#and then helen barges in like 'get a room' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sarcasticsciencefictionwriter · 5 months ago

Note

Hii

Teslen - 💘 for the snippets thing please? :))

Hiii! Thank you!

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

I'm feeling dared to kiss for some reason, so let's go with that one. (All three would probably end up multi-chapter fic length. 😂)

The burn of alcohol warmed Helen's throat and chest as she swallowed it, swallowing a snicker along with it.

The candles cast dancing shadows along the walls and ceiling, lending an atmosphere to their game as they sat in a circle, drinking.

Helen wasn't usually one to partake in drinking games, but when she had happened upon the group, which included Nikola and her old friend of all people.

With the power out and no generators running (again, she blamed Nikola wholeheartedly for that one) there wasn't much in the way of work to do and Helen had stepped into the room out of sheer curiosity for what they might be doing.

They had been involved in a drinking game and Helen had been invited to join them, because apparently Chuck had wandered out, calling it a night and they needed someone else.

Helen had accepted the spot between Nikola and Will graciously enough, satisfied that they weren't using her expensive alcohol, instead whatever someone--Henry, probably--had picked up at a shop.

Then the drinking and game had commenced.

It turned out they were a bastardized version of playing truth or dare, a distinctly adolescent game, but Helen had plenty of truths to share that she didn't mind and she usually came out on top in such a game.

Besides, she wasn't usually invited to join the younger--much younger--generations in this sort of thing and it was something of a novelty.

It wasn't long before she discovered that Nikola had pretty much barged his way into the game and she gave him a look.

He grinned at her and took a sip of his wine as he did.

"Wine can be involved, Helen. Did you honestly expect me to stay away?"

"Coupled with the chance to cause chaos, I don't know why I am surprised." she replied.

Nikola smirked and Helen sipped her own drink, letting her gaze linger on him for a few moments before she looked away.

"You guys aren't supposed to be drinking between rounds." Will teased.

"It's not a very high-stakes game." Nikola said, deliberately taking another sip of his drink. "Considering that the drinking part is a cop out if we don't want to do it."

Helen had a feeling that the dare half of the game had taken a backseat now that she had joined. Judging from the guilty look Henry had had, at least one thing had already happened that she was going to find out later.

That was fine.

Helen knew most of what was gotten up to in her house and she didn't mind when the others had their fun.

She also had a feeling that Nikola had been abusing the truth half of the game with an effort to get the others drink, if the hazy look in Henry, Will, Kate, and Abby's eyes were any indication.

"It's not about stakes, dude." Henry protested. "It's about having fun."

"Hmm. Well, I'm winning."

Helen rolled her eyes and lowered her glass to her lap, glancing at her old friend, who rolled his eyes back at her.

She held back a smile, wondering how he had gotten involved in the game, but deciding she rather liked the mystery.

As the game progressed, with much laughter and more drinking, especially when Nikola was the one dolling out the truth or dare, she found her gaze drawn back to the vampire beside her more often than they really should have been.

In the dim, flickering light, Helen thought that she could get away with looking at him more than she usually did or usually allowed herself.

The shadows played his features in interesting ways and Nikola caught her looking at him a time or two, smirking at her each time that he did.

Helen did implement a rule on Nikola having to answer more questions than drinking when he didn't want to, because he couldn't get intoxicated like the others.

"Drinking games are supposed to be fair." he protested.

"Drinking games aren't supposed to be played with people who have an unfair advantage."

Helen patted his knee and squeezed it before letting go, pulling her hand back into her lap quickly as Nikola's eyes dropped to where it had been and then back up to her.

"It's not my fault I'm a vampire. It's yours."

"You were a willing participant."

Helen raised her glass again, eyeing Nikola as she did so.

She realized everyone else was watching them and she arched a brow that made them all quickly look away.

"Okay, my turn." Henry said, rubbing his hands against his jeans. "Tesla."

"Yes, Heinrich?"

"Did you really marry a pigeon?"

Helen nearly choked on her drink as she laughed and Nikola spluttered, expression and facial color going through changes in rapid succession.

"What?"

Henry grinned and Helen bit her lip as Nikola glared.

"Answer the question, Nikola. You aren't allowed to drink with this one."

"You know the answer." he snapped at her.

"Ah, but they don't."

"No. I have no clue who started that rumor, but it is completely untrue."

Henry grinned.

Helen could still feel laughter shaking her chest, despite her efforts. Even when the rumor had started, she had found it incredibly amusing, mostly because she had known what Nikola's reaction to it be.

Nikola knocked back what was left in his glass and Helen handed him the bottle that she had nestled beside her before he could ask for it.

He filled the glass absurdly high, making her shake her head. He couldn't get drunk, but Nikola certainly had a flair for the dramatic.

As the game continued on, Helen noticed that Nikola had shifted closer and closer to her. Subtly, but he had certainly moved closer to her than he had been when she had sat down.

Eventually, it was her old friend's turn.

"Truth or dare?" he asked her.

"Dare."

The alcohol was making her feel warm and a little loose and she might as well see what he could come up with.

"Kiss."

He pointed at her and Nikola.

Helen's breath hitched and her heart seemed to stop for a moment as she looked at Nikola.

She was almost afraid of just how much she wanted to do that. Nikola was watching her intently and the others had all gone quiet to see what she would do.

Helen swallowed and took a breath, though that did nothing to calm how hard her heart was beating at the thought of closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against Nikola's.

Instead of giving into that fantasy, Helen raised her glass and drank.

She didn't lower her eyes in time to miss the look in Nikola's eyes, a mixture of hurt and disappointment.

The game didn't last long after that, much to her relief, and they all scattered to bed, Henry insisting that since he couldn't fix the power, Nikola should be the one to fix it again.

In the hallway, Helen faced Nikola, feeling a little more unsteady than she would have liked from the amount of alcohol she had consumed.

"Nikola...."

She had no idea what she was supposed to say. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She wanted to do it, but she was afraid, especially in front of so many other people, even if those people were her family.

He looked at her and she broke off. She couldn't give excuses.

Instead, she reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips.

It didn't last long and it was so light, Helen supposed it barely counted, but she hoped it conveyed what she needed it to, because she wasn't sure what she wanted it to convey.

She was feeling jittery at her own daring, something that hadn't happened in such a long time it made it feel more exhilarating than it probably should have.

Nikola stared at her in surprise, eyes searching her face.

"You're drunk, Helen."

"No." Helen gave him a small smile. "I'm not."

Nikola's eyebrows drew together for a moment and he searched her face again, this time like he was searching for a lie, not an explanation.

Helen let him, because she knew he would find none.

Then she gently rested her hand on his chest.

"Goodnight, Nikola."

She brushed her lips against his cheek this time, tightened her fingers for a moment, then turned and walked away down the hall, leaving Nikola behind to realize just what that kiss had meant.

#truedairship #sorry this took so long i got busy #ask answered #thanks for the ask!#teslen #helen magnus #nikola tesla #sanctuary #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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ilovehugslikealotalot · 2 years ago

Text

Why You?

TW: indecent language, slight smut, mentions of violence

Rebecca waited in her office for Keeley, how she wished she could rip that woman’s head off. It aggravated her that the woman was so bitchy but perfect. Keeley finally barged in seeing Rebecca pacing around, she plopped down onto the sofa. “Okay! What now!” She groaned, Rebecca rubbed her temples as she paced back to her desk. She scrolled up to see y/n’s perfectly sculpted face, “AGH!” she screamed, “why the fuck is she so perfect?” She seethed, leaning on her desk. “She’s so annoying, I swear!” She exclaimed, Keeley had about enough and smacked the sofa. A loud bang echoed around the room.

“JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER GODDAMIT! EVEN HELEN KELLER CAN SEE IT! AND SHE’S FUCKING BLIND REBECCA!” Keeley yelled over Rebecca to get her attention, the tall blonde woman looked at her taken a back. “Just. Tell. Her. It’s not that hard, Becca!” The tall blonde pouted and slouched into her chair. “But-“

“Rebecca! I love you. But shut the fuck up. Please.” Keeley stood up, walking over to Rebecca she gave her a tiny lecture of how she shouldn’t be scared to ask her out. “Now, hand me your laptop” Rebecca cooperated, handing the shorter woman her sliver colored laptop. Keeley grinned, “now. You won’t be getting this back until you ask her out. So, either you ask her or you don’t get this. Bye!” Keeley quickly ran out of the office with Rebecca yelling out her name.

Rebecca’s POV

I leaned on the office door frame and sighed. I groaned loudly as I moved and slammed the door shut. “Get your shit together, Rebecca. You’re a grown ass woman…just ask her out” I mumbled, walking roughly down the stairs, I stopped for a minute, what if she says no? I think. No. I’m Rebecca fucking Welton. There isn’t any way in hell she would reject me. But-

“Boss, you okay?” Ted’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs, I looked at him and smiled. “No, I’m fine!-“ flailing my arms in the air and bringing them to my side acting cool, leaning on the rail.

He smacks his lips and squints his eyes, “Oklahoma?”

“I’mfuckedandIdon’tknowifIshouldasky/noutornotcauseI’mscared she’llrejectme” I blurted, he pursed his lips and widened his eyes, “welp. You better be in your way then.” I at him in disbelief, “no peptalk?” He exclaimed and clapped his hands together, he smiled at me and laughed. Finally, he did a fist pump and calm down, only a little bit though, “I knew you liked my peptalks! Anyways, y/n isn’t that bad. She’s really sweet so just go ask her! And if anyone asks..you didn’t hear this from me but..she likes you back to! She was ranting about it this morning!” Rebecca looked at her feet for a moment before looking up at him to find he was there. She would never find out how that man worked.

Nervous, I walked sheepishly to y/n’s office. There she sat, hair messily put into a bun, french tipped nails clicking away on her keyboard. My hands shook as I knocked on the open door. Her focus was broken from her laptop and onto me, “oh, hey Rebecca. I didn’t know you were here. I thought you went to lunch with Keeley?” She asked, smiling at me. Closing her laptop, she rounded her desk and went to her mini bar. Opening the mini fridge she grabbed herself a water, Rebecca chuckled knowing there was no other use for the mini bar since y/n didn’t drink. “Wine?” She asked, already pouring some into the glass. “You know me too well, y/n”

“Well, besides from Keeley, you spend too much time with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you beat everyone in a ‘Who Know’s Y/n Best.’” She laughed, taking her AFC Richmond jacket off. I watched as she slid it down her shoulders.

I saw a slight smirk grace her face, she knew what she was doing to me. And she enjoyed every second of it.

She was wearing a cropped tank top under which was very fitting. I bit my lip, the unspeakable things I would do to her if she just asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in training?” I asked, taking a sip of my red wine. She turned around letting her hair perfectly drop around her shoulders.

“Yeah, but I’d much rather be here with you” her voice was amorous as she stared at me with desire in her eyes. I smirked as she sat next to me. “Is that so, Miss y/l/n?” I cooed, leaning in. Y/n giggled, “mhm” I glided my hand up her thigh and onto her butt, shifting her so she was in my lap. She lowly chuckled, her smug face was wiped off when I leaned in, my face millimeters from hers. “Please…” she groaned, I smirked, “Please what, Darling?” “Fuck me.”

#rebecca welton #ted lasso gives me life #ted lasso #keeley jones #rebecca welton x reader #Open request

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hannahssimblr · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-Seven (Part 2)

Jude is on Skype when I get to Clontarf. I hear his smooth, low voice reverberate through the walls of his bedroom and I stand there for several moments trying to gauge whether or not he’s having the kind of conversation that I can just barge in on. I hear him laugh and say something that sounds casual rather than job-interview-like, so I push through the door.

“Oh, Evie just got here,” He says to the person on call with him, “Do you want to say hi?”

Who wants to say hi to me? I gingerly place my bag onto his chair and perch on the bed with him. A wide, round face beams at me through the screen. “Well hello there,” the woman says, “gosh, what a beautiful girl!”

“Thank you,” I say self-consciously, tucking my hair behind my ears, and Jude puts his arm around me to kiss my temple hello. “This is my girlfriend, Evie, and Evie, this is my great aunt Maureen.”

“Oh, from America,” I say, which makes her laugh for some reason.

“Well I’m happy to know he’s mentioned me!” She says, and she has a similar accent to him, or, maybe the reverse of it. An Irish woman who held fiercely to her Dublin syllables even after decades in America, even though that southwestern twang has crept in along the edges and slowed it all down so that she doesn’t sound in a hurry anymore. I bet it’s too damn hot in New Mexico to do anything at speed, including talking.

“When will you come and visit?” She says then, and I don’t know if she’s speaking to him or me or us both, but I let Jude answer her while I sit there and feel like an alien. Nobody knows that I just bawled my eyes out at my therapist’s office and said that I said I constantly think about dying.

“God, we’d love to. Maybe later in the year, do you think?” Jude is saying, “You know I’ve really been missing America lately.”

“‘Cause it’s been so long since you’ve come! Come for Thanksgiving, won’t you? I think it’d be perfect with all the kids around, although, you know, I can hardly call them kids when they’ve all got kids of their own. Evie, have you ever had a thanksgiving?”

“No, Maureen, I haven’t,”

“You’ll love it. Love it,” and in case I have any doubt about how much I’ll love it she and Jude proceed to have a lengthy conversation about all the food they used to cook together, pumpkin this and pumpkin that, I’ve never had pumpkin anything, and the alien feeling intensifies.

The conversation moves onto other things then, and I get restless when Maureen starts asking Jude about his job search. He tells her what’s been happening, the interview with a prop place near Portsmouth that he didn’t get a good feeling from, his correspondence with another studio in London, and the interview lined up for Tuesday at another, and then I wait for her to say the inevitable, which she does, “Why don’t you just come to America?”

He starts telling her why it’s not an option right now while she reminds him of all the things he used to love about it before he was ripped out of his precious homeland by his evil parents and then I get off the bed and start picking items of his clothing off the floor and folding them away. I’m aware that obsessive cleaning is what my mother does when my father has done something to piss her off, and consider the value of bringing this fact to my next therapy session with Helen. Maybe she’ll have something enlightening to say about it.

What’s so great about America anyway? I toss a rogue sock into his hamper. What do they have that we don’t have? Aside from like, semi automatic machine guns and UFOs? There’s so much stuff on this floor. I scoop up a pile of books and plop them onto his desk. Just because he’s American doesn’t mean that he has to just go back there. Why do people keep saying that? He doesn’t want to. He wants to move to London so I can’t see why people can’t just shut up about it. He lived in Berlin for four years, for God’s sake, so why is it inconceivable that he might see himself in-

“Evie, why are you cleaning my room?”

“Hm?”

Jude snaps his laptop shut, “I don’t want you to clean my room.”

“Did you hang up on Maureen?”

“No we said goodbye,” His eyebrow twitches, “She said goodbye to you too.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear her,” I grab a Nike runner and then the other once I’ve located it under a discarded sweatshirt.

“Um, you can stop cleaning if you want.”

“Okay,” I find a place for them and stash them neatly at the bottom of the open wardrobe and feel his eyes on me.

“You just kind of walked away mid conversation,” he points out delicately.

“Well, it was your conversation to have. I didn’t think I was going to just, like, walk in on like that. I would have waited if I’d known. Gone for a walk along the seafront or something.”

“I didn’t know how much you didn’t want to talk to Maureen, honestly.” I glance at him and he looks hurt, which is too much to bear at the moment, so I grab a fistful of pencils and shove them back into an upturned pencil case by their side. “Evie, stop. What’s the matter?”

“Well I just had my first therapy session, and you didn’t ask about it.”

“I haven’t had a chance to, c’mere, tell me about it.”

“You knew I was there and you knew when I’d be back and you talked to your great aunt anyway.”

“She called me. I wasn’t going to not pick up on her, she doesn’t call me often.”

“Okay, well…” I can’t think of anywhere else to put my anger and end up channelling it into the zip of the pencil case, which won’t close around the pencils I’ve shoved into it even though there are way too many of them to fit. Jude has the audacity to take the whole thing out of my hand. “Stop cleaning,” he says firmly. “What is wrong? Come here, please, tell me about your session.”

“You think I’m crazy,” I say, because I’ve just been acting crazy.

“I don’t. Come here.”

I don’t budge.

“Evie.”

“Why is everyone insisting that you move to America?”

“What? Nobody is insisting that, why are you saying that?”

“Maureen just did.”

“She means it as a joke, she doesn’t think I’m actually going to move back, it’s just that she misses me, I suppose,” He runs his fingers through the front of his hair, “I was like her kid for a while and then I moved away, and I don’t go and visit enough, she’s just… well it’s just wishful thinking.”

“My cousin’s girlfriend said it too.”

He makes a face, “Your cousin’s girlfriend doesn’t know anything about me.”

“She knows that they make movies in LA.”

“Yeah, so does everybody, no prizes to her for that one.”

“I just think that you’re going to change your mind about London and you’re going to contact a studio in LA, it seems like an obvious thing to do.” I’m wound so tightly that I can’t even imagine trying to move my body. My hand is still frozen in a claw like it’s trying to force up the zip of the pencil case that’s now sitting on the bed out of reach, and Jude’s eyebrows fly up incredulously. “You told me to contact a studio in LA.”

“Have you done it?”

“I’m a bit afraid to say that I have.”

“Oh right.”

“For feedback. It was your idea.”

“Well you never said that you contacted them, it’s like you were keeping it a secret from me.”

“I would have if you’d given me a chance to talk to you, but you just came in here and started picking fights with me.”

“I don’t want a fight.”

“Then quit picking one.”

“How many places did you contact?”

He sighs, “Come on, Evie.” “No, how many?”

“Four, I think.”

“Four?”

“Yeah, four, and they haven’t responded yet, so there’s nothing to report back.”

“Okay, well, maybe they won’t.”

He leans onto an elbow and stares down at his nails, shaking his head, and I feel threatened by this. Is he angry with me? Disappointed?

“What?” I demand shakily.

He purses his lips.

“Jude, what?”

“Would you be pleased if none of the LA studios ever responded to me?”

“Would I be-”

“I mean if I sent emails to those places with a long enthusiastic letter tailored to each individual one, attached my portfolio that I’ve worked myself to the bone on for the last year, and merely asked for their feedback on it, would it make you happy if they all ignored me?”

I’m flabbergasted. That’s obviously not what I meant. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“Okay because it just feels like you’re pretty relieved by the thought that none of them might want anything to do with me, and like, for the record, it’s not like I think I’m good enough to work for them, okay? I’m not that delusional, but at this point it feels like I’ll take any help I can get, because nothing is working out. I’ve applied for dozens of jobs this summer and I’ve heard nothing from the vast majority of them. They don’t even reply to me to say I’m not suitable most of the time, that’s how shitty they all think I am, so if the interview with that London place doesn’t pan out next week and nobody from LA comes back to me with a shred of guidance on my portfolio then I really don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s looking like I’ll end up getting some shit job in a fucking Aldi just so I have something to do with my time so it’s really great to know that you’re gunning for me to fail.”

