#Another reminder how my shitty efforts is never going to be enough for anyone and no one will ever give a shit about me

[mrfoox]

I really can't deal with pushy people who mean "well" /:

[sybalcathryne]

best friend hasn’t yet remembered my birthday, but the family member I am no contact with did and tried to call me in the middle of dinner.

Father is trying to make dinner plans for said birthday, but scheduled them too early for me to come, apparently has forgotten I don’t have a way there, and didn’t actually reach out until nearly the end of my birthday about it, and now I don’t know how to tell him “never mind” because I am now stressed out about it, and frustrated that they literally never seem to remember my birthday until the day of. Which wouldn’t bother me, except this isn’t how the other kids are treated. I know I am loved, but every year birthdays and holidays are just another reminder that I not really part of that family the way everyone else is. With the other kids I get invited last minute to birthday dinners they chose at least a week in advance. It’s also good to remember that for years I was the only child who was given the rankings of each child, and have been on the bottom of that list every time. I used to try and laugh it off, but that shit fucking HURT. Why would you make any effort for parents who think it’s okay to rank their children, let alone tell no one except the kid at the bottom of your list. That shit isn’t funny. It’s targeted and cruel, and yet part of me is still over here going “don’t be too mean or honest about the rankings thing because you know they do love you, so it’s not nice to get upset about the shitty thing that was done to you.”

My mother and her husband drove to see one of my siblings on their birthday. Drove across five states to visit them, even though they have been a real back of shit about mother and her husband’s marriage because it’s her second one (they wrote they a nasty letter about it years ago, only held our mother to that standard, because apparently our father being male exempts him from that fun bit of judgement when it comes to second marriages.) drove to see them even though they married and literal child, and no one seems to have a problem with it? In fact recently I had my homosexuality compared to them marrying a kid. Which is weird, given I only view consenting adults as potential romantic/sexual partners, not children. My mother did text my on my birthday though to let me know she’d be around my part of the state next weekend and can she maybe stop in for a hug - if there is time. Which, would be more upsetting but both my mother and someone I thought was a close friend, recently made it very clear they only visit me when they are already in town to see someone else, and per my friend, now that that person doesn’t live near me she doesn’t have a reason to come this way anymore, and per my mother…honestly I don’t know. But she only stops in if she’s already going to be in town, and then only IF she manages to find time to do so. And then I wonder why I get to twisted up in knots emotionally when it’s time to actually see her. I also can’t mention anything about being queer around her. She’s not an ass about it, but she gets that heavy disapproving quiet where I know I need to be quiet or she’ll be writing me a letter telling me god told her in prayer that I was going to hell for “thinking” I liked my own gender, and to please pray on it myself and find the light or whatever the fuck. The saving factor there would be if she told my step father, pretty sure he’d tell her to keep it to herself. He’s not perfect, but he does alright. But, again, I can’t say any of this to anyone because my brain goes “they’ve been hurt enough by their children, you have to keep it together, forgive them and move on. They love you so much and did so many things right, so it would be so rude and monstrous for you to let them know they hurt you in anyway.”

Also, I got really excited when a couple of friends asked if I wanted to go and get dinner the day of or after my birthday. They were trying to act all casual, like they were just asking for a normal hang, and that it had nothing to do with my birthday. I thought it was very cute and sweet, and I told them I was busy on my birthday, but I could do it the day or two days after. They said that worked, they were really excited…and I haven’t heard anything since. crickets.

a lot of things are starting to support the idea that people like me, sometimes love me, in theory, but the moment it comes time to be face to face they dip. I’m better as an idea of a friend, family member, person, etc., than I am in reality. I’m the human equivalent of window shopping for most people, it seems.

But you know, even though every birthday for the last 10 years has served as a painful reminder that I am easily forgotten (family text me on my birthday to see if I wanted to join them for something they were already doing two days later, other family text me to let me know they were going out of town), last year was good at the end of the day. Awkward at first, but good. Really good overall, and I have to cling to that.

And this year, this year was good. Had a nice chill morning with my partner, went and spent time with people who had basically been my family and I essentially lived with them for years, it was really good. I swore too much and was too loud, but they folded me right back in like I had never left. It was the mother’s birthday as well, it was nice to make the day about her and not worry about me. then when i came home i took a quick bath, my partner summoned me over me over to their place because they were cooking me dinner, when i got to their place they had some of my favourite drinks and snacks for me at the top of their steps. we had a really wonderful time, dinner was amazing, and it was the perfect way to wrap up the day.

so i guess… this year hurt just as much as other years. More so in some ways, but also there was so much good, and i felt so at ease in my own skin the whole time — which i do not always get, that it felt like a good birthday for the first time in ages. which isn't fair to last year, last year was also wonderful for similar reasons, but last year i was struggling with some pretty heavy rejection sensitivity coupled with some lingering depression, so last year was also wonderful, my brain just wasn't letting me vibe with it the whole time and still tries to push those feelings to the front of my memory when i think back so it takes a little more effort to remember that it was a good one and i loved it.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

This Game of Yours

Father of Mine – Part 1 and Part 2

Jason was beautiful.

And somehow that scar that went from the right corner of his mouth up to his temple only made him that much more beautiful to Y/N.

Those blue eyes were the same color of water on a stormy day in the Irish sea. And somehow Y/N knew they held the same tempestuousness.

The white streak weaved with his jet black hair so naturally that Y/N would’ve believed he was born with it.

His shoulders were so broad, making his 6’3 height feel even more imposing. He had a presence. People noticed every time he walked into a room. It made Y/N wonder how he was ever able to sneak up on people as Red Hood.

He was wearing a black hoodie underneath his black moto jacket.

Y/N knew Jason didn’t give a shit about fashion. Yet he was well-dressed without any effort – more so than most of the models Y/N had shot throughout her career.

Not being able to control herself any longer, Y/N raised her camera and took a photo.

Jason stopped surveying their surroundings and his gaze snapped to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

But his growl didn’t scare her in the slightest.

“Anyone who’s by me when I have a camera is at risk of getting their picture taken. No one is safe. Not even you,” she answered his question unapologetically.

Y/N was working on a personal passion project for her next show. Her collection would be about the poverty and crime of Gotham. Half of the photos would show the heaviest crime areas of the city. And the other half would expose the lifestyles of the wealthiest people in Gotham.

Why did so many suffer from the same system that helped the rich get even richer?

When Bruce found out Y/N was going to Crime Alley and the Bowery by herself, he was visibly upset.

But he realized that Y/N would do as she pleased, so his plan b was to give her protective detail.

However, Y/N didn’t know that Jason had volunteered, almost immediately.

Instead, all she heard was Jason grimly telling her, “You’re lucky you haven’t been fucking murdered yet.”

She had only responded with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m not your escort so you can take my picture. I’m here so you don’t get raped or murdered.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

His only response was a glare.

Jason loved playing this game. The game of pretending to be irritated with her when actually he was absolutely infatuated with Y/F/N Y/L/N.

“The easiest way to stop getting your picture taken is to always be the one holding the camera,” Y/N added with a smirk and wink.

Jason didn’t answer, only thinking what a shame it was that no one got to photograph her.

Suddenly, the sunlight hit the top of his head perfectly, creating a halo around that thick and messy hair of his.

Y/N snapped another photo.

“Will you stop?” He warned.

It only succeeded in making her laugh.

And that just excited his heart even more.

“Jason, you were born to get your photo taken.” 

There was no joke underneath her words, only sincerity.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.

Jason had a hard time believing that. His skin was riddled with scars. And he was convinced that she’d be singing a different song if she saw his chest, with its thick autopsy scar amongst the so many others. The absolute last word he’d use to describe himself was beautiful. Strong and imposing? Yes. But never beautiful – or any other positive adjective, for that matter.

“I’m not kidding. If you ever want to stop the whole vigilante thing, you can easily become a model.”

Y/N had noticed it as soon as Jason took of his helmet that night. His domino mask had done nothing to prevent her from noting the obvious.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to realize Jason wasn’t like his “brothers.”

“Brothers.” What a strange word.

Should she consider all of them as hers?

Only Damian was actually related to her – and technically he was only her half-brother.

Y/N had watched Jason get on his motorcycle and leave the cave that night she’d almost died.

She’d agreed to stay for dinner and get to know everyone. And a part of her brain was excited to get a better read on the masked man that sat by her bedside as she’d recovered.

“He’s not staying?” Y/N had asked Bruce as he guided her to the stairs that led back up to the manor.

He only shook his head, but she noticed the disappointed expression.

Soon she found out that Jason was the black sheep of this strange family that had taken her in.

Dick was the one who told her about Jason’s dark past. All of it seemed unbelievable: murdered by Joker and brought back to life from a mysterious pit. Only to return to the family who appeared to have replaced him and never sought vengeance on Jason’s behalf. 

But it was true; Y/N had seen no lie in Dick’s eyes when he filled her in.

Suddenly there was yelling coming from around the corner.

Without hesitation, Jason shoved Y/N behind him.

He reached for one of his guns and then realized that he didn’t have any.

Y/N was rather vocal about hating them, claiming they made her extremely uncomfortable.

Her expression alone as she said it was enough for Jason to swallow his stubbornness and leave the things at home.

Bruce was rather taken aback by the gesture. Nothing he’d ever said was enough to get Jason to do that.

A gang of young men came marching around the corner like they owned the place…because they did. This was their territory.

Jason immediately recognized them as some of the Russian mob.

Despite pulling Y/N behind him, they still caught sight of her and looked her up and down without an ounce of shame.

“Hey, beautiful. How you doing?”

“Продолжай идти, придурки,” Jason growled at them.

He was outnumbered. But there must’ve been something about his body language that made the gang realize they shouldn’t pick a fight with him. Maybe it was the muscles or his height or that he looked like he wouldn’t even blink before murdering them.

So they just…walked away. Some of them mumbled threats or insults at him. But they realized they shouldn’t even so much as look at Y/N.

A split second before they were gone, Y/N took a picture of Jason.

“Really?” He asked.

She shrugged. “You look like a different person when you’re protective.”

Y/N was beautiful.

Jason watched as she passionately explained her work to a potential buyer.

He recognized the man as a local politician – luckily, one of the few that hadn’t been corrupted from this shitty city.

Y/N had the intimidating energy of her father, but the kind eyes of her mother. At least, that was what Bruce had told everyone, and they all took his word for it.

She wore a stylish white jumpsuit that made her look like a 1980s villain and black stiletto heels. 

Jason watched as men cowered in her presence, hating the fact that she proudly stood taller than them. She was just one less woman they could intimidate or manipulate – and they couldn’t stand it.

But Jason loved watching the emasculation in real time.

The bastards didn’t deserve her anyway.

Dick was one of the very few men Jason knew who didn’t blink at a woman towering over him. In fact, his older brother had a track record of preferring it.

“Surprised to see you here,” Bruce said beside him, catching Jason watching Y/N.

“Well, I was her personal bodyguard through all this. Figured I should see if it was worth me wasting my time or not.” Then he tossed back his champagne and slammed it on the tray of a waiter passing by. “Plus, free alcohol.”

Bruce just quirked an eyebrow, silently telling Jason that he knew he was lying.

“Are you buying something?” Jason asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have been strictly forbidden,” Bruce sighed.

Jason chuckled.

He knew if Bruce had his way, he’d buy every single on of Y/N’s pieces.

“I have to know,” Bruce began. “What exactly is holding you back?”

Jason finally ripped his gaze away from Y/N to give Bruce a questioning look.

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/N. You care about her.”

“All of us do,” Jason brushed off. “Even the demon spawn.”

Bruce knew there wasn’t a chance Jason would admit his feelings – especially to him.

“Not that I think you care…but you have my approval.”

Little did Bruce know, Jason did care.

Jason had convinced himself that their rocky relationship and past fights meant that Bruce would die before he let Jason be anywhere near his daughter.

And Jason could hardly blame him.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He lost that right after he died and came back a monster. And that was the story Jason told himself over and over again.

So he would love Y/N from afar. And hope she would pick someone who was worthy of her love.

“She’s basically my sister,” Jason groaned in fake disgust.

It was quite the performance.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We both know that isn’t what’s stopping you. And you’ve made it clear you don’t consider us your family.”

“Whatever, Bruce.”

Jason walked away, having enough of the subject.

“What was that about?” Clark asked as he joined Bruce’s side.

“Jason refusing to let himself be happy,” Bruce sighed.

Clark already knew what Bruce was talking about. He’d seen Y/N and Jason dancing around each other for months now. He’d never really seen Y/N take an interest in anyone before, so it was all new for Clark.

“Don’t worry. Y/N won’t let him get away with it for much longer,” Clark said through a smirk. “She gets what she wants.”

And Bruce believed him.

“It doesn’t bother you – the two of them together?” Clark asked with genuine curiosity.

“Jason reminds me every day that I’m not his father. And I’m hardly Y/N’s.” A soft smile formed on Bruce’s lips. “He’ll look after her. And she…I think she’d be good for him. I just want them to be happy. Both of them.”

——

Jason headed home rather early.

He’d never actually went to say congratulations or even hello to Y/N.

Every time he was about to go over, someone else stole her attention. He didn’t want to get in the way of her talking to potential buyers or even just friends.

Jason was just about to make himself something to eat when there was a knock at his door.

He froze.

Very few people knew where his apartment was.

Jason grabbed a gun and tiptoed to his front door.

With a peak through the peephole, he let out a irritated sigh.

Jason whipped the door open, “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your head off.”

“Maybe don’t own guns and you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like that,” Y/N snapped back.

“What are you doing here?”

“You come to my gallery opening and don’t even say hi?” Y/N accused as she stepped around him and into the apartment, not waiting for an invitation.

Jason eyed the paper bag that was in one of her hands.

“By all means, come on in,” he called sarcastically as he slammed the door behind her.

Y/N started searching through his cabinets. “Where are your glasses?”

“The one to your right. What are you doing here?”

Y/N had the brightest and almost mischievous smile as she pulled a bottle of champagne from the paper bag.

“I brought this as my thanks for you making sure I don’t – and I quote – ‘get raped and murdered.’”

Jason glared at her.

Here was the game again.

Y/N being charming and hilariously provoking..and Jason pretending like he hadn’t fallen for her.

She poured them both a glass. They weren’t flutes or coupes, but she couldn’t care less.

“We’re chugging these, by the way,” Y/N informed Jason as she handed him a glass.

He sighed, but obediently clinked his glass with hers and tossed it back.

Barely giving them a second, Y/N immediately refilled them.

“So, why didn’t you come over and say hi?” She repeated.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Jason mumbled with a shrug.

She narrowed her eyes at his answer. “You’ve never bothered me before, Jason.”

Now he felt guilty.

Jason bowed his head. “I should’ve come and talked to you,” he agreed. “Your work…it looked – it’s amazing, Y/N. Congratulations.”

Apparently Y/N hadn’t expected such a sincere compliment from him, and she was stunned to silence.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper once she’d recovered.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her edge. “And really…thank you for being my own little security detail.”

If Jason was healthy about expressing is thoughts and feelings, he would’ve told her that it was the highlight of his weeks. That he looked forward to her calls or texts, telling him that she was going to photograph another shady area. “Be there or don’t. I’m going no matter what,” she’d text him with her usual snark.

But Jason didn’t express his thoughts and feelings.

He kept them bottled up – with the same energy he used to keep Y/N at a distance.

So instead, Jason said, “If it wasn’t me, one of the others would’ve done it.”

Y/N winced slightly at that.

‘You’re such a fucking asshole,’ Jason told himself.

“You know…we can see each other even you’re not my bodyguard.”

Jason was impressed by her boldness. But she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t understand that he wasn’t good. He couldn’t play the loving boyfriend role. She belonged with someone like Dick or Clark – or literally anyone but him. And Jason was willing to be an asshole to make sure she understood that.

Y/N took a step closer to him, invading his personal space.

Without breaking eye contact, she threw back her second glass of champagne and then placed it on the nearest counter space.

She stepped even closer.

This was simultaneously Jason’s worst nightmare and most desired dream.

Her eyes moved from his eyes to his lips.

But before she could make her final push, Jason took a step back and cleared his throat.

He looked down at the ground as he said, “You should go.”

When he looked up, he expected to find Y/N heartbroken or embarrassed.

But she was neither.

No. She looked irritated.

Not because she wasn’t getting what she wanted, but because she was sick of his games.

Y/N sighed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Jason rubbed his face in frustration as she grabbed her purse and started for the door she had walked through only minutes ago.

She opened it and paused.

“You know what? No. Fuck that,” Y/N snapped before slamming the door closed.

She whipped around and strutted back to him with purpose.

Jason was suspended with both fervor and awe.

Y/N grabbed his face and pulled him down to her lips.

All self control went out the window. Jason couldn’t continue his game. It was all over for him.

He kissed her back almost immediately. How could he not?

Y/N bit his lip slightly, making him hiss in surprise. It was his punishment for making her wait all this time.

Eventually they needed a moment to breathe.

But Y/N didn’t let go of his face when their lips finally parted.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” she breathed.

He swallowed nervously. “You’re kind of fucking terrifying. You know that?”

Her smile was pure evil.

Apparently this was the right response.

“Are you done being an idiot?” She asked.

He nodded quickly.

Her hands moved down and then lingered on his neck, tracing the bottom lines of his jaw.

She smiled again and then looked him up and down.

“What?” He questioned.

“Nothing,” she laughed. “I’m just…I’m not used to being shorter than men.”

“Is that the only reason you like me? Huh? My height?” Jason goaded.

“Of course not,” Y/N scoffed. “It was the whole ‘I look like I could murder everyone and I can, but deep down I’m a big softie’ that did it for me.”

Jason’s grip tightened on her waist. “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk…”

“Me?!” She yelped. “I couldn’t kill anyone, even if my life depended on it.”

“Maybe. But your terrifying in basically every other way.”

Y/N laughed at that.

Jason couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sound

“So…still want me to leave?” She asked.

And this time, she would if that’s really what he wanted.

“Fuck no,” Jason answered, almost threateningly.

Then, for good measure, he picked her up by the back of her thighs and carried her to the couch, before he started to kiss her once again.

Y/N knew things weren’t always going to be this simple.

Jason had his demons. 

And honestly, so did she. They were nothing like his. And maybe they were silly in comparison. But she wouldn’t be the perfect partner. Just like he wouldn’t be. 

They’d drive each other crazy. But it would be the good kind of crazy.

------------------------------

+ Childhood

[dameronology]

6 from the angst prompts with frank please🤲🏾

frank castle + 6) "why does my mind go back to when you used to hold me?"

ok. i'm gonna be real with you. this started by following the prompt, then it...it went somewhere else entirely. but we move.

You should have been happy in your lover's arms.

Anyone else in the world would have been fucking elated; wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa with a five-foot-eleven guy, with his ginger tousled hair and broad arms. Your first date together had been a favour to your sister, but you'd never found a reason to stop seeing him. After all, he looked after you. Texting you to make sure you got home safe, bringing you lunch at work, fixing your broken kitchen cabinet in your shitty little apartment. He was nice. Too nice. He was a sensible t-shirt made out of husband material.

So what did that make Frank Castle? The leather jacket that your parents had forbade you from buying? The stupidly ripped jeans that made your relatives ask dId yOu bUy tHeM lIke tHat?

But truthfully, there was no stupid, cliche metaphor for Frank Castle. He was absolutely indescribable; a walking contradiction, a fucking confusion. He was rough and soft and giving and taking all at once. He stole the air from the lungs and breathed it right back into you; stole the show, but never came out from behind the curtains. He'd ruined your life for twelve straight months and yet, you looked back on that year as the best time of your life.

Frank was gone now - gone to the wind, wherever his next crime took him. You still thought of him, though. Constantly. About how your new boyfriend's arms didn't hold you as tight; about how his hair was a lot softer than Frank's, and didn't scratch you in the same way his did whenever he buried his head in your neck. His hands weren't as large and protective. He didn't make you black coffee every morning - oat lattes and fancy cappuccinos, yeah. But not the shitty, sugarless crap that Frank served to you in a chipped Coney Island mug every day at 7AM. The new guy cared enough to walk you home, but not enough to elbow his way into your apartment at 3AM because he'd heard sirens four blocks away and panicked. Frank Castle had had a weird way of loving you - and now, everyone else's attempts at it paled in comparison.

Like I said before - anyone else would have been infatuated with the new man sat beside you. Admittedly, you'd only found one problem with him.

He wasn't Frank.

"I'm just going to make some tea," you said. "I'll be back in a second."

The auburn man looked at you. "Should I pause the movie?"

"It's okay, I've seen it before," you forced a smile.

Shrugging off the blanket, you stood up and stalked through to the kitchen. It was a separate room from your living area - Frank had always given you spiel about how cramped it felt. But the minute you spotted a pair of combat boots on the fire escape? You were just thankful for the privacy it now gave you from the man you should have been falling in love with.

