#I was busy playing boggle but Wrong. Anyway

[k1tty5]

HADM 8 - Hypno !

[i-am-snowils-admiral]

oooooh roomate's shitty boyfriend tea? that you could rant about for a while? please do!

(or don't. i'm acknowledge i'm being nosey.....)

PLEASE be nosy about this I'm so down to talk about it my only limit is how many words I can type. I'm gonna refer to him as "J."

The first thing you should know is that my roommate is 27 and J is 41. Honestly they're both adults so there's nothing inherently wrong about that but I think it says a lot about him, and it especially says a lot about him because we genuinely couldn't tell that he was so much older because the maturity level was pretty similar.

On the first day I met him, we went to an estate sale across the road from our house. I saw a decorative teapot that I really liked but when I pointed it out, I said "oh, I really like this, but I have nowhere to put it and I don't want to have to store it." He tried to convince me to get it anyway but I reiterated that I had thought it through and decided not to get it. I went back to the house and he stayed at the sale. About 20 minutes later, he comes back to the house WITH THE TEAPOT and is all "you should have things that you like :)" and gave it to me. This seemed kind of weird and rude to me, but I let it slide because we'd just met and maybe he was trying to make a good impression or something. I didn't realize at the time that this was what they refer to as "foreshadowing." If J thinks a decision you made is wrong, even if it's about something that doesn't involve him at all, he'll take steps to stop you! Great! Love that! He does this frequently.

He's competitive to a somewhat pathetic degree. I had a good friend of mine over once and all three roommates + my friend decided we wanted to play Boggle, which we enjoyed. J, however, knew he wouldn't win this game because he wasn't familiar with it and wasn't very good at word games, so he first tried to claim that "nobody wants to play this" despite the fact that he was the only one that didn't want to play and THEN when he didn't get his way he sulked through all the games in a way that would've gotten me sent to bed early if I'd acted like that when I was like, ten years old.

Roommate #2 (G) has very specific things she wants in life. Many of those things require being financially stable enough for her to own a house, because she wants to run a daycare out of her own home and you can't do that in a rental. I'm not quite shallow enough to dismiss a man entirely based on his financial resources, but J is making no moves to even pretend he is going to support this dream of hers despite the fact that he's declared he intends to marry her (though he hasn't proposed yet). He has not bothered to save any money. He has not tried to move to a higher-paying job (he works part-time as a church musician). Every once in a while we hear him floating some weird vision of the future to her where he joins a band and they travel around the country for his performances. This man is 41 years old.

He doesn't make any long-term plans of his own but then if your plans conflict with the ones he came up with last minute, he's upset about it. He called up G the day before her mom came to visit and tried to organize the schedule for the visit, and was confused and offended when G informed him that she already had plans. With her own mom!! Buddy that is not your business!! If you wanted to do stuff with the both of them, you should have said so ages ago!

G wakes up very early in the morning to exercise (like 4 or 5am sometimes) and therefore goes to bed normally at around 8 or 8:30. J has absolutely no respect for this. When he stays over (not for long haha) he keeps her up past midnight talking. When he can be bothered to actually take her on dates rather than just hang around the house like a freeloader, he takes her to midweek concerts an hour and a half away that start at 9. She's frequently exhausted and can't seem to figure out why but she has no consistent schedule!!! She doesn't sleep!!! I'm gonna smack him.

I could keep going but now I definitely need to go to bed myself. His annoying text was only the latest. We are so worried about them both and G is desperate to marry this guy but like??? She could do so much better??? I genuinely worry that their relationship is going to end in her being controlled and manipulated. He'll ruin her dreams and be confused when she gets mad about it because he's getting everything he wants so he won't understand why she's unhappy. Ugh. Throw the whole man away.

Thanks for asking, though, I needed this rant.

[cornerstorebitch]

IDK if you're still dying on the hill that louis' kid isn't his and briana wasn't pregnant-- I sure am. the more time passes the more that kid looks like his step-grandad and briana accidentally shared an ultrasound from a fertility clinic 🤡 (and let's not forget the refusal to take a paternity test lol)

so my question is: why do you think he's doing this? I'm guessing at some point we'll hear he found out he wasn't the dad a while back but since he was in the kids' life anyway he decided to stay in it, but the way this all unfolded still boggles my mind. I find it hard to believe he agreed to it in the first place, but I never thought he'd let the charade go on and permanently tie himself to that trash family.

yeah this will always be the hill i'll die on even if nobody else cares babygate playing out was the closest ive ever come to understanding the phrase high on life. but like on the real i don't see what proof people need other than pictures of this woman, posted by her own friends and family, where she is clearly not pregnant when she was supposed to be. like if you're willing to handwave everything else (including them stealing people's pictures, of both their kids and of other actually pregnant woman, and ya know, pushing around what is clearly a plastic babydoll in a stroller) then i just do not see what excuse you could come up with for a woman being visibly 8 months pregnant in one picture and then obviously... not pregnant... in a second picture from the same day where she's in the same outfit. and don't get me wrong some of it is stuff that doesn't necessarily mean anything (for example basically all photos of newborns are edited even for normal non famous people) but when u line it all up it's in my opinion basically impossible to conclude that if nothing else, even if you don't think these guys are closeted, briana was 100% lying about being pregnant and everyone went along with it for ya know. some mysterious reason :|

to answer your question, i assume it's for the same reasons harry styles, justin beiber, leo dicaprio, john travolta etc are all still closeted, which is that once you've committed to the bit it's always gonna be somewhat damaging to your career to walk it back and the longer it goes on the bigger hole you've got to climb out of. in the case of louis tomlinson, even if you don't think harry styles is gay or that they were ever involved, coming out additionally is always gonna automatically implicate him as well. which, whether that matters to him on a personal level who knows, but on a business level it certainly would.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.  

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.  

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”  

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.  

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

[pluviophile-imagines]

9 and 17 for the ask game if they haven't already been asked pls <3

9: Are there any fics you'd love to see but don't want to write yourself? What are they?

ok,,,, i said i was gonna give u a diluc one bc ik ur a genshin blog now so here we go exposing this Very Specific Fic Idea i had for a man from a game i dont even play JBHADF this was the other idea i had instead of Like The Dawn for Tay's bday, which i ended up scrapping in favor of Like The Dawn bc this would have been WAYYYY longer and wouldn't have been a modern au and i simply didn't wanna bother figuring out the world 😭😭😭 and if i end up caving and writing this shit anyway in a few months uh. mind ur business 😌

arranged marriage plot........ where the reader n dluc have been engaged to be married since before they were even like. able to crawl. but have not once met, and in the aftermath of diluc's dad gettin merc'd he calls off the arrangement figuring hey she'll probably be happy to not be engaged to a dude shes never met. surprise! not how. the world works. and when she gets the letter she hikes her damn self up to his winery and storms into his office like "um??? dude??? ur literally ruining my LIFE who the fuck is gonna wanna marry me once I'm your sloppy seconds? everyone's gonna think there's something wrong with me you know??? you want me to make my debut" (very regency vibes with the way i would build the culture of mondstadt's upper class) "at nearly 20 fucking years old after the head of the most influential family decided i wasnt good enough for him like either you're the stupidest man alive or the cruelest" and diluc is just🧍‍♂️bc the dumbass rlly didnt think abt that 😭 and hes all "im gonna fuck off for a while and you deserve a husband who wont do that" and shes all "i dont even WANT a husband but ive been raised to be a wife i cant just Not be one so actually? you marrying me and letting me run your household/business while you're completely MIA sounds like a rlly good deal to me" SO THEY GET MARRIED REAL FUCKIN FAST N HE FUCKS OFF LIKE IN CANON AND SHE IS LEFT TO RUN HIS WHOLE THING DURING THOSE YEARS WHILE HES GONE and then,,,,,,,, and then he comes back ohohoho and now the fun can start. because there is nothing better than mutual pining where u think the other doesn't love you when youre LITERALLY MARRIED AHAHA cue the longing gazes and the chaste touches (2005 pride and prejudice hand flex scene i am staring right at you) and the misunderstandings (legit id spend the first two thirds of the fic after he shows back up with him under the assumption that the reader absolutely despises him and the reader trying desperately to despise him.......) throw in some good old-fashioned "diluc gets hurt and the reader patches him up but they both have to pretend like theyre not losing their minds over the fact that shes got her hands all over his bare chest" a classic in the vigilante romance genre LIKE ALL THE PERIOD ROMANCE TROPES give the man a horse toss him in a lake dress him up for a party mmmmm i wanna read it SO bad

17: What has been the proudest moment for you so far since you started writing?

ok,,,, this is gonna sound rlly arrogant but here we go. a few monthsssss ago i decided to Put Effort into reaching out to authors more and interacting with the community, cause i figured that was one of the best ways to both motivate myself to write and just kinda generally be more active on this blog, thus encouraging the kind of interaction i desire.

soooo i reached out to two authors who I really admired, whose works i really enjoyed. and BOTH of them responded by telling me that they were huge fans, that they were fangirling bc I'd interacted with them, and that my work was one of the reasons they started posting in the first place. that was....... like holy fuck. the FIRST time was mind-boggling and so flattering; and then the SECOND time i was like well goddamn i must be the best author in this whole community JKSHDBFV im kidding but yeah. they've both become v treasured mutuals so if y'all see this ily those interactions made my goddamn year 🥺

ask me abt my fics!

[jiminrings]

yES vball coach jk pls about their first fight as a couple?? maybe??

mvp: first fight

pairing: jungkook x y/n

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: jungkook is more on the oblivious sLASH insensitive side, y/n’s outlet is hurling volleyballs against the wall, and yoongi just wants to cheer everyone up with his mascot suit :D

notes: another coach koo drabble because i am unhinged <3

read mvp, the piece that started off y/n and koo!! + in which jungkook is extra clingy

you’re rEALLY used to jungkook being affectionate and clingy

no surprise really

he’s practically attached to you by the hip atleast in four out of the seven days in the week

but there’s something

just sOmething different with the way he’s hugging you from behind right now

and the trail of kisses from your shoulder to your jaw is gentle and nOt playful

almost as if he’s done something wrong and he’s making up for it

aha

....... aha ........?

“did you accidentally drop one of my succulents more than a hundred feet down again?”

jungkook doesn’t even tense up at that and you take it as a signal that he didn’t

gOOD because you are running out of lil succulents and jimin’s running out of name ideas for the lil guys

your boyfriend only huffs and frowns because for the last time he did not sabotage mr. prick !!! he was in the balcony holding him out in the sun when a giAnt dove suddenly flew to him and that’s when he panicked

“did you eat jimin’s special pasta and you’re now asking me for immunity?”

“no but thank you for letting me know”

ok that’s it

you break free from his back hug and face jungkook with an inquiring look and he shrinks at the thought of what he’s gonna say next

“then tell me what’s going on, koo.”

“it’s- uhm,” jungkook turns you around again and rests his chin on your shoulder because he’d rather not see your reaction

he knows you’re probably gonna give him the most pleading puppy dog eyes and maybe he’d cave right then and there with nO questions asked

“you know our date by the end of this week?”

“yeah!! oh my god i’m sO excited-“ you immediately gush because actually things have been so busy for the both of you and this is the perfect chance for relieving stress bUt-

“oh.”

“have to drive upstate for this workshop for coaches, baby. it’s something new for us before the season starts and uH well it’s gonna last for three days.,.,.”

three days

that’s cool :D

the season is about to start and so the pressure is on if your team could make this a back-to-back win :D

of course practice is hArd as it should be just so everyone’s on their toes as skilled and as in shape one could be

the heat is SIZZLING in this kitchen

there’s no time for slacking around

frankly, date night fell onto one of the only days that there’s gonna be a break in your team’s schedule :)))

not that it mATTERS or anything like that

you’re also pressured because your comeback after ur iconic injury that was televised made you even mOre highly-anticipated

you’re gonna bREAK one of these days ur very sure of it

“it’s okay, jungkook. it’s out of my reach anyways :))”

uGh what did he do to deserve such a precious understanding thing like you are

you’ve guess you gotten a tad bit better in your acting skills then because your boyfriend doesn’t suspect a single tHing

all ur monitoring and taehyung forcing you to watch and critique him as he practices for his auditions is paying off!!

“tae i think we both know that i’m nOt qualified to give you acting pointers!!”

“which is eXACTLY my point!! that’s why i called up my most clueless and unwilling friend ever!!! because if it’s good enough for a no-brained then it would be the bEST for people with-...”

“ok that was rude :((“

he kissed your cheek as an apology and promised to dine out with you for honey-glazed chicken and sUddenly you’re not plotting to hit tae with a volleyball to the head “accidentally” during practice tomorrow <3

but unlike taehyung, jungkook can’t fix it up with a single kiss to the cheek

you can’t help but feel upset ok it’s in your nature!!

your momentum’s deflated and the little itty bitty hope that you and jungkook can be there for each other is now cRUSHED

“i’ll miss you.”

jungkook’s heart whooshes at the feeling of you hugging him just sO dearly that he’s very tempted to just ditch this

him hugging you back with the same intesity doesn’t make it better because rn you’re mumbling to his chest

“i’ll miss you mORE :((“

ok even jimin’s gonna miss kook

his heart also goes out for you because he knows you’re beyond stressed with your comeback and all that

jimin saw you eating cereal one morning when kook wasn’t by your side because he was over at his oWN apartment

can u believe it,,, jungkook having his own apartment yet mOST of the time he stays over and even eats jimin’s stock of cold marshmallows by the fridge <3

anyways u were eating cereal and then suddenly jimin was practically alerted awake when you mumbled out of nowhere

“do you think i could serve a float as good as this cereal does?”

that was clearly a red flag that you ventured too far out into your spiral of worry because fIRST of all

yeah you do love volleyball of course!!!

but often it’s nice that not every second you spend revolves around it y’know

if your practice is done and your games are over that’s it nO more talking about volleyball pls

you could manage with the occasional praising for each other’s play over meals and rides and all that

but you don’t want anything more because it’s just can we please talk about things other than volleyball PLEASE

at the start you thought it would be difficult because well :D you are living with your best friend that happens to be your assistant coach :D

but surprisingly it was easy!! jimin shared those exact same thoughts and your flow of conversation (that doesn’t include your athleticism nor profession) is endless at this point

even became easier because now your boyfriend is the coach and he’s practically living with you

that startled jimin because you hATE talking about volleyball so early in the morning and especially over breakfast

but here you were...

talking about your damn floats just from looking in too much at your cereal

“hey, it’s okay!! we’ll get you through these three days just fine!!”

jimin hugs you as soon as jungkook takes off because he can’t have you dwelling and moping now can he

you’re just mumbling in defenseless against his chest because you obviOusly can’t do anything about it

you were tempted to pluck out his wallet just so he’d get back for it but jimin was looking at you from across the room

you were at the planning stage and jimin’s aLREADY at the scolding stage

three days!!! just three ridiculously-pressured, nerve-wracking, mind-boggling days!!

how hard could it be??

aha

spoiler alert: it is immensely hard :D

you’re so nervous and jittery to the point yoongi was concerned with how much coffee you drank and that’s coming from hIM

then you told him you drank none and you swear he ceased functioning after that

jimin had to drag you out every twenty minutes because either you were being too gentle or being too harsh that he winces himself when you spike tOO hard

and that could only mean one thing

you’re on spiral number two

which means you are nOw inseparable from volleyball

by day two you were no longer moping about jungkook’s absence and his inherent ability to calm you down

no you are even bArely thinking about him :D

you now breathe speak exhale volleyball

y/n’s monster rage play kept appearing even when you’re just against the players in your own team and now they r getting cranky little by little

they serve and then you sLAM

jimin had to call out a break for you forcibly and even used his official I’m The Coach Don’t Complain voice on you that you hate :((

“now you’re getting TOO much into playing!!”

“i don’t get what you mean, minnie!! i’m perfectly fine!! hey, wanna split the shipping fee? i added these new sports bras and shorts to my cart, you should totally add what you want to my cart so tHAT way i won’t have to pay so much and-...”

okay time-out that’s cLEARLY a time-out for you

you’re now way too much into your thoughts and that calls for a group hug

you just need a distraction, that’s all!!

jimin had to drag you over so that the both of you could go a few floors down to yoongi and tae’s apartment for move night

and there’s them giving you the reigns because well you just wanted to feel like you have control aNd that you’re not completely losing it aha

taehyung gives the best sitting cuddles as he’s at the far-end of the couch and he’s perfectly drooped for you to feel secure

jungkook nORMALLY would be annoyed when tae gets a little too cuddly but aight it’s cool no worries!! he’s just... standing in for a pillow

speaking of jungkook

well to be honest he’s doing good!! yes he does miss you but not to the degree that yOU do because well he’s just oblivious like that

there were some drills that the coaches were the ones that needed to be the players and well :D let’s just say he killed that part tOO good

for the first time after a long time, jungkook took down notes

n o t e s

wow he’s going so far he really is a coach

he also got to reconnect with some of his friend and not to brag but maybe he IS the blueprint for being the player to the coach lol

there was a no-phones rule and he could only call you on his lunch breaks and when he’s about to sleep or when the bathrooms are all empty

“can’t wait to see you tomorrow, koo :((“

“why did you miss mE?? :D”

he’s still as insufferable as ever even when he’s in a different state and you’d have to keep your chuckles down or else jimin’s gonna confiscate your phone

there’s some raining in jungkook’s background and you wonder why it was sO heavy

aha actually kook had to go outside because signal wasn’t exactly the best inside hence the louder patter

not to be that cheesy but talking to him just relieves you of your stress and it makes you pout because okay you’ll see him tOmorrow!!

“more than you know.”

ok

cool

there’s uh

there’s a tiny hitch

well jungkook was supposed to come tonight and well he ISN’T here

you’ve tried calling him and even got yoongi help you out by texting him and jungkook doesn’t even dare to try and ignore his hyung’s texts

now you’re in panic because wHY exactly didn’t he come home??

and there’s all these worst-case scenarios running through your head but that’s when he sends you a text late in the morning that woke you up

“sorry!! the organizers needed me to stay late. i’ll see you tomorrow :))”

that wasn’t exactly right

and uH jungkook wasn’t exactly telling the truth

it’s just a minor white lie he needed to say for you to not worry!!!

uhm so

well it was raining cats and dogs right??

IT WAS FLOODING

and jungkook didn’t want to risk cooky (that’s what he named his car do nOT question him) breaking down with all the water and the pressure so he’s uh

he’s not coming home tonight

lisa noticed his struggle right when they walked out of the complex and she offered generously

“jungkook!! do you wanna sleep over at my place tonight? i live pretty near anyway. i’ll drive you over to your car in the morning!!”

wow

she’s so kind and considerate!!! :D great idea lisa thank u very much

they even had ramen together and watched some netflix, kook just slept in the guest room, woke up, and the next day lisa drove him to his car and that’s it!!

he’s back to you easy-peasy and you gave him the tightest hug ever

that’s where the problem lies though

because jungkook didn’t tell you and you don’t know the truth either

which is why yoongi is in your apartment and has been looking at you for the past five minutes while he’s unmoved on your couch

jungkook was over to their apartment to help taehyung with his PC build and yoongi is here aPPARENTLY to just have some snacks with you

that doesn’t seem to be the case because he’s lost in his thought and is fidgeting and??? he doesn’t normally fidget when you’re making him a grilled cheese sandwich lol

“why did jungkook come home a day later than he was supposed to?”

what now

the workshop was long done by a week now and you’re lost at wHy yoongi is asking this now

“oh! he said the organizers needed him to stay later. you know how jungkook’s a bit famous with them, yoongs”

yoongi flatlines at that because uh

that’s w eird

oh god how is he gonna tell you this

yoongi just pulls out his phone with an all-telling screenshot and he’s preparing himself to deal with whatever reaction you give him

it’s a story, actually

harmless if you think about it

and the username and whom it belongs to is sO familiar

not to mention the more than familiar tattooed hand holding the chopsticks to sink into their bowl of ramen

oh

.... oh

“yoongi?”

that is too soft for your tone

something so chilling that yoongi is hesitant to even answer you

“can you bring in jungkook for me?”

oh my gOd you don’t know how to feel

you’re trying to contain yourself because maybe you’ve just misunderstood the situation

althought it’s too fucking hard for your sake, because as far as you remember, jungkook’s ex-girlfriend ISN’T the organizer for this workshop

was it even a workshop in the first place

jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you!!!

... would he??

you’re practically trembling when you ask yoongi to send you the picture and he attempts to hug you and cradle for a bit but you just stay sTILL

“i didn’t tell you because i didn’t want you to worry about me”

now jungkook is a bit confused when yoongi told him to go back to the apartment, no questions asked

and you’re looking kind of rattled which is why he’s starting to get worried

“jungkook, i’m gonna worry of you regardless!! i can’t stop floods and it’s unavoidable but wHY didn’t you tell me?”

“tell you what?”

god you’re gonna pull your hair out

he’s still playing coy of how he didn’t sleep over at lisa’s and it’s irking you right underneath your skin

“that you slept over at your ex-girlfriend’s house and didn’t even tell me!!”

okay now that’s when jungkook ticks

he doesn’t see the problem with it

“what’s wrong with that?? it was flooding and i knew no one else!! a state of emergency, don’t you think?”

“nO jungkook i get that! but what i can’t get is why you needed to lie to me!! you could’ve told the truth and i would’ve understood better!”

ugh this is just sO pointless

he doesn’t really wanna argue with you right now over something that shouldn’t be argued about in the first place

“you’re overreacting, stop it.”

“oh yeah?? it’s okay with you if i go to a workshop by myself, and sleep over at my ex-boyfriend’s place, and not tell you???”

you’re trying your best to not cry then and there because you so badly want to stand by your point against jungkook

“of course,” he’s even more stubborn than you are and he only kisses his teeth as you ask him

“because unlike you, i’m not controlling!”

oh

oh god

that’s when the line is drawn and you just can’t take it anymore

he’s so fired up that he huffs and walks out of the apartment while slamming the door harshly

...

....

things aren’t really going well

practice is still on even if jimin offered that you take a sick leave after hearing about what happened

you’re not gonna chicken out from practice just because jungkook’s gonna be there

plus it’s not like you haven’t ignored him before at practice

meanwhile jungkook is dYing on the inside because oh god he really screwed up big-time

his apartment is too spacious and too quiet and that just meant him regretting extra

this situation felt all too familiar

jungkook hates himself because he feels like he’s done nothing but to to just give you hurt :(((

it’s him going to the gym much earlier than usual and waiting by the door

it’s him trying to get your attention and you being set on tolerating none of it

he already did that last time

but tHIS time it’s with him as your boyfriend and maybe it hurts a little bit more

he hasn’t slept properly for god knows how long

(( actually it’s been just two days ))

you don’t try to contact him nor even think about him because as per his words, you’re controlling!!!

yoongi tries to assure you as much as you can that you aren’t

he’s the only one that could get to you because well he’s the one that took this up to you

and you avoid getting jimin into this because you feel like he’s tired with all this back and forth of trying to pick you up

oh god you aren’t a burden, right??

right???

pls say right

yoongi is admittedly not the best when it comes to comforting people but he is there and that’s what matters

even brought out the mascot suit to bring out a giggle or two

and he likes you better when you’re happy so he goes ham on trying to do those cartwheels he’s mastered

anything to put a smile on your face

he was about to do the backflip he did when you showcased your rage play and you had to physically stop him because nO i will not risk you getting a concussion just trying to make me happy

you can’t avoid each other for this long

sooner or later you need to talk about what happened and from then on could you do something about it

atleast jimin knows this much

and as hesitant as he is to let jungkook in again, he knows that this is for the better and that you’re both miserable (the other is much much worse and it isn’t you)

which is why jimin let the door open wordlessly before going on the lift to stay over at tae’s and yoongi’s for a few hours

or whenever you need him to come back

because jungkook’s right in front of you and you can’t even look at him in the eye

gOd there’s only so much you can do

“i’m sorry.”

that’s what makes it even worse though

because you’re the one who apologized first and fuck that just makes jungkook wince

he’s whimpering the moment he hears you and he’d be sobbing if only he didn’t desperately want to talk to you

“why are you apologizing when you’re not even the one at fault?”

it’s the added blow because fuck you are tOO good for him and he doesn’t deserve you :(((

“you’re not controlling. i was just being an insensitive boyfriend and a shitty one at that”

jungkook’s knees buckle and he’s kneeling right in front of you and it immediately gets you trying to lift him back up

the sight itself also makes you tear up a bit because you just wanna talk!! you don’t want him kneeling as if you’re a saint and all that :((

“i’ll — we’ll work through this, right?? i can — i can still m-make it up to you, right?”

jungkook’s looking up at you with the biggest and most pleading eyes you’ve ever seen and perhaps he was even scAred to ask the question,,, in fear that he’s only just convincing himself that he could

that makes his lip tremble again because the alternate outcome of your first fight absolutely ending your relationship is enOugh to shatter him to pieces

he’s about to bow his head again but this time you put your hands on his cheeks, making you look up at him as he tries to compose himself

“we’ll work it out.”

[lizziestudieshistory]

Let's have a chat about books, reading, and the impact of places like booktube, book twitter, and the dreaded goodreads! I've been mulling on this post for a while and I wasn't sure if I was going to write it. But as this blog is mainly a space for me to work out some feelings, I'm doing it for myself. So sorry for rambling, lack of proofreading, and the ridiculous amount of punctuation, especially parentheses. Feel free to keep scrolling and ignore me!

If you've interacted with me (in real life or online) for longer than about 5 seconds you'll know I like books... In fact "like" is a bit of an understatement... It's one of my defining character traits and has been since I learnt to read. I'm that person who, takes books to the pub and regularly falls over things because they're attempting to walk and read (and have done many times to the great amusement of my so called "friends"!) Yet, recently I've been feeling a bit...odd about my reading, like I'm not good enough to be a proper reader and, after some introspection and weird conversations with my bookish friends, I've pinpointed why. (Hint: it's bookish social media!)

When lockdown started my reading skyrocketed. At the time I was employed as a library assistant and was put on furlough while the library was closed, so I had more time than ever to read and the inclination to do it because I was bored. This led me to reading almost a third more than I usually do in a year, in some months I doubled it reading from 4-6 books a month to 10-13!

In some ways this was great, I was reading more than ever; in others it wasn't because, to be frank, I don't remember a lot of those books well. I can tell you plot and main characters but themes, feelings, my thoughts on them? Not much, for some nothing at all. In terms of quality it was a mediocre year - I actually struggled to find a top 5 list of books because I couldn't remember them and didn't think the quality was worth the praise. I did read some new favourites: Wuthering Heights, Emma, Beren and Lúthien are really the only stand out books, and maybe Rhythm of War for the sheer excitement.

However, 2020 set a precedent for me. I know I can read just under 100 books a year when I usually average 55-60. Rationally, I know 60 books is a lot when I'm a part time student, carer, and tiny business owner! Most days I only get an hour or two to properly sit down read before bed, once I'm finished with all my other responsibilities. But the possibility is still there, and it's starting to eat away at me as I've returned to my very reasonable 4-6 books a month now I'm busy again.

I've ALWAYS been happy with how much I read. But this year I'm not, and it's to do with the simultaneous reading boost and proper discovery of bookish social media. Lockdown gave me the free time to doss about on my phone (my phone and I are the best example of "frienemies" you could imagine!) In that time I found book twitter properly and, actually started watching booktube. I knew both existed but working, studying, and so forth didn't give me the breathing room to properly participate. It made me conscious of HOW MUCH some people read in a year, the boggling numbers and stats some people have around their reading lives. Don't get me wrong, I love a spreadsheet. I've had a spreadsheet for reading since I had to demonstrate my excel skills in Year 9 for a test and created one to track my reading. (I was a nerd, I know...) Point being I like stats, I like reading, both together are great - in moderation.

