👏💥

Through a Golden Lens (pt 1)

⤷ pairing - hawks x (fem) reader

⤷ fandom - bnha 

⤷ warnings - some language, hawks flirting, reader’s cynicism 

⤷ summary - reader is a bitter, overworked photographer at a hero press agency with little patience for her newly assigned muse- hawks

⤷ word count - 4.5k+

⤷ notes - i have lots of ideas so this is probably going to be a multi-part series. also new to tumblr so this might not be the best

⤷ pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6

“Mr. Hawks! Please look this way!” his heavy lidded eyes rolled to the side as another blinding flash burned through his vision. 

“You look perfect, thank you!” it was hard to smile for their benefit, but he managed. Hawks had attended countless of these events for the press. It had been exhilarating at first, with the rush of adrenaline from the cameras and the lights and the endless stream of compliments solidifying his place in the public eye.

Nowadays, it was less thrilling. After a while, they all seemed the same- each one blurring into a senseless flare of cameras and hollow accolades.

He was bored, to say the least.

“Mr Hawks, would you like to come and see? I’d love to hear your opinion on this set!” with a practiced, easy smirk he nodded. It was easier to pander to the artist than to criticise their work. 

He looked good, but when did he not? The shoots were easy to glide through. All he had to do was pull a boyish grin, ‘make love to the camera’ as the photographers always liked to spout. It didn’t really matter what he did: the public would eat up anything with his face slapped on to the front. They all looked the same to him, anyway.

“Looks good,” he wondered why people were so easily satiated by shallow praises, but as he stared at the younger lady’s blush, he couldn’t help but realise that maybe it was him who had something to do with it.

Hawks couldn’t help his gaze from drifting to the door. His skin prickled in the humidity of all the moving bodies in one enclosed space and he longed to take a step outside and stretch his wings in a way that wasn’t to pose for a magazine. 

For a moment, he felt like his prayers had been answered when the door opened, letting in a stream of natural light to breach the artificiality of the modelling room. 

”(L/N)! You were supposed to be here over three hours ago!” the woman in front of him exclaimed, ripping the camera away from his view and marching to the figure that appeared in the light. He blinked in surprise: this entire shoot he hadn’t heard her raise her voice above anything but a low mumble when conversing with him, and now she was positively fuming.

You stared down at your co-worker through honey-tinted shades, expression unamused.

“Yeah, and I was also supposed to be out of this job three years ago. We don’t all do what we’re supposed to, cupcake.”

For a moment, Hawks thought you were a model. Tasteful cream turtleneck tucked into heavily creased mocha skirt, caramel beret perched on your head. There were a few metal, classy looking rings wrapped around your fingers, but as far as he could see, no wedding ring. It was pretty standard style for those who worked in the arts, but somehow you wore it so well. 

Your hair was a little dishevelled, and the dark circles under your eyes combined with the coffee cup in your hand were obvious signs of a rough night. His eyes locked on to the loopy black handwriting on the brown band around the cup.

(L/N) (Y/N)

You were no model, but Hawks couldn’t see the difference.

His wings beat lightly behind his back as he glided over, weaving through the other photographers and models scattered around the area. 

“Hey there, I’m Hawks,” he said smoothly, voice saccharine as he spoke to you. Your attention turned to him as you glanced at him from above the frames of your sunglasses, seemingly unimpressed.

“This the new boytoy, Mizuki?” you asked, eyes raking up and down his figure. Hawks was never one to shy away from the gaze of others, but the way you were inspecting him made him feel so exposed.

“Show some respect,” Mizuki muttered, voice lowered at Hawks’ presence but glare still piercing. You sighed, sparing one last glance at Hawks before snatching the camera out of Mizuki’s hands, leaving her scrambling for the device as you walked away.

“Lemme see what you’ve got already,” Mizuki’s face grew red, half from anger towards you, and half because of the embarrassment of being diminished in front of Hawks.

“(L/N) y-you can’t just come in three hours late and take over! I’ve already done the shoot and Hawks has already expressed that he is pleased with the outcome,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and shooting the shorter woman a glare over your shoulder.

“There’s no way you’re gonna force me to come into work and make me sit here doing nothing,” you sneered, waving the camera around almost teasingly, “you wanted someone actually skilled to do this shoot, and here I am. Let me do my thing,” without waiting for a response, you left, thumb fumbling with the dial that allowed you to scroll through the photos.

Hawks was impressed. You hadn’t bat an eye when you saw him, and while you were very clearly very late, you were confident in your skills and obviously took your job seriously.

“Who was that?” he questioned, wings spreading slightly as his eyes chased after you. Mizuki bowed her head, remorse filling her expression.

“I apologise for her impertinence. That’s (L/N), she was who your original photographer was supposed to be today, but when she didn’t show up I had to take over,” she huffed, “she’s been like this for about a year now, and the boss is prepared to fire her if she keeps it up. So you’d think she’d be able to pull her at together for you, Mr. Hawks...”

After a while, Hawks tuned out her whining, eyes curiously trained on you, surveying your furrowed brows and expression pinched with annoyance as you studied the photos. Although they looked good enough to him, it appeared that you didn’t share the same sentiment. 

Hawks didn’t have time to avert his eyes when you turned your head, gaze locking on to his. You raised a slightly suspicious brow, but otherwise didn’t entertain his actions. 

“Mizuki, why would you use cool lighting?” you called over your shoulder, not even sparing the decency to turn around and face the person you were addressing. Mizuki frowned, moving to your side. Like a magnet, Hawks did the same, peering over your other shoulder. You eyed him from the corner of your vision for a second before tapping the screen. 

“What do you mean?” you sighed at your co-workers words, evidently frustrated.

“Considering you have bird boy over here in dark academia, accented in warmer yellows, using cool lights will bring out too much of a contrast. We need to match the accent colours with warmer lighting, or use a overlay,” you muttered, seemingly addressing yourself more than the two of them. Mizuki just shook her head.

“That would just oversaturate the image,” you snorted, giving her the same patronising look an adult would give a child if they tried to outsmart them.

“Not necessarily. I could spot-reduce saturation in highlight areas during editing. Or, if you really want your contrast, I could neutralise the warmer shades by using a blue, or compliment them using a red,” Hawks didn’t miss the way you said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. Mizuki looked agitated, her frown growing deeper.

“Even so, we only have white backdrops. That would be a jarring contrast. You’d need something darker or more clustered to make it work. If you wanted a backdrop change you probably should’ve come earlier,” she spoke with a formality that obviously stemmed from Hawks next to her, but you paid no mind. You were silent for a moment, and Hawks could see your eyes narrowing as you were thinking.

“I need a natural background, huh?” you mumbled, thumbing the buttons on the camera. With a shrug, “alright, bird boy, come on, we’re leaving,” Hawks blinked in surprise as you spun on your heel, a grin breaking onto his face. Finally, he got to leave.

“Whatever you say, boss,” you shot him an irritated look.

“Don’t call me that. I’m 22, not 40,” his feathers ruffled up. “Hey, I’m also 22! What a coincidence, right?” he grinned, winking at you. You just responded by rolling your eyes.

Mizuki spluttered, trying in vain to get either one of you to stop as Hawks trailed after you.

“L-Look, you can’t just leave-” you turned, shoving the camera back into her hands, a mirthless smile on your face.

“Watch me,” your voice was cold, goading her to try and stop you, “bird boy, out, now.” Hawks didn’t have to be told twice. Some of the others whispered and muttered as they realised what was going on, but they all fell quiet when you shot them a sharp glare.

He breathed in the fresh air with a content sigh, his chest feeling lighter now he was out the cramped room. The amber glow from the late afternoon sun kissed his tanned skin as he stretched his arms above his head, his forearms flexing slightly under his dark blazer. His eyes shut in bliss and head tilted back, exposing his sharp jawline.

You eyed him slightly, eyes trailing across his features. Now that you had actually left, you were a little lost on what your plan was. You didn’t regret storming out of there, though, nor did you even consider turning back to apologise.

You took your own camera out of the dark camera bag slung across your body, careful not to scratch it on the tripod, and focused the lens on Hawks. It was smaller, a little more compact than the ones Mizuki and the others were using, but you found that it was much better suited for portrait work. 

The click of the camera shutter brought Hawks out of his stupor, eyes snapping open and immediately landing on you. Your attention had already been diverted to the screen, studying your work. 

“The modelling room is stuffy, I’ll give you that,” you mumbled, zooming in on his face, “but you can stretch while we walk,” Hawks leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the shot.

“Aw, you make me look so good, I’m flattered!” you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be,” you took a large sip of your coffee, moving down the pathway as you thought. Hawks scrambled after you, his wings puffing out when he reached your side. You couldn’t help but gaze at the bright red feathers as he unfurled his wings, a small, happy chirping noise rumbling at the back of his throat once they were fully spread behind your back. They were warm, you noticed, feeling the heat through your turtleneck. 

Your vision was filled with a cheeky smirk painted on full lips, Hawks’ face appearing in front of your eyes. Your eyes narrowed as you sized him up.

“See something you like?” you rolled your eyes as he purred. 

“Not in the slightest, bird brain,” his wings beat behind his back, hand clutching the fabric on his chest.

“Oh, how you wound me!” Hawks cried, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly, which you quickly covered with your coffee cup. 

“I’m sure you’ll face a villain that will do greater damage than I could,” he hummed, angling his face towards the sun. 

“So, where are we headed?” you chewed on your bottom lip, slinging your camera over your shoulder. 

“It can’t be anywhere with lots of traffic, you attract a lot of attention, you know?” it was a rhetorical question, but Hawks’ chest still puffed out in pride at your words.

“Thanks, it’s because of my raging-”

“Shut up,” you cut him off, “either way, I have a pounding headache and I do not have enough shits to give to put up with your fan girls today,” with a sigh, you rubbed your temples. Hawks stared at your clenched teeth.

“Hey, why do you-” “I think I know where we can go,” he frowned.

“You know it’s not polite to interrupt people like that-”

“Sunflowers.” your tone dripped finality as you faced Hawks, a brazen determination in your eyes he hadn’t seen until now. It made his breath hitch in his throat.

Breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and eyebrows furrowed when you sped your pace, gulping down more of your coffee.

“Uh, what?” you waved a hand dismissively.

“There’s a sunflower field in Fukuroi City, I think it’s west from here,” the tiniest of grins etched onto your features, “it’s gonna be a lot more interesting than the rest of those blank background. Plus, the yellow will compliment your clothes, and with the sun low in the sky I’ll get my perfect warm lighting,” you explained. Hawks wasn’t sure exactly how much of a difference it would make, but the idea seemed charming, and it was more exciting than being perpetually flanked by a white screen.

“Sounds good,” he chirped, “although, to be honest, you could take me out anywhere and I wouldn’t mind,” you rolled your eyes. 

“That’s a shame, because I don’t intend to hang around any more than I have to,” Hawks pouted, crossing his arms.

“Come on, I wanna know more about you!” you bristled.

“Good for you.” the two of you fell into a beat of silence before Hawks smiled, undaunted.

“I’m sure I can win you over somehow,” shaking your head in disbelief, you lifted the cup to your lips, before looking down disappointedly when you realised it was empty.

“I don’t have enough coffee for this,” you muttered. Hawks’ expression brightened. 

“That’s an easy fix: your agency is around here so you must know there area pretty well,” he spoke nonchalantly, as if he was on a casual lunch date and not in the most expensive outfit you’d seen in your entire life, “what’s the best place to grab a coffee?” for a moment, you looked taken aback, before shaking your head.

“Best café in these parts is the Sunset Hour,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck, “but as much as I have no inhibitions regarding bunking off work, that’s a little too far away. I need to take this pictures before the end of the day or Mizuki’ll submit those crappy ones she took in the studio,” Hawks nodded in understanding, smile never faltering for a second.

“Well I gotta get you your caffeine fix somewhere, so what’s the second best?” your expression scrunched in thought for a moment, before you jutted a thumb over your shoulder.

“There’s a Starbucks across the road,” he snickered seeing your blank expression.

“Not exactly where I would want our first date, but I suppose it’ll do,” rolling your eyes, you shoved the empty cup to his chest, which he gripped almost instinctively. 

“Good thing this isn’t a date, then,” Hawks grinned, sending your empty cup on a feather to the nearest bin before chasing after you as you crossed the road. You didn’t spare him a single glance when he appeared at your shoulder, nor when he reached over above your head to open the Starbucks door from behind you.

“So you’re saying we can have our first date somewhere else?” with a shallow sigh, you shook your head.

“What I’m saying is that there’s not gonna be a first date. Not between us,” his chest tightened. God, you were so mean. He’d be into that.

The inside of the Starbucks was a mix between modern, western architecture and traditional Japanese woodwork. The equipment was all cutting edge, and the tables and chairs were made with a sleek mahogany, but the windows were framed with bamboo shutters, and the backroom was separated with shoji sliding doors. It was an curious blend, one that you studied with an interest. The deep, earthy scent of roasted coffee beans heavily imbued the air, filling your nose with the aroma of something far more familiar. 

Given it was the late afternoon, and most people tended not to drink caffeine after 2pm, the patrons were few and far in between. Good for you, at least. It meant you wouldn’t get- “Hawks? Sorry to bother you but can we get a picture?” your head turned at the voice that rung out.

Two high school girls stood to your left, hands clutched together in front of their chests and a dark pink coating their cheeks. With a small sigh, you took a step forward in the small queue. Hawks smiled with all the faux charm in the world, an obvious change in his demeanour as his pride spiked.

“Of course! And just as it happens, I have my personal photographer here who can make sure your photos look amazing as you two do!” it took you a moment to register what he had said through the excited squeals of the girls before he clutched your shoulders and pulled you forward, causing you to stumble slightly. 

“Your what?” he sent you an audacious smirk, willing you to play along as one of the girls handed you her phone. Your first instinct was to decline, but as you met the eyes of the girls, so eager and bright, you couldn’t find it in you to disappoint them. 

Taking a couple steps back, you lifted the phone, slightly angling it so the picture looked more natural, and not that of a celebrity and their fans (even if it was). You squinted angrily at the poor lighting, but tried to rectify it the best you could. The girls looked a little tense, but Hawks was a natural. A liberal smirk played on his lips and shoulders rolled back, relaxed. Even with the low lighting, the highlights on his cheekbone and jawline were indescribably perfect, and you weren’t sure if the credit should go to you or his god-like genes.

“Wow, that’s perfect!” one of the girls cried, her body appearing by your side. You hadn’t even noticed her moving, “thank you so much!” you just nodded, handing her back her phone and crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at Hawks.

“If that’s all, ladies, we best be ordering,” they nodded frantically at Hawks’ words, sharply bowing and spouting their thanks to the two of you countless times. They left the Starbucks, but even outside you could still hear them fawning over the picture. He faced you with a grin, but you couldn’t muster up a smile.

“Don’t go around telling people I’m your personal photographer,” you sneered. He pouted, looking genuinely disappointed for a second. “What, you don’t wanna be mine?” “Not in the slightest.” 

“What will be your order, Miss?” the barista had directed the question at you, but it was clear his attention was elsewhere. You weren’t surprised, but a small swell of annoyance grew in your mind.

“Can I have a mocha with a double shot of expresso?” Hawks chuckled.

“Might as well have an expresso, you know. You’re basically just taking a shot of caffeine,” you shrugged.

“It’s my favourite drink. I like the chocolate taste,” he looked at you with round eyes, a small squeeze in his chest.

“And you, sir?”

“Oh, I’ll have the same, then,” he didn’t miss the way your eyes darted to him. The barista nodded, tapping for a couple seconds before turning back.

“That’ll be 660 yen,” “I’m paying,” Hawks blurted, even before you could offer. You were silent, a small nod in the affirmative rocking your head. As he handed over the bills, he chuckled. “You know, not that I mind, but usually couples would argue over who’s paying,” you rolled your eyes.

“We’re not a couple,” you watched the barista prepare your drinks, more of a way to occupy yourself rather than a genuine interest, “besides, you’re a lot richer than I am. I don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m sure you can lose 600 yen and still be good,” he hummed happily.

“No disagreements there.” “Are you two eating in or taking out?” the barista asked, in the midst of securing the plastic lids to the top of the cups. Hawks’ eyes sparkled as he turned to you with an excitement you assumed only appeared in children.

“Hey, we can-” “Take out,” you responded, giving a now deflated Hawks a challenging look, “I will leave you here if I have to.” the blonde grinned. “You wouldn’t. You need me for the pictures,” he sang, voice jovial.

“I don’t care about you that much. The sunflowers are probably less annoying subjects anyway,” oh. With no warning, his heart beat sped up, his wings puffing out slightly. Sure, he wouldn’t mind if you were a little nicer to him, but your insults were like a breath of fresh air. There was no doubt that Hawks loved the limelight, loved the popularity he got, but the relentless ass-kissing got old after a while. You kept him on his toes. Even if he was just constantly chasing after you every time you brushed him off, he didn’t care. 

“Put those away, bird brain,” it was then he realised his wings had spread further than he intended, stretched out on either side of him. One was curled right around his face, and he almost felt himself blushing as he pulled them in. It was just animal instincts, he assured himself. 

The rest of the journey was filled with a one-sided conversation of him talking and commenting on what was around you, with no response from you except the occasional witty retort or light-hearted jab at his expense, each one making his heart flutter. It wasn’t too long before you had arrived, the chain link fence around the plot stretching high above your head and corroded with orange rust. 

Rows and rows of bright yellow sunflowers stretched to the horizon, an immense display of summer vitality. The fragrance was potent, a sort of cloying sweetness that you didn’t hate. And just as you were about to enter, you knew you had made a mistake. 

“Oh.” Hawks stared at you incredulously, attention switching from your taken aback expression to the sign posted on the gate.

“You didn’t check to see it was open?” you looked up at him, allowing him to survey a tinge of remorse he hadn’t recognised until this point. 

“Look, how was I supposed to know? This place has always been open at this time since I was a little kid,” you rubbed your arm, brows furrowed. Hawks sighed, rolling his shoulders back.

“Well, the sun’s too low to go anywhere else outside,” he shrugged, “it’s no biggie, I guess. Those other photos weren’t too bad. Hey, now that we’re free, do you want to- what are you doing?” your foot was halfway in the gaps in the gate, the wedges on your heels making it hard to climb.

“I’m not wasting my day for nothing,” you growled, fingers curling around the metal, “get climbing, bird boy,” with a soft sigh, smile gracing his lips and a warm feeling in his chest, Hawks spread his wings.

“I think you’re forgetting something that’ll make this a lot easier,” you felt a cool draft on your back as Hawks flapped his wings, the feeling being quickly replaced by the warmth of his chest as he pulled you in. A foreign emotion coiled in your stomach, but you convinced yourself that it was just the flight.

One arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other supporting your knees, and all Hawks was thinking that such a gentle flight never felt so calming. 

Your feet tapped against the soft soil, sinking in to it slightly when the hero placed you down. You nodded your thanks.

“Let’s go over there, I want the sun coming in from the right,” Hawks nodded, content to just follow your orders. You pulled the tripod from your bag and set it up, adjusting it to your liking as Hawks looked around, trying to think of a pose. 

Once everything was ready, you turned your attention to Hawks.

“I want to humanise you,” he grinned curiously as you walked over.

“What do you mean by that?” he nearly gasped when you grabbed his chin, angling his face to the side and slightly up, towards the sun. You took a step closer, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. He bit his lip, hands trembling as you tugged slightly, trying to mess it up a little.

“All the photos I’ve seen on you always put a huge emphasis on either your wings or your hero status, and I don’t really see why,” you mumbled, placing one hand on his jawline while the other fixed his hair to your liking, letting a few strands fall in front of his eyes, “I think that just creates a divide. If they wanted you to seem angelic they should play that up, not just have it the norm,” you huffed, “anyway, I wanna put the emphasis on you and not your wings. So ideally if you could tuck them behind your back that would be wonderful,” 

Hawks nodded, disappointment filling him as you stepped away. He made sure not to move as he awkwardly folded his wings over each other and pulled them in, glancing at you with a look of apprehension. You just nodded in approval, leaning down to your camera. 

