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hskrealm · 4 years

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protection. (m)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (y’all i literally typed min yoongi instead of jungkook THIS IS NOT HIS STORY I CAN’T GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD)

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 1.8k

warnings: it’s called protection but there is none lol, soft cuddly jk, thunderstorms, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), kind of domestic, just something sweet since all i write is intense fucking

summary: your boyfriend acts as your distraction during a thunderstorm.

notes: inspired by the thunderstorm that happened here two days ago, and an anon who asked for a soft nsfw one shot w/ jk.

“Oh, damn.”

You flinched as another lightning bolt struck the ground with so much intensity that it looked as if the sun were out for a few seconds.

You knew this particular bolt would bring some pretty heavy thunder with it, especially since it took about fifteen seconds for the actual sound to follow the lighting.

“It’s getting pretty bad out there, isn’t it?” Jungkook asked, flicking his eyes up past his phone to rake over your figure for a few moments.

“Yeah...” You confirmed wearily, feeling sick to your stomach as the rain began to fall harder outside.

It was cool in the house, the lights were flickering a bit, and a small amount of rain managed to get inside. The atmosphere was stuffy, and it felt like some sort of opening to a bad horror movie, which you were not here for.

For your boyfriend, though, this was a walk in the park. He didn’t mind stormy weather at all, and often preferred to fall asleep with the thunder blasting past the music in his headphones.

He twisted his lips up in a frown as you brought your knees up further into your chest, slowly enclosing them within your arms as you kept your gaze at the wall in front of you, occasionally taking a glance outside if you heard or saw something you really didn’t like.

“Why do you even bother looking out there if you know it’s going to scare you more?” Jungkook asked, setting his phone down on the arm of the couch as he relaxed his posture and spread his legs a bit.

“I’m not scared,” You immediately responded, cursing under your breath at the unexpected jolt your body did when the lights began to flicker again, “I just like to check to make sure I’m not gonna die.”

Jungkook snickered and shook his head at your defiance, although he found it adorable that you were afraid of a little bad weather.

He didn’t mind, though. It was during times like this he could pull you into his lap and throw his arms around you without your complaining about making him uncomfortable for sitting on him for a long period of time.

“Come on, baby.” He smiled a bit as you turned your head in his direction, patting his crotch area gently with one hand while beckoning you over with the pointer finger of the other.

You shook your head, and Jungkook raised an eyebrow. You said no to him often when he asked you to sit on his lap, but you always ended up there anyway. Either by your own will, or a small bit of coercing.

“Don’t wanna?” Jungkook asked simply, relaxing his posture against the couch and throwing his arms over the sides of it. You shook your head once more, and he nodded once.

“Alright. It’s your call.” He shrugged, closing his eyes with a pleased smile as the thunder began to come down so roughly that it caused a few objects in the room to shake.

You fiddled with your fingers and took another glance over at Jungkook, envying him for thriving off of moments like this.

Now that you thought about it, his lap was always warm and inviting, and would it really hurt for you to...keep him warm? That’s all you were doing. This was for him, not for you.

You cleared your throat with fake confidence, which immediately caught Jungkook’s attention. He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at you expectantly.

“You know what, since you asked me so nicely—“ A continuous string of thunder sounded for a few seconds, and you shot Jungkook a worried glance before the lights went out.

You shot up off of the couch immediately and ran toward your boyfriend, feeling around for his torso before you slowly sat yourself on top of him.

He laughed as you curled up into his chest, your body trembling as the small amount of heat that was in the room left as soon as the power cut.

“What was that about me asking so nicely?” Jungkook asked with a small hum, sitting upright so he could pull you further into him. The muscles of his arms did do an amazing job of keeping you calm, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

“Why do you live off of my fear?” You mumbled into his chest, your hands lightly pressed against his shoulders as he settled his arms around your waist.

“I don’t live off of your fear.” Jungkook’s voice cracked slightly toward the end of his sentence, and you shot your head up to look at him.

Although you had to squint to see it, you could make out the uncomfortable expression on his face as he swallowed thickly.

“This is why I don’t sit on your lap, Kook.” You sighed, wondering why he didn’t tell you he was uncomfortable. You placed your hands on either side of his thighs to pull yourself off of him, but he pulled you right back down, so harshly that it knocked the breath out of you momentarily.

“Sit there, and stay still.” He warned, but why would you listen to that?

You wiggled around a bit, as much as you could before Jungkook got a death grip on your hips. You couldn’t believe it when you felt the boner in his sweats pressing against your inner thigh.

“Please don’t tell me you’re hard right now.” You asked, tone monotonous as you stared blankly at him. He probably couldn’t see your face, but you were sure that your voice change would show your disappointment.

“How could I not be hard when a pretty girl is sitting on my lap?” You could almost hear the shrug in his voice. You lowered your head down into your hands and sighed heavily.

“You’re horny because I’m afraid?” You wanted to laugh a bit at the situation.

“So, you are afraid!” Jungkook quickly tried to switch the topic. You lifted your head.

“That’s not the point here.” He smirked. You’d probably roll your eyes if you could see it.

“I just made it the point.”

“Jungkook—“ He cut you off, holding you tight against his chest as he stood up, flinging you playfully onto the couch so you were lying on your back.

He pulled your (his) shirt up to reveal your breasts, nipples already hard due to the lack of warmth in the room.

He licked his lips and latched his mouth onto one of them, twisting the other between his thumb and pointer fingers gently.

You moaned, back arching off of the couch. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do when he picked you up, but it certainly wasn’t this.

He have your other nipple the same treatment with his tongue, biting gently at the sensitive little nub.

He placed a kiss between your breasts, moving his way down your upper body as he moved backward a bit to make room for himself between your legs.

He began to nip and lick at your thighs, and your legs began to shake as he breathed gently against your clothed core.

“I can-“ one kiss to your thigh, “-think of something-“ and another, “-that’ll distract you for a bit.” One final kiss, this time right over your pulsing cunt. You hissed.

“Starts with h, and ends with d.” Jungkook teased, hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties as he tugged then down your thighs slowly, not bothering to pull them off completely.

“Husband?” You joked, and Jungkook smiled against your pussy lips, the small action sending your stomach into a frenzy.

“Not quite. Good guess, but you’re about a month or two ahead of the game.” He kissed the hood of your clit gently, before wrapping his pretty lips around your bundle of nerves and sucking it gently into his mouth.

You moaned weakly, sliding your hands into his hair as he placed his large hands against your inner thighs, spreading you gently so he could enjoy more of you.

You and Jungkook talked of marriage often, but hearing him openly admit that he was planning to ask you to spend the rest of your days with him sometime soon made this entire experience all the more arousing.

You gasped as he replaced his tongue with his thumb, gently circling your clit with practice as he took a few licks toward your tight, wet hole.

Jungkook knew your body so well that he didn’t even need to see to make you a whining mess.

He delved his strong muscle inside of you, growling quietly against your cunt as you squeezed against his tongue.

He always played around a bit when he was given the pleasure of tasting you, and this time was no different. He’d flick his tongue wildly inside of your pussy, draining your body of every ounce of that delicious juice you had to offer him, or he could take it slow, and bring you to your peak steadily.

He opted to drive you to the brink of insanity today, so he fucked you open with his tongue while rubbing frenzied circles against your clit.

You were too quiet for his liking, so he slapped gently at your clit to bring you back to your senses.

“Feels so good,” You praised him with a small stutter, dropping your hands down to your sides. Jungkook quickly took them into his much larger ones, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pulled you closer toward your orgasm.

Your chest began to rise and fall rapidly as Jungkook brought his attention back to your aching clit, catching you by surprise as he began to switch between teasing the nub and collecting the sweetness that pooled at your entrance.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum soon,” You warned, and Jungkook smiled.

He began to trace patterns against your clit, your moans turning into pathetic whimpers as you teetered on the edge.

With one final graze of his teeth against your clit, you clamped your thighs around his head, and Jungkook gripped your hands tighter as he tasted your release on his tongue.

He stimulated you through your high, waiting until you released his head from between your legs before pulling away.

While you caught your breath, he tugged down his sweats and slid your panties down to your ankles, gently lifting your feet as he threw the ruined garment to the ground.

He sat down on the couch, reaching over to you to pull you up onto your knees.

“Come on, come sit on my cock.” He cooed, and you spread yourself over the tip of his length as he gripped your hips to control the pace at which you slid down onto him.

“Ride you?” You asked breathlessly, and he shook his head and pulled you into his chest, just as he did earlier. Your eyelids began to sag.

“Just sit, sweetheart.” You nodded, squinting once the lights began to flicker a few times before they turned on.

“Lights are back.” You mumbled sleepily. Jungkook laughed, and you smiled as you felt the vibration in your chest.

“I see.” He ran a hand up and down your back soothingly.

“I’m tired.” Jungkook hummed.

“Get some rest then.”

“Love you.” You were beginning to drift off, but not before you heard,

“I love you too.”

tag list! let me know if you want to be on it. (you could send me a message, an ask, or just comment under this fic)

@bitchyaus @dontaskshhhhh @taesluttt @1-in-abillion @designjet @peachy-bhun @patpus @koracynthia120 @safi4x @lcnycto @someonewhowannadielol @dreamingsmile @rinastylesworld @fan-ati--c @sincemalik @bts-bay-bee @cestlaviecia @jeonjungkookiiee @bunny-kix03

#blkjmn #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook au #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook au

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the-river-person · 3 years

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Mistral Sans is now Community Shared

To echo the words of @undertaleauoc, Mistral is "open for use" without the need to request permission from the creator (me) though I’d like to be tagged and credited still. Mistral Formerly named: Sans Age: 10 to the power of 100 years (technically a little more than that by now, but the number is so huge that it's no longer relevant.) Gender: Male Appearance: Appears much like Classic Sans, except for the silvery-white crystalline formations growing all over his body. These can get quite large if he hasn’t removed them in a while, and are often quite sharp to anyone with flesh instead of bone. He makes an effort to keep the Kenón from growing up over his head and face, or from completely encasing his body, but it's difficult to keep up with since it grows faster whenever he happens to be in the Void itself. He wears a long brown overcoat, gloves, and long black trousers, mostly in effort to hide the Kenón as much as possible or keep the sharp points from cutting people by accident. He also keeps a red bandana around his neck, something given to him by Papyrus. His eyes never went back to their original state after the Void-Sickness. Instead of dark hollows with a white iris, they seem to be a pale grey, like a well of deep nothingness. Backstory: Mistral’s Universe is based upon the question “What would happen if the Human just never stopped the Resets, but went on forever?” And the resulting Tale that followed was one of mindless repetitions for time out of mind as the Human would Reset in order to prevent the Underground from being destroyed. Eventually the human, who was no longer human, stopped when Sans suggested a different means to preserve their Universe without killing. This Underground has a deep history of worship and lore that surrounds their Angel, and Sans played the role of Judge, a historical job where someone representing the Angel’s Justice would be called upon to make an absolute Judgement upon anyone or anything. The King called upon him to bring his judgement upon the entire Underground for their part in everything. Formerly a scientist under his Uncle Gaster, he helped come up with the “Solution” which the entire Underground was inoculated with to help them remember beyond Resets. He himself was a victim of the Void poisoning like that which affected Gaster’s Followers and was only saved from being wiped to a blank slate by Gaster’s efforts. A fragment of Kenón (Void-stone) and determination was placed in his soul, causing the crystals to spread from it. In later years as the Underground thrived despite the Resets, he pushed himself to get another degree, this time in psychology, and eventually became a practicing therapist/psychologist (as well as the Underground’s willing delivery boy. He liked being able to see and talk to people all the time, and get to know things.) Upon the destruction of his Universe he was thrown into the Void with his Uncle Gaster, where they were rescued by the mysterious River Person. They met with Ink!Sans who explained the Multiverse and gave them the means to travel it. Now they travel from Universe to Universe, or sometimes wander the Void itself, or the Anti-Void. Gaster (now named Majuscule) is searching for his children, and Sans (now named Mistral) is helping while searching for the Ship his brother escaped with and whatever survivors of his people there might still be. Personality: Mistral is old. Though he was in a mindless forgetful repetitive state for much of the Resets, and has few memories of his own childhood beyond what Papyrus reminded him of, he is significantly mentally older than most of the other Monsters from his Universe. The determination in his soul (along with the Kenón) makes him very strong willed and much more powerful than he was before. It also gives him a minor energy boost. His years as a scientist specializing in studies of the Soul and Physics, as well as his later degree in psychology and practice as a therapist, make him a fairly discerning person who is easily approachable and can talk about a number of different subjects with ease. Despite his actions during the Genocide Routes, he is a much more mentally stable person (possibly one of the most stable Sanses out there from what I see) and is very much a pacifist, refusing violence altogether and choosing to let his words and mind guide him out of trouble, or his teleportation to let him escape danger. Because of his refusal to consider physical violence, even in his own defense, his skill in using fighting magic has atrophied. He can no longer summon the blasters at all, and his bone attacks are weaker. His teleportation on the other hand is much stronger and he can do it more often without tiring too much. The other effects of his refusal to fight means that he must proactively avoid confrontation whenever possible. Mistral uses his knowledge of how people think and act to guide his interactions with others, putting even Monsters from the Fell Universes at ease with well timed and thought out humorous comments, as well as just generally being willing to listen and try to see from the point of view of other people. He can tell puns, but they usually sound a bit forced, like he memorized them somewhere and was just waiting for a point to use them. Very rarely he’ll come up with the perfect one on the spot and be absolutely thrilled with himself. More often he uses dry humor, throwaway lines, or Hyperbole.

His willingness to try and defuse the tension caused by aggressive Monsters he’s dealing with can sometimes backfire on him and serves to make the Monster even angrier and more violent. Mistral will then flee, not wanting to fight them, but often marking himself as guilty or suspicious in the process when this happens with an authority figure who has confronted him for his presence.

The Kenón crystal growing all over his body tends to freak people out as well, which is why he hides it as much as he can beneath the overcoat, gloves, and bandana.

Like all skeletons of his Universe, Mistral has a great knowledge of fonts and writing systems, punctuation marks, ciphers, and typography. It is a very important subject to them as it very closely ties with how they see themselves, their identity as a person. This may be rather strange to skeletons from other Universes who do not share this background. A similar problem comes when skeletons from other Universes find out how strongly he and the Monsters of his world believe in the mythical Angel of Mount Ebbot and often pray to them or swear by them (or use “Angel” as a swear).

He’s also very interested in the concept of Identity and how it can change over time or be altered by events in your life, and how names connect to the concept of identity.

Can I use Mistral in my comic/story/animation/etc?: Sure. He’s a wandering type character, so it's likely he’ll show up in countless Universes and places all over while searching for his brother and his missing cousins. Sometimes he’ll be with Gaster and sometimes not.

One thing to note is that his story will have a continuation, so if in your story you detail events that involve him beyond just a brief meeting, chat, or background character… Just be aware that it's probably not going to be canon to the story I’m planning for him (though if we take other Multiverses into account it could be canon elsewhere).

I would like to insist that you tag and credit me on his use (Credit is good. Tagging me makes it so I can come see your wonderful creations).

Can I ship Mistral with this other character/characters?: Yeah, why not?. Canonically he’s aesexual and only very passingly interested in the idea of romantic relationships. But sure, ship him with whoever you like. Just know that it's not canon to this Multiverse.

While I would still like to be tagged in stuff that involves him. I know I can’t stop nsfw art/writing and other things of that nature from happening, much as I might like to. But be warned, If I see it or am tagged with that, or am sent asks of that... I will block you. Fontcest, Incest ships, child ships, or smut in general will all get you blocked instantly.

Canon height and weight: 4-5 feet high (same as Classic Sans). Weight was trickier. He’s a skeleton. A human skeleton is only about 15% of your body weight. So classic is probably somewhere around 16 or so pounds. But Mistral is covered by continually growing crystalline structures of Kenón. Since the crystal is heavy but spread out and somewhat kept under control, it probably only doubles his weight, making him 32 pounds.

Canon strength: Mistral isn’t a fighter. His attacks are weak because his desire to actually fight is nonexistent, even if he has to defend himself or others. But his actual physical strength, as opposed to his magical attacks, sees a significant increase to that of your normal Sans. The Kenón crystals actually increase his defense by making his bones stronger and more crack resistant, and his self healing is well equipped to deal with most breaks, though they’re still quite painful.

He also has increased endurance for longer physical or magical activities so long as combat or confrontation isn’t part of it.

Since he weighs more, he can’t jump as high as a Sans who weighs less (not that it's a huge difference. He’s only 32 pounds. Plus his strength can mostly make up for it by pushing himself off harder when jumping.)

Is it okay if I draw him with another gender, age, height, or sexuality?: Go for it. Have fun. Tag and credit me. But remember that it’s not canon to THIS Multiverse that I’m working in.

Canon Birthday?: September 16th (though he hasn’t celebrated in a LONG time. He probably doesn’t remember his last actual birthday party. Papyrus might though…)

Font?: Used to be Comic Sans. But now it's Mistral (upper and lowercase).

Original AU: Aeontale by

a_river_is_a_liminal_space

(or the-river-person. basically… me)

Can I send Asks for more details if I need or want them?: Yes. My askbox is open. I’ll answer what I can. I’ve put everything I can think of on here, but inevitably there’s always something missed in things like this. So ask away.

#mistral sans #community shared oc #undertale au #aeontale #character bio

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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This Night (40s!Bucky Barnes x Hispanic!OFC)

Summary: When she saved a scrawny blond in a back alley, she would never have anticipated the ripple effects it would have. Nor how meeting someone with a pair of baby blue eyes and cocky smirk would draw her in, encouraging her that for one night, to taste revelry like she never had before.

This is my submission for @allaboardthereadingrailroad Marvel Diversity Challenge! My prompt was “a little danger never hurt”.

I am going to admit, I’m super nervous to post this. I’ve never written a person of color before and would be horrified to accidently offend someone. That being said, I also had so much fun writing this piece. I adore 40s Bucky and Steve, so I was excited to finally have the inspiration to write them.

Few notes:

-All translations are via google and what I can remember from university (if any of my Spanish is wrong, please please please someone tell me and i’ll correct it!)

-I threw in some 40s slang for fun, so that will be in italics.

-In the little research I did (again, someone please correct me if I am wrong), in the 40s there were not many Hispanic or Latino people living in NYC yet. So for my OFC and her family, they would very much stand out.

Warnings: a few swear words, some angst, sexual tension, topic of racial discrimination and inequality

Words: 8k (the story kept growing, i’m so sorry)

She clutched the parcel to her chest, trying to avoid the muddy puddles on the sidewalk. Mr. Hendricks would be furious with her if she got any mud on the packaging of the parcel. He always said it reflected his reputation.

Weaving through those walking down the busy Brooklyn sidewalk, she could feel the few glares and inaudible comments following in her wake. She tried to ignore it, knowing was not the first nor last time others judged her for her different skin tone. Though she doubted she would ever get used to it. One of her older brothers would try and cheer her up saying the white folks were jealous since they burned when in the sun too long while Spaniards became more beautiful. Without fail, she would smack him but end up laughing along.

Peeking at the address scrawled in precise handwriting, she surveyed the street names around. A sinking feeling in her gut confirmed her fear- she had somehow gotten lost.

“Mierda.” She hissed, turning around in a circle. Not just to try and relocate her whereabouts but on the off chance her mother happened to be behind her to whack her over the head for swearing.

Not wanting to be run over by a fellow pedestrian, she stepped off the sidewalk into an alley nearby while she tried to get her bearings. She brushed down the front of her workwear, dark blue, princess style dress with its Peter Pan collar, double pockets and pleated skirt. A glance at her tights showed a couple spots of mud she somehow managed to still get on her even though her kitten heels were still mostly clean. A miracle really.

It was only mid-afternoon but Mr. Hendricks hated when she returned late from delivering parcels. He was the best tailor in Brooklyn and practically thrived off that title. He employed her to help keep things organized, the shop looking nice and delivering parcels to their patrons. It was mindless work but that did not bother her. It was a job...and she was lucky to have one. Being from one of the few Hispanic families in the area was not a perk when trying to find work. She knew the only reason she even got this job was she willingly took half the pay he would have given to anyone else, she could sew well, and she was pretty.

A crash at the end of the alley drew her attention behind her. There was some hushed talking followed by another sound of something hitting the ground. Hard.

Logically, she knew she should walk away. She was already lost. Her mother frequently reminded her to not involve herself in other people's business, it would only get her in trouble. The problem was her curiosity was a near palpable thing, driving her forward, along with her independent streak the size of the Upper Bay. So when she heard what sounded like a smack and another crash, her feet started moving without a second thought.

She darted around a half brick wall to find herself at an "L" intersection. And at the end of both alleys, stood a tall man with a face like a bulldog and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, fists at his side. Below him lay a much smaller, blond man who was sprawled out on the dirty ground. The smaller man groaned, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He rolled onto his side, then slowly and painfully rose back onto his feet, his own fists in front of him in a poor imitation of a boxer.

"You think you somethin' special, huh?" The larger man jeered, a nasty smirk on his face. He leaned on his back foot, preparing to throw another punch.

The smaller man raised his fists but made no other move, prepared to take the hit and most likely go back down.

So, she decided to do something stupid.

"BILL!!" She cried out, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the alleys.

Both men froze, turning to look at her.

Tucking the parcel under her arm, she jogged over to the smaller man, uncaring now of the muddy puddles. "There you are, Bill. I've been so worried. You promised to show me where Mrs. Wilcox lives. I tried to find her myself but I got so lost." Ignoring the quizzical look from the blond man, she stood between the two men, meeting the eyes of the larger one. She twirled a strand of her long, black hair around her finger, nerves getting to her but she pressed on. "I'm so sorry for whatever trouble he has caused you. He won't bother you again. We have to go now; our boss will dock our wages if we aren't back soon."

The man trailed his eyes over her as if looking for a lie tattooed on her skin or dress. Finding nothing of interest, he stared hard at his victim for a long moment. She found herself holding her breath, silently praying her ruse worked.

Finally, he rolled his shoulders and unclenched his fists, his thick jowls still tense. "Keep ‘im away from me or next time his ass will end up in the hospital."

Slowly, she released her breath as she watched the bulldog of a man turn on his heel and stomp away, back down the alley and onto the main sidewalk.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, looking over the smaller man. As he dusted off his brown trousers and tan jacket, she was surprised to realize he stood about her height, and probably about her age, in the young twenties. If her guessing was any good.

He rubbed his jaw again and winced where an impressive bruise was already growing. "I've had worse."

She could not help but smile at his nonchalance. His bright blue eyes met her own honey brown. A timid smile echoed hers, his face so open and expressive. Something about the man she found endearing already. Maybe defending him was not such a stupid action.

"All that stuff you said, about lookin' for me and gettin' lost…"

She huffed a laugh. "I am actually lost. I'm trying to find this address here." She showed him the scrap of paper with the address scribbled on it.