However, the inbuilt assumptions, expectations, and consumerism around booktube, bookstagram, goodreads, etc. are really unhealthy! It makes reading competitive and a social performance. For some people this works, it works for me to SOME extent. As I've said, I like reading stats and I've kept my own independently of bookish social media since I was 14 (cue feeling old...!) Yet the obsession with how many books you read in a month, is it more than X, am I reading the "right" books and most popular books is insane. And no, no one is doing this explicitly. But the implication is there and there IS a subtext with this unspoken competitiveness. It's not good for me and it's made me, for the first time in my life, feel guilt over what I'm reading or not reading?!

This month (April) has been particularly rough. I've had deadlines and a busy work month which means I've finished three books and a play, and I'm half way through two others. Two years ago I'd have been fine with that, but now I feel like it's not good enough? Why? Because I'm disappointed because I've not read more...

To add insult to imagined, self-inflicted injury, this has been my best month of the year in terms of quality and enjoyment. I've read some cracking novels, an eye opening non-fiction, and had the most wonderful time rereading and annotating Emma. Emma is my favourite novel! I've been wanting to slowly reread it and annotate the story for months! The extent of annotation I wanted to do, not to mention research, means I can't read it fast! Yet I'm annoyed at myself because I've been reading Emma exclusively for 16 days without finishing a book (the fact I know this is...alarming!) I've had the best time, it's been fun, enlightening, and an escape from my fairly boring life. But I'm still frustrated with myself?

So, what does this really mean?

Firstly, I do need to address, privately, my own insecurities and weird relationship with social media when it comes to books. This is a new thing, or a new awareness of it, but it does need some self reflection and rebalancing of my personal priorities.

Secondly, I'm going to avoid bookish social media. Well, mostly. Nothing is changing on here! I'll still be talking about my reading, chatting with people about their own books, and so forth. But I'm abandoning goodreads, book twitter, and booktube. I don't have instagram or tiktok so I can spare myself that palaver at least!

I'm also, for the first time in 8/9 years, going to leave behind my spreadsheet for a bit. I may come back to it because I love looking at my original clunky spreadsheet, how it's improved, and my changing reading tastes (not to mention the alarming number of times I've reread some books, it's honestly a bit embarrassing.) It's got sentimental value! But I need some space to not think about numbers for a bit.

This means I'll mainly be tracking my reading in my journal and returning to the important parts of reading. The books themselves. And my relationship with them: what do I actually think about the media I'm consuming? Am I enjoying myself? Did I take something away from this book? Not just adding them to a list to say "look at how many books I've read!" No one cares, not even me!

Basically, I want to reclaim the love of reading places like twitter and youtube sucked out of me. If you love these places then great! I'm genuinely happy for you, but my personality, mixed with pressures on my time means they're not a healthy place for me.

Anyway, back to Emma because I'm on holiday, it's the ball at The Crown, and I'm in love with Emma and Mr Knightley!

[kyoomiii]

♡ Hide and seek in the dark [hcs]

- ✎ characters ❝ hinata, kuroo, ushijima, and sugawara ❞

- [ trigger warning(s): none ]

- ⚘ genre ❝ fluff, crack ❞

  ❝ this made me soft- but then again Ushiwaka is my ultimate weak spot (๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑) ❞

-kyo  ♡

The two of you happen to be childhood friends seeing as you grew up just next door to him for most of your life- though, eventually you did become something more during your early months of high school.

Anyway, on this particular evening Hinata’s parents decided to go on a date night, leaving him and Natsu on their own for awhile, and while this isn’t exactly the first time Hinata’s been left to babysit his younger sister on his own, his parents are still a little nervous- especially after the incident with the neighborhood dogs and a box of ham.

As a result they ask you to come over, just to check in and make sure the house hasn’t burned down, though they don’t mind you staying over for a while, much to Hinata’s delight.

Though at one point in the night you began playing games with the two, as to assure the house wouldn’t burn down at the expense of their boredom.

That’s what led to hide and seek, but Hinata being Hinata decided to spice it up a bit, and turned off the lights.

But the dumb made himself panic and couldn’t find a hiding spot so he ended up following you.

So that’s how the two of you find yourself in a tiny hallway closet huddled together in fear of your life as Natsu patters just outside the door. Her little giggles turning the once playful atmosphere eerie and downright terrifying.

“Onii-chan~”

“I don’t wanna die”

“-Sho she’s 10…”

You’re scared and cramped, and Hinata’s knees are digging into your ribs.

Next time you would have to make sure you either a. Hide before he notices you, or b. Kick him out of your spot if  he decides to follow you again.

“I really don’t understand how you couldn’t find another hiding spot in your own house.”

“I  panicked”

But the thought disappears as Natsu’s voice grows closer. He was undoubtedly a little too loud to just go unnoticed.

“I found you~”

You would never do this again… But you would be lying if you said you didn’t have fun.

It was a Friday night after school when you went over to Kuroo’s house, the two of you planned a much needed movie night filled with snacks and cuddling, something that both of you have been craving, but not being able to actually do because of busy schedules.

You’re in the middle of Mulan when suddenly the power shuts off leaving the two of you in the dark living room questioning what the heck just happened.

“Hey babe- you’re a girl worth fighting for” *insert awful wink*

"y/n I'm a dude- but damn right I am” *insert another awful wink*

Kuroo decides to check the circuit breaker, but when he comes back it turns out the whole neighborhood is out, with confirmation from Kenma who sent a text about the lights in his house going out.

It’s a bit of a bummer, and Kuroo expresses his slight disappointment with a small pout, but being as quick as he is, gets over it through suggesting you play games instead. 

At first you’re a little apprehensive, because what game can you play in pitch darkness? To which Kuroo proposes hide and seek in the dark. 

“I don’t know Tetsu…”

“Come on y/n it’ll be so much fun~”

Turns out he was right, you honestly didn’t think you’d have as much fun as you were having, sure games were fun, but as you grew older you didn’t really play them like how you did when you were young. 

By the fourth round, it’s Kuroo’s turn to hide, leaving you to search for the scheming beanstalk who is surprisingly really good at hiding in small spaces despite his tall height and not so tiny build.

About 15 minutes into the round you end up wandering into his room on the hunch that he is indeed in there somewhere. 

Though unbeknownst to you there is a small table set out in the middle of the room- something Kuroo had gotten recently because he finds sitting on the floor to study more comfortable than his desk. And as a result you trip over it, landing on the floor with a harsh thud and a curse.

At first Kuroo thought it was a plan to lure him out of his hiding spot, but when he hears the small whimper this is his name, the game is immediately forgotten and he’s by your side in seconds.

“Tetsu…”

“Let’s take a look at that okay?”

Luckily there were no cuts, but there was a small bruise much to his and your dismay. But as an athlete he has learned to stock up on ice-pads and other first aid supplies.

“You’re so clumsy kitten.”

“I’m sorry I can’t see in the dark”

“It’s okay I’m a professional now.”

“Reading off of MayoClinic doesn’t make you a professional Tetsu…”

For the remainder of the night the two of you cuddle in his bed, talking about everything and anything until you fall asleep.

“Where were you hiding?”

“Under the bed.”

Today was one of the many days in which Ushijima was the last to leave the gym from practice, even Satori had left quite a while ago, heading back to their shared dorm leaving you and Ushijima alone.

Ushijima had told you previously that you didn’t need to wait on him, but with how busy the both of you were all the time, you would take any chance you could get to spend time with him and vice versa.

By the time the sun has long disappeared in the horizon, Ushijima has just barely finished his solo practice. But it’s then you hear it, the loud crash of thunder and the flash of lightning. 

It’s pouring and freezing when he finally cleans up the remnants of things that have been left out from his practice. 

However, despite being finished and the gym being clean neither one of you wished to leave, not wanting to catch a cold in the storm that’s raging on. So you opt to wait it out a little, just to see if it’ll get better.

In the meantime though you suggest entertaining yourselves with some games- and to your surprise Ushijima agrees.

“Toshi let’s play a game while we wait.”

“I suppose that’ll be alright.”

“Really?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“( ⊙０⊙ )"

And so you start off with hide and seek in the dark- Not wanting to get your ass kicked at tag or some other game where he’d dominate.

After turning the lights of and counting to ten, you turn around and find that the gym is empty, only lit by the light of the lamp posts just outside the doors. 

And despite the wide open space he is nowhere to be seen, almost like he just disappeared.

But nonetheless you are determined to find farmer boy, because this was one game you were not willing to lose. 

At least that’s what you told yourself at the beginning, but after like 20 minutes of looking you’re tired and confused as to how this giant tree is able to hide when there is essentially nowhere to hide. 

So as you sit on the floor in the middle of the gym wondering where the hell Ushiwaka went, or maybe if he just left you a pair of arms wrap around you, and you’re so accustomed to the warmth that you know it’s him. 

“The rain has stopped.”

“I guess it has…”

However, in the end you’re still confused as to how he was so good- something you’d have to discuss with him later because the rain has finally let up.

“Where-”

“In the corner, you walked by me three times.”

“-Wha…”

He kinda just shrugs.

And as you leave the gym opting for the much warmer dorms, you cling to Ushijima, still completely boggled by the fact that he was in a corner this entire time. The thought on your mind even as you crawl into his bed for late night cuddles

“Don’t worry y/n, perhaps better luck next time.”

Despite Sugawara’s role as “mom friend” he too voluntarily contributes to chaos amongst the Karasuno volleyball club.

And how the whole team ended up in the middle of a park at the end of a Friday after school running around in the dark will be something that will remain unknown to everyone except Sugawara Koushi (who was the cause of all of this in favor of team bonding)

Not even you could see this coming despite knowing Sugawara like the back of your hand.

But here you are now hiding in a tube meant for little children as the third year boys search for the rest of the team.

You have no idea where anyone else is, but the high pitched screams of Hinata soon followed by Yachi assure you that they are definitely still close by

This ultimately adds to your panic because you know- you just know that Sugawara is targeting you.

And the gentle tap against the plastic tube seems to confirm your suspicions.

A faint whisper of your name has you clasping a hand over your mouth to suppress any possible noises, because you refused to lose to him.

“y/n- chan~”

“Goawaygoawaygoaway”

He’s here… And he’s playing mind games with you.

Your mind is torn in half, a part of you saying you should try to get out, and book it to a new hiding spot, and the other telling you that maybe he doesn’t know you’re in the tube necessarily and this is all just to bait you out.

Sugawara is smart- something you’ve learned to not underestimate, and he knows what he’s doing. So as a result you decide to stay put, hoping that he would leave you alone.

Boy were you wrong… At one end of the tunnel there was a slide, and what you didn’t expect was a hand to grab your ankle, forcefully pulling you down the slide (but, of course he’s careful not to hurt you) as evil laughter and your scream of terror rips through the air.

“I found you!”

“Oh my god Koushi!”

Needless to say, Sugawara found you, and in the process nearly gave you a heart attack (however, he does in fact apologize with buying you snacks and giving you all the cuddles you wanted)

“I think y/n-senpai just died…”

Sugawara Koushi is indeed a devil with the face of an angel’

“I can’t believe such an angel-like face belongs to a devil like you…”

“Aw~ You know you love me!”

“I guess... (;¬_¬)”

[heartslogos]

outtakes [11]

Keqing looks up from the empty pizza box she was breaking down when the silence goes on too long. Everyone is looking at Ganyu, who’s staring at a very bland, tasteless, but inoffensive generic canvas painting on Keqing’s wall. The previous apartment owner had left it behind and for the lack of anything better Keqing hasn’t removed it.

“What’s wrong?” Keqing asks. She lost track of the conversation somewhere in between trying to sort out the trash of their pizza delivery — there’s still a whole two boxes of pizza left, not to mention the chicken wings, the giant container of salad that’s still got a good third of its contents left, and the extremely dark looking chocolate cake that came with the meal set. She has no idea where these people put it. Keqing thinks she’s a good eater, but the amount of food some of them are putting away is truly mind boggling.

“One of the new interns at our firm made a mistake today,” Yanfei says, “Nothing too bad. Nothing I couldn’t fix, you know? It was a pretty common mistake. All rookies make it at least once. It’s a learning experience. Anyway this poor kid took it hard — one of those ones. You know, where they gotta do everything perfect the first time around or they’ll be super ashamed like they’ve somehow brought dishonor to the entire ancestral line? So I was trying to comfort them by telling them about some of my mistakes. But like. These kids see me every day and they know I’ve made the occasional mis-step so it doesn’t mean as much. So I told them about this one time that the illustrious chief secretary of the Qixing — “

“It wasn’t me.” Ganyu interrupts. Keqing’s eyes flick to the other woman, who is still staring at the wall. Keqing thinks Ganyu is in shock. “Yanfei. That wasn’t me.”

“Ganyu, you’re only human,” Xingqiu says, putting a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Everyone makes mistakes. And it was truly harmless one. You don’t have to be so — “

Ganyu turns to look at Xingqiu, eyes firm and shoulders squaring. “It wasn’t me.”

“What wasn’t you?” Keqing asks.

“Apparently when Ganyu was still new to the Qixing she took some ambassadors from Fontaine to the wrong building and almost got them arrested for suspicious behavior,” Hu Tao answers, picking out another chicken wing. “Who could blame her? The Qixing buildings are like a spirit maze. Who are you lot trying to keep trapped in there, huh?”

“It. Wasn’t. Me,” Ganyu insists, head slowly turning. “It was Yanfei. Her firm was representing a foreign case and sent her as one of the lead assistants. She took the group from Fontaine to our immigration center instead of our general business building.”

Everyone turns to look at Yanfei.

“In my defense, it was also during the time when the Qixing was doing the whole renovation project of their buildings. I got a little turned around." Yanfei sticks her lower lip out at Ganyu. “Don’t be mad at me. A-yu. What’s the harm? If I told them the story with me as the person in it they wouldn’t care. If the story has you in it then it’s suddenly alright! It makes them feel better that even someone with your track record can make little silly mistakes like that. And the poor little intern reminded me so much of you I thought it would help them relate more. I would have said it about Keqing but she’s been working as Yuheng for so long that it wouldn’t make sense for her to be escorting people from Fontaine around the Qixing buildings.”

Ganyu puts a hand over her eyes, but the tension is already releasing from her shoulders. “Yanfei."

“Alright, alright. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. From now on only the most flattering stories will be told about you, alright? If I ever need to comfort an intern or a junior member I’ll tell them stories about Xingqiu instead. Eat some more. It’s your favorite dressing.” Yanfei immediately goes to put more salad onto Ganyu’s abandoned plate.

“Why would you tell them stories about me?" Xingqiu asks, taking another piece of pizza with white sauce. “I don’t do anything important enough that it would matter.”

“It’s cute how you say that but we all know so much better,” Keqing retorts. “You play yourself down too much. It’s suspicious.”

“I’m wounded.”

“Good. Poor Chongyun can do with you being knocked down a peg or two on occasion."

"Poor didi,” Hu Tao nods in agreement.

Xingqiu turns to Hu tao, “You told him he’s the youngest? I was saving that for a special occasion. I was going to spring it on him when he was least prepared. Maybe use it to distract him from an argument.”

“You’re terrible,” Yanfei says. “He loves you so much.”

Xingqiu preens and Keqing pulls another bottle of tea out of the refrigerator.

“Back to the real reason I called you over,” Keqing says, “Aside from making me order a ridiculous amount of take out.”

“It wasn’t because you missed our wonderful company?” Hu Tao pouts. “Why do we always need a reason to see each other, huh? Life is so short we should see each other just because we can.”

“Do not start trying to sell us end of life plans,” Xingqiu warns, pointing his fork at Hu Tao. “Do not.”

“I don’t need to sell to you; I already got your plans drawn and paid for. I’m just trying to impress upon you in case you remember certain significant others or family members who haven’t gotten their affairs in order. You want to handle this ahead of time before it becomes a pressing need, you know. The last thing anyone wants is to be in the middle of grieving or going through a heavy loss and — “

Keqing presses the cold bottle to the back of Hu Tao’s neck, causing the woman to yelp.

“I called you here because I’m getting rid of some of my old camping gear,” Keqing says, “It’s not too badly used and some of it was pretty expensive. So I thought some of you might like to go through it. I texted Xinyan and she already passed on it. Xiao-ge has most of the stuff I have and he’s…particular about his equipment.”

She pauses. “I would have asked Chongyun but I figure Xingqiu’s got the better eye and if I had both of you over you two would argue about everything. Mostly because you like to be a contrary jerk.”

“I’m hurt. Is that any way to talk to a dear friend?”

“Who’s a dear friend?”

“Xiangling would probably be able to use whatever you’re getting rid of,” Ganyu says.

“Xiangling probably has more gear than I do,” Keqing replies. “And it’s much more…hard core. Xiangling doesn’t joke around about camping and outdoor activities. I think she got approached for her own TV show once. Come on, I have it all in the next room.”

“And what spurred this inventory clean out?” Xingqiu asks, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“Your camping equipment list is already so short, please tell me you aren’t turning into a complete survivalist,” Hu Tao says. “Are you just going to go out in the wilderness with a knife and some rope now? What are you trying to prove?”

“My parents bought me new equipment for my birthday,” Keqing replies. “And I feel silly having duplicates. It’s too much.”

“Act like a rich kid for once would you?” Yanfei elbows Keqing lightly. “Oh, hey. I’ve been looking for this kind of fishing pole. Never mind, don’t act rich. I’m nabbing this.”

[zombiesbecrazy]

Alone Together

Summary: “Alfred?” He suddenly sounded sad, not like he had during their Lego building. “Does Bruce not want to play with me anymore?”

For @jerseydevious

AO3

“Come along now, Master Dick. Master Bruce has some work to get done and it is time for your lunch. Let us give him an hour to devote his time to company matters.”

Bruce caught Alfred’s eye with a grateful look and turned into his study without a word. He didn’t close the door fully, leaving it open a crack, a sign that Dick was allowed back whenever he desired – that had been the study door rule that had been laid down since the start. He just needed a moment to breath.

Dick skipped down the hall cheerily, sat down at the table and dug into his meal with relish. He chatted with Alfred through his entire lunch, between mouthfuls, about what he and Bruce had done that morning so far. They had done gymnastics in the Cave. They had played hide and seek. They had played Nintendo. They had worked on their fort in the woods. They hadn’t stopped for an instant all morning and the child hadn’t even slowed down in the slightest. To be honest, it seemed as if Dick hadn’t stopped in weeks. The energy the boy had was boggling and endless and Alfred was rather exhausted just by listening to all they had done.

The boy was even talking faster the more he went along.

Bruce hadn’t been anything like that as a boy, but Alfred had always considered him to be a bizarre child, rather introspective and withdrawn, even before his parents death, preferring to read and ponder instead of run and play. This child was just as odd, just at the other end of the spectrum. Boisterous and loud both in volume and in presence all of the time, even at his most grief stricken moments he had been a whirl of energy.

To his credit, Bruce hadn’t breathed a word of anything close to negative about their new normal, but Alfred had known exactly what he needed to do, anticipating his needs as always, and a little white lie to the child wouldn’t matter in the long run. There was no pressing WE business that needed Bruce’ attention right now; the new guardian was just a little overwhelmed and Alfred could relate.

Finished with his meal, Dick put his plate and cup in the dishwasher before rocking on his heels. “Thanks Alfred! Lunch was great!”

“Where are you off to now, Master Dick?”

“To see if Bruce is done his work and wants to play Legos!” The boy darted across the room, and Alfred had to act quick if he was going to give Bruce even just a slighter longer reprieve, as there would be no possible way that he would deny the boy’s eagerness to spend time with him. The two were inseparable, different as they were. A pea and a bean in a pod.

“I have an idea,” said Alfred carefully. Dick paused at the door to look back with interest and Alfred met him with a gentle smile. “Why don’t you bring them in here and I shall play with them with you for a bit. It has been ages since I played with Legos.”

The small face brightened wide with the suggestion. “Really?”

“Of course.” Alfred was a solid fixture in the boy’s life, and they had grown rather attached to each other almost as quick as Bruce and Dick had, but he was the one who primarily cared for the boy’s physical needs, making sure that he was fed and clothed and had been a great confident to share with, but not the one who usually satisfied his needs for play and curiosity. As expected, Dick jumped at the chance to play with him, without noticing that he was giving Bruce a break while doing so.

Dick fled and returned after a few moments, struggling slightly with the heavy bin of blocks but set it on the kitchen table with a huge grin before popping the lid off and digging through the pieces. “I’m going to build the Fortress of Solitude!” he exclaimed, pulling out a mini figure out of Superman before hitting Alfred with a questioning look. “Does Bruce know Superman? He won’t tell me, but I think he has to.”

“Do you now?” Alfred settled in the chair and pulled out a random handful of bricks, casually wondering what he should build. He quickly decided that he would try his hand at a spaceship, if his young charge was going with a Superman theme.

“I do. I bet they have some sort of club or secret handshake or something cool that he’s not telling me about.” This child was as quick as a whip and Alfred must have been struggling to keep a neutral face and Dick gasped loudly. “I knew it.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” said Alfred, digging through the bin, trying to avoid looking at Dick while pretending to look for a piece suitable for the nose of a spaceship. “But if you were going to build a Fortress of Solitude, it might be nice if you gave Superman a pet. I think he would like a dog to keep him company. ”

“Superman has a dog?” Dick squealed with delight, and Alfred couldn’t hold back a grin. “Can we get a dog?”

That was a can of worms that he should have foreseen. Bruce had always been after Alfred to get a dog as well. “Maybe that is something we could discuss another day.”

Twenty minutes later, there was a rather impressive looking fortress and a dismal looking spaceship on the table between them. The Fortress, in Alfred’s opinion, looked brilliant, especially considering they didn’t have a kit for it and were going purely off the child’s imagination. White and clear bricks spiralled up, and while Alfred had never been there, it seemed very close to what had been described to him by Bruce. Alfred was about to tell him how great it was when Dick interrupted his thoughts. “Alfred?” He suddenly sounded sad, not like he had during their Lego building. “Does Bruce not want to play with me anymore?”

Alfred almost choked. He had thought that Dick hadn’t noticed that this was a bit of a distraction, but apparently that was not the case. Dick was intuitive and smart, maybe too much so for a child his age, but he hadn’t come to the right conclusion, even if he had most of the facts. “Of course he does, child.” Alfred gently pulled Dick off his own chair and into Alfred’s lap, giving him a light hug, and Dick snuggled into his arms a bit. Such a cuddly child. “I think he likes playing with you quite a bit. Even more than he lets on. But some people need some alone time in order to recharge. Just give him a little while to be by himself and he’ll be back again to play with you with just as much enthusiasm as before. Probably more.” Alfred released his grip and Dick sluggishly made his way back to his own chair, deep in thought.

“Oh,” said Dick quietly, assembling some of the loose pieces in front of him randomly together as he considered Alfred’s words. He was afraid that he had said the wrong thing, but then Dick’s hand’s froze and he sat up straight in his seat, eyes wide, something apparently locking into place in his mind like the Lego bricks. “Ohhhh.” Without warning, Dick started to pack up all the Lego back into the box, carefully placing his Fortress on the top before closing the lid. “Alfred, do we have any colouring books?”

“I believe we do.” It was an odd request from the boy. In the two months that he had been with them so far, Dick hadn’t shown any interest in colouring, but there had been some art supplies that Alfred had purchased when he had joined the household, before Alfred really knew what he liked and didn’t like for entertainment. “There are some in the playroom, in the second drawer of the white cupboard. Would you like me to fetch one for you?”

“No, thanks. I can get it myself. I have to put these away anyway.” Dick picked up the heavy Lego box again and left the room, leaving Alfred alone and a little bewildered at the second sudden change in attitude. A small voice called back, chirping, “Thank you for playing with me!” which made Alfred smile. Such a kind boy. Strange, but kind.

Alfred put Bruce’s lunch onto a tray and took to down the hall to the study, knocking once because opening the door fully to enter. Bruce was sitting at his desk, but his computer was closed and he appeared to be reading something from the library. A book of poetry if Alfred were to hazard a guess.

“Lunch, Master Bruce.”

“Thanks, Al.” Bruce shut his book and set it aside, accepting the plate from Alfred. “For this and for Dick. I needed a moment. It’s just…” Bruce looked hesitant and then simply leaned his head back onto his chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to say the words, but the evidence in Bruce’s face, posture and demeanor was clear as day to Alfred. The man was a little drained and worn out. It was a different sort than not getting enough sleep or being injured from his nightly activities. This was more similar to when he had been playing his role as Gotham Elite for too long and needed some time to himself.

Bruce was simply people’d out.  Alfred was surprised that it had taken this long. It was probably due to the positive influence that they were having on each other, but it was a crash that had been inevitable.

“No need to apologize. I understand, sir.” Alfred sat down and Bruce took a bit of his sandwich. “We played Legos.”

Bruce nodded, chewing carefully and swallowed. “I’m a little sad I missed that. I like Legos.”

“I know you do. There will always be more time for Legos, I assure you.”

“What is he doing now?”

Alfred wasn’t entirely sure other than ‘colouring’ but no answer was needed however, as Dick came into the room as soon as the question was spoken, arms full of colouring books and supplies, but he seemed different than earlier. Less of a bounce in his step and silent socked covered footfalls instead of the loud barefooted running sounds he usually made. It reminded Alfred a little bit of the way that Dick behaved in his first weeks at the manor – a little hesitant, timid and discreet. Or at least more so than his regular disposition.

Bruce noticed the change as well, leaning forward in his chair to observe the boy better, but neither man noticed any other signs of distress on the child. “Is everything alright, Dick?”

“Yep.” Dick plopped down on the floor, stretching out on his stomach and flipped his colouring book to a page that found interesting before opening his box of new pencil crayons and pouring them onto the carpet silently and went to work without another word.

Bruce shot a quick glance to Alfred, who simply shrugged in response, as baffled as him, because Dick had mostly been his normal self when he had last been in the kitchen. Was this more demure version of the boy somehow their fault? Had something happened that they had missed for him to become withdrawn in the past ten minutes? Or had he not believe Alfred’s explanation?

Alfred watched as Bruce stood, rounded the desk and then sat on the sofa behind where Dick had settled on the carpet. Dick ignored him and continued to colour with meticulous precision. He was wiggling his toes as he worked, and his tongue was poking out a smidge, but for the most part he was remaining fairly still. More still than Alfred had thought possibly based on the past two months at least. “Are you sure that everything is fine?” Alfred caught a better glimpse at the book that Dick had and his heart froze; it was a circus themed and he silently swore at himself for picking such an unthoughtful item. It must be the cause of his quieter demeanor when he discovered its subject of the book.

“Shh,” shushed Dick, not looking up from his work. “We’re having Introvert Time.”

Bruce blinked. And then he blinked again and shook his head, full of disbelief at the words the boy had said. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled softly. “We’re what?”

Rolling on his side to look back to Bruce on the couch, Dick paused his colouring. “Alfred said that you needed some alone time to feel better. My dad did too. My mom always called it Introvert Time.” Dick swallowed hard and looked back towards the book. “But the thing about being alone is that you don’t need to do it by yourself. I used to colour in our trailer when my dad needed his quiet time. He said I was a good person to be alone with.” For a few moments, Dick traced his fingers over the picture that he had started to colour, a picture of a lion in front of a flaming hoop. He eventually turned back to Bruce, eyes shining, but a small smile on his face. “Sorry that I didn’t notice that you needed it before. There aren’t a lot of quiet people at the circus. My dad was really the only one.”

“Dick… I.” Bruce was at a loss for words, because what could one say in response to something like that. The intuitiveness of Dick was alarming, and yet he was apologizing for not noticing sooner? There were only a handful of people on the planet who knew that Bruce wasn’t the person that he presented in public and it was understood this quickly by an eight year old boy? It was astounding. “Thank you for understanding,” Bruce eventually landed on, and reached down to squeeze Dick’s shoulder lightly, and Dick leaned into the touch. “You have to know that I do like having loud fun with you. I like it a lot.”

“I know.” Dick rolled back onto his stomach and picked up a blue pencil, focus turning back towards the book. “But now we are having quiet fun together. It’s good too.”