Hopping up on the counter, you slid open the window and stuck one leg out onto the metal stairs. Frank naturally leant forward to help you, a large handing wrapping around your wrist and pulling you up. The sky was pitch black, lit only by the starry facade of the Lower East Side. Hell's Kitchen was beautiful from this angle - probably because the man who constantly tore it to pieces was stood on your fire escape.

"You look like shit," you greeted him. It was true; his hair was cropped and neat, and he was clean shaven like usual, but there was a fucking massive shiner on his left eye.

"So do you," Frank shot back. "Who the fuck does that t-shirt belong to?"

"None of your business," you said.

"It belongs to your ginger friend, doesn't it?" he deduced. "What's his name?"

"Again - none of your business."

"Fine. I'll just call him Ron, then."

"Okay, Frank," you huffed. "Why are you turning up on my fire escape at 1AM and giving me spiel about Harry Potter?"

"I was just checking in," he shrugged. "Am I not allowed to do that anymore?"

"No."

"Fine," he held his hands up in defence. "But I know you're thinking about me."

"I'm not thinking about you," you countered. "In fact, the first person I think of when I hear the name Frank is Frank Reynolds from It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia."

"You're a terrible liar, sweetheart," he reminded you.

"It's true. I really love Danny Devito-"

You abruptly stopped talking when Frank grabbed you by the waist, pulling you towards him. Your lips crashed against his - warm and familiar and chapped - in a passionate kiss. Time might as well have fucking stopped in that moment. It was a feeling you'd craved for so long; begged for, prayed to every god you believed in and even those you didn't.

"You love me more," Frank murmured. "More than the man inside."

"Frank," you murmured.

"Just say it," he pushed. "I know you love me - not him."

"Is that why you came back?" you asked. "Because you were worried I'd found someone else?"

"I came back because I missed you," he confessed.

"You went upstate to get away from all this," you half-heartedly gestured to the city below.

"And I came back for all this," he gestured to you with a large hand. "It's nothing to do with you being with someone else. It doesn't mean I don't want to left hook the guy for putting his hands on you, but..."

Frank trailed off. You, meanwhile, were still in disbelief. It had taken so much effort to move on; to force his remaining belongings into a box under your bed. Even more so to let another man in to said bed.

In a swift movement, he'd taken off his hoodie and pulled it over your shoulders. The zip was done up in mere seconds, thick hood pulled over your head. It smelt of Frank - domestic Frank, not I've gone bat-crap crazy on a gang in the middle of the night and come back looking like the prom scene in Carrie Frank. It was a mixture of cheap laundry detergent and a little of his spicy aftershave. He rarely wore the stuff, but you deducted he probably put it on for tonight. What kind of fucking weirdo put on expensive aftershave just to creep around on his former lover's balcony? Frank. The answer was Frank. Just...quintessentially him.

"You really hate the look of me in his clothes, huh?" you teased.

"You looked cold," Frank lied. "Does Ron give you his hoodies?"

"He'd give me his damn wardrobe if I asked."

He snorted. "Yeah, okay. I'm glad to see you that you still enjoy dancing around important conversations-"

"- you know I love you, Frank," you cut him off. "But I'm not skipping into the fucking sunset with you at 1AM when it's freezing as shit outside. Especially not when there's a man on my couch, who thinks I'm making a cup of tea when I'm actually kissing a man out on the fire escape."

"I love you too," Frank gave you a lopsided grin, completely ignoring the second half of what you said. "I'll come back in the morning."

"Yeah, okay," you pressed another kiss to his jaw. "See you then."

You slipped your hands away from Frank's, sliding your legs back through the window and onto the kitchen counter. Leaping off the side, you shut the window and reached to turn on the kettle - you did have the whole cup of tea lie to keep up with.

And with a smile on your face, you reached for the chipped Coney Island mug on your shelf.

[yesimwriting]

Hi!!! I was wondering if you could do like a short story post or something I wonder how Our General Kirigan would react to a shy reader? Would he tease her? Be frustrated with her? And how would she react? Idk maybe just a thought 😅 I asked you because i really like your writing and I feel like you would really do a good job and I like the way you portray the General. 😊

a/n i have been crying/feeling shitty for the past two days for no reason!! so i thought it might make me feel better to try writing headcanons! i have SO MANY half done requests/fics but as of recently i hate everything that i write!! so i thought i'd work on this request that lends itself to headcanons

also im glad you like my writing :))

--

General Kirigan with a shy! reader headcanons:

- First things first, I think how he interacts with someone shy that he sees as a (potential) romantic interest varies per situation. Like generally, he finds the timidness kind of soft which is so different from what he's used to that he finds that aspect kind of endearing.

- He'd never admit that at the beginning, but the more time you spend with him the clearer it becomes to you because of how he acts when you're alone together

- At first, he'd hold onto his usual stoic disposition, but after realizing that at the end of the day your shyness is genuine and not an attempt to seem meek in order to trick people/him he'd begin to tease you about it when you two are alone.

- The first time he makes a comment that's just a little,, kinda-almost suggestive (a comment about how he wonders what it'd be like to be a Heartrender so that he could hear the change in your heartbeat every time you shied away from something) you're too confused to be embarrassed for like two seconds.

- You're basically that meme that's like did I hear that shit righttt??

- So you meet his gaze, and there's absolutely nothing but warm confidence there and you realize that he had in fact,,, said that.

- You hold his gaze for a moment out of protest (which is an incredible feat) and then you have to drop your eyes to the floor. You mumble some comment about how his ability to summon shadows isn't exactly a boring skill.

- Your reaction is so soft,, Kirigan can't help but be endeared even further. Something he wasn't exactly expecting and isn't too thrilled about. He doesn't think being shy makes you weak,, but he's extremely wary about how you're perceived and how people may treat you because of it.

- He doesn't doubt his ability to protect you, but he doesn't want to be distracted,, not with all he has to do.

- Still, he can't help mumble comments whenever there's a brief pause and you two are alone

- Meanwhile, you're starting to notice that now more situations keep coming up when you're left alone with Kirigan?? like he's always in the library when you are, he's always walking in to assess training when you're training and he just so happens to linger until you leave and then he just so happens needs to walk in the same hallway.

- It's a little strange at first,, but you're more horrified by the fact that you're not mad about it than the fact that it's happening. Especially since you know how much joy he gets from getting you flustered. You can see that in that slightly cocky uptilt to his lips whenever you're left gaping at him.

- Why doesn't it bother you?? You try to rationalize it and the only conclusion you can come to is the fact that he's attractive and powerful and even though your face gets hot whenever he talks to you,, there's appeal in those qualities. There's appeal in getting the infamous General to smile.

- Even if it costs you the bit of pride you have.

- You don't get why you're the one he seems to be going out of his way to speak to (maybe when your life is as stressful as his is,, at the end of the day you just want something easy and if he's in the mood to be flirty, you're easy) but you're not mad. You just have to constantly remind yourself to not be foolish enough to think you're the only one he goes out of his way to talk to.

- And as time progresses, you get a little more comfortable with his banter. You stop shying away completely,, which only encourages him to get bolder with his comments.

- Nothing insane,, not yet, just a little more direct.

- It kind of becomes a little game to him,, to see how flustered he can get you with the minimal amount of effort. Every once in awhile, you manage to act normally, but he's quick to shut that down by upping his game just slightly.

- After awhile, it starts to become a game for you too, to see how much of your instincts you can suppress just to take away some of his satisfaction. Only when he's getting a little too smug.

- But that's when y'all are alone...

- When you're surrounded by others, sometimes it feels like you don't even exist to each other. Sometimes that's a lonely feeling for both of you, but each of you is convinced that they're the only one that feels the absence.

- In your defense, you're much more entitled to those feelings because he can literally do whatever he wants. You can't just walk up to the General and do what?? ask him why he hasn't made any suggestive comment in the last couple of hours??

- please that embarrassing!! even if you weren't shy, that would be out of POCKET

- Meanwhile Kirigan is just like being angsty and debating the implications of seeking you out in an environment with so many important people. He could probably manage a minute or two by your side without making anyone suspicious, but the danger in that is that he won't be able to bring himself to leave after those minutes pass him.

- Worse,, he may even find an excuse for both of you to step out into the hall so that he can make his comments and take in your reactions in private.

- It's especially difficult when you have that one strand of hair just slightly out of place,, presenting the perfect excuse for him to just fix it and then drop his hand slowly so that his fingertips can brush the side of your cheek.

- And you're growing tired of the crowds of people you're not comfortable with and you're starting to feel more and more stupid for letting something that was so clearly just a playful distraction mean anything to you.

- But before either of you can succumb to your angsty pinning (cough, cough,, simps) his eyes will find yours from across the room and that's EVERYTHING

- At first, you want to be stiff and look away because it's probably not intentional, but then he gives you that little smirk. And then you feel stupid for ever doubting that you two at least have some kind of friendship. (maybe more,, but you're too scared to let yourself think that,, ;))

- And then you give him this shy smile,, and that's it. He's done--that one look undoes him entirely.

- So he starts shifting towards you as casually as possible, because if he can't be with you right now, surely being near you is good enough for now.

- You're unaware of this,, and when the moment ends you find yourself longing for more, but relatively satisfied. You don't expect anything from him, he's important and you're you.

- And being around people drains you because you genuinely want to stay out of any situation that would have too much attention on you at once. So once Kirigan moves and you can't find him in the crowd, you decide now is as good a time as any to step out and get some air, especially since no one currently needs you for anything.

- So you disappear into the corridor, planning to be gone only for a few minutes. But the second you're about two steps into the hallway, you hear another's footsteps.

- The hopeful part of you is like 'maybe it's him!!' but you don't really think that. There's something about the atmosphere that feels too tense,, too wrong for you to believe it's him.

- A moment later, your suspicions are confirmed. A grisha known for his impulsiveness is calling out to you, asking you where you're going.

- You explain that you just wanted to get some air and that you'd be returning in a minute. You try to sound dismissive, clearly establishing that you'd like your minute to yourself.

- It's clear that he understands the hint, but he doesn't move. He just keeps asking you questions.

- Your answers get shorter and shorter, the nerves your feeling tensing with each word as he begins to venture from falsely casual conversation to more flirtatious words. Being shy can leave you speaking too much, spluttering out words in hopes of saying the right thing to let you escape, but this is a different type of nervousness. Something feels wrong.

- And he just keeps saying things, things that even Kirigan wouldn't be able to get away with.

- All the while, you're desperate to escape, but they're persistent.

- And just when you're losing hope, and his advances get so bold he has you literally backed into a corner--a familiar voice comes to you like a lifeline.

- Kirigan, with all the authority of the general, questions what's going on. The guy that was so relentlessly hitting on you moves back like suddenly you're fire and begins to back away. He tries to explain himself but Kirigan is not having it.

- As soon as the stranger leaves, you feel like you can breathe again, but your nerves are still on edge. Kirigan's looking at you in a way you've never seen before. Sharp and almost--almost angry?

- You try to mumble a quick thanks, intending to disappear back to where you're supposed to be, but Kirigan's gaze keeps you planted against the wall.

- His gaze is so intense you ask him if he's alright.

- The question cracks something in him because of course you'd ask him if he's okay after something happened to you. His expression softens slightly, which you think is a good thing but then he speaks,, and his voice is not calm at all

- He's mad at the person that did that and the irrational part of him makes it seem like he's a little mad at you for letting that situation happen, but it's only because he's worried about what would have happened if he hadn't gotten there in time.

- And you're kind of confused because like?? what does he want from you? you made it clear you were uncomfortable and you were trying to get away?

- But after a quick snap and the fact that you're okay settles in,, he does feel a little bad. So he comes close to apologizing,, but that's basically just him saying he's glad that you're okay.

- You don't really ease, so he decides to make a partial joke about how maybe he needs to be around you more,, just to be safe,, you know

- And you smile slightly, and you're like 'y'know i'm not completely helpless.'

- and he's like 'pity,, i would've liked the excuse'

- your face instantly feels extremely warm and you're not sure what you could even, plausibly say to that. But you can't let him have the last word,, not like that. So you're overcompensating, rambling, but then at the end...you say something about how he doesn't really need an excuse to stay near you.

- When you realize what you've said, fight or flight kicks in,, but you can't move. And there's no casual way to escape, so you decide that maybe you'll cut your losses for today because that might have been your most significant reply to him ever, and you feel like an idiot because he was probably joking. And you just had to say that and make it weird.

- So you allow exactly one second of unfortunate silence, your eyes glued to the ground. And then you make some excuse about needing to get back to where you were.

- But Kirigan stops you, and you think about how you can't avoid looking him in the eyes forever, so you just kind of barely dare to glance upwards.

- And he's smiling broader than usual, the look is so warm it melts away all the bad feelings from earlier. You have absolutely no idea what it means, but you know it's not...bad.

- And then he shifts slightly, and that's when you realize he's never been this close before.

- He then asks if you're sure, voice much lower than earlier.

- You can't speak,, too trapped on a line you don't understand.

- But as he leans forward, the only answer he needs is the instinctual part of your lips as his warm breath reaches your cheek.

- And with that he turns his head just a fraction of an inch,, and his lips meet yours.

- It's just a quick brush of lips,, a soft test. And when you don't protest, he moves to let the contact be a little more assured, yet still teasing.

- Something in you grows impatient, and you move a little in hopes that he'll take the hint.

- But that's all it takes for him to pull away, expression bright and teasing before playfully chiding you for being so eager.

- He then turns, leaving you more flustered than ever.

[piecksz]

animeverse where eren is still in his cell and hange+others have an idea of bringing ina girl to fuc to 'loosen him up' so he can give info,hange has studies n research to back this up they bring you dressed scantily to go be his whore he knows why ur there n hates u so hes mean and ignores ur advances eventually he hate fucks u w his anger being directed at u from his situation choking xtreme degrading just being rough in general MEAN SERIOUS EREN NO FLUFF OR LOVE

catalyst

eren yeager x reader

warnings: nsfw, roughness, mentions of breeding, degredation, choking, explicit language

a/n: this is my first prompt request n i was vvvv nervous so pls go easy on me ok ok i hope i did your vision justice

“As romantic as this reunion is, it’s not a date, we need answers.” Levi’s words were austere, ricocheting off the passage walls as the three of you traveled deeper below ground. “He’s still a shitty-ass teenager. Hopefully isolation has made him desperate enough for female contact.”

You said nothing, and instead your eyes looked around fretfully. The chamber was inhospitable, forged from naked rock adorned with smoldering torches. Your minimal attire was inapt in its frigid ambience, so you walked clung to yourself, arms wrapped around your bare shoulders to retain as much body heat as you possibly could.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” Levi questioned Hange, keeping his attention forward. He maneuvered through the sharp turns of the labyrinth, which gave you the impression he’d had many experiences down in the cells with his comrades.

Hange released a tremulous sigh. “It doesn’t matter. We’re out of options.” Their nervous tone had them looking over their shoulder, reassuring you with a placid smile. The gesture was thoughtful, considering it had felt like you’d been a third party to their strategic and undivided conversation, but it did nothing to soothe your hesitancy.

Levi and Hange had tracked you down and invited you to meet with them, urgently explaining that they needed your help with debriefing Eren after his insubordination and his blitz on Marley. He’d refused to disclose any further information about his conduct to anyone in the military, not even Mikasa and Armin, his closest confidants. So Hange suggested bringing in someone unbiased, someone not in the military to ruse more details out of Eren.

You were their prime choice after hearing how you and Eren had met when the Anti-Marleyan volunteers had arrived on Paradis. You’d been one of the several civilian volunteers that had helped with affairs and military proceedings at the port. There you’d met Eren and quickly forged a friendship, although Eren’s friends could have sworn there was more between you two than you would have liked to admit.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to their proposal. Perhaps it was your readiness to help the military in their righteous endeavors, or maybe it was for a different reason. Perhaps you were driven by your own selfishness. You wanted to see Eren again, even under the strange circumstances.

Eren’s cell was at the end of the corridor. Once Hange let out an abrupt “we’re here” your lips carried an eager smile, but your expression quickly faltered once you stepped forward and caught a glimpse of him in his cell. Even with the arrival of visitors, Eren kept his head forward while he sat on his bed, one arm balanced on his knee.

“Nice of you guys to pay me another visit. I’m starting to think you just miss me.” Eren’s voice was deep. So much deeper than you remembered. How long had it been? You couldn’t do the math.

“You know you’re our favorite problem child.” Levi responded humorlessly. He stepped aside for Hange to slip the key in the lock, and with one turn the door was swung open. “Don’t look so agitated. We brought you a gift.”

You made no efforts to step out from behind Hange and Levi, but Eren could see you clearly enough. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but maybe it was foolish of you to envision Eren slipping out of his troubled temper the moment you two saw each other again. Realistically, it never would have been that easy. Eren’s face remained hard, if anything it looked like seeing you made him even angrier.

Hange’s hand found its way onto your shoulder, supportive, but reminding you of the reason why you were there.

You shuffled forward, heels loud against the granite cobblestone. Darkness swallowed you as you crept in further, and you flinched at the sound of the heavy door being shut and secured behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your heart began racing at the sight of solid metal bars separating you from the outside.

“Let’s give them some space,” Levi suggested, stepping back from the cell.

Hange’s mouth opened to protest, but they were discouraged by Levi’s strong grip on their ear.

“We’ll be waiting outside if you need us, Y/N.” Levi announced through Hange’s squalls of pain. He gave you a comforting nod before his eyes drifted to Eren, and his expression toughened again. “Don’t try anything. Screams echo down here.” He paused and then turned on his heel to leave, tugging Hange’s ear before releasing it from his hold.

You watched nervously as the two of them disappeared behind the wall.

Hange’s voice was heard again further down the hall. “That hurt a lot, you know.”

It was the last remark you heard from the pair before you heard the door to the corridor close, and then worry flooded your system like it was on an intravenous drip. The Eren you were convinced you were meeting was replaced by someone you weren’t sure you knew, and suddenly you felt unsafe being alone with him, but you held an obligation to Levi, Hange, and the rest of the military that needed the information they expected you to gather.

You walked slowly, feigning a gentle smile to masquerade as though you were happy. It hurt to know that it was something you had to fake. You sat at the edge of Eren’s bed and took note as he made no efforts to shift away. That had to have been a positive sign.

“You look different,” you chuckled. “I like it.” The weak blaze from the burning torches casted a menacing shadow onto Eren’s stolid face. In the half light of the cell he appeared much older. You reached a hand out to brush away the loose wisps of hair that decorated his face, but your movement was stopped by Eren’s unyielding grip around your wrist.

You jumped, surprised at his roughness.

“Do you honestly think you can outsmart me?” His words were bitter.

You looked at Eren with wide, stunned eyes before blinking quickly and trying to laugh off your clear fright.

“What are you talking about?” You brought your unrestrained hand to his jawline, fingers tracing the shape of his face until your touch met the broad span of his chest, and then you felt gutsy enough to slip your fingers under the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve been down here too long. Not everyone’s your enemy, Eren.”

Your fingers wandered far enough until they met the defined curve of his collarbone and the robust muscle of his chest, but the moment was fleeting, interrupted by the jolt of Eren shoving you backwards. You fell off the bed and teetered, momentarily losing your balance.

“It’s pitiful that you’re letting them use you as a pawn.” Eren’s words were sharp, but venom in his words were bearable compared to the resentment behind his eyes.

He knew. He was smart, you should have known he would catch on. You created distance between yourself and Eren.

“What? They’re not using me as a pawn.” Your voice was unsteady. “I promise Eren, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you can help me understand if you just—”

“Then why are you here?” Eren rose from his bed to begin closing the distance you created, and your body began to quiver with dread.

You continued inching backwards until your tailbone collided with the edge of the cell’s sink, and you latched onto it with a sweaty grip.

“I’d rather be a pawn than be driven to do terrible things out of my own free will!” You had no choice but to admit what he already knew, and in seconds Eren’s hands were strung tightly around your wrists while he trapped your body against the sink.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly, blinking back tears. You searched for something past his eyes, just a modicum of vulnerability to at least let you know there was a person behind the Eren you were speaking to, but the once fiery hues of green and blue in his irises were now frosted to an unremarkable grey. If it was true that eyes were the window to the soul, Eren was truly void.

“Please let go.” You pleaded and writhed in his grip. “Eren, seriously let go. You’re hurting me.”

“I don’t expect someone like you to understand.” Eren’s face showed nothing but malevolence.

“Someone like me?”

Eren pushed you back further into the sink until you bit back a shrill cry. “Someone that’s never had to make any sacrifices.”

Tear after tear did nothing to ease Eren’s painful hold, and as obvious as it was that he was hurting you, he remained unconcerned.

“Who are you?” You shook your head. “This isn’t the Eren I know.”

“Then your first mistake was thinking that you ever knew me.”

Eren’s words were somber, but he moved swiftly, and in seconds he tore you from the sink and had you pinned up against the wall, it’s jagged surface digging uncomfortably into your cheek. His mouth hovered by your ear, and when he spoke his breath fanned over the side of your face.