It took only a glance before he handed the paper back with a smile. "You're not too far. Only three streets away….I... I can take you there if you like."

"Oh, I'd hate to impose on you."

"No, it's really fine. Seems you saved me from...well…" He shrugged, sticking his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket.

"And... you...don't mind, you know, being seen with me?"

"No, why?" Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed slightly, he stared at her like that was the strangest question.

It was in that moment she knew, whoever this scrawny man was- he was a good man. The difference in their ethnicity made no difference to him. He was a rarity in her experience with most New Yorkers.

Even though it was 1940 and this was supposed to be a land of equal opportunity.

It was not.

With a shrug and momentarily, awkward silence as they both thought about their own answers to his question, they fell into step with one another as they headed back out of the alley.

"So, what's your name? Or is it actually Bill?" She spoke up once they hit the sidewalk.

"Do I look like a Bill?"

She squinted her eyes then shook her head giggling. "No, you don't."

"It's Steve…. Steve Rogers."

"It's nice to meet you, Steve."

He directed them down another street. Their shoulders brushed occasionally as they walked, due more to their need to maneuver around puddles and other pedestrians than any sense of intimacy. "You gonna tell me your name or do I have to make one up for you?"

"Oh! Sorry. It's Elana Morales-Díaz. So, what caused the fight?"

The tips of his ears and cheeks turned pink as he ducked his head. "He, um, we...we had a disagreement."

"Obviously. I would hate to know you're friends and beat each other up for fun."

"My best friend is a boxer. He's tryin’ to teach me some moves…. does that count as beating each other up?"

She pretended to think about it. "I may let that one slide but it sounds like you might need some new friends."

"Yeah," he chuckled and peeked over at her. "Know of any openings?"

"I just might."

They stood at an intersection waiting to cross the street when they heard a shout from further down the road. Neither paid much attention initially until the shout repeated itself.

"STEVE!"

The blond looked down the road, a smile on his lips. He waved and tugged on Elana to move away from the curb. She followed along, surprised since he told her they needed to cross.

A man glided through the pedestrians easily, a few lingering looks thrown his way by some of the women. When he noticed her standing next to Steve, his eyes widened for a brief moment before a lazy smirk appeared on his face and his strut became more pronounced. With boxing gloves dangling over his shoulder, his white shirt and black trousers, he looked like he just walked out of a gym. Especially with the way his dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze, a few strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it a few times.

"I leave you for one afternoon and I come back to find you with the prettiest gal in all of New York."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're always at the gym now."

The man put Steve in a teasing headlock. Only after a flirtatious wink at her, he released the smaller man. "So, you gonna introduce me to this wolfess, Steve?"

"Ah, right. Elana, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Elana."

"Nice to meet you." She said, a small smile at their interactions. It reminded her of her brothers.

The man -Bucky- reached over and took her hand but instead of shaking it, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Pleasure is mine."

Oh, he was a charmer. The kind her mother warned her about. Then again, her father had the same devilish charisma and Elana liked to remind her mother of that. To which her mother would laugh and say that's why she warned her daughter of those men, she knew from experience. With just a wink and kiss, she would fall madly in love, leave her home and give him five babies before she even knew it. It was always after this statement often said loudly and with feigned annoyance that Elana's father would wrap his arms around his wife, lovingly kiss her temple and remind her how long he had to chase her before she even agreed to go on a date with him.

"So how do you guys know each other?" Bucky asked, those blue eyes bouncing between the two of them.

Steve coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was then Bucky finally seemed to notice the slowly darkening bruise on Steve's jaw.

"Steve!" He grabbed his friend's face and glanced over him, concern etched in his movements and expression. "What happened this time, punk?"

"Nothin'...just a disagreement. I had 'im on the ropes."

He dropped his hand, running it through his brunet hair. "You gotta stop pickin’ fights, one of these days…" The implications hung heavily in the air.

"Ah, Steve…" When he looked over at her, she nodded toward the parcel still in her arms.

"Oh right! Sorry. Buck, I gotta take her to drop somethin' off."

Bucky shrugged. "Lead the way, punk."

"Jerk."

The three of them quickly crossed the street. Steve, and soon Bucky when he understood what was going on, pointed out markers for her in case she got lost again. In a short time, they arrived at the house, one of the nicer ones in Brooklyn. The boys waited on the sidewalk as Elana walked up to the front door and handed the parcel over with the man's tailored suit.

"Where you off to now, doll?" Bucky asked when she approached them.

"Oh, I need to get back to the shop. Mr. Hendricks will most likely be upset with how late I am anyway."

"The tailorin’ shop near Prospect Park?"

"Yeah." She played with a strand of her hair, trying to hide her nerves.

"What a coincidence. We were headed that way ourselves, right, Steve?"

"What?" Steve looked at Bucky, head tilted in confusion. Bucky cuffed him in the back of the head. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Um, gonna take a nice walk in the park."

Elana could not help but giggle at the two. With Bucky looking skyward like he was silently praying for patience to deal with his best friend; meanwhile Steve rubbed the back of his head and glared at his best friend. Although she just met them and hardly knew them, she found herself enjoying their presence. Friends were not something she had in great supply...or any supply really.

Plus, if she was being honest with herself, she found her gaze drifting to the tall, charming brunet more times than she cared to admit. The butterflies in her stomach did not help the situation. She knew it was foolish. He was attractive and knew it. But when he turned those baby blues on her and winked, she could not help but be drawn to him, like a moth to the flame.

"How come we ain't seen you round before? I know I'd remember a dame as beautiful as you round Brooklyn." Bucky said on her left side while Steve walked on her right. Neither one crowded her space. Sometimes one would touch a hand to her back to direct her steps or hold her elbow when she jumped a puddle. It was sweet instead of condescending.

She shrugged. "I recently got the job at the tailor shop and I live in Queens."

They both winced making her laugh. She would never understand this animosity the boroughs had with each other.

"Well that explains a lot." Steve muttered.

"Hey!" She nudged the blond with her shoulder as she muttered. "Me gusta Queens. Ustedes dos están celosos."

"What language is that?" Steve asked, curiosity evident.

"Spanish."

"Is that why you have an accent?"

She nodded, unable to meet their gazes as she answered. "My family moved here from Spain when I was six." Although she had grown up here in New York City, gone to school just like the other kids, she still maintained a slight accent to her words, different from the stereotypical New Yorker's accent.

"Say somethin’ else." Bucky smiled down at her.

She laughed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Anythin’."

"El cielo es azul. Me duelen los pies con estos tacones. Me he reído más con ustedes dos que en semanas".

Bucky had almost a dazed look on his face. "That's beautiful."

"You have no idea what I said."

"Doesn't matter." The brunet stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Steve can talk in Irish."

"Buck…"

"What?"

"I mean, a little." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My ma came from Ireland."

Bucky snorted. "You wrote a poem for a girl in the second grade in Irish and read it to her on the playground. I'd say that's more than a little."

Steve's face was red and jaw dropped as he stared at his friend. "How...how...how do you know that?" He sputtered. "We weren't even friends yet."

Bucky winked at Elana as he answered. "Gotta be friends with the right people."

The three of them walked back, talking and laughing. Well it was mostly the boys talking and teasing one another but she enjoyed just listening to their banter. Occasionally they would direct a question to her or she would throw out a remark that had them laughing.

She guided them to the back alley of the street front shops. Mr. Hendricks disliked her walking through the front unless she had her work apron on and clean shoes.

"Well thank you for helping me and walking me back."

"It's not a big deal." Steve said.

"We'll see you round, yeah? I'd hate to just meet a gorgeous dame like you then never see her again." Bucky threw a wink at her, adjusting the boxing gloves still over his shoulder.

She opened her mouth to tease them then stopped. She truly hoped this was not the last time she saw these two. In a spur of the moment decision, she stepped closer to say goodbye. She pressed her cheeks to Steve's first, giving the traditional cheek kiss. She did the same to Bucky, though she had to rise on her toes to reach his face, and she suspected he bent over slightly.

"Hasta luego, mis amigos."

"What was that, doll?"

She looked from Bucky's smirk to Steve's red face and back. "A traditional goodbye."

"Mmm…I could get used to that." The boxer teased, nudging his friend who refused to meet her eyes now.

She smiled and started to open the back door when Bucky's hand grabbed her forearm, stalling her movements.

"Hey, wait." Those baby blue eyes met her honey brown ones. "It's Friday night. We usually go to the Stork Club for drinks and dancin’. Come with us."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Come on. It'll be great. If it helps, we'll pick you up from your house."

She could not help the laugh that slipped out at the thought. "You'd come to Queens... to get me?"

"It might break my heart to leave my beloved Brooklyn but I'd do it for you, doll."

"Honestly it'd be dangerous for you to come to my house."

"A little danger never hurt." He brushed some of her hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

He was trouble, complete trouble for her...and she knew it. But the longer he stared at her with those pleading eyes and hand now at the nape of her neck, she could feel her resolve crumbling. "I have three brothers and a protective father."

"They can't be that bad… Come on, please? Steve, help me out!"

Steve just laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

She bit the inside of her cheek thinking about it. Her brother Mateo owed her for when she covered for him when he almost got caught smoking cigarettes behind the apartment building. Tonight, her parents were supposed to visit her eldest brother and his new wife in the Bronx.

"Ok…" She whispered.

"Yeah?" A beaming grin spread over his face.

"Ok...I'll meet you there though."

"Yes!" Bucky bent over and kissed her cheek loudly. "You won't regret it! Nine o'clock!"

"Nueve. Estaré allí."

"I still don't know what you said, doll, but I love it."

She laughed, pushing him away from her. "Go! Before I'm even more late."

Before they were three steps away, she ducked inside the back of the shop. Hopefully she was able to slip in unnoticed. The shop should be closing soon so Mr. Hendricks would be in his little office room.

She leaned against the back door, hands pressed against her cheeks to will away the warmth in them. Thankfully with her brown skin, the blush would be harder to notice. As she stood there, the realization of what she just agreed to finally hit her. An icy fist landed in her gut, drowning the blush away. She had never been to a club before. She had no idea what to wear...or how to act. How was she even going to get there?

Underneath the fear though was a determination to go. Why couldn't she have fun for one night, like other young women she regularly saw and envied. Both of those Brooklyn boys seemed nice. Thinking about them brought the flush back to her skin, especially when she thought of the kiss on the cheek from Bucky. He was trouble and fun and charming and devilish and… and she wanted to spend more time with him. And Steve, the sweet, kind, funny guy that he was. She liked them both. But when thinking about those baby blue eyes, insufferable smirk and broad shoulders...her heartbeat sped up and butterflies erupted in her belly.

"Oh Dios, ¿qué voy a hacer?" She whispered to herself.

*****

Just after nine o'clock, Elana climbed out of the taxi. She stared up at the sign that brightly screamed ‘Stork Club’. So many people milled about, either walking into the club or chatting, waiting for others in their group. A couple people already looked like they had been hitting the bottles for some time, if the rambunctious yelling and obnoxious laughter said anything. The atmosphere was loud and vibrant with an air of debauchery...and she had not even stepped foot in the door.

"Oh Dios, ¿por qué estoy aquí? Estúpido. Tan estúpido. Debería irme. Ni siquiera se darán cuenta." She murmured to herself, her hands wringing the strap on her clutch. Actually, it was not even hers. She "borrowed" it from her mother's closet and prayed that she could return it before her mother noticed.

"Elana!"

At the call of her name, she turned around to see Bucky and Steve crossing the street, dodging a car that decided they were taking too long.

"You made it!" Bucky exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. He scanned her over, giving a low whistle. "Damn, doll, you look beautiful."

"Gracias." She smoothed down her floral-patterned tea dress that reached mid-calf, her kitten heels still on from earlier. Her raven hair hung loosely down her back, unstyled in the typical curls that most women wore. There had been no time to try one of those hair styles and not bring attention to herself before she snuck out. Just to make her even more self-conscious, the cherry red lipstick she wore felt heavy on her lips. Something she only wore on rare occasions. "You fellas clean up nicely."

Checking over them, they each wore nice suits. Though Steve's looked a size or two too large and the prominent bruise on his cheek ruined the look a bit. Bucky was practically sinful in his suit, showing off his broad shoulders and strong legs, his hair slicked back. Improper thoughts flooded her mind and a heat warmed her cheeks. She had a feeling she would need to go to confession tomorrow. That was tomorrow’s worry though, tonight was about fun.

"Ready to have the time of your life?" Bucky asked, excitement practically bubbled under his skin.

"That's a high standard."

"Guess I better not disappoint. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the crowded, open door. In her sudden fear, she reached back and snagged Steve's hand, dragging him along. She would never admit it but having both of them on either side of her made her feel better.

There were several different calls for Bucky, vying for his attention. He just waved or yelled something back but kept her hand in his, pulling them through. She noticed more than one disappointed female face when Bucky passed them. It churned something in her stomach which she tried to ignore.

When they finally entered the dance hall, she froze. It was nothing like she imagined and so much better. At the far end was a stage with a large band playing an upbeat song that made her bounce on her toes without realizing it. A large bar area was set up, packed with people already looking for something to wet their throats. Booths and tables lined the walls. Already the hardwood, dance floor looked packed with couples jiving. Mirrors and photographs hung on the walls making the place feel bigger even when it was so crowded. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and a youthful zeal she had never experienced.

It was intoxicating and nerve-wracking. She could not wait to join in.

The next thing she noticed when she glanced at all the people...she was the only non-white person there.

"Let's get a table." Bucky tugged them along towards an open booth on the right side of the dance floor.

She slid in on one side while Steve scooted in on the other. Bucky stood at the end, grinning ear to ear as he seemed to quickly survey the place.

"Right." He tossed his suit jacket on the seat next to her then clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the volume from the band nearby. "What kinda drink would you like?"

"Ah, vino?"

He nodded and waltzed towards the bar, throwing an arm around the shoulder of one of the men standing there waiting.

She turned back to the blond. "You're not drinking?"

"Nah, too many health issues to make it worth it."

She hummed and took note of Steve's fidgeting. "Is this your first time too?"

He chuckled. "No. I just don't...well, this isn't where I'd prefer to be on a Friday night...but don't tell Bucky... though he probably knows."

"What would you rather be doing?"

"Drawin’ or paintin’, maybe playin’ cards but I'm terrible at them."

"You're an artist?" The realization warmed her heart. This scrawny man with a heart too big for his body and kindness an invisible cloak around him. It made sense somehow. He could look past the ugly and see beauty and somehow capture it.

"I don't know if I'd say that...I just enjoy it. It's usually what I end up doin’ when I come here. Doodlin’ on a napkin while Buck dances with every girl he can."

Her stomach dropped while hearing that, which was stupid. So stupid. She swallowed thickly, hoping Steve did not notice, before she spoke again to distract herself. "Well if you doodle something tonight, can I see it after?"

"If you like."

Bucky appeared a minute later with a foamy glass of beer and a glass of red wine. Carefully, he placed them both on the table. "Ready to cut a rug?" He asked, looking at her expectedly.

"Um, I don't...I've never danced like this before." She hesitantly admitted. Steve gave her a sympathetic smile like he understood.

"Don't matter. I bet you're a swell dancer." He held out his hand for her. When she did not immediately accept his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "C'mon, ain't that hard. I'll teach you."

With a sigh, she took his hand, his smile beaming as he tugged her out of the booth. She could not help but smile back at his sheer enthusiasm. It was contagious.

He led her off to the side of the dance floor. Putting one hand on her lower back and taking the other in his hand, he began demonstrating the steps. Her eyes stayed glued to his feet while he moved, willing her brain to understand and not make a fool of her.

"You got this, doll. Told you, you're a natural. Just follow my movement, let me lead."

So she did and before she knew it, they were flying around the dance floor.

Bucky was an amazing dancer and it showed in how he effortlessly led her. A couple times she stumbled or stepped on his toes but he would just grin and encourage her to keep going. The faces of those around them blurred. The music seemed to sink into her blood and with every beat of the drum or clap of the hands from the band, her heartbeat echoed it. It was intoxicating and she had not even had a sip of alcohol. Now she understood why people flocked to these dance halls. There was something freeing in them, losing yourself to the music and movements. For a short time, you could ignore the outside world and all its trials. Here, you could be free.

Eventually she begged a break, practically panting from the several songs they danced through. The brightness in her eyes and smile though showed how much fun she was having. Still holding hands, they weaved through the crowd back to their booth where Steve sat with a napkin in front of him, pencil in hand and eyes focused downward. She slid into the booth first, Bucky right behind her.

"Have fun?" Steve asked, eyes bouncing between the two before him.

"I can't breathe." She giggled out, hand pressed to her chest. Her lungs struggled to fill up properly but instead of installing fear into her, it only made her laugh.

Bucky took a long sip of his beer and slung his arm behind Elana, on the back of the booth. "Told you, you'd have fun. You're a great dancer."

"Only cause I had a great teacher." Taking a sip of her wine, she focused on the quiet artist. "Did you draw something, Steve?"

"Yeah, just a little sketch."

"Can I see it?"

He slid the napkin over to her, nerves obvious. Giving him a small, reassuring smile, she flipped the napkin over and felt her heart stop and jaw drop. The pencil sketch was of Bucky and her dancing. His mouth was next to her ear, whispering instructions or flirtatious comments, his hand on her lower back. Her gaze was on his chest but the brilliant smile on her lips gave her away. The sketch was so realistic, it was astounding. It completely captured Bucky's confidence and her nervousness but somehow the opposite emotions only added to the image, bringing a sense of balance and trust between the two dancing partners.

"Steve, esto es…. hermoso…. increíble." She breathed out, never taking her eyes off the napkin. When she finally looked up to see him blushing and fiddling with the pencil, she smiled.

Bucky had been leaning against her so he could see the sketch also. "That might be your best one yet, pal."

"Thanks, guys. S'nothing."

"May I keep it?" She softly asked, eyes tracing the delicate lines and shading.

The embarrassed blond flapped a hand at her. "Course. It was for you if you wanted it anyway."

Silently, she reached across and squeezed Steve's hand, unable to convey all the emotions she was feeling. "There's one thing you got wrong."

"What's that?"

"I'm not that pretty."

Both Steve and Bucky chuckled.

"Elana," Bucky started, gazing down at her. "He drew you like-"

"Bucky!" A silky voice interrupted. A young woman stood at the end of their booth. Her blonde hair in perfect curls, bright red lipstick matched the equally bright red dress she wore. Her eyes zeroed in on the handsome brunet at the table, ignoring the other two patrons like they were just wallpaper. "Wanna dance?"

The sun-kissed woman could feel Bucky's hesitation. Nudging him gently in the ribs, she nodded towards the interloper. "Go. Have fun. I still need to catch my breath."

With a nod, he slipped out of the booth and followed the beautiful woman onto the dance floor. The two easily fell into step like they had done this a million times, each movement flawless and smiles on both of their faces.

She turned back to Steve, ignoring the churning in her gut. "What's your favorite thing to draw?"

They talked for a few minutes about art classes he had taken and the few commissioned pieces he had done for local businesses. The passion he spoke with about art, hands flapping and eyes alight, it was impossible not to join in his enthusiasm.

The presence of someone standing at the end of the table drew their attention away from the quick sketch of a monkey Steve had drawn on another napkin. This young woman had a haughty expression on her otherwise pretty face, glaring down her nose at Elana.

"You shouldn't be here." She stated, venom lacing every word. Hands on her curvy hips, the gold stitching in her emerald dress catching the light from above.

"Ruby, we-"

"No one is talkin’ to you, Steve." She barked then continued glaring at Elana. "I bet you're a real floozy, comin’ in here lookin’ like that. Well news flash, no one wants you or your kind here."

Tears stung in Elana’s eyes, threatening to fall. She knew this would happen. It always happened. There was always someone to remind her she was not one of them, even if her own eyes could see it. She had hoped tonight would be different. That for once, she could fit in.

"I want her here. She's my date."

The lady -Ruby- spun on her heel so quick, her dress flared out. "Bucky," she crooned, her voice sugary-sweet, so different than a moment ago. "You're lookin' like a real Fred Astaire out there tonight. Let's go-"

Bucky did not even look her way as he slid back onto the bench, eyes focused on Elana. "You alright there, doll?"

She nodded numbly, staring at the table. Twirling a strand of hair absent-mindedly around her finger, she tried to force the tears from falling. It was not even the worst insult she had heard hurled at her, but it still cut her to the quick. Every time.

"Why don't we head out, yeah? Steve there looks like he's gettin' a little warm and the music ain't so good tonight." Bucky said gently.

She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Bucky, stay…" Ruby tried one last time but he leveled a glare at her that made her take a step back.

"Take a powder, Ruby, I ain't interested."

Bucky wrapped his hand around Elana's, entwining their fingers as he slid out of the booth with her right behind him. Without even a backwards glance, he led the three of them out of the dance hall. Elana kept her head down the whole time, unable to meet anyone's eyes for fear of what she would see.

The night air was blissfully cool after the heat of the dance hall. It kissed her skin as if trying to help calm her down. At this point, the street was not as busy, everyone mostly inside now. Only a few pedestrians and cars interrupted the quiet scene.

"Elana, I'm so sorry."

"Debería irme. No debería haber venido. Soy tan estúpida." She muttered to herself, not even hearing Bucky's statement. It was a foolish idea to come out. For so long she had tried to fit in, especially as a child. Her mother always told her to be herself and embrace her difference. That was easier said than done. Tonight felt like a taste of it when she was on the dance floor. What things could have been like if everyone was accepted. If where she was from did not matter. She had been so happy dancing with Bucky, this handsome devil who treated her like she was special, holding her hand in front of everyone. Sure, Steve said he danced with a lot of girls but for tonight, she was someone while on his arm. She was someone special.

And oh, did she love the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers. Him holding her close as they danced, his warm breath hitting her neck just right. He was trouble, through and through. Her mother would call him a Casanova and tell her to run the other way. Yet she did not want to. He drew something out of her. An almost recklessness. A desire for more. More in life. To experience life with a passion. Both this new feeling and Bucky’s presence were addicting...and she found herself unable to turn away. At least not for tonight. She wanted to revel in it tonight.

It was not until a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet a pair of worried baby blue eyes that she was jolted from her internal spiral.

"Hey, hey. I have no idea what you're sayin' but it don't sound good. Why don't we walk for a bit, mmm? The night's still young."

Wordlessly, she followed. It was then she noticed Bucky was still holding her hand, palms flat against one another's. That realization drew a small smile on her lips. On her other side walked Steve, hands in his pockets but a genuine smile on his face when he caught her eye. Even after all this, these two Brooklyn boys wanted to be with her. With that in mind, she shoved her despair and pain away. Let tomorrow bring what worries that came with it. Tonight she wanted to be reckless without fear of the consequences. Tonight was supposed to be fun.

"Can't believe Ruby would say that. Always thought she was a nice dame." The brunet mused, slipping his suit jacket back on before taking Elana's hand once again.

"She only showed what she wanted you to see, Buck."

"Dance with a girl a couple times and she thinks you owe her or somethin'."