“Can I colour with you?” asked Bruce quietly, sliding to the floor silently beside Dick.

“You are doing an awful lot of talking for Introvert Time,” said Dick, but slid another book towards Bruce.  “Sure. If you want to. I’m fine by myself too. You can do whatever you want.”

Bruce laid down, mirroring Dick’s position, and opened his book and set to work on a rather simple looking farm picture with a determined look. Alfred left the room and returned to the kitchen to begin to prep dinner for the evening. An hour later, chicken marinating, vegetables chopped and grocery delivery for later in the week ordered, Alfred returned to the study, three cups of tea on a tray and was surprised to see the two still in the same positions, though both had moved on to different pictures. Alfred set the tray on the desk and handed each of them their drinks as they both shifted into sitting positions, before sitting on the couch himself, all of them taking a moment to drink.

“Thanks for the tea, Al,” said Bruce quietly and Dick nodded in agreement, but stayed quiet, not even slurping his drink in the slightest. Alfred raised an eyebrow at Bruce who just shook his head slightly. It was nice, but strange, this position that they were in. Alfred had been unaware that Dick was even capable of being this still for so long, let alone seeming to enjoy it.

“How long does Introvert Time last?” whispered Bruce as he nudged Dick gently in the side.

“That’s not up to me,” Dick responded in the same hushed tone. “You are the one who gets to decide. It lasts as long as it needs to.” He looked back down to the books beside them, considering the material. “Though if we’re going to do this more often, I may need more colouring books. And a pencil sharpener.”

Bruce hummed in agreement. “I think I need a just little more time today.” Dick nodded in understanding. No argument about doing something more active or loud, no insistence that it was his turn to pick an activity, just accepting the answer that he got. “Do you want to watch a movie in the den with me?”

“Sounds good.” Dick picked up the crayons and put them back in the box with care, individually in an attempt to make less noise possibly, and then stacked them with the books on the coffee table, apparently deciding that this is where they should be stored now. “I’ll get us a snack. You can pick the movie and I’ll meet you in there.”

“You don’t want to pick the movie?”

“The Introvert gets to pick during Introvert Time, Bruce. Everyone knows that.” Dick walked quietly out of the room. He got perhaps five paces from the door before Alfred could hear the steps pick up, and small feet started thundering down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

“Alfred…” Bruce was staring at the empty doorway in wonder and Alfred squeeze his should, just as Bruce had done earlier to Dick. Alfred had recognized the movement in an instant. Bruce leaned into the touch just as the boy had done.

“I know, lad. He’s quite remarkable.” Alfred squeezed once more, saying more than either of them ever had with their words. “He’s good for you. Just as you are good for him.”

[panda-noosh]

Butterfly {The Rockstar Series}{Lance x Reader}

The Rockstar Series: a series of fics documenting rockstar!Voltron falling in love.

Words: 17.5k (oof)

Summary: Relationships never seem to work out for Lance. Maybe he was just destined to be the player. 

Genre: angst 

Warnings: nothing really 

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions! - aaaaand the rockstar series is over :( i had so much fun writing these characters in this world, and i hope you guys enjoyed reading their little adventures, too. until next time, i suppose :) xx 

---

The sound of the door slamming was becoming much too familiar.

  Lance didn't even flinch this time. He simply closed his eyes, continuing to lean forward with his head in his hands. The argument he and Allura had just suffered through was replaying in his head, her strained voice, the reason she failed to see – he was a busy man, and she knew that. He had a career to focus on, and yet she insisted on thinking she should come first at all times.

  Maybe she should. At this point, Lance was so unsure about his own feelings that he could very well have been wrong. Maybe he was the bad boyfriend. Maybe it was him who needed to put more effort in. Maybe Allura had a point.

  Whatever it was, Lance was too tired to focus on it right now. He let the echo of the slamming door ring out for a few more seconds before he stood up, grabbed the notepad of lyrics and threw it at the wall. He wanted to scream, but the others were in bed. He wanted to cry, but he wasn't even sure what he would be crying over, so he bit his lip and clenched his fists and hoped it would have the same effect.

  It didn't. That night, Lance crawled into bed – on his own, yet again – and tried his hardest to convince himself that everything was going to be fine. Up until this point, his life had been everything he'd ever wanted it to be. He played venues. He had fans. He was on tour with some of his best friends – he had no reason to be upset.

  The routine would continue; Allura would realise she had yelled for nothing, come crawling back to Lance, and the two of them would be fine for another day or two. The next argument – Lance could only hope – would be a little less explosive, something he could handle with a calmer voice.

  However, the more Lance thought about it, the more he was beginning to think that perhaps it was no longer his job to handle it. Maybe he should just stop trying.

  ---

  When Lance and Allura first met, it had been an immature case of love at first sight.

  Lance will admit to that. He had fallen in love with her looks long before he'd fallen in love with her personality, though he would be a liar to claim her personality hadn't won him over in the end. She could be snarky, a little bossy, a little self-obsessed, but these were all things Lance could deal with, because she loved him and he really, truly believed he loved her, too.

  It was just difficult sometimes. Nights when he showed up to bed late, she would yell at him and start crying, asking him why he prioritised everything else over her. Lance would grab her elbows and try to calm her down, tell her on a continuous loop that his workload was just a lot right now, that Allura was always in the back of his mind, that he was sorry, sorry, sorry.

  Over and over again, he was sorry.

  During their first few meetings, Allura had Hunk's partner on her arm. The two of them were best friends, and seeing Hunk and his partner get on so well – even after all this time – put Lance under a bit of pressure to show off the same amount of affection for his partner. Whilst Hunk and his partner giggled and whispered in the corner, Lance grew increasingly uncomfortable with the way Allura was looking down at her phone, ignoring him completely despite her previous protestations about the fact they didn't get to spend much time together.

  And Lance knew it was bad to compare relationships – Allura was trying, but it was getting to the point where Lance didn't even want to try any more. Yes, Hunk and his partner managed to make it work, but that didn't mean Lance had the same skill.

  Maybe he was just forever destined to be known as the player of the group.

  Maybe he should just learn to embrace that name. It was easier than dragging this out.

  “You know, Lancey-boy.”

  Lance's head snapped up. He hadn't even realised he'd been holding it in his hands again.

  Hunk was stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing a pair of duck pyjamas. On his face was a green face-mask. Under his eyes were dark circles.

  “Next time you and Allura start fighting, can you maybe tone it down a little bit? This is the third night in the past week I've been woken up to the sound of Allura stampeding through the fucking hallways.”

  Lance squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing his knuckles into them as if he could somehow push the memories away. “Yeah. Sorry, man. I'll – uh – tell her to tone it down.”

  Hunk scoffed. “As if she'll listen.” He hopped down off the single step and marched into the kitchen. He tugged open the fridge, examined the contents thoroughly. “What were you two fighting about this time, anyway?”

  Lance winced. He hated that term – this time. More than once. A common occurrence. And yes, he knew he and Allura had been fighting a lot, but that didn't mean he liked being reminded of it.

  “Uh, just something stupid,” Lance replied.

  “The usual?”

  Lance raised a brow. Hunk spared him a glance over his shoulder, a Ritz cracker hanging from his mouth – Keith liked his biscuits cold, because he was strange.

  “You know what I'm talking about,” Hunk said. When Lance remained silent, he scoffed and clarified. “She doesn't like that you work late, you're too caught up in your music dream to not work late, the two of you clash, yadda yadda yadda. So on, so forth.”

  Lance blinked. “That is eerily accurate.”

  Hunk shrugged. “I only base my conclusions on what I've heard, and that seems to be the majority of your arguments.”

  “Do you think it's bad?”

  “Every couple argues.”

  “Not as often as us.” Something squeezed in Lance's chest. He wanted to burrow away and hide. “And not about the same thing, over and over. There's nothing I can do about my work schedule. We're busy people, and she knows this.”

  Hunk sighed, kicking the fridge closed. With the packet of cold Ritz crackers still in his hand, he leaned against the fridge door, staring at Lance through the creepy eye holes in his face mask. “You could come to a compromise.”

  “We've tried. Allura doesn't want compromise. She wants me.”

   “Like a girlfriend would,” Hunk said. “She wants to spend time with you. Do you want to spend time with her?”

  “Of course I do-”

  Hunk narrowed his eyes. “Lance.”

  Lance froze.

  Voice low, Hunk said, “Do you want to spend time with her?”

  And, in that moment, Lance could have honestly punched Hunk square in the face.

  The little bastard knew Lance so well. That was the complications that came with being best friends with someone for longer than seven years – Hunk knew Lance like the back of his damn hand, meaning Lance could get away with absolutely nothing, no matter how hard he tried.

  Lance pursed his lips and looked down at the table. “Does it make me a bad person?”

  “Look, Lance.” Hunk kicked away from the fridge and walked over, placing a heavy hand on Lance's shoulder. “It's normal for feelings to get lost. Allura's a pretty girl, but looks won't entertain you. Looks won't appeal to your personality. You two are just. . . different. You want to rock out and have fun on stage, and she doesn't. Maybe you've just grown out of each other.”

  Lance closed his eyes. Grown out of each other.

  “So what do I do?”

  “You end it.”

  Lance's head shot up. Hunk popped another cracker into his mouth, winced and said, “Does Keith really eat these like this?”

  “How can you say that to me so casually?” Lance exclaimed, voice shriller than he meant it to be, heart thundering more than it should have been.

  Hunk reeled away. “What?”

  “You just told me to break up with Allura like it was no big deal!”

  Hunk pointed the packet of crackers at Lance. “It's only a big deal if you make it a big deal.”

  “Oh my-”

  “To be honest with you, Lance-a-million, I never really liked Allura in the first place. She's always had a vendetta against me for that whole mishap with H/P/N – you know, where I thought she liked you instead of me.” He chuckled at the memory. “Yeah, Allura's never gotten over that, even though H/G/N and I have been going out for nearly a year and a half now.”

  Lance groaned. “You're too blunt, man.”

  “You asked for my advice. I gave it to you.”  

  “But you could have sugar-coated it for me. I'm sensitive.”

  Hunk shrugged, patting Lance's shoulder a final time before he started towards the door. “If you need help with anything, you know where I am.” He glanced back at Lance. “Right behind you, playing the drums on stage. Don't forget our show tomorrow, Lancealot!”

  Lance rolled his eyes, trailing his hands through his hair as Hunk disappeared down the hallway. His mind was a boggled mess. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping well tonight, but at least he had tomorrows show to look forward to.

  He could lose himself to the crowd then. He could forget his problems – just for a few hours.

  ----

  God. Butterflies were beautiful.

  You had countless songs dedicated to their beauty – as weird as that was. You didn't write songs about people you thought attractive, didn't write songs about true love, or struggles in general; you wrote songs about butterflies.

  To the untrained eye, you supposed the songs could be interpreted as something completely different. A person in the midst of heartbreak might very well listen to your song and think wow, I relate so much only to find out later on that you'd written the song about the gorgeous pattern of a lycaenidae's wings. You would never tell them they were wrong – you loved discovering different interpretations of your lyrics.

  You lay back in the grass. It scratched at your nose. Bees buzzed around you, but they were easy enough to ignore when you left them alone. Your fingers were splayed out on either side of you, your lyric book discarded with the pen clipped in the centre crease; you didn't want to think about work right now. The world was bright, and you didn't want to miss it.

  “What are you doing?”

  You tilted your head, just slightly, just enough to make out the shape of Mikhail as he waded towards you. He was wearing a big coat, the collar flicked up, a wide-brimmed hat on his head that completed the look of detective you knew he wasn't going for, but had somehow stumbled upon anyway. Tiny blonde hairs pricked him in the eye, but he merely winced instead of brushing them out of the way.

  “Gathering inspiration,” was your reply.

  Mikhail raised a brow; he did that a lot when he was looking at you, but you'd grown used to it. It no longer made you feel so small. “Right. And you're finding that inspiration by laying in a field? Do you not have hay fever?”

  “Only mild.”

  Mikhail hummed and lowered himself into the grass beside you. His long legs folded beneath him, he reached forward and started twiddling the grass between his fingers. You closed your eyes, turned your head back to the sun. A spider scattered across your arm. Mikhail swatted it away when it was clear you weren't going to bother.

  “I just came to tell you about the show tonight,” he said. “You know the venue you wanted to busk outside today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Apparently some band is playing tonight, so you can't. The police will be everywhere.”

  You frowned, the only outward sign of your disappointment. “What band is it?”

  “Oh, I don't know.” Mikhail sprinkled the grass on your arm. You shuddered, the breeze whisking it away. “They're called Smokey Saturdays, I think. A rock band. All the kids are excited.”

   “I'm a kid.”

  “You're an adult.”

   “I'm a young adult.” You opened your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbow. “Should we go watch them play?”

  Mikhail raised a brow again. “Neither of us have the money to buy tickets,” he said. “And I think they're sold out anyway.”

  You frowned, flopping back into the grass. “So basically, you've come to inform me that my entire night has been destroyed.”

  “Afraid so.” Mikhail laid a gentle hand on your arm. It was meant to be comforting, but his fingers were so cold, and your skin was so warm – you were surprised there wasn't condensation left in his wake when he pulled away. “We'll try again when they've left town. They're probably only gonna play a few shows, and then we get our spot back.”

  “But that's a few nights spent doing absolutely nothing. We're gonna be set back, again.”

   “These are the hurdles we have to deal with whilst making our way to the top.”

   “I don't think there's supposed to be more hurdles than straight road.”

  Mikhail sighed. “Just give it some time.”

  “How much more time do you think we can give?”

  “As long as it takes.” He patted your shoulder. “You just keep lying in the grass writing our songs, and we'll get there.”

  You grunted. You didn't like being negative – you had spent such a long time trying to drive Mikhail out of his own negative mindset, but it was difficult to follow your own advice when the world kept throwing curve balls like this one; you were good. You and Mikhail were good, and you'd been told that on so many occasions, it was nearly uncountable. You had fans, a decent Twitter following, plenty of eyes on you when you finally got the chance to play – but none of it was pushing you forward.

  It really wasn't like the movies, and this realisation was just putting a damper on your mood.

  After Mikhail bid you farewell, claiming his shift at Burger King started in an hours time, you stayed in the grass. You tugged at the green strands and sprinkled them upon your stomach. A bee buzzed by your ear, and you smiled as it sailed past without a care in the world. There were no butterflies around, and part of you thought that might have been a metaphor for how your life was going right now – bees, no butterflies. Ripped strands of grass sprinkled on an old t-shirt. Hands splayed out in grass, roots crawling along your arms, pulling you into the depths of the earth.

  You welcomed it with a smile on your face.

  With these images in your head, you let out a tiny “Hm,” before rolling over, grabbing your pen and getting to work.

  ----

  The venue was big. Lance liked big venues.

  From where he stood backstage, watching Hunk test out the drum kit on stage, he could see his friend was nervous. The thousands of empty seats staring back at him, the seats that would soon be filled with screaming fans – it was daunting for the big fellow, and Lance could see that in the way his brows furrowed, the way his concentration wavered when he tried making sure the drum kit was making the right noise. One of the volunteers had to take the drum sticks out of his hand and test it out himself, as Hunk was lost to his own thoughts.  

  Keith wandered up beside him. Even without saying a word, without making a noise, Keith Kogane had an energy to him that was hard to ignore. Lance flicked a glance his way, noted the tensing of his friends jaw and smirked.

  “Everyone's on edge, eh? Not ready for a big show like this one?”

  “Allura wants to talk to you.”

  Lance froze. His fingers clenched into his biceps, arms folded over his chest. Suddenly, the sheer size of the venue wasn't enough. His thoughts raced, and when he turned to look at Keith, Keith was staring right back at him with a raised brow.

  “What?” Lance snapped.

  “You two can't argue two hours before one of the biggest shows of the tour,” Keith replied, forever speaking in monotone. If Keith's voice had a colour, it would be beige. A dull grey. Nothing – just air.

  Lance hollowed out his cheeks and waved his friend away, strolling back into the backstage area with his shoulders drawn back in what he hoped was a confident stance; honestly, he felt anything but confident. Since their fight the previous night, Lance hadn't made the effort to go and talk to Allura about the problems their relationship had been facing – he didn't have the brain space to concentrate on such a thing when he was about to perform in front of thousands for the first time.

  She wasn't going to be happy.

  Lance found her sitting in the backstage lounge. She was chatting with Pidge, a smile on her face. Her hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail. She looked gorgeous, and for a second, Lance could convince himself that he still loved her.

  However, as soon as she turned, Pidge let out a grunt and fled the room. Lance and Allura were left entirely on their own, Allura staring up at him, Lance staring at the wall.

  He should say something. He knew he should have said something, anything at all, because silence wasn't going to get him anywhere.

  Lately, however, words weren't getting him anywhere, either, and maybe that was the first sign of a failed relationship – when silence was becoming a safer option than talking.

  Allura coughed. “I didn't think Keith would actually come and get you.”

  “Why didn't you come and get me yourself?”

  “I didn't think you wanted to see me.”

  Lance stayed silent.

  Allura looked away, hurt. “I don't want to argue, Lance.”

  “Then don't argue.”

  “But you're still fucking oblivious.”

  Lance closed his eyes – it was happening again. She was losing her patience so quickly, before Lance even had a chance to explain his side of the story. “Allura-”

  “You didn't even come to bed last night! Where were you?”

  “I slept on the tour bus.”

  “Oh, with Keith's partner? Were they better than me? Better company?”

  Lance's eyes snapped open. “What are you on about?”

  “You seem to be sleeping in that tour bus a lot more often than you sleep with me. Is there something I should know?”

  Lance couldn't believe his ears – it was one thing having her yell at him for not coming to bed, a completely different thing to accuse him of sleeping with his best friends partner.

  “Allura,” he spat out, flabbergasted. “You can't be serious. K/P/N wasn't even on the bus!”

  Allura scoffed, as she always did when she was wrong and she knew it. She folded her arms over her chest and turned away. “I can't believe I'm here. I should have just stayed home.”

  Lance was furious. His heart was pounding at a million miles per hour. He wanted to punch something, and this was so unlike him, so far beyond his usual, bubbly personality that it scared him just that little bit. He curled his fingers into his palms, indenting crescents into the skin.

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “Yeah, Allura. Maybe you should have stayed home. This tour would be ten times easier if you just fucked off.”

  And that was all he could handle. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle her expression. He could tell from the gasp that echoed throughout the room that she was upset, and he didn't want to be here to continue the argument; he'd had enough arguing for a lifetime.

  So, with that, he span on his heel and left the room. He had to push past Pidge on his way through the hallway. She called after him, but he ignored her, because the walls were closing in and he really was about to punch something if he didn't get out of this shit hole in the next ten seconds.

  He burst out the front doors, gasping as soon as the fresh air hit his lungs. He didn't get very far before he crumpled on the first step, wrapping his arms round his middle, gulping down shaky breaths as he battled with the urge to cry. It sped in his system, showing no mercy, giving him no time to catch his bearings before the tears were rolling down his cheeks, down his nose, sinking into the concrete.

  A single butterfly fluttered past. Lance wanted to crush it.

  The front steps were such a dangerous place to have a breakdown. He should have gone out the back. He should have done what Keith had done on numerous occasions and just lost himself to the back alleys, made friends with some drug dealers without actually buying any drugs. That seemed like a nice place to settle right now.

  But here he was, curled up on some steps in front of the place that was meant to hold the best night of his whole life. The tears rolling down his cheeks should have been tears of absolute joy. The trembling of his hands should have been induced by excitement.

  It wasn't. Nothing was turning out right.

  It was the sound of a guitar being played that brought Lance back to earth. His band didn't have an acoustic guitar, but he could still appreciate the sound of one when he heard it. Slowly, he looked up, curling his hands against his knees in his attempts to control himself, as if he was somehow only worthy of listening to the soft strum if he was pulled together.

  Two people sat on the bottom step; a man, strangely tall with gangly limbs and long blonde hair that blew in his face despite the lack of wind. A wooden guitar was perched on his knee, and he swayed to and fro as he played it.

  Beside him – you. Smaller, hidden beneath an oversized jacket. The hood was pulled up, and beneath it, Lance could see the small band of a beanie peaking out. You were gazing lazily at the passing crowd, a leather notebook open on your knees, a pen tapping against your lips. You looked completely dazed, and for a second, Lance wondered if you were on drugs.

  But then you glanced over your shoulder, and he realised he'd never seen someone with such a clear expression.

  The glance you gave him was one that revealed the fact this wasn't the first time you'd turned to look at him; you probably heard the commotion, him throwing himself through the doors, him collapsing on the tarmac, curling in on himself, quiet sobs racking his body for a reason that was becoming more and more unclear the longer he stayed seated.

  He looked back at you now. Surprisingly, you didn't flinch away from his gaze when you noticed he'd caught you – you offered up a smile instead, and your left hand rose in a half-wave that made Lance feel a little better.

  He waved back. It wasn't with his usual enthusiasm. He wasn't sure when that would refill, but it would take time.

  You leaned towards the blonde man then, whispering something in his ear. Without stopping the drift of his fingers along the neck of his guitar, the man nodded. You stood up, and Lance couldn't stop himself from straightening up when you stumbled up the stairs and sat down beside him.

  “Hello.” The first thing you said. So simple, so light-hearted. After the argument with Allura, Lance wasn't sure how he felt about such a simple greeting. With the state his mind was in right now, he half expected you to spit on his shoes in favour of hello.

  “Hello,” he replied nonetheless. “Your friend's good at the guitar.”

  “Thanks.” The compliment wasn't for you, but the response didn't feel weird; somehow, Lance got the feeling a compliment to the blonde man was a compliment to you, and vice versa. You both had that connection that even strangers on the street were able to see, Lance included.

  It was silent for a few seconds after that. Lance spent the time nibbling on his lip, wondering where his natural charisma had faded off to, wondering why he wanted it back, who he wanted to impress.

  Then you spoke. “You don't look like you're having a very good time, buddy.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  Lance raised a brow. “Why would you want to help me?”

  You shrugged. It was only then did Lance notice you tugging on the grass at the side of you, pulling it from the floor and sprinkling it across your slightly-ripped shoes. “I don't know. I don't like seeing people cry.”

  “I wasn't crying.”

  You poked his cheek. “You're still crying.”

  Lance swatted your hand away, scowling. He didn't bother wiping his tears away. “Alright, so what?”

  “Soooo, I want to see if there's anything I can do. I'll get Mikhail to play you a little song if you want.”

   “Mikhail?”

   “The tall dude. He's Russian.”

  “Ah.”

  “I can get him to play a song. He won't mind.”

  Lance pondered over this for a moment; it would be such a waste of time. He had a show to put on in two hours time, a show in which he was going to be centre stage. There was absolutely no justifiable reason for him to be sat out here listening to a stranger play his acoustic guitar.

  But he glanced to the side, just to make sure you were being serious, and he saw you staring at the butterfly that had been making an appearance every now and then. Your eyebrows were knitted together, the evidence of a tiny smile threatening to pull on your face – it looked like you were trying to hide it, lest Lance look over and see you being happy. Apparently it's a crime to smile when the stranger beside you is in tears.

  “That's a swallowtail butterfly, I think.”

   Lance started, head snapping towards the butterfly you were talking about. “Huh?”

  You nodded towards it. “It's a swallowtail, I think. It's quite big, and it's wings are really colourful.” You shook your head, clapping your hands against your knees. “Should I call Mikhail up here, then?”

  Lance blinked. You took that as answer enough, standing up and shouting to your friend. He swivelled round, raised his brows at you, and Lance was struck by how handsome this strange man was; a toned face, eyebrows perched on a muscled forehead, bright blue eyes that glistened when he looked at the sun.

  “Come play a song, will you?”

  Mikhail didn't even hesitate. He stood up, wandered over and sat down. He didn't offer up any pleasantries, didn't introduce himself, didn't wait for an introduction – he just started playing. You sat down next to him, leaning back on your palms, tilting your head to the sky with your eyes closed.

  Lance stared. He couldn't help it. The tears that once stained his cheeks had disappeared, and now instead of sadness, it was awe that overtook him.

  You started singing.

  Lance wasn't even surprised. Your voice just sounded right, like it was meant to be heard over the guitar Mikhail was playing, like the two of you were just made to fit together. His guitar playing and your voice seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Lance didn't feel like you were complete strangers. He didn't even feel like he was with you – he was in a box somewhere, music playing out of some unknown speaker hidden in the ceiling.

  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees.

  The lyrics were beautiful. You spoke about life, and beauty, and making decisions that had to be made even though they were difficult, and god it was like you were speaking directly to Lance. It was as if you'd taken his current situation and put it in lyrics, and it made his heart squeeze and his hands tremble all over again, but for reasons so different to the reasons from before.

  Slowly, the music and the lyrics faded to a stop. Lance inhaled, scared his breathing would somehow shatter the delicate moment he'd just been cocooned in.

  And then Mikhail spoke. His voice was rough. It was exactly as Lance expected it to be. “Happy?”

  “Thanks, Mikhail,” you said. You bumped your shoulder against Lance's, forcing him to look up. “Happy?”

  He smiled. “Who wrote that song?”

  “I did,” you replied. “Only the first draft, though, 'cause Mikhail didn't give me time to finish it before.”

   Mikhail scoffed, already standing up and marching back to his spot at the end of the stairs. “Always blaming me.”

  “Because it's always you!” you exclaimed, throwing a sunflower at him. There was humour in your voice. Lance had forgotten the last time he held something like that to his tone. It made him sad.

  You turned back to him, rolling your eyes with a fond smile on your face. “Well, there you go. I don't know how much that did, but-”

  “It was amazing.” The words were jumbled. Lance just needed to say them. “It was . . . . yeah. Amazing. Really, really good.”

  Again, it fell silent. It was only brief, and it wasn't awkward – it was just heavy. Filled with thoughts, because Lance had a lot to think about, and you just had an energetic brain.

  “Do you make music?” you asked. You had bunched your knees into your chest, resting your chin upon them. In your hand, you continued to fiddle with a blade of grass, one of the few you had yet to release to the wind after ripping them from the soil.

  “Yeah,” Lance replied. He couldn't quite understand his relief at the fact you didn't know him. It made your actions seem that little bit more genuine. “I prefer rock, though.”

  “Aaaah,” you mused. “So our indie style didn't really get you going, did it?”

  “It's not something I listen to.” He glanced over. “But I would definitely listen to you two if you ever came out with something official. Have you got anything out yet?”

  You hollowed out your cheeks. “Afraid not. It's a work in progress.”

  “Just starting out?”

  “Honestly, I feel like we haven't even broken the surface yet.”

  Lance could relate. He remembered all them years ago, struggling to convince his small group of friends to help him out, feeding them all the positives that came with being in a band. He remembered late night practices in Pidge's garage, trying to ignore Matt Holt's yelling for them to shut the fuck up before he called the police on his own sister. He remembered sitting up all night, the rest of Smokey Saturdays (and Shiro) sprawled around his room as he idly clicked through the internet, searching helplessly for a record label that would suit their style of music.

  But now he was here.

  Crying on a step outside one of the biggest venues he'd ever seen.

  He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against his knee. “I get that.”

  “You do?”

  “We did it eventually, don't get me wrong – it just took a long time. And I'm not exactly the most patient person in the world.”

  You snickered. “Nah, me either.” A pause. Brief. Heavy. Filled with thoughts. “So you made it eventually. You're doing what you want to do?”

  “In most areas of life, yeah.” He turned his head, pressing his other cheek into his knee. Opening his eyes, he saw you staring at him. “I'm a very lucky man.” He paused, frowned. “Hey, I never got your name.”

  “Y/N,” you replied, as if your name didn't really matter. “What about you?”

  “Lance.” It felt nice introducing himself – he hadn't needed to do it for a while now. Introductions became irrelevant when the whole world knew who you were already.