“Scream and I’ll break you.”

So you said nothing as Eren’s knee slid in between your legs, parting them far enough so that he could press his thigh to your cunt. His hands retired from holding your arms behind your back, and they traveled to your ass, riding up the fabric of your dress until it was on full display.

“This is nice.” His voice was condescending as tugged on your dress's short hem. “They did a good job at making you look—,” Eren delivered a sharp spank to the exposed skin then he ran his hand over the area searing with pain, “—like a whore.”

You took your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a wail as Eren’s palm collided with your backside. He slipped a wicked finger under the thin material of your underwear and dipped his touch down between your thighs to stroke your folds through the cloth.

“Why are you shaking?” Eren used his free hand and slid it around your neck, gently at first, but you knew he wasn’t averse to tightening his grasp. “I thought this was all part of your plan.”

It had been, but your tremors weren’t the result of fear alone. You were scared out of your wits knowing that Eren had no reservations about harming you, and the thought shouldn’t have been as enticing as it was, but the combination of not knowing how he would choose to have his way with you had you feeling hot.

Your words were muffled through sobs, and your dazed mind didn’t make things easier, so all you could do was nod, which solicited a dry scoff from Eren. He hooked his finger around the fabric of your underwear and tugged it aside forcefully before parting your folds.

You released a feeble moan, and you could feel your knees buckling. If it weren’t for his tight grip, you were certain you would have collapsed. “Eren…”

“You’re wet already,” he said scornfully. Two fingers rubbed your clit mercilessly before slipping down to tease your entrance. “Acting scared meanwhile the whole time you were fucking dripping at the thought of me touching you like this. I don’t have to tell you how pathetic that is.”

Your breathing grew more labored at the anticipation of Eren’s long fingers entering you, pumping in and out of your hole while he ridiculed you for how desperately you tightened around his fingers, but you inhaled sharply when his touch disappeared.

Instead you felt Eren wipe your arousal on the inside of your thigh, and you had no time to question his behavior. A pitiful cry of surprise left your mouth as he grabbed the back of your neck, forcibly pulling you off the wall before throwing you in the direction of his bed.

“Move,” he commanded.

You staggered, looking back at him in alarm, but observed his directive without sacrificing any more time. Once you reached his bed, Eren followed closely behind, waiting until your back met the mattress to cage you in under his intimidating frame, and it then became clear that he held no other resolve than to use you for his own satisfaction. He disregarded your discernable ache and began unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down along with his briefs in one haste motion.

Eren’s large cock was already half-thickened with beads of precum glistening at its crown. He brought his palm to his mouth and spat in it before grabbing himself in the large curve of his hand to pump his length in preparation. He ran his tip up and down your folds, taking pleasure in the way you squirmed every time it prodded your tender clit, and then without warning he drove his cock into you, kindling a fervid cry that rose from the pit of your stomach and tore through your throat.

The sound echoed off the walls of the concrete box before ebbing into silence. Eren’s eyebrows creased in irritation while he looked down at you, and you suddenly harked back to his threat. You threw a quivering hand over your mouth, and shook your head, spluttering out a fragmented apology.

“I—Eren—I—I’m sorry…”

Yet he took no heed, and he began thrusting in and out of you, rocking back just to slam his hips into yours, over and over again until an uncomfortable pain grew from deep inside you and diffused over the span of your pelvis. All you could do was swallow your wails while your palm did it’s best efforts to smother your pleas. Fat tears ran down your cheeks and soaked into the sheets; your agony was hard to hide.

“Stop crying,” Eren barked through grunts. He pressed his hand to the hollow of your neck, fingers digging into your fleeting pulse. “You said yourself you have no problem being used.”

Sweaty fingers clutched his forearm, and you struggled against his dominance, breaths growing more and more shallow in an effort to conserve the air you were quickly losing.

He grabbed your wrists and held them together, pinning them to the mattress above your head with one hand.

“Maybe I should put a baby in you, then you’ll understand why what I’m doing is our last resort.”

Eren arched an eyebrow, but when you said nothing and only looked at him with glossy eyes a disdainful laugh slipped past his lips. He continued fucking himself deep into you, watching the way your body lurched with his movement, and then you felt his cock pulsate inside you.

It served as wordless notice that Eren was close, especially since he made no efforts to warn you. His eyes shut tightly, jaw hung slack while his groans intensified, and then he was cumming inside you, his hot seed flooding your walls as he claimed you.

You wound your eyes shut too, dark mascara-tainted tears staining your cheeks while you felt Eren thrusting through his high, making sure he had jettisoned every drop of his cum into you before he pulled himself out and wiped the creamy, white liquid that glazed his cock on the inside of your thigh.

“And when you report back, why don’t you tell them—” As if it were nothing he eased his weight off of you, taking a seat on the bed beside your shuddering body while he tucked himself back into his pants. “‘I let him fuck me pregnant because I’m a whore.’”

[sporticus1234]

Catch Me if You Can-Laws of Attraction (Part 2) 🍋

Summary: After weeks of flirting, teasing, and close calls, Tessa is ready to take the plunge, but can Gabe overcome his own worse fears and join her?

Pairing: Gabe Ricci x Main Character (Tessa Michaels)

Link to my Master-List and Other works will be added once they have been re-edited and re-uploaded.

Catch up with Part 1 Here: Part 1

WARNING: The following story has a  🍋 rating, meaning there will be topics of 

NSFW

Smut

Strong Language

By viewing of this work, you are acknowledging and consenting to the fact that you are 18+ years of age and can view such works.

Tagging:  @choices-addict @choiceskatie @lady-calypso @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @chrissythomas05-blog @nishas-paradise  @blainehellyes  @suitfer @pixelnutrookie  @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @adiehardfan @panda9511 @curiousconch @weaving-in-words  @mm2305 @thegreentwin

I love you all so much, and I will see you again soon!

_________________________

If you hesitate, opportunities will pass by you So open your heart and come out      -Girls Generation, The Boys (Korean Ver.)

The hotel café the following morning was full of delicious, mouth-watering smells and buzzing conversations of the guests milling around, families excitedly planning for the day ahead or business associates discussing their upcoming ventures and other current events. In the back corner of the room next to the sheer curtains covering the early morning Boston sun, Gabe Ricci halfheartedly pokes his fork around the scrambled mess of eggs barely eaten in front of him, his head resting on a propped fist as his eyes struggle to stay open as a dull headache thumps in his head. He lifts his fork to take another bite of eggs, but his stomach lurches at the sight, and he drops the fork with a clatter. He reaches out to pour himself another cup of coffee, but he curses under his breath when he realizes the pot he ordered was empty. He tries to catch the attention of a passing waiter, but his eyes instead slide to a couple sitting a few tables away from him, their fingers laced together on the table as they share an intimate conversation punctuated by giggles and kisses across the other’s knuckles. The sight makes his stomach ache in guilt as the events of last night play like a never-ending repeat of a bad movie in his mind.

He knows there is no one else to blame; he is the one solely responsible for the shitty mess between him and Tessa. If he just gave her the obvious answer last night, he wouldn’t be sitting in the back corner on the verge of a hangover and close to passing out in his eggs. Instead, the two of them would be upstairs in his suite, her hair splayed out over one of the pillows as their limbs tangle together underneath the soft sheets draping over their naked bodies. Or, they would be eating breakfast in bed and watching the sun rise behind the towering skyscrapers as they share intimate little details about each other. Yet here he was, sitting down here and looking pathetically ridiculous as he stares a hole into his eggs like they held the answer to the question of why he was down here and not upstairs.

But Gabe already knows why he is sitting down here.

He is afraid that Tessa would reject him once things got serious.

Gabe Ricci, the man who stares down opposing attorneys and judges in a packed courtroom is afraid of something like rejection from a woman. The man who is confidently sure of himself and goes toe to toe with some of the greatest legal minds of the current day is afraid of being told “no.” The whole situation seems entirely laughable, and Gabe would completely understand if people saw it that way. But those people didn’t know about the one specific incident all those years ago that completely changed the course of his life and made him the way he is today.

Gabe considers himself to be an “all or nothing” person, devoting one hundred percent of himself to everything in his life, whether it was his job, himself, his relationships, and even his love life. It was his “all or nothing”, caring attitude that brought him to the door of the New York Public Defender’s office. Being a public defender was never going to be a smooth sailing job, but even with the obstacles in front of him, Gabe still defended his clients with everything he had. But at the end of the day, his “all or nothing” attitude was still not enough. He had little to no victories to back up his expertise and knowledge, and the passion he had for the legal field dwindled with every “guilty” verdict that felt like a swift punch to the gut. The workload was becoming overbearing with each passing year, and eventually, Gabe started questioning his own abilities and confidence. He found himself trapped in a never-ending nightmare with no chance of escape.

Even though his job was becoming a literal hell, he could always count on the one bright spot in his life at the time.

Katrina.

Katrina was everything Gabe hoped to find in a partner. She was kind, intelligent, caring. The two of them had an incredible whirlwind romance, and Gabe felt like he was walking on Cloud Nine when she was around. She was the one person who made everything feel better after a hard day. She was the one person who motivated him to push forward, encouraging him and giving him belief that one day, things would become better than what they were. She was the first person Gabe had met who he truly believed shared his same attitude of “all or nothing”, and their relationship grew more serious with each passing day. The future of their relationship came to a head one night in Central Park, where Gabe found himself on one knee in front of her with a glittering diamond ring in his hand, ready to fully go “all in” and spend the rest of his life with her. However, two little words made the intense romance they once shared fizzle out and leave his spirits firmly crushed. She rejected him in Central Park, and a week later, she moved out of his apartment and out of his life, the two of them unable to rekindle the romance they once shared despite their best efforts.

The pain of her rejection made him a closed-off shell of his former self. He never socialized after work or on the weekends unless he absolutely had to, and if he did, he hardly spoke to anyone unless the situation called for it. His work continued to suffer as he couldn’t find the heart and motivation to defend his clients as well as he knew he could. But one day after a trial, Sadie McGraw cornered him and offered him a second chance, a chance to start over and become the lawyer she knew he could become. With her help and guidance, Gabe slowly started rediscovering himself as a lawyer. The power she had given him combined with his knowledge and expertise pulled in big wins for the firm and moved him up towards the top ranks of McGraw Byrne. He was rediscovering his passion for the legal field and helping others. People began to congratulate him on his wins and praise his incredible devotion to the firm.

While he wouldn’t argue his devotion to the job, it wasn’t the sole reason he stayed long nights or came to work early in the morning. Every time he went back to his apartment after work, the sliver of happiness he felt and the boisterous conversations of the office became replaced by dreaded loneliness and cold quietness. The solitary confines of his apartment were a constant, mocking reminder of what he didn’t have anymore, a reminder of her rejection all those years ago. The office became a safe space of sorts for him, and he dreaded leaving its comfort. With the company’s generosity, Gabe secured a new, better apartment where he could make new memories and not be constantly reminded of bitter ones. The one thing the company couldn’t help him with was finding the one person who made him feel even a tenth of what Katrina made him feel. He never shied away from going out on dates as he attempted to move on with his life, but no one understood his passion, commitment, and devotion the way Katrina did. Plenty of people managed to catch his attention, but no one came close enough to keep it.

Until Tessa walked through the doors.

Gabe had discovered her the same way Sadie did, and he knew she would be a perfect addition to McGraw Byrne when Sadie opened up spots on the team. He had firsthand knowledge of her legal expertise, and he knew she fully devoted herself to her clients and used the knowledge she continued to learn in order to help them. However, while she managed to capture his attention, she was the only one who managed to keep it. She is incredibly beautiful; there was no denying that fact. But seeing her in action shined a completely different light on her. She goes above and beyond for her clients, and she willingly and gladly steps up and takes initiative when needed. She isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with some of the best attorneys in the state. Passion flows out of her like a waterfall, and it shows in her work. She is quick-witted and sharp, her eyes and mind never missing a single detail, and Gabe was not only impressed, but insanely captivated by her.

He initially didn’t think much of their constant flirting in the office or their dinner outings together, especially since Tessa flirted with the fireman for her eviction case. He was a little jealous she flirted with someone else, but since her flirting charmed the fireman into giving her more information than needed, she pulled in a massive win for the firm, and Gabe simply brushed it off and chalked up the flirting as part of her charm. It wasn’t until the cancelled business dinner that Gabe realized what was between them was more than just their typical flirting. He was catching real feelings for her, no matter how much he tried to deny it. While he did acknowledge his feelings for her, his heart was still too guarded and afraid to act on them. Tessa was the first girl he had serious feelings for since Katrina left him. He didn’t know if Tessa even felt the same way he did, nor did he know if he would be able to repair it again if his relationship with Tessa ended the same way like Katrina.

But deep down in his gut, he knew that Tessa was different from Katrina. It was a feeling he couldn’t put a logical reason on, but a gut feeling, one that you just know is true even if you couldn’t explain it. She was the first person Gabe felt genuinely happy with in a long time. Gabe not only believed in a future with her, he could also picture it. Everything he pictured and every interaction they have together doesn’t feel awkward or forced. It feels natural and…right. Aside from that, Tessa showed time and time again that she wants to be with him. If she didn’t, she would’ve turned down every invitation he gave her, and she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to make sure they spend a few moments alone together whenever they can. Tessa already made her feelings about him clear last night, and she was ready to risk the opportunity at becoming partner at one of the country’s premier law firms. She was more than willing to risk it if it meant having him.

Could he really do the same and risk his comfort for her?

_________________________

The morning sun spills into the living room of the hotel suite as the remains of Tessa’s in-room breakfast lay scattered across the coffee table. A re-run of celebrity chef Everett Flynt’s new TV show plays in the background as she busies herself in the bathroom, putting on the last touches of preparations for the day ahead. Once satisfied with her appearance, she pads back out into the bedroom and opens the closet to find an outfit for the day. When her fingers graze the powder blue dress she wore to the cocktail party last night, her task becomes forgotten as her mind flashes back to the night before, her stomach aching at the bitter taste of the memory.

The weekend conference had started off so well with everyone laughing and joking like the best of friends. The cocktail party went off without a hitch, and she managed to score some huge connections with distinguished judges and other lawyers. Everything about the weekend was absolutely perfect, until she decided to stick around and have a late-night snack and drink with Gabe and confessed her harbored feelings toward him. Looking back, the idea to share them was not one of her finer moments; she was certain Gabe and her would take the next steps of their relationship after confessing their feelings for each other, but instead, Gabe did the same thing he always does when they get close to crossing a line. He quickly doused the growing flame and pushed her away once again.

She grabs an outfit from the closet and starts getting dressed, her eyes glancing over at her bed and seeing a few jet-black streaks on the pillowcase, a reminder of what happened last night after she walked away from him. But it also reminds her she can’t keep running back to him and giving him chance after chance. As much as it hurts to walk away from him and what they potentially could have, she knows deep down she will be better off in the long run for doing so. She couldn’t open her heart and let someone inside only to have him lock her out of his. It was Gabe’s turn to return the favor, and this time, his words were no longer going to be enough. It was time for his actions to match his words and feelings, and until they did, Tessa has to move forward with her life.

She finishes getting dressed and fixes the loose strands of hair that got out of place. She glances at the alarm clock on her nightstand, seeing it is still too early for the company cars to come take them back to New York. Just as she was about to lounge on the couch and distract herself with Everett Flynt’s TV show, a loud knock reverberates through the space.

It couldn’t be…could it?

Mind curious, she makes her way over to the door and peeks out of the peephole, her stomach flipping circles as her pulse quickens at the sight of Gabe standing right behind the door. She takes a deep breath and opens the door to see him standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets and his feet shuffling nervously. His actions make her more nervous than excited; Gabe normally acts so confident and sure of himself, and to see him act completely not himself makes tension creep into her thoughts.

“Hi…” Gabe says with a rare, bashful smile as he flicks his eyes down to his shoes. “Can we…” he rubs the back of his neck, “can we talk?”

Seeing him in front of her makes her feel the sting of his rejection all over again, and she has half a mind to slam the door in his face and finally give him a taste of how it feels to be rejected. But when he lifts his eyes towards her, her heart twinges in sympathy. The trademark, mischievous twinkle in his eye is no longer there, and his shoulders look like they’re carrying the weight of the world on them.

“Please…” he quietly pleads.

He’s making the effort you wanted him to make she reminds herself. With a sigh, she gives him a small, almost inscrutable nod, and Gabe flashes her a soft, grateful smile as he shuffles past her, their arms brushing against each other. Tessa tries to force down the warm prick she felt as she shuts the door behind him and follows him to the living room, making sure to keep plenty of space between them, knowing that if she didn’t, she would never get the answers to her questions. Gabe takes a look around the room, taking in the half-eaten breakfast and the way she stands with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, the space between them feeling like a chasm as guilt blooms in his chest again. The air was filling with cold tension, and Gabe awkwardly clears his throat, eyes darting around to find something to break the quiet spell.

His eyes land on the TV, and he jumps at the opportunity it presents. “Taste of the World? Isn’t this the episode where Everett runs away from the show and the culinary producer he obviously has feelings for?”

“Seems fitting, doesn’t it?” Tessa blurts out with a humorless guffaw. Gabe flinches at the sting of her words, and she squeezes her eyes shut in regret, cursing at herself under her breath. As upset as she is, Gabe made the first move. The least she could do is hear him out. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I didn’t…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Gabe cuts in. “I deserve that and much more.” He takes a step closer to her, and when she doesn’t back up, he continues. “In any case, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of this is your fault.”

“Maybe it is my fault,” Tessa concedes. “I was being too pushy and trying to force an answer out of you that you clearly weren’t ready to tell me.” She uncrosses her arms and drops them back to her sides, a sign that Gabe takes as a good one.

“You weren’t being pushy, Tessa. You were only being honest with me, and no one should ever be blamed for being honest. And you’re right. The show is fitting considering I’m the one who keeps running away when it’s the last thing I want to do.”

The harsh expression on her face softens into mild surprise. Was he fixing to tell her the real reason he keeps running away? “Gabe, all I want to know is why do you keep running when it’s clear that you and I both want this?”

Gabe swallows the lump in his throat, the memory of her rejection rearing its ugly head again. “Because that’s exactly what she did.”

Tessa furrows her brows. “Who’s she?”

“Katrina.”

“Who’s Katrina?” After a long pause, the lightbulb goes off in her head, and her eyes widen in recognition. “Oh…” Her mind goes back to the night of the business dinner and the far-off look Gabe had in his eyes at her question of commitment.

“Even in this city?” she asks him in pure surprise. “You’ve really never found someone who’s as all-in as you are?”

Gabe looks across the glittering skyline of New York. “I thought I had, once…” he turns his attention back to her, and Tessa can see the unspoken memory fade from his eyes, “but that was a long time ago. And as it turns out, I was wrong about her.”

“How…” she swallows hard, her heart aching in sympathy for him. “How bad was it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Gabe scratches his stubbled chin and lets out a humorless, bitter chuckle. “Let’s just say I can’t get a refund on the ring anymore.”

Her eyes widen into the size of saucers, and her jaw drops open in complete shock. His actions and words suddenly became much more understandable. It explained why Gabe kept running away and avoided crossing the line between playful flirting and serious romance. He thought if he didn’t cross those lines and reject her first, she was going to be the one to do it eventually. He refused to act on his feelings because the last time he did, Katrina rejected his proposal and left him. Gabe didn’t build the walls around his heart to keep her out. He built them because he was afraid history was going to repeat itself, and he chose to live in his own little bubble of comfort instead of taking another risk, and Tessa couldn’t blame him one bit for it.

“I’m really sorry she did that to you, Gabe.” Her feet move closer to him, the space becoming smaller. “I had no idea.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushes off. “I’ve moved on from it. In any case, her rejection changed my life for the better. If she didn’t, I probably wouldn’t be at McGraw Byrne in the first place, and I never would’ve met you.”

Tessa fidgets with her ring. “Gabe…” she begins, but quickly trails off.

“What?” he asks her. “You know you can say or tell me anything right?”

“I know, but…” she takes another deep breath, forcing herself to say what she was thinking. “Do you really have feelings for me?”

“Absolutely,” Gabe says, no hesitation in his voice. It makes her heart flutter a bit.

“Have I given you any reason to doubt my feelings for you?”

“No.”

“So even knowing all that, you still choose to run away,” she says matter-of-factly.

Gabe flinches at her words, tucking his gaze away from her. “Yes.”

“Then you haven’t moved on. Not entirely at least.”

Gabe’s eyes snap over to hers as he furrows his brows. “What?”

Tessa sighs. “Look Gabe. You’re absolutely right. If Katrina hadn’t rejected your proposal, we never would’ve crossed paths in a hundred years. But…”

“But what?”

“You still let what she did control you,” Tessa points out. “You say that you’ve moved on, but have you really? I mean, just take a look at what happened last night. The minute we started talking about getting serious, you quickly pushed me away and ran. You did the same thing in Vegas, and you did the same thing at the business dinner too.”

