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prettytoxicrevolver · 3 years

Text

Hotel | Dream

Requested? Bruh of course not

Warnings? None?

Summary: You and your best friend Dream go on vacation together and end up admitting feelings

Word Count: 2,100

Last fic of me going off during April!! Hope y'all enjoy :)

“Charger?”

“Yup,” you say, tossing it into your purse.

“Your medicine? My medicine? Sunscreen? Money?” he lists off and you giggle as you nod.

“Yes we have everything,” you say giggling at your best friend.

You and Dream were headed to Hawaii for the first time together and you both were beyond excited. You had been planning this for months together, getting every tiny detail figured out. You had always wanted to travel together as best friends and when you both finally had enough money, you started to plan for Hawaii.

“Plane tickets?” you ask and Dream holds up the papers for you two.

You smile wide, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of your shared apartment. You head to the airport, talking excitedly about the trip and all of the things you were going to do when you get there.

“You know I’m gonna ask you to take a million pictures of me while we’re there right?” you ask as you sit down in your airplane seats.

“Can't wait for all the “who took the photo?!?” comments,” he jokes and you roll your eyes but smile nonetheless.

“Hey we can always take faceless photos of you on the beach,” you say and Dream shakes his head.

“No way.”

The plane ride is long, with ten hours of uncomfortable seats and gross airplane food but being with Dream makes the time fly and the company easy. You both start off with headphones in, trying to get some rest but soon enough you’re both restless.

Granted you weren’t doing well in the first place. Being near dream had your stomach in your shoes and your heart in your fingertips at all times. To be stuck on a plane for ten hours with him? You were surprised you hadn’t died from how fast your heart rate was going.

You were desperately trying to will yourself back to sleep, moving just barely to rest your head against the window. Just as you’re moving around, you feel a tap on your hand making you look over at Dream. You pull a headphone out and he gestures to the tiny tv screen in front of him.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

You nod and watch as Dream scrolls through the selection of movies, looking at you every once in a while when he stops on one he might want to watch. You end up on a random action movie, one you’ve probably watched with your dad on a Saturday morning, and Dream hands you the other headphone. Your hands brush as you take it from him, sending your heart through the roof of the plane at the contact.

As the movie drones on, you regain the tiredness you once pursued and let out a long yawn. Dream casts a glance at you, a soft smile placed on his lips as he watches your sleepy eyes blink slowly to stay awake.

“Come here,” he says quietly and you look up at him.

He lays his hand out flat on the armrest and you carefully slip your arm around his, before placing your hand in his. You lean over, placing your head on his shoulder and Dream reciprocates the action, resting his head on yours.

You swear you can feel your heartbeat pounding in your fingertips, worry flooding you that he’ll notice your nerves. However, when you risk a glance up at the blonde he’s half asleep, his eyes fluttered shut.

The rest of the plane ride feels quick, you and Dream both sleeping for the majority of it but by the time you land you’re happy to be able to get off the plane and stretch your legs. By the time you grab your things and are in the car on the way to the hotel, you swear you’re about to fall asleep again.

“Sleepyhead, we’re here,” Dream says, nudging you and you look up to see you’re rolling to a stop at the hotel.

You both get out of the car, grabbing your things, and heading inside. Because Hawaii was six hours behind Florida time, it was 10 am, when at home it would normally be 4 pm. You could feel the jet lag setting in, your body fighting against you as you and Dream checked into your hotel.

“And that’s the one king-sized bed for 4 nights?” the man at the service desk asks. The question wakes you up in seconds, your attention at the mixup.

“Wait it was supposed to be two queen-sized beds,” Dream corrects.

“I’m sorry sir, we only have this room,” the man says and Dream turns to look at you. You shrug your shoulders and Dream mimics the action.

“Okay.”

When you get to your room, sure enough, there’s only one bed in the center of the room, and you and Dream exchange glances at the sight of it. You try to brush off the awkwardness, making your way into the room before dropping your stuff and collapsing onto the comfortable mattress.

“Naptime,” you announce.

“No no no,” Dream says grabbing your hands and pulling you up until you’re sitting up straight.

“You have to beat the jet lag, it’s only 10 so let’s go get some breakfast, and then we can explore okay?”

You groan but let Dream pull you up anyway. You grab your purse, and the two of you head out for breakfast at the closest restaurant near you. As the two of you eat, you plan your first day here, deciding to explore the beaches, stores near you, and anything else that seems interesting.

You end up at an aquarium, one you had spotted on the way to the hotel, and head over. You had always loved aquariums since your dad had taken you to one close to your hometown growing up. You still fell in awe of them whenever you visited one.

“Come on!” you say grabbing Dream’s hand and dragging him behind you.

“Okay child,” he jokes and you roll your eyes.

You two make your way through the aquarium, unconsciously hand in hand with one another. You practically drag Dream along, placing your face up against the glass and point out fish and beautiful animals to the taller boy.

“See? It’s a clownfish,” you explain.

Dreams heart had been racing ever since you had entered the aquarium hand slipped into his without even thinking about it. He loved watching you walk through the attractions, eyes aglow with wonder and face lit up like a kid on Christmas. It made him fall for you more than he already had.

He leans forward moving your once connected hands so that he can slip an arm around your shoulder, his head falling next to yours until you’re practically cheek to cheek.

“It’s pretty,” he says and you forget to respond, the closeness of your best friend making you dizzy.

You settle for a nod, and the two of you start to move again, Dream’s arm staying around your shoulders and you slip one around his waist. You make your way around the rest of the place, your hearts unknowingly beating at the same fast rhythm but both of you find comfort in the nerves.

“Where to next?” you ask Dream when you finish the aquarium.

You two end up going for a drive, just wanting to explore the island for a bit before making your way back, occasionally stopping at a store or two to see what’s inside. You finally make it back to the hotel to change before heading out to a nice dinner together.

As you walk out of the bathroom, clad in a nice dress, wedges, and your purse thrown over your shoulder, this time you don’t miss the dumbstruck look Dream is giving you. However, you swear you mimic his expression, the blonde dressed in a white button-down, dress pants, and dress shoes.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

Upon hearing each other’s voices, you snap out of your dazed states, offering a sheepish smile to Dream before walking out of the open door. Dream follows you out, the two of quiet as you head to the restaurant together.

“Do you mind if I?” you question pointing to the drinks another couple holds and Dream shakes his head.

“No, go for it. If anything happens you know I’ll take care of you,” he responds making your heart swell.

You knew Dream didn’t drink and you would never pressure him to. However, your nerves were getting the best of you and the drinks on the menu were tempting. You order one, taking a sip of the concoction of alcohol and letting it soothe some of the nerves you were facing.

As dinner progresses, you and Dream talk about the rest of vacation, what else you wanted to do before you left, what other restaurants you wanted to try, already where you were planning to take Instagram photos, etc. You couldn’t help feeling less and less nervous but you weren’t sure if it was the drinks or Dream’s easy presence in front of you.

You don’t realize how many you had ordered until you stand up, the room spinning around you. You reach out, Dream taking your hand with a concerned look on his face and when you gain your bearings you smile dorkily at the taller boy.

“Okay let’s get you back to the room,” he says and wraps an arm around your waist to steady you.

You make it back to the hotel room, your hands intertwined with Dream, your best friend not opposed to your love language increasing when you’re drunk. You make it up to the hotel room with little struggle and in your drunken state, you decide you want to dance.

“Dream,” you whine, and the blonde smiles at you.

“Yes, darling?”

“Come dance with me,” you say, holding your hands out to him.

Dream laughs but lets you take his hands in yours anyway. You slip your arms around his neck, and he wraps one arm around your waist before reaching for his phone. He messes with something on there for a minute before music floods the tiny room. He places his phone down on the TV stand before wrapping his other arm around your waist.

The two of you sway slowly around the room, you becoming increasingly more sober the more you think about Dream, his hands on you, the proximity of the two of you, the sweet gestures and words from the day, everything.

Dream wasn’t far behind you, absolutely mesmerized by the sight of you. Your lips curved into a small smile as you looked up at him. The way you were yourself around him with no apologies and how he wanted to hold you, love you, and protect you forever.

You both don’t realize how close you are and getting until you're centimeters away. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Without a second thought in his head, Dream ducks down, pressing a kiss to your lips. The contact knocks you sober instantly, you pull Dream as close as possible and you can practically feel your best friend smile into the kiss.

When you pull apart, you’re both grinning like idiots at each other. The music still plays in the background as you get changed, dance a little more, and ultimately fall asleep together.

The rest of vacation flies by, beaches and shopping, restaurants, cute dates, everything made a thousand times better now that the two of you had admitted your feelings for one another. By the time you land back in Florida, you can’t tell if you’re happy to be home, sad to be away from vacation, or nervous about what was going to happen between you and Dream now.

As you get off the plane, Dream slips an arm around your shoulders and your thoughts of doubt only seem to increase for some reason.

“Hey,” you say gaining his attention. You stop in front of him, your hands twisting nervously in front of you as you try to ask your next question.

“Are we still,” you trail off gesturing between the two of you. “Now that we’re home.”

Dream doesn’t answer, simply wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in. He dips down pressing a long kiss to your lips that has you falling for him all over again.

“Does that answer your question?” he asks pulling inches away.

You nod, smiling widely before leaning up to place your lips on Dream’s again in a kiss that makes your stomach do backflips.

#dream x y/n #dream x reader #dream fic #dream imagine #dream smp x y/n #dream smp x reader #dream smp fic #dream smp imagines #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt fic #mcyt imagine #bravebesson

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Good Pitches

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3179

Read it on AO3

@today-in-fic

Summary: post-ep for Milagro/The Unnatural

April 1999

Something had shifted after Padgett. She’d been afraid that this would end like it had with Jerse, Mulder angry at her indiscretion and further than ever from understanding her. Maybe this was different because they were different, closer than they were when she met Jerse. Maybe it was what Padgett had said, about her being in love. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to refute that statement, but she also hadn’t been able to meet Mulder’s eye. Did he know? She could admit to herself that she wanted him to. Maybe if he knew, he’d be brave enough to take the leap that they were both too chickenshit to take, each of them too fearful of learning that they were wrong, of being rejected. How could they carry on after that? If Mulder knew how she felt about him, maybe that would be all it took.

The way he treated her after he found her blood-soaked on his apartment floor was nothing like the derisive cut of his words after Jerse. He was so incredibly tender with her, holding her like a glass vase, soothing her like a brittle plant. Even in her abject terror, she had noted the feel of his fingers against her sternum while he unbuttoned her blouse, and the gentle flutter of his touch as he explored her torso for wounds. If not for the state of shock she was in, she may have caught his eye, and told him without words that Padgett was right, she was in love. Instead she folded her tiny body into his, tucked safely against his chest. Even as the crime scene investigators wandered in and out, even as Skinner came by and eyed them suspiciously, she never let go of him. She was unashamed, for once, of needing him. And he was unashamed, as always, of wanting to be needed by her.

That night, after her bloody clothes had been collected as evidence, he drove her back to her apartment wearing his t shirt and basketball shorts, which fit her like capri pants. He’d packed himself a bag under the excuse of his apartment being tended to by the crime scene cleanup crew, but really he just didn’t want her to leave her alone. He’d stood by her side in the bathroom and chivalrously turned his back so she could step into the shower, standing guard nearby in case she needed him. Watching blood swirl around the drain as it sloughed off her skin, still unsure of it’s origin, she’d wished desperately he were right beside her under the water, something sturdy to lean against. Her touchstone. Knowing that he would be here in a heartbeat, if only she’d ask him, somehow made it even worse. When she shut off the water, he stood just outside the curtain with a towel held open wide, protecting her privacy until he wrapped it around her shivering frame, and she steadied herself against him, breathing in the smell of his skin through his t shirt. They stood there like that for a long time, until finally he wordlessly scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom, seeming to sense that she didn’t have the strength to get herself there. Seeming to know that she would allow and even welcome this particular show of intimacy and care. She’d had the overwhelming urge to tell him she loved him, but she didn’t. Sitting on the edge of her bed he’d dressed her, first pulling her t shirt over her neck and then allowing her to pull her arms free from the towel one at a time and thread them through the sleeves. She was relatively sure that he could see her breasts, but it didn’t seem to matter. What was a breast when he had seen her broken open in grief, in pain, in fear? Her nakedness hardly seemed as private as all that. Next he’d held her pajama pants at her feet so that she could slip each leg in before standing to pull them over her hips, discarding the towel. He didn’t give her underwear and she didn’t question it, knowing him well enough to predict that he thought it would be an invasion of privacy to open her underwear drawer, and seeing that she was too distraught to care about underwear.

“You should eat something” he told her as she crawled under the covers, his voice laden with concern.

She shook her head; food was a foreign object right now. All she needed was sleep. When he went to leave the room, she sat up, her eyes full of fear. She didn’t need to voice the question.

“I’m going to take a shower, is that okay? I’ll only be gone a few minutes.”

She nodded solemnly.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to sleep on the couch…” his voice trailed off as her face answered him. She wanted him close. Needed him there. He nodded. “I’ll be right here, just give me a few minutes.”

She lay there, listening to the rush of the water, waiting for him to return to her side. She was so incredibly exhausted, but unable to sleep. Each shadow seemed to take the form of the psychic surgeon, each creak of the floorboards was Padgett here to look into her soul. Within 5 minutes, Mulder slipped into the bed beside her in a t shirt and his boxer shorts, his skin warm and welcoming, his hair wet and spiked. She went to him, without regard for personal space, professionalism, boundaries or logic. Tucking her head just under his chin, she pressed the length of her body to his and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her somehow even closer than she had gotten herself. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and dampened his shirt, and his hand gently rubbed her back, his lips planting soft kisses to her hair.

“You’re okay, I’m here” he told her, and she wished she could somehow crawl inside his body, needing him even closer than this, wanting him in more ways than she had previously understood.

She fell asleep to the sound of his heart beating, the metronome to which she kept the time of her life. A rhythm unwritten but that she knew by memory. The sweet song of Mulder.

Since that night, something was different, but delightfully so. She felt less guarded with him, more free to laugh and be silly. Unafraid of incidental flirting or mixed messages. When he’d asked her to meet him at the office on a sunny Saturday afternoon, she’d had the girlish idea that he had ulterior motives and that this would be something like a date. She was disappointed to find that he just wanted her help digging through the archives, but the playful way he interacted with her, culminating in him stealing a bite of her ice cream, set off butterflies in her belly in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. She’d spent the rest of that day in a dreamy stupor, smiling idiotically at nothing, garnering friendly hellos from passers by and her neighbors. Had love made her more approachable? Returning from the grocery store to his message, she’d talked herself out of changing her clothes or freshening her makeup, not wanting to read into this something that wasn’t there. The case he was researching was baseball related, after all, so in all likelihood he was asking her to join him there for help with the case.

She was able to keep her demeanor cool and unaffected right up until he put the baseball bat in her hands and curled his long body around hers. His breath hot on her neck and his fingertips on her hip bone made her heart race; this definitely wasn’t work related. When the kid running the pitching machine told Mulder that his mother was expecting him home and took off, she’d felt the words rising in her throat to bid him a good night and go home herself; that’s what she would typically do, after all. Instead she swallowed and waited to see what would happen if she didn’t leave. What would have happened so many nights if she’d simply stuck around?

Mulder walked into the small dugout, sized for little leaguers so that he had to duck a little to fit. He was putting the bat, glove and baseballs into a large duffel bag, perhaps also preparing himself for the night to end. Ignoring the nervous flutter in her gut, she followed him into the dugout and sat down on the little bench that ran along the back wall. How was it that after as many dangerous situations as she’d been in, as many times her life was at risk, that this felt scarier than any of them? How could she know exactly what to do with a gun pointed at her, but be completely lost when it came to something as simple as telling him how she felt? When the choice was possible death or possible rejection, she only knew how to risk her life, not her heart.

Mulder sat down beside her, an open bag of sunflower seeds in his hand, and propped his feet up on the half-wall that faced the field. He held out the bag and she took a handful, which was a rare occurrence. He always offered them to her, though 98% of the time she declined. The few times she had accepted, the delighted smiled on his face was worth the unpleasantness of picking shards of shell out of her teeth for hours (she wasn’t nearly as skilled as he was at cracking them). She felt like now was a good time to make that sacrifice and see that smile, and he delivered. She held his gaze for a moment as he beamed at her, the doubled joy of her sharing his interest in baseball and sunflower seeds apparent on his face.

“How do you open these things without destroying the shell, Mulder? What’s the secret?” For every time she’d rolled her eyes at the things that excited him, she was going to make up for it now.

“It’s all about breaking the shell at the right angle, watch.” He held a seed between his front teeth with his lips pulled back so she could see how he applied pressure until it split evenly along the seam, then deftly used his tongue to pull the seed into his mouth, flicking the shell away with his breath. She mimicked him and he laughed when the shell and the seed splintered, an inseparable mess. They shifted their bodies so that they were turned towards each other, one leg bent against the back wall of the dugout. He showed her several more times and she was an eager student, studying the position of the seed, but also taking the opportunity to admire the fullness of his bottom lip and the shadow of his stubble sprouting so late in the evening. When she finally got it, the seed emerging intact, she smiled at him so broadly her gums showed, a rare sight. He gave her a high-five and their fingers instinctively threaded together upon contact, dropping down to rest between on the bench them still interlaced. Her heart started to race, recognizing the tension in the moment and the desire that flickered in his hazel eyes. She knew he wanted to kiss her, and she knew she wanted him to, so why was this so hard? She was afraid the moment would pass, but she couldn’t figure out how to capture it. Should she lean forward to signal him? If she did and he didn’t reciprocate, she’d die of embarrassment.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice startled her, and she was suddenly afraid he could hear her thoughts.

She gave him a shy smile and chuckled, averting her gaze.

“I was thinking about” he started, “being up to bat, playing baseball.”

She gave him an incredulous look. Maybe she had misread his signals after all. Their hands were still wrapped together between them.

“Hear me out, Scully.” He responded to her expression. “I was thinking about being up to bat and looking for the good pitches. You only want to swing on the good ones, or you’ll strike out, right?”

She nodded, indicating that she was following him.

“But sometimes, you’re so afraid of swinging on the bad pitches that you miss the good ones too. And I was thinking that….sometimes I feel like that with you. I’m not sure if it’s a good pitch, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to strike out, so I don’t swing at all.”

She met his eye and smiled coyly at him, understanding. Feeling a surge of bravery.

“You could always ask, Mulder.”

“No, that’s definitely against the rules, Scully. You’re not allowed to ask.” He was being glib, a typical response to his own discomfort.

“Different game, different rules” she offered, shifting slightly towards him, almost imperceptibly, but he picked up on it.

“So, if I were to ask you.” He paused to take a breath. “If I were to ask you if it would be okay if I kissed you right now, would that be a strike or a run?”

“The baseball metaphor lost me, Mulder” she answered, the lean of her torso increasing towards him steadily, the hand that wasn’t holding his floating up to meet with his jaw, her thumb brushing his cheek.

He slowly closed the remaining space between them, his lips meeting hers in a gentle brush, then sighing as she slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him into her and pressing the full pout of her mouth against his. His free hand found her waist as their lips separated briefly and then met again, this time slightly parted, and she darted her tongue out to slide against his lower lip before she pulled it into her mouth and sucked it gently. He made a little sound in the back of his throat that sent a rush through her pelvis and she had an overwhelming urge to crawl into his lap. Mulder must have intuited that urge because he let go of her hand and slipped both palms under her thighs, pulling her on to him. Pivoting his body so that he was again facing forward, towards the ball field, she steadied herself with a knee on the bench on either side of his hips and sat on the tops of his thighs, the suggestive nature of the position sending a thrill through her. Her hands on his neck and his on her hips, they explored each other’s mouths, licking, tasting and nipping each surface, recognizing something familiar and yet entirely new. When his hands pushed down to cup her ass, a little moan escaped her lips and he growled in response. Breaking the kiss, she pulled back a little, breathless and flushed.

“We should probably go” she heard herself say. The reasonable side of her brain was taking back over.

“Probably should. Go where?” He asked, unsure if this proposition was a conclusion or a location change. His hands were still on her ass.

She laughed “It occurs to me that we’re in a children’s baseball dugout. I’m not sure it’s the most appropriate venue.”

He nodded, agreeing begrudgingly. “I just need a minute, if you don’t mind.”

She laughed again, ignoring the new wave of desire that sent through her, and stood up, moving to sit on the half-wall opposite him.

He took a deep breath, blowing it out hard through puffed cheeks, then looked at her with adoring eyes. She felt so beautiful when he looked at her, especially like that. She resisted the urge to go back to him and and pick up where they’d left off. After a moment, he slowly stood and picked up his duffel bag, and she followed him out of the dugout and towards the parking lot. He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked, neither of them speaking. What was there to say? This moment, a culmination of years of tiny brushes of intimacy, didn’t need explanation or discussion. They both knew, intuitively, that it was the start of a new chapter, perhaps even the opening of a new book, and that they’d discover where the plot took them as they went along, just as they always did. They reached her car and he set the bag on the ground as she opened the door, leaning against the body of the car instead of getting inside. They stood there facing each other for a moment, awkwardness again taking root, both knowing what they wanted but unsure of how, or who, to initiate. Finally Mulder spoke.

“Thanks for coming. I had fun.”

She dipped her chin with a smirk and a blush, the implication of his statement both exciting and embarrassing.

“Likewise” she forced out, meeting his eyes only momentarily. She wished they had driven together so there would be a reason for them both to end up at one of their apartments, and at the same time she was grateful that wasn’t the case because it would probably be too much, too quickly. He stepped toward her, but the lack of height in her shoes meant he towered over her, a full foot between their faces.

“I’ve always known you were short, but it’s suddenly much more noticeable” he cracked, and she turned her face up to his, smiling softly.

“You’re a smart guy, Mulder. I’m sure you can problem-solve your way out of that conundrum.”

He stooped a little and lifted her by the hips, eliciting a delighted squeal, and pinned her against the car with the weight of his body so that they were face to face, his hips planted firmly between her thighs. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders for stability and her breath caught at the feel of his groin pressed firmly between her legs.

“See, I knew you’d figure it out” she teased as his hands danced under the hem of her shirt, lightly grazing the skin of her sides. Her pulse was quickening again, but there was even less privacy here than in the dugout.

He shook his head at her as if to chastise. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, G-woman.”

“I’ve never known you to avoid trouble, Mulder.”

He laughed then, and kissed her, softly, twice on the lips before dropping her back down to the ground. She was surprised that she felt disappointed that it hadn’t continued, but given the venue she knew it was for the best. She climbed in to the driver’s seat of her car and buckled her seat belt, leaving the door open. Mulder leaned in as she turned the key in the ignition and kissed her again, three times, before pulling back.

“To be continued” he said, then closed the door and walked towards his own car several spaces away.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #sculder #msr #xf fanfic

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emwritesfootball · 3 years

Text

I Want You | Dominic Calvert-Lewin

Word Count: 2,051

A/N: Yet another piece for @footballffbarbiex's On The Big Screen Challenge. Since I'm on the midseason finale of the episode of Grey's Anatomy that this is based off of, I figured I'd post this now. This is based off of Jackson and April, the scenes from the season 9 finale and season 10 episode 12, altered for the football world. I've had this sitting in my Docs since 1 January lmao. Enjoy xx

- - -

The gasp of the crowd of almost 40,000 at Goodison Park was simultaneous in the 38th minute when Dom was taken down by the opposition’s defense right as he was about to score. The tackle had been brutal and uncalled for, earning the centreback a straight red card from the referee while Dom stayed on the ground.

As if sensing catastrophe the medics and physio were on the pitch almost immediately. You held your breath, one hand clutching the fabric of the Everton jersey you wore while your other squeezed Lucas Digne’s hand. Your boyfriend tried to soothe you as best he could, but you were distraught. Dom was clearly in pain and clearly injured, and you couldn’t do a damn thing but watch him get carried off on a stretcher.

“I have to go to him,” you muttered, but Lucas stopped you.

“He’ll be fine, Chérie,” Lucas said, his voice low as his thumb rubbed circles over the back of your hand. “You know we’ve got the best medical team - they’re gonna take real good care of Dom, okay?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip to quell your unspoken fears.

Your mind was reeling as Richarlison took Dom’s place on the pitch, your stomach sick with nervousness for Dom. When you’d first started playing for the women’s team, Dominic had been your sidekick; he’d shown you around the stadium as well as the surrounding city. It hadn’t been long before you were falling for him, the two of you hooking up after an intense friendly between the men’s and women’s teams.

Over time, you’d started to fall for him, your friends-with-benefits relationship no longer enough for your heart. It had all gone wrong after a pregnancy scare - Dom telling you he was all in and saying he’d marry you and the two of you would raise the kid together. When you’d found out you weren’t pregnant and told him that he no longer had to worry about getting married, Dom had ended things then and there, both of you hurt for different reasons.

Soon after, he started “dating” (sleeping with) one of the physios. You hadn’t had any intention of getting involved with his teammate, but Lucas had come into your life as a friend while you’d been with Dom and things progressed after your break up. Now, you were engaged to Lucas, with a wedding coming up in less than six months - after an incredibly public proposal that you couldn’t say no to - but there was a part of your heart that still yearned for Dom.

The second Lucas let go of your hand, you were up out of your seat, flashing your pass as you raced through the tunnels at Goodison Park until you finally managed to locate Dom. The ambulance was silent while its lights flashed and you knew you didn’t have much time. Emergency personnel were loading him onto the ambulance and you were reacting within seconds.

“DOMINIC!” you shouted, panic racing through you. His name felt foreign on your tongue - you tried not to utter it if you could help it - but in that moment, it was all you had.

“Miss, you’re going to have to stand back,” one of the EMTs said, putting his hands on your shoulders.

The tears started to fall right then and you couldn’t stop them. “I...I need to see him. He’s my husband!” You stammered out the words in-between sobs, barely aware when the medic let you go and you rushed into the ambulance, the door slamming behind you as it lurched forward and started to race to the nearest hospital. You tried your best to stay out of the way while the medics worked, fighting back tears with every concerned look or sentence they shared with each other. Dom looked out of it and you hoped he’d been put on some painkillers, especially with the state of his arm. You hoped and prayed that his arm would be the worst of it, but you couldn’t be sure. You took his good hand in both of yours, pressing a kiss to the back of it as you whispered, “It’s okay, bubs. I’m here.”

***

People didn’t start arriving until almost two hours later, Dom’s girlfriend included. You didn’t know how many tears you’d cried in that timespan, your body physically exhausted from the day’s events. Lucas immediately found you in the waiting area, pulling you into a hug. “I was so worried about you, Chérie,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered, feeling a new wave of tears coming on. “I just...I panicked and managed to convince them to let me ride in the ambulance with Dom and I…”

“It’s okay,” Lucas said, taking your face in his hands. “I’m glad Dom had you by his side.” Of course Lucas knew about your history with Dom but you’d always reassured him that he was the one you wanted and not Dom. Now, you weren’t so sure.

