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afriendlyblackhottie · 3 years ago

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Dance, Dance

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: there’s been too much going on ever since you started messing around with your best friend.

Pairings: Colin Shea x Black!Best Friend!Reader

Warnings: minors dni, smut, angst, fluff

(A/N: yaaaay it’s done. This was a fun little series. I loved writing it. Titled after the song Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy. Thanks everyone that enjoyed. Like, follow, reblog, and comment ☺️)

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You didn’t even know it was possible for you to fake smile for this long. As much as you enjoyed doing the whole music thing, industry shit was kind of the worse. You’d been overdue for at least a glass of champagne, but now you needed something stronger like whisky.

Things had been hectic lately. Just getting stuff ready and playing ball. The label that signed you was a smaller offshoot of a bigger one and so now you were here watching Colin take one for the team and schmooze it up since he knew the rest of you hated this part.

It wasn’t like you were bad at the whole thing. It’s just there was only so much you could deal with before finally reaching your limit. And all the old men ogling you was definitely something you could live without.

“Hey,” Ryan, your bass player, greeted as he sat beside you. It was kind of funny seeing the rest of them in suits and shit. You didn’t think they could wear anything but jeans and converse.

Hell for Colin clothing was already optional. Now he was there wearing a suit. Playing the part. And doing it well. You couldn’t lie, though. He looked good as hell. Obviously you weren’t the only one to notice. The woman whispering in his ear right no clearly saw it too.

“Hey,” you said with a sigh. This dress was scratchy as hell, but it was cute. It was probably worth more than your rent so you were really trying to not mess it up. Fuck you felt awkward.

So, yeah things had been a little weird since they’d walked in on you on Colin’s lap. Not that they could see that his pants had been undone from how you were but let’s just say the rest of the band had been doing this thing where they’d been trying to figure out your couple name ever since.

Still you didn’t know how to act around them. Especially since you’d left like your ass was on fire. Unlike with the whole girlfriend thing, the two of you didn’t get the chance to talk even a little after that. It felt like life was pulling the both of you in so many directions what were you even supposed to say. Sure the guys managed to squeeze their jokes in but other than that nothing.

You’d had photo shoots and meetings and just all kinds of shit. Sure this was definitely the life you wanted and you kind of appreciated the distraction. Didn’t mean you wanted to keep living in limbo with him. So it’s not like you’d been avoiding him so much as finding the time to have serious conversations was kind of not there.

At the same time it’s like were you even prepared for whatever he had to say. You don’t give a guy head and then make out with him for him to stop and start with ‘I just don’t think-‘ and expect him to say something not terrible. Especially not a guy like Colin. Even if you were holding out hope.

You knew his track record going into it. Which is why those rules had been in place. You’d been around a thousand Colin’s. You knew how it went. It was hit it and quit it every time. What made you different. If he really wanted to talk he would have. Nothing had ever kept him from telling you dumb shit all the time. Suddenly he couldn’t text?

Whatever. You didn’t even want to care. This was about the music. It was your fault anyway. You’d known better than to get tangled up in him but you’d done it anyway. You’d just have to live with that.

“So what are we doing tomorrow?” He asked.

You shrugged with a sigh. “I dunno. Was just thinking about keeping a low profile. I’m not really feeling it right now.”

Ryan frowned. “You know Colin doesn’t care,” he replied with a chuckle. “You know how he gets.”

“That’s fine,” you replied with a small smile with a shrug, bringing your glass of whiskey up to your lips. Thank goddess for an open bar, though, right. At least that would help you through the night.

“Okay so,” Colin said finally coming over to plop down beside you on a barstool,“how we feeling about an after party?”

You shrugged while him and Ryan started talking it over. If anything you’d probably go back to the hotel but whatever.

You rested your chin on your fists as the boys talked. It’s not that you wanted to be sad girl right now. You should be the happiest you’d ever been and you were but fuck this is gonna sound so lame but you missed your best friend. But no you forgot to wear underwear and now apparently neither of you knew how to act around each other.

“What about you?” He asked. “You know we’re no good without our fearless leader.”

“I thought this was a party,” you said setting your glass down. “I didn’t realize I was leading you into battle.”

Colin chuckled. “Oh it’s us against the world, Baby. There’s always a war.” He winked as he grabbed your glass. Not even phased when you protested and made grabby hands for it. “I’ll get you a new one if you say yes.”

“Eat a dick,” you grumbled then tried to get the bartender’s attention.

“Who pissed in your iced coffee?” He asked with a chuckle. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Better than whatever the fuck this is.” Can’t argue with that.

You shrugged. “I’ll see. I’m kinda tired.”

He pouted. “Don’t be a party pooper. Come on. Don’t you wanna hang with us. Keep us out of trouble.”

“Keep him out of trouble,” Ryan corrected making you laugh.

“Yes. Fine. Keep me out of trouble.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Come on. I’ll make it worth it.”

“How?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well,” he started as he thought, “I’m already taking you out for breakfast tomorrow so that’s out.”

“You are?” You asked with a chuckle. This was news to you.

“Um, duh,” he said before poking your side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. It’s not that serious.”

Colin sighed, rolling his eyes. “Come on. I promise it’ll be fun.” He nudged you. Then his face softened. “Do you really not wanna go?”

No, but even though you were irritated with him you still felt like a lovesick puppy. And his eyes had gotten all romantic looking. It was so hard not giving in to him.

That’s how you found yourself out in the New York air. Crossing your arms in front of you. “What’s this?” You asked as you walked up to a limo.

“Our ride,” he said, into your ear.

“Hey, Colin,” the woman greeted him with a smile as she walked passed to get in. “You coming?”

He had the nerve to smile at you all brightly as he grabbed your arm. “Isn’t this cool,” he said as he sat beside her. You on the other side of him. Why didn’t you just go back to the fucking hotel when you had the chance.

The entire way to the party was filled with them laughing and talking. The entire time you were thinking say something, anything, but no you sat there awkward as hell. Ryan and your drummer James were sort of trying to include you while your rhythm guitarist Parker had decided to go to the hotel. You wish you’d just gone with him. You knew that’d be your first mistake.

You hated being in such a sour mood. Especially with so many people around. “You want a drink or something?” Colin asked into your ear, trying to talk over the loud music. You sighed, putting on another smile on as you nodded.

You tried to follow behind him, but this place was crowded. Looking back you saw that Ryan and James were no longer next to you either. Shit. Way to make this situation better, right.

Well Colin was right at least. This was better than that place crawling in suits. You walked along trying to find at least one of the men you came with and you were officially over it. Then you saw the balcony and decided to check out there next.

The fresh air was kind of nice. Maybe you just needed to clear your head for a minute. Hell you were ready to go to bed anyway.

Maybe tomorrow you’ll spend the day in the city. Doing whatever you wandered upon. No thinking about the next few months and how everything’s going to go from zero to one hundred. Not that you weren’t looking forward to it, but for now you wanted to welcome a little bit of peace.

Hopefully there’d be no thoughts about a certain guitar player either. That you doubt, but you could try. You yawned and groaned. Fuck it you’re leaving.

“Of all the people I thought I might see tonight,” a familiar voice said before you could get inside.

That voice made you stiffen. Then you started groaning as you turned to face him. “As if my night couldn’t get any worse. What are you even doing here?”

“What you think you’re the only one that gets invited to parties?” He asked.

When you’d parted from your last band, it wasn’t exactly the nicest situation. You always made your rule clear even if you’d broke it with Colin. Even with him it’s not like he did what Andrew did.

Things had been going okay with them, but it was nothing like now. This time around it felt so real. Like musically you were meant to be. Maybe that’s why you didn’t want to ruin things by blowing up even if Colin was sending you enough mixed signals to write an album about.

Back then though. It wasn’t like this. Yeah you liked your other bandmates back then, but with Colin, Ryan, and James it almost felt like a family. You all meshed. You all got along. Despite everything going on you loved them.

With Andrew’s band there was never a connection. You played. You went home. Over and done with. So the night he corned you, trying to kiss you it came out of nowhere. When you told the rest of them didn’t care. You were replaceable. Then you saw that flyer and decided to say fuck it and quit.

“What are you doing here?” He asked now, taking out a cigarette.

You shrugged. “That’s none of your business.”

He scoffed. “Heard you guys got signed. Who’d you sleep with to manage that?”

“Well, it wasn’t you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Who you here with? The new guys you’re blowing?”

You clenched your jaw before taking a deep breath. He didn’t know. Who the fuck cares. So you started walking away because you really did not give two shits.

“Yeah, my friend Dina was telling me you fucked her ex,” he said.

Your back stiffened as you stopped. Closing your eyes. God you wanted to scream at him, but he wasn’t worth the trouble. Wasn’t worth causing a scene. That’s what you told yourself last time and that’s what you were telling yourself now.

“Yeah said she walked in on you too,” he said coming up behind you.

“Dina doesn’t know what what she’s talking about.” You took a deep breath then bit your tongue, but still didn’t turn to face him.

“Well she sure had a lot to say. About how much of a whore you turned into after being a little tease.”

You closed your eyes suddenly feeling sick. You shouldn’t let it get to you. You knew it but fuck. This is why you didn’t do this. You didn’t need the drama.

“Dude, fuck off,” you finally said wrapping your arms around yourself as tried walking away again, trying to tune out whatever shit was spewing out of his mouth.

Promising yourself that you wouldn’t cry. Eyes finally catching Colin’s as he did a grin spread and then quickly fell from his face. Standing around the same girl from earlier. At least he managed to keep up with her.

He started walking towards you without a word and seeing his way was the only way towards the exit there was no avoiding him. That’s when you felt fingers grabbing at your wrist. Twisting your arm so you had no choice but to face him.

In between the, “you little sl-“ and Colin pushing him away from you, you’d ended knocking into someone. Beer spilling on the front of your dress. Way to make a shitty moment even worse guys. This was a fucking loan. Thanks for that. Fuck tonight just wasn’t your night huh.

“I’m so sorry,” a drunk girl slurred, putting her hands on your shoulders.

“No it’s okay,” you sighed feeling your eyes prickle with tears. Fuck you hated it. Your chest suddenly feeling tight. You had to get the fuck out of here.

As soon as you made it to the elevator you took a deep breath. Closing your eyes and leaning down the wall as the doors closed.

“What the hell was that?” Colin said. You squeezed your eyelids. The little bit of frustration that had left, coming back in an instant. “Did he hurt you?” He asked, grabbing your hand. “What the hell happened?”

“Stop,” you said, snatching it away. “Just… stop.” Your heart felt like it was sinking into your chest. You just wanted to eat and shower snd sleep. Fine fuck it. Shower and sleep. You’ll eat in the morning. You just wanted Colin to stop following you and for him to shut up.

“Hey!” He stopped you as soon as you got off. “What’s wrong? Just tell me what happened.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to care okay.” You shrugged. “You weren’t thinking about me ten minutes ago.”

“What do you mean I was looking all over for you,” he said furrowing his eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes again. Ugh it felt like you couldn’t stop. “Yeah, it sure looked like it.”

“I was. You can ask Ryan and James. Alyssa was helping me.”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Colin?” You asked raising your eyebrow. “I get it. We messed around and you’re a fuckboy or whatever. It’s not like I was expecting to be different or something. You do this all the time. That’s fine but you don’t have to pretend like you give a shit. And I’m the fucking idiot for thinking you would because I thougt-” your voice broke as you just shook your head and walked away.

Colin stood there looking stunned. Feeling like he was one second away from puking. Finally taking a deep breath when he realized that if he didn’t catch up to you know you’d get into a taxi without him.

“Wait, Y/N,” he called out.

But you didn’t turn around. Heart thumping in your chest. You blew out your cheeks and rested your head against the window. Feeling there was a lump in your throat.

You felt like such a baby. All teary eyed in a cab. Red eyed as you made your way to your room. Crying in the shower. Then not stopping as you settled into bed. And for what. You fucking up the one thing you always told yourself. Listening to your stupid vagina. And your heart as much as you hated to admit it.

Not only was it stressful to think about what this would do for the band, but you and Colin had really built up the best connection. Now what happens. You’re not gonna get that with someone else. And that was the worst part.

Your eyes were so heavy, but you were suddenly so awake. All that complaining about being tired. Now look you can’t even sleep. Your head felt too heavy. Nose too stuffy, too.

You scrolled through your phone. And may or may not have done a small dive into who this Alyssa girl could be. Then message after message started rolling in now that it was a little passed midnight. You’d get to them in the morning. You’d also stole his weed pen so you could relax a little bit.

So. Sucks to be him.

That’s when you heard the door open. Stomach flipping and mouthing, ‘fuck.’ Dropping your phone because if you could pretend you were asleep maybe he’d leave you fuck alone. Ugh he probably got the key from the front desk.

The television was still on and it’s not like he’d never walked in on you sleep in front of the TV before so he’d think nothing of it. Your back was facing the door so it’s not like he could see you. You’ll take your chances.

You heard crinkling and him shuffling a little, but you were mostly trying to be quiet. A few moments later you heard him getting down on his knees beside you. “Hey,” he whispered into your ear before kissing your temple.

Nope. Go away.

“I know you’re awake you little thief.” He chuckled, but then stopped when he realized you clearly weren’t giving in. Turning over away from him. Colin took a deep breath. “Babe, I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrow raised. Okay so maybe you weren’t expecting that.

“I’m sorry I lost you tonight,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for not talking about things sooner. And if I made you think there was anything going on with me and Alyssa. Who does not like me by the way. She’s into Ryan,” he added, with a chuckle.

You snorted out a laugh. “Seriously?” Finally breaking your silence.

“Uh huh.” He laughed. “I know right. They kept dragging me between them once he found out. I felt like I was in fucking middle school.”

Then it got quiet.

“I’m sorry if I made you think you were just a booty call,” he finally said.

Your eyes opened, but you still didn’t turn to face him. You weren’t really sure what you were supposed to say or do if you did.

“You have always been more than a booty call. I get that I’ve done things before, but I’d never treat you like that. Why do you think we haven’t had sex. I couldn’t have our first time be on that gross fucking couch.”

… fair.

Ugh.

UGH.

You wanted to pull his hair. Not even in the sexy way. He was so annoying. Why couldn’t you just have been asleep so you could have been mad at him for a little longer.

Colin didn’t wait for you to respond as he got in behind you. Scooping you into his arms from behind. “You’re my best friend, Baby. I’d never fuck us up. I don’t wanna lose you.” Then he started kissing your cheek softly.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumbled, but still didn’t turn over.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s cuz I can’t stand when you’re mad at me.” He sighed wrapping you up in his arms. “Remember that one time? And it was just over lyrics.” He chuckle. Then when he realized you weren’t laughing he sighed again. “I promise I’ll make tomorrow better. Well today. Or whatever. You know what I mean.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t run in here on some I have to be the first shit.” You finally turned to look at him and he was quick to kiss your forehead. Eyes ask puffy. Nosy really stuffy. He didn’t care. Just wanted to have his lips on you.

“I am, but now I can’t stop apologizing.” He chuckled. “I really am sorry.”

“We can work on your road to forgiveness plan.”

“As long as you’re the one paving it I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so corny.”

“Maybe.” He chuckled. “I’m just trying to get you to smile.”

You sniffled. God he was so annoying. “I know.”

He looked at you softly before swiping his lips across yours. “Okay now I’m gonna be the first person. Happy birthday, Baby.”

Another sniffle as you couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling softly. “Thank you. How do you know you’re the first?”

“Oh you’re cool because all our little fan girls are wishing you a happy birthday,” he said with a laugh.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Never. You deserve it.”

“Stop being such a fucking sap right now.” You whined pushing him away.

“Nope. I actually have a surprise for you,” he said, letting go so he could get out of bed. “No peeking!” Then he kissed your cheek again.

Of course you weren’t gonna listen, but since he wasn’t made of glass you couldn’t see. His body blocking whatever view you may have had. Just heard the flicker of a lighter.

“So, I was gonna go with the old fashioned flowers and chocolate for an apology,” he started. “But since it’s your birthday,” he said as he turned around with a little cake in his hands, freshly lit numeral candles on top.

As he softly started to sing happy birthday you felt yourself tearing up again. Of course he had to do something like this. Sappy asshole. Just had to make it impossible to stay mad at him.

Now you were sitting with your legs criss crossed applesauce across from him. Not being able to help the smile that spread across your face.

“Make a wish, Baby,” he said. As you blew out the flame he looked at you softly. That same stupid romantic look in his eyes. And it was like you couldn’t help yourself as you started to lean in. Lips connecting and it almost felt relieving.

Colin pulled away for a minute to set the cake on the night stand. Going back to you he pull you onto his lap. Lips moving against yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck then put your hands in his hair.

He laid you down. Thumb stroking your cheek. Tongues finally meeting. Kisses deep. Now sleep was the farthest thing from your mind. You just wanted to feel him.

All of the thoughts about how that was it had melted away. If he was going to be serious about this than you wanted it. Wanted him. “Colin,” you whimpered. His lips going against your throat.

“What do you want, Baby?” He asked in a whisper.

“You.”

Clothes started to be removed. Hands and lips going to intimate spots. Like between your legs as he made sure your pussy would be ready for him. His mouth touching you just how you needed. Moans and sighs spilling from your lips.

“Y/N, Baby,” he whispered as he wrapped his arm around your leg so he could spread you open for him. Getting snug between your thighs as he lined himself up. “You sure? We don’t have-“

You cut him off with a kiss. He obviously got the message as he started to push into you. The head of his cock already making your head spin.

“Colin,” you whimpered against his lips.

“That’s it,” he said. “It’s okay. I got you.”

You nodded and moaned, foreheads resting against each other. Looking into those soft blue eyes as he inched in. “Ah,” you squeaked.

“You’ve got this,” he whispered into your ear as he finally bottomed out. Staying still for a moment so you could could used to him. Fuck he was big. You don’t think you’d ever felt this full before.

Hips rocking slowly as his lips went back to yours again. “Colin,” you whimpered again.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered as he looked down at you.

“More?”

“Tell me what you do want, Baby. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Harder. Please.” Fuck you felt desperate. He was just filling you up so good. Just how you needed him.

He pressed his lips to yours as he started getting deeper. Rolling his hips into yours. Then pushing your arm above your head with his hands holding yours down.

“Right there!” You pulled away with a gasp.

“Where?” He asked into your ear not stopping what he was doing before pulling your earlobe between his teeth. Nibbling on it. Making your eyes go blurry.

“Oh,” you let out another little squeak. That wasn’t good enough for Colin, though. He wanted you to scream his name.

He raised up off of you. Getting on his knees and pushing your legs up by your ears. Hands on the back of your thighs.

Every time he went in, your body bounced from the force. Pussy squeezing him tight. He looked between you seeing the way your wetness covered him. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Pussy even prettier with my dick in it.”

Why was he doing this to you. Was it not enough that he was about to turn you inside out? He had to talk to you like that too. Why was he trying to ruin you like this. He was fucking you like he wanted to be the only man to fuck you. Maybe he did. Maybe you wanted him to be.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah!” You cried out

“That’s it. That’s what I like to fucking hear. Doing so good for me, Baby,” he groaned. “Gonna fuck you all night. Keep you full a me. Want that?”

“Uh huh,” was all you could say. Your orgasm was hitting you so hard. “Colin. I’m cumming.” It was like you were weeping. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned as your pussy tightened around him. Orgasm gushing out of you. “That’s my girl,” he said as he put his hand on your clit. Coaxing it out even more. “Keep cumming for me, Baby. That’s it.”

It happened so quickly. One minute he was fucking into you and then the next his face was between your thighs. If he was trying to make you squirt he got his wish. Your legs shaking, body spasming as he forced you there.

You covered your eyes with your hand just as he pushed back into you. Where he grabbed your arm to push it up so you were no longer covered. “Don’t you ever cover yourself, you hear me,” he said as he started fucking into you again. “I want you to look at me when I make you cum.” He put his lips against your chin.

Fuck. This was gonna be a long night.

You don’t know how many times you’d orgasmed. Just that it felt like once they started they didn’t stop. Just the way he was getting you there and trying to keep you there was almost too much. As soon as he came in you, you were ready to pass out. Your body officially worn out. But forced yourself to use the bathroom before bed even though walking really didn’t seem like a great option at the moment.

Then you got back in his arms. Snuggling into him. Colin holding you tight. It felt like where you were supposed to be.

As the sunlight broke, you were so worn out that you stayed like that for a minute. Him waking up first with your head tucked under his chin. Yawning and checking the time. Not that he cared. He’d stay like this for as long as you wanted him to.

When you started to stir, he nuzzled you with his nose. Kissing your forehead gently. “Morning, Birthday Girl,” he whispered in a raspy voice.

You moaned and stretched. Putting your head in his neck again. “Not yet.”

