#(cue cringing from five)

[drowsystarlight]

Runner five! And some background

Finally doodled my runner five! Not a lot of substance yet since im pretty early in ZR still but im so excited to learn the world with them ahehe (more rambling in tags)

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 003

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[10.4k] A court hearing leaves the pogues scrambling for anything to get John B out of jail. And fast.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, corrupt law enforcement, mentions of murder, mentions of suicide, graphic depictions of injuries,

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ A lot of questions answered in this chapter and I think TR was such a girlboss here

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THE FIVE OF YOU SAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE COURTROOM, hidden perfectly in plain sight. John B was arrested yesterday, Shoupe and his men leaving you all distraught and soaked in the middle of the woods. They had to cuff John B’s unconscious body and basically load him into the back of the squad car. 

You were sat at the end of the row, next to JJ who’d wiggled between you and Pope. You had on a hoodie and shorts, the hood pulled over your head as you slouched in the pew. You kept taking glances across the court room, Rose and Ward sitting on the other side, acting oblivious and innocent.

“This is such bullshit.” You scoffed, playing with the strings of the hoodie. 

Suddenly, a bony hand grasped your shoulder, making you turn around, coming face to face with an old woman. She pointed in your face as she spoke. “You’re in public, young lady. You may want to watch your mouth.”

You made a face at the woman, turning further in your seat to look at her. “You may want to watch yours. Your dentures are segregating themselves from your gums, you old, senile-”

“She’s sorry about that.” JJ cut in, pushing your shoulder forward and shooting the woman tight lipped smile as her jaw dropped and she put a hand to her chest. Once you were facing forward, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We’re already down a person for a crime, let’s not add elderly abuse to the list.”

You waved him off, slouching in your seat again. Just then you heard Sarah sigh, the four you looking at her at the other end of the pew.

“When are they bringing him out? His hearing was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago…” She said, seemingly mainly to herself as her foot tapped against the floors.

Right on cue, the doors opened, one brawny officer guiding John B to stand next to his lawyer as a hush fell over the courtroom. The cuffs around his wrists jingled as he shuffled towards the court appointed lawyer he was given, standing next to the woman awkwardly. 

The judge thanked the officer, peering over her glasses as she read the documents in front of her.

“John Booker Routledge, pursuant to the North Carolina statute section fourteen, you are charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances." The statement made you cringe. "If convicted, the maximum sentence would be…” The judge continued, elevating her gaze to look at John B directly.

“...the death penalty.”

…

What?

The entire courtroom broke out into hushed chatter, your hand curling into a fist in your lap. The death penalty? Was this some kind of joke? That didn’t even make any sense. 

Without thinking, you stood from your seat, hands gripping the back of the pew in front of you. “He’s seventeen, you can’t do that!” You shouted, the courtroom falling into mild chaos as some people got up to leave and others stayed behind, voicing their opinions.

“Hey, c’mon…” Pope tried, a hand on your arm as he tried to escort you out of the courtroom along with the other people who were leaving.

“They’re trying to give him the death penalty, Pope. They’re going to try to kill him.” You said, trying to push the boys hand off of you. “He didn’t kill anybody!” You shouted over his shoulder, the boy using more force to guide you outside.

“John B, we’re gonna figure it out!” JJ pointed at John B who was looking back at the five of you with an expression somewhere in between pity and pure terror.  The judge slammed her gavel down, demanding order in the court just as Sarah seemed to snap, pushing her way through the crowd calling for John B as the bailiff carried him away, Kiara escorting the blonde out of the court with the rest of you.

“Is this a joke? Are we in hell, or…?” Kie said, walking down the steps.

“...I should’ve never come home.” Sarah said, voice muffled from her crying. 

Right then, Ward walked by you all, another couple trailing him and Rose. You made eye contact with the Cameron man for a brief second, sending him the meanest glare you could muster as the couple behind him talked. “I’m sorry that this is what you and your family have to go through. Thank God the system works…”

He couldn't be serious.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” You jumped in, stepping towards the man. “You think a minor being presented death penalty is the system 'working'? Of course you think the system worked because it was made to protect you and people like you. I mean, who shows up to a court hearing they aren’t apart of in a suit, just to kiss the ass of the only actual murderer here?” You spat, pointing directly at the man in question.

He simply adjusted his suit, tilting his chin to the sky. “Your friend will have his day in court. A jury will decide.”

“He doesn’t belong in court!” You objected, eyes drifting towards Ward. “The real people who should be up on that stand are Ward and his psychotic son!” You ranted, Shoupe and his deputies that were on standby rushing in between the five of you and the four of them. 

“I know you’re upset. Okay? I understand.” Ward tried, Rose hanging onto his arm as he played victim in front of half the island. “He’s got you all fooled-”

“You don't understand shit. And the only people being fooled here are your kiss-ass neighbors.” You mocked incredulously, swiping the hood off of your head. “You wanna see upset, Ward?-” Was the last thing you said before swinging on the older man, your nails swiping against the skin of his cheek, but doing no damage, before Shoupe wedged his way fully in between, pushing you and your friends back.

“Show some respect!” Ward pointed, patting his cheek to make sure he was unharmed.

“You're going to hell!”

“Get off of her.” JJ lightly shoved Shoupe back, the officers hands falling away from you. “Why don’t you take down the Kooks for a change?” JJ suggested, almost intimidating the older man. 

“You wanna get arrested?” The man asked, hand on his hip, right on top of his gun holster. “Go home. Now. All of you.”

“...’s is bullshit.” Kiara mumbled, eyeing Ward and Rose as they walked away. 

“No wonder his daughter’s walking with us...” You called out, the statement making Ward pause in his tracks to look back at you with deadliest look in his eyes. You looked the man up and down before turning around and walking away with your four friends.

“...I’M GONNA TESTIFY UNDER OATH.” Sarah announced with conviction, arms crossed as she paced the patio of The Chateau — rain pouring outside. “I was there. I just need to get ahold of my sister…”

The four of you surrounding her sighed, shifting in your seats. “Sister…” JJ muttered under his breath.

“Kie, do you have your phone?” Sarah asked the girl closest to her, taking the device from her hands when it was offered to her before turning to face JJ. “Wheezie is the only other person who knows that Rafe wasn’t home that day.” 

“...Wheezie?” JJ reiterated unbelievably. It was the most serious, flat, annoyed tone you’d ever heard him speak in. 

“I don’t know what else to do!” Sarah threw her hands out. “I got us into this mess. I’m gonna do my best to get us out...” She proclaimed sadly before entering the home and isolating herself from the four of you. The sky was a sad mix of dull grays and icy blues, the sounds of raindrops hitting the ground and thunder filled the silence until JJ spoke again.

“Wheezie…” He scoffed, crouching and leaning against the wall. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Well, she’s right about one thing. We gotta do something.” Pope said from his place in a lounge chair.

“John B is being held captive by the enemy right now.” JJ said, using his hands for emphasis, his face turning a dangerous shade of red as he ranted. “Our boy is sitting in a cell, being scheduled for execution. Are we really just gonna sit here?!-”

“Okay, well what’s the plan?!” Kiara stood up from her seat, taking steps closer to the two boys. “What? We kidnap Shoupe?”

“Maybe!” JJ retorted. “That’s not the worst idea-”

“That is actually the worst idea.” Pope piped up, still seated. 

“It’s pretty bad…” Sarah added from inside the house — the window to Big John’s office was wide open, allowing the girl to pitch in on the conversation.

The three of them continued arguing back and forth about shitty ideas and previously failed plans and who was more to blame than the other. You just sat on the loveseat, playing with your fingers and biting the inside of your lip. 

You and JJ’s conversation about the evidence was still fresh on your mind. You’d gone through everything about Big John’s case. The evidence was hard — an entire confession. But you still had yet to go through your father’s files. And knowing how Kildare’s Police Department operated, you’d have to play this smart. You needed more than a confession. More than anything, you needed to persuade Shoupe.

“I still have the tapes.” You interrupted, looking up at your three friends who had turned to you, Sarah peeking out of the window.

“...I’m sorry.” Kiara started. “What?”

“The tapes that I stole from my mom’s law office. I still have them.”

“...And you didn’t think to say anything? This whole time?”

“Of course I did.” You said bluntly. “But let’s not kid ourselves. We brought Shoupe an entire gun. The gun that was used to kill Peterkin and he did nothing.” You retorted matter of factly. “A couple of confessions won’t make a difference. Ward is Shoupe’s friend, he’ll just conjure up some deluded explanation in his head. We have to bring him undeniable proof, connect the dots for him.” You explained, sitting up straighter in your seat. “I went through Big John’s files but I still haven’t opened my father’s. If Ward had anything to do with what happened to my dad, that links him to at least four murders in the last year, right? That plus the tapes? That’s something Shoupe can’t deny-”

“Yeah, well, we don’t really have time for that anymore.” JJ cut you off harshly, snatching the hat off of his head. You stumbled for a response, eyes on the blonde.

“It was literally your idea.”

“That was before they put John B on the chopping block-”

“They aren’t gonna lethally inject him tomorrow, JJ-”

“You don’t fucking know that!” He shouted, the outburst sending a hush over the five of you. They’d never seen JJ yell at you before. Because he never had. You never knew what it felt like to be at the sharp end of his irrational anger. And although you knew this was far from the worst of it, it still formed a pit in your stomach. “You all can sit here and sort through papers ‘n shit. I’m gonna do somethin’, make somethin’ happen.” He said scoffing, standing up fully and walking towards the porch steps, his eyes on you and you only. “Even if I have to do it by myself.” He finished, swinging open the screen door and leaving towards his parked bike. 

You looked out at nothing, semi-shocked at what happened while Kiara sighed. “Look, I’m gonna hit my parents, see if I can get money for a decent lawyer.” She said, grabbing her jacket as the sound of JJ’s bike pulling off echoed through the trees. You couldn’t help but look back, watching the blonde drive away with a sinking feeling in your chest.

“Right.” Pope nodded. “I’ll dig into anything I can find out about this key that Limbrey was talking about in case your plan doesn’t work out.” Pope said in your direction, you nodded in reply. Pope had explained that during his time with Limbrey, she was borderline interrogating him about key she thought he had in exchange for a tape she has that could exonerate John B. 

All of your evidence pointed the finger at Ward, it didn’t necessarily prove John B didn’t do anything. Hopefully, you could change that by the end of the night.

THE OLD BOX STARED YOU BACK IN THE FACE WITH NO REMORSE. You were in the living room of The Chateau, planted on the sofa as your fingers drummed nervously against the skin of your thighs. Everyone else was out on some kind of side quest, aside from Sarah who took a stress walk down to the pier in the backyard, anxiously trying to get a hold of Wheezie, leaving you in the house alone.

Even taking the box down from the top of the fridge had your hands shaking — it was heavier than Big John’s box. Which meant you were in for a much longer ride. 

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you edged closer to the coffee table, your bottom almost hanging off of the sofa. In one swift motion, you took the top off of the box, letting it clatter against the wooden table. Your eyes scanned over the items inside — another cassette tape, one small USB drive, and one manila file folder. Everything was inconspicuously labeled — the tape was labeled WCCT 2/2 and the folder was labeled OG Report, both in your mother's distinctive hand writing. It looked like there was more than just papers in the folder. And you weren’t too eager to open it up.

You didn’t know where to start or what order to go in. But something told you that this wasn’t as hard as you anticipating it to be. You figured it best to start with the tape, having experience with them. Picking up the blue tape player that you’d found all those weeks ago, the same player you used when you found out what happened to Big John, you picked up the tape.

You weren’t quick to let it play, giving yourself a moment of pause. You were seriously debating putting all of this shit back. But then you remembered what you were doing this for. Who you were doing this for. And you pressed play.

...

“...Are you ready?...Okay, then. Please, state your full name and why you’re here.” Your mother’s voice echoed in the living room. It’d been so long since you heard her voice. At all.

“Again?” Ward’s voice rang out. “Is that necessary?...*sigh*. My name is Ward Cameron and I’m here to confess to the murders of Big John Routledge and Owen Carter.”

“Okay. You can continue now. Tell me what happened to Owen, starting from after you disposed of Big John’s body.” You wondered how she could sound so calm collected while sitting across from a murder, asking him to detail how he killed her husband.

“...After I threw Big John overboard, Owen was hysterical. He wanted to call someone and I kept saying no, that we couldn’t. What was done was done. He called me a monster, said that I shouldn’t have done it. He was right and I knew that. I was getting frustrated because Owen wouldn’t stop yelling. I turned around and pinched my eyes shut, I don’t know for how long, I was just trying to drown him out when I heard something hit the water. I didn’t even realize he’d stopped ranting. I turned around and he’d taken the lifeboat and was already feet away, it didn’t help that the damn thing had a motor. I didn’t think before turning the boat around and going to follow him, but he was gaining speed and putting so much distance between us. We were already hours away from the island, I didn’t think there was any way he’d make it all the way there on that small boat…”

Your hands were shaking as you listened, your bottom lip held hostage between your teeth.

“...The sun was going down by the time I got back to Kildare. I’d lost sight of Owen hours ago and when I got back, his truck was already gone from the parking lot. Owen was a family man over everything, so I figured that if he was in danger, the first place he’d go was home to make sure that he could protect his family. I got in my truck and went to his house. By the time I got there, the street lights were on and it was dark and raining. The front door was wide open and I pulled up just in time to see Owen racing out of the house with two duffel bags in his hands, about to put them in the trunk. I couldn’t hesitate, I didn’t have the time. So, I jumped out of my truck with a gun in my hand and hit him in the side of the head from behind. He fell limp to the ground and I wanted to go back in time and fix everything. I didn’t want to hurt him-”

“Stay focused, Ward. I’m not here for your sob story.” Your mother reprimanded.

“…After that, I threw him in the backseat of my truck and drove off as fast as I could. But I didn’t know my way around The Cut and I had no idea where I was going or what the plan was. I ended up on the shore of the Marsh. It was an empty area, surrounded by sand hills and tall grass, a couple palm trees. I didn’t want anyone to see me. Owen must’ve woken up at some point during the drive because when I went to get him out of the backseat, he jumped up and punched me square in the jaw. We got into it for a minute and I knew that Owen was stronger than me so when I could, I grabbed the gun from my waistband and aimed it at him. He just seemed betrayed and hurt. Kept asking why I did it, why I was going to do it again. He even promised to not say anything…if I let him go so he could be with his daughter. I thought about it, even considered it. But Owen was too good. He had morals and beliefs and I knew that eventually he’d say something. So, I lied and said that I would let him walk. I thought maybe I wouldn’t feel as bad if I knew he died thinking he was going home to his child. So, when he turned around…I shot him.”

You couldn’t suppress your sobs. The worst part of it all was that your father didn’t beg for his life, he begged for you. The one thing on his mind in his last moments was going home to you. You thought that was enough to make you hate Ward Cameron for the rest of your life. He didn’t kill his friend. He killed your father.

And he killed a part of you, too.

“...I knew dumping his body so close to the island was risky, so when I realized that it didn’t look like he’d been shot in the head, I slit his wrists to make it look like he’d killed himself, then I pushed his body into the water and left him drift out. Everything from that point on, you already know.” Were the last words Ward’s voice detailed before the cassette stopped rolling, a deadly silence filling the living room as tears rolled down your cheeks and hit the floor, one after the other.

You’d never felt so angry in your entire life. Not when your father went missing, not when his body was found, not when the police told you he’d killed himself. This was real anger. Because if you could figure this out and get some kind of justice for you and John B’s father’s, then the authorities just had to have not cared enough or at all. Two men from the cut go missing and they have one common factor between them but no one bats an eye?

It was bullshit.

Complete and utter bullshit.

Sobs broke through your throat as you swiped glasses and other miscellaneous objects off of the coffee table — everything but the box of evidence. Glass shattered against the floors as you kicked the leg of the furniture and hurled something random at the wall, watching it break into shards as you clenched your jaw, teeth showing like a violent dog. You felt like you could barely breathe, fists curled so tightly that you were sure your nails were cutting into your palms. Falling back down on the couch, slumped against it as you tried to regain your composure.

Once you felt okay enough to resume sleuthing, you sat up straight. You disgustedly pushed the tape player away from you, letting it rest in the corner of the table. Reaching into the box, you clutched the USB drive between your fingers. Luckily, you had your laptop on the coffee table from the night before, researching all the possible outcomes for John B, even though nothing indicated the outcome of today.

Opening the device and plugging in the drive, you let the files appear on the screen — a folder titled KCPD. Clicking on the file, it revealed two MP3 files to be listened to:

KCPD_Dispatcher276_1042pm.mp3

KCPD_Dispatcher276_1143am.mp3

Your brows furrowed in curiosity. Police files? Why would your mother need police calls to protect Ward? And more importantly, how did she get them?

Turning up the volume on the computer, you double clicked the first audio file, letting it play…

“Kildare County Police Department. This is Dispatcher 276, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?”

“What took someone so long to pick up?! My husband, he’s gone missing! I think he’s been taken, I don’t know-”

“Okay, ma’am, calm down for me, please. What’s your address?”

“Its…8702 Oak Valley Street.” If there was any doubt in your mind before, there wasn’t now — this was your mother calling in to the police department the night your father vanished. And that was your old address, on The Cut.

“Okay, I’m sending police out to you now. Can I ask your name?”

“It’s Rebecca. Rebecca Carter. My husband, his name is Owen, Owen Carter.” She sounded panicked, like she actually cared. You guessed this was the point in time when she did.

“Alright, Rebecca. I need you to answer some questions for me that will help police in locating your husband, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You said his name is Owen, right? What was Owen wearing, do you know?”

“Um, dammit…I think he had on a, um, yellow-ish button down? And a pair of, like, jean shorts and these shoes I’d just bought him, they’re just generic white sneakers, I can’t remember the brand.”

“Okay, that’s fine. And how old is Owen?”

“He just turned thirty-five yesterday. Oh, baby don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be fine, the police are gonna find him…” She was talking to you. You remembered that night so vividly, you were crying so hard with no idea as to what was going on.

“Is there someone else there with you Mrs.Carter?”

“Yes, sorry. It’s my sixteen-year old daughter.”

“Did she see anything? Can I ask her a couple of questions?”

“No. No, she didn’t see anything, she was asleep and she’s not okay to answer any questions.” She sounded appalled that the operator would even ask. “You can ask me.”

“Okay, I’m just trying to get as much information as possible.” The woman on the other end assured. “Did anything happen leading up to your husband’s disappearance?”

“No? I...He said he was going fishing with some of his buddies. He was gone from around noon until around ten tonight.”

“And do you know exactly who he went fishing with?”

“Not all of them. I know that Big John Routledge was there. They’re friends and he lives down the street, our kids are friends, too.”

“And have you tried contacting Mr.Routledge?”

“Yes. His phone went to voicemail both times. Oh my- Y/N, call John B, make sure he’s okay.” That was the worst night of your life. Especially having to call one of your best friends and find out that he hasn’t seen his dad either. You took the worst of night of your life and split the pain with John B. 

He called his dad a million times that night.

Every single call went to voicemail and by the end of it, Big John’s voicemail box was full.

“Did your husband say anything before he disappeared? Was he acting strangely?”

“He was just rambling. He just kept saying we had to leave, something about it not being safe. He told me to wake up our daughter while he threw our stuff into bags, when my daughter and I came outside, he was gone and the bags were on the driveway then some truck sped away with it’s tail lights off.”

“Can you describe the truck? Were you able to catch the license plate?”

“No, it was too dark. I just know it was black and it looked almost like a pick-up truck.”

“Okay, we’re gonna do our best to find your husband, Mrs.Carter. I need you to stay on the line with me until the police arrive, alright?”

“Okay…I think I see them now, I can see lights down the streets…Okay, yes, it’s them, I see them. An officer is approaching me, now. Can I hang up?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Then the line died out. It was odd to hear that side of your mother again, it seemed so foreign to you now. But you were still left wondering why this had anything to do with your mother covering for Ward? It was just the 911 call. Nothing incriminated Ward himself or her. Maybe it conflicted with the suicide theory? Maybe it made your father’s death look like foul play.

It only made you more eager to listen to the next file, mouse already hovering over the audio. Clicking it twice, you let it play, the familiar static of a phone call sounding out once more before voices were heard. 

“Kildare County Police Department. This is Dispatcher 276, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?” It was the same dispatcher from before, same line and everything. Was this the same call or a different one? A quick look at the label had you realizing that it was indeed the second file.

“...I need police.” It was your mother. Again. With the same dispatcher? Maybe the operator on the other end couldn’t say anything or mention the familiarity in her voice, but it was so distinct, there was no way she missed it.

Your father and Big John were the talk of the town for months during everything, I’m sure the operator remembered your mother’s original call.

“What’s your emergency?”

“I found a dead body.” Her voice was so flat. 

“...O-okay…Where are you ma’am?”

“Near the Marsh. Behind Ollie’s, that abandoned surf shop off of Deerfield Drive.” That was where they found your dad.

“And are you sure the person is dead?”

“...I’m positive.”

“I’ll send an ambulance as well, just to be safe. What’s your name, miss?”

“I’d like to remain anonymous.”

“Okay…that is your right…” The operator sounded skeptical, but it wasn’t her job to dig any deeper. “Are you comfortable attempting CPR on the victim, miss?”

“...No.” She said firmly. She almost sounded annoyed. “Look, he’s dead. He’s gray and bloated, he’s barely recognizable. Half of his hair is even missing, he’s dead.”

“...Do you know the person in question?”

“What?” Your mother snapped, her voice biting even in the poorly recorded audio. “No, I don’t.”

“Right…well, I need you to stay on the line with me until the police arrive, ma’am. They’re having trouble finding the location.”

“No. No, I can’t do that. How far are they?” Now, she sounded worried. Why call the police in the first place? If she was covering for Ward, why not just push the body back out? Was this a way of controlling the situation?

“They’re not far. I really need you to stay on the line with me-”

“Look, his body’s on the sand. They’ll know it when they see it but I can’t stay on the phone or here. I’m sorry.”

“Ma’am-”

The dispatcher failed in getting your mother to stay connected, hearing the line go dead.

What did these calls have to do with anything and why did she need them? This second call had your head spinning. Why even call at all? Wouldn’t handling it herself be better for her deal with Ward?

It didn’t make much sense but you doubted you ever get the chance to get it from her directly.

There was really only one thing left in the box — the folder. You were hoping, praying, that this had something you could bring to Shoupe, something to bring your circle of evidence to a full close. 

Picking up the folder, something rolled out in the bottom of the box.

A plastic bag with a bullet in it. You dropped the folder. Letting it slide to the floor, eyes wide as you pinched the top of the plastic bag between your fingers and held it up, letting it swing in front of your face. A small, bronze bullet sitting inside — spotted with dried blood.

You swiftly used your other hand to pick up the forgotten folder, letting the bullet bag fall back into the box, flipping the folder open, revealing just one thing inside — an autopsy report. 

…But this couldn’t be the one the police had on file. This one completely went against what the department said was your father’s cause of death. It documented the gunshot wound to the back of his head, the apparent blunt force injury from when Ward hit him the first time, alongside the slits on his wrist that documented as ‘not consistent with self-inflicted injuries’, as well as noting that they were done post-mortem. 

Everything on the paper in front of you pointed to your dad’s death being a homicide, even ruling out any kind of drowning theory considering it says there was no water found in his lungs. 

But the best part of this was the fact that you had the bullet. You had the bullet and the report. This? This was evidence. A bullet that could be traced back to Ward’s gun, your father’s DNA on the bullet, and the original autopsy report to prove it all.

You could clear John B. And you could take down Ward.

This wasn’t something someone would be happy about. And considering everything you’d just learned, you should be curled up on the floor balling our eyes out. But you win some you lose some, right? 

Knowing how your dad died dampened your heart, of course it did. But nothing could be done now. You could get him some kind of justice and let him rest while getting one of your best friends out of jail. And when it was all said and done, maybe you’d break down crying or throw something else at the wall. But for once, it felt like you were on the winning team.

As soon as you stood from the couch, ready to march down to the Sheriff’s Department, the front door swung open, an angry Kiara throwing her backpack down onto the floor as she paced with her hands atop her head.

“Kie?” You startled the girl. She whipped around with wide eyes, a hand on her chest in shock.

“Jesus…” She breathed, letting her hands fall against her sides. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I just finished looking through my mom’s things. You won’t believe what I found-”

“Not to be rude or anything, I just really can’t pretend to care right now. My... elitist parents just fucking kicked me out.” She interrupted, drawing her lips into a thin line and turning around as she walked towards the fridge, swinging it open and pulling out a beer. “I mean, they’re acting like I was gone for weeks. It was like two freaking days. Can’t they just be grateful that I’m even alive?” She ranted, taking a long swig of the drink, wincing as it went down.

Your eyes followed her as she walked to place herself on the far end of the couch.

“Like I’m sitting there telling them about John B and how he needs a lawyer and they start talking about how everything I do is for ‘those boys’ as if they aren’t my fucking friends. So, I told them I hate living there and all of sudden I’m homeless. My mom told me if I wanna be a pogue then I can go live like one. And you know what? That’s exactly what I’m gonna. She wants to kick me out so I can live like a pogue? I’ll show her a pogue. Next thing you know she’ll be pleading for me to come back home…” She shrugged, her monologue finally ending as she slumped into the couch.

You were gobsmacked at her words. She’ll show her a pogue?

“Wow…” You reacted, eyes impossibly wide as your jaw went slack. Kiara simply cocked an eyebrow at you, gulping before opening her lips to speak.