You snuck into Dom’s room right before visiting hours were set to end for the night. Lucas was waiting for you in the car park, warming up the car. A part of you felt guilty for what you were about to do, but after today you couldn’t stay silent.

Relief flooded you when you saw him sitting upright on the hospital bed, shirtless, his arm in a sling. The relief quickly faded, however, and all the other emotions you’d bottled up for the last six hours came bubbling up.

“What the hell, Dom?!” You screamed, rushing toward him. Tears were falling hard and fast as you shoved him, the nurse in the room who was checking his vitals came rushing over to stand between the two of you. “You could’ve died!” Sure, it was a little over-dramatic, but you had honestly thought you were going to lose him in the moment when he’d been down for over five minutes on the pitch.

The nurse calmed you down, not wanting to cause a scene. You didn’t either, but your emotions were so heightened it was almost like you were back in the ambulance scared out of your mind. “I’m fine, I swear,” you said, reassuring her when your breathing had slowed and you were starting to think properly.

“Okay,” she said, nodding and making her way towards the door. She turned to Dom, saying, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Dom gave her a grateful smile, turning his attention to you. “Don’t,” he said, his voice weary. “Whatever it is that’s buggin’ you, just keep it to yourself, alright?”

You froze, staring at him. Your mind was racing again and you were so consumed with flashbacks of him lying motionless on the pitch that you couldn't speak for a few moments. Dom stared back, lost. He vaguely remembered your presence in the back of the ambulance but up until this moment, he had been so sure that he’d just dreamed you up, the painkillers playing tricks on his mind.

You took a deep breath, needing all the air you could get in order to say what you wanted to say. “I want you...Dominic.” His name was barely a whisper on your lips, but Dom heard you as if you’d screamed it from the rooftops. You ran a hand through your hair, your voice breaking as you repeated the phrase. “I want you.” Your voice wavered on the last word and Dom wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

He said your name, disbelief colouring his tone, but you cut him off.

“I haven’t been fair to you, I know,” you began, stepping towards him until you were standing at the end of his hospital bed, “And I’ve-I’ve really hurt you-”

“You’re getting married,” Dominic said slowly, unsure if he was trying to convince you or himself of the reality the two of you were facing.

It was like you hadn’t heard him. “When I saw you lying there on the pitch after that collision and I thought you were gone, I-”

“You’re getting married.” He said it again, this time with more conviction.

You dried your tears, your resolve returning. When you spoke next, your words shocked both of you. “Unless you can give me a reason not to.”

Dom stared at you, unable to say anything. He internally weighed his options. A few months ago, getting married to you was all he could think about - now, he wasn’t so sure. The two of you had been through unbelievable hurdles in your relationship, but you were engaged to another man who also happened to be one of Dom’s teammates and Dom knew he couldn’t stand by and fuck up the team dynamic or your relationship with Lucas.

***

Ultimately, he’d said nothing that night and the two of you hadn’t spoken about it since. You continued planning your wedding to Lucas while maintaining a stilted version of a friendship with Dom, which was how Dom had ended up in the congregation at your wedding.

“Give them the strength to commit their love to one another. Unshakeable through any storm; unbreakable in the face of any stress; a promise we simply refuse to break.” The pastor spoke, but Dominic barely heard any of it, except when he said, “And you, YN and Lucas’s closest friends and family, are here today to bear witness to their union. Will you promise to love and support their marriage in all the days to come? If so, please respond ‘we will’.”

Everyone responded, a chorus of “We will,” filling the quaint chapel.

Dominic didn't know what to do. He was acutely aware of his physio girlfriend by his side, but even more so aware of the fact that if he didn’t do something right now, he would lose you to his teammate forever. In that moment, nothing else mattered but his love for you and the love that he knew that you had for him.

The pastor continued to speak, but Dom heard nothing. He leaned in to his girlfriend, unsure what to say. “I, uh-” he started, pausing.

“What?” She asked, looking at him with curiosity that quickly turned into understanding.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy to be here today to be able to do this for you. I-” The pastor paused mid-sentence as Dominic stood up, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

You and Lucas were holding hands, your backs still to him. Finally, both of you turned to look at the commotion, shock written all over your face as your gaze connected with Dom’s. He flushed, giving the room a nervous smile before sitting back down.

The pastor chuckled nervously and for a brief moment, Dom wondered if he’d ever had anyone stop a wedding before. “YN and Lucas, I have known the two of you for quite some time and I’m happy to be here today-” he started again, and that’s when Dom knew he had to say something.

Dom took a deep breath, his mind made up.

“I love you,” he said, his voice deep and sure as he stood up for the second time. “I always have.”

You stared back at him, your eyes wide. If you were being honest, a part of you had dreamed about a moment like this - Dominic standing up and professing his love for you - but you hadn’t been prepared for it to actually happen.

Dom continued, “I love everything about you. Even the things I don’t like, I love.” You could feel Lucas fuming next to you. “And I want you with me.” Everyone was looking around in disbelief, but it was like nobody else existed but you and Dom in this moment. “I love you and I think that you love me, too.” He paused, his voice wavering. “Do you?”

You could feel Lucas’s eyes on you; your family’s, too, but there was only one person in the world you wanted right now and it wasn’t the man at the altar next to you.

“I do,” you said, your gaze fixed on Dom. “I do,” you repeated, stepping down off the altar and running towards the man who had been your whole world for longer than you cared to admit.

#my writing: dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin oneshot #dominic calvert lewin one shot #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #dominic calvert lewin x reader #dcl oneshot #dcl one shot #dcl imagine #dcl imagines #dcl x reader #amys2021challenge

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hockeylvr59 · 3 years

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What Ifs, Part 3 || Jeff Skinner

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I’ve been trying to write this part for at least six months so it feels good to finally get it finished. Hope you’re ready for some fluffy Christmas content in April, and a boatload of sexual tension and some idiocy. Set Fri/Sat Dec. 13th/14th. See next post & 010 tag for Jeff’s apartment inspiration and the Christmas tree inspiration.

For a quick recap: You met Jeff at a spillway in northern PA and met up with him at a beach in Erie a few days later. After that daily conversation ensued and he visited you to go to a college football game before you surprised him at a Pens/Sabres game he didn’t think you were coming to. He kissed you postgame and murmured that he would very much like to fuck you after you teased him as he headed to the team bus.

