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askthefivefallen · 3 months ago

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"Please, read and relax. I shouldn't be too much longer."

... really?

I have no idea how long this will take.

Yeah, I kinda figured. What's your vision for 'complete'?

I don't rightly know; I've not yet gotten a proper look at all of Heaven.

True... but, if you're just trying to finish the city, you can use your imagination. Or just copy what's already been done.

But then it won't feel complete.

Look, the only places I've seen are in Hell, so I'm not sure what you're looking for here.

Show me Pentagram City.

Shamira closes her eyes, focusing on Ass' memory of overlooking the city. It's brief- her attention shifted to Emily quickly- but it's enough for Shamira to extrapolate. When she opens her eyes, she looks at the sand city before and begins walking around, musing, mapping out what she needs to do in her head. Once she has the mental picture, she sets to work again.

Sugar, first chance we get, I'm introducing you to Legos.

Legos?

And model kits. Miniatures. Bitch, you're gonna have so many hobbies.

None of what you're saying constitutes a full sentence.

You're having fun building things! You like building things!

I... suppose that's correct. I am having fun.

More importantly, you like doing shit I find fucking boring!

And this excites you for some reason?

It's good to have your 'thing'. Emily's got her Joy gig and reading and learning and shit. I like driving and video games and... honestly, taking care of the horses down in Wrath. I miss those fuckers. One of your things is building shit.

Ass shares with her a daydream. The three of them sit on Emily's couch in her living room. Ass holds a controller, leaning into the seraph's side as she reads a book, and Shamira sits on Emily's other side with a tray in her lap and fitting tiny little pieces together with care.

... Ass?

Yeah?

In your little daydream, you are wearing a tank top and shorts, Emily is wearing her sleepwear, and I'm wearing... workout clothes.

You haven't developed a good chilling out style but I'm not putting you in a suit for downtime.

That's fine. My bigger question is: why are we both wearing collars? And why does yours have spikes?

I didn't think you would dig the spiked look.

You know damn well that's not what I mean.

I think you'd look good in a collar.

But why are you wearing one, too? And they're both in periwinkle- doesn't that imply Emily owns us?

Okay, we both know she could tell you to fly into the ocean right now and you'd do it. I wouldn't stop you; I'd do it if she asked me! She does own us but in, like, a sexy way, not an Overlord way.

Considering all she went through to get you back, I would argue you- oh, damnit, I am not phrasing it that way.

No no, you're right, Em would probably wear a collar for me. You would, too.

... we both know you're right, so what's your point?

We'd wear collars for you, too.

Shamira's hands falter, nearly knocking over the Vee tower in the process.

I don't like that.

Got it! True bottom. Kinda figured but I wanted to make sure.

Ass, please-

This is just another way of getting to know you.

You could literally choose any other way.

Yeah... but... nah...

Why are you like this?

For one, it's fun. For another, because I have the feeling you're gonna be difficult about saying what you want and how you feel out loud. So! Getting these conversations outta the way while I'm in your head lets you keep your dignity intact.

... is it really? About that, I mean?

It's part of it, for sure. I'm also a little bored in here and messing with you is something to do.

You really can't find something else to occupy your time? You can't grant me five minutes of peace?

... Sugar, how long do you think you've been working on this?

Shamira blinks and rises to her feet carefully, stepping back. She hadn't noticed she'd been etching windows into the recreation of the Hazbin Hotel. She wasn't able to replicate the signage at the top- or any of the many billboards hanging off Hell's buildings- but there was still a very sizeable, very recognizable portion of Pentagram City filling in the other half of the sand city. Notably, she could tell from the position of the sun that she'd been working for... quite some time. Possibly multiple hours.

Shrinking in on herself a little, she goes to find Emily. "I, perhaps, lost track of the time. However, Ass is convinced I would like Legos so... I believe it's a net gain?"

“Okay, so the key to a good sand castle is a good sand to water ratio. If you have too much water, it’s mud, too much sand and it won’t stick. You want it to stand on its own but still be pliable. Like this,” *Emily squeezes a handful of sand and it keeps the shape of the space between her palm* “Once you have that, you can build it up and shave away what you don’t need. If you make a mistake, just add a little more and fix it.”

*She offers the sand castle building kit to Shamira* “Here, now you try!”

Alright, Sugar, here you go. Go ahead and summon your mask; it's your time to shine.

Shamira smiles, snapping her fingers to summon a periwinkle mask into place. It wasn't the same as her face guard, the fabric far more flexible and permitting her to speak, but it brought her a similar level of peace. She then took the kit Emily handed her, tilting her head as she puzzled through the various pieces. Aside from the bucket that carried the kit, there was a small hand shovel and several molds to build the actual castle. "It seems fairly straight forward."

She kneels down and familiarizes herself with the various components before taking the bucket to dig out a small pit, intending to use it to create a pool of water she could easily draw from and using the displaced sand to build her castle. Then, she went to gather water.

You know, now seems like a good enough time to ask- why sandcastle building?

I'm unsure what you mean with that question.

You're pretty invested in doing this and I'm just curious what about sandcastles has your attention. Not like either of us knew surfing was a bad idea until this morning.

Shamira gathers up water in the bucket and ferries it back to her pit, going back for a second trip as most of the water began seeping through the sand at the bottom.

I am intrigued by the concept and I hope to better understand our dynamic by experiencing the process myself.

Our dynamic?

Yes. We're very much like a sandcastle.

Sugar, I'm pretty good at reading you, but ya gotta explain this one.

Shamira continues bringing water, focused solely on creating her pool of water and conversing with Ass in her head.

Sandcastles combine two concepts that should not make sense together. Sand is malleable, always shifting, dynamic; a castle is not. The stone is immutable, worn away only after ages have passed. You are the sand- dynamic, changing, adapting, and yet you remain true. No matter how the ocean beats against you, you are still the same Ass, despite how much you've changed,l just like you may never walk on the exact same sand but the beach endures. I am the castle; I am set in my ways, virtually incapable of changing easily, and I fear I may be worn away entirely one day.

What makes you think you'll be worn away?

A few things. I'm not as strong as you- spiritually. It's as Emily said; you are a wild, blazing flame. I am not.

Just because you're not a flame doesn't mean you can't endure. Look at the Palace; that's a type of castle and it's been around ages.

... I suppose.

And, even if you're always going to be a castle, that doesn't mean you can't change. You were once a castle dedicated to Sera. Now you're dedicated to Emily.

I changed because you showed me how. In that way, we are a sandcastle- two things that, by all rights, should not be even remotely considered relevant to each other. Yet, we are.

Okay. Well. Couple things. First, whatever our 'dynamic' is, I promise it's gonna be stronger and hardier than any fucking sandcastle.

Noted.

Secondly, sandcastles, even well built ones, are still messy and imperfect. So, it's okay if we're a little messy and imperfect, too.

Reasonable.

Finally, trust Em's word. It's about finding the right ratio, the right balance. It might not be intuitive. But, if we keep working at it, we'll figure it out.

I believe that's a sound strategy.

Awesome. Now, you've been fucking silently filling up that hole with water for, like, ten minutes. Em's probably a little worried.

Shamira blinks and looks up, turning her head to meet Emily's gaze while holding up the bucket. "Preparations are almost complete. Then, construction can begin."

((@ask-emily-em-emmy))

#ask the fallen #ass (but not that kind)#ask emily #servant shamira #lutualverse #beach ep

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potsandpains · 2 years ago

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practically perfect in every way part 2

hotch x fem!reader

Part 1:

Part 3:

Part 4:

AN: alrighty y’all I still have no fetching clue what I’m doing I just have many thoughts and need to get them out. Perhaps it’s time I learn to proofread lol. This part is a liiiitle suggestive if you squint lol

Jack is 6 at the beginning of this bc I feel like it, and Haley is dead. rip. Hotch is around 40ish, reader is 25-26ish.

summary: Aaron Hotchner is looking for a nanny for his son. As luck would have it, the perfect candidate finds her way into their home and into Aaron’s head and heart.

/ / /

“Alright dude, we have soccer in 20 minutes, so I need you to clean up the legos.” Y/n hollered up the stairs of the Hotchner house.

“Can I have 5 more minutes please?” Jack yelled.

“5 more minutes is fine, but I’m setting a timer on my phone and when it goes off I’ll come help you clean up.” y/n replied.

“Okay!!”

He watched as y/n set the timer on her phone and walked to the kitchen, getting together the snacks and water bottles for Jack’s soccer team. Since Jack was so young and it was only recreational soccer it wasn’t very competitive (or very serious for that matter, Aaron had watched Jack shove dandelions in his shin guards and sit on the field rather than chase after the ball some games) it wasn’t the most high stress environment, but Aaron loved coaching him, even if it was just him practically herding the kids towards the right goal.

It was an added bonus that y/n had played soccer in high school and acted as his co-coach (and took his place when he was gone for cases), since she was great at hyping up their little team.

Any time he got to spend with y/n was an added bonus in Aaron’s opinion. She’d been with them for six months now, and she was the perfect nanny for Jack. She was fun and light and happy, but she wasn’t afraid to help Jack learn when he did something wrong and to discipline him if needed. She found ways to help him get out of his shell and be social, something that wasn’t always easy for Jack since he was on the shy side.

She was understanding of Aaron’s schedule and always kept him updated with pictures of Jack or a text with the rundown of their day. She made fun of his perpetual scowl and called him a grouch when he was too serious, but knew when to be gentle when a case was particularly bad.

The timer on y/n’s phone went off and Aaron braced himself for the whining he was sure was coming. Jack had been very independent as of late, and had disliked any kind of instructions or “bossing around” from his dad, especially when it came time to put away the legos.

He watched y/n walk up the stairs and heard her say to Jack “Alright friend, 5 minutes is up. Do you want to put away the legos quietly or do you want me to play some music and we can try and get it done before the song is over?”

“Can we listen to Encanto?” He heard Jack ask.

“Encanto sounds good! We just have to have all the legos put away AND have your soccer uniform on before the song ends, okay?”

“Okay!”

As We Don’t Talk About Bruno played from upstairs, Aaron sat on the couch in nothing less but complete shock. No whining? None? How on earth did she do it?

A short song later Y/n and Jack came down the stairs, Jack in his soccer uniform and ready to rumble.

“Hey! Ready to go?” Y/n asked.

Aaron hadn’t moved from the couch and was still in his suit.

“I’m - Sorry I lost track of time, I’ll change and then we can go.” He replied, sitting up from the couch.

After changing into jeans and a t-shirt, they made their way to the car. Jack, feeling a little impatient, tried to hustle him along. As y/n buckled him into the car Jack turned to the trunk where Aaron was putting the snacks and water bottles for the team and remarked indignantly, “Come on, dad, you're making us late!��

“Jack,” He heard y/n say. Directing her voice to the trunk, she said to Aaron, “We're good on time, Hotch, don't worry about it. If anyone is making us late it's the guy who changed his socks 4 different times. Be nice to your dad, dude." she gestured to Jack's feet, where two mismatched socks (one blue polka dots and the other plain purple) peaked out from his shin guards.

Jack shrugged. "I'm pretty sure they're lucky. Had to make sure they were the right ones."

Aaron got into the driver seat as y/n slid in the passenger side. “Since when do you call me Hotch?”

“Is that okay?” She laughed slightly, “I know I’ve only been working for you for like six months, but ‘Mr. Hotchner’ makes me feel like I’m reporting to the principal's office and since you’re my boss I feel weird calling you Aaron. Hotch seemed like neutral ground.”

He laughed at that too. Starting the car, he backed out of the driveway. “Oh-yeah that’s fine. My team calls me Hotch, so I was wondering if you picked it up from them.” He replied.

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Great minds think alike then.”

He smiled, to himself mostly.

“Daddy can I call you Hotch?” Jack piped up from the backseat.

“No buddy, but if you really want i have a super cool secret nickname." He said, sass evident in his tone.

"what is it?"

"it's dad," he whispered dramatically.

“I already call you dad!” He whined.

“So you’re a pro! You’re already so good at calling me that because you have so much practice!” He said.

Jack folded his arms, scowled, and looked defiantly out the window.

“Hey Jack do you know what else you’re a pro at?” y/n asked, redirecting his attention. “I think you’re a pro soccer player and that you’re definitely going to win your game.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Oh totally!”

“Do you think I’ll get to score a goal?”

“Why not? Tonight could totally be the night you score a goal. It’ll be for the right team and everything,” She turned around and extended her fist. “You got this dude.”

“I only scored on the wrong goal once and they didn’t even count it.” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “That’s what I mean! This one will definitely count. Are you going to leave me hanging?” She said, gesturing to her still outstretched fist.

Jack gave her a knuckles and was all smiles the rest of the car ride.

/ / /

“Come on bud you can do it! The ball’s right there! No-no your goal is the other one buddy, don’t kick the ball at your teammates goal!” Aaron yelled to Jack.

Soccer with six year olds was a great bonding experience for children and parents, as well as a wonderful test of patience.

Aaron and y/n were standing on the sidelines of Jack’s soccer game. It was about three quarters of the way done and they were tied 1-1. Aaron could see just how badly Jack wanted to score a goal, but Aaron wasn’t sure if he knew which goal to shoot towards. Y/n was to his left and making a plan on when to put in their two subs and keeping an eye on who looked like they needed a break.

A little girl on their team approached the sideline from the field, breathing heavily. She stopped in front of y/n and in a tired voice asked “Mrs. Hotchner can I come out? I need a drink.”

Aaron’s face went bright red and he pretended not to hear her. Suddenly the grass below his feet became very interesting to look at. He did his best to conceal his flushed face.

Y/n was not so lucky.

Blushing immensely, Y/n ushered the girl to the sidelines and said “Sure sweetheart, swap with Oliver here. Ollie, ask if anyone wants a break, okay?” She turned to the little girl, Aaron was pretty sure her name was Sophie. Y/n handed her a water bottle and knelt down to her height.

“Hey friend, I’m not Mrs. Hotchner. I’m not married to Jack’s dad. My name is y/n, you can call me that. Sound okay?”

Sophie shrugged. She didn’t seem to care. “Okay,” she agreed, walking back to the sidelines to resume watching the game.

Aaron was watching this interaction close enough that he hardly noticed the commotion on the field. Jack, his Jack, had managed to kick the ball far ahead of him and was now racing towards the goal. The correct goal, even.

Y/n stood up and raced to his side as they both cheered him on.

“Come on Jack, keep going dude!”

“You can do it buddy, shoot it!”

In what can only be described as slow motion, Jack gave a massive kick (the kind he would say was with all his muscles) and the ball made its way through the air and beyond the goalie’s reach and neatly into the back of the net.

They erupted in cheers, and Aaron wrapped y/n in his arms, picking her up and spinning her in excitement. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, cheering for Jack. Gazing at the smile on her face, his arms tightened around her waist and a warm feeling settled in his chest. She was so pretty. And so lovely. Realizing what he was doing and what it looked like, he turned his gaze to Jack and the field, back to Y/n, back to Jack and the field once again, and slowly began to lower her down.

Once more on the ground, Y/n’s arms remained on his shoulders as she looked up at him with a warm, happy look on her face. Catching his eye and realizing the mortification of his expression. She quickly retracted her arms and took a small step away from him.

He assumed she was doing her best to make light of the situation when she softly punched him in the arm and held up her hand for a high five. “Right goal and everything. Nice job, coach.”

He returned the high five with a grin. “What can I say? He’s a pro.”

/ / / /

Aaron took Jack and y/n out for a celebratory ice cream after the game. A game winning goal seemed like it should warrant such an event, after all.

Once they got back, y/n volunteered to get Jack bathed and ready for bed. “I’ll get him clean and you can get him to sleep,” She had said, “yours is the way harder job anyway.” insisting he relax until Jack was ready for bed.

Once Jack was bathed and Aaron had tucked him in, Aaron headed back downstairs to the living room where y/n sat on the couch, fingers laced behind her head and her eyes closed. Her eyes opened as he came in. “You okay?” He asked.

“I’m exhausted,” she said. He sat down on the couch opposite her. “Jack decided he didn’t want any help getting out of the tub and slipped on his way out. I caught him, but he tried to grab onto the shower curtain to catch himself and it ripped right off the rings. I’m glad he didn’t fall but it scared the life out of me.”

Aaron said nothing, just raised his eyebrows. He knew she didn’t need him freaking out on her, and she would have yelled for him if things weren’t okay. She knew he trusted her.

“I’m fine and Jack’s fine, it just rattled me a little bit. Remind me to buy a new shower curtain on Monday. I just-” She rubbed her eyes. Aaron thought she did look tired. “ I think I’m going to take a bath myself and then go to bed. Do you need anything else?”

He was sure there were plenty of things he needed, but he had no clue how to voice them.

He needed to apologize for what had happened at the soccer game. He needed to apologize for that little girl thinking they were married and that he might actually like the sound of it. He needed to apologize for thinking Y/n Hotchner had a really nice ring to it. He needed to apologize for how pleased he was when she gave him a nickname. He needed to apologize for just how much he loved seeing her with his son, and how grateful he was that she loved Jack so much. He needed to apologize for just how much he liked her and his growing attraction for her.

He shook his head.

She began walking up the stairs.

“Actually wait.” She stopped to look at him, and Aaron felt his resolve crumbling. “Earlier today you managed to get Jack to put away his legos and put on his soccer uniform without him whining at all. How did you do it?”

“Oh,” she said, leaning against the banister. Was that disappointment in her voice? “Ya know, kids are a lot more like adults than you think. Not many people like being told what to do all the time. Heaven knows you don’t,” she said.

“What?”