He flips onto his back with the heels of his hands in his eye sockets and lets out a groan of despair, “I’m not used to failure. I don’t know how to handle myself.”

I want to crumple to the floor in anguish. I am dreadful. Perhaps I should leave town and change my name and save him the effort of breaking up with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know- I should be more supportive. I don’t want you to fail. I only want the opposite.”

“Why did you come over if you were going to be like this? I was looking forward to seeing you and hearing about your session, and now…” He trails off, but he needn’t say more because I know what he means. I’ve taken what could have been a good moment and soured it because of the inherent ways that I am. This is the first crack, I think, the moment that I will look back on and think, yes, that’s when we both knew unequivocally that I’d make him unhappy. Perhaps, I think, I should get back on the bus and go back to Helen and tell her that I’ve changed my mind and I’d like to take pills after all, because being numb and sedated seems like a nice idea all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry Jude,” I whisper again, and I perch on the edge of the bed with my back to him because I can sense he’s doing that thing he does when he’s upset, where he shuts himself off to me and builds a wall around himself, and I don’t want to see that glazed, stony look on his face ever again.

Except he isn’t doing that. His hand is on my shoulder, “Evie, c’mere.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, can I have you?”

“Have me?”

“Yeah I just want to hold you for a while. I don’t want to be like this. I’ve had enough relationships where I fight, I don’t want it with you, please.”

This is new, I think, as he bundles me into his arms and lays down with me so that my face is nestled against his collarbone, the flutter of his breath in my hair, and there is nothing to look at so I close my eyes and breathe him in. “I’ve upset you,” I murmur.

“I’m alright, it’s just been a weird time,” he plants an almost impossibly tender kiss on the crown of my head, “and I’m edgy.”

“I know. It’s fair enough. I really didn’t mean that I want you to fail , I want everything for you, I want you to succeed and I know you will, I think that’s why I’m scared, because the possibilities are so endless and your life could take you anywhere-”

“I don’t want anywhere I want here.”

Here feels pretty good, with our legs wound together and his heartbeat beneath my ear. The warmth and darkness he’s made for me in his arms is like a cocoon that I never want to emerge from. He squeezes me as tightly as his restraint will allow him, “Christ,” he says, “I love you so much it’s nuts.”

“I love you too.”

“It’s never like this, not with anyone else. I’ve never felt like this before. I want you to know how serious I am.”

“So intense,” I laugh into his chest and he squeezes an involuntary sound out of me and I squeak like a child’s toy.

“I love you too much to fight with you. Let’s not do that again.”

“That’d mean I’d have to stop being insane, I think.”

“You’re not insane, don’t say that.”

“My therapist said that.”

“No she did not.”

“Okay,” I chuckle, “She didn’t.”

“What did she say?”

But I’m too cosy to go there right now. I snuggle up against him, and it’s the kind of embrace that makes it easy to forget that hardship and badness exists. “Hmm, I’ll tell you in a sec,” I promise, and bask in blissful feelings for just five more minutes.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3

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mythicalmyles · 2 years ago

Note

— req,

i had a dream about this the other day and it's been on my mind every since, so now you get whatever this is (sorry in advance?)

reader has a playful love-hate relationship with one of the creepypastas. always bantering with each other and making inappropriate jokes to one another, trying to get under the others skin. one night though, they both decide to take it to the next level, hands almost always on each other, touching and feeling the other up. they're always very playful with each other so the others don't play much mind to it, but it sends (name) 's mind REELING and wanting for more. later that night after everyone's heading off, he scurries off to his room, slamming the door behind himself and getting in bed, shoving his hand into his pants as he turns and lies on his stomach, the bottom of his shirt in his mouth as he grinds into his hand, the other playing with his nipples. soft moans leave his mouth, whining at the thought to have other's hands on him again, to have anyone on him at this point. he's so needy and hot at this point that the sound of the door opening and closing again doesn't even register in his mind until he feels someone grinding up against his ass as he's grinding into the palm of his hand, bottom half of his shirt in mouth; completely vulnerable and open at this person's mercy.

this has been KILLING me. seriously myth, it's been consuming me whole since i've dreamt of it. honestly not even sure what i want in this one tbh. thigh grinding though 👀 maybe some praise kink cause ive been a good boy lately. ++ not too sure who i want this to be tbh?? masky n helen came to mind but hhhhhbgnfg. go crazy with this one please i BEG. thanks again myth <3 hope you're well btw!!

– 💤 anon

hehe

(Name) sniggered as Masky growled at him, his words pissing him off. (Name) couldn’t deny a part of him got off on pissing off the older male, the fact Masky could easily pick him up and launch him across the room if he really wanted to also spurred on (Name). He knew he was playing with fire at this point but he couldn’t stop. Every insult Masky hurled at him sent his blood coursing and stomach twisting.

“You’re such a cheap little whore.�� Masky barged past (Name) as the smallers laugh echoed through the halls, chasing him.

_________

(Name) wrinkled his nose at the sight of Masky, sat laying back on the sofa covered in blood. “I have to clean that.” (Name) growled out at he scowled at the lazing male. “Only thing you’re good for is being a little bitch.” (Name) huffed and barged through the kitchen door to grab some bleach and an old cloth.

He shoved Masky’s feet off the table and began trying to remove the crusted blood from the surface. “You look good on your knees too.” Masky teased, pressing his foot against (Names) back and shoving him against the table. “Hmm, look good like that too.” (Name) flushed and shoved himself up and away, glaring as he left the room. He tried his best to ignore the twinge in his cock, the feeling of Masky’s foot pressing against his back imprinted into his mind.

—————

(Name) wearily gazed at the bottle Masky held out to him, eyes searching him. Masky snorted and shook his head. “Fuckin take it. Sorry.” (Name) nodded and took a drink. “You trying to get me loose?” He chuckled as he gazed into brown eyes. ��If i wanted you i would have you bent over that table right now.” Masky’s voice was flat and sounded like a promise, (Name) fought off the disappointment as he began drinking straight from the bottle.

(Name) choked as he pushed the bottle away from his mouth, Masky’s laugh booming in his ears. “Pussy.” (Name) could tell the larger was smirking despited his hazed gaze that swayed as he moved. “Fuck off.” He muttered as he made his way to the couch, flopping down onto it. (Names) mind swirled and he felt himself bounce as Masky threw himself down next to him, so close their legs were pressed together.

(Name) shook off the heat building in his stomach, hands rubbing his arms. “I uh, have stuff to do tomorrow i should sleep.” He mumbled out as he quickly got up and made his way to his room, the bulge in his jeans growing more noticeable.

(Name) wasn’t a big drinker but he’d chugged more then he should have. Part of him hoped it would shake the imagine of Masky bending him over, unfortunately his thoughts just got more creative. (Names) body felt like it was on fire once he finally made it to his door, yanking his jeans down as he barged through the door.

(Name) dropped onto the edge of his bed as his hand slid down his jeans, wrapping around his cock. He whined as he fisted his cock, it didn’t feel like enough this time. He bit his lip as he tried to imagine it was Masky’s hand, he shoved the bottom of his shirt into his mouth, head falling back as his hand began playing with one of his nipples. Desperate whines fell from (Names) lips as he bucked into his hand. A sudden moan left him as he felt someone grind against his ass, eyes widening as he soaked his shirt in drool. “You really are a slut, probably didn’t even need the drink in you.” Masky’s voice was deep and dominant, sending shivers running through (Names) spine.

(Name) let out a surprised noise but before another thought could cross his mind Masky wrapped his arms around his waist, holding (Name) tight as he ground into his ass. Masky's mouth was hot against the back of his neck, shivers running through his body as Masky's hands groped at his body. "M-Masky." (Name) whimpered out, Masky stilling before gripping harder and rutting his hips. “Good boy, just like that.”

Masky’s hand gripped his hair, pulling his head back and quickly attached his lips to (Names) neck. Masky relished in each moan he drew from (Name), hands quickly making their way across his body. (Name) could barley comprehend any thought as Masky’s mouth bit into his neck while grinding his hips into (Name).

(Name) felt like the oxygen had been ripped from his lungs, the searing heat of Masky’s mouth driving him insane. The way Masky’s hands ripped down his bottoms had his mind spinning, Masky’s warm hands spreading his ass. Masky’s thumb rubbed against his hole and whines flew threw his lips, pushing himself back onto the finger. “Please.” (Name) begged in an airy voice, Masky chuckling at his antics.

“Maybe i can fuck that attitude out of you.” (Name) didn’t have to see his face to know he was smirking, (Name) heard a wet pop before Masky slid a finger into him. A choked moan drawing out as (Name) bit his lip and pushed himself against Masky’s finger, the slide of Masky’s digit making him quiver.

“Pl-please.” (Name) begged as Masky began fingering him, quick to slide a second digit into him. “F-fuck, Masky.” (Name) moaned out as Masky began scissoring him and stretching him open.

“Fuck, such a whore.” Masky groaned out, unable to take his eyes off of (Name). Masky impatiently pulled his fingers out, grabbing (Name) and pulling him so he was sat on Masky’s lap. “I need to be in you i cant wait.” Masky mumbled out as he pushed himself into (Names) hole, relishing in the loud moan of pain that left him.

“Such a pretty boy, should’ve done this earlier.” Masky’s voice was airy, the feeling of (Names) tight hole enveloping his cock and driving him mad. (Name) moaned loudly with every bounce on Masky’s cock, the larger males hands helping him. Masky’s hand suddenly slapped against his ass, causing him to yelp as a stinging sensation filled his ass.

“G-god Masky, pleasee.” (Name) drawled out as pleasure filled his mind, the feeling of Masky’s cock slamming into him was delicious. With every slide of Masky’s cock his prostate was hit, leaving him a drooling begging mess.

“Look so pretty stuffed with my cock.” Masky growled out as his thrusts sped up, slamming as deep and quick as he could. “You better not act like this with anyone.” Masky’s voice was possessive, speeding up his thrusts so fast (Name) thought Masky might actually throw his back out.

“P-promise! No one else.” (Name) choked out between moans as pleasure filled every inch of his body, tightening himself around Masky and relishing in his deep moans. “Gonna fill you up pretty boy.” (Names) mind blanked, begging as he ground himself back onto Masky.

(Name) couldn’t think, his orgasm fast approaching. A loud scream was torn from his throat, eyes rolling as he shot cum up his own stomach. Masky growled out as he felt (Name) tighten around him, slamming himself fast and deep as his own orgasm took over his mind. He shot his cum as deep as he could, nails digging into (Names) sides and leaving crescent moons behind.

They both flopped down onto the bed, Masky crushing (Name) for a moment as their sweaty bodies lay there huffing and panting. “We’re doing this again.” Masky murmured as he rolled over, wrapping his sweaty arms around (Name).

#masky marble hornets #masky x malereader #masky x male!reader #masky x male reader #masky x reader #creepypasta x malereader #creepypasta x male!reader #creepypasta x male reader #creepypasta x reader #creepy pasta #creepy pasta x malereader #creepy pasta x male reader #creepy pasta x male!reader #creepy pasta x reader #myfic

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bluerosejuliet · 2 years ago

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Pffft i love that Mochael's mum is down and ready to adopt Pen at a drop of a hat. I can imagine scenes where Pen and the Marauders 2.0 just hanging around at Michael's house and his mum just barging in and is like, "I'm planning to adopt!"

"That' great Mrs. Stir---"

*thrusts adoption papers and pen to Penelope* "Its you. Sign here."

OR just increasingly funny scenes where she, with no subtlety AT ALL, mothers Pen like "Oh no its raining really hard, how about you stay in this room that I totally obviously did NOT pick out for you" or "What?! Your family left you on the holidays?? Not to worry my dear you can stay with us! Oh, theres already a christmas sweater with your name on it as well as gifts? How ever could that happen???"

Just basically Molly Weasly-ing Pen into joining the family. And on the other side Violet feels a disturbance in the force BECAUSE SOMEBODY IS TRYING TO STEAL HER UNOFFICIAL DAUGHTER

Helen Stirling is one of the toughest witches out there. She lost her parents during the war when she was only 15 and was placed in the wizard version of foster care. She ended up working for the daily prophet, working to make a name for herself among all her male colleagues (many of whom suggested she would be better working for Witch Weekly). It was ironically Ginny Potter nee Weasley who helped Helen seal her reputation as a serious reporter.

She landed an interview with her and was the first person not to ask Ginny about what it was like to date Harry Potter or what shampoo she used. Instead Helen focused on questions about Ginny's career and her view of women in quidditch and how she battled sexism. This impressed Ginny and cemented Helen's reputation as a reporter who focused on what was important rather than trivial things.

At some point she married her husband and they had Michael. Unfortunately, Helen loses the love of her life to a freak potion accident when her son is only five but luckily she has her sister-in-law Janet and her family to help her through.

Despite her badass reputation, Helen had always wanted a big family and while she love Michael, she always wished for more children. John of course was like a second to her, especially when her and Janet raise their children together after Janet's husband dies of cancer a few years after his brothers death.

It was no surprise then when her son brought his friends over that first summer after Hogwarts, that she also took the Marauders 2.0 under her wing and treats them like family (especially Phillip). It gets to the point where when the Marauders are in trouble, rather then send a howler, Ginny and Angelina will have Helen write them a long letter telling them how disappointed she is (except for Phillip, Phillip is an angel who can do no wrong).

It's Helen who basically becomes Phillips mother after meeting him the summer after first year. Phillip actually ends up spending every break with her and Michael after second year when he tells her how much he hates going home. Phillips father was not brave enough to challenge to fearsome Stirling woman who threatened to air all his dirty laundry in the next edition of the prophet!

It's Helen who John decides to come out to as gay before his mother (Francesca was the first though) during his fifth year and its Helen who reminds him that his family will always have his back. (If she sends her son and his friends a few treats after they get in trouble for hexing a group of boys making fun of John for being gay then no one needs to know).

And it's Helen who figures out that James clearly has a crush on a certain redhead and then informs Ginny. It's also Helen who James frantically writes to during fifth year, asking her how he could invite Penelope to the Yule Ball after she'd been ditched and how he can do this without making it look like he's pitying her. Helen gently suggests getting the young lady some flowers and letting her know he wants to go as friends but he'd planned on asking her before.

She can't help but smile at Phillip's report about how Miss Featherington granted James a kiss on the cheek and how he hadn't stopped smiling for a whole week.

Helen finally meets Penelope the summer before sixth year. It had been a chaotic few months with Phillip's father going on trial for the murder of his brother and finding out George Crane had gotten Marina pregnant. Helen didn't even bother asking any questions when she heard the news first break and instead informs Phillip that he would be living with her and Michael from now on. Marina's parents also agree to let the young man visit his niece and nephew once the children are born, taking pity on the young who just lost his entire family.

So you can imagine her surprise when the morning after they get home from Hogwarts, Michael informs her at breakfast that two young ladies by the name of Eloise Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington will be arriving in an hour.

"You mean James' Penelope?" she asked curiously as her son nodded.

"Yeah. We all got pretty close this year and their basically honorary Marauders so she and Eloise are really worried about Phillip. I figured they could stay with us for a bit while we get Phil settled in," he replied with a shrug before a mischievous grin appeared on his face.

"I may have also forgotten to tell James though," he chuckled just as a knock sounded on their door and Michael went to answer it.

Helen found herself having to hold back a laugh when a very disheveled James, wearing only his Holyhead Harpies boxers, stumbled down for breakfast an hour later and he muttered a good morning to everyone, clearly not noticing the two young ladies sitting with them.

"James, don't be rude," she said calmly, taking a sip of her tea, "it's not polite to not greet our guests. Especially when Miss Featherington has spoken so highly of you."

At those words, James' head snapped up, freezing upon noticing Penelope and Eloise's presence at the table, the later of whom was snickering while her friend smiled at him.

"Hello James," greeted Penelope cheerfully as the young man ears turned red before rushing upstairs, muttering something about changing. It did not escape Helen's notice however, how the young redheads cheeks turned pink as she watched him go.

Helen would spend much of that summer (in between helping Phillip deal with his grief and dealing with nosy reporters trying to question the youngest Crane) getting to know Penelope Featherington and could easily see just why James was so enamored with her.

The curly red haired witch was of course lovely, with her curvaceous figure, large blue eyes, freckles, and bright smile. But she was also incredibly witty and kind, quietly helping out Phillip in their garden, the two of them not saying enough but calmly working to degnome the garden.

It worried her how Penelope and Phillip shared quite a few similarities, both not used to praise and unsure of how to process it and the girls parents clearly didn't seem to worry to much for their daughter considering that they were fine with her staying with Michael's family without having met them and didn't seem to care when she would be back.

"I usually spend most of the summer with the Bridgertons while they travel," she explained when Helen had broached the topic with her.

"What about your sisters?" she inquired as Penelope shrugged.

"They usually travel with mum. I had to go with them sometimes but we don't really like much of the sames things. My mother's in fashion as our my two older sisters so they usually attend a lot of fashion shows and parties. It also doesn't help that I'm not as pretty as my other sisters so I usually end up staying in the hotel or wandering around the city by myself so I was fortunate enough that Violet offered to let me stay with their family. They are actually in Paris now, though Felicity will be leaving next week to stay with Hyacinth for the rest of the summer," she replied and Helen's heart ached for the sheer loneliness that emitted from that statement.

"My dear lass, you are very lovely. You just haven't learned how properly showcase your looks. I know you said you usually go to Diagon Alley with the Bridgerton but why don't you and I take a bit of a girls trip this week. The boys have something going on at the Weasley's so it will be nice to have someone to accompany me," she offered as Penelope beamed at her before agreeing.

Helen had spent that day helping Penelope find clothes that complimented her and reassuring her that one ice cream was not going to hurt her. She was also delighted that Penelope was looking into working as a writer for the Daily Prophet as well and was quick to give her a tour of her office, offering her some pointers for getting a job in the future.

But she was also delighted to watch the James behaved around Penelope. The boy was normally so confident and charming that it was a pleasant surprise to see the way he stumbled over his words with Penelope. She had gleefully written Ginny about how James had been so distracted by Penelope walking down in her lovely one piece that he'd been tackled in by Fred. Or the way James had been unable to make a single marshmallow without burning it to a crisp every time Penelope shot a smile at him during their weekly bonfires.

Sadly Penelope would be going to stay with Eloise the last two weeks of break, as the Bridgertons were throwing a going away/graduation party for the third eldest who had landed a job studying animals around the world or something. Still Helen had hugged the girl and reassured her that she was welcome in their home anytime.

Helen had seen Penelope once more when she and Janet went to drop off the boys at the train, as the boys headed off with her and Eloise. She stood with Janet, Ginny, and Harry as they waved goodbye to their children as the Hogwarts express left the station.

"I give them till Halloween before someone makes the first move," sighed Ginny as her husband looked curiously as her.