  “Well, Lance,” you said, spreading your fingers against the concrete. “I hope whatever bullshit is bothering you today sorts itself out. You seem like a nice guy.”

   “You seem nice, too.”

  “Good.” You pushed yourself up from the ground. “That's always the goal. I'll see you around, yeah?”

  Lance smiled. “Yeah. You will.”

  ----

  You weren't doing what you were supposed to be doing.

  Mikhail was off to work. You'd promised him you would be sat at the kitchen table, waiting patiently for the phone call to come through – but it hadn't come through yet, and you were growing restless.

  You hadn't been out busking in ages. Sure, the two of you had sat out on the stairs a few days back, but that wasn't nearly close enough to what you wanted to do; you wanted to sing. You wanted a crowd to form. You wanted to lose yourself in the music, just like you always did when people were there to watch. It was as if you became a different person when there was a crowd.

  So, two minutes after the phone call was meant to happen, you found yourself thinking it was no use; there was no point sticking around for something that clearly wasn't going to happen. So, you plucked your phone from the table, threw your hat on and headed out onto the busy streets. People were everywhere. Nature was everywhere. Inspiration was everywhere.

  You remembered the man from a few days previous – Lance, his name was. He'd been plaguing your mind for quite a while recently, mainly because he was attractive. You weren't going to sugar coat it, or trick yourself into believing it was anything other than what it was – he was a good looking man. He'd captured your attention with looks first, and personality second.

  But your attraction to his personality was definitely there. It was definitely growing, and had been growing from the moment you sat down to talk to him. The way he closed his eyes when you started to sing, the way he'd seemed genuinely interested to hear about the lyrics you wrote – you wondered if he interpreted them differently, or if he thought you were crazy for writing a song about an insect.

  Nonetheless, he hadn't been judgemental; merely curious. That was good enough for you.

  You waded down the street, smiling at anyone who made eye contact with you. The weather was beautiful. You were heading directly for the stairs – your stairs – and though Mikhail was not there to play the guitar, you would sit down on the steps and write out all the ideas buzzing through your mind until his shift finished. Then, you would pick him up and force him to come with you to start the real fun of the day.

  You arrived at the steps in record time. You seated yourself down against the railing, tugged your journal from your pocket and opened it to the first blank page. You spotted a woman pushing a baby stroller and started writing out her thoughts; what could she possibly be thinking, and how could you turn those thoughts into a song? She looked stressed, curly hair glued to her forehead with perspiration. In the stroller, two babies who didn't look too far in age from each other were staring into the tiny circular mirrors hung up on either side of them; one of them reached out and snatched it from the top of their car seat. The woman said “ah, ah, ah!” before wrestling it out of the infants hands.

  You scribbled down a few words, and then the world took you away, as it often did when your ideas had been bottled up for a while. You wrote until your hand cramped, and then you looked up and wrote some more. The page was filled, not with coherent lyrics, but tiny little fragments, smashed pieces that could join together to form something promising if you just put your mind to it; but for now, it was fine like this. It was fine not to have a coherent idea just yet – it would form eventually.

  You smiled down at your work. Mikhail would be happy. He enjoyed the process of puzzles, piecing together whatever random lines you'd come up with, making them into songs that he could play to, write a melody for, lose himself in.

  “Y/N? Back again?”

  Your head snapped up. The pen rolled from the centre of the journal and landed on the step beneath you; you didn't reach for it, instead choosing to stare up at Lance with wide eyes.

  He grinned down at you. Beside him, a muscled man wearing a yellow hoodie and faded blue jeans was standing with a raised brow, glancing between you and Lance as if he'd never seen Lance interact with another person before.

  “Lance.” It was all you could think to say.

  He looked good. Stupidly good. The kind of good that really shouldn't have been a thing, considering he wasn't even trying; his outfit consisted of a light blue button up shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of denim jeans, a brown belt slung around his tiny waist. His hair was messy, choppy bangs resting against his forehead. It made you think he'd gotten glammed up the day he first saw you.

  He smiled. “Where's Mikhail?”

  “He's working.”

  “Oh. Shame. The place is a little dull when you can't hear his guitar.” Lance turned then, pointing to his friend. “Y/N, this is Hunk. Hunk, this is Y/N, the singer I was telling you about.”

  Hunk's eyes snapped to your own. You nearly shied away from his gaze, though you weren't sure why – you were never a very shy person. In fact, you thrived off of social interaction. However, there was something about the way Hunk was staring at you that made you want to curl up in a ball, or perhaps ask what you'd done wrong.

  “Hi,” he said slowly. “I'm Hunk.”

  “Yeah, I just told them that,” Lance mumbled, before turning back to you with that excited grin plastered on his face. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Work,” you replied, gesturing towards your journal. “You seem to be in better spirits today than you did the last time I spoke to you.”

  Lance laughed, an awkward ha ha, yeah, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

  However, it was Hunk who offered a genuine explanation. “Allura's out with Pidge right now, so he has the freedom to do what he wants.”

  You didn't understand.

  Lance whirled around, slapping a hand against Hunk's chest. “Would you-”

  “Who's Allura?”

  Lance drove his knuckles into his eye, exasperated. “My girlfriend.”

  “His enemy that he sometimes sleeps with.”

  “Hunk!”

  You looked away. Okay. That shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

  “Look – uh – that's not important,” Lance continued, trying to shuffle the conversation along. Hunk stood beside him with a smirk on his face, beefy arms folded over his chest. “It was really nice seeing you again, Y/N. Tell Mikhail I said hello, yeah?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “That's all you've got to say?” Hunk suddenly exclaimed. The boom of his voice made your heart jump. Lance, however, simply closed his eyes.

  “What are you-”

  “You went on for ages the other day about Y/N's voice, and now you're just gonna walk off and leave them here?”

  Your eyes widened. Hunk was certainly outspoken, but it sounded planned. It sounded like this was something he didn't usually do; he was just. . . trying to annoy Lance, maybe?

  Lance blushed. “I'm sure Y/N has other things they're trying to get done that don't need our input. Right?”

  “Uh-”

  Hunk scoffed. “Alright, yeah. That's the reason.”

   Lance grabbed Hunk's collar then, leaving no room for further argument. You barely had a chance to say anything, not even a goodbye, before Lance was hauling the taller boy away, giving you a quick, half-hearted “See you later!”

  You raised your hand in a half-wave, watching them go, wondering why your heart was beating so quick.

  ----

  “You idiot!”

  “Ay, ay! Watch the shirt, for crying out-”

  Lance shoved Hunk into the backstage lounge and slammed the door. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “Do what for?”

  “Don't act stupid – you know full well what I'm on about. You just . . .  You just said all that stuff, with me standing right there! You made me look like an idiot!”

   Hunk scrambled with his shirt, trying his best to fix it as he replied. “What's the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that Y/N probably thinks I'm some kind of creep now. Did you really have to go and tell them that I'd told you about their singing?”

  Hunk scoffed. “You did more than just tell us about their singing – you were downright gushing the other day!”

  “They didn't need to know that!”

  Hunk patted his collar down and fixed Lance with a stare that unsettled him – Lance had seen that stare only a handful of times, because it was very rare Hunk ever needed it. The man was bubbly, kind, wanting the best for everyone at all times – it was rare he ever got this look in his eye.

  His voice was low when he said, “Why does it matter so much what Y/N thinks of you?”

   Lance opened his mouth to respond before quickly slamming it closed when he realised he didn't really have an answer. Why did it matter so much? He'd met you once, and yes, you had left him in awe, but that wasn't something he could blame his sudden anger on – not without sounding obsessed.

  Which he wasn't.

  He liked your voice, yes, but it was more than that. There was a feeling mixed in there that shouldn't have been there, because he already had everything he wanted; a career, friends, a girlfriend who he . . . who he loved. He really did. He promised.

  But then he met you, and it was a bit weird because he was fairly certain every box in his life had been ticked off. Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

  Hunk was smirking when Lance looked back up. With his arms folded over his chest, he seemed to tower over him more than usual; Lance wanted to shy away, but held his ground when he said, “No reason.”

  Hunk sighed. “Naive little Lancey-boy.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I think they like you, too, if that helps.” And he said this so off-handedly, turning towards the mini fridge hidden beneath the table. Lance nearly missed it's meaning, because Hunk just said things so casually that it took a minute to process the weight of his words until a moment too late.

  However, they processed eventually. “What?”

  Hunk kneeled by the fridge, leaning on the door. “Whenever I mentioned Allura? Man, the look on their face – it was the saddest thing I've ever seen.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Like a kid getting it's favourite toy snatched away.”

  “Hunk-”

  “Kind of like what you look like when you're having a laugh and Allura walks in the room-”

  “Would you stop going after Allura all the time?”

  Hunk poked his head over the top of the fridge door. “Only when you admit to yourself that this relationship you're in is toxic as fuck, and making both of you miserable.”

    Lance gritted his teeth. Again, that urge to punch something was surging in his bones, and he was fairly certain he was going to snap this time. He didn't want to hold it back. He had a show in seven hours, and he was willing to break his knuckles before then. Maybe that would make him look more rockstar. Maybe it could work in his favour.

  However, he stopped himself and instead leaned against the door behind him. Through the oak, he could hear Allura and Pidge laughing about something he didn't care about, something he should care about, because it was his girlfriend and he should care about the things that amused her.

  But he just didn't.

  He closed his eyes. “You shouldn't be telling me to break up with her. She's your partners best friend.”

  “And you're my best friend.” Hunk cracked open a Diet Coke can, took a sip of it and placed it back in the fridge. “I'm not saying any of this to be malicious, Lance-a-botamia. I'm saying this because I care about both of you, and seeing you make each other miserable is making me miserable.” He took a bite of a carrot. “And I don't like being miserable. Not when life is so good right now.”

  “So you think I should just end it? Right now. On tour.”

  “What better place to do it?”

  “You want me dead.”

  “I want you happy. As soon as possible, preferably.” Hunk sighed. “Do you think Pidge will let me drink some of her Sprite?”

  “Touch my fucking Sprite, and I'll rip your hand off.”

  Lance stumbled away from the door just in time for Pidge to push it open in her usual, over dramatic way. Behind her, Allura trailed inside the room, too.

  Lance pressed himself against the wall. He and Allura made eye contact. The room went silent, even though Pidge didn't know what was going on, and Hunk was still sipping at a Diet Coke he didn't even want.

  Lance forced a wobbled smile on his face and said, “Hey, babe. How was your walk?”

   Allura shouldered past him, grabbed her purse from the counter and walked back out again.

  Pidge whistled. “Trouble in paradise?”

  Lance closed his eyes. “We haven't been in paradise for a long, long time.”

  ----

  This was going to be so easy. It was going to be so, so easy. Lance just needed to do it. He just needed to say it. He needed to bundle up the energy he'd had on stage tonight, lock it up, and release it only when Allura was in front of him.

  The crowd had dispersed. The lights were back on. Outside, the sky was black and the stars were bright.

  Lance bit his lip, waiting on Allura to appear from the backstage lounge. It didn't take long – it never did. Allura liked kissing Lance after a show. Seeing him on stage always excited her, let her forget about the real problems for a little while. Even though she was mad, her boyfriend was still a rock star – she didn't want to lose that.

  Lance was getting pretty tired of only having a happy relationship when it suited her.

  She came skipping out of the backstage lounge, ponytail swishing back and forth. She was wearing a pair of shorts, hidden beneath an oversized yellow shirt that was cinched at the waist with a corset belt. She looked utterly stunning.

  It wasn't enough.

  Lance pushed himself up from the stage just in time to catch her. She dove into his arms, pressing kisses to his cheeks that did not make his heart flutter like they used to. She kicked her legs up, squealed in his ear, and it just annoyed him.

  He set her down. She kept her arms on his shoulders.

  “You did amazing! That girl threw her damn bra at you, babe! That's another thing to check off the bucket list!”

  Lance forced a smile. “Can we talk?”

  Allura paused. Even in her excited state, she could tell something was wrong; she was air-headed at times, but not oblivious, not stupid. She'd known Lance long enough to tell when he was being serious.

  Slowly, Lance took her hand and guided her through the front doors of the venue. Behind a closed door, Keith played a bit of his bass guitar – that was his way of winding down. Pidge and Hunk's voice came through the same closed door, repeating a mantra of “Rock, Paper, Scissors!”

  Lance wanted to be with them. He didn't want to be with Allura.

  That really settled things for him.

  He led her out into the darkness. The stars cheered him on. The moon might have been disappointed – it wasn't full tonight. In fact, it was barely visible, nothing more than a tiny slice of crescent glistening amongst the blinking stars that dominated its sky tonight.

  Lance inhaled. Allura squeezed his hand. He waited for a response, something physical that could convince him this was a bad idea, that could remind him he'd fallen in love with her once and maybe he could do it again.

  But nothing happened.

  “Baby. You're scaring me.”

  Lance glanced at her. He wasn't sure if she could tell in the darkness. “There's nothing to be scared of. Not really.”

  “Not really? What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I just. . . I don't think either of us can ignore the problem any more, Allura.” There it was. The beginning. He was dropping crumbs, hoping she would understand the big picture without him having to explicitly spell it out for her.

  She stared at him. “Problem. What's the problem?”

  “We're the problem.”

  She spluttered. “Us?”

  “We argue non-stop.”

  “We're not arguing right now-”

  “You're already getting hostile, and I haven't even-”

  “No I'm not!” She squeezed his hand. “Lance, this is ridiculous. Tour is making you tired. You're not thinking straight.”

  His heart raced into his stomach; she sounded upset. Genuinely upset. The kind of upset that told Lance she was still in love with him, even though he was not in love with her.

  “Allura, please,” he mumbled. “I'm not tired. Not of . . . Not of the tour. I'm tired of arguing. I'm tired of not being happy.”

  Allura reeled back as if she'd been slapped. Her fingers unwound from Lance's, and she took a step back. “You're not happy?”

  Lance rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a headache. “I'm not.”

  “You should have said something. We could have fixed it-”

  “We've been trying to fix it, but we always end up right back at square one. You think my life needs to revolve around you-”

  Allura gasped. “So you're going to blame me for this?”

  Lance groaned. “There you go again, putting words in my mouth, getting angry before you've even heard the full fucking sentence!”

  “Don't swear at me, Lance McClain. Don't you dare.” She inhaled shakily. Lance could hear the tears in her voice despite her clenched teeth. “I'm not going to apologise for asking my boyfriend to pay attention to me sometimes. I don't just want the title of girlfriend and that's it – I want you to treat this like a relationship.”

  “I do treat this like a relationship!” Lance shot back. “Well, I did. Now I don't see a point to it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “There is nothing to save any more, Allura. You're miserable. I'm miserable. Anyone with a working pair of eyes can see it.”

  Allura scoffed. “I was never miserable, Lance.”

  Lance shrugged. “That doesn't change the fact that I was.”

  Allura fell silent, because that was the comment he didn't really mean to say; it had been on his mind, an absolute last resort if things got out of hand, but he didn't think he would have to use it. The words tasted sour, a little harsh, but maybe the truth was just meant to be harsh sometimes. Maybe this was just something he couldn't help.

  She sniffled. Lance couldn't see her tears in the darkness, but he heard them. “Okay then. Okay. I – uh – I tried with you, Lance, but clearly my efforts were wasted. Clearly you can't put someone who loves you before your own selfish needs.”

  “Selfish needs?”

  “You just want fame. You're so focused on getting famous, being at the top all the time, that you forget the people waiting on you at the bottom.”

  “That isn't-”

  “Well, I'm done. The day you finally crash and burn, don't expect me to be there.” And with those words spoken, she span on her heel and left.

  Just like that.

  Everything was so backwards.

  Lance had been the one to initiate the break up. He'd been the one to lead her out, to have it all planned out in his head – and yet he was the one left standing on his own, unsure of what to do or say. His entire body felt numb, and it was no longer because of the nights chill.

  He wrapped his arms around himself, wondering how easy it would be for him to just start running. He had no destination in mind, but he needed to move. He needed to get away. He needed the adrenaline to pump through his body again because he hated feeling dead and he wanted to feel alive again but the show was over, the fans had left, and he was feeling deflated all over again.

  This was the life he'd forced himself into. Everything was boring until he got on stage again. He relied on the audience and the fans and the music to get him through the day without bashing his head against the wall, and as soon as it was over, he just. . . . died.

  “If it helps.”

  His breath got caught in his throat. He did not turn around.

  “I don't think you'll crash and burn any time soon.”

  He closed his eyes. His head fell forward. His neck strained, and the tears hurt when they slithered down his chin, but he was too far gone by now. His shoulders shook, only stopping when your arms wrapped around his middle and you pressed your face into his back, pulling him into an embrace he didn't realise he needed until now.

  “Was that Allura?”

  Lance sobbed. It was a response.

  You squeezed him tighter. “You're gonna get cold out here, you know. Have you got any friend you could call to take you home?”

  “Don't wanna go home,” Lance croaked out. “Don't make me go home.”

   You paused, a little uncertain. “Do you want . . . I mean, I have a sofa that you're welcome to use.”

   I want to run away. Get away from this place. Sleep.

  Lance sniffled, swiping a hand under his nose. “Mikhail won't mind?”

  “It doesn't matter.”

  Lance turned his head, glancing at you. You were still clinging onto his back, though when you looked up and met his gaze, your eyes widened a little bit and you scrambled back, adorably folding your hands in front of you.

  Lance sighed. “If it's not too much trouble...”

  “Of course not,” you replied, taking his hand. “A five minute walk, if you don't mind.”

  “Lead the way.”

  ----

  When Mikhail walked in, he didn't need to ask.

  Lance was curled up on the sofa, head buried beneath the pillows. You'd draped a throw blanket over him, trying to keep him warm, but he still shivered. He still trembled. He still refused to lift his head from the corner of the sofa, and it was the most heartbreaking sight you'd ever been subject to.

  Mikhail came and stood beside you. He was so tall, blonde hair pulled into a spiky ponytail. His ice blue eyes stared down at Lance, a hint of sadness evident in his gaze; though he didn't say it, you could tell he enjoyed Lance's company. The compliments Lance had given had stuck with your old friend.

  “What happened to him?” Mikhail asked.

  “I think he got in a fight with his girlfriend. A pretty big one.”

  “And he came back here?”

  You sheepishly looked at the floor. “I kind of offered him the space.”

  Mikhail's eyes snapped up, burning holes into the side of your face. You refused to look back at him, instead nibbling on your bottom lip with your arms folded over your chest. “Y/N...”

  “He said he didn't want to go home.”

  “But this is our home-”

  “It'll just be tonight. Just until he gets his head on straight. I'm sure one of his friends will be round here soon enough looking for him.”

   “And what are we gonna tell them when that happens?”

  “That he got his heart broken, and we took care of it.”

  Mikhail sighed. “You took care of it.” He shrugged his massive, thick coat off, draping it over the back of the very sofa Lance was sleeping on. “I'm going to bed. Which is something you should think about doing, too.”

  You waved a dismissive hand. It was answer enough. With yet another sigh, Mikhail left the living room, left you standing over Lance's sleeping form, a million questions spiralling through your head; you would ask him about them tomorrow, if he was comfortable with such a line of conversation.

  You sat down on the other sofa, pulling your knees into your chest. It was with hesitant hands you reached into your bag and pulled your journal out; you'd had plans this evening to write some lyrics under the moonlight, but those plans had been ruined when you stumbled across Lance and the tall, pretty girl he'd been yelling at.

  You wrote songs about butterflies. You wrote songs about nature, and grass, and plants, and all the beautiful things in the world.

  You looked down at your page and wrote His tanned skin glows.

  ---

  Lance would have gladly spent all day in bed if it hadn't been for the insistent ringing of his mobile phone.

  He'd always known his friends would come chasing after him; he had a moment to himself, but it would never last long. That wasn't possible when you were a world famous rock star.

  With a groan, he rolled over and swiped his phone from the floor; it hadn't been on charge all night, but when he looked at the screen and saw it was currently 4:00am, that didn't seem like much of an issue. The name glaring back at him was Hunk, but when Lance pressed 'ACCEPT' it was Shiro's voice that rang out.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Well, good morning to you too.”

  “Lance, I'm not fucking about.” Lance nearly flinched. It was very rare Shiro cursed. “Where are you? We've been looking for you for hours.”

  “You can put your search on hold, then, because I'm fine.”

  Shiro grunted. “You're acting so calm about this. Are you drunk? High? Your mother's gonna kill me if she finds out-”

  “I'm neither drunk nor high, my good man.” Lance rolled over onto his back and glared up at the ceiling; through the curtains, a tiny sliver of morning sun was beginning to peak through. Lance had a sudden urge to go out and watch the sunrise; maybe it was just because he was in your house, and you gave off the vibes of someone who loved watching the sun. “I'm doing fine.”

  “You said that before. It's no more believable now than it was the first time.”

   “You're worried about me. That's sweet. I'm flattered.” Lance used his foot to drag the coat off the back of the sofa. It landed on his legs. He wondered why he'd done it. “Did Allura get home okay?”

  Shiro went quiet.

  Lance sighed. “You can tell me if she's mad, you know. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms.”

  “She was packing her things when I went in to ask where you were,” said Shiro. “I think she's gone now.”

  “None of you tried to stop her?”

  Again, Shiro went quiet.

  Lance closed his eyes. No, of course they didn't try stopping her; nobody in the group liked her, and Lance knew that from the moment things started getting serious. The late-night talks with Shiro, once disguised as brotherly love, where Shiro asked if this was really what Lance wanted, if Lance was sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman. And Lance, naïve as anything, had always said yes, because at the time, Allura's thick locks and her snarky attitude and her sharp tongue was all he thought he needed.

  He let his head fall against his shoulder. “I bet she hates me, doesn't she?”

  “No one can ever hate you, Lance. You're too good for that.” He paused. “She's just a little angry. Is that you two over then?”

  “I suppose so.” It seemed like an unsure answer, not the whole truth. Lance was positive it was over, because he really couldn't see himself going back this time. He couldn't see himself ever loving her again, ever loving anyone again, as he lay across this strangers sofa, glaring up at an unfamiliar ceiling at four in the morning. He didn't want to be put through this ever again.

  “Are you coming back soon, Lance?” Shiro asked. His voice was a little quieter now, and Lance had the sudden urge to hug him, as he often did when Shiro got upset. Shiro was an emotional man, but it still seemed wrong for him to be sad.

  Lance fiddled with a loose thread on the sofa. “I'm gonna have to, aren't I? We've got a tour to complete.”

  “Fuck the tour. If you're not in the right mindset, we can take a break. Go on a bit of a hiatus. We can all have a bit of a holiday. God knows you deserve it; you're the one that's worked the hardest out of all of us.”

  Lance scoffed. “Shucks, Shiro. Take a boy to dinner first.”

  “I'm serious. If you need a break-”

  “I don't need a break. I've had enough breaks to last me an entire life time. Just. . . . Just give me the day, yeah? To get my head back on straight.”

  Shiro paused. “Are you coming back, Lance?”

  Lance closed his eyes. “I'll be back, Shiro. Don't worry.”

  “You'll call me if you need anything, right?”

  “Of course. You're my go-to credit card.”

  “Ha ha. Don't get yourself into any trouble. I'm not picking you up from the police station.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “Goodbye, Lance.”

  “See you later, Shiro.”

  And then the phone went dead.

  Lance dropped his hand to his chest and inhaled deeply. He kept his eyes open, afraid of falling asleep again, wasting the day that was slowly rising behind him. He wanted to get up and get himself back on track; if he let himself fall any deeper into whatever this was, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to pull himself back out of it. That was a risk he certainly wasn't willing to take when he had the whole world watching.

  And they were watching, would be watching for the rest of his life. He needed to be prepared for that.

  It was on shaky legs that he stood up, bundling the random throw blanket around his shoulders. He crept towards the kitchen, separated from the living room only by the kitchen counter, and went for the fridge. He was still dressed in his day-clothes, his hair still slightly gelled from the show the night before. His voice was still a little croaky, and his ears still rang with the evidence of screaming fans and music blasting through his skull.

  He ducked his head down and searched the contents of the fridge for anything he could have for breakfast. There was eggs, some vegetables, a packet of Haribo's that were open, sprawled across the glass shelf. He reached out, plucked a gummy bear from the pile, popped it in his mouth-

  “That's not a very good thing to have for breakfast.”

  He tilted his head against the door. “Of course you'd be awake at four in the morning.”

  You settled on the kitchen floor beside him. Your legs were bare, your pyjama shorts hidden beneath an oversized shirt. Your knee hit against Lance's foot, somehow coaxing him to shift his position so he, too, was sat on the kitchen tiles. He kept his head pressed against the fridge door, trying to hide the blush that rose on his face; you'd been the only other person to see him yesterday. He'd cried in your arms. You'd offered him a place to stay.

  Overall, Lance had made himself look like a complete idiot. How was he ever meant to explain this to you?

  “I don't sleep very well when it's cold,” you said. “That doesn't explain why you're awake, though.”

  “My friend called me. He just wanted to know where I was.”

  You paused. “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “I think he knows. I think they all kind of know.”

  You nodded as if this was explanation enough, even though it wasn't and Lance knew it wasn't – what you had seen yesterday wasn't even the start of it. That was just the tipping point, the product of months upon months of constant arguing and internal battles that had exhausted Lance far beyond anything he'd felt before.

  But you didn't push him to answer any more questions. You just sat beside him on the kitchen floor, legs folded, hands messing idly with the edges of the blanket wrapped around Lance's shoulders. He remembered you saying you couldn't sleep well in the cold and wrapped one half of the blanket around you. For a second, you stiffened beneath it's light weight, before Lance felt you slump against him, giving in to the heat.

  “You should really go back to bed, though,” said Lance. “You're gonna be tired.”

  “I'll be fine. I don't really want to waste the day.” Your eyes lit up then, snapping to his. “We should do something today.”

  And the request was so sudden, so innocent, that Lance nearly choked on air just trying to process it; your eyes were wide, smile even wider, but then you saw his shocked expression and your own face started to drop.

  Lance hurried to compose himself. “D-do something?”

  “Not – like – No. I'm not asking you on a date. I'd give you a bit longer than a day to get over your ex before I made my move.” You laughed awkwardly. Lance couldn't help but grin, amused by the way you dug yourself further and further into this hole. “But we could do something fun. Like – uh – when I'm bored, I go busking. Or I'll go and sit out on the steps and write some lyrics.” You paused. “I go butterfly watching sometimes, too, but that's a bit boring, isn't it?”

  Lance shook his head. “I don't think it's boring.”

  “Really?”

  “We can do whatever you want,” he said, already getting to his feet. “I have the day off, and who better to take me round the sights than someone who butterfly watches?”

  Lance offered you a hand. You took it, and he hauled you to your feet. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, and Lance could feel the itching of words in the back of his head, but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was he actually wanted to say.

  So, he just shrugged and turned away. “Do you have any spare clothes I could borrow?”

  “Oh, so giving you my living room wasn't enough?”

  Lance smirked, not turning to look at you. “Well, it is. But you'll have to suffer walking around town all day with a guy who smells like sweat.”

  There was a pause. And then, “Okay. The shower's at the end of the hall, last door on your left. I'll sneak in to Mikhail's room and get you something to wear.”

  ----

  Watching the butterflies was usually a very personal thing for you.

  You hadn't realised it until now, but having Lance beside you made you feel a little embarrassed. You led him through the field, his fingers threaded through yours so he wouldn't fall flat on his face, and the entire time, you wondered why he'd agreed to this in the first place.

  He was just being nice. That was probably it; you'd given him a place to sleep, and now he felt in your debt. You wanted to tell him he didn't have to – he could have gone home this morning if he really wanted to. You wouldn't have minded. You wouldn't have been surprised.

  Nonetheless, he was with you, and you were in the field, and there was no point in bringing it up now.

