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pufflocks · 3 years

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Ok ok lady kuroo oneeeeee..

Kuroo fucking bottom male y/n in the school bathroom by pressing y/n again a wall and just fucking his brains out

Summary: Skipping with your boyfriend sounds fun. Right ? You were being rather bratty during lunch.. Maybe some discipline in those dirty stalls would whip you up straight. ♡

"-Come on, speak up. You were just saying how you'd much rather be doing something else." -T.K ❣

An: Please excuse errors. I most definitely rushed this out my drafts.

Warning: Degrading • Dacryphilia • Minor Gagging • Minor Slapping • proof read

Cast: Bottom!M!Reader x Tetsurou Kuroo

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It was lunch time. Or passing time some others call it as for some people would play on their devices or talk to their friends.

That's exactly what you were doing earlier, you decided to drag out the topic of how you think your boyfriend is just so protective in your conversation.

"Sometimes I wanna fuckin' breath-"

That's what you said, no ?

You were sitting next to and telling this to your boyfriends bestfriend, Kenma. He however just gave a light sigh saying something how could he help. Fingers diddling with his switch frantically. He obviously wasn't much help in situations like this, you know, but your mind was side tracked with your boyfriends glare.

'Hm..'

He was eyeing you down word for word as he silently watched you across your guys' table with your friends.

Watching you move shy hair strands from his bestfriends face and giving Kenma tips on his game. Not tha you had any particular idea in the game.

Why are trying so hard to be buddy buddy with him ? If you didn't even interest Kenma in any sexual form or other.

Tetsurou most definitely wouldn't let this just go by easily.

Lev only looked at his friend beside him then back at you in awe.

Yaku on the other hand had his eyes darted in his lap to his phone. No need to be in this conversation.

'Did he actually say that-?' He thought.

The chopsticks in Kuroos hand slipped from his fingertips as he chuckled under his breath. He didn't think you were this fucking down bad to get some dick.

All you really had to do was just ask. How fucking hard could that task be ? Could have easily fuck after school or at one of your guys' house. Gladly.

No doubt you would be coming back to this table with a dazed expression.

"Meet me in the bathroom, bubs." He whispered to you as he got up from his seat his dark aura following him out of the lunch room doors.

Yaku rose his head from his lap as his eyes darted your way, in disbelief, you were giggling happily as if you weren't about to get folded in half.

You got up from your seat leaving your barely eaten meal and two stunned friends, and one who's eyes were glued to his switch.

'Which one did he go to-' Thought unable to finish as you got pulled into a hard warm chest of someone you could only guess your lover.

You sensed his tense form as you shyly looked up to his face to only be met with dark pools of jealousy known as his eyes.

A shiver transferred to your head all the way down to your toes as a boner slowly began to form in your pants. Even when he was jealous and frustrated he could always be seen getting flat out drunk on his cat like existence alone.

And right now all you wanted from his noir existence was a dead. Good. Fucking.

"There something on my face or something ? Or are you imagining me as my bestfriend instead of me ? Your fucking boyfriend."

His words felt cold with a tinge of heated anger. He couldn't be truthfully angry at you could he ?

The only response he got from you was a shy shake of your head 'no'.

Gotta play like you didn't want your arse pounded like a dog in heat just a second ago.

You thought about your next moves as your pants got tighter by the second and your now playful and mischievous boyfriend glared down at your form.

'Ah–'

Not all the time did you see the man get hot and bothered up front like this, not in school at least.

Close within eachother faces, hot tension in the air. The heat coming off his body specifically was close to a bonfire in the summer, and you were his slightly charred marshmallow being close to the heat.

Melting into something deliciously horny.

" 'M just horny 'n wanna be fucked really hard today-" You whined. Never being the one to exactly whine and beg, but the last time you masturbated was about half a month ago !

It wasn't your fault he was so busy and such with volleyball though. He msdevsyre to have time for you every so often. Outside and inside of school he was the best boyfriend.

"Oh. Didn't notice you were so greedy. Why not ask me after school ?" He bluntly stated. Funny his he asked this and your erection is straining against fabric as you speak.

You tugged on the bottom of his uniform catching him off guard slightly. "If you don't fuck me right now, Tetsuro Kuroo I might just consider getting with Kenma !" You barked.

Tetsurou only smirked like the mischievous damn cat he was.

Leaning closer down to your face, "Alright then. When we get back from the stalls, I dont wanna here a word about the cum leaking out of your abused ass." He whispered for your ears only as he flicked a slightly erect nipple outside of your school flannel shirt.

¤ y.p.o.v ¤

"Yes, yes." I mumbled. My nipples were being stupidly played with.

"Bathroom.." I said. He only nodded, retreating his hands.

Making our way down to the bathroom was audibly quiet. Only our footsteps being heard throughout the silent halls.

My eyes skimmed his posture and tall stature as I noticed his bulge. Soon enough it was going to be forcefully filling me in some dirty stall.

I look up at Tetsu and see his unusual stoic face fall into something familiarly mischievous as he caught on to me.

The sexual appeal and aura was never lost as we made our destination. Thankfully, we made it to the bathrooms without me jumping on him right there and then.

"We're here and let's hurry this up, pretty boy. I dont feel like getting in trouble for fucking you between classes again." He stated. I only scoffed and chuckled lightly.

At this point I dont care if we skipped a few minutes just to fuck. Did it once, I'm sure we wouldn't get caught twice.

Walking in the bathrooms, the first thing I do is pull him down for a kiss. Reminding him that I'm still feeling it.

He chuckled in the kiss. Wrapping his rather long arms around my waist, picking me up as I tossed my legs over his waist. His muscular body holding me up as if I weighed like air.

"Bubs.. About fucking you into these stalls. You know why I'm gonna go rough right," I nodded slowly. Giving him a few small hickies on his neck.

Faking my innocence for a better fuck is always worth while. He took that as a thumbs up as he once again let out that noir chuckle of his.

"That's good to know babes~"

Further movements were heated skin to skin touches and kitten licks and bites of each other. Some movements pornos could never mimic.

His calloused fingers gripping my throat, forcing eye contact as he smirked on how wrecked I already looked. I would say it was embarrassing if my mind wasn't attracted to his knee gliding across my tight pant front.

"Looks like you need to get that attitude fucked out of you from earlier, hm ?"

My mind barely focusing on his wolfish voice as he licked a long strong underside of my jaw, making me visibly shake and quiver slightly. The contact we shared in this cramped stall has me gasping for air the more I think of someone barging in. Any second I could literally bust thinking of how he would fuck me harder, the two pairs of feet on ther other side of the stall merely nonexistent to us.

"Tetsu please- I want it really bad~ I was bad wasnt I ?" I was becoming desperate as I slithered my hand down to his own very visible, erection.

He groaned lightly before chuckling and kissing me once more. I know he knows that my actions with his bestfriend weren't intentionally to hurt him, but what if I had fucked his bestfriend-

My thought was intruded as he flipped me over the stall door and shucking my pants off my body. Doing the exact same to his own as he harshly pushed into me.

I choke out a long groan of surprise as he held me against his clothed chest. "Ah-! Wait Tetsu!~" I was hushed by long fingers. Poking and prodding on my tongue to my throat.

He whispered in my ear, "Shh, now what if we get caught and I get in trouble for fucking you ?~", nibbling on my earlobe tantalizingly slow.

Hot breath we shared as his dick ushered in and out of my puckered hole. Minding you that we had no lube so the burn of him dragging himself in and out of me was a blinding pain.

My hands made attempt of pushing him away. Drool just at the corner of my mouth, fingers still at work.

He got the idea, pulled out to the tip, and lazily drooled on his shaft. His shape successfully returning to it's desired place.

"Can't have you hurting too bad. Even though this is a well deserved punishment~" He smirked at his own comment.

Right. I got myself in this situation and every second of it I loved. So close to the spot aswell-

"NGH–! Hah~ Shit Tetsu~ Right- Right thereee~!!" I shut my eyes closed tightly. My dick dripped precum as every few thrusts directed to my prostate.

