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iconic-ponytail · 3 years

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there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

#this is unhinged but i had to ok #I HAD TO #riverdalepromptathon #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfiction #riverdalepromptathonweek3

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kumeko · 3 years

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Title: Garreg Mach Yearbook Chronicles

A/N: For the @garregmachzine I got to write four different snippets. It was a fun challenge trying to cram everything into a drabble.

Featuring: Leonie's troubles with Seteth and Flayn, Hilda charming Ferdinand to escape battle, Annette dealing with a club composed of Linhardt and Marianne, and Claude dodging Hubert's censor.

…

Fishing Tournament

Sitting on the banks of the pond, Leonie watched as her bobber dipped in and out of the water, floating idly along an invisible current. With any luck, she’d catch a fish soon. A big one, hopefully. Usually by now she’d have caught at least one or two, but then usually she was also alone while she fished. Leonie cast an eye around her, biting her cheek at the sight of her fellow classmates. Despite how early in the morning it was, it felt like half the monastery was sitting along the pond, trying their best to catch a fish.

Then again, it wasn’t everyday that Seteth held a fishing contest. After all that’d happened in the past few months, she couldn’t deny that they needed a break like this and it seemed that everyone else agreed. Byleth sat at the docks, quietly fishing. Next to her, Sylvain lost his balance and flailed as he struggled to keep out of the water. In the distance, she spotted Caspar and Raphael comparing their catches.

“I see you are also entering the fishing contest,” a slightly musical voice asked from behind her. Startled from her thoughts, Leonie looked up in time to catch Flayn as she sat down next to her. Like, right next to her. Smiling softly, Flayn clasped her hands together as she stared at Leonie’s rod. “Did you catch anything?”

“N-not yet.” Leonie shook her head, feeling a little awkward at the proximity. Maybe if she shifted the other way—

“That is a pity.” Seteth slowly sat down on her other side, a fishing rod in hand. He cast his line, his eyes on her the entire time. “It will not be much of a contest if there are no entries.”

Leonie resisted the urge to get up and run. What was it with these siblings, pinning her in like this? She felt sandwiched, with no way to escape. “I’m sure someone will manage to catch a good fish or two. Give me an hour, and I’m sure I can wrangle up a few myself.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Flayn clapped her hands. “However, that leaves a different problem. We’ll have all these fishes, and no one to cook them.”

Leonie swallowed. This was starting to sound familiar. “There are plenty of cooks—”

“Leonie has excellent skills,” Seteth suggested, as though he’d just thought of it. “Maybe she could?”

“Really?” Flayn lit up, before flashing her an innocent smile. “Leonie, would you mind?”

She should have just listened to her instincts and run.

-x-

Crest Studies

When Annette joined the academy, she had never seen herself leading a club, or leading anything for that matter. Sure, she would join one or two, but leadership was for the elites, for Dimitri’s and Sylvain’s of the world. Well, maybe not Sylvain exactly, but there were plenty other nobles who could fit the bill. Ferdinand. Lorenz. Hubert.

Yet it was her, not them, standing in front of the Blue Lions classroom, looking at her Crest Studies clubmates. To be perfectly honest, when the other options were the lazy Lindhardt and the shy Marianne, if Annette didn’t take the lead, nothing would get done. Even now, Lindhardt was dozing on his desk while Marianne fidgeted nervously.

Annette bit her cheek. She should have joined the gardening club. Clearing her throat, she announced, “For today’s activity, we’re going to the market.”

“W-what?” Marianne’s eyes grew wide. Sometimes, it looked like she didn’t know why she was in the club. “The market?”

“Why?” Lazily, Lindhardt lifted his head and gave her a baleful glare. “That’s a waste of effort.”

From the teacher’s desk, Professor Hanneman gave her thumbs up. At least someone liked her proposition. Annette quickly refuted, “It’s not.”

“We study crests,” Lindhardt replied languidly. “It’s a waste.”

Something about him always riled her up. She could feel her hackles rising. Stalking toward him, she rested her hands on her hip and bit out. “It’s not. We need to know what people think of crests.”

“Annette’s right.” Hanneman nodded sagely, intervening before an argument started. “It’s important to consider different perspectives when studying a topic.”

“But talking to people…” Marianne gnawed on her lip. “I’m not sure—”

“It’ll be fine.” Annette clasped Marianne’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Besides, we’re going to interview later, so this is good practice.”

Hesitantly, Marianne nodded. “I-I suppose that’s true.”

“Can’t we just interview now and get it over with?” Linhardt interjected, yawning.

Annette pulled Marianne up to her feet. “We’re going to the market,” she stated firmly, refusing to broker any more arguments. “If you want to decide what we’re doing, then you be the club president.”

It was an ultimatum he’d never take, and they both knew it. With a sigh, he got up. “Fine, I suppose there’s some merit to it.”

“Good.” Annette grinned as she gently tugged Marianne toward the door. Finally, she could tell Mercedes that they’d done something other than sit in a classroom. Finally, just like all the other clubs, she was going to go out with her clubmates and do something fun.

Perhaps there was some merit to being club president, after all.

-x-

Battle of the Eagle and Lion

I’d say it is an honour to write about the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, but that was before so many of my drafts got mysteriously burned or destroyed because if I happen to make any unflattering comments about Edelgard, I have to start over. Though I would argue they aren’t disparaging, but who am I to argue with her guard dog, Hubert?

So what can I say about the Battle? Well, I guess the obvious—all three of our houses showed what they did best: Edelgard with her strategies, Dimitri with his training, and me with my ‘schemes’. I call them strategies, others call them traps, to-may-to, to-mah-to. Honestly, I didn’t do anything sinister this time around. If a lot of students just happened to get a case of mild food poisoning, well, things happen. Raphael got it too and you don’t hear me complaining about sabotage.

Let’s see, something flattering—ah, I know! It’s actually quite impressive how much Edelgard was able to move despite her illness. Honestly, if someone had poisoned, they’d better know to up the dosage next time. Despite her thinning ranks, she managed to set up her classmates quite skillfully, and Hubert somehow managed to do a lot of damage despite looking like he needed to find the closest toilet.

Of course, Dimitri powered his way through the food poisoning. I think he’s got the strength of a dozen soldiers, or boars as Felix likes to put it. Felix also managed to move, but I think that was purely out of spite. It’s amazing what a motivation spite is. Then again, I think Hubert would know all about that, wouldn’t he?

My house, of course, were the cleverest of the bunch, carefully goading out our enemies and defeating them one by one. Despite losing our strongest member, we rallied around each other and fought back. It was a close fight by all reckoning. And honestly if Edelgard lost (notice I said if, Hubert!), it wouldn’t be all that shameful, considering the handicaps she had.

Now, you might be wondering who actually won? Why it’s (scorched words) of course! Was there ever any doubt?

-x-

Mission Battles

Out of all the school activities she was forced to do, Hilda disliked the missions and mock battles the most. With the others, she could get away with appealing her classmates into helping her, whether it was Marianne in the library or Raphael with the stables or some other poor, hapless soul who crossed her path. As long as it was done, no one was the wiser.

On the battlefield, she wasn’t quite as lucky. No one could protect her the entire time and her charms were entirely wasted on the enemy. It wasn’t like they’d stop fighting her just because she asked.

Or maybe, if she—no, no, it was best to banish that thought. Hilda gripped her axe as she studied the battlefield before her. Just ahead of her was a bandit and unfortunately, there was no ally in sight to protect her. She was going to have to cut this one down herself. “I don’t suppose you’d back down?”

The bandit roared in response, charging at her.

“Step back!” Ferdinand quickly dashed ahead of her, his sword gleaming in the sunlight as he slashed down on her foe. With two quick strikes, the bandit was down and her rescuer looked at her triumphantly over his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes! Thanks so much!” Hilda clasped one of his hands and gave him a soft smile. She stood corrected—she could absolutely charm her way through a battle, as long as it was one of those rare cross-house battles.

“No problem.” Ferdinand smiled brightly, before looking over his shoulder at Edelgard. “As you can see, I have struck down another enemy. That brings my count to higher than yours, does it not?”

“We’re in the middle of battle, Ferdinand,” Edelgard warned, axe clenched tightly in her hands. “We’re not competing.”

“Considering how one-sided it is, I could hardly call it a competition.” Ferdinand sniped, trying to pick a fight as usual.

Judging by Edelgard’s weary expression, his taunts still didn’t work. Determining that Hilda was safe enough, Ferdinand once more returned to Edelgard’s side, no doubt challenging her once again. It was impressive how he didn’t give up. A little sad, but impressive.

If he wasn’t going to give up, neither would she. There was bound to be another sucke—noble man willing to lay his life for a damsel in dress. Catching sight of a flash of red, Hilda smiled. “Oh, Sylvain!” she called out, batting her eyes.

Perhaps she could charm her way out of fighting too.

#fe3h #hilda valentine goneril #claude von riegan #annette fantine dominic #leonie pinelli #seteth #flayn #marianne von edmund #linhardt von hevring #ferdinand von aegir #fanfic

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shimmershae · 3 years

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So. Thanks to my new anonymous friend, this is going to become a thing.

Shae’s thinky thoughts about the latest episode--Acheron: Part 2--beneath a cut.

Because spoilers, however vague they might be.

Let’s be real here. This is more a stream of consciousness than anything else so if that’s not your thing, you are most welcome to nope right on out of this post. Trust me. I’ll completely understand, lol. Sometimes? I wish I could nope right on out of my own brain and the way it operates.

That said? Without further ado--

Episode 2′s opening, though. Maggie trapped with hungry Walkers converging? It totally gives me Glenn under the dumpster vibes. I don’t know if that was intentional or just happy coincidence but way to link Maggie to her dearly departed better half, show.

Is it just me or has Father G had more OOMPH to him these last few seasons? Again, I have to ask--Rosita’s influence or no? Regardless, I bet Seth Gilliam is loving the job these days.

Side note: am I gonna have to go to bed early every Saturday night from now until the end just so I that I might be able to SEE? Something? Anything? My curtains are flimsy-ass. I admit it. But this is more frustrating than TXF. Angela, WTF?

No, seriously. It’s like complete guess work who’s in these subway scenes. Some of that has to do with them being overly populated by redshirts and the rest of it has to do with me having to squint and turn sideways to make out their facial features.

Look at Daryl busting through concrete walls! Should I call him the Kool-Aid Man considering NR has once again allowed himself to be led right into a biased, shipper trap? Hmm. I might.

Imagine seeking refuge in those dark, filthy subways. Any second now I expect to hear the skittering of rats. Will Dog lose his effing mind a la Divergence? He’s been shown to go off half-cocked that way, lol. Oh well. Guess it’ll be in character if he does.

Impressive graffiti storyboards. Does it mean something that it immediately cuts to the Commonwealth storm troopers afterward? Maybe. Who really knows at this point? They been trying to gaslight us forever.

LOL at Princess yet again. Yumiko is just like da fuq is this person?

No, really. LMAO. “That was her. From last night. Did you see how she was looking at us?”

Then you have Eugene, hahaha. “Oh God. Why did he tell off the big guy?” Like the man is totally me in this type of situation. Not even gonna lie.

“That’s right. We want to talk to the manager.”

I literally cannot wait ‘til Carol and Daryl meet Princess. Can. Not. Wait.

How sad is that note on that $100 bill? Small moment but it totally gives me Season 4 vibes when they were on their way to Terminus seeking sanctuary.

Hmm. Remember how that place wasn’t what they thought it was? I’m sure neither is the Commonwealth. But I feel like what’s left of Team Family is totally going to do Rick proud, lol, and prove they’re messing with the wrong people if they try something.

Daryl, Man. You gonna have to get a better handle on your headstrong Fur Son. I wonder if Dog would listen better to his mama? Things to ponder.

Sounds like Miko has this group’s number. Or does she?

Princess and Eugene totally look like they’re waiting their turn for the Principal’s office, LOL.

“Stop moving! You’re taking my nerves over the edge to a proverbial 11 on a scale of 10.” I feel you, Eugene. I do. Also you, Princess. Two of the most relatable TWD characters right there, I’m telling you.

Princess is me when I really, really, really have to pee. TMI? Sorry, lovelies. LOL. I just...she’s so relatable.

LMAO. “If that fine ass dude in the orange suit...” Princess and Mercer incoming in 3-2-----

Princess’s excitement over the toilet paper=PRICELESS.

Eugene, Man. You desperately need to develop a poker face.

There’s Daryl getting another cool camera shot. Angela? You playing favorites again?

Carol’s claustrophobia could have never. I bet that’s in the back of Pookie’s mind. You can’t tell me it’s not because Carol lives in there rent-free.

Ohhh. Back to the subway car. Looks like we got the Maggie redshirts leading the way. First sacrificial “lambs”?

Maggie pistol-whipping Negan was kinda deserved, but he wasn’t all wrong so.

Damn. I’m no Gage fan. He can fuck all the way off for what he did to my baby Lydia. But Maggie over there with ice in her veins.

Yep. I think the dude just got one of the most gruesome deaths in a while. Yuck.

I think Alden’s faith in Maggie definitely took several hits. I feel like he kind of had her on some sort of pedestal dating back to Hilltop times. Father G, though? The man is continuing to show himself a SAVAGE MFer.

Josh gives Eugene such believable tics and mannerisms. He IS Eugene.

Thank you, Maggie, for lighting that flare. I could not see a damn thing.

What are these bad memories Negan alludes to? Hmm? Him being a shit husband to Lucille back when he was still taking her for granted?

Father G on Gage’s Walker--”All that is, is a shell of a man, who died a coward.” Kind of ironic considering Father G’s own origins, huh? Has he any warmth in there for anybody but Rosita and Coco? Does he equate it with weakness?

“There are worse ways.” And Maggie proceeds to paint us a horror story with mere words.

Dark Maggie really surpasses anything certain fans have ever accused Carol of being. Is she too far gone? Who the hell knows? I think it’s clear that she and Carol are both on a sliding scale of sorts when it comes to being able to compartmentalize shit to survive. Personally? I feel like Maggie might have leap-frogged Carol in this episode but it matters none because of the double standards so deeply entrenched in this fandom. Both women have endured and had to do some horrific things. It’s not a contest. But it’s probably going to be turned into a season-long one.

It’s almost like Kang was like, “Ya’ll bitches think Carol’s dark? I’ll show you DARK. Check and mate.”

Whatever the reasoning, Maggie just got exponentially more interesting to me if not likable. And before anybody out there comes at me, it’s entirely possible to be on a character’s side in some things and not be all up their ass in love with them, lol. Like I’m attached to her because she’s family and Glenn loved her. There’s a loyalty there and she absolutely is justified in her hatred of Negan. But I’m not going to pretend her shit don’t stink like everybody else’s.

Speaking of my baby Glenn. What would he think of this version of Maggie? I think he would be gutted and heart stricken that events led to her being like this but he’d understand because he’s pure like that. Don’t mean he’d be A-OK with it all.

Dog must be protected at all costs.

Confession. I know not the fuck who Pony Boy is, but I know him because all my fandom friends have pointed him out to me, lol. RIP, Man. I think you’re number’s up or close to it.

Okay, though. I admit it. I am kinda LOVING Badass Father G.

That scene in the subway car with all of them working to take all the Walkers out was already badass. Then Daryl arrived and made it, in @freefromthecocoon’s words, HAWT. LOL.

Eugene staring at that little black book like it contains torture tools, hehehe.

“Processed? As in administratively? Processed as in bologna or other meat stuffs? This inquiring (enquiring?) mind needs to know.” OMG, Eugene. I admit it. Even if it makes me look like a lunatic, LOL. I straight up LMAO at that one. I mean, ten years later and Terminus still fresh on the man’s mind.

“You like feeling nervous?” Well, no. None of us that do, Mercer? Do.

Then he proceeds to make me howl with his “You can’t lie for shit” to Eugene.

Josh McDermitt? I love you, Man. 40 year old virgin, LOL.

All this talk over the seasons of Daryl’s virginity and we have Eugene, hahaha. But was he telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Finally. Some daylight. Where I can see.

Eugene’s relief at seeing his friends safe and sound was such a beautiful thing to see. I loved those hugs.

Mercer’s face when he snarled “beat cop” in disdain to Ezekiel. I think I’m gonna love this dude.

“I went to West Point. Asshole.” Yeah. I am.

I know they probably catfishing Eugene right here because spoilers tell us that ain’t Stephanie. But my heart still did a little d’aww. Angela. Don’t play with his poor heart like that.

What’s got Daryl so pensive, huh? Is it that the note reminds him of kids being lost or taken from their family? Or separated from their family? Is he thinking of those Grimes babies and wondering if Michonne will ever make it back and why and how she was able to leave them behind? Tell me it ain’t that Find Me nonsense.

“This place sure has gone to shit since the last time I was here.” LMAO, JDM. I mean Negan. Sorry. Sorry. I still hate Negan, but JDM has me entertained at least since they gave the asshole some shades of gray. And speaking of shades of gray. I’m loving the gray beard. JDM’s looking GOOD (hear that NR? Embrace the gray). Negan can still kick rocks, lol.

Anyway. That scene was CREEPY AF. Not even gonna lie.

The Reapers strutting right on up to our group like it’s The Purge: ZA.

My bad, Pony Boy. Now RIP.

Dark, dark episode with loads of tension broken up by some welcome humor by Princess. The girl is fast becoming a fave of mine.

My baby’s back next week!!!

