your courage. Then you step into the sunlight and walk down the platform to where two pairs of eyes immediately turn to you. All of a sudden you are very aware that you’re still dressed in your red wedding dress and that the gold paint on your arms glistens in the sunlight. Even though you've put your jewelry in your bag, you know you're more out of place than a shellfish in the desert. Determined not to show Din’s two friends your nervousness, you stop next to the bounty hunter.

'I knew I saw a beautiful face looking down on us,' the man says jovially, still holding the child, who clearly met him before, in his arms. 'Aren't you going to introduce us to your lovely companion, Mando?'

'These are Greef Karga and Cara Dune', says Din, after which he introduces you to them.

'Nice to meet you', you smile politely.

Dune sizes you up, no doubt wondering why the hell you look so dressed up.

'Where are you from?', she asks.

'Duugan.'

'Ah. How do you know this guy?'

'He... got me out of a bad place. Literally.'

She nods slowly and seems to settle for this vague answer for now. Then she turns to Din. 'Come, I want to show you something.'

As you pass through the meter-high gate, you ask nobody in particular: 'Is there a market here somewhere? I could use a new outfit.'

Karga points to a street on your left.

'There is a bazaar over there', he replies. 'You can meet us at my office when you're done.'

'Thanks! See ya'.'

You turn into the street before you can hesitate, your dress blowing in the wind. The staring eyes of the locals don’t escape you and you suddenly can't wait to get changed. The only other piece of clothing you have with you is your blue dress, which was still in your bag and is no less notable, so you will have to get some practical clothes. When you enter the network of streets full of shops and stalls, where many others are also doing their shopping at the moment, you curiously let your gaze glide over the merchandise. In addition to clothing, the vendors offer beautifully woven carpets, household items and all kinds of food that you’ve never seen before, from prickly fruit to delicious-smelling soup and crates full of strange-shaped nuts. As the chaotic mixture of scents enter your nose, you suddenly realize how hungry you are. A little later you’re, now a large piece of vegetable pie richer, looking at a stall with bizarre fruit, when a rough voice catches your attention.

'What’s a girl dressed like you doing on a planet like this?'

Annoyed, you look back at the messy-dressed boy who is looking at you with a grin that promises nothing good. Wisely, you decide not to dignify his question with an answer and turn back to the fruit, munching on the cake.

'Hey, I asked you something!'

Ignoring the boy, you point to a bright yellow egg-shaped fruit and ask the seller what it is. Just as he starts to answer, a strong hand grabs your pie-arm.

'Don't ignore me, you bitch!', the boy snarls.

Within a second, the point of your dagger is against his throat. His face turns white as a sheet and when the grip on your arm loosens, you calmly take another bite of your cake. He raises his hands defensively and walks back slowly, but you don't lower the dagger just yet.

'No need to get all aggressive', he grumbles, suddenly not so brave anymore.

You snort at his hypocrisy and look at him with your signature penetrating look.

'Don't you dare lay a hand on me', you growl. 'If you get near me again, I will literally stab you in the fucki- oh, dresses!'

Suddenly, you’ve forgotten all about the creep and you walk right past him to the stall on the other side of the street, while he looks at you in confusion and then quickly runs off. With your dagger still in your hand, you admire the simple but practical-looking clothing on display. The green-skinned salesman is watching you nervously, happy with the interest but a little afraid of your weapon. Just as your gaze falls on a long, dark green skirt, a warm smile reaches your ear. To your right stands a blond-haired young man wearing a light blouse and dark brown trousers, his hands in his pockets. The smile on his face is entirely different from that of the other boy, yet you don't put your dagger away just yet and you stay where you are.

'You'd think people were smart enough not to mess with heavily armed women’, he says, amused.

You give him a smile. 'There are stupid people on every planet.'

'I'm sure you're right.' He strolls over and holds out his hand. 'I'm Hal.'

After a moment's hesitation, you put the dagger back into its sheath and shake his hand.

‘Our friend handled it quite badly, but he asked the question that the whole town would undoubtedly want an answer to', Hal says as you put the last piece of cake in your mouth, wipe your hand on your dress and pick up the skirt to get a better look at it. 'Don't get me wrong, you look... beautiful. But… well… why?'

You raise an eyebrow at him and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

'Sorry, I phrased that wrong. You're clearly not from around here and you look like you're dressed for some kind of occasion. I just...'

You decide to put him out of his misery for both your sakes.

'This is traditional Duuganese bridal attire.'

'Oh.' Hal blushes and unconsciously takes a step back. 'In that case, congratulations.'

'I didn't get married,' you say, just a little too quickly, smiling encouragingly. 'They couldn't make me.'

'Ah, well, good for you', he says with relief in his voice. 'So that's what brought you to Nevarro, then? You escaped?'

You almost cringe and force yourself to nod.

'Yeah', you sigh. ‘And that's why I desperately need new clothes. I didn't exactly have time to pack my bags.'

'Sounds like you've been through a lot, lately', he responds softly.

You absently rub your thumb on the fabric of the skirt in your hands. 'I guess I have.'

Then you quickly pull yourself back to the present and hold the pleated skirt in front of you. It falls mid-calf and appears to be your size.

'You could probably use something fun to put your mind off things', says Hal, while you grab a baggy white blouse from the stall. 'How about you keep that beautiful dress on for a little longer?'

You pay the vendor for the skirt and the blouse and then take a good look at Hal. You can't deny you find him attractive and he seems very aware of the fact that he shouldn’t get on your bad side if he doesn't want to meet one of your weapons.

'What do you propose?'

As you enter the small building where, according to a friendly local, the magistrate resides, you hear a familiar voice, which tells you that you’re in the right place.

'And you wanna mop up the last of the Imperial force before they do.'

'Mando, I just want them off my planet.'

'If we could take out that one last base, Nevarro would be completely safe', you hear Dune say. 'We could be a trade anchor for the entire sector. And the planet would finally be free. We just need a way into Mayweather's place.'

You walk into the room and Dune quickly clicks away a projection, but your attention is already drawn.

'Did you say Mayweather?', you ask curiously. 'As in Tomas Mayweather?'

Dune and Karga exchange glances. It’s the latter who answers.

'You know him?'

'Yeah,' you say, putting down your now very heavy bag, 'or, rather, my father does. Say about him what you want, but my dad sure was well-connected. I only met him once, years ago, when he came to Duugan for business. I didn't know he was from Nevarro. Why do you need to get into his house?'

'There's an old Imperial base hidden underneath his mansion', Din replies. 'We need to take out the skeleton crew stationed there.'

'What stopped you guys from kicking them out before?'

'Mayweather is an influential and wealthy man', Dune explains. 'Most of the businesses in town are his. We can't just waltz in there. Besides, we don't have the manpower or the watertight proof for it.'

'Why would he even hide them?'

Dune shrugs. 'Presumably, he gets paid handsomely for the protection his status gives them.'

'So you need a way in', you repeat with a straight face.

Karga squints suspiciously. 'Yes, we said that.'

You dramatically put your hands together in a thoughtful gesture, visibly enjoying the little play you're now putting on.

'If only there was some kind of big event to keep him distracted', you muse exaggeratingly. 'Something that would make him feel secure and not suspect that people are coming for him...'

'What are you getting at?', Dune asks, unable to hide her curiosity.

You spread your arms.

'A little birdie told me he's having a party later', you reveal with a big grin. 'And guess who's invited!'

'Nothing yet?'

The modulated voice in your ear almost makes you jump as you lean against the city gate, your hands behind your back and your jewelery softly jingling in the wind. You’re not quite used to the communication device hidden in your ear, which creates a non-stop connection between you and the Mandalorian’s helmet, since you need to be reachable and it would look highly suspicious if you were constantly sticking your finger in your ear to switch it on and off. Besides, you wouldn't even know how -Samick had often teasingly called you “technologically challenged”. The fact that Din can hear what you are doing and saying at all times makes you more nervous than you care to admit. Before you left, you made sure to go to the toilet and you don't plan on drinking anything all night, lest he has to hear things neither of you want him to. However nervous you may be, his digital presence does reassure you somewhat. After all, you’re about to go to the lion's den with a boy you barely know, who was supposed to pick you up at the city gate five minutes ago.

'No', you mutter with a sigh.

You look around again, but no trace of Hal. To be honest, you also have no idea how he’s planning to pick you up, so you don't know what kind of vehicle to look out for. Mayweather's villa is located in the hills outside the city, which means walking is not an option.

Hal had mentioned that guns are not allowed at parties like this one, but you’ve casually ignored that. You did leave your blasters behind, as well as your daggers, but your six throwing knives -which can also be held and used at close range- are attached to your legs. Dresses really do lend themselves well to hiding things on one’s legs. Few have the guts to search there without good reason.

Your gaze lands on the Razor Crest, which is parked a stone's throw from the gate. A couple of figures scurry around the ship, probably busy with some maintenance or refilling the fuel tank. For a moment you consider checking with Mando, but then you decide against it. He probably has better things to do, like preparing for the operation.

The plan had sounded pretty simple: you infiltrate the party and make sure that Mayweather doesn’t get wind of what goes on beneath his feet, while Din, Karga and Dune sneak into the base and place explosives, after which you set a small fire and ensure that everyone clears the villa before it blows up. Not everyone at this party will be an Imperial sympathizer, so you made sure they added that last part to the plan. If you can help it, you don't want more innocent blood on your hands. Plus, everyone will be so busy with the fire that no one will pay attention to what's going on downstairs. Mythrol, a nervous man with blue skin and fins on his head, will take the others to the base with his landspeeder. The tension between him and Mando had been palpable; they've undoubtedly met before and given Mando's profession, you can probably guess why Mythrol was so nervous.

'Are you sure Mayweather won't recognize you?'

'No,’ you admit, 'but it's been at least ten years and I don't exactly look the same as I did then. And even if he recognizes me, it's still not the end of the world. I can't imagine he's already heard about my… actions. '

'Let's hope so.'

'Where's the kid, by the way?’, you ask.

You don't remember seeing him in Karga's office.

'School', is the short answer.

You blink, confused about the lack of context, still not quite used to how frugal the Mandalorian is with his words. Not that you can blame him; he probably used to be alone most of the time and the child is not exactly a great conversation partner, as he never replies -not in a language you or Din speak, that is. You’re not quite sure whether he actually understands what people are saying to him. Though, he seems to listen to Din. When he wants to, anyway.

Then a yellow two-person speeder enters your field of vision. It’s coming straight for the city gate and after a while, you recognize Hal's blonde hair.

'He's coming', you announce softly, while standing up and waving at him.

Your heart starts beating faster and for a moment you feel guilty for abusing his kindness.

‘It's the right thing to do’, you silently remind yourself. ‘This is best for Nevarro.’

'Alright’, the man's voice sounds in your ear again. And, a moment later, as if he was hesitating, he adds: 'Be careful.'

A strange but warm feeling seems to wrap you in an invisible blanket, but the speeder is already so close that you can’t react without being noticed.

'Hey, Hal', you greet -partly to make that clear- when he comes to a stop right in front of you.

'Hey, sorry I'm late!', the young man shouts cheerfully. 'Jump in!'

You climb into the speeder and while Hal smoothly gets the speeder moving again, you mumble, only audible by the gods thanks to the sound of the engines: 'Oh Adur, give me strength...'

'How close do you want me to drop you off?'

Mythrol nervously eyes the area as he maneuvers the speeder through the pass, half expecting stormtroopers to show up at any moment to turn him into a smoking pile of blue pulp.

'How' bout the front door?', Karga says coolly.

'It's a little close for a civilian, isn't it?', he protests cautiously.

'I got two choices for ya’', Karga says sternly. 'You take us in and I knock a hundred years off your debt.'

Mythrol isn't sure if he wants to hear the other option. 'Or?'

'Or I leave ya' out here to walk home with whatever's left in your humidity vest and maybe the stormtroopers won't kill your blue ass before you dry out.'

'It's not much of a choice, is it?', the blue man grumbles under his breath.

The speeder quickly soars between the rocky walls towering over them, to where soon a large metal door emerges: the deserted-looking entrance to the Imperial base. Mythrol brings the speeder to a halt.

'All right, we can't go any further than this', he declares.

When the others get out, he stays seated, looking around and ready to fly away at the first sign of danger. Dune takes a look at the control panel next to the door, which is large enough to get a sizable spaceship through. Din scans the area, but the software in his helmet shows no signs of immediate danger. If he listens carefully, he can hear music coming from above them, where the party in the villa is clearly already in full swing. He had noticed that you didn't leave all of your weapons behind and he feels relieved for it. Judging from your story, Hal isn't the one he's concerned about. The question remains whether Mayweather will recognize you -and more importantly, whether he knows about the events on Duugan. If he has been warned about you, he also knows that you came with a Mandalorian. What conclusions he draws from that information is anyone's guess.

'We have a problem.' Dune's voice pulls him away from his pondering. She points to the panel. 'I recognise this technology. This security takes ages to override and if we do even one thing wrong, it'll send off an alarm.'

'And then our element of surprise is blown', Karga grumbles. 'They'll be way more on guard after that.'

'All right', Mythrol interrupts, starting the speeder again. 'I'm headed back. Hit me up on the comm, we can set up a rendezvous time. '

Karga whirls on him, losing his temper with the nervous employee.

'You park your gills right there until I say otherwise', he snarls.

'I'm starting to dehydrate, boss', Mythrol whines.

'Okay, how does thirty more years off your debt sound?'

He frowns thoughtfully and then sighs. 'Can you at least be quick about it?'

'We could be a whole lot quicker about it if we could get our hands on an access key', Dune says, with a meaningful look to the Mandalorian.

He understands the signal and unmutes his end of the comm. 'Can you hear me?' A clearly fake cough tells him you can't talk. 'We need a key to get in without alerting anyone. It should look like a thin bar about half the size of your hand. Can you get us one?'

You cough affirmatively and he mutes himself again.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?', Karga asks.

'She's our best shot', Din says evasively.

'Why was she traveling with you, anyway?', Dune wants to know.

He looks at her and carefully formulates his answer. ‘She needed a way out and I got caught up in the situation. We got away eventually. Got my ass handed to me a couple of times in the process, though. '

Dune gives him a wicked grin. 'I would've loved to see that.'

He wisely refrains from dignifying that with an answer. The cuts you caused in Lossith have not yet healed and still hurt with certain movements. You’d known very well where to hit him. By now you’d offered to bandage them four times, but he’d politely declined, insisting that you had every right to defend yourself. Besides the fact that the Creed wouldn’t allow it, he can't stand the idea of your touch on his skin for some reason. The thought alone is enough to spark something deep inside his chest.

Suddenly he misses the sound of your voice in his helmet and he thinks back to the ride here, during which he was listening to how you told Hal about the Duuganese gods.

‘On Duugan we worship four gods', you’d explained. 'We have two suns and one moon. Dedis is the largest sun. He is the god of wisdom and the harvest, because his light allows things to grow. Adur is the smaller sun and Dedis' younger brother, as well as the god of dawn and strength. He goes down first and rises first and often quarrels with his brother, who always has the last word - that's why he goes down last. When they’re gone, Qalla, the goddess of the moon and water, appears. She watches over the dreamers at night and keeps the nightly travelers safe. Finally, you have Yris, the goddess of the ground under our feet. She gives life to all that breathes on Duugan.' You laughed shortly. 'Admittedly, there aren't many of those on such a dry planet -you know how it is- but still. All four of them protect us in their own way. That's a very comforting thought when you’re fleeing through the galaxy. '

His gaze travels up to the mansion again and a silent prayer floats up to the sky as well.

'Maker, keep her safe.'

Seemingly casually, you lean on the handrail that prevents you from falling off the gallery. From the open second floor, which wraps around the large courtyard, you can see just about the entire party. Nevarro's contemporary fashion is a true spectacle to behold: women are wearing brightly coloured dresses and they’ve created the most bizarre and elaborate braided updos with their hair, while men walk around in loose-fitting and equally colourful clothes. Their hairdos are even more striking: apparently it is a trend among the wealthy to grow a big mustache and sculpt it into curly shapes -the races that can do that, at least. In addition to humans, you have also recognized a Rodian, whose green reptile skin and antennae are unmistakable, and a beautiful female Twi'lek with copper-colored headtails. An energetic group of musicians is playing cheerful music and a couple of guests are dancing to the beat. Your eyes slide over the dozens of guests and land on Mayweather, who is busy talking to a small group of men. His red hair stands out against his bright blue robes and on his hands, with which he gestures enthusiastically, a number of large rings sparkle in the sunlight coming through the skylights. Luckily he doesn't seem to have noticed you yet, clearly busy with his job as host. Moreover, you’re positioned somewhat concealed behind one of the columns that carry the roof above your head and the storey you’re standing on.

Who would have a key to the hidden base? Mayweather, of course, but it would be too ambitious and dangerous to steal his. The various waiters, their beige robes a strong contrast with the colorful guests, probably have no business going down there. The security, on the other hand...

You push yourself up from the balustrade and hurry towards the stairs, the heels of your shoes clicking on the turquoise tiles covering the floors. Hal has been getting you something to drink for about five minutes now, so you have to be quick if you want to avoid him. Fortunately, even in this dress, you don't stand out too much from the rest of the attendees. Once downstairs, you move smoothly through the partying crowd, making sure you steer clear of Mayweather, towards a hallway that you suspect leads to the private part of the villa. In any case, that you’re not allowed to go there becomes clear when you catch a glimpse of a Zabrak security guard, recognizable by the numerous small horns on his head. You take a deep breath and then quickly stagger into the hall, grabbing your stomach and panically waving at the guard.

'Ma'am, you are not allowed to come here', he says immediately, taking a step in your direction.

You spot the key instantly, clipped to his belt with a ring. Bingo.

'A bathroom!', you cry. ‘I need a bathroom, I don't feel so good! What kind of food are you guys serving here?! '

The man looks at you hesitantly while you say this and before he can respond, you throw yourself into his arms, wailing dramatically. He manages to catch you, but almost falls over in the process. You take advantage of his instability by grabbing the key from his belt in the kerfuffle and hiding it in your hand. Only then does the hole in your plan dawn on you: your dress has no pockets.

The Zabrak awkwardly pushes you away. 'The bathroom is that way.'

'Thank you, good sir', you squeak. 'I'm gonna go puke now.'

You quickly turn around and place the hand with the key on your chest in a dramatic gesture, stumbling back down the hall.

'Hey!'

You keep walking, even though you start panicking for real now, but you hear his footsteps coming after you. Silently cursing, you try to figure out where to hide the key and make a mental note to have pockets made in your dresses and skirts.

'Did you just steal my key?!', the guard snarls, firmly grabbing your arm. 'Give it back. Now. '

You open your mouth for a really ill-prepared defense, but then you hear a familiar voice behind you.

'What's going on here?'

Hal walks into the hallway and glares at him.

'She stole my key, Mr. Mayweather', the Zabrak replies.

The blood in your veins goes cold. Mayweather? Hal is Tomas's son?

'What?' Hal turns to you. 'Is that true?'

Your hand is still on your chest, just above the collar of your dress, and suddenly you realize there is only one place to hide the key now. As you turn toward Hal, you let the thin bar slip down your dress and pray to all your gods that no one sees it. Much to your relief, it doesn't immediately fall out of the other end of your dress and instead get stuck between your boobs, safely out of sight under the red fabric.

'Of course not', you pout, grabbing your forehead. 'I'm just looking for the bathroom, I’m feeling rather unwell.'

Every trace of suspicion disappears from Hal's face and with a short gesture he orders the guard to let you go. He reluctantly obeys.

'Can't you see she's sick, you idiot?', the boy barks. 'Look at her, she's white as a sheet! You just lost your key somewhere.'

You have no intention of telling him why you’re really turning white and you let yourself be supported by a concerned Hal. He accompanies you to the bathroom and then offers to get you a glass of water. You nod and enter the ladies room, but ignore the toilet.

'Hey,' you whisper as soon as you hear him walk away, 'I have the key.'

'Good', the warm voice of the Mandalorian says almost instantly. 'Can you get to the balcony on the east side?'

