#though as bad hairdresser goes it's not half bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohworm-writes · 7 months

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Scenarios for Firefighter 141 x fem!reader who’s a hairdresser?

I could just see each scenario of them being supportive boyfriends just heart eyes for her in her shop while her customers are jealous.

Oh my gods you're so intelligent for saying this because, yes, all of them would be so supportive of their partner's career as a hairdresser.

First and foremost: every single person who works at the station (be it the volunteers, EMTS, paramedics, firefighters or even the Fire Chief, 141 boys or otherwise) goes to your salon to get their hair done, be it the ones at the tops of their heads or their facial hair, whether you do it or not.

It's a win win, in all honesty. Your shop gets more customers, the boys are promoting and supporting their partner's work, and you get to listen to and share stories, secrets and drama about your boyfriend with the people he works with!

PRICE gets his facial hair done by you and you alone- you're the one who encouraged it, after all, and who best to trust than with his most defining aspect than you? When time allows, he'll come into your shop, still dressed in his PPE, or, at the very least, his bunker pants, waiting with a smug grin on his face for you to tend to him, completely tuning out all of the confused or starstruck looks he's getting by the other customers inside.

(Usually, it isn't even like you're trimming it or anything, just grooming it so that it sits more cleanly on his face. Is it so bad that he wants your hands on his face? After all, you have that adorable, concentrated expression you have on as you're leaned in close to him when you work, combing and brushing strands into place with the sole focus of making him look as presentable as possible.)

He keeps trying to put his hands on your hips throughout the entire process, but it always ends with you swatting his hands away and giving him a playfully stern look, whispering to his with a warning to quit it (he never does). All of the customers in the shop are confused by the interaction, some genuinely worried for you, others utterly jealous, because why on Earth would the local firehouse's Captain be putting his hands on you?

He ignores them, their stares, and any comments or remarks they may make, giving you the most lovesick expression as you tend to him with such attentiveness, talking to him about your own day while he talks about his, mumbling away to you about the jobs he's completed thus far, how the newest fire academy graduate working at the station has been a pain in his ass, and whatever else comes to his mind.

He always suggests how you should just take the day off and ride back to the station with him while he's still off call. You never do. He pouts. You press a kiss to his forehead. It's a song an dance the two of you go through every single time he comes by, and although, he will admit, he is a little disappointed you won't take him up on his offer, he knows you take your job seriously and wouldn't ever be willing to blow it off just to spend the day with him, and he has respect it. Plus, it's a foolproof way to get a kiss from you.

If you ever do, though, he's quick to grab your things and usher you out of the door with a grin, placing his helmet onto your head with a grin, the heavy weight of the item forcing you to straighten your posture as he moves you into one of the free seats with that same smug, satisfied grin on his lips, honking the horn without shame as he drives the two of you back to the station.

GHOST always walks in to your shop as if he had just came back from a call, dressed in a mask and a hood, his helmet on, all of his equipment still on his body as he wordlessly walks over to you, choosing to stand either behind you or next to you as you work on a customer, silent most times.

It's a shame he never removes his facial coverings when he comes by, double the shame, given he doesn't let you work on his hair whatsoever. That doesn't mean he doesn't care, though. He buys half of the products you use, after all, and he listens to ever rant and story you have to share about your job with unwavering attention, memorizing some of the process and methods you've spoken of (if he tried, he could probably layer hair flawlessly just from having listened to you so intently).

The customers are usually confused or freaked the fuck out by some random fireman coming over and staring at them as they get their hair done (and, frankly, they wouldn't be wrong to, especially when he watches with an unblinking stare as your hands and fingers deftly work through the strands with an unyielding concentration; it looks like he's glaring to those who don't know better, which can be unnerving).

But when he starts to talk after a few prolonged minutes of silence, he's asking about how your day's gone so far and what exactly you're working on right now, ignoring the customer completely and staring at you through the mirror in front of the three of you, giving short responses and hums, his tense, smoke scented body relaxing minutely as you speak, a loving expression that only you can catch hidden beneath his gaze.

If you ask him about how his day went, he'll usually say something along the lines of "I'll tell you later". It's not dismissive, but rather, he just prefers to talk about his work when the two of you are alone and not in the presence of others. It's a personal thing for him, his work, given how sensitive the information can become at times, and it's not something he wants some random civilian listening to him talk about.

Usually, right before he leaves, he'll lean in close, the bottom of his mask hovering above your shoulder, right next to your ear, whispering about how you should come over and spend the night at the station with him, making the excuse that the others miss playing cards with you or something equally as lame, but truth be told, he just wants to wake up with you in his uniform.

SOAP lets you do anything you'd like to him. Facial hair? Sure, why not. He could pull off a handlebar, right? Hair? Yeah, we could do a full buzz, why not? Dye? It's... it's best you pick the color, because he'll just put a bunch of random colors on a wheel and spin it. Whatever it lands on, he'll have you do. (It landed on platinum once, and he didn't realize how many sessions he'd have to have and the fact he'd be blond for months on end before it actually matched.)

The way I want to say that he'd pull up to your shop with the siren blaring so badly, but my firefighter loving heart says he'd be more responsible than that (because they're literally not supposed to have it on in case of emergency, and he won't even use the horn because he doesn't want to mess you or any of your co-workers up as you work).

However, that doesn't mean that he won't come into the shop and fling open the door with just a little too much enthusiasm, greeting all of your co-workers as he walks in. Sometimes, he'll even bring the lot of you lunch or coffee if time allows and he isn't needed immediately back at the station (and, yes, he has everyone's orders memorized, of course).

He's dressed all up in his PPE, coming up behind you as you work, pressing a kiss to the back of your head, making sure not to be too enthusiastic or harsh with his movements, not wanting to mess you up, gently grabbing your waist (his gloves press into your apron and get them dirty, but neither of you complain) and placing his chin on your shoulder, talking with you about anything and everything, staring lovestruck at you through the mirror, eyes hooded, gaze coated with love and adoration as he watches you work.

Your co-workers are used to the PDA, the customers are not. A lot of them are confused or offput by it, though, there are those select few that cast glares at either of you (because, come on now, both of you are hot! It's hard to not be jealous of one of the two of you, or even both). There's an attractiveness that comes with being a firefighter (don't we all love a man in uniform?), so more often then not, glares are cast at you.

He'll just press a kiss or two to your cheek to reassure any worries you may have, grinning madly at you as he stares at you in the mirror before pulling back, not wanting to distract you any longer, giving you one of those crappy, plastic stickers with the fire department's logo on it (he does this every single time he sees you, so you just give the stickers to any kids you do hair for), blowing you a kiss before walking out.

GAZ who swears up and down he could marry you because, when you initially asked to do his hair back when the two of you first started dating, sensing his skepticism, showed him how you had done work on a number of people who matched his hair type, and, although he didn't tell you, noted you did a better job than his current barber (and god damn did you line that boy up right).

He always comes in between calls, dressed in his bunker pants and station-issued t-shirt, tucked in, strolling in casually, waiting patiently until you're finished with your client to approach you, your favorite drink from that one spot he heard you talk about last time he came in in his hand, a smile painted across his lips as he approaches you, kissing you on the forehead without shame.

Some of the customers give you both weird looks, either uncomfortable with the PDA or confused why, first off, a firefighter was in the barbershop/salon so casually on a random Thursday afternoon, and two, why he was being so lovey-dovey with you? (They wish it were them so badly, it's pathetic, and Gaz tells you just how pathetic he finds it in private, fighting back the urge to scoff and roll his eyes whenever he catches the stares in person).

He'll sit in the seat, talking with you as you sweep the floor of hair or clean up your work station, leaning into it comfortably, slowly spinning around it as the two of you converse, asking you about how you're days going so far, stealing a sip of your drink with a cheeky grin every once in a while as he listens to you speak (he likes it especially when you whisper out complaints to him about some of the customers you've had so far, or share some of the conversations you've had or overheard with customers).

And the look in his eyes as he listens to you speak? God. The only way to describe it is enamored, completely overwhelmed with love and awe and admiration and every positive word you could find in a dictionary. You often joke with him that you can see his eyes popping out cartoonishly in the shapes of hearts as he stares at you, to which he only responds, saying "It's 'cause you look so good when you talk about doing the thing you love... can't help myself".

He'll talk about his work, a tone of boredom hinting at his tone, not as interested in talking about his own job when he could be listening to you, but if you want him to talk, who is he to deny you? (Like, he could have had the most eventful day, dealt with a goer, two Class B's, or something worse, and he'd act like it was nothing).

Presses a kiss to the back of your hand and gives your a grin as he's called back to the station, telling you to give him a call when you get off so he can come pick you up in the truck. (He always tell you that "royalty like you has got to have a proper carriage, don't you think so, love?").

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215-luv · 2 years

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How about JJK CHARACTERS doing normal jobs other than fighting curses?

// tw: curses/cursing, mentions of drowning

Saleslady!Nobara who is a pro at knowing what clothes matches your complexion and body figure or what accessory would match well with your aura. but will brutally talk shit about you in her mind when you pick up a dress that’s really really bad lmao, she’ll be looking at you and the dress back and forth with an expression that screams, ‘really?’ but don’t worry!! as soon as you ask for her advice, she’s already have 10 planned outfits just for you and a paper with her number on it sliding right inside of your back pocket (without you knowing ofc).

Waiter!Yuuji who never fails to brighten up his customers day with just a smile as he takes their orders and serves their food. the whole restaurant is doting on him lmao they adore him so much that the once mean customer suddenly turns nice under his presence?? the manager definitely gives him a raise for that. he approaches you with a paper and pen on hand and then is taken aback when he sees you because omg you’re so pretty?!??!! he’s all blushing and wide smiles and when comes the time he serves your food he’d mention some stuff like,, “a special dish for a special customer right here” “enjoy your meal, m’lady/my lord *winks*” he’s goofy and extra, i love him.

Librarian!Megumi is the quiet boy who everyone goes to the library not to actually read books but to check him out… i mean, who wouldn’t? he’d have a cardigan as his usual fit, hanging around on his usual place on the front counter while being occupied with a book. when he hears the bell ring from the front door, indicating a customer coming in, he lifts his head up and he sees you—a regular who comes by to actually read books and not make him uncomfortable with the stares, and suddenly his day is complete. you’re probably the only person who he smiles at and nods in greeting. and as for the other people,, well,,, he doesn’t spare them a single glance.

Lawyer!Maki who isn’t afraid to call out and talk shit in court that leaves everyone, including the judge, shitting on their pants because the raging aura she has lmaoo. BUT when you became her client, she suddenly becomes extremely patient and sympathetic with you that leaves her co-workers (the second years) dumbfounded?? like where is maki and what did you do to her?! they all watch as she tells you something with a soft look on her face, “don’t be afraid, alright? i’m here to protect you.” & their jaws drop.

Dentist!Gojo who is the finest dentist you’ve ever seen in your whole life that it leaves you frozen, completely baffled under his presence it makes you want to pass out or turn around and find another clinic, there’s no in between. you lay there while he inspects your teeth and he goes, “mmmmmmmm it’s a mess back here sweetheart..” and never in your life did your mood drop so fast you suddenly think, ‘nvm he’s ugly’ lmao

Hairdresser!Inumaki who is a pro at getting the EXACT look you want for your hair as the one you showed him on your phone. he’s not like one of those hairstylists who gets barely half of the hairstyle you want done (which is annoying, fr). but this man however, will definitely take hairstyling to a whole new level. he’s the type to not talk alot. he simply takes a look at the hairstyle you like and then he’s already got them hair dye and scissors ready. he’s not the mean type, definitely all cute and jolly even though he’s wearing a mask that covers his lower face because his eyes tells you everything, they’re so expressive that you almost giggle by the way his eyebrows were furrowed and all concentrated when he’s trimming your strands. and plus, the way his hands are on your hair is so soothing n gentle, you’ve almost fallen asleep halfway through the treatment lmao

Car Mechanic!Toji (aight here me out,,) is HOT. and i mean you go to his shop with your car and park at the front,, when you roll down your window you nearly passed out when you’re met with the sight of a handsome man wearing a tank top with a scar on the edge of his lip that forms a smirk the moment he sees your pretty face. and he goes, “gotta problem with that engine sweetheart?” and bullshit, because he’s completely right about that darn engine. you’re definitely poking holes on your tires when you get home tonight.

Nurse!Nanami who visits your room at any time of the day to make sure you’ve been drinking your medicine. he’s always there to assist you, asking you if you’ve been feeling any pain lately, and if you mention about having back pains, he quickly has his hands on your back, gently going from area to area and asking where does it hurt specifically, then goes to massage a particular area and asks, “is this alright? do you feel any discomfort?” but then there are also those times where you rebel and leave your room at a late hour (which is prohibited for u). so after his rounds around the floor, when nanami sees you sitting on one of the couches on the waiting room, he sighs. and when you greet him with an innocent smile, “hi, nanam—“ “get back to your room. now.”

Daycare Teacher!Yuuta who is the sweetest rookie ever. he’s also the youngest & the only boy among the old ladies who were working at the daycare. he at first was really awkward around kids, but that doesn’t stop him from adoring and caring about them with all his heart. the first time he met you, you were bringing your niece to the daycare and he’s baffled—you were so beautiful he couldn’t just seem to be aware of his surroundings!! and,, well, he bumps into one of the kids.. which was your niece who was actively running to the entrance that she ended up bumping into his leg lmao. a million apologies later, he faces you with a blush on his face, “i-i’m.. really sorry.. how could i make it up to you..?” and you know, you were also surprised bc he was asking how he could make it up to YOU??? like you were the one who bumped into his leg and not your niece hahahah,, but that’s okay! you weren’t gonna waste this chance anyway,, so why not suggest a date?? :DD

Lifeguard!Geto who the girls couldn’t help but gape at on a day at the beach. he stands on the shore where he gets a view of the people, especially at sea. on other days he either wears a tank top or goes topless with a whistle hanging around his neck. he sometimes walks around the shore, smiling politely at people—who swiftly becomes head over heels for him. he meets you when he saves you from a drowning accident. while you were still in the midst of fear, he’s got you in his arms as he lowers you to the ground and he instinctively consults you, “hey hey, i’m here. it’s okay. you’re okay, you’ve got me.” and when you do get a bare grip of tranquil, your eyes meets his, and then suddenly your breathing calms down. of course, geto notices it, earning a relieved smile forming on his face as you felt his thumb gently rubbing against your skin.

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kurtfiction · 2 years

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��️ for the ROs, and 🧑‍🦰, 💀, and the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever spent money on for all party members? Also: very much looking forward to this! There's so many possibilities with urban fantasy imo. Can't wait to see where you take it, and best of luck!! :))

tysm besti! ^^ i'm happy to hear you're looking forward to it, i am too! i hope it meets your expectations.

answers under the cut!

❣️ - what are their love languages?

harley’s love language is 100% physical touch. whether it be hand holding or just having an arm slung over your shoulder. he likes knowing that you’re there with him.

bas’ love language is gift giving- better yet, gift making. to him, there’s nothing more intimate than giving your loved one something you made specifically for them.

sera’s love language is quality time. like, just the two of you hanging out and shit, don’t even got to be doing anything. just being around you makes them love you 10x more.

rue’s love language is acts of servitude, mostly in the form of making you food. she doesn’t know how to express herself with her words most of the time, and to her food is one of the most intimate things, so of course she opts for that instead.

🧑‍🦰 - have they ever tried to dye their hair? ever cut it themself?

take one good look at harley and you’ll see that this boy does not cut his hair. he’s been growing it for years and he refuses to chop it all off. and surprisingly the answer is no, he has not ever dyed his hair before. if he were too, though, it’d probably be something like pink or blue, maybe half-n-half.

bas used to give himself haircuts (aka, buzzing it all off) before deciding to grow it out. he bleached it once during highschool and rocked a blonde buzz for a bit before deciding to go back to it’s natural color.

for sera, it’s a 100% yes on both of those. their current hairstyle is the result of them taking scissors and an eletric razor to their head at 2am. they’ve bleached and dyed their hair at least ten times in the last five months alone, though for now they’re rocking their natural hair color.

rue’s hair is 100% natural. she trims it herself when she needs too, and she has no intention of ever dying it.

kirk doesn’t want to dye their fur, ever. they can, but it’d be extremely messy and they don’t want to deal it. they could dye the hair on the human parts of their body, though, but they opt to leave that alone. the only trimming they do is on their lower parts.

isobel’s current dishwater do is the result of her dying her hair “mermaid green” oh so many months ago. so yes, she has dyed her hair before. she wants to bleach it and dye is silver soon. she doesn’t cut her hair herself, she always goes to the hairdressers.

💀 - how do they feel about horror movies?

harley and sera both love them. they know all the best flicks and are semi-obsessed, but not like in a weird way, in harley’s case. sera’s the type of person to think that billy and stu from scream are cute uwu boys. harley just thinks the effects are cool.

bas hates horror movies. he wouldn’t touch them with a 50 ft pole. same goes for isobel. they’re both the type of person to scream at the slightest noise for the rest of the night after watching one.

kirk doesn’t mind them, because they know they’re fake. they can giggle at the laughably bad effects and jumpscares all night long.

most ridiculous thing they've ever spent money on?

for harley it’s like, everything he owns. you’ll walk into his room and find a bunch of random crap, all of it 100% expensive and 200% ridiculous. though, if there was anything that’d top his list of bullshit it’d be the $200 die he bought for his campaigns and immediately lost in his room.

bas doesn’t buy things he doesn’t need.. that being said, if you ever asked him to buy something totally stupid and totally expensive, he’d buy it, just for you. doesn’t matter what it is. and trust me, he’s done it before.

surprise surprise, sera bought another weird looking guitar. they have a collection of weird shaped guitars, all of which has cost them more than a few meals.

everything rue owns. she buys stuff just to have it.

a jouch. kirk doesn’t seem to grasp how hideous it is, but they love it with all their little minotaur heart.

#the party #the dungeon master #the barbarian #the bard #the paladin #the fighter #the rogue #kurtstuff

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deep-hearts-core · 2 years

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2006 - final

originally posted 7/20/20

Switzerland Not entirely a bad way to start off. Strong vocals here, and even though this is a Ralph Siegel song it feels much less out of place than his entries in the late-teen years. It does lack a certain cohesiveness, though, in vocal style and in the styling. Moldova This one is repetitive as fuck, in such a way that I know I'm not going to be getting the chorus out of my head for a couple days. That's good, it stands out. Vocals are rough here though, not gonna lie. Natalia and Arsenium are somehow not singing into their mics, which should be impossible because they are literally wearing their microphones. I also could have done without Natalia in the swimsuit. Overall, though, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting from the clip, if that counts for anything. Israel Apparently people don't like this? I don't get why... it's a perfectly nice song, and Eddie and his backing singers have nice voices. There's a subtlety to this presentation that most aughts Eurovision, for lack of a better word, well, lacks. It's not really something I'd qualify as one of my favorites, but I can see it ending up midtable in my ranking.