  You led him to the middle of the field and sat down. The grass brushed against every bit of exposed skin you were showing off, and you wriggled a little bit before finally finding comfort and flopping down onto your back. Lance stood over you, looking around with his hands dug into his pockets; the white shirt he was wearing was much too big on him, and you'd been forced to pin up the sleeves in any attempt to make him look less like a joke and more like a man borrowing a taller mans attire.

  You shielded your eyes from the sun. “Would you prefer to stand?”

  His eyes snapped down. “Is the grass not irritating you?”

  “No. Well, yeah, but you get used to it.” You patted the ground next to you. “Come on. It's comfy down here – unless you have hay fever.”

   Lance scoffed, as if the idea of him having hay fever was a ridiculous one. He shook Mikhail's jacket from his shoulders, laid it out on the grass beside you and followed shortly after; his elbow clipped yours as he shielded his eyes from the blinding sun, the two of you looking around for the butterflies you'd come here to admire.

  And Lance was very close to you.

  This train of thought was so stupid, and you knew that. You weren't a teenager any more – you couldn't go round thinking every little movement your crush did was somehow in direct link to your feelings; but you couldn't deny the sudden thumping of your heart, the sudden realisation that Lance was so much taller than you, and he smelled like the shampoo Mikhail always used, and he was staring up at the sun right now, waiting for butterflies.

  You closed your eyes fully, hands flopping to your chest.

  “This is actually really nice,” Lance said.

  You hummed.

  “Can you tell me what kinds of butterflies come around here?”

  You creaked open an eye, turning your head just slightly to get a glimpse of him. He was still staring into the sky, searching for them. He looked to be showing a genuine interest. It warmed your heart more than you cared to admit, both to yourself and anyone else.

  “All sorts,” you replied after a moment of silent admiration. “There's brimstone butterflies – they're the most common ones.”

  “Which ones are they?”

  “They blend in with the leaves. You won't see them unless you're really looking, but they're there, and there's a lot of them.”

  Lance hummed. “Any others?”

 You shifted, pushing a strand of grass away from your ankle. “There's the small tortoiseshell butterflies.”

  Lance snickered. “Really? That's what they're called?”

  “They're the orange ones. The orange and black ones, you know?”

  “Oh! I see those everywhere!”

  “Yeah! They're pretty. I like writing about them.”

  Lance paused. It took you a moment to realise exactly what you'd said – was it a confession? At this point, you weren't even sure. You sang about butterflies, their beauty, but you'd never told anyone that was what you wrote about. It felt like ripping a bandage away after so long of covering a wound.

  Slowly, Lance turned to face you. You continued staring at the sky. “You're writing about butterflies?”

  “Most of the time.” You remembered the previous night, writing things that weren't about butterflies, that could not be traced back to butterflies, that could only ever be traced back to one person.

  You swallowed thickly. As if the heavens could somehow sense your sudden desperation for a conversation change, a butterfly fluttered overhead. You gasped, slapping Lance's arm, using your free hand to point at the pretty specimen.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It's a peacock butterfly!” you exclaimed.

  “A who?”

  “A peacock butterfly.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  Your hand dropped back to the grass. “It's pretty. You're missing out.”

  “You're meant to explain this stuff to me. Where did it go?”

  You shook your head, grinning. “It's gone now. You probably scared it off.”

  Lance's head snapped round. “Me? I wasn't the one yelling my head off!”

  “I got excited!”

  “Yeah, well, you shouldn't blame me for your precious little peacock butterfly flying away when you raise your damn voice.”

  “You're yelling right now.”

 “I'm not yelling. I'm scolding. There's a difference.”

  It fell silent. It lasted only a second, the only sound being the swish swish swish of the grass as the breeze combed it's invisible fingers through the blades.

  And then Lance started laughing.

  It started out as a quiet, sudden pfffft sound, before he was rolling onto his side and laughing full force into the grass. You stared at him for a second, before your own laughter erupted and you were doing the exact same thing, curling an arm round your middle. The butterflies flew away, startled at the sudden noise, but you didn't care. Not right now. Not whenever Lance gripped your arm to steady himself before he face-planted the dirt.

  “Okay, sorry, sorry,” he gasped, flopping onto his back again, catching his breath with a fist curled into his stomach. “That was so fucking stupid.”

  You continued to giggle, swiping a hand beneath your eye. You didn't even have anything to say – not really. The moment was perfect on it's own, and you didn't want to risk ruining it by replying.

  Looking up, you could tell Lance was staring at you. His eyes burned holes in the side of your face as you bundled your hands in the grass and continued to giggle, until your stomach hurt and you had to roll on your back again just to catch your breath. On his face, a glimmer of a smile was present – not too obvious, not too big, but enough that you had to look away to hide your own embarrassment.

  Lance had the kind of gaze that made someone think they were the only person in the whole world. He had the kind of gaze that rock stars had, eyes meeting, stage to crowd and back again.

  You bit your lip and shook your head, staring back up at the sun. “We should sing something.”

  He didn't question it, simply nodded, placing one arm behind his head. “What have you got in mind?”

  “I'll sing anything.”

  Lance pondered, until finally he started singing, all on his own, with no explanation to the song he was singing; it was one you had heard only vaguely on the radio, when you and Mikhail would be driving between different places. It would come on, and you remembered enjoying it, but never stopping to listen to the words.

  So you just listened to Lance. You closed your eyes, the lyrics sinking into your brain for the first time. His voice was beautiful – so, so beautiful. He called himself a rock fan, but the voice that carried these words was not the voice of a rock star. It was something else. Soft spoken, a lullaby, some words dipping into a mumble before he raised his voice a little higher to be heard over the breeze, over your thundering heartbeat.

  When the song was finished, he inhaled. You cast him a glance, biting your lower lip. He had his eyes closed, one hand curled in his brown hair. His chest rose and fell, and you wondered how many times he'd sung that song in front of someone.

   “Beautiful,” you whispered. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  He looked at you. His eyes were backlit by the sun, making the blue so much more obvious and clear. It was like staring into an ocean; so blue, so much undiscovered. He was a mystery and a force all at once, and you were suddenly overcome with the need to just lean over and press your lips to his, to swallow the words he'd just serenaded you with.

  You looked away, reminding yourself sternly that he'd just broken up with his girlfriend. You needed to be there for him as a friend. You needed to stop letting your selfish thoughts get in the way.

  “That's called Welcome to Hell,” he explained suddenly. “My friend Shiro wrote the lyrics. I just sing it.”

  “You sing it beautifully.”

  “It's usually a bit more upbeat than that. Pretty sure Pidge screams in the chorus, but I thought I'd sing the downplayed version since we don't have the band here.”

  You grinned. “I like the downplayed version. I'm more a fan of the soft music.”

  “Well then I guess I'll have to play some more soft music.”

  “I guess so.”

  ----

  Lance didn't really want to go home.

  Home. He didn't even know what counted as his home any more, considering he was never in a single place long enough to figure it out. Hotel rooms. The tour bus. An old inn he'd crashed in once because he'd been too drunk to make his way to the hotel; could he count those places as home?

  However, he had to get back to his band mates. He said a halting, slightly emotional goodbye to you and wandered off. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt the way he did, why his throat was constricting, why his stomach clenched with every step he took away from you; maybe it was because he could imagine you going back to square one, sitting on the steps with Mikhail playing the guitar and your voice ringing through the square in front of the venue. You deserved so much more than that. You wanted more than that, and it killed Lance to know he could do nothing to help you along the way.

  He arrived home. Allura's stuff had been moved out of the tour bus. Keith's partner awkwardly explained the situation, and then nobody asked any questions; nobody really needed to. They'd all seen this coming. They all knew Lance and Allura would not last, and it didn't embarrass Lance as much as he thought it would; he was doused in relief more than anything else. Relief at the fact he was finally free. Relief at the fact both he and Allura could move on with their lives in peace, figuring it out from this point onward.

  Lance spent the first few days back writing lyrics.

  The shows had been put on hold at Shiro's request. They were given a two week break, a break Lance didn't know he needed until it was upon him. He could have slept the entire fourteen days away, but he forced himself into a stable sleeping pattern because you liked to call him at nine am every morning, asking him if he was on his way to the venue, and he always was, because the thought of seeing you excited him more than anything else.

  Lance was happy he'd managed to stay in touch with you. Every morning, he'd brew up his coffee and put it in his thermal, and then he'd walk to the steps he'd grown so fond of. Sometimes Mikhail would be there, and he and Lance would laugh over some absurd inside joke that they'd developed surprisingly quick. Sometimes it would just be you, scribbling lyrics in your notebook. Lance would sit beside you, lean his head back against the steps, trying to memorise the names of the butterflies you so excitedly pointed out when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

  “That's not even a butterfly; that's a moth.”

  “It's still pretty!”

  Lance would roll his eyes and you'd grin and then you would sit and talk for hours. Sometimes Lance would sing for you. Sometimes you'd sing for him. Sometimes you would just sit in silence and that on it's own was perfectly fine.

  Lance was spiralling. He could feel it, the shift from heartbroken to being stitched whole again. It was strange, scary. He didn't want to risk it just yet. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

  He walked back to the tour bus on the twelfth day of their break, empty thermal in hand, a coat pulled tight round his body. The collar was up, shielding his ears from the blaring wind that suddenly decided to hit the area. He jogged onto the bus with a hearty brrrr to really exaggerate just how cold it was.

  Hunk sat by the window. No one else was in sight.

  “Where has everyone else gone?”

  Hunk didn't look up from his phone. “They went to dinner.”

  Lance raised a brow, pausing in the action of stripping his coat off. “Why didn't you go with them?”

  “I wanted to wait for you.”

  “Right. . . Why?”

  Hunk looked up. There was a glint in his eye, part mischief and part all-knowing; it made Lance want to run right back to the stairs, just to get out of his way.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You're a creepy bastard-”

  “Come sit down, Lancey-pants. We need to have our Big Boy chat.”

   Lance nearly gagged. “Please never say that again.”

  “Come sit down.”

 Lance rolled his eyes, tossing the coat on the back of the chair before he flopped down on the sofa beside Hunk. The bigger man made room, even though there was plenty, and Lance reached into the packet of chocolate digestives, taking a bite out of one as he waited for Hunk to start talking.

  He didn't push the conversation. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to start or not.

  “Wanna explain to me where you were?”

  “I was out with Y/N.” It was the simple answer. The truth.

  Hunk nodded, smirking around a biscuit, like he knew something Lance didn't.

  Lance leaned forward, trying to meet Hunk's eyes. “What are you smiling at?”

   “Nothing. I'm not smiling. I've never smiled a day in my life-”

  “You're getting flustered.”

  “Why are you so observant-”

  Lance slapped the biscuit out of Hunk's hand. “What have you done?”

  Hunk's eyes lit up. An amused grin spread across his face, a sharp laugh escaping his throat. “I haven't done anything!”

   Lance frowned. “Then why are you smiling?”

   “I'm just happy for you, bro!” Hunk shook his head, grabbing another biscuit and dipping it into his tea. “Honestly. How long were you out in that cold weather for?”

  Lance slowly leaned back, refusing to take his eyes off Hunk's face. “Why are you happy for me?”

  This caught Hunk's attention. His ears twitched. His smile wavered a little bit, like it wanted to get bigger but Hunk wasn't letting it.

  “I just. . . You and Y/N. I haven't seen you that happy in a long time.”

   Lance's stomach curled. “Hunk...”

  “I'm not suggesting anything,” Hunk hastened to add. “Although, if there was something going on, I don't think anyone would really mind. Not like we did with Allura.”

  By now, the blush had long since crawled up Lance's throat, attacking his cheeks in a way he could not hide. He looked to the left, fighting off the slow panic rising in his throat – why was he even panicking? It wasn't like he'd made any attempt to hide his friendship with you. He went out with you almost everyday, and nobody had an issue with it.

  But Hunk was looking at things from a completely different angle, and he was pulling Lance on it. Lance didn't really have a response, though, because his brain was short circuiting and he was fairly certain he was going to explode into giddy giggles at any given moment.

  “You like them, don't you?”

  Hunk's voice startled him. Lance's head snapped round. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to dispel this crazy idea, but he found words failing him. His mouth slowly closed, and Hunk's eyes widened just a fraction.

  “Wait-”

  “Don't say it.”

  Hunk leaped up, pulling his feet beneath him on the sofa. He whirled on Lance, grabbing his shoulder. The chocolate digestive he'd previously held fell from his grip, landing behind the sofa cushion, but Hunk didn't seem to care. His eyes were alight, fireworks burning into Lance's skull.

  “Oh my god, really? I knew it! I fucking knew it! Shiro owes me a tenner!”

  Lance swatted Hunk's hands away. “Would you shut up? It's not like they like me back, and honestly, getting into another relationship right now just sounds scary.”

   This was the moment Hunk frowned.

  His hands slid off Lance's shoulders, landing in his lap. His eyes had gone dull, his mouth pulled into a frown that contained more disappointment than sadness. “You're kidding.”

  “I'm not. That break up with Allura-”

  “Was meant to happen!” Hunk exclaimed. “It was meant to happen so you could find Y/N!”

  Lance's eyes widened. “You're not really that cringe, are you?”

  “I'm being honest.” Hunk flopped back, folding his arms over his chest. “I can't believe you're doing what Keith did. That whole I want to stay single thing. If you've found someone who makes you happy, why would you waste time?”

  “I'm not wasting time-”

 “You and Y/N hang out every day. You come home looking like a giddy school kid. You wrote a fucking song about them, for crying out loud – did you ever write a song for Allura?”

  Lance paused. “That's not the point. The two aren't comparable.”

  “My point exactly; you like Y/N. I think you might even love them-”

  “Hunk, don't start with that.”

  Hunk shrugged. “I just think you're being stupid holding off your own happiness.”

   Lance looked away. Whenever Hunk got like this, he was never sure how to reply – he had his reasons, and he didn't need to list them to anyone, but Hunk also had a point. Why was he holding off so much? His entire life motto up until this point consisted of doing what makes you happy, fuck what other people think, and yet here he was, overthinking everything because his brain had been a jumbled mess for days now.

  He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them. “Y/N's different, man.”

  Hunk tensed.

  Lance continued. “You know they write about butterflies? Not men, not women, not. . . attractive people. They write about butterflies, but you'd never be able to tell. And then they sing, and it's like. . . . I mean, it's so different to what I enjoy, but I enjoy it anyway, you know? They have that kind of voice, that level of skill. I don't know. . . I don't know how they do it.”

  Lance turned his head, closing his eyes. “And the laughs we have together – I honestly couldn't even tell you what half of the jokes mean, but we just find them so damn funny. They get teary-eyed when they laugh too much, and they snorted once, and it was the funniest thing I've ever heard, so we just laughed some more. An old man even came up and asked us what was so funny.”

  “He probably thought you were a couple. It sounds very couple-y.”

  “It kind of was.” Lance pursed his lips. “Except we're not a couple.”

  “No.” Hunk's voice was sombre. “And whose fault is that?”

  ---

  The crowd was screaming.

  Lance could hear his name jumping around. Nothing major. The crowd wasn't just here for him, and he wouldn't have it any other way; mixed in with the sounds of his own name came Keith's, Hunk's, Pidge's, a few Shiro's being tossed back and forth.

  Lance closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. The pre-show nerves were beginning to settle. He needed a moment to catch his bearings, to focus his brain on the task at hand before he jumped out on stage and put on the best performance he could.

  It was the last show in this town, and Lance was ready for it. His nerves ate away at him, but his hands twitched, his fingers curling round the microphone, his ears ringing with the cheers that were already so loud, so enthusiastic, even though they stared at nothing more than an empty stage at the moment.

  The count down began. Hunk, Pidge and Keith emerged from backstage, fastening ear pieces into their ears, straightening their hair and their clothes. Hunk clapped his drum sticks together and gave Lance a smile that should have made Lance suspicious, but he was so deep in his own head at the minute that he barely gave it a second glance.

  The manager hit “1” and then the opening music started blasting and Lance was jumping out on stage, yelling into his microphone, asking the crowd if they were ready, if they were sure they were ready, telling them this was going to be the best night of their damn lives, and it would be because Lance was back in the game, and he refused to leave here without making every single face in that crowd light up with an emotion none of them had ever felt before.

  They screamed right back at him. In this room, they were equals. Yes, Smokey Saturdays were the performers. Yes, they were here to entertain these wonderful, enthusiastic people, but Lance had never felt so close to anyone than he did now, jumping around, singing the lyrics he'd grown to love as the crowd sang them back, all of them with different interpretations of the same song.

  Sweat dripped down his neck. The next song came on. The crowd jumped, and Pidge screamed into her microphone, and Keith leaped off his dais and ran along the edge of the crowd whilst still managing to hit every single note on his bass. Lance span on his heel, pointed at Hunk, and Hunk pointed right back-

  But not at Lance. Hunk pointed to a spot just over Lance's shoulder.

  With a grin, Lance span on his heel and followed the direction Hunk was gesturing to. His eyes racked the crowd; he made eye contact with a few people, all of whom screamed and lost their minds.

  Lance, however, could focus on nothing more than you standing in the front row, hands curled around the security barriers, eyes pouring into his own.

  He nearly doubled over, nearly missed his cue to keep singing. He tripped over his feet, caught himself and continued, but his eyes never left your own. You were dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. You were barely moving. Only your lips were making any effort, mumbling the words to Welcome to Hell, and for a second, it was as if you were singing along. It was as if you and Lance were in a duet.

  Lance turned, microphone still pressed to his lips. Hunk was smiling wider now, slamming his drum sticks into his drum kit, singing along even though he had no microphone and no one could hear him. Lance's heart thrummed with something he couldn't explain, a happiness that was too heavy to be called happiness and still have it's full meaning.

  That was the best show Lance had ever put on.

  He felt it in his bones as he jogged off stage that night, sweat dripping, soaking his shirt. He flopped against the wall, patting Keith's back when he ran past, giving Pidge a hug when she did the same thing. He got ready to throw himself at Hunk, demand answers, but the man never appeared. With a frown, Lance popped his head round the curtain; standing by the edge of the stage, Hunk leaned over the security railing, his hand outstretched to one lucky fan-

  Lance's eyes widened. He had only seconds before Hunk managed to help you on stage, only seconds to dart towards the backstage area, only seconds to comb his hands through his hair before you laid eyes on him, because he really wasn't ready for this, and he never looked worse than when he'd just bounded off stage-

  “Ooooh, Lancey-kins!”

  Lance span around. Keith and Pidge paused by the buffet table, looking round with mouths full and eyes curious; Lance's heart was beating a million miles per hour, and the rhythm only got worse when he turned to see you awkwardly standing in the doorway. Hunk had an arm slung over your shoulders. He was grinning from ear to ear, because he knew exactly what he'd done.

  Lance swallowed thickly. He was so tired. His muscles were drained, and his throat was raw, and his ears were ringing, but seeing you in front of him. . . He couldn't go to sleep. Not without talking to you first.

  And maybe he should have been mad at Hunk. The drummer had gone against his wishes, had dismissed everything Lance said to him back on the tour bus, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything close to anger. Not when you were looking around the backstage area with eyes so wide and curious, mouth slightly open before your eyes landed on Lance and you grinned, wide and kind.

  Pidge swallowed loudly, a cartoonish gulp that brought all attention to her. “Who's this?”

  “This-” Hunk shoved you forward. Lance grabbed your elbow before you could fall. “-is Y/N L/N, Lance's friend.”

   The pair of bassist's eyes widened. “This is Y/N?”

  You laughed awkwardly. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” said Keith, surprising Lance with his sudden social tone. “It's – uh – nice to have proof you're real.”

  “Don't embarrass the lad,” Hunk hissed, shoving Keith back. “Let's give them a minute to talk.”

   And then his band were shuffling out of the room, closing the door behind them.

  If there was ever a time in which Lance debated starting a solo career, it was now.

  He still had his hand on your elbow. He flinched away like the fabric of your shirt had burned him, hastily shoving his hand into his pockets. You bit your lip, looking round the room, possibly searching for something to say, and it was so confusing because neither of you had ever struggled with words before, but there was something different about the atmosphere in this room, at this particular moment, that left barely any room for casual talking.

  Lance could tell something had changed. Something was about to change.

  Lance wanted something to change.

  He swallowed, turned to you and said, “Did you enjoy the show?”

  Your eyes met his. He had to hold his breath to stop it from escaping his system in one, obvious whoosh. “You're very good. Made for the stage, I think the term is.”

  “I've been doing it for a while.”

  “I can tell. The way you interacted with the crowd. . . That was amazing. It was one of the best concerts I've ever been to.”

  Lance bit his lip. “You mean that?”

  “I think everyone on the internet means that.”

  Lance chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, breathing a little deeper. “Yeah, well. I messed up in the middle of it-”

  “You did?”

  “I wasn't expecting to see you standing there. It shocked me a little bit.”

  You paused. Lance didn't look down at you, but he could feel your own eyes resting on him, waiting for him to elaborate. The words were there, perched on the tip of his tongue – he could so easily explain his feelings right now, but it was complicated and he was tired and his brain really wasn't working at full capacity. If Hunk thought tonight was the ideal night to get Lance to make a move, he was very much mistaken.  

  “Was it . . . Was it a good shock?” Your voice was timid. Lance's eyes snapped down just in time to see you wince at your own words. “God, was that too flirty? I bet that sounded too flirty. I didn't mean – like – I don't usually come on so strong, but you were really good today and I just – you know – wanted you to know that I really enjoyed myself-”

  “It was a good shock.”

  You froze. Slowly, Lance brushed his fingertips against your arm, a silent question, a silent invitation.

  “Oh,” you whispered, voice cracking. “That's good. I'd hate to be a – a hindrance.”

  Lance took a step closer. “You'd never be a hindrance.”

  “No? That's good.” You rubbed the back of your neck. Lance's fingers lingered, but upon seeing your suddenly flustered state, he made to pull away.

  Your hand snapped out, grabbing his wrist and tugging his own hand into your chest. Lance stumbled forward, forced to place his hand against the door behind your head to stop himself falling into you completely.

  Your breath was ragged, a whisper against Lance's skin that was driving him crazy.

  “This is so insane,” you mumbled. “So, so insane. I'm not good at this. I feel like I need to be good at this-”

  Lance shook his head, dazed. “You're doing great.”

  “I am?”

  “What is it you want to do, exactly?”

  Your eyes flicked to his lips. Lance lost his mind.

  “Y/N,” he mumbled, growled, demanded.

  “I want to,” you whispered. “But you might not be in the right head space yet. You might be . . . You might still be thinking of your ex, and I don't want to be trailed along-”

  “I haven't thought about her for two weeks.” Lance placed his hand on your hip. He wasn't sure why – it just felt right, and he needed to feel your flesh beneath his fingers.

  Your eyes fluttered closed. “No?”

   “I promise. You're the only person who's been on my mind since I met you.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your own. “And I don't know how you managed it. I really don't know. But I'm so. . . Y/N, I've never been so happy.”

  You looked at him. “Why?”

  “Because of you. All because of you.”

  “Then why are we waiting?”

  Lance closed his eyes and kissed you.

  He didn't care. He couldn't care. His mind was a jumbled mess and had been from the moment he laid eyes on you, but he was beginning to realise it might not be such a bad thing.

  Your lips moulded perfectly against his own. Your fingertips hovered over his hip bones, and it was only when Lance reached down and guided your arms around his middle did you finally take a handful of his shirt, an uncertain grip that had him grinning against your lips; you were so fragile, barely making a move, but it was perfect nonetheless, because you were here, here, here.

  With Allura, he'd never felt this way. Even their first kiss didn't have the fireworks and the understanding and the need, because their first kiss had been done purely because they felt like they had to. Allura was a pretty girl and Lance was a rock star, and how could the two possibly exist in the same universe without making out every two seconds? With Allura, kisses just felt like a necessity, a greeting they had to shove out of the way before continuing with business as normal.

  But this – Lance was lost. He couldn't describe it. His fingers trailed your jaw and your hips and your stomach, and the noises you made against his mouth were heavenly, and he suddenly couldn't imagine kissing anyone else. Suddenly, this was it.

  He pulled away first, his lips ever-so-slowly detaching from your own. You kept your eyes closed for a moment after your mouth was your own again, and Lance chuckled, running a single finger along your eyelids before you opened them and stared at him.

  He tilted his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Good?”

  He saw you swallow. “Good. I hope to – uh – do it again sometime.”

   Lance plunked his forehead against your own. “You're such an idiot.”

  ---

  “Shiro, keep your hands off of Y/N, or so help me god I will implode.”

  “He's serious,” Mikhail commented, lounging across the sofa with his guitar in hand, as he often was. He wasn't comfortable just sitting on a chair, or even sitting normally – Lance blamed it on his longer-than-average limbs.

  Shiro continued leaning over your shoulder, reading your scribbled words. Lance watched from the sofa, a smile on his face because he could always be found smiling when he was watching you work; your expression of concentration was so amusing, and so adorable, and Lance suddenly wanted both Mikhail and Shiro out of his hotel room so he could have you all to himself.

  “I just don't think this line is right for the bridge,” you explained, tapping the page. “Like, yes, it's different, but it doesn't really suit the vibe of the rest of the song, does it?”

  “I think it works great. It flows well,” said Shiro.

  Lance whooped, throwing his arms in the air. “Yes! That's my baby! You got the stamp of approval from the Big Boss, just like I said you would.”

   You turned and threw your pen at him.

  Lance caught it, blew you a kiss. “I fucking love you.”

  Shiro chuckled, glancing at Lance over his shoulder with that fond fatherly smile on his face. “You getting restless over there, buddy?”

  Mikhail snickered. “Buddy.”

  Shiro stood up straight, grabbing Mikhail by the collar of his oversized coat. “I think it's time for me and you to leave. Let's go get dinner.”

  “Are you paying?” Mikhail asked, stumbling after the older man.

  The door closed behind them.

  Lance jumped up and plonked himself down on your lap.

  You yelped, already trying to push him off. It had only been two seconds. Lance wasn't even putting his full weight on you.

  “Lance!”

  Lance wrapped his arms over your shoulders and bundled his head in your neck. It was there he pressed a single kiss, just below your ear, and as if that area was some kind of pressure point, you immediately melted against him. Lance grinned, nibbling just a bit on your ear lobe before he pulled away and glanced at the open journal on the table.

  “You're writing about my tanned skin again,” he pointed out, pretending to be disgusted despite his fluttering heart.

  “As per usual,” you replied. “Kiss my neck again.”

   Lance kissed your neck. You hummed.

  “You know,” he said, inches from your ear. “You didn't say I love you back when I said it to you earlier on.”

  “Awk, Lance, you know-”

 He nibbled your neck. “Just say it back.”

  Your voice wobbled when you said, “I fucking love you, too.”

  Lance smirked. He knew you could feel it. He wanted you to feel it. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, your body inching towards his. “Good. That's all I wanted.”

  “You're such an asshole.”

  “Mm. I'm very happy you let me be a complete asshole.”

  “I wouldn't want you any differently.”

[bensakindofmagic]

Chapter Two

A/N: the response to the first chapter has been insane, i’m blown away thank you. no warnings for this one - just enjoy!

w/c: 3.1k+

(gif creds to @.mrbenhardys)

A couple of weeks into the project and you were still in the rehearsal stage for Live Aid. You were grateful for the later mornings, as you didn’t have to make sure the boys were in hair and makeup by 6am just yet. The shoot stared in less than two weeks and everyone felt the pressure ramping up. It wasn’t helped by the fact that Brian May and Roger Taylor were coming to set that day to see how it was all going and offer up a little of their considerable wisdom. It wasn’t the first time they’d been, and you had briefly spoken to them before, but did little more than introduce yourself before they were called away to more important business. It had still given you nervous jitters that morning to think you’d be within a few feet of them.