"I found your spot, hm ?~ My baby finna cum soon ?~ Want me to jack you off or should I not, keep in mind your not off the hook, love.~" He mocked as his hands gripped my left leg, sandwiching between the stall door and my lover.

His other hand on my dick refusing of ejaculation. The new angle and pressure on my cock making my head fall back.

God I felt like I was going dumb and on his dick !

"PLEASE— I NEE- AH!~ I NEEF TO CUHM!~" I babbled. I doubt he heard me clearly though

Tetsu spat in his hand as his hand rapidly started to glide across my shaft. The slick palm feeling heavenly on my member. It was all so overwhelming !

Drool finally making it's way down my chin and hicked up throat.

"Bubs- Fuck-! Babe I'm finna cum in this sweet ass. Better keep in too~ Let Kenma and everyone else know you have a boyfriend~" He grunted near my ear as I frantically nodded my cockhead probably a pretty red now, completely swollen and wet.

"Cu- Cuhminggg!!~" I slurred as a particular harsh thrust shoved me off the edge and the knot in my stomach grew and snapped.

I felt a gush of his semen flow in my abused hole as he grunted and stilled ministrations. His cock head snug on my sore prostate.

"I- I hope you remember my words from earlier bubs. Wasn' playing." He scoffed as he checked out my blotchy neck and slobber slicked face.

The sight, I'm sure was obscene as he spread my cheeks. Cock head only inserted by the tip in hopes none of his hit substance fell on the bathroom tiles.

"Fuck Y/n.. Do this shit again I might just have to fuck you in front of Kenma~" He said tauntingly, slapping my ass aggressively as I eeked I surprise.

"I'm gonna leave first and you get cleaned up alright ? Don't want people to notice that we fucked like rabbits in the stalls." He said helping me with my clothes back on my body. I was too braindead to do about anything.

" Kiss.." My words coming out slurred. He looked up at me as he was helping me put my slacks on now. Leaning in giving me a long kiss.

My body leaned into his as I dragged my arms around his neck. Humming in satisfaction as I parted the sensually deep contact.

"You're so cute after sex !" He exclaimed as I ruffled his hair giggling now off my high.

He cleaned up after a few more shared pecks and left first as I sat on the toilet for about 6 minutes.

I checked my phone fir the time and I saw that it was nearing the end of the lunch hour.

'Fuck !'

I splashed some water on my face quickly before ushering to my next period. Being early wasn't so bad I suppose.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo x male reader #hq kuroo #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo testuro #smut #haikyuu smut #bottom reader #bottom male reader #degrading #choking #tw dacryphilia

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cagestark · 4 years

Text

Better Late Than Never//1

And Merry Christmas to YOU

Aka I started another project that I will take twenty years to finish. But @starkerflowers prompts were just too fucking good.

About: With interest in his work waning, famous writer Tony Stark (under the pseudonym AE Potts) changes his entire public relations platform, which includes hosting a meet-and-greet contest where one lucky fan will get to spend the day with him. That one lucky fan is Peter Parker. Peter is 21. Will contain nff, alcoholism, suicide attempts, character death (not major), drug mentions, anxiety, anxiety attacks.

Read here on AO3.

Tony is awakened from a drunken, dreamless sleep by a tub of envelopes and small packages being upended over his head. He jerks upright with a shout from where he was slumped over his writing desk, upending the (empty) bottle of whiskey that had lulled him to sleep. Pepper stands over him, impeccable in every way he is not.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, pushing envelopes off of where they have pooled on his lap. “You could have taken my eye out, Peppercorn. What are you trying to do, perform Lingchi on me? What is all this?”

“Fan mail,” she says. Her voice is stern and unsympathetic. The first time she’d found him passed out drunk over his desk, she had panicked and nearly called for an ambulance. The next handful of times she had just covered him with a blanket and regarded him with sad eyes the next morning when she brought him coffee. But those were ten years ago. Not to mention, all in her first few weeks on the job— “Social media is revolting. You never answer fan mail, you never do Q&A’s, you haven’t done an interview in almost a decade.”

“Fuck this,” Tony mutters, opening one drawer. “Where’s my whiskey?”

“In your bloodstream, I’d imagine. Don’t brush this off, Tony. Sales are waning. We need to make some serious changes in our PR or I’ll be putting in my two-weeks’ notice.”

That gets Tony’s attention. Pepper hadn’t threatened to quit after his last book when he’d killed off one of the most popular characters (one of his personal favorites, may she rest in fictional peace) and the public had flipped their shit. She hadn’t threatened to quit years before that when she walked in on him hunched over his desk with a straw to his nose, three sheets to the wind on far more than just whiskey. She has the disposition of a mountain: unflinching and ever-enduring.

“You mean it,” says Tony.

“I mean it.”

His shoulders sag. He glances around the room: the mess, the junk, the empty alcohol bottles, the half-finished manuscripts. There’s a strange feeling in the back of his throat, acidic, like he might throw up. Or cry. When his mouth opens to say something sarcastic, something about not letting the door hit her on the way out if she expects him to play nice with the media, all that comes out is a broken: “I can’t lose you, Pep.”

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “You will. If you don’t make some changes. Okay?”

Maybe this is what it means to be balanced on a knife’s edge, where one way ends in pain and the other ends in terminal inconvenience. But he knows which one he has to pick. His whole life is just a big inconvenience, but pain? Tony has spent enough time with his hand flat against the stove’s burner to know that he’d rather die than feel it again, rather die than lose one of the only people left who can stand him.

He picks up the closest letter and tears it open, blinking heavily to clear his eyes. Pepper leans down to press a kiss to the crown of his head and then gags. “Take a shower, when you get the chance,” she mutters, smiling.

The letters start off by being good for one thing: his ego. Adoring fans have been writing to his penname and business address for decades since he put out his first super-hero novel, titled IRON-MAN. Pepper has chosen to give him recent fan-mail, considering he’s spent so long ignoring it that if he were to answer them in order of reception, he might encounter fans who didn’t even remember the letters once sent. Or ones who were dead.

They are all variations of the same thing. The handwriting changes, gentle feminine cursive to childish scrawling to neat block lettering, but the message is usually the same. DEAR MR. POTTS. I’VE READ EVERY BOOK YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN. I GOT YOUR NAME TATTOOED ON MY ASS. IRON-MAN IS MY HERO. I’VE NEVER READ PROSE AS LOVELY AS YOURS. WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?

At Pepper’s request, Tony drafts a generic letter to send in response, something about how he can’t respond personally to every letter but he wants them to know that he’s read what they’ve written and ‘holds it close to his heart’.

“It’s good,” Pepper approves. “Sign them yourself.”

“Good?” Tony says. “I was joking—this letter is trash. Anyone who knows me would see this for the sarcasm it is—”

“Then thank God none of the fans know you,” Pepper responds coolly.

She has a point. Tony has existed in relative seclusion since he first began publishing his works at 24. After twenty years, he’d managed to remain mostly anonymous. A pseudonym does most of the work, including non-disclosure agreements for his employees. Any time a presence is required, he sends Rhodey or Happy or Pepper even. Theory pages abound on the internet, sites devoted to finding out who the real AE POTTS is. Even though one picture leaked of him during the early 2000’s (a grainy godforsaken thing that didn’t even show his best angle), there were still some disbelievers. One popular conspiracy theory is that AE is Pepper, considering Tony stole her last name to use as his own.

Maybe that’s why his declining image in the media bothers her so much.

A week later, Tony’s hand has a cramp the way it hasn’t since he was a little boy learning to write his letters. Freehand has never been his specialty—it’s far too slow for the way his mind works, bounding a sentence, a scene, a chapter ahead. Signing so many letters is going to freeze his hand in a claw like position. He’s sure of it.

Then Pepper drops the next bombshell on him: the contest.

“It goes against everything I’ve been working so hard to do for the last twenty years,” Tony shouts at the zenith of their argument. “I do not want to be known! I don’t want the fame; I just wanted the goddamn fortune, is that too much to ask for?”