You noticed it when you were on the second floor earlier, so you respond affirmatively. Quickly, you open the door and when the coast turns out to be clear, you slip towards the stairs. Your braided bun wobbles up and down on the back of your head as you run upstairs, past a man and a woman who had clearly hoped for some privacy in the closed stairwell. Your headscarf falls down on your shoulders, but you ignore it and turn right twice, into a narrow corridor that opens onto a beautiful, gracefully domed balcony hanging many meters above the pass below you. It offers an amazing view of the volcanic, hilly landscape, but that doesn’t interest you very much at the moment. Panting, you put your hands on the balcony edge. What now?

Then you hear a strange, motor-like noise and the next moment, the Mandalorian appears in front of you. You almost let out a scream and step backwards.

'How are you doing that?', you hiss in bewilderment, staring at the man floating in the air.

'Jetpack', he answers shortly. 'Where's the key?'

It's his turn to be baffled when you put your hand down your dress and pull out the key. Suddenly he’s very glad that you can’t see his face.

The metal is still warm from your skin when you put it in Din's gloved hand.

'Go and blow up some stormtroopers for me, will you?', you say with a smile.

'Will do. Thanks.'

With those words, he flies away again. You gaze after him until he’s out of sight again, the same strange feeling from before distracting you to the point where you only notice the footsteps when they are right behind you.

Read the next part here.

Tag list: @buckysalefty @dark-academics-and-florals

#mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #star wars #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #mandalorian x reader

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ymiwritesstuff · 4 years

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a Gyro x female reader who, because of her roguh past, has questionable morals? Like she has those "dark determination" moments like Johnny does and Gyro has to stop her from killing someone. Thank you so much for this. Don't forget you're a talented writer!

This was super super fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so so much for the amazing request once again! I love writing for you!

Trials of Fate

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 7: Steel Ball Run

Gyro Zeppeli x Reader

Summary: For as long as you can remember you have been put under cruel tests by life itself and these trials have formed you into a cold, merciless individual who desires to conquer fate.

Notes: Angst, Fluff

Life was cruel. It had always been. From the moment you came to this world, life had been a constant game of survival, filled with hunger, poverty and struggling. It was as if life itself was testing you, each time forcing you to take part in its twisted trials just to stay alive. The horrible things you had to do in order to stay afloat in the sea of troubles haunted you and made you question everything. Was it truly worth it to kill someone or offer your body to someone in exchange for just a few coins?

The constant fear of being betrayed by fate and put under a set of unforgiving trials of life caused you to desperately cling to those small amount of things you occasionally owned. You would guard your possessions with your life and put an end to anyone who tried to take anything from you. But of course, fate evaded your efforts to protect your belongings and had allowed your precious items and food to be stolen all too many times.

You saw Steel Ball Run as an opportunity for a change. A change you so desperately needed. If you could win the prize money perhaps it would all be better. You could buy a new house, you wouldn’t have to worry about staying alive and maybe, just maybe, the shadow of cruel fate would finally fade away. That one, tiny possibility gave you hope and you were determined to surpass the cruelty of life.

Still, even though life had treated you exceptionally well ever since the start of the race, allowing you to travel with two very capable and tolerable males, you couldn’t allow yourself to relax. The journey was far from over and you were sure that fate was planning to throw more misfortune your way if you allowed yourself to feel at ease too much. You had to stay sharp, eliminate all threats without hesitation and then, and only then you could hopefully live in peace.

Staring at the starry night sky above you had an odd effect on you. Despite the darkness some might consider sinister, you found strange comfort in the sight of millions of stars upon the sky, looking down at you. From the corner of your eye you see the sleeping forms of Johnny and Gyro, both of whom were most likely exhausted. It was understandable and you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t tired from the constant riding and enemy stand attacks as well, but the usual fear you held towards fate treating you poorly kept you awake, preventing you from traveling to the world of dreams.

And due to that fear, your senses immediately caught an unfamiliar presence, followed by a sound of something -or rather, someone-, digging through your belongings. Your bag was located a good distance away from you and you immediately cursed yourself for not placing it closer. The familiar anxiety you had grown accustomed to over the years plants itself within you and you immediately get up, trying to stay as quiet as possible. The darkness surrounding the camp prevents you from seeing the thief fully, but there’s no mistake about his intentions. He’s greedily digging through your property, trying to find something worth taking. And it doesn’t sit well with you.

You silently grab a hold of your trusty handgun, the anger slowly building up. This was exactly what you were fearing and there was no way in hell you’d let this pathetic thief steal from you. Fate was testing you far too much and you were at your limit. You would not let anything get in your way again. Your (E/C) fill with burning flames of rage, a strange feeling of determination washes over you and everything around you falls under a dark veil. The only thing your mind is desiring, is the sight of this insect’s dead corpse on the hard ground, punished by you.

The man stops dead in his track when he hears a gun click behind him, followed by its muzzle pressed against the back of his head. Your merciless gaze shoots through him like a shotgun and his blood runs cold as he feels your cunning presence behind him. “Up.” You order, the man immediately doing as you say, holding his hands up as a sign of submission. Your eyes briefly glance at the ground, noticing all your belongings in tact. Fortunate for him, as you would’ve pierced him with a bullet had he actually taken something.

“P-please.. I don-” The thief’s miserable pleas are cut off as you harshly press the gun to the back of his skull and grab him by the shoulder, turning him so he’s facing away from the camp. “Walk.” Your voice is dark and quiet, ringing in his ears like a shout that makes every bone in his body tremble. He takes a step forward, terrified of you. He hasn’t even seen you as you remain behind him, but the sheer power that radiates from your voice and presence alone make him regret trying to steal from you in the first place.

As for you, this feels good. Life was trying to make you suffer yet again and you were punishing it. The endless misfortune and agony built you into the woman you are now, so to an extent you should have been grateful. You were strong, determined to end your suffering and it would all start with this. Nothing would get in your way and there was only one way to ensure the success you have been craving for years.

Once you’re satisfied with the distance between you and the camp, you kick the thief to the ground, still pointing your gun at him. Your hand is steady and shows no signs of fear or hesitation and your eyes are filled with dark determination that desires to spill the man’s blood. The sight of the man, trembling and looking at you in terror only fuels said determination. “You’re pathetic.” Had life not been treating you so poorly, you would have probably felt sorry for the man. But in this state you’re in now, you feel nothing, hear nothing but your steady heartbeat and see nothing but the cowering man before you, begging for his life.

“This is another test, isn’t it? Fate is testing me yet again, trying to make me crumble. Isn’t that right?!” Your victim flinches at the volume of your voice and falls to the ground, shielding his head. The rage bubbling within you desires to be let out and heard by everyone. And because you can’t keep it in you any longer, that’s exactly what you do:

“I will not fall! I will conquer fate and make it regret trying to ruin my life! Do you see this?!” Your eyes lock onto the sky above you as you try to voice your determination to some higher power you’re not sure even exists. But it doesn’t matter if no one heard you as this was a moment you so desperately needed. Life has been punishing you from the very day you first opened your eyes and now, you lust for revenge. You felt powerful, invincible and the whimpering man in front of you only increases those feelings. Life was beginning to submit under your determination.

“I refuse to suffer any longer.” Your gaze returns to the unfortunate thief and you raise your gun, ready to eliminate your obstacle. You would finally get revenge on life and fate. “I will not suffer.” Your finger slowly presses the trigger, your eyes once again filled with that dark determination and lust for blood. This test wouldn’t be yet another failure.

“(Name)!” You gasp at the sudden noise and turn your head over your shoulder, only to see Gyro running at you with a terrified expression on his face. The thief takes this opportunity to scramble away from you, immediately making you shoot at him, the loud gunshot filling the air around you. Due to your hasty movements the bullet misses and your eyes fill with desperation. No! This can’t be happening!

Before you have time to fire another shot, you’re tackled to the ground by Gyro who has no idea what’s going on, but refuses to let you kill a helpless human being. The gun slips from your hand and you immediately begin struggling against your lover's grip. “What the hell are you doing?!” He shouts, grabbing your hands that try to push him away. Your mind loses all determination and instead fills with desperation, your eyes filling with tears. “Let go of me! Please! I don’t want suffer anymore!” Utter confusion makes its way onto Gyro’s features as he holds you in place, refusing to let you do anything you might regret later.

“(Name), stop it! Nothing is going to hurt you!” He tries to calm you down despite the uncertainty clouding his vision. He absolutely hates seeing you like this and wants to know exactly why you were about to shoot a defenseless man. You continue thrashing around, that fear of being betrayed by fate returning. “N-no! This was a test! And I failed! I failed again! How can I-” Your words come to a halt when you feel Gyro’s hands on each side of your face, his emerald green eyes looking into yours with increasing concern.

“Look at me, love.” His voice soothes you and for a moment, you forget everything and only focus on the man before you. “You’re fine. Nothing is going to hurt you, I promise.” A single tear runs down from the corner of your eye and the Italian gently wipes it off. Your lip quivers as you wrap your arms around Gyro. You felt stupid. So very stupid. You had failed to realize how fortunate you had been for once in your life, as Gyro had been able to bring happiness and joy into your grim and horribly unlucky life.

“I-I’m.. S-sorry..” You say as Gyro allows you to sit up, still holding his arms around your sobbing form. He’s not sure what has been going on in your mind and he doesn’t dare to ask right away. For now, he knows you need him, and he’ll be there for you as long as you need. “It’s alright, love..” He gently runs his hand along your back, bringing you an endless amount of calm and silencing your lust for revenge.

You start to think back at the way fate had decided to test you tonight, and in this very moment can’t help but to wonder if the purpose of this particular trial was to make you realize just how enjoyable your sad, pathetic life had become thanks to Gyro Zeppeli.

#jjba #jojo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Steel Ball Run #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo part 7 #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #gyro zeppeli #gyro zeppeli x reader #jojo gyro #jjba gyro zeppeli #reader insert #angst #fluff #gyro x reader

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

heart of stone (9/?)

AO3

The whistle blows just as Regina tosses the ball to the goal, and it sails past the keeper as her teammates are already packing up and the coach isn’t even looking. Last year, or hell, even a few months ago, she’d have been furious that no-one noticed or counted such a good shot; she’d have thrown her stick on the ground and probably screamed her head off until she got her way. But a lot happens in a year, and now she’s pulling her red vest off and shaking hands with the opposite team, other girls clapping her shoulder as they congratulate each other. What’s more, the smile on her face is real, despite her burning limbs and tangled hair. It’s the realest it’s been in a long while.

“Okay, good game girls,” their coach calls from the side of the field. “Go hit the showers before we go over the play. And George!” Regina turns around, greeted by the sight of her coach giving her the closest she can get to a smile. “Good game out there. Keep that up!”

Like her smile, the pride that flutters in her chest is real and it isn’t going to fade later on.

The changing room is already steaming up when she enters; towels thrown over the sides and mud-splattered uniforms crumpled on the benches. She’d laugh, but she doesn’t look much better. The weather’s been going downhill lately, making for some risky playing conditions, and the trail of mud across her shirt and caking her legs and nails are proof of that.

“Did I cause that?” Hannah asks, gesturing to Regina’s leg.

“Probably,” she replies with a grin. “You’re a little violent sometimes.”

“You’re one to talk, George,” she says. “You’re a beast out there.” Regina chuckles and turns on the tap, letting the hot water warm up her icy hands and get as much dirt as she can off her hands. Hannah isn’t wrong; her anger tends to manifest itself most when she’s on the field. But as she learned in physio, and from experience, it’s better to take it out on the sport than on the people around her. At least now, after a hard first few weeks, she’s learned how to channel it, rather than just playing while being angry. Which is why coming finishing off a game often makes her feel calmer and more in tune with herself than anything she’d tried before.

“Lucky she’s held onto that edge,” Kimberly comments, appearing at the sink beside her. “We need someone like that with championships coming up. Maybe that’s why we lost the last few years.”

“Or we just lost because you suck,” Hannah teases. Kimberly’s mouth falls into an ‘o’ and she flicks water in Hannah’s direction, right over Regina’s head. It’s practically nothing, especially when they’re so used to training in the rain, but Hannah takes it as though it was a speeding bullet and reaches for the other girl. “Little bitch.”

Regina slips into a free shower before the two of them can start a full-scale scrap. They’d surely ask her to take sides if she stuck around.

The hot water and steam is heaven for her rattled body, bringing life back into her limbs. The time is limited with the whole team needing to get in and notes to be given soon, but she makes the most of it. Even as the water scorches her scalp, it’s bliss to her, and she takes a minute to just stand there and let it hit her before grabbing her towel and heading back.

Sitting on the bench, she pulls her still-damp hair into a tight braid over her shoulder as they wait for the last of the team to come back out. The rain is letting up outside now and will probably be completely gone once they’re finished. Thank God, otherwise she’d definitely catch something walking home. Sure her mom could pick her up, she’s reminded her of that often enough, but she prefers walking. At least when she gets home she and her mom can have stuff to talk about rather than wasting it all in the car.

“Okay girls, listen up!” Coach Keller calls out as the last stragglers squeeze onto the bench or drop on the floor beside them. “Okay, we’re seeing a lot of improvements from the last time. There’s still a lot of work to be done vis-à-vis on-field communication. And some of you need to remember exactly what position you have on this team. Because too many times I have seen people changing mid-game.” There’s no prizes for who that’s directed at. Kimberly is already turning her head away.

“But we’ll be ready for when championships come around, and I’m expecting us to take home the trophy this year!” A cheer erupts from the bench and Regina’s right there with them. The idea of winning a trophy does do something for that competitive part of her brain, that can’t change, but the feeling she gets when her teammates scream out in united excitement does even more for her as a whole.

“Okay, okay settle down!” Coach calls above the noise, half laughing herself. Smiles are rare on that woman, which makes them even better. “And there’s one more item on the agenda to discuss before I let you girls go. I was talking to a buddy of mine recently and he gave me some information about a charity tournament coming up in the next few months. Now I know we don’t normally do friendlies, but I thought this year we could make an exception. The cause is cancer research.”

Regina can’t speak for the rest of them, but the word ‘cancer’ snaps her to attention and makes goosebumps prickle on her skin. Sure enough, the noise quietens down as the girls grow serious, which is something in itself. These girls often act like the word ‘serious’ doesn’t apply to them. Regina pulls her jacket tighter around herself as Coach’s next words confirm everything.

“I know you’re all missing a classmate this year,” she goes on. Regina wonders if she’s imagining how her voice wavers. “And it might mean a lot if we went and did this.” She bends her head enough so they won’t see the smirk on her face. This wouldn’t mean a lot to Janis. Not that she wouldn’t care; she simply wouldn’t get that sentimental. Not publicly anyway. She bets Janis will respond to this with nothing more than finger guns and the phrase ‘cool beans’. “So if we all rally to this, we could raise a lot of money for a good cause. And it would be good to put in the extra training.”

The team chuckles at that and then Coach lets them go with the reminder that they’ll be here again same time next week and to drive safe.

“What do you guys think of that?” Hannah asks as they all get up. They seem to instinctively form a little huddle as they walk, something else she hadn’t seen in her old friendships. Until recently, there was always a structured hierarchy with Karen and Gretchen, as opposed to the natural way she falls in step with the team.

“I think it sounds great,” another teammate, Zoey, adds. “I mean, it would be great anyway, but especially, you know… with Janis.” A murmur of agreement passes around them.

The first time they heard about Janis, it took a second for Regina to process it. The whole idea seemed so bizarre that it didn’t really hit her until she got home. How heartless she must have looked. Karen was close to tears in homeroom and Gretchen had looked pale, like she was the one ill, so she had stepped up. Done what she had always done. Taken charge of them.

The collective student body has gathered around her. For a few days, any and all mentions of cancer were met with hushes and raised eyebrows, as though it were something taboo. Now they can at least mention it and it’s become synonymous with wide eyes and sighs of sympathy. It’s still hard to talk about, and not just for her.

“What do you think about it, Regina?” Hannah asks, nudging her with her elbow.

“Hm?” She pulls on the strap of her bag. “Oh, yeah. I’m totally for it. That would be awesome.”

“Have you spoken to Janis? Like, at all?”

“Spoken to her?” she repeats.

“Yeah, I mean aren’t you and her-” Kim stops, but Regina can work it out for herself. The answer is no, of course. She and Janis aren’t friends, everyone knows that. Karen and Gretchen are friends with Janis. Regina is friends-miraculously-with Cady, and Cady is dating Janis. That’s their connection. It was different once upon a time, but then it fell apart.

Fell, she thinks. As if she didn’t pull it apart herself.

She pulls her sleeves over her hands and wraps her arms around her body, fully aware of the number of eyes on her. Contrary to popular opinion, she’s never really liked this much attention. Not even when it was her perfection being looked at, but especially not when it’s her flaws.

It takes a while, but she manages to say, “no I haven’t really spoken to her”. Her voice catches in her throat and she can only hope she manages to sound normal to everyone else. She clears her throat and tries again, trying to find that confident part of herself. Or at least, tries to fake it well enough.

“That kid Damian has though,” she continues. “He’s really close with her. He said she’s doing great.”

The faces before her break out into relieved smiles and she can calm down.

She walks the last stretch of road to her house alone, the few people who live in her direction having disappeared down their streets a while ago. While the topic of conversation had quickly changed, Regina’s mind hadn’t managed to wander away from Janis.

She’s thought about her a lot since Spring Fling. She guesses she thought about her before that, but she always pushed it down, along with all that gross guilt she was feeling. It was far easier to be cruel back then. Until it wasn’t.

At the dance, she could tell Janis was having a lot more fun than she was. Spinning in careless circles with her hair flying all around her, busting out the worst dance moves she had ever seen, twirling Karen around the floor, slinking off to a corner with Cady and coming back holding her hand. She had been glowing, well and truly glowing, something she hadn’t seen since middle school. Not looking over her shoulder for something, or someone to take it all away from her.

And somehow, Regina ended up smiling at it. Janis deserved that, after all.

That was the beginning of the end for her. The end of her reign over North Shore and the end of her being… that way. It was a long time coming. She meant what she said to Cady in the bathroom that night. She’d had enough of being the Queen Bee. She’d hoped they’d all go into senior year with clean slates for the future.

She should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. Even if things were normal for Janis, that wouldn’t be the case. She hurt her, plain and simple. Hurt her in the deepest, worst possible way and the worst part is she didn’t even realise she was doing it, not completely.

Her mom is sitting at the kitchen table when she gets in, a glowing mirror propped up on a stand and dozens of lipsticks strewn across the table. She puckers her lips as Regina approaches her and sets her back on the table, the pink glistening underneath the overhead light.

“Oh hi baby,” she greets. “How was school? How was practice? You need me to wash your gear for you?”

“School was fine, practice was fine.” Her mom abandons the lipsticks in a second and is by her side and picking up her bag before she can protest. She has to lunge forwards in order to grab it back off her.

Breathe she tells herself. A lot of this change stuff is a constant effort.

“Um, it’s okay, Mom,” she says. “I can do it myself.”

“Oh, only if you’re sure sweetie, I don’t want you straining yourself after practice. Besides, with this new job I have plenty of time to do your laundry for you, also I can rearrange your closet for you because it’s looking a little-”

“Mom!” she snaps. She shakes her head, her mom freezing where she is. “It’s okay, really. I’d prefer to wash it myself.” She cracks a smile and after a moment, reaches out and puts her hand on her mom’s shoulder. It’s the most natural-feeling thing she could do. “Besides, remember what happened last time you washed my lacrosse stuff? It’s best they go in on their own.”

“Well, if you’re sure honey.” Her mom’s eyes follow her around the room, no doubt thinking she’s being subtle. “Do you need a snack? I can whip up those little baby quiches you like so much after practice.”

“That’d be great, Mom, thanks.”

Her mom breaks into a smile that’s as relieved as the girls on the team were when she told them about Janis. Regina sits herself on the counter, shakes out her hair and runs her brush through it. She watches her mom buzz around the place, looking to her for approval when she places three mini quiches on the tray.

“Are you sore hon?”

