#so maybe that's what I'll do this afternoon

[trueebeauty]

It's a regular afternoon at U.A., and you're in the training grounds with your boyfriend, the one and only Bakugo Katsuki. He's been working on a new move, all explosive power and razor-sharp precision. You, on the other hand, have been practicing your own quirk, pushing your limits.

Maybe you pushed a little too hard.

"Shit!" you hiss as your quirk backfires. A sharp pain lances up your arm, and you look down to see a nasty cut, blood welling up in crimson beads.

Bakugo's head snaps around at your curse. His crimson eyes widen a fraction - to anyone else, it would be imperceptible, but you know him well enough to see the flash of concern. "Oi!" he barks, stomping over. "The hell did you do?"

You wince, both at the pain and his volume. "Pushed too hard, I guess."

He scowls, but it's his worried scowl, not his angry one. Roughly gentle, he takes your arm, inspecting the cut. "Tch. Dumbass. You're supposed to go beyond your limits, not break yourself."

The cut stings, and honestly, you're feeling a bit shaken. Training accidents happen, but still...

"It's just a scratch," you say, trying for nonchalance.

Bakugo snorts. "That's not a fucking scratch, you idiot." But his touch is gentle as he takes your arm, inspecting the wound. "Recovery Girl's gonna have a field day with this."

You wince, not just from the pain but at the thought of another lecture on caution. Bakugo notices - of course he does, he notices everything about you - and his scowl deepens.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging you up. "Let's get this cleaned up before you bleed all over the damn place."

“Recovery Girl's probably busy with the other extras. I've got a first aid kit in my room."

You nod, letting him lead you back to the dorms. His grip on your good hand is firm, grounding. This is Bakugo's way of comfort - not soft words, but solid presence.

In his room, he sits you on his bed and kneels in front of you. The first aid kit appears from a drawer, and he gets to work.

"Stay still," Bakugo grunts, rummaging through the kit. "And don't bleed on my sheets."

You snort. "Sorry, I'll try to control my involuntary bodily functions."

"Tch. Smartass." But there's a twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile.

He pulls out an antiseptic wipe, tearing the packet open with his teeth. "This'll sting," he warns, his rough voice softening.

"I can handle it," you say bravely. But when the antiseptic touches your wound, you can't help but hiss. "Ow!"

"Crybaby," Bakugo mutters. But his movements slow, his touch becoming feather-light. "Thought you could handle it?"

"Shut up," you grumble, but there's no heat in it. You're too busy marveling at how gentle he's being.

His hands, so destructive in battle, are surprisingly deft as he cleans every inch of the cut. You watch him work, mesmerized by the contrast. These hands that can level buildings are now treating you like you're made of glass.

"What?" he asks, noticing your stare.

"Nothing," you murmur. "Just... you're good at this."

He shrugs, but you catch the pleased glint in his eyes. "Can't have my boyfriend bleeding out because they can't dress a damn wound."

"Your boyfriend, huh?" you tease. It's still new, this thing between you, and every time he acknowledges it, your heart skips.

Bakugo's cheeks dust pink. "Don't," he growls, but there's no bite. He's too focused on wrapping your arm in a clean bandage.

"Not too tight?" he asks, voice gruff but eyes soft.

You flex your fingers. "It's perfect. Thanks, Katsuki."

He nods, sitting back on his heels. His thumb brushes over the bandage, a touch so light you almost think you imagined it. But then he looks up at you, and the raw emotion in his crimson eyes steals your breath.

"Don't do that again," he says quietly. "Getting hurt. It's... it pisses me off."

You understand what he's not saying. In Bakugo-speak, 'it pisses me off' means 'it scares me'. You reach out with your good hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into it, just a fraction.

"I'll be more careful," you promise. "Can't have the great Katsuki Bakugo worrying about little old me, right?"

"Damn right," he mutters, but he's leaning in now, forehead resting against your knee. It's as close to vulnerable as Bakugo gets.

You card your fingers through his spiky hair, marveling at how soft it is. For a moment, the world shrinks to just this: you and Bakugo, his hands now resting gently on your thighs.

"Hey, Katsuki?" you whisper.

He grunts in response, not moving.

You hold out your newly bandaged arm. "Kiss it better?"

Bakugo freezes. He looks up at you, one ash-blond eyebrow arching high. "That's not my fucking quirk," he says, voice dry as the desert.

But you see it - the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks, the way his eyes soften just a fraction. You've got him on the ropes, and you both know it.

"Please?" you whine, pouting for extra effect. "It really hurts, Kacchan."

He glares at you, but there's no real heat in it. "You're such a damn baby," he mutters. But he's already lifting your arm, his calloused fingers achingly gentle.

Bakugo brings your arm to his lips. He presses a kiss to the bandage, feather-light. Then another, and another, trailing up your arm. His lips are warm, a bit chapped from his quirk. Each kiss feels like a tiny spark, but the good kind, the kind that lights you up inside.

"There," he grunts, cheeks now definitely red. "Happy now?"

You hum contentedly, but you're not done yet. Leaning in, you whisper, "You know... I think I've got a scar on my lips too."

Bakugo's eyes widen, then narrow. "You little shit," he breathes, "You planned this, didn't you?"

"No," you admit, grinning. "But I want it."

He knows you're playing him, but oh, does he want to be played. "You're pushing it," he growls, but he's already leaning in.

"You love it," you whisper against his lips.

He doesn't deny it. Instead, he kisses you, and it's nothing like the gentle pecks on your arm. This is pure Bakugo - fierce, passionate, a little bit explosive. His hand cradles your face, thumb brushing your cheek, while the other pulls you against him.

When you part, you're both breathless. Bakugo rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. "You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, but there's no heat in it. Just a grudging acceptance that yes, he'd let you lead him anywhere.

You grin, nuzzling into his neck. "I love you too.”

He snorts, but his arms tighten around you. 

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

I'll Write Your Name Chapter 8

Roy Kent x Latina!Popstar!Reader

6.8k words

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking, slut-shaming and mentions of an age gap, me not knowing how making an album works and not letting it ruin my fun, judgey internet trolls being judgey, lots and lots of pining

“Can I come see you in the studio?”