“Times have changed,” Pepper says through her teeth. She holds her own, spine straight. She hasn’t shirked away from his angry outbursts ever, not even when they were children growing up together in Manhattan. “I’m not asking you to do a 20/20 Special. I’m not asking for an interview on Ellen. I’m asking for you to meet with one fan. Have a goddamn lunch with them. If you can’t handle that, then you can kiss your fortune goodbye. Mark my words.”

Tony marks them. He fucking marks them, okay? When he’s drinking himself blind, locked in his office (good luck getting in now, Pep), they ring around his skull like a dime in the dryer. Sometime around dawn, she picks the lock on the door and mops his brow while he vomits in the tiny trashcan beside his desk.

“I’m not doing this to torture you,” she says with uncharacteristic tenderness. Her hand on his forehead occasionally rifling through his greasy hair is not what’s making his eyes prickle with tears—it’s the vomiting. Honest. He’s not that touch-starved. “You know that, right? I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know,” he chokes miserably, gagging again. So he agrees to the Willy Wonka Initiative. Pepper puts out the word that the infamous AE POTTS will be selecting a single fan to meet face to face. Anyone eighteen or older is eligible to participate, as long as they write a letter explaining why they should get it blah blah blah. A golden ticket might have been funner. At least then Tony might have had an excuse to wear the tacky purple suit and tophat.

In the meantime, Pepper reveals that she’s been having Happy screen his mail to only show him the happy letters—figures. His hate mail isn’t extensive, but it certainly exists, having increased exponentially since he killed off Natasha in the last novel.

FUCKING MYSOGINISTIC ASSHOLE, Cheryl from Newport tenderly writes. YOU HAD ONE GOOD FEMALE CHARACTER, AND YOU KILLED HER OFF. I HOPE ANOTHER WOMAN NEVER LETS YOU BETWEEN THEIR LEGS AGAIN AND YOUR DICK SHRIVELS OFF.

Tony thinks that’s pretty succinct. He posts it up on his desk propped up against the last picture ever taken of him and his mother. Killing off Natasha had been an idea he’d personally revolted against for months. Sure, it made sense that sensitive, strong Natasha would be the one to sacrifice herself in order to stop the villain from succeeding in wiping out half the universe. It made sense for a woman to be the one to give her life to protect others.

After all, hadn’t his own mother died trying to protect Tony?

The weekend after the contest drops on their social media platforms, Pepper texts to tell him that it’s being received far, far better than they might have ever hoped for. Already dozens of letters had been received, letters which must have been penned and mailed just hours after the news had spread.

Joy, Tony texts back.

I haven’t told you the best news, she says. That’s how Tony knows that the next news will be the worst news, absolutely the worst news of all. You get to pick the fan.

“Any letter catching your eye?” Pepper asks him over lunch in his office.

“They’re all the same,” Tony laments. Even his own ego can only take so much stroking. After a while, the fan mail has become mostly routine and lackluster, though he keeps opening it, keeps signing the response letters, keeps sending them out. “I’m going to end up picking one at random, Pep.”

“I don’t care how you pick,” Pepper says. “As long as you do—and as long as you’re ready to suffer with the consequences of your choice.”

“Suffer? God, I love the light you bring into my life. The unending optimism. The unparalleled faith and trust in me.”

Her eyes glitter even as they roll. “If you like me so much, you can buy lunch next time.”

Tony snorts, taking a large bite from his burger. “Gold digger.”

“I’ve seen your taxes, Tony. These days, there isn’t much gold to dig for.”

“Ouch, kill shot.”

The letter arrives only one week before the contest deadline. In the top drawer of his desk are three other letters from potential winners, mostly picked at random, sometimes because Tony likes their handwriting, sometimes because they say something funny that actually makes him laugh. When he opens up the letter from Peter B. Parker, he scans the first lines not intending to be impressed.

Dear Mr. Potts, Peter writes.

I’ve written you so many letters that it should be easy by now. I don’t know why my hands are shaking. Maybe I’m nervous because I know for certain that this one, someone will actually read.

I received my first copy of IRON-MAN when I was eight years old—yes, a little bit heavy for a kid that age, but my parents had just died unexpectedly in a car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in, and my uncle gave me his first edition. Iron-man’s story was one of the only things that got through to me as a kid. His struggle to come to terms with losing his own parents, his loneliness, his fear. The way he overcomes all of that and still goes on to do good…yeah. It meant a lot to a grief-stricken kid. Obviously.

Pretty much every birthday and Christmas, I end up receiving one of your books as a gift. My family and friends know me so well, I have nearly a half-dozen copies of AVENGERS (it’s one of my favorites). The things you write about are so close to my heart, so close to some of the experiences I’ve had in real life. My struggle with mental illness. My abuse and neglect. And the way you write these things makes me think…fear, I guess…that maybe you know something about them too.

I would love to get to meet you and talk about your incredible books. I’d love to get to know you. Not going to lie, as a fanboy, I’d probably be happy to just sit at the same table with you and have a meal. I’ll buy. We don’t even have to talk (okay I swear I’m not as desperate as I sound!). I’m sure you’ve received so many awesome letters, and I know that the fan you pick will be so, so lucky.

(Every letter I write to you, I ask if you could please return my book. It’s been five years since I sent it. I’m sure you don’t even have it anymore, maybe you threw it away from the start. But if you do have it, even if you don’t pick me to win the contest, it would mean so much if you sent it back. When I mailed it to you in Jan. 2014, my uncle was still alive. He’s gone now…anyway it’s one of the only things of his that I have left.)

Your fan always,

PETER.

PS: please disregard the last letter I sent…obviously.

Tony rereads the letter twice. He feels a swirl of emotion in his stomach, not dissimilar to the queasiness after a long night of drinking. This—this is what he sacrificed by being so closed-off from his fans. While he’d known that his fans were real and obviously human, a part of him had never felt the magnitude of it before. These are people with feelings and experiences. This Parker kid (a self-proclaimed fanboy) lost his parents too, and far younger than Tony had. In a car accident.

Maybe Peter hadn’t been there, hadn’t been in the car, hadn’t watched his mother parents go up in flames, but it’s still a tragedy all in its own right. And all at eight years old. Jesus Christ. This kid has been looking up to him for ten years and more, and he had no fucking idea that kind of dysfunctional altar he’d been worshiping at.

Tony goes into the private bathroom connected to his office and gags up—nothing. Drool. But it still leaves his mouth slimy, so he brushes his teeth until he’s spitting pink into the sink, and when he catches sight of the haphazard reflection in the mirror, he pities it. He leans forward to touch foreheads with it, auto-intimacy. Do better, some voice in the back of his head says, but it’s not his voice.

Happy picks up his cellphone on the first ring. Of the ninth call.

“What do you fucking want, Tony?” he hisses into the receiver. “I’m at the movie theater seeing that new Star Wars. You made me go out into the lobby—”

“Then I’m doing you a favor,” Tony says, cracking open the cap on a sparkling water. “Look, I have important questions, I wouldn’t have called otherwise. My fan mail—how much of it has Pepper kept?”

“Jesus, how should I know? Totes and totes full, at least—”

“Brilliant—”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? I’m missing the movie!”

“Didn’t I say you’re not missing much? I’m asking you because Pepper will make me do it myself: I need you to find specific letters from one fan: Peter B. Parker. Address is Queens, but he could be from anywhere. I’m also especially interested in acquiring a package he sent me in January 2014.”

“Christ, could you be any more mysterious?” Happy mutters. “Text me the details you bastard, I’m not missing another moment of Mark Hamill.”

It turns out that Pepper is not only a saint in all ways previously mentioned, but she is a saint in this as well: his fan mail from the last ten years has been saved and meticulously organized by month and year of reception. Happy comes to Tony’s office in the city the next day with a package, the outside brittle but address clear.

The writing is the same script as the letter newly received from Peter, though the handwriting has become more mature over time. Neater. Confined. No more hasty slant from an enthusiastic hand. The kid’s contest entry is in the top drawer of Tony’s desk—the previous potential winners are now the cherries on top of the reject pile. His stomach is heavy as a stone while he tears open the five-year-old package.

