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dulcewrites · 2 years ago

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Unnerved

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (kind of lol), implied aegon targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: Being at court is a game, and your favorite opponent is a certain long haired Prince.

A/N: I sort of adapted this from my fool me once series. I got an idea of the reader being slightly more ambitious. But then realized that would change the story so this kind of a new one lmao. Some elements are from like Aemond being married (this time to Floris Baratheon) and possibly cheating 👀. But anyway just wanted to explore Aemond and reader being haters but also having crazy sexual tension. *insert something smart about Aemond hating someone that is a mirror of him*

The heavy fabric of your dress seems to drag more than usual.

The extra care given to your appearance hopefully will not go unnoticed. The gown is your most expensive. A deep blue Lyseni cut dress with beaded bodice, and silk sleeves that slip open and ripple like water.

Walking the halls of the Red Keep is at night is not something you frequent. Working up the courage was always something that made you falter. But the result would make it worth it.

You bite back a smile when you see Ser Arryk not near his post. For a moment you consider knocking, worried that Aegon may be in the room with someone. The thought never bothered you till recently. A surge of confidence overtakes when you just open the door instead.

The fireplace in his is uncharacteristically blazing at this point. You stop in your tracks when you notice long legs extending from chair near the fire. Long silvery blonde hair catches your eye, and your heart sinks. Before you can turn around to make a beeline towards the door, an eye flick towards you.

“My Prince,” you bow your head softly. “You are back from the trip.”

You try to keep you voice bright, and unassuming but you are sure disappointment colors your tone. Aemond gives you sly smile.

“Come to look in on my brother, I assume,” condescension laced through his voice. He gestures to the book in your hand. There were days Aegon did enjoy hearing you read, but most of the time the conversation dissolved into other things. He would start at the seats in his room, you at his desk… till the you ended up on his bed. Faces close, and whispers soft.

“Yes, Prince Aegon always enjoys hearing about the histories.”

Aemond’s polite disposition drops, and he lets out a short laugh. “Right, I am sure he enjoys hearing about the histories from you.”

You feel yourself falter. An unnerved and unprepared feeling burst in your stomach.

But a lady is never those things. Not ever. Your mother’s voice rings in your head. A true lady never worries. The best of them can turn negatives into a positive.

You put on the sweetest smile you can and nod.

“This week we read about all about Maegor the Cruel.”

Something flashes behind his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. He hums softly, giving you a once over. Inspecting your dress, your hair, your face. The hair jewelry holding back your hair starts to feel like it is digging into your scalp. Not feeling comfortable standing and letting him dissect you, your feet lead you to sitting in the chair opposite him.

“I do hope Prince Aegon is well.”

“What you mean to ask is where is he,” Aemond corrects. “He was not here when I arrived. He may be out on a late-night joyride with Sunfyre. Perhaps wandering the Street of Silk for another type of joy.”

You say nothing, laying the book flat on your lap. It should not shock you. Aegon is not getting that from you. You know Aemond does not believe that by the false innocuous way he mentions his brother’s indecisions. Every bit of attention Aegon puts elsewhere is a win for him. He decides to twist the knife more.

“I bet the discussions you two have are ravishing,” Aemond replies sarcastically, leaning back further in his chair. It only makes you more aware of your posture. More of mother’s words - Back straight, chest out, and head up my dear girl. “Aegon has always been known for his ability to hold a riveting conversation.”

“I think you underestimate your brother. He retains information quite well, and loves to debate,” your hands trace delicately over the large book.

Aemond’s eye doesn’t leave yours. The enjoyment wiped from his face. He just stares soberly.

“You know the sad part is that I genuinely think you believe that. You think you will be able to carry on like this. Pretending this all for companionship and light reading.”

Your eyes drift to the fire. A part of you wonders what it would be like to just stick your hand in it. Would there be excruciating pain or would the numbness that you force into you mind spread through your body? The old wives’ tales Aegon tells of Targaryens being fireproof pop into your head. Maybe that is where Aemond’s gall comes from; the inability to burn the way others would. You wish you could test the theory. What a sight it would be to see him engulfed in flames.

Aemond lip curls a bit. “But at least you can pretend with the best of them. First born sons deserve the best, even the best whores.”

The harsh words are strangely tinged with pity.

“Tis a shame, the way court changes a girl.”

Your eyes snap back to him. “I am not a girl, my Prince. The same way you are not a boy.”

The two of you are the same age. The superiority in his voice is not needed nor appreciated. You must bite your tongue not the bring up the stories of youth Aegon has told you about. His life has been court fodder many times over. It would be too easy to bring up the strife a young Aemond had to go through. Too unladylike to bring up the little boy you know is still tucked under the bravado.

He would revel in taking you out of yourself.

“You could get out of it, before it is too late,” he pushes the subject more. “Marry some lord and be swept away from here.”

The possibility sounds nice. Away from court, away from your family. Maybe a different version of you would agree with Aemond. Acknowledge that being at court, that striving for more has stolen something from you. A life of simple monotony away from the Red Keep sounds lovely. But you are not a different you. You were made and pushed into the world in your parent’s image. Simple is not enough, monotony is not enough.

“I appreciate the advice,” you smile calmly. “But I would miss everyone too much to do that just yet. I would miss Prince Aegon, along with Princess and the children. As well as you and sweet Floris.”

Aemond stands abruptly at the mention of his sister and wife. The light from the fire reflects on the side of his face. He looks like something out of a fairy tale. You are sure he wants to look intimidating but looks more ethereal if anything. He shares that trait with his siblings.

He goes to leave without another, but a sudden urge washes over you.

“Wait, my Prince,” you set the book in the chair and go to where he is near the door.

You wet your thumb slightly, watching his eye linger on your mouth.

“You have a little rogue there.”

Your thumb traces over the vein on his neck, and you feel him stiffen under your light touch. You flinch a little when his hand grabs your wrist firmly. For a moment, you don’t trust your instinct fearing your boldness has taken you to a point you cannot tip toe back from. You become acutely aware of blade resting snugly against his hip. He could slit your throat easily. But you have seen him training; he would go for a more gruesome approach if given the chance. Slow and painful.

Instead, he gently placed your hand at your side. His hand making a route from your wrist to the delicate tips of your fingertips. There is a coldness left when he lets go.

He leaves without another word.

“I will tell Prince Aegon you stopped by,” you lie as you call after him.

Aegon does eventually show up. Riding gloves on, and cheeks splotched, pink from the cold. He goes on and on about something Sunfyre did. You sit, pleasant and accommodating, the way men like him want. Hanging of every word as if you would die not hearing the next one spill from his lips.

Despite the dragon drivel, your mind does not drift often, liking the easiness that comes with speaking with an agreeable Aegon. But when it does, it only fixates on one thing.

First sons deserve the best… even the best whores

“She is not pregnant, Your Grace.”

The maester seemed nervous to tell the Queen. Aemond bites back a breath of relief when the words come out, eye fighting to go back to outside the window next to the wall where he leans. Floris’ face scutches into a frown.

Alicent chews on her cheek in clear aggravation, a tell Aemond can pick up from years of noticing his mother’s ticks. But like any good diplomat, she quickly replaces the disappointment with smile towards Floris.

“Well, it can take time,” she tries to give a good-natured shrug. “No reason to worry.”

Alicent had gotten good at giving her kids the same empty placating statements sprouted to her by her own father. Everything is going how it should. No need to worry. You will be fine.

They do not believe her the way she does not believe Otto. She can at least say she knows her children well enough to see they do not believe it. Alicent is sure her father still deludes himself into thinking his halfhearted attempts at warmness work.

Even the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms can be mind-numbingly daft at times.

The maester and Alicent jump into words of encouragement and ideas to help a seemingly upset Floris. Aemond assumes he should join in, comfort his wife but his legs don’t catch up with what his brain tells him is best. Instead, he stares out of the tower window, a flash of deep red and black catching his eye.

He sees you walking through the castle with such sure steps, in perfect tow with his sister. A creep of bitterness works its way up Aemond’s throat. The way you have encroached into the inner fabric of his family leaves him feeling uncomfortable. As if you were always meant to be here. A harmless addition, but he knows better. There is nothing harmless about the way Aegon looks at you.

The only vindication he gets is his mother’s shared hesitance. But in the end, he knows Alicent is too tired to say anything unless true harm is being done. Even she can appreciate Aegon having a singular focus for once, even if it not his wife. And she is undoubtedly fond of your strait-laced yet kind nature. You knowing your place makes all the difference. But Aemond sees hints of boldness and rashness.

It feels odd watching a woman not of his family so garishly wear the color that matches the walls of the castle. But too terribly fascinating to look away from. The black dress with Ruby red trimming sits off the shoulders elegantly. Your hair pulled up showing off a swan like neck that he has only seen on his mother.

Poised, well-read, quick witted, and all wrapped up in a pretty package. You are the ideal vessel for a royal bastard; he knows you see it too, you are too bright not to. A perfectly placed temptation.

He knows his brother is foolish enough to try it.

Mindlessly, his hand goes to his throat. The touch is not the same as yours. His sword withered hands nothing like the dainty soft one that danced across his nights ago. He swallows thickly.

“Aemond, are you listening,” his mother voice breaks through his thoughts.

He nods. As he pushes himself from the wall, he swears he can feel eyes looking up at him.

— — —

Aemond starts to wonder if all his thoughts will be tinged with violence and paranoia.

Simple ideas can be quickly shifted into something morbid. He does not when it started. After he lost his eye? After watching Aegon and Helaena get married? After learning about get married himself. It is easy to have this to turn into dust and ashes in this family.

Though Floris is a welcomed difference. The right amount of different yet bland enough that his thoughts on her dissolve into nothing. Sweet, and palatable; things could be far worse he guesses. He could be stuck with far worse. She lets him do as he pleases. Finds ways to occupy herself that has nothing to do with him, a comfort.

When he hears laughter coming from their chambers, he assumes she must be with one of her ladies in waiting. He internally groans at the small talk he must make with them. Pretending to care about whatever court gossip they dither on about. But when he walks in he sees a table full of tea and treats.

“My love,” Floris hops up from her seat, a bright smile on her face. A warmer disposition than the one she had been sporting since the news of not being with child.

Before he can reply, the person in the seat turned away from he springs up with equal vigor.

“Prince Aemond,” you curtesy, polite smile on your face.

For today, the cold, silk targaryen-esque garb had replaced with a lace emerald green and gold gown. Coils falling in way that create a halo around you. He should add chameleon to the list of attributes. The transformation is remarkable. The typical icy demeanor being washed away with a young, sheepish, and girly smile.

Aemond bites back a sneer. His body feels like it vibrates whenever you are near. He has not figured out if it is anger or something entirely different.

“We were just having tea,” Floris looks at you then at the wine on the table, and you two share a knowing giggle. “Chatting away.”

He waits for the moment you finally excuse yourself, but it never comes. The two of you continue to whisper and giggle as if there is an inside joke no one else will be in on. He tries not to focus on it as he takes off his riding gloves, and cloak.

A guard comes into the room asking for Floris. He sends a prayer to the Gods that his wife will take you with him. But all she does is tell you that she will be back soon.

“Did you have a nice ride,” your voice rings through the room. Aemond lets out a deep sigh, turning from the clothing cabinet. He turns to find you lounging in the chair, goblet in hand.

He doesn’t answer, just stares at her leaning against the wardrobe.

“I have always thought about it,” your lips are stained red from the wine. “Taming a dragon, riding a dragon. Your wife is very lucky.”

Aemond blanches at the image that passes through his head. The vibrating feels like it is starting to radiate inside to outside. You down the rest of the wine.

“I am assuming she had ridden on Vhagar with you.”

She had…. once. Aemond had assumed it would romantic or a deep connection would be had. His at the time future wife meeting his first friend. She threw up afterwards, politely saying that she would never want to do that again.

Dragons are not for everyone.

“Maybe my brother will finally put you out of your misery, and let you ride his.”

Your lips curl into a cruel smile. “I would like that. I hear one good ride always clears the head. I am sure you have needed that lately.”

Aemond frowns not understanding what you mean.

“Floris was telling me about your problems. Do not fret Aemond, impotence is very natural while under pressure,” your eyes travel down his body, and you give him a fake pout in pity.

Aemond is sure he is about to lunge at you. His vision goes red for a second. “I am not impotent,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Nothing of what my wife and I do is any of your business.”

He shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself to you. Insolent girl with too much time on her hands, and too many ideas in her head. Aemond slightly curses his brother for being the reason you even come around. You hold your hands up innocently.

“Your wife invited me to tea, and she brought up the conversation. I am only now trying to extend my support.”

Aemond always thinks the people around him are too trusting, too open. Helaena is painstakingly warm to whoever shows her an ounce of kindness. Aegon is easily swayed with pretty faces or a sense of camaraderie. His mother’s whole being shuts down at the sound of compliments. Floris is alone at court, in need a friend. You meet all of their needs in ways he cannot begin to. You know it as much as he does.

He should feel upset at his wife, but he doesn’t even have the passion to do that.

So, all he can do is focus on how you bring on a nagging tug in the pit of stomach. How he trusts absolutely nothing you do. How embarrassed he feels about you knowing any intimate details about him.

“But if I could give some advice,” you get up from your seat, walking towards him. “If your wife is not doing the trick, perhaps thinking about other things may help. Something that makes the blood pump a little faster.”

Aemond’s throat bobs. He glares, trying to think of cruel insult to dismiss the notion, but he finds his mouth dry and his tongue heavy.

The moment is interrupted by Floris coming in with a smile. “What did I miss?”

The transformation happens again, Aemond thinks. The low voice you had put on, and the hazy look in your eyes instantly go away. You turn to her with a chipper smile.

“I was just telling Prince Aemond about how I am looking forward to going to the orphanage with you, Princess Helaena, and the Queen on the morrow.”

You lock arms with her, and all Aemond can do is watch.

Wretched girl.

—— —

Later that night, when he feels Floris’s lips on his neck, and her hand working down his chest. He tries to think about how lucky he is. Floris is pretty, and kind. He has bolstered his family through the marriage. It should make him happy.

Despite himself, he finds himself thinking about other things. About berry red wine-stained lips, and a perceptive mind. A wet thumb tracing where his wife’s lips are. Heat pulls in the pit of his stomach at the thought of you wanting to ride a dragon. That night he cums harder than expected.

Maybe second sons deserve the best too.

#this weirdly being one of the fav things Ive written and I did it in like a couple of hours wimfksnf #like once an idea stick… it is STUCK I fear #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd aemond #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!oc

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jgroffdaily · 7 months ago

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Russell T Davies talking about the Regency episode titled ‘Rogue’:

It features Jonathan Groff in a guest role, and “it’s a mystery what [his character’s] doing there,” teases Davies. “What could he possibly doing at a regency ball? It’s putting two great actors together [with Gatwa and Groff]. We never thought in a million years that Jonathan Groff would agree to be in Doctor Who.

Sometimes people have these suggestions and I just roll my eyes thinking. ‘You’ll be lucky,’ like that. But it turned out he watched It’s a Sin. He knew my name, which was a surprise to me. [That] made him pick up the script and look at the offer, and the next thing I knew, there he was and he sent me a video. He was cycling around Central Park. I wish my life was like that all the time. Normally you get 27 agents blocking you. Jonathan’s one of our great screen actors there, and to put that with Ncuti, it’s just fireworks.”

We’ve also gotten glimpses at the Regency episode, and all of it, including the costumes, looks amazing. “It is so stunning,” the showrunner confirms. “A lot of it we had to make ourselves because Bridgerton classically brought up every regency costume in Great Britain and we probably filmed in the only country house that they haven’t been to yet. And let me tell you that they bumped the prices up, but it’s a joy.”

And just like Shonda Rhimes is a fan of Doctor Who, he loves Bridgerton. “She did an interview with the Sunday Times recently where she expressed her love of Doctor Who and she named me. I was really thrilled to see [that]. I mean I’ve only ever met her once, for 30 seconds. But there she was saying how much she liked me. That was one of the greatest compliments in my life,” Davies shares. “There’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy in which people come into the emergency department because they’ve been fighting over my autograph, and they contacted me, got my autograph. That was years ago. But that episode must get shown somewhere in the world every day because almost every day I get someone texting me, have you seen this?”

He continues, “So almost to repay the compliment—Shonda put me in Grey’s Anatomy—I thought we’d put Bridgerton into Doctor Who. Actually, the writers said initially they wanted do a great big party. They wanted the Doctor to visit a party in time and space. And we had a long time winnowing down what sort of party that would be, but the moment Bridgerton was said, all other ideas went out the window. That really is a gorgeous episode.”

#jonathan groff #ncuti gatwa #doctor who #russell t davies #bridgerton

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polydamnory · 2 months ago

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So I’ve seen quite a few posts since the most recent Caller (I’m not calling him John lol) video came out essentially talking about how it was pretty dumb of Sweetie to bring a date back to their place - and I totally get that perspective, but I’d also like to provide a different one. (NOTE: this is not meant to come off as combative or telling people they’re wrong/dumb to think this way, I am not calling anyone out, please don’t take it that way. I just wanted to respectfully put my perspective out there as well.)

Like I’ve seen a few other people point out, we don’t know how long it’s been in universe between this and the past two Caller videos. We don’t exactly know how things have “progressed” so to speak with Caller and Sweetie. But we DO know a couple of things: Sweetie hasn’t really proven to not be taking this situation seriously. Sure they may have occasionally acted a bit recklessly, but never careless. They know the situation they’re in is fucked, that’s why they tried to run off to a hotel, that’s why they listen to him for the most part when he tells them to do something. They don’t know what he’s willing to do yet. We also know that they are scared and frustrated (justifiably so) - frustrated enough that they even yell at him.

It seems we’re all aware of their reasons for not having told anyone (as I haven’t really seen anyone say something like that here) - who would believe them? Who would believe that they have a stalker that calls them constantly that somehow seems to be able to see every single thing they do, no matter where they go or how they hide? I think it’s safe to assume Caller isn’t human and it really seems that Sweetie is not only human but an uninformed unempowered human. They don’t seem to suspect that he’s a demon who can just teleport or a Stealth that can just phase in/turn invisible and sneak in, so they don’t have something like the Department to report this to who might be more inclined to believe them.

I personally don’t think it would make sense for Erik to have had these two have any sort of further progression in meeting or anything like that between now and “Pick Up The Phone,” and we know from how Caller talked in the most recent video that Sweetie has gotten to the point where they know for the most part how to talk him down. Clearly, nothing other than the calls has actually happened. I think that’s at least part of why Sweetie invited their date over. He hadn’t yet proven that he would resort to violence. Evidently, this wasn’t the smartest notion but I can see how they probably just wanted some sense of normalcy, of security. Maybe they even thought that as long as another person was there, they would be safe. That he wouldn’t try anything. We’ve only ever seen them be alone when he called before. And to the point where Caller says “you knew how this was going to end up” - we KNOW he’s galighting and victim blaming them with this, it’s even tagged in the content warnings. Which I think just further proves he hadn’t yet (at least to their knowledge) hurt anyone for “interfering.” Maybe it’s been so long of Caller just being creepy on the phone that they didn’t think it would ever go any further, and they just wanted to experience some semblance of joy with a person they liked that they got a bit complacent.

Again, I’m not saying this wasn’t reckless of them, or that this is even the case for why they behaved this way, but in the end, I still don’t think it was their fault for what happened and was in a way a fairly understandable course of action. These characters are meant to be written like they’re four dimensional people, and I think this video just helps exemplify how well Erik does that.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted caller #redacted sweetie #poly.damn.ory #not sure how comprehensive this actually was #it’s really hard for me to put my thoughts on paper like this without my ADHD meds 😬#again not trying to shit on anyone for their take or put words in anyone’s mouth #I just wanted to put my own 2 cents in #I could be totally wrong about all of this

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aerodaltonimperial · 27 days ago

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(For @spacegatito 💚)

The music is loud. In hindsight, Bowens probably shouldn't have put Max in charge of it, but he thought it was a nice gesture given how bummed Max has been recently about things. MxM, the fights he keeps getting into on Twitter... anyway, he's regretting it now, but he can't say anything because Max has already spent the last twenty minutes glaring daggers at Colten Gunn.

Maybe this theme was a bad idea. Also, hindsight. It's really not Bowens's fault that Colten took the theme of "dress as something you love" to create a giant fake Tweet of Tony Khan saying that "Max Caster is a talentless hack and sucks" out of cardboard. It's really unfortunate, because the sheer amount of work that went into it is impressive, but Bowens has had to glare a lot and pretend it's all horrible. (Colten can't even fit through half the doorways, it's so wide.)

The doorbell rings. Bowens only hears it because he's parked next to it; otherwise, the raps are too overpowering. When he swings the door open with a cheery "Happy Hallo...!," he loses all his joy midway through. "What the fuck?"

"What?" Darby asks. "You sent an invite."

"I sent an invite that you CLEARLY didn't take seriously," Bowens groans, because what the fuck. Specific instructions. He'd said dress as something you love, because the roster is on fire lately and they all need something positive, and here's Darby on the doorstep dressed in a grey shirt, black jacket, and a Scapegoat armband. "You know, this isn't funny."