“What?” She asked, shaking her head as to say ‘spit it out’.

“Nothing, nothing…” You scoffed. “While you were off claiming your pogue card I actually found something that can clear John B, if you even care-”

“What do you mean claiming my pogue card? Am I not a pogue?-”

“Apparently only when it’s convenient for you to be one.” You cut her off. “You really think I, me, someone with nothing but a couple hundred dollars to my name and no family left but a dog. who by the way, got taken, wants to hear you complain about being kicked out of your single family home because you are choosing to be a pogue?” You told her, tone harsh. “And then you have the nerve to brag about living like a pogue solely to piss off your parents like you don’t have five friends going through hell right now.”

“...Just because I have money doesn’t make me any less of a pogue, I still go through shit just like the rest of you-”

“Why is that all you care about?!” You shouted, hands balling into fists at the sides of your head in frustration. “Pogue this, pogue that — you wanna be real for a minute, Kie? You aren’t a pogue, okay? And your obsession with proving that you are one is really starting to get old. By means of all the laws in the pogue handbook, you’re a kook. And you’re really starting to show it right now.” You explained, looking her up and down. “So, you can sit here and mope. I’m gonna find JJ so we can get our friend out of jail.” You spat, swinging the front door of The Chateau open and walking out, leaving a stunned Kiara behind.

YOU BANGED ON THE PASSENGER SIDE DOOR OF THE AMBULANCE WHEN YOU RAN UP,  A head of blonde hair visible through the window. JJ’s gaze whipped to the side, muttering under his breath as he pushed the door open for you. Hopping into the passenger seat, you shut the door behind you, pushing your hair out of your face.

“Finally decided to hop on the ‘get John B out of jail’ train, then?” He sassed, grimacing at the end of the sentence as he avoided your eyes.

“You must be at the wrong station because that train has already left.” You retorted, you saw his eyebrows pinch in on each other before he turned around — eyes going wide as he saw the plastic bag pinched between your fingers.

“...What is that?” He asked, eyes fleeting between the swinging bullet and the folder in your lap.

“This is the bullet the medical examiner pulled from my father’s head. Shot from Ward’s gun and coated in my father’s blood. And this?” You picked up the folder. “Is what I’m assuming is the original autopsy report that proves that my dad was killed.”

“...Why are you so happy about this?” He asked, face downturned into an expression of pity. 

“Not sure.” You said, letting the items fall into your lap. “I think it’s either that it hasn’t kicked in yet or I just don’t have any real shock left in me after everything that’s happened. Either way, this is our ticket to getting John B out of the dog pound. So, whatever plan you’ve conjured up, abort it.”

Suddenly, JJ was sucking in air through his teeth. “No can do, princess.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m still mad at you.” You told him, deadpan expression on face.

“Which I still don’t get why-”

“Look, we can talk about it later. Don’t hold me to that because I still want to shove my entire foot up your ass-

"Wait, how did you find me?"

"...I have your location, JJ."

"How did you get here? I don't see your car-"

"I walked. Well, ran. My car didn't have gas-"

"You know I hate when you walk around at night by yourself-"

"Aw, boohoo, as if you actually care."

"Uh, as a matter of fact, I do. You know I do."

"Yeah, right." You scoffed.

"If you were planning on acting like this, why did you come find me?"

He had you there. "...To make sure you were okay. But that's not important, okay? You need to drop your plan and we need to get to the police station so I can give this to Shoupe-”

“Again, no can do. I already stole my cousin’s truck, I have to go through with Plan A.”

“Which is…?”

“...We break Bree out of jail, to put it mildly.” He shrugged, avoiding your gaze once again. 

“...Weren’t you the one telling me that we’re already down a Pogue and not to add any more crimes to the list?”

“Well, I was left with no other choice.” He replied, throwing his hands up.

“Maybe if you weren’t such an impatient little shit-” You stopped talking when a police car pulled up next to the ambulance, the road empty aside for the two vehicles. The two of you fell into silence, immediately dropping the conversation and looking ahead of yourselves nonchalantly, or at least attempting to.

“...I hate when it’s slow like this, you know?” The officer in the squad car beside you started conversation. You and JJ both turned your heads in sync.

“Tell me ‘bout it, man.” JJ said cooly, resting his hands atop the steering wheel.

“Hey, what happened to Ricky?” The officer inquired, leaning further in his seat. Ricky was JJ’s cousin, the one he stole the van from. “He bang out?” 

JJ exhaled, sticking his head out of the window to talk to him more clearly. “Somethin’ like that?” 

Fortunately, a female voice broke through the radio inside of the ambulance. “One three Eddie. We got an unknown at KC Detention.”

JJ was quick to pick up the radio and respond. “Uh, yep, ten-four. We’ll be right there. Thank you so much. Over.” Slipping the radio back into its holder, JJ turned back to the officer in the squad car. “Duty calls.” He grimaced, sending the man a light-tipped smile. “I’ll see you later, Officer. You have a good night, though, okay?”

He shifted gears and prepared to drive off while you looked out the passenger side window, fist against your lips. 

“Hold up…” The man demanded, your heart dropping to your ass. “I got nothing to do. I’ll pace you.” He smiled, shifting his own gear and driving off.

JJ whipped his gaze between you and the road, you threw a hand out in the direction of the windshield. “Well, don’t look at me. Follow him.”

ARRIVING AT THE DETENTION CENTER, The guard at the front gate inspected the inside of the ambulance quickly through the driver side window, simply shining a flashlight inside and waving it around before giving you both the green light to proceed into facility.

“I thought this was supposed to be the most advanced security system on the planet.” You muttered under your breath, joking mainly to yourself but you caught JJ smile smally to himself in the corner of your eye.

Reversing the vehicle into the loading dock, a woman approached the driver’s side with a clipboard in her hands, motioning for you and JJ to get out and follow her. You gave each other one last weary look before exiting the vehicle, the woman waiting on the both of you as you came to a stop in front of her.

Her brows pinched together, looking you both up and down. “Where’s Ricky?”

“Ricky?” JJ inquired back, eyebrows raising high as he swung the keys to the van around his fingers. “Food Poisoning.” He shrugged. “Y’know Ming Dynasty off of Highway Twenty-Five? Them egg rolls, dude…They’ll get you good.” He covered as the woman seemed to buy it, nodding her head.

“And where’s your uniform?” She was directing her question towards you.

“I’m…” You dragged out, hands in your back pockets as you searched for the right thing to say. “Training. Yeah, I’m...not certified, just his ride along for the day.” You said cooly, not trying to seem to eager.

The woman seemed to accept your answer as well, sighing and turning around with clipboard in her hand as she walked you further into the loading bay.

“Patient fell out. No LOC but he’s orthostatic.” She explained to the both of you. “Stage four lymphoma. He’s been in and out of chemo for the last three months.” At this, you and JJ exchanged glances. JJ had explained that his idiotic plan of the day was to break John B out of jail. Since when did John B grow a stage four lymphoma?

Your questions were answered when the jail door buzzed and an officer came out, rolling an inmate out in a wheelchair that had too many years under his belt to be John B. JJ’s key swinging stopped as he eyed the patient in the chair, clearly not who he was hoping for as you drew your lips into a thin line and shot the blonde the most disappointed look ever.

“Uhh, is that the only patient here tonight, ma’am?” He asked nervously, peering harshly into the small rectangular window in the door.

She just chuckled as she and the officer wheeled the man closer to the van doors. “Why? You wanna take more than one tonight?”

“I mean, I would if I had to.” He perked up, spinning around to face the woman. “I’m just saying, I was called in because my patient had appendicitis?” He tried to reason, taking the hat off of his head.

It was clear to see that the woman was now skeptical, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms. “...This is our only patient.” She said simply, eyeing the two of you back and forth. “Where did you say you work?”

“Kildare County.” You shot out while JJ was too busy stuttering. You shot the woman a lazy, welcoming smile. 

“I worked over there. Never seen you.”

“Like I said, I’m new and not even certified yet. And my superior here, he just transferred from another facility, right? That’s what you told me, isn’t it?” You turned to JJ, trying to play into the whole power dynamic role here.

“Uh, yeah, that’s right.” He said, fitting the hat back onto his head and pulling out the keys. “Look, I would love to sit and chat but we gotta get our patient to the hospital-” He rambled, walking over to the double doors of the vehicle and attempting the first key.

“JJ…” The man in the wheelchair slurred. “Is that you?”

JJ simply looked to you and then the man in the chair before averting his eyes to the woman. “He’s delusional as shit.” No one seemed to see it as a red flag, allowing the blonde to continue trying to open the door to the vehicle. “We just got new rigs up at our facility, so…” He tried to avert any suspicion. 

You don’t know how JJ didn’t know what key opened the door but luckily, you did. When you were younger, his cousin Ricky used to let you, JJ, and John B go for joyrides in the back. The key to open the van was the only silver key on the ring. But you didn’t want to raise suspicion.

“Hey, let me.” You told JJ, holding your palm out. “I broke the key ring the other day, remember? So, the keys are all out of whack, sorry about that.” You directed your apologies to the two people on standby. Isolating the silver key and entering it into the slot, the lock turned easily allowing you to open the doors.

“Alright, let’s get him on up there.” 

JJ assisted the officer in loading the patient into the back of the van just as the phone on the wall began to ring. JJ’s eyes snapped to the phone and to the clock, obviously worried.

“Where’s your partner?” The woman asked JJ. His eyes went to you as he pointed in your direction. “No, she’s not a certified EMT. You need another certified EMT to look after your patient while you’re driving.”

“Can’t she drive?”

“No…” The woman said skeptically. “Again, only certified EMT’s can drive EMT Mandated Vehicles. Do you not know your own policies?”

“No, I do. I do, Uh, what about you officer? Can’t you drive?”

He simply shook his head. “No, he’s an inmate. I gotta be in the back.”

“Okay…Hold on, officer. “JJ started, clearly taking the high moral ground approach. “You’re saying that you’re gonna be responsible for me not taking care of my patient and not giving my ride-along her needed experience to get this oh-so important certification? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” He continued, actually seeming to do a good job of convincing the two. “Look at him. He’s weak, feeble, and...pale and shit. And I gotta do medical stuff on him, and show my partner how to do medical stuff on him, or else we’re gonna lose him, okay?” He said, hopping into the back of the van as he tossed the officer the keys, holding out a hand to help you up as well.

You took it, using his assistance to get into the vehicle. “You don’t want that on your hands, do you?” He egged on the officer, the man looking back at the woman in charge. 

“...This didn’t happen.” He told her, hesitantly rounding the car to get into the driver’s seat as JJ closed the doors while the woman went to answer the phone. The two of you stared out of the window in the back at her as she talked on the phone, her eyes whipping towards the vehicle you were in just as the officer started to drive off. Her eyes were as wide as golfballs.

As the van exited the loading bay and passed the entrance gates, you and JJ sat down in the van across from one another when a thought crossed your mind. Nudging JJ’s thigh with the tip of your sneakers, he looked at you.

“What?”

“The folder.” You whispered, jutting your head in the direction of the driver and passenger seat. 

“What about it?”

You sighed, smacking your teeth and rolling your eyes. “It’s in the passenger seat, JJ. The folder is sitting in the passenger seat next to the officer.”

Then his own eyes were going wide. “Well, why did you leave it there?” He whispered back harshly.

“Maybe because I didn’t think a police officer would be driving the van while we camped out in the back playing paramedics!” You whisper-shouted back. Just then, a voice broke through the radio up front, it came from the officer’s personal radio.

“10-63 in progress. I repeat, 10-63 in progress. Do you copy?”

“...Copy.” He replied.

“Continue with the patient onto the hospital. We have backup on the way do you copy?” The woman on the radio copied back, you and JJ looked at each other, worry clear in both of your eyes. 

“I read. Ten-four.” He said finally, his eyes peering at the two of you in the back through the rear view mirror.

JJ cleared his throat, leaning forward. “Officer, everything good up there?” The man didn’t respond, simply sliding the plastic cover shut that allowed the people within the different sections of the van to communicate, leaving you and JJ in silence. “...Officer?”

You took initiative and got up, pulling at the handle to see if it would open from the inside.

It wouldn’t.

Just then, blue lights and police sirens gathered your attention, looking up to see at least three police squad cars tailing the ambulance. “Shit…” You cursed, finally starting to let the panic kick in. “JJ.” You turned to the blonde behind you with his hands on his head.

“Get a hold of Pope or Kie or Sarah, tell them where we are, and to find out a way to stop the van. If I lose that folder, we lose everything.”

As JJ texted, you couldn’t take your eyes off of the police cars. It felt like everything was going wrong at once. You finally had what you needed to potentially end this nightmare and it was all going down the drain.

Were you all paying for the sins of the people in your lives that came before you or something? What could a couple of teenagers do to deserve a life like this?

Just then, you and JJ went flying forward as the van came to an abrupt stop. You landed on top of the blonde who landed on his back, your foreheads butting painfully.

“Go! Get out of the way!” The police officer yelled to whoever caused him to stop, you and JJ getting up simultaneously when Kiara’s faint voice filled the air, muffled.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” Without hesitation, you and JJ bumrushed the door, basically breaking it open and hopping out. You knew you couldn’t go anywhere without it, so in one swift motion you ran to the front of the vehicle, swung open the passenger seat and took the folder, the officer too busy yelling at Kie to even notice, even you carefully let the door shut on its own. 

You eventually caught up to JJ, the two of you booking it into the woods without a single cop on your trail. Hopefully, Kiara would take the hint and meet the two of you on the other side.

And that she did.

Coming out of the trees, you spotted her SUV parked and waiting on a secluded street, you and JJ practically rolling inside.

“Go! Go!” JJ urged, slamming the door behind him as you both straightened in the back seat.

“Where?!” Kiara asked, pressing her foot on the petal.

“The police station.” You told her, folder in your lap as you made sure everything was still there. “Go to the police station.”

“AND YOU’RE SURE THIS’LL WORK?” Pope piped up from the passenger seat as Kiara pulled to a stop in front of the police station. You sighed, looking out of the window and up at the building. 

“No.” You told them bluntly, looking at the three people in the car. “But what other choice do we have?” Those were the words you left your friends with as you exited the car and walked up the steps to the Kildare County Police Department.

Walking through the double doors, you spotted a female officer behind the desk, her eyes shooting up as you stood in front of the counter. She eyed the folder clutched to your chest, then looked at you once more.

“...Is there something you need?”

You swallowed harshly, holding the folder tighter against your chest. “I need to see Sheriff Shoupe and Pathologist Daniels.”

“LISTEN, KID. THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT ‘CAUSE I GOT A WHOLE LOTTA OTHER SHIT I OUGHTA BE DOIN’ RIGHT NOW.” Shoupe warned as he settled into the wheelie chair behind his desk. A man, who you assumed was the pathologist you’d requested, stood on the right side of the man in charge. He looked too calm for your liking.

You were sat in the chair across from Shoupe, the man cocking an eyebrow as he settled into his seat and clasped his hands atop the desk. “C’mon, now. I ain’t got all day-”

“You’re the pathologist, right? M. Daniels?” You cut off Shoupe, eyeing the man behind him. You were calmer than you thought you’d be. He failed to respond but the answer was clear when Shoupe looked at the man to his left, who was staring at you.

He shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets. He didn’t have on any kind of uniform or coat. He didn’t even look like he was on the clock. “...That would be me.”

“Okay.” You said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Do you recall performing an autopsy on Owen Carter? The man who went missing along with Big John Routledge almost a year ago and was found dead?”

He scratched his head, looking to Shoupe for a brief second before looking away and gathering himself. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And what were the results of that autopsy?”

“Ah- I…don’t believe I’m allowed to disclose-”

“Just answer her question, Daniels.” Shoupe sighed, almost annoyed. “It’s his daughter.”

The pathologist’s eyes went wide, lips falling apart. He swallowed harshly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “To the best of my knowledge, it was concluded that your father’s injuries were consistent with suicide. There were two sizeable slits made to each wrist which severed several arteries and veins, which he bled out from.”

You nodded suspiciously, sitting up straighter in your seat. “Mhm. And what about the other two injuries?”

“...What?” The man’s faux obliviousness only made you feel better about your next move — flipping open the folder in your lap and placing the original document on the desk for Shoupe and his employee to examine.

Daniels looked like he was wrong move away from shitting bricks, a bead of sweat immediately forming on his hairline.

“The other two injuries.” You reiterated, pointing at the autopsy report on the table as you spoke. “You see, in this report, there are four injuries documented — the two slits on his wrists, which were concluded as not consistent with self-inflicted injuries, alongside the blunt force injury to his right temple and a gunshot wound to the back of his head with no exit point-”

“Now, hold on just a minute-”

“I’ll get to you in a second, Shoupe.” You snapped, piercing eyes gazing into the Sheriff’s before they drifted towards the pathologist once again. “In this report, signed with your signature, it’s concluded that my father’s cause of death was the gunshot wound, not the slits to his wrists that, in your own written words, were ‘made post-mortem’.”

“Alright, alright,” Shoupe cut in, leaning forward on the wooden tabletop. “You can’t just come in here with some unofficial documents claiming that, what exactly, he covered up your father’s death?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The paper is right in front of you, Shoupe-”

“That paper don’t mean a damn thing. You could’ve printed this out at the local library for all I know.”

You simply scoffed. This man was truly unbelievable. Denial was one thing, blatant disregard was another. “You know what? You’re right. I could’ve have just printed this out and ran down here in hopes to accuse some random pathologist of covering up my father’s murder. But if that were the case…” You dragged out, lifting the plastic bag with the bullet inside up for the two men to see. “Where would I have gotten this, Shoupe?”

“The hell is that?...” Shoupe squinted, eyeing the swinging object as you sat it down the desk and pushed it towards him. The pathologist was visibly shaking at this point. 

“The gunshot wound I mentioned? That’s the bullet that made the injury. The bullet that, Doctor Daniels here, extracted from his skull and basically pawned off. Along with the original autopsy report.”

Shoupe looked up at the man from his seat — Daniels face was a dangerous shade of red, sweat dripping down the sides of his face now. Then, he was turning back to you. “Pawned off to who exactly? Where’d you get all of this?”

“That’s the easiest question you’ve asked me all night.” You quipped. “I got all of this from my mother.”

“...Don’t play games with me, kid.”

“No one is playing games, Sheriff.” You assured. “Haven’t you noticed that she hasn’t been dragging me around Figure Eight for the last couple of weeks?" You pointed out. "I figured out she’d been working with the man who killed my father, taking payments from him periodically ever since my dad died in exchange for her legal services. I got all of this out of a locked drawer in her law office. Haven’t been home since.”

“Working with the man who killed your father? Now, why would she do that?”

“Beats me. My theory is the money. Or maybe because he’s too powerful of a man to take down alone. You actually know him quite well.” You told him. “Ward Cameron?”

Shoupe scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “...You’re trying to tell me that…that Ward, killed your father and then recruited your mother to help him cover it up?” He asked incredulously. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“I’m aware of how it sounds.” You hissed, squinting your eyes meanly at the man. “But you cannot deny what’s in front of you, Shoupe. I know Ward is your friend and you want to trust him but we’ve been trying to open your eyes for weeks now. Just consider the facts.” You reprimanded, planting your hands on the desk. “The day Peterkin was murdered, Ward’s plane was the one leaving the tarmac. Gavin, the man me and my friends saw him kill? That was his pilot and he had the gun that Rafe used to kill Peterkin, the same gun we turned into you that he was blackmailing Ward with it. Big John and my dad? They were both out on the water with Ward that day and somehow, Ward was the only one who was still alive a day later." You explained, laying out the pieces. "Can’t you see, Shoupe? He’s playing you.”

“No...” He shook his head, standing from his seat as you followed. “This don’t make any sense…”

“It does. Just listen, for once. Even if I’m wrong, which I’m not, this connects Ward to at least four crimes within this year alone. That has to be enough to bring him in for questioning.”

“Questioning?” He laughed, hand on his forehead as he paced. “Question him about what? Some autopsy report you dug up and a…random bullet?"

“It’s not a random bullet.” You snapped, eyes on the pathologist who was frozen in place. “You didn’t immediately change the report, did you?” The man shook his head despondently, probably silently coming to terms with the fact that his career and life was over. “You changed it when my mother came to you, she wanted you to forge the report to say that my father killed himself and to give her the bullet. But you couldn’t, because you’d already sent it off to the officer on the case to be sent to ballistics, so all you could do was alter the autopsy report, right?” You theoreticized frantically. “Right.” You concluded when he nodded silently, eyes back on Shoupe.

“So, what does she do next?” You threw out, eyes following Shoupe’s frame as he walked slow circles around the room. “The only way she can get the bullet is to go to the officer in charge of the case. She pays them off and secures the bullet before it’s placed into evidence. Her only mistake? The ballistics report had already been processed.” This got Shoupe’s attention, his pacing ceasing as he made eye contact with you. “I read your departments policies online. This county’s police department doesn’t allow files to be deleted without authorization from their superior. They can be deleted from an officer’s personal desktop, but the file is ultimately sent to the trash bin within your computer to be deleted completely if you choose to do so. So, there’s a very good chance that, since you are now the superior following Peterkin’s death, the ballistics report that never made it back to her, is sitting on your computer right now.” You said all in one breath, motioning for the closed laptop on his desk.

Shoupe’s eyes went between you and the laptop before he seemed to cave, sighing heavily and basically slamming himself back down into his chair and opening the device. He typed and scrolled and clicked for a few moments before you saw a visible change in his demeanor. You were still standing, looming over the older man as he searched. 

“...There’s a deleted ballistics report from the officer that was on your father’s case.” He sounded defeated. “The bullet examined was extracted from the body of Owen Carter and was concluded to be fired from a… Colt Rail gun, serial number 18J…Dammit, Ward.” He sighed, clearly realizing the truth. At least you knew he’d at least looked up the gun in the system when you all gave it to him. It was about damn time he did his job with integrity. “What the hell I’m supposed to do with all this, kid? Huh? You just made my job a whole lot harder…”

“I want you to drop the charges against John B.” You told him firmly. “If you need to run the bullet again, run it. If you need to analyze the autopsy report, do it. I don’t care. John B didn’t kill anyone and you know it. You have a minor sitting in jail right now with the death penalty hanging above his head. And I am telling you right now, Shoupe. If John B dies," You warned, walking towards the door

"...I will kill Ward Cameron my damn self and take your entire department down with me.”

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

[silvervioletvalentine]

🦋 It’s been A long time coming 🦋

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Cherrie!

Word count: 10.3k

Summary: in which they’re best friends. He’s in love with her and she couldn’t be any more oblivious if she tried. Cue a mischievous four year old sick of him whining…plans are put into action!

The first thing that Charles was greeted with when he stepped through the front door of his best friends apartment was the sound of a loud, screechy whine coming from the velvet couch .

Then another, longer and even louder groan accompanying it as the four year old seated there, crossed legged and playing with a Nintendo switch in her small hands, caught sight of him coming in her home again.

"Oh no!" She whined , frowning over at him as she watched him take off his shoes and leave them by the door.

Going as far as Sighing dramatically at him "not you again!" She almost shouted incredulously , looking genuinely annoyed with his presence in their home, yet again.

Charles could only look at Star in disbelief , a offended look taking over his face as he walked over to the sassy four year old , who never failed to take him down a peg or two.

She was such a lovely gift for sucking out all of his confidence with just one whiny sentence.

"Hey! What's that attitude about sassy!" He exclaimed in shock, frowning back at her just as much as he made himself comfortable on the puff stool in front of her.

Taking a quick glance around the room and into the kitchen, he couldn't hear or see Cherrie yet. But he wasn't worried, it was only five o'clock in the afternoon and Charles knew that she was no doubt going through the bags and bags of clothes that she had bought herself on their shopping trip that morning.

He had wished that he was able to stay to see her fashion show, greatly enjoying watching his favourite person in the world strut her stuff around her bedroom in new clothes as though she was a supermodel. Twisting and turning in every angle possible for him to see and having him cooing over every single outfit that she tried on.

It was a cute little ritual that the two of them had between them for years now , and Cherrie having a baby four years ago had never stopped that either.

The only thing they changed was that instead of one fashion show from his ridiculously hot and should definitely be a supermodel but hates getting her pictures taken friend, he now also got a even cuter fashion show from her little, sassy daughter too.

Cherrie in the newest trends and Star in her princess dresses and costumes that she was currently obsessed with.

It was moments like that between them that Charles truly loved the most. In his mind, they were his own perfect, slightly deranged and possibly a house full of undiagnosed adhd, but equally lovely , family for him.

The very moment that Charles had met Cherrie when they were only teenagers , he had been enamoured with her. How could he not be? She was this beautiful , way out of his league girl who had the looks, the brains and was so fucking funny , and so fucking confident and not afraid to call anyone out on their bullshit, no matter who they were.

He had been hooked from on her since day one.

Somehow his awkwardness and shyness had managed to make her feel sorry enough for him that she just let him follow her around like a lost little puppy all throughout their teenage years.

Their parents cooing at how adorable they were, making bets between the two family's of when their friendship would finally take a turn , to what they all knew was awaiting them in the future .

Because to anyone but Cherrie, it was so insanely obvious that Charles was in love with her. The kind of love that made people cringe and envious at the same time.

The kind of love where nobody else existed whenever she was in his view , poor girls getting brushed off without any second thought when they were growing up, unable to take his eyes off Cherrie. His heart was a one way tunnel for her and he was certain that she was his soulmate. His match. His one and only.