I’m just going to plug my ears and pretend they’re trying to capture/recapture the horses because they’re pets. Not because they’re starving so bad they feel the need to eat them. La la la la la. I can’t hear you.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #for reasons

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ecrivant · 3 years

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to be known by you | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

it had been the strangest summer of recent memory: the days were lingering and dilatory, and rife with inexplicable phenomena. when reiner meets a stranger he feels he recognizes, someone as ethereal and bizarre as the summer atmosphere itself, he cannot resist the beguiling nature of this newfound acquaintance and decides to accompany them for a night.

word count: 2.7k

It had been the strangest summer of recent memory. The days were lingering and dilatory and often seemed swathed in some turbid and ethereal atmosphere, augmented by an interminable humidity which each day lasted far past dusk. The sun would hang in the sky for longer than its allotted time, and at duskfall, all terrene happenings stilled and gave way to strange, supernal movements to which no living being bore witness. The beach house tenanted by the Brauns, which sat in the very center of this surreal environment and was not much more than a well-maintained shanty abutting the shore—the transition from sparse greenery to sand occurring directly beneath its raised foundation—was too pervaded by this sense of uncanny. The inside seemed impossibly large for the dimensions of its edifice, and doors within moved on their own, and one could easily lose himself, sitting in one place, for hours at a time, staring at the irregularities in the wood wall panels or the microcosmic topography of the popcorn ceilings or the addled patterns in the stained, grey carpets. Reiner liked to taunt Gabi and tell her the house was haunted, but it was something neither was completely disinclined to believe.

It had been the morning of third day that his mother mentioned the storage shed for the first and last time. Reiner, awake since sunrise on account of his prolonged restlessness, and Gabi, wanting to be with him, sat at the kitchen table, Reiner’s unfocused gaze resting on the view outside the window and Gabi’s on a spoon she mindlessly fingered. His mother’s words had drawn his eyes towards her—her stare, intense, eyes narrowed in questioning:

“Were you doing something in the storage shed last night?”

He shook his head ‘no’ and watched her interrogation move from him to Gabi.

“Gabi?”

“Mm?” Eyes not acknowledging her.

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Doing something in the shed? The storage shed. Last night.”

“No.” Gabi finally looked up, not at her aunt but at Reiner, eyes wide and brows raised. Body turning, she met her aunt’s gaze. “Should I have been?”

“It was open this morning,” his mother finally clarified, turning and reaching for a glass as she spoke. “The door was just cracked, but it was open.”

“Maybe someone didn’t shut it all the way.”

“Maybe.”

Her response hung in the air, suspended by doubt, unconvinced of her son’s suggestion. She glanced out the window, towards the shed in question—its door long since closed and locked after her curious discovery that morning—and it seemed to stare back at her.

“It’s nothing.” Gabi’s remark interrupted her aunt’s staring contest with the building. Her tone was playfully dismissive.

“I think you just want to find something to worry about, Aunt Karina.”

“Maybe.”

There was no more mention of the shed after that day, but Reiner, usually awake before the rest of the house, would, without fail, hear his mother exit the house, creep into the backyard, and shut and lock the shed door each morning in the dim-blue dawn light.

Later that same week Reiner had convinced Gabi to camp in the backyard with him under the guise of fun activity, though he truly intended to observe the shed for the whole night. She had been excited at the prospect of staying awake into the morning and then promptly fell asleep before midnight, and for the rest of the time he simply sat, cross-legged and perspiring, under an ether rife with stars, eyes unwavering from that damn shed.

Apparently having dozed off, though, as he awoke to the sound of the back door and his mother’s soft footfalls and opened his eyes to see her locking the shed. Like every morning, a cyclical action of the damned in hell. He accepted the phenomenon as an unknowable and moved on.

—

Reiner could not remember how long they had been there; time moved differently in this place. He drove to explore and found that the main road stretched on forever, never bending or turning, and the area itself laid among an immutable scenery: an arrant wasteland of vacant beachfront housing, like some vast and spanning afterthought. Could you get lost on a road like this? A pavement belt, flanked by stark shrubbery and shallow gullies full of groundwater. Sometimes, the rare stretch of unsettled coastline with a view of the sea uninhibited by copy-pasted housing. There was something beautiful in the desolate and purgatorial landscape.

The road ended at a bridge, one with caving beams and a skeletal substructure which barely supported its own weight. He never dared explore it, or God forbid drive over it, but he often sat in his car, pulled off to the side of the road, and stared at it. Captivated by the disrepair, what it represented—nothing better elucidated the mortality and impermanence of humanity than infrastructural decay. The view would eventually become too unsettling, as if it watched him as well, and he would reverse the car and turn around and drive back towards the house. When he would arrive, his mother would sometimes report he had been gone for hours, sometimes thirty minutes.

—

“Why don’t you take Gabi to the farmers’ market today?”

He didn’t know there was a farmers’ market, much less even a place to host one. At his mother’s suggestion, though, he drove down that endless stretch of road with Gabi in tow, and miraculously came upon a densely populated park, filled with tents which did little to block the relentless heat. Gabi bounded towards the entrance, Reiner trailing behind, and they quickly ate through the two twenty-dollar bills unceremoniously handed to them before their departure that morning. Reiner was glad his mother hadn’t expected any money to be left.

The park itself held towering trees with sparse canopies which casted amorphous shadows on the dirt paths. So unlike any area found at a coast. Walking along, enveloped in shade and shielded from the sun, one could almost be comfortable. The main walkway was wide, easily fitting five people across, and flanked by densely packed tents. Each with their own smiling vendor. They were nice, maybe a little too nice, and each offered a too-wide smile at Gabi as she made off with their too-good products. He was uneased by the whole affair. In retrospect, he couldn’t remember the last time he actually saw people in the area, and he assumed it was because it was so sparely populated. Yet, with the sheer wall of bodies milling around the park, he felt he had accidently wandered into a city, the market itself some kind of microcosmic metropolis. Strange to have never noticed the park while driving; it was never there until it was, as if it materialized out of nothing.

He glanced around him, suddenly struck by Gabi’s absence. A warning call of her name, and at the lack of response, another, more frantic one. He spun around once, scanning the area, and continued to do so despite remarking how the crowd—a singular, ebbing mass of people—perfectly and wholly obscured her location. But she soon yelled his name and beckoned him over to a booth replete with floral bouquets and emitting an aroma so intense he had to pause before continuing into the miasma.

“Can we get some? For Aunt Karina?”

Her eyes pleaded with the potency of a mendicant’s—nothing but a scoundrel, he thought, who knows I cannot say no. He reached into his wallet and searched for bills and found none. He sheepishly asked the vendor, who was obscured by the perennial heaps before them, if they accepted cards. A soft ‘yes’ spurred Gabi on to grab at a bouquet of yarrow and roses, a perfumed, white and yellow amalgam; a movement which revealed the vendor’s face.

Reiner was struck immobile. You, once hidden, now revealed, were immediately alluring, aura imbued with such profound familiarity. As if you were already his lover. He stumbled through his transaction as you stared at him with eyes he felt he knew.

“Would you like to include a handwritten note?”

Gabi nodded furiously, as if possessed by some excitable demon. She dictated a note, childishly simple yet unequivocally kind, and you wrote it out on a notecard with a flourish. Wrapping the cluster of flowers in tissue paper and tulle and tucking the note in the center, ending the routine by handing it to Gabi. With a smile that was just right. She ran off again, and Reiner waited for a moment longer, as if he knew to wait to be handed that scribbled note which read, ‘Meet me at the bridge tonight.’

You felt so much like a memory. He could not shake the feeling he knew you, deeply and wholly.

—

Such vague wording, as if designed to make one second guess himself. He would have to trust his instinct about the time. In the moment he felt as if he knew you, but your thought process was unfamiliar to him—had you been struck by the same overwhelming feeling of familiarity? Assumed he would understand what ‘tonight’ meant? Or was this some omniscience taunting him and his implicit trust of a stranger?

He was at the bridge by sundown. Car idled. He waited. An hour, a minute. And suddenly you were there—he jumped when he saw you. You sat on the rotted and caving beams of the bridge, beckoning him with a gaze. He approached you and stood at the first interstice between road and bridge and after a pause, dumbly said:

“I think I know you.”

And you confirmed his sentiment with echoed words. He creeped onto the railing, supporting himself on rusted girders resembling steles erected to commemorate some bygone and lost epoch. The chapped wood on which he sat dug into his thighs, and when he looked down, his feet hung over a canyon which in the dark became some measureless void. Your sillage, floral and penetrative and everlasting. You seemed to fluoresce in the pitch.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your timid venture—the question, just for him. He stared at you and thought for a moment and replied no, not that he could remember. You asked him if you could tell him of your first love, puerile and real. He nodded yes. And you began:

You spoke beautifully and openly about your childhood with a rawness, a candor, otherwise unshared between strangers. You spoke of how your memories were places and people, painted in golden hues. How your childhood room was always bright—in the morning, the rising sun would creep onto the bedroom wall and stay there as if resting in a lover’s embrace; and at sunset, the light would grow weary and slink away to make room for the night. How those walls saw many things: your great-grandfather’s paintings, your mother’s smiling face. And how it all smelled so distinct, even now, like old books and incense. How, as a child, you often felt like some unchanging cairn laid solely to watch the world move around you.

And as you spoke about the young boy you had once loved, Reiner thought of the way this intellection you so tenderly painted sounded like him: a child, tall, with a mess of blonde hair and hazel eyes that held an unusual intensity; a child with a tender voice, high-pitched and soft, and a lopsided smile. And you repeated the words, “I can so clearly remember him,” like some unspoken truism. You had shared your favorite places with this boy; your first kiss, and your hopes and fears; and the pain of aging and coming to know the dark and black and crushing void associated with it.

You spoke of how the young boy suddenly died, without explanation. How the last time you saw him, there was such a pervasive sadness in his gaze. How you despised this was the way you remembered him—with mournful and darkened eyes. You had asked what was wrong, and he had not been sure. Instead, the two of you clasped hands and sat in silence for a last time.

“I just remember the chaos.” A whisper, spoken more to yourself.

“I remember waking up to blue lights on my ceiling. It was a cold blue light, a crude perversion of the warmness of the rising sun. I looked out the window, and cars were crowded under the flickering streetlamp below, and I heard the wailing through my window. I knew. I knew, but I just climbed in my bed and pulled the covers over my head, as if they would drown out the light and the shouts of a broken mother, and squeezed my eyes shut and saw his eyes and cowlicked hair and a toothy, lopsided grin.”

You asserted that part of you died with him. A pause.

“It felt odd to be in love with someone who was already dead.”

And then you were finished. You took a deep breath, as if the story had been spoken with one, single inhalation. Reiner blinked hard and processed the words and tried to think of something to say. ‘Sorry’ seemed so blithe.

“What was his name?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“I can’t remember.”

He stared at you, incredulous, half-expecting you to be joking. How could one possibly—

“Sometimes I think he didn’t have one.”

Your whispered voice, as if about to shatter: “You remind me of him. That’s why you’re here.”

Effervescent words that dissolved in the air. Something nagging at the back of his mind. He wrapped you in an embrace and held you there, and he thought not of you as a stranger. A hand on your back and the other in your hair. Breathing your exhalations. An intimacy impossible between two unfamiliar people. He swore he knew you.

He felt your lips on his neck, testing, inquisitive. He pulled back, meeting your gaze, eyes melancholic and wistful and searching for something intangible, possibly nonexistent. You had the eyes of someone who was never anything but lost, and despite your shared unfamiliarity, he hoped you would find something within him as he leaned to press his lips to yours. This kiss begot another and another, and his hand was on your cheek, and your skin was warm beneath his fingers, betraying your spectral nature. He thought he heard you whisper his name, though it was something you couldn’t have known.

He held you, again, with no desire to do more; this chaste intimacy was so much more potent. He savored your embrace and felt he could stay here, in your presence, with your touch, until he aged and crumbled like the disintegrating bridge on which they sat. A moment of abject redamancy. Time moved differently here, with you.

He was then inexplicably struck with the feeling that he missed you, as if he had finally found that which he had gone years without.

You pulled away and stood. Without warning.

“Can I see you again?” His plea, desperate, closing.

“I’m not certain.”

And with that, you asked him to leave. He somehow knew he was meant to comply without question.

As he departed, and behind him the road and the bridge and you faded into blackness, he was reminded of the first time he moved homes—that unsettling and melancholic feeling of abandoning something familiar. He drove and drove and missed his street, and instead of turning around, he surrendered to the compulsion to keep driving, and he drove some more. He thought of you the entire time, oblivious his own existence. He then thought of himself, and when reflecting on his childhood, he could not remember it; he only saw himself in the presence of a young child who looked like you, a shared heart between you. He drove through the sunrise and another sunset, and he stopped to fill up his car with gas and kept driving. He wasn’t sure how, but he eventually found his way back to the beach.

He arrived at the house and quietly climbed into bed. He imagined you dissolving into the landscape; the canyon beneath the bridge widening like an open mouth and swallowing you. Purloined by the purgatory which begot you.

He suddenly could not remember your face.

A thought, lost, just as he heard his mother closing and locking the shed door outside.

—

thank you again to @casualityrantfun for suggesting a reiner piece! it was very sweet of you to request something, and i hope you enjoy it. also, thank you to everyone who has been reading/liking/reblogging my stuff! it means the world to me, and i really love being able to write creatively for something i enjoy!

part of me wants to make this a long-form piece, but i don’t think i have the patience or the talent to do so. maybe later down the line, though, we’ll see. also, this piece is inspired by @dappermouth’s art, specifically this piece, which has literally captivated me for years, as well as the campfire scene from my own private idaho, which i watched the day before yesterday and fell in love with. go hold someone you love, xoxo

masterlist

taglist: @flam3bird

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagine #aot imagines #aot x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun imagine #reiner x reader #writing!

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fantasydaydreamers · 4 years

Text

Words: 1,147

Warnings: None

When Taishiro approached you shyly with a bouquet of flowers asking you out on a date, your heart melted into a puddle on the floor. In all honesty, your day has been really shitty and him coming to you now immediately made everything better. The two of you have been talking for a while but never made anything official, and seeing him approach you to ask you out had your hopes up.

Trying not to fawn over how cute he looked standing there with a blush on his face as he avoided your stare while rubbing the back of his neck, you kindly asked if you needed to dress up for the occasion. For the amount of time you've known Taishiro, he's always been a simple kind of guy, but you didn't know what he was planning.

He seemed to contemplate the question, not knowing how to respond. Where he was planning to take you, dressing up is expected, but why not be comfortable at the same time? He not-so-subtly raked his gaze up and down your figure, the blush on his face becoming even more prominent. The idea of seeing you dressed up for him made his heart beat just a little faster. Dressing up for him only?

"Yes."

Guess he will just have to dress up for you too.

The dress code made sense and wasn't a surprise when Taishiro took you out for dinner; however, it wasn't just dinner, it was an all you can eat buffet. Of course. Not like you could complain because to say you were entertained was an understatement. When he picked you up, he was stunned by your beauty and stuttered for the first half of the date on your way to the restaurant, his eyes trying not to wander.

Once arriving at the restaurant, you were surprised to see it was high-end. Taishiro escorted you to the front doors like a gentleman and to your seats as well, keeping a gentle grasp on your arm, holding you close to his side. For a buffet place, the romantic atmosphere really added something, making your heart flutter whenever the two of you made eye contact, his yellow irises burning low in the darkened restaurant. You smirked slightly at the candle and semi-elegant silverware adorning the table, the waiter pouring the two of you some water before disappearing.

You enjoyed watching Taishiro eat. Of course, eating was part of his quirk, but getting the chance to see him normally and enjoy the food was still impressive on its own. The two of you chatted for what seemed like an eternity, letting the food digest as you planned to go to the dessert part of the buffet. Eating AND watching Taishiro eat made you stuffed, but if dessert was part of the buffet, who were you to complain. "I think I'm just going to get a slice of cake."

Knowing Taishiro could still eat, and probably devour the whole buffet if he wanted, you could see he was limiting himself for you so he could stay in his normal human form. His eyes lit up once you mentioned cake and agreed, offering to get up and get you both a slice. You were thankful he did because you were having a hard time moving from being so full.

Watching him come back with two plates of cake had an idea popping into your head. "Hey, Taishiro," you called out to him innocently. He hummed in response, already eyeing his cake. "Want to have an eating contest?" That seemed to get his attention as his head whipped up to your innocent face with the brightest grin you have ever seen grace his mouth.

"Loser has to give the winner a kiss?" He offered half-jokingly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Hmm...ok. On the count of three?" You started picking up your fork.

A shocked look crossed Taishiro's face as he tried to process your quick response. It was almost too quick. "Wait, are you serious? I was-"

Your countdown had only gotten to '2' before you started shoving the cake into your mouth. SO what if you cheated? I mean, I see how he eats and what he's capable of...my chances of winning are slim anyway. Not finishing the countdown to '1' couldn't have hurt.

Taishiro hurried to grabbed his fork but stopping briefly to enjoy the sight of you shoveling cake into your mouth, concentrating. Cute.

In the end, it was hard to tell who won. With your headstart and Taishiro's natural eating talent, it was a close call. The two of you teasingly argued over who won but he saw how happy you were, cake frosting smeared outside your lips as you grinned at him in satisfaction. "Hey, (Y/n), you have frosting on your mouth." You wiped the opposite side of where the frosting was, embarrassed. Taishiro reached over the table and wiped the correct spot with his thumb and brought it to his mouth and sucked on the digit. "Sweet."

You blushed and fumed, butterflies erupting in your stomach as Taishiro smirked and paid the bill before escorting you back outside the restaurant, the cool night air making you shiver slightly. He noticed and took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders while pulling you against his side. You snuggled softly against him as he walked you home, feeling drowsy now that your stomach was full and you were content from having a wonderful evening.