“Not really. I will be tomorrow, probably.” She rubs her shoulder, feeling the onset already. It’s a good kind of pain though, if there ever was one. It means she actually went and did something.

Silence stretches between them, echoing off the white walls and the chrome of the kitchen. It demands to be filled with something real, not the nonsensical babble her mom likes to fill the empty spaces with. It’s not that she’s short of things to say, but it’s like everything else she’s started lately; a learning curve. She wants to take the steps, but the steps feel more like strides.

“So Coach thinks we have a shot at championships this year.”

“Oh, that’s exciting,” her mom says. “So you’d be playing then?”

“That’s the plan.”

“So when do they start?” she asks. “I want to be able to take the time off work to see you.”

“You don’t… You don’t have to. Not if it’s too hard.”

“Oh don’t be silly, I wouldn’t miss your games. That’s something lame moms would do.” She throws up a peace sign and an exaggerated wink. “And I’m a cool mom, right hon?”

“Yep,” she says through gritted teeth. They may be trying to rebuild their relationship, but that doesn’t mean that the idea of her mom at her lacrosse games doesn’t make her cringe. The image of her mom sitting in the stands with her fur coat and her sunglasses and her loud voice pops into Regina’s head and she’s glad her mom is turned away so she can’t see her shudder.

“There’s this other tournament she asked us about,” she goes on. “It’s a friendly one. For charity.”

“Oh, well that’s nice. What’s the charity?”

She takes a swing out of her water before answering.

“Cancer research.”

“Oh.” Her mom nods, the movement just as big as everything else she does and her mouth opens without a word coming out. Regina avoids her eyes. “Is that because of poor Janis?”

“Yeah. Well, she knows the person organising it and she thought it would be good.” She drums her nail on her thigh. “But I think it might be a little because of Janis.”

“Oh, it’s just awful what happened to her, isn’t it?” her mom asks. Regina can only nod. She doesn’t even notice her mom moving until she’s standing right in front of her, eyes full of sadness and a heavy pout on her lips. “How are you holding up with this?”

“Fine.”

“Oh honey, you don’t have to pretend to me. I mean, she’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“Sort of,” is her answer. It’s easier than the truth is in any case. Her mom never knew about what went down in middle school. She probably never will. “I heard from her other friends that she’s doing pretty well.”

“Oh, that’s good.” She picks up a kitchen towel and moves towards the oven. “You know, I was actually reading this article about teenage cancer on my tablet, and it was saying it’s about all these greenhouse gases in the air. You should go on Twitter and talk about that. Start a whole conversation over it. You have a lot of followers over there. They’d listen to you. Get the President on your side.”

“He blocked me,” she replies. She crosses her arms over her chest and smirks at that. As for her mom, she lets out a long sigh and shakes her head.

“And she’s such a nice girl too. She doesn’t deserve that. Not that anyone does, obvs.” She turns and looks at Regina with more severity than she’s ever seen in her life. “You be careful, okay?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Her mom squeezes her hand and Regina realises why she’s making such an effort in the first place.

“Okay, can you keep an eye on the mini quiches? I have to go finish up over there if I want to get everything in on time. They come out when it says 20 on the little clock.”

“Cool. Thanks mom.”

Her mom squeezes her face, and for her sake, she fights the instinct to roll her eyes and bat her hands away. It actually feels pretty nice.

When she pulls out her phone, the team chat is already popping off. Someone shared a-admittedly funny- meme. Amidst all the chaos, someone posted the details of the charity tournament. It starts in January, with quite a few other schools already signed up. She’s glad they’re doing it, and that everyone else is so onboard with it. Sure, they all have at least one personal stake in it, but it would feel good to do it either way.

She moves out and checks her other messages. The chat she’s in with Cady, Damian, Gretchen, Karen and Janis was alive just minutes ago, Karen asking their opinion on a skirt. Janis had sent in a message saying she liked it and joked around with everyone else, calling Damian a king and shamelessly flirting with Cady. Regina pushes away the feeling that she missed out and tells herself Janis must be feeling good today if she’s active.

A message Regina sent to her still sits in their private chat, unopened and unanswered. Their chat is almost barren and she’ll admit the reasons for it are good. But she had felt optimistic that day when she texted her. Naïve even, for the first and last time in her life. There’s still a lot of work to be done, but she actually wants to do it.

*****

Her legs do hurt the next day. She feels it the minute she wakes up and it follows her around throughout the day. She gets understanding smiles and eye rolls from the girls on the team, though, and Karen and Gretchen wince along with her in sympathy. And she’s almost gotten used to it, so she can only take it in stride for the rest of the day and curse the new warm-ups Coach gave them.

She’s walking down the stairs to free period when she spots a bundle of caramel-coloured curls a little ahead of her, falling over a denim jacket, and suddenly her palms get sweaty. People might not believe it, but she’s capable of being scared, or at least nervous. Even of sweet and soft little Cady Heron. She doesn’t slow down, she never does, but she does consider it. Instead she keeps going and watches as Cady perks up as she passes her.

“Hey,” she greets, slipping her phone into her pocket.

“Hi.”

Regina’s pretty fascinated by her relationship with Cady. Next to Janis, Cady is probably the person she’s done the most harm to. After all, she got suspended for the Burn Book. It should have been her. That fact was one of the hardest to take responsibility for, but it should have been her suspended. Now who knows what could happen to Cady. Cady has every right to hate her, and yet she has gone out of her way to integrate their two worlds. She lets Regina sit with her at lunch and added her into the groupchat and lets her see her private story (it’s just pictures of her with animals from Kenya). Even outside of lunchtime and groupchats, she treats Regina like she would any old friend. There’s no hostility or distrust on her end.

It’s weird.

“Hey, did you get that American Lit essay back yet?” she asks. “Because Mr Greer takes forever to hand them back.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t given me mine back either,” she sighs. “I don’t know. I think I did okay in it. It wasn’t that hard.”

“Seriously? I thought it was so hard,” Cady responds, pulling her bag up on shoulder. “I’ll never get all this literature stuff. There’s just so many meanings and stuff. It’s why I prefer math.”

“Yeah, because you’re good at calc,” Regina says. Her chest eases the longer they speak. “I’m sure you did fine, though.”

“Thanks.” She drums her fingers on her file as silence falls between them. Not even Cady can keep up conversation forever, especially if there’s not a third party here to bounce off of. There normally is, and the space next to her feels distinctly empty.

The lack of talking suddenly gets to Regina as she looks down the long stretch of hallway they have to go to study hall, and panic stirs up in her brain, forcing her to blurt out the first thing that comes to her head.

“So, um, we might be doing this charity tournament,” she says. “The lacrosse team, I mean.”

“Oh,” Cady says, her mouth falling into a small ‘o’ before she smiles. “Hey that’s really cool. What’s the charity? Or are you allowed to say anything about that yet? I know how exclusive the jocks can be.”

“I’m not a jock,” she says indignantly, only for Cady to laugh and bump her shoulder against hers.

“Well, you know what I mean,” she says. “Sports person. You guys are like your own little society.”

“The one clique you couldn’t break,” she says.

“Yeah.”

Regina presses her palms together, nervous and unable to understand why. Surely Cady would love this, right? It’s her girlfriend who has…

Oh. She gets why now. Even now, when ‘cancer’ isn’t treated as a dirty word, it’s still so charged with meaning, especially around Cady and Damian. On more than one occasion, conversation has died down when they enter the room and they know what they had been talking about. It’s not out of disrespect, but out of concern for their feelings. That’s why she’s biting the inside of her cheek now. Tiptoeing around such a delicate subject and hoping she doesn’t break Cady by doing so.

“It’s cancer research,” she says after a while. Her voice is as cheerful as she can make it, hiding all the tremors and cracks that might appear and show what’s underneath. She subtly watches Cady’s movements, anticipating the slightest twitches or changes one way or the other.

The first is her lips pressing together. The second is a tight nod. The third is her hand flexing at her side.

“Oh, that’s cool,” she says. “That’s really cool.”

“Yeah, it is,” she replies. “I mean, we don’t usually go charity tournaments or friendlies, but Coach thought it might be good for us. You know, extra training and all that. Plus it’s you know, a good cause.”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounds so lost and faraway for a girl standing right beside her that it almost makes Regina grind to a halt. She clears her throat and turns to face her, her smile open and breathless and real. That’s something she likes about Cady, always has. She’s real. Even when it would be easier to hide it, she’s real. “That’s great. I mean… I take it it’s because of Janis.”

“Yeah.” Janis’ name hits Regina in the chest like a little bee sting, not unbearable, but noticeable and she knows it will be there for the rest of the day.

“That’s awesome.” Cady’s eyes shine with gratitude. “She’ll be really happy to hear that.”

“Sure just don’t tell her I’m doing it,” she says flatly. “Then she’ll think it’s a scheme.”

“Oh come on,” she laughs. “You two aren’t nearly as bad as you used to be. And maybe when she hears about you doing this, she’ll warm up to you even more.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” she tells her. Which is both another thing she admires her for and something she’s fascinated by.

Cady simply shrugs.

“Well, you know how it is,” she says. She doesn’t, but she nods along. “You’re not such a bad little egg.”

“Thanks?”

Cady opens her mouth, probably to say something else, but her hand flies to her back pocket and all at once her attention is diverted to her phone. She does a quick check of the hallway, knowing they’re not meant to have their phones out during school hours. Regina had her phone confiscated countless times before she knew how to hide it properly. Cady has yet to master that and so she pulls her to the side and blocks her phone with her shoulder, pulling her arm down so it’s less visible. Cady doesn’t seem to notice at all, her eyes glued to the phone screen and her whole face softening at whatever it was. Regina doesn’t look at it. Whatever it is, it’s obviously not for her. Cady taps out a quick response, fingers flying over the keyboard and stops to proofread it before sending it off.

They stand in the silence together, Cady’s phone casting the smallest bit of light on her face and wait until the screen fades to black.

“Cady?” Regina asks.

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine,” she says, putting her phone back in her pocket and looking back up at her. “It was Janis.”

“I guessed,” she says, pulling Cady along. Feeling brave, she asks “How’s she doing?”

“Oh, she’s good. She just sent me a selfie of her in the hospital,” she says. There’s a small, wistful sigh after it, and her hand reaches up to twirl her necklace. “She looked cute.”

“That’s good,” she says. “That she’s doing okay. Would you uh… tell her I was asking about her?”

“Oh, sure! Yeah absolutely!” There’s the slightest hint of surprise in her tone, but Regina can’t complain about it, instead nodding gratefully and the two of them setting off down to study hall, picking up the pace a bit so that they’re not even later than they already are.

*****

That evening, she comes downstairs clad in her leggings and a sweater, the rain picking up on the window and her phone buzzing in her sweater pocket. Her mom is laying on the couch and running a sparkly pink brush through the dog’s hair humming some old, dreamy song under her breath.

“Hey sweetie!” she says, her voice melodic. “How’s the homework going?”

“Fine. Just getting some coffee.”

“Oh would you make me one too?” she asks. “Just a little cappuccino. If I get up Boba might pee.”

“Sure.” She keeps one eye on her phone and one on the coffee maker, watching the groupchat as she foams up the milk. It’s the one of her, Cady and the rest of her friends, and most importantly, Janis is active in it. She was always the life of the chat before, keeping them up at two am with some wild theory or weird joke, but they’ve all noticed how she’s sort of wavered since this year started. Not tonight though. Tonight she’s so alive that Regina almost forgets how silent she can be some days.

Janis: I wonder which one of us will break first and get TikTok.

Janis: To be perfectly candid, my money is on Damian.

Janis: Damian’s gonna be on theatre kid TikTok.

Damian: I am disgusted by the very idea. It could well be Regina. She seems dramatic enough for it. No offence, babe.

Followed by a kissing emoji off all things. With a grin and a laugh, Regina grinds the coffee beans and gets out two mugs before sending in an ‘In all of your dreams’. She means it. Instagram and Twitter are more than enough for her and frankly, TikTok kind of scares her.

The phone buzzes again, this time a picture from Janis; a picture of fries and what are probably vegetarian nuggets.

Dinner for tonight 😊 she says They finally got veggie nuggets :D

That’s an overabundance of emojis Cady says.

No it’s not. It’s perfect Karen argues. She adds that the dinner looks puppy emoji plus sparkle emoji, which must mean good. Anyone can tell that.

It is Janis tells them. They took on my suggestion to expand their vegetarian menu.

You’d think as a hospital they’d already know how to do that Regina says. There’s a ten second pause before anyone responds and she tries not to let it bother her, pouring the milk into the two cups instead.

You would think Janis responds. I got like three people in the ward on my side.

Vive la revolution, Cady adds in, with an emoji of a French flag. Damian responds with a GIF from Hamilton and Regina can feel them rolling her eyes along with her.

Miss Caddy don’t you have homework to do? Janis asks. Actually don’t answer that because I know you do since you were complaining about it to me two minutes ago.

I’m all finished Cady says. Janis’ response is a screenshot of a text Cady sent her two minutes before according to the timestamp.

“Oh, you’re in trouble, Cady Cady,” Regina mutters as she sprinkles cinnamon and chocolate over both mugs and takes them over to her mom. They’re pretty good, especially with her lack of barista skills. Definitely going on her story.

“Oh thanks hon,” her mom says. When her phone buzzes in her hand, both her mom’s and her dog’s head perk up. “Anything interesting?”

“Just my friends,” she says. Her mom nods, taking a long sip.

“Oh, this is real good, Regina.” Regina nods again and snaps a few pictures of her own mug, testing out about four or five angles and two filters before settling on one that works. She probably would have gone through more if Janis hadn’t sent in another message into the chat, so she saves it to work on later.

Lies. I know those are lies, she says. The veggie nuggets aren’t as good as the ones at home ☹

I’m sure that’s the saddest part about your current situation, Regina says. Once she says it, she wonders if a line was crossed. If not, no-one tells her.

If someone were to drop a bag of Grandma Eden’s vegan nuggets to the front desk and say it was for me, I would not be opposed, Janis says instead. To be honest, kind of offended about the lack of PTA moms dropping casseroles on the doorstep.

The chat keeps going, the phone shaking and lighting up in her hand, but it melts away from her, Janis’ message sticking out to her. Out of nowhere, she remembers her mom making lasagnes for her aunt when she was sick a few years ago and dropping it off on her doorstep. Regina never went with her, the idea of seeing her sick aunt making her stomach uneasy, but she remembers her mom doing twice the cooking she normally did. And how happy it made her aunt’s family, according to her mom. She didn’t appreciate the value of it back then, it’s crystal clear now.

“Hey, mom,” she says after a while. “Could I… could I maybe use the kitchen at some point?”

“Oh sure. What do you need it for?”

She looks back at the group chat, the topic having changed to Cady’s love of math and the other’s lack thereof, but she scrolls back up a few messages.

“Do we have any vegetarian recipes?” she asks.

*****

Her arms are aching by the time she gets to the Sarkisian’s house on Saturday. This is what she gets for using the nicest-and heaviest- dish her family owns, she supposes. Standing on their doorstep, she awkwardly shifts it onto her arm, her breath catching as it tilts before steadying, and reaches out to ring the doorbell. She presses it quickly, not leaving herself enough time to change her mind.

She won’t deny that her heart clenches as the handle turns, even if she masks it behind her charming smile. The same one she’s used with almost every adult since she was fourteen.

“Hey, Mr Sarkisian,” she greets. A kind of polite confusion clouds Mr Sarkisian’s face, which swiftly turns to recognition, and then even more confusion.

“Regina?” he asks. “Regina George.”

“Mm-hm.” Thank God she’s practiced this over and over before she came. “I made you guys a lasagne. Could I come in?”

He eyes the dish in her hands like she’d just told him she was dropping off a baby wildebeest for Janis. But he nods and steps back, letting her into the hallway.

It hasn’t changed much since she was here last. The hallway is still the same at least, although there are now photos of the Janis she wasn’t friends with. Her at the middle school graduation, her on the beach what must be the summer after freshman year, her with her parents and Damian at last year’s art show. Regina’s watching her old friend grow up before her eyes, looking through a window at everything she missed.

“Oh, you redecorated!” she exclaims as they step into the kitchen. She remembers the walls here being white as opposed to the blue they are now, plus there’s a new oven and fridge and kitchen table. She must remember more than she thought she did. “It’s really nice.”

“Yeah. We did.”

His flat tone pulls Regina down a bit. More than a bit, although she refuses to let it show. If there’s one thing she has learned, it’s that. She knows how to put on an act, and so she turns to face Mr Sarkisian with the same smile plastered onto her face. He just continues to look at her with an unreadable expression and stands as far away from her as he can, all the while the ticking clock punctuates the silence between them.

“So um, I made you this lasagne,” she tells him.

“You did?” he asks.

“Yeah. I mean I got a little help with it; you know how it is. My mom refused to let me fool around in the kitchen alone. But it’s my grandma’s recipe. It’s vegetarian, because… I mean I know; Janis is one.”

Is this babbling? Is she babbling right now?

“Janis isn’t here.” He folds his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh.. I know,” she says. “I know, but just in case you want to give her some when she gets back. It’ll keep for a good while if you freeze it.”

He pushes himself away from the counter and moves over to her. It’s getting harder to maintain this demeanour, what with the suspicion she can see in his eyes from here. He does at least take the dish out of her hands and she doesn’t bother hiding her sigh of relief as she shakes out her arms.

He slides it carefully into the fridge and turns to look at her, his arms over his chest. He isn’t playing by the script Regina had prepared. She assumed he’d either see her out or get her a drink and invite her to sit down. Instead he regards her like she’s an interrogation suspect. And her gut tells her he’s being bad cop.

“Why did you do this?” he asks her.

“Oh, I… I just thought it would be nice.” Honesty isn’t her strong suit. Neither is vulnerability and those are the two things he’s likely expecting from her. Unfortunately, she still has the fatal flaw of pride. “And if there’s anything else your family needs, you can ask me.”

He coughs, but it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. She presses her palms together and continues.

“I mean the whole school is getting behind Janis,” she goes on. “The lacrosse team is doing this charity tournament and the Mathletes-”

“Janis isn’t a charity,” he tells her sharply. His hand curls around the counter and holds it tight enough to turn his knuckles white. A nerve apparently got touched here.

“Okay...” She clears her throat and pushes her hair off her shoulder. “I just wanted to help.”

“Yeah you helped Janis a lot back in middle school,” he says. He locks eyes with her and a chill runs down her spine. “Didn’t you?”

She opens her mouth, but then closes it again, knowing there’s nothing to say here. Her first instinct is to call him rude, tell him she went and made him and his family a lasagne and offered him help. But thankfully it fades before she can act on it, and the truth stares her in the face. She deserved that. She deserves the anger in his gaze towards her and the feeling of invisible ants crawling over her skin.

She pulls her sleeve over her hands and clenches her fists tightly.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is pathetically small and it comes out as more of a question than an admission. Mr Sarkisian nods slowly, his fingers tapping against the counter. She could tell him that she’s trying, that she does regret what she did, but she’s pretty sure it won’t make a difference to him.

“Thank you for the lasagne,” he tells her. There’s more honesty in that than in anything she’s said so far. “I’ll tell Janis you came by.”

“She might not eat it if you do,” she says quietly.

He laughs at that, even if it’s half-hearted.

She gets the bus back home, finding a route on her phone that goes to the top of her street. Luckily, she has change in her purse, because she’s certain that she wouldn’t have the guts to ask Mr Sarkisian for some after what just happened.

His words follow her around like a persistent little bee that buzzes in her ear. She wants to dismiss him as a dick, but unfortunately, despite the work still needed, she can’t find it in her to do it. A lot of the time, she wishes she could just wake up an effortlessly good person. Other times she wishes she was still a bitch.

She sits down heavily on the bench and takes out her phone, tapping open Facebook (thank God for infinite data). It’s not really for the app, she just wants to focus on something. Her feed is mostly full of shit she saw on Instagram last week; mirror selfies, heads of clubs promoting their events, those idiotic memes her mom likes to post. It flies past her eyes in a blur and lets her brain turn foggy for a few moments.