He knew this. His friends definitely knew this. His family also knew this too.

The only one that had absolutely no clue about his not so hidden feelings for her, was Cherrie herself.

Because as much as Charles adored her , as much as he would walk the whole of the Earth bare footed and back for her. There was no denying that she wasn't so smart in the matters of love.

He knew that when they were sixteen and he watched his best friend brutally tell a poor guy a casual , oblivious ' thank you' when he told her that he loved her one night at a party. Giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving.

Charles had got the boy a soda and sat with him as he cried his little heart out to him about how he thought that he and Cherrie 'had something'. Grimacing to himself the whole time as he awkwardly patted his back and tried not to feel like a complete dickhead for feeling so relieved that she had brutally rejected the sobbing guy.

He also knew it when he was seated on the floor of some run down airport bathroom , wide eyed with shock and disbelief as he tried to comfort the love of his life , who had been sobbing her heart out against his shoulder. Unable to take his tearful eyes off the positive pregnancy test in front of them. Finding out ten minutes before their flight to his next race that Cherrie had gotten herself knocked up by some guy she met in a club with her friends while on holiday, not even knowing who he was or even his name.

It had been the longest time that Cherrie and him had been separated and he couldn't believe that the one time that he wasn't there to stop her from doing stupid decisions. She had ended up getting so drunk that she hooked up with some Italian guy, apparently forgot that condoms existed and ended up leaving her girls holiday with a baby growing inside of her instead.

Charles had been livid. And then shocked. And then heartbroken. Unable to believe that his best friend, the love of his life , was going to have a baby and he wasn't going to be the dad like he had always dreamt of being . It had been a tense month between them at first and the two best friends then had their first real fight.

There was screaming and crying (mostly from Charles) before they had to be forcibly separated . But even when they were arguing , he couldn't be without her. She still traveled alongside him to all of his races , still cheered for him and still wore his Ferrari shirt on her back .

And that was when Charles realised that it didn't matter, none of it did. At the end of the day , Cherrie was pregnant and it wasn't his baby. And they were still only friends.

He had no right to be mad .

And it was when he picked up a tiny baby , Ferrari onesie that he realised that just because he wasn't the dad didn't mean he couldn't be there for her and the baby. He could still step into that role that unfortunately couldn't be filled by the real father seeing as Cherrie had absolutely no clue to who he even was.

It was that simple. And Charles had cried as he babbled apology's to his best friend , promising her that she wasn't going to have to face this alone. That he would be there for her , always.

It was just Charles, Cherrie and a little baby too now.

He had went to every scan and every appointment with her , and cried his eyes out when they heard the heartbeat and cried even harder when they found out that Cherrie was going to have a girl.

He had ran around like a headless chicken in the middle of the night to find a tearful Cherrie a McDonald's with extra cheese and unsalted fries. Before running around to every supermarket near them to find her a specific brand of cupcakes that she woke up craving almost every weekend . He had even managed not to judge her when she had him running out to get breadsticks with peanut butter for her to dip them into .

He had been there when her waters had broke during a casual hangout with Pierre and his brothers. Pierre managing to catch him just in time before he could faint right into the puddle of wetness beneath her . Hyperventilating all the way to the hospital and having to be given gas and air , struggling not to be sick while Cherrie just glared at his pale , sweaty face in disbelief , panting and screaming loudly as she tried to push the baby out.

He had been there when Star came into the world at a ungodly hour in the morning. Had also cried his eyes out when he got to hold her tiny little body in his arms , grinning in awe through his tears as he told Cherrie that star had her eyes .

He fell in love all over again that morning.

Charles hadn't thought that it was possible to love anyone as much as he loved Cherrie, until little Cherrie came along and stole his heart too. They were his life now.

Even though he still hadn't found the courage to tell his best friend that he was in love with her, that he would never be fully happy with being called 'just a friend' forever.

But he was too scared to tell her so. Instead he settled for just always being there, hoping that one day his, ridiculously oblivious best friend, would realise what a mess he was for her and tell him that she loved him too.

A man could dream.

For now he had watched the cutest little baby grow up into this sassy, sarcastic and quite frankly , mean toddler who had no empathy for his feelings at all.

She was a ruthless little kid and nobody humbled Charles more than four year old Star did.

It was amazing really. That this child giving him attitude was also the same baby he had spent years changing the diapers of. Just Insane.

"You're always here! You say bye bye at dinner but now you're back again!" Star let him know that she wasn't very happy with his arrival again. Giving him a judgmental side glance that she had definitely gotten from her mother .

It was the same look that Cherrie would give him whenever he showed up to the paddock in his red jeans and Ferrari shirt , giving him a unimpressed shake of her head. Apparently the fashion police.

"Ok! That look-" he gestured to her judgmental little face and grimaced "needs to go! I can only take that from one woman. I don't need you copying it!" He told her , trying to hide his grin at how cute she looked glaring at him in her sparkly princess dress. With a loose eyepatch hanging around her neck, the hook from the pirate costume abandoned beside her on the couch.

The four year old just huffed at him "but you're coming tomorrow too! That's too much Charlie! Too much!" She whined, frowning deeply at him.

Charles was offended "hey! Do I need to remind you who bought you that switch in your hands sassy pants? Don't pretend that you don't love me now!" He reminded her, nodding pointedly to the Nintendo device in her hands. The same one that she had begged him to buy her after seeing Pierre play on one a few weeks ago.

Star just grumbled , blinking her big doe eyes up at him. "I do love you Charlie! But you-why go home if you're always here? You don't live here but sometimes I think you do!" She told him, not mad that he was always there. Just confused to why he even had his own place at all.

Charles was stumped , side eyeing her back because she was totally right. He spent more time at their home then he did his own. But he couldn't help it. This was home to him. Anywhere that star and Cherrie were , was his home. As simple as that. He didn't feel right anywhere else without them.

"I'm-well-" he stammered for an answer. Hating that she knew him so well. The knowing look on her tiny little face making him shift nervously "I'm your mommy's best friend so-of course I'm always here! Best friends hangout all the time!" He thought he saved it with that one.

But he had briefly forgotten what a smart ass , little know it all , that star was.

"Best friends don't make goo goo eyes at my mommy !" She smirked at him , one of her top teeth missing. Making her look even more adorable, even when she was calling him out on his bullshit.

Far too much like her mother, Charles mentally groaned in mortification . He wished that Cherrie had the awareness of her child, maybe then he wouldn't be trying to deny to her baby that he was in love with her mother . When he totally was.

It was ridiculous.

Her four year old daughter knew about his feelings for her but his best friend still had absolutely no clue. It was just his luck really.

"I don't make goo goo eyes at your mama!" He quickly decided, flushing red in embarrassment at how unsubtle he apparently was with his love for Cherrie. Christ!

When he saw her little mouth open ready to argue with him, he shot up to his feet and pointed his finger at her with narrowed eyes.

"-and anyways , I helped raise you! You can't talk to

Me like this!" He reminded her in disbelief , wondering where he had gone so wrong.

He walked into the kitchen behind the couch to get himself a bottle of water for his now dry mouth , still side eyeing the grinning child on the couch as he cut her up a piece of cake for her to eat. Hoping that the sweet treat would shut her up.

"You didn't raise me very high Charlie!" She had jokes how. Giggling mischievously at him "our lamp is taller than you!" There were tears in her eyes from how hard she was laughing. Finding herself hysterical.

Charles could only look at her in silent disbelief , blinking slowly in shock as his mouth fell open at her joke.

Shaking his head to himself as he tried to not laugh, not wanting to encourage her even more with insulting him.

Also from Cherrie. He just knew it. She was always cracking jokes at his expense. And he was right.

He heard cherries familiar laugh echo into the room as she walked into the front room, having caught her daughters joke at the right time. She proudly patted her baby's head, laughing loudly to herself as she looked over at Charles defeated stance.

Hand on his hip as he glared at the both of them , speechless.

"This-" he finally found his voice after a long moment , nodding over to a cheeky star "is your fault! She's so mean! Just like you!" He complained, pointing a accusing finger at ber.

Cherrie just slapped his finger down as she passed him, taking his bottle of water he had been gulping down for herself , sipping from it bedore giving him a innocent smile.

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about! I'm an Angel!" She giggled while leaning in to give him a hug, having missed him in the those few hours he had been gone.

As Charles sighed and folded himself into her embrace , he caught Stars smug face from over her shoulder. The four year old lifting up her hands to make a heart as she mocked him.

"You love mommy!" She mouthed at him cheekily , giggling like the menace that she was.

Charles just flushed and squinted his eyes at her in warning. Lifting his finger to his lips quickly "shut up!" He mouthed back at her before plastering On a innocent smile when Cherrie finally pulled away to look at him again.

Hearing her daughters giggles and seeing Charles red face, she rose a brow in confusion . Looking between them curiously.

"Why are you so red?" She asked her best friend in amusement . Taking a moment to lift her hand and fix his hair for him, his eyelashes fluttering in bliss as he felt her fingers comb through his hair gently.

A pause too long , then Star laughed again "because you're so pretty mommy!" She told her with a wide grin on her chubby face.

Charles went even redder if possible , swallowing when Cherrie just gave him a amused glance.

Smoothing her hands over her tight shirt that was tucked into tiny shorts. Humming to herself , pleased at the compliment she was hearing.

"I know. I look great! My friend literally asked me if I had a boob job when we FaceTimed!" She told Charles casually . Used to telling him everything , no details spaired.

His eyes automatically fell down to her chest, biting down on his bottom lip as he shuffled nervously on his feet. Feeling the familiar heat of attraction rush over him, a feeling he always felt whenever he was faced with her beauty.

"Er-I mean-they do look a little bigger." He admitted to her.

Shamelessly staring now, tilting his head a little to the side as he compared her breasts to how they looked like a few weeks ago. Inhaling a little sharply as he fell into a small daze, not even blinking as he looked at her hardened nipples in the thin shirt she was wearing.

Fuck me. He thought in awe.

Oblivious, Cherrie just grinned happily . "Right! I think my ass has gotten bigger too! I tried on that little black dress that I bought this morning and wheeewww.." she made a impressed noise , smirking confidently at him over her shoulder as she turned around to show him her ass in the skintight shorts she was wearing .

Treating poor , blushing Charles like he was one of her girlfriends that she could gossip too.

"I looked hot as shit! You'll have to fight off the guys next time we go clubbing Charles because damn! I could be on a playboy magazine!" She gushed, proud of how her body looked now.

Meanwhile Charles was just trying not to pass out again , eyes flickering between her big chest and peachy ass. Pulling at the collar of his own shirt and taking deep breaths , trying to calm down his racing heart.

He was definitely not letting her go into any clubs anytime soon . One unexpected baby was enough. And the last time she had looked as hot as this and had been drinking tequila, she wound up pregnant with star.

So, yes. No. That wasn't happening .

No more girls holidays for her. And if she did go out with them bad influences, he would be putting on a wig and a dress and joining their 'girls night' with them!

It should be illegal for her to look this good! How was this fair on his poor heart at all?!

"Yeah.." was all he could breath out, leaning back against the wall . Blinking heavily at her , not knowing what to say. "You look-" he could only shake his head in amazement. There were no English words to describe how beautiful she was, only feelings.

Cherrie just smiled at him when she finally noticed how overwhelmed he looked, A little giggle escaping her as she looked at his red cheeks fondly . Feeling her heart do summersaults in her chest.

"You want to have dinner with us tonight?" She asked him after a moment of just gazing at each other quietly.

Reaching over to take one of his hands in her own, fidgeting with his fingers absentmindedly as she pulled herself up to sit on the dining table. Pulling him to stand between her legs, wanting him to be closer to her.

Charles gave her a shy smile as he gently squeezed her hand three times with his own, nodding his agreement without any hesitation.

"Yes I do want that. Are you making your carbonara again?" He asked her hopefully. Loving when she cooked for him.

Cherrie let out a small giggle, raising a brow at him slyly. "You're not sick of it? I made it two times this week already!" She exclaimed, although flattered that he seemed to love her mediocre cooking so much.

Charles just scoffed, looking at her like she had lost her mind. "Never! I love it because you make it! I love anything you make.." his voice softened as he confessed this small thing to her .

Averting his eyes shyly for a moment , smiling to himself as he felt her hand thread through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp as she hugged his head to her chest with her elbow. Practically cradling him to her as he still stood between her legs . Leaning his weight against her with a content sigh.

"Okay.." she just whispered , overcome with so much affection for him then. She gently kissed the side of his head before their moment was interrupted by a loud voice coming from the couch again.

Charles turned his head to see Star looking at him with a big grin on her face, waving the switch at him with a hopeful look on her cute face .

"You play with me while mommy cooks?" She pleaded with him. Giving him a pout and bug eyes, knowing just how to have him melting in the palm of her tiny hand.

He breathed out a quiet, fond laugh. Giving cherries waist one last, small squeeze before finally pulling away from her. The two exchanging smiles before Charles walked over to the other love of his life, shaking his head at her in amusement .

"What happened to 'why are you always here?' I thought you were sick of me!" He mimicked her earlier whine as he threw himself down onto the couch beside her.

Opening his arm and smiling when Star immediately cuddled up into his side, beaming up at him toothily .

She just giggled at him, snuggling into his chest as she handed him the switch. "Noooo.." she denied while giggling. "I just don’t like it when you leave. If you're going to stay with us I want you to stay forever." She whispered to him so that her mother wouldn't hear . Too busy cooking in the kitchen now.

Charles felt his face soften, gently stroking Star tangled hair away from her chubby face affectionately. Feeling his heart squeeze with nothing but pure love in his chest.

"I'm never leaving okay? You've got me for life." He assured her just as quietly. Pressing kisses into her hair, smiling at her gently.

The four year old sighed contently , content with his immediate Assurance . "Okay." She simply mumbled, already getting distracted.

"Love you Charlie ." She mumbled , yawning.

Charles felt like he could cry, overwhelmed with love for a child that in his own mind, had always been a part of him too.

"Love you more sassy pants." He promised her softly "I love your mommy too." He let her know what she already knew.

Star just giggled and snuggled deeper into his arms, content with being right. Content with him being there. Always.

Star knew that definitely Charles was in love with her mother when she came out of her play room and wandered into her mothers room  to see the racing driver knelt at the end of her bed ,with a large bag of things he had panicked bought with him when Cherrie had texted him that morning, to let him know that she wasn't feeling too good.

He had taken one look at the Calander on his phone, and grimaced as he saw the little notification that let him know what time of the month it was for his best friend. Having been tracking her cycle to himself since the first time he had made the mistake of telling Cherrie to 'calm down' one time when they were teenagers , after seeing her hysterically crying over a Disney movie they were watching.

Charles had never felt fearful of her till that exact moment when his loving, beautiful best Friend had slowly twisted her head to look at him with rage in her tearful eyes, calmly telling him through gritted teeth that if he ever, EVER told her to calm down again.. that she would break his knees, unhinge his jaw and shove his head so far up his arse that he would be shitting French for the rest of his life.

Charles had nearly shit himself .

And since then he had never missed a tracking of her period since . Always wanting to know what kind of danger zone that he was walking into and when to overdo it with the affection and sweet treats, in hopes that she wouldn't start sobbing and threatening his life again, every month.

He also liked to warily keep the four year old at arms length from Cherrie at this very delicate time, understanding that she was in a lot of pain and had absolutely no patience for her daughter asking her stupid questions and throwing barbie dolls at her head when she refused to dress up like one with her.

That was Charles job.

So dressed in a tiara , makeup painted horrifyingly over his face after Stars impromptu makeover , he was looking down at Cherrie in concern , lipstick painted lips and chin and all.

Hesitantly Holding out one of her favourite chocolate bars for her , that he had a box imported from Belgium for special occasions like this.

He adjusted the tiara slipping off his head before speaking up "chocolate?" Meekly escaping him, unsure of how to help her as she curled up into a painful , sad ball on the bed.

Sniffling tiredly as she took the bar from his hands , giving him a wobbly smile. Feeling her heart squeeze warmly in her chest from how considerate he was being to her . How he always knew what to do when she was like this.

"Thank you princess." She joked weakly , smiling tiredly as she looked at Charles dressed up like a melted , barbie princess.

A proud and very smug Star climbing onto the end of the bed to sit next to him, grabbing his face in her little hands as she started to pat glitter onto his blushing cheeks .

Charles just sighed in defeat and lowered his head a little so that she could reach better , a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the four year olds similar princess getup.

"We're practically twins. But I don't know why I couldn't have been a prince instead." He commented in a small whine. Scrunching up his nose at the tickling feeling of glitter being pressed all over his face.

He didn't even need to look into a mirror to know what a horrifying mess he currently looked like, Cherrie and Stars giggling told him enough.

Squinting his eyes over at Cherrie in warning "shut up. You don't look like such a princess either." He muttered smirking .

Before she could even retaliate , Charles gasped in shock when Star suddenly pulled away from glittering up his face, only to slap his shoulder, hard.

Scowling at him unhappily "don't say that to mommy! Mommy is bleeding! Say sorry! Now!" She stressed , glaring at him . Looking like she was ready to stab him in his eye with the glitter brush in her little hands.

Shocked , but mostly amused by how protective the four year old was of her mother. Charles just chuckled and glanced over at Cherrie , to see her looking smugly back at him. Sticking out her tongue childishly at him.

"Okay! Sorry! I was only kidding!" He quickly assured Star , patting the top of her head gently as he gave Cherrie a smile.

"You could never look anything over than beautiful. I promise." He told her sincerely , feeling giddy when she shyly broke eye contact with him, biting down on her lip before burying her face into the pillow with a quiet giggle.

"God Charles.." Cherrie groaned , grinning fondly "you can't say shit like that to me!" She almost whined, not removing her face from the pillow. Not wanting him to see her reddening face from his sweet compliment .

Charles crawled up the bed till he was sat beside her, placing his hand on her back as he gently rubbed where he knew was hurting with his fingers. Seeing the heat packs he had gotten her sticking to her shirt.

Star quickly crawling over to him as well, trying to copy what he was doing. Looking up at him for approval as she placed her little hand on cherries back and rubbed it in small circles.

"Good job beauty." He praised the four year old with a soft smile, getting a pleased beam in return as they both looked down at her mother with matching grins.

"And why can't I tell you how beautiful you are? Why are you getting so embarrassed huh?" He teased her, gently moving her hair from her shoulders so that he could rub at her shoulders comfortingly too.

Her words were muffled from the pillow, still trying to suffocate herself with it as she answered him quietly "I'm not. But ya know..." she trailed off, not knowing how explain the way he made her feel so mushy and so fucking soft whenever he even so much as looked at her these days.

It was weird , it was strange and quiet frankly , she didn't like it. Charles had always been her best friend, so why did she kind of want to snog his face off when he looked at her with that sweet little grin?

Fucking periods. She blamed immediately. How could she be in so much pain, bleeding from her vagina but still so horny for her best friend?

Kill her now. She groaned into the pillow, hearing Charles laugh beside her. His hands burning through her thin tank top as he massaged her carefully.

"No. I don't know. That's why I'm asking." He teasingly replied. Amused with her unusually shy behaviour .

She was always the cocky , arrogant one out of the two of them. He hardly ever saw her flustered. So this was new.

He glanced beside him to see Star grinning brightly, eyes flicking between her two favourite people mischievously.

"I think mommy wants you to kiss her pain better." She told him confidently. Giggling.

Charles froze for a moment , cheeks flushing as Cherrie finally pulled her head from the pillow to let out a laugh at his unsubtle her daughter was being . Shaking her head in amusement to herself.

Seeing Charles red face, she couldn't help but tease him. To get him back for making her all flustered.

"Yeah Charles. You gonna kiss it better?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him. Wincing a little at the sharp pain in her pelvis , just wishing for it to be over already.

Charles just looked down at the love of his life for a long moment before his eyes flickered down to where her tank top was risen up to her ribs, showing her slightly swollen stomach , a little red from the heat packs she had been pressing to her skin.

It was an oppurinty. One he was not going to refuse. So with a mere shrug, he leaned down to lay between her legs, shuffling his body to get comfortable as he gently rubbed his hand over her cramping stomach, looking up through his lashes to see Cherrie had paused. Having not expected him to actually go through with it.

He gave her a smug little smirk and leaned his face down to her stomach, kissing between her hips and across her aching stomach gently.

"Better yet?" He murmured against her belly button as he pressed another soft kiss to her stomach , peering up at her affectionately .

Loving her even more than he did yesterday.

Cherrie flushed , letting out a nervous laugh as she placed her hand ontop of his head, fingernail scratching lightly at his scalp as he continued to happily kiss her stomach better .

"Yeah. Better." She just murmured with a small smile as she watched Charles pull Star into his side , the four year old giggling as she cuddled into him with a pleased grin on her little face .

"Charlie?" Star spoke up a few minutes later into the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

Charles just gently laying his head against her stomach comfortably , his hand gently patting at Stars back in hopes to lull her to sleep with them.

Yawning himself as he answered her quietly , his eyes fluttering from the feeling of cherries fingers pulling through his hair softly.

"Yeah?"

"Did you used to kiss mommy's tummy when I was in there too?" She asked him quietly , trying to keep herself awake . Eyes fluttering tiredly as she leaned her weight against him fully , barely managing to keep her eyes open.

Charles hummed with a soft smile , eyes flickering up to see Cherrie already smiling down at them, her cheeks a cherry red.

"I did." He admitted to her fondly "you used to kick mommy's Tummy a lot. So much so I thought you would come out a messi fan." He told her with a small laugh. Remembering the hours he used to spend muttering to her swollen stomach with his cheek pressed against her bump when Cherrie was pregnant with star.

Usually when Cherrie was asleep and had no idea that Charles was talking to her baby bump at all, telling her stories and pleading for her to stop kicking cherries ribs so that she could sleep some more. It was his favourite thing to do back then too.

Star giggled a little "I do love football." She said.

Charles just smiled "I know you do. Was kind of hoping you'd be a racer though." He muttered, still certain that she would be a future champion herself.

Star giggled again "you take me?" She asked him in a murmur. Yawning loudly, triggering him to do the same.

Cherrie grinned to herself as she looked down at her little family. Charles and Star half asleep on her stomach, in their own little world together. Almost whispering to each other, his arm around her small shoulders, their heads knocking together gently as they talked.

"Karting? You wanna go?" He excitedly looked at her, chest filling with warmth at the thought of getting to take Star to her first ever karting competitions and days with him.

He would teach her everything he knew. He dreamed of it.

Star just nodded her little head tiredly "yeah. With you though. Mommy's other boyfriend wanted to take me golfing." She snitched to him with a scrunched up nose, looking disgusted.

Charles eyes snapped up to cherries with a scowl "boyfriend? Golfing? It better not be Lando or Carlos Cherrie!" He immediately snapped at her unhappily , huffing pissily at the sudden , unwanted news .

Cherrie just rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head as Star started giggling naughtily.

Charles looking at her in confusion, his face dropping when he realised that he was being played. Again.

"Star! Stop lying! Your tongue will fall out! Mamma Mia!" He scolded her, heart rate slowing down again after that sickening scare. "Don't do that to me!"

Star just looked at him mischievously "why you care if mommy gets a boyfriend?" She challenged him.

Charles stuttered at that , cheeks going red as he avoided both girls amused glances. "I-you-she's my best friend-"

"Mommy can have a best friend and a boyfriend." Star stated smugly to him. Not letting him get away with it. As usual . She loved for his embarrassment.

Cherrie snorted, amused at her little shit stirrer. Enjoying Charles looking like a fish out of water as he tried to find his way out of this one.

"I know that. And-I would like to know. Meet the boyfriend before you did." He defended himself weakly. Burying his face into cherries soft stomach , flustered again now.

Because that was a awful side effect of being in love with your best friend. Being absolutely, horrifyingly jealous at the thought of anyone else being with Cherrie in the ways that Charles could only wish to be .

And well, he hadn't been given a book on how to deal with said jealously. Or what to do about the nightmares he had at the thought of her falling in love with somebody who wasn't him.

And sometimes said jealously lead to irrational actions and lack of thinking straight in his part. Because love made him a little crazy.

Something that the mischievous four year old was well aware of . Which was why that following Saturday ,when he came over to their place to hang out, forgetting to text Cherrie to let her know, so used to just letting himself in.

He was met with a frowning Star looking back at him, the four year old plastering on a pout on her face so that he don't see the naughty smile she had on her face when she saw him walking up to their door.

"Hi Charlie." She mumbled to him, swinging her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her feet innocently .

Charles gave her a smile, eyebrow raising curiosity as he saw a strange look on her cute little face.

“Hi? Where's mommy?" He asked her as he put down the bag of groceries he had bought them onto the counter, wanting to show Cherrie what he had gotten them from the store .

Star sighed dramatically "mommy has a boy over." She told him with a straight face. Sounding sad.

Charles immediately froze. Slowly turning his head back around to look at the four year old with a blank look falling over his face . Blinking rapidly at her.

"Sorry?" He raised both eyebrows at her, feeling his heart rate go up as he slowly glanced down the hallway to where cherries bedroom was. The door closed.

His heart dropped to his stomach when Star just sighed again, nodding her little head in conformation that he wasn't mishearing her.

"Mommy has a boy over." She repeated to him sadly.

Charles let out the Breath he had been holding , eyes glued to the closed bedroom door as he let out a fake laugh.

"Oh really?" Was all he casually muttered before abruptly turning around and stomping over to Stars toy cupboard.

