#because that song just sounds so fucking ugly to me i never even paid attention to the lyrics

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

it's been what 11 years but i still haven't gotten over just how awful of a song saans was

[gustavsbrainneuron]

ㅤㅤWhat happens on tour, stays on tour.

ㅤㅤㅤ2010 Tom Kaulitz × female reader.

Warnings: smut smut and smut, p in v, unprotected sex, slightly degradation(?...), just Tom fucking reader on tour because hES A HORNY MONSTER.

Author's note: soo this is just a little something cuz iM HOENEYY HORNY HORMY HORNY 🤤🤤🤤 i think I'm gonna write a m!reader fic but idk.... WELL . english isn't my first language so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes mwahmwahmwah :³

It all started a few hours ago, at the concert of your favorite band - Tokio Hotel. You traveled here to see them, paid for the tickets and planned all of this but something happened, something very unexpected and something you hadn't even thought about. During the show, you had caught the attention of the famous guitarist, Tom Kaulitz. Maybe because of your way of dressing? Or maybe the way you screamed the lyrics to the songs and when you noticed he was watching you, your face automatically turned red like a tomato? Yes, maybe that's what made Tom come talk to you after the show.

You couldn't believe it. One of your favorite members from your favorite band, wanting to talk to you? Without you having to pay or anything?! You felt so euphoric that your heart felt like it was going to explode. It started with something very casual and a little awkward, let's say that, well, it's not every day that you get to be close to one of your idols and talk to them. Especially with someone as beautiful as him, his beauty seemed clearer up close than in photos - not that he was ugly in photos, of course not. Never. Little by little, a certain tension was created there, you don't know how, but you attracted Tom almost like a magnet and he made it obvious, flirting with you and giving some indications that he wanted to take you to his hotel room, if you know what I mean.

Who were you to refuse an invitation from Tom fucking Kaulitz asking you to go to his hotel room?? Who would even think about refusing? And it was this line of thinking that made you end up this way.

"Take it. Every last inch." He demanded firmly, pulling back slowly, almost completely escaping your tight walls only to snap his hips forcefully, slamming into you with a wet squelch. Over and over he pounds into you, setting a rhythm you couldn't keep up with, making the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echo through the hotel room. In response, you arched your back, your eyes squeezed shut as your lewd whimpers mixed with the creaking of the bed, your hands desperately reaching for something to discount the intensity, finding Tom's broad shoulders, which accepted your nails digging into his warm skin tremblingly, a growl escaping his lips as he bottoms out in one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt, feeling your gummy walls gently suppressing his member.

"This cunt was made for my cock...so fucking tight." One of his large hands made its way to your hip, keeping you in place while he pounded against you again, withdrawing almost completely, leaving only his tip inside you, just to suddenly - thrusting himself deep into you, eliciting whines and gasps from your lips. Wanting more from you, Tom took his other hand to your hair, pulling the strands delicately but firmly, exposing the thin column of your neck to his teeth, which immediately began to mark the skin, biting, sucking, nibbling, marking in every way possible. "Since the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you'd be the perfect toy for me to break in." He hissed against your neck, the piece of metal from his pierced lip giving a new sensation on your neck, it was as if the cold metal burned your skin, giving a strange but incredibly more pleasurable sensation.

"M-..h-hah!" You cried out incoherently, your eyes opening quickly only for you to see a glimpse of Tom's lustful eyes, his eyes looking deep into your soul, knowing exactly what to do and when to do it, where to touch to make you melt into his touch. It was as if he had known you for years. Tom heard your cry and smirked when your little eyes opened to look at him, finding the sight more pleasurable than anything he had seen in his life. "You're so damn responsive. Love watching you lose control under me." His voice was low, you could hear the smirk in his voice, his tip starting to hit against your cervix, which made your body tremble, your legs immediately wrapping themselves around Tom's waist, helping him to get even deeper inside your warmth. Suddenly, he began to increase his pace, driving himself inside you with an inexplicable and almost insatiable desire. Each stroke hits hard against your cervix, hard enough to make you see stars behind your closed eyelids. "Feel that? That's your tight little cunt swallowing my cock whole. Gonna fuck you till you can't walk straight tomorrow."

His filthy talk only serves to send more jolts of pleasure through you, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock as if trying to milk him for more. Tom groaned deeply, his hips snapping even harder, slamming against that sweet spot inside you only to make you come undone beneath him first. You whimpered in response, your body contorting in a small "fight", trying to escape Tom and his merciless thrusts, unable to escape him, who just let out a low laugh in response, lowering his face to attack your neck, going back to giving hickeys in that area while he purposefully hit your sweet spot constantly, until moan after moan, your mind became clouded and nothing was going through your head, your legs shaking and your hands squeezing Tom's shoulders as you came, your fluids dripping down Tom's thick length, which just kept moving inside you, chasing his own imminent release. Your walls squeezing him and milking him for all he was worth was enough for him to climax, releasing spurts of the hot, gooey liquid inside you, your rapid breathing mixing with his as he rose the kisses he placed on your neck, up to your face, colliding your two lips in a gentle and calm kiss, whines still escaping your mouth.

When he finally broke the kiss, he fixed your messy hair and when you opened your eyes, he was still looking at you hungrily, wanting more of what only you had. "I'm not done yet. I need more." He responded with a voice filled with pleasure that still passed through his body and a naughty-innocent like smile on his lips. It probably wouldn't be the first time you've seen each other, let alone the last - you're one lucky fan.

[greypetrel]

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Tagged by @shivunin, thank you so much Mo! It's been so fun. Also a nightmare because I chose Aisling and my goodness someone make her shut up please. Referenced from Monster Fic (which is still getting views?? :"D Welp.), This one Radha fic , this prompt . Five minutes of silence for the one poop line that didn't make it to the final cut of this meme. Always remembered.

🦄✨ Aisling Lavellan ✨🦄

"We look like a swan and the ugly chick of a cuckoo.”

“I do. He’s just been mistreated. The Idiot started training him as a war horse, but it didn’t go well. He’s been beaten and whipped and given little food for too long, and relegated to do the work horse when he’s not. He just needs to learn that people can be trusted again, but he’ll be stronger and swifter than all the others, I’m sure.”

“Hey, I’m trying to stay in the role. I was told I’m a religious figure and I should behave! You’re ruining the mood, people need to think I’m the Herald of Andraste for real and that you can’t laugh! Stop, or I’ll have to sing a very lewd drinking song, you’ll laugh loudly, and they’ll all know!”

“I am aware I must sound like a child. But I believe people are good, deep down. And that everyone deserves a second chance.”

“In the case I’ll tragically fall to my death on horseback, I’ll leave a note to allow you to talk to my funeral and tell everyone that you told me so, is it all right?”

“The bad and the good, Cole. The good is better if there’s bad, like when it stops raining and the sun shines again, or when springs melts the snow and the flowers grow. But, humans can’t choose one, you know it. There must be snow and rain and thunder to make the flowers grow. I’m fine, don’t look at me. What do you want to do?”

“Honestly, I think all the time that you would have made a way better job as Inquisitor, if I hadn’t convinced the Keeper to send me and not you. You would have done a better job as First than I ever did, if… And I’m… I’m trying to prove that it’s not so, that I can be good too. Been doing it all my life, honestly.”

“Mh. I’m not really sure. Care to try again? For science?”

“You wished for a Cinderella, your Grace, but I am a bad one. You would know if you ever had paid more attention to anyone that’s not yourself.”

“But then, even if I feel nauseous and I hate everything and I would beg you to just take the title from me, I can’t take it, it’s too much and I’m just me… Then I remember that if I had run, I’d never met any of you, and you’ve all become family, and… And I do believe that we’re doing something good to the world. And that’s… That’s enough when the walls seems to loom upon me and I think that I can’t shoulder another impossible decision that shouldn’t be mine to take.”

“What if you explain and nothing changes? I know about loneliness, and of thinking you don’t deserve the love you get. You don’t have to face it alone.”

“I know. But I can still do some good, and the important people will remember me. I don’t care for the rest.”

“I’ve been alone ever since people started calling me the Herald of fucking Andraste, but I guess you wouldn’t understand being imposed by others a part that means nothing to you and you hate, right, Blackwall?”

“But if thinking he deserves another chance makes me a traitor, than be it. He’s more powerful than any of you realize. If you really think that hate and open hostility will ultimately save us all, I am glad to call myself a traitor and die as one.”

“No. You will let me finish. I know my shit, I am good at it, I am happy that you worry and care for me, really! I am and thank you for it, but this is getting ridiculous and I’m only doing worse because I’m stressed about you not trusting that I am competent and constantly watching me like… Like… Like a fucking vulture!”

Special mentions:

"Bad horsey!"

“Hey! I also have good days!”

Tagging: @ndostairlyrium @underneathestars @melisusthewee @rowanisawriter @pinayelf @zenstrike @inquisimer @heniareth and YOU!

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[harrystyleseditsx]

If you need me

SUMMARY: A one shot of where y/n experiences something that reminds her of her traumatic past and Harry’s 5000 miles away

based on the song If you need by julia micheals

WARNING: Angst with fluff :) 

pairing: Harry Styles x uni y/n 

wordcount: 2.3k

A/N: Welcome to my first fic, I needed to write something to get in the flow to write my 2000 word story so here it is :)) ily guys <3 (also would you prefer y/n or an oc, please let me know!!)

Y/N was very happy about how her morning had been going.

She had woken up early, worked out and made her favorite breakfast. She had also gotten herself some flowers to celebrate the fact that she had submitted her 10 page essay early. The only thing that would make her morning better would be face timing harry but she knew it was 1 pm here meaning it would be 9 pm in London where Harry was and he had a concert to perform. She threw on one of Harry’s treat people with kindness hoodies over her sundress as she headed to the library that would often get chilly or she was just always cold as harry often teased her. She smiled as she remembered harry telling she would overheat if she continued to wear zip ups and pile blankets on herself even during summers. 

She had by now almost reached the library when she suddenly bumped into someone causing the other person to drop some of their stuff. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I should have paid more attention-” it felt as if the words were stuck in her throat as she glanced at who she bumped into. 

“Oh hi Y/N” Asher taunted, her ex. She hadn’t seen him since the break up when he told her that he needed space and took off to France only to send her the infamous break up text. And, here he was 6 months later, looking the every bit same. She felt a feeling of anxiety creeping up on her as she started playing with her fingers trying to stop when she saw Asher’s eyes drop to her hands. 

“Are you nervous y/n? Always played with your fingers when you were” he said with a hint of smugness, as he reached his hand forward trying to grasp hers. She immediately pulled back, crossing them against her chest as she took a deep breath. 

“What are you doing here Asher? Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” she snapped at him, her nervousness quickly turning into anger. Asher raised an eyebrow as if surprised at her response. 

“Been keeping tabs on me?” he smirked. “Well forgive me if I wanted to know where my boyfriend, sorry, ex-boyfriend ran off too on our 1 year anniversary” she scoffed.

“Finally grew a backbone y/n?” he drawled looking her up and down. Y/N had never felt the urge to pull someone’s eyeballs out more than she did now. She found herself thinking what she ever saw in this piece of shit. She snapped back to reality as she heard him droning about something.

“..you need me, so I’ll take you back-” he was in interrupted as y/n threw her head back laughing. When she looked at him again, he had an annoyed look on his face. “I need you? Well, I’d like to inform you that you’re wrong again. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. I managed myself when you left and I’m doing so now too. So, you can see yourself out of my life again” she reiterated. Asher now looked furious, he lunged forward and grabbed her by her wrists as she tried to free herself from his grip.

“Is all this attitude because of her famous singer boyfriend? Yes, I know all about him. Is he telling you that you’re beautiful? or that you’re important? because news flash, you’re not y/n. You’re worthless, stupid, ugly and you’ll be nothing without me. You’re a whore” he growled. Y/N felt herself flinch as she heard his words before she composed herself and kicked him in the balls. His grip on her wrists loosened giving her the perfect opportunity to attack. She grabbed him by the back of his neck and jerked it forward, raising her knee and smashed his face against it and then shoved him backwards. She heard Asher yelp in pain as blood gushed out of his. One of his hands was on his dick while other on his nose. She felt a sense of pride and satisfaction rush through her as she looked at him. 

"You bitch, you broke my nose. You'll pay for this" Asher yelled at her. She decided it was best to kick him one more time for good measure and she did, smiling as he groaned in pain. "No, you listen to me. If you ever come near me again or try to hurt me I will fuck up your life and I'll get my famous singer boyfriend to help too" y/n taunted as she turned out to head back to her apartment, she had never been more glad to have her apartment be a 5 minute walk from campus. The whole incident had taken a huge toll on her.

She locked her room as soon as she entered it, leaning against the door as she slowly sank to the floor. She took a deep breath before the sobs broke out. Her entire body was shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself trying to feel as if she wasn't alone in the world. Y/N picked up her phone to send a text to harry but she try made her feel even more shitty. What if he realized she wasn't worth it, what if he had enough of her breakdowns. She pressed her nails into her palm, hitting herself to try to stop herself from feeling too much. She had come so far and now all it took was one interaction for everything to come crumbling down.

//

She didn't know how long she had been sitting like that but her phone rang, she looked at the clock to see it flashing 5 pm. Realizing that it must be harry on the phone, she got up and rushed to the bathroom, quickly washing her face, she laid down on the bed so he could only see half of her face and then accepted his call.

Harry appeared on the screen all smiley and sweaty. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. All she wanted to do was hug him. "Finally picked up, huh? I thought y'were gonna leave me hangin' lovie" he teased her. "I'm sorry, my phone was on silent" she said softly.

Harry realised the change in her demeanor, his smile turning into a frown. "Y'alright honey? Not even showin' me y'pretty face" he said to her. She tried to smile as she moved the camera a bit so he could see more of her face. "I'm just tired H" she whispered. Harry had been moving around, probably trying to find a quieter area. He shut the door behind him as he entered what looked like his dressing room.

"Have y'been cryin' y/n?" he questioned as he saw her red nose and faint traces of year marks on her cheeks. y/n knew there was no point in lying because it was pretty obvious. "Yeah, I didn't do very well in one of the assignments my economics professor had assigned but I'm fine now" she told him adding a smile in the end to make it more believable and maybe Harry would have believed her had he not caught a glimpse of the nasty bruise on wrist as the sleeve of her (his) hoodie slipped down when she was pulled the hood up. Harry was furious and the visible anger on his face made y/n want to curl up.

"What the fuck is that y/n?" he questioned furiously. "What are you talking about? "y/n replied looking genuinely confused. "The fucking bruise on your wrist” harry snapped, by now he had lost all his patience. No one gets to hurt his lovie. 

Y/N was at a loss, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want him to worry about her but she couldn’t come up with anything to say. “Asher came back, he cornered me and when I tried to go, he grabbed my wrists” she mumbled, playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. She dare not glance his way, afraid of his reaction. After a minute of silence, Y/N glanced at her phone only to find the screen to be blank. Had he hung up on her? She stared at the blank screen of her phone in disbelief. She felt as if she was having an out of body experience. Opening her gallery, she started scrolling through the numerous photos and videos of her and harry. It was at this time that she was grateful with her obsession of taking pictures and photos. A few tears escaped her eyes as she realized how much she missed him and how he probably didn’t want to talk to her ever. Was he going to break up with her? Y/N’s heart clenched at that thought, she put on harry’s playlist on her spotify and laid there. 

//

She must have fallen asleep because she woke up to the sound of pots clanging. Her heart sped up, no one besides her and harry had the key to her apartment and harry wouldn’t- 

She threw the blanket covering her aside (which had not been there before) and rushed to the kitchen. And sure enough there he was, her boyfriend, with his back facing her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes, he came here for her. Harry  turned around to see her standing in the entryway of the kitchen, crying. He reached her in three quick strides, pulling her in a hug. She tightly wrapped her arms around him, fearing he might disappear. Harry pulled back after a few minutes, cupping her face in his hands he gently brushed his thumb over her cheek. 

“Gonna properly tell m’what happened now bubs?” he urged. Unable to say anything at that moment Y/N just nodded. Grabbing her hand, Harry led her to the sofa, grabbing her by the waist and seating her on his lap. He patiently waited her to start talking. For a while Y/n just played with his hair, then she took a deep breath and told him everything that happened. She could feel Harry’s grip tightening on her hips, not to the extent that it was painful, when she told him what Asher had said to her. 

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill him” Harry cursed when she had finished. “I already did some damage” Y/N told him, smirking as she remembered Asher’s face. Harry looked at her questioningly, “I might have kicked him in the balls and broken his nose and added another kick for good measure” she admitted. Harry grinned, “that’s m’girl” he said proudly, pulling her in for a kiss. They sat like that for a while with Harry telling her about tour and she filled him in with other things that she had forgotten when they had their facetime sessions.

Y/N told him that she wanted to report Asher, in case he ever tried to pull shit like this again. Harry not only told her but also showed her how proud he was of her, how brave she’d been and how much he loved her in multiple ways. 

//

The next day they headed to the dean’s office, where Y/N saw two officers sitting outside. Luckily there were several camera’s in the hallway where Asher had cornered Y/N, so by noon, with all the available proof, she’d gotten a restraining order against Asher. If her were to come within a distance of 6ft with her, he’d serve jail time. As they left the dean’s office, Y/N saw Asher standing , she could feel harry tensing up, so when Asher looked Y/N up and down and smirked, Harry lunged forward punching him in his already swollen nose. Asher yelped in pain, he tried to fight Harry back but by now the officers had restrained him, taking him away. 

Back at the apartment, Y/N tended to Harry’s bruised knuckles as she felt a hollowness knowing he’d be leaving soon. By the look on her face, Harry knew what she was thinking about, he took the cotton swab from her hands, placing it on the table before he kissed her. 

“I’ll be back soon, it’s only a matter of two months now and by then you’ll  graduate and I’ll be done with tour and we can  have everyday to ourselves” harry told her, wiggling his eyebrows. She lightly smacked his chest, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “I know, It’s just that sometimes I miss you” she commented. “Only sometimes?” Harry pretended to be offended, “Well a bit more than sometimes” she retorted. “Just a bit more? I miss you so much, it hurts” he admitted. Her shoulders slumped a bit as she pulled him in a hug. “I love you Harry” she whispered and heard him softly whisper I love you too sweetheart. 

That evening Y/n drove him to the airport, they knew they couldn’t outside for long so Harry pulled her in a kiss before he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Promise me you’ll tell me anything that happens, I don’t care if it’s just a paper cut or not. Just don’t hide things from me, If when you need me I'll be there" he blurted. “I promise” she said firmly, showing him she was serious. She didn’t want him to worry but he’d eventually know something was up and it was better to sort things out. He kissed her again before he went in the airport. She stood there until he was no longer in her sight before she sat in her car and started driving off. 

Her phone chimed, picking it up she saw that Harry had sent her a image. It was a very poorly drawn graphic of a guy lying on the floor with a crooked nose and blood around him that she assumed was Asher and a girl stood over him wearing a superhero cape. He had written, ‘my hero’. She smiled fondly before sending him a picture of her reaction as she increased the volume of her radio and driving off. Soon. 

. 

This is my first time writing a harry fic/blurb. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Also, I’ve turned on the asks (I didn’t know they were off) so you can send in your requests!! Thank you :))

[missjaystone]

Coming Home

Summary: After a year alone, your lover finally comes back home, but he’s not the same. Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader Word Count: 2,270 Warnings: Vague-ish smut, angsty-ish, meh

You stared at the naked man behind you in the mirror with a surprised grin on your face, a quiet laugh leaving you "you can't be serious, Billy." He chuckled and nodded, his own grin adorning his face as he rested his head on your shoulder and pulled your back into his chest "I'm one hundred percent serious, baby, I want you to marry me." "Weren't you ever warned about marrying strippers?" You asked with a hum. "I was, but I know you aren't after my money, and I don't mind your job, makes me feel proud knowing other guys can only look at you and dream, while I get to fuck you senseless every night," he said as he ground his hips into yours. "So you wanna marry me to stroke your own ego?" You asked sarcastically. "And because I love you. You're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever seen but you're smart, funny, and I always feel like the luckiest guy in the world when I'm with you. Not to mention, we'd have some pretty fucking cute babies, I mean, look at us," he pecked your neck softly and grinned.

He picked the ring up from the box on the counter and slid it onto your finger "what do you say babygirl? Wanna be Mrs. Billy Russo?" "I say fuck yes," you said excitedly. You turned around to kiss him and giggled against his lips when he quickly picked you up and set you on the counter. Another round of gleeful, celebratory sex followed before you two showered, which led to another round before he left for work. You found yourself looking forward to planning the wedding. Unfortunately, he went missing five months later. He never came back to your shared apartment, you found his car with several parking tickets, and god knows the NYPD wasn't any help at all, the entire city knew that.

Life without Billy took some getting used to; you weren't even sure it was something you could get used to. It hurt, coming home to a cold bed in an empty apartment. What hurt even more though, was having to watch your stomach grow in the months that followed. Being handed the small brown-eyed bundle with his tuft of dark hair nearly made you break. You heavily contemplated giving the child up for adoption, but when you thought of Billy, you knew that's not what he would have wanted, especially given his own experience in the system. You also thought about quitting the gentlemen's club, finding something more suitable for a mom, you did have a computer programming degree, your student loans were the reason you started working at the club, but nothing paid as well and offered the flexibility you needed. You got back to work when he turned a month old, the elderly woman in the apartment next door offered to babysit him while you were gone.

"Hey, Kitty, you've got a guy in room three asking for you," your manager said as you made your way off stage, giving a small hum in reply. You sighed quietly on your way to the room, already counting down the minutes until you could leave; 43 minutes and 21 seconds. How is it that almost a year since he vanished, he was still so prevalent in your mind? After closing the door behind you, you took in the man's appearance. He wore loose jeans and a dark grey hoodie that obscured his features. You sighed to yourself and thought 'oh great, another creep'. This wasn't a new thing, men in their thirties and forties came in dressed like this all the time, trying to obscure their features so nobody could ever identify them in case any snooping wives came around.

"Did you have a specific song in mind for your dance?" You asked as you picked up the tablet that connected to the room's speakers. "It'll be a bit of an unusual request but, you know that song 'Baby I'm Yours'?" He asked awkwardly. You nearly dropped the device in your hands, biting your lip as tears already began to well; the voice sounded familiar but you couldn't turn and look yet, you couldn't get your hopes up. "There are a number of songs with that name, can you be more specific?" You asked in as steady of a voice as you could manage. "The version by the Arctic Monkeys," he clarified, clearing his throat some. This time, you did drop the tablet; you suddenly felt unsteady in your platform stilettos.

You didn't even hear him get up but you felt his hands on your arms when you started to turn around "don't, please, don't look at me. I need you to remember me as I was." You exhaled deeply and shook your hand, slapping his hands away "no. I deserve to be looked in the eye when you tell me why the fuck you disappeared." When you turned to face him, you were greeted with a white mask that had cracks and breaks drawn on it. He shook his head, gripping your wrists when you tried to take it off "I didn't mean to. I-I was meeting with someone and it turned ugly and next thing I knew, I was in a hospital with memories missing and nightmares. I was there for six months before things started coming back and then I remembered you. I've been trying to find you and say I'm sorry, beg for you back but I'm-I'm not the same man you were engaged to. I barely recognize the man in the mirror now."

Before you had time to think, you yanked one of your wrists out of his grasp and slapped him, the mask falling to the ground. A shocked gasp left your lips as you took in his scarred features, his eyes immediately screwing shut to avoid seeing your expression. "Billy, I-what happened?" You asked quietly. "I was fighting with Frank and uh, he thought this was a fate worse than death. I guess he was right," he answered with a dry chuckle. When you remained speechless, he kept talking "I just wanted to see you one last time, to tell you how much I loved you, but I'm not gonna make you be with someone so hideously, grotesquely disfigured." The way he spoke about himself sent pangs of sadness to your heart. He may not have looked the same but he was far from hideous or grotesque. You were pulled out of your shock when you saw him reaching down for his mask, presumably leaving.

"No." You finally said, looking at him with an angry frown. "I'm sorry?" He asked, his own expression turning shocked when you snatched the mask from his hands. "I said no. You don't get to make that fucking decision for me, Billy! You don't just get to decide if I want to be with you or not! How fucking dare you just show up and decide for me! Do you know how much of a fucking nightmare this past year has been?" You asked, shoving his chest as angry tears began to roll down your cheeks. "I'm just trying to save you the embarrassment of-" he started to say before you started again "I wouldn't be embarrassed because I didn't love you for your looks you egotistical asshole! I loved you for who you were! Even when you were gone, when I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, I loved you. Every time I look at our son, I think about how much I love you and would give anything to have you back, only for you to come here and tell me you're leaving to spare me the embarrassment. How fucking dare you," you shoved him again, paying zero attention to how he reacted to anything you said.

Your hand was raised to slap him again but he caught your wrist, eyes widened some "we have a son?" "Yes, Billy! And every time I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of everything we shared, everything I'd give up just to have you back in my life, because I loved you with every fiber of my being. I never cared about what you looked like, you made me feel happy and safe and loved and I thought I made you feel the same but I must not have if you think so little of me, that I'd bolt at the sight of you right now." His stance noticeably softened at your words and he frowned at you "do you really think you could spend your life with someone who looks like I do, now? Children are always gonna point and stare when we walk down the street, men are never gonna leave you alone, your girlfriends are gonna tell you you can do better than someone who looks like Frankenstein."

You sighed quietly and gently cupped his cheeks, frowning at the way he flinched before you even came into contact with the marred flesh. The edges of your mouth curled up in a tiny smile as you looked into his eyes "Frankenstein's monster would be lucky to look like you, Billy." A small groan escaped him at your subtle correction. His hands came to rest on your hips. "You fucking nerd," he mumbled with a chuckle as he let you pull him into a kiss like your life depended on it. His lips only left yours when you fell onto the room's couch, quickly pulling him down with you. Your minimal, barely-there "outfit" was quickly gone, leaving you in only the heels while he shed his layers. The minute he was free, he was back on you, two of his fingers teasing your entrance while his thumb circled your clit, pulling soft, needy noises he'd missed oh so much, noises that got him through the nights he spent alone before finding you again.

And when you finally told him you were ready, it took all of his self-control to go slowly and savor the feelings he'd miss; the way your channel squeezed his member like a vise, the way your legs locked around his hips, and his favorite was the way you peppered kisses along his chest, neck, and face before finally meeting his lips. There were tears in your eyes as he slowly moved his hips, tears he kissed away lovingly while holding you as close as he possibly could. "I missed you so much, angel," he whispered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "I missed you too, Billy," you whispered back as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Once the moments of adjusting to each other's bodies again passed, Billy started moving his hips roughly, almost angrily like he was trying to make up for lost time (which he was). Each moan he pulled from you gave him a little more confidence and made him go faster, harder, deeper; sure, he was seeking his own pleasure, but he was searching his still-scrambled brain for what got you off before. Finally, he recalled the special spots that made you lose it; he angled his hips up a bit so he was repeatedly pistoning into your g-spot, smirking as you louder moans and swears that escaped you. He began kissing just above your collarbone too, sucking and nibbling on the soft skin until a nice, visible lovebite could be seen.