He chuckled. “We have to get to brunch.”

“There’s always dinner. I’m tired.”

He smacked your butt. “No, no, no. I’m not letting you sleep the day away. I gotta make up for yesterday.”

“Make up for yesterday by being my pillow. And we can have sex in between.”

Colin laughed softly. “As tempting as that is, we gotta get up.”

You took a deep breath out your nose. “Fine, but I get to pick off your plate.”

“When do you not?” He rubbed your back. Colin reached over to grab his phone to check the time. “Wait, what the fuck,” he chuckled.

“What?” You asked, with a yawn.

“James said, ‘I’m happy for you guys really but we’re going to breakfast without you if you don’t hurry up. Happy birthday y/n.”

You laughed. “What?”

“The one before it was stop having sex we’re hungry. Ryan said, ‘Colin stop being the Yoko Ono of this ba-‘I’m the Yoko On- oh now they’re fighting about it.”

You snorted. “They’re gonna argue about this all day, aren’t they?”

“Yeah probably.” Colin laughed.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

#Colin Shea smut #chris evans smut #Colin Shea x black!reader #Colin Shea x reader #Colin Shea x female!reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x black!reader

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whump-a-la-mode · 4 years ago

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Nemesis - Choose Your Own Whump 2

With A receiving the most votes on my last post, for this adventure we are going with a drugged Villain whumpee. Sorry about the generic name for this one, I really couldn’t think of anything else ^^

I hope you enjoy, and thanks to everyone for replying to the last post! As always, votes can be sent in through any method you want. Comments, asks, and PMs are all just fine. I’ll see it!

CW//Falling off a building, hostage situations, shapeshifting, medical abuse, extensive talk of sedatives, brief mention of a needle

Please note that the third scene of this piece is from the point of view of a drugged character, and thus the scene has some aspects that could be described as unreality. Please skip this scene if this would make you uncomfortable.

The video was grainy.

It was always grainy. That was the strange thing about it-- everyone carried around miniature computers in their pockets, equipped with tiny cameras that would have rivaled the most powerful devices of years prior. Any civilian could take a 4k quality video on some social media, but the moment anything actually important was happening, technology seemed to regress twenty years.

Hero supposed it didn’t matter. Their memory of the incident was certainly clear as day, better than any camera could ever capture.

And yet...

They clicked a button on the remote, and the clip restarted.

The sides of the screen were blocked out in fuzzy grey-- the video having been taken through the bars of a metal fence. Between them, the camera focused at first on the foot of a brown brick building, before panning upwards, only stopping upon reaching the roof. It took a moment for the visual to adjust, focusing against the glare of the sun overhead.

Two figures, on the building’s roof. Two figures seen so often together, in so many similar videos.

The standoff had taken from dawn till sunset. How Villain had gotten into the building unnoticed had yet to be fully understood, but, regardless of method, they wasted little time in taking hostage a group of professors, eating lunch together. A single one had been released, bringing with them a message:

“Everyone leaves. No one comes in. Everyone stays outside the fence.”

It had seemed like a trap, at first. Of course it had. It wouldn’t be the first time that Villain had played such a trick. After much debating, however, evacuation was deemed to be the best option, and the campus was soon barren.

The hours afterwards had been as long and hot as they had been nerve-wracking. The very thought of following orders from Villain made Hero’s stomach twist, but their orders were incredibly clear: Don’t do anything stupid.

It was an incredibly difficult order to follow.

Establishing a line of communication had been the hardest part. Villain had quickly disconnected any security cameras in the vicinity, alongside confiscating any technology their hostages might have held.

In the end, it was decided that a reporter would be the one to go in. One of the most recognizable faces in the city, and one that was neutral. Not fighting for either side, but representing the citizenry.

The whole plan bet on one fact: That the shapeshifting Hero could pull of the imitation.

It worked. At least, it worked for as long as it needed to. Villain accepted the olive branch, and allowed the supposed reporter to enter unharmed.

Of course, the illusion broke as soon as Hero opened their mouth. No matter how good they were at changing their shape, it did not change their voice. In the brief moment of confusion, the hostages had managed to make their escape.

Leaving only the two nemeses, and the building as their battlefield.

It was hard to remember the fight. They had waged so many battles against one another, they all seemed to blend together, at one point or another. There was broken glass, pushed over tables, exploding equipment, and then-

And then they were on the roof.

Villain was stupid, but they weren’t, well, they weren’t stupid. They may have had the moral compass of a kleptomaniac feline, and the brain cells to match, but they had common sense. A sense of self-preservation.

Forcing them to the edge of the roof... it was supposed to be like pushing them to a corner. Trapping them.

In the video, the two figures danced. Forward, and back, until one took the lead. Until they were up against the edge, with nowhere left to go.

They were supposed to stop. They weren’t supposed to fall.

They stopped their own fall, or at least they tried. They were telekinetic. Of course they did. But they were surprised, or confused, or, or something. They slowed themself down. But they did not stop. The force with which they struck the concrete parking lot below was more than enough to knock them out.

The video ended.

And... that was it. The end. Years and years of battles, some won, some lost, all ended. They should have been happy, and they were! They hated Villain, sincerely and truly hated them.

But no other villain fought like them. No other villain had their tongue, their wit. Their skill. Their fight.

Villain’s defeat should have been epic! The ultimate confrontation of good and evil, of chaos, and order.

Yet, their downfall was a simple trip.

In the corner of Hero’s TV screen, small white text helpfully reported to them just when that video had been recorded.

One year ago.

One year, since that day. Since Villain’s downfall. And now...

Hero’s phone buzzed. A text message. The confirmation of a meeting.

One whole year, and still, Hero’s mind was consumed by their lost nemesis.

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The diner was terribly busy, and yet, when Hacker walked through the door, Hero had no doubts as to their identity.

Despite their rather stereotypical appearance, there was nothing about the person’s manner that would have indicated the sheer amount of time they spent behind a computer screen. They greeted the receptionist, pointed to Hero, and exchanged a few words beyond that. With a smile, then, they parted, and made their way to Hero’s table.

Their manner only seemed strange when they sat down, and Hero noted that the way they smiled seemed to pain them.

“Is this seriously what you people act like?” They hissed through bared teeth. “Can I stop smiling now? Or will they look at me weird?”

“They’re already looking at you weird.”

“They are?”

“You- You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh thank god.” Immediately, their expression fell into one far more analytic. Far less friendly. “I, uh, don’t get out much.”

“Really?” Hero raised a brow incredulously.

“I’ve got more important things to do than, uh, than going out. Anyways.” They stuck a hand outwards. It was partially covered by a fingerless glove. “I’m Hacker.”

“I figured.” Hero shook the offered hand. “I’m Hero, though I suppose you already know that.”

“You’d think people here would be, uh, a bit more in awe? It’s not everyday you get to eat in the same building as a superhero.”

“Keep your voice down, please.”

“Oh, sorry. Is it, like, a secret? You don’t have a secret identity, do you?”

“No. But when I’m out of costume, I’m not exactly that recognizable. So let’s keep it that way. Kapish?”

“Kapash. But, still, oh my god. This is so cool! A real life hero...”

“Yeah... Yeah. A real hero alright.”

A hero who could hardly focus during battle. A hero who infuriated their team leader more than they aided them.

“Anyways.” Hacker raised their head, a far more natural smile coming onto their face. “I have the... thing.”

“You mentioned that. It’s about Villain, right?”

“Mhm.”

The person across the booth leaned down, prying a laptop from a carrying case and placing it atop the table. It was a bulky thing, and as soon as it was turned on, the shrill sound of fans struggling not to overheat filled Hero’s head. Hacker clicked around a bit. They gripped the edges of the device, as if about to spin it around, before they stopped, frowning.

“It’s been a year now, hasn’t it?” They commented.

“Since Villain was captured. Yes. 374 days.”

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“You miss them, don’t you?”

It was so direct. Hero couldn’t help but stutter:

“I don’t- Of course I don’t miss them. I hate them.”

Hacker looked up over the laptop screen to give them an incredulous look. It wasn’t a convincing lie.

“I don’t miss them.” Hero stood their ground. “But I want to make sure they’re contained.”

“I just... I don’t know if this is something you want to see. You’re trying to move on, and-”

“Show me it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If it’s something to do with their containment, I need to know about it. I can’t let them hurt anyone else.”

“Well, that’s not the problem here. If you’re sure.”

With a sigh, Hacker spun the computer around, so that it’s screen faced Hero.

They weren’t sure what they expected. Some kind of... deep web threat? A message from Villain? A copycat? An escape attempt?

But they didn’t get any of that. Instead, the screen displayed a simple PDF. Medical records. At the top, in bold letters and a rather ostentatious logo, the header read:

Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization

For the most part, the page was Greek to Hero. A slew of ID numbers and attending physicians with far too many acronyms following their names. What did make sense to them was the spreadsheet that made up most of the page, labelled:

Approved Daily Medication Dosage for Patient: Villain

The spreadsheet took up two pages with solid text. Hero did not recognize the medication names, of course, but they did not need to be a doctor to understand the entries written under the column labelled “Medication Purpose.”

Every single data cell, even as they scrolled to the bottom of the document, contained only one word. The same word.

Sedation

“This is...” Hero muttered, furrowing their brow. Scrolling up and down. This had to be wrong, somehow.

“I don’t understand most of it.” Hacker commented sheepishly. “But, uh, I have a few friends with some more medical knowledge than me. They’ve never seen anything like it. It’s more than enough medication to sedate a fucking elephant- sorry, excuse my language.”

“It’s fine.” The confusion in their voice was rapidly melting to fury.

“Even for major surgical procedures... nothing near this level would ever be used.”

“This has to be a mistake.” Hero shook their head. “A mix-up. Maybe it’s like... all the medications the facility ordered. And they just labelled it wrong.”

“Well, if it’s a mistake, they’ve been making the exact same one for an entire year. I’ve got 374 of these files. Newest one just got uploaded a few hours ago.”

“And they’re always the same?”

“With some minor dosage adjustments, but yes. That’s not, um, that’s not all of it.”

Hacker reached over, dragging the computer back so that it faced them again. There was more clicking this time, along with typing at a speed that made Hero’s fingers hurt, just to watch it.

When the laptop was spun back around, this time, it was a video.

A camera feed.

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Villain felt about to choke on their tongue.

It wasn’t a new feeling. More or less, it was the only thing they felt, anymore. That heavy block of muscle in their mouth, threatening at any moment to block throat choke air no air no-

They were losing their words again. Words... wordsssssss... Voices. Voices spoke words. Sometimes, they did. Sometimes they grumbled and muttered and sputtered and murmured like a car murmured. Cars... or was it cats? No, cats didn’t murmur. They purred. What else did they do? Not bark... no, barking too loud for cats. Cat go mew mew, real quiet like.

Cat’s meow, that is a cat’s voice. There were other voices, too. Quiet like cats. Two of them, two voices. They knew those voices, those were the doctors’ voices. The doctors liked to talk a lot. They talked, but they did not see. Or... no. They were not seen. Villain did not see them. They wanted to, but their eyes were broken. The engines in their eyelids would not run anymore, would not open the garage door, Sally!

One of the doctors’ voices got closer. A million miles away, a hand was laid upon Villain’s wrist, flipping over their hand so that their palm faced downward.

“Let’s move it.”

It was a silly thing to say. Nothing moved in this place. Nothing that Villain could see, as their eyes were broken.

“Is the other vein healed enough?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

Silly words... Villain wanted to laugh, but their muscles were firmly locked away behind a padlock.

“Okay.” The doctor sounded so sad. Why were they so sad? Villain’s mouth was full of soil. The doctor was tired. “I’ll get the rest of the medicines.”

“We’re going 30 milligrams up from yesterday on the Propofol.”

“Oh? Why?”

“They opened their eyes, yesterday.”

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Hero felt sick. In the top right corner of the security footage, the same logo from the medical records was displayed. The Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization. Below it, a subtitle.

“Keeping the city safe.”

Was this safety? It shouldn’t have been. They had known, of course, what had happened to Villain after their capture and very brief hospital stay. It was what happened to all villains. They were sent to the rehab unit.

A therapy program. Helping villains to control their powers and reform their lives. To return them to the straight and narrow. But, now that Hero thought about it...

Villain was the only one who had never been released.

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Thanks so much for reading! Just like last time, there are two options along with every part of this story. Alongside each options is a question, so that you guys can give more specific suggestions if you so wish. The option that receives the most votes will be the choice that our Hero makes!

A.) Tell someone about what is happening - Who should Hero tell? (They are on a small team, as well as part of a larger Organization, for reference.)

B.) Attempt a more direct approach. Visit Villain in the rehab program - Should Hero try to rescue Villain immediately?

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #hero villain whump #drugged whumpee #drugged villain #villain whumpee #hero villain prompt #choose your own whump #choose your own adventure #nemesis

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parvuls · 4 years ago

Text

fic: kintsugi

summary: The day after brunch at Jerry's, Jack and Shitty have a raw, much-needed conversation over the phone. Some issues need to be addressed before they can head down the road to patching things up.

word count: 6k

tags: year 3, post-comic 3.12, phone calls, friendship, canon compliant, apologies, introspection

notes: based on the prompt ‘providence + family’ by @atlasthemayor.

read on ao3

Jack’s stomach churns strangely when he sees Shitty’s name flash on his caller ID.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, a slight jolt and twinge in his gut, both reminiscent of when anxiety coils low inside him and distinctive in some way. It makes Jack frown and set his heated dinner aside on the coffee table with the hand not holding the buzzing phone. He’s not sure he ever had this foreign reaction to Shitty calling him before, so after a brief moment of puzzlement he decides to write it off as a side effect of the exhaustion weighing him down.

The phone vibrates once more in his palm before Jack slides his thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, man,” he greets, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can pick his food up again. Shitty won’t mind the sound of his chewing, probably. “Staying up late to study?”

It’s coming up to half past eleven on Saturday night. Jack dragged himself through the front door and into the dark apartment at around ten forty-five, his muscles sore and his body beat from over twenty minutes of ice time. He dumped his gear bag in the entryway next to his shoes and headed straight into the kitchen without flicking any of the lights on, shoved one of his frozen meal plan boxes of grilled chicken and brown rice into the microwave without pausing.

The yellow glow of the microwave was the sole source of light in the room as Jack strapped an ice pack to his shoulder, still aching from Ericsson’s high-stick, stuck Bitty’s handwritten PB&J note on the fridge, and waited. The only thing he really wanted to do was fall face-first into his bed, text Bitty that he was home, maybe break down the game over the phone if Bitty wasn’t too busy -- but his regimen had taken precedence. He knew he needed to put in some calories and take care of his pain if he wanted to get up for his six a.m. run. By the time his phone started ringing, Jack was mechanically chewing on his food in the living room. His couch was more comfortable than a dining chair, plush upholstery engulfing his tired limbs, and it only distantly occurred to him that there was something sad about eating dinner alone in the dark.

Shitty’s call, when it came, was unexpected.

“Hate to tell you this, but eleven thirty is not late," Shitty replies, the familiar timbre of his voice tinny due to cell reception. It's an effect Jack is closely acquainted with after months of daily phone calls with Bitty, so he knows that's not all there is to it when he notices something else amiss about Shitty’s voice; like the rhythm of his speech is slightly off. He registers it as abnormal, but before he can figure out if he wants to ask about it Shitty carries on talking. “How’s everything going for ya?”

“Okay,” Jack answers plainly, piling rice onto his fork. He doesn't have the energy to think of anything more gripping than the truth. “Eating post-game dinner.”

Shitty pauses on the other side of the line, makes the creases in Jack’s forehead deepen. Something feels weird, but Jack doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it if nothing is really wrong. Sometimes people act in ways that confuse him for any number of reasons, and he’s not always good at telling them apart.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” Shitty says, clearing his throat quietly. “The Red Wings. Great game, brah. Your shoulder doin’ okay?”

Jack’s mouth slows down his chewing on instinct, and he swallows the rice with difficulty. Shitty never just tells Jack great game. Shitty talks about hockey like he’s the narrator in a porn film, with an enthusiasm unmatched by anyone Jack has ever met. Shitty once sang Jack’s praises for half an hour after a game against UND in which Samwell lost 2-0. That, combined with his tone -- something isn’t quite right, Jack thinks. He's more confident in that observation now, but his brain feels slower than usual and he’s too tired to connect any dots.

“Euh, yeah. I’ll be alright. Really have to shake it off and make sure I’m all there on Monday night, eh? We’ve had a good streak, but it’s always about how we play the next game. We’re getting better as a group.”

Jack’s tongue slips into hockey speak naturally before he can do anything to stop it, but instead of chirp him, Shitty makes a vague, throaty noise and doesn’t comment. “Yeah, I get what you mean. You and Mashkov really seem to hit it off out there, heh. Uh, listen -- I know you had to drive back for your practice, but. We didn’t really get the chance to talk much yesterday, and I guess…” Shitty pauses again, and Jack lowers the box to rest against his knee, apprehensive. “Well. D’ya have a moment? Because I’d really fuckin’ like to apologize for some shit.”

Jack’s hand clenches convulsively around his fork, a piece of chicken breast sliding off the tines and falling back into the box with a dull noise.

The early morning and then noon hours of Friday were an emotional blur. From the anxiety spike when Jack stepped off the plane to the car ride on the flooded highway; from the sleep-deprived, tearful conversation in Bitty's narrow bed to the cathartic brunch at Jerry’s with their friends. Jack drove straight home after his nap and stepped out of the car back in Providence to find his phone overflowing with chirping text messages. The chirps haven’t really died down over the weekend, but Jack doesn’t mind them, and he doesn’t think Bitty does either; it feels good to have a subject that’s been burdening them both treated lightheartedly. Trusting their friends with this secret isn't as heavy on Jack's shoulder as he feared it might be.

Shitty is the only one who hasn’t written much in the group chat. He and Jack talked briefly on the lawn outside the Haus after the six of them had returned from brunch, and then they resorted to roughhousing when the mood got too somber. Jack hoped that it’d be enough to put everything behind them, but if he pushes himself to think it through, a part of him has known that this conversation was coming. It wasn’t like Shitty to let things go so easily.

Jack's glad that Shitty can't see his face right now, because he can feel himself grimacing. He hopes his brief silence hasn’t been too revealing. “Shits -- it’s cool, yeah? We’re cool.”

“I don’t think we are, actually,” Shitty argues. His voice is growing strained. “You don’t have to talk, even --”

“C’mon, man, there’s really not much to say. Everything is good now --”

“Jack,” Shitty cuts him off, and the tone of his voice shuts Jack right up. Shitty can get wrapped up in things, can lose himself in long tirades about rights and wrongs and justice, but this tone sounds different than it has through the hundreds of rants Jack has been witness to. Shitty sounds dead serious. Jack blinks, and realizes: this isn’t Shitty being his normal self. He’s genuinely torn up about this. “Just -- will ya let me…? Please.”

“I…” Jack starts, but he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. He’s never been skilled at these kinds of conversations, and the odd feeling he got when he saw Shitty’s name on his screen squeezes even tighter than before, making him feel slightly nauseated.

“It’s -- I --. Jack, what I said in front of everyone during the home opening kegster… and all the other times I... That was some fucked up shit. I fucked up real bad, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jack tries again, but this time the words feel so wrong in his mouth that he has difficulty shaping his tongue around them. It tastes like an outright lie, although he wasn’t aware he was even lying at all.

Jack hadn’t recognized the churning in his gut until now, but Shitty’s steadfast apology intensifies the feeling and dredges up what Jack has clearly failed to notice. He wants to tell Shitty that there’s no need to apologize, but apparently that’s just not true; it’s only now that he realizes the sharp response he had to Shitty’s call is bitterness. Jack’s feelings actually were hurt by Shitty. Maybe he should be startled by discovering wounded feelings he wasn’t cognizant of for over a month, but if this past summer has taught Jack anything, it’s that sometimes he manages to overlook the most substantial of things.

“-- and it’s not enough to be chill about it now,” Jack blinks out of his thoughts and tunes back into Shitty’s distressed train of words, coming chopped and fast through the ear speaker. “I should’ve -- before, too, I should’ve created a safe enough fuckin’ environment --”

“You were always talking to us about creating safe environments, Shitty,” Jack interrupts him. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears, and he puts his fork in the box and the box back on the coffee table to free his hands. He’s still making sense of his own mental state, and he knows that whatever is going to come stumbling out of his mouth will be barely coherent at best. “It’s not -- it was just that -- you’re always saying it’s important, and then, câlice… It was hard enough, hiding, and then with you as well --.”

Everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty. Jack remembers how in sophomore year Shitty marched into the Haus, ecstatic about the five different people who had come out to him that same week, babbling about how great it was and how different Samwell was to Andover. He mentioned sexuality labels Jack had never even heard of, had accepted so effortlessly those borderline strangers who had trusted him with their identities. Shitty has always been the most open-minded person Jack knows, the one to talk endlessly about the inherent toxicity of heteronormativity and to lecture the team about never labeling others without their consent.