You took plenty of shots, allowing him plenty more opportunities to feel your hands on him (and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it). 

“Hey, why were you so late today?” Hawks dared to question while you were analysing your photos. You were perched on a bench, appreciating your work. The late sun cast a golden sheen on his skin, the spattering of glimmering rays highlighting his face in all the right places. 

“I was sleeping,” you responded, deleting an out of focus shot. His eyes narrowed.

“What?” “Just as it sounds. Figured if they were gonna make me work so I could only have three hours of sleep a night it was gonna be on their time, not mine,” he frowned, taking a seat next to you.

“They shouldn’t work you that hard,” you shrugged with a hollow laugh, blank gaze in your eyes. 

“What am I gonna do? Have them fire me? As much as I hate this job it’s the only thing that pays for my coffee in the morning,” he was silent as you stood up, stretching your arms behind your bag before tucking everything back in your bag. 

“Did you want to be a photographer?” he questioned, only to be met with a forlorn smile.

“Maybe at one point.” the two of you lapsed into silence before you sighed.

“Well, I’ve gotta submit these to Mizuki, and I’m sure you need-” Hawks caught your wrist, spinning you back around.

In the glow of the sunset, you looked almost ethereal. Your eyes gleamed, and cheeks warmed in the orange flare. Sunflowers framed your form, and the words caught in his throat, nearly stopping him from saying anything at all.

“Come work for me.” he blurted. You snorted.

“No.” all he could do was smile as you hopped back over the fence, not waiting up for him.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Trust - Part 1

Shoto Todoroki x Reader 

+ Minors DNI

| part | next

“You know, if you just stopped getting kicked in the head, I wouldn’t need to fix your gear all the time.” I said, my hands running over the smooth metal of Hitoshi’s voice modulator. Different from the first one I had made him 2 years ago; small changes being made to help your best friend become the best hero he could be.

“Maybe I miss hanging out with you. You are worth a swift kick to the head.” He said from behind me, walking around the room as he spoke. Looking at the various machines, weapons, and other projects I was working on in the workshop. I laughed at his response, shaking my head as I screwed the missing panel back into place.

“You flatter me.”

Hitoshi Shinso had been your best friend since before both of you were even born. Your dad and his parents, living next to each other since their early 20’s, experiencing drunken nights, sad days and the trials of parent hood together. So in turn you and Toshi had done everything together. First steps, first words and first days of school.

“I saw you and Mr Aizawa on TV.” I said beaming, the thought of him realising his dreams and making them a reality enough to make my heart soar.

“Oh yeah, it was pretty weird. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. Neither will Mr Aizawa.”

“Lucky you guys are so chatty.”

It was him who laughed this time, coming up next to me and hugging me into his side. I did miss him, his hero work and my support work taking up much of whatever spare time we had. Especially being 3rd years, our futures looming over us even more, having to make final decisions about our future. Gone were the days of dressing up as our favourite heroes and running around our homes catching our parents who pretended to be villains. Now all I seemed to think about where internship offers and upcoming exams, mathematic equations often overtaking my thoughts even in my dreams.

The gear didn’t need much fixing just a loose panel and a few scratches, something easy that I could fix in a matter of minutes.

“Good as new!” I said, holding up the voice modulator and admiring my handy work, then passing it back to Hitoshi.

“You’re the best Y/N, ramen is on me next time.” Hitoshi said, winking and taking the equipment from me. Placing it over his face and making the necessary adjustments.

The workshop was surprisingly quiet, usually filled with the noise of machines and steel clanging together. The music usually turned up to max volume as the other support course students worked on support gear for other heroes. Hatsume clearly wasn’t here because it had been a whole 3 hours with no explosions nearby.

“So how is Kaibara?” Toshi asked, quirking his purple eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes at his question, stepping around him and back over to my tool bench.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?”

“Well I only ask because you seem to know him a lot better than I do. Intimately I would say.”

“Ew, don’t say intimately. Are you 95 years old?” I said, faking chills and a look of disgust on my face.

Sen and I weren’t dating, I didn’t want to date him but the time we did spend together proved effective in helping relieve the everyday stress of living at UA and being a Hero Support student. The sex was good, and he was handsome, always considerate of me and never did anything I was uncomfortable with. The more I thought about it, the more perfect he seemed. He very well might be, but just not for me. There was never any substance behind my feelings for him beyond the attraction to sleep with him. If we did interact outside of the bedroom it was purely platonic, just friends and nothing more. As bad as it sounded, I was using him for personal benefit and nothing more.

"He talks about you a lot.”

I looked into his eyes and flipped my hair, a cocky grin overtaking my features.

“Well… what can I say?”

“Not like that you weirdo, he asks a lot of questions. He wants to know more about you.” Hitoshi laughed, slapping my arm, scratching the back of his neck.

“Do you guys not talk?”

“Why would we need to?” I asked, not quite understanding the question. My back to Hitoshi now, tidying my workstation as I waited for his answer. We knew what we needed to know about one another, our names, birthdays, and a few general things but beyond that it seemed irrelevant.

“I think he likes you.”

“Well I hope he does he puts his penis inside me Hitoshi.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant. He like likes you.”

I stilled; my back still turned towards my friend. My view of relationships was always clouded by indifference. I could blame it on the fact that my parents didn’t work out or I could blame it on my preferences, hell I could even blame it on my star sign. Whichever excuse I chose I always knew that deep down I knew that relationships would never work, and people were better off alone, if I didn’t fully give someone my heart there is no way that they could rip it out of my chest and step on it. I would never put myself in that situation.  

“That sounds like his problem, not mine.” I said coldly, picking up my bag and heading to the door, hopefully hearing the end of this conversation.

“Ramen is on you remember. I’m hungry.”

Without another word I flicked off the light by the door and headed out of the workshop, Hitoshi picking up speed to walk beside me, not saying another word.

                                                                *

The walk back to UA was always killer, that dam hill being the bane of my existence for the last 3 years. The silence was almost deafening, I could feel Hitoshi holding something back. Wanting to say something, something about the conversation earlier no doubt.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can feel you being gloomy, more so than usual. It’s irritating.”

Hitoshi sighed, rubbing his eyes with one of his hands. Shaking his head as he stopped.

“I want you to be happy! Is that so wrong? What’s wrong with Kaibara?”

“If you like him so much why don’t you date him.”

“I don’t want to make jokes!” He said, stepping past me, and continuing up the hill.

“Why is this so important to you? You’ve never really cared before.” I asked, jogging to catch up to him. He didn’t answer, he just linked our arms and continued up the hill. Pushing whatever he was feeling down and sealing it away.

“Denki is having a party in the 3A dorm this weekend. Wanna come?” Hitoshi asked changing the subject and tightening his arm around mine.

“Mr Aizawa is allowing that?”

“Yeah, apparently it will be good for us to blow off some steam before the school year really kicks off. His words not mine.”

He sensed my hesitation.

“Hatsume is going to be there, she even convinced IIda to go.” He said raising his eyebrows.

“Wow, that is impressive.” I said matter of factly, nodding my head. The class rep of the 3A was known for being a real stickler for the rules. Keeping everyone in order and always being the epitome of a model student. Bless his soul, but he wasn’t really the party type. The picture of him in that environment was enough to convince me to go.

“Please, who is going to help me stop Denki from being an idiot?”

“Literally any of his other friends?”

“Yeah but you are so pretty, and he is a simp.” Toshi said matter-of-factly.

“Fine, but if I don’t see Tenya do his little arm thing at least once then I’m gonna be so mad at you.” I said giggling and tightening his arms once more.

“I can guarantee it, it will be Denki and a party. It’s like you don’t even know him.”

                                                               *

Me and the rest of class 3H had been instructed to be at Ground Gamma for a joint training session between 3A and 3B, the hero support students were to observe and help with gear whenever needed. Taking notes on current gear and seeing where adjustments were needed. As the future heroes got better at handling their quirks and being in tense situations some fights ended with a lot of damage. Whether it be to the heroes themselves or their gear, that’s where we came in.

I always seemed to forget just how big the facilities at UA really were, most of the grounds built to look like entire blocks of actual cities. Ground Gamma was made up of various exposed pipes and machinery, the combination giving a labyrinth affect perfect for heroes to improve theirs fighting skills in tight spaces.

Watching them was impressive, just how far they had come in a few short years was a credit to just how hard they trained every day. I felt safe and content knowing that these people were going to be patrolling the city one day and keeping people safe.

“Hey stranger!” a voice yelled in the distance, Sero’s tall body coming into view as he walked closer to me. Denki and Toshi following closely behind.

“Afternoon.” I said, saluting the boys as they got closer, standing on either side of me examining the work bench and tools that we had set up before anyone else arrived.

“How is my favourite little nerd?” Denki asked, nudging my arm with his and hugging me.

“I’m good, excited to see you guys train today.”

“Aw babe, prepare to be amazed!” Denki said, winking at me, his arm still slung around my side.

“Y/N could watch me burp the alphabet and be more impressed.” Hitoshi said sarcastically.

“You guys are so harsh.” He replied, clutching his hand to his chest and feigning sadness.

The group laughed as I turned around and prepared for this afternoon’s events. Ready to take notes and sketch new designs. The students had started filling up the platform, sitting in the groups they had been assigned, discussing the best plans of attack depending on their quirks.

“Everyone gather around!”

“Today will be a bit different, after today’s exercise we will be assigning you with new support students based on where we think the heroes need improvement and previous projects from the support course students. We will also be looking at your scheduled internships and work studies and matching you based on that so we can get all heroes and their gear to the best they can be before graduation.” Mr Aizawa said, commanding the attention of everyone on the platform. He wore his usual nonchalant expression, hair down and hands in his pockets.

Everyone talked amongst themselves about the recently learned information. As of right now I worked on Bakugo, Uraraka and Hitoshi’s costumes and support gear. The first two hero costumes were my entrance exam task, getting a rough design, a file on both students and their quirks and having to design according to that. Now making adjusts when needed or wanted. The most recent addition was two earpieces for Bakugo to reduce the noise of his explosions but still allowing him to hear regular noise, so he didn’t lose any sense while fighting. In hopes that his explosions wouldn’t damage his hearing anymore than it already had.

New projects were always welcome, in hopes of keeping my grades high before graduation. Hero Agencies always quick to offer students internships based on good grades and successful support gear.

“So to get this started, give it your best and good luck!” Allmight finished, the first two groups of students heading to their assigned bases to start training.

                                                             *

The training finished, class A’s teams winning the most training battles and celebrating accordingly. Cheering and hugging each other. My notebook already full of notes and sketches for potential changes and brand-new designs.

“Everyone please look up at the screen and look at who you have been given as your support students. There will be no changing so no complaining.” Aizawa said, already walking off the platform. Probably to wrap himself up in his sleeping bag.

There in large blue writing was my name.

Y/N Nanase – Hitoshi Shinso, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki

I looked over at the student who was newly assigned to me, there Shoto Todoroki was in all his half and half glory. One blue eye and one dark grey already staring back at me.

If you're still taking requests, can I request either Echo or Tech with hurtReader + fluff? 👀

(your writing is amazing and it melts my heart sndnfjdjdb)

Hi, friend! Thank you for the compliment - you're so sweet! I went a little lighter on the fluff than I meant to, but this is what I ended up with. Thanks for the request! Enjoy!

Tech + Injured Reader + (Minor) Fluff

*WARNING: Slight mention of gore. Nothing graphic, but a head's up.*

Watching the Havoc Marauder touch down was a ritual you followed every time the Bad Batch went anywhere without you on board. Tech liked to believe he was an excellent pilot, but you were of the opinion that flying took more than encyclopedic knowledge of a ship’s internal systems. It took instinct, a feel for the ship’s personality, and a good bit of luck to fly in a war zone.

Tech disagreed vehemently, but you had been assigned to them for a reason. Even if he had found your belief in luck - okay, slight obsession with luck - to be ridiculous, Tech admitted that you were an excellent pilot. It hadn’t been enough for you to accompany them on their mission, but it was something.

The real problem was that the members of the Bad Batch were insanely protective of anything or anyone they saw as ‘theirs’. Privately, you thought it was because they hadn’t had any personal belongings on Kamino. And they definitely hadn't had friends outside of their group. Unfortunately for you, you were also considered ‘theirs’ now and the Batch could be… restrictive when they felt you could be in danger. And since you were assigned to help them fight a literal war, you were always in danger and they were always protective. Especially Tech. You had been dating in secret for a few weeks now - too short a time for anything serious, but Tech let you take absolutely zero chances.

“Sir, we need to get you inside,” one of the troopers on deck told you, his light touch to your arm pulling your attention away from scanning the star-littered space above the hangar bay. The trooper's regulation armor looked oddly plain to you, even with the medic's symbol and the touches of gray that told you he was a member of the Wolfpack.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, partially to stall and partially because your luck senses were tingling.

“That isn’t important right-”

“Please?” you asked again. It was another quirk of luck. If a trooper touched you, you needed to know their name or they ended up dying. Statistically, you knew that probably wasn’t true, but who really wanted to mess around with fate if they didn’t have to?

The trooper blew out a sigh that crackled his annoyance through the speakers of his helmet. “Curl, sir. We really should be-”

“I’m sorry, Curl,” you apologized, interrupting the poor medic again. “I got separated from my team and I need to see that they’re back okay before I can leave. Does that make sense?”

“What team isn’t back yet?” Curl asked, seeming concerned. “I thought Commander Wolffe said that everyone had checked back in?”

“I’m with the Ba- with Clone Force 99,” you told him, changing your explanation to use the group’s official name at the last minute. Professionalism never hurt anyone.

“You’re with the Bad Batch?” Curl asked, sounding impressed despite himself. Without waiting for an answer, he gave a curt nod and lifted his wrist toward the speakers of his helmet. “Sergeant Sinker, Medic Curl.”

“Sinker here,” a voice answered immediately.

“Do we have an ETA on Clone Force Nine-Nine?”

“Hold.”

“Copy.” Curl glanced at you and you nodded to show that you were following the conversation.

“Curl, bridge says they’re inbound, expected to hit the hangar in about a minute.”

“Copy,” Curl said again. “Thanks, Sarge.”

“I’d stand clear,” Sergeant Sinker warned. “The good pilot isn’t on.”

“Are you the good pilot?” Curl asked you. You swore you could hear a smile in his voice.

You smiled back and nodded. “That would be me.”

“Understood, I’ve got the good pilot with me,” Curl replied over his comlink. “We’re gonna spectate, make sure they don’t scratch the paint job.”

“There’s no reason to worry,” Sinker said consolingly. “The GAR stopped springing for paint two months ago. There’ll be none left on that ship.”

Curl laughed aloud at that, shaking his head.

“Cut the chatter,” a harsh voice reprimanded. “This is an official channel. Save your jokes for the clubs on the Triple Zero, Sergeant.”

“Yes sir, Commander,” Sinker agreed chipperly.

The Solidarity’s deck shuddered as the hyperdrive activated, ready to take off as soon as the Havoc Marauder landed, and you stumbled with the movement. Curl caught you - his grip uncomfortable given the harsh plastoid planes of his armor - and shook his head.

“We really need to get you inside, sir,” Curl said again, sounding reluctant but concerned. “You have an appointment in the medbay with me, and I’ll be very offended if you’re late.”

You were about to point out that he would be late, too, when the Marauder zoomed up and around the Solidarity, clearly following a path to land.

“Wait, they’re right there,” you protested. “Give ‘em ten seconds to land and a bit longer for me to gloat, then I’ll gladly go to the medbay.” Curl hesitated and you pressed your advantage. “I’ll be a model patient, Curl. No arguments, no debates, no complaining.”

“I never believe anyone when they say that,” Curl said dryly, “but I guess you’ll survive without treatment for a little while longer.”

“Thanks, Curl!” your enthusiasm was a little… off… but you blamed it on the pain you were finally beginning to feel.

Tech was flying, you knew that beyond a doubt. Not only was he the only person allowed to fly, but the landing performed by the small cruiser was proof that the wickedly intelligent trooper was behind the controls.

As soon as they had landed, Wrecker burst out of the side door. “Ha! Told ya we would make it back in one piece.”

“More luck than skill, that,” Crosshair countered sourly, slouching from the door as well with Hunter behind him.

“As I said multiple times, everything was under control,” Tech disagreed. He caught sight of you and started in your direction, eyes taking in the way Curl’s gloved hand was still gripping your bicep.

“There, you saw ‘em,” Curl muttered to you. “We really need to go now.”

“I beg your pardon, but where exactly are you trying to go?” Tech asked sharply, glancing between the two of you.

“Medbay,” Curl replied, slipping into the vocal brevity of a career soldier. “Your pilot was injured, but wouldn’t accept treatment until you had touched down.”

“Luck, you know,” you told Tech, who was already scanning your form with his goggled gaze. You smirked at him and shrugged off Curl, who seemed ready to tow you to the medbay himself. “Also, statistical likelihood be karked! I stayed in the ‘safest possible place’ like you told me and I’m the only one who ended up injured! You should listen to me from now on.”

“What?!”

“Injured?”

"How? Where?"

The rest of the Bad Batch had surrounded you and Curl in a moment, all asking different variations of the same question. Hunter’s voice cut through them all. “Trooper, why is she not in the medbay?”

Curl held up his hands as if despairing of the entire situation. “Sorry, Sergeant. Your pilot refused to leave until we saw your ship land. It would be a big help to me if you would just issue an order to report to the medbay so I can start treating the injuries.”

For all that he liked to take a laid-back approach to non-combat leadership, Hunter took the safety of his team seriously and you knew he was about to do as Curl had suggested.

“It’s not even that bad an injury,” you argued before Hunter could speak. “I just got hit with some debris."

You tugged up the rough, canvas-like material of the uniform pants you wore while you weren’t actively flying and showed them your lower leg. You were busy looking at the faces of the Batch rather than the injury, but you knew something was wrong when Tech swore. Tech never swore.

With a frown, you glanced down at your leg. Your mind refused to make too much sense of things, but you saw smears of crimson and a pale flash of something before the dizziness returned worse than ever.

Fortunately, Curl caught you before you could actually fall and Wrecker scooped you up a moment later. He was already muttering soothing nonsense as he lifted you, and it was almost enough to keep you from noticing the pain. “All right, here we are. Everything is fine. Just don’t puke on me.”

“Medbay,” Hunter ordered severely. “Now .”

“Yes, sir,” you agreed, your voice more weak than you liked.

“Finally,” Curl muttered.

“Tech, go with them,” you heard Hunter say from a rapidly growing distance.

There was a sound of jogging steps, but when you tried to look for Tech’s familiar face, the Solidarity leapt into hyperspace and you felt like you might actually pass out.

“What will treatment consist of?” Tech asked. He was trying to mask his worry by being professional, but you could hear a hint of it in his voice.

“Some stitches, probably an antibiotic shot since the debris was metallic, and a check of the nerves in the area of injury,” Curl answered easily. The lack of concern from the medic was comforting in a strange sort of way.

The silence hung for a few moments, interrupted only by the sound of everyone’s footsteps. Eventually, Tech admitted, “I should have been able to calculate the risks more closely. This never should have happened.”

“Aw, how were you supposed to know?” Wrecker asked loudly.

“That’s right,” Curl agreed. “This is war. Unexpected variables are the norm and there are no safe spots. My only advice is to take all of your people with you. After all, your pilot accepted the assignment to be part of your team. Trying to keep people out of the action never works. Take the lesson, learn from it, and make adjustments in the future. You don’t need to do anything more than that.”

“He’s right,” you agreed, the sentiment muffled against Wrecker’s broad chestplate. “Let me do my job and trust that I’ll do everything I can to keep us all out of danger.”

You blindly stuck your hand out behind Wrecker’s back, searching until you connected with Tech’s familiar fingers. His grip was hesitant but steady, and you gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance.

“It’s probably true,” Curl said, apparently backing you up. “Pain is like a truth serum. And with that gash… it’s probably the truth. Even if you did lie about being a perfect patient.”

You chuckled at that, despite the discomfort from your injury, and relaxed a bit as you felt Tech press a kiss to the back of your hand.