The blond quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Was it only dancin'?"

"What you gettin' at, Rogers?"

"You ditched some other girl for her once before."

His head swiveled to stare at the smaller man in shock. "I did?"

Elana spoke up. "Sounds like you have quite the selection of dance partners to choose from."

Steve snorted. "Guy has been doll-dizzy since he was twelve."

"What can I say? I appreciate fine art." Bucky said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Don't usually lock lips with paintings or statues…"

"You know what, Rogers!"

Elana laughed as Bucky let go of her hand to race around her and put Steve in a headlock. The two pretended to box for a couple minutes, grins on both their faces. When finished, the champion boxer slid up to her, a rakish smile teasing his lips as he claimed her hand back.

"Well if those gals are fine art, you sweetheart, are a masterpiece." He twirled her around once, making her dress flare out around her legs. "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Yes, Bucky."

"Good, I'd hate for you to forget." He winked and the trio started walking again.

"Oh, here." Steve suddenly said, fishing something out of his pocket. He held out his hand almost shyly.

She took the offered item to see it was the napkin with the sketch on it. "Oh, Steve. Muchas gracias." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red stain behind. "Oops."

"Here." Bucky tossed over a handkerchief to Steve.

She glanced at the napkin one more time before reverently placing it in her clutch. She already knew where she was going to put this in her room so she would always remember this night.

"Oh drat." Steve said after glancing at his watch. "It's almost eleven. I have class early tomorrow."

"Go on, punk. I'll look after her."

Elana hugged Steve and was thrilled when he squeezed her back just as tightly. "I'm so happy to have met you."

"This isn't goodbye, right?"

"I hope not. You have more artwork to show me."

He blushed yet nodded before giving Bucky a quick hug.

"Night, Steve."

"Night, jerk."

Together, they watched Steve walk down the sidewalk, wave back at them then disappear down the next street.

"Wanna keep walkin'?"

She nodded. She knew she should go home. It was getting late and she still had to get back to Queens. Yet walking side by side with this man whom she had only met several hours ago, she found the idea abhorrent. Glancing up at the night sky, only a couple of the stars were visible through the smoke, clouds and street lamps. They were lovely though, a reminder that there were greater things out there, one just had to look for them. At least, that is what her father always said.

"Hey," Bucky's voice pulled her attention back, "I never got to say it earlier but thanks...for havin’ Steve's back earlier today. Punk doesn't know when to quit."

"I'm glad he got in that fight...is that odd? If he didn't, I wouldn’t have met either one of you."

"Alright, this ONE time I'm glad he got in a fight. Though, we probably would have ran into each other eventually."

They walked in comfortable silence for a couple minutes. Two cars passed them separately and only a handful of people walked their way. Otherwise it almost felt like they were alone. It was peaceful, still holding hands and wandering the streets of Brooklyn.

"Y'know, I was kinda hopin' we'd get at least one slow song at the dance hall."

"Me too." She confessed.

"Well, we should!" An idea sparked in his eyes. "Wait here." He moved over to one of the parked cars near them. He tried to open it but it was locked so he moved to the next one. This one opened without hesitation and he slid in. The whole time Elana switched between watching Bucky and scanning the streets for someone to yell at them. What was he thinking? Suddenly music came on, drifting from the radio through the open passenger door.

Bucky stood there, leaning against the car with the biggest grin on his smug face. "Who needs a dance hall?"

She laughed, understanding what he had done. "We’re going to get in trouble."

"No, we ain't. C'mon."

"Oh, Dios mío, yes we are!"

"Dance with me." He cooed, standing before her looking like an Adonis.

With that lazy smirk and enthralling blue eyes staring down at her, refusal was not an option. The words died on her tongue as she stared up at him. The music was slow, a singer crooning about his love. The moment felt like something from a fairytale story her mother would tell her as a little girl. She knew she should go home. Stop this heat that seared through her when she found herself caught in his eyes. Stop the butterflies in her stomach when around him. Stop the way she melted under his touch, his hands always so gentle.

But she wanted this. Right now. To pretend this was her reality. To dance with her prince under the stars. That love did not care about the differences in their skin tones. For when the sun rose and this dream faded, reality would seep back in. Plus, he was a charmer. Doll-dizzy. She would not keep his attention past this night.

For now though, she could pretend. Enjoy the night in a way she never had before.

He placed her hands behind his neck and his on her hips. Standing there under the streetlight and distant starlight, they danced, swaying back and forth. Her head landed on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath it. So steady and soothing. The world faded away around them, the only things that mattered was their dancing and the music. It wrapped around them like a warm, thick blanket. Enveloping them in a sense of security and vitality. One of his hands slowly traced her spine leaving a trail of fire behind. His cheek pressed against the top of her head. She felt safe...and wanted. A heady feeling that she could sense herself beginning to crave even more. Her hand tangled in the hair, her fingers lightly scraping the back of his neck.

"Say something in Spanish." He whispered, his lips against her scalp.

"Gracias por esto ... todo esto. Ha sido la mejor noche de mi vida".

She looked back up at him, hoping to convey without words what she said. As she lifted her head up, their eyes locked. Tension filled the empty space around them, pulling them closer. For a split second, his eyes drifted to her lips and back up. Her heartbeat began racing anew. Slowly, as if waiting for her to turn away, his head tilted towards hers, his hands gripping her just a little tighter. His breath fanned across her face, warming her inside and out. She swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest. His nose brushed hers, an almost timid action that drew a smile from her. He chuckled silently then somehow pulled her even closer. She closed her eyes, a gasp escaping her when she felt the faintest touch of his lips on the corner of her mouth.

"Hey! Hey, you kids! What ya doin’ with my car?!"

All the tension evaporated like rain drops under the scorching sun.

"Shit...c'mon!" He grabbed her hand and started running away. Holding on tight, she ran next to him, as well as she could while wearing heels. The yells of the car's owner soon a distant sound behind them.

Finally, they stopped two streets later. He let go of her hand, running his hands through his hair and pacing. She leaned against the brick wall, hand over her mouth, giggles spilling forth between gasps of air. Never in her life had she done anything like this. She closed her eyes as the giggles turned into full-body laughter. One hand covered her mouth and the other wrapped around her own waist to try and contain the sound. This night was nothing like she expected but it only seemed to get better and better. This newfound revelry of youthful zeal, this silly recklessness...she wanted more and more of it.

When the laughter dissolved into small chuckles, she wiped her eyes as she opened them, hoping her make-up had not smudged too much. Not that she particularly cared in the moment.

What she saw standing before her killed the laughter on her tongue.

Bucky stood just at arm's length, staring at her like she was the stars in the heavens.

In a single step, he crowded her against the brick wall. "Elana…" he growled, voice low, and it might have been the most exhilarating sound she had ever heard. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, as he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, their lips just pressed together. A soft pressure that made her melt into his arms.

He leaned back to press his forehead against hers. His breath just as shaky as hers, both still breathing hard from their run.

"That was my first kiss." She blurted out, immediately regretting the words once they escaped.

He leaned back to look her in the eye. "Really?"

She shrugged nervously. "Not many fellas lining up to kiss a girl like me."

"Their loss, doll face." He smirked, running a thumb over her bottom lip. "May I have the honor of your second kiss ever?"

She giggled and nodded.

This time when their lips touched, it felt like more. The first was like licking the spoon used after mixing cookie dough. A taste of what was to come. The second kiss was eating warm cookies right out of the oven and practically ascending to heaven.

His lips slanted over hers perfectly, as if they were formed just for her. Their mouths moved in tandem, picking up speed. No longer were the kisses sweet and gentle. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she willingly opened her mouth to receive it like a present. These kisses were all-consuming and fiery. It was as if his touch seared into her soul, leaving an imprint there for all eternity.

She knew right away when she met Bucky Barnes, he was trouble. He was the kind of man her mother warned her about. The kind to sweep her off her feet and make her forget the world around her. He was kind, charming and so full of life. Yet she knew even as she was wrapped in his arms, lips pressed against his, that there was one truth that would haunt her. Even if she ignored it for now. That truth would never leave. So she overlooked it, sinking deeper and deeper into his kisses and embrace. Drowning herself in him. With her back pressed against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and mouths devouring one another, she had never felt more alive.

Tonight, she would choose the fire he poured into her. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy life without fear. Tonight, she wanted to pretend that this night would never end. To thrive in this feeling of passion and life, that nothing could go wrong.

For the truth was one day, he was bound to break her heart.

#marveldiversitychallenge #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky/ofc #bucky fic #Steve Rogers #Hispanic!ofc #POC character #40s!steve #40s!bucky #40s!#1940s #mzwrites

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kikidewynter · 3 years

Text

anyway i mention my pierce headcanons a lot but i’ve never put them all in a post before so

he comes from an upper middle class family. his mom’s a lawyer and his dad plays an instrument in a professional orchestra

he’s an only child, and bc pierce gives me the impression that he craves validation and praise for his work, i think his parents never really gave him that much attention. his dad was usually out of town for work, and his mom either stayed late at the office or brought all her work home with her. when he did something worthy of praise, he didn’t really get it enthusiastically—just a quick “good job,” or “keep it up,” because they were so busy or because they had high expectations for him anyway

he might not be the best singer but he has a big interest in music. he took classical piano & violin lessons growing up (explaining his canon interest in classical music) and would wear cute little tuxedos to his recitals. he started playing around with making his own music and decided it was something he wanted to pursue, so he studied music production in college

he grew up in the suburbs and went to a private high school in north stilwater where he was president of the chess club, in the band, etc. and he would always wear his school blazer & have expensive shoes. he made sure he always looked good in his uniform, maybe accessorising with a diamond earring

pierce has big prep vibes but his sr2 look also makes me think he’s kind of a jock. i think he’s into more chill sports (nothing too aggressive like football), like basketball, tennis, or badminton maybe. probably a little golf by srtt bc he likes flaunting his wealth like that

gay. i was on the fence for a while bc he’s romanceable by anyone in sriv but then i realised that volition making all the characters playersexual while never clarifying what their identities are and giving us any real lgbt rep is evil so i’m not taking it as canon. pierce gay !

grew up admiring the vice kings. they were just so cool and stylish (if you’ve seen their early concept art u know what i’m talking abt). he would walk past them on his way home from school n give them a lil fist bump but his parents didn’t want him hanging around or making friends w gang members so that was kinda the extent of his affiliation

while studying in college, he gets an apprenticeship at kingdom come records. it’s cool at first, he gets to sit in on sessions and learn abt different equipment and techniques and recording processes. but as time goes by he gets sent on more and more shady errands until he’s basically just doing vice king jobs. it pays well and it’s fun, so he doesn’t really mind. he officially joins the gang and drops out of college

his parents disapprove but he doesn’t really tell them what he’s up to bc he knows they’d cut him off, so he just says he got a permanent job at kingdom come

aaaand then he gets arrested. i figure sometime near the end of sr1 when the saints are coming down hard on the vice kings n they lost all the connections king had that kept them out of jail

but it’s cool bc he meets gat and shaundi

he gets out n gets his tattoo about a year before the boss wakes up. probably feels a little lost bc he’s like 24 now and there are no vice kings and he can’t exactly go back to work at kingdom come, he doesn’t even have any qualifications. so he goes back to college and his parents are willing to pay but warn that it’s the last time. then of course the boss wakes up and he ditches all that to roll with the saints bc he just. loves the freedom and the fun and the money and the sense of family

he and shaundi get a place together and they bicker a lot but they actually have a lot of fun living together. one time he brings a guy home from the club and dips into the bathroom for a few mins. when he comes back out, his date is sitting at the kitchen table listening to shaundi talk absolute shit bc it’s 3am and she’s blasted and got distracted looking for food and asked for his birth chart. bc she does that with like EVERY guy pierce dates and then gets back to him on whether she thinks they’re a good match or not. he tells her it’s all bullshit but really he thinks it’s cute that she’s looking out for him

wears sweats and crop tops when he’s chilling in the apartment/the crib

he gets invited over to johnny’s and he hangs out a little before AISHA comes down the stairs and he’s like HUH??? bc he was a vice king, he thought she was dead. anyway they end up talking bc aisha loves meeting new people and they become fast friends. their shared love of music means they’re always in aisha’s home recording studio making songs. even if they can’t be released, it’s nice for aisha to be able to sing again, and pierce is more than honoured to be making music with an r&b star

when the saints become celebrities, pierce thrives. he becomes the official face of the saints, gets his own sublabel under ultor to produce music and work w artists. he also gets his own talent agency and scouts new actors/models for the saints/ultor brand. he’s rich, he’s doing what he loves, and to make sure he’s always happy, he surrounds himself with suckups and other celebrities. he throws parties constantly because he loves the good vibes and the attention and being the host and life of the party. but deep down it’s not satisfying at all. i don’t think he knows what he really wants

i know it’s a lil joke but i’m taking pierce saying he does voice acting work for video games as canon. he also guest dj’s a few times a week for the classical music radio station. makes guest appearances in sitcoms and tv shows, and sometimes reality shows (like when someone suddenly has lunch w their famous friend? he’s that friend)

he has his own line of suits sold in planet saints

#pierce washington #i probably have more but i can’t remember

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martellthemandalor · 4 years

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Hiiii, could you do a Mando x reader fluff where Din is always calling the reader cute names and giving them compliments in Mando’a but they don’t know what he’s saying. Bonus if other people are around and can understand Mando so they think it’s cute. Thank you and sorry if it’s confusing!!!💜💜💜💜

Hello anon! i nearly screamed when i saw i had an ask in my inbox lmao

I had a lot of fun writing this little drabble for you, and don’t worry you weren’t confusing at all! I hope this is the sort of thing you had in mind :)

It’s All In The Nicknames

Mando still hadn’t told you where you were landing next. You were sat silently in the cockpit with him and the baby, who was sound asleep thank the maker, just watching as the steady streams of hyperspace lights shot past outside. It made you slightly uneasy that he hadn’t told you yet. It was part of your routine with him, you’d take off from whatever planet he’d had business on, he’d set the next destination, spend some time with the baby and then the three of you would settle in the cockpit and he would explain where you were heading next.

Sometimes he’d tell you what business he had there and other times, usually when the job was less than pleasant, he wouldn’t. It didn’t bother you really. After all, it wasn’t your job to know every detail of his work. Your job was to look after the baby while he was away.

In truth when you took the job you hadn’t expected the baby to be a small green creature with adorably large black eyes and even bigger ears. Neither had you expected to catch feelings for the emotionless man of beskar and yet here you were, worrying every time he was late getting back or having your stomach drop whenever he came back with sooted armour and gashes under his clothes.

It was a little confusing that Mando had broken your routine. It was, in the end, really the only thing that kept structure to the endless ebbing time inside the Razor Crest. This however wasn’t the only thing that had changed with him the past couple months. At first you were sure you were imagining things, but by the 5th time of catching him staring at you when you were holding the baby you knew you couldn’t be mistaken.

He’d also started finding more excuses to touch you. Things like pushing that stray hair out of your face when you had your hands full, coming up close behind you to adjust your aim when your practicing with your blaster (which Mando had given you ‘just in case’) and, most commonly, placing a hand on your back as you navigate the dodgy last step from the cockpit to the main hold. And then there was-

“Can you take the kid down to the hold and wait for me, cyar’ika.” (“Sweetheart”) Yeh. That. He’d started to refer to you in a language that you didn’t understand. It didn’t bother you. In fact whenever he did it your heart faltered in its steady beat. It was something to do with the way he said it, there was a reverence there, and a sort of tenderness behind the words.

“Yeh, no problem Mando,” You replied, scooping the sleepy child from its crib. It was tricky to manoeuvre yourself and the bundle in your arms down the ladder but you managed it. You held the slowly waking baby close to your chest, bouncing them gently in your arms as they began to stir, hoping to quell the oncoming tantrum of being woken up to soon.

It seemed to be working, until the hold jolted, throwing you drastically off balance. You tried to hold the kid as steady as you could as your other hand flew out to catch yourself on the weapons storage. No such luck. The small gasps from the baby soon turned into wails as tears fell from their black orbs.

“Shh baby it’s okay,” You said quietly in the child’s ear, wiping away the tears from their face. “Your dad just made a BAD LANDING that’s all,” You hissed in the direction of the dark figure scaling down the ladder.

“Sorry, mesh’la,” (“Beautiful”) He said, coming up beside you. He rested one hand casually on your back, while he spoke calmly to the blubbering baby. You tried to ignore the way his mere touch felt electric, the simple feeling of his hand on you spreading a restless warmth throughout your body. Instead you focused on cooing at the kid with Mando.

Now that the child had the attention of both of you turned firmly on them, it didn’t take long for the tears to stop and the wails to die down to quiet hiccups. With the baby now calm you turned to face your reflection in the beskar. He still didn’t move his hand.

“So are you going to tell me where we are or not?” You asked, teasingly poking at his fabric covered upper chest. If you’d been listening harder you would’ve heard the way his breath hitched under the helmet at the sudden contact. He turned so his visor was fixed on you.

“I think it’s better if I show you,” He simply replied.

You were hoping for some planet of crystal waters and hot sun, or endless rich green fields to relax in. At a push you were secretly wishing he was taking the three of you to a hotel as a surprise. He’d certainly been doing enough jobs to afford a room at one. But no, instead he’d let you to much a bigger surprise.

One you were overwhelmingly honoured he trusted you enough to share with you.

It was an underground clan on Mandalorian’s. One of the few thriving clans left in the galaxy. You were shocked he’d managed to track one down, let alone risk coming here with an outsider like you. It moved you so much that you nearly cried when you thanked him for trusting you. He responded as if it was no big deal, merely taking your hand and telling you that you can repay him by letting him teach to fight properly.

That’s how you got here, kitted out in second hand beskar armour and being guided by Xarra, a clan member you’d befriended, to one of the training rooms. The armour fitted you surprisingly well, but it didn’t stop you from worrying that you looked ridiculous. You felt as if you were just a kid playing dress up. The anxiety spiked again when you walked into the room. It had three big sparring mats, two of which being vigorously abused by pairs of fighters, the centre one however was empty, save for your Mandalorian. Mando turned to face you and just…froze.

“kandosii'la,” (“Stunning,”) He said, a little breathlessly. Xarra chuckled behind you, clearly understanding what had been said. You turned to ask what he meant, but before the question could form on your tongue Mando called you to join him on the padded ground.

You reluctantly walked to meet him in the centre. He must have noticed you nervousness, because he softened his fighting stance.

“Mando I… I don’t even know where to start,” You said, running a hand through your hair.

“That’s okay, cyare,” (“Beloved”) His voice was soft as he moved to stand in front of you. “Start by moving your left foot in front slightly, that’s it, then shuffle your right foot to be in line with your shoulder,” You followed his instructions, glancing nervously between your feet and the dark glass of his visor. “That’s good, now bend your knees a little, and ground your power into your feet, distribute your weight evenly.” He stepped back a little, and you mourned the loss of closeness. Then he mirrored your stance, but drew his fists up so his left hand was nearly in front of his face, his right drawn further towards his chest. “Now copy me,” He commanded.

You did as he asked, then watched as he drew himself up straight again. He circled you, helmet tracking up and down your frame. He did a full rotation, then stepped forward. He placed a hand on your upper chest, just under your right shoulder.

“Draw up here, cyar’ika.” He said, the proximity of the vocoder to your ear sending a cascade of shivers down your spine. He guided you to pull back a little, putting your torso on a slight twist, then moved back to admire you again. “Perfection, mesh’la.”

One of the other Mandalorian partners murmured to each other at that, looking between the two of you. Mando caught bits of what they were saying. He particularly blushed under the stifling helmet when he heard them mention how adorable it was that he called his partner such loving names in the Mandalorian mother tongue, even when they couldn’t understand what he was calling them.

He shook off their comments and went to stand opposite you. He adopted the stance himself, but left his arms braced by his sides.

“Now hit me,” He said, tapping his chest. “Hard as you can. Use your right hand.”

You steeled yourself, bracing for the pain that was sure to come from striking that beskar with all your strength. You lunged at him, throwing your fist against his chest. He rocked back, which you were proud of, but pride did nothing to quell the pain that exploded across your knuckles.

“Kriffing maker alive!” You cried out, trying to shake the pain out of your hand.

“That was good!” Mando praised. “Again. show me how hard you can really punch cyare.”

And so the hours flew by, Mando was an excellent teacher and an even better sparring partner. He showered you with praise when you made even the smallest improvements. Things like:

“That was even better dral solus!” (“Strong one”)

“Your right hook is getting good,”

“You had really good form that time round, ner me'suum'ika,” (“My Moon”)

By the time you had finished that afternoons lesson you and Mando were the only pair that remained sparring. The only other person in the room was Xarra, who was sat observing the two of you. She had chimed in every now again with helpful comments on your technique, but mainly the only sound you heard from her was a soft chuckle whenever Mando made comments in his mother tongue.

It peaked your interest that your friend could understand, so when your Mandalorian told you that he some things to sort with the armourer and he’d meet you back at the room, you made the decision to adopt a mission of your own.

Mando returned to your shared room that night to find you sat on his bed, a huge bantha-shit eating grin on your face. He shook his head at you and went to set a bag onto your bed.

“How was your meeting with the armourer, cyar’ika?” You asked, with flawless pronunciation that you were more than a little smug about it. Mando dropped the bag he was holding to the floor and slowly rotated on his heel to face you.

“How long have you-” He started in a low voice.

“Only the past hour, Xarra took me through a very thorough translation session,” You replied quickly, not wanting to make him embarrassed. He moved quickly to sit beside you, and you wasted no time in slipping your hands into his gloved ones.

“Does this mean that you… you feel the same?” His voice was quiet through the vocoder. Gloved thumbs ran across the flesh of your hands, his visor fixed upon where the two of you were joined. You gently pulled a hand from his and used it to tilt his helmet up so he could meet your gaze.

“Of course Mando, for a long time to,” You replied. There was a beat, a beat that seemed to last a lifetime, where he didn’t move. When he did move, it was with such slow precision it almost scared you.

He guided your hands to his helmet and rested them either side of his helmet, then his own moved to frame your face. He tilted his head forward and guided yours to do the same, until your warm flesh met the cold of his beskar. You closed your eyes. The raw feeling that overcame you the moment you did made the months of build up worth it. Pure trust, pure affection and pure unadulterated contentment flooded your senses. Only when you thought you’d been successful at holding back tears did he speak again.

“My name is Din Djarin,” He murmured. That was when the dam broke. A sob wracked your body, and as it did you felt his strong arms envelope your body and pull you tight to him. And then, as if on cue, the damn baby woke up with a loud cry.

(read part 2 here!)

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian drabble #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #baby yoda #mandalorian fic

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redisriding · 3 years

Text

The Right Swipe - Chapter Seven

A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU Fanfic

All character’s belong to the wonderful Sarah J Maas.

Tag List: @superspiritfestival @duskandstarlight @perseusannabeth @courtofjurdan @omg-aelin @keshavomit @rainbowcheetah512 @queenestarcheron @mis-lil-red

“Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Of course!”

