#but recently I’ve realised I can be a bit more chill than other people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingsbychlo · 3 years

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sun in the shadows (03)

word count; 12,706

summary; trying to make some headway on the study leads to an interesting revelation, and progress in your friendship with noah.

notes; if this part is a little sucky, I apologise. it was a last minute addition that I created because I realised I wanted to include some extras.

warnings; brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety, but it’s very mild.

The weather was improving, the drizzle of the winter and the grey skies overhead were getting lighter, the showers of rain were getting less frequent and the winter was moving on. Spring was making itself known, bulbs of daffodils were finally taking root in the soil, and green was sprouting from the earth that had been frozen over and dead only a couple of weeks ago. The watery floors were drying up, limited ice was fading away, and graduation was sitting right on the horizon for you all.

Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag, rooting through the contents to find a place to slip your file inside, all your notes for the class you’d be having were inside, and there was a blank page for your next session waiting to be filled out. Once it had its place, albeit getting a little bit crumbled against the other content, you removed your wallet, a few coins jingling in the bottom, and you hoped it was enough for two coffees.

There was a coffee stand not too far away, and you were hoping an extra shot of coffee before you went in might get your brain working a little faster. Only a couple of feet ahead of you was a face you recognised, a dark jumper to match dark denim jeans, a pair of boots for motorbike riding that were beginning to scuff along the edges and the toes. He was hanging over his money, a brown bag holding a pretzel and a tall cup, the tell-tale tag of a teabag hanging over the edge, and he walked away.

Joining the back of the line, you watched him go, sitting not far across the quarter with his headphones on, settling on one of the recently repainted memorial benches. He pulled the tab on eh coffee back, opening it up and a cloud of steam left the drink, curling up into the air that still held a slight chill, drifting away to disappear as he blew against the surface of the drink. In his other hand was his phone, scrolling aimlessly on it as a way to keep himself disconnected from everyone else around him and prompt nobody else to join him. His bag was out on the bench too, pushed a short distance from his body in an attempt to take up the rest of the space to deter company.

Ordering a simple set of black coffees, and finding you had just enough change for a muffin too, you waited patiently for your order, an assortment of condiments and the double-chocolate treat you’d paid for being handed to you first. There was a grinding, the slight screech of the machine as it crushed the beans to create two black coffees for you, plastic lids sealed on and two cardboard jackets fastened around them.

Balancing the load between them all, you headed over to him, using your knee to nudge the bag up the bench until it bumped his leg, and he jerked slightly, looking up to see you. Offering him a beam, his narrowed eyes lightened a little, and he sighed. Putting down his phone and moving his bag to the floor, he lifted the headphones away from his ears, and let them hang around his neck. Sitting yourself down, he slumped back into the wood, and you scooted up to sit closer to him, placing the spare coffee you’d bought for Stiles on the floor away from your feet.

“Hey, Noah!” He gave a short nod, still a little uncomfortable, and he turned to face you more. “So, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“How did you know I was here?”

You shrugged, opening up the bag of extras and searching through for a couple of sweetener packets, and a wooden stirrer. “I didn’t. I was just gonna’ grab a coffee before class and head to my hall early, because, y’know, studying at home is distracting.” Your hand waved off the statement, finding the packets you wanted, and clutching your cup between your knees for stability. “So, anyway I was going to text you when I got there, but then I saw you, so I figured I’d come and say ‘hey’!”

“Right.”

“So, hey!” You waved a little before taking the top from your coffee, and leaving it on the bench beside yourself. “I ask once again, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“Well, since I am the most popular guy at this college, I’m pretty busy.” He smiled a little at his own joke, particularly when you gave him a laugh, and your brow raised.

“Oh, he’s got jokes today, huh? I like it, I can roll with that.” Tipping the sugar into the cup, you added a couple of packets, before stirring it slowly. “I take it you’re free, then. I was hoping we could squeeze in some study stuff this afternoon. I have a class in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to see if you were free?”

“Well, I’m free all day. I had a six AM class.” His face screwed up at the idea, and you could feel his pain, having spent the entirety of your sophomore year with a teacher who held lectures at six AM so she could avoid her morning sickness before class, and rush home for it afterwards. Professor Anderson going off on her maternity leave was the best thing that had happened to your education that year.

“Great, I’ll sort it with Stiles, and we’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a thrill. I can hardly wait.” He smiles, the sarcasm just like his brothers as it came through, and you repaid him for the joke with a chuckle. While the two of you had made progress, you could tell he was still a little unsure around you. You were polar opposites and he didn’t take well to that, the atmosphere that you brought with you could be a little too much for him to handle sometimes, you couldn’t stop the guilt that was eating at you a little. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a look on your face like you want to talk about things. Just warning you, I’m not good at that heart-to-heart stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that.”

“Shut it.” He teased, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, and you grinned cheesily in reply to him. “You can tell me, though. Can’t promise I’ll help, but..”

“It’s nothing weighing me down. I just wanted to apologise. I clearly interrupted your free time. You got yourself a little pretzel to eat in silence, and everything.” He offers you a blank look at your slight dig, and you only winked, waving the muffin in a bag that you’d bought, and taking a sip of your coffee once the lid was sealed back on. “People usually like it when I stop by to see them, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, really.” His words were strained, the response bringing you no relief as he forced them out, and your frown remained. “I’m serious, okay? It’s alright.”

You were trying your best but learning the lines with Noah was different to you. Upon starting college you’d been thrown in at the deep end of socialisation and a whole world you’d never quite had access to before. Coming from a smaller town that had always limited your expectations was tough, and you’d taken it differently from the way Noah had. You’d had so many experiences, becoming legal to drink and venturing beyond your comfort zone, truly leaving home and facing the idea of having your life laid out before you, the first time truly having your heartbroken, and being too far to simply collapse into the arms of your mom or dad for support when things got messed up.

“When does your class start?” You jumped, lost in your thoughts as you slumped back into the bench, and you sat up straight again, turning to find that Noah was already looking at you, eyes scanning over you slowly. It was a good reminder, time had been slipping away from you and in the ease of his peaceful and quiet company, you could have sat there for hours.

Checking your watch, you sighed, lifting your bag strap back up onto your shoulder more securely, and packing everything you had with you inside, leaving you to hold a coffee cup in each hand. “In about ten minutes.”

“How about I walk you?” He picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder, and you nodded, a warmer feeling at his offer blooming where cold guilt had been. Standing up and making sure not to spill any of the scalding coffee onto your hand. Peering around the busy campus quarters that was more filled now than it had been for months, the lighter weather tempting groups to come out of their dormitories and the cafés to gather outside instead.

He fell into step beside you, toes scuffing occasionally on the slightly uneven stonework of the quad, before it fell away into smooth concrete pathways on the way to your lecture. The grass alongside each path was growing greener, dull colour fading away into something brighter. Paper crinkled beside you, the cup of tea in his hands being finished and the cardboard cup was crushed between string fingers, knuckles even paler than usual as he crumpled it up, and as you approach the closest bin, it was disposed of.

Your fingers flexed around your coffee cup, almost having forgotten that it was there as the heat from the two began to fade away a little. Taking a sip, the refreshing burst of sweetened caffeine was like a spark to your system, and you revelled in it. “How do you take your coffee?”

You lower the cup from your lips, swallowing your mouthful, and you couldn't stop the rise of your brows once you turned to look at him. “Creamer, usually. I like a caramel flavoured one. But, since I’m not big on creamer in packets or from street vendors, this one just has sweeteners.”

“Cool.” He nodded, and your lips pressed together tightly to try and contain the smile you wanted to let free, silence forming between you both for a moment, a further gathering of steps as the two of you went on, your building coming into sight again. “Did you watch the news last night?”

“Is this small talk?”

“It’s an attempt at small talk.” He winced, and you chuckled, a small smile on his features as the fear of judgement or humiliation washed away, and he gave a sigh.

“Okay, let's try this.” Your mind spun, searching for a track of something to talk about, and a thought clicked into space. “If you could watch one genre of movies for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Comedy. Like, comedy-action. You know, ones like ‘Jumanji’ or something?” He was quick with it, certain about his answer, and you nodded.

“Yeah? That was quick. How come you’re so sure?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, one hand coming up to hold his bag strap, swinging it to the side to be able to get inside, and fish out the paper bag with a pretzel inside. “I guess I just think they’re good for you. Good for the soul. They have action and it keeps you a little on the edge of your seat, but it’s funny. It's easy-going, when you’ve got anxiety, or you’re having a bad day, or you just want background noise, they’re perfect.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Okay, tricky one.” his eyes narrowed a little, but an amused look passed over his features while he waited. “If you had to choose specifically between comedy and action, which is it?”

“It’s got to be action. Because comedy usually means Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and some of their comedies are good, but some are jus-” He paused, jaw dropping a little, and his hand came out, pausing in front of your to bring you to a halt too. A smile curled on your lips, and he looked shocked. “Holy shit, you’re good!”

“Ask a basic question that people are passionate about, it always leads to more options, and everyone always wants to talk about something fun.” His head shook slowly, as though he was in disbelief, and you took a dramatic bow, trying not to spill the coffees in your hands as you giggled. “Give it a go, I bet you can do it.”

The paper in his hands crinkled, your footsteps taking up again, and the two of you were making your way towards the building once again. Taking a bite from his pretzel, a piece torn away with his teeth, he thought it over. “Does your family have any secret or ‘famous’ recipes?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Kudos to you, Noah.”

“Thank you. I thought about it for, like, eight whole seconds.” He grinned, the joke moving away from you both as you left it behind, and you thought about his question.

“Maybe it’s not my family recipe, just a personal one, but I’m great at making lasagne.” He scoffed, and you nudged him with your elbow. “I’m serious! I make a great lasagne!”

“You don’t seem like a cook to me, is all! You seem like the sort of person who’d manage to burn a pit of water.”

“You can’t burn water, an.. oh, I just got it. You jerk.” It was a joke, your nose screwing up as you stuck your tongue out at him, thanking him a second later as he held the door open for him. The bright lights of the outside changed to artificial lights in the halls, not as much coming through the windows as trees outside managed to cast shade into the building. “Well, I can cook. I love to cook, and I’m good at it. Especially lasagne. My family are generally the only ones who have ever had it, and thanks to that insult, you’ll never have it.”

“Oh, woah, no! You have to let me try it now. Prove me wrong, or I’ll be forced to believe you’re bluffing.”

“You’re sneaky.” You scoffed, students filling the hall and filtering in from different sides of the building, lectures in different halls all waiting to take place, and you stepped to the side of the corridor once your doorway was within reach. “If you’re lucky.”

“I’m betting on that.”

Glancing back, Stiles was already inside, as expected. Stiles Stilinski had never once been on time, he was either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, and since he’d spent the night with Derek, who was an early bird, you’d figured which one today would be. His head was slumped on his hm half-asleep and on the verge of drooling as he sat there, and you chuckled, turning to Noah. “Thanks for walking me. Also, thanks for small-talking with me.”

“Thanks for the advice on small talk.”

“I’m gonna’ head inside, but, I’ll see you later, okay?” He nodded, confirming the times with you, and lingering a moment longer. It was quiet, but not so tense, and he rolled on the balls of his fete, the half-eaten pretzel in his hands was seemingly abandoned as one hand tucked into his jeans pockets, the other hanging limply while holding the delicacy by his side.

“Thanks for sitting with me. This wasn’t so bad. It was almost fun.”

“You know, one day, you’re gonna’ tell me you had fun with me. I look forward to that day.” He smirked, your head tipping to the side at the expression.

“If you’re lucky.” He was repeating your own words back to you, and you beamed at the chance. Backing away from him slightly, you fixed him with the cheekiest glance you could as you walked through the doorway.

“I’m betting on it.”

You could hear his laugh once you were gone, into the classroom and beginning to take the steps up to a seat beside Stiles that he’d reserved for you, his bag sitting on it. He’d already gotten his equipment out, notepads and pencil laid out in a somewhat organised mess on top of the desk.

Placing the two coffees down, you moved Stiles bag to the floor, tucking it behind his chair and a soft snore made itself known from him, the boy not doing well with early mornings but he never had, not once in your years of knowing him had he handled it very well, so it was no surprise.

“Opening up your bag, you dropped your notebook down onto the surface with a loud ‘slapping’ sound, and he jerked upwards, flailing as he did, and almost knocking the coffees over. Blinking quickly and shaking sleep away, he looked around, eyes wide as he finally focused on you.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that.” He chastised you, leaning back in his seat and holding a hand over his heart. “I was dreaming about high school, I thought you were my lacrosse Coach waking me up for falling asleep in class again.”

“Maybe I am.” You winked, slamming a hand down on the counter. “Drop and give me twenty, Stilinski! Right now!”

“Don’t do that, it’s eerily accurate.” He cringed, shuddering a little, before a wide smile replaced the horrified expression that had morphed, and you pushed a coffee over to him. “You brought me a coffee?”

“Yes, I did. It’s bribery.”

“Oh? What am I being bribed for?” He was curious, rooting through the bag of condiments for it and taking the plastic lid from the cup, steam curling out into the air. Taking an ungodly and certainly unhealthy amount of sweetener and sugar packets to load into his coffee.

“Your free time this afternoon. I’m thinking about getting some of my study done, I can get all the work for the next couple of sessions sorted now, but how do you feel about being asked some later?” He tipped them in, a drop of coffee flying up over the edge and landing on the desk as he stirred his drink with vigour, that same hyper excitement that he always had.

“Can’t I just fill them out now?”

“It’d be better if I could get your responses with Noah.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and making a scene of it, but there was a smile that told you he already agreed.

“You should have brought me two coffees, but fine.”

You let out a victorious ‘aha!’, and shook the little brown paper bag that was still sitting on your half of the desk at him. “I also brought you half of a muffin!”

“Only half of a muffin?”

“Well, it was none, but since I didn’t eat it yet and I’d feel bad eating it in front of you, I decided to share it.” You tore it in half, pushing half across the scratched and vandalised wooden surface to him. Crumbs were left along the surface, and Stiles pressed the pad of his finger along them to gather them all up.

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, what I meant was; wow, a full half of a muffin!” He cheered, much more enthusiasm, and you nodded.

“Much better.” At the front of the classroom, your tutor entered, door slamming behind him as he kicked the wedge out from underneath, and his case was placed down on the desk. The room began a hushed quiet, save for the loud slurping of Stiles with his coffee beside you.

“You know,” Your best friend didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, everything he did was more like a dramatic stage whisper on a Broadway show, and a few dirty looks were sent his way. The professor was used to this, a year of experience and advice from previous tutors guiding him to ignore Stiles’ fidgeting and chatter. “You’re going to have to convince Noah to do this.”

Slumping down in your seat a little more, you turned your head to him, nibbling on your half of the muffin. “I already did.”

“What?” This time he was hushed, the man standing at the front near his desk, trying his best to give extra advice to everyone and answer any common questions that he’d been emailed. You’d have to catch the after-class notes in your emails. “When d’you do that?”

“This morning before class. I saw him while getting coffee for you and we walked over.”

Stiles huffed, his brows being pulled together slightly. “Okay. Damn, he was my last free shot at getting the afternoon off.” You grinned, pinching at your friend’s cheek, and he smacked your hand away. “Quit it, I’ve told you not to do that before.”

“In case I pinch your moles off?”

“That's where my power is. My funny is in my moles.” He hissed, only making you laugh more, and you covered your mouth with your hand over his silly superstitions.

“Whatever, freak.”

“Hoe.” He snarked back, and you grinned, punching at his shoulder as best you could from this angle, and he reached up a hand to rub at it. “So, if we’re doing this, I at least want to do it at my place. I’m going out this evening, I gotta’ be ready. Derek’s sisters are coming up to visit.”

“It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out his phone and keeping it ducked from view. He was texting his brother, letting him know to be ready, and at what time your class would be ending, giving him a little time to prepare. Opening your book up and flicking to the page you had marked, it was a journal written about the study of the ways that twins raised in different households could grow up similarly, and you were hoping to adopt some of the content for your study.

“So, what’ve you got done so far?”

Stile sighed, flicking open his notebook, and you were shocked by the fact that he was already at the end of it. There were pieces of paper stuck in, a list of book references on one of the tabs down the side of a page, and only a few blank pages left at the back.

“Oh, wow, okay.” You stared at your notebook, barely reaching a quarter of the way through with the notes you’d been making, and it looked like Stiles was ready to start making progress towards a conclusion for his hypothesis. “So, you’ve got a whole lot done, then.”

“Yeah, well, I want to spend as little time in a prison as I possibly can.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, the pages crammed full of information as he flicked through to find a blank one. “Plus, I didn’t want to go and interview inmates on my own, so I wait until Derek has free time to go with me, and I get as much done in those sessions as I can.”

“You’re gonna’ be done weeks before I am.” You pouted, your pen twirling at the top corner of a page, drawing a collation of pretty flowers to form a border, and he chuckled.

“I have easier test subjects than you do. They’re already guilty and behind bars, they’re more than happy to open up. You’ve gotta’ deal with Noah.”

“That’s true.” You grinned, thinking back on the conversation you’d had with the other twin that morning. When he was alone, it wasn’t so bad, he talked more and he wasn’t so worried about judgements, but as soon as there was someone else who might hear, he completely closed down.

“Hey, seriously, we have ages left. You’re gonna’ be just fine.”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, because this is the last hurdle, y’know?” He nodded, and you could see whatever it was he was thinking practically swirling in his eyes, because Stiles’ emotions were open to read like a book.

“It’s terrifying. It’s, like, what the hell are we supposed to do when we finish?”

“I don’t know.” Your head dropped to your hands, fingers soothingly rubbing at your temples. A large hand landed on your back, rubbing in comforting circles. “What I do know, though, is that if I don’t get on with coming up with some more content, I’m never gonna’ finish this study in time.”

“Well, put your headphones on and come up with some questions.”

You did as told, plugging your earbuds in and choosing some classical music that would make it easier to concentrate. Opening one of your survey works back up to the page you’d left off at, your eyes began to flicker over the pages, picking out the useful information. Once you had a list built, you had a foundation to work from, questions to create and organise into groups, different sessions being able to come together.