Jack’s not always good at pinpointing the root of his own feelings, but the moment he thinks of that thrilled look on Shitty’s face almost three years before, he knows, like a lightbulb going off, why he was hurt. Because it seemed like everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty -- except Jack. Like Jack wasn’t queer enough to warrant the same respectful treatment. Like he wasn’t really allowed to be queer at all. Jack had never felt particularly close to his sexuality, but when even Shitty assumed so assuredly that he couldn’t be anything but straight, it stung. He just hasn’t registered it until now.

There’s a split second of tense silence, and then Shitty says, “I didn’t even know you were having a hard time, brah,” the pace of his speech slowed down.

Jack’s eyebrows draw together. His right hand, absentmindedly, pinches the fabric of his suit pants and rubs the smooth texture between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t -- what does that mean? It’s not like you asked.”

Shitty’s breath comes out in a harsh exhale, crackles in Jack’s ears. Jack can hear springs squeaking and sheets ruffling, the sounds of Shitty dropping heavily onto his bed. “Brah. How was I supposed to ask? You never pick up the damn phone anymore. Shit, man, I know fuck all about your life lately."

The fabric of Jack’s pants stretches in the tight grip of his fingers as he blinks, takes in Shitty’s accusation, and realizes he’s right all in the space of two and a half seconds. He can recall a few missed calls that he never got around to returning, but it didn’t seem so important at the time. He was, and still is, in the midst of his first NHL season, trying so hard not to get so lost in hockey and his own worries that he drowns in it and forgets to be a good boyfriend to Bitty.

It never occurred to him that he was investing so much effort into being a good boyfriend to Bitty that he wound up forgetting to be a good friend to everyone else. He knew Shitty and he weren’t talking as often, that things between them haven’t been great lately, but the truth is he had so many other things to worry about that he let it drift to the margins of his mind.

Jack lets go of his pants, rubs his palm down his thigh to smooth the creases away. His momentary bout of anger deserts him with the release of a slow, purposeful exhale. "You’re right. I’m sorry."

"No, no, shit,” Shitty says immediately, switching back from resigned to guilt-ridden in the matter of nanoseconds. “Don’t -- damn it, don’t apologize, oh shit, I’m victim blaming aren’t I, I totally didn’t mean to put this on you --"

"Shitty --"

There’s the sound of bed springs creaking again and then loud footsteps hitting a floor, which Jack assumes are the background sounds of Shitty rushing up from his bed to pace the length of his room. He’s seen Shitty do it across his small room in the Haus countless times, and it feels strange now, having it happen forty miles away. "It’s just, you know, I tried and you didn’t pick up and I get it, fuck do I get it, remember how in freshman year you forgot to talk to anyone for like a week during the preseason stress?"

Jack cracks a tiny, shaky smile that he knows won’t make it into his voice. His first few months at Samwell were a horrible time, fraught with loneliness and frequent panic attacks, too absorbed in thoughts of the path he was supposed to take to function in the path he ended up taking. His therapist helped with that, later, but before that there was Shitty. Determined to be Jack’s friend for no good reason at all. "Yeah. And you broke into my dorm room to make sure I wasn’t dead."

"So it wasn’t like I was offended you didn’t pick up or some bull,” Shitty hurries to finish, “I know you, I get it --"

But that’s wrong, Jack thinks, frowning deeply. Surely, Shitty must know that. "Shitty."

"What? No, seriously. It’s not the first time it happened, and with the pressure of playing in the league and all, I totally get it -- it’s just --"

"You’re allowed to be offended, Shits." Jack says quietly. His hand reaches up to curl around the phone and tug it away from the crook of his shoulder, but his muscles remain tense even when his shoulder drops down. His other hand is still fisted on top of his thigh and the purple shadows cast by the faint stars outside the windows heighten the grooves of his veins. "I know I -- I know it can get difficult -- with me --"

"No," Shitty interrupts, sounding even more emotional than before, a penitent snowball that keeps on rolling down the hill. Shitty’s capable of rolling on forever, if he thinks something is truly wrong. "No no no, Jack, I didn’t mean --"

"Shut up, Shitty." Jack says firmly. He preserves, reminding himself forcefully that the sentiment he wants to establish is too important to be derailed by Shitty’s atonement. His hands have begun to shake slightly, but he needs to get it out. "I know I’m worthy of love and friendship and all the crap you were about to say. I’m just saying --. You’re allowed to be hurt even if it isn’t new behavior. Just because I -- my anxiety -- y’know. If it hurts you, you’re allowed to be hurt."

The other side of the line goes quiet for a long moment, not even the sound of breathing coming through. Jack closes his eyes, counts to ten, tells himself that it’s Shitty and that the two of them are going to figure it out. Fighting with Shitty has always been mentally hard on Jack, has always felt like shaking the only foundation Jack had to stand on. It didn’t happen often, but Jack tries to remind himself that whenever it did they always came out intact on the other side. Arguing was a healthy way to understand your needs and the needs of the other person, his therapist told him.

When Shitty speaks, he sounds awed. "Christ on a cracker, man. That was fuckin’ wise. That Bits’ influence on you?"

Jack pauses to consider it seriously, taking time to recompose his brain. Being with Bitty -- it has taught him so much, about his own feelings and others' and how to put them into words, the importance of open communication. He told Shitty that the previous day after Jerry's -- feelings could easily not occur to him, even if he felt them very strongly. He coexisted with them without acknowledging their existence a lot of the time, and this phone call is only one example of it. Being with Bitty, having to be aware and give name and give value to his own feelings to make things work between them, has changed the way he interacted with his emotions. Made him understand himself better. He’s not at all sure he would’ve been capable of articulating himself in a conversation like this if not for the progress Bitty and he have made together.

But being aware of his worth as a person, and learning that his disorder didn’t define him but shouldn’t be brushed aside either, that wasn’t Bitty. “No, Shits. That’s your influence on me.”

This silence is even longer than the one before it, and then it’s broken by muffled sniffles on the other side. Jack's heart leaps, panic building in his chest -- but then Shitty says, throat choked up, “I thought -- fuck, Jack, this is gonna sound so motherfucking stupid. But I thought you didn’t, y’know. Need me anymore. I know this is on me too, I’m barely keeping my head above water here and the whole -- fuckin’ Harvard situation, it’s not… but each day we didn't talk and I saw your game scores, or I would see those Falcs vids… it looks like you have this spankin’ fuckin’ brand new life that I know shit about. And you’ve got Mashkov, and St. Martin, and…”

Jack can’t find adequate words for a long moment, and once he opens his mouth he’s surprised to hear his voice is thick, surprised to feel hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Shitty. Tater is great. And Marty is great, and -- Thirdy, and all of them. But.”

None of them are you, he wants to say, but that sounds too dumb to utter out loud. That’s not how Shitty and he talk to each other, or at least, it’s not how Jack talks to Shitty. Shitty is good at phrasing his feelings in ways Jack can handle, but Jack can’t ever make the right words come out of his mouth.

There’s another pause, his mind blanking, and then he says, “Tater didn’t make me sign a friendship contract.”

Shitty snorts, but it isn’t a happy sound. “Jacko --”

“No. Shits --. Tater didn’t make the effort to be my friend even when I was doing everything I could to push him away. He didn’t drag my ass to the Haus my freshman year after I hadn't talked to anyone but faculty in two weeks. He didn’t argue with Bergey until we were banked together on every roadie and was heartbroken when no one spread rumors about us hooking up.”

That shot goes wide. “Oh fuckity fuck, Jack, I’m a fucking dickhead --”

“Bordel de merde, Shitty, will you fucking listen?” Jack rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose, feels his skin crease between his brows. “Tater didn’t make me go to Gender in Warfare in Early 20th Century America because he knew it’d end up one of my favorite classes, or learnt my story about the fire extinguisher and the football team by heart, or -- or have been defending me behind my back since the first week he knew me. Tater’s great. I’m -- you know, uh, thankful, for having people on the Falcs. I didn’t think it could be -- after the guys at Samwell, no team would ever be the same.”

“Yeah,” Shitty says, sadly, in the tone of someone who knows exactly what Jack means.

Jack’s throat bobs when he swallows, chest aching. “And they’re great. But Tater -- or Marty, or any of them -- they’re not...”

None of them are you, Jack wants Shitty to hear, gripping his pants in his hand again to balance himself. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that would make Shitty hear him. None of them could ever be you.

There’s once again silence between them, only interrupted by Shitty’s quiet sniffles and the erratic beating of Jack’s heart. His phone is too warm on his ear, clammy from sweat smearing over the screen, but he can’t bring himself to put Shitty on speaker. It feels like they’re too far apart to have this conversation already, like Shitty should be sitting here on the couch next to Jack in flimsy underwear like he was every time they needed to talk like this over the past four years.

After a long moment, Shitty makes an ambiguous rasping noise and admits, “I was jealous.”

Jack winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Yeah, I mean, apology accepted, whatever, just. I was jealous they got to be there for you every day, really be there in the moments I used to live through with you that I now know zilch about. I was used to that being me.” He then adds, much more grimly, “Except apparently I sucked ass at being there for you at all when it counted.”

Jack sighs. They veered off topic to talk about something Jack considers more important, but now they were back to that and he knows in the pit of his stomach that they, both of them, won’t be able to move on until they talk this through. This is a conversation they need to have, even if it would be easier for Jack to not have it at all. “Shitty. I need to tell you something.”

The thing about Shitty is that he has faults like the rest of them, but Jack has always known that he’d drop anything if Jack needed him. He knows because it goes unconditionally both ways. Shitty’s voice goes immediately even and he wastes no time before saying, “I'm listening.”

Jack swallows. It feels -- heavy, on his breastbones. It didn’t before, it didn’t at Jerry's. He doesn’t remember this weight from years ago, when he first talked about it with his parents, and then -- later, too much later -- with his therapist. His chest was so laden with other concerns then that there was no room for anything more, and this burden was only ever an afterthought. At Jerry's he was thinking of Bitty, of Bitty’s happiness and Jack's own happiness with him, and the necessity of the action for their joint happiness. It didn’t leave any space for this weight.

Now he can feel the weight. It’s stupid. Shitty already knows, and besides, it’s Shitty. Jack knows Shitty so well that he can practically predict the exact words he will use, and even if he couldn’t, he knows Shitty would never turn him away. Yet his chest feels tight, like he’s holding in all of his air, and his fingers are again shaking against his thigh. “Shitty, I'm dating Bittle.”

Shitty makes a baffled sound, clearly not expecting this choice of confession. “I -- yeah, dude, I know.”

“I’m dating Bittle,” Jack reiterates determinedly, eager to get it over with. “He’s a guy.”

Shitty goes quiet for a moment, and then he says, voice low, “Okay.”

Jack wasn’t sure he was going to say it, but now that they’re here, this is something he wants Shitty to know. “He’s not the first guy I’ve been with.”

Shitty’s sharp intake of breath at this is audible even over the phone, but other than that he doesn’t react outwardly. Jack's shaking hand lifts up to rub over his chest while he waits for Shitty to say something, and Shitty doesn’t keep him waiting long. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

That’s almost exactly the reaction Jack expected to hear, but for some reason he doesn’t feel settled. “It never came up before.”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Shitty reassures him. Jack’s not sure what Shitty is thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all. This probably isn’t as big a deal to him as it feels like to Jack.

Jack frowns down at the shadows of his socked feet in the dark, thinks it over, and then corrects, “No, actually -- no. It never came up with anyone else. But I did think of telling you. More than once. You were the only one… but I had reasons not to. Or, I thought I did.”

“That’s still cool, brah,” Shitty hurries to interrupt. “You don’t have to --”

“No, because,” Jack sighs, trails off midsentence. He doesn’t want Shitty to make this easy for him, to allow Jack to take the exit he’s being offered. He knows they could stop the discussion right there and Shitty would never say a thing, but he doesn’t want this to hang over their friendship for the rest of time, and he knows that it could if he doesn’t force himself to dig deeper. “Because when you assumed that if I had someone it must’ve been a girlfriend, it hurt. I didn’t realize before -- I thought I was upset because Bitty was hurt, and I hurt him even more with my reaction, and it mattered more at the time. But it hurt. And that’s not entirely fair to you, because you had no reason to think otherwise. Because I didn’t tell you.”

There’s more rustling in the background, and Shitty talks over him before the last word is out of his mouth. “Jack, no, you’re under no obligation to disclose your identity to anyone and it doesn’t give them any right to assume -- I assumed and it was so fucking wrong --”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, because it was. He’s not trying to argue that it wasn’t. Shitty was wrong, but that’s not the point Jack is trying to make.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Shitty sounds contrite, and Jack can almost imagine the look on his face now. The small wrinkle in his forehead, the downward slope of his mustache, the sharp angle of his jaw. Shitty always looks older when he feels guilty about something. “So fuckin’ sorry.”

“That’s okay, man. Eh. Well, it's not, but it's forgiven.” And it is, Jack knows. He’s already forgiven Shitty, would have to try so hard not to forgive Shitty. They’ve hurt each other in the past and they’ll most likely hurt each other again in the future, but it’s never done intentionally. Shitty’s friendship is worth all of this crap and always has.

“I guess I just... “ Shitty lowers his voice, and Jack has to press the phone harder into his ear to hear him. “Fuck, I don’t want to excuse my actions, this does not in any way justify the shit I said. But I guess, in my mind, even though I know you should never assume about anyone, I did think that because it’s you… that you’d tell me. If there was ever anything to tell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says this time. He’s not sure Shitty knows this, but this is what he was trying to get to before. What Shitty is saying is reasonable even if it isn’t ideal.

“Fuck no. What the fucking fuck are you apologizing for, you idiot --”

“I’m not apologizing for not telling you, Shits,” Jack stops him before it becomes another rant. He’s growing tired of using so many words at once, feeling the toll of the unexpected emotional turmoil he’s dragging his overworked body through. “I know what you said was wrong, and I know I didn’t have to tell you. I’m saying I’m sorry if you were hurt by it. And I'm apologizing if it made you feel like I didn't trust you, or. Or some shit.”

Another pause follows Jack’s words, and he has to stifle the urge to collapse sideways into the couch and shove his face into a cushion until everything goes away. This conversation, as necessary as it is, doesn’t come naturally to either of them. They’ve been talking about their feelings for too long now and it’s starting to get awkward and overwhelming.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t super touched by your previous comment,” Shitty says, suddenly. “Because stereotypical masculinity is complete bullshit and I’m not ashamed to admit I teared the fuck up. But Jack -- Bitty has done some serious work on you. Or, like, you know, healthy relationships and all, you two worked on yourselves with each other to be better and all that, but. Man, I don’t think that’s a distinction you would’ve made six months ago.”

Jack considers it. The idea of someone’s hurt being valid even if the reason for it didn’t make sense probably isn’t a concept he would’ve been able to grasp, or at least would not have paid much thought to. Looking back, he was probably hurt dozens of times by little comments in the Haus, or things he heard around campus, or moments of feeling left out by his team; but when the reason for his hurt wasn’t completely logical it was harder for him to allow himself that pain. He would usually distract himself from it, instead. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“But can I just say again -- I'm so fucking sorry for being a heteronormative jackass. I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for hurting Bits, I’m sorry for --”

Esti de câlice de tabarnak. Jack drops his face into his palm and sighs over the string of Shitty’s rapidly escalating apologies. Jack is fully aware that Shitty is just going to apologize until they’re both old and gray if Jack doesn’t stop him. “Shitty, can you knock it?”

Shitty hesitates, but the flood of his words stops. “I miss you,” is what he says eventually.

Jack drops his hand down, leans his weight on his elbows and blinks at the dark room. Shitty used to tell him that all of the time. When they were apart on school breaks; when they were separated on roadies; when Jack had two lectures and a senior workshop on Wednesday nights and Shitty wouldn’t see him for several consecutive hours. Shitty’s affection was always abundant and inescapable, and Jack didn't know it was something he was lacking until he finally hears it. “I miss you, too, man.”

Shitty lets the gravity of it, the seriousness in Jack's voice settle between them, the earnestness he wouldn’t usually hand over easily when they were back at school. And then he says, “It’s hard as fuck, man. It’s hard to admit that it’s hard, too. It’s hard to see Lards’ pics from kegsters I can’t attend anymore, and it’s hard to find friends in this pretentious shithole full of pretensions dicks, and -- Harvard is fucking hard, Jack. And I hate being away from you guys, but I don’t wanna bring you down with my sad. You assholes are my goddamn family, there’s nothing that’s ever gonna replace that. It sucks knowing that I'm stuck here. I miss you so much it drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Jack knows, instantly and wholeheartedly, what Shitty is talking about. He’s living his dream and he loves the Falcs and he’s sincerely grateful for all of it even on his worst days. But sometimes stepping off the ice after a grueling practice and getting pictures of Bitty, laughing with Holster and Ransom on the ice at Faber -- it aches somewhere deep inside him. Sometimes he lies awake in foreign hotel rooms in foreign cities, and while most nights he longs for nothing more than Bitty’s presence, others he closes his eyes and wishes Shitty was there to crawl into his bed again. Sometimes he puts on his jersey before games and imagines the blue and yellow are red and white. His team from Samwell is his family, too, and sometimes missing them feels like missing an amputated limb.

“I wish we got to see each other more,” Jack squeezes out. His windpipe feels strangled, and for a moment he thinks that if he blinks too hard tears might well up again. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s so tired his body is shutting down, or because he’s been holding on to more emotions than he previously thought. “I didn’t know --. I feel the same way, Shitty, but I didn’t know you felt like that. I’m sorry we didn’t really talk much lately.”

It wasn’t something Jack was consciously aware of, but he more or less assumed that if Shitty was ever struggling he would just reach out for help. Shitty was always the better one of the two of them at communicating his feelings, at saying when he needed something or was going through a rough time. It never occurred to Jack to reach out and ask because he always figured that Shitty would come to him first. It's a startling realization. He really isn’t as good a friend as Shitty deserves.

“‘S not your fault,” Shitty objects, even though in some ways it really is. But Shitty means it, Jack knows, despite the lingering hints of anxiety. Shitty wouldn’t say it if he didn’t honestly believe it wasn’t Jack’s fault.

“Maybe, but you should make time for the things that matter to you, right? I’ll try to be better about that. I wanna be there for you, too.”

Shitty sighs, and the tails of it turn into a breathy, weary laugh. “Fuck, Jacko, this is a fuckin’ sobfest. Shit, man. Yeah. I’ll try, too. We could Skype, even. You know I miss that mug of yours.”

Jack finally pulls the phone away from his ear, wipes the sweat tracks away and switches the call to speakerphone. His calendar app is full of cute little reminders Bitty leaves anonymously, like 06:30 work hard and have fun! or 11:11 someone is thinking of you. He’s developed a habit of checking his calendar often these past six months, counting down the days until he gets to see Bitty next. He’s sure it won’t be easy, especially with the progression of the Falconers’ season, but from now on he’ll have to make every effort to fit more people into his schedule. Bitty makes him happy, but he’s not the only one who does.

Jack scrolls through the events logged into his upcoming week. He’s got a game on Monday and one at home on Wednesday, and then Thursday is American Thanksgiving. Bitty is throwing together a whole meal for the Samwell team. He told Jack that he’s under no obligation to come if practice time doesn’t allow it, but... “Are you going to Hausgiving on Thursday?”

Shitty curses loudly. “Fuck, I fuckin’ wish, but I don’t know if that’s smart. I’ve got this fuckin’ test coming up. But I promised Lar-- uh --”

Jack smirks, even if it’s only to himself in an empty apartment. Lardo texted him after Jerry’s to let him know that the two of them will exchange deets privately like civilized bros, but Shitty still seems to be under the illusion that he’s fooling someone. Like his heart-eyes haven’t been obvious from space -- and Jack is painfully aware that if he noticed, that really says something. “Lardo, eh? Not getting out of that one.”

He can almost see Shitty’s answering furious blush from all those miles away. “Fuck you, Zimmermann, don’t make this about me. What I was sayin’ is, I wanna be there super freakin’ bad -- we all know I will gladly sell my right leg for Bitty’s cooking --”

“And for Lardo’s company,” Jack chirps, incredibly satisfied with this turn of conversation.

“I will fuck you right up, don’t you think I won’t!” Shitty threatens emptily, even though Jack takes him down every single time. “Seriously. Your bro becomes a pro athlete and suddenly he thinks he’s a goddamn comedian. Anyway. For Bitty’s cooking, I will make an effort. You got team stuff?”

“No,” Jack says with finality, swiping his calendar closed. He always feels better when things are put into action. “I think I’m going.”