A scowl on his face as he yanked out a nerf gun that Pierre her bought her to torture them with, making sure it was loaded up as he held it in his hands firmly.

"How nice." He gritted out, furious.

He clenched the nerf gun in his hands as he stomped his way down the hall to cherries room without any second thoughts.

“Let's say hello to the little bastard then shall we?" He snapped to himself angrily , jealously clouding his mind and making him miss the way that Star was grinning naughtily behind him.

Quickly following him as she tried to hold back her mischievous giggles, hands clasped over her beaming mouth.

He pressed down on the handle before kicked the door open without any hesitation , throwing himself into the room with the toy gun held high.

Shooting the foam bullets at rapid speed at the poor man stood in her room , the rage making him see nothing but red.

"Well hello assho-" he started to snap at the man, about to make some sarcastic comment to scare him off.

Only to freeze in his place when the man spun around just as Charles shot him again, his eyes widening in disbelief as he watched the rubber bullet bounce off his head .

"Oh no." Fell out of his mouth loudly as he gaped back at cherries pissed off father, dropping the toy gun in a panic. Heart dropping to his ass as well.

"Sergio! Hi! I am so, so sorry!" He spluttered out mortified as he heard Star cackling behind him, her little body falling to the floor in hysterical giggles, tears streaming down her face . Barely able to breath from how hard she was laughing.

Her father just looked down at the foam bullets surrounding him on the floor that Charles had shot him with, pursuing his lips together as he looked at the terrified racer in absolute disbelief.

"You shot me." He stated the obvious. Blinking at him, clearly unimpressed. And so fucking .confused.

Cherrie was also in a heap of giggles on her bed, choking on her own laughter as she and her daughter screeched like birds at his expense. Charles side eyeing her as she kicked her legs out, holding onto her stomach as she almost died of laughter.

Unable to even speak, just pointing at his red face instead , head thrown back as she cackled alongside her four year old daughter who had set him up in the first place.

Charles placed his hands on his hips in disbelief , mouth opening and closing several times as he gaped at her father apologetically .

“I am So sorry." He could only mutter over and over again. Beyond Mortified.

Sending a quick glare over to Star , who was just grinning up at him naughtily, clearly pleased with herself.

"She-star-" he stammered to explain himself to cherries father . A man that he had a fairly good relationship with before he shot him with a nerf gun.

"Your daughter has raised a mean little liar!" He exclaimed with a red face . Pointing at the two of them in blame.

Sergio just let out a long sigh , flicking one of the bullets from his shoulder as he looked back at the embarrassed driver with a small smile.

Shaking his head at him in vague amusement.

"still so guillable?" He simply said to him.

Well aware of how his daughter and granddaughter had poor Charles wrapped around their fingers tightly , and more than aware of how In love with his daughter he was as well.

Sergio had been the one to console a sobbing Charles when he was sixteen , after he had found out that Cherrie had lost her virginity to some guy at a party.

Sergio had to deal with the fact of learning that his daughter was no longer a little girl, and the fact that his daughters, best friend, was also madly in love with her, all in one night.

It had been a long night. One that had him drinking whiskey like water as he awkwardly hugged a sobbing , teenage Charles as he babbled tearfully away to him about how it just wasn't fair. Telling him everything. Including that he was certain that Cherrie was his soulmate. Promising her father that he was going to marry her someday too.

Sergio had also had the privilege of comforting a crying Charles when he had run to him like a snitch after finding out about cherries pregnancy. Crying in her fathers arms all over again, utterly heartbroken.

So it was safe to say that the two of them had become quite close. A certain bond between them that came from watching Charles cry over his daughter all the time, for years on end .

It came from watching a live sick teenager turn into a lovesick man. A strange kind of pride and acceptance coming over her father as he realised that Charles really meant it.

That it hadn’t been a silly little crush. It was love. The heartbreaking kind. The kind that had Sergio rooting for Charles and slapping the back of his own daughters head in disappointment each time she unknowingly broke his poor heart again.

So he couldn't be mad at him really. But he could tease him.

“You'd have thought that you've stop falling for their shit by now Charles." He commented in amusement. Giving him a pat on his back to let him know that it was okay. That he wasn’t going to kill him.

Charles sighed in relief, shoulders sagging as he glared at the still, two giggling women of his life scornfully .

"They’re Such good liars." He breathed out, giving him a embarrassed smile. Cheeks a permanent red now.

“She said you had a boy in your room." He told Cherrie , unable to look any of them in the eyes now. Horrified .

Star just giggled naughtily "grandpa is a boy silly!" She shouted through her laughter, her mother fist bumping her mischievous daughter proudly.

Snorting loudly as she looked at her flustered best friend. "So you were gonna shoot him with a nerf gun?" She laughed in amusement. Shaking her head at him fondly . Wondering how his mind worked .

Charles shot her a unimpressed look, pursuing his lips together tightly . Hearing Sergio chuckle beside him. Only fuelling his misery.

"Yes! I wasn't going to shake his hand was I?!" He exclaimed. Breathing out heavily as he tried to calm his poor, tricked heart down.

They just laughed. Leaving cherries father to pat his back sympathetically, leading him out of the giggling room to get the poor man a beer.

"Still in love with my daughter?" He murmured to him with a smirk as he opened the fridge and passed him a bottle. Getting himself one as well.

Knowing for a fact that Charles would be spilling all of his woes about his daughter to him as soon as they sat down again.

Charles just sighed long and hard, nodding his head pathetically.

“Yes. Very much so." He simply muttered .

Throwing himself down onto the couch beside him in misery. Looking at her father with a small pout on his face , looking like a child who had his candy taken away.

"Still going to marry her one day." He let him know quietly. As stubborn as he was seven years ago when he first promised her father that.

Sergio just laughed and nodded his head "I know kid. Just waiting for the day my silly girl opens her bloody eyes and sees what's right in front of her." He sighed out in disbelief that his daughter could be so oblivious.

He grimaced deeply "she's never been the smartest when it comes to love."

Charles just nodded his head in agreement , smiling softly to himself as he heard Cherrie and star still giggling together in her room. No doubt making fun of him.

"Still love her though. Even when she's acting dumb and stupid." He muttered grumpily . Leaning his head down on Sergio's shoulder as he took a long sip of the beer, letting out another sad sigh.

Her father simply rolled his eyes to himself as he awkwardly patted the drivers head, wondering what he had done in his life to be saddled with comforting his daughters best friend for last decade like he was a little, teary kid.

But her father loved Charles, he did. And he rooted for him everyday. Praying that Cherrie would do the right thing and put poor Charles out of his misery.

It was clear to anyone who so much as glanced at them that the two best friends were meant to be.

As simple as that.

So he sighed and muttered to him encouragingly "it'll happen when you least expect it. Just keep loving her and everything will be alright."

It turns out that it all came down to a lonely Friday night and a ridiculous amounts of vodka shots being shoved down his throat by a equally as drunk pierre.

He didn't even know how he made it home.

Well, he didn't really. Somehow Inbetween his drunk sobbing into his friends shoulder about how 'it just wasn't fair! Why does she hate me?! She's a man eater!'. Sniffling shamelessly into pierres tense shoulder as his best friend grimaced down at him in second hand embarrassment. He had managed to give the Uber driver cherries address instead , because Charles refused to let himself be driven anywhere else but home.

"It is home!" He had almost shouted in frustration to him , wondering why nobody understood him at all.

He loved cherrie. He wanted to be her man and he wanted her to be his woman. And he wanted them all to be a big, happy family! Was that so fucking hard?!

He was still pissed about his shit luck and upset with how oblivious the love of his life was, sniffling to himself as he stumbled into HIS home carelessly , mumbling to himself about how much of a cruel woman she was to do this to him, for years!

"Heartbreaker." He muttered to himself with a hiccup as he stumbled into the front room with a pout on his tear stained faced , bleary eyes glaring over at a blown up picture of Cherrie, from a photoshoot, on the wall.

“S'not fair. I wish she was ugly and green, like a evil witch . Wouldn't hurt so bad then." He continued to mutter to himself in a mood, almost crashing into the wall as he lost his balance , those vodka shots hitting him like a fist to the face then.

He let out a deep groan when the light suddenly flicked on above him, squinting his glassy eyes over to the hallway with a wince .

Groaning even louder once he registered just who was staring back at him in disapproval , little arms crossed over her pyjama clad body as she tutted at him judgmentally.

"And here's the heartbreakers , little, mean spawn!" He blew out in exasperation, eyeing her back with just as much judgment. All rationality gone from his brain.

The vodka making him petty as he huffed at the four year old currently shaking her head at him pitifully.

"Come to make me cry?" He said to her, clutching into the back of the couch so he didn't face plant onto the floor .

Star simply rose a brow at him, cocking a little hip at him sassily. Just like she had seen her mother do whenever charles gave her attitude as well.

"Seems like you did that all by yourself." She remarked back at him, amused.

Clutching a teddy bear to her chest as she walked over to him quickly , hugging his leg with a smile of relief. Glad that he was back. And even happier that she had stayed awake. Despite her mother's warnings for her to go to sleep.

"Why are you crying Charlie? Did you hurt yourself again?" She worried, peering up at him with tired eyes. Yawning loudly a second later.

Charles yawned too, patting the top of her head gently with his hand as he tried not to pass out right there and then. Hating Pierre for shoving those shots at him all night, knowing fully well what a lightweight he was.

Maybe he just liked to see him suffer. Reminded him of someone ...

He sighed loudly "no. Your mother hurts me everyday when she calls me her best friend." He bluntly told the poor four year old.

Continuing to pat her little head like she was a dog, comforting himself with playing with her hair. Drunk as fuck.

Star frowned up at him, rolling her eyes. "You call mommy your best friend too." She reminded him without skipping a beat. Sick of hearing him complain without actually doing anything to make progress .

Charles frowned down at her too "because she is." He muttered.

Blinking rapidly as two four year olds suddenly swam in his vision. Cursing lowly in French as he tried to stay conscious on his feet.

Star looked at him like it was obvious "if you asked her to be your friend then why don't you just ask her to be your girlfriend too?" Giving him a small push towards the hallway where she knew her mommy was doing her ridiculously lengthy skincare routine in her room.

Charles stumbled alongside her without much give, too drunk to see the mischievous look on the child's face, a plan clearly being set in motion by her.

He thought about what she said and suddenly, so many vodka shots in , it did seem that simple.

He smiled giddily "you're totally right my little baby! I'll tell her! I'll tell her now I feel and then-" he hiccuped again "then everything will be okay and I can marry her and we can have a baby-"

Star looked up at him with wide eyes, giggling "you need to tell her first! And- I don't want a brother or sister yet! We still needed to go to Disneyland remember?" She looked at him as sternly as a four year old could. Because. Priorities.

Charles nodded seriously, pointing finger guns at her with a drunken grin.

"Right. Disneyland and then babies." He slurred before tilting his head thoughtfully

“I'll tell her tomorrow-"

Star quickly shook her head, knowing fully well that if Charlie wasn't drunk, he wouldn't be telling her mommy anything at all.

So she gave him another push towards her mother's room with a sneaky grin "no! Tell her now!" She insisted to him mischievously.

“If you wait too long she might fall in love with max-"

Charles immediately looked horrified, eyes going wide with fear .

“Max?! Fuck no!" He almost shouted , missing her naughty little giggle, too busy throwing cherries bedroom door open with a upset gasp.

"You can't love max cherrie! I will die!" He shouted loudly into the room, scaring the absolute shit out of Cherrie , who had been stood by her mirror , rubbing moisturiser onto her face.

She froze in shock , looking over at him in surprise, blinking in confusion as she looked at her swaying , crying? Best friend , and over to her smirking daughter hidden behind him while giggling to herself like a naughty goblin .

"What the hell are you talking about?" She wondered , putting her creams down and approaching him warily. Planning to curse Pierre out for getting him so drunk like this and not warning her before dropping him off either.

Charles frowned at her, upset . "You can't like max." He told her sternly , hiccuping.

"I don't like him? Where is this coming from?" She then looked at Star with a frown "and why aren't you in bed?!" She exclaimed, annoyed.

Her four year old simply shrugged her little shoulders and said sweetly  "Charles wants to tell you something mommy." Before hitting Charles in his leg impatiently , nodding at him to hurry up and get on with it. Yawning again. Just wanting to go to sleep

Charles quickly nodded his head, face lighting up as he looked back at Cherrie with a dimpled grin. Giggling like a lovesick idiot as he stared at her with glossy eyes .

“Oh yeah." He mumbled to himself , band reaching lazily behind him to pat star on her head in thanks.

Then he looked straight at a confused Cherrie and smiled happily .

“I love you. And we're going to get married and have babies." He told her so simply , like it was a fact.

Then remembering  something, he tilted his head and quickly added. "After Disneyland though."

Cherrie looked at him in shock, mouth opening and closing several times as she let his words sink in. Heart racing a hundred miles per hour in her chest, flushing red.

She cleared her throat "are you-" she stammered, flustered.

Looking at a giggly Charles in disbelief "being serious?" She breathed out. Speechless.

Charles just nodded happily before suddenly throwing himself at her , wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into her neck with a giggle as he swayed them from side to side blissfully .

Cherrie just clutching onto him silently , wide eyes blinking at her grinning daughter over his shoulder in disbelief.

"Yes!" Charles almost shouted. Pulling away to clutch at her face with a love sick grin "I love you so much! You've been cutting my heart into pieces for years! I thought I was going to die from loving you!" He declared it so casually , Cherrie could only nod along as though she understood.

She placed her hand on his waist to steady him, heart in her mouth as she whispered nervously

"Oh no." Then a guilty "I'm sorry." Falling out of her mouth straight after . Wanting to hit herself for being so oblivious.

Charles just squeezed her blushing cheeks between  his hands and laughed loudly .

“It's okay! Because it's good now. Because I love you and that's okay because you love me too right?" He rambled.

Before Kissing her nose, making her giggle to herself when he gave into his intrusive thoughts and gently bit the end of it straight after. Giggling to himself when she scrunched up her nose from the feeling of his teeth on her skin , gently pulling him away from her so she that could see him clearly again.

She felt like the biggest idiot in the world. And also the luckiest woman too.

She smiled at him , beaming now . Feeling like her heart was going to burst out of her chest, overwhelmed with the affection she felt for him . Gently stroking his red cheeks, shaking her head at him fondly.

Idiot.

She was an idiot.

Luckily so was he. They could be idiots together she supposed .

"I do." She admitted to him finally "I love you so much. You're my entire world charles." She stroked his hair from his face tenderly . Smiling softly.

Charles nodded along as if he had known it all along. And maybe he had. Both just too scared of ruining their friendship.

None of that mattered now. Love was here to save them.

"After star.. then me." He whispered to her , nudging their noses together gently .

So fucking happy he felt like crying all over again.

“I love you. In every language and in every world." He told her quietly , meaning it.

And Cherrie only had to smile at him , then he closed the gap and kissed her. Finally. Clutching her jaw in his hand tenderly as his eyes fluttered closed, sighing against her lips in relief as he finally tasted the love of her kiss.

Moaning softly against her mouth before he pulled away , only to press several, shorter kisses to her lips again. Both of them giggling like teenagers as Cherrie carefully pushed him away as he pressed his lips all over her face, laughing loudly when he dramatically smacked a kiss over both of her eyes, making her laugh even harder.

Smiling proudly to himself when he heard heard her sweet laugh.

"Okay! Okay!" She giggled , gently steering a beaming Charles over to her bed. Cheeks red as he tried to wink at her, failing miserably.

One small push and he went tumbling straight into her bed. A pleased groan escaping him as he dug his face into her pillow in happiness, beaming like a little kid as he said through a yawn "smells like you." Pulling the covers over him gently after pulling off his shoes and his jeans. Leaving him in his soft T-shirt and boxers, his eyes already fluttering closed as the vodka hit him full force .

She shared a look with her four year old daughter who toddled over to the bed. Giving Charles a pleased , smug grin as he tried to fight off the sleep succumbing him.

"You owe me big time Charlie." She let him know. Expecting payment for being such a Cupid.

Proud of herself for being such a mastermind.

Charles just groaned tiredly , lazily taking her little hand in his , kissing her knuckles gently. Eyes already closed as he muttered "all the candy in the world."

Cherrie could only look at her daughter in disbelief , Star just beaming to herself happily. "Yay!"

Then the both of them could only watch together as Charles crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow. Loud , noisy snores escaping his gaping mouth as he slept peacefully away. Finally resting after causing nothing but Chaos for them.

Cherrie just sighed. Smiling despite herself as she gently took stars little hand to lead her out of the room, flicking off the bedroom light as she went by.

"You knew all along?" She guessed. Amazed by how oblivious she truly was.

Star just scoffed at her. Grinning smugly "everybody knew but you mommy." She told her Matter of factly as she got tucked back into her princess bed.

"Mommy?" She spoke up quietly when Cherrie kissed her goodnight, still in disbelief to how her night had turned so quickly around. Needing a glass of wine and to FaceTime her friends to tell them all the news.

"Yes?"  She dared to ask.

Overwhelmed and honestly a little amused at her little mastermind and her poor Charles . She loved them both so much. It was ridiculous.

"Are you going to love Charlie forever?" She wanted to know.

She just smiled, breathing out a quiet laugh. "I am."

"And after Disneyland will you marry him and have loads of babies?" She tiredly asked .

Cherrie paused. Then "maybe." Smiling to herself in amusement "he deserves it doesn't he? Years of loving me while I was being an idiot.." she muttered with a sigh.

Star nodded seriously , drifting off to sleep. "He does. You need to marry him so that he stops whining all the time. We need him." She whispered .

Cherrie smiled softly , flicking off the light. "We do."

And it was as simple as that. There was no better person to fall in love with than your best friend.

It was always going to be them, forever. It could never be anybody else for them.

It was written in the stars. It had been a long time coming.

[irisintheafterglow]

More Than It Seams (Chapter 1)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 3k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader

note: aaaaa ok first chapter of my first series. hope you enjoy!! i'm planning on this to be five chapters, and the second chapter I'm planning to release this friday. i <3 shoto todoroki

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated!!!

She couldn’t be serious. You shake your head as if to reset your eyeballs and read over the two scribbled cursive sentences over and over until the reality of your situation set in. 

Hey, not gonna be in starting today for maternity leave. Don’t disappoint me. Xo, M 

You counted the days on your fingers and groaned, dragging a palm down the front of your face. 7:00 A.M was too early to find out you had to run a multi-million dollar business that wouldn’t hesitate to fire you if you disappointed at the most important fashion event of the year. The coffee maker beeped its readiness right on cue, and you debated making two cups instead of just one. You settled for one but left out a cup with your name on it for a possible second, and plopped down at your station. The sun was just starting to shine through the glass walls of the building you called your office, an odd combination of exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. Crooked rows of work tables lined up on one side of the expansive area, with several dozen mannequins and rolls of fabric occupying the other side. A long counter separated the work area from the sitting area, where clients waited for their fittings on plush couches and sipped on complimentary sparkling drinks that M paid for instead of giving her workers a raise. 

“G’morning!” The other designer for the company swung open the gate allowing access between the work area and the sitting area, deflating when he saw you throw your head down on your desk in frustration and slam it a few times for good measure. “Or not…” A loud gasp of shock indicated to you that he had read the note, and a long string of expletives left his mouth as you lifted your head and nodded. “She has to be joking.”

You clicked your tongue in agreement. “She is not.” 

“HB’s in two weeks, and she decides now is a good time to have her baby?”

“If it were up to me, she wouldn’t even be the head of this place, or having another baby. God knows we don’t need any more of her.” Your coworker scoffs in disbelief, throwing his bag down on his desk and wheeling over a mannequin. “Hey, did you finish working up that fabric design for Cellophane’s suit? He’s supposed to come in on Friday and I think it’d be smart to have a sample of the fabric ready so he can tell us if he doesn’t like it.” 

“Yep, I’ll have that over to you ASAP. You don’t need to remind me what happened last year with Dynamight two days before the Ball.” 

You cringed at the memory of the Number Two Hero burning your work to ashes right in front of you and telling you to get a color that matched his eyes better. To be fair, the color that his stylist had chosen clashed with his skin tone and you respected Bakugo for recognizing that, but he could have given you back the suit to use as scrap fabric. “It’s the price of working with the best.” 

“You mean for the best,” he corrects, giving you a grouchy look before switching on his machine and beginning to hem the miles of fabric for Creati’s dress. You’d asked him if he wanted you to hem the fabric since your quirk would have it done by lunch, but he declined and said that you should focus on designing the remaining heroes’ pieces. The rest of your seamstresses trickled in as the morning progressed, filing into their stations with a polite “good morning” and picking up their scissors. Soon, the office milled with the familiar sounds of cutting fabric, sewing machines, and rolling mannequins, and you spaced out as you sketched your idea for Pinky’s updated costume. 

At 11:30, your receptionist sitting at the counter slammed down the phone in alarm, startling the entire room into silence. Her face was nothing short of panic, and you rose quickly from your station to pull her into a corner and figure out why she looked like she had received a bomb threat. 

“What’s going on?”

“Shoto is here.”

“Who?”

“Shoto. The pro hero. Is here,” she hisses at you through her teeth, her hands shaking with uncontrollable anxiety. 

You blinked at her. “Okay… and?” Pros showing up to the office themselves rather than sending assistants was uncommon but had been done numerous times before. Deku and Creati tended to visit a few times a month, and Pinky liked to stop by on Fridays to treat her favorite staff to ice cream. It was Shoto’s first time appearing in person, as he usually sent an assistant to drop off what was essentially his laundry; you’d always assumed that being a top-ranked hero controlling large sums of inheritance was just too busy to worry about his costume. Still, a customer visiting the office in person, no matter how attractive they were, was the least of your laundry list of problems.  

Your receptionist stares at you like you’ve sprouted three heads, and addresses you with an attitude that would have had her fired if M was in office. “What the hell do you mean ‘and’? It’s Shoto… the Number Three Hero. ProMagazine’s #1 ranked hottie.” 

“I’m aware,” you state a little impatiently, annoyed by her insistence that this was much more significant than it actually was. “I’m struggling to understand the fuss over just another client–” 

A chorus of shocked excitement washed over your staff as the elevator doors dinged and a lean, well-dressed silhouette entered the office. Several of your seamstresses had stood from their chairs and huddled together for moral support, whispering to each other about the stranger who had exited the elevator. Your receptionist’s eyes widen to the size of dollar coins, her hands coming up to your shoulders to push you toward the counter as she disappeared behind rolls of fabric. You rolled your eyes and took a breath, adjusting the measuring tape around your neck and meeting Shoto as he approached the vacant receptionist’s computer. His voice was polite and soft when he spoke, and you swear you hear your workers swooning behind you. 

“Hello, I’m here to drop these items off for repair,” he states, gently placing a small stack of folded fabric on the counter in front of you. You couldn’t help but notice how pretty his hands were, and how one ran through his two-toned hair, combing it with elegant fingers. His eyes were each an enchanting shade of blue and grey, and you found it hard to break eye contact with him. ProMagazine was definitely correct.

“Great, I’ll, uh, have this ready in just a bit,” you reply, gesturing towards the waiting area and encouraging Shoto to have a seat. Taking a deep breath in and out and shooting your staff a stern look to get back to work, you unfold the tattered costume on a nearby station behind the counter. His suit wasn’t in the worst condition, but the tears on the arms and chest area posed a significant safety hazard, especially if they continued to open. As hot as it would be to have muscle windows in Shoto’s suit, it’d reflect badly on you if you’d refused to repair the costume for the sake of professionally shot ab photos. 

After another steadying breath, you visualize a sewing machine dial in your mind, picking up a spool of strong nylon thread and running your thumb over the torn pieces of fabric; like clockwork, it repaired itself with a neat straight stitch wherever you touched. Your quirk is why M hired you in the first place since you could assemble three pieces in the time it took a machine to do one. You couldn’t send sheets of fabric flying like Best Jeanist, but your ability to telekinetically manipulate thread into stitches proved useful for a career in fashion design. With a few more reinforcement stitches to some worn edges and a quick polish of the suit’s buckles, Shoto’s costume was good as new. 

“Here you go; you’re all set.” He turns to look at you, surprised and preoccupied with examining the large posters of costumes M’s company had designed. Frames of initial sketches for his first professional costume were flanked by life-size prints of Pinky, Deku, and Red Riot’s attire. A plaque engraved with Creati’s endorsement message for the company hung in the center, surrounded by fabric swatches and Post-It notes scribbled with measurements. It looked like he had just finished reading through Creati’s statement when you informed him that his suit was ready. “I went ahead and cleaned off some of the grime from the suit’s hardware and sprayed it with anti-rust so it shouldn’t be tarnishing any time soon.” 

Shoto looks at you with an expression that you can’t read, gazes down at the repaired suit in front of him, and then back up at you. “Oh. That’s it?”

You release a slightly nervous chuckle to try to ease some of the awkwardness that had settled between you two. “Uh, yep. That’s it.” After another painfully quiet beat, your customer service persona finally kicks back into gear. “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?” 

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, it was a pleasure working with you today–”

“How does your quirk work?” His question arrives completely out of left field, and your brain short-circuits at his genuine expression of interest in your abilities. 

“Well, um, I can manipulate thread to follow certain stitch patterns, like the stitch selection on a sewing machine. See, like, here.” You point at one of the newly repaired tears in his costume, running a finger over the fresh seam. You’re keenly aware of how his eyes follow your finger and you attempt to keep your voice even. “I mended this panel of fabric torn down the middle with a straight stitch, which is the sturdiest stitch I can create.” 