Rehearsals seemed to be going well; the guys had bonded a lot over the past weeks which filtered into their performance. When they are all jamming together they really felt like a band. You allowed yourself a smug smile, knowing that you had a small hand in that. You’d been hanging out together most evenings since your game, going to a local pub, chilling in someone’s trailer watching Queen documentaries that you’d all seen a hundred times before, or just chatting, getting to know each other better. All four of them were sweet and charming and funny, and you felt yourself getting more and more comfortable around them. You felt relaxed, which in turn led to you opening up to them, perhaps a little too much; you had a tendency to overshare sometimes. But it didn’t seem to bother them much, apart from maybe Ben who seemed to tense up and shift in his seat when you said anything too personal. He’d just have to get used to you.

You contemplated him as he played. You watched the way he frowned when he concentrated, lips silently counting the beats. You watched him bounce on his seat between run throughs, and twirl the drumsticks lazily between his fingers.

“He’s good isn’t he?” Brian said with a knowing smile. When he saw confusion flash across your face he clarified, “Ben. He’s very good.”

“Oh, uh yeah, I think so.”

“Attractive, too. I can see why Roger was so chuffed with the casting,” he chuckled.

You surrendered to the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Oh I’m sure.”

“I heard that,” Roger said little grumpily.

“What, he’s much better looking than you ever were.”

“Unbelievable! Do you agree with this?” Roger asked, turning to you.

“Uh” you said with a giggle, “can I plead the fifth?”

He grumbled and you and Brian laughed. You had to stop and take a breath to make yourself realise that you had just shared a joke with two members of Queen.

Watching everyone work was kind of mind-boggling. Everyone was so focused that they didn’t stop to look at where they were, but the scene in front of you was incredible. People everywhere were fussing over something, making sure every wire and prop was in place. Joe and Gwil were jamming quietly together, probably going over some riff, Ben and Roger were unsurprisingly tinkering with the drum kit as Brian chatted animatedly with one of the ADs. The whole stage seemed to be in motion, oscillating with potential. As you watched it all pass before your eyes, allowing yourself a moment to bask in the absolute insanity of your job, a feeling of satisfaction and excitement welled up inside you. You could feel the anticipation of what this job would bring, how it would affect your life and how you would be changed by it. You couldn’t say why, but you knew in your soul how important this job would be.

It went in a blur — the rest of the day, the week, the whole rehearsal period — and before you knew it you were due to start filming. Everyday felt like a joy. It was hard work, and every night you fell into bed, exhausted, but not before spending an hour or two with your favourite boys. You’d all become close, you was starting to feel like a little family. You and Ben in particular were getting close, the constant teasing between you becoming second nature. On this particular evening, just a few days out from starting the shoot, you were all crammed Rami’s trailer (his was the biggest), relaxing after a long day.

“You know I really think we nailed it today guys,” Joe said enthusiastically.

“Yeah except when Gwil tripped over his own guitar cable,” you giggled.

“Oh come on guys,” he groaned, “we all had a big laugh about this earlier, can we move on please?”

“It was look on your face though mate. Priceless.”

“I’ve never seen such raw panic is someone’s eyes,” you teased.

“What about the day you met me?” Ben shot at you, all confidence. “I think I got you pretty flustered.”

“Oh babe, that wasn’t panic in my eyes,” you retorted with a wink, leaving the rest to his imagination. You were disinclined to let on that you had been wandering what he looked like naked the first time you met.

The five of you joked around aimlessly, only interrupted by Gwil’s phone ringing. He explained that it was his girlfriend and stepped outside to take the call. You noticed a sadness flash across Ben’s eyes, one that had infused their bright green with a hint of grey a few times over the last week. You figured it must have made him think of his own girlfriend, and he was probably missing her. You had made the decision weeks ago that you were objectively not allowed to fancy Ben, so any flare of acidic jealousy in your stomach at that thought was steadfastly ignored.

Thinking you’d give him the opportunity to talk about it if he wanted to, you lightly asked, “How’s your girlfriend Ben? Must be tough on you both, doing such long shoots.”

An awkward hush fell over the room, and Joe and Rami looked at you with shock and horror painted across their features. You had clearly said something wrong.

After a long, tense moment, Ben quietly said, “Actually we broke up.”

A longing kind of melancholy set over him; he hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He looked wretched and you felt awful.

“Oh my god Ben, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” It dawned on you then that the others clearly knew, and no one had told you.

“It’s okay, it’s for the best, you know. I broke up with her.”

A plethora of questions and concerns raced through your brain. You resolutely battered away the ones that had anything to do with him now being available.

You settled with, “What happened?” quickly mitigated with, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine. It’d been coming for a while I think, our lives just didn’t fit together anymore.”

Joe scoffed, “Oh come on, it’s because you have feelings for someone else.”

His eyes instantly Ben wide and you thought you saw him glance at you for a second. He quickly hissed, “What the fuck, Joe?”

Joe looked sheepish and went quiet. You looked back and forth between them, confused and a little hurt. How had they not told you about any of this?

Ben gave a throaty sigh and explained, “Things were falling apart before. We’ve been talking less, we lost the spark. I thought it was just time, you know, we got so used to each other. But then I met this girl…” his voice got so deep his words were half whispered, “I instantly felt it again - that spark. She’s smart and funny and she has such a presence. I just want to watch her, all the time.”

Thinking of Ben feeling that way about someone sent a pang of yearning through you; he looked so soft, all curves. The evening sun cast a glow over him, bathing him in gold. A lone strand of hair fell down over his forehead that you were desperate to push back. The gentle curve of his jaw, soft but defined, was illuminated. His teeth clenched behind pouted lips.

He looked deep into your eyes, so far he could have been looking through you. “It reminded what love should feel like. I guess I realised that it wasn’t right to keep fighting anymore. It was time to move on.”

A heavy silence settled in the room that you couldn’t bring yourself to break. You had to remind yourself that the urge to stroke his cheek and hold him tight to your chest was entirely unprofessional. You opened your mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say. Luckily, Gwil walked back in at that moment.

“Sorry about that, she was just checking i- is everything okay?” he said noticing the tone of the room.

Rami twisted him mouth into an awkward grin, “Ben just told Y/N about the breakup.”

Gwil nodded slowly, “Oh right.” He raised an eyebrow to Ben in a silent question: if he got an answer you weren’t aware of it. “Are you okay Y/N?”

“Me?” The question confused you; what did Ben’s breakup have to do with you? “I’m fine. I guess I’m a little upset that you clearly all knew and I’m only finding out now.”

The guilt in Ben’s eyes tore at your heart. With so much tension in the air you decided that everyone needed to let off some steam.

“Let’s go out,” you said abruptly.

All four pairs of eyes converged on you.

“We have to work tomorrow,” Gwil said, ever the responsible parent.

“Come on,” you sighed, exasperated, “It’s what people do when they’re going through a breakup. Anyway, filming starts soon and then dealing with the hangovers will be even worse. Why not go while we can?”

Joe grinned, “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Of course you do,” Rami muttered. “What do you think, Ben?”

You looked at him hopefully, and when a smile tugged at the corner of his lips you beamed.

“Why not?”

You found a small bar, with a decent crowd for a weeknight, and bagged a booth. You got the first round in, despite the protests from the guys, and gave a sweet smile to the barman who helped you carry five pints to the table. You didn’t notice the glare that Ben shot at him.

“It’s busy for a Thursday, wonder why there so many people here,” Gwil mused.

“Come on, it’s London, it must be busy all the time,” Joe reasoned.

You just shook your head and motioned with your chin to the sign above the bar that read:


KARAOKE NIGHT, EVERY THURSDAY, FREE DRINKS FOR THE BRAVE

“You feeling brave, Joe?” you smirked. His eyes were wide with glee.

Ben sniggered, “Of course you’re the kind of guy who loves karaoke.”

“Don’t knock it Ben, or I might just dedicate a song to you. There’s no way you’ll pull a girl then.”

“Are you looking to pull tonight?” You asked, just a little too fast.

He simpered, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” It turned the groove at the corner of his mouth into a chasm, and his eyes smouldered a rich emerald green in the dim light. Like he would have any trouble pulling.

“Well I make an excellent wing woman, just to let you know,” you smirked a little sassily and took a sip of your drink.

“Role play,” he responded without missing a beat. You had to concentrate on not choking when your mind wondered to the connotations of those two words.

“I’m not going to give it all away.”

“Signature move, then.”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip a little, hiding a smirk, and said, “Well, I’d talk you up to her a bit, then send you off to get us a round, and while you’re gone I’d very subtly allude to some sexual past between us and imply that you were the best I ever had.” You could barely make eye contact with him, but as you spoke those final few words you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his self-satisfied grin. “Works a charm,” you finished.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys,’ Joe interrupted before you could fall too deep into that particular rabbit hole, “but I want a free drink.”

“What, now?” you said with incredulity.

“No time like the present,” he said as he downed what was left of his pint.

“Are you seriously going to be the first person to sing?”

“Well someone’s gotta kick this bad boy off,” and with that he was marching over to the DJ.

“God, you’re so bloody American,” you laughed breathily.

Joe proceeded to annihilate a Rick Astley classic. There was a lot of cheesy two-stepping and emphatic pointing (mostly towards Ben), and he was given a loud cheer as he finished. The barman even gave him a free shot on top of his pint, just because he was so enthusiastic.

You greeted him with a chorus of ‘wow’s as he sat back down.

“That was pretty amazing mate,” said Ben.

“I was good, right,” Joe smiled, panting lightly.

“It was engaging, for sure,” you laughed.

Rami piped up, “That’s code for ‘you were horrendous but I couldn’t look away.’ Like seeing a cat in human clothes.”

“Well that’s just rude, and the crowd seemed to like it. Anyway, who’s next?”

“I vote Y/N,” Ben winked and you snorted.

“Um, no thank you. I’m no singer.”

“Well that’s just a dirty lie, isn’t it? I heard you singing from inside your trailer this morning. It was a rather lovely rendition of Crazy Little Thing Called Love, I believe.”

You eyes went wide and you blushed, remembering how you had danced around as you sang, thinking no one else was awake yet. You desperately hoped he hadn’t seen you through the window, but the twinkle in his eye made you suspect otherwise.

“Look, I’m perfectly happy sitting right here with a drink that I paid for.”

“No way,” Gwil beamed, “it was your idea to come out, I think it’s only right that you sing.”

You pursed you lips, “I’m really fine.”

Ben licked the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked with yours, and said, “We won’t force you if you don’t think you can pull it off. We wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself now, would we?”

You crossed your arms over your chest and ran your tongue over your teeth. He knew exactly what to say to get you riled up. You were desperate to prove yourself to him, but also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you wrapped around his little finger. The tension around the table was palpable as you brooded over what to do. A group of women, far too drunk for the time of the evening, had just finished screeching their way through Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, so it was now or never.

You stood without a word, grabbed a shot from the bar, and went to the microphone. You told the DJ what you were singing — Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin, which you had pre-picked for exactly a situation like this — and waited for the guitar to kick in. You took a steadying breath and stole a glance at the guys. Joe, Gwil, and Rami were smiling encouragingly, but Ben just cocked an eyebrow at you in a silent challenge.

Needless to say, you crushed it.

You let the music fill you up, ignoring the rest of room, and pretended you were in your bedroom singing into a hairbrush. You swayed your hips, just sexily enough to show how comfortable you were up there, and belted out the high notes as best you could. It was liberating, and you felt galvanised by the whoops and cheers coming from your table - Joe’s voice was unmistakable as he cheered you on. You tried to steal a glance at Ben through the lights, but couldn’t make out the expression on his face.

“Dude, you brought this on yourself,” Joe quipped, noticing the awe and the hunger on Ben’s face.

“You were the one that told her I had feelings for someone,” he sassed back.

“I didn’t tell her who!”

“Oh right, ‘cause you’re always Mr Subtle.”

“Well I’m not going to sit around forever and watch you pine over her and do absolutely nothing about it.”

You were making your way back to the table, still followed by the cheers of the crowd, and grinned at the guys, oblivious to the conversation that preceded you. Ben shot Joe a warning glare as you sat down, free drink in hand.

“I think we can safely say I did not embarrass myself,” you said, smug.

“You were amazing up there, Y/N,” Rami smiled kindly.

You looked to Ben, waiting for whatever snarky remark he was bound to make, but nothing came.

“Nothing to say Ben?”

He blinked slowly, and replied with a shrug, “I eat my words.”

You were shocked into silence, and only vaguely aware of Joe rolling his eyes. You would have wondered what it meant had you not been so distracted by the way Ben’s body seemed to clench and sigh. The muscles in his arm rippled as he tightened his fingers around his drink.

You gave your head an indiscernible shake to dislodge the image from your mind and turned to Rami to distract yourself. “It’ll be your turn next Mr Mercury,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

“No no. If this was lip sync then I could crush it, but I’m not singing.”

You spent the rest of the evening chatting, cheering on those who braved the karaoke and trying to ignore the less tuneful among them. Amidst all the joking about and teasing you were completely ignorant to the way Ben looked at you, watching your lips as you talked animatedly and the breadth of emotions dancing in your eyes. He smiled at the annoyance with which you kept tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear that kept breaking free to fall across you face. It briefly occurred to him that he was staring, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat and try to focus on other things, but his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. He contributed little to the conversation, as lost as he was in his pining after you, and it had shocked him when you asked him if any girls had caught his eye. He wasn’t looking at anyone but you.

tags:

@anikatcmh @queen-turtle-boiii @orchideax

(let me know if you want to be tagged and i’ll add you!)

[1-800-seo]

— 1-800-SEO'𝗌 ᯽ '𝖶𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇' —

— 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

— 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿/𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗒

— 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌: 1810

— 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗝𝗮𝗲𝗵𝘆𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝘃𝗹𝗼𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂

— 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅/𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖴 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖴𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗋 𝖦 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖦𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅

The familiar ping sound of a new email in your inbox reassures you that you *are* an actual administrative assistant that works in an office and you most likely shouldn’t be ogling the hot guy in the adjacent office building. Considering it’s your first week, it’s not exactly how you’d like to be caught not doing your work if you had to be. You’d started that week as administrative assistant to the executive manager of New Calibre Telecommunications, or NCT for short. He was a slim nice-enough young man named Lee Taeyong; you were in charge of writing or transcribing his letters/emails, making travel arrangements, computing and preparing expense reports and creating department budgets. Just two weeks earlier when you’d said you’d got the job to your brother he’d called you an over-glorified and well endowed personal assistant, and you guess you could say he was right.

This all brought you back to the email that was now sitting in your inbox, one minute old and unopened. Its sender was a Jung Jaehyun, a name you’d never heard before but supposed it was nothing new since you, your self, were new.

You opened it and inside was not the general corporate jargon you expected. Upon your screen was a blank video thumbnail and it’s relative play button, a url link, and a message below it. It read: “For Jeffery who loses everything and who must remember to back up his hard drive.” It also featured a few casual excessive emojis that your computer only registered as a small question mark box, because of course it didn’t register emojis.

You pondered clicking on the play button but decided against it, instead clicking on the url link that was oh so tempting. Upon clicking on it you were swiftly redirected to YouTube.com, you rolled your eyes expecting a rick roll, when in actuality what seemed to be a vlog appeared. The title was “Daily Jaehyun: Post-hotel-hopping Wind Down ⛩✨” Curiosity overtook you and you clicked play, you knew you shouldn’t be doing this in work hours, however a few seconds couldn’t hurt. A smooth and tanned skinned young man lay on a bed in the middle of a hotel room. He had on shorts that were probably too short and no top. His torso was obscured by the blanket but you could still make out his taut muscles underneath the fabric. His hair looks soft and gently rests on his face as he lies horizontally. Next cut is to a glass cup of pink coloured tea and a spoon swirling around the edges. He cuts to him taking a gentle sip and then he pushes some hair out of his dark amber eyes. You hear footsteps in your peripheral and X off the tab. Just in time before the new intern, a somehow harsh looking baby faced girl named Yeji, places a pile of papers on your desk and leaves. A close call.

And so your day goes on like normal... except you can’t get those damn 25 seconds of a certain video out of your head. His gentle face remains seared into your brain. The brand of soft visuals and taut muscles. The contrast of his sharp jawline and the pink tea. The colour matched his gently blushed cheeks, the rose flush that dusted over his honey skin.

And so you went home and couldn’t get him out of your head. You lay awake seeing the image of him sprawled across the hotel king bed, replaying it and relaying it to yourself. You resolved you had to do something, whether that be finish the video or speak to this Jaehyun.

And so, the next day you set about that task. You opened up that email for the second time, this time hovering over the sender’s information. It revealed to you many interesting things. A few of those being that the sender, Jung Jaehyun, sent it from a pc on floor 9, and that pc is located in office 34G, which is part of managerial.

Well now you know this information all you had to do was go visit that specific office in the hopes of a findings. A lingering question stuck out, who is Jeffery? And why was he sending his vlog to him? Of course you have to inform the sender that he sent it to the the wrong person and you definitely didn’t just email him this because you definitely don’t want to see his face, *definitely not*.

You leave your desk and make your way to the lift. Stepping inside, you squish yourself as far back to the wall as possible as fellow office workers pile in. It’s all a bit too close for comfort when you are saved by the bell, or in this case the automated voice saying “Floor 9, Doors Opening.” Everyone removes themselves from the lift and you straighten out your work outfit. Thank goodness you ironed your pencil skirt this morning, never knew you’d be meeting a YouTuber; and possibly a hot one at that.

You make your way to office 34G, dodging past colleagues in the marketing sector. You spot a guy in the closest desk you know as the infamous ‘Ten’, chugging a brown liquid in a vodka bottle you *really* hope is coffee and nothing else.

You approach the needed door and knock firmly twice. Your palms start to sweat and you rub it off on your skirt. A smooth voice calls “come in” and you make your way through the door. A familiar pair of eyes meet your gaze and you begin to wonder if this was a good idea after all. After a small nervous cough you begin, “Sorry to interrupt, I’m ____ ____ from floor 8, I’m administrative assistant to Mr Lee. I received an email yesterday around 2pm and it was rather,” you look at the floor and shuffle your feet, “private. I believe it was for someone else. I came here to let you know.” You attempt to make eye contact but his gaze is a tad intense. You try your best to keep your eyes trained on his brown irises and not the expensive looking navy suit he’s wearing. “Ahh my greatest apologies, I’m sorry for any inconvenience. May I ask what was contained in the email? I send out a lot so I’m not too sure as to what it was regarding.” He lets out a low chuckle.

“Umm it contained a video and a short message, if that’s any help.” You try not to let on you watched it, let alone read it, but the blush creeping up your face probably says too much.

The man you identify as Jaehyun let’s out a startled cough and sits bolt upright in his chair. “It wasn’t anything, umm” he runs a hand through his hair, “obscene.. was it?”

A gasp escapes your lips, a breath you must of been holding in that you didn’t realise you were. “Oh no, not at all! You drank some tea in it and that’s all I saw. I’m greatly sorry for invading your privacy, sir. Please forgive me I’ll be leaving now.” You turn to face the door. What had he been sending? That’s none of your business... however you wouldn’t mind maybe getting to see those muscles again... you clear you’re thinking and press down the door handle.

“**Stop**, before you leave, you at least need to let me explain, and make it up to you some how, I’m the one who has put you in this situation, I’m the one who needs to make amends.” A commanding voice calls out. By the time you turn around he’s stood up and has one hand in a pocket and one on his desk. He looks to be in thought, or troubled.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds or looks I swear.” When he says this he doesn’t sound so composed like he has the rest of the time. “Please, have a seat so I can fix this mess.”

“I don’t know, sir, I have already caused enough interruption.” You mumble out.

“Nonsense, have a seat and all will become clear; I’ll ease your thoughts for you as I’m sure you’re curious.” You cautiously take a seat and look up into his hazelnut eyes.

“Basically, I have a YouTube channel as you might have guessed. I’ve tried to keep it a secret for as long as possible since I don’t really want it getting out. It’d only be fuel for my cheeky tormentors who go by Doyoung and Ten. When I finalise a video, I send it to my work computer since it has more space and let it post on there. However I must’ve accidentally sent it through to yours instead. I believe you’re from floor 8, right? Well, I believe I typed in the computer location code wrong and it sent it to yours instead. I should of typed F9 instead of F8 like I must’ve done. By the way, none of my videos are dodgy on there, it’s just travel vlogs and general ramblings so don’t be too worried.” He closes with a nervous laugh and scratch of the temple. He turns to look at you in the eye, most likely expecting an answer.

“Ahh I see now. Well that clears up a hell of a lot. I do have one question though, if you don’t mind me asking...” you twist a piece of hair round your index finger. “No, go ahead, you already know my big secret what more could you ask anyway.” He lets out a soft laugh and his eyes crinkle.

“Ok. So, not to be rude but, who’s Jeffery?” You pose the question that has boggled you for around 24 hours. You’re met with laughter and an embarrassed face palm. “Well... I can tell you that it is just a silly nickname.” He uncovers his face and you see a sickly sweet smile. “A long time friend of mine, Johnny, jokingly named me that during our college days in the frat houses. It was a wild time.” He relates whilst reminiscing, more than slightly embarrassed.

“Oh ok, that clears up even more, sooo that makes sense, the email was addressed to yourself. I got it now.” You let out a giggle, “You’ve finally solved the puzzle! Can I give you a prize?” He unexpectedly says.

“A prize? What do you mean?“

“Well I’ve put you through a bit too much and I want to make it up to you. How about I take you for lunch this afternoon? Would that be ok?” He gently says, hands clasped.

“I’d love that. As long as I get to hear more crazy stories.”

“Of course, the tales are complimentary, the company is what you pay for.” He jokes, a smile creeping up his face.

[atc74]

Breaking The Law

Squares Filled:  Cop AU for @spnaubingo / Neighbors for @spnkinkbingo / Thunderstorm for @spngenrebingo / Accidental Cuddling for @spnfluffbingo / First Kiss for BTZ Bingo 

Warnings: Where do I start? Baking, Dean in uniform, incredibly horrible, daringly hilarious and completely inappropriate pick up lines, masturbation, dirty talk, use of a sex toy, use of handcuffs as restraints during sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, consensual role play, intentional law breaking.  Crack, fluff, smut - what a package!

Summary: Y/N always bakes a pie for new folks when they move in to her quiet little Topeka neighborhood. When Dean Winchester moves in next door, she is in for a surprise. Her new, insanely hot neighbor is not what he appears and she formulates a plan to get what she wants. 

Pairing: Cop!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 6333

Written for: @spngenrebingo @spnfluffbingo @spnkinkbingo @spnaubingo BTZ Bingo and @luci-in-trenchcoats who, over the course of a couple weeks said this: Hm, like obnoxiously fluffy lol. Maybe Dean meets the reader as a new neighbor or something and he doesn’t get a chance to say what he does for a living so she thinks he’s just this really nice guy always doing cute things around his house and with his family and then she finds out somehow he is one and is surprised because she thinks of him as super sweet Dean? Or you know, smutty cop Dean is always a safe bet too lol. Can’t go wrong with that. Dirty talk? Like because he’s so sweet that too is a bit of a shock.Maybe edging too? And then he’s as sweet as can be afterwards again? Michelle, I started writing and this is what came to me. I hope you love it! Even if it isn’t exactly what you asked for, I still think it’s pretty damn good! Thank you so much for the graphic! How you made this only knowing what squares I was filling boggles my mind!

Beta’d by: @hannahindie​, my support beam and enabler, who had this to say: ‘Hahahaha yes. And yes...I am howling...Oh good lord almighty I’m gonna die...I think I blacked out.’ Han, thank you!

A/N: So when I got this request, I set out on a mission and google’d my little heart out. This is not the smuttiest, but it is definitely the funniest thing I have ever written. Enjoy!

Want Dean’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker​ 

Ringing the doorbell, Y/N stood on the front porch of her new neighbor’s house. It was a sultry evening and with the fresh baked pie in her hands, still warm from the oven, she was starting to sweat. “Dammit, just answer the damn door already!” She cursed under her breath just as the door swung open, a cool breeze hitting her in the face.

“Oh Christ that feels good!” Y/N exclaimed, pushing the pie into his hands as she walked through his front door, lifting the hair off her neck and fanning herself. Only slightly cooler than when he opened the door, she turned to him. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

“Thank you?” He replied, looking at her with a confused look on his face. That is when she finally got a good look at him in person and not through the dusty windows in her kitchen.

“Damn! You’re a handsome one aren’t you?” she whistled, giving him a once over. “Sorry! Where are my manners! I’m Y/N Y/L/N, your neighbor.”

He shifted the pie to one hand and held his right out to her. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you, Y/N. Did you make me a pie?” He looked down to the glass dish in his hands.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Romeo. I’m a baker. It’s what I do. I bake the best pies in the county. I always bake a pie for someone when they move into the neighborhood,” she rolled her eyes and walked further into the house, without even a glance back at him. “Looks nicer than when Mr. McGregor lived here.”

“Well, from what I heard from my realtor, Mr. McGregor was ninety, a bit senile and a hoarder,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, but he liked my pie,” she smiled, remembering the sweet old man that had passed a few months earlier.

“Oh I bet he did,” Dean muttered, not taking his eyes off her ass as she walked toward the kitchen. Not that he minded a beautiful woman in his house, but this was a bit odd. He followed her, placing the pie on the counter.

“What did you say?” she turned around to face him.

“I said, I bet he did. This smells delicious! Apple?” He changed the subject and bent down to get a good whiff of the spicy goodness he couldn't wait to dig into.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said!” She laughed. “Well, I am sorry for barging in here like that on your first day in the new place. It was just getting so damn hot out there and with the warm pie, I was sweating like a whore in church! I better get out of your hair and let you settle in.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh my god! I haven’t heard that in forever!”

“Things old folks say, right?” She giggled, a hand over her mouth. “Anyway, nice meeting you Dean. I’m just that way if you need anything.” She pointed to her house and made her way for the front door.

“Thank you for the pie, Y/N. I’ll get the plate back to you tomorrow,” Dean walked her to the door.

“No hurry, just bring it back when you’re done. It should keep for the week just fine if you refrigerate it,” she informed him.

“Oh that won’t be necessary because it won’t last long. Pie is my favorite thing and I will probably have it finished by lunch tomorrow,” he told her.

“Well, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Romeo,” she winked and walked out his front door.

“Holy hell! That’s the hottest guy I have ever met!” She shut her front door, leaning against the cool surface. “I’d only kick him out of bed to fuck him on the floor!”

“Fuck! She is the hottest chick ever,” Dean mumbled as he grabbed a fork and dug into the pie she made. “And she can bake pie? I gotta get me some of that.”

The next day, Y/N was busy baking away in her kitchen and trying to keep cool from the sweltering heat. Turning her trusty fan up a notch, she heard a knock on the door. As she approached the front, she could see a very tall, very built silhouette on her front porch.  She turned the knob and opened the front door to a very sweaty Dean Winchester, her unfairly hot new neighbor. She stood there for a moment, checking him out.

“Do you work for UPS? Because I am pretty sure I just caught you checking out my package,” he asked, his deep voice rumbling through her body like an earthquake.

“Are you a sprinkler? Because you’re making me all wet,” she murmured in response, not even caring that Dean caught her checking him out and and damn did she like what she saw. “Well come in already! It’s fucking hot enough without you standing there, letting all the cool out!”

Dean’s jaw dropped an inch or two and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was giving her the twice over. He had never met a girl so bold before and it made him bolder in return.

“Your pie was fucking delicious. I could eat that shit all night long,” he admitted, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes darting from her eyes to her mouth to her tits and back to her mouth.

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite flavor Romeo?” she cooed, turning her back to him and slinking back to her kitchen.

“Whatever’s on the menu, Sweetheart,” Dean got a good long look at her ass as she opened the oven and removed the two freshly baked pies.

“Do you have a shovel? ’Cause I’m digging that ass!” He gave a hum of appreciation and continued to stare are her.

“Pretty awful pick up lines we got, huh?” she laughed.

“Yeah, they’re not the greatest, but it’s a good time!” He agreed.

She grabbed two beers out of her fridge and handed one to him. “So Dean, tell me a bit about yourself.”