Gabe runs his hand through his hair. “I know I did, and I will always regret my actions. But I’m willing to give us a chance if you still want that. I like you so much, Tessa, and I know the two of us have something special that is worth so much more than a partnership or my insecurities.”

She eyes him curiously. “And what happens if I do give you a chance, Gabe? Are you going to run again?”

“Absolutely not,” Gabe says firmly, his deep tone making her skin jump in shock. “I’m done running away, Tessa. For good.”

Butterflies flood her stomach as her heart swells at his words, but the sensations only make her feel more guilty for what she was about to say. “Gabe, you’re saying all the right words, and I want to believe them so badly. I really do. But…”

The hopeful expression on his face slowly fades as icy dread floods his veins. “But you can’t?”

Tessa nods dejectedly. “I’m sorry, Gabe. But until you actually show me instead of telling me that you really are done running, and that you really want there to be an ‘us’, we can’t…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Gabe takes two quick strides over to her, the space between them shrinking as he gently cups her cheeks in his hands. His thumbs run over her cheekbones, and she instinctively submits to his touch, her mind already forgetting its previous thoughts and focusing solely on the soft, tender caress of his thumbs. She can smell the sharp and heady scent of his cologne, the one that makes her want to bury her face in his chest and breathe him in. She can see each individual eyelash and the sparkling mixture of nerves and pure determination in his eyes. The little puffs of breath from his lips tickle her skin, and her blood rushes and pounds in her ears as she finds herself slipping into his warm, chocolate orbs.

“What…what are you doing?” she asks over the sound of her heart thundering in her chest.

He brings their faces closer together, only centimeters between them. “What I should’ve done a long time ago.”

_________________________

The walls Gabe spent years hiding his heart behind start to crumble as he closes the last inch of space between them. He tentatively presses his lips against hers, a spark of electricity racing through her that makes her scalp prickle. The initial shock of his kiss makes her tense up, a small little whimper coming from her lips, but soon, she finds herself melting into the kiss when Gabe presses his lips firmer to hers. His lips feel like velvet, moving slowly and sensually against hers as her eyes flutter close and her body surrenders to his dizzying kiss. Her arms slide up around his shoulders and tease the little hairs on the back of his neck while he grips her waist and pulls her closer to him, his hand snaking up underneath her shirt and lightly pressing into the bare skin of her lower back. A rush of warmth spreads throughout her body from his touch, and Tessa lets out a small little moan when Gabe gently nibbles on her bottom lip and breaks the kiss. Their foreheads touch together, their breaths mixing as all their unspoken feelings and desires pass between them in this silent, intimate moment.

She shyly bites her lip and looks up at him through her lashes only to see him smiling back down at her, his eyes a swirling cocktail of happy relief and fiery desire. Since growing closer to him, she often caught herself wondering when their first kiss was going to happen and what it would be like, and she would gladly admit the real thing was so much better than her imagination and thoughts. It was full of sensual desire, yet sweet tenderness. It was warm and comforting, yet intoxicating and thrilling. It was gentle, yet confident and sure. It was a kiss full of everything she associated with the man holding her in his arms.

“Now do you believe me?” he asks her as he nuzzles his nose with hers. His voice is laced with his signature cockiness, but Tessa detects a slight hint of worry underneath it.

“I think I need a little more convincing than that.” She was more than convinced Gabe meant what he said earlier, but she found some fun in teasing him a little longer. She considers it playful revenge for making her wait all this time for him to finally acknowledge his feelings.

A low groan vibrates in his throat at the floodgate Tessa’s words opens up inside him, and both of them know there is no going back after this. The tip of his tongue darts out and silkily caresses his lower lip as his eyes darken more, the passion and desire he kept locked away and hidden now flowing through his veins and taking control of his thoughts and actions. Tessa shudders at the sound of his groan and the carnal look in his eye, her nerves switching to high alert as the air buzzes with excitement. His hands snake around her waist and down to her ass, pulling her hard against him and relishing in the feel of her body against his. His firm, hard bulge presses into the apex of her thighs, and she feels it grow harder with each passing second. She subtly grinds her hips into the hardness, a pleasant rush of heat pooling between her legs as soft groans fill the surrounding air.

All of his previous fears and doubts dash out of his mind as he firmly crushes his lips to hers in a searing, heated kiss, molding and shaping her lips to his every whim and wish. Her knees wobble at the sudden assault, but his strong arms wrapped around her waist hold her up securely as the air sparks like a colorful firework and showers them in a bright rainbow of light. Her body molds perfectly into his, like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly in the picture. Her mind goes dizzy with delight as her hands run over his clothed chest and come to rest on his sculpted shoulders. He shifts his hips ever so slightly, and the friction makes Tessa groan in pleasant surprise. Gabe takes advantage and lightly teases his tongue with hers as the two of them deepen the kiss. When their lungs scream for much-needed air, he sinks his teeth into her bottom lip and tugs it back, breaking the kiss and leaving them gasping for air.

“Convincing…enough for…you?” he asks her. “Or do…you need a…another sign?”

Her fingers draw lazy heart-shapes over his own heart, feeling it thunder beneath her touch. “I think…I need a little…more.”

She coquettishly flutters her eyelashes and delicately pulls her lower lip between her teeth. The sight makes his cock twitch and punch against the tight confines of his pants, needy and begging for some type of relief, preferably from her. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, halting her movements. Their eyes lock on each other, and slowly, Gabe moves her hand down his torso. She feels the muscles of his stomach subtly flexing and tightening in anticipation, even through the layers of fabric between them. He reaches his belt buckle and stops the movement, his eyes and action asking her the question she already knows the answer to. She gives him a nod, excitement filling up her stomach and making the butterflies flutter. She holds her breath as Gabe guides her hand past his belt buckle, the air becoming thick with anticipation. When her hand finally brushes over his bulge and feels it twitch, the air rushes out of her. Her finger teasingly traces the outline of his bulge, and Gabe sucks in a sharp breath. When she cups him through his pants, the muscles in his jaw tick, head lolling back with a hiss as he surrenders to the sensation of her gentle squeezes.

She runs her palm up and down over his bulge, feeling his cock grow harder and punch painfully against his zipper. With another firmer squeeze of his bulge, the chain holding him back breaks, and with a groan that sounds almost like a growl, their lips find each other again, the built-up passion and desire flowing unrestrained between them as their hands wander and roam over each other’s bodies. Their kisses break momentarily as Gabe’s sweater is pulled off his body and Tessa’s top goes flying across the room. Her fingers try to unbutton his shirt, but when his lips trail down across her jaw and down to the sensitive skin of her neck, she momentarily says “fuck it” and rips open his shirt, the buttons flying across the room and ricocheting off the walls and freeing his naked chest to her greedy fingers. He slides the shirt off his body and tosses it with a groan, feeling more turned on than angry at her action. His lips trail back up across her jaw and find her lips again, their tongues dancing together as the kiss deepens and becomes even more erotic and sensual. Her hands caress over his naked torso, the memory of every dip, ridge, and flex of his muscles becoming firmly ingrained in her mind.

Fantasies from long ago are now becoming real. Any semblance of time and reality escapes them. All that mattered is this moment between them. A moment neither of them wants to end. Ever.

“Gabe…” she mumbles between kisses. “You. Bedroom. Now.” Her fingers slide down his abs until they reach the sensitive sliver of skin hidden just behind the waistband of his pants. When shuddering goosebumps flare up over his skin, he grabs her wrist and halts her movement.

“Wait…” Gabe groans after giving her another kiss. “Are you sure…you want to do this? Because once we start…I don’t ever want it to end.”

The desire and longing in his voice is unmistakable. “Wh…what?”

“I just…” Gabe shakes his head, trying to get his words right. “I don’t want you to do anything or commit to anything you might regret later on,” he tells her. “I want this to happen so much. You know how bad I want you right now, but I understand completely if you don’t want—"

She tugs him forward by his belt and places a hard, chaste kiss to his lips, effectively cutting off his rambling spell. “Gabe, I wouldn’t have given you my keycard if I didn’t want this to happen.” She kisses the tip of his chin, the stubble scratching her lips. “I want this, Gabe.” She presses a kiss on his chest, right over his heart, and the action takes his breath away. “I want you. Only you.”

His grin grows bigger at her admission. “You’re the only one I want too,” he replies, trailing his finger lightly across her jaw that has her shivering in joy.

Her hands slide back up his torso and wind around his neck, deviousness flashing in her eyes. She hops up and wraps her legs around his waist, his strong arms flexing and catching her without missing a single beat. “Then take me into the bedroom and prove it, Ricci.”

He gives her a smoldering look, and with another moan, his lips kiss the hollow of her throat and trail over to her collarbone, his hands squeezing her ass teasingly and eliciting a gasp from her. She rolls her head back and submits to his scorching kisses and kitten bites on her neck as he makes the short journey into the bedroom. He pulls his lips away from her, and with a wolfish grin and a devilish wink, he tosses her onto the giant bed. Tessa senses the shift in dynamic between them at the sudden, but very much wanted, powerful surge of dominance from him. Seeing him confidently take charge was such a turn-on for her and makes warm tendrils coil and tighten in her core. Gabe quickly toes off his shoes while she sheds her shorts and playfully tosses them in his direction with a giggle. He chuckles at her playfulness and snatches them out of the air. When he turns his attention back to her, her shorts slip out of his grasp as his eyes widen in surprise, his cock twitching in extreme pleasure and appreciation at the sight in front of him.

“Fucking. Hell.” He groans, voice gravelly and filled with lust.

His hand reaches down and palms his cock as he drinks in Tessa kneeling in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing except her lacy plunge bra and matching panties as her hair falls over one of her eyes. The sight was so much hotter than the one in his fantasies, and he couldn’t wait to rip away the thin fabric and fully see what she was hiding beneath it. She beckons him with a manicured finger, and with the invitation, Gabe hurriedly climbs onto the bed and drapes his hard body overs hers as he kisses her relentlessly. Her peaked nipples brush up against his chest through the tight confines of her bra, pulsing and begging for his attention. He shifts his weight over to one side, propping himself on his forearm as Tessa wraps her arms around his neck. His other hand slides up her side and finds her breast; Gabe softly squeezes and massages it, his thumb and index finger teasing her nipple through the fabric and making it tight with pressure. A jolt of pleasure surges through her when Gabe pinches her nipple, a rush of electricity traveling through her and making her toes curl.

Her hand slides down and pushes on his shoulder, the weight and control shifting as Gabe falls to his back and Tessa drapes her legs over him to straddle his hips, feeling his hard bulge press against her center. She braces herself on the solid planes of his chest, feeling his heartbeat race wildly and his eyes burning holes into her skin as she grinds her hips against him, a smirk fighting its way onto her face as his soft moans and groans fill the room like a symphony and wrap around her like a blanket. Gabe flutters his eyes closed, succumbing to the incredible sensation of her hips moving over his cock. While he normally is the one to take control and dominate in the bedroom, seeing her on top of him, her hips giving him just the right amount of agonizing friction, and being completely at her mercy is the sexiest thing he has ever seen.

When he opens his eyes again, Tessa sees them glazed over with pure lust and unbridled attraction for her, the magnetic energy washing over both of them. “Goddamn…” he hoarsely whispers, the lust in his voice making tingles spiral down her spine. 

“See something you like?” she coyly asks him.

“Oh, trust me, I don’t like this.” His fingers toy with the lacy waistband of her panties, occasionally dipping underneath and teasing the sensitive skin before caressing down her thighs. “I fucking love it. I think you look…oh shit…” his train of thought trails off as she shifts her hips again, sending another wave of bliss washing over him. “I think you look so goddamn sexy.”

The compliment makes liquid heat pool in her core as the air floods with heated desire and erotic passion. She lightly digs her fingernails into his solid chest, seeing the muscles flex before scratching down his torso, sending another shudder through him. “Mmm…having thoughts about me, are you?”

Gabe cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, I have plenty of thoughts about you. All of them dirty.” His hands stop their teasing caresses and travel up her thighs. “You in my bed begging for me.” His fingers graze over her panties, pulling back the waistband and letting it go with a light snap that makes her gasp. “You wet and pressed up against the wall in my shower.” His hands ghost up her sides until they reach her breasts. “You bent over my desk in my office.” He cups her breasts and flicks the peaked nipples straining underneath the fabric. “You on top just like this, riding me. Hard.”

The images flash through her mind, and the muscles in her core tighten in excitement at the possibility of making all of his fantasies come true. “Who knew Gabe Ricci had such dirty thoughts, or that he likes being controlled,” she tells him as her back arches and her chest pushes further into his massaging hands.

One of his hands snakes up behind her back and expertly undoes the clasp on her bra before carelessly tossing it across the room. “Just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re in control.”

She arches an eyebrow at the challenge in his tone. Her hands wrap around his wrists, and with a flash of devious intent, she pins his wrists into the mattress above his head, her breasts hovering teasingly over him, just far enough out of his reach. “Aren’t I though?” she grinds against him again, the friction making their skin hot.

The tip of his tongue darts out and silkily swipes over his lips, her eyes transfixing on the movement. The slight distraction is just enough for Gabe to flip her over and pin her underneath him again. The loose tendrils of his hair cover his eyes, a few strands plastered to his slick forehead, giving him a wild and untamed look, and the look makes her squirm as the muscles in her core tighten. “Told you I was in control,” he shoots back. He dips his head down and teasingly kisses her lips, pulling away before she could deepen it. He guides her arms up and pins them above her head. “Keep them there,” he commands.

“What if I don’t?” she asks him. “What are you going to do about it?”

Gabe groans. “Let’s just say that I reward good behavior and punish bad behavior.” He smirks at her. “But something tells me you enjoy punishments far too much, so I guess I’ll have to come up with something a little different.”

His lips attach to the warm pulse point of her neck, and Tessa sinks into the mattress like it is a warm pool of blissful pleasure. He kisses down the muscle of her neck before licking a wet stripe back up the length of it and giving it little nips and bites as he trails back down. He leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone until he reaches the hollow of her throat. The tip of his tongue traces the outline before placing a kiss directly in the middle of it, and Tessa sucks in a sharp breath. He shifts his body downward as his kisses travel across her chest and down to her breast. He kisses and slowly licks wet circles around her breast, leaving no inch of skin untouched as he comes closer and closer to her nipple with each circle, and Tessa groans at his methodical torture as her nipples throb in pleasure. When he places a kiss directly on her peaked nipple, the air rushes out of her in a moan that sends vibrations flooding through his veins and directly to his cock.

He draws her nipple between his lips and sucks on it while his other hand kneads and molds her other breast, giving her the relief she has been craving from him. He alternates his movements, from sucking on her nipple to giving it gentle little nips and swirls of his tongue while his fingers tug and roll her other nipple. He sharply bites down on her nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue, and Tessa arches hard off the bed at the sweet torture. He shifts his body again as he releases the nipple from his mouth and kisses his way over to her other breast. He gives it the same agonizing torture as the other until both are even more swollen and throbbing. Her hands clench into fists as her eyes squeeze shut, fighting the urge to touch him as every little nip and suck makes her squirm in pleasure.

The tip of his tongue trails down through the valley between her breasts, the action sending blood rushing through her body and making heat pool in her core. As much as she tries to fight it, Tessa gives into the urge to move her hand, and she reaches out and threads her fingers in his dark, soft hair. Immediately, his hand wraps around her wrist and pins it back above her head, and she giggles in spite of herself. He glances up at her through his lashes, and Tessa can see the raw power in them. He kisses his way back up, tongue darting out briefly to flick over her nipples again, and over the hollow of her throat. He softly nips at the center of her neck and traces her jaw with teasing breaths until she feels his hot breath on the shell of her ear, goosebumps flaring up over her skin.

“And you were doing so well,” Gabe murmurs in her ear as he traces the shell of her ear with his tongue.

“You know I don’t do well following the rules.”

He nips at her earlobe. “Then I’m going to make you follow the rules.” He swings his leg over her and climbs out of the bed, her body already missing his warmth. “Don’t move,” he commands. “I’ll be right back.”

He pads out of the room, leaving Tessa lying there a building mess of excitement and nervousness. She hears Gabe mutter a curse before the sound of the TV is cut off, and she giggles at the absurdity of it. She strains her ears to hear anything else, but the only sounds she can make out are soft rustling of fabric and little clinks like glass. After a few more moments that felt like an eternity, Gabe knocks on the frame of the door, and she shifts up onto her elbows to see him standing there, his lips kinked to the side in a smirk and devilish intentions dancing in his eyes. He holds up his hands, and Tessa sees a glass filled with ice cubes in one hand and the belt to the complimentary bathrobe in the other. The thought of what Gabe was planning to do to her with those two items has her quivering in delight.

“I hope you’re ready, Tessa,” Gabe says. “Because we’re going to have some fun.”

_________________________

A/N

So hello everyone! I know this took a lot longer than anticipated, but unfortunately, life decided to throw a curveball at me recently, so I am very sorry for the delay.

For those who might guess, when I finished the 2nd part, it again turned into another 15k mess, so you all will be getting a Part 3 shortly, where we’ll go into even more of some smutty goodness and some fluffy pillow talk.

I hope you all really enjoy it as much as you did for part 1, and I will see you all soon for the finale!

Second chance tagging in case Tumblr becomes Tumbroke again:  @choices-addict @choiceskatie @lady-calypso @chemist-ana @kat-tia801 @chrissythadon @nishas-paradise  @blainehellyes  @suitfer  @pixelnutrookie @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @adiehardfan @panda9584 @curiousconch @weaving-in-words @mm2305 @thegreentwin

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 2

Thank you so much for all your reactions to part 1! I hope you enjoy part two just as much :)

CW: mentions of past minor character death (incl. a pregnant woman)

7.3k - masterlist - ao3

--

Her first day of shooting isn’t great. It’s not bad by a long way, but it could have easily been better. They’re on location in a forest somewhere in the outskirts of Rifthold and she didn’t even know there were places in the city like this, she’d assumed it was all the sprawling metropolis of skyscrapers and crowded streets, but apparently not.

She’s cold. There’s a machine beating down torrents of fake rain on her and Fenrys where they stand opposite each other on the muddy path through the trees, they’re filming the scene where their characters first meet. Her feet are soggy inside the canvas trainers she’s wearing and they keep spraying water on her hair to keep the wet look running throughout all of the takes and she hates it. She’s uncomfortable and stiff but she comforts herself with the knowledge that Fenrys is the same if the frown he wears whenever the camera isn’t on him is anything to go by.

It helps, barely.

She keeps having to spit water out of her mouth between lines, she swears it never rains this heavily in real life but who is she to comment, and she watches Rowan’s lips twist in displeasure where he sits behind the camera every time she does it. Aelin’s not sure what else she’s supposed to do, he can sit there out of the line of the water all fine, but she can’t speak with her mouth full.

It can take time to fall into the natural rhythm of shooting a new project, even the shitty ones she’s done in the past have shown her that, but there’s something about the way Rowan watches her that prickles the back of her neck, his stare intense and heavy as he watches, that adds the pressure. She wants to show him that she can do this. She wants his approval.

She ignores the reasons why.

After they finish and Rowan has called cut she sulks back to her trailer, she’s only just managed to change out of her sodden clothes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Fenrys, warm and dry now in his own change of clothes.

They’ve sort of become friends recently, after swapping numbers after the table read he had texted her first. The studio has put him in the same complex as her and they’ve shared a car back there a couple of times after some of their meetings. She likes him a lot actually, and while she knows his reputation of infamy with the ladies follows him around like a bad smell, she feels comfortable with him.

“That could have gone better,” he tells her as he flops down onto the two-seater sofa at the end of her trailer, the other half has a mound of clothes dumped on it that she hasn’t bothered to sort through yet.

She just shoots him a look that she hopes says tell me about it.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he tells her, reassuringly. He would know she supposes, he has far more experience than her.

“I hope so.”

“How’re you finding it so far, working with Rowan?” he asks, and she frowns, bristling at the fact that he somehow knows the worst question to ask already. Aelin doesn’t think she’s behaved weirdly around Rowan since the day at the table read, in fact she’s tried to avoid him where possible. Maybe that’s it.

“Fine,” she says, but that’s not quite true. It messes with her in a dangerous way every time she knows he’s watching her. She should be able to turn that part of her brain off during a scene, she trained for years to learn how to do that, but he gets to her. She’s working on it.

Fenrys laughs, seeing right through her.

“He’s not bad once you get to know him, the first time we worked together I thought he was a total dick.” She gives him the same look as before as she clears the clothes and sits down next to him.

“I swear he’s not that bad. He’s just-” Fenrys pauses, weighing her up with a look, and something that he takes in from the way she stands, gnawing on her lower lip with her hair still wet, has him saying; “He’s got a lot riding on this.”

“Why?”