“So you wave your hands and the threads start moving?” The boyish cluelessness on his face makes your heart flutter. A smile breaks its way into your expression. 

“I wish, but I actually have to be touching the fabric.” 

“I suppose it’s very useful for a fashion designer, then.” His face is carefully put together, but the tiniest hint of sarcasm bleeds its way into his voice. Was he… joking with you? 

“Definitely. I’m essentially a human sewing machine but without needles sprouting from my thumbs.” Your thumb pops up on its own accord for added effect, but then you realize what you just said and shove your hand back in an apron pocket. It was meant as a joke, but the macabre nature of your last quip slips your mind and a part of you dies inside when Shoto physically cringes at the grotesque image. Before you have the chance to apologize for such a distressing remark, he politely nods his head in farewell and gives you a soft “thank you” before returning to the elevator. 

Releasing a frustrated noise from your throat at the fact that you just scared off Todoroki Shoto, you lay your forehead on the counter between your elbows. The elevator button dings, and to your horror, you realize that he hadn’t left the office yet. Instead, he was looking at you amusedly over his toned shoulder. The corner of his mouth quirks up the tiniest bit as he watches your burning face attempt to regain its composure, and then he’s gone. 

“That was a shit show,” your other designer mutters under his breath, handing you another cup of coffee. 

Tuesday morning at 11:30 on the dot, Shoto visits again and catches your receptionist off guard, reducing her to a puddle of “How can I help you?” and “Can I get you a sparkling drink?” With your back turned to the doors, you don’t notice him immediately as you concentrate on draping expensive maroon fabric around Creati’s mannequin. Eyebrows drawn in concentration and holding a pin between your teeth, your hands work meticulously to create perfect pleats under the waistline of the bodice. It isn’t until your receptionist nervously calls out your name that you abruptly drop the fabric, Shoto’s mouth twitching as he watches you hurriedly place your box of pins on a nearby station and approach the counter. You lightly tap your receptionist’s shoulder, snapping her out of her daze to find Shoto a drink that you knew was out of stock and leaving you two alone again. 

“Shoto, it’s a pleasure to see you.” You try to mask the unease in your voice with a forced smile. “What can I help you with today?”

His face is blank, but his eyes shine like he’s analyzing you. “I ripped the suit again.”

Your face falls in comical disbelief. “Again?”

He shrugs. “I guess I need stronger stitches.” His heterochromatic eyes stare into yours, and you meet his challenge with a slight squint. 

“Guess you do.” You take the folded suit from his hands and drop the volume of your voice. “Or maybe you need to stop tearing my work.”

He huffs out a breath that sounds like a choked laugh and you smile innocently at him, hoping this interaction replaced the awkwardness of yesterday. Your hand gestures to the seating area again, but he shakes his head, instead crossing his muscular arms and watching you intently as you work. The damage to his suit could barely be considered a tear, and you don’t even bother using your quirk to repair it. You feel him staring at you as you easily patch up the suit with a backstitch, and you swear you could hear him hum thoughtfully behind you. Minutes after he entered the office, you slide the garment back to him with a satisfied smile. 

He does that thing again, looking at you, down at his suit, then back at you. “You didn’t use your quirk.” 

It was your turn to shrug. “Didn’t need to.” As entertaining as his presence was, it would have taken longer to repair it with your quirk, and you had three mannequins of patterns demanding your immediate attention. “Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

Shoto dodges your question, instead scanning the seamstresses at their work areas trying not to stare at him. “You’re awfully good at getting people in and out.” One eyebrow quirks in question. He’s testing you, silently asking whether you were trying to get rid of him quickly. 

“With all due respect, a rip on a Pro’s suit is the least of my worries right now.” 

“What are the most of your worries?” You direct his attention to the three mannequins behind you, covered in multi-colored pins and beige pattern panels. “Red Riot, Pinky, and Cellophane’s Ball outfits. Need to have them done by next Friday, and I was just in the middle of pleating the skirt of Momo’s dress. It’s taking a lot longer than expected because I tragically only have two hands.” 

Shoto’s mouth opens in an ah of realization, taking in the elaborate construction plan of the layered asymmetrical gown. You couldn’t have predicted his reply to save your life. 

“May I help you?”

Your mind halts the production of coherent thoughts. “Oh, no, really. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Why not?”

“It’s not your job.”

“But there is something I can help with.”

“I mean, yes, but–”

“Then please, show me what to do.” You decide that it would be pointless to fight his stubborn determination, so you try not to notice the gasps from your staff as Shoto pushes open the gate into the work area and stands beside Creati’s mannequin. You knelt into the same position as before, sitting back on your heels as you searched for the last pleat you made. 

“So I just need you to hold the fabric in place so that it doesn’t unfold, like this,” you direct, scrunching the edge into a carefully measured fold. He watches you diligently, allowing you to reposition his hands so that you could effectively create a seam. His hands were soft beneath your fingers as you brushed veins and lean muscle. You push away the thought of what else he could do with his hands, refocusing on your work and delicately rotating the mannequin as you made your way around its waist. To your surprise, Shoto made soft conversation with you, asking about other Pros’ looks and the design inspiration behind them. Small talk flowed easily as you worked, and he proved to be much more witty than interviews captured. 

When you finished, Shoto ran his finger over the pleats you had just made in admiration. A glance at the rest of the mannequins leads to his expression becoming puzzled. “Where is mine?” He offers an open hand to you as you rise from the floor, and you revel in the cool touch of his palm against your tired thumb. 

You open your mouth to reply, but no words come out. The truth was, his stylist had ordered a simple black suit for him, barely different than the suit he wore the previous year and all of the years prior. Shoto’s media reputation had him notorious for attending as few public events as possible, and donning safe solid-colored suits when he did appear. His eyebrows rise in anticipation of your answer, still holding your hand, and you finally conjure up an explanation. “Well, technically, your look is already finished. It was one of the first looks we finished because of its simplicity.” 

“Simplicity?” He releases your hand, flexing his fingers like he was squeezing a stress ball. Shit, were your hands sweaty?

“Yeah, your stylist tends to request subdued designs for public appearances.”

A low hum is all you receive in acknowledgment, and a look of deep thought washes over his handsome expression. 

“Maybe I will aim for a different design this year, then.” 

And just the same as Monday, he nods farewell before heading back to the elevator, leaving you frozen by the mannequin. A split second before the doors slide open, he gives you a mischievous look and a single thumbs-up, a reminder of the embarrassing interaction from the day before. You roll your eyes at him and are delighted to see the corner of his mouth turn up again.   

The elevator doors shut, and you can’t help hoping he creates another tear in his suit for tomorrow.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — 09

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

smau + written (2.4k words)

❥･• episode 9 — operation we-don’t-really-hate-each-other

As the production crew ushers you into the room, your heart races with excitement. The once-deserted classroom has undergone a remarkable transformation, now standing as a confessional studio bathed in the warm glow of overhead lights. An intricate web of cameras and meticulous lighting equipment encircles two inviting stools, positioned neatly right next to each other. The aura within is electric, humming with a blend of excitement and tension.

Amidst this carefully orchestrated symphony of activity, the leading producer paces about, her brows furrowed in concentration, as she meticulously scrutinises the script clutched in her hands for what you assume is the nth time. Nearby, a small brigade of cameramen work with precision, each minor adjustment made to capture the most exquisite angles. And it hit you—this is really happening.

You nod attentively as you receive instructions from the crew that they will be filming the opening sequence to the documentary today, asking only a few questions to you and none other than Yang Jungwon.

Fully embracing the captivating allure of reality TV, complete with its intriguing and heart-pounding suspense, the producer resolutely quashes your hopeful plea for a sneak peek at those darn interview questions.

Frankly speaking, you are a bundle of jitters. It was known to the whole school that you were the embodiment of preparation; concepts securely etched into your mind, and meticulously crafted notes that served as your guide through yours exams. But now, standing right smack in the middle of the room, you're like a lost puppy wandering into uncharted waters. Yet, determined to guard your vulnerability from prying eyes, particularly those of Yang Jungwon's, you employ a carefully constructed façade of coy self-assurance.

And then, as if on cue, he materialises—a figure cast in a demeanour that is both effortlessly casual and frustratingly unperturbed. A pang of annoyance mingles with the surge of nerves as he nonchalantly strolls into the room (just five minutes late, as always).

"Yang Jungwon?" The words cut through the air, tinged with a hint of impatience. "Take a seat, would you? We're on a tight schedule." The crew member ushers him with practised efficiency toward the vacant stool at your side. A sharp, involuntary cringe tugs at your features as your gazes inadvertently lock for a fleeting moment. It's like this weird mix of nerves and irritation—a little tug-of-war playing out in plain sight.

"Shall we begin?" The authoritative resonance of Producer Choi's voice cuts through the room, casting a spell of anticipation over the set. Settling gracefully onto her stool, she assumes a poised stance behind the camera. You offer a subtle nod, a silent testament to your readiness that doesn’t escape her notice. Jungwon's eyes, however, roll in a gesture that practically screams his disdain for what he perceives as your pretentious façade of a good-girl persona.

"Alright, let’s kick things off." Producer Choi declares, her tone dripping with intrigue. Her gaze sweeps over you both, the opening chord of this unforeseen duet. "We've got a series of questions lined up, and all you need to do is answer them as best you can."

“First off, let's get those introductions going." With a pointed gesture, Producer Choi directs her attention toward Jungwon, signalling for him to lead the charge.

"Yang Jungwon, age nineteen, Taekwondo athlete," he utters, his words a blend of confidence and haste. He concludes with an almost reluctant scoff, a rebellion against formalities he can't entirely suppress. The edge of his scoff doesn't go unnoticed; his message is clear even as he chooses to ignore your presence. You, however, are not one to be silenced. Rolling your eyes with a mix of exasperation and amusement, you address the cameras with a poised smile.

"Greetings, dear viewers. I am Park Y/N, a final-year student at Decelis Academy and student body president for the Decelis Student Council. It’s an honour to be here.” Your words hold an unspoken challenge, one pointed towards Yang Jungwon and the inexplicable sense of rivalry the two of you built up.

The camera falls silent as Producer Choi brings her decisive hand into play, her frustration tangible. "Jungwon, I need more enthusiasm, and Y/N, this isn't a grand ceremony; there’s no need for the formalities." The faint sound of a stifled laugh brushes against your ears, a reaction you steadfastly choose to ignore. "Let’s try that again."

"Moving on to the next question, could you each briefly describe your after-school curriculum?”

"For me," you begin with a candid note in your tone, "if there's no student council business demanding my attention, I’ll usually be in the library, my unofficial second home. I catch up on lectures and assignments there." You let out a small, self-aware chuckle. "I guess everyone in the school knows where to find me if they need something-"

"Oh, absolutely, she's practically a monk. Always got her nose in a book and apparently, other people’s businesses." Jungwon's voice cuts in with the precision of a finely honed blade, his words tinged with an undercurrent of amusement. The interruption draws a sigh of irritation from you, but you forge ahead. You're quick to retake the spotlight, your voice a dance of resolve and exasperation.

"I suppose you could say that. With free time on my hands, I've come to believe in putting it to good use." A casual shrug punctuates your response, and you cast a sidelong glance at the boy seated beside you, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"I mean, why not, right?" You continue, your words a challenge woven in playful nonchalance. "If there's time to spare, I'd rather channel it into something productive." The tilt of your chin conveys an invitation for his response—an unspoken duel of words and wits. You throw him an artful smile, a silent promise of your tenacity to match his.

"If we're talking productivity," Jungwon retorts, his words a measured challenge, "I'm an athlete. So, after-school training is a part of my routine. Not everyone's got their head buried in books.” His gaze locks with yours, and the tension between you is palpable.

It's like a duel of wills—a silent battle neither of you intends to back down from. The intensity is so thick, it's as if you're caught in a staring contest, each vying for the upper hand. The world around you fades into the background, leaving only the simmering tension that crackles like electricity.

The only interruption is a slight cough, and the reality of the situation rushes back as awareness dawns that you're being captured on camera. Reality snaps back into focus, and you're acutely aware of the weight of expectations resting on your shoulders. The watchful eyes of not only the production crew but also the prestigious universities, the very ones your mother has been weaving dreams of, are watching your every move.

Your glare softens, your defiance tempered by a reminder of your surroundings. With a subtle adjustment of your posture, you manage a quiet apology under your breath, a concession to the circumstances.

Jungwon, on the other hand, wears a triumphant smirk, his victory achieved by stirring a reaction out of you, evidently content that he managed to get under your skin.

"There seems to be some tension lingering between you two. Care to elaborate on your relationship?" Producer Choi's inquiry comes with a raised eyebrow and an undercurrent of curiosity clearly dancing in her eyes. The unspoken rivalry that simmers between you and Jungwon has clearly captured her attention.

Unbeknownst to her before casting the two of you, this uncharted territory has presented itself as a thrilling discovery, painted across her face in a delighted smile. The promise of raw content and untamed drama is endless—the very essence of what a reality TV show thrives upon.

"We're exactly as you see it," Jungwon answers, his voice cool and his words laced with a mix of indifference and disdain. He rises from his seat with an air of defiance, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "No relationship, just mutual detestment." His tongue clicks with emphasis, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. "Are we done here? I've got places to be."

Producer Choi concedes to his request, her words are a concession to the present circumstances. "I suppose that’s enough for today. We'll reconvene after school at your respective activities." Her tone takes on a breezy cadence, but it's clear that her expectations won't be sidestepped.

"As we discussed, Mondays will be separate shoots, but to uphold our end of the bargain, we need both of you together for the rest of the week. Agreed?" Her assumption of authority, coupled with her audacity to steer the situation, is a stark contrast to the formality she adopts when conversing with your teachers. While annoyance simmers within you, you refrain from voicing your thoughts.

The feeling doesn’t seem to be an isolated thought when your gaze shifts to Jungwon, finding his eyes locked on yours. The unspoken words that sit on the tip of his tongue threaten to escape, his teeth grazing his lower lip in contemplation. However, he brushes off the impulse, and his exit from the classroom is marked by a subtle tension, with the cameras following closely behind him—a testament to the intricate predicament you've found yourselves in.

You, on the other hand, leave the classroom after wrapping up a few more questions. Missing your first period was already stressful enough, but there's something about Producer Choi that sets off alarm bells in your head, reminding you of those bossy characters you thought only existed in dramas.

Lost in thought, you walk down the deserted hallway, quickening your pace to make it to second period on time. Your distraction becomes even more apparent as you inadvertently pass by Yang Jungwon, leaning casually against the lockers.

"Park," his familiar voice halts you in your tracks, and you glance back to find him looking straight at you. Was he... waiting for you?

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have places to be?” You mock him, recalling his cold demeanor in the classroom. He scoffs in response, rolling his eyes, “Can we talk?”

"Depends. If you're here to lecture me about Taekwondo again, save it."

“As much as I would love to annoy you with my apparent obsession with my own sport, but no, it’s about the documentary.” Jungwon pushes himself off the lockers and walks over to you. Just then, from the corner of his eye, he spots the production crew turning the corner, and in a fit of panic, he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the building. Before you could even process it, he was already dragging you half-way across the campus.

“Let go! What is it that you can’t just tell me over text?” You manage to yank your hand free, irritation simmering. “It’s already bad enough that I have to put up with that tyrant of a producer; I really don’t need you adding to it.”

"Normally, I'd disagree, but thank fucking God you find that woman as irritating as I do."

“The way she spoke to us? Sure, I signed a contract, but I’m not her puppet.” He places a hand on his hip, an action oddly reminiscent of your grandmother when she would scold you for not visiting her more often. The image loiters in your mind as you stifle a laughter that unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungwon.

“What’s so funny?” He raises his eyebrows, and you shake your head to brush him off, but it only fuels his curiosity even more. “I’m assuming you dragged me all the way here to discuss Producer Choi?” His annoyance is evident, as he nods vigorously. It's an unexpected sight—Yang Jungwon, the epitome of nonchalance, riled up by a woman not much older than him. It's kind of endearing, but you would rather die than admit that out loud, so you bury that atrocious thought in the back of your head.

“Speaking of which, she couldn’t even hide her delighted expression when she found out we practically hate each other-”

“Whoa, ‘hate’ is a pretty strong word. If that's your opinion of me, okay, but I definitely don't hate you. Just a minor difference." You spoke without thinking yet again, and although Beomgyu would be very disappointed if he were here with you, the sentiment is out there now.

Jungwon seems taken aback by your confession, hurriedly clearing his throat. "As I was saying, she's clearly trying to stir up drama, as if I'd willingly play along." He scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his tongue poking the insides of his cheeks.

“I know you’re taking a risk on this documentary, and don’t even bother denying it because I know you’re trying to gain publicity and favour.”

"How did you—did Sunoo tell you?"

"That's not the point; the thing is, I am too."

"And what university would even take YOU?" He rolls his eyes at your teasing, not bothering to argue.

"I'm an athlete, remember? A Taekwondoin on top of that. I have a really important competition next month, and God forbid that I be shown on national television as someone who picks fights with girls. It goes against the sport's values." He explains, trying to get his point across. Sadly, it flies over your head.

"Seriously? My point is that we need to act as if we don't hate—well, dislike—each other. I know we said we'd ignore each other, but now she's making you sit in for my trainings and me study with you in the library. It's physically impossible." He shudders at the thought of having to even step foot into that place, and though you really wish you didn’t have to be around him, Jungwon is right—there's no escaping this situation.

You sort of know you're heading down the deep end when Producer Choi insists on having you and Jungwon sit side-by-side in class, despite the documentary's official filming schedule commencing only after school. The array of cameras meticulously arranged around your classroom, ostensibly to capture mundane "B-Roll" footage, fuels your suspicions. Deep down, you're well aware that their true purpose is to capture any moment of vulnerability or connection between you and Jungwon.

It doesn't require a genius to discern their ulterior motive—they're determined to exploit your relationship for the camera's sake. The bizarre part is, this isn't even a dating show. The intention behind it all remains an enigma, leaving you to grapple with the looming uncertainty that now defines your academic life.

I guess you can say that ‘Operation We-Don’t-Really-Hate-Each-Other’ is a go.

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[busines-as-unusual]

˖ ࣪ ⭑⟡Chapter 1 - Key Signature⟡⭑ ࣪ ˖

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“Where the fuck is that fucking raccoon slag?!”

The avian-like demon stomped backstage at his sleazy burlesque show, not caring if the roar of his voice was louder than the band playing down in the pit. Sinners under his employ dashed back and forth to keep busy and stay out of his way. The unlucky few who got caught in the Overlord’s crossfire of his rage were sent flying through the air with a flap of his wings, crashing painfully on props or other demons.

The demon yanked the cigar out of his mouth to wipe the drool of alcohol gathering in the corner of his mouth. “Bitch, you got to the count of four–”

That always did the trick. You scrambled out of your dressing room in a blur of purple and silver. You wore your signature outfit: a corset pushing up your best assets, with fringe and feathers everywhere hiding nothing from view. He'd have you for himself tonight if he weren't so irritated.

Your arms were crossed, face in a shitty frown, eyes trained on something behind him. “Yes, Roman?”

“Yes, Roman,” he mocked, taking pleasure when you cringed in on yourself. “You know you're on in five?”

“Of course I know,” you spat the words, testing out your defiance. “I-I was just–”

He yanked you by the arm, talons threatening to pierce your skin. You winced, shaking in his grasp, looking up at the demon who owned your soul with barefaced vitriol.

Roman cupped your cheek in a grotesque caricature of an affectionate gesture. His thumb caressed your cheek right under your eye, right where he knew a bruise was hiding under your shitty makeup job. It would be invisible on stage under the harsh lights, not that anyone would care if it wasn't. This was Hell after all.

He took a drag of his cigar. “You can give me all the lip you want after you do your fucking job. Capiche, honey?”

You grimaced, trying not to gag on the acrid smell of his cigar curdling in your lungs. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You fumed in silence, wishing you could tell him to wrap his lips around a Smith and Wesson. But you swallowed the retort, giving him exactly what he wanted to hear. “...yes, daddy.”

He grinned. “There's my favorite girl.”

With a smack on your ass, he pushed you to take your mark. One of the stagehands reminded you of your cue to enter, but their voice mixed with the band and backstage chaos turning into pure white noise irritating your brain. This had been your routine since nearly your first days in Hell. You did not need a recap.

Squaring your shoulders, you plastered on a well practiced show-stopping smile. You strutted center stage with all the confidence in Hell, hands on exaggeratedly swiveling hips to greet your adoring audience of savage beast.

The music swelled as if the instruments themselves were applauding the sultry sway of your body.

You allowed yourself to get lost in the music, your body taking over the reigns as it did what it did best. It was the only way you could get through this with your sanity intact. In life, you’d made it your mission to dance to your own rhythm, but in Hell you found yourself once again forced to follow another's rhythm for survival, your well-being at the mercy of vile men.

You could strangle every single one of them.

Rip them apart with your bare hands.

Like most denizens in Hell, you loathed the owner of your soul. Once a fresh sinner, confused with your new surroundings, and terrified of heaven's wrath, you made your deal out of naivety and fear. Only later did you understand what you’d done when it was far too late to take it back.

So you danced every night for the pleasure of others, preferring to let your eyes burn staring at the spotlights rather than at the hungry faces of lustful demons, preferring to let the music deafen you so you couldn’t hear their wolf whistles and vulgar comments.

Your soul and body no longer moved in tandem, the pain of the unsynchronization intractable and ever-present.

You were so far away the flickering lights above didn't reach you until they all went out, bathing the club in darkness. All at once you returned to yourself, body stopping on its own accord. The patrons muttered, confused, concerned, and disgruntled. Somewhere not far away enough, Roman was shouting at some poor soul to fix the lights.

The temperature dropped in the blink of an eye. Pins and needles scratched at the underside of your skin, a sensation felt by all as silence swept throughout the establishment, louder than the band.

“R̸͙̃ő̶̧͍͠ḿ̶̨̺̋a̸͈̱̽̓ñ̸̻, R̸͙̃ő̶̧͍͠ḿ̶̨̺̋a̸͈̱̽̓ñ̸̻, R̸͙̃ő̶̧͍͠ḿ̶̨̺̋a̸͈̱̽̓ñ̸̻…”

The familiar voice distorted by static was enough to make everyone lose their collective shit. Screams pierced the air as patrons and employees alike rushed to the exit, trampling on each other and shattering windows, clawing for escape.

You froze as the chaos unfolded. A light fixture above you crashed and shattered on the floor, shards of glass flying, biting your skin.

The building shook. Tendrils of shadows snaked through the windows and doors like murderous tornadoes, tearing through concrete and sinners alike with no discretion, cutting them down like weeds. Like a house of cards the building crumbled on top of you, the darkness all-consuming.

The weight of a collapsed building in Hell was the equivalent of a stubbed toe. It won't kill you, but it'll hurt like a motherfucker.

You clawed your way out of the rubble, coughing up dust and debris that invaded your lungs. You breached the surface and gulped down fresh Hellish air. The sounds of a bloody brawl were mere background noise as you assessed your damage. Blood dripped and bruises ached but you were alright otherwise. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for the other residents of the club.

Hell made one accustomed to blood and gore, but it was still a shock to see it unprompted. Blood soaked into the remains of the ex-establishment, limbs strewn about with abandon. The air grew thick with copper. A leg free from its owner stood beside you, comically upright.

You regarded the leg with mild distaste, then to the rubble still covering your own legs.

You’d done grosser things…

With the leg, you shoved off the remainder of the rubble pinning you down, tossing it behind you with a sigh of relief. You stood, then immediately nearly collapsed like the building.

Your chest burned as if your heart combusted. Grabbing at the white-hot pain behind your ribs, you dropped to one knee, drawing in ragged breaths that couldn’t reach your lungs. Vision blurred as your body struggled to stay upright. A scream shredded itself across Hell like a bloodied siren was drowned out by the maddening ringing in your ears.

As suddenly as the sensation appeared, it stopped, replaced with an invisible weight lifting from your shoulders. You felt inexplicably lighter.

A crimson chain— your chain, bestowed on you by Roman— manifested around your neck, then shattered like glass on a hardwood floor, dissipating into the wind like smoke from his cigars. In that moment you knew he was deader than dead. His soul was no more.

And you were free.

You nearly sobbed at the realization, euphoria washing over you like a wave. Fingers instinctively stroked your throat in disbelief.

The celebration was cut short when the familiar chill of static crawled over your skin. Sensing the presence behind you, you turned, and there he was.

The Radio Demon.

He had quickly made a name for himself down in Hell as one of the realm's most powerful, dangerous, and evil beings. You’d been around for a year before he made his presence known, but even then you could tell how much he alone had changed the landscape of Hell.

His broadcast kept him a mystery for the most part, but there were a few artistic renditions of his likeness from sinners who crossed his path and lived to tell the tale. Some were more accurate than others, but they all got his sadistic smile down perfectly.

And now that smile was aimed your way.

You should be terrified, and maybe you supposed you were, but pure awe overshadowed the prudent fear that should be in its place.

Your eyes made contact with the dials in place of his irises. His grin skewed in thought as he approached her, theatrically spinning his cane around him.

You didn't shrink back. You couldn't if you wanted to. Curiosity took hold of your flight or fight instincts as you watched him draw near, stopping when he was less than a meter away.

He was a lot redder than you expected, with antlers like a deer perched on oddly fluffy hair and golden teeth like a shark. His pinstriped suit was pristine and exquisite despite the battle he'd been part of not too long ago. The dials of his eyes vanished, replaced with red.