---

A/N - This chapter could realistically be called 'Ink will do anything to avoid using the y/n designation'. For those who are unfamiliar, Curl is my OC medic for the Wolfpack and you can read more featuring him in Just for Kix on my masterlist. As always, I'm still taking requests! Thanks again, Anon, for this idea and I'm sorry again about skimping on the fluff! If you want me to rewrite or expand on it, please feel free to let me know.

The Hidden Hero | Peter Parker Series

Summary: In an alternative universe, Peter Parker has the biggest crush on the reader. Even though the reader doesn’t know his secret, the reader is obsessed with the webslinger. So Spiderman decides to show up at Liz’s Party to impress everyone, specifically the reader.

Warning: some spoilers

Pairing: Peter Parker (Spiderman) x reader

Type: The Hidden Hero Series

MASTERLIST

A/N: THIS IS A HEAVILY EDITED VERSION OF MY VERY FIRST FANFICTION. IT PROBABLY REALLY SUCKS SO I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THAT. BUT IT WAS MY FIRST ONE SO I WANTED TO POST IT.

The bright yellow buses were pulling up to the curb of the school grounds. The large crowd of high school students hustling and bustling down the corridors. The monotone buzz of several-hundred voices hummed like an orchestra throughout the hallways. 

The small group of gossiping girls were hanging around the lockers. They giggled amongst themselves. They always wore those mini skirts and tight shirts. The cliquey jocks were currently talking about the football game last night. They were wearing the exact same athletic jacket that they wore every single day. The parade of band geeks had just walked past them with their huge instrument cases. There were the aerospace tech kids who never did anything but make different robot models to battle between periods. 

The familiar squeaking sound of sneakers were catching against the newly waxed floors. The metal locker doors were slammed shut once the students had gathered their textbooks for that period. The bell was ringing loudly on the sidelines, signaling the start of classes for the day.

At the given moment, Peter Parker was maneuvering his way through the crowd of students with his best friend Ned Leeds. He was currently carrying his textbooks because he had lost his backpack yesterday. The two of them were making their way to their first class of the day.

Last night, Ned had caught Peter sneaking into his bedroom dressed as the Spiderman. He had seen him crawling on the ceiling! It was quite a shock to find out that his best friend was the webslinger that he had saw on youtube. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his secret. And he had a million questions for him.

Throughout the whole day, Ned was asking questions about Peter’s alter-ego. He was able to come up with a handful of different questions in each class. Those questions mostly consisted of the range of the webslinger’s abilities, such as whether or not he could summon an army of spiders or how far he could shoot his webs. He was always given short or curt answers.

Near the end of the day, Peter and Ned were forced to go to gym class. They watched a short video that had Captain America talking about the fitness challenge. As if on cue, Ned asked his friend if he knew the infamous avenger. He said that he did and that he stole his shield.

Now the students were told to get into pairs of two. They would be doing sit-ups. They would alternate every few minutes between partners. At the moment, Ned was holding down Peter’s feet so he crank out those sit-ups. He actually found that they weren’t so hard to do anymore, now that he had this weird radioactive spider venom in his blood. 

“Can I be your guy in the chair?” Ned wondered spontaneously. 

“What?” Peter whispered. He had spoken in this low tone of voice so that nobody would be able to hear them. He didn’t quite understand his question.

“You know there is a guy with a headset telling the other guy where to go. Like if you were stuck in a burning building, I could tell you where to go because there would be screens around me. You know? I could swivel around them. And I could be your guy in the chair,” Ned explained.

“I don’t need a guy in the chair,” Peter insisted. He shook his head at the idea. He heard the gym teacher praising him on the sidelines, causing him to pause momentarily. He was quick to resume his sit-ups. 

In the background, Y/N had forced herself to walk into the gymnasium. She had immediately hurried towards the gym teacher to explain why she was late to class. She had been tutoring another student during the hour. She quickly handed him a slip of paper. He took one glance at him, nodding his head in confirmation. He told her that she could just sit on the bleachers for the rest of the class because it was almost over anyways.

Out of instinct, Peter had shifted into a sitting position and stopped doing his sit-ups. He could feel the little hairs on his arm raise. His spider senses were telling him that someone had just walked into the gym, but it wasn’t just anyone. It was his crush.

“She’s here, isn’t she?” Peter said. He didn’t seem to take his eyes away from his best friend in front of him. He waited for a response. His friend turned his head to look across the small stretch of the room, settling his gaze on the familiar looking student. He nodded his head.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” Ned questioned. He had furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He was slightly taken back by his comment.

“Spider senses,” Peter waved off. He had just briefly turned his head to look at her through the corner of his eye. He could barely see her talking with the gym teacher. He was quick to start doing his sit-ups again. “Can she see me? Do you know if she’s looking at me?” Peter whispered in question.

“Oh yeah,” Ned said with a firm nod of the head. He could see her heading towards the bleachers right behind them. He caught her turn her head slightly towards them. “She saw you,” Ned confirmed.

On the bleachers, Y/N had found herself settling down beside her small group of friends. They were currently playing the game called ‘fuck, marry, kill.’ They would list off three random names of celebrities or artists. Then they would have to decide who they would fuck, marry, and kill. They listed three of the avengers.

“You see for me it would be…fuck Thor...marry Iron Man...and kill Hulk,” Betty Brant concluded. Some of her friends had totally agreed with her lineup, but there were a few friends who would have made a completely different choice.

“What about the Spiderman?” Y/N wondered. She had lowered herself down onto the bleachers, looking at each of her friends with curious eyes. She could see her friend Liz Allen shrug her shoulders at the thought.

“It’s just Spiderman,” Liz claimed. She made a face of disgust. She must not have thought that he was that impressive or attractive.

“Did you guys see that big security cam on youtube? He fought off four guys!�� Y/N exclaimed. She was now leaning forward in her place. She was quite eager to defend her opinion. She was practically praising him.

In the background, Peter and Ned had turned their heads to look towards the small group sitting on the bleachers. Neither one of them could believe the words they were hearing coming out of her mouth. They looked at each other in slight shock.

“Oh my gosh. She’s crushing on Spiderman,” Betty joked. Her face had twisted into this playful smirk. She leaned over to nudge her friend in the side.

“No way!” Liz laughed.

“Kinda,” Y/N shrugged. She had dropped her gaze to stare down at her hands in her lap. She tried to hide the bright blush creeping up onto her face. She smiled to herself.

“Ugh. Gross,” Betty scoffed. “He’s probably like thirty,” Betty claimed.

“You don’t even know what he looks like. What if he is like seriously burned?” Liz suggested. She had waved her hands in a dramatic manner. She was just trying to make a point.

“I wouldn’t care. I would still love him for the person he is on the inside,” Y/N said with a small smile on her face. “He’s a good man! And its obvious he really cares about this city. That is something I really admire about him,” Y/N confessed.

“Peter knows Spiderman!” Ned blurted out. He didn’t really know what came over him, but he couldn’t stop those words from coming out of his mouth. He could see that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing upon hearing his comment.

In response, Peter’s mouth dropped open in absolute shock. He turned his head to look at his best friend with wide eyes. He was quick to scramble to his feet, shaking his head in denial.

“Uh, no. I don’t,” Peter said. He had taken a few steps forward in his place, standing in front of the small group of friends on the bleachers. He was trying to find the right words to explain himself. “No. I-I mean,” Peter stuttered. 

“They’re friends,” Ned added with a smile on his face. 

“Yeah. Like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends,” Flash teased. He had stopped climbing the rope in the background, landing on the floor with a thump. He started to walk towards his rival because he was very interested in this conversation.

“I-I’ve met him a couple times but its uh…through the Stark internship,” Peter clarified. He stumbled over his choice of words. He had lifted his hand to scratch the back of his head in a nervous manner. He nodded his head in confirmation. “Mhmm. Yeah. But I am not really suppose to talk about it,” Peter claimed.

“Well, that’s awesome,” Flash replied. His voice was laced with sarcasm. He had stopped in his place. He had turned his body towards the small group of friends sitting on the bleachers, gesturing to them with the small wave of the hand. “Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party,” Flash said.

“Yeah, I am having people over tonight. You are more than welcome to come,” Liz said. She could feel the strong sense of embarrassment creeping through her body because she hadn't invited them to the party beforehand. She just felt like they were kinda losers so she didn’t want to invite them. But at least she was kind enough to invite them now.

“You’re having a party?” Ned wondered. He knew that this was the first time that he was hearing about this party. He could only wonder why he hadn’t already been invited to the party.

“W-Will you be there, Y/N?” Peter stuttered. She had lifted her head to look directly into his soft brown eyes. She had smiled shyly at him. She nodded her head in confirmation. He could feel his heart fluttering in the confines of his chest.

“Yeah! It’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spiderman,” Flash said in a persistent tone of voice. He stood directly in front of his rival, staring him down. He was puffing out his chest to be more intimidating (and maybe a little taller than him).

“Flash,” Y/N warned. “Leave him alone.”

“Ah come on. He’ll be there,” Flash promised. He turned his head to look at her with this playful expression on his face. He winked at her. He smirked to himself in triumph. But he didn’t seem to catch the moment where she rolled her eyes at him.

The whole conversation would come to an abrupt end when the bell rang to dismiss the last class of the day. The students were quick to stand to their feet and make their way towards the door. Meanwhile, Peter had watched his crush stand to her feet. The two of them briefly met each other’s gaze for a split second. She sent him a small smile. She didn’t even know that his eyes were following her figure out of the gym.

“What are you doing?!?” Peter turned his attention back towards his best friend standing behind him. He had thrown his hands up in exaggeration. He just couldn't believe that his friend would do that to him.

“Helping you out. Did you not hear her? She has a crush on you!” Ned exclaimed. He could feel the smile growing at the corners of his lips. He watched his best friend open his mouth to say something against him, but nothing could come out. “You are an avenger! If any one of us has a chance with her, it’s you.” Ned confessed.

Previously, Peter had actually known her since grade school. The two of them had become pretty close friends. He had developed his first crush on her, but he was never able to gather enough courage to tell her. Now here she was, years later with a crush on his alter ego. It almost didn’t feel real to him.

That night, Aunt May had driven Peter and Ned to the house for the party. She parked the car in front of the house. For a brief second, Peter had said that this would be a mistake and that he wanted to just go home. His aunt said that she totally understood how he was feeling. She was eventually able to convince him to go to the party after all. 

The two teenage boys turned to look at the grand house in front of them. They had started walking up the sidewalk, heading towards the house. The two of them had passed by plenty of other students that went to their same high school. And they could hear the music blasting from inside the house.

“You have the suit, right?” Ned questioned. Very discreetly, Peter lifted up his flannel sleeve to show him the web shooters and red costume underneath his clothing. “This is going to change our lives!” Ned exclaimed.

The music was so loud that it would be hard to hear the person talking right beside them. The bass thumped in time with the boys’ heart beat as though they were one with the song. Over the roar of music, a distant hazy chatter could be heard throughout the entire house. The high school students could be found holding red solo cups with harmless non-alcoholic drinks.

Of course, Flash would be in charge of the music for the night. He had a pair of heavy headphones around his neck. He rubbed his hands against the two records at the station to create that iconic record scratch sound. He was just trying to look cool. 

“Okay. We are gonna have Spiderman swing in, say you guys are tight. And then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro hugs,” Ned said in a low tone of voice. He really had this whole thing planned out.

A familiar figure had found herself walking around the corner of the hallway. She had turned her head to look at the two teenage boys standing in the short distance. She was quick to make her way towards them, feeling a smile stretching across her face.

“Oh! Hey guys,” Y/N said. She waved at them. She had walked towards them until she was standing right in front of them. She quickly looked between the two of them with the softest and kindest look on her face.

“Hey Y/N,” Ned said with a silly grin on his face. He had forced himself to straighten his back in posture, standing at attention. He turned his head to look at his best friend through the corner of his eye. He nudged him in the side. 

“Hey Y/N,” Peter’s voice squeaked.

“I’m glad you guys came,” Y/N confessed. She was holding onto her own red solo cup in her hands. She lifted her other hand to gesture to the table behind her. “There is pizza and drinks so feel free to help yourself,” Y/N claimed.

“Wow! What a great party,” Peter had choked on his own words. He had turned his head to look at her with this sweet boyish grin on his face. He could feel his heart hammering on the inside of his chest. 

“Thanks. I barely did anything. It was all Liz,” Y/N insisted with the wave of the hand. She could hear someone calling her name in the background. She turned her head towards the sound of the voice, spotting one of her friends in the crowd. “Oh! I should go,” Y/N said. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded his head. She found herself hurrying towards her small group of friends in the short distance. She had looked over the small stretch of her shoulder, waving goodbye to them. 

“Dude! What are you doing?” Ned wondered. “She’s here, spider it up!”

“No. No. No. I can’t. I cannot do this. Spiderman is not a party trick,” Peter said. He shook his head in denial. He quickly straightened his back in posture. He ran his hands over the invisible wrinkles in his shirt. He shrugged his shoulders to himself. “Look, I am just gonna…be myself,” Peter whispered.

“Peter,” Ned groaned. He had closed his eyes for a brief second. He shook his head at his friend’s comment. “No one wants that,” Ned said harshly.

“Dude,” Peter said hurtfully. He was quick to turn his body to walk away from his friend. He heard his name being called over the speakers in the room. He turned his head to look across the small stretch of the room, looking directly at his rival holding the microphone. 

“Penis Parker! What’s up? Where is your pal, Spiderman? Let me guess, in Canada with your imaginary girlfriend?” Flash teased him. He was only encouraged by the sound of laughter coming from the high school students in the room. “That’s not Spiderman. That’s just Ned in a red shirt,” Flash joked.

Somehow, through peer pressure, Peter found himself standing on the roof of the house. He had disregarded his regular clothing onto the top of the roof. He was now wearing his red and blue suit of his alter-ego. He knelt down on the rooftop and gazed down at the small house.

“Hey! What’s up? I am Spiderman,” Peter whispered to himself. He lifted his hands to the neckline of his white shirt. He pulled the shirt over his head. “Just thought I would swing by...say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh hey! What’s up, Ned? Where is Peter anyways?” Peter said to himself.

Now Peter could see his best friend standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He felt bad that he had left him alone for a few minutes. However, there was still this part of Peter that did not want to make his presence known at the party. He just didn’t think that it was right. 

“I can’t do this.” Peter whispered. He shook his head at the crazy idea. He could see his crush walk across the small stretch of the room, stopping to stand beside his best friend. She had asked him a question, only receiving a small shrug of the shoulders in response. She sighed to herself in defeat. 

In that moment, Ned had yanked out his phone to dial his best friend’s number. He had turned his body so that his backside was facing the large crowd of students in the room. His best friend had answered his phone without hesitation.

“Peter! Where are you? She is asking for you,” Ned said desperately. He turned his head to look over the small stretch of his shoulder, spotting her familiar figure in the distance. He waited for some kind of response.

“I will be there in a second,” Peter concluded. He had this fluttery feeling in the confines of his chest, thumping against his chest in a violent manner. He didn’t know if he was nervous or excited. 

With great hesitation, Peter had pulled his mask over his head. He stood to his feet. He had jumped down to the ground, landing on his feet with a small thump. He had started walking towards the house, making his way through the heavy crowd of people. 

“Oh sorry,” Spiderman apologized. Every single person had turned their heads to look at the infamous superhero standing amongst them. The high schoolers’ mouths had dropped open in absolute disbelief. The webslinger was currently maneuvering his way through the crowd of students until he was finally inside the house. “Sorry, I just gotta…find my friend Peter,” Spiderman claimed.

“Spiderman?” He forced himself to turn around upon hearing the sound of that sweet voice. His robotic eyes had dilated subconsciously. His head moved up and down her body. His actions did not go unnoticed by her. “W-What are you doing here?” Y/N wondered. 

“Oh, you know. Peter called me and asked if I could show,” Spiderman claimed. He had lifted his hand to wave in dismissal (like it wasn’t a big deal).  

“No way,” Flash said. His voice was laced in the tone of disbelief. He pushed his way past the crowd. He had shifted to stand in the middle of the room, stopping in his place. He soon came face to face with the webslinger himself. “You’re really him? Are you really friends with Peter Parker?” 

In response, Spiderman had turned his head to look over his rival’s shoulder. His large robotic eyes had settled on that familiar figure standing behind his face. He found himself pushing right past him to approach her. He stood directly in front of her. “Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi,” she smiled at him.

“What’s your name? Wait. No. Let me guess,” Spiderman teased. He had lifted his gloved hand towards the front of his face, tapping his chin in thought. He pointed his finger at her. He was able to ‘guess’ her name pretty easily.

“Y-Yeah!” Y/N exclaimed. She was more than surprised to hear that the webslinger actually knew her name. She could only feel her smile growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. “How did you know?” Y/N wondered.

“Peter talks a lot about you,” Spiderman explained. He was hoping that his other persona could score some points with her. He could only wonder if she would give his other self a chance.

“H-He does?” She gasped.

“Spiderman!” Ned shouted. He had found himself taking a few steps forward in his place, shifting through the heavy crowd of students. He just knew that every single person was looking at him. He smiled at his best friend. “Hi! It’s Ned. Remember me?” Ned said with a bright smile on his face.

“Yeah! I do. How are you doing?” Spiderman said enthusiastically. He did give him the fist bump that he so desperately asked for. Of course, Ned was trying to play it cool. But he could hardly contain himself knowing that he would be popular for the rest of his life.

"I am doing fine,” Ned said cooly. He had this smug look on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was hoping to maintain that cool looking stance. “But I’ll let you get back to Y/N. She’s a big fan of you,” Ned observed.

“Really?” Spiderman teased her. He had turned his head to look back towards the smaller figure standing behind him. His robotic eyes had made it look like he was quirking an eyebrow at her in amusement. He could easily spot the bright blush flooding her cheeks. 

“Well, kinda,” she replied shyly. She didn’t mean to fiddle with her fingers nervously. She had dropped her gaze to stare down at the ground, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. She shuffled on the heels of her feet in her stance. 

“Well, I should get going.” Spiderman didn’t want to prolong his stay at the party for his own sake. He placed his hands on his hips. He held that heroic stance for dramatic effect. “New York isn’t going to save itself,” Spiderman came up with a lame excuse. 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. She couldn’t help but dreamily admire him. She could only imagine that he was this incredibly handsome looking young man underneath the mask. She smiled at him.

“It was nice to finally meet you. Could you also tell Peter that Mr Stark needs him at the internship at four thirty tomorrow?” Spiderman had tried to make another excuse for her to talk to his other self tomorrow. “Can you do that for me?” Spiderman wondered.

She had nodded her head in confirmation. He did not hesitate to wink at her with those big robotic eyes, which only caused her heart to flutter in her chest. He used his web shooters to swing away from the party. He made his way back up to the rooftop to change back into his regular clothes. 

“I can’t believe he actually showed,” Flash said to her. He had turned his head to look in the general direction they had last seen the famous webslinger swing off to. He crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head and scoffed to himself. 

“What’s the matter, Flash? Jealous of Peter or Spiderman?”

Cybernetics- Cyberpunk!Sonic AU- Chapter 4

Amy Rose has been working tirelessly at her broken down booth for as long as she can imagine. Ever since Tails left their work to join forces with the revered hero of Mobius, ‘The Blue Blur’, she’s grown lonely and desperate to make her life exciting. A strange customer comes in one day asking her to fix his cyborg arm, what she didn’t know was that he would be the catalyst for a brand new life.

AO3 Tags:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Amy Rose/Shadow the Hedgehog, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Amy Rose (Sonic the Hedgehog), Shadow the Hedgehog, Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles “Tails” Prower, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik, Rouge the Bat, Whisper the Wolf, Cream the Rabbit, Knuckles the Echidna, Badnik (Sonic the Hedgehog), E-123 Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Slow Burn, Partners in Crime

AO3 Link

Previous/Next

He had walked Amy back to her booth that night, thanking her for her service on his arm, and claiming that he’d come back if he ever needed anything else. She’d offered for him to come by any time to say hello and thanked him for the dinner, but with his personality she quite frankly doubted she’d ever see him again. She’d turned to walk into her booth, and by the time she’d looked over her shoulder to see which direction he’d already disappeared without a sound. She wondered how he did it.