“Why?”

“I want you to like them.”

“Feyre,” Tamlin said, catching her wrist to stop her as they walked along the street towards the Weaver’s Cottage.

Feyre looked up at her tall, handsome boyfriend. He had dressed impeccably tonight, in a dark navy suit and crisp white shirt. His golden hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. He radiated control. Totally at odds with the jittery nervousness that Feyre knew she exuded. She placed her hands on those broad shoulders of his, to centre herself.

“I am going to love your sisters. They’re your family, and I love you very much.”

A thrill went through Feyre at those words. They were still so new to them. Whispered in bed for the first time only a few nights ago.

She hadn’t known what love felt like until she met Tamlin, but now she knew for sure that was what she felt.

It was electric.

Like standing on the edge of a cliff about to jump and not know whether you were going to plunge into the icy depths below or soar into the sky. It was the adrenaline that kept her on edge.

It was what it felt to be alive.

She smiled back at Tamlin, “You truly are the best, you know that, don’t you? I cannot put into words how you make me feel. I love you.”

“I think you just did,” Tamlin said with a chuckle, before leaning down and pressing his lips lightly to hers.

Feyre broke the kiss a moment later, swatting away his handsy protests. “Come on now,” she said, linking her arm through his, “Let’s go meet my sisters.”

Thankfully, they were the first to arrive. It allowed them to get settled at the table, and for Feyre to order a large glass of wine before Elain appeared, followed soon after by Nesta.

Introductions were made, Tamlin graciously kissing both sisters on the cheek while Feyre swept both her sisters into hugs. “He’s very handsome,” Elain had whispered in Feyre’s ear while they embraced.

The conversation that followed once everyone was seated was polite if awkward. Everyone muttered general comments about how good the food looked and what they were debating ordering.

Feyre knew a cross examination of Tamlin was coming, but her sisters held off at least until the food was ordered.

As soon as the waiter had disappeared, did Nesta begin her assault.

“Tamlin, Feyre tells me you work for Spring Court Developments?”

“I own the company actually.”

“Wow, that seems like an impressive thing to have achieved for someone so young.”

“I started working straight out of college and worked my way up.” Tamlin’s hand found Feyre’s leg, he began brushing lazy strokes up and down her thigh.

“You didn’t inherent the company from your father?”

“Well I—.”

“I thought I recognised your family name, and then when Feyre told me who you worked for…”

“I work for myself, Spring Court Developments is my company.”

“Gifted to you by Daddy.”

“My father trained me from a young age. It was always his intention that I would take over the company as my own.”

“That’s still very different from building the company up from the ground on your own, like you told Feyre.”

Tamlin’s hand stilled on Feyre’s leg. “Spring Court Developments has expanded exponentially under my command.”

“Perhaps, but if it weren’t for your father’s money you would not be in the position you are now.”

His fingers began digging into the flesh of her upper thigh. “I’m not going to apologise for the hard work of my parents.”

“The hard work of your parents is not the issue in question here.”

Tamlin’s lip curled up into a snarl.

Feyre knew he was holding his temper on a short leash.

Perhaps, gripping it as tightly as he gripped her leg.

Feyre tried covertly to shake him off, she was going to have bruises tomorrow if he didn’t realise his hold soon. But Tamlin remained oblivious to her attempts to escape his grasp.

“Tamlin,” she hissed but he didn’t notice.

His attention was focused totally on Nesta, the vain in his forehead twitching.

“If you are suggesting that I am some sort of wastrel who just lives off my parent’s money and does no work of my own, you are sorrily mistaken.” His voice was controlled, icy, but there was no mistaking the rage that bubbled just beneath.

“I—.”

Tamlin didn’t pause to listen to Nesta’s comeback. “If that were the case, then I would have run my father’s company into the ground by now, instead, I think you will find that Spring Court Developments is thriving. It is a very different beast from the company my father started all those years ago, but I promise you it is very much my company.”

Elain and Feyre exchanged a worried look, as Nesta took another swing. “Do you think your father would be proud of what you’ve turned his company into?”

The growl Tamlin emitted wasn’t enough to stop her though. “The company your father started all those years ago focused on building affordable houses for young families in a growing city. The company his that son runs today is more concerned with forcing those very families out of their homes so the land can be used to build condos for business men who don’t even live here.”

Something like realisation flashed across Tamlin’s face, reducing his boiling temper to a simmer he could once again exert control over. “And whom, may I ask, do you work for?”

“Amren and Associates.”

“Lawyers.” Tamlin breathed, sitting back in his chair.

Feyre frowned, looking between Nesta and Tamlin. Clearly there was more going on in this conversation than she understood. She made a mental note to ask Tamlin about it later.

The waiters appeared at their table with their starters, giving Feyre the perfect opportunity to change the direction of the conversation.

“Elain,” she said, louder than she had anticipated, but both Nesta and Tamlin’s focus snapped to her, “tell us about your date last night.”

“Oh yes!” Elain’s face lit up, blushing slightly as she picked at her food. “Last night was my second date with Lucien. It went really well.”

“What did you guys do?” Nesta asked, her attention now focused on Elain, she ignored Tamlin who continued to brood in her direction.

“It was so lovely, he brought me for a walk through the Velaris botanical gardens so we could watch the sunset and then we went and got Italian food.”

“Brought you to the botanics? It sounds like he has been really paying attention when you talk,” Feyre said.

Elain blushed, “I had told him that I loved the botanical gardens, but I don’t think he realised quite how much until we got there.”

“Did you go all Elain on him?”

“All Elain?” Tamlin asked.

“I can’t help it, I see flowers and I just start spilling everything I know about them,” Elain said.

“That must have been quite boring for him,” Tamlin said, taking a bite of his roll.

Nesta’s head shot around to look at him, her mouth open as if she was going to rebut his comment, but she caught the warning look the Feyre shot her in time and refrained from saying anything.

Elain frowned. “I don’t think he was bored…at least he pretended to look interested.”

“Some men will do anything to get laid.”

Elain put down her fork and blinked at Tamlin, “We haven’t had sex.”

“But he wants to.”

Elain blushed furiously, whatever she was about to say next died on her tongue as her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

It was Nesta who jumped in, “Is that why you got Feyre her job, so she’d sleep with you.”

Tamlin swallowed what he was chewing, shaking his head. “No, don’t you listen?”

Feyre froze at the tone he used towards her sister. Nesta too had gone ridged, it was shock, Feyre was sure, at being spoken to like that, that prevented Nesta from replying.

The gap in conversation however allowed Tamlin to continue. “I said, some men are like that, but not all men.”

“I don’t think Lucien is like that,” Elain murmured but Tamlin ignored her.

“I knew when I met Feyre that she would have slept with me if I asked. She was clearly the kind of girl you could get into bed if you bought her dinner.”

Feyre’s head whipped to look at Tamlin. She never knew that he thought about her in such a derogatory manner, let alone speak out loud about her like that…and to her family. It was mortifying. Tears sprang to her eyes.

But Tamlin continued, “I’m a very spiritual man, I listen to a podcast series by a priestess, her name is Ianthe, you probably don’t know her. The podcasts are for women but I find I get a great deal out of them. I learn about how women think, how they feel, and how I can attune myself to the needs of women.”

Nesta stared at Tamlin, blinking, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

Feyre felt hot, her breath shaky as the tears still burned at her eyes.

“One of Ianthe’s seminal works is about only giving yourself sexually to those who you connect with spiritually. I knew within moments of meeting Feyre that she was someone I could give myself to in every way.” He looked down at Feyre then, with that soft smile and loving eyes that cracked something in Feyre’s chest. The hurt that she felt immediately disappeared, and as Tamlin’s hand began moving on Feyre’s thigh again, the sticky heat became something altogether more pleasant.

“I practice what is called no fap.”

Nesta choked on the water she had been taking a sip of in an attempt to regain her composure.

“What is that?” Elain asked.

“I abstain from masturbation.” Tamlin said plainly, “So that first night, when I spilled my gentlemen's mayonnaise into your sister, it was like being elevated to another plane of existence.”

Nesta seemed to be having some sort of break down, her eyes wide, she gawked at Tamlin, her mouth appeared to be forming the words “gentlemen’s mayonnaise” over and over.

Elain meanwhile had turned a shade of puce.

There was a long pause, before Feyre decided to push through the awkwardness. With a long drink from her wine glass she launched into an excruciatingly detailed monologue about her day in the gallery. When she finally finished, the main course had arrived and normal, first meeting, chitchat resumed. Everyone was keen to stay away from topics that risked igniting tempers again.

As the waiters cleared their main course, Nesta turned to Elain and asked, “So what about the other guy you were seeing, is Lucien in the lead at the moment?”

“Azriel?” Elain shook her head, “No, he’s still very much in contention. We’re actually having dinner together at the weekend.”

“So you’re finally going to meet your mysterious man?”

“Yes, although he’s hardly mysterious at this point. I feel like I know him with how much we talk.”

“Do you know where he’d taking you yet?”

“No not yet, he said he’d send me the address before hand. I think he wants it to be a surprise.”

“Make sure you turn your location on, so I can see where you are.”

“I always do.”

“I just worry about you, especially when you’re with strange men from the internet.”

“A bit of a slut are you, Elain?” Tamlin’s words cracked like a whip through the air. Tempers which had cooled during the course of their dinner immediately reignited.

“How dare you speak to my sister like that,” Nesta hissed, her top lip curling back to expose her teeth.

“It would explain why you look like that,” Tamlin said, gesturing to Elain.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Nesta was on her feet now, voice rising. People at other tables looked over to see what the disturbance was.

“Let’s not make a scene now Nesta,” Tamlin said condescendingly.

“How dare you! You know, I let the stuff earlier slide because you were talking about Feyre, disgusting as it was, it’s your relationship and who am I to get involved in that, but to speak to Elain like that, when you don’t even know her—.”

“Oh please, pretend all you like that you’re defending your sister’s honour when we both know—.”

“You disgust me,” she said drawing herself up to full height to sneer down at him, “Feyre, you know I love you, and I know that I can’t tell you how to live you life, but I refuse to sit here and listen to this for another moment. I’m leaving.” Grabbing her bag, Nesta pivoted on her heel and stormed out of the restaurant.

“Very dramatic your sister,” Tamlin said, watching her go.

“Emmm…I think I might go after her,” Elain whispered.

Feyre just nodded at Elain, how could she allow her sisters to be spoken to like that and by the man that she loved. They didn’t deserve that, especially not Elain, after everything she’d been through.

True, Tamlin didn’t know about that stuff, but it was still at best a reckless thing for him to say. At worst, it was cruel.

It would be a wonder if his words didn’t send Elain into another downward spiral, and just when she seemed to be pulling herself up from the depths.

Nesta was right to storm out. Feyre only hoped that the sisters would lean on each other for support tonight.

“Talk to you tomorrow,” Elain whispered as she kissed Feyre on the cheek, her hand stroking her hair.

“Okay,” Feyre whispered, unsure of her ability to form a complete sentence, to say what she wanted to say to Elain, to comfort her, without breaking down completely.

Elain gave Tamlin a curt nod, which as Elain went, was as good as sticking her middle finger in his face, before hurrying out of the restaurant.

After a moment’s calm, a waiter appeared to check if everything was okay.

Tamlin ordered a banoffee pie for dessert.

They sat in terse silence as Tamlin ate it.

Bite by painfully slow bite.

“Your sister’s are certainly spirited,” Tamlin finally said, after they eventually left the restaurant.

Feyre trailed behind him as they walked down the street to where he had parked his car. Her leg hurt from where he had dug his fingers into it during that first confrontation with Nesta. It had been almost dead when she first stood up after Tamlin had, after what seemed like eons, decided it was time to go home.

Now she couldn’t keep up with his long strides.

“Oh for heavens sake Feyre, hurry up,” he snapped when he realised she was behind him.

“I—.” Her voice died on her lips, as he turned around to wait on her. One eyebrow raised in question. In challenge.

Feyre took a deep breath to steady herself, for a moment she felt brave standing up to Tamlin, “You hurt me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Feyre, I didn’t hurt you.”

“You did, when you gripped my leg earlier it really hurts, and I know it’s going to bruise tomorrow so don’t tell me you didn’t hurt me when I can’t walk.”

Tamlin’s eyes went wide, he was in front of her in two strides, cupping her face in his hands pressing kisses to the corners of her mouth. “Feyre, baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you. It was an accident.”

The tears that Feyre had held back all night suddenly began flowing down her cheeks.

“Shhh, Feyre please don’t cry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she hiccuped, “but you did.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt you baby, you mean everything to me.”

It was all coming out now, the confession that he had hurt her, the tears that she had repressed all night. She needed to get it all out. “Why were you so awful to my sisters?”

“Nesta was very rude to me.”

Feyre frowned, thinking back on the evening. Was Nesta rude? Or was she just being her brutally blunt self? “She wasn’t rude, she was looking out for me. She wanted to get to know you and to understand your intentions with me.”

“My intentions with you…Feyre, I didn’t want to do this now, or here.”

“What?”

In one moment Tamlin was standing in front of Feyre, his hands holding her face gently as he wiped the tears from under her eyes. The next he was on the ground, kneeling in front of her, pulling a little black box from the inside of his jacket.

Someone shrieked in the distance.

Feyre didn’t realise what was happening until he flipped open the lid to reveal the biggest diamond she had ever seen.

Could he be?

No!

Surely not?

“Marry me Feyre.”

#the right swipe #acotar fanfiction

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madyxtothemax · 3 years

Text

The Pit Stop - Part Two with @MyArrowBends

Madyx:

<The minute he agreed, my grin stretched into a broad smile. I was sure it gave me away entirely, but that was alright considering he'd pretty much just called us both out. Atticus was making it really tricky to remain professional. My gut was telling me when I laid eyes on the goods I was going to be full on dickmatized. I already had his dick on my mind in a way I didn’t ever have it on my mind, mostly because anything beyond surface attraction was extinguished as soon as the wick got lit. I may have wanted it, but as soon as my temptation registered, my chemistry stripped me of it. It was fucked. Deeper interest meant distraction and therefore, thanks to the nature of my kind, there was something to keep it in check, kind of the equivalent of a hormonal response.

The reaction numbed my own receptors in favor of amplifying the one whose itch I was scratching. That was how it worked, their ultimate pleasure at the expense of mine. But, as was the way of nature, in order to thrive and evolve, there were loopholes, even for the fae. At the edges of my consciousness, something was hinting at the idea Atticus qualified.

Was I interested? Hell yeah, I was interested and nothing so far had dulled for me, my antenna was still receiving, confirmed by a jump of my dick against my zipper. The awakenings kept coming and I was going to stop asking why to avoid any jinxing. There was a tugging at the back of my mind; I knew there was something about Atticus that was allowing this exchange. He was unique. I was chasing an internal lead but I couldn’t quite catch what it was. Not yet.

When he pulled his sweatshirt up over head, I didn’t miss how some of his t-shirt dragged up his abs with it before falling back down due to gravity. Fuck if that little flash of skin didn’t leave me wanting to hit rewind and watch it all over again.

I had to get a grip. Seriously.

Right. Business. I stretched back from my spot to grab the consent forms that required his autograph, handing it over to him.>

Formalities. Let’s talk about some specifics. Pain? Are you good with it? There’s an option of using a numbing agent. Check box three if you’re declining.

Because of the nature of this piercing we’ll go with a larger gauge. I’m thinking either an eight or a ten. I brought out some twelve gauges but something tells me those will be too small. <Casual, real smooth, Madyx, why not just tell him you think he’s going to be impressive?> Too small with the gauge, the greater the risk of rejection.

I’ll drop the first piercing a certain distance below your head, it may be instinct to start higher on the shaft but if you want a Prince Albert down the line, you’ll want to leave some space.

Are you with me so far? Any questions? <clearing my throat because suddenly I was really thirsty> And when you’re ready, go ahead and whip it out for me. <There it was, heat in my cheeks and a smirk on my lips because I was giddy about seeing his cock, and hadn’t been shy about expressing it. I was ready to go for broke and blur every last line.>

Atticus:

-It felt like so much was suddenly happening all at once, which hadn’t that been what I was asking for when I told him to get needling me? I suppose it was. Couldn’t fault the guy for taking that request as seriously as he had when I originally asked about piercings. Madyx had been nothing but a professional on task, even through the flirting. He seemed to be dealing with things much better than I was. And that was a good thing, I didn’t want a guy with nerves and shaky hands coming at me with a needle. Hell no.

A clipboard with a paper had been handed to me along with instructions to fill it out. Pain, numbing, more piercings. Woah. That needed addressing before any ink hit the page.-

Uh. No. I won’t be getting a Prince Albert. I can tell you that with confidence. Something about it feels…just not for me. But you can still make the judgement on placement regardless.

-Nodding to myself, I picked up the pen that came with the clipboard Mad had given me. I read over the words on the consent form, though they didn’t stick, I had to give them a couple more passes before I caught the gist of what should have been an easy read, my mind was still too preoccupied with everything, it didn’t have room for unimportant things like informed consent for a body modification procedure. I laughed as I realized it had been the same for me when I was working the nine to five.- Paperwork, yeah? Does anyone ever enjoy that part of these things?

-I focused on filling in the blanks, and was surprised at how steady my hand felt. The nerves I was previously feeling seemed to settle right into anticipation and excitement. As I got to the part about pain, I hesitated. I knew I had a pretty decent pain threshold. I had survived falling out of my childhood treehouse, broke my ankle and still managed to hobble my way back into the house before I felt any real pain register.

I checked the box to forgo the numbing. It felt a little like cheating myself on the whole experience anyway. I didn’t want to look back on this night and regret having missed out on even some pain. Pain was the counterbalance to merely existing. It let you know you were alive.

When he asked me if I had any questions, I shook my head no and looked up just in time to see his face flush with heat. Well now. My grin was instant and full as I passed him the completed paper. All doubt about his invite to stick around being out of pity fell away as fast as I could unbutton my jeans. That red on his cheeks told me he was just as affected by me as I was him.

There was nothing left to do but put myself on display for him as instructed. Full wood be damned, I swung my legs around to rest on the outstretched part of the chair and pressed my back against the upper part as I pressed my feet down using the leverage to lift my hips up as I lowered the zipper, and in one smooth motion I pushed my jeans and boxers down enough to give him all the access he needed to get the job done.-

Madyx:

<I eyed the paperwork, scanning into my head all of his preferences. I was thrilled by the fact he hadn’t opted for the numbing, but I didn’t think I’d add any bonus pain. We’d see how he handled the forceps and go from there. Setting the clipboard aside, I tried to avert my eyes, I really did, when it was curtain call time. I didn’t want him to feel as though I was going to sit there and gawk, but I’d be lying to myself if I wasn’t looking forward to the reveal. Shit, if my peripheral vision was any indication, I was in a world of trouble. I cleared my throat. Oh man.

I’d encountered plenty of cock in my life and wasn’t lacking confidence when it came to his, but my attraction was throwing a wrench into the mix. Hello nerves. Here he was, cock out and I was the one hesitating. I stalled… getting everything I needed to make the piercings happen all lined up before finally finding my balls again. Rotating on my stool, my eyes went immediately to his...full staff.

Holy shit.

His dick was...the Adonis of dicks. I tried to casually rub my gloved-hand over my mouth to hide the way I was grinning on sight of it, but it was too late. It was NOT professional but I couldn’t help it. I was also full of gratitude because I had asked him to hang out before the reveal; I didn’t want him to feel objectified. The sexual tension between us was arresting but it wasn’t the only thing driving the mood. Atticus seemed to be throwing off this vibe - no - a distinct message, that if he were going to get any pleasure out of the deal, I’d have to indulge in my own.

I finally lifted my eyes to make that contact with his and smirked for what felt like the fiftieth time in the course of thirty minutes. It felt dirty. It felt right. It felt easy. I wondered how his desires would shift if I told him my pleasure would be his body under mine before my lips wrapped around that Adonis cock. And that that would just be the warm up.

While my mind surfed these waves of fantasy, there was suspense in the silence, but it was not uncomfortable. I was overdue on throwing some dialogue into the mix.> I can work with that.

<Yep. I could. I could put in normal hours, plus overtime and then some holiday while I was at it. Ten gauge was going to be perfect. He definitely had the size for the eights, but his dick was too gorgeous to let the jewelry take center stage. I should have fucking known... it matched the rest of him.>

I’m pretty confident you know yourself, so I believe you on the Prince Albert, but who knows what five years might change. <Grabbing one of the brushed steel barbells, I brought it up to set it against the back side of his shaft, below the head. I knew the metal would be cold against his skin and I couldn’t help myself from making contact. Gods...he was so hard, and it was apparently making my own cock want to stand up and shake hands. I inhaled through my nose to calm my shit, because I still had work to do. I moved the placement of the barbell down.> Number two I was thinking it should sit... right here. <I increased pressure this time, resisting every urge to add some fae enhancements to the mix.> Thoughts? Do you want to see how any other styles look, make sure this is the right aesthetic? Not that you can’t swap it later, but I want you to like what you walk away with. <Ouch, somehow saying the last part stung and made me immediately want to retract the words for how they made me feel. Thankfully there was a double frenum piercing at hand, and that fact kept me anchored in the moment.>

Atticus:

-If ever I felt like I was living my life in slow motion, it was right now. Once I had shoved my jeans down, I settled into the chair and waited. It was much like ripping a band-aid off. Quick, easy, mostly painless. I looked over and watched as Madyx turned toward me, and almost laughed, he was doing his damndest to not outright stare. He was failing. I could see his gaze moving all over but it kept returning to my cock. That did wonders for the nerves I had been previously feeling about the whole situation.

I could see the grin he wasn’t quite able to hide with his hand and if that wasn’t the most endearing thing I had seen, I didn’t know what was. It was obvious he was needing a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts, and I wanted to put him at ease, make a joke, something, but I was already struggling as much as he seemed to be. What a pair we were right now.

Then, something must have righted itself for him, because he looked me dead in the eye and fucking smirked.

Guess his thoughts had figured out where they wanted to go because he immediately followed that smirk up with a comment about being able to work with what I had on display. I laughed hard. More of the slightly awkward tension between us melted away in that moment. I was about to tell him he had no choice but to work with it because I wasn’t looking to have any cosmetic surgery done, but he once again brought up future piercings. I shook my head.- Seriously, I’d rather you tattoo your name across my forehead than get a…

-I trailed off as he brought a barbell up to check for sizing and all further words died on my tongue. I swallowed them down as the cool metal hit heated skin. It was light, barely there at first, but the second one I felt firmer pressure and all I could do was nod at his recommendations.-

You’re the expert here, Mad. I trust you. Despite the current circumstances, I’m not exactly the flashy type, so go with whatever you think will look best. Better yet, choose what you would want to have. Yeah. Go with that. That’s what I want. What you’d choose if you were me.