It was like he bathed in blood.

And you supposed he did.

You stared up at the towering demon, feeling small but not intimidated. He inspected you, crimson stare taking you in, intrigued by your next move. You were all too aware of your heart in your chest.

“That was quick,” was all you thought to say.

His smile turned closed mouthed, head tilting in amusement more so than confusion. “Oh? And did you expect the buffoon to have me put up a bigger fight?”

You shrugged. “The buffoon was an Overlord for over five hundred years. You don't accomplish that without knowing how to hold your own in a fight. At least that's what he always told me.”

The Radio Demon laughed, a hearty, campy sound full of bravado. “Braggarts souls like him, I find, are always the fastest to fall. You can never trust a man who sings his own praises, my dear.

You snickered in agreement but held back a retort. Something about the demon before you rang familiar. His voice, the way he talked and held himself, it all nagged at you to place where you’d met him before. But you couldn't have, you’d definitely remember a man like this.

Unless… you didn't meet in Hell?

Before you could ask, he grabbed your face with a single hand and forced you to look at him. Thumb and forefinger dug into your cheeks bruisingly as he smiled down at you. His eyes glimmered with hunger, and not the lustful hunger of need you were familiar with. He looked ready to devour you.

“Subservience to utter filth is unbecoming of you. You'd do well to use that brain of yours to not find yourself in the gutter again.”

You didn't pull away, scowling up at him for having the nerve to condescend to you. You weren’t stupid. You were always determined that if you were ever freed of Roman, you'd never let another demon have your soul ever again. You finally, finally belonged to you again, you weren’t dumb enough to jeopardize it.

You'd rather die permanently than give up your freedom.

Somehow, the Radio Demon read your intent. His smile grew despite the daggers you shot at him. His hand fell from your face and gave a dramatic bow. “Well I must be off! Do have a Hellish evening, my dear.” He turned on his heel and retreated, shadows swallowing him before he was even out of view.

You scrambled off the ashen remains of her past afterlife. You needed to act, and fast.

You stepped out onto the porch of your mansion to greet another wonderfully Hellish day in paradise. The air was sweet with the scent of blood and brimstone. In the distance the usual turf battle soundtracked the morning. With a final goodbye to your house staff, you closed the door and skipped off to meet Rosie for mid-morning tea.

For decades, you two would meet biweekly at a cafe not too far from either of your territories to gossip and catch up. Rosie wasn’t like your normal company of rowdy barflies, shakers, and movers, but she was the kindest soul in the nine circles and never held a dull conversation. She was your oldest friend, not just in Hell but ever, having helped you land back on your feet after your soul contract came to a welcomed end.

You all but danced down the street, waving back to the friendly faces and familiar demons along your well-traveled path.

When Rosie spotted you, she beamed and waved you down to the table. You returned the warm smile as you sat and greeted your friend. An impish waiter sat a pot of piping tea on the table along with sugar, milk, and a basket of scones before scurrying off.

“Rosie, love!” You sang, pouring both of them a cup. “How’s tricks?”

“Oh you know, same old same old.” She pulled out a familiar tin and popped it open. Rows of dismembered fingers, some polished and some with the rings still on, lined the dainty box. She carded through them like an address book before landing on one she deemed tastiest to use like a stirrer to cool her drink. “Although I know a gal who may be looking for an acting gig.”

You chuckled and poured milk into your tea. “Send her my way. We’ll see what she's made of. But you know I don’t play favorites.”

They both laughed, and the two of them settled into the usual pleasantries: the state of Rosie’s colony and residents, her upcoming appointments; your beloved theater company, and even more beloved bar and club.

You were proud to run two successful businesses in Hell after decades of hard, dirty, violent work. You owned plenty of souls who were happy to do their jobs in return for protection and good pay. The assets left behind in the wake of Roman’s death were used to rebuild your life in Hell.

In life, you ran a little speakeasy and a small off, off Broadway theater and did quite well for yourself all things considered, but your success in Hell made your living accomplishments look like small potatoes.

Rosie laughed at the anecdote you told , shaking her head in amused disapproval. “Tem, dear, stop antagonizing poor Ramona. You already slept with her husband.”

“I’ll stop when she stops sending bombs to my club.” You reached for your third scone. “Poor Jet is getting tired of diffusing them, and half the time the damn things don’t even work! I thought she was some kind of weapons expert.”

“She sells knives door to door.”

“Good lord, that's even sadder.”

Your laughter died down as the air dipped in a staticky chill, making your damn raccoon tail involuntarily twitch, fur stand on end. From a cloud of shadows stepped a familiar grinning face that always had your stomach doing undesirable flips.

“Alastor!” Rosie cried in delight. “Where have you been hiding? Don’t be shy, pull up a chair!”

The Radio Demon did just that. With a snap of his fingers he manifested a chair beneath, sat his cane to the side, and sat with a flourish. He was never one to do something mundanely, even something as simple as sitting. “Rosie, Temerity! Always the pleasure to be in the company of two fine ladies.”

You returned the greeting casually, then turned your attention to your cup of tea, taking a long sip as Rosie chatted Alastor up. You were happy to let Rosie take the lead in the conversation, as your heart decided now was the perfect time to take up tap dancing. Dead at thirty-four, in Hell for nearly three times as long, but here you were, heart a-twitter like a virgin at a petting party.

You wanted to drown in the feeling everytime. It made you sick.

Your ears perked when Rosie mentioned your name, your cue to rejoin the conversation. “It is certainly a surprise to see you out this way this morning, Alastor.” Your smile was bright but guarded. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m actually in the business of business this morning.” The crackle of the white noise that accompanied him always made his voice so warm in a way you could never describe, but by Satan’s glorious wrath, you’d be willing to listen to him talk for hours to figure it out. Thankfully, upon his return from his seven year holiday, his radio broadcasts were once again a pleasant addition to your morning routine.

“Always with the work, this guy,” Rosie said, playfully tapping him on the shoulder. “What did you need this time, darling?”

“I’m in need of Tem’s services.”

It was a gift you didn’t spew tea all over them. “My services? You’ll have to be more specific.”

His perpetual smile was hard to read, his eyes conveyed nothing but mirth. “I’m sure you’re well aware of my dealings with the princess of Hell and her hotel for wayward sinners?”

You nodded. It was common knowledge Princess Charlotte was trying to redeem sinners and Alastor had taken up the duty of the hotel’s protector. It was the stuff of rumors. Why was the Radio Demon involved in such an endeavor? What sinister plot was he playing at? What diabolical plans was he brewing? Personally, you thought he was there for shits and giggles. You knew how he liked to watch people struggle and fail; the hotel was his own personal circus.

“The poor thing is anxious that check-ins are slow and is pulling hair for recruitment ideas,” Alastor continued. “So I told her I had a friend who may be able to help draw in potential souls.”

You frowned, ears shifting in confusion against your will. You tried so hard to keep careful control of how others perceived your emotions, but those damned ears and tail of yours were determined to always give you away. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

“Why your performing arts company, my dear! I think your shows and entertainment expertise are precisely the thing Charlie is looking for to draw in more damned souls.”

“Oh!” You were at full attention, ears popping up in excitement. You had no higher power to be grateful to, but were nonetheless glad Alastor couldn’t see your excited tail swish behind the chair. “I see your vision now. You've come to the right gal.”

“Splendid!” His smile shifted in tone. Something at the crossroads of satisfied, cheerful, and a third something you couldn't quite place. It reached his eyes, lending them a mischievous twinkle.

The two of you finalized a plan to meet up with Princess Charlotte, and with that Alastor was gone as quickly as he came, melting into the shadows. Once gone, Rosie served you a devilishly knowing grin.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“What?” Rosie asked with faux innocence from behind her tea cup. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

She didn’t need to say anything, because you were near bursting at the seams.

You rested your forehead on a hand, flushed skin warm under your palm. “What is it about that man that’s got me so… what do the kids say these days? Down bad?”

“That’s the word for it.” She took a bite of her finger like a biscuit softened by milk. “I still say you should tell him. Get it over with, his reaction be damned.”

“Rosie. Sweetheart.” You looked at said friend, eyes dead serious as her tone. “What about me makes you think I’m suicidal?”

“I’m just saying. With your taste in men, you could do a lot worse, hun.”

“Oh, please. I have soliloquized about your taste in men.”

“Touche, dear. But you'll never see me this worked up over a fella like you get with Alastor.”

“I am not ‘worked up!’” You waggled her fingers, rolling your eyes at the phrase. “Rosie, you know me. I do not get worked up over any man.”

Rosie nodded, knowing look still on her face.

“I just happen to find Alastor… deeply and endlessly enthralling and morbidly attractive.”

“So you're down bad but not worked up?”

“Precisely!”

Rosie was right, and you hated it. You’ve been stupidly worked up for decades over the worst man to be worked up over.

In life and death, you’ve had more than your fair share of flings, swings, and misses. No harm, no foul. You were in the game for fun. And what fun would it be if there was never a chase or challenge?

But when it came to Alastor, there was no game to be played. Which wouldn’t be so bad if your feelings for Alastor were shallow and fleeting like they were with most men, and not the twisted web of complications and confusion you spent so much of her afterlife trying to understand so you could properly suppress it.

At first, they were trifling, easy to ignore as you made moves to turn your shitty afterlife around. The two of you rarely crossed paths in the beginning. Then, somehow, he managed to worm his way into your life in little ways. An appearance at your birthday parties here, joining in on picnics with Rosie there, an occasional run-in at the bar Mimzy performs at for free drinks. You became cordial acquaintances on the surface, but deep down each meeting only fanned the flames of longing you developed for him. After fifty years you couldn't write it off as simple infatuation.

You smacked your cheeks. Now was the time to get your shit together. You were an adult, not some love-struck teenager. You spent a lifetime and more practicing careful control of her emotions, your mother hammered in the importance of temperance until you bled; unrequited feelings shouldn't be a problem.

After leaving your theater in the capable hands of your co-managers, you waited outside for Alastor to pick you up. You’d changed outfits since this morning; something more akin to doing business, but still plenty cute and classy.

(And no, you didn’t change to impress Alastor. That would be stupid and fruitless.)

Your signature choker graced your lovely neck. A simple black lace choker held a large pendant. Within were two intertwined bloodshot eyes, wide and restless and unblinking. They swam and circled each other like rabid cyclones.

The shadows folded and solidified beside you and Alastor appeared in all his glory, startling a sinner passing by. The poor sap ran, not looking where he was going, and was pulverized by a speeding car, the man left in its wake now half a grease spot on the road.

Alastor tutted and shook his head, his ever-present smile curled in twisted amusement.

You’ve seen sinners do that before, preferring to be maimed over crossing paths with the Radio Demon. You always found it darkly hilarious. No doubt Alastor did as well, though he hid it better behind that dapper smile of his.

“Jaywalkers,” you said with a sigh, not noticing when Alastor’s grin grew a hair.

“Shall we, doll?” He held out his hand and you tried not to look too eager to take it. His shadows wrapped around you both as he whisked you and him away.

A/N: This was a bitch to do on a tablet, lol. Please message me if you want to be added to the taglist.

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[creatingnikki]

things to remember in 2024

i. more quiet time, more silence. more shavasana, more stillness.

ii. keep promises you make to yourself. everyone else can be disregarded — the promises they make, the promises you make to them.

iii. there is no "should do this" or "should be that way" as a universal rule book. your experiences and lessons teach you what are your values, preferences, and takes on life and people. you don't need to convince others of them, you don't even need to most times articulate them to follow them and do as you please.

iv. things that increase your risk of chronic health (mental and physical) issues: sitting, smoking, and situationships. your legs, lungs, and love life deserve much better.

v. 'the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment'. fight the instant gratification, the fomo, the yolo. do the healthy thing for you in the moment, every moment.

vi. go to the salon, the bookstore, the train station, the beach, the bakery more than you go to the bar, the boy's house, and self doubt/loathing.

vii. travel even if you don't have a big budget and cannot do everything you'd want to in that destination because you do now want some travel experiences and stories while you're still in your 20s. make it a priority now, you don't want to feel bitter later.

viii. stop trying to frustrate and confuse yourself so much. you are both the vivacious, warm, kind, person and the somber, detached, pensive person. it's not one betraying the other. it's both you — the sunflower and the black orchid.

ix. ask people of things, it's no virtue to only give and not take. however, don't be so sensitive or shattered if not given or denied. people don't have as much power over your heart as you believe. your heart is happily vacationing on the moon most months of the year away from this worldly chaos. it's your ego that cannot take it. acknowledge the role of your ego, learn to understand it so that you can work with it.

x. do the cringe things. post a hundred reels on Instagram even if you get five likes on each. cringe at that part of you that cringes when you do the things you want instead of cringing at yourself. when you do that you're viewing yourself as a third-party judging yourself and honestly love aren't there thousands out there to do that job already? so then you stick to your job — support yourself no matter how you decide to live your life.

xi. love and romance are not the centre or purpose of your life. you are. the genre of your life is neither rom com nor tragic passionate romance. it's slice of life. love and romance will happen when it happens and will be one part of your life. but all the other parts? they belong to you — to your art and writing, to your joy and exploration of yourself and this world, to your family and friends, to food and cats, to travel and music, to peace and sleep. live a full life.

xii. set processes for your routine that streamline everything and make it easy. your morning work commute, your night skincare, going over your monthly budget, saving and investing for your goals, how you organize your life and time. and when problems show up, simply problem solve. don't take it personally, try to not feel dejected and doomed. and for the times you do, don't try to fix anything. take a shower, eat a good meal, go to sleep.

xiii. when setting boundaries, and when those boundaries are crossed, you don't have to break your head trying to get the other person to change their behaviour. instead, you should change your behaviour. if they cross a boundary, then that should be your cue for a behaviour change, a decision. don't be at the mercy of another's understanding and compassion to have your life be aligned to your needs and values.

xiv. three steps taken > three hundred steps planned. pausing for three months > abandoning for three years. three people you love and who love you > thirty people who are fluff. idk why three is the magic number here but you get the gist. moderation, my love, and balance. regulation and removal.

xv. cut out the noise. you'll figure out more of what that means as you begin to do it. it's social media, yes. it's societal conditioning, yes. but it's also the things your loved ones say despite having the best intentions at heart for you. it's the things the younger you believed and thought and wrote. it's the friends and lovers who come and go and don't really know you well. it's all of it. you have to cut out the noise. build noise-cancelling headphones for your soul over time and carry them with you everywhere.

[ohtobeleah]

#4 of pregnancy prompts with Rooster, where he just does everything for her and won’t let her lift a finger and she gets annoyed at him but still adores him for it #PL3

Prompt #4 "I'm pregnant, not terminally ill."

“Javy, I'm gonna need you to sit down before I tell you what I’m about to tell you—“ There wasn’t an awful lot you could say to help back yourself up in your current predicament. “And I’m gonna need you to promise me that you won’t freak out.” And there was no easy way to tell your older brother that you were pregnant, especially since you weren’t actually dating anyone—but what made it harder to explain that you were expecting was the fact that Bradley Bradshaw, Aka Rooster, was the father of your bastard child. “You have to remember I’m an adult—“ 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Javy asked as he sat down on the barstool. You thought perhaps a public setting would help deter him from assaulting the naval aviator who you’d hooked up with a few times on the down low. The one who got you pregnant. 

“Nothings wrong—“ You reassured him. “I’m totally fine, actually, uh—we’re totally fine.” You corrected yourself as you placed a protective hand over your stomach and fished out the ultrasound picture you’d brought with you to show your brother. “I’m pregnant, surprise.” You sheepishly smiled and passed Javy the sonogram. “I know that mum and dad are gonna be like super crazy about this so I haven’t told them yet.” You added nervously. “But I thought if I told you, and you were as understanding as I know you can be, then I might make it a little easier to tell them soon enough.” 

Javy Machado sat quietly taking in the image that had been presented to him—he was gonna be an uncle. His little sister was pregnant, about to bring new life into the world. But there was one question he needed to know that sat on the very top of his tongue that he couldn’t go a second longer without knowing. 

“Who’s the guy?” Javy asked with a raised brow, you held your breath as you quickly made eye contact with Rooster over your brother’s shoulder. He was gearing up to run. “Y/n? Who’s the baby’s dad?” 

Again, let’s circle back to the fact you thought a public setting would be more beneficial to Bradley Bradshaw's survival. Jake Seresin reached for his phone and opened up his timer, he had a vet going with Phoenix and Fanboy that Rooster would be shit outta luck in five seconds. Mickey bet ten, Phoenix however had been more generous—she’d bet Bradley had a solid twenty seconds to live after Javy found you were carrying Bradshaw's bastard child. 

“Ready Rooster?” Jake teased as he slapped his wingman’s back as Bradley finished his beer. Standing from the stool he’d been perched on as if he were about to run for his very life. 

He was. 

“It’s Bradley—“ 

“Bradshaw!” Javy turned around to see Rooster standing there with a shit eating grin smeared across his stupid face. “Are you messing with me?” He turned back to you. “Y/n tell me you're messing with me and you haven’t been—“ Coyote paused as he cringed, he couldn’t even say it. “I’m gonna kill him.” Javy hissed through gritted teeth as he looked at you on final time and stood from his stool. “You!” He shouted at Bradley with anger seeping from his pores. “I’m gonna kill you!” 

“That’s your cue man—“ Jake laughed as he shoved at Rooster. “Run, run!” And that’s exactly what Bradley did, he ran straight for the front doors of the Hard Deck as Javy chased him down. 

“It was consensual!!” Rooster shouted as he laughed through a childish grin. “Bro! It was an accident!” Bradley ran as he tried to explain himself, he ran as he tried to make the situation easier to digest for Javy—the over-protective big brother. 

“You did not accidentally have sex with my sister!” Rounding one of the outdoor tables, Rooster stood on one side as Javy stood on the other—ready to pounce. 

“Okay well that part was intentional.” Rooster smirked, remembering every amazing, blissful and very intentional touch. “But the whole impregnating part was totally accidental—!” 

It goes on like this for the rest of the night, Javy is deathly serious about sending Rooster to meet his own father and Bradley is constantly looking over his shoulder until you take your brother home to cool off. 

“You know, Rooster isn’t a bad guy.” You mumbled under your breath as you drove back to your brother's place. The place you’d been staying at while you were in North Island. It wasn’t meant to be a permanent thing, but as it turned out your plans had since changed. “I was the one who thought it was better that you didn’t know we were kinda, well—not officially together but I thought it was best if you didn’t know we were seeing each other until we knew what we were?” 

“I get it.” Javy sighed as he let his head rest against the passenger seat. “It’s just, god I trust that guy with my life everyday and he’s been messing around with my little sister behind my back?” Javy tried his best to explain where he was coming from as he looked your way. “Doesn't feel good.” 

“Can you just promise not to kill him?” You chuckled softly. “I kinda don’t wanna have to have this baby on my own and co-parenting amicably sounds a hell of a lot better than dead baby daddy.” 

Javy promised you there in that moment sitting in the car trying to process you were pregnant, that he wouldn’t kill Bradley—although he spent the better half of the next two weeks giving him the cold shoulder and silent treatment purely because he knew if he spoke it wouldn’t be to exchange pleasantries.  

But one morning, Javy broke. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He needed to put the fear of God into Rooster, not that there was any doubt Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t about to be the best father and co parent or significant other that he could be. 

So after the last hop of the day when the daggers were all busy showering and de-stressing and getting ready for drinks at the Hard Deck, Javy saw his moment and struck. Bradley had his guard down, he was vulnerable, a pair of boxer briefs the only thing that stood to protect him as Coyote slammed him into the lockers, pinning him there with his forearm across his chest and the other fist balled and ready to strike. 

“Javy—“ Rooster Damn near pleadeas he held his hands up in surrender. “I swear to god I didn’t do anything she didn’t ask me to!” 

“Listen up and listen good Bradshaw, because I’m only gonna say this once.” Javy hissed as he pressed the mustache clad aviator into the lockers a little harder. “My sister doesn’t lift a goddamn finger during her entire pregnancy so I make myself clear?” 

“Crystal man, clear as day.” Rooster shuttered, it wasn’t like he would have it any other way himself. “She’s my number one priority, so is that baby.” When Javy was content with Bradley’s answer and only when he was content did he let Rooster go. Watching as he dusted himself off and picked up his clothes that had fallen in the unprovoked attack.

“She doesn’t lift a finger—“

 “I got it.” Bradley snapped back, groaned as he tried to put his jeans on. “I’m not going anywhere Coyote, I’m not that kinda guy, I thought you knew that?” Javy thought that was far too rich coming from Rooster after he’d been sleeping with you behind his back. 

“I thought you were a good guy man.”

Javy shrugged, he didn’t know how to judge Bradley’s character anymore. “Then my sister told me you knocked her up.” Rooster wasn’t a malevolent guy, he knew that Coyote was still trying to process all of this. You were his baby sister after all. So it was only natural and to be expected that Javy would go above and beyond to protect you. So the sting in Javys' tone ran straight across Bradley’s back like water off a duck's feathers when he turned around to walk away—leaving the daggers completely stunned. “So now we got problems.” 

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

As the months ticked over and your baby grew, so did your relationship with Bradley. He was in this just as much as you were and although things started casually? The two of you seemed to just meld into each other's lives seamlessly and ever so effortlessly. 

It literally came as no surprise to anyone who knew the pair of you and who had witnessed the ever growing and ever evolving love affair that had bloomed into a budding romance before their very eyes when Bradley and You, Baby Machado as the group had dubbed you—made things official. Which brings us all to right now. 

“Rooster!” You shouted as you stood in the cleanest house you’d ever been in. For efficiency purposes, you had decided to move in with Bradley when he asked you to one night as you sat on the back porch eating a pint of ice cream each. “Roos! Get in here will ya?” 

“What’s wrong?” He asked with a raised brow, doing up the buttons on his flight suit before he zipped up the zipper as he got ready for work. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Look around and tell me why you see?” You huffed out as you rubbed your stomach protectively. Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye. Bradley did as he was told as he slipped behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he leaned in to kiss your cheeks between everything he said. 

“I see—“ *kiss* A perfectly clean. *kiss* Home fit for a queen. *kiss* 

“You also meal prepped last night and I don’t have work today or tomorrow!” You sighed as you spun out of Bradley’s warm embrace. He looked at you like you were from planet Mars as you picked up one of the throw pillows from the corner of the lounge and threw it haphazardly on the ground before you plopped with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Okay, what are you trying to get at here sweetheart because I gotta be honest with you, I don’t see what the issue is?” Rooster asked as cautiously as he could. He had alway gone above and beyond to make sure you never had to lift an unnecessary finger. Did the acts of service technically come from Javys threat? Sure—but that didn’t mean Rooster was always going to do whatever he could to make this pregnancy as easy as he could on his part. He loved you so much, he just wanted you to relax. Enjoy your down time. 

“The problem is Bradshaw, I'm pregnant! not terminally ill." Bradley didn’t know what to say so all he did was chuckle softly, that didn’t bode well in his favour. “I’m serious! What am I supposed to do all day if you’ve done everything there is to do around this place!” 

“Relax?” Rooster replied as he reached down to pick up the pillow you’d purposefully dropped on the carpet. “I agree and honestly I’m pretty thankful you aren’t terminal I’ll honey—“ He grinned ear to ear as he placed the pillow back on the lounge. “But like you said, you’re pregnant and the last thing I want the mother of my child doing on her days off is unnecessary housework.” 

“I’m gonna go insane if I don’t do something!” You groaned like a petulant child. This was the first time in your life that you felt like you weren’t totally independent and reliant on yourself to do everything. “You’ve even stocked the pantry with a copious amount of random foods! So if little spud here wants something I don’t even need to go out and get it I just gotta walk into the kitchen.” 

“It kinda seems like I’ve done everything I can to make this easy for you yet I'm still in trouble.”

Rooster challenged you as he leaned in over you and kissed your lips softly. “I have to get going mama.” He mumbled against your lips. “Why don’t you watch one of those true crime documentaries you’ve been talking about for the last few weeks? Veg out. Put your feet up.” 

Although you were annoyed that there was nothing to keep you busy, you felt somewhat blessed to have someone as caring and as thoughtful as Breadley Bradshaw as a partner. There could be worse things to complain about. There could be worse things to put up with. 

“What’s a girl gotta say to get you to say home hey?” You held Bradley down by the zip on his flight suit that ran up his buttons. “Why don’t you stay home and you can keep me busy by recreating what got us into the situation in the first place.”

“You don’t know how badly I wish I would honey.” Rooster cooed against your lips as he pulled away and stood up straight. “But I’m government property baby.”

“Yeah well, the government can kiss my pregnant ass.”

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

#Leah’s 4K Celebration 🎊

[saintmagx]

I Knew you were Trouble❤️‍🔥

Part 3

Pairing: Jimmy Uso x reader

AN: if you would like tagged let me know 💖 Trinity is still with WWE. No specific timeline

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity, jealous Jimmy, bad writing, cringe story telling, the Usos (because they are a warning in themselves) ⚠️

JIMMY IS SO FINE LIKE 😭🤤 HELP!!!! Also is anyone else just loving how much fun he’s having on Smackdown right now????? YEEET 🤪 NO YEET 😐

The hustle and bustle of the gorilla can be a bit much for some people but not me, it strangely helps me get in the zone, ready to become my onscreen persona and throw yn out the window. Hunter confirmed the timeline for myself and trinity to win the tag team titles - five weeks away at Summerslam. Trin was still determined to get us an in ring team name and had enlisted Beverly the seamstress to start working on matching outfits - I love her but when she sets her mind to something - nothing and I mean nothing stands in her way.