“For Bitty?” Shitty asks, most likely trying to chirp Jack back.

“Well. Yes,” Jack says, perfectly honest. He’s not in any way ashamed of how much he wants to be near Bitty all of the time. He doesn’t think he can remember ever being less ashamed of anything in his life. “But also for you. Think you can meet me there?”

Shitty’s quiet. And then he says, “For my best friend? I’ll meet you halfway across the universe, Jackabelle.”

After the two of them hang up the call, Jack doesn’t move, his eyes fixed blindly in the direction of the windows across the room. His food is growing cold on the coffee table, but Jack thinks that at this point he might genuinely be too tired to eat. Whatever little energy he had left after the game was spent on this conversation with Shitty. He doesn’t regret it; they needed to say all of those things. Jack needed to hear all of those things, both so he could forgive Shitty for something he didn’t know he was holding onto, and so he could work on being a more considerate friend.

The game plan is solid, though, Jack decides. Thanksgiving dinner at the Haus will bring the opportunity to be completely honest with his friends after months of hiding a big aspect of his life from them. And it’d be fun, too. Ransom would put together actual charts for the seating arrangement, and Holster would draw everyone into a betting pool on the football game results, and Bitty would inevitably prepare insane amounts of food using the frogs as his sous chefs. He would probably insist that they’d hold hands around the table and say one thing each of them wants to give thanks for, as well.

Jack doesn’t mind American Thanksgiving, but he’s never really seen the point of that ritual. He’s known for a long time now what he's truly grateful for.

#omgcp #jackshitty #jackshitty fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #i decided not to wait for friendship day because i'm not sure i'll be around to post then #but i hope you'll enjoy this anyway?#i wanted to write something about their friendship in early y3 in forever

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ilikekidsshows · 4 years ago

Note

Could you talk more about Adrien and Lila being foils?

Okey dokey.

So, I haven't seen the original dark mirror meta about these two, so I might end up treading some of the same ground, but hopefully I'll be able to bring some manner of new material to the table.

Lila and Adrien are constructs of similarity and opposition. I talked before about how similar they both are in their social goals and methods for reaching them. Adrien and Lila are both "beautiful people", not only attractive in looks, but compelling, interesting and charismatic in persona. They're the two characters most likely to be seen surrounded by others.

However, the people who surround them aren't really their friends-friends, and only get to see the parts of them that they deem socially acceptable. Lila constructs fanciful tales about her wild adventures and talks about how she's oh-so-helpful without ever actually helping anyone in any way. Meanwhile Adrien is the picture perfect gentleman, soft-spoken and kind, always willing to give someone his time. They both want to be liked, but Lila wants to be the center of attention while Adrien wants to fit in. Adrien also does genuinely do nice things for others even if not always for selfless reasons, while Lila never helps anyone out in the show ever. In fact, when she was trying to win Adrien over in ‘Volpina’, she stole and dumped the Grimoire. Lila actively harms people.

Their behavior also leads to them forming parasocial relationships. Adrien gets hounded by crazed fans when he wants to do nothing more than see the rare movie his mother starred in, because they're under the impression he's everyone's friend so of course they're entitled to his time and attention at any given moment. Everyone believes Lila's stories without a speck of scepticism even as they get increasingly wild, because they have the impression Lila is such a nice, helpful girl, she could never be a liar. Lila is very much like an online influencer, who also often exaggerate or even lie about their money or social situation to appear more interesting on camera but their audience never even thinks to question it because they have this cool online "friend" who always has such interestesting stories to tell.

The most important difference between these characters, as it is the reason they come into conflict, is in their relationships with Marinette and Ladybug. While the two would eventually come into conflict over Lila being a wannabe supervillain while Adrien is a superhero, the reason they have come into conflict in the show so far is over Marinette. Adrien adores Marinette, while Lila despises her. Adrien is the one who voiced exactly how much Marinette means to their entire class in the season two finale, while Lila makes it her mission to tear Marinette and her position down in 'Chameleon'. Similarly, Ladybug is the love of Adrien's life, while she's also the single person Lila hates more than Marinette.

This show does a lot of good vs bad contrasts, and Adrien and Lila are no exception with Adrien being a chosen protector or Paris while Lila is an aspiring supervillain. However, they are similar in this too. The similarity comes in how willing they are to take on these roles. Cat Noir is a lot more hyped about being a superhero than Ladybug, from the very beginning in 'Origins', and Lila is also a more willing villain than Hawk Moth. Gabriel became a villain to get his wife back, Lila wants to become one to get back at Ladybug.

Adrien also puts other people ahead of himself at all times even outside of his role as a superhero. This is because of his abuse background, so he's basically been trained to be selfless to a fault. He has to really want something and/or have Plagg egging him on to act selfishly. This trait is what gets him chosen as a hero, since Fu sees him put helping a random stranger over his own happiness (getting to go to school). Meanwhile, Lila's first priority is herself and she thinks kindness doesn't exists, labeling kind people as either "gullible" or "stupid" in 'Chameleon'.

Also, their rooms. Adrien's is wide and most often shown fully bright or with a half-bright-half-shadows dichotomy, while Lila's is almost claustrophobic in how it’s always shown in darkness, despite being a pretty regular size. There’s also other symbolism in how light is used to depict their rooms. Lila’s room has a single window with the blinds down but not closed: she’s shutting people out but always observing them for weaknesses. Meanwhile Adrien’s large windows create shadows that make the room resemble a prison, which it has the potential to turn into, so the threat of being locked up against his will constantly looms over Adrien like a shadow.

However, there are still similarities. Adrien and Lila are both collectors. Adrien's collection is one of video games while Lila has a collection of masks. These collections showcase important aspects of their characters: Adrien values having a good time and Lila values always keeping her true self hidden. Adrien just wants to have fun with other people and loves having other people in his room to play with ('Party Crasher' and 'Félix' showcase this). Lila places value on the different masks she wears themselves. Does she even remember why she wears them anymore?

This one is going fully into wild theories territory, but Lila's bracelet looks like a friendship bracelet. I've made a bunch of these at various camps as a kid by weaving different colored strings together. They're commonly traded between friends.

Did Lila have a friend and the bracelet is either a token from one of her more memorable victims, or was this hypothetical friend the one using Lila and served as Lila’s Cynicism Catalyst?

I'll also briefly cover why exactly the story would want to use these characters as foils. That's because, ultimately, Lila is Adrien's opponent.

An important aspect of Lila and Adrien's relationship is the power games they play with each other. Each step of the way, they have been trying to figure each other out, and every time Lila is a step behind Adrien. Adrien figured out Lila was a liar way back in 'Volpina', but Lila didn't figure out that Adrien was onto her before 'Chameleon', when Adrien also started to realize the potential danger that Lila poses, which was further enforced by what he saw in 'Oni-Chan'. Then, Adrien realizes she's an actual threat to Marinette specifically in 'Ladybug', while Lila realizes that Adrien is completely capable of playing the same games she does.

Lila lets her guard down much more easily than Adrien, we see this in how she repeatedly lets her mask slip to show just how nasty she really is for Marinette and Adrien in 'Chameleon', while Adrien has never slipped with anyone to show just how damaged he is (the number one thing he is hiding). Everything he's told others is pretty innocuous stuff (e.g. "my only friend was Chloé"). Because Lila is more sloppy, she also allows herself to be smug with Marinette, thinking she has the real Adrien figured out already. However, she doesn't realize that she still hasn't figured Adrien out completely. Adrien might be wily, but he's also kind, and Lila messed with the people he wants to protect.

As we've seen from their interactions so far, ever since Adrien knew what she was like, he's been a step ahead of her. He's the one who sabotaged her original plan to get rid of Marinette (which was just waiting for Marinette to attack her publically and turn everyone against her) and he also stepped in to make her give up her second plan (framing Marinette for misdemeanours). So, while they're now focused on each other, Marinette is still right in the middle of the battle. The fight is between Lila and Adrien, but it’s about Marinette, so Marinette is still technically the main consideration in this sub plot, so it doesn’t sideline our main character entirely.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #lila rossi #adrien agreste #ml meta #ml theory #long post

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emmys-main · 4 years ago

Text

Intro (Part 1 of Love Me Good)

Summary: When you mention that you’ve never been satisfied by a man in bed, your older friend Chris makes you an offer you can’t refuse. Part II: Closer

Pairing: Chris Evans x female reader

Warnings: SMUT. Implied age gap, graphic oral sex (performed on a female). Do not interact if you are not 18+.

Title Inspiration: Intro by the XX

You didn’t know quite how the conversation of sexual satisfaction came up, but you weren’t mad that it was happening. Maybe it was because you were drunk off vodka and pink lemonade. Maybe it was because you were with a group of friends you trusted. Maybe it was because you were just having fun.

You were in a quiet suburb of Boston with a group of friends who were filming a movie there. You had been working for Chris’s mom’s theater for about three yeas after college, which was how you met Chris, and he’d introduced you to his friends, and then you’d taken a job on a TV show that Chris was filming back in Boston. It had been a wild couple of years, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Chris was, without a doubt, one of your best friends. Most of your friends in the area had scattered after college, allowing you to get closer to your employer’s son.

You’d been playing stupid games for most of the night after the Bruins game ended and you didn’t feel like going home quite yet; Chris was your ride, anyway, because he didn’t want you going back yourself so late. Somehow the game had turned to truth or dare, the real version of truth or dare - tell the truth or do whatever the other person says. Of course, in a room full of adults who were full of home-made chips and dip and alcohol, it turned dirty.

“I’m serious, answer it!” Your friend Janie said, nudging you with her elbow. “Come on, you have to! Or I’ll dare you to answer it!”

“Fine!” You sighed. You felt heat on your cheeks, starting to sweat a little more than you had been. “Never. I’ve never had an orgasm with a guy, okay?” Janie and another friend, Will, let their jaws drop before falling into a fit of laughter that you knew would happen. Even Chris, who was sitting there, laughed a little bit as he took another sip of his beer. He was probably the most sober of all of you - he was your ride, after all.

“What about Jay?” Will asked. “You dated him for two years in college.”

“I lied! He tried, and I almost got there, but I never did unless I was on my own,” you said, pulling your cardigan a little closer to you like it would guard your secret that was already out. “There’s your answer, okay? Now take the conversation away from me.” You took a sip from the pink-rimmed steel straw you were drinking out of, the lemonade and vodka mix stinging your lips like it had been all night.

“Chris, your turn! Same question or dare!” Janie turned her attention to Chris, who immediately looked like a deer in the headlights. The look on his face faded and suddenly he was chuckling, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“My record is five in one night. But I don’t remember the last time, so you’re not getting an answer to that.”

“Oh bullshit! There’s no way you don’t remember.” Chris shrugged, putting his hands in his sweatshirt. You secretly loved when Chris dressed like he was that night - in jeans and a sweatshirt and a Bruins hat, not concerned with anyone who might be taking pictures or spreading rumors about what he said. You knew he trusted you the first time he came over to watch a movie and told you some secrets from the set, not even worried about whether you would say something. He looked like any other guy, not Chris Evans. He looked like the guy who was easily your closest and most trusted friend.

“I don’t remember!” He insisted. “But at least I know it happened.” He looked over at you, winking, and you just rolled your eyes. Chris was a flirt. A hardcore flirt. And nothing ever came of it because you figured he just wasn’t into you. Tonight had been different, though, because as soon as the alcohol started flowing he was all touchy-feely and flirty and was just overall different. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice it.

You went a few more rounds of the game, ending up revealing that the craziest place you’d ever done it was in the communal showers sophomore year. Chris’s answer was an awards show green room, a much better answer, but he tried to play it off, saying it was too hot and he was worried about getting anything on his date’s dress, making excuses to play it down so it wouldn’t seem like anyone was missing out on anything.

You helped clean up before you walked across the street and climbed in Chris’s car. He turned the air conditioning vents toward you, making sure you were cool because you were sweating from all of the alcohol. He put on some 80′s music you didn’t quite recognize and started driving back toward your apartment. You grabbed a water bottle from the cupholder in the console, drinking a little bit of it before remembering it had been there since you got out of the car and that the water inside of it was hot.

“You can't be fucking serious about that,” Chris remarked when you were reflecting on the night. “You had to have had at least one. Maybe you didn’t notice it, but you had to!”

“I think I just put too much pressure on myself,” you admitted, “because I almost always get there but I never fully just...” You clenched your fists, looking for a good word, and let your voice trail off when you couldn’t find one in your vocabulary. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not satisfied with it. It’s fine. I’ve just kind of come to know I’m not going to and it’s whatever, you know? As long as I have fun otherwise.”

“Oh, that’s such bullshit. I’ll admit it’s not everything, but come on! It’s kind of the end goal there.” Chris stopped at a red light, looking over at you to make sure you were okay. You could see that his cheeks were returning to their normal color, even in the bright red light from the truck ahead of you’s brake. He was definitely sober. And this wasn’t a conversation you’d ever even think to have if you were sober, too.

“Yeah, but... I don’t know.”

“You’ve never been with a good guy, then,” Chris said after a second. He crossed his arms against his chest as he waited for the truck to go, then gently took his brake off and put his hands back on the wheel and the gear shift where he always rested his right fist.

“Then fucking tell me where they are because obviously I don’t know how to look for them, either.” Chris scoffed. “And, besides, I’m pretty enough to fuck and that’s all. No guy ever wants to stick around to learn how to make me feel good and it’s fucking annoying.”

“That’s just about the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. But maybe you need to look for a friends with benefits thing instead of anything else. At least at first. I hate hooking up with people because you don’t know them, you don’t know what they like or what they want to try or anything. You just know them for two hours and then they fuckin’ leave. But a friends with benefits, at least you know them and you can be idiots with each other.”

“Knowing me I’d probably catch feelings,” you scoffed, rubbing your hair a little when it hit a spot on your ear and started itching.

“Take me, for example,” he said. You sat up, giggling.

“What? You?”

“Exactly! You love me as a friend and nothing else. I wouldn’t even think twice about doin’ something because i know you and I care about you, but I also know that it wouldn’t be weird.”

“You think you and me wouldn’t be weird?”

“At first, maybe, but...” He looked over at you. “You’re hot and we can act like adults, is all I’m saying. That’s what I mean. You don’t want to get with someone you can’t act like an adult with. Literally and metaphorically.”

“Are you offering?” You asked after a second of silence, having been biting your tongue. The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. Damn being drunk, even a little bit. it just made the part of you always afraid to step on someone’s toes go away. Chris shrugged in response and took a turn, and you noticed that you were almost back to your apartment.

“Maybe,” he said. “Depends on if you’re accepting. I just can’t stand the fact that no one’s ever made you cum, it’s fucking ridiculous. And if you’re into it...” His voice faded out when he realized you were looking at him.

“Sure,” you said in response, trying to be nonchalant about it. Inside, your heart was starting to race. Secretly, you’d always wondered what was inside of the gray sweatpants he would wear to set every morning, what was underneath the sweatshirt he would wear when it was cold outside, how his hair would feel running through your fingers... but you’d always been against it, thinking it was just empty flirting. He was so much older than you, he could have any woman he wanted, and he was so damn out of your league. But maybe, if this was one way you could have him, you wanted to.

“Really?” He asked, looking over at you. You were at the stop sign right before your apartment. It was now or never.

“Really,” you responded. His lips teased at a smile in the light of the street lamps and he pressed on the gas pedal, riding the short distance to your apartment before pulling into the driveway. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled and turned off the car, then got out. You waited for him to cross over to you, looking in the darkness to make sure nothing was coming, before walking you up the stairs. You started sweating as you fiddled with your keys, trying to find the right one.

“You wanna just watch a movie or something? You know, we don’t have to get into anything,” he suggested. You found the key with blue duct tape on it, labeled with your apartment number, and nodded as you stuck it in the door.

“Sounds good.” You walked into the apartment and turned on the light, your head taking a minute to adjust to the light. “You know where the bedroom is, pick a movie. I’m going to use the bathroom.” He nodded and looked you up and down, smiling to himself, and the feeling of being checked out by him like a piece of meat sent shivers up and down your spine. The shivers stayed until you were in the bathroom, looking in the mirror, rolling up your cardigan in your hands. You weren’t wearing any makeup, but it didn’t really matter. You just made sure that you didn’t have any toilet paper or anything stuck down there, sighing, knowing you didn’t do that well when you'd shaved that morning. But Chris was your friend - if he wanted you, he wanted you. He wouldn’t care whether you had razor bumps or not.

You sighed, looking at yourself for a minute, and left the room. You walked into the bedroom to see Chris on the bed, shoes already off, hoodie off to reveal a white t-shirt, and his hat was on the nightstand. You sat down on the bed beside him, kicking your shoes off, and he turned on some movie that you knew you weren’t going to be able to watch. You looked at him in the dim lighting of the room before laying your head on his shoulder. He leaned back against the wall and the two of you sat like that for a few minutes, laughing at the TV when you realized he’d put on Forgetting Sarah Marshall, one of your favorites.

“This fucking movie,” you giggled. He laughed, too, but soon you were calm again. He must have been able to feel it because he pressed a kiss to your head. Did he want to start something now? You wondered. You looked up at him to see that he did, and before you could say anything or do anything his lips were on yours.

You’d always suspected he was a good kisser, but you didn’t know how right you were until that moment. He nearly tackled you right off the bat, swinging one of his legs over your torso until you were trapped underneath him. He gave you what felt like a million kisses before coming up for air.

“You like it rough?” He asked you in a low, husky voice. You were so close to him that you could see his pretty eyelashes up close for the first time. His pupils, those gorgeous eyes, were blown up with pure lust and a sick smile came over his face when you started nodding your head. He was the predator now, and you were the prey, and you didn’t even want to try to run away from it.

“I need to hear you, princess, do you like it rough?” He asked.

“Y-yes,” you said. It came out more like a whimper, your voice dry from the soul-sucking kiss he’d given you. As soon as you spoke a soft smile came over his face, replacing the almost grinch-like grin he’d had a moment ago.

“Good girl. We’re not gonna do the main event tonight, but I want to make you happy, is that okay?”

“Okay,” you whined. You could feel heat between your legs, soaking your underwear and your tight jeans. How could he make you like that with just a few words and a kiss? You were met with another searing kiss, Chris’s hand moving up to your throat. He rest his hand right above your collarbone, right where you were the most vulnerable. His fingers pressed into your skin, a hang-nail on his thumb scratching at it. You could barely think because of the way he was shoving your tongue down his throat, giving you no opportunity to breathe between the body on top of you and the warmth in your mouth. His tongue slid past your lips so easily, inviting you to go to war with his, and you took it. His kisses alone were like fire burning you from the inside out.

After what felt like minutes of just being there, kissing him with his hand on your throat, he pulled away. You wondered what he was going to do but he took his hands and put them down to your jeans, un-fastening the button. A limp, slightly greasy curl fell from behind his ear and with no hesitation, you tucked it back there. He gave you another sweet smile. His fingers fiddled with your button for a second before he started to pull the high-waisted jeans down. He chuckled when he saw that you were wearing underwear that matched your t-shirt. It was strange - you were always so afraid of your own body, looking down and seeing how close your stomach was to overlapping your toes, grabbing at your thighs wishing they would just disappear. But with Chris, you’d known him for so long and felt so comfortable with him that you didn’t even care he could see all of the stretch marks and the baby fat that had never left your stomach.

“If I’d known you were this god damn beautiful,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled your jeans over your ankles, discarding them to the floor. You sat up in a moment of bravery, pulling your t-shirt off to reveal your bra. Chris’s eyes had starts in them - you never once recalled feeling that way with anyone. You’d only ever been a bundle of nerves before. Now, that bundle was unraveling swiftly. Chris took the time to pull his own shirt off, allowing you to see every dip and curve in his skin. You couldn’t help but grin. God, he was amazing. Your hands went to his waist, breathless at how the man in front of you was actually real.

“You gonna let me take these off too?” He asked. “You wanna let me eat you out?”

“Yeah,” you responded. You felt a chill run up and down your spine and then to your hips as Chris’s thumbs hooked in your underwear and pulled them down, revealing you to the cold air of your room. Your legs came open without a command to, and when you did Chris’s eyes turned black again. You’d shaved that morning, not even thinking you’d get any that night, just because you liked to keep it shaved. So your pussy was as open as a flower, right in front of him, pink and perfect and glistening with wetness that you couldn’t control. It was freezing, making you want to close your legs, but you didn’t. You laid there, breathless, and watched as Chris laid down on the bed. He laid in between your legs on his stomach, just for a second, looking. You felt the heat on your cheeks, the aching in your bones for even just a little bit of his air against you.

The silence of the room was interrupted by Chris again, this time as he spat on your open pussy. It hit your bundle of nerves and you squirmed, earning hands on your hips once again. You jumped when you felt his cold fingers on them, rubbing your juices together. You’d never thought about how hot that was until then - fuck, you could’ve watched him do that all day.