Out tumbles a pre-addressed package that was meant to carry the book back to its owner, back to Peter. Then, one first edition of IRON-MAN, the cover a little tattered, the spine creaky. Also included is another letter, torn from a spiral notebook. He opens it with shaking hands.

DEAR MISTER POTTS

I KNOW THAT GETTING A RESPONSE FROM MY LETTERS IS A LONG SHOT, BUT I’M REALLY HOPING THAT YOU’LL AUTOGRAPH THIS COPY OF IRON-MAN AND RETURN IT TO ME. IT IS MY UNCLE BEN’S…

It goes on to describe how his Uncle’s birthday is coming up and Peter hopes to give the autographed book to his Uncle. Tony reads with a heavy heart, knowing now that Tony hadn’t bothered even opening the package, hadn’t tried to sign it—and even if he had, Ben hadn’t lived long enough to celebrate his next birthday. What a son of a bitch Tony is.

For the first time in three months, Tony goes home.

Most days he stays at the space he rents in the fancy Manhattan building, the one that holds his office and Pepper’s own workspace as well as the other people who work for him (Happy, Beck, Rhodey). The mansion outside Manhattan belonged to Tony’s father and his mother. When his mother had still been alive, it had been a cold place that he had endured staying at for her sake. After his mother had died, it had been a torture chamber, or worse—a stale, suffocating tomb.

Then Howard had died and somehow left it to Tony (probably out of some misguided duty to ‘keep it in the family’). Tony made a personal habit to visit it infrequently and stay there even less often; but Pepper maintains it for him, has it cleaned, keeps it safe. Uses it as storage, Tony knows. For his fan mail.

It takes up three entire rooms, floor to ceiling clear totes labeled with months and years. Just looking at it makes Tony feel small, ashamed of how little he cared about interacting with his fans. It’s no wonder sales were down. Searching for Peter’s letters would be like looking for a needle in a haystack—but he has to do it, and he can’t let Happy bear the brunt of the weight anymore either. This is on Tony.

So he begins pulling totes from the room and scattering their contents on the oaken table and floors of the dining room. Five hours and seven totes later, and Tony still has no letter from Peter.

Pepper finds him at midnight. She comes bursting in through the front door—Tony can hear the sound of the door colliding with the wall from the force she’s used—shouting his name. The hysteria in her voice chills him to the bone. It’s worse than the tone she uses when Tony fucks up; this is the tone she uses when there’s a Tragedy, when something is Wrong.

She finds him in the dining room surrounded by letters, kneeling up from where he was slumped on the floor. He must be a sight, but she is one too, her hair a mess, her eyes red. When she sees him, all the breath goes out of her, one hand clutching at her breast as the other grabs the back of a chair for support.

“Jesus, Pep, what’s happened? Is it your father, another heart attack—?”

“Why don’t you ever answer your goddamn phone, you bastard!” She says through heaving breaths. “You don’t leave the office for weeks and suddenly no one can find you, you won’t pick up your phone—”

It takes a long moment for the pieces to connect.

“Oh Christ,” Tony says, chidingly. “What, you were scared for me?”

She slumps into one chair and puts her face into her well-manicured hands. Tony drops back onto his ass. He’s not a good man, not a sensitive man. The last woman who had cried in front of him was his mother, and look at all the ways he had failed her. But the longer he sits letting Pepper cry, the more it feels like bamboo shoots growing under his tender fingernails. Fuck it. He gets up, knees creaking, and goes to her.

They sit side by side at the dining table no one has eaten at in twelve years. Pepper leans into him, her thin shoulders shaking. Shame makes his own eyes burn, because he thought what did she have to be afraid of? But maybe she saw his car in the driveway of the unhappy home he avoids and assumed that he’d come here to Hemingway himself. Maybe she sat in the drive steeling herself to come into the sight of his body.

“I’m going through the fan mail,” Tony says at last.

“I can see that,” she says. Her scathing tone drips with tears.

“I’m okay, Pep,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s true. He’s not sure if he’s been okay ever since he blinked awake upside down and suspended by the seatbelt in the back seat of his mother’s Cadillac, glass littering the roof (and the roof had become the floor, then, see? Because they were upside down), the smell of gas and smoke in his nose). Maybe he’s not okay. Maybe it’s all a fucking lie, but he’s not going to off himself. Not when there’s a mystery afoot. “I promise.”

She nods, one damp hand reaching out blindly for his. It’s an awkward angle to hold hands at, but he doesn’t complain. And awkward or not, it feels nice to be touched in a kind, even platonic way.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper asks at last, wiping at the wet, swollen skin beneath her eyes.

“Why? You want to help?” Tony asks.

“Might as well,” she says. “I always do your heavy lifting, don’t I?”

With Pepper’s help, they find the first letter. Somehow the Willy Wonka Initiative has reversed until Tony feels like a kid, ripping open chocolate bars, desperate for a glimpse of gold. At dawn, a cry echoes in the dining room startling Tony from where he was slumping against a tote, dozing.

“I’ve got one, Tony!” Pepper shouts. She’s barefoot, her panty hose taken off and folded on the table, her sensible jacket removed and slung over the back of a chair. Her rumpled shirt and tendrils coming free from her ponytail reveal how much energy she’s been putting into this with him—maybe to make up for her emotional outburst earlier, maybe like a mother humoring a child’s singular beneficial interest. “From Peter B. Parker, address is Queens, same as before.”

“What’s the date?” Tony asks. He slips in a pile of letters from last August and nearly breaks his neck. Wishful fucking thinking.

“Last May. Here—”

Tony takes the letter and collapses in a chair, his lower back grateful for the support. He recognizes Peter’s handwriting as he tears the letter open, and he can feel Pepper’s presence over his shoulder, reading along with him.

This letter is different from the others. Tony knows it right away. The first indication should have been the date; Tony’s most recent novel dropped early May of last year. His most controversial work to date, with praise glorious and venomous in kind. Which way did the scales tip when it came to Peter, Tony wonders.

I know that you won’t read this. I’ve written you twice a year since I was ten years old, and you’ve never written back. I don’t blame you. I’m sure you’re busy—I guess I just needed to get these words down somewhere, so that they exist, so that somewhere there is a record of me after I’m dead.

Tony reads the rest in a dazed blur. At one point, Pepper’s hand lifts to press against her mouth, but still they read on, huddled together for convenience and then for comfort.

In the letter, Peter describes the tragedy of his uncle’s death and how he felt personally responsible, and how after months of guilt, when he’d read about Natasha’s sacrifice, he’d decided to take action. Against himself.

If someone’s death can do so much good in the world, Peter wrote with shaky script. Then maybe mine could too. I’m not deluded or anything. I know that I’m not a superhero and that I’m not fighting against some sanctimonious super villain. But I feel like if my death could make May’s life easier, then I have to do it.

“Jesus. Tony, don’t read this—” Pepper reaches out for the letter but Tony nearly rips it in half trying to keep it away from her.

It’s not just for May, Peter admits. I’m ready to stop hurting, too.

Peter signs off, for good. Only it hadn’t been for good—Peter’s most recent letter had obviously proven that, and hadn’t he written it himself? Ignore my last letter, obviously, he’d said. Something must have changed Peter’s mind, but one thing was clear: it hadn’t been Tony. Because Tony had been so self-absorbed, so tangled in his own grief and ego and addictions he hadn’t even read the letter. If Pepper hadn’t saved it, then it might have been destroyed, no record left of Peter’s words at all.

“Tony,” Pepper says. She takes the letter from his fingers and he lets it go. His hands are numb. “This isn’t your fault. Peter obviously was unstable—he’d just watched his uncle being murdered in front of him. No one in their right mind would read Natasha’s death and think that you were encouraging them to take their own life.”

“I know that,” Tony snaps. Lying. Then: “I’m not an idiot, Pep.”

Maybe the biggest lie of all.