His lips crashed into yours when he felt you tightening around him right before your climax hit, muffling your moans and his as your release triggered his. His hips moved lazily as you came down with him, both of you panting slightly. He looked down at you adoringly after planting a kiss on your forehead "when are you finished with work?" "Any minute now, I bet," you answered happily. You gave him a quick kiss before lazily getting dressed. You checked the time on the tablet and hummed happily "I finished three minutes ago, apparently. Hurry up and get dressed so we can go home." You playfully winked at him before you left the private room. You quickly went to the back and changed into your street clothes before clocking out, meeting Billy by the door.

With your hand in his, you led him to your car and drove him to your tiny apartment. He hung back while you picked your son up from your neighbor, thanking her repeatedly before you led him inside. He followed you to your son's room, swooning over the chubby infant who babbled in his sleep "what'd you name him?" "William Russo, but I call him Will," you answered with a tired but happy smile, moving the tuft of hair out of the baby's face. "Can I-can I hold him?" He asked nervously, hesitantly. Every single one of his muscles tensed as you carefully put the child in his arms. More tears rolled down his cheeks and he bit his lip to stop from crying out loud "he's perfect." You just nodded in agreement as you watched, leaning against Billy's side some. Suddenly, Billy looked at you with watery eyes and whispered "can he sleep with us tonight? I never want to put him down." You smiled at him and nodded "of course he can, baby." You led Billy back to your room and let him get comfortable in bed while you did you changed into your PJs and did your nightly routine. When you stepped out of the bathroom less than ten minutes later, Billy was already passed out, firmly holding the infant on his chest. You smiled fondly at the sight; your love finally came back home.

Taglist: @bdffkierenwalker​

[peeterparkr]

perennial;tom holland|eleven.

chapter eleven: snapdragons & sunflowers (Vol. 1) 

↳ flower meaning: snapdragons: deception. sunflowers: unconditional love.

chapter summary: to ask for a kiss. 

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: fluff, angst, comedy, all in one, mentions or allusion to sex but not smut :), you’ll see, alcohol. 

You’ll hate me. 

word count: 11.2K

SOCIAL MEDIA BEFORE THE CHAPTER:

masterlist & profiles  

ten (Instagram): in which they share set pictures

ten (tweets & texts:in which the groupchats are…loud

previous chapter next chapter   perennial masterlist.

perfidy  ( series masterlist)

wanna be tagged?

So, please help me out I think tags aren’t working. So yes, hope you enjoy this :)

Y/N was made of the people she loved or once loved. Everyone is, really, but y/n probably made sure it showed.

 Like her habit for photography had come from her very own best friend, of the way she started watching cooking videos because of her other best friend and always read the ingredients on any of the food she ate. Her clothing style had come from her very own first boyfriend who had introduced her to the magnificent world of the 80’s.

Her love for 80’s movies had come from Louis introducing her every night to a different one, a new story, a new song, and honestly it was good he showed her to it, y/n found her one true love. Louis, really, had shown y/n a lot of things, like how to lie to see him at indecent hours, and how  And how Louis taught her that love doesn’t have to last and that sometimes people aren’t what we expect.  

How she loved pancakes because that’s what her mother used to make them every Sunday, and how she’d learned from her father that sometimes sitting outside in the grass on a sunny day could bring back happiness to us. 

How her grandma had taught her how to have a perfect poker face, and how her grandfather had shown her how to peel an orange in a ‘correct way’. 

 How she had started to drink her tea with lemon and honey because James had once given her one like that and it brought nice memories. And how James had told her that it’s okay to love, even when people tell you not to, you have to fight for your love, you shall never be afraid of who you love. And James teaching her that she should love for herself, for her own, and not having to share her feelings if she didn’t want to. 

How y/n had started to watch subtitled films because Timmy had shown her some hidden gems. Or how she had learned from Tim to enjoy little moments, like the sunrise if she ever had to wake up early, or how she opened the windows to listen to the rain splattering. Tim had taught her too much about life, like enjoying wasting time. 

Y/N was made, the most, of the people she loved the most. Like how she made pasta the way James had taught her to once when their parents had gone out and James was left in charge. 

Or how when she was sad she’d watch that movie her childhood friend had introduced her to, and how they didn’t talk now. How y/n had learned that music was a way of healing because of that same friend. 

Or how to make a story sound great with Harry, and how Harry had shown her songs that probably were her favorite ones. How Harry and her knew that they didn’t like tequila because of that one time, and how they had learned that mixing cranberry, and grape juice and vodka tasted great thanks to Sam’s idea. 

The way that Emma had taught her to use certain hair products, and how Emma had taught her that sometimes we have to sing out our feelings, and scream and shout. How Emma had taught her the importance of a friendship and having someone’s shoulder to cry on. That she didn’t have to be lonely. 

How when she kissed she usually liked to place her hands behind their neck because she’d done that on her very first kiss with Tom, or how she usually ate some of the chocolate chips when she baked cookies because Tom and her used to do that. She had learned how to wrestle from a very young age and beat Tom, and she had learned how to play with his hair in a way to make him smile. She had learned the meaning of a rose, when all her life she had never understood about it, Tom had shown her how to approach a dog, and Tom had taught her how to cuff her jeans in a cool way. Or the habit she’d picked from him of undressing the beer bottle when they were talking or how he opened it with the table. How Tom had taught her how to kiss, from their very first one to the last one, different kisses each time, how he’d taught her each and every kiss is a journey, a mystery. How she’d learned how to deal with heartbreaks and to fall in love all over again. And how she had learned that he’d come back to her. But really, how a heartbreak feels when it’s real. 

That’s who y/n was. All the beautiful things of the people she loved. 

But she was also the bad ones, unfortunately, because people shape us. Y/N was also made of the ugly parts, very ugly parts. 

One that stood out the most, she’d learned from Tom, from James, from her family, was to avoid talking. 

Everybody wanted to talk, everybody except y/n. She knew she was being immature, but she’d learned that from everyone around her, not to care if you don’t have to. But she was too overwhelmed, everyone had something to say about, except her. How could she talk if she didn’t know what she wanted? 

Tom, Harry, Emma, Tim, James, Sam, Cherry, Aunt Eliza, even Josh and Clark.  

Everybody wanted to talk. She didn’t. 

She had caught on to what Tom was doing. She'd go along with it, he was the only one she wanted to talk to, honestly. 

And Emma, because she knew Emma didn’t judge her, Emma understood y/n, and Emma had been the only one who really didn’t tell her she was wrong. Even if Tim was her best friend, Ema understood that y/n’s heart belonged to Tom. 

“Clark is great, I may have fallen in love with him,” Emma had stated. 

Y/N nodded. “He’s great, I—“

“Why didn’t you know?” Emma asked. 

“I did know. But I didn’t—James was—you know how I’ve only dated three guys?” Y/n asked, she was putting on makeup, she had a date. 

“Yeah.” 

“James is exactly the opposite, he’s dated like half the gay population his age in London,” y/n scrunched her nose, as she was choosing between lipsticks.. “So I just—Never paid attention to any guy he dated because I never thought it was serious.” 

“Are you talking to him now?”

“I did today, only because of Clark,” y/n admitted, giving up on the lipsticks and instead choosing to work on her hair. “James is still angry I am in love.” 

“Not angry at that, you know that,” Emma pointed out. 

“Is it that wrong I am so in love with Tom?” Y/n left the brush on the table as she turned to look at Emma. 

“It’s completely bollocks y/n, but then again,” Emma sighed, “I wish I could be more like you and just love—I mean and I also wish Harry wasn’t so scared okay? He’s just so bloody scared, I wish he’d just say hey, Emma, d’ya fancy to go for a stroll? But no, we are both so… Gosh, I wish we were more like you and Tom, throwing everything down the drain.” 

“We are-” 

“You are, y/n,” Emma rolled her eyes. “He blows your mind and you basically want to yell it to the world, and he gets you all stupid, and you’re happy again, that’s alright, though-” 

Emma was laying down on y/n’s bed, her feet up against the wall, as she was nibbling on a popsicle. 

“Yes, I know, we have to talk,” she sighed. 

“Who says it has to be right now?” Emma had said. “Right now you barely have time to think, and I see you all happy and giggling, and besides, talking doesn’t have to be dramatic.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It’s just… I don’t get it why James wants it to be dramatic, it’s just hey, you guys love each other, what else is there to know?” 

Y/N nodded, turning back to the lipsticks. 

“You do have to tell him you know about Cherry, though, which-” 

“Yeah, n, no, but I get it,” y/n sighed.

“Which, I love you’re ignoring, just pretending like she doesn’t exist, ” Emma laughed. “She just arrived yesterday, didn’t she?” 

“She did,” Y/N sighed. “Ugh, I don’t want to see her and she wants to talk, what does she want to talk about? We’ve never cared about each other before, met her like three times growing up because my mum and hers didn’t get along, which by the way, I’m scared James and I are headed in that same direction.” 

“You won’t,” Emma said. “James loves you too much to ever leave you.” 

“You never know,” y/n said. “Besides that’s not my point, my point is why does she want to talk? We have nothing in common!” 

“Dunno, you’re blood related and you both rode the same dick, seems like you’ve got a lot in common.” 

Y/n closed her eyes as she forced a laugh, “Emma!” 

“I’m just saying, y/n, that’s why you and I became close, we’ve both kissed the same two guys.”

“It’s different,” Y/N scoffed. “I—just don’t want to see her okay? Because I know I’ll be reminded of every single insecurity I have,” she admitted. “Because I know that the moment I see her I’ll get just so anxious, you know? She’s so pretty, and she’s so perfect and from what-” 

“From what I’ve gathered from Eliza, she’s also a mess,” Emma added. 

“That’s an issue, that’s Tom’s type, just look at me,” y/n laughed as she stared at a bright red lipstick. 

Emma scoffed. “Oh, hadn’t thought about that, Tom’s into messy girls with your genes.” 

“It’s so fucked up, though,” y/n said, as she looked up at the wall, she needed to change the flowers, they were drying out. She hadn’t changed them in a while. 

Emma shrugged, “considering how small his brain is, he probably thought it would feel the same way if he closed his eyes.” 

“As if it would,” y/n replied cockily, finally choosing a light pink, changing it up a bit, she’d always used bright red lipsticks with Tom,  “I’ve known him his whole life, and now I’ve—“she cleared her throat. “ I know exactly how to work him up.” 

Emma let out a loud and long laugh. “I can tell, Jesus, what did you do to him to have him oh, so mesmerized? Are you a sex goddess or why are those two men so bloody entranced by you?”

Y/N blushed and shook her head laughing. “You’re an idiot.” 

“How do you really feel?” Emma wondered, getting the conversation back as serious as it was supposed to be. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, she was still on some pair of pjs. “I… I’ve been talking with Tom, or…” She rolled her eyes. “He’s found a way to talk, and I think it’s worked out for both of us.” 

“Oh, what is it?” Emma sighed. 

Y/n walked over to her closet, it felt so weird to choose something to wear, Tom had warned her to be casual, something her style, something very her. 

“We use the script so we can… I guess we’re projecting it all, and well, I think he’s been understanding about it, and I think I’m starting to understand his point of view, about Tim at least.” 

“Please, I don’t need to listen to him to know why he feels that way,” Emma pointed out. 

“Really?” Y/n turned back to Emma as she was choosing between them. 

“I like the red one,” Emma suggested. “But please, y/n,” Emma scoffed. “Timmy was the one who stole his chance, Timmy was the one who got the girl when he had fucked up and everyone around Tom said it, we’ve all said it at some point, Tim is perfect for you.” 

“But—“

“and besides, Timmy was the one-” 

“The one who opened the door when Tom came to apologize,” y/n finished Emma’s sentence as she sat down hugging the red dress Emma had suggested. 

Emma frowned. “What?” 

“Guess Timmy had secrets, too,” y/n said.

Emma seemed confused. 

“He never told me about it, how Tom had come a second time, and…” She sighed. “I mean I guess I’m thankful he didn’t but I’m… I’m only wondering—“

“Oh, back when you first started dating,” Emma recalled. “He did tell me about it, and I.. was the one to advise him not to  tell you.” 

Y/N gulped. 

“Would you have run back to Tom?” Emma wondered, embarrassed. “Honestly I told him not to because—Well, I had asked Harry about it, you know? Harry had said you hated each other and that you had been avoiding Tom for a while now. That you were enemies.” 

“We were.” 

“And I mean—Back then, you really hated him.”

Y/n nodded. “Yeah, I did.” 

“So I told Tim not to tell you about it, because I thought—I didn’t know the background but I thought Tom was going to—hurt you, you know? And I guess, we all did, and we all kept that mentality even when he wasn’t trying to.”

“Yeah.” 

“Wow, I’ve never thought about that,” Emma nodded. “Even when I knew you were dating back in New York, we were just waiting for it, for Tom to—“

“Yeah, for Tom to pull a Tom,” y/n ended the sentence. “And I mean—He kind of did, but it was my fault.” 

“Tom really sabotages himself, it seems.” 

Y/N reached out to hug her frog, she was thankful James had brought it, “he does, but because he’s expected to, you know? Maybe that’s why— I haven’t brought it up because I’m not—I’m not expecting the heartbreak this time, and I know bringing up the whole Cherry thing is looking for it,” y/n explained. “I trust him this time, and he really wants to make it work out.” 

“Would you have gone back to him? Had Tim told you he had showed up?” Emma questioned. 

Y/N breathed in heavily. “Dunno,” she said. “I was so heartbroken back then, I thought— and I had promised myself back then I would never fall back for him, and… I mean, I had even thought I would never love again because that’s how dramatic it was, I really didn’t want to see him, that heartbreak is what led to all this mess, you know?” She explained. “Now Tom knows that, I think he really understands it, and he feels guilty and I mean, I was angry when Tom told me about it, because… Tim, well he didn’t know back then, he just was too sure that Tom loved me but—After learning all of this? Tim should’ve told me, because just now, learning it, I guess it changed a lot of things, not that it erased anything, but I lived all this time thinking he hadn’t… He really hadn’t cared, and it took him a lot of time, still, but he had tried to apologize again, and Tim keeping it to himself knowing that what broke me the most was that Tom had never shown up? Tim keeping it to himself is just—so selfish.” 

Emma bit her lip. “He’s still in love with you.” 

Y/N remained quiet. 

“I mean, you can’t blame him,” Emma said. “You guys were… I mean before Tom, you really seemed to be hitting it off, I thought you’d end up dating again.” 

“I did, too, at some point,” y/n admitted. “But-” 

“But you love Tom, I know,” Emma shrugged. “No but… Y/N you also, have to acknowledge it, you can’t keep playing with Tim which-before you say anything, I mean it’s also on him, he knew it, but then again, I… I believed it at some point y/n, that you were going to get back together with him because… The way you looked at him just… and it was just—” 

“I know, I know and I thought… I don’t know, okay?” y/n admitted as she sat up. “I… It’s cause I never… I had closure with Tim, alright? I gave him the ring back because I thought, I know it, I want Tom, okay? It’s Tom, yes, it’s Tom.”

“But?” 

Y/n sighed, “Timmy—alright as I said before, I had said I would never love again after the whole Rome thing,” she cleared up. “And then Tim came along and just showed me this beautiful life and taught me how to love again, and I—He became a very special part of me.” 

“Yeah, and? That doesn’t explain your flirting.” 

“I didn’t—flirt.” 

“Well you answered to his flirting,” Emma pointed out. 

“We were—“

“You guys were flirting y/n!” Emma replied quickly, slightly stressed. “You guys don’t flirt like everyone else! Your flirting style with each other was by showing each other songs and him watering your plants, y/n! You were basically having sex with each other,” Emma rolled her eyes. 

Y/N stayed quiet. 

“But I know, Tom, Tom—“

Y/n gulped. “Yeah, Tom.” 

Emma watched y/n, confused. “Why are you acting like it’s the last time?” 

“What?” 

“Like it’s your last chance with Tom.” 

“I...don’t know, because what if it is, you know? It’s… stupid, we’ve had plenty of chances and… Last time, I just… Had I known it would lead to that. I know it’s my fault, and like we’ve both blown it up so it’s—“

“Neither one of you will fuck up.” 

“I know—But Tom… We are trying and I’m happy but I feel-” 

“Y/N you are pretending, I know, you won’t be happy until you talk about it with him.” 

She sighed. “I know, and we’ve been talking and I…” She coughed. “I really want to try it out.” 

“But…?”

“Am I allowed to forgive something like that? Am I even allowed to get angry about Cherry?”

Emma sat up as well. “Y/N, had he slept with anyone else I wouldn’t be so sure but that’s your cousin, that’s fucked up and-” 

“What if he finds out about Tim?” 

Y/N grabbed the pillow that had once been under her head and proceeded to get it in her face and scream into it. 

“Wait, I’m… I’m gonna try that,” Emma laughed, doing the same. 

Both of them were screaming into the pillows, pitying their sorrows and problems. 

Timmy had walked in. 

“What the hell?” He asked. 

Emma was the only one to peak her head out of it. “It’s therapeutic.” 

Timothee had only chuckled. “I bet.” 

Y/N had stopped screaming but kept the pillow over her face. She didn’t know how she felt about Tim, there was no point in being angry at something from the past, but it did change a lot of the way she saw him, maybe he had forgotten. But Tim was never one to forget, he was observant and he was quiet, and he was all about the stories. 

“Um, y/n?” Tim said. 

Emma watched Tim, and the small object he had in his hand. She shot him a warning glare, scared of the inside. 

“Yeah?” y/n answered from her pillow which now had a nice stain of makeup on it. 

“Can I talk to you?” He asked. 

Another person wanting to talk, what was it with everybody wanting to say words and listening and whatever? Y/N thought to herself. 

Though Timmy hadn’t asked for it yet, she knew it, but he hadn’t really said it, not the whole y/n we should talk. 

She wanted to say no, but she knew that she couldn’t keep doing that. Counting the days until it finally had to blow up, and then end up with bruises, no, she didn’t have to do that. 

She finally let the pillow down, “Yeah, sure,” she said before walking out of her room. 

“Sure, leave Emma behind,” Emma pointed out. 

“I… well,” Y/N looked at Tim. 

“It’ll be quick, darling, Emma dear,” Tim assured her. 

Emma rolled her eyes. “It never is with you both.” 

Tim rolled his eyes before leading the way outside of the apartment, y/n frowned, asking him to wait up so she could put on her sneakers, still wearing her pj’s. 

“So your birthday is tomorrow,” Tim had said as they had walked out, he had sat on the stairs. 

She chuckled as she sat beside him. “Yeah.” 

“You look really pretty,” Tim had said. 

“These pj’s really accentuate my features huh,” y/n joked. 

“Your makeup looks pretty and hair, idiot,” Tim chuckled. 

She only gave him a sad smile. 

“So, what are your plans?” He asked. 

“For… tonight? I’ve got a date,” she explained.

“No, tomorrow.” 

She shrugged. “Tom’s got some plans, apparently, he hasn’t told me anything about it, honestly I don’t… I don’t want to…” 

“What?” 

“Do anything you know? I will be too tired after filming, and I… I just feel like… Dunno, James and Clark will be there and I don’t want to talk to James still, and apparently Cherry invited herself, too so… And you’ll be there, and Harry and Emma… and Josh, and I just... ” She chuckled. “I’ve got a bad feeling.” 

“Why?” 

“Dunno, seems like a perfect combination for disaster.” 

“I met Cherry today,” he admitted. “Well, we’d met before but-Yeah, I thought you’d be at the flower shop. “And she was there, instead.” 

Y/N scrunched her nose. “Yeah I know she’s there, that’s why I haven’t gone there,” she explained chuckling shyly. 

“Why?” 

“Because then I’ll start feeling insignificant, because let’s face it and don’t you dare say no, but she’s really… Pretty, like she’s everything a girl would want to be and I’m jealous of her,” she admitted, truthfully. “I’ve never been the jealous kind but with her, I feel like—Of course anyone would choose her over me, and don’t—Say anything okay? I just feel that way. And if I see her I’ll be reminded of the elephant in the room waiting to be addressed, and I… If the conversation about you went wrong I don’t want to know how that-” 

“About me?” 

“Yeah,” she looked down. “Dunno.” 

Tim bit his lip. 

“How did he-?” 

“I don’t want to talk about that, Tim,” she quickly answered. “I can’t blame him for feeling the way he feels and that’s on me, too, I mean… I… really.” 

“What?” 

She looked down. “I— well, I don’t…know alright? If I feel anxious about Cherry I can only imagine how he feels about you, no, I can’t even imagine it, and look Tim, I—you know you’re very important to me but I’m… I’m dating… Or whatever is going on now, but It’s Tom right now, alright? And I know it’ll be for a long time.” 

“I know.” 

She looked at him, confused by his statement because it really didn’t feel like he knew it.. “And I don’t… want you to think there is an open door or-” 

“Y/N, I know,” he said. “Yeah, I know it’s Tom, now.” 

“But it’s not just—“

“I know,” Tim looked away. “I know.” 

She looked down. “I’m sorry.” 

“Just….” He took a deep breath. “I know it’s him, but that doesn’t… I mean, we’ve been friends, and I—I just ask you not to push me away, alright? I don’t know how I’d live without y/n in my world, and if having you around means having you with him, then I just have to deal with it, move on you know? And I know we are friends, so this is… This comes from your friend, Timmy.” 

She smiled, just slightly, very timidly. It hurt, hurting him but of course, keeping him around meant jeopardizing her relationship with Tom, and she really didn’t want to give it more excuses. 

“Timmy,” she sighed. 

He smiled. “I’m serious, it’s alright, no… no resentment, alright? We both know we… I don’t…you know it, I’ll always love you, but we—I mean you—you love someone else and it’s be stupid of me not letting you love him, that is just pathetically selfish. And don’t get me wrong, it hurts like a bitch…. Yeah, I know it, but… I don’t want to lose you, I am not stupid… but I also… I know that if I give this to you tomorrow, Tom will lose it and I… don’t want that, so I’m giving you this, today.” 

He pulled out a film canister. And it felt like one of those times when life likes to punch you with reality. She felt a fear deep inside her stomach. Last time he’d given her one of those an engagement ring was hidden in it. 

“It’s… It’s not what you think,” Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh, you really thought I’d propose again?” 

She let out a soft chuckle. “No--I… I mean,” I’m-I didn’t think you would-” 

“Your face,” He chuckled softly. “Yeah, no, I… I’m…” 

“Yeah, just last time you gave me one of those-” 

“Yeah, and look where it led us, I’m not… I wouldn’t… No,” Timmy laughed. “No, it’s not… and—do you really think I’m the type of guy to propose on a bad time—-Actually don’t answer that,” he chuckled. “Okay, open it.” 

She grinned, and took the film canister from him. “Man I hope it’s an iPad,” she joked, warning a laugh from Tim. “No, you—you shouldn’t have.” 

She shook it just slightly, listening to no sound coming out from it, before finally opening, carefully. “A…there’s nothing?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” Tim laughed. “I know.” 

She frowned, confused but then chuckled. “I love it… I hope I… can get to wear it soon,” she joked. 

“It couldn’t fit there, but I—Well, you know, we had that tradition, ,” he said before finally giving her the box that sat beside him. 

She took the box and smiled, opening it, an old vintage Polaroid camera stood there. 

“I know you’ve—I think it works, it’s—It’s an original, I've noticed you haven't really taken any Polaroids, and I know you love them,” he coughed. “So, yeah, happy birthday.” 

Y/N had only looked up, giving him a true smile. 

“Thank you, I love it!” 

But of course, the timing could not have gone any worse. Tom had arrived. Y/N had momentarily  forgotten she had agreed to spend the night with him, nothing too serious but Tom had insisted because he had a surprise for early in the morning and he’d come pick her up for dinner and then she’d stay with him. 

Maybe she should’ve seen the trouble coming. 

Tom cleared his throat loudly, “hello,” he said, standing with sunflowers. Yellow flowers with pretty meaning, y/n thought. 

Y/n looked up, calmly, knowing that if he saw any hint of her freaking out it would blow it up because his mind would go places.

“Oh hi!” She grinned. “sorry—I’m not—“

Tom clenched his jaw at Tim, but then turned to y/n and chuckled, “Darling,  when I said casual—I didn’t—“

She chuckled nervously standing up. “Sorry, I—“she squeezed her eyes shut. “I was discussing with Tim something about some pictures he’s planning on—yeah,” she lied, as she hid the film canister and box behind her back. 

“Yeah,” Tim said, clearing his throat, standing up as well. “Hello, Thomas.” 

“Tim.” Tom was nervous already, y/n could tell. 

“Are those for me?” Y/n questioned staring at the flowers  before they could say another word to each other. 

Tom chuckled between his teeth, “yeah, they’re most certainly not for Tim.” 

“Oh,” Tim said, “and here I was getting excited about them.” 

Tom faked a very quiet laugh and then turned to y/n. “So? Don’t get me wrong, you literally look so beautiful—but—“ He smiled looking down at her clothing. 

“Yeah—right!” She excused herself, not forgetting to kiss his cheek, before running back to her room, where Emma was waiting with the red dress and had pulled out some heels for her. 

Emma  walked out of the room, “hello, Tom, long time no see,” she said with sarcasm. 

“I know, these couple hours have been long,” Tom joked back, as he had walked in. 

Tim had followed after. It felt so tense, Emma could swear she could cut the tension with a knife. 

Emma hummed a fake laugh. “There are flower vases over there, you can guess which ones are y/n’s now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna steal Tim from you just a bit, I hope you don’t miss him as much.”

Emma had dragged Tim to her own room. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Emma snapped. 

“A lot of things,” Tim answered. “But let’s not go there, please.” 

“Oh don’t play that with me, I know exactly what you’re doing, and Tim—“

“I’m not—“

“Don’t fucking pull the whole I’m not doing anything bullshit with me,” she rolled her eyes. “I know exactly what you’re doing, and I’m sure you gave her the Polaroid today, really? Exactly when you know she’ll go on a date with Tom? And you take her to the stairs? So he can see it right?

Tim clenched his jaw. “I—Well.” 

“Sabotaging her relationship is not the way to go, Tim,” Emma warned him. “And I—I just told you—Best thing you could try is...move on, alright? I know you love her and that she was—She seemed perfect for you, and I still think you guys worked so well together but… She is so in love with him, and by doing this you’re only hurting her more—Besides, really Tim, you know her better than this,” she pushed. “I—“ Emma sighed. “I'm telling you this because I love you, I don’t want to sound harsh but—“She closed her eyes. “I know she is confused, and making her even more confused won’t help you, let her settle it, let her have it right now.” 