Beside you, Stiles’ hand never seemed to stop rising, a constant dialogue with your tutor as he checked his work and ironed out any kinks in his study. He was also full of chatter and laughter, getting along with everyone around him and asking about their works, making you turn your music up several times just to be able to concentrate. But, by the end of the session, when Stiles was tugging your earbud out and telling you your class was over, you had a solid three pages worth of questions that had been split up into sessions, and ready to be worked through.

“Pack up and get ready to go. I have plans to get ready for.”

Stiles already had his bag in his arms, notebook tucked inside and pens and pencils put away, two empty coffee cups and a muffin wrapper sitting out, which he quickly gathered up, once his bag was on his shoulder. He was gone, walking past you and down to the waste bin at the front of the hall to dispose of them, his fingers tapping idly on his thigh once he was done.

You gathered your belongings, packing them away and curling the wire of your headphones back up neatly, making sure everything had its correct place in your bag, before following him down and out of the steps.

The halls were filled once again, the two of you navigating through crowds to the outside of the building, and you followed him in his diversion across the pathway, all the way to his car. Some students had already left, spaces beginning to empty out as a bottleneck effect took place at the only entrance and exit to this carpark.

“Where’s your car?” The dirty blue jeep was one of the only ones left in the parking lot, Stiles looking around for your vehicle, and you sighed.

“Don’t get me started on that hunk of junk.” You growled, stomping a foot on the floor as Stiles laughed. Opening the driver’s side door, he hopped up inside of it, legs dangling from the chair. “I’m trying not to use it as much. It splutters when it starts up and I have to try it a whole bunch of times, so the less I use it, the closer to graduation we can get before it eventually taps out.”

“You ever think about just getting it fixed?”

“Oh, big words from the man whose engine is held together with duct tape.” Your hand rubbed over the hood of the car, a slightly dusty layer that made you cringe, and you wiped your hand off on your jacket to stop it.

“Touché.” Stiles only smirked. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to my place. I’ll be waiting for hours if you walk.”

He slammed his car door once his legs were inside, leaning over the centre console to pop open the passenger side door as you rounded the car, and he was sparking up the car before you were even fully inside. Slamming it shut, he was reversing from his spot as you clipped in your safety belt, swinging his car around, and you gripped onto the edge of the door. “Easy there, fast and furious.”

“Oh, relax. Nobody is around.”

“Except for me, and I’d like to live until graduation.” His eyes rolled, hitting the brakes and flicking on the indicators as he was leaving the parking lot, moving out onto the main roads. There weren’t so many other cars, the mid-afternoon meaning the other students were mostly in class, in bed, or eating their lunch. College was a weird time, and while you’d loved it, you couldn't wait to regain some kind of normality. “Can we swing by my place? I need to swap out my books. I don’t want to carry all these around.”

“Okay, but be quick! I have to be ready by six and out the door by six-thirty. Derek will kill me if I’m late for this.” His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as he changed direction to head to your place instead of his own. The space between you both was filled with the radio, the simple tunes of classic 70s anthems, the songs Stiles had grown up with, his dad’s favourite records and he played them constantly. He knew all the words, mouthing along and banging his head, pausing occasionally to check the mirrors and the roads between dancing in his seat.

Rolling the window down as he slowed in his approach to the building, afresh air swept into the carbon of the car, the slightly musty smell of the older car was something you’d miss when it was gone. The shade of the concrete cover overhead was chillier than the sunny roads, and he swung himself haphazardly into a parking space.

“I’ll turn the car around and wait here, cool?”

“I won’t take long, promise!” Hopping from the car and closing the door, you leant on the open door frame, and Stiles slouched in his seat, as he usually did. “Lydia and Ally should both be out, so there’s nobody for me to even talk to.”

“Good, because you’re chatty.” He teased, and you flipped him off, a quick walk as you headed away from him to the stairs. Once you were there, you were taking a quick jog up the sets of stairs, headed for your floor, and balancing your books in your arms carefully. Rooting through your bag to find your keys, they were at the bottom, jingling tantalisingly for you to find.

Leaving your books on the countertop of the kitchen, you shifted through them, taking the notebook you needed and leaving the rest, piling them back up and taking them to your bedroom Abandoned on the desk, you rushed to change, throwing on a bigger and warmer jumper to get through the rest of the day, phone in your pocket and a bag on your arm. Passing back through the kitchen, you were ready to grab the notebook and bag you’d left there, keys hanging in the back of the door, and you eyed the freezer.

You’d made a bet, a point to prove, and you were certain that buried somewhere deep in the bottom, you had a frozen lasagne from the last time you’d made it for Allison and Lydia. You had a few spare moments, and so you moved over to the freezer, opening the door and crouching to scan over all the shelves.

Running your fingers over frozen plastic, you searched for the right one. Tinfoil crinkling in the back, behind a bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of alcoholic ice cubes, was a tray of lasagne. Pulling it out, the cold chilled your arm, even through the layers of your hoodie, and you used your foot to close the freezer while wrapping the tray in the nearest tea towel for an extra layer.

Placing your notebook over it and holding it in both arms for security, you clicked the latch onto the door, keys in your pocket and bag on your shoulder to let it swing closed behind you.

Stiles saw you coming, his head snapping over to the metal door between the stairwell and the parking lot when it fell open, backing through it and his brows raised. Opening up the passenger side door, he took the lasagne from you when you handed it over, climbing back into the vehicle.

“This is cold. What is it?”

“Lasagne.” You settled it onto your lap once your safety belt was on, folding the towel underneath to keep your lap from getting chilled and painful, and he nodded. The engine was still running, and taking off the brakes, he was pulling out of the space again.

“So, not that I don’t love a home-cooked meal, but I’m going out for dinner. Why the traybake?”

“I have a point to prove to Noah.” You were looking out of the window, but you could feel his gaze on you, making you a little uncomfortable, and you turned to face him. His eyes were flicking between you and the road, brows furrowed, a stare like he was trying to figure you out, before he let it go. “He told me I looked like I couldn't cook, and it’s a battle I’m going to win.”

“Well, alright then. Save me leftovers?”

“We’ll see.” You winked, and he grinned, eyes flicking to the tray in your lap, before back to the road.

It was only a short journey, the distance between your place and Stiles’ building was short for a walk and even shorter in a car, on the edges of campus and conveniently placed, and it had been one of the building blocks of your friendship with him An easily accessible study partner, somewhere to hang out with, someone to walk home with you after a night out, someone to share a cab with, or simply knowing there was a friend so close to you.

“It’s going to be weird not living around the corner from you in just a few months.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed, pulling into his one building sparking area and it didn’t have the luxury of being covered or underground, it was exposed each flat having allocated parking spaces, and Noah’s bike was parked underneath the shelter, you could see it from here, with a clamp around the wheel and covered from the impending and risky weather of the early months. “I have a feeling that you’ll end up living next door to me someday.”

“You do?”

He parked the car, arm behind your head as he reversed into it, ready to make a quick getaway on the next morning, or this evening, when he would invariably be late. In true Stiles Stilinski style. “Yeah. Especially after I rock whatever gown you want me to wear for being your maid of honour, someday.”

“Lydia is going to fight you for that role.”

“I will fistfight her for it.” He challenged, and you grinned, clambering down from the car as Stiles had parked a little too close to someone else on your side. With your bag on your shoulder and lasagne in one hand, you tried to squeeze around the door without scratching someone else’s paintwork.

Stiles’ arm was slung over your shoulder as you set off toward the building, the elevator being fully functional, and it was a refreshing change not need to take the stairs up to your place, or risk your life in a rickety elevator.

Throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter, they slid all the way across and to the other side, hitting the floor, and he grimaced when you turned to stare at him. “I’ll pick those up later.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds of video games and music were coming from behind Noah’s door, though it wasn’t fully closed, only pushed halfway, and you hoped that was a sign that he was still in a good mood. Leaving your bag on the edge of the couch that was facing away from you, your hands rubbed together, glancing around at the environment you were still getting used to. “You should put this lasagne in now, so that it’s ready for after the study. Medium heat, leave the full-on tight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To say ‘hey’ to your brother.” Stiles’ face scrunched up, a mumble of ‘good luck’ as he picked up the tray, lifting it over his head to look in at it from underneath. Wandering toward the sounds coming from the hall, you knocked on the edge of the door, pushing it open a second later when you heard the game pause, and the music following it. Leaning on the doorframe, Noah turned to face you, brows raising slightly, and he shifted in his chair. “Hey.”

“Hi. It’s, uh, time for the study stuff, then?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He shrugged, turning back to his game and closing it off, leaning forwards from where he was sat on his bed enough to turn the console off.

“I didn’t realise we’d be doing it here. It feels more personal, somehow.” He had a large hoodie on, comfortable in his own clothes as he wore a baggy and warm outfit, the same way you often had when everything started to feel overwhelming.

“Well, this study is going to get pretty personal.”

“I know that. It’s just that right now, it feels a bit like I’m naked, y’know?” You chuckled, a momentary smile on his face flashing past, and you were glad to see it. “I just feel exposed.”

“This study is gonna’ do that, but I promise that I’ll try and make it as easy as I can. I’ll break it up, I’ll make it comfortable for you, and we’ll stop whenever you’re getting overwhelmed.”

“That’d be great, actually.” His hands rubbed together, sleeves hanging slightly down over his palms, and he looked a whole lot less terrifying right now than he did with the armour of a bike and a leather jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you in high spirits. I brought a lasagne and I have a point to prove.”

You backed out of the room as he advanced toward you, the door closing and leaving you both standing in the hall, and he smirked down at you a little, a disbelieving expression. “You really brought that?”

“You bet I did. It’ll be ready by the time we finish.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started, huh?” He hopped over the back of the couch, settling in beside his brother, who scowled at him as his drink spilt down his shirt from the impact. Taking a seat on the other side of them both, your legs folded underneath yourself in the armchair, finding a glass of water laid out for yourself on the table, courtesy of Stiles.

They looked so different and yet so similar in this moment. You could understand how people may have confused the two of them before their styles became so radically different. In the beginning, before Noah turned to leather and a sleeve tattoo, when they both wore hoodies and band tees and had clean pale skin. With the sleeve of tattoos covered, and the pair both wearing hoodies, one with an etching across the front and the other with a faded logo from being washed one too many times,

Laying out your books, it was more of a note you’d keep to yourself, and following from that was your recorder, coated in the front pocket of your bag so as not to get crushed. Switching it on at the side, the red light flashed on to green blinking once to let you know it was active. “Can you guys do your confirmations for me while I get set up?”

“Surely can.” Stiles sat forwards, leaning down a little with his forearms braced across his knees, as opposed to Noah, who slumped back into the cushion. “Stiles Stilinski, happy to be recorded.”

“Noah Stilinski, aware of being recorded.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his brother’s dead tone, clearly not having as much fun as Stiles was, but you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, why don’t you guys tell me what it’s like to live together at college.” There was a beat of silence, and then a set of matching laughs from both of them, the two starting at one another. There was a look between them, one you didn’t quite understand, and it seemed like some kind of twin-telepathy communication.

“It’s, like, exactly the same as when we were in high school.”

“Uh, what?” Stiles interjected, and Noah turned to look at him. “It’s nothing like high school!”

“Yes, it is!” Noah insisted, and you smirked, picking up your water and taking a sip as the two stared in shock at one another. “We lived together in high school, we played video games, I did all the cooking and you did all the cleaning while dad was at work. The only thing that is different is that we can’t cheat from one another’s homework anymore.”

“We don’t drive to school together anymore, we’re on opposite sides of campus!”

“That so doesn’t count.” Noah scoffed, and Stiles twisted on the couch, his hand gestures much more emphasised than that of his brother’s and you watched the debate go down. “You can’t name any more than that.”

“I take that as a challenge.” Stiles’ head rolled side to side. “Our schedules don’t match up anymore, and we haven’t had our usual movie nights in almost six months now. I can’t bring Derek over because your room is right across from mine-”

“My room was across the hall from you at home. You just didn’t date in high school or have anyone to bring home.”

“Low-blow. Unlike some people, I didn’t want to traumatise my brother in high school by bringing someone home, for that.” Stiles reached out mid-sentence, swatting at his brother’s shoulder, before continuing; “Uh, let's see. Oh! We don’t talk anymore, you didn’t ride your motorbike so much at home, you used to ride in the jeep with me. It’s like a totally different world now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” There was a palpable kind of feeling in the air, something between them that was sizzling with electricity, before Stiles sighed.

“It’s no big deal. The difference is just that we’re both so busy now.”

“That was really good, actually. Thanks.” The two seemed to have forgotten you were there, both flinching and turning to face you again, matching sets of honey-coloured eyes in varying shades were fixing on you again. “Speaking of what you said, though, does it ever make it hard for you guys when your class times are so different?”

“Hard to do what?” Stiles squinted at you, face set in a frown that his twin normally wore.

“Hard to hang out, talk, have that whole brotherly bond going on.” Your clarification did little for Stiles, his brows still pulled tight and frown never moving, but Noah’s face smoothed out.

“Oh.. well, I g-”

“Totally.” Noah pressed, and once again, Stiles’ head whipped around to look at his brother. “Don’t look at me like that. You basically said it, anyway. We don’t talk so much anymore. We barely know each other. You don’t even tell me about your podcast, anymore.”

“You never listened!”

“You used to tell me your problems, not broadcast them to the world with jokes and humour! I missed two episodes, and you just stopped keeping me updated on it.” The moodier twin crossed his arms over his chest, and you swallowed thickly at the environment you had unwittingly created. “I don’t know. Just feels like we used to talk a lot more.”

They both went silent, and Noah shot you a pleading look, but there was something darker behind it. It almost felt venomous, angry or defensive, as though to say ‘I told you so’ about it being more personal now that they were home. Stiles was occupying himself with pulling a loose thread on their couch cushion out and making it that much worse, distracting himself from it all. “Well, how about something a little bit lighter. Just some questions about hobbies. Stiles, what inspired you to first start a podcast?”

“Well, as you know, I never stop talking.” He smirked, Noah laughing beside him, and just like that, the awkward air between them both was completely evaporated. “I had a lot to say, I had a lot to get off of my mind. At first, it was just to get my thoughts out there. It was kind of like a recorded journey for myself, and to share with my friends from back home. But, then other people started listening. I thought it was going to be the end of my college social life, a social life that I was developing for the first time ever, and they liked it. I was just talking into a mic and getting things off of my chest, making no sense while telling stories and bitching about my homework and suddenly I had friends. It got a whole lot of followers and I made new friends,”

He paused, offering you a wink for the comment, and you beamed.

“-and I was going to parties, I met my boyfriend at a pep rally, and everything just kinda.. blossomed. The more I got out of it, the more inspired I was to keep going. I ended up making multiple videos a week, all differently themed. Sometimes movie reviews, sometimes songs, sometimes just talking. That’s how ‘Mischief Mic’ was born.”

“Alright. That was awesome.” Stiles bowed as best he could from sitting on the couch, and reached over to take a sip of his drink. “Okay, Noah, have you got any hobbies that you didn’t have in high school that you found when you came to college.”

“Not really.”

“Not even one?” You pushed, and the arms folded over his chest tightened, his gaze going to the floor, socked toes pushing into the twist cable rug. He took his glass, swigging all of it, the water draining from the glass in nervousness, and you could hear the crickets inside your mind chirping to fill the silence that had formed.

“No. Not really. I’m going to get more water, feel free to continue.”

“Uh, okay.” You pressed your pen down into your paper, drawing a line through the question on your paper as you realised you’d have no answer to that question when you listened back on the tape at a later time. “Stiles, back to you, then.”

Your next question came, and went, and Stiles was more than happy to answer them. Occasionally, Noah would answer a question, you’d be able to pin him down long enough to get a straight answer out of him, but there seemed to always be something that he needed to mess with, or fix. Almost half of your questions for him had a line drawn through, and you would have to ask them another time, and get a whole extra session in without Stiles, dragging the study out.

It was going to take you twice as long to get through it all if every time you had to ask them separately, and had to spend your time trying to force him to sit and answer. You were missing half of the information that you needed to be able to compare to Stiles’ answers, you couldn’t answer without them.

The clock ticked by, leaving you with all of your questions for Stiles answered. On a blank page, while Noah had once again been tinkering with something in the kitchen, you’d rewritten up all over the crossed out questions that would still need answers. You had doodled on the corner again, waiting for him to come and sit back down, a collection of hearts and flowers, the occasional bee or ladybug, even a couple of misshaped stars, forming a banner across the top of the page.

When he finally came to sit back down, he huffed, eyes moving to the clock as though he was waiting for this to end just as much as Stiles was, and you gave up.

“Okay, how about we just finish this up?” You had reached the end of your tether, not even bothering with the rest of the questions that were written down for him. “We got almost two hours in, that’s perfect.”

Noah sighed, something like an apology in his look as your eyes met his and he shrugged lightly. Stiles only nodded, eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall, and he was grinning when he came back. Tearing a page out of your notebook for each of them, you passed it over, blank paper sitting before them, and you searched for a pen or pencil in the bottom of your bag for each of them. Placing your pen down before Stiles and a pencil in front of Noah, they both leaned forwards, picking them up. Switching off your recorder and packing it away, you were left with the two staring at you expectantly.

“Okay, Stiles, come fill yours out in the kitchen. You can’t discuss these ones.”

“Oh, some mystery. I like that.” He picked up his paper and pencil, heading over to the kitchen counter, folding the sheet in half as he did, and you nodded. Standing from your place behind the coffee table, your bag slumped a little more from where it had been propped against your leg.

“Okay, I want you both to try self-diagnosing yourself.” Stiles gasped, a little excitement lacing it, and his pencil was already moving over the paper. Noah, however, looked a little lost, looking to you for guidance. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to use professional terms, just, describe what you think, I’ll be able to figure it out, and if I can’t, I’ll ask you about it at some point.”