I looked up from the Scrabble board to find Roy staring at me, that hard stare of his that often accompanied a long silence. Sydney was curled up in his lap, enjoying a nice ear massage while we played a quiet game. Somewhere in the background, a movie neither of us was paying any attention to was playing, filling the room with something more than our lack of conversation.

Something had felt different when we returned from the lake. Somewhere between our heated make out session and his weird indifference to being the subject of my song, something had shifted. It was probably just me, I conceded. It was me overthinking and worrying that Roy was going to figure out how I felt. If anything, I was probably starting to weird him out with my awkwardness.

“In the studio?” I repeated, cocking my head at him. “Is Keeley bugging you for pictures of something other than a Scrabble board?”

Roy smirked. “No,” he scoffed. “I was just thinking, you’ve seen me at work. A lot, actually. How about you let me see you at work, sunshine?”

My gaze fell back to the board, to the word wrinkle that Roy had just put down. The album was coming along well, I admitted to myself. In fact, the majority of the songs were brand new as opposed to reworked lyrics from my old albums. Not that Roy Kent needed to know, but he was apparently quite the muse. In the back of my mind, I knew he’d hear all of the songs eventually, but the little nervous part of me wasn’t quite ready for it- especially for him to hear them live in the studio.

And yet, those brown eyes had me murmuring, “Sure, Kent.”

He grinned- one of those real, joyful grins- and turned his attention back to the Scrabble board. “Maybe tomorrow?”

My mind raced, trying to remember what song we’d be recording; I couldn’t remember for the life of me. “Uh, yeah.” I fiddled with the ends of my hair, trying to offer Roy a casual smile. “Sounds fun.”

~

Roy leaned into the leather couch along the back wall. Did she always look this nervous when she was about to record- or was it because of him? No, he scolded himself, rolling his eyes at his wandering thoughts, the same ones that kept wandering to that afternoon at the lake, when she’d sat on his lap for the benefit of some paparazzi and kissed him hard enough to almost make him believe it.

Fuck off, he told himself as he crossed his arms. She was being forced to create an album that was supposedly about a man she wasn’t actually in love with; of course she looked uncomfortable. He’d be foolish to think it was anything else.

“You ready?” Her producer- a loud, lanky guy named Alex- spoke into the microphone that echoed into the recording booth.

She nodded, brushing her hair out of her face. Roy liked seeing her look so casual in a sweatshirt and minimal makeup; she was always stunning, whether dolled up, or in her Greyhounds gear, or in pyjamas. But this look- so comfortable and domestic- was his favorite by far. As if she could feel his soft gaze, her eyes flickered to him. He offered her a tiny smile, trying to tell her how excited he was to see her at work. She offered a shy grin in return and straightened up before returning her focus to her producer.

“Let’s do it,” came her confident voice.

The producer shot her a thumbs up and hit a few buttons, filling the studio with a dreamy tune that immediately warmed every inch of Roy's body. She swayed a little, eyes closed, feeling the music, before she opened her mouth and her eyes- eyes that went straight to Roy.

I feel so high school every time I look at you

I wanna find you in a crowd just to hide from you

Roy couldn’t help but crack a small grin. She’d mentioned at some point how people often said she sounded like a girl that never left high school behind- and now here she was, proudly proclaiming that yeah, she felt like that girl, at least sometimes. He was learning that not only was she fully aware of the things people said about her, not only did she not let it affect her, but she could lean into and make fun of herself. There was something charming and, frankly, kind of sexy about it.

And in a blink of a crinkling eye

I'm sinking, our fingers entwined

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights

Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

I'll drink what you think, and I'm high

From smoking your jokes all damn night

The brink of a wrinkle in time

Bittersweet sixteen suddenly

The warmth in Roy’s chest became more of a burning when he heard the words wrinkle in time. The book he’d read on their holiday, one of his favorite books, the one he’d admitted to having read countless times. She’d mentioned it in her song. Roy quickly shook off the excitement that tingled in his fingertips as he listened to her sing about American Pie and feeling like high school; she was adding in details about him, he reasoned. She had to make it seem like these songs were about him, after all. Of course she’d sprinkle in real details so people wouldn’t be able to guess that the songs were about other men, real romances she’d had.

It was all part of the act.

Still, he couldn’t help but grin when she sang about him- or whoever the true subject of the song was- knowing how to ball while she knows Aristotle. It was cute, silly, the words of an infatuated young woman. Lucky man, some tiny voice in the back of Roy’s head thought as he tried not to feel a smidge of jealousy towards whoever had apparently pulled her into the backseat of a car.

“She’s great, ain’t she?”

Roy tore his eyes away from the singer to find her producer grinning at him. He nodded to the empty seat by the controls. Glancing back at the singer, Roy stood and took the new spot, closer to the glass that separated her from them.

Alex continued, “You must be something, Roy Kent. She’s a workaholic, that’s a known fact, but wow. She’s been nonstop these days. I’m getting phone calls and texts and voice memos at two in the morning with nearly completed songs.” He raised his eyebrows at Roy. “M’girlfriend’s starting to get worried,” he joked. Glancing back at the still-singing star, he went on, “But seriously. I’ve worked with her for years, and I’ve never seen her so inspired.” He nudged Roy. “Must be love,” he hummed.

The song finished, her voice soft and wistful and her eyes on Roy. She smiled at him, something that looked like a real smile on her face, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Roy couldn’t help but smile back, ignoring every tight feeling in his chest, those tight feelings that kept growing and growing no matter how much he fought them.

“Yeah,” he managed to huff. “Must be.”

~

 Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead scrolling through the hate and gossip that usually accompanied my name online. But for whatever reason, after a rehearsal for my tour, I couldn’t help the way my eyes stayed glued to my phone, to all the jokes and headlines declaring that Roy Kent was too old for me, that he was a senior citizen and I was a child.

“Must be a slow news cycle,” April chirped as she watched me stretch in front of the dance studio mirrors.

I sat my phone down so I could make myself focus on my cooldown. “It’s stupid,” I grumbled, sitting with my feet out in front of me. “It’s not like I’m sixteen and he’s thirty. I’m a full-grown woman. He’s got what, a decade on me?” I scowled at my reflection. “I write about my exes, they tell me to grow up. I date a nice, stable guy with a good job, and they tell me I’m a baby.” My deep sigh filled the empty dance studio. “It’s like I can’t do anything right.”