"I still won," Taishiro stated matter-of-factly, rubbing his hand over your now covered arm, trying to supply some heat. You scoffed softly, but couldn't find the room to argue in the comforting embrace.

Finally reaching your doorstep, you didn't want to say goodbye as you turned to face him, his windswept hair making him look enchanting under the moonlight. He caught your gaze and tilted his head to the side, smiling softly. "Thank you so much for being with me tonight, (Y/n). I had a lot of fun! Next time, let's go on a breakfast date!"

Giggling, you nod your head and go to remove his jacket off your shoulders. Politely handing it back to him, you wait for him to put it back on before bracing your hand on his shoulders, his expression becoming confused. "What-"

Gently, you place your lips over his, his sentence getting cut off and strangled in his throat. Taishiro seems frozen in place, so there wasn't much you could do besides cup his cheek, pressing your lips gently against his. You let your lips linger a little longer than necessary, the warmth from his face keeping you warm as you felt your body heat up from embarrassment. Pulling back slowly, you let the ghost feeling of his lips linger for a while longer before opening your house door, a smug look on your face.

"I win."

#fatgum x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #fatgum #taishiro x reader #toyomitsu x reader #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #taishiro toyomitsu #mha imagines #bnha imagines

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starkexposition · 3 years

Text

The Bachelor: Tony Stark Edition

Forced myself against my will, at gunpoint, to update this. Here it finally is.

Chapter 2: Electric Boogaloo

Rating: Teen/Mature, it's from college!Peter Parker's perspective Pairings: Tony/Steve, Tony/Strange, Tony/literally everyone, Happy/May, Peter/MJ, Peter/Black Cat, many token ships eventually Summary: One man. Twelve contestants. Several weeks in paradise. All through the horrified eyes of one sticky, adopted son.

“Mr. Stark…”

Most people have normal dreams.

“Can you hear me?”

Nice ones.

“It’s Peter.”

Weird ones.

“Hey.”

Bad ones.

“We won.”

Ones you forget.

“Mr. Stark…”

Or in my case, ones you wish you’d forget.

“We won, Mr. Stark.”

They say when you dream about a person, it’s because they’re dreaming about you, too.

“We won—you did it, Mr. Stark. You did it.”

That never explained why I kept dreaming about him when he was gone.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

It was never different. Never had a different ending—never even a nightmare. Just the same weak eyes followed by the same labored breaths, every single dream. And each time, the woman who believed in him most would sit with him, hand held to his heart, and promise to him that everything would be okay. And with that, the man who never sleeps would find the peace to finally rest.

There was nothing like it. I had already been through my fair share by then—whether it was the plane crash, or Uncle Ben, or the girl that I loved… Mr. Stark was different. There was no regret, or blame; it was only the mission. The worst part about it was struggling with the selfish feeling that something had been taken away from me, all while balancing the pride that I felt in what he did for the whole universe—and most importantly, for the family that was built around him.

To us, it was a sacrifice. To Iron Man, it was a responsibility.

I guess that must be the reason it kept replaying in my dreams. It didn’t need amending because of the good that it caused, but hell—it kept coming back like a nightmare.

Even after he came back, most sleeps would end the same way: with everyone around us taking a knee for him as the air grew quiet in his passing, Captain Rogers would rise to his feet, place a hand on my shoulder, and say through watered eyes and a weakened smile:

“It was all for you.”

And with Pepper’s blessing, Steve would step forward and pick Tony up from where he laid, carefully carrying him back as Pepper, Rhodey, and myself would slowly walk alongside them.

Some nights, if I got lucky, I’d wake up before Steve’s words.

But not last night.

My brain managed to string out every last excruciating detail of the dream it possibly could in an effort to stay asleep and ignore the sound of repulsors powering down to a low hum beside me. But as they hovered nearby, the stinky air of New York was blown through the ventilation of my suit, which, unfortunately, can be stinky enough to wake you when you become aware of it. A figure took the place of the city’s rising sun, casting a shadow that darkened the scene and gifted me with my daily post-dream reminder...

“You know if you prefer this for your room and board situation, I’d be happy to take up the bill.”

Tony Stark lives.

Which is great. Quality of life really did improve when he came back—for myself, and others, too. Being adopted by him, however, kind of spiced things up a bit. From mentor to parent meant that I was proving myself to him from a parental standpoint, and that consequently resulted in me becoming far more relaxed with him. ‘Cause he’s kind of stuck with me now, you know?

But even in times like this particular morning, when I had a curfew the night before and had to get back to the house upstate by a certain time and specifically did not do so in favor of fighting crime and flirting with a kleptomaniac in a leather suit, I still don’t think I couldn’t be grateful for that fact even when I am abruptly woken from my slumber on a rusty fire escape in New York by Iron Man.

There was always something about those slitted glowing eyes in the faceplate that managed to relay the disappointment behind it so well.

“How’d you find me?” I asked as I kicked my leg up onto the platform, letting my eyes settle on the ladders above.

“Same way I always find you—” Beep-beep, beep-beep! Karen pulled up a GPS screen in my lenses that pinpointed my location, with an additional flashing blip for where the Iron Man suit was just a few feet away. “Installed another tracking device in your suit.”

I pulled off my mask and sat up quickly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he gestured to me, his tone dripping with annoyance. “I don’t have time to play hide-and-go-seek in the alleys and dumpsters of New York every time I need you.”

“I have a phone.”

“That you don’t answer.” Tony then tossed over my backpack that was webbed up on the dumpster below. “You know, you could be sleeping on a fire escape in Cambridge right now.”

“MIT doesn’t have MJ—” Oof. Too quick there, Pete. “Or-or Ned. Or May. Or… you?”

The face plate turned to stare at me with slitted eyes once again, Mr. Stark tilting his head. “I thought you broke up with MJ.”

Of course, he won’t ignore it.

“We broke up,” I corrected him, even though that was also technically wrong, but he definitely did not need to know that. “Besides, we’re fine. We’re friends.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Last week,” I told him, pulling the mask over my face again.

Mr. Stark stayed silent, faceplate staring into my soul with those narrowed eyes as he waited for me.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, swinging down from the escape, “a month ago.”

I shot a web to the wall of the building across from us, and like that, we were en route home.

“Ouch.” Naturally, Mr. Stark’s voice came in through the suit itself while he traveled closely behind me. “That bad, huh?”

“Not really,” I lied. “And I mean, we did try the whole friend thing. That’s not gone. It’s just that… well, sometimes when you break up, it makes it a lot harder to stay broken up when you try to be friends right away, you know?”

“So…” He paused for a moment, as we turned a corner to Avengers Mansion. “You’re not friends?”

I landed on the walkway and pushed my way inside. “I stressed her out too much. I’m just giving her space.”

Mr. Stark’s suit was entirely gone by the time he followed me into the kitchen of the mansion. Making a beeline to the coffee, he raised an eyebrow at me as he pulled the pot and two mugs for the both of us, fixing mine up with sugar before he poured. “That must be easy for you at least.”

“Never said it was.” I informed him as I rummaged around the refrigerator for something, anything with sustenance… Bingo. Pizza. The only consistency that truly exists within the Avengers is the ability to almost always find leftover pizza in the fridge. “But is that stuff ever really easy?”

“Well…” Tony’s voice raised suggestively as he circled around the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “It sure seems like it is now that you’ve got yourself a feline to keep you company.”

I came to a halt, cold pizza at my lips. “Seriously? I’m not talking about this with you.”

Tony cackled, sipping his coffee as he slipped from the kitchen to the elevator, finger pressed on the ‘open door’ button as he waited for me to gather my pizza and coffee to join him. Moments later, we were entering his workshop, which was remarkably as cluttered as I had seen it last. He walked through slowly, moving papers and hardware around to organize the place and put away his projects reluctantly, and each time he seemed lost in thought, staring at some weird looking, half-dismantled device, he would take a sip from his coffee before making his decision on what to do with whatever it was he was holding.

“All packed?” He asked as he pulled the mug from his lips, tossing something into the trash.

I gripped the mask in my hands and turned away from him to face one of the blueprints on the wall, pretending to read it. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good,” he said. He stopped at the door to his office and looked at me with expectant eyes. “Well? Get dressed so we can go home.”

Before I could even turn away, the door to his office was shut behind him, the blue glow of his holograms flashing through the opaque glass of his office doors and windows. Whatever it was he was working on must not have required too much attention, as he was waiting impatiently for me by his car in the mansion’s garage only a few minutes later, toes tapping the ground while he leaned against the hideously orange supercar.

“Really?” I asked. “This one again?”

His eyes perked up over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows shooting up in offense. “Would you rather walk?”

I shook my head and walked over to the passengers side with Mr. Stark moving out of the way to the driver’s door. “I just think—” I got in, stuffing my bag by my feet, “—you could spice it up sometime. Maybe you could go red next. Or a matte black… now, that’d be nice. All electric, so smooth. Stealthy. It’d be great.”

Tony sat beside me, buckling his belt as he looked at me in disbelief again, “I’m sorry, can you even drive?”

I stared at him and waited for him to realize, but he just stared back. “I’m 19,” I reminded him.

“And?” He said as he started the car and drove closer to the garage door, allowing it to open automatically at his approach. “You never drive anywhere.”

His gaze looked past me then, encouraging mine to follow, and we both looked at the gray Audi that sat on the far right end of the mansion’s garage collecting dust. I looked back at Tony, ready to defend myself and my apparent preference for swinging as my primary mode of travel, but he just grinned and floored it, pulling us away from the mansion, the city, and to upstate New York.

* * *

Saturday nights at the Stark Residence meant one thing: family dinner. It wasn’t required, obviously, since most weekends I couldn’t make it home, and even if I could, I usually chose to not to, as I was 19, in college, had homework, Ned, and was constantly in an internalized battle of wanting to win my ex-girlfriend back and my unexplained desire to spend an unusual amount of time around one of my more recent torments in life:

Felicia Hardy.

And if I’m honest, I’ve probably spent more of my Saturday nights playing cat and mouse with Felicia than I have been doing homework or playing games with Ned. Only thing is, lately it has seemed more like she’s the cat and I’m the mouse—appropriate, since she is the Black Cat and all—despite that I have almost always been in pursuit of her. But my naivety always manages to lead me into falling for her traps and doing whatever it might be that she had planned for me—which, of course, almost always results in me failing to “catch” her.

What a shame.

Of course, that does exclude all of those nights where I did catch up to her. On the rooftops, quips and riddles, jabs and flirts, and the few times I got lucky enough for her to lift my mask up just enough to leave a…

How did I get started on Felicia again?

Right. Family dinners. Instead of seeing her. Just a prelude to the next few months. Did I even remember to say goodbye?

Sigh.

Anyway. Family dinners.

The only night of the week we managed to get (mostly) everyone together. Between Stark Industries and some Avengers work for Tony (remotely, of course, since the man really can’t help himself), Morgan in school and clubs, the vast Morgan Babysitting Unit (Rhodey, Maria Hill, Aunt May, and Happy mostly) trading off the rascal throughout the week, and of course, whatever Happy and May got up to in their free time (don’t remind me), Saturdays were usually the one time in the week that everyone tried their best to set aside for visiting with each other. You know, for Tony’s sake. While the ladies, including Tony’s new personal assistant, Charlotte, would split a bottle of wine as Happy and May cooked the meal together—Italiano, as they introduced it this particular time—the rest would buzz around the house, catching up on the week’s events and sharing laughs like a normal family would.

Normal.

Of course, with it being my first time home for dinner in a few months, most of the attention was on me during the meal—as Mr. Stark cleverly directed it to be, in an effort to avoid talking about the obvious circus that was set to begin the following day—with Rhodey and Maria mainly prying at me for school and hero related questions, but they were sure to cover every topic in the book, like the one I was hoping to avoid.

Girls.

Or, more specifically, MJ.

It took me going from my typical sarcasm to getting quiet and frustrated when the questions persisted for the conversation to finally fizzle out, bringing our dinner party to an end. Rhodey stood up from his seat beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it in understanding, as he grabbed his plate to leave. Everyone, apart from myself and May, began to disperse with him, heading to the kitchen with their empty plates.

I lifted a rogue spaghetti noodle above my face and caught it in my mouth between my tongue and teeth as Aunt May poured herself another glass of wine. She looked up at me as I practically inhaled the noodle, eyes slimming into an unamused look as she stared at me over the rim of her glass.

“This is our last dinner together for a while and you’re not even gonna use your manners?” She tilted her head, hair sliding down from her shoulder.

I made a face and shook my head, reaching for the spoon in the pan. “Not when it’s spaghetti night,” I shrugged in refusal, dumping a small second serving on my plate.

May eventually followed in suit, her eyes nervously checking up on me again and again. With a breath and returned eye contact, I braced myself for the inevitable questions—

“You’re all packed?”

“Yes.”

“Have your passport?”

“Yes.”

Her face fell and she leaned forward, brows furrowing in worry. “… Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It was my idea to begin with.”

She lowered her voice. “I mean for Tony.”

“Well, why not?”

Aunt May stared at me for a couple seconds, noodles sliding off her fork back onto the plate. “I don’t know, he just… you know, this is a lot of publicity for someone who, you know… was dead—”

“—in a coma—”

“—less than a year ago,” May let out a sigh, her shoulders sinking. “Do you have to get technical with me?”

I set my fork down and sat back in my seat, biting my lip in frustration. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Tony’s been back for, what? Seven months?” She crossed her arms.

“Publicly, yes, and it’s not like he really kept it much of a secret before that, anyway,” I said, crossing my arms back. “He’s been alive for almost two years. A lot can happen in two years. A person can grow.”

She let out another sigh of concern. “And you don’t think all of this is too much for him?”

“He’s two years old. Of course not,” I said, dropping another noodle into my mouth. “I was ready for that kind of attention when I was his age.”

“Peter…”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Peter.”

“Listen,” I sighed, “he agreed to it at his own risk. Besides, no matter what he does, publicity will follow. He knew this ahead of time. That’s why he waited until his rehab was over—he wanted to be ready. And if he says he’s ready…”

Her eyes looked over her glasses’ frames at me. “We both know he’s not ready.”

“You know, this might actually be good for him,” I offered. “A good way for him to kinda get back in it, you know? It’s like a nice, long vacation with a bunch of pretty people gawking over him. I honestly don’t see the problem with it.”

“A bunch of pretty people trying to use him for his money, maybe,” she started picking at her food again.

“That’s the life he always used to live, May. Which is why I think it could be good for him. Might teach him to have fun again—you know, center him,” I sat up in my chair again, picking up my fork and stuffing my face with more noodles. “Plus,” I said through chewing, “it’s good promotion.”

“Promotion for what?”

“I don’t know, really,” I swallowed my food at her look of distaste. “Something to do with clean something something. Something for the planet. Or something. He was talking about it with those fancy people from the network out at dinner the other night.”

“And you didn’t listen?”

I wound up more pasta and took another bite. “No, why would I?”

Aunt May stopped her movements and stared at me for a moment before continuing to scoop up the noodles. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you’re gonna need for the trip?”

“Positive,” I smiled.

“Alright,” she let out a sigh, “if you say so.”

I smirked a bit, and took another bite full. “Are you sure you’re gonna make it that long without me?”

She took a small piece of a noodle from her plate and chucked it at me. “Zip it, you. I’ll be fine.”

I peeled the noodle from my cheek and looked at it. “Man, Aunt May… Nice aim—” And with that, I launched the noodle back at her.

By the time Morgan and I had finished clean up duty, with me washing the dishes and her wiping down the table with a cloth I gave her, the adults had migrated to the lounge with another bottle of wine, loud chatter and laughter filling up the air around them. Tony was off with Charlotte, going over a checklist with her to ensure that he had everything he needed for the trip before our departure in the morning. I stopped Morgan before she headed upstairs, holding a finger to my lip to keep her quiet as I pulled the freezer door open for her, and before we knew it, we were sneaking upstairs to our rooms with a popsicle in Morgan’s hand and snacks in my own.

The crinkling noise a bag of potato chips makes as you open it is one of the most satisfying noises in the world. Especially in the safety of your own home—unabashedly opening up a new bag without holding back to muffle any sounds. Just that sweet, sweet tearing noise as the smell of greased up, salty potatoes fills your nostrils and momentarily takes the place of that super sweet tub of Ben & Jerry’s beside you. One plus about upgrading to a king sized bed is finally having the room to keep your food beside you as you lie there—it’s a great way to be lonely without entirely feeling lonely. For the most part. Except when you remember that you’re eating an whole pint of ice cream entirely by yourself, because that’s when it starts to hit you that you’re actually, seriously doing this and you really shouldn’t be—

“Really, Pete?”

I looked up from my snacks as I pulled out an earbud, my eyes meeting the unamused eyes of my father. “What?” I asked.

He closed the door behind himself as he walked closer, crossing his arms. “We just picked those up for the flight tomorrow and you’re already eating them?”

“I was hungry,” I told him before grabbing another chip.

“You’re supposed to be getting everything ready,” he grumbled.

“I am,” I said, pointing the chip towards the half-zipped suitcase on the floor, with shirt sleeves and socks and pants sticking out the sides… Well. I tried. “Over there.”

His gaze followed my potato chip to the suitcase and he walked over to it, opening it up to see the jumbled mess of clothes that I neatly tossed into the suitcase from my closet—which, mind you, was already half packed from the last field trip we took in school a month ago. Clever, I know. I mean, half of the clothes were dirty anyway, and a lot of them I just grabbed from my floor… so really, most of them were at least a smidgen dirty. Probably, like, 90% of them were dirty. But none of that really mattered, you see, because we are staying in an actual house while we’re there, and real houses always have washers and dryers, right?