He nodded, pausing, not quite as eager to get into the activity as Stiles was, before the pencil finally met the paper, and the slow scratching of graphite over paper filled the silence.

Moving away to the kitchen, you searched for plates, and a dish, laying them out on the counter before moving to the oven. A wave of hot air into your face once you pulled the door open, and when it cleared, you search for the kitchen towel you’d brought with you. Wrapping it carefully around the edges of the tray inside, you pulled it out, resting it atop the oven and closing the door back up.

Flicking off the handles, the light inside went dead, and Stiles loomed up behind you. “Smells good!” He presented a piece of paper to you, your eyes flicking over what he’d written once you’d taken it from him, and everything that he’d written about himself seemed completely accurate. It wasn’t a surprising self-evaluation, Stiles had spent almost four years studying this, just like you had, and so it was bound to be accurate and professional. Even if his handwriting looked a little bit like chicken-scratch.

Noah was still working on his, and Stiles was picking at the edges of the tinfoil, trying not to touch the glass of the casserole dish and burn himself, and as soon as he had some foil pinched between his fingers, he was pulling it back. “Wait, Stiles, watch out for the-”

“Fucking steam! Oh, my God, that’s so fucking hot!”

His hand snapped back, half unpeeled as all the steam from inside clouded in the air, and his hand was clutched to his chest. He was glaring at the pot, before moving away and running his hands underneath the cold tap at the sink, his thumb rubbing over wet skin to soothe it.

A second later, Noah was appearing, placing his paper face down on top of Stiles, which now lay on the kitchen counter. “Well, now that I’ve been scalded by pasta, I’m going to go shower and get ready.”

“M’kay.” He backed away, and Noah leaned on the counter beside you.

“Looks good, but does it taste any good, is the question.” The twin you were left with was teasing you, your eyes finding him, and you raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me something to serve it up with, alright?”

He smirked, pulling open the drawer behind him and searching for a serving spoon. Slicing it into pieces, you dished it up for him, a large slab on a plate, still steaming with cheese that had only just stopped bubbling. He grabbed a fork, and one for you too, waiting patiently as you served yourself, and put whatever was left into a dish for Stiles, covering it back up and leaving it to cool.

“Okay, prepare for the best lasagne of your life.”

Picking up the papers and your plate, the two of you moved back to the couch, sitting opposite one another, and you waited with excitement. Taking a piece off of his plate with the edge of his fork, he raised it, blowing cold air over it for a few moments, before taking the bite. There was a tense few moments, while he chewed, face unreadable, before he was swallowing the mouthful.

“Well?”

You couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, a smile on his face at the desperation you showed for his answer, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. This may actually be the best lasagne I have ever had.”

“Yes!” Your hands went up in the air, cheering excitedly and he laughed at your reaction, holding his hand up when you forced him to, palms slamming together in a high-five. He was tucking in again, and you reached for your plate, excited for the meal you had made, Taking a large piece on the tip of your fork, you tucked in.

The sound of Stiles’ shower was running in the background, and he was singing loudly, a song that you were certain was a TV show intro but you’d never seen the show, and there was a chance it was something from Disney Channel. Picking up the pieces of paper again, you turned Noah’s around to face you.

You’d had an expectation, you knew what you thought he was going to write down, and yet you were somehow surprised and entirely not surprised at the same time. It was what you expected but with a twist. He had confidence in what he’d written about himself he was sure of it, and while there were definitely elements that you’d disagree with, there was a lot of truth to it, and you frowned, reading it again.

Noah was watching you do so, the scrape of forks over plates as the lull in chatter came back, and you place the two pieces of paper into the front of your notebook, making sure that it was all sealed tightly away. “Is it alright?”

“It’s just not what I expected from you. But, it’s perfect.”

“That feels like a backhanded compliment.” He smiled softly, but he looked nervous, and you shook your head.

“Not at all, it just means that you have a better grasp on this whole thing than I thought you did.” It was the truth, and while you didn’t want to reveal so much to him about it all without compromising your work, but it made sense. “It just feels like with the way today went, like you weren’t really so interested in it, so I didn’t expect such an accurate self-diagnosis from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pushing what was left of his food around the plate, and you copied him, appetite dwindling. “It’s just that when you’re here, in my apartment, and you’re asking questions about what changed and making me confront everything, it feels like real therapy. You said it was going to be casual, and this didn’t feel casual.”

“I get it. I really do, and it’s okay. I can just email you the questions you didn’t answer, and you can get around to them whenever you feel up to it, alright?” He nodded, shaking off the evening’s stress. He continued to eat, polishing off the meal that was laid out before him and settling his hands over his stomach once he was finished. There was a satisfied smile on his face, and your empty plate was soon stacking on top of his own. Leaning forwards a little, you caught Noah’s eye, and one of his brows arched up. “I can try to make it more informal, in the future.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You smiled, the consolidation made between the two of you, and your ears picked up on another sound. “Hold on, is Stiles blow-drying his hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, head turning to the closed bathroom door where his brother resided. “He thinks it makes his hair fluffy.”

“He gels his hair, though! Why does it matter if it’s fluffy?”

“He’s insane. Don’t you know this, yet?” Noah scoffed, and your giggles carried you back into the rest of the chair as you settled back into it. The evening was still waiting to come in fully. Comfortable quiet fell between you both again, and Noah moved away to take the plates to the kitchen. He left them in the sink, water running to wash them up, before storing Stiles’ lasagne in the fridge.

The aforementioned boy moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, skidding on the floors a little and clutching the towel to his waist as he hurried, making himself late with the extra-long shower and the blowdrying of his hair. Noah was washing up the plates, leaving them to dry on the draining rack, and you took that as your cue. The night was over, that much was clear, and you’d be willing to bet that he was more than eager to get back to his alone time.

Taking your bag and double-checking that you had everything, you swung it up onto your shoulder, and made your way toward the door. Hearing the shuffling of your feet, Noah turned, drying his hands on the towel beside him. “Are you going?”

“Feels like I should. Stiles will be going soon, anyway. I’m sure you have things to do, too.”

“I don’t have anything to do, if I’m being honest.” He cringed at his own words, pulling down the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie and making his way over to you. Undoing the catch on the door, he pulled it open, leaning against it and you linseed in the doorway.

“Since you’re not doing anything, do you wanna’ get a coffee with me?”

His eyes narrowed, just for a second, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the wood of the door. “As a study subject, or..?”

“As friends.” You confirmed, his lips a thin line for only a second, before pulling up at the sides in a smile.

“Then, yeah. I’d like that.” He looked down, sweatpants and mismatching socks on his lower half, and there was a tint on his cheeks when he looked up. “Just give me two seconds to go change, alright?”

He darted away before you had a chance to reply leaving you there with the words frozen in your throat. Stiles was clattering around behind his own door, and Noah’s door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the doorway. Your hands tapped against your thighs as you waited, bag swinging on your shoulder, and only a second later, one of the doors was opening.

To your surprise, it was Stiles, flapping the flannel on his body to shake out any creases, and he stood before you. Doing a little twirl from where he stood, he began to button it up down his front, looking somewhat smart. It was a nice black and white one, no rips or tears or stains like most of his other ones, and the black stood out prominently against the white, thick patterns with flecks of grey within it.

“How do I look, then?”

“You look great, Sti. I’ve never seen you wear anything so plain before. There’s no colour.”

“Yeah, well, this is a new flannel. It’s my best one, and the skinny jeans are Noah’s. All my skinny jeans are blue or red, it was this or khakis.” He was nervous, resisting the urge to mess with his freshly-styled hair. “The place we’re going to is kinda fancy, but I don��t feel fancy enough for it. I’m gonna’ do something stupid like drop my glass and smash it or make a joke about something dumb.”

“Haven’t you met his family before?” You teased, and he huffed, searching for his keys, and finding them under the counter where he’d never bothered to pick them up from.

“No, not really. I’ve met his mom because she comes to visit a lot, and of course, his little sister, because she’s a sophomore here. But, he has a lot of family. His extended family are coming to graduation, but this is his older sister and his dad, and his uncle, and I’ve never met them before.” His keys were tucked into his back pocket, and his phone followed, your gaze moving over him.

“You got a blazer, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. One that my dad made me promise to bring, I wore it to my senior prom.” He shrugged, hands smoothing over his front. “You think I should wear it?”

“Go get it, show me.” He nodded, moving back to his bedroom, and you were waiting for something with orange and blue stripes to come back out, which wouldn’t surprise you. In fact, you’d always imagined Stiles going to his senior prom in a Beetlejuice suit. Noah emerged from the other side of the hall, hangers scraping over their post in a wardrobe as Stiles searched for them. “Did Stiles go to prom in a Beetlejuice suit?”

Noah paused, rolling the edges of his hoodie up, charcoal grey skinny jeans that were only a few shades lighter than the ones Stiles had stolen from him on his legs, and a pair of his usual scuffled boots. “What?”

He was laughing, loudly, shaking his head to hide his grin. “It’s a legitimate question! I have this mental image of it!”

“Unfortunately, he did not. My dad made us both go in three-piece formal suits. He saved up to have them custom made. Said that every man should have a smart suit.” He shrugged, crouching to start tying the laces on his shoes and Stiles reappeared. Over his shoulders was a dark black suit, crisp collar and pressed edges, and it was a beautiful piece of tailoring.

“You look good, Sti. Very smart, but casual. Like a polished version of your usual self.”

“Yeah? Good enough to meet Derek’s family?” His voice shook, and you wished you could ease him more.

“Totally. You look great.” He thanked you both, and Noah grabbed his wallet from the side, and his house keys, letting them both hang in the front pocket of an oversized hoodie.

“You ready to go?” He offered, hand on the top of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up again from where he’d been checking his phone, presumably looking for texts from Derek.

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re getting coffee!” You beamed, and Noah nodded, stepping a little further out of the door with you.

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll text you updates about how it goes. I might need bathroom-break pep-talk during the night.” You waved to him as you went, wishing him ‘good luck’, before the two of you were wandering down the halls. Thumbing the button for the elevator, the doors popped open, and you were stepping inside along with Noah.

“So, you wanna’ show off those new small talk skills to me, then?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something.” He hummed under his breath, glancing up to the top of the elevator and looking around at the posters on the walls for inspiration, and he seemed to find one. Turning his attention quickly back to you, you prepared for what he’d found. “Have you listened to any of the student bands? There’s been a lot of them growing, lately.”

“I’ve noticed that, actually.” There were several posters up around the inside of the elevator, different coloured flyers, some on shiny paper and some on smooth matte, varying fonts and designs, it was dizzying. “I haven’t, I’ve never been to see a student band. I should do that before I graduate, though. Have you?”

“I’ve been to a couple.” The door clicked open, the two of you stepping through it. Out into the setting chill of the evening that was threatening to break its way in. He chose the direction you’d be going in, heading toward the coffee shop on the side of campus that had been the first the two of you had met at when beginning the study. “Some of them are good, some of them are kinda’ average. They usually play at the bars on the edges of campus or in the places in the city, the less well-known, kinda’ alternative places. They can be fun.”

“You going out optionally to a night on the town? I’m shocked.”

“Uh, no!” He protested, grinning at you. “I’ve never been for a ‘night on the town’, and I never will. However, going to one of the few small bars around here that aren’t practically a nightclub, to listen to covers of good songs and get a pint without worrying about anyone bothering me or mistaking me for my brother, that’s nice.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll go to one sometime.”

“You should, I think you’d have fun.” The two of you weaved between other students, the small talk keeping up between you both as he did his best, and while it was sometimes a little stuttered and stalled, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. It wasn’t until the two of you had entered the coffee shop that he fell into tight silence again. The crowds, the rush of chatter from other groups gathered around the tables, and the friendly greetings of baristas whose chit-chat diverted to him due to his allegiance with you.

“What are you drinking? My treat.”

“Uh, just a black coffee.” He choked out, eyes flicking over all the boards, so many options up there, and you chuckled.

“Really, just a black coffee?”

“I’ve never really experimented. I just ordered whatever was the quickest and the easiest.” He confessed, already glancing back over his shoulder at the queue that was forming behind you both. “What would you recommend?”

“Hm, well, do you have a sweet tooth?” He only nodded, scratching around his cuticles on one hand and staring down at the flesh growing red, and you took his hand. Lowering it back down to his side, the hand formed a fist, flexed nervously, and you let it go, squeezing comfortingly first. Turning to the barista, she was still waiting patiently, and your eyes moved over the boards overhead. “Two mint and dark chocolate hot cocoas.”

“That sounds really good, actually.” He leaned down, mumbling the words into your ear to make sure you heard the quiet tone over the talk in the small coffee house.

“And, two croissants, too.” She rang it up on the machine, and you leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any of the warm and fresh ones straight from the oven?”

“We made a fresh batch about twenty minutes ago, they’re cooling. I’ll get them from the back for you.” She finished it with a wink, passing the card machine over to you once you’d produced your card from your wallet. Swiping it across the reader, you moved to the end of the line, and she moved away to begin preparing your order as someone else took over at the counter.

She was working, creating two beautifully constructed hot chocolates for you both. Placing them down on the counter before you, once they were garnished with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, she disappeared into the back room. Taking one of the ceramic plates with her, you were happy to see her bypass the glass cabinet with the older ones in, and only a moment later, she was coming back. Two fresh croissants on a plate, still warm and soft to the touch, and she handed those over as well.

Noah had been scouting for a place to sit, choosing which was the best one, and he carried both of the drinks while you carried the pastries, guiding you to the seat he’d chosen. It was tucked away in the back, a small loveseat sofa with a low sitting coffee table in front of it, and as soon as the paper cups were down on the surface of the table, he was dropping down into the seat.

“It feels like rush hour on the highway, but with coffee.” He mumbled, and you settled onto the couch beside him passing him his drink over, and he stared at it curiously. “What about the whipped cream. Do I eat that first? Scrape it off? Mix it in?”

“Any of the above.” You grinned, taking a wooden stirrer from the condiments tray in the middle and beginning to stir the cream into your hot chocolate. He placed it down, copying your actions, stirring slowly and trying not to spill any over the edges, but it was an impossible feat to achieve. Sticky droplets left over the edges of your cups and his, creating rings on the table that you had to mop up with tissues. “Okay, try it. This is one of my favourite orders here. It’s bitter because of the dark chocolate, but also sweet. Reminds me of you.”

“Now, that one is a backhanded compliment.” He muttered, taking a sip of the drink, and your lips rubbed together.

“Not everything is a backhanded statement, you know. I didn’t intend for it to be mean, it’s just the truth. You’re all dark and moody, but I can already tell you’re sweet on the inside.” You sipped your drink to finish your statement, and he filled the time where he didn’t know what else to say by pulling a chunk off of his croissant. Chewing on it idly, he settled back into the cushions, and you lifted your legs up to fold underneath yourself as you turned to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me a lot of questions today.”

“You didn’t answer many, though. You kinda’ have to give me this one.” He scowled falsely, but nodded, licking a flake of pastry from his lower lip. “Not that I think you need it, because personally, I think you’re just fine, but why are you so scared about therapy? The idea of it, anything to do with it, it makes you so closed off. Even more than usual.”

His eyes moved over the room, nervously, before scanning both you and the table, and you put your drink down, holding open palms up to him.

“No recorder, no study. I’m just curious.”

“Okay.” He sighed shakily, and slumped back. “Well, after my mom died, my dad made me and Stiles have therapy when we started acting out. We had a therapist who came to the house, and she was great, don’t get me wrong, but I hated it. I didn’t want her to tell me how to grieve or mourn, and I didn’t want her to tell me how to move on. Stiles needed all the advice he could get, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it my own way. Now, the idea of therapy, brings back all those feelings of sadness and pressure and stress.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You reached out, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, and his gaze fell to the contact. “Genuine sympathy and sorrow, not just that thing girls do that you hate.”

“Stop hanging things I’ve said over me, I don’t remember half of them. I blackout in social situations.” He grinned, moving past the moment, and you withdrew your touch.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I understand the nervousness of being in a study.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the rest of his croissant, a large chunk of it being eaten, as he waited for you.

“Yeah. When I moved here, I was so nervous. I was beginning to take my course and I didn’t really have any friends, and there was a senior who needed freshmen for her study.” Noah grinned, settling in for the story and sipping his drink. “She was doing a study about the difference between kids who travelled far from home for college alone as opposed to those who were still close to home, and whether it impacted social clubs, grades, all that. To be fair, it was an awesome study.”

“It sounds like it.”

You smiled, swirling the cup in your hands to gather any loose powder that may have begun to separate and gather at the bottom. “Well, I got drawn into it. She was a senior, and she was nice. I had no friends yet, I was in a flat-share with Allison and Lydia and three other girls who were all too busy getting adjusted to college themselves. So, this senior, she invited me to a party, and then another one, and suddenly people started wanting to be my friend because I was the freshman who hung out with seniors. I figured it would all drop away when her study ended and she didn’t need me anymore, but by then the whole social hierarchy had done its thing, and there I was.”

You shrugged, and Noah was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his mug. “So, you were just a little freshman lab rat, then?”

You scoffed, your laughter mixing with his, and the two of you were left in subtle amusement. His laughter was cut short, though, brought a rapid halt when a set of legs bumped against your table on the other side, followed by two more behind them.

“Hey, girl!” One of the girls on the cheer team, a lacrosse player behind her and a girl who you recognised from your psychology class texting on her phone. “Saw you over here, wanted to know what your plans for the evening were. We’re going to do some karaoke and get some food, you wanna’ come?”

Your eyes moved to Noah, whose attention was fixed on the floor again, as though the splintering wood was of utmost interest. “Maybe another time. I think we’re good here for now.”

“Oh, you sure? I think it could be super fun, you should both come.” The invitation was now extended to you both, and you shook your head at her despite it.

“Seriously, you should go, if you want to,” Noah whispered, and when you turned back to him now, he’d dared to look up, chewing on a lower lip that would go raw, but he met your gaze.

