#but it's not a pairing you typically read taylor :/ but it's good so far

[ithebookhoarder]

your Eloise fics have me in a chokehold! If you would I need an eloise and fem reader first kiss moment! friends to lovers type best

First Kiss (Eloise Bridgerton x F!Reader) 

A/N: Well, I love me a good ol' 'friends to lovers' trope, so thank you for sending this in! I am in full S3 mode. 💕Also, side note, but I see this request existing in the same universe/as a prequel to my other piece 'This Love' - which you don't have to read to understand this but if you want to, then check it out.

Warnings: Beginnings of smut, implied homophobia, era-appropriate sexism (let me know if I missed any)

Masterlist

"What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly, I choose you and me religiously..."

('Guilty as Sin' - Taylor Swift)

“I simply don’t see the appeal of such things.” 

“You don’t?” 

“No. What could be so appealing about kissing?” Eloise muttered, staring down at the couple on the other side of the library in which you had both hidden. 

Fed up with ducking dance partners for one evening, you and the Bridgerton girl (who had been your closest friend since infancy) had escaped the ballroom of the Smith-Smyth family town house and the festivities being held there. Of course, like most nights spent trying to hide from the Ton and its never ending scrutiny of young females, the pair of you had sought refuge in the library of the home. After all, it was typically the room least likely to be occupied, and had more than enough dark, quiet corners for you two to hide in, curled up with a good book until it was time to go home. 

It was far superior to being passed from one suitor to the next like some curiosity to be examined, admired, and appraised. 

Tonight had been no different so far, with the pair of you taking the first opportunity to bolt and conceal yourselves on the upper gallery of the impressive library. However, you had only been alone maybe a handful of minutes when the door had burst open and a rather amorous young couple had staggered through, a tangle of limbs and lips. 

Both you and Eloise had barely had time to even realise what had happened, let alone plan any kind of escape. Unfortunately, the upper level - whilst more private and out of sight - was only accessible via a spiral staircase. There was no way on earth either of you could make it down said staircase or all the way to the door without being seen.

You didn’t know who would be most embarrassed in that instance - you or the couple caught in a compromising position. That, and you’d also made the fundamental error of waiting too long to make such a decision and announce yourselves. 

As such, you’d had no choice but to scamper back into the darkness and pray the couple either didn’t hear the hushed shuffling above them, or that they simply left … and soon. However, given the groans and moans coming from the pair as they pawed at one another, you didn’t think they were in any rush to return to the ballroom anytime soon. 

 “I mean… mama says it depends on the person you’re kissing,” Eloise continued, eyebrow raised quizzically as she leaned closer to the railings as if trying to get a better look. “That if you’re with the right one then it all just feels ...” 

“Natural?” 

The word fell from your lips easily without a second thought. 

“Perhaps,” Eloise continued, tilting her head as the couple’s kisses began to move from their lips to other parts of their bodies. 

The sight was enough to make you blush, a sudden ache awakening inside you. It was an ache that had become strangely familiar to you in the past months, even if you would never confess such a thing aloud. You were a woman after all. You weren’t supposed to feel such things, let alone share that fact with other people. Maybe your future husbands, but that was ‘simply not done’ as your mother had cautioned you, whilst giving a rather harrowing talk about ‘the facts of life’. Demure, reserved, and dignified - that was what husbands wanted. 

Needless to say, none of those words could be used to describe you at present, nor your best friend. It was what had drawn you two together in the first place - a recognition of a kindred spirit, desperate to survive in a world that was clearly not designed for your kind. 

For the first time in whole your life, you hadn’t felt so alone. She too loathed everything society said you were supposed to enjoy - sewing, the latest fashions, making oneself appealing to the other sex. Instead, she encouraged you and your passions, sending you new books she thought you’d like about topics that interested you. She also spoke to you like an equal and wasn’t afraid to debate current issues like politics, female rights, and science. Hell, she hadn’t laughed when you had confessed that you’d be perfectly content living a life that didn’t involve a man at all (let alone as a husband). If anything, she had encouraged it. 

So, years later here you were, thick as thieves with Eloise Bridgerton and not the least bit interested in any kind of future that didn’t have her in it. 

“I just can’t ever picture me being like that with another person,” she continued, staring at the couple with seeming disbelief. “Especially not one of these boys that peacock themselves about the place, acting like they’re anything other than children showing off for the air-headed debutantes. It’s embarrassing honestly.” 

You tried not to laugh at your friend’s visible repulsion at the sight. She had never been one to hide her feelings and her expressive face gave their true nature away every time.

“Agreed,” you murmured, eyes still focused on the display despite vocalising your disapproval. “Oh. I… That hardly looks comfortable. In fact, she rather looks like she’s in pain.”

“Well, considering the fact that he looks like he’s trying to eat her, I’m not surprised.”

“El!” 

“What?” she scoffed, sitting up and finally crawling back from the edge of the railings. You followed, shuffling backwards further into the shadows and safely out of sight. Anyone who dared look up would be unable to see you from this angle. “It’s the truth. I’m merely surprised he hasn’t dislocated his jaw yet like some python and simply swallowed her, and her fortune, whole. I merely wish I could understand what drives a person to do such a thing. It isn’t exactly like one can simply look it up in a book. They all simply say that a kiss has some divine power that makes a person lose all sense. That can’t be possible.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.”

“Oh, really? What could possibly make you think that?”

You froze. 

How could you tell her the truth? That you knew it to be possible because every time you looked at her, what you wanted most in the world was to be able to pull her into your arms and kiss her like it was the last thing you would ever do in this lifetime? That, you had long known that your feelings towards her were well passed the point of friendly? 

Even now, your heart raced in your chest in a way it only ever did when she was near. The faint traces of her orange blossom perfume made your head spin and you knew you'd be smelling it hours after she had gone as you always did.

“I don’t know.” You gulped, trying not to let your warming cheeks give away your sudden train of thought. However, your mouth and your brain had never been the most co-operative of organs. They often had a way of defying one another, just like now in fact, as you opened your mouth and the words simply came tumbling out. “Maybe that’s the problem… maybe we don’t know because we have no experience. Nothing to base it on. Maybe, it’s one of those things you have to try and see for yourself… ‘find out’ as it were.”

Eloise’s eyes looked like dinner plates, they became so wide. 

“What? That’s… that’s a ridiculous proposition,” she choked, her voice raising dangerously loud. However, a well-timed moan from below brought her back to her senses as she remembered just where you were and what had brought you two into this situation in the first place. 

Switching back to a frantic whisper, she continued. “I … I mean - who - what… no one would agree to such a foolish idea, not when they’d think I was trying to entrap them into a marriage-“ 

“El-” 

“-and we all know they’d be desperate to brag about it to everyone. I would be dragged down the aisle by the end of the night, if my brothers didn’t drag them outside and shoot them first-“

“El!” You reached over and took her face in your hands. Holding her still seemed to do the trick as she instantly fell silent. “Breathe. Ok? I didn’t mean with a boy, or some stranger… I … I meant…” 

The words died in your throat as your mind raced to maintain in control. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea, the first and biggest being that your friendship was the most precious and treasured thing in your life. Risking it was beyond idiotic. 

You knew that that was precisely what Eloise would tell you too, if she knew what you were about to say. However, you said it anyway. 

“I meant someone you trusted. Someone you knew. Someone who cared about you.” 

Eloise snorted. “And who would that be then? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I hardly have a line of suitors waiting for me, let alone any that suit those criteria-“ 

That was it. You couldn’t wait any longer. You kissed her. 

The kiss was everything you’d been brought up to fear and avoid, but you knew that nothing in your life had ever felt so right. You hadn’t been made to want anyone other than Eloise, and you’d spent too many years trying to force yourself to believe otherwise. To believe that your mother was right, that you’d find a suitable man and feelings would grow in time. To believe that you were wrong to imagine kissing a girl rather than a boy… 

Well, it was happening. It was no longer just a fantasy and… in a word? It was thrilling. The entire world stopped. The moment was breathtaking… and then it was over. 

You paused, waiting with bated breath for her to react. However, moments passed by and Eloise failed to say anything - which in itself was a signal something was wrong. It took a whole minute for her to even open her eyes, let alone look at you. 

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and you felt the world crumbling around you.

“I- I'm so sorry,” you choked, hastily pulling away. “I’m so sorry, I … just … I shouldn't have done that, El. Please, if you don’t say a word about this then I’ll stay away from you and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise-"

“W- what?”

Eloise blinked, suddenly waking from her stupor as you began to scramble to your feet, desperate to make your escape - amorous couple, or no. However, her grip was tight as she grabbed your hand, refusing to let you go. She was surprisingly strong.

“No, wait,” she begged, her desperation clear by the way her voice broke. “Please, just - just wait. I … I just was surprised. That’s all, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting it or to… like it. Or at least, not that much.” 

“You ... liked it?” 

"Yes."

You could have been knocked over with a feather at that point. Instead of rejecting you, or rebuking you, or even feeling repulsed by what you had just done, Eloise seemed almost excited as the shock wore off.

She began to smile, making the tension simply evaporate between you two. Instead, she looked almost liberated, her cheeks flushed and her lips were plumped from where you had just pressed them against your own. Several strands of her hair had also come free from their perfect coiffeur throughout the evening and yet, Eloise had never looked more perfect in your eyes.

You’d have done anything to frame that moment to preserve it forever.

“I did," she murmured. "It seems you were right after all. Perhaps it was a matter of finding the right person to kiss.” 

“I was?”

“Indeed,” Eloise purred, a newfound eagerness surging within her as she reached out and pulled you back into her arms. “But, maybe we should test it one more time? Just to be sure. Any sound scientific theory must be based on evidence, after all.” 

Well, who were you to argue with that?

[pulisicsgirl]

this is me trying - mason mount

summary: Mason is having trouble putting his frustrations into words, but Y/N is there to help him work it out

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, a good bit of angst and some mentions of self-doubt, but then a little fluff at the end, established relationship

requested: no

notes: surprise!! i felt inspired to write this after the last couple of rough games, so i put this together pretty quickly tonight. i'm still working on part two of the request, but i wanted to get this one out there! also i don't usually do this, but this fic draws some inspiration from 'this is me trying' by taylor swift (hence the title), so feel free to listen to that while you read! this is something i'm thinking about doing more often, so let me know what you think!

It was another disappointing draw for Chelsea FC: a goalless draw at home to Liverpool.

To put it bluntly, the squad that Chelsea put on the field looked… uninspired. They lacked any sort of consistency or passion.

And of course, you were disappointed and frustrated to see Mason remain on the bench for the full 90 minutes.

After the game, you found yourself wandering down toward the field end of the tunnel, searching for him without going too far out into the stadium. You hadn’t seen him emerge as you waited with the rest of the families in the lounge and decided to take matters into your own hands.

As you peeked out from the tunnel, you spotted him over by the players’ bench, fiddling with the laces on his shoes. Most everyone had cleared out of the stadium by now, the seats empty and an ominous silence falling over the area that usually held such a high energy.

Mason stood up fully, noticing you as you took a couple of slow, cautious steps out of the tunnel toward him. Your arms were tucked behind your back innocently, swaying slowly back and forth, and if he wasn’t feeling the way that he was currently, he would’ve melted at the sight.

He approached you, greeting you at barely more than a whisper before he pulled you into a brief hug. The smell of sweat and grass that typically filled your nose when he hugged you after a match was notably missing. After all, he hadn’t been able to do anything to work up a sweat.

When he pulled back from the hug, he kept his arms loosely around your shoulders. “You go on and head home and I’ll meet you there in a bit, yeah?” he muttered quietly. “I’m gonna run a few sprints here before I head out, just stretch my legs a bit.” He forced a small smile, but he didn’t pretend to think that you believed it. He knew that you saw straight through his façade—you knew him far too well for that.

You just nodded at him with a short, “okay,” and released his waist from where your arms had been holding him close. He pressed a short kiss on your forehead before he turned and jogged away toward the goal line.

You began to walk back toward the tunnel, but before you left, you turned, watching Mason for a few moments.

He alternated between sprinting and jogging back and forth, up and down the field. His head hung low, and you could see the despair and sadness written all over it. Mason was always a team player, but in the private moments, he couldn’t help it when the lack of playing time and the way that his managers no longer seemed to trust in his abilities started to chip away at his morale. And you knew that, even if he didn’t express that to you.

Deciding to give him some time alone to reflect, you turned to leave, a heavy weight of sadness for Mason weighing on your heart.

About an hour later, you found yourself tidying up around the house, anxiously awaiting Mason’s arrival. He had texted you not long ago to let you know that he was on his way.

You were determined to talk things through with him tonight. You had done your best to allow him to have the space that he wanted, but you knew that the more he kept these things to himself, the worse he was getting.

The two of you learned very early in your relationship that you were both the kind of person to try to deal with things on your own. If something would happen or you had something on your mind, you would bottle it up and just try to power through it. This caused a lot of issues in the early months of your relationship, and the two of you decided together that you needed to do better.

So now, you both held each other accountable. As you learned and grew together, you gave one another space when it was warranted and confronted the other when it was necessary. This time seemed to have grown into one of the latter.

You heard the brief jingle of Mason’s keys as he pulled them out of the lock in the front door, shutting it behind him. Mason’s bag could be heard plopping onto the floor as he seemingly dropped it at his feet.

You wandered toward the front door, eventually finding him in the living room. He was sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees with his head in his hands. His hair was slightly damp—clearly he had taken a shower at the stadium following his sprints.

You approached him slowly and stood in front of him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He didn’t jump at the sudden contact, telling you that he had known you were there.

You trailed your fingers from his shoulder, up his neck, and under his chin, titling his head so that he was looking at you.

“Hey, baby,” you whispered. He didn’t respond, dropping his elbows from his legs. You took this as an invitation and sat down with your legs on either side of his. He leaned back into the cushions of the couch.

Neither of you spoke a word for several long moments. You rested a hand on his jaw, stroking his cheekbone slowly with your thumb as he leaned into the soft touch. Your other hand rested on the junction between his neck and shoulder.

You took a moment to admire his features: the soft creases by his eyes that grew more intense when he would smile, the gentle curves of his nose, the stubble along his jaw that tickled your hand, the scattered freckles that adorned his cheeks and nose. You looked over his face, adoring each part of it.

However, Mason seemed unable to look anywhere close to your face, his eyes cast downward and staring at your lap. He rested his hands on your hips, but his fingers don’t find their way under your shirt to rub small circles into your skin the way they usually do. The light that usually fills his eyes is absent, replaced by a dull and far-off look.

He knows what’s coming. He knows you need him to talk to you about what’s going on in his head. But he can’t figure out how to put into words the sorrow that seems to sit on his chest like a weight, causing him to feel a constant pressure against his ribcage as his heart physically aches.

He’s pulled from his wandering thoughts by your lips pressed softly to his nose, a gentle kiss meant to communicate all possible forms of reassurance to him.

At this, he finally raises his eyes up to your face, not finding the pitying look that he had been dreading. Instead, he saw pure love in your eyes and a desire to help him in any way that you could.

“Talk to me, baby.” Your thumb continued to stroke his cheekbone, hoping to soothe some of the turmoil you could see behind his eyes.

He pressed his lips together tightly, still trying to muster up the courage and the right words to voice his thoughts.

“I just…” he hesitated. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Your lips turned down in a frown, thinking for a moment. “Okay… talk to me about what you’re feeling right now. Are you sad? Angry?” You tried to help him put words to the things he was feeling. “Anxious?”

“Anxious, yeah,” he nodded slightly. “And sad, I think.”

You smiled slightly as you began to feel that you were making progress. Your moved your arms further up his shoulders, threading your fingers through the hair on the back of his head as you scratched his scalp gently. “Alright, tell me what’s making you feel anxious.”

Mason’s eyes slipped closed for a moment, and he subconsciously tilted his chin up, leaning back into your touch. You gladly let him have that moment of peace, soothed by your gentle voice and soft touch.

“Just… a lot of changes at the club right now. Still trying to adjust to new players. New gaffer now.” He spoke in short, choppy statements, blinking his eyes open as he was unpleasantly drawn back to reality by his own words. “Things are still up in the air with my contract. The fans are saying all kinds of stuff. I had to drop out of international duty. I’m trying to come back from an injury, and I haven’t played a minute in weeks.” His voice grew a little louder with each word, and you placed both of your hands on his cheeks to try to calm him down without shushing him. He noticed the gesture, realizing that he was starting to work himself up, and paused to take a breath.

“I feel like they don’t trust me anymore.” His eyes were misty when he said this, and you felt your heart crack into pieces.

“Who doesn’t trust you? The coaches? The fans?”

“Kind of both, I guess. But mainly the coaches.” He casted his eyes downward again, too ashamed to look at you in what he felt was a moment of weakness.

You lifted his head up once more, leaning your forehead against his so that he was forced to look you in the eye.

“You listen, and you listen good, Mason,” you started, pulling a slight chuckle from him at your actions. “Don’t you ever go doubting your abilities as a football player. You are the most naturally gifted and creative player I think I have ever seen, and your accomplishments speak to that. The managers who have gotten the privilege to work with you love you, and if anyone can’t see that, they’re insane. Sure, this season has been rough, but you are one of eleven men on that pitch at any given moment, with several more sitting on the bench who all make some sort of contribution to the successes or failures of this team. This responsibility does not lie solely on your shoulders.”

Mason nodded at you, and you could see him trying to swallow back tears. The simultaneous pain and relief of confronting his dark thoughts was overwhelming.

“I know this last month has been hard for you, between injury and big changes at the club, but you’ve handled it so well. You may not believe me when I say it, but you’ve been so strong through all of the unexpected obstacles that have been thrown at you. And I am so proud of you for that.”

At these words, a tear finally spilled from his eye, rolling down his face. You wiped it away with your thumb, pressing a kiss to both of his cheeks.

“Things will work out with your contract, baby. I know you want to find a way to stay, but they always say that sometimes one door has to close so that others can open. Who knows what kind of success and growth you’ll find at a new club, or if you get to stay here, you can find it here, too. Wherever you go, you’re going to be incredible, okay?”

He nods wordlessly, eyes still shining with tears.

“Take a deep breath.” The two of you take one together, breathing out slowly as you gaze into his eyes. “Try to focus on the good things. Your family is all in good health. You got to see your nieces over the weekend.”  A small smile breaks out on his face at that. “You’re spending your career doing the thing that you love most. And you’re not slowing down anytime soo—”

“And I have you,” he cut you off, barely more than a whisper. You were caught off-guard by his words, taking a moment to look over his face and calm your heart that had begun racing.

“And you have me,” you smiled back at him, resuming the way you had been scratching over his scalp a few minutes ago. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Mason wrapped his arms fully around your torso, pulling you into a tight hug as he buried his face in your neck. You felt the warm tears dropping onto your skin and kissed the side of his head, continuing to scratch his neck and shoulders as you held him in your arms.

“Can we just stay here for a while?” His voice was muffled by your shoulder, but you were still able to understand him,

“Of course, sweetheart. As long as you need.”

tag list: @masonspulisic @chelseagirl98 @thoseboysinblue

[thomasshelbydrabbles]

The Spy (6/?)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Adeline Taylor (OC)

Warnings: period typical sexism, series typical violence, period typical views of PTSD, period typical racism, blood and gore, angst, sexual situations, infertility, loss of child

Summary: Adeline and Tommy talk for the first time in two years.

**Note: This is a series, so you should read The School Teacher and The Messenger first if you want to understand everything.*

Word Count: 2975

Author’s Note: And here it is!! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Birmingham, 1924

“You claimed she was Thomas Shelby’s woman!” 

Adeline rolled her eyes as the men around her continued to bicker. They’d been arguing over her status as a usable whore for Tommy since they’d left the prison. It wasn’t exactly the reunion she’d envisioned, but seeing him was worth the bruise she felt blooming across her face. The way he’d looked at her though, that hurt more than she expected. Part of her wondered if his reaction had been calculated, designed to cause the infighting occurring right this moment. She clung to that thought because the alternative might destroy her. 

“Oh do shut up,” Adeline snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He was hardly going to fall to pieces at the sight of me with a bruise on my face.” 

“Rather bold for a woman who lost her fiancé today,” Father Hughes informed her, sneer on his face. 

“You assume I’ve lost a fiancé. No way of knowing for sure so long as you keep me locked away here, pulled out only when you need a visual presentation of your leverage. No way a man like Thomas Shelby would allow himself to be pressured in such a way.”

“You cannot be suggesting we simply allow you to do as you please.” 

Adeline smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Not that I have much faith - ” she paused, “Sorry, not much for religion myself. You’ll understand why I don’t think you’ll take the wiser course here and allow me to return to the family.” 

“We can’t do that,” Sidney informed her. “We’ll stick to the plan. As Father Hughes pointed out, we’ve a higher power to account to in this endeavor.”

Adeline snickered. “And that’s worked out so well for you thus far. Good to see you continue to bet on the wrong horse.”

“There will come a time when you are no longer of use to the men of Section D.” 