April’s face softened as she sat on the floor beside me. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she reminded me. “They always have something to say about you, babe.”  After a pause, her eyes sparkled. “So, you think Kent’s a nice guy, huh?”

I pretended my heart didn’t skip a beat as I rolled my eyes. “He’s a good friend,” I huffed. “And I hate to think that his own reputation is getting sullied by associating with me. Especially since-” The words caught in my throat before tumbling out. “-since none of this is real.”

“What about your reputation?” April asked quietly, watching me with those gentle eyes that I always hated being on the receiving end of, gentle eyes that were far too familiar.

“My reputation…” I sighed. “Let’s be real, it’s always going to have problems.” I laughed hollowly and picked my phone back up, resuming my scrolling. “But if I’m being really honest, April, if I was in a relationship- an actual relationship- as healthy as the one I’m pretending to be in, well all the shit they say might be worth-”

I froze as words began to bloom and swirl in my head. Ignoring April’s questioning look, I scrambled to my feet to hurry and grab a notebook before those words began to disappear. Lucky, I was able to start scribbling down my thoughts, thoughts that multiplied rather than vanish. My pen continued to fly as April chuckled and loaded me into her car, as she drove me home, as I sat in front of my piano all night. The pen was still moving the next morning as Roy followed April and me into the recording studio, where Alex greeted me with that familiar giant smile.

“You are not still fiddling with the lyrics. It's already perfect,” he scoffed. He shook Roy’s hand as though the two of them were old pals now. “Your girl kept me up all night with this new song,” he huffed. He gave me a pointed look. “Steph looked about ready to kill me when I got out of bed to head down to the home studio.”

“Steph’ll be fine when I thank her in the liner notes,” I hummed, waving him off, thinking of all the other late nights my insomniac tendencies had caused his poor girlfriend. “Now, do you have my music or not?”

The playful annoyance on my producer’s face was replaced with glee almost immediately. “Here, give it a listen.” He placed some headphones on my head and hit a button.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, letting my head fill with the twinkling music, something that felt like young love and hope and romance. It was exactly what I’d imagined in my mind- but better. For the millionth time since we’d started collaborating three albums ago, Alex had done pure magic with just a few manic voice memos sent obnoxiously late at night.

“Perfect,” I sighed after only about thirty seconds. I handed him the headphones back and nodded. “Let’s try it.”

As Alex prepared to play the music, I grabbed Roy’s hand and gave him my coyest smile, replaying Keeley’s reminders to really sell this thing in my mind; my chronically online producer was the perfect audience for a little PDA. “Come on, Roycito. I want you to hear this one.”

Roy shot me a curious look and followed me into the recording booth, watching me sit down before joining me. I kept his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers as I nodded to Alex to play the song. When the glittering music echoed inside the booth, Roy turned to me, the corners of his mouth turning up and his eyebrows raised.

Keeping my eyes on his, I opened my mouth and began to sing-

Flamingo pink Sunrise Boulevard

Clink, clink Being this young is art

Aquamarine Moonlit swimming pool

What if all I need is you?

As the song continued, I offered Roy my best smile, the one I realized I wore so naturally when he was around. He returned it easily, with sparkling brown eyes and pink cheeks. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Alex recording us with his phone, mischievous grin on his face. If this was real- if we were real- this would make an adorable video, one I’d cherish and play over and over. Me, singing a song I’d written about Roy, for Roy, pure infatuation all over both of our faces.

At least it would look good on our socials.

But if I'm all dressed up

They might as well be looking at us

And if they call me a slut

You know it might be worth it for once

And if I'm gonna be drunk

Might as well be drunk in love

Roy’s eyebrows flew up when I got to the title of the song. I wasn’t surprised; sure, I wasn’t the sweet little nineteen-year-old I once was- I openly swore and wrote songs about sex now- but I’d never called myself something so crude before. But as I sang it, I found I liked the way the word contrasted against the romantic dreaminess of the song; it kind of reminded me of Roy, a juxtaposition of gruff hardness and tender sweetness.

Send the code, he's waiting there

The sticks and stones they throw froze mid-air

Everyone wants him

That was my crime

The wrong place at the right time

And I break down, then he's pullin' me in

In a world of boys, he's a gentleman

On the word gentleman, I reached out and tapped the tip of Roy’s nose with my index finger. His skin was warm, and I swore the pink in his cheeks deepened. Some small, timid part of me was scared that he was uncomfortable with the attention, with being implied as the muse for this song after his reaction to “Sweet Nothing”. But something in his bright eyes and soft smile told me that maybe, just maybe, he was enjoying himself.

Figuring that he was also playing things up for my producer’s benefit, I let myself lean into the performance, offering Roy flirtatious smiles and bumping his shoulder coyly as I sang to him.

Half asleep

Taking your time

In the tangerine, neon light

This is luxury

You're not saying you're in love with me

But you're going to

Half awake

Taking your chance

It's a big mistake

I said it might blow up in your pretty face

I'm not saying do it anyway

But you're going to

And if they call me a slut

You know it might be worth it for once

And if I'm gonna be drunk

Might as well be drunk in love

Roy shook his head as the music faded. “Fucking amazing,” he murmured, too softly for the microphones to pick up. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek, leaving an undeniable warm spot where his lips touched my skin. “That’s a fucking hit.”

I ducked my head, suddenly overwhelmed by the look in his eyes. Remembering where I was, I looked back into the control room, where Alex had a wide grin and April wore a curious expression. Ignoring my assistant’s raised eyebrows, I nodded to my producer. “Well?”

“It’s perfect,” he chuckled into the intercom. “Seriously, I love it.” He cocked his head at me. “Needs a new title though. Maybe ‘Lovesick’ or ‘Love-Struck’?”

I knew this conversation would be coming. “No,” I said with a small shake of my head. “It’s ‘Slut!’. I don’t want any other title.”

“Kid,” huffed my producer, calling me the nickname he knew made me roll my eyes. “This is a radio hit. Song of the summer. But you’re not going to get any airplay with that title. You're already fighting the fact that you call yourself a slut in the chorus. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot here.”