“You seem like you like to be in charge of things Mr. Unit Chief, even outside of your work life.” She looked him up and down. “Or am I wrong?”

He bit his tongue and let out a breath. “I guess so, yeah.”

“Jack gets it from you then. So instead of me telling him to do something just because I say so, which he would absolutely hate, I like to give him options and involve him in the process so that way he feels like he has a say in what he’s doing.”

Aaron nodded. He’d never thought of it that way.

Y/n continued. “I like to present him with choices that don’t really matter to me, so that way it doesn’t really matter which option he picks because things get done either way.”

“That’s really smart.” He’d been a parent for how many years and this hadn’t occurred to him? “I’ll have to do that more.”

“It’s a great tactic, and not just with kids. I use it on you sometimes too.” She smiled.

“Wait, what? You use it on me?”

She didn’t reply, only raising her eyebrows shrugging as she continued walking up the stairs. Something about the subtle up-down look she gave him made him think that when she said “outside your work life” she meant something else entirely.

He shook his head. This was crazy. He was crazy.

/ / /

It wasn’t uncommon for y/n to stay over on the weekends. In the instance Aaron was called on a case, it was easier if she happened to already be there. The house had a spare bedroom that was right next to Jack’s, and she seemed more than willing to stay over.

Y/n also insisted on staying because her current apartment only had a shower, and whenever she wanted to take a bubble bath she could stay at their house and use the bathtub in the bathroom she shared with Jack.

Y/n hadn’t been upstairs for long before Aaron’s phone rang. Recognizing JJ’s number he answered.

“Hey, Hotch. We’ve got a bad one. Family annihilator in Florida. How quick can you get here?”

“I’m on my way, be there soon.”

He went upstairs and got his go-bag together, going over the same mental checklist he always did before he left. Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, deodorant, razor- wait.

His razor wasn’t in his toiletry bag because Jack had wanted, no insisted that he teach him how to shave his face (despite his evident lack of facial hair) so it was probably still in Jack’s bathroom. He knew y/n was in there, but he was sure he could be in and out without an issue. It was probably just on the counter.

He walked down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, y/n. Sorry I have a case and I need to go.”

“Okay! Thanks for the heads up!” She replied.

“Yeah of course. Listen, uh, yesterday Jack wanted me to teach him how to shave and I think I left my razor on the counter. Can I come in and grab it real quick?”

There was a pause. “Uh, well,” y/n hesitated. “I mean there isn’t currently a shower curtain in here from Jack’s incident earlier but-”

Realizing what he had just asked, Aaron's eyes widened. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean- I just- I forgot- Never mind. I’ll borrow one from Dave.”

“No no no it’s okay.” She answered quickly. “I uh, I know how particular you are with razors and heaven help your team if you’re grouchy because you cut your face shaving” y/n replied, laughing awkwardly.

“I don’t get grouchy from-”

“Just- just give me a sec, okay?”

He waited silently as he heard light splashing and movement from inside the bathroom.

“You can- you can come in. I used a lot of bubble bath so I’m completely covered. You shouldn’t… see anything.”

Face aflame, Aaron took a deep breath. The bathroom was set up with the counter to the right and the bathtub straight ahead, about six feet from the door. If he kept his eyes on the counter he would be fine. Never mind the fact his son's nanny that he liked far more than he cared to admit and that had been mistaken for his wife at his son’s soccer game was right in front of him, with nothing but bubble bath and sheer embarrassment between them.

He eased open the door and kept his eyes glued to the counter, scanning for his razor.

Don’t look up don’t look up don’t look up-

“Where’s your case?” y/n asked.

“It’s uh- it’s in Florida.” He was having a hard time using his eyes to look for the razor and talking at the same time.

“Oh man. Florida. How crazy is it? Do you know?”

“JJ said it was bad, I don’t know much else.” Where was his stupid razor?

“Are you having a hard time finding it? What does your razor look like?”

He knew she was just trying to be helpful like she always was but he couldn’t find his razor and it wasn’t on the counter and he didn’t know if what he’d do if he had to look at her to answer her questions and he was sure his face was so red-

“Is it black and green? I think I moved it off the counter so Jack couldn’t reach it. It should be in the shower caddy. Hold on-”

Aaron’s eyes were still glued to the counter when he heard light splashing as he was sure y/n was moving to grab the razor from the caddy. It took more willpower than he cared to admit to not look up into the mirror’s reflection.

When the splashing settled he cleared his throat.

“Here,” y/n said.

Oh dear.

He cleared his throat and turned to look at her, and saw her sitting in the tub with her arm outstretched, razor in hand. She was right, He thought, She had used a lot of bubble bath. The swell of her chest was visible, but everything below it was completely covered in lavender scented bubbles, leaving her collarbones and shoulders exposed. Her hair was piled messily on the top of her head, her cheeks flushed pink (probably just from the heat of the water, he reminded himself), and a very amused look on her face.

Aaron felt the familiar warm feeling in his chest- just like he had at the soccer game. He was also certain his heart had somehow dropped into his stomach.

The long line of her collarbone, shoulder, and extended arm looked almost graceful as he tried his best not to stare.

“Is this it?”

“What?” He said stupidly.

“Is this your razor?”

“Oh, yeah it is. Thanks.” He reached forward and grabbed it from her outstretched arm, making a conscious effort not to touch her hand or any of her skin for that matter. Skin that he was sure that was very soft and smelled like lavender and-

He swallowed and made to leave the bathroom. “I’ll keep you updated on the case.”

“Hey, Hotch!” She said as he was just about out the door.

He turned around and gave her a lingering look. He saw her face flush, and with an embarrassed smile she said “Let me know when you land, okay?”

He nodded, saying nothing as he exited the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Walking down the hall and assembling the rest of his go-bag, he couldn’t get her concerned face out of his mind.

Once he was all set to go, he made his way down the hall and knocked on the bathroom once more.

“Yeah?” y/n said, a question in her tone.

“I’m- I’m heading out. Give Jack a hug for me.” He said through the door. He didn’t open it. He didn’t trust himself not to say or do something ridiculous if he did.

“I always do,” She replied, “Be safe! And hey, come home as quick as you can, Hotch. We miss you around here when you’re gone.”

He smiled to himself. “I will.”

He was determined to come home to her as quick as he could.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #jack hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine

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narcolini · 2 years ago

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when the crows come home, 5

parts: one / two / three / four & ao3 link

angel reyes x gn!reader, part 5 of ?, 6038 words, 18+ (alcohol use, mature language, etc etc)

a/n: accidental unavoidable break between chapters OVER and now they’re flirting heavy heavy (and throwing the “friends” boundary into the wind) so. enjoy!!!! (ps. next chap will start off where this is left so 👀)

taglist: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @yourlocalspacewitxch @ashlingiswriting @marissa53115 (i think you wanted to be added to the angel taglist, but if i’m wrong let me know!!)

A few days a week, that’s what you’d agreed on. A few days, maybe a couple weekends, just when Chucky needed the help. Just enough to keep you going until you can find something else. Money in your pocket, yeah?

‘I know you like doing shit with your hands,�� Angel had said, when he was trying to sell you on it. ‘Plus, maybe you could learn something about bikes while you’re there?’

‘Yeah,’ you’d replied, ‘I know what that’s code for, and I’m not cleaning your bike, tontín.’

‘I’m doing you a favour, asshole. It’s a good gig.’

And it is, and it was nice of him. Kind, even. He didn’t have to help you out like that. You never expected it from him, you didn’t think he’d have thought about it at all after all your complaining that night. But he’s not who he used to be, he’s considerate now. Learned how to think outside of himself.

He was right, too, you do like the practicality of it; tidying, sorting parts, fuck, even the math is fun. Helping Chucky with the books makes you feel useful in a real, tangible way. The whole setup is more rewarding than your last job, and way less fucking stifling. You spend more time outside than inside now—even the scrapyard office has an ever-open door—and that suits you just fine. It’s perfect, and something you’d never have considered without Angel’s suggestion.

You like it so much, that you’ve been here two and a half weeks already. You’ve even come in on the off days Chucky made you take, just for something to do, and, well, because it’s easier to find the Reyes when you’re on the clubhouse’s doorstep.

‘And this one,’ Chucky continues, bringing your attention back to the scratched phone-screen in his palm, ‘that’s at the strawberry farm. See, her hair matches the ones in the basket, look.’

‘That’s sweet, Chuck.’ You smile. ‘You should go there when you visit. Recreate the photos with her.’

Cherry’s the woman he’s met online. The love of his life, as he’s decided to call her. From the length of time this show and tell has been going on, you must be the first person to say yes when he asked, Wanna see her?

‘I will, I will.’ He’s nodding, with his eyes still down at the screen. He clicks to the next photo, then the next, then stops. It’s the oldest looking phone you’ve seen in a while, but you figure touch screens don’t mix well with wooden fingertips. ‘Oh, this one’s real special,’ he says. ‘This was the first time I saw her with her hair curled.’

‘Very pretty,’ you reply, glancing just long enough to seem genuine about it. ‘I think it suits her straight, though.’

He hums, but it’s more like a chuckle, something passed in a nervous way that makes his head bounce between his shoulders. ‘Everything suits her.’ He’s going rosy-cheeked thinking about it. ‘Sometimes,’ he adds, ‘I call her my goddess.’

‘Wow.’ You laugh, nudging his elbow. ‘I think you’re the guy girls dream about, Chucky.’

You’re fond of Chucky already. He was easy to befriend, easier to keep it seems. Once you’re in, you’re in, with him, and you appreciate that a lot. He barely knows a thing about you, besides the basics, and it feels like he’d do anything for you already, not that you’d take advantage of it. Well, you’ll try not to anyway. But it’s nice to have someone else to rely on, even tentatively. The longer you’re home, the more ties you knot into place, the less likely you are to float off again.

‘I think I hear bikes, Chuck,’ you tell him, as soon as you notice the rumble of engines yourself.

‘Right, yes.’ His phone locks, Cherry tucked back into his pocket at last. ‘I’ll get the gate.’

You nod and watch him leave. Through the dust-stained window of the office, you follow him, half-walking, half-jogging across the yard towards the gate. When he pulls it open, it’s Gilly first, then Angel, both decked in the usual shades-helmet-kutte combo. They’ve already been by once today, but they were in the clubhouse while you were knee deep in scrap iron, so this is the first chance you’ve had to say hello.

Creeper is waiting for them too, apparently, because he’s already standing under the bike shelter as they pull up.

‘The fuck did Bish call us back for?’ Angel asks him, loud enough for you to hear it from your spot in the office.

You screw up the burrito wrapper you’d been picking from and toss it, brushing your hands down your jeans until they’re clean. The denim’s stained already, oil and grit and more dust, always fucking dust. You go home with it under your nails, in your hair. Stamped across your cheekbones.

‘Gotta table again,’ Creeper replies, as you step into the yard.

Neither Gilly or Creeper have noticed you exiting the office, but Angel does almost immediately; his eyes catch onto you on the recoil of his head shake, his obvious disappointment at Creeper’s news melting into nothing once they do. Then, it’s just amusement, and relief, maybe. Comfort. You smile before he’s even said anything.

He nods in your direction. ‘You ever do any actual work around here, biche?’

‘You ever heard of union-protected lunch breaks?’ you quip back, arriving in the shade of the shelter. Angel’s bike sits in front of you, and you feel familiar enough with it now to chance a touch, toying with the grip of the nearest handle. ‘It’s not my fault you only show up when I’m on them.’

Creeper snorts beside you. ‘Union,’ he repeats, knowing as well as you do that it’s ridiculous. The scrapyard doesn’t even file its taxes correctly.

‘Yeah, keep lying,’ Angel jokes, while standing and removing his helmet at the same time. He clocks you fiddling with the end of his handlebars, but says nothing, before slinging his helmet over the opposite side.

‘I was showing off my Cherry,’ Chuck explains. He’s finally arrived behind them, having taken far too long to re-close the gates. ‘We got a bit carried away,’ he says, blushing again.

Gilly laughs, and not in his usual goofy way, but in a way that makes you feel hot suddenly. Protective.

‘She’s very pretty,’ you say, directly to him, before turning back to Chucky. ‘You make a nice couple.’

‘Right,’ Angel snorts, ‘the one from the forum. Señorita Catfish.’

‘She’s real, you dick, not a catfish.’ You want to add, I’ve just seen about four hundred photos of real, but instead you settle for a prolonged look that says: shut up, shut up, shut up.

He shrugs back at you, head shaking in a silent, What? I didn’t do anything?

Chucky waves it off, already heading back to his work. ‘It’s nothing,’ you hear him say as he goes, ‘they’re always on my tail about this.’

Yeah, you’d noticed.

‘C’mon, cabrón.’ Gilly slaps a hand to Angel’s chest, before pulling him forward by his shoulder. ‘We’re gonna piss Obispo off.’

At that, the three of them start for the clubhouse in long, boyish strides, each nodding a goodbye to you as they pass.

You follow anyway, two steps behind, and stop once you’re at the bottom of the short staircase they’ve climbed. It always feels like a point you can’t pass without invite, so you lean against the railing to catch Angel before he reaches the door. ‘You still good to help me move tomorrow?’ you ask.

He pauses, looking down at you from the added height of the porch. He looks tired, even from this distance, which you hadn’t noticed before. It’s in the soft creases of his eyes. ‘You got the keys already?’

You pull the keyring from your pocket and jingle them by your head. ‘Picked ‘em up on the way in.’

He smiles, nods. ‘Yeah, course. I got you.’ Then he’s through the door, after Gilly, with a half-wave back in your direction.

Meetings meetings meetings. It must kill him, really, coming whenever Bishop calls.

Who knew that drug-running requires so much fucking bureaucracy? From where you are, they’re more talk than action at this point. Always sitting around and taking votes on things. No-where near as exciting as it is in the movies, no matter what tales Angel spins. Before anything else, all that shit seems careless, hopeless. Straight up stupidity, sometimes.

It had come up eventually, of course, what the club really does. Angel hadn’t wanted it to, but there was only so much time you could spend around him and the guys before someone fucked up, and wow, they just came right out with it. It was Coco first, you think, who mentioned dope. Gilly who let slip about dropping bodies by the border. Creeper with his guns, Taza and the stories he told after a single beer. In fact, Obispo was the only one careful with what he said around you, and that’s largely because he doesn’t speak to you much at all. Just spares a glance. Nods.

You got a polite hello and a handshake when you first met him, and that feels like a victory now, something to cherish.

But you weren’t clueless anyway. You’d guessed they were more than charity runs and social events long before anything had been said aloud.

‘You knew?’ Angel had asked. ‘And you’re chill with it?’

‘I’ve not run for the hills have I? It pays my bills now, Angel. I have to be chill with it.’

It’s more than just drugs, he’d explained. More than heroin and guns, and all the other underground shit they do. ‘We stay afloat anyway we can. Keep the club going, keep the heat of our backs. Get shit from other clubs too, now.’

You’d stopped him once he'd mentioned the cartel. That, you didn’t need to know. Any detail that could get you killed, he can keep.

Christ.

‘Can you check this?’ Chucky’s by your elbow suddenly, pencil tucked behind his ear. ‘Think I fudged the numbers again.’

‘Sure.’ You take the open book from him. ‘Make me a coffee and I’ll finish the rest for you.’

Turns out, you have a knack for money laundering, too.

Chill with it? Shit, you’re helping them get away with it.

There’s one good thing that came from the disaster that was your old job: Marie. Specifically, the friendship with Marie that led you to meet Nela, her sister, who had an apartment with a room to let, and a very generous, within your budget, price. You’d said yes as soon as it’d been offered. Any fool would have. It’d get you away from home, back to your independence, and it won’t break the bank. What more could you want?

‘We’re done now, tontín.’

Angel’s pulling the last of your boxes from the bed of his truck, grunting like you’ve filled them with bricks, when you get back to him.

‘The fuck you got in here?’ he asks, leaning the weight of one against his chest.

‘Oh, that’s my collection of dumbbells.’ You take the other from beside him, knowing he’s rolling his eyes at you, feeling the gesture through the back of his head as you follow him up. ‘I should’ve asked Zee,’ you joke, ‘he’d have complained less.’

He snorts. ‘EZ’s too busy not having sex with his almost girlfriend to help you.’

You watch his shoulders as he climbs the staircase, up the one flight to your new apartment. He’s been making jokes about EZ’s new relationship since her name was first mentioned. As far as you know, they haven’t put a label on it yet, but all Angel does his roast him for their lack of fucking.

‘There’s nothing wrong with going slow, Angel.’

‘Nah, nah,’ he looks back at you briefly, ‘there’s slow, and then there’s pining for the same girl your whole damn life. He does that a second time and he’ll be fucking, eighty, or some shit, before he gets his dick wet again.’

‘God,’ you cringe, ‘you’re fucking gross, man.’

He laughs at your disgust which just makes you laugh in return. He gets away with everything like that. No matter what dumbass, high school comment he makes, as soon as he’s laughing, you are too.

‘Listen,’ he argues, and you can hear the smile in his tone without seeing it yourself, ‘I’m just looking out for him. I want my brother to be getting the best puss—’

He comes to an abrupt silence, stopping as soon as he crosses through the open front door. Luckily, you were a stride away, so you don’t crash into the back of him, but rather scoot around the side of him, into the hall-slash-living room.

It’s Nela that’s surprised him. She was in her bedroom before, getting changed after work, and now she’s in the kitchenette to the left, stirring a steaming microwave meal.

You know what he’s seeing, because you had the same reaction when you first met her. Camo everywhere, on every piece of clothing—even her pyjamas—blue hair, five face piercings at least. Half-lidded eyes like she’s drowsy, or bored to death. Or both, maybe. Something about her just says: look away, keep looking, forget you ever saw me at all.