"Hmm... I'd say Christmas at the latest," replied Helen as the two women looked at each other and giggled while Harry looked on in utter confusion.

Helen had tried not to feel so smug when she'd walked into the kitchen at the burrow (the Weasley's holding their annual Christmas eve party for family and friends, somehow being able to fit everyone in their home) only to look out the window right as James pulled Penelope into a kiss. And from the way the young lady stood on her tiptoes while wrapping her arms around the young man's neck, it was very clear that James' affection was clearly not one sided.

Of course, Lily Potter had chosen that moment to enter the kitchen and had also spotted her brother.

"MERLINS BEARD! JAMES IS SNOGGING PENELOPE!"

The result was the kitchen suddenly being flooded with Weasleys and Potters that resulted in two very embarrassed teens, a sobbing Molly Weasley, an oddly smug Teddy Lupin along with his fiancee Victorie Weasley, and a very contemplative looking Michael.

"I'm not sure if I should clap you on the back or punch you for snogging my technical sister," he'd said seriously, once the two had come back inside. James had merely stuck his tongue out at his best mate as he wrapped an arm around a very red Penelope's shoulder.

"Go easy on the guy Michael. After all, he still has to tell Eloise that he's seeing Penny now," sighed Phillip as James suddenly turned pale. (Speaking of Eloise, Helen had suspected that Phillip harbored romantic feelings for the young lady in question with how frequently he mentioned her in letters).

The rest of the year went smoothly, with Michael once more inviting Penelope to spend part of the summer with them before she headed off to Aubrey Hall with Eloise for the end of the summer. Though Eloise spent a few weeks with them, with Helen reassuring Violet that she would ensure Eloise and Phillip had separate rooms (they'd started sometime in February according to Michael).

She shouldn't have been surprised when Penelope had approached her one day, blushing as she asked Helen for advice on contraceptive potions.

"I mean James and I haven't done anything yet but well we've talked about it and-" Penelope rambled before Helen stopped her. She loved the girl like a daughter but she did not need to know THAT much about her love life with the boy she had known since he was a child.

"No worries Penelope. Why don't we talk to Janet later? She's the expert on potions like that," assured Helen as Penelope relaxed.

"Thank you Mrs. Stirling. I'm sorry, I know it must be awkward but it's not like I can go to my own mother about this," she sighed as Helen gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Penelope you know you can come to me any time if something is bothering you. I'd rather that than have you get your information from sources like Witch Weekly. And how many times have I told you call me Helen," she jokingly admonished as Penelope relaxed.

It was the first of many heart to heart conversations the two would have through the years.

Helen was there for Penelope when she'd come to her in tears, holding her as she raged about Colin attacking James after what had been a wonderful night before.

She was there when Penelope's mother didn't bother showing up for her graduation and offered to let Penelope stay with them until she and Eloise finally found an apartment in London.

She had watched with pride as Penelope made a name for herself at the prophet, going from an advice columnist to writing more serious articles.

She'd cried with joy when Penelope and James had come to her house and announced their engagement.

She'd been the one to go with Penelope to help pick out her dress robes for her wedding, breaking in to tears when Penelope shyly asked her at lunch afterwards if she would walk her down the aisle.

She'd sat with Penelope in her apartment bathroom a few months later, holding her hand and reassuring her that everything would be okay as they waited for the results of the pregnancy potion reminding her that James loved her and all would be well.

So naturally it was also Helen, who held her all but adopted daughter a few weeks later as she collapsed in her arms at St. Mungos, sobbing hysterically as Helen held her tight, knowing that there was nothing she could do this time to take away her pain.

Yes Helen had thought Penelope similar to her in many ways.

But this was one similarity she wished they had not come share.

#bridgerton #bridgerton au #bridgerton harry potter au #asks and answers

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ihatetbrlists · 10 months ago

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Rewiew #30: The Bride Test

The Bride Test, by Helen Hoang

From my TBR? No but it's kind of from my mental TBR soooo...?

Second novel in the contemporary romance series The Kiss Quotient.

Unusually for me, I read this second volume without having read the first. I like to go in chronological order, but I was like "screw it, I want to read a modern mail-order-bride now" so I did.

The story is about a poor and uneducated Vietnamese woman who suddenly gets the opportunity to spend a summer in the US trying to convince a second-generation autistic Vietnamese man who doesn't want to get married to marry her. Basically, his mom spots her cleaning toilets and thinks she is perfect. I'm not kidding, that's the first chapter.

Now, if you want to read about The Yearning, this book is for you. So much physical yearning on the part of the hero, it was insane. He is SO sexually frustrated at the beginning. But their relationship didn't develop much further than physicality, in my opinion. It felt like they were put together by the circumstances and were like "meh, the sex is super hot and living in the US is cool so I guess we'll get married". The firs time he sees her, the Hero literally describes her as having a stripper body.

When he is not having lecherous thoughts, I found the Hero to be likeable. I enjoyed his journey to self-discovery through grief and unlocking past trauma but the Heroine was paper thin. She goes on and on about how unprivileged she is back in Vietnam and about how she is so stupid she couldn't even complete high school etc etc. I suppose that was her arch but it didn't rock my boat.

Why and some spoilers and the final verdict under the cut:

The main conflict during the story's climax is that she wants him to say he loves her. But he thinks that being autistic means being incapable of love so he sternly refuses. But as I was reading that particular dialogue, I couldn't help but think: ok but what if he is aromantic. What then? What if he cares about you like family and a partner but he just doesn't feel romantic love. What then? You would throw your whole relationship away because of that? Why??

This woman literally thinks "I can see that he loves me from all of his actions but I want to hear him say it". Again, why?

There were also a couple of absolutely unhinged moments. At one point they attend a wedding. The heroine wanders into one of the dressing rooms for the bridal party and sees the Vera Wang wedding dress hanging there. At which point, she completely undresses, remaining in only her underwear, because she wants to try it on. What decent person would ever do that?? Try on a stranger's wedding dress at a wedding? What?? It felt like a cheap way to have the hero barge in, see her in Deshabille and get The Yearning going again.

Also, I didn't mention it before because it's not really relevant but the heroine has a child back in Vietnam. She keeps this hidden from the hero until literally the last scene and then he is like "yeah ok no probs". Like, I would at least have some questions.

Verdict: The plot is overall frustrating but The Yearning and Sexual Tension makes up for... some of it.

#the bride test #helen hoang #bookblr #book review #booklr #books #romance #romance novel

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helly-watermelonsmellinfellon · 1 month ago

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I'm finally back at the house.

The biggest issue that I didn't have time to get into in prior reblogs, was the fact that Bethy came to my room to tell me that Dave's dumbass friend, accused me of stealing the coffee that they drink every morning. And he told Bethy that if I don't give it back, he's coming to me room to get it himself.

This guy and I got into an argument a few weeks back because I was asking my mom about absentee ballots and he interrupted our conversation to stand over us making snide remarks about democrats and liberals and even followed me outside, making these comments as I had to wait for a Walmart order and the delivery guy was a black man, who had to hear a lot of M@G@ bullshit, as well the jabs about how I wasn't responding. So, I simply stated, "I don't break bread with Nazis," and got a snort from the delivery dude and a rant about how 'it's just politics' from the idiot.

Ever since then, for a guy who was supposedly unfazed by my words, he's been trying to claim I'm stealing his stuff at every opportunity.

He is homeless. Jobless. And a drunkard. He uses his disability payments on beer. He buys 2 24-pack cases every few days because he goes through them so fast. Everything my Ko-Fi and Patreon makes, goes to mom. She gets about $300 from me a month, which is basically me paying rent for this bedroom and the right to use the bathroom. That money often gets us food and toilet paper when we're out by the middle of the month.

He does not help with anything.

So, mom messaged me the other week to tell me he told Dave I ate his Pop-Tarts. They were about 5 weeks old and were on top of the fridge the entire time. I took one packet for myself, and mom saw there were Pop-Tarts and asked for some. I gave her the other box up there as it went untouched and unopened. Mind you, SHE bought them. He then started claiming I was drinking his soda.

Mom buys all the drinks. She drinks the ZERO versions of stuff these days whenever she gets it but gets a regular version 'for the house' as she calls it. That also sat there for 5 weeks because no one apparently liked strawberry Dr. Pepper(I think that's what it is). I asked to try one and she said sure(it was gross btw). He saw me take one. He whined to Dave about me taking his drinks.

The drinks that are for him specifically are Pepsi. Of all the things to accuse me of stealing, Pepsi would make more sense as it's close enough to Coke, but mom gets me Fauxke from Walmart now and then so I wouldn't even need it.

What I know is that while he was in prison for a month for assaulting a state trooper, Bethy got ahold of his card and used some of his money for groceries. On one hand, theft, on the other hand, if she didn't, he would have been several hundred dollars over the $2,000 max disabled people are allowed to have in the US. So, he would have lost his disability benefits entirely if she didn't use his money to get us food.

He first claimed not to care because he was glad not to have lost disability. Then a day later told Dave he was pissed and wanted all the money back immediately. Then said it didn't matter, and he didn't actually care all that much. Then barged into Bethy's room to scream at her over stealing his money. Then tried to claim a bunch of unrelated purchases were also her fault(they weren't) and tried to corner her into admitting it(she didn't). He's been very nasty to her ever since then.

It's been one dramatic thing after the other these past few weeks, so before Bethy and I left to visit mom, she came to tell me he was accusing me of stealing the coffee. Because I was supposedly eyeing it up. And in her words, she told him that, 'Helen doesn't drink coffee, and how would she make it without a coffee maker?'. And he claimed I could use my mini rice cooker to do it, so then she asked why he hasn't seen me using/washing cups of any sort when I regularly bring my cooker down to clean it. And why hasn't he smelled the coffee being made if I took it for myself? They can smell when I make ramen/pasta/rice, but not coffee?

He threatened to come into my room and get it if I don't hand it over.

So, in front of her, I hid a bunch of stuff in different places, cleaned up a bit, and left the broom in front of my door inside the room. It would blockade the door with the brush against the right wall and the handle leaning on the armoire to the left of my door. It was tricky to accomplish with the door mostly closed and would be hard to replicate.

When we got back, the broom had been moved. And the cushion on the sofa was shifted.

Neither mom nor I trust him, so I hid both of our laptops in the back of messy drawer in my armoire before going to the hospital. I brought both tablets with me. I hid my chargers and PS4 controller.

Bethy went back to the hospital, and they've given her permission to stay with mom for the night.

Finally, while at the hospital, Bethy confessed that dimwit has also accused me of abusing his dog. He told Bethy I kicked his dog super hard and that I need to keep my hands to myself, and Bethy apparently asked him why he'd care about the dog anyway since he was punching him in the face the day before yesterday and loudly screamed that he wasn't going to feed him all day as punishment(which he did in fact do, so Bethy fed him on the sly and got yelled at for it). That shut him up real quick. She also asked when this abuse supposedly happened because I never come downstairs unless it's to use the bathroom, and that dog doesn't come near me ever because he's either laying between mom's legs or lying beside his owner at any given moment.

So, the panic from mom being hospitalized, getting stuck there for hours without a ride, and knowing this asshole was left free roam of the house for hours before Dave got back from work, had me stressed tf out.

Bethy thinks he might have gone into her room, though she wasn't too sure. He's been making all kinds of accusations as of late, so this is where we're at.

I hate having to rely on ppl for things cuz Bethy left to get something and I've been stranded at the hospital for 2 hours and visiting hours are now over.

#my anxiety is through the roof

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theaceace · 6 years ago

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I started writing a funny little piece about Martin listening to gossip, and then the spirit of hugjonsims2k19 took over. Set in a nebulous s4 au wishy-washy sort of timeline. Enjoy?

It takes Martin longer than he is proud of to realise that there’s something off – that there has been for a while, really. He’d like to say it’s because he’s always so busy these days. Peter keeps him bogged down with endless paperwork, and should he ever manage to find a spare moment between forms, scheduling, budgets, and worrying, then he’s trying to take to heart what Peter told him. That he needs to keep himself isolated – that a clean break is better for everyone involved, that dragging the process on will only hurt him more in the long run.

Hurt him more – at least Peter had the good sense not to lie and say this way would be painless.

So between all of the… everything going on, it’s a while before Martin walks in on Sonia and Rosie giggling over something Cam had supposedly said and realises that he has no idea what they’re talking about.

They don’t notice him walk in, and if they look up and see him leaving, neither of them reacts.

It’s stupid. It’s office gossip. His stomach shouldn’t be twisting and cramping like he’s about to be sick, there shouldn’t be sweat starting to bead along his hairline, he shouldn’t have to swallow down the thickness in his throat. It’s stupid.

But Martin had always known exactly what was going on. Birthdays, weddings, all the antics people’s children or nieces and nephews got up to, all the quiet little fallings-out and goings on that came with cramming so many people into one building and asking them all to work nicely together. He doesn’t remember how it started, or quite why, but he had always been considered trustworthy – a good person to talk to. Once that might have made him laugh. After all, so much of who he became at this place was built on lies; harmless, maybe, but still lies.

In retrospect, it’s impressive that it took so long for anyone to figure him out. Somewhere like the institute – the domain of the Beholding, that draws in the sort of tenacious people unable to resist a mystery – isn’t conducive to keeping secrets.

Martin, though, Martin’s always been good at keeping secrets – he knew about two pregnancies, an engagement and four divorces weeks before anyone else, and once word got around that he was a good person to talk to (compassionate, quiet, always ready with a smile and an offer of tea), well. Suddenly he had a lot more secrets that needed keeping.

He remembers, sometimes, how quickly he had given up the truth to Jon, and wonders how much of that was the Archivist, and how much was simply that he was sick, so sick, of keeping everyone’s words bottled deep beneath his ribs. If he hadn’t just been so grateful to give up this one thing that he would have blurted it out anyway. (It isn’t a fair comparison, of course. He would tell Jon anything, because he’s Jon and there’s very little Martin wouldn’t desperately wish to tell him, but was it really Jon asking?)

Now, Martin is out of the loop. He has no idea how Rosie’s nephew is getting on with preschool. Knows that Jenna’s birthday is coming up but hasn’t heard anything about her plans, even though she’d always invited him along for drinks with everyone from artefacts storage to celebrate. Doesn’t know if Dale ever managed to work up the courage to ask Rob out. His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth as he hurries back to his office and near slams the door shut. When was the last time he had a conversation with someone – anyone other than Peter? When was the last time he had to say something more than ‘excuse me’, or ‘have you seen a stapler round here?’

He doesn’t know, doesn’t know, doesn’t know.

Too long, he thinks a little hysterically, and has to take a moment to get his breathing back under control. It’s good, he tries to tell himself. Or, well. Not good, maybe, but necessary. Right.

And so what if he doesn’t know all of the ins and outs of every employee under the institute’s roof? That’s not a bad thing. He doesn’t need to know any of it (doesn’t need to know in the way that Jon needs to know, that pressure, the weight of a single question that could force someone to their knees, and).

No.

Enough.

Now that he knows, though, he can’t help but listen in gently to all of the conversations he hadn’t realised he was missing.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by how many of them are about the archives.

And Martin can’t help but feel bad when he listens in – like he’s spying, almost. Of course, if anyone actually paid any attention, they’d realise he’s there and listening, and probably yell at him, or throw something (and it’s awful how there are times when he thinks that’d be preferable to nothing). He doesn’t feel bad enough to stop, though. He doesn’t dare venture down into the archives, knows that he’d be lost if he did, so this is the only real way he has to gauge what’s happening beyond the odd statement tangled haphazardly in his coat pocket, or Peter’s snide little comments.

He… isn’t sure how to feel about what he hears.

Basira, he learns, spends a lot of time outside, officially following up on statements. Unofficially, she has a bad habit of dropping completely off the grid for days at a time. There’s a lot of speculation aboutlll where she goes and what she does, but never anything in an official capacity. Martin suspects that Jon knows where she is should he ever think to check, so it doesn’t really matter if half of accounts assume that she’s just slacking.

Melanie – it sounds like she’s recovering. Slowly, but when he hears her name these days, it’s less wary, more conspiratorial. Of course, there are rumours that she can’t be in the same room as Jon; that the last time Jon stumbled sleep-deprived and almost hilariously unobservant in the break room while Melanie sat sipping tea, she threw the mug at his head. Martin isn’t quite sure if he believes that one or not, but there is a suspicious new stain on the wall at roughly Jon’s eye level.

There’s also talk of a new figure that’s been seen lurking around the archives – no one’s met her, and the way they tell it, no one’s even caught more than a glimpse of long limbs in a patterned suit and a cloud of dark hair. Martin tries not to think about it, and checks that he remembers every door he opens. So far, she hasn’t done anything more than exist in the same building as him, but even so.

And there’s Jon.

At first he’d tried, tried so hard not to hear anything about Jon. Left the room when his name came up, once even resorted to sticking his fingers in his ears like a child until he was sure the conversation had moved on. But his resolve only stretched so far until it snapped, and left him hovering uncertainly in the doorway to the institute’s library and trying to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping on the gaggle of new researchers sat around a nearby desk. Though generally unnoticed these days, he hasn’t quite worked himself up to Peter’s level of sneaking around.

“No, seriously! I walked in and he was just curled up in the armchair asleep! I’ve literally never seen him set foot outside the front door of this place,” says one of them whose name Martin doesn’t know, but has spitefully decided to call Too Big Glasses. She’s speaking far too loud to be polite for a library, and waving her hands around as she talks. “And he just had actual piles of those statements lying all around him like a nest. I think someone had piled a couple of them on top of him too – like it was so funny, you know like those videos of people stacking things on cats? Yeah, like that!”

“Funny?” Asks someone Martin thinks is called Toby. “Wait, you actually think something about that guy is funny?”

“Yeah?” Too Big Glasses says – she sounds confused. “I mean, if he’d tried to turn over the whole lot would’ve toppled!”

“Yeah, but,” Toby glances around and lowers his voice as though that might encourage her to do the same. Martin has his doubts. “How can you find anything about that guy funny? He’s – ugh, he’s creepy, and I don’t say that lightly these days.”

“I guess,” says Brown Jumper, looking up from her book for the first time and blinking owlishly at them both. “But I overheard Rosie saying that a lot of shit’s happened down in archives lately, so I mean, it’s not like he’s the only creepy thing down there.”

Martin bristles, almost forgets himself, almost marches over. A thing. A creepy thing. How dare – they have no right –

He catches himself just before he steps across the threshold. Can’t go undoing all of Peter’s hard work now, he thinks sardonically.

“What kind of shit?” Asks Too Big Glasses, who must be even newer than the other two.

And Martin – he doesn’t want to hear a play-by-play account of the last six mon – the last yea – any of it. He doesn’t want to hear these strangers talking about any of the things that have happened since he moved down to archives like they know a single damn thing about it, like they have any sort of authority to be talking like that about his life, about the things he had to see and do just to keep himself sane and mostly human.