Tim didn’t say anything and just walked out of the room. He had gone to his room and unfortunately had left his door open to see y/n walking out on a red dress to run over excitedly to Tom, who had pulled her close to him to kiss her cheek and smell her perfume. 

Timmy knew Emma was right, y/n was in love with him. So, very deeply in love. And it hurt, seeing her. And Timmy asked for more patience, or for more time, or strength to move on. 

It felt weird, Tim felt lonely and broken hearted, and he just missed her, and it was stupidly incredible that she lived right there in the same apartment. He knew she loved Tom, that was it but it…. It still didn’t make any sense. Honestly, it felt like they were completely strangers. 

Especially y/n, she really felt like a stranger, even to Tom it seemed. She seemed too… distant to everyone.

Tom felt it, too. He felt that y/n was just off, even if she was happy or tried to be and even if she was kissing his cheek, she was being… different. And Tom only wanted to get over with it, the awkwardness. 

And he wondered if she wanted to get over with it, too. 

They went out for dinner, not in the place where she’d imagine Tom would take her, it was a nice dinner place with lightbulbs hanging around, a flower in a glass bottle, candles around, very… cozy, and romantic, and they were talking about barely anything, and maybe for a bit it felt like they were each other again. 

Y/N knew this, she felt weird with herself, as if even when she seemed to be saying what she wanted to say, she really wasn’t saying what her heart wanted, but as if her own heart was keeping secrets. It felt like Tom didn’t know her, though. And it had never felt that way before, but it felt like they were both trying to get to know each other again. Because neither of them were being themselves, not entirely. 

“So, you were clearly not talking about pictures with Tim,” Tom had mentioned. 

y/n looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t….”

“So?” Tom seemed anxious about it. 

“He gave me a birthday present, a…he gave me a polaroid,” she cleared up. “A vintage, original one.” 

“Oh, that’s cool,” Tom nodded, and gulped. “As long as he doesn’t give you a ring.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Tom.” 

Tom shrugged. 

“I… told him,” she cleared her throat. “That well… it’s you.” 

“It’s me?” Tom wondered, and a smile came to his face. “What am I?” 

She rolled her eyes, chuckling softly. “An idiot, that’s what you are.” 

Tom chuckled. “Uh-huh, I am, and what else?” 

She blushed. “Nothing.” 

Tom hadn’t pushed it any further. Their conversation kept flowing. Talking about them. What made them so… them. 

“I remember that everyone was in love with this one guy, ugh, what’s his name? The one that bullied you,” Y/N tried to recall. 

“Edward,” Tom remembered. “He was so big.” 

“Well, everyone had a crush except me, because well, I was the idiot, you know?” 

“You loved that scrawny guy who-” 

“Adorable guy,” she added. 

“Scrawny guy,” he continued. “Who did ballet and everyone crushed on Edward, who-” 

“I actually was… dating Louis back then,” she recalled. “But…” She chuckled. “But my point is… I was the one who… hid a rat in his car.” 

“No way!” Tom’s eyes popped as he leaned over. “You’re kidding.” 

“I… Look, nobody could be an asshole to you unless it was me, that was-” She was nervous. “I was so angry at everything he said at you, I…” She rolled her eyes. “And I… genuinely don’t know.” 

“Where in this bloody world did you get a rat from?” He wondered. “I mean thank you but I didn’t think you’d-” 

“Please I had experience from pranks for you so of course…” She gulped, hiding a laugh. “I...Well, there was a rat in Louis' house, and well they trapped it and instead of… you know killing it I… well told Louis to break into Ed’s car and I hid the rat there.” 

Tom was shocked. “And that was because of me?” 

“No, I hated Ed,” she looked away. “He was the biggest asshole.” 

Tom grinned. “Are you sure? Because I remember that rat incident being right after he had hit me in the hall.” 

“Really?” y/n coughed. “I wouldn’t remember,” she blushed looking away. 

“Which actually brought attention to me, they said it had been me!” He recalled. “I got into detention.”

Y/N grinned. “Yeah, killed two birds in one shot,” she smirked. 

“I’m serious did you-?” 

“Yeah, maybe I did it for you, okay? Whatever, yes, I had feelings for you and I was angry someone else was taking away my job, let’s remember we were enemies back then, alright?” She was nervous. 

Tom smirked. “You had a crush on me.” 

“Shut up,” she chuckled. “You had a crush on me, too.” 

Tom shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, I did. I’m not trying to hide it.

Y/N avoided his gaze, not believing he was actually making her feel butterflies, even after all this time, she was still nervous. In a good way. She wasn’t always nervous, most of the time, she didn’t, she felt so calm around him, but on the edge, as if she didn’t need to worry about being herself but expectant of each other’s attitude. 

Tom watched her, “Why do I always feel like there’s always something on your mind?” 

“Because there is,” she laughed. “Don’t you?” 

“No, I’m dumb, remember? I can actually blank up my mind,” he smirked. “Or well, not at all. There is a constant on my mind,” he had reached for her hand. 

“Oh?” her eyes had brightened up, a timid smile on her face. 

“Yeah, Spiderman,” he joked, earning a glare from y/n. 

It was so stupid. But they were… back being them. Probably because they were alone. As if someone was brushing y/n’s dream, and she couldn’t get enough of him, his laugh was her everything. She couldn’t help but sigh and run out of breath, and never stop blushing, there was no doubt about it. And she had once thought about it, ‘the day that Tom loves me, the world will party’. She had been wrong, the world wasn’t partying, and there were no flowers blooming and no fireworks. The world instead, stopped, as if it was them and only them. The stars were probably jealous of them seeing them shining even more brightly than them. 

“You know, from the moment we met,” he had said. 

“When we were kids, you mean?” She chuckled . 

“Truly met,” Tom gulped. “Rome, I mean.” 

She blinked. “Yeah.” 

“I… Why didn’t you kiss me?” He asked. 

“Hm? When?” 

“That one night, you know the one, lovely evening, I remember I asked for a kiss,” he recalled. “And… you said and I quote: ‘No, Thomas, don’t ask for a kiss’.” 

She looked away, remembering. “Because I didn’t want you to ask for it.” 

He frowned. 

“It’s silly but that’s the way I am, I didn’t want you to ask for it, I was clearly begging for one,” she explained. “I wanted you to… do it. One should never ask for a kiss, or not… verbally.” 

“How so?”

“I mean certain contexts,” y/n said. “But that night? I thought I had hinted it enough 

“So you did want me to kiss you,” He grinned. 

“Of course!” She beamed. “I—it’s not secret by now that I—“she cleared her throat. “Well, enjoy when our lips come together.” 

“Oh, so you enjoy that?” He mocked. 

“Very much so,” she answered shyly. “And—it had been the perfect evening! It would’ve cost you nothing,” she smiled. 

“Cost me nothing,” he laughed. 

“I think you’ll find that kissing me is quite cheap,” she pointed out.

He scrunched his nose. “That’s a lie.” 

“No, no, I was the one who could lose there,” she sighed.

 “No, y/n. Because kissing you costs a lifetime.” 

She scoffed. “How so?” 

“I kissed you once when I was 13 and never stopped thinking about it,” he said. “And after that evening.” 

“Would I have been so bad?” She questioned, “if we had realized it back then.”

“Think we did,” he said, “but you didn’t kiss me either.” 

“No, but—because you had asked for it.” 

“You’re right… I should’ve, but there’s a lot of things I should’ve done...still can’t believe it, how stupid I was,” he said. 

“It didn’t click you know,” she nodded. “When you broke my heart,” she continued. “I mean, the excuses you gave me… They didn’t make any sense.” 

Tom looked down. 

“And…” She sighed. 

“Would you’ve forgiven me? If I had come earlier?” He asked. 

She stared at him. “Maybe,” she admitted. “Probably, if I’m honest… I did wait for you to come again with yellow flowers, and I’d have my hand right in my heart, and I would wait for you to come and apologize and I would see it, you know, wait for you to stand up in the rain and said you didn’t mean it, and I… I was angry, alright? It was stupid letting my life pass by waiting for it besides the whole scenario...but then again, it wa shot and it’s still you and I’m—it’s silly.” 

“It’s not silly,” Tom said. “It’s you,” he took a deep breath, “and I knew you’d like that… kind of stuff, but when I finally realized it, it was too late.” 

“But it’s not late now,” she admitted. “We’re finally on time. And I’m glad I’ve always been so stubborn when it comes to you because otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” 

The evening had continued to flow, as both of them had become quieter, in a way that they didn’t need to talk to communicate, between whispers and giggles and hand brushing, it was all they needed. 

The ticking had stopped, y/n had noticed. It’d come, she knew but… God, when she was with him, she didn’t have to worry about anything. Because it seemed that it was made for them, all her doubts disappeared because he was the answer she needed. It was them against the world. 

They hadn’t talked about Valerie and William, not that night. It was Tom and y/n,.

They hadn’t kissed. Tom had ceased the kissing when James had arrived, which y/n hated, she missed his lips so much her own were begging for them. She wouldn’t ask for it. Never ask for a kiss, not out loud. 

She was wearing his jacket back on their way, he had said: ‘I wasn’t cold but I knew you’d be so that’s why I brought it’. Her hand was on his hair as he drove, listening to music, windows down as they hummed the lyrics, and as y/n stared down at the lights the city was giving her, her hair flying. 

She was sad, though, Tom hadn’t even tried to lean over and kiss her, not even seeing a hint of him trying to do so. 

They had walked in, the guys seemed to be all too invested in a video game, all except for Clark who was rather interested in playing with James’ hair as y/n’s brother yelled at the screen. He looked up when seeing them walk in, he smiled at the sight of y/n’s shoulders being covered by Tom’s jacket. 

“Hello, you two,” Clark had greeted them. 

Tom peeked to see the screen, not letting go of y/n’s hand. 

“Hi,” y/n said, knowing she’d most likely lose Tom’s attention to the screen. 

“How did it go?” Clark asked.

“Bloody hell, Samuel!” James yelled. 

“Piss off,” Harry yelled, too. 

y/n chuckled. “It went well,” she said. 

“Well?” Tom lost focus of the screen, as he turned to her. “Well?” 

She ignored him and kept staring at Clark. “Can you believe the evening has gone by so splendidly but he still hasn’t kissed me?” 

Tom immediately blushed. 

“Good,” said James. “Kissing is gross.” 

“Is it?” Clark asked before kissing his cheek. 

James coughed. “Straight kissing is gross,” he corrected himself. 

Harry laughed. 

Sam scrunched his nose. “Why haven’t you kissed her? you usually bloody eat each other’s faces.” 

Harry scoffed. 

“Don’t you dare eat my sister’s face,” James warned. “Or anything for that matter.” 

“James,” y/n closed her eyes. 

Tom laughed. “We’re gonna…” 

“No, why don’t you guys stay? We were about to play Mario Kart” Offered James. “So why don’t you both play with all of us, you know you can sit over there with your brother and y/n can sit over here, everyone’s happy.” 

“Jamey, love, don’t be a dick,” warned Clark. 

Y/N chuckled. “Fine, I want to play,” she admitted. 

“Great, mario kart is the real deal breaker between couples.” 

Of course, they hadn’t followed James’ instruction for their sitting arrangement, y/n had sat on the couch, and Tom had sat on the floor, resting his back against her. Y/N was still bothered by the fact she hadn’t yet been kissed that night, but she soon forgot it as it felt like one of those nights when they were younger, all of them playing and yelling at each other. 

Tom had left the room without any explanation at some point, but she was too busy trying to beat her brother at rainbow road to even notice. 

Time went by, and before she knew it, the lights had gone off, and they all had turned with a smirk as Tom had walked in with a cake with candles. 

‘Happy Birthday’ they all sang as she stared at the cake, pretty cake, sunflowers again. Tom kissing her cheek. 

It felt… like years ago, the Holland’s, James, and now Clark, too, of course it was Tom holding the cake now, not Harry, and now she didn’t have a wish, usually she’d plan ahead her birthday wishes, because that’s something James had taught her to. Instead, she wished for everything to keep flowing as easy as it could with Tom. Funny, how many birthday wishes had not involved him already. 

They had sat and ate cake like old times, y/n smearing some frosting to Tom’s cheek and then kissing it off, making the boy blush and getting James to glare at her. Laughing at each other, telling old jokes as y/n was laying against Tom, his arms around her and his lips brushing against her head. 

How many years had they not wasted by being enemies. 

Eventually, they had all gone to bed knowing the next day would expect them, except for Clark and James who had stayed in the kitchen. 

Tom and y/n had stayed on the couch. 

“So, I’m gonna be honest,” Tom had said as he had sat with her, he had left yet again to get something 

She only stared into his eyes, begging her with her sight to kiss her already. She should’ve probably wished for that, instead. 

“I—this wasn’t going to be your birthday present.” 

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” she said. 

He had sat up and pulled out a small box, he seemed nervous, but excited. The box… gave her shivers. But it couldn’t be. 

Y/n only smiled watching him, resenting her head against her palm. 

“I—back when,” he gulped, “back when I was still in London debating whether or not to direct dos-a-dos,” he continued. “I—well.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you because—Well,” he grinned. “I am so stupidly in love with you.” 

She only blushed. 

“So—one day,” he gulped. “I went—Well, you know, to the mall and whatsoever, and—I saw this shop.” 

“Right.” 

“And so I bought a pair of boots for me,” he said, leaning against the couch, trying to recall. “They were very—nice, you know?” 

“Uh—huh,” she rolled her eyes. “And did you bring those boots to LA?”

“No, I didn’t,” he side eyed her, “should’ve, you would have loved them.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes giggling. “I bet.” 

“But anyway, after I bought the boots—I passed by that shop you like.” 

Y/n blinked. “Care to be more specific?” 

“The one with the vinyls, and vintage stuff,” he reminded her, but she looked down at the tiny box he was holding, it definitely wasn’t anything from that shop. 

“Oh, yeah, love that place,” she smiled. 

“Yeah, and I—went in,” he admitted. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you, everything they had… so I—“

She just waited for him to continue. 

“I bought a fee vinyls for me, too,” he nodded seriously.

 Y/n bit her lip, holding back a laugh, “amazing, which ones did you buy?” 

“I bought a Beatles one… uh, Queen.” 

“Great choices,” she grinned. “I’m proud.” 

“And of course Rolling Stones, because I thought of you,” he said. 

Y/n scooted closer to him to gently run her hands through his hair, he couldn’t hide his smile. 

“And then—One day, I went out again,” he grinned. 

“Hm-hm?” 

He coughed, “yeah, and I walked again to that one other shop you like, the one with the clothes.” 

“With the clothes,” she laughed. 

“Yeah, you know the one,” he chuckled, avoiding her gaze. 

“And did you get in?” She asked. 

“No,” he grinned. “I went for an ice cream, you know, I was really craving one.” 

She stared at him, so mesmerized by him, even when he was being the silliest. “God, I love you,” she blurted out, without really thinking of it. That’s how it should be, realy. Nothing wrong with that. 

He finally locked his eyes with her and smiled, he took her hand in his and kissed it. “Yeah, so—“he grinned, “none of that has to do with your birthday present.” 

Y/n chuckled. “Really? I thought the birthday present would be seeing you with those boots and dancing with you to the music on those vinyls and eating ice cream.” 

“Ah, that would’ve been great huh,” he grinned staring into her eyes. 

“Would’ve loved that.”

“I actually did bring the vinyls,” he admitted. 

She kissed his temple. “Great, let’s play them—“

“Yeah, but—I haven’t finished,” he admitted. “I… Well, I've had a lot of time, you know? To reflect on—on the script, on us. But especially the script.” 

Y/n stared at the features on his face, fixating on the freckles on his nose as he kept talking. 

“So, I kept avoiding the script, even if I wanted to direct it because—Well, it was your dream, I remember and I think I’ll never forget how in Rome you told me your biggest dream was making a film of a ballerina,” he said. “I—well, and I wanted to read it, but I couldn’t because I thought—well, dunno, having something yet to read was something I still had to look forward to, you know? And so I kept listening to the vinyls because they reminded me of you, and I kept—trying to find you everywhere, alright?” He confessed. “On every single face and—The days just went by and I—eventually read it.” 

Y/n silently watched him. 

“And I fell in love with it, because—it’s you. The script is so—you, it was like reading an open book about you, and I don’t mean it in the way that it’s our story, like I genuinely—you really poured heart and soul in it, the songs you put in, the setting—and, well, it was really you, you know? I know you’ve always loved 80’s movies because they seem so ridiculous but so magical.“

Y/n chuckled nervously. “Where are you going with this?”

“I know it’s your biggest dream,” he sentenced. “And well—I’m sorry I didn’t get you a pair of boots like mine.” 

She laughed rolling her eyes. 

“And I didn’t get a vinyl.” 

“Tommy,” she nudged him. 

He only handed it to her, the small box. A very stupid and scary suspicion in her head had completely been erased as she picked the small box.

As she opened it, it revealed a necklace with a small pendant of a ballerina hanging from it. The brightest beam had appeared on y/n’s face. 

“I know you’ve—never liked the idea of someone giving you jewelry, especially bracelets or necklace because they don’t hold any meaning, but—I think—I know you’re not a dancer but, I think Valerie is your own special project, and—“Tom grinned. “I was saving it to give it to you on the premier but—“

“I love it, I...No, really this… This is perfect,” she whispered looking at it. Tom had once taught her that roses weren’t always basic. And Tom had now proven to her that this didn’t have to be either, because it was them, and it held such a special meaning to her. 

She leaned over to kiss his cheek, and he only smiled. 

“I was gonna give you a T—“

“As in Troy?” She mocked. 

“That’s exactly why I didn’t.”

She laughed. “I love it.” 

He looked deep into her eyes and she just waited for it… But he didn’t kiss her. 

“Yeah, so, let’s go to sleep,” he quickly stood up, letting her fall flat on the couch. 

“Thomas,” she hissed playfully. He had already left, and she could feel his smirk from afar, so she followed after him. 

“So, you can have my bed, I’m gonna leave to sleep on the couch because that was my agreement with James,” he explained, picking up his stuff as soon as she got to the room. 

She frowned. “No?” 

“Yes,” he replied cockily. 

“I’m not letting you leave until you bloody kiss me,” she replied. 

He paused and then turned with a proud smug smirk, “Then that gives me even more reasons not to kiss you.” 

She opened her mouth to complain, but really she was in such a state of shock that not a single word came out. 

“Goodnight love,” he grinned as he headed to the door. 

“Why are you like this?” She rolled her eyes, giggling. 

Tom took a deep breath before staring her down. 

“For the love of god, kiss me.” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“One shall never ask for a kiss,” he replied smugly. 

“Are you kidding me?” She closed her eyes, not believing it. 

“No, you said it yourself,” he grinned. “Not verbally.” 

“Just shut up and come here, idiot,” she laughed before pulling him close to her, finally placing her lips on him. It felt like just the very first time, Tom and her had that magic, of making each and every kiss feel like they’ve never kissed before, so unique and so perfectly synchronized with each other. 

“Don’t you guys fucking dare to do anything,” James was just walking by with a glass of water. “People need to sleep.” 

Clark had mouthed an apology before following after. 

Y/n had pulled away and then smirked. “Want to prank him?” 

Tom had only given her a weird face. 

Y/N knew James was staying right on the next room, and that she definitely was not going to be able to do anything without him hearing, that of course, meant she could piss him off, to get back at him for being a dick. 

Y/N explained her idea to Tom, and he immediately accepted, with the sole condition to leave the door open so his life could actually be spared. 

Both Tom and y/n had settled in their places, sitting right on top of the bed, right against the headboard which was conveniently against James’ wall. 

And so they started.

Both of them repeatedly, and in perfect sync started, Tom hitting his elbows against the headboard, making sure the noise it made was perfectly identifiable as something else as y/n was jumping on the bed. 

A faint “no, no, no, no, fucking hell, no,”  had been yelled from the other room. 

Tom and y/n tried to hide in their laughter, but proceeded to make it even worse, adding dramatic moans and “oh yes!” “Y/n!” “Right there!” “Tommy!” In between. 

“NO FUCKING WAY!” Now it had been louder. 

“Jamey, love—“ 

Tom and y/n smirked and went in even louder, “yes!” “So tight!” “Harder!” “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” 

“No! No! No! No! Bloody hell y/n I’m in the bloody next room!” James yelled. “I’m gonna kill you, Thomas!” 

And then they heard the loud and quick stumping as James’ door was open as he ran to knock on y/n’s and Tom’s door, but instead, the door was wide open and he could see what actually was happening, Tom and y/n, fully clothed and not even an inch close. 

That’s when both y/n and Tom lost it, bursting into laughter. 

“YOU GUYS FUCKING SUCK!” James yelled at them before joining in their laughter, red from embarrassment. 

Clark had followed right after, laughing with them. “So that—“

Y/n couldn’t stop her laughter, even tears had come down her cheek as she stared at her brother so embarrassed, watching them. 

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Y/N had laughed. 

Clark couldn’t stop giggling either. 

“And by the way, thanks Clark,” Tom laughed, “you’re a real one.” 

“I fucking hate you all,” James rolled his eyes. 

“Now let’s go for the real one,” Tom had joked, probably with a death wish, but he quickly regretted it, “no, no, no, I’m joking! I’m joking!” 

“You bet your ass you’re joking,” James warned before laughing again, defeated, “I hate you both.” 

He had left with Clark laughing behind him, leaving y/n and Tom still laughing at their prank. 

Laughing and laughing until they ran out of breath and laughed again. 

“Shit, I love you so much,” Tom had said with one last breath after laughing. 

“I love you, too,” she had said, “that was the best fake sex I’ve had in my life.” 

“Hm, I’m pretty sure I’ve given you the best non fake one, too,” he had said cockily. 

“Non fake,” she scoffed. 

But then they’ve gone back to laughing, eventually somehow it transformed into kissing, and they had spent the night kissing, and giggling and nothing more, probably because they were aware that it was a very risky situation having James right beside and honestly, they were decent but mostly because they didn’t need more. Just the two of them laying down, and merging their lips together, becoming one with the other, was all they needed. 

The next day was rather perfect, filming had gone as smoothly as it could go, and though they kept their distance because they were professionals, y/n could tell there was something different about her and Tom. Not sure what but it felt like things could work out. A ray of hope, if one must say. 

There had been more cake, more people congratulating her for her birthday and just—Flowers. Sunflowers here and there, Along with blue hydrangeas. Pretty combination. Tom had made sure to fill up the place. She did love the sunflowers. Her mother calling her, auntie Eliza sending her pink carnations, it was—good. Especially after they told everyone about their prank, that made it even better. 

“You do have that fake sex aftermath glow,” Emma had joked. 

Perfect day, a perfect day until the sun was yawning down, she had put on her best clothes, and she was nervous. Not sure why though.

Tom had invited the cast as well. Nothing could go wrong, and it definitely wasn’t going to, right? Y/N had thought maybe it was a good day after all. 

The place had been packed and the first song playing had been Ironic by Alanis Morissette, James had been the first one to point it out, he really liked that song. And though the combination of friends seemed like the perfect recipe for disaster, y/n thought it had gone calmly. At least at the beginning. 

The club seemed to be picked out of y/n’s dreams, an 80’s and 70’s paradise playing the songs she loved to sing along to. There was a karaoke, too, in the background, separate from the dance floor. Honestly, the place was perfect. Fun. 

And y/n had ignored Cherry’s presence as long as she could, she hadn’t been rude, but of course she’d been avoiding her, because the moment she saw her, y/n did feel insecure. She had shown up with a tight dress that gave nothing to the imagination, and her hair perfectly falling down her shoulders, her whole body shimmered. She was beautiful, beyond compare, perfect. 

“Y/N!” She had greeted her. “I’m so glad I see you, I love your dress, hun, happy birthday!” 

Her high pitched tone had only made y/n even more insecure. And y/n had seen her dancing, she’d caught Josh’s attention, it had seemed. Even Asa’s and Gregg’s attention. Because of course she would, the girl was perfect. 

“Is Tim your boyfriend?” Cherry had asked y/n. 

“What?” Y/N didn’t know if she’d heard right. “No… No, he’s not.” 

“Oh, I thought he was!” 

“Happy birthday!” Someone had yelled as they popped off a bottle. 

Y/N could take care of Cherry later, who was actually picking out mostly everyone’s attention. 

“Who is she?” Josh had asked her. “If it weren’t for Emma, I’d say she’s the prettiest girl in the world.” 

There was a lot to unpack from Josh’ statement. 

“That’s my cousin,” she explained. “She’s single, so why don’t you give it a go?” Y/N had suggested, knowing perfectly that if he did, she’d take away another problem. Because she’d seen Harry anxious the moment Josh had showed up.  

Y/N didn’t know why she felt like Harry did know about Josh, she wasn’t sure but the same face Harry was giving Josh was the face Y/N gave to Cherry. 

Initially, she had seen Cherry approach Tom, she had whispered  something in his ear, and he had only gulped before walking off to one of his brothers. It made y/n anxious. 

“You know what? You should go and sing Jolene,” Emma suggested, y/n could tell that Emma probably was slightly dizzy, as she had dragged her, Clark and Auli’i to the dance floor, a...very strange combination. Y/N was just a bit bothered by this, since she wanted to be with Tom, or rather, she wanted to pull him away from where Cherry was. 

“Jolene?” Auli’i laughed. Felt rather weird for y/n hanging out with celebrities. Tom didn’t count… Not in that way, at least. 

“Yes, Jolene,” Emma said. “I’m begging you please don’t take my man!” 

“Your man?” Auli’i had asked. “As in Tom?” 

Y/N chuckled. “Uh...Well….er.” 

“Please, you’re dating, right?” She laughed. 

Y/N didn’t answer. 

“Please, it’s kind of obvious,” Auli’i explained. “You guys have tried to be subtle but we all know it.” 

Well, there goes their attempt at trying to be professional. It didn’t matter, honestly. But it did bother her knowing that Cherry was the only girl in there, but thankfully, her own brother had kept Cherry occupied, thank god.  

Y/N was also bothered by the fact Tom wasn’t by her side,  just slightly bothered. She guessed, however, that he was having fun with his brothers. She wondered where Timmy was, because all she could see was the guys, and Cherry, at the table getting their asses drunk. 

Especially Timmy. 

Emma had dragged them back to the place, y/n had  tried to get close to Tom, who had also tried to pull her close to him, but somehow she had been dragged away again. It was annoying, and the night kept going like that. She hadn’t had one single minute with Tom, and it was bothering her. Tom, too, it seemed. 