Right?

That didn’t quite matter any longer either, as my father’s eyes fell into that absolutely terrifying “disappointed” look that I was unfortunately seeing a lot of as of late. But just as he went to close it, his eyes widened at the sight of something else and he knelt down to tug on a piece of cloth.

A red piece of cloth. And blue. And black. That turned out to be more than just a piece of cloth. And that was suddenly being dangled in my face for a split second before it was folded over my father’s arm.

“No suit,” his stern voice rang through the room as he turned back towards the door.

My eyes widened as I jumped from my bed, almost knocking over my ice cream, and I followed him out. “What do you mean ‘no suit’? I can’t just go away for that long without it—”

He opened the door, looking back at me. “And is that seriously how you’re taking care of this thing?” He pushed through, lifting the suit to his nose. “God, Pete, it smells…”

“Dad,” I pleaded, “I can’t leave without it.”

“Seriously. When’s the last time you sent Hap to get this thing dry-cleaned?” He turned back to look in my room, pointing at the suitcase as the door swung shut. “By the way, pal, one half-assed packing job isn’t gonna cut it. We’ll be gone the whole summer. Pack accordingly.”

I stopped in the hall as he continued up it with the suit still slung around his arm. “Dad, please,” I begged.

He began walking backwards, a smirk plastered to his lips. “No can do, kiddo,” he said. “You’re not supposed to work while you’re on vacation.”

And with that, he was gone, spending the rest of his evening with the usual entourage before they headed out to Happy’s place for the night.

I didn’t notice myself falling asleep. I wasn’t planning on it either—I don’t think I ever even rested my head for a second. But there I was; it was one o’clock, N64 fan roaring, half-eaten pint of ice cream melting accompanied by an opened bag of potato chips, and I had fallen asleep, controller still in hand. I peeled myself out of bed slowly, grabbing the snacks and heading downstairs to put them away in their respective places. As I was sealing away the tub of ice cream in the freezer, I noticed the door to the workshop downstairs slightly propped open, a faint glow coming from it and the distant voice of FRIDAY.

Curiosity killed the cat, right? Wish me luck.

Ever-so-thankful for my powers, I creaked the door open quietly and jumped up to the ceiling, slowly crawling down the spiral staircase until I finally reached the workshop. Everything was dark and put away apart from the desk, where Tony sat in his rolling chair, staring up at the blue holograms projected around him.

As though his breath had been hitched in his lungs for a long while, Tony let out a sharp sigh as he let go of his frozen stature, leaning forward in his seat. “Alright FRIDAY,” he pulled a pen from his desk and started scribbling on a piece of paper, “run the scans.”

“Certainly, boss,” FRIDAY said, and the holograms began pulling up hundreds, thousands—hell, even millions of files of footage. “Scanning all known devices now.”

Tony sat back in his seat again, jaw clenched in fear as hopeful eyes watched the projections around him. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched FRIDAY sort through the files, hurt filling the contortions of his face and… That’s when I noticed him.

How had I missed him?

“Come on,” Tony prayed, his eyes daring to well up into tears. “Come on, Cap.”

As files were sorted, discarded or scanned again and again, the screen running through images and clips so fast it hardly even flashed with the changes, the files were compared to an image presented to the right of them, none of them matching up with with the familiar head of blond hair that was almost damn near waiting for a match.

Years later, and Tony Stark was still searching for Steve Rogers.

I guess it sort of came as a surprise to me. He didn’t talk about Cap very often. If he did, it was usually short lived—it was never really something he chose to dwell on. And anytime someone tried to bring him up, he never spoke of their time together like it had the weight that I knew it did—like they were just some old buddies back in the day, and that was it. With everything going on in his life, I guess I just assumed he was a bit forced to move on from it.

Then again, when Tony came back—which, mind you, will forever be the most shocking moment of my entire life—one of the first things he asked about was Steve. Just to know if where he was… if he was okay. I was the one who told him he was gone, that he had brought the stones home, and was never to return.

He gave me a small nod when I told him, eyes drifting away from me, as he forced out a quiet, “okay, then.”

And that was it. That was all he ever asked about him. After he quickly regained his composure, Pepper ushered him away to get him some nourishment until they both finally decided it was time to wake Morgan up to see him again after seven long months apart.

I always wondered if Captain Rogers would have stayed if he knew Tony was coming back.

I guess that was part of the tragedy, wasn’t it? How could anyone have known that by some miracle he would come back? I hadn’t, Pepper hadn’t, nor did Rhodey, or Morgan, or Happy. There was no way Captain Rogers would have predicted that, either. He, like the rest of us, altered his life accordingly.

But if he got the chance to see what I was seeing, would he come back?

“I’m sorry, boss,” FRIDAY said solemnly. “The scans were unsuccessful.”

I suppose we’d never know.

Tony sat still, defeat stealing whatever energy he had left in him, as he tried desperately to understand the holograms before him. He stared for what felt like ages, breathing through the frown on his lips, swallowing back his guts here and there whenever he needed it. Finally, his eyelashes fluttered as he looked away from what was before him, energy joining him once again to neaten his paperwork. “Well, then,” he forced out, “let’s wrap it up for a while, shall we?”

He stood from his desk, picking up a mug of cold coffee and bringing it to his lips as he turned and started walking away, papers still in hand. He walked to a cabinet, dropping the papers into a file as he slowly lowered the mug, swallowing back his thoughts with his coffee.

“Would you like me to keep an open scan going while you’re gone?” FRIDAY inquired.

Tony’s eyes broke from wherever they had drifted, running in my direction on their way to look at the hologram—

Uh oh.

I managed to scurry back right as his head stopped its movement, hiding out of sight before his eyes flickered back over in my direction.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Footsteps. “Let me know if you find anything on your radar.”

Goose bumps. Skin tingling. Danger. Danger. Danger. I don’t think I’ve ever crawled on a ceiling faster than I did, barely making it to the door in time to leave it cracked where it was before he noticed it. It was faster to go out through the porch and up through my window than it was to run through that maze of a house, and I still only made it just in time to get under the covers before my father cracked open my door to check if I was sleeping. The pixelated N64 screen and controller by my hand was seemingly convincing enough, as he turned out the rest of my lights and left me to sleep.

* * *

To be honest, I wasn’t the most excited person when I realized that being adopted by Tony Stark also meant moving off to some cabin in the deep woods of upstate New York. The whole farm life thing never exactly appealed to me the way it did others, I guess. I was perfectly fine with living just a block away from my favorite hoagie joint, a couple blocks down from my best friend, the same part of town as the girl I sorely wanted back, and you know, the same city as the college that I attended daily. The drives back and forth from campus whenever I actually did make my way home only started to get better when I was actually doing them on my own, but they were still painfully long when Ned wasn’t able to join me for a weekend. And when your only entertainment for an entire weekend (or even week) is a six-year-old who is particularly obsessed with outsmarting you, Happy Hogan, and a video game that you somehow manage to fall asleep to while playing pretty much every night as of late, life can get pretty lonely up in the boonies.

Still, there was something to be said about waking up surrounded by nature instead of the city.

You’d be surprised as to just how calming it is for the morning sun’s glow to slowly enter your room, birds chirping in the trees outside your windows, wind chimes twinkling as a soothing voice peacefully rings throughout the four walls of your room…

“Everybody was kung fu fighting—” I don’t think I could have slapped my alarm any faster.

I attempted at covering my head with a pillow to block out the light, but the disturbance of voices downstairs disrupted my Sunday morning a bit early again—although this time, the voices seemed to amount to more of a crowd.

Great.

“Peter, your father will be arriving at your door in fifteen seconds,” Karen warned, lights brightening in my room as I hopped from my bed, placing in my earbuds. Like clockwork, the door creaked open as I paced my room in an effort to make myself seem busy.

“Pete.”

I pulled an earbud from my ear and glanced up at my father before heading to my closet. “You know, you should try knocking sometime.”

Mr. Stark trailed into my room behind me nonchalantly, looking around at the mess spread across the room as he picked up notebooks from my bed and placed them on my desk. “You say that like your alarm didn’t go off two minutes ago.”

“So?” I picked up the notebooks and moved them to my pile of schoolwork. “You never know—I could have been changing.”

He stopped in his tracks, his gaze tracing up to mine with a single eyebrow cocked up in disbelief. “Really?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but pajamas before two on a weekend.” He forced back a smile. “Besides, my point stands, you weren’t doing anything embarrassing. Which, by the way—”

“—that’s not my point—”

“—what exactly was it that you were doing?” He turned on his heel, looking around my room. “And what is that smell? Garbage? Gym clothes? Dirty sheets?”

“Dad.”

“When’s the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Dad.”

“Can we get some windows open in here?”

“Of course,” Karen complied, the panel windows rotating open on command, the sound of the leaves following the breeze that filled the room.

“Much better,” he exhaled.

I collapsed on my bed again, then, placing the earbud back in my ear. “Do you always have to act like something died in here when you enter my room completely uninvited?”

“I’m saving your skin, you know. May is downstairs and if she smelled whatever’s going on in here, you’d have a much bigger problem on your hands.”

I jolted up in horror. “May? What is May still doing here—”

“I invited her,” he stated simply. “For Happy’s sake. Surprise.”

I scowled. “Don’t encourage them.”

“Which reminds me, where are your bags?”

“Bags?” My eyes then drifted to the very same suitcase from the night prior, just as untouched, half-full, and dirty as it was the last time my father told me to work on packing it.

My father followed my sight and immediately let out a sigh, his back to me, and I just knew the face that he was about to hit me with before he even managed to turn around. And then he did.

Here we go.

The look of unsurprised disbelief with a flavor of sheer, utter annoyance as his eyes rolled up to the ceiling.

Personally, this was my favorite look of disappointment from him. His “shocked” face that I always seem to get whenever I prove time and time again that he really should stop having any sort of faith in me being able to do anything that is not Avenger, homework, or video game. I mean, it’s only fair. To the both of us, really.

He finished his eye roll, those disappointed eyes falling to mine before he finally headed to the door. “Get dressed and be down in five. Say hi to the crew quickly and then please finish packing. We can’t be late for this.”

“We’re leaving today?”

“Seriously?” He was out the door in seconds, calling back, “How on earth are you more like me than I am like me these days?”

I jumped from my bed and grabbed a t-shirt that was folded on the top of my dresser, pulling it over my head as followed Mr. Stark down the hall, door clicking shut behind me. “How long until we leave?” I asked, catching up to him on the stairs.

“Around an hour.” He muttered, head tilting towards mine. “You definitely did not get dressed that quickly.”

“I’m not going in there alone,” I told him.

He halted about half-way down, looking me up and down in my sweatpants and Midtown gym shirt. His lips flattened into a line, the look of annoyance returning to his face. He then unbuttoned his suit jacket, turned, and shrugged. “Fine.” And as we finished our trek down the stairs, he expanded his arms grandly, cleared his throat, and projected an embarrassingly loud, “Everyone—Peter has finally decided to join us!”

Every pair of eyes in the room fell to mine.

… I brought this upon myself.

It was barely seconds before the only person from ABC that I actually recognized managed to catch my attention—and yes, there was, once again, a gray hair sitting intrusively on the blazer.

“Peter!” She exclaimed, peeling her way through the group to shake my hand. “Are you excited for the next few months?”

“Sure,” I offered, my eyes drifting from hers in search of Aunt May. I looked back at her, squinting a bit as I studied her face. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting your name.”

“Nellie Freeman,” she reminded me. “I’m one of the producers for The Bachelor.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded my head. The whole bullshitting portion of this thing was already wearing on me, and I was only about… a sentence and a half into it. And it was obvious, as a rather awkward look of concern started to form on her face. “Look, I’m going to be honest with you, Ms. Freeman,” I sighed, slouching a bit. “I just rolled out of bed. I really just came down here for food before I get ready to leave.”

Nellie nodded then, stepping aside. “You should probably focus on that, Peter. And please, call me Nellie.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll find the chance to talk later, alright?” She said, clutching her mimosa close to her hair-intruding blazer.

I nodded, turning to make my way to the kitchen. “Okay, Ms. Freeman.”

And with that, I was free, and doing one of my favorite past times: rummaging the refrigerator for food. And as I rolled out each and every tray, drawer, compartment, searching high and low for just a little bit of cream cheese, I felt a very gentle tug at the hem of my shirt. I paused, raising my eyebrows to look down at the very soft, yet expectant face of a six-year-old, a small smile playing at her lips.

“Hi,” she said.

“Good Morgan,” I greeted her, stifling a laugh as she let out her usual giggle. “Staying out of trouble so far?”

“I need your help,” she said. She then waved for me to get close, so I did, crouching down and offering my ear to her. She cupped her hands, leaning close to whisper. “Can I have some of your root beer?” She asked, pulling back with an innocent look on her face.

“Maguna,” I sighed, turning towards her totally. “You do realize it’s still morning, right?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“And that our father is right on the other side of that wall?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

I raised my eyebrows again, pointing in the direction of our living room. “And that if he catches me giving you root beer at seven in the morning without asking his permission, he’ll get very mad at me?”

“Yes,” she said, this time with a single, big nod.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” I told her, standing up and pulling a bottle of root beer from the fridge, “not sure if it’s worth the punishment.”

She tapped my arm this time, tugging at my shirt afterwards. “Please?”

“Hmm,” I looked between my sister and the bottle of root beer in my hands. “Are you ready to leave yet?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I set the bottle on the counter, along with the bagels and cream cheese, closing the fridge and crouching back down to meet her height. “Go on up to my room, then. I’ll bring some up to you when I finish getting my breakfast and you can play Mario Kart while I pack.”

And for the last hour that we spent in our home for the time being, my sister and I kept sanctuary up in my room, with Morgan sprawled out on my bed, trying to make sense of an N64 controller as I coached her on how to take out Bowser as revenge for his ruthless attack on her Luigi. My bags were carelessly tossed together in a matter of minutes, suit staying tucked away underneath heaps of clothes, and my Playstation carefully wrapped (and hidden) in clothes in my second suitcase, zipped away until further notice. I had bravely ventured downstairs to grab the next round of root beers, and the two of us were able to stay far away from any parental units paroling the household for the remainder of the hour—shocking, since Morgan’s got quite the big mouth when it comes to video games.

Packing the vans for our departure to the airport wasn’t chaotic until the rest of the black-blazer-with-a-stray-strand-of-gray-hair-obtrusively-standing-out-and-distracting-me-once-again people from ABC arrived. It went from packing up the car for a nice family vacation to me pretty much being sent up to my room to pack yet another whole bag with all of the items on their list of things that I had to bring for my “wardrobe” that I didn’t know were “required” for my nice, lovely, family vacation. And then came the labeling of each and every bag—which, of course, followed their security check of each and every bag.

That’s right. They brought security for us.

I know.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure the ridiculousness of checking Iron Man for safety threats was the tipping point of my sanity, so by about eight o’clock, I was lying in the middle of the driveway and tossing a rock up into the cloudy sky. At some point, Mr. Stark’s hand suddenly reached out and caught it and he looked down at me with a tired smile.

“You ready?”

I raised my eyebrows and caught the rock as my father dropped it. “Did my background check already make it in?”

“Funny,” he rolled his eyes as he reached down to grab my hand, pulling me up. “You should be praying that they don’t find it.”

“What do you mean?” I laughed, picking my backpack up from the curb as I followed him up the driveway to the big, black, spy-like SUVs. “Peter Parker is as threatening as Happy when he falls asleep on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner.”

His hand rested on my back as he guided me to an open door in one of the SUVs. “Have you read your high school disciplinary record?”

“No. That’s your job,” I grinned at him as I climbed in and slid to the end, grabbing the buckle.

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark’s eyes widened at the thought as he got in his seat beside me. “And your poor Aunt May’s.”

“Well, she knows about the whole… you know… Spidey thing, now, so it’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sure it explains a lot.”

Happy’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Wait until you can’t use that excuse this summer.”

My jaw fell only slightly as I let out a chuckle. “No, no—not an excuse. I won’t need it, anyway. No suit, no hero antics, no need for doing anything absolutely stupid.”

Happy’s eyes looked up again in the mirror as he stopped at the end of our driveway. “The suit isn’t what causes you to be stupid.”

And with another small, Pikachu gasp escaping my lips and laughter bellowing from Aunt May and the man beside me, the window rolled up slowly, separating him and May from myself, Morgan, and our dad for the rest of the ride to the city.

The car ride inbound was far more easy-going than the last long one we had heading outbound, on our way home from my grand, very belated ‘adoption party’, where this whole Bachelor thingy began. I was silent, overwhelmed, sort of regretting the amount of root beer that I had consumed.

I think, like, five glasses, maybe? Full glasses, too. Like the big ones, not the little scotch glasses. All five, sitting in my stomach over every pothole and rock we ran over.

“Come to think of it, Pete, I didn’t really see you much tonight. Was it the nerves? Too many people?”

I nodded assuringly. “Too many people. Definitely.”

He eyed me in suspicion and then let out a sigh. “Listen, Pete. Don’t let this whole… moving into a multi-billionaire’s million dollar lakeside New York mansion thing scare you into thinking you have to respect me any better.”

“I think,” I narrowed my eyes as I stared at him in confusion, “I think just saying that… does?”

“What I’m trying to say is now that I’m officially your father and you’re officially my son, that weird, politeness type of respect isn’t necessary anymore,” he went on, looking forward at the street as Happy drove their car back to their home. “If anything, you should respect me less.”

“I feel like this is a test,” I told him.