#starker #writer!tony #fan!peter #tw: alcoholism #tw: drugs #tw: suicide attempt #cagewrites

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miraculoussideblog · 5 years

Text

Ways to Forgive Chapter 9

Catch up with the first fic in the series Ways to Say I’m Sorry

Chapter [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][You are here]

[AO3]

Chapter Nine-The Cake

“Oh my God, try the one with lemon curd, it’s to die for,” Chloe held her fork up to Nathaniel’s mouth. He smiled at his lovely wife to be and parted his lips. She was right, the lemon curd filling was delicious. All the cakes were delicious. Tom went above and beyond with the cake tasting.

“The last one is Italian Wedding cake,” Tom said

Nathaniel took a bite. The cake was nice and moist with a hint of almond. Very tasty, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“You don’t seem impressed.” Chloe said, wiping a bit of frosting off Nathaniel’s lips.

“It’s good,” he lied. Lately, everything around him had been Italian. It reminded him of the man who followed him weeks ago. He checked in with Marinette the next day. She said the man left without ordering right after Nathaniel left the bakery. He’d been on high alert since then. Every once in awhile a the paparazzi would follow him around asking about the wedding. Oddly enough he felt safer in the public eye.

Nathaniel didn’t want to worry his bride to be. She was in such a good place now that she smoothed things over with her mother. It wasn’t the tearful reunion like in the movies, but it was a start. They agreed to weekly lunches to catch up and texted occasionally. Audrey stayed as far away from wedding planning as possible and didn’t pry about the inheritance as much.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe took Nathaniel's hand.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “I just like the Lemon curd better. It’s your second favorite flavor.”

“After honey,” Chloe smirked. She took another bite of the Lemon curd. “You’re right it is better.”

Nathaniel kissed her hand. “Are we making a decision?”

“Lemon curd cake it is,” Chloe smiled. “Cake one of two. Our tasting at the Jewish bakery is tomorrow. I hope your aunt isn’t mad she’s not making the kosher cake.”

“Oh she’s still bringing a cake, so we need to leave room on the table for it.”

“Nathaniel!”

“What, I couldn’t say no to her, she’d be devastated.”

“So we’re going to have three cakes. Fantastic.”

“Chloe, we’re getting married in two months, don’t stress about the little things.”

Chloe gently pulled her hand away from Nathaniel’s grasp. “This is a little fast, isn’t it?”

“I would have married you in a courthouse if I had my way.”

“Yeah, but your parents would have killed you and we wouldn’t have gotten the inheritance.”

Nathaniel frowned. All the money coming their way and they still don’t talk about a prenup. He didn’t want anything from Chloe, but the world didn’t see it that way. Articles about the wedding leaked to the media. Chloe was using the budget very smartly. She splurged on dresses and tuxes for the wedding party, and two sets of meals for the reception. Her lawyers were strict about the spending, but two million was a lot to blow. Chloe kept the scale of the wedding small. She didn’t want to invite any of the unsavory figures from her past how abandoned her when she had nothing. They didn’t need that kind of negativity on the happiest day of their lives.

The “Parisian Wedding of the Century” would be small, but extravagant and Nathaniel was not putting a penny towards it. Well, except for the wedding bands. He was not going to ruin the surprise engravings he had in store.

“All right,” Chloe stood up. “I need to get upstairs for my fitting.”

“You’re not going to Agreste’s?”

She shook her head. “Marinette is insisting she do the final work away from the studio. She’s worried about leaks. The first draft of the preliminary design went up online. She scrapped the whole thing and kept everything within a small team. So much for not overworking her.”

“You know, I would marry you in a potato sack. How’s that for the ‘Parisian Wedding of the Century’?”

“I would rather eat my Jimmy Choos.”

“Didn’t you sell those?”

“Mom bought me a new pair the other day.”

Nathaniel frowned. “I haven’t seen them?”

“I’m breaking them in at home.”

Another stark reminder they still didn’t live together. Chloe held on to that apartment with her dear life. Her lease was up in a couple months and she hadn’t packed yet. She practically lived at Nathaniel place for half of the week. But they were running out of time. Merging her stuff with his was going to be a nightmare.

“Maybe I would see them more if you started moving in already.”

Nathaniel, I love you, but please don’t rush me. We have our whole lives to live together. I spent most of my life dependent on others. First it was my father, then the Dupain-Chengs. That tiny little apartment is my last piece of independence.”

“Chloe Bourgeois, you are the fiercest, most independent woman I know. Don’t you think for a second you’ll lose any of that once we tie the knot. Sure, we’ll depend on each other for a lot of things, but don’t forget who’s bringing home the bacon in this family.”

“You don’t eat bacon, and that phrase implies that I actually work for the massive fortune I’m inheriting.”

“Just that the complement.”

“Fine,” she kissed his nose. “We can start looking at penthouses after we’re married.”

“A penthouse?” He was hoping for a bigger flat or a house. A penthouse screamed luxury, he thought Chloe was behind all that.

“I really have to go,” she turned and headed around back to the stairs. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Nathaniel sighed. This conversation was far from over.

Chloe smoothed over the soft fabric with her fingers before stepping out from behind the partition.

“Oh my God, Chloe,” Marinette cupped her hands over her face. “You look beautiful.”

“Really,” Chloe bubble with excitement inside. She’s seen the design and wore various stages of the dress for fittings, but this was the closest to the final version. Marinette moved the full length mirror closer.

The ivory fitted mermaid style dress hugged every single one of Chloe’s curves perfectly. The off the shoulder sleeves and sweetheart neckline showed just enough skin to make her husband to be drool. She traced her fingers along the delicate lace in shape of small honeycombs that must have took months to make. Marinette outdid herself.

“This is amazing.”

“How does it feel?” Marinette said.

“Like a dream.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

Chloe lifted her arms and walked around for a bit. The dress was a bit snugger than the last time she tried it on. “Maybe it’s a tad too tight around the sleeves and waist.”

“The sleeves are an easy alteration and we can take it out a bit. We don’t want the bride passing out on her wedding day.”

“Thank you, it’s perfect. When can I see the veil?”

“We’re working as fast as we can. Handmade veils as long as yours takes time. We should have it by your final fitting before the wedding.”

“Are you sure I can’t take a picture? Just to show the others. I won’t even send it to anyone.”

“No way,” Marinette shook her head. “All eyes are on you since you announce your engagement--”

“Well technically the paparazzi found me and the media

“Exactly. Designing your dress has put Agreste’s back on the map. We cannot risk the public seeing the dress before the wedding, understand? Besides, you don’t want Nathaniel seeing you the dress.”

Hook. Line. Sinker. Chloe didn’t care if all of Paris saw her in the dress before the wedding, but Nathaniel? No she wanted to see his face light up the second he saw her walking down the aisle. “Okay you win.”

“Good, now have you thought about your something old, new, borrowed and blue yet? I will tell you, blue does not go well with the accessories I’ve planned.”

“We’ll for the old, obviously I’m wearing the bee miraculous.”

“We’ll it is technically borrowed,” Marinette mumbled.

Chloe frowned, it’s been months since she made an outing as Queen Bee. Even with Gabriel in Jail, Marinette, Adrien and Alya still did patrols and fought other crimes. With all the her life moving forward, she didn’t have time to go out anymore and honestly she didn’t miss it as much as she thought she would. But she did love Pollen, and if holding on to the miraculous meant Pollen would still be her companion, she would hold onto it a little longer.

“It’s still mine for now, figure something else out for my something borrowed. My shoes are new and the garter can blue right?”

“It doesn't match…”

“No one will see it.”

“Fine,” Marinette pouted. “If anything else conflicts with your ensemble let me know. Everything has to be perfect.”

“You’re stressing out more than I am, you need to relax.”

“I will after the wedding.”

“What about the bachelorette party?”

“Okay, so I’ll be there,” Marinette zipped her lips. “You’re not getting another word out of me. Sabrina would kill me. I’ve faced hundreds of supervillains, including my father-in-law, no one scares me as much as that woman.”