Warnings: sexual tension || Word Count: 5,472

~~~~~~

Light snowflakes were falling, landing on your car’s windshield and then quickly melting. Christmas music played softly over the radio, while you followed your phone’s navigation through the streets of Buffalo, New York. There was just something about Christmastime that caused little bubbles of joy and excitement to course through your entire body. Those bubbles grew two sizes larger when you thought about the week ahead.

It had been a month and a half since you’d seen Jeff in the bowels of PPG Paints Arena, had felt his arms wrapped around you, felt the press of his lips against yours. Since then, you hadn’t been able to get those brief moments out of your head. Though you talked with Jeff basically every day, and your conversations had become more intimate, you hadn’t talked about the fact that he’d kissed you and you certainly hadn’t talked about his declaration that he would indeed like to fuck you. Finally though, after a month and a half, you were less than 12 hours away from seeing him face-to-face once more.

Pulling into his apartment’s parking garage, you gathered the trash you’d accumulated during the six-hour drive before climbing out of the car, stretching out your body. You’d finished your last final this morning and per Jeff’s request had immediately packed up before hitting the road. You’d be asleep when he got in from tonight’s road game, but when you woke he’d be there and that was more than enough motivation to not delay your trip until tomorrow.

Throwing your trash into your purse to take inside, you gathered the rest of your bags and locked your car. Stepping into the apartment complex’s lobby, you stopped at the doorman/security officer’s desk. Two minutes later, you had a key in hand along with a note and were directed to press the button for the fifteenth floor in the elevator. Stepping off the elevator, you searched for the right apartment, stopping in front of it with a sigh. Setting your bag down, you fumbled with the key for a moment but as soon as the door swung open you couldn’t help but smile. Though it was clearly a bachelor’s apartment, the atmosphere was immediately calming, something you very much needed after a long day.

Setting your bags down, you slipped your shoes off and made your way into the kitchen where you leaned yourself against the counter to read Jeff’s note. His scratchy script urged you to make yourself at home, rambled about how excited he was to see you, insisted that you use the money he’d left on the counter to order dinner, and left channel information for the television so that you could watch the game. Just above the scrawled Jeff, his final sentence brought a warm flush to your cheeks.

The guest bedroom is all yours if you want...but I’d love nothing more than to come home to you in my bed.

You’d shared a bed before, but that was prior to the not so innocent encounter you’d had in Pittsburgh. Still, something pushed you to carry your things down the hall, past what you assumed was the guest room and into what was clearly the master suite. Leaving them on the bed to deal with later, you returned to the main living space of the apartment, taking a few minutes just to wander around. Jeff had pictures of his family on shelves by the tv which was hung on the wall above a gas fireplace. Looking out the window, you could see the arena just a few blocks away and couldn’t help but laugh knowing Jeff hated long commutes. Turning back to the apartment’s interior, you noted that his large sofa looked warm and comfortable, and he certainly had a chef’s kitchen even if he was no chef. As promised, there were a pair of twenty-dollar bills tucked under a fruit bowl on the island and you decided maybe it was time for dinner since it was nearly seven o’clock.

After searching for local restaurants you decided that game food sounded good and so you placed an order for chicken strips, mozzarella sticks, pretzel sticks, and deep-fried cheesecake for dessert. Since Jeff had threatened you not to even think about paying for the food yourself you complied and noted that you were paying with cash. With food on its way, you moved to try and figure out Jeff’s tv, settling it onto the channel for the game, pregame programming already playing.

It wasn’t long before Jeff’s face came across the screen and immediately your heart fluttered. It was silly because you watched Jeff’s games all the time (at least when they didn’t conflict with the Penguins), but for some reason watching it while sitting in Jeff’s apartment felt different. Just before puck drop, you got the alert that your food was downstairs so after slipping on some shoes, you grabbed the cash and key and made your way down to get it.

With dinner spread out across the coffee table, you got yourself a glass of water and settled in on Jeff’s couch. About midway through the first period, he snuck the puck through the goalie’s legs and into the back of the net causing you to let out a cheer. Just before the end of the second, he buried another puck past the goalie to give the Sabres a two-goal lead. Watching Jeff play so well made a content smile settle onto your face as you cleaned up your leftovers and trash before snuggling under the blanket that was tossed over the back of the couch. With your eyes occasionally fluttering shut, you missed what preceded the tussle Jeff was currently in with a player on the opposing team. Immediately anxiety filled your body, but soon you watched as Jeff was led to the penalty box appearing no worse for wear as he continued to chatter away.

By the time the game ended, you had already started to fall asleep on the couch, so you decided it was time to head to bed, tidying up before locking the front door and retreating to Jeff’s bedroom. There you changed into pajamas before setting your suitcase on a chair in the corner. Brushing your teeth and washing your face was all you needed to do in the bathroom and after plugging your phone in, you flipped off the lights and tugged the covers back climbing into bed. Soon, with your body sinking into the comfortable mattress, you were out like a light.

___

“Shh, it’s just me…go back to sleep.” You heard whispered as you stirred. You had no idea what time it was, but as the bed shifted beside you, part of you realized that Jeff had arrived home. Unconsciously, you shifted toward him and a warm set of arms draped around your waist as you settled your head against his shoulder and dozed right back off.

When you actually awoke, the room was filled with the faintest morning light. It was only then that you processed the fact that your entire body was tangled with Jeff’s, pressed tightly against him. Your head was still on his shoulder, your bodies touching from your chests to your hips, and your legs were entwined with his. Your mind raced to figure out how to best extract yourself when you felt Jeff’s chest vibrate under you.

“Morning.” He murmured, his voice groggy. Lifting your head, you glanced up to see that his eyes were still filled with sleep and he had a sleepy smile on his face as he gazed right back down at you.

“Morning…” You whispered back, shifting the hand that had been curled against Jeff’s chest to run through your hair.

“Sorry if I woke you coming in last night…” Jeff said, yawning softly.

“I don’t think you did…” You whispered. “I don’t actually remember you climbing into bed.”

“Then it was just your body that noticed.” Jeff teased. “Because you shifted to cuddle me immediately.” A warmth crept over your cheeks but Jeff’s smile only grew, still lazy and soft due to the early morning hour. “Was kinda nice,” Jeff explained with a small shrug. “Told you I wasn’t going to complain if you chose my bed.” He continued, his lips dropping to press gently against your forehead.

After stretching slightly, you finally dropped your arm back to Jeff’s torso, your fingers grazing against his abdomen. A low groan slipped from his lips and he moved his hand to lace his fingers with yours.

“As much as I wanna stay here…” He mumbled. “Want you to keep touching me.” He added under his breath. “We should probably get up before I have an even bigger problem.” This time when your eyes met his, they were a shade darker than just a minute ago and your saliva caught in your throat at what he was implying.

“Mmmm...yeah…” You agreed, working to extract your body from his. “I um...I’m gonna use the guest bathroom real quick...do you have stuff for breakfast in your fridge?” Jeff’s expression was unreadable as he watched you climb from bed, making your way towards the hallway door.

“I’m sure we can find something.”

___

By the time Jeff made his way out into the kitchen, you had managed to find a package of pancake mix and some bacon and eggs in his fridge and were hard at work making breakfast. Without saying a word, Jeff moved to start some coffee before taking over the skillet with the eggs from your hands.

“Let me help.” He chided. With the two of you working side by side, it didn’t take long to have breakfast made and once it had been served onto plates, Jeff paused, pulling you into his arms. “I haven’t had a proper hug yet.” He explained, almost whiny about it. Settling your arms around his waist, you returned his hug, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. “So glad you’re here.” Jeff declared, kissing your head once more before pulling away.

Settled at his kitchen island you ate breakfast in comfortable silence. When you were finished, Jeff took your dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. As he did so your eyes raked over his body, dressed only in sweats and a t-shirt. He was so attractive that you had to force yourself to look away before he caught you staring.

“So what’s the plan for today?” You murmured, not sure what exactly he had in mind since you’d let him plan pretty much everything. “Or I guess I should ask about today and the rest of this week?” You added, realizing that beyond the fact that he had one home and one away game, you had no idea what his schedule was like.

Jeff turned to lean against the counter across from you as he responded, his smile bright and eyes twinkling.

“I thought maybe today you could help me decorate?” He suggested. “We have the day off so I’m all yours. Then tomorrow we just have practice so I was thinking you could play tourist for a bit and then we could go out for dinner, maybe introduce you to Jack or some of the other guys.” After laying out his thoughts for weekend plans, Jeff paused for a moment to let you respond, and when you simply nodded he continued. “Monday we play at home, I already have your game ticket. Tuesday is a quick up and back to Toronto, we’re literally flying up in the morning and back after the game. I think a few of the guy’s girls are going if you have your passport on you and would be interested, but no pressure there if you want to stay here and veg for a day.” Warmth flooded through you at Jeff’s acknowledgement that this trip could be a lot and that if you needed some quiet time during it that was more than okay. At the same time though you couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed at fact that he wanted you to meet his teammates and their significant others.

Jeff pulled his lower lip between his teeth and his fingers rubbed at his neck before he spoke once more. “And then uh...Wednesday we have our team Christmas stuff, an official organization family skate in the morning and then Jack is hosting just the team and dates to his place for the evening…”

“Oh uh…” You breathed, having no idea that all of that was going on while you’d be here. Sensing that your brain was spinning away from you, Jeff rounded the island.

“But uh...we can talk about that later. I don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Let’s just see how things play out okay?” He offered and when his fingers laced with yours you found yourself nodding. “Good…” Jeff breathed. “I just want you to enjoy being here.” His concern, the way his eyes spilled over you, it all made you want to shiver in the best way.

“So...decorating?” You mused, bringing your mind back to focus on the day ahead instead of dwelling on everything else and the weight all of it held.

“Yep...go get dressed.” Jeff prodded, lifting you off of the stool with ease and placing you on your feet. His show of strength sent a spark through you and you nodded, retreating back to the bedroom to dig through your bag for clothes. Fifteen minutes later, you had pulled on a pair of jeans, a snuggly sweater, warm socks, and had done a really light coat of makeup before sliding into your tennis shoes and grabbing your coat.

“Ready?” Jeff inquired from his spot on the couch in the living room.

“Yep.” You replied, taking in Jeff’s similar outfit and the way it clung to his form. Sliding your phone into your pocket and grabbing your wallet, you followed him down to the garage, sliding into the passenger seat of his SUV with just a little help. Once he had pulled the car out onto the downtown Buffalo streets, his hand fell to rest over yours and you looked over at him, biting your lip at how natural the warmth of his palm felt.

With Christmas music playing over his car’s speakers, the drive was quiet and almost a bit stifling. Then Jeff murmured once more that he was really glad you were here and the way he glanced over at you told you that he meant that with everything in him.

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You replied, heart fluttering a bit no matter how much you tried to control it. Jeff drove out of the city and into the surrounding suburbs before pulling into the parking lot of a Walmart. When he parked, you climbed out, dropping down onto the pavement before meeting him at the rear of the vehicle.

“And here I thought you were taking me somewhere more exciting than a Walmart.” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder into his arm. Jeff’s cheeks turned a little pink as he walked beside you into the store.

“I figured we’d get the ornaments and garland and everything first and then head to the tree farm to pick the tree.” He explained rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really have any decorations here.” He mumbled under his breath causing you to look up at him curiously. “I’m fairly close to home, usually traveling, and haven’t really had a reason to decorate before.” He shrugged. You nodded, letting him grab a cart as you followed him into the store. In the back of your mind you couldn’t help but focus on his words though. Neither of the first two points had changed all that much so was the driving factor the third...and if so was that reason you? Though you wondered, you didn’t ask, instead just pushing it to the back of your mind once more.

Being that it was already mid-December, the Christmas section of the store was fairly well decimated and you watched Jeff’s eyes go wide as if he didn’t expect that. Giggling to yourself, you moved over to the rack of tree lights which was mostly empty but still had a few boxes of both white and colored left.

“What color lights do you prefer?” You asked him softly knowing that was as good a place as any to start. Jeff looked at you like he honestly had no idea so you grabbed the remaining few boxes of white lights, tossing them into the cart he was pushing.

“I didn’t expect everything to be gone.” He whispered softly as he pushed the cart down the empty aisles. There was one container of white glass ornaments tucked onto the back of a shelf but otherwise there really wasn’t much of anything.

“Jeff it’s mid-December.” You murmured back leaning against the cart. Sensing his distress you rested your hand over his. “Is there a Michael’s nearby?” You asked, pulling out your phone to check when he didn’t seem to know the answer. Finding one about fifteen minutes down the road, you grabbed the container of white balls since they’d go with anything, a box of ornament hooks, and you then urged Jeff to head to check out with your meager findings.

Back at the car, you plugged the address into his GPS and squeezed his hand assuring him that Michael’s would have plenty of decorations left for him to choose from. It didn’t take long to drive to the craft store and when you led Jeff inside this time you couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face at seeing aisles upon aisles of Christmas and other decorations. Starting in the aisle full of ornaments, you asked him what he liked and what kind of aesthetic he wanted for his tree.

For a moment he just looked back and forth like this was too many options before finally pointing to some wooden carved ornaments and how those looked kind of cool. Finally getting somewhere, you smiled and pulled a few of each design off the hooks setting them into the cart. After suggesting various colors of ornaments which received faces with varying degrees of dislike, you finally picked up a container of dark green balls and a pondering face crossed Jeff’s face.

“Forest green with the white balls from Walmart and the wood?” You reminded him trying to get him to picture how it would all look together.

“Do you think it would look good?” He asked and when you nodded he offered his hand out for the container to put it into the cart. Spotting a similar container that was just a little smaller with silver balls, you grabbed those as well putting them into the cart and shrugging at his questioning glance.

“You need at least a little bit of sparkle. So just a little metallic.” You insisted. Deciding that should be sufficient ornament wise, you moved down the aisles to find something that would serve as a nice garland and fit with the aesthetic Jeff seemed to like. A few aisles over you found strings of wooden balls and you showed Jeff before adding them to the cart. Then you disappeared into the depths of the store before coming back with wide-width forest green velvet ribbon which would give the decorations just a little bit more depth.

Jeff just watched you maneuver through the store before asking if you had everything you needed. For a moment you nodded but as you made your way to the check out, you spotted pine cones and added a container of those as well knowing that would be the perfect finishing touch.

“Oh…we need a tree topper too.” You said, stopping out of nowhere right in front of the cart before tugging him off in the direction of the toppers before picking out a simple but pretty silver star to go on top.

“Now are we done?” Jeff asked, though his expression was one of amusement not annoyance. Pausing for a moment to look over what was in the cart, you then nodded finally letting him go check out with all of your goodies. It was going to be a pretty tree, well once you actually picked out a tree.

As Jeff unloaded the cart, you noticed that he had picked up a few small wreaths. One was just plain and you weren’t sure what he had in mind for that but the other was simple but pretty and perfect for a door and the command hook he unloaded alongside of it suggested that he’d thought the same thing. There was also a tree stand which was probably going to be helpful, and a white faux fur tree skirt.

It didn’t take long for Jeff to pay for all of the decorations before grabbing the bags and guiding you back out into the cold weather to the car. Shivering slightly from the wind, you tugged your coat tighter around you as you climbed into the passenger seat again, reaching for the seatbelt.

Within just a few minutes of Jeff starting the car though, you were warm from head to toe and you realised he’d turned the seat warmer on for you. While you were still in a fairly commercial neighborhood, Jeff pulled into a Starbucks drive-thru and ordered warm beverages for the next part of your day. From there he drove even further away from the city and you watched the northern New York countryside pass by your window unsure of whether the warmth you were feeling was solely emanating from the seat and beverage or from the way Jeff made you feel.

As you drove farther into the countryside, a light snow covered the ground and trees making everything look that little bit prettier. Seeing the tree farm up ahead you couldn’t help but bounce a little in your seat because this was something you’d never done before. Your family has always had an artificial tree so you’ve never picked out a real one before.

Following Jeff because he clearly knew what he was doing in this regard, you moved through the rows of trees behind him, eyes wide at just how many there were.

“Have you seen any you’ve liked?” Jeff asked, popping up behind you somehow after a few minutes.” Jumping a little you smacked his arm gently for scaring you.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for…” You murmured. “It’s your tree.” You reminded, shrugging your shoulders after sticking your hands back in your pockets because it was cold. Jeff’s chuckle filled your ears and he reached to pull one of your hands out of your pocket, tucking it into his own as he led you down the row of trees pointing out a couple that he liked. Reading his body language, you urged him that the one he really liked but wouldn’t say so was the one and after that he handed you the keys, kissing your temple and telling you to go warm up while he got the tree paid for, cut down, and loaded up.

From the car you watched as, with the help of the lot’s employee, Jeff loaded the tree up onto the top of the SUV and got it tied down. Soon after that you were off to head back into the city Jeff asking what you wanted for lunch since it was already that time of day.

“I can just make something when we get back.” You assured him, not minding cooking for the two of you. Jeff murmured back that he didn’t invite you here to cook for him all week and you sighed softly replying that you didn’t come up expecting to not do anything all week either and that you could handle a few meals. A moment later he nodded, deciding that this wasn’t something worth going back and forth over and he turned his attention back to the road as the city loomed in front of you once more.

Having reached the garage of his building once more, you moved to grab as many shopping bags as you could so that you could get them inside and ready to decorate the tree which you weren’t quite sure how Jeff was going to get inside and up to the fifteen floor as you had a feeling it was too tall for the elevator.

You realized Jeff had come to this same conclusion moments after you did when he cursed under his breath.

“Let me get all the breakable decorations upstairs and then I can come help you with the tree?” You suggested. Jeff seemed to agree but when you came back down, he was carrying the tree with the help of the building’s doorman, brushing off your help and just asking you to go wait on his floor to open the stairway door.

Shaking your head to yourself, you took the elevator back up not envying the poor doorman helping Jeff to carry a tree up fifteen flights of stairs. At the top, you waited for them, holding the door up when they approached and then moving to hold the apartment door open as well before moving out of the way as they leaned the tree against a wall. While Jeff talked to him, you retreated into the kitchen to try and figure out what to make for lunch, deciding to make up a quick stir fry because that wouldn’t take long after defrosting some chicken in the microwave.

You were grabbing some things from his freezer and searching for another pan when Jeff appeared behind you making you jump again.

“You gotta stop that.” You chastised, looking over your shoulder at him. “And I hope you are going to do something nice for your poor doorman.” You added teasing, nodding when Jeff assured you that he was getting him game tickets and a signed jersey. When he asked if he could help you shook your head telling him that he should go figure out where he wanted to put the tree and get it set up so that you could start decorating after lunch.

“Alright, just holler if you need something.” He agreed before moving back around the island to the living room leaving you to navigate his kitchen to make up a quick lunch. By the time you had all your ingredients ready, the chicken was defrosted and you put it into the pan with just a little bit of water to start cooking, adding in the vegetables shortly after that. When everything was looking good and ready, you added in the stirfry sauce and added the rice to the small pot of water you had brought to a boil.

Within 20 minutes you were serving lunch onto plates and calling Jeff to come eat, laughing at how he was struggling with the tree. Moving to lend him an extra set of hands quickly, you managed to help him get the tree into the base and secured so that it would stand on its own. Repeating that food is ready, you smile at how flushed his cheeks are before moving back into the kitchen teasing that now you understand why he’s never decorated before.

Getting ice from the icemaker you didn’t hear him say that he never had anyone worth decorating for, though those words would have brought tears to your eyes if you had.

___

After lunch you let Jeff finish up the dishes while you worked on pulling all the decorations out of their bags. With everything laid out, you turned some Christmas music on from your phone to set the mood again.

When Jeff came in he turned on his gas fireplace and taking a strand of lights you’d already plugged in and checked from you, he started to wrap the lights amongst the branches working his way from the bottom of the tree up. It was almost seamless, the rhythm you settled into with you checking the lights and unwinding them before Jeff took them to continue wrapping around the tree until it was fully lit once plugged in.

“It already looks pretty.” You grinned signaling to him that he’d done good work with the lights.

Jeff just smiled that bright smile back and you reached to open one of the containers of ornaments while also grabbing the box of hooks. Again, the two of you took turns putting hooks on the ornaments and handing them to each other, making sure that each color and type was dispersed evenly around the tree. As you hung one of the wooden ornaments toward the middle of the tree you felt Jeff press up behind you, hanging a silver ball above your head. The heat of his body made you shiver and as he pulled away his hand slid along your waist as he steadied himself. You didn’t say anything for a moment before asking him to hand you one of the green balls.

Jeff pressed against you from behind twice more while tucking pinecones up into the branches of the tree and he slid against you while passing to grab the ribbon to drape around it. Each time he did so, a jolt sparked through your body, but that little voice in the back of your mind insisted that he didn’t mean it like that. Focusing on draping the wood garland so that it was spaced opposite the ribbon, you didn’t see Jeff’s eyes rake over your body or the way they softened as you hummed along to the Christmas carols. When everything was finally on the tree you reached to hand him the star to top it off insisting that he do it since it’s his tree.

For a moment Jeff hesitated before he reached to set the star on top before stepping back to admire the tree with you for a moment before you shifted it back toward the wall and got it plugged in, adding water into the base now that it wasn’t going to be moved anymore. The final step was adding the skirt around the base which Jeff insisted you do since you were already down there with the water. Once that was done, you smiled at how pretty it looks and hugged him from the side declaring that it looked worthy of a magazine.

Cleaning up the packaging, you watched as Jeff moved to hang the one wreath on his door while the other was placed under the fruit bowl in the center of his island with pinecones and a small green and white ornament tucked into it.

“Good work Mr. Skinner.” You grinned, washing your hands from the pine so that any pollen didn’t irritate your eyes. “Your apartment is ready for Christmas now.” His dimple was showing and his eyes flashed with something you didn’t understand as you peeked over at him suggesting that they watch a Christmas movie since they were done decorating.

Jeff agreed and you settled onto the couch handing him the remote as he pulled your feet into his lap before draping the throw blanket over your legs. After checking for your approval, he settled on Elf and you couldn’t help but smile as he quoted along to the movie.

Pausing after one movie to order dinner in and eat, you settled back in, bellies full, this time putting on the first Santa Clause. Instead of sitting like you had before, this time you sat next to him, leaning into the same space. When his thumb dropped down to brush against your inner thigh part way through the movie you felt a buzz form low in your core that didn’t stem from the bottle of wine you’d shared with dinner.

Jeff seemed to have no idea of what he was doing nor any idea the effect it was having on you. Yawning slightly, you murmured that you were going to go use his bathroom to shower if that was okay. You weren’t really paying attention to the movie anyway and you needed a moment to breathe. You’d thought that things with Jeff were different than they had been before Pittsburgh, but he hadn’t made a move or anything so maybe you were wrong. Either way there was no way you were going to stay sane with the pressure of his thumb against that part of your body.

Tonight, when Jeff slid into bed beside you, you were going to keep some distance. As much as your body wanted to be close to his, it was for the best because there was no way you were going to make it through a week here with him if you didn’t, even if he was your best friend.

#jeff skinner imagine #Jeff Skinner #buffalo sabres #buffalo sabres imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #bsabres #010

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passable-talent · 4 years

Note

Going with Ani to free his mom because you know it’s such a big moment for him (and obviously being there for the aftermath)

oof. here I go to make myself angsty for the evening

same day request answering. its like its april.

Padme Amidala is a really good person. It pretty much all comes back to that.

She’s kind. She’s empathetic. She recognizes when someone is in pain, and when someone needs help. She understands when an unwise course of action is one that needs to be taken.

So, of course, she understood when the Jedi apprentice meant to protect her instead wanted to run away to his birth planet and help his mother. Of course she did.

Though, level headed as she was, she thought that it might be wise to gather up another Jedi. To watch over her while Anakin was distracted, or possibly to help Anakin face whatever plagued his mother.

She suggested Anakin call upon Obi-Wan, which he refused. Obi-Wan’s mission was just as important, and if he knew what Anakin planned, Anakin would never be allowed to go.

So, instead, he called for you.

You were also a Jedi apprentice, at that time training between missions at the temple on Coruscant. Your master, Shaak Ti, trusted you immensely, and granted you permission to leave on your own. You commanded a Starfighter and were on your way- opening a com to Anakin en route. You had never been to Tatooine before, but had heard about it whenever Anakin felt like sharing his childhood. As his closest friend other than his master, you knew how much his mother weighed on his soul, and how much he had wished that Qui-Gon could have saved her, too. You had known that one day, he would try to return. He had promised his Shmi as much.

Anakin’s reunion with Watto was tense for just about everyone there. You didn’t know the terrain, you barely knew Padme, you certainly didn’t know Watto, but you felt the impatience rolling off of Anakin. It put you on edge, and so as he followed Watto into the shop, you kept pace behind Padme, ensuring her safety. It was the one thing you felt you were capable of doing, the one thing you could control.

Anakin wasn’t very talkative. Padme tried- but he was a focused man, and felt closer to finding his mother than he had in a decade. You were a silent support, beside the senator, as though you could take some of the weight off of Anakin’s shoulders. Every emotion he experienced seemed to radiate out from him, and it almost made your head pound to get blasted with them all- the guilt, the fear, the anger. You just hoped that he’d find his mother alive, or else, you imagined, this would get so much worse.

When you left the ship again, you found yourself in the most flat, barren landscape you’d ever seen. Growing up among the skyscrapers of Coruscant, it was almost unfathomable, to look out at the horizon and see nothing between you and it.

There was, however, one little building, which you could gather was your destination. And a droid.

Anakin’s mind must have been clouded by his emotion, or maybe he just wasn’t showing it, because you could feel that something was off. From the moment C-3PO requested to go inside, you knew that there was nothing but bad news here. You couldn’t say anything, though- you felt it wasn’t your place. Anakin was among his family, now, even if they’d never met him, and he needed to hear it from them.

You could tell. Shmi Skywalker was gone.

“It was just before dawn,” Cliegg Lars explained, “they came out of nowhere. A hunting party of Tusken Raiders.” You had heard of them before- in Anakin’s ramblings of the pod racing he did as a child. You sat at the end of the table opposite Cliegg, though it did feel informal. The head of the table was meant for anyone other than you, surely- but Anakin had his place at Cliegg’s right hand, and Owen at his left.

“Your mother had gone out early, like she always did, to pick mushrooms off the vaporators.” At the very least, you were silently happy that Shmi had spent her last years as a free woman with a husband that clearly cared about her greatly.

“From the tracks, she was about halfway home...” Your heart broke with every word for Anakin Skywalker, who had spent years dreaming of returning for his mother, only to arrive too late. “...When they took her.” Anakin’s face was devoid of clear emotion, but you knew him well- you could see that famous temper brewing inside of him. But, this was more than a frustration. This was so much deeper than that.

“Those tuskens walk like men,” Cliegg continued with a sigh, “but they’re mindless, vicious monsters. Thirty of us went out after her, four of us came back.” You lowered your head in respect, but kept your eyes on your friend, whose brows were tightly knit. He was thinking, mulling it over, considering, processing. You couldn’t blame him, but wished you could make it easier.

“I’d be out there with them, but...” Cliegg, too, was weighed down by his grief. His loss, you could see, was still just as raw as Anakin’s. “After I lost my leg, I just couldn’t ride anymore, until I heal.” Anakin’s heart seemed to break open wider with every moment that passed him by, and Cliegg continued, trying to reassure his lost stepson that his mother hadn’t died unloved.

“I don’t want to give up on her, but she’s been gone a month.” Unimaginable it was how much it must’ve hurt Anakin to know that he had missed her by only a month. “There’s little hope she’s lasted this long.”

And there it was- the clear implication to Anakin that his mother was not only gone, but dead. That there was a finality to it, and nothing he could do. You watched him, carefully, as he turned his head, and clearly you could see that he didn’t take such helplessness well.

He stood, and you made to do the same, but the both of you were interrupted by Owen, asking Anakin’s intensions.

“To find my mother,” Anakin said, and you let out a short breath.

“Your mother’s dead, son,” Cliegg said, with the voice of a heartbroken husband, “Accept it.”

Anakin left without a word.

You followed, knowing his plan.

“Anakin, it’s dangerous,” you told him, and he turned, shaking his head.

“I’m going. I have to.”

“I know,” you said, and in the gaze you shared with him, he realized that you meant to come with him.

Padme emerged from the entrance, and her gaze met yours. You nodded, and she gathered that you hadn’t been able to stop him. You hadn’t tried.

“You’re gonna have to stay here,” you said, a little more hardness in your tone than you had intended. “You’ll be safe until we return.” Anakin stood behind you, grief and anger rolling off of him, and though she could not feel the Force, Padme clearly could see a man in pain. After all, Padme Amidala is a really good person. She walked to him and gave him a brief hug.

“We won’t be long,” you promised as they parted, and as she retreated inside, you followed him to the speeder.

The longer he rode, the more anguish he felt. He hardened before you, from a boy who lost his mother, to a man who sought revenge. You could only hope you would serve to curb the damage.

Just after nightfall you reached the encampment of the raiders, their domes still lit by dying fires. You deferred to Anakin’s lead, assuming that he would know your enemy better than you. It had been a while since the two of you had gone on a mission together- if the atmosphere were less dire, you might have even enjoyed it.

You don’t know how he chose which dome to enter, but it was the right one. You felt the world change when Anakin laid eyes on the bloodied woman tied to a post, like you were recognizing her yourself. Shmi Skywalker, still alive.