Honestly, you quite like it, and her in general, but Angel is much less accepting of people you can’t read on a first-glance.

‘Hey,’ he says, clutching the box over his chest like a shield. ‘I’m Angel.’

Without looking from her food, Nela offers a simple, ‘Sup.’

‘That’s the last of it,’ you tell her, gesturing with your head for Angel to continue toward your room. You watch him trudge down the hall, disappearing into your doorway, before adding, ‘We won’t be in and out anymore.’

‘Cool.’ She shoves a spoonful into her mouth. ‘I sleep like the dead, anyway.’

You smile at the side of her face. ‘Well,’ you nod, ‘that’s good.’ You aren’t overly fond of tip-toeing around. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

She offers a thumbs up, before crossing in front of you, steaming food held up to her chin as she goes. It’s a curry of sorts. Not something you’d choose for this time of morning, but to her it’s dinner, you suppose. And, well, to be honest, the scent of it is making your stomach rumble still. She makes it to the couch, eating readily, just as you slip into the part-open door of your new bedroom.

‘They’re bout’a make a Netflix special about you.’

‘What?’

Angel’s by the bed, having dumped your box of books onto its mattress. He turns at your question, brows knitted in an exaggerated way. ‘Cause that chick is absolutely,’ he stresses the word, ‘gonna kill you in your sleep.’

You laugh, more from shock than humour, and reach to push the door shut behind you. ‘Don’t be fucking rude!’ you chide, but you’re half-laughing as you say it, making it lose all force. ‘She’s nice!’

‘Yeah,’ he nods quickly, ‘oh, I’m sure.’

‘She works nights at the hospital,’ you argue, matching his hushed tone, ‘I don’t think she’s slept yet.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I think she’s a porter.’

His eyes widen. ‘So, like, moving dead bodies and shit?’

‘Shut up, oh my god.’ You slap his arm, then push him aside with your hip to get at the bed. ‘You’re ridiculous, Angel.’ And you’ll never get anything unpacked if you stand here arguing about it.

‘You never heard of Craigslist horror stories?’ he asks, by your side still. ‘I’m worried, carnale.’

Worried in the dumbest of ways. ‘She’s Marie’s sister,’ you explain, ‘no craigslist involved.’

His arm brushes yours as he shrugs. ‘Who’s that?’

‘From my old job.’

He laughs once, a sort of surprised huff of air. ‘That’s Marie’s sister?’

‘Yes?’ You look from the box you’ve opened to stare at him, a book in each hand. ‘God, not everyone is a clone of their sibling like you and EZ. Nela’s cool. End of.’

You take the books to the shelf left by the previous tenant and stack them there. You thought maybe if you started right away, it’d be less daunting, but a few books in and you already want to stop. When you return to the bed, the box looks fuller than it did before you touched it.

‘Sorry,’ Angel continues, having abandoned all thoughts of helping, ‘did you not see the stuffed bird? She’s got a fucking eagle on the coffee table.’

It’s an owl, stuffed and positioned onto a curving branch. Apparently, Nela has an interest in taxidermy. Marie says her room’s full of it.

‘Angel,’ you start, turning to face him, ‘you traffic heroin into—’

His hand goes over your mouth, which you hadn’t expected, forcing the end of your sentence into the warmth of his palm. He looks over his shoulder like you’d shouted it, like Nela might come running in with DEA on speed dial.

Eyes rolling, you pull at his wrist to get free. ‘Sorry, you do CHARITY work,’ you say, in the general direction of the room down the hall, before looking back to him pointedly. ‘Better?’

His head’s shaking because, of course, you’re the ridiculous one here.

‘Relax, idiot.’ You shake his wrist, which you’d forgotten to let go of. He’s been on edge lately, meaner and snappier, and more judgey than usual, but comment on that and you’ll only put yourself into the line of fire. ‘It’s a nice, cheap room, and it’s out of my parents’ place,’ you tell him. ‘If I die and get made into a wall-mount, I’ll have gone happily, okay?’

He chews it over, and the pause makes you realise he was serious, under the absurd reaction to your new roomie, he really was worried about this, about you starting fresh. He still is, even. Any slight possibility of it being a change in the wrong way, is enough to have set him off.

Hm. You swallow against the feeling the realisation stirs up, pushing it back down into your chest.

‘Alright,’ he says eventually, and your hand on his wrist falls, because he’s moved to hold you by the waist instead, both hands to either side of you. ‘But if you do,’ he says, very seriously, with his gaze on yours, 'I ain’t buying you at auction.’

‘Well, duh,’ you reply, ‘I’m way above your price range.’

His smile meets the edges of his eyes, his hold tightens just enough to bunch your shirt, and then he looks past you, over your shoulder into the bathroom attached to your room. ‘I gotta take a leak,’ he says.

‘Go ahead.’ You step from his hold, waving him away. ‘Christen the place.’

He disappears on your blessing and you exhale, like you’d been saving the breath, once you hear the door latch behind him.

Moments like that were becoming more and more frequent. Lingering touches, joking that isn’t quite joking, flirting, really, if you had to put a name to it—not that you’d ever give him the ammunition of knowing it felt like that to you. He’s daring enough as it is, curious as you are.

You pull the short lamp from under the tangle of coats atop your bed, and step around the frame to set it into place. A new bedside for it to light up, a new window for it to stand guard over. You flick from looking at the lampshade, to the gravel driveway beneath your room. Second story, now. No lawn, no tree, no bending-grave marker of an old tire swing. Just rocks and concrete.

The toilet flushes, door opening afterwards. You hear him step out, belt clinking as he buckles it, boots dull against the carpet as he crosses the room.

Your cheeks warm, your gaze through the window still. You imagine him climbing into this room. Imagine him staying the night, with no parents sleeping behind the wall opposite.

‘You want help unpacking?’ he asks, close enough to make your neck go hot, too.

‘No, I’m good.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah,’ you answer quickly, facing him again. ‘Wanna settle myself in, y’know?’

Honestly, he’d be more of a distraction than a help, even if you weren’t being tormented by the thought of him in this bed. He’s all legs, and arms, and stupid comments, that would do nothing for you and the sea of boxes you’re swamped in. You need him, and that cologne that follows him around, very, very far away, if you have any hope of getting unpacked today.

‘Plus, I need to move fast if I’m gonna have this place sorted before tonight,’ you add.

He nods, once, then frowns. ‘We can do it a different day, if you want.’

‘No, no,’ you brush the idea off. ‘This is the day everyone can do, and I’m not having my housewarming pushed back and back until it doesn’t happen at all. Tonight’s good. Trust me.’

‘Alright.’ He pats a heavy hand onto your shoulder, then catches your chin with his thumb. The pad of it drags down your skin as he turns away. ‘See you later, biche.’

‘I hope you washed that,’ you comment, once he’s already by the door.

He laughs. Loud and shameless. ‘Nope.’

You groan and immediately scrub your chin with the edge of your sleeve. ‘Pig,’ you call, but he doesn’t hear, and you’re smiling anyway.

God. He really does get away with anything; recently, you let him get away with anything.

At least you have a real starting point now. The face wash is in one of the boxes you’d stacked in the shower cubicle, so you’ll tackle those ones first.

‘Okay, okay. Listen.’ EZ is quickly losing the crowd, his defence failing before it’s even begun—and partly because he’s laughing as he argues, his cheeks alcohol-warmed and round under his eyes. ‘In all honesty,’ he pleads, ‘I thought, I mean, come on, fucking Mississippi mud pie! It’s in the name.’

‘You were a fucking teenager, bro,’ Angel stresses, eyes as wide as they were when he’d first told the story. ‘Taking AP science and shit. You really thought that had real fucking, God’s earth, mud in it?’

EZ folds, collapsing back into the couch, a hand over his eyes. Defeated and amused all at once, chest bouncing with a laugh he can’t hide. ‘Why’d you think I always said no to it, man?’

You’re laughing with him, with all of them, from your spot on the floor. The place isn’t big by any means, and with the accidentally extended guest list you’ve ended up with, someone had to forfeit when it came to seating. You don’t mind though, you’re more in the middle of it here.

EZ’s sitting on the couch, his feet by your knees, and Gaby’s sitting beside him, flashing the smile that had become a defining feature of hers from the second you were introduced. She’s got one hand on his lap, and the other in the ends of her hair. It isn’t hard to see what EZ finds compelling about her. She’s sweet without even trying. Worth taking it slow for.

Creeper’s in the last space beside them with his girl, Lucia, half on his lap and half on the arm of the couch. You hadn’t invited them specifically, but you also aren’t bothered now that they’re here. They’re nice, chilled, and they brought a crate of beer with them. So.

‘Come on.’ Gilly’s turned the focus back onto you, from where he’s leaning against the back of the one armchair that completes the living room. ‘You really don’t have anything like that?’

‘No.’ You shake your head. ‘Honestly, nothing that even comes close.’

That’s how this had all started; a drinking game that had collapsed into a senseless, back and forth, exchange of embarrassing stories, which had led to Angel sharing EZ’s when you failed to come up with something of your own.

You pick up your empty beer from the rug and set it onto the coffee table in front, so that you can stretch your legs under it. You’re getting too old now to sit cross-legged for long.

‘I’ve never done anything embarrassing in my life, actually,’ you say, not even managing half the sentence before the words start bubbling over a laugh. ‘I think Angel should tell one of his own.’

Angel’s sitting in the armchair, of course, his elbows balanced on his knees, his head dropped enough that it’s almost level with your own. He’s drank enough of Creeper’s beer, and your whiskey, to have made his eyes glassy, shiny. Darker than usual, but gleaming somehow.

‘Oh really?’ he says.

And you say, ‘Yes, really. Damelo, tontín.’

He blinks. ‘Don’t say that.’

You cross one ankle over the other, then frown at him. ‘Say what?’

Creeper speaks to the room, over the music, over the conversation you’re having, ‘Yo, didn’t Coco say he was coming?’

You don’t answer him, and neither does Angel, but EZ says, ‘Dude wasn’t picking up his phone,’ so that’s the pair of you off the hook.

‘Don’t say shit like that,’ Angel repeats, ghosting the edge of his glass by his lips. Shining eyes on yours like there’s no-one else in the room. ‘Damelo,’ he mimics, tip of his tongue curling behind his teeth to copy the pronunciation.

‘Guess he’s bailed again,’ Gilly comments, and he may as well be in the apartment below, because you aren’t engaged in the slightest.

‘What?’ you ask Angel. ‘I’m not allowed to speak spanish?’

He shakes his head, takes a sip, then sucks in a breath like he’s short of them. ‘Not when you say it like that, biche.’

But you hadn’t said it anyway at all.

‘I’ve got a story,’ Gaby announces, before adding, ‘unless you were gonna go, Angel?’

‘Nah,’ he says, looking at you, but answering her still, ‘nah, you’re good.’

You turn your cheek, smiling at Gaby like that makes up for Angel’s lack of eye contact. ‘Go ahead,’ you tell her. ‘But I need another drink first.’

————————

Hours pass, bottles empty. You’d never thought you were bad at throwing parties, but you didn’t know you were this good, either. You didn’t know they could be so warm, so fun. So continuous without hitch. Mick never threw parties like this. You always assumed it’d be a no, I’ve got work to catch up on, no, the couch just got upholstered, so you never asked.

You’re taking yourself toward the kitchen now, well, the space where the appliances and countertops have been pushed into the corner of the room. It feels like a lie to call it a real kitchen, but realtors love doing that. Nela called it a glorified break-room. All it needs is the water cooler.

God, water. That’s what you’re here for.

You redirect toward the sink and then Angel’s voice is curling into the space behind you, your name singing from his lips like he wants something.

‘What you doing, biche?’ he asks, scuffing up the tiles.

You hold the glass above your head, an answer in itself, then turn the tap to fill it.

‘Water?’ Angel groans. ‘Fucking boring-ass drink.’

‘Future me will be grateful,’ you say, swallowing a hiccup.

You don’t want a hangover, you’ll have one, but you don’t want one, and any water you drink now could save you one less headache tomorrow.

‘You should have some too,’ you tell him, before taking a clumsy swig that spills half of it down your chin. ‘Here.’ You offer him the glass afterwards, wiping your face and neck dry with the palm of your other hand.

He approaches you lazily, feet heavy, height swaying. You’re both drunker than you realised. The thought makes you laugh, though it’s not funny on it’s own. Just fact, really.

‘Hurry up,’ you say, bouncing the words to him, ‘you’re in slow-motion, fool.’

‘Maybe you’re just really,’ he pauses, head nodding in front of you, ‘really, really fast.’

He takes the glass and swallows the rest of it, not as messy as you were, but still dripping water through his beard.

Your hands are up to his face, fingertips to the wet parts, before you even think about doing it. You wipe his beard dry, comb through and down the thick of it, then brush the hair above his lip for good measure.

‘You want shampoo, too? Conditioner or something?’ he says, arguing against your fussing, but making no move to stop it. He stands still, as still as the stupor will let him, while you run another pass over the greys of his chin.

‘I like the beard,’ you say, letting your elbows rest against his chest briefly. ‘Suits your head shape.’

‘My head shape?’ He laughs, you mirror it. ‘That’s a new one.’

‘What?’ You pull your arms back, and set your palms against the counter behind you. ‘I’m right, though?’

‘I believe you,’ he says. ‘It’s just a weird as fuck compliment, biche.’

Well, maybe you’re weird as fuck, you think, but it doesn’t make it out of your mouth. Instead, you smile, then roll your eyes and let the kitchen area feel like a different world entirely. It sinks as you do, pulling you down with it. You can hear the music still, but it’s humming low enough in your ears to be ignored. You can hear the others talking too, laughing and swearing like fucking sailors, but it could just as easily be coming from outside. It could be a part of the music, even.

You’re standing with Angel and that’s all there is now. That and the warmth across your skin, under your clothes, the spin of the walls and your head with it.

He’s watching you closely, glassy-eyed and hiding a smile, his left hip against the side next to you. Close enough for your thumb to catch his jeans if you wanted to.

‘What’s that face for, Ange?’ you ask, though you’ve seen it before on other people, you know what it means; your breathing quickens with the anticipation of it.

His head drops a fraction as he leans into you, not touching yet, but so close you feel the heat of his own skin radiating off him.

You tilt your face toward his, lifting your gaze to find him through your lashes. You wait, and he waits, both saying nothing, doing nothing, but looking at each other with an unspoken dare behind your eyes.

‘I wanna kiss you so bad,’ he says eventually, quietly, with a slight exhale like he can’t believe he’s admitting it.

Finally. There it is. A smirk tweaks onto your features at the confession.

‘Then you should take your own advice,’ you reply. Eyes, lips, eyes again. ‘Fuck it,’ you breathe, ‘and do what you want, right?’

‘Yeah?’ He barely forms the word, but it’s a question still.

You nod, you want him to. The fire beneath your ribs will only blaze for so long.

His hand goes to your face, in slow motion still, lazing and greedy with it, so you close the gap impatiently, your lips hitting his first. And, oh, that’s what it’s like, then.

His moustache is rougher once it’s against your skin, his beard flattens entirely now you’re pressing into it. His lips are soft, active, responding to yours and asking for more. You taste the alcohol behind them, tease the parting of them with the end of your tongue.

You’re acutely aware of eyes on you, somewhere, of EZ’s voice in your direction, but you don’t care; you don’t listen. You pull at Angel’s shirt until he’s standing in front of you, top button popping un-done, with his hips to your hips and the hard edge of the countertop behind you.

He leans back briefly, just long enough to look at you, at your mouth, your eyes, your face in its entirety, then he kisses you again, his hands moving to your waist. Your hips. Hungry at the edge of your thighs. His fingers hook into the flesh of them, just above your knees. He braces himself to lift.

You make a noise against him, a sort of, no, not that, sound. Kissing is one thing, but putting you onto the countertop, with half the club on the other side of the room, is too much. Too showy, too soon.

‘Sorry,’ he mutters, in the short gap he’s taken for air.

‘Don’t.’ You can feel yourself smiling, it aches in your cheeks. You go to say more, but it just comes out as a pant, another kiss, a tug of the hair at the back of his neck.

He slips his tongue into your mouth this time, pinches the soft of your thighs without meaning to. You let him. You ask for it. You push yourself closer in response.

‘Okay, alright.’ EZ’s voice is louder now, right behind Angel, and then he’s torn away from you, forcibly, by a firm, brotherly grip to his shoulders. ‘If you’re trying to make us all feel fucking awkward,’ EZ says, ‘you’re killing it, bro.’

Angel shoves him, breaking from his hold and trying to look annoyed about it, but smiling anyway. You know it’s you, and not the alcohol this time, making him giddy. Hot in the cheeks.

‘Fuck off, man,’ he huffs, straightening his button-down. ‘Consider it a lesson, yeah, how to get some 101.’

He looks back at you then, standing where you’ve been left, and you thank fucking God that you’re too drunk to feel embarrassed by all this. So what, right? You’re all adults here.

EZ groans, rolling his neck out. ‘You need some new material, bro. Can’t keep saying the same shit and expecting it to be funny.’

‘Oh, it’s very fucking funny,’ Angel quips, nodding. ‘Right, biche?’

You recover quickly, crossing the kitchen in two steps to reach the fridge. The conversation needs redirecting, fast, the attention needs shifting from you and Angel—and definitely from Gaby, who hovers by the armchair, pretending she can’t hear Angel’s jibes.

‘It’s my party,’ you say, bending to pull a beer from the shelf inside, ‘my rules.’ You stand and put the drink into EZ’s chest. ‘So drink it.’