“No, I’m sure. I’m having fun here.” You held his gaze for a second longer, before turning to her, and confirming your denial, and she smiled, promising to make plans with you soon, before she was walking away. Noah was fidgeting beside you, shuffling in his seat, and you could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. “I’m serious, Noah. I’m having fun, and I’m perfectly happy here with you, right now.”

He was trying not to grin, a smile that was being bitten back on the inside of his cheek. “Well, for the record, I’m having fun too.”

“What was that?” You cupped your ear, challenging him to repeat it, even though you had heard it perfectly, and by the look on his face, he knew the game you were playing.

“I said I’m having fun. I won’t deny it.”

“Two victories in one day, for this gal. I’m breaking down all your walls, Noah Stilinski.” You poked at his cheek, and he swatted your hand away, taking a bite from your croissant as punishment, and you tried to snatch it back from him.

“Two victories, one loss. You’re not getting this croissant back, now.”

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

Text

nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

��Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

#rowaelin #nobody does it like you do #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #rowaelin au #ndilyd #i cant believe it's the last part of this fic #crazy #hope you all enjoyed

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wizkiddx · 4 years

Text

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

************************

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months. Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.”

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically, and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland angst

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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years

Text

The Death of a Tyrant

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: antagonising, bbu content warning, owen grant

The lights shine down across the stage, three cameras spin and whirl in the shadows beyond. Vincent can feel the eyes beyond the camera watching every hair on his head. He can almost feel the millions of eyes on the other side of the lens.

Today was a long day of interviews for the first television show that he’s ever been in and Ann’s, the young actress to his left, first-ever adult role.

Vincent can almost feel her anticipation through his skin. The poisoned nostalgia freezes the air in his already tense lungs. The interview boasts eyes of venom and they are poised directly at him.

This interview was supposed to be about the show.

It turned into a drama cast very quickly.

“So,” The interview leans back, eyes scouring across Vincent’s face. He can feel the resignation behind his eyes. Simmering coals eat under him. Vincent can feel the question before it leaves his lips, “How has the recent tape release affected you, Vincent. It must be rather hard to deal with the aftermath of being forced to come out.”

Vincent pierces his lips. Watching the lens on the camera pointed at him shift, Vincent draws up the mask, “While I would rather we keep this conversation on Iscariot and the Strings of Time, I will say that there has been many people who have been very helpful during a time that has been definitely stressful.”

The interview looks almost disappointed, eyes dropping into shadows before perking up as the focus returns to him. Vincent can really tell in these moments that this man sitting across from him and Ann was once an actor. Every movement in his face is planned and Vincent can see Ann’s gaze trying to avoid his.

She’s not used to this.

“Vincent, how do you feel about the Director’s new Box Babe, Kat?”

There it is.

Vincent sighs, “Han and I have had a conversation about this. He did not want his decision to get in the way of professionalism. He is aware that I will not hesitate to contact the Commission if I see any sign of abuse.”

The interviewer pauses, waiting for more words to come. They do not.

Then, Ann laughs, shifting in her seat, “It looks like he pulled an Owen Grant, Kat looks so much like his ex-wife to the point where it’s almost uncanny.”

The air stills for a second as the words settle into the floorboards. The sound of the lights quietly can be heard above. Those few heart-chilling seconds seem to eat at the very fabric of his turtleneck. It suddenly feels just a little too tight.

The interview picks up again, “Well, I believe that all of us can say that we are looking forward to seeing how you two work together in this new dynamic.”

Vincent draws a smile onto his face with an invisible sharpie. Ann scrambles to scoop up her own as the camera does doubt pans out to view them all.

“Are you allowed to reveal a date?” The interview leans in, the side of his face away from the camera twitching slightly.

Ann nods and nearly bounces out of her chair. Vincent remembers the excitement when he was younger that came with being the one to say the date. He used to itch for it when he was with his old studio. Something else I’ve lost.

“The first episode will be available on Netflix on November 1st!”

The interviewer sits up straight and clasps his hands together, “I cannot thank you enough for your time out here today, thank you everybody for tuning in and we all anticipate the debut of Strings of Time.”

Vincent watches as the cameras are shut off and pulled away. He holds himself in the chair until all of the cameras have been pulled away and the interviewer stands. In one movement he is off of the stage and talking with someone. Vincent brings his hands on the armrests and pulls himself to his feet.

Vincent floats for the door, plans to go home, and just passes out on the couch already bubbling across his vision. He hates the air conditioning here.

Why did he have to get brought up?

Vincent adjusts his blazer and steps out of the recording studio. Regretting wearing a turtleneck, he makes his way towards his dressing room. The sound of his shoes clicking against the tiled floor echoes around him. Air catches in his throat as the faint memory of a different set of oxfords walks down a hall only a wall away from him. The memory tastes like Coke.

Just grab your paperwork and go home.

A hand grabs his arm, “Excuse me, Vincent.”

Vincent spins around, panic, like an ivy spreading up his veins. Ann stands behind him, looking a bit flustered, “I need to apologies to you.”

“For what,” Vincent asks, forcing his muscles to relax.

Ann smooths out the edge of her blouse and forces her eyes, “Once the words came out of my mouth I realized how insensitive it was to just… nonchalantly mention the Owen ordeal as um.”

“Hey,” Vincent says, “I- You were nervous I could tell, I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, but especially since his mother just passed and he’s going to be working with us I- it feels wrong, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, what!

“I accept your apology, Ann. Don’t think too much of it. This is your first gig since moving into adult acting, right?”

Ann nods, leaning back on her heels. It is painfully obvious that she is very new to interviews that ask unscripted questions.

“It’s alright,” Vincent reassures, “Honestly Ann, don’t stress about accidentally stumbling over words. It happens.”

Ann relaxes just a little, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ann smiles, letting gallons of air escape her tense lungs. She turns around and trots for her room a few halls down. As he watches her walk away the nostalgia hits him like a truck. The people-pleasing, the desire to be perfect, to be without controversy, makes him flash a piteous smile and shake his head.

He straightens his spine and turns around.

A very intense woman is standing behind him.

“Oh, hello,” Vincent nearly exits his skin as she draws her gaze up to him, “I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Vincent Shield, am I correct?”

Vincent nods, squirming under her very intense gaze, “Yes, you are.”

She holds out her hand, “Keira Harker.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, “Pleasure to meet you Ms. Harker. How can I be of service?”

“You’re known to be very active in the Pet Lib movement and you were basically responsible for the creation of the Commision correct?”

Where is this going? “I wouldn’t say that I’m responsible, there are many people who helped put in place the building blocks that would lead to the Commision.”

“I am aware,” she responds, holding her gaze firmer than Vincent does, “However you have a lot of knowledge about the underground and many of the safehouses.”

Vincent raises a hand, feeling himself freeze under the delicate mask, “Ma’am, everything I have done has been within the limits of the law. I can assure you all of my associates are also performing their actions under the law.”

Her face hardens and she takes a small step towards him, “I am not accusing you of breaking the law.”

I have just gotten out of multiple interviews and a press conference and in the press conference, I was called a felon at least four times. I wanna go home and eat Dmitri’s chicken and rice soup.

“All due respect Ms. Harker that is what this is beginning to sound like.”

Keira sighs and relaxes slightly, “I am asking for your help, if I were to accuse you of being a criminal that would not be very productive.”

Vincent lets his body de-tense but he is in no way relaxed, “My apologies Ms. Harker. I have been on the butt end of those accusations for a better part of today. Just on my toes.”

“I understand,” she responds, almost mimicking his behavior, “My brother was… voluntold to join the pet program. I tried everything in my power to find him and I found out that he was sold to the son of a very powerful senator.”

“He was sold to Owen Grant.” Kauri.

Keira nods, glancing over Vincent’s shoulder, “While I wish not to speak ill of the dead, now that she is deceased. I believe it will be easier to discover his whereabouts without WRU getting involved.”

The weight of her words start to weigh on him. If she is looking for her brother, how many others are now looking for their family?

“Well, I agree in that sentiment,” Vincent gestures forward, “If I can have a name, I might ask around to some more of my well versed colleagues.”

Keira reaches into her purse and pulls out a white card, “So, shall we keep in touch.”

“Of course,” Vincent takes the small card and glances down at the contact information, “We’ll be in touch.”

Vincent steps inside and can smell something good. He faintly hears Dmitri moving about his kitchen, making dinner. The aroma of fresh bread makes his house feel alive. Dropping his stuff at the door to his office, he floats over to the kitchen.

Dmitri stands in front of the stove, wearing a faded Kiss the Cook apron. Vincent finds a small smile blooming on his face as he steps up to him.

“Soup should be done in five minutes,” Dmitri asks as Vincent leans up onto the counter next to him, “How was the interview?”

“We cannot be doing that the night before an interview,” Vincent mutters and he fusses with the turtleneck. “I have been paranoid that someone has seen this all day.”

Dmitri smiles and chuckles, “Vincent you can barely see them, I highly doubt they would notice.”

“Dmitri, the media would go batshit if I had hickies in an interview!”

Dmitri swills the spoon around in the soup before turning towards Vincent, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Last night, probably one of the first where he was both sober and relaxed. Dmitri had showered him in deep kisses. The two of them practically laughed themselves to sleep that night. They were so close yesterday.

Vincent had felt so. damned. cherished.

“Yeah,” Vincent pouts slightly while he leans into Dmitri, “I didn’t but I did this morning.”

Dmitri laughs, his chest rumbling against Vincent. His finger rests on Vincent’s hips and drums on his belt.

Vincent squints up at Dmitri, “If we get caught because of stuff like that I’m going to wring your neck.”

Dmitri leans down and places a soft kiss on his curls. His breath brushes across the strands and Vincent’s muscles relax. “I would love to see you try, cariño.”

The oven buzzes and interrupts their little moment.

“There’s the bread.”

Dmitri and Vincent sit out on his back porch, eating chicken and rice soup and just enjoying the crisp fall air.

“Can I ask you for advice?” Vincent says as he dips some of the bread into the broth.

Dmitri nods and leans in, “Always.”

Vincent rests his head back on the back of the seat, “Let’s say someone approached you and asked you to help them find someone. This someone has been missing for years but you’ve known their whereabouts for a while now. You want to reconnect them but you’re just not sure about what said ‘missing’ person would think? But you also don’t want to just completely cut of the person who asked for your help”

“Ask them,” Dmitri answers as he sips at his broth, “I’d just ask because they may not want to. They could have been trying to leave a difficult situation and don’t want to approach those who could have harmed them.”

Vincent sighs and tries to melt back into his porch cushions, “But what if he tells me not to talk to her at all, how am I supposed to explain that to her?”

“Improv,” Dmitri shrugs, “Lie.”

“Lie to someone who’s looking for her family?” Vincent blinks, “Isn’t that just cruel.”

“How do you know that she’s looking for them to be kind?”

Vincent pauses and lets his eyes wander upwards towards the dusk sky. The sky matches the color of the bottoms of the trees. The reds and oranges ripple above him and a sinking feeling eats in his gut.

“I don’t.”

Dmitri takes a final sip of his soup and gives Vincent a gentle smile, “Just ask them first, they might just wanna meet her and do it themselves. All else fails, just give them her contact information.”

I don’t think Kauri will. “Alright, okay.”

Vincent stands at the door to the safehouse. The sounds of the town around him drape the porch in waves of white noise, masking the sounds from within. Reluctantly, he raises his hand to knock on the wooden door frame. His knuckles barely tap it before two sets of locks are unlocked and Kauri opens the door.

They make eye contact and Vincent watches Kauri’s expression shift.

“Make this quick, I have stuff to do.”

Kauri lets Vincent step inside the safehouse. The air of the interior feels heavier than before, solidified by the sound of the deadbolt locking.

“I’m so-”

“If the words I’m sorry leave your mouth at anypoint, I’m gone,” Kauri says as he walks over to the kitchen, “Just get this over with.”

Vincent follows in his footsteps, glancing over at Jake who lays asleep on the pull-out couch. The makeshift IV step sits on the table next to him, out of use.

Remind me to send Nat money over to cover that.

Kauri places his hands on the counter behind him and shifts his weight into it. Crossing his arms out in front of his chest, he looks up over at AJke before returning his gaze to Vincent.

He looks exhausted.

“How has-”

Kauri raises his hand and presses his fingers together, making a “close your mouth” gesture, “Cut to the chase, I have errands to run today.”

“Alright then. A few days ago I was approached by a woman named Keira Harker who asked for my help in finding her brother, Liam Harker, who was taken by WRU. She said that she thinks the person he was sent to was Owen Grant and, now since Carlotta is no longer alive, she can try and find him without her getting in the way,” Vincent says, leaning his weight into the kitchen table, “She gave me her contact information and asked me to help her in finding-”

Kauri spins around and opens the cabinet behind him. Pulling out a white bottle, he sets it down on the counter and mutters, “So she’s looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you say?” Kauri asks as he pours himself a glass of water, “Did you tell her where the safehouse is? If you did I swear Vincent I’m-”

It’s Vincent’s turn to interrupt, “No, I didn’t say anything. All I said is that I would keep in touch.”

“Good,” Kauri says as he pours two pills out of the bottle and into his hand, “Cheers.” Kauri tosses the pills into his mouth and tilts the glass of water towards Vincent before drinking.

“What are you doing?” Vincent asks, tugging some at the sleeves of another turtleneck.”

“Migraine meds,” Kauri answers, pouring the rest into the sink, “I get them when I hear Liam Harker.” Just like clockwork, Kauri winces and rubs his temple, “Just something else to deal with.”

“I’m sor-”

“I will leave until Nat gets back.”

Vincent purses his lips and watches Kauri walk over to the fridge. The air stills around them in the way the air in a freezer is still. Something hangs over the room, could be the tension, could be the unease, could be the new presence in their lives, Vincent can’t tell.

“I have her contact information if you want it,” Vincent speaks, trying to shoo away the stillness, “On your time.”

Kauri pauses mid-reach. He rests his forehead against the fridge handle and says, “I- maybe later. I have far too much on my plate right now, running to the safehouse almost by myself. Nats with Jameson at her house, Jake is still recovering, the whole issue with Chris and Laken, the Oly- I just can’t take on something else right now.”

“I get it,” Vincent nods, shifting his weight onto his back foot, “I’ll keep it if you want it when all of this blows over. But, if she does try to press me for information-”

“Pretend you have no idea who me, Nat, and Jake are,” Kauri answers while pulling out a plastic pitcher of what smells like cold brew, “If I ever decide to contact her I’ll deal with it, okay? I’m just not ready or have the time right now.”

Vincent leans back on one foot to try and see the clock on the wall, “Um. what time is Nat supposed to get here, we have money stuff I have to talk to her about.”

“Around four,” Kauri answer while pouring himself coffee.

The sound of the deadbolt unclicking sounds softly crosses the room. Kauri barely glances over his shoulder.

“Is Nat back already?” Vincent asks as he tries to see the door.

“Nope,” Kauri says, popping the p. “Just Chris.”

“I- I’m back and I have Laken,” Chris beams as he dashes past with Laken in hand, “Oh hi Vince.”

Vincent gives Chris a small wave, “Hi Chris.”

“Wait- is that Vinc-”

But Chris has already whisked Laken away before they could get the last words out. Vincent follows them with his eyes for a moment before looking back at Kauri.

Kauri looks relieved. A tired smile adorns his face as he takes a sip of the cold brew.

Vincent doesn’t ask, he puts enough of the dots together to know something just fixed itself. Good for them.

“Anywho,” Kauri chuckles, looking back over at Vincent, “A turtleneck won’t hide your sins Vincy.”

“Shit, how obvious has it been?!” Vincent panics and readjusts the hem of his shirt.

“I was just joking...” Kauri’s smile deepens as the mischief returns to his face. He gives Vincent a look over and sing-songs, “...So, what’s Dmitri like?”

“We just kissed Kauri!”

“Sure, and I just kiss Jake.”

“Kauri!”

#forgotten to found #dmitri o'brian #vincent shield #interviews #box boy #owen grant should be castrated #kauri is my favorite little shit #kauri is also trying #guess who Vince is gonna have to deal with #:)

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cupidlakes · 3 years

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I'm getting kinda worried that George might be feeling like every stream he does needs to be better than the last stream (for the main channel ofc) and the reason why he hasn't been streaming if because he has no idea what to stream? I mean, it's been so long since we've gotten a solo stream from him.

It's like how people comment on Karl always needing someone else on his stream for him to be able to stream and I just wonder if George is starting to go towards that path as well. I really hope that George knows that we would watch him play anything at this point really and he's just as entertaining by himself as he is with others. This is me desperate for a solo stream tbh, I like Dream Team, Sex Havers n Feral Boys dynamics but I feel like when he's on his own, he becomes a bit more open about himself?

Also, yeah I agree with you with the whole editing stuff as well but I also kinda understand George with the whole executive dysfunction. Streaming and editing are both kinda his jobs, it's hard to get another job going when you're stuck with this job that is very overwhelming for you to do that causes you to procrastinate on it and also hinders you from doing anything else as well because you need to finish that one first. Reminds me of when George said how his life qualify does down when he's in his editing arc, gosh so relatable.