Darby frowns at him. "Wasn't supposed to be. I'm starving, you got food in there?"

"Can't you just try to go along with things once in your life?"

"Dude, what the fuck," Darby says. "Get off my dick, I did what you asked. Now let me in, cause you're being an asshole."

Bowens can't really tell him to go, so he lets Darby past, but like, what the hell. He'd asked for one thing. One thing! Honestly, a fight is gonna break out, and it's not gonna be his fault. He sits back down on his stool while Max continues to toss tootsie rolls at Colten, which keep bouncing off the painted cardboard. God dammit, that costume is funny.

The doorbell rings again, and when Bowens opens the door the second time, he's met with... pink. Fuzzy pink.

"What?" Bowens exhales, aghast. "Did...?"

Jack stares at him, a challenge. Oh my god, he's got the greasepaint on and everything. "What?"

"Why are you...?"

Jack frowns. "You sent a theme. I did the theme."

Is this an elaborate prank of some sort? Bowens has to be hallucinating. Did Hook switch out the Haribo bears with weed gummies? "The... the theme was..."

"Yeah, open up, man. He's in there, isn't he? He didn't even wait for me, which is so fucking typical."

Bowens opens the door, but only because his brain is spinning like a hamster on a wheel. Jack breezes past him, spies Max on the turn table, and yells, "Goth phase!" which immediately draws a delighted crow out of Max and a change in the music.

Bowens stays there for a minute, trying to sort things out. He's still there when Daddy Ass comes by, and asks, "Hey, did you notice that Jack and Darby are dressed as each other? Did you not send them the theme? It's like they thought they were supposed to be scary or something."

"No," Bowens says. "No, I sent them the theme!"

They both go silent for a minute.

"No," Bowens says again.

"No way," Daddy Ass agrees, but it's a little dubious.

The two in question have found each other in the living room, and are sort of arguing with each other, gestures back and forth. So that's all very normal and expected, even if they are weirdly dressed as each other and Bowens is just about to write the whole thing off when Darby abruptly laughs, grabs Jack’s face, and plants a kiss right on his mouth. A ridiculously sloppy kiss with gusto that Jack does not immediately punch him for.

Oh, god.

"Huh," Daddy Ass says, brow furrowed. "I did not see that coming."

"Well, you know what I DO see coming?" Bowens points. "Max attempting to strangle one of your sons with the mic cord. We gotta go stop this. Worry about weird roster relationships AFTER we prevent murder."

#tag so you don't lose this shit

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lyxurious · 2 years ago

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So you like Luo Yunxi: A drama recommendation list

So you watched "Till the End of the Moon", and all you got is heartbreak, brainworms, and a shiny new lowkey or highkey obsession with Luo Yunxi (perhaps other people from the amazing cast too, but we're focusing on him here)? You want to see more of him, but you don't know where to start? Fear not, for this list is here to hopefully help you out with that.

Here be some (non-spoilery, but might mention if it generally ends well or not) spark notes on all his past dramas with him in the first male lead role, that are currently available with English subs (+ 2 very important supporting roles + 1 bonus). In chronological order, from most to least recent!

Light Chaser Rescue

Type: Modern, rescue missions, human drama, romance

Episodes: 40

Available at: WeTv, YouTube, viki

What's the deal? Jaded and cynical lawyer meets cute and icy doctor lady who is not here for his bs, and discovers the joys of love and most importantly, volunteer rescue work.

On the one hand: Detailed and extremely realistic scenes of all sorts of natural disasters happening. The production team collaborated with a real life team where anyone can volunteer and get training as a rescuer. They built a wholeass glacier for the final episodes and you could never tell it's fake looking at it even on HD. The side characters are mostly likeable (which is something you can't say for every drama), although flawed and human. FL is a cool-headed independent grownup woman who bottles up her feelings like a fine vintage.

On the other: The pacing is rather choppy and makes it feel like they planned out the disaster scenes/rescue missions first and everything else was added later to link said missions together and give the characters stuff to do in between. Since this is a drama and they have a limited cast, the team's abilities are a bit exaggerated at times (they turn up for everything that happens anywhere, doctor FL is a swiss army knife of specialties). Ending feels a bit abrupt.

Watch it if: You enjoy seeing Luo Yunxi suffer physically, you like stories with ordinary people being heroes while also remaining very much ordinary people.

Lie to Love

Type: Modern, romance, office, suspense

Episodes: 32

Available at: WeTV, YouTube

What's the deal? Local woman is convinced her one night stand during a mountain hike killed her father, so she returns after 2 years to go undercover in male nerdy Paris Hilton protagonist's glitzy hotel business and cancel his entire existence. Spoiler alert (but not really because this is actually not even the first 6 eps): he is a good guy and didn't do it and they fall in love and together they set out to uncover the truth and take down his shady uncle.

On the one hand: Objectively speaking, the plot for this is on the better side for a drama of its type. It's got suspense, it's got plot twists, it's got fluff, it's got drama, it's got more communication between the main CP than one would expect on a regular day, misunderstandings don't last long, the nice side characters are likeable, and 2nd ML is doing an incredible job at being a 2-faced creep. LYX is serving many a great business wear look in the 2nd half especially.

On the other: The FL is Cheng Xiao. A severely miscast Cheng Xiao in a role that is core in the plot and on paper, challenging. For fans, winner winner chicken dinner. For the rest of us, it's up to each viewer to decide if overall as a drama, the points in the above section are strong enough to balance this casting out.

Watch it if: You have a thing for men in suits and glasses (that makes two of us), you prefer ignoring the FL in dramas so you can make elaborate headcanons shipping the ML with the psycho stalker 2nd ML or the goofy rockstar 3rd ML instead.

Broker

Type: Modern, office, medical research, suspense, romance

Episodes: 42

Available at: YouTube, viki

What's the deal? Spy is ordered to infiltrate a lab and lowkey honey trap his way into stealing female scientist's multi-million research, is uno reverse carded when she fixes his broken heart and trust in humanity.

On the one hand: The rare case where he is a morally grey character in a modern setting. The other rare case where he gets to do action sequences in a modern setting. There's a shower sex scene (sit down, implied and partially dressed of course, this is still a cdrama), and one where he gets whipped on a table. There is a very badass sidekick girl who is just as broken as him if not worse, and very shippable with the FL's perky and spoiled little sister.

On the other: The premise is cool but sadly, there's way more filler office drama (in the lab) and 2nd CP being a frustrating snoozefest than spy activities. It's a drama that was held up for a long while in censorship limbo, and a considerable chunk of the ML's backstory and scenes were left in the editing room, which unfortunately throws the show off balance by a lot.

Watch it if: You are a diehard Luo Yunxi, Victoria Song or Xu Kaicheng completionist (in which case you have permission to come cry on my shoulder), you find yourself trapped in a cave, the rescue team is 48 hours away, and the only thing in there with you is a device that has no other data on it but all 42 episodes of Broker.

Love is Sweet

Type: Modern, romance, office

Episodes: 36

Available at: iQiyi, YouTube, amazon prime

What's the deal? Local woman applies for a job in huge investment banking company where she runs into her childhood friend -slash- nemesis after 10 years, they both gradually discover time makes people grow and occasionally fall deeply, ridiculously in love.

On the one hand: Sugar and fun and shoujo manga tropes aplenty! God tier CP chemistry! Some of the most epic makeouts to ever slip under the nose of the review committees. Characters that have actual profound growth under the "every romcom ever" cheeky banter. 2nd ML also offers shirtlessness and angsty backstory if you cannot live without those. There's even an adorable and very plot-relevant corgi!

On the other: The tremendous main CP chemistry has made this drama the exception for many who otherwise avoid both modern dramas and romcoms, but if that doesn't carry the show for you, I'm afraid there's not much else to see here. The 2nd CP is fuel for the "2nd CPs are annoying and waste screentime" complaint fire. (although, protip: even on the first watch you can probably skip their scenes without missing anything of value). The tear allergy is a bit of a ridiculous premise, but it's a real thing (who knew!), and it's not addressed much after a point.

Watch it if: You need something sweet and cute to fill the gaping hole Till The End of the Moon left in your chest, you love the tsundere overbearing CEO archetype but you also prefer it when he is more than a dry irredeemable asshole, you love romcoms because you enjoy both the "will they won't they" and the cute "we're an item now" domesticity.

And The Winner is Love

Type: Costume, wuxia, romance

Episodes: 48

Available at: iQiyi, YouTube

What's the deal? Dashing, elegant, fan-wielding dreamboat young master falls in love with girlie burdened with the heavy responsibility of leading a sect with bad rep and protecting a very powerful and thus dangerous cultivation manual. Supposedly.

On the one hand: Luo Yunxi looks like this:

for the whole drama. Every novel writer who ever wrote about a flirty and sophisticated young master whose beauty made flowers bloom along his path and women as well as men fell in love with him at first sight and all that purple prose-y stuff, has actually written about Luo Yunxi as Shangguan Tou whether they were aware of it or not. He is The Archetype and his popularity among bilibili fmv editors is proof. There's some great wire work in the first half. The soundtrack is pretty solid.

On the other: If you're looking for plot, run away and don't look back. I've watched the whole thing and I could not tell you how the story goes. I went in with a "idc about plot, i just want to look at Luo Yunxi in costume for 40 hours" mentality and I still struggled, make of that what you will. Chen Yuqi is the FL, saddled with a poorly written role and a choice of VA who arguably wasn't the best fit for her or the role. Chemistry is passable depending on your standards, but for most of the 2nd half of the drama it takes a nosedive together with the plot. Luo Yunxi got injured while filming this so they had to cut action scenes by a lot, so in the last 3rd or so it's wuxia without the wuxia. It's the only recent case where he also had to be dubbed (covid didn't allow him to get in the studio and do it himself, as he usually does).

Watch it if: You are a yumejoshi and need material to self-insert into a costume drama FL's position, you are more determined to watch lyx look pretty in costume, all else be damned, than Samwise Gamgee was determined to make sure Frodo throws the One Ring in the flames of Mount Doom.

Princess Silver

Type: Costume, court drama, romance, some wuxia elements

Episodes: 58

Available at: YouTube, viki

What's the deal? Princess RongLe wakes up one day with amnesia (no, hear me out) to the news that she is to be sent to another kingdom and marry a prince she's never met for political alliance reasons (no, hear me out!). There, she is faced with unexpected revelations and finds herself looking for the truth while she gets embroiled with the aforementioned haughty prince, a shady general, and her (sometimes a bit too?) caring and overprotective brother.

On the one hand: (mild spoiler alert?) His character ends up stealing the show. FL can act and has good relationships with other female characters (arguably better than with any man in this, even in the chemistry department). Story and plot are quite decent. It's one of those rare cdramas that builds up as it goes instead of deflating in the last stretch.

On the other: LYX is 3rd ML in this, so if he's your main motivation to watch, be prepared for limited screentime, especially in the 2nd half of the drama (until the final 8-10 episodes where it's all about). If you're not into the FL with either 1st or 2nd ML, the first half can be a drag, like, personally I started appreciating this drama for real after episode 25-30.

Watch it if: You are patient, you like getting emotionally sucker-punched, you love a good, earthshaking final plot twist.

Ashes of Love

Type: Costume, xianxia

Episodes: 63 (or 60, depending on the version, content is the same either way though)

Available at: Netflix, YouTube, viki, WeTV, amazon prime

What's the deal? Bottom of the food chain grape fairy who was deprived of the ability to feel romantic love and her life was honestly better and carefree like that, trips and falls into a love triangle with overconfident golden boy Heavenly Prince Phoenix, and his older brother, abused wallflower Heavenly Prince Dragon. Things go very great and not complicated at all from there. :))

On the one hand: Xianxia 101, it hits all the items on the checklist. The lavish costumes, the sprawling sets and world building, the entanglement over multiple lives, mortal arc, immortal arc, demon realm arc. CG that still holds up well for the genre 5 years later. The epic and emotional OST (someone has yet to surpass Sa Ding Ding's 左手指月 for the title of "best cdrama ED song", i don't make the rules). Arguably, The most iconic 2nd ML in a cdrama, responsible for a significant chunk of its long-lasting chokehold on the audience. Even if you've never seen the drama, if you're in the asian media adjacent internet, you've most likely seen this:

On the other: Xianxia 101, a double-sided coin. All the clichés are here, and if you're not here for them you get aboard the struggle bus. The show's views on romantic feelings can be a bit, let's say, old fashioned, even for the genre's standards. If you're not into the main CP, you're in for an uphill battle of frustration. If you're Team Runyu prepare to hate almost everyone for there is no justice in this land. (In AoL one is either Team Runyu or Team Xu Feng, no middle ground, and if you're reading this, especially because you liked lyx as Tantai Jin, I don't see how you could end up Team Xu Feng, so I'm gonna run with this assumption). (in theory you can also be Team No One, but in practice if you're that, sitting through this entire drama must have been as fun as having a tooth pulled out with no anesthesia)

Watch it if: if you're any degree of a lyx fan, period. Runyu is a mandatory class.

Children's Hospital Pediatrician

Type: Modern, medical, romance

Episodes: 42

Available at: YouTube

What's the deal? Aspiring surgeon -slash- frustrating disaster girl makes a huge blunder on her first day of her hospital residency, and can only stay as a pediatrician. She hates it and makes her literal saint of a secret husband's life miserable. We watch as she gets to grow as a person to the detriment of everyone else's mental health. Secondary cast has subplots of various dating entanglements.

On the one hand: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, hmmm..... well... there's a scene where lyx takes off his shirt for a physical exam, if that's a bonus (ep40, 27:13-28:05, you're welcome)? Queen Zheng Li is in it? I am scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

On the other: It's way too long for absolutely no reason, the FL is the most frustrating and irrational baby I've ever seen (which is by no means a low bar), 90% of characters who are not the FL get their development butchered to make her look better, 2/3rds of the cast are incompetent at acting and the other 1/3rd is being wasted in this mess. I am trying to be as objective I can in these, but I've got nothing for this one.

Watch it if: You have chronically low blood pressure that no medication can fix, you have watched literally everything else on the list and having a manic episode where you will chew on the walls if you don't look at Luo Yunxi's face in something you have never seen before, you want to watch some other mid drama, so you want to watch something worse first in order to appreciate the other drama more.

Fox in the Screen

Type: Costume, xianxia

Episodes: 22

Available at: YouTube, viki, amazon prime (as The Screen Foxes)

What's the deal? Orphan girl wins by drunken mistake a magical screen that houses 3 fox demon guys, they help her with her screen shop and also with crossdressing to pass the exam for the position of palace screen painter. She earns a grumpy boyfriend with a tragic past in the meanwhile.

On the one hand: It's short and goes fast, and in all honesty, considering it was made on a budget of 3 paperclips and a piece of gum, the story is much more concise and watchable than I, at least, personally expected. You get to witness the caterpillar stage of lyx on this path to guzhuang drama godhood. If you're one for tragic love stories there is one hiding under the DIY production. White Fox and the prince are a solid ship.

On the other: It is very much made on the aforementioned budget of 3 paperclips and a piece of gum, and it very much shows. Everything is rough, the costumes, the makeup, the editing, the acting for the most part. Having even half an expectation is the wrong way to approach this drama.

Watch it if: you have the heart of a mother watching her kids at the school play and admiring what a great job they are doing or if you are like Marie Kondo and love mess in an affectionate way.

Bonus: PhantaCity

youtube

PhantaCity was a tv show back in 2018, whose concept was making short plays and having actors perform them live in a single, do or die take for a studio audience. Luo Yunxi and Wu Jinyan, both with a background in ballet, are paired up in a short musical, acting as the hands of a newly repaired clock. If you ever wanted to see him dance, sing and act all in one thing, don't sleep on this. It's short and beautiful, and the official upload embedded above is subbed in English!

#luo yunxi #drama recs #till the end of the moon #(only tangentially related but i will have to use the tag)#light chaser rescue #lie to love #broker #love is sweet #and the winner is love #princess silver #ashes of love #children's hospital pediatrician #fox in the screen #Youtube #i tried to be as objective as possible to not color impressions #i think i deserve a cookie for how civil i was with one of these #iykyk

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chaoticmetalheroine · 4 months ago

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So, I saw the recent article on Loudwire regarding the Twitter uproar and criticism about Death Metal/Cannibal Corpse’s lyrics, and it got me thinking. What’s sick about music/art and making it is that we can pull apart seemingly repulsive subject matter and explore all sorts of stuff. Take a real good look at it. In a way that would not be done in real life. Artistic creation can be beautiful and a joy to consume and/or it can be about the most abhorrent and disgusting phenomena imaginable that no sane or respectable human being would actually participate in. Both are valuable and serve to fascinate and be delved into. What a lot of people outside of alternative culture don’t understand, is that not all art has to be easily accessible or attractive.

The way I see it there are two separate realms:

Reality in which we live, where pain, suffering, and death are always possible, and individual actions/beliefs have real world impact on other beings.

And, the creative process. In this particular situation, a realm where surreal, supernatural, macabre, and downright vile concepts can be explored through music completely victimless. No one is getting hurt, and none of what is explored is actually real. A place where the depths of death and our humanity can be discovered through pushing boundaries and vocal distortion. For those able to consume it, of course.

If you think Cannibal Corpse/Death Metal/Metal in general is weird, triggering, and satanic? Fine. It’s not for you. Don’t listen to it.

For those of us who do love this sort of thing, it’s invaluable. It is a gnarly horror movie for your ears. It gives us great pleasure to explore our humanity/mortality in a safe, detached way.

#metal #metal music #death metal #cannibal corpse #metalhead #music #deathcore #heavy metal #speed metal #thrash metal #metal bands #metalcore #power metal #black metal #glam metal #art #twitter is a cesspool

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ussgallifrey · 6 months ago

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(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 23

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Avengers: Age of Ultron, allusions of accepting death, blood, careless mistakes, dark visions, drowning, injuries, mass injuries & casualties, minor medical violence, language, references to 9/11, references to trauma suffered by Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers' mental prowess, Thor making brash decisions, violence

✦ Word Count: 11.3k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: Okay, yeah, this one is a heavier chapter. I had a joy writing it, though. One thing that always irked me with the movie was how every Avenger suffered through a terrible vision when Wanda used her powers upon them. And originally Steve was supposed to be dealing with the guilt he had over never going back for Bucky. And, instead, we got that entire dance hall scene with Peggy. I don't know, it just sort of rubbed me the wrong way. So, in this chapter, I promised myself I would properly traumatize the poor man. Enjoy!

[Master List]

“Well, that answers it then.”

Steve’s eyes travel to the imposing figure of Thor as the god summons his hammer and begins striding out of the lab. There’s a beat of silence as the team collectively turns to watch him go.

“Okay, hold on,” you say, hurrying after the god.

Tony looks at the supersoldier with a knowing gaze of amusement. Steve’s mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish out of water before he wordlessly turns and follows after the two of you.

The God of Thunder is already on the stairs, halfway up to the next floor with you a few steps below.

“I’m sorry, in what world do you think we should just be running out of here at the first drop of possible intel?”

“Oh, apologies. Would you prefer that we, what, lay around here and dig through old files while the real enemy is at play? Even you are too wise for that, Olympian.”

With a finger resting above your brow, you turn to look at Steve, your face drawn with clear exasperation.

“You understand what I’m saying, right?” you ask with a vaguely pleading tone.

Steve gives you an affirming nod.

“Thor,” he calls up. “If we jump on the first thing we find, we could be missing the bigger picture.”

“Or, we could just get refused entry into another country. Seems like we’re racking those up nowadays,” the goddess snarks.

You both watch as the Asgardian heaves a long sigh, his fingers flexing along the shaft of Mjolnir as he comes to his decision.

“Come on,” you implore, taking another step closer, your hand outstretched toward him, ready to put aside your own frustrations in favor of a peaceful resolution.

After a beat, Thor reluctantly descends the stairs, ignoring your hand entirely as he breezes past the two of you. You let out a little sigh as he passes, turning your attention back to Steve.

“He’s always been like that. Quick to judgment, quick to action, quick to… anger.”

At that, you absently rub the back of your neck. The fleeting image of an old memory dances in your eyes, one that seems entirely unpleasant. He distantly recalls the fact that your people hadn’t always been on such friendly terms as you are now.

Steve settles you with a warm look.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promises.

“Yeah, hopefully before the rest of them start jumping to the same conclusions and try to fly off to the horn of Africa.”

He offers you a chuckle at that, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder as you both return to the lab. The others have converged around the main workbench that Tony and Bruce had been situated at, while Thor seems to be remaining despondently annoyed near the windows overlooking the city.

“Okay, well this Sarkissian might be worth looking into,” Nat says with an open file in her hand. “There’s like eight other names here too.”

You glance up at him with a sudden assuredness in your eyes. Steve squeezes your shoulder as you move to join the group.

Since their short departure, the billionaire has situated himself at Maria’s laptop, typing away while conversing at Bruce over his shoulder. The other scientist seems unfazed and partially disinterested in whatever it is Tony is saying, too busy with his own stack of files to look up and acknowledge him.

“Here,” you smile, offering him up another stack.

Steve flashes you a smile as he glances down at the Cyrillic letters.