“A day we all look forward to, I’m sure,” Adeline interrupted. “And of course, you’ve got grand designs about how I’ll suffer before I die. Perhaps you imagine I’ll beg you to offer me last rights so you can save my soul from eternal damnation. Sadly for us all, you can’t be rid of me yet.” 

“You can’t be sure he’ll even take you back,” Sidney reasoned.

“Aye. I can’t be sure. But, you’re whole plan - the plan dreamed up by the illustrious members of Section D hinges on Thomas Shelby giving a damn about my life.”

“He’ll see you alive and well at the Shelby family fundraiser this weekend. You’ll attend with Sidney, as planned. A representative of Section D will make himself know to Mr. Shelby, and detail exactly what he is to do next. Of course, the Grand Duchess will also be present at the fundraiser. Her uncle insists on her presence.” 

She hated the slimy, smug grin on Father Hughes’ face. The jealousy she felt bubble up in her gut she hated even more. If he truly had given up on her, the Grand Duchess’ parted thighs just might be enticement enough for Tommy.

“She is to be the direct contact between Thomas Shelby and our Russian friends. You - ” Father Hughes pointed at Adeline, “Are to remain just out of reach. Seen often enough to keep him interested, but far enough from him that he cannot pull you once more to his side.” 

“A slow torture,” Adeline murmured. “I wouldn't have believed such a pious, virtuous man of the cloth capable of something so insidious. But to hear it from your own lips. I’m impressed.”  

“Let’s not lose focus,” Sidney said, once more trying to maintain the peace. 

Adeline wanted to laugh at the irony of that. A man more apt to start a war because he was bored trying to mediate conflict. 

“I think Mr. Shelby is still very much enamored with our girl.” 

Adeline slanted a look at him, bristling at the use of our. 

“The fundraiser is for the Shelby Foundation, which supports the local school. The very school where you used to teach, if I’m not mistaken. Such overtures don’t speak to a man ready to sever his relationship with his wayward fiancée.”

“Wayward?” Adeline asked.

Sidney shrugged a shoulder. “Your neither missing nor dead. Everyone who’s worked with you understands how difficult you can be. Wayward is a rather apt description, don’t you think?” 

“Indeed,” Father Hughes agreed.

“A more agreeable woman wouldn’t be able to accomplish the tasks you have set forth.”

“Agreed,” Sidney said with an amiable smile. 

He poured a measure of whiskey and handed it to Adeline. Skeptical of his sudden good humor, she took the glass. 

“We’ll go shopping for a pretty dress for you to wear. Can’t have Thomas Shelby forgetting himself, thinking he has any sort of advantage or space to maneuver. We must constantly show him what his own waywardness is endangering.” 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For a grown ass woman, Adeline spent much of her time sneaking into and out of various places. She’d been forbidden from leaving the guest house, but she’d think less of Sidney if he thought for a single moment she’d abide such a ridiculous rule. Not when she was here, in Birmingham. As instructed, she’d gone and bought a dress. While the savvy operative in her wanted to find something homely to wear just to spite Sidney, the woman desperately in love with a man she wanted to have captivated by her won out and she purchased a dress specifically designed to make Thomas Shelby want nothing more than to tear it from her body.

Glancing around his room, she noted how little had changed. Her coat, wet along the bottom from the lingering puddles that seemed to always occupy Birmingham streets hung on the back of the door. Her shoes, soaked through, lay in a haphazard way near the door. Knees tucked up to her chin, Adeline sat waiting. On the bedside table, the last of her cigarette lay burning down to nothing in the tray, small wisp of smoke curling up towards the ceiling. 

She heard footfalls on the steps, heard them move closer to the door. When the door began to creak open, Adeline felt her heart stop. Setting this meeting up, moving all the pieces, making promises - how easy that had been compared to this moment. Too many possibilities swam through her head. 

The door opened. Tommy stood in the doorway, shadows from the twilight casting his features in stark relief. He stood there as a statue, only the smallest movements convinced her that he was even breathing. Their eyes locked. 

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

She wanted to smile at the familiarity of the whole scenario. This space - his old room on Watery Lane held so many precious memories for her. Their first kiss.  

“Last time you snuck into me bed you had a message for me.”

“Aye.” 

Tommy nodded. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket. “Go on. Give me the message then get the fuck out.” 

“I don’t have a message, Tommy. I snuck into your bed to see you.”

He took a long drag from his cigarette, eyes distant, unfocused. “I dreamed this,” he whispered. “After the Darby. Every night.” 

“Tommy - ”

“And each morning,” he continued as he stepped into the room. “I’d wake up alone. Your spot on the bed cold and empty.” 

The anguish in his eyes destroyed her, tore through her like someone was peeling the skin from her back strip by strip. She wanted to turn her face away, to hide from his gaze; it would be easy to play the coward.  

“What would you like me to say, Tommy?”

Instead of answering, he threw the door closed. The sound of it echoed through the quiet of the house. She flinched at the noise. Her movement drew his focus back to her. 

“I don’t know, Miss Taylor. After two years, what is there to say, eh?”

Another flinch. She clutched her left hand to her chest, the fingers from her right hand nervously twisting the engagement ring around her finger. 

Tommy let out a humorless chuckle. He pointed to her, that same bitter smile she’d seen in the prison once more on his face. 

“Were you ever mine?”

An aborted, wounded sound escaped her lips. Yet, Sidney’s voice echoed in her mind. You were mine first…Shaking those thoughts from her head she met Tommy’s gaze. 

“You fuckin’ bastard, how can you ask me that?”

Again, Sidney’s voice mocked her, You’ve worn his ring, played virgin for the two years you’ve been apart... 

“Answer the question.” 

Adeline grit her teeth. “I never stopped being yours.”

She watched his expression. Saw how he worked to shut her out, to hold his anger tightly around him as protection. He might be able to do it. She’d always known there was a possibility…a version of this reunion where he didn’t - wouldn’t forgive her. Worst of all, she couldn't find it in herself to blame him for it. Were their roles reversed, she’d not be forgiving either. Didn’t change the fact that he still held what remained of her heart in the palm of his hand, just as surely as Sidney held her life in the palm of his. Damn them both. 

He remained silent, just stood there and smoked his cigarette. Adeline stood from the bed, closed some of the distance between them.

“When you were laying in your bed, dreamin’ ‘bout me did you imagine it was my choice to be taken from your side, hm?” 

“One moment you were there. The next you allowed them to fuckin’ drag you away.” Tommy glanced away. He tossed his spent cigarette on the floor and ground it beneath his foot. Adeline wanted to scold him for it, but didn’t. He met her gaze once again. 

“Aye.” 

“Fuckin’ Alfie knocked Arthur unconscious, nearly shot me to keep us from runnin’ after you. We outnumbered them. Would have been simple enough for you to break the hold they had on you. Only one conclusion, Miss Taylor - you wanted to leave with them.” 

“Call me Miss Taylor in that tone one more time and I swear to Christ I’ll cut your fuckin’ tongue out.” 

“Why?”

Adeline forced herself to take a deep breath. She met Tommy’s steady gaze, felt the burn of the ice in his blue eyes. Had attempting to protect him from her past brought them here? Perhaps. He deserved to know everything. 

“Momento Mori.”

Reaching forward, Adeline pulled the pack of cigarettes from Tommy’s pocket. Allowing the smoke to fortify her, she began to pace in a small little line a foot away from where Tommy stood. 

“I thought he was dead. Alfie, too. I thought I was safe, but I should have known better. Memento Mori was our code during the war. Sidney - George, whatever he wants to bloody well call himself, used that phrase when the situation became too dangerous to stay. Those men who came in, the ones who grabbed me, whispered that phrase in my ear. No one needed to die. If I’d fought, if I even hesitated, everyone in that room would have been dead. Better you alive and hating me than dead and loving me.”

“Still makin’ my decisions for me.” 

Adeline shook her head. “You bloody stubborn bastard. Even with everything I’ve told you. Everything you’ve seen, you still don’t understand how dangerous this is. I’ll not apologize for saving you. I’ll never apologize for protecting you, for keeping you safe.”

“And there it is,” Tommy nodded to himself. “The woman I love, my fiancée, doesn't trust me to protect the family. To protect her.”

Adeline scoffed. “Trust you?” 

With a shake of her head, she turned away from him. She took a long drag from the cigarette. Whirling back to face him, she jabbed her finger against his chest. 

“The second you got sober enough to have a coherent thought you went to fucking Churchill and made yourself a Devil’s bargain.” 

Tommy’s eyes narrowed as he took a step back. 

“And how would you know that, eh?”

She’d never thought about how she’d answer that question. Part of her never thought she’d have the opportunity. She’d convinced herself that Sidney would kill her when he was done with her. As she’d told Campbell years ago, women like her were guaranteed one thing in life and that was to die bloody, wrung out - useless. That’d be her tombstone: Here Lies Arke: Useless.

He deserved to know. Even if he hated her for it. It’d been many years since she’d been this desperate to lie to someone. She knew the likelihood of him forgiving her was slim, had known that all along. Yet standing here in his room, facing the reality of it? Nothing felt worse. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at him. 

“About six months after Sidney took me, I figured out a way to get word out that I was alive. I hadn’t managed to find a way to come home. I couldn’t. Not while Sidney breathed. That was my mistake the first time. Instead of verifying for myself, I believed rumors and reports about his death. Allowed my joy at his demise to cloud my judgment. Not again. Not ever again. I sent word through the IRA to Alfie, to Isaiah - ”

She paused at his startled hiss of breath. She knew that dark look in his eye. 

“You’ll leave that boy alone, Thomas Shelby. It’s me you're angry with, and rightly so. I couldn’t risk direct or indirect contact with you. Sidney had his people everywhere, and I knew if he caught even a hint that I had reached out to you…well, you’d all be dead. Anyone with the last name Shelby. Anyone associated with the Peaky Blinders. All dead. You’ll scoff. Tell me there’s no way that would happen because Thomas fucking Shelby rules the whole world, and no one would dare cross him. And that’s why I couldn't risk it. You’re not invincible. Men like Sidney are too well connected, too political. I knew Alfie would keep you in the dark. Took a bit of a wager on Isaiah, but he’s a good lad. Knows good sense.”

Adeline threw her spent cigarette on the floor, ignoring the way her hands shook. 

“Didn’t expect Michael and Isaiah to show up. They’re the ones who told me about what you’d done, about your foolishness. Good boys. Of course, Alfie’s the one who helped them track me down. Meddling Jewish fool. After that, I couldn’t allow them to risk in person contact. We relied on carefully coded notes with minimal details about anything personal or important. Then we were in France, and Russia because of course Alfie was fucking right, as usual and Sidney is Russian, so he’s involved in this whole mess of Reds and Whites, then I learn that you’ve gone to Churchill and gotten yourself involved in the Russian’s bloody mess. Now they’re using me as a pawn to make sure you stay in line and do exactly as you're told.”

Tommy nodded, the movements abrupt. He raked a hand through his hair before locking his eyes with hers. Adeline’s breath caught. They were so blue, and they still held her as captive as they always had. She’d missed him so much it hurt, and standing here this close…she missed him all the more. Oh how she’d feared this day. The day when it was all too much. When he found the transgression he couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive. Worst of all, she couldn’t even blame him.    

“Two years,” Tommy began, voice low, carefully controlled. “You’ve known everythin’ I’ve been doin’ for two years, and not a single word to me.” 

Adeline wanted to shake him. Everything she’d told him, and that’s what he focused on. As though she could forget the time. As though she hadn’t died each day since they’d been apart.  

“I spent two years worryin’ about you. Not knowin’ if you were alive, or - ”

Tommy clenched his hand into a fist, grit his teeth.

“Two fuckin’ years!”

She startled at the volume of his voice. Her own eyes narrowed. She took a step closer to him. 

“Aye,” Adeline screamed back. “745 fuckin’ days!” 

Staring at him, her chest heaved. Tommy stared back; his blue eyes piercing.

“745 days,” she whispered. 

She fought back the tears that threatened to stream down her face. Not that she minded the thought of crying in front of him, not anymore, but she feared if she gave in now, if she allowed even one tear to fall, she’d never stop.

“Might be 746 by now,” Adeline noted absently, eyes peering out the window into the darkness. 

Looking back at Tommy was a mistake. She’d not seen him look so defeated. Anger spent, at least for now, he appeared to her…un-moored. Like a boat adrift in the Cut, loose, but dangerously close to crashing against the bank. Floundering now that the reality of her standing in front of him settled around his shoulders. It was as though he finally believed she stood before him, not some specter he’d conjured in his dreams. She understood the feeling. Seeing him in that prison cell…feeling his eyes on her - nothing could have prepared her for that moment. 

Tommy closed the distance between them, his fingers gently traced the edges of the bruise on her face. Leaning into his touch, she bit back the sound of pain that wanted to escape her lips. She’d not allow him to end this connection over something so trivial as pain. The bruise, like all the ones before, would heal. Tommy touching her as though she mattered to him - that she needed like oxygen. 

“Tell me how to fix us,” Adeline begged, voice a whisper.

Part 7

Master List

Tag List: @stevie75  @muhahaha303  @highgardenrosexx @dolllol2405 

[marmolady]

Reunion: 2026

Main Pairings: Jake x Sean (I'll call it Gaykenzie)

Sean and Jake have gotten closer.... One for you, @yukkimons! It basically picks up where the first wedding in 'Four Weddings' takes off.

Do feel free to shout out a year between 2024 and 2097 if you want me to write a specific one next. You can find the full series (in progress) here on AO3.

Word Count: 1256

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, ​@mauvecatfic @rhemenway888

Thanks for reading! Comments and re-blogs make me EXTRA happy. Always happy to nerd out about these characters with other fans.

_______________________

The dead of night saw The Celestial still and quiet, all its occupants having long since succumbed to sleep after a typically exhausting first-day-of-the-reunion party. Almost all of them, anyway.

Tonight, Jake shared his suite with Sean, who’d managed to slip in unnoticed-- it helped that everyone else was too dead on their feet to care for anything other than getting swiftly to bed. After a long evening of yearning glances, they lay together entangled and gleefully free of the need for subtlty.

“Still don’t suppose anyone’s twigged we’ve been dancing the horizontal tango?”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Jake shrugged his shoulders, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And here I thought ya didn’t want me to be crude about it….”

Sean met his lover’s eye, the gaze making him hot under the collar, whether he’d admit to it or not. God, he’s a cocky bastard.

“’Crude’,” he said, “doesn’t really do justice to what we do together.”

“So… horizontal tango it is?”

“Because everything’s a nickname with you… I guess it is.” Sean lowered himself down onto the bed, scooching so that his torso was pressed against Jake’s. “And I think we’re in the clear. Craig hasn’t said anything, and if he’s not suspicious, it means Zahra isn’t either.”

“And if she ain’t onto us, we’re good, ‘cause no one figures anything out before Skrillex does.”

“Pretty much my reasoning.” Sean couldn’t help but find his gaze falling again and again on Jake’s lips, the teasing smile.

This… this thing between them, it had been a secret for their own sanity really. They both had busy lives, always moving around as their careers bade them. There wasn’t a lot of room to hash out a stable relationship, and so this thing had been as transient as other aspects of their lives. But since Quinn and Michelle’s wedding, and that first hook up, they just kept finding their way back to one another’s arms and beds. Estela, Jake was pretty certain, had a fair inkling something was going down, for she’d been the one to push him to make a move to begin with, and that meant Taylor probably had an idea as well, but otherwise, they’d so far managed to keep the development on the down-low. Sure, it would all come out sooner or later, but going into a serious relationship was, for both of them, a big deal, with a lot of baggage coming with it. It was just easier to find their way without the added pressure of eagerly watching eyes.

They couldn’t be together all the time, but that connection was undeniable. If Sean hadn’t had Jake these past months… well, it wouldn’t have felt like he’d had a home to come go home to. It didn’t matter where they were when they found time to be together; it always felt like the one place on earth where he was meant to be.

Jake sucked his cheeks, mulling something over. It was putting too much pressure on this to make it a big public deal while so much was still uncertain, but… at the same time, so much was certain. Jake knew how he felt for one thing. This was serious, so why not start talking things out with select people?

“While we’re here, you oughtta tell, Drax.”

Sean looked up, surprised. “I guess that means things are getting pretty serious.”

“Yeah, I know you’ve been dyin’ to bring him in on it. Besides, makes it fair-- Katniss already knows what’s up, and you should have someone cheerin’ you on as well.”

“Ha-- he’ll certainly be doing that.”

Jake met Sean’s eyes, questioning. “Do you want to keep things how they are? Are you happy?”

Sean brought his hand to Jake’s cheek, caressing his fingers over rough stubble. “I’m happy. I think… a part of me is waiting for things to get easier. The gig I’m in, it’s blink and you’ll miss it, and your time’s up. One of the downsides is… I gotta be fully in it.”

“Rough deal when your hot piece of ass won’t stay in one place either.”

“Jacob Lucas McKenzie, you did not just refer to yourself as ‘my hot piece of ass’….”

“If the boot fits….”

Sean took his hand from Jake’s face to give his rear end a squeeze. “Huh. Well, it is hard to argue with that one.”

Jake’s expression became serious once more. Being open, being real, it came more easily these days, but he knew he’d never be a heart-on-his-sleeve guy. “I want you, babe. Now, when you’re putting in for retirement, always. Part-time don’t mean it ain’t serious, ‘cause I am deadly serious. It’s you, Pretty Boy.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sean said quietly. He sucked a breath, then trusted himself to let the words go. “I love you. There-- I said it.”

Jake was silent for a moment, rapt. “Beat me to it,” he said at last, and it took an effort not to chuckle at the plain relief upon his lover’s face.”You… don’t mind if I say it back?”

Sean gave a giddy little laugh. “Sure. Go for it.”

“Alright. No point dancing around it; I love you too. Scares the shit outta me sometimes, but in the same way my first flight scared the shit outta me. The kind that says ‘this is everything, don’t you goddamn lose it’.

“You won’t,” Sean said, solemn. “I know you won’t. Remember how pig-headed we both were when we first came here? Both of those idiots on the same side… absolutely indomitable.”

“Yeah, I actually believe it too. I think my body just still ain’t used to optimism.”

“We’ll just have to keep working on that. I know it’s how I’ve got through so far.” Sean pressed his forehead into his steepled hands. “See, I knew I was never gonna have a long career doing this. No one ever does. I always knew going in that I couldn’t push it, that I had to put my future beyond football first-- not let it screw all that up like my dad did.” He sighed, and looked back up at Jake, his dark eyes soft. “I couldn’t really picture that future, just knowing I wanted to somehow have a family. I believed in it, ‘cause that’s how I get by, but I couldn’t see it clear. The thing is, it’s not ‘somehow’ anymore. What I’ve got to look forward to is you. And suddenly a flash in the pan career is almost a blessing.”

Jake cupped Sean’s chin. “Hey. You hang up those shoulder-pads, that ain’t the end for you, hear me? Any mountain you want to climb, you got it. And you’ll always be my QB. The things I’ve seen you do? Don’t matter if it’s having that family you’re dreaming of, or saving the world before breakfast, I’ll be behind you all the way.”

Sean closed the distance, drawing Jake into a kiss and inviting him to linger there. This week… it wouldn’t be long enough. So now, he kissed him hard, desperately like a man running out of time. And he wasn’t the only one; the response was breathtaking-- leaving Sean grasping his fingers into Jake’s long hair just to remain steady.

Then, they slowed, the kisses becoming lingering and languid.

“I found some crazy things out here. Nothing comes close to you. You… always did make me crazy.”

“Ha. I’m a one-of-a-kind.” Jake winked. “Don’t worry, Pretty Boy. The Jake-crazies look mighty good on you.”

[romanadvora]

The Chase

season 002 : story 016 : episodes 072-077

22 MAY - 26 JUN 1965 || 03 - 04 JUN 2023

I really love the opening to this story; we've got a nice slice of life inside the TARDIS with the Doctor tinkering away at the TSV, Ian chilling out reading a [rather far-fetched] story, Barbara making a dress for Vicki… once again some lovely comfort Who. Everyone getting excited for the Visualiser is really fun.

I find Ian & Barbara's familiarity with the Beatles (especially Ticket to Ride) pretty funny since their second album came out on the 22nd of November 1963, when Ian & Barbara presumably left London earlier that week (23rd November wasn't a school day).

Vicki and Ian getting a lot of time together is easily one of my favourite parts of the serial; the two of them running off up the dune becoming silhouettes is one of my favourite shots of the show so far, and the pair just wandering around and Vicki telling stories of her childhood is so personal and a really intimate scene, you really feel the bond the two have.

The same can be said for the Doctor and Barbara sunbathing when Barbara starts complaining about not the Doctor's singing, but the *other* awful noise. 

The Dalek rising out of the sand has absolutely got to be a callback to the Dalek rising out the Thames right?

Gosh this whole tangent with the Aridians just… isn't it. "We have been told by the Dalek's we have ½ a day to hand you over to the Daleks- our elders are now discussing whether they will do this"... 10 minutes later… "our elders have decided to hand you over to the Daleks".