‘What?’ His brows go up, but he takes it from you anyway.

‘Down in one, go on.’ You nod. ‘Consider it payment for ruining Angel’s housewarming gift.’

Angel laughs in a boisterous, victorious way, then passes EZ the bottle opener. ‘Get to it, hermano. You heard ‘em.’

‘Assholes,’ EZ mutters, head shaking, ‘both of you. If this is a thing now, you guys are gonna be fucking insufferable.’

‘Drink the beer, pussy,’ Gilly booms, weighing in from the couch. ‘It’s not even hard, bro.’

You roll your eyes, then flick the bottom of the bottle with a clink. ‘Drink, Zee.’

There’s no thing, no unspoken change. Only a kiss that had been waiting for years to be had. Patiently, too, hidden in plain sight. You just want to give EZ heartburn to take the focus off of it.

As he drinks, you find Angel over his shoulder and watch him take to the hallway in backwards, careful steps. He points a thumb behind him, toward your room, arches a brow to ask, Shall we?

Shall we?

You can taste him still, can feel the weight of his hands against your thighs.

So, shall we?

‘I gotta pee,’ you lie, excusing yourself from EZ and the rest of your guests. No one had seen Angel leave, so no-one says anything as you follow after him. No-one comments as the bedroom door shuts behind you.

He kisses you before you can speak, smiling into it now you’re alone together.

You pull at his buttons on purpose this time, wanting to feel the skin beneath, needing to see the tattoos you’ve only had glimpses of.

Fuck it, you think, and do what you want.

>>>>> part six

#angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes #mayans mc fanfic #angel reyes fanfic #let me know what you think!!!!

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lilacsandwhiskey · 3 years ago

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I’m currently obsessed with tiktok and tom holland so I’m obsessed with imagines about both. i think it would be cute if you do a tiktok trend with the boys but like the world doesn’t know about reader and Tom so people are shipping her with one of the guys? like from the tiktok? Tom maybe gets jealous or something ? idk i’m rambling haha

Thanks for the request anon :) I hope this was okay!

Heartbreak Anniversary

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: mentions of pandemic and COVID, cussing, maybe suggestive at points???, angst, jealous Tom, uhhh sucky writing and no proofreading so bare w ya girl n kinda longer than I anticipated but here we are :)

Notes: italics = flashback

If someone asked you how you managed to get a life as crazy as your’s, you’d simply reply “just meet Harrison and become best friends.” You almost couldn’t fathom what your life looked like right now - you sat in the kitchen with your two friends, Harry and Tuwaine, who had fallen into the pits of TikTok with you, while Harrison, Sam, and your beloved, Tom, sat in the living room, screeching at the television as they watched a game. All of this, while in the middle of a worldwide pandemic.

You didn’t officially live with the boys, but you might as well have. Your apartment was only minutes away, but with how communal your living situation was, Tom simply talked it over with his brothers and best friends, who didn’t even hesitate to scream yes when he asked if you could stay there. It was “safest,” he explained when he begged you to come stay for a while. So you did.

How did we get here? It all started with a little project, Harrison Osterfield, and him playing cupid.

——————————

“Clumsy, are we?” Harrison managed to balance you as you tripped over your own two feet, walking into the studio. “What makes you think that?” You huffed back, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Just get that vibe.” He replied, shrugging with a smile.

It didn’t take long for you and Harrison to practically become the best of friends. He soon was inviting you out to drinks with his friends, who immediately accepted you. Though you and Harrison’s friendship was strictly platonic, you found him itching to find out about your relationship status. “Should I even wonder, Harri?” “I mean, no. I’m just curious.” “I thought I told you before I’m not interested in a relationship right now.” You said, glaring at him with a smile. “I didn’t ask that, I was just curious. So anyway, are you coming to the pub tonight? I’m dying for you to meet my friend, Tom.” The excitement in his voice was too much to understand, but instead of questioning, you just replied with a yes.

There you were, walking through the doors of the pub at 8pm sharp. Your eyes finally spotted familiar faces who were calling out to you. You followed suit, inching your way to the booth at the back. “Y/N!” They called, urging into hugs. “Hi everyone!” You replied, taking a seat. Tuwaine was already scooting over your favorite drink towards you. “Told you we’d always take care of you! Anyway, we’re celebrating tonight. Tom’s back home!”

Your eyes landed on the curly-haired boy who had a gentle smile playing on his lips. “No need for anything big, I’m just glad to be surrounded by my favorite people.” Tom said. “Nice to meet you finally, Y/N. Glad to finally put a face to the name.” Tom held a hand out, gripping tight to yours as he shook it. Little did you know, Tom was well-aware of what your face looked like. He hadn’t been able to stop scrolling through your social media pages after Harrison had posted a picture of you, him, and Tuwaine on his story during a night out.

———————————

“So who’s this girl you’ve been posting?” Tom said, trying to be as nonchalant as possible during this conversation with his bestfriend. “Y/N, I thought I’d mentioned her to you.” Harrison said through the phone. “I don’t believe you have, are you like…” “No, no, dude, you know I’ve been talking to Grace.” “I know, but I was just worried my best friend had moved on without telling me!” “You know I would. No, she’s just a friend, we met during a project. Grace actually loves her, and so does everyone else - including your brothers. Have they not told you about her?”

Tom tried to think back to his conversations, only briefly hearing mentions of your names when he’d ask what they’d been doing. He couldn’t help but scroll through your pictures, soaking up every aspect of your life, well, only what you displayed. You had a dog, bingo. You seemed to be funny by the way you captioned your pictures, good. You seemed to have fun, love your family, and live a life that perfectly reflected how Harrison had described to him after he had came to the realization that Tom had already began crushing on you just by what he’d started telling him and the way you portrayed yourself.

Tom begged Harrison to be his wingman. Harrison practically scolded him the first few times. “I don’t want you to mess up this friendship.” “She’s not just a fling, Tom.” “Can’t you just be friends first?” Tom would settle for the last comment. “Fine, introduce us.”

————————————

Your conversations with Tom seemed so effortless that night. With too much alcohol in your system, you found yourself completely flustered by how pretty he was with his glazed eyes, rosy cheeks, and the constant giggles escaping his lips.

Though nothing ever happened that night, you found yourself spending more and more time with Tom in the coming weeks. Harrison didn’t mind as his relationship was truly flourishing with Grace. Weeks later, Tom had finally kissed you out of the blue and it changed everything. He was leaving for a few more weeks for filming, and instead of gaining the guts to make it official that night, he waited until he came back. It was the first thing he asked you when you reunited.

But, it wasn’t as simple as that. The logistics, the orchestrating, there was so much planning involved with what felt like should just be simple. Tom had fans, and sometimes they weren’t so nice. Tom wanted to protect you in every way possible. Though it was obvious you’d been hanging with the guys, since some of them had posted you, you had just figured that if you went out in public, you’d all go together and you couldn’t spend too much time just next to Tom. Posts were limited, it was all planned to a T. But you didn’t mind, because Tom made you happy and you knew it was for the best.

For a while, you did long distance. Your relationship had been based off of late night or early morning FaceTime calls, quick calls in between breaks, and short text messages throughout the day. It was hard but worth it. But this last time didn’t last near as long as others.

When word of COVID swept through the news, the world became frantic in all aspects. When everything began going into lockdown, Tom was sent straight back home from filming.

———————————

Laughter erupted between Harry, Tuwaine, and you. Tuwaine had showed you a both a video on TikTok he came across of a girl dancing in the midst of her friends to the song Heartbreak Anniversary. Though her coordination was obviously great, it was the reactions and how aggressive she was doing the dance that made it so funny.

As if on cue, Tom, Harrison, and Sam walked into the kitchen, Harrison mentioning that they couldn’t hear their program over their laughing. That’s when they found themselves gathered around the phone, joining in the laugher.

“I think we should recreate it. I think Y/N should learn the dance and be in the middle. It’ll be too good.” Harry said. “Me?” A nervous laugh escaping your lips. “For sure, we learn dances so fast, you’ll have it down in no time.” Harry was right - over the last few months, you’d formed certain hobbies with each of the boys. You had became just as close with them as Tom was, and one thing you and Harry found yourselves doing often was learning dances in the backyard, most likely disrupting the neighbors from your obnoxious cussing and laughter.

After protesting the dance, the guys had won and you were now practicing the dance. You felt so dumb, you couldn’t help but laugh. You didn’t allow the boys to see it so that when you videod, it would be their fresh reactions. And that’s what it was -

The boys circled around you, ready to endure the dancing. Right before, Tom had pulled you aside and reiterated not focusing that much time on him, though he wanted you to. You agreed, understanding the circumstances considering the world still was unaware of your relationship. To everyone else, you were just some friend that came to hang out every now and then.

So when the music started, you kept that little rule in the back of your mind. You tried to spend enough time with each, trying to make them laugh which definitely worked. You added your own flair to the dance, leaning back towards each of them, causing them to spit out laughter. You still found a moment with Tom, because it’d be too obvious that you were not trying to be obvious if you didn’t (haha).

Afterwards, the guys laughed over your shoulder as they watched their own reactions. “You killed that!” Sam exclaimed.

Hours later, you all sat in the living room, engrossed in your own thing - television, telephone, reading, someone was doing something. That’s when Tuwaine busted out laughing. “Shit, these comments are ruthless!” “Hmm?” You said, not even thinking to go check on the video you’d posted. When you opened up the app, Tom was looking over your shoulder to look for himself.

“Yeah, Harrison and Y/N are def fucking”

“Y/N and Haz 👀👀👀”

“Look at the way Haz looks at her 😍 obvi in love”

The comments continued. You cocked your head, watching back at the video. There was nothing much different between your interactions other than he was laughing the most - but that was just Haz. You shook your head, laughing as everyone but Tom joined it.

“Dang, Y/N, didn’t know we cared so much about each other!” Harrison said, giggling. “Right, just so in love!” You jokingly fell back into the couch, but soon noticed that Tom was barely participating in the jokes. Instead, he was leaning back, barely cracking a smile, even when you tugged his arm. You tried to shake off his reaction, not expecting him to actually be upset.

—————————

“I think I’m going to shower, wanna join?” You pulled out some sweatpants from the drawer that you’d claimed. “Why don’t you go ask Harrison?” You stopped dead in your tracks. “Excuse me?” Tom stayed silent. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, in hopes that his words were only joking but the straight face he was giving, along with no eye contact, made it clear that he was not joking.

“Are you being serious right now?” You asked quietly. You felt yourself beginning to get upset, considering you had never given him a reason to believe that for one, you’d ever cheat, and for two, that you and Harrison had ever had sex. He was well aware of the friendship that you had before Tom came along, and not only was it strictly platonic, but Grace had been in the picture the whole time.

Tom finallt replied with a shrug, which elicited rolling eyes from you. “You’re unbelievable.” You slammed the door to the bedroom, slamming the bathroom door across the hall. It may have been absurd, but in that moment you honestly were shocked. You and Tom had never really argued about something like this before - it just never showed itself as a problem. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been rumored dating each one of the boys before anyway, you didn’t know what was different.

Harrison had obviously heard the slamming of the doors, including the other boys who surrounded him. Sam pushed the television, looking around at the group, who was already exchanging looks. “Nose goes.” Tuwaine said, instantly pinning his finger to his nose, the rest of the boys following. Harrison was the last to reach his nose. “Aw, come on. You know this is probably about me.” Harrison whispered. “Guess you gotta find out.” Harry replied, shrugging.

Harrison slowly made his way to Tom’s room, slowly knocking before opening the door. Tom was laying on the bed on his phone, seeming that he was not phased by the events that seemed to have just occurred. “Tom?” “Hmm?” “What’s going on?” Harrison asked, inching closer to the bed.

Tom laid his phone on his chest with a smirk. “Why don’t you go find out?” “Seriously, Tom? Are we twelve right now?” Harrison huffed back, crossing his arms. When Tom didn’t reply, Harrison felt like tugging his hair out. It wasn’t very often that the two lads argued, but Harrison honestly couldn’t believe that THIS is what the argument was about this time.

Harrison made it clear time and time again before Tom and you had started dating that you two had been platonic from the beginning. Harrison loved you like a sister, but never anything more. Tom was well aware of that - so he didn’t understand why he was lashing out?

“Look, mate. I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but I can guarantee you, that if you keep on, Y/N isn’t going to like it. You have no right to take it out on her. You know she wouldn’t do that to you in a million years, hell, you know I’d never do that to you in a million years. If you want to be mad, be mad at me, though you have no true reason to be. Fans make assumptions all the time. You can’t possibly be upset when you’re the one who continues to vow her as a secret to the world. You orchestrate every plan with her to make sure that it looks like you’re not dating, so yeah, people might get skeptical. I’m sorry that you’re feeling insecure right now, but you have no right to accuse her of anything.” Harrison had no intentions of giving a speech, but he knew that it had to be said. Tom just looked at him, and for the first time, Harrison couldn’t get a read on him.

Harrison made his way out of the room, almost colliding with you as you came out of the bathroom. Harrison gave you a sympathetic smile before going back to the living room. Confused as to what had just happened in Tom’s room, you took a deep breath before opening the door. There was no doubt that you were still upset, but you also were bothered about the fact that this came so suddenly. Or had it? Had he been so skeptical before and you’d just never caught on? How could he not trust you?

As you walked in, Tom laid on his side away from you. You let out a small sigh, placing your dirty clothes in the hamper and walking over to the bed. “Tom?” No answer. “Can we talk?” Though you couldn’t see around him, Tom squeezed his eyes shut at those words. He finally turned over. “Hey.” You said. “Hey.”

You assumed an apology would come after that, but it never did. You tried to be reasonable. “I get it.” “Hm?” “I get it. I’m sorry that you’re feeling like this. I can’t say there haven’t been times I’ve gotten a little jealous or scared or insecure when you’re miles and miles away. But I’m right here. You have nothing to worry about.” “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have acted that way towards you.” “It’s okay, but you have to trust me. We’ve been together over a year now and this conversation has never came up. Why now?”

Tom took a minute to gather his words. He let out a slow shaky breath. “I don’t know how to put it into words. When I’m away, I long to be back home with you. It seems so simple to know that I get to home and you’re here for me. So, now that I’m home for longer than a week, I recognize that you have developed these amazing friendships with people who can be here for you more than me, and sometimes it just feels unreal that I have you - like I don’t deserve you. I just love you so much that the thought of you being with someone else ever hurts me, and I think that’s why the comments got to me so much this time. Y/N, I think I’m ready to tell the world. I’m tired of keeping you a secret. I want to show the world you’re mine, I want to be the one they make those comments about. Ridiculous, huh?” Tom let out a small chuckle and shook his head.

You grabbed his hands, shaking your head. “Babe, if it weren’t for Harrison, we wouldn’t be here. The relationships I’ve grown with everyone is over our shared love of you. We are so grateful that we can be altogether in each other’s presence and enjoy it because we all have a shared love. You’re so important to all of us, and that’s just how it works. I’m ready to tell the world if you are. I’d love nothing more than to finally call you mine publicly… and maybe go on a date outside of our backyard when this pandemic ends.” You say with a grin. He pulls you on top of him, laying a slow kiss on your lips. “You’re so important to me. Let’s show the world how much.”

#tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader

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lazyyogi · 3 years ago

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How to stay healthy during graduate studies?

The answer to this question will lead you to the real meaning of adulting 😁

Actual adulting involves deliberately caring for your physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional well-being. A child is cared for physically by their parents. Fed, clothed, housed, encouraged to play (exercise), taught self-discipline, and so on. Being an adult means figuring this out for yourself. This includes both the methods that suit you best as well as the self-motivation to apply those methods.

Physical care requires nourishing the body with proper meals, enough sleep, and at least a minimum level of physical exercise.

Caring for the mind means using it for things other than your studies. Mindless recreation is often needed to decompress but don't forget to also engage your mind in challenging and fun ways outside of your field.

For emotional well-being, allow yourself to indulge in the things that make your heart smile: socializing, reading, watching stuff, doing art, dancing, being with family, playing with your animal friends, whatever.

Lastly for spiritual well-being, it is important to keep all of this in perspective. All lives end, all projects end, everything ends. So what matters most? Not everyone will seek enlightenment in this life, but having some connection with the rhythm of the cosmos and finding insight beyond your small story within it is essential.

How to do all this while still managing your studies? Sometimes you can't. You'll have to choose between getting a good night's rest and socializing. Or you'll have to decide between a cooking a healthy meal and enjoying some McDonald's.

Know that one day doesn't make a different. Either one day doing healthy things or one day doing unhealthy things. What matters most is what you do consistently.

Another important thing to know is when you're not being productive. After a time, studying and working is just inefficient and not the best use of your time. You will hit a wall in which you are just not absorbing new material. It can be hard but you have to put down the books and go for a run or do something else for a time. Or just go to bed early.

Approach all of this with an attitude of experimentation. You wont get it perfect right away; instead it's about fine-tuning your approach over time. You'll find what works best for you and you'll also discover that may change through the years. You can learn from what has worked for others and try it out, but in the end we are all different with different needs.

From my pre-med studies to my medical school education to my present work as a resident, it is certainly a world of difference. I've gone from canned soup to meal prepping for the week, no exercise to running/lifting/yoga regularly, and so on.

Play the long game and be persistent. It will serve you well throughout your life.

Much love!