“Those two,” you glance over at Tony and Bruce, “Are currently working out some formula to locate Klaue. I give it an hour before they try to make for the jet.”

“So, we better get working?” he raises his brows, a smirk tugging at his lips.

In the span of forty-five minutes, you’ve uncovered a connection between Strucker and Georges Batroc. However, a quick call to Maria confirms that the mercenary is still secured behind bars. Steve finds multiple mentions of a задача мастер, which Nat informs him translates roughly to Task Master, probably a pseudo name for some lower-level manager on the HYDRA ladder if she had to hazard a guess. Someone finds a few references to an Allegra de Fontaine as well, but there’s no real record on any database that Clint can seem to find.

Which leads to Tony clapping his hands together after a quick stretch of his shoulders.

“Alright, I’m calling it. We’re going to Johannesburg, well you probably are,” he amends, pointing at everyone but himself. “I want to nip this shit while we can. Hence, scoot.”

He waves his hands dismissively, as if excusing them all from his presence.

You give a long-suffering sigh, smacking a folder closed on yet another file.

“I don’t think it’s the right path, Tony.”

“Ah,” Thor chuckles, heartless in his tone. “You would rather have us holed up in this tower then? Hmmm? Or shall we allow Strucker to take hold of the scepter once again? Perhaps he can accomplish his goals at last.”

The reminder of the Leviathan shell at the base of Strucker’s operation rings hauntingly through Steve’s thoughts. He had perused the files after Maria’s meeting the other day. He knew all about the Baron’s plans for crafting mechanical nightmares out of alien tanks.

“That’s not - ” you rub your hand over your forehead before rolling your shoulders back to give your fellow god a look, “- if we get this wrong, if we follow the wrong lead, not only do we have Strucker and the scepter to contend with, but Ultron as well. Have we truly eliminated every possibility for what Ultron could have been seeking information on?”

There’s a shattering stillness that permeates the lab. Sam and Steve share a silent exchange, a few questions coming to mind in the brief silence.

“Look,” Tony coughs after a minute. “I’m not saying it’s a great lead, but it’s our only one that, right now, could be an immediate threat. This thing gets its hands on vibranium? I’m telling you, we’re going to be in over our heads.”

“Fine,” you wave your arms in defeat, settling back on the stool.

“And hey,” the billionaire rounds the table to gently smack you on the shoulder, “if you’re really feeling all deadset on this, hang back this round and keep digging. God knows you’ll be the one to find something in this mess, Goddess of Knowledge and all that.”

With a cursory look around the lab, Steve clenches his jaw. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the place, with stacks of empty boxes and piles of papers and files strewn about the floor and every other available surface.

It takes only a few minutes longer to decide who will be going on the mission.

When Steve returns to the lounge area, already suited up with his helmet in hand and shield resting on his back, he finds you. Standing near the recently plastic-covered windows. Tony was waiting for his window guy to install them on Wednesday, apparently. You’re conversing with Nat when he emerges from the elevator.

His gaze travels up to the ceiling where a beam of golden light halos the room and where your plummed helm descends from an otherworldly realm. Into your hands, it drops.

“Here, just in case,” you smile, handing it over to the spy.

Nat shakes her head, glancing over at Steve as he approaches.

“He’s really got a thing about it, doesn’t he?”

“Hey,” you shrug. “If it helps it helps. Anyway, keep safe. Any luck and I’ll see you and that scepter back here in a few hours' time.”

The redhead offers you a smile and then Steve one as well before she, and the helm, head in the direction of the lab. The supersoldier turns, watching until he’s certain she’s disappeared from both sight and earshot before he returns his attention to you.

Rubbing your hands up and down your arms, you offer him a simple, “Hey.”

He lets the silence simmer for a moment longer as he takes in your every feature.

“I know that look.”

Turning your head, you settle him with a curious expression.

“Is that right?”

Steve nods.

“You think we’re about to do something stupid.”

“No,” you push your elbow into his arm. “I know you’re going to do something stupid. I’m just afraid we’re missing something important though, it’s the only reason I’m staying behind. It’s like… I have the puzzle pieces, just not in order yet.”

His face screws slightly at the insult, unable to let it slip past, “Wait, what exactly do you mean I’m going to do something - ”

“I don’t know, jump out of a moving helicarrier or something of the sort?”

“Okay,” he turns on you, flashing a playful smile. “That was one time.”

“Crashing a plane with explosives on board, then. Or, letting a superpowered man smash all of your facial bones to dust.”

At that, he can’t help but wince at the memory. Partly due to the physical pain he can recall from the instance, but mostly due to Bucky. The deeply rooted emotional pain that seeped into his very blood and turned his mind sour. That was, and still remains, the biggest sore point in his day-to-day life.

Your face falls, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - ”

“No,” he supplies, fixing you with a look that makes it known that he’s not offended. “You’re right, it was… stupid.”

Letting out a sigh, you push your entire right side into his left, dropping your head down before shyly glancing back up at him.

“You did what you had to do in the moment. You always do. Just… try to avoid any scepters to the chest and… aim for the head of any robot you come across.”

Steve lets out a little chuckle, using his free hand to wrap around your waist and draw you even closer into his side. You tilt up into the warmth of your shared body heat and meet his eyes with a dazzling expression that Steve can only describe as purely divine.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, letting his lips drift down to the crown of your head where he places a feather-light, barely-there, kiss.

As Tony types aimlessly away in the corner of the lab, lips pursed and forehead lines drawn taunt, you pursue yet another ancient file. One that had clearly been tucked away sometime before the invention of the personal computer, as half of the file had been blacked out with marker.

Holding your hair back with your own hand, you read through the lines of Russian reports. It was a rarity to have proper KGB files left in HYDRA / SHIELD’s hands, but you had certainly lucked out with this particular box.

The billionaire gives a long, drawn-out sigh as he pulls away from the table to rub his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Words blurring together yet?” you ask.

“Nearly.”

Running a hand across his jaw, he stands and makes his way over to you. With one hand on the table and the other on your left shoulder, he peers down at your current reading.

“Anything good?”

“Old intel mostly, a few commander names here and there, but I have to assume most of them are long since dead at this point. There’s mentions of a base in Siberia, a dinner party with the American U.N. Ambassador set for March 1973 - ”

At that, Tony scoffs.

“ - and about a dozen mentions of the Red Guardian and the Winter Soldier.”

He blinks, “Oh shit.”

You hum in reply, flipping the page to reveal a sepia-toned portrait of the Guardian. Tony leans back against the workbench then, picking up the file for himself.

“Anything… useful to, you know, Rogers’ mission?”

You give a shake of your head, “No, unfortunately. It just mentioned his name in passing. The Asset was sent to deal with Kuznetov, the Winter Soldier was apprehended in Samara, the Soldier brought out of stasis for the mission.”

He flips another page before dropping it back in front of you, “Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“But…” he seems to take an extra second to consider his next few words, “You don’t think Barnes is…?”

It takes you all of five seconds to consider the notion, before you ultimately shake your head, “Highly unlikely, if nearly improbable. If you can’t find him with all of your tech, how would Ultron manage such a feat? And even if he did, I don’t think Bucky would be assisting him willingly.”

“Alright,” he sighs, glancing back at his own workstation a few feet away. “Let me know if you find anything of use.”

“Will do,” you reply, already pulling out the next folder in the pile. But then you look up, just as he gets back to his seat. “Any word yet? From the team?”

He gives you a low smile, curled up at the edges as he flicks at a few buttons on his keyboard, “Just over the equator now, ETA twenty minutes.”

You give Tony a nod of thanks, before returning to the mess of files in front of you. While you had nearly limited down Strucker’s known accomplices, you were certain there was something bigger that you were missing. But as you dug in deeper and deeper, the small details became increasingly harder to look away from. Like staring at a Seurat painting and being unable to see the cheerful Sunday afternoon around all of the dots.

Just as you’re about to grab another box, your eyes catch sight of movement just outside of the lab.

“Hey,” you call. “You heading out?”

Sam, with a bag tugged over his right shoulder, trudges up the stairs to the otherwise empty lab. He gives you a little shrug.

“I got a day job, you know.”

“And here I thought your day job was chasing James Barnes across central Europe.”

Tony snorts, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

“Might as well be,” Sam drones, dropping onto the stool opposite yours.

While the rest of the team - you and Tony excluded - had all left for South Africa nearly forty minutes ago, the man across from you had decided to call it quits for the time being.

“Nah, I gotta check in on my Ma and Sarah while I got the time,” he answers.

To the best of your understanding, Sam wasn’t officially an Avenger, similar to Rhodes. Though he might as well have been, considering the amount of time he had been putting in on the HYDRA raids. Or, so Steve had told you over your various meet-ups this past year.

“That’s got to be nice at least,” you smile. “You mentioned something about a new nephew?”

He instantly breaks out into a radiant smile, “Yeah. Cass. I’m telling you, that kid is cute as hell. And as much as I love running around next to America’s golden boy all day, I’m not gonna miss out on this kid’s childhood. Gotta claim that Cool Uncle status early on.”

You give a returning laugh, “Well, never let me be one to keep you from that.”

He hops up from the stool and holds out a hand for you to shake, “Don’t be a stranger now.”

“Never.”

He’s all of three steps out of the lab, nearly on his way to freedom, when Maria runs right into him,

“Sorry, Sam,” she apologizes, almost out of breath as she strides into the lab, her gaze set directly on you.

On instinct, you stand from the table, eyeing her approach. Sam has stopped as well, turning his attention back to the two of you. And Tony’s already headed your way as well.

“I need you to suit up.”

“What’s happened?”

You glance over at the billionaire. If the team was already in trouble in Johannesburg…

She gives a light sigh, swiping something on her tablet before she turns it around for you to see.

“We’ve found Emil Blonsky.”

The name and the memory of the man rumbles around in your head as the Twitter video loops for a second time. A stone pillar is uprooted and thrown down a noisy street, people scream as the camera goes shaky.

“Where?”

“London.”

Tony huffs, “Awfully convenient.”

When both you and Maria turn to look at him, he merely rolls his shoulders.

“What? I’m just saying. Little too coincidental to have him crawling out of the woodwork, in a major city, while we’re locking in on Klaue.”

You shake your head, “He was MIA prior to SHIELD’s downfall. I had been sent to locate him before… everything with the helicarriers above the Potomac even happened.”

“Okay then,” he drops his hands. “Coincidence, not correlation.”

“Seven?” Maria implores.

“Yeah. I got it,” you sigh, already feeling the tension creeping through your shoulders. “I mean, what’s another round with the Abomination?”

Steve rocks his head back against the wall of the quinjet, eyes closed as he prepares himself for the ensuing fight. It would be a fight, he knew that much. Tony had told them the specs of what exactly it was they would be walking into. A group of armed guards and several civilians would be in the ship Klaue was using as his personal shop.

“So…”

His eyes blink open at the sound of Nat.

She only spares him a look as she loads her pistols, though her interest is much more apparent.

“Are you guys an item yet?”

When he only responds with a groan, she smirks. It was worse than when she was actively trying to set him up with his fellow SHIELD agents at the beginning of his time in D.C.

Banner’s seated across from him on the benches as well. He’s only there in case things need to be moved to a Code Green. But, despite the impending possibility of the Hulk coming out, he smirks at Steve. Apparently, even he was in the gossip loop now.

“Barton wanted to know if we should throw a party for you guys when we get back,” Nat continues, unbothered as she secures her weapons.

He fixes her with a look; a tired and all too annoyed look.

“Aww,” she coos, gently tapping his cheek. “You’ll get there sooner or later, Cap.”

“Are you done?”

“Hey, three-minute ETA!” Clint calls out from the pilot’s seat.

She offers him a curved smile as she hovers over him, hands balanced on the overhead bars, “For now.”

As she saunters back to the head of the jet, Steve grabs hold of his helmet and pulls the straps into place. He stares down at the glint and glimmer of the shield on the floor next to his foot.

“It’s… sweet.”

Steve looks up, surprised that Bruce wants to continue whatever this is.

“What is?”

“You and… Athena. I know,” he holds up a defensive hand as Steve goes to refute it. “None of our business, but… it’s kind of hard to just ignore it.”

He huffs, moving to stand as he feels the jet begin its descent.

“Everyone seems to manage with whatever Clint and Nat have going on just fine.”

Bruce shrugs, “They’re in our face nearly every day; we’ve become desensitized to it. You two though… I don’t know, man.”

Steve offers him a sigh as he looks back at the scientist.

“There’s nothing going on there.”

He laughs instead, “I got the message. I’ll shut up about it.”

With a thankful smile, Steve heads toward the cockpit just as the quinjet settles down into a grove of trees near the shoreline.

The tide has long since receded when they approach the ship. Steve watches on as a crew of men come flying down the embarkment ladder, running like their very lives depended on it.

“Well,” Clint intones, fixing his bow. “That doesn’t look too promising.”

The men stumble on the wet sand, but no one seems keen on sticking around longer than necessary as they make for the beach.

“Let’s get moving,” he commands, headed for the ladder.

Deep within the belly of the vessel, the emergency lights flicker their ominous warning to the group. The ringing sound of raised voices draws them further into the darkness. One voice, above all others, he recognizes almost instantly.

“You will be of use to me yet.”

As they round the corner, weapons drawn and gazes fixed, they come face to face with the bot that had escaped from the tower. But… it’s different. More put together, more metallic, less… friendly peacekeeping Stark drone. The white plastic shell remains, but the haphazard wiring that had been pulled apart during the fight at the tower has been fully repaired; patched.

Klaue nudges at his henchman and they quickly disappear down the opposing gangway, but that’s not where their focus needs to be right now. Klaue will be dealt with another day. Ultron is where their concern lies.

“I’m not seeing a scepter,” Nat whispers in hushed tones.

“So…” Clint calls out, “What’s with the vibranium?”

Nat readies her guns, Thor tightens his grip on his hammer, Steve fixes his posture and braces himself.

The drone tilts his head to the side, almost humanlike in the maneuver.

“Barton, Clinton Francis. Would you like me to tell you my plan? Is that an effective use of my time here? Perhaps it is…”

“Enough!” Thor rumbles, throwing his hammer out toward the robot.

But, instead of sending the drone flying back into the wall, they all stare in slight horror as the bot grips hold of the straining hammer, turning its visual optics toward the God of Thunder. It blinks.

“How… interesting.”

The hammer drops to the ground with a deafening clang.

Steve watches it settle into the metal grates for just a second longer before arrows and bullets begin flying. He rushes forward, shield in hand as he leaps up to strike at its neck.

Mjolnir soars past him as he attempts to make contact, but a rough metallic arm pushes him back at the last second, sending him over the railing into the stack of weapon crates down below. As the world spins on edge, he can almost hear the sound of Natasha’s urgent calls, of electric ripples of lightning. But he pushes it all away as he moves to stand up. He sways on his feet, head heavy, and then something darts out of his peripheral.

Small, impish, the crouched figure slinks along the wall.

He throws his shield up at the last second as Ultron comes surging down toward him, the force of the robot sends him reeling right back into the crates. Electric blue light ignites just next to his prone body, which he quickly twists to avoid as Thor comes soaring down after the drone.

Steve can see Nat wandering down the stairs, slightly dazed, and he wants to call out to her, but then a girl appears in front of him. Short-statured, wide-eyed.

A kid.

A terrified-looking kid, standing in the middle of a deadly fight. He tries to sit up, but her dark eyes begin to glow red and he finds himself frozen in place.

“What…” he tries to say, but the words turn to sludge in his throat.

And then something pricks the side of his temple and his vision begins to swim.

“So, what’s the deal on Blonsky?” Sam asks, fully suited up as you guide him past the police barricade.

While Tony had offered to pull a suit out of storage to help out, you had said he would be better use to the team if anything went wrong with Klaue, or if Ultron showed up. Sam had been harder to push back. So, reluctantly, the two of you transported over to England in a quick jump.

“Uhm… a few years back the American government tried to recreate the supersoldier serum. Bruce got dosed first, things went… well, green. They wanted to take him down but, you know, Hulk. So, Emil Blonsky got another dose, but varied. And… the Abomination was born.”

You can hear the sound of aggravated, animalistic roars up ahead. The two of you pick up your pace.

“I helped get him into custody and he was on ice until someone, or something, broke him out. And he’s pretty much been off the radar ever since. Oh, and… he doesn’t get to come back, like Bruce. He’s just…”

The words you were about to say simmer out in your mouth as you round the corner where several tanks are positioned, armed soldiers at the ready.

“Like that,” you finish lamely.

Sam gawks at the creature in front of you, ripping apart the stairs in front of the Natural History Museum. You were just a stone’s throw away from Buckingham Palace. To your knowledge, the royal family was already being evacuated as a precaution.

Curious place for Blonsky to turn up though. He had to get here somehow; unseen. In a major city too. More puzzle pieces out of order, more questions to be answered.

“Like I said, stay clear. Don’t fly too low. You’re my backup, but you’re no match for this.”

Tony had questioned the idea of bringing Bruce in to help, but you quickly reminded him how that had turned out for Harlem all those years back. No, this was your problem now.

“All right,” you sigh, gripping your sheathed sword’s handle. “Let’s try not to die.”

Sam shoots you a wide-eyed look as you approach the creature.

“HEY. Blonsky!”

He turns, eyes narrowing as all of his attention focuses right on you. He drops a bent lamppost to the ground, which makes the concrete around it break under the weight.

Pulling your sword free, you twirl it around in your hand before dropping into a low stance, with your teeth bared and your eyes burning melted golden hues, you call out:

“Remember me?”

Steve blinks against the blur of red clouding his vision, the metallic taste of blood clings to his lips as he pushes up from the crates, shield in his exhausted grip as he surveys the damage. His movements feel slow; like he’s walking through molasses.

But then someone darts along the right wall.

And he recognizes that silhouette.

But the words in his mouth are deafened by a build-up of imaginary sand, so he stumbles after the person, trying to catch up to them instead.

They’re running now, faster than Steve can keep up with. And as he races down the corridors of the darkened ship, the pants of exalted breath turn to screams. Screams that grow louder, last longer. Torn vocal cords that are filleted open with a knife drench the walls in blood as that person begs for help, for mercy, for the pain to stop. And Steve can’t stop running now, chest aching as he tries to catch that person, that man.

He’s so close now, nearly catching his arm as he rounds one last corner.

And then… he’s on the bow of the ship.

The sliver of moonlight and pure starlight illuminates the terrified figure of Bucky Barnes, hunched near the railing, his hands covering his face as he shouts for Steve.

“God damnit! Why the hell did you just leave me?”

Steve takes a step forward, words desperate to spill out, but nothing falls from his lips. His mouth has been sewn shut.

No, Bucky. I’m sorry, God. I’m so sorry.

“End of the line, pal. That’s what you promised me.”

He’s standing up now, staring at the blonde with such unadulterated hatred, that Steve nearly shrinks against the power of it.

“Useless.”

He turns at the sudden change of voice that drifts from over his shoulder.

“Pathetic, can’t even save his best friend.”

Peggy Carter saunters across the ship, looking just like he last saw her in 1945. Red lips, bouncing curls, a heated look that stems from a place of disgust. She stands next to Bucky, a hand on her hip, another on his shoulder as she breaks him down with a single glare.

“Captain America, everyone.”

Rockets go off overhead. He watches the explosions in the pitch midnight skies, just for blood and guts to rain down on him. He furiously tries to wipe the sensation of sickly liquid from his eyes, crouching down as it hails upon him, obscuring his vision. He’s drowning under it.

But it’s not blood.

As his body begins to burn, his arms reach out - trying to grasp hold of anything, god anything - but his hands slice through the frozen Arctic waters. And he can feel it burning his throat, his lungs. Helpless bubbles escape his lips, but his screams can’t be heard through the silence of an endless void. Dark as the evening sky, endless as a black hole.

His body sinks as all feeling is drawn from his extremities, and he is cold, oh so very cold. So cold that he burns. And he is alone. Completely alone.

And he has failed.

Failed them all.

As his vision swims in and out of focus and he accepts his fate, his body submerging further and further, his failures fill his mind.

The names and the people he had never managed to save.

Their cries.

Their screams.

He deserves this.

This terrible fate.

It is his to grab, his consolation prize.

He sinks to the ocean floor.

“NO! You’re just making him angrier!” You call out, with your hands around Blonsky’s neck as he tries to throw you against the exterior walls of the museum.

“YOU SAID USE MY FLARES.”

“Not while I’m on him!” You roar as he manages to knock you back even harder than the other seven times.

Sam circles around, lining up his sights just in front of the steps.

The tanks had already used up some of their ammo before the soldiers realized that the Abomination was practically indestructible. Which left you to deal with the creature’s renewed anger as he threw a tank directly at Sam.

He had managed to twist out of the way in time, but it definitely landed somewhere near Harrods. Sirens had been going off nonstop since your encounter began and the screams of terrified civilians had mostly faded away as the evacuation of the city took place.

Where the hell was Sersi when you needed her?

“Oh, come on!”

Blonsky shoulders the pillar outside of the museum, making rubble and roofing collapse down upon the two of you.

Using your strength to push it off, you find yourself pulled up by the ankle. His monstrous hand wraps itself around your limb, pulling you high over the steps of the museum’s entrance.

“Puny.”