“No.” I sat up taller, keenly aware of Roy’s arm pressed against mine. “If they can spend the last decade calling me a slut, then I can too. They don’t want to hear me sing it, maybe they shouldn’t have said it.”

Alex groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he grumbled as he stood up. “’m gonna go grab some water and cry about the fact that you’ve just cost us our millionth Billboard top spot.”

I rolled my eyes with a grin; he always gave in when I felt passionate about something. “Don’t worry,” I assured him as he left the studio. “I’ll write you another hit.”

“Fucking badass,” came a sigh next to me. When I turned my head, Roy was staring at me with raised eyebrows and a slacked jaw. The corner of his mouth turned upwards in a lopsided grin. “Sticking up for what you want, flipping the bird at the people who talk shit about you. You’re a badass, sunshine,” he chuckled, planting another kiss on my cheek.

“Thanks,” I murmured, ignoring the fact that he'd kissed my cheek without a real audience to witness it. “So you liked the song?”

He nodded earnestly. “Fuck yeah,” he assured me. “Tell me you’re going to do that one live. It’d be fucking magic.”

I paused, glancing at April though the window; she was watching us with something that looked way too much like a smirk. After narrowing my eyes at her, I turned back to Roy. “Well, I was kind of toying with the idea of previewing the album during the tour. Like surprising some of the shows with a new song.”

Those thick eyebrows flew up. “You’ve gotta do it. People are going to lose their shit when they hear these songs.” He shook his head and leaned forward to plant a tender kiss to my temple. “What a fucking mind, indeed.”

Fuck fuck fuck, I thought as I glanced away. This crush, this stupid little crush, was becoming too much for me to handle. Roy Kent was too supportive, too nice, too kind, not to mention too fucking handsome. Why couldn’t he be the moody jackass I first met in Keeley’s office? Why did he have to be one of the most genuinely good people I’d ever met? This whole thing might blow up in my pretty face if I wasn’t careful.

But when I looked back at Roy’s sparkling brown eyes, I felt like it might really be worth it for once.

~

“Hey Roy-o.” Keeley bounded over, wearing something with far too many sequins, and gave Roy a friendly hug. “Where’s your better half?”

Roy rolled his eyes, giving Keeley a small squeeze before letting go. “She’s over with April,” he answered, not bothering to correct Keeley about calling the popstar his ‘better half’. He nodded across Jamie’s living room, where the singer and assistant were huddled in a corner and giggling. As if she could feel his gaze, those familiar eyes flittered around the party until they met his; he swore her smile widened.

Keeley's bright voice interrupted his thoughts. “Have you gotten to hear any of the new album yet?”

“I have,” he said, unable to hide the hint of bragging in his voice. “It’s fucking brilliant so far, actually.” His eyes returned to the popstar- who was already glancing over at him.

“Think she’d honor us with a preview?” Keeley teased, waggling her eyebrows at Roy. “It’d be nice for Jamie’s piano to get used for once.” She wrinkled her nose playfully. “Don’t know why he bought the damn thing in the first place,” she added.

Roy hesitated for a moment as he looked around the party. Jamie had decided to throw a party to show off the pool he’d built in the backyard after the end of the season; after a day spent in and out of the pool, the house was packed with the Greyhounds and their significant others, wearing cover ups and sweatshirts over swimsuits and newly acquired sunburns and laughing over drinks. The “power couple” had, of course, come together, with Roy opting to wear his usual black and his ‘girlfriend’ in a sweet summer dress that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover. Unsurprisingly, she looked lovely as ever, chatting with everyone with ease and looking as if she belonged. She was like that in every room, Roy realized; always relaxed, charming, making whoever she was with feel like they were the most important person in the room. For the millionth time since they’d met, Roy felt awed that the woman he’d thought would be a complete brat and diva was actually one of the most genuine people he’d ever met. And that knowledge had him growing more and more protective of her by the day.

Because that’s what friends are for- right?

“I mean…” Roy cleared his throat. “I guess if she fucking wants to-”

“Great!” Before Roy could finish his thought, Keeley had grabbed his wrist and began dragging him across the room, a movement Roy was surprisingly irked by. She didn’t let go until they’d reached the popstar, who offered Keeley that sheepish smile she always wore around the model. “Hey!” Keeley chirped.

The singer accepted the hug Keeley wrapped her in. “Hi, Keeley,” she murmured. Her body seemed to soften when she realized Roy was looking at her. “Sorry you had to miss the pool party. Rebecca said you had to go rescue a photoshoot or something?”

Keeley nodded eagerly, seemingly pleased that the popstar was engaging her in real conversation. “Yeah, the model was being a bit difficult, so I had to go talk her down. Bummer to miss out on all the swimming, but what can ya do? It's not easy being the boss.” She nudged the popstar. “Well, you know how it is. You're basically running the music industry these days.”

“Oh, I don't know about that-”

Roy rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around the popstar’s shoulders so he could tug her close. “Oh fuck off with the modesty,” he gently chided. “You’re on top of the fucking world.” He turned to Keeley, holding his head high with pride. “Have you seen her tour numbers? Fucking impossible to get tickets to the show now.” He quirked an eyebrow at the singer. “Good thing I've got an in, otherwise I'd be missing the event of the summer.”

“Think I could manage to score a ticket?” Keeley teased with a wink; funny, Roy didn't feel those usual butterflies.

“Definitely.” The popstar leaned into Roy's touch; fuck, she always made it feel so natural.

Ignoring the fluttering in the deepest pit of his stomach, Roy gave her a squeeze. “Speaking of the show…” Roy cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Any chance you'd want to preview one of those new songs? Tartt’s got a piano.”

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “I dunno, Roycito,” she hummed, scrunching her nose in thought.

Immediately, Roy shook his head. “You don't have to,” he whispered, loud enough for only her to hear. “You absolutely don't fucking have to.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment- her thinking face, the one Roy had gotten quite used to while watching her work at the lake. He briefly wondered if she was aware of it. “Sure,” she finally said. “I’ve got one I can share.”