“It is and it isn’t,” he grinned to himself. “Just be a normal kid, alright? No more Mr. Starks, no more asking permission for every single little thing. Just ask permission sometimes, when it’s necessary. And don’t call me ‘dad’ while wearing your suit. That’s when you call me ‘Mr. Stark’. Got it?”

And that was it. I’ll be honest, the whole transition from “Mr. Stark” to “Dad” hasn’t exactly been easy, but I think I’ve got it down.

For the most part.

Happy took a sharp turn then, breaking my thoughts as we went off of our course to the airport. “Sorry,” he shouted from the front seat.

“Mr. Stark…?” I muttered, staring out the windows in confusion. I looked at him and he raised an eyebrow expectantly. I realized my mistake but refused to correct it, staring back at him with my own eyebrows raised expectantly as the SUV pulled to a stop in front of the mansion, film crews piling out of one of the vans ahead. “What’s going on?”

“Showtime—” was all he said, before jumping out of the vehicle and heading over to the makeup artists, who, of course, swarmed him.

It was going to be a long summer. And it was only April.

The beauty of college was that the summer typically began in May, anyway, and with some teeth-pulling trips home away from the hyperactive, crime-filled city, I was able to set aside blocks of time to get my work done early in an effort to finish my semester earlier than most. I must say—midterms and finals all within two weeks of each other were not exactly the highlight of my college career so far, but finishing the semester by the start of April in exchange for an extended summer was pretty worth it.

Apart from the makeup brushes that were suddenly advancing on my face.

“Wait—” I held up my hands in defense, waving the brushes away. “No, no—not me, not my thing. I’m fine with—you know,” I gestured toward my face, “this.”

“It’s for lighting,” one of the artists argued.

“And that,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, “is what editing is for. Tell Ms. Freeman I said that.”

Like clockwork, Nellie Freeman ran towards me, calling my name. “Peter!” She said, excitedly, “Go on over to your father. Share a laugh with him.”

Share a laugh?

I was guided over to where he was and before I knew it, cameras were pointed at us in all directions as Mr. Stark put an arm around me and looked at me to chat, pointing to me. “Are you ready?” He asked, charming smile flashing on his face.

“No,” I said, forcing a smile, trying hard not to look at the camera. “How long do I have to do this?”

“Entire summer,” his smile grew proud.

My face fell.

“Remember, this was all your idea,” he let out a laugh then, and it was apparently enough to satisfy the cameras.

Worst moment of my life.

So far.

As a small part of the crew followed me around the front of the mansion—which, I had inferred was for their introduction to the show, as they were filming numerous angles of the mansion itself, as well as our family by the gates out front, and even a small moment of Tony driving out of the garage in yet another hideously orange supercar—the sound of a small explosion a couple blocks over rumbled through the streets. Myself and the camera people with me, who happened to be closest to the noise, all turned in fear as cop cars zipped up the street towards whatever it was.

My heart pounded a bit as the adrenaline came through my body with my senses and I looked at the crew urgently, “You should probably go distract Iron Man before you lose camera time with him.”

They took my advice.

Barely a minute later, I was in my suit, swinging through the streets of New York City.

Standard bank robbery: getaway car at the corner of the block waiting in drive, hold up in the lobby of the bank, gunmen standing guard outside, and my favorite—two pyromaniacs blowing a hole in the alleyway wall to gain outside access to the vault.

Minutes later, the vault guys were webbed to the brick walls of the alley, the gunmen were knocked out and webbed up, the two guys holding up inside were webbed together in a nice, snug hug, and the getaway car was stopped mid movement by me mere seconds after I had webbed up its passengers to street lights in their escape.

A standard day in New York City for Spider-Man.

Man, I was going to miss it. Genuinely. It was a hobby as much as it was a passion and a responsibility. It had its perks, of course, but swinging through the city, stopping to fight whatever crime was impending, and then getting back into the air moments later just to return to whatever I was doing, or like in many cases, to the backpack I webbed up to a dumpster in an alleyway a block away from the mansion. I undressed from my suit as quickly as possible and got back in the clothes I was wearing before, stuffing the suit into my backpack—

Spider sense. Spider sense. Behind you, Peter—Peter. Peter. Peter.

I turned quickly to see an old bearded man standing at the end of the alleyway by the sidewalk, staring at me as I stuffed the spider suit into my backpack.

I felt my cheeks burning red as the man just watched. “It’s not what it looks like, I promise,” I smiled nervously. “I just found it in the dumpster. It’s probably—it’s probably not even real.”

The old man let out a chuckle, approaching me slowly. “It’s okay, Peter,” he said with a smile. “You don’t need to worry.”

I froze in that moment, movements halted as I registered the voice and the way it said my name—yes. My name.

My name?

“How did you…” I trailed off as the main presented a large pouch to me, reluctantly taking it from him. I stared at the pouch and then up to those old, tired, glistening eyes. “Are you one of the wizards?”

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You might wanna grab a lab kit for that before you leave, by the way.”

And that was how my Breaking Bad career took off.

Kidding. Sort of. Hopefully. All that was in the bag from what I could tell was some old rusty gear and tech and a few pieces of paper to accompany the items. I looked up from the bag and back at the old man, who just watched with a pair of what seemed to be proud eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to make sense of the familiarity in his eyes. “Who are you?”

The man’s face fell slightly for a moment and he placed a hand on my shoulder, dipping his head down a bit as he blinked slowly, lips curling into a smile once again. “You’ll see.”

The sound of repulsors taking off echoed through the streets, followed by the sound of flight, and both myself and the old man turned in its direction, looking up to the sky as Iron Man appeared over the rooftop.

He hovered there for a moment, silence dripping between us for a split second, before he finally let out a confused, “Pete?”

I widened my eyes. “I can explain,” I started, stepping towards him, “You see, I was helping this nice gentleman over here and—”

He flew passed me to where the man was, but as I turned around with him, the old man was gone.

Tony landed in his place, stepping towards the sidewalk slowly and looking around. “It doesn’t make sense…”

Okay, Peter. Time to be honest. I took a deep breath, “Well, to be honest, there was an explosion up the block, and it turned out to be a huge bank robbery, so I kind of had to step in and—”

“I said no suit.” He stated bluntly, but he was still distracted by our surroundings.

“I know. It’s just—it’s hard,” I confessed. “I’m sorry.”

Tony was silent in response; he was evidently listening to Friday as opposed to me, focusing in on whatever it was they were examining in the alleyway. Moments passed in silence, before he finally let out a sigh, “Alright, let’s go. We have a flight to catch.”

He lifted me from the ground, returning us to our group at the mansion a couple blocks over, cameras and all. The obligatory clips of the Iron Man suit removing itself from Tony that ABC insisted on filming bought me enough time to sneak into the mansion and snag one of the lab kits we had set aside for missions. I was able to slip it into the SUV by the time Tony finished with his numerous close-ups with the film crew.

The remainder of our morning once we actually arrived at the airport was just that. Cameras, interviews, weird filmed moments where we all chatted about absolutely nothing in an effort to seem like we were actually engaging in real conversations—then pause, break, and we were back to loading Mr. Stark’s private jets.

Yes. Jets. As in plural.

Because we weren’t going to fly with the ABC people, right? They had to be there waiting for us upon our arrival anyway.

Eyeroll.

It was only about eleven in the morning by the time we took off, but it felt like the day had been going on for hours already. The jet we were on, which was Mr. Stark’s newest of his hybrid engine class, had quarters for him, myself, and Morgan in the back, which were separated by the full bathrooms in between. It wasn’t long before I had passed out on my bed, the shades closing on the windows to leave me in a nice, quiet slumber…

“Pete, wake up,” My father’s voice called from the door to the cabin. I stirred a bit, covering my head with my pillow. “Shower quickly and get out here, we’re landing soon.”

Soon? Already? How long had I been asleep?

I sprung out of bed, heading to the bathrooms to shower in the circular full shower, washing up as fast as I could, before I dressed in some warm weather clothes and headed out to the cabin, natural sunlight blinding me a bit before I could see outside the windows at the…

Islands? Surrounded by turquoise… lagoons?

How long had I been asleep?

My father walked over to me, looking out the window alongside me with a grin on his face. “Welcome to Bora Bora, Peter.”

#the bachelor: tony stark edition #bachelor au #tony stark #peter parker #stevetony #stony #stony fic #stevetony fic #tony stark fic #endgame fix it #mine

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tartheanmaid · 3 years

Text

The Story Of Us

Pairings: Charlie Weasley x Hufflepuff!MC, Bill Weasley x Hufflepuff!MC, Charlie Weasley x Chiara Lobosca

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Cheating, Strong Language, Slight Angst

A/N: This is halfway a songfic halfway not, also this was written with my mc in mind so y/n isn’t going to be a blank slate. My mc oregon is also in a band called Wreaking Havoc so that is in here although not mentioned by name so it’s easier to pretend I guess.

The Story Of Us

My wet socks felt weird against the stage floor. Tulip’s reckless strumming on an electric guitar and Phillip, my replacement drummer, were the only things I could hear. It felt like I was under water, but then again, it was raining. Everything was muffled and all I could focus on was the music around me. The screaming crowd below me sounded miles away. “I used to think one day we’d tell the story of us” The memories flooded back, the happy and the sad all jumbled into one. “How we met, and the sparks flew instantly”

“Do you want me to talk to her on your behalf [Y/N]?” I still remember that day, we had just gotten back for our fourth year and Charlie had spoken to me for the first time during our Care of Magical Creatures class. I had opted out of the class the previous year but decided to take in this year as a release. And a release it was. I was instantly in love with Charles Weasley.

“People would say they’re the lucky ones” When the whispers and the stares got unbearable Charlie was always there for me. When he was around I didn’t care what the people said, all that mattered was him.

The rain poured down as I danced around the stage, “I used to know my place was a spot next to you” I could vaguely make out a silver head in the crowd so I closed my eyes. My black skirt was soaked in the rain but it still moved as I danced. “Now I search the room for an empty seat”

Memories of that night flow back. It seemed like half the school was crowded into the Gryffindor common room to celebrate their win. My eyes searched the room for Charlie the whole night, it was half past 12 and I still hadn’t found him. “[Y/N] [L/N], there’s something you should know.” Tulip had said to me. My gut immediately told me what it was. But the thing I could have never expected was that it would be my own roommate. “Cause lately I don’t even know what page you’re on” The woman who had told me her secrets, the one I had told mine in return. She told me the reason I couldn’t find Charlie was that he hadn’t even been in Gryffindor Tower that night. Before we left to go try and catch them I felt a pull to look back. I caught the eyes of the man I had been fighting with for the past few months. “Oh, a simple complication, Miscommunications lead to fallouts”

I opened my eyes and looked back at the band. We were performing in the training grounds, but the crowd we drew was the biggest it had ever gotten. “So many things that I wish you knew. So many walls up, I can't break through”

The next party was hell. I had broken up with my boyfriend and lost one of my best friends in the same night. I could see from across the room how her silver hair and his ginger hair fit so well next to each other. My anger was unimaginable. My face was flushed and my grip on my firewhiskey tightened. “You need a break” Penny told me as she put a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I do. But really? I don’t even miss Charlie that much.” Penny gave me a knowing look. “Okay yeah I do, but like I miss Chiara so much more. Like she was one of my best friends and I- I’ve known her longer than I’ve known you even! I just can’t believe she would throw it all away like that.” And then she looked at me.

“Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room And we're not speaking And I'm dying to know Is it killing you like it's killing me? Yeah I don't know what to say Since a twist of fate, when it all broke down. And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now”

“Next Chapter.” The voice of the band’s backup singer pulled me back to reality. I look out to the drenched training grounds and find familiar eyes. We’ve been fighting for so long. It’s so hard I can’t take it anymore. “How’d we end up this way?” I’m pulled back into my thoughts as thunder cracks once more.

I see his eyes from across the Gryffindor Common Room. He’s already looking when I turn my head in his direction. “See me nervously pulling at my clothes and trying to look busy” I look away. “Talk to him.” Says Liz next to me. “What? No, he hates me.” I look back and he’s laughing with his friends once more. “You’re stupid if you think he hates you.” Tonks says, laughing at me. “And you're doing your best to avoid me” Turning to go face him I see that he’s vanished.

I run a hand through my drenched hair and suddenly I’m singing to the silver haired girl and the ginger boy once more. “I'm starting to think, one day, I'll tell the story of us, How I was losing my mind when I saw you here. But you held your pride like you should've held me”

~ ~ ~

I see her face lit up by the fireflies, the moon having abandoned us. She looks beautiful even as she’s singing about heartbreak. I stare up at her from the screaming crowd, wondering if I’ll ever get the chance to make up for what I did. It was never her fault, even though I acted like it was. I doubt she even knows why I was avoiding her. And then, somehow, she looks into my eyes and sings to me exactly what I’m thinking.

~ ~ ~

“Oh, I'm scared to see the ending. Why are we pretending this is nothing? I'd tell you I miss you, but I don't know how. I never heard silence quite this loud” As I sing the next line I meet his eyes again in the crowd. My wet socks had gotten slippery as the slightly uneven stage pooled with water. I turn and dance around my fellow bandmates instead of facing him. But I can feel his eyes on me still.

~ ~ ~

She dances and everything melts away. All I can hear is her voice. Her voice was the thing that hypnotized me that day on the training grounds 3 years ago;

“Did you get my owl?” She asked me. Not very memorable I know, but she made it so. She was, and still is if not more, ethereal. I found myself wanting to impress her all the time. I fancied [Y/N] [L/N]. I fancy [Y/N] [L/N]. I find myself staring at her swaying body, her lips, her wet hair, everything about her is beautiful. But she hates me.

~ ~ ~

The fireflies buzz around him. He looks like a god. The sad part is I’m in love with him. But we haven’t spoken in months. “Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room And we're not speaking” But maybe, just maybe— No. He couldn’t. “And I’m dying to know, Is it killing you like it's killing me? Yeah” If only I could talk to him. Maybe things would get better.

~ ~ ~

If only I could talk to her. Maybe things would get better. “I don't know what to say” Tulip’s guitar rift ties in perfectly with the rest of the song. I wonder who the song is about. Considering she kept sneaking glances at my idiot brother and that slut it’s probably about them. I wish I could have been there for her when it happened. But I was busy sulking. Her words become crystal clear once more. “Since a twist of fate, when it all broke down And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now” Could it have been about me? A small part of me wanted to hope that she could ever fancy me in return. But that was foolish, she wouldn’t— would she?

~ ~ ~

“This is looking like a contest. Of who can act like they care less” The fireflies danced around his soft ginger hair. I couldn’t pretend anymore. My body sways but my mind is racing. His red “Head Boy” badge glimmered upon his uniform, without the robes of course. He never wore the robes. “But I liked it better when you were on my side” And at this point I realized that I didn’t care whether or not he loved me in return. I was in love with him and I was happy about that. I danced around to Phillip behind me, then Penny to my right. “Talk to him after the show.” she says quietly, as to make sure her statement goes undetected by the microphone on the stand in front of her. “Okay.” I whisper in return. Penny sang the next line with me. “The battle's in your hands now. But I would lay my armor down” Now it’s not just his eyes that I can feel on me. It’s hers and his brother’s too. But I don’t care. Not anymore. “If you say you'd rather love than fight” His eyes in the crowd are the only pair that matter. “So many things that you wish I knew But the story of us might be ending soon” The song has a newfound tone that it didn’t start out with. The song felt happy.

Returning to the final chorus, I sang like my life depended on it. “Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room. And we're not speaking. And I'm dying to know, Is it killing you like it's killing me? Yeah” I closed my eyes again, but not out of fear or pain this time. “But I don't know what to say. Since a twist of fate, when it all broke down. And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now, now, now”

~ ~ ~

I see her close her eyes in bliss and I laugh. I laugh. It’s a genuine and special laugh, one usually only reserved for her. I feel like even though it’s only been 4 minutes and we haven’t spoken… we’ve somehow reconciled. “And we're not speaking And I'm dying to know Is it killing you like it's killing me? Yeah” As she sang the final few words of the song I attempted to make my way toward the stage exit. “I don't know what to say. Since a twist of fate, 'cause we're going down. And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now”

“The End.” says Penny, marking the official ending of the song.

“Hi Bill.” She says, out of breath. Even though we’re both sticky from the leftover humidity caused by the roaring crowd and the now stopped rainstorm, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. “Hi.” I say back. This was a lot more awkward now that I was actually doing it than what I had thought up in my head. Her eyes flicker from my eyes down to my lips for a split second, so much so that it’s barely noticeable. And then it happens. I kiss her, and she kisses me back. It’s perfect.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” We’re interrupted by a voice, I turn around and it belongs to the one and only pink haired, Hufflepuff prankster. “Mind taking that up to Weasley’s dorm will you?” [Y/N] just rolls her eyes at her friend in response.

“Go to Hogsmeade with me?” I ask. Bringing her hands intertwined in mine up to my chest.

“Of course.”

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steves-on-a-plane · 3 years

Text

For Frosting & Feelings

Written for: @star-spangled-bingo 2021! Words: 1384 Square Filled: Bakery AU Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: None, E for everyone! Summary: Bucky and Reader are rival bakers getting ready for their town’s yearly baking competition. When Bucky stops in for some pre-game taunting he learns that Reader, who is typically over prepared, might not get to compete at all due to staffing errors and supply shortages. Reader believes his support is purely self motivated but decides to play along to see how things pan out.

“It’s all right everyone, you can hold your applause.” James Barnes announced as he sauntered into your bakery. James owned a small patisserie on the other side of town. He also happened to be your biggest and most successful rival. He was no doubt stopping by to brag about his entry for the town’s cake decorating contest or worse he may want to share some other victory of a contest you’d yet to know about.