“That feel good?” He asked in a dark voice.

“So good,” your lust-filled voice groaned back at him. You moved a piece of hair out of his eyes again, and as if to thank you, he moved to kiss your thighs. He said he was going to tease you, and tease he did - he kissed everywhere but the part of you he’d wet. You gasped at the feeling of his teeth on the thin, sensitive skin of your thighs, sucking little bruises into them. You were suddenly grateful that it was November and you weren’t wearing shorts anymore, otherwise the entire world would have been able to see what Chris had done to you.

“Fuck, you’ve got the most perfect pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ seen,” Chris said. It almost sounded like a dream when he said it. Faraway and unreal. And then he made it real by stopping the teasing and going straight to the source. You threw a hand over your mouth, not wanting to make too much noise but still too surprised to stop it from happening. You let out a small, high-pitched yelp as his tongue hit your clit first. He sucked it right into his mouth first, as if all of the teasing was over, and just as you let out another moan he let it go. You could hear a chuckle and at the same time, more of your wetness fell out of you. He lapped it up with his tongue, licking a stripe up and then back down, and then around. He was slow and careful with his movements, but it felt like the times you’d been eaten out before - like his tongue was everywhere and nowhere at once.

This was different, though. This was Chris. This was your best friend, eating you out in the darkness, trying to prove a point that had blown out of proportion. You had to stop another moan from leaving your lips when he sucked you into him, pressing his nose onto your clit by just an accident.

“No, I wanna hear those pretty sounds,” he cooed. “Tell me when you start getting close, but don’t put any pressure on yourself, alright?” You nodded, your head falling back onto the pillow. “Just sit back and relax, baby girl, I got you.”

You felt a finger probe at your entrance, and then two, and suddenly he was only rubbing his tongue against your clit and his fingers were inside of you. Your own fingers never felt this good, you thought, ever. He thrust them in and out of you and you could hear the lewd noises of everything going on over the movie. You were whimpering and whining and egging Chris on as he continued to eat you out. Your body was getting hotter and hotter and you were on the brink, but... what if you couldn’t? What if this was just like every other time when you got so close but never could? What if... Chris stopped what he was doing and looked up at you, pulling his fingers from you to grab at your hands.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You want me to stop?”

“No,” you said loudly. “Please don’t stop.”

“Okay, then, you gotta relax for me, sweetheart. Just cum when you want to, it’s okay.” You calmed down before he went back to work, sucking and lapping at you. It felt so good, even the sweat on your back felt good, that your legs started to close. He didn’t protest. He just let it happen, and suddenly you could hear him gasp for air before returning right to your wet, now swollen pussy. That was finally what tipped you over the edge.

“Fuck!” You sobbed out, gasping for air as you felt at your highest. Chris took his mouth away from you and replaced it with his fingers, rubbing at your clit as your legs jerked and threatened to kick him. If you’d been looking at him you could see that he was smiling, that his beard was literally shining in the darkness with your wetness on him.

“Okay, I’m gonna go slow now,” he said softly, more to himself than you, and his fingers slowed on your clit. When you finally stopped moving, still gasping for air, he disappeared. You didn’t know where he went at first, but after a minute of stillness he returned with your steel water bottle and a washcloth from your closet, one you rarely used. It was wet with warm water.

“Thanks,” you managed to say, sitting up a little to drink. You twisted the lid off and your hands were shaking, but you drank the cold water. It breathed the life back to you, pulling you down from the highest of the highs you’d ever experienced. And then there was the heat of the cloth against you, and Chris’s soft sh, it’s okay, and then it was all over. He took the bottle and put it on your nightstand, then pulled your blankets out from underneath you. You were naked, still, but he didn’t seem to care. He tucked you in and started getting dressed, noticing that you were tired.

“I’m gonna let you get some rest, okay?” He said. “Sound good?”

“Okay.” He leaned down and kissed your temple, putting the TV remote over on the bed beside you.

“Good night, gorgeous. Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll get some coffee, alright?”

“Okay.” You shut your eyes and fell asleep without a single care in the world.

The next morning you woke up, noticing that you were naked above anything else. Normally you didn’t sleep naked, but you could feel your bare skin against your comforter and snuggled back into your blankets. You turned to your side, pulling the head of your phone charger out of the port and letting the cord fall to the ground. There was a single text.

Chris: Just woke up. Coffee at Sam’s?

Just woke up too. Sounds good. Just as you stopped typing, he started, and within a second he sent another text saying he’d be there to pick you up in half an hour. You pulled the covers off you only to realize that your legs were covered in little bruises and nibble marks from Chris. And then you realized the night before, but you didn’t freak out like you normally did. It felt good. You didn’t feel gross or dirty. You felt safe. Cared for. Satisfied. It was a change from the normal shame you felt after hooking up with someone. It was Chris, you realized. It was all him.

You pulled on some sweats, knowing he would be wearing the same thing, and emerged from your apartment to see that his car was already out there. You smiled to yourself as you got in, seeing that he’d obviously slept well.

“Well?” He asked. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just lost my god damn virginity,” you answered, only half joking. “Good. I feel really good.” He gave you a smile back, but it was a little hard to see underneath his famous Red Sox hat.

“Good. I’m glad.” He drove over to the coffee shop the two of you frequented and you paid for your coffee and sat down where you could people-watch through the streets.

“So last night was fine?” He asked.

“Chris, that was the most... I’ve never done that with a guy before and come out feeling not dirty. I’ve also never fallen asleep like that.” He chuckled.

“You deserved it. I wish I could've stayed, but the dog needed out. So would you want to do that again? Keep up this... thing?”

“Yeah,” you answered with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. “If you’re okay with it, yeah. Maybe this time I can suck out your soul instead.” “I wouldn't say I sucked out your soul,” he rolled his eyes. “There’s much more where that came from.”

“Good. I want it.” You were only half joking there, too. “Friends with benefits?” He lifted up his coffee cup and you did yours, fake clinking them together like glasses.

“Friends with benefits,” he answered back. “What are you doing tomorrow after those courtroom scenes? We could go to that bar you’ve been wanting to check out.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” The two of you talked about more mundane things before finally parting ways with a see you later, princess. He drove you back to your apartment and watched you get in, then left probably to go hang out with his family like he usually did on the weekends. You shut the door to your apartment, sighing dreamily as you decided to lay in bed for most of the day and think about how Chris felt the night before.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to get him out of your head, or if he’d live there rent free, like the image of him eating your pussy out spread across your bed.

A/N: This is my first time writing any kind of smut whatsoever, so I hope I did it justice! If anyone wants it, I have a full series for this prepared for this.

#chris evans x female reader #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader

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juniperarts · 5 years ago

Note

hi can i give hato a kiss and maybe draw him? i really,,, like him and wanna know more about him- he seems so cool ; ;

Anyone is more than welcome to draw Hato!

Just be sure to credit somewhere and let me know when it’s done.

I’d LOVE to see any fanart of my boy

As for more about him ... I’ll let y'all know what his personality is like below the cut (or not if you are on mobile because tumblr is trash)

___________________________________

Deep down he is pretty shy … he’s ambivert (leaning toward introvert) but he always keeps the appearance of a perky, likable, outgoing person. It’s only when he gets close with someone that he will mellow out some. (He’s like Hawks in a lot of ways … he can put on a front … but unlike Hawks it’s usually genuine and not for any underlying purpose.)

He’s bisexual and identifies as non-binary (considers himself gender nebulous but will leaning toward male some days, never female).

Can use he/him or they/them when referring to Hato.

(In highschool he could have been the popular kid/student or that smart, rich kid that hung out with troublemakers … or a combination of both.)

I also see Hato being that person that looks and acts like a model student but has a secret mischievous/naughty side. (this is reflected in his design somewhat).

I imagine his first appearance to others he got from Hawks and the mischievous side he gets from both … but especially Dabi.

For the most part he has good self control unless he is suddenly put into an uncomfortable situation … then he might act irrationally (fueled by childhood when he found out about hard truths of his parents … which greatly affected him).

He values truth and wants to be seen as a honest person (caused because his parents were never completely honest with him about important details growing up… such as Dabi being a villain and the one that burnt Hawks’ wings and face).

*Written by @fatally3103 .... Hato has a very developed emotional intelligence to be able to read either of his Dads, who regularly obfuscate and are very good liars (not that they would lie with any regularity to Hato, they both would err more on the side of "don't tell him certain stuff till he's X years old"), he'd have to be good at reading people. Both Dabi and Hawks lie as a matter of survival, and they would never want that for Hato.*

He wants to live his life as his true Self, walking in step with what he believes is right.

In terms of personality types I think he fits ENFP in many ways, but not completely.

Below are some aspects of it I think fit him:

He is constantly aware and somewhat fearful of losing touch with himself.

ENFPs almost always have a strong need to be liked. They are genuinely warm and interested in people, and place great importance on their interpersonal relationships … I think this fits Hato.

ENFPs sometimes make serious errors in judgment. They have an amazing ability to intuitively perceive the truth about a person or situation, but when they apply judgment to their perception, they may jump to the wrong conclusions.

They are perfectly capable of switching from a passionate, driven idealist to an imaginative and enthusiastic free spirit

They have a strong need to be independent, and resist being controlled or labelled. They need to maintain control over themselves, but they do not believe in controlling others. Their dislike of dependence and suppression extends to others as well as to themselves.

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 16

First

Rena honestly hadn’t known what to think when she’d opened the door to see Ladybug looking to be on the verge of death.

Ladybug hardly slept, everyone was aware of that -- they could hear her above them moving around at almost all hours -- but apparently she was reaching her limit. Rena could actually see the bags under her eyes… which shouldn’t be possible, they’re all wearing masks, but there they were.

“You look…”

She trailed off, unable to even think about saying the words ‘You look like shit’ aloud without feeling a twinge of guilt.

Ladybug didn’t seem all that phased, though. “I’ve been told. Anyways, I’ve finished doing math and stuff. Come look.”

A hand locked around her wrist before she’d even thought of a response and she was pulled from her room with a quiet cry of surprise. If Ladybug registered the sound, she didn’t say anything. Rena glanced at her kwami and jerked her head in the direction of her room wordlessly. Trixx seemed to understand and went inside. She heard the creak of her door closing as she was pulled down the stairs.

She momentarily considered asking Ladybug if she was okay, but when she got to the board and saw all the work that she had done over the past day she figured that she already had her answer.

Rena looked over the calculations to make sure she didn’t mess up in her sleep-deprived state and then her eyes found their way to a sheet of paper that was labelled ‘Distinguishing Attributes’ --.

What the fuck?

Well… she wasn’t necessarily WRONG but it was… an odd thought to have… especially for her of all people...

“Hey, quick question, why does it say he has a ‘condom-head’?”

Ladybug snapped to full alertness and her eyes scanned over the document. Her face drained of color for a moment before suddenly flaring red.

Rena wasn’t looking at this, though. She looked down at Ladybug’s hands.

Rena had been getting better at sensing when she was about to be lied to over the past month or so. She didn’t know if the side-effects of her kwami were finally starting to show up or if she was just starting to better understand the other miraculous holders and their tells, but either way...

Ladybug’s fingers worried the hem of the red blouse she was wearing. Whatever she was going to say, it was a lie.

“No one is perfect when they’re sleep-deprived.”

“True. But not the reason. Try again.”

The other’s shoulders sagged and she slumped down in a chair, resting her hands over her eyes. “Damn it.”

“Wh… what?” Said Rena, barely resisting the urge to try and clean out her ears.

“I said ‘damn it’.”

Yeah. That’s what she’d thought she’d said. Still weird to hear that out of her mouth.

Ladybug finally pulled her hands away from her face to look at Rena. “If you promise not to tell anyone I’ll explain.”

“Depends on what you tell me.”

She considered this for a minute…

“Fine. You might want to sit down.”

Well, those were a worrying few words. She obliged, though, pulling a chair out and perching herself there.

“I’m sure you know by now that we all have personas we use for work -- except Chat, I think, which kinda sucks for him but that’s neither here nor there,” Ladybug started, the corners of her lips drawn up in the barest of smiles before she seemed to remember what she was talking about and her expression sobered. “Well… ‘Ladybug’ as you know her doesn’t exist. At all.”

Rena wasn’t sure how exactly to respond to that. She settled for: “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t know how to explain it much better than that. My persona is being the ‘perfect one’, right? Obviously people aren’t perfect, and I’m… not at all close. All the uptightness and everything is pretty much the opposite of how I am, actually.”

She was quiet for a moment before resting her head in her hands so she could process what in the world was happening.

Sure, Carapace had already told her that everyone was faking on some level... but he’d made it sound like they were all taking pieces of themselves and then exaggerating them, not straight up faking an entire personality --.

“Wait, you told me not to tell anyone. Does no one else know?”

“No. And they won't,” said Ladybug, leveling her with a cold look.

Rena considered it. That glare was… dangerous. Ladybug still had a perfect track record on everything that she knew of and she didn’t want ‘murdering Rena Rouge’ to be on her list of accomplishments.

But she shook her head. “No. You need to tell them. This isn’t healthy. You can’t fake your personality all day without breaks, your mental health will plummet. I don’t want to fight an akumatized Ladybug, thanks.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “I have a job.”

She couldn’t help but be skeptical about this claim, but how could she prove otherwise?

“Do you work in customer service?” Asked Rena.

“... you can’t ask me that.”

“Don’t worry, that’s all I’m going to ask about it. Answer the question.”

Ladybug frowned but eventually did so: “I mean… kind of --?”

“Then you can’t act like yourself at your job.”

“... I can’t even argue with that. Fine. You caught me: I’m acting all day. But it’s fine.”

“It’s not. I’m telling them. You should at least be able to be yourself in your own house.”

There was a few seconds of silence as they stared each other down. Neither of them were particularly eager to give in on this one…

Ladybug eventually slumped forward on the table and covered her head with her hands. Her voice was barely discernible because of the way her face was squished against the table, but she managed to piece together what she was saying:

“I’m too tired for this. Just… let’s keep it a house secret. Please?”

She didn’t like it, but she nodded reluctantly. Then she realized that Ladybug wouldn’t be able to see her from the angle she was at and she quickly said: “Sure.”

She got a vague wave to say ‘go ahead then’ and Rena tried to quell her excitement as she pulled her phone out.

Foxyou: Guys apparently Ladybug has been faking her personality and she’s actually way more relaxed

Capot: cool

Chat: Weird. But at least she’s comfortable enough to tell us that now and hopefully she’ll be comfortable enough to act like herself sometime soon. :D

Rena decided that he didn’t need to know that this wasn’t exactly Ladybug being comfortable enough and more her messing up and having no other choice than to confess.

Foxyou: Yeah

Queenie: I was wondering who was going to be the first person to figure it out.

Before she could even start to type out all the questions she had, Chloe had sent another message:

Queenie: Wait. If you figured it out that means she’s home. Where is she?

Normally, Rena would be all for just lying about where Ladybug was. However, as she looked at the person in front of her that she was pretty sure had passed out with her head against the table, she decided that, just this once, she’d do the right thing.

Foxyou: Kitchen come get her

Chloe stormed in not even a minute later, only to still when she saw Ladybug had fallen asleep. She huffed a little and picked her up, mouthing ‘thank you’ to Rena and then taking her to bed.

Rena was feeling like going to sleep herself, honestly. That had been a lot to process. She rubbed her face and then shrugged to herself. She didn’t have anything to do that day. She headed up after them.

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

#a miraculous tiktok account #rena rouge #alya cesaire #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #queen bee #chloe bourgeois #nino lahiffe #carapace #chat noir #adrien agreste #miraculous team #miraculous fic #ml fic #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

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slowly-writing · 5 years ago

Text

Alone

Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader

Requested by anon: hey, could you write a natasha x daughter!reader where the daughter is really depressed and maybe she ods on pills or something and after the daughter ends up telling nat about her feelings (if that doesn’t make you feel uncomfy) thanks! i love your writing btw😁

Word count: 3.1k (longest one yet)

Trigger Warning: mentions of depression and suicide attempts. Please do not read this if it will trigger you

You trudge through the school hallway before first period, rubbing your eyes and trying your best to shut out the world. All you can see are the smiling faces of your classmates and it makes your heart sink even further down in your chest. All you want is to be happy like them, but all you have is forced laughs and fake smiles. You’re tired. Tired of pretending to be okay. Tired of feeling the way you do. Tired of being here. Nobody notices that though, you know how to hide your emotions well, maybe too well. You learned from the best, you don’t think you’ve ever seen your mom cry, so you won’t let anyone see you cry either.

You tug on the sleeves of your hoodie for what has to be the tenth time in as many minutes, pulling them down over your hands and not daring to let your wrists be seen. You let yourself be absorbed in the music blasting through your headphones as you get your books from your locker. A tapping on your shoulder pulls you back into reality. When you turn around Peter is standing behind you smiling, and you feel a small bit of joy and the sight of the sweet boy.

“Hey, y/n! What’s up? Are you doing okay?” Peter asks in that happy tone he always seems to have.

“Nothing much, and yeah. I’m good,” you say with a shrug, shoving the last of your books in your bag as the two of you head off towards class.

“Are you sure? You seem sad,” Peter says, softer this time. His smile is still there and you think maybe you could talk to him, but decide against it as you meet his eyes. His eyes, while full of joy, also show how tired he is. He’s living with his own secrets, and you won’t burden him with yours as well.

“Yeah Pete, I’m good. I just stayed up late studying,” you brush off his concern with a lie, not thinking much of it, it seems lying is all you do these days.

xxxxx

“Hey kid, how was school?” Tony’s voice startles you as you walk into the kitchen. You expected everyone to be off training but when you glance to your right you see half the team sitting at the table.

“Uh, it was fine,” you mumble, forcing a smile onto your face and walking to the fridge to avoid eye contact. The conversation behind you picks up again and you let out a sigh of relief, exhausted at the mere thought of putting on an act.

“Do you want to do something? We were saying it’s been a while since we’ve had a family day,” Steve says and you can tell he’s smiling before you even turn around.

“We were thinking about having a movie night,” your mom suggests and you take a breath, knowing she’ll see even the tiniest hint of a lie if you’re not careful.

“I can’t. I have a big test Monday, I’m going to be studying most of the weekend,” you tell them and you see the wheels turning in your mom’s head.

“I thought you had a big test this week?” Clint questions and you momentarily panic, you’ll need a new excuse soon.

“It’s Junior year, I guess they’re all big tests,” you shrug, seeing your escape and making your way towards the door, “have fun with your movie night.”

xxxxx

You’re sitting in your room a while later staring at nothing in particular when there’s a knock on your door. You snap out of your daze, calling for the person to come in.

“Hey, I didn’t see you in class today. I just wanted to check in,” Wanda says as she sits on your bed next to you, but leaving enough space to make sure you don’t feel cornered, she knows how nervous it makes you.

“Oh yeah, I wasn’t feeling chemistry today. I hid out in the library,” you say and she nods. You think the conversation is over but when you look over at her she has her brows furrowed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you go to brush her off again but she stops you, “don’t lie and say you’re fine, I know you’re not. These last few days, few months really, you’ve got this cloud around you. I can tell you’re sad, and so little of the old y/n shines through. Your emotions, the things you’re feeling, I feel it all and it’s like you’re screaming at me to help you. It’s like you’re disappearing right before my eyes, and I’m the only one who can see it. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help.”

You stop for a moment. You’ve stumbled into another perfect opportunity. Wanda is sitting next to you, practically begging you to open up to her, and you almost do. Then you remember everything she’s been through. You remember the way she acted when she first moved in. She was barely a shell of a girl, her eyes held a sadness nobody should have to endure and she was so scared. She’s finally begun to be happy here, and you won’t be the one to drag her down again.

“It’s just school. I’ve got college applications coming up, I guess it’s stressing me out. You don’t have to worry about it, I’ll be okay,” you plaster a smile across your face and she sighs. She glances around your room, looking for an excuse to stay when she spots your guitar.

“You know I’ve always wanted to learn to play. Maybe you can teach me sometime?” you follow her gaze and pick up the instrument, brushing off the dust it’s collected from sitting untouched for months.

“Take it,” you hold it out towards her and she shakes her head.

“Y/n, I couldn’t-”

“Just take it. Someone should play it,” she stares at you and you nod. She gently takes it from your hand and you smile at her.

“You’ll talk to me, if you need me. Right?” Wanda pauses at your door.

“I’ll be okay,” you say, not quite lying but it seems to satisfy her and she gently closes the door behind her.

xxxxx

You look at the stack of papers on your desk, a list of everyone you’d want to say goodbye to. There’s almost a dozen notes all addressed to different members of your family, apologizing to them and explaining why you’re doing what you’re doing. You started out looking for a reason to stay but the more you stare at the notes the more you see how everyone has someone. Everyone except you.