“Fair enough.” Sabrina was super tight lipped about her surprise bachelorette party. She had no idea where or when it was. All she knew is that it was going to be one last wild ride before tying the knot.

“Ms. Bourgeois your phone is ringing,” Marinette’s assistant held out a Chloe’s phone and placed it in Chloe’s hand. It was Audrey, she wanted to video call. Chloe looked over at Marinette. As much as she wanted to show someone her dress, she had to respect Marinette’s wishes. Chloe declined the video call, but called her back.

“Hey Mom, I’m sorry I can’t video chat right now, what’s up?”

“Have you finished with your fitting?” Audrey asked. I wanted to see your dress.”

“Sorry, dress is top secret,” Chloe paused. “Wait when did I tell you about the fitting?” Chloe had been very careful about sharing wedding details. She would have remembered telling Audrey about the fitting.

“When I gave you the shoes, remember?” Audrey said quickly. “You joked about them not matching your wedding dress.”

“Yeah, okay.” There was no way Chloe told her the exact time of her fitting. Even so it was odd to video call out of the blue in the middle of a dressing fitting. “Is that why you called?”

“I’m just checking in,” Audrey said. “How are you doing?”

Chloe sighed, maybe she was reading too much into it.“Good, we picked out the first cake flavor at Tom and Sabine’s today before the fitting.”

“Are you free to get a manicure after you’re done?”

This was random. They never hung out more than once a week. While their relationship was in a much better place, Chloe was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. She didn’t want to deviate from the boundaries they.

“Sorry mom I’m super busy after the fitting, the wedding is in two months, you understand.”

“Of course,” Audrey said, disappointingly. “We’re still on for lunch next week?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll talk to you then, bye.” She hung up.

“You okay?” Marinette asked.

“I’m fine,” Chloe muttered. She felt a little bad about lying. But she needed to protect her feelings. Keeping her mother at an arm's length was the right thing to do.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #chlonath #chloe bourgeois #nathaniel kurtzberg #Marinette Dupain-Cheng

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aurora-borealis514 · 5 years

Text

The Sidewalk.

18 + Mature Content.

(It’s a long story, but I didn’t want to disappoint!)

CHAPTER 1

Location: My bedroom.

Time: 3:45 am

I can’t sleep, I haven’t been able to sleep. I guess the stress has just been getting to me lately...Yeah... I know, I know you’re probably all laughing like “Stress! Pah! You’re to young to have any stress!” or my favorite line. “You’re lucky you still live at home. When I was your age I was already married with two kids by then.” Oh yeah Deborah isn’t that right? Well I’m sorry that my life isn't all put together at 21 like yours might have been, which was when 40 years ago?

I hate people.

Especially the ones who just silently judge you. You know which ones, they are nice to your face but as soon as your back is turned they say the complete opposite; Walking around with their noses stuck straight up in the air, and driving around showing off their fancy SUVs. Must be nice to have things handed to you. For me, that wasn’t the case, towards the end at least. I came from an average family you know. Mom stayed at home, dad is a cop, a younger brother, the white picket fence and what family would be complete with out a dog. The all American family you could say.

We were definitely far from it. We had our dirty secrets too, just like any other “normal” family.

Fuck! Why can’t I sleep, god damn it!

Looking up at the ceiling all I could think of at that moment was “What if this were to collapse in on me?” “ Maybe then it would end all of my pain and suffering.”

The roof needed to be fixed. Dad said he was going to do that months ago...but here we are closer to winter and it’s still not done. The shingles were falling off and it leaked every time it rained. My room seemed to be the only room in the entire house that received the full impact; It was so bad last week I had to sleep downstairs on the couch. The windows were old and drafty and look like they haven't been replaced in years, the doors were just the same, creaking at the hinges. The yard was over grown and had gone to complete shit. Our house didn't always look like this, we just stopped caring.

My mother was the one who would take care of basically everything around the house without her my dad, brother and I would have been lost. She taught me everything she could. How to cook, fold laundry, how to change a tire. She was a woman that young girls would look up to. She was kind and caring, she spent a lot of time working with different organizations and she was always hosting charity events. Judith Ward even made a brief appearance.

Sigh.

Sadly, that’s all just a faded distant memory, and now my father and I were complete and utterly lost. Most day’s we would just order take out from Ruby’s Diner, we sort of became regulars there.

Tears began to bubble in my eyes blurring my vision of the ceiling.

My mother and younger brother were murdered, along with a few others. Most would say they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but my dad wasn’t convinced.

It all happened so fast. My mother had just picked up Danny from school and they were walking home when a man in a ski mask jumped them from behind shooting my mother point blank in the back of the head. Danny’s body was never found, so deep down I know he is still alive...somewhere.

For about 4 years now my dad had been searching and it seemed like every time he would get close to a break through...more “clues” would began to surface and he would be led straight back to a dead end. Part of me believes that the man is still out there holding my brother hostage and he’s just been leaving clues behind to this day just to try and throw my dad off the trail, but he is stubborn and determined, and why would a murder hang around and continue to leave clues? I try not to think about it to often because it kills me deep down knowing someone I used to see everyday just isn’t there anymore. I keep thinking that this was all my fault and a part of me that feels guilty everyday. I should have been there with him, and maybe at least my mother would still be here... I know fucked up way of thinking, but that’s where my mind takes me when I think about it.

Ever since the murder my father has suggested me speaking to a therapist. He claims that “medicating with Marijuana isn’t the right way to go about dealing with my stress and pain, but what does he know, Those guys are there only to take all your money and silently judge you, then they go home and talk about how crazy you are to their immediate families and significant others. To them that’s just a normal day in the office, but to me that’s the life I am stuck living every single day.

So if you ever meet a family member of your shrink. That’s why they hesitate when saying hello. They probably think you are a psychopath and could snap at any moment.

Time: 4:00 am

Alright, well no sense trying to sleep now, I might as well just pull an all nighter.

Stretching I rolled out of bed and grabbed a shower towel. Sluggishly I walked down the stairs. My dad was asleep at his computer per usual... he must have had another late night.

Yawning I proceeded into the bathroom and closed the door. Turning on the shower I pulled my nightshirt over my head and gently tossed it onto the floor. Reaching my hand behind the curtain I made sure it was hot.

Scalding.

That was the only good thing about old houses. The hot water is actually hot.

Stepping in I felt the heat of the water run over my skin, sending chills down my spine, and making the hair on my arms stick up straight. A draft crept through the crack under the door and my nipples grew hard. We didn’t have a shower curtain at the moment, so no matter how hot the shower got you were still cold. Why you may ask? We’ll I decided one night it was a good idea to try and sober up a friend by putting her in the shower, well epic fail on my part. Her foot got caught up on the edge of the tub and she became entangled in it which ripped the holster straight out of the wall and caved in on her. My dad was pissed and his reasoning behind not buying another one.

“You shower with the door closed so why do you need a curtain to hide behind too.”

His logic never made sense sometimes... but that was dad. Usually his reasoning behind things made me laugh which made it impossible for him to ground me.

Closing my eyes I let the water run down my face. It was soothing, but not as soothing as the sound of rain late at night. Washing up, rinsing off and then turning off the shower I stepped out and reached for my towel also not realizing my phone was underneath it. I couldn’t react fast enough, all I could do was stand there and watch it as It fell and collided with the ground making a sharp snap.

Great. I hope I didn’t just break it.

Wrapping a towel around my hair and the other around my body I reached down for my phone. Closing my eyes I whispered to myself. Please don’t be broken, please don’t be broken. Slowly peeking out of one eye I looked down. Phew! Not broken this time. Taking a deep breath I turned to the mirror and wiped the condensation away leaving blurry streaks. My makeup didn’t seem to come all the way off in the shower so it was still smudged around my eyes making dark circles. Washing my face again in the sink with a face cloth, I then rubbed lotion all over my body. Coco butter, not only does it make your skin smooth as fuck but it smells good too! I brushed my teeth and spit the toothpaste into the sink. Leaving the bathroom I looked over at my dad who was sound asleep, but this time snoring with his face buried deep into his in his arms.