More human than Jon, at any rate, he thinks before he has a chance to stop himself, which just brings back the awful twisting knots in his stomach.

He steps forwards, purposeful and completely unnoticed, and starts browsing through the shelves for the book he’d originally come down here in search of. It’s hard to completely tune the researchers out, but he does his best – he even manages to hunt down a few older editions of the book he was looking for that might offer some valuable comparisons to the conclusions a previous follow-up had come to on his latest statement. In fact, he’s almost made it back to the door, to the corridor beyond, the stairs beyond that, and finally to his safe, quiet little office.

Almost.

They’re still talking about Jon, he registers dimly, and doesn’t notice the way his feet slow. He doesn’t listen because he doesn’t need to know. In fact, he does such a good job of not listening that it isn’t until he hears a hushed

“- dead!” Whispered across the table that he freezes up, shoulders lifting high and curling in as though bracing for a physical blow. He has no context, he tells himself frantically, they could be talking about anything now. A statement, probably, that they’ve finished researching and passed on to Jon to be archived. That’s all it is, he tells his shuddering lungs and frantic heart. More words filter in through the static suddenly buzzing through his mind, between his ears and behind his eyes, but he can barely make sense of them. He knows they’re still speaking English, but the sounds are all wrong, jumbled up.

He isn’t, Martin tells himself. He can’t feel his arms. He’s fine. You’d know if he wasn’t.

At least, he thinks he would. Even Martin – secluded, isolated, lonely Martin – would have heard something. Basira would have – or, or Melanie – even Peter –

The books are on the floor, he thinks hazily, and the researchers have turned to stare – at the books, but then up at him. He doesn’t have enough space in him to be embarrassed at the looks they’re giving him. Can’t bring himself to be horrified at his lapse. So they can see him. And? And? If he’s failed already anyway then what does it matter.

He’s already hurrying down the corridor, doesn’t hear them muttering to each other about Wasn’t that Martin? Didn’t he used to work in archives? Haven’t seen him down there in a while, wonder if he knows what’s going on? Don’t know, haven’t seen him anywhere in a while. Maybe he’s scared of the spooky archives ghost too, woooo!

He doesn’t hear any of it. By the time they’ve moved onto a new conversation, he’s already racing the familiar halls of the archives, the sound of his footsteps swallowed up by the carpet. There are more twists that he remembers, an asinine part of him thinks, more branching paths than there should be, and he isn’t sure if it actually takes him twice as long as it should to reach Jon’s office or if time has just slowed to a thick, lethargic stream clinging at his legs and slowing him down. Like running in a dream.

There’s nothing dreamlike about the way the door bounces against the wall when Martin throws it open, the way it rattles on its hinges. Nothing dreamlike about the way Jon flinches so hard his chair rocks back, the way he begins to splutter –

“Good lord I – Martin? Martin are you quite alri – are you about to faint, god, come here, sit down, I – “

Jon. Stuffy, fussy Jon, with his brow creased heavily over filmy eyes that haven’t cleared since he woke up, reaching out to Martin like he wants to help him into the worn desk chair but isn’t quite sure how, hands fluttering and twitching around. For a moment, Martin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak – isn’t sure he can. His throat is dry, and he has the horrible, creeping suspicion that that’s because every drop of water in him is threatening to spill from his eyes in a horrible, humiliating mess, but he doesn’t care.

There’s more grey in Jon’s hair, he thinks as he takes a determined step forward. Deeper bags under his eyes. He’s been chewing at his thumbnails, and when Martin finally gets close enough to feel the unseen barrier warp and strain, and finally give way, he can smell on Jon’s jumper that he’s been smoking again.

The smell is almost comforting, he thinks, as he presses his nose into it.

He’s imagined hugging Jon before. Of course he has. Thought about how easy it would be to completely envelope Jon, who is narrow and angular enough that Martin sometimes thought he’d be able to wrap his arms around him twice. He’d liked to imagine Jon laughing as he did, just the softest little huff of breath against Martin’s neck.

It’s nothing like that.

Martin is still biting back tears and bowed over until they’re almost the same height; Jon’s skin is icy where Martin’s cheek is pressed against the side of his neck, and there’s no comforting thrum of his heart between their chests. Jon is drawn tense as a bowstring, arms by his sides, and Martin thinks he can see his fists clench and open, clench and open. He should pull away, he thinks, and apologise but as soon as he tries to bring himself to, he can feel that static push trying to crawl its way between them, and so he can only cling tighter.

He’s already made a mess of things. Might as well go all-in now.

“Martin?” Jon asks softly. Disbelievingly. There’s a hesitance in his voice that Martin doesn’t think he’s ever heard before – that he definitely doesn’t want to hear again. He shakes his head mutely, still afraid to try to talk to Jon (afraid that he won’t be able to) but somehow Jon seems to know what he’s trying to say. Or maybe he Knows. Martin can’t bring himself to care.

Very, very lightly, Jon’s hands rest on Martin’s back, smoothing broad strokes across his shirt so gently that Martin could almost believe he’s imagining them. But his imagination’s never been this good, and he’d never think to include the smell of Jon’s cheap laundrette washing powder, or the heavy weight on the back of his neck that feels like someone staring.

“Martin?” Jon asks again. There’s no real question to it, no compulsion – still just that faint disbelief, as though he is as afraid as Martin that this isn’t real. Martin doesn’t let go, but neither does Jon, and he doesn’t speak again. Just guides them, eventually, to sit against the wall, still clinging, still pushing back against the static that hums along Martin’s skin. There will be consequences, says a voice in Martin’s mind that sounds disconcertingly like Peter.

But consequences, Martin thinks, are for later. When he can breathe steadily again, when Jon stops running a clumsy hand over his hair. For now, he looks up and offers Jon a watery smile.

“I didn’t say it earlier,” he manages. “But I’m glad you’re not dead, Jon”

#tma #magnus archives #hugjonsims2k19 #martin blackwood #jon sims #and then helen barges in like 'get a room'#'here you can borrow one of mine'#and later jon will be able to say 'I'm glad I'm not dead too'#and actually mean it for the first time since waking up

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mythos-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Peaky Bloopers 2: Electric Boogaloo

Peaky Blinders Cast x Reader (platonic)

Plot: Just more bloopers and funny moments :)

Word Count: 1038

Warning: Swearing, went overboard on the last one :)

Part 1 Peaky Blinders Masterlist

I do not give permission for anyone to repost/ post my stories, with or without credit. Reblogs, comments, etc. are more than welcomed, but please DO NOT copy and paste my stories that you may like onto another platform.

The scene was supposed to have Florance run into the back room of the garrison, warning her older brothers about some news that had graced her, but (Y/N) couldn’t get the line out.

“TOMMY!” Florence yells, barging through the door. The tone of their sister’s voice caught their attention.

“Florance? What happened?” Tommy question.

“Billy Kimber… he was trying to… fuuuuccckkk,” (Y/N) groans out, forgetting the end of the line.

“Go back, do it again,” Paul jokes. She sends him a silly face before going back out. Joe went over and locked the door of the room. Paul and Cillian hid their laughs before the director yells action. (Y/N) went for the door, but just ran into the door. She tries to open it, realizing it’s locked.

“You bloody fuckers,” she says from the other side of the door, causing them to laugh. She started to knock on the door. A crew member came to open the door, revealing a not too impressed (Y/N).

Florence and Tommy were standing in front of Alfie’s desk. Alfie went to sit down in his chair when all of a sudden.

*RRRRIIIPPPP* Tom looked between Cillian and (Y/N), both trying to not laugh.

“You okay over there?” (Y/N) asked, holding in her giggles.

“I think I just split my pants,” Tom says, causing (Y/N) to crumple to floor in fits of laughter.

“Wait really?” one of the crew members asks. Tom stood up and turned around, and sure enough, the seam of the pants was completely ripped apart. This caused (Y/N) to laugh harder.

“I think you broke (Y/N)” Cillian comments, trying to stifle his laughter. She calms down before trying to speak proper words.

“I am so sorry, but that was so unexpected,” she says, some giggles still falling from her lips.

Florence, Arthur, John, and Tommy were getting out of the car, getting ready to meet with some business, but Florance didn’t get that far.

“Um… I’m stuck,” (Y/N) calls out. The three turned around to see that her dress got caught in the car door.

“(Y/N)...” Joe says, not impressed.

“Hey, listen, I didn’t do it on purpose. If I did the dress would have ripped,” she states. “Now, help me,” she states.

(Y/N) decided she was going to ‘prank’ the cast with a little help from the makeup and costume departments. She wanted to dress up like Cillian and walk around the set, trying to find as many people as possible, then finishing off with Cillian. As she was getting her makeup done, Helen walked into the makeup trailer.

“What is going on here?” she asks.

“I’m turning into Cillian,” (Y/N) replies, getting a chuckle out from her friend.

“Oh this will be good,” Helen says while sitting in one of the other chairs.

“Ok, now let's finish getting you into the costume,” one of the artists said. (Y/N) finished putting on the suit before putting on the flat cap and looking into the mirror. She was shocked at what she said. She looked very similar to Cillian and it was almost scary.

“You guys did an amazing job,” she replies, hugging the team that helped. “Helen, what do you think?” she turns to the woman in the chair. Helen opened her eyes and looked in her direction and gasped.

“Oh my god. That looks amazing,” she replies.

“I feel like I could play a good Thomas Shelby,” (Y/N) comments, still looking at herself.

“Now the question is can you sound like Tommy?” Helen says with a smile. (Y/N) cleared her voice before reciting one of his lines.

“Oh, I don’t pay for suits. My suits are on the house, or the house burns down,” she smiles seeing the shock come over their faces. It wasn't 100% the voice Cillian does, but it was passable that people would have a hard time differing the two.

“Have you been practicing that? Bloody hell (Y/N) that’s brilliant,” Helen says.

“I did some voice acting before, so I had to do different voices all the time,” she says. “Now, if you excuse me, I have some friends to bother,” she says, fixing her hat before walking out of the trailer. She starts to walk around, messing with some people, them all enjoying her act. She sees Paul and Joe standing by one of the trailers and decided to put her plan into action.

“Oh you two, don't you have better things to do?” she yells out in her ‘Tommy’ voice. The two jumped a little and turned to her. They were shocked at first, not recognizing her at all.

“What shocked someone can play Tommy better than Cil?” she questions, dropping the deep voice. The two were shocked.

“(Y/N)?!” They ask. She laughs at their reaction.

“Bloody hell, if Cil ever loses his voice, you could just dub over the poor bastard,” Paul says, getting a closer look at her costume. The three get a quick picture together, wanting to remember this moment.

“Thank you very much, now would you two know where Cil is?” she asks.

“I think he is filming with Sophie and Harry,” Joe says. She nods before going to the sound stage. The two started to follow her, recording her. As they get closer, she had to stop herself from getting too giddy. She takes a deep breath before moving closer.

“Oh, I am going to spin a coin for your gig, Cillian Murphy,” she yells, getting their attention. They were all confused, but Cillian was the most. Hearing his voice come out of someone who wasn’t himself. He sees Paul and Joe behind them, so he was even more confused.

“What?” he asks. (Y/N) then takes off her hat, leaving the three shocked. (Y/N), Paul and Joe all start laughing at their reaction.

“Bloody hell, this looks amazing,” Sophie says, getting closer to her. (Y/N) does a little spin before standing in a pose that reads ‘tada’.

“Alright, so I get to go home and you finish filming for me, great,” Cillian jokes causing (Y/N) to roll her eyes.

“You wish,” she giggles.

#peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine #peaky fucking blinders #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years ago

Text

*CHICAGO*

i write for free - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here. (plus my bday is today!!!!!!! 🎂)

if you liked please reblog, recommended, like, and come talk to me about it!

——

The public didn’t know that some of the pictures that are posted of Harry that are tagged and credited to the on tour photographers were actually taken by his wife.

For example, after Chicago, the picture of Harry in the tub - completely bare and worn down from his show, you actually think the photographer took that?

No, that was snapped with YN’s iPhone, like some of the other pictures he’s posted.

Just like the one where he’s asleep on the hotel bed in a robe in Paris with all of his stuff splayed around him - allegedly taken by helene. ***

But no, it had been his wife, they had just taken a shower together and she had stayed in for a bit longer to shave her legs - when she had come out and seen him passed out.

She had to tug a bit at the robe so he wasn’t exposed and make it x-rated, then she pulled out her phone and snapped the picture - sending it to Jeff with a teasing caption.

yn: It’s exhausting being a popstar

And just like that, it appears on his Instagram for fans to go crazy over.

Or what about the snapshot of his tank that had his famous slogan embroidered into the side of the white fabric. ***

His wedding band reflecting in the flash of the light, a subtle glance at his rippled muscle below the attire as they work on his hair.

“Mm, I’m gonna save this for a lonely night,” YN jokes as she tucks her phone away.

Harry’s hand comes to cup her jaw, looking down at her where she’s sat on the floor, “Y’so fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?”

YN’s eyelids flutter a bit as she glances away from his intense gazes - he still gives her butterflies.

“Don’t get shy on me, baby. Can I not tell m’wife how gorgeous she is?” He asks, bring her hand up to kiss the back of it, “Look s’good with tha’ ring on.”

And the one that made fans go crazy.

On a warm evening, in a hotel room between venues in Italy, where they had been lounging around all day.

YN in just a thin gauzy dress that accentuated the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra and Harry just in the trousers he’d worn to get them coffee earlier that morning.

“You just took a picture of me! It’s my turn,” YN giggles, getting on her knees on the old squeaky couch and snatching the camera off of him.

“I took a picture because y’tits look nice in tha’ dress. I can see y’nipples and it’s turnin’ me on,” Harry defends, holding up his book as she snaps it.

“H, c’mon,” She pouts but squeaks when Harry tugs her into him, dropping the book and the camera as he adjusts her on his lap.

“Gonna let me take a picture of y’all nice and fucked out, darling?” He rasps, ignoring her pout and hiking her dress up her hips.

And it’s happened throughout the years, so many pictures that were littered over the internet where just uncredited snapshots from YN.

Just like the one from 2013, they were on tour, and Harry was supposed to be recording for the next album after soundcheck and before the concert. ***

Instead, after soundcheck, Harry and YN had snuck off to a little meadow and lake to have a swim. He had shimmied down to his briefs and waded in.

YN stood back, snapping a picture of him and his friend as the complained about how freezing cold it was.

“Baby, c’mon. Come get in!” Harry had shouted back to his girlfriend on the dry land, “I need some warmth, s’freezing!”

YN grimaces, just in Harry’s shirt and a pair of yoga shorts, dipping her toe in and shaking her head - “I’ll enjoy from here!”

“Please, bug,” He pouts, motioning for her to come in.

She does after a moment, squealing at the temperature before quickly finding her way into Harry’s arms.

“Only have fun on tour when y’with me,” He had murmured into her ear before he dunked her underwater and they play fought until their stomachs hurt from laughing.

And then came the notorious picture that had gotten a million likes in thirteen minutes, oh, the chicago ice bath.

Harry had been achey since tour had begun, constantly complaining about his back and ankles from the shows.

“Baby, just rub m’back a lil’ longer please?” He had whimpered the night before, the tour bus bed did not help him much at all.

When his trainer had recommended an ice bath immediately after the show - YN had made sure to arrange it despite his protests.

After exiting the stage in his black and lilac outfit, he’d been lured into the bathroom with a promise of sex but instead was a steel tub filled with ice water.

Jeff, Lambert, Tommy - everyone was watching on in amusement as he adamantly tried to deny that it would help and the peer pressure wasn’t make him anymore convinced.

“Alright, everyone out,” YN had finally tittered, shooing out the circus before closing the door for privacy.

She helps strip her husband out of his close as he looks at her reproachfully, “You promised me sex.”

“After,” YN assures him, kissing his puffy lips and asking softly, “Just try it, if it doesn’t work - you don’t have to do it again.”

He grumbles a bit, muttering, “Don’t look at m’bits, they’re gonna shrivel up.”

YN giggles, “As if I haven’t seen your bits in every shape and form.”

As he slips in, YN has to snap a picture of his eyes wide and lips pursed at the shock of the freezing water cooling down his hot, sticky skin.

“Holy fucking shit,” Harry hisses, lowering self until he’s sat - his nipples instantly hardening and he’s breathing roughly out of his nose.

“Five minutes, I’ll set the timer,” YN says, setting it on her phone before sitting down next to the tub as he tries to relax.

“Baby, fuck. Reminds me of that really cold lake in Boston, ‘member?” He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches until YN intertwines their hands.

“Yeah, that wasn’t as cold as that one time you convince me to skinny dip with you on the coast of france.”

“Oh yeah, that one was really fucking cold too,” Harry murmurs, keeping his eyes closed and steadying his breathing.

(During WWA tour - ***)

“Harry, are you insane? Anyone could see us? Paul could walk out or the boys. I’m not-“

She’s cut off when Harry shucks off his swimsuit bottoms, his skin’s glowing in the moonlight and the light waves lapping at the shore are soothing.

YN swallows harshly, tries not to stare at how handsome and overwhelming beautiful he is as he turns to step towards the water.

She looks over her shoulder nervously before stepping out of her one-piece, he waits for her at the shoreline.

“Y’so so stunnin’,” Harry tells her, thumbing at the soft curve of her breast and leaning in for a soft kiss when he feed her shake.

“You could have anyone,” YN whispers against his lips, “Every girl on this earth wants you like this. I’m just some girl from before all this,” she motions to the extravagant bungalow they’re staying at.

“I don’t know why y’think tha’s bad. I want t’experience all this with you, m’first love and m’only love. I’m going to marry y’soon, you know tha’?” He replies, lips tracing the curve of her neck.

“You better,” She giggles, hands going to his shoulder as he sucks a mark into the thin skin.

He pulls back with a frown, “M’not jokin’, I don’t care that we’re young - M’gonna do it.”

“I can’t wait,” YN kisses his jutted out lip, squealing when he tugs her into the water and the chilled waves crash against her hips, “H, it’s so cold.”

“M’gonna keep y’warm, hush up,” He titters, pulling her into his chest until her breasts are smushed against his strong pecs and his arms are around her shoulder, “Love experiencing this w’you, everythin’ w’you.”

YN is brought back from her daydream by her husband wiping his finger under her eyelid, “Darling, wha’ is it?”

She hadn’t realized she had teared up thinking of the fond memory, “I want to go back to that bungalow. We had such a good time. I…I just love you.”

His wife chuckles like she’s pathetic for crying about it but he leans out of the tub, cupping her jaw and pulling her in for a hard kiss.

“Don’t be embarrassed, flower,” There was no teasing in his voice, it was sincere, “If anyone should be embarrassed - I’m the one who travels around the world t’sing love songs ‘bout you.”

Their lips join again, his tongue finding its way into her mouth when Jeff, Lambert, and Tommy barge through the door.