Steve finally got Bucky back, and they understand each other in ways you could never dream of. All you could ever be to them was an annoyance. Some kid from a time they didn’t understand.

Bruce and Tony, the science bros as you’ve been calling them since you were little, will keep on experimenting and inventing. They don’t need you wandering in and screwing up their lab equipment.

Thor has Valkyrie, and they’ve both been off-world for months anyway. They have their own people to watch over. They don’t need to worry about you too.

Wanda and Peter will take care of each other. Neither of them are strangers to loss, and they’ll pull each other through. All the great friendships come in pairs anyway, you’d just be a glorified third wheel.

Clint has a whole family to watch out for, and you’re nothing but a bad influence for his kids. A cautionary tale about paths not to go down. You know he’ll take care of your mom, they were family long before you came along. She’ll be better off without you to look out for. She’s the world’s greatest spy, she doesn’t need to be distracted trying to make sure you don’t screw up.

Everyone here will be fine without you, you can hear them all laughing in the common room right now, and you nod to yourself. It’s time.

You leave the light in your bedroom on as you step into the hallway. You close the door silently and glance to your right. The couches are crammed with everyone laughing and smiling in the dimly lit room. They fit perfectly, they don’t have room for one more. So you turn to your left, you can’t sneak into the elevator without one of them noticing you, so you take the stairs up one floor to the med wing.

You enter the room that held all the medicines, they never locked anything up here. You wonder if they’ll regret that as you look through the bottles of pills. You grab a bottle that’s labeled Benzo-something and decide it will work. You grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and make your way to the elevators. You tell Jarvis to take you to the roof and step out into the cool evening air a few moments later.

You take one last look at the New York skyline. You’ve always loved this view. You take off your jacket, and for the first time in months feel the cool breeze on your scarred arms. After a few moments you step back, sitting criss cross on the floor and opening the pill bottle. You pour a few tablets into your hand, silently wondering how many it will take to do the job. You tip the bottle again, pouring until your hand is nearly full, and decide that’ll be enough.

You’re calmer than you thought you’d be as you bring your hand to your mouth. You expected to cry, to feel scared, but you don’t. All you feel is the slight discomfort as you force the pills down your throat, then you just feel numb.

xxxxx

“Do you think we could convince y/n to join us?” Bucky wonders aloud as Steve pauses the movie.

“She’s been really down lately, it’s starting to worry me,” Tony says softly, that tone of voice is rare for him, and everyone agrees.

“She always wears these giant hoodies at school, even though it’s almost summer, like she’s trying to hide. She flinches away if you try to touch her arms. Whenever I ask if she’s okay she just makes up some lame excuse, I never want to push but I think maybe I should,” Peter joins in and a heavy silence falls over the room.

“I’m gonna go try and talk to her,” Nat says softly as she walks the few yards to your room. They all watch as she knocks a few times, entering when she hears no reply. There’s a few beats of silence before anything happens. “No no no.”

Your mom’s voice is barely above a whisper but they all know it’s bad. When she steps back out she’s holding a stack of papers. The look on her face is one that none of them have seen before, pure terror.

“What is that?” Steve asks as everyone jumps into action rushing to her side, but she can’t even form the words to tell them. Clint gently pulls the papers from her hands and skims through them. He swallows hard, trying to choke down the bile rising in his throat as everyone stares at him, waiting for an answer as to what could be found in a 16 year old’s room that scared the Black Widow.

“They’re suicide notes. There’s one addressed to each of us,” Clint says softly as Natasha grabs them back, rereading the words she knows will haunt her for the rest of her life. There’s a moment of silence before everyone starts talking at once.

“Where did she even go?” Wanda is the first to speak up, tears already streaming down her face.

“It’s a secure facility, she didn’t just disappear!” Tony says quickly, staring off into the distance as he runs through the short list of places you could be hiding.

“Everyone spread out and start looking!” Steve snaps everyone into action and they all scatter.

Nat is left alone, still frozen in front of your bedroom door as everyone fans out. She stares at the papers in her hands before she realizes where you are. She drops the papers, letting them flutter to the floor as she takes off towards the staircase. She takes the steps two at a time, making it to the roof in record time. You flinch as the door slams open and lazily roll over from where you’ve laid on the floor to look towards the sound.

“Oh, hi mom,” you flail your arm towards her in an attempted wave and she gasps at the state you’re in. Both the angry red marks covering your arms and the fact that you’re barely conscious scare her more than she thought possible. She can hear your breathing, ragged and slow and she feels more tears fall from her eyes.

“Y/n what did you do?” she yells, running towards you and picking up the mostly empty bottle of medicine.

“I want to go away,” you mumble, eyes drooping closed.

“No no no, you’re not going anywhere. Stay with me, love. I’ve got you, mommy’s here,” Natasha says as she lifts you into her arms. You groan as she jostles you, but you don’t protest anymore as you slowly drift off.

xxxxx

You hear a steady beeping and whispers as you wake up. You blink your eyes open and see a room packed full of people, all in various states of distress.

“Why would she do that? Why would…” Peter trails off. He has tear tracks down his face and his eyes are red. Tony’s sitting on his left with his arm around Peter.

“I don’t know kid,” he says softly, sniffling a bit.

“I knew she wasn’t okay. I should’ve done more,” Wanda’s eyes are trained on the floor and her face is emotionless as she sits on Peter’s right, gripping his hand tightly.

“You couldn’t have known-” Steve tries to reassure her but she cuts him off, standing up quickly and drawing all attention to her.

“I did know! I could feel how sad she was! What good are these stupid powers if I can’t do a fucking thing to help my best friend? I failed her,” Wanda now has tears streaming down her face and you can feel yourself tearing up.

“I didn’t want your help,” your voice is soft and scratchy, but everyone hears you and all eyes in the room quickly turn to you. “I didn’t want you to know that I was struggling. I didn’t want anyone to know. It’s not your job to take care of me.”

“Yes it is,” your mom says quickly. You try to argue but she raises a hand, causing you to stop. “I know you want to be independent but we’re your family. Of course it’s our job to take care of you. Everyone needs some help sometimes and you have every right to ask for it.”

“I’m not worth it. You don’t need me here,” you say with a shrug, wiping the tears of frustration from your eyes. You ball your hands into fists and stare down at them, refusing to look at your family.

“Yes we do. We all need you here and don’t think for a single fucking second that we don’t,” your moms voice cracks and you finally look up at her, seeing the tears streaming down her face.

“We all need you. Who else is gonna come remind me that sleep is a thing when I’ve been down in the lab for 28 hours straight?” Tony asks with a small smile.

“Yeah! And without you I would’ve flunked Calculus last semester, May would’ve killed me,” Peter says and immediately winces at his choice of words.

“She really would have,” you say, smiling a bit at his attempt to cheer you up.

“We all need you, y/n. You’re my best friend, the person I love most in this world. You’re all I have left, I don't know what I would do without you. You’re the only reason I made it through Pietro’s death. I never thought I’d be okay but you made sure I was. I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you,” Wanda sits on your left side, gently taking your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as the tears start rolling down your face. You look towards your mom again, hoping if she understands why you did it, she’ll forgive you. “I thought it’d be better for you all if I was gone. I’m just so sad all the time. Nothing I used to like is fun anymore and I just want everything to stop. It’s too much. I kept pushing through, but every reason to keep living just kept going away. You all have someone more important to you than me, so why should I stay? You’d all be okay.”

Your mom lets out a shaky breath as she brushes the hair out of your eyes, resting her hand against your cheek, “love, I would never be okay without you. When I brought you home all those years ago, you changed my life. I have never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I’m so sorry I didn’t show you that. I will always be here for you, everyone in this room is always here for you. Please, please tell us next time you need help.”

You’re both sobbing at this point and you throw yourself into her arms, apologizing over and over and begging her to forgive you.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t think anyone would care. I’m sorry,” your words draw tears from everyone in the room.

“I know you didn’t want to hurt us, love. It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you some help, okay?” your mom reassures you and you nod, burrowing deeper into her arms. Your whole family watches the interaction silently, wiping tears from their eyes and vowing to never let you feel this alone again.

tag list: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @m19friend @worlds-in-words @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff

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dailytomlinson · 4 years ago

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When reflecting on music’s most influential artists, critics tend to use statistics to measure their legacy—whether it’s a band reaching #1 on the charts, multiple sold-out tours, or albums that represent a generation. Those types of accolades and praise are for bands that, typically, exist within rock with a predominantly sizeable male fanbase, like The Rolling Stones or The Beatles. For English-Irish boyband One Direction, who actually broke one of The Beatles biggest achievements by having five Top 10 debut tracks on the Hot 100 compared to The Beatles’ four, have sold out multiple tours and delivered five albums five years in a row, they have not been regarded as much of an influential force in the music industry as they should be.

Today—on July 23rd 2020—the band celebrates ten years since they first became a band, even if five years of that time was during a prolonged indefinite hiatus while each of the members pursued solo ventures. A decade marks ten years of One Direction and, for the fans, ten years of an impactful legacy the band, both together and apart, has had on their lives.

After being thrown together on The X-Factor back in July 2010, the band did more in five years than most bands do in their entire careers; they released five albums and sold more than 6.49 million copies in just America alone, filmed one concert documentary and one tour film, completed multiple world tours, and pursued philanthropic ventures. All of those things didn’t come without a price, though. Zayn Malik left the band in 2014 due to his mental health suffering. The band toured consistently every year with hardly ever having any personal time off, and add in an album release a year, they were extremely overworked.

There’s a belief boy bands have an expiry date, and it’s likely their management felt they needed to get as much out of the band while they believed they were still relevant. It’s likely that fans would’ve stuck around if the members took time between their albums and tours. In 2015, when the hiatus began, people wondered if One Direction really could ever come back and, if they did, would fans still really care about them?

“One Direction was one of the biggest and most successful bands,” said @TheHarryNews, a Twitter fan update account. “They achieved amazing things in the five years they were together, despite being overworked by putting out albums and touring every year, which isn’t normal.”

One specific thread that ties together every fans’ thoughts when they reflect on why they decided to become fans of the boys in the first place is the carefree and loving rapport the band has with one another. We’ve all seen The X Factor video diaries, laughed over their banter during interviews, and watched every live performance they did to look out for cute interactions between our favourite members. In their own unique way, One Direction helped defy traits typically associated with toxic masculinity; they didn’t shy away from their affection for one another and made that known in interviews and concerts. Their friendship set them apart, made them more real, and through them, we made friendships of our own.

When someone seeks out new friends, they go to where they feel safest: the communities of people who love the same things as they do. Social media not only propelled the band to international audiences, but it also helped many fans meet the people they now call their lifelong friends. “They have impacted my life in ways I never thought a ‘boyband’ could,” said Lauren, a fan from Buffalo, NY. “They gave me the best friends I could ever ask for, helped me when I was lost and thought I had no one. They ultimately helped me find myself.”

Social media did more than just help us make friends. It was also a major catalyst for the band’s success, and a large part is due to update accounts on Twitter that were created by fans, for fans. Fan-created update accounts would document every single movement and moment made by the band’s five members, whether it was live-streaming a concert or updating fans on the band’s whereabouts. For @With1DNews, a UK/Canada-based update account, it’s a labour of true love for the band that “glued them together” in the first place. “We found each other through our 1D fan accounts on Twitter,” they said. “We started talking about the boys, then our lives, and quickly became great friends.”

Even though they started the account after the hiatus already began, they still felt like fans needed One Direction news. “We had noticed there weren’t really any active 1D update accounts left and we knew a lot of fellow 1D fans were still interested in seeing news about the boys’ careers and lives. It was also because we missed seeing 1D together and hearing about them together. We thought, why not create this space that connects them even if they’re now all going their own way.”

Update accounts take as much time, effort, and energy as an unpaid second job; it requires those who run them to schedule themselves accordingly to cover certain times of each day to ensure their fellow fans get updated in a timely manner, and they do as much fact-checking and researching that any other traditional news outlet does.

Even if some critics might not consider One Direction an influential force in the music industry, the impact they continue to have on their fans is what has set them apart from every other musical act. In a scene in One Direction’s concert documentary, This Is Us, a fan breathlessly states “I know they love me, even if they don’t know me.” This type of parasocial relationship to a band is something not many understand; it’s a sense of intimacy that doesn’t require either party to actually deeply know one another on a personal level but is still as meaningful and significant as actual relationships.

A connection with the band is even more prevalent for Amy, a Los Angeles based writer and mum of two, because of the impact the band has had on her family is something that isn’t tangible but has been detrimental to her children’s development. “I have a child with physical and neurological disabilities who, prior to One Direction, was completely non-verbal and really struggling to find motivation and happiness amongst all the doctors and therapy appointments,” stated Amy. “They have done more for her development, including indirectly teaching her to speak and sing, than any therapy she’s ever done. Up until we found the boys, everything was trial and error; trying to find what makes sense to her and would, in turn, make the world make sense to her. Who knew the key would be a ‘silly’ boy band?”

Many fans have expressed that the band is their happy place – the only positive light in their life when things got tough. For so many, the band came at a time when they desperately needed something to help them through difficult situations whether that be pressure from school, jobs, peers, or life in general. Watching the ‘Best Song Ever’ music video, or a funny interview felt like a cure to smile and laugh after a long day. “They were what we turned to when we felt overwhelmed in our own lives. Now, we’re adults, and they still bring us as much happiness as they did when we were younger,” says @With1DNews.

Not only that, but the band has also helped fans gain more confidence in themselves. By helping create a space and community for them, fans who may have felt lonely, different, or struggled to find a place they belonged had somewhere to go now. They made friends who accepted them, endless content that felt like a burst of serotonin, and a band of boys who told them through lyrics how great and valuable they are, songs like ‘Through the Dark’, ‘Diana’, and ‘Little Things’. Through the band, One Direction fans created their own safe space to work out and navigate their own identity; a space that is free from outside shame where they could be whoever they wanted to be because the people they loved the most accepted them for exactly who they are.

Despite the safety found in those spaces, others have given those fans different descriptions: Hysterical. Rabid. Extra. ‘Screamers.’ Those are just a few of the many words that have been used to describe female fans of boy bands, both past and present. Although these words carry negative connotations, they imply something more powerful than any naysayer could understand or try to define: the sheer force that comes with unashamedly loving something so deeply, you don’t really care about anyone else’s opinions.

Young female fans are the most supportive, passionate fanbase an artist can have, yet they are the most trivialized and ridiculed both within and outside of the music industry. At the start of their career, music’s most beloved band The Beatles was a boy band that catapulted into fame because of, not despite, their female fans. It wasn’t until male fans noticed the band’s progression into an experimental sound when they decided to embrace the band and deem them worthy of their support after they began playing ‘real’ music.

Even if there are major similarities between The Beatles and One Direction, the latter is still regarded by many to be a manufactured pop boy band with a ‘teenybopper’ fanbase. The members of the band have consistently embraced and validated their predominantly female fanbase; Harry Styles has been consistently vocal about this matter, going so far as to say “Teenage-girl fans — they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you.”

In ‘Girl Almighty’, the fifth track on their fourth album, Four, the band addressed the way their fans have been misjudged and labelled ‘crazy’ because of their passion and not only applauded them for their dedication and love, but bowed down to them as well; “Let’s have another toast to the girl almighty […] I get down on my knees for you.” Not only has One Direction always known who helped them get to where they are today, but they’ve also never shied away from declaring their respect for them, constantly validating their fans’ feelings.

For One Direction’s fans, a decade of the band’s formation represents ten years of a legacy that will continue on, even if the band never formally get back together. For Amy, it doesn’t really matter if they got their start on a TV talent show because it’s the fans that made them and set the band apart from every other boyband. “What we all created together feels so untouchable in regards to boy bands of the past and ones to come. I think people will look back in awe and see what we see; we’ve been so incredibly lucky to have witnessed the magic of One Direction.”

They might not be aware of it, but One Direction was incredible at predicting what was to come in their own music; “Who’s gonna be the first to say goodbye?” / “But it’s not the end, I’ll see your face again” / “We had some good times, didn’t we? We wore our hearts out on our sleeve” / “We could be the greatest team that the world has ever seen.” In ‘Best Song Ever’, a song that ordinary listeners would not exactly consider overly sentimental or profound, there is one lyric that will always stand out for the fans to represent One Direction’s legacy perfectly: “I hope you’ll remember how we danced.” Ten years later, we haven’t forgotten.

#tmrw magazine #230720 #10years1d #press

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dottiechan · 4 years ago

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Tempest (Pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2031

Warnings: murder, mentions of prostitution & drugs

Summary: Ava and the Detective must pull an all-nighter working on a case on Christmas Eve, 1896.

A/N: Happy Holidays! What better way to celebrate or relax this December than with some soft Ava? Huge thanks to @sparkedupsilver for being an absolute delight and giving me brilliant ideas about locations! <3

Image credit: Pixoloid Studios, Alienist: The Angest of Darkness concept art

London, Christmas Eve, 1896

A woman appears on the street, retreating into the shadows as she heads into the heart of the district, avoiding the light of the gas lamps illuminating the road in yellow circles. She is barely wearing anything to fend off the chilling wind and the snow - a torn shift several sizes too big for her underneath a corset, the sleeves spilling down her upper arms to reveal a set of bony shoulders. Even through the darkness, Ava can see the way she shakes, the dried blood sitting on her upper lip she haphazardly tried to wipe off with the back of her hand. She can almost smell her craving.

She’d put her money on cocaine if she had to guess what’s left the young prostitute in such an abominable state. That is, if she gambled, of course. Or cared much about the poisonous substances humans consumed for medicinal use or - as in this young woman’s case - their temporary bliss. The most accurate label for her as a whole would be a misanthrope, as Nate has so eloquently stated it on many occasions before, but she finds herself shifting and morphing into something else – she can feel it. She cares what she puts in her body. She cares what she does to herself. What is the term for a woman who would give herself up in a heartbeat solely to ensure the safety of another?

Her eyes shift from the window as she dares a glance inside the office. She snaps her head back in an instant when she realises what she’s doing. Don’t be a fool.

It’s her personal mantra these days.

Instead, she focuses on the woman outside, watches her as she leaves High Street and hurries down Whitechapel Road. She takes a sudden turn left, and disappears down an unlit alley. There are conventional ways to celebrate a white Christmas, and many of the Whitechapel residents seem to re-think what that festivity means for them. Not that Ava can particularly blame them - the circumstances in the worst slums of London are hardly its residents’ fault, and more so that of the authorities’. This area is relatively safe, but that is only because the recurring police patrols end with High Street – a necessary but superficial effort to quell the legacy of terror Jack the Ripper had left behind. (As if mere policemen could keep anyone safe from a werewolf like the Ripper was, Ava scoffs inwardly.) Beyond High Street is chaos and misery, and unfortunately cesspools like that offer the rot of rogue supernaturals a place to fester and spread quickly. Despite Ava’s best efforts, the detective has refused countless times to even consider selling the small flat she uses as her office to relocate to Chelsea or Marylebone or even Westminster.

And the thought of another rogue element potentially rising so close to the private detective’s office upsets Ava more than she cares to admit.

While other agents pursue the rogue supernatural, Ava is still assigned to her protection, loaned as a partner to her small detective agency she’s inherited from her father - at least that is what the detective thinks this setup means. Normally, Ava would be deeply offended by such a role. A mere bodyguard, compelled to deal with the crimes of mortals, a true retrogression in her career. But she finds herself caring, and that alone is more alarming than the Agency’s decision to keep her in her current position. This little act she puts on, the game she plays that plants the fallacy of their partnership in the private detective’s mind, it rings truer than it should, means more than what is allowed. It has been like this for months now, and with each passing day, the lie grows a little heavier. She wonders when it will finally crush them both.

She listens to the detective bustle in the tiny kitchen of the office, and the moment - heavy with the honeyed comfort of quiet domesticity - is enough to make her heart ache. She would never in a million years admit it, but leaving this place, this job, this woman... It would be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

So when she joins Ava by the window and offers her a cup of steaming, strong coffee - she doesn’t even like it, and she doesn’t understand why the detective would drink it to keep her awake, let alone consume it on the regular - she accepts wordlessly. The night casts long shadows across the office, hiding them both in a world where no one else exists other than the two of them. Ava never had neither the heart nor the mind for poetry the way Nate does, but in this moment, as their shoulders absent-mindedly touch, her skin burning up with the heat of her body even through her shirt and the detective’s soft leg o’ muttons sleeve, she could attest to her fatal attraction in a fashion that would shame even the great poets of old.

But that is all it really is. Fatal in every sense of the word.

Ava contemplates speaking to her about what is on her mind, but the words get stuck in her throat, and she forces them back down with a sip of strong coffee.