Latvia A Cappella in Eurovision is always a little weird. While this is better than Belgium 2011, it nevertheless takes quite a while to get going - it's not until all six of them are singing that I actually know the form of the song. That beginning was super weird. As was the puppet? Robot? Whatever it was that the beatboxer was kicking around onstage for the latter half of the song. They are all good singers, though, which helps. Norway I like it. I enjoy entries that try to be mystical/magical and can actually pull it off. That chorus is especially good - like yeah she's not singing words or whatever but Christine sounds so gorgeous in her high range. The verses aren't as good though. It feels like she gets drowned out by the instrumental at times.

Spain I mean, it's okay. It's better than some of the other songs. The girls are relatively unified in pitch and in movement - but that staging was just weird. The office chairs thing as a whole is like... what???... and there are parts where it looks like they're at the hairdresser's about to get their hair washed. Malta Fabrizio is not the most on pitch guy ever, but his song is better than his sister's by MILES. The chorus is catchy here. I can see how this placed 24th, though - Fabrizio might have an OK song, but his vocals aren't really up to par. That's the difference between him and Claudia, I think - Claudia has a good voice but got a shitty song, whereas Fabrizio's song was better but he just didn't have the voice for it. Germany Wait, I super like this actually. The whole staging has the vibe of, like, a Texas theme park glorifying the Wild West, but it actually kinda works. The chorus is super fun, and I think the lead singer here has a voice that really works with the song. I'm eh on the verses, but not enough so for me to not really enjoy this performance. A+, Germany!

Denmark Aughts ESC is truly the era of Western countries singing in genres that make no sense for them. I like the vibe of this song though. Sidsel has a good voice for this genre, and she keeps the energy high throughout the entire performance. I like early rock as a genre, so I enjoy this one. Romania Tornero, as a song itself, is I think one of my favorites from the year. Mihai has an awesome voice for this, too - that key change is epic. The staging is for the most part pretty cool, but I don't understand the "plot" part of it where the ballet dancer is sitting around looking sour, and I do have my issues with the styling - especially Mihai's hair. United Kingdom Another one going the "hello, fellow kids" route. This could have been a lot worse, I think? I'm bothered by the way Daz goes about his rap and the annoying accents of the background singers, but like... I can kind of see why people liked this. Greece A nice solid host entry. This song is so delightfully angry and sad, and Anna has the perfect voice for it - melancholy in her lower range, but also good for belting the more furious parts of the song. This song (and its styling, shockingly!) holds up even fourteen years later. France This is nice. Virginie is a good (albeit a little sharp) singer, but there's absolutely nothing happening onstage. It's a level of plain that even I can't appreciate. Croatia This is apparently popular. I don't see it. The song... there's no mincing words here. I hate it. That chorus is especially irritating. The performance does salvage it a little - mostly Severina herself. She has a lot of energy and a good voice, she's styled well, she's just really fun to watch in a way that makes me hate the song just that much less. My top 37

Belgium

Turkey

Lithuania

Germany

Denmark

Norway

Romania

Greece

Estonia

Cyprus

Sweden

Armenia

Finland

Albania

Ireland

Bosnia & Herzegovina

Switzerland

Ukraine

Iceland

France

Israel

Malta

Andorra

Spain

Bulgaria

Portugal

Croatia

Latvia

United Kingdom

Netherlands

Slovenia

Belarus

Russia

Moldova

North Macedonia

Poland

Monaco

Seriously, it was so hard to choose between Belgium, Turkey, and Lithuania for my top three. It seriously could have been any of them - like, I sat and stared at my computer screen for AGES trying to decide.

Voting/intervals Wow, so Greece really went all the fuck out on this opening act. It sure is memorable, but who the fuck is that soprano that they were showcasing? That interval was pretty cool though. I do love me some music history. Ok can someone explain to me why the fuck Serbia and Montenegro was allowed to vote in 2006 despite NOT FUCKING PARTICIPATING? Like I understand the mechanics of "late withdrawal, EBU made a decision on the matter" but why the fuck did the EU make the decision they did... smh. This Dutch presenter seems like such an asshole... what the fuck is he doing offering to give Sakis his number and actually doing that onscreen......... Thoughts after watching I sincerely enjoy Maria and Sakis as hosts. Maria's very funny to watch because she's never interacted with Eurovision before, so she's a little confused, but she's got the spirit. She's also very honest whenever technical difficulties happen lol. I... hate this stage? I like how parts of the floor can rise up, that was used to people's advantage a lot, but also the stadium walls sucked. And the way that artists could move them and reshape them... idk it made the stage look weird.

#esc reviews

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van-dyne · 6 years

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The most horrifying scene of Thor: Ragnarok Bonus:

#marveledit #thoredit #ragnarokedit #chemsedit #thor #stan lee #thor ragnarok #marvel #gifs*#mucedit #my edits #POOR BABY!!#though as bad hairdresser goes it's not half bad #10k

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kunikinnie · 3 years

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you impulsively decide to cut your hair at 3 am

featuring: some Port Mafia

a/n: guess what happened today :) tried writing for PM becuse why not HAHA hope they're not too ooc

Note: It is assumed that the reader is living/sleeping beside the characters here

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

"Why"

That's all he says, thinks, and feels

Not angry, not thrilled, not even annoyed - just confused

Okay he's slightly annoyed because you had to do it at an ungodly hour

He'll be mildly worried tho if there's a heavy reason behind it. If you tell him your feelings expect just a little bit of soothing strokes (more like slow tapping on the back or shoulder tho) from him

If it's for absolutely no reason at all, he'll stare at you and contemplate his life choices

Nah just kidding he'll just let you cut your hair so you guys can get some sleep

He might even offer to cut your hair for you (with Rashōmon ofc)

"You might cut my neck instead :<"

Cue blank stare number 3

He's surprisngly good at it tho. It comes out really nice whether you guys follow a tutorial or not

"You should be a hairdresser for your day job!"

He'll reply with a mild scoff, but deep inside he's very proud of himself and very happy to hear that you liked it

Higuchi Ichiyō

She's also probably doing impulsive things at 3 am - perhaps even more frequently than you

So when you tell her your plan, she'll be a bit shocked but will 100% support you

Will ask you what style you're going for. She'll help you out, if you want

Yk how enthusiastic she can get, no?

Although honestly I think you should be ready for the worst

"W-wait what was that last bit-"

Yeah, her frantically holding a pair of scissors near your eyes while trying to rewind the tutorial video is definitely terrifying in itself

I can imagine both of you screaming whenever she's about to snip something off

Actually, even if you're doing it by yourself and she's just standing there as moral support, you'll both still be screaming before each snip

If it comes out decent, it's a miracle you will both have a mini victory dance in the bathroom

If it doesn't, she'll feel really guilty about not being helpful to you

Reassure her it's okay and probably even just laugh it off. You had some fun doing something together, right?

Ofc you go to someone who actually knows how to cut hair

Nakahara Chūya

Now he'll definitely be the most annoyed out of all of them - not angry, just annoyed

First of all, did you have to ruin his precious sleep for this? Even if you don't wake him up on purpose he will feel your absence almost immediately

But the main reason why he's against it is because he's someone who absolutely cares about looking good. he'll try to dissuade you from messing up your hair

If you want to have something done, have someone professional do it for you. It's a common sense thing that applies to just everything or so he says

But if you insist ofc he won't stop you

I doubt he'll offer to help you cut it because 1. his pride won't allow it (he's trying to get you to do otherwise, remember?) and 2. he doesn't trust his cutting skills

If he knows you're decent at this kind of thing, he'll eventually leave you alone

But if he knows you're not - well, he will "assist" by telling you if a section looks wonky

Like a hands-off Remy from Ratatouille but with half the skill on both sides lol

If all goes well, he'll be pretty surprised. Seeing you happy and proud of yourself makes him happy too

If it doesn't though, expect a "told you so" and prompt scheduled visit to the salon the next day

Ozaki Kōyō

She's probably the most against it, imo

Not in the "annoyed" way, more of "please consider your life decisions more carefully" way

Like Chūya, she cares a lot about fashion and style, so expect an eloquent but very lengthy explanation as to why this is a bad idea

If there's something behind it tho, she'll soften up and try to comfort you

But she will reiterate that if you have a problem, cutting your own hair is not the solution

Have it professionaly cut like a normal person!

If you actually get a pair of scissors or a razor near your hair, you'll find a longer and scarier blade at your neck appear out of nowhere

"Dear, enough of this nonsense. Please."

No matter what you do, you won't be able to cut your hair then. She'll bring you back to bed and make you sleep. Her arms will be around your waist the entire night.

But if you're still adamant about it, cut it during the day! She'll be horrified when she sees that you did it

If it turns out well and you're happy about it, she'll rub her temple and sigh. Whatever shall she do wih you?

If it turns out badly - as she said it would - she'll either take you to the hairdresser right there and then OR shave off all your hair. There is no in between with this woman

Tachihara Michizō

The chillest out of all of them

It's your hair after all, so why should he bother? You're mature enough to know the possible consequences to your actions

Tho he's lowkey worried ofc. It's 3 am and who knows if you're actually sober rn?

"Eh? Right now?" Is the most you'll hear from him lol

Whatever the reason, he'll totally be okay with it. He'll be more than glad to lend an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on if you needed it

If you need an assisstant he'll be there with you. He might try to use his ability to help you cut better

Otherwise, he'll just go back to bed and wait for you to finish (if he doesn't fall asleep first, that is)

He'll genuinely be surprised if you do well. "Damn, didn't know you were good at stuff like this"

But if it looks terrible, he'll laugh. Like, uncontrollable cursed gremlin laugh that will make you want to throw him out the window

"Come on it's not that bad!"

He'll apologize once he's calmed down tho, especially if he hurt your feelings

You're just so cute regardless of what your hair looks like

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emsylcatac · 3 years

Text

“You’re pretty”

Summary

“You’re pretty, Marinette.”

He says it casually, just like that. He says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He says it as a fact, some unquestionable fact, and Marinette truly forgets how to breath this time.

Because his words hold such warmth and love and tenderness she’s not quite sure how to respond.

You’re pretty, Marinette. It sounds true to her ears just because of the way he says it. She isn’t even sure she ever wondered if Adrien found her pretty before.

But he does.

Read it on AO3

For @rosekasa following this post ♥

(Hope the English is alright, I wasn’t beta-read!)

* * * * *

“Could you pass a hair clamp on to me, please?”

Marinette tries to ignore the feeling of his arm against her as his hand appears in front of her. She swallows, once, praying he wouldn’t hear the sound.

“Sure,” she half-speaks as she reaches forward for the clamp and drops it in his open palm, careful not to brush his skin with hers.

He doesn’t seem to notice her nervousness as he thanks her enthusiastically, and she can see him clamping a handful of her hair in the mirror in front of her just as she can sense his hands running through them. It’s just hair, Marinette thinks, she shouldn’t feel more than something pulling at her scalp yet his touch travels through her entirely.

She sees Adrien bending to grasp the curling iron, before he takes a strand of her hair between his fingers.

“Tell me if it’s too hot or if I’m burning you,” his breath says on her neck.

Oh, it is too hot and Marinette feels her cheeks burning, and she can only hope the mirror won’t betray her. However, she can’t exactly tell him that.

“Okay,” she barely whispers.

She watches how Adrien skillfully rolls her hair around the iron, and waits a few seconds before releasing it all in a beautiful and perfect curl. Marinette resists the urge to pull on it and feel it bounce, not wanting to destroy his work or worse—brushing her finger with his.

Adrien then grabs a second strand of hair and repeats the same gestures as before, modeling a new curl to accompany the previous one, then a third, and a forth. She watches him do in silence, wondering how many times he’s done it before, when and with who.

She could ask him. She could. But she doesn’t know how to break the silence that is starting to weigh upon her.

When Adrien releases yet another curl, Marinette straightens up a little. She gives herself a pep-look in the mirror, and starts to count to five. At five, she’ll ask him the question.

One. Two. Three.

Adrien detaches her hair only to clamp some other on the top of her head, once again letting her feel his hands sending shivers on her scalp.

Five comes all too soon and Marinette takes a deep breath and holds it for one, two, five seconds before releasing it in a sigh as she chickens out, again.

She glances at Adrien to see him poking his tongue out in concentration and presses her lips in a thin line. She’ll count to ten this time, and at ten, she’ll talk. For real.

Adrien starts humming a song she doesn’t recognise, and she almost forgets her counting until he seems to realise what he’s doing and suddenly stops. She wishes he had continued as she thinks nine, ten and—

“Where did you learn to do that?”

She feels a little proud when Adrien smiles in the mirror, and a little relieved as the tension slowly eases up.

“With modelling, there’s all sorts of hairdressers around to prepare the models. I like watching them work, it’s weirdly fascinating,” he says. She wonders why it was so hard to ask him that. “One day, I asked this one who had looooong hair—her name was Cécile—if she could teach me how to do it. She just gave me the iron and sat on a chair and let me play with her hair how I wished.” He chuckles and shakes his head, as if recalling an old joke. “Let’s say it looked easier than it was. But she let me try again the day after, and the day after… Until I got the hang of it.” He shrugs with a smile, a little proud but a little shy at the same time.

“That’s amazing,” she comments, finding herself gaining confidence. “She sounds really nice.”

“She was,” Adrien enthuses. “It’s too bad she had to move in the south. But I suppose that’s how it is.”

Marinette nods, not knowing what else to add.

Adrien resumes his work on her hair, clamping and unclamping them then and there as he goes.

As the silence settles again, Marinette finds her mouth speaking against her own will. “You can sing again if you want. I don’t mind.”

Her eyes widdens comically in the mirror as she realises what she’s said, and Adrien startles and looks at her in the reflection. “You...you don’t?”

“I...no,” she finds herself saying. “I like...I like it.”

She’s rewarded with a bright smile, and a foreign kind of glint in his eyes as he answers. “Thanks. But you should sing with me too.”

He doesn’t let her the time to protest as he starts humming a popular song she knows she heard on the radio but can’t remember the name of.

When he glances at her insistently in the mirror, she understands he’s waiting for her. Shyly, she joins in the humming, mindful to not be louder than he was.

He seems satisfied as he smiles, resuming curling her hair. His voice reverberates in her body and chest as he hums close to her ear, and she lets her eyes close to enjoy the sound and the feel of him caressing her hair.

All too soon, his humming trails off and he turns the iron off and unplugs it before putting it back on its stand.

“Psssst, Marinette,” he whispers, prompting her eyes to open. “Do you also hum English songs when you don’t know the lyrics?”

She giggles. “Yes. But don’t tell anyone,” she whispers back.

She feels him chuckles as much as she hears him. “Me too. Otherwise I pretend I know the words but really I’m singing nonsense. Only when I’m alone with my piano, though.”

She is about to answer him back when she feels his hands in her hair, closer than before and her face promptly catches fire. She watches hypnotised as he runs his fingers through them, readjusting some rebel strands as he pleases, ruffling them so they look a little bit wilder and a little less polished. He smiles as he goes in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with whatever it is he’s making of her hair. She knows she’s gaping but she doesn’t bother to close her mouth.

Then, slowly, Adrien untangles his hands from her hair and let them come to rest on her shoulders instead. She sees his face coming next to hers on her left, his hair tingling her cheek and neck and she has to remember what it’s like to breath again. She wonders if he can see her eyes glued to him instead of herself, but if he does he doesn’t acknowledge it as he smiles tenderly at her reflection.

“You’re pretty, Marinette.”

He says it casually, just like that. He says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He says it as a fact, some unquestionable fact, and Marinette truly forgets how to breath this time.

Because his words hold such warmth and love and tenderness she’s not quite sure how to respond.

You’re pretty, Marinette. It sounds true to her ears just because of the way he says it. She isn’t even sure she ever wondered if Adrien found her pretty before.

But he does.

“Don’t you agree?” he goes on, unaware of the effects he has on her. He squeezes her shoulders once as he says it, and Marinette wishes his hands could stay here forever, with the sound of his voice oh so close to her ear. It makes her want to be held closer by him and to hide from him at the same time, a weird mixture of sensations she can only dream to begin to understand.

It’s an easy question and a simple touch, and yet it makes her lose all her resteint.

“I...sure? Maybe?”

She hears him smile. He brings his hands around her face, with only the tips of his fingers touching her cheeks and jaw, a soft pressure she can barely sense. He tilts her head up, gently asking her to look at herself this time, to really look at herself.

“It’s not maybe, Marinette. You are.”

And he could have spoken loud and enthusiastically, but Adrien chose to murmur his words instead. He delivers them with such an admiration that Marinette feels, at this very moment, that she is falling in love with him. It makes her wonder how much more in love can someone be and how much place there’s in her heart to contain all of it.

Seeing her reflection being in love, she finds herself agreeing with him.

“I’m pretty,” she whispers.

Adrien grins at that. “You know what else is pretty?”

She bits back the ‘you’ she wants to say, and settles o a questioning frown instead.

Adrien’s fingers delicately slide from her face to her neck and hover above it, barely touching her skin. “Your smile,” he adds in a breath.

She barely has the time to gasp at hearing him speaking with a raw honesty she envies that she feels his fingers tickling her neck and squeals as a first laugh escapes her.

Adrien bursts into laughter, and decides to attack her ribs instead. She tries to wriggle out of his grasp, to turn around to face him as himself and not as his mirrored-self, but it’s too late; she managed to catch her smile and he just proved to her that she’s pretty, all carefree and joy spilling from her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she tells him once they’ve both calmed down.

“You’re welcome.” He frowns. “I didn’t even ask you if you liked your hair.”

She turns to the mirror, and runs a hand through her now messy, wild curls, repeating the motion his hands had done in her hair earlier and smiles.

“I love them.”

#miraculous #ml fanfic #adrinette #mine #myshitwriting

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

*sigh* catch me projecting on a Saturday.

I read this post ( @lazybakerart you wizard - ALSO IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹) and am now thinking about a sugardaddy!Billy with an ace!Steve. (*emphasis on grey ace*)

* Please nobody attack me for writing about leather fashion. I’m vegetarian and it’s fiction. Live a little. *

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve just kind of stared at the box on the restaurant table. It wasn’t a ring box, but it was velvet. Goodness knew how many of these he’d seen in his life.

Steve knew wealth. He knew money, and all of the material variations therein.