Tonight I had a singles match against Liv Morgan, a simple one on one match with a clean win for me. Waiting for my cue the Uso’s come through the curtain after finishing their match. Josh greets me with his huge infectious smile and warm embrace, Jon on the other hand greets me with his signature fiery stare.

“Good luck out there yn. The crowd is on fire tonight!”

Josh walks away leaving me standing with Jon once more.

“We need to stop meeting like this.” Jon says with a smirk

“Ah yes, however it is hard when we work at the same place and are friends with the same people, the likelihood of us continually bumping into each other is pretty high.” Proud of my self for my reply I look at him smiling awaiting his response.

“Ya know, for a pretty girl you have a pretty smartass mouth. I sure hope you ain’t all talk and can back up that mouth babygirl.” He gives me a final once over and heads over to Josh who is standing chatting to his cousin Joe.

Focus yn, focus.

“Yn, you’ve missed your cue, get out there NOW.”

Shit. I don’t need distractions right now, I need to prove to Hunter and everyone backstage that i deserve to be here and I deserve these titles.

My match against Liv went to plan, we only had a 7 minute slot so it was quick and effective.

Trin

Hey so a few of us are heading to dinner before you guys have to be back on the road for the European tour. You in?

Yn

Of course girl, lemme get ready and I’ll meet you at the car 💗

Trin

I’ve already left the arena, but Jon and Josh are still there, tag along with them and I’ll see you at dinner 💕

Great. The more I try to keep away from Jon the more fate keeps throwing us together.

The car ride to the restaurant was pretty normal actually. Jon and Josh were in the front talking tactics from their match and goofing off. Me on the other hand was a simple bystander to this, it was nice. The bond the boys have is special, really warms the heart.

“Earth to yn!”

Josh snaps me out of my thoughts

“Sorry, um what were you saying?”

“Damn, not even paying attention to me huh.”

“Oh shush Josh, I’m tired.” I say laughing, I wouldn’t tell them that the real reason I was preoccupied was because I was in awe of them and their bond, those boys don’t need bigger heads.

With Josh fake falling out with me, I turn my attention to Jon.

“Can you tell me what he said?”

“Please?” I beg batting my eyelids, being a little flirtatious always gave me the upper hand, but with Jon it was dangerous territory I was entering.

Looking at me from the mirror he licks his lips.

“Sorry yn! Ain’t no way I ain’t siding with my bro.”

“That’s right uce. Day ones!”

Josh turns to me with a smug ass look on his face. Rolling my eyes I turn my attention to my phone ignoring them both.

Sighing I question “how am I going to manage myself with you two double teaming me.”

Jon’s eyes dart to the mirror with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Im sure you’ll be able to take us.” His eyes revert back to the road as we pull up to the restaurant.

Fluttering. Everywhere. That’s the only way I can describe it. There wasn’t a part in my body left that hadn’t been effected by Jon and his words. When I said double teaming me I hadn’t meant anything by it other than then ganging up on me but now, all I can think about is both their hands on me, Josh attacking my neck, Jon all over my breasts sucking and caressing them.

“You’ve been pretty quiet tonight, what’s up?” Trin enquires.

Truth is I’ve been distracted, Jon’s words in the car, watching Jon interact with Trin like a normal husband and wife, the feeling of jealousy and shame washing over me.

“I’m just tired honestly, plus I’ve still got so much to do before I leave for Europe tomorrow.”

“And moody, was all pissy with me in the car earlier, right Jon?”

“She sure was.”

I look at the twins and flip them off making the everyone at the table laugh lightening the mood. I hate how one man has effect me so much. And I know it’s only going to get worse once we kick of the European tour. No wife and me close by for 7 whole days - it has disaster written all over it.

Sorry it’s kinda short, felt like this was a good place to end! Anyhooo

Tagged: @southerngirl41 @missfamilyjeweles @jeyusos-girl @christinabae @jeyusosgirl @raya-hunter01 @harlem11680 @theogsamoanqueen @harmshake

[whump-mania]

If your taking requests: Whumper who acts like a parental figure toward Whumpee even though they are far from that in Whumpee’s eyes

(Tw: light stalking and general creepiness (nonsexual))

It was the fourth time Whumpee’s cellphone started ringing. Hastily, they hung up the call again and continued watching the movie with their significant other, saying nothing about it.

“Okay, Whumpee, this is getting out of hand,” Caretaker finally said, pausing the movie with the remote. “That’s the fourth time this person has called you. I believed you when you said it was a butt dial the first time, but you can’t use that excuse anymore. What’s going on?”

Whumpee looked anywhere but Caretaker’s eyes. “Nothing. They’re just being overprotective…I-I don’t know.”

“Whumpee. Your manager at work shouldn’t be interfering with your private life, let alone outside work hours. Are they even calling you about work?” Caretaker questioned. Whumpee said nothing.

Caretaker sighed. “I’m worried, Whumpee. You have to tell me what’s—”

Right on cue, the phone started ringing again. Whumpee cringed. “Just…I’m gonna answer it.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Whumpee stressed, standing up. “I’ll be right back. I’m sure it’s nothing.” They walked into the bathroom and shut the door, out of Caretaker’s earshot.

“…Hello?”

“Eleven minutes.”

“W…What?”

“You waited eleven minutes to tell me you got home safe last night,” Whumper’s stern voice came through the phone. “I saw you get home on the GPS app, and you waited eleven minutes to tell me you were home.”

Whumpee couldn’t believe this was what the five phone calls were about. “Whumper, I’m sorry, but—”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Whumpee. Do you have any idea how worried I was? Or how disrespectful it was to do something like that?”

“I…I won’t do it again.” Whumpee really just needed this call to end.

“You know I’m just looking out for you. You don’t have anyone else in this world. I just want you to appreciate the things I do for you,” Whumper told them sincerely.

“I-I know. I…appreciate it all. I do.” They didn’t. They found it overbearing and creepy, but they were too scared to find out what would happen if they said otherwise.

“Where are you right now?”

“Friend’s house,” Whumpee replied. If Whumper knew Caretaker was dating them, they’d be dead.

“Okay. Text me right when you get home. I miss you,” Whumper said once more before finally hanging up.

Whumpee sighed in relief when it was over. They hated how Whumper tried to parent them, but letting it happen appeased them. So they kept up the delusion.

[according2thelore]

omg i love that es sam post!!! imagine him “taking a break” from the three of them. he’s a jealous bitch and feels like they don’t even WANT him around, they all like each other better anyway!! cue Flagstaff Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

gosh!

if sam ran away, it would be an absolute shitshow, lol. i don't know if i think he would full-stop run away. i think maybe it would be a miscommunication--especially since for ES!Dean, stanford is so fresh and raw.

in my head, i'm picturing maybe ES!Sam steps out because he found a lead on a surprisingly non-BS book on time travel at a new-age bookshop a town over and gets stuck out overnight. and honestly, he's not that mad about it. he could do with a fresh night at a motel away from the Sammy and Dean show (and will not admit that it stings that he's not the 'sammy' in question). plus! sunlight! he hadn't realized how dark and damp everything is underground until he actually has a room with a window.

at first, as much as it sucks to admit, no one really notices at first. ES!Sam has really tried to distance himself from everyone (much more at the beginning of this ordeal than a few weeks in), and spends most days either archiving a storage room that LS!Sam told him about just to have something to do or in he and ES!Dean’s room avoiding them.

so LS!Dean is the first to notice. he's just had the idea to maybe reach out and offer the kid a grilled cheese for lunch. but...he can't find him. anywhere.

he goes to ask ES!Dean&LS!Sam who are tucked in next to each other in one of the armories, giggling, and LS!Dean gets distracted for a bit at how irritating--and honestly?? kind of arousing--they are together.

they "split up and look for clues" as LS!Dean puts it, quite excitedly, and ES!Dean kind of flushes like 'wow you're such a dork' but he's practically skipping down the hallway and LS!Sam rolls his eyes.

once their search turns up no sam...it's Hit Every Alarm Bell Time.

ES!Dean is the most freaked out. what if ES!Sam got taken back to the past without him? what if ES!Dean's stuck here? what if whatever brought them both to the present kidnapped him? he's guilty because he should've noticed it sooner. he's been spending so much time with LS!Sam that he didn't even notice his own little brother was missing for what? hours? dean's little brother is his whole thing! and he didn't even notice! not to mention stanford is still so fresh for ES!Dean that he's absolutely the most freaked out about the Lack of Sam, and therefore absolutely the least helpful.

LS!Dean is in the middle. that is to say, on a scale of 0 to rip the building apart brick by brick ("hey, stop it kiddo, he's not in the fucking walls." "shut up, old man!") he's a 7. a Missing Sam is a Missing Sam, okay? you could bring any dean (even squirrel dean) in and tell him this, and that's a category five disaster. and this sam is small!!!! and alone in the world!!!!!!! he's calling local hospitals and jails, before widening the search. he's probably even on "foot" patrol (patrolling motels and town with Baby) which he drags ES!Dean into, because that poor kid's fourteen seconds away from having three concurrent heart attacks.

LS!Sam checks ES!Sam's search history. he promises to do a more thorough up-and-down of the bunker, including investigating if any of their artifacts that they've got spilling out of old boxes in almost every room, have the power to transport people. but then, he sees the laptop in ES!Sam's room (kid has a FASCINATION, and LS!Sam cringes to think of a time before laptops were widely available). and okay, yeah. let's check his search history. after 'curious college twink gets ass ate large hunky man hunk bearded middle aged' and oh. okay. ES!Sam found internet porn. cool. (LS!Sam does not notice that the 'hunky man hunk bearded middle aged' has light brown hair and a strong jaw and does not remember the website and thumbnail. because that would be weird!) LS!Sam sees the bookshop.

he calls LS!Dean, and he comes back so they can all hop the town over to go collect him.

they find him immediately under "dean plant" at a motel on the edge of town closest to lebanon.

he's groggy because it's five in the morning. the storm from the night before has barely cleared, and the smell of wet concrete hits him before he's even full awake as the door slams open.

he's got three guns pointed at him (two identical ones, one significantly less scratched than the other; and the third is very familiar) and an ES!Dean that immediately falls upon him like a regency woman reuniting with her long-estranged husband returned after years of war.

LS!Sam keeps trying to calm the situation down with calm words and an annoyed glance at ES!Sam but mostly calm. and LS!Dean is just pissed.

"where'd you go? why'd you go? why are you here? the storm? yeah i guess it was kind of bad. but that's no excuse! oh they closed the bridge because of the flooding. well you could have called! no phone. hm. well. you can't go disappearing like that, kid."

and ES!Sam is kind of equally pleased and annoyed. because honestly, he didn't think they would really notice. he didn't think he was an integral part of this machine that they occupy. he thought he was the weakest link, but they chased him down (even if it was only twelve miles) and—

(and ES!Sam tries not to think it, but it reminds him of a sermon at the church he visited once a month with brady, before brady stopped going to church (the church that made sam's feet tingle as in his shoes as soon as he stepped on hallowed ground); about the shepherd chasing down the wandering lamb, and how fucked is it that sam's thinking, in part, about himself? some bigger, stronger, wiser version of himself bringing him back into the fold? it makes sam shudder a little, bc sam didn't even question the part about dean being god, just himself.)

and later that night is when ES!Sam gets his first "we"--LS!Sam pulls him aside after dinner, and says quietly,

"we can't disappear on dean, okay?" he's quick to continue, because he can see the beginning of ES!Sam's indignant protest. "it was an accident. and they shouldn't've freaked out like that. but we go through...a lot. and he needs us. even in 2006. and he's glad we're here."

ES!Sam shrugs him off, but later that night, when he says goodbye to ES!Dean, he says "goodnight jerk," and dean relaxes against the doorframe. and sam thinks, maybe this isn't the worst thing that's happened to them. not as long as they're all in it together.

every time i say "oh this ran away from me" and UGH! every time it's TRUE! flagstaff pt 2: electric boogaloo would end with a lot less tears and anguish on all parts involved, i think. but like any good sequel, it would increase the stakes (TWO deans losing their minds + a bonus sam!).

thanks for this ask, anon! my brain really took to it, lol!

-lizzy <3

[steves-strapcollection]

WIP Wednesday - here i have found some peace of mind (formerly titled 'spent all winter waiting for the sun to arise')

This is from the modern AU I'm writing where Eddie is a rockstar and Steve is a group housing coordinator at a hotel that Corroded Coffin is staying at, except during a whole mix-up with a typo in the system and Eddie being a disaster and stealing his tour manager's phone, Steve thinks he's talking to the tour manager of the band whose name is Chris and not the front-man of the band 😩

“Good afternoon, this is events, Steve speaking?” he said quickly.

“Good afternoon, handsome. How are things going in hotel land?”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes a little bit. “Busy, as always. Can’t complain though,” he replied as he tapped his pencil against his notebook. “How can I help you, Chris?”

“What if I just wanted to hear your voice?” Chris teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m on the clock, Chris. How can I help you?” Steve asked again, but there was a part of him that was still flattered by the attention, interested in the attention even.

And so began the almost-daily calls from Chris. Steve never actually reached out from his end because there was no reason for him to until closer to the actual cut-off date. It was always Chris calling him to make requests, to discuss the area a bit more, or sometimes just to chat. As their work relationship progressed, Steve found it easier to fall into more friendly banter, even returning some of the flirting.

Steve still refused to try to find out who the band was or look Chris up, but mostly because he didn’t want to give a face to the man he was talking to on the phone just yet. He knew that if Chris was even half as hot as he sounded he wouldn’t stand a chance.

As it stood, most days Chris would call, they would discuss matters pertaining to the band’s stay in July for five minutes, then spend the next twenty minutes just talking about other stuff. Usually, it was just Steve talking about his job and and complaining.

“The worst way to receive a rooming list is as a PDF,” Steve grumbled into the phone as he painstakingly copied and pasted a rooming list into a spreadsheet. “Please know that if a group housing coordinator receives a rooming list as a PDF? They hate the client just a little bit.”

On the other end of the call, Chris chuckled before stopping abruptly. Steve smirked a bit as he could practically hear the dots connecting in Chris’ head.

“Didn’t we send our rooming list as a PDF?”

Steve snorted. “Maybe,” he replied cheekily, and Chris groaned.

“Is that why you are resisting my charm?” Chris whined and Steve laughed.

“That, and I’m also on the clock,” he reminded Chris teasingly.

“You could always give me your number?”

Steve sighed and thought back to the employee conduct manual. It would be wildly inappropriate to give a client his number. “Not while you’re my client,” he responded, resolving to pull out the conduct manual and read it over again.

“So… after?” Chris pressed and Steve laughed.

“I’m not making any promises, Chris,” Steve sighed, chewing his lip while a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

There was some shouting on the other end of the call and Chris sighed. “Alright, Stevie, that’s my cue to go in a bit. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

Steve almost said yes, but then remembered he had requested the next day off. “No, unfortunately I won’t be in the office tomorrow. I’m taking a personal day,” he replied.

“Oh, doing anything fun or interesting?” Chris asked, and Steve actually grinned at how interested he sounded.

“I wish. Uh, nah, I have appointments and then visiting a cemetery, so,” Steve trailed off with a shrug before cringing. Chris couldn’t see him shrugging, what the hell?

“Oh shit, sorry. That was really stupid of me to ask,” Chris said and Steve laughed.

“It’s all good, man. I wouldn’t’ve answered if it bothered me,” he admitted and on the other end of the line, Chris chuckled lightly.

“That makes sense. I’ll talk to you another time then.”

“Or you could relax and not call me again about your stay in July,” Steve insisted as he always did when they were about to hang up.

“Mm, no. I think I’ll continue to micromanage our stay, just to keep you on your toes, Stevie,” Chris replied and then hung up.

Steve sighed with a little grin as he hung his receiver up, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

“What the hell was that, Dingus?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin and looked up at Robin peering over his cubicle with wide eyes.

“Nothing,” Steve lied, and he could feel his face burning with his blush.

“Stephen, are you flirting with a client?” she hissed as she hurried around the cubicle wall to sit on his desk.

“No,” Steve hissed back, glancing around but thankfully no one was paying attention. “No, he is flirting with me.”

Robin gasped dramatically. “He?” she questioned excitedly.

“Did you need something? Because I’m kind of busy,” Steve said, shoving his glasses up to scrub at his face.

“I texted you about food in Dustin’s Office, but you didn’t respond so I came to find you,” she immediately replied, smiling when Steve locked his computer and got up.

“I’m definitely in,” he replied happily.

“We’re talking about everything I overheard there tomorrow, you hear me, Harrington?” Robin said as they walked, pointing at him accusingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes with a chuckle.

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for snippets and/or when this goes live! Taglist! @scarcrossdlvrs, @patchworkgargoyle, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @afewproblems, @mylilplanet, @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa

[shadamyheadcanons]

Shifting Gears

Written for Shadamy Week 2023. I had something longer planned, but I got the date wrong, so it’s not done yet X_X

I did finish this for the Joyride prompt, though! Warnings: suggestive flirtation, a car chase, and malicious compliance.

Cross-posted on AO3

--

Amy sighed and settled back in the passenger seat. She cast a tired look at Sonic.

Are these dates or not?! We keep hanging out one-on-one and he doesn’t run from me like he used to, but he won’t make a move. Every time I try, he shies away! I can’t deal with these mixed messages! She grumbled. No more beating around the bush. I will not leave this car tonight until I get a straight answer. She nodded curtly, satisfied with her plan.

Amy focused back on the road. She cringed when she noticed just how swiftly their surroundings were whizzing by. “Sonic, maybe you should slow down. This is a little fast.”

Sonic grinned beside her, one hand on the wheel, the very image of casual relaxation. “What do you mean? This is nothing! I run faster than this all the time!”

“Yeah, but you’re not usually in a two-ton hunk of metal!” A horn honked on Amy’s right as they zoomed past, and a car skidded to a stop in their wake.

Sonic laughed. “I know, it’s great! Good thing I’ve got good reflexes, right?” He cranked up the volume on the radio and sang along in his strident voice. “I...can’t...drive...FIFTY-FIVE!”

Amy winced at the sound and tried another approach. “Sonic, if you keep speeding, you’ll get pulled over!”

Sonic snorted. “Nah, not in this town. They know they can’t catch me. They gave up before I even started driving.”

As if on cue, red and blue lights started flashing behind them, and a siren blared to life. “HAH!” Amy cackled. “See?”

Sonic’s eyes narrowed as he peered in the rearview mirror. “Huh. So someone wants to play, huh?” He smirked...and stepped on it.

Amy yelped and latched onto her seatbelt. “Sonic, what are you doing?! You have to pull over!”

She could still hear Sonic’s chuckle over the elevated hum of his engine. “Not if they don’t catch me, I--!”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a loud, low snarl behind them. Amy could practically feel the roar of the other car’s engine.

She looked over her shoulder, just barely making out the sharp outlines of a black sports car in the night. It weaved through the other cars, rapidly gaining on them. Sonic’s face twitched, but he sped up further, jerking them forward. “I dunno who that is or what they’re packing, but it’s no match for the Civic Tails souped up for me!”

Amy looked forward in time to see the stoplight turn yellow in front of them. She glanced frantically between it and Sonic. “Sonic, it’s turning red!”

He ignored her and swerved left across the intersection, making her squeak and grab onto her seat. He deftly maintained control of the wheel as he slid into the lane in front of them. “HAH!”

His answer was a resounding growl from the sports car behind them. It shot through the intersection just before the light could change, staying right on their tail.

Sonic’s jaw clenched. “What kind of car is that?”

“I don’t know sports cars,” she snapped. “It’s a cop car! Does it matter?!”

Sonic took a quick left turn, making her quills stand on end. “Well, yeah, kinda! Does it have a logo?”

She felt pain in her foot and looked down to realize she’d been reflexively pressing it into the floor where the brake would be. She grumbled.

Next time, I’m driving!

Amy turned her upper body around, squinting against the flashing lights. Her gaze slid down the flat hood and between the angled headlights to rest on the shield-shaped logo. “It looks like some kind of animal with horns.”

Sonic hit a small bump, making her yelp again, but he sounded unfazed. “Like...a ram? It’s not a Dodge Charger, is it?”

She examined the logo more closely. “No, it looks more like...a bull?”

The color drained out of Sonic’s face. The choked noise that came from his throat was quickly drowned out by a husky roar from their pursuer’s engine as it gained on them.

“That’s...not a Charger. That’s a Lambo.”

Amy did a double-take. “Wait, ‘Lambo,’ as in a Lamborghini? Like the ones Tails is always raving about?!” Silence. “That’s faster than your car, isn’t it?”

Sonic kept driving for a moment, mouth hanging open in hesitation. Then, he gritted his teeth. “There’s more to driving than performance, and I know these streets better than anyone. Hang on!”

With that, he launched into a series of skillful, dizzying hairpin turns. Time after time, though, the Lamborghini stayed right on their tail, not backing down an inch, roaring in their ears.

Amy’s knuckles went white from gripping her seat. “Sonic, I know you know what you’re doing, but you can’t keep this up!”

Sonic stared straight ahead, eyes wide and uncertain. He frowned and took a quick right turn, then stomped on the accelerator. “Better wrap this up. Don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Amy’s heart pounded. That’s not what I meant--!

After one last straightaway and a couple turns, Amy heard the roar of the engine behind them fade out. Sonic’s ear twitched, and he smirked. “I think I got ’em! One sec...”

Sonic swerved down a narrow, secluded side street and slowed down. He peeked in the rearview mirror and laughed breathlessly. “WHOO! Haven’t had a chase that good in a while! How are you holding up?”

Amy met his exhilarated smile with a livid glare, panting in cold fury. “Sonic, why didn’t you stop? This is serious!”

Sonic grimaced and looked back at the dark road in front of them. “Ah, well...I...” His shoulders dropped. He sighed. “...I’m broke. I couldn’t pay for a ticket if I got one.”

His face twisted, as if he were bracing himself to be yelled at. She exhaled forcefully and rubbed her temples, trying to hold in her frustrations.

Maybe if you’d hold down a steady job like the rest of us, that wouldn’t be a problem! Even Tails is working as a mechanic!

The snarl of a familiar engine roared to life right in front of them, and a set of headlamps and red and blue lights lit up, practically blinding them. Both hedgehogs yelped in panic. Sonic immediately swerved down the one street that was left between them and the car.

It was a dead end.

With a groan of unease, Sonic slammed on the brakes at the end of the alley, knowing they were trapped. He whipped his head over to Amy and gave his most charming smile. “Hey Ames, do you have any money I could borrow?”

Amy’s jaw dropped, and rage boiled in her gut. “Sonic, I told you to pull over, and you ignored me. You got yourself into this mess. I’m not lending you a single ring.”

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and looked away with a huff. Sonic’s quiet whine was drowned out by the growl of the Lamborghini pulling in behind them. She ignored it.

What she couldn’t ignore, though, was Sonic’s sudden, quiet noise of realization and the shuffling motions he made...before zipping into the back seat and unceremoniously lifting her body to plop her into the driver’s seat.

Amy squealed and flailed. “Sonic, what are you--!”

“Ames, you know the cops hate me!” Sonic pleaded in her ear. “Last time I ran into them, they put me in jail on Prison Island! I would’ve been stuck there for the rest of my life if you hadn’t broken me out!”

The panic in his voice was real. Despite her frustrations, her heart melted in sympathy as she heard the cop’s car door shut behind them.

Finally he admits it. He always, always gives Tails credit for that. Why’d he have to acknowledge my part now?

Her throat tightened. “Sonic, I...”

“Just...y’know, sweet talk him a little?” he wheedled. “He’ll go easier on you!”

Amy balked, and she whipped her head around, eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re...you’re actually asking me to flirt with the cop to get you out of this?” she whimpered, the words barely squeezing themselves out of her throat. “When you’re right there watching?”

Both of them glanced back as the cop’s dark silhouette approached. Amy’s heart raced.

Sonic clasped his hands together and pleaded, eyes full of genuine fear. “Amy, you’re the prettiest girl I know! I know you can do it!”

His words left a weight in her heart, heavier than before.

He’s not even doing it on purpose. He said it now, of all times, and he doesn’t have any idea how much that hurts.

The last few footsteps landed outside Amy’s door. She was out of time.

Amy rolled down the window. She pulled her face into a nervous smile...and her eyes widened at who she saw.

Spiky quills came into view as a familiar hedgehog stood outside her window, holding a hand to his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut in agitation. “Sonic, do you have any idea how...” His eyes slid open, and his expression instantly softened. “Amy?”

She gave a pained smile and hid half of her face. “Hi, Shadow.” She didn’t miss Sonic’s inquisitive noise behind her.

Shadow kept staring at her, clearly baffled. She inclined her head just slightly toward the back seat where Sonic was hiding. He followed the subtle nod, and his eyes widened in realization. He gave her an incredulous look, as if to say, Really now?!

She nodded shyly. He just shook his head.

As he did so, Amy couldn’t help but notice his attire. Although she wasn’t as police-adverse as Sonic was, Amy had never held any kind of soft spot for the uniform...at least until now. The black slacks and belt suited Shadow well, and the standard blue button-up shirt hugged his torso in a flattering way. He’d chosen to leave the top two buttons open to show off his chest fur, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to expose his toned forearms, highlighting the red stripe on each arm that ran underneath his gloves. It was hardly a conventional way to wear the uniform, but the rakish style complimented his looks and personality well. Even the plain hat sat slightly askew on his head, setting off his wild quillstyle.