You manage to pull yourself up enough to look at him, “What did you call me?”

He smirks, fanged teeth gleaming a sickly yellow as he shakes your limp form like a ragdoll before pulling back and tossing you.

Your body soars through the air before a rough set of arms wraps around you.

“Got you!” Sam shouts as he leans right, trying to avoid a ball of concrete thrown at the two of you.

“God, he’s relentless.”

You fix the Falcon with a look that says all that you were unwilling to scream in Sam’s face as he quickly deposits you back on the ground.

“He’s really starting to piss me off.”

You barely manage to veer out of the way of a lamppost.

“What a shame.”

Against the frozen waters, against his own body’s desire to let go, he blinks open his eyes.

“Ma?”

Sarah Rogers, not looking a day over thirty, glances up at him from her rocking chair near the fireplace, her knitting needles in hand. Though she puts them down as she settles him with a tired look.

“I thought I had raised you better than that?”

Steve blinks a second time, then a third.

His hands drop down to his sides as his feet settle onto the solid wood floor of their old tenement apartment. He glances behind him, at the lone window. It’s a sea of darkness outside. The only light permeates from his mother’s glow and the low embers of the flickering flames.

“Did I raise you like that?”

“No, ma’am,” he answers, quick and sure.

“I thought I told you to stand up. Never back down from a fight. Yet… here you are.”

She gestures vaguely at him, at the room.

Storm surge rocks against the old walls, coiling up and slamming the door with renewed force.

“You’re destined for something bigger than this and you’re not going to get your answers at the bottom of the sea, are you?”

He shakes his head, feeling every bit like a young child under his mother’s gaze.

She rises from her chair, darning set aside.

“Come on then. Straight back, chin up, eyes forward.”

He does exactly that, going to perfect attention. And he can almost feel the ghost of her hand on his cheek as she looks up at him with a long-forgotten admiration that only a mother’s eyes can give.

The powerful waves slam into the door once again, causing the wood to creak and the window’s glass to crack.

“Pull yourself up, Steve Rogers.”

The water rushes in, bursting through the windows and extinguishing the fire. His mother and the apartment are sucked up by the glossy darkness of the ocean. But he kicks his feet, strains against the burning in his lungs and his limbs, as he surges for the surface. Giving it everything he can as he rises, higher and higher. And he can almost see the light when a hand appears in front of his face -

“Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?”

He blinks against the sudden change, pulling back slightly and squeezing his eyes hard to fight against it.

“Come on, Cap. I can’t wrangle Nat and Thor by myself.”

And then reality settles back into place.

He lets out a breath.

He is Steve Rogers.

He is Captain America.

And he needs to shove his shit away and be a leader right now.

Pushing off from the crates, he eases himself up, with Clint’s help and a pained groan.

From across the floor of the ship, he can see Nat situated on the bottom of the grated stairs; head in hand. Thor is leaning against the railing up above them all. They both look like they’ve been through the wringer a few times over.

He stares at the archer, pulling his helmet off as he surveys the damage. There’s no sight of Ultron or the girl anywhere. Just four heroes lingering in their defeat.

“What the hell just happened?”

In the distance, he can hear the horrid sound of the Hulk’s screams echoing off of the ship’s walls.

“Let’s recap later?” Clint suggests, shouldering his bow as he moves to help Nat up.

Steve stares up at Thor, who’s already returning his look with one of pure fear. He’s never been so uneased before as he is seeing that haunted look in the god’s eyes. But their situation isn’t changing and standing here won’t even begin to help them, so he picks up his shield and does what he knows how to do; lead.

Sam flew too low, his wing’s been snapped right off the pack, and he is at the mercy of the Abomination.

“Come on, focus! You know you want to take it out of me. I’m the one who locked you away, remember?”

You’ve positioned yourself right in front of the other man, sword at the ready. Verbal threats spitting like fire from the tip of your tongue to distract him, to hold his focus away from the very vulnerable human behind you.

Blonsky brushes you to the side with a swipe of his massive arm, throwing you off balance. Sam backs down the steps of the museum’s entrance, armed and ready to fight. But he must know that mere bullets won’t even deter the creature.

And then, from across the white rooftops of the English city street, a charging whoosh rocks you both back, as fifty Legion bots come soaring to the rescue.

The Abomination does his best to beat them back, but they quickly overpower him, jumping on top of his back until he’s buried under the weight of metallic drones.

There, in the aftermath of destruction, surrounded by crumbling buildings and sirens and armed officers and broken tanks, Blonsky submits to his defeat. Pushing yourself back to your feet, sweat dripping from your brow, you sheath your sword.

“You good?” you call out to Sam.

He taps down his chest and thighs, a little breathless as he answers, “Still intact, still breathin’.”

You give him a nod. It was all you could hope for after that encounter. Moving toward him, you pick up the broken piece of his wing pack. He frowns at it.

“Thank god for Tony, at least.”

He looks over at the pile of drones, still squirming slightly as they try to keep the monster pinned down. Blonsky’s gilled face is peeking out from the bottom of the pile, he blows a raspberry with his tongue - unable to do much more than that.

“Must have fixed the interface or something,” you sigh, brushing at the dirt and grime on your bare arms. Striding over toward the pile, you ask the first bot you see, “Do we have transport ready?”

“Everything is ready to transport the Abomination,” comes the monotone reply.

You give them a nod, lightly tap Blonsky on the cheek - he growls in return, but is completely incapable of moving - before you return to Sam.

“Okay, let’s wrap this up. I’ll talk to the captain in charge and get everything secured.”

He absently rubs at his arm, staring at the pile of robots atop the mutated creature, “Bet Steve’s having a hell of a lot easier time than we just did.”

Giving a smile in return, you say, “We can only hope,” before you walk over to the approaching soldiers to finish off the last-minute details of Blonsky’s transfer.

A group of journalists and camera-wielding reporters try to push past the barricade to get a good shot of the final moments, all eyes on Blonsky and Tony’s legion bots.

The tower is quietly humming when you and Sam pop back into the lab. Maria startles from behind her laptop. Her suit jacket is removed and she has her hair pulled back tight, with a troubling look on her face as you both laugh.

“Remind me to never team up with you again. No solo missions with the Warrior Queen,” Sam smirks, removing his goggles at last.

“I’ll try not to take that too much to heart,” you smile in return. But then your gaze meets the agent’s, and your joyful mood sinks. “What? What’s happened?”

“Tony. He’s had to call in Veronica.”

Sam’s head tilts to the side.

“Who’s Veronica?”

Maria sighs, “You mean what is Veronica.”

As you both turn to look at each other in confusion, she pulls up a video - a live feed - of a giant Iron Man suit currently pummeling Hulk into the pavement. Eyes widen in horror, you watch on as the cameraperson ducks into a doorway as the Hulk chucks a giant piece of concrete at the suit.

“What the hell happened?” Sam questions, hands poised on his hips.

“Unknown,” she clips. “Something attacked the away team - ”

You feel fear clutch at your throat like a skeletal hand.

“ - only Barton was able to get through to me. He’s got the others now, in the quinjet. But, obviously, Banner’s situation is becoming a concern.”

“I can go.”

Sam pushes at your arm, “You just took on a Hulk. And, no offense, if it wasn’t for the Legion jumping in - ”

“I had him on the ropes. He was getting worn down. Another chokehold and I would have - ”

Maria holds up a hand, silencing you both.

“Sam. What did you just say?”

He opens and closes his mouth for just a moment before he answers, “I get that she’s got the godly powers and all, but if it wasn’t for Stark’s pals coming in to save our asses, I’m not sure how great we’d be walking about from that all right now.”

She blinks.

“What are you talking about?”

“Tony, he sent in the Legion. There were like, what, fifty of them?” you question toward Sam, and he nods at your assessment.

“Stark didn’t - we didn’t. Oh my god.”

She spins away so fast, that you almost feel whiplash from it.

“Are you saying - ”

Maria already has a phone to her ear, “No we didn’t release any of the Legion, are you insane? Why would you think that - Yes, hello? Do you currently have the Abomination in hand?”

You take a step forward, brows furrowing, “I secured handover with Captain Randall myself.”

With a long-suffering sigh, she tucks the speaker into her neck.

“While you might have done that, those drones clearly had something else in mind. He’s missing. And I can assure you, neither this tower nor the government sent in anyone other than the British military to assist in that operation.”

In an instant, your heart sinks, guilt and terror rising through your chest like hot magma as you question what have I done? Horrified eyes land on Sam, who looks equally startled by the revelation.

Maria listens to the caller for a minute more before she asks you, “Did they identify themselves?”

With delayed horror, you realize that, “No, they didn’t.”

“Okay, yes then. We are dealing with an armed force. Likely all stemming from a central command point. I am aware, yes - ” she trails off, moving out of the lab, but not before flashing her stern eyes at the two of you.

You drop down onto the nearest stool.

“How did I not know? How the hell did I not suspect - ”

Sam kneels down, holding a hand to your forearm, “I didn’t either. I didn’t say one damn word when I saw them.”

“But I should have known! Tony would have never let the Legion out this soon after the AI was corrupted. Cronus, they’re probably connected right to the rogue bot. And now, now, they have Strucker, and the scepter, and the Abomination!”

You scrub your hands down your face, dragging the skin in aggravation at your own pitiful lapse of intelligent thinking. How could you not have known or even suspected just for one second -

“Okay,” Maria sighs, returning to the lab. “One sliver of good news is that we have Banner in transport now. He’s unconscious, but he’s been secured. At least… that threat’s over.”

“But I’ve just made another one,” you surmise, shame drenching your expression.

Before she can even speak, something whips right past her - sending the loose papers from the file boxes flying up in a sudden flurry. They scatter across the room like falling leaves in autumn as you all turn to stare at the new presence in the room.

“You know,” the thick-accented boy with shock white hair gleams, arms crossed as he plucks his fingers against the edge of her laptop. “This place is not nearly as secure as you would expect it to be.”

Bruce is deposited like a heap in the middle of the jet. Tony drapes a thick grey blanket around his shoulders as he gives a cursory glance around at the rest of the battle-worn team.

When Steve had been pulled out of that vision, he didn’t expect to hear the Hulk’s roars. Let alone for Tony to suit up and send one of his strongest armors out against their fellow teammate. Even if it had been entirely necessary, considering the circumstances.

The billionaire’s eyes drift over to Steve, and whatever he sees in the supersoldier’s eyes makes him shudder and press forward with a strange rigidity to his posture.

He’s talking to Maria, that much he knows. But Steve can’t really make out any of the conversation as the images and the words from his vision float around in his mind. The blood and guts, Bucky and Peggy, drowning in an endless abyss of darkness and silence.

Across from him, Natasha is silent, curled in on herself on the bench. Her body silently quakes with violent tremors and her emerald eyes are distant, as though she’s still stuck in her own nightmare. Clint’s speaking to her in low tones, rubbing her back. Steve looks away.

“Blonsky, really?”

His ears perk up as he glances around the corner to see Tony perched at the controls, a phone pressed to his ear.

“And Wilson? Good on them, hope they make it in one piece.”

He gives a hollow laugh at his own joke, but his lips don’t even crack into a smile.

“No, we’re just gonna… keep off the radar and… I don’t know, figure it out.”

Steve looks down at his lap, his fingers are clenched together in a weak fist. There’s tension in his shoulders and he doesn’t know if he wants to exhale a breath or punch a wall. The dichotomy of his own feelings is so scrambled together that he’s not even entirely sure what he is feeling right now.

Only that he aches.

Aches in a way that even the sensation of drowning can’t fully encompass.

It feels like his head isn’t properly screwed on right now; like he took one too many blows. But he knows that isn’t the case. Hell, he was knocked over just like when he was 90 lbs soaking wet. He hadn’t even been a match for that singular robot. Let alone the girl.

Apparently, when he asked Thor and tried to question Natasha, he was the only one who had actually seen her face. Clint had shot at her, from behind, but she had been whisked away by the drone before she was able to force a painful vision upon him.

If that had been the girl that those files from Strucker had been referring to, then, Steve could only wonder, where the hell was the other one? The boy with enhanced speed?

But, as he stares at the broken expressions resting on his team’s faces, he decides that at this moment, he could honestly care less. So, he turns in on himself even further and closes his eyes. Willing the darkness behind his eyelids to not remind him of frozen Arctic waters.

“Where is he, the one with his name on the tower?” The boy aimlessly kicks at a stool. “Bombing another populace perhaps?”

Maria aims her gun at him, hammer cocked.

“You need to step away - ”

Before she can even finish the sentence, he’s standing beside you, holding your sword in hand.

You quickly pluck it from his grasp, staring in slight horror at the fact that you hadn’t even felt him grab it, let alone seen him move across the room.

“Touchy,” he comments playfully as he circles both you and Sam.

“The hell do you want, kid?”

The boy, who’s barely even a foot shorter than Sam, merely shrugs as he continues to move toward Maria, entirely unbothered by the Glock pointed at his face.

And then, like the slow-rising sun, it dawns on you.

“You’re the mutant, from Strucker’s lab.”

He pauses, for just a second to look at you before he rolls his shoulders and smiles, “Guilty.”

“What do you want?” your brows furrow.

“Peace, in our time.”

Sam leans his head toward you, “That sounds familiar.”

Maria huffs, “Been talking to the killer robot, have you?”

“See, he’s a very convincing man.”

“He’s manipulating you,” you say, plain and even.

The boy stops, turning to stare at your face. Something glimmers in his cool eyes, but he blinks it away.

“He said you would say that.”

Sam snorts, “How surprising.”

“Come on kid,” Maria implores. “That thing, whatever it promised you, is not worth it. He’s not going to be the thing that protects you or saves you. Either of you.”

His eyes sharpen at her final words.

“And you will? Friends of Stark? The man who drops bombs on babies and children? How about the man who watches a city crumble to ruins and walks away when he’s done in the spotlight?”

“You think Ultron can do better?”

He shrugs again, leaning against the workbench, “I don’t know. London looks good right now.”

Sam shoots you a look.

“But I digress,” he smiles, bashfully shaking out his hair before he meets your eyes. “For the Goddess of Knowledge, you really are oblivious.”

Your gaze hardens.

“Meaning?”

A shot rings out, blasting through the lab as an explosion rocks the floor - hardware and files shooting up into the air before crashing down upon the three of you, fire breaking out across the electronics, and the glass windows overlooking the lab below shatter.

You hold out your arm, blocking Sam from a falling file cabinet.

The boy’s already at the entrance to the lab, grinning ear to ear.

“What? You didn’t see that coming?”

As he zips away, disappearing in a flash, another face comes into view. A masked face.

“Hey, sweetheart. I was really wondering when we’d get to finish our little fight?”

The flashing red and white lights begin going off overhead as Maria pulls the fire alarm - a sharp wailing joins the chaos - as Rumlow points his gun directly at you and Sam.

You end up donkey-kicking Sam to the side as you roll to avoid his fire. The ex-STRIKE member gives a maniacal laugh as he chases you across the lab with his gun. Bullets ricochet across the workbenches and the walls as you dive and twist to avoid him.

“God, like shooting fish in a fucking barrel,” he gleams. You can’t see the smile behind his mask, but you can hear it in his voice. That sick voice of his.

“Incoming!” Sam hollers from across the room.

And you watch, in horror, as a Legion bot comes soaring past - right through the shattered windows into the secondary lab a floor below.

Unwilling to have another failure, another moment pass you by, you take a bullet right to the calve as you jump up and go running after the drone. Followed by another to your left flank and shoulder. Through the broken window frame you go, cutting your skin in the process, as you crash onto the metal grated floor.

With thrumming terror in your chest, you can only stare as the robots around you - all that had been offline since the first breakout - now power on. Their blue optical lenses flash red for just the briefest of moments before they turn to look at you. And you see it before it happens, but you’re powerless to stop it as they surge toward you. As the physical force of the drones presses into you, you find yourself pushed further and further down the tunnel, toward the entrance; the exterior door of the tower.

Your body is pushed into the metal and you can feel your lungs burn as the weight settles against them and you can’t even let out a scream of rage before the door caves around you and you begin to freefall - with a hundred Legion members flying after you.

Like a swarm, the white-colored bots zoom past, surrounding you, crushing you, as you fall to the ground like a lead weight. The floors of the tower zoom past on your right, and you’re bracing yourself for impact as the air rushes up past you, and people begin screaming.

Your body lands with a sickening aftershock, caving through the pavement and the dirt, deep past the sewers, into the underground tunnel of the subway system.

For a few, terrifying moments, your head swims - your vision blurred and your heart beating out of your chest. Each and every extremity aches in a way that isn’t even describable. But, as the breath slowly releases from your weary lungs, you blink at the overhead halo of sunlight beaming down upon your prone form on the tracks.

And then, you sit up.

Pain eases from your back as you press up onto your knees, bits of gravel falling off your skin, before moving to your feet.

A roar, feral and animalistic shoots out from your throat as you call forward your weaponry and leap out of the massive hole that had been burrowed into the Earth.

The street is in pure chaos when you land on the sidewalk. Above you, the tower’s circled by a smoke plume. Someone crashes into you, and you try to righten to the woman, but she’s in such a state of panic that she just scrambles to her feet and continues running.

And that’s when, above the screams and the sirens, you hear the sound of creaking metal.

You take a step back, then another, and another.

Stark Tower is ablaze, a massive hole torn from the side of the structure where the bots had escaped. But the broken windows have flames billowing out of them like dragon’s breath. And nothing short of pure horror coats your body as you realize that it is happening again.

With fear powering you forward, you go running for the entrance to the building where hundreds of employees and agents are quickly exiting the doors of. The lobby is in shambles like a gunfight had taken place - where one very likely took place. But you push past the crowds of scared humans and make for the stairs.

But those too are crowded, nearly impassible.

Now, stuck with the realization of what was to come, you do all that you can do.

“Come on, this way! Hurry,” you call out, directing the flow of traffic. As the upper floors begin to creak and whine.

“What the hell?”

Steve, having had a few minutes to pull himself together, glances up from his place next to Natasha, as Tony’s confused voice reaches his ears.

He gives the assassin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he stands and makes his way over to the billionaire.

The supersoldier doesn’t see it at first, but then they clear another cloud, and Steve’s eyes spot the massive plume of blackened smoke rising high above the Manhattan skyline.

“Can’t get through to Hill,” Tony bites, jamming his finger on button after button.

“Holy shit,” Clint gawks, peering over the console alongside them.

The jet soars past the buildings of the Lower East Side. News helicopters are circling the area, and Steve has a concerning feeling settling in his chest as he realizes what building is currently ablaze.

“I leave for two minutes,” Tony clips, eyes glued on the sight in front of them as the quinjet grows closer. And then he presses further forward, “Was that…? Barton, did I just see - ”

The archer nods, “Yeah, man. That was definitely one of your Legion guys.”

Steve pushes closer, twisting his neck slightly to look out the same direction as Clint. And, sure enough, he spots it in the sky. Two, no - three, bots residing on the roof of a building near the Tower.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tony intones, disbelief clouding his words. “See if I ever leave Hill in charge again.”

But the humor drops like an enemy shell as they all watch in horror as the smoke begins to emit from the lower levels of the tower, breaking through several floors of windows before the top half starts to sag.

“No, no, no, no,” Tony begins chanting as he pushes the throttle forward, nearly sending Clint and Steve tumbling backward. “THOR,” he roars back. “Do something useful!”

The god in question raises an arched brow before he heads toward the opening ramp of the jet, hammer in hand. But they all know, especially at that moment, that there is nothing even Thor can do to stop the crumbling building from falling.

And so, the three of them stare as the upper levels of the tower begin to sink down upon the lower levels.

The street is little more than brown ash and rubble as you push the pile of concrete from your back. You can hear the screams already ringing out for help, and your chest is in your throat because you remember this exact moment, but you were completely useless to prevent this.

And so, you begin to hobble across the destroyed ruins of the tower, following after the voices of terrified civilians. You had nearly evacuated everyone when the building began to crumble down upon itself. You had even seen a white-haired boy zip past with a masked man before everything went dark; he had stopped briefly to give you a dainty wave before they disappeared in a flash into the crowd.

There were two others with you in the stairwell when everything came down. You had used your shield and your own strength to protect them. And, bless the gods, it had been enough. But the fates of Sam and Maria were still a mystery to you. You could only hope and pray that they had made their way out somehow.

“I got you,” you call out as you locate a woman whose leg has been pinched by a sheet of glass. Blood stains the debris-ridden street around her and you know, that even by human standards, it would be a miracle if she didn’t pass from blood loss in the next minute.

But you lean down and hold her hand in one tight grip as you begin to survey the damage.

“I can assist.”

Your eyes widen as a Legion bot appears. The immediate instinct is the deck the creature in its artificial voicebox. But you resist.

And instead, give a defeated, “Okay.”

The drone holds out its hand, freezing the wound before it successfully pulls the glass from her body. You hold her hand as she lets out a gut-wrenching scream.

An AI voice speaks over the sound of terror, “Coordination with EMS and FDNY in progress. Proceed to Grand Central Station…”

You give a weary nod at the robot as you back up, allowing the woman to be lifted up by the drone who then carries her away. Watching them go, your gaze lingers for just a moment longer, before the screams return to your ears, and your body moves back into motion.