Tom was very bothered by the fact that y/n kept being pulled by her friends, not that they were doing it to specifically bother him, but it was… annoying. Also, having Cherry around, was not a perfect situation, especially because she was insisting on talking to him. What in this world was she trying to do? 

He didn’t want to deal with that, he only wanted to have fun. Besides, a club with loud music was definitely not the place to talk. Not on his… girlfriend’s? Birthday celebration. 

The night was getting blurry, to him, to everyone. Half past twelve, it was getting darker, and the drinks had come and gone, drink after drink.  Everyone seemed to be having a very good time, and he wasn’t sure but the lights on the club had probably lowered, flashes green and yellow were blinding him. The group was constantly divided, and he had had only a small chance to dance with y/n. The music was buzzing too loud, as he escaped through the crowds, trying to find y/n, and he saw her, dancing with everyone and then, Timmy had dragged her close to him, she didn’t even notice as she danced and sang along to the… 70’s, yeah 70’s song playing. Tom feared it, because it’s not difficult to know when someone wants to kiss the person you’re in love with. Tim was drunk, Tom knew this, and the look in his eyes was saying everything. And though he didn’t see that look on y/n, he feared it. 

Tom quickly had pulled her by the hand and finally wrapped his arms around her so they could dance. 

Tim had only rolled his eyes but kept dancing with Emma. 

“Hi!” y/n had cheered as soon as she saw Tom. 

“Hey!” 

“Where have you been?” She asked, leaning to his ear.  

“Here and there,” he admitted, she only giggled to lean over to kiss him. 

Everything was going too quickly, the lights and music were not helping. They had barely danced before Emma had dragged y/n. 

“I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s y/n’s and I turn to go to the karaoke!” Emma had said before getting her away. 

“You were getting too comfortable,” Tom had barked at Tim. 

“Pff,” Tim had scoffed. “You’re scared it’ll happen again?” 

“What?” Tom frowned. “I’m-- she’s with me.” 

“Yet she slept with me just before you arrived,” Tim had blurted. 

Tom had felt the music getting louder, and louder, just as Tim had left and Tom was sunk into the dancing crowd. 

He didn’t have to believe him… right? 

In the state of shock, he only tried to follow after where Emma and y/n were heading.The karaoke music was playing, Emma had chosen ‘Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (A Man after midnight!)’ for her and y/n to sing, and they had started, happily singing as she was so unaware of what Tom was feeling right now. Not sure if it was anger, disappointment, jealousy, or all at once. 

The group had followed after them, too, as they were expectant to see the birthday girl, first receiving a very flattering shot of… Tom thought it was probably vodka as soon as she got to the stage. Emma and her sang and yelled, and the group danced and danced. Emma being such a crowd pleaser, yelling and making them cheer. 

Tom couldn't. 

Is there a man out there? Someone to hear my prayers…

There was no sight of Tim, that was alright, he guessed. But then it… Tom’s mind went to every single time he’d seen her around Tim. It was so fucking obvious, of course they had slept together, and y/n probably still had feelings for him. 

Tom was the only one who wasn’t dancing. 

Emma had jumped off the stage to land on Josh, and then without even thinking about it, she had kissed him, right in front of Harry. 

Sam and Clark had joined y/n on the stage, everyone was just too bloody drunk, and the song seemed to be never ending. Or maybe Tom hadn’t noticed when it had changed, it sounded like another ABBA song. And it was… ‘Voulez-Vous’. Now it was Y/N, Sam and Clark. 

Tom didn’t even realize when Cherry was around him, and it probably was the alcohol working out but he danced with her. Not sure why. 

Y/N saw it, right from the stage, but luckily Clark had been kind enough to dance with her as someone else had hopped to the stage to sing with them, now that y/n was definitely not able to sing. 

And just as the song was ending, and as the next group of girls had popped on the stage,  she saw it, perfectly happening, Cherry’s lips were on Tom’s. 

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[soulmate-game]

Okay, so here’s the story. Let’s rewind to 2010/2011. (Actually, it might be closer to 2008... you get the point) I’m a seventh grader in middle school, that’s the important part. And up until this point, I was pretty heavily bullied in middle school. My entire science class once yelled profanities and called me names all at the same time, when we had a substitute once. Like, I went through the whole fake friendship narrative, people calling me ugly at every available moment, people trying to frame me, etc etc.

BUT! I was also somehow that one person that everyone knew. Sometimes the rest of the school, no matter what grade level they were in, knew things that happened to me or things that were said to me almost before I did. It seemed like everyone was constantly aware of my whole life, it was kind creepy ngl. People would, on a weekly basis or more, walk down the hallway and say, “hey (my name)” and wave. I almost never knew who those people were, they were usually in a different grade and I hardly ever shared any classes with them. It was really confusing.

Well, by the time seventh grade came I was absolutely boiling for revenge. I was never a physical fighter, especially considering that it seemed the whole school was against me, so I was on the lookout for anything I could do to ruin the day for my emotional abusers. And then it happened.

I was in GT (the gifted and talented class— don’t be fooled, it was basically just theater kids. The majority of the test to get into GT was creativity based) and we were working on some project or another. I think we were in the middle of trying to make functional chairs out of nothing but old cardboard boxes and hot glue. And one of my friends let’s it slip that the golf club she was in was doing a fundraiser, but their sales were low as hell and they were scared they wouldn’t make enough to afford their supplies for the season. Considering the golf club was less than ten people, that was an issue. So I, always willing to help and always the person people oddly enough went to for pseudo-marketing help, I waltzed over and asked for details. The club was apparently selling beanies with the school logo on them (the logo is a hawk in flight) but nobody paid attention to their fliers.

First, I knew that anybody who legit wanted a beanie with the school hawk on it were not gonna be the ones that looked at fliers. All of my fellow beanie lovers were the sort that stared straight at the floor the entire time we walked through the halls. So I got the info for the golf club and got permission from their club supervisor to brainstorm ideas. They almost immediately approved my idea of making a sales jingle, a little song, to help sales. I spent a good hour, just an hour, thinking up the catchiest, corniest, yet professional-sounding thirty second jingle I possibly could. To make things worse (better, way better) I based it off of a KidzBop rendition of a song on purpose. Add that cringe factor, ya know?

And I went straight to the vice principle. This dude would bend the school rules for me, and I have no Fucking idea why. But damn if I wasn’t gonna make use of it for my revenge. I showed him the written lyrics for my jingle, and explained my heart-wrenching story about just wanting to help my friend and her club be able to afford their golf clubs and supplies. I felt so bad that such a small club wasn’t getting any attention or support, etc etc. He ate it all up. He asked me how I planned to share the jingle so that the sales could go up, and this is when I struck: I asked for permission to sing it in my classes first to see how people responded to it. He agreed, and offered for me to use the cafeteria stage if all went well.

Let me back up: in my middle school, there was an iron clad rule. Before the bell for the first classes rang, everyone in sixth grade and everyone eating breakfast HAD to stay in the cafeteria. No exceptions. If you were in seventh or eighth grade, you could go to the library or the back courtyard to wait for the bell to ring, or the computer lab, but that was it. So every single day, there was at least 800 captive kids in the cafeteria who either couldn’t leave because they were sixth graders, or because they were busy eating. My school had 2000+ kids, so this was a good number for me. On a good day, I might even have half of the school quite literally trapped in the cafeteria as my captive audience.

So I sang the jingle in my science class first. Yes, the same class that just a few weeks earlier had all yelled profanities at me as one horrible, toxic group. They laughed and teased me as much as they could get away with in front of our awesome teacher, but this time I felt no shame and I was not at all discouraged. They didn’t even suspect the fact that singing it to them first was just a warning; a taste of the Hell to come. Several people commented (away from the teacher’s hearing) that I sucked at singing and shouldn’t do it again. Honestly, that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I just smiled fake-apologetically and said I would try better next time.

But my science teacher loved it, she was completely supportive of me and said that the sales jingle was a great idea to sell beanies. She loved how supportive I was of our school’s smallest club, etc etc. which was honestly all I needed; that day, I went straight to the vice principle with the good news. My teachers loved the song and thought it was a great idea to help the fundraiser. Later, back in GT, I told my friend the good news and asked her to print me as many of her sales fliers as she could. I would hand them out when I launched my big plan the next day. She was excited and thanked me profusely, and we got the all-clear from our GT teachers to spend the rest of the class printing and cutting out a good 200-ish fliers so that everyone knew what colors the beanies came in, where to buy, and how much they were.

The next day, the vice principle gave me full access to the cafeteria stage before the first bell rang, and a fully functional microphone. You better fucking bet I got the attention of every last one of the 800+ captives there, and sang my jingle at full belt for everyone. At first, people shrugged it off and laughed and playfully covered their ears.

But then they noticed I was there again the very next morning. And I sang the jingle again, over the microphone. Everyone was noticeably a little less entertained by this point. But I didn’t stop there— oh hell no. Every morning for the rest of that week, I got up on the stage and horribly sang my sales jingle to all of the captive kids. Some of them started yelling for me to please not sing again by the third day, to which I ignored gleefully. People started trying to bribe me in the hallways to please, please not sing again the next morning.

I had never felt so powerful before in my life. It was amazing.

On the last day of the fundraiser, the vice principle asked me and two of my friends to sing the jingle again— over the intercom during morning announcements, when literally nobody in the whole school could avoid hearing it. I was absolutely ecstatic because I hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. So we were able to end my reign of terror with one last song when everyone thought they were safe, but literally couldn’t escape it. It was even better because my friends and I hadn’t rehearsed for even a second, so we were all out of pace and not in tune and it was gloriously bad.

My friend ran up to me later that day with the biggest smile ever on her face, and told me that someone had literally donated $200 to the club, not even wanting a beanie, just asking that we stop singing the damn song. By then, she had caught on to my plan and kept thanking me for purposely annoying the hell out of people so that they donated. I think they ended up making somewhere around a $1,000 in sales along with a few smaller “stop singing” donations.

For the rest of that year and even the year after, all I had to do to get people to leave me the fuck alone was start singing the jingle. Anyone who had attended the school in time to hear it immediately covered their ears and ran away, or shut up immediately. I got random ass people I never met calling me by name in the hallways complaining about how my song was still stuck in their head literal weeks later, and they couldn’t even intimidate or properly threaten me because I just started singing the song and they were gone faster than I could say “what are you gonna do about it?”

this is revenge. And I have never been more proud of myself.

[skinks]

I would just like to say Bongo Smugglers killed me. I’m sitting in class giggling thinking about a Losers movie night where they have a dramatic showing of the movie. Audra and Richie are less embarrassed then they should be. It becomes an annual tradition to play a bongo smugglers™️ drinking game at Christmas.

AHH this is amazing, I just shoved two words together that I thought were funny and suddenly it’s this whole ugly 2002 sex comedy fully formed in my head. Glad it killed you during class. And yeah, they’re definitely not embarrassed, everyone’s heckling the writing and the early 2000s fashion more than anything else anyway.

Richie happily provides commentary the whole way through even though he’s only in the sex scene, waving his tortilla chip in Eddie’s face because he’s got his arm around his shoulder, hugging him close into Richie’s side. Eddie keeps snapping bites at it so often that Richie just ends up hand feeding him chips.

“Aaaaaaand... that’s the first time I touched a boob, right there!“

“Glad to help,” Audra winks.

“The exact moment I realized I was totally lying to myself. I’m having an entire existential sexuality crisis right there on camera, but can you tell? Does my fratty façade crack an inch?”

“I could tell, because you spent fifteen minutes before the scene pacing around set and chanting you can do this, you can do this, don’t throw up, you like girls, but not too much, because you don’t get paid if you pop a boner, c’mon Richard, c’mon—”

“Like I said,” Richie shouts, over all his stupid friends laughing at him, “no one can tell, ‘cus I’m a pro—”

“You call yourself Richard during pep talks?” Stan’s grinning at him sharp-beaked, like a vulture. Has Richie seen him blink even once since he came back from the dead? Not sure, not sure, make note to ask Patty to spy.

Onscreen Audra is shimmying down her low-rise stone-wash boot-cut jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was in fact lookin’ at her. What the fuck was anyone thinking back then? Richie privately blames the Bush administration, and continues.

“You’re a great scene partner, Audra-my-deah, and I respect you for cougaring not one but two of our little balding Brady Bunch here, but you were kinda the reason I figured out I’m gay. Like, big time gay. Well, the second reason.” He rubs tortilla-salt fingers through Eddie’s hair and feels his stomach go fuzzy when Eddie kinda thrums out a low noise against him. Oh, he’s purring. Some deep down part of Richie’s caveman psyche, lodged right in the hungry reptilian nub of his central brain wants to bear-hug Eddie to a pulp, wants to Lenny him like a mouse until they both stop breathing at the same exact moment from the pressure.

Yeesh, dark!

He smooches one of Eddie’s Easter Island eyebrows instead, keeps his lips mushed there. Smooches again. “Biiiiiiig time.”

“My wife,” Bill whips around from his seat on the floor at Richie’s feet, cheeks bulging with wontons, “my wife did not cougar me.”

Eddie shushes him. Everyone else is exchanging Looks, including Audra, because she totally did cougar Bill. Good for her!

“My wife,” Richie mimics, all sing-song and bugling. “Who the fuck are you, Borat?” Eddie snorts, hard. “Turn around and watch me make sweet love to ya woman, Bill.”

Onscreen Richie is struggling out of a giant hockey jersey at the sight of Onscreen Audra’s nubile charms. Everything is lit terribly, to a Smash Mouth deep cut.

“Oh man, check out that figure.” Richie whistles at himself, twenty-six years old with muscles like long ropes. “These were the pre-gut days. Even though my diet was just Adderall and instant ramen.”

“I like your gut,” Eddie murmurs, squidging at it with the hand not shoved up the back of Richie’s shirt. He’s already looking pretty tipsy, because he told everyone loudly and at length that he’d have to be what he deemed, shithouse drunk, to cope with whatever 90 minute dick jokeathon he was about to endure for the sake of two minutes of Richie-ass. “You’re hotter than him.”

Richie preens. “I am him, dude.”

Eddie’s hand lands clumsy on his cheek, pulling Richie’s attention away from his own foregrounded bare ass and Onscreen Audra’s shocked expression, to face him. Eddie’s all unfocused, flushed in the cheeks. “You’re both hot. Him and you, I’d fuck you both. I’d let both of you fuck me at once.”

“Um,” says Ben. Mike keeps slorping up noodles, but his eyes are saucering at Bill’s giant TV.

“Hhohkaaay,” Richie breathes.

“Is this when you saw it, Audra?” Bev asks. She waggles her eyebrows at them from the muscular nook of Ben’s arms. “The famous Tower of Tozier? You mentioned in the group chat.”

“What group chat,” Richie croaks, wrenching his eyes from the sight of Eddie’s slick tongue pulsing gently against his lower lip, hanging open like he wants Richie to see inside his mouth. Yowza-yowza-yowza, this is so much better than movie-nights back in the 90s. “I never saw anything about that? And I monitor you all on WhatsApp twenty-four-sevs. I literally have nothing better to do while Eddie’s working.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beverly dismisses him with a flick of her wrist.

Audra is nodding vigorously while Onscreen Audra tilts her head comically far to the right. “That’s when I saw it,” she says. “They couldn’t find a modesty sock that fit you, Richie, remember? I didn’t have to fake that reaction. And that’s with them blasting the A/C on high so my nips would poke through my shirt.” She nudges Eddie’s shin gently and stage-whispers, “Well done.”

Eddie growls hot miso breath into Richie’s neck. Snarls, really. That’s the only word for it. Richie’s not embarrassed—he’s been telling people about his donkey schlong for years, not his fault nobody ever believes him. It’s a boy who cried wolf situation, perhaps, if the boy was actually telling the truth every time and just wanted to brag to everyone about seeing a really big, thick wolf.

“Honey,” Bill says, visibly distressed, “this is already weird enough for me, please don’t say nips.”

“Nips, nips, nips.” Audra tickles into Bill’s ribs, and Richie joins in the chant, they all do. It’s a hailstorm of sesame toast raining on Big Bill’s protesting head. “Stiff nips! Stiff nips!”

“Shut up, I’m, uh’wanna see Rich fuck!” Eddie roars, wrestling the couch cushions for the remote and stabbing the volume obscenely loud.

Moans fill the air. Rice sprays from Mike’s mouth, between his hasty fingers. Patty is laughing so hard into Stan’s shoulder Richie would be kinda worried about her, if he wasn’t so distracted by the way Eddie’s leaning forward, hand on Richie’s thigh and eyes locked to Onscreen Richie’s bare bucking hips. He remembers this part horrible and clear, preserved behind glass in his mind like the embarrassing ninth grade school photo his mom still won’t remove from the mantelpiece. Braces like train tracks and his eyes squinted up small and moleish because his mom said she wanted to see his handsome face without his glasses for once. Eddie laughed at it for five whole minutes the first time Richie brought him up to visit mom and dad as his—as his, at last, before snapping a careful picture of the photo with his phone and muttering, so cute.

It’s the noises.

“This was the day I learned women really can, uh, fake orgasms,” Richie says. He coughs. Eddie’s fingers tighten on his thigh and he looks back at Richie over his shoulder, eyes all drunk and dark and dilated like a shark’s to the backdrop of Onscreen Richie and Audra’s plastic din. Richie’s head thumps dizzily, sliding his hand secret under Eddie’s shirt to the damp small of his back, watching his neck go pink. This, now this is familiar from 90s movie nights, how sweaty they’d get, tangled together like pocketed earbuds the longer the VHS spun. Always on the same couch by unspoken agreement, kicking and left to do so by the others, like the clubhouse hammock flirting was more RichieandEddie status quo than behaviour tethered to any one location. Feeling your heartbeat in your ears and everywhere your limbs are shoved between another sapling boy-body, and the couch.

Richie can see exactly what Eddie’s thinking, in that darkness. That’s not how you sound in bed with me.

“This is revolting,” says Stan, mildly, but Richie holds up his hand like a stop sign, pulled roughly back to the present.

“Wait, wait, here comes my line!”

“Thought you said it was a non-speaking—”

The camera cuts from Onscreen Audra’s bouncing breasts to Onscreen Richie’s slack-jawed face, his ill-conceived soul patch. He was asked to remove his glasses for the scene, he remembers, and was glad of it, feeling useless and young and stupid and exposed enough already just by virtue of needing the money, he didn’t need to see this perfectly nice and reasonable actress pity him for not even knowing how to pretend at being with a woman. Onscreen Richie tilts his chin up, and Bill’s entire rec room holds its breath. There will be bruises on Richie’s thigh tomorrow.

A grunt, a groan. An unsubtle trumpet fanfare musical cue on the soundtrack, but hey, neither of them ever claimed Bongo Smugglers was a masterpiece. “¡Ay, chihuahua!”

Richie throws his arms up in triumph. “All my own improv, folks! And they kept it in the final cut!”

Eruption. He’s pelted with howls of disgust and prawn crackers. Eddie grabs one of his arms and just shakes him, ragdolls Richie’s laughing body around until he tips over and sprawls into Eddie’s lap, shielded from assault. Eddie chews his insistent teeth into Richie’s shoulder, and finally, the scene ends with Onscreen Richie leaping a naked escape from Onscreen Audra’s balcony.

“Worst,” Eddie mumbles against Richie’s nape. “Worst thing’ve ever seening m’life.”

He’s so drunk, sweet thing. Richie sits back up, still wheezing. He rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder and gazes starrily up at his plastered little face. Steel-cut jaw softened with laughter and stubble, un-gelled hair curling around like a chestnut lamb’s. “Worst ever-ever?”

“No,” Eddie says plainly, and that’s true, “but it’s up there. Woulda rented the shit out of this at Blockbuster.”

Richie flings his leg over Eddie’s knees, kicking Bill in the process. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, gathering up all Richie’s loose ends in a big circling cuddle. “Every week. Woulda worn it out. Broke the disc.”

“Got your ‘Lil ‘Busters membership card revoked for being a creep.”

“Worth it.”

“Aw, Eddie-baby.”

“Would you two stop, you’re making the rest of us look bad,” Bev says, smiling fondly. The movie’s moved on, and none of them are really paying attention now that the main event’s over, but everyone’s still coming down, dismounting from belly-laughter and landing ankle-deep in giggles. “That was inspired.”

“He made me laugh so hard on that take,” Audra sighs, leaning against Bill. “I remember thinking, shame he’s a closet-case. I always knew you were a good guy under all that fake stand-up.” She rolls her head back on her neck to look at Richie, upside down. “D’you remember right after, too?”

“Ah,” says Richie, tensing up. Eddie must feel it, because he makes a lowing noise of concern and turns the volume down.

“What you did to those guys?”

“Ahaha, uh.” Richie struggles to sit upright with hot embarrassment tugging at his stomach. “They don’t need to—Audra, it’s not, anyone would’ve done the same—”

“No, actually, you were the only one who ever did,” Audra says, sharp-eyed, and Richie remembers that too. How much surer and in control of herself she was than him, even back then, when they were both just simple bottom-feeders on L.A.’s sludgy floor.

“What happened?” Patty asks. They’re all looking. Richie stares at the wall beside the TV’s garish over-saturation, scratches at the back of his neck, until Eddie takes his hand softly back to hold in his.

“I was pretty much always the only woman on set,” Audra explains. “Par for the course on a movie like that, it was whatever. It’s nothing like real sex, obviously, you have to stop and wait for lighting changes, new set-ups and stuff, you’re surrounded by crew. But you’re the only ones naked, and pretending to fuck, right? It can be a little.” She pulls a face, tilts her palm back and forth. “Degrading.”

Richie snorts, humorlessly.

“Anyway, that scene wrapped and they called cut, and a few of the guys in the crew said some stuff. About me. The director ignored it, the producer ignored it. I was used to it,” Audra says. Richie can see the edge of Bill’s jaw clench and re-clench like a fist as he watches his wife speak. Audra smiles widely, then, and jerks a thumb at Richie. “But this guy?”

They’re grinning, they’re all grinning, because they know him. Richie squirms under it. He can feel blood pounding behind his ears, across the surface of his scalp in pulsing waves of embarrassed heat, because it’s one thing to spend your life running your big fat Trashmouth to distract the bullies’ attention onto you, but it’s another for people to treat you like some kinda hero for it. Like it’s not just something friends do.

Bev’s eyes go all emerald-shiny with delight, like the quarry in sunlight. She covers her mouth. “Oh, Richie.”

“Knocked the first one out cold,” Audra crows. “You tried your best after that. It was three against one and he had a black eye before the rest of us could separate them, but he had the element of surprise at first. I mean, he flew at them, if you can imagine it—you’re what, six-one, six-two?”

Eddie’s trembling ever-so-slightly against him. Richie screws his eyes shut. “Six-two.”

“No wonder the asshole shit himself, you came at him all six-foot-two naked inches, pissed as hell, with a massive—”

“Alright!” Richie yelps, because if there’s anything more embarrassing than his brief Bongo Smugglers cameo, it’s the fact that he left set that day with a black eye and no money. Who cares. His closest friends are alive and they’re cheering, and Eddie is shoving himself into Richie’s lap just like it’s movie night in 1991 but with 100% more enthusiastic frenching, seating his drunk ass in Richie’s startled hands and hissing god, you’re such a crazy dumbass, I love you so much, Richie, even back then with that soul-patch I’d have loved you so much, god, sexy, Rich, wanna see you with a black eye, can I give you one, can you give me one, Richie, I’m gonna fuck you so good for this later, ay chihuahua—!

[dameronology]

rockstar {s.r x reader} - 3

you and steve rogers are famous for two extremely different reasons - you’re a famous rockstar, and he’s a superhero. your main personality trait is sarcasm and he’s a squeaky clean super-soldier. it takes him exactly one night to fall in love with you. what could possibly go wrong?

summary: you and steve officially introduce your friends to each other & you also have to start dealing with inevitable public interest in your relationship

part 1/part 2 

also ft. bucky barnes + sam wilson, and some more damian/alex content. they are important to the story line but pls let me know what you think of them + if you’d like to see more/less of them`<3 

warnings: language 

‘Is he good in bed?’

‘Do his abs feel real?’

‘Did the super soldier serum work on his-’

‘- I am not answering those questions!’ You snapped, nostrils flaring as you jabbed your finger towards your bandmates.

The three of you were stood outside your usual bar, sheltering under an old awning in the smoking area to shield yourselves from the rain. It was coming down heavy now, covering the whole of New York in a bubble of wet humidity as evening began to settle across the grey sky of the city. The bar was your usual hangout; a small hole-in-the-wall pub in a desolate part of Midtown; the beer was stale but the company was good. 

You were anxiously waiting for Steve to arrive with Bucky and Sam. Naturally, you felt nervous about formally introducing your respective group of friends - it marked the pair of you becoming official official. Plus, your two best friends were capable of acting like a pair of clowns when they were excited, and they’d barely shut up about meeting the two heroes the entire day. 

‘Hey, doll.’ You felt a pair of warm, familiar arms wrap around you. You hadn’t even notice Steve’s cab pull up. 

The super soldier pressed a kiss to your lips, and you naturally responded to his touch. You knew that there were people around you who could have seen, but you were beyond the point of caring. You were on a relationship high; the pair of you had gone official and you were introducing your friends to each other. What did it matter who saw?

‘You remember these oafs from yesterday morning,’ you pulled back from Steve’s embrace, ushering your bandmates over. 

‘Steven,’ Alex greeted him.

‘I didn’t recognise you with a shirt.’ Damian added.

Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention to Sam and Bucky. They were shyly stood behind Steve, almost like two small children. Ironically, Damien and Alex had been over-excited about meeting them. 

If only they knew.

‘It’s good to see you guys again.’ You pulled them both into a hug. ‘I’m just gonna get it out the way - Alex and Damian are super excited about meeting you, so there’s no need to be shy.’

‘Us?’ Bucky’s jaw dropped. ‘You were excited about meeting us?’

‘And you were excited about meeting us?’ Alex’s tone was just as accusatory. 

You intertwined your hand with Steve’s, dragging him inside the bar. The smell of stale beer and old tobacco initially made him draw back, but the air was warm and the atmosphere welcoming. The pub was filled with plush, red booths and the carpet looked like it was straight out of a nineteen-eighties adult film. 

‘So, why this place?’ Sam asked, eyes darting between the ugly floor and aged decor.

‘There aren’t many places in New York that one of the world’s biggest bands and half of the Avengers can hang out.’ Steve replied. He was leant against the bar beside you, arm tightly around your waist.

‘Everyone in here is either too drunk to care or too old to know who any of us are.’ Damian added. ‘But now I think of it, we could have just hung out at Y/N’s.’

‘Yeah, but that would involve having to tidy up.’ The super soldier muttered under his breath. You elbowed him in the ribs, pouting. 