“Go,” you whispered, stationing yourself between the opening of the dome and the opening Anakin had created. His reunion was his own, and you gave him the best security and privacy you could. It was astounding that she had survived, all this time, and for a moment you were filled with hope, joy, that he had disobeyed Cliegg and searched for her anyway. Otherwise, she likely never would have been found. You kept your eyes to the night outside the dome, a lookout, your breathing calm with the joy and love and relief that Anakin had once again allowed into his body.

And then you felt it change.

You whirled around, and she was dead, and Anakin’s silence was suddenly all you could hear. The world was turning red around the both of you as he felt the grief of his mother’s death for a second time, and his eyes lifted to yours.

“Anakin,” you breathed, knowing nothing else to say. His grief hardened into anger, but he gently closed her eyes and held her close. You didn’t know what to do. Panic hit you hard as his anger curdled into rage, and his eyes lifted.

“Anakin, we need to take her home,” you said, hoping to deflect his focus. He didn’t listen.

As he lowered her gently to the floor so that he could stand, you tried to move into his way, and successfully you cupped his face, catching his eyes for just a moment. In them, you didn’t see the anger you felt from him. In them, you saw so much sadness.

And so you let him go.

It wasn’t the Jedi way, you knew that. And you wished you could will yourself to move, to stop him, because the pain that his actions would cause would haunt him, possibly for the rest of his life. But it felt as though he needed this, as though it was the only thing that would sate his soul. So you breathed mantras, and did your best to combat his anger with peace, thinking that it might invade him.

And when the Tusken Raiders had all given their last breaths to Anakin Skywalker, you went to him.

He collapsed to his knees under his own weight, no longer grieving but feeling a consuming emptiness. You had to force yourself to block it out as you ran to him, and pulled him against you. Never before had you felt someone who needed a hug so bad, and only then did he begin to break, knotting his fingers into the robes at your back. He buried his face, but did not cry, and you stayed as long as he needed you to.

You drove home. He held his mother, behind you, cradling her like she had once held him. You rode through sunrise, back to Cliegg’s home, where quickly you were met by Owen, Padme, Cliegg, Beru. You dismounted quickly and retreated, knowing that this was Anakin’s moment, and his alone. His anger had returned, but it didn’t feel so sharp anymore- it was anger and sadness and frustration, and it just felt to you like pain. Incredible pain.

You stayed in the room with him, wherever he went, continuing the strategy you’d had back at the camp. You held peace in your chest, and hoped that he could feel it the way you felt his pain. You hoped it would calm him. His pain did not fade, but it did dull, and for a while as he tinkered with the shifter, it felt as though maybe the anger had drained from his body.

Padme entered with two meals, and she handed one to you before approaching Anakin, her footsteps light, but her presence noticeable.

“I brought you something,” she said over his shoulder, and when he didn’t respond, she moved around to his front. “Are you hungry?”

“The shifter broke,” he told her, and if it wouldn’t have taken from your concentration you would’ve chuckled. He avoided the question- you knew he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. “Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things.” You would give anything to have back the boy you’d trained with on Corellia. So heavy Anakin felt now, with everything that had happened. You wished you could give him back the peace he had once felt. Padme looked to you briefly as she moved to set down the tray near Anakin, and you nodded. You’d get him to eat eventually.

“I’m good at fixing things,” Anakin continued, “always was.” Padme turned back to him slowly, the both of you noticing the waver in his voice. “But I couldn’t...” he trailed off, putting down his tools. “Why’d she have to die? Why couldn’t I save her?” You sat up, more toward your feet, ready to approach him if you felt the need. He was getting ramped up again, but the jagged edges of his grief this time was less anger and more blame. Blame on the Tuskens, blame on himself. “I know I could have!” He turned from Padme and for the briefest of moments his eyes met yours, but he moved forward, away from both of you.

“Sometimes there are things no one can fix,” Padme said softly, and you kept your breathing steady to combat his erratic emotion. “You’re not all powerful, Ani.”

“Well, I should be,” he said, giving her words no time to hang in the air.

“Anakin,” you said, showing disapproval of such a thought, and for the first time wished Obi-Wan was there.

“Someday I will be,” he insisted. “I will be the most powerful Jedi ever.” He turned to face you and Padme again, tears glistening on his face but his expression angry. You didn’t know what to say, even when he levied his gaze toward you.

“I promise you. I will even learn to stop people from dying.”

“Anakin,” it was Padme’s turn to say, and what he said next shook you to your core.

“It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault!” he shouted, “He’s jealous! He’s holding me back!” Anakin launched whatever he’d picked up across the room, and it clattered quietly before coming to rest.

“You know that’s not true,” you said, quickly rising to your feet. You took a step closer to Anakin as he turned away, but did not get too near.

“I know,” he conceded under his breath. Padme sensed what was really going on.

“What’s wrong, Ani?’ She asked, and finally you realized what was truly causing his pain, in this moment. He was looking at his hands as he stuttered the beginning of a sentence, the hands that had killed so many.

The peace in your body faltered- if you had stopped him, he wouldn’t be grieving nearly so much now. It was your fault.

“I killed them,” he explained, “I killed them all. They’re dead- every single one of them.” He turned to Padme with rage at himself and the raiders twitching his lips, tears still falling from his eyes. “And not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They’re like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals!” You lowered your head, trying to push away your own guilt so that you could be there for him. His pain, you knew, was greater than yours.

“I hate them!”

Hate leads to suffering.

As Anakin sank to the floor, you and Padme sat to flank his sides. You were his best friend, closer to him than anyone else in the world, and so you leaned against his side while Padme offered her words.

“To be angry is to be human.”

“I’m a Jedi,” Anakin insisted, “I know I’m better than this.”

“Most Jedi never know their parents,” you said softly, “and never form attachments. There is no one in a Jedi’s life who matters as much as your mother does to you. I’m sure you’re taking this with more grace than Master Windu would have.” Anakin didn’t laugh, but he did quiet, almost as though he believed you. Slowly you found the hand he held beside his knee, and gathered it into yours.

Padme leaned forward and gave him the best hug she could from the side, but then left Anakin alone with you.

She’s a good person, like that.

“Anakin, I’ve known you for a long time,” you started quietly, “and all of that time I’ve known you to be a kind man. A compassionate man. Quick to anger, yes, but not to judgement. They earned your rage, and that’s okay. It does not outweigh all of the good you’ve done in your life.” His grip tightened on your hand, still his breathing erratic, but once again the jagged edges of his mind began to soften. You let silence drift into the room for a moment as he slowly evened.

“She was beautiful,” you said, laying your head down onto his shoulder. He nodded, and slowly, there grew the beginning of a smile on his face. “And she won’t be forgotten.”

-🦌 Roe

#reader insert #angst #imagines #star wars #star wars anakin #star wars prequels #star wars self insert #jedi reader #anakin imagine #poor anakin #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #fics

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flyinghome-againstthewind · 4 years

Text

the best by far is you: chapter 15

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you - Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 15

April 17, 1746

Jamie straightened his shirt and tied the stock at his neck. The new shirt didn’t fit him exactly, tight in the arms and chest, but it would have to do. He caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror sitting atop the bureau and the sight of his dark locks still gave him a shock. Even less of a shock but still noticeable to him was the sight of his clean-shaven face. He looked rather boyish and perhaps that was for the best, as much as he hated the look. He’d have to keep up with the shaving as diligently as he did with the natural hair dye.

“A leannan, are ye ready to go?”

He turned to see Faith perk up at those words. She wore a simple gown that Mary had managed to find the day before, and he’d helped Faith with her stockings and shoes only a few minutes ago but noticed one foot was already shoe-less. “Faith, where is yer shoe?”

She looked about the room, as if it had only occurred to her then that one was missing. “Dinna ken.”

He found it quickly, just on the floor by the side of the bed, and knelt in front of Faith to slip it back on her wee foot. He felt her hands come to rest on his shoulders to steady herself while she stood momentarily on one foot. It was a small moment ‒ just the act of helping this wee lass with her shoe ‒ but his heart squeezed all the same, for the simple trust she had in him to help her. Their heads were bent right next to each other’s so once he’d straightened her shoe, he lifted his head and gave her cheek a kiss.

She smiled and stamped her foot down excitedly.

“Aye, ye ready tae go now?” He laughed, pushing one stubborn red curl off her forehead and back behind her bonnet. “There. Now ye’re ready.”

They left from Inverness in a coach bound for Edinburgh, having discussed the plan with Mary the night before. Unsure of what to do with Donas, Jamie had arranged to have him hitched to the back of the coach.

They were jounced along in the coach as the wheels turned over the rough terrain of the main road from Inverness. Jamie had forgotten how it felt, having not stepped foot in a carriage since Paris. Faith wasn’t too keen on it, either, since all the jostling about meant that she couldn’t move around. Instead, she was stuck in Jamie’s lap or on the seat next to him.

Mary sat across from them and stared out the window. When the coach lurched suddenly, she grabbed her belly subconsciously.

Jamie had almost forgotten in his haste to make a new plan yesterday: she carried Alex Randall’s child ‒ more than that, she carried within her the start of a line that ended 200 years from now, with the man Jamie had just returned Claire to.

It was an odd realization, and though he held no ill feelings towards Mary, he did inwardly curse the twisted, tangled ties between his family and the Randalls.

On a particularly rough bump, Mary grabbed her belly and this time caught Jamie’s eye and quickly looked away, her face aflame.

Oh, aye, he wasn’t supposed to know about the baby. She wasn’t supposed to have a baby to think of yet, having only married Randall less than a week ago.

“Claire told me ye were wi’ child,” he offered, his tone purposefully light. She visibly relaxed at those words but didn’t say anything. Perhaps she’d assumed he would have judged her harshly for the child that was clearly conceived out of wedlock, but she’d never understand the necessity of this baby’s life to Jamie, how the child was part of the pattern that brought Claire into his life, that ensured there would be someone to care for her back in her time.

“I’m glad ye’ll have a piece of him with ye.”

Mary smiled sadly, her gaze flickering to Faith with a knowing look. His piece of Claire. She looked out the window again, glassy-eyed, and he inwardly chided himself for even bringing the baby up. After all… she’d lost her love less than a week ago. One look at Mary Hawkins Randall was all it took to see she was barely hanging on.

There was a shout from the front of the carriage and a sudden lurch as the horses began to slow. They were stopping.

“S-s-soldiers,” Mary uttered, catching sight of something out the window.

He grabbed hold of Faith and swiftly moved to the other side of the carriage, taking the seat beside Mary. “Hold her,” he said quietly, passing Faith into Mary’s lap. “And dinna be afraid,” he added, noting her ghostly pallor. “We’ll be alright.”

He didn’t have the benefit of hiding his dirk in the folds of his kilt, but he drew it from its sheath and obscured it from view under the folds of Mary’s dress where it fanned out onto the seat between them.

They could hear voices ahead of them and it seemed an eternity that they waited for the Redcoats to finish addressing the coachman.

Finally, a soldier appeared through the windows and flung open the carriage door on the side closest to Jamie.

Jamie felt Mary flinch at his side. Ah Dhia...

“Mister and Mistress Mayfield?”

“Y-yes,” Mary answered after a moment. The name had been her suggestion ‒ her mother’s family’s name ‒ and it had sounded English enough to Jamie.

The man’s gaze flicked briefly between Jamie and Mary before addressing Jamie again. “Coachman says you are traveling to Edinburgh.”

“Y-y-yes, that’s c-c-c-correct.”

The soldier shot Mary an exasperated look before he swung his gaze curiously back to Jamie, who kept his expression neutral but tightened his grip on the blade.

“Do you always let your woman speak for you, sir?”

“H-he can-can-can’t s-s-s-speak‒”

Each stutter of Mary’s tongue was painful as she struggled to get the words out under the gaze of the increasingly irritated soldier. “Right, and neither can you from the sounds of it,” he muttered. The man eyed Jamie with obvious doubtfulness and turned suddenly, disappearing from the carriage doorway. The murmured voices of the soldier speaking with another filtered in through the open carriage, but Jamie couldn’t make out what they were saying.

He rolled his jaw tensely, and glanced at Mary, trying to give reassurance with only a look, but Mary kept her head down, her attention turned to Faith.

The soldier returned a moment later, his comrade standing at his shoulder, and asked a few more questions about who they were, where they were going, why they were here, and why Jamie couldn’t speak. Each question was answered painstakingly by Mary, whose stutter became more pronounced under the soldiers’ obvious frustration.

They had prepared for an encounter such as this, but it stretched out painfully and stirred up an anxious feeling in his gut. Jamie was tensed and ready, watchful of the soldiers. He had no idea if there were more with them, ahead of the carriage and blocked from his line of sight.

Faith squirmed in Mary’s lap suddenly, trying to slide to the floor, but Mary gripped her tight. “N-n-n-not just yet,” she said softly to the girl.

Faith whined and fired back a quick “no” of her own, and Jamie felt his pulse thrumming in his ears. She hadn’t spoken much, but she did have a distinct Highland lilt to her voice that could be heard if she spoke further.

Mary began to look panicked, struggling to control Faith in front of the soldiers, and Jamie released his hold of the dirk in favor of plucking Faith from Mary’s grasp. He bounced the toddler on his knee and silently prayed to God she would keep still and silent.

“Is that red hair that she has?”

Jamie felt all the breath leave his lungs at the soldier’s words. In all the movement, that wayward curl had slipped free from Faith’s bonnet and fallen across her forehead.

“M-m-m-m-my m-m-m-m‒” Mary tried to jump in with an explanation.

“Christ,” the soldier swore under his breath. “Haven’t got all day to listen to this half-wit,” he turned and said to his companion, though all of them heard loud and clear. Mary made a choked sound at Jamie’s side, but he wouldn’t tear his eyes off of the soldiers.

The man turned back to them with a keen glance between Jamie, Mary, and Faith. Finally, his gaze settled on Jamie and he addressed him, “You sure that child is yours?”

The man smirked then, seeing he’d ruffled Jamie’s feathers, and Jamie’s hand tightened possessively around Faith. “You’re free to go, but I’ll warn you to be careful in these parts. Highlanders will kill you on sight if they know you’re English. Absolute barbarians, they are. Best of luck on your journey.”

And with that, the soldier closed the carriage door and signaled to the coachman that they could leave. The carriage jolted forward and Mary exhaled shakily. “That was b-bloody close,” she said in a tight whisper, and Jamie’s gaze snapped to her in surprise at hearing her curse.

“Ye did well, Mary. I’m only sorry ye had to deal with them at all. Are ye alright?”

Her hands were clasped so tight in her lap that her knuckles were bone-white. “Yes.”

After a moment, she added, “It gets worse w-when I’m upset. My s-st-stutter.”

“Aye, I figured as much. It’s understandable. And it doesna mean ye’re half-witted. Ye canna believe him.”

Mary nodded slightly at this and her gaze shifted out the window. He took that opportunity to move back over to the seat across from her, giving her space.

“And you, a leannan,” he murmured to Faith, adjusting her in his arms to try and encourage her to rest her head. Lord, he had thought for a moment there that they would’ve been found out. His racing heart still hadn’t settled. “Lay yer head, lass. Rest, if ye can.”

She curled in at his neck and sighed heavily. Only a few minutes later, she was asleep.

The coach stopped at dusk at a tavern along the way. They had been riding in the carriage since they left Inverness that morning and had stopped very few times to stretch their legs and relieve themselves.

Jamie’s body felt stiff and achy as he stepped out of the carriage with Faith in one arm and turned to help Mary down.

The coachman told them what time they would be leaving in the morning and then they were on their own. The tavern was half-populated and not much to look at, but it was warm and there was a hot meal ready for them when they asked.

It wasn’t the same one he’d visited with Claire, when the weather had turned too cold and his troops had taken shelter indoors, so he wasn’t sure why he’d thought of it ‒ and her ‒ as he took in his surroundings.

I miss her…

He could hear her pained voice from that night as clear as a bell, and the guilt and grief stormed his chest once more. And, God, did he miss Claire more than anything else.

Their room for the night was nicer than he expected ‒ though after eight months at war, Jamie might’ve easily been impressed with a field to sleep in, out under the stars. There was a bed as well as chairs by the fireplace ‒ all looking a little worse for wear but still acceptable. Along one wall was a door which led into a small washroom with an empty tub, a chamber pot, and a small pitcher and basin for washing.

“Spot by the hearth is fine enough for me and Faith tonight,” Jamie said decidedly.

Mary glanced toward the bed. “Faith could share with m-me, I don’t mind.”

He smiled gently at that. “Tis verra kind of ye. But I want to be the one that cares for her, since…” His gaze dropped to Faith, still in his arms, and he struggled to get the words out ‒ that Claire was truly gone. “Since I’m all she has left. And if she wakes, I want tae be there.”

Mary nodded at that and murmured something about cleaning up before disappearing into the back washroom.

Faith appeared to be leached of energy from the full day of traveling and hardly put up a fight when Jamie slipped her out of her travel clothes and into a nightgown. “There, isna that better?”

She rubbed one eye with the back of her hand and sighed, refusing to answer. She’d been chatty at supper but had hardly made a peep since they’d been shown to their room.

“My puir wean,” he chuckled lightly. “Ye look half-asleep on yer feet. Let’s wash up and then ye can rest, mo chridhe.”

He helped her wash up and then splashed his own face and neck with water to wipe away the grit and grime of the day. Mary had already settled in bed for the night so he guided Faith over by the fire where Mary had sensibly provided a pillow and one of the blankets from the bed for them, on top of the thick rug that was already laid there.

In consideration of Mary, Jamie had only removed his waistcoat and stock, and untucked his sark for sleep. He stretched out on the floor and encouraged Faith to lay down. She paced around him before flopping down at his side and letting her head fall on his chest. He rubbed a hand over her back lightly.

“How about a story, lass?” He didn’t wait for Faith’s response, already committed to telling her, but Faith curled up on his chest and seemed ready to listen all the same. “I promised ye I’d tell ye about yer mam.”

“My mam…” Faith echoed softly, tiredly, and his heart clenched to hear her say it.

“Aye, that’s right. Yer mam loves ye so much, a leannan.” He ran his fingers gently over her short wispy curls.

He thought of the moment earlier with the soldiers and a nameless fear he couldn’t identify then.

“Faith,” he said suddenly, “Ye ken… ye ken I’m yer da, aye?” He’d never said it, not in the two days since Murtagh had brought her back into his life and fate had conspired to keep her there with him. She lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m yer da,” he repeated softly, feeling oddly nervous and vulnerable.

Faith dropped her head back onto his chest and was overtaken by a big yawn, nuzzling into Jamie on the exhale. Somehow that was enough. Yes, she knew.

He told her everything he could of the moment he met Claire, mindful that Mary might still be awake and listening, and everything that happened in their early days of friendship at Leoch and falling in love with her. Faith didn’t last long into the tale before sleep claimed her.

At some point before falling asleep, she had shifted so that her whole body was laid along his torso, her head pillowed up by his shoulder.

His hand settled on her back so that he would feel if she started to roll off.

“Used tae be so wee I could hold all of ye in one hand,” he murmured to his sleeping child. “Ye’re so grown, Faith. Hadna realized all that I missed.” He swallowed thickly, feeling a maelstrom of emotion in his chest. “I didna wish tae separate ye both ‒ you ken that. But I… I dinna take it for granted, a nighean… that I get tae be the one that’s wi’ ye now.”

A loud thud startled him from sleep and he sat up swiftly, clutching Faith as he did, but of course she was roused, too.

His first realization was that it hadn’t grown dark in the room ‒ the fire was still blazing in the hearth ‒ so he must not have been asleep for too long.

His second realization was that the sound had come from someone busting the door of their room open.

Standing there in the open doorway was a ghost of Jamie’s past. Someone Claire had promised would die yesterday, on the battlefield of Culloden.

Mary scrambled out of bed with a scream, landing on the side away from the door, as Jamie stood to his feet. Black Jack Randall took that time to wander into the room and close the door behind him.

“You both look rather shocked. Hmm? Didn’t expect that I’d come after you?”

“Y-y-y-you died…” Mary looked from Randall to Jamie.

“Mary,” Jamie said evenly, never breaking eye contact with Randall, “take her into the other room.”

He’d shifted towards her so Mary could grab Faith. Not needing further coaxing, Mary and Faith disappeared into the back room.

“I must say, for as much of a fuss as you’ve made over your beloved wife before, it was surprising to learn you’d taken mine away right under my nose.” Randall’s tone was dripping with disdain, his eyes ablaze with maddening fury.

Jamie stepped carefully back towards the fire, towards where he’d left his blade within reach while he’d slept. His mind was still reeling and he wasn’t up for Randall’s mind games.

Nevertheless, Randall pressed on, looking half-crazed as he came more into the light. “What happened, Fraser? Your wife realized she couldn’t actually forgive you? Couldn’t even bear to take your child with her when she left?”

Jamie saw red at those words, could hear his own pulse echoing in his ears. “Ye willna speak of my wife or my child ever again.”

Randall was advancing on him, armed with his own sword.

“Did ye no’ even fight in the battle then?” Jamie asked, trying to distract him. Claire said he would die there, and yet…

Randall bristled at the insinuation. “I fought,” he spat. It was then Jamie noticed the slight gash on the side of Randall’s head. The blood had crusted over, no longer bleeding, but the wound was there. “But where were you? Hmm? Fleeing the battle and stealing Mary away. That’s my brother’s child she’s carrying!”

Mary latched the door as soon as it shut, plunging her and Faith into complete darkness. There were no windows and she hadn’t thought to grab a candle. But the latch on the other door hadn’t stopped him from breaking into their room tonight, she realized. Shifting Faith to one hip, she began to feel about the small room for any sort of weapon. Her choices were severely limited and she’d started to search for something heavy in lieu of dangerous when her fingers felt Jamie’s straight razor. That would have to do.

She set Faith down in the farthest corner from the door. Grumpy and confused, the small child began to whimper. “D-d-don’t cry, Faith.” Mary flipped open the blade and went to stand in front of Faith. Just then, she heard John’s voice raise and his words sent a chill down her spine ‒ That’s my brother’s child she’s carrying.

Her free hand went to her curved belly ‒ her last piece of Alex. She couldn’t shake the image of John on the day she’d had to marry him, the day she lost Alex. The way he’d acted… the way his voice raised now. She wouldn’t let him near her child. She couldn’t.

She was vaguely aware of Faith’s small hands grabbing fistfulls of her robe to hold onto her. A sweet innocent child, and the only thing between her and the man Mary most feared was Mary herself.

Something loud crashed outside the room, and she could no longer hear any voices. Only the sounds of a scuffle. She reached behind her and stroked Faith’s hair, hoping to soothe the child, but unable to turn from the door. She held the razor in hand in case it was needed.

It felt like an eternity in that small room before it grew uncomfortably quiet. No sounds from out there.

Until someone tried the door and Mary nearly jumped out of her skin, pressing Faith further behind her.

“Mary? It’s me. Ye can unlock the door but dinna let Faith out here yet.”

“Is-is he‒?”

“Gone. That is, I need to move the… the body.”

Relief swamped her and she let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Are ye alright in there?”

“Yes. We’re b-both fine.” She closed the straight razor with shaking hands and placed it back by the water pitcher.

“Good. I’ll let ye ken when it’s safe tae come out.”

Jamie stood in the center of the room, looking down at Randall’s lifeless body. And though it had been Randall that came after him, a death at Jamie’s own hands was still a death on his conscience. A stain on his already dark soul. But he’d do it again in a heartbeat to protect any member of his family, and so he felt absolved of this sin through that divine responsibility alone.

It wasn’t very late in the night ‒ all three of them had been too tired after supper to stay up and went to sleep early, and Randall had found them not long after. He could still hear the indistinct voices and movement from the first floor of the tavern below, so others were still up.

So he couldn’t bring the body out of the room without notice.

And he wouldn’t dare leave it in the room where it could be found the next morning and endanger Mary and Faith if anyone sought after them.

Window it is, then.

He unlatched the window and pushed it open, peering out to see what lay below. The window faced the back of the tavern by where the horses were tied, but directly below the window was nothing but ground. Beyond the small stable was a stretch of trees and, yes, he’d have to be careful, but he could go around back and move the body out toward those trees. No one would be any wiser and it might be a few days at least before anyone found Randall.

“Mary?” He called out, trying the door to the back room and finding it unlatched this time.

“Here,” she said quietly, her voice enveloped in darkness. He held a candle out towards the sound and saw her seated in the corner with Faith curled up in her lap.

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve… taken care of it, but I’ll need yer help cleaning up. Be best if Faith didna see it.”

He set the candle down and carefully gathered Faith before helping Mary to her feet.

The room was in disarray but the greatest concern at the moment was the small pool of blood on the floor.

Jamie set Faith down on the bed for the time being. She curled up into a ball on top of the covers and sighed, never fully waking. He thanked his lucky stars that she had been spared from any further distress on this evening, and with any further luck, she wouldn’t even remember this night in years to come.

His hand smoothed over Faith’s curls. He’d never wanted a bastard such as Randall to even lay eyes on her, but the one comfort to him was that he’d taken Randall out of this world with his own two hands shortly after.

He thought of Fergus then, too, and his throat constricted. He wanted to tell the lad that the monster no longer drew breath, that he had seen to it himself that they would never be tormented by Randall again.

Mary’s gasp pulled him from his thoughts. “You’re injured!”

He looked down at his right arm where a bright red stain had soaked through his white shirt. “Aye,” he acknowledged, tilting his head toward the fire where a kettle was boiling strips of fabric. “That’s what the clean bandages are for.”

Mary took this in stride, and he remembered that she’d spent plenty of time volunteering with Claire at the hospital in Paris. She’d probably heard stranger things than boiling rags from his wife.

“We should take care of that first, before the room. And you’ll need to clean that shirt.”

He was surprised at first to see she meant to help him, but reckoned he couldn’t tie a bandage around his own arm one-handed.

“Aye,” he agreed, digging out his flask of whiskey. “Wash it out with this first.”

He peeled off his shirt and was able to see how deep the gash in his arm went. Claire might’ve stitched it up, but they didn’t have Claire here with them. Only a moment later did he consider how his being shirtless might’ve made Mary uncomfortable ‒ he recalled the way Claire first spoke of her in Paris, as an innocent, naive girl ‒ but she went about cleaning his wound with a detached professionalism, no longer scandalized by the sight of a half-naked man. Still only a young lass at seventeen, but the years since had changed her from that first introduction.

“She’d be furious at me, if she could see me now,” Jamie offered up in the silence.

Mary snorted softly at that, her brows relaxing slightly from their furrowed concentration. He peeked over at Faith where she was still curled up on top of the bed. “I worry…” he began and then stopped, deciding it was perhaps not something Mary would want to discuss just yet.

“What?” she prodded, pausing in her work.

“I worry that I canna keep Claire alive for her. Even telling her stories… it’s no’ the same as having memories. Faith will ken as much about her mother as I can tell her, but it’s no’ the same as knowing a person, knowing what they’d say tae ye. I ken exactly the look Claire would have for me, the way she’d scold me. Faith willna have that same knowledge.”

Mary didn’t respond, but she sighed heavily and he knew. It was the same for her. In the months to come, she would bear a child that would never know his father.

“But we do what we can, I suppose,” Jamie said quietly. He was growing used to her quietness and filling in the silences.

Mary pressed a large bandage over the wound when she was done and tied it as tight as she could manage.

“Thank ye,” he said and stood, going to wash his shirt in the back room.

She made a small sound, both alarmed and horrified, and he realized he’d turned his back to her, giving her full view of his scars.

He turned, finding her looking away now as though she hadn’t seen. But the shock was there on her face. The pity. His skin prickled. “It was Randall,” he said tersely, and turned and left.

Jamie emerged from the back room later, having cleaned the blood from his shirt as best he could, to find Mary straightening the room. “You t-told me he died b-before the battle…”

His stomach twisted into knots. So it was time for that conversation. Only he couldn’t tell her the truth of the matter. “I thought… I thought he had died. I didna mean to mislead ye, I promise.”

Her hands fiddled with a rag, twisting and folding it and unringing it. “How did he-he find us?”

Jamie sighed, piecing together what made sense from what little Randall had shared. “Seems he returned tae the boarding house some time after we left. Must’ve learnt about the coach and followed after it.”

She appeared visibly shaken ‒ and he couldn’t say he blamed her ‒ but she nodded at that and went back to cleaning up the room.

They worked in silence until the room had been returned to its former state.

“I thought he was a kind man, when I first met him,” Mary said suddenly, as if the words needed to get out. She sunk into the closest chair and Jamie took the other. “H-he was so kind to Alex and he paid for everything once Alex couldn’t work any longer.”

“Ye had no reason to believe otherwise.”

And ye likely dinna ken the whole truth of him still, he thought.

“N-not until it was too late. I saw the way he talked to Claire, and-and when Alex died, how he‒” Mary shook her head abruptly, no doubt reliving the moment.

“I’m sorry for what ye went through, lass,” he said earnestly, though it only added to his relief that the nightmare had ended for more than just his own family.

“When he showed up h-here, I thought… that was it. If he got to me, I’d never get away again. I hid in that room with Faith and your straight razor in case he got through, but I‒” Mary swallowed roughly. “Well. A lot of good that would’ve done, anyway,” she said wryly.

“Ye’re verra brave, Mary. More brave than ye get credit for. I canna forget what ye did tae that bastard at Bellmont last winter ‒ and rightly so. I wouldna want to cross ye while ye wielded a blade.”

Mary let out a surprised laugh at that. “Yes, a terrifying prospect,” she joked.

“I mean it. I’m proud tae call ye my friend. And I thank ye for protecting Faith as ye did, truly. I ken what you’re risking tae help us.”

She smiled awkwardly, and seemed to struggle for a response. He got the impression then that she wasn’t used to such praise. That was the thing he was starting to see clearly about Mary ‒ everyone underestimated her on account of her stutter, her size, her reserved nature. Foolish, really, considering that she’d had strength enough to face one of her attackers and bravery to look a British soldier in the eye and lie to him while sitting next to Red Jamie.

“Well,” he added with some finality in his tone, “It’s gotten rather late and we’ve another long day of traveling ahead of us. I’ll leave ye to yer rest.”

Mary murmured her agreement, both of them feeling the weight of the day in that moment. He gathered Faith from Mary’s bed and carried her over to their spot by the hearth.

Jamie settled Faith on the floor, her head on the pillow, and gently arranged himself next to her, laying on his uninjured side. His arm slung across her protectively, sheltering her, and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

His last thought before sleep, as it had been the night before, was of Claire. I’ll see that our lass is safe, Sassenach. No matter what comes.

#jamie x claire #outlander #outlander fic #OL fic #faith fraser #tbbfiy #the best by far is you #my fic

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mcwriting · 4 years

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The Marriage Project (1)

Omg I can’t believe it’s taken me THIS long to post this. I wrote this chapter probably in like April or May and it freaks me out to finally post but here it is!

My slow burn (American) High School AU with Tom Holland!

All the general info for this series is on the story masterlist, but I’ll list warnings and word counts on every chapter. Chapters will be much longer than my typical 2000 or less babies

Warnings: This will become a mature story in the future (no smut; more info on masterlist). Some profanity in this chapter

Word Count: 4140 (I told you!)

% approximately the 2nd week of August %

Ah, senior year. One last year of high school, one last year of seeing the people you’ve grown up with every day.

You’ve been told it’s easy. The best year ever. And yeah, maybe it will be. It’s not like you’re taking too many hard classes or overloading yourself with extracurriculars, aside from volleyball, soccer, the National Honors Society, and quiz bowl.

(Okay maybe it was a little much, but you loved it anyways)

The only real problem was the certified thorn in your side, Tom Holland.

He’d essentially been your mortal enemy since the sixth grade when he beat your mile time by only a few seconds.