He’d gotten pedicures with his mother before his father declared such a thing unfit for a boy coming into puberty. If you look like a man, act like a man. As if men didn’t have feet, or something.

Then he went to the salon. That wasn’t so easy to take away. Ventures with her son seemed to be the only things keeping Mrs. Harrington from being connected to her husband’s hip, so Mr. Harrington let them both have this one. Steve, fresh out of graduation, being given a hairdresser’s chair to accomplish summer-fresh highlights.

Mrs. Harrington was also the type of woman to enjoy shoes. Everyone has a thing. For some, they had bags. Others, jewelry. Vintage furniture. Designer wallpaper. Mrs. Harrington enjoyed shoes. It was where Steve learned to carry a woman’s bags, but he didn’t stay outside of the store. He learned how to clean suede, the difference between a 130 So Kate and an ordinary heel. What fetish meant in terms of fashion. He can convert heels sizes in millimeters to inches faster than a cashier calculating change.

Tommy and Carol had joked about Steve’s father having a different kind of fetish. Nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with sex. Steve had foolishly let them into his mother’s bedroom and they were having a field day with a shoe closet that cost more than both of their houses combined. Still smelling of Nancy and pool chlorine, Steve as good as ended that friendship right there.

Because they didn’t get it.

Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t get it. Could never have such a sexual inclination because he didn’t understand pampering or indulgent interests.

He understood favors. Material apologies.

Mrs. Harrington had a collection of pearls and diamonds that she never wore.

Steve knew she liked opals and pink, pink rubies, because Steve liked opals too. Because he used his father’s money to buy ruby studs his mother actually wore. Because he gets her oldest, broken bracelet with green amber fixed, and she wears it until it breaks again. And then she presented Steve with a thin, gold chain to go around his ankle. With a gleaming, green amber stone flanked by two opals.

The green goes with our eyes, she said. Someone special will see the green in all that brown. It’s why we look good in reds.

Steve was still looking at the box on the table.

“It’s not going to catch fire, the longer you glare at it.”

His dark hazel, creek water eyes slanted up to the man sitting opposite him.

Billy Hargrove.

Stubborn to a fault. Gorgeous as Lucifer with wings freshly burnt off. And just as dangerous.

“I thought I said no more gifts.”

“And I ignored you. Open it.”

Steve went about it like ripping off a bandaid. He sighed at the window beside their booth, wrenching the thing open to see -

Diamonds.

He shut it with a loud clap and set it on Billy’s placemat. “No, thanks.”

The man’s features froze in tolerant stoicism, but he eased the box inside his suit jacket pocket. “You’re a hard one to shop for.”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically over his wine glass of water. Not because he was sober - he’d willingly pay for an overpriced red, himself, if the handsome asshole weren’t trying to wave his wallet everywhere. “You can stop trying to buy your way into my pants any time you want.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I would’ve stopped three months ago.”

Three months ago,

When Billy breezed into Steve’s life as easily as he had senior year of high school. The two of them certainly deserved some kind of award for having a bizarre history.

Within a handful of months, Billy had arrived upon a turbulent time in Steve’s life, and then left nearly as quickly. Billy witnessed Steve and Nancy’s break-up, Steve’s fall from Hawkins High grace, and even beat his face a little bit. Because that’s what teenage men with bad emotional processing and even worse communication skills do.

Now, almost ten years later, Billy had some kind of empire behind him and Steve, well, didn’t. He had no idea what Billy’s job consisted of, but he got little hints. Mostly the negative space from Billy’s lack of discussing his job told Steve a whole lot.

Steve, who worked two jobs and occasional gigs wherever he was needed. During one such time, while Steve managed the cables and sound boards for Robin’s band, Billy Hargrove sauntered up to him with just as much charm mixed with hauteur as he’d ever displayed.

It wasn’t like meeting an old friend, because they had never been more than acquaintances, and roughly ten years was enough time for a personality to evolve ten different ways.

Steve couldn’t say how much he and Billy had evolved, really, but there was a point in there somewhere.

Maybe it lived in the, “I never expected to see you in a dyke club, pretty boy,” since it was all the coming out either of them needed.

Or the wanton kisses and fervent hands underneath the neon rainbow on the venue’s wall.

Maybe the point sat in the things Billy wanted, and what Steve was reticent to provide. Because Billy was a king who knew what he liked, and seemed particularly talented at walking into Steve’s personal crises like an anniversary.

Steve craved.

But he didn’t know what he craved. What he yearned for. He knew Billy’s kisses made his brain go molten and fuzzy. He knew Billy’s smell brought him just as much comfort, excitement, and anxiety. He knew finally being outside of sex-crazed high school had deflated something in him. The expectations to perform. He knew losing Robin’s stupid game of You Rule / You Suck gave him a secret gift of relief.

But he still craved. He wanted touch but he wanted to be alone. He wanted companionship but he didn’t want sex. But he did enjoy sex, except he didn’t want the expectation of it.

Well.

That was it, wasn’t it?

Billy Hargrove, who could have anyone he wanted plastered to his stupid, unbuttoned chest, had sought out Steve. Steve, king of mixed signals, Harrington. It was only a matter of time before he got his face beaten again. For wasting Billy’s time. For refusing Billy’s advances even though Steve clearly enjoyed Billy’s lips on his neck, and Billy’s hand on his inner thigh. For wanting Billy’s company and flirtation without the rules that finished in the bedroom.

So Steve refused the gifts. The material favors he could’ve sold for a better apartment. Fucked his way to owning a house that his mom would feel comfortable visiting. Be an unfeeling toy who could pay for his mother’s shoes and his own pedicures.

“Steve?”

He turned away from the window and the city’s electric constellations. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

The back of Steve’s throat ached. He looked down at their appetizer plates and decided, “I think I’m going home.” After a second of them both hearing it out loud, Steve said with more conviction, “I need to be home right now. I’m sorry. Thanks for dinner.”

He almost reached for his wallet to pay for his half of the artichoke dip, but reconsidered. He took his old prom tuxedo jacket off on the way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he pressed his face into the old fibers.

It would be easier if Steve didn’t know money. If wealth were a foreign pillow he had never slept on; could be spoiled into never giving it up again.

Like a true mother with a sixth sense, Steve withdrew a package from his mailbox when he returned to his apartment building. Mrs. Harrington’s versions of care packages were fashion magazines, a subscription to The New Yorker, polaroids of her latest closet pieces, and Steve’s favorite candy.

He loved it all. He didn’t need laminated recipes, bags of rice, or resupplied hair products. He went up to his bedroom, stripped down to nothing, and fell into bed with the hefty parcel. Fruity hard candies fell out like confetti, and he stuck a green apple square inside his cheek while he looked through her baggie of polaroids.

Peach suede 130s. Steve felt a warm tickle in his belly at that. She only wore 130s if she was pissed at his father. A woman in 130s walked with the force of a storm, mostly because the damn things were nearly intolerable to wear without a platform.

Another pair of diamond earrings. One of these days, people were going to realize how boring clear rocks were.

Dark, amethyst Miu Mius with the heel and toe encrusted with pearls. Steve’s dad must’ve really pissed her off to warrant that apology.

The magazine subscription had piled up, so he had three New Yorkers to read, but he opened the tome of Vogue first. His mother dog-earred her favorite articles, scent samples, and spreads. She often favored the androgynous and male fragrances. Steve liked that a whole lot. He wasn’t sure if she did that for him because he liked them, or if he liked them because she did that.

He held the magazine to his face as he went to the kitchen, smelling the first fragrance sample while he reached for his cache of boxed cake mix. It was a funfetti kind of night. He rattled the package of sprinkles in his hand while reading about some summer collection where the runway happened in a Greek ampitheatre. Sounded fun. Sounded like a great vacation. Beach, wine, and then modern art fusing with ancient architecture.

Steve didn’t excel in chemistry, but he knew a different kind of magic.

Which didn’t actually include baking. The cake emerged a little dark, but he cut off the burnt top, iced it to glorious, sugar perfection, and took a slice to bed with him. He turned the parcel upside-down for the last of the candy to come out so he could throw the envelope away -

Two bottles of nail polish landed heavily on the bed. Steve lifted the darker bottle to see a purple so ebony he thought it was black until he opened it to see the paint up close.

Purple and peach. To match his mother’s shoes.

Not many people understood his parents’ methods of producing or avoiding affection. But Steve did. He shook up the poison violet and painted his toenails in between forkfuls of cake.

He didn’t hear from Billy the next day.

Or the next.

As bad as Steve felt, he couldn’t say he minded. Nor would he be surprised if Billy never called him again. The idea brought a lonely peace during the commute to work, reading his magazines on the train before keeping them safe in a folder that he stuffed inside his backpack. Even if Steve’s chest felt like a cold balloon, with its latex worn thin and tired, he had his little things to keep him warm.

Then a knock on his apartment door.

Steve answered it with a cheek full of cake, interrupted from making his grocery list of actual nutritional value -

Billy had never visited before. Steve stared at him long enough for him to ask, “Are you going to let me in?”

Steve glanced at the box under his arm and turned into his apartment with a sigh. Billy closed the door behind him as he remarked, “You don’t know what’s in it yet.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere for Steve to theatrically storm off to. His kitchen was also his living room, and a half-wall partitioned the bedroom off to the side. His apartment was one long rectangle, and Steve remained stuck in the middle of it.

“Billy, I don’t know what you want from me that you think you can get from expensive things.”

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return,” he drawled while removing his coat.

“Don’t take that off,” Steve retorted.

“I’m taking it off.”

“This isn’t going to be a long visit.”

“Would you at least open the damn thing first?” Billy presented the box on the flat of his hand like a waiter’s tray.

Steve knew a shoe box when he saw one. He swatted the lid off the box before he even meant to. He was so tired of this game. Of these rules. He doesn’t want to see some snotty designer sneaker that isn’t to his taste. Some item the rules would dictate he accept without complaint. Or some chunky, foamy plastic, glorified tennis shoe that is over hyped . . .

He sees the red first.

It’s not a sneaker.

Hot Chick heels. 100mm. Black suede on top, red bottom. The leather around the heel scallop-cut like minimalist flower petals.

Steve’s breath has stopped in his chest. The pad of his thumb moved across the soft, matte leather before he stops himself. He tries to look stern when he dares to peek up at Billy, but those water-turquoise eyes are steady on him, absorbing his every reaction.

“These don’t exist in suede.”

Because they didn’t. Hot Chicks came in patent leather only.

“They do now.”

“Louboutin sizes down.”

“Then we’ll have them stretched.”

Steve is losing. Billy knows he’s losing. Billy - he -

“How - ?” Steve begins but stops. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only to flinch a little when Billy grasped his chin, holding him in place as he leaned in to lick the corner of his mouth free of icing.

“Will you try them on for me?”

Steve feels a mixture of defeat mixed in with petulance and vulnerable glee as he warily takes the box to his humble couch. Billy looked at his bed, and then to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. He strolled into it and lifted the knife for a slice.

Steve, meanwhile, took his time. He opened the paper from where it had floated back over the shoes. He lifted the box to inhale the leather. He took one shoe out just to...see it. Look at it. Read the number stamped on the red arch.

Steve had to remove his socks, revealing his lacquered toes as Billy sat next to him with a plate. He eased the coffee table out of the way, giving Steve room to wiggle his foot into the severe 100mm heel.

They were hardly glamorous under his old, cut-off sweats.

But.

He’d never actually seen his feet in heels before. Never bothered to try to find his size.

Billy handed him the other shoe, and stood up with a ready hand. Steve wiggled into it and accepted his hold as he stood up.

How do you walk in those? he’d once asked his mother.

Trust the heel, my love, she’d answered, strolling around her bedroom in her 130s. If you’ve paid enough for it, it better hold up your entire form, and your dating baggage.

Steve had laughed, but listened to her every word. Move like a wheel barrow. You pivot on your toes, like the wheel, and rest on the heels.

“I’ve got you,” Billy purred when Steve teetered. Just a little.

“Why did you get me these?” Steve had to ask while he began to ease his arm off of Billy’s shoulders.

“Might’ve had a look inside your mail,” he admitted shamelessly. “I thought you might’ve ordered something and I could finally see what you liked. Instead, it’s the one thing I’ve seen you accept.”

“You’re a creep,” Steve declared, but he couldn’t look away from his feet as he strolled around the coffee table.

Billy laughed and sat down to his cake. “This is good.”

“It’s from a box.”

“It’s still good.”

Things . . . changed, after that. Billy came over just to come over. And he pestered Steve with endless questions.

“Do you like these?” he asked with his nose against the magazine pages.

Steve towered over him in his heels, but he’d wash dishes in whatever he wanted, thanks very much. And leather needed to be worn, as his mother taught him. Plastic is trash. If it comes from a living creature, it lives on a creature.

Steve snorted beside him. “My mom crimps those pages.”

“But do you like them?”

“They’re fun in magazines, but perfumes were never really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Right now? You, elbows deep in here.”

Billy perked right out of the magazine only to lock onto the sink. “Because you’re having trouble reaching it now?”

Steve meant to have a witty come-back, but he got caught up in his own giggles. “Yeah.”

Then,

“Can I stay the night?”

Something must have flashed across his face, because Billy added, “Not for sex. I’ve taken the hint, all right?”

Steve slowly unfolded his socks where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Why do you want to?”

Billy wiped his hands on the dish towel and padded across the room to sit beside him. “Because I want to taste you before I sleep. And I wanna taste you when I wake up. I want your snark in my ears all the time - ”

“All the time?” Steve repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah, all the time. I can’t believe it either.”

Billy’s features were warm, unbelievably warm as he watched Steve laugh. “Of course I want to have sex with you. But I miss you when... I miss you all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Steve rolled his eyes onto him, to which Billy defended, “I have things to do.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the big man in town,” Steve babied, pushing his chest so he toppled backward.

“I am, actually,” he crooned, his hands finding Steve’s legs easily when he straddled him. “I’d work better with you on my desk.”

“My hairy legs and scraped up heels?” Steve threatened breathily, holding Billy’s cheek and jaw in one hand while he leaned over him so all Billy could see was Steve.

“All of it,” he exhaled, and pulled Steve’s head the last inch for a kiss.

Billy’s next gift was a pair of slippers. Plush, soft, and perfect after an afternoon in 100s.

Then he gave Steve a massage. Steve could accept those with ease. The balls of his feet hurt and even blushed a faint indigo from being so unused to heels. The warm attention of Billy’s hands on the arches of his feet, heels, and ankles; as well as the cold tennis balls he stored in Steve’s freezer to roll along his feet.

By then, he’d seen Steve’s anklet. So the next shoe box Steve opened were dark green suede, as poisonously dark as his mother’s violet heels. The toe was bare, but the heel was encrusted with opals. The milky stones flashed green and orange as Steve walked in the 120mm heel.

“How do they feel?”

Steve, with far more mastery over heels now, pivoted on his toes and planted one on the couch in between Billy’s thighs. His warm hand cradled Steve’s ankle immediately.

“What if I shaved for these?”

“Then I’d never take my hands off you.”

“So nothing would change,” Steve giggled, teasing gone as he landed on Billy’s lap. The man underneath him hummed his mirth into Steve’s mouth, his other hand burying in Steve’s hair while he let Steve control the kiss, explore his mouth.

“I thought they’d go with your eyes,” he said when the kiss petered off and Steve kissed his nose. Billy touched the pad of his thumb high on Steve’s cheek. “There’s a little bit of green there.”

Steve let Billy fuck him in those shoes.

Because he finally craved all the way, beyond fear of rules. Beyond the existence of toys. He craved Billy deeper than skin, and Billy gave it to him.

And when Billy got him a pair of 130s . . . blood red and spiked with tiny, crimson points, he let Steve fuck him.

#everything i know about shoes i learned from Violet Chachki #harringrove #ficlet #asexual!steve #sugardaddy!billy #sugarbaby!steve #neonponders #pondermoniums #lazybakerart #happy birthday love!!!#no i don't know billy's job #cover a plot hole with an unreliable narrator~

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crowtrinkets · 3 years

Text

Wooden Brush

ty @alexaplaysgames for giving me this prompt idea 😏 Gender neutral MC, as always

Word Count: 1,824

MC goes to return a book to Felix but ends up doing more than just that.

---

I trudged the hallways of Fathom allowing a rather large yawn to catch me by surprise. I finally finished one book given to me by Felix. A history book nonetheless, it was interesting but about as dry as any Earth history book. The moon wasn’t too high in the sky so I figured Felix was awake and I could return his book. Oh, who am I kidding of course he's awake. I finally find the door to his office and softly knock.

“Felix? Can I come in?” No answer. I take that as a yes and gently push on the door, wincing when the hinges squeak. I look around the darkened study, barely illuminated by a few candles. No Felix. Not at his desk, not at the kitchenette. The only spot left is the couch. I approach the soundless mound on top and find it to be Felix, fast asleep, with Stella resting on his stomach. She must have hopped up after he fell asleep. I stand behind the couch leaning forward so I can pet behind Stella's ears, earning a trill from her.

“Stella, I don’t think Felix wants you sleeping on him,” I whisper. Felix stirs, moving to lay on his side causing Stella to jump off and find a better sleep spot. I round the couch placing the book on the desk and approach Felix. Crouching down so I'm at his eye level. I examine his face before waking him. His soft features are barely illuminated by candlelight, the warm yellow dancing on his face, contrasted by the cool moonlight poking through the window. His usually furrowed brows are still and relaxed, and his signature smug smile is nowhere to be seen. Replaced by a slightly opened mouth, drooling on his sleeve. Oh if I had a camera I would take so many pictures. But all I can do is stare and capture this moment to memory. I decide I’ve looked long enough. I place a hand on his shoulder and slightly shake him.

“Felix… Felix, wake up. Don’t you think you should be sleeping on in your bed?” He grunts a response and turns to face the other way, wrapping an arm around his face, attempting to continue his slumber. I huff in response and move to the other side of the couch. Leaning on the back so I can try to look Felix in the face.

“Felix! This cant be comfortable you may be short but this couch isn't that big,” He mumbles into his arm making it hard to understand what he's saying. “What?” This time he removes his arm, and looks up at me, eyes half-closed.

“I am perfectly comfortable where I lie, there is no need for insults,” he grimaces at me. I chuckle a little.

“You’re comfortable on the same couch as your skin book? Stella's favorite spot?” I question.

“Fair enough,” he remarks, sitting up. He attempts to run a hand through his hair but stops and winces. “Ah! My hair is a mess, Stella must have been trying to groom me again,” He looks around the room for her. I turn and spot her sitting in a loaf position on a chair. I give her a wink letting her know that I won't give away her position. I reach over and run a hand through his hair, but then my hand catches in a knot to which he winces.