“There’s work to be done.” Too callous, she scolds herself inwardly, even if it is true. There are many old articles about relating murders they have to revisit, along with what they know of previous victims through the morsels of information Commissioner Bradford has loaned the detective out of respect for her late father with whom they served together in the military. The woman on her right mistakes her tone for annoyance, and Ava finds herself steeling her insides when her concerned gaze finds her deceptively pallid face.

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this. It’s Christmas Eve, I understand if you wanted to be anywhere else than here.”

I don’t. I really don’t. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. “I have nowhere else to be.”

“No family?” the private detective asks, eyebrows raised in a way Ava knows she has her undivided attention. She never wants this moment to end, never wants her to look at anyone else like this other than her.

“Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Silence settles on them for a while, and they watch the snowfall in a quiet trance. They have work to do, and yet they stand side by side, unable to move, unwilling to break this moment of silent admission that yes, yes, this can work, this can be home, you can be home...

Ava is shocked when the detective’s fingers - scorching hot from the cup of coffee she’s been cradling - graze her knuckles lightly, so lightly that she’d wonder if it was even on purpose if she couldn’t feel her eyes on her once more.

“I don’t have anyone left anymore either. I know what it is like. Which is why I’m thankful that you’re here now,” she begins softly, her bare honesty so alluring Ava finds herself turning to her. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows she will force herself to punish her for this open admission with coldness and retreat, but for a second, she wants to pretend that this is allowed, that this is as right as it feels in her no longer trustworthy bones.

“You’re thankful you’re chasing a murderer on Christmas Eve?”

“I could do without that,” the detective snorts, deciding to take Ava’s blunt question as a joke. Her face grows serious too quickly, and before Ava can react, her hand is in her gentle grasp as the woman closes whatever little distance is left between them. “But not without you. Not now.”

Ava opens her mouth to say something, anything other than the truth, ready to take a full step back when the detective raises her eyes, poorly masking the pain that finds itself on her beautiful features. The agent feels cold dread seize her spine, like icy rain slipping down and over each vertebra - for a split second, she thinks the detective can feel her inner turmoil. That she always pulls away and retreats because she is terrified of her desire to do the very opposite.

“Ava, just... Please don’t say anything. I know what you want to say now. I know. But I don’t want to hear it,” she whispers, paralysing the vampire with mere words. “I know we don’t think the same way about voicing what we feel for each other. It is plain. I understand. But for a second I want to pretend that us holding hands and sharing a tender moment is just as innocuous as anything else.”

“But it isn’t,” Ava quickly speaks, the lie coming out almost seamlessly as she pulls her hand back slowly, clutching her now cool cup of coffee with both hands to prevent any further contact between them. “It is harmful. Can’t you see that?”

“I can.”

“And yet you don’t much care for it.”

“Do I look like a woman who cares much for societal conventions?” the detective asks as she finally steps away from Ava, gesturing around the room. The agent can’t help but silently agree - a woman who’s also a private detective, well, in a way she should have seen this argument coming.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to abide the rules,” Ava breathes, her usual strength still annoyingly eluding her as she takes a seat in one of the armchairs, the files and newspaper clippings once more within reach as she sets her cup down on the side table.

“You do not have to go to such lengths to prove what I already know,” the detective sighs in defeat, retreating behind her great mahogany desk, the only piece of furnishing aside from the once elegant, but now rather decrepit chaise longue that is worth something in this office. There’s a painful distance now between them, one that hurts them both, especially when put in stark contrast with their earlier close proximity.

“And what it is you think you know?” Ava means for her tone to get under the detective’s skin, to dislodge this idea stuck in her head that there’s something going on between them - instead it comes out too slow, too pleading, too deep and raw. A dead giveaway that perks up the woman like a hunting dog picking up on a scent. But she soon deflates - what she thinks a momentary victory is gone the second Ava looks away and focuses on the neat stack of folders she insisted on organising herself.

“That you’re afraid,” she replies anyways, opening a folder on top of her own stack and peering at Ava over it in a way that makes the vampire swallow her quip in an instant. There is truth in her words, and while she cannot, will not confirm it, she silently wants to speak to her. She silently wants to tell her the twisted things she makes her feel after 800 years of blessed solitude.

“But one day, you won’t be, Ava. And when that day comes, don’t be too surprised to find me waiting for you still.”

I am immortal. By the time I could rid myself of all my fears and stand in front of you as the uninhibited and unapologetic woman you deserve, you’d be long gone.

Immortal doesn’t mean infinitely wise, that is something Ava learns in another 365 days. Afraid doesn’t mean not being uninhibited. Cautious doesn’t mean not being unapologetic. The detective blurs the black and white of her world, and with this action the confining borders are gone too.

Four months and she won’t pull her hand away.

A year and she’ll let the detective tilt her face down to meet her lips with a kiss.

Two years and she will be long gone, four and the detective will be dead.

But now, she doesn’t know all that. Now, she buries the confusing conundrum of her love for the detective deep inside her and sets out to work in blissful ignorance.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #ava du mortain #a du mortain

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penaltbox · 4 years ago

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downtown’s dead - mike vorlicky

Feedback is always super appreciated! Let me know what you like, what lines stood out, or anything else you want to say!

Word Count: 2.1k

Mike looks around the bar, a frown setting in that he doesn’t even feel, as he picks at the label of his beer bottle. He should be having fun. He had no reason not to be having fun. He was out with the boys and had no responsibilities at all that night... but he still wasn’t quite in the mood for bar hopping and flirting. He knew where he’d rather be even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

You sit down on the couch in your apartment, glancing down at your phone but knowing better. He was out with the guys and he’d told you that would be the plan two days ago when he’d spent the night. You had told him to have fun and planned for a much needed relaxing night in.

You can’t help the sigh you let out, even though you knew you weren’t supposed to be hearing from him. It was always supposed to just be a hookup for the two of you, but as always, someone is bound to catch feelings and it happened to be you. You loved spending time with Mike whenever he wasn’t too busy, and even though it was “just a hookup” as he said, he was also pretty public with you. It made for some mixed signals at the least.

You’d gone out together, he hung around your place and your friends pretty frequently, and he’d even admitted he cared about you a time or two before. The only thing missing from it all was him being willing to commit to a real relationship and it felt like that might never come around.

Mike checks his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes when Owen finally calls him out.

“What’s your issue, Vorlicky? Your girl not checking in to see if you’re safe?” Owen teases, a little smirk crossing his face. Everyone knew Mike had it bad for you but he was the only one who wouldn’t admit to it.

Mike scoffs, trying to play it off like he usually did, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but no. It was the family group chat. My mom had a question for my brother and I.”

The lie rolls off his tongue easily but Owen is less than convinced. He doesn’t press the issue though and just nods before turning his attention back to the conversation he’d been in before interrupting Mike’s daydream.

Mike runs a hand through his hair and checks his phone again. When had he started to get like this? He didn’t mean to catch feelings for you but he definitely did. Now he seldom spent a day away from you and it was starting to scare him. He figured a night out with the boys would fix all that but all he wanted was to call you and crawl into your bed. He swore it was easier to sleep with you next to him but he’d deny it if the guys ever asked.

Maybe if he got his mind off you then he’d be able to move on. Maybe then he wouldn’t worry about what you were up to at every minute of the day. He notices Shay and Dylan keeping the attention of a few girls and he wonders when the last time he tried to turn the charm on was. He figured now was a good time to try.

He walks over and claps Shay on the shoulder but he smirks at the girls standing there. One looks up at him and flashes him a quick smile. He knows she’s up to no good and he entertains it. He introduces himself and starts up his usual questions: what’s your major, where are you from, and what do you think of hockey players.

“And so yeah, hockey is like super awesome,” she nods, finishing her ten minute explanation of why she just loved hockey.

Mike is pretty sure she hasn’t ever watched a single game in her life and he only hears maybe every third word she says. He’s not drunk, not even close, and he knows he’s not listening because he’s comparing her to you. Her hair is shorter and not something you’d probably ever like to try, she wears heels and he knows how you feel about heels at the bar, and most of all Mike can tell she’s got her makeup caked on.

The girl leans in and squeezes his arm, mumbling something about going to get another drink. He knows he’s supposed to offer to buy hers since he’s been giving her all this attention, but he’s faking it. He shakes his head a little and leans closer.

“Hey, I’m really sorry but I need to go. I hope you have fun tonight though,” he apologizes, giving her a tight smile. He doesn’t miss the disappointment on her face but he can’t play games any longer.

He turns and catches Ryder’s eye, who had apparently been watching him long enough to know what was going on. Ryder shakes his head at Mike but he’s smiling at the same time.

“You’re going to her place, aren’t you?” Ryder asks once Mike makes his way over. A little shrug of his shoulders is the only answer that Mike provides, but they both know better, “tell her I said hi. We won’t wait up for you tonight.”

Mike feels a little lighter for a moment and pulls out his phone. He opens the messages between the two of you, ones that go back months and months now, but he locks his phone again and puts it away. He figured you won’t be upset if he just showed up.

You finish your glass of wine and rinse it out in the sink, shutting off the kitchen light on the way out. You walk over to the windows and look out at the city below you. People were going in and out of buildings all over, but none of them were Mike and you certainly weren’t with him.

You frown, hating that you felt so dependent on him, and decide that maybe it was just time to go to sleep. You double check the locks on the front door and head into your room without even checking your phone. You go through your night time routine and just as you’re setting your toothbrush back in its spot you swear you hear a knock on the front door.

Your heart rate picks up a little because there’s no reason anyone should be stopping by, but another knock confirms that someone is definitely on the other side of the door. You suck in a breath and quickly tiptoe back out, not turning on any lights and somehow not stubbing your toe like you half expected to. You lean up to see out the peephole and immediately start swearing under your breath as you whip the door open.

“What the hell, Mike?” You ask, pushing his chest.

He gives you the most confused look ever as he grabs your wrist, “what do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“You can’t show up in the middle of the night and scare a girl like this!”

You let out a little laugh and he relaxes then, letting your hand go. He thought you were legitimately upset and he’s more than happy to find that you were just caught off guard. He smiles then and goes to walk in, but you put an arm up on the door frame. He gives you a questioning look that you return immediately.

“I thought you were out with the boys tonight?” You inquire, looking him up and down. He was certainly dressed like he was ready to go out, but him being in front of you said otherwise.

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, “I did go out, but I’m done now.”

You squint a little as you ask, “and the boys? They’re done and back at their places too?”

Mike’s cheeks start to redden a bit and you have to fight off a smile. Had he really bailed on the boys to come hang out with you? You missed him, of course, but you definitely expected to not see him until at least the next day.

“I was done. Am I allowed in now?”

You step back and let him walk in, locking the door all over again and turning towards him. He has his hand sticking out, waiting for you to grab it. It’s silent between the two of you, but it feels charged. It feels like there’s a lot unsaid between you both.

You let Mike lead you over to your couch despite the fact you were definitely ready for bed. The lights from the city pour into the room, leaving it illuminated enough to not need any other lights.

“I tried to flirt with someone tonight,” he admits, trying a couple times to meet your eyes, but he keeps glancing away.

You frown, a weird pit forming in your stomach, and all you can say is, “oh.”

“I couldn’t do it. I don’t even know what her name was and I know she wasn’t as pretty as you.”

You snap your eyes up to look at him and squeeze his hand that you still haven’t let go of, wanting more of an explanation.

“I always said I wouldn’t date in college. It’s supposed to be when you have fun and go out. You get to meet new people all the time. I guess I didn’t expect to meet someone I’d like so much,” he says quietly, but he looks up finally to make eye contact.

Your heart feels like it could pop out of your chest at any moment and you really can’t fight the smile off that makes its way over your features.

“Mike,” you mumble, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, “are you trying to say you like me?”

“I think you knew I liked you,” he says, but he’s still blushing as he does, “but I didn’t really know if you felt completely the same.”

You bite your lip and play with the hair at the nape of his neck, watching as he relaxes under your touch, “I tried really hard not to like you. I figured it was a one or two time thing when we first hung out, but it just kept going. Then I told myself that I couldn’t fall for you because you were a hockey player, and well, that apparently didn’t matter.”

Mike smiles at you, his eyes going a little wide as he realizes what you were saying, “so you do like me? Like you don’t want to go to the bar and flirt with someone else either?”

You laugh and shake your head at his question, “no, Mike, I don’t want to go flirt with anyone else at the bar that isn’t you.”

“So maybe we give this a try? Because I can’t handle going downtown again and trying to act like I wouldn’t rather be with you,” he says honestly, giving you a bit of a sheepish smile.

You lean in, kissing him slowly and softly. You think you could probably kiss him forever if the real world didn’t intervene with it, but you take what you can as often as you can with him. You lean your forehead against his and soaking things in for a minute.

“Ryder says hi,” Mike whispers, a little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I love that boy,” you smile, watching Mike’s expression quickly turn a little sour as you amend the statement, “but not the way I love you.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, smirking as he mumbles, “you got so soft on me. Who are you anymore?”

You laugh and push away from him, knowing damn well he was the one who’d gone soft. You start to walk towards your bedroom but he catches your wrist quickly, tugging you back against him.

“I was planning to spend the night?” He asks, his tone unsure despite the fact you’d never told him he couldn’t.

You smile at him, giving him a little nod, “I don’t care if you spend every night here from now on, but I’m a little wine drunk and I’d like to get to bed.”

He hears the implication in your voice and before you can react he picks you up bridal style and heads toward your room with you giggling the whole time. He was even more happy with himself for bailing on the boys now.

#mike vorlicky #owen lindmark #ryder donovan #shay donovan #dylan holloway #wisconsin hockey #mine #my writing

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georgemackayhey · 5 years ago

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Rules For Falling In Love: #1

summary: In which George wants to get married. But... you're not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Here it is I'm obsessed with this concept my dear friend thought up, so much so that I was inspired to write this multichapter fic about it all. Please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone, or if you'd like to be added to the list! And as always... feedback of any and all kinds are greatly appreciated!

w/c: 2k

Part 2 >

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Don't be a third wheel, come on now!" Dean's publicist shooed him away from where you stood next to George, counting down the seconds till the red carpet came to an end. You gave the guy a quick, twisted frown, as George's publicist pulled him further down the carpet, his hand holding on to yours, silently bringing you along.

This was just another normal Friday evening.

When the time came to flood into the award ceremony, you sighed in relief and reached for a drink from the tray of a despondent boy meant to stand right where he was for most the night.

"Don't you have any place better to be?" Dean laughed your way, thanking the waiter for the drink he swiped.

"We were going to go bowling." You shot George a look. You'd only made the plans as a joke, wondering how much shit either of you would get for ditching this stupid ceremony to go have a bit of real fun. But you'd made a promise to George long ago, to attend all these silly little Hollywood shindigs with him.

"And we will go bowling if we make it out of here alive" George declared with a nod, leading you toward the row of seats with your names on them. He hated these events almost more than you did. He insisted your presence aided to quell his anxieties these circumstances stirred up. And you couldn't tell George no, very often.

"If one of you ever did one thing without each other, I think hell would freeze over." Dean chuckled as you all settled into your seats. You looked to George again, and he looked to you and you both laughed, but Dean was probably right.

After the awards had been given out between long, sometimes painful speeches, the boy's publicists insisted they linger around the after-party for as long as they could manage. You kept your usual pace in between them, cackling over stupid old jokes and offering forced toothy grins to celebrities who asked if they could steal George away for photos and chats about the magic of acting- or whatever.

"You know, no one has even ever asked about us." You pointed out to Dean, sharing a piece of cake in the quietest corner of the party. "Showbiz people I mean. They just assumed right away. Even the times we've insisted we're only friends, they insist we're joking." You huffed a laugh.

"That's Hollywood for you, I suppose. But you've gotta admit... you and George-"

"Are just friends." You finished. Dean halted, smiling in agreeance to drop the subject, but clearly held back from stating his other points, whether they were valid or not.

After one too many sweets and drinks, George found you and informed his sister was on her way to give the two of you a lift home. You traded a few hugs with Dean, making rough plans to meet up again very soon, without all the cameras and microphones in the way.

///

"How was your date, then?" George's sister wondered as you clamored into the back of her car. George followed behind with an answer.

"It wasn't a date, it was work thinly veiled as fun."

"But you went together, which makes it a date."

"Nice try," You rose a finger, buckling in as the girl sped off toward the city streets. She'd always found sly ways to get you and George to admit there was something deeper to your connection. She'd introduce you to her friends as her brother's girlfriend. She'd address Christmas presents to the both of you, handing them out with a wink.

"I don't understand you two." She dramatically croaked now, as if your denial was her personal defeat. "You're catfishing the world!"

"We're not pretending to date." George reminded his sister, "And we're also not pretending we don't live together."

"Yeah so why aren't you dating? You do everything else together."

"We live to torment you. It's all to drive you mad" George falsely confessed.

"I wouldn't put it past you." His sibling let out a whine.

You and George shared a roll of your eyes, dulling snickers and exhausting explanations that weren't worth wading through. The midnight ride to your flat fell silent then. The night had been long, but it was a seemingly usual evening, these days.

By the time you and George shuffled up the drive, waved his sister goodnight, you were ready to forgo your usual routine and drop face-first into bed.

"I think my sister has a point," George mumbled, shutting and locking the front door.

"Hmm?" You encouraged George to go on, halfway in tune to listen, more so gearing up to head to bed after such a long evening out. George remained silent as you kicked your shoes off, and didn't speak again until he had your undivided attention.

"Let's get married," George said.

You tossed your head back in a laugh as you floated further into your shared home.

"I'm serious, y/n." George hurried along, moving to stop you from walking away, boring his sleepy eyes into yours.

"What?" You chuckled again, shaking your head, trying to keep up.

"We already live here. We've been talking about sharing a bank account. And it'll be so much easier to introduce as my wife than as 'my best friend who I live with but am not dating but go everywhere with.'"

"But that's the truth!"

"Marriage could be true! Think of how much easier life would be."

"George, how much have you had to drink?" You cackled as you pushed past him, into the kitchen for a glass of water. You clattered about the cupboards as he followed you, rambling still.

"I'm serious! We've planned out our lives together already. Future vacations, birthday parties, career deadlines, all accounted for with each other in mind. We should just get married."

"George! I will not let you lie at the altar. A wedding is for two people who want to commit every bit of their lives together for the rest of the foreseeable future."

"My plans for the weekend are always to ask you what you want to do the next. I'm your only emergency contact." George listed off these points as if they were dead giveaways.

"Okay, let's say we get married." You entertained, standing in front of George as he noshed on some deserts he'd brought home from the after-party. He raised a pretty brow, waiting for you to go on.

"Sure nothing changes at first, not really. You're already my ride to work, and I already promised to go to all those silly Hollywood parties with you. But what happens in five years when I want to move to France and you want to stay here? What happens in six months if some super hot mailman comes and sweeps me off my feet? What happens when you fall in love with some leading lady, George?"

"People get divorced all the time." He shrugged.

"That's a lot of money to blow. And for what? For a lousy label and some ugly rings?"

"So we pick out some bloody cool rings and promise to only get divorced if shit hits the fan. Neither of us can stay mad for long. Remember when I spilled wine on your great grandma's old lounge chair? I was fully prepared to be excommunicated. But you just hugged me while you cried." George chuckled, keeping his desserts close.

"Do you really wanna kiss me in front of your mother and the world and pretend that this is normal?" You tried to ask with a serious glare, but it was just too funny. You couldn't help but let out a little giggle of disbelief that this was the conversation you were having on an otherwise normal weekday evening.

"Y/n, we're practically already married."

"George I love you, but this is a stupid idea."

"I don't think it is, but I love you too. I'm taking this box of macaroons to bed, now."

"Okay goodnight you two." You laughed, pulling at the sleeves of your too-tight dress on your trek down the hall.

"Wait!" You called out, a few steps from your room. "Can you unzip this, please?" You took a few backward steps to meet where George had stalled in the hall, macaroon halfway in and out of his mouth, he balanced one hand on your shoulder and used the other to undo the zipper that hugged your spine.

"G'night!" You heard him mumble past his dessert as you gave him a wave of thanks and practically threw yourself into your nice warm bed.

///

You met George when you were kids. You grew up attending the same local festivals and schools. His acquaintance turned more familiar with each passing summer until you'd become rather inseparable. It was that fact that kept his number in your contacts when you moved to the city, and he went away to film more often.

You'd kept up lunch dates when he came back home, and celebrated holidays with his family every time they invited you to come round like they'd been doing for years. You'd even attended a few birthdays and dinner parties with his family when George was out of town, when you hadn't spoken with him in months.

You moved in with George some odd years ago, when the flat you rented threw one too many unfixable issues your way. His home was the closest to your work, and he was one of the only friends you trusted enough to reach out to for help. After occupying his guest room for a few months, George insisted you move your things into the place you'd already practically been living in.