“Uhh, I’m gainfully employed. I’ve got a brother, Sammy. He is an attorney in KC. My mom still lives in Lawrence in the house we grew up in. I have dinner with her every Sunday. My dad, uh, he died a few years ago,” Dean took a long pull off his beer.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she smiled warmly, laying her hand on his arm.

“You know, he lived a good life. He loved us and he was proud of us. That’s all I need,” Dean shrugged. “But, you...you’re a baker. Like is that your career?” His deep green eyes lit up.

“No, not officially, not yet. Right now, I just bake as a hobby and I do some small time catering,” she replied. “I am saving up to open my own place. I have a responsible, adult job with medical coverage and a ton of vacation. I am kinda liking my gig right now.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have held the same job for fifteen years and I love it. I get paid well to do what I love and the time off isn’t bad. I am dreading going back to work in a few days though,” he sighed, finishing the beer. “Thanks for the beer, Y/N. What time can I expect that pie delivery?”

“Oh, you think I deliver free of charge more than once?” she winked.

“I already told you I get paid well,” he winked back. His pink tongue darted out, licking his lips.

“You know, we could always just skip the niceties, go upstairs to my bed and do all the things I’m going to tell my girlfriends we did anyways,” she stepped closer to him, keeping her eyes locked on his.

He chuckled.

“What’s so funny, Romeo?” She was so close to him now, she could the heat radiating off him.

“Oh nothing. I was going to tell you a joke about my dick, but it’s too long,” he quipped. “Have a nice day, Y/N.” He turned and was out her front door before she could even respond.

It’s not that Y/N had never met a man as attractive as Dean before. It was that she had never met a man that attractive with a job and a sense of humor. He had values. He cared about his family. He had dinner with his mom every week and she could tell the way he talked about his brother that he loved him and was proud of him. So yeah, she had never met a man as attractive as Dean, and it wasn’t all about the looks.

She did not deliver a pie that evening. She stared at it on her kitchen island. Well, when she wasn’t staring at Dean. He was bent over the front of his car, his ass on full display, tinkering with something under the hood. She literally could stare at that ass for hours. And she mostly did, until it started getting dark. Then it just felt creepy watching him with the lights off. So she slipped on a pair of flip flops, grabbed the god damned pie and stomped over to his house.

He was still playing with that car when she reached his driveway. The muscles in his back flexing under the thin, damp cotton shirt. The flood lights illuminating every curve and dip as he worked. She admired his back side, before she made her presence known. “Are you butt dialing me right now Winchester? ‘Cause I swear that ass is calling me.”

He jerked upright so fast, he hit his head on the underside of the hood. “Son of bitch!”

“Oh my god, Dean! I am so sorry!” she placed the pie on the steps of his porch before rushing to his side. “Just let me take a look.”

“No! It’s fine!” he protested, still holding the back of his head.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I brought a peace offering...pecan?” She pointed to the pie on the stairs.

“Did you say pecan?” He asked.

“I did say pecan,” she replied.

“Damn sweetheart, that’s one of my favorites,” he winked and turned to grab the pie. “I like a woman that can bake. You know what else I like in a woman? My dick. Come on in.”

“Ha! As much fun as that sounds, I’ve already got plans,” she turned to leave. “Enjoy my pie, Dean and remember my name. You’ll be screaming it later.” She licked her lips and sauntered back to her front door, swinging her hips more than necessary.

Y/N lied about her plans for the evening, but Dean didn’t need to know what she was really doing. As hot as it was outside and as hot as Dean was making her on the inside, she hurried up to her room and stripped out of her sweaty clothes. She turned the ceiling fan on high, and pulled out her favorite toy.

Armed with only silicone, batteries, and the image of Dean, sweaty and covered in grease, stuck in her head, she played out her fantasies of him until she was too weak to move. Buck naked, she rolled over and slept peacefully for the first time since this heat wave hit.

Dean sat under the shower head, the cool water spraying over his tired muscles. He couldn’t get Y/N out of his mind. The way she unapologetically gives as good as she gets. That was the thing on his mind...giving it to her, hard and fast. His hand wandered to his dick. It was twitching at the mere thought of her. He gave it a squeeze, but knew it wouldn’t help. Dean stroked himself to full hardness, picturing Y/N. If he didn’t feel so relieved by his release, he would be embarrassed by how fast he came, like a fucking teenager. She was right about two things now. Her pie was out of this world and he came screaming her name.

She stayed away for a couple days to give her mind and hormones a rest, but she still couldn’t get Dean out of her mind. She caught glimpses of him every now then, but did her best to stay put, enjoying the last few days of her vacation.

She stepped outside one morning, the air cooler than it had been in more than a week. She decided it would be a good day to walk to the market and gather the supplies she needed for the large birthday party she was catering in a few days.

With her wagon full of fresh ingredients, she walked down the street toward home. She felt better since the weather had cooled down some and was looking forward to getting her baking done. She whistled as she approached the corner, waving to the mailman when she noticed a squad car parked in Dean’s driveway. His car wasn’t there, but she should’ve seen it coming. She knew he was too good to be true. She cursed herself for letting herself think the best of him. She put her head down and walked right on past to her own drive.

“Hey, Y/N! Wait up!” A familiar, deep voice called out to her.

She whipped her head up and saw Dean rushing toward her, a pie plate in his hands. He was wearing a Topeka Police Department uniform, complete with the utility belt holding a gun, taser, baton, and handcuffs.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna catch flies if you keep that pretty mouth open any longer,” he laughed.

“You know, that uniform looks great on you,” she composed herself and licked her lips. “It would look even better on my bedroom floor.”

“Wow, I - uh…” Dean stammered, rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck nervously.

“Speechless, Winchester? I’m surprised,” she smiled coyly.

“Oh no, not at all. I just wanted to thank you for the pie. It was incredible. And when you decide to open that bakery, let me know if you want to add ‘impeccable gag reflex’ to your resume,” Dean smirked, handing her the pie plate and walking home.

She stood and watched as he opened the door and slid back into his cruiser. He gave her a wave and sped off down the street in the opposite direction. “I thought he was a mechanic!”

Y/N spent the entire afternoon baking, icing and baking some more. She had cakes, cupcakes, and cake pops. Her first floor looked like a birthday party vomited everywhere, but she didn't care. She was formulating a plan. Now, she just needed to put it into action.

She waited until she heard Dean’s car pull into his driveway. She had showered the icing out of her hair and even put on a little makeup and painted her toenails. She dressed in her shortest cutoffs and a tight tank top and slipped on a pair of heeled sandals. She placed a few mini pies on a platter and gracefully walked over to Dean’s front door.

Without knocking, she opened the door wide and slammed it shut behind her. She counted to five, but only made it to three before Dean ran down the stairs in nothing but black socks and matching black boxers, his gun drawn. “What the hell are you doing, Y/N? I could have shot you! You don’t just walk into someone’s house like that! Especially a house that belongs to a cop!”

“Oh hi Dean!” She chirped. “I just wanted to bring you some pies. I’m sorry. Am I trespassing?” She bit her bottom lip and popped one hip out.

“What?” he answered perplexed.

“I’m sorry? Are you questioning the pies or trespassing?” She walked into his kitchen and dropped the platter on the table.

“Pies or trespassing? Are you drunk?” Dean took the last few steps, coming to a stop at the door as she walked past him, putting her hand on the knob.

“Oops! Sorry,” she giggled and walked out.

Dean locked the door and leaned against it, letting his head hang down. That is when he noticed for the first time that he was just in his socks and underwear. And sporting a tent in his boxers. “What’s a nice girl like her doing in a dirty mind like mine?”

The next day, Dean went home for lunch to find Y/N laying out in her front yard. She was wearing a skimpy kelly green bikini and...was she spitting? He took a few steps to the edge of his lawn. Sure enough she was spitting on the sidewalk. What the hell? He shook his head and walked back home. He let himself in, remembering to lock the door this time, although he was sure he wouldn’t mind her trespassing wearing just those two slips of spandex she called a bathing suit.

Later that evening, Dean was sitting on his sofa, a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. He was watching the last inning of the Royals game against the Twins. He heard what sounded like singing coming from the street. He put the beer down and moved to his front window. Pulling the curtain back a little, he opened the window to listen, and watched for a couple minutes trying to figure out what the hell she was doing.

Y/N was riding a bicycle in those too short shorts and flip flops. She was singing the Alphabet Song. Now, Dean couldn’t deny she was the hottest thing he had seen in his entire life, but he was beginning to think she just might be bat shit crazy. He made a mental note to run a background on her before his shift the next day.

Dean woke earlier than normal the next day, showered and dressed and was out the door in record time. He sat down at his desk and pulled her report. There was nothing. She was clean, like squeaky clean. She didn’t even have a speeding ticket on her record. He just sat there and shook his head, not knowing what he was going to do about the hot and crazy neighbor chick. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her sane.

Each night for a week solid, Y/N rode her bike, or walked, up and down the block singing that damn children’s song. He decided then and there if he ever had kids, they were learning their ABC’s some other way because if he heard that fucking song one more time he was sure he just might shoot her.

He avoided her for the next week or two. He still saw her out in her yard. She would sing some nights and was still oddly spitting on the sidewalk. He missed their dirty banter and her pie. Maybe he should try to talk to her. Maybe she just needed a friend.

Dean walked over to her house with a six pack of beer. He stood on her front porch waiting for her to answer and just as he was about to go back home, the door opened. She greeted him warmly.

“Hey Dean, come on in,” she swung the door open so he could follow her.

“What is that smell? It smells like heaven!” Dean breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes.

“That is an order for Saturday. I am catering a police retirement party,” she commented, waving her hand over the dozens of baked goods in her kitchen.

“You’re the lady Bobby and Ellen have been raving about?” Dean marveled.

“I make more than just pie, Dean!” She told him, throwing a pinch of flour in his direction.

“Hey! Be nice,” Dean ducked, avoiding the mess. He grabbed a beer and handed her one. “So, do you usually socialize when you go to these parties?”

“No, they’re my clients, not my friends. Well, except for Bobby and Ellen. I worked with Ellen years ago and she was what I needed when my mother died. They’re like family,” she shrugged, cracking a few eggs into the bowl.

“Well, since you put it that way, would you like to come with me?” Dean asked. “I’ll be there, too. Bobby’s been like a father to me and my mentor since I was in the Academy.”

“Dean, I’m already going, besides, I will have work to do. I don’t just get to hang out all night like you do,” she replied, whisking the cake batter.

“Well, what if I help? That way, you have less to do and more time to spend with your extended family?” Dean offered. “And me.”

“We’ll see, Winchester. Now, if you’re not helping, you’re just in the way!” She poured the batter into a waiting pan and popped it in the oven.

“I’ll just be in your way,” Dean made a move to leave, but stopped. “I’ll see you Saturday, Y/N.” He gave her a wink and showed himself out.

“Hey Bobby!” Dean called out to the retiring chief. “I didn’t know you knew my neighbor, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah. She and the wife go way back,” Bobby commented, taking a sip of his coffee. “Don’t even think it boy. I’ll whoop you.”

“I can’t deny I feel something for her, Chief. But I think she might be a little ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’, if you know what I mean,” Dean relayed, his finger turning circles at his temple.

“She ain’t crazy boy, unless she’s into you,” Bobby chuckled. “She’s a sweet girl with a good head on her shoulders and is close to opening her own bakery.”

“Bobby! She rides up and down the block on her bicycle, singing the fucking ABC’s! She spits on the sidewalk for fuck sake! You know who does that? Crazy people!” Dean was shouting now.

“Oh boy, she got it bad. I gotta go call the wife,” Bobby walked away.

“What are you talking about, Chief?” Dean stepped in front of him, blocking his path back to his office.

“You ever looked up old laws that just never got gone?” Bobby asked him pointedly and Dean shook his head. “Just look ‘em up. Don’t be late to my party and remember I like Johnny Walker Blue.”

Dean was driving home from the retirement party behind Y/N’s delivery van. He kept replaying the night in his head. He also kept thinking about what he had found out the other day. Y/N wasn’t crazy, she was trying to tell him something. Now he just needed to get her to admit it.

He pulled into his driveway and hopped out of his car. “I’m gonna change quick, then I’ll help you bring in the rest, okay?” He called out to Y/N as she opened the back of her van.

“No problem. I’ll leave the door open, just let yourself in,” she called back, carrying a few trays in the house with her. A crack of thunder sounded above her and she rushed for the door. If she hurried, she could get them in before the storm started.

Dean quickly took off his jeans and button down and changed his clothes. He gave his teeth a good brush, then walked back out his front door, locking up behind him. Lightning had joined the thunder and the sky lit up as he made his way to Y/N’s front door.

He stepped up onto the porch and pounded loudly on the door. “Miss Y/L/N!”

“Dean, I told you to let yourself in!” she reminded him as she opened the door. Her jaw hit the floor as she took in his change of attire. “Wha-what are you doing, Dean?”

“Well, Miss Y/L/N, we’ve been getting complaints in recent weeks and decided it was time to look into it before it became a big problem,” Dean stood with his hands on his belt and his voice carried an air of authority. The sky opened up and the rain pelted down.

Y/N involuntary pressed her legs together. She could already feel the wetness in her panties just from looking at him. “I’m sorry, Officer…”

“Winchester, ma’am,” Dean nodded, not breaking character.

“I’m sorry, Officer Winchester. What complaints are you talking about?” She asked, batting her eyelashes. This was it, she thought.

“One of your neighbors said you’ve been spitting on the sidewalk. And not only is it unfitting of a lady like yourself, it’s also against the law, Miss,” Dean took a step forward, breaching the threshold.

“I’m so sorry, Officer,” she cooed, looking up at him. Even as he took another step closer, she didn’t back up like he expected.

“You’ve also been singing the Alphabet Song at night,” Dean added to her list of complaints.

“I love to sing, Officer Winchester,” she smiled. “I didn’t know singing was against the law.”

“And you entered the home of a law enforcement officer without proper permission. Miss Y/L/N, that is trespassing,” Dean took one more step, closing the gap between them. His uniformed figure just inches from her. She ran her eyes up and down.

“But we’re neighbors, Officer Winchester,” she looked back up at him. “And I brought him pie. He likes my pie.”

“That’s not the point, Miss Y/L/N. You’ve been carrying on with illegal activities for days and I’m here to put an end to it,” Dean reached behind his back for his cuffs. “Unless we can come to some kind of arrangement…”

“Oh Officer Winchester, what kind of arrangement?” Y/N queried, her voice breathy as her lips parted. “I have pie.”

“Oh Miss Y/L/N, I’m not sure pie will be enough to get you out of this predicament,” Dean grabbed her wrist and unfolded the cuffs. He pressed the cold metal to her heated skin.

“If you show me what I can do to get out of this, I promise I’ll learn my lesson, Officer Winchester,” she panted, holding her wrists out for him. “Surely a big strong man like yourself can show me.”

“Oh, I can show you alright, Miss Y/L/N,” Dean slapped the cuffs on one wrist, then the other and led her through the house back to her kitchen. “This looks like it’ll do.”

Dean pushed her forward over the island, her cuffed wrists in front of her. He pressed into her back as he leaned over her. “You ready for your lesson, Miss Y/L/N?” He breath was hot and heavy in her ear.

“Yes!” She shouted. “Officer Winchester, is that a weapon in your pants?”

“Oh sweetheart, I am armed and dangerous,” he growled. He let go of her and walked around the front of the island. It was narrow enough that her hands her hanging over the edge. He uncuffed one of her wrists, wrapped the cuff around the silver handle and recuffed her.

“Oh my god, Dean,” she moaned as a gush of wetness left her throbbing pussy.

“That’s Officer Winchester, Miss Y/L/N,” he corrected her as he walked around the other side of the island, coming to a stop behind her. He undid his utility belt, letting it crash loudly to the floor due to its weight.

She heard the rustling of fabric and the metal of his zipper and swore her pussy was leaking like a sieve. She felt two strong hands on her back as they trailed down her spine and across the swell of her ass up in the air. The touching didn’t stop there. His hands moved over her cheeks and down her thighs until he reached the bottom of her skirt.

A cool breeze blew across the backs of her legs as Dean pulled up the back of her skirt. He whistled low as he admired her backside.

“Christ sweetheart! This all for me? You’re so wet, it’s dripping through your panties,” Dean breathed out heavily. She felt his breath against her thighs and spread them for him as much as she could in her position.

“I do love a man in uniform Officer Winchester. It just turns me on so much, I could come just from you talking to me and wearing that,” she panted, looking at him over her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he whispered. His fingers hooked into the sides of her panties, pulling them down and over the cute little boots she had on. “I can smell you. You smell just as good as those pies you’ve been making me. Now I want to taste your pie.”

Her moans increased as he buried his face in her wanting pussy from behind. At the first drag of his tongue against her sodden hole, she screamed out in pleasure. “Dean!”

“Sweetheart, do you know why they call me the cat whisperer? ‘Cause I know just what your pussy needs,” he licked, his tongue breaching her and sending her into her first orgasm. “Wow. That’s impressive.”

“I told you,” she mumbled against her arm. Her legs were trembling already and he had barely touched her.

“Well, I better try harder,” Dean announced. He walked back around and uncuffed her. He flipped her over and lifted her onto the counter. “Such a beautiful fucking pussy and I’m gonna wreck it.”

His tongue darted out over her outer lips as he slipped two fingers inside her easily. She was tight, but so wet and dripping for him. He pumped gently at first, exploring her both inside and out. Her moans were louder as he flicked her clit from his left and her hips bucked off the counter as he did it over and over. As he circled her swollen nub, he finally reached that sweet spot inside her with his fingers and within no time at all, she was coming again.

“Fuck, Dean! Oh my God!” she cried.

“Fuck me,” Dean panted, his cock hard in his pants.

“Upstairs, now!” Y/N sat up, her pussy dripping all over her counter and down her thighs.

Dean picked her up in one move and took the stairs two at a time.

“Last door on the left,” she pointed and he opened the door. He set her down gently on the bed then stripped out of his pants.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” Dean confessed, his eyes never leaving hers as she slipped off her boots and skirt, wearing only a sleeveless blouse.

“Oh Officer Winchester, you have got a dirty mouth on you,” she tsked, running her hands up her body, stopping to play with her breasts.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m afraid I do,” Dean agreed. He moved toward her. She opened her legs invitingly as he reached the edge of the bed. “I’m still new here, and I’m not stopping until your legs are shaking and all the neighbors know my name.”

“Dean, I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” she breathed.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” Dean promised, as he removed his pants. She reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You already have. Please let me,” she reached for his boxers and slipped her slender fingers in the waistband,

“I can’t wait, Y/N. I’ve been dying to get inside that pussy for weeks. Please, there’ll be time for that later,” Dean was on his knees, shrugging out of his uniform shirt.

Y/N pulled her blouse over her head, revealing her lace and satin covered breasts to him. He swallowed loudly and got up off his knees. He picked her up under her arms and moved her to the top of the bed, before settling over top of her, bracing himself on his elbows.

Their eyes met and he crashed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft, but wanting. Dean’s lips were softer than she expected, but firm as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. Her mouth parted and she slipped between his lips, her tongue seeking his. “Dean.”

“Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Dean murmured, his lips trailing across her jawline.

“I have an idea. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that first night. And then there was all the flirting and fuck, I’ve never wanted someone so badly in my life,” she panted between the kisses he bestowed on her. His lips moved further down her neck.

“You make me so hard.”

“I’m so wet for you Dean.”

“Oh Christ.”

Dean’s lips wandered over her collarbone, stopping at the swell of her breast. He reached behind her with one hand and flicked open the clasp. His lips moved to her shoulder, slipping the strap down slowly as he edged on the thunderstorm brewing inside of her. He moved to the other side, mimicking his movements until she was bared to him.

“You’re ravishing,” Dean professed, his eyes roaming her bare body laid out before him.

“Dean, baby, fuck me, please,” she pleaded with him. Her hands moved to his boxers, slipping them down over his hips. She used her feet to remove them, until he too, was bare.

“Yes, God yes,” Dean moved back over her, one hand guiding his cock toward her entrance, but stopped. “Fuck! Condom? I didn’t bring my wallet. I’m sorry.”

“Dresser, top drawer,” she heaved, so close to where she wanted him.

Dean bolted from the bed, ripping open the top drawer of her dresser. It took him no time at all to find what he was looking for and he tore open the package, rolling the rubber over his dick. He was back in her bed and where he really wanted to be.

“You ready for me sweetheart?” Dean looked into her eyes and she nodded. He held her gaze as he slowly pushed inside her wanting hole. “God, you’re so fucking tight!”

She moaned as he finally bottomed out inside of her. “I love the way you fill me up, Dean. Like my pussy was made for you.”

Dean pulled out and pushed back in faster and faster with each pass, growling with intensity. “I’m gonna make this pussy mine.”

“It’s yours Dean, take it!” she sobbed as the storm raged on inside her. With the two orgasms he had already given her, she knew it wouldn’t take her long to reach that edge again.

“Fuck, Y/N! You feel so good,” Dean grunted, his pace increasing as he pounded into her. “Gonna wreck this perfect pussy.”

“Oh my god Dean! I-I’m gonna come. Ohhhhhhhhhh!” her pretty little mouth froze in a perfect o shape, the scream forced out of her under Dean’s thrusts.

“I’m right there, God you feel so good,” Dean groaned as he pulled her leg up to change the angle. He carried her through her release, her walls clenching around him as he found his own. He gave one final pump, stiffening and stilling inside her as he filled the condom. “Fuck.”

After they had given themselves a few moments of rest, Dean rose from the bed, and returned with a warm towel. He cleaned them both up, then crawled into the bed next to her. They were both laying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“I was wondering how long it would take you. How long I would have to sing that stupid fucking song,” she turned her head to look at him.

“It took me a while to figure it out. It was actually Bobby that clued me in. I just thought you were all ‘Girl Interrupted,’ Dean admitted.

“I don’t know what it is about a man in uniform, but it literally does things to me. I can’t explain it,” she confessed.

“I’m sorry about earlier...you know, if I was a little rough with you,” Dean turned to his side, facing her.

“I kinda liked it, Dean. What would you say if I said I was thinking about installing a new bathtub?” she smiled at him.

“I would have to cuff you and read you your rights, Miss Y/L/N,” Dean leaned in and kissed her deeply.

She pulled away for a breath, looking into those deep emerald eyes. “Think we can have a snowball fight this winter?”

“You’re nothing but trouble woman,” Dean laughed. “I should probably get going.”

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” she placed a hand on his arm.

The sun broke through the flimsy curtains in Y/N’s bedroom, filling the room with the bright orange and gold of the sunrise. Dean stirred, burying his head in the pillow, away form the sunlight. The pillow moved, feeling silky under his stubbled cheek. And it smelled of vanilla. “Shit! I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean-”

“Dean, relax, it’s okay. I’m a bit of a cuddler myself. But I should probably ask...post-coital-cuddle-by-accident isn’t against some strange Topeka law is it?” she giggled, wrapping her arm around his waist, she felt his morning wood press into her thigh.

“No, no it isn’t,” Dean breathed in her scent as he pulled her into him.

“Damn, I guess I’m going to have to start breaking real laws now,” she pressed a kiss to his chin.

“I don’t want to have to arrest you for real. How about if I just show up in uniform once a week to take the edge off?” Dean offered.

“What about the other six nights? Can you take the edge off those, too?” She asked.

“I think we can come to some type of arrangement,” Dean agreed, his hips rutting against her.

“I think I’m going to order that new bathtub...the corner one. That’s big enough for two,” she breathed out as his fingers found her core.

“I think I should probably invest in some new cuffs,” Dean claimed her lips with his. They had plenty of time to come up with some type of arrangement.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean  @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99 @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace  @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @just-another-busy-fangirl @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27 @kdfrqqg  @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @cherrycokegirls1 @mogaruke @kickingitwithkirk @wotinspntarnation 

The Dean’s List: @supernatural-jackles @dean-winchesters-bacon @docharleythegeekqueen @maddiepants @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @adoptdontshoppets @wingedcatninja  @akshi8278 @kathaswings @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x  @elara98azalea @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @pretty-fortune @deanwinchesterwitch 

AU Tags: @luci-in-trenchcoats @kayteonline

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

So, I just finished Yakuza 5 and... brain still reeling. I love that Yakuza games exist on this continuum between fascinating crime drama and hot-ass fever dream. This one... was a little hard on the hot-ass fever dream side, in my opinion. Not as bad as 2 (nothing’s as bad as 2), but, woof.

So, like, I’ve been greedily devouring these games in playthroughs since I became acquainted with 0 back in November. I desperately want to get current so I can write So Much Fic for this. Oh god, oh man, I got so much shit to do. And I have belatedly realized I really should be giving story reviews on these because... *whistles* oh. Oh My. And, as some of you long time followers may know, it is a pet fave of mine to watch hot trash and give my hot take on it. 

Anyway, I don’t really want to talk details on 5 too much in case of spoilers. I know the games been out for like 5 years, but I only just finished it today, so. And you should definitely watch/play these games! Mostly they’re fucking fantastic! I am goddamn in love! But just... some of the writing choices are... boggling. I am boggled.

But that’s why, some day, I’m going to write the “Kiryu Kazuma Is Actually The Chairman The Whole Time” AU and fix every fucking thing that has ever gone wrong in this series. For shorthand, I refer to this as “When I rewrite 2″ (If you couldn’t tell yet, I REALLY have problems with 2). Because that’s what it all is, that’s what it always is. All problems stem from the fact that Kiryu Kazuma gave up the fucking chairmanship of the Tojo Clan and literally everything went to hell in a handbasket because of it. Literally, I can’t think of a single plot problem in any game sense that wasn’t caused by the fact that Kiryu isn’t chairman. So... someday, Imma fix that. And not like short term, I mean rewrite the whole fucking series because... y’know, I didn’t need a life. I just fix Yakuza problems now.

But, anyway, TL;DR I should have been sassing y’all with my reviews of Yakuza games and I am deeply sad that I have not done that yet. But my ass is gonna get on 6 soon enough and then wait with baited breath for 7 and write SO MUCH fic in the meanwhile. And I will probably write some incredibly bitchy and/or thoughtful meta about the whole business too.

More thoughts soon.

[eviesmyspiritanimal]

Little Black Cootie

Summary: When Evie comes home to try to find Mal to work on the girl's dress, Evie finds a completely new surprise... Complete sisterly feels and absolutely no romantic sentiment.

  “Hey, Mal?” Evie strode into their dorm, looking around as she sat her purse and freshly-purchased silky fabric down on the vanity nearby.

  To her slight aggravation, no one seemed to be there, much less her stubborn roommate. She huffed.

  “Aaaaaand she’s nowhere in sight,” Evie shrugged her shoulders and gestured at the room.

  There was going to be a party held by Audrey next weekend and Evie absolutely had to have Mal so that she could work on the purple-haired girl’s dress. Not that Mal was particularly looking forward to going or even desiring to go, but Evie didn’t want to go by herself and didn’t want Mal to be home alone.

  But every single time Evie decided it was time to finally make some adjustments to the dress, Mal always found some sort of convenient reason that she definitely couldn’t show up.

  Evie muttered aggravatedly under her breath as she sat down at the vanity with a grumpy expression. Upon glancing at herself, almost instinctively, she forced the look off of her face and put on a neutral expression as she gazed at her visage in the mirror.

  “Frowning causes wrinkles,” Evie recited habitually, remembering what her mother had drilled in her head. She quickly berated herself, however, upon the recollection that she didn’t have to follow her mother’s rules anymore.

  It was humiliating, really. How undetached she felt from her mother. None of the rest of her family seemed to be suffering from anything like this. Mal was strong and stoic as ever- a little stressed but very much firm in her stance of good. Carlos seemed to have all but forgotten about the Isle. Jay was glad to be free from his father’s influence.

  What was wrong with her, then?