Anyways, she was feeling quite refreshed this morning. Smiling at every potential customer that passed, fixing minor defects on ProjScreens for free, finally talking to someone outside of work had done a world of good for her. Amy could tell it had cleansed her mind and relaxed her a bit, and she felt a bit more like she had when Tails had co-owned the booth with her. She didn’t know how long this feeling of security and peacefulness would last, but she intended to take advantage of it for as long as she could. So, she put up her ‘be back soon’ sign and stepped out of her booth to go and visit Whisper.

The rusty bell jingled as she pushed open the creaking wood door, Whisper’s weapon shop bustled quietly with activity. A few children stood staring at an impressive sword like weapon in a glass case, and a few seemingly more serious buyers turned a base model of a blaster over in their hands.

“Amy! Come on behind the counter.” Whisper’s damaged voice reached Amy’s perked ears as the mechanic turned to look at the weapon maker and quickly headed to get behind the counter.

“Hey Whisper, sorry I couldn’t do this last night.” She apologized as she walked around the counter to stand in front of the wolf mobian.

“It’s quite fine, I understand being exhausted. I caught a glimpse of the piece you were putting back on, it looked very different from anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“It was pretty strange, but enough about my work, what have you got for me?” Amy redirected the conversation as it twisted to be on ‘Myst’s strange cyborg arms. She was sure he wouldn’t want them to be a topic of conversation, even if she didn’t know him that well, she could tell that much.

Whisper merely nodded in response before reaching under the counter and pulling out the model. As it was, it looked a lot like the metal ‘bag’ structure she’d been picturing.

“It’s made out of aluminum, so when you finish it I’m assuming you’ll make it with perhaps cobalt or some other lightweight strong metal, but this is the base form.” She explained. “The strap is here-“ Whisper popped open a compartment and the strap fell out. She continued to speak as she hooked it on to a loop on either end. “-it has magnetic fibers in it, so when you want to be able to go from using it as a weapon to using it as a bag quickly, it can just attach itself to the outside, as long as your metal is magnetic.” Whisper hung the bag over her shoulder to demonstrate how it looked. When she dropped the bag from her shoulder, she pressed a button on the top and the handle of the hammer shot out the other side. Whisper grasped it by the handle and twirled it a few times before stopping to grip it with both hands in a strong stance. “And here’s the finished product.”

“Wow...” Amy breathed out in awe as Whisper lowered it and handed it to her. “I can’t wait to work on it!” She smiled. “Beautiful work, Whisper, really.”

“I’m glad you think so.” She smiled back. “I can’t do lunch today, unfortunately, but something tells me you want to get to work right away.”

“Right- I’ll see you later, Whisper.” She smiled as Whisper waved a quiet good bye.

Amy weaved through the stands displaying weapons and out onto the busy, outer ring streets, where she dodged mobians walking quickly past her to get back into her booth and put away her ‘be back soon’ sign. She set the model down on her desk and quickly got to work on it, now eagerly hoping that no one would bother her for the rest of the day so she could get it done as soon as possible.

After a few hours of replicating pieces of the aluminum model with cobalt she had almost finished forming the head of the hammer, but it was then that she realized there was an odd silence coming from outside the booth, accompanied from a familiar hum she didn’t quite like to hear. She turned to see the mobians in the street parting the way, parents tucking their kids away, others ducking into alleys to be out of the line of fire of the devilish thing- a Robotnik Robot, easily most common to the outer ring, where people were less likely to be able to defend themselves against the flying robots, and where the government didn’t care to check up on often. The white and black robot hovered off the ground, it’s one beady red ‘eye’ shooting off a beam that it used to scan the crowd. This was normal- it was looking for someone, maybe a citizen had gotten ballsy and kicked one and the Doctor wanted his revenge. It wasn’t as much of revenge as it was an excuse to spill some blood though, she supposed. What she didn’t find normal was when it stopped on her. She hissed in pain and shielded her eyes at the sudden bright light of the robot scanning her.

Subject: Amy Rose

It spoke emotionlessly and Amy froze- what did that mean? Usually it just scanned subjects and moved on- why had it said her name?

Amy Rose, you are the last Mobian in contact with Project Shadow, reveal his whereabouts immediately.

What? Amy shrunk back a bit and found herself grabbing the aluminum hammer, it might fall apart if she used it, but she would still have all the pieces at least.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Amy shouted.

Amy Rose, reveal the whereabouts of Project Shadow.

It repeated with no care for her testimony.

“I don’t know about any ‘Project Shadow’!” Amy shouted again, angrier this time, desperate for the robot to hear her and give up.

Amy Rose will be: Terminated.

She gasped as the robot came shooting towards her, eye beginning to shine as if it were ready to hit her with a terrible blast. In a moment of adrenaline, she spun on her toes and lifted the hammer with both hands. By the time she’d made it all the way back around again, she swung as hard as she could, and BANG- home run.

The Robotnik Robot went flying back out into the street as she followed through and the hammer poised back up behind her head again. It’s white body clanked to the ground and skidded, creating a horrible screeching noise before thunking against the wall of the building opposite of her and powering down. Amy breathed heavily in fear as she lowered the hammer and dropped it to the ground, the reality of the situation coming back to her senses as the mobians in the street slowly stopped staring at her and began carrying on with their day. A couple kids scrambled to tear the broken robot apart for parts, and she clutched a hand over her chest.

What. Was. That.

She had never, never in a million years, ever been targeted by Robotnik robot. At first she thought it might’ve been because he had found out Tails had used to work here- but Tails was no ‘Project Shadow’ unless he had suddenly changed drastically in the last twenty four hours. It seemed that ‘Myst’ was her only viable culprit for the ‘Project Shadow’. Amy picked up the aluminum hammer off the floor and placed it back on her work desk, amazed it hadn’t fallen to pieces like she’d thought it would. She sat back down on her stool and pulled out her ProjScreen.

Her first search was ‘Project Shadow’

The web showed it as nothing more than some Projection vlog channel of a kid who had no more than ten subscribers.

She looked up ‘Robotnik Project Shadow’

Same kid as before, except it seemed he had made a video ranting about the Doctor, seemed like it might be amusing, just not right now.

She tried ‘White Cyborg Arms’

Most of what came up we’re just arms taken from androids modeled after white colored mobians- cats seemed to be the most common, though she also saw what appeared to be a bird- and a few were actually pictures of Mobians with white cyborg arms, but none of them were what she had looked at only a few days ago.

Then ‘Cloaked Cyborg’

And now she was getting somewhere. The first article that came up was from about two months ago, and the headline read ‘Blue Blur goes head to head once more with the Cloaked Cyborg’ she clicked on it and was met with a gut wrenching picture.

It was the Blue Blur, just as handsome as everyone claimed, right in the middle of kicking her familiar mysterious customer in the cyborg arms with his cyborg legs, through the shadow of the hood he wore she saw the gleam of clenched teeth, it seemed that his shoes were skidding on the ground as well. Something told her he would have flown into a wall right after this picture. Her stomach churned- the man she had met did not seem deserving of this treatment, but then again, she hardly knew him. What had he done to get to that? She read the article quickly, the most she got out of it was that the people were lucky to have the Blue Blur to save them from wrong doers like the Cloaked Cyborg- but it still didn’t tell her what he had done. Clearly he had some sort of connection with Robotnik, she was almost one hundred percent sure that it was the doctor himself who had made ‘Myst’ those arms now. He had also apparently done something to get on the Blur’s bad side, and by extension Tails, which meant that it was good she never showed Tails the arm, but bad that she’d let a fair amount about Tails slip to ‘Myst’. Amy groaned and powered down the ProjScreen. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of all this. She didn’t like that she couldn’t find what ‘Myst’ had done anywhere on the web, but a part of her felt like she was betraying Tails by not immediately contacting him to tell him what had happened. Her unease swirled in her mind as she clenched her hands into fists in her lap. For now, it seemed that it might be best to just not say anything at all. She didn’t have to lie to Tails if she just didn’t talk to him, and with any luck, ‘Myst’ would not reappear at her booth anytime soon. She felt like she was trapped in a web, but all she could do was toss the ProjScreen to the top of her table and start working on the hammer once more.

When I Saw Him Standing There (Poly!Queen Week Day 7)

A/N: Prompt: Modern AU; the idea came from this ask I got: “Freddie, Roger & John runs their own fashion brand & it’s rapidly gaining popularity, Freddie’s the designer, Roger’s in charge of marketing and PR and John handles their financial and other business side of things; They were celebrating after a successful fashion show at a bar one night when this beautiful singer with his warm singing voice and guitar on stage totally captured their hearts, Freddie is now adamant on having him model for their brand and be their(his) Muse because he totally inspired his next collection of a series of new designs. (Brian’s studying Astronomy and working on his thesis, some night’s he sings in bars with his guitar for extra income and as a stress relief)“ so thank you anon for this! 

Can also be read on AO3. 

+++

“To us!” 

Freddie lifted his glass and both John and Roger followed suit, their glasses clicking together loudly. 

    “To us!” they echoed 

They all took a long gulp of their drinks, their faces split into grins. Just a few hours before they had ended their first successful fashion show, launching their new latest collection for their fashion label, Queen. They were gaining popularity fast and neither of them could really believe it just yet. 

Roger kissed them both.

    “I can’t fucking believe it!” 

John giggled and hooked his ankle around Freddie’s and leaned against Roger who wrapped his arm around him. Freddie waved down a waitress and ordered them two rounds of shots for celebration. He could barely sit still from excitement, grabbing both his boyfriend’s hand to tangle their fingers together. 

Their shots arrived and they downed them fast. 

At some point, the woman who had been playing piano got up, thanked the audience and got off the stage and instead a tall man with dark, curly hair got on. Freddie’s breath caught in his throat and he heard both Roger and John make impressed noises. The man was carrying a red guitar and wearing simple black jeans and a white button down along with run-down sneakers. It wasn’t anything special but Freddie was intrigued. 

The man adjusted the microphone to his height and then- without introducing himself- started singing. His voice was warm and soft as he sang about space travel and Freddie gasped, grabbing his boyfriends hands. 

    “I need to know who this man is.” 

Freddie scrambled to pull his sketchbook out of his bag, ideas for new designs already forming in his head and he immediately started sketching a tall, slim figure to draw his ideas onto. By the end of the man’s performance, he had filled several pages. 

He got off the stage and Freddie pushed Roger out of their booth when he was too slow for his liking. The man was just putting his guitar in a case as they came stumbling into the small backroom. He looked up at the noise. 

    “Darling!” Freddie exclaimed. “What a wonderful performance!” 

    “Ah, thank you.” 

Freddie held out a hand and the man took it, clearly expecting a handshake and not a hand kiss, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks. 

    “My name is Freddie, and this are Roger and John.” 

    “I’m Brian.” 

Roger stepped around Freddie to shake Brian’s hands while John just smiled and gave him a quick wave. 

    “Pleasure to meet you, Brian.” 

Brian seemed a bit overwhelmed with the whole situation but he still agreed to have a drink with them. They returned to their booth, this time with Brian and ordered another round of drinks. 

    “You want me as a model?” 

Brian shook his head with laughter but stopped when he saw Freddie nodded eagerly. He frowned and looked to Roger and John who shrugged and nodded towards the dark-haired man. Freddie pushed the sketch book towards him and Brian flipped through it. 

    “And that was only during your performance! Imagine what I could come up with if I had more time with you? And you would wear it so well since they were inspired by you!”

Brian hesitated visibly and Freddie grabbed the beermat, gesturing to his boyfriends for a pen and John actually had one and gave it to him. He scribbled his number on it and gave it to him. He wanted to ask Brian to come to their studio, to show him their work and maybe take some pictures of him and convince him this way but John had known he would want to try that and had placed his hand on his knee, squeezing it when he noticed him getting antsy. 

    “Thank you.” Brian said. 

He left after another drink, thanking them again and Freddie almost smashed his head against the table with a groan. Both Roger and John hugged him and tried to reassure him. 

    “I can’t believe I just let my muse slip through my fingers! What if he never calls?”

John carded his fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss against his cheek once he stopped burying his face in his arms. Roger had one arm wrapped around him, pulling him close against him. 

    “He will call. I’m sure of it.”

+++

It took more than a week for Brian to call Freddie. The whole time, he was on edge, waiting for the call and checking his phone constantly. Nothing John or Roger did managed to distract him and he kept complaining about how they had missed out on a perfect opportunity. He also kept drawing, designing an incredible amount of outfits. 

Freddie’s phone rang while he was in the bathtub and at first, he considered not answering but eventually, he reached for the phone on the edge of the tub and saw that it was an unknown number. Immediately, he sat up a little bit straighter and wiped his hand on a towel and accepted the call. 

    “Hello?” 

    “Freddie? This is Brian.” 

He felt his heart speeding up and a grin spread over his face. He had almost given up on hearing of him ever again and had mentally prepared to go back to the bar to bother the staff there to find out anything about Brian. 

    “Darling, I am so glad you called me! Did you think about our offer?” 

There was rustling from the other end of the line and Brian cleared his throat. Freddie could hear muffled noises in the background. 

    “Yes, I’d like to try it.” 

    “Wonderful! When do you have time?” 

They decided on a date, said their farewells and as soon as the call was ended, Freddie let out a happy scream that had John and Roger scrambling into the bathroom, worried he had gotten hurt in any way. 

+++

Brian was visible nervous when he entered the studio. Freddie jumped to his feet to greet him with a hug, hoping it would calm him down a little bit. 

    “Hello, darling! Thank you for coming.”

Freddie had made sure that except him, John and Roger only his assistant Phoebe was present so Brian would feel not as uncomfortable about the whole thing. He showed him the room they would be taking photos in was and the dressing room, filled with various of clothes. It wasn’t anything of his new designs- he hadn’t gotten to actually making anything of it even though he itched to do so- but it were things he really wanted to see on Brian. 

    “John will be taking your pictures today. Rog and I are here to give you pointers since you never modeled before.” He went through a rack of clothing, picking the parts for his first outfit as he kept explaining how things were working around here. “If you need anything else, let Phoebe know, he’ll take care of it.” 

He put the clothes he picked out on a seperate rack, then smiled at Brian again and patted his shoulder as he passed him to leave the room. 

    “Let us know when you’re done so I can do your make-up.” 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Freddie let out a happy squeal. He caught Roger’s and John’s eyes across the room and hurried over to kiss them. John, busy with setting up the camera, accepted the kiss and then went back to his work but Roger tugged him closer, gently nibbling on Freddie’s lower lip, only pulling away when there were footsteps coming towards them. 

It was Brian, now dressed in a dark green shirt and a thin blouson with silver floral embroidery, along with black skinny jeans and dark, heavy boots. Freddie clapped excitedly. 

    “Oh, don’t you just look dashing, dear! Sit down, let’s do your make-up.” 

He kept the make-up simple, just added some eyeliner and silver eyeshadow to his face before declaring him ready for work. 

They had arranged a small set with a bench in front of a white background along with several props and decorations but Freddie had wanted to keep it simple at first. He and Roger both showed Brian a couple of poses he should try before stepping to the side and letting John take over. 

Brian was stiff and unsure at the beginning and John had to give him many instructions to get a good picture and more than once, Roger and Freddie had to help him to find a good pose. After a while he got the hang out of it and relaxed a little bit. It was still obvious he wasn’t very experienced with the whole thing but Freddie was thrilled. 

    “Do you have a good pic, Deaky?” 

    “A couple, yes. Next outfit?”

    “Next outfit!” 

Brian went through eleven outfits, some more eccentric, others more toned down and Freddie could barely contain his excitement on seeing him wear the sheer lace blouse and the white flare pants. He had had doubts whether or not Brian would be willing to wear it- or the ankle-length metallic chiffon skirt- but he had put it on without and complaint and even looked comfortable in it. 

All three found themselves staring more than once, admiring Brian’s long legs and elegant features and after he had left, Freddie found himself sandwiched between John and Roger, John capturing his lips in a passionate kiss while Roger rucked up his shirt, sucking a mark into his neck. Faintly, he could hear Phoebe bid his farewell, unbothered by them. 

    “You want him.” John growled against his mouth.

Freddie whined and nodded, pulling him closer by the shirt, groaning when he slid his thigh between his legs and let him grind up against it. Roger flicked his nipple and nipped at his earlobe. 

    “Fuck, he looked so pretty, didn’t he?” Roger whispered. “When he wore the all white outfit? Wanted to bend him over the bench and make him scream.” 

He gently scratched over Freddie’s stomach and chuckled lowly when he twitched and moaned. John kissed him over Freddie’s shoulder, one hand tangled into his blond hair. 

Later, when Freddie was putting his pants back on, his hair dishevelled and dark marks on his neck and shoulders, he got a text message. 

Thank you for the opportunity, I had a lot of fun today! Let me know if you are interested in repeating this -Bri

Freddie grinned and looked back to his boyfriends who were trading lazy kisses instead of getting dressed, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. 

Of course, darling! I’ll call you when I have the new designs ready! Can’t wait to see you in them ;)

Thirteen Hundred Hours

I wrote a thing and it’s 3500 words and I’m not super happy with it toward the end, but it’s a DONE thing and that’s some thing. -----------------------------

“Winston. Come in. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

“Uhhh … Yes. Yes, of course.” Winston pushed the door closed with a quiet control he in no way felt. Pharah rarely ordered him (requested, he firmly corrected, however tenuous his belief) to her office, and this sudden change in routine rattled him.

It didn’t help that he found Pharah absolutely terrifying.

---

“Do what, love?” Tracer had laughed last night over chinese takeout and the latest episode of Top Model UK. “Pharah? Fareeha Amari? Scary?!” She doubled over and rolled into his side, her entire body shaking as the sheer volume of her amusement refused to be confined to such a tiny container.

Mockery from anyone else might have shaken him, made him collapse inward like one of those skeleton toys that fell apart at the press of a button. But Tracer wasn’t anyone else, and where shame might have rooted, indignation bloomed. “She’s very intimidating!” he protested, and as Tracer’s hilarity rose another pitch, his entire face scrunched up in what could only, scientifically, be classified as “a pout”.

Several minutes later (several minutes longer than was actually necessary if one were to ask Winston), Tracer exhaled a long, shaky breath with a tired “Whooo!” and wiped her eyes. She’d been shoved to the opposite end of the couch and was being held there with Winston’s giant foot, his arms otherwise occupied at that precise moment with the very important job of being crossed. She threw half her body over a toe the size of her entire grinning face and beamed at Winston with equal parts delight and affection. “Ever decide to give up research and world saving and all, got a brilliant career ahead in comedy.”

“She IS,” he stubbornly insisted.

“Just so ‘appens I am in possession of a secret about Ms. Fareeha Amari,” Tracer told him with her usual brass confidence, casually somersaulting over the foot barrier and nestling in his side as if she’d never left it. “Immediately straightens out the playing field, so to speak, puts everyone on the same footing, yeah? Could be as I’ll see fit to share it, should a certain someone of my acquaintance do me the ‘onour of a smile.”

Winston rarely committed to a decision without full appraisal of the results and consequences. He was a man of ethics as much as science, knowing only too well what happened when fanaticism to one outweighed consideration for the other. This was the kind of dedication that made him one of the preeminent minds on the planet.

So it was that Winston was wholly, scientifically, ethically, resolutely committed to this pout.

But it was also true that Winston wouldn’t get more than three seconds of sleep that night if all he could see were Pharah’s stern, penetrating eyes as he lay awake, imaging the hundred tiny ways she could destroy him with a word.

Winston gave Tracer his widest, most toothsome smile. He’d unintentionally made more than one person battle a primal urge to flee, but Tracer only matched him, tooth for tooth.

“And the last of the garlic prawns.”

Winston’s smile dropped.

Tracer’s did not. “Price of doing business, love! Whatever would you think, me coughing up government secrets without proper compensation. Lose all respect for me, you would.”

“That implies I had respect for you to lose,” Winston grumbled, low and deep, like a roll of petulant thunder.