“Don’t worry, no one was clapping.” You snapped back.

“Ohh, someone’s sounding a little icy.” He teased, walking up to the counter.

“What do you want James?” You huffed. You cashed out the customer who’d been in line in front of him and waited for his answer.

“I would like to know how your plans are going for the Cake Off tomorrow and I want to sample your croissants. One with Ham and Cheese please.” He winked.

“The very same croissants you accused of always making too dry, yet still order every time you come in?” You questioned, ringing up his total.

“[Y/N, it’s no fun teasing you if you’re not going to fight back.” He frowned. “Everything okay?” He asked. You stared at him, not sure if he was being genuine. “I mean it.” He insisted, paying his bill. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, things are very much not okay.” You confessed in a brief moment of weakness. You turned away and began prepping his order so that you didn’t have to see the gloating smirk that was no doubt now plastered on his face. “The supplies I needed for the Bake off have been delayed because of the snow. The delivery company won’t bring me anything until Monday. Even though we’re actually not even getting snow anymore. The supply company can’t send a rush order with a different delivery company because even if they did, the order wouldn’t make it here till Tuesday the earliest. I could go to the nearest wholesale club and get some of the things I need but that would require my staff to actually show up for their jobs instead of calling out sick the night before the biggest competition of the year.” You put James’ sandwich in the toaster oven and turned back to look at him. “So, you can start writing your victory speech now. Looks like the Cake-Off is yours for the second year in a row.”

“How much stuff are you missing?” He asked. “My place isn’t too far…”

“And why would I accept supplies from you?” You asked.

“Because you need them.” He laughed.

“Why would you want to help me?” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“I already told you it’s no fun for me without someone to compete against. There are over a dozen bakeries in this town, but every year the final competition always comes down to you and I. If there’s no challenge in the victory, I don’t want it.” He shrugged. “So I’d like to supply you with whatever you need for the bake off and you can pay me back by giving me some actual competition. Deal?” He extended his hand for you to shake.

You stared at it scrupulously. This was really your own chance to have a hope of being ready for the competition in time tomorrow. You needed those supplies and you both knew it. It had been announced that this year’s winner would get the contract for the incoming mayor’s inauguration after party. That meant not just a cake order, but desserts and possibly hors d’oeuvres. You wanted that contract, but accepting his offer also meant owing James a favor. You weren’t sure you were ready to commit to that.

“Fine.” You sighed. You accepted his extended hand and gave it a brief shake.

“Great!” He smiled. “You can just make me a list of everything you need and I’ll take my croissant to go.”

An hour later the buzzer rang for your back door. You opened it, surprised to see James standing there in just a white sleeveless shirt, with a five-pound bag of flour slung over his shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice the muscles on his right arm which were flexed from holding the bag.

“Are you going to invite me in, [Y/N]?” He chuckled. “It’s cold out here.”

“I uh, yes.” You nodded, stepping aside. “What happened to the shirt you were wearing earlier.

“I was sweating through it in my kitchen while I was gathering everything up. I was halfway here when I realized I’d left it. It’s a cute little set up you’ve got back here.” He commented, his eyes scanning the kitchen. Cute. You knew he was purposefully teasing you about the size of your kitchen. He’d already admitted that he was trying to get a rise out of you.

“I guess this is your first time being in here.” You said, trying to respond neutrally.

“It’s my first time being invited in.” He replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I designed my kitchen myself so it’s perfect, but there are days where I wish I had something more…intimate like this. Hang on, are you the only one here?”

“No, you’re here too.” You quipped.

“ha-ha. I meant where are your employees?” He asked.

“I already told you they called out. I had five people scheduled today between front and back of house and only one person showed up. My front of house manager. You met her when you came in.” You told him.

“Let me get this straight, you have to do this who cake by yourself? How are you going to finish it in time?” He wanted to know.

“I’ll have to stay up all night I guess.” You shrugged.

“[Y/N], we’ve been friends for years, I’ve seen the designs you come up with. There’s no way you can do all that work by yourself.” He commented.

“You like competition, I like bad odds.” You countered. “And since when are we friends?”

“Since three years ago, when you rescued me at the county fair pie eating competition. I thought we were supposed to each make a dozen pies but it was two. You showed up with three and a half dozen, just in case someone didn’t have enough. Do you remember?” He chuckled.

“It was a pie eating competition, the mayor had put you and I in charge of making sure there were enough pies. It would have looked bad on both of us if even one bakery was short a few.” You said. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”

“Well, I did.” He confessed. “I also remember that time you nearly fed the soon-to-be mayor’s daughter peanuts despite the fact that she was death allergic.”

“The man ordered a peanut butter and chocolate cake for her birthday. Why would he do that if she was allergic? I had no idea, thankfully you stopped in the morning before I started making it so I could call and correct the problem. What about the time you hired that guy, the one who ate half your order…”

“Gene!” He remembered suddenly. “I almost forgot about Gene. Couldn’t believe he’d managed to eat six eclairs on the way to that fundraiser. You bailed me out by meeting me in that dark parking lot and we snuck six of your eclairs onto the tray. No one noticed.”

“I assume my six received higher praise than the others.” You laughed.

“I honestly think the guests were all too drunk to notice.” An awkward silence settled into the air between the two of you. “Maybe we’ve been doing this all wrong…” He added quietly.

“What do you mean?” You asked him.

“I mean we’re better together. We’ve been helping each other out for years. Maybe this year we go into the competition together. With my flavor profiles and your designs? There’s not a single bakery out there that could take us on together.” He insisted.

“I don’t know, James…”

“Bucky.” He interrupted you. “My friends call me Bucky.” We are friends after all, aren’t we?” He took a step closer to you, almost daring you to take the next step. You stepped towards him, not answering his question. “Of course, we could be more than friends…” He added edging closer to you.

#Bucky Banres #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Reader Insert #Bucky Barnes Fan Fiction #Bucky Barnes Fan Fic #Bucky Barnes FF #SSB2021 #Star Spangled Bingo #Star Spangled Bingo 2021

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

Hauntober day 7 prompt Haunted FYI these hauntober drabbles are written straight on tunglr so ignore the grammar lol. I’m just doing them for fun.

Nalu drabble requested by @phoneboxfairy yeah this story just did what it wanted to 🤣

Lucy looks around her kitchen as she stood in the middle of it, unsure of how she’d ended up there. ‘What am I doing back home?’ The last thing she remembered was leaving for work that morning, frustrated for having over slept. If it wasn’t for Natsu pinching her, she probably wouldn’t have gotten up at all. Guess having a ghost for a roommate had its advantages.

When she’d bought the cozy house, the realtor had warned her that it had some quirks to it; aka haunted. Back then she didn’t really believe in ghosts or spirits, but now she did. It was weird at first, and he’d definitely done his best to scare her away. But eventually they’d grown accustomed to each other’s presence and even enjoyed it. She wasn’t lonely anymore and neither was he.

In fact, she rather enjoyed some of the moments they shared. Natsu could be a little handsy at times, loved to tease or tickle her, and she swore he was sleeping next to her in bed despite his denials. Okay, so maybe she didn’t mind the attention and purposely taunted him while she changed. It was the only action she was getting lately and who was he going to spill to? It’s not like a ghost could leak nude pictures of her on the internet like some real life creep.

It took a lot of effort for Natsu to ‘talk’ to her or touch things. He’d told her at certain times of the month it was easier to gather the energy necessary or if he was riled up, he was able to pull it off. Natsu told her he’d been stuck there for a ‘long time.’ How long he couldn’t say exactly, but before ‘those electronic thingys.’ When Lucy found out he couldn’t leave the property, she was sad for him. To be stuck somewhere all alone, but at least according to him it was a place he had loved in life.

She often tried to picture what he looked like based on his own descriptions. Natsu claimed to be taller by about a foot, green eyes, and when he died he was only 24 years old, 1 year older than Lucy was now. He sounded cute or maybe she just hoped he was since she was starting to like him. Crazy, yes, to develop feelings for a ghost but when you spend so much time with someone, is it really a crazy idea? They say people should fall for a personality and not looks, so well, guess this fit the bill. A long distance boyfriend just instead of another State he was in another dimension.

They talked about a lot of things, their lives, friends, family, hobbies, but the only thing he refused to talk about was how he died. Natsu said he didn’t know exactly what happened, only that they’d been ambushed and there was a loud explosion. It made her wonder if Natsu had been a soldier during the Civil War or maybe even the American Revolution. Regardless, the records for this area were sparse and she couldn’t find anything about a Natsu living there at any point in time.

‘What time is it?’ Maybe she’d only dreamt up going to work this morning. It is Monday, right?! Wow, had she drank too much at the party last night and now her brain is only half working? “Ugh, I should’a listened to...”

“Lucy?”

“Natsu?” She whips around at such a strong voice. He’s never come through so well before! It was almost as if, “how are you standing there?!” He was right in front of her. Not translucent but as if he was, “alive?!”

The half smile on his face withers away as he shakes his head ‘no,’ he wasn’t alive. But that would mean?! Lucy races to the back door and throws it open... tried to anyways. Her hand slips right through the door knob. “N-Natsu?!” Lucy turns around slowly to find him closer now.

“I’m sorry,” he pulls her into a hug, gently cradling her head. “I’m so sorry Lucy.”

“D-did I die?!” The tears trickle out into a full-blown sob. This was all too much take!

“I can only assume so.”

His voice was soft and full of empathy. Of course, he couldn’t know since he can’t leave either. Was it a car accident? ‘Oh, no maybe I’d been rushing and got into an accident!’ “Why can’t I remember?” Lucy cries harder.

“Sometimes vague stuff comes back or if you hear or see information about it.” He rests his head against hers, “but I got ya Lucy, I’ll help you get through this.”

At that moment, another presence makes itself known. Lucy raises her head up and sees her dog Plue standing in the doorway to the living room staring at them. “Plue?!” She pushes away from Natsu and drops before the animal, but it continues to stare forward as if it can’t see her. “H-he can’t see me, can he?” The words choke through sobs.

“No, but animals sense us.”

Her head hangs lower as her body collapses. “Oh, Plue...” but is again buffered by Natsu as he holds her close against his body. Her fingers grip tightly to his shirt as she buries her face into his chest.

“Shh,” he gently runs his fingers through her hair and rubs circles on her back. “You’ll be okay, Lucy, I’m here for you.”

As Natsu soothes a sobbing Lucy, they hear the front door open and a familiar voice yelling for Plue. The dog takes off running towards it, and Lucy scrambles to her feet as well. “It’s Levy.” When they reach the front of the house they see the woman clinging to Plue, tears streaming down her face. Levy was her best friend, and despite the pain of her circumstances, Lucy was glad to see she’d come for Plue, however was torn by the pain her friend was in. “It really sucks I can’t comfort her.”

Lucy watches quietly as Levy puts Plue’s leash on and after taking a few silent moments, leaves again. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

“Your friends a tough one, so I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“You’re probably right.” Lucy let’s out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Natsu. I can’t even imagine how it was for you to be alone all these years.”

“It wasn’t... easy— I was angry for a long time, but hey,” he throws on a silly smile, “at least we’ll both have company from now on.”

“Pfft!” As poor in taste it was under the circumstances, his smile brought out one from her too. “So, now what do we do? Like, how does this all work?”

He chuckles, “well we don’t need to eat or sleep, but other than that we go on with our lives here. We can interact with each other as if were physical, it’s just the living we can’t touch, you know, like how I’d explained before.” Natsu shrugs. “Just takes getting used to.”

She steps closer, facing him, staring at his face, each second ticking by like a contest of who’ll blink first.

“Um, Lucy?”

She places her hands on the sides of his cheeks, her fingers almost testing the surface and exploring his features. Head tipping, studying, as his eyes look back widened and confused.

“Lucy, you’re being weird now.”

“You are handsome. I’d always wondered if you were.”

Heat flood his cheeks. “Um, thank you?”

“Since we’re stuck with each other, might as well make the most of it.”

“O—okay...”

Lucy giggles at his innocence and confusion. She pulls his face down and places a kiss on his lips. ‘Oooh, their soft!’ When she pulls away, Natsu still looks completely shocked. Guess it was understandable considering how long ago it must have been since he’s kissed a girl. She giggles again. “I’m really happy you’re here with me Natsu.”

“I mean, so am I Lucy, but what’s with the kiss?”

“Just checking...” her eyes flit lower for a second, “...which parts of your body still work.”

“What... par— oh, oh! That one still works, yes, why?”

“How do you know for sure?”

#hauntober #haunted prompt #nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu au #ghost au #fairy tail #nalu drabble #nalu fan fic

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ssa-lesbian · 4 years

Text

my character’s strong but my head is loose

word count: 2.3k words

So maybe Emily Prentiss is a little jealous.

-> read on AO3

(Contains alcohol. Except I’ve never had alcohol before, so I’m just guessing what drunk people are like.)

—

“Maybe you guys should stop,” JJ says, the voice of reason covered by the crowd around her and her friends’ excited shrieks as they down another shot. There’s concern etched all of her face, but her mouth is curved in a smile of amusement, and Penelope laughs as she pinches her cheek.

“Oh, JJ, sweet, gorgeous, angelic Jayje,” she croons, cheeks flushed pink from all the alcohol, “our dear Em challenged me, and you know I can never back down from a challenge.”

The new agent laughs a little breathlessly, her cheeks so much more red than Penelope and pupils a little blown, and JJ can only shake her head. Penelope had insisted they all go out for drinks today, as the team had been gone for the entire week and she hadn’t seen them since last Saturday, and once they sat down, Emily commented she could hold more alcohol than the other. Penelope took it to heart, with JJ dutifully sitting out and standing as judge, but from the red glows of her friends, she starts to regret letting them compete.

“Well, I have to go,” she says, standing up and sliding a ten dollar bill to the other agents, smiling at their cries of protest. “I told you guys already, my brother’s in town, I’m going to meet his kid.”

“Oh, the Thomas brother?” Emily asks, eyebrows furrowing as she desperately tries to recall any mention of the media liaison’s family through her drunken haze, and JJ and Penelope laugh at her confused expression.

“Yes, the Thomas brother,” JJ mimics, reaching for her phone. “The one who was disowned when I was two and didn’t even know existed until he found me a couple weeks ago.”

“Ah, the Thomas brother,” Emily says, her face breaking into a goofy grin that makes it clear she hasn’t processed any of what JJ had said. “Tell him I— we— I said hello!”

JJ scrunches her face up in a pained expression, and she sticks her tongue out at the dark-haired woman.

“Oh, I will,” she says. “Take care of yourselves, okay? Bye guys.”

She presses a quick kiss to Penelope’s cheek before waving goodbye, disappearing out of sight after ducking out of the doorway, and the remaining blonde turns to her companion, eyes narrowed in mischievousness before frowning at the dull expression on her face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Emily stares sullenly at the table before declaring, “I’m like, super drunk,” and downing the remaining full shot on their table, wincing at the burn. Penelope giggles, but it quickly fades when it’s clear the shot didn’t help her at all.

“How come she only kisses you?” Emily blurts out, and the tech analyst stares at her.

“What?”

“She—”

Her normally pale skin is incredibly flushed, spreading all over her face and dipping into her cleavage, and she fumbles for words as Penelope watches, fascinated by the normally held-together agent unraveling. I guess she can’t do tequila.

“She always kisses you,” Emily says, “but not me. Why won’t she kiss me?”

“I— what?” Penelope starts laughing, serving only to edge on the flustered agent as she continues, her voice rising in pitch and volume.

“I always see her kissing you! Like, on the cheek, but she never kisses me. Do you think she doesn’t like me? Is that why she won’t kiss me?”

“Emily, sweetheart, JJ likes you plenty—”

“I like her too!” Emily says loudly, drawing heads from the surrounding customers, and Penelope has to stifle a laugh when she realizes the brunette is swaying on her seat. “I like her, like, a lot, and I want her to kiss me—”

“As much as I absolutely adore you, sweet Em, I’m going to take you home,” Penelope interrupts, standing up and offering her arm to the brunette agent, who blinks dumbly at the sudden movement before groping for her arm to stand shakily. “You, my pretty, have had too much to drink.”

The taxi ride back to Emily’s apartment is surprisingly quiet, the only sign of Emily’s distress her bouncing knee, giving Penelope plenty of time to analyze everything that came out of her friend’s mouth. Walking up three flights of stairs is surprisingly easy, considering how drunk Emily is (she only slips twice), and she’s able-bodied enough to unlock her door and close it behind the two before collapsing on her couch, eyes glazed over and lip trembling. Penelope chortles to herself as she pours a glass of water for the two of them from her kitchen before hurrying over and setting the glass down on the coffee table between the couch and armchair, taking a seat and biding her time in the plush armchair..

Dark beauty wants golden angel to kiss her, huh? she muses. She snorts as she remembers how just last week, JJ had sprinted into her lair in a flustered mess, fanning her pink cheeks and nearly hyperventilating as she brokenly explained to Penelope how she had bumped into Emily and dropped her papers and they both bent down to pick them up and when JJ looked up she was literally an inch away from Emily’s face and her eyes were so dark and her lips were so dark and red and plump and--

“What’s so funny?” Emily says suddenly, eyes snapping back into focus to stare down Penelope, who doesn’t bother smothering her giggles.

“Hm?” Penelope asks.

Emily narrows her eyes in suspicion, and she begins biting her lip before blurting out, “I really like her, Garcia.”

“Oh sweetie, I know—”

“I really, really like her! She’s so pretty, and whenever we’re on cases and I look at her, it’s like she’s glowing. Glowing. Like the sun.”