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impulsivefanwriter · 3 years ago

Text

A Tiny Spark Leads to a Roaring Flame (But Flames Can Always be Doused by Water)

Heeyyyyy so y’all know the Reverse Thanos Snap AU for SPBNR? Basically everyone but Smith/S!Kai gets sent to the M!verse. Everyone. The entire population of S!verse Ninjago City & a few surrounding areas. Except poor Smith. Essentially it happens because S!Garmadon tries to send Smith to a place where he can't mess with his plans, and ends up sending everyone away from Smith to take him out of the equation.

The second part to this AU is that the S!Ninja end up searching for Kai in the chaos and grab the Red Ninja before jetting out of there with the Bounty. Except... they didn’t grab Smith (who’s still home), but rather Red (M!Kai).

Red thinks the S!Ninja are babysitter clones created by Garmadon after he somehow turned Lloyd younger without his memories & is trying to raise him to be his new General #1. With this in mind, he pretends to be S!Kai, and waits for the moment he can rescue Lloyd.

What would happen in the S!Ninja discovered his deception/their mistake of grabbing a wrong Kai and mistake Red for a recreated Aki (aka Bizarro Evil Clone Kai) before he could enact his plan?

Well, this is that idea. (Title inspired by how a crack AU spiralled into a beautiful angst-fest)

Enjoy. :3

-----*-----

Red was going to get Lloyd out of here tonight.

Away from these Not-Friends made by Garmadon to emulate the Ninjaforce. Away from this flying ship built to emulate Master Wu's ship, so familiar and yet so off. Away from this false reality and back to the real everything where they could hopefully get his memories back and his age back and everything back to the way it was before the city descended into chaos.

He just had to... bide his time. Be patient.

FSM, he was bad at being patient.

His hands itched to grab Lloyd and run now, but he was horribly outnumbered and without his mech. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn't rush this. If he did, he would make everything worse. Like he always did.

But fate- or rather, Lloyd- had other plans.

The little version of his younger brother- yes, they were roughly the same age normally, shut up, Lloyd was still his younger brother- had been... eying him weird all morning. Not like Not-Jay and Not-Cole and Not-Zane, but like Not-Nya. Like he actually knew instead of suspected. These babysitter clones seemed to think he was the Not-Kai, and if that was the opportunity the universe was going to give him, then by the flames of the departed world was he going to skip this chance to save Lloyd.

Currently he stood on the deck of the ship as they parked in the sky a few meters above the docks on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't the docks with the Bounty warehouse, curse his luck, but it wasn't the endless sky or the empty ocean (though it was still too close to that murky, haunting water for his liking. Water was his sister's domain for a reason). At least he could sneak Lloyd off in the cover of night, maybe find someone in the city who wouldn't recognize the Son of Garmadon this way and would be willing to help them hide until they could make it back to the real ninja.

"Kai," Not-Zane spoke suddenly next to him.

Red would never get used to the way his voice... lacked the same effect the real Zane's had. The effect that Kai and the rest of his team had assured their friend over and over was unique, special, but in a good way. To embrace it. That it wasn't noticeable, but when it was, that it was so Zane that his friends didn't care that it was different.

This 'Zane' sounded much too different than his own. He hadn't recognized Kai's tested line of 'road work ahead' when they passed one of the many construction signs littering the city (even more so since the chaos happened a week ago), and instead had responded with 'a great deal of work to fix in the city'.

Seriously, Garmadon, do better research on your clones.

Not-Zane was also much too... calm. Too 'wise' compared to the wild teen that was Zane. And he walked without heelies or whatever Zane used to slide around like a boss, though he was still silent. And that meant, like now, he snuck up on Red fairly often- and Red was training to be a Ninja, so that took serious talent.

"Kai," Not-Zane said again, and Red finally broke his gaze from where he'd been staring over the railing, planning tonight's escape route. "Lunch has been made for over an hour. Are you alright?"

Red forced his brightest smile. "Course I'm alright! Just trying to figure out what happened, as usual."

Why Lloyd was suddenly like, 8, and without his memories. Why the Not-Friends were on this Not-Ship and had mistaken him for Not-Kai. Why the city was in a state of disarray and chaos.

Not-Zane studied him, then turned to give the city a sad look. "I'm not sure myself. My scanners can't seem to figure out what is happening. It is as if... blocked by some force."

Red winced, then expertly disguised the move by leaning against the rail. Zane never would use 'my scanners', despite how often Red and the others assured him it was okay. Yet another reason why this wasn't his friend.

"You know Ninjago City," Red said with a weak laugh. "Always one crisis or another. Always those annoying Garmadon Attacks"

This seemed to satisfy Not-Zane, who nodded thoughtfully. "This event definitely seems to have Garmadon's hand in the mess."

He patted Red on the back. "Well, don't worry yourself ragged, Kai. Come in for lunch soon, alright? We have training for Lloyd later."

Ah, right. Training. AKA what Red assumed was how Garmadon was planning to shape this impressionable version of his friend into his new General #1.

"I'm ready for training now, Zane!"

Speaking of Lloyd-

The little gremlin came up from the hull with the rest of the Not-Ninja. Red hated when the entire group was together; it was way more difficult to act as Not-Kai around them, especially around Not-Nya.

For starters, Not-Jay had a notch in his eyebrow that the real Jay never had. He was missing the iconic freckles, and the scarf, and the fluffy hair, though you could always say it was just a wardrobe change. What you couldn't change was the personality differences. This couldn’t be Jay. Jay was anxious and quiet, his jokes (while plentiful) said more timidly and his newest ideas shared with hesitance that only shrank after years of encouragement. He would never be this loud, ever.

Not-Cole was the leader, probably because Lloyd was so young. But even then, in Red's team, Nya would probably take second-command. Cole was their sturdy support, yes, but he was chill, laid-back. Ready to follow and support his friends to the ends of the earth with his tunes and occasional sarcastic wit, but not lead. Not like Not-Cole, who was more serious and commanding and didn't. listen. to. music. Red hadn't spotted a single record or boombox in the room in the hull. That was a tragic oversight on Garmadon's part. The members of his research team should be Fired.

And then there was Not-Nya. Who wore a dress with confidence that his sister would love but never publicly wear. Who had short hair- Nya had tried that style once, and decided it itched around her neck too much- and jewelry, and a giant flying Samurai mech suit. His sister had the Water Strider Mech, and Not-Nya had a flying combat suit. Sure. Close enough. Personality-wise they were similar.

Similar at first glance. Nya was fluid and adaptable to whatever role she needed filling. She was spunky, and as fiery as him when it came to tempers, though she knew how to keep hers in check (she had to, right? No one called her hot-headed and impulsive and reckless and blamed her temper for mistakes or damage or whatever the news comments liked to say about the Fire Mech). Not-Nya was also adaptable and independent-minded, but she seemed more rigid. More doing her own thing.

Point was, everyone wasn't actually his friends, despite how much they tried to prove they were. And they kept acting like he was this Not-Kai, who was just as hot-headed but apparently more mature and training-oriented and basically the better, cooler (or hotter, perhaps, for the fire theme of the red ninja) him, since his acting never seemed to fully convince them. Trying to impersonate a standard he couldn't seem to reach, some legendary hero he wasn't- er, wasn't yet! Yeah! He just needed to prove himself, be better, and he'd be fine. Just... fine. Yeah.

Mini-Lloyd (Red was tempted to call him L'ilyod in his head, but that felt wrong somehow, like he was infringing on some kind of copyright law) stared at him like a goddamn falcon, and he wasn't talking about the bird that circled the ship. He had this bowl-cut Red would tease him about endlessly after all this was over- seriously, how had Mr. Fabulous Hair started with this mess? Garmadon probably didn't even have hair, so there was no way the guy knew how to style it, and it was very evident based on Mini-Lloyd's hairdo.

Red noticed that all of them were staring, actually. Despite his relaxed rest against the rails, his fingers behind his back clutched the cool bar with a dull shake. He didn't notice how the metal seemed to glow red under his touch.

"Training, right, we should get onto that," Red tried. "What do you want to start with, Lloyd?"

"How about a little game?" Lloyd asked with complete innocence. "What we were playing last week before we got interrupted."

Oh sh!t.

"I-I don't know, shouldn't we start with stretches? Or how about some sparring, that's always more fun than a game!"

"But I wanted to continue our game..." Mini Lloyd said, and FSM's sake, he couldn't deal with that pouting look.

Okay. Okay, don't panic. Think logically. What kind of game would an 8-year-old Lloyd like to play with him? Something physical, so no board games- he liked to test his mettle against Zane on those, and sometimes he would almost not-lose. Logic puzzles also fell more on Jay's area. Trivia, especially music trivia, was a bubble between the anxious motormouth and Cole. Video games fell on team building, and wouldn't classify as a training warmup.

"Well," Red said, taking a hopeful stab in the dark. "There's not too much space on the deck for... tag..."

Lloyd nodded, looking satisfied. The Not-Ninja looked- well, their expressions were hard to read because of how different it was compared to his friends. But Red was a master of deception (well, fire, but eh, technicalities), and he had them fooled, and he just had to keep it up until nightfall so he could rescue Lloyd and explain in a safe location-

"HE'S NOT KAI!"

Orrrrr improvise. Okay, yep, he could improvise.

Red lunged forward and grabbed Mini Lloyd's wrist from where he had his hand extended in an accusatory point. He ducked under Not-Jay's attempts to grab him- fast, but not as fast as his Jay, his Jay who could disappear from an awkward social interaction in the span of a flickering lightbulb- and dragged his younger brother with him as he vaulted over the railing. Not-Zane almost managed to yank him back onto the Not-ship, but his icy grip caught only empty air as Red pulled Lloyd into a tight hold and ducked.

He hit the dock below with a stumble, rolling back onto his feet and taking off with a very stubborn green ninja in tow. It took all his strength to drag Lloyd (kicking and screaming like he was being kidnapped or something when Red was just trying to rescue him, for FSM's sake. Lloyd didn't know that, but he could still try to be at least a little more considerate.)

The wooden docks creaked and shuddered underfoot and Red grimaced; whoever rebuilt them after the latest Garmadon attack had shredded them like newspaper clearly hadn't wasted any unnecessary change. It certainly didn't help that Lloyd packed quite the punch for someone so small. Red definitely would come out of this with bruised shins and arms from where Mini Lloyd tried to push him away, but it would be worth it to keep his teammate, his younger brother, safe.

Then green filled his vision and broke his hold on Lloyd's wrist, sending him skidding across the dock planks as he was sent flying. When he finally rolled to a stop, neck and shoulder stinging from where the blast had caught him (no burns, just jitters like he'd been shocked), he had to take a few seconds to re-orient himself. Did the Not-Ship have cannons or something? What hit him from behind, so close it could have hit Lloyd?

Lloyd. Was Lloyd okay?

Red pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the bleeding scrapes on his hands and legs from where he'd gotten banged up by the splintered docks. His gaze, sharp and frantic, searched for signs of green. The warning of more blasts, the flash of the fabric of a gi, anything.

He spotted his brother in the arms of Not-Cole. No, no, no-

And suddenly Not-Nya was there, given a boost by Not-Jay. Her grip was as if she were wearing the robotic mech suit, harsh and powerful and near in-human. She threw Red back to the dock floor as her face twisted with the fury of a storming ocean. A resounding crack rang out over the harbour.

Red couldn't tell if it came from the planks under him or his own shoulder.

She pinned him to the wood, barking accusations and threats in his face faster than Not-Jay could talk. Red blinked through a haze of pain, trying to focus on her face and words. She was missing the beauty mark on her face, he noticed. Yet another tell she wasn't his sister.

"-scar on the wrong side-" And it was hard to hear again over the ringing in his ears. He tried to throw her off, get back to Lloyd, anything, but he was-

Useless.

Her hands suddenly got in his face, slamming his left cheek to the wood. She was close- close to his face, close to his eye, close to his scar- pushing and prying as she tried to do something. Red picked up in his struggling, his attempts to free himself turning to desperate shoves and wild clawing like a trapped animal. He wouldn't let this creation of Garmadon's finish the job that teen had started all those years ago.

"Or better yet, he needs to shut his damn mouth."

The flash of a knife. His vision half-blurry. Blood- so much blood- and a lasting scar.

"-contacts-" "-red-" "-struggling-" "-we know what he- it- is already-" "-not the real Kai-" "-wish-" "-Garmadon-"

He had to get away. Get Lloyd away from them now.

In one surge of strength- and yep, his shoulder definitely wasn't okay after that move, as if he'd ripped it not just from its socket but from its very attachment to his body- he knocked Not-Nya aside. If he could’ve seen through the red haze, he might have noticed red embers dancing around his fingertips as his desperation and fear tapped into something deep in his soul.

He tried to shoot to his feet, tried to run for Lloyd (held so tight in Not-Cole's grip, surely they were hurting him, he couldn't let that happen-). He roared, "LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!", but before he could take another step through Not-Jay and Not-Zane in his path, the docks gave one last ominous shudder before deciding it had finally had enough.

The planks crumbled underfoot like charred firewood in a crackling campfire, and Red was sent tumbling into the frigid ocean water below.

#spbnr #reverse Thanos snap au #reverse thanos snap #ninjago #lego ninjago #same People but not really #kai ninjago

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thatslikely · 4 years ago

Text

Seasons- G.W. Headcannons

dating George Weasley through the seasons

Warnings: mentions of food, but it's all fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: just thought it would be fun! Let me know if you want this for any other characters!

George Taglist: @hufflepuff5972

if you want to be added to the taglist, reply to this post, send me an ask, or dm me!

I recommend listening to this playlist while reading for the best experience!

----

Winter

On the first snowfall of the season, you two definitely built an adorable little snowman, complete with coal eyes (you probably stole Ron's scarf for his neck). You told George about the muggle story Frosty the Snowman, and he tried to find a spell to recreate Frosty.

The next day, you two gradually started amassing a large snowman army. Inevitably, in the middle of construction, George betrayed you with an icy snowball to your back.

Naturally, this incited a five day-long snowball war that increasingly got more and more intense. George was surprisingly good at building sturdy snow forts, so you never really stood a chance against his defences. He could have probably constructed a 7 foot tall barricade in a matter of minutes!

Even if you two are locked in battle, he'll always take time to admire the way the white snowflakes rest in your hair so beautifully, as well as the fiery determination behind your eyes.

Fiesty battles aside, George always made sure that you were warm and cozy after a long day in the cold, making homemade hot cocoa using Molly's famous recipe.

One day, long after the ‘Snow Skirmish’, you convince him to go ice skating with you; he absolutely fell in love with it. For a while, he had to hold onto your arms for balance, which led to a lot of falls considering he's a giant compared to you.

Eventually he got the hang of it and you taught him how to play muggle hockey, which he picked up quite quickly. He eventually got all the Weasleys hooked, and they held weekly tournaments. You were always George's favorite cheerleader.

If he ever became a little too cocky, he'd fall face-first onto the hard ice, which always brought a small smile to your face. He always laughed with you, too.

On snowless days, however, you two went on 'expeditions', which entailed peaceful walks through the woods, hand-knitted gloves intertwined.

You'd always keep your eyes peeled for birds or foxes, and occasionally he swore he saw a yeti. You were surprised he never got Fred to dress up in a yeti suit, at least not yet.

Spring

One word: picnics.

You spent the majority of springtime down at the Burrow, enjoying the pleasant spring weather. There were huge multicolored flower fields surrounding George's childhood home, making it even more fitting for the season.

Some days, he'd take you down to the creek past the Burrow, and the two of you would stand ankle-deep in the cool, flowing water. Sometimes, if he was feeling a bit mischievious, he’d splash you with some of the refreshing water, you quickly returning the favor.

Occasionally, he'd try to catch a little leaping frog, holding it carefully in his big palms. He was enchanted by the tiny creature, and without fail, he always begged you to let him keep it.

"But Terrance needs a home! We can make him a terrarium and everything! Please?"

Some days, he'd take you up to the Tree, which laid on a soft, grassy hill in the middle of a luscious yellow flower field. A single tire swing hung from its burly and ancient branches.

Often times, he'd sit at the base of the trunk, either dozing off or humming a song from his youth. If you chose to sit with him, however, he'd braid your hair perfectly and pick some colorful flowers to accent it.

"My little Angel, you look so pretty with flowers in your hair."

You'd always pick some petals for his ginger mop, too.

"Now we're matching, Georgie. Daffodils compliment your hair beautifully."

He loved to push you in the tire swing. He was far too big to fit in it now, to your dismay, but he was perfectly satisfied pushing you back and forth in it. It almost reminded him of rocking a baby cradle.

On rainy days, he'd fetch old rain boots from the attic. He'd always wear Bill's old pair, you wearing his'. The area around the small creek was all muddy, and you can't tell me he wouldn't make mud pies. Even if he's way too old for them.

"Darling, would you care for a pie?"

"And what does it taste like, exactly?"

"It's my signature flavor, mud!"

Summer

I firmly believe George is a good cook. He just is (see my chef!George fic for elabroation).

One sweltering day, you and him went out to the gardens and pick ripe, ruby-red strawberries to chop up and make into homemade strawberry ice cream.

His ice cream would surpass Fortescue's by a lot. Like it's scary. From then on, he made it every Saturday morning, even on chilly winter days.

Sometimes he'd turn adventurous and try some new flavors, which were normally pretty good, until he got a little too creative and made caramel watermelon ice cream. From then on, he stuck with the classics.

In the evenings, a small bonfire was lit and all the Weasleys spent the night drinking and dancing. Bill held a guitar concert, George and Arthur grilled up some hot dogs (which were juicy and delcious), Fred set off some fireworks, and Ginny held fiercely competitive broom races.

When everyone went inside, exhausted, you and George stayed outside, listening to the crickets chirping and admiring the clear, country sky. He pointed out his favorite constellations to you, reenacting the myths behind them with you as his co-actor (you can't tell me we wouldn't let you fake-stab him and he'd fall to the grass super dramatically).