-The idea of having hand picked barbells felt right. It would be something I could have with me to remember this night and experience. I knew I wouldn’t forget anything about this, or Madyx for as long as I lived. Everything from the moment I walked into the shop felt like I was living right in the middle of what would be one of those memories a person wished they could relive over and over again once it was over. His comment about walking away with something I liked hit right in the chest, and that took me by surprise.

At no point during any of my travelling west had I felt the desire to put down roots, and now, this guy was sewing seeds of doubt and wonder. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Sure, he asked me to stick around after the piercings were done, but that didn’t mean he meant for more than the night. Did it?-

Madyx:

I like you, Atticus, and there is no way in hell I’d let you get my name on your forehead. Maybe your ass, but not your face. <more smirking as I set the jewelry down> Promise me you won’t ever mess with all that gorgeous.

<My tone was firm and unyielding, even with the understanding he’d been joking. He didn’t need any extras, he was almost too-easy on the eyes, his good looks authentic even under his pseudo-disguise of road wear. I was just about to ease into the comfort zone and cruise at a lazy pace, when he hit me with another heart-punch.

My head leaned to one side and my grin lifted on the opposite end when he asked me to pick out the barbells for him. While I knew they were anything but permanent, something kicked at me deep down, an awareness that this was more than just a casual request from him. It was for me too. Hello fireball of feelings. I let every level hit me without putting up a defense. I was stunned, honored, aroused and touched in all the right ways. And….there was my heart again, banging so hard in my chest I felt the throb in my dick. My smile was broad and open.>

That’s a first. In my ten plus years of doing this, nobody has ever asked me to pick for them. Thanks for that trust. <I hit his eyes with mine to hopefully convey the conviction in my words. I already knew what I was going with for him, but I was going to show him why. I picked up one of the brushed steel 10-gauges and held it between us.> These...are understated. Also underrated, if you ask me. I promise you I’m not trying to pawn off inventory, but these have been overlooked by one-hundred percent of clients. Not only do they match your energy…these are going to leave any partner with a some extra sensation for the matte surface of the balls. It may be subtle, but not negligible. Check it out while I get you ready. <I dropped the barbell into his hand and redirected my attention to his cock. Damn. He definitely wasn’t flaccid. I switched out my gloves, snapping on a new set because I’d been premature with the first pair, even if they were just for show. A perk of being inked or pierced by a pleasure fae was the zero risk and accelerated healing for the recipient.

I went about setting up the sterile environment, framing his crotch with surgical drape before opening up an antiseptic wipe to prep his shaft.> This might be a little cold. <I popped my brows and then swiped up and down the backside of his dick. Sweet hell, it was challenging to keep my head in the game. After I finished up with that, I pinched the skin below his head, it was tight, but I could get the needle through without risk of injury. Grabbing the forceps, I clamped the skin to hold it in place, lifting my eyes.>

Take a breath with me, Atticus.

When you’re ready. Just say the word.

Atticus:

-I had been expecting laughter, to have my request of Mad choosing the hardware for me brushed off on some kind of professional boundary or limitation given the personal nature, and how once used, the barbells couldn’t be returned if I didn’t like them. None of those things happened. Instead, I found myself holding a slightly rough piece of stainless steel, after being told to give it a feel. I rolled it between my thumb and index finger while my brain caught up with the compliments he had paid me only moments before.

He liked me. That’s what he had said. I already figured as much, but getting the vocal confirmation was nice. I’d need it to remind myself if I went and got all doubting Thomas again. As I considered the way the brushed metal dragged over the pads of my fingertips, I chuckled to myself at how casually he had suggested tattooing his name on my ass. The idea struck me in a way that didn’t leave me feeling like I had earlier when he asked if I had been interested in getting some ink. And what a conundrum that left me in.

I reminded myself I still was not the tattoo type, not by a long shot then shook my head to get my brain back online before I could make any more snap decisions, because getting two piercings was plenty of snap decisions for one night. The whole sticking around afterward was not being counted as a secondary snap decision. No way, it was all one, a giant umbrella of snap decision making.

Madyx’s voice brought me out of my head and straight back into the present along with the rude awakening that was a cold swipe along the underside of my dick.- Shit. -I laughed in surprise then forced myself to pay the fuck attention. I had completely missed the whole paper apron thing that was now on my lap happening.

If I wanted to replay this memory in my mind in the near future, and I knew that I would, I’d need to absorb as much detail as I could. Gaps and missing steps did not a proper memory make. Solid memories were supposed to fade slowly, over time, leaving you with just the feelings the experience gave when the images failed to be recalled. That was the way nostalgia worked, and I wanted tonight to give old and grey-haired me of the future so much nostalgia it would last me until the very end.

Mad’s grip as he worked to prep for the first piercing was firm and sure, practiced and professional, and surprisingly not at all painful. My skin had already felt stretched tight, but somehow he managed to get a grip and place the clamp on where he wanted. My heart kicked against my chest. This was happening. Only moments away from him jamming a needle through my skin. No big deal. This was what I wanted. My eyes never left his hands as they held the clamp in place. Then, when his voice hit my ears I looked up to meet his gaze, and inhaled deeply as he instructed, like he just knew I needed it. After a couple of thudding wooshes of my pulse in my ears, I exhaled and nodded at him.- Yep. I’m ready. Do it.

Madyx:

Just keep taking nice slow breaths for me, Atticus.

<I pinched the skin below the forceps then clamped the spot for the second piercing. The stage was set and it was showtime. I licked between my lips before I realized what I was doing. I couldn’t help it, even with all kinds of hardware obscuring the view, his dick was making my mouth water. The only thing that stopped me from winding down that road of fantasy was the overriding desire to make the experience everything and all about him. Vibe or not, this was about what he was going to take with him, and not in the way of body jewelry.

I looked up again, finding the anchor of his eyes while I disinfected the needle I’d just popped out of its packaging. Without even realizing it, I noted our breaths had remained synced, and that connection ran through my veins like wildfire.

Refocusing back on the task at hand, I positioned the hollow needle and I took a steadying breath, then counted down in my head… three… two… one. I pushed the needle through his flesh, before sliding the piercing in behind it in a fluid and seamless exchange.>

One down. You’re doing stellar.

Keep breathing.

How are we doing, Atticus? <I nearly dropped a hand to his thigh to soothe...but that would have been too blatant, too soon. But… I wanted to. Damn it. I really wanted to.>

Atticus:

-I WAS NOT READY. It was too late to back out. I didn’t want to back out. His hands were on my dick, I didn’t even have time to properly enjoy that because the second pair of metal forceps were clamping more skin right below the pair he had already situated in place. It was tight and only slightly uncomfortable. A sample taste of the pain to come. I was brimming with anticipation and my heart was pounding even harder than it had been moments ago.

Mad was there with the save, reminding me to keep breathing. I nodded my head and did as I was told, eyes never leaving his hands as they worked. And then, as he sterilized the needle, I looked up and our gazes locked for a few seconds. I hoped I was still breathing because it was really happening now, and gods I didn’t want to pass out on him.

Holy shit, when did the time suddenly start going so fast, it had just been all flirting and fun and now it was all HERE YOU GO, ASSHOLE, THIS IS WHAT YOU ASKED FOR.

The first needle passed through my flesh.-

Oh my FUCKING hell. Shit bags on fire. -It was painful, not agonizingly so, but still heady and palpable in a way that felt like a rush. The adrenaline that had already been pumping through my veins during his entire set up along with my anticipation had given me a tool I could use for the next piercing. Mad was there again with his very helpful “Keep breathing.”-

Thank you needle stabber extraordinaire for that reminder.

-Was he going slower this time?! WTF, WHY? I almost had enough time to ask, the words died on my lips as the second needle was pushed through as steadily as the first one had. I watched in some kind of daze as he threaded the ball onto the second barbell. I didn’t remember seeing the first one being screwed into place, but then again, I had been creatively swearing my way through the pain that wasn’t really as bad as I had expected it to be. The thrill of the moment and the whole experience lingered for me before slowly beginning to recede, being replaced with a dull aching throb that promised to stay the night and well into the next few days, like an unwanted house guest. It was akin to the lingering effects of being sacked. Breaking my ankle had been a far more acute, searing pain. This I could handle.

I exhaled hard and leaned my head back against the chair before looking over at Mad and grinning so I could answer his question.- Good. I think? -I paused to assess my faculties, and decided that I was indeed feeling pretty damn good and shit I wasn’t completely hard anymore, but still at a pretty decent semi.- Yeah. It wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, not that I’m saying it feels good like a blowjob feels good. But definitely not as bad.

Madyx:

I prefer Mad to “needle stabber extraordinaire” but I still wouldn’t kick you out of bed if you insisted on calling me the latter.

<Bookending the statement with a wink, I completed my work before letting him steep in the breadth of involuntary reactions he’d earned. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting the way of being buried inside of him, riding out the experience while physically connected. The adrenaline started to wear, I could tell because his skin was less flushed with color, despite the golden tan he’d likely picked up during his travels. When he dropped his head back against the rest, I absorbed his spectrum of reflexes like a sponge, the subtle diminishment of shock giving way to evened out inhales and exhales, and the slow grin that manifested in complement to the startling blue of his eyes. Talk about piercing. Fuck. The longer I stared, the more gorgeous he got. While his dick hung out in the open air, I kept my eyes up north, memorizing the features that were partially responsible for stoking my hunger to connect. Not that I’d forget him, he was already branded on my brain in searing relief.

My grin widened at his answer, but the brows popped at the mention of a blowjob. I grunted, completely uninhibited, wanting to strike without warning and suck him down my throat, but I resisted again, looking to amp up that sexual tension. I snapped off my gloves and tossed them into the closest trash can, licking my lips for what felt like the hundredth time in his presence.>

That an invitation, Atticus?

Because I’d really, really like to make you feel good.

Still up for a celebratory beer? I’ve got a fully stocked bar, too, if you want something stronger to commemorate the night.

<My eyes flicked back to his cock which I’d neglected to tell him he could put away.> They look so bad ass. I mean, your dick is a stunner on its own, but now it has the addition of hardware to entice. Flash with caution.

Atticus:

-Invitation. Was what an invitation? Had I missed something? I thought I had been paying pretty decent attention now that he was no longer stabbing my dick with needles, but maybe my concentration was more focused on the lingering throb of my pulse at the double piercing sites. I tried to rewind my brain for a minute to find a clue, and failed. Then, when Mad said he wouldn’t kick me out of bed and followed that up with how he really wanted to make me feel good, I connected more than a couple of dots.

We were moving out of heavy flirting and right into the possibility of something more. Shiiit. Yes. Please.

I chuckled low when I realized he was referring to my earlier talk of a blowjob. That had to be the invitation he was asking about. Did I want more than just flirting shamelessly? My dick said DUH. It had wanted more at first sight of Mad, that much was obvious. While I contemplated all the ways I could say yes without coming across as desperately eager, I faintly registered the sound of something hitting the floor though I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Mad’s to see what it was. I was stuck in this moment of possibility, I already knew I’d be tipping myself in the direction of answering all the what ifs I’d have if I declined. My head nodded before I could find my voice when he mentioned a beer. A drink sounded like a great idea, especially the thought of sharing one with him. And then after, by the sounds of it, we could be sharing a bed. I hoped. God how I hoped.

I opened my mouth to accept his offer and then laughed loudly when he complimented my cock, he was talking about more than just the work he’d done. Fortunately, he gave me something I could focus on. I didn’t think offering a lame “thanks” would really convey the way his words twisted up my gut, not to mention the slight heat it brought to the back of my neck, my palm itched to rub at it, but I resisted. Displaying embarrassment at a compliment wasn’t what I wanted to do, not after I’d managed to survive the whole hard dick show and tell from only ten? fifteen? minutes ago.

Besides, how did one even reply to having their junk being called a stunner. I had zero clue. I felt so far out of practice. The flashing I could work with, however. After taking a moment to angle my dick to get a better view of the piercings, I grinned over at him and swung my legs over the side of the chair, and stood up. Tucking myself back into my jeans was a slower than normal process out of fear of doing something to bring on a sudden jolt of holy-shit-how-could-I-forget-I-was-just-pierced pain, fastening the buttons of my fly was handled with more confidence. I even managed to multi-task by answering his question.-

I’m no expert, but I think your work is great. Thank you. Now, about your sage advice...since I’ve already flashed you for more than the customary quick glance, does that mean I no longer have to exercise caution with you? -My brow lifted in teasing humour before I quickly spoke again.- Wait. Maybe save your answer for when we’re having that beer you mentioned.

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eighthxjune · 4 years

Text

aixa writes black people + love #2 community: A “World” Still Necessary

It was 1987 when A Different World premiered. I was young, like not yet double digits, young. Every Thursday night, at 8:30, my mom, dad, sister, brother and I gathered around the TV, belting out the show’s theme song by Phoebe Snow in season one, Aretha Franklin in seasons two through five, and Boyz II Men in its final episodes. Those lyrics were soon my alma mater:

I know my parents loved me Stand behind me come what may I know now that I’m ready For I finally heard them say

It’s a different woorrrrrld than where ya come from

Hillman College was a pinnacle place for me. It personified cultural identity, and as someone who grew up in a predominantly white suburban town, the only Black pupil until high school, it was majestic and I wanted to be there. Hillman displayed the cool factor our culture exudes so effortlessly; highlighting our style, dialect, posture, passion, and purpose from every region of the country, the continent of Africa and the Caribbean. This “world”, was different than where I came from, and it was beautiful. It gave me hope that a place - outside of my own home - supportive, caring and nurturing existed.

I saw Black teachers champion students who didn’t see their own unique potential, and dorm directors give sage advice. Witnessed roommates with nothing in common become best friends, and confidants. I got hyped, and danced when adamant voices rallied together until a donor ceased support of South Africa’s apartheid. And understood what loyalty looked like when a friend rescued his homegirl from what nearly turned into a date rape. I cheered on two Black men fighting the weapon of racial injustice brought upon by a rival school, and marveled in a student reclaiming the image of Aunt Jemima, realizing her imperial complexion was to be treasured. I observed discoveries, rejections, failed attempts, triumphs and losses, and empathized as if they were my own, because honestly they were. Hillman was a community, a Black community, our community, an extension of who I was, who I am. At such a young age, it was introducing me to myself. This “different world” was a reflection of my desires and dreams. It was an aspirational exhibit of Black successes - a rarity shown in media. Hillman was a place that encouraged you to stretch your capacity of thought and understanding. It valued unlearning stifled ways of thinking, to learning expansively and with zeal.

Debbie Allen, an HBCU alum of Howard University, and the show's brilliant producer, as of season two, understood the importance of telling Black stories with all of their complexities. She used television as a tool to address what was most difficult and challenging about us. “If we’re not doing that, we’re not doing a good job.” She expressed to Netflix’s Strong Black Legends. When brought on board she excitedly wrote a storyline for character Denise Huxtable (Lisa Bonet), who, at the time, was pregnant in real life. She thought it would be great to present the experience of a young Black student from an upper middle class family, not married, about to embark on motherhood. Though the idea got nixed by the show’s creator, Bill Cosby - who didn’t approve of Denise being pregnant in college - I wonder what her story would have developed into as a student mother, a credible notion, and one I’m certain would have advanced her role.

See, at Hillman, students strived to be the best versions of themselves, and looked forward to reciprocating care to those who raised them. But, even more vital, they knew their obligation to boost those who were succeeding them. They cherished their Blackness and its power.

The hub of the campus was The Pit - the school’s eatery that made an appearance in practically every episode. It was where students solely exhaled after a day of grueling classes and friends merged to catch up on the latest of tales. Conversations flowed candidly at this hangout and with comedic flair. Everyone passed through the beloved grumpy owner, Mr Gaines’ (Lou Myers) spot. Even my forever heartthrob, Tupac, made a stunning guest appearance as Piccolo, an old flame from Baltimore coming to put claims on his childhood love, Lena James (Jada Pinkett Smith).

Relationships played a significant part in character maturation at Hillman, and the love story that tugged at my heartstrings was Whitley and Dewayne, performed by Jasmine Guy and Kadeem Hardison. Cleverly laced throughout the show’s entire series, we journeyed with a high maintenance southern debutante from Richmond, VA and a Brooklyn native in J’s and flip-up glasses, who got a perfect score on his math SATs. Allen took us on an exciting ride while these two people - growing individually - were also hesitantly falling in love with each other. It was the ingenious love story I needed, and subconsciously yearned for, even if I were only in the fifth grade. How could I not gush over this attainable fairytale that spoke my love language. I kept twinkling at the idea that, ‘In just a few years, this college life will be a reality for me.’

Although Hillman College was a fictional place, its impact tripled enrollment of Historically Black Colleges and Universities. As you may have gathered by now, A Different World ignited my love for HBCUs, and then began my search in finding one most suitable for me; a place that served as a home and fostered my voice, since it was currently muffled, allowing others - who didn’t look like me - to feel comfortable in the presence of my Black skin. By the time I got to high school I attended the Black College Tour, twice. Not because I was having trouble finding a good school, but really I was in awe of the noteworthy offerings provided at these historically Black schools. The curriculums were impressive, the faculty resembled me, and the alumni were groundbreakers. I was visiting institutions that are irreplaceable. There was so much to learn about myself, and it was to happen in this next phase. During my visits, I watched students purposefully carry themselves across campus, greet friends with hugs and daps, expressively admire each other’s gear and hairstyles, pause on building steps to continue debatable class discussions, only to be interrupted by an eye-catching smile. The exploration alone made my heart flutter, and shortly after I was back at home flexing in my new Black college apparel - showing off the schools I toured. By senior year of high school I decided to attend Howard University in Washington, D.C. and it was more than I imagined it to be; finding me in a way I didn’t think it could. It met me where I was and readied me to rule the world.

There have always been skeptics who find HBCUs to be limiting. But, honestly there isn’t a place that will “teach you how to love and know yourself” like one - a necessary move after centuries of oppression; especially as a Black woman who receives bare minimum support when it comes to this country’s level of respect. These institutions encourage you to go inward and prepare yourself for life ahead, beyond Black communities. On the backs of scarred ancestors, almost 200 years ago, HBCUs were created, reshaping American history. Literally built by their hands, these Black forebears constructed a place to acquire a well desired education, and for once, as a majority, marked a setting where Black issues could be discussed. Despite what history instilled upon us, Black people were thriving and these HBCUs had a strong hand in making sure of that.

Howard University is a big part of my DNA, a connection made due to A Different World. It’s not easy expressing to those who have never attended an HBCU how magical those four years were, and how much rich history is seeped in the campus soil. However, the show is the best demonstration; restoring a feeling that will always remain in my heart, reminding me of friendships built that reside at my core. I graduated from Howard years ago, started a career in New York and since moved to Los Angeles to begin a new chapter. But every autumn, when I can, I race back to celebrate Howard’s homecoming, in high hopes of reliving just a taste of some of the greatest years of my life. It's never quite the same, but I don’t expect it ever will be.

A Different World came to an “end of the road” in 1993, and now I stream its episodes to emotionally reconnect with a missed experience; watching amusingly as if I hadn’t seen each one several times already. Because I still yearn to explore a “world” that inspires me to reach for more of myself, and a Black love story that provides hope. And though this “world” may be different, I know, I’m not alone.

Take care of yourself.

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years

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Creativitwins - Talking in the Garden

Following on from ‘Helplessly in Love’, Roman and Remus have a serious conversation about Remus’ motives and the topic of love as a whole.

Word Count: 1,771

(if you ship the twins, I’ll throw a frisbee at you)

Roman paced back and forth across the walled garden. This quiet place was considered the most obvious ‘neutral zone’ in the realm of the Imagination both siblings resided over. It was neither overly inspired by fairy tales, nor overrun by monsters and decay, making it the perfect harmony between both halves of Creativity. Playing the role of a Secret Garden, it granted the other Sides an entry into the Imagination without the fear of getting too lost on either side. To the left, there were elegant red rose bushes, trees with ripe and delicious fruit, and wooden frames helping clematis plants climb high overhead and guide you to the elegantly carved maple door. On the right, the grass turned darker. The path was lined with weeds and venus flytraps that would gladly snap at ankles that stepped too close. The trees were barren, yet birds would regularly perch on the branches. Poison ivy climbed the wall surrounding the walnut door with identical carvings to the opposite door. In the middle, a large pond housed a variety of colourful koi and piranha that cohabit the waters peacefully. In the open court between the two doors were two stone stools. When the twins would squabble in their younger days, they would eventually meet here and claim a seat to talk through the problem. It was something that rang true to this day.

After recent events had calmed down, Patton had taken the time during one of their tea parties to fill Roman in on events leading up to the group appearing in his room with Remus of all Sides. Not only that, Remus applied a ‘what would Roman do’ approach. No tricks, no attempts to make Thomas feel worse about matters… It was all rather strange.

“I’m going to have to call him eventually,” Roman muttered, tightly folding his arms as he lapped the pond for the third time. “Talking to myself about it isn’t going to give me answers, and I know I can’t leave this be… Ugh!” He forced himself to stop walking with a firm stomp of his foot. “Remus! Get to the garden now!”

The dark door draped in ivy was pushed open to reveal a rather confused Duke. It slammed shut behind him once he was in the garden, leaving the pair in silence for several long seconds.

“While I am one to gladly talk through problems, I don’t know what I did this time.” One of Remus’ traits was honesty, after all, and he had been trying to keep out of the way of the other Sides in recent times.

“No, I know. Nothing’s wrong. I just… I need to talk, okay? This is neutral territory so it’s not gonna make either of us feel out of place, or something.” Roman slumped onto one of the stone stools, hands interlocked to hide potential fidgeting. “I’ve been thinking about what you did recently - when you brought everyone to my room like that. Patton told me what happened… Why did you do it?”

“I told you already. Thomas needed the ‘love expert’, and he trusts you a heck of a lot more than he does me. No one else could get to your room too easily without you, so I was the only option left.”

“But you didn’t try anything. You didn’t hurt Thomas, or ruin the excitement. That would’ve been the perfect chance without me blocking you.” It seemed Thomas had kept his word and didn’t tell Roman about Remus’ good intentions. However, it came at the price of the topic pestering Roman once the excitement of love had faded enough to focus on other matters. “The first time you met Thomas, you wanted to hurt him. Why not now?”

“It’s really not as deep as you’re trying to make it out to be. Thomas needed you, I could help! It was for the greater good for Thomas, really.”

“You could have taken my place! It’s what you always say you’d do. ‘I’m Creativity too. I should be listened to as well’!” Roman’s impression of Remus was emphasised by a wave of his right hand, just like how his brother would do it. “You know about love, just like me. You could have given him advice and taken all the credit -”

“No I don’t.”

“- and showed… What?” Remus’ blunt interruption had Roman’s rambling screech to a halt. He gawked up at his brother with a wide-eyed, puzzled expression. In the pause that followed, Remus made his way to the other stone stool and sat on it. Compared to his brother, Remus was slouched forward with his arms resting on both knees.