“Sorry!”

“I have a comb somewhere around here, would you mind finding it for me? I’m afraid my eyes haven’t adjusted from being roused from my peaceful sleep,” Oh man he’s grumpy when he’s just woken up, I’ll humor him though I am the one that woke him. I scan the study, looking for anything that might resemble a comb or brush. I open various cabinets and draws. Only to find it being used as a bookmark in one of the many tomes piled in a stack. I turn the object in my hand, it’s wooden and has intricate carvings of flowers on the handle.

“Found it!” Felix is now standing, attempting to tidy his mess of books, but his idea of cleaning is just stacking them in a pile. I approach Felix and observe his absolutely destroyed hair. His hair is always a little messy. Maybe more like messy cute, but it’s especially bad at this moment.

“Can I brush your hair?” It comes out before I think about it. He whips around to gawk at me, cheeks flushed pink. "I-I'm sorry I didn't"

"Ok," Is all he manages to say.

"…Ok," is all I can manage to respond with. I walk over to the couch and sit, making space between my legs. "It would be easier if you sat on the floor," I say. All he can do is nod and move to place himself between my knees. My hands start to tremble. Is this actually happening? I take the comb and start at the bottom of Felix’s hair, untangling the knots as I go. The quiet sound of the wooden brush running through Felix’s soft hair acts as a metronome. Repetitive and almost hypnotic. I can feel his shoulders relax as either of my knees bump them while I work through his hair. I get caught on a knot which earns a pained groan from Felix.

“Sorry! You um, you have quite a lot of hair,” I attempt to make conversation.

“Well yes, I have not had the time to visit a hairdresser,” he deadpans.

“R-right,” I continue to brush through his hair, hands still shaking as my face warms with a blush. “Have you ever had your hair braided?” Felix cranes his neck to look up at me.

“You want to braid my hair?” He says, utter confusion twisting his features.

“Well, it might be fun,” I say. He gives me a nod and turns around.

“I don’t know if I would call it fun, but… it may be interesting,” I take that as a yes. I run the comb through his hair once again and set it aside. I run my fingers over his scalp from front to back, bringing his hair back so I can braid it. I can't tell if I imagined it but I think I can feel his body shiver as I do so. I run my index fingers from his temples and back, bringing his hair where I want it.

“You uh, don’t have as much hair as Sage so it might be a little tight,” I say leaning forward towards his right ear.

“N-no matter,” his voice hitches slightly. I can't tell who is more flustered at this point, but it is a bit of fun teasing him. I begin to section his hair accordingly, leaving his bangs out. I start to French braid his hair, being careful not to pull on it. His hair is soft in my fingers, almost too silky to keep a hold on, catching whiffs of morning dew and tea as I braid his locks together. I lean to the side slightly as I work, hoping to catch a glimpse of Felix’s face. I can see a tinge of pink in his ears that spread to his cheeks, his eyes closed, and brows relaxed. Is he enjoying this? I hope he is. He opens one eye to look at me, to which I sit up turning my attention back on his hair. Once I finish braiding down, I grab the trusty hair tie, that always sits on my wrist, and I tie off the end. Securing his braid. I clap my hands on his shoulders.

“All done!” Felix yelps slightly. He stands, stretching his legs after sitting on the floor. “Oh wait, actually sit here I need to fix your bangs,” I pat the spot of the couch next to me and Felix sits without protest or comment. I run my fingers through his bangs, adjusting them so they sit properly on his face. Framing it nicely. I find a stray strand and groan, I must have missed it. I take it and tuck it behind his ear with slow movements. I then spot Felix, staring at me intently. I keep my hand hovering by his ear, too scared to move. Up close I can see just how stormy his eyes are, they look like they carry the weight of a thousand burdens, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his mouth slightly agape. I then rest my hand on his cheek. His eyes flick down to my lips for a split second. I don’t even realize that I'm moving. Moving ever so closer to Felix’s perfectly, adorably flushed face. His half-lidded eyes drawing me in like some sort of spell.

“Felix,” I whisper, mere inches from his lips touching mine, and then-

*BOOM*

“Hey Felix have you seen-“ I jump away from Felix so fast, I'm surprised I didn’t open a wormhole that sent me back to Earth. Felix also lept back, but miscalculated and landed on the floor with an oof. I turn to see Sage, standing in the doorway. I try to cover my blush with my hand, hoping it’s too dark for Sage to see. Felix stands quickly, straightening his clothes, and clears his throat.

“Sage! Have you ever thought to knock for once in your life?” Felix’s voice waves slightly high as he scolds Sage. Avoiding eye contact with either of us.

“Oh my, was I interrupting something?” Sage leans on the doorway. Eyes shifting between us both, a shit-eating grin growing on his lips.

“I-I was returning Felix’s book,” I lean over and pick up a random book, lifting it in the air hoping a prop makes my story more convincing. I mean it was the truth. Was.

“U-Uhm, yes, MC came to return my book, yes, thank you, I will give you a new one tomorrow if you'd like,” Felix says to me, still avoiding my eyes. I nod in response. Standing from the couch handing his book back.

“Well, why is your hair braided? Trying to go for the sexy dangerous look I got going?” Sage says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Cause they don’t seem to be into it, trust me I tried,” Sage points to me as he speaks. I can feel the embarrassment bottle up inside me, threatening to explode.

“Goodnight!” I shout. I then stormed out of the room, trying to escape my embarrassment. Did that just happen?

The next morning Felix and I don’t bring up the, ahem, events from the previous night. However, he still wears the braid I did for him when I see him. He offers to return my hair tie but I tell him he can keep it, I have plenty. But really, I think the French braid is a good look for him, and I want him to keep it on longer. I should return his books late at night more often.

#fictif #fictif last legacy #last legacy fictif #last legacy #fictif fic #fictif fanfic #fictif felix #fictif sage #fictif stella #felix iskandar escellun #sage lesath

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natromanxoff · 3 years

Text

Record Mirror (December 14, 1974): 51/?

QUEEN KILLING THEM SOFTLY IN FRANKFURT

IT WAS, said the tall and studious Brian May, like playing to a vacuum cleaner. "We were just pouring it out and they (the audience) were sucking it in, with nothing coming back. I tell you, for the first time in many months I felt like I'd done a hard day's work when I came off stage."

May, along with the rest of the band, is sitting in the diner of Frankfurt's Why Not club reflecting on Queen's second date in Germany. The mood is not bad, but there's an undercurrent of steely determination following the difficulties of that night's gig.

The fact is, support band Lynyrd Skynyrd. were exactly what stoned-out Frankfurt wanted. As in England with Golden Earring, so in Germany with Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd make an over-poweringly succesful support band. Here In Frankfurt there were even more difficulties for the English and. Most of the audience are American GI's, looking like inmates from the local borstal with their cropped hair and rippling muscles.

As you enter the 1100 capacity hall, the air is stuffed with the stench of dope — an intermingling of hash and grass and the sweat of a crowd at least 300 over the top.It's a strange place, former stock-exchange for farmers, complete with balcony, and surrounded by tropical plants.

Up on the balcony above the stage a group of Queen supporters self-consciously tap their feet to Skynyrd's rhythmic weave. Roger Taylor, ever grinning, appears to check on th band, notes the wild applause and disappears, no doubt to plan strategy.

There's a long break between sets leading to the dissipation of part of the crowd. Heidi, the whizz-kid of EMI Germany, explains the local GI's problem: "Zey have to report back to camp by 11.00 pm". So when Queen's little rock 'n' roll drama explodes, there are considerably fewer people end even less enthusiasm.

Presence

Mercury, the self-styled rock supremo, looks unabashed as Queen open with as much presence as a band can muster. Lights, tapes, and screaming dynamics combine to counter the audience apathy. It's ahighly professional first assault. Procession, Now I'm Here, and Ogre Battle make a promising start which draws warm applause. But unlike many gigs, this one did not cook to boiling point. If anything the crowd were almost undecided when Queen departed after an energetic stab. It took fully two minutes before muted applause turned to a good old stmp and chant, bringing the boys back on stage for a stirring finale.

Freddy stalks the stage with controlled aggression as they bash into Big Spender and you realise that here's a rock artist who can sing, cavort, and write songs with an almost contemptuous level of excellence. He is a classic rock star — complete with costume changes and bare hairy chest. Seems, his only real need is to develop that outrageous off-stage campery into the act. He's very much the mincing Queen, yet on stage this seemingly natural personality is overtaken with host of: "Right now we'd like to do" type announcements. Roger Taylor, a veritable demon on the drums and very fine musician, has more idea when he tells the crowd to get off their arses. Nevertheless there were those in the company who felt Queen showed too much aggression in the face of audience apathy.

Anyway, by all account there's a huge row in the dressing room afterwards which sends the EMI rep scurring away with cries of: "Don't let them break the windows."

The Swedes were apparently as wild as English audiences, but in Germany it's different.

Next stop is Hamburg with Skynyrd supporting for the last time.

Unapproachable

More talk on the way back to the hotel suggests the band will be unapproachable and there's even talk of spending the rest of the evening with Slade, who just happen to be staying at the same hotel. The word is that Queen are THE most fastidious band and no matter how good the gig, they (or Freddy paticularly) will find fault.

Eventually Brian and John walk into the bar. They look cool but not too unnerved and they're all prepared to go clubbing.

According to them there've been a few problems already on this, still young European tour like the incident which decapitated their equipment truck. Apparently some hapless roadie was hurtling through the Swedish night when he failed to notice a low-bridge warning. The lorry went on through, losing its root and half the amps in the process. Two gigs had to be cancelled while another truck was driven out from London in time for the Munich gig, a first in Germany. According to Heidi, Munich was a smash: "The audience just didn't know what had hit them," she says, adding that tonight's comparative failure does not over concern her: "Queen will be huge," she says confidently, "I'm sure they are going to be enormous, but it will take a year."

None of the boys seem overly worried and the general feeling in their road party — and among the visiting journalists — is one of disdain for the Frankfurt crowd. A crowd of dopers into boogie rock is hardly likely to appreciate futuristic guitar pyrotechnics and 1975 flash a la Mercury.

"Still," muses May, now installed at the night spot, "they could have returned something. The more an audience feed back the better we play — naturally — but there I just felt like I was wasting my time."

Electronic

He's a musician of the electronic school, very much on top of the latest developments in the uses of amplified sound. On stage he uses two American Echoplex units. The guitar he built himself over two years: "There's nothing special or different about it, it's just a good instrument." The amplifiers, he draws from a good old British tradition. Back in the days when The Shadows were the inspiration for every rock group in the country (they were celled rhythm groups then) Vox amplifires were renowned. Now, in contrast to almost all of his contemporaries, May uses the good old Vox AC 30, or to be more precise, nine of them (three are spare).

Over a crab cocktail and non alcoholic drink (he's still recovering from Hepititis) Brian quashes the popular misconception that Queen are just a studio band manipulated by highly professional technicians. The truth is self-evident in the stage act. They compare favourably with their recorded sound. But Brian goes further.

"Do people really believe it's all down to the studio?" he asks indignantly.

Well, er, yes Brian, Trident Studios has got a reputation for expertise, and you must admit there's a lot of production goes into the Queen discs.

"OK," he returns, "but most of that studio direction comes from us.

"We think of all the ideas. We love being in the studio. We're full of thoughts on how the songs should come out."

Fair enough. But what about being on the road? There are nothing but tours ahead for the band. Can they all cope? What will they do to keep sane?

"I suppose this," he looks unimpressed. "I can't drink more than a couple of pints so there's no danger of me getting wrecked. I must admit though it's going to be long haul. It'll be really good for us but I'd prefer not to be away so long. We're just going home for Christmas then we're off again to America."

Meanwhile on the next table, Freddy Mercury is being his ourtageous self: "When we were in Copenhagen dear, we went to a Russian restaurant where naturally I ordered the speciality of the house. It was delicious. I said 'what in this' and they told me I was eating bear. Bear, dear, I loved it."

Freddy and Roger Taylor seem to be taking Europe in their stride, and a few indifferent gigs won't stop their growing style in this band. Freddy's voice is on the way to giving out, yet he still has time to confide that he simply must do something about his hair. Perhaps he should send for his personal hairdresser?

The Queen has her eyes on an entourage no doubt, and what's the betting she gets it...?

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #record mirror #record mirror december 1974 #queen scans

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cocovikings23 · 3 years

Text

New Start - Chapter 6 (Modern Ivar x Reader)

Hi everyone !

As promised in the sixth chapter, I hope you like it. Nothing special is happening, the relationship between Ivar and the reader is intensifying, I needed to go through it to get to chapter 7 which will be more "full" ☺️😎

Words: 2284

Warnings : None except mention of sexual practices. Texts are written in italics

Again thank you to my beta @waiting4inspiration ♥️

Gif by @ivarsshieldmadien

Chapter 6: Business Travel

After landing, a limo is waiting for you, Floki, and Ivar. The three of you get into this beautiful car and the champagne is offered to you “Ecbert wants to impress us with his wealth, he should rather impress us by keeping his promises,” said Floki in a sarcastic tone. Ivar smiles a little ironic smile that only he knows the meaning of.

You arrive at the hotel and Gods, it’s enormous. A baggage handler takes care of your bags and the three of you go to the reception. The hotel has assigned you suites – it doesn’t surprise you – and you then head for the elevator. Ivar hasn’t said a word to you since the landing and it’s starting to get tense even though you know he prefers to say nothing to Floki about your little follies on the plane.

You go up to the tenth and last floor of this building. Floki already knows the place. He has come time and time again with Ragnar so, he does not need to be shown to his room.

Ivar interrupts this silence by greeting Floki who returns from his suite, “Floki, we meet at 19:30 for dinner with Ecbert at the restaurant of the hotel. Get ready for negotiations, old fool.” You chuckle softly at Ivar’s words and he turns his gaze to you. “Now I will show you your suite.” Your suites are next to each other. Yours is the one in the middle of Floki’s and Ivar’s.

You insert your card in the electronic box to unlock the door. And when you enter your room you are breathless. Large windows overlook the city that is illuminated with all colors, the entrance opens on a living room where there is a round table - there is a welcome card with a bottle of champagne and two glasses - and two armchairs, a beige sofa, and a huge mirror on the wall. On your right, there’s the bedroom with a king-size bed with bright white sheets, and four pillows carefully placed at the head.

A little further in, you discover the bathroom. An Italian shower adorns the room. It is very large. You think there is plenty of room for two in it... Towels with the name of the hotel sewn on the edge are arranged between the two sinks.

You come back to the living room to find Ivar is sitting on one of the chairs, his crutch on the ground. The porter knocks on the door to bring you your suitcase. Ivar thanks him so that he can quickly leave.

“Are you satisfied with the room?” asks Ivar.

“It is… really… great and very beautiful, yes. Thank you, Ivar,” you answer, walking to the window to admire the view and the night that gradually falls over the city.

You hear Ivar get up and feel him getting closer behind you. He presses his body against yours, smells your hair, and then your neck before placing a sweet kiss on it. It makes you close your eyes. He puts his free hand on your belly to pull you more against him. You turn to him and decide to kiss him. He grabs your ass to knead it, then quickly regains his mind before letting himself be invaded by his desires. “It is better that you rest a little before dinner.”

He goes to the door but stops to give you some information. “You’ll get a visit from a hairdresser and a makeup artist. I hired them for you fo-”

“Ivar, you don’t have to do this for me”, you cut Ivar off but it’s something he hates.

“Did you just interrupt me, Y/N? Huh? It seems to me that I don’t have to repeat to myself that I AM the boss and that if I want to hire a makeup artist or something else, I am entitled to do it”, he whispers as he approaches you. You look down, blame yourself for interrupting him even though you know he hates it. But he says nothing and does nothing. He starts again with a more relaxed voice, “I’ll meet you later. I’ll lie down for a bit. You should do the same.” Then he slams your door as he leaves.

You sit on your bed, the tiredness of the journey – which can be said to have been painful – takes you into a light sleep and you doze off for a few minutes. You are awakened by a text that Hvitserk sends you:

“Hello beauty, are you well in England? My brother is not too stupid with you? lol xoxo”

“Hi Hvitty, everything is going well, I miss you! Xoxo.”

You prefer not to talk about Ivar, so the less you tell Hvitserk, the better. You throw your smartphone across the bed and let out a big sigh before getting up.

You decide to start getting ready, take a nice warm shower and wrap yourself in one of the hotel’s bathrobes. You haven’t unpacked your suitcase yet, so you open it up and take out your things to hang them in the wardrobe. In particular, the beautiful dress that one of your friends gave you – it was your parting gift. It’s a beautiful dress with thin black straps. It’s long, with a few rhinestones on the neckline. Not to mention your pair of Louboutins which oddly match the dress perfectly.

A few minutes later, you hear a knock at your door. You open the door and there are two men – that look quite eccentric – smiling at you. “Come on, we will take care of you!”

You let them in and they put their equipment in the living room. They have more makeup and hair accessories than an entire beauty salon. They put one of the chairs in the middle of the room and signal you to sit down.

After 45 minutes of styling, makeup, and dressing, you look like a goddess. Your long hair is dressed in an extremely well-structured bun – not a strand protrudes from your head. Your makeup matches the color of your eyes, your lips are dressed with a peach-colored lipstick, and the best thing, you have false eyelashes that enhance your doe-eyed look. You only wear a pair of dangling earrings in yellow gold with a thin bracelet.

You walk out of your room – your dress matches a small glittering black pouch and you walk up to the elevator to go down to the ground floor where the restaurant is located. You cross the hall before arriving at a small staircase that allows you to enter the restaurant. You place yourself at the top of the steps to look for Ivar in the distance.

After a few seconds of observation, you see him. He’s dressed in a black suit and white shirt. He didn’t bother to put on a tie, just left the top two buttons open on his shirt and his hair falls on his shoulders. He didn’t do his hair and Gods, how sexy he is! He greets two men, one older than the other, and from the resemblance, it seems that they are father and son.

Ivar is smiling, not an ounce of anger or sadness in his eyes. He is friendly with the people around him. You take the opportunity to observe his beautiful blue eyes and you feel a strange sensation invade your whole body. No, no, no, you don’t have to fall in love with him. Not now, maybe never!

This is the first time you see Ivar like this and you discover another facet of his so atypical personality. Ivar turns his gaze to the stairs and discovers you with your beautiful dress, the slit on one side of your thigh gives a glimpse of your leg. He has stars in his eyes that you can notice in the distance. He walks up to you while you walk down the steps. He comes to meet you. “Y/N, you are…I can’t find the words…you are…incredibly beautiful!”

“Thank you, Ivar. I find you very charming,” you decide to tease him a little, “too bad you didn’t wear a tie”.