Now, it’s not that he was a bully or anything, he was just so insufferable to be around. And yes, everyone always says boys pick on girls when they like them, but rest assured that wasn’t the case. You’d both always hated each other, nothing more.

You were always competing, and because of that ended up in the same place a lot.

He was in all your honors classes, in NHS, played boys soccer, and did quiz bowl. The only thing you had to yourself was volleyball except, oh wait, his younger brother’s girlfriend was on the team and Tom was his ride home every day.

All these thoughts raced through your head as you walked in on the first day, sitting down in AP calculus as soon as you finished up at your locker.

Everyone did the “how was your summer?” and “long time no see!” as students filed in. Eventually walked in Tom, and you shot each other a glare as he sat down right next to you.

“Holland.”

“Y/l/n.”

Everyone around you groaned. They all knew you two were forces to be reckoned with and probably dreaded spending another year listening to the two of you bicker everyday.

Though you were often in close proximity, you never really talked much, except to argue. Rarely did you agree unless it was on basic facts, and even then was it hard to admit sometimes.

Because of this, you typically resigned yourselves to only speaking when it came to grades so you could keep a mental tally of who was in the lead. You were both in the running for valedictorian at the end of the year, and you were not about to let Tom win.

The week was almost over and things had gone smoothly for the most part.

Sure, you and Tom had had a couple of spats, but nothing that wasn’t handled quickly.

He’d been to all of your volleyball games so far, even the summer ones, which meant he was forced to watch you dominate the court as both a setter and right side hitter.

It was a nice little satisfaction.

Especially because you’d watched him throw some horrendous passes in the preseason football game last week that led to a loss by one touchdown. (Okay, he’d had some good passes too, but they were lucky shots).

You settled into your seat in senior home economics Friday before lunch. The class was your school’s attempt at teaching some life skills for rising adults. For the most part however, it was a glorified cooking and sewing class. You didn’t mind per say, since you could cook up a pre-snack lunch sometimes.

Most of your friends were in there, including your best friend Alexis, whom you hadn’t seen all morning.

You, Alexis, and two other girls stood around a mixing bowl with the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies since it was a Friday, which Mrs. Flynn called “dessert day.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” your teacher, Mrs. Flynn, started getting everyone’s attention. “This year we’re doing something new for this class! Next week I’ll have you all split into pairs for a semester long marriage project! I will be drawing names out of a hat, so don’t get too comfortable yet. Anyways, be thinking on what kinds of careers you might want and things of that nature! Okay, now get back to your desserts!”

The whole room broke out into chatter the last part of the hour-and-a-half class, people speculating who might end up with who and what jobs they’ll get.

“Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if y/n got Tom?” Alexis stated as you stirred chocolate chips into the dough. The other girls laughed as you just snorted.

“Yeah, I’d rather lick the inside of the microwave than be paired up with him for a semester,” you replied, earning more laughter from your friends.

You assumed Tom’s friends were saying the same however, because when you looked over to see how bad their dough looked, he was rolling his eyes as his group pointed in your direction.

The next week came and went, and it was once again Friday. Or, as Mrs. Flynn was calling it, Wedding Day.

Every time she’d pull a couple’s name, she was going to make you both come to the front of the class and exchange plastic wedding rings and sign a fake marriage license.

Yay.

Everyone chattered excitedly as she tore up the strips with your names and mixed them around. Finally the time came for her to start the drawing.

“Okay, friends. First up we have...” she drew the first name. “Katherine and... drumroll please?”

The class drummed their hands over their thighs.

“Chris! Come on down folks, let’s get this marriage on!”

She “married” the first couple, and then continued to draw. You had to admit that you were a little nervous, but still eager to see who you’d get.

Two couples later, she pulled Tom’s name.

You shot him an eyebrow raise to which he returned a discreet middle finger. You rolled your eyes as you prepared a drumroll for Mrs. Flynn.

“And his lucky partner is... y/n!”

“What!” you both exclaimed simultaneously.

Almost the entire class burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Flynn, this has to be a mistake,” you said.

“Yeah, can’t we have a redraw?” Tom asked.

You hated that he was agreeing with you.

“Nope! You get who you get and you don’t throw a fit! And if it doesn’t work out in a few weeks we can discuss divorce plans.”

“How about annulments,” you stated dryly, earning a chuckle from her.

“That… kinda depends on if you have kids,” she trailed awkwardly before perking back up. “Now come on down! They always say your first marriage is the most memorable!”

“Who has ever said that?” Tom asked.

“You know. They. Now just get up here and do the ring thing!” she commanded.

You both sulked up to the front of the room.

“Okay, now stand here facing each other and hold hands.”

“Do we have to?” Tom whined.

“Yes, now do it and it’ll be over with faster.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed your hands, holding them loosely.

“May I have the rings please!” Mrs. Flynn asked Caroline, the girl whose desk was closest that she’d asked to be designated ring bearer. She handed over the basket to let you both choose from the mix.

You took a silver colored ring with a faux white diamond in the shape of a star. Tom chose one with an oval “ruby.” You couldn’t help but notice how every single person was on edge watching the two of you.

“Okay now Tom, repeat after me. I, Tom Holland, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

He mumbled through the vow, avoiding eye contact, and slipped your star ring onto your finger. You were surprised at how gentle he was, carefully caressing your hand and making sure the ring faced straight up once it was on your finger.

You, too, said the lines and placed the ring onto his left hand.

“Alright. It is with the power vested in me by this very school that I am proud to now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now air kiss!”

You took a deep sigh and pretended to kiss each other's cheeks.

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Mr. and Mrs. Holland!”

They began to cheer and clap and laugh when you interjected.

“Uh, no. It’s Mr. and Mrs. y/l/n.”

Tom began to argue with you when Mrs. Flynn stopped you both.

“Alright fine, we’ll do a combined name. How’s the y/l/n-Holland family sound?” she asked, writing your names on the fake marriage certificate.

With reluctance, Tom agreed to having your name first and you both signed the paper.

Finally you were able to sit back down where your friends were waiting.

“So what was that about licking the microwave?” Alexis asked.

“Oh shut up.”

After your volleyball game (another win!), you and Alexis conversed over cheese fries at your favorite diner.

“Still not ready to talk about today?” she asked. You shook your head.

Alexis had been paired up with Caroline. They were both straight, but you had both been friends with her since freshman year and they got along well.

Today had just been the marriages, and next week you’d be learning more about your family dynamics.

“I’m just so pissed at him. This afternoon in senior art he told all the guys in there that he was going to make it as hard as possible for me. I mean jokes on him, he’s going to want to get an A too, but he was just so smug about it. He also strung his stupid ring on that necklace he’s always wearing. What’s that all about?”

“I mean you’re still wearing your ring. But yeah, that is a little weird.”

“I’m wearing mine because compared to some of the others, the star is actually cute.”

“True. I got unlucky with the selection,” Alexis admitted, digging hers out of her purse to show you a big square blue gem.

“I just wish there was a way to get back at him after all these years. I mean, we’ve been at each other’s throats for almost six years but nothing has ever seemed to really hit hard. This is the last year I’ve got to really make it count.”

Alexis gave you a look, one you knew to be quite mischievous.

“You know what’s the best way to get revenge on a guy?” Alexis asked.

“Uh, no, but by the look you’re giving me it seems to fall under Carrie Underwood ’before he cheats’ directive.”

“No, dumbass. You make his family fall in love with you.”

It took a second to process what she said before you could give a decent reply.

“You’re kidding right? His family already knows who I am because of all the stuff we’re in together. They probably also know about our rivalry. I mean, he’s told his brothers to never become friends with me.”

“And you know that, how?”

“The libero is Sam’s girlfriend. She’s been spilling tea for me for the past year.”

There was a break in the conversation as the waiter brought your meals out. Once he was gone, you spoke up again.

“Look, do you really think that would work? I mean sure I’d get under his skin, but it doesn’t really constitute revenge, does it?”

“Look at it this way,” Alexis put down her burger so she could splay her hands out in front of her. “If you can get on everyone else's good side, they’ll all talk about how much they love you and he’ll be forced to listen. If he really hates you, it’ll drive him crazy.”

You thought on it for a minute as you chomped on a chicken tender.

“Alright, I’m in. If it doesn’t end up working, I still have all of next semester to mess with him anyways. Now if I can just figure out how to really get to know his family…”

By the time Monday rolled around, you and Alexis had done some more scheming, but your plan wouldn’t even begin to be put in action until your volleyball games Wednesday and Friday, when you’d try to talk to Sam.

You sat down in home ec, where today you’d be picking careers. The catch, however, was that your family unit would have a set income, so each couple had to decide how it would be split up.

“Y/l/n-Holland family, you’ll be making $200k a year,” Mrs. Flynn announced, handing you the slip of paper. “Get together and decide who’s getting what jobs.”

“At least we’ll be rich,” you thought as Tom plopped into the seat next to you unhappily.

“So I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the trophy wife, right?” he asked immediately.

“Hah, good one. I think we all know that I’m the smarter one here and wayyyy more likely to get into med school than you. And don’t call me trophy wife. I mean, what, you think I’m hot now? Can’t wait to tell everyone that little number.”

His ears turned beet red and he balled a fist.

“I don’t think you’re hot, except maybe hot shit. It’s a figure of speech.” he spat.

“Oh get over yourself. I know I’m hot anyways. Let’s just both pick jobs that earn $100k so we can be equal. How’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

He played with the plastic ring on his necklace as you looked up jobs on the computer. After a half hour of searching, Tom and you decided that to be fully equal, you’d both take the same job as physician’s assistants.

“Just so you know, I’ll never actually be anyone’s assistant,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Ten years time if you’re lucky I’ll hire you as mine.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Hey everyone, since class is almost over, we’re gonna wait to draw how many kids you’ll have and other financial things Wednesday. See you then!” Mrs. Flynn called out as students packed their things.

“We have to have kids, too?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Good thing it’s fake. I’d hate to see you as a parent,” you shot smugly, earning another middle finger from him that left you laughing.

Wednesday came kids, and thankfully all you got were twin girls, age 9. The project didn’t make you carry around flour babies or anything like that, you just had to account for them in your weekly budgets.

There goes the annulment plan, though.

Each week, Mrs. Flynn would be drawing something new for you all that would either be good or bad for your budgets, and it was up to you to figure out what to with the funding, or lack thereof. You also had to come up with a story each week that explained why money was put somewhere or what your “family” did that week.

She would also be doing progress checks, so you couldn’t wait until the end of the semester to do all the work. By the end, each couple would have to give a presentation over what they did and learned.

“Okay, so we each get to name one. That’s pretty equal,” you stated, thinking up baby names.

“Well I like Elizabeth,” he almost immediately replied, writing it down on one of the “birth certificates” you’d been handed by Mrs. Flynn.

“That’s… surprisingly good. I’ll go with Francesca. What about middle names? I like Rose.”

“Hm. How about Opal? Then they’ll have the same number of letters in their names.”

You were surprised at how much though he put into this, but let it go as you wrote your child’s name down.

“By the way, we need to plan time to get together and write a budget and find a house this weekend. I have a volleyball game Friday so how about Saturday?”

“I have football practice Saturday.”

“Well yeah but only until like 10 right? We could just meet at like 1. We’re doing construction at my house right now so could we do it at yours?”

You spoke sweetly in an attempt to receive a yes and put your plan into motion. Tom sighed and thought about it.

“I mean I guess. But you’re only going to be there to work on the project and then leave right?”

“Uh, duh. The less time with you the better.”

“Likewise.”

Tom and Sam weren’t at the volleyball game Wednesday, so you had to wait until Friday’s.

Friday was muffin day in home ec, so you thankfully didn’t have to talk to Tom. Instead, you and Alexis discussed the plan of getting Tom’s family on your side as you mixed up batter.

Later that afternoon, you watched from afar as Sam and his girlfriend, Julia, sat on the bleachers speaking. It was still an hour until game time and coach had asked you to round up the girls for stretching.

“Hey, Jules!” you called, jogging over to where she was. “Oh, hey Sam!” He looked at you like you were crazy before responding.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He gave a slight head nod.

“Anyways, coach wants us to start warming up. Wanna be my partner today?”

“Um yeah. Sure. See ya later babe,” she said, giving Sam a quick peck on the cheek before standing up to follow you.

After another win, you were helping take down the net and noticed Julia once again talking to Sam while Tom stood a few feet away looking bored.

“Hey, could you wrap up the net? I need to do something real quick,” you said to another teammate as you headed over.

“Hey, Jules! Solid digs today! You were making my job way too easy,” you joked.

You could see from the corner of your eye Tom look up at you in annoyance.

“Ahaha thanks girl. But I can’t take all the credit. You were on fire tonight. What was that like 15 aces? And your hits? Incredible,” she replied.

“Yeah, you were amazing tonight,” Sam added.

“Ohhhkay we can stop the compliment parade on y/n now. We need to go anyways, Sam, mom wants us home,” Tom interjected, putting an arm out in front of his brother, who was rolling his eyes.

“Alright fine. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Sam asked his girlfriend. She nodded and they exchanged a quick hug and kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow too, Tom,” you said. “I’ll bring my laptop.”

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah whatever,” was all Tom could say to you as you strutted off to the locker room.

You stood nervously on the front porch of Tom’s suburban home. You had texted him when you parked but now dreaded actually going inside.

After shifting back and forth for a minute, you finally rang the doorbell.

It was only a few seconds later that the door opened, revealing Sam’s twin Harry. He looked confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Hey Harry. Tom and I are supposed to be working on a school project today and he said to come over at this time so...” You awkwardly shifted your backpack straps and looked down.

“Tom! Someone’s here to see you!” he yelled out, making you snort.

He appeared shirtless in the doorway and looked at you blankly.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me? What did you just forget that we have to work on our project today,” you replied, holding up your left hand to point to the plastic ring on it.

“You’re still wearing that? Why?”

“Firstly, the little star is cute. And secondly, you don’t have a lot of room to speak, Tom. Yours is still on your necklace,” you pointed to the chain around his neck, to which he instinctively reached up and grabbed the ring, twisting it between his fingers.

“Touche. Now come on, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door wider and let you in, locking it behind you.

As he led you down a hall covered in photos towards the stairs, his mom stepped out, almost running into her son.

“Oh, sorry.” she looked at you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Holland. Tom and I have to work on our home ec project and we couldn’t do it at my house.”

“Oh dear just call me Nikki. And I do remember him mentioning something about a project. Are you the one he’s married to? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom tensed up and clenched his jaw while you gave a light chuckle, holding up your left hand again.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me throughout the semester.”

“Well you kids have fun. And Tom, honey, would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

He went red again and you had to stifle your laughter.

“I was just on my way to do that, mom. Come on y/n,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs.

You turned and waved at Nikki one last time as she called up behind him,

“And make sure to keep the door open!”

He was totally embarrassed by that, and made it a point to shut the door behind him once you made it to his room. Finally you could let out a hearty laugh at his expense as he dug through his drawers and pulled out a simple black t-shirt.

“Finally. I was getting tired of looking at your man boobs,” you quipped, looking around the room.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he shot back dryly.

You were surprised at what his room looked like, though you didn’t know what you’d expected. It was very neat with sleek grey walls. His blue and grey bedding was made up with decorative pillows laid out. On his desk were a few random school papers and a computer, and one shelf held some Spider-Man paraphernalia while another contained medals and ribbons and trophies.

You dropped your backpack to the ground and pointed up at one figurine.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” you said sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Uh, no. I’m serious. It’s actually really dope.”

He looked taken aback at your compliment, and even to you it felt weird to be saying that out loud about Tom of all people.

“Oh. Well uh. Thanks. Spider-Man was my favorite growing up. But let’s just get to work.”

After an hour of sitting on his carpet searching for a house and arguing over general money allocations,

“Yes Tom, tampons actually cost like $7 for 30 of them and most girls need at least one box a month. And that’s just one factor of personal hygiene. Do you even condition your hair?”

“I’ll have you know my hair is well moisturized. I just don’t ever have to pay for it.”

You finally came to an agreement on the week’s budget.

Packing up your things, you looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the side of his bed scrolling through social media.

“So next week. Your first game of the season, yeah?” you said, remembering that September was already almost here.

“Oh yeah. You coming? I’d hate for you to see just how incredible I am.”

“Psh whatever. I saw your throws at preseason. But yeah, I’ll probably just rinse off after my volleyball game and head to the field. Gotta see what cuties they’ve got on the other team.”

“Ugh gross. You know you’ll regret saying that when half the school is swooning over me in the stands.”

“The only thing you’d ever see me swoon from is dehydration. And that’s a pretty weak excuse already.”

You stood and Tom got up to lead you back out.

“Oh, I think I know the way. You don’t have to take me.”

“Yeah I do. Gotta keep my eyes on those grubby little fingers of yours. Who knows what you’d do unsupervised.”

Before you reached the door, Nikki spotted you from the living room.

“Done so soon? Wow, good job guys. Come back any time y/n!”

“Thanks, Nikki,” you called back to her, then turned to Tom. “So same time next week? We can do it at my place if you want.”

“Nah let’s just do it here. I’m always exhausted the day after a game and I don’t really want to get up.”

Okay then

“Well, see ya Monday then. Bye.”

You were halfway down the sidewalk when Tom called out, “Be safe,” before shutting the door. You stopped in your tracks in shock, but eventually got into your car.

What really mattered, though, was that you were already on Nikki’s good side.

1 down, 4 to go.

Yay! It’s finished! I really hope you guys enjoy this new series because I’m so excited to share it with you all! Once again, future chapters will have some mature content (s*xual harassment and mentions of assault; underaged alcohol consumption) but those chapters will be explicitly labeled with warnings.

Anyways, thanks for reading and please send an ask or message if you’d like to join my story or permanent tag list!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl,

#The Marriage Project #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #enemies to lovers #slow burn #Harry Holland #sam holland #tom holland au #high school!au #high school!tom holland

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selfless1978 · 3 years

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What a fool he had been. Only now was he understanding what he was losing. And that understanding fueled his speed as he left from rooftop to rooftop, racing across the city. He just couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t.....

Leo remembered with a sharp pain when he had rebuffed her. How he had pushed her away. She had hoped, dreamed, for a life with him and he in return shattered that hope the night she had confessed her feelings. Bitter was his heart now as he thought back on that day well over a year ago. Bitter with himself.

She had been crushed. Attempted to hide her watering eyes with a smile and he knew he had just broke her heart. But he had stood firmly by his reasoning. He couldn’t indulge her in those fantasies, because of what he was and the life he lived. It was too dangerous, he had firmly told her. She would be a distraction to him and that would jeopardize his entire family. She herself would be in danger if it was ever found out. He couldn’t commit to her fully. He wasn’t ready to risk five lives, seven if you added April and Casey, just for one to be happy. Then he clenched his jaw as he remembered the final blow he gave her in an attempt to dissuade her.

That he didn’t feel the same way about her that she did about him.

She had smiled. Said that she understood and apologized for bringing it up. She kept herself together well in front of him, smiling bravely. It wasn’t until she turned away that the first tear fell and her lip began to lightly tremble. She walked out of the dojo with the normal bounce in her step gone, shoulders slumped and his keen hearing had clearly picked up the first, quiet, sob. None of that made him change his mind. He watched her go, ignoring the pain in his own heart because that last line was a lie.

She still came to the lair after that but it was obvious that things had changed. She didn’t feel comfortable there anymore. Leo could clearly see it. Her posture was tense and the conversations with him were strained, though she still got along very well with the rest of his family. Then, little by little, she began to come less frequent. Almost every day turned into couple of days in the week, then to once a week. Then a couple times a month to....not at all. And he was the reason why.

It was through April that he found out she was seeing someone. How she seemed happy with this man. Even hearing this he held firm to his reasoning and told him she was better off. Then the news of the wedding came. And this was where he had to take a long hard look at himself. As long as she was single, he could keep up this facade. But the thought of her married, and more than likely moving away....

God damn he had been an idiot....

In front of him the church finally came into view and he doubled his efforts. He had to make it in time, he just had to.....

Vicky had closed her eyes while taking a deep breath in and slowly letting it out. Those brown orbs opened to the sight of the closed heavy wooden doors that led to the main hall. Waiting for the music that was her cue to enter. Surrounding her were servants since she had no one close to her to attend. They fussed over her dress, making sure that the train was perfect while the head of the body guards held out his arm to walk her down the aisle. Everything was set up to perfection from the dress to the flowers. Just the way he wanted it. She glanced down at her beautiful bouquet of red roses. Not the color she preferred, but she wasn’t paying for this lavish wedding so she really didn’t care.

For a moment, doubt filled her. She could still back out of this. She could tell him that she wasn’t ready. Honestly, she never really would be ready. But Daichi, with his question if she would be his wife, promised to dim the memories of a hoped for love. Ease the pain of rejection. Save her from the hurting loneliness that had almost ended her. Marrying Daichi would be the step she needed to take to finally get him out of her head and heart. Brooding over a love that never would be returned would do nothing but drive her mad. She had to move on.

Daichi had from the first day she met him treated her with respect, even if there was something cold about him she just couldn’t put her finger on. There was also still some mystery of what he exactly did with his time. Sure, she knew about his multimillion business, but he was sometimes, oddly evasive about his comings and goings on his free time. Vicky could put up with that she supposed. He offered her a good life where she wouldn’t want of anything. Or, almost anything.

His face came to her mind just as the music began and the doors opened, causing her to hesitate before she was pulled along by her escort. She stumbled a bit before she caught herself and matched steps with her entourage. Giving Daichi a smile that suddenly seemed less genuine. She could still say no.

And then what? Go back to her lonely apartment? Think about him? Daydream fantasies that would just cause her to break out in tears? Drown herself in wishful thinking?

Vicky let her eyes wander. Taking in the decor that seemed to be saturated in red. As before when she looking in here during the preparations, she felt a shiver run down her spine. There was just something...ominous about it all. His invited co-workers and employees seemed to be stern and grim faced as they watched her walk. Some even cold, calculating. Even Daichi seemed different as he stood there. Imperial. His eyes held no warmth for her.

She shook those observations away. She was nervous, she told herself, and it was interfering with what she was seeing.

Vicky finally stepped next to him. Painfully aware that there was no one here for her. Because there was no one to invite really. Daichi gave her his charming smile as she took her place next to him. She returned it with her perfected mask. Hiding the doubts and insecurities inside of her.

“Vicky!”

Her eyes grew wide. This was a voice she never expected to hear. “Don’t....”

She spun around, along with everyone else, to find the owner. It had come from up high somewhere. But he was hidden in the shadows of the ceiling. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t pick him out in the late evening darkness.

Vicky didn’t realize that her breath had caught in her throat and she forced herself to breath, even if she couldn’t find the words to speak. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Emotions she had thought she had been getting over surged through her and tears welled up in her eyes. She was so taken aback that she didn’t notice Daichi’s father, a large and imposing man, stand up in angered shock as he too looked towards where the voice came from.

Then, those dark eyes that had always intimidated her turned to glare at her. For a moment fear filled her at that menacing gaze as Oruku Saki spoke directly to her. “I know that voice.” He growled as he stepped closer. “You know him? Leonardo? One of the turtles!” He roared the last line. “You dare to use my son so you can be a filthy spy?!”

Vicky was now terrified. She had no idea what was going on. She didn’t know what this man was trying to say. And she definitely wasn’t prepared for Daichi to spin her around by the arm and slap her viscously. “You will pay for this!”

“Pay for what!” Vicky screamed back, hurt and confused by everything going on.

“Don’t play innocent with me!” Daichi roared back, his hand up to strike her again. Even as confused as she was, she was in no way going to let him turn her into a punching bag. Her fist clenched around the bouquet of flowers, and she was full on ready to punch him before he even got the chance.

She was too slow. Before she could even set her arm into motion, for offense or defense, the offending arm was roughly grabbed from the side. Daichi tried to pull his arm free, but the owner of that gripping hand was almost as unmovable as stone.

Leo glared at the man, then hauled the man up, over and sent him flying into his father even as he was roaring at the gathered individuals to stop them. They crashed together in a pile of flailing arms and legs even as Leo cooly pulled out his katana. “Get behind me.”

Still so confused, and watching her past and present collide in front of her, she was in no way able to argue with him. Words still failed her as she watched what unfolded in front of her. Leo was like a blue and green hurricane in this sea of black formalwear. His expression was calm, cool as he seemed to easily hold the press at bay while she stood there, frustration at everything causing tears to well up in her eyes. She watched as her would be husband finally regained his composure and footing. His eyes now gleaming dangerously as he and his father approached the distracted Leo. Her eyes growing wide when she noticed that, somehow, they were both armed. She had mere moments to decide what to do. Should she try and somehow mend things with Daichi? Even though he was showing his true colors to her? Or should she help Leo? The one who had harshly pushed her away when she had tried to follow her heart?

Vicky was torn with this agonizing decision. She was hurt and angry, at both of them. This was supposed to be the day she started a new life, not end up in the middle of a brawl.

Twin trails of moisture now slid down her cheeks. Regardless, she was going to lose one or the other. Maybe even both. She then did something she hadn’t trusted herself to do for a very long time.

Vicky let her heart decide.

Fist clenching once more around her flowers, she stepped forward. And she unleashed all of her frustration, anger, pain and torment through those red roses. The thorny bushel slammed into Daichi’s face. And then again. She set her arm on rapid fire and beat the man almost senseless as blood red petals began to fly all over the place. Soon it was only the hard stems that she had left, and she slapped him silly with those too. Daichi was taken aback by her sudden ferocity and didn’t react right away, and but he time he did Leo had already became aware of the danger.

The large turtle took on both father and son. Never faltering in his pace as he kept them both away from her. Vicky watched him in awe. Something she had always felt when she watched him and his brothers train. She could only dream to be able to move like that. So smooth, so fluid.

Her eyes grew wide as she looked around. Leo had single handedly wiped out almost the entire gathering. She turned those brown orbs to look at him. She was completely stunned. And even more so when Leo managed to knock back both father and son, took a quick look around to see many getting back up. What happened next took just a blink of an eye.

Leo swung his katana at her.

They sliced cleanly and swiftly through the heavy fabric of her dress, leaving her legs now bare from the upper thighs. She only had a brief moment to look down in shock at the white cloth puddle at her feet before she felt the sudden jerk of Leo pulling her to him and lifted her up into his arms. He then ran, ducking and dodging his way through the rapid thickening crowd before reaching a side door and kicking it open.

The cool night air washed over her bare skin as he scrambled up a neighboring building to put some distance between them and the chaos left behind. They didn’t speak, Leo was more focused on his footing than holding a conversation. especially one that was more than likely going to go south as soon as either one opened their mouth. High in the air between buildings wasn’t the right place really to get into a shouting match, and Vicky could shout very loud if she were angry enough.

“Put me down.” She finally managed, her voice trembling with the effort of trying to keep it calm. A deceptive calm, but calm nonetheless.

Leo, knowing they were now far enough away, obliged her request. He settled on a high building over looking the city not far from Central Park. The view could be described as romantic, if there wasn’t a storm brewing. A Vicky storm.

He was silent as he waited. Once he had put her down she had abruptly turned away from him to look out over the city. He had no clue how this emotional woman would react if he spoke when she wasn’t ready. Her entire body was shaking and he felt the sharp pain of guilt punch him in the gut. He couldn’t stay silent anymore, he had done so long enough already.

“Vicky-”

“How could you!” As feared, his voice burst the dam. She spun around to face him. Her dress in tatters, her carefully done hair now reduced to a frizzy mess, the tears in her eyes freely flowing causing her makeup to run. She looked like something out of a horror movie, and she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Once again he was reminded how much of a fool he had been. “How could you! I was finally getting over you! About to start a new life! I could have been-”

“Happy?” That one interrupted word silenced her tirade. “Vicky, I think you and I both know that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Happier than being alone.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Also a lie.” his blue ones were still watching her.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Leo? Huh?” Her tearful eyes flew over to meet his finally. “That I was going to sit and rot while I pined for you? You made it very clear that I made a complete fool out of myself that day. I wasn’t going to waste anymore time on someone who-”

“Was stupid.” He calmly broke in again, stepping closer. That admission had silenced her, brown eyes going wide as what he said registered. Another step and he was right in front of her. “I am so sorry, Vicky. I thought I could protect you if I didn’t let you get that close. I didn’t want to risk you getting pulled into everything and become a target.”

“If I had been worried about that, I never would have brought it up.” Was her broken voiced reply. “I know the risks, I’m not stupid. I wanted to try anyway. I wanted to....I....just.....” She looked away from him again, now unable to stop the crying when it hit. The hurt, the pain, the embarrassment, the sting from his rejection all pouring out after months of keeping it in. Her entire body shuddered from her sobs to the point she couldn’t stay on her feet and collapsed to the cold rooftop. “I just wanted to love you....”

Not even thinking about it, he knelt in front of her. Pulling her to him in a tight embrace. At first she resisted but she was too tired of everything to really fight her feelings anymore and she gave in, letting him pull her into his arms. He held her for as long as she needed to calm. She was blubbering all over his chest and gear, but he wasn’t too worried about it. Only when she let out that finally, shuddering, sob did he move. Gently cupping his hand under her chin so she looked at him directly. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her lips while she just stared wide eyed at him. “I love you, Vicky. I always have. I’m here for you, if you still want me.”

Vicky didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t talk anyway even if she did since her lip began to tremble again. Then, with a shaky nod, she threw her arms around his neck. Leo closed his eyes in relief and wrapped his around her, burying his beak into her hair. “I know this isn’t an instant fix, Dear one. We have a lot to talk about and need to sort our feelings out, but I’m wanting to give it a go.”