After getting your drinks, you moved to a booth at the back of the bar. You and Steve were sat on the outside; he had his arm slewn across your shoulders, holding your hand in his. That was sort of your natural position now - it was the way you sat when you on the sofa in your apartment, and the way you dozed off at night. 

It was odd to see your friends interacting so easily. Damian and Bucky were chortling about something, whilst Sam was grilling Alex with questions about your upcoming album. The fact that they’d initially been starstruck by each other had definitely helped to break the ice, and it wasn’t long before you were all lost in conversation.

‘So, you know that song from your first album?’ Bucky tapped your hand across the table to get your attention. ‘The one titled You Suck, You Bastard?’

You groaned. ‘Yeah?’

‘Who was it about?’

‘My high school boyfriend.’ You buried your head in Steve’s shoulder, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. ‘He might have fucked my best friend but the royalties from that song paid for my first car.’

‘Our Y/N is a bad-ass.’ Damian ruffled your hair. ‘And that should be a warning to you, Rogers.’

‘Definitely,’ Alex chimed in. ‘You hurt her, and you’ll have us to answer too.’

‘Alex is asthmatic as fuck and Damian has the structural integrity of a piece of spaghetti.’ You casually commented, taking a sip of your beer. ‘So really, you have nothing to worry about.’

The six of you continued to chat as the evening passed; Sam and Bucky had many questions about your music and stories from touring, whilst Alex and Damian were asking for 411 on superhero life. You and Steve, however, were engrossed in your own little bubble, simply watching them chat and laugh as you absent-mindedly worked your hands across each other. 

Steve’s fingers were gently tracing the lines of the tattoos on your bare arms, warm hands working from your shoulders and down to your wrists. You, meanwhile, were occasionally playing with his fingers or nuzzling your head into his shoulder, barely even thinking about it. That was one thing you’d never get over: your bodies just kind of fitted together, like two pieces of a puzzle.

‘You okay, sweetheart?’ He murmured quietly into his ear.

You glanced at the group of people around you. It wasn’t something you’d ever imagined happening, but the energy between you felt right. Between Sam’s seriousness and Alex’s terrible jokes, and Damian’s constant questions and Bucky’s interest in your music, they could all bounce off of each other. It was like a group of old friends hanging out.

‘Never been better.’ You smiled. 

--

The following morning, you woke up underneath Steve. His legs were tangled between yours and the sheets, strong arms holding you to his chest as he quietly slept. His hair was sticking up in a thousand different directions, and you couldn’t help but pull a face at the large purple mark on his neck. Neither of you had been drunk the night before, but the intake of alcohol had certainly made you friskier than usual. 

‘Mornin’, gorgeous,’ He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely bothering to open his eyes. He let go of you, rolling over to bury his head in the pillow on the other side of the bed.

‘Coffee?’ You asked, gently running a hand through his blonde tufts.

‘Coffee.’ 

Pulling his shirt over your torso, you fumbled around for a pair of leggings. You rubbed your eyes as you headed out into the living room, sliding open your bedroom door. The early morning light was streaming through the windows, washing the room in a dull, yellow glow. In addition to the blinding lustre, there was also a six-foot musician in your kitchen, preparing three mugs of coffee.

That was when you remembered that Damian had stayed over at yours. He often ended up crashing on your sofa, especially if he was having problems with his boyfriend - which was always (but it made for some good song writing material). He had his phone in one hand and a spoon in the other, and he was too engrossed in the device to notice your presence, so you cleared your throat. 

‘Y/N!’ He jumped at the sound. ‘You’re trending!’

‘What is it this time?’ You snorted, reaching into the fridge for a carton of milk. ‘Last time it was because I accidentally trod on Harrison Ford’s foot at a red carpet event.’

‘It’s a bit more serious than that.’ Damian bit his lip. ‘Pictures of you and Steve have been all over Twitter.’

You let out a groan, head dropping into your hands. You knew it was bound to happen - you were both figures of public interest, and all of your previous relationships had been under the microscope of every gossip column in the city. Still, this was relationship wasn’t like your other ones. It was so much closer to your heart, and so much more personal. It had taken enough for you to tell your two best friends about it, let alone the entire world.

‘Perez fucking Hilton.’ You muttered under your breath, scrolling through an article titled Beauty and the Beast. ‘Why am I the beast? Have they seen Steve’s arms?’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’ Damian took the phone from your hands, pulling you into a tight hug. ‘People love you, and they love Captain America.’

‘Yeah, but probably not together!’ You grumbled. ‘It’s like...the most random pairing ever.’

‘So? When have you ever cared what people think?’ He reasoned. ‘Trust me, Y/N, you and Steve are good together. I’ve seen you with people before but not like this.’

‘I better go tell him.’ You pulled from his embrace. ‘Thanks for making the coffee.’

‘Anytime, sweetheart.’ He pressed a kiss to your temple, before handing you the drinks and pushing you in the direction of the bedroom. 

You were more worried about what Steve was going to think. You’d dealt with public relationships before, but he hadn’t. He had no clue what it was like to live under the intense watch of modern day social media. It wasn’t something you’d considered when you’d got involved - you’d been so entranced by him that you hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences. 

Still, that wasn’t going to stop you. You’d made it this far, and you were happy. Whatever obstacles it was going to create, you felt confident in overcoming them. 

‘I have news,’ you announced, dropping back into bed next to Steve.

He sat up, looking momentarily adorable as he rubbed his eyes. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, Steve took the mug from your hand, frowning at your worried expression. You were chewing at your lip ring, something he knew you did whenever you were anxious.

‘What’s up, sweetheart?’ He asked gently, softly rubbing your shoulder. ‘Talk to me.’

‘They know, Steve.’

‘Who knows?’

‘The internet!’ You replied. ‘Someone saw us at the bar yesterday, and it’s gone viral.’

‘Oh.’ Steve’s brow furrowed, and he thought for a moment. He reached for the bedside table, grabbing his phone. He scrolled for a minute, examining some of the tweets and articles. ‘Yeah, they definitely know.’

‘I’m sorry.’ You flopped back into the pillow. ‘I know this probably isn’t what you wanted-’

‘- hey, baby, stop.’ He grabbed you by the waist, softly pulling you into his lap. He gently brushed his lips against yours, pushing a few strands of hair out your face. ‘You are the thing I want, and I’ll stick by that whatever crap is thrown our way.’

You paused for a minute, holding his gaze. ‘Does that mean I can post you on my Instagram?’

{taglist: @sp2900 @whenpugzfly​}

[mrsrcbinscn]

Mother Mayhem || bdrptask

Word count: 6241

Description: Different moments between Franny and her mother, Sophea, featuring a common thread.

CW: Nothing triggering is discussed in detail but I wanna put some content warnings for the following; violence, implied slurs, slut-shaming, violence, mentions of what you’d expect from broaching the topic of Khm*r R*uge

Sophea Sor was never one to hide things from her daughter. Many survivors of war and the like shielded their children from their stories but Sophea was always straightforward about why she had to leave Cambodia. 

 Age appropriate, of course. 

 She didn’t whip out words like killing fields and genocide when her daughter was small, but she did explain that some very bad people caused some bad things to happen. She explained that people were very sick, very sad, and very hungry but couldn’t find food, so that was why she had to come to America.

 As her daughter grew older, she filled in the gaps.

Five years old…

 Mak had to leave Cambodia because people were fighting and hurting each other, and people they weren’t even fighting with got hurt too.

“Mak, I’m sleepy,” five year old Darareaksmey complained, crawling into her mother’s lap the second her mother sat down for probably the first time that day. 

 Without taking a sip of water from the plastic cup she’d just filled, a woman ran her hands, the color of the spiky balls that fall from sweetgum trees through the little girl’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She pulled the hair tie out of her own hair and began to work her daughter’s hair into a braid.

 “You’ll be even sleepier after we finish cleaning the restaurant, baby. Then you can go straight to bed instead of tossing and turning until you do fall asleep.”

 “I want to go to bed nooooow.” The little girl pouted, crossing her arms across her chest and letting out an indignant huff. “Why do I have to clean, I’m five. Jobs are for adults.”

 “It’s not a job if I’m not paying you, silly.” Sophea Sor said, tying the ponytail holder around the braid. “It’s just chores. Kids don’t get paid for chores. Be lucky yours are inside and we don’t have a farm.”

 “Ew, farm cows are smelly.”

 “That’s right, now do you think you can mop the floor while I finish the dishes in the back?”

 “Mhm. Can I sit down a minute first?”

 “We can start after we finish this water.”

Six years old…

 A lot of people died, that’s why Mak doesn’t have a daddy, and she got separated from her own mak. None of her family could come to her wedding because she wasn’t sure if any of them were still alive and where in the world they might be. That was why little Darareaksmey being supportive of her mother marrying Adrien was so important.

 “Let go of my hair, Art! Or I’ll beat you up!” Darareaksmey shouted at her soon-to-be brother as he pulled on her braid, making her flail her arms wildly in her attempts to wallop him. “I’m gonna break your face!”

 Gaston groaned as he flicked a fuzz off of his wedding clothes, realizing he was going to have to step in if they kept this up. He did not want to step in! Dara might be younger than him and Art both but she could punch! But if he teamed up with her and hit Art, then Art would get mad and say he betrayed his brother for their step-sister, and Dara would cry because she can stay ‘step-brother’ all she wants but the second the boys say ‘step-sister’ she throws a fit, and then she and Art would just start a new fight.

 Being the big brother was exhausting sometimes.

 Luckily, Gaston didn’t have to choose whose side to fight on, because Sophie glided into the room to pry the youngest two apart.

 “Dara, be nice to your brother,” Sophie muttered, gently tugging her hair out of the braid to re-do it.

 “He started it! And he’s not my brother, he’s just Adrien’s son!”

 Sophie sighed and with one hand continued to unbraid her daughter’s hair, and with the other, beckoned Art to come closer. “That’s not what you were saying a few days ago, when we tried on your dress for the wedding. You said you were excited to have two big brothers.”

 “That was before I realized Art was mean!” Dara stuck her tongue out at him.

 “Brothers and sisters are mean to each other. Sometimes. Other times, they play together. But all of the time they don’t let anybody else be mean to each other.” Sophie explained as she started to fix Dara’s hair. “But. Art should apologize for pulling your hair.”

 Sophie stared at Art with disapproving mom eyes until he shuffled his feet and looked down at them sheepishly. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair, Dara. And called you ugly. And said I didn’t want an ugly sister. And said your flowers smelled like butt. They don’t smell like butt.”

 “Am I ugly?”

 “You’re not ugly, I was just being mean. You’re a perfectly not ugly sister I’m excited to have after my daddy marries your mommy!”

Twelve years old…

 About a quarter of the population of her mother’s home country died during the Khmer Rouge regime. Franny was lucky to have been born at all, and she should be very proud her mother taught her their language and culture.

 Franny couldn’t remember the last time someone other than her mother used her given name except to make fun of it. Even her brothers called her Franny by then.

 It was the start of a new school year and Franny dreaded the first day; not because of having to wake up early, not because of having to do homework again soon, but because new school years meant new teachers and new teachers. And new teachers for Franny and the handful of other children of Southeast Asian refugees in town meant a horrid butchering of their names at roll call.

 It was the same song and dance every year.

 Inevitably, one teacher would get to Phuc Kieu’s name and say something that sounded like “fuck you” and the class would laugh while Phuc meekly raised his hand and said, “You can just call me James.”

 Serey Mam was lucky, it wasn’t hard to correct ‘Siri’ or ‘Sare-ee’ or ‘Sar-ee’ to ‘Sa-rey.’

 It was the Lao kids that Franny felt most sorry for. Franny could only pronounce and spell Chanthanouvong, Douangphachanh, Nanthavongdouangsy, and Sibounheuang because she was also Southeast Asian so she bothered to learn. But at least with Serey’s name, teachers tried. With the Lao names they took one look at them and said ‘time to butcher it in the most egregious way possible.’ 

 She had mad respect for Chitpasong Nanthavongdouangsy, who refused to go by an “American name” and forced teachers to learn to say Chitpasong. “I was born here,” Chitpasong said one time. “Chitpasong is an American name because I’m an American person.” Franny wished that six year old Darareaksmey had had that resolve, and wished twelve year old Franny could summon it, but she didn’t. She’d rather only hear Darareaksmey from her mother because at least she said it right.

 “You look a bit glum.”

 Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

 “Hi, Mak.” Franny said, waving as she grabbed the last of the dishes from the soapy water to rinse it.

 “What’s wrong? Don’t want summer to end?”

 Franny shook her head. “No, I kind of miss all my friends. You know, the ones not in bicycling distance. I just don’t like the first day.”

 Sophie let her daughter rinse and dry the final dish before she pulled one of the dining chairs out and snapped her fingers, manicured nail pointing down at it. Franny sat down as her mother grabbed the brush from her purse resting open on the table.

 “Were girls mean to you last year?” Sophie asked as she got to brushing the knots out of Franny’s hair.

 “Not really, I just punch them if they are.”

 “Darareaksmey, we don’t resort to violence.”

 “It’s my last resort, I promise, but it’s on the table.”

 “So what’s wrong?” Sophie grabbed the hair tie from around her wrist and held it between her teeth as she started to braid from the top of Franny’s head. “You let me get this far, so you’re trapped now.”

 “It’s the teachers. I hate roll calls on the first day.” She admitted. “I feel embarrassed.”

 “About?”

 “My name.”

 That gave Sophie pause but her hands quickly got back to work on Franny’s hair. “Why?”

 “They...say it wrong. Nobody can say Darareaksmey.”

 “It’s not a name from their language, I’m sure it is difficult.”

 “They don’t even try, it’s why everyone calls me Franny, nobody has ever tried. And it makes me feel embarrassed and sorry that I have such a weird name.”

 Sophie was quiet for a long moment, her deft hands working at her daughter’s hair, until she spoke up again. “Are you embarrassed? To be Cambodian. About your name.”

 “No...it just feels bad when they get it wrong. So I let them call me Franny. Is that bad?”

 “No. I let them call me Sophie, don’t I? As long as you know how powerful your name is and why it's so special.”

 Franny turned her head toward her mother but Sophie clicked her tongue and angled her head back forward, muttering something about her hair looking lopsided if she did that again. “Heeeeey, I was paying attention to you.”

 “You’re trapped in this seat, you have to pay attention even with your back turned.”

 “Fair.  Why’s my name special?”

 “Because you are. I thought very hard about your name. Darareaksmey means ‘bright, shiny star’. I know you remember I was raising you alone before I married your father. You remember, right?”

 Franny, truthfully, sometimes forgot that Adrien Framagucci wasn’t always in her life. It was easy to forget that he wasn’t her biological father because she had never known any other man to be her father. She didn’t know her biological father’s name. Did she want to? Maybe. She hadn’t ever thought about it enough to decide anything; or to consider there was anything to decide.

 Adrien raised Franny. Not only raised her, but he’d wooed her by proving what a great dad he’d be at the same time he was courting her mother. When he came to Mr. Tran’s home to pick Sophie up for dates, he’d bring Franny some amaryllis flowers he’d grown himself. A thanks for letting me borrow your mother today, he’d say. When Franny won Kindergarten student of the month at her elementary school, Adrien asked Sophie if he could treat Franny to a celebration dinner. When Franny mentioned the memory offhand a few years later Sophie said he did that to audition to be Franny’s dad.

 Your father always knew that if he wanted me to believe he loved me, he’d have to love you, too. You were always part of the deal. He wanted to be your dad so he got to proving it to you.

 If her original dad didn’t even stick around long enough for her to remember him but the dad she had put as much effort into wooing her as he did with her mother...then was it worth knowing about him? At twelve, Franny didn’t think it was.

 “Yeah, I remember living in Mr. Tran’s shed with you.” Franny said.

 “It used to be a shed. Mr. Tran fixed it up to be a tiny little house, we had a tiny little kitchen and air conditioning! Right, so you remember it was just me and you...we aren’t the only Cambodians in Clayton County, are we?”

 Franny shook her head. “There’s some at my school. And some that live in Lovejoy, Riverdale, and Jonesboro that work at the restaurant.”

 “Mhm. Are any of them your Aunties and Uncles? I know we call everyone Auntie and Uncle, but are they my brothers and sisters?”

 “...y...yes? Yes, right?”

 Sophie shook her head. “Not one. You’ve heard me talk about my brothers and sisters in Cambodia, right? The ones I climbed trees with or who helped me sneak back into the house at night, I talk about them sometimes. I had eleven of them.”

 “...had?”

 “I’m not sure how many are still living. Or where they might be.”

 “Don’t you have their phone numbers, Mak?”

 Sophie chuckled, the warmth in it seeming out of place to Franny even at that age. It seemed like her mother was broaching a very sad and difficult topic. Cambodia was always a toss-up. It was either sad or so happy it sounded like heaven or nirvana. This did not seem like the setup to one of her mother’s rose-colored talks about Cambodia.

 “Or can you write letters?”

 “I don’t know anything, my love.” Sophie admitted. This was the first time Franny had heard her mother say ‘I don’t know anything’ since she’d been alive! “I know some of the ones who died early on during the Khmer Rouge. Because I was there when they did. But eventually we became separated, and by the time I escaped to Thailand I didn’t know where they were. My brothers, sisters, my cousins. My own mak.”

 “What about your dad?”

 “Dead. That one, I know for sure.”

 “...what happened?”

 “That part, I’ll tell you when you’re older. You’re still a child, dear. I’m only telling you some of the basics today.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I escaped across the border into Thailand and accepted I’d never see my family again. I decided it would be an insult to them to not keep living though, so I waited to be resettled to a safer country as a refugee. First I was in Thailand. Then at a re-education center in The Philippines. And then I found out I was going to America. I wasn’t here very long when I got pregnant with you.”

 “You weren’t married or anything?”

 “I was not. And I had to stop working where I was working, and then I didn’t have any more money. That’s when I walked into Mr. Tran’s restaurant and tried to trick him into thinking I was Vietnamese. He picked up my Cambodian accent right away and told me that we are united by the wars waged by the West in our countries and by our struggles in America. Mr. Tran gave me a job, right away, and even let me move in with his family. Until he converted the shed into a little house, we lived in the main house with his family. We shared a room with his youngest daughter.”

 “Leah?”

 “That’s right. So. I was alone. I was unmarried. I barely spoke English at the time; I knew French and Vietnamese from Cambodia, of course Khmer is my native tongue, but my English was embarrassing. Still is.”

 “No way, Mak! You speak English better than anybody who says that about you!” Franny argued, whirling her head around to face her mother now that she felt her hands move from her hair. “Who says that about you? I’ll cook them into soup!”

“Not. The. Point.” Sophie chastised bonking Franny on the nose with the pad of her index finger to emphasize each word. “The point is. It was a scary time for me when I first came to this country. And then when I found out I was pregnant with you it was even scarier. I wondered if I should give you up so a family with more money could raise you. Mr. Tran isn’t wealthy himself, you know, it was a situation where the poor were helping the beggar. Sometimes I still think you would have been better off...but I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was selfish to keep you, but I was so alone. I knew I’d probably still be lonely after I had you. Babies don’t learn to talk for years and even then, you’re my child, not my friend. But I could raise you to love Cambodian culture. I could teach you my language. I could make sure you knew the beautiful parts about where you came from. After everyone I ever knew was either dead or scattered who knew where around the world, I decided that raising you to be a proud Cambodian would be worth all of that loneliness.”

 Franny, had she been a couple years older, would have cried. At fourteen she might have had the emotional depth to fully comprehend what she meant to her mother. At twelve, she understood a great deal, but it did not quite move her to tears. Though, she instinctively reached for her mother’s hand, and gave it a squeeze.

 For a moment, she thought she saw the ghost of fear in her mother’s eyes, or the closest thing to it she could place at that age when her biggest fear was wasps.

 “Do you miss Cambodia, Mak?” Franny asked quietly.

 “Every day. It is a beautiful country. But it is one I will never see again so there is no use dwelling on it.”

 “Don’t say that, we can go someday.” Franny said, pouting.

 Sophie clicked her tongue at her daughter, shaking her head. “It’s too expensive. No go to your room and finish your homework. I don’t want to hear a single guitar chord until you finish.”

Twenty years old...

 The purging of intellectuals included doctors, students, artists, and musicians. The grandfather Franny never got to meet was a doctor and he died because of it. Her mother had been a university student, studying to be a doctor herself, and lied that she was a seamstress to survive. One of brothers she knew did not survive had been a musician. Sophea had more reasons than financial stability to worry about her daughter insisting on doing music.

 Franny supposed she was lucky.

 Unlike some of her first-generation friends, her mother didn’t put that much pressure on her to marry a Cambodian man. There was never any matchmaking, any suggestions of an arranged marriage meeting, nothing like that. However, the first question Sophie asked when Franny told her mother that she had joined NYU’s Southeast Asian Student Association was “are there any nice Cambodian boys, Darareaksmey?”

 It was then that Franny understood that her mother hoped for a Cambodian son-in-law even if she would not pressure her to select one.  It was also clear to her that while her mother accepted her bisexuality, she did tend to assume she’d end up married to a man, perhaps even wished she would. In the 90s and early 2000s though, Franny took that as a blessing.

 Franny did intentionally go on dates with a few Cambodian guys. She’d even had a third date planned with one.

 Enter Cornelius Robinson. Mega-genius. Absolute nerd. Hair you just wanna run your hands through. Mild-mannered. Kind. Actually interested in what she had to say. And very Not Cambodian.

 It was frankly embarrassing how quickly she was all in for that man. She didn’t have to spend all that much time with him for her to understand how her mother must have felt when she began seeing her father.

 Christmas break rolled around and she figured she should introduce her boyfriend to her family. Franny’s jaw fell right between her feet on the ground at how suspiciously well it went. 

 Hours later, she was positively mortified when, instead of telling Cornelius he could sleep in one of her brothers’ rooms, her mother followed up ‘just follow Darareaksmey to her room’ with ‘and keep it down if you get naked.’ Franny covered her face with her pillow, muttering, ‘Neil, just press down. Smother me now.’

 “Do you like him?” Franny asked her mother while they folded the laundry one afternoon.

 “Your boyfriend?”

 “No, Mak. Daddy. Of course I mean my boyfriend. So, do you like Cornelius or n-- ow!”

 Sophie withdrew the dish towel she’d just whipped Franny’s arm with and her warm laugh filled the room. “Don’t sass me, girl. I do. He’s a very rich man you’ve got wrapped around your finger, and he isn’t even old enough to be your father.”

 “Mak!” Franny’s turn to wack an arm with a dish towel. “I’m not with him for his money...okay, it’s nice that he takes me grocery shopping sometimes so I can eat decent food. But other than that I don’t care about his money.”

 Well...maybe she did a little. It wasn’t the or even a reason she began seeing him, but it was a perk she was now enjoying just like her cooking was a perk he got to enjoy. But money could only entertain her for so long. If Cornelius didn’t make her soul feel at home the way he did not even his bank account could have kept her.

 “Cornelius makes me very happy. I actually - I actually miss him when I don’t get to see him for more than like a day. I never thought I was clingy with guys or girls I dated. Guess I am.’

 “Oh, Dara. You’re just in love.”

 “Yeah, I guess I am. Are you angry?”

 Sophie stopped folding the pair of jeans in her hands and let them crumple into her lap. “Why would I be angry?”

 “He’s not Cambodian? I don’t know. You wanted me to date the Cambodian boys in the Southeast Asian Student Association.”

 “Honey,” Sophie cooed, reaching for Franny’s hand. “Only if you wanted to. I’ll admit a part of me hoped you would find a nice proud Cambodian boy. It would be wonderful if you had a husband who would help teach your children Khmer-”

 Franny bit her tongue, holding back a reminder that they’d hadn’t been dating long enough to consider marriage and kids, and that she was only twenty. Nevermind that Franny had been thinking about those things privately. Oh, not in detail. She didn’t have their future children named or anything, though, she had come to the realization that if she tried to picture herself married one day then it was to Cornelius Robinson. The idea of being a mother kind of freaked her out...but if she added ‘mother to Cornelius Robinson’s children someday’ to it, she got all giggly thinking about it.

 It was still a little early to say the M-word or the K-word to Cornelius but it wasn’t like it hadn’t crossed her mind. Franny was in love, after all.

 “- because a part of me does worry about our culture going away with your childrens’ generation if you don’t. But this is America, where there’s all types of people, not just Khmer, Chinese, Cham, or Vietnamese people. You can marry anybody you want. I speak English now anyway.”

 “Mak, I’d teach my kids Khmer.” Franny said.

 “You will?”

 “How else will we gossip about all the snobby rich families at the country club right in front of them?”

 Sophie bursted into laughter, shoving Franny over onto her side on the floor. “Oh, don’t be a gossip! Now sit up, we'll finish the laundry later. Let me do your hair so I can tell you all about the Inthavongs’ divorce.”

Twenty-three years old…

 Her mother’s life even after coming to America had been harder than Franny fully understood for most of her life up until around the time she was married. She thought she knew all about her mother’s struggle because it happened right in front of her, but there were so many parts Franny was missing.

 “Look at my handsome son-in-law! Oh, come, come, let me take some pictures to email to my brothers and sisters.”

 “Mak, they were at the wedding, they know what Cornelius looks like,” Franny whined, clinging onto his arm. “He flew them in, remember?”

 “You’re supposed to be wiping down the tables, Darareaksmey.” Sophie reminded her, gesturing around the restaurant. “Here, I’ll get that server apron off you. Thank you for helping out with dinner Cornelius. So generous with your time when you’re visiting, such a good man.”

 “He’s married, Mak.” Franny deadpanned. Sophie grabbed a mint from the bowl by the door and before she even threw it at Franny her daughter ducked for cover. “You’re getting her in the divorce!”

 It might have been the couple’s first visit to Georgia since they married a few months ago, but Cornelius knew this routine by now. In about four minutes the play-fighting would be long since over and his wife would be hanging onto her mother telling her how much she loooooved her, or how much she wanted them to treat her to a nice meal out tomorrow, or mention how priceless the look on the blonde sales lady’s face would be if two women who looked like them bought a much too expensive dress with her husband’s black card. 

 After knowing Sophie, it was clear where Franny got her...well, a lot of things from. Of course a woman like that raised Franny. Of course.

 The jangling of the bell attached to the front door interrupted Cornelius’ admiration of his wife and mother-in-law.

 Franny lifted her head up from cleaning a table. “I’m sorry, we’re closed for the nigh--”

 “YOU WHORE!” Screeched the woman who had walked in the door.

 “Hey!” Cornelius exclaimed, the scary, unfamiliar feeling of anger bubbling in his chest. “That is my w-”

 When Sophie was the one struck by the woman’s backhand, it was clear it was not Franny who was the target of that slur.