Ivar leans down near your ear to whisper to you “I have a tie. It is in my pocket but it will be useful to me with you after our dinner”.

You open your eyes as Ivar looks at you. The evening and the night promises to be very long.

Ivar gives you his arm to accompany you to your table where Floki is already settled and talks with a young man you think must be barely younger than you. Ivar introduces you to your hosts.

“Y/N, I introduce you to Ecbert with whom we are currently dealing, and his son, Aethelwulf.”

It’s very impressive that you’re here.

“Good evening. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

“I see that Ivar still has a good taste for beautiful women!” Ecbert says.

You all sit around the table, you between Ivar and this young man whose name you don’t know yet. Floki rushes to introduce you proudly to him. “My dear Alfred, I present to you, Y/N, our new recruit. She is very talented, you should get along well.”

Alfred takes your hand by surprise and gives you a kiss-hand worthy of a romantic film. “Good evening, Y/N. I am Alfred, the grandson of Ecbert and son of Aethelwulf. You are ravishing”

You feel your cheeks heat up, smile back, and say very politely, “Nice to meet you, Alfred. Thank you very much and your family for welcoming us to this sumptuous hotel.”

Ivar doesn’t miss a second of the scene. He puts a hand on your right thigh which is exposed and exerts a strong pressure so that your attention is back to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two and a half hours after dinner – when you had to juggle between Ecbert’s open flirting, Alfred’s little attentions, and especially Ivar’s jealousy – you go back to your room. Ivar is, of course, by your side like a bodyguard. “If we weren’t negotiating with Ecbert, I would have gladly punched him in the face…” Ivar whispers as the elevator takes you to your floor.

“Ivar, don’t be irritated by it. I don’t care about this Ecbert. I answered only out of politeness and I especially remained very professional.”

“Yes it is true, you have been very professional. I am… how do you say…” Ivar is looking for his words with an embarrassed look on his face.

“Proud of me?” There’s a big smile on your face because you know that’s exactly what he can’t say.

Ivar sketches a slight smile and does not answer. He’s too proud to admit what he feels for you. You arrive in front of your suite and Ivar glances to the left and then to the right before slamming you against the door of your room while kissing you passionately.

You put your arms on his broad, muscular shoulders. He holds you with one hand on your waist as he stabilizes himself with his crutch in his other hand. His tongue quickly finds yours. He’s greedy for your body. He can’t help but bite your lower lip when he decides to break the kiss.

You both enter your suite without saying a word. You put your bag on the sofa and put your jewels on the little table. Ivar goes directly into your room, he settles at the edge of your bed and when you enter the room, your eyes unfailingly find his own. His blue eyes pierce you and he has a dark look. A dominating look.

“Please settle next to me,” his tone is calm but authoritarian, so you do it.

“Yes Ivar, what do you want from me?” your voice is soft and fearless.

“Do you trust me?” He turns to you and says these words.

With a dubious air, you say, “Yes, why?”

“Here, it is me who asks the questions! Remember what I told you about my tie?”

“Yes, I remember Ivar.”

“Know that you are mine now! No man will ever lay his hands on you.” He gets up hard to position himself in front of you and pulls out a grey tie from his pocket. “Take off your dress and give me your hands!”

You swallow then pass each strap of your dress over your shoulders, you make a small movement of the pelvis to make it pass under your buttocks and finally you let it slide along your legs. It falls at your feet. From now on, you’re only wearing your black lace thong.

Then you turn your palms towards the sky and hand them over to Ivar. He ties your hands with his tie, makes two turns to join them, and ends up with a loop tight enough but not too tight so that he doesn’t cut off your blood circulation.

“Now lie down on the bed.” This a different Ivar standing in front of you. You don’t say a word and you do what he tells you to do. You step back slowly and you manage to sit on the edge of your bed. Ivar supports himself with the edge of the bed then drops his crutch which falls to the ground. He takes off his suit jacket and puts it delicately on the chair behind him, and undoes the buttons of his shirt one by one. Then he drops it along his arms and poses it on the jacket.

With the strength of his arms, he crawls up to you on the bed and hovers above you “Are you ready to satisfy all my desires and that I satisfy yours?”

“Yes…Ivar…”

It’s going to be a long, warm night…

**********

Thank you all for your reading

@youbloodymadgenius @waiting4inspiration @whenimaunicorn @zuxiezendler @therealcalicali @peaceisadirtyword @peachyboneless @bonniebird @salt-is-a-terrible-currency @saldelys @flokisdaughter @flowers-in-your-hayr @honestsycrets @oddsnendsfanfics @ijustwant2write @thevikingsheaux @castielsangelsx @alexhoghsource @a-mess-of-fandoms @laketaj24 @ivarswickedqueen @ivarsshieldmadien @hrhbella @lisinfleur @heathenarmyimagines @car-karaoke @vikings-imagine

#ivar the boneless #modern ivar #modern hvitserk #story #fanfic #vikings #kattegat #ragnarssons #reader #couple

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pixieminutes · 4 years

Text

4th August, 2021 | KSM

genre: fluff, husband!seungmin

members: kim seungmin x reader, bang chan, hwang hyunjin, seo changbin, yang jeongin, lee minho, lee felix, han jisung

warnings: none

4th August, 2021: 10:42

“not too hard!” you gasped out as your bridesmaid, yerin, dragged the brush through your hair, “it’s always knotty after i get out the shower.”

she rolled her eyes, “you’re so overdramatic.”

“hardly!” you exclaimed, turning to face her, “look, how about we just wait for the hairdresser to arrive, hmm?”

she chuckled.

“what? what’s so funny?”

“your boob’s come out your dressing gown,” she snorted.

you looked down, sorting yourself out before giving her the finger.

“you just need to relax, okay? this is supposed to be the best day of your life!”

you sighed, playing with the ring on your fourth finger, “i know, i’m just nervous.”

“guess who’s here! and with alcohol!” your maid of honour, nari, exclaimed.

you laughed, “maybe that’ll fix it.”

yerin rushed forward, grabbing the bottle, “i’m not having you get drunk before the ceremony, y/n!”

nari frowned, “why not?”

when yerin opened her mouth to shout at her, your maid of honour just laughed.

“i’m joking! y/n’s not a lightweight, a glass of champagne is not gonna affect her,” nari said, rolling her eyes.

“fine,” yerin sighed, “but i need two times more than her.”

your other friend, and temporary make-up artist for the day, taemi, just rolled her eyes, “why don’t you just grow a pair and ask him out?!”

“i think he’s quite traditional! i don’t wanna be the one to do it and then make him feel bad!” yerin exclaimed with a sigh, “but i am tired.”

“me and seungmin did put you next to each other at the tables,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your champagne.

“you did?!” yerin shrieked, “what?! what am i supposed to do?!”

“talk to him,” nari shrugged, “you both like each other, it’s clear. chan’s not exactly good at hiding his emotions, is he?”

“and besides, after today he’ll be the only non-married member. he deserves someone. especially if that someone is you!” you exclaimed, “just take the lead. he’ll become comfortable with it in no time.”

“ladies!” your mum smiled, walking in the room, “hairdresser’s here!”

12:03

“seungmin’s gonna love you,” nari said, watching as you straightened out your skirt.

“thank you for being here, ri. there’s a lot i couldn’t have done without you.”

nari chuckled, climbing on the podium behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, “you’re telling me. we’re so close my parents are crying. they barely did that on my wedding day.”

“shut up, they so did!”

“yeah, cause they hate hyunjin,” she laughed.

you shook your head with a laugh, looking down to your manicured nails, remembering the nights you’d spent with nari at sleepovers, both squished into either her bed or yours; talking, dreaming, thinking.

“it is everything we always talked about it being, isn’t it?” you asked, “getting married.”

“of course it is,” nari teased, “we’re never wrong, you know.”

you laughed, before turning and looking at her, not through the mirror, “but—”

“but seriously,” she spoke with a smile, taking your hands in hers, “you and seungmin love each other more than i’ve ever seen before. i could see it from the moment you met him.”

you rolled your eyes, hiding a smile, “that’s an over exaggeration.”

“you couldn’t take your eyes off him! and you didn’t listen to anything anyone else said for the rest of the evening,” she giggled, “you’re sure you wanna do this, though?”

“100%,” you sighed with a smile, “love you.”

she chuckled, mostly out of relief, “i love you too, now i believe there’s an army of bridesmaids and your dad waiting for you downstairs.”

12:26

“why the fuck are we here, seungmin?! it is half an hour before your wedding starts,” changbin pointed out, the eight boys piling into their old dorm building, now emptied out and ready to be filled by a group of new trainees.

“y/n might even be on her way now!” jeongin exclaimed.

seungmin shook his head, seeming distracted, “y/n’s never early.”

“can you at least tell us what you’re looking for so we can help you?” chan sighed, stepping up as the groom’s best man, a role he had taken on for all his members.

“don’t worry,” seungmin smiled, pulling up the loose floorboard in his old bedroom, taking out the box from beneath it.

“that’s definitely cursed,” minho commented as seungmin blew off the dust.

the soon-to-be-married man shook his head, opening the box and pulling out the handmade necklace you’d made him on your first date.

“i can’t believe i forgot this,” he whispered, sliding it over his head and popping it into his white shirt.

“happy now?” felix asked.

seungmin smiled with a nod, “yep. ready to get married.”

13:00

“everybody please stand,” the officiant spoke.

seungmin took a breath, shaking his hands out before standing and turning to face the entrance of the ball room.

chan smiled from behind him, wishing the younger boy luck.

the piano started to play and the doors opened, revealing minho and jisung’s daughters in their mother’s arms, spreading rose petals down the aisle as they went. a smile spead across seungmin’s face, watching the babies giggle at their jobs before happily being passed back into their dad’s arms to settle before the boring part.

then, his attention was taken again, by you.

the first time seungmin had met you, both of you were in a group of people. you; hyunjin’s girlfriend’s friends. him; stray kids. but for whatever reason, there was an unbreakable eye contact filled with blushes and shy smiles from the moment you’d seen each other.

he still remembers the first words he said to you: “i’m seungmo– min. i’m seungmin.”

then you laughed, that laugh he’s loved so much since the first moment he heard it: “i think i prefer seungmo.”

but now, you were in a white dress, you arm linked with your dad’s, followed by your friends, their own husbands watching them with loving eyes.

seungmin found himself with his mouth open, a tear forming in his eye as you hugged your dad, allowing him to take a seat.

“this is weird,” you whispered, taking seungmin’s hand.

he laughed lowly, walking forward, “i’m thinking about that chicken we’ll buy tonight.”

you looked to him with a smile on your face. this was it, the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with, “living for it.”

“we’re gathered here today for the marriage of miss. y/n y/l/n to mr. kim seungmin,” the officiant spoke, the real deal.

there were poems and songs, spoken by family and friends, filled with tears and laughs, and finally; the vows.

“mine aren’t as good as they could be,” you chuckled, “because i’m not good at saying things, or writing down things for that matter. but, here goes.”

seungmin smiled shyly, looking down at the floor before looking back in your eyes as you spoke your vows to him, and his to you. not once did either of you look away, not for the reactions of your friends and family and not for any random screams of babies. just you two; right there, together.

“do you, kim seungmin, take y/n y/l/n to be your wife?” the officiant asked, seungmin holding your left hand in his, the tangled silver ring in his other.

“i do.”

unable to hide your smile, he slid the ring on your finger.

“and do you, y/n y/l/n, take kim seungmin to be your husband?”

tears filled your eyes as you nodded, sliding the ring on seungmin’s left hand ring finger, “i do.”

“i now pronounce you man and wife!” the officiant cheered, all your friends and family clapping and crying, “you may kiss the bride!”

“may i?” seungmin chuckled, moving towards you, his hand on the back of your head.

you giggled, nodding as he closed the gap between you.

when he pulled away, seungmin stared at you for a few seconds before the two of you walked down the aisle and into the back room to sign the papers.

“i hope you’re wearing yours, by the way,” seungmin said, his hand not letting go of yours, “because i had to pull up an old floor board to find mine.”

you laughed, “seungmo, that’s your fault for hiding it there.”

he rolled his eyes, looking at you expectantly.

“but, yes, i have it,” you said, pulling the handmade necklace out the pocket of your dress, “and look! my dress has pockets!”

seungmin laughed, leaning forward and catching your lips in another kiss, “i love you.”

you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck, “i love you too.”

15:28

“and now, the couple’s first dance,” chan announced, everyone in the ballroom clapping as the band began to play when you love someone by day6.

“my lady,” seungmin teased, placing his hands on your waist as your arms loosely wrapped around his neck, your fingers running through his hair as you swayed side to side.

“isn’t it weird that everyone’s watching us,” you giggled, leaning in so only he could hear you.

“they’ll start dancing soon,” he whispered, “though yes, i am sweating lots and lots.”

“and i’m really full. why are they expecting us to dance straight away after a four course meal?”

seungmin laughed, “that’s your fault for eating so much.”

“hey!” you protested, “it tasted really good.”

“you’re adorable.”

21:06

“i’m already tired,” you whined, “i think i’ve danced with everyone in this room.”

“and i’ve been between your mum and grandma too many times.”

you laughed as seungmin came towards you, sitting beside you on the front of the stage.

“these shoes are so uncomfortable.”

“mine too.”

you smiled, “let’s take them off.”

“i don’t think we’re allowed to do that,” seungmin frowned.

“it’s our wedding,” you giggled, already taking the foot-pinching high heels off, “we’re allowed to do whatever we want.”

“in that case, then,” seungmin said, pulling off his black dress shoes and taking off his tie.

“see?!” you laughed, taking some of the pins that were pinching out of your hair and letting it fall around your face, “so good.”

“care to dance?” seungmin offered, standing up with an outstretched hand a smirk.

“can we go up to our room afterwards?”

“and order as much room service as we like,” seungmin smiled, “come on, we have to stay until at least all the kids have left.”

5th August, 2021: 00:11

“finally!”

“in you go, mrs kim,” seungmin smiled, opening the hotel room door to let you in, following close behind you.

“mr kim!” you gasped with a laugh, “chicken!”

“and wine!”

you whined, “i don’t even wanna get out of this dress.”

seungmin laughed, throwing his suit jacket on the sofa before laying on the king sized bed.

“i’m eating chicken before anything else,” he shrugged.

you giggled, jumping beside him, your masses of skirt laying around you as you opened the box of fried chicken, seungmin opening and pouring two glasses of wine.

“to us,” you said, clinking your glass with his.

“cheers,” he smiled, “to us.”

he laid back, casually picking at the chicken as he turned the tv on, “shall we have a bath after this?”

“sounds amazing,” you groaned, “we have to be at breakfast in the morning though.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, “can they not leave us alone now.”

you laughed, pulling out the homemade necklace from your pocket and slipping it over your head, before your gaze fell on your left ring finger.

“thank you, seungmo,” you hummed, “this day has been incredible.”

seungmin smiled, looking up at you with love pouring from his eyes, “i hope everyday is just as incredible from now on.”

“for the rest of our lives,” you giggled, taking a sip of wine.

“thanks, hate that thought,” seungmin snorted.

“hey!” you laughed, throwing a cheese stick at him.

seungmin laughed, “but i love you.”

“nope,” you shook your head as seungmin leaned up to you, “you don’t get a kiss.”

#stray kids #skz #kim seungmin #seungmin #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz scenarios #skz imagines #kim seungmin scenarios #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin scenarios #seungmin imagines #husband!au #husband!seungmin #kpop #jyp #jyp entertainment

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

I haven’t been able to write a whole lot recently so to make up for the little drought here’s a few kegboys hcs!

-Tommy has a big thing for 70s country music, it’s like, all he’ll listen to. Steve’s kind of overexposed to country having grown up in IN so he’s pretty neutral on it even though he prefers pop, but Billy, resident metal head and city boy through and through, tries to poke fun at him for it because like, country music is for uncool hicks, right? But, and this is very much to his dismay, Billy cannot get enough of Dolly. Like he really couldn’t care less about Toms other picks but he is beyond hooked on Dolly to the point that he’s the one buying all her new records when they come out.

-Tommy is absolutely the house husband because the other two are honest to god domestically useless. Billy tries really, really hard to help because Steve goes to work and he feels like he’s lazy for not being able to do much while he’s recovering, so Tommy sticks him with the little jobs because he knows he’s never going to get him to agree to actually resting. It’ll just be little tasks, things like cleaning the lint trap when Tom switches the laundry, but it’s enough to make him feel less useless.

-But! As good as he is at keeping up with the bills and doing chores, Tommy CANNOT cook. Steve will never ever forget the time he came over to his house and caught popcorn on fire in his microwave or when Billy had to swoop in and unplug the toaster like seconds before Tee electrocuted himself trying to use a fork to fish out a piece poptart that broke off in there, so he is very much not allowed anywhere near a stove. Billy is the best cook and even then he’s a little iffy because Neil never let him do it, so to compensate for how collectively awful they are in the kitchen they have like a thousand scribbled in cookbooks in every drawer and pantry.

-They all three have very different sleeping habits. Billy’s the early bird, always gets up at the same time as the sun well-rested no matter what time they went to bed. Steve is a deep sleeper through and through, he’ll pass out at like, 11:00 every night and won’t move again until morning. If nobody were to wake him up he could probably sleep all through an entire day. Tommy’s something of a rough sleeper though, can’t usually get to sleep until at least two in the morning, usually later than that even, and once he gets to sleep it’s very light and he tends to wake up every hour, on the hour. One time when Steve’s at the pharmacy picking up Billy's meds he grabs a little thing of melatonin for Tom because like, it says it boosts sleep and anything’s worth a shot if it means Tommy won’t be so exhausted and sick and frustrated all the time, and it does help! He sort of ends up on about the same sleep schedule as Billy once his rhythm gets a little more regulated.

-When they first started dating, Billy thought Steve was bad when it came to clothes stealing, he lost a few jackets and old t-shirts that way, but when they all three move in together he discovers that Tommy is the true culprit. Neither he nor Steve can keep track of literally any single piece of clothing. Everything, from their hoodies to their jeans to their pjs to their socks, all belong in some part to Tom until eventually they just have one community wardrobe they pick and choose from instead of like, individual clothes.

-They all three overuse the heck out of pet names like baby and babe, which results in Steve calling Tommy babe one and Billy babe two because he was tired of saying like “hey babe” and getting two simultaneous answers.