By the time Amy’s gaze reached Shadow’s face, he was wearing a look of bewilderment, as if no one had ever looked at him that way before.

Amy felt her cheeks burn brightly. “Um--!” She was caught between saying ‘you somehow look better with clothes on’ and ‘sorry if I’m drooling.’ She shook it off and instead stammered out, “S-so, um...when did you become a traffic cop?”

Shadow’s confused look made way for clear exasperation. He exhaled and let his head roll back slightly. “The police force at Station Square recently had a few retirees, and they’re short on people who know the law well enough to do the job. G.U.N. sent a few agents to help them fill in the gaps for now.” He grumbled under his breath. “Ten years at G.U.N, and they send me to hand out tickets.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “It’s been ten years? That’s some serious commitment.”

Shadow nodded and grew serious. “And ever since Towers resigned, they’ve been better about sending us places where we can actually do some good for people.”

The tiny smile on Shadow’s face warmed Amy’s heart.

He’s really come into his own over the years, hasn’t he?

Shadow’s nose wrinkled. “Can’t say this is my favorite assignment, though.”

“That boring, huh?”

Shadow chuckled under his breath and put a hand on his hip. “The most excitement I’ve had all week was chasing this car down and finding you, of all people, behind the wheel.” The smirk he gave her made Amy’s heart flutter. She smiled back.

Then, an idea struck her. A very devious idea. Her smile turned coy.

You want me to flirt with the cop, Sonic? Oh, I’ll flirt with him, alright.

Amy shifted closer to the window. She shrugged casually. “That’s too bad. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in this more often.” She reached out and slid her fingertips up his forearm, keeping eye contact as she did so.

Shadow’s eyes traced the crawl of her fingers, then met her gaze once more. He gave her a flat look, evidently confused.

This isn’t going to work. Does Shadow even know what flirting is?

Amy bit her lip. She flicked her eyes toward the back seat meaningfully, and Shadow’s expression lit up in realization. A slow smirk spread across his face.

“Is that so? You might see a lot of me if you keep living dangerously.”

Sonic made a confused noise from the back seat. Amy’s smirk grew to match Shadow’s.

Oh, he knows.

Shadow pulled out a notepad and quirked a brow at her. “I always thought you were sweet. Speeding, swerving, endangering other drivers, evading a police officer...when did you get so bad?”

She giggled. “Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, really?” Shadow leaned in closer. “I might have to take you back to the station to find out more.”

Amy scoffed. “Don’t think it’ll be that easy. I don’t go down without a fight. You think you can handle me?”

Shadow chuckled darkly. “I know I can.” He matched her heated smirk.

I guess you can’t hang around Rouge all the time and not know what flirting is...but he doesn’t talk to her like this, does he?

Her tone turned sly. “Are you sure you’re put together enough for that? You seem a little sloppy to me.”

To make her point, she lightly dragged her hand up to point at his exposed chest fur, only to stall when she got there. Her eyes widened a little at the contact, and she automatically ran her fingers through it for a moment.

It’s so soft! Has he always been this soft?! It’s not like I’ve never hugged him, but I never noticed--!

“You know, Amy, it’s usually the officers who do the frisking.”

“Huh?”

Amy’s gaze snapped up from Shadow’s fur to his face, where a more genuine smile was threatening to show itself. She felt his chest shake under her hand from his quiet laughter. Her cheeks flamed, and she whipped her hand back to hide half of her face, feeling herself laugh along with him in embarrassment. “Sorry!”

“I don’t mind.”

The words, and his grin, were sincere. She beamed up at him past her hand.

I’ve been flirting for years, but no one’s ever flirted back. Is it always this much fun?

He shook his head, and his smirk turned roguish again. “So do you do that to everyone? I might have to bring you down to the station after all.”

“Yeah? You think it’ll be that easy?” Amy teased, leaning out toward him.

His eyes burned brightly, and his voice dropped an octave. “Why don’t you step out of the car and find out? Some people actually like being put in handcuffs, you know.”

“Okay, OKAY, I’LL PAY THE DAMN TICKET!” Sonic blurted, scrambling into the passenger seat. He was red up to his ears. Shadow and Amy burst out laughing.

Shadow took out a pen and started to write. “Let’s see...excessive speeding, neglecting to use turn signals, reckless driving, evading the police...”

A quiet whimper escaped Sonic’s throat. “Can you maybe go a little easy on me, Shads?”

Amy felt irritation starting to creep back in.

A ruthless glare dropped onto Shadow’s face as well. “After that? You’re lucky I’m not arresting you.”

Sonic flinched, then tried one more time. “Please? One speedster to another?”

Shadow stared at his rival, the silence hanging heavily over them. He sighed and shut his eyes. He wrote one more word on the notepad, ripped off the ticket, and handed it over. “I pretended you wore a seatbelt. You’re welcome.”

Amy smiled and shook her head as she gave the ticket to Sonic, who groaned at what he saw.

Well, that was different. Was Shadow really just messing with Sonic, or was some of that...real?

“As for you, Miss Rose...”

Amy jumped. “Huh?”

Shadow ripped off another ticket and started writing something on the back of it. His typical, solemn frown had returned. “Deceiving an officer is generally frowned upon, but...”

He folded the paper in half and handed it to her, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re cute, so I’ll let you off with a warning.”

With a cheeky wink, he strode back to his car and fired up the engine again. Baffled, she unfolded the paper.

‘You can do better.’

Amy giggled and held the note close to her chest as the sound of the Lamborghini receded.

No mixed messages here.

--

((If this story seems familiar, it’s because I wrote the first half of it a year ago, accidentally posted it before it was done, then deleted it out of panic and didn’t get around to re-writing it until now. Could’ve been a bit more polished, but I wanted to have something in time. Also, the car Shadow’s driving is my favorite Lamborghini, the Gallardo.))

[lore-gore]

Also PLEASE post about your oc! I'm trying to get up the courage to make one for hh x3

Finally! It's time! My most detailed oc that I've been working on for five years! (I am so nervous about sharing this)

Originally they were a self insert but grew to become their own character. (Which is why we have the same name. So I suppose they are both a self insert and an oc?)

I'm including bio, relationship with characters, and scene inserts

Hopefully this does not come off as cringe (I better get complements or I will cry)

Tw for death, murder, violence, bullying, obsession, stalking, mentioned kidnapping, shipping with alastor because why not, British people

Also tag me when you make yours!!!

@myroanokenightmare666 @frilledshark-enthusiast @astral--horrorshow you prommied

Bio:

Lorelai "Lore" Dagenhart

The token spooky weird goth character

Ghost Demon (based on an onryo)

She/They

AFAB Nonbinary

Biromantic Asexual

24

Autistic

Goth

British

From Birmingham

Chaotic neutral

Scorpio

Gen Z

Born October 31, 1999

Died October 31, 2023

Stabbed in the heart

Killed her old bullies (The four main ones; failed to kill the last one. Or did they?)

Was bullied severely (called names and slurs, beaten up, tripped, shoved, desk was graffitied, hair pulled and even cut, had liquids poured on her to trigger their sensory issues, rumors spread to the point not even the other goths wanted to hang out with her because they thought they sacrificed birds, locked in closets, etc.)

Failed to make friends

Tried to act "normal" for a while but because she had already been established as the weird kid it didn't work

Decided to commit to being weird

Loves being eccentric

Says weird, random, and ominous things

Likes scaring people; is good at it

Special interest is horror

Was a semi popular horror author

Drew their own covers

Has a cute style and a realistic monster style

Had good parents growing up

Parents owned a funeral home

Dad was a funeral director and mom was a mortician

Were similar to Morticia and Gomez

Speaks English and British Sign Language

Sister was deaf (her name was Faye)

Scared of bodies of water (especially running water)

Doesn't mind rain

Can still swim

Bright rooms give her sensory overload (puts on sunglasses to combat this)

Wears sound filtering earbuds

Rarely holds conversation

Either infodumps or barely contributes

Avoids eye contact

If they force herself to make eye contact, they will hold it for way too long

Only really makes eye contact when trying to intimidate someone

Struggles with social cues

Won't realize someone is upset unless they tell her

When that happens, they will simply sit and listen, which works well

Can recognize fear

Fluctuates between touch adverse, touch positive, and touch indifferent

Has a heart-shaped face, a small nose, pure white skin, long black hair parted in the middle that reaches the floor, big droopy eyes that are completely black, including the sclera, dark circles, black lips, and white fangs

Tall

6'5, 7'0 with her platforms

Very thin and bony

Wears a grey hoodie with a red x over their heart and heart shaped lock prints running down the sleeves, a pleated black skirt, black and white striped stockings, knee high lace up black 5 inch platform boots and a binder

Facial expression is usually neutral

Voice is also usually monotone

Has a haunting singing voice

Cold to the touch

The temperature in the room lowers when she gets upset (the more upset they are, the colder it gets; she is unaffected by this)

Can float

Can turn invisible

Has prehensile hair

Every time they cut it it grows back

Can't be styled either (will just return to its normal state)

Can store things inside of it

Easily sneaks up behind people

Just pops up randomly

Good at hiding

Can somehow fit into small spaces

Very flexible

Double jointed

Left handed

Anger is almost always silent; plots revenge

Very vengeful

Holds grudges

Has an amazing memory

Can think on her feet

Prefers routine

Can be very blunt

Not great at telling lies, tells half truths instead

Got A's and B's in school

Book smart, but not street smart

Had two black cats named Misery and Misfortune

Has befriended the crows by feeding them

The crows bring them little trinkets

Loves animals, especially the spooky ones (cats, rats, bats, owls, wolves, ravens, crows, snakes, spiders, moths, centipedes, as well as possums)

Favorite animal is bunnies

Favorite movie is The Ring

Favorite season is fall

Favorite holiday is Halloween

Full on cosplays for Halloween

Cosplays outside of Halloween as well

Loves candy and other sweets

Hates the taste of alcohol and coffee

Likes tea

Has taken edibles multiple times before

Often slams things without meaning to

Uses both slang and complicated vocabulary

Switches between using proper punctuation, capitalization, and spelling and ignoring it when posting as it's more chaotic

Tumblr shitposter

Made vines when it was still around

Can play the guitar (bass and electric) and piano

Doesn't quite know how to dance

Good at gardening

Offered to take care of the hotel's rose garden after seeing its neglected state

Is now the hotel gardener

Horrible at cooking

A literal hazard in the kitchen

Bad luck seems to follow them when she cooks

The food itself tastes either mediocre or terrible

Collects weird t-shirts

Humor is a mix of dark and surreal

Has a maniacal laugh

Stims by pacing, flapping hands, rocking, cracking neck (neg), and/or bouncing leg

Sleeps with arms crossed over their chest like a vampire (taught herself to do that as a kid and it became a habit)

Sleepwalks sometimes

Even creepier when they sleepwalk

Wanders around, stares at walls, crawls, says cryptic things, laughs

As a human she had brown hair that reached their back, pale skin, and occult blue eyes. She was 6'0, 6'5 with platforms. They wore a long black trenchcoat that reached the floor and a black T-shirt with a ghost on it. (The rest of her outfit was the same.)

Their full demon form has hollow black shadowy holes instead of eyes, a slit mouth that spans her entire face, long claws, and is 8 feet tall with long limbs and an echoing voice

Voice also echoes when being intense

Found the hotel shortly after arriving in hell. (Literally was just wandering around and stumbled upon it. They stopped to admire the little details, Vaggie noticed her through the window, Charlie went down to greet them, and the rest is history.)

Got a double degree in creative writing and digital art

Thinks she's pretty in a haunting way

Creative when it comes to insults and threats

Has an axe-shaped electric guitar and an axe-shaped bass guitar (literally Marceline's bass and Marshall's guitar)

VERY progressive

High Empathy

Music tastes consist of gothic rock, alt rock, punk rock, electric swing, and horror soundtracks

Parents introduced them to gothic rock and punk rock

Pirates movies

Thinks she is unlovable

Has trust issues

Assumes the worst in people

Despite this, you can win their trust by listening to her infodump

Never sits correctly

Feet on the couch, perching on the armrests or even back, crouching on the floor

Grew up agonistic

Dabbles in witchcraft (séances, tarot readings, tea leaf readings, and as a kid curses)

Always carries around a kitchen knife

Had a bobcut with bangs as a kid and wore the school uniform (white button up, black skirt, black tie) with black combat boots, black and white striped stockings, her black trenchcoat, and sharpie eyeliner

Used to explore abandoned places

Loyal to their friends

Cannot flirt or tell when someone is flirting with her to save their life

1920's outfit is a black below the knee dress with long cuffed sleeves, a grey sash, and a white collar with a white ribbon tied around it and small black heeled shoes with a strap.

Bedwear is a plain white short sleeved nightgown with her striped stockings

Never told their parents about being bullied because she didn't want them to worry

Told the teachers about being bullied but they ignored them, even when her parents got involved

Doesn't trust authority because of that

By the time they finally told her parents it was too late to do anything so they just had to push through until graduation

Killed her bullies because she couldn't live knowing they got away with what they did

Wore a ghostface costume to kill their bullies

Decided to name herself Lore because it "fits my new form"

Smells like freshly turned soil

Voice claim: Jamie from The Haunting of Bly Manor

Singing voice claim: Chibi from The Birthday Massacre/Ashley Serena/Emily Rohm

Relationships:

Alastor:

Best friends

He loves how weird she is

The only time he'll watch movies is with them

She likes showing him her favorite horror movies and infodumping afterwards

He likes spending time with her

Both have crushes on each other (He's uniromantic asexual; died at 29)

Lore assumes it's one-sided, thinking she's undateable

And Alastor loves them... Way too much

To the point of obsession

Drags her around everywhere

Definitely stalks them using his shadow

Watches her sleep

Will kidnap them eventually

Partly because he wants to keep her safe and partly because he wants them all to himself

Lore will be angry, scared, but also kinda into it (check feels unlovable)

Will probably try to make her become a cannibal like him, either by sneaking demon meat into their food, forcing her, or some other means

Charlie

One of their first friends

Sees that Lore is actually a kind person

Lore is not entirely sure her plan will work, but is supportive because that's what best friends do

Anyone who messes with her will face her wrath

Vaggie

One of their first friends

Accepts her weirdness as just who they are

Thinks each other are cool

Listen to goth music together sometimes

Has a bad feeling about Alastor's friendship with her

Angel

Creeped out by them

One of her main scaring targets

When he first met them he thought she was a ghost

Admires their chaoticness though

Will grow closer

In pain with her obliviousness with Al

Husk

Brushes them off as just a weird kid

A little worried about her friendship with Alastor

Nifty

Different flavors of weird

Forever confused about their gender

Hates when she tracks dirt in

Ships them and Alastor

Once wrote a fanfic about the two and showed her

It was smut

Lore enjoys her weird moments and finds her endearing

Sir Pentious

Scaring victim number two

Did not like him

Had not completely forgiven him for trying to betray them and kill them twice until he sacrificed himself

Katie Killjoy

Organized his funeral

Hates her

Reminds them of her old bullies

Slashed her tires after the interview

Tom Trench

Hates him because he's Katie's accomplice

Was the one that set him on fire (molotov cocktail)

Since Charlie was already taking care of Katie they went after him instead

Vox

At first did not understand why Alastor like her

Until he dug around online and realized "Ah... They're weird as shit nevermind."

Lore hates them because Alastor hates them

"My friends enemies are my enemies" type shit

Valentino

Hates him after Charlie told her what she saw at the studio

Had to hold themself back from fighting him after seeing him in the club

Lucifer

Always wanted to meet him

Still feels bad Charlie doesn't have a good relationship with him

Glad he's at least trying to fix it

Cherri Bomb

Lore brought weed gummies during their night out so she likes her

Rosie

Finds them charming

Endorses Alastor's obsession

Scene Inserts:

Adam

Hates him for attacking the Hotel and hurting her friends

Glad he's dead

Would dance on his grave if he had one

Lute

Also hates her for attacking the hotel and hurting her friends

Especially for killing Dazzle

Would NOT have shown mercy like Vaggie did

Pilot

Vaggie: It's all highlighted.

(Lore appears behind Vaggie, going from invisible to visible)

Lore: I think, you should scrap this, and just say Happy Hotel over and over again like a subliminal message.

Charlie: I'll just have to resort to my impeccable improv skills!

Lore: She does improv?

Charlie: Well, there's my friend Lore.

(The camera pans to Lore. She hisses.)

(The camera pans back to Charlie, slightly weirded out.)

Charlie: And someone named... Angel Dust.

Tom: WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP ME

(Lore learns into the frame, holding a lighter and smirking)

(Silence after argument in limo.)

Lore: I set a man on fire.

(The three turn and stare at her.)

Alastor: What do you do my dear?

Lore: Fester.

Charlie: She's the gardener.

Alastor: My what an intriguing lady you are.

Lore: I'm not a lady I'm a creature.

Vaggie: They mean she's Nonbinary.

(Alastor raises his eyebrow.)

Vaggie: Like identifies outside the gender binary.

Alastor: Ah! How delightfully chaotic!

Alastor: And what can you do my effeminate fellow?

Angel: I can suck ya dick.

Alastor: Ha! No.

Episode 1

Alastor: Founded five days ago by Lucifer's naive daughter Charlotte Morningstar!

Alastor: Enjoy riveting conversation with one of our two (Lore emerges behind the couch) residents! Wow!

Angel: We're in Hell toots. That's kinda the end of the road, ain't it?

Lore: He's right. Death is the end of the road. One long, winding road.

Angel: Why?

Episode 2

Alastor: Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor. Lore, care to accompany me?

Lore: I don't like people.

Alastor: Then you'll only have to interact with me! (Loops his arm around hers) Best of luck, chums!

(After Stayed Gone)

Lore: Why am I here?

Alastor: Moral support!

Charlie: So... This is the bar and the bartender. And here is the garden and the gardener!

Lore: The roses aren't ready to be cut yet. If I find that you cut any, I will cut your fucking hands off your pathetic little body.

Charlie: She's joking.

Lore: No I'm not.

Vaggie: This is going to be your whole day! (Claps)

Lore: My turn:

Hello,

my name is Lore

I like blood

And guts and gore

Charlie: That's enough-

Lore: Reality is fake

Someone's going to die

In the lake

Vaggie: I'm sorry what.

Lore: You heard me.

Episode 3

Vaggie: Wow, you are slimy.

Lore: Like a worm. But not a cute one.

Episode 4

Husk: She was the weird kid who was bullied no matter how hard they tried to fit in, so she decided to just own it and commit to the title. Also never orders alcohol. And Nifty-

(After Charlie leaves)

(Silence)

Lore: You watch us sleep?

Pentious: Oh, not you. Alastor already watches you sleep.

Lore: He what.

Episode 5

Charlie: And this is Sir Pentious, Angel Dust, and Lore, our guests!

Sir Pentious: Your Majesty!!!

Angel: Hey, you short king.

Lore: This is my childhood dream come true.

(After explaining Alastor's backstory)

Lore: Sick.

Episode 7

Vaggie: They can be killed.

Lore: (standing up) I KNEW IT! (Sits back down, crossing arms and looking smug) There's almost always a weakness.

Sir Pentious: What? Do you think we're a bunch of pusssssies?

Lore: You two are my (smiles) best friends. You can't get rid of me that easily.

Husk: I just got used to you guys.

Episode 8

Alastor: It's been a surprising thrill to witness these wayward souls find connection. Always makes one sentimental, aye Niffty?

Niffty: I really like them, Alastor. They let me put on roach puppet shows without booing!

Lore: You know it's funny. Hell is the only place I was actually able to make friends.

Alastor: Ahh, an enjoyable collective to be around. I admit one could get accustomed.

Niffty: I dub thee, king roach!

Alastor: Oh, to understand your twisted little mind. Hahaha....

(They all laugh.)

Lore: Never change Niffty. Hey, can I be the roach jester?

Alastor: Hmm. I'd rather rule alongside you.

(He grabs her hand and kisses it.)

Lore: Oh.

(Beginning of battle)

Lore: Come and get me you fucking tar-and-feathered hypocritical bitches in a box! See how a ghost defends its haunt.

(Brandishes knives with hair)

Vaggie: New coat of paint!

Lore: New flowers

Husk: New lights across the marquee

Charlie, Vaggie, Lore, Husk: With a little sorcery

PLEASE feel free to send me asks about them!!!

[lyney-s-bitch]

HHHh– if your still looking for genshin requests, could i req some headcanons of Kazuha hunting down s/o in Windtrace? Him being a samurai, i think it'd be a nightmare. Just imagine those red eyes glinting at u from the woods, those well-attuned ears zeroing in on your heartbeat... He'd prob feel a high just from scenting ur fear T^T

omfg anon I love you for this ask!! I adore reqs like this ;-;

and yes I’m definitely still looking for Genshin reqs, so feel free to keep sending them my way~

————————————————————————

Windtrace: Kazuha (hunter) x s/o (rebel)

• who are we kidding, this man could find and catch you in a heartbeat

• his hearing far surpasses that of any ordinary person, I’m sure he could hear grass grow if he tried

• not to mention his great familiarity with you, resulting in him being able to recognize and assign the pattern of your breathing and heartbeat to you even when surrounded by a bunch of other people

• it’s like a tune your body plays just for him, tempting him to come and get you already

• but he’s a gentleman and has a playful side to him, so he would at least pretend having to look for you

• and grant you the luxury of catching the other two players first, swiftly getting them out of the way so he can focus solely on you again (doesn’t take him more than 30secs tbh)

• like a predator on the prowl, he quietly sneaks around the area of your hiding spot, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on you

• it’s not that he needs to be quiet per se, it really doesn’t matter whether you can hear him coming or not, there’s no escape either way

• but he absolutely relishes in the sound of your pounding heart and the smell of your fear and simultaneous excitement, only making his presence known right when he’s passing by your hiding spot from time to time

• he does it just to hear your breath hitch when you sense his proximity

• "Hmm, where might my beautiful angel be hiding?" he coos not even five steps behind you, his amused smile audible in the way he speaks

• *cue the other rebels cringing*

• at one point he manages to trigger your flight response when your body decides he’s gotten too close, activating the short-lived transparency function and slipping away in a desperate attempt to put at least some amount of distance between the two of you in the confines of the small arena

• ofc he hasn’t lost you, but he decides to entertain you for a bit longer, causing you to subconsciously lower your guard for just a second - despite knowing better - as he begins to move in the opposite direction

• so obviously that one moment of relief doesn’t last long, as it is enough to completely lose sight of him

• and before you know it, he’s already snuck to your front and gives you damn near a heart attack when you turn your head again

• he chuckles at your yelp as he quickly but gracefully wraps his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, leaving no space between your bodies

• "Gotcha" the soft-spoken samurai whispers in your ear, his fingertips playfully tickling your sides

• you can’t exactly be mad at him for teasing you like this, you had been fully aware you were a lousy player compared to your lover when you suggested playing this game with him

• but it would be a lie if you said it hadn’t been an exciting exhilarating experience

• I mean, who needs life-threatening adventures when you can get the same rush of adrenaline from playing Windtrace with your man?

[truelyaccuracy]

Here is My ShigaDabi Magnum Opus

Let me explain: neither of them want to be lil spoon, but Dabi doesn’t want to be the big spoon either whereas Tomura does, cue small bickering.

Barrows n lends: doesn’t need to be explained- kinda obv I mean look at Tomura taking that heroes cape bc he was cold 🤷 it’s all there.

Pet Names: Lets be honest (at least for me bc I look at a rly canon point of view of shigadabi) They wouldnt use or like it- at all. Also it would just be laughed/cringed at. Basically they would never. Unless you call their name calling “pet names” which I can definitely see. I actually have list for what they call each other— anyway-

Introverted n extroverted: Shig is obviously an introvert and Dabi is an extrovert in an introvert role

Affection through words/actions: They do it both through actions. For example, Dabi burning Toga’s house down or giving twice a high five. Shig with his whole fighting for one another and trying his best so that the league can get what they want (also compress with sushi) Tomura is more likely to say words of affection or at least close to it other then Dabi.

Waits for confession: It takes awhile, Shigaraki catches feelings first but doesn’t say anything and Dabi takes a bit to foster feelings. He would eventually notice and would wait awhile to confess because he wants to mess with him.

Bugs: Dabi doesn’t scream but wouldn’t kill it- he’d just move to the other room whereas Shig without hesitation would just squish it

Drivers License: Dabi was confirmed to have a incense in the Smash comics by Kurogiri - “I would be driving if i had a license” which means(and its very obvious) Tomura doesnt have one. This is in the kidnapping Bakugo pt2 chapter I think

Who cooks: Tomura probably never cooked for himself since he had Kurogiri and if he did it would be instant and or bland food. And note - just because Dabi can cook doesn’t mean he’d make dinner, which is why he’s leaning away from that side.

Loves/dislikes PDA: It’s different because as said before, it’s in their actions, not necessarily romantic but they do like it - I mean who wouldn’t like receiving a nomu or two?

Overprotective/chill going: Why would they be overprotective? They both believe in each other’s abilities and they’re honestly the same way towards each other as they were before the relationship

Has no relationship experience: they both lack that, 1. Tomura was basically a shut in and on the internet most of his life, probably never cared bout getting into a relationship. Whilst Dabi was on the streets most of his life and had his mind set on his goals and just trying to survive (in and out of jobs around his late teens) Dabi knows absolutely nothing about relationships in the smash comics, so its literally oblivious.