I just hope he doesn't push himself too hard. I just want him to feel comfortable streaming whatever and whenever he wants, not everything has to be planned. Yeah, this is me in my missing George arc.

this ask is quite long (although i appreciate it) so my answer is it going to be under the cut!!

i mean yeah basically this, i don’t want to sound repetitive because i think i’ve said this a lot but i do also feel like george is falling into the trap of feeling like he has to put out big! and planned! streams on the gnf twitch channel when before it used to be for whatever (looks like it’s reflecting in his main channel on yt too, like how “go big or go home” the challenges have been feeling recently)

like i guess that’s what his alt is for and i understand the need to have a distinction between “high-effort” content and more lowkey stuff but even that seems like it’s become another burden for george when it comes to: finding stuff to do/play and feeling like he “has to” keep up on donations and gifted subs etc etc. it just makes me think about how at the end of the day some of the most beloved streams among the fandom have been the more lowkey ones or the ones which devolved into chaos naturally and although his planned streams are well-received view-wise and stuff (and his effort is always appreciated, words can’t explain how much i love the cooking stream for example) it isn’t worth seeing our cc missing in action for so long <\3 ppl have pointed out streamers like tubbo, ranboo and tommy have struck a good balance when it comes to delivering a steady stream of both high + “low” effort content both equally enjoyed by their viewers

when people say they’d watch george do anything they /mean it/ not in the “oh he can be lazy and put out any old rubbish and we’d eat it up” but in the fact that seeing him enjoy himself alone or with friends is more than enough, we’re drawn to his personality and whatever he puts out is going to be appealing most of the time! some people even resonate more with chilled out content that’s not so “high-effort” we are here for george not the games he plays or his concepted ideas, it’s him doing whatever, his reactions, his persona, him

i feel like george sometimes “falling” on needing other presences in his streams has more to do with the fact that he’s clearly the most comfortable/energetic among friends and bouncing off them is easier, he’s expressed before that he can’t talk for very long himself unprompted so having other people there must be comfortable but yes, solo streams are very treasured in that he seems more willing to open up when he’s alone and tell rambled stories and it’s just… nice i wish he’d see the appeal in occasional solo streams like when he used to speedrun! because he is actually good at carrying them and creating a good vibe, there’s a reason why so many ppl seem to be asking for one right now

and the editing stuff just makes me sad he should know that he doesn’t have to live like this i know he stubbornly wants to be the one to edit his videos (or dream because he trusts he’ll do them justice) but he should realise that there are ways he can better his quality of life in this aspect even looking into finding ppl willing to edit in a similar fashion and offering the resources to (hence my idea of accepting ppls work and looking through for contenders) or finding more effective ways to edit instead of dedicating all his time to one vid and clearly stressing out about it especially because technically he also works on his own terms? there’s nothing wrong with having set deadlines for yourself and feeling like an upload is due and i’m glad he’s not lazy in that aspect god bless or delivering content generally

but being purely unable to concentrate on anything else because you’re focussed on a single video for two weeks sounds awful

hey these are just my messy thoughts though at the end of the day i also take into account he could be busy with general life stuff i’m just making a commentary on him explaining why he disappears and why it’s so hard for him to edit in that time, hope he’s ok <3 and i hope the vid is a banger though i trust it will be, my cc is a perfectionist!

#asks #super #long post #just wanted to get some final thoughts out before i wrap #this topic up ^^#thank you for the anon :]

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daverygalskisbff · 3 years

Note

Pidge & Lance friendship/sibling dynamic headcanons?

hi! thank you sm for asking this!! i didn't think I'd be able to come up with anything but it was surprisingly super fun to do, I really liked writing this. I'm sorry it took so long to get out tho, I've had to spend like 90% of my time on the yearbook recently and i couldnt really do much else :/. but the yearbook is now finished and so is this hc list! i hope you enjoy it :)

let us begin

Lance and Pidge!

they didn't actually become friends until after the whole voltron debacle started

we saw that lance had tried to befriend pidge back at the garrison, but (obviously) she had never been interested

like, at all

so lance just kind of assumed she didn't like him and gave up after a while

they're mostly, like, acquaintances, for the first few weeks of joining voltron - it takes pidge a little while to warm up to lance bc she thinks he's just an annoying party-boy, and lance thinks pidge is kind of full of herself

once they realise how much they have in common, though…

all hell breaks loose. more or less.

they play a lot of video games together

at first they only have killbot phantasm one, so they give themselves new rules and "multitask levels" to make it more interesting after they both inevitably master the game

this usually involves having to defeat levels by themselves while the other person throws things at them

the two of them also make sure to spend at least an hour every space mall-visit searching for new games, and pidge likes to code things for them to play when they run out

lance has a list of nicknames for all of their teammates, but he makes a point to have some variety in his pidge names for the different occasions that he uses them in

this list includes but is not limited to: pidgey/pidgeon (self explanatory), pea (short joke and green joke wrapped in one), birdie (for when he's trying to be nice), and stripe (after the evil gremlin in the movie gremlins)

pidge isn't a big fan of music, but she hates to work in silence, so lance will come hang out with her while she works and just talk about whatever

she doesn't fully listen most of the time, but lance doesn't mind because he never really talks about anything important

their other teammates aren't exactly used to this dynamic, tho

keith, staring at lance as he explains in detail the "sith lord jar jar binks" theory: how do you… focus? with him doing this?

pidge: it's kinda like a white noise machine. I just tune him out

lance: first of all, racist, second of all-

pidge also uses lance as her main source of ideas for low-stakes projects to work on on the side

she even lets him help her make them, a privilege gifted to absolutely no one else (except hunk, but lance maintains that he doesn't count bc he's an engineer and makes stuff anyways)

so far, they have made a (semi) functioning hoverboard, lightsabers (they can't hurt people, tho, much to pidge's disappointment), and a grappling hook

their most recent project is trying to figure out how to recreate spider-man's web shooters

lance: i need to be spider-man, pidge. i was born to be spider-man. i can feel it.

pidge: y'know lance that's actually super interesting, because I distinctly remember that spider-man actually made his own web shooters, he didn't just sit on the counter and watch as his friend did all the work

lance: …

pidge's laptop has a bunch of kinds of entertainment downloaded onto it - music, movies, like three tv shows - and once lance learns this he refuses to let it go until he gets her to agree to watch something with him

one of the shows she has just so happens to be criminal minds. lance clings to this like his life depends on it

lance, over comms: hey baby girl i need you to work me some magic

pidge, trying to hack into a galra base: leandro martin mcclain I swear to god I am going to release your location to every sentry on this ship and I am going to watch them kill you over these security cameras and I am going to laugh

needless to say, they make fun of eachother a lot

every day. about everything.

lance, dropping a spoon on the floor at breakfast: :/

pidge: lmao look at you. outstanding coordination. they really should've taught you how to juggle at clown school

lance: first of all fuck you, second of all it was called performer's camp and i bet they wouldn't even let you in

in true sibling fashion, they never let eachother forget anything embarrassing. no matter what.

pidge: (is quiet for more than three minutes)

lance: hey remember that time at the garrison when a pretty girl asked if she could borrow a pencil and you panicked and said you didn't have any because you can't spell

pidge: I'm telling shiro on you that was one time-

however, despite all of their teasing, they really do care about each other a lot

pidge is the first to hug lance when he steps out of the healing pods, and lance will bend over backwards to cheer pidge up on a bad day

sometimes literally. never tell your found family siblings that you're a trained acrobat, kids.

lance organises little sleepovers with allura for days when pidge is feeling particularly dysphoric, so they can do traditionally "girly" things like paint their nails and put on makeup

pidge doesn't usually do that sort of thing on a regular day, so it's kind of like a nice reminder that she's allowed to be feminine if she wants to be

originally a rule of these sleepovers was that everyone had to do one thing that pidge asked for before the night ended, but they had to scrap that rule after… complications, in one of lance's dares

(in defense of allura, it had been over 10,000 years since she had her ears pierced, and it's not like she could see what the (professional) beautician was doing at the time, so really the fact lance ended up in a healing pod with an ear infection wasn't even her fault. the piercings do suit him, tho, so she maintains she did a very good job regardless)

the three of them usually end up cuddling in a little pile when they finally go to sleep

lance has a sixth sense about knowing which bodily function pidge is neglecting at any given time

he calls it his Big Brother Eye, and only realised he had inadvertently made a book reference when shiro praised him for his culture

lance: big brother sees everything, pidgeon

shiro: oh, you've read 1984, lance?

lance: um. is that like an album or something.

anyways, lance tends to make frequent stops to pidge's room and/or lab to remind her to eat, drink, sleep, etc. sometimes all three at once but only in emergencies.

pidge rarely actually wants to take a break, tho, so lance channels his best "my sister had kids when i was ten and i have been bargaining with small children for almost a decade" voice to convince her to leave

lance: okay birdie, i know the coffee tastes good, but y'know what would taste even better? a sandwich. maybe even some ice cream. you feel like ice cream today kiddo?

pidge, hopped up on three days of no sleep and expired space coffee coran thought it would be safe to give her: (stares directly into lance's eyes) where are you

lance and pidge both get the most homesick out of the team, so sometimes they'll just chill together in silence for a while. lance reminds pidge of her brother, and pidge reminds lance of one of his sisters, so their company is like an extra bit of comfort. they help each other a lot when it gets really difficult

my askbox is still very much open for requests, btw, so if anyone has any ideas feel free to send them in!

#vld lance #vld pidge #vld team #vld shiro #vld allura #vld keith #pippa.post #pippa.canon #pippa.ask

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carminite-wyrm · 3 years

Text

Its an Empires SMP + Wynncraft crossover AU I guess

So, I’ve been playing a lot of Wynncraft recently, and man, the Wynncraft lore sure is wild. Halfway through doing a quest I suddenly remembered that hey, nether corruption sure is a thing over here, and isn’t there Also an invading corruption storyline going on over in Empires?

Anyways so here I am with yet another niche AU idea lmao (though also with the latest videos from Pix and Gem I...kind of already am thinking of a variant on this one lmao)

- Some indeterminable point in time in the future, the Empires gang are having the final fight against Xornoth, ready to take out the demon and cleanse their world of the corruption that had been taking hold of their kingdoms.

- Its down to the final few blows, with the Kings and Queens coming together, despite their grievances with one another, despite all the differences that had once been between them, to finally strike down the demon.

- Naturally, of course, it goes a little sideways.

- The final blow lands, and the hellish arena disappears in a flash of unholy light.

- When the heroes awaken, they find themselves in a spider-infested patch of woodland.

- Upon fighting/running their way out, they quickly realise that yeah, this sure isn’t the Empires SMP anymore.

- There are some shenanigans, probably, upon that realisation, but eventually, the group makes their way to the nearby city of Detlas, severely disconcerted by the clear presence of corruption in the land around them.

- They’re fairly certain that they saved their own land, only to land right in another world also beset by corruption.

- Their various communicators also seem to be displaying a different HUD from what they’re used to, including an actual mana bar along with their health, and more equipment slots and most baffling of all: the option to level up and increase a variety of skills.

- Also, there’s magic, though a different magic than what they’re used to

Added to that, the monsters are far more different to what they’ve encountered in their home world. Zombies, fairly standard, even if the ones in this strange land seem somehow more powerful than theirs. Spiders, easy. And then Joey stumbles across a flaming horse rocketing straight at him at roughly 40kmph, screeching demonically all the while. It narrowly misses pummelling him in the face with its hooves and oh, looks like this isn’t a standard world after all.

Character classes and more thoughts under the cut!

Character classes! (Wynncraft currently has 5 classes people can choose from!)

Warriors (uses polearms/hammers, generally the dps/tank build)

Scott – He has a pink battleaxe, yes of course he’s the heavy-weapon-using class. Also, bc I think it’d be really amusing to see this elf dude w/ an antler crown charging straight at someone with a massive axe/hammer/polearm.

Fwhip – King of the Grimlands, projecting an image of strength even as the corruption ran rampant and clashed with the inherent darkness of his own kingdom.

Lizzie – Ocean Queen w/ a Trident, enough said. Sure, there might not be any axolotls in this world for some reason, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the powers that made her one of the most powerful Empires back home. Probably mains thunder elemental magic, bc sending chain lightning at enemies is very cool.

Mages (Magic staff goes brr. Also they can heal)

Gem! – I imagine she’d be highly adept at hitting enemies with the regular attack spell, and then suddenly casting a meteor and crystalline ice to obliterate her foes as the rest of the party watches on.

Katherine – Teleporting + fast attacks = magic menace. Also bc I think it’d look cool for her, and honestly that’s the majority of my decision-making here w/ the class selections

Pixl – Idk, something about the vigil and the whole candle thing makes me think he’d make a pretty damn good healer. Calm, collected, and the most unshakeable amongst the chaos of the Empires gang. (This AU idea was written like, a week before the latest video lmao so we're just gonna...gloss over the most recent plot developments for a bit until I can figure out how to make it make sense in the AU)

Assassins (Stabby stabby DPS)

Joel – Look I just think the imagery of Joel + Lizzie absolutely wrecking shit together on a battlefield is too good to pass up on.

Sausage – Man literally ran an assassin guild back in their home world, of course he’s an assassin here in this one. Probably has several sets of daggers hidden up his sleeves, and probably ends up with a life steal build.

Pearl – Pearl with knives would be terrifying and amazing to behold. On the other hand, I was considering either Mage or Shaman but we already have like three Mages, and I don't really have any ideas for how Pearl would utilise the Shaman abilities atm.

Archers (Ranged DPS or support)

Jimmy! – Swamp boi deserves to pop off and what better way than to be able to cause arrows to rain from the sky. And also to backflip out of danger. I imagine navigating a swamp has given him an actual dexterity or agility score.

Shaman (Buffs + support)

Shubble – Honestly I think she’d really vibe with the nature-y vibes this class kind of gives me, what with her mushroom kingdom vibes and the magic. Also, one of the most complex classes, but considering Shubble and her whole researching the corruption thing, I think it’d fit.

Joey – I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know much about his POV beyond ‘wants to court the demon’ at the moment, so contributions welcome here.

- Gem and Shubble’s initial investigations (because they absolutely hit the first library or archive they could find) whilst the others explored/adventured around the area eventually lead them to determining that in order to return to their own world, they’ll have to make their way to the most dangerous region of the Wynn region: The Silent Expanse.

Defeating whatever entity is chilling deep in that eldritch hellzone that’s pinging off Gem and Shubble’s (w/ machinery assistance from Pixl) cobbled-together ‘machine for detecting their world’s own magic’ should be enough to trigger the same event that sent them to this world. They think. Its enough for them all to hope, at any rate.

- Its an odd feeling, being at the height of their powers only to be thrust into a world where a tap from an armoured skeleton can take them down to a third of their health in one hit, at their current ability level.

- The party starts off at roughly level 5-7 btw, because I’ve had to do the tutorial quest and Enzan’s Brother quest like six times and I want to skip that here thanks.

- Eventually, the group does have to split into smaller parties for efficiency, though they’re understandably hesitant to be separate from everyone else in an unfamiliar world.

- Obviously, the parties do shuffle around a bit depending on what quests they end up undertaking, to play for each of their strengths and to cover for their weaknesses.

- Because they’re the Kings and Queens of the Empires SMP, they climb up the levels fairly rapidly, racing through quests in Ragni, Detlas, Nemract, Almuj, before finally venturing across the ocean to the province of Gavel.

- They’re well aware that something rather bad is going on in this world, something that looks and feels so similar to the corruption back home, but yet not.

- Their first encounter with the Parasites in the Dark Forest has those more in tune with the currents of magic, or the natural world, recoiling from the feeling of ‘wrong wrong that should not be in this world-‘

After that harrowing encounter, they are very, very glad, that in their world, the source of the corruption was clearly from a pesky demon, and not the result of warring planar powers.

One would think that, as the resident swamp dweller of their motley group, Jimmy would have been a tad more relaxed in the Olux Swamp. And yet, the magic from his Empire has him on edge throughout their travels in that area, the lingering sense of foreign magic, of what the locals refer to as the Decay, worrying away at the familiar scent of the swamp.

#empires smp #empires smp au #wynncraft + empires crossover au #carminite writes #im actually still working on the sunless skies hc au btw #the ficlet that's kind of becoming a fic at this point is just getting a bit long lmao so here's another au idea

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kpopimaginings · 4 years

Text

“You bought me something?” – Kai

A/N: This one may have got a bit more angsty and emotional than originally planned, but I promise its still very sweet and fluffy in the end!

You’d been friends with EXO for years, but recently you’d found your self growing closer and closer to Kai. It didn’t help that you’d started going to see them at the studios while they were rehearsing. You’d accidentally become a sort of unofficial photographer for them as they shared so many of your snaps on social, you were just hoping none of them would realise how many more pictures of Kai there were than any of the others.

Today you’d been running some errands, mainly for yourself, but some for the guys too. You knew they were having a pretty casual day, some of them just chilling at the dorms, but Kai would definitely be at the studio. You’d decided while you were out you would pick up Kai some lunch and drop it into him on your way back.

When you got there you softly pushed the door open, hoping to sneak in without disturbing him. Xiumin spotted you instantly and shouted out, interrupting Kai’s dance.

“KAI! YOUR GIRLFRIENDS HERE!”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you reminded Min.

“Y/n!” Kai called stopping his routine.

“Hey,” you said, as he came over to hug you. “I was shopping, running some errands, and thought I’d stop by.”

“You brought me something?” he asked, hopefully, looking at the bag in your hand.

“I know what you’re like, you get too into the dances and forget to eat, so I brought you lunch.”

Suddenly Min let out a cough in a poor attempt to hide the word “girlfriend” as it fell from his lips again.

“Ignore him,” Kai told you taking the bag. “You’re the best. Always looking out for me.”

You smiled, “Well, no-one wants you to starve.”

“Sit with me,” he said, taking your hand and leading you to the seats in the corner of the room.

“Nini, I’ve got things to be doing at home,” you told him, even though you were following where he lead you.

He looked to you, pouting in a way you found irresistible. “Things that are so important they can’t wait for you to have lunch with your best friend?”

You felt a pang in your chest. It was partly because he just look so damn cute, partly because you didn’t want to just be best friends. Your face must have fallen too, as Kai stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong? Do you need to leave urgently? I don’t want to pressure you into staying.”

You just couldn’t cope with how sweet and thoughtful he was sometimes.

“Umm, you know what, I should probably go,” you stuttered. “If you still want to hang out, maybe you can come see me after?” You decided that if he did turn up, you would confess. And that would give you the afternoon to decide what to say.

“Promise me you’re ok?” Worry was written all over Kai’s face as he spoke.

“Of course,” you faked a smile. “I just… I’ll see you later.”

You turned quickly and speed-walked out of the room.

What was wrong with you? You thought to yourself. You’ve hung out with Kai plenty before and been fine. Something about today just seemed to overwhelm you; the fact that he stopped his routine to hug you, the huge smile on his face when he saw you’d come to see him, the gentle way he took your hand, and the genuine concern he showed for you. The cherry on top though, was the fact that to him this was all for his ‘best friend’. You just couldn’t hang out with him anymore unless he knew how he made you feel.