She just held him tighter.

He kissed her hair and got to his feet, with her once more in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

@lady-maria-the-wolf225

You remember that wedding crashing turtle prompt from awhile back? here you go! ^_^

#sorry this took so long!#stupid life

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corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

Note

💜🌻💜🌻💜🌻💜🌻💜🌻💜

It's been a rough day and I can't words but please accept these flowers 🌻 I look forward to continuing our slow bromance tomorrow if work doesn't destroy me again

-🐧🌻

Hey!! Sorry that today was so rough for you dear :(( I hope tomorrow is better on your spirits. Please, take this as encouragement:

💕🌺💕🌺💕🌺💕

Sighing, Dean dropped his keys into the small glass dish that rested in the hallway. Sam had been adamant about them having a damn key dish. Dean half thought it was ‘cause Sammy only ever knew about domesticity outside of the bunker from films. Not that Cas and Jack were any better.

“Honey, I’m home,” Dean called out, moving further into the house. He peered into the living room and saw it empty. His shoulders felt heavy as he dragged himself over to the couch.

Dean untied his boots, joints aching from work. Maybe he was on the healthy side of forty, but a long life of brutal work made his back pop and his bones creak like an old house. In a sense, Dean thought he was an old house. Creaking, moaning, and filled with ghosts.

Dragging a hand over his face, Dean stood up after he finished removing his boots. He carried them back into the hallway before making a beeline toward the kitchen. The lights were still on, though Cas left them on often for him when he knew Dean would be working late.

The tension in his shoulders eased at the sight of a yellow sticky note plastered to the front of the microwave. Cas’ neat scrawl informed him of a plate placed in the microwave and ready for reheating. Dean was supposed to be home for dinner this time, dammit. He had been working late nights all week. He missed his family.

Swallowing thickly, Dean set the plate to reheat. He didn’t even check to see what Cas had prepared. Dean rolled his shoulders, stretching his neck as the plate slowly spun on its course. Before the timer called out, Dean ended the microwave’s cycle. He didn’t know if Cas and Jack were already in bed. No need to wake them from the microwave’s blaring.

The plate was warm in his hands, a small helping of vegetables and something Dean could identify as pork loaded on top. Smiling to himself, Dean grabbed a fork and knife from the drawer beside him and carried his small dinner over to the table.

It was lonely. Dean hated that thought. He was sitting in his home that he bought with his husband for them and their kid. But he was sitting beside an empty chair and looking across at Jack’s obnoxiously painted chair. Cas insisted the kid pick out his own, and it was horrendous to look at. The entire kitchen was mix and matched from their own taste to the housewarming gifts but it was theirs.

And here Dean was, looking at it alone.

Sighing, Dean pushed his plate aside and rested his face in his hands. God, he couldn’t even eat. Couldn’t even with his family. He wouldn’t trade this life for the world—and hell if he wasn’t afraid that sometime in his future he would have to make that choice. He was a damn lucky son of a bitch to have this. To have a family waiting for him at home and a job that he wasn't afraid he’d never make it back from.

But Harry was working him like a horse, and the shop had been non-stop all week after that accident on the highway. And Dean was fucking tired. He wanted to eat dinner with his fucking family. Didn’t he deserve that? Hadn’t he earned that?

Steps sounding from behind Dean drew his attention. He raised his face from his hands and turned to see Cas moving toward him. There were bags under his eyes and his hair looked ragged. His smile was soft and gentle like April rain. He was still beautiful; still Castiel Winchester.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, holding his hand out for Cas to take. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” Cas answered quickly, taking Dean’s hand and drawing closer. Stepping into his space, Dean moved his legs apart to accommodate Cas. He took the invitation and stepped even closer until his form was towering over Dean. Cas took Dean’s face in his hands and Dean felt any remaining tension melt away as if Cas still had some grace stored up for just this occasion.

Humming, Dean closed his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?” He teased lightly, peeling his eyes open to look into that ever startling blue gaze.

Cas’ lips quirked into a smile. “I can never sleep without you.” He whispered back just as gently.

Dean snorted a quiet laugh. “I know that’s a damn lie. You sleep like the dead and snore like a tractor.” He quipped, quirking his brow up at Cas.

The roll of Cas’ eyes and the twitch of his lips was what Dean had wanted anyway. Cas nodded his head, conceding to the point. “Perhaps,” he eventually said, “but I always sleep better with you near.”

“Me too,” Dean’s throat felt dry, clenching around his words. He was surprised anything came out at all. “Cas,” he looked up at his husband, pleading, “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be home tonight. I did. I swear to God, Cas, I tried—”

“Dean,” Cas stilled him, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against Dean’s cheeks. “I know.” He leaned forward, gently kissing Dean’s forehead in a fluttering kiss. “We know.” Cas’ reassured him, speaking exactly what Dean needed to hear. He always knew what Dean needed to hear.

Smiling, Cas captured Dean’s lips gently, soothing the ache in Dean’s heart with the firm pressure of his lips against his own. He pulled back, still wearing that same smile. “When you get the weekend off, we’ll go up to Sam and Eileen’s. Take a breather.” Cas offered.

“Sounds damn near perfect,” Dean inhaled slowly. “As soon as I get the damn weekend off.”

“You will,” Cas spoke confidently. “This too shall pass.” He raised that dominating eyebrow, eyes filled with mirth. “You have faced off against worse things than an all-nighter.”

Dean sighed, nodding. “I know, but,” he chewed at his lip. He knew Cas would never judge him, but being vulnerable like this? It was something he was still working on. On communicating. On being open. “Usually with all of that shit I had you right beside me.”

Cas hummed, combing his fingers through Dean’s hair as his right hand moved to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “You might recall that there were several occasions in our lives where I was not beside you in the physical sense.”

Dean felt his eyes burn at those memories mixed with the sensation of Cas’ palm against his shoulder. His throat clenched and he swallowed harshly again. “Cas,” he began but to no avail.

“It’s true,” Cas spoke firm but gentle. “However, that does not mean there was a moment where I was not beside you.” Taking his usual seat at the kitchen table, Cas reached out. His palms were warm as they captured Dean’s hands in his own.

“We walk this life together now, Dean.” Cas finished this statement by bringing Dean’s ring to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses right there on the cool metal. “Through the bad and the good. And if that means you miss dinner and I have to cook, then so be it.” His voice was so factual, so sure. Dean couldn’t imagine Cas’ confidence in him ever wavering, since Dean could not recall a moment where Cas’ confidence in him ever had.

Dean pulled Cas’ hand to his lip, returning the kiss to Cas’ band. “I know.” His voice felt like it scraped against the roof of his mouth. “I love you so damn much, Cas.”

Cas smiled, small on his face but bright in its illuminance. “And I you.” He whispered, sighing with what Dean damn well hoped was content.

“Daddy?” A small voice called to them and an even smaller figure appeared in the entryway of the kitchen. Jack’s sleepy voice rumbled with a yawn before his eyes caught sight of Dean. He blinked in an attempt to fight off the sleep, blue eyes widening with delight. “Poppa!”

He raced over the tile floor of the kitchen, nearly sliding in his socks. Dean could hear the admonishment Cas had yet to say. Instead, Dean held out his arms for Jack and took the five-year-old in his grasp.

“Heya, slugger.” Dean grinned, kissing the top of Jack’s head. “What are you doing up, little guy?”

“I was thirsty.” Jack yawned, hugging his arms around Dean’s neck. “I didn’t know you’d be home or else I’d have waited up for you!”

Cas hummed under his breath, looking doubtful but no less adoring at Jack. He turned to Dean’s forgotten plate of food. “Why don’t I reheat this again and get Jack that glass of water?” He offered, grabbing the plate and standing.

Dean smiled gratefully at his husband before Jack’s chattering drew his attention again.

“And Mia said there was no such thing as angels but she’s wrong. She doesn’t even think vampires are real, Poppa.” Jack huffed, fiddling with the hem of Dean’s dirty shirt.

“What have we said about talking to your friends about monsters?” Dean furrowed his brow, looking at Jack.

Jack sighed dramatically. “It’s my secret. Like I’m Peter Parker.”

“Just like that.” Dean pinched his cheek, watching Jack squirm in his lap. “What did Leo think of the drawing you gave him? That happened today, right?” He worried at his cheek, fearing that he would have lost himself to the job. God, had that ever been his fear. Losing his family to the fucking job. He just hadn’t thought that job could ever be a normal one.

“Leo loved it!” Jack clapped his hands, taking the cup of water Cas carefully handed to him. “Leo said that he thought it was awesome. I think Leo’s awesome too.”

Dean smiled, watching as Jack drank some of his water slowly. He was growing up too damn fast. “Leo sounds like a good friend.”

The microwave beeped and Cas set the plate in front of Dean before taking his own seat again. “Leo’s mother asked if we had any plans for Memorial Day. Her husband is planning on doing a barbeque, and they’re inviting a few neighbors and friends over.”

“Do we need to bring anything?” Dean grabbed his fork, shoveling some of the green beans into his mouth. He took care not to disturb Jack on his lap.

“She said that’s not required, but it would be appreciated.” Cas hummed. “I know you are traditionally opposed to offering vegetables to our neighbors, but the tomatoes have just begun to ripen and I think we could make something nice with them.”

Dean attempted to hide his smile with another shoveling of food. “Sounds good to me, Cas.” His heart fluttered within his chest, the ache of today completely forgotten in the warmth of his husband and kid. Even if he didn’t get to have dinner with them, this was his damn family. “Sounds perfect.”

#ask c #🐧🌻 anon #anon #destiel #spn #ficlet

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Flatbush & Atlantic: part ix

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii

And here we’ve got part ix! This will be the second-to-last part of the series, I’ve got some thoughts also running around for a possible epilogue if that’s something anyone would be interested in reading. As always, there’s literally nothing writers love more than hearing from you all, so don’t be afraid to come and tell me what you think - my inbox is open, comment on the post, reblog with your thoughts!

part ix

April 27 (tues)

Mat’s mind was racing. If he was honest, he hadn’t been able to concentrate worth a damn since Cass had dropped the news about her job offer. Hong Kong? He knew she was brilliant, knew that her skills could and should take her anywhere in the world she wanted to go; the thought that she might leave New York, leave him, was still terrifying. Becoming more worried by the minute, he pulled out his phone, dialing the first person he could think of that might be able to help.

Tito answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Tito. What’s up?” Mat asked nervously.

“What’s wrong, Mat?” He immediately asked. Mat cursed under his breath; even over the phone, Beau was always able to read him like a book.

Mat grimaced. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mat, we see each other pretty much every day. Not to be a jerk or something, but you don’t really call me unless something’s wrong. What is it? Did you and Cass have a fight?” Mat could imagine him crossing his arms on the other end.

“Not exactly,” he said, scratching his head as he wandered aimlessly around the park. “She got this job offer, and it sounds like a really exciting opportunity, but…” He trailed off.

“But?”

“It’s all the way in Asia. It’s in Hong Kong.”

Tito sucked in a breath. “Oh, wow. That’s a big one. Big move. Has she said if she’s going to take it?”

“Not really, she hasn’t decided.” Mat shook his head, not realizing Tito wouldn’t be able to see. “We talked through it a little, they’re offering a really good starting salary and she likes the company values, but it’s such a huge jump that she’s not ready to make the call yet.”

“Did you talk about what it would mean for you as a couple?”

“A little, though not as much as we probably should have,” Mat admitted. “Neither of us would want to break it off just because it would be long distance, but logistically it would just be a nightmare. It’s something like a 15 hour flight from New York, so it’s not like either of us would ever be able to make that more than once or twice a year. Did you know that it’s a twelve hour time difference from here?”

“No,” Tito said, “and it’s obviously not like I know exactly what you’re going through. Paige is a kindergarten teacher, so it’s not exactly like her job would suddenly pick up and move to another country. But it’s obviously a different story with me.”

As distracted as he was, Mat felt compelled to respond. “You know they’re going to resign you, right? It would be a terrible move for them if they didn’t.”

“Yeah, I mean that’s what I’ve figured,” Beau responded. “And my agent told me to expect negotiations to start in the next month or so, but still. I could be sent to Winnipeg or Phoenix or Vancouver pretty much without notice, and I wouldn’t want to ask her to just pick up her whole life and follow me. So, I get the feeling.” He paused for a moment. “How do you feel about it?”

“Mixed feelings,” Mat answered honestly. “I’d never want to hold her back from anything, that’s not the kind of person I am and it’d be a dick move regardless. She’s her own person and deserves to be able to make her own decisions. And I would never want her to grow to resent me if she decided to stay for my sake. That would almost be worse. I just..I really love her, Tito, and I would hate for us to never be able to see eachother because of her job. Or worse, for this to mean the end of us because the distance was too hard to deal with.”

It took Tito a minute to respond. “I know you love her, Mat. It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like she hung the moon. But if they all say that things will work out if you love each other and talk it through, then what are you so worried about?”

Mat took a deep breath before answering, trying to gather his thoughts as best he could. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “Because I’ve never been this gone for a girl, Tito. What Cass and I have...I don’t even know how to describe it. I’d stop the Earth turning if it made her happy. It’s just...she’s it for me. I’m done looking. And the idea that I could be 13,000 kilometers away from her isn’t even something I had considered. I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Wow. That’s...that’s big, Mat. You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he replied.

“When do they need to hear back by?” Tito asked.

Mat looked down at his watch, checking the time. “Not for a few weeks. She’s got some time to decide, which is almost worst.”

Tito hummed sympathetically. “Just talk it through. I can’t pretend like I know what’s going to happen, but I have faith in you. It’s going to work out.”

“I hope so.”

May 13 (thurs)

It was nine days before Cass graduated, and if she was being honest, her time may have objectively been better spent studying for her finals, the first of which was Monday. But this was Mat, and this was the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and she supposed that her studies could wait for a night while she spent her evening at Barclays. It was Game 5 of the Eastern Conference final, and there was no way she was going to miss her team’s chance at the Wales trophy. The tone in the arena was tense from the moment she stepped in; ever the optimist, Cass liked the Islanders’ chances, but the fact remained that they were down 3-1 in the series after a 4-0 rout by the Lightning in Game 4. The series had started off with forward momentum after winning the first game at home, but the three-game losing streak had done little for the fans’ hopes and even less for the team’s morale.

The only bright spot, if she could call it that, was Mat’s return to the ice. He knew as well as anything that the recovery time was for his own good, but he wasn’t made to be cooped up in his apartment for nearly two weeks straight, save only doctor’s appointments and short trips to the complex gym. Per his usual dramatic fashion, Mat had been cleared in time for Game 7 of the second round, returning to raucous cheers and scoring two goals in the eventual 4-2 win over the Capitals. She had caught up enough on her work to be able to make the game, and it was one of the great joys of her life to be up in a box surrounded by her friends when the love of her life scored the goal that sent the Islanders to the conference finals for the first time in nearly thirty years.

That kind of a dramatic win had made the losing streak that much harder. Game sevens are always exciting, especially with someone coming back off of injured reserve. While the win hadn’t made the team cocky by any means, the confidence had carried over into something more closely resembling complacency. They won Game 7, they won the first of the next series, so some of the team — mostly the younger players who hadn’t yet cut their teeth in the league — had made the mistake of assuming that the rest of the round would be smooth sailing. They should have known better, Cass thought ruefully as the Lightning scored two minutes before the first intermission to even the score at 1-1. Why couldn’t this be the round before, filled with confidence and coordination and laser-focused passing on every line? Why couldn’t it have been the celebration after?

---

May 3 (tues)

Winning a game sometimes called for going out. Winning a series almost definitely called for going out. And winning a series in Game 7 that sent your team to the conference finals for the first time in recent memory called for going out, and going out hard. As much as Cass would have loved to get as hammered as the rest of the group, especially considering the stress she was under with finals and graduation and her job offer piling up, they didn’t want a repeat of the afterparty from the All-Star Game, and Cass still had school the next day. So, she had committed to limiting herself to three drinks. “I want to be tipsy, not shitfaced,” she had explained to Paige on the drive over. Tito had driven his car over, Paige volunteering to DD so the boys could let loose and everyone could let off some much-needed steam.

Someone had already opened up a tab for everyone by the time their car had gotten there, and it wasn’t ten minutes before they had claimed a few couches in the corner and Cass had a caipirinha in her hand. She was a little worried that Mat’s tolerance had tanked in the past few weeks; he hadn’t really drank since before the concussion and it was their first time at a bar in a few weeks regardless. Mat noticed her nervous glances out of the corner of his eye. “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I specifically asked the doctors if I was good to drink at my last appointment and they said I was in the clear.”

Cass giggled, sipping her drink. “You asked your doctors if you could drink alcohol?”

“What can I say?” Mat shrugged. “I wanted to go out and get lit with friends, can you blame me?”

Cass’ giggles had evolved into full-on belly laughs. “Lit? What are you, sixteen?”

Mat’s cheeks reddened in what was probably a combination of alcohol and embarrassment. “My cousin said it once.”

Cass headed back over to the bar a few minutes later for another drink, leaving the boys to talk amongst themselves with the occasional interruption from an excited fan. On a high from the win, the team were more than happy to take photos and have quick chats with anyone who stopped them, and thankfully weren’t mobbed by the crowd inside the bar. For the most part, Cass and her relationship with Mat had been able to fly under the radar — well, as much as she could being Mat Barzal’s other half. Her Instagram hadn’t been private since college, and while a fair few fans and fanpages followed her, it had all remained mercifully low-key. Waiting at the bar, she resigned herself to scroll through Twitter for a few minutes, knowing it would be a little while before the bartender got to her.

“Are you Cassidy Shaw?” Cass’ head turned slowly towards her right, where a short blonde girl looked at her with a shocked expression.

“Cabrera Shaw, but yes?” She answered slowly.

“Sorry!” The girl apologized, “I didn’t mean to be weird or anything. I follow you on Instagram, it’s just so weird to finally see you in person.” Cass gave a nervous laugh. She had fans? On Instagram? Who were excited if they met her in real life?

“One Southside and whatever your favorite IPA on tap is, please,” Cass said to the bartender who had just leaned over the counter to get her order. “Thank you? You’re welcome?” Cass smiled awkwardly.

“I just wanted to say that I think it’s super cool how you’re not a typical WAG or anything. My name’s Sierra, I’m a junior at St. John’s. I’m applying for law school next year. It’s just, like, awesome to see a woman being successful in her own right apart from her partner, especially when they’re in such a visible position and it’s not what’s expected of them. I’m sorry — I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Cass laughed, a genuine one this time. “No, you’re totally good. Don’t worry. That’s really sweet of you to say, thanks a lot!” She sipped the Southside the bartender had just handed her, sliding Mat’s beer over. “Yeah, I have so much respect for the other women who choose to do more philanthropic work or be stay-at-home moms, but that’s not what I feel pulled to. Right now, at least.”

“Right, totally,” Julia said, grabbing what looked like a rum and coke from the other bartender. “Anyways, I should let you get back to the celebration. Tell the team congratulations, it was a great game to watch!”

Cass picked up the other glass, nodding. “I will. Thank you for your kind words, that was sweet of you to say.”

“Anytime!” Julia chirped happily.

Cass walked carefully back over to the group, keeping an eye on the drinks. She handed Mat’s beer to him. He looked up curiously, taking a sip. “Something hold you up at the bar?”

She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. “Kind of? I think I just had my first fan encounter.”

He laughed, leaning over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Comes with the territory, babe.”

---

The game was scoreless through the second period, which didn’t help the tension in the stadium or Cass’ blood pressure. She and Paige had decided to get actual seats for the game, which Mat and Tito were more than happy to arrange. The Islanders were doing well through the first half of the third period, other than a little bit of messy passing the lines were good. But good wasn’t good enough sometimes, good wasn’t close enough to score and give them the lead. Cass’ heart sank as soon as one of the defensemen, she wasn’t sure who, made a turnover in the neutral zone to give the Lightning the puck. Kucherov picked it off, skating past the defenders and around the goal while the rest of the line nearly tripped over themselves trying to skate back in time.

She was on the edge of her seat as he wrapped around the goal, silently praying that Varlamov would somehow be able to get a piece of the puck with his blocker or that it would have one of those one-in-a-million deflections off of the post. You could hear a pin drop in the stadium as everyone waited for the shot; tall of the sudden, time seemed to move like molasses. And then the puck went in, the red light went on, and the scattered sections of blue-and-white clad Lightning fans threw their arms up in celebration.

Cass allowed herself exactly ten seconds to hold her head in her hands. There was still seven minutes, thirty nine seconds left. There was still time. Then there was five minutes, forty-two seconds left, and Maroon got two minutes for tripping, and that was their chance. That was supposed to be their chance. But then the penalty came and went, and it was three minutes left. Two minutes left. They pulled Varlamov at one minutes fifty-eight seconds left, and then it was the last shift. Forty-nine seconds left, and it was time for a Hail Mary. Out of habit, Cass’s lips began moving in the prayer. Hail Mary, full of grace...It was a holdover from her lacrosse days, when they were down in the last quarter with seemingly no hope in sight. It didn’t always work, but it sometimes did. It didn’t work that night. It didn’t work because the clock ticked down to zero, the score was still 2-1, and the Islanders had lost. They were out of the playoffs. Fans began shuffling out of the rink, shoulders slumped and heads down, as Cass bit her lip and tried not to cry. The team had worked so hard for this. God, they had worked so hard. And if she was taking it this badly, if it was affecting her this much, then she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for the guys on the team.

Paige turned to her after a few minutes, when there were only a handful of people still left in their seats and the Zambonis had come out to resurface the ice one last time. “We should probably get down there, do you think?” She asked softly. Cass nodded. She was referring to the tunnel, outside the locker room where everyone usually got to greet their partners with kisses and hugs and words of congratulations, but where the mood would be profoundly different on that night. Cass grabbed her bag and straightened out her jersey, squeezing Paige’s hand. Neither of them really knew what the environment was going to be like after such a devastating knockout; Paige had started dating Anthony the summer before, and Cass obviously had even less experience. They had dealt with losses, they had dealt with disappointments and losing streaks and points droughts, but this was something new entirely.

They rode the elevator in silence before walking down the corridors to the room, where the rest of the WAGs and other family had congregated. Kerry rubbed her shoulder sympathetically as Lauren walked over. “We in the Islanders family have a lot of experience with getting knocked out of the playoffs,” she said with a weak smile, trying to crack a joke, “so here is how it usually goes. The guys should be coming out in a few, it takes longer than usual because the media typically has some end-of-the-season wrapup questions and Trotz and Anders will probably make speeches or say something. Some others might too.” The two women nodded. “Don’t treat it like just another loss, but it’s also no good to hover too much. It’s obviously a real disappointment, so it usually takes a week or so before most of them bounce back to being their normal selves. They know what coping mechanisms work best for them. Most will hit the gym more, read or cook if they’re into that, something to get their mind off of it. Obviously they’re still players and still want to know how they can get better, so they might want to go over tapes of the games and make notes of where they went wrong. That’s fine, but don’t let them beat themselves up about it too much. This was a hard series, and Mat especially,” she gestured towards Cass, “tends to be more than a little bit of a perfectionist.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cass said.

“One last thing,” she continued. “Let them process, let them cope, but a loss not an excuse for them to treat you any worse, any less kindly. Be understanding, of course. But don’t take any crap from them, regardless of the circumstance.”

“Thank you,” Paige said gratefully. Cass echoed her sentiment. The next ten minutes were filled with checking emails and making half-hearted conversation before the team started to trail out of the room. Embracing their partners and families, most couples exchanged no more than a few words before turning down the hall that led to the players’ parking lot. Paige left with a squeeze to her shoulder and a promise to get coffee the next week before grabbing Tito’s hand and guiding him towards the cars.

Unsurprisingly, Mat followed right behind. He hadn’t combed his hair after his shower, the top button of his dress shirt was undone and only haphazardly tucked into his pants. Mat had been on the shift when Kucherov scored, and if there was anything she knew about her boyfriend, it was that he’d take it personally. He dropped his bag on the ground as she embraced him, and the thud against the concrete floor felt as if it could echo all the way across the Long Island Sound.

“I’m so proud of you, Mat. So, so proud. I know this didn’t end how you wanted it to, but you worked so fucking hard to get here, and that’s what I see. That’s all I see,” she whispered.

Mat wasn’t crying, but his breathing was labored nonetheless. “I just feel...I feel like I let everyone down. I wasn’t supposed to be that far up on the ice, and if I hadn’t, maybe I would have gotten back in time to steal the puck, or check him or something, or…” He trailed off.

Cass sighed. “I know, chou, I know how you feel. But just try to remember that this is a team sport. You win with the boys, you lose with the boys. Do you get mad at Tito when he makes a bad play? Or Jordan, or Anders?” Mat shook his head. “It’s the same way with you. They don’t stop being proud of you or think you’re any less of an incredible player because you made a bad decision. Bad decisions get made all the time, and it doesn’t have to reflect on the person who made them. It’s a hard game, love, but you did your best and that’s all anyone ever has a right to ask of you.”

Mat’s thumb rubbed against the small of her back. “I know I’ll be fine, eventually. I mean, we’ve all dealt with this before. It just seems different this time, because we were so close to actually making the finals. It seems kind of silly to say since I know I’m only 23 and I know I’ve got so much time left to play, but,” he took a shaky breath, “I look at all the veterans, all the amazing players whose entire careers have gone by without ever having gotten the Cup. Lundqvist and Thornton and Marleau and all of these legends. And it sounds kind of selfish and naive, but I don’t want to be one of them.”

They stood like that for a few more minutes, just holding each other, before either spoke again. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Cass murmured to Mat as she carded her hands through his hair. She felt a tiny, almost imperceptible nod against her shoulder. Her bag had her laptop, books, and chargers. She had a whole drawer in Mat’s room by then, a combination of stray shirts that were his-turned-hers, a few pairs of leggings — they took up an entire drawer of their own back at her apartment — and balled-up socks from her one unsuccessful attempt at doing the laundry in his building. She had a spare box of tampons in his bathroom, her floral shampoo next to his 2-in-1 Old Spice. No matter how hard she pushed, Mat remained oblivious to the benefits of having separate shampoo and conditioner.

He pulled away, reaching into his pocket and handing over his keys. “Do you mind driving?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. Whatever you need.”

The ride back home was about forty minutes, and it was almost halfway through before either of them spoke, the lull of the 80s rock channel filling in the silence. “Where’s your head at, Mat?” She asked carefully.

He was looking out the window, distracted. “Hm?”

She repeated the question and he tensed slightly, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Just feeling kind of...confused about the whole thing. Seems like I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions one day, but then all of the sudden something like this happens and I’ve got nothing. It’s overwhelming. I know I have a life outside of hockey, I know it’s not all of who I am, but sometimes it seems hard to believe that when it seems like that’s all I’m recognized for.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, Cass reached over to cover his hand with her own. His fingers held onto hers like a lifeline.

“You’re right, you know?” She said as they passed into the Queens-Midtown tunnel.

“About?”

“Being so much more than people perceive you to be. I get that, it’s like that for me too sometimes. And Mat, you are so much more than ‘just a hockey player.’ You’re a good son and an amazing brother to Liana, and an awesome friend to Tito and the guys on the team and everyone back home. And,” she added, cracking a smile, “you’re a pretty good boyfriend too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Just pretty good?”

“I didn’t want to fluff your ego too much,” Cass said. “But seriously, Mat. You’re incredible entirely on your own merit. You care so deeply for the people in your life and you love so hard, and it’s an honor and a privilege to be able to witness that firsthand.”

Mat bent down to the center console, brushing a kiss over her hand. “How do you do it?”

Now it was her turn to question. “Do what?”

“Always know the right thing to say.”

“I don’t,” Cass admitted. “And sometimes I get it wrong. But I know I love you, and I don’t want to see you hurting if there’s anything I can do about it.” The car exited the tunnel into the dotted lights of a Manhattan evening.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “if there was an Oscar for pep talks, I’d have to give it to you, hands down. No offense to any of the guys on the team.”

She laughed, stopping at the light. Right on red wasn’t legal in New York City, a rule she found out the hard way two months after moving. “I’m glad it helps.”

“It does,” Mat said softly. “It means the world to me that you care enough to do it. You mean the world to me.”

Her cheeks heated. “You sure know how to flatter a girl, eh, Barzal?”

“I meant every word.”

---

May 20 (thurs)

She was done. After three years, six semesters, dozens of classes, and hundreds of hours studying, Cass had just finished her last final of law school. Her classmates stumbled out of the lecture hall, not entirely believing that all of their tears and heartache and hard work had come to a head in such an anticlimactic fashion. Turning on her heel, she walked south. It was just before seven, and her friends had a group reservation at some ridiculously extravagant French wine bar. It was Les’ idea, who had a penchant for all things expensive and who had made the reservation months prior because “you never know, John Mayer could book the whole place up and as much as I love dollar slices, we don’t want that to be our only option for what’s supposed to be a very prestigious celebratory dinner.” Les, Fiona, and Samaira were coming, along with Daniel, another editor on the law review, and Robin, one of Cass’ friends from first-year criminal law and the president of the Women’s Law Association. She had initially been wary about inviting Mat; it wasn’t that she didn’t think he’d get along with her law school friends, but she didn’t want him to feel out of the loop. After Les had announced that he was bringing his boyfriend, Xavier, Cass had extended the invite to Mat as well.

It was only a ten minute walk, and the hostess directed Cass to their table, where she realized that she was the last one to arrive. “Don’t worry,” Robin said, “we’ve just been interrogating your man.”

Cass scooted in next to Mat, kissing him quickly before rolling her eyes. “I hope you haven’t been too hard on him.”

Mat smiled. “Nah, they’ve been good. But being questioned by six lawyers who all seem very adamant that I don’t deserve you —”

“You don’t,” Samaira cut in, though it was clear she was joking.

“Was more than a little intimidating,” Mat finished, handing Cass the menu.

“Order whatever you want, I’m paying,” Daniel said as he flicked through the wine menu. “Well, technically, my parents are.” Daniel came from money; his mom was a partner at a firm in Chicago and his dad was a law professor at the University of Chicago. “If they’re going to insist on sending me to law school and sheltering me my whole life, the least I could do is take advantage of their generosity,” Daniel said, plunking his credit card onto the table. Fifteen minutes later, the group was sharing plates of escargots, crab tartine, and roasted cauliflower; twenty minutes after that, entrées were served. Mat had recognized the waitress’ accent and was chatting to her in French in between plates. Cass sipped on her wine, a pinot noir, and took a moment to look around the room, a moment to relax. Two more days, and she graduated. Everything that she had worked so hard for was finally coming to fruition. She still had to pass the bar in July, sure, but for one night — for a few days, really — she was going to let herself finally rest in the ability of her accomplishments.