But then out of all the black and white and blue, something catches her eye and she scrolls back up. It was shared by Caitlyn Caussin, advertising some hair salon. She wondered why the hell that would catch her eye, until she realised that’s not what it was. It was a charity, one where you donate your hair for cancer victims.

Regina keeps looking at the ad, so captivated by it that she would have missed the bus if the driver hadn’t honked at her. She looks at it closer as she rides home, her gut pulling her towards it. According to the text on the poster, you need at least 8 inches of undyed hair, and she’s glad when she sees she ticks both boxes. And then it’s shipped off to wigmakers and given to cancer patients. And if the grinning kid in the picture is anything to go by, it does its job well.

Regina touches her own hair. Up until now you’d have to kill her if you wanted her to cut any of her hair off. After all, something like this doesn’t just happen and she would not look good with a bob. But this feels different and she won’t pretend she doesn’t know why. She won’t get up and do it tomorrow, but she won’t completely dismiss the idea either.

She takes a screenshot of it and feels a small flush of excitement as she thinks about it. Well, not excitement, but something close to it. Something warm and light and fuzzy that she can’t quite pin down.

#mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #cadnis ff #janis sarkisian #regina george #fic: heart of stone #mean girls

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theincompetentgenius · 5 years

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Chocolate (Hideyoshi x Reader Fic)

@pusec: Can I get a short scenario of MC accidentally calling Hideyoshi "mom"? (Ikemen sengoku//not sure if this didn't happen In canon already thought)😂

It’s probably happened before. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she did and we just glazed over it because that’s what we were thinking ourselves. Also, I’m really for the chocolate obsession in this because I’m fasting so I’m REALLY HUNGRY (it makes up almost the entire fic and I realized it was getting out of hand, so I tried to save it at the end. But I doubt that really did anything). Anywho, enjoy this mess and I’m sorry in advance.

Title: Chocolate

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Hideyoshi x Reader

Word Count: 1857

If there was one thing I could change about the Sengoku Era, it would be the amount of chocolate that I could buy.

I know the history behind the scarcity of chocolate in Japan, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Whenever my period comes around, I’m craving a good chocolate bar. If it’s more than 50 degrees, my tongue is ready for some creamy chocolate ice cream. My body has been suffering from chocolate withdrawal: my stomach is always growling, my head overrun with fatigue, and my mouth salivating for that sweet, milky taste. I think people have started to notice because Masamune has been making me a lot more sweets while Hideyoshi bought me the finest candies the other day. Nobunaga even offered me his konpeito. The treats were delicious, but I miss my wonderous chocolate. The only chocolate I’ve had was cacao beans shipped from who-knows-where. Those were disgusting.

So you can imagine my excitement when Hideyoshi told us that shipments of chocolate had arrived at the Japanese trading ports. They would be sending the delicacy to different vendors throughout the country in the upcoming weeks. I screamed so loud that Ieyasu’s ears nearly fell off and Masamune rushed to the meeting. Although I got scolded for my excitement, there was nothing that could ruin my joy. I would be reunited with my love and savior: chocolate.

Every week, I would drag a warlord out in the town to search for chocolate. However, most vendors had no idea what I was talking about and didn’t carry anything that looked like chocolate. One vendor sold me a brown, solid bar that looked like the real deal. It was expensive, but I had to get my hands on it. But the moment I bit into the bar, my tongue recoiled from the taste and my lips nearly fell off my mouth. I gagged. The schemer had sold me a bar of tamarind instead.

However, I haven’t given up on my quest to find the chocolate. Although I took a week-long break, I am back and stronger than ever. Nothing can stop m--

“What are you writing?” Hideyoshi points to my notebook.

I quickly shut the pages of my notebook and stuff it in my bag. If he saw my maniacal writing about chocolate, he’d keep me away from it and turn this whole thing into a Nobunaga-konpeito situation. It would ruin all of my plans.

“Just about how I’m excited to have chocolate. I like to write my feelings,” I give him a sheepish grin.

“That’s really cute, but why chocolate?” He laughs.

“What do you mean, ‘why chocolate?’ “ I ramble about my childhood stories and how chocolate has been a vital part of my life. It guided me through my struggles, brighten my dark days, and was present in all my nostalgic memories. Hideyoshi listened quietly, nodding and laughing throughout my stories.

“If it’s such a big part of your life, then why didn’t you tell me about it? I could have requested some from the traders,” He asked.

“I’ve been so caught with this adjusting to the new life that I almost forgot about it.” This was far from the truth, but I didn’t want to come off as a chocolate addict.

As we walk along the street, I notice the different vendors. Each makes profits from vastly different items. Fruits, weapons, rice, ornaments, and other assortments. Each stall is made out of birch wood, but that’s where the similarities end. One has vines coiling around the wooden columns, another one has splotches of dye on the stall, and the most bizarre of them all is the stall in yellow with green stockings hanging from the top. It is the weirdest combination of colors I have ever seen.

Hideyoshi approaches each vendor whether they have the candy or not. I don’t feel comfortable asking them ever since I got scammed with the tamarind bar. It’s probably for the best since they all give him salutes and offer him all their products at discounted prices and I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to haggle for even half those prices.

We come across the odd yellow-and-green stall that I was watching earlier. Hideyoshi asks the vendor the same set of questions and he shakes his head in the same manner as the ones before him. It’s become a routine. Instinctively, I turn around and walk towards the nearest stall when I hear Hideyoshi’s voice call out to me.

“Where are you going? They have the chocolate!”

I turn around and zoom to the front of the stall. It is impossible for me to confine my excitement in my head. Forgetting that I’m in the Sengoku Era, I begin to interrogate him about the different types of chocolates in his possession. Every time the vendor tries to speak, I cut him off and provide him with my preferences. If it was dark chocolate, I didn’t want to be anywhere near it. If it was white chocolate, I wanted a 50% discount because that was fake chocolate. The only bar I would be pleased with was the regular milk chocolate.

In the midst of my babbling, Hideyoshi puts his hand on my shoulder. “I understand you’re excited, but let the man show us what he has.”

The man thanks Hideyoshi and shows him the boxes of chocolate. The vendor doesn’t dare to look at me, worried that I’ll explode with my chocolate facts if I make eye contact with him. Jokes on him because I plan to go home and spend most of my time eating this delicacy.

“Wow, there’s a lot of sugar in these. Almost the same amount as konpeito,” Hideyoshi frowned.

My blood froze. Hideyoshi could not separate me from my beloved soulmate. He’s already a burden on the relationship of Nobunaga and his konpeito, I couldn’t let him do the same thing to me and my chocolate. He’d have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.

“Well I need the sugar in my body to keep me energized and functioning,” I snatch the bar from Hideyoshi and give the vendor a thick wad of money. “Take all of it. I want your entire collection of chocolate in return.”

The man’s eyes gleam as he counts the amount of money that I handed him. He places the box on the ledge of the stall and shoos us away, probably so we don’t change our minds.

“You know, this is a lot of sugar. If this becomes like Nobunaga and his konpeito, I might have to confiscate it,” Hideyoshi gives a suspicious glance to the box.

Ignoring him, I unwrap the chocolate bar and chomp off the top corner. The hard texture melts against the wet surface of my tongue with the sweet flavor diffusing across my tastebuds, coating the center of my tongue in milky brown. The chocolate piece has dissolved into a milky coating that travels down my throat, quenching me of my thirst for the delicacy. This is an experience I will never forget. I relish the taste of the heavenly delight as I take a second bite of the candy bar.

“Don’t eat too much of this. You could get a stomachache,” Hideyoshi interrupts my fantasy.

I shoot him a dirty look. “Alright, mother.”

I go back to cherishing my second bite, forgetting about anything that I said earlier. As I take my third bite, Hideyoshi steps closer towards me and leans in my face. “What did you just call me?”

“Uh, I don’t remember.”

“You just called me your mother! I am not your mother. Do I look like your mother to you?” He asks.

I manage to stifle my laughter. Hideyoshi is usually friendly and mature, so seeing him freak out over a small thing was hilarious. However, I couldn’t give him an honest answer because I know I’d burst out laughing, spitting my chocolate all over him. I didn’t want to embarrass the both of us, so I just shook my head. But the grin on my face gives away everything.

“Seriously? What makes me seem anything like a mother?” He puts his hands on his hips.

“For starters, that.” I mock him and put my hands on hips and purse my lips. “Secondly, you’re always watching out for us and cleaning up our messes. You scold the other warlords like they’re your children.”

“That’s because they always wreak havoc in the castle! If I don’t step up and ensure everything runs smoothly, then everything will fall apart.”

I take his hand and squeeze it. “And that’s why you’re so important in the structure of the palace. Don’t hate your motherliness, embrace it.”

Hideyoshi gives me a hard look and I felt laughter bubble in my stomach. It was a lot of fun messing with him. I almost feel bad about it, but I take the last bite of the chocolate to erase my guilty thoughts. However, Hideyoshi doesn’t look away. Instead, he squints his eyes and leans closer. I look up from my chocolate bar and nearly pulled back from the closeness between us. If this was his way of getting back at me for the mom jokes, it was totally working.

He brings his thumb to my lip and slides it down to my chin. The heat rushes to my cheeks and I am sure that my face is red. I pray to every deity in the universe that he can’t feel my heat from my chin, but the raised eyebrow on his face suggests otherwise. I could see the flecks of gold in his honey-colored eyes. The thought of my chocolate disappears as my chest grows tight. Why have chocolate when I could have something sweeter?

The warlord leans in closer, his head tilted down. His eyes are on my lips. My lips almost brush against his. His finger pressed against my chin, pulling my head towards him. His mouth parts slightly with a small curve forming. My entire body is screaming right now. Of all the things that could happen, I did not expect this.

He removes his finger from my chin and makes soft motions with his finger, tracing the skin around my lips. Then, he steps back and examines his fingers. Melted chocolate stained his fingers. Hideyoshi places the finger in his mouth and looks around, tapping his foot on the ground. Meanwhile, I’m trying to collect my thoughts and calm down, placing my hands on my cheeks.

Hideyoshi removes his finger from his mouth. “This is sweeter than konpeito. The other warlords are going to finish it in a matter of weeks.”

I would say something in defense of my candy, but my brain has been reduced to mush. That type of behavior was normal from Masamune or Mitsuhide, but not Hideyoshi. He wasn’t that clueless (that title belonged to Mitsunari).

He turns towards me. “You don’t have anything to say?”

“Uh…………”

“Alright, but one last thing,” Hideyoshi hoists the box of chocolates over his shoulder.

“I can be many things, but your mother isn’t one of them.”

#ikemen sengoku #toyotomi hideyoshi #ikesen hideyoshi #hideyoshi toyotomi #ikesen scenario

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interventicn-blog · 5 years

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ngl, i already had this typed up since yesterday bc i just wanted all my ideas out. at first, i had 3 different charas in mind, but then i thought why not combine all ideas into one? without further ado, here’s eleanor richards’ intro + her pinterest! note: i didn’t proofread, so if there’s info that doesn’t line up w/ dad being old money, mom being new money, etc. then my bad.

inspired by the tv show, dynasty (ngl i’ve been watching dynasty & rewatching degrassi lately so) and my love for anime/manga + video games.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒FAMILY. ‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

eleanor is from both old and new money.

from her dad’s side, the family generations became old money as they worked in banks, politics, and real estate with other wealthy families before her great grandpa decided to work on his own. he started off with real estate then ventured into hotels. her father, mark warner, currently runs the businesses as it was eventually inherited to him. her mother, penelope richards, grew in new money. they got into the fashion business and penelope runs her own clothing and bag line.

they soon fell in love and her grandparents, on both sides, basically pushed them to marry as they thought it was a good deal to have different rich families come into one. however, they eventually divorced.

penelope became more greedy and showed her true colors. she was manipulative, using people, keeping shady secrets, etc. and more focused on power, trying to make the best deals, and money. her dad just wanted a nice, calm life with someone he loved and hardly recognized his wife anymore. now, her mom’s been married more than 3 times by now, which eleanor became used to.

her dad soon moved back to new york to be with his side of the family and still stays in contact with him. even decided to live with him for a few years for her middle school education before going back to mom. there, she learned money isn’t everything and to be grateful. even now, she stays on contact and visits during summers and sometimes christmas. as for the other men in her mom’s life, she hasn’t been close to them as she wanted to. she just saw no point when they would eventually leave anyway.

growing up, she became used to drama almost everyday and still wonders why she hasn’t changed her last name yet. that meant she was tired of the life her family was living. a reason why she chose to hardly be in the richards’ family business and wanted to work on her own life.

she also has a sister she used to be very close to when they were young, but her sister grew and became just like her mom, a selfish bitch. she would create schemes in school, be the most popular student, think about only herself, etc. eleanor couldn’t stand being with more people like mom and became distant.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒HER LIFE.‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

to deal with anything her mom was doing and to get away from reality, she turned to anime, manga, cartoons and video games. she felt these things kept her sane in her wild family. her room is decorated with anime posters, shelves of manga, and watches anime almost everyday. she’ll also go to multiple cons every year and will cosplay once in a while.

another interest she took up was baking. specifically french pastries and sweets. it made her realize she wants to become a pâtissier and her goals are to be world-known and have her own bakery company someday. she started baking around the age of twelve when she was with her dad. he bought her baking books and supplies. since then, she worked on improving her skills and sharing desserts she made with others around the neighborhood to hear feedback.

although, that’s not the only hobby she decided on. when it came to video games, she would play in arcades and at home with console and handheld ones before going into pc games. one game she fell for was overwatch. she’d end up staying all night playing and getting her rank up. soon enough, she was able to be in a team of professional players.

being into two different hobbies, she became torn because of how much time either one took. she wanted to continue playing overwatch and being able to meet so many new people, but she also enjoyed baking and loved seeing how her sweets made others happy.

she was already in college for baking, but when overwatch appeared in her life, she felt, and still feels, conflicted.

more may be added as i continue to think because the family certainly has a lot of secrets.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒DISAPPEARANCES.‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

she has mixed feelings about the disappearances of everybody else. she’s sad to not see her mom and the staff around the house anymore, not being able to talk to her dad, and not being in contact with the team. however, she feels oddly calm about the situation too. for some reason, she just isn’t freaking out entirely. sure, she finds it strange that everyone else is gone and wants to find out more about the situation, but she feels there’s really not much she can do, so why stress over it?

the reason she’s in kitchen help is because she’s already used to being in a kitchen for so long and feels that’s what her most useful skill is right now.

one thing she truly dislikes is having people sleeping in her home. she feels uncomfortable sharing the space with those she hardly knows and argued about it for a while before giving up. eleanor continues to feel uncomfortable, so she kept a few important pieces in her own room away from others.

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒MISCELLANEOUS.‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒

traits

ardent, enthusiastic or passionate: she loves anime, manga, and video games so much, she has decorations of them covering her room.

candid, truthful and straightforward: she’ll tell it like it is and isn’t interested in sugar coating.

critical, expressing adverse or disapproving comments or judgments: she’ll give her opinion even though no one asked for it sometimes. she also tends to say things she doesn’t mean.

decisive, producing a definite answer: for the most part, eleanor knows what she wants and is able to make decision easily.

effervescent, vivacious and enthusiastic: she can be seen as a happy-go-lucky person.

impetuous, acting or done quickly and without thought or care: eleanor has her moments where she’ll have an idea and go into it right away without saying another word. especially during matches.

loquacious, tending to talk a great deal: when she talks about an interest, it’s as if she can’t shut her mouth.

obstinate, stubbornly refusing to change one's opinion or chosen course of action, despite attempts to persuade one to do so: if she’s being told something she doesn’t want to hear, she’ll argue about it and try to change the situation. (e.g. having people living in her home)

aesthetics

wearing a school uniform and running out the door with toast in her mouth because she’s late, watching anime in bed and in the dark, pastel pleated skirts, pastel zebra midliner pens, headphones around the neck, strawberry milk, shelves of manga, bedhead, figurines of magical girls, cute animal plushies, vanilla scented candles, colorful wigs, patterned washi tape, taro milk tea in one hand and a manga in the other, a bag full of anime merch from a convention, picking up graphic tees at hot topic to have a better look, placing an anime as completed on myanimelist

her style consists of mostly pink and pastel colors, but denim, anime/video game graphic tees, and a few black clothing items are added onto this.

her overwatch mains

dps: ashe, genji, widow maker.

tanks: wrecking ball, d.va

support: ana, brigitte, moira.

all-time mains: d.va, ashe, widowmaker.

her favorite manga includes jojo bizarre, one piece, fruits basket, and more. some of her favorite anime are my hero academia, fairy tail, sailor moon, puella magi madoka, tokyo mew mew.

she loves watching star vs the forces of evil and steven universe.

she loves studio ghibli movies, but would definitely rewatch your name and a silent voice.

the type of music she listens to are pop, k-pop, j-pop, and sometimes rock.

more hobbies

shopping: it makes her feel better and she just loves fashion.

eating: she’s such a foodie. if anyone brings her food, she’ll be the happiest girl in the world.

sleeping: even though she hardly sleeps, she still loves sleeping. she could doze off anywhere.

self-care: she’s very into hair care and skin care. she’ll watch youtube videos for days about it, has her own skincare routine, and everyday is a different hairstyle.

japanese: because of how much she’s into anime and manga and wants to visit japan someday, she planned on taking japanese classes. she also has several japanese language books

has three tattoos

this one on the side of her left wrist (same place as laurdiy’s)

this right thigh tattoo

this on the back of her right arm.

she planned on getting a fourth for her 21st birthday, but can’t now.

she’s mostly a closeted lesbian. her mom has always been trying to set her up with boys, but she only pretends to be interested. eleanor wonders what her family will say and keeps her sexuality a secret because she’s afraid news will spread around and it’ll be heard from her family. she’s only told a handful about it, including her sister.

#coldridgeintro

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mdelpin · 5 years

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Shadowlight Week 2019 Prompt: Dusk AO3 | FF.Net

This follows the events after His Own Destiny (Day 4: Command), High Hopes (Day 2: Symbols) and A Scent Like No Other (Day 1: Scents)

It’s Always Darkest...

Summary: They weren't there by choice. Nothing about this was their choice. But defiance leads to worse outcomes. At least they had each other. Kind of. A vague connection, flickering in and out like the dying rays of dusk, hoping for a dawn that seemed just outside of their reach.

Rogue couldn't understand anything that was happening around him. Jiemma was talking about implanting a lacrima into his body. Sting had been beaten in his absence, he'd accused Rogue of betrayal and was now refusing to speak to him. It was as if Rogue had somehow become trapped in some bizarre nightmare he couldn't wake up from. All he'd wanted to do was help a friend, sure he'd known there'd be consequences, but there was no way he could have envisioned all of this.

Sting's words had hurt him badly, and he knew that had been the intent. He'd been lashing out, and it was a testament to how deeply Rogue had unintentionally managed to hurt him. The last time Sting had sounded like that had been right after they'd found out what had happened to the Fairy Tail wizards. He'd broken down then as well, but this time Rogue couldn't help but feel a bit angry too. Rogue thought at the very least he deserved to be heard, after all, how many times had he listened to Sting when he'd tried to explain himself to Rogue? Wasn't he owed the same?

Rogue clamped down on his anger, realizing at this moment it was his worst enemy. He tried to put himself in Sting's place and he realized with mounting horror that Sting had every right to be angry with him. Sting had never shared a bed with anyone else, never let himself be touched by anyone but him or the cats. It was something special between the two of them, and something they both missed since they had been here. All that seemed so distant now, almost like another lifetime.

There had been so many nights Rogue had wanted to use his shadows to sneak into Sting’s room, if only for one night. The risk of being caught was too high, the consequences more than they were willing to bear. Gods, when was the last time they’d been able to hug, or sneak a kiss or even just hold hands? The only touches they’d been allowed in over a year had been in the form of punches and kicks.

And here he had thoughtlessly shared some of those same things with Minerva. He'd been selfish and had both sought out and offered comfort to someone other than his mate and Rogue realized with growing shame that he would be equally upset had the roles been reversed. He could have done things differently, he understood that now. He only hoped that Sting would calm down long enough to let him apologize.