  Knowing that this was starting to lead down a greatly familiar path of self-hatred and belittling, she shook herself from her thoughts and returned to the task that she had resolved to begin. In an attempt to distract herself from her thoughts, Evie hummed to herself as she set to sewing a sash for a dress that she was working on for some Auradon girl. She quickly called back to mind the name- Princess Ruby of Corona, Princess Rapunzel’s daughter, Evie thought.

  She felt so strange. It was mind-boggling to really be on the good team for once. Evie supposed she had always secretly fantasized about the wonders of real, live, beautiful fashion and great castles and a wonderful place where her and her most loved people didn’t have to fear anyone or anything.

  But it was still hard to deal with sometimes. She had been raised in a quite… rough area.

  Evie quickly hemmed the rough edges of the snowy white sash, taking great care not to prick her finger with the needle as she thought about the true need for supplies and how she was eventually going to need to charge for her dresses. She should really start a business…

  However, what she certainly didn’t expect was for something that felt quite similar to needles to stab into her calf and start moving up her leg.

  Evie shot up, her project completely forgotten as she hopped around the room and screeched hysterically.

  “AAAAAAAAHHH!!!!! GET IT OFF!!!!!!!!!” Evie screamed, shaking her legs around and not even looking at what ghastly creature had attached itself to her leg.

  It was going to kill her, and she had absolutely no choice in the matter. It was an awful way to die. She always imagined going more honorably than this. She hoped her family would remember her fondly.

  However, after a moment, just as she was starting to get a good picture of her headstone in her mind, she realized that the prickles had left her skin and that hands had grabbed her arms tightly.

  “What is going on?! Evie, stop!”

  She quickly quit her flailing and looked at the person in front of her. It was Mal, to her great relief, but instead of maybe a comforting hug and the sympathetic understanding that she expected in the light of a near-death experience, all she received was a shove that sent her down on her bed.

  Evie unashamedly gaped at the girl as Mal got down on her knees and started crawling toward her own bed carefully.

  “Come here, baby. Come on,” Mal beckoned softly.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Mal reassured, looking under her bed. Evie’s eyes grew even wider as Mal soon had a little black ball of fur held in her arms. What was that?! And why was it getting all the love that Evie should have been getting?

  “Aww, angel, don’t be scared- you’re shaking.” Evie’s jaw slackened in shock as she began to feel highly offended toward the other girl.

  “Did that big, bad blueberry scare you? Poor baby,” Mal cooed, stroking the little creature’s head.

  Evie’s face contorted into an angry pout. What was she? Chopped liver? She was the one that deserved the petting and the pity. She was the attacked party.

  And besides all that, a blueberry?! What the actual heck was going on here?!

  She couldn’t even hardly concentrate on the fact that Mal was acting completely out of character. However fascinating that change of pace was, it still didn’t compare to her quickly rising anger and childish feeling of neglect.

  Evie was quickly realizing that Mal was picking a little bundle of misery over her own self-proclaimed sister.

  Evie cleared her throat, completely exasperated as she raised an eyebrow. She was going to butt into whatever was going on in front of her because this was just plain unfair and had to be against the laws of sisterhood.

  Mal looked up, giving her a strange look. Evie extended her arms out with her saddest eyes in an attempt to take advantage of those soulful brown pools, wanting a hug after the traumatic experience.

  Mal just raised her own eyebrow and glared at her with a sassy expression. Obviously it wasn’t going to work, but Evie was sure going to give it a try.

  “You don’t get hugs, E. You scared the baby.” Evie furrowed her brows with a grumpy huff as she eyed the little creature distrustfully.

  “I was attacked! And I deserve hugs because I’m your best friend versus some animal that you just picked up somewhere!” the bluenette defended herself adamantly.

  Mal rolled her eyes and went back to comforting the little “baby.”

  “What is that, anyway? And why are you so fond of it?” Evie questioned with mild curiosity as she tried to get a better look at the furball. Most of her feelings were clouded with irritation that she was not the top priority when she was obviously the victim.

  “It’s a kitten. And I’m not fond of it,” Mal quickly put the scrawny little creature down on the floor, attempting to reject any open show of affectionate feelings and sympathy she may have had.

  Evie looked down disdainfully at the pitiful cat. It returned her glare with a more innocent gaze of its own, its hugely wide green eyes almost glowing in sharp contrast with its ebony fur.

  Even then, Evie could see how much Mal wanted to pick it back up. However, she remained defiant and refused to touch it. Evie rolled her eyes. It was always a challenge with Mal. And it was always guaranteed that she’d never back down from a challenge.

  But Evie was afraid that the challenge ran much deeper than just holding the cat.

  “You’re not keeping it, are you?” Evie asked, her tone slightly accusatory as she shifted her gaze between the purple-haired girl and the animal.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Mal finally gave in and lifted it into her lap. “It needs a good home.” Evie raised an eyebrow as she looked at the little troublemaker.

  There was no way on this Earth that she’d let Mal keep that thing. It had ruthlessly sank its talons into her calf and worst of all, those same talons could completely tear apart the dresses that she so diligently worked to create.

  Besides, pets were gross, unsanitary, and the only reason she liked Dude was because he lived in Carlos and Jay’s room instead of her and Mal’s.

  “Mal, it’s not staying here,” Evie announced, meeting Mal’s eyes with a firm stare. Mal’s gaze hardened as she furrowed her brow.

  “And why couldn’t it stay here?”

  “Because it’s a nuisance! Just look at it! It’s pure evil…” Mal stared at Evie, completely unimpressed as the kitten adorably purred and rubbed against her. Evie narrowed her eyes at it. It was certainly doing that on purpose to make Evie look bad.

  “Yeah. Definitely a heartless, killing machine,” Mal replied with sarcasm practically dripping off every word.

  “You weren’t assaulted like I was,” Evie pouted. Mal rolled her eyes.

  “It’s not a tiger, Evie. It’s a little baby kitten,” Mal defended the little creature as she stroked its back affectionately.

  “I know that!” Evie protested, turning her head away in indignation. After a moment, the bluenette sighed, readjusting and facing the green-eyed girl once again as she reached into her patience reserves in search of that peace that she kept when dealing with some of Mal’s more irritating episodes of insanity.

 “Look, just go find someone who’ll take it.” Evie gently rubbed at her eyes, trying to avoid smudging her makeup.

  “Fine. You watch her while I’m gone,” Mal told her, a casual smirk playing on her face. Evie stopped immediately and gaped at the kitten.

  “No! No, you’re not leaving that- that cootie here with me!” Evie objected, and Mal’s smirk just grew wider as she stood up, holding the kitten in her arms.

  “You wanted me to go find an owner for her, so the least you can do is hold onto her for me while I search,” Mal smugly informed her as she began to lower it into Evie’s lap. Evie froze, staring at it with ridiculously huge eyes as Mal let it slide onto her legs.

  Mal then grabbed her phone, on her way out the door. Evie took the kitten and sat it on her vanity in a moment of pure spontaneity. She then hurried over to Mal and grabbed her elbow.

  “Don’t leave me alone!”

  “You’ll be fine! Don’t be a baby,” Mal told her as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Evie’s eyes widened and she lunged for her best friend quickly.

  “No, wait!” And Mal shut the door. Evie huffed, lightly bumping her head against the door in frustration.

  After a moment, she ripped herself away from the door to face the inevitable. Completely unamused, she watched as the little kitten began to bat at the feathers used for special fashion cases hung nearby the vanity.

  Inevitably, Evie felt a bit of her resolve weakening at the overwhelming cuteness. But she quickly shook herself out of it. She couldn’t fall weak to the enemy that easily.

  Evie rolled her eyes and walked up to the cat, quickly snatching the feathers away and putting them on her nightstand.

  “No, don’t do that. Bad girl,” Evie scolded as she glared at the little creature. It just gazed up at her innocently, still perfectly perched on Evie’s vanity.

  She sighed and attempted to pick it up to sit it on the floor away from her workspace. But before she could grab it, it began pawing at her hands.

  “Oooh, no, no, no. I need to move you. I can’t have you sitting here with me. You’ll mess up my work,” Evie spoke firmly, trying to take a stand against the little animal that had somehow managed to dominate her workspace right before her eyes.

  After only a moment, she gave up and sat down at the vanity, taking her needle and gingerly continuing the project she had already started. She was pathetic. That dumb cat had taken her best friend, her workspace, and was obviously bossing her around.

  But it was cute…

  She shook her head quickly, pulling herself from that train of thought. Mother had always told her animals were unsanitary. Gross. Not fit for a princess.

  Given how much she had allowed herself to blossom into a new person apart from her mother’s creation, Evie couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to enjoy a pet. Dude was okay, but he lived with Carlos and Jay and not with her and Mal.

  Evie’s eyes widened when the creature in question landed in her lap softly. She drew her head back, frozen in place. It looked up at her, mewled softly, and then began gently kneading the fabric of her dress that was covering her thighs.

  It was a strange feeling, but it was strangely endearing all the same for the kitten to actually want to sit in her lap after she had scared it half to death, sent its protector in search of a new owner, and scolded the little thing, too.

  The kitten looked down at her hand and nuzzled it, apparently trying to get her to pet it. Evie hesitantly raised her hand and allowed her needle to remain stuck in her project. It pushed its head into her hand and arched its back.

  Evie, almost entranced, ran her hand down its head and over its back carefully. She chuckled quietly when it started to purr and rub against her. It settled against her stomach calmly and closed its eyes.

  She smiled in spite of herself. What she had been working on completely forgotten, Evie gently picked up the kitten and she moved to her bed so that they would have a more comfortable place to rest.

  Evie lowered herself onto the bed and the little kitten nestled between her arm and body happily. The bluenette allowed her eyes to close, her body feeling heavy and the bed feeling increasingly inviting as she lay down with the warm little body beside her.

  Maybe pets weren’t so bad.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  Well… It was a complete failure. Largely because Mal wanted it to be. She never really asked anybody about wanting a kitten and instead talked to a few people about her new kitten. She knew Evie was going to be mad, but she was really hoping that she’d let her keep it for a few days at least. Mal really wasn’t one for attachments to animals, but the little kitten somehow reminded herself of her.

  So Mal bravely entered the lion’s den wordlessly, expecting the great blue-maned monster to immediately launch into some rant about all the things that the little kitten had supposedly done. Mal simply threw her bag onto her bed, facing her side of the room as she waited for the inevitable.

  However, to her surprise, there was absolute silence.

  Mal raised an eyebrow and hesitantly turned around, dread in her entire posture. Evie had to be luring her in for some sort of trap so she could be face to face with her when she unloaded her bucketful of complaints.

  Her eyes widened at the sight that greeted her on Evie’s bed. Her bluenette best friend was lying there asleep, all cozy with the very kitten that she supposedly hated so much.

  Mal smiled at the two, her eyes softening as she looked at the adorable pair comfortably lounged on the mattress.

  After a moment or two more o watching them, Mal grabbed her book from her nightstand, quietly stepped over to the side of the bed, and eased onto it beside them. She tried to avoid jolting the mattress too much with her weight because she knew how lightly Evie slept.

  She gently wrapped her fingers around Evie’s arm, lifting it so that it was sitting on her lap as she scooted closer into the slightly older girl.

  Evie slightly stirred, but ultimately writhed a bit so that she was nestled comfortably into Mal’s body.

  The purple-haired girl held her book in her hands and allowed Evie’s head to rest against her elbow as she read quietly.

  The corners of her lips curled into a slight grin as the little kitten climbed over Evie and curled up between the two of them as well as it could considering that there was hardly any space between them.

  Mal valiantly attempted to read the book, but all she succeeded in doing truly was just rereading the first paragraph repeatedly. Which was really frustrating because Mal really wanted to read it.

  But she was completely distracted when a particular noise emitted from Evie, and she couldn’t help but grin a bit at the sound of it.

  Evie would be absolutely and completely mortified if she knew that she snored. That’d immediately make her anything less than perfect, and it would drive her insane.

  Despite the overwhelming temptation to have some fresh material to tease Evie with, Mal ultimately decided to hold her tongue because she knew Evie would probably lose her mind trying to find some way to fix it. It was one of those leftover issues.

  She knew Evie still had at least a few things haunting her from the past and was struggling greatly with them. Heck, it was a fight Mal had every day to just resist the urge to do something at least a little deviant. Mal loved Evie, but she didn’t know how to help her, and really didn’t even know how to help herself.

  Evie shifted slightly in her sleep and little puffs of warm breaths began to patter gently against Mal’s arm.

  Mal nestled closer to the two of them, feeling an overwhelming sense of comfortable warmth overcoming her with the combined body heat of mostly Evie but the kitten, too. Mal moved her arms so that she had one draped around Evie and another on her stomach as she sat her book down gently beside them on the bed. It was so cozy, and Mal couldn’t help but let her eyes slip closed.

  She sighed in contentment. Maybe the book could wait.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  Evie moved slightly in her sleep, accidentally bringing herself into consciousness as she almost surprised herself with the motion. She felt oddly warm and there was a suspicious feeling of arms around her and a body close to her. Evie’s eyelids fluttered open drowsily and she smiled sleepily at the sight of Mal relaxed so sweetly there beside her. Mal looked more calm in that position than Evie had ever seen her.

  Evie raised up a bit and scooted backward, leaning against the pillows carefully as she tried to wake up a bit more. She turned her drowsy gaze over to Mal and watched the soothing rise and fall of Mal’s chest as she breathed softly alongside the kitten.

  It was moments like this that made Evie’s heart practically throb with love for the other girl. Mal was hers. Her best friend, her sister, her everything.

  But before long, Evie noticed a slight movement of Mal’s body. She furrowed her brow and watched Mal carefully. The purple-haired girl shifted several more times and her movements were erratic, her mouth beginning to move slightly. The kitten laid its ears back and moved away, hopping down from the bed gingerly onto the floor in its unnerved state.

  “Please… Please… I don’t… I can’t,” Mal muttered nigh silently. Evie faced the girl, her eyes glowing with that familiar concern that sprung onto her whenever Mal was in trouble or suffering.

  Mal then jerked her head to the side. It was such a subtle movement that Evie almost missed it. But it was definitely a reaction to a slap to Mal’s cheek.

  Evie felt her heart clench with pain for Mal, and she carefully placed a hand on Mal’s head, worried that if she moved too fast, the green-eyed girl would awaken. She simply wanted to soothe the girl while she was still in the confines of her unconscious wanderings.

  Unfortunately, no matter how gentle Evie might have been, old habits will die hard, she assumed.

  Mal jerked awake, her eyes shooting open, and Evie never even flinched as the girl grabbed her wrist with a sturdy grip. It wasn’t an uncomfortable squeeze, but it wasn’t easy either. Mal studied her for barely a second before her eyes flashed with recognition. She immediately let go of Evie and looked away.

  “Sorry,” Mal apologized, her voice thick with sleep and something else undefinable, as she arose from her place on the bed and twisted so that she sat on the edge, holding her face in her hands.

  Evie watched her intently. Mal was almost unnaturally still as she sat there without a word. Evie crawled forward so that she was beside the other girl and also so she might also gauge Mal’s emotions.

  But to her disappointment and concern, Mal was an impenetrable wall of stoicism. At least on the outside. Evie wanted to reach out and touch her, but she wasn’t sure how the other girl would react at this moment, especially considering how Mal had acted just a moment ago.

  However, Evie noticed as Mal removed her hands from her face, she definitely needed some sort of touch. The purple-haired girl almost seemed as if she were somewhere else entirely and it certainly wasn’t a good place to be if the freaked out expression on her face was anything to go by.

  Evie eased off the bed carefully and kneeled in front of the other girl, keeping her gaze trained on Mal’s eyes. That set of emerald pools shifted slightly to better lock with Evie’s own. It was almost as if she was in a trance.

  The bluenette showed her hands in a placating gesture as she ever so gently made her way to touch Mal’s arms. The purple-haired girl never moved, but as soon as the slightly older girl made contact, she flinched and her eyes became alight with the not-so-foreign expression of that easily relatable fear.

  Evie rubbed them, moving her hands up and down the lengths of pale skin in soothing motions. Mal was almost shivering at this moment, and Evie was growing increasingly worried about the younger girl’s emotional state.

  Evie slowly arose and got back on the bed, moving nearby Mal with her legs crisscrossed.

  “Lean back, okay? Just pull your legs up onto the bed and lean back against me,” Evie softly commanded.

  After several long moments of silence, Mal hesitantly drew one leg upon the bed. Evie hummed encouragingly, expressing her pride in Mal’s attempts. With great struggle, Mal pulled up the other one. Evie then felt the girl immediately lean into her.

  The bluenette calmly and carefully embraced her, resting her chin on her head. This was almost physically painful for her. It hurt to see Mal in such a bad way.

  So she began to do what she knew would calm the faerie. Evie began to very quietly hum under her breath a song so familiar to her, yet one she had never recalled hearing before. It had no words, simply a tune that somehow seemed to fit them at this moment. It almost seemed like a heartfeltly deep message of love despite the differences and distances. It was strange to feel like she knew so much about a song she had never even heard before.

  But no matter how clueless Evie might have been about the song’s origins, she knew one thing- Mal was currently almost completely relaxed against her and her shivering was just very occasional quakes of her shoulders. Evie began to gently fiddle with and braid the younger girl’s deep purple locks, taking her and Mal’s mind off of the situation at hand.

  She bound a strand on either side in a stylish, thin braid than ran to the center of the back of Mal’s head. Evie then used a strand of hair to gently tie them together in the back.

  Evie then returned her arms to their place around Mal’s small frame, hugging her tightly and securely.

  However, after several moments, Mal finally spoke up.

  “Sorry you had to see that. I try to keep that… toned down,” Mal told her, an emotion bordering on ashamed lacing her voice. Evie eyes widened a bit as she reflected on that thought.

  Evie had suspected that Mal had been having nightmares, but she had never actually known for sure. She was an extremely light sleeper so she would wake up if even the slightest noise was made. So naturally, if Mal managed to make any noise that was not breathing or the occasional light snore, Evie was going to hear it and wake up. Which was why she had some inkling of how Mal’s demons bothered her.

  “Mal, you don’t have to keep it ‘toned down’ in front of me. I am always here for you. I want you to not feel guilty about involving me in these things, no matter how bad they might be. I want to be involved because I want to know what’s going on with you always,” Evie explained to her lovingly as she brought her hand up to stroke the younger girl’s hair with as much care and compassion as she could muster in one touch.

  “You’re struggling with things, too, E,” Mal suddenly and astutely pointed out. Evie paused in her ministrations, more than a little concerned about the extent of Mal’s knowledge.

  “So don’t act like I’m the only one who needs consoling about something,” Mal told her, turning around in Evie’s embrace and pulling away slightly with an almost unreadable expression accenting her features.

  “How did you know?” Evie finally questioned hesitantly.

  “How could I not know? You’re still awfully concerned about what others think of you and how you look. Don’t think I don’t see that critical assessment of yourself that you do every time you’re in front of a mirror. Even if it’s just for a second,” Mal told her. Evie looked down at her hands where they were rested on her lap.

  “Mal, you don’t need to worry about me. I think you’re forgetting that this is about you right now. Who was the one with the nightmare?” Evie awkwardly joked, chuckling lightly. However, she quickly sobered when she saw that Mal hadn’t even cracked a smile, and instead had gotten a concerned expression on her face.

  “Evie, you’re important, too. You need to know you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my life and I’m proud of you every single day for not only that but for every other wonderful thing about you,” Mal heartfeltly admitted. Evie studied her face carefully, knowing that the younger girl meant every word. The pure emotion showing in who used to be the most harsh, unfeeling person on the Isle- at least on the outside- was almost enough to bring Evie to tears.

  She nodded and swallowed thickly, looking away in an attempt to collect herself. Evie honestly hadn’t meant for the conversation to turn to her. She was focused completely on Mal, but then the green-eyed girl had to go and spin it around so that it was about Evie.

  Which was definitely not fair to Mal.

  “This is about you, not me,” Evie attempted to redirect Mal’s focus.

  “No. It’s about you, too. I honestly think this conversation was long overdue. I just haven’t known how to start talking about this with you,” Mal informed her bluntly in that way that was so characteristically Mal. It was almost comforting in this situation even if they were knee-deep in all of Evie’s unearthed doubts. “Why didn’t you tell me, E?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry. You already have enough on your plate. You don’t need to stress over things needlessly,” Evie said, fiddling with Mal’s fingers gently as she spoke.

  “The same could be said for you, so I really don’t think that’s a valid excuse anymore,” Mal pushed, grabbing Evie’s hand as she stopped its nervous toying with her digits.

  Evie sighed and squeezed Mal’s hand gently.

  “I really didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I’m sensing an ‘and?’”

  “And,” Evie fondly eyed the other girl before returning to a serious expression, “I didn’t want to be the only one struggling with these parent problems. The rest of you are handling it so well, and I just felt like I was being ridiculous.”

  “Evie, I don’t know how you don’t see it,” Mal spoke. Evie tilted her head, more than a little confused. “Jay has so many problems resisting the urge to steal things. It’s a constant burden that he always carries because of his dad. I accidentally walked in on Carlos freaking out the other day because he was afraid of the coach going nuts on him since Carlos was late for practice. That was just because of Cruella.”

  Mal paused, avoiding Evie’s eyes in an obvious attempt to organize her thoughts. Evie removed her hands from Mal’s grasp and cradled her face in her hands as she brought her closer against her. Mal immediately reconnected her gaze with Evie’s own the best she could considering her head’s newfound position upon Evie’s shoulder and one of Evie’s hands holding her gently in place.

  “And you just saw how ‘composed’ I am,” Mal told her quietly, a suddenly dampened mood brought to her attempt at making Evie feel better. Evie nuzzled against the side of her head.

  “Mal, you are composed. You didn’t cry once throughout all of that fiasco, and then you manage to turn around and make this entire thing about me and my issues. Which is definitely not fair to you,” Evie gently scolded, but couldn’t help the involuntary smile that slid into her voice. She happily noticed the smile that suddenly formed upon the slightly younger girl’s face.

  “If it were me, I would have already been a huge puddle of tears by now,” Evie chuckled breathlessly. Shortly thereafter that statement, however, she noticed her eyes watering a bit.

  “Well, darn it, Mal, now I’m crying,” Evie told her, wiping her eyes while simultaneously trying to avoid smearing any makeup. Mal gently bumped her head against Evie’s.

  “I love you, so don’t cry. ‘Kay?”

  “Okay… I love you, too,” Evie replied.

  Mal laced her fingers in Evie’s own and leaned against her heavily. For several long moments after this, they just silently enjoyed each other’s company.

  But the bluenette just couldn’t let the entire issue drift away. She knew they’d probably be in this precise predicament in the foreseeable future where one of them was in conflict with herself about the past.

  “Mal, why don’t we both agree to just be honest and help each other through these things?” Evie proposed, looking down at the other girl.

  “Okay. That’d probably be best,” Mal agreed.

  Suddenly, a certain visitor clambered onto the bed with a mewl.

  Evie grinned as Mal immediately brightened. She opened her arms and the little kitten came bounding into them. Mal brought it to her chest, cuddling it close to her.

  Evie reached over and stroked the cat gently, holding Mal in her embrace with her other arm.

  “Y’know, when I came in here earlier, I saw you with her,” Mal mentioned nonchalantly. Evie stopped in her ministrations momentarily, but quickly resumed, the kitten purring louder than ever since both of the girls were petting her.

  “Cootie’s not too awful,” Evie admitted, keeping her eyes on the little bundle of black fur.

  “Cootie?” Mal inquired, pulling away from Evie a bit to look at her. “Really?”

  Evie shrugged, only glancing at Mal for a moment. Mal looked down at the kitten for a moment and then she got an enormous smile on her face.

  “Ohhh, Evie! You know what happens when you name her! That means you get attached,” Mal bumped into her playfully, and Evie rolled her eyes.

  “I’m not exactly adverse to getting attached.”

  “We can keep it?” Mal’s entire face lit up with such joy and excitement that Evie felt her heart melt.

  “I guess so. Just as long as we can call it Cootie.”

  “But why Cootie?”

  “Because she’s still adorably annoying just like you, you little cootie.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  “Hey, Evie? Have you seen Cootie? And besides that, what are you doing?” Mal questioned curiously as she watched Evie humming a song happily as she tacked a sign onto the door of one of the old storage rooms.

  “And… it… is… done!” Evie announced all of a sudden. Mal raised an eyebrow and inspected the door. Engraved upon the sign was “Evie’s Four Hearts: Coming Soon.”

  She looked over at Evie as the bluenette wrapped her arm around her.

  “I thought that if I had something constructive to do, it might help with the issues I’ve been having with adjusting and everything,” Evie told her quietly in an attempt to avoid being overheard by other people that were passing by.

  “So, what is this?” Mal questioned, gesturing at the door as she brought up her other arm to embrace Evie.

  “It’s my new business! It’s a dress shop,” Evie proudly informed her, hurrying over to the door and opening it, grasping Mal’s hand as she pulled her along.

  “Just look at the inside!” Evie exclaimed eagerly, her features illuminated with her overwhelming excitement. Mal allowed her to drag her in and she looked all around the room as Evie shut the door behind them.

  “Well, what do you think?” Evie asked, the anticipation evident in her voice.

  If Mal was truly honest, it was a real dump. In the center of the room, there were boxes that were full of fabric and other materials, and all around those center boxes, there were various cleaning supplies, old junk, and ancient documents.

  “It looks like it has a lot of potential, E. It could be a very big mess to clean up… But you know the boys and I will help you out,” Mal offered, smiling at the slightly older girl. Evie looked like she was about to start jumping up and down in her enthusiasm.

  Out of a nearby box, Cootie’s head popped up suddenly, her ears laid back and her eyes wide as she bewilderedly pounced out of the box.

  “Hey, girlie! Where have you been?” Mal bent down and stroked her gently. Cootie stood there for a moment, enjoying the attention, but when Mal arose from her crouched position, the kitten ran as fast as she could around the room.

  Both girls shared a laugh as the cat jumped into another box, the only part of her visible being her tail.

  Mal looked back at Evie, sensing that the girl had more to say about her most recent brain child.

  “And I named it ‘Evie’s Four Hearts!’ Because I have four hearts,” Evie told her, a little more serious and calmer than she was just a moment earlier as she walked forward and extended her hands to Mal. Mal took them in her own without hesitation even though she was a little weirded out by Evie’s odd choice.

  “What is it with you and weird names?”

  “Just let me finish! The four hearts are mine, Jay’s, Carlos’, and yours,” Evie told her, releasing one of her hands to withdraw a locket from her pocket. She delicately guided Mal’s hand that she had in her grasp closer to her where she gently placed the necklace in the purple-haired girl’s palm.

  Mal opened her hand carefully and drew it back to her, inspecting the heart-shaped trinket Evie had given her. It had a gorgeous, sparkly amethyst on the front of it, and she glanced up at Evie, grinning widely at her in gratitude. However, her smile faded a bit as she quickly noticed a button along the edge of it. She then gently pressed it.

  It popped open and she found a picture of her and Evie, their arms around one another and Evie’s hand pulling her head over closer against her as they- mostly Evie- both grinned from ear to ear.

  She remembered taking that one. Ben had given them all phones and Evie had wasted absolutely no time taking as many pictures with Mal and the boys that she could possibly manage. In that particular instance, she had gotten the boys to take a picture of them two together shortly before she deemed that they all needed a photo together.

  But Mal had no idea that Evie was going to print any of them, much less put them in a locket of all things.

  “It’s just to let you know that I’m always there. Right in your heart. No matter what you might be facing and how impossible it might seem, I’m always going to be here for you,” Evie heartfeltly explained. Mal looked up at her for only a moment before grabbing her in the tightest hug she could possibly give her, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s middle.

  From her head’s position laying against Evie’s chest, she heard that telltale, barely audible whine that indicated Evie was valiantly pushing down the stubborn lump in her throat. It was alright because Mal understood. She was trying to push down one of her own at the moment.

  “Thank you so much, Evie.”

  “You’re welcome, Mal.”