It doesn’t feel like he has a lot riding on this, his last piece was nominated for the Oscars, how much higher than that can you get? It’s not like he’s in the same position as her, desperately clawing herself back to a place where she can be cast in a role and it not be followed by a stunned, oh?

She knows there were articles written when her casting was announced that were doubtful of her ability to do this movie, that questioned whether she’s up to the task and whether she’s good enough to be standing next to names like Fenrys and Rowan. Some of the articles were straight up mean, and she only knows that because she searched them up like a masochist when all the ones Elide sent over were far too nice.

A dark part of herself can’t help but fall prey to some of the headlines. The ones that throw around words like nepotism, the ones that question whether Aelin is talented enough to be where she is cut deeper than any knife, and only half of it is because she sometimes wonders the same. She should be better than that, but the reminder catches in her throat that she really does have a lot riding on this.

“It’s not really my place to say.”

That’s a load of shit, and she tells him so. He only shrugs, not willing to so openly gossip about their boss.

“How well do you know him exactly?” She’s fishing for any details, but it definitely could be passed off as casual curiosity.

“He directed my debut, we keep in touch every so often.” He’s nonchalant. “He asked me to audition for this.”

“Nice humble brag.”

Fenrys only flashes her his movie star grin, in combination with the wink he throws at her it’s almost an effort not to blush.

“He wanted you cast, you know?” That she didn’t know, but it’s nice to hear.

“Why? He doesn’t know me.”

“You’re hard work, you know?” He’s joking but it doesn’t sit quite right. She knows it’s true. “Come with us tonight. There's a group of us getting dinner, and you can ask him yourself.”

It’s an olive branch. She knows it’s obvious to everyone that she’s uncomfortable, still hasn’t quite found her feet on set after taking such a break, and it’s one that she’s grateful for. No matter how closed off she knows she still seems to them.

“Okay,” she says and Fenrys’ smile is genuine and a part of her lifts, it’s a start.

They share a car to the restaurant and he fills the journey with easy chatter. She appreciates it because she feels really fucking rusty. It’s been a while since she spoke to anyone outside of her immediate circle of friends and family, and it’s always been easy with them. This is different, but not unwelcome.

Sometimes she worries that, as much as they love her, Aedion, Lysandra and Elide are inclined to tread lightly around her. She’d like to think that she’s not that fragile, that she could take the full front of their humour and teasing like she used to, but then remembers when Fenrys’ joke fell flat for her in the trailer and she thinks again.

Either way, the cast and crew here don’t treat her like she’s broken, or even breakable, and it’s refreshing.

Fenrys leads the way into the restaurant, and there’s definitely paparazzi down the street snapping away at them as they cross the short distance from the car to the door. She tries to ignore it, she’ll text Elide once they’re done here, even though Elide will probably be overjoyed. It’s probably (definitely) easier to publicise your talent when she’s out there doing things with other famous people compared to staying inside her home alone.

Fenrys greets the staff on the door and they lead them through the restaurant to a staircase at the back of the room and it leads up to a private space with only one table. Right, privacy. Some of these guys are proper celebrities.

They’re the last ones there, and there’s two seats left at the table. Manon is here, so is Rowan and one of the executive producers who she thinks is called Gavriel.

“Alright guys, you all know Aelin,” Fenrys says and she smiles as they greet her.

Fenrys holds a chair out for her, the one next to Rowan, and she slides into it as he takes the one on her other side.

Rowan offers her a quirk of his lips, one she returns as she takes him in. He’s wearing short sleeves this time and she gets a good look at the tattoo snaking the whole way down his left arm. It’s in the Old Language and she can’t read it, even though her father had spent hours trying to teach her when she was a kid, but the lettering is beautiful and neat. She wants to reach out and touch, to trace the lines that roll down his golden skin.

She doesn’t. Obviously.

A waiter comes over to take their drink orders, Fenrys gets a beer, Manon and Gavriel opt for wine, but Rowan asks for an orange juice. He’s not drinking either and she wonders if it’s related to the reason he needs this movie to go well. So she’s nosy? So what?

She sits back and observes as the conversation flows, laughing along at the easy banter that flows between the three men and the sarcastic quips Manon throws in. Fenrys clearly understated his relationship with Rowan, they seem tight and have a clear fondness for one another. It’s easy to slot herself in as the night progresses, snarking with Manon and joining in with the general light-hearted mockery of Fenrys.

She thinks maybe so far she’s got Rowan wrong.

Tonight he’s quick-witted and charming, and he makes his best effort to include her in the conversation which she appreciates. It’s a contrast to the dark and teasing side of him she’s seen so far in the hallway and the table read. Maybe he’s decided to just start again, pretend they never met before she was cast, and she can do that too.

“So, Aelin.” Manon turns the spotlight to her after a while. “Tell us the scoop. I’ve not seen you in anything for a while.”

It’s not a nasty question, Aelin can just tell from the way she asks it, nothing more than genuine curiosity lies in her tone even if the phrasing is somewhat harsh. Manon might not be the bubbliest of characters, she’s blunt and doesn’t beat around the bush, but she’s not unkind, and Aelin doubts if she knew the truth she’d ask that question in such a way.

Elide managed to keep the worst of her… career break? One could phrase it more like breakdown, out of the limelight. She somehow managed to keep the worst of it hidden, and Aelin will owe her that for the rest of her life.

All the world knows is that Sam was murdered when they were both still newbies to their respective industries, neither of them had had their big break yet, and after that she took a break. For three years.

She remembers the headlines from the time, most were in smaller magazines, Sam wasn’t famous enough to make the front pages. Her mouth tastes like bile.

Singer-Songwriter Sam Cortland, 20, murdered in random street attack in Orynth, girlfriend Aelin Ashryver unharmed and working with police to identify suspect.

No one knows she knelt there in his blood begging for him to open his eyes, not even Aedion, or Lysandra or Elide, and she blinks back the image now. Her hands are curled into fists below the table and she forces herself to uncurl them and lay them flat against her jeans.

“Yeah,” she says after clearing her throat. “I took a break from it all for a few years, but I’m back now obviously and really excited for it.”

Manon nods and Gavriel raises a glass. He’s been nothing but kind to her all night. He kind of reminds her of her father, though he’s not that old, probably not even forty yet. He’s softly spoken and counters each snarky comment from Fenrys or Manon with something softer but no less amusing.

“Good to hear,” Fenrys says with a grin, clinking his glass against Gavriel’s.

The way Rowan watches her as he raises his own glass in a toast to her, careful and without speaking, tells her he knows. At least the basics about Sam, and it seems like maybe he did google her just like she joked back at the table read.

Their meals arrive then, mercifully taking the attention away from her. She needs to find a better way to deal with the attention than shutting down, especially if this film is going to be as big as everyone thinks it will be. She should call her therapist.

She will.

Eventually.

They leave the restaurant not long after, Fenrys covering the bill, emphasising that this was a celebration and an initiation for Aelin. She almost blushes for some unknown reason at his words, but she likes it. It sounds good. Like she really is back, or at least will be.

They each give her their numbers, and she likes the way he’s in her phone now as Rowan rather than Rowan Whitethorn, it feels like he’s not just someone from work. Not just her boss.

They each say goodbye and share a series of embraces, ignoring the small group of paparazzi that follow, desperate for any kind of incriminating image of any of the five of them. It’s clear that most of them are here for Fenrys, but she still makes sure to keep her expression clear and guarded as Rowan wraps her into a one-armed hug when they leave. It’s not just for the paparazzi.

Back in her apartment, when she’s tucked up in bed knowing she should be asleep, she can’t stop herself from googling him. She’s honestly surprised she’s lasted this long.

The first few news articles to come up are all about the movie and she scrolls past them, instead pulling up his Wikipedia page and scrolling straight to the personal life section. Maybe this is the weirdest way anyone’s ever got to know a friend, but she’s intrigued and still slightly flustered by him so it will do.

The section on his personal life is relatively bare, and it doesn’t surprise her. His Instagram account alone told her pretty explicitly that he’s a private kind of guy. She almost scrolls away after the first few lines, they don’t give her much information other than the college he went to and the languages he speaks, but she reads the final few lines of the section anyway.

In March 2018 Whitethorn’s fiance, Lyria Woods, passed away as the result of a road traffic accident. The driver of the other vehicle was found to be under the influence of alcohol at the time of the accident and was later sentenced to 6 years in prison for death by dangerous driving. Woods was 12 weeks pregnant with their child at the time of the accident.

Only a couple of weeks after the Oscars that she and Lysandra watched. She does the maths and realises this is his first film since then and thinks she knows what Fenrys meant.

Fucking shit.

Her second day of shooting goes better than the first, just as Fenrys said it would.

She’s more relaxed when she crosses the set from her trailer with a coffee in hand and she thinks she knows her place a little better now, even after only one night spent with the others.

She lies back while her make up is done, chatting to the make-up artist instead of sitting silently like the day before, and she’s almost ready for the discomfort that her wet hair will bring. The weather adds to the atmosphere of the film, dark and dreary and moody, and she gets why they’re doing it, but it still sucks.

Fenrys is ready when she gets there, and while she’s not avoiding Rowan today after finding out about his… past, she just finds it difficult to look him in the eye knowing what she does. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that she knew, if it’s on Wikipedia it’s public knowledge and they have made jokes about googling each other, but she feels weird in a way that she didn’t learn it from him. It feels intrusive, or invasive, to find out about something like that through Wikipedia.

But even though they bonded somewhat last night, and he greeted her this morning with an easy hey, they’re still not close. No matter that she thinks she might want them to be. She’s trying again to ignore the way she feels drawn to him, the way her eyes seek him out without her permission.

She knows she kills the take. Knows it from the high five Fenrys slaps against her palm once Rowan’s called cut and from the swift nod he offers her when she glances towards him.

There seem to be two Rowan’s too, there’s the award winning director Rowan Whitethorn, and then just Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn is cool and calculating and distant, quiet while he watches their scene from his place behind the camera, the big black headphones he uses pushed down around his neck. His eyes are as sharp as a hawk’s while he watches for all the minute details of their expressions and any improvements they could make. He doesn’t give her that many she’s pleased to note.

The way he instructs them is impressive, with clear directions and thoughtful analyses. She’s been here two days and she knows how he got the Oscar nomination, he’s scarily intelligent and seems to know exactly what’s off about a performance before she figures it out herself.

The other side to him, the side that is just Rowan is…

Just Rowan is the one she likes more.

She suspects the smile he gives her later, after they’ve nailed the bulk of the scene in one take and she’s being twirled around by Fenrys, comes from him.

She has two full days off in a row, and she decides the best use of her time is to go and stay with Aedion and Lysandra. Fenrys isn’t free, and the reason she is is that he has a load of solo scenes to shoot, and she doesn’t envy him at all.

Lysandra is ecstatic when she announces via a group text to her and Aedion that she’ll be at their house for lunchtime, and she loves it, but it makes her feel a little guilty. That she’s let it get to the point when her friend reacts like that at her promise of a visit is quite frankly appalling, but she finally feels as if she’s taken the first step. She’s on the bottom rung of the ladder, and it’s taken her a while, but she’s there now.

Aedion and Lysandra live in a disgustingly big house in a gated part of the suburbs, and she knows the house isn’t exactly what they would have chosen in an ideal world, it’s too big and garish and grey, but there are gates by the entrance and 24 hour security.

It still messes with her head that Aedion is that famous. Aedion. Her gangly cousin, always too tall for his own good, who used to pull her hair when they were kids and sneak her extra helpings of cake at family parties before her parents divorced. She doesn’t know that much about football, so little in fact that her dad and Aedion teased her relentlessly for years, but everyone tells her he’s good.

Like really good.

The salary he gets from the Ravens is more than enough proof.

She rings their front door bell and she can hear Lysandra’s quick steps before the big wooden door is pulled open.

Her friend is glowing. Her dark hair falls into waves near the end and her staggeringly beautiful face is free of any make-up and unblemished and dewy. She’s had time to get over the insecurities that come from being friends with Lysandra so it barely phases her as she wraps her arms around her friend.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into Lysandra’s hair. It smells like coconut and citrus and just Lysandra.

“I missed you too. So much,” Lysandra sighs as she pulls back, dragging Aelin into the house and shutting the door.

Their hallway is grand and open but there’s a pile of their shoes by the wall and a rack of coats that make it feel more homely. There are framed photos carefully arranged on the sideboard in the entry way that show the two of them with their whole family and all of their friends.

There’s one on there of Aelin and Lysandra at eighteen, their arms thrown tightly around each other while they grin massive, excited smiles at the camera, or more likely Elide behind it. She remembers the day it was taken, Lysandra had signed to her first agency and arranged to move to Rifthold, and they had taken her out to celebrate.

It was around the same time she signed for her first movie, a tiny role with two lines and twenty seconds of screen time but it got the ball rolling with her first proper acting credit, and she’ll never forget it.

A head of golden hair pokes around the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall and she lets her cousin sweep her up into a hug, swinging her up and around so her feet dangle above the floor.

“Alien, we’ve missed you.”

A stupid nickname from when they were young, the kind of young where he thought it was hilarious to replace her name with an extraterrestrial, but it only makes her smile now, squeezing her cousin tight before he puts her back down.

“Yeah, I bet you’ve been lost without me.” She beams at them, taking a moment to soak in how it feels to be with them even as Aedion rolls his eyes. “I’ve missed you both too.”

“Lunch is ready, come on,” Aedion tells her as he takes her case and drags it through the house, leaving it by the bottom of the stairs. It’s then that she spots the frilly pink apron tied around his waist.

“Alright,” she laughs. “I can’t wait to try what the domestic goddess has in store for us.”

Peals of laughter burst out of Lysandra and she grins back at her, forever grateful that they managed to keep their relationship with each other from ever impacting on their relationship with Aelin. At first she had been worried that Aedion and Lysandra would become AedionAndLysandra and that she wouldn’t have a place left with them, but she needn’t have worried, and they worked too well together for Aelin to have ever wished for anything different.

“Gods, shut up,” he mutters, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the kitchen. “So annoying, both of you.”

She grins as she hears Lysandra smack an overly dramatic kiss to his cheek.

Aedion’s a surprisingly good cook, the lunch he’s made is tasty despite being carefully planned to fit into both his and Lysandra’s strict meal plans. If they’re the cost needed to be able to live in a house like this, Aelin doesn’t want it.

“So,” Aedion says after he’s finished chewing a mouthful. “How are things going?”

He asks it with a gentle kind of sensitivity that she understands what he’s really asking. She knows it’s code for are you still sober? but she also knows he hasn’t asked it because he doubts her. Aedion and Lysandra have always been in her corner, even in her darkest moments they were there.

She never wants to put them through anything like that ever again. Never wants them to experience anything as terrifying as the last night she ever touched a drug. That night, almost a year ago now, will forever be the bottom of her pit. She doesn’t remember much of it, other than the devastation on Aedion’s face as he carried her out of the men’s toilets of a seedy nightclub in Perranth. The way he’d bitten his lip as he picked her up off the sticky floor, pulling the hem of her dress down to cover her underwear where it had ridden up.

The thought makes her sick.

He’d had to skip a game, leading to a bollocking from his coach, but he’d done it for her. Had carried her out of the club and into a car, waiting to take them back to his house. Lysandra had stroked her hair where she lay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor while Aedion called a doctor to the house. Even through his panic he had thought of her and how little she would want it publicised that she’d been pulled out of a club, off her fucking rocker on whatever substance she’d been given by the lowlives she had fallen in with. She’s really, really lucky that for once Aedion hadn’t been followed by paparazzi.

She takes a sip of her sparkling water before she answers, it feels like all she ever drinks these days and it tastes like shit but it’s worth it if she never reverts back to where she was.

“I’m good.” She’s almost surprised to find that it’s true. “I’m feeling much better.”

She can barely look at them, can barely take the level of subdued joy on their faces.

“We’re glad Aelin, really glad.” Lysandra’s voice is sincere.

“So, how’s the new project going?” Aedion asks her, sensing her discomfort almost immediately.

“That’s good too actually.” It is. It feels good to have something positive to focus on, something that she feels is productive and worth doing. “It’s nice to be back and be busy even if the morning shoots begin disgustingly early. It’s good to be on set, surrounded by it all again and to remember that I can actually do this.”

She stabs her fork through a piece of tomato a little aggressively as she finishes and the look Lysandra shoots her tells her she’s not impressed with the self-deprecation but that she’ll let it slide for now.

“And Fenrys Moonbeam, is he really that good looking in real life?”

Aelin laughs. “More actually, sometimes it's too much.”

“Nice,” Lysandra nods appreciatively.

“Is he alright though?” Ever the overprotective older brother figure, she expected some version of this question from Aedion.

“He’s great. He’s hilarious and it really helps on the long days,” she says before taking her next bite.

“And Rowan Whitethorn’s directing isn’t he? What’s he like?”

Aelin blinks and finishes chewing slowly. “He’s… fine.”

She knows she’s fucked it when Aedion and Lysandra share a look, matching smirks beginning on each of their faces.

“Fine,” Lysandra repeats. “What exactly does fine mean Aelin?”

She purses her lips. “He’s a great director.”

Lysandra rolls her eyes. “And?”

She could probably lie here, they’d probably let it slide if she said some bullshit about how they’ve not spoken much and how she barely knows him, but she honestly needs to talk to someone about this. You know, to set her straight.

“And he’s really hot.”

She’s blushing as Lysandra laughs and Aedion chuckles.

“You’ve got a crush,” Lysandra sing-songs, and when she doesn't respond she says, “Have you got a picture of him? I don’t think I actually know what he looks like.”

She can’t blame Lysandra for that, she’s still kicking herself for not recognising him that day in the hallway, but he was only on screen for a few seconds at the Oscars and it wasn’t long after Sam so it wasn’t like she was paying attention in that way. She still thinks she should have noticed.

She pulls her phone out to find the only picture she has on there with Rowan. She had only taken it this week when they were eating breakfast with Fenrys one morning, in one of the tents that had been set up for them to sit in between takes, and Fenrys had pulled his phone out to snap a photo of her for his Instagram story.

She’d been wrapped up in one of the huge parkas they’re given for the times in between scenes holding her croissant high up in the air when he’d taken it. He’d captioned it she could have dropped her croissant and tagged her, and she’d gained a good few thousand followers. She’s almost at a million and they’re only a couple of weeks into shooting.

She had taken one of him in response and then spun around to force Rowan into a selfie with her, he’d protested but she’d pouted until he relented, grumbling something about actors that she knew he didn’t mean. She didn’t post it anywhere, she kept it to herself and she can’t lie, she’s looked at it way too many times since.

She’s smiling a wide smile, cheeks stuffed full of her croissant and it’s really kind of gross, but the small smile on Rowan’s face makes it bearable. More than bearable, she has to resist the temptation to make it her lock screen because that would be weird.

She remembers the heat of his chest where he had stood behind her to lean down so their faces were level, the hand he rested on her shoulder to steady himself and the way his fingers had brushed against her neck in the lightest caress.

She hands the phone over to Lysandra and wants to pull it back almost immediately.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed or whatever, even if they think it’s a bad idea they’d let her down gently, it's just that their opinion matters to her a lot. And while they haven’t exactly approved of her string of random hookups in the years since Sam, they’ve never tried to comment on it other than to check she’s in a good place with it, but she knows they’re waiting for the next person she sees seriously.

There’s a fairly large part of her that thinks her first relationship since Sam shouldn’t be with her boss. And that fucks her up a bit, because since when was she considering a relationship with him?

“Oh yeah,” Lysandra says, scaring away the intrusive thought and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. “He’s hot alright.”

Aedion nods along, peering over Lysandra’s shoulder. Lysandra’s eyes are far too knowing when she looks back up at Aelin and passes the phone over. She doesn’t say a word before locking the phone and sliding it back into her pocket.

“You’ll have to invite us to set sometime.” Lysandra is sneaky but not subtle.

“I will,” she agrees.

The next week flies by, she shoots every single day but one, and she’s far too exhausted each night to do anything other than scrounge up a measly meal that can be pulled together from her cupboard basics and the limited vegetables in her fridge before falling straight asleep. They’ve made good progress so far, and she knows it's going to be good, but she’s tired.

She’s seen a lot more of the process outside of her own character by now too, and she’s amazed, but not surprised, when she persuades one of the crew to let her watch back one of Fenrys’ solo scenes from the previous week. He’s a phenomenal actor, that much is clear, but she had allowed herself to get caught up in Fenrys as her friend, the happy and funny guy she spends her time with, forgetting the talented and driven lead actor of their movie.

Not that she can forget it in the scenes they share, but she’s mostly concentrating on the emotions her character is going through, and responding to what Fenrys gives her. It almost feels too natural for him, and she forgets that it takes work.

His text meets her at lunchtime on the Sunday they both have off, when she’s still in her pyjamas on the couch, debating whether to start a new series or watch the latest cheesy rom-com that Netflix has released.