Through the damage and the broken pillars of Stark Tower, you find others. All are being attended to by Legion bots.

“This is madness.”

Thor touches down beside you, a troubling furrow to his brow as he surveys the damage.

“They are not to be trusted.”

You gesture at the one nearest the two of you, one that is applying a tourniquet to a man in a suit, “They’re helping.”

“Are they?”

“What would you have us do here? Fight them?”

Just then, a bot walks directly in front of you, its visual optics are glowing neon red.

“Perhaps, Athena Parthenos, you should.”

It shoots you, point blank, in the chest.

Thor roars, slamming his hammer down upon the bot’s head.

You lift your head from the street where you’ve been shot back, “Thor! Don’t engage them - ”

But he’s already turned to the next available Legion bot, eyes glowing a terrifying blue as he hollers, “I will tear you limb from limb!”

You’re on your feet in a second, sword to his throat.

“And I will knock you into unconsciousness if you even think of laying a hand upon them.”

He turns, eyes blazing with fury as he stares down at you. You drop your sword to your side.

“What madness has befallen you? Have you not seen what they have done? What they are capable of?”

“All I see is a man set on vengeance.”

“I am no mere man.”

He brushes past you, hammer held aloft.

“Thor, please. Don’t make me - ”

But he just shakes his head, as if disgusted by your very presence, and lifts off from the ground. You can see the flapping red cape that drags behind him as he soars down the street. His hammer clobbers three Legion bots, and a dark cloud looms over him, as he lands - ready to fight.

With a long-suffering sigh, you survey the people around you. Everyone who appears to be injured is being attended to.

Having no other choice, you take off down the street - jumping over every obstacle in your way. While your heart seemed to ache with the position you were being placed in, you knew what you had to do.

They’re unable to land the jet. Instead, they circle the area, watching on as more and more drones flood the cityscape. Tony still can’t get into contact with Hill and is instead trying to get through to someone at SHIELD, which is also proving to be a fruitless endeavor.

Behind him, Bruce is still knocked clean out and Natasha only now seems to be coming back to her senses. Though she’s still in no fit state to do much of anything. And even Steve can feel the hesitation in Barton as his eyes flicker between the chaotic streets and the spy.

“Just one thing after the fucking next,” Tony mutters, dialing another set of numbers into his phone.

And they’re just sitting up here, doing nothing as more robots dive down into the city and people are probably stuck under rubble and injured and Steve can feel that impatience rising like a rocket in his chest and he needs to do something before he jumps out of the damn jet himself and -

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

At that, he glances back over at Tony.

“If the world could just stop falling to pieces for one goddamn second!”

“What is it?”

“Well, ignoring the mass panic happening down below, and the likely high number of casualties, and the possible murder bots running rampant, we currently have two mythical beings trying to rip each other’s heads off down on Fifth Avenue.”

Tony turns in his seat, hands folded in his lap as if presenting this news to Steve brought him only further frustration. Like an exhausted principal faced with his most unruly students.

Steve blinks.

“What?”

But then he sees the storm clouds looming closer and shocks of lightning lighting up across the sky and he just knows, in an instant, that what Tony is referring to is truly a worst-case scenario.

The billionaire stands with a sigh, slapping the back of Steve’s shoulder as he passes.

“Come on, Cap. We’re tapping in.”

He turns, watching as Tony summons his suit. Before the face mask can fall into place, he fixes the supersoldier with a tired look, “Too bad I used up Veronica, huh? Hey, Legolas, take the controls. Try not to shoot any smoldering buildings while you’re at it.”

Clint gives a little salute as he situates himself into the seat Tony had just vacated, appearing slightly pale himself.

He looks on at his shield, an object that seems heavier now than ever as he follows Tony off the ramp - soaring down to the city streets together.

They’re about a block off, but Tony flies past him, leaving Steve to jog after him. He has to ignore the lost-looking civilians, covered in soot and debris, crying out for help - for him to help. Because he’s already faced Ultron and a mutant today and the amount of destruction that caused the five of them was more than enough. The last thing they needed was for you and Thor to eviscerate the damn city in the aftermath.

“Whoa!”

You crash into a row of garbage cans next to him, having been thrown several yards by the shock of violent lightning. He’s bending down in an instant to help you up, but you push past him, blinders on and oblivious to everything else around you.

“Will you just listen to me!” you roar, jumping up high above both him and the lamp posts as you throw your spear at the Asgardian.

Tony takes the hit, blocking the weapon with his arm.

“Okay, time-fucking-out!”

Thor zooms past him, knocking Tony to the side as he collides with you in mid-air. His hand wraps itself into your hair and pulls back hard enough to make you scream as you knock your head right into his.

As if snapping out of a daze, Steve throws his shield up at Thor - knocking into the God’s side and making him release his hold on you. He goes careening to the street, body slamming into the debris-ridden ground multiple times before he slumps into a heap about a block away from the three of you.

You drop down just a few feet from the supersoldier. Doubled over, ragged breaths being pulled violently inward as you summon your dory back to your side.

“Stay out of this,” you warn.

Steve moves forward, tugging on your forearm, forcing you to look at him.

“This isn’t the way.”

Your expression darkens, “He’s trying to destroy the bots, even the ones assisting the injured!”

“And you’re doing what, exactly?”

Tony hovers above you, dropping down a few feet with his thrusters.

“Actively destroying the city over a pissing match? Sound familiar, right?”

God, the forest in Germany. That seemed like a lifetime ago now. And here Tony was, throwing your own words right back at you.

They seem to work, however, as shame clouds your features. Dipping your chin down, you utter, “I wasn’t even… Cronus, I wasn’t even thinking - ”

“Hey,” Steve chides, voice going soft as he draws his hand down your arm just to slip it into your left hand. “We’ve been through a lot, but we need to stop this before someone else gets hurt.”

Your eyes are nearly brimming with tears when you dare to look up at him and his heart fucking aches seeing such blatant emotion on your face. But you nod, quickly looking up to Tony.

“We need to regroup. We’re no good here right now.”

“Yup,” he immediately agrees.

Thor is sauntering closer, looking ready for another bout.

“I know a place, but we need to calm him down before anyone goes anywhere.”

You turn away from the towering blonde then, moving further down the street, toward the ruins of the smoldering tower, leaving Steve and Tony to verbally subdue the God of Thunder.

It takes several minutes, the majority of which Thor looks like he’s ready to stalk off after you, or worse yet, take his anger out on one of the nearby drones. But Steve spots a journalist over Thor’s shoulder and Tony instantly guides them toward the jet - still hovering above the city.

You’re aboard, sitting beside Natasha. Your weapons are gone and your face is ashen. And, as Steve approaches with his helmet in hand, he can only make out the fact that you’re both quietly conversing in Russian to avoid anyone else overhearing - even him.

“Okay,” Tony settles back into the pilot’s seat.

Thor stays near the back of the quinjet, purposefully avoiding the rest of the team as he paces, anger clear as day on his face.

“Where to, Double-O?”

You pause, looking up, narrowly avoiding Steve’s eyes. But they meet all the same, and god, he just wants to hug you right now. Because you’re locked in your own suffering and he’s still haunted by the visions swimming in his mind. But you gently brush past him to speak to Tony.

“Here,” you say, leaning down to set the coordinates yourself. “We’ll be out of the city, off-grid.”

“Can’t ask for much better right now, can we?” he sighs, flicking the autopilot into gear.

You remain by the controls, watching as the city zooms past.

As they escape; as they disappear. Leaving a city in ruins, Steve tries to reset his thinking, but even then, he knows they might be making a massive mistake.

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#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

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afreakingdork · 10 months ago

Text

Weak Spot - Chapter 56

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

It's all about perspective in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis: A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Donnie was brooding. About what, you weren’t sure, but he was lost in thought. The kind that pinched up his face, he appeared compliant if you asked, but was clearly dodgy if you tried to figure out why. Asking for additional time with each question on his well being, it made you feel a sort of hopelessness. He was clearly feeling guilty about something out of his control. He did his best to make it up to you where he could, but there was something vexing him deeply.

For the time of year, you acknowledged the two special occasions coming up. One for hearts and the other of sentimentality, it wasn’t like Donnie to think so openly. You doubted he’d sulk over planning anything as important as your anniversary, which meant something else was bothering him.

It had gone on for nearly a week and not once had you gotten used to it. Instead, it was like an ever present weight in your heart each time you saw him thinking over his cause. You found him more often as of late, when you got home from work, still listlessly sitting at his desk. He’d been obviously ruminating and the way his monitors had timed out said how long he’d been at it. You played the dutiful partner and only pressed for hugging reassurances that you would always be there, whenever he was ready.

That day just so happened to be today.

“I… need to go to the Hidden City.”

He’d spoken suddenly after making you both warm drinks and offering one to you.

You had been reaching out to take yours and felt your hands hang there. “Is that…?”

“My status remains ‘wanted’.”

“Do… you need to go back into hiding?”

The cup offered in his hand lowered. “No.”

“I’m guessing the others haven’t broken their promise since you haven’t gone to maim them.”

“The rat’s word still stands.”

“Is something wrong?” You hesitated on the topic you were bordering on.

“I didn’t mean to make you guess.” He renewed his effort to give you your drink.

This time you got proper hold of it. “I’m not going to force you.”

“I’m…” He held out with distress painting him until he exhaled a modicum of it away. “I’m going to withdraw my holdings there.”

Your eyes shot wide. “Wait…”

“I know.” He gestured that he would sit.

You scooted backward into your spot on the couch so he could take his.

“I’ve been… debating. Pros and cons. Gut reactions. Integrated decision maps. I’ve run analysis. I’ve dusted off age-old algorithms. I’ve-!” He caught on more and sank down to stare into his mug. “Recently, you’ve allowed me to dabble further in my old habits and it has… summoned… interesting feelings.”

You folded yourself up close to translate you’d listen for as long as need be and sipped the liquid. Something new, you glanced down at it and found it in line with your tastes.

“I… enjoy my work, but I wonder if I prefer it because it is familiar or if it actually brings me joy.”

“You seemed like you were having fun watching Hypno and Warren destroy the place.”

He smiled a little and took the tiniest sip. “True, but… they made up.”

You nodded, letting the drink warm your body. “You were hoping otherwise.”

“I saw their qualms as advantageous. With Warren out of the way, I could extract more product from Hypno, but… to what end? Why? Why… do I… do this? Why…?”

You waited with curling fingers around hot ceramic.

“My holdings here make more than enough money. I live comfortably. I have what I need. My freedom, my… you. That comment Warren made…”

He’d made many; you took a sip.

“Is that our future?”

“No.” You broke in. “Warren’s an idiot and a jerk.”

He looked right through you. “Are you doomed to be my accomplice? Will you allow me to break and pillage and ruin while looking the other way because you care?”

“Donnie…”

“And the aftermath!” Something about the way he looked at his mug made you think he might pour it over his head. “To keep you separate is to keep you at bay. Allowing you close endangers you. I cannot undo what I’ve done. That is my life!”

You set your mug aside and crossed the space to hold his forearm.

The liquid in his cup vibrated outward.

“Hey.”

This time he saw you. “I don’t want that for you. For us. For our kids.” He gasped on the admittance and choked looking away. “I like it. I do. I enjoy it. I know it. I’m good at it, but-!”

You took his drink and set it aside.

“Do I do all those things because it’s all I know? Like that fucking worm… Like… a wheel. I’m trapped on a wheel and I was supposed to live. How long have I been stuck-!?” He wheezed.

You rose to your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He held you and sank against your form. “I’ve been trying to parse it out, but I no longer know what’s real.”

You squeezed harder and he reached up to claw into your shirt.

“I’m scared.” He admitted with a heave and you felt the droplets seep into your clothes.

You held tight.

He’d never once admitted that.

Even after you’d been kidnapped, he never used those words.

He pulled you into his lap and buried himself down into the safety of you with only the plip plop of his running tears as a signal he was still present.

You refused to let go.

“I can only think to try.” His voice became shredded, warped and raw. “Start with the smallest, most superfluous holding in my portfolio and shut it. Tend the power vacuum and see how I feel. Will I experience loss? Will I care? Will I even notice?”

You stroked his carapace.

“I need to find out. I need to be sure before I do anything else. Before my declaration. Before I marry you. Before we move even a single step further forward. For me, for you.”

“You first.” Your own voice had a broken quality.

“Me first.” He agreed.

“I-” He teetered.

You found his chin and lifted him to eye level. “Not until you’re sure.”

He smiled through a shallow weep and touched the tip of his beak to your nose.

Compared to any other version of Donnie’s planning stages, this was something else entirely. He was under his own microscope and you could tell every move was one carefully scrutinized. It left him operating slowly and deliberately. He was hyper aware of each action and reaction to the point where you were sure something was penning down his existence with millisecond timestamps. He existed only as a written caricature, something without freewill that was only allowed to work within a script.

It was hard to watch.

A journey of self-discovery, he had to go about it alone.

You didn’t even know how to help even if you were allowed.

He was in a liminal space where the not knowing shredded him further. He held himself in such high regard and you had seen, first hand, what unknowns did to him. A whole spectrum of reactions, he’d gone the distance and yet still resided at a mysterious point. You were the sure thing in his life while everything else he’d known fell apart. You knew your part was played, something of a shepherd leading a weary traveler. You’d met while he was already on his journey, following a trail toward a life that was truly his own and he’d appeared on your field. There you had walked beside him to your boundary line and this marked the point where he would have to continue his quest alone.

You never left the fence.

You stared after his form no matter how tiny it got on the horizon.

The fact his path deviated was a far greater choice than any he’d ever been presented with. It was one, in fact, that he had thought was fully removed from him. Damned from an early age, he saw one trajectory of his life possible until that road lost pavement and turned to rubble. Soles cut and rotted flesh from neglect, he’d meant to die of his malady, but carrying on had widened his course.

Only he never looked up.

He stared down at the slog of his feet.

You’d been there when his lids had first cracked and the full sight of his existence was one wider than he could comprehend.

He tried to force it, but it blinded him.

He couldn’t have it all.

A crossroads represented not only his choice in the matter, but that there was a greater existence possible for him.

The layered options overwhelmed him and their potency stripped him of his sense of self.

A vessel repaired, he stumbled forward not knowing which direction would be one that got him to his goals.

He’d wanted peace to work.

He acquired it.

He’d opened himself to love.

It was his.

He sought pleasure, big and small.

They were within his grasp, often and always.

What was left?

He didn’t so much lay out his business structure as he pinpointed what needed to be done. A dark that was meant to keep you safe, he gave you an itinerary. He would leave for the Hidden City on Monday and had projected a week to take care of letting this one business go. It meant laying low and moving under guise so as not to alert the authorities or competitors of his existence there. Somewhere he was wholly unallowed, he still had significant reach in that no one threatened his work even when he couldn’t be present.

That speaking largely to what he’d wanted and achieved, you had a certain awe for your mate.

He was an unstoppable force and though you knew he wasn’t unbreakable, it helped your faith in that he would make it through this.

He’d reach the other side.

He’d get his answer.

He’d return to your field, take your hand, and carry on with you in tow.

Until then, he would approach his business partners and contacts for this particular field and walk them through new procedures. Not expressively telling them he was removing himself, they would instead be under a child-like guise. One where you tell one parent the other said this and the other guardian the opposite, both parties would think responsibility was covered and they’d be none the wiser until they spoke.

Donnie estimated that they wouldn’t realize for at least a month and by that time the new system would be a stabilized one where they would simply accept he wouldn’t need them.

Their big mouths were the only thing left to chance. In the underworld, information reigned as the most important asset. Without that there was nothing to gain. You made no money without knowing its source. You held no power without holding something coveted. You were nothing to fear if you had no back up. The best case scenario were these contacts grew slovenly in their new positions and didn’t pipe up to ruin a good thing when the tyrant Donatello handed you gold on a silver platter.

It was the easiest of the sins while the others dictated the worst roads that could be taken.

Pride and bragging of having supposedly pulled one over.

Gluttony in thinking they could grab more.

Wrath that they were tricked.

Envy of one another and a vie to take full control.

Lust to use their growth as one alluring to conscript more onto their sides.

Greed in selling his weakness out.

Time would tell and Donnie was going to also strengthen certain protective holdings, as he called them, so as the filth would stay in the rotten city he despised.

You believed in him because he believed in you.

One week.

Seven days.

Technically 8 because he was due to arrive back first thing Monday morning.

You turned to your own plans.

You already knew you would need to keep busy. With Donnie out and wearing himself down both in a place that wanted his extermination along with all the danger the job itself entailed, you were ready to be a wreck. Communication wasn’t off the table this time, but it was a dodgy thing. He himself had been the one to wire the Hidden City for surface communication, but only so many Yokai cared to adapt. Usually only the ones that crossed the barrier wanted it, so connection points were relatively scarce and more often than not he wouldn't have service.

He promised you he would try to at least check-in once a day.

That would come in a variety of forms depending on his state, but even that wouldn’t be a guarantee or alarm.

You had to trust him to come back to you.

You did.

He didn’t pack and he bid you farewell clad in one of his convertible villain pieces. Dark layers that concealed both a litany of weapons and armor, there was little to hug that was actually him. You settled for what you could which ended up being slung high around his head and he had kissed you in stages.

Desperation.

Longing.

Love.

The last lingered with promise which he trailed to your ear to whisper not reassurances, but his affections. Everything save the titular confession, you held him in to press foreheads and noses before releasing him. He committed you to memory, brought his scarf up to hide himself, thought enough to lower it so you could see his parting smile, and left.

You were alone.

You had work.

You had also gotten ready for it too soon.

It meant you had little to do and ended up at first pacing the apartment. Looking for even the tiniest spot to maybe put something neglected away, you found little. Your deep cleaning had been done not too long ago. The most you found was one errant piece of mail that only needed to be moved from the kitchen counter to a sorting bin on Donnie’s desk and you were left with nothing more to do. You decided to text Shelly. When you had made your plans with him for tonight, you’d realized all too quickly that you’d only ever reached out to him via your tech gauntlet. You’d felt infuriated having had to ask Donnie for his number, but when you texted to automaton the revelation, he only chuckled and said it hadn’t occurred to him either.

You: You up?

Shelly: File that under the ways to start a booty call

You: Why do you choose violence at all hours?

Shelly: I take after my papa

You: Alright, I see how it is

Shelly: ☹️

You: Just checking in about tonight

Shelly: Ah dad just left I see

You: Please!

Shelly: You only ever text me when you’re lonely 😭

You: I do not! Since I got your number I’ve been sending you all kinds of stuff

Shelly: …

You: ?

Shelly: I GUESS!

You: Gotcha

Shelly: But yeah we’re still good. Want me to sleep over?

You paused and stared down at your phone.

You: That’s sad

You: Sleepover with your mom just cause dad’s on vacation?

You: Makes me sound like some elderly person who’s been with their spouse for like 30 years and is going to die of heartbreak

Shelly: Cause he died and left you all alone with the farm house!

You: Hey!

You: NO

You: SHELLY

Shelly: FUCK

Shelly: I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT

Shelly: WAIT STOP GO BACK

You: YOU GO BACK WTF

You: YOU SAID IT!

The next message you got was a video of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. making a rectangle with his hands before one of the mechanical arms of his came into frame and sliced the box in half.

You: what was that?

Shelly: It wards off bad luck!

You: It better!

Shelly: Sleepover to make up for it? 😀

You: Spoiled brat

A digital sticker appeared of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. snickering and it distracted you all the way to work as you found out he had an entire set of emotes based on himself. Working in tandem with shotty service on public transit, you got the pack uploaded to your phone.

Work took over next. There was a busy enough load of things to do and they were just interesting enough to be distracting. Your ex-roommate Coral checked in around lunch under the guise of making fun of you and you ended up talking to her on speaker perched somewhere outside while you ate. It was a bit too cold for it, but the conversation kept you warm.

The afternoon tumbled away and eventually you were on your way home. Shooting a message to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. that you were inbound, you found a shadow figure exuding way too much energy standing right outside your apartment.

“Someone’s going to call the cops on you.” You folded your arms behind him.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. turned with a bright glowing smile. “They already did! Mrs. Kaczmarek!”

“Of course it’d be her…” You wilted before something buoyed you concurrently. “You didn’t talk to her did you!?”

“Nah.” He pointed up the building. “She was staring at me through the blinds so I waved.”

You caught his arm through the sleeve of his big jacket. “She cannot see you go into my apartment!”

“Why?” He tilted his head with genuine curiosity.

“She thinks me and Donnie are living in sin! I don’t know what she’ll do with the whole kid thing!”

He snorted. “I’m gonna introduce myself.”

“No! Didn’t you hear me!?” You meant to tug him, but he scooped you up like the bag he had under his other arm.

Hanging your limbs in indignity, you glowered at him as he merrily skipped up the steps with loud percussive metal thumps. “Let’s spin it! Donnie is a single father widower!”

“I can walk!”

“This is more fun!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sang as he ascended the steps two at a time. “Okay anyway, so he had me way too young and it was all a mix up and omigosh what if you guys were high school sweethearts and you had a tryst, but then my fake mom passed me off as yours and also you were conscripted into the mafia and then it’s enemies to lovers!”