“I don’t know about love. I never have.” Why beat around the bush with this? “Sure, I know what it means and what happens when people fall in love, but I can’t talk about it as you could. I don’t have the same desire to fall in love with someone, so why should I be the one trying to tell Thomas how to declare his feelings?”

“You… Don’t know about love?” Roman felt like he had been slapped in the face. Guilt bubbled in his stomach. All this time, did Remus lack any sort of positive relationship with anyone?

“I did have friends once, you know. I have ‘loved’ platonically,” Remus scoffed. “But this whole ‘one true love’ or ‘wanting a boyfriend’ stuff you’re always on about… That isn’t what I’ve felt about anyone. I never brought it up when we were younger because I thought it wasn’t necessary, or that maybe I’d be proven when I found the guy of my dreams.” He let out a sigh with a quirked eyebrow when he noticed his brother’s reaction to this. “Oh, don’t act like I told you a shark chewed off my leg. It’s not that big of a deal. I could give advice, but it would be an outsider looking in. Since Thomas needed personal experience and better insight, he needed you. We always did say you were the one who could inspire others. I’d never be able to do that for love. But you could, and you did!” Roman has always been the hero. That’s why he was the favoured twin.

“... I’m sorry I never considered your feelings.” Roman’s voice was low as the pity stayed on his face. “All those times I tried to set you up with denizens in the Imagination when we were younger as part of our stories, all those times you’d side-step or find an excuse to worm out of it… I must have made you feel so uncomfortable.”

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t start that. I’m not angry. This isn’t something to guilt you over. You didn’t know, and I didn’t understand. I only learned that being Aromantic was a ‘thing’ when Thomas was learning about all the LBGT strands and worrying about them all in case he offended someone.” At last, Remus’ confidence in the matter seemed to falter a little as he added, “It was a relief knowing I wasn’t completely ‘broken’.”

“You aren’t ‘broken’.” Roman blurted, hoping to stop whatever dark thoughts were bubbling in Remus’ mind. “You’re you. And while I might not like who you are, that… Doesn’t make you the worst.” The last part was admitted as a reluctant grumble. “Me wanting to fall in love doesn’t mean you’re wrong not feeling anything about it. Just like me not wanting any involvement in your sexual opinions on guys I thought were cute doesn’t mean I’m wrong either.” Now it was Remus’ turn to look surprised once the penny dropped.

“You’re Ace?”

“I guess we both had something to learn today, huh? Not that this was why I called you here.” Maybe it was the magic of the garden, where the feud was left outside the walls and the brothers could simply talk. It allowed Roman to swallow some of his pride on the original matter. “Thank you. For, you know, not using it as a chance to take my place.”

“What can I say? I make a terrible Roman impersonator. Just like when the day comes that Thomas needs my help, you’d make a terrible Remus!” The darker Creativity twin grinned in anticipation. Roman was quick to take the bait with a cocky laugh.

“Oh please. We both know Thomas isn’t gonna resort to using your ideas.”

“This Hallowe’en might be the year. There’s gonna be a full moon this year too. He’d be a fool not to do something terrifying!” Hey, maybe Remus could try and get back in contact with Virgil to get him on the Duke’s side!

“Not a chance! I’ll get him to work on an epic, fantastical tribute to ‘Nightmare Before Christmas’! There’s a simply wonderful suit of an alternate costume that Thomas would look marvellous in!” Fuelled with passion, Roman sprung to his feet with a triumphant laugh.

“And he could try to persuade the cutie to dress as a Sally-inspired character?”

“Why would I… Wait, that’s - that’s not a bad idea.”

“Especially if he gets to wear something short and scandalous~”

“Aaand there goes that little bubble of respect. Good going.” Roman waved a dismissive hand as Remus cackled. “Look, I’m sorry that I was surprised you didn’t wanna hurt Thomas, but don’t ruin this for him, okay?”

“I had no intention to do so. Thomas deserves to be happy, right? There’s plenty of other chances to jump in and have fun! Can’t be too predictable, dear brother, especially when you have the upper hand on the topic!” Now Remus pulled himself onto his feet and turned on the ball of his foot to face his door. “Until next time -”

“Wait!” Roman needed to have the last word. He couldn’t leave like this. “You… You did a good job. Thank you for helping Thomas when I couldn’t.” A gust of wind picked up, briefly obscuring Remus’ vision with rose petals. When the breeze died down, the Prince was gone. Once he realised he was alone in the walled garden, Remus walked to the door to his part of the Imagination, only to pause.

A black rose had blossomed on his side of the garden, thriving despite the weeds that should have suffocated it. He had considered plucking it and taking it with him as a memento… But why kill it? Instead, he knelt down to gently brush his thumb against a thorn.

The black rose amongst weeds was like him with the other Sides - the oddity that shouldn’t exist. Yet they both do in spite of exceptions. In time, maybe both would prosper in their own way.

#sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #aromantic remus #asexual roman #(why yes I wrote a follow up to a fic that I didn't fully post here)

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louisapennyfeather2021 · 4 years

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Newsies/Teen Wolf AU

Title: Riddled

Summary: Race convinces Blink to take him to the hospital to figure out why he's sleep walking to the middle of nowhere and why he isn't in his own mind anymore. Everyone can tell something's wrong, but they can't figure out if it's supernatural or not. Or if they even have a chance at saving Race.

A/N: Hello again! So this scene is from Season 3b, technically episode 18 of Season 3 of the MTV show Teen Wolf. If you can't tell, I'm skipping around a lot and leaving plot holes since this is just random fics and not a series. In this scene, Race is representing one of the main protagonists/ the main antagonist of 3b. What's happening is he's slowly going insane and succumbing to an ancient spirit who thrives on chaos. No one knows this yet, so they think Race is suffering from the same illness that killed his biological mother. I strongly recommend watching the show on Amazon if you get the chance, it's definitely worth a watch!

Warnings: Sad, mentions of death, mentions of mental illness, fear.

***

"They're doing tests on Race all afternoon." Jack has to all but force the words as he walks with Albert through the school towards their last period. Although he knows after Race's disappearance and borderline breakdowns last night renders this necessary, he's still not happy about it. "I was going to go over at around 6:00 to visit. You want to come with me?"

"I should probably just go home." Albert takes a sharp breath, pursuing his lips and gripping the straps of his backpack tighter.

Alright, so maybe the chaotic spaz had grown on Albert. Race was one of the first people in the entire school to actually treat Albert like a human being and not an emotionless brat or a freak. He'd make an imprint on Albert, to say the least.

Albert's brought out of his daze by a locker being harshly, slammed shut. He flinches and sighs heavily once he realizes that he jumped, knowing Jack noticed.

"You sure you're alright?" Jack asks, raising a concerned eyebrow.

Lately, it's like Albert is just a ball of anxiety, including but not limited to being extremely jumpy. Whether it be from the latest death threats surrounding their friends or just the whole concept of being a supernatural creature capable of sensing death, he still hasn't figured it out.

"Yeah, I'll see you later." And with a forced smile, Albert hurries away from Jack and towards his last period. Jack watches his friend hurry off, another weight settling over his shoulders. Albert is good at a lot of things, lying included, but Jack can tell now that Albert is faking being alright. Nothing's alright, it hasn't been since Jack became an alpha.

With Race going completely off the rails and now Albert obviously having something wrong with him, Jack knows whatever "break" from the insanity of the supernatural world he had been given was over.

***

"I'm not sure if I actually know how to pronounce this. Or if it's a misspelling."

"Just call him Race." Blink's stoney expression makes the nurse nod. He hardly flinches when Ms. Medda sighs, shaking her head just a bit.

"Louis, I know you're worried, but don't take it out on the nurse. She's just doing her job." Medda tries to keep her own anxiety over the current matter in check. She's lucky enough to have gotten a break to be with Race during his tests, although she knows it's because she works at the hospital and she's right there if anyone needs her.

"Hey!" Medda and Blink both turn to see Jack in the doorway. "Have they started yet?"

"No, they're still getting ready." Medda offers Jack a warm smile, trying and hoping he'll at least stay calm. "You can go see him real quick, though."

Jack silently nods and slips past Blink and Ms. Medda, the two having already been in to comfort Race.

Jack doesn't say anything as he walks through an open door to a white room with a large machine in the center. Race sits on the machine, his shoulders slouched and his head hanging as he grips the hospital gown in one hand.

"Hey." Jack manages to withhold a gasp when he sees Race's face for the first time since finding him in the woods last night. There are large, purple circles under his eyes that resemble bruises and his eyes are very near to bloodshot. It's obvious he's tired, but there's something else in his expression that sets Jack off. He ignores it though and walks to stand in front of Race. "You okay?"

"You know what they're looking for, right?" Race shakes his head a bit and bites his lower lip before letting out a deep breath. "It's called frontotemporal dementia. Areas of your brain start to shrink. It's what my mother had. It's the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers. And there's no cure."

"Race, listen to me. If you have it, we'll do something. I'll do something." Jack's voice doesn't waiver and he clenches his jaw. He's an alpha now, meaning he can change someone. He could give Race the Bite and he'd be healed. He'd never wish this curse on anyone, but if it saved his best friend's- no, his brother's, life, it was worth it.

Jack nearly breaks as tears well up in Race's eyes and he dies hesitate to step closer and wrap his arms around Race, both of them squeezing each other tight as if they'll disappear if they let go. Jack holds Race for as long as he can, rubbing his upper back and occasionally running a hand through Race's hair to help calm him down. Jack knows how finicky Race can be and it'll only get worse with the noise of the MRI machine.

Jack holds and comforts Race until a doctor comes in to bring him back to the other side of the wall separating him and Race. Jack stands anxiously next to Medda, subconsciously chewing on his thumb nail and bouncing on his toes. Medda keeps calm, years of being a nurse having trained her to do so. Blink paces back and forth along the back wall, a million thoughts running through his head.

Although Jack and Medda heard everything about Race and Blink's parents and had an idea of what happened, Blink still remembers it all vividly. He was a young teenager at the time, so he experienced everything. His mother's breakdowns, her panic attacks because she didn't remember anything, her fear when she'd see Blink and Race and not know why two random children were in her house. Their father would try as hard as possible to help her, but in the end the dementia won. When it took their mother, their father went down with her.

Blink knows they were lucky to have found Medda, but he'd give anything to have his mother back. The woman who knew who he was and who loved him. If he could forget all of the horrible things she said when she didn't recognize him or Race, he would. If he could forget the pain he felt watching her slowly whither away, he would. If he could forget the fear he felt not knowing what would happen to her, he would.

Now that same fear haunts him. He knows it's genetic, he knows very well that him or Race or both of them could develop the same illness that nearly tore the family apart worse than it already was. Now that he has to consider that Race will go through exactly what their mother did? Fear isn't a strong enough word to describe how scared, worried, and utterly helpless Blink feels.

"Alright, Race, this will take about 45 minutes to an hour. Now remember, try not to move. Even just a little bit." The head doctor speaks through a microphone as Race lays down on the bed of the MRI. "You're going to hear that noise now. It's going to be a loud clanging. Kind of like a hammer hitting an anvil."

Race seems to robotically nod and the doctor starts the machine.

As he does, Jack frowns at the ground.

Last night, Spot helped Jack find Race by tracking his chemo-signals. They basically follows the smell of whatever Race was feeling. Spot described the scent as fear and struggle, but said Race had been struggling with himself.

Now, as Jack watches his best friend lay still in the machine, a new thought comes to mind.

"I need to find Spot, I'll be back before his test is done." Jack whispers to Medda. She squeezes his shoulder and nods for him to leave, knowing Blink is too preoccupied with his pacing to notice.

***

"Jack, what are we looking for? Just because I share some family secrets with you, doesn't mean you can drag me out in the middle of nowhere." Spot hesitantly follows Jack through the local preserve, stepping over fallen trees and trying to get an answer out of Jack.

"I think he was trying to protect us." Jack suddenly stops near the place they found Race. Spot raises a confused eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "I remember when he called me, he was completely freaked. He kept saying someone else was with him, but he wouldn't tell me where. It's like he wanted to, but he couldn't."

"So he was held hostage?" Spot looks around, as if looking for any signs of kidnapping.

"No, I he couldn't because he didn't want us to get involved. I think he was protecting us from himself." Jack sighs, one of the many weights lifting off his shoulders like he just solved the crime. "I don't think he was struggling with himself like you said he was. I think he was struggling not to do something."

"What, do you think Race would really do something violent towards-" Spot stops as Jack's phone starts ringing. Jack frowns in confusion and reaches to answer. He briefly checks the time before seeing it's Medda.

"Shit, Race's tests must be done." Jack quickly answers, guilt settling in his stomach. "Medda, hi, I'm sorry I'm not back yet. I promise-"

"Jack, something's happened." Jack stops talking and meets Spot's gaze, knowing he can hear Medda too.

"What do you mean?" Jack can hear the slight tremor in Medda's voice, but he can also hear Blink yelling and arguing with someone in the background. Jack's heart drops as he registers what Medda says next.

"Race is missing."

***

Hello everyone! This is another drabble of sorts and I know it's confusing if you haven't seen the show because 1) I'm not providing much foundation and 2) There's a lot of plot to each season. To sum it up, basically Race has been possessed by a mischievous, vengeful spirit from Japanese folklore known as the Nogitsune. It's disguising itself as the frontotemporal dementia that was mentioned and it playing games with Race to try and make him go insane. No one knows of any of this yet, but that's the basic plot line of season 3b.

I hope you liked this, if you want to see more please feel free to send me a message or an ask! If you have any scenes you'd like to see, just ask and I'll try my best to make them good!

#newsies memes #newsies imagines #newsies broadway #newsies imagine #newsies #newsies au #teen wolf au

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unfolded73 · 4 years

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How Do We Get Back (15/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one. Explicit, this chapter 3.6k words. (ao3)

_____________________________________

Chapter 15

David opened his eyes and stared at the stained popcorn ceiling overhead. He sighed and closed his eyes, ready to fall back to sleep, but nagging responsibility kept him from drifting off. He had a lot to do, and not much time left to do it in. Groaning, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The bed next to his was empty. Giving it a quick glance, he gathered up some clothes and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

While the water warmed up, he stared at himself in the mirror, touching the dark circles under his eyes and wincing. He hadn’t been sleeping enough lately: too many worries to get a good night’s sleep. Testing the water, David slipped off his pajamas and got under the inadequate spray.

After so long in this motel, he had his shower routine down to about seven minutes, which his old self would have died to think of. But the hot water was limited, and the weak water pressure wasn’t particularly pleasurable to stand under, and so he’d paired it down to the basics of washing, shampooing, and conditioning. At seven minutes exactly, he turned the water off and groped for his towel.

Face shaven, hair blow dried and styled, daytime moisturizer with sunscreen applied, and clothes on, he stepped out of the bathroom and went over to the door to the adjoining room. He tapped and listened for a ‘come in’ before he entered.

His mother was sitting at the round table in her pajamas, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. His father was pulling on his suit jacket next to the wig wall.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know, I should be ready to open the store in just a couple more weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great news! A grand opening!” Johnny said.

“It’s certainly taken long enough; we’ve been waiting with bated breath,” Moira said.

“Okay,” David said in acknowledgement of his mother’s negativity before turning to his father. “I was thinking about a soft launch, actually? Like, Gwyneth soft launched the Goop newsletter and now it’s a thriving lifestyle publication?”

“Who?” Johnny asked as he adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror.

“I don’t know, David, that sounds meek!” Moira proclaimed, setting her book down and looking at him. “You’re looking very tired, dear. The bags under your eyes would barely fit in the overhead compartment.”

David huffed, throwing his hands up. “Getting the store ready to open is a lot of work.” And more importantly, he’d been lying awake worrying about all the things he needed to do, and worse, all the things that he probably didn’t know that he needed to do.

“You should probably hire some help, son.” Johnny sat down with his wife at the table and picked up the newspaper.

“I intend to, eventually, but I don’t have the money to pay anyone at this point. Hiring someone means you have to pay them.”

His mother was looking at him pityingly, as if maybe she was wondering if they wouldn’t have all been better off if Christmas World hadn’t changed their mind about moving into the town. In his darker moments, David wondered that too.

“Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll do an exclusive opening for friends and family only. Maybe I’ll offer a discount.”

“On the first day? Sounds a bit defeatist.” His mother shook her head, picking up the book she had been reading and opening it. “Well, David, we’ll be happy to come and support your modest little vigil, if ever the day for it finally arrives.”

“Great. So glad I came in here,” he said, going back to his room and leaning against the closed door, taking a second to wallow in the shaky feeling of inadequacy that his parents were so good at mining, even if it wasn’t intentional. He took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

The outside door to the motel room opened and Alexis came in, dressed in her running clothes.

“I’ve just about had it with Mom and Dad,” David said.

She pulled out her ear buds. “What?”

“I said I’ve just about had it with Mom and Dad.”

“Why?”

“Hey, can you help me at the store today? I have a list of things to do that’s like a mile long and I really don’t know if I can do it all by myself.”

Alexis put on a wincing expression. “I need to study, actually.”

“It’s Saturday morning; you can’t need to study that badly.”

“I have a history test on Monday, David,” she insisted, flipping her ponytail. “But fine, I can help you. I’m not carrying any heavy boxes, though.”

“Ugh, fine.” He watched Alexis as she went over and set her phone and ear buds down on the table between their beds, then pulled her ponytail holder out and shook out her hair. “Are you done in the bathroom? Because I need to shower,” she said, moving over to the closet to pick an outfit.

“Yeah, I’m…” Something was bothering him, like he’d forgotten to tell Alexis something. He felt a sudden, keen worry for her in the pit of his stomach, like when she used to send word to him from a sultan’s palace that she needed a new passport, a wig, and some colored contact lenses.

Alexis turned, a dress on a hanger in one hand. “You’re what?”

David shook himself. “I’m done in the bathroom.” Looking at her face, the sudden urge to cry took hold of him. “I think I might need a hug?”

“Ew, David. I’m sweaty right now,” Alexis said. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I feel…” He couldn’t articulate it. “I think I might just be really lonely,” he said, which didn’t have anything to do with the anxiety about Alexis that had grabbed hold of his throat a minute ago, but it also wasn’t untrue.

Alexis laid her dress on the bed and came over to give him a very hesitant hug, but David overruled her, pulling her into a firmer embrace. “I’m glad you’re my sister,” he said, swallowing against a lump in his throat.

“David, you’re being very needy,” she said, slapping gently at his shoulder until he let her go. “But I’m also glad… that you’re my brother,” she said, pulling away and looking anywhere but at his face. “Okay, if you want my help today, then you have to let me go get ready.”

He watched her until she shut the bathroom door.

~*~

Gwen was late to Jazzagals rehearsal, and so when she arrived and ducked in behind Twyla and next to Ronnie, vocal warm-ups were just ending.

“Now,” Moira Rose said, clapping her hands. She had on a white-and-black vertically striped dress, similarly striped tights, and white shoes with heels so high, Gwen couldn’t imagine how anyone could walk in them without snapping an ankle. “Everyone please get out your sheet music for ‘It’s Raining Men’; I’d like to begin with the bridge today.”

Gwen tapped Twyla on the shoulder. “Do you have a minute to talk after rehearsal?” she whispered.

Twyla winced. “I have to get to my shift after this; can we talk on the way to the café?”

Moira shot them a disparaging glance for whispering during rehearsal, and so Gwen quickly found her place in the music and began to sing.

It had started with dreams, several weeks ago, that she was living out on the street in a strange city. She would wake up shivering, convinced that the cold and damp was sinking into her bones and freezing her from the inside out, only to awake to find herself safe in her warm bed with Bob. Dream after dream, the same — cold winters and rain and homeless shelters or the unforgiving sidewalk for a bed. Then she began to dream that she was chasing after David Rose, of all people — she didn’t think she’d ever exchanged two words with the man in all of the time that the Roses had lived in Schitt’s Creek, and yet he was plaguing her dreams. Either him, or another man that she didn’t recognize.

She’d been documenting the dreams on the message boards from the very start — all of them were encouraged to do that. Dreams could be powerful portents for what was to come, particularly for people who lived at weak points like Gwen did, and a lot of her fellow technopagans had much to say on the reason for these dreams, none of it useful. Until yesterday.

The rehearsal dragged by, Moira’s exacting standards and occasionally thoughtless comments bringing out a few passive aggressive mutterings from Jocelyn. Finally, it ended, and Gwen made the usual pleasantries with her fellow townswomen for a few minutes before hurrying to follow Twyla out the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Twyla, but I wanted to talk to you about your grandmother,” Gwen said.

“Oh yeah?” Twyla flashed her an easy smile. “What about her?”

“The stories around town were that she had powers.” Gwen glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them. “That she understood what Schitt’s Creek is and how to exploit it.”

Twyla looked at her, surprised. “Yeah, there were always stories, but I’m not sure how true any of them are. She certainly believed she had powers to touch other dimensions. Which, I know, sounds crazy.”

“Not so crazy.” They were almost to the café, and Gwen knew she had a limited amount of time with which to speak before she risked being overheard. She put a hand on Twyla’s upper arm and stopped her. “We can’t feel it, but people with powers that greatly exceed my own have confirmed it — there was a huge shift in the timeline a couple of years ago. No one knows why, or how, but they believe that the universe was almost headed down a very dark path and that someone set it right.”

Twlya’s eyes were as big as saucers. “Really?”

Gwen nodded. “Or, almost right. It was a patch job, that was the way my coven— er, someone I know on the internet described it. So some things are still out of place. Some threads were dropped. People have been working to set them right, no matter how trivial they might seem. And now it seems I’ve found another dropped thread.”

“What is it?” Twyla asked in a hushed tone.

“Someone who is supposed to be here in Schitt’s Creek, but isn’t.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Gwen said, not wanting to get into more detail. “When you get off work, can you bring me everything you have that belonged to your grandmother? Letters, diaries, anything like that?”

Twyla nodded. “Of course. I have a box of her stuff, although I don’t remember what’s in it, exactly.”

“Perfect. Go, get to work before you’re late,” Gwen said, indicating the café. “And Twyla? Don’t tell anyone we talked about this.”

Twyla frowned, and then wiped the frown from her face and replaced it with a smile. “No problem, Gwen.”

~*~

“What’s this?” Alexis said, picking up a large white envelope from the counter.

David glanced up. “Oh, it’s got my business license in it. I guess I’m suppose to… display it?” He looked up at the wall behind where the cash register was going to go. “I don’t know, I don’t really have time to think about it.” He went into the back to get another heavy box of hand cream to have Alexis put the labels on for him so that he could focus on setting up the cases where the fresh vegetables were going to go when they were in season.

They worked all day, or David worked all day while Alexis intermittently worked and sampled products that weren’t really samples while David restrained himself from slapping them out of her hands. Stevie stopped by after her shift at the motel, and although her goal in coming by was to drink with him, David managed to press her into service as well, putting bottles of body milk onto the shelves. Alexis took that as her cue to leave, flouncing out the door and heading over to the café.

“Can you drink this?” Stevie asked, holding up one of the bottles.