In the blink of an eye, the entire party was squeezed around Jamie’s never-been-used piano, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to hear the unreleased song. She looked so at ease as she sat down, all smiles and giggles as the Greyhounds chattered about what songs they liked, teasingly asking if this song was about Roy, speculating if this meant there was a new album coming soon.

Before the singer could even pluck one key, Roy barked out, “Oi, no fucking recording. I see one fucking phone, I’m punching dicks.” When he looked back at the piano, he was greeted with a smile, the kind that was stifling full-on laughter. Roy smirked; he was good at making her laugh, he’d discovered. He gave her a small nod, letting her know that he was cheering her on.

With a deep breath, she looked down at the key and began to play gently, creating a warm tune that Roy hadn’t heard before. Immediately, he liked it and knew that, once again, she’d created a hit.

There's glitter on the floor after the party

Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby

Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor

You and me from the night before, but

Don't read the last page

But I stay when you're lost, and I'm scared, and you're turning away

I want your midnights

But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

It was sweet, romantic, perfect. Roy didn’t bother hiding his grin as his shoulders relaxed, making him realize how tense he’d been before she started. Keeley seemed to have noticed, because she grinned up at him with raised eyebrows.

Not that Roy noticed, not when he was too busy watching the popstar and soaking in every word she sang.

Hold on to the memories

They will hold on to you

Hold on to the memories

They will hold on to you

Hold on to the memories

They will hold on to you

And I will hold on to you

Roy dared to tear his eyes away from the piano to peek at the reactions of his friends and his team. He watched as Colin wrapped an arm around Michael and leaned in close to his boyfriend; he noticed the way Jamie’s fingertips brushed against the inside of April’s wrist; he caught the tears forming in Rebecca’s eyes and her wistful expression; but none of the little moments made him smile the way the singer’s voice did.

Especially when she finally looked up from the piano to lock eyes with him.

Please don't ever become a stranger

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

Please don't ever become a stranger

Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

As Roy’s chest tightened, Keeley leaned close and whispered, “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Roy breathed, not looking at the model. “She is.”

Without another word, he left his spot next to Keeley to walk over to the piano and sit beside the singer, whose smile widened. She scooched closer to him, not missing a single key and never breaking eye contact. It was as if the room around them disappeared, as if they were back in their quiet little world by the lake, where nothing existed except the two of them and the music she created.

Don't read the last page

But I stay when it's hard, or it's wrong, or we're making mistakes

I want your midnights

But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

The moment her fingers lifted from the keys, Roy instinctively leaned close and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, feeling her smile pressing against his. And he ignored the feeling that, for the first time, he might not be kissing her for the benefit of an audience.

~

When I pulled back from Roy's kiss, I was still smiling. Smiling at the song, smiling at the enthusiastic cheers from the Greyhounds, smiling at the awed look on Roy's bearded face.

But on the inside, I was screaming, wishing that the kiss he'd given me was as real as the feelings that grew inside me every day, the feelings I had poured into this song.

“That was fucking gorgeous,” Roy whispered in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin. “Seriously, sunshine, I'm having a hard time picking a favorite song.”

All I could do was smile at Roy, with his sweet words and bright eyes, and murmur, “Thanks, Kent.”

As everyone else returned to mingling and chatting, Roy reached down and touched my hand gently. “Let’s go grab a drink.”

Plastic cup in one hand, Roy’s hand in the other, I followed the footballer through the house, offering my most dazzling smile as people commented on how much they liked the song. Eventually, I found Roy leading me up some stairs. Before I could ask him where we were going, he led me into a side bedroom and to the window. Once he pushed the window open, he nodded to me. 

“How about some fresh air?”

Suppressing my surprised grin, I climbed out the window after Roy, accepting his warm grip as he helped me out onto the roof overlooking Jamie’s backyard. The twinkling patio lights below echoed the emerging stars above, making it seem like Roy and I were floating somewhere in space; the sounds of shouts and laughter from the party reminded me that we were still on Earth.

“How’re you doing?”

Roy’s growling voice returned my thoughts from far-off galaxies. “Hmm?”

He shrugged and scooted closer, as if trying to keep me warm. “I know there’s been some shit about our age difference,” he said slowly, searching my face for a reaction. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

A hollow laugh spilled out of my chest. “Me? I’m fine. They spend years telling me to grow up, be more mature, stop spending all my time running around with boys. But here I am, with a man, a stable man, and suddenly I’m sixteen and need to be protected and need to be protected from big, bad Roy Kent.” I nudged him and took a sip of my beer. “I’m more concerned about you, actually. Everyone’s acting like you’re a dirty old man because of a couple photos of you grabbing my ass.”

“Honestly,” Roy chuckled. “I’m starting to feel like one.” A blush settled on his cheeks. “Sorry about that, by the way. Guess I got a bit carried away.”

I shook my head. “Don’t,” I assured him. “What did everyone think we’ve been doing, cuddling and holding hands? We’re supposed to be adults in an adult relationship. You’re Roy Kent. Anyone with a brain could assume we’re, well, you know.”

He sighed and wrapped a warm arm around my shoulders. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but I don’t like seeing your reputation take all these hits. That’s not the point of all this,” he reminded me.

“Kent,” I said slowly, fighting the urge to lean my head on his shoulder. “If the worst thing they can say about me is that my boyfriend is a smidge older than me, then this is the best my reputation has been in ages. It’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the worst thing they’ve ever said about me.”

“I guess,” Roy mumbled, tugging me closer. “Just… keep me posted on how you’re doing, alright? If we need to cool things down, or call it off, you let me know. I’ll handle Keeley and Lanie. You’re more important than any fucking plan, you know. Much more important.”

With those kind words, I gave in, leaning my head on his shoulder and watching the lights twinkling below us. For a little bit, I let myself forget all about the press, all about the beautiful ex-girlfriend I saw him whispering with while I sang, all about the party downstairs. Hell, I let myself forget all about the fact that this was a fake relationship with an undetermined but very real expiration date.

For a little bit, I let myself pretend that Roy Kent might love me back.