“What have you been watching?!” He set you down when you reached your apartment��s floor.

“Telenovelas. Wait, why?” He paused to think.

You yanked the bag out of his hand in a fit of retaliation but immediately wilted under his weight. “Holy shit!”

“Ah!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shouted more for sympathy and caught both you and the bag.

“What is this!?” You stared up at him.

“My pajamas.” He checked you over.

“Pajamas?” You unfolded the top and screeched as S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s lifeless head appeared as the contents.

A metal hand clamped over your mouth. “Okay, I’m gonna own that it’s been pretty funny keeping your heart rate up, but the bag thing wasn’t meant to be part of the joke!”

You hummed ‘what do you mean?’ as loud as you could against his paw.

“It’s just my drone body. I was going to switch to it so I can fit in bed with you. I’m pretty sure I exceed the weight limit like three times over in this body.” He let go slowly. “Pajamas? Get it?”

You pinched his hat and yanked him down to eye level. “Punishment! No scary movies!”

“Mom!!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. whined loud and long.

“Mom?” Mrs. Kaczmarek’s distinct voice came from down the hall.

“Fuck.” Your eyes widened and you didn’t have to look to know she was headed your way.

“Language!” Mrs. Kaczmarek huffed and you heard her shuffling footsteps.

“Mafia?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s brows wiggled digitally.

You glared mania right into his eyes. “Big brother program and you’re weird. That’s final.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. clucked happily as the old woman cornered you.

After S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. had dragged you out early for breakfast the next day, you bid him farewell on your way to work. He had a multi-day tournament that would be keeping him busy the next few days and Coral was next on your docket. Another working grind smoothed out the edges of your sanity and you ended up meeting her for an impromptu dinner. On her dime, you were relentlessly teased for being codependent which then rolled over into how badly you’d fail at long distance. You did your best to defend yourself, but when you got a ping from Donnie, the speed at which you’d scrambled to your phone only confirmed all her points.

You didn’t even care to defend yourself as the single purple heart in your message chain was one that sent your spirits sky high.

It inadvertently ruined her fun in the process and you were invited back to her place for drinks.

Now onto more genial conversation, you’d entered your old apartment to find your nervous friend Nelson, bent over the oven with the frilliest apron you had ever seen covering his torso.

He lifted up with a tray of cookies and, as you both roasted him, he defended himself saying form didn’t matter as much as utility.

Still cackling, the conversation shifted to a light hearted one as Nelson continued to bake for a donation sale.

Instead of stumbling home, you crashed in Coral’s bed and she kicked you out bright and early as if she hadn’t been there as your rock for the last 12 hours.

Doing a walk of shame that felt particularly comical since it no longer cracked the top ten of your worsts since meeting Donnie, you felt the first bout of truly missing your boyfriend. Something about walking the streets alone and knowing he wasn’t there or home waiting for you stung. Your shower at your apartment was a sullen one and the trip to work moved at an achingly slow pace.

You: Hey

You: Not sure when you’ll get this

You: Looks like the messages are going through though so that’s good

You: I did not want to relive those stupid red errors

You: I just wanted to say I miss you

You: Hang in there and best of luck ❤️

Staring long at the message chain even when no read receipt came, you pocketed your device as you went to work. A clock in and clock out sort of day, you’d had lunch with your gossipy coworker who you felt like you hadn’t seen in ages. He was the same as always and had many dishes to serve up. Trying to focus on consuming what he offered, who’d been kicked from the #random slack sat in your head like an ear worm until the end of the day where tonight marked the resurrection of game night. One where you only knew your chill friend Kaleb, as the host, and his board game obsessed friend, D-Kline, the rest of the attendants were new to you and you hoped keeping up with the crowd would offer a better distraction.

The night had been one of hotly debated conspiracy theories which went well with the game where you had to oust the player who was a secret villain.

The imagery was thankfully one that only nipped at your heels.

Home came especially dark when you clicked on the light and the lived in feel of the space was one that felt synthetic.

Another sleep would fast track you to Thursday which led to Friday. Both days you’d been unable to fill, you’d be on your own and, for that fact alone, you didn’t want to go to bed. You ended up staying up until the wee hours of the morning scrolling and feeling worse for it mentally and physically. It made the next day an absolute slog and a part of you enjoyed the suffering.

It was hard to think about being lonely when your head was pounding relentlessly.

Getting home came with crashing on the couch and waking sometime late. A devastating blow to your sleep schedule, you ate something microwaved for dinner. Consuming it standing in a dark kitchen, you checked your phone as almost an afterthought to find yesterday and today’s messages from Donnie.

Donnie 💜: As busy as I am, I also have time on my hands. It gives me the space necessary to consider what I must. Though manufactured for such purpose, I care little for it. Introspection is not something I’ve ever had the luxury to entertain and going about it alone has been trying.

Donnie 💜: I want to know I am doing this for the right reasons and I can’t help but think of you when I attempt to consider what those are.

Donnie 💜: I miss our bed.

Donnie 💜: I miss your scent.

Donnie 💜: Your smile.

Donnie 💜: My chest aches.

Donnie 💜: I should have taken more photographs.

And.

Donnie 💜: You have not responded and I hope that is because you are busy.

Donnie 💜: Take care of yourself.

You stared long at his messages until you felt weepy.

Squeezing your lids shut in an attempt to turn off the main for waterworks, you typed out a lengthy explanation of all the things you had been doing to keep busy. Veritable walls of text, you hoped that would give him some distracting material so he wouldn’t have to suffer completely alone with his thoughts.

You knew that curse all too well.

You punctuated the whole thing off with something short and liminal.

You: I’ll dream of you tonight, meet me there

You lowered your phone and felt exhausted at the prospect of having to prepare for bed when a little vibration in your hand caught your attention.

Donnie 💜: I will try as hard as I can.

With your phone crushed to your chest you drowned in your love for him.

Washing up, changing, and getting into bed, you lay in the middle with your body turned toward his side. There you conjured a ghost of him, the one you knew long and well. You willed him to your subconscious. Transferring residuals of his essence that must have been left behind, you focused all your thought on bringing his memory with you to the dreaming world.

You woke after a night of empty sleep.

It stung.

With little will, you prepared for the day which felt like sand falling through your fingers. All too fine for you to hold, it trickled between meetings and calls. Through the cracks of your mailbox and debris in the bottom of your water bottle, you refilled it only to disrupt the silt. It manifested tiny pebbles in your shoe that no amount of shaking could rid. It made seats in public transit craggy ones and as you entered your apartment you dropped to the floor with dramatics at the thought of having to repeat that process.

You fell asleep on the couch with a movie blaring all night.

The next morning, Friday, you barely made it through your routine and had started to berate yourself for your theatrics. The voice grew louder as you exited the apartment and you saw, but didn’t respond to a few messages from friends. Donnie’s daily message had been lost to yesterday’s sieve and you soured further. Your aura read one to keep away and that only exaggerated your loneliness.

You ate alone.

You worked alone.

You went home alone.

You were done.

Done with work and done with distractions, you fell into self loathing.

Five days?

There were people who lost their loved ones for lifetimes.

They carried on.

You felt pathetic and small.

A fury misplaced, you couldn’t send it to your partner because he was trying to maneuver something monumental.

That left you the punching bag and with it came takeout.

Far too much and way too expensive, you ate pure grease and turned on trash TV. Soon yelling at those pandering, you fell asleep sitting up and buried amongst blankets and Styrofoam.

When you woke up with a start the next day, it came with wiping fingers and leaving greasy marks on your shirt.

You forewent cleanliness in an attempt to wallow.

A crawling sensation of oil coating you inside and out, your phone was your magical friend that could bring more food without you having to move much.

Counting 23 steps from your spot on the couch to the door, you lapped that on the return trip to devolution with TV and a dripping to-go boxes.

Your frame of mind shifted with your meal.

You would have this.

You would let yourself mourn that which wasn’t even gone.

Why fight it?

You were allowed to be sad your boyfriend had left.

You weren’t supposed to trust your thoughts and feelings from late at night.

Everything was a process.

When was the last time you’d become a vegetable?

The terribly named cheat days were supposed to be a thing.

They kept you even and sane.

There was nothing wrong with indulgence as long as it was done in moderation.

You put yourself on a timeline.

You could live this way through Sunday if you wanted.

Then you were going to boil everything for safety.

You’d welcome Donnie back as if you hadn’t fallen off the wagon momentarily.

You’d tell him what happened.

Maybe later.

Way later.

After you knocked him clean to the floor and hung off him like a koala for say five to six straight hours.

You’d get your fill and then open up.

Donnie 💜: Switch in progress, results tentatively promising

You felt like you weren’t present in this world when you got the message.

A ground ball that you dove for, you came up dusty from it, but satisfied you’d staved off a run.

It felt like a cosmic truth.

You were okay.

Your feelings were valid.

Things would work out.

The Indian food you’d gotten for dinner was lethally delicious.

This time the food coma you put yourself in was a willing one.

No guilt, only decadence, you were cradling a far too large slab of garlicy naan and chewing on one end like a cow with cud. Saturday evening entertainment came in the form of a television show about a burnout trying to make their way. With bigger narratives obviously edging into the plot, you binged through season one and two before you felt yourself losing lengths of dialog. The bread on your chest had gone, but its scent and weight lingered.

A confusing ghost, you fell to the side, kicking napkins and tissues away until your own blanket acted as your pillow and you were the wad of gum stuck inside. Characters kept talking, they were relentless in that way, and your lids fell with the dialog feeding ticker tape into your dreams. Coming out your ears on a steady pump, the click clack of the printer was a metronome that dictated your heartbeat.

There was the distinct click of the door.

You cracked your eyes and saw a TV logo appearing and disappearing on a screen long fallen asleep.

Blue light bathed your form and you sat up to hear something soft like the weight of a bag hitting the floor.

Slow to turn, you found a large silhouette standing in the doorway and eating up darkness like a growing mass.

Without definition and somehow not rim lit by the television, you squinted at the mannequin and how it was half bent in setting a messenger bag down.

“Wrong… apartment…?” You ventured to the apparition.

“Y/N…?” Donnie’s voice came from it.

You stared as the being stood straight.

Silence beat dehydrated percussion in your ears.

“Did you…?” You asked and were interrupted by a wave of nausea.

You felt repulsive.

What a time for him to finally show up in your dreams.

He stepped towards you and you sort of registered one of his hands raising up to his face. “Did I what? Why are you sleeping out here-?”

You blinked one at the rude manifestation of your boyfriend.

Your mind had gone for a portrayal that was a bit too accurate.

You wanted dream Donnie to whisk you away on a white horse.

“What is that smell?” He gagged and finally took on close enough clarity to highlight that he had pulled his scarf down.

You might have been mad if you weren’t trapped by his face.

Lit from below, his hollowed out eyes were cast in a worse light. Pupils thin and lifeless, they sat atop eye bags that were triple the natural ones baked into his body from years of neglect. From around his scarf, his cheeks sunk against his features and there was visible grease blotched and giving his already green complexion an even sicklier hue. “You look like shit.”

“You smell like it.” He stared down at you.

You had to squint one last time before you pulled your arm from your cocoon.

Pinching your shoulder, you winced at the jolt of pain before turning up comprehension to your partner.

He softened a little around his scrunched beak.

In what felt like exactly three moves, you unearthed yourself, climbed straight up the back of the couch, and launched yourself at him.

He caught you with open arms and you both collapsed onto the floor where you wiggled until all of you was wrapped around him.

“What are you doing here?!” You yelled into his tympanum. “It’s Saturday still, right?! Did I miss it!? Did I sleep through Monday!?”

He squeezed you hard around the center until you squawked with pain. Then he went a calculated slack before his digging digits held you close to him with no intention of letting go. “It’s technically Sunday. 1:07am when I unlocked the door. I…”

You rose up and he relented from cupping the back of your head to holding your cheek.

You kissed him.

He returned it in earnest.

“Donnie…” You cooed against his mouth and he sealed the sound back up.

Now drinking each other in, you felt him shudder as he licked into you and you could only imagine the sour taste. You hadn’t properly showered since Wednesday and your teeth had gone unbrushed for at least 24 hours. Breaking every one of his cardinal rules and only seeming to care on some subconscious level, he nipped at you to get your attention back.

You.

He wanted you.

Even in this state.

You kissed him hard enough down into the floor that it clicked his skull against the ground. He cared little and hoisted you up further, trying to keep all of you held as you made out. Taking time and then some, you eventually broke with a gasp where lightheadedness said that you had gone way past some reasonable point and your usual sensors for self-preservation were offline if only to have more of him.

His beak twitched with repugnant scents and you rooted down to tug messily at his scarf. It loosened and revealed musky skin where sweat had been long baked in. It made you remember he’d left in the same outfit he had now returned in and you licked a fat stripe over his pulse to taste the salt and sour of neglect.

“Acting all high and mighty.” You tutted against him and began to work a hickey into the flesh despite knowing it probably wouldn’t work.

He gave his first chirp.

You immediately sank your teeth into his throat without holding back.

His knees kicked up and slammed into your ass as he gave you a honed chirp.

“Fuck!” His limbs went loose.

You removed your fangs and mouthed satisfaction.

“Me?” He grunted, shoving up your dirty pajamas to feel the skin of your back. “You were busy. You were taking care of yourself. What happened?”

“I was.” You broke from his skin with a pop and pressed a wet kiss to the underside of his chin. “Then I got lonely.” You returned to your spot and sucked as hard as you could.

He quaked beneath you. “W-wait…!”

You relented only enough to talk against his skin. “What?”

“Are you alright though?” He pet you with worry.

“Now, I am.” You gave up your mark to kiss his neck tenderly. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you.”

“You say it so easily.” You tempered your voice to speak against his head.

“There’s been a change.”

“Oh?” You lifted up to see him.

Though it pained him, he pleaded with you. “Shower. We must shower. Together. Has to be together and now.”

“Fine, but you talk while we do it.”

“That was implied.” He gave the barest smile before your whole world shifted.

Now bundled in his arms, he carried you with a bouncy step to the bathroom. He deposited you next to the sink and you watched him prepare your toothbrush. Passing yours over and then getting his, you shared coy glances in the mirror. As soon as you were done, but right before you could spit, it had clearly been too long because he dipped down and forced his minty mouth against yours.

The kiss pushed you into the wall and you made a little spindly moan.

He retreated with a dry heave and was forced to scrub his mouth out a second time before he finally rinsed.

You followed soon after and fluttered your lashes at him as you spit.

He looked away with a gag and gave a stubborn grunt.

“I gross you out.” You teased him and he went only far enough to turn the shower tap on.

“The horror…” He said without emotion and caught your waist.

“You still want me though.” You leaned in sweetly.

What you thought was a tender move was immediately subverted because he’d actually caught your shirt and yanked it straight up, muffling you.

“Hey!”

“Feel free to return the favor.” He pulled too hard which snapped your arms up.

Even you could smell your body odor.

It caused him to slow, where his pupils changed sizes and your shirt fall like an afterthought to the ground. “Odd…”

“What?” You caught one end of his scarf and pulled so it choked him.

He snorted, wheezed, and wiggled his fingers up into the threads to loosen it. “Your scent.”

“I stink. I got that much.” You were undoing buttons on his outermost layer which you had never realized was a cardigan.

“Filth should deter your natural scent, meaning it should be repulsive but…” He was clearly trying to follow some line of thought, but you got his top undone and shoved backward.

He shook with a form of whiplash and countered by rocking back to shove your bottoms off.

Now nude, you gazed into his eyes where he’d dropped to your level.

He caught the back of your neck to save it from the force of his kiss.

A wet one, it spoke of salvia and how you’d made his mouth water.

You curled into him and despised the layers he still had on as it separated you.

He found it just as annoying because he released and together you both stripped him in a stumbling mess.

He nearly fell into the shower as you whipped the curtain back and chased his unstable form into the warm spray.

Both instantly lulling at the sensation, you pressed together to enjoy it at the same time. A fire smothering flame, it held a heated tiding that reminded you that you were together and that was the point. It shifted to tender touches, drinking in the moisture on each other’s skin as you both reached for soap. Washing each other without pretext, you would often find yourself simply leaning against him for the sake of it. He churred loud enough to beat the nozzle and, as he mapped out the lengths of your skin, he tapped his beak against nearly all points as if to leave unseen pieces of himself behind.

By the time you exited, you had found there was a limit to what had prior been an endless stream of hot water from Donnie’s systems.

You dried off in fluffy towels and Donnie looked like he’d collapse from satisfaction at the slightest provocation. Wanting only to pamper him further, you showed him his muscle cream. He went to take it, but you pulled back to indicate you wanted to apply it. It pricked his eyes with happy tears that he squeezed away and offered you his arm. Working the solution into his neglected muscles, it was with such great comfort that his churrs broke. Imagining them on some supersonic level, you moved in an overflowing silence to get his other arm, neck, and finally his carapace.

He was without bones as you finished and you had to act as his walker to get him to bed.

He looked like he might say something, but was teetering in and out of consciousness as you sat him on the edge of it.

You gave a soothing hum and got a hold of clean wraps.

This time he was completely malleable in offering his limbs.

With the best approximation of the many times you’d seen him wrap himself, you applied them one slow rounding at a time.

It brought his churrs back and by the time you secured his neck, he kissed you with sweetness.

“Marry me.” He mumbled between brushes to your lips.

You were equally drunk on the moment, you relished the little way your lips tried to cling to each other. “What…?”

He only kissed you more, in a way that spoke of need and pulled you into the bed.

Falling to his side, he turned right into you to give chaste press after chaste press and stroked your cheek for good measure.

You spent what must have been hours like that until exhaustion kept him from reciprocating.

Laying the wrong way in bed, you pulled up the bottom sheets to cover him the best you could.

He gave that honed chirp unprovoked and you kissed him with the desperation it always conjured. “What is that, Donnie? Please…?”

“You’ve… never asked…” He told you as his hand ghosted over your form as if to absorb your energy.

“Tell me now?” You pressed the tip of your nose to his beak.

“Mating call.”

You blinked wide, looking at him up his snout.

“For my mate.” He spoke, almost cheeky and stole another kiss.

Your heartbeat a little too fast and you found yourself cuddling into him.

“Mate.” He confirmed again and this time you found him checking your pulse to feel how your heart skipped a beat.

“You asked me to marry you.” You spit without venom.

He had the audacity to chuff. “There’s no way.”

“You did. Tonight, or… uh, this morning. Not that long ago.”

“I did not.” He gave a gentle pressure to your arm to make you look up at him.

You saw a dash of fear swirled into worry and fatigue in his gaze. “You did…”

“No…” His expression grew grave.

“Donnie.”

“That can’t be. Let me take it back.” He gave a faint growl as he rolled you over to hang above your head. “I didn’t!”

“Don.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Don’t laugh! Before I’ve said I love you?! Do you know the amount of planning I’ve had in place!? To work up to this?! I refuse to waste it on-on-on being mildly out of sorts at most!” His eyes darted wildly and without source. “Erase it! You will forget that you ever heard-!!”

You stared up at him with a watery expression that you were trying very hard to contain.

“Did…? Did I…?” He hung, mortified, above you.

You could only nod and tried to hide your mouth.

He tipped once, then twice, before his body came down around you in a whine. “I’m a mess!”

You moved deliberately in petting his carapace.

His churrs were weak and sad.

You thought against his head for a moment before summoning your strength. He felt the tide of your body shift and turned to study you curiously. Surely only seeing your face puckered, you breathed in as deep as you could and mustered the sound only he’d been able to produce.

You gave your approximation of the mating call.

Before the sound fully left you, his lips were on yours and his tears met your cheeks to escape.

You held him tight and returned the fervor.

“You-” He broke the lip lock as if to scold. “You-you-!”

You held his head so you could send him a honeyed gaze.

He shook your frame with a deafening mating call and kissed you deeply.

Melting into one, he slowed with reluctance to pull you the right way into bed. There you snuggled down together, giving pecks where possible to soothe the need until you were wound into a singular form.

“We were silent all during the washing. It was supposed to be a given, but I haven’t given my explanation…” He lamented.

“Now or later?” You nuzzled his throat.

He gave a faint hum. “I rushed my return home.”

You pursed your lips and pulled away to view him.

“I couldn’t stand another day without you.”

“Coral says we're codependent.” You told him while stroking his plastron.

“After this showing…?” Donnie’s brow ridge lifted in what had once been his patented look.

“I think… I mean I was in a dark place for a day, but… I don’t know. I think we’re fine. We do live our lives separate, but together. So what if we don’t want to be apart long term? Isn’t that why we’re dating?”

He gave a faint smile and kissed your forehead. “Which day was dark, my heart?”

“Friday…” You tucked your leg further where it was between his.

You felt his tail curl against your skin as if to hold you. “Then four days is too many. Three will be the max from now on.”

You couldn’t help the little jolt of joy that gave you.

It must have felt similarly for him because he gave you a bubbling peck.

You hummed content and he returned it with a similar chirp.

You gave your mating call.

He returned it with his.

You shoved into him and he welcomed you close.

“How were you?” You asked, settling into his scent.

“Let’s say it was all dark.” He spoke into your temple.

“I thought there was a change?”