Beach days: a must have.

George would definitely wear red/maroon swim trunks, and there would always be a white stripe of sunscreen on his freckled nose, even after he furiously rubbed it in.

He'd always love the bathing suit you sported, whether it was a gingham bikini or a gorgeous silver one piece. He loved you so much, you never felt self conscious around him.

He'd take you to a secret, tucked-away beach, and you two would spend the day building elaborate sand castles, burying you deep in the sand, and searching for pretty sea shells and sand dollars.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mister? You can’t just leave me buried under the san like this!”

“Someone’ll find you eventually. I just want all the icecream for myself, what can I say? Oh fine, I’ll dig you up, darling.”

Autumn

Autumn at the Burrow was like nothing else. There was always a seemingly endless supply of pumpkin juice and apple juice on tap, and traditions were ampted up to the max.

Pumpkin carving was taken very seriously, and you and George were no exceptions. You and him were never artsy per se, but you always tried your hardest together to crave an intricately designed pumpkin. It always turned out pretty decent, to your surprise.

George and Fred would constantly wear scary masks and hide around he Burrow, or plant fake spiders in the cupboards in hopes of scaring Ron. It always worked.

Since the weather was so nice and chilly, he'd always go around the woods with you collecting a pile of some good sticks for a tree fort. He always carried the branches, and you collected the prettiest orange leaves you could find, for a collage or scrapbook.

All fall, he worked on building a small, secluded tree fort, which was definitely worth it in the end. You two stayed up late into the night, telling ghost stories, kissing, or inviting the whole Weasley clan for a good old fashioned game of Truth or Dare.

As for Halloween, you guys already know he goes overboard. He decorated every inch of every wall with black and orange streamers, fake cobwebs, and little baby pumpkins. It was always really sweet; he'd always wear a proud grin after the whole house was adorned to his liking.

For costumes, I'm 99% sure that you two would always do pun-y couple costumes think him dressing up as a cereal box and you as a killer, or him as a ghost and you a pepper).

You two would also 100% go to a costume store, and buy as much cheap hair gel as you could, all so you two could make each spiky Mohawks (you'd never admit it to George, but he pulled them off).

One time, he let you take him to a muggle farm for the day. You decided it would be fun to do a corn maze. The both of you got lost for three hours. From then on, he just stuck with hay rides.

Spending time with George was always fun, year-round.

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tanjamikaelson · 3 years ago

Text

BITTERSWEET - CHAPTER 6

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 6: | THERE YOU GO AGAIN MAKING ME LOVE YOU |

In the living room, Klaus was being creative working on an abstract painting on an easel when Rebekah entered the room, or so he thought it was Rebekah. It was actually Esther possessing her body.

“What took you so long?” Klaus asked, not looking up from his painting.

“Alaric didn't want to hand over the stake.” Rebekah said, showing him a stake, “Luckily I'm quite the charmer.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow, “That's it?”

“The last of the white oak stakes that can kill us.” Rebekah confirmed, “Do you want to do the honors or shall I?”

Klaus put the paintbrush down before he took the stake from Rebekah and threw it into the flames in the fireplace. The flames flared up around the stake.

“Well that's that then.” Rebekah stated.

“Pack your bags, we're leaving.” Klaus announced.

“Today?” Rebekah asked nervously.

Klaus shrugged, “Why not? There's nothing keeping us here. We'll grab the doppelganger and be off by sunset.”

“But tonight is the decade dance.” Rebekah told him.

“So?” Klaus asked, uninterested.

Rebekah scoffed, “So, I'm head of the committee, we have to go.”

Klaus rolled his eyes, “I'm not going to any dance.”

“Lorena said she will be there.” Rebekah said teasingly, “Maybe you could use that opportunity and sweep off her feet like you did in the 1920s.”

Klaus sighed, “Okay, fine. One last hoorah.” he said smiling.

Rebekah smiled back, “One last hoorah, Nik.”

・ • ・ • ・

"Check the front door." Lorena read a message from Klaus and wondered why he sent her that, just then when she heard a doorbell. She walked towards the door and opened them, but no one was there, except for one box. Lorena took it, guessing that Klaus' message was about that.

She opened a box and there was a beautiful white dress from the 20s, there was also a card with Klaus' writing, "Would you want to go to a 20s decade dance with me?"

Lorena dialed his number and as soon as he answered she said, "Are you seriously inviting me to a high school dance?"

"Rebekah told me that you want to go." Klaus told her.

"What? I told her that I don’t want to go.” Lorena replied confused.

Klaus smiled, “Well this will be our last night here so that’s the least we can do for her."

"Wow, how nice of you.” Lorena said in a sarcastic tone, “I didn’t know that you’re leaving."

"We are. You, me and Rebekah." Klaus told her.

"I don't think she would want to leave." Lorena replied.

"Well, she said she does, she doesn't have anything keeping her here and neither do we." Klaus said.

Lorena signed, "Fine. I'll go but only because of Rebekah."

・ • ・ • ・

Lorena arrived at a decade's dance fashionably late, Klaus was waiting for her at the entrance.

"You're late." Klaus remarked as she approached him.

"Well, the sooner we leave here, the better." Lorena shrugged, then looked at his outfit that matched hers. He wore a white suit just like her dress, "Matching outfits, hm.."

Klaus smiled, "You look even more beautiful in that dress, then I had imagined."

Lorena gave him a small smile back, "Thanks."

"Shall we?" Klaus asked and Lorena locked her arm with his before walking inside.

"I see not everyone's meant for 20s." Lorena remarked when she saw the decorations and people around her.

"1920s were unique, no one can recreate them." Klaus said as the two of them stopped at the bunch table.

He was about to pour them a drink when he spotted someone in the crowd.

"Excuse me, love." Klaus said, handing Lorena a drink and walking away but she followed him.

"Where have you've been mate?" Klaus asked.

A boy looked at him, "I just got back in town."

Klaus gave him a serious look, "That's funny. I don't recall giving you permission to leave in the first place."

"Why do you always have to prove you're the alpha male?!" Caroline asked coldly.

Klaus laughed at her, "I don't have to prove anything, love. I am the alpha male."

Caroline scoffed in response, but it didn't faze him.

"Go and ruin someone else's night." Caroline tells him.

He glared at her and Caroline glared at him. They stood there that way for a long moment before Lorena interfered.

She grabbed his hand so that he looked at her, "This is Rebekah's last night here, don't ruin anything. Let's go."

He let her drag him away to the other side of the room.

"So you're not going to force me to dance with you or something?" Lorena asked him.

The corners of his lips tilted upwards, "Did you want me to ask you to dance?" His voice had a lot of hopefulness.

"Actually no." Lorena answered sharply.

Klaus raised his eyebrow at her, a look of amusement on his face, "Well then I don't really see a point in asking you. And I told you I'm not going to force you into anything."

"Except for this stupid dance." Lorena blurted out.

"I gave you a choice, and you said you're coming here because of my sister." Klaus told her.

"And where is she?" Lorena asked.

"I don't know, love. Maybe she's just late." Klaus replied.

"That doesn't sound like her." Lorena told him, then sighed in frustration, "You know what? Let's just dance and kill time until she shows up."

She took his hand and led him out in the middle of the dance floor. Klaus twirled her in towards him slowly and placed a hand on her hip, holding her close.

"You know being here tonight reminds me of being at Gloria's in the 1920s." Klaus said softly, "You were reckless, sexy and fun. We used to dance till we dropped."

"So you're saying that I'm not reckless, sexy and fun anymore?" Lorena questioned him, raising her eyebrow.

"Oh, you most definitely are." Klaus replied and pulled her more into him whispering into her ear, "Especially sexy in that dress."

When he pulled back Lorena tried hard not to look into his eyes. She knew if she did she would get lost and she won't be able to find her way back. He of course never took his eyes off of her. Lorena hated to admit but there was something about being in his arms again.

"You know, that dress is actually the one I bought you back then, but never got a chance to give it to you." Klaus said softly.

"Really? You kept it for all these years?" Lorena asked.

"I most definitely did." Klaus said and put his finger on her chin, moving her head to look at him, "Look at me, love." when she did he continued, “In 1944 you were in London. And in 1990 you were at a concert, standing in the front row, dancing all night with some guy, it took every ounce of me not to kill him right then and there.”

“You were there?” Lorena asked curiously.

Klaus softly smiled, “Even after I left you I never stopped looking out for you."

Lorena shakes her head, "But in ninety years you only spoke to me once. Why?"

"I didn't want to bring you back into my life because it wasn't safe as long as my father was looking for me. I couldn't bear to lose you." Klaus told her honestly, not moving his eyes from hers.

Lorena shook her head down, "But you did lose me."

"If you stayed with me my father could've killed you, that would be worse than leaving you." Klaus told her.

"If he wanted to kill me he would've done it in New Orleans." Lorena reminded him of that night.

"And to be honest I don't know why he didn't, but if he got another chance he wouldn't waste it. Just so he could make me suffer." Klaus told her and deep down Lorena knew that could be true, “And I'm sorry." Klaus said, caressing her cheek, "I'm so sorry, love." he moved forward placing a kiss on her forehead and Lorena closed her eyes at the feeling.

"You know I like this side of you." Lorena said when she looked at him again, "When you show that you really care and that you actually have a heart."

Klaus smiled at her words and Lorena placed her head on his shoulder. He tangled his fingers into her hair as they moved slowly to the music.

Suddenly Lorena laughed at the realization, "She set us up."

"What?" Klaus asked, confused.

Lorena looked at him, "Rebekah set us up. She wanted us to come to this dance because she knew it would bring back memories. And to get us to dance and get all cuddly." She moved her arms away from him then looked around the room, "And she still isn't here."

"I'll call her." Klaus said and walked out of the school, Lorena followed him. When he called her she didn't answer so he left her a voicemail, "Rebekah, call me back immediately! We only came to this ridiculous dance because you begged us to and now you're nowhere to be found."

Klaus looked down at his feet and saw a line made of salt. His eyes followed the line, seeing that it went around the entire school.

"What is this?" Klaus questioned.

Stefan walked up behind the two of them, revealing, "Your mother is back."

・ • ・ • ・

Lorena stood beside Klaus in the classroom where several candles were lit and Bonnie was chanting a spell.

Klaus let out a sigh of frustration, "What's taking so long?! All boundary spells have a loophole."

Then Matt walked in saying, "People are walking right out of the dance, past the barrier."

Jeremy spoke up thoughtfully, "Matt and I can leave, we can stop Esther ourselves. We just gotta find out where she is."

Stefan shakes his head, "It's suicide, Jeremy."

Klaus was running out of patience so he rushed over and grabbed by the throat a guy was was apparently Bonnie’s date, he started to strangle him, "Suicide would be disappointing me!" He turned to Bonnie, "Now work her magic, witch, or I'll start killing people you fancy."

"Let him go!" Bonnie demanded.

"Not until you get us out of here." Klaus growled at her.

"Ah, don't be stupid, Klaus. Bonnie doesn't give a damn about us. The only reason she's helping us right now is to save Caroline and Tyler. You start killing the people she cares about, she'll tell us all to go to hell." Stefan told him and Klaus let go of the boy.

"Maybe try another spell, I can help. I was a witch once." Lorena suggested, then she took a new map and placed it on the teacher's desk, "We're going to need more blood." Bonnie poured more blood on the map and Lorena told her, "Think of Elena and repeat after me, "Que le sang montre où se trouve la personne à laquelle je pense."

The blood formed a circular pool that didn't move.

Bonnie opened her eyes, "Esther is fighting me."

"Esther couldn't possibly have this much power." Klaus denied shaking his head.

"Unless she's channeling something." Lorena spoke up.

"A hotspot?" Bonnie said.

Lorena and Klaus exchanged looks before he turned to Damon, "Get the humans ready. I know where she is."

・ • ・ • ・

Klaus, Lorena and Stefan were standing outside the school near the entrance to the gym hall.

"You know this is your fault. You set us on this path when you released my mother." Klaus stated, "I wonder if revenge will prove worth the cost."

Stefan shook his head, "Oh, I'm done with revenge. As far as Esther; we've stopped her before, we'll stop her again."

"We're strange bedfellows, you and I. You know, all of this, reminds me of our time together in the Twenties." Klaus told him.

"You say that like I'm supposed to have happy memories about it." Stefan responded bitterly.

Lorena spoke up, running to Stefan, "You were a trusted friend."

"Nearly a brother even." Klaus added.

Damon walked up, with his snarky smirk, "Well, he already has a brother. Not to be, you know, territorial or anything."

Klaus shook his head with a grin on his lips, "Oh no, of course, the Salvatores. And their unshakeable bond. I wonder what'll happen when Elena finally makes her choice. Will we see you shake just a little bit?"

The Salvatore brothers exchanged looks.

Suddenly, Bonnie stormed out of the school shouting, "It's done. Esther's not fighting me any more. The boundary spell is broken."

Klaus tested the boundary with his arm to see if Bonnie's words were correct.

"Go back to the mansion, love." Klaus told Lorena.

"But-" was all Lorena managed to say before he rushed away.

It didn't take long for Klaus to retrieve Esther's body from the cemetery. He took her coffin to the room where the other coffins were. Only one was closed. He opened it and Rebekah was lying there with a dagger in her heart. Klaus pulled the dagger out of her and put it on the table.

"Esther was possessing her body and she daggered her." Klaus informed Lorena.

Lorena was leaning on the door-frame, "And we didn't notice that it wasn't Rebekah." she muttered.

Klaus turned to Esther's body in another coffin as he spoke, "Your trap failed, mother. I live and I will go on living. Let your beloved spirits try to preserve you again, I dare you to come after me! I will build an army so big, no one will ever touch me. My survival will haunt you through eternity. You will never destroy me!" He shouted out.

・ • ・ • ・

Lorena and Klaus were sitting in the living room waiting for Rebekah to wake up. He handed Lorena a glass of whiskey and sat on the sofa beside her.

"Tonight was fun, wasn't it? Except for this part with my mother." Klaus stated.

Lorena shrugged her shoulders, "You can say that."

"Don't act now like you didn't enjoy dancing with me." Klaus said with a cocky smirk.

Lorena chuckled, "Get over yourself, Klaus."

"Playing hard to get." Klaus remarked, "You know I like a challenge."

Two of them stared at each other for a moment, Klaus gave her a look he always gave her when he felt the desire to kiss her, but it was cut short when Rebekah entered a room.

"Oh, god. Am I interrupting a moment?" Rebekah asked when she saw that the two of them were sitting close to each other.

Lorena moved her eyes from Klaus to her and placed her glass on the table before standing up, "Not at all. I'm glad you're okay." She gave her a hug and Rebekah hugged her back.

"I guess my mother managed to convince you to go on a dance together." Rebekah remarked, seeing that Lorena wore a dress from the 20s, "I hope at least you two had some fun, I unfortunately missed it."

"It was okay." Lorena said quietly.

"It was more than okay, she doesn't want to admit it." Klaus spoke up.

"So are the two of you good now?" Rebekah asked, looking between the two of them, waiting for someone to answer.

Lorena turned to Klaus who raised his eyebrow waiting for her to answer, "Well, are we, love?"

Then Lorena realized that she’s the only one who should answer, "Okay. Yes, I guess we are."

・ • ・ • ・

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purrincess-chat · 3 years ago

Text

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH27

What are Marinette and Chloe going to do now that they’re in cahoots? Find out below~

Previous First Next AO3

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

Chapter 27: Better Than Revenge

“I’m surprised to see you here, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe said as Jean Luke poured their tea.

Marinette averted her gaze the way Adrien always did when he came over. People with morals really were annoying.

“Lila’s gone too far. I can’t turn a blind eye and watch my friends get walked over,” she said. “This afternoon, she-”

“Look, I’ve already agreed to help you. I don’t need the whole sob story.” Chloe held up a hand.

“Where were you today anyway? I didn’t see you at the Louvre,” Marinette asked.

“I needed a spa day, so I conned Adrien into taking notes for me.” Chloe examined her perfectly manicured nails. “I see you’ve changed your mind about the status of those brats in your life.”

Marinette sighed. “They’re my friends, or at least, they were at one point. I hate seeing Lila blatantly manipulate them for her own selfish gain.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve got that much, how noble, now what are you thinking? I say we invite her onto a ‘game show’ only in reality it’s a trap we’ve set up where we’ll get a bunch of celebrities to diss her on live television.” Chloe took a sip with a wicked grin.

“Look, I’m agreeing to help you, but we need to set up some ground rules first,” Marinette said.

Chloe sat back with a groan, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine, what?”

“I want everyone to find out that she’s a liar, yes, but I don’t want to be needlessly cruel.” Chloe rolled her eyes, but Marinette continued, “We need to be smart about this, or else she’ll just play the victim.”

Chloe thought back to their previous failed attempts and pursed her lips. “Fine. Anything else?”

“Yes. Secondly, and most importantly, Adrien cannot find out that I’m helping you,” she said. The corners of Chloe’s lips twitched into a smirk. “I’m serious, Chloe. Don’t tell him.”

Chloe eyed her for a long moment, debating whether or not to say anything when another knock pounded on her door, and Jean Claude moved to answer it. She squared her shoulders, lifting her teacup to her lips with a sly grin.

“I won’t tell him.” She vowed as Jean Mark unlatched the lock. “You can tell him yourself.”

“Okay, Lila has gone too far this time. I’m ready to do things-” Adrien stormed into the room, stopping short when he laid eyes on Marinette, “-your way… Marinette?”

“Adrien?”