The Mire Beasts attacking allows the Doctor, Barbara & Vicki to reasonably escape, and it's nice to see Ian already up and planning an attack on the Daleks- Ian asking for Barbara's cardigan again and the continuity of her complaining, "not again" was a nice little touch.

Ian jumping up yelling "yoo-hoo, Dalek!" is yet another iconic Chesterton moment.

First appearance of the Time Vortex in Flight Through Eternity?

Vicki mentioning NYC as an ancient historical city, destroyed in the Dalek invasion, is a really nice seasonal continuity.

Episode three is quite minimal, but the connection to real-life history and explaining real mysteries with sci-fi excuses is a creative choice I really like; the abandonment of the Mary Celeste here, or the disappearance of Agatha Christie in Unicorn and the Wasp.

And it's fun to see Peter Purves being an Alabaman country boy ahead of his debut as 25th century astronaut, Steven Taylor.

Really not a fan of the whole haunted house episode because of how goofy the Daleks get as opposed to their typical sinister and manipulative selves- and the Doctor's theory of the mansion being some a physical manifestation of human nightmare would fix the plot holes of Frankenstein's Monster & Dracula surviving extermination. That being said, the Doctor figuring out they're in an artificial environment because everything is so typically scary is a creative element.

While the cliffhanger of the Daleks making a robot Doctor clone is cool and threatening, it's defeated like halfway through the next episode so you don't really feel a continuous anxiety that the Doctor could be an imposter. Showing the Doctor double next to Vicki and Barbara while Ian is unintentionally fighting the real Doctor was a good use of dramatic irony though. And the reveal being done with the robot calling Vicki "Susan" continues with the established continuity of having met the Daleks earlier; perhaps the memory scan where "the young girl" is Susan was done during the invasion of Earth…

The last episode is where this really picks up, as you’ve got this wonderful futuristic Mechanoid city above the trees, and some great world-building via newly introduced astronaut Steven Taylor. Him explaining how the Mechanoids were initially Human inventions to aid in the colonisation of Mechanus, and why he’s marooned on this planet due to an all-out war between Earth and an.. unnamed[?] enemy makes the world feel quite grounded. 

The Dalek / Mechanoid battle is also really well done, not just with great tracking shots and use of lighting, but how the rapid cuts, angles, and superimposed flames on the picture make the whole sequence really fast paced and somewhat hard to keep track of; generally good for a chaotic and bloody fight. 

Vicki being deathly afraid of heights add to the danger of their rooftop escape from the burning city, and Maureen really sells the performance in my opinion.

Now. The end is here. The Daleks and Mechanoids have destroyed themselves, leaving the travellers free not just to leave in the TARDIS, but see the Dalek’s timeship too. Ian’s imitation of a Dalek is a fun calmer after a rather hectic finale, and their departure is really well done. It can be frustrating that the Doctor is so mad at them, and it does *kind of* feel unexpected on Ian and Barbara’s front. Although with moments like Ian being knighted, the downtime scenes of everyone dancing to the Beatles in the TARDIS, and the slower more intimate moments like Ian and Vicki running up the dunes… you can really feel that their time is at an end. I love Ian’s passion for wanting the simple things in life; a drink at the pub, walking in the park, wanting to belong somewhere (other than the rather nebulous and fluctuating address of the TARDIS, 76 Totters Lane*). It’s the time of exit that could only work back in the 60s because of how random all their adventures were; not like now when you can deliberately go to any point in time or space, down to the specifics of “in time for tea”. I do also like how it’s then Vicki who convinces the Doctor to get over his anger-veiled sadness and let them do this thing; you see the connection between the pair, how Vicki really has taken the role of the granddaughter in the Doctor’s life, and how she can appeal to him when no one else is able to get through. 

The montage of Ian and Barbara back in London 1965! is just really heartwarming, and them bursting with laughter when a ticketer asks if they’ve been on the Moon because they’re so out of touch feels so personal and close. Vicki and the Doctor watching them on the TSV is not only a good narrative choice by tying it back to the serial’s beginning, but it also allows for both parties to have their goodbyes of sorts. The Doctor staring off into the middle distance saying “I will miss them” seems really simple, but that’s not a bad thing, because it is that simple. They’ve been together for two years and the Doctor has grown considerably since meeting them, and he got so upset with the prospect of them leaving that he started shouting at them about how stupid their idea was. Not exactly a… healthy… response. But powerful? Absolutely. 

Because of those great first and finale episodes, even though the story got a bit too meandering in the middle, and lost sight of the Daleks’ menace for a bit too long, it’s still a great send off for two of my favourite companions.

I will miss them. 

★★★★☆

[allsassnoclass]

hi again too many thoughts i don't want to hide in the tags: 1. "maybe the person you identify with isn't always the easiest to write" yes 100%, i write michael the most because i identify with him most However he's also the hardest to write. which is very strange to me, but yes.

2. that dating to fake dating idea caught my attention. that sounds very oof in the best way

3. i love that you love writing their friendships!!! it makes me so happy to see/read and it's why fics like puzzle pieces are so good i think (i'm all in favour of not putting romantic relationship above friendships. i think that's so important)

4. i just wanna say please rant all you want about being mad at people making fun of ashton. i will be mad with you. superbloom era also scarred me for that lmao i remember that we were both thinking the same thing last year. so!! yes all the way!!! let's not make fun of ashton just because we don't understand what eh's trying to say yeah :') i say that as someone who doesn't particularly identify with or relate to him. i still love hearing everything he has to say. sorry to bring your rant out of the tags lmao but i also feel VERY passionately about this :') -taylor<3

hello hello welcome back

1. it's so interesting how that works out! because you'd think that would make them easier to write, but it doesn't

2. i'm pretty excited about it right now. it's got some interesting stuff happening in it and as someone who doesn't do a lot of angst it's been fun to come up with ideas and be like "ooo. that will hurt the readers."

3. they make it so easy!!!! it's so easy to write 5sos fic because they have so much platonic love for each other that we get to see. if you're writing slash the love is there, you just need to switch it to romantic! and if you're doing some nice friendship stuff you have So Much to work with. and yes I am a very very firm believer that romantic relationships are not more important than friendships, which is also probably why the vast majority of my fics are friends to lovers, as you need to actually be friends with your partner for a romantic relationship to work out. anyway. i feel like having puzzle pieces be my third fic i wrote really set the tone in that regard

4. yeah i know that at this point the period of time i'm ranting about was over a year ago but the fact that i still get worked up really shows how much it got under my skin lol. my least favorite thing was that Every Single Time He Posted everyone would be like "what is he even saying he's so pretentious and incomprehensible" and like. i understood what he was saying every time. it made me feel really weird, like because i was on the same wavelength as him everything that they were saying about him also applied to me. it also was just frustrating because genuinely nothing he said was that hard to get. like it got to the point where he could've posted "i like apples" and people would've still said that he's pretentious and makes no sense. it genuinely made it a lot harder to enjoy his content, which was super unfortunate given that he was the only person posting and it was promotion for his solo album. in the circles i run in, ashton is always the one who people talk down about the most. and yeah, he's weird! he says some strange things! but that's his right because it's his social media. he can post what he wants. he also says some really beautiful things and he has really interesting ideas about human connectivity and our place in the universe. like, i'm sorry that you don't have enough empathy to take a second to leave your own ideas behind enough to see what he's saying? but don't ruin it for the rest of us.

it also really bothers me when, more recently, people call him privileged or pretentious for his mental health advice. he definitely is privileged (he's in a job that he loves, surrounded by people he loves, and he doesn't have to worry about financial struggles, which are things that negatively affect the mental health of a lot of people i know), but on twitter a few months ago someone asked him what helps him and he said something about gratefulness and i think he said something about how he finds yoga helpful because it helps center him. and i get why people would be like "yoga doesn't cure depression you idiot" but that's not what he was saying!!!! someone asked him what helps HIM and he answered. PLUS, little things like that CAN HELP if they work for you! changing your mindset from a more negative one to a positive one (making note of things you're grateful for, for example) can help you enjoy the little things more and lead to an overall more positive experience. and the physicality of something like yoga can also help with the release of different hormones in the brain that can help you, plus if it's part of a routine then those can help as well. (when i was in my Nightmare Internship we all were having breakdowns left and right. one girl started getting up early to do yoga every day because it was something that she used to do at home and it helped her start her day on a positive note, plus she really enjoys the physical feeling of muscles stretching.) he didn't claim that that's what cured him (we know the guy has gone to therapy. he has sought professional help for his mental health) but when someone asks him what helps him and he gives an honest answer it really bothers me when people call him pretentious or privileged for it. like, was he supposed to lie????? what do you want from him??????? it felt a little like that tumblr mentality of "this little thing isn't going to make me neurotypical so i'm going to hate you for suggesting it even if it could help make things a little more bearable." like. he never claimed that it would. he's not saying that you don't need to actually seek professional help. but if someone asks him about his own strategies for managing his mental health and he answers honestly i don't think he should get called privileged for it, especially when something like acknowledging things that you're grateful for is something that everyone can do regardless of how busy you are or how much money you have.

anyway. the way that people interact with ashton's content as opposed to everyone else's really bothers me sometimes. that rant did get away from me this time but apparently i have thoughts lol

[halloweenismyfav]

: ̗̀➛ I'm proud to say that I'm a part of the TWST collab ("who does the prefect like?") hosted by @dulcesiabits!!! I hope that you all enjoy this╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯💖💖

—❥ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ɪ ғᴀɴᴄʏ ʏᴏᴜ

warnings: none

genre: romance, fluff, (attempted) comedy

pairing: riddle rosehearts x gn!reader (+ platonic first years hehe)

word count: 884

extra notes: the reader is the ramshackle prefect!

♪ london boy – taylor swift

—♡ “Do you know why we called you here for this meeting, (Y/N)?”

“Uhh. . .This is my dorm, y’know, you’re the ones who asked to come over–”

“That’s besides the point!”

“The point is. . .”

“We know you’re dating Riddle.” ♡—

『••♡••』

So, you’re probably wondering how this all started. Well then. . .Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

— ʚ The Study ‘Dates’ ɞ

It all started with a small study date. It wasn’t even a date at the time, it was just Riddle helping you study for a test (as repayment for helping him round up some loose hedgehogs a few days prior).

The other first years didn’t really think anything of it at the time but they didn’t expect the study ‘dates’ to keep happening. It even got to the point where you were cancelling plans with them just because of these study sessions with Riddle. But hey, maybe it was just you wanting to get good grades for you and Grim, right?

— ʚ Your Phone ɞ

Usually when you hung out with the first years, you would only use your phone to show them something funny or to use Google to prove someone (typically Ace) wrong about something.

But now something felt. . .off. You were looking at your phone a lot more often than normal and were even giggling at whatever was on your screen.

You’ve never giggled at your phone.

What was even weirder is that you would lay your phone faced down so no one could read your messages. People usually only did that when they were hiding something. That's when Ace came up with a quote-unquote ‘brilliant’ plan. (Spoiler alert: it backfired.)

— ʚ The Stupid Brilliant Plan ɞ

When Ace suggested following you and Riddle around to see what you both did, Sebek and Deuce were yelling about how it was an invasion of privacy but Epel didn’t seem to mind the idea. Jack didn’t even react other than slapping the palm of his hand onto his forehead at the stupid plan that Ace concocted.

Needless to say, the dumb idea was put into motion.

The group put on disguises they deemed as acceptable before following you to the library. So far the study session was normal. Just Riddle going through the subject and making sure you understood everything he was saying. Sure, there were a few moments where his knee brushed yours and he got a bit too close for the first years’ comfort, but nothing that could make them 100% sure whether you were dating Riddle or not.

They watched as you both put your textbooks into your bags and that's when they saw it. . .Your lips pressed against Riddle's in a simple yet sweet kiss. His hand interlocked with yours for a second, giving it a light squeeze before letting go. A smile that neither Ace or Deuce have ever seen graced Riddle's face—a smile that was full of love and a bit of shyness.

“My rose, what did I say about PDA?” The dorm head seemed anything but annoyed despite what his question may have implied. That smile never leaving, instead it simply grew when your hand reached for his yet again. “I know, sorry! I just couldn’t help it. Plus it’s not like anyone is around~♪”

BLEGH. That was the only thought running through the first years’ minds (minus Jack, he was just glad that you’re happy in all honesty). Ace and Deuce couldn’t believe their eyes. Their dorm head was secretly a softy but for their FRIEND? The two thought they were going to faint on the spot.

Before they threw up their lunch, they quickly ran back to Ramshackle.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

“RIDDLE? FOR REAL?!”

“THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!”

“WHY WOULD THE HUMAN KEEP THIS FROM US IF THEY TRULY RESPECT US?!”

After your friends finished their mini breakdown, that’s when they decided it was time for an interrogation.

『••♡••』

So, back to present time!

You sat on the dusty couch while the boys’ all stood in front of you. “So, what do you have to say?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t like that you decided to spy on me. Second of all, if you were really my friends. . . Wouldn’t you just wait for me to say something when I was ready?”

Well that certainly wasn’t what they expected to hear. Suddenly they felt something akin to guilt.

“I was actually going to tell you soon since Riddle seems like he wants to take this relationship seriously but guess I don’t need to do that now.” You couldn’t help but sigh before standing up and flicking Ace’s forehead. “Ow! You–. . .Y’know what, I deserved that.” He couldn’t even argue with you on that one.

“Nonetheless, you guys are my friends, so as long as you are happy for me in the end then it’s fine,” you spread out your arms, “Group hug?” That crooked yet loveable smile was hard to say no to. No matter how much they tried to act like that didn’t like the hug, you knew that they didn’t actually mind it one bit.

“I just have one condition if you're dating Riddle.”

“That being?”

“If I ever catch the two of you being all sappy or lovey-dovey then I won’t be able to talk to you for the rest of that week.”

“Oh shut it, Ace!”

Hope this was enjoyable cause my writer's block is still being a pain (╥﹏╥)💖💖💖 — 💘 Hallow 💘

[the-bau-quinjet]

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life). 

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now. 

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door. 

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd. 

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue. 

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him. 

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him.  Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain. 

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you. 

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” 

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child. 

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought. 

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.”  Again, a small laugh left his lips. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him. 

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression. 

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him. 

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him.  You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you. 

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks. 

“You’re staring.” 

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.” 

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you. 

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files. 

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back. 

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.” 

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness. 

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files. 

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night. 

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed. 

--

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see. 

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you. 

“You’re staring again.” 

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.  

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau. 

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago. 

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed. 

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance. 

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.” 

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel. 

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom. 

--

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero. 

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous. 

--

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him. 

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek. 

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs. 

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork. 

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away. 

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time. 

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk. 

You watched, noticing everything you could. 

--

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work. 

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories. 

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home. 

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working. 

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now? 

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie.  Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows. 

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face. 

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing. 

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.” 

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply. 

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life. 

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs. 

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you. 

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

[clara-licht]

You Belong With Me

Part of Best of Me Series

Summary: 5 times (Y/n) Stark felt jealous and 1 time it was Peter’s turn. (set before Just Out of Touch, can be read as a standalone)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warning: mention of blood and maggots

Note: after a whole year, it’s finally here! Here’s another story set in the world of Just Out of Touch! This story can be read as a standalone, but reading JOOT might give you a bit more context. But if you haven’t read it, spoiler for JOOT, Hecate is (y/n)’s vigilante persona. (Y/n)’s pronouns are she/they, where they is specifically used when they’re out as Hecate. Since this story focuses on (y/n) and not Hecate, I used she/her throughout the story. In future stories both she and they will be used when there are both (y/n) and Hecate. Without further ado, enjoy the story!

Title Inspo: Taylor Swift - You Belong With Me

Best of Me Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

——————————

1: Compliment

——————————

(Y/n) side-glanced at Peter who was pacing back and forth in her room. She let him mumble and curse at himself while she laid on her bed, bored.

"Oh I'm so stupid! How could I have done that?! Ugh, she must hate me now!"

She rolled her eyes. "You're not stupid, Pete. You're in STEM school by scholarship for a reason, you know."

Peter stopped his pacing to look at (y/n) with his big doe eyes and panicked expression. "That's got nothing to do with this!" He exclaimed.

Rolling her eyes again, she asked, "What did you do again?"

He groaned and banged his head on her bed, mumbling something.

"What?"

"I complimented her skirt."

If she had to roll her eyes again, her eyeballs would probably be stuck that way.

"What's so bad about that?" She asked.

Peter didn't even lift his head from the soft duvet. "I sounded like a pervert, (y/n)!" He groaned. "She totally knew I've been checking her out the entire year!"

(Y/n) shook her head exasperatedly. "You couldn't have known that. You just complimented one piece of clothing, Peter. She wouldn't know you've been staring at her clothes every day."

Peter only let out another groan and turned over, pulling the duvet to cover his face. "No, she definitely knows!"

"What did you say, exactly?"

"I said the color suits her and asked if it's new…"

"…So?"

He removed the duvet and stared incredulously at her. "What do you mean, so?"

(Y/n) shrugged. "I don't see what's so bad about that. I mean, it's flattering?"

"Oh, you don't get it!" Peter threw his head back. "I asked if it's new! Meaning that I already know her clothes and noticed that I've never seen that skirt before!"

"Now that you said it like that, you do sound like a pervert."

"UGH!"

Chuckling, (y/n) lifted the duvet and removed it from Peter, eyes glowing soft blue. "Calm down, Spidey. What did she say?"

"I don't know. I ran away afterwards."

Her chuckle turned into a full-on laugh as Peter turned away with a pout, hoping to hide his flaming face.

In between her laugh, she shuffled closer to the boy and ran her fingers gently between his hair. "Well, if it was me, I wouldn't think much about it. I would just be flattered that you think a skirt looks good on me."

Still pouting, Peter mumbled, "But it's not you."

Her laughter ceased, replaced with a slightly sorrowful smile.

"But it's not me." She agreed.

——————————

2: Jokes

——————————

"What's taking him so long?" Happy grumbled.

"It's only been 10 minutes."

"10 minutes too long!"

(Y/n) only hummed and looked out the window. “It’s high school, Happy. It’s where he socializes with his friends, of course it’s going to take time.”

“Not if I can help it.” He muttered.

Shaking her head fondly, her eyes swept through the entrance of Midtown High, trying to see if the young vigilante was anywhere near them. Today was a scheduled lab day and she volunteered to pick him up with Happy. Since she already finished any lessons she had for the day Tony had let her go.

As she kept watch, she couldn’t help but feel a little bittersweet. Sure, she enjoyed her studies online, but she knew that she was missing that typical high school experience. Going to classes, eating lunch in the cafeteria, walking home with friends… But she was also aware that it was all for her safety.

The woes of having a famous father.

(Y/n) was shaken off her thoughts when she finally noticed Ned among the students in front of the school. If Ned was there, then Peter was surely not far.

Sure enough, she could spot a familiar tuft of brown hair right behind Ned.

And apparently he wasn’t alone.

Peter was talking with a girl facing his way. (Y/n) couldn’t see her face but she had a good idea of who she was.

Peter had a shy smile on his lips and his cheeks were nearly blossoming, if (y/n) could say so. In true Peter fashion, he seemed to be stumbling upon his words and spoke a mile per minute. The girl seems as though she didn’t mind as she was laughing along. And yet, unlike the oblivious Peter she was used to, this Peter looked at the girl as if she was a goddess sent to the earth to absolve every sinner from their fated doom. This Peter smiled at her as if she handpicked each star to light up the darkest night.

His darkest night.

(Y/n) unconsciously took a sharp breath when she saw the girl laughing so hard she had to hold onto Peter to stabilize herself. The way she clutched Peter’s arm and the color on Peter’s cheeks…

“There he is! Call him, tell him to hurry up.”

“Just… Just give him a minute, will you, Happy?” She mumbled, eyes never leaving Peter. She was unaware of Happy glancing at her with a frown on his forehead. Like her, he did notice that Peter had a girl with him. He just hadn’t yet connected it to why (y/n) looked off.

As (y/n) sat there looking at the window, the tight feeling in her chest kept getting more painful as time went. On one hand, she would love to get out of the car and go to him, replacing the girl’s position beside Peter. But on the other hand, she knew that things didn’t work that way.

‘He’s happy, that’s all that matters, right?’

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Peter already saying his goodbyes and approaching the car. It was only when Peter sat beside her that she was shaken off her trails.

“Hey, you good?” He asked.

(Y/n) smiled, a hint of sorrow that Peter didn’t notice on her lips.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

——————————

3: Flirt

——————————

The silence was quite awkward, if (y/n) must say.

Tony was out on a conference of some sort in Japan, and as much as (y/n) would love to visit the country, her father couldn’t literally pay her to sit through that conference with him. While she would inherit the company one day, she’d avoid any stuffy meetings if she could.

That day was another scheduled lab day for Peter, though. Tony had forgotten to tell him to reschedule, so he still went to the tower. Peter was going to leave until (y/n) called Tony and he told Peter to just mess around in the lab.

And there they were. In Tony Stark’s personal lab. Just the two of them (along with Dum-E).