“Jesus Christ, only you could be trying to get some while sat in an ice bath,” Jeff scoffs with a smile but instantly knows they’ve fucked up.

“Get out, the fuck?” Harry sits up, “Don’t interrupt me and m’wife. Get out!”

They stumble out and just then the alarm goes off.

YN helps him out, tucking him into a towel and helping him dry off - his head tucked into her neck and hand on her belly - massaging.

“Do you feel any better?” She hums while getting some stray droplets on the nape of his neck as he nuzzles into her warm skin.

“Mm,” He agrees drowsily, hand slipping under her shirt for more heat and she jumps at his icey touch, “Want t’sleep.”

And when they get to the hotel, YN logs onto his Instagram and uploads the ice bath pictures with nobody knowing the story behind it.

Hope you enjoyed!

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wandaromanova · 3 years ago

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Can you do a fluffy wanda one (with a little angst because of course) where reader and wanda are best friends, reader wants more, but thinks wanda is interested in vision so she doesnt say anything. And then one day a mission goes wrong, and reader gets into an accident that results in her getting powers, and it makes wanda wake up and confess her feelings?

Requited Love

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, injury, that’s all!

A/N: hello! i hope you enjoy what i’ve created out of your request, anon! sorry i couldn’t think about how i could incorporate the powers part of the request! not proofread, so i apologize for any grammatical errors! join my taglist here <3

Summary: Wanda Maximoff and Y/N L/N are your typical best friends who refuse to admit their feelings for each other.

Word Count: 3.3K (had a lil too much fun with this)

(gif is not mine)

You and your best friend, Wanda, had been friends practically since the moment she had joined the team. Being the youngest Avenger, you were so excited that there would finally be another member that was close to your age. Despite the events of Sokovia, you didn’t fear the woman. If anything, it only made the urge to get closer to her stronger.

Her powers absolutely mesmerized you. From the color of her powers to the different ways she could use them to her advantage; it was mind blowing how much power she had literally at her fingertips. As time went on, you and Wanda became very close. You’d always have movie nights together in your room, which eventually led to the Sokovian woman peacefully sleeping next to you in your bed.

Not only was Wanda drop dead gorgeous, but she was genuine and humble. She had confided in you about the many different traumas she had been through and expressed how the surreal amount of grief constantly consumed her. It broke your heart to know that such an amazing person was put through so much.

Her past could’ve easily turned her into a villain, but she decided to go the opposite direction. She came to the conclusion that her powers could help others and that’s what she had chosen to do in Sokovia and up to now. It was why she had agreed to join the Avengers in the first place. Wanda knew how awful the world could be and she wanted to be there for people the way that her family had been before they passed. The amount of respect you had for Wanda was immeasurable.

Over the span of two years, you and Wanda became joined to the hip. Wanda didn’t even sleep in her own bed anymore. Before, she would just accidentally fall asleep in your room or sneak into your room in the late hours of the night to sleep with you. But now, she just barged into your room every night and slept there. She said that you kept the nightmares she had at bay and you were more than happy to be there for her if it meant she got a full night’s rest.

You both jumped at any opportunity you guys could to be on the same mission as the other. You not only wanted to spend time with her, but you wanted to protect her. Lord knows that Wanda of all people could handle herself, but it kept you at peace when you were with her; knowing that she had you to back her up. Naturally, you fell in love with your best friend.

At first, you thought you were just confusing your special platonic friendship with Wanda for romantic feelings. But sometimes you caught yourself wanting to kiss Wanda. You knew damn well that friends don’t daydream about making out with each other. So, yeah, you definitely had feelings for Wanda, but there was one thing standing in your way; Vision.

Vision basically joined the team at the same time Wanda did. He was created during the Ultron situation and has been an Avenger since then. Wanda and Vision were very close. They weren’t as close as you and Wanda were, but he was a close second. They had a bond over the mind stone that you couldn’t ever compete with. This fact discouraged you and forced you to keep your mouth shut. You’d rather keep your feelings to yourself and suffer in private than risk your friendship with Wanda.

I mean, you didn’t even know if Wanda was into girls! She could be as straight as a wooden ruler and you would most definitely embarrass yourself if you told her. Vision wasn’t exactly a man by any means, he was a robot. If Wanda were to like Vision that must mean you had a chance right? Not to be an ass, but he’s literally a hunk of metal. Regardless of all these thoughts, you knew at the end of the day that you would have to hide your feelings for the sake of maintaining the relationship you currently have with the Sokovian.

You did pretty good at hiding your feelings for awhile. You acted as if everything was normal and not like you were emotionally crying out inside every time you saw Wanda with Vision. It began to get too much when you had caught sight of the pair cooking Paprikash in the communal kitchen. Cooking was something you and Wanda used to do together. It was kind of your thing. It may seem silly, but watching her do something with Vision that used to be sacred to you both hurt.

You began to distance yourself the closer Wanda and Vision got together. What sucked even more was that Wanda didn’t even acknowledge your sudden distance. She no longer slept in your room, opting to spend her nights with Vision. You were dying inside and Wanda didn’t even care to notice.

You had a mission to get to today. Usually, Wanda would be down in the hangar whenever you were going on a mission without her, but she wasn’t there today. She was probably off somewhere with Vision, again. It stung that Wanda didn’t even want to see you off. She was so preoccupied with Vision that she didn’t even give you a second thought. A toaster was stealing your best friend who you just so happened to be madly in love with away from you. And you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

So, you reluctantly got onto the Quinjet with Steve who was accompanying you on the mission. Fury only sent you two in for this mission because it was a simple one. It didn’t require the entire team to complete. You both were to capture and detain the scientist responsible for the latest human experimentations at the hands of Hydra. From the intel gathered by S.H.I.E.L.D, their security wasn’t that bad so it would be a walk in the park for you and Steve. You had just left and you already desperately wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity in the comfort of your bed.

But first, you had to get this mission over with. The Quinjet landed a little far away from the small Hydra base. You and Steve made your way out of the jet and began to trudge your way toward the building. As you guys got closer, Steve stopped abruptly.

“No matter what, we stick together okay? Just because this should be an easy mission, doesn’t mean we should let our guard down. Understand?” He lectured you sternly as he stared at you intensely.

“Yeah. I got it, Cap.” You replied to him dismissively as you continued to make your way toward the building. You took note of the five guards that were guarding the entrance and gave Steve a nod before you both sprung into action.

After you guys had taken down the entrance guards, you both sneakily made your way into the building. It was pretty easy to find your target, seeing that the building was the size of a house. You and Steve barged into the room, the scientist whipping around quickly and freezing in shock at the sight of you both.

Steve quickly charged at the man and placed him into handcuffs. As Steve pulled the man up by the collar, forcing him to his feet, a thought crossed your mind. This is too easy. Only five guards and the professor was just conveniently in here? This had to be a setup.

Before you could voice your concerns to Steve, you felt a sharp pain rip through your shoulder as Hydra agents flooded into the room. You fell to your knees in pain as Steve threw the target to the ground. He quickly began to fight as many agents as he could. You stood up as you tried to temporarily forget the pain. You began to take on agents yourself. Despite being injured, you kicked their asses with ease.

You were down to the last agent while Steve was pulling the scientist back up to his feet, much more aggressively this time. For some reason, your thoughts went to Wanda. How would she react to your injury? Would she even bother to visit you to make sure you were okay?

Unfortunately, you had chosen the wrong time to become distracted by your thoughts of Wanda. While your thoughts were racing, you failed to notice the glint of a knife in the agent’s left hand. As you blocked one of his punches, he quickly stabbed you right in the stomach. At this, Steve jumped in to help you and made quick work of knocking out the man who stabbed you.

You fully fell to the floor this time, gasping for air. Not only were you shot, but now you got stabbed. Seriously? Did god decide you weren’t already having a shitty enough time? Steve quickly picked you up in his arms in a panic. He carried you to the Quinjet while making sure the scientist was following behind you both. Steve placed your body onto the medical table that was in the Quinjet, handcuffed the man to a railing, and sped off to the compound. He took note of how much blood you lost; it was a lot to say the least. If he didn’t get to the compound soon, he feared you wouldn’t make it; and that wasn’t an option.

The 30 minute trip to the compound turned into a 15 minute ride. Steve quickly rushed you into the medical wing of the compound and placed you into the care of Doctor Helen Cho. He knew he had to tell the team about what happened. The Avengers were a family, and you being the youngest meant you were like a child to them, well besides Wanda obviously.

Steve hurriedly made his way into the living room of the Avenger’s living quarters and made sure Jarvis informed everyone that it was an emergency. As Steve entered, everyone turned to face him with worry present on each of their faces.

“What’s wrong, Rogers? Is everything okay?” Natasha asked as she looked over his body. There was an insane amount of blood all over his star-spangled suit. “It’s Y/N.”

At Steve’s words, everyone in the room stood in shock as their jaws dropped. But no one’s feelings could compare to Wanda’s. She abruptly stood up from the couch and made her way towards Steve.

“What about her? What happened to her?” Wanda began to get angry as hints of her powers made their way to her eyes. Steve took a step back and looked at Wanda before returning his gaze back to the other people in the room. You could hear a pin drop in the silence of the room.

“We went on a mission together. It was supposed to be an easy in and out thing. But we were setup. She got shot in the shoulder and stabbed in the abdomen. She’s in the medical wing right now.” Steve spoke strongly, attempting to remain calm for the sake of the team, but he was terrified inside. Your state refused to leave his mind. Your limp body in his arms as your warm blood covered his hands.

Wanda didn’t say another word as she ran towards the elevator and impatiently hit the button to the medical wing. She didn’t bother to wait for anyone else. Nothing mattered right now except you.

Wanda had feelings for you. Ever since she met you, you were this light in the darkness that was her life. You could cheer her up when no one else could. You knew her better than she knew herself. You were not only her best friend, but you were the woman she was irrevocably in love with. She was terrified to tell you how she felt. She thought she would lose you if she had confessed how she truly felt for you. So, she remained quiet and tried to forget about her feelings for you by hanging out with Vision more. She wasn’t using Vision by any means, she genuinely did enjoy his company. But he wasn’t you.

Wanda didn’t even wait for the elevator doors to fully open as she squeezed herself through the small gap and made her way towards the medical bay doors. Before Wanda could open the door, Steve abruptly grabbed her hand, stopping her from going any further. He must’ve taken the stairs. Damn his super soldier abilities.

“Wanda. Stop. I know you’re worried about Y/N, we all are. But barging in there won’t be any help. You need to let Cho and her nurses focus on helping her.” Steve desperately tried to talk some sense into Wanda; it worked. Wanda’s shoulders slumped as she made her way towards the seating area that was right outside the doors. All she could do was sit, wait, and pray to whatever god there was that you would be okay.

Wanda didn’t even know you were going on a mission today. If she did, she would’ve went to the hangar and hugged you before she left, like she always did. Oh fuck, she didn’t even get to see you off and now look at your state. Now that she thought about it, she had been neglecting you for some time now. She let her fear of her feelings consume her. She spent more time with Vision than with you, and now she wasn’t sure if she would get the opportunity to be with you again. The thought of not being able to tell you how in love with you she was mortified her. This was the wake up call she needed.

——————————————————————————

2 hours later

After two agonizingly slow hours, Doctor Cho made her way towards the anxious group of heroes. Wanda shot up from her seat and approached Helen.

“How is she? Please, tell me she’s okay.” Wanda asks as she nervously chews on her bottom lip. “Y/N is fine. Luckily, the knife didn’t hit any major arteries. She won’t be able to make any sudden movements for the next few weeks which means no missions until I give her clearance.” At Cho’s words, the entire team was struck with relief. Wanda’s eyes lit up at the good news. You were okay. You were still here.

“Can we see her?” Steve asked from behind Wanda as he made his way to stand beside her. “Yes, shes awkward, but only one person can go in at a time. She’s very sensitive right now from the anesthesia.” Helen gave the team a smile before walking off.

Everyone looked at Wanda as she gave them a nod. Of course she had to go in first. You and Wanda may have been oblivious to each other’s feelings, but the team wasn’t. It was almost annoying how unaware you two were of how the other person felt.

Wanda quietly made her way into your room and almost let out a sigh of relief as she saw you laying on the table awake. You were trying to reach for a glass of water beside your bed, but the pain in your side made the small task a burden. Wanda quickly made her way to the table and handed you the glass of water. You were startled since you didn’t even hear her enter the room. You took the water from her hands and took a long sip before handing it back to her.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked coldly as you glared at the Sokovian woman. She was shocked at your animosity. You were never like this with her before. “I needed to make sure you were okay. I was worried sick.” Wanda frowned as she pulled a chair up to your bedside and sat in it.

“Oh. Now you suddenly remember I exist? It only took me nearly dying for you to notice me again.” You knew you weren’t being fair. You guys were just best friends and she was entitled to hang out and be with whoever she wanted. But the part of you that loved her and longed for more took over.

“Y/N. I’m sorry I haven’t been around as often. I got caught up hanging out with Vision when I should’ve been there for you.” Wanda’s eyes softened as she stared at your face. She missed you so much. She may have seen you around the compound, but she hasn’t been this close to you in what felt like decades.

“Yeah. You got caught up with Vision. Why don’t you just go back to him now. I’m fine.” You stubbornly spoke as you tore your eyes away from Wanda and stared out the window in front of your bed.

Wanda made a ballsy move and grabbed your hand in here. Thankfully, you didn’t move it away. “Y/N. I don’t care about Vision, I care about you. I love you and I mean that in more than a friendly way.” At Wanda’s words, your head snapped back to her as you looked over her features for any indication of a lie; you didn’t find any.

“I was spending time with Vision to try and forget my feelings for you. That obviously backfired and only solidified what I already knew I felt. I’m sorry it took such a terrible situation for me to finally grow the balls to tell you this. I love you Y/N.” Wanda squeezed your hand tightly as she stared at you full of love and adoration.

You were speechless. As cliche as it sounds, this was what you’ve wanted since the moment you laid eyes on her. She said the three words you’ve been longing to hear spill from her mouth. She loved you too.

“I love you too, Wanda. I’m sorry. I thought you had a thing for Vision and I let jealousy and insecurity get the better of me.” You looked down in shame as you tried to pull your hand out of Wanda’s hold, but she only gripped it tighter.

“Don’t be sorry. I completely understand. I’m so glad your okay and I’m so unbelievably happy that you feel the same way.” Wanda smiled brightly at you as you smiled right back. You guys must’ve looked like maniacs with your big, cheesy smiles, but you didn’t care.

Wanda began to slowly lean towards you. You attempted to meet her in the middle, but only ended up wincing in pain as you were reminded of your impressive stab wound. Wanda let out a laugh.

“Let me handle it, moya lyubov (my love).” Wanda said before closing the gap between you both and giving you a heated, desperate kiss. All the pent up emotions that you both had been withholding from each other were coming to light through this kiss. You guys were interrupted by the door swinging open abruptly and the sound of someone clearing their throat.

You both jumped apart as you cringed at the sting of your injuries. You turned to the door and caught sight of the team standing at the door with shit eating grins on their face.

“Sorry to interrupt you, lovebirds. But we wanted to check on Y/N too. Cho gave us the clear to come in now.” Natasha smirked at yours and Wanda’s flustered states.

“Pay up, Barnes.” Sam said as he held his hand out to Bucky, who groaned before placing 50 dollars in his hand. You and Wanda stared at the two confused, Bucky took notice of this and decided to fill you both in.

“We made a bet on when you two would get together. I said in the next two months, he said in the next two weeks. He won.” Bucky gave you both a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

Everyone in the room laughed, making you and Wanda turn even more red than before. You didn’t care about the inevitable, endless teasing you would have to endure after today. You would deal with the comments forever as long as it meant Wanda was by your side. You once thought that she didn’t feel the same, and you were so glad you were proven wrong. Sometimes, love can be requited after all.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #avengers #scarlet witch #request

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snowgoldwaylon · 3 years ago

Text

The Outfield - Russell Adler X Reader

Russell played baseball in high school, and was pretty damn good. Now, since being in the CIA, he hasn't picked up a slugger since. Maybe its time for the reader to show him how it's played.

TW: Strong language, sexual jokes.

It was a hot, summer afternoon at the base and many others were trying to stay cool as the 97-degree weather pounded down onto the tin roof. You, for the most part, were catching up on things you needed to be done in your room.

You cleaned, reorganized, and moved things around so they would feel fresh again. Your small black radio filled your room with the upbeat tunes of The Outfield - Your Love.

With the first guitar rift, memories of the team flooded instantly into your head. Lazar wearing a lampshade, Frank doing a silly dance with Mason with a beer in his hand, Helen at your side laughing just as hard as you. And Sims playing one wicked air guitar.

And Russell joined in at the last second so he wouldn't miss the chorus of the song. Hell, by then you would all have arms around the shoulders and sing as much as your lungs could handle.

You sat down for just a second to take all those memories in, and relive them. Those were the times before things started to get more serious with the Perseus hunt.

Things got dark and gloomy after the incident in Cuba, now everyone walked on eggshells around Russell. He never took to losing someone who we worked with easily. But after the loss of a long-time friend from another unit, almost brought him to his knees.

He always acted tough around the team, but you could tell deep down inside, he was ready to blow. This got you thinking about how you could take away all his anxiety and pain, let him have the opportunity to make another good memory for now.

Even if that meant for a few hours or a whole day. You got up, went to your desk, and did what any normal person would do. You read over his file carefully, maybe to see if he had any past hobbies he exceled in.

While in the middle of switching pages on your desktop, your door opened, and a quick rush of cool air filled the room. You spun around in your chair, and your eyes focused on the tall, petite brunette that entered with a file tucked under her arm, coffee, and a cigarette.

"Hey Y/N, sorry to just barge in. Hudson wanted me to come to share these updated rules with you about training." She said, closing the door as she looked up.

She pushed her glasses up and froze as her eyes focused on the file currently up on your screen. Your face went red, and you leaned back into your chair with a fake smile.

'Hey, Helen, way to knock huh?" You said, quickly using your body to block the screen.

She set her coffee down and simply pointed behind you. You flailed about as you tried desperately to click out of Russell's file.

"Oh, this? This is nothing, I was just trying to uh, do something?" You said, but more as a question.

Helen started laughing hysterically while she pulled up a chair and took a seat smack dab beside you.

"Y/N, no need to be embarrassed. I know you care for Russell greatly, but do you need to retort to such tactics as stalking the man?" She said in a cool tone.

You slumped over your desk and huffed. Great, now you look like a huge stalker to your best friend. How were you going to get out of this situation?

You turned and gave Helen a death glare. With her still cackling, you gave her arm a slight punch and went back to the desktop. You pulled up Russell's file again and looked for anything to help.

"I'm not stalking him, Hel. I'm trying to see if it says anything about what he liked when he was younger, maybe if he played any sports in school. But I can't find a damn thing about him!" You exclaimed pointing dramatically to the screen.