He looked over at Sting and upon seeing the hard set of his jaw he knew without a doubt that his mate had come to a decision. All Rogue could do was hope was that it didn’t involve him.

Jiemma came back into the room and from then on the rest of that night was a blur. He implanted the lacrima into Sting first, and somehow he managed to remain both still and silent throughout the whole procedure, giving Rogue the false expectation that it wasn't going to hurt.

When it was his turn, Rogue wasn’t able to do the same. He screamed bloody murder and almost passed out from the pain. His body felt like it was being ripped apart when the scalpel cut through his flesh. The implantation of the crystal was pure torture as the opening was spread roughly to be able to fit the lacrima inside. His body fought against what it considered to be a foreign body, but the lacrima must have connected with his magic container because the next jolt he felt was from his body attempting to heal itself, much more quickly than usual.

Despite everything that had just happened, Rogue hoped Minerva had been able to find a safe place to stay and remain hidden from her father. As he had just proven, Jiemma was a sadistic madman, and Rogue worried about what he would do to Minerva if he found her.

Once he was satisfied they’d both survive Jiemma had Rufus and Orga help Sting and Rogue to their rooms.

They were given no chance to recover from their impromptu surgery. The following day Jiemma sent Sting and Rufus to find Minerva and bring her back, while Rogue was instructed to spar with Orga. Dobengal was dispatched with another satchel of money to pay the man Rogue had stolen the lacrimas from.

Even through the pain he still felt, Rogue could feel the difference in his magic. His first attack sent Orga flying across the room, something he'd never managed to do before. It was exhilarating, but also scary. Rogue quickly realized he'd have to relearn control of his magic if he wanted to make sure not to hurt anyone, and that was one thing he was determined about. He would fight for Jiemma and Sabertooth in any way necessary to fulfill his duties, but he refused to maliciously bring pain to another.

He continued to practice, both alone and with others, trying to get comfortable with his new abilities. It also helped him keep his mind off Minerva and Sting, who had yet to return, although he had no doubt Sting would find her. Lector had stayed behind, and he and Frosch were nervous, neither able to understand what was going on.

From Lector, Rogue knew that Sting had cried the night before he left and then had refused to talk about it. Knowing that Sting had at least shown some emotion made Rogue believe that he could get through to him if he were just patient.

He often wondered how he could have ended up mated to someone as stubborn as Sting Eucliffe, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Feelings weren't rational, and the truth was they brought out the best in each other, it was a delicate balance, but Rogue wouldn't have it any other way. He'd just have to have faith that all this would blow over soon and they could go back to the way things were. He desperately hoped so.

Sting and Rufus returned with Minerva two days later, her hands bound in handcuffs Rogue knew all too well. Her face looked like she had been in a rough fight and from the way Sting was looking at his feet, he had a good idea who it had been with. Rogue realized with horror that if Minerva had been the first person Sting had fought with his new abilities, he could easily have killed her.

Minerva stood up straight, her glare defiant as she waited for her father to acknowledge her, and Rogue was relieved to see her spirit had remained intact.

Jiemma struck her across the face hard enough to break the skin and Rogue flinched as he saw blood run in rivulets down her pale cheeks. She didn’t cry out, only stared at her father with a hatred that hadn’t been there before, making Rogue wonder just what had happened in the days she’d been gone.

“Go fetch your things, girl,” Jiemma barked contemptuously. “We’re going to go do some training.”

Rogue wondered what kind of training was involved, in the time he'd been in Sabertooth he'd never seen Jiemma practice with his daughter, and most training was done inside the guild.

For a second Minerva’s facade broke and she looked afraid, but she recovered quickly giving a curt nod and walking off towards her room. Rogue fought the urge to go after her, knowing it would only make things worse.

He could feel Sting's gaze on him, and he met it, but before he could say a word Sting had turned and walked away towards his room. Lector, who had been hiding in the shadows, spared him a sad glance before running after his partner.

Rogue decided he might as well find out what had happened and went off to talk to Minerva. He found her sitting on her bed surrounded by clothing and toiletries but staring listlessly at the wall. She looked up when he knocked on her door.

“What happened?” Rogue leaned against the doorframe, keeping his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“It didn’t go as planned,” Minerva smiled weakly, trying to find some humor in the situation but failing as the tears she’d been holding in finally burst. “I went to see my mother, but uhm it turns out she didn’t want me there.”

"I'm so sorry," Rogue tried to come up with better words, but he was still so overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last few days that it was the best he could do.

“No, I should have known. I mean, what parent leaves their child behind, right?” Minerva grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and used it to dab at her eyes. “She’s terrified of my father, from the second she saw me she was trying to get me to leave, and I had nowhere else to go. No other guild would take me, they’re all terrified of him too.”

"I was headed back here when Sting and Rufus found me," Minerva shrugged, "I should be apologizing to you, Rufus told me what happened. If I had known my father was capable of going that far, I never would have left."

“Did Sting... hurt you?”

"It's fine, he hit me harder than usual, but he seemed shocked by it. I don't think he really meant to and I'll be alright." Minerva waved away his concern.

"Listen, Rogue, I think it's best for everyone if we just….," Minerva looked at him sadly but with determination, "It's just not safe to have friends in this guild, bonds are a weakness none of us can afford. Getting stronger is the only thing that can help improve our situation."

She turned her back to him, grabbing some items that had been lying on her bed and putting them in a bag. Rogue watched her, trying to keep his feelings under control, but it was too much. In the span of a few days, he’d lost all his friends, save for the cats. He felt the stinging in his eyes and fought it, crying wasn’t going to help anything.

Minerva seemed surprised to see him still there, and she touched his cheek one last time as she walked out the door, "I'm sorry, Rogue."

It seemed getting stronger was the only way to go. If Sting and Minerva were determined to get stronger, he would do so as well. After all, the stronger he became, the higher his chances grew of someday finding his way out of this guild.

o-o

Ironically, now that Sting refused to talk to him, Jiemma was constantly pairing them together. The lacrimas had worked even better than the Guild Master had hoped, amplifying their already considerable magic by order of magnitude at least.

It made such a huge difference that they weren't able to command it as well as their usual magic, and it was too enmeshed with it to be isolated, so the fact remained until they learned to control it they really couldn't spar with anyone else.

Their spars were violent, fighting was the only way they had to communicate at the moment. At first, Rogue had let Sting get some hits in hoping that would be enough for Sting to get past his anger but as it seemed to make no difference Rogue soon began giving as good as he got.

Rogue was awed by how much power they now had at their disposal. They were able to access parts of their magic that they hadn't been aware of before. Their healing had increased as well, allowing them to take bigger hits and fight for more extended periods.

Regardless of how Sting and Rogue felt about each other they still fought well together. How could they not, when they knew each other so well. It was at these times that Rogue could still feel the connection between them and it kept his hope alive.

“Listen up, I just got a notice from the Magic Council,” Jiemma entered the front room of the guild while the members were having lunch holding a notice and showing it to everyone present, “The King of Fiore is planning a contest between all the guilds in the kingdom. The winning guild will be considered the strongest in Fiore.”

Jiemma glared at each and every one of them, "I think it goes without saying that I expect us to take top honors. Or else." He didn't expand on his threat, he didn't have to. They all knew what it meant. Some of the members looked at each other nervously. Jiemma had trained them to be tough, but they had no idea how they would fare when pitted against other guilds.

The guild master placed the announcement on a table and walked back towards his office. Sting hurried eagerly to look at it while Rogue followed more cautiously.

Sting grabbed the paper and read it out loud to everyone there, and Rogue couldn't help the pang in his heart as he remembered the days spent teaching him. Sting must have felt something also cause Rogue could feel his gaze on him. He met it and gave him a tentative smile. Sting returned it with his own shy smile before looking away, and Rogue almost cheered.

Sting had mentioned that each guild was permitted a team of five members to represent them in the events, which would go on for five days. There would be contests as well as fights. The games wouldn't be announced until the event began to make it fair for everyone. It didn't take much to figure out who Jiemma would choose as his team, and this worried him. Neither Sting nor he had managed to improve their control over their newly enhanced magic.

In fact, with Sting's obsession with being the strongest, he could very easily hurt someone, causing all sorts of complications for Sabertooth and Master Jiemma. The games were scheduled for July, they had at least a month to train, but Rogue wasn't sure that was enough.

Leaving his excited guildmates behind he walked purposefully to the Master’s office. Even though the door was open, he wisely knocked. Jiemma looked up from the papers on his desk, a frown marring his face as he saw who it was.

“Yes?” He asked irritably.

“Master, I was wondering if I could make a request.”

“A request? What could you possibly want?” Jiemma sneered.

“I’d like permission to visit the central library to look for books on dragon slaying magic. They might have information that might help Sting and I improve more quickly.” Rogue hoped that Jiemma was smart enough to see the benefits to his plan.

Jiemma watched him closely, Rogue knew the man didn’t trust him at all. This was very much a long shot but one at least worth trying. After a few minutes, he grunted, “You have a week, take Rufus with you, he might be able to learn some new magic while you’re there.”

Rogue bowed his head before leaving the office in search of Rufus. Jiemma's answer had surprised him, that was actually a rather cunning plan. The memory-make mage certainly didn't have much access to new material at the guild.

He found Rufus back in the front room observing the others make wagers as to who Jiemma would pick. Rogue nudged him, “Pack up some clothes, we’ll be gone for a week.”

Once again he could feel Sting watching him as he walked towards his own room to pack, but he didn't say anything. Rogue got his things ready and waited for Rufus outside his room, not wanting to return to the front room by himself.

“So, where are we going?” Rufus asked as he draped his travel bag over his head and across his body. “Is this a job?”

“No, we’re going to the Central Library to do some research on dragon slaying magic. Master Jiemma wants you to use the time to learn some new magic you can use at the Games.”

Rufus smiled happily, perhaps the only time Rogue had seen him do so since they’d met. They walked through the front room and out the door without sparing a glance to anyone, hesitantly talking about books.

o-o

Sting watched Rogue leave with Rufus without even a glance in his direction, and he would be lying if he said it didn't hurt. Sting knew he deserved it, he'd been a total dick since Rogue had returned from his job with Minerva, but as much as Sting tried to tell himself he no longer cared about Rogue it was complete bullshit. Would Rufus make a pass at him like he had done with Sting when they were looking for Minerva? The thought filled him with anxiety.

Where had they gone? When would they be back? Sting wanted to ask Master Jiemma but knew even if the man humored him, he would see it as a weakness, so instead, he found an empty training room and attempted to take his frustrations out on a dummy. He was already covered in sweat when he felt her come in.

“Fancy an opponent?” Minerva approached him slowly, every movement fluid and full of purpose, her voice deceptively disinterested. Her gaze never left him, belying her words and making it seem like she was ready to pounce at any moment. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise in response to the perceived threat.

“I mean, I’m the one you want to fight,” Minerva smirked at him, purposefully attempting to feed his negative emotions. “Isn’t that true, Sting?”

She was right, he did want to fight her, his anger and okay, jealousy over her familiarity with Rogue had not dwindled, but he also remembered how he'd accidentally hurt her when he and Rufus had found her. It had been the first time he'd tried to use his magic after the lacrima had been implanted in him, and he hadn't been expecting that much of a power difference. Even though Sting had been furious with her, he'd certainly never meant for that to happen. It had scared him more than he let on. Minerva had actually looked frightened, something she’d never done before, and maybe that was part of what this was about.

When she received no response, she challenged, “I think you’ll find me a more worthwhile opponent this time.”

“I thought you were off training,” Sting ignored her taunt and even as he kept his eye on her, readying himself for an impending attack, he stalled for time. He wasn’t sure of the best way to handle this situation.

Minerva was a great opponent, a fight with her could prove challenging and Sting was determined to be on the team that went to the Grand Magic Games. He was filled with the need to show that he was the strongest, even in his own guild. Sting decided to stop thinking so much, he'd never backed down from a fight, and he wasn't about to start now.

“Well?” Minerva eyed him, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Sting got into a fighting stance and shrugged, feigning disinterest, “Sure, if you want a fight, I’ll give it to you.”

Minerva smiled at him, it was the type of smile that promised pain. She ran at him, touching his arm and calling on her territory magic to teleport him inside some sort of dimensional space. Sting felt his magic being sapped away from him and no matter how much he struggled he couldn’t make a hole big enough to get out.

He could hear Minerva laughing at him clearly, even though from his perspective she appeared blurry.

"Get me out of here Minerva, or you'll regret it," Sting growled as he continued to struggle.

“Be quiet, I am the ruler of this space. If I wanted to, I could kill you where you stand,” Minerva disclosed, her voice lowering to a whisper as she watched Sting strain against her magic. “I could take away your air and watch as you suffocated slowly.”

He started to feel faint, and he wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but it suddenly did feel like he was having a hard time breathing.

“My father would just replace you with someone else. There’s nothing special about you, Sting Eucliffe, even your magic can be had out of a lacrima, “ Minerva looked at her nails as she spoke, making him feel insignificant.

She dispelled her magic and Sting collapsed in a heap, gasping for breath as Minerva looked down at him, a cruel smirk etched on her lips. “Remember my words Sting, the next time you attack me outside of training, I won’t be so merciful.”

She walked away with a sway of her hips, leaving him staring after her in shock when he heard her mutter, “You don’t deserve him.”

She had taken him out with one attack, just like her father had the first time. He’d never even had a chance to defend himself or retaliate. Shit! Without his strength he was nothing, and she’d made a very valid point, even if dragon slayer lacrima was hard to come by it did exist, which meant anyone, regardless of whether they had magic to begin with, could be just like him.

There was nothing special about him, he was just some punk kid who had killed his dragon and pushed away the only person who’d ever cared for him.

No, that wasn't true, there was one thing about Sting that was special. He was a fighter, he would just have to work harder to get where he wanted. Sting finally realized, he couldn't do that without Rogue nor did he want to. They had always been stronger together.

When Rogue returned, he would find a way to talk to him, away from prying eyes.

A/N: Thank you to @x-thekid for her help with the summary, you are amazing! This will be continued in the prompt: Dawn.

@shadowlight-week

#fairy tail #shadowlightweek2k19 #stingue #ftlgbtales #ft fanfiction #prompt: dusk #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #sting x rogue #minerva orland #jiemma orland #sabertooth #angst #ftfanfics #my edits

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robinrunsfiction · 5 years

Text

Weapons of Clairvoyance - Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Song recommendations for this chapter: “Dying in LA” by Panic! At The Disco, “Flicker, Fade” by Taking Back Sunday and “Twin Skeletons” by Fall Out Boy (the ~ indicates the song change)

The next morning you jolted awake. You grabbed your notebook off the floor and started scribbling notes.

‘Entrance is a tunnel in the forest, no people inside, burn it all = no more records. Gerard down.’ You shuddered writing that note. ‘Running, smoke, dark. Then something that didn’t fit at all, a tarot card, the death card.’ That was the last thing you saw before you woke up. You didn’t have a good feeling about that, but you wrote it down anyway since it was what you saw.

You quietly padded out of your room and peeked in Gerard’s room. The door was cracked and you could see a mess of red hair on the pillow, his bare back to you. You blushed and went downstairs to see Frank asleep face first on the couch. You smiled and continued into the kitchen. Quietly you poured some coffee and slipped out onto the back steps.

Sitting in the fall air, you felt chilly as it had cooled considerably in the two the days since you arrived. You really hoped to go home today, or at least to a store to get some clean items. You heard the backdoor close behind you and you glanced back to see it was Ray. He sat down next to you.

“Mornin,” he greeted you.

“Hey,” you replied.

“So you’re a real deal seer?” He asked quietly.

“So I’ve been told. I guess it checks out, I mean I’ve been seeing things in my dreams or I’ve always just known stuff somehow without actually learning it. I saw Gerard in my dreams before he showed up. I saw his Grandmother yesterday. It’s bizarre, but makes total sense at the same time. What about you, I heard you cast spells and make potions like some kind of wizard?”

“Yea, no special powers for me, just old fashioned hard work.” He replied. “All my stuff is downstairs here. They got all kinds of space compared to my tiny shitty apartment,” he laughed.

You laughed as well. “Yea this place is crazy huge and awesome.”

You and Ray kept chatting until Gerard came outside.

“Sorry to interrupt, but (YN) do you wanna go home and get some stuff?”

“Oh yea, that would be amazing,” you replied getting up and following Gerard inside, giving Ray a warm smile. You found him to be down to earth and easy to talk to. You hoped he might be willing to teach you a thing or two about casting spells.

“I guess Mikey flew over a while ago and texted to say nothing seems out of order at your place. We’ll still be careful,” he said as you got into his car.

“Have you gotten any word from Andy?”

“Not yet this morning, Mikey was gonna try to get in touch with him this morning. If he’s already paranoid though, it’s gonna be harder.”

“Yea I suppose he might be harder to convince than I was. Seeing is believing, and whatnot,” you said with a laugh.

Gerard smiled at you. “You get anything last night?”

Your face fell, recollecting on what you saw. “Oh yea,” you sighed. “I saw a tunnel in the woods, but nothing specific. Umm, smoke, fire destroying the facility, but no one was around for some reason. Umm,” you paused. “I think you might get hurt. I might get hurt too, but that’s the risk we run I suppose.”

Gerard glanced at you concerned. “Anything else?”

“No,” you lied. You were certain that whatever you saw relating to death was for you, not him and you didn’t want him to worry.

He glanced over again anyway, sensing there was something you weren’t telling him, but he decided not to press you right now.

“So I’ll try to be quick packing my stuff when we get there,” you said changing the subject.

“Oh yea, I was gonna do something before we got there,” Gerard said. When you looked back over at him, his hair was a little shorter and a golden blonde. “Just in case they think they know what I look like.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to not be jealous of that,” you laughed.

When you arrived at your house, you found your spare key and went in. Gerard did a sweep of the house and nothing looked out of order. The coffee mugs from the day Gerard appeared were still on your table, now stone cold. You pulled your luggage out of your closet and started loading clothes and belongings you couldn’t be without.

“Hey Gerard?” You called from your room, and he appeared in the doorway.

“Yea?”

“Can you look at my laptop and make sure it doesn’t look… messed with?” You said gesturing to the computer at the foot of your bed.

“Sure thing, Sugar” he said taking a seat at the foot of your bed, opening up the laptop and looking it over.

“You think my life will ever be back to normal? Like, back to living here in my regular life?”

“Would you want to go back to your old life?” He asked simply.

You paused at the question, your brow knitted as you thought. Did you really want that? Would that mean ending what was developing with Gerard? Did you really think you could ever go back to how your life was before you discovered your abilities?

"I just don't want to have to be running and hiding, looking over my shoulder that someone might snatch me up forever. I couldn't ask for a better group to get me used to all this though," you said with a smile to Gerard.

He smiled back. "I think it looks ok. You got everything?"

"I think so," you replied loading the laptop into the bag and zipping it shut. You then heard a vibrating.

"Its Mikey, he tracked down Andy and he wants us to go get him," Gerard said reading the text. "Oh and he's outside."

"Well let's go I guess," you said grabbing one bag and Gerard grabbed another before heading out. You took one last look around your place, unsure if you would ever see it again. You sure loved it this place, but it wasn't safe right now. Gerard was your safety now, and if his Grandmother was right, you were his as well.

Mikey was sitting on the hood of Gerard’s car when you lugged all of your stuff out. "Got everything?" He asked taking the bag from you.

"Almost literally," you replied.

"Let's go get him then," Mikey said.

You arrived at a park and found Andy on a bench under a tree, exactly as you pictured, with a duffel bag at his feet.

"You're Andy," you said tentatively.

"Yep, you must be the seer, and the other shapeshifter. And you're all gonna keep me from getting killed, right?"

"That's the plan," Gerard replied.

"Let's go, I'll explain everything on the way."

Once on the road back to the house Andy divulged everything he knew. He had been working for a large pharmaceutical company called Restoricom as a researcher for a few years. He explained that as a kid he had been able to communicate with animals, but at the same time he didn't know if he really even believed the messages he was receiving. He started at Restoricom after college because he was saving up money to get into veterinary school and heard they didn't use animals in their research, but after some upper level changes he became less sure that was true. That is when he started digging.