(Y/n) could tell something was off with Peter. The first sign was when he said he would go home when he heard Tony wasn’t there. Usually he’d just stay and watch a movie with her. And now he was all quiet while fiddling with his webshooters.

Of course, one could say that perhaps he was focused on fixing or upgrading it, but (y/n) knew that there was nothing wrong with his webshooters and they already installed the upgrade a couple weeks ago. They hadn’t come up with new ideas since then.

“Hey, Pete?”

“Hm?” He didn’t even look up.

“Is there anything in your mind?”

“Huh? No, nothing.” Peter mumbled, still fiddling with his webshooters.

(Y/n) frowned. Something was not right, indeed.

A few minutes passed with silence between them. (Y/n) kept sneaking glances at Peter and Peter kept toying around with the shooters on his wrist. He wasn’t even doing anything. His eyes were unfocused and he was deep in thoughts.

Heaving a sigh, (y/n) removed the goggles she had on. She was doing a project for SI, but it could wait.

“Okay, let’s talk about this,” she said.

Peter finally looked up and stared at her, confused. “Talk about what?”

“Well, this,” she said again, gesturing at Peter.

“...you’re gesturing at all of me.”

“Of course I’m gesturing at all of you! You’re acting weird!”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are! You’re so quiet and you kept playing with your webshooters! Is there something wrong with them or what? You look like you’re thinking so hard and we both know you’re smart enough to not have to think that hard about your shooters!”

Peter didn’t say anything for a while as he stared at (y/n), eyes slightly furrowed.

“Well?” (Y/n) prompted. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Peter sighed and bit his lip. He looked up, as if pondering whether or not he should tell (y/n) about what was on his mind.

“It’s, uh, it’s about Liz.”

(Y/n) heart dropped.

“W-What about her?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

The frown made another appearance on Peter’s forehead. His fingers returned to the webshooter strapped on his wrist and started fiddling again. It was then that (y/n) noticed that this was his way of fidgeting. He used to fiddle with his fingers and then it was with his shooters.

“Well, I saw her today…”

“...and?”

“She, um…” Peter swallowed. “She was, uh, flirting, I think? With Flash.”

By some miracle, instead of feeling that tightness in her chest from the mention of her, she felt truly confused. “Flash? The same Flash that picks on you and doesn't believe in your internship?”

“Uh, yeah…?”

“Why would she? Doesn’t she know what kind of person he is?”

Peter laughed dryly. “He’s rich, (y/n).”

“And so am I, what about it?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow. “I’m not as obnoxious as that guy, am I?”

“Of course not. You may be getting a big head, though.” He teased with a grin.

(Y/n) only swatted at his arm.

(It took every single will in her not to make a dirty joke then and there, telling herself it wasn’t appropriate for the topic.)

��Anyway! Why did you think she was flirting with him?” (Y/n) asked, ignoring the tight feeling that finally arrived despite the miracle earlier.

“Remember last week? When you picked me up with Happy?”

(Y/n) nodded. ‘How could I not?’ She thought bitterly.

“I don’t know if you saw, but uhh we were flirting, I think?”

“You think?”

“Well, Ned said we were…” Peter mumbled. “We were joking around and she kinda laughed so hard she had to hold onto me…” He recounted, a blush starting to make its way on his cheeks.

(Y/n) took a deep breath to try and calm her erratic heart. Her heart felt like it was sinking with each word coming out of Peter’s mouth. Had she not been a strong-willed young woman with experience in keeping her face neutral, she was 100% sure her eyes would be all watery by now. Not that she didn’t feel the burn on her eyes as she pretended not to hear Peter whispering ‘her hand was so soft’.

“And was she doing the same with Flash?” She asked, and again, by miracle, her voice didn’t crack.

Peter’s hand fell from his wrist and he nodded dejectedly.

“I thought she liked me, you know?” He muttered. Unlike her, Peter was an open book. He was never good at hiding his expression that it was a wonder that his secret identity was still intact. (Y/n) could clearly hear the pain in his voice.

It honestly infuriated her how easy it was for him to affect her.

(Y/n) cleared her throat. “Don’t take it to heart, Pete. Maybe she was just being friendly with him.”

“Or maybe she was just being friendly with me.” Peter mumbled, still dejected.

It filled her heart with grief that he could make such a pained expression in front of her. Had it been her, she could say with certainty that she would never let this boy in front of her go without a smile. But then again, who was she to do that? It wasn’t her that he wanted to put that smile on him.

And so, with a heavy heart and a smile hiding sorrow behind it, she told him, “Why don’t you ask her to do something with you? Like a date?”

——————————

4: Date

——————————

“(Y/n)? Where’s Peter?” Pepper immediately asked when she saw (y/n) lounging alone on the couch.

(Y/n) shrugged half-heartedly, shoving a spoonful of her favorite cookies and cream ice cream to her mouth. An older season of CSI: Miami was playing on the screen in front of her. She kept eating her ice cream unbothered as the screen showed a bloody corpse full of maggots. Oh, apparently it wasn’t a corpse and she was still alive. Who would’ve thought?

“Don’t you guys usually spend Sundays together?” Pepper asked again.

(Y/n) mumbled something that Pepper couldn’t hear.

“Sorry, what?”

“He has a date.”

Pepper blinked once. “A date?”

(Y/n) nodded.

“With… who?”

“...a girl from his school. An upperclassman.”

“Huh… Is that so?” Pepper hummed, taking a seat beside the young Stark.

She glanced at the angsty teen, still enjoying her ice cream accompanied by a pool of blood and maggot and David Caruso on the screen. “How are you feeling?”

“What do you mean? I’m totally fine.” (Y/n) answered through a mouthful of sugary dairy.

“I don’t think so, honey.” Pepper smiled at her, taking the tub away.

(Y/n) didn’t bother to answer, stubbornly keeping her eyes on the screen.

“I always thought both of you would end up together. What happened?” Pepper tried to ask.

“Us ending up together, huh?” (Y/n) chuckled dryly. “Not a chance, Pep.”

“Why do you say that?”

(Y/n) turned to the CEO of the company that one day would be hers. “Have you looked at Peter? Really looked at him?” She asked. “Because if you have, then you’d know that his eyes were never on me. Not once.”

Sighing, she reached to take back the tub of ice cream from Pepper. “A friend is all I am to him.” She muttered.

(Y/n) was perfectly fine with returning to her angsty mood accompanied by ice cream and crime lab, but apparently Pepper was not.

Pepper stood up and asked FRIDAY to turn the screen off.

“Aw, Pep! Why did you do that!” (Y/n) whined, not unlike a child getting her toy taken away.

“No wallowing in self pity, young lady. Now up you go! We’re going out.”

She groaned and plopped her face on the couch.

To say she would regret going out would be an understatement.

Because an hour on her outing with Pepper, she actually saw Peter on his date.

He was wearing a shirt and grey sweater, like how he wore to school, though the collar was neat. He definitely combed and gelled his hair. She didn’t like it, to be honest. (Y/n) always loved his curls that would fall to his eyes when it got a bit too long. She loved the soft unruly strands that felt silky when she ran her fingers through them.

Peter and his date, Liz, were in a cafe together. It was a cute and aesthetically pleasing one too. (Y/n) was in the Italian restaurant right across the street. Pepper sat with her back to the glass window, so she couldn’t see them, but it was as clear as the sky for (y/n).

And (y/n) wanted to look away, she really did. Yet for some reason, she just couldn’t stop staring at the happy couple. She watched as Liz reached a hand out to wipe something off the corner of Peter’s lips. She watched as Peter laughed shyly. She watched as he hesitantly tried to hold Liz’s hand on the table. She watched as Liz grinned and took his hand in hers.

She watched as they smiled at each other like they were the only people in the world and she was nothing but a speck of dust.

She watched, with bitter heart and a sorrowful smile as she told herself, as long as he’s happy, right?

——————————

5: Broken Heart

——————————

How could this have happened?

They were having such a great time together!

So why...?

“Peter, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s not your fault, why are you sorry?”

“I was the one who pushed you to ask her on a date…”

Peter chuckled. He tried to look unbothered, but he was still so easy to read. (Y/n) could basically hear the pieces of his broken heart rattling around as he moved.

It hurt her more than seeing him with her.

“Well, you couldn’t have known everything, (y/n),” Peter said. “Besides, at least I tried, you know?”

(Y/n) bit her lip.

Logically, she should be happy, shouldn’t she? Liz had told Peter that she wanted to remain friends, that she couldn’t be with him. That meant Peter was free for the whole world. Whether or not she had a chance was something else entirely. And yet, she felt extremely guilty.

“I’m okay, really!” Peter grinned with a fake cheerfulness. “I had a great time and I appreciate her telling me the truth instead of leading me on. I’m sure we’ll remain great friends even after this.”

‘But you were never great friends with her…’

“I guess she’s just trying to focus on her studies, you know? Since she’s a senior and all.”

‘But she did lead you on…’

“And you know what they say, there are plenty more fish in the sea!”

‘But you were so fixated on her…’

Peter’s eyes softened when he realized how quiet (y/n) was. “I’m really alright, (y/n). It’s not your fault at all.”

“Besides,” he grinned, this time genuine, “Maybe now it’s my turn to help you find someone! Your help was greatly appreciated and now I can return the favor!”

(Y/n) refrained from smiling sardonically at the irony. The only way he could help her find someone was if he magically fell in love with her, but she knew better than to be wishful like that.

“Thank you, Pete, but that won’t be necessary.”

“Whaaaaat why? I can give great love advice!”

“Yeah? Like what?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Uhh…”

“Exactly.”

“Anyway! When you find someone, tell me, okay? I’ll try my best to help you, since you were so helpful to me.”

Helpful, huh?

Why can’t you see it?

How badly I want to say those words?

Instead, (Y/n) smiled, sorrow seeping into her being. “It was my pleasure.”

——————————

+1: Reverse

——————————

arachnophobia: wanna go out tonight? hecate hasnt been out for a while

ironlady: cant today

ironlady: harley’s coming

arachnophobia: harley? the one whose garage mr stark broke into?

ironlady: yep!! cant wait to see him

ironady: its been a while

arachnophobia: can i meet him?

ironlady: ofc just come here

The moment Peter stepped out from the elevator, he could hear the laughter already. He didn’t need his enhanced hearing to know that (y/n) was positively joyful.

He followed the sound to the penthouse’s living room where he could see (y/n) sitting on the couch. Beside her was a young man his age with sandy blonde hair. Both of them were talking animatedly with each other.

“Hey.”

“Oh, Peter!” (Y/n) turned around, a big grin on her face. “This is Harley Keener, the potato boy dad and I told you about!”

“Potato boy?” Harley frowned.

“It’s either that or problem child 1, which one do you prefer?”

“Tony’s been calling me that?”

“Yep!”

“And what are you?”

“Problem child 2, duh.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

Harley scoffed. “Yeah, right, il mio tarassaco.”

“Hey! Only dad can call me that!”

“I know, I know, don’t get your panties in a twist, Princess Stark.” Harley laughed as he ruffled (y/n)’s hair, much to her chagrin.

Peter couldn’t get one word out. He watched as (y/n) tried to get back at Harley and mess with his hair as Harley dodged her. He watched as (y/n)’s face was overtaken by a huge grin and her eyes lighted up in joy.

“Harley stop it!”

“You started it!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!”

“No I- you know what, I’m not doing this. You haven’t even greeted Peter!” (Y/n) huffed, gesturing at Peter who was still standing still behind the sofa.

“Oh, yeah, my bad,” Harley said. He stood up and dusted his pants, then reached out a hand.

“Harley Keener, at your service,” he grinned.

Peter took his hand hesitantly. “Peter Parker. Nice to meet you.”

(Y/n) beamed at the two of them. “I’ve told him so much about you. I think you guys will be great friends!” She told Peter. “Dad is talking about making Harley his intern too, so you two will be Stark Industries first and only high school interns. Tony Stark’s personal interns, to be exact.”

“Wait, intern?” Peter asked, clearly taken aback. “But don’t you live in Tennessee?”

Harley shrugged. “I’m moving here around next month. Not a lot of opportunities back home, so Tony offered to house and send me to school here. I’m here today to look around before the big day.”

“It’s a shame I can’t go to school with you, though.” (Y/n) complained. “I’m getting bored of this whole homeschooling thing.”

“What can I say, Princess Stark,” Harley said with a teasing smile, “a Princess must remain at her castle.”

“Yeah, well, this Princess can take care of herself and goes out at night alone, what about it?” She rolled her eyes.

“Alright, alright, you got a point, Hecate.”

“I told you, I’m not Hecate right now!”

“He knows about Hecate?” Peter asked.

(Y/n) nodded. “He was the first one to know, even before dad. I told you of how Harley’s been coming here for years, right? He basically knows more about me than dad at this point.”

“That, I do.” Harley said, staring at Peter a little too long. Something dawned on him when he saw something on Peter’s face.

He turned to (y/n) and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Anyway, I gotta run and find Tony now, got things to ask him. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, you know where to find me.”

“Great! See ya later, Princess Stark.” Harley dropped a big kiss on her head and left the room, but not before giving Peter a meaningful look.

Peter was frozen on his spot.

In all his time knowing (y/n), not once did he ever see (y/n) that happy. She looked so carefree, as if she trusted Harley blindly and trusted him to keep her that way. It took him some time to get (y/n) to open up to him. He knew that he couldn’t compare himself to Harley who knew (y/n) longer than him, but for some reason it ticked him off.

But why?

And when Harley held (y/n) close to him like that? It felt wrong to Peter. Then he went and actually kissed her! Well, on the head, but still. Something felt off within Peter and he didn’t really know what or why.

Somehow, it was almost like…

Like it should’ve been him?

“Peter, are you okay?”

Peter was startled from his thoughts when (y/n)’s face suddenly entered his peripherals.

“I’m fine, why do you ask?” He quickly said.

(Y/n) hummed. “You look a bit off, that’s all.”

“It’s nothing, I promise.”

“If you say so…”

“So, uh,” Peter started, “that Harley… How long is he staying?”

“A week, I think. He’ll move in next month, on the 15th.” (Y/n) answered. “I can’t wait for next month, honestly. I missed him so much. Him living with me and dad here would be a blast.”

“When do you want to go out?” Peter asked, changing the subject immediately. Somehow, for some reason, he didn’t want to hear (y/n) talk about Harley anymore. Especially not about how he would be living with her.

“Ah, well… Not this week? Maybe after Harley’s back to Tennessee?”

“...oh.”

“You can still go out without me though! I know Spider-Man must be anxious to get out there!”

“...yeah, you’re right. Uh, you know what, I actually forgot I had to run an errand for May, so I’m going to leave now, okay?”

Peter quickly rushed out. The penthouse was getting stuffy for no reason and he couldn’t stand being there anymore.

What is wrong with me?

——————————

Taglist + Mutuals (let me know if you want me to untag you!)

@spn-assemble-seven @racewife2004​​ @lukesbabylon​​ @serendipitous-amor​​ @sovereign-parker @ifangirlninja​​ @lyzalovealk @lookuptotheskiesandsee @tommysparker​​ @starlight-starks​​   @marvelexi​​ @lou-la-lou​​ @spiderbibby​​ @hello--zuko-here​ @everydaymj​​ @galaxystern08​​  @allegra-writes​​​​ @spideyspeaches​​​​ @delicatepeterparker​​ @parkerpeter24​​​​ @terrifictomholland​​​​ @quackeroos​​ @angel-spidey​​ @greenorangevioletgrass​​ @awkward-darkness​​ @chloecreatesfictions @tonguetiedholland​​ @peterbenjiparker​​ @and-it-burns-like-a-fire @sinisterspidey​​ @bi-lmg

[addictedtostorytelling]

What do you think it is about GSR that makes it so compelling? I don’t even like romance in media, it always annoys me when they insert some sort of romantic plot in a series that I’m watching (I’m aromantic!) but I literally bawled my eyes out at the end of One to Go. And still ten years later I’m having giddy schoolgirl like reactions to seeing these two simply holding hands and embracing. I think they ruined romance for me :D

hey, anon!

i actually have a post on that exact topic here, if you're interested.

i also have some additional thoughts after the “keep reading,” if you care to read.

__

i think one of the first things people tend to notice about grissom and sara is that they’re different—even just purely in terms of how they defy the usual standards for what a main romantic pairing on a tv drama is.

even though grissom is the main character on the show, compared to his counterparts elsewhere in the franchise, i.e., horatio caine and mac taylor, and even his younger coworkers, i.e., nick stokes and warrick brown, he is not the natural choice to be the male romantic lead on csi, not only as he doesn’t fit the traditional “macho heartthrob” mold for such a role but also because of his personality (as he’s not particularly outgoing or adventuresome). while billy had often played the bad boy and/or love interest earlier in his career, with grissom he exudes a completely different—and less overtly sexual—energy. particularly on a “cop show,” his bookishness is about as far afield from what one would expect from the male romantic lead as any vibe could be. 

meanwhile, while sara is the age one might expect the female romantic lead on a primetime drama to be, she’s no more the natural choice to fill such a role than grissom is to fill its male equivalent one—and especially not when held up in comparison to catherine. not only is catherine the more obvious option because marg helgenberger is the show’s actual female lead, receiving top billing alongside billy, but also because marg plays catherine exactly to that type, i.e., as the traditional fair-haired beauty, good with the banter, capable of being both strong and vulnerable in turns—really, the ideal early 00s tv woman. conversely, sara/jorja, while attractive, certainly, is not that “classic beauty.” sara also doesn’t tick the right boxes to play “the girlfriend,” personality-wise; she is awkward, cagey, and oftentimes harsh. she lacks polish. is raw. doesn’t possess any of catherine’s effortless grace or poise.

of course, for as much as neither grissom nor sara is what one might expect a romantic lead on a mega-hit procedural to be on an individual level (and especially not one set in las vegas, the whole aesthetic of which is “sex, sex, sex”), they’re especially not what one might expect when taken together.

if you lined up the whole original cast and asked someone who had never seen or heard of the show before to pick out which two characters were a couple, of all the combinations they might toss out, i think grissom/sara would be near the bottom of the list.

they defy all expectations of what the main romantic pairing on what was (at the time) one of the most risqué shows on television should look and act like.

—and, honestly, for a lot of people, that’s a turnoff.

there are plenty of folks out there who take one glance at them and go, “really? him? with her? them???? those two nerds???????”

but for those who aren’t immediately put off, the defiance of expectation can actually be intriguing—a draw, as it were.

fans look at grissom and sara as a couple and wonder, “okay, so if this isn’t just the typical ‘these two actors fill a certain set of largely superficial expectations, so let’s put their characters together’ kind of pairing of convenience, then what is it? what made the showrunners decide to write a romance between these two unlikely people, and not only that but also to make them the main (and really only!) romantic pairing on the show? why aren’t we looking at, say, catherine/warrick or nick/sofia or [fill in the blank other ‘more traditional tv couple’] here instead? what’s the rationale?”

and in looking, that’s when people realize that the difference with gsr isn’t just skin deep. it’s not just that grissom and sara don’t fit the usual tropes or that they have an unexpected aesthetic.

it’s the substance of what they are.

that substance really starts with the composition of the ship—that it came about relatively “organically” (at least insofar as any television production choice can actually be organic).

yes, sara was originally conceived of as the love interest for grissom, so the possibility of the two characters being together was always on the table. but the fact that it actually came about and was something that made it to the screen (as opposed to becoming just another early notion that fell by the wayside, a la the possibility of a nick/catherine romantic pairing) is the specific product of jorja being cast in the role—of her having a fantastic chemistry read with billy—and of billy and jorja then themselves advocating for the relationship because they genuinely enjoyed playing it and felt like it was right for their characters.

while some big stars do have enough weight to throw around that they can influence writing and production choices on their shows, most actors in ensemble casts just have to make the best of what storylines they’re given, adopting an attitude of, “i’ll do whatever i’m told.” 

and, honestly, because that’s the way things most usually are, there have been plenty of tv romantic pairings over the years where the actors involved were just along for the ride—not having strong feelings one way or another about whom their character was dating, just taking what storylines they were dealt.

that billy and jorja both “bought in” to gsr so much and did have those strong feelings—enough so that billy, as a “big star” with enough stature to throw his proverbial weight around, told the writers that he wanted to continue to pursue the gsr storyline, even after they had considered (at the end of s3) ending it—is really remarkable.

that the actors playing the ship are not only comfortable with it but genuinely enjoy it—enough so that twenty years on, they’re reprising their roles at least in part so they can explore more of the intricacies of that dynamic—shows through on screen. there is a natural ease there. a kind of creative delight.

it’s easy to like this couple together because the people bringing them to life like them together.