Helen lit a cigarette and you opened a can of Dr. Pepper. She scooted her chair up to your left side and looked at you with serious intent. You could practically see the gears grinding in her head, and it kind of scared you.

"Oh God Helen, what are you plotting? Your plotting I know that look from anywhere!!!" You exclaimed.

She gave you the classic horror movie smile and adjusted the glasses properly on her face.

"Y/N, you know me so well. Now, let's dig up the past on Mr. Adler here." She said, cracking her knuckles.

You simply slid down the chair you were sitting in horror, and watched. Now you were ready for the chaos that was about to unfold.

Time skip

After hours upon hours of digging through files, and even some additional research online to find just anything, you stumbled across an old newspaper headline.

"Helen, look! It's Russell!" You exclaimed.

You both intently scanned over the front page, and how Russell was the star of it.

"Local teenager named Allstar of the high school baseball team awarded a scholarship at finals"

The picture on the cover was Russell in his baseball uniform, holding a huge trophy. He had the black stripes painted on under his eyes, his hat could barely contain his blonde curled mess of hair. You assumed the people on either side of him were his parents.

The best part about the picture though was the huge, proud smile he wore. The background was dark from it being nighttime, and the lights illuminated his gorgeous silhouette. You felt a slight blush coming.

"Hello, earth to Y/N," Park said, looking directly at you.

You snapped your head towards her and smiled.

"What, I'm all here Helen." You said.

She gave you a suspicious eye, but then she giggled.

"Yeah, sure you were. Also, can we just acknowledge the fact that Russell had curlier hair than Bon Jovi?" She said.

You both laughed loudly.

"For real, I'm waiting for that picture to start singing about how the Union went on strike." You said.

Another rage fit of laughs erupted through the room, as you both cackled and started singing in horrible tones of the song.

After the laughing died down, your door was suddenly thrown open, and none other than Lawrence Sims' head poked through the door. You stood up to cover up the computer, and Helen took position right next to you.

"Hey y'all, can I come in?" He questioned.

"Sure, we were just discussing new safety and combatant rules," Helen said in a cool tone.

Lawrence came in and took a seat, he also had some papers in his hands. He gave a confused look as he finally saw both of you, tag-teaming covering the screen.

"Uh, whatcha y'all got going on there?" He questioned.

"Just looking at an old high school baseball list, that's all. For a little project." You said.

Lawrence quickly shook his and sighed.

"I hope y'all know I can see right in the middle past you, and I see that's Doc back in high school." He said.

You didn't know what to say, and neither did Helen.

"Listen, we aren't being weird, we were just trying to find out if Russell had any hobbies so we all could take a day, and do something. He's super depressed and I just want him to be happy, even if it's just for a day." You said.

"Sounds like to me that Y/N has a little crushy crush on the Doc," Lawrence said, making kiss sounds.

"Lawrence, I'll kill you if you say anything." You said.

He froze, and shivered.

"No thanks, I choose life." He said, putting a hand over his heart.

"Good, I'm glad we're on the same base then," Helen said with a wicked smile.

You got up and pulled out a notebook. You quickly jotted something down with a black pen and looked up back to them.

"Okay so, he enjoys baseball. So what now?" Helen asked.

You pulled out an older newspaper from your bedside drawer and scanned over the 'community tab. The moment you saw the city's baseball field that was open to the community as of now, you almost jumped up.

"Guys look, let's round everyone up and go here. We can play a few games of baseball and have lunch, stay until it's dark. Maybe hit up the nearby bar for happy hour." You winked.

Lawrence and Helen looked at each other with a satisfied face, and nodded.

"Well, I certainly have no objections. Let us all run around and play an American game very aggressively!" Helen exclaimed.

"Until we all get smoked by Doc." Lawrence scoffed.

You slipped your shoes on and your facility ID around your neck. You turned back to both of your friends and gave a come on motion.

"Well, come on. I'm gonna need your brains to help me convince Jason to not be such a stick in the mud." You said.

With that, you all headed ground level to his office.

A couple of days later

Lazar whipped the large borrowed van into a parking spot, right outside the giant, stadium before you all. Pulling up, Alex let out a low whistle and Helen snapped photos. She was just equally amazed as you were.

"Man, this place is fucking huge. I think this and Yamantu are a tie." Frank said, adjusting his baseball gear.

Russell sprung up from the very back seat and craned his neck to see what you all were talking about.

"Whoever let Lazar get his license needs fired. I feel like I just went through the space-time continuum." Jason complained.

Lazar gave him a serious face as he looked into the rear view mirror of the van at Jason.

"Fine, you can just walk next time. We both benefit!" He said.

Jason scoffed and finally opened the van door.

You stepped out, and Russell got out last. He took in a large grey stadium and you saw a smile creeping up on his face.

"So you planned all of this? Impressive. Love me some baseball." Russell said as he walked to your side.

You finished pulling your shirt down where you desired and looked towards him with a smile. You both started walking side by side but made sure to follow the group from behind.

The weather was perfect, and there were still plenty of hours of sunlight left for you all to cop out at least 5 games, that's if everyone wanted 5 games.

"So, what made you decide to haul all of us down here to a baseball field and play? What if someone doesn't like it?" Russell asked, smoking a cigarette.

"Oh you know, this is a pretty popular place, so I figured this would be a good distraction for all of us for a while. Things were pretty sour back at HQ, you know?" You said with a smile, bringing your backpack tighter on your back.

You all entered the stadium and went straight for the closet dugout and sat all your gear down. You all huddled together once everyone got everything out, and ready to go.

"Wait! Before we all go, there's one more thing. We can't play a game without the Babe Ruth special!" Alex yelled.

He pulled a tube of black paint from his back pocket and held it up. Everyone laughed as he dipped his finger, and marked two straight lines under both his eyes.

The whole team passed it around and did the same. After it was done, he recapped it and threw it next to his bag on the bench.

"Alright, now we need teams. Since there are eight of us all together, that helps. Pick a group of four and go from there. I call dibs on Y/N!" Helen exclaimed.

Lazar joined you, and so did Lawrence. Jason, Russell, Frank, and Alex all paired up, and the groups all decided to flip a coin to see who was batting or playing field first.

"Heads for Y/N's team, or tails for Doc's team," Lawrence said, putting the coin on the top part of his hand.

You nodded and watched with great intent. He flipped the coin with ease. It glided through the air with ease. The shiny coin fell and hit the ground with a small thud. You all stood around to see what it landed on.

You cheered when you saw heads. You and Helen jumped with joy when you saw Frank and Alex sigh. You all went to where you were supposed to be within in seconds.

Lazar stepped up to the plate first with a wooden slugger in his hands. Jason warmed up with the ball for a few seconds and slipped the black glove on his left hand.

You and Helen headed back to the dugout to watch. Lawrence took up the position of the umpire. You sat down and opened the water and offered it to Helen first, who gladly accepted.

"I hope I made the right choice. Now, this whole baseball thing seems kind of silly." You said.

Helen looked at you mid sip.

"What? Y/N don't be silly. Everyone is excited! Look, I've never seen Russell so excited before in his life. Other than when you walk into a room." She grinned.

Your face turned a beet red, and you lightly smacked her arm.

"Helen Park! Not here, Skidrow. Not today." You murmured out.

She laughed and turned her attention back to the field.

"You'll have to tell him eventually you know. It will drive you crazy." She said.

Jason struck Lazar out twice, and he was on his last swing. Jason threw a wicked curveball, but Lazar cracked it with ease. He threw the bat off home plate and took off to first.

The boys in the outfield took off at the speed of light after the ball. Alex picked it up after it landed on the ground, and chucked it to Russell. He caught it and turned to get Lazar out, but Lazar stopped at third base and gave a little hand wave.

"Sorry Rus, I'm safe," Lazar said with a little sass.

You poked Helen and whispered to her while she watched in amazement.

"You'll have to tell him soon Helen." You said with a dark laugh.

She smacked you lightly, before grabbing a bat and walking toward the plate. You sat back, pulled your hair up and smiled.

Time skip, hours later.

It was dark, and the field was lit up by the stadium lights. The team was easily on the 6th game of the night. It was serious now, and personal. After losses and winnings racked up on either side evenly, Russell's team was determined to win the last game of the night.

Alex walked up to bat while you stood at the mound, gloved up and ready to go. Frank turned up the radio at the dugout. You saw Alex come and position himself where he wanted.

"Hey Lex, how's it hanging? Long and hairy hard to carry, short and stubby kind of chubby, or a little to the left?" You asked with a smile.

Laughter erupted from either side and Alex just chuckled, bringing the bat over his shoulder.

"A little to the left, but you should already know that." He said.

Once the laughter died down, you brought your arm up for a pitch. You swung with ferocity, and drive. The ball flew through the air swiftly, like water, and straight past Alex who had swung way too early.

You repeated these steps two more times, and soon he was out. He walked back to the dugout after his defeat. Russell emerged and strut his way to the plate.

You watched him the whole time. You were mesmerized by how good he looked with sweaty hair and determination. Like he was trying to take top Alpha.

"You ready for this, blondie?" You said to him in a singsong voice.

He chuckled, took off his sunglasses, and brought the bat over his shoulder. He kicked some dirt off the plate and repositioned himself.

"As I'll ever be, chickadee." He rhymed.

Your heart went a million miles a minute as you came into the pitching position. You threw the first one, and it went right past him, he didn't even flinch.

Frank threw the ball back and you caught it with one hand. You returned it to your dominant hand and got ready to pitch again.

You cocked back, and with great force, you threw it with everything you had. The ball soared and made small whirring sounds as it flew towards Russell.

Russell took one step forward and swung with all his force. The ball made a sick cracking sound as it came into contact with the metal bat. The ball went flying over your head so fast, you couldn't keep an eye on it.

You simply watched in amazement as he took off running, and everyone was yelling. By some will, Lazar caught it after it landed. He threw it back and you caught it with precision.

You turned on your heel and immediately went to chase down Russell, who was already at 3rd base. You were on his heels and the home stretch was just feet in front.

You dove as Russell slid in. The ball touched his arm as his legs touched the plate. The whole team was yelling as you both looked at each other.

"Your out, Russell Adler. I got you." You said, with his face just inches from yours.

He chuckled, pulling closer to you.

"I'm pretty sure that was a tie, princess. But for you, I'll take out every time." He said.

Your eyes never left gaze. He inched closer and your heart dropped. His eyes were so beautiful, all you wanted to do was just trace his scar.

Your noses touched, and you almost screamed.

"Y/N" Russell said.

"R-Russel?"

"Can I kiss you?" He asked.

"Yes, please." You said.

Once your lips locked, sparks flew. You grabbed onto his head, locking your fingers in his hair as he sighed.

You heard cheering, catcalling, and a few 'get a room' from behind you. But you did not care. Russell slipped his tongue in your mouth and fought for dominance.

You heard a few clicks of a camera and soon pulled apart, a string of saliva still attaching you both.

You turned and saw Helen with a big smile, the camera pulled to her face. The whole team was cheering, Frank and Alex and Jason all cracked open a beer.

You and Russell both turned back to look at each other with a small blush. He got up and wrapped his arms around your arm to help you up.

Once you stood on both feet, his arm immediately went around your waist for support. You both smiled, as you lent on him. The light from the stadium captured this moment forever, and Helen's camera.

Everyone soon came to flank you both, and the boys lifted Russell into the air as the radio began to play the song you all loved so dearly.

"I don't wanna lose your love tonight, I just wanna use your love, tonight" it sang loudly.

Once the boys put him down, he came back over to you and held his hand out. You took it and locked your fingers.

"Come on Y/N, we have a bar to cause a commotion in," Russell spoke.

You laughed as you all walked off the field. You took one last look behind you at the field you'd never forget. Frank, Lawrence, Alex, and Lazar we're all singing along to the song.

Jason turned around and fixed his glasses, and pointed a finger toward you.

"Now I see why Y/N wanted to come to play baseball!" He exclaimed with a laugh.

Everyone laughed as you all piled in the van, and sped off.

YEARS LATER

The Y/L/N - Adler wedding went without a hitch. Everyone from the CIA was there, storming up a party. It was the middle of June, so it was perfect weather for the wedding and reception.

After the actual wedding, the real party started. Everyone was dancing, singing, playing games, and having fun. You looked out over the sea of people and smiled.

You felt arms wrap around your waist and a pair of lips attach to your neck. You jumped slightly.

"Frank, for the last time, Alex is over by the keg." You said jokingly.

"I'm not Frank, sweetheart." Russell said.

You leaned into his touch and brought a hand up to his cheek.

"Thank God." You laughed.

"You having a good time? Because I sure am. And I for sure will be when I get you on that plane." Russell said.

You scoffed and turned to look towards him.

"Please tell me you aren't taking me to another baseball field for our honeymoon." You joked.

"Damn! You foiled my plan! I was gonna have you be my sexy umpire too." He said with a laugh.

"I think it fits, us getting married the first place we declared our love. It was a pretty good idea." You said.

Russell relaxed to your touch as he watched everyone dance, and laugh.

"I would've had it any other way, babe. I love you."

"And I love you." You said as you faced him.

You locked lips as the lights in the stadium came on, just in time for sundown.

You knew you made the right choice, right here in the outfield.

Taglist: @smokeywhalee @wennbergbabe @kazazure @kapanovangswife @goawaypleasecryingemoji @xundeadqueenx @actuallyilya @little-miss-mason @americas-monster @direwolfspostsrandomshit @justagenderfluidstuff

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sanityshorror · 4 years ago

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Helen: *painting in his room, wanting to be left the fuck alone*

Jonathan: *barges in and flops down on the bed in a dramatic pose*

Jonathan: ~paint me like one of your French girls~

Helen: ...you are the most obnoxious, degenerate, man-child--

Jonathan: *starts to get up to leave*

Helen: NO WAIT-

Helen: ...I didn't say I wouldn't do it...

I wrote a fic of this

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doc-pickles · 3 years ago

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always free to run home

in which alex's dad shows up post 16x16

hello! i posted this fun little fic on AO3 awhile back but i'm also throwing it over here. shoutout to @mac-andcheeses for letting me use her brain child for this one!

“Hey, it's Alex. Leave me a message.”

“Karev, it's Miranda Bailey. Your dad is being treated at Grey Sloan for injuries he sustained during a car crash and he’s also detoxing from years of heavy drug use. We don’t have any other emergency contact for him, the only reason we knew who he was… That’s not important. I need you to come back to Seattle. I know you’ve got your picket fence and your perfect kids and your blonde ex wife out there in Kansas but you need to come back home.”

“Hey Junior. Can’t believe they really dragged your sorry ass out here. Doctor Bailey said I got a couple of grandkids out in Kansas. What the hell are you doing in Kansas?”

Alex rolls his eyes, ignoring his dad as he flips open his chart. Bailey had explained the situation when he had arrived just 30 minutes earlier but he wanted to see for himself just how bad it was looking for his father.

“They’re my kids but you’re not their grandpa. You don’t deserve that title,” Alex answers, not looking up from the chart. “Your liver is failing.”

“I know, that’s what they told me.”

“That doesn’t just happen overnight, you must have been in pain for a while.”

“You’re not giving me any new information, the leggy brunette doctor nearly chewed my ear off when I first came in,” Jimmy lets out a sigh and Alex decides to let his comment about his doctor slide. “I’m dying, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Do you just not care about anything? You’re about to die and all you can do is shrug your shoulders,” when Jimmy doesn’t respond Alex can’t help the frustrated groan that leaves him. “God I don’t even know why I came out here. You’re still the same guy that left us all those years ago aren’t you?”

Alex turns to leave but stops in his tracks when Jimmy speaks up, “Now that’s something you know a thing or two about isn’t it?” He doesn’t know how his dad knows the details of his escape from Seattle but his words make Alex’s blood boil as he turns to face Jimmy again, “Don’t you ever compare me to you. I left my whole life behind the minute I heard about my kids. I left my friends, my wife. Everything! I left the state to be there for my kids, I am nothing like you.”

“Trust me kid, I know all about your wife. Who do you think figured out who I was? Didn’t you see her name all over those tests?”

Alex practically lunges at the chart he’d just discarded. His eyes frantically scan the page, freezing almost immediately as he finds what he’s looking for.

Attending on the case: Doctor J. Karev

“She figured out pretty quick who I was, said we have the same crooked smile,” Jimmy is unphased by Alex’s mild freak out, continuing his story. “Didn’t say it outright but I saw her name on my chart and I knew. Well I pieced it together eventually, I’m not stupid.”

Alex finally looks back at Jimmy, anger still evident in his expression, “I know I fucked up by leaving Jo but you left our family! You left your kids behind!”

“And how exactly do you think I figured out who she was?”

Alex pauses, mind reeling at Jimmy’s words. He thinks he knows what he’s saying but Alex refuses to believe it. His dad was probably high still and trying to guilt trip him.

“I saw her, you ex wife. She was getting coffee and she had a baby, a little boy, all bundled up in his carrier. That’s when I figured it all out, the kid is your clone. Looks just like you did when your mom and I brought you home.

“Anyways the next day I overheard her talking to someone in the hall about how she couldn’t be on my case anymore. And it all made sense, the last name and the baby and everything. She stopped by earlier today and that short doctor told her you were coming. I think she went home to avoid you.”

Standing in a stunned silence Alex stares at the chart in his hands, still trying to fully process what his father is telling him. On the other hand Jimmy is talking a mile a minute but Alex can’t comprehend a word he’s saying.

“I gotta go,” Alex mutters the words as a half assed goodbye, sprinting out of the room and down to his rental car.

The loft is an easy destination, Alex’s body driving almost on autopilot. As he pulls into the back of the lot it occurs to him that in the year he’d been gone Jo might have moved. He’s about to call Meredith when the sleek black Audi he used to drive pulls in. He sits and stares in awe as Jo climbs out, opening the back door to grab a diaper bag and car seat before heading inside. He can’t see the baby from his vantage point but just the knowledge that he and Jo have a child together brings tears to his eyes.

He pulls himself together quickly, locking his car as he takes the steps up to the loft two at a time. It’s not until he’s standing at the door that he pauses, wondering if Jo rebbe wants to see him. Despite his reservations Alex knocks on the door, knowing he never wanted to live a life where he didn’t know all of his children.

The loft door slides open and for a moment the world around Alex is frozen. Jo is standing in front of him, eyes wide as she takes him in. As awestruck as Alex is seeing Jo for the first time in a year he can’t take his eyes off of the little boy in her arms. His dad was right, aside from the bright hazel eyes blinking up at him the kid is his clone, right down to the haphazard curls sticking up on his head.

“I… Bailey called me about my dad. And he said he saw you… I just needed to see for myself,” Alex shakes his head, as if the past year had suddenly come back to him. “I’m sorry I just barged in on you, I know you probably don’t want to see me. I’d really love to get to know him, you know where to reach me.”

Alex turns to leave, getting to the top of the stairs before Jo’s voice rings out, “His name is Blake. You two share a birthday.”