He found that there was an entire separate division that was actively suppressing alternative medicine developments that would make the treatments the main corporation was working on obsolete. These alternatives included the possibility of magic. When he last had access to their information, they were only starting to gather information on potential people with powers. He quit out of fear that his power may be uncovered and used against him, or the animals he sought to protect.

"That's why they took John and Mikey, they needed to do research on them, or get information out of them," you concluded. "But now more than anyone else, they're gonna want Ray, his ability to craft spells and potions would be beyond valuable to them, or detrimental depending on how you look at it."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"We'll have to keep him undercover at the house so we can keep an eye on him and keep him safe. I’m sure he can put a protective spell over the house as well," Gerard decided.

When you arrived at the house everyone unloaded the car.

"Should probably let Ray know what's going on," Gerard said.

"Can I come down too?" You asked. "I've never seen someone working on actual potions before."

"Yea sure, he won't mind," Gerard replied. Following him what was most striking to you was how well soundproofed the basement was because when the door opened loud music hit your ears.

"Hey man," Gerard shouted over the noise as he rounded the corner. Ray was at a workbench that was covered in notebooks, spell books, pens, glass jars and beakers.

"Quite the Breaking Bad vibe going on down here," you joked. “You sure everything is on the up and up?”

"They can't regulate what they don't believe in," Ray said with a laugh.

"That's just the thing," Gerard started and Ray turned to look at him with a very concerned expression.

"What's going on?"

"We think Restoricom is gonna come after you," Gerard replied.

"The pharmaceutical company? Really? Why?"

"Because you're capable of making cures for diseases that they don't want to cure," you explained.

"But again, they're a pharmaceutical company," Ray argued.

"And if everything is cured, especially by magic, they go out of business," Gerard said with a tone of disgust.

"That's fucked up," Ray said quietly. He looked like he was going to be ill. You and Gerard nodded silently.

"I think if you can cast some kind of cloaking spell on the house, we will all be better off. And it's probably best if you stay here until we can get this all figured out too." Gerard said matter of factly.

"Yea, sounds good. I'll start looking into the spell," Ray replied before turning back to his books.

You and Gerard made your way back upstairs and you noticed your bags were still by the door, but Andy and his bags were nowhere to be seen.

"Oh come on," you muttered when you realized what happened.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked from his spot on the couch, where he had barely moved from since he woke up a few hours before.

"I think my room just got taken," you said, turning to march up the stairs, but your way was blocked by Mikey was coming down. Mikey shot Gerard a wink and a smirk as he walked by him. Gerard shot him a look back to let him know he didn't need a setup, not like this.

"Come on," Gerard said picking up the bags and going up the stairs.

"But aren't all the spare rooms full?" You asked following him up. At the top of the stairs, he turned into his own room. "Gerard no, I can't put you out like that."

“(YN), I insist,” he said setting the bags down on the floor. “You need to sleep well so you can tell us what’s coming.”

“But I really don’t want you to have to sleep in a chair,” you paused. “I mean, I don’t mind sharing,” you said blushing and glancing down at your shoes.

Gerard tipped your chin up so you were looking him in the eye. “Whatever you want, Sugar,” he said with a smile and pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’ll let you get settled,” he said before stepping out.

Chapter 6

Tag List: @deadlovers

#weapons of clairvoyance #gerard way fanfic #gerard way x reader #gerard way #my chemical romance #my chemical romance fanfic #chapter 5 #mikey way #andy hurley #fall out boy fanfic #au #cross posted to AO3 #dying in la #flicker fade #twin skeletons

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thephilosopheroftheboudoir · 5 years

Photo

Grim History

The Brabant Killings: An Unexplained Belgian Crime Spree

From the years 1982 to 1985, the small region of French-speaking Wallonia in Belgium called Brababant was hit by a series of bizarre and inexplicable crimes. The combination of brutality in the attacks, meticulous planning in their execution, and the relatively small benefits obtained from each one have left a confusing imprint on the minds of police detectives and those who have speculated on the meaning of the crimes. The spree ended about three decades ago, possibly all the members of the so-called Nijvel Gang are dead, and so few clues were left behind that whatever it is that happened at those times in Belgium stands little chance of being explained anytime soon, if ever at all.

Though the members of the gang remain mysterious, the name Brabant Killers has stuck because of where the crimes took place, although people in the Flemish half of the country refer to them as the Nijvel Gang. The number of participants in each assault varied from crime to crime but three core members seem to have been present at each one: The Giant, so named because of his height and apparent leadership role, The Killer who did most of the shooting at The Giant’s behest, and The Old Man, a middle-aged man who was always seen driving the getaway car.

The Brabant Killers started their rampage in the winter of 1982. Their first known crimes involved robberies in which they used a shotgun to rob a store and a car dealership. Then another robbery took place; this time it was a food store where they limited their theft to some inexpensive grocery items. As they were loading the loot into their getaway car, they shot two policemen and drove away. The trend from then on was mostly set to stealing food items and small amounts of money and a disproportionate amount of bloodshed in relation to the severity of their robberies. After robbing and killing a gun store owner, they finished the year by attacking a restaurant and running off with nothing more than some wine and a cup of coffee after torturing and killing the owner.

1983 saw their operations expanding. They started the year by torturing and killing a taxi driver then abandoning the car. They robbed several supermarkets, spraying the aisles with bullets as they left. Sometimes customers died, sometimes they did not. They often stole small amounts of money from these stores but seemingly never enough to justify the murder of innocent bystanders. They also robbed a textile factory and stole bullet-proof vests. In September, one of their most memorable crimes occurred. While burglarizing a convenience store, a couple in a Mercedes stopped to buy gas. They were immediately shot and the burglar alarm went off as the killers started loading a supply of coffee, tea bags and cooking oil into a car they had stolen a couple nights before. When the police arrived, they shot one and drove off. The police pursued and a gunfight began. The gang turned down a dirt road that ran behind the store they had just broken into. The abandoned the car almost immediately and made off with their groceries. In the coming months, more restaurants and grocery stores were attacked leaving several people dead; most often nothing was stolen.

Throughout 1984, nothing happened. Then in 1985 the Brabant Killers sprang back into action. Another supermarket attack left about fifteen people dead and nothing was stolen. Stores and restaurants began hiring teams of armed security guards and the police were on high alert. On November 9, they struck again at another supermarket outside, but close to, the Brabant area. This time the criminals were wearing bizarre face-paint and wore strange looking clothes. Their appearance at first drew stares from curious shoppers but they shot anyone who looked at them. Several children were shot point-blank in the face. A squadron of 22 police cars arrived and the gang ran out the door. As the members got into their getaway car, The Giant ran alongside it and engaged in a firefight with the police. He escaped and ran down a forest trail where somebody said they saw an injured man stumbling away. Later the police arrived and inspected the scene but nobody was there to be found. Evidence obtained later suggests that he had been killed and the body taken away for disposal.

The identity of the killers has never been solved. Some say the police were secretly involved since many of the fingerprints collected at crime scenes mysteriously disappeared. Others say the military was involved since the shotguns and bullets used in the attacks were rare, military-grade weapons that would have been nearly impossible for civilians to have gotten ahold of. Still others say they were a right-wing extremist paramilitary organization that secretly liaised with NATO troops and the attacks were practice drills that were part of a preparation plan in case the USSR ever decided to invade Western Europe. None of these theories makes sense in light of the number and types of victims.

One thing is certain: the Brabant Killings stopped and have not started again. Some people believe that one of the gang members killed everyone else in the group and then committed suicide. In any case, the killers could probably never be brought to trial because the statute of limitations in Belgium ran out in 2015. The investigation does, however, still remain open.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brabant_killers

#brabant killers #grim history #nijvel gang #unsolved crimes #belgium #wallonia

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willgayers · 6 years

Note

like, imagine eddie working in a 24/7 convinience store during the night shift (like,,, 11pm-4am) and richie is a regular that just comes in the weirdest hours and buys the most bizarre combo of items and is always trying to flirt w eddie making puns with whatever items hes buying and eddie lowkey likes it (cue stan rolling his eyes)

lmaooo yes yes yes!!

eddie fucking HATES it

but he’s a destitute student (arent we all ha ha ha… send me money) so its not like he really has a choice ya know

he only really likes one of his co-workers (martha) and hates everyone else

but at least theres… something interesting about his job…

richie tozier is 18 and he lives by himself at a condo downtown and his life was pretty fucking boring taking he’d just moved into derry and he knew literally NO ONE other than the cool chick who lives in the same block of flats and richie saw her wearing a the smiths shirt so they became friends

but then one night,, richie was about to go for a smoke when he realized he’s all out

also he was kind of in the mood for chicken nuggets

and now that we’re at it how great would a bottle of soda be with that

he remembers seeing a convenience store near his house so he gets up from his couch and glances at the clock ,,, 2am its not that bad yet

so he gets out of the house and walks over to the store

he swings the door open and glances around. the lamps create a rather ugly yellow shade inside,, an old backstreet boys song is playing from the stereos and richie snorts

he doesnt see anyone behind the counter so he just goes straight to the fridge to grab some nuggets,, waddles over to the soda section and grabs a huge bottle of coke

and then he walks out from behind one isle and sees the prettiest?? boy?? ever??

richie drops the coke bottle and it starts to gush out

the boy behind the counter snaps his head towards richie the SECOND

richie does nothing

“HEY? EXCUSE ME???”

tozier just gapes at him

“ARE YOU GONNA PICK THAT UP??”

“holy shit” richie literally just blurts out

“??????” this guy is looking at richie like what the fUCK??

then richie flinches back to the moment

“shit,,, i mean,,, yes,, fuck,” richie starts to reach out for the bottle and eddie is like WHAT is this dude seriously gonna grab the-

the soda is still spilling out and some of it shoots straight against richie’s glasses

“FUCK” he yelps out and drops the bottle, some MORE of it just filling the floor

“oh my gOd just leave it,,, pay for the rest,” eddie sighs knowing he’s gonna have to clean it up

“i am so,,,so sorry” richie blurts out as he rubs his glasses against his shirt and walks towards the counter

eddie looks at him clearer now that he doesnt have the ridiculously big glasses covering half of his face,,, and he swallows because wow?? he’s actually really cute??

“yeah its… whatever” eddie murmurs, licking his lips nervously

“so you’ll take that only?” eddie asks, nodding towards the chicken nugget pack

“and a green marlboro”

eddie fights the urge to roll his eyes. he doesnt get smokers

but instead he just hands him the pack

“that’ll be 6.50″

“here,, and again i am terribly sorry about…”

they both glance behind richie where the coke is only now starting to die out

“yeah.” eddie just says

a few days later,,, richie’s at the skate park with his only friend in town

“can i tell you something.” richie asks as they’re chilling on top of their skates

“sure” beverly says,, takin a drag out of her cig

“i saw someone”

beverly starts to smirk wide at him

“oh yeah??? whats she look like i might know her”

richie glances away

“uh.. not a she, actually. a he”

“i go both ways” richie shrugs as beverly’s silently asking if he’s..? not that she’d judge him but out of curiosity

“okay well, whats HE look like”

“he works at the convenience store” richie says and the second he does beverly bursts out laughing

richie’s like ???what???

“oh my god, EDDIE KASPBRAK???”

“you know him???”

“ohh boy eddie kaspbrak is the princess of this town there’s no way in hell you’re gonna get with him”

richie’s heart sinks a little

“but hey!! theres plenty of pretty boys in this town”

richie doesnt care he wants that one

eddie’s lowkey thought of the weird guy who spilled coke all over the carpet also

one night richie’s about to make food but realizes he’s out of french fries. and he wants to eat chicken with french fries. he cant possibly eat it with rice that he has,, he just has to eat it with french fries oh well haha what a great thing he lives next to a convenience store!!

so he goes there,, and ,, its faith its destiny or at least thats what tozier thinks eddie is working

eddie’s stomach flips

mostly because he’s afraid he’s gonna break something again

“hello” richie says

“…hi..” eddie says, watching as richie walks,, trying to be all cool and casual but ends up walking against a Lays shelf

eddie drops his head quickly to hide his laughter as an embarrassed richie starts gathering up the chips

he ends up taking one tho only so that he can say he “did it on purpose”

“so you’re taking chips and french fries huh???”

“well why not. i like potatoes”

“great”

“uh-huh”

richie’s just staring at eddie as he’s doing his job and eddie can feel this so his cheeks are kinda heating up

“and a pack of green marlboros”

“right” eddie says,, remembering this from last time

“that’ll be 10dollars”

“thanks eddie”

eddie almost chokes as the guy flashes him a smirk and is about to leave

“how do you know my name???”

richie just winks and eddie’s stomach flips again but this time its over something completely different and before eddie could ask his name richie’s out of the store already. proud w himself

richie doesnt say anything to bevvie tho even tho they hang out bc he doesnt want 1) beverly to bring him down 2) to ruin the great moment when he’s gonna tell beverly he’s got a date with eddie and see the look on her face

after a couple of days richie goes back to buy a twix bar. and more cigarettes

“hi eds” richie says as he walks in and eddie goes bright red

“do not call me eds”

richie smirks as he shuffles to the desk

“can i have a pack of-”

eddie slams the marlboro green to the counter

richie smirks lightly

“and a twix”

“those are in front of you” eddie snaps

“yeah i know that, you handing it to me would’ve just been a great moment to accidentally brush my fingers against yours tho” richie sighs as he grabs the twix and places it on the desk with a sweet smile

eddie’s eyes widen and he has to fake a cough

“FIVE TWENTY, THANK YOU”

“here ya go” richie says and slides him the money

“whats your name??” eddie asks

“oh, are you interested in knowing??”

“no, but since you somehow know mine which is kind of stalkery and creepy-”

“richie” richie says as he opens the chocolate bar wrapper and bites down to it

eddie blinks at him

“richie”

“yeah” richie bites his chocolate again “thats me”

“you enjoying that?” eddie nods towards the twix bar that richie’s literally gorged

“i’ve had better things in my mouth but its okay”

eddie’s jaw drops lightly and he just stares at richie

and then someone clears their throat so eddie turns his gaze to the rather pissed off looking lady behind richie and he clears his throat

“oKAY! NEXT CUSTOMER PLEASE!”

richie glances behind him

“hey we were having a conversation here”

eddie’s eyes widen

“UH, NO WE WEREN’T!” Eddie fakes a nervous laugh “please just,, step ahead!!”

“wow, rude eds. im gonna go then”

“ooookayyyyy,,, byeeee” eddie says as he’s already beeping the next customer’s stuff but as richie walks away he still steals a glance at his back

richie just keeps on going back

everytime he buys something weird

“a vanilla candle..”

“yes, i like the smell”

“uh-huh”

*next time*

“meatballs and popcorn? please tell me you’re not mixing these two”

“i wasnt gonna but thanks for the idea”

*next time*

“cat food? you have a cat?”

“no”

eddie frowns

“then why would you buy cat food?”

“i wanted to see you” :’)

kaspbrak tries to ignore the butterflies he’s feeling rn

“…three thirty”

“thats some expensive kitty food. well, i hope my next door neighbor tanya will appreciate this”

“youre buying this for your neighbor??”

“yeah. she’s a nice old romani lady with three cats” richie says as he grabs the cat food and eddie starts to smile a little because thats so cute??

richie notices the smile and he just smiles back. no flirts or anything just smiles

“see ya later alligator” richie says and eddie rolls his eyes amusedly

“bye”

days pass by,,, richie coming in practically every day and he just doesnt even look around anymore he just grabs the first thing at hands length and puts it to the counter

batteries,, candy bags,, motorcycle magazines,, even tampons once

“…..”

“i get bad nosebleeds”

and eddie actually lets out a chuckle. an actual ,,, true chuckle and richie gets the biggest smile

“you want your regular?” eddie asks

“huh?”

“the marlboros”

“oh no i quit” richie shrugs and eddie looks surprised

“really?”

“yeah” richie shrugs

(lowkey he quit bc he somehow found out eddie doesnt like smokers)

*eddie heart-eyes intensify*

*another time*

richie’s feeling flirty one friday and buys a pack of condoms

“yyyyello” he says as he slams the pack against the table

eddie looks at it and oh wow he feels like he’s been hit in the chest

why the hell??? he doesnt even know this guy??? yet he kinda feels like he does???

“who’s the lucky girl” eddie comments as he beeps the pack

“who says its a girl” richie asks and eddie gets even more pissed off now because??? hE LIKES BOYS??? THATS EVEN WORSE

“right” eddie just dramatically snaps and before he can say the price richie speaks

“im kidding i dont really wanna buy those” he says

eddie quirks a brow

“huh?”

“i dont need them”

silence

“im not having sex”

silence

“i mean i ,,, i do have sex but im not currently having sex”

“…uh huh okay, thanks for sharing this w-”

“okay im getting DESPERATE i need you to go out on a date with me”

eddie’s eyes widen as he raises both of his brows now

“im sorry what”

“yes ,,oh my god PLEASE i’ve been coming here literally every day i thought it would be obvious as im buying things like fucking,,, tampons and protein bars when you can clearly see i haven’t worked out a day in my life”

eddie starts to smile (bc thats true)

“okay”

richie’s taken aback

“huh??”

“okay, i’ll go on a date with you”

“what seriously???”

“yeah” eddie smirks but then jokingly goes serious “just… dont put tampons up your nose”

“i promise i wont i dont even- well sometimes when i do get-”

eddie raises amused brows

“sorry” richie apologizes for talking too much again

eddie grabs a piece of paper and scrabbles something before folding it and handing it to richie

(smooth finger brushing was done btw)

(eddie did it on purpose)

(which sent tingles down richie’s spine)

“i have a free day tomorrow”

“oK THATS GREAT I GOTTA GO NOW BYE” richie’s shocked™

“wait!” eddie stopped him just as richie was about to turn around

“arent you forgetting something??” he says and richie drops his gaze to the counter where eddie’s sliding the condom pack towards richie

richie could fucking cry as he looks at the smirk on eddie’s face

“i dont-” he utters out like what the FuCk Is GoiNg ON

eddie doesnt say anything just raises his brows so richie swallows and nods and grabs the pack, shakily shoving them to the back of his jeans before he gets out and looks at the paper

its got a number

and then

eddie ,,, and a small heart after that

richie fucking SWOONS and he could do the whole breakfast club fist pump to the air

they have their date and its lit af and awh

and on monday richie hangs out with beverly

his phone rings and he answers

“hey cutie”

beverly raises her brows

“yeah im still at the skate park.”

silence

“yeah??” richie asks “yeah sure of course!! come here. ok see you”

“who was that?” bevvie asks

richie just smirks

bc literally seconds later eddie walks over (he was just around the corner)

beverly’s mouth drops

“hey!!” eddie smiles as he makes his way over to the two of them,, leaning down to press a kiss to richie’s lips as he sits down

“beverly,, you might know eddie” richie looks at beverly as he speaks ,, mentally saying HA HA BITCH!!!

beverly just gapes at the two of them

“hi:)” - eddie

“…hi…” beverly gives him an awkward smile

“so like,,, i was supposed to go to work today right?? but then my boss called me and wait im gonna show you this mail i was supposed to take to the post office-”

as eddie starts to grab something from his backpack and goes on with his talking,, beverly turns her shocked gaze to richie who just looks so fucking proud

“are you serious???” beverly mouths

“ohhh yeah” richie mouths back at him

“hey babe?” richie asks

“yeah?” eddie asks, turning his head towards richie from his backpack

“gimme another kiss” richie pouts and eddie rolls his eyes, kissing him again. richie starts jokingly planting dozens of tiny kisses on his mouth, making eddie giggle

beverly’s jaw only drops lower

they hang out for some time but once eddie leaves,, beverly speaks

“well,,, guess i was wrong”

richie just smiles wide bc ofc she was

its reddie

how do i end this??

fuck

bye

the end

@superbyersbros@xbell22@donthateonk8@stenbroughbros@reddiebrekmyheart@itsgreywaterrichie@donvex@blueeyespurpleskies@ageorgymi@oh-youre-the-worst@eddiekaaspbraak @whipashwhipash@rissyq @richietoaster @edskasqbrak @urtury@bukiminajimu@kcutieeesblog@stansmansuris@adorefack@reddieaddict@icyeyes102@denbroughbill@graveyardshipper@taletellingsir@anxiety-freak-yuuri@rheddie@queertrashmouth@richiefreakingtozier@castletozier@tohzier@80soleff@lonewolfhard@low-key-dying@sad-synth@richietoaster@badboyharrington@beepbeep-losers@temptedtozier@kaspbraccs@kylieee827-blog @sad-synth@low-key-dying@officiallyreddie@reddietofall@stanleyboii@eternitynurarms@remushlupin@turtleneckrichie@rosegoldrichie@80srichie@asteroidbill@lonewolfhard@trashmouthgazebos@littlepointman@finnhardwolf@allison0609 @fabulousprinceali @tatiscribbles @s-s-georgie @coralinejones @richiestoziiers @tatiscribbles

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #hcs #it 2017 #it 2017 fanfiction #how many times did eddie raise his brows in this #i dont even know #but oh well #*EYEBROW RAISE*

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marauders--mischief · 7 years

Text

Summer Revelations

Request: Haii could you write for Sirius x reader where she invites him to her house over the holidays and all of the sudden (like watching her sleep, laughing, a hug idk) he realises he’s so in love with her??