~

Roy grinned as he watched her nose scrunch in concentration while she studied the chess board on his coffee table. After informing Roy that she’d never played chess before, he insisted on teaching the popstar before their early bedtime. She was spending the night at his place, something he realized was kind of rare; normally they were at her place, mostly because of Sydney the cat. But Sydney was staying with April (and probably Jamie too), plus Roy’s house was closer to the airport. 

The two of them would be leaving early in the morning for their flight- on her private jet- to Los Angeles, where they were due to celebrate her niece’s birthday. Roy felt apprehensive- he wasn’t the kind of guy who met families; even with Keeley, he’d only met her on a handful of occasions. But here he was, suitcase packed so he could fly halfway across the world and meet what his fake girlfriend described as “a typical loud Mexican family”. She’d spent the last week warning him about which uncles would try to get him drunk, about the nephews who were already obsessed with him, about how her mother was going to try to feed him the moment they walked through the door, and about how her very protective father and sister were both going to give him the third degree during their visit.

“They’d always thought I’d bring Dani Rojas if I ever brought an athlete home,” she had joked when he asked what they thought of the fake relationship so far. “Not an old British man.”

Even though this was all for show, so that there would be no suspicion from the press if she showed up to a major family event without her supposedly serious boyfriend, Roy still wanted to make a good impression. His own family pretty much consisted of his sister and Phoebe; there was something lovely about a big family, even one as loud and overbearing as she described to him.

“My folks are really looking forward to meeting you,” she hummed now as she finally moved a chess piece, looking comfortable in her criss-cross position, leaning her back against the couch. “You’re going to be the first boyfriend they’ve met in awhile.”

“Seriously?” Roy took his turn, trying not to smirk when he saw the disappointment on her face when she realized her move had set him up for victory. 

She snorted as they reset the board. “I mean, you’ve met Everett. Not exactly the kind of guy that parents like mine would be excited about. Drinks too much, pants too tight, total bad boy. Scared the living daylights out of my poor Catholic mother. Meeting him would've killed her.”

Roy fidgeted with the pawn he held. “But they’re excited for me? The old man who swears every other word?”

“They say I look happy,” she murmured, eyes on the board. “They’ve seen photos of us, they see that I’m not out partying like I used to. They think I’m in a really good place thanks to you.” She offered him a small smile, cocking her head thoughtfully. “Honestly, I think so too, Roycito. This friendship has been really good for me.” She reached out and touched his hand gently. “So, thanks. For being such a good friend.” 

For a moment, Roy just stared at her hand in his, warm and soft and familiar now. His mind wandered to that afternoon by the lake, the way it had ever since they'd gotten home from holiday, and a quiet voice wondered if all of her was this soft and warm.

Fuck off, he scolded himself harshly. Perverted old man, indeed.

“Oi, I've got something for you,” he murmured. Gently, he pulled back his hand, hoping the movement wasn't too gingerly, and stood up. He walked briskly to his room and returned with a small jewelry box. Trying to keep his signature apathetic expression, Roy handed her the box and sat back down, wondering if she could see the way his fingers twitched in anticipation.

With a coolly raised eyebrow she opened the box. When she saw the silver necklace, a smile broke out across that pretty face.

“It's perfect,” she giggled.

Keeley had mentioned to Roy the idea of giving her some kind of trinket to symbolize the relationship, another piece of evidence that this fake romance was real and very serious, especially in the face of the age gap discourse they'd been facing. Immediately, Roy knew exactly what to get her.

It was a simple silver chain with a little square charm, with a large R engraved in the middle and a tiny number 1 in the corner. A Scrabble letter.

And for whatever reason, Roy didn't bother telling her it was Keeley's idea. Not when he saw the brightness in her eyes as she took the necklace out of the box. Her smile widened when she looked back up at him, at what he knew was his most pleased expression.

“Thank you, Roy,” she finally said, her voice thickening. “Wanna help me put it on? I'm sure the girls would want me to post a selfie or something.”

Roy's stomach sank a little at the mention of the publicists, reminding him of how orchestrated everything between the two of them was, but he didn't let his easy expression fade. Instead, he went around to her side of the coffee table and took the necklace from her hands, not minding too much when her fingers brushed against his. He settled on the couch behind her and brushed the hair off the back of her neck, wondering absently if the back of every woman's neck was pretty or just hers. He lifted the necklace in front of her, smirking to himself when he saw the way she immediately patted the charm against her skin. He clasped it securely into place and gently laid the chain on her neck. However, he didn't immediately remove his hands from her. Instead, he found himself staring at the smooth skin he back of her neckon the back of her neck, wondering how it would feel against his lips. He knew what her mouth felt like, of course; but what about the rest of her?

Spurred on by this newfound curiosity, Roy leaned forward and ghosted his mouth over her bare neck. But before he could properly attach his lips to her skin, his mobile vibrated across the room, breaking whatever spell he was under.

Clearing his throat, Roy scrambled to his feet, ignoring the raging heat in his cheeks and refusing to look her in the eye. He rushed over to where he had carelessly tossed his phone earlier and glanced at the name on the screen: Keeley.

“Yeah?” he grumbled when he picked up. He dared a glance at the beautiful singer; she was staring down at the forgotten chessboard with wide eyes, fiddling absently with the silver Scrabble letter around her neck. Had she felt that little kiss? he wondered, his heart frozen in panic. What the absolute fuck was wrong with him?

“Just checking in,” Keeley chirped, ignorant to Roy’s frazzled state. “You two’ll definitely be photographed when you arrive in L.A. So just make sure to post a few pictures, look like the happy couple, you know the drill.”

Roy nodded, then remembered that Keeley couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he repeated. “I know the drill.” He cleared his throat and averted his eyes, lest he be caught staring. “Anything else?”

“Are you alright, Roy?” Keeley’s voice was filled with concern. “You’re even more monosyllabic than usual.”

“I’m fine,” Roy lied. “Just, dunno, fucking anxious for the long flight or some shit.” He glanced back across the room; those pretty eyes found his. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Keeley sighed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright. Have a safe flight, Roy-o. Say hi to-”

Roy hung up before she could finish. He stuffed his phone into his pocket and shifted his weight. “Should we get some sleep, then?”

“Was that Keeley?”