He looks pretty peaceful. I won’t wake him yet.

Tippy toeing up the stairs, they creaked and groaned. I closed my bedroom door behind me and began franticly digging through my piles of clothes that were just thrown throughout my room. Picking up a shirt I brought it to my face and inhaled.

Smells ok to me. Throwing on a ripped tank top, I swirled the shirt around my back and flung my arms through. Picking up a pair of jeans I just looked down at them in disgust. These are so old. They had holes, and stains that just wouldn't wash out, but they were my favorite pair and I just couldn’t get rid of them. Slinging my bag over my shoulder and grabbing my camera headed back down stairs.

Still sleeping...

Dad... Dad?

“Wha...What time is it?” he asked in a fog while rubbing his eyes.

4:30 in the morning...

“Why are you awake?”

Well, I couldn’t sleep so I figured I would get an early start.

Yawning he stretched his arms back behind his head before looking back down at his computer. Grunting he held his head in his hands.

“Every fucking time I think I’m one step closer.” he clenched his fists and pounded hard on his desk making a pile of papers shuffle and fall to the ground.

Dad? Maybe you should get some sleep... bending down I picked up his papers and placed them neatly back onto his desk

“I don’t need sleep, I need to finish up working on this case.” he growled

Seriously though, you need to rest...it’s been 4 years and you aren’t any closer today then you were 4 years ago.

“What I need is for you to stop giving me such attitude, leave me the hell alone and let me get back to work so then maybe I can try and get some sleep.”

Alright, whatever Dad... I’ll see you later.

“Where are you going?” he asked turning to face me.

I see, he only looks at me when I’m leaving.

I don’t know, probably go down to Ruby’s for some breakfast.

“I see you have your camera too?” he smiled.

holy shit...he smiled.

Yeah, I wanted to maybe catch the sun rise. Do you want anything to eat? I can bring you something back? Maybe an extra thick milkshake

“mmm sounds good, but no.” he replied turning back to his computer.

Come on Dad, you know you want one. I’ll buy?

“No I’m good. Thank you, but really I need to get back to work.” he responded.

He was exhausted, his eyes were sunken in surrounded by dark circles. His hair was starting to turn gray and he just looked like absolute shit. He was supposed to be off this week. The Chief told him he needed to take time to grieve because he really hasn't since my mom died, but my dad has been sneaking around getting files from the other guys so he can continue to work, but just from home.

Ok so breakfast sandwich and a coffee instead?

“Black.” He replied with a smirk.

Sounds good old man.

Turning to leave, he called out to me once more.

“This old man could still kick your ass”

Name the place and pick a time Dad. I can take you down any day.

“That’s my girl.” he smiled.

Door slams shuts.

It was a lot cooler out then I had expected, yet again the weather man lies, but then again the sun still wasn’t even awake yet.

The air was crisp, and the leaves crunched beneath my feet as I walked along. I absolutely loved the fall. Everything is just so beautiful and the people around here really get into the Halloween spirit.

If Halloween could be an every day event, I would be happy.

The birds were already awake and chirping away, and just as I got to the bottom of my steps a fat squirrel ran across my path nearly tripping me in the process. Sadly he was just to quick to take a picture.

One day I’ll capture you, Mr. Squirrel. I laughed out loud to myself. You might have gotten away this time, but next time you won’t be so lucky.

The squirrel stopped half way up the tree and what looked like began to mock me, before quickly scurrying up into the brush.

Fat little bastard. I grumbled.

Walking down the street all I could do was look around at how the town went to complete shit. I feel like the loss of my mother and disappearance of my brother just caused the whole town to shut down and lose its spark. My parents were very well known and liked around the area by anyone and everyone who crossed paths with them. They were always willing to help anyone and everyone who asked them, even if that means they got fucked over 85% of the time. So I couldn’t go anywhere without something stopping me to ask how my parents were doing or if they would be around that weekend to give them a hand. Especially now...it’s always. “How’s your dad? Is he ok?”

Half the time I want to tell them to go visit him and ask for themselves, but I usually just smile and tell them he’s fine.

It got old.

Wrapping my flannel tighter around me I headed down the side walk, the only beautiful thing left in this town were the trees and the canal.

Pulling out my camera I took a quick photo.

SNAP, SNAP

Something this beautiful should be captured before it get’s destroyed by humanity. One horrible thing about the human race, so quick to destroy something so beautiful that life has blessed us with, and people wonder why there are global warming problems.

SNAP, SNAP

Shit, whited out. God damn flash.

My camera was old and I needed a new flash, but since I haven’t been able to find a job in this hell hole I haven’t been able to buy a new one. I did ask my dad for my birthday last year, but he just hasn't had the money. It makes me feel like complete shit to even ask.

Come on, adjust...

SNAP. SNAP.

Got it. Thank you! Kissing my camera I smiled at it.

Perfect. I smiled down at my camera pleased with the shot.

Taking in a deep breathe through my nose I exhaled out my mouth causing a cloud to appear.

Fall is definitely here.

My stomach grumbled.

Alright, I need to eat...

Walking further down the side walk, and then to the cross walk, I looked and crossed the street heading towards the diner. That was another cool thing. Everything was so close to our house we can just walk there within a few minutes.

My dad and I used to take walks all the time...and then at the end he would treat me with a large malt shake. He always would suggest I get the smaller size because I could never finish a large, but I wanted to be like dad. 4 years later my brother was born. At that point I was 17 and started to rebel. Mainly tattoos, which drove my mother insane, but once my brother was born it’s like I didn’t exist anymore. I mean my dad always wanted a boy, I guess you can say that’s where I get my tomboy spirit from but from then on out it was all about Danny.

He was only 13 when he disappeared.

Chapter 2:

Location: Ruby’s Diner

Time: 4:45 am.

SNAP, SNAP

Fucking flash!

Snap Click. chhhh chhhh.

Ugh Wherever. I’ll just fix the damn thing inside. I stuffed the camera angrily into my bag and pushed open the large double glass doors to the diner.

“Hey Harper! Long time no see, two for breakfast?” the man behind the counter asked.

No Shane, it’s just me today. My dad’s at home working. I smiled.

“Isn’t he supposed to be on vacation?” he asked confused.

Well you know my dad...

“Yeah that’s true can’t take a man away from his work.” he laughed. “Would you like your regular booth by the window?” he asked looking down at his monitor.

Yeah that would be great actually.

“Alright, well it looks like it was just cleared off, so right this way ma’am.” He smiled smoothly waving his arm towards the dining room.

You’re the best, they really should just let you run the entire place.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m one pay check away from having enough money to get the hell out of this place.” he laughed.

Yeah, I hear ya, I have a feeling I might end up dying here.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Hey, once I’m gone my job will be free, maybe I can mention something to management?”

You would do that?! Oh thank you!

Wrapping my arms around him I hugged him.

“No problem, I always have your back.” He laughed.

Sitting down at the table I pulled my bag to my side, and reached in. Pulling out my sketch pad I plopped it down and began to draw. That’s why I like the window booths. They were just giant windows filled with inspiration. I especially love when the older gentleman come for the early bird specials and bring their fanciest and shiniest cars. You can see them outside standing there gawking over who has the fastest car, or the best engine. Passing around cigars and chopping off the ends before lighting them and blowing big thick grey clouds of smoke up into the air.

What a life. I always thought about what they were like at my age. It was such an easier time. They used to be able to go outside without having to worry that someone was going to get kidnapped or murdered. They came home when the street lights came on, not when they get a text asking where the hell they are.

Looking down at the menu I couldn't decided. I know I have been here a million times, but I always look at the menu, you know just incase I decide to order something different.

Which for me that was rare.

I always wished they would serve lunch this early, call me a psycho but I could totally go for a tuna melt right about now.

Looking up I notice the waitress. Her hair was in a twisted mess on the top of her head and her apron was stained with all sorts of different types of condiments, oil and grease.

Kate?! Since when do you work here?

“Well recently, Chloe’s mom was talking to my mom and well...here I am.” she sighed. “I really don’t like it.”