-Tommy does Billy’s hair for him when he still can’t do too much with his hands, and after that too when it’s convenient because it becomes routine, combing out his curls and putting mousse in it when he wants it done nice, because he wants to be a hairdresser anyways! He’d practiced plenty on Steve ever since they were in middle school, given him tons of hair cuts and even his highlights! It’s for that reason that when Tommy starts doing Billy’s hair, Steve gets the teensiest bit jealous because that used to be him. So everytime they go anywhere and they aren’t crunched for time he has to do both Billy and Steve’s hair and he starts not having time to straighten his own! But! That’s okay because his boys are very fond of his natural curls!

-Steve runs very, very cold always. He’s a type one diabetic so he’s pretty much always anemic and he freezes like 24/7. Even in the summer when Billy and Tommy are like melting into the furniture, he can get away with long sleeves and be just fine. When they’re in bed they keep Steve in the middle because they both run super warm like a heat register and it’d get too hot without having Steve as their ice pack between them.

-More about Steve’s diabetes bc it’s like one of my fav hcs and I wish I could write about it more! It’s really hard to find things for him to eat because he’s gotta worry about his sugar, but also because he has so many food allergies and sensitivities on top of that. Before he had anyone around he just kind of didn’t care about watching himself like, if he wanted to eat something, he would just do it, but he ultimately faced the consequences of that a few times too many, aka being hospitalized twice with DKA and three times with anaphylactic shock. he gets banned from grocery shopping on his own, because he will absolutely buy so much stuff he isn’t supposed to have and ‘lose’ the receipt and just hide the stuff because his boys will not let him eat whatever he wants anymore. Billy is also not allowed to go shopping because he never remembers what brands they use or reads any labels, he just grabs the first of everything he sees and calls it a day. Tommy officially gave up on them and started doing it himself after confiscating a half empty bag of gummy bears off of Steve and having to use the wrong toothpaste for months because Billy refused to pay attention.

-Tommy attracts strays! Cats, dogs, an actual escaped budgie from the neighbors house once, it doesn’t matter, somehow they always find him. If he’s out on the porch there’s like, a ninety percent chance there’s a critter that doesn’t belong to them in his lap. He lets Billy name them all even though they can’t keep them. Tommy personally can’t pick a favorite out of the 20 some odd cats that come and go because they’re all his babies, but Billy and Steve have theirs. B’s favorite is a black and white little fella named Mr. Shrimp and Steve’s is a sweet tabby girl named Meowzers! The rule doesn't only apply to domesticated animals either, raccoons and wild bunnies also tend to lurk around their porch. Billy picks up a raccoon once (he named her Poubelle, but calls her Bella) and Steve yelled at him for hours about how dangerous and irresponsible and gross it was. Him and Tommy get boyfriend grounded for like, weeks after that.

-Steve is like everyone’s Midwestern grandma! He keeps pockets full of butterscotch candies and tissues, he’s got a collection of blow molds and Tiffany lamps, he wears sweatshirts and jackets with weird quotes on them and like, he believes the cure to every ailment is tomato soup, vicks, a wash rag, and a kiss or any combination thereof. It drives Billy completely up the wall, because he’ll cough like once and Steve is like do you need soup? do you need a doctor? please let me help you. But Tommy likes it, being fussed over, cause he grew up with younger siblings and two working parents, so he was always the one doing the fussing.

#kegboys #steve x billy x tommy #ej writer #my headcanons are always very specific and weird but like I gotta info dump on y’all real quick #realizing now that I only currently have one kegboys fic in progress and that’s like a crime? jeez ej get ur priorities in check #under the cut because I’m long winded and annoying :-)

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cryoglaze · 3 years

Text

I Can’t Be Alone With All That’s On My Mind

Happy Holidays @by-nina ! I was your Secret Santa for @fmasecretsanta2020! I really hope you enjoy it and have a lovely new year!

Rating: General

Categories: F/M, Gen

Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang, Rebecca Catalina & Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye & Team Mustang, Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Roy Mustang & Team Mustang, Black Hayate & Riza Hawkeye

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff, pre-canon, POV multiple

Word Count: 8,169

Summary: When Black Hayate manages to get himself lost one morning, Colonel Mustang wastes no time in organising an effort to help Lieutenant Hawkeye track down her missing dog. Riza herself is attempting to appear calm and collected as usual, but as time goes on and the Shiba Inu still hasn't been found, keeping a handle on her emotions begins to prove difficult - and it's not just the Lieutenant's emotions that are becoming tricky to navigate.

Timeline Notes: Set when the members of the Mustang Unit are situated in East City headquarters, prior to the anime/manga introduction but after Ed has been recruited.

Read on AO3 here

It's no secret that Riza Hawkeye is basically the reason the Mustang Unit is still functioning.

Not to say that they're not capable of taking care of themselves - they are all grown men, even Fuery, baby-faced that he might be - but she is the one that pushes them to get paperwork done on time, keeps them from getting too rowdy or distracted, and keeps their Colonel in line.

So, when the Lieutenant is notably absent from her desk one morning without prior notice, there’s a clear sense of unease among the men. They go for half an hour purposefully not looking at her desk or the door before Jean takes it upon himself to break the silence.

“So do we start placing bets on why she’s not here?”

“She filed for time off months ago and the Colonel forgot about it,” Breda replies instantaneously, not looking up from the report he’s reading.

“Nope,” Jean responds, leaning back in his chair. “She would’ve anticipated that and reminded him one week before, and yesterday just in case he’d forgotten again.”

That earns him a glare from Mustang, but the Colonel doesn’t say anything, which Jean takes to mean he’s right.

“Do you think she’s alright?” Fuery asks. “I mean, the Lieutenant wouldn’t just not show up to work without saying anything.”

“It is unusual behaviour from her,” Falman adds. “Lieutenant Hawkeye is the most organised out of any of us.”

“She’s fine,” Mustang interjects, before Jean can start listing the possible reasons she’s late. “Any moment now, she’ll either walk through that door or she’ll call to explain her absence. There’s no point debating it.”

The words are spoken with confidence, but the way the Colonel’s gaze lingers on Hawkeye’s desk and he doesn’t move back into his own office suggests otherwise. Jean exchanges a look with Breda, and then they continue with their work.

Another half an hour passes before the phone inside Mustang’s office rings, at which the Colonel looks pointedly at them all as if to say ‘see?’ before going to answer it, finally leaving his spot of hovering in the door frame between their shared office and his own personal one. Jean waits a few seconds in the silence after Mustang answers the phone; it’s either Hawkeye, just as he predicted, or-

“Not now, Hughes.”

As Jean predicted, the phone is slammed down almost instantly.

“Careful with the phone, Sir,” he offers helpfully - in the Lieutenant’s absence, he might as well cover for her.

“Don’t get smart with me, Havoc,” is his only response, before the phone rings again.

“Hughes, I swear - oh. Yes, put her through.”

Paperwork forgotten, Jean and the rest of Team Mustang listen in to the following audible half of the conversation.

“Lieutenant. Are you alright? The men were getting worried about you… I see. No, no, it’s alright. I’ll see you in a few hours, then. Good luck.”

Mustang opens his mouth to say something else, then looks back at his subordinates - who aren’t even pretending not to listen, Jean included - as if debating whether or not to say what he wants in front of them. Making up his mind, he says one last thing before putting the phone down.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Lieutenant.”

Once the phone is on its hook, the Colonel turns to the four men eagerly awaiting an answer and offers them a smirk.

“The Lieutenant is fine. She’ll be with us in a few hours.”

“What happened?” Jean asks - because Riza Hawkeye being late is still a noteworthy occurrence that requires an explanation. Mustang sighs.

“Her dog went missing sometime in the early morning. He can’t have gone far, so as soon as she finds him and gets him back home safely she’ll be resuming her duties.”

“Black Hayate?” Fuery rises from his desk, concern in his voice and written on his features. “Shouldn’t we help the Lieutenant go look for him? He could be hurt, or lost!”

“If we go out and help her look, we’ll get Lieutenant Hawkeye back with us in no time,” Breda offers, which the Colonel appears to consider briefly before shaking his head.

“You’re all to resume your duties as usual in the Lieutenant’s absence,” he announces. “Skilled as she is, we can all survive without her for a number of hours.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get through all of that before she comes back then,” Havoc responds, nodding to the visible stack of paperwork piled on the Colonel’s desk.

Havoc watches the Colonel briefly have a mental battle with himself as he weighs up his options, and evidently, his chronic procrastination wins out overall because he moves to grab his coat.

“I suppose it will boost morale. A team bonding exercise, if you will.”

***

The Colonel splits the group to look in different areas of East City, with Breda staying behind at HQ in case the Lieutenant calls (as they all agreed that him joining the Hayate Hunt would be a tremendously bad idea), Falman and Fuery taking the southern half of the city, and Havoc accompanying Mustang as they search through the northern half.

“Fuery and Falman will be covering several parks that the Lieutenant takes Hayate to during walks,” Mustang says, “but there’s a few other spots they frequent that we can try first.”

“You have Hawkeye’s dog walking route memorised, Sir?” Jean questions, allowing a hint of teasing to enter his voice. The only answer he’s graced with is a glare before the Colonel resolutely doesn’t look at him for a few minutes as they walk through the city.

They search for roughly about half an hour - ducking into several alleyways that Jean would rather not be in, thank you very much, but Mustang reminds him that he’s not the only one with paperwork waiting for him on his desk, so he quits complaining - before Jean notices a familiar blonde a little farther down the street from them.

“Is that the Lieutenant?” He asks, drawing the Colonel’s attention.

“So it is,” Mustang responds, before purposefully stepping in her direction, leaving Jean to catch up.

“Lieutenant.”

The woman in question turns her head in Mustang’s direction, her eyes giving away surprised for just a moment before assuming her usual neutral expression - though there is a worried crease between her eyebrows that usually only appears by the 5th stack of paperwork in a day.

“Colonel. What are you doing here?”

“Assisting in the search for a missing officer,” Mustang grins.

“And procrastinating,” Jean chimes in cheerfully, to which Mustang elbows him in the ribs and Hawkeye levels him with a look.

“Thank you for the thought, but you have work to be doing,” Hawkeye says, eyes turning away from the Colonel. “I’m sure I’ll find him soon.”

It’s at this point that Jean realises this is the most dishevelled he’s seen the Lieutenant - meaning, of course, that she still looks professional and put-together to the untrained eye, but he can spy her hair is close to falling out of its usual barrette, and there are hints of dark shadows under her eyes that wouldn’t typically be there.

“I’m sure you’ll find him sooner with people to help cover more ground,” Mustang insists. “I’ve already got Fuery and Falman on the case, too.”

Hawkeye sighs. “Sir-”

“When did Hayate go missing?” The Colonel asks.

“At around half six this morning,” the Lieutenant answers. “I always take him on a walk before I leave for work, but his leash must have unclipped, or - something. He’s a good boy, and he can’t have gone far, so please leave this to me and return to your duties, Colonel.”

“Your hair is loose,” is all Mustang remarks in response, and that gets him a glare.

“Well, where have you checked already?” Jean intervenes as Hawkeye opens her mouth to speak again. “As you said, he can’t have gone far, so if we work from where you’ve already searched and head outwards…”

“Funnily enough, I’d thought of that myself,” Hawkeye answers tersely, eyes scanning the pavement opposite from the side of the road the three of them are standing on. “And I’m perfectly capable of -” A convenient - or inconvenient - gust of wind chooses then to cut the Lieutenant off, and the barrette keeping her hair in place completely gives up, leaving her hair to tumble down her shoulders. She hisses something - probably a curse - under her breath and reaches to redo it, but the Colonel already has the clip in one hand, gathering Hawkeye’s hair together with the other.

A faint but noticeable blush colours the Lieutenant’s cheeks, and Jean suddenly feels like he’s watching something personal.

“I wasn’t aware you were an aspiring hairdresser, Sir,” he quips - if just to break the awkward silence that’s descended between them. Mustang chuckles, eyes focused.

“I grew up with sisters; I know how to do hair.”

True to his word, the Colonel fixes up the Lieutenant's hair with what looks like practised ease - in fact, Jean ponders, it just might be. Hawkeye steps away as soon as he's done.

"... Thank you, Sir," she says, the light red on her cheeks still not fading.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant," Mustang replies, and while the smirk on his face is the typical one he wears whenever he's flirting (or boasting), there's a warmth in his eyes that Jean's only ever seen directed at one woman. The Lieutenant turns to face him, and for a brief moment their eyes meet and they appear to get stuck there, smiling at each other. It's the most ridiculously romantic thing Jean's ever seen, and he can't stand it. He clears his throat, and both Hawkeye and Mustang jolt back to themselves.

"Well, I suppose since you're here now you might as well help me look," Hawkeye concedes.

"We'll find him in no time," the Colonel assures.

***

They did not, in fact, find Hayate in no time.

Riza prides herself on being level-headed and in control of her emotions while chaos surrounds her; she’s well aware that she has a reputation around East City Command for being cold and relatively distant, which she’s not too fussed about. The people that know her well enough know that she has more of an emotional range than she might outwardly show, and that’s good enough for her.

A downside of that, though, is when the Colonel keeps giving her concerned glances throughout the morning when she’s perfectly content to appear collected as usual throughout this whole ordeal, despite becoming increasingly anxious as the day progresses.

Around midday she, Havoc and Roy end up reuniting with Falman and Fuery, the latter looking about as outwardly distressed as Riza feels.

“No luck at your end either, then?” Roy asks, and Fuery shakes his head forlornly.

“We checked all the parks I usually walk him through, and the ones on this side of the city that you take him to as well, Lieutenant,” he says, nodding to her, “but we haven’t found any sign of him so far.”

“We’ll find him,” Havoc says resolutely. “As Hawkeye said earlier, he can’t have gone far. He’s in this city somewhere .”

Riza looks to the Second Lieutenant to reply affirmatively but is momentarily taken aback by the same look of concern that Roy’s had the entire morning in his eyes too.

In fact, when she looks fleetingly to Falman and Fuery, they’ve got the exact same expression.

It takes her off guard briefly; she was aware that the unit were some of the few who saw through the cool exterior she displays, but she didn’t think she was so transparent that they would all be looking at her like that.

There’s an echoing of the feeling she’d gotten when she was assigned to her first unit in Ishval; she’d been the only woman in her unit, and the men amongst her had all looked at her like she was about to break at any minute. She knows this scenario isn’t the same - the men in this squad respect her and don’t treat her like glass - but the familiarity of being looked at like she’s something fragile makes something twist within her.

“It’s gone twelve; you should be returning to work.”

The Colonel looks at her with something like surprise; why, she’s not too sure.

“I thought we already agreed we could cover more ground with -”

“You can’t be absent from your desk all day, and I happen to know that you have at least three documents that need signing by the end of today and another seven by tomorrow,” she interrupts. “It’s really best that you return.”

Roy looks at her with confliction for a few seconds, then seems to find something in Riza’s eyes that makes him give in.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Myself, Havoc and Falman will return to command, on the condition Fuery stays to help look. He’s the one who’ll know best after you where to find Hayate, after all.”

“Yes, Sir,” she and Fuery both chorus, and with that, the group makes to separate. She’s just about to start discussing the ground already covered with the Sergeant when a call from behind distracts her.

“Good luck, Lieutenant! We’ll have him back in no time!”

She and Fuery both turn to see Havoc, evidently the one who spoke, offering a thumbs up. The Colonel grabs his arm to make him continue walking, and Riza observes the interaction with a faint smile before focusing on the task at hand.

“Right,” Fuery says, pulling out a folded up map of the city from his pocket. “I’ve marked down everywhere Falman and I covered, so if you add where you checked with the Colonel and Havoc, we can go from there.”

After establishing the already visited spots on the map, and any places that Hayate might be more likely to return to so would be worth a double check, Riza and Fuery head in separate directions. Riza finds herself straying from parks and paths that she frequents on her morning and evening walks to slightly less conventional places, like the area surrounding the apartment complex she knows the owner of a particular labrador that Hayate likes lives in, or, more humiliatingly, the bin shed behind her local butcher’s, which is of course where a familiar voice calls out to her.

“Riza Hawkeye, I never thought you’d be one to be rifling through the bins,” the voice says, and Riza rolls her eyes before turning to face one Rebecca Catalina.

“Speak for yourself,” she returns. “I think I remember that one night during our second year of the Academy-”

“Not the same,” Rebecca counters, before she can finish. “Now, come on, out of the bin shed. I can’t believe my hunch was right.”

“What are you even doing here?” Riza asks.

“Looking for Hayate,” Rebecca answers. “And I have permission from Grumman to be assisting you - before you start protesting like you did with the Colonel.”

Of course.

Of course Roy went straight to Grumman - her grandfather, of all people, knowing he’d allow it - rather than leaving her to her own devices. It’s so typically him - his way of caring, making sure there’s someone with her even when she’s protested otherwise because he knows she’s bothered more than she wants to let on - in a way that makes her face burn and her teeth grit at the same time.

“Get that look off your face,” Rebecca remarks. “It’s a good thing I showed up when I did, otherwise I’d probably find you in the bin.”

Riza glares wordlessly, because while the notion was silly, it had crossed her mind.

A smooth hand slips into hers, and Rebecca gives Riza an encouraging smile.

“Come on,” she says, giving Riza’s hand a tug. “Let’s keep searching together before you lose it and start searching more bin sheds.” “I don’t know why you’re treating the idea so incredulously; it’s a reasonable place for a dog to be,” Riza mutters, letting herself be pulled along all the same.

As they search together, Riza realises why Roy had sent Rebecca to help rather than coming back himself (aside from the tower of paperwork she knows is on his desk); her brunette friend has the same bouncy energy as always surrounding her, as opposed to the Colonel’s looks of worry sent her way every five minutes. There’s no nervous silence between them, as Rebecca fills it with chatter about everything and nothing.

Also, Rebecca can shout louder than any of them.

“HAYATE!” she calls, startling several pigeons and a few people on the street opposite, as the sun begins to set below the skyline. Usually, Riza would care about the looks of judgement they garner from passers-by, but at this point she’s far beyond that - in fact, she fires back a couple of her own glares in return. Maybe it’s a little unnecessary, but now that the sun is beginning to set - being winter, it gets dark early, around the time she’d be leaving work on a normal day - she’s growing antsier about the whole situation.

She almost doesn’t notice when they run into Fuery again.

“Still no luck for you?” Rebecca asks, which is what draws her attention. Fuery shakes his head, before seemingly noticing something.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant Catalina?”

Riza snaps to examine her friend at that; she’s fidgeting and glancing at her watch, and Riza remembers with a pang of guilt something that Rebecca hadn’t mentioned at all this afternoon, but during her lunch break last week.

“You have a date,” she realises.

Rebecca bites her lip. “They can wait.”

“No, go.”

“Seriously, Riza-”

“If you like the man, then go .”