She auditioned for one of them a couple of years ago, and she’s far enough past the bitterness that comes with not getting the role that she could enjoy it. Maybe a little, cynical part of herself thinks she’s glad she didn’t get it. What she has now is far better. She’s being a snob, but she straight up doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone else is here to judge her.

Fancy coming to Rowan’s to watch the game? I’m leaving in 20 his text reads.

She didn’t plan on doing anything today, but the invitation sparks something in her, and she’s never been to Rowan’s place before. The studio put him in a house about thirty minutes from set, and she’s curious. How much luxury does the big name director get compared to what she and Fenrys have got? She’s lucky really, that Dorian managed to negotiate the same for her as they offered Fenrys.

rowan’s??? She replies, followed by what game????

She gets up off the couch, putting the lid on the tub of yoghurt she was tucking into with a spoon and walking through to the kitchen to throw it back into the fridge.

Tall, grumpy guy that bosses us around all the time comes through a minute later and she grins at her phone at the description. It’s followed up by Ravens v Panthers.

She taps out, getting changed will be ready in 15 and he replies with three smiling emojis.

She doesn’t think it will be anything fancy if her impromptu invitation is anything to go by so she only swaps her pyjama bottoms with tiny cartoon sheep down the legs for a pair of black leggings and throws a sweatshirt over her oversized t-shirt.

Manon is there when they get there, sprawled across the two seater sofa at the far side of Rowan’s living room, and she gives them both a wave when they enter the room. The house is a pretty modest, two-up two-down in a sweet neighbourhood and it’s cosy inside with relatively modern decor. She doesn’t know for sure whether or not that fits Rowan, but she feels like it does.

He doesn’t let them in, Fenrys swings the door open and marches in like it’s his own place and she wonders how much he and Rowan have hung out, or whether that’s just him. Rowan appears in the doorway about a minute after they come in, a bowl of snacks in his hand that she thinks could be popcorn and he puts it down before coming over to wrap Fenrys in a hug. They slap each other on the back in the way that guys do before pulling back.

Aelin stands at Fenrys’ side watching the exchange, unsure whether to greet Rowan or just take a seat, and once they’re done he seems to regard her with the same sort of uncertainty. Fenrys darts around Rowan to throw himself onto the other sofa and she doesn’t give herself long enough to doubt her decision before she opens her arms and steps towards him.

“Hey,” he says simply as he wraps her into a brief hug. “Thanks for coming.”

She wraps her arms around his own broad shoulders, and it feels nice. He’s warm and strong beneath her hands and the way his arms loop around her waist, so far his hands reach back around to her stomach, gets her in a way that she really doesn’t need to think about. It feels really good pressed up against him like that.

“Hey,” she breathes as he pulls back, and she knows he sees the blush on her cheeks. She’s not fifteen, she really needs to sort herself out. “Thanks for having us.”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” He gives her another half smile, offering a flash of his straight, white teeth, and again she’s struck by him. That his place is behind the camera is a crime. “I’ve got more snacks and drinks in the kitchen if you want.”

“Beer?” Fenrys asks her, already heading to a door that she assumes leads to the kitchen.

She shakes her head, “do you have sparkling water?” She directs the question to Rowan who nods.

He doesn’t have to speak before Fenrys says “on it,” and leaves the room.

She assesses the seating choices left in the room, there’s a cream two-seater sofa opposite where Manon lies, and that’s probably her best bet, but Rowan has already taken his seat on it, an ankle crossed over a knee as he settles into the cushions. There’s plenty of room to sit by him and not touch, and she weighs it up against having to ask Manon to move.

She’s friendly with the girl, but still feels slightly intimidated by the calculating and sarcastic blonde despite the fact that she’s a few years younger than Aelin herself, so maybe Rowan is the safer choice.

Fenrys comes back into the room just as she takes her seat.

“Move your feet, Blackbeak,” he demands as he hands her a glass of sparkling water, it’s chilled with a couple of cubes of ice and she appreciates it.

Manon lifts her legs for Fenrys to sit, but plops her legs back down across his lap immediately and sticks her tongue out at him as she does. Aelin feels herself smile at the display, and the fact that she’s included in this circle of friends. She hasn’t really made an effort with anyone new since Sam, the only people she’s really spoken to are Elide, Lysandra and Aedion, and they were all there for her before Sam. It feels really damn good.

She really, really, doesn’t understand the rules of football, but it’s easy enough to cheer along when the others do and laugh at their outrage when something doesn’t go their way. It’s the most animated she’s seen Rowan so far, and she’s not quite sure which way their allegiances lie, but it’s probably with the Ravens being in Rifthold and all, and she knows her own is.

Everytime Aedion gets the ball or is shown on screen she can’t hold back the cheers. She’s proud of him and she knows how hard he works to be as good as he is, and even knowing as little as she does, it's special to watch him excel.

Rowan and Fenrys both seem a little starstruck that he’s her cousin, to her he’s just Aedion and they’re the real, scary celebrities, but they gush about him like starstruck little boys.

“And you were at his house last weekend?” Fenrys cries, almost outraged that this is the first he’s ever heard of it, but honestly? They’re both Ashryvers; it’s not like it's a secret.

“Yes,” she laughs. “He’s basically like my brother.”

“Gods, Aelin.” He sounds almost pained that she hasn’t brought this up before. “You've been holding out on us! Please give me his number or introduce me or something.”

“Sorry.” She laughs again and throws a smile to Rowan that he returns with another quirk of his lips. “Invite me earlier next time and I’ll ask him to sort a box for us at the stadium.”

“Seriously?” Even Rowan sounds awed now.

“Yeah, just let me know,” she says. “It’s no big deal.”

It really wouldn't be, Aedion has been telling her for years to invite any friends she wants to games, she would just need some friends outside of him, Lysandra and Elide first.

“It’s definitely a big deal,” he says, watching her with a smirk still playing on his lips.

She shrugs. “Just make sure you text me early next time.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, and she has to look away from him. The way his voice curves around the words, all low and intense, is definitely about more than just the game.

She tries to pass it off as just looking to where Fenrys is cheering loudly at the next play, but Manon is there again, looking at her with such a knowing expression that she immediately focuses back on the TV.

At half time she needs to use the bathroom and Rowan gives her a quick rundown of the layout of the house. She’s quick to do her thing and runs by the kitchen afterwards to grab a refill of her drink and find something to eat.

Rowan had told them all to help themselves, explaining that he felt they had as much right as he to poke through the cupboards in the only just filled rental property and she gets it. The places the studio rent out for them are nice enough, and she’s more than grateful that they do, but it’s never quite home. Even if her home is somewhat impersonal, it’s still home.

She’s on her tiptoes, scanning through the relatively well stocked cupboards on the hunt for anything chocolate, when someone enters the kitchen behind her.

“I know I said help yourselves, but you’re going to eat me out of house and home at this rate.”

It’s Rowan, and he leans against the doorframe as he watches her startle and spin to face him, his legs are crossed at the ankles and his arms are folded over his chest. The pose highlights his powerful arms that she wants to be wrapped up in again and he looks really good in the dim lighting of the kitchen. It bounces off the lines of his tattoo, shining and highlighting the swirls that she can barely look away. She wants to ask what it means.

Aelin scoffs and pushes the cupboard door shut gently, they’re not eating that much and if they are it’s definitely not her, Fenrys and Manon are another story.

“There’s nothing stopping you from kicking us all out,” she says and he laughs, shaking his head.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze picking her apart by the second before he says “maybe not all of you.”

His words and the way he shifts in the doorway as his eyes run her up and down gives her the confidence to bite her lip and look up at him through her lashes. He pushes off the door frame and comes to lean against the counter by her side.

He opens a cupboard door on her other side and rummages through a shelf before handing her a foil packet.

“I have a feeling this is what you were after.”

She accepts the chocolate and tucks it onto the counter at her side as she mirrors him and leans against it too.

“Unsurprisingly, you’d be correct.”

He presses his lips together before his lips twist again, it’s the same expression from before that she knows means he wants to smile but he can’t quite commit, and she feels her body loosen like she wants to lean forward to press into him. She doesn’t though.

What she does instead is take a sharp breath and a step back. “Thanks.” She waves the bar of chocolate in the air before stepping around him and making her way back into the living room, forcing her steps to seem calm and collected as she feels his gaze heavy on her back.

“Anytime.” His words follow her out of the room, they’re a promise.

Luckily, Fenrys and Manon both ignore it when Rowan follows her and retakes his place next to her.

[blackbat05]

I need a break

Shangqi x Reader (Platonic) 

A/N: I feel like I’m loosing steam towards the end of my placement and wow I have never needed a break this badly before. Perhaps a short Shangqi x Reader imagine where they are both University students. Seriously at this rate I’ll just be solely a Shangqi writer HAHAHA. Doing this on my phone because I don’t want to open my work computer. Let’s see where this impromptu idea takes me to. Hope you enjoy it and as always like and comment if you wish!

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: None really, just friends supporting each other! I guess there’s an inaccurate timeline if you look at the MCU but hey this is an imagine plus if you look at some of the wiki pages, Shangqi is actually born in 1998/1999. So appreciate if you’re kind enough to go with the flow to read this comfort fic! 

‘Y/N!’ Shangqi rushes to catch up with you after class. You made an effort to conceal your tiredness but he saw it right through. ‘Gosh…you alright?’

You think to yourself. Were you really alright? The answer was pretty obvious. You were ten weeks into your placement and your emotions were a jumbled up mess. Having to deal with work responsibilities was one problem, school assignments were another issue all together. At this point, you felt like you were just getting through each week for the sake of it.

At first, you believed that what you were going through was simply a transition to becoming an adult. You thought that naturally, you would be able to persevere through the stressful periods by yourself. But of course, it has been hard.

You were a social work intern at a neighborhood youth centre, thirty minutes away if you took the train and bus. The work was fulfilling in it’s own ways, but recently there were self-doubts filling your brain, if you were really cut out for the job in the future. If you weren’t, what else could you do?

As you sat with Shangqi in the school’s student-ran cafe, you found yourself pouring out the exact same concerns to him. Credit to him, Shangqi never interrupted your monologue, he just simply listened. That’s what best friends were for. That’s what you did for him to when he ran into issues with his family.

Even then, he couldn’t deny that hearing you doubt yourself broke his heart. He had known you since high school. You mostly kept to yourself and one or two close friends. Despite joining the school’s athletic team where you were one of the main athletes, you preferred to stay in the shadows unlike some of your teammates. That didn’t stop you from going out of your way to help other students in need; like helping the girl who was in an arm cast to copy the social studies notes, even if it meant you had to do it twice. Or maybe just talking to a friend who was stressed out about their results.

Basically, you had studied your ass off to get a secured spot at this university who were only one of the few that offered the degree. He remembers you telling him the moment you got your offer, ‘I’m finally good at something. I don’t have to worry anymore!’

Shangqi wasn’t stupid. The pandemic had done some crazy things. And by crazy, it affected the self-esteem that you had been working so hard on by participating in various projects and events, with you being in charge of a drama production that was promoting on mental health. That was a big deal considering that you were a major introvert.

Online engagement was never easy. In fact he has heard some of your struggles that you’ve shared with him regarding this and it only makes him admire you even more. For someone who preferred to keep to themselves, stepping out of one’s comfort zone, to take on a role that wasn’t just simply about helping people - that took guts.

‘I’m sorry I’m just loading you with all this. I just feel…’ You trailed off, suddenly becoming emotional again. Again, Shangqi does not pry. ‘That I can’t do anything right.’ You emphasize that you had ended the statement for you were unsure that you could keep your cool if you had tried to continue on.

‘If I hear you saying sorry another time,’ he chides, ‘you’re paying for our meal later.’ Your lips curved upwards slightly before returning to its somber position. Shangqi decides that a meal won’t cut it. He needs to deploy ‘Operation Y/N’. Standing up with your buzzer to collect the food, Shangqi whips out his phone. There will be a few changes for today.

Food was definitely a cure in this situation, but it was only a part of the solution. After inhaling your ramen at light speed, Shangqi tells you that today will be a different Friday. ‘And you can’t complain! It’ll be a weekend tmr,’ he tells you. So why not? You figured that even if you went back home early, your head wouldn’t be in the right place to complete the essay for your English module.

‘Hold up! The VR studio that Katy was talking about?’ You look at the tickets inside the taxi that was taking you and Shangqi to the location. ‘How did you even, it was so hard to get these tickets!’ From the time Shangqi met you outside the classroom, he had yet to see you so ecstatic. Until now.

‘Well,’ Shangqi gives his best shrug. ‘I called in a favor from a friend. Said that it was for emergency purposes.’ He raised his fingers to make connotations in the air much to your amusement.

‘Wow… just how much do I not know about you Mr Popular?’ You teased. Shangqi decides to leave the fact on him having to persuade the Wakandan Princess in giving him free tickets.

‘Please! I swear whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it! It’s for Y/N!’

‘Ey well why didn’t you say so? If it’s for that nice friend, of course!’ Shuri leaves the entrance of the compound, an exasperated Shangqi trailing behind.

Yeah, the VR studio that Katy told them about was also funded by King T’Challa himself. With stunning life like visuals thanks to Wakandan technology, the VR studio was located in a middle class neighborhood. T’Challa believed that no matter where kids came from, they should have the right to enjoy and to explore the world. For now, he wasn’t ready to share that he was on the way on becoming a full-fledged Avenger yet - you just had too much on your plate. He’ll just have to settle with this white lie.

‘Is Katy coming?’ You were on the verge of vibrating off your seat. ‘She would love this place!’ Even when you were struggling, Y/N still manages to think about other people. Today, Y/N will put her needs first.

As if to answer your previous question, you can see an equally excited Katy waiting for the two of you at the roundabout. ‘HEL-LO EVERYONE! LET’S GET OUR FRIDAY STARTED IN PROPER SHALL WE?’ Her loud voice had attracted stares, some very displeased looks too but at this point in time, you didn’t give a damn. Katy was right, it was time to enjoy!

You wished that you could slow down time, or even replay it continuously when you needed cheering up because the only thing you felt was pure happiness - euphoria even. Your stomach was in knots for laughing hysterically together with Katy when Shangqi jumped in shock from a surprise scare from a zombie. ‘I’m keeping that for leverage,’ she tells you, quietly slipping her phone into her fanny pack. 

The Wakandans had really outdone themselves this time. Your favorite VR was the paradise VR. Slipping the headgear, you say goodbye to the smiles of Katy and Shangqi, whisking away to a beach that oddly reminded you of your dream destination - Hawaii. From where you were standing, you were surrounded by green and majestic islands. Despite their sheer size, you weren’t intimidated. In fact, you were healing. 

Your mind was no longer in the room of the VR studio. How could it when the sun kissed your skin, giving you the much needed energy that you were lacking for so long? In the room, the two sees you kick your shoes to the side, going barefoot. It may have seem strange, but with the monitor beside you, your actions were perfectly logical. 

As a kid, you used to despise the prickly feeling of sand in between your toes. But now, you grew to love the sensation that each grain of sand had on your skin. It made you feel grounded, that everything was going to be ok. You raise your virtual hand to touch your face - were you crying? 

‘She must have been really stressed huh?’ Katy whispers to Shangqi who nods in return. How he hated the fact that you were giving so much to your work but still felt underappreciated. Forget the Avengers with superhuman abilities, you were the true MVP. The VR ends and you remove your headgear. ‘I’m ok,’ you automatically reassure them despite the dry tears left on both cheeks. You step down the platform slowly, trying to regain sense of the real world. 

What you didn’t expect was the two embracing you in a hug, squishing you in between them. Maybe that had set off the waterworks. For someone like Katy, she had sage advice.

‘Life can be pretty shitty right? But I’m so proud of you fighting it Y/N. Just remember that it’s ok to be weak. I mean, I’ve seen worse from Shangqi,’ she jabs her finger towards his direction, earning a glare from him. That’s Katy, always trying to add a bit of humor to this grey world. Calming down, you let go of the both of them. ‘Thanks guys, for everything.’ 

‘Hey,’ Shangqi responds, slinging his arm over your shoulder. ‘We’re friends, so we don’t leave each other behind.’ Phone beeping, he retrieves it to check the message. ‘And look at that, nice timing. Who wants Korean BBQ?’ 

Trailing behind them, you get an amusing view of Shangqi bickering with Katy on how many Soju bottles she’s allowed to order later. As San Francisco welcomed the night, you were just thankful that you had the two of them to walk through this crazy maze called life. 

‘Last one to the shop is paying!’ 

‘Oh you’re on Mister!’  

A/N: I really just think that this was also an imagine for me to cope too. So I can only hope to finish my placement/assignments/exams well! To anyone who does studies and work simultaneously, I fucking respect you (allow me to use expletives for now, these people deserve the respect). If you’re going through a stressful time, I hope this brings the slightest comfort for you and remember… YOU ARE NOT ALONE! Again, thank you for reading! 

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN **** 

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown. 

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W. 

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.” 

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.” 

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now’ signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.” 

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.” 

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance. 

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.” 

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.” 

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long. 

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.” 

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.” 

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.” 

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered. 

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled. 

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.” 

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?” 

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street. 

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.” 

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.” 

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE

[fruitcoops]

I need something to vent read. If you are up for it could you write something with Sirius freaking out because of a slammed door, loud noises and raised voices? I feel like these things would be triggering to him because when he was living with Walburga (is that spelled correctly? I have no clue) and Orion all of those things meant something bad was going to happen. If you want it to not be as angsty you could add in Remus comforting him and reminding him that he is safe. Thank you! :)

Continuing the angsty vibes, folks! This was a really interesting prompt to tackle since Sirius is so repressed and I didn’t want to romanticize past abuse at all. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for disappointed adults, guilt, past abuse (mentioned, not graphic), and a panic attack

Arthur was disappointed. Sirius hated it when Arthur was disappointed.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Arthur sighed after a moment, shaking his head. “If anyone has an explanation for that shitshow, I’d love to hear it.” A few beats of silence passed and he pressed his lips together. The guilt was eating Sirius alive. “We’re better than this. I know that, you know that, the Cup we won knows that. Do better next time.”

Be better, be better, be better. The words had been drilled into his mind since he was old enough to hold a stick and he swallowed around the dryness of his mouth. “Sorry, Coach,” James said quietly from his stall.

“I don’t need you to be sorry!” Arthur barked; Sirius’ stomach lurched. “I need you all to get your heads out of your asses and into the game! Tonight was a disgrace to everything you’ve worked hard to build. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Coach,” they muttered.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Coach,” they said again, louder.

Down the hall, a door slammed—Sirius knew it was just Moody closing up for the night, but latent fear lanced through him all the same and he gripped the edge of his seat. Deep breaths, Heather always told him. Breathing is the most important thing you can do to stay in control.

Control. He needed control. He thrived on control.

“Black!” Arthur’s voice was sharp and he winced. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes, Coach.” Sirius stood up.

“Then answer the question I just asked.”

Frantically, Sirius wracked his brain. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—nothing. He couldn’t think of anything. The alarm bells started to blare as Arthur walked to his stall, still holding onto his clipboard. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

He tapped the front of Sirius’ jersey. “Do you know why you have that badge?”

“Because—”

“Because you’re supposed to be a role model for this team. You hold them together and you lead well. I’ve seen you do it a million times.”

Finn raised his head. “Coach, this isn’t just on Cap—”

“Save it, O’Hara.” Arthur looked straight at Sirius; his eyes flickered from familiar blue to cold, furious silver faster than Sirius could register. He held his breath and prayed the hit would be light. “You disappointed me tonight, Sirius.”

There it was—the kill stroke. “I’m sorry,” he croaked around the knot in his throat. White-hot adrenaline began dripping into his veins and his breaths grew shallower. Hide it. Hide that weakness. It’s worse if you don’t. In his periphery, he saw Remus straighten up in concern.

“I don’t need your apologies.” Another door slammed. Sirius’ hands started to shake. He could smell the sickly-sweet perfume his mother loved. “I need you to step up and do your job.”

“I’m s—” Sirius bit his lip and choked the words down. Apologies never helped. He braced himself. Something crashed down the hallway and a jumble of voices echoed off the walls like wailing ghosts. The red and gold of the locker room became dark around the edges as his vision tunneled.

“You’re still not listening.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ, no wonder everyone was off! I don’t talk just to hear the sound of my own voice, guys!”

“Coach, could you lower your voice a bit?” Pascal asked in an even tone, though Sirius felt his eyes on him. He kept his chin high.

“Pascal—” Arthur snapped his mouth shut and threw his clipboard down with a BANG that rattled all the way to Sirius’ core. He flinched back hard.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said under his breath, wincing as his voice cracked. He shouldered past Arthur, feeling his chest tighten painfully on the way out.

Public bathrooms were the worst place to have a breakdown, but at least it was dark, empty, and cool enough to quell the raging heat in his head. He crumpled in the joint between a stall door and its wall, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Come on, deep breaths,” he whispered to himself as salt tinged his lips. “Deep breaths, you can do this.”