He doesn’t move as he processes what Jo’s just told him. There’s another beat of silence before she speaks again, “I didn’t know I was pregnant, you’d think a doctor of all people would know but I didn’t until I gave birth at home at 2 AM. He’s only three months old and by some miracle he’s perfect.”

Alex finally turns around, staring wordlessly at Jo who has tears streaking down her face. Blake is fading fast in her arms, struggling to keep his eyes open as Jo gently rocks him. It takes everything in him not to surge forward and wrap them both in his arms, but he knows not to push his luck with the woman he left so long ago.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called and told you about him but this has been the longest and scariest three months of my life. I didn’t have nine months to prepare and adjust to being a mom, I had minutes. And every minute since I first held our son in my arms has been full of me second guessing myself and trying to do what’s best for him.”

Jo’s chest is heaving now as she struggles to catch her breath. Her hand comes up to stifle the sob that comes out, Alex moving quickly to wrap her in his arms, “I know you’re a great mom Jo you don’t need to doubt that even for a minute. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.”

“You being here wouldn’t have changed anything, except maybe you freaking out when I went to pee and came back with a baby,” Jo burrows herself further into Alex’s embrace. “We made a baby.”

“A pretty cute one too,” Alex is about to say more when he notices a ring of bruises around Jo’s wrist. She notices too, quickly pulling at her sleeves to cover the fresh black and blue marks. “Jo…”

Jo pulls away from Alex as she walks into the loft and sets Blake down in his crib, “I’m fine, it was just an accident at work last night.”

Alex steps in front of Jo as she attempts to walk away from him. He doesn’t reach out to hold her like he wants to, instead studying her nervous behavior, “You know you can tell me the truth, right?”

Jo nods, still hesitant to look up at Alex as she focuses on her hands, “It was just an altercation with a patient, Hunt stepped in before I could get seriously hurt.”

“Jo-”

“It’s fine!”

“It’s not fine, you were attacked by a patient.”

“And I’m not on the case anymore. So it’s-”

“Not fine! What would’ve happened if-”

“Nothing happened! And I don’t think it’s your place to worry about me.”

“Of course it is, it always will be.”

“Can you stop freaking out?” “You were hurt! Of course I’m going to-”

“It was Jimmy. It was your dad that… hurt me.”

There’s a stifling silence as Alex takes in what Jo’s just told him. She’s watching him nervously, as if he was going to blow his lid at any moment, but he just stays quiet. When she realizes that he’s not going to say anything, Jo breaks their eye contact and continues her story.

“He was detoxing and thought I was your mom,” Jo rolls up her sleeves to show Alex the large hand marks covering the bottom half of her arms. “I’m fine though, I got checked over and Blake was in his car seat the whole time.”

“Blake was with you?!”

“Yeah… I was just checking on Jimmy before I left. He had told me earlier that he wanted to see Blake, that he looked just like you did as a baby,” Jo still refuses to meet Alex’s worried gaze as she retells the events of the previous night. “When I got there things were fine but then I showed him Blake and Jimmy just… He started yelling at me and pushing me around the room. He was calling me Helen and asking why I hadn’t picked you up from school yet. I pushed Blake’s car seat out of the way right before he pinned me up against the wall. Thankfully I was able to reach the code blue button and Owen rushed in right before he punched me.”

Jo finally meets Alex’s eyes and it takes everything in him not to run out of the loft and find his father, to scream at him and kick and punch and make him pay for hurting Jo the way that he had hurt him and his mother. Instead he leans down and cups Jo’s cheeks, wiping the tears pooled there as he fixes her with a gentle look.

“I’m fine, I really am Alex. I was more worried about Blake through the whole thing,” Jo shrugs as Alex’s fingers float across her cheek. “I’m used to-”

Jo cuts her statement short as she realizes what she was about to say. Instead she shakes her head and breaks free from Alex’s hold on her as she walks to what used to be his dresser. She pulls out a pair of his ratty sweatpants and an old t shirt, handing them to him as she walks past him towards her bed, “You can stay on the couch tonight, you know where the blankets are.”

“I can wake up with Blake,” Alex quickly offers. “You have a ton of bottles up by the sink and I’ve made about a thousand of them in the NICU. You need the rest.”

Jo just nods, practically falling into bed with a sigh. By the time Alex comes out of the bathroom her soft snores are echoing through the loft.

When Jo wakes up the next morning Alex has scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom and folded the pile of laundry on the couch. He had let Jo sleep in, toting Blake around in his carrier while he cleaned the loft. While Jo was never the neatest person she would always get antsy when the loft started to get too unorganized or cluttered. He could tell just from the state of things that she was completely overwhelmed with the infant that had unexpectedly taken over her life.

“I made coffee,” Alex gestures to the steaming pot on the counter. “And Blake just went down for a nap.” Jo nods in appreciation, silently pouring a cup of coffee for herself before turning to Alex, “When are you going back to Kansas?”

“My flight is scheduled for late tonight,” Alex lets out a sigh as Jo turns away from him. “Jo come on, I didn’t even know about Blake until yesterday.”

Jo turns back towards him, anger replacing the sadness that was just there, “Because you left! You left me Alex! I’m not counting on you sticking around just because we have a baby together.”

“I’m not just going to abandon my kid Jo.”

“Well you abandoned your wife pretty easily so excuse me if I don’t exactly believe you,” Jo scoffs, tears welling in her eyes. “You wanna know why I never called? Because being a single mom sounds a lot easier than shipping my son across the country to see his dad and step mom and their perfect life on a farm. I know you want to be in Blake’s life but I’m not putting him on a plane every other weekend so you can do that.”

“Izzie and I aren’t together.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Your stupid letter-”

“Was a mistake! The biggest mistake that I have ever made and I am so sorry about that Jo, but I would never try to take Blake from you,” Alex pleads. “You have to know that, don’t you?” “I don’t know that, I don’t know anything about you,” Jo’s voice reaches a scream as she faces off with Alex. “You spent years telling me you weren’t leaving, even longer trying to show me that your actions were louder than your words. And you still left me in a freaking letter!”

“Jo-”

Jo finally turns away from Alex, running a hand through her hair, “I’m not arguing with you about this. You left and gave me no say in our divorce.” “I had to leave, I had to be there for my kids.”

“And I would’ve come if you had asked me,” there’s tears in Alex’s eyes as Jo speaks, her voice coming down from it’s roar. “If you want to talk about knowing people, you should’ve known that I would follow you anywhere Alex. Did nine years teach you nothing or are you just extraordinarily stupid?”

Alex’s phone rings and breaks the illusion that they’re alone in the world. He only glances at the text for a moment before he’s shoving his shoes on his feet and grabbing his wallet and keys. When he looks back at Jo she’s staring at him with an anxious expression.

“I’m not leaving, it’s just my dad and-”

“Go Alex.”

“I’m not-”

“Go. We’ll still be here.”

Alex only spares one more look at Jo before he’s rushing out the door to Grey Sloan. He doesn’t know why he feels some sick sense of honor towards the man that abandoned him and gave him more trust issues than he can name, but he knows he needs to see his dad.

“Karev, your dad coded a little while ago,” Bailey begins to explain the situation as soon as Alex walks up to her. “Because of his long term drug use his heart is weak. He’s stable for now but… I would be shocked if he made it through the night.”

Alex nods his thanks to Bailey as he walks into Jimmy’s room. His dad is laying completely still, the slow and steady beeping monitors the only sign that he’s still alive. Alex settles into the seat next to the bed, watching his dad for a long moment. He hated him for years for everything he had put their family through, the way he had abandoned them and hurt his mom beyond repair. In fact Alex couldn’t help but feel a cruel kinship with his father, both men having broken their families into seemingly unfixable pieces.

“Alex.”

The soft voice shocks him but Alex looks up to meet his dad's gaze. He can tell it’s taking everything in him to form words but that doesn’t stop Jimmy.

“Kid, you’re nothin’ like me. That girl loves you more than you know and you’ve got a chance to do right by her and that little boy,” Jimmy lets out a cough and reaches out for Alex’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did. You’re a much better man than I ever was.”

It’s silent after that, Alex sitting and holding his dad's hand until the monitors around him fall silent an hour later. He sits with him for a while more before leaving, going back to the hotel room he had rented instead of the loft like he had wanted to. There’s a million thoughts running through his head but one rings louder than the rest.

Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

Logically Alex knows he should’ve called or texted or even sent another letter to Jo. Maybe not the letter, but it had been two weeks since his dad had passed and he had left Seattle without a word to anyone. He feels bad for leaving Jo once again but he also knows that his decision is for the best.

He’s not shocked even a little when Jo opens the loft door and scowls at him. Blake is on the floor of the living room batting at colorful shapes on his playmat and Alex is thankful that he at least seems happy.

“Hi.”

“Hey asshole,” Jo scoffs and turns around, leaving the door open for Alex but not acknowledging him. “You said you were going to the hospital and then you left. You specifically said you weren’t leaving and then you left. Again.”

“I know.”

Jo picks up the laundry basket on the couch and begins to put away the folded clothes, “I’m not really interested in whatever it is you have to say Alex. I’m done believing anything you say because every time I do I just get hurt.”

“l bought a house in Queen Anne,” Alex watches as the laundry basket in Jo’s hands tumbles to the ground, her eyes wide as she stares at him with unwavering attention. “I know you always liked the neighborhood and it’s right around the corner from Meredith. It’s a two story with some extra bedrooms and it’s got a big backyard for Blake to run around in with the twins when they come to visit in the summers. I already talked to Izzie and she said she’s more than happy to let them visit. And uh Bailey gave me my job back, as head of peds.”

Jo’s hand flies up to her mouth as she stares at Alex in shock. He at least has the decency to look somewhat ashamed for having left without a word, but the sight of her so emotional over his return makes him feel slightly better.

“I’m staying in Seattle, I’m going to be here for Blake. I can’t… I’m not my dad. I’m not going to leave my kid or my… you. I’m not letting you do this alone Jo, you don’t deserve that,” Alex takes a deep breath and chances another look at Jo who now has tears running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t call but I wanted to wrap things up back in Kansas and have everything lined up here. I promise that anytime you call or text from now on that I’ll answer. I’m not going to make the same mistakes I did before.”

The last word barely slips out of Alex’s mouth before Jo is across the loft, throwing herself into his hold. A sigh of relief leaves Alex as he wraps her in his arms, pressing his lips to her hair. They stay that way for a few minutes, just enjoying being close before Jo pulls back.

“Thank god, the loft is getting crowded and I’m worried Blake is gonna end up electrocuting himself or something when he starts crawling because I never had time to baby proof,” Jo blinks up at Alex, who looks confused at her statement. “What did you think I wasn’t going to come with you?”

“I-“

Before he can say anything in return Jo’s lips are against his and for the first time in months Alex feels well and truly at home.

#jolex babies #jolex fanfiction #jo x alex #jo karev #jolex fanfic #jo wilson #jolex #alex karev #grey’s anatomy #grey’s anatomy fanfic #nina writes

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

full masterlist - fic masterlist

The next morning found all the townhouse residents asleep, Celaena decided to take her leave of her brother—how she marveled at the word—through a note, citing prior obligations that needed to be attended though he was welcome to visit her in the evening if his duties could spare him, which she left with the efficient butler, who assured her the message would be delivered. The ride back home was unexpectedly short considering the roads were teeming with entourages of families returning from their country estates for the London Season or ladies running off to modistes to have their wardrobes updated with the latest fashions before the invitations started rolling ko in.

Her relief at returning was great, though she purposefully hid from her parents—or her elder sister, Eleanor—attending diligently to her correspondence. It was a miracle the stack of letters thinned at all, considering how preoccupied her mind was. Two hours after the torment of trying to focus on her letters, Celaena gave it up in favour of returning Countess Lieven's visit from last week. There was a considerable difference in age, personality and social ranks between them but both enjoyed each other's conversation, and the russian ambassadress was excellent company. Celaena did not expect to find the woman alone—the countess' drawing rooms rarely ever were—but she did look forward to sensible conversation about politics and such and was thoroughly displeased to find that esteemed lady attempting to look interested in Lady Jersey's—another lady patroness of the Almack's and a social leader whose favourite pastime was gossip—rants about the latest love affairs of Lady Caroline Lamb, and Mrs Burnwell among other ladies, who though a sensible lady did not look much pleased with Celaena, though she could not tell if it was because of her rank or her public insult to the lady's beloved niece—Lady Perrington—at the dinner party the other day. Despite the former's thrice professed hatred for the topic, Lady Jersey lament about Caroline Lamb extensively and with all the knowledge of one well-informed of her activities. The other ladies listened keenly and with interest, and by the end of their visit, Celaena felt she knew Caroline's social life better than her own and the countess looked ready to pull her hair out.

"I cannot stand her hypocrisy," said Her Ladyship once they were alone, "condemning Caroline—as obnoxious as she is—for her 'love affairs' when her own mother-in-law is so infamous a mistress to the Prince of Wales. If she thinks it is different just because the Royal House of Hanover is involved—oh, I cannot countenance her. It is a pity she should be such a public figure that I cannot avoid her, or I should happily see the back of that one. Come, my dear," said she, noticing her friend smile behind her teacup, "you came looking for an enjoyable half hour and were instead subjected to gossip and derision. You cannot have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence?" this said with a tone that indicated she did not know how anyone could have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence.

"I cannot defend her, but I can understand why she thinks the situations are different—it's not because the prince regent is involved, but rather Caroline's utter lack of discretion. I could easily forgive her affairs if they caused harm to no one but herself, but alas, as it is, her husband's standing in society is affected by her behaviour." This was said in reference to Lady Heathcote's ball in July, 1813 where, after being publicly insulted by her—former?—lover, Lord Byron, she had slashed at her wrists with a broken wineglass and only her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne's prompt thinking and quick intervention had kept her from serious harm. When it became clear she had no suicidal tendencies, the whole affair attached such a ridiculous air to all the parties involved, it could not have been in anyone's favour.

"You would condone her actions if she were only being discreet?" asked Countess Lieven, surprised.

"Perhaps not condone, no," said she, "but I would not object to them. Really, she and her husband are both adults in a marriage that is less a marriage and more a business contract based on terms and conditions. If both decide between themselves that the other can look for love—or rather, a lover—outside their household, and if they can manage it discreetly, what is the harm in it? Viscount Melbourne admits himself he does not care for his wife, nor she for him. If they must remain in a marriage neither wants, I do not see the harm in looking for satisfaction outside with both spouses' consent."

"But you would not act in the same way in her place," accused she.

"If my marriage was more like hers?" she wondered aloud. "I would hope to reach an understanding with my husband we can both be happy with." Seeing her friend look unconvinced, she said, "Really, I strongly believe that if something makes you happy, you must ask yourself if it harms someone? If it does not, I would not hold myself back out of respect for society's ridiculous edicts; not at the expense of my happiness."

"Adultery would be a disrespect to one's marital vows."

"Oh, certainly," agreed she, "but are they not already disrespecting their marital vows by vowing to love each other? I would rather a husband and wife live by an arrangement that keeps both happy than be miserable trying to respect marriage vows they never truly meant."

Countess Lieven who herself was faithful to her husband—a rarity among the upper ten thousands, whose own marriage was arranged and who lived—if not happily, than in a content state of harmony with her husband, could have nothing more to say on this subject, so she steered the conversation away from it. "I suppose you are thinking of the Whitethorns when you mention that example? I admit I was surprised to hear from Mrs Burnwell earlier Mr Whitethorn appreciated your company so—oh, do not be offended, dear—it is only that I have never seen him appreciate anyone's company at all, though I say he has fine taste if he does indeed show you preference."

Celaena had been thinking of him in relation to the subject, but denied it. "I do not think their troubles can be solved simply by taking lovers." Celaena put her teacup down and leaned forward, more to stop drinking the overly sweet concoction than to show interest in the subject. "I had the impression those two do not get on because she is not suited to the duties his rank and station entails and he is not equipped with enough knowledge or patience to know how to guide her in it. They are bound by constraints of society in a marriage that makes both miserable."

Countess Lieven looked at her speculatively before the subject was dropped.

A perverse curiosity drove her to mention meeting Mr Galathynius and Lord Fenrys, which had the happy effect of inducing the countess to volunteer information about that family.

"The House of Galathynius," said she, "has been suffering from a lack of inactivity. Lord Rhoe lost a child some years ago and has not been the same since. His father abdicated his title after a severe bout of influenza in their county, but he soon recovered. The damage was done; Rhoe, the poor man was not prepared for the title and his estates and position suffered for it; now his sons take care of the properties while he pursues politics. The grandfather constantly battles them for power but he does not have half the influence as Viscount Layton—that is the elder brother, hardly social at all, so solemn and reserved but he is a responsible man. Far better than the rakes and dandies of town spending their days in the club, neck deep in debts of honor."

"Viscount Layton? I have not heard much of him at all, aside from his fondness for the written word."

"So you would not, for Galathynius is a name that does not appear in the tabloids often. The younger son does not have the trademark grave countenance of his forefathers—he inherited the ashryver charm from his mother and the elder is so antisocial, he hides himself in the country. For two boys who lost their sister and mother at an early age and were brought up by an uninterested father, they grew up to be fine indeed."

"The Countess of Narrowcreek, yes. Mrs Burnwell told me she was a fine lady."

"Lady Helen was, not pretty but so well-mannered and polite! She died of fever an year after her daughter, though some say it was the heartbreak that killed her."

"They are a big family, are they not? You said something about the ashryvers? I met one of them."

"Yes, the cousins," said she, "fine young men, all either determined bachelors or trapped in poor marriages. The ashryvers don't have their Galathynius cousins' impeccable reputations but the natural ashryver charm easily accounts for that." The Countess smiled knowingly and she shifted in her seat at the silent implication that she was interested in one of them—god forbid—and not wanting to further this idea, Celaena was obliged to put an end to this line of inquiry and introduced a generally neutral topic of conversation. Though Celaena was far too aware of the speculative look on the countess' face everytime she looked at her, the visit ended pleasantly on both sides, with one party anxious and the other intrigued with the subjects of conversation introduced.

That afternoon, Celaena was admitted into Lysandra's modest apartments by a housemaid who bade her to wait in the drawing room. Impatient to her own detriment, she thought nothing of barging into her friends' room and was wholly unprepared for the sight she was met with.

"Oh, no," said she, stupidly, "I-I came to talk, I didn't know—Captain Ashryver, I-I-oh."

Celaena flushed, prompting the colonel to fish for his clothes while he clutched the bedsheet in an attempt to cover his lower-half. The poor man looked ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff, which soothed her mortification somewhat. Like all englishwomen of respectable birth, Celaena had a suppressed but prurient curiosity that was only encouraged by the books available in her father's well-stocked library. Her odd fascination with the ladies of the demi-monde had been one of the initial reasons she extended an acquaintanceship with the courtesan who was now her dearest friend, though she soon learned to love the lady for her own merits. However, all education in that area did not prepare her for exposure to such a sight. She colored, gaped, stammered an incoherent excuse about needing air and fled the room. Her distress increased when Captain Ashryver stepped out of the room first, properly dressed to the boot.