When you got home, you got on with house work trying not to focus on your encounter. You’d barely been back for an hour when there was a knock at your door. You pulled it open to see a very dishevelled and upset looking Kai.

“I wasn’t expecting you yet,” you said stepping a side to let him in, but he didn’t move.

“What happened?” he asked, his usual energy missing as he looked at the floor.

“What do you-“ you started but he cut you off.

“Have I offended you? Are you upset with me?”

“No, of course not, I could never be upset with you.”

“I just wanted to eat my lunch with you, and you got upset and left and I’ve been trying to work out why, and what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything,” you told him, your heart breaking at the distraught look on his face. “Come in, please.”

He finally crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him before taking his hand, the way he did to you earlier and lead him to the sofa.

“Nini, look at me,” you asked, still holding his hand. “It’s literally the opposite. You did everything right. You were completely lovely and sweet.”

“Then why?” he looked like a lost child as he finally made eye contact with you.

“Because…” you took a deep breath. “Because you are too lovely, and you made a comment about me being your best friend, and I don’t want to be just your best friend. I want to be yours, completely. I want you to treat me like that all the time, but only me. I want to turn up to surprise you, and not be mad at Min for announcing me as your girlfriend, because I want it to be true.”

You’d barely finished talking when Kai all but threw himself at you, embracing you tightly.

“You idiot,” he muttered into your shoulder. “You could have just told me. You’re my favourite person, and I thought I’d hurt you. I’ve been beating myself up since you left and it turns out, you just liked me back,” he continued with his face buried in the crook of your neck

“I didn’t know how, especially with other people present.”

“So? We could have kicked Min out.”

You laughed at that.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you said, the pet name rolling naturally of your tongue. “Forgive me?”

“Only if you’re going to be my girlfriend now,” he told you, finally pulling away.

“Of course,” you smiled, cupping his face in your hands.

Kai smiled back, before passionately pressing his lips to yours. Your hands slipped to rest behind his neck as he placed one of his on the small of your back and the other between your shoulder blades, holding you as close as possible.

When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on yours. “From now on, we talk to each other when somethings bothering us,” he told you.

“Deal,” you smiled, before bringing your lips together again.

NAVIGATION | EXO MASTERLIST | SUPERM MASTERLIST

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

9.45pm - Peter Parker

summary ↠ you work the closing shift at a bakery and Spider-Man makes a habit of appearing at 9.45pm to walk you home.

word count ↠ 3.7k

warnings ↠ a lil bit of angst/hurt and comfort. minor descriptions of injury. a bit of swearing, but this is mostly fluff.

a/n ↠ I really loved writing this one. I felt so happy the whole time and ! I am very excited for people to read it, so I hope you enjoy it :)) I’ve also recently redone my taglist, so if you’re interested in that, it should be linked at the bottom of the post. feedback always appreciated!

THE BAKERY YOU WORK AT is one of New York’s hidden gems. Tucked away beneath a level of luxurious townhouses, the small space is covered in vintage artwork, bright leafy plants, and warm exposed lightbulbs that cast a web of kaleidoscopic light across the space. Your regulars love the way it’s their secret, love the way it’s as if they’re walking into their own secret hiding space every time they creep down the green metal staircase and walk in through the jangling door, and you love the way it’s like a little community revolves around the place. The air is always alight with the scent of fresh pastries and sound of relaxed laughs, and there really isn’t anywhere else you’d rather escape to after school.

You always work the closing shift on weekdays, slipping down into the shop at 5pm and locking up at 10pm. It’s always the quietest hours for the bakery - the best loaves of bread and the most perfectly iced cupcakes are always snatched up by commuters in the morning, so the only groups of people who wander into the bakery when you’re there are those on the lookout for discounted baked goods. It’s always relaxed, and as the hours creep by, more than often you find yourself being paid to sit behind the counter and read a book than actually deal with any customers, so it’s a winning combination all around.

Your job at the bakery is normal and unassuming. That is, until the night Spider-Man stumbles into your shop.

It’s around 9.45pm, and you’ve just finished pulling down the shutters. Your shop may be set on the basement level of the building, but you have two large windows at the front that catch the light from the sun and drowse the bakery in a warm golden glow during the day. At night, however, it’s a little creepy, and you’re happy it’s almost closing time so you can quickly walk home and clamber into bed. It’s been a long day.

The bell perched on the door rings loudly and you jump, clutching at your heart as you spin around to greet the latecomer, hoping that they aren’t expecting too much. At this stage in the night, the only goods leftover are the ones you haven’t snacked on: a round cherry pie, a few broken biscuits, and a box of crumbling scones. As you open your mouth to greet the customer, your eyes fall on the figure and you find yourself stumbling over your words.

It’s… Spider-Man?

“Uh- uh, hi, M-Mr Spider-Man,” you squeak, feeling the hot heat of your blood pulse across your cheeks. Faced with the iconic red and blue colours of the spidersuit, you find your mind blanking, “Wh-what are you doing here?”

Though you can’t see the face beneath the mask, you get the overwhelming suspicion that you’re being chuckled at.

“I’m hungry,” he replies. Your eyebrows raise as you take in the soft, high voice that escapes him. “My, uh, my aunt always talks about this place, and I saw it was open, so…”

You clear your throat. Right. That’s fine. Spider-Man knows your bakery. Spider-Man is here in front of you. Spider-Man wants some cakes. This is fine.

Swallowing down your nerves, you nod and attempt a wide smile. You gesture to the cabinet and walk back towards the counter. “We’ve not got much left, I’m afraid. We close in ten minutes, so most of the good stuff’s been taken.” You peer back at the cabinet. “There’s a cherry pie, some biscuits, a few pastries, or some scones.” You look up at him, and as unnerving as it is to look at a masked figure, you smile again. “Anything grab you?”

He pads across the floor and scratches at his chin. “Could I have the pie?” He asks, after a moment. “Oh, and, uh, the biscuits.” He looks up at you. “What happens to this all if it isn’t sold?”

You rub your hands together, a little surprised by his question. “Well, it’ll go off by tomorrow, so if I don’t eat it, it gets thrown out.”

The eyes of the Spider-Man suit are incredibly emotive, you realise, as you understand the way they’ve moved is to imitate shock. Spider-Man himself sighs quietly. “Do you want any of this stuff? Like- will you eat it?” He asks.

You shake your head, biting your lower lip guiltily. You’ve already cleared out the treats you like. All that’s left now are your rejects. “Nah, I don’t like this stuff,” you admit.

His posture shifts and Spider-Man stands taller. “I’ll take it all, then. Please.”

You hide your surprise and instead grab a box and begin to wrap up the goods. He’s watching you carefully, and you can’t help but smile shyly up at him. “Busy night?” You ask, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

He shrugs. “Not really. Crime’s pretty low at the moment. Just small things - yanno, petty crime, small break-ins, stuff like that.” He glances around at your shop. “Are you the only one working just now?”

You nod as you wrap up the box in the special bakery paper. “Yeah, I close by myself on weekdays. Gets kinda lonely, but it’s nice, in a way.”

“You guys have good security here?” And he’s off, walking around the shop, glancing at the doors and the windows.

“Eh.” You shrug. “The boss had cameras put in, but that’s about it. I like to think that this place is off the beaten track enough to not be the source of any robberies.” You prefer not to think of it, really.

“Right.” Spider-Man wanders back to the counter and you place the finished box on the top for him. “Well, how much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” When you know he’s about to protest, you interrupt. “Really, it’s on the house. This would all go to waste anyway, so… You’re really doing me a favour. Please take it.” You glance across the bakery and see the clock says 10pm. “Anyway, it’s 10pm now, so, technically I’m not allowed to make any further sales.” And you smile, knowing you’ve won.

He’s silent for a moment. “Thanks, uh…”

“Y/N.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, voice softer. “Do you leave now? Can I wait with you?” When you raise an eyebrow, he adds, “It’s not always safe out there, especially when you’re alone.”

“Alright,” you agree, trying to hide the fact that you’re ecstatic. Spider-Man wants to look after you? The Spider-Man.

He waits for you as you complete your normal checks: cash box, windows, door. After a quick tidy up of the place, you wrap yourself in your large jacket and follow Spider-Man from the shop. Once the front door’s securely locked, you tuck the key in your pocket and shrug at him. “Okay, well, that’s me done now,” you say. It’s chilly, and despite the street illuminated by street-lamps, it’s also eerily dark. In the distance, you hear the chilling sounds of groups of people, their yells and shrieks cutting through the air.

“Can I walk you home?”

You look down at your feet. “Don’t you have other people to look after?” You ask. “Cities to save, and all that?”

You can almost sense the smile from beneath his mask. “Nope,” he says, voice light. “Just you.”

And you sigh, because really, how could you say no? “Okay,” you agree. “That would be nice.”

There’s a soft pause, and you have to fight the toothy grin off your face. It’s just the promise of a walk home, but you can’t help but feel that it’s somehow far more significant than that. With the way he gently nudges your shoulder with his, you have the feeling he knows the same.

“Show me the way, Y/N!”

----------

Over the following few weeks, Spider-Man drops in almost every day. Always at 9.45pm, always in search of sweet treats, and always ending in him escorting you home, your hands occasionally bumping together. And after a few encounters, you feel as if you’re starting to know him.

You chat to him, and ask about him, and feel like you get to know him. He’s still a mystery to you, of course, but you work out he’s seventeen too, and he’s incredibly smart. He’s got a large heart, and so much kindness and consideration tucked away beneath that suit that you know there’s no one better to take the mantle of Spider-Man and be the superhero the city’s so proud of. And he seems to care about you, too. On several occasions, you’ve been wiping down the tables when he’s grabbed a spare rag and started working alongside you, asking about your family, your pets, your friends… Everything that makes you you, really. And it’s very nice. Very, truly, sweetly nice.

So nice in fact that you find yourself daydreaming in chemistry class, your hands moving with your thoughts as you doodle absentmindedly over a spare page in your notebook. You’ve finished your lab and the teacher’s run out to grab something, so as you wait for the bell to ring, you let yourself unwind. Your eyes are focused lazily on the paper, you don’t even comprehend what you’re drawing until someone taps you on the back and you startle to attention.

“Hu- what?” You mutter, looking up suddenly. The tap came from a figure standing bashfully behind you. Peter Parker. “Uh, Peter, hi.” You don’t know him well, but you’ve been in the same classes since you transferred to Midtown for sophomore year. He’s always kept to himself, but you think he’s a nice guy.

“Hi.” His nervous brown eyes flit around your face, and you find your cheeks warming. “Whatcha drawing?”

Before you can cover your embarrassing scribble, the drawing’s in his hands and he’s staring at the image intently.

“Oh, uh, just, uh, Spider-Man?” Now your face is hot for an entirely different reason. “I’m not, like, obsessed with him or anything creepy like that. I just… He’s cool, I guess?”

Peter glances up at you, brown eyes soft and round. “This is very good,” he compliments. He passes you back the paper and you quickly stuff it into your bag, your heart beating quickly. “I didn’t know you liked art.”

Your eyebrows furrow together as you tilt your head, looking at him, bewildered. “We aren’t really friends, Peter,” you say, your voice not unkind but still confused. “I don’t know much about you either.”

An expression like a dawn of realisation passes over Peter’s face, and he takes a small step back. “Yeah- yeah, of course.” He scratches at the back of his neck, his long, surprisingly muscled arm flexing in the air. “If you’d ever want to hang out, uhhh, let me know?” And he sounds so uncertain that you can’t tell what he’s really asking, and nod along.

“Yeah, of course.” You scribble down your number on a piece of your notebook and pass it to him. “I work in a bakery, if you ever want to drop by,” you offer. Working five hours a night, five days a week, means friendships are hard. You know from experience that the best way for people to see you is for them to drop by.

“Which one?” Peter’s staring at the paper you’ve given him, eyes burning over the number you’d printed for him.

“The Muffin Man. It’s on 53rd and-”

“22nd,” he finishes. “My aunt loves it there,” he adds, blushing a little. “I’ll drop by one day.”

You swallow your surprise and nod your head. “I’m there every evening,” you say. The bell goes, signalling the end of class, and you gather together your things.

“Well.” Peter rocks back on his feet, his forehead creased. You have the feeling he wants to say more, but the moment passes. “I’ll see you around then, Y/N.”

You smile slowly. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Have a good day, Peter.”

And you walk out of the lab, a slightly light spring to your step. In an odd way that you can’t quite explain, it felt as though you’re old friends with Peter.

----------

It’s 9.45pm the following Monday when Spider-Man next bursts through the shop door. So used to this, you don’t look up from rows of numbers that fill the account books, and instead call out a distracted, “Hey!”

But when you hear the crashing of a chair falling over, your head bolts up, and you gasp as you see Spider-Man standing there, wobbling significantly, deep stains of blood clinging to the lighter patches of his suit.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim. Quickly grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the counter, you run out onto the shop floor and offer him an arm. “What happened? What can I do? Are you okay?” He sags into your side and you carefully lower him into a soft armchair, your frantic eyes fixed on his arm and the sight of his oozing blood.

“Got hit,” he manages, voice hoarse. You blink slightly, noticing for the first time that his voice sounds a little familiar. “Fuck, I’m- it hurts.” And he sounds so weak that you suddenly feel like crying.

“Okay,” you mutter. “Can I look at it?”

He reaches up and presses a concealed button on the suit, and you watch as the sleeve of his arm loosens and fall to the ground, exposing one of his pale, fleshy arms. The fact that he’s shown you a part of him is quickly overcome by worry as you see the bullet wound.

“It’ll heal by itself,” he says, voice hoarse. “Can you see if the bullet has passed through?” He’s pulled taut with pain, and you feel your heartbeat quicken as you kneel beside him and peer at the wound.

“I think it’s exited,” you say. You gentle move his arm around, examining it carefully. “Yeah,” you add. You see the exit wound. “Can I clean it up and bandage it?”

He jerks his head in a nod, and you get to work. You feel terrible as you wipe at the source of his agony but work as quickly and gently as you can to remove all the dirt and then wrap up the damaged area. Once you’re done, you get to your feet and wring out your hands. “That’s you,” you say. You rub at your eyebrows and feel lines of tension weaving across your forehead. “I’d say go to the hospital, but if you heal by yourself…”

“I’ll be fine.” Spider-Man surprises you by tentatively getting to his feet. “I feel better already.” His voice softens out, and you feel your heart race in your chest as he takes you in his arms. Suddenly you’re hugging him, your cheek pressed against his warm chest with his hands pressing into your back, and an untameable giddiness bubbles up in your chest. “Thank you so much,” he speaks. The outline of his nose nudges gently against your head, and one of his hands slips up your back, fiddling with the tips of your hair.

“It’s, um, it’s okay,” you manage, system running in overdrive. For weeks your crush has been building, but you’ve managed to keep it dormant, telling yourself there’s no way he’d ever like you back. But with the tender way he’s curling the ends of your hair around his fingers, maybe - just maybe - you were being too harsh. Maybe there’s a possibility that something could happen.

“I appreciate you,” he speaks, voice quiet. “There aren’t many places I can go and just...be myself, I guess. I’m glad you let me do that here.”

You peel your head away from him and look up to Spider-Man’s concealed face, his hands pressing into your back as you wrap your hands around his waist.

“Always,” you promise. You wish so desperately that you could see his face.

After a moment, he steps back, the warmth of his touch vanishing. You sag a little.

“What are your favourite kind of flowers?”

You think for a moment. “Forget-me-nots,” you answer. “Why?”

“No reason.” He shifts on his feet. “Now, tell me what cakes you’ve saved for me tonight, yeah?”

----------

Something is up. You haven’t seen Spider-Man for a week, and he’s never disappeared for that long before. You find yourself going a little crazy, thoughts and doubts racing through your head every time it reaches 10pm and you’re left alone to lock up and walk home. Did you scare him off? Was that hug a test, and did you somehow fail it? Did he decide you were no longer interesting enough for him? Is he hurt?

It’s 9.45pm, and you’ve grown so used to silence that when the door swings open with a loud ring of the bell, you jump, clutching at your chest. You look up immediately, expecting to see Spider-Man, but instead seeing… Peter Parker?

You’ve not spoken to him since he saw your drawing in chemistry class, but you have texted a few times. He’s nice, but you had no idea he’d intended on dropping by the bakery, and you can’t help but feel disappointment hollow out your chest as you see him, replacing your normal visitor. But you smile at him none the less, especially when he procures a bunch of blue and white flowers.

“Peter?” You ask, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. He looks nervous yet confident, his soft brown hair arranged neatly on his head, his eyes open and inquisitive. He comes towards you and offers you the bouquet.

“For you, Y/N,” he stammers. His freckled cheeks stand out as his skin fills with a rosy blush. “I, um, hope you like them.”

You take the bunch and marvel at the beauty of the flowers. “No one’s ever given me flowers before,” you breathe out. You stare at him, heart squeezing in your chest. “How did you know I like these? They’re my favourite.”

“Uh…” He seems trapped, and suddenly you’re struck with a thought. The way he’s standing - bashfully, but still strongly - and the slight lilt in his voice when he said your name… It’s awfully familiar.

“What’s going on?” You mutter to yourself. You put the flowers down on the counter and step back, hands going to your temple as your mind spins at a hundred miles an hour.

Both Spider-Man and Peter had told you that their aunt liked your bakery. They both appeared at 9.45pm, just before closing. They both know your favourite flowers. Is it possible..?

“Hey, hey.” Without realising it, you’d walked from behind the counter and are now stood, wobbling, in front of Peter. You feel a little dizzy, your heart beating rapidly as Peter reaches out to you, his hands settling on your shoulders as he peers at you nervously. “Calm down. Your heartbeat is crazy.” And he pulls you to him, but all you can focus on is that fact that he knows your heart is pounding against your rib cage.