A large shrimp raised into his view, delicious and glistening. “What’ll it be, Mr. Winston?” the shrimp said in a ludicrously high voice as it waggled back and forth in front of his nose. “The key to Fareeha Amari, or the rich succulent taste of-- WIN!!”

The ridiculous shrimp voice dropped to Tracer’s slightly less ridiculous natural tone as Winston’s teeth closed around his previously silent dinner. To say that Tracer was indignant would have been a disservice to the entire spectrum of emotion felt throughout the course of human history, but language had only developed so far, and so indignant would have to do. She continued to kneel in roughly the same place on the couch and with roughly the same arm extension as she pinched the tail of what had been, roughly, her grandest life triumph. Gone. All gone in one gorilla crunch.

Winston chewed and swallowed, then dabbed the corners of his mouth with a tiny take-out napkin. “Now you can have the rest of the garlic prawns.”

Tracer dropped back onto the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest and bottom lip bulging with unspoken accusation. It never failed to impress Winston, how she could instantly stretch and collapse and fold herself to accomodate any manner of shape or mood. It was something he distantly admired, the way Tracer effortlessly wore herself. Not that he expected to match her. As far as Winston was concerned, there was no substance yet discovered or invented that fit everywhere so effortlessly as Lena. Still, he wouldn’t mind occasionally feeling a bit less like a suit five sizes too big, if science would just get on that.

Hmm, perhaps he could develop some sort of transmitter to reduce the the stability of dimensional pathways in a limited radius around the subject that would--

A dilemma for future Winston. Present Winston had much more pressing concerns.

“The last four--”

“THREE.”

“--three prawns are all yours. A fair trade for a rogue agent, wouldn’t you say?”

“I say four would’ve been a good sight better.” The complaint was muttered into her knees, but still audible enough.

Winston sighed deeply. “Lena …”

The cautioning note would have frozen the blood of some. For Tracer, it was just a nudge that the game was done. A brilliant smile broke across her face, and she snatched up the remaining three prawns before leaning into Winston’s shoulder. He dropped his head, bringing his ear level with her mouth to not miss any hushed word.

Couldn’t be too careful with government secrets.

---

It had all seemed so easy, from the living room sofa, in his soft PJs, Tracer whispering garlic-tinged advice and encouragement. Pharah’s office, it would surprise no one to know, elicited a great many feelings in Winston, not one of which was “easy”.

Pharah sat behind a beige metal desk that would have been fairly described as “functional” and slightly less fairly as “cold”. Winston knew better of Pharah, of course he did. Ten minutes was more than enough time for Mercy to start bubbling effusively about her wife, and Winston had spent considerably more than ten minutes in Angela’s company over the years. Whatever else could be said of him, Winston was a man of science and reason. He trusted his mind, he trusted what he KNEW.

What he knew was that he was standing in front of Pharah’s desk and however much he hoped, the earth had thus far refused to swallow him.

“Sorry.” Winston wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for, but he was here and Pharah was staring, and it seemed the best thing to say. Was it? Maybe not. Probably not. “Sorry,” he repeated, apologizing for the first apology. Which, he immediately concluded, also warranted an apology. “Sor--”

“Why don’t you sit?”

Panic erupted in Winston, coating his every thought in raw static. His eyes, usually warm and (as had been said of him in particularly kind moments) twinkling, became distant and clouded by memory.

Sitting. Oh no, he hadn’t considered sitting, HOW COULD HE HAVE NOT CONSIDERED SITTING??

He was so big and heavy and chairs were tiny and distressingly fragile, they usually had arms, why did humans need chair arms their flesh arms were spindles and easily supported by their adequate skeletal system, chair arms were limiting and often of poor construction, the space between chair and desk was woefully under judged in nearly two-thirds of the cases (he knew this, he did the math), and now he was going to have to sit, HE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO SIT IN FRONT OF PHARAH, and there was no coming back from this, he would have to resign, he would have to leave the only family he ever knew and

Pharah gestured, and the shock of seeing her, alongside the shock that he’d somehow for a moment managed to forget she was there, snapped Winston back into the moment. Pharah had extended her hand, indicating that Winston should look to his left. He did. He would also, later, privately, allow himself the full flush of pride that he had not burst into grateful tears.

A chair, doubtless custom, built to effortlessly withstand a seven foot tall 550 pound gorilla in an office setting.

Winston cleared his throat, striving for some measure of the professionalism he felt Pharah would expect. “I…” It was a strong start, all things considered, but floundered considerably around the second syllable. “I, uh…” Balling up his fist, Winston covered his mouth and once more cleared his throat, hoping it would buy him enough time to communicate the upswell of gratitude in a way both concise and sincere. Witty, too! Humour often went a long way toward putting all parties at ease.

“Thanks,” Winston finally said.

Hilarious.

The nod he received was singular, purposeful, and maddening. So little about humans came naturally to Winston (he struggled equally with gorillas, a truth he had confessed only once), so he worked to compensate with study. It was something of a passion project for him, likening it to Lena’s drive to recall the vital statistics to every single Hammers match played in the last century. (“Say no more,” she had assured him with the utmost understanding.) Years, he had invested, interpreting tone and inferring nuance from even the smallest gesture.

Absolutely none of which worked when it came to Pharah. Winston had figured out a way to reach through time, pluck out one dislodged tiny Briton, and anchor her through little more than technology and sheer force of will, in less time than he had spent trying to decipher the unknowable mystery that was Pharah’s sole nod.

On the plus side, he’d invested so much processing power to figuring out what the nod meant that he hadn’t had any to spare on sitting down. It was with no small amount of relief that he discovered he was already in the chair, which was itself admirably performing its job of not collapsing underneath him.

This was all going much better than Hypothetical Meeting Scenario numbers 5 through 487!

“Winston.”

What did that mean? Was Pharah angry with him? Disappointed? Pleased? How did anyone ever know?!

Pharah leaned forward, forearms resting on the edge of her desk as she laced her fingers together. The rich brown of her skin wove effortlessly with the brushed metal of her prosthetic, and Winston allowed himself a small burst of satisfaction. He’d done good work, and it was rewarding to see the ease Pharah had with the arm he had built for her.

Was that it? Was Pharah having difficulty with her arm? Had he made a mistake? That she’d been using it for years without problem had nothing to do with anything, of course, and Winston was already thirty steps into his mental rebuild before the silence finally reached him.

His eyes refocused on the now to find Pharah staring at him, expression still unreadable and baffling. “Oh! I’m, uhh, I was just--”

“If Tracer’s inability to maintain control over her attention is infectious, I will be forced to enact severe quarantine measures.”

Winston physically jerked back, as if Pharah had suddenly become a scalding pit of very stern lava. “No, no, she … I didn’t …”

Pharah didn’t move, didn’t react. Not a single muscle twitched, not one vocal cord fluctuated. She remained inscrutable, carved from stone and nearly as warm.

“I am joking.”

Winston didn’t laugh so much as he guffawed, a single “HA!” popping from him like a broken seal on a pressurized vacuum chamber. The only acknowledgement to surprise that Pharah allowed was a rapid blink, which would have been devastatingly informative in the right hands. Those hands were not Winston’s hands, however, as all of his attention was currently embroiled in a fierce debate over the appropriate vigor and duration of laughter in this situation.

A full minute later, he still had not reconciled an acceptable definitive answer, and made the executive decision to slowly decrease all expressions of levity. His laughter, already strained, began to peter out, sprinkled at what Winston hoped were the ideal intervals, with exclamations that reaffirmed the good time he was absolutely not having.

“Humour,” Winston concluded, forcing himself to casually rest his elbow on his knee.

God, that was uncomfortable. Why did humans do that? Maybe if he just … No, that position was no better. This was a bad idea, all he could think about now was moving his elbow again. How long should he wait before retrying? Could he wait that long? What if his body betrayed him and just-- Abort! Abort mission!

Winston yanked his elbow back as though his leg had suddenly and quite without his permission turned into a poisonous viper. What was he saying?

“It, uhh … It goes a long way. To putting people at ease. Humour.”

Pharah favoured Winston with a single crisp nod. “Yes,” she replied in her clipped, efficient tone. “I have often found this to be true.”

They stared at each other from across the desk.

There was always something new to learn. This was a truth in which Winston passionately believed. To cease learning was to cease growing, and stagnation was intellectual death.So when Tracer had offered her knowledge, Winston had eagerly accepted, and spent the better portion of the evening considering its application and strategizing when to utilize it for peak effectiveness.

All of which was flung aside as Winston, panic once again threatening to seize him, grasped in desperation for the one certainty he had, the one beacon of hope he clung to in the endless dark sea that was a meeting with Fareeha Amari.

Winston reached into the inside pocket of his best suit jacket and pulled out a small, bright yellow bag, pre-opened and ready for offering.

He grinned, feeling his eyebrows tug together in concern and ruin the charming air he was trying to cultivate. Still, he was committed. In for a penny, in for a pound, Lena’s grandmother often said.

“Jelly baby?” he asked, offering Pharah the bag.

Pharah glanced at it but made no other motion.

Winston gave the bag an enticing shake, grin still firmly in place.

Pharah looked back to Winston.

“No, thank you.”

It was then that Winston knew he was going to murder Tracer.

---

“What d’you mean ‘no, thank you’?”

Winston had not, in fact, murdered Tracer. After some deliberation, he had decided his enjoyment at having her around outweighed any temporary satisfaction to be gained from killing her.

It was close, though, and as Tracer paced back and forth in his living room, picking apart what had been a very trying afternoon, Winston was reminded of exactly HOW close.

Two giant fingers slid under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was one of the earliest gestures he’d learned from his caretakers, and while Winston wasn’t sure it actually made him feel better, he liked to believe it did, and sometimes, that was enough.

Sometimes, it had to be.

“She said she doesn’t like them.”

Tracer’s pacing abruptly stopped, like she’d run into a solid wall of treacherous lies. “What d’you mean ‘DOESN’T LIKE THEM’??”

Winston pinched harder.

“Offer them to Fareeha all the time, I do!” Tracer’s pacing resumed, her arms gesturing in every possible direction, and a few that by most measures would be deemed impossible. She’d taken the news of Talon’s latest assassination attempt with more calm restraint. “Never fails to get ‘er off whatever bug’s crawled directly up ‘er--”

There were occasions when Winston would have enjoyed a less keen sense of deductive reasoning. It wasn’t always a kind gift, to see how things interconnected and fit together, particularly when the picture they formed was going to set your friend off on another tirade. Still, what alternative did he have? Saying nothing felt like a lie, and he didn’t plan to start lying to Lena now. Not over Jelly Babies, anyway.

Winston drew in a deep, fortifying breath. “Lena,” he said, his voice in no way loud enough to break through the torrent of words assaulting the tranquility of his home.

“...finest national treasure, full of rich ‘istorical significance, it is! ‘Doesn’t like them’, maybe I don’t much like the pyramids, but keep that to me own bloody self, don’t I?”

“LENA.”

It was enough to crack through. Tracer spun toward him, her indignation at Pharah’s confectionary slight to queen and country held at bay for the moment. Her diatribe continued in full swing in her head, of course. Winston had seen that particular fire dancing in her eyes at countless reinstatement hearings. But she was quiet, and she was at least partially listening, and that was all he needed.

“Have you ever seen her eat one?”

“COURSE I’ve seen ‘er--” Defensiveness had an impressive head start out of the gate, but was quickly run down by Facts. Tracer’s face bunched up into a little frown ball and she thrust a finger up at Winston. “Wait a tick.” Wait Winston did, with the bottomless patience he reserved specifically for Tracer. She remained silent, though her expression was anything but, recreating a hundred conversations, one after the other, like a movie screen projecting the classics on fast-forward.

After a few moments, she blinked hard, and favoured Winston with a broad smile. “Huh! Now as you mention it, don’t think I saw ‘er take a single one! Just fired up a good row, it did.” She flopped down on Winston’s couch, the anger leaving as quickly as it arrived. “Funny, that!” she said from somewhere in the folds of the plush cushion currently swallowing her.

She put up no defense as a second pillow was flung at her. The third, she caught without even looking, which would likely have annoyed Winston, if he’d stuck around to see it.

“What was all that, then? With Miss ‘If It’s Not Got A Litre Of Maple Syrup In, Piss Right Off’?” Rather than the expected harrowing tale of awkwardness and survival, all Tracer received was silence. Her head poked out from her pillow nest, hair jutting out in every possible direction. “Win?”

Left? No. Right? No. Up? Target acquired!

Winston was blearily pulling himself up the many handholds and outcroppings they’d built into the walls of his warehouse home, every swing of his arms a heavy, wearying quest of uncertain victory.

“Win?” Tracer called again, a note of genuine concern creeping in.

“Pharah approved my budget submission,” Winston told her without pausing his slow ascent. (“Budget submission?” Tracer nearly asked, before reminding herself there was a very good reason she left all the numbers stuff to Pharah and she enjoyed that arrangement just fine, thank you.)

“That’s brilliant!” Her eyebrows knitted together then arched at Winston’s rear end. “That’s brilliant, yeah?”

Winston reached the platform he’d claimed as his own nest and heaved a weighty sigh. “It’s good, yes. I anticipate a substantial furthering of research and understanding. And,” he added as he swung across the gap to his bed, “it’s nice to feel valued.”

“Good, as you are!” Tracer sprung off the couch, her eyes locked on where Winston had disappeared from view. “Sounds like cause to celebrate, I’d say. Come on, love, bet Isla’ll do you a round!”

Forty feet above, Winston was just crawling into the Winston-shaped divot worn into his cavern of cushions and pillows. “I’ve barely slept in two days. I’ll celebrate with unconsciousness, thanks.”

Two little fists plunged into Tracer’s hips and, no question, the speech about to burst from her would have been the most inspiring, and rallied this troop of one to storm alongside her into the fray of the East End’s most respected pub (as it surely was) for beer and, mayhap, a sausage roll or three.

Had she been allowed to give it. Just as her mouth opened, Winston’s exhausted grumble reached her. “Goodnight, Lena.” Firm. Resolute. Possibly already asleep.

Tracer considered popping up there anyway, but nah. Winston’d worked himself into a state and could likely do with a night off. Plucking her jacket off the hook by the door, Tracer considered what to do with herself and these wide swaths of time she’d just been gifted.

She swung the door open and bounced out to another beautiful grey day, a smile already growing on her lips.

Had Fareeha ever tried Smarties?

Wrong Assumption

Merry Christmas, @theprincessamirah I was your Secret Santa this year for the @mlsecretsanta . I hope you enjoy the fic!!

Ever since their first date, it was clear to Marinette that Adrien was dramatic in more than just his personality, but in his actions.  During their date, he had to have spent almost one thousand euros.  They went to the most expensive restaurant in town, he wore a brand new, freshly tailored suit, and the night ended with a boat ride on the Seine.  The blonde boy seemed so nervous and it was actually a nice change.  She wasn’t the blushing one for once.  Well, maybe she blushed a few times, like three...or thirty.  But the best part was the end when he asked how she enjoyed herself.  She hadn’t known how to answer and her face scrunched up brow furrowing.  His expression had become so deflated that she felt herself moving forward, kissing him gently.  The kiss had lasted only a second, but Adrien lit up after she pulled away.  “I had a wonderful time.”  Marinette finally answered.  It had only been fuel to the fire.

That had been the last year of lycée. Now she was graduating from university and had to finish her final project since her show was tonight.  Adrien was still in school to become a teacher and would be for the next two years.  Lucky for him, his father had agreed to pay for his schooling as long as he continued to model for the company. So now between her finals and Adrien’s modeling, they barely got to see each other.

Marinette took a deep breath as she put the finishing touches on her last dress before standing. Everything needed to be perfect. This was more than half of her grade and many of the biggest fashion names would be there including Gabriel Agreste! She was in charge of everything. The lighting, music, marketing, hiring models. Luckily her friends practically forced their help on her after she had an anxiety breakdown during one of their double date nights. Nino was in charge of the music and lights, Alya was marketing her show, and Adrien had gotten her more models than she knew what to do with, including himself.

The blunette jumped as a shrill tone cut through her thoughts. Her hand grabbed the phone, smiling when she saw the name. “Good morning Kitty.” She greeted, pinning the device between her shoulder and cheek as she hemmed the dress at the same time.

“Good morning my Lady. I knew you must have been up because it’s so beautiful out today.” He purred.

Her eyes rolled but her smile widened. His flirting had been annoying when they were younger, especially when she had been obsessed with Adrien. But Chat Noir slowly snuck into her heart and when she discovered both her crushes were the same person it made it that much easier. “Glad to hear you’re as mushy as usual.”

“Oh princess, I’m hurt.” He put a hand over his heart even though she couldn’t see.

“Did you call to just to distract me or do you actually need something?”

She could practically hear his smile fade. “Mari... About tonight...”

He didn’t even have to finish his sentence. “Your father scheduled a sudden photo shoot and you won’t be able to make it. Yeah. I know.” She finished for him, trying not to reveal how much that actually affected her. This seemed to happen during every major event in her life, especially birthdays. She figured it was a way for Gabriel to show that he still had control over Adrien’s life. “I’ll call you tonight and tell you about the show.”

“Mari I’m sorry. I tried to get him to change it. I did bu—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to you later.” She ended the call, flipping her phone on silent before tossing it on the couch.

A small red creature zipped onto the shoulder of her mannequin. “Marinette.” The squeaked voice of the Kwami said. “You shouldn’t get upset at him. It’s not his fault.”

“I don’t have time to worry about this right now. I have to focus on today and being upset that my boyfriend isn’t going to help.  I’ll make sure to call him later but right now is not the time.” She waved her off.

The show went off without a hitch, well mostly.  Each model cooperated without too much of an argument.  There was a small incident with two of the female models, where one believed the other had stolen her lipstick, but Alya interjected.  It was soon realized that they had the same type and they seemed to calm down.  Nino had an issue with the lights, but it actually turned into an interesting addition.  Instead of starting the show with just a spotlight, laser lights spun around the room and Nino started the show like a concert while he worked on fixing the issue.

Marinette took a deep breath and walked out from behind the curtains, gasping at the wave of applause that welcomed her.  She smiled.

“Thank you all for attending my show.  I will be in the back taking questions for the next ten minutes.”  She moved down the stairs and got into her position next to the door. People began to file out, some congratulating her and some praising her.  The biggest surprise came when Gabriel Agreste walked up and shook her hand.

“That was a very impressive performance, Miss. Dupain-Cheng.”  He shook her hand.  “Perhaps one day I will see us working together.”  Nathalie nodded to her on the way past as well, giving her a small, rare smile.  Why were they here?  Whenever Adrien had a photoshoot Nathalie was there but...  The rest of the line went by in a blur.  She didn’t remember any of their faces or what they said.  As soon as it was clear, she pulled out her phone.  Five notifications from Adrien.  All text messages. All of them congratulating her on a job well done.

Her fingers shook as she dialed his number.  Two rings... Four... Six... and voicemail.  You’ve reached the voicemail of Adrien Agreste.  I can’t come to the phone right now but please leave your name and number. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

“Adrien.  Where are you?” She demanded from the machine.  “I just met your father and Nathalie after my show.  I really hope you’re not lying to me.  We talked about this...”  She sighed and hung up the phone, moving through the room to help with cleanup.  Alya and Nino had disappeared, but that wasn’t unusual.  Once the clothes were packed, models thanked, chairs folded and stored, and all the trash is thrown away they reappeared again.

“Alright come on! We have a surprise!” Alya took her arm.

“No no please Alya... I’m not in the mood. I want to just go home.” She tried to pull away but the girl’s grip was strong.

“Oh no no no. You don’t have a choice in this. Sorry!” And then she was being pulled toward the door.  There was a car, buildings flashing past and finally, they were at the park in front of her house.

“Where are--”  That’s when she noticed the envelope with her name on it.  That was Adrien’s handwriting. Now there was a decision to make.  Should she go and grab the gift or ignore it.  He had lied to her (possibly), he hadn’t shown up to her final performance, he wasn’t answering his phone.  But he was also her partner, he was doting and over-the-top with his dates, brave and was always there for her whether it be during or after the fact.  She groaned and pushed the door open. “Stupid cat.  You just had to be so charming.” She marched toward the statue, glancing up at the metal faces of them at a younger age.