He blinked in surprise. Her voice was small, not at all the confident woman he’d gotten used to. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, cocking his head when he saw her wide eyes. “She says hi and to have a safe flight.” He paused for a moment before blurting out, “You don’t like her very much, do you?”

Flustered. The Grammy-winning, Billboard-topping, record-breaking popstar looked positively flustered as she gazed back at Roy, with her parted lips that formed a pretty little O. “Why do you think I don’t like Keeley?” she asked with an awkward little chuckle. “Of course I like Keeley. She’s great.”

Roy wasn’t convinced. He saw the way she looked when Keeley was around, quieter and more reserved, only speaking to the model when spoken to, almost disappointed when Roy and Keeley were in close quarters.

If Roy was a more foolish man, he’d think the singer was jealous of his ex-girlfriend.

But only an idiot would think that.

Instead of pushing the matter, Roy just shrugged and nodded in the direction of the hallway, of the separate bedrooms they’d be sleeping in. And, as she quietly followed him down that hallway, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d fall asleep thinking of him- the way he would fall asleep thinking of her.

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten@ladygrey03@book-of-roses@thatonedogwithablog@misshall14@wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff@akornsworld@itswhateveripromise@purecinnamonextract@oceanncurrent@dearvoidgoodnight@hopefulromances@respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog@hotleaf-juice@emmy2811@captainorbust-blog@preciousbabypeter@shion-ah@royalestrellas@eugene-emt-roe@littleesilvia@teenwolf01@sisinever@yagotgames@queen-of-the-downtown-scene@emmaallisonann@mrdsturd@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@charkachow@mrdsturd@littlepinapple@sunfairyy@shadowzena43@uhmidkmuch@imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @alicedsworld @222333777 @thegivenvoid

[vulpixisananimal]

Carrion!Sif AU, Chapter 1.

ACT 1, The Hunger.

(Au origonaly by @traumaboyexo. it's so cool. I'm 100% going to do more of this.)

"Siffrin!"

(You're lying down in the field near Dormont. You had a weird dream about eating a star. You smell cherries, Mirabelle was calling your name.)

". . . Siffrin?" (She's looming over you now, your Housemaiden.) "Good morning! Or, well more like good afternoon I guess. Were you taking a nap? That's just like you. . . Only you could sleep peacfully at a time like this, hee hee."

(You're too sleepy to talk, you close your eye again.)

"You're still half asleep, aren't you. I'll let you sleep a bit longer, but not too long!!"

(. . . Ugh. You can't stay here, like this. The sun was nice, and you could smell the birds in the air. The people in the village. The faint and distinct smell Mirabelle carried with her. But you were getting hungry, really, really hungry.)

(Wake up, Siffrin. You have a country to save.)

>>>

(Statues, big and small, all with different faces. Some jump up and down, some are sad, some are happy. The Change God, Deity of all of Vaugarde, stands before you.)

(So much has happened over the last few months, since you met Mirabelle. You helped save them from a sadness, and you were here to defeat the King. They were nice, they were your familly.)

(Mirabelle, Isabeau, Odile, Bonniface. Each of them had been your best friends, or at least allies. You hoped you were friends, at least.)

(Mirabelle once asked if you were ok with following them on your journey. You truthfully answered that this had been the happiest you'd ever been. But, that just made her look upset.)

(You cringe just thinking about it, truth be told.)

(You're still hungry.)

>>>

"Don't worry about a thing, then. Can I get you anything on the house? A croissant, maybe? . . . Incredible, incredible. I've never seen someone give such a look of disdain when offered croissant."

"A Pain Au Chocolate, then. Only monsters don't like Pain Au Chocola."

(You like those! You nod!!)

"Ha, one Pain Au Chocolate, coming up."

(You got the Pain Au Chocolate!! Yay!!)

(You know they're really, really bad for your stomach. But it's still warm! Smells of butter and chocolate. You try and restrain yourself with one small bite. But you're so hungry, it smells so good!! You take one bite, and another, and another!!)

". . . Not gonna lie, seeing a tiny one like you eat like a rabid beast. . . That was distrubing, but also weirdly satisfying."

(Haha, this was future Siffrins problem.)

>>>

(The Favor Tree looms above you.)

(You look around for a good leaf, one to represent you. You need it for the Favor Tree, after all.)

(A wish, a wish. . . Favor Trees must be popular around Vaugarde, these days. Everyone must be wishing for the same thing. So, why should you join them, then? What's one more wish on the pile. Something small. . .)

(You wish for. . .)

>>>

"Phew, Bonbon! That was DE-LI-CIOUS!!"

(It was really, really good!! You ate every bite on your plate! It was sooooo tasty, but now your tummy was feeling upset. Damn you, past Siffrin!! But, you could still eat more!!)

"Aw Siff, are you still hungry?" (Isabeau asks.)

"Frin, you ate a lot, huh!! You liked my cooking a lot, huh!!! Here, have some more food since you're so hungry and like my cooking so much."

(Bonnie gives you one (1) carrot slice. It smelled tasty!)

(Chomp.)

"Won't that give you a stomach ache? Nevermind that, how can you still eat after all that food?" (Odile asks, concerned.)

"I'm a growing kid!" (You reply, cheekily.)

"A growing kid that drinks achohol?!?"

"You're older than most of the people here?!?"

(You wink cutely.)

"I suppose we're lucky to get some meat for you all the way out here." (Odile sighs.) "What a strange diet you have."

(You shrug. You've always been like this.)

>>>

(You step into the House of Change. It feels. . . Wrong. You have a tingling on the back of your neck. A tingling you'd always get when something was "off.")

(A house frozen in time. A faint smell of sugar slicing through the air. It was strange, but still you were confident. You could smell your companions following you, step by step. Each as distinct as the next.)

(You're hungry again.)

(You smell a sadness ahead.)

>>>

(Huh?)

"Is something wrong, Siffrin?" (Asks Odile.)

(You look around. There, behind you, there was a flickering white. . . Star?)

"Did you see that light?" (You ask.)

"A light?" (Mirabelle looks concerned.)

"Something wrong, Sif?" (Isa adds.)

(You walk over to the light and point to it.)

". . . . . . ?"

(So they can't see it? It smelled of sugar.)

(You reach out and touch the light.)

>>>

(Traps? Traps?)