Pairing: Sirius x Reader

Word Count: 2,823

Warnings: None really, just fluff. Oh, there’s like one nightmare mentioned but it’s not detailed or anything.

A/N: My first ever request! I finished this sooner than I thought I would (mainly because I was procrastinating studying for my Chemistry - whoops. I should probably do that now). Anyway… feedback is appreciated, and I hope you like it :)

Part 2

****

Sunlight shone on the Black Lake, highlighting the waves and ripples. In the distance, you could hear the faint sound of all the students laughing and chattering. It was the last day at Hogwarts before the Summer holidays, and whilst you were waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive, you were with Sirius, sitting in the shade beneath a tree. You had been friends with Sirius since your first year in Hogwarts, always assisting him with his various pranks. It hadn’t taken you long to find out about his home life and when you confronted him about it, he confessed how much he hated it there. That’s why you had invited him to stay at your house over the holidays until the Potter’s allowed him to stay at theirs.

Sirius was currently ripping out chunks of grass from the ground and throwing them into the water. You shook your head at him, quietly laughing to yourself at his bizarre actions. “I can’t wait for you to finally meet my parents,” you say. “Properly, I mean,” already predicting his response that he’d already seen them on the platform.

“I’ll have you know I get owls from your parents at least once a week. We’re already best friends.” He claimed.

“Suuuree, Pads. Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you teased. “Besides, I thought I was your best friend.”

“Hey! They’ll love me!” He exclaims cockily. You knew he was only joking, but you could also see past the façade. He was anxious that your parents would hate him (though that was virtually impossible, they already loved Sirius just based on the stories you had told them). So, you reassure him.

“I’m sure they will.”

Eventually, a loud whistle echoes throughout the grounds, alerting you both that the train had arrived. As you had both already taken your trunks down to the platform this morning, you didn’t need to carry anything there. Sirius gets up first and holds his hand out to you, silently offering to help you up. Once you were on your feet, you brush of the dirt off of your clothes and smirk mischievously at him. “Race you!” And you sprint off, Sirius close behind you.

Somehow, Sirius had managed to find an empty compartment and you were now discussing all the things you wanted to do when you arrived.

“Oh! We have to go strawberry picking!” Your enthusiasm causing him to smile. “Dad always used to take me but I haven’t done it in ages.”

He was just about to reply when your conversation was interrupted by James, Remus, Peter and Lily.

James smiles at you both before sitting down next to Sirius. “Hiya, Padfoot. Hi, Y/N/N.”

You returned the smile and greeted the rest of them. Obviously, now the compartment was no longer empty, you and Sirius silently agreed to continue your conversation later. “We’ve been searching the whole bloody train for you two.” James continues. “Thought you’d stayed at Hogwarts.”

Lily speaks up. “They were one of the first ones on, James. Me and Remus saw them running dow-”

“Running!?” James interjects. “Merlin, what were you running for?”

“We were racing,” said Sirius, shrugging.

“You won then I take it?” Remus asks.

“How’d you know that?”

Remus points towards you, a bitter look on your face, though you were trying not to show it. Unsuccessfully, apparently. “That doesn’t look like the face of someone who won, if I’m honest.”

You scowl at Remus. “He only won because he tricked me into thinking he’d fallen.”

Sirius chuckles. “Such a sweetheart, Y/N/N.”

In an instant, your attitude changes. No longer angry, but instead flustered. Your cheeks heat up and you turn to face the window to hide your blush. Okay… maybe you were harbouring a bit of a crush on your best friend, but he didn’t need to know that. Not when he clearly didn’t feel the same way as you. Sometimes, you would over exaggerate his behaviour towards you and convince yourself he returned your feelings before you saw him drag a different girl into a broom closet to kiss, reminding you he only acted like that because he was your best friend.

For the remaining hours of the train ride, you and the others play Exploding Snap whilst eating the various sweets you had bought from the trolley until finally, you arrived at Platform 9 and ¾.

When you get off the train, you all say goodbye to each other before you leave with Sirius, trying to locate your parents. It was only when the crowd on the platform thinned a little that you found them. They were waving, huge smiles on their faces, and when you got close enough, they ran towards you to give you a hug. After they let you go, they turned towards Sirius, who was messing around with his hands nervously.

Your mother turned towards him. “You must be Sirius.” Her words were soft and gently spoken, and when Sirius nodded, she beamed down at him. “Y/N’s told us all about you, dear. And you have no reason to be scared; we trust Y/N’s judgement, so if she thinks you’re okay, then we do too.”

Thankfully, Sirius seemed to calm down at this and returned to his usual confident and energetic self.

Once you were ready to leave, you all returned to Kings Cross Station and set off towards your home.

Sirius had always tried to imagine what your house looked like, and now he was finally seeing it, he couldn’t imagine you living anywhere else. There was a large garden and the pathway leading up to the front door was accentuated with a mix of different coloured flowers. The actual house looked about 3 stories high, and looked like an odd combination of traditional and modern, though it suited the house perfectly.

Inside the house held the same character as the outside and though he was amazed by it all, it was your room that he loved the most. Two house banners hung on the Y/F/C wall on either side of your double bed. There were several paintings, both still and moving ones and beneath your bedroom window, was a large sofa. Most noticeable, was the large shelf which was full of books. Curious, he walked over to them, fingers tracing along the spines. He could tell which ones you read more by the appearance of them, some were more worn than others. There were muggle stories of which he had never heard before, school books and wizard books, such as ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ and 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard’, along with many others.

Whilst Sirius was admiring your room, you had gone downstairs to fetch food for the two of you. When you came back up to your room, you slammed the door shut behind you slightly louder than you intended to, causing Sirius to jump. “Merlin, Y/N!”

You laugh at his reaction, but it only makes him grumpy. “Hmph.”

“Oh, don’t pout, Pads.”

He crosses his arms and turns away from you, though you’re sure you can see a slight hint of a smirk. You’re just about to tell him that he can’t possibly be mad at you, (even though you really knew he was only messing around), when you get an idea. You shake the food you brought up, showing it him. As you expected, the noise intrigued him and when he saw what you were carrying, his eyes light up and he rushes over to your side. “Okay, you know my weakness. You’re forgiven. Now gimmie.”

“Thought so,” you giggle.

You pass him the food and you sit on the couch, Sirius joining you once he had finally opened the bag. A small smile spreads across your face as he rests his head on your shoulder, quickly falling asleep. You lift him off of you carefully as to not disturb him and summon a blanket to cover him. Slowly, you feel your eyelids growing heavier and the exact second you collapse onto your bed, you enter a peaceful state of unconsciousness.

On the first day, it starts raining unexpectedly, so whilst you both debated on what to do, you made pancakes. In hindsight, you should’ve known that cooking with Sirius wasn’t a good idea, especially as you were doing it the Muggle way. Despite pancakes being a simple recipe, he still managed to create a mess of both you and your kitchen.

You shake with laughter as Sirius roughly stirs the flour in the bowl. “Sirius, what’s the flour ever done to you?”

“Exist,” he frowns. “Honestly, Y/N, we could just wave our wands and not have to do any of this.”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun. Gotta enjoy the little things, Pads.”

Sirius was about to complain some more when flour spilt from the glass bowl and landed on your face and in your hair. While you stand there, shocked, Sirius begins to laugh. “You know, I think I’m starting to see the appeal of this now.”

You glare at him before going to crack the eggs.

By some miracle, you make the pancakes without burning the house down and as the weather looked as though it was clearing up, you had agreed to go to Diagon Alley. At least there would be something to do no matter what the weather turned out to be.

After you ate your pancakes and cleaned up, you say a quick goodbye to your mother and head over to the fireplace; the Floo Network was the most convenient way to travel. You tell Sirius to meet you outside Gringotts, before stepping into the fireplace and shouting your desired destination, green flames surrounding you.

You didn’t have to wait long for Sirius to join you. You both had money meaning there was no need for a trip to Gringotts, so, you walked around entering any shop that sparked your interest.

You had just come out of Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, from which Sirius bought many new items for pranks and tricks he had planned for the next year.

“So, where to next, oh Great Trickster?” You snickered. Since he began boasting about how good he was at pranking people in third year, you had given him a nickname to tease him. It used to annoy him, but now, after several years of hearing it, he had gotten used to it.

“Wherever you want.”

“Bad move, Black. You’ll regret saying that.” You vowed.

“Try me.”

You were right. Sirius regretted it. So far, you had dragged him into Eeylops Owl Emporium to look at 'cute’ pets, all the bookstores in Diagon Alley, (he had to admit he didn’t mind this as much as he thought he would. Watching you read was one of the most interesting things he had ever witnessed), Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop and now, you were heading to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

You knew what you were doing. All you wanted was Sirius to admit that you were right, and you guessed you were pretty close to achieving your goal. When you left the Quidditch shop, you looked up at Sirius, giving your best innocent smile. “You had enough yet, Pads?”

“Ugh, yes. My feet are killing me.”

Oh no. You weren’t letting him get off that easy. “Aaannndd…?”

He huffs, but finally admits defeat. “And… I regretted saying it. I was wrong.”

You jump into the air, parading around the cobbled street. “Ha! I did it. Sirius Black admitted he was wrong!”

Eventually, Sirius had to pull you in close to him and put his hand over your mouth to stop you from shouting it to the whole world.“

"Sshh. You’ll damage my reputation, Y/N.” Sirius gives a small laugh to let you know he’s joking and smirks at you. However, when you don’t smile back, he gets confused. It only takes him two seconds to realise why. You were in such a close proximity to each other, which usually wouldn’t bother any of you. But this was so unexpected and it felt different. He promptly released you from his grip, coughing and scratching the back of his neck anxiously.

“So… erm, I- I just…” Sirius stumbled over his words, and if you didn’t know him any better, you would’ve said he was shy.

In an attempt to make the situation less awkward, you try and think of something to do. The sky had cleared and the sun was out so you made a suggestion. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Luckily, getting ice cream seemed to be the right idea, as Sirius no longer seemed embarrassed by the previous event. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop you from replaying the scene over and over in your head. You were mere centimeters from his face, so close that if you had leaned forward just a little more, you would’ve been kissing him. You shake the thought from your mind; you didn’t want to set yourself up for heartbreak.

Though he didn’t show it, Sirius was also still thinking about what had happened. He felt weird, it almost felt like he was with another girl, locked away in a broom cupboard. He dismisses the thought as quickly as he thinks it and ends up blaming it on the heat.

When the sky began to turn pretty shades of oranges and pinks, you both took it as an indication to go back home. Overall, you had enjoyed the day out, and you were looking forward to the rest of the week with him.

Exhausted, when you get back, you both went to your bedroom. Sirius crashed on the sofa, though this time, you fell asleep before him. The soothing sound of your breathing soon sent him to sleep.

The next day was just as exciting as the last. As promised, you took Sirius strawberry picking, something that, to your genuine surprise, he seemed to enjoy. For the rest of the day, you ate the fruit salads you made with the strawberries whilst educating him on your favourite movies.

But the good times had to stop at some point.

In the middle of the night, Sirius jolted up, awoken by his nightmare. He was sweating and shaking, trying to get a grasp on reality again. He looked over to where you lay, not wanting to disturb you as well, but you had told him before that if he needed you, you would prefer him to do whatever he needed so you could help him.

The shift of weight on the bed immediately woke you up and you could feel Sirius freeze as he noticed. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Mhm,” you nod slowly, still half-asleep.

He climbed into the bed with you, pulling the covers over himself but making sure you still had enough. His arm snaked around your waist and you snuggled in closer to him.

“Bad dream?” You whispered. He nodded.

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

You wished you could’ve stayed awake. As guilty as you would have felt in the morning, you wanted to remember this. But, you were too tired and soon enough, you were back asleep.

Whenever Sirius was on his own, he would always struggle to forget a nightmare. However, with you laid beside him, your Y/C/H hair like a halo around your head, sometimes tickling his face and your soft features that looked so calm when you were asleep, he found it difficult to focus on anything else.

That’s when it hit him.

Throughout the week, it had happened gradually, though he had remained blissfully unaware of it. Now it seemed to crash over him all at once, the realisation was so painfully obvious that he didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before.

He was in love with you.

It was bound to happen eventually. You knew everything about him and always offered to be there whenever he needed you, whatever he needed you for. Be it a friend, or someone he relied on for support, sometimes just a partner in crime. Subconsciously, he pulled you closer, never wanting this night to end.

When Sirius woke up, you were smiling warmly at him. He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth curling upwards at the sight.

“Mmm, mornin,’” he yawned.

You giggle softly. He looked adorable after he had just woken up. “Hiya.”

You make a move to leave the bed but his arm that was wrapped around you just held you tighter. You furrow your eyebrows. Even from Sirius, the person who loved nothing more than a cuddle, this was odd behaviour.

“Let me go, Pads.”

“No,” he objected.

“Why?”

“I love you.”

His eyes widen as he realises what he said. He becomes a lot more alert and starts apologising repeatedly.

“No, I’m sorry, Y/N, I-”

“Sirius?” Your voice was quiet.

“Yeah?” He mumbles.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

Part 2

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

Text

The Money Problem

Note: In honor of Killian Jones being a canon father, I gave you Daddy!Killian goodness. Granted, this series is now officially a canon divergence, but frankly my dear, I don't give a damn because Season Seven is now officially kinda a hot mess, and I’m ignoring it in favor of my personal headcanons and @peglegsjones‘s headcanons. Those are the only realities I’m kinda accepting right now because I seriously hated the Wish Realm arc. Anyway, I haven't forgotten about my other unfinished works, but this one really grabbed me. I was inspired by a little girl crying on the tube because she lost her toy. As always, @welllpthisishappening is my fic life partner and light of my life and therefore this is kinda dedicated to her. Summary: It's normal for small children to get attached to a toy or a blanket. Killian thinks his children are a little too attached to theirs, especially his daughter who takes her stuffed doggie everywhere. Rating: T Word Count: 5,300+

In a convoluted way, Killian blamed Dave for this. Because really, if Dave hadn’t bought the blasted teddy bear for Harrison’s first birthday then he probably wouldn’t have to deal with his children and their obsession with their “specials."

Yes, his children had “specials”; objects that they wrapped themselves around and refused to let go of whether it be to go out for a family dinner at Granny’s or to attend a wedding. Both Emma and Snow had assured them that “specials” were quite normal but it still sometimes worried him.

Ever since Harrison had laid eyes on that bear, he had formed an attachment to it; refusing to sleep without it. It had led to many a phone call on date night where Dave or Snow would tell them that they had forgotten Harrison’s beloved bear and had stopped over the house to find it to no avail. (And naturally Killian would find the blasted thing under Harrison's toddler bed not even five seconds after looking.) The stuffed menace even had a name, a creative label that only a two-year old could come with - Ducky Cookie. (Killian was still trying to figure out how Harrison had come up with that beauty.)

While Harrison was enamored with Ducky Cookie, Wes had Blankie. Like his brother, he had received a teddy bear from his grandfather but he set it aside to cuddle up with a fuzzy blue blanket covered in anchors that Emma had bought him off the discount rack at the local children’s store. Wes didn’t seem to care that the bloody thing had only cost four dollars; he only cared that his parents swaddled him in it at every waking moment.

This, of course, led to Beth, who was the most attached to her “special”, which was a stuffed dog which had an even more bizarre name than Ducky Cookie or Blankie. Beth’s little companion was named Money. Why the dog was named Money, Killian couldn’t quite say but Emma blamed him for it. Regardless of its chosen moniker, Money was a pain in Killian’s ass. Where Harrison and Wes were a bit more reasonable about leaving their beloved items behind, Beth brought Money everywhere and whenever Emma or Killian suggested that they leave the dog behind, she would pitch a Hurricane Elizabeth worthy tantrum.

Killian’s current predicament only highlighted this.

In a fit of tiredness, he and his wife had decided to take their three small children on a much-needed vacation. Killian’s definition of vacation had been to take the Jolly on a week’s long sail. Emma had vetoed this and decided that they should rent a beach house on a small vacation island called Martha’s Vineyard, citing a need for some normalcy. What she meant by that, Killian had no idea, but had wisely given into his wife’s plans. They had just arrived on the island and had been told by a cleaning crew that the house wouldn’t be ready until late afternoon. Instead of ridding themselves of their luggage, they had decided to hit the beach. While Harrison and Wes had wisely left their beloved “specials” in the can, Beth was being a bit more difficult about leaving Money behind.

“I think you should leave your doggie in the car, Little Beth,” Killian told her in a low voice as he unstrapped her from her car seat.

Beth, cranky from their car ride, glared at him and wrapped her tiny arms around her beloved toy in response.

“No,” she said in a voice that held a sense of toddler-grade finality.

“But you don’t want him getting all dirty, do you love?” Killian asked in a cajoling voice, smoothing his hand cross the crown of her head in hopes of managing the riot of dark curls. She looked like she hadn’t seen a brush in days.

“No,” she repeated, still hugging the toy close to her chest.

Killian sighed and made a move to take it away from her. Beth promptly squirmed away from him. Her face turned a violent shade of red that heralded the start of a huge tantrum. Not wanting to risk the start of a meltdown of epic proportions, Killian backed away with his hands up and turned to his wife. Emma was riffling through all the junk in the back of their car to get their beach things. As she pulled out a huge bag of toys, a kiddie pool, two boogie boards and a cooler, Killian suddenly missed the simple days when it was just him, his wife and Henry; there wasn’t a need for all of this nonsense then.

“Love, I need a little help,” Killian said after a moment.

“I’m a bit busy here, babe,” Emma responded absently, pulling out a pair of kid sized beach chairs and turning to their sons. “You think you boys can carry this on your own?”

Harrison nodded, taking both chairs from his mother and turning to hand one to his younger brother. Wes frowned and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I don’t wanna,” he said, shaking his head for emphasis.

Emma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Westley, I don’t care if you want to or not. You are going to carry that chair or else it’s going to take forever to get all this stuff up to the beach.”

“Har can do it,” Wes said stubbornly.

“Har is going to carry his chair and you’re going to carry yours. The decision is final. Keep this up and I don’t let you go in the water with Daddy,” Emma responded, narrowing her eyes at him.

Wes, who had been a vigorous swimmer since he had started swimming lessons, gaped at his mother for a moment before begrudgingly taking a chair from Harrison. Killian couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Swan, if you have a moment, our daughter needs a little convincing to leave her special doggie behind,” Killian said, giving her a hopeful look.

Emma sighed again before turning to her husband.

“You take over this. I will take over negotiations with Her Highness. Just a heads up, the umbrella is really deep in there and might take some maneuvering,” Emma replied with a hint of frustration in her voice.

Killian blinked at her.

“Are you sure we need all of this stuff? It seems a bit excessive…” Killian said, gesturing to the kiddie pool, bag of toys, cooler, boogie boards and assortment of chairs.