 “Did you expect me to be in the dark forever? How dare you hang around this town! How dare you show your face here!” The woman, blonde hair greying and pale skin beginning to show age, berated Sophie as she continued her assault. “You and my husband’s bastard child, right under my nose!”

 Cornelius blinked in surprise; he would have thought that his wife’s sperm donor of a biological father would have confessed to his wife about his infidelity much sooner than now, almost twenty-four years later. She must have just found out. Why else would she come to the restaurant that late at night breathing fire out her nose -- good god, he was starting to think in Franny’s folksy sayings.

 He was frozen in shock and a tinge of fear (he never was one for physical fights, see) just long enough for Franny to be the first to act. Sophie seemed fully aware of what was happening and also fully able to defend herself, yet for some reason unwilling to.

 Franny lunged forward and grabbed the oldest of the three women by the hair and tugged her away from Sophie. “Paws off my mother! She did nothing wrong!”

 The woman (if Cornelius remembered correctly, Franny’s biological father was named Peter Boyd), Mrs. Boyd, shrieked and flailed her arms until one connected with Franny hard enough to stun her into losing her grip. Mrs. Boyd turned on Franny immediately.

 “Ha! Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong? Your mother opened her legs to a married man, that’s why you’re even here! Lying like a Persian rug. I should lay you out like one.”

 “Fucking try! I’ll lay your ass out and step all over it, you wanna talk about Persian rugs.” Franny challenged, stepping around Mrs. Boyd to block her from her mother. 

 Mrs. Boyd lunged at Franny, but Franny had been in more fights that the genteel politician’s wife could have ever been in. It took her an embarrassing number of tries to land a punch on Franny and when she did, she didn’t miss her shot. While Franny was stunned, Mrs. Boyd grabbed Franny by her hair and threw her against the wall.

 It felt like hours to him that he was frozen in place, but it couldn’t have actually been more than a full minute between Sophie first being slapped and when Mrs. Boyd landed her punch on Franny. That one action finally connected Cornelius’ eyes to the rest of his body. Mrs. Boyd drew back her fist and in a display of speed and athleticism that he could never repeat again, Cornelius crossed the room and wedged himself between Mrs. Boyd and his wife.

 Lucky for him, she wasn’t a very strong puncher.

 Unlucky for him, she was wearing her ring and his cheek sliced right open.

 “You just punched my husband.” Franny snarled, reaching for a chair. “You. Just punched. My husband.”

 If Cornelius thought Franny looked scarily pissed off when a man put his hands on her at a bar, he ain’t seen nothin’ back then. If they were in a cartoon, smoke would have billowed from her nose and ears as she shoved him behind her.

 “He got in the way, that’s his fault!”

 “He has nothing to do with your cheating husband preying on and manipulating a refugee who barely spoke English into thinking he cared about her and would take care of her. Your shitty husband is the one you should be beating up right now!” Franny hissed, her grip on the chair tightening.

 “Shut up, [slur I won’t type]!”

 It was dead silent. Not one of the four of them moved. Cornelius could have sworn he heard a heartbeat that’s how quiet it was.

 Franny was the first to break the silence.

 “I’ll count to three. If you aren’t out of my mother’s restaurant when I get to three, what happens next is your fault.” 

 Mrs. Boyd scoffed. “Like I’m afraid of some gold-digging musical theatre major.”

 “One.”

 “You aren’t really going to hit me with a chair, are--”

 “Two.”

 “I’ll have you arrest--”

 “Three. GAH!” Franny only had to fake her out for her to run out the door shrieking. The chair was already back on the ground before the door had even shut. “I’ll lock the door. Mak, can we put a dish towel on his face?”

 ---

“Franny ow,” Cornelius protested as, back at her parents’ house, Franny landed a light-but-strategically-painful punch on Cornelius' arm. “Why are you mad?”

 “Because you got hurt!” She snapped, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes watering. “Why would you do that?”

 “I didn’t want her to hurt you or Sophie…”

 Franny whined. “Baby, you name your robots. You can’t take or throw punches. I’m the badass in this marriage, you’re the sweet, gentle one. I hate that you got hurt because my sperm donor’s wife would rather blame a poor lady and her daughter instead of her shitty husband.” “Honey, she slammed your head into the wall.”

 “And?” Franny knocked on her skull. “Sounds hollow to me. I don’t think there’s any brain cells left there to kill.”

 Cornelius gave a huff of a laugh through his nose, reaching for Franny’s hand to play with her fingers. He didn’t say anything, just held her hand and waited for her.

 “I’m sorry you had to see my family’s dirty laundry. Not like you didn’t already know, but.” Franny said, staring down at their hands. “I thought his wife knew. The worst part is, I can understand her. I’d hate my mom and I too if you-- not that you would -- I don’t think you’d-- I just mean--”

 “I know.” Cornelius said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

 Sophie glided into the living room, her hair kit in hand, and gestured for Franny to sit up straight. Franny opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t feel like getting her hair messed with right now, but snapped her jaw shut as quick as she’d opened it. Just let Mak do her little ritual, it wouldn’t hurt no one.

 “I’m sorry this happened, Mak. I should’ve been quicker to fight for you.” Franny said, looking down at her hand in Cornelius’.

 Sophie tsk tsked and tugged the hairbrush a little hard, Franny swore it was on purpose. “It was overdue karma, my love. I slept with a married man whether I knew it or not at the time. Not knowing doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

 “It does too! He was the one married and lying to you! And the one tried to force you into an abortion when that wasn’t the right choice for you. How are you near as responsible as him?” Franny argued.

 “Humans see grey areas. Not everything in the universe does, dear.  Besides, I won anyway. Even after today.”

 “How? All three of us look like the school bully took our lunch money. I mean, look at him! He and Lucille have a press thing after we get back to New York, he’s gonna look like I shanked him during a domestic!” Franny looked over at Cornelius and pouted at his bandage.

 “I’ll tell the press I fought valiantly, honey. You were a worthy opponent.” Cornelius teased. Franny hissed, exactly like her cat, then immediately kissed his temple.

 “I win in the end because I get to have you as my daughter.” Sophie explained, starting on the actual braid. “I don’t regret any part about my path crossing with Peter Boyd’s because I had to go through it to get you.”

 Franny was silent a long moment, her eyes watered in lieu of her finding her words. She only squeezed Cornelius’ hand tighter, and when she had words again only managed so squeak out, “Maaaaaak, you can’t say things that nice while you’re doing my hair. It’ll be all lopsided if I move to hug you.”

 “That’s why I said it when I did.”

Thirty-five years old…

 Franny was coming to understand that she would never truly be able to understand everything about her mother’s life in Cambodia. The more she knew, the more she didn’t know.

 Franny sat behind her mother, brushing out her hair, as the recording device captured their conversation. At the moment, all it was capturing was Franny’s stunned silence as she sat there, mouth agape, hairbrush frozen mid-brush in her mother’s salt and pepper hair.

 What do you say to your mother recounting in gruesome detail her father’s death?

 She spoke like all she was recalling was the serial killer’s M.O. in the last Criminal Minds, her tone calm, detached, there was even a nervous laugh in there.

 “Mak…” Franny whispered. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 “The book was my idea, Darareaksmey. I want you to help me talk about what happened to my country and our family before I’m an old woman and can’t remember things. The world deserves to know what it let happen.”

 “It can’t be easy for you. How do you just...live after that?”

 “It isn’t easy. Keep brushing.” Sophie waited until Franny’s hands were once again busy with her hair to continue. “A lot of people don’t, I imagine. Surviving must eat some people alive. It got to me, at first.”

 Franny set the brush down and started on the braiding. “Did it?”

 “Why was my escape successful but the woman who suggested the method I used get caught when she tried it, why was I able to survive the student purge but my friends weren’t, why did the cut on my foot eventually heal but my sister’s infection kill her, and do I even deserve to be alive...things like that, I thought about those things every day in the refugee camp. Once I was able to actually think about anything but being hungry, anyway.” Sophie explained. 

 While Franny braided her mother’s hair it occurred to her that this was the most honest that her mother had been with her about her feelings (re: living through the Khmer Rouge) in all of her thirty-five years on the planet. Regarding the straight facts, Sophea Sor Framagucci was a straightforward woman. She would tell you in detail how any and every traumatic event went down but never once had she talked about how she felt or what it all did to her.

 Though, she couldn’t imagine detailing every single trauma in her life and how it affected her for Wilbur either.

 Perhaps it felt strange to Franny because her mother’s trauma was a major historical event that numerous books, movies, documentaries, and articles talked about. She knew so much about the event itself but the raw, human, emotional aspect of it was all new.

 “It’s funny because deciding not to live was never an option for me. Even before I had you. I just kept thinking about how I didn’t want to let the people who did this to me win, and I can only do that by living. So I existed. For a long time, it was just existing. I learned to be alive again. Especially once you started talking and having a personality that wasn’t just ‘Being A Baby. That’s when being a mother goes from being just a responsibility to a responsibility that makes you smile and laugh.”

 “Mm, it’s a good thing you told me that part at thirty-five and not fourteen. As a mother, I understand what you mean. As a teenager that would have killed my self-esteem.”

 “Impossible, your ego was much too big at that age. It almost could’ve used a beating.”

 “Don’t you know that was the classic pretend you’re better than God because you actually feel like trash act?” Franny said, tying the hair tie around the braid.

 “Can’t say I’m familiar. It’s never been an act for me.”

 “Mak!” Franny laughed, playfully nudging her mother. “No wonder I have a god complex on Tuesdays.” A beat. “We can stop. If you need to.”

 “I’ll tell you when I need a break, my love. I’m okay.”

[shannygoatgruff]

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter XX

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA+18

Overall Warning:  Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: Talks of psychological torture.

A/N: You did it! You made it to the home stretch! Congrats! I hope you like the last chapter. It’s a little long, but hopefully, well worth it.

This story is dedicated to @youbloodymadgenius​s and @ivarthebloodyking. You guys have stuck with me through the beginning with this thing. 

Chapter XX

The unsettling guitar riffs of The Widow by The Mars Volta pour out of my earbuds – it’s like I can hear it, but it’s hard to pay much attention. Maybe if I could get out of my head long enough to concentrate on something else, I might actually enjoy listening to this song again. It’s one of my favorites.

Right now, though, it’s like I’m on sensory overload. There’s so much I want to see, do, and hear all at the same time but, I’m having a hard time focusing on just one thing. Being back here isn’t helping any; that’s for sure. Especially, not this many memories. It’s been years, but everything’s just the way I remember. Seeing as how some of the shit we tucked away here and there is still in tacked, no one’s ever found this place. 

Taking in a deep breath, I cough immediately from the smell of mold and dust. The hole in the roof did nothing to arrogate the building throughout the years. Making my way to the window to force clean air in here, I stop at the memory. The window. Ivar kicked it in for me the day he first brought me here. The broken glass still decorates the windowsill and the outline of his boot is still here. It's like he never left.

God, I miss him.

I swear that it feels like if I were to close my eyes right now and open them again he'd be standing here smiling at me. But I know the truth. The truth is, if I close my eyes and open them, I'll be standing in the middle of a broken-down cabin… alone. 

I knew the memories would come flooding back if I came here, but I couldn't help it. It's just that I miss him so much lately. I guess I just needed to feel close to him again. For so long Ivar was my everything. He was so much more than my baby brother; he was my best friend, my companion…my soul mate.

Now, I just want to know why he left me. He didn't even say goodbye. I waited. God, I waited for so long, hoping, praying…needing him to save me. But, he didn't. It’s a crock of shit that time heals all wounds, because for five years I’ve been broken inside and all I can do is ask the same damn question: Why didn't he ever come back for me? He promised me that it would always be me and him against the world, but he lied. He told me he would never leave me, but he did just that. I don't understand.

I still don't even remember how I ended up there. I know there was a trial - they put me in a tight blue suit and an ugly paisley tie. I sat next to this crackpot public defender wondering when it was going to be over. I think his name was Harrow, or Harald, or something like that. He had big ass, square, donkey-looking teeth, and was always smiling. He never talked to me. I think we sat next to each other a dozen times on those hard-ass chairs and he never once said a word to me.

Hell, even that detective that Judith bitch had interviewed on the news, Torstein, I think his name was, talked to me. He told me they were going get me help. I didn't know what in the hell he was talking about, but at least he said something to me. All I knew was I didn’t need their help, I needed my brother.

Even Dr. Lagertha talked to me and I hate her. Every time they would show pictures, there would be gasps and screams, she would come over to me, rub my shoulders and tell me that everything was going to be fine. She got them to let me stay in a break room when the screaming got to be too loud. I don't like screaming and there was plenty in that place. And as much as I hate Lagertha, she kept them away from me. She was there for me. Well, at least I thought she was. But it was fake. All of it.

She didn't care about me. She lied, too. She told me she would never hurt me, but she sat in front of everyone and she lied. She said that I did all of these horrible things to people. All the shit that Ivar did, she blamed on me. She told everyone in that court that I was a monster and they all believed her. I knew that bitch wasn't to be trusted and she proved me right.

Now, I'm not denying that my hunger was bad, and maybe I did some things that weren't so nice, but I wasn't as monstrous as she made me out to be. She told them I had all these problems and that I couldn't deal with real life. She made it sound like I was crazy. But what sounded craziest to me was that nobody ever asked to hear my side of the story. Nobody said shit one about Ivar and his part in everything. It’s not like I would have given him up or anything, but still….they just took her word as law, and that was that.

I don't remember a lot after that. I know that Harrow, or Harald, or whatever the hell his name was, sat further away from me. Even that detective started to look at me with pity. All those fucking people started watching me like I was a freak show. It was too much to handle. I just wanted to die.

I prayed that they would kill me. I wanted them to strap me down to a table and shoot me up full of all the drugs they could get their hands on. Or put me in the gas chamber and let me choke off of my own vomit. Anything was better than the laughing and the whispering.

Ubbe once told me to be careful what I pray for because I just might get it. Well, he was right. If I died, I would have gone straight to hell. Well, they didn't kill me, but I went there anyway.

After I stopped going to court, I started going to Lagertha's little Drug Store Hell every day for years. Drugs and talking. Headaches and blackouts. Bruises and scars. And of course, her file full of lies and the fucking memories. They should have killed me. But it wasn't all bad. I learned a lot and I used it to buy my ticket back to real life.

See, I learned that people only see what they want to see and they don't care about anything but their version of the truth. They feel accomplished when they scratch the surface. As long as they get enough to prove themselves right, they let up and don't want to dig any deeper. For them, it's all about perception.

For me, it's all about adaptation. Being in hell, I learned how to adapt to my surroundings. For example, I learned that I had extensive knowledge of how drugs alter my behavior. I guess years of recreational drug use paid off for something. I know what it felt like when I was high, so when I finally got the willpower to stop taking that shit, I was still able to keep up appearances. As long as I acted like a zombie nobody fucking cared that I was stuffing that shit in a slit that I made in the mattress by using a loose bedspring. Of course with as many pills as I had stockpiled, I had my run of the fucking place – between trading that shit as currency with the other demons, and making cocktails to get myself in and out of every inch of that place, every day was a new fucking adventure.  

You know, you can drug a guard, get keys to locked doors, and take a few patients that are drugged out of their fucking minds into off-limits rooms, come and go as you please… When you have the right combo of drugs conveniently crushed in coffee or sprinkled in the pudding of the powers that be, the possibilities are endless.

I also learned that if you alter your behavior to reflect that you think you are as bad as your file says you are, it makes you look more favorable to your doctor. They think you’re having a fucking breakthrough or something. They think all that self-loathing is some sort of remorse for all the wrongs you’ve done when you’re just sick of them telling you that you’re a fuck up and you need to do better. Truth is, you’re really just frustrated because you can’t fucking kill them. 

It’s all just bullshit. Just like when you smile, you're not thought to be sad. If you do everything they say, suddenly you're cured. And most importantly, if you stop talking about Ivar, they stop thinking you're crazy and let you join groups and have privileges. They almost treat you like you’re normal as long as you never mention the “I” word.

Ivar.

Five years…five years without that smile or felt those magnetic blue eyes looking at me. For five years, I've been alone in a room, with their drugs, talking, and pain like nobody's business. I’ve let them break me down only to build me up to what they want me to be, but I managed it because I just knew that he was coming back for me. In the beginning he would come to see me, but, then suddenly, he stopped. The day he stopped coming, is the day that the real torture began. But I did it. I survived.

I did it alone.

I'm not gonna lie, being on my own is so hard. It’s gotten a little easier lately, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. I finally got into a routine and I make it a point to deal with each moment as it comes. I don’t spend all my time in my head trying to block out the past and run from my future. I’ve even met a nice girl named, Amma. She’s a student up at the college. If things keep progressing with her the way I hope they do, I’m going to ask her to marry me. 

I'm slowly building my life back, one brick at a time. I’m finally getting to a place where I’m hardly having nightmares about being in that place. It seems like I’m on the road to getting that normal life that I’ve always dreamed about. But, lord knows, normal is boring as a motherfucker. Especially without him.

Don't get me wrong, I never stop longing for him. I can't. The same blood that courses through my veins also runs through his. We’re connected for life. But, it’s more than that, for me. It's like denying that the love of your life ever existed. He's never far from my mind, but my thoughts of him don't consume me anymore.

Well, normally they don't. Today is just a really shitty day.

Sitting my iPhone on the window ledge, I absently wipe the tears from my eyes and I look out at the brook behind the cabin. Things were so much simpler the last time I got lost in watching the water flow downstream. I remember standing there with Ivar feeling like I could conquer the world. The world. Yeah right. I haven't been able to do that yet. But at least I've been able to conquer the hunger. It doesn't sound like much, but it feels like the world to me.

It's gone almost completely gone, I think. I hardly feel it at all now. Gert says that it'll never go away completely, but I can learn to manage it with meds and therapy. Well, fuck her because I’m doing it without either. I don’t need her psychobabble bullshit or her fucking pills. I just need the fresh air and the knowledge that the alternative to me fucking up again is going back to that hell on earth. That’s enough to make me keep my shit in order. 

I’m just thankful that the hunger isn’t all-consuming anymore – just a little twinge now and again. I can deal with that. I've learned to ignore it. I mean, I still hear it and see it, but I don't taste it anymore. That's got to count for something, right?

Turning away from the window, I count the steps past the weakened floorboard and walk toward the door. This place feels like it's getting smaller by the minute and apparently, something died in here because it stinks. The smell of death never bothered me before, but right now it's getting to me. I guess without the hunger, I smell it for what it is now. It's comforting, just not that damn appetizing.

Leaning against the door frame, I take a deep breath of the heavily wooded air. That feels good. I almost forgot how good fresh air smells. Lord knows I didn't smell it for years and now I can't seem to get enough of it.

I guess that's why I rented this little house in the country. Ivar left me some money. A lot of it. I don't know where he got it and I don't give a shit. All I know is I’m able to afford a nice place out in the middle of nowhere that I fucking love. There's not another house for miles and I don't have the temptation of a bunch of people around me. It's secluded, like I'm trying to keep society out. Or maybe I'm trying to keep me away from society. Either way, I'm happy there.

I'm surrounded by woods and I’ll be able to smell the grass in the summer and the dying leaves in the fall. Ivar would shit a brick if he found out I became a nature lover. He'd shit golden egg rolls if he knew half of the shit I discovered about myself. I'm not the same Hvitserk as I was before.

It's still hard for me, harder than it is for most people, but I don't seem to cower from the world now. I know they're still watching me. The truth is I don't get scared like I used to, or worry about everything every single second. Yeah, I feel alone sometimes, but I'm not afraid of it now. I guess being in hell taught me how to deal with it. It's not like I had a choice in that place. In there, the loneliness would have eaten me alive if I had let it. But I didn't. I had to prove to myself, and I guess to Ivar, that I could make it. And I did. I made it without him.

There's a breeze whipping the fallen leaves around in the air. It'll be dark soon and it looks like it's going to rain. I don't mind though. Even with a huge hole in the roof, I'd rather stay here and get soaked than to go home and be alone. Amma’s staying on campus tonight because she's got a test in the morning. Not that I mind. It's just that it's fucking lonely in that house all by myself. Besides, it's been so long since I could just be alone with my memories and just feel what it is that I'm feeling that I'm enjoying it here. I'm not ready to give that up yet. After five years of having everything about me questioned, dissected, and analyzed, it's nice to have a minute just to remember without someone reading more into it.

Even now it's like that. I'm sure Amma doesn't mean it, but she likes to talk and every time I get quiet she thinks something's wrong. It's cute actually, how she tries so hard to keep me happy. She's one of those girls that does any and everything to make sure things between us stay good. Even after everything I've been through and all the lies the media told about me, she still loves me. Granted, she was just a kid when all of that shit went down, but she knows. At least she knows what she chooses to believe. If you ask her, I got sent away on some bullshit because I took the rap for Ivar. It's the truth, I did, and she refuses to believe anything other than that.

But still, she knows they're watching me and she sees how much it gets to me. She tries to keep my mind off of it and when that doesn't work, she wants me to open up about it. It doesn't bother me, though. Not like when Gert did it. That shit got on my nerves. I know Amma’s just trying to make me happy. But still, I'd be lying if I said the solitude of this place wasn't nice.

Closing my eyes to fully take in my surroundings, I hear the sound of leaves moving in the distance. With a sigh, I place the filter of the cigarette to my lips and feel my entire body relax as soon as the tip is lit. There's something about a quiet smoke that always seems to put things in perspective for me. With my head against the frame of the door, I watch the world.

The woods are beautiful with their bare trees and the multicolored leaves decorating the ground like a blanket and the brook bubbling happily in the distance. It's alive; everything about these woods is bursting with life even though winter is coming. It's like nature is preparing for it, but this place is resisting. It's ironic actually because that's exactly how I feel.

This is the shit that I missed out on when I was in hell. This is the shit that I missed when I was still taking Lagertha’s pills. Yeah, I loved being high all the time, but they kept me in a state of numbness, preventing me from seeing and enjoying the world around me. They were necessary when I needed to be what they wanted me to be. But, now I have to be who I am, and I don’t need them anymore. I don't want my senses dulled. I don't want to have a medicine haze surrounding me at all times. I want to taste the rain on my lips and feel the cool air on my face. I want to smell fall. I want to live and those damn pills were killing me slowly. Well, fuck that. 

Staring at the large bare oak tree in front of me I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Tears fill my eyes, but they're not sad tears. They are tears of contentment.

I knew this would happen. I knew I needed to come here. I knew I needed closure.

"Hey, baby." Without words, I watch as he walks with his hands in his pockets. Dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket he looks like just stepped out of a magazine.

Stopping next to the tree, he leans against it and looks at me. He’s cut his hair. His short dark hair has just outgrown a buzz cut, but it still looks stylish on him. It makes his face look darker and his eyes bluer, as if that were possible. 

"Ivar." I thought after all this time I would be happy to see him. But I don't feel anything. For years I practiced the thousands of things I wanted to say to him. But right now, I can't think of one. All I can do is stare at him.

A slow smile slides across his face and he lowers his head as if he is going to laugh. But instead, he raises his eyes to mine and nods. "You look good."

"You, too," and he does. He’s beautiful. He's always been so beautiful.

"Had a feeling I'd find you here. You always did love this place."

Fuck the small talk. We don't have to have some long drawn conversation. "Why?" That's it. That's all I want to know. "You left me. Why?"

Taking a deep breath he pushes off from the tree and starts to walk toward me. There was once a time where I was afraid of the power that Ivar exuded. I was never afraid of him, but of his strength, because it only amplified my weakness. But that time is long gone. I've been through so much shit - felt pain like never before. I don't fear it now. "I didn't leave you, Hvitserk."

"Bullshit. You knew what that bitch was doing to me. You said you would come back for me, but you never did. You just left me there.” I can still see his face outside of that little glass square at the top of my door. He was looking at me, smiling, leading me to believe that he was going to help me. But, he walked away. He blew me a kiss and walked away. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Do you? I've had everything short of a fucking lobotomy, Ivar. Electroshock therapy, graphic desensitization…if you can think of it, they did it. And believe me, that bitch Lagertha can give you a run for your money in the torture department. Do know why they did all that shit to me? Because you fucking disappeared. You left and all fingers pointed to me. They ripped my fucking soul apart because of your shit and you have the balls to show up here today as nothing fucking happened."

With a calm only Ivar can possess, he walks up the stairs to the porch and takes a seat on the old splintered rocking chair. Running his fingers over his face, he tilts his head and considers me. He's impressed, I know that look in his eye. He's never seen me stand up for myself without blacking out in the process. Well, guess what? I don't fucking blackout anymore. "Would I do that? I didn't leave you, Hvitserk. I was there. I was there so many fucking times. You wouldn't leave with me."

I'm so sick of people twisting the truth into their form of reality. I waited for him for years and he never came back. But still, there's a calmness in his voice that makes me want to listen to his reasoning. "I wouldn't leave with you? Contrary to popular belief, I'm not fucking crazy Ivar and it's pretty fucking hard to leave with a memory. Every fucking day I waited. But you never showed up. You let me rot there."

"Bullshit, I did. At first, you were so fucking out of it, that you just cried all the damn time and talked about how much you wanted to die." Folding his hands in his lap his eyes narrow slightly in my direction. For a second, I recognized that look. Irritation. But I'm not backing down. Not this time. Not until he tells me the truth. "Then, you flat out refused to come with me.”

"Oh cut the shit, Ivar! I’m not one of these stupid marks we find to party with – it’s me, Brother. You know, all of these years I looked up to you, idolized you…put you on a fucking pedal stool. Turns out, I believed you when you said that we were going to be together forever. Turns out I was my brother’s keeper. I kept you, Ivar! In here…” I pound my fist against my chest.

He looks so cool at my outburst, yet proud that I’m not crying. Calmly, he licks his lips and slowly blinks at me, “When I finally got in to see that fucking quack ass doctor of yours, she gave me this bullshit letter you wrote that told me to fuck off because you needed to do this all on your own. What the fuck, Serk? What the fuck else did you want me to do? You had it all. Your drugs, your little blonde doctor bitch hanging on your every word. You were in your element. Everybody was so worried about my poor baby. Why would you leave with me? You had everything you ever wanted and you didn’t need me anymore."

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean,  I was in my element? I never wanted you to baby me, Ivar. You did that because it made you feel better. I just didn't want to be alone." Why is he trying to guilt me because I finally became my own man? If the roles were reversed, I would have done everything in my power to help him, or at least be proud of the progress he’s made. “I always need you, brother. I would never turn my back on you."

With a shake of his head, his smile drops and the look on his face is replaced with one of pure hurt. "If you didn't want to be alone, why did you keep turning me away? You should ask that bitch Dr. Gert how many times I called or came there to see you. Then ask her how many times she turned me away at your request. You left me, Hvitserk." He came to visit and she turned him away? No. That's not right. That couldn't have been how it happened. She never told me that he came to see me. 