The card was accompanied with a single red rose resting at their feet. The envelope wasn’t closed so she slipped it out.  It was obviously for a child.  Ladybug and Chat Noir stood on the front, giving the reader a thumbs up. Happy birthday, Hero! It read, pulling a smile across Marinette’s lips.  “You’re such a dork.” She breathed.  The inside wasn’t much better. So go out and celebrate in your own SUPER way. But there was also a personal note:

My Lady

I am so proud of you for making it through school.  I know how hard you worked for this and you will someday be the most famous fashionista in Paris (and yes I’m including my father in that). I’m so sorry for missing your show. I know how much that meant to you and I promise I’m going to make it up to you, but first I need you to go to that special tower where we meet on starry nights.  I will see you soon.

Love,

Your Kitty

“What are you planning?” She breathed and grabbed the rose, examining the bud before her head turned to examine the park.  There didn’t seem to be anyone there.  The streetlights shone on empty benches, exaggerating each movement of the trees in the wind.

“Where to next?” Nino asked, ready at the wheel.

“The Eiffel Tower.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He seemed to be fighting back a smile as he drove toward the instructed location.

He would see her soon.  Did he mean on patrol? Or maybe he was going to drop in on her balcony like he enjoyed doing.  Was it a figure of speech?  Marinette was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t even notice when they arrived until the car jolted slightly.

“Sorry!” Nino yelled and climbed out with the girls.

“Why aren’t there any lights?” Marinette frowned, eyes falling on a single lit table in the middle of the pavilion. Her footsteps echoed around her as she approached.  The remaining eleven roses rested in a glass vase.  She added the last one before her gaze moved to the button in the middle of the table.

It was large and red, like a button from one of those game shows.  Too big and bulky to actually be of any use.  Resting beside it was another note. “Press me to celebrate.” Marinette read, frowning.  “What is that supposed to mean?”  But she pressed it anyway.  Immediately all the lights on the tower and the pavilion turned on.

“SURPRISE!”

Marinette whipped around to find all her friends from school, her family, and others greeting her.  A live band began to play form the base of the tower.  Large bouquets of flowers hung from each streetlight and there were rows and rows of tables filled with all sorts of food.  There was one table for chocolates, another for pastries, meats, cheeses, drinks, wine, fruits, and others she couldn’t even see from where she stood.  She stood there in a stupor, blinking rapidly to try and process what was happening.

“Surprise princess.” A smooth voice whispered in her ear as another rose appeared in front of her.

“Adrien...” Her blue eyes slowly pulled from the party and landed on his face. “Did you... for me? A-And that’s why...” Out of all the ridiculous things he had ever done, this had topped them all.  It was more amazing than when he brought her a new sewing machine because his father “didn’t want that brand,” more amazing than when he bought her a car because she said she was sad he wasn’t walking distance away anymore, and even more amazing than when  than the time he flew her to Disney World because she said she liked the costumes the workers wore.  Her arms wrapped around his neck. “I was so mad at you. I thought you had lied but...” She trailed off to wipe the tears from her face.

“I know. I got your voicemail.”  He chuckled, hands resting on her waist.  “Come on.  There are lots of people here who want to talk to you.”

After hours of chatting with old friends, stuffing her face, and drinking to her heart’s content, Marinette was exhausted. A yawn was hidden behind the back of her hand before she was suddenly being pulled. “No sleeping yet, my Lady.  I have one last surprise.”  Adrien pulled her into the elevator and they were suddenly rising to the top of the tower.

“I haven’t used this to get to the top in a long time.”  She giggled, cheeks tinted pink from the alcohol.

“I know.  But I also know that Paris from the top of the tower is your favorite view of the city.”  The machine jolted to a halt and they climbed out.  She ran to the edge, hands on the railing as she looked out over the shining city of Paris.

“You’re right.  This is my favorite view.  It’s beautiful and romantic and--” She was cut off as she turned and found Adrien on one knee.  “What are you...” But her question was answered when he pulled out a small velvet box.  Now both hands were covering her mouth.

“Marinette.”  His voice was tight as if he were trying to hold back tears.  “You are the most amazing person I have ever met.  You’re brave, smart, clumsy, energetic, caring, and so much more than if I kept going we would be here for hours.  But most importantly, I love you and I have since the first day we met without even realizing it.  And I know I’m just an alley cat who makes terrible puns, but will you marry me?”  The top of the box was pulled back to reveal the biggest diamond she had ever seen.  A gold band wrapped around it with small accent diamonds embedded in the metal.

“Oh, Adrien.” The tears were already flowing freely down her cheeks. “Yes of course.”  His shaking hand slipped the ring onto her finger before he embraced her.  “I hope you’re ready for a wild ride.” She teased with a smile, reaching up to wipe away the tears.  “Because now you’re stuck with me.”  She pushed herself onto her toes until her lips brushed his.

“Well, you’re mine now. And I’m never letting you go,” he retorted, arms flexing and pulling her into a proper kiss.

Things About Tuacahn’s “Newsies”

So @neverfearbrooklynshere, @hayleyharmony16, and I went to Tuacahn’s production of Newsies in Ivins, Utah last night. I’ve seen people post about some other regional productions of Newsies but I haven’t seen anything about this one, so here are some things about the show that I noticed from last night (Warning: this is going to be super long but there was so much that I wanted to comment about so sorry):

·      They had the newsies run out in the audience before the show started and sold copies of newspapers out to people for loose change (we tried very hard to get one but were unfortunately unsuccessful). In “Once and For All” the newsies go into the audience as well and sing while hoisting up their papers and it was very powerful.

·      The Jack in this production liked to climb up and down the poles of the set like a spider monkey and I wish that I could even come close to that kind of upper body strength). Jack was dressed more like the Christian Bale Jack, complete with a bandanna tied around his neck, and he didn’t wear a newsie cap (which meant no dramatic removal of the cap during Santa Fe L). However, one thing that I did like a lot was that after meeting Jack, Les pickpockets a handkerchief from someone at the theatre and ties it around his neck to emulate his newsie hero. Spot Conlon was given an eye patch for some reason (Pirate!Spot, anyone?).  Wiesel had a ponytail in this show and it was almost life changing. Katherine and Pulitzer both wore red in this show as a subtle nod to the fact that their characters were related. Jack actually gets smacked by a bowery beauty (named Pearl) in this show and I’m not sure how I feel about that but I guess it does play into the whole “Girls are nice once or twice/ ‘Til I find someone new” line.

·      They introduced a lot of new props to the show, including actual freaking torches and pails in which they burned newspapers in “The World Will Know.” They also sprayed newsies with hoses during the fight scene after “Seize the Day” (which was a very modern touch, considering the water cannons that are sometimes used on strikers today). And, most impressively, they had a cop riding around on a horse! A real horse!

·      Speaking of “Seize the Day,” Jack intimidates some of the scabs into joining the strike by dancing at them, and I couldn’t help but laugh because it was just like Guardians of the Galaxy where Starlord challenges Ronan to a dance-off for dominance. Also, they had girl newsies come on stage and Les, after dancing at them, convinces them to join the strike and walks away with his arms around two of them (what a player).  There was a cool move where they threw paper stacks with their feet and they had a lot of moving set parts and they walked through the moving gate for “The World” to indicate movement. In the fight scene afterward, Pulitzer watches the whole thing unfold sternly from his office, which nearly gave me chills because he was literally watching all these children get beat up?!?! Jack is being beat up by Snyder and Crutchie goes “Don’t touch him!” and tries to get Snyder off of Jack but he ends up getting dragged off to the Refuge for his bravery and I cried.

·      “Letter from the Refuge” featured Jack onstage as well as Crutchie, and Crutchie walked over to Jack, handed the letter to him, and read the letter out loud over his shoulder while Jack reacted to what he read and Dear God it was so sad. (The actor playing Crutchie didn’t limp during this scene, which I thought was an accident on his part, but my sister said that maybe this was due to the fact that it was Jack imagining what Crutchie was doing in his head so the rules don’t apply to that situation.)

·      The idea of the west and Santa Fe was a huge theme in this production, because Tuacahn is literally in an incredible red rock canyon. During the climax of Santa Fe, they lit up the mountains behind Jack so that it glowed red in the dark. “Something to Believe In” used this to its advantage as well, as they projected a circle of light onto the red rock so that it looked like the moon. This was a great lighting choice because it matches the “Moon so big and yellow” line from “Santa Fe,” which shows that Santa Fe for Jack is transformed from just an imaginary place of tranquility in his mind to a real-life place when he finds belonging with Katherine and the newsies (Awwww).

·      There were no actual tap shoes in “King of New York” but they did tap-like dance moves. Instead of using spoons during the dance break they pounded out rhythms with cups and plates. Jacobi joins in and they have crowns made of metal and paper that they wore and put on Jacobi’s head along with a cape. One guy did this cool trick where he threw up a plate and made it land in a completely vertical position on another plate. They also gave Davey his own little dance solo and he wore a cooking pot on his head and it was precious.

·      In “Brooklyn’s Here,” the kid from the Bronx pops up from the top of the  giant Brooklyn Bridge model in the background to say “So’s the Bronx!” and I was torn between two thoughts: “How in the heck did he get up there?” and “I aspire to be this extra.” There was a lot of aggressive clapping in this show, which is a tactic that I should definitely use to scare people away on the street, right?

·      Jack steals a pencil from Pulitzer’s office and Pulitzer takes it out of his pocket during the reprise of “The Bottom Line.” Teddy Roosevelt joins in on the thievery later, as he stole a pencil from Pulitzer before leaving his office (what a boss). After the line “He doesn’t do happiness, does he?” Jack verbally said no and everyone onstage just shook their heads in agreement.

·      During the kiss just before the finale, Davey frantically covers Les’ eyes and Les says “That’s disgusting” in a lovely homage to his brother. They shot off fireworks in the last bit of the finale, which I wasn’t expecting and was blown away by.

·      In conclusion, it was really great. The set was gorgeous, there were some lovely singers and dancers, and you should all go see it if you get the chance.

you see a vision of endless night

A glimpse of what could be.

Artur peered at the faintly glowing, iron etched runes with interest. They were of a script and dialect utterly unknown to him, which, he supposed, was rather the point. You didn’t want to give workable runes to a runemaster of his caliber, now did you? No, you didn’t. Unless you wanted to end up with a most miserable fate indeed.

The cuffs were quite comfortable, too. Not quite muggle handcuffs, and more like metal bubbles which enclosed his hands from their very tip, to his wrists, metal wrapping around his bones in a way that feels far better to the sensitive flesh there than things he’s tried out before. A new model, it must be. Magic dampening, too, likely. Might even spit back any magic that might try to flair up in his bloodstream back at him—Although, that would be a bit cruel by the standards of the Aurors here. Although, judging by the ever so visible scratches on the outside, it’s not like they’ve just started testing with him. Pity. Well, in due time.

Artur keeps on staring at the runes, slumped back in his chair, mentally trying to pick them apart, and see if they have any comparisons between runic sets he knows. Obviously not Germanic, or Cyrillic. Not even Latin, or Sanskrit, or Thai. Although, it does bear a touch of similarity to the runic scripts he’d glimpsed on Hawaii—Polynesian, perhaps? That would explain the subtlest feeling of wood—

The door, massive, and made out of iron, swings opens, and Artur’s eyes flicker up, face neutral, for the slightest second, as he looks at the person who’d entered. And Artur’s memory connects with the face, the person, that’s being presented to him, Artur blinks, straightens, tilts his head to the side, and feels his lips curving. My, Artur almost hadn’t recognized him!

His features had, somehow, gotten even more straighter, and he’d filled in at the shoulders, and, well—His musculature was still something one couldn’t cough at. “Bellamy Adler.” Artur drawled, visible looking up at down the newcomer, before he made a low whistle. “The years have certainly done you good.” Artur’s eyes meet Bellamy’s, which are firm, and set. Bellamy’s hands are by his side, and once he stops, a few meters away from the table that Artur, quite unfortunately, has been shackled to, he crosses his, well, rather impressively burly arms at him. Bellamy makes a show of raking his eyes up and down Artur’s frame, looking more and more displeased, disgusted, and expectant with every millisecond that ticks on by. Artur knows he’s not much to look at. Yes, he’s grown, since those rosy schoolboy days—But barely so. He’s filled in, some, yes, but stress, an inconsistent diet, and inconsistent sleep have kept any musculature lean at best. At least his robes are nice. He specifically wore nice robes today. Wouldn’t want to look shabby on such an important day.

“I should have expected you’ll end up as a damn terrorist, Artur.” Bellamy finally says, eyes flickering to Artur’s eyes. Artur’s smile widens at that, and, inside the cuffs, he turns his palms skywards. Bellamy moves to sit opposite Artur, by the table. The room conjures up a pleasant, wooden chair, before Bellamy’s rear could even begin to dip uncomfortably low. Bellamy stays there, arms crossed, and leans back, as if any closer and he’d be able to scent some wafting stench from Artur. Artur makes a small inhale, immediately launching into words of his own, “Well. I wouldn’t call myself a terrorist—The word’s a touch too crude, and simply wrong for the work I do.” The smallest of pauses. “But! Well, given the kind of friends I have, I wouldn’t blame anyone for making that mistake.” Bellamy’s expression doesn’t change. He seems utterly unimpressed. Ah, good ol’ Bellamy. Artur shuffles forward on his seat, leaning forward, his shoulders hunched, his fingers knitting up under the cuffs. “Well, whatever. I can tell you don’t really care for—These mere distinctions, and all. But, anyways! How have you been, really? It’s been absolutely ages, Bellamy! It’s such a shame that Hogwarts doesn’t do any reunions, I would have loved to see what our year mates are doing now—Why, for example, Salva Vasiliev. Is he still the ornery jackass that we all know and love? And, you, too! Why, I’ve heard that—” “Cut the shit, Artur.” Bellamy spits. “I’m here for a reason. Because you requested me. Because you, crazy nutjob you are, went and told the Aurors that you’ll only speak to Bellamy Adler and—” And Bellamy shrugs, now. “Here I am. Now, Artur, please tell the lovely men and women listening in why I’m here. I’ve got an actual life to get to. Something that you clearly—” Another quick glance over Artur’s being. “Still don’t have.” Artur can’t lift his hand, but if he could, he would have put it over his heart in mock hurt. As it stands, his brows knit up a little, smile dropping by the slightest bit for a moment, “Why, I’m hurt. It’s been ages, Bellamy! Surely, you too would like to catch up on what I’ve been doing, it’s fairly exciting, really, it all started when I had just graduated and went to New York—” “Artur.” Bellamy’s tone is harsh, grating, his teeth grinding against each other, in his mouth. “I don’t have the patience for this. The Aurors don’t have the patience for this. Skip the evil monologue, I won’t listen to it anyways.” Artur rolls his eyes so strongly that he can all but feel them slapping against his forebrain. “Could you try to be even more of a bore, Bellamy? Honestly. Here I am, getting to the real meat of things, when you go and steamroll me, just because you’re so utterly lacking in patience.” Bellamy stares. Artur stares back for a moment, before he slumps, and sighs. “Honestly. If I knew that you were going to be so difficult, maybe I should have gotten someone else. Grant Abergal, for example, would have been lovely and silent the whole while—” Bellam stiffens, ever so, before putting in the conscious effort to slacken. Artur looks at Bellamy from the sides of his eyes, and resists the urge to smear his own face in smug satisfaction. Perfect. “Ah, Grant—He was such an odd duck at Hogwarts, wasn’t he? Always carrying that therapy owl around with him, flinching at any loud noise that came his way—And yet, to his very core, he was such a whore the likes of which I haven’t seen matched since. And so, I really shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that he—” “I’m leaving.” Bellamy says, body rigid and voice hard. Bellamy shoots out of his chair, and his arms drop to his sides, pressing against his body, as he quickly crosses the room to get back to the door. “—That he owns a sex toy shop, of all things!” Artur continues, a bit louder, sitting up on his seat. Bellamy’s still marching to the door, shoulders squared, neck tight, having seemingly shut Artur out entirely. Artur’s voice raises, a bit more, eyes wild. “Although, I’m speaking old news to you, since, well, last I’d heard, you gone and married him!” Bellamy goes stock still, right by the door, hand raised, frozen, by the door knob. Artur puts some of his weight onto his elbows, rocking the cuffs with what little yield he has, to stand at an odd, arched position, hands still stuck firmly to the table. And unlikely to move without an alien hand exerting force on them. Magic is a tricky thing, after all. Bellamy slowly turned, partly looking at Artur. His expression is half bewildered, and something approaching furious. Artur licks his dry lips. His heart is beating frantically in his chest, and his blood thrums with sweet, sweet adrenaline, that makes the very tips of his fingers numb. “How do you—” Bellamy starts, but Artur quickly talks over him. “—Know that you’d gotten married? It had been a rather private ceremony, hadn’t it? Only about 20 or so people got to attend, now didn’t they?” Artur shakes his head, tutting. “Such a special day, and you share it with only so much people. Really, you are a greedy man, Bellamy.” “Artur. How do you—” Bellamy’s voice is firm, and slow, as if he’s speaking to a stupid child who knows nuclear launch codes.  But there’s something else in his voice. Something else, that sounds like the incoming roar of a stampede. Artur makes their eyes meet, and Bellamy, in Artur’s eyes, can only see a twinkling, unnerving light, and a dark red hue that’s unbecoming of those who are totally and utterly human. Dark Magic both giveth, and taketh away. “Why, because I was there, Bellamy.” Bellamy’s back is so straight and rigid you could use it as a ruler in classrooms the world over. “Grant looked so cute, in that tux. You held his hand so tight, Bellamy, as if you you were afraid that if you let go, then that beautiful dream would all melt away, and you would be left to wallow in misery, the whole thing being as false as your person-skin.”  Bellamy’s hands curl into fists, slowly, slowly, slowly. His eyes do not blink, and in them, Artur can all but see flame. Artur’s smile is so high, and delighted, that it can be heard in his voice when he speaks. “I know it all, Bellamy. I know how both you and Grant held the knife which held the cake, how, when you cut into it, candy confetti shot out, tangling in Grant’s hair. And, as your hands cut the cake, all you could focus on, in that moment, was watching the way the confetti slipped and rested on his cute little head.” Bellamy is shaking. “Oh I know it all, Bellamy!” Artur laughs then, a high, short sound, that makes his grin wider than ever. “For example, I know that you threw away two gifts, after that wedding, since you already had them—And how, the other week, you put a blindfold around Grant’s sparkling little eyes, pressed him against you, took him by the chin, and you fucked him nice and sl—”  Bellamy shoots forward in a blur of motion, and almost faster than Artur could blink, there’s a hand around Artur’s throat, that went and stole any words or breath out of him. Bellamy thrusts Artur into the air, and when he’s stopped, with a jerk, Bellamy looks down, at the handcuffs which are magnetized to the table. He rips the cuffs off the table in a simple movement, and then holds Artur aloft in the air, his legs and arms dangling. Bellamy is growling, teeth shining with spit, eyes large and wide and oh so ready to see Artur hurt. Artur’s smiling so hard that his cheeks are starting to ache, and when he tries to take in a breath, his breath rattles, and his throat burns. “What have you done you sick fuck—” Bellamy starts, an undercurrent in his voice, an undercurrent that’s rough, gravely, that wouldn’t be out of place on a bobcat, a bear, or— A wolf. Artur’s so full of guttural glee that he just can’t help himself. He laughs, and he laughs, the sound high and breathy, as his air is robbed from him with every moment that he’s held aloft in the air. He’s almost giggling, now. The disgust is so hotly plain on Bellamy’s face, that Artur can’t help but laugh a little bit more, for Bellamy’s trouble. Suddenly, out of the blue, the room is sent moving, shaking, and a massive thud is heard from up above. Bellamy’s hold on him loosens, and Artur uses the opportunity to kick Bellamy in the chest, sending Artur smashing into the ground, as Bellamy peers at the ceiling, more confusion leeching into his expression by every second. The shaking stops, and everything is deathly still. Only then, does Bellamy look down, and seem to notice Artur missing, Artur, who’s now on the absolutely white floor, sitting up, rubbing his throat with the cool metal of the handcuffs. Bellamy takes a step closer, the wolf having been swallowed down, and the man taking its place. “You came here to learn about my friends, right? And any and all of their plans that I knew, yes?” Bellamy’s hand stops an inch from Artur’s neck. The lights flickered, and kept flickering, sinking the room in darkness for some seconds, and then in light, for a few more.  “Well.” Artur says, and his eyes slowly, slowly, move skywards. “That was them.” He tilts his head, still looking up. “Keyword being was. As in, no longer in existence.” A pause. “You know, their plan, today, was to bomb the Auror headquarters, with me being the suicide bomber, an array of the most interesting potions swen, ‘unknowingly’, into the fabric of my coat.” Artur’s eyes move back to Bellamy, and Artur wiggles, on his spot on his floor. “A coat that I, luckily, am no longer wearing.” Bellamy’s eyes returned to Artur, and they looked at him with—With even more bewilderment, befuddlement, than before. But there was the small twinkle of a something that, if Artur was more naive, he would have called hope. “You—You betrayed them?” Bellamy began, blinking slowly. “Yes. Of sorts, yes.” Bellamy’s mouth opened, then— “Not for entirely selfless reasons. And not for the reasons you think.” “They tried to have you killed—” Bellamy started, seemingly more comfortable in his skin, looking just a bit more gentle, in a way that the eye of the storm seems more gentle than the rest of it. “Yes. But only because I’d asked them to.” Bellamy’s brows furrow. Artur almost feels pity swelling up, when he looks at Bellamy, now. “Ah, Bellamy, dearest. Don’t you get it?” Judging by Bellamy’s expression, he doesn’t. His brows are knit up, his mouth is slightly open, and he’s just the slightest bit flushed, from anger, adrenaline, or what, Artur doesn’t know, nor does he attempt to know. Artur leans in. The lights have flickered out almost entirely, on one side of the room. And in the dull light, the dull red tinge of his eyes is still somehow visible. His eyes gleam like a knife in the dark, and in this moment, Artur looks so, so, so utterly unhinged. “I betrayed them, so they wouldn’t bother me any more. So they wouldn’t sink me down, any more. They were a burden, Bellamy. Not radical enough, for my tastes. All they wanted to do was to scare a few muggles, and then call it a day.” He shook his head. “No, no—No. That’s not right. It’s not what I wanted. That’s not what needs to be done.” Artur’s mouth is moving, and he is speaking, almost without his own control. “No. I seek more, Bellamy.” He’s so close to Bellamy, that he can see the details of the other man’s iris, now. “I seek a wholly new world, Bellamy.” Bellamy’s eyes are wide, and he looks more stunned than anything else. Artur knows this won’t last long, not at all. “A world where muggles know that we exist, Bellamy. Where they know that in the shadows of the world, buried by their very own hands, are people and creatures and things they never could have dreamed of existing. And, Bellamy, dearest, what do muggles do, when confronted with a threat to their perceived superiority over all things?” They were Polynesian runes, after all. Didn’t take a lot of wit, nor magic, to crack them, and, in turn, crack the cuffs along their rune-seam. Artur’s hand smooths down a stray lock of curly hair, just by Bellamy’s temple, as another tremor sends the ceiling, and the room, shaking. “They make war, Bellamy. They will kill, they will ruin, and they will destroy. That is their specialty, after all.” Bellamy’s hand twitches. “And I will not let wizardkind stand idly by, and be calmly slaughtered, the bunch of brainwashed, placid little sheep they are. Nay. No. No, Bellamy.” “I, and others like us, people who know savagery inside and out, will lead the war of all time, to end all time. When the Magical fights the Mundane, when brother kills brother, and at the end of it all, not only will Wizardkind be victorious but—” There’s a distant thud, coming from the vague direction of the wall. Artur is utterly breathless. He is drunk on his very own words, in this moment. “The world will be baptized and made anew in the blood and guts and rot of conflict, of a glorious war which will not end with anything less but the total annihilation of the enemy. No longer will wizardkind be a huddle of dull, placid sheep.” There’s a thud against the wall. And then another. And another, as if someone, or something, is beating into it, tearing plaster and iron down as it was paper. Artur’s grin is sharp enough to rend flesh from bone, and in this moment, all he can do is watch Bellamy, watch the loving, hard-working man with a monster under his skin just a hairbreadth way. “No, Bellamy.” The wall comes crumbling down. “We will be wolves.” 