“What are you doing here?” They said in unison.

Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed, and he flicked his gaze between Marinette and Chloe.

“I was just-”

“Oh, save it you two!” Chloe interjected with a groan. “Adrien texted me earlier; Dupain-Cheng just showed up at my door, and now you’re both here for the same reason.”

“I know we promised to stay out of it, but Lila has gone too far.” Adrien flashed Marinette pathetic puppy eyes. “I’m sorry for going behind your back.”

“No, you’re right. Lila has to be stopped. That’s why I went behind your back too,” Marinette said. “Forgive me?”

“Of course!”

“Ugh, if you two start kissing, I’m gonna throw up,” Chloe moaned. “So, what’s the plan? I can get a crate addressed to the middle of the Amazon here in the next 20 minutes.”

“Ship her to Egypt for all I care!” Adrien threw his arms out in exasperation.

Chloe reached for her phone with an excited grin that deflated upon seeing Marinette’s contemplative frown.

“Don’t even try to convince us. It’s two against one unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“As fun as it would be, I’m pretty sure that’s highly illegal,” Marinette said pointedly.

“Buzzkill.” Chloe slumped, letting her phone fall back to her lap.

“We need to figure out a way to help everyone realize the truth and prevent her from ever lying again.” Marinette tapped her chin.

“Perfect. Do you want to call Jagged Stone, or should I?” Chloe picked up her phone again.

“You saw how well your interview with Ladybug went. Everyone knows I have an in with Jagged, so exposing her will only make us look like the bad guys for ganging up on her.” Marinette shook her head.

“Don’t you think she more than deserves it? After everything she’s done to you, Marinette, and especially after today with what happened.” Adrien winced. “Look, normally I’m with you, but Lila is evil. She can’t be saved.”

“No, but our friends can.” Marinette turned to face him. “Regardless of how obvious her lies are and how many times we’ve tried to tell them the truth, they’re being manipulated, and it’s going to break their hearts when they find out.”

Adrien held her gaze, pursing his lips, but after a moment, he nodded.

“Okay, you’re right.” He gestured for her to take the lead.

“What? You’re switching sides on me? Traitor!” Chloe shot forward with a gasp, though she shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Chloe, I’m not suggesting doing nothing, just doing something smarter,” Marinette said.

“Like?” Chloe cocked a brow, and Marinette took a thoughtful sip of tea. She really hated how methodical Marinette could be.

“Well, I sort of have half an idea.” Marinette set the cup down. “You and Adrien have a lot of power and money as do a lot of my new friends, and today at lunch when they were talking about Christmas with royalty and charity trips I had a thought: What if we recreate all of Lila’s lies ourselves as truths for the whole world to see?”

“That way when news trickles down to the school they’ll realize that Lila never did any of those things.” Adrien finished, and Marinette nodded. “That’s genius! We’ll have all the proof, and Lila will be forced to admit that she lied without us ever having to confront her.”

“And we get to help people along the way and bring some good from this messy situation.” Marinette added.

“I always knew you were brilliant, mon ange.” Adrien lifted her hand to his lips, gaze soft and disgustingly affectionate. Chloe wanted to barf.

“I still prefer making her disappear, but I guess your idea could work too.” Chloe relented with a huff. Anything to get them out of her suite. She still couldn’t believe Adrien actually fell for her of all people. “It’s the most Marinette way you could have suggested. Always trying to make the world a better place, so annoying.”

“I’ll talk to my friends tomorrow at school and come up with a plan of action. It’s a lot of work, but I think this way Lila will have nowhere left to run. She’ll have to own up,” Marinette said.

“I’m behind you all the way.” Adrien gave her hand a squeeze.

Chloe stood up, clapping her hands. If she had to sit through any more of their cooing, she was going to break out in hives.

“Wonderful, now if you two don’t mind I’m late for a date with a hot stone massage.” She waved her arms in a ‘shoo’ motion, so Marinette and Adrien took their leave. “Jean Clarke, tell the cage guy to be ready on standby. Just in case.”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

♪♫♪ Call It What You Want ♪♫♪

The slam of Chloe’s suite door echoed in the hall with a bang, and Marinette rubbed her temple with a sigh. Was one normal day so much to ask for? Marinette thought she was getting out of this mess when she changed schools, but somehow she kept getting dragged in deeper.

Adrien slipped his fingers into hers and tugged her toward the stairs. “I think you and I have a lot to talk about.”

He remained quiet for the first flight, lips screwed into a pensive frown. Should she speak first? What would she even say? They’d both gone behind each other’s backs to see Chloe, but they’d done it to protect each other. All she wanted was one perfect day with him, but it seemed that the closer they got to each other, the more complicated everything around them became. His silence ate at her as they rounded the second flight, but halfway down he finally spoke.

“I know you didn’t want to get involved with Lila, which is why I came here today. Even if Lila hadn’t pulled that stunt at the end, I’d already texted Chloe to start again.” He lowered his gaze to his feet. “You must be disappointed in me.”

“Adrien,” Marinette said, tightening her grip on his hand. “I came here without you too, ya know. Lila isn’t giving us the option to stay out of it anymore. She’s not going to stop unless we do something.”

“I know.” Adrien stopped and pulled her into his arms. “I just can’t stand to see you so broken and upset. Just when I started to think that things were going to be okay, she goes on the offensive again. Sometimes I feel like we’re never going to win.”

“We will. One day Lila won’t be able to touch us.” Marinette assured him.

He pulled back with a tortured frown. “That wasn’t how I wanted things to happen earlier. I didn’t want our first kiss to be so heavy. I was hoping that tonight… I planned something for us, but now I feel like everything is ruined.”

“You planned something?” Marinette quirked a brow, heart fluttering.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was hoping we could have dinner at my place and finally celebrate your designs for Clara. We could still go—if you want. Everything is set up.”

Marinette’s cheeks warmed, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her prince was always looking out for her. She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“I’d love to.”

♪♫♪ Fun Tonight ♪♫♪

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

Nino flicked his gaze over to Alya as she set a tray of juice on the desk. She crossed the room to sit beside him on the bed, and Nino buried his face in his knees.

“What did I do wrong? I was right there, she could have come to me,” he said.

“I never painted Ladybug as the type of person to take her anger out on other people, but I guess it’s true when they say no one’s perfect.” Alya remarked bitterly. “But if she wants to be that way then, who cares? We don’t need superpowers.”

“But having superpowers was awesome! Fighting crime with Ladybug and Chat Noir was totally legit!” Nino lifted his head with a frown.

“Well, what kind of hero is Ladybug if she turns her back on real heroes? If she puts hurt feelings over the safety of the city? We never gave her a reason not to trust us,” Alya said.

“You used to look up to her, Alya.” Nino sat back and looked her up and down. “Now you’ve deleted your blog, and you sound like you hate her.”

“Can you blame me? After how she treated Lila and now she’s taking it out on us?” Alya shook her head. “She’s not the person I thought she was.”

“Al…” Nino lowered his gaze. “I know you’re hurt, but I’m worried about you. You’re always stressed and exhausted and angry nowadays ever since…since you and Lila started hanging out more.”

“At least Lila hasn’t turned her back on me!” Alya snapped. She knew exactly what he omitted.

Ever since Marinette left.

Nino sighed, placing his hand over hers. “It’s been a long day. Let’s not fight, okay?”

“Sorry, I’m just all riled up from this afternoon.” Alya crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against his shoulder. “Lila says her ankle still hurts.”

“Do you really think Marinette pushed her?” Nino asked. “I mean, I know Marinette has been kind of a loose cannon lately, and their beef runs deep, but I’ve known Marinette a long time. She’s not the type to hurt someone.”

“She hurt me,” Alya mumbled.

“Don’t you think this feud has gone on long enough? There has to be some middle ground somewhere. I mean, I lost my best bud too,” Nino said. “I miss the way things were before all of this. Don’t you?”

“Nino…” Alya lowered her gaze, then nuzzled in closer. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Nino sighed, and Alya sat up, cupping his cheek. His eyes swirled with unease that only added to Alya’s reservoir of guilt, but he didn’t argue further. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her in.

“Then let’s not talk.”

#mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing #every time i open this chapter i get better than revenge stuck in my head

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thedisneychef · 1 year ago

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Try the Flavorful Coconut Almond Chicken at Kona Cafe

In conclusion, the Copycat Recipe of The Grey Stuff is a delicious and fun dessert that is perfect for any Disney fan looking to recreate the magic at home. This recipe, which includes a blend of whipped cream, instant pudding mix, and crushed cookies, is easy to make and can be customized to suit your tastes. The end result is a creamy and decadent dessert that is perfect for any occasion or celebration. Whether you're a fan of Beauty and the Beast or simply looking for a fun and tasty dessert to enjoy, the Copycat Recipe of The Grey Stuff is definitely worth a try. With its perfect balance of flavors and textures, this dessert is sure to become a favorite among those with a sweet tooth. So, if you're looking for a fun and delicious way to indulge in a bit of Disney magic at home, be sure to give this Copycat Recipe of The Grey Stuff a try. More Delicious Recipes You Will Love: - Cinnamon Glazed Almonds – Disney Parks - Coconut Rice - Boma Cola Barbecue Sauce Recipe: African-Inspired Dish I wasn’t sure about this recipe. It was certainly unique, but I was worried it wouldn’t taste very coco-nutty (is that even a word?), and I thought there was no way on earth that the breading would stick. Was I happily surprised to find out that this is an amazing recipe that came together almost perfectly. The taste was so different, but crunchy and delicious that I wish I’d made more. I will say that my big flub with the dish is that I forgot to serve it with the mango puree when I made it and took the pictures… Which is funny, because when I was eating it I thought that the crust was a little dry and would have done really well with a fruit sauce or squeeze of lemon… I did have the puree with the leftovers, however, and while it certainly wasn’t photogenic, it did bump up the level of tastiness a lot and resolved any issues of dryness in the crust. Truthfully, I felt kind of dumb forgetting it the first time. This is my week for dumb mistakes, apparently. Other then the accidental omission above, I did do everything exactly according to the recipe and the tips and tricks to this are fairly simple. I used sliced almonds and crushed them, giving me both a fine powder, and some rather large bits. Had it to do over, I may have crushed the almonds a bit more, though the crunchiness that the larger pieces definitely added a wonderful touch to the dish. I just found that the larger bits of almond didn’t stick as well and tended to fall off during the pan frying. They also tended to brown faster, though even the ones that looked a tad, well, burned on my sample chicken didn’t taste burned in the slightest (though it did make a little less photogenic). As for the coconut, doing the recipe over, I’d chop them a bit finer then I did for the same burning reason as the almonds. I also used the thin-cut chicken available at my grocery store as opposed to pounding out a breast. That allowed me to really have complete control of how long I needed to cook everything without having to worry about the chicken being unable to hold up to a heavy bread coating, a fry, then a bake. And since we’re on the subject of frying, I found that frying it until it was just slightly golden, enough to make sure the coating was really stuck to the chicken, then putting it in the oven yielded the most wonderful results. I have to say, though, that this will go down as one of my favorite chicken dishes. I just love the crunchiness and the unique flavor. The pop of the mango chutney really set it all apart… Just make sure you don’t forget to use it. Conclusion If you're a fan of tropical flavors and crave a unique and delicious meal during your visit to Walt Disney World Resort, look no further than the Coconut Almond Chicken at Kona Cafe. This flavorful and aromatic dish is a perfect blend of sweet and savory flavors, making it a favorite among many visitors. The chicken is coated in a delicious mixture of coconut flakes, almond slivers, and panko bread crumbs, resulting in a crispy and crunchy texture that perfectly complements the tender and juicy chicken. The dish is served with a sweet and tangy citrus soy sauce that adds a perfect finishing touch. Whether you're a fan of Asian-inspired cuisine or simply looking for a delicious and satisfying meal, the Coconut Almond Chicken at Kona Cafe is definitely worth a try. The restaurant itself is also a charming and inviting spot to enjoy some delicious food while exploring the beautiful Disney's Polynesian Village Resort. So, if you're planning a visit to Walt Disney World Resort, be sure to add Kona Cafe and their Coconut Almond Chicken to your list of must-try dining experiences. In addition to the delicious food and recipes, Disney World is also known for its unique dining experiences, such as character dining and themed restaurants. Whether you want to have breakfast with Mickey Mouse, dine in a replica of a sci-fi drive-in theater at Hollywood Studios, or enjoy a meal with an ocean view at the Coral Reef Restaurant in Epcot, there's something for everyone. And with the help of Recipes Today and the How to Make category, you can even recreate some of these magical dining experiences in your own home. So why not start planning your next Disney-inspired meal or dining experience today? Read the full article

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eideticmemory · 5 years ago

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EVER SINCE NEW YORK | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 1! - for Sara [@bravadostyles], the ultimate muse.

SOUNDTRACK:

Empire State of Mind - Jay Z.

Animals - Maroon 5.

Dopamine - Børns.

Word Count: 4,731.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Spring, Freshman Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City.

“You’ve got that face on,” Claire said.

“What face is that, Claire?”

“Your trademark ready-to-go-home face,” she giggled. “You tired?”

“Just a little,” you whispered, head resting on her shoulder, feet hanging off the bed. “Had a long day at rehearsal.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Well, if you wanna go, we can go. I’ll walk you home.”

“No,” you shook your head, and placed your hand on her arm. “It’s fine. I’m having a good time.”

Soft music played through the small speakers on Jonathan’s desk, mixing in with the chatter of your friends. Everyone sat in different spaces around the room, some on the desk, some on John’s bed, and you and Claire rested on his roommate’s bed. Open solo cups of beer were scattered amongst the room. It was calm, chill, and then the door swung open.

“Yoooooo!” The entering voice rang, instantly earning a happy response from Johnathan, who hopped off his bed and ran towards the entrance.

“Gube!” John exclaimed, arms open wide to embrace his friend. He always got a little touchy-feely when he was tipsy. “Where the hell you been, man?”

“Consider my good time ruined,” you murmured to Claire.

“Be nice, [y/n],” she responded, patting your leg. “Everyone’s having a nice time, don’t start anything.”

“Me? Me? I don’t start anything, I never start anything. It’s him who starts it. That di—“

“Hey, [y/n],” Matthew greeted, taking a seat beside John. “Hey, Claire.”

“Hey, Gube,” Claire smiled. She gave you a gentle nudge with her elbow.

You rolled your eyes, “Hi, Matthew,” you reluctantly replied, refusing to make eye contact.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s all I get?” Matthew teased. “What’s wrong, sleeping beauty? You tired?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you told him, finally looking over at him. He wore a white polo, paired with a busted pair of jeans and white converse with his mismatched socks poking out. On his chest sat his trademark gold chain, the medallion set in the center of his sternum.

“Might be past your bedtime,” he shrugged. “Really. Might be better if you just left.”

“Me?” You scoffed. “Why don’t you leave? We were perfectly fine before you got here.”

“Oh, God,” someone groaned. “Here they go.”

“John wants me here. I’m a little more fun than someone who falls asleep mid-conversation, so I can see why.”

“Matthew, why are you talking to me? Can you just pretend,” you waved your arms around. “Pretend there’s a wall here.”

“Don’t mind her,” Claire interjected. “She’s crabby because she hasn’t started editing her project yet.”

You gasped, “Why would you just announce that, Claire? I didn’t wanna be reminded of that.”

“[y/n], you’re gonna be fucked if you don’t get that shit done. It’s due next week.” Another friend told you.

You groaned, “Yes. I know that. But I’ve been killing myself practicing for the show every night. And when I finally sat down to start editing, I didn’t know how to work the damn software!”

“You don’t know how to work EasyEdit?”

“No,” you sighed. “I missed class that day. I tried to learn on YouTube, and that confused me even more. So, I have since then given up.”

“Hm,” John hummed. “You know who’s really good with EasyEdit?”

“Who?”

“Gube,” John answered. This prompted Matthew to lift his head up at astronomical speed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “He taught me how to use it. He could help you, [y/n].”

“John...” Claire said.

“What, Claire?” John replied. “[y/n] needs help and Gube can help. I’m just saying.”

You cut your eyes over to Matthew, who was watching you, but he quickly turned away when you made eye contact.

“You’re not clever,” Claire shook her head. “You’re nosey is what you are.”

“Nosey?” You pipped, tapping Claire’s arm. “What do you mean nosey?”

“I mean, if you and Gube just...” John said. “I’m gonna say it - fucked - one good time, the two of you could get over this whole rivalry already.”

“And stop arguing all the damn time,” someone added. “The shit’s annoying.”

Your jaw had been dropped since the word ‘fucked’ was uttered. You looked up at Claire who gave you a sympathetic smile.

“I-“ You stuttered. “I...never say that again, John! Ever. Ew!”

“Ew?” Matthew exclaimed. “You’d be lucky if I tossed you a bone.”

Your jaw dropped even lower, stunned by Matthew’s words. “You arrogant son of a bitch,” you muttered. “And this is who you want me to allow near my final project?” You directed at John.

“Hey, if you don’t wanna fuck me, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Matthew taunted, biting his lip and tilting his head.

“No. I don’t wanna fuck you! I also don’t want to spend any more time with you than I absolutely have to. So I will learn EasyEdit by myself.”

“Okay,” Matthew shrugged. “You’re not gonna figure that shit out in time, but fine, princess. Be stubborn.”

You rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head in annoyance.

“[y/n], let Gube help,” Claire said. “You’re gonna drive yourself insane with that and the show coming up, plus finals? Just this once.”