"You want to blame somebody for this? Blame her. She became more important to you than me. All the fucking lies she told you about me, you believed. All those sessions on her little couch, ending up with you crying. She was the one that started taking care of you, holding you, wiping away your tears. She replaced me. You should have seen the satisfied look on her face when she told me that you didn't need me anymore." He raises his brows at my shocked expression. He saw that? I remember that day – it was a particularly grueling therapy session. I would have said anything to make the pain stop.

"Didn’t know I knew that much, did you? Yeah, I saw it all. I saw how you stopped crying after a while. And you didn't black out anymore, either. I notice how after a while you were sitting there all tall and proud, talking and laughing with her. You were happy, Hvitserk. And I finally saw you. I didn't just look at you. I saw you. And that's when I knew it was true. You were strong on your own. You didn't need me in your life anymore, so I stopped coming. You were strong enough without me. And just look at you now…"

"You think you did me a fucking favor?" Stepping back inside the doorway I grab my bag from the floor. It takes a second to locate what I'm looking for but with damning evidence like this, there is no way he can deny it. "Look at this shit. Look at it! You thought I had a good time there? You saw all of the shit she did to me and you thought I fucking enjoyed it? I forgot torture is your thing. It must've looked like a fucking field day to you. Tearing me down…that's your idea of teaching me how to be strong?"

His eyes dance over the red printed letters on the front of the file and instantly I feel a chill at the sight of them. St. Dymphna Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Reluctantly, he opens to the first page and glances over everything. Without interest, he starts to read aloud, "Sociopath…Psychopath...Paranoid Schizophrenia… Histrionic Borderline Personality Disorder…Dissociative Personality Disorder… What the fuck is this?"

"That's your little lesson, Ivar. That's what the fuck I learned on Dr. Lagertha Svensdottir’s fucking couch." In all of the things I've felt for Ivar over the last five years, never once have I felt anger. But right now, I'm so pissed with him it's taking everything I have not to punch him in the face. "I learned that I'm fucking crazy. I was taught that I killed Guthrum, and Ubbe. I probably killed Bjorn and Father…hell, maybe even Rollo, too. But not Sigurd, Ivar. No - you did that one. I’m not taking the blame for him.

“Oh, and get this – did you know that I got sent to a funny farm, instead of leaving Father’s house to try to make it on my own, before that night I ended up sleeping on your floor. You know, right before I told you about my secret?” I can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t believe this shit either. “Yeah. They magically found some trumped-up records of me being committed somewhere. So instead of having an entire fucking life, I was institutionalized. Somehow I got better and they let me go, though. But I didn’t take my medication and got sick again, and that’s why I supposedly fucked up this time.” I angrily pluck my cigarette butt through the wooded area, “Shit, apparently, I fucking made you up. Did you know you were supposed to have died in the accident with Mother?”

"Those motherfuckers." His eyes grow cold for a moment, and then they soften when he looks at me. Ivar doesn't show remorse, but I can tell from that look that he genuinely had no idea it was that bad. "You don't believe this shit, do you? You never went away. You had your own place. I stayed with you a few times when shit got too bad with Father and Rollo. And that shit about me?” He stands from the chair and walks over to where I’m standing. Craning his neck until his face is inches from mine, I have no choice but to look into his eyes, “If you believe that shit, then you are crazy.”

"You know it's funny what pain will make you believe. You'll believe anything if it means that they'll stop hurting you. You of all people should know that."

"You don't believe me? Touch me. I've held you, rocked you in my arms, wiped your tears. I've been there for you more than anybody else has ever been. You know me. Fucking touch me and you'll know that I'm real." That seems to be all he cares about. Not the fact that the guards would beat me when I was strapped to my bed at night. Not the fact that Gert made me lie out loud and say that I killed damn near my entire family.

"I had to admit to everything you did in front of a room full of people and apologize for it. I had to tell them that I was sick and I didn't know what I was doing. They made me jump through fucking hoops and made me feel like a freak just to have the most basic of my needs met – to brush my own fucking teeth, Ivar. Now, I have people looking at me 24 hours a day, wondering if I’m stable; just waiting for the other shoe to drop." Lighting another cigarette, I suck back on the toke hoping it will calm me down. 

"I have to follow all these stupid fucking rules. I don't have any privacy. I'm lying to my girl about what the fuck is going on. Oh, yeah, but I’m stronger than a motherfucker now." The sarcasm drips from my words before I can stop it. 

"'Cause that's all that matters, right? You left me there to die, and just hoped that I was strong enough to survive. But what if I wasn't, Ivar? What if I didn't make it? What then?" As soon as I see the look on his face, I know that he didn't mean to hurt me. More importantly, I know that I can't end it like this. We’re all we have.

Nodding his head in understanding he straightens himself upright and glares out at the woods around us. "It was that fucking headshrinker wasn't it? She pumped you full of drugs and lies. You know she lied to you about all of that other shit. But you think she was telling the truth about me? Well here's the truth Hvitserk. If I thought for one second that you weren't strong enough to make it, I would have killed every last motherfucker in there to take you out of there. You can believe all of that other bullshit if you want, but you know that for a fact."

Staying angry with him is harder than I thought. But it feels so good to lash out after keeping all of this shit in for years. Always pretending to be what they want me to be so they'd let me out, keeping my real feelings bottled away…it's fucking hard. Finally, I get to be myself and it figures it's with the one person who I've always been able to be myself around. I know I should hate him. But I don't. I never did. I feel myself calming down and all I can do is look at him with serious eyes. "You were right about one thing. I don't need you anymore. I'm doing just fine on my own now."

A sly smile pulls at the corners of his lips and instinctively his hand runs over his almost bald head. "You're right. You don't need me…but it wouldn't be fun to have me around again?" His smile grows when I try to keep my face stern but it softens almost as soon as he says it. It's the truth. I miss him. Without him I feel like a part of me is missing. "We had some good times, brother."

Resting my head against the door frame again, I instantly feel the anger and frustration leave me looking into the cerulean pools of his eyes. "Yeah, we did." I look out at the forest and notice that the wind is picking up. The bare trees swing their branches like skeleton fingers waving goodbye to me. Or is it hello? I can't tell anymore.

"You came out on top, baby. You're bigger and better than you were before." Throwing the file on the chair behind him, he turns to me with a warm smile. He touches his hand to my cheek before kissing it gently and I can feel the electricity from it all over my body. God, I miss him. "I just wanted to see you again and to tell you that I'm proud of you." As soon as he steps down from the porch he turns to me and nods. "If you ever get bored, you know how to find me. I miss you." No sooner does he say that, does he turn around and walk down the stairs and away from the cabin. “Burn that fucking file. It’s nothing but a bunch of lies. You’re better than that, Serk. You always have been.”

Watching him leave a second time hurts more than I thought it would. "Ivar?" I steady my voice and force a smile on my face. "I miss you, too." I won't ask him to come back into my life, but I damn sure won't deny him if he does. In the few minutes that we spent together, I didn't feel lonely at all. I felt normal. That's all I've ever wanted.

His smile is illuminating. It lights up everything in this darkened wood like the sun was shining directly on him. It's magical. "I don't know how to apologize, Hvitserk. That's really not my thing. But I don't lie, so believe this. If you let me back in, I promise I will never leave you again."

There's so much to think about. I've been lied to so much by so many people I don't know what the truth is anymore. All I do know is I haven't felt this alive in years. With a shrug of my shoulders, I turn toward the door. "We'll see. I need to talk to my shrink first." With one last glance at him, over my shoulder, I walk into the cabin and leave the front door open behind me.

Pulling the pack of Marlboros out of my pocket, I dust off the chair and take a seat. Lighting the end, I close my eyes and concentrate on the thick smoke filling my lungs. I love the taste of menthol. With everything there is to consider, it's nice not to have to concentrate on anything but my cigarette while my thoughts fall into place. This is more than I can handle right now. I need some direction.

Resting my arms on my thighs, I lean forward and consider the mattress and the blonde woman bound and chained to the fireplace lying upon it. 

"So, Dr. Lagertha, do you think I should give Ivar another chance?"

Fin.

A/N: Well, guys. That’s it! Thanks for sticking with me, and going on this crazy ride with my boys. This has been a fun rewrite. I hope to finishing some of my other stuff soon and posting some things I have just had sitting on the shelf.

As always,

Be easy!

shannygoat

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[helpinghanikan]

Sing us a song

Dinah Lance (Black Canary) x Reader

Sum: Try as Dinah might, it’s impossible to keep her private and business lives separate. 

AN: Just a little one-shot from the Harley Quinn movie. I’m surprised there aren’t more out there. 

Her voice is so powerful you can hear it through the running water and the walls. But soft enough to be a lullaby. You’ve never heard the end of the song as sleep takes you before the grand finale every time. You only know it’s over when her weight comes back to the bed.

It’s only crossed your mind a few times that you could just ask to hear the whole show. Those thoughts are gone when she texts about work;

‘babe, if I start drunk texting you, can you come get me? I’m really gonna need it tonight’

A few hours later she’ll send another;

‘If I sing opera will I get paid more or killed? Maybe I’ll break all the glasses doing that, fuck them glasses’

It would be a gamble to ask her to sing for you. Either she would, and it would be done without any heart and possibly stop from singing at night entirely. Or she would say no and stop singing at night and make the whole relationship just that much more awkward.

It was already bad enough. Dinah never explicably said not to visit her club. Just that it really wasn’t the place you could easily get into without knowing at least three people. You knew one, and she complained about so much it’d be rude to ask if she could introduce you to two others.

Only once you’ve come close to the club. Only because you saw her car in the alley between buildings. It wasn’t an area you usually go to; just this side of rich and the other side of shady. You didn’t even know it was a club until this bigger dude started marching out.

“What are you doing?” He demands, arms open either for effect or an invitation to fight.

In his defense you were leaning against the hood of Dinah’s car. Phone up over your head for a selfie to send to bae. It was probably just instinct that he started yelling. Not that he was worried about your butt adding another dent to it.

“It’s my, I mean, it’s not mine but it’s my…Sorry! Sorry!” Defense mode was activated within you.

It was a quick slide off of the car. Both hands up with the phone like you were being threatened with a gun. The threat coming at you was probably just as dangerous. Walking forward faster than you could step back. It was nice to think that you would have yelled back when he got to close. Balled up your fists and scream back an explanation that would make him back down. Instead you just kept trying to explain yourself in a small voice while walking backwards.

“No, what the fuck are you doing?!” he shouts again.

If it weren’t for your woman walking out of the door you might have just turned tail and ran. Instead you stay and watch, hands still up as she runs around the man to be in front of him.

“Hey, no, NO!” She yells back at him. The same way one might try to scare away a dog. “Chet, cool it.”

“You wanna tell Mr. Sionis his car is dented because of some chick’s ass?” He demands, his voice much calmer then when he was yelling at you.

“That’s my car, dumbass. And that’s my girl on my car, making my dent. Not yours, not his, mine.” She emphasizes this by pointing at the car, pointing at you, pointing at herself and then back to the car.

The security guard, seemed to be named Chet, shut up after that. After a few seconds Dinah seemed to be satisfied with his submission.

“Let’s go,” She says, this time to you.

“That was really hot,” Only thing you can think to say after driving from the alley and immediately meeting traffic. Dinah tried to hide her smile but wasn’t really doing a good job of it.

You’ve both been riding the high of that conversation for days now. Dinah walking around just a little more puffed than usual, while you pretend not to notice and admire.

That high rode you right into the next weekend. Where you know better than to try and text Dinah while she’s at work. As, not only will she not respond, she won’t let you know that she got home safe. Only to apologize the next morning for leaving you worried. It was something but not the same of immediate notification. So, your phone is kept muted, but not silence.

A little sound takes you from the bottomless pit of the television.

It was a small message from an unknown number. ‘Congratulations on your invite to the Black Mask club. Show this text with the message at the door.’

It’s habit to text this to unknown numbers by this point: ‘You have the wrong person, sorry’

Few seconds later: ‘You’re the singer’s girl, right? Dinah’s?’

‘My girlfriend is Dinah and she sings so, maybe?’

‘Show this message and number at the door. We’ll see you at ten.’

With nothing else to do you gave no response saying you couldn’t make it. Instead spending the next hours playing through your clothes and make up. Rules for clubs have always been weird; what counts as too slutty and what’s too prudish? Are high waisted pants in enough to be acceptable at clubs? How does eye-shadow work? All questions that had to be answered right now.

Taking your best guess with a black cocktail dress and matching dress jacket. The only color that would come with the outfit would be your blue flats and same color eye-shadow. It wasn’t the most “Look at me!” outfit but it was enough to at best blend in.

Or, so you thought until you got there. Everyone was dressed to show off and dance: sparkles and high heels on the women, dark colors and loose ties on the men. These bits of description jumped genders several times, only making you stand out like a mourning widow.

Nothing screamed this more than how the bouncer looked at you. Asking for you name without even holding the clipboard, your fate already decided before a trial could take place.

“I was invited,” Your phone is held up to his face.

Against every instinct you let him take the phone. Looking at the few messages, glancing up at you, looking back to the phone, and then up to you again. Making a scoff noise he hands it back, lifting the clipboard and writing something down.

“Go ahead in,” He says.

Music inside the club was like hitting a wall of vibrations. It was just the beginning of the night; the electric music was meant to get everyone hype. Make them forget that the world outside ever existed and the only thing that mattered were drinks and good times.

You weren’t there for either of those things. A woman was dancing on stage, but it wasn’t Dinah. If she was one of the performers it was likely she would be somewhere in the back getting ready. Since you were at her work and it didn’t seem she was really working, would it too far to text and let her know?

Steeling yourself for when a gamble goes wrong you type out a text.

‘Guess who got into the club? Can’t wait to see you!’

It’s selfish to assume that she would respond right away. She was at work and had more important things to focus on then hanging around her phone for you. Even so you stared at the screen for a few seconds longer then was healthy.

Before you can let out the “oops!” the man you run into catches both of your biceps. It was your fault for not paying attention when turning around.

Just like any upstanding woman outside of her element you just make it worse with your reaction to his face. At first glance he’s not ugly, blonde hair and mouth that would easily become a crooked smile, but there were scars. The most prominent of which was a line going across his throat. After seeing that the rest almost screamed at you to pay attention.

“I-I’m-Excuse me, I didn’t see you.” You said, trying to remember what manners you could.

It’s hard to say whether he was going to respond to you or not. Shrugging your arms up and away from him to escape. It was because of how loose he was holding you that it was possible. Not even making it two steps before finding another man to run into.

“And who do we have here?” This man was cleaner cut then the first. Brown hair with the slightest hint of gel.  

Dinah has complained about the big boss so many times you could probably give his description to the police. Even with all that what gave Roman Sionis away were the clothes. Red and black coat made from some animal that probably doesn’t exist anymore. Sunglasses that probably can’t keep away the sun but still cost more then your rent.

Your name comes out in an attempt to sound confident. Lifting your hand like a business meeting.

He makes a little gasp. “You’re my song-bird’s darling, aren’t you?” He asks.

It takes longer then a second to understand who he was talking about. When it finally clicks you nod, “yeah, Dinah sings here. She’s your singer.” Smart enough to correct yourself but dumb enough to not find an exit to the conversation.

Practically brushing your hand aside, he immediately goes for your face.

“Now, you are adorable.” He looks over your shoulder to someone behind you. “She is adorable. Go get Dinah, let’s make this an event.”

His smile only slightly falters when he looks at the rest of you. Hands open like he was trying to understand an abstract painting. But, like most abstract paintings he didn’t like, he refused to understand it. Instead choosing to remove the offending parts.

“Ew, what is this?” He asks, holding the collar of your jacket with one hand. The other gesturing to it as if the crowd were watching too.

Before you could explain that it was a jacket he was already shaking his head slightly. “No, take it off, it’s awful, take it off now.”

It’s wasn’t that big of a deal to remove the jacket. You were in a sweaty club anyway; a jacket didn’t really make sense here. After getting out of the jacket it was immediately pulled away from your hands. Roman almost throwing it onto one of the passing ladies with drinks. She stumbled slightly but kept her footing after the fabric assault.

“Get rid of this, burn the fucking thing,” He says to her with a wave of his hand. Looking back at you. “Now, tell what do you think of my place?”

All this took place in the center of the club. Like a rock in a river everyone just moved around Roman. Somehow managing to sober up just enough to avoid bumping into him. Just to return to their natural state of happy and tipsy when they get past.

“It’s really cool. The art and everything is intense, in a good way, you know?” How do you make conversation with someone who took your jacket and wants feedback on a club you just learned about.

The answer, as it would seem, is for his arm to go around your shoulders. Pointing towards the nearest statue, and gesturing “The artist, lovely woman I got away from my parents, created these for me. These were the last sculptures she ever did.”

“Now that’s impressive, is she enjoying retirement?” You ask.

“Oh no, she’s dead. And here’s your golden throated girl.” He says, giving a sweeping gesture towards the incoming Dinah.

You’re familiar with Dinah’s emotions more then anybody. You’ve seen her angry, confident, have caught her trying to lie more then once, and you’ve seen her scared. This was the first that you’ve her scared while trying to cover it with a lie.

Although starting the conversation off with a “Hey, Dinah,” you were completely barricaded from the conversation happening around you.

“Hey,” She repeats, not looking for an answer and looking to Roman instead.

Dinah was pulled away before she could finish getting ready. Her eyes and cheeks were done but the lips were bare. She was wrapped in a robe brought from home instead of the clothes she left in or the dress for performance. After hearing your name coming from anyone here, especially Victor Zsasz’s, modesty be damned.

“I hope you don’t mind. When Chad-.”

“Chet,” The man you ran into seemed to whisper.

“Whatever. When Chad told me about how fired up you got I just had to meet the girl behind it.” Roman’s hand goes to your face. “And, I must say, I can understand why. Why haven’t you ever brought her around?”

Dinah shrugs, mentally sending you the message to “bite him”.

“We’ve just been so busy. Didn’t want to bring in a distraction.” She says.

It was a subtle movement Dinah was working on. Taking small steps towards you while still looking at Roman. After noticing whatever Roman is saying means nothing, just taking Dinah’s hand when she reached for it.

“She won’t be a distraction; she’ll be in my booth.” Roman says. Using his free hand to take hold of Dinah’s shoulder. “Now you need to go and finish getting ready. We’ll be watching, together.”

0-0-0

It was fun to imagine what Roman was like as a kid. Did he demand this much attention as a middle-schooler, or did it start towards the end of high school? Imaging that jacket and those mannerism on a teen almost helped the situation. Then you’d look too far over his shoulder, see the man affectionately referred to as ‘Mr. Zsasz’, and it wasn’t fun anymore.

“And you’re all set? Anything to drink? Anything at all, at all.” Roman asks. And when you reply that, no, you’re not thirsty. He smiled, almost laughed. “You don’t drink here because you’re thirsty. You drink here because it’s fun. Shots, over here, shots for all!” Just as he had summoned the waitress with a snap he summoned applause with words.

It’s very doubtful that he created these powers while in middle-school.

Dinah had yet to make an appearance onstage. Sticking to the electric, thumping, music that pulsed and got people moving. Sometimes someone would come out to dance between the decorative hands onstage. More as something people could following along to rather than the entertainment itself. Even with the dancers the large hands were the only thing worth looking at on the stage. Were they made by the same sculptor as the other or some other dead artist?

Clicking on the table, that is somehow louder than the music, that brings you back. Two shots, neon blue and green, set between the two of you. Without even acknowledging the waitresses delivering them Roman takes one in each hand. Holding the blue one to you and keeping the green for himself.

“To new friends,” he says, holding it up.

“To new friends, and your amazing club,” You add in.

He places a hand dramatically against his chest at your compliment.

“Salute!” He says as you clink the glasses.

What exactly you were drinking is hard to say. But it was strong and left a coated feeling in your mouth after drinking it. Probably not used to the intense taste of alcohol you started coughing as soon as it all went down.

A gloved hand lightly pats your back. “You’re so fucking pure,” He says, twirling the shot glass he hadn’t taken. “I can see why your girl wants you to herself so badly.”

It was only a few more seconds of your coughing before said girl came on stage. You’ve never seen that particular dress in her wardrobe before. It looked too complicated, with such a niche style, to be something she’d wear on a regular night out. Yellow underclothes that could be confused as a bathing suit, and a long ‘dress’ that showed every bit of skin that could be showed.

From your position in the booth it was hard to tell if her stance was due to fear of tripping over the ‘dress’ or the thinly hidden rage she was pointing your way. Either way her legs stayed shoulder width apart, holding the microphone and starting to sing.

Her voice was so much better with a proper sound system and no obstructing water. Power in her eyes matched the strength in her voice. The song you knew, not enough to sing along to, but enough that you could hum the melody for days to come.

The song wasn’t one that you could dance or exactly sway to. Best described as intense background music.

It took a second to escape the trance Dinah had made to realize that your host had made his exit. Apparently famous for both his loud entrance and Irish goodbye, Roman had made his way into the club. Leaving you in a too large booth and Mr. Zsasz who was probably there to make sure you didn’t leave.

Although Zsasz’s body was leaning on the support towards you, his head was turned towards Roman. Not outright staring, but more of a long glance that didn’t end.

Dinah’s singing was, in fact, background music. Specifically background music for Roman to make some rounds about his club. Watching him with each table or specific person was different then the few steps between them. Those few steps his face would fall, just slightly, and then return to a smile that was becoming less charming the longer you stared at it.

Coming back to yourself you made the mistake of looking about the room. Landing on Mr. Zsasz who was now staring right at you. It’s not that was glaring or showing any emotion outside of slight curiosity. It’s that he let the eye contact last just this side of too long before smiling.

It was like a bite. Snapping your focus away and back to Dinah on stage. Someone else who was staring right at you, but which caused a feeling of love instead of teeth filled fear.

You’re searching for safety in your girl’s voice. Moving about the stage in sways that move her dress and braids in barely dancing. Focused entirely on you, hitting the high notes. Her eyes only close to keep the song going long, holding the notes that make you sigh.

“She is absolutely fantastic,” Roman says, a firm hand landing on your shoulder. “With those pipes. It’s quite selfish of you to keep her all to yourself. Why were you being so greedy?”

“I-I didn’t know she was so good. I didn’t really hear her sing as much as she does for you.” His hand is still on your shoulder, holding on this side of too tight. “I think she likes to save her voice for your club. Save it for you.”

His grip holds for a second. Looking over his glasses at you like an annoyed librarian. Then the grip turns into a pat on the same spot. “You’re forgiven for being so spoiled. It’d be a fucking shame if you had tried to keep her all to yourself.”

The song is ending, and Dinah is staring right back at you. Specifically towards Roman. Holding the microphone pole like a lifeline, her voice cracking at one point before recovering. Her eyes close again, trying to strive to make a good finish.

The song in its entirety was hypnotizing. If it weren’t for your host pulling you from the song you might not have even noticed it ended. Even so you are still staring will a lulled smile on your face when the song dies down. Only coming back when that same host start open handed clapping, rising the rest of the club to do the same.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” he announces. Grabbing your shoulder once more. “Isn’t she fantastic?”

You didn’t have to pretend to agree with him. Smiling brightly at your woman as she tries to match the enthusiasm.

“Would you like to hear another one?” Roman asks the crowd, you included. When the club cheers he takes that as the answer. “Sing us another song, birdy. Come on, let’s hear another!”

Although never said it was obvious this wasn’t an option. Taking another look into your eyes she focused back on the microphone. Taking a breath and starting to sing once again. This time she dared to take her eyes from you, instead following Roman through the club.

The cycle of song, cheer and another goes on two more times. Roman disappearing into the crowd and coming back just long enough to demand another.

In that time Dinah’s singing had changed to something that was beginning to shake the building. A low rumble that was brushed away as vibrations from the speakers. It shook and messed with your table. The empty shot in front of you was starting to click against the table. Enough so that you began toying with it.

“Another for the guest of honor.” Roman says, another shot of neon color placed in front of you.

Before accepting or rejecting the drink it was almost snatched from the table. Dinah hitting it back with a following fit of coughing. Dinah was tough but whatever was in the shot was something serious and would affect most.

“That was pretty fucking rude,” Roman says but with a smile.

It felt like a secondary race to Dinah’s side. Roman won the race, only getting there first because Mr. Zsasz had cheated. His arm coming around you the moment you escaped from the booth. He gave you that biting smile again when you looked up at him. Snapping you to look at Dinah. Your girl was just as trapped as you were. Roman holding an arm around her shoulder, smiling that didn’t reach his eyes just yet.

“It was so great to meet you,” He says free hand extending towards you.

Thinking he was going for a handshake you matched it. A sudden pull almost tripping you into him. Now trapped under his arm, matching your woman who wasn’t looking away from Roman’s face.

“Little bird, you can’t keep her all to yourself anymore.” He says to Dinah. “Especially now that I know all about her.”

[cassiecasyl]

Let It Snow

Guess who decided to write a whumptober fic at the end of 2020? 

prompt: hypothermia tw: suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced self-harm (slightly), dying character, alcoholism, Peter’s death in iw, snow read on ao3!

Tony didn’t know how he ended up here, with his broken armor next to him, and his body shivering uncontrollably. He was laying on the ground in little more than a t-shirt, accessing how the ground felt against his skin, blinking at the lack of results. There should’ve been something, right? But, he felt numb, save for the familiar warmth that had settled in his bones. It was he’d sworn off though it carried him through decades of his life. Why did he do that? Ah, yes, he wanted to experience life to be more than a blur of shaky memories. This moment though, this had to be a blur.

His body was yearning, no, screaming for warmth that escaped him in little clouds with every breath, but his heart was already frozen. Why was he alive? He let everyone down, most of all Peter, who turned to ashes in his fingers…. He heaved a sob and tears burned in his eyes, taking off into the night with more of his warmth. He didn’t deserve it anyway. It belonged somewhere else, far away from his body, somebody else who was unreachable. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, recounting last words. 

The dark sky was filled with little lights, each of them something that would’ve lit up Peter’s eyes in wonder and excitement, each of them becoming a nightmare because he got to close. He should’ve never involved the kid, should’ve stayed far away, didn’t he learn anything? He was a time bomb to those around him and they had every right to leave. 

The stars moved, slowly swaying in the wind and dancing down to earth. Only then did Tony realize that they were ashes, surrounding him in their innocence, moving to bury him under a soft blanket of death, and turning to tears every time they touched his skin. It was cold, and he wanted to sleep, but everytime he closed his eyes he was back on that damn planet. He should’ve died there. Everyone else did, so why couldn’t he? 