If he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough, he could pretend that the trembling fingers combing through his hair were Remus’. That the weight against his side was Dumo, pulling him in for a hug.

“He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it.” Again and again, until his voice finally gave out into shuddering breaths.

The door creaked as it opened and Sirius held his breath, curling into a tighter ball. The lights did not turn on as soft footsteps padded on the tiles. “Sirius? Are you in here?”

His chest hitched and he leaned his head against the metal.

There was a gentle sigh and the footsteps stopped; two feet appeared in the gap. “Can you open the door, love?”

Sirius shook his head, not trusting his voice. A few seconds of silence passed.

“Alright.” Something rustled and the person sat crosslegged in front of the locked door. “What level are you at?”

“Six?” Sirius managed as more tears trickled down his cheeks.

Remus made a quiet noise of sympathy, then laid his hand palm-up on the floor. Sirius hesitated for a moment before lacing their fingers together—the comfort was instantaneous. He let out a wavering exhale as Remus covered his shaking hand with both of his own, tracing his knuckles and fingers with steady lines. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You know what happened.”

“This seems pretty severe for some yelling.”

Sirius cracked a rueful smile in the darkness. “You know me too well.”

“I know you well enough to worry.”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve. God, he’d kill a man for a shower. “People were slamming doors and somebody knocked a cart over. He’s—he’s so disappointed in me, Re.”

“He’s upset with all of us,” Remus said firmly. “Every game, no matter how shitty, is a team effort. It wasn’t fair of him to yell at you.”

“I’m the captain.”

“You’re a player. Players share blame. Arthur knows that, and he shouldn’t have gone after you like that.”

I’d rather it be me than you, Sirius didn’t say. “How’d you find me?”

He felt Remus shrug and saw his sweatshirt shift. “It’s where I would go. How are you feeling now?”

Sirius closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He was still a little dizzy and more than a bit exhausted, but the alarms in his head had quieted and he could make out actual shapes in the shadows instead of just blurs. “Maybe a three? Two and a half?”

“Can you unlock the door?” He leaned up with his free hand, never letting go of Remus; the stall door opened with a creak and he shifted to lean against his shoulder, snuggling into the soft warmth. “Hey, baby.”

“I hate that this still happens.”

“You’re working on it, though.” Remus pressed his lips to Sirius’ forehead and a little part of him unraveled into a puddle of affection. “That’s progress.”

He sniffled again and tucked his arms against Remus’ chest, toying with the drawstring of his hoodie. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Remus said without hesitation, pulling him closer. The extra muscle he had put on made Sirius feel so safe, like he was in a cocoon of cuddly bliss. Nothing could touch him there. “Whenever you’re ready, Coach wanted to apologize. We can stay here as long as you want, though.”

“In a minute,” Sirius sighed, breathing in the familiar smell. “Let’s just stay here for a bit.”

[syndianites]

A Queen Serves and Protects

Chapter One

Current --> Next Chapter!

Summary: Post-Style Queen, Pre-Queen Wasp.

Chloe finds the Bee Miraculous, but instead of finding an obliging, subservient Kwami, she finds the Kwami of Order and Subjugation, and Pollen is not about to let herself be used like Nooroo was.

Granted, the only danger in a teenage girl is the damage she poses to herself. Can Pollen shape Chloe into a hero? Or will she stubbornly refuse to change and remain the bitter, harsh person the city has long since known?

[My take on how Chloe's character could have developed]

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The tap tap tap of nails on a desk was all Chloe could think about as she blankly stared at the board in front of her. This all was tiring. Notes were tiring. School was tiring. English was tiring. How could someone be expected to sit still and pay attention to something so boring for hours on end?

Movement in her purse reminded her that it was what good students do. Sit and pay attention. Do their own work. Put in their own effort.

Chloe grit her teeth.

Well it was too hard! Being a better person shouldn’t mean taking notes and being studious in class! It should mean saving people from getting hit by a car, or stopping people from kicking puppies, or having people look to her for inspiration! Not this boring shit.

Surreptitiously, she took a deep breath.

It was all going to be worth it, she reminded herself. If she had to sit still and be a good student and do all her work herself, it would be nothing compared to being a superheroine.

But as she grew more restless, her mind wandered towards what got her into this situation in the first place....

///////

One might have called it a stroke of luck to find a magical item on the sidewalk. Of course, after a day as shitty as that, anything positive would be considered lucky.  Such was not the case for Chloe.

She didn’t know what it was at first and had almost passed it by when she second guessed herself. It looked old, but well cared for. Most of all, the box looked priceless and a quick peek into the box showed a luxurious comb.

Her mom had walked away with a dismissive ‘Come along, Cassandra,’ which had her shutting the box and hurrying to not be left behind.

A limo ride later and she found herself back in her room, ignored by her mother and forgotten by her father as he fussed over Audrey. Typical. But sure, her mom furiously turns her dearest Adrien into a gold statue, then does the same to Chloe when she tries to help him!

Chloe pursed her lips. It’s not like Audrey would have remembered how close she was to Adrien after being away for so long. If she had, surely she would have spared poor Adrikins? Her hands tightened into fists.

Except, she was still holding something. 

The box with the comb. It had slipped her mind as she’d arrived home. Barely made a dent against the sickening feeling that curled up in her stomach as her mother hemmed and hawed, not sparing even a glance at her daughter she’d betrayed.

Which was fine. She’d been akumatized. Surely the stress and aftermath of being taken into Hawkmoth’s fold would cause her to forget about her beloved daughter. Later, when Audrey had properly taken her wrath out onto the proper people, she would come up and fuss over Chloe and ensure she was alright.

Or she’d send her daddy to do it. 

Returning her attention back to the box, she lifted the lid once more. It was a lovely shade of golden yellow, with black detailing. Upon closer look, taking in the fine detail of what seemed to be insect wings, Chloe realized that she was looking at a beautifully crafted bee comb.

She ran a delicate finger on the edge of the comb only to be met with blinding light. Cringing away, she brought her hand up to shield her eyes. When the light dissipated, she glanced up.

The box and comb clattered to the floor.

A bee was floating in front of her.

A bee with a big head, and big eyes, and arms, and a big stinger, and Oh. My. God.

She screamed.

///////

Eyes flicked towards the window to catch the dying rays of dusk. A trembling hand brought a delicate porcelain mug up to a man’s face. He finished off the now lukewarm tea and let it sit for a moment. 

Peering into the remains, he observed the major remnants of the tea leaves. Lazy, wavy lines dominated the cup, with a scattering of imperfect triangles. Finally, a grouping of mountains to one side.

Master Fu hummed in thought.

“What do you think of the fate of the Bee, Master?” Wayzz spoke up from where he sipped his own drink. 

Turning back to the nearly navy darkness of the sky, Fu replied, “We will have to see, my friend. Only time will tell us now.”

///////

“Please calm down My Queen. Surely Ladybug informed you of what you needed to know?” Pollen reassured quickly. Except, the small being felt something was off. She was floating safely in an apartment with a girl she’d never seen before, no akuma in sight or mind. Her Chosen was clearly surprised to see her.

And there was no Ladybug in sight.

Still, she kept a smile on her face.

“What are you! What do you mean Ladybug told me what I need to know? Wait,” Chloe broke off with a gasp, “Are you how Ladybug gets her powers?”

Ah, a red flag. 

Pollen was plenty aware that Ladybug had chosen her to assist in an akuma fight. If she had not been delivered by Ladybug then something must be amiss. For now, she would watch her words carefully.

“No, My Queen. But I am an ally of Ladybug,” Pollen continued. “I am here to help grant another the power to assist Ladybug and Chat Noir in their quest to defeat akumas and stop Hawkmoth.”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Does this mean I get to be a superheroine? I knew it! I knew Ladybug would see she needed my help!”

Pollen stopped her there, “On the contrary, My Queen. With Ladybug absent it is my duty to uphold order and ensure you are a good fit to be bestowed my power. Since there is no immediate threat, I see fit to judge your character as you go about your day.”

“What!” The girl griped at her, “Clearly Ladybug knew what she was doing. If you can make me become a superhero I demand you do it!.”

There was a harsh pull in her gut and Pollen fought to bite her words back. She knew she had to obey her holder, but she also knew enough to pull through some loopholes. Poor Nooroo has been stuck in a terrible enslavement for far too long for the rest of the kwami to not prepare for such an occasion.

“You must be a good person to be a superhero, first.” The pull in her gut lessened, but remained. “If you can prove to me you are worthy of holding my power, I will make you a superhero.”

Pollen received a scoff in reply. “I am a good person! Just ask anyone at all. My daddykins always tells me I’m doing good, so why wouldn’t I be?”

The pull began to intensify again. Worry started to drum through her. If Pollen couldn’t convince this person to let her check her history first, she wouldn’t have time to find and return to Ladybug- or, at least, inform Ladybug who possessed her Miraculous.

A low, angry buzz started in her chest. A Queen never let her hive be hurt by her own actions. If she did not stop this girl now, she could harm the rest of her kind, as well as Ladybug and Chat Noir.

And, well, who was she to let that happen.

She faked a sigh, “Yes, of course My Queen. Now listen closely.” Pollen risked floating closer to the girl, who leaned in in response. For a moment, she felt bad. The girl seemed earnest enough, if conceited and arrogant. A good Queen would have these traits in modesty, just enough to benefit and little enough to avoid harm. Then the pull in her gut worsened and she chose to make her move. 

With a sweet smile, Pollen leaned forward slowly. Then she turned in a swift movement and struck the poor girl in the junction between her left arm and shoulder. The girl let out a choked screech before her body came to a full stop, paralyzed. 

Floating back so that she could be seen in full view, Pollen gave a more genuine smile. “That, my Queen, is one of my powers. Immobilization. Now,” she paused, watching the girl’s eye twitch for a split second. “You will listen to me. My first loyalty is to Ladybug. If you are not fit to be her ally, I will not allow you to use my Miraculous. From what I can tell, you stumbled upon my Miraculous by chance.”

A quiet part of her whispered that Master Fu could have had a hand in this, but she dismissed it.

“Ladybug chose me to help her with the latest akuma, and they are gone. However, I am willing to give you a chance. While I serve both my Master and Ladybug, I am my own being. If you can prove you are good enough to help Ladybug and Chat Noir, I will grant you my power to help them. If not, I will reclaim my Miraculous and return to Ladybug, telling her that you are not fit to wield any such Miraculous.”

Pollen clasped her hands behind her back and puffed up her chest, portraying an image of regality in such a small body. “So I will offer you a deal. You will not ask me to make you into a hero. You will not order me to do anything. Most importantly, you will not reveal me or my Miraculous to anyone other than Ladybug or Chat Noir, or my Master. In return, I will spend time with you to decide whether you are fit to be my holder- and if you are, I will see to it that you are trained and informed as much as I can do for you before you go into the fight with Ladybug and Chat Noir. If at any point you break this deal I will immediately take my Miraculous back and you will never be allowed to see it again.”

She lowered her eyes to look down upon the still frozen girl. “Do you accept the terms of the deal?”

The girl, for her part, didn’t move. Rather, her anger and impetulant thoughts swirled in her head. While Pollen was no Kwami of Emotion or Mind, she could feel her inner chaos. As the girl realized that she would not be set free unless she made the deal, her fire wore down.

Pollen broke out into a smile. She floated forward, ready to let her free of her grasp. This was a risk. If she didn’t accept the deal, this girl could turn the tides on her in an instant. If the girl realized she could command her to do whatever she wanted, it would be over. Just under her display of confidence, fear swam in her stomach.

But she was nothing if not determined. With a tap to the young lady’s face, she was unfrozen.

For a moment, the girl fumbled over her words,” I- you- how did you- how dare you!”

When Pollen pointedly swept down to pick up her Miraculous and floated back, the girl stopped.

In her head, her mind ran on the idea of being a hero. Being beside Ladybug. Being loved by all of Paris. Being good enough for her Mother to remember her name. This was her chance! Her chance to change everything! To prove herself! If she just said yes and passed the stupid little test, she would get to be a hero.

Besides, she could bend and break the deal if she needed to.

Brushing down her capris, the girl stood up straight. With all the dignity she learned from being the child of the mayor, she calmly spoke, “I accept your deal.”

Pollen fought down a crushing smile. Instead, she reached a paw forward to shake on it. The girl, to her credit, only eyed her a moment before giving a finger to shake.

“Excellent. My name is Pollen. For the next twenty-four hours I will be watching you go about your life as normal to determine if you are deserving of my power.”

“Well, Pollen, I am Chloe Bourgeois, Ladybug’s closest ally, I can assure you that you will find nothing but good things about me!”

////////

Above the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, a sleep-deprived girl sat up hastily working through homework as the night ticked on. Perhaps from the late hour, or her finally caving under all the stress of her life, she felt like laughing. Giggles escaped her to the alarm of a sleepy Tikki beside her.

“Marianette, are you okay?” The kwami asked in concern.

“Yeah,” Marianette stifled a laugh. “I just suddenly had the thought that something super funny happened.”

Tikki shook her head disapprovingly. “You need to sleep. Staying up this late is not good for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she sighed, “It has been way too long a day after losing the Bee miraculous.”

Tikki patted her shoulder in sympathy as Marianette got up and began her bed routine.

A long day indeed.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

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Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years. 

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”  

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

           You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

           A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

--

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.  

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

-

-

-

-

taglist:  @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck​ @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​ @lovesicksofi​ @idgafayiowf​ @shadyladyperfection​ @mercy-burning​ @sapphic-prentiss​ @itsmytimetoodream​  @m0rce1ddd​ @bauhousewife​ @whxt-to-write​ @spencerwaltergubler​  @enchantedcruelsummer​ @no-honey-no​ @inkstainedwritergirl​ @tnoh13​ @xxconfettiitsaparade​ @calm-and-doctor​ @muffin-cup​ @fortheloveofcriminalminds​ @arcticrory​ @holl2712​@themanwiththreephds @blameitonthenight21​ @stellabelle​ @me-a-hopeless-romantic​ @musicxlover97 @anightflower​ @andiebeaword​ @annesauriol​ @haylaansmi​ 

[manyfictionsmusings]

Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently.  “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

[hockeyboysiguess]

four calling bird -> four broken sticks | a. matthews

a/n: it’s me, again, hoping you aren’t yet sick of christmas fics from me. if you aren’t, here’s a link to the rest of this 12 days of christmas series!

word count: 4,161

warnings: two curse words and some angst. 

“How many broken sticks is that today, Matts?”

Auston didn’t know the answer and he didn’t care about the answer either. He just cared that his stick was broken and he couldn’t practice his slapshot with a broken stick. And he needed to take a slapshot right now, and another one, and another one. He needed to send a puck through the netting, through the glass behind it, and bury it deep in the wall behind that. Maybe his feelings for you would get buried with it if he could just hit the puck hard enough.

“I think he’s at two,” Willy supplied as Auston grabbed a fresh stick from the rack that unfortunately wasn’t pre-taped. He’d broken all of those already. 

“You missed one,” Mitch corrected. “That’s the third one he’s broken.”

Auston started a fresh roll of tape, starting with the heel of his new stick like always.

“I’m right here,” Auston reminded his teammates who were talking about him like suddenly he was invisible as he taped his stick lazily. One of his worst tape jobs in awhile, but he didn’t really care. “I’m not breaking any more. Just in case you were wondering.” 

That promise worked for another twenty minutes. Until Mitch dared to ask the question everyone had been avoiding. 

“So, did you tell your mom you broke up and that she’s not coming with you for Christmas yet? If not, you kind of need to tell her. You can’t just show up without her.”

And there came the fourth broken stick as the final whistle of practice came, with Auston thinking about the inevitable phone call with his mother and really having to say it out loud that he lost you after everyone told him ad nauseum not to lose you because you were so much better than him. You were so much better than him and Auston couldn’t pretend he was even half of the person you were. He couldn’t even think about watching you shove your things in a box as you raced out of his place, or the drawer that your things had inhabited now sitting empty, or the fact that his mom loved you and he hadn’t told her you weren’t coming to Arizona. He really couldn’t think about losing you a week before Christmas, the time of the year that was supposed to be magical and pure and good and joyful. Instead, Auston was pretty sure he hated Christmas now. 

Auston knew for a fact he hated Christmas as he pressed his mom’s contact on his phone while climbing into his car. He loved his mother and loved talking to her. He loved that he was going to get to go home for a few days and spend the holidays with her. But you were supposed to be there too and telling his mom was the last barrier that made the breakup real. A large part of Auston still thought he’d open his eyes in the morning and your hair would be in his face and your bobby pins would be all over his bathroom counter and your clothes would be haphazardly stuffed in your drawer and overflowing into two of his that technically weren’t yours but might as well have been. 

But then his mom answered the phone and he knew that wasn’t going to happen. This wasn’t a nightmare. Well, it might still have been a nightmare before Christmas, but it wasn’t all in his head like he desperately hoped it was. 

“Hi, mijo!” She greeted him with a warmth that always made him feel like he was back in Arizona, but today it also made Auston feel sick to his stomach because he was about to break her heart, never mind the fact that his was already broken too. “How are you? How was practice? We’re all so excited to see you both tomorrow!”

Auston let out a long breath, the kind that let his mom know there was something heavy and unspoken that was going to disrupt the Christmas cheer she’d been building since the Leafs schedule came out and she realized Auston was actually going to be able to make it home for Christmas this year. 

“Actually, um, about tomorrow…”

He trailed off, mostly because his bottom lip started to shake and his eyes started to get cloudy, but also because he wasn’t sure exactly how to admit that the girl his mom adored, who she fully and honestly wanted him to marry, wasn’t coming with him for Christmas this year or next year or any of the years after that. She was gone. He lost her and it was all his fault.

“Mijo, what’s wrong?” 

Auston bit his lower lip hard, hoping that would stop the shake and make his eyes gloss over from a pain that wasn’t in his chest. The words were so timid coming out of his mouth, syllables broken, shattered as they left his lips, “She broke up with me, ma. She’s not coming for Christmas.” 

Ema Matthews didn’t mean to; she wanted to be supportive of her son, but what came out was, “What did you do, mijo?” even though she should’ve just asked him what happened.

“I guess I just didn’t love her enough to overcome how shitty it is to date me,” Auston mumbled, replaying the night over in his head as he spoke. “Sorry for swearing, mama.” 

Auston remembered your sweater from a few nights ago when you showed up at his place, your snowflake one, subtle office appropriate Christmas, is what you’d called it in the moment. Auston had laughed, until he saw an empty box in your hands. He was confused when you set it down on the counter and didn’t take your shoes off. You didn’t bend down to pet Felix like you always did. Your shoes got kicked off haphazardly by his front door and then you pet Felix and then you came over and gave him a kiss. It was your routine when you came over, but this time your shoes stayed on, you barely acknowledged Felix, and there was an empty box sat on a counter in place of kissing him. 

“Auston,” you had sighed and he knew the second he heard the way you said his name that you were breaking up with him. He had been so scared of ever hearing it that he’d imagined every single way it would sound if you were going to do it. Finding you, and you somehow being willing to date him, had been the biggest blessing Auston had ever received. He had always thought that some day you would wake up and realize you could do so much better than him, so he’d imagined what it would sound like when he couldn’t sleep at night on the road without you. He thought if he familiarized himself with every possible permutation of it that when it eventually happened, he wouldn’t cry in front of you, that maybe he wouldn’t beg for you to stay even though you shouldn’t want people who don’t want you. 

It didn’t work. The way you said his name made him cry.

“Please,” Auston had said softly. “Please don’t do this now. Please. It’s Christmas. I know that stupid, but please don’t break up with me at Christmas.” 

You had hung your head and sighed again, “I’m sorry, Aus. I just, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve tried. I’ve tried for so long to just tune it out, just focus on you and us but lately everything has been just so loud that I can barely hear myself think. My friends and family are getting harassed. It’s not just me anymore. It’s too loud. It’s too much. And I don’t want to spend Christmas with your family knowing I just want to end it. That’s not fair to you or your mom or anyone.” 

“How is showing up at my place with a box to dump me for stuff I can’t control without even having a discussion fair either?” 

Auston had tried to fight back. He had tried to have a conversation, to communicate, something he had been absolutely awful at when you started dating. You had been so patient, so kind, and so steadfast with him as he figured out how to be a partner, how to meet you halfway. Here you were, after he worked so hard on himself because he thought if he worked hard enough maybe he could be worth a small part of you, acting like it wasn’t enough, that everything he couldn’t control mattered more than him. Unfortunately, sometimes, people can try as hard as they can, with all of their might, and still lose. He was so good to you, so good with you, but in the effort of fixing himself, of learning to be a better partner with as much of his energy as he had to give, he’d slipped a little in one area. Auston didn’t protect you enough from the noise and you were damaged because of his lack of ability to shield you from the press, from the fans, from every hungry person who fed on other people’s drama and suffering, from people who didn’t want you and Auston to be happy. Auston lost because he didn’t have more to give than he was already giving you. He lost you because what he had to give just wasn’t enough like a rejected Christmas present, rejected not because the gift inside wasn’t beautiful, but because it came with a toxic addition that Auston had tried not to wrap up with him, but failed. 