His home was big enough, tucked away just outside of the city. It's high ceilings, warm decor and a manageable rent were easily and comfortably split between the two of you. It made sense. You'd been sharing most of your free time together for years, anyway.

You shuffled through the bright halls, past framed photos of George's family. Of you and George. There was no difference, you'd been close for so many years, your lives were complexly intertwined whether you liked it or not. Luckily, you did.

George was already in the sun-drenched kitchen when you entered, stretching into the new day.

After trading usual morning greetings you could practically hear George's silent, burning thoughts. He poured you each a cup of coffee and shot you a look you knew was meant to say much more than words could.

"Okay, what?" You asked in a warning tone, accepting the drink he placed before you at the table, before sitting in the chair at your side. You knew George had something to say, and he'd say it whether you asked him about it or not.

"My mum thinks we've been dating since Uni. You know we can't talk her out of it. If anything she'd be relieved."

Oh, he was really still hung up on this huh?

"So you wanna do this because of your mother?" You asked, watching the steam curl up from the drink between your hands.

"No. I wanna do this because being together officially would make all our being together anyway, so much easier. Bills, plans, excuses, rainy days."

You looked at George, his start blue eyes, his unkempt hair, that stupid withheld smile he got when he was focused on something. You loved him for longer than you had the patients to do the math for. You planned on loving him for a while, even when he pissed you off, you couldn't imagine struggling alongside anyone else...

"Earth to y/n."

"I'm not responding because you're starting to make sense and I don't like it." You pretended to pout. Then George went silent for a beat, his brilliant eyes searching your face.

"Do you still want to go bowling?" He pipped up as if he'd just remembered you'd said something about it a day earlier.

"Sounds fun, doesn't it?" You asked, hoping he'd join you in wasting a day having childlike fun. George bit back a grin, leaned in close to catch your eye, and said,

"If I win... we'll get married."

You wanted to curse his name through a laugh, but you very rarely could tell the man no. And you hated to admit it even to yourself, but the more you thought about it... the more you liked the idea.

"And if you win?" George mused, egging you on. But you didn't need to place bets to play.

"Let's go bowling, Mackay."

///

As you took turns knocking pins down, George brought up several valid points.

How his family adored you. How he'd drop anything to be there for you when you needed him. How you'd always talked about how scary the future seemed, but agreed it was better to face together, like always.

And you argued for a moment that maybe neither of you knew any better, how you were all each other knew since growing up.

But George pointed out that simply wasn't true. He'd traveled. Met girls, none of whom were around at all anymore. You'd dated and failed to find anyone worth keeping around. It was as if you and George were the survivors of some twisted game of life, having only managed this far because of how you relied on each other.

But you weren't on the same bowling team.

You were scoring strikes left and right a few solid points ahead in the game.

But George was close to beating you, one good turn and he'd wind up the winner.

All the while, George only stalled his passionate speeches to listen and laugh over yours. And as you considered how familiar his presence was, and the way you couldn't imagine living life any further apart, you'd made up your mind.

But every time you thought of voicing your decision, something stopped you. You bit your tongue and decided that you'd wait to see if your feelings changed soon. And after some serious thought, you could either tell George that you'd hate to let him down, but plan a movie night alongside his favorite dinner, to make up for your decline. Or you'd tell him yes, and agree to his stupidly sweet idea to get hitched. Because you couldn't tell him no.

He won the game.

But of course, George wasn't living and dying by the bet he made that coaxed you to play. And you never really agreed to it anyway. The two of you simply went on arguing on the way home, more or less about how you were on the same page, and just what to do next.

And while you made dinner together, your conversation stopped when you sucked in a big breath and spun on your heels across the room. You'd heard enough.

George raised a pale brow, sitting patiently at the table as the oven did its thing. Then he watched as you settled back to the seat across from him, placing a pad of paper and a pen down.

"If...we do this, I'm writing down rules."

George watched on, sipping tea as you scribbled away. Once you felt comfortable with the list of regulations you'd penned, you read from the marked-up note pad, one at a time.

"Okay, listen up..."

MARRIAGE RULES

one. No lying to family and friends. They get to know that this isn't conventional.

two. No lying to each other. We're only doing this to make things easier. We must remain every bit a team.

three. We must celebrate our anniversary because there's no point in not milking the chance to go on holiday.

"Now," You flipped the page to a new set of rules before George could go on smooth-talking.

DIVORCE RULES

"We can only get a divorce under dire circumstances. Which include the following..."

one. If we betray each other's morals or trust in a way that cannot be fixed or forgiven after a year's time.

two. If one of us is dying. Actively dying.

three. If one of us finds and falls in love.

"We've managed to work out all the bad shit together so far and I'm sure we can keep that up. A divorce is too much money to waste over one fight we end up resolving and remain otherwise together."

"So you'll do it?" George grinned, setting his drink to the side.

"Is this you asking me to marry you? It's very unromantic. Negative three out of ten." You laughed, George did too. But you needed to make yourself very clear.

"I'll think about it." You clarified. "You should too."

You’d tell him yes later. Because as much as it scared you... you'd already made up your mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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osakaso5 · 4 years ago

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Tamaki Yotsuba RabbiTube Rabbit TV Part 1: Spending Time With Tamaki

Part 2 | Part 3

Staff: ...Now, on to the RabbiTube project.

Staff: Our plan is to introduce the videos by featuring clips on NEXT Re:vale!

Staff: We'd really appreciate it if you could show a side of yourselves that people don't usually get to see on TV. It's a pleasure to be working with you!

Momo: We've got high hopes for you guys!

Yuki: Feel free to fully expose yourselves to the public.

Mitsuki Izumi: Ahaha, please be gentle with us! Looks like I'm gonna have to do a RabbiTube study marathon..!

Gaku Yaotome: By the way, Tenn, I saw you watching RabbiTube videos the other day. Do you know any good ones?

Tenn Kujo: ...I was just watching cat videos.

Gaku Yaotome: Cats, huh. That's not gonna help us learn anything.

Ryunosuke Tsunashi: ...I think they might help! You could learn ways to entertain and soothe people...

Gaku Yaotome: Ryu, not all of us are gonna be able to do that...

Yuki: ...I'm liking the idea of Kitty Gaku.

Tenn Kujo: ...Pfft...

Gaku Yaotome: Tenn, why're you laughing!?

Riku Nanase: Kitties..! So could it be like a video of Iori going into a cat café?

Iori Izumi: Why do I have to go to a cat café!?

Yamato Nikaido: I'm not too excited about making videos like that, either...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wanna do a pudding tasting!

Sogo Osaka: ...Personally, I'd like to rank my top 100 spices from all around the world...

Nagi Rokuya: And I shall hold a Cocona watch party!

Mitsuki Izumi: You guys aren't bringing anything new to the table!

Iori Izumi: ...Actually, I suppose animal videos do have their appeal, despite how banal they are...

Riku Nanase: Did you say something, Iori?

Iori Izumi: No, nothing.

Momo: Ahaha! Great, you're already brainstorming ideas!

Momo: You've all got the right idea! We wanna see you act natural for your RabbiTubes!

Yuki: Let's have a fun year doing this.

IDOLiSH7 & TRIGGER: Yessir!

- - - -

Riku Nanase: We're going to be RabbiTubers for our birthday project this year..!

Sogo Osaka: All the group chats up until now were fun, so it's kind of a shame that we won't be doing one this year.

Mitsuki Izumi: ...Fair enough. It'll be awesome to make videos for our fans, but I wish we could have our own celebrations too!

Yamato Nikaido: It's become kind of a tradition by now.

Nagi Rokuya: ...We do not work together as much as we used to. Though I understand that it is difficult to match all our schedules...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Do we not get to eat Mikki's cakes this year?

Mitsuki Izumi: The cakes are the one thing we're gonna make for sure! Right, Iori!?

Iori Izumi: Yes. I'll help, too.

Riku Nanase: Hmm... Celebrations...

Riku Nanase: Ah! Why don't we all go somewhere together for our birthdays?

Riku Nanase: I guess we probably can't all go... But we can get our manager to arrange it so at least some of us can hang out!

Mitsuki Izumi: Going out, huh... That does sound like a nice change of pace from all the group RabbitChats!

Yamato Nikaido: It's a shame that we won't all be able to go, but getting to choose a spot does make it feel more special. ...You should take me to a beer brewery, by the way.

Mitsuki Izumi: Sounds like you've already got one in mind!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Let's take lots of pics and videos for the guys who can't go. We can send them over RabbitChat.

Nagi Rokuya: OH! A wonderful idea. It will make us all feel as if we are there.

Iori Izumi: I'm sure uploading them to Rabitter would make many people happy, as well.

Sogo Osaka: That sounds fun..! Let's ask our manager about it tomorrow.

Riku Nanase: Yep! ...Looks like we're going to have pretty fun birthdays again!

- - - -

Tamaki Yotsuba: A King Pudding Museum..! Wow, I'm in heaven..!

Yamato Nikaido: Haha. Calling it heaven is a little much, don't you think?

Tsumugi Takanashi: He's our resident pudding lover, after all.

Sogo Osaka: I'm glad you like it. This museum was built at the end of last year, so I figured you hadn't been here yet.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Nope! Did you come up with this, So-chan!?

Sogo Osaka: No, it was Yamato-san's idea. He's the one who told us about the museum.

Yamato Nikaido: ...I would've been totally okay with you taking the credit for this, Sou...

Sogo Osaka: Why? I don't see any reason to lie about it.

Yamato Nikaido: I'm just here to keep things running smoothly.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Running..?

Yamato Nikaido: Hahaha. Don't think too hard on it. ...So, Tama, what do you wanna see?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Everything from this side of the place to that side of the place!

Sogo Osaka: ...Uh... The toilets are on that side of this floor...

Tamaki Yotsuba: I didn't mean the toilets!

Tsumugi Takanashi: Ah, here are some pamphlets.

Yamato Nikaido: Thanks. ...Let's head over here, for starters. The King Pudding History Theater.

Tamaki Yotsuba: Let's go!!! Time to learn history!

Sogo Osaka: I wish he was this passionate about his actual studies...

- - - -

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...That was awesome..! I can't believe the pudding jar looks different from what it used to..!

Yamato Nikaido: I didn't really know about this pudding brand before we started living in the dorm together, so it was pretty interesting to me, too...

Tsumugi Takanashi: It turns out Princess Meringue's character wasn't added until much later..!

Sogo Osaka: ...Did they change the containers for convenience's sake? Or did they have some other reason for it? Maybe food products just change with the times...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...So-chan, you're clearly thinking way too hard about this.

Sogo Osaka: Huh? I wouldn't say that...

Tamaki Yotsuba: You're not allowed to think hard today! And my word is law!

Sogo Osaka: It is?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yep, since it's my birthday. ...I'm King Tamaki! Hehe.

Yamato Nikaido: That's one hell of a king we've got.

Tsumugi Takanashi: You're today's star, Tamaki-san, so you can ask us anything!

Sogo Osaka: Exactly. As long as it's something we can do, of course.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Anything...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...In that case, I wanna eat this museum's limited edition pudding with you guys!

Yamato Nikaido: Wow, they've even got their own pudding flavor.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Let's see... according to the pamphlet, you can even go see where it's made!

Sogo Osaka: Are you sure you want to ask us something so small, Tamaki-kun?

Tamaki Yotsuba: It's not small. I know you and Yama-san don't like sweets.

Tamaki Yotsuba: But if I'm selfish and ask you to eat it together with me, maybe it'll taste better to you guys.

Yamato Nikaido: ...That doesn't even come close to being selfish, Tama.

Yamato Nikaido: Let's go have a treat! King's orders.

Yamato, Sogo, & Tsumugi: Yeah..!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Hehe. Awesome.

- - - -

Tamaki Yotsuba: Wow... Look at all those puddings on the conveyor belt!

Tamaki Yotsuba: I wonder if I could even eat this many in my lifetime.

Sogo Osaka: W-within your lifetime? Well, if you were to eat two every day for 80 years...

Yamato Nikaido: Sou, King Tamaki told you not to think too hard, remember?

Sogo Osaka: Ah... I-I'm sorry. I guess that was more of a rhetorical question.

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...I wish I could've come here with Aya and Mom, too.

Tsumugi Takanashi: Tamaki-san...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Haha. I know that's not possible. But King Pudding's just really special to me.

Sogo Osaka: ...We'll come here with all of IDOLiSH7 another time. You can count on that.

Tamaki Yotsuba: So-chan...

Yamato Nikaido: Yep. Sorry, manager, but we're hoping you could arrange our schedules for that...

Tsumugi Takanashi: Of course! I'll work something out!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Guys... Thanks a lot.

Yamato Nikaido: 'Kay, time to eat. Let's go have some of that limited edition pudding.

Sogo Osaka: I wonder what makes it so unique.

Tamaki Yotsuba: You get to pick your own toppings!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Also, you get to draw on the label!

Sogo Osaka: D-draw!?

Yamato Nikaido: That's pretty cool. Your pudding's guaranteed to be one- of-a-kind.

Tamaki Yotsuba: I know, right!? That's why I said this was heaven!

Yamato Nikaido: Haha. Figures.

Tsumugi Takanashi: No wonder so many of the people who passed us by were holding all kinds of puddings I'd never seen before!

Tamaki Yotsuba: Yeah! I'm gonna put a ton of chocolate sprinkles on mine. I wonder if they come in 7 colors?

Yamato Nikaido: Let's hope they do! And even if they don't we can use something else to make up for it.

Sogo Osaka: Just out of curiosity, do they have any spicy...

Tamaki Yotsuba: Nope!

Sogo Osaka: I knew it...

Tamaki Yotsuba: ...Listen.

Yamato Nikaido: Hm? What's up?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Thanks a lot... For bringing me here today.

Tamaki Yotsuba: King Pudding was a big part of my memories with Aya and Mom, so I'm really happy I get to share it with you guys.

Tamaki Yotsuba: We got to make some new memories together!

Tsumugi Takanashi: ...And we'll make many more, so your life as an idol is just as bright as your life was with them!

Yamato Nikaido: You're pretty dear to us, Tama. So you should tell us more about yourself.

Sogo Osaka: Can you teach us what kind of topping goes best with King Pudding?

Tamaki Yotsuba: Sure! But it's not gonna be beer or tabasco!

Tsumugi Takanashi: Hee hee. Let's use this chance to take a picture of you all..!

Tsumugi Takanashi: Say cheese..!

End of Part 1.

#idolish7 #tamaki yotsuba #rabbitube #translation #i7 #rabbit tv

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blueroseblaze · 5 years ago

Text

Nero’s a Karen

A/N: I watched a tiktok and got inspired by it so I crapped this out

WARNINGS: Nero yelling at someone

“Ok,” you said while undoing your seatbelt, “this shouldn’t take long. I’ll be right back.”

You have your husband a quick kiss on the cheek before exiting the car, leaving him to his own devices.

You walked up the sidewalk to the glass doors of the jewelry store. A few weeks ago, you had dropped off Nero’s wedding ring with the store in order for it to be repaired. A few too many careless fights with demons left you surprised that the silver band wasn’t in more than just 3 pieces. Luckily, the emblem on the top was left intact. You had gotten a call earlier that day that the ring been fixed and was ready for pick up, so you dragged Nero along with you in a few errands before stopping at the shop. You had been waiting for a while to get Nero’s ring back and the weeks leading up to that had been quite stressful for a number of reasons.

The bell dinged as you opened the door, and immediately you felt the mood shift. The shop was deathly silent, no one at the front desk and no one waiting to be helped. The cases of jewelry left completely unguarded. You spotted a small silver bell on the countertop and dinged a few. Nothing. You dinged a few more and again, nothing.

You stood there awkwardly. Tapping your foot to keep yourself occupied. After few more moments of utter silence, you dinged one more time.

“JESUS!! I’M COMING!” a shrill voice yelled from the back of the shop. You yanked your hand back as soon as the voice screamed at you as if the bell was on fire.

You stood there stock still as a clearly disgruntled employee came around the corner, an awful scowl etched into her face. She slumped against the counter annoyedly glaring daggers at you.

“Whatdaya want?” she asked with a huff.

You just stood there in shock as this was not the person you spoke with on the phone. You distinctly remember a much more gentle and cheerful voice over the phone. Your brain freezing on you, you just continued to stand and stare at the employee.

“Well!? You just gonna stand there or what?” she said.

You snapped yourself out of it, stuttering your answer to the girl.

“U-um. I gotta call… that my husband’s ring was fixed,” you replied.

The girl rolled her eyes and slumped to the computer where she rudely asked you for a name. You gave it to her and watched as she lazily types on the keyboard. She sighed and looked back at you.

“We don’t have any repairs under that name,” she claimed.

Now that was a lie. You were specifically told that your repairs were complete, you spoke to the owner for the shop directly. And even if she was right that’s no excuse for being so rude. But you kept your composure and gave the employee your husband’s name, maybe there was some confusion because it wasn’t, specifically your ring.

The employee sneered and typed again, only sparing the screen a glance before turning back to you with an annoyed. “There’s nothing under that name either.”

“Ok,” you said, your patience beginning to dwindle, “Well is the manager or owner around, then? They’re who I spoke with earlier.”

The girl cursed under her breath and then started giggling. Confused you waited for her to speak.

“Yeah sorry, Karen. But the owner is out on lunch.”

The utter venom in this girls voice as the name left her lips astounded you. You didn’t think you were being unreasonable, but this hostile mood was chipping away at your resolve.

“But I spoke with the owner over the phone and…”

“Well that sounds like a you problem,” she sneered, “Or maybe he just thought the ring was garbage and threw it out I don’t know, I don’t care.”

You couldn’t say anything with how in shock you were.

“Now are you gonna buy anything or are you gonna keep wasting my time?”

Words failed you again and the frustration of this interaction was starting to get to you. You had already paid for the repair and there was clearly no getting through to this woman, so there seemed to be no getting your ring back. This would only be an annoyance had the following weeks been so stressful, getting Nero’s ring back was supposed to be the highlight of it, the reward for all that you both had to put up with. But now that didn’t seem like it was going to happen.

Defeated and insulted you silently turned and shuffled towards the front door. You spared one last look at the employee, who was barely staring at her phone completely ignoring you, before you walked out the door.

You made your way back to the car, opening the door and getting in without saying anything, not even looking at Nero.

“Did you get the-,” he paused seeing you welling eyes, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

He reached over the console, cupping your cheek, and wiping away a tear that escaped your eye. You relayed to him your interaction with the employee, stuttering a bit as you spoke. You told him it wasn’t a big deal and that you should just leave and come back later. You were tired and just wanted to go home now.

Nero’s concerned face turned into a scowl as he listened. And before you knew it he was undoing his seatbelt and storming out of the car. Surprised and dreading what’s to come, you followed him back into the shop, begging him to let it go and not start something

“Nero, please don’t-,” you called.

“Now I normally don’t give a shit about shitty service but if you make my wife cry then we’re gonna have a problem!” Nero was hunched over, both hands planted flat on the counter yelling at the woman on the other side. You stood in disbelief behind him, not wanting to get involved in the confrontation.

You watched the woman’s cool uncaring attitude melt away in seconds as Nero kept going. Asking who the hell she was to act like that to anybody and demanding that you be treated with more respect. As he kept yelling and she kept mumbling, you heard the bell to the front door open behind you and an older gentleman walked in. He paused in the doorway, observing the seen with a neutral face. He turned to your mortified self.

“Are you Miss. (Y/N)?” he asked politely.

“Y-yes,” you replied.

“Perfect! Your husband’s ring is ready. Just give me a moment.”

He walked past you and Nero to behind the counter. When Nero saw him he immediately ceased his tirade, silently watching the gentleman duck behind the counter, along with the petrified employee. Everyone watched, quietly waiting as he pulled out the velvet ring box labeled with your first and last name. You approached the counter and took the box, handing it to Nero who was still awkwardly silent.

“Now,” the older man said, “What seems to be the problem here?”

Nero snapped out of his stupor and began to explain what you had told him to what was clearly the owner and man you spoke to over the phone. The employee who had berated you sulked away, not making eye contact with anybody as Nero finished. The owner said that he would take care of it and apologized for any inconvenience his employee caused. You profusely thanked him and dragged Nero outside and back to your car.

“Sorry I blew up back there,” he said as he slipped his ring back onto his left hand, “I know you’ve been stressed, and I didn’t appreciate someone treating you like that.”

You sighed leaning up to kiss him on his scruffy cheek, “It’s okay. Thank you for standing up for me though… Karen.”

You both laughed and made your way back to your car.

#dmc #dmc5 #devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #nero #dmc nero #nero x reader #dmc nero x reader #reader insert #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc oneshot #my writing #my fanfic #my post

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