“And the way her eyes pierce you, like they can see right through you,” Penelope prompts, and Emily nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, her eyes! They’re so blue, when I look at her and she sees me, it’s like— it’s like we’re the only people in the room. She’s so stunning, so—” she waves her arms around, poised as though to demonstrate some abstract concept, and she settles for, “perfect. JJ is perfect. You know when I first came here, she was the first person I talked to?”

The blonde shakes her head, unable to hide the wide grin on her face as Emily continues, emboldened.

“She asked me where I was going and I thought I was going to faint, she was wearing a pencil skirt and her legs were so toned and her eyes were so bright, I said she was pretty and I was looking for an Agent Hotchner—”

Penelope gasps. “She never told me that.”

JJ did tell her that. Showed up in Penelope’s office without warning, cheeks flushed and knees shaking before announcing that a new agent just told her she was pretty and that said-new agent was also very pretty. Penelope let her cool down in the lair for a bit before sending her out to chase after this new agent, but not before sneaking into all the available cameras in the FBI building just to see how pretty this new agent was.

“Her lips look so cute, Garcia,” Emily says dreamily. “Have you seen them? It’s hard not to, they’re so pink, and they look so soft. Are they soft, Garcia?”

“Well, that’s for you to find out, isn’t it?” Penelope teases, and Emily lets out a sigh as she starts fanning herself. “Sweetheart, you’re all red, and you’re horribly drunk.”

“I am,” Emily agrees. “Why are you in my home?”

“Oh baby,” Penelope coos, standing up to help Emily to her feet. “I’ve had my fill of stories and tellings from you today, but I’m thinking maybe you should clean yourself up and get to bed. Here, let’s go.”

Emily is a vaguely put-together drunk, the blonde notes, despite having no filter in her mouth. She comes out of the bathroom in one piece (Penelope has to help her fix her robe, which she put on backwards), and after only minimal coaxing, curls up in bed, breathing steadying out within moments. Penelope stands at the bedroom doorway, studying the now-passed out agent, and with a grin, she exits the apartment, making sure to lock the door on her way out. Her Uber driver makes no comment when she spends the entire ride on her phone, texting someone.

—

“Hey, how was the shot contest?”

Emily looks up from her papers and smiles at the media liaison, who’s now perched on the edge of her desk, leaning over slightly, files pressed tightly to her chest.

“Hey JJ,” Emily says, pushing her papers to the side. “Ah, it was fine— Pen took me home ‘cause she was worried I was too drunk.”

“Too drunk?” JJ laughs, hand reaching up to brush away a few strands of golden hair, and Emily’s breath catches.

“Yeah, well, I think she was just scared of losing,” she manages, and JJ snorts.

“Really?” JJ says. “From what I heard, you were pretty drunk.”

“What you heard?”

Usually, it’s Emily making JJ flustered, but it’s the way she’s perched on her desk and the way her white button-down is buttoned maybe a button too low and the way it fits perfectly to her body and the way her sleeves are rolled up and her lips—

“You don’t remember?”

JJ’s dubious voice snaps Emily out of her daze, and she frowns slightly at the look of disbelief on her face.

“I—” Emily says slowly. “I remember you left early, and then Pen took me back to my apartment.”

“Do you remember anything else?” JJ asks, and Emily has a flashback to grade school, being called out in front of the entire class only to have no idea what was going on.

“Am I supposed to?”

JJ studies her, mouth slightly open, tongue poking out, and Emily squirms under her piercing gaze. “Jayje—”

“I guess you really don’t, huh,” JJ finally says.

There’s a silence as Emily struggles to find something to say, and she offers a meek, “Sorry.”

JJ, to her credit, laughs, and there’s a twinkle in her eyes that makes Emily’s stomach flip inside and out as she slides off her desk easily.

“No worries,” she says before, “Oh, I’ve got a new file for you.”

Emily groans as she takes the file, but she also knows JJ could hand her twenty files and she wouldn’t complain. Holding it, however, Emily notices that it’s light, and she frowns, but before she can protest, JJ smiles, and Emily’s voice dies in her throat.

“Take care, Emily,” JJ says. “I’ll see you around.”

And she leans forward and kisses Emily.

The only thing Emily can register is how soft her lips are. It’s a quick kiss on the cheek, and it happens so quickly, she wonders if it even happened at all. Her hand flies up to her cheek, mouth hanging open as JJ leans back and shoots her a grin, the corner of her mouth quirking up in— satisfaction?— before spinning on her heel and almost sauntering back to her office. Her face is burning-- her face is definitely burning-- but she can still feel the ghost of JJ’s tender lips pressing against her.

The file in her hand— she opens it, and there’s just a single sticky-note in JJ’s signature wide-looped cursive.

I can kiss you however much you want on a date.

“Better close your mouth before you catch any flies, princess,” someone sings, and Emily whirls around in her chair, mouth snapping shut immediately as she glares at her coworker.

“Shut it, Morgan,” she manages, but he only barks out a laugh as he turns to his deskmate.

“Reid, you see that?” Morgan crows. “Our resident hot-shot just got demolished by blondie’s little kiss.”

“I did see that,” Reid confirms, and Emily swings her glare to him. He only smirks and adds, “Her pupils are completely blown—”

“Goodbye,” Emily interrupts, getting up from her seat and almost bolting out of the bullpen, and now her ears are burning and her hands are shaking and she does not need to be here right now and maybe she could go and find JJ right now and see if that note is genuine—

Rossi joins Hotch at the railing of the bullpen, just in time to see Emily scrambling out of the bullpen, leaving a cackling Morgan and Reid in her wake.

“Well?” the Unit Chief asks, raising an eyebrow.

Rossi grunts. There’s a flicker of a smile on Hotch’s face. “Sorry, could you say that again?”

Another noise from the senior agent. Hotch waits patiently, one hand on the railing and the other holding the next case’s files, and then finally Rossi responds.

“You win,” he grumbles. “JJ made the first move.”

“Oh, did she now?” Hotch teases, and Rossi scoffs.

“Only barely, it was a kiss on the cheek! She kisses Garcia like that all the time—”

“But this was a first for Emily,” Hotch interrupts, a cheeky grin on his face. “Considering all they do is dance around each other, I think a kiss on the cheek is definitely a move.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Was it $20?”

“Ah, I believe it was $25.”

Another grumble as Rossi passes Hotch the two bills, and the younger agent tucks it away discreetly. He hands Rossi his folder, and when Rossi takes it, he asks, “How did you know?”

“Hm?”

“How did you know it would be JJ? Emily had always been the one to flirt first. I thought for sure she was dominant enough to make the first move.”

Hotch smiles.

“Dave, I handpicked JJ for the media liaison role at the BAU. I trained her myself. There’s a lot more to her than she shows.”

And as Hotch saunters back to his office, leaving Rossi $25 lighter, the senior agent has to agree.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #my art #jemily #jj #jennifer jareau #jennifer jj jareau #emily prentiss #jj x emily #emily x jj #penelope garcia #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #david rossi #thinking about how in penelope s3e9 jj kisses pen on the cheek #emily is a Gay Disaster (TM)#penelope is ultimate wingman

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chipsfics · 4 years

Text

Part 4 - Supermoon

Part 4 is here!

Rated: PG (for swearing)

~~~~

Midnight. It was that time when fall was just ending and spring was brand new- Although the weather was warm during the day, nighttime was still a bit chilly- That sort of pleasant, crisp bite in the air that only comes at night. The world is cold and asleep, but Tissues was wide awake- quietly grabbing his phone, turning on the flashlight and creeping across his bedroom, past his quietly sleeping roommate, and out the door. He let out a sigh once he made it to the hallway, and crept to the elevator- Everything seemed a lot louder at night, but if the ruckus coming from the elevator woke anyone up, nobody came to confront him. He made it downstairs, past OJ's master bedroom, and into the front room- Where he was surprised to see Cheesy still wide awake and watching TV on the lowest volume.

"O-oh." Tissues said, a bit shocked. "Hi Cheesy," Cheesy turned around and looked Tissues up and down judgmentally.

"Hey Tissue-guy. What're you doing up so late?" Cheesy responded.

"Ohh uhhh... I'm just gonna uhh... Well I uhh. Midnight snack," Tissues sputtered. "I mean I'm hungry. I'm gonna get uhh.. Yeah."

"Ok, cool. What did you have in mind? I'm kind of hungry too." Cheesy responded.

"I'm gonna. Order pizza," Tissues responded shyly.

"Order pizza? At midnight?" Cheesy said, cocking his head to one side in confusion.

"Yeah uhh.. There's this place a couple miles away that does 24/7 delivery." Tissues said.

"Hm. Yeah, I figured, but..." Cheesy responded. "Aren't you supposed to tell OJ first if you're ordering any food to the hotel?"

"Um. Yes." Tissues said.

"I won't tell him if you give me a slice," Cheesy said, then paused, grinning. "At yeast a slice." He slapped his knee.

Tissues stared at him and blinked. "Wh.... OHH I get it. Cause like. Yeast is in pizza dough, and it sounds like least....." Tissues laughed. "That was a good one, did you think of it on the spot?"

"Wait, you really think so? And yes I did." Cheesy said proudly, smiling. "Also, what kind are you getting?"

"Olives and cheese," Tissues said.

"Yuck. I hate olives," Cheesy said. "Can you get cheese and garlic bread too?"

"I dunno..." Tissues said. "I'm kind of broke."

"Well then, I guess OJ will be hearing about this in the morning," Cheesy said casually, turning back around to face the TV.

"Ughhhhh, fiiine." Tissues said. "You broke me. Lemme call up the pizza place right now."

Tissues dialed in the number and ordered from the exhausted-sounding operator. One large pizza with olives, and cheesy garlic bread. He hung up after putting his order in, put his phone back into his head where the tissues are dispensed, and exchanged it for his wallet. He opened it up and pulled out a 20 dollar bill.

"Hh. Cheesy, do you mind doing me a favor? If you hear the doorbell ring, answer it and pay with this-" Tissues walked up to Cheesy and handed him the money.

"Sure thing, dude. It's whatever," Cheesy responded. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go wake up Yinyang," Tissues said. "It's a supermoon tonight, and I wanna watch it with him."

"It's a what?" Cheesy said, perking up.

"A supermoon," Tissues stopped in his tracks, continuing. "It's like, I heard about it from the internet, it's like... Where the moon is super huge in the sky. It's like uhh.. Something to do with rotations or something."

"Cool. I'm not very interested in moon stuff, so i'll just stay here. Have fun though, and good luck waking up Yinyang without getting murdered." Cheesy said, waving him away.

Tissues hurried to the elevator and rode all the way up, quickly but quietly walking down the hallway on his tiptoes. He slowly reached for the door of Yinyang's room, and tested the handle- Unlocked. He walked in slowly, trying not to wake up the Cherries- And paused when he saw something new hanging up on Yinyang's wall. It was too dark to see very clearly in anything but black-and-white, but it looked like some kind of poster, no, a collage, filled with cluttered imagery of organic shapes. He stared at it for a couple seconds in awe of its intricacy and beauty- Before he shook his head and gently reached over to nudge Yinyang on his arm to wake him up.

"Yinyang," Tissues whispered. "Wake up!"

Yinyang wrinkled his face and moaned, his eyes fluttering open sleepily but still half-lidded. As he came to, he realized who was standing in front of him and smiling- A very excited looking Tissues.

"Huhhh..." Yinyang said, groaning as he sat up. "Wh... What is it?" He said, looking over at the clock. Around 12:40.

"Come with me, I have something to show you." Tissues said.

"What is it... That could possibly be so important that you have to wake us up at midnight?!" Yang whispered harshly.

"It's the supermoon tonight," Tissues said. "I ordered pizza."

"The super-wha..?" Yin asked.

"Its like... I heard about it from the internet, it's where the moon is like, super huge in the sky. It's uh. It's got something to do with rotations," Tissues continued.

"Wait, lemme get this straight... You woke us up to see a stupid fucking moon?!" Yang said angrily. "Be nice, and don't curse!" Yin said.

"If you don't wanna come, I guess I'll just eat all of the pizza by myself." Tissues said sadly.

"Well...." Yang paused, and sighed. "I guess i'll humor you. But don't think this means i'm not still angry!" He puffed.

"Ok ok let's go you guyse! Or we'll miss it," Tissues said excitedly, helping the still-sleepy Yinyang out of bed and downstairs, all the while jumping around excitedly with an unusual spring in his step. Cheesy was still sitting in front of the TV, munching on garlic bread, and turned around to see the two trot out of the elevator holding hands.

"Hey lovebirds." Cheesy said. "Congrats on waking up Yinyang without dying," He continued.

"Shut up or I'll-" Yang brought up his fist. "Y'know what. I'm too tired. Where's the pizza," He promptly lowered it. Cheesy laughed, and Yang growled at him.

"On the counter. You two enjoy!" Cheesy said, chuckling and turning back towards the TV, that was still droning public access midnight TV as he snacked on the garlic bread.

Sure enough, the pizza was on the counter, and Tissues picked it up and balanced it on his head, using his two arms to balance it. from the top, he would have just looked like a walking pizza box.

"Heh heh, Let's go, guyse, I know a spot where we can see the moon really good!" Tissues said. "Wait, do you two wanna get some drinks first?"

"Oh, Sure." Yinyang was still talking in a somewhat hushed voice, but Tissues' overall lack of volume control was starting to show itself a little more as he got more excited.

"My hands are kind of full. Can you just grab me an orange juice?" Tissues said. Yinyang nodded. He walked over to the snack fridge and reached for a bottle of soda, before Yin tried to pull away their hand.

"If you're going to make us eat unhealthy junk food, at least let me drink water." Yin hissed.

"Ughh.. Water is gross." Yang said.

"Water is pure," Yin contested.

"Will you shut up about purity for one second?" Yang snapped back. Yin clenched his teeth, hard.

"This is the ONE compromise, ok? Water." Yin said, unusually harsh.

"Fine." Yang said, and grabbed an orange juice and a chilled water bottle.

The two walked over to Tissues, who was still standing holding the pizza box- His arms looking a little tired. "Ok, let's go!" He said, and led them to the elevator. "Wait- I gotta ask- Are you afraid of heights?"

"Yin is." Yang said, "No i'm not!.... Maybe a little bit." He said, blushing.

"Oh cool. So you wouldn't mind taking this to the little platform on the roof?" Tissues said. "The view up there is the best,"

"Oh. Sure," Yinyang said, Yin taking a hard swallow. Tissues pressed the elevator button, and led them up to the highest level. It was the attic area- Mostly full of cleaning supplies and scattered old construction equipment- half-empty paint buckets, old furniture, and even stuff from old challenges in season 1. The whole place looked unfinished- like construction hadn't gotten around to cleaning up sawdust or covering up insulation. The moon shining through the unstained glass windows was surprisingly bright and pure white.

Tissues led Yinyang by the hand across the way, Yinyang freeing up his one hand by putting the water bottle under his arm that was holding the orange juice- Tissues still balancing the pizza on his head with one hand. While they walked, Yinyang looked around in amazement at the attic, a place he didn't even think existed inside the hotel.

Tissues had obviously been in here before, because he seemed uninterested in all of the dusty knicknacks and made a beeline for a dusty old door that Yinyang assumed led to the roof.

He opened the door, carefully ascended the stairs one step at a time (There was a reason he didn't often use the elevator,) and made it out onto a small platform on the roof with a vent. It was just barely enough room for both of them to sit down, and Yinyang assumed that it was installed for construction or maintenance- the ground was hard, slightly sandy concrete. Tissues held up one finger to signal Yinyang to “Wait there”- He placed the pizza box down and lifted up the vent, rummaging around until he pulled out a slightly dusty picnic blanket. He placed it down gingerly.

“Your throne, my liege.” Tissues said in a mock British accent. Yinyang wrinkled his nose at the old-looking picnic blanket, laughed, shrugged, and sat down.

"H...How did you know about this place?" Yinyang said, fidgeting into a comfortable position. The moon was even brighter once they got out of the hotel's attic. The light gave everything a sharp clarity, and bathed the two in a sparkling white light.

"Oh y'know..." Tissues shrugged, sitting down next to Yinyang. "I just come up here when I want to be alone. Or when I feel like nobody wants me around," He continued. "I guess I just found it cause i had to find somewhere to go." He grabbed his bottle of orange juice and cracked it open, taking a swig.

"Wow." Yinyang said. "That's kind of deep,"

"Not really." Tissues laughed. "Its just the way things are." He said, opening up the pizza box and offering it to Yinyang. "Want some?"

It was silly, but Yinyang started to blush. "Sure," He said, and took a slice and popped it into his mouth in one bite. Tissues looked a little shocked, and got a slice of his own to munch on, putting the pizza box to the side.

"Check it," Tissues said, pointing to the sky. "There it is. The supermoon," Tissues stared at it, eyes twinkling.

Yinyang hadn't really taken a moment to look at the moon itself yet- It was giant and perfectly round, illuminating the deep blue of the night sky and threatening to outshine the stars. Something about the moon that night was gently urging Yinyang closer to it- The feeling of being pulled was almost dizzying. Yinyang subconsciously scooted closer to Tissues, and he leaned into the gesture affectionately.. A quiet moment passed.

Tissues plucked an olive slice off of his pizza and held it up to the moon.

"Look," Tissues said. "If i hold it up like this, the moon looks like cheese in the middle."

Yinyang laughed, his voice ringing loud like a soft, far away bell. It was as clear as the moonlight. Tissues sniffed.

"Of course, everyone already knows the moon is made of cheese," Tissues continued, and Yinyang tried to stifle another laugh.

"You know, you kind of remind me of the moon, Yinyang." Tissues said.

"Oh?" Yinyang said, his face flushed a bright red. "How so?"

"Hmm. Lets see. You're both round, and bright, and very beautiful!" Tissues complimented, "If you don't mind me saying."

"You really... You think so?" Yinyang fidgeted with his fingers to combat the butterflies in his stomach banging themselves against his ribcage.

"Of course." Tissues said. "You're my friend. There's a reason I woke you two up so late, i wanted to share this with you." Tissues blushed, "The pizza was to make you less mad at me."

Yinyang giggled. "What...!" Yin said affectionately. "I guess. Well... I guess it was worth coming up here. I still think it's a stupid reason to wake up in the middle of the night, but.." Yang trailed off. "You better be glad you got our favorite pizza topping."

Tissues smiled ear to ear, the most genuine smile that Yinyang had ever seen. He scooted in and wrapped his arms around Yinyang in a soft hug, squeezing his sides. Yinyang, taken by surprise and unsure of what to do with his hands, awkwardly followed suit a few awkward seconds after. Tissues was very warm (feverish, or flustered?) and rubbed his back gently. Yinyang couldn't help but squish the smaller object into his chest and nuzzle his face into the embrace. They held each other like that for a long time. It was nice.

Tissues figured that Yinyang was just as touch starved as he was, because he was honestly waiting for Yinyang to let go.