He gave an affectionate chirp and nuzzled you. “There has.”

You slid a hand up to his neck to feel his pulse.

It beat evenly for you. “It was around the same time as yours. Before I gave my progress note. Days spent in the slums. Breathing the rancid air I once favored… I… I suppose it is at your lowest you receive the best perspective.”

“Donnie-”

“I know…” He kissed an apology for cutting you off. “I must learn the hard way it seems.”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“I don’t like that way of life, experiencing it now. If distilled, I suppose I like controlled chaos. I like knowing an outcome. I like watching the world burn, but… I don’t believe I prefer it by my hand. Call it entertainment as it would need to be a collapse that doesn’t affect you in the slightest.”

You leaned up where you were tucked under his chin.

He stroked your spine. “I did not sleep once the entirety of the time I was gone. Not for lack of trying, but it was as if my body could not rest knowing it was without yours.”

Your eyes closed.

“Hallucinations came at a certain point. I am built for higher tolerance, but that does not mean my mind does not slip.”

You slipped your fingers into the hinge of his shell.

He squeezed you lightly. “Nothing to fear. Can I share with you what I saw?”

You forced yourself to hear the first half of his sentence. “What?”

“I saw you. I saw us. I saw memories. I saw things yet to come…” He trailed off and you could feel him smiling. “I saw happiness that I was worthy of.”

You held him close.

He dipped his lips to press your forehead. “My truest desire was not one of ruin. It was working in my lab, you visiting me with a stroller. A life full.”

“Those loose lips of yours.” You kissed his neck. “You’ve brought up babies a few times now. What happened that being only pillow talk?”

“Would you like kids?”

“With you?”

He gave a single offended grunt. “Who else?”

“We might need to adopt…” You leaned your worries into him.

The blood test.

Negative.

Not for a lack of trying.

There was the catchall of his birth control, but you weren’t sure if that was really the only cause.

He seemed unaffected. “The child would still be ours.”

You snapped your head up to see him.

“It would still be with me.” He spoke reassurance.

You kissed him. “Yes, someday.”

He lingered against it. “I’m withdrawing from the Hidden City completely. I’ll transfer all my holdings. I’ll cherry pick my successors. I will go only legitimate… with more than a few offshore accounts.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed…?”

“I’m not allowed to fully quit. I will forever be a sort of target, but I also know the system better than anyone. I was raised by it. If I restructure everything and leave no one wanting, they will be less inclined to come after me.”

“It sounds easy, but-”

“It will not be. This will be an extremely dangerous, arduous, tedious, and a miserable change. Any other version of me would despise how flagrant I’m being. Needlessly selfish. I’m spitting in my own face.”

You studied him before stroking his jaw and smiling. “You’re morally grey.”

He bobbed with laughter. “I like that.”

“Yeah?” You moved to kiss him.

He took your lips, greedily. “Very much so.”

“You’ll be happy?”

“I am happy.”

You swam in a light blush. “I meant doing this. This is… huge… Donnie, this has been your life.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I will kick and scream. I may also have to bend our rules and commit a few vile acts. A show of power even in retreat is a potent one.”

“You’re going to kill?” You stared at him knowingly.

“A few… It is yet to be seen, but I imagine… five…? Or so tops…?” He grimaced.

“Only if necessary.” You leaned into him with a shake of your head.

“Of course.”

“I… I’m not sure how to feel. If this is what you want, you know I support you, but it feels…?”

“Surprising? Sudden? As if this isn’t actually occurring?”

“That and way more.”

“It has been a drawing culmination. I feel as though I am dangling from an invisible thread. I am sure I am held as I haven’t fallen, but it seems improbable that I have not died.”

You tried to picture that.

“I suppose I could have… What an interesting choice of afterlife for someone such as me…” He flicked his gaze and caught your lips.

You kissed back his comedy.

“My concerns are my own. Overall, I have full confidence. You cinched it.”

“Me?”

“Seeing you. I have spent all this time back in my natural habitat unsettled. Miserable. Plagued by insomnia. Taking no pleasure in my favorite game of manipulation.”

You gazed into his eyes.

There was only truth in them. “The moment I stepped into our home, all that ill will evaporated. I was whole again. Immediately soothed. I believe that is why I enjoyed the hacking and the destruction of the double date. I had you by my side.”

“You like being bad with me?” You asked with a light tease.

“I like being anything with you.” He bumped his beak to your nose. “However, I did take that into account. I played out exercises in which you were my cohort.”

“We’ve played that more than once already.” Your lids lowered.

He lapsed into a momentary churr before clearing it with his throat. “In guise, yes. Enjoyed. Relished. Savored. In reality… I wanted to vomit. The thought of you having to deal with any percentage, no matter how small, of what is required to do of what I have done. Of…” His attention dipped, haunted. “More than what you’ve already suffered.”

You kissed him back to the present.

He came and nuzzled into you. “Never.”

You settled comfortably against his lips.

He pulled away the slightest amount and you felt the flicker of worry. “Unless, of course, that is what you desire…?”

You opened your eyes wide to translate how serious you were. “No. Not even. Heroes and villains… the whole thing is… not good. I don’t… I don’t want to do either. I just want to be me and I just want to be with you.”

You watched emotions march through his ragged form. “You are so sure you won’t make mistakes…”

“I’m not.” You pressed your hands into the plastron over his head. “I’m as scared as anyone else.”

“You’re not scared of me…”

“You’re not a mistake.”

All hitting a breaking point, he enveloped you like a tide. You let the warm waters wash you out to sea where you had no worries for the depths supporting you. They were all known, even if they weren’t, and you had full trust that you and your partner would navigate whatever necessary.

Both my betas are getting pummeled with work but they still make time for me! I can't thank @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 enough!!

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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alovesreading · 11 months ago

Text

'tis the damn season | Part 2

Summary: Christmas has been your favourite season since you met Ross MacDonald back in Year 9 when you had just moved to Wilmslow, coincidentally on the same road as him. He becomes your very best friend for the rest of high school, but when that ends, life happens and you just can't stop it. And life is certainly cruel to you and Ross. Every December is a reminder of it, somehow always bringing a chance to ruin things even more. After so many mistakes, how can you get back the times you've always cherished with the silly boy with the dimpled smile?

Word count: 12.7k

Warnings: the tiniest bit of angst.

A/N: Here it is! I hope this one makes up for that first part lolllll. Will warn you that there's a sprinkle of angst at the beginning though... Don't kill me *runs and hides* Anyway, enjoy!!!!!

Masterlist

Part 1

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“Shit,” you curse under your breath when his words hit you harder than the cold winds of December.

But maybe it’s the realisation that you just know nothing about him anymore that hits you even harder than what he has just said or the cold weather.

Entirely aware of how bad it can look, you pout up at him and add with heavy sorrow for him, “Oh Ross, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“S’alright,” Ross says with a shrug like it is nothing.

Your brows furrow, half in worry he’s bottling everything up and half in awe of the way he can cope so well with the situation—you know you could never do it.

After last year’s horrendous holiday break, when you were on your way up to Wilmslow, you had decided on making things right by everyone this year. End 2009 the right way and go into the new year with the joy of grasping onto normalcy back in a place you held dear.

It certainly did help that you have your boyfriend coming back home with you. Not alone anymore, and feeling the deep excitement for him to meet everyone you loved so much in Wilmslow.

That’s why as soon as you had managed to escape your parents and settled everything down in your room, you left your boyfriend to settle down while you ran down the stairs and up the road until you reached Ross’ house.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to turn down your idea of a double date of sorts because he and Katie weren’t together anymore. You thought that when he said he wasn’t sure it could be done, it meant you would have to make a bit more of an effort to get Ross’ friendship back.

You’re deflated by the news, thinking about how sad you are that the gifts you had gotten Katie would not make it to her in the end.

“Who’s he then?” Ross asks with a raise of his brows, bringing you back out from your thoughts.

Your mouth opens as you try to answer, but you stupidly stutter before giving him a vague answer, “Oh, erm, a classmate.”

It isn’t like you’ve come here to dump about your relationship though, and the idea of pouring facts about your boyfriend seems like poor taste after what Ross has just told you. But Ross is kind and you know he’s asking because you obviously were excited for him to meet him if you had come here to suggest going out on a double date.

It is your turn to be kind to him after two years of ruining shit with your stupidity so you let him get out of it by letting him know, “I’ve asked Matty and he said it was fine if I brought him by on Boxing day so I guess you’ll meet him properly then.”

“Right,” he nods first, but when a beat of silence goes by, he adds, “Sure.” His lips are pressed tightly together, the corners of his mouth barely lift up when he tries to fake enthusiasm as he finally adds, “Can’t wait.”

You can’t keep to yourself the shock, or better said, it’s easy for your mum to get what you’ve just found out due to how awful you feel for reminding Ross of his recent breakup, one you had no idea about.

And another thing you’ve got no idea about is that, after you tell your mum how bad you feel about what had just happened, she called Ross’ mum and invited her over for Christmas dinner the following day.

A truly horrible idea that you scold your mum about when she tells you about it the morning of the 25th.

“Mum, what?! How’s it gonna help him to have dinner with us when he’s just broken up with Katie?!”

Of course, your mother is oblivious to what you mean, “He’s gonna have company! All of us together will make him happy!”

Unfortunately, you can’t explain what had happened the past two years, the way you had behaved, and how it seems incredibly unfair to have him have Christmas dinner with you and your boyfriend in the room.

So, to try and fix the mess your mum has unknowingly made, you take it upon yourself to make sure dinner doesn’t end up in a situation like the previous two years.

You keep the pda with your boyfriend to the minimum, make sure to include Ross in every conversation—basically spend most of the time boasting about the guys’ band to your boyfriend—, and keep asking Ross and his parents all about how they’re doing.

Ross is smiling and participating in conversation, which you really appreciate and you relax a bit halfway through dinner when noticing that Ross is doing far better than you had ever done with Katie.

And it’s then that guilt starts creeping back up.

But the thing that you don’t know is that Ross is just good at acting and putting on a smile, because seeing your boyfriend’s hand on your thigh all throughout dinner and the way he takes every opportunity he can to kiss your cheek, is killing him.

Ross gets it then. He gets why it had been so hard for you to keep your feelings to yourself back when you met Katie. Because he can feel that horrendous burn rising up his throat, burning in his chest every glance that he takes at you and sees that the reason for every smile and giggle is the lad beside you.

You have always had a hard time not letting your every thought show on your expression, Ross took the piss about it so often, though he really appreciated it because it meant he always knew what was going through your head.

However, he had the ability to hide everything behind a blank face or a half smile and not be questioned about it.

Exactly like in this very moment when he’s half smiling into his cup of cider as both your parents—as if they hadn’t met him already when they went down to London during summer break—and his parents grill your boyfriend with loads of questions that the poor bloke stutters to answer most of the time.

His fingers clutch the cup tighter every time he hears him call you baby, and he dies a bit more inside when he sees your boyfriend mumble “I love you,” in your ear when you come to his defence after your dad makes a stupid joke about him that has you gasping.

“Love you too,” you reciprocate and give him a quick peck to which everyone coos.

Everyone but Ross.

Ross, who settles you are both even now, who tries washing down the bitter taste of jealousy with more cider until your dad brings out a bottle of whiskey and opens it for everyone to enjoy, and it is then that the bassist starts gulping down the dark alcohol with an ease that your dad jokes about.

What he doesn’t know is that it burns every time Ross takes a gulp back, his throat raw and aching, but the feeling is just strong enough to overcome the horrendous way seeing you this happy and in love makes him feel.

Such an idiot, Ross thinks about himself. He’s an absolute fucking fool.

And then, your mum is calling it’s time for Christmas pictures and when you and your boyfriend go first and the first time your mum presses the shutter is when your boyfriend kisses you under the mistletoe, Ross can’t take it any longer and he excuses himself to walk back home alone.

It isn’t until he has thrown himself on his bed, groaning about how he feels like he’s gonna be sick all over his sheets, that he realises he’s walked out before even getting a picture with you.

Ross falls asleep thinking he needs to make it up to you on Boxing day when you bring your boyfriend over to Matty’s.

“Hope she isn’t too much of a handful,” George jokes when they all fall into easy conversation and banter with your boyfriend.

“She’s a good handful,” your boyfriend jokes, letting his hand fall down to your ass and squeezing it with eager fingers.

You gasp and push him off you while he cackles loudly, the room follows along. A choir of laughter around the place from the lads and their own girlfriends, though the deep rich laughter from Ross is missing.

Your gaze sweeps the room until it falls on him and you give him an apologetic smile. He offers you a tight lip grin and a shake of his head, like he’s trying to say it’s okay.

Nothing really is because with every minute that passes and he sees how well your boyfriend gets along with everyone, Ross dies a little inside. And, in spite of how lovely Boxing day is going, he can’t find himself enjoying the togetherness like he usually does.

An invitation is made for your boyfriend to join you for the gig the band is playing at a pub in Manchester tomorrow night.

Enthusiastically, you both accept and when you go back home, you can’t stop smiling at the prospect of these two sides of your life merging with an ease that makes your heart swell.

You’re early to the gig, since you had convinced your boyfriend to take the chance to go around Manchester before you were due at the pub to see your friends, and you chat with the boys as they set up in a makeshift stage.

At the start of December, their manager Jamie had founded Dirty Hit, a label of his own so he could finally sign the band himself.

You are so unbelievably proud of your boys, tears well up your eyes watching them perform flawlessly on that stage: smiling so hard at Matty’s passion when singing, the funny faces George has always made when playing the drums, the clever riffs Adam managed to play easily and, of course, the suave Ross had when playing that bass.

You, amongst the almost sixty people in that pub, are entranced by them and you sing along the songs you’ve witnessed being written, put together and practised throughout the years.

When they play ‘Robbers’, you can’t help but cry. The memories it brings to you are so overwhelming, your boyfriend ends up hugging you from behind to soothe you as you sing along to the incredible lyrics Matty had somehow come up with at 18, the summer before you went off to university, when everything was alright.

Ross catches a glimpse of you and his heart aches when seeing the tears rolling down your face. The hurt only gets stronger when your boyfriend is the one to wipe them off your cheeks.

He brings his gaze forward again but when he’s unable to clear his thoughts by focusing on a stranger’s face, he lets his head hang and his eyes fall on his fingers playing the strings of his bass.

The same one he had shown off to you the first time you had gone to his house on Boxing day and you stayed there, perched on his bed as you watched him show off his skills on the instrument.

Ross isn’t sure then how much longer he can cope with this, seeing you smitten with somebody else, craving their touch and not his, needing their company and not his.

He’s so relieved when you go back home with your boyfriend after the gig, swiftly getting yourself out of a night of drinks with the guys since you have plans for the next morning that you can’t get out of.

The hangover Ross nurses the following day is entirely worth it for he managed to drown his sorrows with alcohol without being questioned about it, he hid it behind being overly enthusiastic about a new year with a now signed band, the one thing they had been dreaming since they properly formed the band in 2002.

But it doesn’t matter that he had managed to conceal his real feelings and intentions behind drinking that night, for when New Year’s Eve comes around, he’s entirely transparent as he knocks back glass after glass from the moment you arrive at Matty's.

Unlike a year ago, it is time for Ross to get plastered since he’s totally incapable of coping with you being all over your boyfriend now that alcohol is in your system and, since you’ve seen Ross’ reactions for the past few days and you have assumed the bassist is entirely fine with everything, you don’t have to hold back anymore.

For a miraculous change, George is the one to take care of Ross when midnight approaches and he just can’t stay in the room to watch what he knows will happen the second the countdown reaches one.

Ross’ body reacts on its own when he hears the room he’s left erupt in a chorus of “Happy New Year!” and he rushes to the nearest bathroom to be sick when the ruckus of greetings change for one of whistles and teasing, a confirmation that you’re definitely kissing your boyfriend like you had kissed Ross all those years ago.

Hiding away in the bathroom, Ross spends the rest of the night there, sitting against the door and ignoring every knock and attempt of opening it.

He wakes up passed out on the bathroom floor the next morning, wishing he had drunk even more to forget why he had been drinking to begin with. But not even drinking more would’ve helped with him avoiding seeing you and your boyfriend cuddling on one of the settees when he walks out to leave the Healy's house.

When you come knocking on his door later that day, he groggily answers the door. Your goodbye hits him like a gut punch but, despite being sad about seeing you go, he can’t help being a little relieved his chest doesn’t have to ache to the sight of you in love anymore.

At least not until next Christmas.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Around May of 2010 you graduated university.

That nightmare was finally over and the only good thing that had come out of it other than your degree, and the fact that you managed to land a job before graduating, was that you weren’t alone anymore.

Your mum and dad went down to London for the ceremony and it brought tears to your eyes to see them in the crowd as you walked onto the stage to get your diploma. Loads of pictures had been taken and though you felt elated, overflowing with joy, it wasn’t until you finally had time to check your phone and see the messages your friends from back home had sent you that you felt complete.

Adam’s message had made you coo and tear up, whilst George and Matty’s messages made you laugh like an idiot. Ross’ message had made you smile nostalgically, a tear slipping down your cheek when you had read it again.

Cannot believe you’re graduating today, sweetheart. So incredibly proud of you :)) You were always the smartest one of us after all. Hope you’re having the best time celebrating yourself today, you’re fucking brilliant Y/N/N. Love you lots, see you soon I hope xx

Truth was, your parents had invited him along but he had declined, excusing it on work and something band related that your mum and dad didn’t ask too much about. Still, they were sad they couldn’t surprise you with Ross’ presence on such a big day.

Ross had really regretted his decision when you posted a bunch of pictures of your graduation day to your Facebook page. Though, the ones where your boyfriend was right next to you reminded him just why he had said no.

He was a coward, he wouldn’t deny it if he were to be called out for it but he was doing it for the best of the situation, for the best of your friendship—or at least to the bits of it that still lingered to which he was holding onto tightly.

Because somehow, despite how the last Christmas time had turned out for himself, Ross found himself holding onto the hope that everything would be alright this year when you came back home for the holidays. And there was a little annoying voice inside his head that laughed at himself for it, but he was holding onto you desperately, like water in his hands, hoping you wouldn’t slip fully through his fingers.

So he had held on and on, day after day, onto that hope until December was around the corner and when a text of yours came through to the group chat you had with the guys, that hope plummeted down and shattered on the floor.

Guys I’ll be spending the holidays in London so please don’t worry about a present for me this year. I promise I will make this up to you very soon!! Miss yous so much and love yous even more!! xx

The first feeling that shows is sadness. Ross frowns, reading your message over and over, his heart sinking and settling on the pits of his stomach as despair overcomes him. He really had spoiled the only chance he would get this year of seeing you, just because he hadn’t really wanted to see you with your boyfriend again.

But now, all he can think is that he’s willing to endure that horrendous jealousy and anguish just to see you again. And he’s especially desperate because it's Christmas! It’s your time of the year, your and Ross’ time, or at least that’s what it had always been until 2007.

Ross wants to pull his hair out of his head then, not only dreading having to spend this season without even seeing you from afar, but just from being reminded of how this will be the fourth year in a row where something has happened and shaken the dynamic you had shared and cherished since 2002.

And then, nosy Matty asks why you’re staying in London because it’s certainly very rude of you to abandon your best friends in the entire world to spend the holidays in the south—that’s exactly what the curly headed boy sends on the group chat.

Which prompts you to answer with a string of laughing emojis and then the truth: you’re spending the holidays with your boyfriend’s family this year.

Reading that message is what turns Ross’ sadness into anger in a split second.

Because you’re breaking the promise you had made before you left for uni, the promise you had swore to never break when Sara, Danielle, and Jodie eventually did.

Hope is gone. A tiny lit flame that has just been blown out and there’s nothing left of it but the string of smoke rising up into the air.

Ross knows this is it then, the end of it all.

He could’ve never predicted it would take eight years to lose you entirely, and he sort of wishes he could warn his past self so he could shield himself from anything he could develop for you when you first met.

He chucks his phone somewhere on his bed, fully ignoring any other messages coming into the group chat afterwards.

Nothing mattered anymore.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It certainly is a shock to see you walking out of the house when Ross is walking back to his from the shops.

Matty had sent him out to buy decorations for the New Year’s Eve party because, suddenly, he decides the party needs to be a proper one with decorations and props and cone hats and silly 2012 shaped glasses that definitely don’t look feasible to look through.

So he’s toying with the frame of one of the glasses, thinking about how quickly 2011 has gone by, when he sees you walking out of your house with a skip in your step.

Since there was no message on the group chat, he didn’t really know if you were coming back home or not.

Not that he cared.

At least, that’s what Ross had been telling himself.

But it’s clear he indeed cared because when your eyes fall on him and a gorgeous smile breaks on your face, there’s a hint of relief that floods his system.

“Ross! Hey!” You are wary of the distance that’s there between you, not only physically because he’s still yet to cross the road towards you but also emotionally because you two haven’t spoken at all in the entirety of the year.

Well, you had if the short birthday messages you sent the other counted.

“Hi, Y/N. Y’alright?” he finally asks when he crosses the road and stands just a few metres away from you.

You nod, “Amazing. You?”

“Pretty good.”

You hum because he doesn’t sound so sure about it. Your eyes fall on the bag in his hand, catching the look of the New Year’s themed goods.