Title: Leathered Jealousy

Pairings: Dean x reader

Gender: not specified *if you male readers don’t mind going on a date with a guy

Warnings: I honestly tried to do some fluff but I’m horrible at writing cute things. Also, Dean in a leather jacket deserves a warning, right?

“Are those the only type of people you follow?”

You looked behind you at the voice that was speaking and Dean was right over your shoulder, looking at your Instagram feed as you were scrolling through.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused.

“That right there!” Dean pointed at a guy that happened to be the picture that your finger stopped on.

“He’s cute.” You shrugged your shoulders not knowing where Dean was going with this.

Dean made a gagging noise and walked away. “Cute? The guys you follow on that media site are leathered back wannabes.”

“Are you jealous of them, Dean Winchester?” You turned around in the chair you were sitting in to look at Dean. His back was towards you as he spoke.

“Me? Jealous? Of those men that wear leather jackets so they can show off their muscle arms. No.”

A smirk appeared on your face and you couldn’t help but tease him a little bit.

“I love me some men that wear black leather jackets and sunglasses. Ugh, they are so hot. I’m total heart eyes for them.”

Dean looked at you with a disgusted face. “Stop. You’re drooling again,” he rolled his eyes and continued to walk away.

You quickly grabbed his arm before he left your sight.

“Dean, what’s the matter?” You realized that Dean was actually annoyed. You crossed your arms over your chest, not taking no answer for an answer.

Dean stifled a laugh that seemed quite fake. “Nothing’s the matter Y/N.”

You smirked yet again. “Nothing? So you wouldn’t mind me going out on a date with Mr. Leathered Back Wannabe?”

“Why would I mind? Go ahead? I don’t care. But if he hurts you, Sam and I will kill him.”

Dean walked away and left me standing there, internally laughing at his jealousy.

::

The evening came quick and you were excited to go on a date with James, a.k.a. Mr. Leathered Back Wannabe. You thought it was a hilarious coincidence that Dean was jealous of him.

You got dressed in your favorite jeans and shirt. James said to dress casually, and this was about as nice and casual as you could dress. You left your hair the way it was, as it wasn’t a mess from the time it dried after you got out of the shower.

You walked out of your room and into the library and seen Sam and Dean with their noses in a book. Typical.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked. Dean quickly averted his gaze to you as Sam spoke up. Deans eyebrows were brought together as he waited for you to speak.

“On a date.” You said simply.

A knock on the hard metal door was heard loudly from the inside of the bunker. You smiled widely and slightly jumped up in excitement.

“He’s here!”

You walked up the stairs and opened the door for James. There he was in his black leather jacket and sunglasses hanging from his white shirt. His beard was growing out and his tattoos going up his neck were pretty hot.

“Come meet my friends.” You told James.

You let him in and brought him down the stairs into the library room.

“These are my buds, Sam and Dean. They are both brothers. Sam and Dean, meet James.”

Sam stood up from his seat and shook James’ hand. “Nice to meet you buddy.”

Dean on the other hand, he glared at James, and has been, from the time he walked in.

“Nice to meet you Dean.” James reached his hand out to shake Dean’s, but Dean fully ignored his action.

James quickly put his hand down in embarrassment and looked around the bunker nervously.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s been a grouch all day.” You said, patting his back.

“Have not!” Dean shouted out loud enough that his voice echoed in the library.

“Okay grouch. Sam I’ll see you later, alright?”

Sam nodded his head and smiled. “Be safe!”

::

You and James were having a blast at the carnival that was happening down the street. He won a big stuffed animal hitting milk jugs with baseballs and he gave it to you.

You were honestly having such a great time that you thought you finally found a great friend to hang out with.

As the saying goes, time flies when you’re having fun.

It was already ten o'clock and it seemed that you and James were the last few people at the carnival.

He took you home and stood outside of the bunker’s door with you.

“I had a great time,” You told James. “We should do it again sometime.”

“I agree.” James nodded his head and he slowly moved his head towards yours, leaning in for a kiss.

You quickly understoid what was going on and moved your head to the side. ��James…clearly you want something more but I think we should just stay friends. Having relationships doesn’t really work out for people like me.”

James nodded his head. “I understand. Sorry for trying to make a move on you.”

You and James said your goodbyes and you watched as he drove away.

You opened the bunker door and walked inside. You could hear Sam and Dean laughing and you rushed down the stairs to see what they were laughing at.

The light from the library slightly hurt your eyes as the rest of the bunker had the lights off. Your eyes adjusted and Sam and Dean were sitting in the same spots as when you left, except…

“Tell Dean he’s being ridiculous and he looks like it too.” Sam was laughing and was red in the face and his laugh was becoming contagious. I began to laugh but I honestly didn’t know about what.

“Dean looks ridiculous in that black leather jacket and those 99 cent sunglasses he bought.” Sam continued to laugh as my laugh slowly came to a halt.

Dean was red with embarrassment. He had the sunglasses off on the table, but quickly put them on when you stopped laughing.

Sam finally stopped laughing and you sat down on a chair right next to Dean, placing the big stuffed animal to the side.

“Dean, why did you buy a new jacket and a pair of sunglasses. Not to mention, why are you wearing them when it’s ten at night? I thought you said wearing sunglasses at night was for no talent douchebags?”

“They are.” Dean ripped the glasses off of his face so hard that one of the glasses legs snapped off and fell to the floor. He threw the glasses on the floor and stomped on them and walked out of the library.

You and Sam both shared the same expression.

“What’s wrong with him?” You asked Sam.

“He was telling me earlier how you were saying that you loved guys in a leather jacket with sunglasses. So he got up and left with the Impala and came back about two hours later with a new jacket and sunglasses!”

You couldn’t believe it. After Dean was telling you how he didn’t like the guys that wore those things, he goes out and buys it. Why?

“If you ask me, I think he likes you too much. He swears he doesn’t but I could tell he does.” Sam said.

“He likes me?” Your heart jumped slightly at the thought of Dean liking you. You never thought someone as attractive as him would like you considering the model looking girls he seems to always bring in for the nights.

“Duh. Am I the only one with 20/20 vision here? He only obviously flirts with you.”

You thought back to the beginning when you first met Sam and Dean. You were a hunter working alone when Sam and Dean actually saved your life from a djinn. Ever since then, all three of you never separated and only became closer. You always thought the flirts were just to pass the time, because who doesn’t like to flirt for fun?

“I’ll be back.” You quickly fled the library and ran to your room. You grabbed a pair of your favorite black Ray Ban sunglasses and went down the hall that Dean’s room was located in.

His door was closed and you could hear him blasting rock music, the door shaking with every thump. Your heart began to race, making you really nervous now that you knew the truth.

Your hand came up to the door in a fist, and you lightly knocked. Deans music came to a quick stop, but he didn’t say anything.

“Dean it’s me.” You announced.

He didn’t answer which made you want to go back to your room, but you decided against it.

“I’m going to come in your room, in three, two, one…”

You slowly opened the door, afraid that he might throw a punch out of the blue, although you knew he wouldn’t just do that to you.

Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head down. When you walked in, his head came up and his anger flooded his face.

“Am I done being the clown for you and Sam?” He snapped.

“Dean I’m sorry,” was all that you said. You held the glasses behind your back, waiting for a good time to bring them out.

“Dean, why did you go out and buy the jacket and the glasses?” You inquired.

“I heard Sam tell you. Why do you need me to tell you, too?”

So Sam was right! You couldn’t believe how blind you were to all of this.

“Can I hear you say it? So I know we’re both on the same page?” You sincerely asked.

Dean took a deep breath, his shoulders going wide and out and then slowly coming back down. You brought your hand to Dean’s leg to let him know that you’re willing to comfort him no matter what.

“I like you, Y/N, and I have since you moved in with us. This whole time I’ve been trying to deny it because, we’re hunters and we don’t do relationships. But when I was in the car on my way to buy the jacket and glasses, I realized that I was doing that just to impress you.”

You patted Dean’s back and you brought your arms and hung them around his shoulders. You brought out the dark shades in front of you and showed them to Dean.

“You know, you looked pretty hot with the sunglasses and the jacket. It kind of hurt when I seen you stomp on yours. Put these on?”

I handed him the glasses and he smiled happily as he grabbed them from me. He brought them up and put them on, giving me a great, big smile.

“I’m hot?” He asked.

I smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips and smiled as his face turned pink.

“Very.”

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Mile high chapter 11

A small, black-haired woman walked out of the closet, clutching hangers full of colorful dresses in each hand. She grinned at us.

She was beautiful, with sleek, long black hair pulled back from her stunning face. Her dark eyes were almond shaped and vibrant, with heavy violet eye shadow that brought out her olive skin to perfection.

Her lips were pure crimson and the shade suited her coloring. She was one of those people who could have been just about any race, but whatever it was, it was lovely.

She wore cute little eyeglasses on her nose that were so attractive that you had to wonder if they were just a fashion statement, or if she really required them. She wore an impeccably fitted emerald green sheath with a bright blue belt. Her shoes were five inch stilettos and hot pink. She wore a necklace of deep jewel-toned stones, with heavy gold hoops in her ears. Both of her wrists were heavy with intricate metal bangles.

She looked fashionable and intimidating, and though the outfit somehow worked beautifully, I could tell at a glance that she was a woman who wasn’t afraid to try and fail at fashion. I was betting that she would think that not trying was the only way to fail. Her outfit was timeless elegance but still managed to be trendy. I was impressed. I would have been happy to achieve either of those things. It was ambitious to try for both.

She eyed me up and down without shame as Justin introduced me. “Jackie, this is Selena. Selena, Jackie. She’s responsible for all of the new additions to your wardrobe.”

She smiled at me rather expectantly. “What do you think? It’s okay if you hate it all. I just need feedback, so I can get an idea of what you do like. Justin here is my favorite client of all time. He lets me dress him however I like. Can you imagine? It’s every stylists dream, a supermodel of a client who will wear damn near anything I pick out.” She eyed me critically as she spoke, as though mentally taking my measurements. She even began to circle me. I thought she was a strange little woman.

“I, uh, haven’t had much of a chance to look at it.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Well, when you do, any feedback would be good. It will give me some direction for your sense of style.”

“Selena likes the preppy look for men, Jackie,” Justin told her. “Keep that in mind when you’re shopping for me as well.”

She snorted. “And so it begins.” She sounded very put out by his request. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

I shot him a baffled look. Where did he come up with this stuff?

He shrugged at me, smiling a little. “You forget that Stephan and I talk.”

She was still circling me, studying me rather unnervingly. “Justin had you right on, size-wise. A size 5/6 in the waist and hips, and a 7/8 in the bust and shoulders. You have a body that’s fun for men to play with, but not too fun to dress. Your legs are a plus, though. There’s nothing I love to dress more than a killer set of legs. If you lost about ten pounds, though, you could have model proportions. That would be ideal. Something to think about.”

Some part of me agreed with her about the need to lose ten pounds, but it still stung to hear it. It was petty, but I had gone from kind of liking her to thinking she was awful in a few short sentences.

“Jackie,” Justin said, a cool warning in his voice. “She doesn’t need to lose a pound. If you talk her into a diet, I will fire you.”

She just grinned, uncaring about the warning and my stiff expression. “Okay, okay, just a mild suggestion.”

She laid the colorful armfuls of fabric onto the bed. “Based on your body type and skin tone, I picked out five dresses that I thought had the best shot of suiting you. Try them on, if you please, or anything else you see that catches your fancy.” She seemed to dismiss me completely after she finished speaking, approaching Justin with wide eyes.

She stabbed the red ink on his chest. “When did this happen? It has to be brand new!”

He just grinned, turning to show her his back. She was struck speechless at the sight.

I turned my back on them, grabbing the dresses on the bed and heading into the closet to try them on, while they continued to chat.

You wouldn’t have known it was a guest room if you were going by the closet. It was the size of a guest room all by itself, with mirrors lining every wall. I assumed this was the room where he usually worked with Jackie, going by the clothing, both male and female, lining the walls, tags intact.

I hung Jackie’s choices on a bare stretch of racks, eyeing them up dubiously. They were gowns. I liked skirts and sundresses well enough if they were cool and comfortable, but I felt overwhelmed even trying on the gowns I was looking at now.

I took a deep breath, plunging in. I wouldn’t let someone like Jackie see that I was intimidated by the clothes, or any of it, for that matter.

I grabbed a plain navy gown first. I could see by the cut of the top half that I wouldn’t be wearing a slip with it, so I slipped out of it before working the silky material over my legs, hips, and finally my bust. It was a strapless gown, with a long slit up the side. It zipped in back, and I couldn’t manage on my own. I almost took it off just because of that, but with a sigh, I stepped out of the closet to get a hand.

Jackie was still studying Justin’s shoulder tattoo when I stepped out of the closet. He shot me a admiring smile. “That looks great.”

I gave him a rather weak smile. The more I got ready for the gala, the more I felt a little overwhelmed by my misgivings. This was not my world, I didn’t want it to be, and I didn’t know if I could fake it, even for Justin.

“Can you zip me?” I asked him, my voice very stiff. He did, after all, have a strange woman running her fingers along his back.

He moved to me, completely ignoring Jackie’s demand for him to hold still. He held the back together, zipping me in with more ease than I would have expected. The dress didn’t have a bit of give in the silken fabric, and I’d thought it would be tighter.

I turned to the huge mirror mounted on the wall, approaching it to eye the gown with a critical eye.

Justin followed me, watching my face more than anything. I thought he could sense my uncertainty.

I thought the dress looked nice enough. “It fits,” I said flatly. “And it’s actually long enough. That’s pretty impressive, I suppose.”

Jackie made a little humming sound in her throat. “They make them long like that, for heels. Looks like you’ll need at least a three inch heel to pull that one off. It fits well enough. A little plain, but it fits.”

I headed back into the closet, biting back a comment about the fact that she had been the one to pick the thing out.

I chose a pretty lavender gown next. The top was a halter, and it didn’t take long to realize that I couldn’t wear a bra with the neckline.

I usually wouldn’t be caught dead going braless in public, but I tried it on, just to see. The way it tied gave the top a surprising amount of support in the bust area, and the silk was soft against my skin.

It was fitted, but not tight, from neck to about mid hip, where it fanned out in fluffy layers of chiffon, a high slit showing a lot of one leg. Jackie liked her high slitted gowns. It was ultra-feminine but still sexy, and I loved it instantly.

Justin blinked at me as I walked out, his jaw going just a touch slack. I was gratified. I decided instantly to wear the dress. Jackie’s input be damned.

Jackie whistled. “Very nice. I almost want to save that one for a bigger event.”

“No. I’ll wear it tonight,” I told her. I needed all of the confidence boosting I could get for the night, and Justin looking at me the way he was looking at me did exactly that.

He swallowed, then licked his lips. All of his nervous tells. It made me smile.

“You look beautiful,” he said, with feeling. “But it seems a little revealing. Do you think it’ll pick up as see-through with the camera flashes, Jackie?”

She gave him a ‘do you think I’m an amateur?’ kind of look. “It wouldn’t be in the pile if it did.” She turned back to me, her voice brisk. “Now to accessorize. You can go start getting dressed yourself, Justin. I got this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jackie pointed me in the direction of shiny navy wedges with a peep toe and a four inch heel. They were more comfortable than they looked, though that wasn’t saying much.

“Does the navy go with the lavender?” I asked dubiously.

She gave me a very exasperated look. “Would I pair them if they didn’t? And Justin is wearing this amazing all navy tux. It’s very fashion forward. Only a supermodel like Justin could pull it off. And he mentioned that he likes you guys to match, so I think he’ll like the shoes.

Eyeing myself up in the mirror, I had to agree that the shoes went well. I would have never guessed the the dress would pop even more with shiny navy shoes, but I was no stylist.

She sighed, looking at my jewelry. “Justin obviously wants you wearing that choker and earrings.