“It’s liquid moisturizer,” David replied with an eye roll.

“It says milk, though.”

The bell on the door rang again, and David looked up to see Ray Butani coming in.

“David, I looked over your business plan,” he said without any preamble, “and I have some concerns.”

Stevie gave David a questioning look.

“Ray is helping me with some of the business stuff,” David explained.

“For a nominal fee,” Ray said quickly, like he didn’t want any rumors to get around town that he was doing work for anyone for free. “Anyway, David, while I think eventually you’ll have enough money coming in to sustain you, I don’t think you have enough start up money to get you through the first year.”

David’s heart sank. “But I’m not buying the products, I’m selling them on consignment—”

“No, I know that, David, that’s the reason that I’m not coming in here and saying your business is going to fail. Which I would do if you weren’t selling on consignment.” Ray smiled at him, and David recoiled at the Ray’s toothy grin. “But there are still start up costs that you have to deal with while you’re building the business.”

“So where do I get this start up money?” David asked.

“I don’t know!” Ray cooed cheerfully. “But that’s my assessment. I wrote it all up for you,” he said, handing David a folder. “I’ve got to run; I’ve got a date.” Ray turned to leave, and then stooped and picked something up from the floor. “You dropped this,” Ray said, handing David a small card.

“Must have fallen out of one of the boxes,” David said, slipping it in his pocket since he didn’t have a trash can handy.

“See you later!” Before David could say anything else, Ray had gone again.

“Well, fuck,” David said. “My business is going to fail.”

“He specifically said he wasn’t saying it was going to fail,” Stevie said.

“But he also said I needed more start up money, which is basically the same thing,” David set the folder down and shook his hands out, feeling his heart starting to race. “I don’t have more money.”

“Okay, you’re freaking out.” She set her bottle of body milk down and pulled something out of her pocket and held it up. “I found this under the bed in room two this morning, so do you want to take a break and share it with me?”

David winced, looking at the joint in Stevie’s hand. “That’s disgusting. And yes. Yes, I do.”

~*~

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” David murmured, tipping his chair back and letting his head recline to look at the ceiling. The store had a really nice ceiling, but no one was going to look at it, probably. What a waste.

“You do know what you’re doing,” Stevie said from the floor. “You’ve walked me through it a million times.”

“I know what I’m doing with the whole…” He gestured around at the store. “I don’t know what I’m doing with the money.”

Stevie propped herself up on an elbow and held out her hand, snapping her fingers until he handed her the mostly smoked joint. “Well, don’t ask me to help you with that. I don’t do math.”

“You’re useless.”

“And your stained glass back there looks like they have dicks on them,” Stevie said, pointing at the decorative hangings on the back wall.

“That’s why I like them.”

Stevie inhaled a long drag and handed the joint back, lying flat on the floor again. “You need a partner.”

“I should start with a first date, maybe,” David said.

Laughing, Stevie rolled over onto her stomach. “Not that kind of partner, you complete idiot. A business partner.”

“Oh, a business partner. Okay, well where am I going to find that here?” David slid down off of his chair onto the floor next to Stevie. The ceiling really was beautiful. Not like the ceiling at the motel that he’d been staring at for years, water-stained and horribly textured. Maybe he could just sleep here. He could live in the store, amongst his perfectly ordered bottles of facial cleanser and lotions and baggies of tea until they hauled him away for not paying his taxes or not making the lease payments on the store. One of the hundred financial things that he was guaranteed to screw up because his parents hadn’t prepared him for any of this.

Stevie reached over and threaded their fingers together. David was touch-starved, and it felt good to hold his friend’s hand. “I wish I knew. I really want you to succeed at this.”

He snorted. “You get so sincere when you’re high.”

“Take that back.”

They lay there in silence for a while, and then Stevie let go of his hand and reached for his pocket.

“What are you doing?” David asked.

“There’s something falling out of your pocket.” Her hand withdrew, and she was holding a card up to her face. “Who’s Patrick Brewer?”

David was watching the way the sunlight played over the bottles of toner. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. Belatedly, he registered that Stevie had asked him a question. “Who’s what?”

She was clumsily waving the business card in his face now, risking a paper cut on the bridge of his nose, so he snatched the card. “This business card from your pocket. Patrick Brewer. Who’s that?”

“I don’t know, Ray picked this up off the floor earlier. It’s not mine; it must have fallen out of one of the boxes.” He squinted at the business card.

Patrick Brewer, B.B.A. Freelance Business Consultant

“Huh.”

Stevie grabbed the card back. “It’s a card for a business guy.”

“That’s kind of spooky, given what we were just talking about,” David said.

“You should call him!” Stevie said.

“What, and ask him to come work for my failing business?”

She rolled her eyes and struggled up into a sitting position. “No, but it says business consultant. Maybe he’d give you better advice than Ray.”

David didn’t say anything to that, and after a few seconds Stevie shoved on his shoulder and put the business card on his chest. “Call him.”

Closing his eyes, David sighed. “Maybe later.”

“No, I know you — you say ‘later’ but you won’t do it. Call him right now.” Stevie tapped on the card and on his sternum underneath it. “I’m not leaving until you call him.”

With a groan, David sat up, grabbing for the card as it fluttered into his lap and pulling his phone out of his pocket with the other hand. “Fine.” It took longer than it probably should have for him to remember how to dial a number on his phone, and then longer still to squint at the small numbers and type them in correctly, but he finally managed it. He listened to distant ringing, followed by a nice voice saying he’d reached Patrick Brewer and to leave a message. It was a short, no-nonsense message. No frills. Unremarkable. Still, the brief sound of that voice made his heart race.

“Hi David, it’s Patrick,” he said at the beep, and then immediately winced while Stevie laughed silently at him. “I found your card… your business card… in my store, and I was wondering if you… umm… no. I think I called you David, and that’s not your name. I’m David… David Rose, and I own a store that… well, we sell local products and crafts, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in consulting with me. For me. Okay. Ciao.” He pressed the button to end the call. “Ciao. I said ‘Ciao’ to that person.”

“Masterful,” Stevie said, standing up.

“You’re the one who made me call when I was high.” He was staring at his phone again. “I forgot to tell him where the store is. And I didn’t explain it well enough.”

Stevie grabbed her messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder. “Well, better call back and leave another message,” she said as she headed toward the door. “I’m gonna go home and crash. See you tomorrow?”

David waved absently at her, pressing the button to call Patrick Brewer and leave another message.

~*~

“Well?” Twyla said as she put Stevie’s ticket for her takeout on the order wheel.

“It worked. I had to slave over containers of hand cream for a couple of hours and smoke half a joint, but I finally managed to get him to do it,” Stevie said, her head starting to ache as she sobered up. “Now are you going to explain why it was so important that David call that guy? And why I had to be so sneaky about it?”

Twyla gave her a cheerful shrug as she wiped down the counter. “I’m not sure I understand it either, and I’m pretty sure Gwen wouldn’t tell me if I asked. It’s just… important for David. And for Schitt’s Creek. That’s all I know.”

Stevie shook her head. “And they call me the creepy one in this town.”

Chapter 16

#schitt's creek ff #schitt's creek fic #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #hdwgb fic #my fic

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badchoicesposts · 5 years

Text

Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 6

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar)

Word Count: 3,665

Song Inspiration: Old Money- Lana Del Rey

DISCLAIMER: Some of Bertrand’s dialogue is taken from TRR Book 1 Chapter 4. I’ve also changed up the timeline of the social season a bit to fit my story better. I based it off of some research I did on the British Social Season.

Taglist:@flowerpowell, @kingliam2019, @ao719, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog, @liamxs-world, @drakesensworld, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @timmagickfrog, @lauradowning29

A/N: This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

Catch Up: Masterlist

Ali and Liam were two very different people. There was no doubt about it. They were crazy about each other regardless, but at first glance anyone would believe that they had absolutely nothing in common.

Liam rivaled Luca for the title of the most well-rounded person she had ever met. He was tall, well dressed, and well respected by everyone he met. His blond hair was always annoyingly perfect, even when it had been slept on for the full seven hours of sleep he got every night, and he was good at everything he tried to do. He worked out five days a week and had a natural charm that drew people towards him wherever he went. Liam slept on silk sheets, drank expensive liquor and, worst of all, was a morning person. He was always up early, eager to start his day and be productive. He was typically easy going, but he could take action and control a situation effortlessly when he needed to.

Ali, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She barely reached five feet tall in the right pair of heels and spent most of her time in sweatpants or leggings because of the insecurities she had about her body. Her workout routine consisted mainly of walking everywhere she needed to go, and she had terrible social anxiety. She had no constant sleep schedule, and at this point, she was practically nocturnal, only being able to get in small amounts of sleep during the day due to her insomnia. She had found her current bed sheets from the discount bin of a department store, and the most she ever spent on alcohol was twenty dollars for a bottle of tequila. She had perfect grades, but she was still constantly stressed about them.

Liam was put together, and on most days she was a hot mess. When she says the words “trust me, I know what I’m doing” there’s about a seventy-five percent chance that she has no idea what she’s doing. However, when he said the same words, she never once doubted him. That is until he decided he could repair the clogged drain in his kitchen sink on his own. Her suspicions were confirmed as she watched the Prince of Cordonia, his nice dress shirt soaked in water, fiddle with a pipe, determined to be “normal”.

“Love, maybe you should just call someone,” she said, raising her voice slightly so he could hear her from where the upper half of his body was lying under the sink.

“I can do this,” he called back, irritation evident in his voice.

“Sure you can,” she mumbled under her breath, taking a seat on a stool in the kitchen. “Have ever even looked at a pipe like that before?”

The banging noises she heard from under the sink was her only response, and she rolled her eyes as she texted Drake to tell him to contact the building’s superintendent. A few minutes passed by in silence before there was a sudden popping sound and Liam’s angry voice filled the room. Ali looked up to see him emerging from under the sink soaking wet, while more water pooled onto the kitchen floor. She wanted to be mad that he had made the situation worse and not given up when he realized that he didn’t know what he was doing, but the sight of him before her made her burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny,” he said, sending a glare in her direction.

“Yes, it is,” she replied when she had finally managed to calm herself down.

He narrowed his bright blue eyes at her, trying his best to stay mad, but he knew that it was a losing battle. He knew that he looked ridiculous.

“I guess we can cross chef and plumber off of your list of potential jobs,” she said, starting to giggle again as she remembered their first date where he tried to cook for her.

“Now stop the water and clean up that mess. The super will be here in the morning.”