Dessert was maple bourbon crème brûlée with Sauternes, and Mat may have had a little too much fun breaking the caramelized sugar. Cass was full of good food and conversation; after everyone was done it was after nine. Les, Daniel, and Xavier had decided to get drinks, but Robin had barely slept at all that week, Samaira was going to watch a movie at her boyfriend’s, and Cass and Mat had to wake up early to get her grandparents from the airport. Mat took her hand as they walked towards the subway station. He had parked a few blocks away and offered to drive Cass back to her apartment, but she didn’t want him to go out of his way and all things considered, taking the subway at night had become something of a routine for her.

They walked down Manhattan Avenue, resting in the kind of comfortable silence that only came with being with someone who really gets you. Cass had decided not to take the Hong Kong job the week prior. It was just too much distance from her family and Mat, and while the job seemed interesting enough, it wasn’t the kind of position she thought she could really be happy in long-term. “Have you figured out what you’re doing yet?” Mat asked as they turned the corner. “I’d say you should just move in with me and become a full-time housewife, but something’s telling me that’s not exactly the kind of opportunity you’re searching for.”

Cass laughed, bumping him with her shoulder. “Tempting offer, the housewife thing, but I think I’m going to have to pass. Plus that would necessitate you wifing me up.”

Mat kissed her head. “All in due time, pretty girl.” “But anyways, about the job search.” Cass said, a smile playing on her lips. “I was going to wait until graduation to surprise you, but since you asked…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Chris offered me a job. Permanently.”

Mat stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Chris? Like Islanders Chris? Lawyer Chris?”

She giggled. “Yes. Islanders lawyer Chris. You’re looking at the new Associate Counsel for the New York Islanders, Mat.” Mat damn near hollered in celebration, picking Cass up and spinning her around before pulling her into what was very possibly one of the best kisses of her life. Cass barely took notice of the tourists watching them from the side or her own public display of affection. It was New York City. They had seen weirder.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Mat’s chest. He was being honest when he said that he wouldn’t have done anything to get Cass to stay, it just wasn’t his place. But he also would have been lying if he had said it would be anything but heartbreaking to see her leave. It was like he told Tito. Not even giving the future a chance to work itself out would be worse than a breakup. And with any luck, they’d never have one of those either. They rounded the last corner, steps down to the subway in sight, when Mat remembered what he had wanted to ask her but had been interrupted by her news. Her incredible, perfect news. “What would you think about spending some time in Canada this summer?”

Cass, seemingly oblivious, answered, “Oh? Like as a vacation?”

He shook his head. “No, like in Coquitlam with my family.”

“You want me to spend the summer with you and your family?” Cass asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, only if you want to, of course. And I’m not sure when the job with the team starts, or…” He looked down.

Cass smiled. “I’d love to, but are you sure it isn’t too much? I don’t want to feel like I’m intruding on family time, I know you don’t get a lot of time with them since you’re here most of the year. I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to bring me around just because we’re together.”

They stopped by a lamp. Cass leaned up against the post. “Cass. My parents have made it very clear to me that you’re family, and that they’ll have my head if I’m ever dumb enough to let you go.” She snickered. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t intend on ever letting that happen. My family loves you, my sister thinks you’re way cooler than me.”

“She’s got good taste,” Cass said, tilting her head.

Mat laughed. “She does. She told me you guys were texting the other day about the guy she’s interested in, giving her advice. Sure, it was my idea to invite you, but they were so on board from the moment I mentioned it. Plus, my friends back home are getting annoyed with me because they haven’t met you yet with how often I talk about you.”

She bit her lip. “How long were you thinking of staying?”

Mat shrugged. “Leave in a couple weeks, I usually stay two months or so, so until sometime in August?”

“I’d have to fly back to take the bar in July, and I’d still need some time to study while we’re over, but my contract doesn’t start until the end of August, so…”

“You’ll come?” Mat smiled hopefully.

She nodded. “I’ll come. I’ve never been to Canada before, did you know that?”

He shook his head, leaning in and brushing a kiss on her hairline. “You’re going to love it.”

#hockey imagines #nhl imagines #hockey smut #nhl smut #mat barzal #hockey #hockey writing #hockey imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl writing #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #New York Islanders

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wildroseofarran · 3 years

Text

Facing Demons || Brett, Guildias, MJ, & Pete || April, 2020

Brett: It had been several weeks since Brett had received that letter from California. During that time the letter had sat untouched in his locked desk drawer at the station, coming out only once when it had been shown to his domitor.

The rest of the time had been spent keenly aware of its presence while contemplating burning it or trying and failing to work up the courage to get it out again. Brett could think of good reasons to do the former and only one to do the latter, yet somehow, he hadn't ever been able to bring himself to get rid of it. He hadn't been able to work up the courage either.

Truth be told, he had no idea what finally made him do it; just that while having his lunch one afternoon, he found himself unlocking that drawer and looking at that number scrawled on the bottom.

"God help me," he sighed.

{Text to MJ} Hi

{Text} Does the offer still stand?

MJ: MJ felt for his phone on the bedside table. Blackened out room. Still no night vision; still no desire to live in daylight.

The brightness of the screen burned his retinas, hissing like a cat. The phone bounced between hands in an exhausting rescue attempt.

{Text} Whoooo yes. Hi. {Text} If this is the sheriff absolutely

Brett: Right, new number. MJ wouldn't remember Brett's phone number, he should've self-identified. Silly mistake brought on by buckets of anxiety.

{Text} Yeah, sorry about that

{Text} It's Brett Parker

MJ: {Text} Sup man

{Text} Where ya want? When?

{Text} Please don't say right now my eyeballs are roasting

Brett: Brett stared down at his phone, worrying his lip between his teeth. He hadn’t thought he’d make it this far and didn’t have a plan.

{Text to Guildias} Hey

{Text to Guildias} I finally got up the courage to contact MJ

Guildias: {Text from Guildias} Are you alright?

Brett: {Text to Guildias} Kind of. Feeling anxious and like I shouldn’t be eating lunch because I’m afraid I might see it again

{Text to Guildias} He’s asking where and when I want to meet

Guildias: The next text takes a minute.

{Text} You wish for me to accompany you?

Brett: {Text} I would, if you’re still willing

Guildias: {Text} Where would you feel most comfortable?

Brett: {Text} Your place, if we’re being completely honest

Guildias: {Text} Set up the meeting, then.

Brett: {Text} What time works best?

Guildias: {Text} Eight o'clock. {Text} Have to yield to our schedule tonight.

Brett: Brett had figured as much. At least he had a few hours to calm himself down and work up even more courage to actually go through with it.

{Text} I thought as much

{Text} Is it okay if I come a little early?

Guildias: {Text} It'll just be me. I would prefer you first.

Brett: Brett took a deep breath. That much was a relief. Getting there first was just a small little thing but he knew from other experiences that it would help a lot.

{Text} Okay, thank you

{Text} Is it all right if I get there around 7:30?

Guildias: {Text} That's fine. Wait at the door for me and do try not to be alarmed by my appearance.

Brett: He frowned at his phone. Alarmed? Why would he be alarmed?

{Text} I promise I'll try my best

{Text} See you tonight

Guildias: Guildias felt under-dressing, shirtless as he had been for days, would distract from the occasion. A black loose-fitted V-neck sweater was slipped into and tucked. The left sleeve hung, empty from down the elbow.

A text was sent Callum, warning of the impending chapter about to unfold.

Brett: Now that there was a plan in place, Brett turned his attention back to his other conversation with a bit less anxiety.

{Text to MJ} No, don't worry. I'm working right now

{Text to MJ} Are you free tonight at 8? We can meet at Guildias' house

MJ: MJ stared for a moment. He shouldn't have been surprised. Something in the suggestion of Guildias insulted him.

{Text} Yeah. I'll see ya then

Brett: {Text} See you then

{Text} Also, just out of curiosity, why are your eyeballs roasting?

MJ: {Text} Daylight sheriff

{Text} I have this skin condition see

{Text} Where everything hurts and I'm dying because daytime

Brett: {Text} Right, forgot it's the middle of the day only for me

{Text} Sorry about that

{Text} I'll see you tonight

MJ: {Text} Get some vitamin D for me

Brett: {Text} Will do

Now to attempt to finish his lunch and the rest of his shift despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. He also had to tell Bo that he would be home late.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he sighed to his sandwich.

Guildias: Guildias unlocked the one and only entrance at 7:15 pm. Walked around the house once and stepped outside with a pair of brown octagonal sunglasses. The moon was warm and far too bright to ignore tonight. Its image a reminder of Peter Graham. Made him curious enough to message the gentle beast as he took a seat on the edge of the porch.

Brett/Pete: Brett was still busy working up courage in his car somewhere, but Pete not nearly as much. The pub was quiet tonight, giving him a chance to check his phone.

{Text} Fancy hearing from you

{Text} What are you up to?

Guildias: {Text} Growing things. Relaxing by moonlight and thinking of you.

{Text} But truly, playing the role of mediator.

Pete: {Text} Awww, that’s sweet. Growing things is certainly one way to put it

{Text} Who or what are you mediating?

Guildias: {Text} A lost relationship.

{Text} I strive to squash avoidable headaches.

Pete: {Text} Nothing breaks the ice like food and booze

{Text} Could help avoid those headaches

Guildias: {Text} If it were only so simple.

Pete: {Text} There’s gotta be something that’ll help

Guildias: {Text} Time and proof and willingness.

Pete: {Text} Sounds like you’ve got at least one of those if you’re being asked to mediate

Guildias: {Text} We shall see if that is the case.

{Text} You take care now.

Brett/Pete: {Text} You too, man

{Text} Sending you luck and good energy

Two things Brett was in sore need of as he pulled up to Guildias’ house. It was just shy of 7:30 but he hadn’t been able to drive around in idle circles any longer.

He just hoped Guildias wouldn’t mind.

Guildias: Guildias watched, raised his hand in wave, cigarette pinched between two fingers. He seemed to be favoring his right shoulder, elbow leaned against the porch. The sleeve of his left arm was mostly empty, laid flat over his abdomen.

Brett: Brett didn't notice at first. He waved back and cut the engine, got out just as he always did. It didn't hit him that something looked...not quite right until he was walking towards the house, and even then, it took him getting even closer to see that Guildias' left hand wasn't poking out of its sleeve.

And actually...that left sleeve looked empty, didn't it? Almost like....

"Wait, wh--where's your arm?! Sorry, hi, I just--hell, I broke my promise already."

Guildias: "It's alright." Less panic than expected of the timid sheriff. Another tally in his progression. More concern than fear.

"It was by design. You'll find me in proper form next week. For now, I would appreciate your tying the end."

Brett: There was definitely more concern, along with an avalanche of questions that he planned to keep to himself for the time being. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Just tell me how."

Guildias: "Just a simple knot. Not too tight. The dangle is rather annoying."

Brett: "You got it." Brett tied off the sleeve as neatly as possible, careful not to stretch the material too much. If Guildias really would get that arm back, that sleeve needed to look decent.

"There you go. That better?"

Guildias: Where it seemed the elbow was shook back and forth to test. Acceptable.

"Thank you. Now, would you rather we go inside?"

Brett: Brett took a seat beside Guildias. "I'm okay to stay out here a bit while you finish your cigarette."

Guildias: "Kind as always." He knew the answer, but still offered the cigarette anyway.

Brett: He shook his head. “Someday maybe, but not today. Thanks though.”

Guildias: "How prepared are you for what's about to happen?"

Brett: “Not nearly enough.”

Guildias: "What is it you want to hear?"

Brett: “I don’t know. Part of me still thinks this is all a trick somehow.”

Guildias: "I've been in contact with him for some time. I would not lead you astray for cheap entertainment."

Brett: He nodded. “I know. I guess I just don’t trust him.”

Guildias: "Why would you? You haven't seen him."

Brett: “What if I’m still not able to after I do see him?”

Guildias: "Then you don't have to see him again. But you will have faced him."

Brett: Brett nodded again, taking a deep breath for good measure. "Conquer your demons and all that, right?"

Guildias: "Or leave them as tar on your body."

Brett: "I've got enough tar already. Don't want anymore."

Guildias: "Good man." The last of his cigarette depleted, Guildias forced himself to his feet.

"Shall we?"

Brett: He could feel the knots begin to form in his stomach as he stood. Every part of him wanted to get back in his car and race back home so he could hide under the covers, but his feet would carry him inside after his domitor.

MJ/Guildias: There was no concealing the sound of MJ's Harley. Its classic intention could be heard a quarter mile through the muffling trees. A sound which did nothing to spur Guildias from his languid arrangement on the stiff couch. Only in the silence of the engine did the Setite rise to his feet.

"Remain comfortable," was his only command as he approached the door.

Brett: It was like flipping a switch; or it would be, if Brett hadn't already been so nervous. First sign of that bike coming toward the house and the stress sweat started, the knots in his stomach tightened to the point of discomfort, fight or flight activated in every possible way.

If he spoke one of them would win out, so he just nodded. Never mind that comfortable was the farthest thing from what he was feeling right now. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted to have faced it without having to face it.

MJ/Guildias: Guildias greeted MJ at the door. He needn't explain. For this to be their meeting ground, MJ knew there were unspoken rules. Don't approach; be gentle with the ghoul. The look in the Setite's eyes told him to behave, and without prompt he nodded.

MJ's first thought upon laying eyes on the sheriff was that of a porcelain doll. Without smoothness and impossible complexion. Brett Parker was a delicate creature. His arms and chest had since filled and firmed. Everything else was distinctly the same. It was as though Guildias had done nothing but indulge the ghoul in vitae. His initial feeling was that of anger, but then like a slap remembered the deed which brought them here.

He decided upon a simple greeting, uttered softly, apologetic in inflection.

"Hey."

Brett: Brett didn't make eye-contact or get to his feet. Instead he picked a spot somewhere in the region of MJ's middle and gave a jerky nod in greeting and something that could reasonably pass for a smile.

"Hi." His voice had lost its ease in an effort to keep it from trembling. It was stiff, just like all the rest of him.

MJ/Guildias: MJ exchanged a glance with Guildias, looked to the emptiness of his sleeve and scoffed. The logical path to take was that of avoidance. For at least five minutes.

"Ya hear how that happened?"

Brett: He shook his head. "I didn't ask, I just tied."

MJ/Guildias: "Oh ya did that?"

"Is that a story you wish to hear?" Guildias asked.

Brett: He really, really doubted that a story that ended with Guildias losing an arm was something he wanted to hear, not even on a good day. But it was probably best to keep the conversation going, otherwise it would stall and the space would fill with tense silence and that was worse.

"Sure."

MJ/Guildias: MJ held his hands up in submission, then down slowly at his sides before taking a seat directly across. Guildias took to the arm of the couch by Parker's side. The Ravnos began to explain his visit, his friend Abel Harrington, and the idea to rescue a child they had suspicions had somehow fallen into through the Gauntlet into another realm. He then held both hands to Guildias.

"I couldn't go in. Had t'play security guard. But if ya ever saw Poltergeist ya got an idea of the goo they were covered in when they got out."

"The child is safe and healthy, according to news," said Guildias.

Brett: Brett had to fight to keep from leaning against Guildias for safety and comfort, but he appreciated his domitor’s nearness nonetheless. It was exactly the sort of thing Guildias would do.

At least the story provided plenty of distraction. There were parts of it—most of it— he could scarcely believe, things that sounded too fantastical to ever be real. He probably wouldn’t if he had any other job and didn’t watch TV.

“I remember hearing about that kid when he first went missing. Every law enforcement agency in the state got an alert. Glad he’s okay.”

MJ: "All in a night's work. Should give Guildias a superhero name. Somehow I've been dubbed Aquaman." He remembered giving Xavier his name, but couldn't for the unlife of him remember how he'd been worthy of his moniker. Something to ask when this was over; something to take his mind off of the meek look in the sheriff's eyes.

"M'sorry," he finally said.

Brett: After having braved enough to look at MJ’s chest, Brett seemed to lose his nerve and looked down at his hands instead. He had them clasped in his lap, knuckles white with the effort to keep them from shaking.

At a loss for a response, he remained silent.

MJ: "Ya don't have t'say anything. I know I fucked up. Ya looked at me like I was some... dangerous stranger. Thought if I could make ya laugh." He imitated a heartbeat. "N'then I had no thoughts. I know more shit happened, but I don't have it."

Brett: For a moment he swore he could smell lavender again. More than once a passing whiff of it had sent him into a panic, made him horribly ill. It was forever linked with that night in his mind. But apparently only in his.

“You don’t remember,” he said to the floor.

MJ: "I was two people. One that wanted t'love ya, the other wanted to... have ya."

Brett: “Which one is here?”

MJ: "Both."

Brett: “How?”

MJ: "Threat of death can do a hell of a lot. I became we became I." His hands came out then fell to his knees. "I keep tellin' people I'm not Victoria. I'm not MJ."

Brett: That didn't really answer his question, but he wasn't sure he really wanted an explanation. Some questions you just didn't want the answers to.

"Who are you?"

MJ: "I'm in this body, so you can still call me MJ, or Mayhew, or asshole. Whatever works."

Brett: "So you're still named MJ. Who are you. Why'd you send me that letter in the first place if you didn't even remember what you did?"

MJ: "Ya didn't deserve what happened. I know that much. Isn't that enough?"

Brett: "Would it be for you?"

MJ: "If it meant anything t'ya."

Brett: "And what is it that you want from me?"

MJ: "T'know you're okay."

Brett: "You sent me the letter weeks ago and I'm just now here with you. What does that tell you?"

MJ: "M'not askin' for forgiveness."

Brett: "It would be meaningless if you were."

MJ: "It'd be a child askin' forgiveness for the sins of the mother."

Brett: "It would be meaningless because you wouldn't know what you were asking forgiveness for."

MJ: He placed both fists together. Exactly.

Brett: Brett’s gaze fell to the floor.

So. This was it. This was as close to closure as he was ever going to get. He got to feel unclean for the rest of his life and have nightmares and panic attacks while the person who made him this way got...nothing. MJ got to be a whole new person, free of the burden of that night while Brett was left to shoulder it alone.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting or if he was really expecting anything. It wasn’t like he had any reason to. That night had broken him in a thousand different ways but he was fully aware that from a vampire’s perspective, the whole thing had been his fault. For refusing. For being difficult. For believing, just for a moment, that he was a person who had the luxury of saying no. Life had already taught him that that wasn’t a word he could say anymore. He was a ghoul.

And ghouls didn’t get to say no.

Brett sighed. “I don’t know what else to say.”

MJ: "Ya ain't - Ya don't have t'say anything else. I'm... I'm glad ya let this happen. Us," he motioned between them, "but this wasn't for me. If someone did what - I want ya t'feel... safe again? I had a whole speech planned out, but I can't. That shit feels empty."

Brett: He shook his head. “I don’t. Feel safe. Not anymore, not for months.” Despite his progress, he still had bad days. When those bad days were really bad, they led to bad weeks.

The scent of lavender or pumpkin, a stranger touching him in public, a nightmare, a shadow on the kitchen tile out of the corner of his eye, the sight of blood; it felt like anything was liable to set it off.

MJ: "What d'ya want me t'do, Brett?"

Brett: That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? What could MJ do that would change anything?

Brett sighed. “Unless you’ve got a time machine...nothing. This is for me to deal with.”

MJ: "I ain't got one of them. Don't think it'd do ya good." Without thinking, he rubbed the back of his head. A tingle there akin to an itch.

Brett: “Sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.”

MJ: "How long's it been? What ya do since then? Ya'd lose all that."

Brett: “That’s easy to say for someone with no memory,” Brett said to the floor.

MJ: "Yeah, but I still got people."

Brett: Good for you, he thought, sounding sarcastic even in his mind. Why was he still here? There was nothing more to say, and they'd established there was nothing more to do.

He'd done it, he'd faced his demons, and all he'd gotten was the knowledge that his demons had gotten off scot-free. It was, as he'd said, for him to deal with.

Away from here.

"I'd like to go home now," Brett said, turning his head toward Guildias but not looking at him. He felt...defeated. Sounded it, too.

MJ/Guildias: "No one here will stop you," Guildias said. This was all for Brett Parker's peace of mind. Face the fear, as he'd encouraged for months. This chapter had finally reached its end.

MJ nodded, felt the safest route was stillness. Let Brett command the room and leave at his own accord.

"If ya wanna talk, or need me t'do somethin', ya got my number."

Brett: Brett acknowledged both of them with a nod and got to his feet. He couldn’t conceive of a situation where he’d want to turn to MJ for a favor or sympathetic ear, not now. Perhaps not even in the near future. But he supposed the offer counted for something in some cosmic sense.

That was about as much graciousness as he could muster at the moment.

He gave a sedate farewell to his domitor, gave MJ a vague grunt of acknowledgement, and let himself out, giving the couch where MJ sat as wide a berth as he could without clinging to the wall.

He wasn’t up for company, didn’t want to bring this mood and this...this home to Bo. So he’d drive around until he could find someplace quiet to be with his thoughts where no one would talk to him.

#Facing Demons chapter #brettmparker #anedendarkly #petegraham

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ivystjamess · 4 years

Audio

𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓, 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑, 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓, 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

WHO: rachel and ivy st.james. WHERE: spotlight diner, nyc. WHEN: saturday, 2/27. WHAT: rachel and jesse have been wanting eli and ivy to visit them in new york since they left in december. during this weekend visit, while jesse takes eli to tour nyu, rachel and ivy go get lunch at the spotlight diner and perform a slightly lesson appropriate song.

IVY’S WORLD HAD FELT TOPSY TURVEY SINCE THE NEW DIRECTIONS REGIONALS. she thought with each day that passed, that her conflicted feelings would fade, but they had in fact done the opposite and intensified. winning with vocal adrenaline didn’t even feel that good, so what was she still doing there? it was candyland with mostly mckinley kids, a night shared with julien, a cathartic audition, realizations about davis, and a fun night spent bowling with her friends that left her knowing she had made a big mistake. if she was on this mission to get in touch with the innermost and tender parts of herself she had left in summer of 2040, ivy believed that the best way to do that was return to mckinley with this fresh perspective, and continue the ongoing work on herself. but where she ran into issues was the prospect of potentially disappointing her parents. she knew that mckinley’s chances of winning nationals maybe weren’t as great as vocal adrenaline’s, and it was fresh in her mind how excited her father had been when she announced she was going to attend carmel. not to mention, there was a laundry list of people she had burned in the process that she’d need to figure out how to say sorry to. so now sat across her mother, poking at her salad, ivy stared with uncertainty, hoping that if she looked just hard enough rachel would ask-- “what’s wrong, sweetie? do you not like the food? i know it’s not the greatest, but we came here for nostalgia more than anything. nobody really comes here for the food, it’s just like a musical theater breadstix, but in new york!”

when her mother finished a familiar fast-paced ramble, ivy set her fork down and shook her head, “no, it’s not that, it’s just...” i have no idea what i’m doing, and i really need my mom right now. “is being double-casted for wendla bugging you? you know it’s not exactly the same but when lemon’s mom auditioned to be my understudy for funny girl i was completely psyched out. it’s totally normal, but i know you’ll still shine as bright as ever!” rachel said with a smile, but ivy still had a discomforted expression on her face. the double cast had been a shock, but that wasn’t even what was challenging ivy about the week of rehearsal under her belt. and more importantly, that wasn’t even a conversation ivy was looking to have right now. “no, wendla’s like, fine or whatever.” she answered, rubbing her lips together before dropping the bomb, “i was actually thinking like, maybe i need to transfer back to mckinley.” now launching into a quick rant of her own, ivy raced to explain herself, “i really like vocal adrenaline and stuff, like, i like the solos and i like being appreciated or whatever, but i just don’t think it’s for me. and i know winning is like important or whatever, but i really just miss...” a breath out. “my friends.”

now setting her fork down, rachel st.james offered her daughter a thoughtful, “oh.” it hadn’t come as a surprise to the woman that ivy had reached this point. it was a lesson that both herself and her husband had to learn the hard way, many times over: sometimes success and a career isn’t nearly as important as the relationships and memories collected along the way. of course, rachel and jesse expected a certain degree of musical theater and show choir domination from their children ivy, but in seeing her daughter look so conflicted across from her brought out a more nurturing side in rachel. “i think i know what you’re going through.” she began, a slew of memories popping into her head of times she had chosen herself first. she was sure jesse would be able to provide similar insight if he really tried, but she also knew he wouldn’t be able to do it gently.

so, rachel decided to communicate that sentiment in the one way she had always known how. rising from her seat, ivy watched as her mother crossed over to the current working manager and spoke to him in words she couldn’t make out. moments later that’s life (by frank sinatra or from smash, depending on who’s answering) sounded throughout the speakers of the restaurant. as rachel st.james made her way to the empty stage, heads in the restaurant turned to follow broadway star in disbelief they would be getting a free performance with their lunch. ivy still sat in place, staring as her mother soulfully began to sing to and for her

“that's life, that's what people say, you're riding high in april, shot down in may, but I know I'm gonna change their tune, when I'm back, back on top in june.”

through the lyrics rachel expressed pretty much everything ivy needed to hear with a simple sentiment: that’s life. plans change, you’re selfish and you mess up, but there’s no shame in wanting to amend things. the woman beckoned her daughter on stage with a gesture of the finger and a warm smile and as ivy crossed to meet her, she began to sing,

“mmmm, that's life, funny as it may seem, some people get their kicks, steppin' on a dream--”

as she sang and slowly made her way up to the stage, there was a certain aggression and air of annoyance in her tone. in recent weeks, it had became more and more obvious to her just exactly what pretenses davis had with bringing her on to vocal adrenaline. while she was still on the team, she was hardly brave enough to give him her piece of mind about it, but she didn’t like being toyed with. and she didn’t like the fact that he’d gotten so much satisfaction out of manipulating her away from her life, and it showed as she sang.

by now, ivy had reached the stage, and rachel cut into her verse and chided “ivy.” looking down at her child knowingly, and tapping her jaw. ivy knew that meant to relax and to sing out more, she managed to laugh briefly about it, then continued singing less jadedly and more optimistic.

“but I just can't let them get me down, no, no, ‘cause this big old world keeps spinnin' around”

continuing to converse with song, rachel made it all the more apparent that she understood ivy’s sentiments exactly by communicating that, “i've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate a poet, a pawn and a queen.” ivy nodded a little, and lyrically added in feelings that matched her own current situation, “i’ve been up and down and over and out and, oh, the drama i’ve seen” there was an exhausted tone to her voice for performance value, but a confidence on her face that said, after being up and down and over and out she was ready to return to mckinley high.

turning to face ivy, rachel sang “each time I find myself flat on my face...” ivy, in turn, faced her mother and finished the lyric “i pick myself up and get back in the race!” before uniting for a “that’s life” that solicited a few whoops and whistles from those eating at the restaurant, and were hanging on to every note.

the pair continued their duet in a heartfelt manner as lyrics consistently pertained to their own lives. looking at each other and singing from the soul, ivy had another musical epiphany. long gone were the days of being played by davis and hurting the people she cared about in the name of a trophy. ivy was mckinley bound, and come monday, she was ready to talk her way back into a cheerios uniform and on the new directions. as this decisiveness played out in real time, rachel and ivy joined hands as they sang out,

“i've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,a poet, a pawn and a queen. i've been up and down and over and out and, oh, the drama we've seen! each time we find ourselves.....flat on our face we pick ourselves up and get back in the race!”

with music swelling to it’s greatest heights, they each belted out their own ‘that’s life’ while beaming from ear to ear as they made each word count and pushed out powerful harmonies. the song finished out with a back and forth name calling of sister, mother, and broadway star took place before more individual belting. the song ended with them joined together as a flawless vocal unit. as the diner stood up and applauded them, for once ivy didn’t care about the adoring cheers of strangers. instead, she was riding the high of clarity the number had given her. waving to the audience, ivy watched her mother in awe as she commanded the stage with a bow, then linked ivy’s arm to her own to walk her back to their table. rachel sang praises of their song and ivy’s vocal performance, and while ivy would usually be lapping up what her mom was telling her, this time she cut in and asked, “so will you and dad like, sign my transfer papers when we all get back to the loft?” only to be met by a firm and proud nod from her mother.

THE END.

#self para #//pls ignore the static at the beginning i had to trick the copyright #//also as always #//i am sorry for the length #//also sorry if rachel sounds weird idk how to write parents im dumb(tm)

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Saorsa, Chapter 27

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. Jamie finally acknowledges what we knew all along, and Claire takes a bath.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Shearing sheep hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, Jamie thought as he hefted another startled ewe from the shearing pen and pinned her to the ground with a well-placed knee. Murtagh mentioned that some of the larger farms used a mechanical trimmer, but they both preferred the time-honoured method of metal shears, sharp as daggers. Today was their third day. Jamie’s shoulders and arms were throbbing from the constant effort, but they were almost done.

“Tis good fortune we’re having a bonnie spring,” Murtagh commented as they broke for a drink of fresh water from the well.

“Aye. I need tae be on the road wi’in the week, if I’m tae be back a’fore the bairn arrives.”

“I’m surprised the mistress is allowin’ ye tae go at all, wi’ the way she fusses o’er ye like a wee whelp.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to defend his masculine honour against the truth in the old man’s claim. He caught the twitch of Murtagh’s lips through his heavy beard. He cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing at himself.

“She’s lining ‘er nest, ye ken. I reckon she needs me tae practice upon, a’fore the we’un gets here,” he quipped.

“Oh, aye. I’m sure tha’s it.” Murtagh’s sarcasm was so thick, you could serve it on toast.

Jamie groaned as he lowered himself into the armchair in their bedchamber, trying to reach down to untie his laces and failing miserably.

“Here, let me,” Claire offered, before realizing she couldn’t bend over the growing bulk of her belly.

“We’re a fine pair. I’m too lame and ye’re too big a’bout the middle.”

“Speak for yourself,” his wife retorted as she carefully lowered herself to the floor. She gently eased off each boot, then proceeded to unbutton and draw his trews down as well. He sighed and cupped her jaw as she began to gently knead the bunched muscles of his thighs.

“Careful, Sassenach. Ye wouldna want tae start somethin’ ne’er of us is in fit condition tae finish,” he warned, feeling himself stir despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t I?” Warm eyes gleamed up at him. And then, more gently, “Lean back.”

Unsure what was being asked of him, he complied by letting his back fall against the cushions, his long legs stretched on either side of where Claire knelt on the floor. Having never accustomed himself to the modern notion of underclothing, he was naked from the waist down and hardening quickly below the flimsy hem of his linen top.

Leaning forward so that her moist breath seeped between the buttons of his shirt and over the fine hairs of his belly, Claire began to run her hands languorously up and down his legs, reaching higher with each pass.

“Sassenach,” he warned, and then more urgently, “Claire.”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, before her fingertips brushed against his baws.

“Christ!”

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. “Tell me if… well… if it doesn’t feel good.”

And before he could wonder what she meant, she was lifting his shirt, exposing his very emphatic endorsement of whatever she was planning. A tentative moist swipe against the head, where it lay aching against his quivering belly, and then a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was the humid welcome of her sex combined with the nimble manipulation of her fine-boned hand, and yet so much more than the sum of those parts. A lightning bolt of sensation shot up his spine, lighting the back of his eyeballs with colourful explosions. A senseless groan burst from his lungs.