—and especially when you tie the attitude billy and jorja bring to their portrayals in with their chemistry.            

as their recent interviews with regards to the reboot well-establish, billy and jorja love working together, they love playing grissom and sara, and they love depicting gsr, and the fact that they do really forms the backbone of this ship.

jorja has talked about how billy is the best scene partner she's ever had, and billy has lauded how jorja "just gets him" (meaning that sara, by extension, "just gets" grissom, too). they both have this incredible knack for playing off of each other, and the importance of that on-screen connection between them in making gsr what it is cannot be overstated.

chemistry between actors is such a fickle and unaccountable thing—it's either there or it's not, and there's no forcing it if it isn't—and thankfully they have it in scads. they instinctively connect with each other, and that's 95% of the battle toward making gsr compelling right there; it’s so easy to believe, based off of their interplay, that these two characters, no matter their circumstances, are always in love with and responding to each other at all times.

chemistry is important for any ship, but it's especially so with gsr because, with this coupling in particular, so much of the romance plays out "between the lines."

all of the little looks, surreptitious touches, irrepressible smiles, pining expressions, silent acknowledgments, etc. between them count for so much, and almost all of that stuff comes from the actors as opposed to from the scripts or the direction.

if billy and jorja didn't inflect their performances with all of those brilliant, subtle physical touches and bring such a palpable energy to grissom and sara's on-screen interactions, gsr wouldn't be even half as compelling as it is, but because they do (and because they are such intuitive portrayers all around) the whole dynamic just takes on a life of its own.

the relationship feels like it's always in motion, even when it's not receiving direct narrative focus, and that's truly remarkable.

of course, it’s not just production-level, outside-of-the-universe-of-the-show stuff that sets gsr apart from other ships.

it’s also how they’re presented within the universe of the show.

these two characters are so well-suited to each other.

for being the flagship (and really only major and consummated) romantic coupling on csi, grissom and sara never get a lot of screen time together, and particularly not in terms of them actually being shown as a couple post-s5.

but the thing is, lack of screen time notwithstanding, we never have to question their fit together, because we've been shown over and over again, in so many different ways, just how perfectly they go together.

from little things, like their shared affinity for the body farm, to more substantial similarities, like how their biographies are in some ways eerily alike, to the big "soulmates"-level stuff, like how they have this uncanny ability to always just "find each other" at times when they're feeling impossibly alone, a thread runs through the entire show, establishing that these two characters align; they share core values; they are of a type; they are inevitably drawn to each other; they are each other's "people."

for all of their miscommunication and their occasional rough patches, they are ultimately harmonized with each other in the ways that truly matter, and the fact that they are shows through not only in scenes where they are directly interacting with each other but even in scenes in which they are apart.

i've been rewatching the early seasons of the show recently, and i'm struck by how often they end up expressing similar sentiments at different times; how often their attitudes mirror each other.

they have their differences, too, enough so to keep things interesting—e.g., sara’s more naturally social than grissom is, grissom is more capable of compartmentalizing, etc.—but on the important issues, they match up.

they are both ultimately humanists. both kind to others. both closet believers in the goodness of people. they both have quirky senses of humor (and especially in how they appreciate bad puns). they're both awkward. both passionate. both possessed of beautiful intellects. both possessed of beautiful hearts.

and it’s not just that they share natural similarities but also that they inflect upon each other—that they are changed (for the better) by being in each other’s lives.

grissom learns to be more open in his affections not just for sara but for all of the people that he cares about the longer he is with her (see, for example, how gentle he is with greg during the demetrius james case in s7 after sara draws to his attention the fact that greg could use some tlc); sara becomes increasingly trusting and willing to put herself out there with the team once grissom proves to her that some people are worthy of that kind of confidence.

while theirs is not a straight-line path from “once upon a time” to “happily ever after” (or even AFTER what should ostensibly be “happily ever after”) and the later seasons of the show do see them experience some considerable setbacks in terms of their development both individually and as a couple, that they are generally good for each other and thrive when they are together—barring traumatic experiences and subsequent mental illness—is obvious.

it’s also obvious that they make each other happy.

one of my favorite pieces of writing advice with regards to romantic storylines is this: "tell me that these two characters are in love with each other without telling me that they're in love with each other."

and that’s something that is done so, so well with gsr.

even before they’re actually a couple, there are so many instances when they simply light up in each other’s presence, when they’re so obviously proud of and protective over each other, when they so clearly seek each other out in the crowd, when they are soft with each other, when they’re undeniably each other’s best friends.

and beyond their characterization, there’s also the romantic sensibilities of how their story is told.

—and here i'm talking "romantic" as in "the romantic era."

forgive me for putting on my english professor hat here, but i've long opined that grissom and sara's love story is just about the closest thing i've ever seen to an actual jane austen novel play out on primetime television.

here we've got two flawed but utterly well-suited characters, each one of whom considers themselves somehow unworthy of the other person's affections, and both of whom are prevented from being with each other (at least outwardly) because their social positions will not allow them to romantically associate.

impeded by societal constraints, they try, for a time, to stay away from each other, occasionally bruising each other's hearts as they do so, but their natural affections soon overcome both their fears and their willingness to conform to the rules, until eventually they face all risks to come together.

that is, to put it bluntly, some darcy and elizabeth shit right there.

people have been reading jane austen novels for 200+ years now in large part because they are a master class in how anticipation is a crucial component of a good love story.

of course we all want to see the eventual consummation when the lovers finally overcome all obstacles and join together, embarking on their "happily ever after," but what we want before that point is to be shown—and not only told—that these two people are perfect matches; to see that even when they are separated by conditions outside of themselves, they are inevitably drawn toward each other again; to watch as they work through both external hardships and internal foibles to make a future possible for them.

we want to see them pine and long and perish for want of something they feel they cannot have before we see them fully and completely satisfied in having it.

we want to scream because if they could just speak to each other freely, they could easily resolve so many of the problems between them, but we also want to savor the fact that, at least for a while, they can do no such thing—that they are both forbidden (by the rules of decorum in their situation) from giving voice to the desires of their hearts and also incapable (due to their own hang-ups) from doing so; that they have to build to the point where they are less afraid of the consequences for taking action than they are committed to being with each other.

we want to revel in the words as of yet unsaid, to know that at present the closest they can get is to brush fingertips, to feel that they are both simultaneously just on the verge of something and also impossibly far away from it.

we want that actualization to be held back until that last possible moment, when it finally bursts forth, and suddenly all of the previous limitations are either tossed aside or fully broken from.

and for as much as that's what we get with darcy and elizabeth or knightley and emma, that's what we get with grissom and sara, too.

though they are in a story set in millennial las vegas rather than on a landed estate in georgian england, and though they are solving murders rather than attending balls, they are every inch the spiritual successors to austen's forbidden lovers.

"if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more."

their romance does that careful dance of anticipation > satisfaction to perfection.

it's a throwback to a style of storytelling where while there is certainly a payoff, the build-up is also very carefully crafted. though not playing by exactly the same rules as would have been adhered to in nineteenth-century england, they are nevertheless operating in a certain kind of a comedy of manners, in that they are beholden to certain social expectations and tied up in their own insecurities and that they hedge and hesitate and hold back until they can finally do so no more.

and being shown time and time again that these characters love each other “against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be” (to borrow the words of another writer of the romantic era though not necessarily of the romantic school himself) is peak romance/romanticism.

that’s the classic, grab-at-your-heartstrings-and-tug formula right there. 

they love each other so much, and at the end of the day, that’s what they choose—to just be together.

and to me, personally, that’s honestly the most compelling thing about them:

that theirs is a story of hope.

here are two people who for different reasons are each absolutely, 100% convinced that they are going to be alone forever.

they’ve both been told throughout their lives that they are “unworthy”—grissom, that he is insufficiently human, a robot incapable of forming real bonds, unable to understand true emotions; sara, that she’s “too much,” that she’s too broken, too difficult, too much effort and not enough reward.

they’ve heard these criticisms enough that they’ve entirely internalized them and now each fully believe that they are unlovable; that no one will ever be able to embrace them as they are.

so they are both incredibly, heartbreakingly lonely.

they fill their lives with caring for others but have no expectation that anyone will ever stick around long enough to care for them in return.

but then they meet each other, and they fall in love right away, even though neither one of them is really the type to do so, and even though “on paper” they don’t really make sense, and even though there are about a thousand reasons why it’s a bad idea to even consider a relationship.

it’s nothing that either one of them is looking for at that point and nothing they could have ever anticipated, but once it happens, it’s a done deal.

they fall in love and never fall out of it.

still.

“the course of true love never did run smooth” and all that, so even though they fall in love right away, it still takes them a long time to figure out how they can be together—to trust enough in good things to believe that they could actually love and be loved and be happy in a way they never thought possible.

initially, they’re both scared to allow themselves to imagine that things could maybe work out, so they sabotage themselves, throwing up barriers and running away from each other in different ways.

particularly after sara moves to vegas, they’re both miserable for a while, unable to determine how to make what they know they want in order to truly live and what they think they need in order to just survive balance out on scale.

so they face obstacles, mostly of their own making.

grissom puts sara off. sara eventually dates somebody else. grissom treats sara badly. sara walls grissom out. they break each other’s hearts. they pine. they suffer. they wait without knowing if anything will ever get better—if they’ll ever reach any kind of happy ending.

but the thing is, throughout it all, in spite of themselves, they still love.

they can never bring themselves to fully walk away from that connection. they can never give up on each other.

each one of them individually thinks that they are themselves the worst™, but they maintain this unfailing belief in each other. they both see this beauty and light in the other person that helps them hang on to the idea that maybe by some longshot they could actually have a chance.

so in the face of their hardships, they grow.

grissom gradually sets aside his fear of rejection, realizing that he must be transparent with sara about how he feels, not only for his own sake (and in the hopes that maybe they might someday be together), but for her—because he cares about her, and she needs to know as much; she needs to understand just how deeply she’s loved; just how deeply he loves her.

meanwhile, sara comes to trust grissom and eventually learns to open up to him, to believe that she can show him all the bruised and busted parts of her that she never thought anyone could accept, knowing that he won’t leave her; knowing that he’ll stay.

it takes time, but eventually they resolutely, emphatically, and with no more hesitation choose each other over everything.

these two people who never thought they’d have anyone say to each other, “don’t worry—i’ve got you.”

and even though the world they inhabit is a grim one, filled with all manner of depravities and darkness, they become each other’s lights.

sara restores grissom’s faith in the human being.

grissom becomes the only home sara has ever known.

they don’t always get things right, even after they’re together, as they both have a lifetime of fear and doubt to unlearn. but even in times of adversity, when their anxieties get the better of them, the feelings they have for each other don’t change, and eventually, even after partings, they find each other again.

they choose each other again and again.

they stubbornly, against all odds, choose to love each other.

and what is that, if not hope?

to deliberately, time and time over, despite outward obstacles, despite inward fears, say to someone who had never been loved and never thought that they could be “i choose to love you” and “i’m afraid, but i love you anyway” and “even if we part, i’ll find some way back to you. i promise. just give me time. i will still love you in the meanwhile” is such a beautiful human thing, such a radical act of connection in an otherwise dismal and lonely universe.

that tearstained, heart-full-to-busting look of “you came back for me? you still love me? oh, you do!” on sara’s face when grissom comes traipsing out of the jungle—

that plucked-from-the-tempest, homecoming-after-years-spent-away “she’s here—she’s here!—and somehow, despite everything, she still loves me” expression grissom wears as he sinks into sara’s arms on his boat—

that’s what it’s all about.

that’s a love story.

that’s a human story.

and of course people want to watch a story like that.

whether or not one desires romantic love in their own life, i think most people can relate to that question of “am i actually lovable? would anyone choose me if they knew who i really am?” even if on a more platonic level; we all want to know (whether romantically or in terms of our family and friends or on a broader human scope) if even with all of our flaws considered, we can be accepted, embraced, wanted, chosen.

the gsr love story emphatically answers yes to those questions: 

yes, you are lovable, even if you don’t think you are.

and to my mind, there are few answers more compelling than that one.

so while every fan’s mileage in why they like gsr may vary, i think that’s a lot to do with it—this idea of two lonely people who find each other and choose love over fear.

anyway.

i’ve gone on for a while now.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[queerlennon]

Lesley-Ann Jones Is Untrustworthy

So I’ve seen some people in the fandom reading and citing Lesley-Ann Jones’ biography The Search For John Lennon recently and to be honest it’s concerning to me. Lesley Ann Jones has proved in the past to be an extremely untrustworthy source for info about the people she writes about. I understand that it’s exciting to have a book about John that’s not written by the typical “Lennon biographer” type (aka an ageing straight man) and for said book to also promise to shed light and focus on his bisexuality but, if we’re going to analyse John respectfully and accurately, it’s important to identify sources that are biased and untrustworthy, even if they’re technically within our favour. Especially when it relates to his queerness. And seeing as LAJ doesn’t have the best record when it comes to writing about rockstars’ sexualities in a respectful manner, it’s best to treat her words with caution.

Info about exactly how she’s a bad source is under the cut

Firstly, it's key to talk about LAJ's journalistic background when discussing what sort of writer she is: she's worked for papers such as The Sun, The Daily Mail, and The Mail On Sunday. Essentially, the bulk of her work has been for tabloids and traditionally the writing style for those kinds of publications place an emphasis on sensationalism and gossip. Now obviously that doesn’t discredit her work immediately, authors are usually able to write in more than one style so it doesn’t necessarily mean the tabloid style is going to carry over to her biographies; but it’s good to keep in mind when discussing and analysing the legitimacy of the narratives she creates and the stories she recounts in her work. 

LAJ has received criticism in the past, particularly from the queen fandom of often overexaggerating, or just straight presenting false information in her bios about Freddie Mercury. She is the champion of the claim that Freddie was bisexual and not gay. Her evidence for this is over-exaggerating and (seemingly intentionally) misinterpreting the nature of the relationship between Freddie and his friend, Barbara Valentin. LAJ claimed that the two had a relationship and even lived together:

“Barbara was very open with me about the sexual relationship she had with Freddie.”

(x)

(x)

However, no-one in Freddie’s life has ever corroborated that Freddie and Barbara were anything but friends. As for the claim they lived together, according to Peter Freestone, an extremely close friend of Freddie’s:

In the event, Freddie never actually lived there although Barbara fulfilled a huge role in Freddie’s life at that time... Freddie became very disillusioned when with more and more frequency articles were appearing in the German press’s gossip columns... about the relationship between him and Barbara... After one article claiming to have knowledge of him and Barbara getting married, Freddie... concluded that it could only be Barbara who was providing the information.

(x)

This exaggeration of their relationship and the insistence LAJ has on presenting Freddie as bi because of it has attracted criticism from queen fans for obvious reasons. For one, it’s borderline homophobic to essentially lie about a gay man having a relationship with a woman while downplaying his relationships with men. No, she’s not portraying him as a straight man, however it’s still erasure of the specific struggles Freddie would’ve faced being a gay man in his time, therefore those who want to analyse him would be missing some of the picture when trying to understand him and his life

LAJ’s research methods are also... questionable. This is a post from Crystal Taylor (one of Roger Taylor’s roadies) about her methods for her David Bowie bio which, if to be believed is particularly concerning.

(x)

LAJ is also known to greatly exaggerate her own relationships with her subjects. She often claims to have been friends with the people she writes bios about (coincidently the people she does this with are dead.) Back in the day she would meet with artists while on tour so the idea is convincing enough. However besides her word there’s nothing to suggest that she had close friendships with Freddie or Bowie, two people she claimed to be good friends with. There’s also this comment from Brian May which actually goes against the idea that she was close with Freddie:

(x)

So with all of this in mind, let’s look at the quote from The Search For John Lennon that’s been circulating around Beatles tumblr:

That Bowie worshipped Lennon is no secret. He'd banged on about it often enough. The ex-Beatle had gone to his hedonism. They'd met in Los Angeles, during John's Lost Weekend. I lunched from time to time with David in New York while working there as a music journalist, before he married Iman. He lent me his house in Mustique, to write the first draft of my first biography on Freddie Mercury.

The crazy pair went out to play, according to David, when John was on yet another break from May and far away from Yoko. They genderbender-ed about, John indulging again that 'inner fag' of his. What larks.

They later 'hooked up': 'There was a whore in the middle, and it wasn't either of us,' David smirked. 'At some point in proceedings, she left. I think it was a she. Not that we minded.' By the time they made it back to New York, the ambisextrous pair were 'lifelong friends'.

I’m suspicious of this story for several reasons but first I want to make it clear that none of them have to do with John having sex with men or being bisexual. I’m a very firm believer of John’s bisexuality (my username is literally queerlennon lmao) but once again I think it’s good to examine the legitimacy of sources, even when they favour our position.

Firstly, LAJ’s source for this story is the claim that David told her, which considering I can’t find any info about them being friends besides her word, combined with the fact that she’s lied about having close relationships in the past raises a lot of flags.

But even if we assume LAJ isn’t lying and did know Bowie, the quote is still suspect, particularly the line “John was on yet another break from May and far away from Yoko.” According to May in her book Loving John, her and John had only one break from their relationship (the phrase “yet another break” implies multiple) that lasted a week, and for the entirety of that week, John was with Yoko. (x)

Finally, the language LAJ uses to describe John and David’s sexualities not only puts me on edge but very much makes me question her intention. Phrases like “the genderbender-ed about,” “indulged his ‘inner fag,’” and “ambisextrous,” all come across to me as fetishisation. Bisexuality is already very highly fetishised and sexualised and LAJ is most definitely not concerned with deviating from that representation. That phrasing combined with the way she also discusses Freddie’s sexuality, where she’s alleged highly sexualised claims about him having threesomes:

And quite often that involved other people as well. Other men, other women. There would be a number of them in the bedroom at any given time. In fact they were raided by the police once and the police stormed in and they found more people than they were expecting to find in the bed that morning.

(x)

— leads me to believe that LAJ is an author less concerned with exploring John’s sexuality as apart of his life, something that made him who he was, and more concerned with including details about “bisexual threesomes” as shock value, as a sensational point she can use to to promote her book in press tours and interviews. Like a tabloid writer. And this sort disrespect representation of John’s queerness, imo isn’t that much better than the biographers who dismiss or underplay it. I totally understand that for a lot of us, finding out new info about John’s queer identity is exciting, especially for those of us who are queer and identify with a lot with John for that reason, myself included. But we shouldn’t be giving credence and legitimacy to someone who firstly, isn’t trustworthy and secondly who’s reason for talking about it is gross and exploitative at best and biphobic at worst.

tl;dr, LAJ is an incredibly untrustworthy source of info and in her own over exaggerations, treats discussions of queerness in an extremely problematic and exploitive way so please take anything you read from her with a massive grain of salt.

[felassan]

Article: ‘Mass Effect & Dragon Age’s cast members on how BioWare builds dynamics’

I spoke to several figures from BioWare juggernauts Dragon Age and Mass Effect, to get a clearer idea of how those iconic team dynamics we associate with the two titles were created. [interviews]

This article is a really neat read. :) Contains character insights, behind-the-scenes info and some reflections on representation.

Some excerpts under the cut due to length:

A huge theme of these interviews, naturally, was BioWare themselves. As well as general praise for the support, the working environment, and the success of the finished product, many singled out individual directors by name, and credited BioWare’s focused approach with getting the best out of them. Hale even claimed they were “the unsung heroes,” that underpinned the whole Mass Effect trilogy. [...]

“Usually there’s almost always a BioWare writer on the line with us, usually up in Canada, when we’re recording. So you’ll have the director, me and one or two BioWare head honchos up there supervising. That’s the way that’s the way it worked on Inquisition too. There’s a really collaborative vibe.” [...]

This consistency across the recording process is likely why the calibre of performance is so high across both trilogies. “The team of writers of BioWare are extraordinary,” Nick Boulton [Male Hawke] says. “So they keep you on track pretty well. The key was having Caroline Livingston, who was directing most of it – all of it, in fact. She would be there to give context notes, and also keep me on the straight and narrow, as far as characterization went. So we were led through very well by the BioWare team.” [...]

Insight on Jack:

Courtenay Taylor describes Jack as being “a very comfortable pair of old stinky sneakers to step into,” and explains that her connection to Jack’s story was a core way she was able to bring it to life. “[Jack has] a pretty familiar psychology that I had. She was very reminiscent of how I was, to some degree, in high school. She’s putting up a barrier to get people to prove themselves, so you have to run the gauntlet in order to get the good stuff. When you’ve been abused as badly as she has, then psychologically one of the tracks you can take is ‘I will not allow myself to be vulnerable’. And that really resonated with me.”

Taylor also says that this guard Jack puts up meant that, ironically, many of the players found it easier to connect with her. “I got really great feedback from a lot of people about struggles that they had had in their personal lives,” she says.

“I think [Jack’s change between Mass Effect 2 & 3] is a smaller story, but it’s a big story for a lot of people. I have a lot of friends who had addiction problems. And quite a few of my friends give back by going back to the community that they’ve come out of, and finding people that need help. At its core, that’s a big, important through line for Jack – every one of us is worthy of love. And it doesn’t matter how difficult you are or how troubled you are or what has happened to you or what someone has done to you. You are worthy of loving and being loved.” [...]

Taylor also saw something personal in her own performance, especially since there weren’t a lot of women like Jack in popular media when Mass Effect 2 launched. “There was a huge amount of love for her because gender/appearance wise, she is something that I felt at that time had not been explored. And I know that some of the things were cut, but in what we originally recorded [Jack was pansexual], and in 2008 or 2009, there weren’t a tonne of conversations about being pansexual,” she says.