Liam watched as his girlfriend ran out of the room before he could get another word in.

~~~

Ali frantically walked back and forth between her bed and her closet, Lana Del Rey’s Old Money playing softly in the background. It was 12:57 AM and Liam’s plane would be leaving in less than ten hours. She had been packing and unpacking her suitcase for the past two hours. Every time she made up her mind to go, something told her to stay, and every time she made up her mind to stay, something told her to go. She looked down at the text on her phone from Maxwell giving her the flight information and started piling things into her suitcase again. She was just about to close it and try to get a few hours of sleep before the flight when she looked over at her nightstand and saw the framed picture of her and all of the Larson siblings that she always kept there. They all had their arms wrapped around each other and were smiling happily into the camera.

“Nope, not going,” she mumbled to herself, hastily pulling things out of the bag and dropping them on the floor.

The sound of a throat clearing behind her caused her to stop what she was doing and turn around.

“Oh, hey, Luc. I didn’t know that you were still up,” she said.

“Yeah, I was just about to turn in for the night when I saw your light on. I assume by this mess that you haven’t made a decision yet.”

“I’m not going,” she tried to say firmly.

Luca sighed and made his way further into her room.

“You should go,” he said softly.

“I should?” Ali asked, sitting down on the bed.

“If a part of you didn’t want to then you wouldn’t be having such a hard time making the decision. If it all works out you could have everything you’ve ever wanted. You owe it to yourself to go.”

Ali groaned and dropped to her back, her legs still dangling off the side of the bed.

“What if we’re too different? It’s been forever since we were together. What if it doesn’t work out? What about everything here?” she asked, staring up at the ceiling.

Luca walked over to her and grabbed both of her hands in his before pulling her back up into a sitting position.

“You worked so well together because you were different. You balanced each other out. You made each other happy. Besides, if things still don’t work out, you’ll always have a place to come home to,” he said softly.

He kissed her forehead lovingly before leaving the room, the door closing behind him quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ali was clutching the handle of her bag tightly in her hand as she ran as fast as she could through the airport, cursing herself for being so out of shape. After speaking with Luca she still hadn’t been able to properly make up her mind until the last possible second and now there was only five minutes until the plane left. She caught sight of Charlie’s red hair and sighed in relief when he turned around and saw her.

“I knew you would come,” he said, a bright smile breaking out across his face. He was standing next to Bastien, both dressed in grey suits.

“Yeah,” she huffed out, trying desperately to catch her breath, “Back on duty, I see.” She motioned to his uniform with one hand, the other clutching her side as she gasped for air.

“Yes, but we can talk about that later. There’s someone waiting for you on that plane,” he said, motioning for her to board the plane.

“Right,” she said, taking a deep breath and beginning to walk slowly.

Bastien and Charlie were following closely behind her, and the reality that she couldn’t turn back was now hitting her. Upon entering the private plane she saw Drake, Ben, Maxwell, and Leo all lounging casually on large leather seats. Liam had been anxiously pacing up and down the aisle but had immediately stopped at the sound of their footsteps. A large smile broke out over his face at the sight of her.

“You came,” he said.

“Yeah, I did,” she said, fighting her own smile as she launched herself into his arms.

He held her tightly and for a moment all of the doubts she had about leaving New York disappeared. Leo and Maxwell shared a pleased look as the two took their seats next to each other. The plane began to take off, and Ali felt surprisingly calm as she looked out the small window.

“Are you excited?” Maxwell asked her happily, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Um, yeah… that’s one word for it,” she said awkwardly.

“You’ll be amazing,” Liam said, bringing her hand up to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles.

“You two are disgusting,” Ben joked, prompting a laugh from the group.

They were well on their way to Cordonia now and Maxwell took the opportunity to begin explaining to her what would be happening when they arrived.

“For the next few weeks you’ll stay at the Beaumont estate in Ramsford with my brother Bertrand and I,” Maxwell said.

“Is your brother anything like you?” Ali asked him.

Drake scoffed slightly, causing Ali to raise her brows in question.

“What Drake means is that Bertrand can be kind of… strict. He’s not exactly happy that I’m bringing in a suitor that doesn’t know anything about court or nobility,” Maxwell said with a cringe, “But that just means that we’ll have to spend the next few weeks turning you into a proper lady of the court.”

“Sounds like fun.” Ali tried to force a smile on her face, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“That’s the spirit!’ Leo laughed, ending his sentence with a good-natured clap to her shoulder.

“Once the social season starts, we’ll be spending most of our time at the palace. Most of the nobility live there during the season, including the ladies vying for Liam’s hand,” Maxwell continued.

“Yeah, living under one roof makes it easier to attend the rose ceremony later,” Drake mumbled under his breath.

Ali snorted before stopping to pull herself together.

“Sorry, that probably wasn’t very ladylike,” she said sarcastically.

“You’re no lady of the court,” Drake said.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said.

“Trust me, it is.”

The two locked eyes for a moment, having a silent conversation. Drake had played a part in convincing her to come, but she also knew how he felt about court and the people there. He always said that Liam was the only one of them that was worth a damn. She knew that Drake wanted to protect her, but there was also a certain edge to his voice as he said those words that she couldn’t quite place.

“Drake,” Liam said, a warning tone in his voice. Ali looked between the two for a moment before Maxwell broke through the tense silence.

“As I was saying, the social season typically lasts for about five months. There are usually a few large events like balls that the entire court attends and there are some smaller events like dinner parties that are invitation only.”

“Not gonna lie, that sounds like… a lot,” Ali said.

“Trust me it is,” Drake said, running his fingers through his hair.

Everyone began to break off into their own conversations and Ali turned to Liam to find him already looking down at her.

“Liam, I’m kind of scared,” she said, chuckling half-heartedly.

She looked down at her hands and began anxiously picking at the skin on the side of her nail.

Liam tilted her head so that she was looking up into his eyes before moving his hand to cup the side of her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

“I know, but I meant it when I said that you’ll be amazing. This is a big adjustment, and I’m afraid I may not be able to be with you as much as I would like to, but you will always have my support. You are the strongest and most capable woman I know, Ali. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll do great things,” he replied.

Ali smiled and leaned into him as their lips met in a gentle kiss. She rested her head onto his shoulder and felt her eyes closing before falling into a dreamless sleep.

She opened them a while later to the feeling of Liam shaking her awake. Her head was still on his shoulder and their fingers were entwined together. At some point during her nap he had removed her glasses and was now trying to hand them to her.

“We’ll be landing soon. If you look out the window you’ll see Cordonia,” he said with a smile.

She turned her head sleepily and gazed out the window at the land below them. In her still half asleep state, she could just make out twinkling lights against the landscape.

“Wow.”

“Home sweet home,” Drake sighed, looking out the window as well.

Ali groaned as she watched everyone begin to exit the plane one by one. The position she had been seated in had put a strain on her back, and as she tried to stretch it out, the pain only intensified.

“Maxwell, can you give us a minute alone please,” Liam asked politely, pulling her out of her thoughts as she continued to stretch. The other man, who had been waiting for his new friend, nodded and exited.

Even though she knew they were alone, the thought of everyone else just a few steps away gave Ali the feeling that she was being watched. She didn’t have much time to ponder on this fact, however. Liam grabbed her hips and pulled her so that her body was pressed flush against his, all thoughts of the rest of the group automatically leaving her mind. His lips crashed roughly into hers, and she found herself grabbing onto his arms to steady herself. She moaned softly against his mouth as she felt his tongue against her bottom lip.

“Um, guys?” Charlie said hesitantly.

They jumped away from each other immediately, Ali’s hand going up to cover her mouth as she looked anywhere but at the red-haired man in front of her and Liam loudly clearing his throat. Charlie stood there uncomfortably for a moment before speaking again.

“We need to head out.”

With one more gentle kiss and whispered ‘I love you’, Ali got into the large black car with Maxwell and stared at Liam’s retreating form.

“You’ll see him again,” he said, patting her shoulder in a comforting manner.

“Yeah,” she said, staring out the window at the passing trees, “I know you said your brother isn’t exactly excited that I’m going to be representing House Beaumont, but what exactly am I walking into with him?”

Maxwell seemed to ponder her words for a moment.

“Well, Bertrand’s been a little more stressed than normal lately, so it may take some time, but I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.”

Conversation with Maxwell flowed easily. Even though she had only known his for a few days, Ali found herself completely comfortable with him, and she felt as if she could tell him anything. The car ride passed by in a series of laughs and before she knew it, they were pulling up to the large Beaumont Estate.

“Wow,” Ali found herself saying for the second time in an hour, “Maxwell, this place is gorgeous.”

The grounds of the large house definitely looked like it was fit for nobility, and Ali stepped out of the car trying to imagine what the inside looked like. Maxwell had already made it to the trunk of the SUV and was trying to somehow carry all of his bags and her own at the same time.

“Yup, that’s home,” he replied, his voice strained as he tried to support the weight of their things.

“Max, you know I can carry my own bags, right?” she said with a laugh, making her way over to help him.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady carry her own bag?”

Ali playfully rolled her eyes and took her luggage from him.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said sarcastically.

The large front doors of the house were made of intricately carved wood and pushed open to reveal a large foyer. The ceiling rose high above her head, and an antique chandelier kept the area brightly lit.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to your room, and then we can find Bertrand,” Maxwell said and began leading her up the large staircase.

As he led her through various hallways, Ali had to mentally keep track of every turn that they took so that she wouldn’t get lost later. However, as large and spectacular as the home was, she couldn’t help but notice that there were no people in sight.

“This is my room,” Maxwell said, gesturing to an unopened door as they passed it, “And that’s yours.”

He pointed to a door that was right down the hall from his and allowed her to walk ahead so that she could open it.

“Oh my god,” Ali said, taking the large four poster bed and the bedding that probably cost more than she made in a year at the bar.

“Yes, I’m sure the room is probably quite spectacular for someone of your tastes,” came a voice from behind them.

Ali turned around, not sure whether or not to be offended. The man who had spoken looked like every boring history professor stereotype that she had ever heard combined into one. He was covered in tweed from head to toe and had large, leather elbow patches on his jacket. There was a scowl on his face as he looked her up and down.

“He doesn’t mean anything by that,” Maxwell said quickly, trying to cover for him. “Bertrand, this is the one I was telling you about… Ali!”

“This is the girl you’ve chosen to represent our house?” Bertrand asked.

A skeptical look crossed his features, and Ali suddenly became very aware of the fact that her curls were ruffled from sleeping on the plane and that she was wearing an old hoodie that she had taken from Cole and was probably three sizes too big. She tugged at the hem of it self-consciously and smiled awkwardly at the man in front of her.

“Yep! Nailed it right?” Maxwell said, smiling widely. “Ali, this is my older brother, Bertrand.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bertrand,” Ali said politely.

“The proper way to address a duke is ‘Your Grace’,” Bertrand responded stiffly.

“Oh, right! I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” Ali said, her cheeks heating up. She hadn’t even been in Cordonia for an hour and she was already making mistakes.

“At least it looks like you can be trained.”

Ali clenched her jaw at his words.

“Trained? I’m not your pet!” she said, anger rising in her voice.

Bertrand met her gaze and the two stared at each other for a moment.

“Maxwell, a word in private,” he said, turning and walking out the door.

Maxwell shot her a strained smile and followed his brother, shutting the door behind them. She could just barely hear their voices through the door, and although their words were muffled, she knew that the conversation was about her. Ali sighed and looked up at the ceiling, wondering what she was getting herself into. The door reopened, and a flustered Maxwell and a red-faced Bertrand reentered.

“It seems that we’re stuck with you,” Bertrand says, once again looking her over.

“If me being here really is that much of an issue I can just go, and your family can choose some other girl to sponsor,” Ali said, crossing her arms.

She didn’t expect things to be easy. She knew that there would be people who didn’t support her in Cordonia, but Bertrand was supposed to be her sponsor, and she was getting tired of his attitude. They had only known each other for five seconds, and he was already saying that she wasn’t good enough.

“No! You can’t go. We’ve already chosen you, so if you leave we’ll have no one. Besides, you could be Liam’s only chance of finding actual happiness. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. You’re the only person that he’s ever loved,” Maxwell said, pleading with her.

Ali uncrossed her arms and sighed, her features softening at his words. These actions didn’t go unnoticed by the duke who was now looking at her curiously.

“Perhaps Maxwell didn’t fully explain this to you, but if our house puts forth the Prince’s choice, we’ll win fame and recognition,” he began.

“Something we could really use right now actually, ‘cause we’re kind of broke,” Maxwell finished.

“Maxwell! You overstep,” Bertrand said angrily.

Ali looked between the two brothers.

“There’s no shame in being broke,” she said softly, “Do you guys get money if I marry Liam?”

“Not… directly, but we can leverage the prestige to great effect. It would be a scandal if word got out of our financial ruin,” Bertrand said.

Ali could tell that they were in a difficult situation, and although Bertrand only seemed to be concerned with her marrying Liam so she could help with their finances, she could tell that Maxwell had pure intentions.

“I love Liam and want to be with him, and I want to help you guys as much as I can. So, if that means not talking back to Bertrand and learning how to be a lady of the court then fine. I’ll do it,” she said.

#the royal romance #trr #the royal heir #trh #liam x mc #the royal romance fic #trr fic #liam x mc fanfic #liam #king liam #my fics #choices fics #choices #playchoices #playchoices fic #king liam fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #liam fic #playchoices fanfic

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turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

Step Up (1/6)

hey guys so this is gonna be a fun little six part story while Light the Fire Bright gets planned! The AU was loosely inspired by SomedayonBroadway's stories about deployed!jack on ao3 so go check those out

warnings: none in this chapter

ships: all the bois are cute brothers! sprace later on

editing: no

word count: 2215

“Enough about me, though, kid. How are you doing?”

Race huffed out a humorless laugh, leaning forward on his elbows as he scrubbed a hand down his face. That was a loaded question that he wasn’t entirely equipped to answer. Of course, he’d been expecting it, but giving it any thought beforehand had been entirely daunting.

All things considered, he was okay. Honestly, he was. Things had been...harder since Jack had left to go overseas three months ago, but that was to be expected. He’d kept his grades halfway decent, though that had been an adjustment. Jack was usually the one who kept him on track while doing schoolwork, so when he first left, Race’s grades tanked. Davey had tried to help, but his patience was a lot thinner than Jack’s, especially when he lacked an extensive understanding for Race’s way of thinking. After about a month of nightly arguments over themes present in Othello, many of which ended in frustrated tears from one or both parties, Katherine had taken initiative and stepped in to help.

She was a lot more tolerant of Race’s impaired focus and had been present for enough of Jack and his study sessions to have an idea of how to keep him on task. Race was beyond grateful for her help and more than relieved to see his grades raise back to his average, but it still wasn’t the same.

Nothing was really the same. Race had taken on Jack’s role in the Lodging House since his departure, stepping up to care for their younger brothers and sisters. He thought he was equipped for it, and he mostly was, but he could feel himself slowly wilting under the pressure. Katherine and Davey tried to help out as often as they could and Kloppman, the technical owner of the foster home, still pulled his weight regarding finances. But neither of those factors took away from the fact that Race was drowning in his new responsibilities. On top of that, guilt had started to weigh him down. If this is how Jack had felt for the past ten or so years- juggling everyone else’s shit as well as trying to wade through his own, the need for a shoulder to lean on or someone to unload to, the constant stress of getting enough food on the table for everyone while, even if it meant that he didn’t eat- then Race really should have stepped up sooner.

Other than those minor setbacks, though, Race was fine. He was great even! Absolutely thriving.

“I’m good, Jackie,” Race said, though his tone was tired, “I miss you,” he added in a small moment of vulnerability.

Jack’s expression softened and Race’s stomach clenched. He missed those kind eyes staring into his own as he worked through his homework. He missed Jack’s easy demeanor, bleeding safety into Race’s own soul as he ruffled his hair, praising him for a job well done. He missed him. His smell, his hugs, even his cooking! Which, as awful as it was, had become an ironic source of comfort.

“I miss you too, Tony,” Jack sighed, “Only nine more months!” He tried to sound cheerful, but both of them sagged slightly, the air gaining even more weight. Nine months seemed like a millenium given how long three months had felt.

“Only nine,” Race echoed, propping his chin on his palm, “Wish you didn’t hafta go at all.”

Jack grimaced, “It was bound-”

“To happen, I know,” Race finished for him, “It just sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jack mumbled. It was tense for a moment, neither one of them meeting the other’s gaze. Then Jack cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation, “How’re Kath and Davey doing? Anything new with Crutch and them?”

“Oh, uh,” Race shook his head, willing his own disposition to brighten, “They’re all good. Uh, Kath’s been making sure I don’t fail outta senior year. Davey and Les hang around sometimes, but not as much as they use to. Think it’s something to do with Davey’s new job. Uhhh, let’s see..”

As he rattled off updates about their siblings, Race felt his mood lift. It all felt familiar- calming. He found joy in making Jack laugh with his various stories about the antics that plagued their home.

“And then,” Race wheezed, trying to get words out around his laughter, “And then Albert fucking closed his eyes and Davey started screaming at him and holding the, uh, the ‘oh shit handle’ like some kind of mom! It was fucking golden, I don’t even know who allowed this kid to get his permit.”

Jack had his head in his arms, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. After a moment, he sat up, wiping tears from underneath his eyes, “God, I wish I coulda seen that. Albert driving? Who’da thought.”

“Wouldn’t really call it driving,” Race reasoned, “More like, swerving and cursing and narrowly avoiding death.”

“Sounds about right,” Jack said, leaning onto the wall behind his cot.

They fell into a comfortable silence, lost in separate fond memories. But the calm was quickly demolished when shouts sounded directly outside the door to Race’s bedroom. Well, technically it was Jack’s, but Race had taken advantage of his temporary absence to gain his own, private space.

Race groaned, dropping his head forward onto the keyboard. Maybe, if he ignored them, his brothers would sort out their shit themselves.

“RAAAAAAACE!”

Or not.

Race lifted his head slowly, whining as he stretched his back.

“Gotta go take care of that?” Jack asked, raising his eyebrows understandingly, “Who is that- Romeo? It sounded like Romeo.”

“Think so,” Race said as his name was called again, except louder, “I should go, yeah.”

“Okay,” Jack said, “I’ll talk to you soon, Racer. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Talk to you later,” He gave Jack one last little wave, then ended the video call.

He stared at the now blank screen, bracing himself for whatever stupid situation he’d find his brothers in. With another groan, he shut the laptop. Reluctantly, he pushed himself away from Jack’s desk and crossed the room.

He opened the door to find Romeo and Elmer on the ground, face’s red as they wrestled. Elmer had Romeo’s head trapped between his knees. His own arms were being twisted at odd angles by Romeo, who despite his position, had surprising leverage. Race’s gaze traveled from their jumbled form to Romeo’s DS, which lay haphazardly on the ground several feet away, still open and displaying some Pokemon game.

“Okay, knock it off you two,” Race demanded, bending down and grasping each of his brother’s biceps, effectively pulling their upper halves apart. Both boys continued to struggle, Elmer refusing to release Romeo from between his legs, “Elmer, let him go.”

“Yeah, lemme go!” Romeo shouted, his words muffled.

Finally, Elmer let up his grip on Romeo, allowing Race to wrangle him away from the other boy and set him on the floor opposite of him.

“No more touching each other,” Race scolded, crossing his arms, “Now, what happened.”

Immediately, both boys began bickering again, words drowning out one another’s as they tried to get their side of the story heard.

“He took my-”

“I did not-”

“Race, I promise I-”

“He’s lying, he’s just being a dick-”

“Hey, that’s enough!” Race bellowed, silencing his brothers instantaneously. He rarely raised his voice in the house, well aware of how that could be perceived or what kind of memories shouting could resurface, but sometimes, desperate measures were required, “Now one at a time, tell me what happened.” He looked down at Romeo, whose arms were crossed at his chest, an impressive pout on his face.

“Elmer took my DS after I told him he couldn’t have it and he messed up all my progress on Pokemon Sun! I was about to beat the Professor, too!”

Race raised his eyebrows, looking down at Elmer, who, despite the anger radiating off of him, looked fairly guilty, “Elmer, did you really take his DS without his permission?”

Elmer huffed, “He was being unfair, I-”

“Elmer,” Race warned.

Elmer hung his head, deflating, “Yeah, I did, okay? Happy?”

“Attitude isn’t getting you anywhere, dude,” Race said, “If Romeo toldya you couldn’t play with his DS, you shoulda respected that,” he bent down so he was level with Elmer, “Apologize to your brother.”

Elmer glared at Race for a long moment before peering around him at Romeo, “I’m sorry I messed up your game, Rome,” he grumbled, “I can help ya get back to where you were.”

“I don’t want your help, stupidhead” Romeo snapped, “All ya do is mess things up.”

“Hey,” Race chided, turning to look at Romeo instead, “I know you’re mad at him, but that doesn’t give you a pass to say ugly things. Say you’re sorry.”

Romeo defiantly mimed zipping his mouth shut and Race resisted the urge to throw both of them out the nearest window.

“Right now.” Race said, firmly.

“Fiiiiine,” Romeo groused, “I’m sorry, El.”

“Thank you,” Race said, “Now, go cool off. Both of you. Elmer, you can go to y’alls room and Romeo you can stick in the guest room for a moment until you’re ready to be around each other again, okay?”

Elmer and Romeo nodded, dragging their feet in opposite directions. A moment later, Race heard two door slams.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to rub his eyes before strolling out to the living room. Crutchie was seated on the couch, crutch propped bluntly on the armrest next to him. He was reading a book, diligently annotating it using sticky notes as he progressed.

“Heya, Crutch,” Race greeted, leaning back against the couch.

Crutchie bent his head back to smile up at him, “Hi.”

“Doing your homework?” Race asked, gesturing to Crutchie’s copy of The Outsiders.

“Yeah,” Crutchie scrunched his nose, looking back down at his book, “S’not too bad.”

“I’m glad,” Race said, ruffling his hair, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Crutchie said, distractedly, already absorbed in his work once more.

Race watched him fondly for another moment. He’d always admired Crutchie’s work ethic. He wasn’t the strongest in any one subject, but he worked hard and always managed to get good grades. It was refreshing to see.

“Race?”

A meek voice pulled Race from his thoughts and he turned to see Elmer standing in the doorway. His face was streaked with tears and he was twisting his fingers nervously in front of him.

Race frowned, hurrying to kneel in front of him, “Hey, hey, hey buddy, what’s wrong?”

Elmer shook his head, choking on a sob as he buried his face in the crook of Race’s neck. Race wrapped his arms around his younger brother’s trembling form, a lump forming in his own throat as he shushed him. He hated seeing his siblings so torn up.

When Elmer’s sobs didn’t slow, Race pulled back slightly, tapping his chin, “Wanna go to my room?”

Elmer sniffed, nodding weakly.

“Alright, dude,” Race said, carefully picking him up and carrying him down the hall. He shut Jack’s door quietly behind them and set Elmer on the bed, squatting next to him. Elmer tugged on his sleeve, coaxing him onto the bed, where he once more curled into his side.

“What’s gotcha hurting?” Race pushed gently, running a hand through Elmer’s hair.

“D-do I,” Elmer hiccuped, struggling to get words out around his cries, “Do I really mess everything up?”

Race’s heart broke and he silently cursed Romeo for saying that. There were a few unspoken boundaries in the Lodging House that everyone knew not to cross and it was always stressed to choose your words wisely. No matter how mad you are, there were some things you just don’t say.

“Of course you don’t, buddy,” Race soothed, “Romeo was just very upset and he wanted you to be upset, too. You don’t mess anything up, you hear?”

“I-I didn’t mean to mess up his progress,” Elmer whimpered, looking up at Race with large, teary eyes, “I just wanted to play his game.” “I know,” Race said, “And I think he knows that, too. He just wasn’t thinking very clearly.” “I’m sorry,” Elmer gripped Race’s shirt tightly, curling further into him.

“It’s okay, bud,” Race rubbed his back, “And I’m sure Romeo will appreciate another apology once you both are ready, but I swear to you that you don’t mess anything up.”

“Promise promise?” Elmer asked, sobs ebbing away slowly.

“Promise promise,” Race said, confidently, “Now why dontcha rest in here a bit. I’ll let you play on my phone.” Elmer’s eyes lit up, “Really?”

“Sure thing,” Race said, easily, fishing his phone out of his back pocket and unlocking it, “Just make sure to come get me if Jack texts, okay?”

“Okay,” Elmer said, eagerly taking Race’s phone from him and clicking into his app folder. He didn’t look up at Race as he crawled away from him, sinking into the pillows on Jack’s bed.

Race pat his leg, squeezing reassuringly before standing and slipping out of the room. He was still getting used to being the rock in the family, but if you asked him, he was doing pretty damn decent.

race is tryin his best

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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#newsies #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #crutchie morris #elmer kasprzak #romeo newsies #yeehaw #step up

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penumbra-rp · 5 years

Photo

Congratulations Akanksha, you have been accepted for the role of Bellatrix Black!

Her gaze flicked towards the interviewer, and the thin veneer of a post wave feminist boss slid over her skin “— I think it’s really important for me to be seen in this position. It’s rather odd that the fashion industry is catered towards women and yet most executives, and even designers, in the top fashion houses are…men.”

Admin Ash: Akanksha, I absolutely adored that Bellatrix was the feminist force of nature that the fashion world wasn’t ready for but she forced them to accept. You said that Bellatrix was a woman better suited to battle, wearing her skin like armor and possessing the keen readiness to obliterate obstacles in her path in whatever form they took. And as you go through the stages of her life, you can see that she’s in a consistent fight, grappling with numerous battles -- with her mother to take on less upper-class societal norms, with her father to be taken seriously as a business woman, with her volatile nature as it needed to be subdued without the proper outlet to put it. But now that the Death Eaters have given her that outlet, I’m beyond ready to see Bellatrix tap into her nastier self.

Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.

01. Out of Character

NAME: Akanksha

AGE: 23

YOUR BIRTHDAY: 10/31/1995

PRONOUNS: she/her/hers

TIMEZONE: EST

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Bellatrix Black

CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: she/her/hers

FACECLAIM: Crystal Reed

CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: April 14th, 1988

PERSONALITY:

(+) EFFICIENT – Electricity followed the path of least resistance and Bellatrix was the same way; she saw her solutions in straight lines. Obstacles were removed not circumvented. In the business world, this garnered her praise – she had an uncanny ability to cut through bureaucratic paperwork. In the other matters, this trait was especially welcome. Deliveries were made quickly and discreetly. And those who interfered were eliminated at once, with little time spent contemplating the morality of it all.

(+) INTELLIGENT – Perhaps if knowledge wasn’t such a means to an end, she would have spent more time in academia. Nonetheless, Bellatrix actively sought to learn more, to know more. From languages to stocks, she kept an attentive eye on new trends. Developing a vast and in-depth repertoire of skills was what kept her far and ahead from anyone else, and she aimed to keep it that way.

(+) PROTECTIVE – Bellatrix protected what was hers. She’d learned at the foot of her father, strict but unhesitating when crushing those who would do his family harm. Those outside her family must work much harder to be considered one of hers. But once they’ve earned their place in her shadow, she will do whatever necessary to protect them and more often than not, their mistakes.

(-) VOLATILE – Bellatrix has always struggled to hide what she’s felt. This issue is greatly compounded by her mercurial nature. She went from calm to furious in a breath, and settled just as quickly. This made her rather unpredictable; some days she’d let a mistake pass and others she’d use it as an excuse to indulge in her more violent tendencies.

(-) CRUEL — Perhaps the most offensive aspect of Bellatrix was her particular brand of violence. She didn’t simply eliminate her obstacles, she obliterated them. For any perceived slight, her retaliation was ten-fold. She was quite simply mean, and rarely for good reason. Bellatrix enjoyed being cruel; it slaked some tormented creature inside her that she’d never been able to articulate.

(-) DOGMATIC — At the end of the day, you were either with her or against her, and she would interact with you accordingly. No one could truly be neutral in Bellatrix’s eyes. Her black and white worldview fed into her narcissistic notion that only she knew best. The only complicated relationships she had were those with her sisters; the differences between them were obvious, but there were striking similarities as well. Beyond them, Bellatrix didn’t allow herself the murkiness of gray areas.

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

NAME – Bellatrix was born in the middle of a thunderstorm, screaming from birth. They named her for a constellation, as the Blacks had always done. They named her for a warrior, and it meant something when the Black family gave their daughter a title like that. Bellatrix was born with turmoil inside her, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her skin would always feel stretched tight, like armor, and the first time her mother dressed her up for fun, make-up making a little girl seem older, she knew that femininity would only ever be war paint for her.

MIRROR – It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a girl. She had no problem with her body, the budding curves, the slimmer face. It was all the expectations that came along with it. She fought her mother because she didn’t want to wear dresses. She fought her father because she wanted to be involved in the family business, not married off. She fought her sisters because maybe if Andromeda stopped being so difficult, maybe if Narcissa stopped being so perfect, maybe then her parents would turn their attention away and she could finally breathe. She wanted to shriek so loud her mirror would crack, and maybe then the jagged reflection would look more right to her than the dark haired, red lipped princess who stared back.

ACADEMIA – She somehow scored the highest marks in her class but very nearly didn’t graduate from secondary school due to the sheer number of transgressions. Her father’s lethal charm, both carrot and stick at once, ensured her graduation and there was something in his eye that told her he was proud of her. On the cusp of adulthood, she finally managed to prove to her father that her mind, her hands were worth far more at House of Black than as a negotiating piece. Bellatrix studied the right courses, spent her summers interning at the fashion house, and graduated from the Slytherin School of Social Science poised to take over.

CAREER – The moment she was initiated into the Death Eaters, the clawing, hungry thing inside her settled. Or rather, it was appeased with the promise of danger, with the deadly games and trades, with the scent of blood. Executive Director of House of Black itched less when it was meant to be a cover and not her reality. She did her job well, better even, once she had an outlet for the tendencies that made her blood simmer beneath her skin until she burned from the inside. For that had always been the struggle of a starry warrior – Bellatrix was fearless and bright, but she was at her best in battle.

OPINION – While Bellatrix appreciated the privileges associated with The Sacred 28, the gendered aspects of the culture grated on her. Being raised in that culture allowed her to slip in, seemingly one of them, but her family always knew better. Only the youngest Black had thrived in those spaces. She preferred The Death Eaters mostly because it was the first place she had been able to be her complete self. For the first time, she hadn’t had to shave off the distasteful pieces of herself to be seen as appropriate. The Death Eaters had provided her a true sanctuary, and Bellatrix would be damned before she let some upstart activists ruin that.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

— Bellatrix didn’t bother smiling; she hadn’t been pleased about the interview in the first place. In fact, she distinctly remembered telling her youngest sister that as Marketing Director, Bellatrix expected Cissy to head off any and all journalists. She didn’t have the time or, quite frankly, the temperament. “I enjoy my work, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said, dark eyes still focused on the contract she was reviewing. “It’s a very high energy environment, which suits me particularly well. And—“ her gaze flicked towards the interviewer, and the thin veneer of a post wave feminist boss slid over her skin “— I think it’s really important for me to be seen in this position. It’s rather odd that the fashion industry is catered towards women and yet most executives, and even designers, in the top fashion houses are…men.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “There’s legacy and family here, yes, but House of Black continues to be trendsetting in more ways than fashion, and for that simple reason I could never consider a position anywhere else. I love this company and my job.” She smiled then, more bared teeth than grin — she’d never been able to truly hide the predator in her — and the unspoken for now became clear.

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

— Bellatrix tilted her head in consideration. Lips curving into a smile that was relatively softer, more knife edge than blatant fangs, she turned back to her computer. Neatly manicured nails (she never bothered with fancy colors sticking to nude or black) tapped her keyboard with ease and accuracy. A click, and a thrumming beat began to fill the office followed by a rich female voice. We wear red so they don’t see us bleed… “Trouble by Valerie Broussard.” She didn’t offer any further explanation.

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

— She leaned back, chair tilting and arms folded across her torso. There was a quickness to her movements, something a little faster, slicker than Narcissa’s stunning grace or Andromeda’s serene gentleness. “Of course it matters, how could it not – businesses are built on reputations; but deals only come through when you have the knowledge, the skill, the competence to back your reputation.” She observes the interviewer for a moment. “I know I match up to my reputation.” Her quick up-and-down gaze seals her assessment and the interviewer can sense her judgement easily; they don’t even have a reputation, none that she’s heard of, so she doubted they had the competency either.

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

— It was the first time in the interview that Bellatrix was caught off guard. Everything in her felt jagged for a moment – being off-tilt was uncomfortable for a woman who prided herself on her preparation. But she was a Black. So Bellatrix straightened her spine, shoulders back, chin up, dark eyes even. “I suspect you’re asking due to the nepotism here.” She didn’t mince words, or care to lie. “Family always comes first; that’s how I was raised. My relationship with my parents is complicated and definitely improved once it became a more adult relationship, like anyone else. But I also know, that they will always have my back, and I will always have theirs.” A more honest answer would have been too nuanced for her to articulate to someone who knew her well, let alone an absolute stranger. Her family had been both cage and sanctuary, and her parents had always held the keys to the lock.

v. What languages can you speak?

— Unlike Andromeda, who only spoke a few languages because she didn’t study them further, unlike Narcissa, who pretended she only knew a couple, Bellatrix boasted her five languages with an arched brow and a smug tilt of her chin. “French, Italian, Russian, Japanese,” she listed, each word emphasized with another pointed finger. She added her thumb and gave a cheeky wave. “And of course, English.” There were a few more she could fumble her way through, strictly for business needs, but Bellatrix wasn’t the sort of woman to advertise in which ways she was mediocre. She was the best because to her, there was no other way to be.

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

— The question felt rather silly to Bellatrix. She didn’t feel attachment to items, her loyalty was to her family. And even then, the material objects that mattered to her most was almost always kept close to her. “My work bag,” she answered with an artless shrug, angled to gesture the sleek black leather bag. “I keep my laptop, wallet and phone in it – in this digital age, my most valued possessions are all kept safe in cloud storage.” Besides, family heirlooms were more her sisters’ realm.

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

– Her patience was beginning to thin, each inane question causing her jaw to set. “I believe this is information you can find with a quick search,” her voice was dangerously saccharine, and the nervous stutter she received in response pleased her. “This time, I’ll save you the work.” Don’t let there be a next time, she said, not through words, but through the hardness of her gaze, the line of her neck the slope of her nose. “I completed an accelerated course of study to graduate with both my undergrad and master’s in International Commerce. From Slytherin.” What a quick search wouldn’t tell the interviewer was that in those five years, she very nearly also completed an Industrial Operations Engineering degree from Gryffindor. She’d liked applied sciences well enough, but not enough to fight her father on it.

vix. What is your social media username?

— “Another thing you can easily search, so this time I’ll let you handle it,” Bellatrix responded dismissively. “If you have any other questions, please email my assistant. Had I known what a waste of time this would be, I would have had you do that in the first place.” Her voice was cool and matter-of-fact, and before the interviewer had even stood, Bellatrix had turned back to her work. Fortunately for the interviewer, her username was easily found on her business card;@BellatrixBlack printed in neat font above icons for Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. It was clear upon further research that Bellatrix didn’t run her social media – they were highly curated business accounts. And no amount of research would reveal her extremely private personal tag that she only used for Snapchat & FlooNet: @bellatrixie.

#accepted

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