Between the exertions of shearing and the elaborate logistics of making love to a woman almost eight months with child, it had been nearly a week since he’d last lain with his wife. A lifetime, in the bountiful feast that marked their newborn marriage. He wasn’t certain it would have made much difference, though. Anything that felt this absurdly good was certain to be over soon, lest it kill him with pleasure.

As it was, it was mere minutes after first feeling her mouth around him before he knew the end was nigh.

“A dhia. Sassenach. Mo nighean donn. Christ, please, ye must…”

Whatever pleas he was trying to utter were lost to the onrush of his release, racing from his body with the force of a gale, whipping around to slam his head backwards as he groaned in blissful agony.

When he was next able to focus, Claire was carefully unbuttoning his shirt. She extended her hands so that he could help her to her feet. He rose as well, naked and blushing to the tips of his ears. Whatever had just happened, he felt compelled to apologize, if only he could do so without alluding to the actual event.

“Sassenach…” he began.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we? It’s been a long day.”

He was still new to the art of reading his wife’s unspoken wishes, but this one was plain enough. She did not want to discuss or debate the propriety of what they’d just done, probably a bit shy herself. They would leave it here in the murky shadows of their bedchamber, where it could visit with the other nameless wonders they’d released inside its walls. He followed her docilely from the room.

One modern amenity Jamie had absolutely no qualms about embracing was indoor plumbing, and the associated boon of having a bath whenever a bath was needed or desired. Claire lit thick-trunked tapers in the washroom, formerly a servant’s room adjacent to the laird’s quarters. Bent over the billows of steam that rose from the gushing copper pipes, she reminded him of a painting of a water nymph he’d seen as a boy, all translucent skin and bonnie curls.

He gingerly lifted his legs over the high-backed tub and grimaced as the water seared his skin.

“Too hot?”

“Nah. Jus’ right.” He extended his hand gallantly, as though assisting a lady from her carriage. “Join me?” he offered, before adding, “If ye dinna think it immoral.”

Something about the scene struck them both as a trifle ridiculous, and they snickered.

Claire slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, letting it puddle around her feet, before carefully stepping into the water, holding onto Jamie for balance.

“Now what?” she challenged, eyebrow raised.

“Now I hold onto ye. Ye and the little one.” They sunk together into the steaming water.

She found a resting spot between his legs, forehead tucked under his jaw. Jamie amused himself by scoping up palmfuls of water and letting them loose to roam across the hills and valleys of her torso. Time slowed, as did the vigilant beating of his heart. The water cooled and one by one the tapers guttered, and still they did not move. It was in those peaceful moments, with nothing but the silky stroke of water, the honey whiff of candle wax and the quiet stirrings of a new life beneath the taut skin of her belly, that he realized he loved her. Not in the demure, fitting way that a man was meant to love his wife. But in a pivotal, essential way that was as integral to him as breathing and as endless as the tides.

“Ye’ll watch o’er her? Make certain she is no’ rebuildin’ the castle nor tilling the fields by hand, or whate’er stubborn notion settles in her hard heid?”

Murtagh had heard this request, or others very similar, every day for the past fortnight. It spoke to his forbearance that he produced his standard response without a flicker of exasperation.

“Aye, lad. I canna promise ye she willna be stubborn, but I’ll see her safe.”

It was the best he could hope for, and the primary reason Murtagh was staying behind at Lallybroch rather than accompanying Jamie on his journey to Galashiels, much to Claire’s vocal displeasure. She only acquiesced when it was agreed that Rupert would join him as far as Edinburgh, ostensibly to visit relatives. Jamie had an opinion on the true reason for Rupert’s sudden interest in leaving the Highlands for the first time, but he wouldn’t be sharing it with Murtagh.

Fourteen bales of wool were loaded carefully into the estate’s hay wagon. Weighing over a tonne, it would take both Clydesdale plow horses to drag the load over two hundred miles to Galashiels, near the border with England. Rupert would drive the wagon while Jamie rode his favourite horse, Donas.

The smoothest, most direct route southward was available to them only after nightfall, when motorized traffic was forbidden on the roadways on account of the blackout. That meant they’d do most of their travelling by night, which posed its own challenges. In addition to a small bag of provisions and spare clothing, Jamie was also armed with a dirk and a pistol, though he longed for the familiar heft of his broad sword.

The whole trip should take two fortnights, a little less than a month. The plan was to leave immediately after Easter, so he could be home by late April with time to spare before the Duke of Sandringham’s visit and Claire’s confinement.

In the early morning hours the day before his departure, Jamie crept out of the castle while everyone was still abed and walked up the hill to his parents’ graves. He was pleased to note that the exertion no longer winded him; that he had regained his previous strength. He owed that to Claire; that and so much more. She had given him back his freedom when he thought he was trapped in amber. Offered him a place to stand when every other foothold was lost. She was his redemption. Saorsa.

He knelt beside the graves, now cleaned of moss with bluebells sprouting between the stones. Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he began to pray. That Claire might be safe. That the bairn be healthy. That his voyage be swift and without peril. And selfishly, that he be the kind of man his parents would be proud of in this strange new world.

#my writing #outlander

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luckyrockets · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/24 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Momota Kaito, Oma Kokichi, Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Virtual Reality, Psychological Trauma, Hospitals, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change Summary:

Three days. It had been only three days since everything came to an end. At least, it felt like that much time had passed.

Momota stared into his bathroom’s mirror, hands gripped tightly at either side of the sink below it. The lights of the room had been off for a while now to the point that he could barely make out his own features. It didn’t really matter though, even if he could… He didn’t feel like he would recognize himself anymore.

The features didn’t feel like his. Every time he looked in the mirror, something always felt off. Eyes that stared back weren’t the right color and his nose seemed bigger than he thought. His face had speckles of freckles he didn’t recall, while his hair didn’t fall the correct way. It just felt wrong the more and more he saw himself.... He just wanted to feel normal again. Standing in the dark had its advantages. The lack of sight forced his mind to fill-in-the-blanks of the reflection that fixated back from the mirror, piecing together some resemblance of what he knew he should look like … What was that phenomenon called again? … Autokinetic Effect? … Or maybe Pareidolia? Momota wasn’t even sure if those words existed if he were being honest.

Hands moved away from the sink, opting to sit at his sides before turning into tightly balled up fists. It was another repetitive action that he found himself doing during his silent showdown with his reflection. What number was this now? If he had to guess, probably... the hundredth time since he started his solo staring match.

… How long had he been staring in the mirror, anyway? He wasn’t sure anymore. Two minutes? Two hours? Maybe even two days? He hoped it had been long.

Splish… Splash… Splosh…

It dawned on him that the tap was turned on, something he did way before getting distracted by his own reflection. Earlier, Momota had the idea that maybe the sound of faucet could help. The rushing waters that currently sprayed out the tap were meant to help his thoughts from wandering into a dark place. It didn’t work, obviously, his mind instead masking the sound allowing him to continue thinking negatively. Now, he stood, even worse off while the sink’s tub had overflowed.

Water continuously poured onto the floor, easily soaking through his house slippers. With such a sensation at his feet, his mind raced to remind him of the last time he could recall his slippers were this wet, but the water wasn’t warm enough to send him into that thought. It was ice cold... Momota could almost picture it steadily filling the room and drowning him in its freezing temperature.

He momentarily wondered if anyone had noticed how far the flood had gone out now. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the water trailed slowly , being illuminated by the light in the connecting bedroom. It had a night light permanently plugged in, an obnoxiously bright one at that. He had tried to turn it off, unplug it, hell, even break the damn thing but, he still couldn’t seem to remove it. The brightness had made the floor glisten immensely, though, if that were from the water or how clean it was he didn’t know.

Momota wasn’t sure how far the water had made it and was curious if there would be any lasting damage. Whatever the case, it was nothing he really cared about. It wouldn’t change the fact that his room was an empty place anyways. The walls were a bleak white color with a grey border running along the top edges. There was a bed with a baby blue blanket that he had bunched up into a ball at one point. In the corner, a TV was attached with a singular power button. Momota had yet to find a remote for it… that is, if it even had one in the first place. Regardless, when he had tried to turn it on, it was a channel with no noise and the occasional messages that looked as if they were drafted in a powerpoint program. The words would relay different things such as mealtimes and other information Momota cared very little about. Finally, there was a cabinet for what he assumed were for his clothes.

Rummaging through it the first time, he had found a few sets of unrecognizable clothing and a mystery bag. It was mainly junk filled but out of the search came an important discovery, a wallet. It contained exactly 3200 yen, a stamp card for some grocery store he had never heard of, and... an ID. The photo on the ID, no matter what Momota wanted to believe, was his own. The name on it had been Itō Shiro though, not Momota Kaito. His birthday was correct, April 12th, but the year he was hesitant about believing. If it was right, then it would mean he was currently 22 years old and knowing that was messing with his head … Hadn’t he only been 15 three days ago?

His eyes began to wander towards another door in the main room. He could count the amount of times it opened on his fingers. Nurses or doctors would come in to check on him, ask how he was doing, give him some medicine, and then abruptly walk out. Never had he seen the outside of his room. The most he knew was what they told him and they said he would start therapy soon. Momota wasn’t sure what therapy they could even administer that would make his entire existence being fake go away.

… Or make the screaming stop.

At times, he heard his “classmates” screaming from outside his door, which usually led to a chain effect. The more he heard the screams, the less he recognized those voices screaming, which caused Momota to panic. He would eventually start screaming himself and desperately try to escape his room. It never worked. Someone always seemed to be holding his door shut, preventing him from seeing who was hurt or the potential cause of their screaming. He rolled his shoulders back, watching his facial features seemingly growing darker in the mirror.

Instinctively, his arm jerked back as if to throw a punch. The sensation of the glass already seemed present in his knuckles as he thought about what he was about to do. Maybe, just maybe, if he broke his fist through the mirror, those nurses would let him out of his room... Maybe then he could finally catch a glimpse of ANYONE as he was being carted away out there. Maybe… Maybe.... Maybe he could see Shuichi, or Harumaki, or--

Suddenly, a loud clang rang through his ears, stopping his fist right before the glass could meet it. It caught him off guard and he turned to the side quickly, but nothing seemed to have fallen in his room. With the night light as his only light source for the moment and being limited to the ground, it could have obscured the cause for all he knew. He moved slowly, his still heavily drenched slippers making disgusting slapping noises as he trudged along the ugly, beige floor. He did his best to ignore the noise now, making his way to the light switch in the main room and flicking it on to properly investigate. Nothing seemed to be amiss... well, besides the majority of his floor still being overrun with water. All seemed fine inside, so the only conclusion he could draw was that it was coming from outside his room. … Right?

Momota looked at the exit and wondered if it would let him out. He never once tried to open the door to just open itl, only when it was for the purpose of attempting to save anyone outside of it. Fixating down at the handle, the feeling of being helpless began to manifest, but he tried to remind himself that he wanted to be helpful. The dire necessity to save the people he cared about grew stronger, over taking all other thoughts as he reached for it. There was already that scenario playing through his head. The feeling of the handle refusing to give, frustration boiling behind his eyes at another failed attempt to rescue anybody... He placed his hand on the handle and pushed down.

Click. It opened.

The surprise completely threw Momota off, making him forget all of the frustration and anxieties from the moment before. Hesitantly stepping out, he stared intensely at the new environment that greeted him. The hallway was bright, almost burning his retinas, but seemed empty. He continued to walk further out of his room, slightly dazed, and forgetting momentarily why he even came out here. His eyes slowly moved across the area. What time was it, now that he thought about it? There were no doctors or nurses wandering the halls and all the doors all seemed shut...

Wait, why was he out here again?

The clang, right...

Nothing seemed amiss in the hallway. Maybe he had imagined it after all? Had he been so sleep deprived these days that his mind was starting to make noises due to his lack of rest? He had to be extra sure though… Besides, what if someone was hurt and needed his help? What if they needed him ? Momota began his walk, looking at the doors as he shuffled by. There seemed to be six rooms. Three that lined up on either side of the walls.

Each door had a laminated name on it, none of which Momota recognized either. He momentarily remembered some fun fact he had read once. “ You can’t read in dreams .” He reassured himself while also reminding him that this whole scenario was really happening. An urge to open any of the doors and see who was inside was ever so tempting. He paused for a moment to grab at the handle of the one closest to him, standing in front of it for quite a while, before he let go and continued on. He needed to find out where the clang came from first.

His slippers left wet footprints with every step he made as he rounded what seemed like the third hallway. Once again, Momota started to believe he may have imagined that sound. Maybe he was going crazy. Whether from lack of sleep or from staying in his room too long, his mind was probably making it up. He was ready to start the long walk back to his room when he finally eyed a door that didn’t match the uniformity of the rest. It was slightly ajar, a small bit of light peeking out from the crack that didn’t seem bright enough. If anything, it was more than likely the same night light that plagued Momota’s nights. He wondered if this was a mistake, if a doctor had forgotten to secure the door before leaving. The night light was bright enough to almost blend in with that of the hallway, that the added light may not have even been noticeable. Maybe the person inside hadn’t noticed the door still open.

Momota looked up at the door and saw another name that he did not recognize.

“Mizushima”. It was printed, laminated, and taped on to it.

With the door already open, it couldn’t hurt to look inside, right? The curiosity got the better of him and he carefully pushed the door further open, looking into the room. He had expected it to reassemble much like his own, but his jaw nearly dropped at the sight.

The room was the beginning of a hoarder’s nest. There were so many different items pushed tightly against the walls that some were starting to obscure the path made for walking through it. He couldn’t make out exactly what everything was-- but, he could faintly see a magazine stack, a toy train... and a figure sleeping in the bed.

This person had to have been here longer than Momota, given the mess they had, he was certain. How long could they even keep you here? Could they keep him here for years if they wanted to? Keep him from seeing other people who were not doctors and nurses dressed in white for the rest of his life? Momota gritted his teeth at the prospect. No, he wouldn’t let them. He’d find his escape route and get everyone else out too, even if it killed him.

Momota made his way into the room, flicking on the actual light without even thinking. He winced as soon as he did, looking over at the lump under the covers. They didn’t stir though, they seemed completely buried beneath the blankets. Momota gave a sigh of relief, using the opportunity to look through the room, and headed to the farthest end of it. He figured, given the possibility that if this Mizushima woke up, he could act like he walked into the wrong room. It may at least confuse them long enough for him to make an immediate escape.

He began to pick up magazines strewn on the floor, looking for dates, trying to get an idea of how long this person had been staying in this room. He felt his skin go pale once he realized the dates on some of them were older than 2 years. Could they have really been keeping someone so long? The idea put dread into his stomach. Had he moved from one inescapable prison to another? He shook his head. He couldn’t let that sit with him, not right now at least. Momota continued to shift through the room. There were clothes strewn about, some pamphlets describing different types of medications, and then some crayon drawings.

The drawings seemed childish in nature, but also too elaborate to be so at the same time. Momota looked through them and a sudden feeling of guilt washed over him. He realized how personal this really seemed to be, rummaging through someone else’s belongings while they slept not even 10 feet from you. For all he knew, this was their child’s drawings. He set the paper down, groaning slightly as he began to push himself up off the ground. He could come back when it was presumably morning, or when this person was awake at the least to ask questions.

Momota turned heel, making his way back to the door. His heavy footsteps squelching underneath while his eyes kept steady on the person in bed. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have almost believed they weren’t breathing. He was too distracted and let his focus stray on them for too long. So much so, that his slippers landed on a discarded magazine that had fallen from another pile. His footing lost completely and he desperately tried to regain his stance, instead falling forward, straight flat onto the ground.

Not only that, but while in this midst of falling, he tried to grab at a pile to stop himself, but only succeeded in pulling it down with him. He yelped in pain as his face hit the floor while piles of items quickly fell onto his back. Momota groaned, pain filling his whole body. He struggled to lift himself back up, items falling from him as he did and coughed out violent, suppressed air. Covering his mouth quickly, to try and dull the sound, he looked up to check the person on the bed but they didn’t move. Not once...

Momota began to wonder if the person was either deaf or just a really heavy sleeper. Maybe they weren’t breathing after all, a voice sounded in his mind, maybe they were dead. They hadn’t even shifted at all and he supposed that was lucky, but now he couldn’t even shake the idea of them possibly being a corpse. He took an unsteady breath, calming his coughing down slowly and removing his hand from his mouth. It was time to head back to his room, this night becoming too much for him now.

Then, the sirens were suddenly filling his ears as he looked toward his hand.

Blood.

There was blood seeping between his fingers, sticky and red. It filled his nose with the sickening scent. He wanted to vomit, feeling all the warmth escape his body instantly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They told him he was basically better and that his body would just cough once in a while, right? The doctors told him it was just an after effect, that he shouldn’t have any blood come up. Panic set in, only triggering more coughs to escape from his mouth. He got up and quickly rushed out of the room. The ringing in his ears sounded like the trial room, inside of the cockpit, the squelch of a bod--

He ran straight, hitting a wall in front of him. The world shouldn’t be spinning. It was supposed to be safer now, there shouldn't be any blood. Momota fell to the ground, coughing onto the floor violently. He couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in his ears. Not even the noise that sounded near the end of the hall did he hear anymore. Wheels squeaked their way towards him and a pair of eyes fell onto him.

Momota breathed in heavily, trying to calm down. Just calm down and the blood will stop. Just calm down and you won’t cough. He couldn’t die here, he hasn’t done anything with his life yet. He can’t die here, he can’t die here, he can’t--

Momota opened his eyes, looking down at the blood droplets that had made their way to the floor. He tried to breathe easy, to relax, but the lingering scent and taste of blood was going to send him into another panic at any moment. There were also eyes that he could feel on his back and he wondered if a doctor had probably heard all of his fussing around, coming to finally check on him. He didn’t have the heart to look up at them, whoever they were. If anything, they would just put him back in his room, or another entirely just to find out why he was coughing up blood again. His eyes closed, gulping down saliva mixed with the metallic taste best he could. Maybe he could play this off somehow and recompose himself.

He breathed in and out, trying to relax, but it was futile as a coughing fit erupted from his lungs violently. It burned as he doubled over in pain. A hand made its way to his back. It seemed hesitant at first, like it wasn’t sure if it should be there, before the base of it began to rub circles into the fabric above his skin. Slowly, it brought him comfort, his cough receded, and he slumped slightly against the wall.

The stranger didn’t speak. Once the coughing had finished, their hand was recovered. Momota slowly drew his gaze up, turning his head towards the figure. His eyes widened and stared back in utter disbelief. The figure before him carefully slumped back into his wheelchair.

The young man shifted his torso, his hands going to the wheels of the chair to back up slightly and give Momota more space. Dark hair framed the small, pale skinned face that Momota could compare to being almost as white as the walls in his room. Bags lay under his eyes, he looked as tired as Momota had felt.

He looked Momota over, dark eyes obviously scrutinizing him. The young man could see the blood drying on the other’s face. The stain caked mostly against his nose, which had turned a red color and was obviously going to be bruised the next day. It also held tight into the excuse for facial hair that Momota had. The young man huffed, closing his eyes before turning his head towards the doorway behind him. He could see the imprints of waterlogged footsteps leading into the room, scowling at the sight. His face turned back to the other man on the ground. “Momota-chan, what were--”

The sentence was stopped with a shocked noise as Momota lurched forward, grabbing his hand from one of the wheels. He held it in a vice like grip, pulling it closer to himself. The young man wailed, trying to pull away from him. The sleeve of his hospital outfit had pulled up in the action, revealing his wrist covered in yellowish marks.

Momota held his hand for a while and the young man relented to let him, breathing deep breaths. One… Two... Three... Then he could finally speak. “... You… You aren’t dead… Ouma…” It was all he could muster out. He looked up at Ouma, who in response had rolled his eyes before pulling his hand away. Momota let him, allowing his own flop to the ground instead.

“Oh no, I’m SUPER dead, Momota-chan! Didn’t you know? This is Hell! We’re in Hell. I guess you’re just too dumb to notice that, huh?” The sarcasm practically leaked from his entire being. He leaned back into his chair, grumbling something under his breath that Momota couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m not dumb!” Momota growled out, new life sparking into him. “This is a hospital, not Hell! Stop fucking around!”

Ouma sighed, looking back towards Momota and eyed him over. Momota wasn’t very much to look at, if Ouma were honest. Compared to how he remembered him, he was different. His cheeks were sunken in, probably due to the fact he had been on a feeding tube for what was over a month. Despite his skin being slightly pale at the moment, it still held a tinge of someone of a darker complexion. Ouma assumed a few days out in the sun would bring that color right back though. Momota’s hair was flopped sadly over to the right side while his facial hair had begun to sprout unevenly around what used to be a clean shave along his goatee. They were a dark black color, it seemed too. The blood was the same from last time he saw him, though Ouma knew better. He could obviously tell Momota had been having a nose bleed just now and not dying of some unknown illness.

This was Momota Kaito alright, but it was obvious the simulation had clearly gone about prettying him up. He wasn’t half bad looking, to say the least, but not as picture-perfect as one would have remembered. Though, maybe he could have probably gotten away to being as very close of a look alike if he wanted. Ouma had seen this difference in himself too. He could remember his face in the simulation at least and they contrasted the very slight differences in himself now. His body was much thinner for sure, much more unhealthy looking in reality.

“Why were you in my room?” Ouma tried to ask again, his tone much more demanding than before. “Don’t lie and say you didn’t. I saw your footprints on the ground. It’s pretty creepy to go snooping around people’s rooms, you know?”

Momota huffed at that statement. “Like you’re one to talk!” At least, Momota seemed back to his usual self. “I heard something and wanted to see if anyone was hurt! Also, that’s not your room unless you’re sharing it!”

“What-- Oh, right, you’re that dumb. God, even Gokuhara-chan wouldn’t have fallen for that trick after he turned on the lights. That’s just so sad, Momota-chan..” Ouma shook his head with a tsk, giving a pitying look. “You probably mistake department store mannequins for employees, don’t you?” He moved the wheelchair to turn it, yawning in an exaggerated tone before Momota could retort. “Well, this conversation is putting me to sleep! I’m gonna--”

Ouma groaned as Momota had, again, grabbed at his hand to keep him in place. He let himself sit still but gave him a look regardless. Momota wasn’t looking at him though, instead his gaze was transfixed at the other’s arm. Ouma tried to remove his hand now, but Momota stubbornly kept it before observing the arm back and forth, looking up at him puzzled.

“Why are you in a wheelchair?” Momota asked, the concern in his voice almost poisonous, feeling undeserved if anything. “Did someone hurt you?” There was an anger that began to show through his eyes, but it wasn’t at Ouma. That resentment sounded through his voice, boiling deep in his chest. It made Ouma’s heart flutter a bit, but he quickly suppressed that feeling away. This was enough, and he pulled his arm away again to signal that to him. There was a slight hesitation but Momota relented and let him go.

Ouma smiled a sardonic, tight lipped smile. “Why yes,” he said, familiar venom coating his own words. “Actually, someone dropped a hydraulic press on me.”

He regretted his statement almost immediately. The hallway grew dead silent, the buzzing of lights the only noise breaking it. Somehow, it made it worse. Momota looked as if Ouma had stabbed him right then and there. All the confidence and anger that had been inside him had disappeared at once. If this had happened before, Ouma would have maybe revelled in seemingly bringing this stupid bastard down a peg.

Maybe… Just maybe.

But, now... he just felt… awful?

Momota stood up slowly, turning his sight away from Ouma and glared down at his own feet. Nausea was rising up again and he felt like he needed to vomit. He could visualize the press, inhale that familiar smell of blood, and could hear the sickening squelch... then nothing. Only silence. The feeling of bile rose to his throat immediately. It was all too intense and he needed to escape before he puked. Before he couldn’t hold back angry, frustrated tears any longer.

He covered his mouth and turned his back on Ouma, wanting to move away from him entirely…. But, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to return to his own room at all. He stood there dumbly, trying to figure out exactly where he could go from here. There was probably somewhere he could escape to, a rec room of sorts. He began to let his feet move him away. Ouma eyed him before letting a groan erupt from his throat.

“No,” Ouma huffed, trailing after him. He attempted to grab at his shirt with one hand, the other attempting to keep the wheelchair going straight, but ultimately it began to sway to the side. “Wait. Stop, I can’t keep this shitty thing--” He apprehended the fabric into his hand, gripping it tightly. Ouma grinned triumphantly at his capture and looked up at Momota's back. “Where are you going? We were talking, I thought you didn’t like when I ran away from your conversations, why do you get to leave mine?”

Momota paused as he felt his shirt pull tight against his stomach. He didn’t retort, he knew if he tried he would end up losing the battle with his nausea. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the bile threatening to escape his throat, a sick noise bursting from his chest out of his throat as he took in a breath of air. Concern bloomed in Ouma’s eyes at the sound.

“I- Are you okay??” He released Momota’s shirt, wheeling himself so he could try and face him. Momota took this chance and made a break for it, going towards the trash can at the end of the hall. His slippers squished and squashed against the clean floors. Their wetness, again, being Momota’s literal downfall. He fell to the ground, throwing his hands to catch himself this time. His eyes were screwed shut as he began to spew out stomach acid.

Momota’s whole body began to ache, but he did not let himself fall to the ground. He let his eyes open for a moment, only to find himself back in the hanger. The walls were cold and unwelcoming, the sound of silence filling the room. He could still see the small, pale figure shivering on his coat. Momota could tell he was putting on a brave face, his lips tightly closed and his eyes shut as he waited to die. He waited for his executioner to hit the button and trade out a slow death for a far quicker one. Momota wondered if he would feel as calm when it was his turn to die.

He wondered how he could ever feel calm again knowing this was his fault.

It was true that Harukawa was the one to seal their fates, but Momota hadn’t the heart to blame her. He blamed himself. If he had been braver, maybe just a bit stronger, maybe he would have tried to confront Ouma earlier. If he could have worked out what Ouma was doing before Harukawa had a chance to even think of resorting to killing. If he had tried to understand Ouma better, or if he had tried to get others to understand Ouma better.

If, if, if.

Ouma withdrew at the sight, feeling his own body begin to retch. He held the feeling down though. He noted the fact there didn’t seem to be any food in the vomit, just acid. When was the last time Momota had eaten? He heard hospital food tasted rather nasty, but he didn’t think that would deter Momota’s ravenous appetite. Ouma gulped down and approached again, placing a hand against Momota’s back once more.

Momota breathed slowly as he looked up at Ouma. Ouma could see the lack of focus in Momota’s eyes, like he wasn’t quite where the other was. He wondered if Momota could see the fear he felt, looking at him like this. If he could see the uncertainty of what to do now, how his brain wasn’t finding a solution. Momota took in another breath as the fog lifted from his eyes, attempting to speak.

“... Your death… I didn’t want--” Momota heaved again, looking back to the ground. Ouma frowned, assuming what Momota wanted to say. He presumed Momota was saying he didn’t want to use the press, that he didn’t want to be part of his plan. A part of him wanted to be snarky and said he could have chosen to not do it if he very well wanted, nobody forced his hand.

“H-Hey… You’re fine. I… I don’t blame you, you know?” Ouma wasn’t sure where this nervous feeling was coming from, maybe guilt. It swelled in his chest, ready to burst, and he wanted it to go away. He looked around the hallway, paranoid. Momota was making more noise than Ouma ever did in the nights he’s spent here. Orderlies would probably come poking about, and Ouma wasn’t up dealing with them. He pulled at Momota’s clothing again. “Come on, let’s get out of the hall.”

“... To…” Momota gave a dry heave, trying his best to sit up. “To… Where?” His body shook, this vulnerability wasn’t something Ouma was used to seeing in him. He looked around, as if he had forgotten where he was. He wheeled himself back, releasing Momota from his grip. “My room, come on.” He headed towards it, looking back momentarily towards Momota.

Momota sat in front of his own bile for a moment, nothing running through his head. His whole body felt weak, he couldn’t find the energy to even lift his head. He heard Ouma cough, as if trying to grab his attention. He probably thought Momota was ignoring him, or out of it. He heard Ouma huff in exasperation.

“Earth to Momota-chan~” Ouma gave a sing-songy tone to his irritation. “You shouldn’t rest in the hall~” He continued his teasing, maybe hoping to rile Momota up so that he would follow him. Even resorting to saying ‘here boy, come on, who wants a treat~?’ Momota just didn’t have the energy to get up. He heard Ouma huff again.

Wheels squeaked away, presumably into the room. Momota heard nothing after, and could only assume Ouma had given up. So, he continued to sit, no thoughts. He was so tired, he wanted to sleep so badly, but he was trying to stop the exhaustion, trying to keep himself from falling into his own sickness. He heard the wheelchair again, it approached him. Momota wondered what Ouma was up to now, but didn’t have it in him to look at him.He heard a thump against the floor, and then tugged at his clothes.

“ Move. ” Ouma demanded, pulling harder. “You don’t have to stand, but you have to move. Drag yourself.” Momota could feel Ouma trying to drag him, trying to get him away from the puddle. He let him, trying to be as helpful as he can to follow his lead. Ouma drew them both to the wall closest to his door, groaning at the exertition. He reached over for a blanket he had, presumably, thrown on the ground, pulling it over both of them. “Dumbbass just sleeps in a hallway, unbelievable…” Ouma grumbled, fixing it carefully.

Momota was unsure what to do or say as Ouma relaxed, almost against him but not quite. Momota could feel his eyes droop close, feeling an ease overtake him. The blanket was warm, warm enough to distract him from the cool ground around him. He didn’t know why Ouma had decided to take to the floor as well, why didn't he just leave Momota out in the hall by himself. He wondered if in the morning he’d get an earful for it. Ouma yawned quietly, moaning about the lights before pulling himself more under the blanket. Momota listened as Ouma grew quiet, falling asleep from what he could tell.

Momota relaxed, finally being able to find it in himself to rest.

#kokichi ouma #kaito momota #oumota #oumomo #kokichi oma #new danganronpa v3 #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #writing

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