Rebecca looks between Riza, to Fuery, to her watch, then back to Riza again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, grabbing Riza into a hug. “You’ll find him, I know you will. You’re the Hawk’s Eye!”

“That I am,” Riza responds, adding a smile she hopes is reassuring. Judging by Rebecca’s pained look, it wasn’t that effective. “Now go!”

��Fine!”

Trying to ignore the even more present worry in his eyes, Riza turns to Fuery.

“Shall we go over the map again?”

***

It’s hours after dark when Riza notices that Fuery is starting to shiver next to her. She hadn’t noticed that it had gotten cold.

“You should go home,” she advises, only to get a resolute head shake in turn.

“Not until we find him,” the younger man replies, and Riza wants to accept his help, but she can’t let him stay out here in the cold all night when she was the one who lost her own dog in the first place.

A thought crosses her mind then, and another load of guilt adds itself to the writhing feeling of anxiety in her gut.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. Fuery whips his head to look at her so fast it’s almost comical, with a look of such blatant confusion it warms and breaks Riza’s heart all at once.

“What for?”

“You were the one who found Black Hayate in the first place,” she explains. “I should have taken better care of him.”

“Don’t be silly,” Fuery admonishes. “Pets can get lost all the time. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad owner.”

“But if I’d been -”

“There’s no point in thinking things like that. All we can do is try and find him as soon as possible.”

Riza takes a breath, then smiles at Fuery. “Thank you, Kain,” she says, and he returns the smile. “Now go home.”

“Only if you do,” is his response this time, taking her aback.

“I can’t-”

“There’s only so much searching you can do in the dark,” he says. “If you search all night, then you’ll be too tired come morning to search for him effectively when there’s light on your side.”

She knows he’s right.

She knows he’s right, and yet it feels like a betrayal to give up now.

“You can work on missing dog posters at home,” Fuery assures her. “And you can ask around your neighbours, too - see if they can keep a lookout for you.”

Riza nods, looking up at the stars and blinking rapidly because she will not cry in front of the youngest member of their unit.

“I can walk you home,” Fuery offers.

They walk together, allowing silence to fall between them again until they reach Riza’s apartment complex.

“We’ll find him, Lieutenant,” Fuery says with the certainty of a promise, and Riza smiles at him again.

“Of course,” she says. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

With that, they part ways, and Riza feels her heart sink further with every step up she takes in the stairwell towards her apartment before it plummets as she shuts the door and sits slumped against it.

Riza allows herself five minutes to sit there before getting to work with Fuery’s suggestions; she busies herself by making posters with ‘MISSING DOG’ blazoned across the top in bold letters before knocking on her neighbours’ doors and asking them to look out for Hayate if they can. That kills time for another couple of hours, at which point she realises she hasn’t actually eaten all day, so she makes herself something quick for dinner -

-And reaches for the dog food out of habit.

It takes her a moment to realise what she’s doing; she’s so used to this routine that she doesn’t notice until she’s facing Hayate’s food bowl and then freezes.

The quiet and emptiness of her apartment is suddenly so much more evident than before, and Riza feels it with a pang in her chest, sharp and painful. Black Hayate - her BraHa - is out there, probably cold and alone and scared, too, and the thought makes her eyes begin to prick with tears.

The phone rings.

Riza stares at it blankly for a second before moving to pick it up, blinking the yet unshed tears away before she answers.

“Hello?”

“Lieutenant,” a familiar voice responds, and of course - who else would it be?

“Colonel,” she says, “what is it?”

Hope flashes through her for a moment, and she asks before she loses it. “Do you have any news about Hayate?”

Roy winces on the other end of the line, and the hope dies before he even speaks. “Sorry, I haven’t heard anything,” he says apologetically. “I was just calling because, ah, well…”

She waits.

“I thought you might be lonely,” the Colonel says. “In the apartment, by yourself. So I thought… I’d call.”

He sounds embarrassed, like he’d had the idea and dialled her number on a whim before properly thinking it through - which, knowing him, was likely exactly the case. The thought makes her smile before she thinks of something else.

“Do you get lonely?”

“Sorry?”

“In an apartment by yourself,” Riza echoes his earlier words.

There’s a pause.

“Sometimes,” Roy admits, and the pang in Riza’s chest from earlier returns, though not as forceful as before. There’s another pause, filled with something raw that neither of them dares touch upon.

“Maybe you should get a dog, Sir,” she quips, letting the moment pass.

“I don’t think I’m a dog person.”

“You said you loved dogs, if I remember correctly.”

“And then I was deemed an unfit owner.”

“A cat, then.”

Just like that, they’re back on course to familiar banter.

“You might be on the right track there, Lieutenant. It would have to get on with Hayate, though…”

Riza blinks in surprise, and the pause leaves them off course once more.

Roy clears his throat. “Because we work together so often, of course. And - um - pet-sitting reasons. For favours. Favours that friends do for each other.”

“Right. Yes.”

The silence that follows is awkward this time.

“Anyway, uh - as I was saying, I just wanted to call to check in. So if you’re… okay…?”

“Yes. I am.” The lie is easy.

“You’re sure?”

This time she hesitates.

“We’ll find him,” Roy assures her.

“So everyone keeps telling me,” she replies shortly, then regrets it. He’s only tried to help her all day, after all. “Sorry. I’m just… worried.”

“It’s alright, I understand.”

The conversation lulls again, but this silence isn't uncomfortable. It's the kind of quiet that reminds Riza of their younger days when she and Roy would sit together while she focused on homework and Roy studied alchemy. There'd be evenings when they hardly spoke at all to each other, with just the wind and rain beating against the window making the only sound in the room.

It's always been the case, Riza thinks, that they've always used more than words to talk to each other.

"Ah, I shouldn't keep you up late," the Colonel says, drawing Riza's attention to the clock above her on the wall. The hands read five to one. "Get a good night's sleep."

"You too, Colonel," she replies. "Good night."

Riza puts the phone down, and the apartment is empty of sound once more.

***

The next morning Riza wakes up before sunrise and is out of the door by half-past five in the morning. She spends the next few hours searching for Hayate - retracing her steps from yesterday, checking anywhere she might have missed and taping her ‘missing dog’ posters to lampposts as she goes.

By 9 AM, she’s well into her search, but also has the nagging thought in the back of her mind of the five particular documents still sitting on her desk that need signing. While this situation is far farther up her list of priorities than work - she’d shoot the Fuhrer himself if he tried to get between her and her dog, probably - Riza supposes she can likely get to headquarters and deal with anything urgent and only lose half an hour.

When she enters the office, however, she’s greeted with the sight of a large chalkboard at one end of the room, a map of East City stuck to it, and Colonel Mustang marking off areas of said map with a marker - all the areas she, Rebecca and Fuery had covered yesterday.

“Havoc?”

“I checked through the south-west sector, mainly; the footpaths from Wayfield Way up through to Foxtail Street. One of my exes had a dog and she always took him there, so figured it was worth a try.”

“Good work,” Roy nods, adding a series of crosses to the map. “So if we add the areas I checked, and those checked by Falman - down to precise coordinates, I’ll give you a bonus for that - then we’ve got…”

“I’ve got a few more to add too, Sir,” Breda chimes in.

“But you’re terrified of dogs,” Riza says, drawing the attention of the men in the room. The Colonel straightens.

“Lieutenant,” he says, “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“I have some urgent paperwork I need to complete, then I’ll be on my way, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, any of your outstanding paperwork has been taken care of.”

Riza blinks.

“By who?”

Roy glances aside for a moment before returning her gaze. “By… me?”

Riza stares.

Colonel Roy Mustang, infamous procrastinator, the man that once decided to wash the windows of his office rather than start the paperwork he had due that afternoon, completed not only his own work (she sneaked a glance at his desk when she came in, and there was no tell-tale tower of paper) but her own too.

Roy’s cheeks start to turn red, and Riza realises she’s been staring and not saying anything. All that leaves her mouth when she opens it to speak, though, is a faint “Oh.”

“I had Officer Falman check over them this morning, too, so you don’t need to worry about -”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh, well-”

The sharp tone of the phone ringing cuts into the conversation, and Riza is beyond relieved.

“I’ll - uh - I’ll get that now. Lieutenant, as you’re here, you can add any points to the map you’ve visited this morning, and then we’ll review.”

The Colonel hurries to his office and shuts the door, leaving Riza to wonder what on earth it is about such a simple act of completing paperwork that’s making her heart beat so fast.

***

Roy shuts the door to his office and answers the phone without really focusing on it, wondering why such a simple act of completing paperwork made the Lieutenant look at him like that.

“Colonel Mustang speaking.”

“Roy!”

He doesn’t know who else he expected.

“Now is really not the time, Hughes.”

“You didn’t let me talk yesterday either,” Hughes whines, and Roy sighs.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye’s dog has gone missing,” he says, to hurry the conversation. At this point, he should start adding ‘able to cut short and/or derail a conversation with Maes Hughes’ to his list of applicable skills.

“Black Hayate?!” Hughes exclaims, “has he been missing since I last called? I’ll keep an eye out.”

“You live in Central.”

“And? Hayate’s a smart boy. Don’t doubt his ability to board a train.”

Usually, he'd slam the phone down, but a little voice in the back of his head - a familiar, Lieutenant-like voice - reminds him that if he breaks it one of these days he’ll probably have to pay for it, so he places it onto the receiver, disconnecting the call.

Now he thinks about it, it’s probably a good thing that it was Hawkeye that took in Hayate and not anyone else in the unit - because Roy doesn’t think he’d be able to slip his entire unit conducting a search and rescue mission for a dog past Grumman if it wasn’t his granddaughter’s dog in particular.

Especially as by the afternoon it’s beginning to look like the search may head into its third day.

Roy keeps a careful eye on the Lieutenant throughout the day - in the morning it seems like the night’s rest has refreshed her focus, but as the day progresses and he splits the team out further he can see the things he’s come to know as signs of anxiety in her; her hands keep fleeting from adjusting her hair to curling at her sides as if she’s itching to have a gun in her hands. Briefly, he considers taking her hand in his, but dismisses it quickly.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she hisses curtly, somewhen around the time when the sky starts to dim.

“Like what?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be.”

The Lieutenant regards him for a moment, the two of them walking side by side. “And if our places were reversed, you’d likely be acting as if you were perfectly fine, too.”

… Okay, well, she’s right there. But-

“So you admit it’s an act?”

That gets him one of the Lieutenant’s Looks - always with a capital L, in his mind - and he takes his cue to stop talking.

“Quit harassing the Lieutenant,” comes Havoc’s voice from behind them. “Still nothing?”

“Nothing,” Roy answers.

“It’s starting to get dark,” Havoc remarks, glancing upwards. “Should we-”

“I’m not going home,” Hawkeye interjects. “I did so last night, and I encourage you to do so now, but I’m not stopping until Hayate’s found.”

He can tell from the steel edge to her voice - and the slight shake in her shoulders - that she means it, and Roy��s not about to try and talk her down given the situation.

Still, he can always keep her company all the same.

“Go home, Havoc,” he instructs.

“Uh - are you sure?”

“I’ll keep on looking with the Lieutenant,” he reassures. “You head home, and I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

The Second Lieutenant leaves as dismissed, offering a “Hang in there, Hawkeye,” before he goes. That leaves Roy and Lieutenant Hawkeye together, with Roy bringing out the map once more.

“So, if I mark off the paths we’ve covered in the past hour or so… we can check the park near Commercial Heights again, or the western courtyard. Then if we don’t get any luck there, there’s that patch of forest near Langham Willows Road…”

His eyes drift away from the map to find the Lieutenant’s watching him. “What is it?”

“Thank you,” Hawkeye murmurs.

Roy smiles. “Anytime, Lieutenant.”

They walk together, periodically calling for Hayate and searching any place they can think of. Roy cracks jokes here and there - knowing that his adjutant will see straight through them, but making the effort all the same to see if he can get her to relax. Eventually, they end up heading in the direction Roy aimed for.

He can tell the moment Hawkeye notices; she stops short and her face closes off.

“You’re leading me back to my apartment.”

There’s no point denying it. “Yes, I am.”

“I told you I wasn’t stopping.”

“And now I’m telling you that you need to rest.”

“No.”

Over the years, Roy has grown familiar with all kinds of expression in Riza Hawkeye’s voice; he knows her cool and calm tone that she wears from day to day, the defeated hoarseness he remembers from some of their darkest days, the short irritation when they’ve been buried under week-old paperwork for days on end.

Right now, her voice is cold but slipping into something hot and painful underneath, like ice cracking beneath a flame.

As one would when navigating thin ice, Roy really should tread carefully.

Instead, he pushes.

“I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

The Lieutenant’s brown eyes burn into his own before they dull painfully into a resignation that makes Roy’s chest ache. He steps forward -

And the Lieutenant steps back.

“Don’t!”

The volume of her voice makes him freeze; the Lieutenant herself looks surprised, too.

A light switches on in a window of the apartment block near them, and they both watch it carefully. Roy’s still focused on it when the Lieutenant’s voice pulls his gaze away.

“Sorry, Sir. You’re right, I should -” she coughs. “I should go home.”

The ice is even thinner now.

“Lieutenant…”

He trails off. He didn’t even know what he was going to say when he started.

“Let me walk you home.”

Apparently that’s what he was going to say.

Hawkeye nods, and they walk in solemn silence back to her apartment building. Once she enters through the lobby doorway, she doesn’t pause to bid him goodbye; rather, she leaves the door open for him to follow through.

Roy pauses halfway through the entryway, unsure. It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s been to her apartment, but he feels weirdly off-kilter here. It reminds him vaguely of the first time the Lieutenant had allowed him into her bedroom to study together when they were young, and he’s stood carefully distant from any object without touching anything until she’d told him to sit down and get to work already.

He follows the Lieutenant up to her apartment door, where she turns back to face him. Both of them seem to fail to find any words for a few seconds.

“Tea?”

Roy short circuits for a second, staring dumbfoundedly at the woman in the doorway in front of him. While yes, he's been to her apartment before, it's never at this hour, and he's not sure whether he's reading too much into this interaction-

"You should make up your mind either way and move out of my doorway. Before the neighbours start to talk, ideally."

That startles him into moving through the threshold - and after a good look at his Lieutenant in decent light, he moves towards the kettle in the kitchen.

“You sit down; I’ll make it.”

Instead of arguing otherwise, the Lieutenant simply sits at her kitchen table as Roy goes about making tea for both of them. He’s partly distracted while he lets it steep when the Lieutenant speaks again.

“What if I never see him again?”

Roy turns. The Lieutenant’s eyes are fixed on the dog food bowl.

“If he’s dead? Or we just… never find him? What then?”

Setting the tea down in front of her, Roy takes the kitchen chair next to the Lieutenant.

“Don’t worry yourself with that now,” he says. “For now, just drink your tea, then go to sleep.”

The Lieutenant dutifully sips her tea, before smiling wistfully.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Hayate tried to dodge hail in a storm despite the door inside being about 10 feet away?”

Roy grins. “No, but I’ll definitely hear this one.”

He listens to the Lieutenant’s story - and a couple more - while they finish their tea, then stands up and extends his hand to hers once they’re done.

“Tea over, now sleep,” he says, and Hawkeye rolls her eyes.

“I am capable of putting myself to bed, you know,” she insists. “Sorry for keeping you - you should get home yourself.”

She shows him to the door, and just before he leaves, Roy stops. The Lieutenant’s eyebrows raise in question, and Roy hesitates before pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

“I promise,” he says lowly, “I promise you that we’ll bring him back home safe.”

Hawkeye nods, and with that, they part.

After leaving the apartment building, Roy takes out the map and resumes searching. It’s late and dark, so it’s hard to see, but he made a promise and he intends on seeing it through.

Several false hopes and two hours later, and after realising that he’s too tired to search effectively, Roy heads back towards his own apartment.

He almost misses the glint that catches the light near his shoe.

Bending down, he makes out the shape of a dog collar to the right of the sidewalk, close to the road. He picks it up to examine - and, as he suspected, the glint that caught his eye was the tag on the collar with Black Hayate’s details inscribed.

That’s not all, though - with a sinking feeling, Roy walks closer to the nearest lamppost to get a good look at the collar, and notices the dark red of blood.

Oh, no, he thinks. Please, no.

***

He’s outside her door the next morning, about to knock when she opens it - before standing back in surprise.

“Colonel? What are you doing here?”

Roy takes a breath before holding out the collar. “I found this on my way home last night,” he explains.

The Lieutenant takes the collar - clean of blood, because he’s not about to give Hawkeye a blood-covered collar belonging to her missing dog - from his hand gingerly, fingers brushing over the tag. “Where did you find it?” she asks.

“On the sidewalk, near my apartment.”

In between examining the collar, the Lieutenant looks up and evidently notices something in Roy’s face that gives away his unease.

“... There’s something else,” she realises.

He really doesn’t want to do this to her.

“There was blood on the collar when I found it,” Roy says carefully, watching the Lieutenant’s face to judge her reaction.

Her expression doesn’t change, but her face pales considerably.

“It could mean nothing,” he rushes to amend. “A small cut, something inconsequential.”

“Of course,” Hawkeye says, and the layer of ice in her tone is back.

“Lieutenant-”

“Thank you for returning this to me, Colonel. Are you continuing to headquarters after this?”

“I am, yes. Maybe you should come with me. We can regroup with the others and concentrate the search around the area where I found the collar.”

The Lieutenant appears to consider this briefly before nodding shortly. Without any further conversation, she shuts the front door behind her and starts walking.

When they enter the office at HQ, Havoc and Breda are already present, despite it being an hour earlier than any of the team would be there on any other day.

“Morning,” Havoc greets, already making his way over to the map covered in marker pen. “I’ve marked off my and Breda’s locations from yesterday already. New day, new dawn, we’ll have Hayate back to his owner in no time.”

Breda, however, is eyeing the collar in Hawkeye’s hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

After a glance towards the Lieutenant, Roy explains the situation himself. There’s a beat of silence after he finishes speaking before Havoc is practically tripping over himself to reassure Hawkeye, with Breda following suit. Roy leaves them to it, adding his own marks to the map from his search last night and circling the area surrounding the street he found the collar on. Falman enters not too long afterwards, and after they explain (again), they start to plan with their updated information. However, as time goes on, Roy notices the Lieutenant beginning to fiddle nervously with the collar.

Before he can ask, she voices her concerns.

"We shouldn't tell Fuery about the blood," she says suddenly, cutting the current conversation short.

"Are you sure…?" Falman asks hesitantly. Hawkeye nods.

"All sorts of conclusions can be drawn from something like that," she states. "It would only worry him, and-"

The Lieutenant inhales, about to continue, but the breath catches in her throat. As she coughs to clear it, Roy notices her hands gripping the collar so hard her knuckles have turned white, and he realises that the ice is about to crack - and that the following few minutes aren't going to be anything that Hawkeye wants to be witnessed.