~~~~

#tissues #yinyang #ii #ii2 #tissyang #tissuyang #yissues #fanfic #fanfiction #inanimate insanity

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

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Secure the Stage

Ch 1: Behind the Scenes

Allen could hear singing coming from the theater room as he patrolled the lobby. As far as he had known, everyone from the Detroit Community Theater had left for the day. He was curious as to who had stayed behind. He followed the sound, using the security door to get to the side stage.

The mystery singer was a brunette. He was singing to himself as he broke down the left over set pieces and cleaning the stage for the next group. Something that was usually left for the theater staff. The song he was singing was slow, sad, and haunting. A ballad of some kind that Allen hadn't heard before but still found himself captivated by anyway. He leaned against the wall and watched.

At somepoint he must have made a noise because the new song stopped and he found deep dark brown eyes staring back at him. He took in the new stranger. Loose brown curls that fell into a close undercut, a smattering of freckles high on his cheekbones and over his nose. He had cupid's bow lips that were curled into a frown. The stranger was shorter than him by a few inches, but what he lacked in height, he made up for with his presence. Their staring contest ended as the stranger approached.

"You just planning to stare or are you going to help me," he paused long enough to glance down at his name patch, "Allen."

"Uh," the security guard's brain short circuited for a moment when he heard his name in the stranger's measured voice, "I guess I can help. What do you need me to do?"

"Great," the stranger smiled, and Allen was relatively certain he would follow that smile into hell, "We're breaking down sets."

"Do you have a name?" Allen asked dumbly as he followed him out onto the stage.

"I do." The stranger hummed, a teasing smile lighting his face, "Would you like to know it?"

He got to work taking down set pieces and Allen did the same, "Yes."

"Silas." He said with a slight smirk.

Recognition dawned on Allen when he heard the name. Silas was one of a few college students in the theater group and the only one with plans to do this full time. He designed most of the sets himself and painted them, scheduled practices and rehearsals, and helped with costume designs. In the four years since he joined, he had gradually become the group's backbone. Something that Allen found himself admiring.

Idle conversation bounced between them as they broke down the sets. They moved the wall pieces back stage and the smaller parts to their proper storage rooms. After that Silas set to work sweeping the stage which was a one person job, so Allen observed him from the stage wing.

"So why do all of this?" Allen found himself asking, "Breaking down the sets and all the cleaning? Isn't that what the theater staff is here for?"

"The theater staff are here to make the experience of the theater better, not to clean up after the actors." Silas said, sounding as though he was speaking to a particularly ignorant child.

"Okay, but like, why you specifically?" Allen pressed, "No one stayed behind to help."

"They never do. Most of the group have lives outside the theater." Silas finished sweeping and grabbed the mop, "This is my time to unwind and I enjoy it."

"Sorry for intruding then, I can go if you want." Allen offered when he realized he had shoved himself into something private.

"You're not intruding, its fine," Silas said, shooting him another disarming smile. "You know about me, so how about you tell me a little about you. What's with the security get up?"

Allen chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck, not expecting to be put on the spot, "I'm in school for a degree in criminology. This is just to pay the bills."

"Ah, going to the police academy once you graduate then?"

"That's the plan. I'd like to make SWAT at somepoint."

Silas leaned on the mop handle, "That desperate to get shot? Here I thought you were working to security to flex your strength. Use your muscle to knock some heads together." Brown eyes very obviously toured his body following the statement, enjoying the view if the slight smile Silas seemed unaware of was anything to go by.

"I want to help people. Save them if I am able." Allen explained, "There are enough people trying to prevent the bad from happening, but not enough ready for when it inevitably does. I want to change that."

"That's very noble of you." Silas remarked, "I like it."

"Thanks." Allen paused, "I think?"

"It was a compliment." Silas laughed as he got back to mopping.

"So what about you?" Allen inquired, "Why theater?"

"That's easy." Silas put the mop away and sat on the edge of the stage, "Up here I get to put the world away and become anyone I want to be. In the process I get to help people find their escape as well. Pull people into a story and all of us get to forget the world for a while. A performing arts degree seemed like the best way to get to keep doing that."

Silas's phone blared to life and he answered it, nodding along to whatever had been said before he hung up and stood, "That would be my ride. See you around Allen."

"Yeah, see you around Silas." He said as Silas hopped off the stage and left toward the lobby.

Allen collected himself and got back to work. His thoughts wandered back to Silas. He did most of this alone. Built the sets and painted them. Set things up before rehearsal and then tore things down so he could clean once it was done. Out of a mix of wanting to, and so he could make things easier for those around him. Allen wondered if anyone thanked him for his efforts. As he finished up his shift he decided he would stay late on rehearsal days and help Silas clean up. It seemed like too much work for one person.

He didn't understand his attachment to the actor, so he chalked it up to the other brunette's contagious enthusiasm. When someone showed so much unrelenting kindness it was only natural to want to know them better. Perhaps, it was also that he was tired of being alone.

Pushing Gavin away had hurt, but the fear of falling had been bigger and more demanding. So Allen had done what he always did, shoved Gavin away and ran like the coward he is. It had been too little too late, Allen had fallen for the firey green eyed man despite his best efforts. Gavin had been hurt understandably, and had cut Allen out of his life. Now it was his turn to move on, and as selfish as it was, Silas seemed like the perfect distraction. Starting something with him would soothe the pain of missing Gavin. It would be simple and casual, no feelings involved. Allen would keep his in check this time. There would be no falling in love.

#Secure the Stage #rk800 60 #dbh sixty #captain allen #dbh captain allen #allen60

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westcoastrry · 3 years

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Tracing The Stars Chapter 10

Blairs POV

Harry played a great game.

He only played in the first half but ended up scoring two goals, and we ended up winning four to one.

I was originally going to sit by myself when I got here, but Maya saw me and demanded I sit next to her.

I didn't know her very well. I just knew that she was Harry's friend. I know they have been rumored to mess around, and I definitely believe it. She was beautiful, but there was no need for me to be jealous. I was not dating Harry, he was my friend, and that was it. Harry's past or present sex life is also none of my business.

Maya was also extremely nice. All I knew about her was that her parents ran some big-time magazine in the city. We talked the entire game about the school musical, soccer, and she even asked me a couple of questions about my job at Joe's cafe.

Once the game was over, I noticed Harry and Gabe talking to a scout. We briefly make eye contact, and he mouths a "Wait for me," and I nod my head in response.

I was getting a few stares now that the game was over, and people started to realize I was wearing Harry's jacket, but I didn't have time to overthink the situation because Harry finally came up to me with his brown curls pushed back with a headband.

"Harry, you played so well!" I say, wrapping my arms around his shoulders going in for a hug.

His arms settle around my hips. "That was the best I've played so far. Looks like you are my good luck charm peach."

"Hey, you are coming with us to Joes', right?" Gabe says, walking over to where Harry and I are standing.

"Yeah, I'll drive with Blair," Harry responds. "I think the rest of the team can split up in cars."

Gabe smirks at us. "Yeah, yeah, alright, we will give you two your privacy."

+++

By the time Hary packed his stuff up, and we drove a short five minutes to Joe's, a lot of people from the game were already there. Harry leads me to sit in the booth next to him.

At the table was Don, Tristan, Levi, and Jacob. They were all seniors on the soccer team, and I know they usually come to Joe's after soccer games because I have served them all a couple of times. Maya sat next to Gabe, and a girl named Aaliyah, who I recognized from the cheer team, sat next to Tristan, who I believed was her boyfriend.

The rest of the girls cheer team sat at a table directly adjacent from us. I can't believe that used to be me last year. Between school musicals, the cheer team, my job at Joe's, Justin, and trying to keep up with parties and appearances at school, I was so stressed out. I don't even miss cheer that much, to be honest. It is such a popularity contest, and it was so draining.

I jumped at the feeling of Harry's arm snaking around my waist, bringing me slightly closer to his side. I was caught off guard at first, but the way butterflies spew off in my stomach and my cheeks going red and slightly tingled reminded me of when I first started dating Justin.

That was the first tell-tale sign of having a crush.

I embraced the feeling of Harry's arm around me, placing the side of my head in the crook of his neck.

Maya winks at me from across the table, and I send her back a smile and breathe out a weak laugh.

"How is your leg Harry?" Don asks.

Harry's fingers dance around the side of my hip. "It's good. No pain or anything for now, and I hope it stays that way for the season."

"Blair," Tristan spoke. "Yo, Long time no fucking see. Where the hell have you been!"

I laugh at his greeting. "Around I guess."

"Blair, remember those shrooms we did with Harry and Jacob sophomore year at Gabe's Party?" Tristian brings up.

"Yep. I'm pretty sure Harry fell into the pool that night," I giggle, looking up at Harry.

He groans. "Okay, I was high out of my fucking mind. Can we not bring that up."

"You single?"Jacob asked. "You still with that Justin kid?"

I shake my head. "Nope, we broke up at the end of junior year, been single all summer."

Levi rolls his eyes jokingly. "Uhhh, who's gonna tell him," he says, pointing a finger at Harry. "If you are single, you might want to tell this guy. I think Styles believes he is your boyfriend the way he is all over you."

Harry becomes flustered, and his face falls red from embarrassment. "Alright, all of you shut up about me."

The conversation continues, and it feels like I have been with these guys forever. We reminisced about our old party days. Jacob brought up the time I got so drunk and threw up on his dad's boat, which I don't remember probably because of how wasted I was.

Gabe also asked me why I quit the cheer team. I just gave him the short answer and told him all my extracurricular activities were piling up.

At one point, the conversation ended up on my Dad, and who he says the worst player is. No one would believe me when I told them I didn't know, even though I knew it was Harry. Levi swears it's some freshman named Dylan who made varsity soccer on a fluke, but I didn't even know who that was.

Our waitress finally came up to us. I recognized her as Candice. She got hired about a week ago, and I already liked her. We both complained about our overly affectionate boss on our breaks.

She waved at me before introducing herself to the table.

While Candice went around taking orders, Harry whispered in my ear, "How do those burgers sound."

I smile up at him. "Fuck yes."

Maya, Harry, and I ended up in deep conversation about our science teacher, Mr.Gunnerson, an old crazy nerd. While I was too lost in conversation with Maya, Harry's arm moves from my waist to my thigh, rubbing the exposed skin that my jean shorts did not cover.

A whirlwind of emotions hit me when I first felt Harry's touch on my thigh. I tensed up at first, not really sure what he was planning to do. When his hand just settled on my thigh, rubbing up and down, I was able to settle my emotions. I liked having Harry's hands on my body. It was a constant reminder that he was right beside me. Harry and I were sitting extremely close to one another, our sides practically overlapping. I really loved the attention he was giving me, and I wish I could just whisk him away and throw myself at him.

Was I ready to throw myself at him?

Absolutely not.

But my hormones were getting the best of me, and what was once innocent butterflies in my stomach was now a raging fire in the pit of my stomach, damp panties, a flushed face, and short isolated breaths.

The boy wasn't even touching me in a heavy sexual manner, but I was already all hot and bothered for him.

After I finished my food, I quickly excused myself to the bathroom needing a second before I jumped Harry's bones in front of everyone at the table.

When I got to the bathroom, I splashed a bit of cold water on my face hoping to cool down a bit.

"B!" A voice yells.

I turn around from the sink to see two cheerleaders whose names I can't really remember and Megan standing directly behind them.

"So I see you are wearing Harry's letterman?" The brown-haired one, whose name I think is Kacey.

My eyes dart downwards, a nervous habit, before answering her question.

"Harry just gave it to me because I was cold."

"So, how was the sex?" She curiously asks me. "I tried to fuck him this summer, but he was with some other girl at the time."

My jaw sets, and I can't help but feel a sting of jealousy.

"I didn't have sex with him. Harry is my friend."

"Please, we saw him all over you at dinner tonight." Kacey presses.

Megan places her hand on Kacy's shoulder and reprimands her in a whispering tone. "Can we just leave, please?"

Kacy scoffs. "Hell no! We all know you were Justin's whore anyways. What are you doing Blair hmmm? Trying to fuck every soccer player in the county?"

I was tired of being walked all over.

Fuck this.

I took a few steps up to Kacey, so I was a couple of inches away from my face. "First of all, I didn't fuck Harry, and even if I did, it would be none of your fucking business. Secondly, I'm no one's whore. Even if I did fuck every guy in this county, it would be none of your damn business Kacey!"

Once I finished my rant, I was about to storm out the bathroom when Kacey spoke up again.

"My name is Kelly."

"Oh wow. I don't care." I spit back, slamming the door.

High school is the most dramatic fucking place ever.

What was the point of that? My sex like, which is non-existent, is no one's business. I wasn't even surprised when Megan didn't stand up for me. She has always cared way too much about popularity and appearances.

I know Kelly is only lashing out because I have been hanging out with Harry, and she is jealous, but I'm just tired of being caught up in drama when it's the one thing I have done my best to avoid. I wish high school could be a place where everyone would mind their damn business, but this is Eastwood Highschool, and everyone here feeds off of drama, drugs, and partying.

I stormed out of the bathroom, and Harry was about to say something, but when his eyes set on me, he acknowledged the annoyed expression on my face.

"Peaches, you good?"

I grab my bag from the booth, searching for my card to pay the bill. I just want to leave Joe's as fast as possible.

"I'm fine. Where is the check?"

Harry sends me a look. "I paid it. Are you sure you are okay?"

I tilt my head looking up at him with a frown. "You didn't have to do that, Harry. We could have at least split it."

"It's not a big deal," he reassures me. "Let's get out of here."

Everyone walks outside to their cars, and I frequently forget how rich the kids who go to Eastwood are. Gabe and Maya have walked into some fancy BMW, and Levi speeds off in a Mercedes.

I don't even have a car yet. Sometimes I drive my mom's Toyota Camry on the weekends when she doesn't have work, but I have been saving up for a car, and hopefully, by the end of the year, I could afford my own.

Harry and I got in his car, and he placed his hand instantly on my thigh, backing out of his parking spot.

Before we could pull out of the lot, Maya, who is in the passenger seat of the Gabes car, rolls down her window and calls out, "If you two are going to have sex, send us an invite!"

The palm of my hand slaps my mouth in shock at Maya's bluntness.

Harry speeds off before Maya could let anything more vulgar come out of my mouth.

"You okay, Blair? You seemed a little distressed coming out of the bathroom." Harry asked, still focused on the road.

I sigh."Yeah, I had a bit of a run-in with some girls from the cheer team. They called me Justins whore, and they thought I was fucking you."

Harry frowns and looks annoyed by my words. "I'm sorry. I knew that you wearing my jacket would bring some attention to you, but I didn't think anyone would have the balls to say it to my face. Also, I'm sorry what they said to you about Justin."

"It's okay. I'm used to the rumors. Everyone thought I was fucking him even though I wasn't."

He snaps his head towards me with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

I laugh. "Yeah, literally all rumors. He tried fingering me a couple times, but it never felt good, and I never came, hence why I thought my clit was broken. A few heated make-out sessions and I gave him a handjob once in his car, but that was it."

Harry snorts. "During our all star-game, he literally told us he fucked you. What a fucking asshole."

"Yeah, he really was," I mumble out.

Harry notices my change in tone because once he pulls up into my driveway, he puts the car in park and turns towards me.

"Are you a virgin, Blair?"

Did he not like the fact I was a virgin? I know Harry was a super experienced guy when it came to sex, and maybe he wasn't into virgins.

"It's not a bad thing." He quickly reassures me.

"Yes, I have never had sex before. I usually don't do what we did the other night at Gabe's party," I trail off with my voice. "But I really liked it."

My confession makes my heart thunder, and my throat goes dry. I never got to tell him how much I enjoyed that night. When it came to Harry, I had this internal war with my brain telling me to leave him alone but my hormones telling me to let myself go.

Harry brings his other hand to my thigh, rubbing up and down and looking me in the eyes.

"Well, there is more of that where it came from Peaches. If you want it."

We stare into each other's eyes for the briefest of seconds. The tension between us was suffocating, and I wanted him to make a move so badly.

"Harry," I softly whisper.

"Fuck it." He whispered, searching for approval.

I slowly nodded my head, and that was all he needed for him to attach his lips to mine.

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harrystylesfic #harrystyles #harry styles au #harry styles writing #harry styles series

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