"A job for me then." (You say, cheekily.)

"It is your job."

"Protect us, trap master!"

(Not the first time you had to reassure Mirabelle. Time to look around.)

(You look around the room. Checking each wall, checking the floors, checking the pillars. You felt the brickwork for anything, a hidden switch, a pressure plate, anything. It all smelled of... Sugar, and old stone. Well maintained, it smelled of people too. You could smell. . . Fear, worry, no, no that was Mirabelles. She smelled of fear, it smelled. . .)

(You're hungry again.)

(There's nothing here. You can't find any switches, so. . .)

"So? So are we safe?? We're not safe, are we!! This is the death corridor!!! There must be a trap--"

(Oh come on now.) "There's nothing weird in here."

"But there must be!!"

"Aw, Mira. . ."

"Belle, Belle, don't worry about it. Frin isn't good at many things, but they know stuff about traps."

(Hey. . .)

"Right, if we can't trust the one who's supposed to lead us THIS early, this wont bode well for later."

(HEY--)

"But! But!"

"We're not dead yet." (You say, stepping through the hall.)

"W-well, that's true. . ."

"We HAVE been in this room for a while. . . And Siffrin has been walking everywhere. So if it was weight sensitive, it would have gone off by now."

"Exactly! It's all fine!!"

"Oh. . . Yeah, yeah okay! I'll believe you! Sorry for worrying, I'm a little on edge."

(You smile at them.) "We're good, Mira, see?" (You walk to the center of the room.)

"Everythings fine!"

(. . . . The back of your neck tingles. Somethings-)

(CRACK.)

(THUD.)

[alex51324]

So here's a way I tricked myself today that might be helpful for someone else.

First, some background: I have not mowed my lawn in over a month, because I hate mowing the lawn. It's been overdue for about two weeks, and starting tomorrow we're having a heat wave that's predicted to last at least two weeks.

In other words, either I mow the lawn now, or I make it much worse for myself, and possibly get fined by the city for not mowing my lawn. (It has happened before.)

I was over at my dad's this weekend for Father's day, so I was getting home late afternoon/early evening.

After studying the hour-by-hour weather forecast, I decided that the best time to mow the lawn was going to be tomorrow at 6 AM, at which point the outdoors will be the coolest it's going to be for at least two weeks.

I told my dad this, and he pointed out that there's no way in hell I'm getting up at 6 AM to mow the lawn.

I assured him that I have done it before; the trick is that you have to have enough time after you do it to take a shower and lay down for a bit before you have to do anything else. My work shift doesn't start until 4, so it'll be fine.

As I'm driving home, I start thinking about how much daylight is left, and how it is starting to cool down a bit already--once the heat wave starts, it won't cool down until almost midnight, but now it's just about bearable outside.

I consider that, if I don't fuck around, I just might have time to mow the lawn before it gets too dark to see what I'm doing and I mow over the cord. (This has also happened before.)

So I get home, and I don't fuck around, and I start mowing the lawn.

About 10 minutes in, I remember that this is exactly what happened every other time I decided I ought to get up at the crack of dawn and mow the lawn. (I did once stay up until 6 AM and mow the lawn, but that is not the same thing as getting up at 6 AM to mow the lawn.)

Now, if I had started out telling myself, "I have to go straight home, not fuck around, and get the lawn mowed before it gets dark," you know what I would have done: I would have fucked around.

But by convincing myself that I was going to get up at the crack of dawn and mow the lawn, I created a situation in which going straight home, not fucking around, and mowing the lawn before it gets dark is the lazier option.

I wonder if it'll ever work again now that I figured it out. Maybe by next summer I'll have forgotten?

[tj-crochets]

Crafting update/crafting forecast! Short term: - I’ve made more progress on the floral crumb quilt (super fun, but going to take a while) - I’m going to embroider “fleece navidad” next to that tiny embroidered alpaca and turn it into an ornament - I’m going to crochet a tiny rainbow stegosaurus! That’ll probably be this afternoon - probably another Halloween something? - probably more embroidered flowers Longer term (aka holiday crafting): - a chicken  - a binosaur - a dinosaur (yes those are two separate projects) - something octonauts themed?????? - something for my nieces (no idea what though) - minecraft quilt (for the kidlet I used to babysit! :D) - oh I might make my nieces beanies!! one a unicorn and one a cat - a crocodile - either a griffin, a cockatrice, or a cat in a fancy outfit. I have not decided yet - necklace chains for some pendants - four memory teddy bears Even longer term (aka stuff for the MTH charity auction, which has bidding next week): - another crocodile (this one will be crocodile Loki) - a Bucky Bear or Winter Soldier Bear - possibly more! I added tiers this year so I might make up to two plushies for each of three auctions (the first Jeff the Land Shark is already done)

[vse-kar-vem]

together in every universe. or something

[orangerainforest]

🌻

[dandyshucks]

crawls in here coughing and wheezing... everyone is so niceys to me.....

[stereax]

woohoo spiraling out of control right now (what else is new really I've been fucked up and spiraling for weeks now) and trying to figure out reasons not to delete my tumblr and discord and myself along the way

but you know. talking about myself on my blog automatically means I'm attention seeking and fishing for pity right? should just shut up and stick to the news eh, it's all I'm good for :D

anyway if you need me I'll be in the corner reliving the past, coming to terms with reality, and trying to convince myself I'm not the problem despite every indication to the contrary ✌︎︎

[bsaka7]

thinking about going back to being vegetarian again then i remember oh right Im moving again and i fuck SO hard with clam chowder

[kellystar321]

.

[six-improbable-things]

me, two days ago: I don't know if I like Slay the Spire very much. Rogue-likes aren't really my thing, and there's some things about the game that annoy me...

me, today: [has played 5.5 hours of Slay the Spire just this afternoon.]

[supercantaloupe]

damn i just got asked to proctor an exam for someone while they're at a conference. moving up in the world of academia

[omarfor-orchestra]

Sometimes the thing you're scared about is just really stupid and once you realize it everything gets more simple

[essektheylyss]

It's my party and I'll write whether I want to or not.

[splendiferous-bitch]

why am i such an emotional bitch?? why do i love putting myself through it???