You looked over at Matthew, instantly getting angry again. Hate is a strong word. It’s a very, very strong word. And you’d never use it against anybody. Ever. Except Matthew Gubler. That may sound a bit dramatic, so to clear up any confusion, here’s a composite list of every asshole, dick, bastard, bitch-ass move he’s made in one semester:

1. Broke your editing equipment trying to do magic tricks in class.

2. Didn’t apologize.

3. Called your last documentary “uninspired, dry, a little like a lullaby.”

4. Took the last spot for an internship over Christmas break.

5. Which he knew you wanted.

6. Refused to partner with you on a final project because “you can’t even get to class everyday.”

7. In front of everyone because he’s a jackass.

8. Told you that you were insane for majoring in film making AND ballet.

9. Proceeded to tell you that you look better in a leotard than a suit.

10. Fucked your roommate.

11. While you were in the room.

12. Insisted that Wes Craven is a better horror director than Tim Burton? Is he dumb?

13. Calls you ballerina barbie, short stack, princess, anything other than your actual name.

14. Won’t drop dead.

And, because you’re not going to let anyone treat you that way, here’s a list of things you’ve done in retaliation:

1. “Accidentally” stepped on his canvas.

2. 3 times.

3. Uploaded a video of you calling him a dick in place of his documentary.

4. Yes, he did play it for the class on accident.

5. Told him you didn’t want to be his partner anyway since he walks around stoned 24/7.

6. Laughed.

7. Told him he’d be a good ballerina. His tiny dick would fit perfectly in a leotard.

8. Fucked his friend. While said friend was supposed to help Matthew with his project.

9. Told him none of Edgar Allan Poe’s work was actually interesting enough for screen time. (He almost passed out, he got so mad.)

10. Told him his mismatch socks were dumb.

11. Consistently call him asshole, dick, jackass, or just Matthew. All synonyms.

12. Refuse to let him mess with you.

So, the idea of him helping you with your project, coming into your room, bothering you for hours on end, was a ridiculous thought. You should punch John for even mentioning it. Except. It wasn’t a bad idea.

“Hey, pants stay on,” Matthew said, giving you a smirk. “Boy Scouts honor.”

Everyone was looking at you. It made you queasy. Annoyed. Angry. And you couldn’t take it. So, you sighed heavily and cut your eyes towards Matthew. “Fine,” you grimaced. “Fine. Monday night. You will teach me how to use EasyEdit. And then we can all drop this.”

“Ah, success,” John cheered. “I’m not worried, though. Look at [y/n], she’s so innocent. She looks like she belongs on top of a Christmas tree. She does ballet for crying out loud. I doubt fucking is on her to-do list.”

“And on that note,” you pushed yourself off the bed. “I’m going to my room. Goodnight.”

Your room was just down the hall, and you showered, changed, brushed your teeth and got into bed in all of 30 minutes. Just about to fall asleep, you were disturbed by the sound of keys jingling in the door. Sloppy footsteps stumbled into the room, accompanied by silly giggles.

Thinking you were asleep, your roommate admired your sleeping frame, “Awwww,” she cooed. “Precious, precious, [y/n].” She walked over to you and rubbed your shoulder.

“You’re crazy to not wanna fuck Matthew,” she whispered, chuckling. “You don’t know what you’re missing, kid.”

And you stayed still, silent, pretended to snore. All while Claire crawled into her bed.

When Monday rolled around, you spent the entire day with a chip on your shoulder. Claire kissed the top of your head and insisted you’d be fine, that your project would be done by the end of the night and you’d be grateful for Matthew’s help. But she knew that was a dead cause in her heart of hearts. You both knew it’d be a miracle if Matthew and you made it through 15 minutes of editing.

When she left to go to a friend’s place, you changed into pajama pants, combined with a cozy cropped button sweater. You sat at your desk, and waited. You’d told Matthew to arrive at 7.

He got there at 7:59.

By then, you were laying in bed, pissed and upset that you’d actually been convinced to give Matthew a chance. He knocked on the door, and you answered with an attitude. “Go home, Matthew.”

“Don’t be like that, short stack,” he sighed, following you as you stomped into the room. “I got caught up. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? What’d you get caught up with? A gram?” You spit.

He laughed, “Haha, so funny. No, I was not getting high. I was working on my own project. That I finished. Ahead of time. Can you relate, [y/n]?”

“Get out of my room,” you scoffed. “I asked you for one thing. One. And you couldn't even do that. You knew how important this project was to me, and you didn’t give a fuck. I wasted time waiting for you that I could’ve been working or rehearsing! I—Are you listening?”

Matthew’s eyes had been concentrated solely on your chest, “Are you wearing a bra?” He asked.

You took a step back, stunned, blinking rapidly as you searched around the room. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m just trying to find where the hell that came from?”

“It came from that itty bitty shirt you’re wearing,” he replied with a shrug. “Doesn’t really leave much to the imagination.”

“Stop staring at my tits!” You shouted, face turning red. “God, Matthew, I can’t stand to look at you right now. Just, leave. Please.”

He did not stop staring at your tits. Not for a very long time. But when he did, he had this look in his eyes. Like a wire had snapped. And he kissed you. Cupped your face in his hands, pulled you close, and kissed you. You pressed your hands against his chest, face contorting in shock and confusion.

You pushed him away, lips retracting with a sharp smacking noise. Saliva dripped from your lips, and you stood there, huffing and puffing like the two of you had just run a mile. “What the hell was that?” You snapped, your fingertips lightly touching your bottom lip.

He didn’t reply. He was just as speechless as you were. Speechless, and confused, and out of breath, and so, so pretty. He was so pretty. Has he always been that pretty?

You grabbed onto the hem of his shirt and pulled him back in, pressing your lips together in an aggressive collision. Matthew’s hand gripped onto your hair, his body pushing itself against yours in an eager attempt to get as close to you as possible. His other hand made its way to your waist, gripping onto your skin so hard, his nails left marks. Both his hands began to snake down your body, landing on the back of your thighs.

Very suddenly, Matthew scooped you up in his arms, yanking your feet off of the ground. You let out a breathy ‘oof’ as you found yourself perched in his grasp, your legs wrapped around his torso, your hands on his shoulders. He supported your weight so easily, all while sliding his tongue into your mouth.

He carried you over to your bed, where he abruptly dropped you onto the mattress, and looked down at you with a lustful grin. Standing beside the bed, he leaned in as if he was going to kiss you — slowly, with his hands reaching out to touch your body — but he didn’t. Instead, he placed his hands on your ribs and pushed your sweater up, over your breasts to reveal your chest.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew you weren’t wearing a bra.”

Your breath caught in your throat, before you released it shakily. His lips wrapped around your nipple, wetting it with his tongue and applying light suction. A soft moan left your mouth, and you gripped onto his hair in ecstasy. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He sucked harder, to the point of pain, just to hear you make some noise. Any noise. When one nipple began to pulse between his lips, he moved to the other, leaving a trail of love bites between them.

The heat between your legs was suffocating, and you rubbed your thighs together for some relief. Matthew noticed this, and proceeded to stick his hands down your pants, fingers sliding underneath the band of your underwear. He smirked at how soaked you were already and rubbed your clit as he licked a trail up to your neck. You tightened your thighs around his hand, gasping at the friction and pulling at the bedsheets.

The sound caused Matthew to take in a sharp breath of air. His cock was pressed against the zipper of his jeans, and was getting to the point that it was excruciating. So, as he massaged your nerve, he undid his pants and pushed them down his legs.

He nibbled on your ear, and as you gave him a quiet moan, your eyes flickered down to look between your bodies. Flushed, and horny, and suddenly so desperate, you grabbed onto Matthew’s large erection and pressed the tip against your clit.

He grunted and pulled back to stare you in the eye, a sly grin creeping onto his face. He laughed, “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Innocent? Innocent, my ass.”

As you rolled your eyes at him, he kissed your lips softly, hands holding onto your thighs. You positioned his cock at your entranced and allowed him to press into you. He stood up straight, watching his cock disappear inside you, slowly, steadily, before he suddenly slammed into you. The sound of skin colliding on skin mixed in with your and Matthew’s moans, and he watched your head roll back in pleasure.

He licked his lips, smirking. And he did it again. And again. And again. Pulling out all the way and pushing back into you. Hard. The sensation struck your chest, and elicited vulnerable moans from you every time he pounded you. Matthew instantly began to speed his hips up, nails digging into your thighs as he pressed your legs open for him. His used all his strength to fuck you, your head knocking into the wall with every thrust. It was sloppy and messy and you couldn’t stop whimpering. Your eyes were screwed shut, and when you opened them again, the first thing you noticed with his chain. The gold medallion dangled in your face, Matthew’s lips pressed against your cheek.

Absentmindedly, you tangled your fingers in the chain, tugging on it as your volume increased. “Fuck,” you muttered. “Oh, fuck.”

He brought his hand up to your face, placing his thumb on your bottom lip. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, quietly, softly. And you did it without thinking. His thumb slid into your mouth, twirling around your tongue and stifling your moans.

He removed his hand and placed his thumb on your clit, wetting the skin with your own saliva. You let out a loud yelp at the new sensation, and a bubble instantly formed in your stomach.

Oh, no, not Matthew, you thought. Don’t let it be Matthew.

But with his cock and his hips and the way he kissed your neck and rubbed your sensitive nerve all at once. You came, you came with a fit of pornographic moans, trembling and writhing around on the bed.

And it was Matthew — the first guy to make you come. Ever.

He licked his lips as he watched you come undone beneath him, proud of himself — to the point of cockiness. Giving you a few more forceful pumps, he pulled out of you and released himself onto your chest, watching the fluid cover the hickies he’d left there.

He looked angelic on top of you, moaning, panting, swearing under his breath. But the moment he finished, he stepped back, fastened his pants and walked away. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him in a daze.

Matthew logged onto your computer, pressed a few buttons and then closed the laptop shut. Then he left.

However, the next day he sent you an email. Your project. Fully and perfectly edited.

Okay. So, that happened. They said it would happen and it happened. Didn’t necessarily make you hate Matthew any less, but it happened. It was good. You hated to admit it. And it was all you could think about. You couldn’t even touch yourself or hold your pillow without thinking of Matthew. It was bad.

Especially, given the fact that after the whole situation, he decided not to talk to you. At all. Not in class, not while hanging out with friends, not even to pick a fight. Complete and utter radio silence. He looked at you enough though. Not while you were looking at him, of course. So, as far as you knew, you were far off of his mind. But life had to go on. You had to focus on school, and on top of that, you were due to perform in NYU’s production of Swan Lake in less than two weeks.

You landed the main role of Odette, meaning for the next two weeks, you had to eat, sleep, breathe ballet. You practiced for hours on end, barely saw your friends, which gave you a good break from seeing Matthew.

Opening night rolled around and you were so nervous, you thought you might puke. Only a freshman, it was a miracle you landed the role in the first place, which meant your performance tonight was a make or break moment. Claire could tell you were sick to your stomach and tried to distract you by taking a bunch of pictures on her phone.

“Smile, pretty girl!” She beamed, the flashing going off in your face as you posed. “[y/n], you’re gonna kill it! I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah...” you whispered. “Deathly excited.”

“Aw, poor baby,” she swung her arm around your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna be front and center, cheering you on. Just focus on me, okay?”

You smiled and nodded, taking in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Your body was on autopilot out on stage. The movements you’d practiced everyday, for hours and hours on end, just flowed. The lighting in the audience was dark, but you could just barely make out Claire’s figure under the soft hue.

It wasn’t until the finale, when you stood ready for your closing performance, that the lights switched to their full intensity and you noticed a hand resting on Claire’s shoulder. An arm resting behind her head. Someone whispering in her ear, making her laugh.

Matthew.

He was here. He was here and he was with Claire. He was with Claire and he was watching you. And it made your stomach feel weird. But then the music kicked up. So, you had to go. You fell into your dance, your rhythm and for some reason, you could not stop staring at Matthew.

Every twirl, you made him your focal point. Looking at him again, and again, and again. Until the lights went out.

Supporting ballerinas cheered you on as you walked offstage, throwing flowers at your feet and giving you applause. Your instructor marched right up to you, kissed both sides of your face and embraced you. It was a wonderful feeling, but right then, you were drained, emotionally, mentally, physically, you needed some rest.

You locked yourself away in your dressing room, taking a seat in the mirror and beginning to remove your tights. Pressing a makeup wipe to your skin, you jumped, startled by a knock on the door. You rose from your seat and walked to the entrance casually, expecting Claire to greet you.

 But you froze, as soon as you opened the door. Eyes glazing over the person in front you, your breath caught in your throat. “Matthew.”

“Hey,” he smiled. He looked you up and down — your naked legs, your breasts poking through the thin material of the leotard. “You...you were amazing tonight.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Bye.”

You attempted to close the door on him, but his put his elbow against the frame, stopping it in motion. “Whoa,” he exclaimed, pushing his way into the room. “What the hell is your problem?” He closed the door behind him.

“My problem is that I’m very tired, and still need to change, and greet everyone waiting for me. So, I don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

You ducked your head down, “Nothing. Nothing. You need to leave.”

“Hey, hey, hey, ballerina barbie,” he mocked. “What’s your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal! I have nothing to say to you Matthew. Same way you have nothing to say to me.” You scrunched up your face in a frown.

“I...” he paused, laughing under his breath. “I never said I didn’t have something to tell you. In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You looked up at him — the gel in his hair, his black button down shirt flowing over his belt buckle, his dark eyes, his lips and the way they were pouting just a little. And like a magnet, you found yourself being pulled towards him. You jumped into his arms, hands on his face, and connecting your lips, mouths open, tongues touching.

Matthew held you up, moaning against your lips. “Mm,” you hummed. “Wait, what if someone comes in?”

Matthew thought quickly, hiking you up in his arms and shoving your back against the door. “Well, now they can’t get in, can they?” He mumbled, leaving kisses along your neck.

Your jaw dropped and you started to undo his belt, freeing his cock from his pants. He grunted against your skin as you stroked him, your head leaned back against the door, your chest heaving. You used your other hand to pull your leotard to the side, revealing your throbbing core.

Matthew smirked, letting you guide his dick to your entrance, and pushed his way into you swiftly. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck to keep yourself quiet. His thrusts were quick, rough, messy. He was much more vocal this time, making no effort to stay silent.

“Fuck,” he moaned in your ear. “F-fuck, I forgot how good your pussy is. Fuck.”

The feeling was mutual. For the past month, you’d be wondering what the hell about Matthew had you so stuck. So fixated on him. And this was it. He filled you up perfectly, could manhandle you however he wanted, and always, always made sure you came.

He fucked you harder when he noticed your orgasm nearing — your quickened breaths, frequent moans and whines, and your legs tightening against his torso. “Oh, my God,” you whimpered.

“Shit, are you gonna come?” He asked. “Good.”

Breathless, speechless, you stared into his eyes helplessly as your body began to crumble. All power left your body and you held onto his shirt for dear life. He gave you a small smile, and flipped his hair out of his face, looking down at his cock. He could pinpoint the exact stroke that did it. The one that sent you into a state of euphoria, sent your eyes rolling back, your body into intense shock.

You let out a long and weakened sigh as the wave washed over you, and Matthew continued to plow into you like nothing was happening.

“It’s so cool how your pussy tightens up when you come,” he chuckled. “It’s hot.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of his voice, clawing at the back of his neck. His breathing became ragged and hoarse, and he had to pull out of you before he came. He jerked himself off until he exploded onto your clothing. And with you being dressed in all black, his stains stood out perfectly on your costume.

This time, he gave you a kiss on the cheek before he left.

The week after that was finals week. And neither of you could be bothered to reach out. Despite the not-so-subtle confession of bitterness and the very intense orgasms you shared, you and Matthew simply went back to not talking. Your friends thought it was strange, even commented that they missed the bickering. The two of you shrugged in response.

Most of your dorm room was in boxes by the time you finished your last final exam. Claire was slower to pack up than you were, considering she only lived an hour away, but she applauded you for your determination. The day Claire did start packing was the day before you left for the summer. The two of you spent the day getting everything cleared out, cleaned, squared away.

While the two of you sat on your bed, watching Netflix, a knock sounded from your door. Claire hopped up and headed towards the entrance, opening it with a grand smile. “Gube!” She shouted, instantly opening her arms for a hug. Matthew wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up, carrying her into the room with a smile.

“Are you about to leave?” She asked him, holding onto his arms as he placed her feet back on the ground.

“Yeah, my mom’s here. So, I wanted to stop by and say goodbye,” he nodded.

“Aw, Gube, you softie,” she giggled. “[y/n], come say bye.”

“I can say bye from right here, Claire,” you replied. She gave you a look, and you felt compelled to get off the bed. So you did, you approached them, “Bye, Matthew.”

“Bye, shortcake,” he laughed. “Bye, Claire.” He pulled your roommate into another hug, while you stood there, crossing your arms in annoyance.

Matthew peeked at you over Claire’s shoulder. One hand rubbed her back and the other reached out to you, holding a small note.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at him, then the note, then Claire. You ripped the paper from his hand, and stuffed it into your pocket right away. He smirked at you, and turned his attention back to Claire.

“Hey,” he said to her. “Come back to my place, I want everyone there to show my mom I actually have friends.”

Claire chuckled and nodded, “Okay,” she shrugged. “Let’s go. [y/n], you coming?”

“Uh, no,” you shook your head. “I’m gonna keep packing, but I’ll text you later.”

“Okay,” Claire smiled, and she let Matthew whisk her away.

You sighed, and as soon as the door closed, you pulled the crumpled piece of paper from your pocket. You opened it up to reveal — not a meaningful message, not even a few words. Just one string of numbers, writing in his handwriting:

505.

[PART 2.]

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