Driving down the street, all the Christmas decorations seemed to be mocking him. This was supposed to be his best one in a long time, getting to be back in Arizona with his family, plus getting to spend it with you. If Auston had drawn up his perfect Christmas at the start of the year, what he had planned was what he would’ve drawn up. But even the best laid plans, even the most carefully selected gifts, didn’t always pan out. 

“I’m sorry, mijo,” his mother told him softly, any earlier traces of disappointment over losing you from the family gone. She’d have to work through that herself later. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Auston felt like he was supposed to want to talk about it, about what it felt like to lose you and what he was feeling like now that he was being forced to become settled in it even though that was the last thing he wanted. Auston didn’t want to talk about the breakup though because he just tried so hard with you and he came up short anyway. Talking about shortcomings that couldn’t be fixed, because he could never fully shelter you from the noise of everyone else, wasn’t healthy. He could do everything in his power, use all of his energy, to protect you from it all, put zero effort into your actual relationship, and he still couldn’t do it. Talking about something Auston would always fail at and how it had cost him you wasn’t something he was all that interested in with the wreaths on the light posts and the Christmas carols on the radio station that you had insisted he play in his car mocking him. 

“Not really, ma,” Auston admitted softly. “Kind of just need to be alone tonight.” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” she mumbled as assuringly as she could. “Do whatever you need to do.” 

What Auston needed to do to feel better was drive over to your place and beg for another chance, a chance to do it better. He couldn’t even fully protect you, but maybe he could find more to give somewhere in him and do it better, while not being a worse boyfriend for it all. Except Auston knew you didn’t want him to try. You hadn’t asked for him to try. You had just broken up with him, just like that. Now, he was spending Christmas where the only gift he had received so far was his own heart shattered, given to him in an unwrapped box. 

“Yeah, I think I just need some time,” Auston sighed, running a hand through his hair before returning it to the steering wheel. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“If you change your mind and want to talk, you know you can call anytime,” Ema tried to assure her son softly. 

Auston just hummed softly in agreement, before telling his mother Merry Christmas and that he'd see her tomorrow. He tossed his phone careless into the cup holder, one of the side buttons hitting the side of the cup holder and greeting him with a picture of you kissing his cheek, arms wrapped around him, love obvious in your closeness. He hadn’t been able to change it yet, but your face squished against his cheek in that photo made his eyes tear up whenever he saw it. Luckily, the only lucky part of the last few days, he just pulled into his garage, so he could let the tears roll down his cheeks without worrying about not being able to see the road. Like every night since you’d left, Auston slept on the couch that night, the Christmas tree you had insisted on getting, mocking him in the corner. His sheets smelled too much like you to sleep in that bed, so he picked the mocking Christmas tree instead. 

Auston was on autopilot as he grabbed his bag, the one he’d left space in for your extra things that you wanted to pack that lived at his place. He didn’t fill the space he’d left for you because it was still your space. Like yesterday, the Christmas decorations and the Christmas music and the fake gingerbread smell coming from every shop in the airport mocked him as he waited for his flight. He just wanted to be home where he thought being around his family would feel enough like Christmas that he’d feel at least marginally better. He felt better when his mother wrapped her arms around him as he stepped off the plane, and when the warm Arizona sun hit his skin on the wall to the car. But it was all as temporary and out of place as the snowy decorations littering his parents’ home. Snow didn’t fall in Arizona and he didn’t have you anymore. 

His mom tried. His dad tried. His sisters tried. They all tried to cheer him up, shoving an ugly sweater over his head and a Santa hat on top of it. But he couldn’t engage in it. His mind was on you, on how you were supposed to be here, how he wanted to ask you to move in as part of your Christmas gift. He had a key made for you. He was so ready for you, for you and him for as long as he could see into the future, and now he just hated your favorite holiday. His bed felt too big that night, but at least the sheets in Arizona didn’t smell like you even though the space next to him was clearly meant for you. 

Auston woke up the next morning feeling hungover even though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. He rubbed his eyes slowly and reached out to the space you were supposed to occupy, finding nothing but cold sheets and an emptiness that felt so much more vast than half of a king size bed. His phone reminded him that it was December twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve, but it had never felt less like Christmas for Auston. Christmas was supposed to be sickeningly sweet, like all the candy his mother would stuff in his stocking later tonight. It was supposed to be happy, and maybe that was the worst part of it all, that Auston felt like he was supposed to be happy but just couldn’t be. Hhe lost you and he felt like he was letting everyone down by not being happy, by not being filled with Christmas cheer that was just making him feel so sick he couldn’t even eat his reindeer shaped pancakes his mother made, like she did every Christmas Eve morning. 

“You want to help me with the cookies?” his older sister asked him, trying to will Auston away from where he’d settled on the couch after being unable to eat his breakfast.

“I’m fine,” he replied with his eyes still trained on his phone. 

He was flipping through photos of you, something he knew would only hurt worse, but he couldn’t stop. He was trying to find out when something had changed, when you stopped looking at him with all the love in the world, the look that people had made fun of you for ever having about him of all people. Now that Auston was looking back on it, maybe they were right to do so. Maybe he was inevitably going to ruin what he had with you and everyone else had seen it from the start, noticed the inevitable unmarked intersection where you would crash into each other. When you crashed last week, it seemed only Auston walked away with any damage, shattered like an ornament that fell from the top of the tree, only to have the fragments of him carelessly tossed in the trash, no attempt made to repair him. 

Auston didn’t leave the couch except to move to the outdoor couch at his mother’s insistence and then back to the indoor one after the sun had set, time passing as it always did but affecting him less. He felt the same from moment to moment, an out of tune, incongruent symphony of thoughts of you, good, bad, and all the gray area in between, like the poor excuse for a symphony the carolers probably behind the knock on his front door would make that interrupted his private thoughts. His family was in the kitchen and he was closest to the front door. He didn’t want to answer and be faced with the prospect of ruining the Christmas spirit for a van-load of local children, but he didn’t have much of a choice when his mom called out for him to answer the door. 

Auston didn’t bother to look out to see who it was, choosing instead to get the shooting of children’s Christmas caroling dreams out of the way as quickly as possible. 

“Hey, guys, I appreciate you coming by, but we’re not really-”

Auston’s words caught on the tip of his tongue when he fully opened the door to see not the group of Christmas carolers he thought he would, but to see you standing there. You had nothing but a broken smile and a small duffle bag, the kind of small that indicated you didn’t know if you were about to be getting right back on a plane or if you were going to be allowed to come in. It was a kind of honest small, one that didn’t want to hope for the best, just expected the worst. You were wearing a Christmas sweater, one of your ugly ones. It was too warm for Arizona, sweat on your temples and the sleeves pushed up to your elbows as evidence of this, but Auston knew you wouldn’t take it off. He knew so much about you. He knew your favorite color, he knew that you always slept at an angle in the bed with the comforter bunched in your arms, he knew you loved Christmas with a passion that rivaled Santa Claus himself, he knew why you had broken up with him, but he didn’t know why you were here. 

“Hi,” was all you offered and it didn’t serve as an explanation. 

“What are you doing here?” Auston managed to put together the question from all the others crashing together in his mind, questions and statements and incoherent thoughts clashing and making it hard to come up with anything specific to say. “What? How? Why?”

You ran a hand through your hair and let out a long breath, before taking your bottom lip nervously between your teeth. You had a thousand reasons, really more than that as to why you’d bought a ridiculously expensive one-way ticket from Toronto to Arizona on Christmas Eve, why you’d squished yourself between a grandmother with a purse of overflowing powdery mints and a crying infant to show up at his door. None of your reasons were clear now though, all of them jumbling together, tangling up into an indistinguishable mess in your mind that only led to one statement that you weren’t sure if it even properly captured everything you needed to say to him. 

“I never want to spend Christmas without you, Auston.” 

There was so much unsaid, so many things Auston had been feeling since you walked out with a box of your things, leaving him with nothing of you but his memories, the photos on his phone, the gifts he’d picked out for you but never got to give you, and a dread of the holiday he had come to love with you. There was so much those nine words didn’t cover, so much hurt and agony underneath them. But fuck if they weren’t the prettiest bandage Auston had ever seen in his life. 

“I never want to spend Christmas with you either,” Auston breathed out, words spoken with relief so real and honest you felt like you could touch it.

You adjusted the duffle bag in your hand, shifting it from your left to your right as you looked at Auston. He looked horrible, dark circles under his eyes, a hollowness in his cheeks, but his eyes were so hopeful looking at you now, bright and deep, exactly like he looked the day you fell into him for the first time and decided to stay. His eyes were like Christmas morning, a beautiful promise breaking through the heaviness of a December that carried pain it wasn’t supposed to understand. You took a deep breath and hoped nine words, hope, and a little Christmas miracle were on your side. 

“Baby, can I come home for Christmas?” 

Auston didn’t hesitate. He knew his answer through and through, “Only if you stay for every Christmas forever.” 

You felt the tears sting your eyes as you stepped toward him, head nodding up and down as you accepted his terms. You thought you could handle being without him if it meant all of the negativity you felt from other people was no longer a factor. Except you couldn’t have been more wrong. People were still mean. The world still had a lot of darkness in it. All you had done by leaving him was create more darkness for yourself when his love and the light it brought left with him. Crawling back into his arms, feeling the familiar warmth of his chest, you felt his love wrap around you tightly, and your world became just a little brighter again. 

“I love you and I’m so sorry,” you mumbled into his ugly sweater covered chest. 

“Shh,” he mumbled softly into your hair. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re home for Chrismtas.”

You squeezed him impossibly tighter because if you let go, he might slip through your fingers like smoke, a figment of your imagination evaporating in front of you. You clung to him and he held you just as firmly, fearing the same thing, fearing his Christmas miracle would cease to be real if he wasn’t holding you. Hell, you weren’t a Christmas miracle. You were the best thing he had ever gotten in his entire life, the best gift the universe ever gave him. This year for Christmas, Auston Matthews lost you and got you back. While he could’ve done without the losing you part, he had you back. You were right here, in his arms, where you belonged and Auston Matthews wouldn’t be spending Christmas without you. He never had to spend another Christmas without you, the real Christmas miracle, the fact that his Christmases would forever include you now. 

You were home for Christmas. You were home for forever. Home was Auston and Christmas just isn’t Christmas with thousands of miles between you and your heart. But you were holding him now and you knew that waking up in his arms on Christmas morning was the only way you ever wanted to wake up for every Christmas in the future, starting with the one coming in a few short hours that you knew would make you crave the next one as soon as it finished. 

You loved him. He loved you. Love was inherently complicated, the joining of two people. Christmas uncomplicated it all, boiled everything down to the most simple thing possible; Auston Matthews was your person, and you wanted to share every Christmas with him. So, you walked into the house and started with this one.

[sweetpeasgirl]

Treat You Better | Sweet Pea

Description: Based on the song “Treat You Better” by Shawn Mendes, Jughead and Y/n’s relationship is at it’s bittersweet end and Sweet Pea, her best friend, is there to defend her

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Female!Reader

Warnings: Kinda angsty but not really

Tags: Angst, FLUFF

The White Wrym is not where you thought you would spend your Saturday night but Jughead had said that he needed to take care of a few things and you didn't want to be blown off again. You understand that he's busy, you really do. He's the son of the former Serpent leader; of course he's going to have a lot more on his plate. You just didn't think he'd push you off of it- the plate.

Sweet Pea had warned you about that. It was the latest topic of argument between you. For best friends, the two of you fight a lot. You know he's just trying to look out for you, that's been his role since the two of you were kids. He's in the grade above you, and was originally your older brother's friend, but they fell out a couple years ago. He never left you though.

He's always been the one watching your back. At first he just kept you out of harm's way, whether that be from grade school bullies or the men who lurk in alleyways when you're trying to walk home. Now, though, he has to watch out for boys who say they care about you but don't. He has to watch out for heartbreak.

That's where Jughead comes in. Sweet Pea is just being his overprotective self, like usual. Sure, you've had your fair share of walking out into the busy street with your head down, and he's had to pull you back quite a few times, but this is different. He can't save a heart that's supposed to break. Jughead does care about you, or at least he did when you first got together last year. Some things, however, just aren't meant to last forever.

Forever is a long time and time has a funny way of changing things.

"Juggie, it's your turn," your voice is quiet as you hand him the wooden pool cue, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

It's cold in the bar and you had been alerted so suddenly that date night was getting moved here that you didn't have time to grab a sweater. You can feel the stares burning into uncovered shoulders. It puts you on edge as Jughead accepts the cue from your shaky hands and takes his shot absentmindedly. Something's going on in his head, you can tell by the way he furrows his eyebrows and watches the people around him.

You, meanwhile, are trying hard not to look anywhere but the green felt of the pool table. There's commotion all around you. Shouts can be heard from the bar and the sound of smashing bottles that accompanies them. There's laughter coming from somewhere else but it doesn't sound friendly. Whatever it's about is cruel; it’s something that should not be made a joke of.

You're definitely way out of your comfort zone. Hell, you're way out of your un-comfort zone. You're just plain scared and, with the lack of conversation that Jughead is providing, the regret is bubbling quick in your chest. You almost wish he would just break up with you so you can cry and move on already.

"Jughead," a loud voice breaks the awkward silence around the crowded pool table, "there you are boy. We can finally discuss what you wanted to talk about now."

A tall, middle aged man with light brown hair and a weeks worth of beard growth pats your boyfriend on the back. Jughead shoots you an apologetic look as he passes the pool cue back to you once more. Your blood runs cold as he starts to walk in the opposite direction with the newcomer. He's seriously leaving you alone, in a room full of people who honestly aren't the safest characters, on what was supposed to be your night. Something happened to the boy you first knew and this just settled what you already thought. It’s over.

Your eyes blur with unshed tears at the hurt and fear circulating through your veins. He disappears from sight and the dark atmosphere gets hazier as you grip the side of the table to keep yourself steady. You can once again feel the stares burning into your back. It's like they were waiting for you to be left unattended. When you're with Jughead, the heir of the Serpent crown, you can't be touched. When you're with Sweet Pea, their deadly warrior, you can't be touched. When it's just you, though, anything goes.

You don't know what to do. It's only a matter of time before someone approaches you and when that happens you'll be in a situation that you probably won't be able to get yourself out of. That's the one thing your mother always told not to do; never put yourself into a situation that you can't get out of. Sweet Pea would not be happy.

"Y/n, what the hell are you doing here?"

Case in point. You jump at the sound of his voice but spin around instantly and bury yourself into his chest nonetheless. The tears fall down your face before you can stop them but you really couldn't care less. The smell of leather and pine surrounds you and warmth finally fills your body. Apparently you're colder than you had originally thought.

The relief that fills you is unmeasurable and you cling to Sweet Pea tightly, "It was supposed to be our night but-” you hiccup, tugging on his jacket- “I didn't want to miss another date night-” another hiccup- “I didn't want to-” you rub your forehead against his chest, your voice now just a whisper- “he left."

Your thoughts come out scrambled and between ugly sobs but it's enough for Sweet Pea to gather the overall picture of what happened. After all, he has been doing this for a while. He tightens his arms around you, the anger radiating off his uncovered skin in heated waves.

"He left you? Here?" Sweet Pea is seething when he pulls back.

He lifts you to sit on the edge of the pool table, the game laying discarded behind you. The visual reminder only makes the tears come faster and the warmth leave your bones again. You start shivering but this time you can't steel yourself enough to stop, the realization dawning before you can lie to yourself again. You and Jughead are done. You have been for a long time now and everyone else saw it before you did.

"Pea, we're over," you can't raise your voice above a harsh whisper, covering your raw face with your hands to suffocate the onslaught of cries you can feel bubbling to the surface, "we're over now. You were right."

You close your eyes to avoid staring into Sweet Pea's murderous chocolate ones. All you feel now is the ice circling your veins.

"Baby, hey," a large jacket that smells too much like Sweet Pea to not belong to him is draped over your shoulders, "it's okay. We'll go home."

The anger seeps out of his voice and you peer up to see the concerned face of your best friend once more. He's looking at you in the same way he was the time fell out of Jughead's tree house. You had blacked out from the fall and woke up in the hospital with a broken leg. He was so scared that he didn't leave your side for a minute. But it's different now, you're not physically hurt, so he shouldn't look worried.

You let out a sorrowful breath and just nod your head, a deep weariness settling over your being. At least you're getting what you had wanted. A clean break.

"Y/n, can we talk?"

You hadn't noticed Jughead come back but now he stands a little behind Sweet Pea who is still in front of you. Sweet Pea instantly turns at the sound of his voice, the rage back and in full swing. You just lower your head, too tired to keep it up.

"Jones you're so lucky I'm not beating the crap out of you right now. I didn't think you were stupid enough to leave her here but I guess I was wrong! You're just lucky I happened to be here. And that she doesn't hate you." Sweet Pea spits his words at Jughead

"Look, man, can I just talk to my girlfriend?" Jughead's voice is monotone, both of you knowing he's just calling you his so that he can officially end it once and for all.

It's for the best and you both know it. His phrasing, however, doesn't go over well with Sweet Pea.

"Are you serious right now? Or is this a sick joke? You forfeit that title when you left her as free game for anyone in this place,” Sweet Pea steps towards him and you hold your breath, knowing quite well who would win the fight if one were to ensue. “You're dating the most beautiful girl in this shitty town and you treat her like she doesn't even matter! If it was me she wouldn't be crying on a damn table, she would know damn well just how much I love her!"

Your head snaps up at his words, your breath hitching in your throat. The commotion of the bar is drowned out around you and all you can see is Sweet Pea's back. He can't really love you, can he? He's just making a point, being the best friend he always has been. The logic makes sense to you but you can feel your heart breaking for the second time tonight because of it.

You place a hand on Sweet Pea's shoulder, drawing his attention back to you, "it's okay Pea, I should talk to him at least."

He doesn't look happy but he nods, helping you off the table and moving to the side to let you pass. You look at Jughead and toss him a melancholy smile. It's wrapped with bittersweet memories from all your late night's at Pop's and early mornings coming back from the drive-in. Jughead and you had some pretty good times despite your inevitable end. Maybe, just maybe, though, you can make it a peaceful end.

"Y/n I do love you," Jughead takes his beanie off and runs his hand through his already messy, raven locks, "but not like I did before. Somewhere between moving here and, well, taking on the role of my dad I let us fall apart. I'm sorry."

"It's okay Juggie. I probably wasn't putting as much effort in as I could have," he scoffs at that, a guilty smirk on his face.

You both know that you gave this relationship your all. But, standing here now with Sweet Pea's eyes searing into your back, it's pretty clear that your heart was forming attachments with another person. Which means that sooner or later you and Jughead would have fallen apart anyway. Sometimes these kinds of things are no one's fault. It's a mutual heartbreak and when it needs to happen, it needs to happen.

"You know, y/n, I don't feel too bad about losing you to him."

You furrow your brows at his comment, your voice cracking slightly when you speak, "what do you mean? He was just saying all that stuff. Pea doesn't love me."

Jughead rolls his eyes and glances quickly at Sweet Pea before walking closer to you. You can tell he doesn't want him to hear what he's about to say.

"Y/n that boy is in over his head. It's a feeling I can relate very much to but listen to me," his eyes capture yours in a serious stare, "he's going to treat you better than I ever could. He's not going to leave you in dangerous situations or bail on plans. Can't you see he'd take a bullet for you?"

Your heart races at his words and you spare a glance at Sweet Pea. He's already looking at you, the worry back in his mesmerizing eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you, pulling a smile to your lips. Maybe Jughead is right. Maybe you love Sweet Pea as more than a best friend.

Looking at him now, his tanned skin glowing under the dim lights and his dark brown hair pushed behind his ears, there's no doubt in your mind that you're attracted to him. Sweet Pea has always looked handsome in your eyes, even after a fight with purple bruises staining his face. You think back to all the times he's been there when you needed him most. That boy drops whatever he's doing when you call; no matter if you're just bored or looking for someone to nap next to he’s there next to you. You've always felt at home when you're with him. Hell, you have a drawer in his room devoted to your clothes.

Sweet Pea loves you and you're pretty damn sure that you love him too.

Turning back to Jughead, you nod your head, "I'd take one for him too."

"Good. I think I'll leave now. Thanks for everything, y/n," Jughead pulls you into one last hug before heading out the door.

You pull Sweet Pea's jacket tighter around you as you walk back towards him. He gathers you once more into his chest and you let the last of your tears fall. There will never be a time when parting isn't such sweet sorrow. It's the beginning of something new but also the end of something that you once thrived on. However, wrapped completely in Sweet Pea's scent, you've never felt like you belonged somewhere so much.

"Ready to go home baby?"

"Yeah Pea. Let's go home."