“She was a counterpoint to a lot of the other female characters. She was sort of the far end of the spectrum. You’ve got Miranda who’s beautiful and pulled together, but that only serves a certain population. And there are a lot of people that identify as women who could relate to having these feelings and these emotions – she’s not gender specific. To me, she’s angry. And I don’t know that there had been, at that time, a female character who was so not typically female, who was capable of such a range of emotions. She ended up being the permission to a whole group of people who don’t identify with that kind of woman. Because in entertainment, where did that bald girl with a flat chest who was pansexual go? Where do you fit in? And that really resonated with me. If you don’t relate to Miranda, Jack can be a really nice option.”

Insight on Josie:

It’s a sentiment echoed by Allegra Clark, who used a major tragedy in her own life as motivation for the siege of Haven in Dragon Age: Inquisition. “I think the first time you really start to get to know [Josephine] as a person is when she talks about Haven after the attack. That conversation she has about the first people to jump in and protect people being the workers, and how she’s just watching everything be destroyed. I was actually thinking about 9/11, as a New Yorker. So that was a very personal moment for me. But it was those little moments where she starts to open up and blossom that you get to see her as a person.” [...]

For Clark though, those boundaries were much more personal. “When I was told I had booked Josephine, I was just like, ‘I’m a companion in a BioWare game, and a romanceable companion at that’,” Clark says. “I recognised going in that people were going to connect really hard to this character. People are going to have entire playthroughs that are based around romancing Josephine. She helped me explore my own bisexuality, and that is always the thing that that warms my heart the most when people come to me about my LGBTQ+ characters, and say ‘they helped me understand parts of my own identity’. I actually wasn’t out of the closet publicly, or even to parts of my family when I started recording Inquisition. So it was interesting, getting to tell essentially part of my story as well. Before even being able to say to the world ‘hi, I’m bi’ ��� though all the signs were there. I was in a relationship with another woman at the time. It’s like ‘oh my God, they were roommates!”

Zevran:

While all were full of praise for BioWare’s writing and working environment, the love of actually playing the game was exclusive to Clark. Most others admitted they had never played at all; Curry confessed he had no idea if Zevran was even alive [as he hasn’t played]

Sam Traynor:

“I think Traynor was revolutionary in what she was doing at the time,” Wilton Regan says. “What was so different about Traynor was she wasn’t romanceable for either gender, you had to be playing as FemShep to choose a lesbian love option . And that was so brave of them to do at the time. But it brought us leaps and bounds forwards, because having that inclusivity then makes it just easier for the next game, and for the game today. And now it’s a standard – you should be representative of all sexualities if there are romance options in your games, and increasingly major games pretty much always have some sort of gay, bisexual, lesbian or heterosexual choice. It might not be as fluid as all of the spectrum of sexual choices, but you’ve got a strong variety in comparison to where it was 20 years ago, for example.”

Sam Traynor and Josie:

Part of representing groups that don’t often get representation in video games is that your character gets to become a role model, and that’s something Wilton Regan and Taylor have particularly fond experiences of. “It’s quite flattering and quite lovely to think about,” Wilton Regan says. “I’ve had a lot of lesbians who are coming out of the closet or coming to terms with their sexuality, who’ve come up to me and said that playing FemShep and romancing Traynor was a really big part of that. And lots of bisexual women as well. There’s something just very beautiful about the idea that BioWare has put so much faith and trust in me over the years with these really pivotal roles, and these big, beautiful characters. I feel very humbled by that. Very, very humbled.”

Meanwhile, Taylor wasn’t even sure people would like Jack, so finding out how deeply people related to her was a huge surprise, and she suspects that’s because Mass Effect allows her to be angry without being written off as a stereotypical, hysterical woman. “People didn’t like her when the trailer came out, and I was like, ‘Oh God, everyone’s gonna hate her!” Taylor laughs. “I was really surprised to be at a convention and have someone come up and say, ‘Can I introduce you to my nieces? They’re six and eight, and they love you’. I’m glad they have a good female role model in Jack.”

[ahtsumu]

cOuNtRy BoY i LoVe YoUuU–– miya atsumu.

GENERAL HEADCANONS

☆ y’know that kid everyone hates but all the parents love? that’s miya atsumu for you

he’s such a mama’s boy ugh

she’ll see him with mud all over his jeans and be like “miya atsumu! what’d i tell you ‘bout goin’ muddin’!?” and he’s like “sorry ma! just got too excited”

and what’s she gonna do? nothing. absolutely nothing. she just laughs and shake her head because atsumu’s boyish charm is adorable

osamu hates this !!! they’re always competing for mama miya’s heart LOL

☆ says “mornin’ ma'am how’s your day been so far” to the gas station lady and then roasts the life out of his friends

anyone older than 30 adores atsumu to death and anyone his age thinks he’s the annoying dumb hot guy LMAO

☆ plays quarterback on the football team and he’s damn good at what he does !! he’s taken the team to nationals three times already and he’s hoping to end senior year with a first place trophy

☆ teachers also love him to death bc he’s such a sweet-talker and asking questions as if he actually cares about differential equations and antiderivatives but nooo LOL bby’s just trying to make the GPA cut for travelling

it’s a 2.2

☆ on days without practice he’ll hang out around the school parking lot with the Gang™, leaning against his pick-up truck and blasting music from his car speakers to look “cool”

rlly he’s just wasting his time and even his friends think it’s stupid asf like omg no one is looking. atsumu how r u not embarrassed

☆ drives stick shift and thinks he’s hot shit 😭😭😭 he’s not wrong it is hot tho

☆ plays country trap around the boys

when “old town road” first dropped lil nas x was on repeat for 2 months

atsumu has a playlist of EVERY SINGLE REMIX and he’s like “they’re differENT juSt liSTen!!!”

out of all of the boys he has the WORST taste in country music it’s deadass just lil nas x, florida georgia line, luke combs, and morgan wallen

sometimes he’ll spice it up with a little luke bryan but that’s pushing it 😭

his guilty pleasure is that one farmer song by lil tracy and lil uzi vert 

do not trust him with the aux

someone come collect him pls

☆ atsumu’s favourite southern meal undoubtedly has meat in it–– ribs, fried chicken, pulled pork, you name it

but he’s weak for peach cobbler and a side of vanilla ice cream for dessert bc homeboy’s got a massive sweet tooth

☆ he may be helpful in helping out with farmwork but this boy cannot fish to save his life

he has a picture of him holding a MASSIVE trout on his instagram and tinder (which he downloaded illegally for his ego lmfao) but really osamu caught it for dinner one night while camping and atsumu stole it for a 30 second photo

☆ owns camouflage but ironically ! 

whips it out on days he thinks suna might pull up in camo

why? no one knows. it cracks him up tho LMFAO

☆ atsumu actually dresses quite well–– his style is the typical southern prep: 

a pair of jeans/shorts and a crisp button-up paired with double monks

loves a good leather belt

his favourite leather is BROWN leather, thank you very much !

☆ owns cowboy boots and he’s so proud of them

they’re steel-toed and decorated by a simple stitch pattern but it gets all the city folks fawning over him so it’s his most prized possession

HE USES THEM TO IMPRESS CITY FOLK LOL he’s like “howdy” and they’re like 😍🤤😍🤤😍🤤

flirts by asking if they’d like to see his horse i––

☆ like his twin, atsumu is undoubtedly great with animals

dogs love him !! like they’re just naturally attracted to him plus he gets so smiley and happy around them

he was probably a golden retriever in a past life lmfaoo

he’s a phenomenal horse-rider too

he rides the horses out at night bc he just loves the wind in his face,,, like a dog

where he differs from osamu is that he hates the actual work of taking care of an animal lmao

☆ works a summer job at six flags because he loves going on rides for free he’s so cute ugh

DATING HEADCANONS

☆ aside from football atsumu also starts the inarizaki high school slam poetry club, which is, coincidentally, also just the entire football team 

listen it’s rlly cute how the slam poetry club was founded ok don’t laugh

after developing a massive crush on you, atsumu realises that he’s got too much of a meathead reputation to stand a chance LOL so he goes out of his way seem more “intellectual”

basically he’s like “i’m gonna venture into poetry bc girls love sensitive guys” and convinces the entire football team to host slam poetry nights in hopes you’ll show up at the shows

he starts leaving little poems in your locker and it’s like rupi kaur shit 😭

“you’re the brightest rose

in this garden

and you 

don’t 

even

know.

---a.m.”

☆ anyway you don’t even show up to the slam nights (you have ✨taste✨) but you do show up to his games!

☆ and eventually he works up the courage to actually ask you out and ofc you say yes bc he does it in such a cute way ugh

he stops you in the parking lot after a game and goes like “hey, uh, yer in my econ class and all yer comments are always so funny and..” and he’s just word-vomiting and eventually he gets to the point where he’s like “anyway i was wonderin’ if yer free friday night?”

☆ your first date is actually at an empty field near school

you’re just talking and getting to know each other better in the back of his pick-up truck under a bright moon, covered in blankets, each of you cradling a hot mug of cider

it’s kinda chilly but atsumu is literally a furnace

and atsumu just opens up the notes app on his phone and he reads you six poems and they’re all like 4 lines with weird enjambment HAHAHA

“you look. 

just like the moon. 

---a.m.”

most of his lines are actually plagiarised from popular country songs and you definitely recognise them but he just looks so darn cute awh you can’t rlly call him out rn (but you definitely do later in your relationship)

around two hours into the date he’s like “actually i’m the president of the slam poetry club” and you’re like “oh that’s cool!” (no it’s not omg ur praying he doesn’t start slamming right then and there bc you’ve heard rumours of what horrors the club has produced)

☆ if you like driving be prepared to Not Drive once you start dating atsumu (... or at least drive Less Frequently… unless you cut him a deal of some sort...)

he LOVES picking you up for school and this is the only time he’ll change the music playing in his car !!

he puts on the little playlist he made just for you and it’s got songs like:

cruise by florida georgia line (he literally always runs up to you and randomly sings “baby you a song” 😭)

burnin’ it down by jason aldean

play it again by luke bryan

but your song is “our song” by taylor swift ugh he knows every single line and he’s been dreaming of having a relationship like the one she describes ever since it dropped

ps: he’s actually the world’s biggest swiftie and thinks her earliest albums were the best

he got osamu on board too LMAO they go to her concerts whenever she visits their state. now you do too!!

☆ always drives with one hand on your thigh bc he’s just like that 🥰

☆ tried to learn how to play the guitar to serenade you but it was a miserable fail (he just can’t do the barre chords bc they’re so hard and what for !!)

☆ he’s such a good line-dancer tho

he’ll take you out to dance and it’s just such a vibe to see him smiling under lights, spinning you around at the barn dance with the goofiest smile on his face

☆ any time you guys fight or argue he’ll head out to the pasture behind his house and brood under the moon in the back of his pick-up truck LOL he’s so dramatic but it’s so cute!!

[thomasshelbydrabbles]

The Spy (5/?)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Adeline Taylor (OC)

Warnings: period typical sexism, series typical violence, period typical views of PTSD, period typical racism, blood and gore, angst, sexual situations, infertility, loss of child

Summary: Adeline is unprepared to return to Birmingham, but anything is better than France.

**Note: This is a series, so you should read The School Teacher and The Messenger first if you want to understand everything.*

Word Count: 2740

Author’s Note: I have no idea why this chapter took so long, but eeeep!! Okay, here’s one you’ve been waiting for.

Calais, 1924

Another reason to hate fucking France, not that she needed one, stood a couple of feet away from her. Sidney it seemed, couldn’t help himself and allowed his eyes to travel the length of her, lingering on her tits and her eyes. Adeline hadn’t taken her eyes off the woman either, but unlike Sidney, fucking her was the furthest thing from her mind. Fucking Russians. At least she wouldn’t feel bad about killing this one. Although, it would have to wait. Grand Duchess Tatiana Petrovna was a favored niece of Grand Duke Leon Petrovich Romanov and her untimely death would cause more problems than Adeline could deal with. Fucking Russians. 

“I’m prepared to seduce him, if that is what is required to gain his compliance.” 

Adeline couldn’t have held in her laugh if there’d been a gun pointed to her face. She ignored the irate glare Sidney shot her because the woman’s statement was ludicrous. Oh, she knew this woman with her manicured nails, seductive hip sway, and diamond crusted neck could very likely seduce Thomas Shelby - at least as far as getting him naked and fucking her. As to gaining his compliance? Well. That was another matter entirely.

“Sorry, Princess,” Adeline managed between laughs. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before looking back up at Tatiana. “It’s just such a terrible idea, and we’d been told you Russian’s had this whole venture planned so precisely that one deviation could mean death.” 

“According to my uncle, seducing Thomas will give us an advantage.” 

Adeline nodded her head. “Aye. I’m sure that’s exactly what your uncle told you, and for many men, such a ploy would be quite successful. You are a beautiful woman willing to spread her knees for a cause - ”

“Our survival - ”

“Of course. Survival.” Adeline pulled a lungful of nicotine into her lungs. “I’m no blushing virgin, Princess, and it’s of little concern to me whose cock you have inside you, but if it’s Mister Shelby’s compliance you’re seeking, I’d use something other than your cunt.” 

“You’re quite direct.” 

Sidney glared at Adeline. “Too direct.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not wrong.” 

“You know Mister Shelby,” Tatiana stated as though confirming something for herself. “How would you approach him?” 

“You’re ill equipped for my methods, Princess. Much to soft, too delicate.” 

“I am Russian.” 

Adeline’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly.” 

“Ladies,” Sidney interjected, weariness in his voice. “We still have time before we depart for Birmingham. Let us enjoy the evening. We can devise a strategy tomorrow when everyone has a cooler head.” 

She felt the glare sent in her direction. Adeline shrugged her shoulder. “Whatever you say, Sidney.”

“Yes. I am tired from the journey, and have acted in poor taste. I’m sure we will all have better temperaments tomorrow once we’ve rested,” Tatiana said, voice pitched in a meek, apologetic tone. 

For all that she wanted to hate her, and part of her did, Adeline had to admit the princess was good. Just enough of an apology to sound good, but not enough to assume blame for the interactions. Adeline smirked at the woman as she ground the stub of her cigarette beneath her shoe. 

Arm low around her waist, Sidney led Adeline into the manor house. As she prepared to push him away, Adeline noticed a gleam of understanding enter Tatiana’s eye. Damn. Plastering a smile on her face, she pushed herself ever so slightly closer to Sidney, rested her hand against his chest, thumb absently stroking the material of his vest. Above her, Sidney’s head shifted, no doubt a look of quickly masked confusion on his face. Thankfully, he didn’t call her out on her strange behavior. As she’d hoped, he allowed himself to indulge in her softness. For the many mysteries surrounding Sidney, she could always count on him to take advantage of such moments. His lips pressed a tender kiss to the crown of her head while his hand shifted up enough to graze the underside of her breast. She allowed a small intake of breath at the contact. Lowering her eyes as though embarrassed, she glanced around. Tatiana’s face had a pinched, sour sort of look to it. Good. A small, but genuine, smile curled her lips. 

“Whatever game you’re playing with the Duchess,” Sidney began as the door to their room closed behind him. “Stop.”

Adeline pulled herself from his arm.

“She’s reckless and dangerous.” 

“Qualities I’d assumed you’d admire.”

“Aye, I do, but not when they’re set against us.”

Sidney smiled as he poured them each a glass of whiskey. “Us?”

Adeline scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. Right now you’re the lesser of all evils, which you should take as quite the compliment. I don’t know exactly how you embroiled yourself so spectacularly in this nightmare, but thanks ever so much for dragging me into it. While you’re strategizing with the princess I’ll be working out a plan to get us out alive, because as loath as I am to say these words out loud, you’re my best hope right now.” 

He held the glass out to her. She took it with a frown and knocked back its contents. “Damnit, Sidney.” 

 Birmingham, Two Weeks Later

Adeline shadowed her eyes with her hand, blocking the midday sun from her face. At least, as much sun as England permitted in Birmingham. The stone building in front of her stood tall, imposing. Water tracks in the brick told its age. She wanted to reach out her hand, trace the path, feel the water against her fingertips. As a child, her mother had regaled her with the strength of men like Paul and Silas, who sang praises to their God after being flogged and thrown into prison in Philippi. But, her favorite story had been from the Old Testament. The three men were thrown in the fires for refusing to bow to a gilded statue of King Nebuchadnezzar. Even as a child, she appreciated the backbone it took to defy a king, knowing you’d die for it. She’d wondered if when she had occasion to stand before a king, the blaze of a fire behind her - would she be brave like those three? Defy the king, and walk into the fire? 

Two men stood at the gated entrance. One from Scotland Yard, a hard face and bald head. The other a man of the cloth. Glazing up at the priest, Adeline knew she’d burn before debasing herself before someone as contemptible as him simply because of a title. Titles changed. Kings died. And, if what her mother told her about the bible was accurate, even priests would be judged. Adeline’s lip curled as she took stock of him. From the way the robes swished around his ankles, to the way the hat sat upon his head, she hated him. Another thing she blamed her mother for. 

“Is he afraid?” the priest asked. 

The man from Scotland Yard shook his head. “No.”

Nodding, the priest turned to face Sidney and Adeline.

“You’ve been sent to ensure there are no more…mistakes.”

“I’ve found that killing traitors is hardly ever a mistake,” Sidney offered. 

“The distinguished men of Section D are unaccustomed to deviations from their plans.”

Adeline rolled her eyes, but kept quiet. This one made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She knew a snake in the grass when she saw one.

“In that case, Father Hughes,” Sidney said as he removed an invisible piece of lint from his jacket, “The distinguished men of Section D should do the work themselves.” 

“They're the hand that guides. Visionaries.” 

Adeline scoffed, but bit it back when Father Hughes turned his dark gaze on her. She offered him a biting smile. Oh how she wanted to shove a blade deep into his stomach. Some preferred the heart, but Adeline figured a man this corrupt might be contagious, best go for the stomach. Or the groin. A curiously pleasant grin spread across her face as she wondered what it would be like for him. Would he remain conscious long enough to see the whole penis removed from his body? 

“What has you so amused, my dear?” Sidney whispered against her neck, lips brushing the shell of her ear. 

Damn him. She shuddered as a pleasurable tingle raced through her body. Still. 

Turning her face to his, their noses glancing against each other as she whispered in his ear. “I’m having a bit of a wager with myself. I want to know if the pompous priest would remain conscious long enough to see his cock removed from his body and shoved down his throat.” 

She could feel the way her words affected Sidney. His hand gripped her hip tightly, fingers pressing against her flesh. “Even when you hate me, you say the sweetest things to me.” 

He pressed a tender kiss to the hollow below her ear as they drew apart from each other. She blinked. For a moment, she was back in France and more than a little overwhelmed by the man standing in front of her. Damn his charm. Damn the way his darkness caressed her own, teased it - fed it. 

“He’s just in here, sir,” the man from Scotland Yard said with a gesture towards the door. 

Breaking away from Sidney, Adeline noted how the copper from the most feared police force in the country trembled around this priest, how sweat beaded his brow. Just as she’d always thought - cowards with more ill-gained authority than sense.  

“Yes, yes,” Father Hughes snapped. “You’re free to leave. I have all I need from you. There’s more to be discussed before we address Mr. Shelby and his errant ways.” 

Adeline felt the blood drain from her face, and for possibly the first time in her life felt thankful that Sidney still had his arm around her because without it she knew she would’ve slid straight to the ground. 

“That’s right,” Father Hughes said, a slow smile on his face. “The whore knows the gangster. I, of course, feel this is an unwise decision, but as ever, I am the humble emissary for those of a higher purpose.” 

Sidney’s fingers dug into her, no doubt leaving bruises, but it kept her from acting foolish and stabbing Father Hughes in the eye with the key she gripped in her hand. Oh how the blood would flow, the soft pop of his eye as she pushed the tip of the key in deeper and deeper. Yes. Eyes first, like a good Blinder. The cock could wait.   

“It is Churchill’s belief that their prior dalliance will be a better way to ensure compliance, and avoid more…mistakes. The carrot - ” Sidney pointed to Adeline. “And the stick.” He pointed to Father Hughes. 

Bait. She’d been reduced to bait. Of course, she had no idea if she would be appropriate bait for this particular trap. Two years had passed since she’d laid eyes on Thomas Shelby, and not a word between them since. And, the man wasn’t known for being forgiving. Regardless of the greeting she’d receive, it didn’t make much sense though because other than Thomas Shelby, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of the men involved in this idiotic Russian chess game. There had to be more to this plan, something she couldn't see. But, Thomas, who held what remained of her heart, waited for her inside that prison. Whatever moves Section D intended to make would reveal themselves in time. Wait. Listen. Alfie. She’d see Alfie again soon. 

Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t see the blow coming. She felt it though. Understood the way gravity worked as she impacted the ground. Bringing a hand up to her face, she felt the blood dripping from the cut on her cheek, knew it was swelling. The boot to her stomach had the air leaving her lungs as she sucked in a breath. 