Finally, the icy burn of frozen tears on his cheeks registered and Tony sighed. His thoughts slouched to a halt, struggling to move in the snow. Jarvis had left him to go to sleep, or was that tonight? Nobody was there to keep him company, only sneaky snowflakes and a sky as dark as his brooding mind. Tony smiled. 

And since we've no place to go Let it snow, let it show, let it snow

He mused, content to darken his sight further by letting go. The song weaved through the winds, singing him to sleep, saying a farewell. It was time to go, the end credits were already rolling. Tony’s eyes slipped close, greeting the ones he lost, he failed. His arms itched to hold them close, or maybe it was losing life. Either way, he paid it no attention. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Stay awake, please,” a voice whispered that sounded suspiciously like Peter, but it was faded, ghostly, not there. Tony choked on a sob, feeling all air leaving his battered body. 

“I love you, Pete,” he answered, new tears adding to the icy coating on his cheeks. He couldn’t always be the one to survive. 

The fire is slowly dying And, my dear, we're still good-bying But as long as you love me so Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

~~~

Agony curses through his body as Tony wakes up, pestering him with the feeling of ants in his limbs, and fire burning around him. It was a weird contrast, his cold body enraptured in stinging warmth. It was okay though, even comfortable after some time. Though laced with pain, the warmth was nice. 

Slowly, he becomes aware of the shuffling in the room, of people talking, of closing doors. Leaving. They were leaving, and he panics again, begging, pleading, don’t leave me. All that exites his mouth is a low groan and he nuzzles deeper into the blanket in shame. They have the right to leave, he reminds himself, and it leads to another question, one pondered over during countless nights: why is he still alive? 

“Tony?” That’s him. Someone came back for him. Tony blinks his eyes open, groaning at the blinding light, trying not to slip away again. Everything is hazy and unfocused, weird blobs of colors. He closes his eyes again in frustration. Shut it off and on again, he thinks, but no chuckle erupts. His vision is still blurry, but there’s a dark face in it now and he knows this. 

“Rhodey?” he croaks, throat unbearably dry from the mix of cold and warm and from tears. Tony frowns. He remembers tears, but he doesn’t know why. 

“Welcome back, Tones,” Rhodey replies, somehow managing to smile to sound snarky at the same time. Tony smiles, finding the relief in his friend’s snark. His surroundings are clearer now and he looks around. He recognizes the sanitary white of the medbay that always left an ugly aftertaste in his throat. 

“What happened?” 

Rhodey musters him before he answers with a question himself: “How much do you remember?” 

Tony frowns, working against his aching, still frozen mind, but all that comes up is a snowy blur. He sighs. Somewhere along the line he’s lost his regret but it has found him again. “Snow,” he provides. 

If anything, it only strengthens Rhodey’s disapproving face, the relief of his survival already replaced with the anger about what he did. Because he fucked up again, didn’t he? Rhodey has had to deal with his escapades far too often. How he’s still staying around is beyond Tony. 

“Well, you’d gone on a bender and when I tried to talk some sense into you, because one of us has to be the responsible one, you’d up and snatched the nearest armor and flew away. You’re one lucky bastard we could figure out your coordinates from your flight pattern after you crashed.” Tony nods, staring at the blanket that keeps him warm, alive. He is alive. There’s no cheer inside him. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, to nobody in particular, or maybe he’s trapped in memory again. The kid woudn’t want him to go like that. If he did, his death would be for nothing, and that’d betray everything he stood for. When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen? They happen because of you. Peter’s death is on his conscience. 

“Tony?” Rhodey asks again, and Tony looks up, snapping for air as he raises above the thoughts that want to drown him. “I’m glad you’re here.” He blinks at the words, so unexpected. Maybe, if he can’t find the cheer within him he has to look outside. And maybe he couldn’t save Peter, but he could make damn sure he’ll avenge him. Thanos had it coming, however heavy the trauma is he put on him. Whatever it takes. For the kid, he thinks.

taglist: @starrynightdeancas @whumptober2020

[yakumtsaki]

I taste just like ice cream, bitch I am so icy, heart cold like an ice queen, that's why they don't like me 🎵

-What the hell was that.

Traditionally I start Union updates with semi-relevant song lyrics.

-Why did you start an update at all.

Because it’s time, Shajar! I took a holy oath in my 2020 simming goals post to update Unions once a month, and I’m already a month late.

-But nothing interesting is happening. 

That’s never stopped me before. Now listen to Rico Nasty, cry some more about Sophie blowing you off, and shut up.

-Ugh please, I couldn’t be more over Sonia if I tried. I hardly ever texted her links to wedding pinterest boards and quizzes to determine if our parenting styles are compatible. 

Did she ever reply? 

-She did once and said ‘who dis’. Of course the letters unscrambled spell out ‘do wish’, meaning she did wish me to keep messaging her. I just don’t know where it all went wrong. 

-Hey there, 17 year old girl, maybe you’ve had enough neat whiskey for the night? We’re actually running out of bottles. 

-Beat it, ponytail, I need to dull my pain. I’ve just been stabbed right in the gut by the love of my life. Just like my style idol and general role model, space opera fascist Kylo Ren.

Shaj I really hate seeing you like this, and not just because the red neon light is super unflattering on your complexion.

-You can fuck right off too, I was perfectly happy with my dads who hate me and my imbecile sister and my brother who might as well not exist, noogie-ing people all day AND night long, but you had to be all ‘OMG IT’S SOPHIE MIGUEL SHAJAR GO TALK TO HER’. Life-ruining-moron. 

But I was totally right about you two hitting it off, I mean look how sad you are now that she dumped- yea never mind, that’s not a good argument.

-Look what I can do even though I’ve had 46 whiskeys!! How you like me now, Sophie???

-You’re paying for all these broken glasses, I’m going to need your name and a credit card.

-Yes, fair enough, my name is Cyneswith Union-

-I LOOK GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT

Yea, you really should eat something to soak up all the alcohol. And not to kick you when you’re down, but you should also disregard all those cliches about ~a smile being the most beautiful thing you can wear~ because MAN. Watch out Joaquin, there’s a new Joker on the prowl. 

-So.. 20 lobsters thermidor and our most expensive appetizers?

-Aha.

-Would you mind settling your bill now?

-Of course not! My name is Cyneswith Union and this is the credit card my parents got me when I was 6 because we’re super duper best friends! I love my parents! They don’t care about their other daughter at all, even when their other daughter is going through a really hard time because she got the emotional equivalent of a lightsaber wound in the gut. You know what, let me also get 20 bottles of your most overpriced champagne to go with the lobsters.

Feeling better?

-Well it’s hard to feel bad when you’re spending your parents’ money recklessly and with malice aforethought.

It sure is. Alright well, the sun is coming up, maybe we should head home.

-What’s the rush? What is going to happen if I don’t go home, my parents will get worried? LOL

God your life sucks. Ok let’s hit a couple more places.

-Greetings. Welcome to our establishment. I am a human employee from this planet.

Great, nice to meet you.

-I just want there to be no doubt that I am indeed an earthling, born and raised under the earth’s exosphere and not above it.

Leave us alone.

-And I’m the resident community lot sim with that one face template you hate! There must be one of us on every lot you visit!

-And I am here in my revealing outfit to use the dance sphere and make everyone uncomfortable!

You’re actually pretty, I need to keep you in mind for after Don Oates takes a wrecking ball to our genetics, but yea, let’s bounce, Shajar.

Time to visit the happiest place on earth, Deh'Javu Modern Art Museum, home to my favorite piece of art in any medium, The Toilet of Fire. Shove that Fountain up your ass, Duchamp. How we feeling, Shaj?

-This trash can reminds of Sophie :( She used to go around town throwing money she stole from charities in trash cans and then send them riddles for where to find them :(

Enough with Sophie, we’ll find you someone better! Like..

..your aunt! Get the hell out of here Brit Brit, you’re taking up townie space. 

-I won’t be long, Gunther’s amazing close-up portrait of my hair was rejected by the museum so I’m here to set this shithole on fire. 

In other words Gunther just painted a canvas black and called it a day?

-His art doesn’t cater to plebs. Yes, offense.

Our old friend Ugly Teen Townie is here so finally we can have some fun. Shajar had gone almost 12 hours(!) without noogieing someone and I was starting to worry for her health.

-Yes, yes, I’m starting to feel like myself again..

Good for you, Shaj!

-Hope you’ve made peace with your God, Ugly Teen Townie, this water balloon is filled with horse feces! 

-WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET HORSE SHIT

-I ordered it from some guy named Leod McGreggor.

-How about a another joke, MuRRAY?

-What?!

-Now you say, ‘no, I think we’ve had enough of your jokes’. Say it!

-No, I think we’ve had enough of your jokes.

-What do you get when you cross a mentally-ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash? Now you say ‘call the police, Gene!’

-Call the police, Gene!

-I'll tell you what you get..

-YOU GET WHAT YOU FUCKING DESERVE. HAHA oh man! Good stuff. 

Alright I’m starting to feel bad for Ugly Teen Townie, first he had to come to all the toddler birthday parties during the Victoria/Komei era and now this, he has suffered enough at this family’s hands. Time to go home, Shaj.

-Not so fast!

Wow, the Countess and Mrs. Crumplebottom on the same lot, top 10 anime crossovers.

-I have been sent here by the Limp Dick Vamps United organization to recruit Shajar Union.

Ugh you people are still around? Haven’t heard of you losers since the Count wouldn’t let Victoria bang him, which I’m still annoyed about. 

-Indeed we are, and it’s clear Shajar is ready to join us, dedicating her life to evil deeds without romantic distractions. I have no idea what Crumplebottom is doing here.

-I’m here to recruit Shajar to my own organization, Bitter Sims Worldwide Alliance. We’re always on the lookout for new members who want to spread their misery to their fellow Sim. 

It sounds like it’d be more effective if you guys just merged your organizations.

-I will NEVER merge my organization with someone who displays her bosom like a common whore. 

-Eat a dick, Crumplebottom!

-MAKE ME, FANGTOOTH

-Alright here I am, what the fuck do you want?

-Shajar, it is a pleasure to meet you! Ardent admirer of your work.

-What work, freakshow?

-Torturing everyone around you, what else!

-What? I don’t torture people around me, if anything they torture me.

-Why don’t you talk to me about it?

-I’d rather not, you look like a bejeweled snowman.

-Look deep into my eyes, Shajar..

-And now look deep into my razor sharp teeth..

-Ugh fine, let’s talk. 

-Is that Victoria and Komei’s teen granddaughter hanging out with a vampire?

Yes it is Kennedy, keep it moving.

-God, wtf is wrong with this family. 

Nothing now that you’ve been removed from our social circle, go away! Just kidding, you’re an icon and I’m marrying you in at some point. 

-Hard pass. 

Your loss, hombre. 

-It definitely isn’t.

-If I had known your turn on was vampires I would had set you two up!

STOP SETTING UP TEENS WITH ADULTS, LAKSHMI. And Shajar’s turn ons isn’t vampires, it’s fitness/fatness. Body positive queen. 

-Well, Shajar, you alphabetically listing all the people who have wronged you while I was trying to kill Crumplebottom telepathically has made for a very productive conversation. We’ll be in touch. 

-Thanks, Countess, it’s been real.

Shajar!!! Who cares about Sophie when you might bag a hot, rich vamp??

-Meh.

I’m gonna need you to be more excited about this prospect because a vampire spouse might just be enough of a draw to beat the comedic factor of fucking Don Oates turning us into an unintentional uglacy and I’m doing whatever I can to avoid my fate.

Ugh.

UGH

UGHHHHHHH

LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO VICTORIA

-GET FUCKED, BROKEN FACED WEIRDO

God I miss you Vic 💔

-Donnie-bear, not to be not-nice, but mopping your pee off my front lawn is not exactly what I pictured doing during this date.

This guy won’t even mop up his own piss, what a catch.

Wow, manipulative much?? You are a piss piece of work, Donaldo.

-Don’t think we forgot about you, you 10-nice-point disgrace!

-VICTOR NO

-GET THAT MOP READY

-Finally, some peace and quiet.. Just me, alone with my broken heart, pondering my hopeless, loveless future..

-💗💗💗OMG SIS THERE YOU ARE. DONNIE AND I MADE OUT!!! 💗💗💗 But then grandma’s ghost scared him into soiling himself. 

-Good for grandma, hopefully next time she gives him a stroke. Now shut up and let’s eat in silence while I ponder my hopeless, loveless future.

-Okie dokie! 💗💗💗

-Um, I think mine has vomit in it.

-Yea I did that, but it’s just whiskey and lobster, if anything it increased in value. 

-Awww thanks sis! 💗💗💗

-Stop patronizing me, you little bitch. God I want to poke your eye out with this chopstick so badly.

-I love you too Shaj! 💗💗💗

And I hate both of you. Where’s your brother, I haven’t paid attention to him in 3 days. 

-He went upstairs, I think he’s pusshurt we forgot his birthday LOL

IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY????

-Don’t feel bad, I forgot it too! 💗💗💗

GODDAMMIT. WULF! WULF WHERE ARE YOU

-I’m here, I just grew up and dare I say it could not have gone better! 

Really?? Finally some good news! Let me look upon you-

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

WULF WHAT THE FUCK

-I was Mozart musical genius boy but now I’m a sk8ter boi! Character development!

Ok this is the most iconic birthday look since Gunther grew up in the pirate costume, we’re obviously keeping it. 

-Great! And as if the fact I’m a Wyatt face template with 0 Jojo genes wasn’t enough to make me unelectable, I also rolled family! :D I’m doing everything I can to ensure I live that sweet motherlode spare life! 

Honestly you should had picked another outfit cause now that you’re dressed like this I unironically want you to win. Hoisted with your own petard.

[fancifulwritings]

The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Six

     Her sleep, just like she had assumed, was dreamless. Calypso woke with a bit of a start, eyes flying open. Someone was touching her. And fuck, did it feel amazing. For a second, she wasn’t sure she was really awake. Perhaps it was just one of those dreams, those painfully vivid ones. The feeling of someone between her legs had her gasping softly. She looked down and saw the familiar blonde curls and just smirked.

     At first, it only seemed to add to the idea that this was a dream. A rather vivid and specific dream, but a dream nonetheless. It wasn’t until she felt a finger gently push into her that she moaned, realizing that it was very real.

     The events of the night before flashed quickly through her mind. How could she forget them? At the moment, though, Calypso didn’t have time to focus on them. Robert’s tongue was quite the distraction, tracing shapes around her clit. She moaned softly again, grasping at the curls. Her legs spread a bit more before coming to rest on his shoulders.

     She tugged a bit on his hair, forcing him closer as her hips rolled against him. In her half-asleep state, she didn’t have time to worry if she was being too needy. She just wanted. In response, Robert just hummed a little. It didn’t take her too long to finally feel the wave. This orgasm was much less intense than the others. She just moved slowly into it, riding the waves until she felt it was over.

     Just because it was less intense didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy herself. It was the perfect wake up call, really. Anything as intense as the night before so early would have wiped her for the day. Robert kissed his way back up her body, smirking as he did so.

     “Good morning my dear, I hope you didn’t mind,” he said as he propped himself up next to her. There was almost a youthful glow to his face and Calypso found herself mystified for a moment.

     “No, never,” she finally said with a chuckle before leaning up to kiss him. “What time is it?” She asked, rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes.

     “Right around eight.”

     “And why are you up so early?”

     “Sleeping in gets harder the older you get,” he chuckled. “I might still be on the 70s rock star schedule, but my body says I’m a grandfather who needs to water the garden.”

     She laughed as well, turning to face him as she propped herself up on her elbow. “I suppose this is where we part ways, no?” Robert just chuckled.

     It saddened her, to think that this was all over. She was likely to never see him again. As much as she already treasured the short time together, she didn’t want it to end. She never wanted to leave the bed. Being so close to him? It was somehow grounding for Calypso. Part of her soul finally felt at peace, a part that hadn’t felt that for a very long time.

     “Only if you’ve got important places or people to see. I did promise you the 70s experience, didn’t I?” He said, one eyebrow tilting up. Calypso, in response, only cocked her head.  

     What else was there to the ‘true’ 70s experience? Had that not been what she experienced last night? And then again just now? The only thing she could think of was drugs. That couldn’t be something he was still into now, though. Surely he thought himself too old for such actions.

     “I can’t give you the most authentic, which would have been having you as one of my road girls.” Robert spoke as he pushed some hair out of her face. “Heaven knows you would have been one,” he said with a smile, “naturally, that is assuming you wouldn’t have mind minded.”

     How could she had minded? Her heart fluttered at the thought of more time spent with him, even if it was only in a fictional past. The way he talked suggested that they might just have a bit more time together.

     Before having met him, Robert had already stolen her heart. People said to never meet your heroes. They would only end up hurting you in the end. They could never live up to the person you created in your head. But Robert had. He had managed to live up to every expectation she had created so far, and perhaps even more.

     “And while I unfortunately can’t give you that experience, I can offer you a day of it, at the least. Perhaps the rest of your stay, if you’re here for long. If you so wouldn’t mind.”

     Calypso couldn’t help how wide her eyes grew. He was offering not just a few more hours with her, trapped in a hotel room, but a whole week. At least, that’s what the sounds of it was. As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t take the full offer. Not right away, at least.

     There was still a nagging part of her brain, at the very back, that she couldn’t push away. He would get sick of her, it said. Having an adoring fan around constantly would easily get annoying. As much as she wanted to say yes, she couldn’t put herself in that position. They’d be trapped together. Or, he’d just throw her out. It was a big offer for someone that had literally just met her. That part of her brain wanted to point out that he was only human as well.

     “I’ll take the offer of only a day, for now,” she said, her voice small as she leaned over to kiss him. A flash of disappointment ran across Robert’s face. The last thing she wanted to do was insult or hurt him. If she did that, then she wouldn’t even get her day. This memory was something she wanted to preserve as something good.

     “If after today you still want me around for the rest of the week, I’ll happily spend the it with you.” Robert chuckled a bit at that, the hurt slowly easing from his face.

     “I hardly doubt you’ll be able to weasel your way out of it.” He paused to kiss her forehead. “Only thing you could do is tell me that Jim’s actually your favorite.”

     “Competitive still, after all these years?” She shook her head. “Humor me, though. He nodded before he pressed another kiss to her forehead.

     “For you, I will.” Robert shifted a little on the bed so that he was sitting on the edge. “Come, let’s get dressed. There’s got to be some things you’d like to get from your hotel room as well, yeah?”

     She hurried to get dressed back into the outfit from the night before, now regretting how short her shorts were. The only difference now was that she was without underwear. There was no way in hell she would be putting those things back on. Robert just smirked as he watched her stuff her panties into her back pocket. From there, he called a car and they were off.

     This car trip was vastly different from the last two they had taken together. It was much shorter, to begin with. Her hotel was just around the corner from his, though hers was much cheaper. When they arrived, she demanded that he stay in the car. She spun some little white lie about not wanting to lose the car.

     In reality, Calypso was ashamed of where she was staying. Surely, just from the outside front of the hotel, he would be able to tell how cheap it was. The inside, though, truly gave away her price range. It had been the only one she could afford for the week she wanted to stay. Her fear was that it might drive him away. Nothing had been able to yet, but that fear was still there, at the back of her mind, digging itself a bit deeper.

     Gathering everything up into her single suitcase wasn’t hard. There wasn’t much in her hotel room, both from her and the hotel itself. This was done more as a precaution. If he still wanted her around, she wanted to be ready. The quicker she could get in and out, the better. If not, he would never know she had done it.

     From there, she changed into a simple sweatshirt and blue jeans. She’d been able to ignore the bitter cold the night before for the sake of the event. Today wasn’t like yesterday, though. Hopefully he wouldn’t think her too ugly now.

     She slipped back into the car, gone for barely half an hour. Her bag lay left in her room, right by the door. It was her way of getting hopeful. All she wanted was to spend time with Robert. Now that she had been granted a view into his world, he life, she wanted to drink it all in and stay as long as she could. Stay as long as she was permitted.

     Soon after, they abandoned the car. Everything Robert wished to show her would be easier to reach on foot. For the most part, he managed to steer them away from the tourist traps.

     For the most part, the tourist traps had been Calypso’s plan for day. She’d been hoping to at least get a chance to see a few of them. In her mind, when she planned this trip, it would be her only time to get to London, and probably England. What he wanted to do too precedence now.

     London would always be here, unless something went horrifically wrong. Hopefully, one day, she would be able to come back and afford a bit more than what she had now. Robert, on the other hand, offered the true once in a lifetime trip. This his birthplace. This was his home country. It was only natural that he would know best where to go and what to show her.

     The little places that seemed to be no more than holes in the wall was where he brought her. They were truly amazing. She couldn’t afford most of what they looked at. Thankfully, when they stopped for food or a drink, he paid without a second thought. These were places and restaurants that she never would have been able to find on her own.

     The best part of it, perhaps, was the stories he shared at each place. Every story didn’t have a definitive time; he never gave dates. It was like a tour of his past, of his history. There seemed to be no specific order. Some of the stories were more detailed than others. But, to watch him happily relieve bits and pieces of his past was something Calypso would have been all her money for.

     There was one shop that Robert stopped at for a moment that confused her. It seemed much too new for it to follow all the others. The clothing in the window was stunning, though. There was on dress in particular that truly caught her attention. It was made out of some soft-looking white fabric, with a floral pattern bathed in light blues and pinks.

     Robert noticed her stare, having looked at her more than the storefront. “Let’s go in,” he said as he squeezed her hand. She froze a little bit, looking up at him. There was no way she could actually go into this place. All the others she would weasel her way into without guilt because he was talking. Now he wasn’t. There was no need to buy something before. Now, it felt a bit different.

     “I don’t really have the budget for this,” she mumbled. She looked away from him, ashamed to mention anything related to money.

     “Doesn’t matter. That’s hardly the way to think anyways,” he chuckled. He pulled her into the store without another chance to refuse.

     At first, he headed toward the men’s section. That eased her anxiety just a bit. Perhaps he had meant that he was the one looking for something. She let out a sigh of relief. That relief, unfortunately, didn’t last too long as he turned toward the women’s section.

     There was no way she could convince herself now that this was only for him. He had hardly looked at anything, let alone picked anything up in the other section. He seemed to be walking straight toward the dresses. They all looked something straight from the 70s and she yearned to be able to afford just one.

     There was no way she ever could afford thinking about owning one, though. She spotted a tag on one of the men’s shirts and it had been nearly all her spending money for the week. The dresses, she assumed, could only be much more.

     “Pick out a few and try them on for me,” he said with a sideways grin. Once again, she just froze.

     “Robert, I really, I don’t have that kind of money,” she mumbled as she looked down. Robert just shook his head and made a soft tutting sound before guiding her face up with a finger under her chin.

     “That hardly matters. It’s on me, babe. Today’s all on me,” he said as he nudged her toward the rack. “Now, go. I’ll be waiting by the dressing room.”

     For a second, Calypso thought that this was perhaps a cover for a quick fuck. But, he wasn’t that young anymore. Getting caught would ruin his life much more now than before. That, and he sounded stuck on the idea of her getting something. She let out a sigh as she moved to the racks.

     It only took her a few minutes to glance over everything. She picked up a few dresses, including the one from the window. It was the most expensive one, so she doubted she would be getting it. But, something told her that Robert would be disappointed if she didn’t at least try it on.

     She went on trying them on, coming out of the dressing room to show him what each looked like. It hit her then that he really was willing to spend an insane amount of money on her. This wasn’t some sly attempt at sex. Robert didn’t even attempt to get in the dressing room.

When it came to that dress, the one from the window, he couldn’t help himself though. His hands were all over her the second she walked out in it. He pulled her close. “You look lovely in this. At least allow me the pleasure to buy you it?”

Even to herself, Calypso had to admit that it did look the best. It fit her perfectly, a beautiful mixture of tight and flowy. The white color, and the pastel blues and pinks, played off her tanned skin. Robert had a certain look in his eyes that she didn’t dare defy. Calypso knew she would have to allow him to get it for her.

Check out was a bit uncomfortable for her, to say the least. The man behind the counter looked between then with this odd, almost knowing look. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him at all, let alone in the eye. Robert, on the other hand, just smirked and pulled her a bit tighter. Something told her he was used to those sort of looks.

“Come this way, I’ve got a place that I think you’re gonna love,” he said as he pulled her down some side alley. She wasn’t too sure she liked the sounds of that. That was, until they stopped at some hole in the wall record store. Her eyes grew to about twice their normal size and he grinned.

“I’m already in love,” she said with a smile as they walked in. The looks of the place gave its age away. Not that she minded. If she hadn’t figured it out from the store itself, there was a certain grace Robert now had in his steps that would have given it away.

Calypso could almost imagine him here as a young man, all those years ago. Filled with hope for the world and without the weight of life he held now. A young man who had just started in an unknown band that would soon be the talks of the world for decades to come.

The idea played beautiful in her head, a young Robert prancing around the store trying to find whatever record he needed in the moment. She was ripped from her daydream as he pulled her toward the blues section. His grip on her hand loosened just a bit. “You can go look elsewhere, if you want. Leave an old man to his fun. Just, no Zeppelin,” he teased with a smile.

“I wouldn’t judge so fast,” she teased with a smile. “I was planning on going digging tomorrow. Today works just as well. There’s a single that I’ve been searching for forever. I bet if I’m ever gonna find it, it’s gonna be right here.”

There was a bit of surprise on his face as his lips tugged into a smile. “Well, then show me up girl,” he said.

Calypso just rolled her eyes as she laughed before digging right into an old thing of 45s. There was a ton of stuff that she would have loved to grab. Her collection, at the moment, was pretty small. Nothing she had was super hard to find, or super expensive.

The only thing really keeping her from grabbing everything was that she had to get it home. Not a whole lot would fit in her luggage, especially records. At the beginning of the trip, she had promised herself one thing. If she found the one specific single, it was all that she would get. Anything else just wouldn’t do.

Just as she was about to give up on looking for it, she found it hidden stuck behind another. It didn’t look the best, clearly having seen better days. But, to her, the old copy of “Milk Cow Blues” was beautiful. God, she had grown up on that song. She grinned from ear to ear as she pulled it out.

“Now, how does someone like you get into someone like that?” He asked as he turned to look at her.

“My mom used to play it all the time when I was little. I lost the copy years ago and I’ve been searching ever since.”

He gathered up the few records and things he had picked up for himself. “Well, let me be the one to reunite you with it. Perhaps show you some more stuff, of his and a few others I’d bargain you like, back at my country house,” he said. His hand was extended to take the 45 from her.

This wasn’t one thing she was going to let up on. She intended to stand her ground. “If that’s an invitation, then yes. But, on one condition.”

“Lay it on me babe.”

“You let me buy this on my own.” She had a wild look in her eye, one that said he better not push this. Robert couldn’t help but chuckle after she spoke.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I accept.”