While they’re lovely, I had other accessories in mind for that dress. Oh well. Sometimes I must compromise my vision. A girl’s got to eat.” As she finished speaking, Justin was striding back into the room, a jewelry box in his hands. He was still shirtless. He set it on the bed without a word, just smiling as he strode back out.

Jackie sighed again, opening the box. Her eyes widened. She shot me a speculative glance. She took two thick diamond studded cuffs out of the box, walking to me. She snapped them on my wrists, making no comments about the abrasions that they covered. She circled me, pursing her lips as she tugged at several spots on my dress, adjusting it just so.

“It doesn’t need alteration, since you’re so damned tall, so that saves time.” She grabbed a smooth white robe off of a rack, holding it up for me. “So you don’t mess up the dress while you get hair and makeup done. We have a minute to talk.”

I thought that sounded ominous, but I met her gaze squarely.

She arched a brow at me. “Justin and I go way back. We went to school together. I’m his stylist, but it’s not because I need the money. I love fashion, but I come from money myself. I’ve had to dodge my fare share of fortune-hunters, but it’s nothing compared to what Justin has to deal with.”

She eyed me from top to bottom, but it only made my spine straighten. “You’re attractive enough, but I must admit, I don’t get it. Is your vag**a gold plated? He’s been chased by supermodels and playboy bunnies. He f**ked a lot of them, hell, most of them, but he never even talked about having a girlfriend.

Not once. Now you’ve moved in with him, and he’s acting like he’s a one woman man for life all of a sudden. I’ll admit, I’m intrigued and mystified by the change in him, but I don’t understand any of it. How did you wrap him around your little finger, Selena? And how do you feel about him? As one of his few close friends, I’d like to know your intentions.”

I returned her narrowed gaze with an icy one of my own. If I’d had any doubts before, I knew it now; Jackie and I were not going to be friends.

“If you and Justin are such close friends,” I began coldly, “you should be having this conversation with him, not me. You’re a virtual stranger to me. I won’t be discussing my feelings, or my intentions, with you.”

She just sighed, as though I’d disappointed her. “I was too direct, wasn’t I? Now you don’t trust me.

I’m blunt, Selena, but we don’t have to be enemies.”

I just gave a little shrug, wanting to end the awkward and personal conversation as quickly as possible.

“Hair and makeup?” I asked coldly.

She sighed again. “Follow me. They’ve set up a room for it.”

She led me to a large room one floor down. It had glass walls, and I thought it must have been some sort of entertainment room before they’d taken it over. There was a huge flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, and several reclining chairs pushed up against the wall, as though to make room for the salon-like setup.

Two ladies were waiting and chatting, looking antsy as we entered the room. There was a barber shop chair set up in front of a a table loaded with hair products and cosmetics. It was intimidating to imagine the setup was all for my benefit.

A thin, dark-haired girl strode towards me, smiling. Her heavy chestnut hair hung in waves nearly to her waist. Her nose dominated her thin face, but in an attractive kind of way. It was somehow a distinctive nose, rather than just large. Her big, dark eyes helped. And her artfully applied makeup, with smoky eyes and plum colored lips.

“I’m Amy,” she said. “I’ll be doing your makeup. It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Karlsson.”

I shook her hand, thinking that her amiable approach had to be the polar opposite of Jackie’s. “Nice to meet you, Amy. Please, call me Selena.”

The second woman stepped forward, her smile just as friendly as Amy’s. “I’m Ariel. I’ll be doing your hair. Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Karlsson.”

I shook her hand, smiling. The friendly women were already helping me shake off the awkwardness that was Jackie. “Selena, please. Nice to meet you, as well.”

They sat me in the chair, tripping over each other to discuss my hair and makeup, then giggling at each other. They were obviously friends.

I made it easy on them. “You’re the experts. I trust your judgement, so fix me up however you think is best.” I’d never spared much time or thought on my appearance, and I didn’t intend to let my strange new lifestyle change that.

This seemed to please them both, and they set to work. I closed my eyes, just letting them. They worked on me, blowdrying my hair, and applying my makeup for maybe ten minutes before I felt Justin enter the room. Both women paused for scant moments before resuming their ministrations. I guessed that he’d waved them back to their work, sitting somewhere to watch. I felt Ariel begin to play with my hair, pulling it back and twisting it.

“Leave her hair down,” Justin said from somewhere to my right.

Ariel let it fall without a word, smoothing it out.

Justin wasn’t quiet for a full minute before speaking again. “Are you ignoring me, Love?”

Impatient man. “If you didn’t notice, Amy is applying makeup to my face. I’m trying to hold still.”

He made a little noise of displeasure in his throat.

“You can open your eyes, Selena. I can work around it,” Amy told me. I could tell she was just trying to appease Justin, since I could still feel her working on my eyelids.

“It’s fine. I’ll hold still until you’re done,” I told her.

It was maybe thirty seconds before Justin spoke again. “Did you like the cuffs?” he asked me.

“They’re lovely. Thank you,” I told him.

Amy and Ariel began to ooh and ah over my diamond jewelry. “That is luxe. Who did you borrow from? You’ll need a bodyguard for this kind of jewelry.” Ariel’s voice was awed.

Justin answered for me, but I felt my cheeks redden. I had tried very hard not to think about how much the jewelry he gave me was worth, but her comment made it harder to ignore.

“I actually had it all designed for her,” Justin told them. “It’s her own personal collection.”

More oohs and ahs. “What a generous boyfriend,” Amy said, her voice dreamy.

“That’s nothing. I haven’t even begun to gift her with my mother’s jewels. She left me a queen’s ransom’s worth,” Justin said, a clear grin in his voice.

I thought the two women were going to swoon as they rushed to tell him how wonderful he was. He was wonderful, but I couldn’t bring myself to be pleased with the prospect of more extravagant gifts. They still just made me uncomfortable. And if he wasn’t joking, if he really did intend to give me some of the jewels his mother had left him, well, that was even more disconcerting. It seemed like such a huge step.

You didn’t give a woman things with such sentimental value unless she was your wife, or you were certain that she would be. The thought still made my blood run cold. Would he really push this issue so soon after I had agreed to live with him? I still couldn’t believe we were moving so incredibly fast, and yet he only wanted more. I tried not to panic at the thought.

“She even left me her five-carat princess cut diamond engagement ring, surrounded by sapphire baguettes. Don’t you ladies think that would look particularly lovely on Selena’s left hand?”

I felt myself get a little light-headed, but the ladies went crazy, gushing over how romantic he was. I told myself, rather desperately, that he was only joking, that he was just having fun at our expense, but I was beginning to know him well enough to be worried.

“Just take deep breaths, Love. You’ll grow accustomed to the idea, once the initial shock wears off,”

Justin told me, his tone rather casual considering the topic matter.

The ladies giggled, as though he were joking. If only.

“Justin,” I began.

“Deep breaths,” he said again, the clear smile in his voice infuriating. But I took a few deep breaths, and it did help a little.

Amy and Ariel finished my hair and makeup within seconds of each other, almost as though they had it down to a science. They seemed to be used to working together, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

“Thank you, ladies,” Justin said, his voice a touch husky.

I knew that tone. It wasn’t fit for company. It was way too tender and affected for that.

“You can open your eyes, Selena. Tell us what you think. We can change anything you don’t like,” Amy said, her voice endearingly earnest.

I looked. I was…stunned. I looked more lovely than I had thought makeup could make me. My eyes were lined in a soft brown, my lashes sooty and black. My lids were a pale lavender near the brows, with a more vibrant violet along my lashes. The color brought out my eyes startlingly, the liner making them look huge in my rounded face. Just a touch of bronzer on my cheeks had me glowing, and a soft, shiny pink lip made my lips look plump and kissable. My hair was straight and smooth, the short bangs working with the makeup to bring out my pale aquamarine eyes.

“Wow,” I managed to get out.

“Exquisite,” Justin murmured.

My eyes traveled to him when he spoke. He had turned one of the reclining chairs towards me, and was lounging in it comfortably, one perfectly tailored leg crossed over a knee, shiny navy shoes gleaming in the light. They were the mens version of my shoes. I knew he’d get a kick out of that, if he hadn’t noticed already. Hell, I got a bit of a kick out of it. He looked amazing, of course. Jackie had been right about his tux being fashion forward. It was sleek and navy, more fitted than a normal tux, showing off his stark muscular build to perfection. Even his sleek dress shirt and bow tie were a dark navy that caught the light a bit more than the rest of the ensemble. It was something you would normally only see on a runway at fashion week, because no one who wasn’t a damned supermodel could pull it off. The dark navy set off his dark tan, his turquoise eyes shining vibrantly against the dark contrasts. His hair was slicked back just a tad.

I pointed at him. “Did it really only take you ten minutes to look like that? That is so unfair.”

He looked at his watch. It wasn’t one I’d seen before. I had quickly caught on that he liked to collect watches. Expensive ones, of course. “Love, it only took you forty-five minutes, so you can’t really complain, either. That’s unheard of for a red carpet event.”

I waved a hand at the women hovering behind me. “It took a team to get me ready that fast, Mr.

Beautiful.”

Amy and Ariel giggled at the name.

Justin smirked. “Every woman attending tonight had a team getting them ready, love, and I guarantee that no one other than you only took forty-five minutes, team or no.”

Justin politely dismissed my ‘team’ of beautifiers, and I thanked them again.

When we were finally alone, he pulled me to my feet, whipping off the white robe that protected my gown. His eyes were hot as he just stared at me, studying me from head to toe. He smiled when he saw our matching patent-leather navy shoes.

“I take it you like me all dolled up like this. Are you going to try to have those two follow me around to achieve the affect more often?” I asked him, only half-teasing. There was no telling what the crazy man would do.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, a gesture that always drove me wild. “To tell you the truth, I like you best bare of makeup and everything else. I’ve never met a woman who looked more beautiful without a thing on. But I have to admit that I love the idea of shoving you in the face of the press when you look so polished and lovely, and when they’ve printed so many unflattering things about you. It will make them all look like fools, after some of the nonsense that’s been posted.”

I gave a little shrug. I really couldn’t let the things being said about me get to me, or I’d never leave my house again. I thought that it was a little naive for Justin to think that he could change anyone’s mind after the things that had been said about him. I certainly wouldn’t be holding my breath.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Jackie reappeared as we were almost to the elevator, handing me a tiny navy patent-leather clutch. It was cute, but I hated having something on me that would take up the use of my hand for the entire night, so I declined. She looked baffled by the refusal, looking at the clutch in her hand as though it had done something to warrant the rejection.

I looked at Justin. “Do I need to take anything?”

He considered. “Only what you would consider essential. If you don’t have anything you want to bring, then you certainly don’t have to.”

“But it completes the ensemble!” Jackie said.

I just looked at her. If she was paying attention, she could have seen in my eyes that I just didn’t care that much about ‘completing the ensemble’. She finally got the idea, moving out of our way, though the look she gave me was less than friendly.

“Will you be attending tonight?” Justin asked her as he led me into the elevator by a hand on the small of my back.

She shrugged. “I may come to hound the red carpet press about who I dressed tonight. Free publicity and all that.”

Justin just nodded, pushing the button.

Jackie hurried into the car. She seemed to have just realized that she was leaving, too. She pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. She saw my look.

“I live in this building, as well,” she explained.

Well, that was handy, I thought.

She got off on her floor with a dismissive little wave.

“What do you think of Jackie?” Justin asked as soon as the door closed.

I gave him my little shrug that drove him crazy. I was going for nonchalant, but I ruined it with a dumb question. “Have you slept with her?”

He didn’t get offended, as most men probably would. He never seemed to mind my inquiries about his past affairs. He didn’t like my questions, but he seemed ever willing to give me answers. I appreciated his candor, even if I didn’t always like his answers.

“I have not. We have always been strictly platonic, and we’ve been friends since high school. So what did you think of her?”

I grimaced a little, but not so he could see it. “I’m trying hard to reserve judgement, at the moment. She told me you’ve been friends for a long time, but she seems to be nurturing a vague dislike for me. The feeling is very much mutual, so far.”

His hand gripped my hip almost painfully. “Why? What did she say to you?”

I shot him a look. “She thinks I’m after your money, I guess. It’s what you can expect everyone to be thinking and saying. I’ll have to get used to that kind of nonsense, I suppose.”

He used the tight grip on my hip to push my other side into his rigid stomach. He spoke very close to my ear, as though we weren’t alone in the elevator. “You don’t have to put up with that. We can fire her.

You can fire anyone who doesn’t suit you, for any reason.”

I placed a hand on his chest, right on his heart, where my name was branded. I looked up into his beloved eyes. “That’s not necessary. You’ve obviously been able to maintain a good working relationship with her over the years. Maybe just don’t have her shop for me anymore. I don’t want anything else, anyways. It’s all too much, Justin.”

“I will have a word with her, Selena. If she disrespects you again, I’m firing her. She will get a clear warning, but only one.”

I rubbed that sweet little spot on his chest. “People will be thinking that, Justin. We need to be prepared for it. It’s a conversation that I will undoubtedly be having again and again. There’s no way for me to prove to the world that I don’t want a damned cent from you.”

We arrived at the lobby floor, and he hugged me into his side, a hand going to the hoop at my collar to hook in that familiar finger as we made our way through the swank lobby and to the waiting town car. In the scant space from the building’s doorway to the car, three flashbulbs snapped at us just getting into the car. Justin ushered me in without a word, crowding in behind me. I scooted across the seat to give him room, but he just followed me, plastering me to his side as the door closed behind him.

He kissed the skin just behind my ear as he spoke. “And yet, it’s all yours, love. Every damned cent. I want to lay the world at your feet. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that, right?”

I rubbed my hands over him comfortingly, hearing a strange vulnerability in his voice. I stroked his knee, and found my favorite spot on his heart, running my hand over it again and again. “I don’t need any of that, Justin. I’ve grown to need you. I love your honesty, and your tenderness, and your dominance.”

I took a deep breath, suddenly panicky about the things coming out of my mouth. I had never said anything quite so revealing to him before. “But I don’t need any of that other stuff,” I said firmly.

“Nonetheless, you have it,” he murmured, burying his face in my neck. He began to suckle me there, and I melted. He pulled back abruptly. “I don’t want to muss you up for your first red carpet.”

I was breathless when I responded. “At least I’m not nervous now. I can’t even remember why I should care enough to be nervous. I only care about getting you to touch me again.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was his happy laugh, and I felt my whole body get soft, my smile as our eyes met unmistakably tender. I didn’t think there was much I wouldn’t do to make him that happy.

And yet I had done so little to make him so. It seemed miraculous to me that my every small gesture seemed to affect him so.

He was still giving me that boyish smile as the car stopped. The gala was apparently very close to his home.

Justin handed me out of the car expertly, his hand falling swiftly to my waist. He ushered me through the press as though it were a dance, the cameras snapping at us in quick succession. I plastered my most polished smile on my face. It was a photo-ready smile, if a touch cool. I had perfected it at a young age.

Growing up fast and painfully had taught me that smile. Yes, it was polished, but I had earned that polish.

A few photographers shouted out some rather rude comments, but we both ignored them. They were acting that way for a reaction, and it was the last thing I would give them. My smile never even slipped.

Justin kissed my forehead when we finally made our way into the grand entrance of the building.

“You’re a natural. Those bloodhounds can take some getting used to.”

My mind had already moved past the strange red carpet experience when I saw a doorway into some kind of elaborate ballroom. “Oh, Justin, I don’t know how to dance. I didn’t even think of it.”

He kissed my forehead again, and I caught the edge of his smile at the top of my vision. “You only need to dance with me, Love. And we know all too well that if I lead, you know how to follow, even without experience.”

I tried to tell myself that he may well be right. Perhaps it would just be that easy. I felt the nerves clench in my stomach nonetheless.

A seemingly endless stream of introductions and polite mingling began almost immediately. I gathered from some of the pleasantries exchanged that this was a gala that his mother had been involved with before she’d passed. She had made the charity rounds, I learned, donating generous amounts of both her time and money. Justin had mentioned briefly that it was a fundraiser for cancer research at a prominent New York hospital. I tried to say the right things when addressed, but I felt quickly out of my depth. I had never been to anything like the gala before, and I was overwhelmed by all of the affluent company I was suddenly keeping. It was daunting, to say the least.

Justin, for his part, was a perfect date for such an event, including me in conversations that really had nothing to do with me, and keeping a warm hand on my hip, often sending warm, reassuring smiles my way. He seemed content just to have me at his side. But I just felt awkward, as though I had no purpose there. The introductions quickly became a blur for me. Most of the people I met hadn’t left enough of an impression to put a face with a name even moments after moving on. There were a few exceptions.

After mingling for a solid hour, we were approached by the most austere looking woman I had ever seen in my life. She had to be seventy, with silver hair pulled back into a severe bun, and a navy gown that went from her neckline to her toes, the stark lines showing a sparse figure.

She stood directly in front of us before she spoke. Her tone was icy, her accent crisp and British.

“Justin. And how are you this evening?”

His eyes were cold as he studied the woman, but the moment he spoke, I detected a note of something I’d never heard from him before. It was almost as if he affected a slightly sneering tone, mimicking her accent just enough to goad her. I watched him in fascination. “Aunt Mildred. I am well. And how are you this fine evening?”

Her brow arched. I thought that to her it may have been a way of answering. She never spared me a glance. “Well enough. I have been hearing things about you, though. Disturbing things. Even more disturbing than your usual debaucheries. Please tell me that you haven’t invited a penniless flight attendant to live in one of your homes.”

I stiffened, but still couldn’t look away from Justin. How did everyone seem to know that we had moved in together before it had even happened? I had barely even agreed to the arrangement.

His eyes began to twinkle, but it wasn’t a good kind of twinkle. It was as though he had engaged this woman in hostile banter too many times to count, and I thought he just might look forward to offending her. “Aunt Mildred, meet my girlfriend, Selena. Selena, this is my charming Aunt Mildred.”

The awful woman just slanted me a malevolent stare, giving me a sneer.

“Now, now, Auntie,” Justin began in that goading tone, “you had better play nice with my dearest Selena. I have not invited her to live in one of my homes. I have welcomed her into all of them. And though I know it would break your heart if anything were to ever happen to me, you will be beholden to this angel to cover your living expenses when I pass away, as she will be my sole inheritor.”

I shot him a look. I didn’t care for him putting me in the middle of what was obviously a family squabble. I let my eyes tell him as much. He just smiled at me, stroking a finger down my cheek.

Mildred harrumphed. “I know you like to have your fun at my expense, you rotten boy, but this is going too far. Really, what a ridiculous thing to say. You’ll give the poor chit delusions of grandeur.”

He stopped smiling, giving her a very serious look. “It is no joke, Mildred. Meet my future. Her name is Selena. Come to terms with it. My advice would be to get on her good side.” With that, he led me away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

He was tense as he led me away. “Please don’t involve me in that family stuff, Justin. It makes me horribly uncomfortable.”

His mouth tightened. “Just handle it with the practicality that you’ve handled the press, Love. My family is f**ked up to the Nth degree, and you are now a part of it. Trust me, it’s best to face them all head on.”

“Facing them is different than goading that awful woman with lies about heirs or inheritors.”

He pursed his lips, studying me. I could tell that he was debating with himself what he should say to me. “It wasn’t a lie, Selena. You will be inheriting everything, should I pass. I’ve already begun the process.”

I swayed a little on my feet, feeling suddenly quite light-headed. “Please don’t, Justin. Don’t say that, and if you’re so crazy that it’s actually the truth, don’t do it. It is the last thing I want. Your family will despise me.”

“I’m sorry to say that they will despise you regardless. They are a spiteful nest of vipers, and if something should happen to both of us, all of the family wealth will be going to my mother’s favorite charities. I know you will tell me that I am too hasty, that it’s all too sudden, but this is how I do things, Selena. When I’m certain of something, I am decisive about it.” His eyes were steady on mine as he spoke, and we stared at each for a long moment while I tried to process what he was saying.

“You won’t sway me from this,” he continued, “I’m quite set on this course. It only needs to bother you as much as you let it. Go back to pretending that you don’t know, if you need to.”

I gave him a long, level stare. “You’re impossible,” I told him.