"Lieutenant," he says gently, "my office?"

She nods and ducks in, and he follows.

After shutting the door, he turns to the blonde, who has her face turned away from him.

"I'm alright," she says quietly, after a moment. "I just needed a minute."

Roy studies her for a moment; although he can't see her face, he can see the Lieutenant's shoulders shake and guesses that she's repressing tears.

Before he can say anything, he hears an "Oh, hey, Chief!" Through the door, and feels the urge to slam his head into a wall. He really doesn't want to deal with Fullmetal today.

"I'll be one minute," he assures the Lieutenant, then opens the door and steps out, letting the door close behind him.

"Hey, Bastard," Fullmetal says cheerfully. "Is the Lieutenant here?"

"She's busy," he replies flatly. "What do you need to see her for?"

"Well," Ed starts, and then Fuery enters the office, beaming ear to ear, closely followed by Alphonse.

Alphonse, who is holding a very familiar Shiba Inu in his arms.

Edward and Alphonse Elric suddenly become two of Roy's favourite people in this world.

"I owe you about ten favours," he breathes, which he'll regret later, but right now he couldn't care less.

He opens the door back to poke his head into the office and beams at the Lieutenant.

"Someone's here to see you," he grins, before opening the door wider to allow Ed, Al and Hayate into view.

Hayate jumps from Al's arms and bounds across the room to his master, who greets him with matching excitement, gathering up the Shiba Inu into her arms.

"Hayate!" The Lieutenant holds him tightly to her, before giving him a series of kisses atop his head. "Where have you been? Oh, BraHa, don't you ever run off like that again, I was so worried …"

She turns to the brothers then, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Where did you find him?"

"Around the bins in the hotel near the station," Ed says. "We didn't even know he was missing."

"If Rebecca ever tells me I'm wrong again I'll remind her of this," Hawkeye mutters under her breath.

"Oh, he had a little scratch!" Al advises, "I think he might have gotten it trying to get through a fence or something like that. It doesn't look too bad, though!"

Hawkeye smiles gratefully at the boys, while Hayate licks at her face gleefully. "Thank you, Edward, Alphonse."

"A-Ah, it was no problem!"

"Yeah, anytime, Lieutenant!"

The Lieutenant buries her face into Hayate's fur, trying (and failing) to disguise a sniffle. The look of panic that crosses Ed's face is quite something.

"Uh - a-are you -"

"The Lieutenant will be just fine," Roy interrupts, ushering the brothers out of the room. "We'll be with you in a few minutes. I'm sure the rest of the team can keep you entertained by catching you up on the past couple of days."

Once the door is shut once more, Roy approaches the Lieutenant.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly, receiving a nod in return.

"I'm fine, really," Hawkeye says, somewhat muffled by Shiba Inu. "I'm not quite sure why I'm - all -"

"It's been a long few days," Roy says. "Don't be ashamed to cry."

"I'm not crying," Hawkeye protests; at which moment Hayate decides he wants to be free from her arms and jumps down to run under Roy's desk, leaving her with no face shield. The Lieutenant attempts to hide her face within her elbow instead, but Roy catches her arm before she can. There are tear tracks on her cheeks and fresh tears welling in her eyes, but she's still attempting to contain them.

The ice doesn't have to crack. Not if it can thaw slowly first.

"Riza," he says. "It's-"

Before he can finish, Riza wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face into his shoulder. Roy completely seizes up for a moment, wondering what on earth to do or say and where does he put his hands? before reminding himself that he's not seventeen anymore, quit blushing, and places his arms lightly around her. They remain like that for a few minutes, quiet except for the occasional sniff from the blonde head resting on his shoulder, until he opens his mouth to speak and is cut off.

"Don't," Riza says. "You'll ruin the moment."

"Well, now the moment is over," Roy replies jauntily, "And it wasn't even me who broke it."

"Better I do it than you. You'd make some stupid remark about having damsels in distress crying in your arms."

Roy gasps. "I would never ."

"Everyone in the room next door can vouch for the fact that you would ."

"If you'd like to invite them in to watch us hug, then, by all means, be my guest."

"Nothing wrong with a hug between friends, Colonel."

"Right. Yes. Of course."

Friends.

Because they can't be anything more than that. No matter their history, or the way they're holding each other right now, or the longing, aching want that Roy has for more - there's too much at stake for them to risk anything more. That, and the notion of the two of them finding happiness in each other, after all they've done…

It's not something they can entertain. Not now, and maybe not ever. But a hug between friends… he'll settle for that.

Or, he would, if Black Hayate didn't decide that he needed attention and needed it now, leaping up between them. Riza laughs - possibly the most beautiful sound Roy's ever heard - and scoops Hayate up into her arms again while Roy gives him head pets, and they dote after the runaway dog until he gets bored of them and seeks out the rest of the team for company.

***

Later on in the evening, as Roy is sitting alone in his apartment and starting to consider if getting a cat would be a good idea after all - maybe he could take in the next stray that Alphonse picks up - his phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Colonel," a familiar voice sounds through the phone. "Sorry for bothering you at this hour."

"That's alright, Lieutenant. Is everything alright? How's Hayate?"

"He's fine," Riza answers, "We're both okay. I just… wanted to call. And to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” Roy says.

“I noticed, by the way.”

“Noticed what?”

“You marked off more areas on the map this morning than the part of the city that we covered last night,” Riza remarks. “You didn’t need to do that. So thank you.”

Of course she noticed - it would be stupid of him to think she wouldn’t, she is ‘The Hawk’s Eye’, after all - but that’s not why. Riza knows he’d stay out to look for Hayate for the same reason Roy knows how to do her hair, or how she likes her tea. They’ve been together long enough.

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant.”

The conversation moves on to other things then - old rumours recirculating around command, the last dramatic breakup between Havoc and another now-ex-girlfriend, stories from Roy’s sisters. They can only talk for so long, and the conversation comes to a natural end, but before he can hang up the phone a thought strikes Roy.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly, an echo of Riza’s words from earlier.

There’s a confused pause. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For calling,” he answers simply. “That’s all.”

There’s a tiny huff of amusement from Riza’s end of the line. “Anytime, Colonel.”

“Oh, anytime ?”

“Anytime before midnight .”

Even after he hangs up the phone, Roy notices the cold loneliness of the empty apartment around him doesn’t sink in as deeply.

So, he thinks, between strictly platonic hugs, late nights with tea, and phone calls… yeah, he’ll settle for that fine.

That, and maybe a cat - so long as it doesn’t get lost.

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tmntgirlie · 4 years

Text

Saviors in a Half Shell 5

“Let me get this straight. You guys were the ones who really saved the city? Twice?”

The commotion had made national news headlines for weeks years ago. The most recent occurrence was five years ago, way before Y/N had made her way to the city.

It was the sort of thing that led to many online conspiracy theories, but none of them had any solid evidence. The media led people to believe it was a man named Vernon Fenwick, who had subsequently called himself ‘the Falcon’.

How obnoxious.

“We knew we wouldn’t be accepted by the general public, and he just so happened to be working with us- it made sense,” Leonardo shrugged.

“People are so gullible,” she snorted. She shook her head. “Even I had a feeling he couldn’t have taken that thing down without help. I mean, one man? Unless it was dumb luck. I’m still trying to understand why someone wants to take over a city. A single city. What, turn it into his kingdom? He knows there are bigger and better cities out there, right?”

“Bigger and better? Oh, man! We have been so busy saving this city, we haven’t been able to finish our hip-hop Christmas album!” Mikey couldn’t have sounded more pitiful.

Y/N laughed. “I’d love to hear you guys try to rap Silent Night. Ninjas and all.”

Right as Michelangelo opened his mouth to give her a proper demonstration, he was pushed over by his red-banded brother.

“Someone’s a party pooper.”

“I just spared your eardrums,” Raph said, looking quite pleased with himself.

“What a sweetheart,” Y/N said through a snort. These guys were definitely brothers, the way they treated each other.

“Speaking of sweethearts,” Mikey grinned. “What are you going to do now? Now that you know us and all. You gonna stay here for good?”

“Mikey-” Raph growled.

Y/N just shook her head. “I have an apartment in Brooklyn I should probably get back to at some point. And a job.”

“Do you think you’re ready to get back to all that?” Leonardo asked her quietly. He still wasn’t sure what pushed you so far towards the edge- depression, that was pretty clear. Was there a more specific reason?

She shrugged again. “Have to sooner or later. It comes and goes. Good days, bad days, you know?” She looked around the room with a small smile. “Plus, if I go back to… All that, and I feel like it’s all going down the drain again- well, you guys make a mean cup of tea.”

The brothers looked between each other. It was obvious they all felt some type of way to hear that she was leaving. They had known this woman for less than twenty-four hours, and yet the thought of her leaving them left them feeling empty. She was one more human that accepted them for who they were. She didn’t run, she didn’t scream, she just accepted it.

“I took the liberty of adding our numbers to your phone,” Donatello said finally. “In case you ever need us for any reason.”

“Need a cup of tea, an escape, a friend-”

“-Boyfriend-” Mikey cut in.

Raph wasted no time knocking him over completely this time.

“I don’t think I could handle you, Michelangelo,” Y/N gave him a small smile. “You remind me of me when I was younger.”

Mikey got to his feet, dusting off his thighs. “How old are you again?”

She grinned. “Twenty-one, legal drinking age.”

He shook his head in confusion. “We’re older than you.”

“I really can’t thank you guys enough for this,” Y/N said, ignoring Mikey’s statement. “Especially you two.” She looked between Raphael and Leonardo. “Especially you two. And the Thai food of course.”

It felt like it had been an eternity since she left. It was almost dusk, it had really only been hours. Donatello gave her an extremely detailed map of the sewers, including the streets they followed, in case she wanted to come down by herself. They all figured she’d just ask for an escort, but in case she didn’t feel like it.

“And as soon as she comes into our lives, she leaves,” Michelangelo said through a dramatic sigh. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“She’ll be alright,” Donatello said. “I added multiple suicide hotlines and therapists to her phone when I added us.”

“She can’t just stay here forever,” Raphael grunted. “She lives up top, she belongs up there. April and Casey don’t live their lives down here with us, do they? No, they live up top with the other humans.”

Leonardo stayed quiet. They were right- she belonged up there with the other humans. She had a job, an apartment, a life- they were just four turtles that lived in the shadows. They saved her from a mistake she couldn’t go back from. What she did now was up to her.

“Maybe we should check on her tonight!” Mikey said, disrupting Leonardo from his thoughts. “Don, you got her address, right?”

“You think I’d let her leave without knowing where to find her? Do you even know me?” Donatello let out a ‘pfft’. “I have her address, her workplace, her social media profiles.”

“Isn’t that going a little too far?” Leonardo said.

“It’s all for her safety!” Mikey argued, even though the question obviously wasn’t pointed towards him.

Leonardo sighed. “Fine. We can check on her tonight.”

He tried to convince himself it was for his brothers’ sake.

“Since you did all that research on her, might as well not put it to waste. Whadoya got, Donnie?” Raph asked as he plopped back down on the couch.

Donnie pushed up his goggles, more for effect than anything. They were quite literally strapped to his head. “According to all of her profiles, she was born in Iowa and moved here a year and a half ago. No listed family members. Says here that she works for herself, doesn’t say what, but I’m seeing a portfolio right here with a bunch of different headshots.”

Mikey made his way over to Donnie’s corner, squinting at the screens. “Maybe she’s a professional photographer. Do you think she could shoot the music video for our Christmas album?”

“I have a feeling it’s more of what’s in the picture that is her job,” Donnie said slowly. “My money’s on makeup or hair.”

“What do you know about that stuff?” Raph questioned.

“Hey, if it was a photography portfolio, you’d definitely see more variety than just heads,” Donnie replied, rolling his eyes.

“Too bad we don’t need a new hairdresser,” Raph snorted, running his hand over his bald head. “Alopecia right here.”

“We’re turtles, we don’t grow hair in the first place.”

“It was a joke, Don.”

“It wasn’t a very thought out joke.”

By that point, Leonardo was no longer paying attention to his brothers. He was no judge of skills with hair, but these pictures didn’t look half bad. Maybe he needed to pay attention to pop culture a bit more to understand. Was she dissatisfied with her work?

She hadn’t mentioned a roommate. He figured she lived alone. Leo recalled April saying how expensive it was to have your own apartment in any part of New York. She couldn’t have been that bad at her job to be able to live on her own.

His thoughts were disrupted when he felt his phone buzz.

Miss me yet? - Y/N

He frowned, looking down at the screen. It had only been hours.

You guys seriously messed up my sleep schedule, I’m wide awake and it’s almost nine at night. - Y/N

Oh yeah? Almost time for us to get to work - Leonardo

Ah, the night shift. Latest I’ve worked was probably until two. I didn’t want to even think about waking up the next morning. - Y/N

You work that late? - Leonardo

I had no idea this client was going to take me eight hours. We were almost sick of each other by the end of it. - Y/N

Maybe Donnie was right. He had no frame of reference for photography, but that seemed late. Did hair related things take that long?

I’ll let you get back to work. Maybe you’ll even save another damsel tonight. - Y/N

Let’s hope I don’t have to - Leonardo

He wasn’t sure his brothers could handle two humans in twenty-four hours. Mikey would go crazy.

“Leonardo? Earth to Leonardo?”

He bounced back into reality. “What did I miss?”

“Um, our entire conversation?” Mikey said, poking him on the shoulder. “It’s your head that’s in the clouds today.”

He sighed. “What, then?”

“April says she has a lead on the Purple Dragons,” Donnie said, turning towards them. “They’re hitting several spots tonight. We need to get going.”

“Alright, you know the drill,” Leonardo said loudly. “What are we waiting for?”

He didn’t have to ask twice.

Meanwhile, Y/N was settling back into her apartment. She regretted leaving it in such a mess the night before. It had taken her until now to finally get it straightened up enough to have company.

Not that she was expecting company.

She let out a small sigh as she placed a mug of tepid water in the microwave. She briefly recalled the events that ensued in the past twenty-four hours.

She did not wake up yesterday thinking she was going to get that close. It had taken all of her courage to even stand on that ledge. Heights were not her friend, ever since she was a child. Maybe it wasn’t the fear of heights so much as it was the fear of falling.

It didn’t make sense that it was her chosen method.

She shook her head quickly. No, those were not the kind of thoughts she needed. Not this soon.

Truth be told, it was hard to live in a city such as New York. It was so easy to get carried away with the hustle and bustle the city was known for. Even on her daily walk to the shop, she felt like a tiny speck in the big picture. Nobody gave her a smile, nobody even looked at her. It wasn’t what she was used to.

Hell, back in the Midwest, people smiled at strangers as they passed them on the road. They waved to people driving tractors, and were even pleasant if one was going ten miles per hour. But here?

If you so much as stopped on the sidewalk, you were given death glares and knew people wished you didn’t exist in that moment.

Maybe she wasn’t meant to stay here.

It was almost every hairstylist’s dream. If you could make it in New York, you really made it. It was a cherry on top if you ended up catering to hair shows, took on a sponsorship for various brands. If you made it in New York, you could even create your own line of color and hair products.

Two and a half years after gaining her license in hairdressing, it just wasn’t what she expected. The hair was great, that wasn’t the problem. The environment drained her. She wasn’t sure if it was worth the heartache.

But those four brothers…

“Maybe I should check in on them,” she told herself.

The microwave began to beep. She reached in to pull the hopefully hot water-filled mug and gasped when the ceramic burnt at her skin. No, she’d give that a minute to cool off, actually.

She glanced over at her phone, it was dangerously close to falling off the edge of the couch. Y/N made her way over and unlocked it with her fingerprint. As she did so, she quietly wondered how Donatello managed to get into it in the first place.

In fact, their four names were now listed as her emergency contact numbers. They were even color coded, not that she needed a reminder on who was who. She decided to text Leo.

Miss me yet? - Y/N

After thinking for another second, she sent another text. Hopefully they weren’t weird about double-texting.

You guys seriously messed up my sleep schedule, I’m wide awake and it’s almost nine at night. - Y/N

It wasn’t completely true, she didn’t typically go to bed until midnight or so. There was no harm in friendly banter, right?

She set her phone back down, on the counter this time, and went to check on her mug of hopefully no longer boiling hot water. Before her fingers even touched it, it dinged.

Oh yeah? Almost time for us to get to work - Leonardo

She looked at the message for a while, her mug of tea leaf-less water all but forgotten.

Ah, the night shift. Latest I’ve worked was probably until two. I didn’t want to even think about waking up the next morning. - Y/N

You work that late? - Leonardo

Did I ever tell them what I did for a living?

Not that it would really matter to them. They obviously didn’t need a beautician.

The hair thing, she was definitely referring to the hair thing. Turtles didn’t have hair. Not that she saw, anyway-

Y/N, I swear, they’re fuckin’ turtles. Of course they don’t have hair anywhere.

I had no idea this client was going to take me eight hours. We were almost sick of each other by the end of it. - Y/N

She remembered that night well. It was actually one of her first clients that she ever got since moving to the Big Apple. And boy, was this girl loyal. She bought product every time, tipped well, even consulted for possible wigs. Y/N wasn’t sure why she would want wigs, she had beautiful hair, but she wasn’t about to judge. That was money.

Plus, she worked for some TV station local to New York. This client was a dream client.

As soon as she sent the message, she groaned. He probably didn’t even care to hear about that kind of stuff. He was probably busy anyway. You know, saving the city.

I’ll let you get back to work. Maybe you’ll even save another damsel tonight. - Y/N

She had to admit, knowing she was the first person they’d saved in such a way made her feel special. Sure, it was the worst possible circumstance, but… In her mind, it was almost like fate. They were different, but they accepted her into their home so easily. They knew she needed help and didn’t hesitate to try their best. They gave her a safe space to sleep, away from her own world. It gave her time to clear her head. Maybe the meditating had something to do with it.

Let’s hope I don’t have to - Leonardo

For some reason, the last message didn’t hit quite right with her. It suddenly drew her back.

Just make some tea, Y/N. Light some candles. Deep breaths.

The last thing she wanted was to be a burden to these four new beings in her life she’d love to consider her first real friends in the city. She crossed her fingers that he didn’t mean his words the way she took them.

Candles lit, tea freshly brewed (and with a chunk of ice for good measure), Y/N settled down on the couch with an oversized blanket and decided to watch something on TV. That’d clear her mind.

“April’s hair does look so good,” she mumbled to herself with a smile, the first thing on TV was the nightly news. “Good job, me.”

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