“For a whore, she’s a quiet one,” Father Hughes said. “Most would have at least cried out once, offered a prayer.” 

Adeline spat blood from her mouth. “For your sake, I hope your faith is stronger than your punch. You’ll get no satisfaction from me, priest.” 

“She’s stubborn, but the blood and bruises will do the work we need,” Sidney said, stepping between them. 

He held out a hand to Adeline. Wary eyes, she took it and stumbled to her feet. Faster than she would have anticipated for a man of the cloth, Father Hughes reached forward and tore the sleeve from Adeline’s dress. Sidney secured her hands behind her back, and bound them with rope while Father Hughes used her own dress to gag her. Instinctively, she thrashed, feeling the rope bite into the skin around her wrists. She glared up at Father Hughes; she’d enjoy killing him. 

“I’ll speak with Mr. Shelby alone first,” Father Hughes said as he hauled Adeline inside the prison. “I’ll call for you when it’s time to bring her to see him. I’m sure they’ve been long awaiting their reunion.” 

She’d start with his toes, Adeline decided. Tear the toenails from his feet before lifting the skin and peeling it like a grape. He wasn’t human, so what need did he have of his mortal flesh? In a way, she’d be doing him a favor. Bringing him closer to his God by allowing him to suffer. She’d be the true test of his piety.  

Feeling herself passed to Sidney made her feel like a sack of potatoes, and about as useful. At least Sidney handled her with a bit more care. Not that she wanted to be grateful to him, but she’d been working on not lying to herself. Sidney only appreciated violence against her when it was directed by his hand. He’d be tender with her now, if only to demonstrate the safety he offered. As though she needed the reminder. Bastard. 

She stood silently with Sidney as Father Hughes and a large doberman went into the cell. Smiling around the gag, she wondered at the priest’s thinking. Didn’t he know anything about the Shelby's, about Thomas? As though a dog would serve to intimidate him. Straining her ear, she tried to pick up the conversation, but to no avail. The stone walls kept the noise contained, and Father Hughes undoubtedly kept his voice quiet on purpose. 

“Don’t do anything foolish, Arke,” Sidney warned. “Play your part and I’ll be able to keep you safe. These are dangerous men.” 

Adeline rolled her eyes. She’d been surrounded by dangerous men for so long now it had become her new normal. Many years had passed since she’d gone more than a month without someone’s blood on her hands. 

The door opened on squeaky hinges, and Father Hughes’ voice carried out to the hallway.

“It’s true. It’s true we do need you alive.” 

Adeline could hear the disappointment in his tone, and smiled around the gag in her mouth. 

With rough hands, now that there was a show to put on, Sidney yanked Adeline down the hallway and shoved her in front of him. Arms bound behind her, she stumbled, only to be caught and pulled upright by Father Hughes. She growled around the gag, imagined spitting into his smug face. Even knowing he’d simply wipe it away before slapping her. Her grin felt feral. It would be worth it. 

“We can reach anyone,” he said. His hand landed on her head, petting through her hair before fisting it in his hand and yanking her head back sharply. Another smile spread across her face as she watched Father Hughes’ jaw tighten. If he expected a damsel in distress reaction, he should have hired an actress. 

Without her permission, her eyes immediately sought Tommy’s. 

Everything stopped.

The only sound was her racing heart, the blood pumping through her veins. 

His eyes assessed her quickly. Lingering on the bruise on her face, tracking the blood. She saw his jaw tense, watched the way his eyes darkened. 

Tommy looked up at Father Hughes, a single eyebrow raised. 

“Don’t be coy, Mister Shelby,” Father Hughes said as he shoved Adeline to her knees. “We know this woman is your fiancée. Comply with each and every one of my orders without question or deviation, and she’ll remain safe. Do well, and I’ll see she’s returned to you when the job is completed.” 

Tommy leaned back, a small bitter smile on his face. “See, that’s where you’ve made your mistake. I ‘ave no fiancée.”

Part 6

Master List

Tag List: @stevie75  @muhahaha303  @highgardenrosexx @mootiemoose​ @polishcrazyone​

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Cruel Summer

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Summary: Based loosely off of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift; You shouldn’t have given in, shouldn’t have caved to him. But what could you say? Some people were just too irresistible. But one too many bad choices lead to tension that even the worst of the worst couldn’t bare.

Word Count: 5473

Warnings: Angst, smut, dom/sub elements, daddy kink, dirty talk, very slight age gap, please let me know if I missed any

A/N: Tags are at the bottom. Please please please let me know what you think, this writing style is a bit out of my comfort zone. I’m trying some new things out before writing my book and really need all the feedback possible. Positive and constructive please. NO spoilers, taking place before the events of Knives Out, age difference of Meg and Ransom was skewed to fit timeline/idea // Read on AO3 here

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs welcomed and highly appreciated!

The wintery chill of the evening Massachusetts air threatened to seep in, blowing harshly against the windowpanes and spinning it’s way through every bare branch and thickly coated pine tree on the property. A typical monthly gathering of family and those like family, a gun show and jab contest dressed up to look like a quiet evening around the fire with loved ones and good food. 

Gazes darted around the room, a tension so palpable it made even the Thrombey family uncomfortable. No one could quite place why though, or even which pair was causing the air to thicken. A typically thin lipped, on edge, cut throat monthly dinner was somehow even more treacherous this time around. 

But no one would have guessed that it involved you. Usually revered as the quiet one, the one who steered away from trouble and left before the tension boiled over, the girl who brought bright smiles and a sharp mind, Meg’s best friend since diapers, your father’s accomplished author for a daughter; not one person would have even thought to have blinked an eye in your direction.

But no one in that room knew why the air was so thick you could taste it, why the sound of the metal knives scraping against expensive glass plates was more bearable than breathing in the smog of tension. One wrong move and-

“So, what’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist, huh?” The smug, faux caring, intoxicating drawl that got you in this mess. 

The flood gates were open now. Everyone talking over the other, talking louder and louder, unknowingly looking for the cause of the uncomfortable feeling that sat low in their bellies. It didn’t last too long, maybe over a minute before it fell silent enough that you could hear the wind whistling outside.

Even with your gaze downcast to your plate you could feel everyone turn to look at you, eyes judging and calculating, picking apart every move, ever wrinkle in your clothes, and twitch of a muscle. 

“You’ve been quiet,” it was your father speaking now, and for the first time you were thankful for that, “What’s new with you, dear? How’s your third book coming along?”

A shrug as you met his gaze, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s coming.” Your tone was practically unreadable, unamused and almost annoyed. 

A snicker from the other end of the table had all of you snapping your heads in the direction of the noise. A shit eating grin was plastered on Ransom’s face, eyes glinting with mischief. You tried your damnedest not to notice how the ruby color of his scarf brought out the ocean blues you got lost in too many times, or how the cream color of his worn sweater was practically taunting you with every memory of you in that sweater. But you knew him, you knew him too well for your own liking, for your own good. And you knew he did things with a purpose. 

“What’s so funny?” His mother snapped at him, his lips pulling into that smirk that had you at his will one too many times. 

“Just never thought I’d hear little ol’ (Y/N) say something along those lines again.”

Pin drop. Silence and shock coursed through every fiber of every person sitting at that table. Confused glances between the two of you, unnerved and in disbelief. 

“What the hell, Ransom? Why do you-” Meg started, voice loud and higher than usual in agitation. 

But you cut her off, staring back at the man who seemingly was doing whatever he could to get under your skin. “Hugh, if you’ve decided you’re going to tell a story, at least make sure to tell the fucking truth.”

A few hushed gasps echoed around the table as Ransom matched your stare. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know that’s not what I like you calling me.”

You scoffed, “You lost the privilege of me calling you what you want the day you told me to leave.”

“As if you didn’t want it just as badly. I seem to recall rather clearly you begging for me.”

“And I seem to recall rather clearly you telling me to get my shit and get the fuck out.” You snapped, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment and agitation. No one was supposed to find out like this, no one was supposed to find out at all. 

Ransom stood suddenly, stalking over to you, eyes never leaving yours. He towered over your sitting figure for a moment, trying to melt your resolve before he leaned down, face only inches away from yours. The musky vanilla and cedar scent of his cologne, the mintiness of his breath with a hint of whiskey, the warm scent of clean cotton from his clothes, it was all almost too much. “Let’s get this straight, baby girl,” the nickname was taunting you like a schoolyard insult, “we had an arrangement. That arrangement didn’t involve feelings. You ruined that.”

“Yeah, because me loving you is the worst thing you ever heard.” You stood as well, at your wits end with this situation, with him, “Dumbest mistake of my life was thinking how you felt when you were drunk was how you felt when you were sober. Fuck you, Ransom." 

He stood back some, moving out of your way as you grabbed your jacket off of the back of your chair, storming out of the too warm mansion and into the freezing cold. Ransom’s voice followed after you, "Don’t forget you already did, sweetheart.”

-

Notification after notification, endless vibration making you want to pull your hair out. A long drive home with a clenched jaw and a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. The day couldn’t be over soon enough, an escape from the embarrassment and misery of that excuse of a dinner much too far away for your liking. 

The hope that your apartment would have been your ticket to peace and quiet was quickly destroyed when there was banging on the door. A huff as you trudged out of the blankets on the couch to the door, swinging it open to see a distraught Meg. 

“What the hell was that about?”

There it went, any bit of resolve and composure went out that front door when she took a step in. Tears quickly welled in your eyes, falling in little streams down your face. The agitation on her face was quickly replaced with worry as she wrapped you in a hug, “Hey, hey, no need for that. Come on. Let’s get you something to drink and then I want you to tell me what that was all about, okay? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on, alright?”

She walked you through the kitchen, making you both a cup of hot tea and grabbing a handful of snacks before steering you back towards the couch, sitting the both of you down. Meg’s eyes filled with relief as she watched you sip at the warm liquid, sniffling softly as you calmed yourself down. 

“Okay, start from the beginning. What happened?”

-

Warm, low lights, a soft thumping from the outdated speakers, a happy, giddy atmosphere floating over the table. A small, cheesy banner sat taped to the edge of the booth, bright tacky colors spelling out “Congratulations”. Two of your friend sat with you in the rounded corner booth, your leg sticking out to the side and bouncing with slight anticipation. Even though you requested a small thing, your beloved friends Shelby and Laura had a hard time doing things small.

But they insisted it wasn’t a lot. Meg was off studying for finals and wouldn’t be able to make it so instead Shelby invited her boyfriend Jay and told him to bring a friend or two along. And not to forget the cake. Their last phone call twenty minutes ago consisted of reiterating the confirmation over and over again. You’re on your way? Awesome great. Who’d you bring? Okay. Did you get the cake? Okay. Don’t forget the cake. Okay. Don’t ruin the cake. Okay you’re sure the cake is okay?

Laura and you couldn’t help but giggle at her, anxiety and anticipation evident in her features as she checked her phone again and again, eyes darting to the entrance waiting for her boyfriend and his friends to enter the hole in the wall bar with that god damn cake. 

Excusing yourself to the bathroom seemed to speed up the time because as you returned you nearly tripped over yourself. There was Shelby, cuddled up next to Jay. And Jay had two men sitting next to him, one you didn’t recognize and one you knew all too well. Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

A man you hadn’t seen in easily a year or two. He had began to skip out on family dinners, tired of the endless drama and bore of it all. Even when the family took their yearly vacation together and during the holiday parties he somehow managed to not be anywhere insight, despite his mother insisting he was there. 

“Look at you, little (Y/N), all grown up now.” His eyes shamelessly raked over your figure, taking in how your body had changed over the years, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, brat. Since before you published the first book.”

You huffed out an anxious laugh, nodding as you took your seat at the end of the booth, opposite of him. “Y-yeah, it’s been a while. You kinda stopped coming around.”

“Can you blame me? My family would make anyway go insane. I’m surprised yours has stayed around as long as they have. But enough about me, sweetheart, from what I’ve been told we’re here to celebrate you-”

Shelby squealed some, “Yep! And that’s why,” she hung onto the end of the word as she lifted the lid of the box that was now sitting in the center of the table. Once the top was off, the sides fell down, revealing a cake decorated to look like a book with the title of your second book you had just published on it. The whole reason you all were here. 

Your heart swelled at the gesture, “Aw! Shelbs! Thank you so much!” You gave her a small little pout, “God I’m gonna cry. I can’t believe I actually did that. Twice now!”

Laughter erupted around the table, the group continuing to shower you in drinks, gifts, and affection. Jay bought you a drink and some food, Laura had gotten you a customized journal with your favorite quote from the book on the front of it, Shelby kept giving you little cards with her favorite things about the books you’ve written in them. It wasn’t long until the group started to dwindle though. First Jay’s other friend who probably felt awkward, then Laura who had to work in the morning. 

Ransom and Jay decided to play a round of pool before Jay and Shelby headed out for the night, and Shelby took the time to interrogate you. 

“Oh. My. God. He is so fucking hot. How the hell do you know him? You never leave your apartment.” She fawned over Ransom, who currently had his back to the two of you at the other side of the bar. 

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief. “First off, you have a boyfriend,” your reprimanded playfully. “Second, that’s Meg’s older cousin. He’s like 4 or 5 years older than us. Spoilt brat. Never worked a day in his life. Third, before you even suggest it because I see that look in your eye. I’m not sleeping with him. I didn’t even let him buy me a drink when he offered let alone going home with him.”

She pouted at you, “Come on, (Y/N/N), you’ve been so stressed with the editing and the publishing. Just have a little fun.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning over and grabbing a nacho to throw into your mouth. “The only fun I need after all this is my handy dandy blue vibrator under my bed. No need to go home with him.”

She scoffed. “Fiiiine, whatever. I still think he’s hot.”

The two men came back a few minutes later, laughing loudly and teasing one another. It was odd, rare even to see Ransom genuinely laughing, whole chest vibrating with the motion, genuine happiness seeping off of him. Jay collected his things as did Shelby, both bidding you a goodnight, Shelby throwing a wink in as well as they exited. 

“Then there was two,” Ransom drawled, smirking lazily at you as he finished off his drink. “Come on, (Y/N/N), let me buy you a drink.”

You smiled, huffing out a small laugh as you shook your head. “I’m good, Ransom. Really.”

“After all those years of you stealing my stash I’m actually willing to buy you a drink and you’re telling me no?”

You rolled your eyes, butterflies beginning to swarm inside you. “I’m telling you no because I still have at least a thirty minute uber ride home and don’t want to be overly intoxicated. The only thing I want right now it a plate of pancakes and some greasy hash browns.”

“Then let’s go get some,” he offered, a somewhat uncharacteristically sweet smile replacing his smirk. “Look, I haven’t seen you in a while and you just accomplished something so let me at least try to do something nice.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You? Hugh Ransom Drysdale? Do something nice? Oh I must be dead.” He pouted at you, the slight disappointed look in his blue eyes sending you reeling. “Fine. I won’t pass up on an offer like that. Just make sure you take me somewhere good." 

Thirty minutes later you sat in a small diner that was essentially in the middle of nowhere. The name GiGi’s was in neon pink light on top the structure that looked like it was plucked out of Grease. A few semi-trucks littered the parking lot and only a couple of faces of customers sat in the diner. 

Ransom had already threw you for a loop, opening doors for you, turning the music down to ask you about your book; and not just what it was about, but what inspired you to write it, what was your muse. He had let you pick the seat and even ordered for you when the waitress came over. Two breakfast samplers with extra crispy hash browns, and two strawberry milkshakes because ‘why not? It’ll be just like when we were kids’.

You were beyond shocked at how comfortable you felt around him. No awkwardness or anxiety that had hit you earlier. It was simple, felt easy, felt right. 

"So, I have to ask, why are you suddenly being nice to me?” The question was simple enough, lips wrapping around the straw of the milkshake after you asked, watching him and waiting. 

“Was I ever not nice to you?” He asked, bemused and quirking an eyebrow at you. 

Swallowing down the cold liquid you scoffed. “Seriously? You’ve been a dick to me since I was like 12 or 13. Whenever you started hanging out with that one guy in high school - Chuck? I think. Anyways, it got even worse after you turned 21. You pretty much outright refused to acknowledge my existence." 

He pursed his lips as he thought about it, "I- okay yeah, you’re right. I did do that- but in my defense I stopped acknowledging you because I thought you were hot and I was older so it was creepy and just easier to ignore you.”

You blinked a few times, shocked and processing what he had just said, “You what?”

He shrugged, taking a bite of his food. “Yep. And Chuck thought you guys were annoying so I dunno, guess I thought being a dick would keep you guys from pestering me.”

You couldn’t help but glare at him softly. “Then why did you come out tonight to celebrate my book? And offer to buy me drinks and food?”

Ransom suddenly looked a lot less relaxed, stern and serious as he kept his gaze on you. “Do you really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” You challenged back, heart thumping in your chest. 

He broke out into a huge grin, chuckling some, “Still not the one to ever back down from me. God, I love it. The reason I came out tonight was because, whether you believe it or not, I’m actually a fan of your writing. I have two copies of your first book and I already preordered the second. The reason I stayed out is because I realized how much I missed you. Most of my favorite memories from when I was younger involve you.”

“Really?” You inquired, munching on the food in front of you. “Like what?”

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t have let that one slide.” He chuckled softly. “One of my favorite memories is when I was probably 10 or 11, I think you and Meg had just started school. And you guys were learning about the stars and space and for some reason I was really obsessed with astronomy at the time. So one night, Meg, you, and I decided to camp out back of granddad’s and mom set a fire up for us and we sat there for hours roasting marshmallows and me teaching you guys about the constellations.”

A bright smile spread across your lips, so big it practically hurt. “I’m surprised you even remember that.”

“Hey, what can I say? I’m a man full of surprises who aims to please.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Once the bill came, Ransom didn’t even let you see it, immediately pulling out some cash and handing it to the waitress, telling her to keep the change. He watched as you pulled out your phone, opening the uber app. “What’re you doing?” He asked quizzically.

“Calling myself a ride.” You answered, not even looking up. 

“Nuh uh,” he shook his head, reaching over and grabbing the phone from you. “I’ll take you home.”

“But my apartment is like 45 minutes away and your house is down the street,” you protested. 

“Then stay at my house tonight and I’ll take you home in the morning. I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed.”

You quirked an eyebrow, obviously not believing him. “You sleeping on the couch? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” He promised, offering you a warm smile. “Now, am I taking you home or are you staying at my house?”

“…I’ll stay at your place,” you mumbled. 

Something about Ransom’s house felt oddly comforting. The large window at the front of the living room let the moonlight stream in, the darker colors that the walls were painted contrasting beautifully with every sleek modern piece of furniture he had. It was obvious his family influenced his taste some. The intricate designs on the patterns of the throw pillows something you could very easily see Halarn buying, while his kitchen was practically black, white, and silver - looking like it popped out of the modern section of an HGTV magazine. But it all flowed and melded together beautifully. 

He showed you to his room, grabbing himself a change of clothes before heading out and leaving you alone. You couldn’t help but stand there and take in your surroundings. Being in there, even without him, felt intimate. Like he was showing you a secret page in a book he loved. A few pictures were on his dresser, various ones or him at parties with friends, one of the family which was smaller than the others. It was neat, clean and tidy but most likely because of a maid and not because he took the time out to clean up his mess. And it smelled of him, everything in the room just breathed Ransom. 

Sitting down on the bed, you kicked your shoes off, sitting them down by the end before lying down and attempting to get comfortable. But to no avail, you tossed and turned for a few moments, and despite the softness of the mattress and sheets below you, you felt uncomfortable. Jeans too tight, bra irritating your skin, face feeling oily and heavy. You needed a shower and a change of clothes if you wanted to even think of falling asleep. 

Hesitantly you made you way back downstairs, where Ransom was currently sitting in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, book in hand. You didn’t even have to say anything, his eyes moved from the book to you, cocking an eyebrow, “Guessing you need a shower and some comfy clothes?" 

You nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, kind feel blah after the bar and greasy food.”

“That’s okay. Towels and wash rags are in the standing closet in the bathroom. Both bathrooms with have them but the master bathroom has better shower pressure. Just take something out of my closet to wear for the night.”

You nodded a thank you and headed back upstairs, grabbing the first sweater you saw in his closet and heading into the bathroom. A part of you felt as if you were dreaming, that this wasn’t actually happening. Any residual crush you had on Ransom from your childhood was coming back full force, and doubling all at one. A quick shower you hoped would calm your slightly growing nerves, but drying off and slipping on the damned creme colored sweater you knew you were hopeless. It smelled like him, was warm and soft. 

Before you could stop yourself you were padding back down the steps, not caring that the sweater barely covered your ass and that you hadn’t bothered with any underwear. Ransom was staring at you before had even looked at him, eyes taking in the sight of you in nothing else but his sweater, jaw set tight with a slight tick. “Whatcha doing there, sweetheart?” He urged, trying to keep his composure. 

You sat on your knees next to him on the couch, staring at him for a moment. “Debating if I should do something I’ll probably regret in the morning.”

He smirked, “I promise if you’re gonna do what I think, you won’t regret it. You can hold me to that.”