Emma crossed her arms across her chest and gave him a glare that looked eerily similar to the one that their daughter had just given him. Killian gave his wife the same response that he gave his daughter; he placed his hands up in the air in surrender. It wasn’t worth the argument despite the pain in the ass it would be to carry all of this junk up to the beach along with finding the perfect spot. He never missed his stepson more than he did now.

Emma strode over to the car door to confront their daughter while Killian made his way over to the trunk, which was overflowing with suitcases, pillows, food and beach gear. The umbrella was wedged under a pile of heavy looking suitcases.

“It looks like Jenga,” Harrison commented, tilting his head to the side.

“Pardon?” Killian frowned at his eldest.

“Jenga. Henry always plays it with me,” Harrison replied. “You have move pieces around without everything falling down…I’m bad at it.”

“I’m sure you’ll get better,” Killian responded reassuringly, ruffling Harrison’s dark hair and surveying the precarious landscape of the car.

He leaned forward and grabbed the end of the umbrella, giving it a testing tug. It slid forward a little bit before the suitcases on top did as well. He stopped, not wanting to cause an avalanche. He sighed and turned to his sons.

“This is why I wanted to go sailing instead,” he told them in exasperation. “You lot are a lot of work sometimes.”

Wes gave him an unimpressed look that made him look older than his near six-years of life. (It still shocked the hell out of him that his youngest son was turning six in September. Where had the time gone?)

“Should have thought about that before you decided to have kids. Not my fault,” Wes replied with a shrug.

Killian opened his mouth to reply that out of the three of them, only Wes himself was planned, but quickly shut his mouth when he remembered his audience. He should probably wait until they were well into their teenage years before dropping that kind of psychological damage onto their laps. (Not that Killian necessarily regretted his children. They were quite lovely when they weren’t being difficult, which was a bit too frequently for his tastes.)

“Elizabeth…” Emma’s voice sounded over the luggage.

“No!” Beth replied and there was a thud that followed. Killian could only assume that his daughter had kicked the seat in front of her. She had a habit of doing that when she was mad.

“You are leaving Money behind!” Emma declared. It was clear that she was losing patience.

“No!” Beth did not seem to care her mother was nearing the end of her rope.

There was movement from the seats in front of him, but Killian couldn’t see what was happening through the mountain of suitcases, however, he could only assume that Emma was trying to wrestle away the dog as Beth let out an ear-piercing shriek. Killian cringed, ducking his head.

“Make her stop! Make her stop!” Harrison pleased, placing his hands over his ears. Wes followed suit, giving Killian a miserable look.

Over the shrieking, Killian heard his wife let out a loud huff and watchad she stomped away from their daughter’s car seat, looking furious.

“If she wants the dog, she can have the dog,” Emma stated in annoyance. “But that thing is going to get disgusting and let’s see how she likes it when I have to take it away later to put it through the wash.”

Emma marched back towards Killian, glancing between her husband and the umbrella still lodged in the trunk of the car. She let out another impatient huff.

“You really couldn’t handle one umbrella?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.

“It’s pretty lodged in there, Swan,” he responded somewhat defensively. “Do you think we really need it?”

“Yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Because you, Killian Jones, are horrible at putting on sunscreen and I’m not having my husband turning into a lobster on me.”

She then cut her eyes to their sons.

“And you two are lathering up! Don’t think I’m letting those pale bodies of yours even touch the water before you covered in sunblock! I mean it, Westley Graham Jones!”

Wes looked a bit offended at being called out and Killian watched with some amusement as he moved his jaw side to side, much like Dave did when he was annoyed. He wondered for a moment if the move was learned or inherited. Perhaps a bit of both.

Beth had obviously hopped down from her car seat because before Killian knew she was curling a hand around his leg and looking up at him with big green eyes while holding her dog possessively against her chest.

“Carry me?” she asked with a pout.

Killian shook his head.

“Sorry, Minnow. Daddy has to carry your toys and the cooler. You’re going to have to walk,” Killian replied with a sigh.

“Elizabeth, you’re walking,” Emma stated in a tone that brokered no arguments as she pulled the umbrella out from under the suitcases and gave Killian a look of triumph. “And you’re carrying your chair.”

Beth pouted, looking between her parents before focusing all of her energy on Killian. Her lip began to tremble a bit, signaling she was on the verge on crying. Killian’s eyes back to his wife, who was rolling hers.

“Spare the crocodile tears, kid,” Emma snapped. “Daddy might be a marshmallow for them, but I’m not. You already got your dog. You’re not getting anything else.”

It wasn’t long before they were all hauling beach equipment up the sandy dunes. The beach was already crowded with people and it took them a good ten minutes to find a good spot to make camp and even longer time to sort out the beach blankets, fold out all the chairs and fill the kiddie pool, which they had brought for the kids to play in without too much supervision. The waves were relatively high for small children to be playing and knowing their kids, Killian just knew one of them was going to try to sneak in water. He still had nightmares about the time Wes had done exactly that and nearly got pulled under by the riptide.

“Dad! Dad! Dad!” Wes yanked on Killian’s arm none too gently, nearly dislodging it. “Can we go into the water? Can we?”

“Did you put on sunscreen?” Killian asked, arching an eyebrow.

Wes immediately frowned at the question, signaling that the answer was certainly a no. Killian sighed and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen and handed it to the boy.

“Put this on and then we’ll talk,” he said firmly.

He immediately turned to his wife who was riffling through the cooler to get Beth a juice box. The little girl in question was sitting in her beach chair, wearing Emma’s sunglasses and pretending to read her brothers’ Spider-Man comics while rubbing her thumb rhythmically over Money’s black ear. He couldn’t help but grin at her.

“What do you think, Swan?” he asked Emma quietly. “Does the water look too rough to you?”

Emma looked up from the cooler and surveyed the waves crashing on the shoreline with a small frown before glancing up at her husband.

“They’re a little big, but I think they should be okay as long as they’re with you. Just make sure that Harrison works on that doggy paddle of his. He honestly sucks at it,” Emma replied with a sigh before handing a Kool Aid pouch to Beth.

“Aye, the boy swims like a jellyfish,” Killian agreed with a chuckle.

Beth took the juice without looking up from Spider-Man, slurping on it contently. Emma coughed and looked at her pointedly.

“Excuse me, Your Highness, what do we say when people do things for you?” Emma asked, obviously still annoyed with their daughter’s behavior.

“Thank you,” Beth mumbled, a small blush painting over her cherub cheeks.

“Good girl,” Emma remarked before looking back at Killian. “If you want to take the boys in, just make sure they put on sunscreen. You’re a big boy and I can’t make you do anything except maybe slather you in aloe vera later when you complain but them, no sunscreen, no water. Those are the rules.”

Wes tossed the sunscreen unceremoniously into the sand and gave his father an impatient look that was completely ruined by the patches of white glob that had been haphazardly rubbed onto his face.

“Can we go in now?” he asked, wriggling in place.

Killian let out a heavy sigh and pulled his youngest son over so he rubbed in the excess sunscreen.

“This is sloppy work, lad,” Killian remarked as he swiped at Wes’s cheek. “I know you don’t like it, but if you don’t do it right, it’s just going wash off and you’ll be left with burnt shoulders.”

“Sunburns aren’t that bad,” Wes shrugged.

“But melanoma is,” Emma countered.

Wes blinked in confused

“What’s melanoma?”

“It’s cancer and take my word for it, it really sucks,” Emma responded before looking around and frowning.

“Where’s Harrison?”

“He’s already down by the water, making sure that Jaws isn’t out there,” Wes replied.

“Jaws?” Emma blinked. “How does Harrison know about Jaws?”

“Henry showed him a movie about it. I wasn’t allowed to watch, but I know it’s about a big, big, big shark that eats people,” Wes replied, spreading his arms in emphasis. “You’ve seen Jaws, right Dad?”

“I’ve seen the film, aye,” Killian replied. “But it’s hardly something I would call accurate. You have nothing to worry about, lad. He isn’t real.”

“Are you sure?” Wes asked, sounding uncertain.

“Jaws isn’t real,” Emma confirmed. “And Henry shouldn’t be letting you or Harrison watch films like that. You're too young for scary stuff.”

When Killian had finished rubbing in all of the sunscreen and Emma had given her final approval, he walked his son down to the water, which his other son was looking out at the water apprehensively.

“Jaws isn’t real. Mom said so,” Wes said to his older brother bluntly.

“But sharks are real,” Harrison replied before looking up at Killian with almost solemn green eyes. “And there are sharks out there, aren’t there Dad?”

Killian sighed, debating how to approach the subject of sharks without scaring off his eldest son. He didn’t want him to be afraid of the water, but he didn’t want to lie either.

“The likelihood of us running into a shark is very small,” Killian said after a moment. “And if we do, I’ll protect you. I promise.”

Harrison looked back and forth between his father’s face and the ocean in front of them before giving his father a tentative nod.

“Okay.”

“That’s a lad.” Killian grinned.

Harrison hooked his arm around his father’s elbow, allowing Killian to pull them into the water. The three of them waded a few feet from the shore, playing a game of "up and under" as waves rolled in. They couldn’t have been in the ocean for more than fifteen minutes before Harrison complained about the amount of seaweed wrapping along his legs.

When Killian returned to shore, he was greeted with the sight of his three-year-old in the middle of one of her infamous Hurricane Elizabeth tantrums. She was shrieking on the top of her lungs, her face turned a blotchy red and she was kicking the sand every which way. Emma was trying to calm her down, looking both frustrated and embarrassed as neighboring strangers began to stare at them.

“HE TOOK MY MONEY! I WANT MONEY!” Beth shrieked.

“Oh shit,” Killian muttered under his breath.

“You said a bad word,” Harrison said in scandalized tone.

“Aye, and don’t you dare repeat it,” Killian replied absently as he practically dragged his sons back to their spot.

“I WANT MONEY! I WANT MONEY NOW!” Beth screamed again, sending an impressive amount of sand into the air.

“What’s going on?” Killian asked his wife.

“Her special is missing and now she’s throwing a fit,” Emma replied, running her hands through her hair and looking completely stressed out. “We told her to leave it in the car and now it’s lost. Surprise, surprise.”

“I WANT MONEY!” Beth yelled loudly, kicking the sand again.

Killian turned to speak to her but caught the eye of a neighboring woman who was looking at him and his family with reproach. Immediately Killian realized how his daughter’s words must have sounded to the other parents around him who had no idea that she was referring to a stuffed animal rather than actual currency.

“It’s her stuffed doggie,” he said weakly. “Her dog is named Money. She’s not asking for actual money.”

The woman arched in eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief, but Killian didn’t really care whether she believed him or not. He was more concerned with Beth’s meltdown.

Killian sighed and leaned down so he was eye-level with his screaming daughter. He placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. Beth jerked wildly under his grip, trying to get away.

“What’s going on, Elizabeth?” he asked her, trying to gentle his voice.

“HE TOOK MY MONEY!” Beth yelled back, not lowering her volume. Killian winced at the sound level.

“Who took your Money, love? You gotta let me know who so I can get him back,” Killian replied as patiently as he could.

Beth responded by jerking up her arm and pointing at something behind Killian. He turned to look and saw a mangy-looking stray dog holding his daughter’s favored stuffed animal in its mouth and wagging his tail almost tauntingly.

“Daddy is going to go get your doggie, okay?” Killian said. “So, calm down and go sit with Mommy, Har and Wes, okay?”

As soon as Beth nodded, Killian got up and turned to face the dog that had stolen Money. It was watching him with a keen eye, as if it realized Killian’s mission. He did his best to approach the dog with calm, measured steps, not wanting to scare it off.

“Hey boy…” Killian crooned slowly. “Hey boy…what do you got there? I don’t think that belongs to you…”

As soon as Killian was in grabbing distance, the dog took off like shot. Killian let out a loud, frustrated curse before breaking off into a sprint after it. Sand went flying as Killian chased it. The dog wasn’t necessarily fast, but people proved to be a challenge for Killian as they often didn’t seem to get the idea that he was in hot pursuit of a thief. Most of them stood stupidly as Killian nearly mowed them over.

The chase came to an end as the dog skidded into a beach volleyball game, slamming into one of the players. Not even paying the other man mind, Killian reached for the stuffed animal and tried to yank it from the dog’s mouth.

“Let go!” Killian commanded, gripping Money’s body as tightly as he could.

The dog growled defiantly in response, not willing to let go of its prize. The stranger who had been knocked into seemed to realize what was happening and had grabbed onto the dog and was trying to pull it off of the stuffed animal as well.

Just as Killian thought he was succeeding there was a loud ripping noise and he fell backward, still holding onto Money. He looked down at the plush toy in alarm as he realized that one of its legs was still in the dog’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Killian said, trying to survey the extent of the damage.

“That’s just bad luck there,” the stranger said sympathetically, letting go of the dog. It took off like a shot, happy to get away from Killian.

“Beth is not going to be happy,” Killian murmured.

“Who’s Beth?” The stranger asked.

“My daughter,” Killian replied absently. “This her doggie.”

“Oh man. That’s rough,” the other man replied. “Maybe you could get her a new one?”

“Doubtful,” Killian remarked, already turning to head back. “This was her special.”

Killian thumbed the rip in his daughter’s stuffed animal as he apprehensively made his way back to where his family was located. Money was in bad shape. He was covered in sand and dog slobber; his fake fur was more gray than white with patches of caked dirt and sand on it. Fluff was pouring out where the dog had ripped off its leg.

When Beth saw him, her eyes were alight with hope. She got up from her beach chair, approaching him with a wide smile that faded when she took in Money’s missing limb.

“He’s hurt!” she cried, tears dripping at the corners of her eyes. “Money’s hurt! He’s gonna die, isn’t he Daddy?”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Killian said gently, once more dropping to his knees onto the sand. He placed his blunted arm on her shoulder. “Daddy is going to make Money all better, okay? He’s going to make him all better. Do you believe me?”

Beth nodded her head vigorously. Tears still flooding her eyes.

“Then stop crying because Money is going to be okay.”

Killian caught his wife’s eyes over Beth’s shoulder and he nodded his head towards the umbrella, silently signaling for her to back up their beach things. Emma let out a loud sigh before turning to the boys.

“Ready to check out the house?” she asked them.

“Already?” Wes whined. “But we just got here!”

“Well, we need to go because we’re having a bit of an…emergency,” Emma said a bit lamely as she began gathering things and tossing them thoughtlessly into their beach bag.

Wes’s face scrunched in displeasure and his eyes immediately cut over to his sister.

“This is your fault!” he hissed at her.

Killian opened his mouth to reproach him, but his eldest son beat him to the punch. Harrison leaned over and whacked his brother aside the head.

“Don’t be mean! You were way worse when you thought you lost Blankie at that Red Sox game that Grandpa David brought us to,” Harrison commented.

“But that was Blankie!” Wes protested.

“Yes, and this is Money,” Harrison countered. “He’s just as important to Beth as Blankie is to you and Ducky Cookie is to me.”

The rented house was only fifteen minutes from the beach, but they made it to the house in ten minutes as Emma broke more than a few speed limits on their way. A harassed looking elderly couple glared at them as they whipped by, but Emma paid them no mind.

Upon arriving at the house, Killian didn’t bother to even look around before searching through all the drawers for some needle and thread. He found his prize in the nightstand in the master bedroom and immediately snatched it.

“Swan, I’m going to need your help,” Killian called as he practically ran down the stairs.

Emma was sitting on the couch with their three children, running her fingers through Beth’s dark hair as they watched television. There were still tears in Beth’s eyes as she stroked Money’s dirty pelt.

Emma looked up at him, noticed the bag of needles and spools in his hand and raised an eyebrow at him. Killian looked back at her with an eyebrow of his own. Emma merely pursed her lips at him before she nudged Beth’s shoulder.

“Hey, Daddy and I are going to fix Money now. Can we have him?” she asked gently.

“You can make him better?” Beth questioned with big eyes.

“We’re going to try,” Emma responded, slowly pulling the stuffed animal away from their daughter. “We’re going to do our best.”

“Be gentle with him. I don’t want him to feel any pain,” Beth responded, looking anxious.

Emma merely nodded before standing up to join her husband. Killian motioned her to join him into the dining area. He sat down in one of the chairs before motioning for his wife to do the same.

“I need you to hold our patient down while I sew him up,” Killian said, placing the sewing kit down on the table.

“You know how to sew?” Emma asked incredulously.

Killian scoffed.

“Any sailor worth his salt knows how to sew, Swan,” he remarked. “How else do you mend sails in the middle of a voyage? Or clothes for that matter? Not much spare cloth at sea.”

Emma didn’t respond, just placed Money on the table as Killian put the needle in his mouth before picking up the white thread and attending to threading it. He hadn’t sewn in a while and doing it one handed tended to be tricky.

“Do you want me to do it?” Emma asked softly after a few attempts.

“If you don’t mind, love,” Killian replied, taking the needle from his mouth and handing it to her along with the white thread.

He tried not to be frustrated with himself as Emma threaded the needle on her first try. Instead, he tried to focus on the task at hand - fixing his daughter’s special toy.

“We’re not going to be able to put him through the wash anymore, are we?” Emma asked quietly as Killian went to work.

“Probably not,” Killian admitted. “He’s going to be a little…delicate after this. It might be best to go with spot cleaning after this. He’s quite filthy though.”

“That’s because she brings him everywhere,” Emma sighed. “He’s more traveled than Ducky Cookie and Blankie combined. I try to stop her from bringing him to daycare with her, but she’s sneaky. She gets that from you.”

Killian looked up from his task with raised eyebrows.

“Really? You’re going to push that one on me?”

“Of course,” Emma replied, raising both eyebrows at him as if daring him to question her.

Killian sighed, but said nothing as he returned to his primary focus. He kept the stitches as tight and neat as possible, which was a difficult thing, considering his one-handedness. When he was done, he surveyed his work with mixed emotions.

“I should have gotten the other leg back,” he muttered quietly.

“Given the situation at hand, I think you did the best you could. At least you got most of him back. I don’t think the lack of leg is going to stop her from loving him,” Emma said gently.

She leaned forward, took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

“Shall we return the patient to his rightful owner?” Killian asked quietly.

“Probably,” Emma chuckled. “I’m surprised that she hasn’t just barged in her to make sure he’s okay.”

When they returned to the living room, both parents were surprised to see Beth holding Harrison’s precious Ducky Cookie in her arms, her thumb rubbing over the bear’s ear in the same fashion she often did with her stuffed dog. Along with the teddy bear, Wes’s Blankie was draped over her shoulders. Both brothers were cuddled into her side, watching whatever cartoon was on the television screen. A smile graced Killian’s lips as he surveyed the scene. He never felt prouder of his boys than he did in this moment.

Beth noticed them first, placing Ducky Cookie back into Harrison’s arms and allowing Blankie to fall from her shoulders as she slipped out from between Harrison and Wes and approached her parents cautiously.

Killian, for the third time that day, got down on his knees and placed Money gingerly in Beth’s hands.

“He okay?” she asked quietly, her fingers tracing over Killian’s stitching job.

“Aside from being a three-legged dog instead of a four legged one? Yes, he’s going to live,” Killian replied with a tight smile. “He’s just a bit…he’s a bit like me now…”

Beth’s eyes flickered to Killian’s handless arm for a moment before looking down at her stuffed animal. She hugged it tighter to her chest.

“He’s even more special now then,” she declared, giving the dog a kiss on the head.

Killian swallowed thickly, not sure how to respond to such a statement. There were emotions flaring up inside him that he hadn’t expected.

“You’re going to have to be more careful with him now,” Killian said gently, pushing back his own feelings. “He’s going to need you to be gentler with him. He can’t be dragged across all the realms anymore. He’s going to get tired and want to sleep more. Do you understand?”

Beth nodded, tucking Money under her chin and closing her eyes.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said quietly as she rubbed her cheek against the top of Money’s head. “I love you.”

Killian kissed the top of her head.

“I love you too, Minnow.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #cs au #daddy!killian #little pirates fic #little pirates #my fic #my shit #beth jones #harrison jones #wes jones #the money problem

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