Well, I can tell you waitressing sucks. People are just plain rude.

“Especially the ones who tip like shit.” she laughed

Cheap bastards.

“Where’s your dad?”

He’s at home working.

“Well it’s good to see he has at least been keeping himself busy.”

Yeah, if that’s what you called it. I rolled my eyes at her comment.

“I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to...” she began to say.

Don’t worry about it, I’m used to people asking me about my dad all the time.

“Anyway what can I get for you?” she asked pulling out a notebook and pen.

I’ll have the breakfast platter and a mimosa.

“Starting early?” she giggled

It’s never to early to drink. I laughed.

“How would you like your eggs?” she then continued

Over easy, white toast, whip cream on the pancakes, bacon fried to a perfect crisp.

“Anything else?”

Yeah, freshly squeezed orange juice?

“Were a diner not a 5 star breakfast buffet.”

I couldn’t help but to laugh. Oh come on the food here is definitely 5 star material.

Placing her hands on her hips. “If you think this is 5 star food then you haven't had real food.”

Well I mean, dad doesn’t cook and this is the only place that’s close enough for me to walk to.

“You still don’t have a car?” she asked cocking an eyebrow.

Well I do, it’s just in the shop. The damn truck is so rusty I need a miracle. Plus my dad’s car has been rotting in the driveway since my mom...

“That’s ok, no need to explain.” she smiled softly.

You know, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me... I don’t mind talking about certain things.

“I know, it’s just horrible. Any news on your brother?” she asked running her thumbs along the hem of her apron.

Not yet, but I know he’s out there...he has to be.

“Well I will make sure to pray for his safe return.” she smiled again.

Thanks Kate, you're the sweetest.

“Anytime.” she replied turning and heading towards the kitchen.

Looking back out the window I sighed heavily. Well it looks like I am going to miss the sun rise yet again.

Pulling out my camera and tiny tool kit, I began to work on the flash. Alright if I just adjust it here.... and then tweak this.

SPOING!

Damn it! I slammed my fists down on the table tightly gripping what felt like the worlds smallest screw driver. Taking a deep breath I went back to working on it.

10 minutes later.

click, click. Snap, Snap

Yes! Fixed it!

And it looks like just in time. Looking over Kate held out the tray of food and placed it on the table.

Looks good. I smiled at her.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” she smiled.

I will, Thanks Kate.

Nodding her head Kate turned and walked away. Slapping my hands together and rubbing them I grabbed my fork and dug in.

Everything here just tastes so good to me, I guess you could say this is the closest thing I have had to a home cooked meal in a long time.

The pancakes were perfectly fluffy, and drizzled with maple syrup and a dollop of whip cream in the center, the bacon was perfect and crispy where it melted in my mouth every time I took a bite, and my eggs were cooked perfectly.

Finishing up rather quickly I waved for the bill.

“How was it?” she asked removing my plate from in front of me.

It was amazing, as always.

“You really need to get out more.” she laughed. “Need any change?”

No thanks, I’m good. You keep it. Hey, it was good seeing you. I haven’t seen you since graduation.

“Well, if you want to see me again I’m here everyday of the week.” she smiled.

Alright, sounds good. Bye Kate and thank you.

“You’re welcome.” She responded hurrying off into the kitchen.

Walking outside the sun was finally raising and everything began to flare with color.

Perfect timing. I smiled to myself.

Time 6:30 am

18 year’s I've lived here and I’ve never really stopped to actually look at the beauty this run down town can hold.

Looking into the water I held my hand over my eyes to shield the suns glare. I could see fish swimming around happily, and rising to the surface for a small gulp of air before dipping back down and disappearing beneath the rocks.

Life is just so beautiful if you actually open your eyes and look at it.

SNAP, SNAP.

Click.

There is just something so calming about still water. I could just stare into it for hours, even days and never get bored.

SNAP SNAP.

Beep, beep.

What the fuck, low battery? Already. Fuck this stupid camera.

Turning it off I placed it in my bag, well that’s enough pictures of water for right now I guess. I frowned looking down as a fish swam up and grabbed a cigarette butt that floated by before quickly spitting it back out.

Now that’s just disgusting. I frowned.

I really hate people sometimes.

Reaching for a stick, and then stretching out my arm, I managed to cause a rippled effect to move the cigarette butt close enough for my to pull up into the grass.

Ok fish, you are safe for now! I smiled looking down as 5 little babies swam out from under that same rock.

Heading back towards my house, I decided to take a quick detour.

SHIT! I forgot to get my dad food and coffee. I groaned. Oh well...he probably wouldn’t eat it anyway. Pretty sure his last sandwich is still there not even touched.

Turning the corner to enter my street I looked over at the park. The once beautiful fence, now rusted and damaged from little assholes around the town. There was trash and left over food laying all over the broken cement top. Shards of glass from beer bottles were smashed and smushed into the grass. The only new thing in this place was the swings and the basketball nets. Looking over I saw two kids throwing a ball around.

“Haha loser! That’s an E for you.” one kid mocked.

“Fuck you asshole.” the other kid replied.

Pulling out my camera I quickly capture the two as one of the boys punched the other directly in the stomach. He started crying.

“Fuck you dude.” he said as he ran to exit the park. “I’m telling mom.”

“Don’t tell mom! Wait Get back here!” the other hollered as he ran after him.

SNAP, SNAP.

Well, that one will definitely be a good addition to my scrap book. Laughing out loud at the picture my camera began to beep, and then shut off. Great. I put my camera in my bag and headed over to the swings. Placing my bag on the ground next to me, I began to swing.

Back and forth, higher and higher. Getting lost in a daze.

I loved playing on these when I was a kid. The swing creaked as I swung back and forth. The memories of my childhood began to flash in front of me. All the times my friends and I would sneak out and meet here just to smoke a joint and drink beers that we stole from our parents fridges.

One time we ended up getting busted by the police. He was a rookie, and my friends decided it would be funny to mess with him. We had a bag full of stink bombs, which we lit and threw at him as he walked towards us. When they started to smoke and release the smell, all of a sudden the officer grabbed his throat and began gasping for air. We all panicked and ran away, we ended up hiding across the street in the neighbors rose bushes. MISTAKE. We were covered in scratches from the thorns afterwards. Finally when back up arrived what seemed like hours later, they ended up having to give him CPR and some oxygen. Little did we know he ended up having an asthma attack.

Needless to say that was his first and last day on the job. We also never got caught.

I just can’t believe we let this town go to shit like this, this placed used to be so beautiful and full of life, now its just surrounded by crime, punk ass kids, and lazy old people who spend 90% of their time on the front porch in rocking chairs scolding the teenagers as they walked by.

Swinging high enough, I launched off the swing and landed on my feet.

I should get home, Dad’s probably worried about me.

I paused.

Yeah right. Laughing to myself I left the park, luckily for me I lived right next door so it wasn’t far.

Time: 8:00 am

Reaching my house I noticed the mail had arrived. Wow, this is here early. Might as well bring it inside or else it will be sitting here for weeks just piling up.

Pulling out a stack of envelopes I quickly shuffled through them.

Bills, Bills, Junk mail, Junk mail, bills, bills. Great. Nothing for me. What else is new.

I always looked through the mail like I expected to receive something, even though every time I always knew none of it would ever be for me. Sighing heavily I stuffed the mail into the side pocket of my bag and headed up the front steps. Reaching for the door knob I pushed the front door open and this time closed it gently behind me, incase my dad had decided to finally give it a rest, and get some rest.

But no, Dad was still in the same spot I left him in.

Hey Dad, I’m home. Here’s the mail. I said reaching into my bag and then placing it on the desk. I’m sorry I forgot to grab you food.

“Great honey. How was school?” he asked.

Dad...I’m 21, I don’t go to school anymore.

“Right, right...well good to see you.” He mumbled with his eye glued to his computer screen while he rubbed his temples.

Yeah Dad, Always a pleasure. I sighed waving at him and heading up the stairs to my room.

To be continued...

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