“Then make sure I don’t-” you leaned forward, closing the distance between the two of you and pressing your lips against his. The fullness of his pouty lower lip slotted between yours, kissing you in a way you had never been kissed before, completely and utterly stealing your breath and any logical thought from you. 

His hands were on your hips, pulling you into his lap, groaning softly against your lips at the feel of your smooth skin in his hand. It was a battle of tongues for dominance, which you quickly surrendered at the feel of him gripping your ass, kneading and pulling before spanking the plump flesh. 

He pulled away first, a wild look in his eyes. “Get your ass upstairs, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna make sure you don’t regret a thing.”

A shiver went up your spine and you squealed softly before giggling, high on adrenaline and him. You stole another kiss before running upstairs to his room, heart pounding and mind racing. 

Ransom came in a few moments later, quickly discarding his shirt and tossing it in the direction of the hamper before stalking towards you. He moved to hover over you, lips dancing along the skin of your neck. “God fucking damn it, baby girl, seeing you in my clothes - fuck you’re gonna drive me crazy.” He pressed a few kisses to the sensitive skin before biting down on the junction where your neck met your shoulder. 

The whimpers and moans that left you spurred him on, lips continuing their worship of your skin as his hands traveled along the outside of your thighs and up to you hips. Fingers traced along to curve to your waist, up and over your breast as your nipples prickled at the sensation. He felt every movement, every time you squirmed, every time you squeezed your thighs together, every time you rutted. 

“Can I take this off you, sweetheart? Make you feel real good, promise, baby.” A nod was all he needed and the moment you leaned up some he pulled the sweater off, tossing it aside. Ransom moved to lean back, moving to sit on his haunches, moving your thighs and spreading them to be on his clothed ones. 

“Fuck, princess. You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking wet for me, I can already see it. You my little whore, hm?” He leaned down, pressing kisses against the skin of your chest. 

A sudden slap to your thigh caused you to gasp. “What was that for?” You whined, moving to card your fingers through his hair. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to or I’ll have to punish you.” The thought riled you up even more. Being splayed across his lap, hand coming down on you as you squirmed relentlessly, taking every bit of the 'punishment’. But that was for another time, hopefully. Right now you wanted, no needed him. 

“Sorry, daddy.” Your voice was so soft and innocent, absolutely driving him wild. 

He wanted nothing more than to ram into you, make you scream. But not yet, he wasn’t done teasing. Ransom’s lips moved from the skin of your chest to you nipples, pressing a chaste kiss on one before moving to the other and back again. Back and forth as the motions increased. A kiss to a flick to a suck to a nibble. 

His lips begin to move south, nipping at the soft skin along the way. “Absolutely stunning.” He hummed, “Better than I could have imagined, pretty girl.” Soon he was situated between your legs, breath fanning over your soaked folds. A soft groan left Ransom, kissing at the skin of your thighs. “Smell so good, gonna taste even better I guarantee it.”

“Stop teasing,” you whined, tugging on his hair. 

He looked up at you, “Baby, that’s not how this works,” he tsked softly. “You want something, you need to beg.”

Another deep throaty whine ripped from you. “Please,” you whimpered, squirming. “Fuck please, need you." 

He chuckled softly, "I’ll let you off this time - Wanna taste this pretty little pussy.” Without any other warning he delved into your cunt, licking a stripe from entrance to clit before suckling on the little nub. He licked and sucked and nibbled, two fingers prodded your entrance before pushing in to the second knuckle, curling and immediately finding that spot that made you see star. 

Ransom basked in your mewls, the feel of you tugging on his hair before your grip would loosen as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. Talented was an understatement and a part of you hated how good it was, how good he was treating you. 

He didn’t stop, determined to coax an orgasm out of you. Fingers moved swiftly, in and out, scissoring and curling. Lips worked in tandem, listening to your cries of pleasure to determine what you really liked and kept at it. It wasn’t long before your toes were curling, back arching off the bed in a loud moan, his name like a prayer on your lips. 

“Ransom,” you whimpered as the aftershocks rolled through you, his lips never leaving your core, “fuck, Ransom, daddy please. Want your cock.”

He pulled away, pressing one last chaste kiss to your clit before moving to kiss you, letting you taste yourself as he pulled his sweats down and kicked them off. Your hands quickly moved to his length, stroking softly and moaning against his lips. 

“You’re so big,” the little whine caused him to chuckle softly as he pulled away, leaning over to pull a condom out of his bedside table.

“Yeah? Think I’m big, baby girl? Want me to split you in two?” The cockiness in his voice only added to how much you wanted him. 

All you could do was nod, looking up at him with a pouty lip and wide eyes. “Please, fuck me, wanna cum on your cock.”

He growled softly, pulling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance. Ransom teased, moving the head to hook your clit a few times, loving the little jolt and whine that would come from you. He pushed in, slow at first to let you accommodate to his girth, then a quick thrust to bury himself to the hilt, feeling as though he was hitting your cervix. 

If you had ever wondered why Ransom was a playboy, why he was so cocky and self assured, you knew why now. He pulled out almost fully before slamming back in, angling his hips to hit that spot that had your legs quaking every time he pushed back in. Each push and pull had your head reeling, moans falling freely from your lips as you scratched helplessly at his back for purchase. One of Ransom’s hands snaked between the two of you, flicking your clit in time with his thrusts. 

With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he growled out words into your skin, pushing you closer and closer to the edge;

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Perfect fucking pussy, squeezing me so good.”

“You were made for this, made for me. Weren’t you baby girl?”

“Come on, princess. Cum on Daddy’s cock. Show me how much you love it.”

One particularly rough thrust paired with a bite to your sensitive skin had you tipping over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream as your toes curled and thighs squeezed his waist. A few more sloppy thrusts and he emptied himself in the condom, groaning and moaning low in his chest. 

A few moments of breathing, neither of you bothering to move as you came down from your highs. Ransom pressed a few kisses to your neck before taking what little breath you had away as he kissed you, an obvious heated passion still boiling beneath the surface. He pulled out while he lips where still on yours, swallowing down your whine before pulling away. 

Ransom left the bed, your body quaking ever so slightly with aftershocks as he disappeared into the bathroom. He returned a few moments later, condom gone and holding a damp wash rag. He handed it to you, letting you clean yourself up as he slid back under the comforter, taking it from you when you were done and tossing it into the hamper. 

Without as much as a word he pulled you into his side, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline. The two of you stayed quiet for what felt like forever, never quite falling asleep and taking in what exactly had just happened. Just as the sun began to break the night sky, he moved so he was facing you, lying on his side. Crystal clear blue eyes searched your face, a look of contemplation evident. 

“Would you want to do that again?” He asked, voice almost hushed as if he was telling a secret. 

You hesitated your answer, nodding softly, “Yeah, actually. I would.”

He smirked softly, “We’ll discuss the details after we sleep. But let’s just make sure no one finds out. Our little arrangement, okay?”

-

Meg stared at you, a look mixed between confusion, disbelief, and a little bit of disgust. “That was-” she sighed, shaking her head and running a hand through her hair, “That was a little more than I needed to know. Is he the mysterious guy you were seeing last summer?”

A small nod as you sipped at the tea more before looking at her, giving her a look that could only be compared to that of a kicked puppy. You watched as puzzle pieces fit together in her mind, slowly seeing the big picture. 

“He’s the guy who bought you all that jewelry. And the guy that got you a dog - he hates dogs - The guy who took you to Maldives and Paris? What the-” her brows furrowed some, nibbling at her lip as you nodded in confirmation, “The guy that got drunk one night and told you he couldn’t live without you? That you were his everything?”

Her words sliced deep and you sniffled to keep yourself from crying again. “Yep,” your voice was still hoarse with emotions. “It was all Ransom.”

Meg sighed softly, her sympathy evident in every move and noise she made. “I’m so sorry… Do - do you still love him?”

Time seemed to freeze momentarily, every single memory whirling through your mind. With tears brimming your eyes again you looked at Meg, feeling utterly broken and lost. “I’m scared there won’t ever be a time where I don’t love him.”

//

Tags: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @et-lesailes​ @necromaniackat​ @dramaticsassmaster​ @bval-1​ @writingoneficatatime​ @lokilvrr​

[nugnthopkns]

tell you i miss you but i don’t know how

word count: 2.7k

warnings: insinuated fem!reader, a singular swear word, it’s kinda angsty i guess

recommended listening: the story of us | taylor swift

a/n: long time hockey fan, long time reader, first time writer. i’ve been thinking about posting for a while and decided to bite the bullet. no time like the present i suppose. tagging some folks i feel might be interested (but there’s literally zero pressure please feel free to ignore) @matbaerzal​ @davidpastrsnack​ @troubatrain​ @jamiedrysdales​

Breaking up was for the best. 

You repeat the phrase like a mantra. It’s the first thing you think when you wake up, in the back of your mind as you sit in your cubicle, and verbally repeated anytime you pass a mirror. Deep down you know it’s right; you and Tyson aren’t on compatible lifepaths, and that’s okay. You just wish it didn’t hurt so much to say goodbye. He’s an easy person to miss, with his infectious smile and quick wit. Tyson’s the only person who’s made you laugh so hard tears roll down your cheek; the one who always picked up a bag of pretzels on his way home from the rink so you could have a snack after work. Though you didn’t expect to get over him quickly, you had no idea you’d still miss him nearly a year later. Or that it would hurt so much every time you see him in public. 

♠♠♠♠♠

The bar offers a reprieve from the brisk Denver wind. October has been unusually chilly so far, but the bodies packed like sardines in the open room create all the heat insulation you need. It’s a Friday night and you’re hoping to unwind after a stressful week at work. It’s audit season, meaning you’ve had to pull crazy late nights as you read over the financial records of the firm’s junior partners. Today was particularly terrible, with the computer system crashing, and you really need a drink. Your friends are supposed to meet you, but a text confirms that traffic is heavier than they anticipated and they’re running late. 

Not wanting to waste precious time, you head straight for the only empty space at the bar. A bartender a few years older than you sees you approach and leans close to hear your order over the thumping bass. “Could I just grab a gin and tonic?” you ask, and she smiles before turning away to make your drink. A minute later a drink is placed in your hand and you scour the venue for a table. A small booth is available in the corner; the perfect size for your party. It turns out to be the perfect spot for people watching, and you casually sip your drink and occasionally scroll through instagram while you wait. A text from your friend alerts you everyone is fifteen  minutes out. Though it’s pretty crowded everyone seems to be congregating on the dance floor so you don’t hesitate to leave your table and order a second drink. 

This gin and tonic goes down easier than the first, and soon you’re on your third. There’s still no sign of your friends anywhere and the balls of your feet ache from the heels you wore to the office today. You abandon your plan to meet them at the door, firing off a text giving your location in the venue. Once sitting down, you take off your shoes and rub at your feet. Why did you choose today to abide by the dress code? You typically wore a discreet pair of sneakers and wished you could go back in time to change your shoe choice. 

“I see you’re still drinking gin and can’t wear heels for more than two hours.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine. You look up to see Tyson smiling down at you, and the room spins around you. The entire reason you picked this bar was because it was the only one the boys didn’t frequent, but it seems they’re here anyways. 

“I’m consistent,” you say, trying to keep your voice even. The sight of Tyson makes your heart clench. He looks good, glowing the way that means the team came out with a win and that he played well and put up some points. 

Tyson nods to the empty seat across from you, and against your better judgement you allow him to sit. A small section of your brain thinks he’s going to confess he’s been miserable the last few months, that he’s still madly in love with you. It seems to be the part controlling the rest of your body. “That’s one thing that’ll never change. How’s work?”

You hum wistfully, wishing he wouldn’t make small talk. How is this so easy for him? “Busy,” you sigh. “It’s audit season so the department is swamped. The boys still causing issues?”

“They’re annoying as ever.” He smiles at you again. The sick feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. Tyson gives you a quick recap of the Avs’ season so far, and you half pay attention. You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid seeing him: switched the way you drive home, where you hang out with friends, what grocery store you go to. It’s a little ironic he’d find you here of all places. 

Idle chatter occurs for a while. Tyson’s talking to you like he’s reuniting with a childhood friend, not an ex-lover. As much as you find the conversation uncomfortable, you can’t turn him away. You miss sitting with him, talking about anything under the sun. Life hasn’t been as bright since the break up. No matter how hard you try, nothing fills the Tyson sized hole in your heart. In a twisted way his presence is comforting, a reminder of what once was. Eventually his teammates realize he’s gone missing and come to whisk him away. 

“See you around Y/N,” Tyson says, a little bewildered because J.T is dragging him by the belt loops. 

All you can croak out is a feeble “Yeah.” He doesn’t look back once he’s away from the table. You shouldn’t have expected him to; he seems to be doing fine. Well even. Every step he takes breaks your heart a little more, and you curse yourself for missing him and down the rest of your drink. 

Your friends find you crying in the bathroom and usher you home. 

♠♠♠♠

Despite being separated from Tyson, you’re still close with some members of the Avalanche extended family. Mel Landeskog continually reaches out, ensuring you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. It isn’t easy when your ex-boyfriend is the pride of Denver, plastered over every billboard in a fifteen mile radius of the city. When she called to ask if you’d emergency babysit Linnea while she ran errands you jumped at the opportunity to help. 

“Thank you so much,” Mel says, cooing to her daughter who’s comfortably placed in your arms. 

“It’s not a problem,” you insist, “I’m just glad I can finally start repaying you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, telling you to text her if you need anything picked up at the store. You’re then left alone with the baby who is luckily one of the happiest you’ve ever seen. The first hour or so is spent entertaining Linnea with various toys and games. Her smile and laugh melt your heart, and your mind briefly flashes to conversations you had about children with Tyson. You push them from your mind, not wanting to lose your focus. The child in front of you is the one that matters, not the hypothetical one from times past. Around two she gets fussy; a bottle and quick diaper change satiate her. 

“You having fun pretty girl?” you coo. “I’m not always the most exciting to be around.” She doesn’t respond; just looks up at you with heavy lids. You pull her closer to your chest, rocking gently back and forth on your heels. Within minutes she’s soundly asleep and you head upstairs to place her in the crib. 

Back on the main floor, you settle into the corner of the couch. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you keep your laptop at a low volume to ensure you’d hear anything. You sift through the mess in your inbox, deleting promotional emails and replying to those that need your attention. After killing half an hour, you quickly check on Linnea before scrolling through social media. According to twitter the Avalanche are on a six game winning streak and are looking to keep it alive. You honestly could care less about hockey anymore; it’s a painful reminder that Tyson is no longer yours. In truth you’re happy for the team because they work hard and deserve it. Other social media platforms yield nothing of interest and you soon feel yourself nodding off. Looking at the clock you realize there’s about an hour left in the baby’s nap, so you let yourself sleep. 

A knock on the door startles you awake. Careful not to cause a commotion that could wake Linnea you head in the direction of the entryway. The knocking increases as you approach, and you open the door to a disheveled Tyson.

“What are you doing here?” You didn’t mean for the question to come off so rude, but it does. 

He pays it no mind. “Is Gabe home yet?”

“No,” you sputter. “I’m watching Linnea while Mel stepped out.” 

Tyson looks stumped. “He should be home by now. We had plans to unwind before the game.” You make no attempt to stop him from entering, and he takes his shoes off without another word. Aimlessly trailing behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he heads to the guest room. “I’m gonna take a nap, have Landy wake me up when he gets home.”

“Can do,” you sigh, but it falls on deaf ears. Tyson’s already got the door shut, and you imagine he’s climbing under the covers, blissfully unaffected by your presence. You can’t say the same. Knowing he’s less than fifty feet from you sends you spiraling. Flashbacks of pre-game cuddles grace the back of your eyelids, and you rub your temples furiously to get rid of the images. It doesn’t help. You want nothing more than to not be bothered by how much you miss seeing him. You miss the way his hands felt entangled with yours and how sweet his voice sounds in the morning. Being this hung up on a person so long after a relationship has ended can’t be healthy. 

The baby monitor crackles, signaling the baby, and the only reason you haven’t fled, is once again awake. Linnea’s room is bright and cheerful; the perfect hideaway from Tyson. Sometime during your tenth reciting of Green Eggs and Ham Mel returns. She finds you upstairs and giddily sweeps up her child, missing her terribly even though she was only gone for a couple of hours. 

“Did everything go okay?”

You nod. “She was a dream. The happiest baby I’ve ever seen. She might need to be changed soon though.” 

Mel nods. “I saw Tyson’s car in the driveway, did he meet Gabe?”

“He’s actually asleep in the downstairs guest room,” you whisper, scared he’ll sense you’re talking about it, and by extension thinking about him, missing him. 

“Oh. Shit.”

That’s the understatement of the year. “Yeah.” You quickly help put away the groceries before heading out, not wanting to disrupt the routine more so than you already had. Really though, you want to be as far away from the Landeskog’s as possible before Tyson wakes up. You’ll have to do a better job of avoiding him in the future, you decide on the way home. You’re heart can’t take seeing him this frequently – or at all. 

♠��♠♠

You would rather be anywhere than the Pepsi Center. It’s the first time you’ve been in the arena since breaking up with Tyson and you’re downright miserable. However, you promised your younger brother you’d take him to a game the next time he visited Denver with your parents and you aren’t about to break his heart. Ryan is borderline obsessed with the Avalanche and hockey in general. At eleven he’s showing significant promise and you know he works hard.

“Ry, slow down,” you huff, desperately trying to keep up with him. The kid is swaying through the throng of people at lightning speed, desperately trying to make it to your seats to catch warmup. Wanting to make the experience special for him, you purchased seats along the glass across from the Avs bench. Your brother halts, tapping his foot impatiently as you join him and match his stride. 

Contrary to what Ryan thinks, your seats have not been stolen and warmup is just starting. His winter jacket is soon placed on the seat, revealing the too big jersey underneath. The number seventeen nearly sits at his elbow and the name-bar is askew because one side keeps slipping down, but your brother’s happy. He’s preoccupied with watching players do passing drills, hands pressed against the glass, and you allow yourself to look around. Virtually nothing has changed since the last time you were here. The banners are still the same, the energy electric. One small difference is your seating arrangement: the better halves’ box is no longer a luxury you have available to you. A quick glance in that direction confirms they’re enjoying themselves, laughing and no doubt in the midst of planning the next off-season wedding. 

Ryan grips the hem of your sweater to get your attention. “Look Y/N,”  he squeals, “Tys and J.T are coming over!” Sure enough, the two friends are making a beeline in your direction. Tyson waves and Ryan eagerly reciprocates. You’re reminded just how much he misses Tyson; they were the best of friends whenever they could get together. Another piece of your heart breaks in that moment, as you realize you aren’t the only hurting from the breakup. 

“You’ve got him in the wrong jersey Y/N,” J.T smirks. “Think he’d look better with thirty-seven plastered all over.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll remember that Compher. You got the spare change lying around to buy him one?” There’s no malice in your voice; you truly miss joking around with him. 

Tyson throws a puck high enough to clear the plexiglass. “Ry-Guy, catch!” It lands unceremoniously at Ryan’s feet, but he beams as he picks it up. The two boys share a makeshift fist bump and quickly catch up with each other. It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other at this point, and Ryan has so much he wants to talk about. J.T tells a joke that makes the younger boy laugh, and Tyson turns his attention to you. 

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, doing his best to convey his sincerity. The energy of the area and the adrenaline have Tyson shaking slightly, and he rocks back onto his blades. 

You study his facial features as you inhale. He’s still incredibly handsome, just slightly more defined, like he’s growing into himself. “Likewise,” you exhale. You know you shouldn’t lie but you can’t help it; for Ryan’s sake you need to pretend that seeing Tyson doesn’t make you want to curl into a ball and cry. He smiles sadly, like he knows you’re putting on a show. He probably does – you’ve never been good at hiding your emotions from him. Has been able to see how much you hurt every time you interact?

Ryan recaptures Tyson’s attention for a few final moments before he has to return to the locker room. With a high-five and a promise to call soon he skates away, leaving your brother to gush about his idol. The game goes better than you could have ever imagined; the Avs gain a landslide victory and Tyson gets a hatrick. After each goal he points in your direction and Ryan goes berserk. You catch yourself smiling, proud of his accomplishment, before you realize you won’t be at the celebratory afterparty. That isn’t your life anymore. 

The traffic out of the arena is terrible, and Ryan’s asleep in the backseat before you hit the interstate. In some sort of daze you think about what you’d be doing with Tyson right now if you were still together. Maybe you’d be getting ready to make an appearance at a club to celebrate the big game, but it’s more likely you’d be pressed together on the couch, watching a nature documentary to unwind. It’s moments like that you miss most; where you were both too comfortable and enamored with each other to care about your social obligations. A single tear escapes and flows down your cheek. One turns into ten, and soon you’re sobbing over lost love. 

♠♠♠♠

Tyson Jost isn’t someone you could ever stop loving. He’s the human equivalent of the sun, and even now your life revolves around him. It’s centered on missing him, sure, but that’s a part of him nonetheless. You can only hope it gets easier to deal with.