He bowed formally, which seemed absurd given what had passed before.

"Captain Ashryver."

He flushed. "Miss Sardothein. It is—it is actually Colonel Ashryver now."

Celaena murmured vague congratulations, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I thought you were still with the army, sir, in Brussels—I am surprised to find you here. Do you know yet how long you will stay with us?"

"Six months," said he, looking away.

"Aedion," called she, startling him with her address of his given name, "I hope you know you are as dear to me as a brother. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I would happily listen to you."

Hesitation warred with trust in his eyes, and he looked cautiously towards the bedroom.

"I will not betray your confidence to anyone," she assured him firmly.

Aedion looked at his hands, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I was offered a posting here in London and—and I am not sure if I can accept it."

"It must be hard," she observed, "to give up a career you spent half your life pursuing."

"It is, and yet, it is not the only reason. I didn't choose to go to the army—I—when my grandfather found out about my inclinations," this word was spat out with enough venom that she knew what he thought about the man, "he sent me there and I accepted it as my lot, as if I were a second son. I don't know if father knows why I insisted on joining the army but, gods, I did belong there, with my men—there were some others from aristocratic families like mine who hoped any unusual proclivities would be beaten out of us there. It was just part of a job—killing people was not a good thing or a bad thing—it just was. But I was at Hougomont, Celaena," this being one of the chateaus in the village of Waterloo, "and by God, I never saw so much death as I saw there, so many friends dead, their wives widowed, their—their children orphans. I did not—if I have to see a war half so drastic as that again, I do not think I will survive it."

Celaena reached for his hand, frowning. "Then why hesitate?"

"I did not go there by choice; he—my grandfather, that is—forced me into it and he will not be pleased if I am against him. If he decides to cut off my allowance, on a colonel's payroll alone, I will not have nearly enough to pay off Lysandra's debts."

"I can help with that—"

"No." His voice was soft, but firm.

"Aedion, don't be foolish. You haven't much choice. You said yourself you could not survive another war and I could—"

"I said no."

"Pride goeth before a fall, colonel."

"Pride!" exclaimed he, looking resentful at the implication. "It is hardly that. You know what Arobynn did the last time you tried to pay off those debts—and whatever you can spare from your allowance, you need to save for your own future. Lysandra is not the only one bound to a monster by law."

She did know, but because she felt like being difficult, Celaena scoffed. "Say what you mean, sir. You do not wish to have help from a woman. If it had been a male friend offering instead, you would have jumped to accept—"

He threw his hands up. "You are putting words in my mouth."

"I am saying what you are too proud to admit out loud."

Aedion did not take the bait, replying calmly that he would not save one of his ladies from the Hamel's fire only to throw the other in it. Celaena could find nothing snappish to say to that, but having gotten over her own embarassment, she was determined to be difficult. "This is all well and good," said she, "but I hope the next time you will lock your door."

"The maid knew to leave you here," argued he. "If you had followed the instructions—"

"Instructions!" cried she. "This is not an army camp, colonel, and I am not a fellow soldier under your authority."

"I say, a good thing you are not. You have not the discipline for a soldier's life."

"If all your men are as disagreeable as you, I am happy to have missed the chance." Clamping down on the very inappropriate desire to stomp her foot on the ground, she turned her face away. "At least I am well-mannered enough to not lay blame on others for my own faults."

"Fine manners you have indeed, walking into someone's bedroom unannounced."

"The door was open," argued she, weakly.

"The latch broke last night," he flushed and she decided she did not wish to know how. Celaena felt a pair of accusing eyes fixed on her. "But the incident was a fitting punishment for you—I hope you will think twice before doing that again."

To no one's surprise, they retreated into a calm silence while their tempers cooled off. Both were impulsive and hot-headed, too similar to never fight and too prideful to give in, and they had surprised everyone—including themselves—by striking up a lasting friendship that had suffered through time and distance. Propriety dictated an unmarried woman could not write to a bachelor, so she had her father address it for her; society said they would be ruined if they were found together without a chaperone, so they started meeting in each other's homes, where they could not be found at all; decorum demanded they speak not a word of love untill the gentleman offered marriage—and that the lady should not at all say anything but a polite yes, so they talked of everything but marriage. Their showdowns with each other were frequent something to watch—and friend was not at all an ideal title to assign to an eligible gentleman; it raised many an eyebrow at balls and dinner parties where the Colonel was so attentive to her, and all felt certain a marriage proposal was not far away. Speaking materially, it would be a splendid match—with his rank as the penniless second son of an earl—and her, an accomplished society woman with an inheritance big enough for all to overcome the worst of their prejudices about trade. It would have been a splendid match; if he wasn't taken and if she was more amicable to the idea of marriage, that is. Celaena thought guiltily of all he had done for her, fending off suitors determinedly like a dutiful elder brother all the while pretending to be one, and she wondered shortly what he would say if he knew who she was. Did he know her brothers, or Lord Fenrys perhaps? He would be sceptical at first, she knew, and then he would be pleased she was close to being free of Arobynn's shadow. Celaena looked up to do something—to tell him perhaps or to apologise? But there, he had his eyes fixed on her already—his eyes, thought she, were turquoise blue ringed with gold. Oh.

Celaena rose from her seat, saying unsteadily, "Forgive me, but I just remembered I have an appointment at my modiste."

"I can drop you—"

"No, no," she was already out of her seat, donning her cloak, "I came in my carriage. Pray, tell Lysandra I will return tomorrow."

The carriage ride back home was so short, she hardly felt it. Celaena had not much time to ruminate on her present realisation, but she felt stupid at her distress a few minutes ago. Her new family—a reality which had seemed like such a surety this morning—was now shrouded in doubts. Aedion had not recognised her as his cousin for years, and if he who was practically her mirror image by all accounts, did not, no one else could be expected to believe her claim by one look at her face. But what other proof had she? It was with near trepidation that she entered her house, and was happily recieved by her brother who had been waiting in her parlor for a half hour.

"I thought," said he, "I should personally come to you with an invitation to a dinner party tonight at my home—our home, rather. I should like to reintroduce you to relations who are already in town—they have all been waiting so long, Aelin, if you like? You are acquainted with most of them already, and I know father wishes to apologise."

"He does? I hope he is feeling better after that—that attack." Celaena thought ashamedly how little consideration she had given him except to worry the others might follow his lead, believing her to be a fortune huntress.

"He is," assured James, "He refused to believe me when I told him—and then to see you, looking so much like mama, he was overset. But he is fine now, and very remorseful, dearest. I hope you will not hold that first impression against him for long—we had all quite lost hope, and it seems fragile still, like I would look away from you for a moment and you would disappear into the mist, he was being cautious."

"I will try my best," she promised in an attempt to appease.

Celaena knew she was blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensated for the majority of average ones; and, by early adolescence, she had discovered that with the help of cosmetics, these average features could easily match the extraordinary assets. Vanity she had always acknowledged freely to be her chief sin after pride, and she felt her nerves ease at the familiar ritual of having herself pushed into a pretty dress, her hair tugged and pulled before an event. By the time she was dressed in a fine evening gown of soft pink muslin, golden curls pinned atop her head with diamond pins gifted by her brother—a family heirloom, apparently—she was almost beaming on her brother's arm. In the carriage, she distracted herself by asking him questions about his involvement in the House of Lords, their father's health and had the immense pleasure of hearing him talk about meating Madame d'arbley who wrote Cecilia, which had been her favourite novel since she first read it. The talk soon turned to the night's guests and she inquired after their identity.

"You already know Fenrys and the younger Mr Whitethorn; Fenrys' parents will be there, as will our father and Rowan's parents, his elder brother is out of town and his younger sister, Mrs Parkinson and her husband could not attend, and the little Whitethorn boys will come too; though their mother holds the traditional belief that children should eat in the nursery until they are fifteen, so I do not know if they will be present at dinner."

"Rowan—that is Mr Whitethorn's given name, yes? I met his children before," said she, "in the park yesterday. They were sweet, well-mannered boys."

Her brother allowed it to be so, regaling her with anecdotes of their youth and Celaena felt she had never spent a half hour half as entertained before.

"Really, Rhoe," said Lady Meave, rising from her seat, "you are being absurd. I would think thirteen years of grief would make you accept it, but you are starting to grow more deranged with time."

The family members had all arrived a half hour ago when Rhoe explained the purpose of the meeting. James believed that the family would be informed of the situation before meeting Aelin so the element of surprise would not bring out ill-mannered reactions and accusations like this one and Rhoe had agreed to do it himself as the head of the household, though whether he did out of obligation or out of a desire to redeem himself in Aelin's eyes, Fenrys could not tell. Their cousins had more or less recieved the news with good grace, curious but tentatively delighted. The Whitethorns were curious, though Lady Mora expressed her delight at the news repeatedly and tearfully. Lord Jared was more reserved in his congratulations—a reserved disposition was a Whitethorn trait—as was his son, Rowan, who seemed more curious than anything else. His wife made incoherent noises about how nice it must be to be surrounded by all of one's relations, which made her husband stiffen. It was public knowledge Mr Whitethorn's relationship with his mother-in-law was contentious. She was a widow who lived in her father the earl's home, infamous for her very public affairs with Lord Shuttleton and the Marquess of Mowry, and did not have much regard for propriety or morals. The Earl had recently sent her back to live with her relations in Scarborough, prompting Mrs Whitethorn to insist her mother be invited to stay indefinitely in her home instead, an idea which Mr Whitethorn did not approve of. This served to increase the tension between the mismatched couple, and that Mrs Whitethorn seemed wholly unaware of it only served to aggravate her husband more. Fenrys was saved from replying when Lady Meave having finally processed the news, loudly and fervently denied it.

Rhoe did not look at all perturbed. He said, "We thought Aelin died, because we found a girl's dead body—which was unrecognizable—and an anklet near it. I am now ashamed I did not once consider it might not be her, for if I had, perhaps she would have been with us—but I do intend to make up for the lost years, cousin. I believe the anklet we procured was either circumstancial evidence or a delibrate cover-up. I have hired private investigators to look into the matters, though we have not much hope, but as it stands, I believe—no, I know—Aelin is alive and will be joining us all for dinner. Oh no," he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall their aunt's objections, "This is not a discussion where Your Ladyship can pitch in her own two cents. If you are not prepared to acknowledge Aelin, you may see yourself out."

"You are putting a lot of faith in a fortune-hunter."

"Really, my lady," interrupted Fenrys, bemusedly, "I have met the lady on three occassions before; I can assure you she looked like an ashryver—"

"That proves nothing!" cried she, acerbically. "How do we know she is not one of your father's by-blows, hoping to extract a fortune? You are the one who put this whole idea in James' head—so perhaps, perhaps you are in cahoots with her."

"Sister!" exclaimed Mora, wide-eyed at the acid spewing from her mouth.

Poor woman—bless her gentle heart—looked scandalized her sister would even think those accusations, let alone voice them out loud. Rowan patted his mother's arm, looking pained while his father turned all sorts of blue and red. Lord Jared was offended on the behalf of his dearest friend—Fenrys' father, the Earl of Bedford. To Fenrys, the idea that his noble, stuck-up, proper and prudish father would have a mistress—let alone a bastard child—was laughable.

"Hold your tongue there, Meave," chided Lord Jared disapprovingly. "This childish petulance does not become you."

"You believe him?" Seeing none of them deny the accusation, she said, "If you are determined to fool yourself, please do. I will have no part in the downfall of this family." And so saying, she turned on her heel and left.

"If anyone else has grievances with this new discovery," said Rhoe, "they may join Meave in her self-inflicted banishment from my homes."

"Oh, Rhoe," said Lady Mora, defending her sister. "I hope you will forgive her. The news was very much surprising, and I think she was much surprised. I am sure she was only being cautious to save you from one she thought was a fortune hunter. We are all very happy little Aelin is back." Fenrys thought he would not assign so pure a motive to his other aunt's outburst but Mora was a compassionate soul, incapable to think meanly of others so he let the statement go unchallenged. Before the silence could turn awkward, he heard Colonel Ashryver say dryly, "Well, at least when Aelin comes, we can assure her there is no lack of entertainment here."

"If I recall, she was rather fond of drama as a child," agreed he.

"No, no, that was Fenrys," said a voice in the doorway. "Aelin just liked to follow him in whatever he did." James looked affectionately at his sister, escorting her inside.

Aelin smiled at Fenrys who kissed her cheek. "Welcome home, Aelin."

"It's Lady Aelin now, sir."

Two different voices called 'Miss Sardothein?!' though no one paid them much attention as Lord Rhoe stepped forward tentatively in front of his daughter.

"Aelin," he said.

Fenrys tried instead to look at Rowan and Aedion, both of whom were gaping inelegantly but failed, eyes repeatedly snapping back to Aelin who was watching the old man warily. She returned his bow with a curtsy, then rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Father."

Lord Rhoe said tearfully, "Oh, Aelin."

"It is all forgiven," said she quietly, in response, "I was surprised too."

He was almost disappointed when Aedion interrupted the father-daughter reunion. "You," said he accusingly, turning to the lady of the hour, "You knew the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me."

"With all the commotion of the morning—which by the by was your fault—I did not realize," said Aelin. "And when I did, I was too surprised to do anything more than flee."

"Wait," said James, suspiciously. "This morning? I thought you were to attend your business affairs this morning, Aelin."

Aedion's face flushed, matching Aelin's in it's hue. "Yes, well," she said, "I had, uh, some calls to return."

"You called on Aedion?" asked Fenrys, surprised.

It was terribly improper for a gentlewoman to call alone on a bachelor, but with her formerly a tradesman's daughter, Aelin did not bother to stick with the more ridiculous edicts of society; she would not have accepted their dinner invitation if she had. Besides as far as he was concerned, Aelin could grow two heads, murder someone or dye her hair lavender and he would still consider her perfect. Fenrys did not know about the others but he had missed the little spitfire terribly; pranks were not nearly enough fun without her trying to stifle her giggles by his side.

"I did not call on him; rather, on a friend he too was calling on," she defended herself. Her face was red.

James narrowed his eyes, looking between them. "You are courting each other!"

"Heavens no!" said Aedion. "Believe me, you have nothing to fear on that account." At the look of mock-offense on her face, he smirked. "You are not half as pretty as you think you are, Cel—Aelin."

"Did I permit you to address me so informally?" she asked primly. "Considering I look almost the same as you do, my appearance is not something you should be disparaging, colonel."

Rhoe huffed in amusement, "Yes, well, come along, children, there are others waiting to be introduced."

And so they did, though Fenrys could tell James was not yet convinced there was nothing between the two. Lady Mora was every bit as pleased as she had claimed, greeting her cousins' daughter with pure delight. Lord Jared was more formal, though not at all unkind. Mrs Whitethorn had a distracted air towards her, though she did smile pleasantly and Fenrys could detect no animosity in her. It was Mr Whitethorn—Rowan—whose reaction surprised him the most. He looked—pained, almost—which did not quite make sense, though perhaps that was just his discomfort with strangers shining through. The civilities were only just exchanged when the butler announced dinner was ready and the whole party proceeded inside in an informal order, Rhoe ditching the normal propriety edicts in favour of leading his daughter into dinner. He seated her at the opposite end of the long, mahogany table as himself, in the seat reserved for the mistress of the house.

Aelin's answering smile was a lot more genuine than before.

Dinner passed almost pleasantly, the seven course meal enough to sustain the conversation for some time and if the silence ever stretched, it did not stay long. With fine conversationalists like Fenrys and James at the same table, and with Aelin's lively manners the atmosphere was merry enough to overcome even the infamous Whitethorn reserve, Lord Jared expounding passionately on the fine horses in his stables on such occassions when provoked. Mr Whitethorn talked animatedly of books—but only with Aelin and only when she delibrately directed her statements to him—and even Mrs Whitethorn ventured a few shy remarks here and there. They were in the best of spirits when in the middle of the dinner by the end when the men stood up to retire to the study for port—a traditional seperation of sexes following dinner—when the door opened. The poor butler hastily entered the room behind the new addition, struggling to keep up with the man's but determined to follow the protocol, announcing to the room between pants, Viscount Preston, Lord Edward Galathynius of Graceview.

Celaena's fork clattered on the floor; her eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man, curls just barely pushed away from his face. A light pink tinted his cheeks and the tip of his nose—a result of the biting wind outside—and dust clung to the lapels of his overcoat, white cravat almost coming apart. Edward's eyes so identical to her own were entirely cold; he bowed formally to the dinner guests and she had the impression he had stormed inside unaware of them. He did not see me, she thought, embarassed as he was at having the attention directed at him. Edward's eyes went over the crowd in a quick movement and he murmured polite greetings—until they caught on her and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Edward's noble mein was intimidating and his features arranged neutrally and she worried the boy whose memory she had clung to for years was but an illusion until he whispered her name 'Aelin' with a quite awe and muted wonder; for the first time, it felt like hers. Then he choked on a sob; Aelin was running at him and he had his arm around her, a movement so natural like he had been doing it all his life.

Aelin buried her face in her brother's neck, trying to commit his scent to memory.

"Shh," said he, lovingly, caressing her cheek with one hand, "Please don't cry, dearest."

"You smell like horses," said Aelin, tearfully. "It's making my eyes water."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a sound rare enough, she could feel her cousins' surprise from behind them. He sighed quietly, a small, contented noise that made her smile. "I missed you, Aelin, though I know I have no right to say that. Had I done something differently—"

"Ridiculous man," said Aelin, tenderly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "James told me you were not four and ten; what could you have done? I have long since learned not to regret what has passed and make the best of my lot. I had a good life, brother," she told him, squeezing his hands, "if not a perfect one. I—I was brought up with an education no lady recieves. It suits my disposition perfectly and you may call me selfish but I am happy I had that chance—though I wish we had more time together."

Edward smiled softly, "We have all the time in the world now."

"Perhaps not all the time," she teased with an imp-like grin, seeing the whole table's attention fixed on them, "After all, you are in dire need of a bath and if I am forced into your vicinity for another half hour, I shall faint from the horror of it." Edward too stiffened, and she realised the extent of his shyness. "Refresh yourselves, sir," ordered Aelin, in her best haughty tone, and had the desired effect of making him laugh, "and when you are ready, you may call for me. I will bring a dinner tray to you and we may talk all we like."

Edward bowed gallantly. "I am but your loyal servant, madam." He kissed her cheek and she detected in him a hesitation to leave.

"I will not go anywhere," assured Aelin, smilingly, "I promise I will not."

Edward formally took his leave of the dinner party and retired to his rooms. Aelin collected herself, joining the ladies with an enthusiasm she did not feel.

No one commented on the happy tears that flowed from her cheeks.

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