“You’re…” You break off as his hands press into your back, the hug feeling familiar. For a moment, you settle, breathing in the clean scents of Peter’s nutty aftershave, but then you pull back, questions replacing your peace. “You’re Spider-Man!”

You stare at him intently, watching as his face cycles through an array of emotions: surprise, reluctance, fear, excitement, relief. He jerks his head in a nod.

“Yeah. I am.”

Your jaw drops. “Peter Parker is Spider-Man,” you whisper to yourself. You look at him, shocked. “Why- how- why would you tell me?” Is what you settle on eventually, completely flabbergasted. “I’m… I’m just a normal person, why would you tell me?” You can’t understand how this secret - so personal, and important, and powerful - has fallen into your lap.

Peter’s lips tweak into a smile. “You’re not just a normal person, Y/N.” You realise your hands are clasped in his and feel your heart bloom with adoration as he squeezes your fingers. “You’re clever, and funny, and kind. You like chemistry, and baking, and speaking to me when I’m Peter or Spider-Man, and you even helped me when I was hurt.” His eyes are wide and pleading. “You are many things, but you are not only normal.”

The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’re the only person in New York. Peter - shy, smart, witty Peter - is Spider-Man - someone who you’ve admired for years, and grown close to over the past weeks. Spider-Man is here, in front of you, mask off, showing you the most intimate details of his person, bunch of flowers and all.

And it makes you feel truly seen, for possibly the first time in your life.

“Why would you tell me?” You whisper, tilting your head to the side. The air is tender between you, and you become aware of how near you both are.

Instead of speaking the words you feel vibrating between you, Peter slides a hand up onto your cheek, his thin fingers spreading over your skin, tendrils of warmth flowing to your face. His other hand moves to your hair, lacing strands around his fingers as he steps closer, his eyes wide, questioning. You give him a little nod and feel your eyes drift close blissfully as he kisses you, his mouth soft, tender, warm. Happiness spreads through your chest as you push back against him, wrapping your hands around his waist as you kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

Moments later, when you’re both breathless and flushed with satisfaction, he pulls back. His forehead stays pressed against yours, and you gaze into his eyes, feeling a soft warmth flood the depth of your heart.

“I like you so much, Y/N,” he whispers. You can hear the nerves wobble in his voice. “I know I can trust you with this. I wanted you to know.”

Your lips pull into a wider smile. “I like you too, Peter,” you say. His fingers stroke your hair as his face creases with happiness. “Kiss me again,” you add, feeling a deep burning desire to be near him, hold him, love him.

His smile grows bolder as he nods gently. “Whatever you want, Y/N.”

And in the middle of your tiny bakery, tucked away from the rest of the city, Peter takes you in his arms. Your bodies connect tenderly, gently, completely, as your hearts intertwine. Love blooms in your chest as you feel him all around you, and as the clock strikes 10pm, you know that this is the start of something wonderful.

----------

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

taglist ↠ see this post to be added :D

@behind-my-hazeleyes27 @stiles-o-dylan24 @stilinskiswritings @stealth-spiderr @youngblood199456 @stixnstripesworld @mischiefandi @penguinchick100 @hcomet28 @aftrrglo @scottish-sim @cosmicholland @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @sweet-baby-cakes @apatheticanvas67482 @oh-whatabeautiful-parker

#peter parker #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #tom holland #woohoo #i just love this concept ?? so much #i hope you do too #catch me being soft thinking about hugging spiderman in my cute bakery #my writing #twilightparker writes #yayayayay #self-insert #y/n

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dinandgone · 4 years

Text

The Snap

Prologue to the ‘Blood and Beskar’ series

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

The Mandalorian x fem!Reader (eventual)

Warnings: None apart from a sneaky Mandalorian.

Word count - 1k

A/n ~ so this is my first Pedro fic but it’s going to be like a slow burn because I wanted to be really indulgent I mean if nobody reads it then it’s not really a problem. I just wanted to do something that I haven’t really read with the reader being a bounty hunter on the run idk. This prologue is just a bit of insight into the reader and a headstart to the next chapter. So enjoy, feedback is always welcome :)

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This was not the plan. The plan wasn’t to run and hide on a desolate outer rim planet. You were better than that. But recent events left you little to no choice in the matter. Fair enough, it was your fault for trusting anyone but yourself in this godforsaken galaxy. But you needed the credits. And along with desperation comes room for error.

In your case it was a big error.

An error that landed you a wanted criminal. A sizable bounty on your head.

Though things looked bleak you had your skills that you’d obtained over the years from the bounty hunting profession. Thinking outside the box, best places to hide, what to look out for and whatnot. Given, Felucia probably wasn’t the best place to hide but your options were limited, you needed a place that had a population but not big enough to make it easy for you to be found.

You sighed, drawing your knees to your chest as you remain lost in thought. Sweat dripping down your skin, shirt soaked and clinging to your frame. The climate was bearable, much better than the extremes of Tatooine or Hoth. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the vibrant colours of the market or the buzz of the cantina back home. You chuckled at the thought of attempting to even set foot on Nevarro - the bounty hunters hive. You were sure it would make many of its inhabitants happy at the thought of you dead. You’d pissed a few people off in your time as a bounty hunter, it was a given for the profession, all they needed was an excuse and now they had it.

Snap

The sudden break of a branch pulls you from thought your eyes shooting to the source of the noise, you stand with your hand trained on your holster the other ghosting the knife strapped to your thigh. You knew staying in one place for a period of time was never a good idea. Being on the run always meant you had to be alert and keep moving. You scan your surroundings for tell tale signs, movement or disruption in the foliage. But there was nothing but the soft sounds of light rainfall and wildlife. You still felt it, sending shivers straight to your spine. Something. Someone was watching.

You waited with bated breaths, eyes scanning the area waiting for an attack, but it never came. The feeling of uneasiness being quelled slightly from the lack of disturbance in the trees around you. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shook your head. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a proper nights rest in a real bed without the constant worry of waking up to a blaster in the face, even then the nightmares proved to make sleeping difficult. Realising you’d been stood in the same spot the entire time, you shift your boots from making a home firmly in the muddy forest floor. Sighing you moved you pick up your bag, you needed to get moving before it got dark. Your limbs ached in protest and your eyes strained from the constant wary focus on your surroundings. Every now and again you turn thinking you can hear movement behind you but each time nothing, the same old sounds of rainfall. You put it down to your head working overtime to keep exhaustion at bay. You could only focus on how your clothes rubbed your skin, the excess dirt and grime creating more friction. Oh how you missed the luxuries of having a fresher. Those luxuries had disappeared along with your ship as a result of a damaging game of Sabacc on Tatooine. You winced at the memory of the slimy Twi’lek grinning at you as he placed his winning hand on the table. Lucky bastard left with your ship and a hefty sum of credits. Why you thought you’d be able to bluff your way into winning a game of Sabacc you didn’t know, maybe it was because you were inherently drunk but it had cost you your ship and damaged your ego in the process.

“Never touching a drop of Spotchka again” you grumbled to yourself, reflecting on how much you missed your ship.

The sound of approaching footsteps disrupted your disgruntled ramblings. Spinning on your heel blaster in hand raising it to face the owner of the footsteps. An woman with a small cart stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and hands in the air.

“Can I help you?” You questioned steadying your feet in place

“Please don’t shoot! I’ve been walking behind you for a while you look like you’re exhausted, I wondered if you needed somewhere to stay for the night?” her response hurried and panicked. “My town is about twenty minutes north of here along the dirt track, if you want to follow me?”

You lowered your blaster, sliding it smoothly back into its holster, hand still hovering in place. The exhaustion was creeping in, you could tell that from the fact you hadn’t even noticed the trailing footsteps behind you. You glanced at her again, no sign of a blaster or weapon, if she did try anything you could easily overpower her. The promise of somewhere dry to stay for the night and the possibility of food focused your attention. Just one night and then you’d continue to plan your next move.

“Thank you, that is very kind.” you nodded, gesturing her to show you the way.

She continued forward cart in hand talking about herself and her village. A brief flash of reflected light in the dense forest, caught your eye as you turned to follow her. Her voice drowning into a faint mumble as you tried to zero in on any signs of movement. Stopping dead in your tracks, you tried to focus your eyes on the vast treeline aiming to pinpoint where you had seen it, but as you blinked the light disappeared as quickly as it had caught your attention. The same uneasy feeling from earlier snaking its way back up your spine sending chills across your body. You listening and scoured intently, for any further movement but the landscape remained the same. The rest of your surroundings came back into focus, the woman’s chatter once again flowing through the air. You turned and hurried to catch up just in time to re enter the conversation with the woman asking your name.

“Y/N” you replied warily looking over your shoulder “its Y/N”

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian x you #mando smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #mando x reader

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

Note

Hi idk you personally but I've followed you for a while, I've recently gotten into a polyam relationship, like really recently, and I'm trying to kind of warm my family up to the realisation that polyam relationships are no less valid than any other relationship. My mother is on board and also the only one fully aware that I'm in one, my sister however reacted immediately with disgust when I brought up the topic to her. I asked her what she even thought was so gross about it and pointed out that she was unable to give me an answer when she wasn't. She claimed polyam relationships "never work" and I asked her how many polyam people she knew, the answer was of course, none. she then claimed she knew that because she didn't like polyam relationships and I told her nobody was asking her to be in one, so that's irrelevant. I don't have anybody I know who's been through this, and you don't have to answer if this stuff is triggering for you of course, and I know you're not some kind of poly agony aunt, but I feel kind of out of my depth with this. I love my partners and I love my sister and I want her to know about this, how the hell to I explain it to her when she's so automatically against it??

Hmmm, that's a tricky one, I'm sorry you've got this to deal with. People can be so word about polyamory.

I'll be honest, I don't really know - I've been very lucky with my family and they've all been very chill about it, but I've had 2 partners who just aren't out to their whole family about being poly (and one who only was bc they were caught in flagrante with their other partner by a parent and had to explain very rapidly) so yeah like it's a big issue.

For me, I don't really know but I think my best guess would be: instead of warming her up to the idea of polyamory warm her up to the idea of your partners? Like tell her about nice things about your partners without using names and pronouns, maybe introduce her to one and then further down the line introduce her to the other(s), and kind of let her get a less abstract and biased view of what your relationship is like until she's like 'wait, weren't you dating X? I liked them' and you can be like 'well good news I still am!'

That approach means slowing things right down with her, and that might not be the right fit for you, but that's I think the approach that's worked best for me and people I know - she loves you, so let her be happy for your relationship and develop an emotional investment rather than asking her to change her immediate bias in the abstract. Also if you are comfortable to wait until you've got a bit more entrenched and she knows a bit about your partners, she's less likely to assume you don't know what you're doing/are making rash decisions.

(This is a lot easier for people like me who generally takes a need-to-know approach to dating, like eh it'll come up when it's relevant - I don't think my dad ever knew about my ex girlfriend of 4 years, not because she was a secret but just because I never brought her to a family thing)

I suspect ultimately the thing is: one way or another it's going to take time. And that's frustrating and miserable when you're in the flush of a new exciting relationship and you want to tell the people you love, especially if you're used to your sister being your confidante, but unfortunately it doesn't sound like she's ready to be there for you and be excited for you yet however you approach it, and that sucks but there's probably not a magic bullet that will make her Suddenly Get It. It's great you have your mum onside - that means when/if you do tell your sister, you're not standing alone against the tide.

I think if she's that opposed to poly in the abstract, even if you don't slowly introduce your partners and you tell her all in one go, wait a wee while. If you tell her about it a week into a relationship then you break up after a month (I'm not saying you will but Shit Happens), that could reinforce her ideas that poly is destructive and unhealthy (even if polyamory had nothing to do with why you broke up). On the other hand, if you wait a few months then when you do tell her, if she's like 'no such thing as a healthy poly relationship' you can be like 'well ok but I've found this really positive and supportive for the last six months.'

She'll probably take a while to get used to the idea and that sucks. But if you're happy and your mum's happy and she increasingly sees you happy with your partners, gets to know your partners etc, poly will be less of an abstract concept and she may well soften over time - that's been the case for a lot of people I know. It's always tempting to stay safely in the abstract before you commit to telling someone but it's much harder to convince someone to change their minds on an abstract concept than if it's attached to real people they care about.

It probably isn't going to be an easy road with her and I'm sorry you have to deal with that. It will take time and she might never come around and if she doesn't all you can do is understand that it's not your fault and it's not up to you to change her mind if she refuses to. But she may well surprise you over time.

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leahseclipse · 4 years

Text

May the show begin (Part 2)

May the show begin masterlist | Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Kidnapping, general criminal minds stuff, angst, cursing, blood, mentions of death.

Summary: While working on a case, y/n gets targeted by the unsub that kidnaps her.

A/N: Hello! Here's the 2nd part! Thank you to everyone who liked the first part, it means a lot to me!! I hope you'll like this one- I really do my best at every fic, I hope it's not too bad- lmk if you liked it- have a good time reading. - Lex

Don't hesitate to send requests, I'll be more than happy to write them!

Word count: 5.5 k

_______

"Y/N."

I woke up with a start after hearing a voice calling my name.

I looked around, but no one was there. I almost thought it was Spencer calling me for a second.

I immediately felt panic invade my whole mind as I realized the situation I was in.

The room was dark, which didn't reassure me at all, because I hated being in the dark, and in this situation, I wasn't even somewhere safe.

I'm scared.

I want to get out of here.

What is going to happen ?

I knew that the following hours, or even days would be the worst days I'd ever have, and I didn't even know if I would get out of here alive.

I couldn't be sure of that.

It didn't really take long until I realised that I've also been drugged. I was struggling to stay awake, and my sight was blurry for a while.

I even tried to move for a bit, but quickly noticed the ropes restraining me.

As I tried to dig into my memories, trying to even remember anything from yesterday, the only thoughts that came were the faint sounds of a car, and then...screams.

My screams.

The next thing I did after almost regaining full consciousness was to look at my own body; I had felt a soft fabric against my skin, but still couldn't guess whether it was my clothes or not.

Then, as I lowered my head,

I realized.

Someone had put a dress on me.

I knew that I had this on for a specific reason, but I still couldn't remember why.

I did my best not to crack under the pressure, because the more I'd look around, the more I'd feel like crying out of panic. My head was full of panicked thoughts, I prayed for it to stop, but I knew well that I couldn't. Not until I'd get out of here.

If...hold on.

I remembered something.

The dress.

It's what was on the women that are now...dead.

Right now, what I only wished for was for someone to find me as quickly as possible. I couldn't remain calm, knowing that I could eventually die here.

This wasn't planned at all, I never thought this would happen one day, I did everything to protect myself, be careful outside, and some guy, or girl, managed to get into my apartment to kidnap me.

And right now, being the nervous and dramatic wreck I am, I could only think of the worst things that could happen. And...that are about eighty percent accurate to happen, I'd say.

This really can't...I'm not done saying all of the words I need to say to Spencer, I need more time with him, my life can't end now, it can't end here.

We're even supposed to get married. We're too busy with work that we haven't planned anything yet.

I can't leave him behind like that.

I can't.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sound, causing me to come back to reality.

I suddenly heard the door opening, followed by footsteps; these becoming louder as the person approached.

"Hello there." He said, as I froze out of fear, his voice sending chills down my spine.

"I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I wished I could have processed this meeting in another way. But apparently, you were quite busy with your job. It was quite difficult to catch up with your schedule. So, I had to pay you an unexpected visit. It's nice to see you again y/n." He added, as he walked in front of me. I looked at him while he talked, but his face was masked, I couldn't see anything.

It's nice to see you again'? Do I...know him?

I still couldn't put a name on the voice, but I knew I did hear it somewhere. But the problem is that I didn't know. It could be an old friend, a colleague, a neighbor, but unless he'd say his name, I wouldn't know.

"You can talk, you know, I didn't say you weren't allowed." He let out a laugh, his hand touching my face, while he traced my jawline with the tip of his fingers.

"I...why am I wearing a dress," I finally let out, with a shaky voice. "And how do you know me…?" What I just asked was probably stupid when I thought about it after, but I was too terrified to think of anything else. These were the only words I managed to let out. I guess it's better than the curses. Maybe.

"Oh, the dress. I made it just for you. It's just a bit loose, sorry. I couldn't get your measurements from far, when I was watching, so...I did my best. I hope that you like it. I didn't want you to keep what you were wearing, it wasn't very pretty." He paused, probably thinking about the other question.

"And, how do I know you…? Well, it's not my job to tell you, you're a big girl, so I think you can remember it by yourself. It'll come, soon enough. It's not difficult, you used to see it all the time, a long time ago, and kinda...recently." He said, as he put his hand on my hair, taking a strand between his fingers.

This really has to be a joke. What am I supposed to do, guess your name until I get the right one?

"You really are...amazingly pretty. If I kill you, I can't keep you forever. That'd be a shame, really. I can keep you for a while, if you behave nicely. So, be an angel and don't make me angry, okay?"

"Be a angel"...how am I even supposed to react to that?

"...keep me forever, why?"

"You see," He said, as he kneeled in front of me. "I couldn't keep watching you, you exactly look like my daughter would have looked like if she lived another ten years. But, some bastard killed her, and now, all I have left...is you. I can feel her presence through you, I know she's here. That's why I want to keep you for a while. You'll love me, soon enough. It'll be like the old days. I just, really am obsessed with you. It'll probably hurt your poor boyfriend, but I'm sure he won't mind if I take you from him. He won't."

He totally lost his mind. I don't think he's thinking sanely right now. If I take his words, his mind totally blew up when he saw me…like to the point he'd do things, without getting scared of consequences, he hadn't realised at all the risks he took, and I don't think he does right now.

I could feel the rage burning sensation in my body growing larger every second I'd look at him. He should consider himself lucky that the rope is too tight for me to move. Otherwise, he'd have no face anymore.

I couldn't help but wonder why he would do that. Both my father and sister died when I was only 10, but I didn't go and stole someone else's father and daughter to replace mine. It took a long time, because I had to accept the death of someone twice, suffer even more, alone, in my room for months, but I coped with it and moved on a few months after, taking control over my life once again after the event I've been through.

I know they would have wanted me to do that. They both hated it whenever I was sad.

"Why do...you just take girls from their families, to just end up killing them a few days after? Is making people suffer okay?"

"Look, if I do that, this way sweetie...the police will finally understand my anger. It's been two years, and they still haven't found the guy who killed her. I even wonder if they haven't forgotten about it, or given up. And after, they proudly appear in newspapers while a killer is still on the loose. Wow, look how great police is."

Is this how people are supposed to cope with the death of someone? Making other people suffer isn't the right way when you have to deal with a loss.

"Killing people won't resolve things, it's sad for you, but sadly, it won't bring her back. I won't."

"We'll see that; if your smart-ish friends manage to find you. Unless they don't, you'll get to travel with me. Exciting isn't it? I know, right? You'll like it. I can feel it. You'll become my pretty little doll. Till you break. I hope it'll last long. We've only been together for half a day. We have plenty of time to get to know each other once again. It's been a long time since our last meeting so I'm sure we both have a lot of things to say. A lot.

"You're fucking crazy."

"If you say so. But soon, you'll like- no, you'll adore me."

"Never." I exclaimed, glancing at him, my eyes filled with all the rage I felt for him in this moment. He'd be stupid if he didn't see that.

"You won't say that in a few days. I think you'll even beg-" He said, cutting off mid sentence, before I spat at his face.

I knew the consequences of it, but I didn't regret it. Now, he'd know that I'm not his toy, and that I'll certainly not beg him for anything.

He stepped back, chuckling, before hitting me in the face with his fist. Soon enough, a few drops of blood flowed from my nose, falling on the dress, as the tissue slightly absorbed it.

I didn't know if it was the punch or the effects of the drugs that I had just felt, but I suddenly felt tired as he hit me, bringing me back to the state I was in when I woke up.

"You bitch...who do you think you are to do that? TELL ME." He yelled, his voice filled with anger. Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew it probably was red from all of the anger he's been accumulating.

The veins on his hands contracted, surely meaning he was restraining himself from hitting me again, or even...strangling me.

"I'm...not a toy...for you to play with. It's sad that she died...but I already said I won't replace her."

"I NEVER ALLOWED YOU TO TALK, SHUT UP!" He paused, taking a large breath of air, as he pointed at me with his index. "You'll do...whatever I'll tell you. If you care enough about the ones around you. That'd be a shame for them to die because of their...stubborn friend." He added, glancing at me as he left the room, aggressively closing the door.

I couldn't stop shaking the whole time he was in. I'd never imagined that this would ever happen to be one day. It happened to Spencer, and I was devastated the whole time. Watching him on the livestream, I couldn't stand it for more than a few minutes.

And now that I'm in the same situation, he's the one that is suffering. None of us know if I'll get out of here alive. That's the worst.

Until they'd find anything about him, both of us had to stay there, wondering if the other was doing okay, and in Spencer's case, wondering if I would make it.

I really prayed for that. I need to see his smile again, run my hand through his hair, cuddle in bed with him, all of the things I love to do with him, that I love him for.

No sound was coming from outside, either the walls of the room were isolated in order to not let any sound in, or the house was in the middle of nowhere.

The only thing I could do while being tied up was to look around; of the two windows, the only one that would allow the light to go in was closed by the blinds, only allowing a short film of light into the dark place. The left one was being blocked by the shelf in front of it, so not any light came out of it.

Even if I would try to escape, how could I even do that? I was tied up to the chair by the rope, almost suffocating me; my hands were both restrained to the back of the chair, each hand on one side of it, so whenever I'd try to move them up, the head of the chair would block my hands.

I then looked more around, a lot of costumes were displayed in the room. Some were complete, some half done or in bad shape; he also had sewing kits, measurement tapes, a lot of stuff to sew, in general.

There were some boxes in the corner, some papers, and...a pair of legs coming out of behind the boxes. Someone was lying there.

A stream of blood was dripping from her tight, while the puddle of blood underneath her limp body slowly became wider.

Her skin was pale as snow, and I quickly came to the realisation that she was either dying or...already dead.

Tears soon began flowing down my cheeks, a quiet sob escaping my lips. I couldn't do anything to help her, the only thing I could do was to watch her die, if she was still alive.

And now...he's really going to do the same to me…? No. It can't happen...it can't.

The thought of myself soon being in the same situation as them even went through my mind for a second, terrifying me. I wasn't sure of it, but it still could be one of the scenarios that could happen.

Who could even know if he didn't kill other girls? From what we all know, two have been found, and plus the one I just saw, three, or more, I couldn't confirm that; they'd had to search the house, or he'd have to say it to me in one of his possible attempts to threaten me, otherwise, I didn't know if there was more, I seriously hoped that he hasn't killed other girls.

But, from what I've seen from the way he was acting, he felt...pressured, in a way. I think that when I...got angry, which resulted in him realising that I wasn't going to be the perfect doll he expected me to be, something might have changed in his plans, he imagined that he'd keep me much longer, thinking that I'd be obedient, calm.

He had his reasons to think like that, I think. It's not really in my habits to flip people off, I'm usually nice in general. Even with weird guys that try to flirt with me for example. I always try to be as nice as possible when trying to tell them I'm not interested. Some aren't really mean in general, they just need a talk to understand.

I had this one teacher in college, back then, I was taking theater classes, thought it might be fun to do that for my last year. It didn't cost anything, and I had nothing to lose if I tried it. It really was fun, I got to make some new friends, discover new plays, and the teacher was really nice with us. He was like a second dad. You could talk of anything to him, he wasn't the type of guy to judge you, he was quite understanding in general. He wouldn't force you to talk unless you wanted to, and wasn't the type to slide in personal conversations. He was pretty friendly, you couldn't really talk bad to him, he was always nice.

What was his name…? I think his family name was something like...Miller?

Even if it really was that, hundreds of people wear that name, so I'm not even close to finding it; and I was not really in the mood to play guessing games.

I'm currently being kidnapped, so...it's logical.

The door abruptly opened once again, as he turned the light on, a sudden burst of light brightening the room, causing myself to startle out of my thoughts.

My eyes involuntarily closed, whilst my vision got blurry for a bit, focusing back when it adjusted itself to the light.

His shadow appeared on the floor as he headed towards me; I could even see my own shadow, not having noticed that I was shaking so much until I actually saw it right in front of me.

"Let's have another chat, shall we?" He took a chair, sitting in front of me while taking the mask off his face. "Remember me now?"

________

SPENCER'S POV

10 hours since the disappearance of y/n

I pushed the glass doors of the 6th floor's office, walking through the hallway, as I made my way to the conference room.

A few minutes ago, I had reached the point where I just couldn't think anymore, I just had to get some air before getting aggressive with the others out of frustration.

Even if I knew that it would be all of the anger I've accumulated talking, and not the usual Spencer they know, I preferred not to go outside with anyone.

I was too distracted over the fact if we would ever find her alive again. If it's the guy that killed the two women, it'll only be a matter of time before he kills her.

When I stepped into the room, I sat by the seat next to Morgan, putting my elbows on the table while my hands rested under my chin.

Papers were scattered all over the table, as everyone's voices raised, arguing on the proofs they had, trying to understand who could be behind that. We only knew what the guy was doing, but had no clue of who it was.

We barely had anything. The only thing we had in stock was that the guy was between 40-50, and that he probably was a theater teacher, but again, it wasn't sure.

The thing was that we didn't even know if this guy was from here or not. He could be a guy that used to live here, and moved somewhere else.

Some argued on the fact that he always lived here, some on the fact that he just drove here so many times that he ended up knowing the city, or some that someone else who actually knew the area drove with him.

We weren't really close to finding any constructive proofs.

As for me, I wasn't close to finding any mental stability yet. My whole mind was a storm, a storm that I don't think anyone in the room would be able to stop.

What if she was already dead?

Although I wished more than anything that she would be okay right now, I couldn't get this thought out of my mind since we knew she was missing.

Her face appeared in my mind, her wonderful smile with it. She would radiate so much joy, that it would always be enough to cheer the team up for a bit whenever we'd work on a complicated case.

She would always care about others before herself.

Even if we would never ask for it, she would suddenly burst out of the office, and come back a few minutes later with coffee, or even take a few files behind our backs so that we could go home early. She'd take a lot from Matt, JJ and Hotch; but while they'd go home early, she would go home late.

We would even find her the next morning in the conference room, along with the finished files next to her. We weren't that evil, so we would let her sleep a bit more.

She'd eventually wake up with a start, claiming that she just closed her eyes and didn't actually fall asleep.

I always liked it when she tried to cover the fact that she didn't fall asleep, it really was fun.

But, I don't regret once meeting her, I've been in love with her since her first day at the BAU.

She got in about two years after I came in and when I saw her I just...immediately fell in love. Back then, I had shorter hair, and wasn't as sociable as I am today. A lot has changed about my behaviour and personality since. And...I think most of that is thanks to her. She made me a better person.

15 YEARS AGO, OCTOBER 2005

The previous day, we've all been notified of the arrival of a new member, coming from New Jersey, but Hotch didn't say anything else, probably to keep the element of surprise, and so that they could introduce themselves to us properly.

We all were excited, a new member meant an additional person to join our family, a new co-worker, a new person to know, it really sounded fun.

The next day, on a Tuesday morning, at exactly 7:40, she entered the office along with Hotchner.

She was trying to keep up with Hotch as he was walking, he was much taller compared to her, so she had some trouble walking at his pace.

They both headed towards his office, probably to talk a bit, sign some papers, I remember doing that on my first day here.

A few minutes later, Hotch and her went out of the room, as she shaked his hand, exchanging a few words.

During the whole time, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I even waited for her to come out, staring at the door for at least twenty minutes.

The others even tried to call me, but after a few minutes, I think they noticed that the thing I was focused on wasn't the files,

It was her.

Finally, Morgan decided to come to my desk and move his hand in front of my face, as I blinked, looking at him in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Hotch called the team five minutes ago, you were apparently too focused on the new one so you haven't even heard him calling us. If you don't want to get lectured by Hotch, get up fast."

"I wasn't focused on her..." I mumbled, while getting up, walking towards the conference room with Morgan.

I entered the room, noticing her next to Hotch, as the others were quietly talking together.

She glanced at me, and gave me a sympathetic smile before walking in my direction.

"Hi, you must be...Spencer Reid, right? I'm y/n y/l/n, it's nice to meet you." She said, reaching out to me.

It took me a few minutes to get out of my bubble, before I came back to reality, looking at her. "Oh, yeah, that's me. It's nice meeting you too." I said, giving her a handshake.

"Everyone, I think you've all met her now, but let's welcome the new member of our team. She'll be working with us from now on. We all look forward to working with you, agent y/l/n." Hotch said, as everyone clapped once he was done talking, welcoming words following.

And, of course, the following days Garcia kidnapped her a few times in her 'batcave', for getting to know her more, y/n was probably polite, and liked her too much to refuse her invitation, so she would always come, asking Hotch if anything was planned. Penelope wasn't that evil to the point of letting Hotch lecture her.

I enjoyed every moment in her presence. The little time we'd have with each other was more than enough for me. But at the time, I wasn't courageous enough to confess my feelings to her. So, we just were two close friends.

Nothing more.

We really grew closer the following months, we would get coffee for the other one, eat on breaks when we had time, exchange files, but my most favourite things were to see her arriving in the morning, and walk her home at night.

She would always have this beautiful smile on her face whenever she'd greet everyone on her way in. Eventually, I stopped staring at her like an idiot when I'd see her, and talked instead.

She seemed to like my random facts a lot, so before she would arrive, I would write a fact on a piece of paper, and drop it on her desk. She liked that small attention of mine, and kinda began doing the same with cheerful words she'd write on paper or randomly say to me throughout the day.

Slowly, it became a habit.

Our habit.

I liked saying that. It almost sounded like...we were together.

We weren't until, one day.

I suddenly came to her desk, and asked her out. It was now or never. Because if I hadn't done it back then, I don't know if I would have done it later.

Surprisingly, her first reaction was to cry. I got scared, thinking that she was about to announce that she already had a boyfriend or something else, but instead, she got up, and wrapped her arms around my neck, bringing me in a tight hug. I returned the hug, wrapping my arms around her waist.

"You took a lot of time to ask, I thought you'd never do it." She mumbled, loud enough for me to hear.

Soon enough, the team quietly gathered around, smiles on their faces. They wouldn't see that everyday, so might as well enjoy this moment.

When y/n broke our embrace, her eyes were still watery and a bit puffy because of the crying.

Before y/n even got to, I brought my fingers to her small face, wiping the tears from her eyes, which she immediately responded to with a smile.

Her smile.

That's the reason why I fell in love with her, and recently, asked her to marry me.

"Hey, Reid. Reid. You there?" A familiar voice said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I then realized it was Morgan a few seconds after.

"Yeah, sorry. Overthinking. I just got stuck in my thoughts for a minute." I said, trying to keep up with what was said previously by listening to Morgan's short resume.

"He kept the first one four days, and the second two days." Emily said, tapping her pen on the table. "Which gives and doesn't give us a correct estimation. But, from that, we could possibly conclude that he would approximately keep her…"

"Three or four days." I interrupted, while running my hand through my hair, in an exhausted way.

Everyone was exhausted at this point, we didn't even know if we would get the guy once, but mostly, we didn't know if we would be able to find her in time before he decides he wants to kill her.

We would have this crushing weight on us if we wouldn't manage to save her. We'd not lose an agent, but a member of our family.

And I don't think we'll get up from that.

Derek, Luke and Matt always act like she's their little sister, they like to tease her, take things from her desk and wait for her to notice it, bring her the wrong order before saying that it only was a joke, they really like her.

Emily, JJ, Garcia, and Tara immediately became best friends with her, they really liked going out with her at night, or even hanging out with her in general. She wasn't a big fan of girl nights, but she'd come anyway, it distracted her from all of the stress she had throughout the week because of work.

Which I understood, because even I like to throw myself on the couch and watch as many Doctor Who episodes as possible till I end up falling asleep. I do that, or just sleep.

When you work there, get as much sleep as you can because you never know if you'll get called for a case, and when you'll get sleep when you'll start working.

And lastly, Hotch and Rossi are like the fathers she never had. Rossi often invited her to teach her how to cook, chat with her, watch tv, he really is considering her like she's his real daughter.

Hotch always protected her, he likes to sit down with y/n to talk whenever she feels down, needs help with files, and she really looks up to him. He still lectures her sometimes, but he doesn't mean any harm.

They both are like her fathers, the fathers that I'm sure she would have wished for.

So, losing her would be the worst thing to ever happen to us right now.

From now on, every single second would be crucial. I could not permit myself to get distracted; it was a matter of life or death from now on.

Even if I had to go to the guy's place myself, I'd do it.

I would risk my life for hers.

I would do everything for her.

She's my everything.

Her life always mattered more than mine. She'd always say to me that I should stop saying that, but I meant it, it was absolutely true. I would have never lied to her about that, or anything else.

She always supported me in all of the imaginable ways. She never left my side once. Even when I'd beg to stay alone, she would come anyway. She always came.

Y/N always felt bad when she couldn't come to a date we've had planned, by making sure to bake something for me the next day. I never got mad, if she couldn't come, it was totally alright.

Everyone would sometimes get sick, or too busy with files. But no matter what I'd say to her so that she'd know that it was okay, I would continually find something she baked for me on my desk.

Losing her was my worst nightmare.

A nightmare that could become reality if we didn't find her in time.

"I'm sure we'll find her. You'll marry your girl, don't worry." Morgan said, a slight smile on his face. He probably was trying his best at being positive.

"I know you're supposed to think positively in these cases, but I just can't. If it's that guy, who knows if he's not going to kill her off, who knows if she's not already dead, I don't know what to think of anymore." I said, tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. We'll do everything to find her. I promise, okay? Now calm down, you have to be strong for her."

"Yeah, I know, I know. We'll find her."

The rest of the day consisted of piles of papers, some short naps, coffee, emotional breakdowns, everyone was overwhelmed by the situation.

I never had to deal with it before, so I didn't know what to do, how to manage all my emotions, I was completely lost.

Just a month ago, I proposed to her, and now we're supposed to get married. I don't even know when.

It's not easy to plan something without it risking to be cancelled at the last minute because of a case. You can even get called at 2AM.

These last weeks, we actually planned to organise the wedding, but just when we had free time to do it; two cases appeared. I'm even wondering if we'll ever have time to do the actual wedding at this point.

We were supposed to discuss it this weekend. Garcia even wanted to help us, she adores weddings. It's the first one she'll get to organise. She was so excited when I asked for her help.

And now, all of our joy and excitement from the last days shattered in pieces when we heard of what had happened.

We all were devastated.

________

A few minutes earlier, Garcia had returned to her office, probably wanting some alone time. I knew she didn't really like to show her emotions in front of everyone, she finds it embarrassing.

Everyone was pretty much doing the same, trying to stay strong even through I know we all were on the verge of tears.

I was about to walk out of the room to talk to Morgan who had come back to his desk, when my phone loudly vibrated. I quickly noticed that it was a call, whilst I answered, placing the phone to my ear.

"Spencer, you need to come, now." Garcia said, with a panicked tone, hanging up before I even got to place a word.

Apparently, she had sent the message to everyone; some of the team members were already there.

I headed into the room, as all my hopes shattered at the sight of what I've just seen on Garcia's monitors.

I swore I almost heard her voice for a moment.

I wished for it to be true.

At that moment, I felt like everything around me was collapsing.

Hotch was the last to come in, closing the door after entering, as he headed to where I was, his hand now resting on my shoulder.

We're almost there y/n. Almost there.

__________

Taglist: @amanda-rotigliano , @thatsonezesty13 , @eevee0722 ,

A/N (2): I hope you liked the chapter! I'm sorry it took so long,, I had a lot of struggle writing it haha- See you soon for the next and probably last chapter. The post that will close this story after the 3rd chapter will be the Epilogue.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler fic #spencer reid fic #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds fic

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