“Those look nice. Matty’s decorating this year?”

Ross chuckles softly, “Yes, apparently the party needs to be proper from now on.”

You snort at that and roll your eyes at the image of Matty saying that in your head. He was so annoying, you truly adored him. “Ha, right. Well, I’ll see you then!”

Wow what a good lengthy chat, Ross thought sarcastically. Still, he didn’t let how that made him feel show. With a soft smile, he nods and says, “See ya’,” before resuming his walk and making it back home.

He makes a great effort not to look down the road to see where you’re heading. That quick, awkward chat is enough to know where you stand and in what state your friendship is. Gone.

Ross comes to terms with the fact that it just will never be the same. It’s all gone: you, the holidays you’ve grown to love, all the traditions that only entailed the two of you.

It hurts his chest and he wonders if it hurts yours as well.

He doesn’t even see you the day after, on the 25th. There’s nothing delivered to his house—your mum had done it the year before, but the lack of it this year meant the official loss of that tradition—and since your boyfriend and his family are over at yours, or so Ross’ mum told him, the MacDonalds leave your family to it and don’t interrupt by sending anything over to your house.

The next time Ross sees you is at Matty’s on Boxing day, which goes as smoothly as it can. It’s only refreshing to have the rest of the boys there along with their girlfriends, and little Louis Healy is a funny distraction from the turmoil that clouds Ross’ brain when in the same room as you and your boyfriend.

When New Year’s Eve comes, alcohol makes for that miraculous distraction instead, but this time he’s more careful about it. Not blacking out but, instead, numbing himself with every drink until the countdown happens and seeing you and your boyfriend sharing a passionate kiss doesn’t make him want to run into oncoming traffic.

You leave on the 3rd of January this time, giving your boyfriend’s family and your own time to enjoy the start of the year together.

This time, when Ross answers the front door after hearing incessant knocking and he sees you standing there with a soft smile and a goodbye on the tip of your tongue, saying goodbye back feels more significant.

As he says goodbye, still half hiding behind the door, it feels like he’s bidding farewell to your friendship and all you two ever were.

What you never had been.

Ross wonders then if things would’ve been different if he had done something about the two of you when he kissed you under the mistletoe in 2006, how you two could be in such a different place if he had made a move after kissing you when the clock struck midnight at the very start of 2007.

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The first week of August 2012, the first official music project by the band came out. It was a bit odd knowing the boys had an official name now, but The 1975 sounded fucking brilliant—you had assured Matty of it when he sent you a picture of it freshly tattooed below his Mortal Kombat tattoo saying that he had gotten the new name tattooed so he wasn’t allowed to change his mind anymore.

You had gone to the closest HMV to your office and bought the CD, sending a picture of it to the guys on your group chat and gushing over how fucking good it was after you had listened to it four times in one sitting.

And you had gone just as crazy when November rolled around and on the 19th the Sex EP came out. A quick message was sent in the middle of your short lunch break, you’d written it with the biggest smile on your face.

Holy shit guys, that was incredible!!!! I’m so unbelievably proud of yous :’’)) Who would’ve thought you’d go from changing your band name every other month to having two stunning EPs out!!! I need yous to sign my new CD!! Cannot wait to see you brilliant, talented lot on Christmas. Love youuuuu!!! xxxxx

It was odd that after all that time, Ross could still hear your voice in his head saying all that while he read it. Like he just can’t truly let go of you, and a flicker of hope that still lives inside him then becomes obvious, he can’t help but think, maybe, just maybe, you won’t miss Christmas at home this year like he’s been expecting you to all year long.

It felt almost like he had been holding his breath since that notion became apparent in his mind, the anticipation of not really knowing if his hopes were gonna lead him to be disappointed or if he would actually be right.

Ross lets out a sigh of relief when he walks out of his house and he catches a glimpse of you walking in through the front door of your parent’s house with a bag in hand.

He’s not aware of what he’s doing until his quick strides lead him all the way up to your front door and he’s harshly knocking on it.

You’ve barely been able to shout hello to your mum, who’s upstairs, and let your dad take your bag up to your room when you’re startled by the knocking.

Turning around on your heels, it’s merely two steps you take until you can grab the handle and turn it to open the door and show a speechless and surprisingly enthused Ross bundled up in a cosy flannel coat and a beanie, the tip of his nose tinting pink from the cold, and his cheeks matching the shade.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. You have no idea why he’s just standing here, how on Earth he had managed to know exactly when you would arrive or if he had been expecting you, but you can’t stop the need to feel him closer than this the second you see him.

Basically throwing yourself into him, you gasp and wrap your arms around his waist, his arms coming to envelop you in a hug over your shoulders and you melt into him completely.

“Oh my god. I missed you so much,” you whisper into his ear.

His heart squeezes in his chest, leaving him weak enough to admit, “Me too. So much.”

He knows it’s not time for inquiries but he’s honestly taken aback by the fact that you’re here so his questions leave him without him wanting them to, “Are you okay? How’s London treating you? How’s your boyfriend, is he spending it here again?”

Those are heavy questions, lots to explain that just leave you without a word to utter. Except for the last question. That situation’s status was clear enough that you pull back and take a deep breath to be able to answer through the pain of thinking about it, “No. Ermm, we broke up.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–,” Ross starts apologising but when he sees your chin start to wobble and tears filling your eyes, he pulls you back into him as he says, “Don’t cry, C’mere.”

“It’s all my fault,” you can’t help but admit. Not really about the breakup, that was certainly not your fault if you looked at the bigger picture, but the horrendous pain that fills you when you think about how your attempts to fill the emptiness from being away from home had crumbled down and left you feeling even lonelier than ever. You shake with a sob in Ross’ arms and admit, finally, “I hid so much from you guys.”

The confusion in his breathy, “What?” is clear and you know this is the right moment to just come clean about everything, before this opportunity leaves you like a train does a station.

“Do you…” you sniffle as you pull back to look at him.

God, you must look like a mess and a right idiot. Ross thinks that despite how his heart is breaking seeing you this upset, he’s never seen a person more beautiful.

“Do you wanna come in?” you suggest, thumb pointing behind you into a house he hasn’t stepped foot inside since Christmas day 2009, 3 years ago. “I feel like I owe you a lot of truths.”

Carefully, he nods and that’s when you put your hand out for him to hold and walk into the house.

Electricity runs to his fingertips where he holds you, painfully aware of how your absence has made your proximity now erupt a wave of feelings inside him that he had thought were gone.

Once he’s inside the house, you close the door. He expects you to guide him to the living room but, to his surprise, you take him up the stairs and into your room.

Even your dad is surprised to see Ross in the house after all this time for he stops in his tracks when he sees the now very tall lad walking hand in hand with you on the way to your room, which he’s leaving after leaving your bag neatly on top of your bed.

“Oh hello, Ross. Missed seeing you around here, kid.”

Ross smiles but before he can respond to your dad’s greeting, you speak out, “Thanks for helping me with the bag dad. I’m gonna chat with Ross for a bit if you don’t mind.”

Your dad notices the tears in your eyes then, with the slight waver of your voice so he knows this is a serious matter and he nods, giving you both a smile before walking past you into his room where your mum’s still hiding. She must be really entertained with what she’s doing since she hasn’t run to your room to crush you in a hug like she always does, but you won’t complain right now because it seems like everything is about to spill out of your mouth.

Closing your room’s door behind you, Ross makes his way into your room when you drop his hand. He sits at the edge of your bed and you do the same, looking into his eyes for a second before letting your gaze drop to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers nervously.

A sigh leaves you.

This is it then.

Looking back up at him, you take in his worried expression and start telling him everything. How you knew university would be hard from the very second you moved into your dorm. How you had been so horribly homesick, you got depressed and had to talk to a therapist on campus for quite a while. The amount of times you had thought of dropping out throughout the first year, but had refused to come back home empty handed and regretting giving up when you have always been academically driven.

And how, despite your efforts, the second year had been just as bad.

You couldn’t make friends but not by lack of trying, it was harsher in uni to find people you felt in tune with when everyone was so focused on themselves and the groups established there were far more stronger than in high school; so many people knew each other from school already, it felt like trying to be friends with them was causing a disturbance to their friendships.

And then you came back to London from Wilmslow, that time Ross had told you to go back and you had left right after the gift exchange at Matty’s, and you met this guy. He gave you just the amount of attention and kindness to lure you in and grow attached to him after craving proper human connection for so long.

He had become your boyfriend easily, because he gave you attention and made you feel needed, despite both of those notions having meant in a sexual way more times than not.

It wasn’t the best relationship and you knew that, but you would take anything, even if faulty, just to not feel alone like you had the two previous years again.

So you made due with what you had and fell in love with him, though you knew he didn’t feel the same as you did, and if he ever did say it was just because he wanted to keep you. For convenience really, because if he said he wanted you, you would drop anything for him, even if you didn’t want to say yes, you did because you feared being left alone.

And then he realised he could make you stay by reminding you how badly you had been going through it before he appeared into your life, and now you could point out how emotionally manipulative he had been, but right then, it had gone right past your head.

That was why it had been so easy for him to cheat before you two graduated, and it had been even easier for him to get you to forgive him. He would say you wouldn’t survive without him, without his love, without his presence in your life; he reminded you just how far away everyone was, how you had lied and kept things to yourself so no one worried and how selfish of you it would be to call and talk about yourself and your issues which you could resolve easily, just by forgiving him and taking him back.

So like a brainless fool, you did.

And then you graduated and you moved in with him, and though you had a job of your own, he convinced you to do everything for him. His kisses, the sex, the cuddles, him making time for you, it all was your reward. Showing you affection had become a reward for you keeping the flat clean, cooking meals and paying half the rent, it had become something to exchange for your efforts rather than something that came with a loving relationship.

You knew he had cheated at least twice after that first time but kept quiet. You knew, but the only thing you could do was ask him to wear a condom every time you fucked, just because that was the last bit of love and concern you had for yourself.

That was until a few weeks before your birthday, when you got off work early because you were feeling a bit poorly and the feverish, dizzy feeling that overcame you was enough for your boss to send you home immediately.

It had been nothing compared to the feeling that washed over you when you quietly came into the flat and walked blindly down the hall to your bedroom, only to find your boyfriend balls deep in some girl.

Your horrified gasp and confused mumbling wasn’t enough for him to stop, instead he kicked you out of the room and you left running back to the living room where you stood almost dry heaving as you replayed the moment over and over again, wanting to be sick but not being brave enough to walk up to the bathroom with how close to the bedroom it was.

Still, he took a fair few minutes to come out of the bedroom and face you. From what you heard, you knew he hadn’t even taken the consideration to stop and had chosen to finish before he could even begin to explain what was going on.

Not that it needed explaining, really.

But it was the absolute lack of remorse in his face when he came out to the living room that brought you out of the hypnosis he had caught you in for so long. The fact that he hissed through his teeth why the fuck you had come home so early. The fact that he sounded more apologetic to the girl than to you, his girlfriend of three and a half years.

And it was the realisation that you would rather feel this hurt because of breaking up with him than because he was trying to convince you that it had been nothing and you could forgive him yet again.

So you did. You broke up with him that very second. Going to the bedroom, which made you feel even more disgustingly nauseous, you quickly packed everything you had there in a big suitcase you had thankfully kept. All that you had in there as best as you could and the rest shoved in a big bag of yours that didn’t fit inside the case.

You had felt more alone than ever, without your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now—, without any friends because all of your friends had been his first and you knew he would manipulate them enough to make them switch on you the second they found out, without a roof to live under.

But you felt free, oddly, and it was that which drove you to call up one of your co-workers and ask for their help.

Emma was the sweetest and let you stay in her flat for the week and a half it took you to find a place you could rent. You hadn’t been exactly choosy with it, just going off necessity and settling for the better most convenient option, both for your pocket and the proximity to your job.

So you were now living in some shitty flat in a very unsafe area in London, but it was close to the tube station and it was only a thirty minute commute to your office, which you were growing to appreciate.

It was the fact that for the first time in a while you felt like your own person that made you smile on the daily.

And now the fact that you had finally come clean about everything to one of the most important people in your life.

Ross is speechless. He’s lost his breath with every bit that you’ve told him, and yet the way that you fully leave him stupefied and unable to breathe is the smile that you give him when you’re done with your story.

That toothy grin he has missed so much, accompanied with your tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

His heart is utterly broken for you, someone so beautiful inside and out being absolutely destroyed and mishandled by people who never appreciated you for who you truly are, stuck in a situation that you kept shut because you’re selfless like that.

Ross feels like his heart had been shattered in a million pieces, but he feels a new wave of heartache when he remembers how cruel and unfair he had been to you when, unbeknownst to him and everyone else, you were going through such a nightmare.

He wants to bang his head against a wall.

But not more than he wants to crush you in a hug and tell you it’ll be alright now.

So he does.

His arms feel heavenly around you, melting into his chest and hiding in his neck comes to you like second nature just how it had always been back then, before everything happened.

You can’t help but cry, and though some of your tears come from the ache in your chest, most of them are spilled because you feel relieved that you can shed yourself of the weight of everything that you’ve been keeping to yourself, relieved that you can mend things back home and you can try and get back those friendships you have always cherished.

Ross doesn’t let you go, not when you calm yourself down and stop crying, not when you yawn and rub your tired eyes, not when it starts getting dark out.

He’s hesitant to let you go when you go to move your bag out of your bed so you can lay down. But he follows when you pat the spot next to yours on the mattress.

His arms wrap around you and he pulls you closer to him. You two haven’t done this in so long, it’s hard to even point out when was the last time you cuddled, but your legs tangle with an ease that makes your heartbeats stutter.

With eyes fluttering as you two succumb to slumber, the last thing you remember before falling asleep is the feeling of Ross’ lips pressing on top of your head.

“I had missed this,” you admit groggily when you wake up to his fingers rubbing circles on your lower back.

The darkness of your room envelopes you like a blanket, pale moonlight sneaking through your blinds to give you the faintest bit of sight.

You can barely make out the dimples on his cheeks as he smiles down at you with a puffy face and sleepy eyes, “I missed you.”

Whole. That’s how you feel when he says that with a warm conviction that melts your insides. You hum, “Yeah. Me too.”

A knock on your door makes the two of you look in the direction of it, and slowly peeling it open, your mum peeks her head through to smile at you.

“Haven’t seen you like that in ages,” she recalls with a coo. “You two are so grown up now.”

You smile just by remembering the pictures your mum would take of the two of you cuddling on the settee after falling asleep watching a film. The nostalgia makes you wish she would take a picture right now just so you could compare it to them.

“Sorry to interrupt darlings, you two look cosy, but could you do me a favour?”

That’s how you end up at the shops with Ross, giggling as you walk through the aisles trying to find the things your mum had forgotten to get on her last shopping trip for tomorrow’s dinner.

It’s hard not to get distracted when you walk around, seeing all the Christmas sweets and treats, even harder when Ross makes you laugh as you go about the place and you keep forgetting what it is that you’re looking for.

“Hey, you better not forget these,” he jokes, grabbing a bag of potatoes that he ends up placing in your basket.

It’s hard hugging Ross goodbye after you come back from the shops and put everything away together, but it makes you so incredibly happy to know that it feels normal again—your arms around each other feel like finding your way back home after getting lost on the way.

You go to bed feeling content, the smell of him lingers on your pillows and you nuzzle your face on them with a loopy smile on your face.

It is when you wake up and go downstairs for breakfast that you properly feel giddy, though, because your mum tells you she called Ross’ mum and they had agreed to have Christmas dinner together.

A loud kiss is smacked on your mum’s cheek at the news and she smirks as she looks at your dad when you run to the kitchen to see if you had all the ingredients to make some type of dessert, leaving your coffee to get cold on the dining table.

Having the MacDonalds over is a joy, as per usual, with Ross’ mum being the loveliest person ever and Ross’ dad making you all laugh hysterically, dinner goes wonderfully.

Everything’s tasty, warm in your bellies and your hearts with the hours you all spend together. Nothing feels more right than this very moment.

And then your mum springs up her chair and calls, “Time for pictures!”

Just like you’ve known to do since the very first time, you and Ross move to the bottom of the stairs right beneath where your mum always hangs the mistletoe. The sight makes Ross smile brightly, his eyes crinkling at the edges and dimples pinching his cheeks beautifully.

Your mum frowns at her film count on display as she takes the camera close to her face, “I’ve got one in here, so I’ll take the first and then go get another pack of film to take the rest.”

You bite your tongue not to smile too brightly when it reminds you of a certain moment, years ago.

As your mum takes the camera up to her eyes, Ross wraps an arm tightly around your waist, fingers digging on your clothed flesh as he presses you flush to his side. You wrap an arm around his waist and just as you’re about to rest your head on his shoulder to pose for the camera, your heart begs you to do something else.

You turn to look at him and pucker your lips to press them on his cheek. Your mum captures just the moment bliss breaks out on his face, melting his smile into a parted mouth as he exhales a sigh in content at the feeling of your lips on his skin.

The second the whirring of the polaroid printing out sounds, you pull back and he peels his eyes open to look at you with adoration, or so you think from the way his brown eyes gleam as he looks into yours.

You have to separate when your mum walks in between you to run upstairs to get some more film, all the while she’s shaking the just printed picture in her hand.

Suddenly, Ross blinks and he’s back in 2006, when your mum was making a mess upstairs as she looked for a new pack of film and he finally got the courage to cup your face and actually kiss you under the mistletoe like he had been wanting for so long.

It’s a memory that flashes on both your minds in that moment, and it’s written all over your faces.

Your mouth parts in anticipation and he carefully brings up his hands to your face, holding it delicately as he starts leaning in.

It’s stupid, and maybe way too fast on his part but he can’t have you looking all beautiful standing in front of him and under the mistletoe and not kiss you. You’re magnetising and he can’t fight the power you have over him, he’s so entranced he just wants you close.

This time it is different, it feels more intense. Not desperate, because the second your lips meet in the middle, it’s not like you lose control and try to quicken the kiss. It just feels way more intent, it’s deliberate and with so much more meaning now. You have each other back and the pieces of the puzzle fall into place perfectly just like the slotting of your lips together.

You’re the one to deepen the kiss as your tongue pokes out to tease his bottom lip and you lick into his mouth when he parts it to welcome you.

A hum reverberates through his chest when you taste each other, and he swallows a soft moan that you let out at the feeling of his beard brushing against the soft skin of your face as you two move rhythmically in a kiss that leaves you dazed.

When Ross pulls back, your breaths mix as you pant out, lips so close together, noses brushing. He drops one last peck on your lips before saying, “Had to do it properly.”

Your mum’s footsteps echo through the hall as she dashes back downstairs with a new film pack in her camera, ready to snap away.

In the pictures you can clearly see your swollen wet lips, but no one comments on it when your mum lets you two see the results of the quick photoshoot she’s just thrown for the two of you. Heat rushes up to your face, just like Ross'. You almost wanna coo and pinch his cheeks at the sight of him flustered like that.

It’s fair to say you’re both incredibly smiley when you go back to the dining room to share hot chocolate and the cookies you had made earlier. You half regret not making the same ones you had made the year you had met Ross, but it’s all fine when Ross says, “Delicious as always, sweetheart.”

You wanna pounce on his lips when he finally goes back to calling you that again.

There’s no way you can stop your lips from falling into a pout when it’s time for Ross and his parents to go. You almost want to convince them to stay a bit longer but you already had and they’d stayed an additional hour than they’d planned.

Ross’ mum and dad hug you tightly, wishing you a merry Christmas and saying that they hope you like your present, as if you haven’t loved every single one they’ve ever given you throughout the years.

When it’s time for Ross to hug you, he makes it a show of almost crushing your bones as he does so. Swaying in your place, your parents laugh behind you as the two of you cling onto each other like you haven’t done in years.

Neither set of parents have it in them to tease or complain because they’ve missed witnessing it.

But perhaps, the biggest shock of all is that when Ross pulls back after wishing you a merry Christmas, he presses his lips on yours on a sweet chaste kiss that makes the four adults around you loudly gasp and, therefore, make you and Ross become flustered like a pair of kids caught holding hands in the playground.

And just like a kid, Ross peels himself away from you and quickly escapes back home with his parents following behind him, leaving you foolishly stunned and wide eyed.

When the front door finally closes, it is your mum saying, “Finally!” that makes you snap out of your trance.

The loopy smile stays on your face as you open presents, though.

Blindly, you pick up your phone when it rings on your bedside table the next morning. You don’t even read who it is as you answer it so your shock makes you open your eyes wide when you hear Ross’ voice on the other side of the line.

He says he’s been texting you to ask if you wanted to hang out, and truthfully you just wanna sleep in a little longer, but you also wanna have his presence.

Who says you couldn’t have both?

You let him know he can come over, whispering as you tell him to ring you when he’s outside because your house is quiet as your parents still sleep.

He surprises you when he says he’s already at your door.

With your eyes still heavy with sleep, you make it downstairs, still in your pyjamas, and when you open the door, you grab his hand to drag him upstairs and into your room.

There’s not even a chance for him to greet you with a hello when you get back in bed and lift the sheets on the empty side for him to get under them and join you.

Ross doesn’t take more than a few seconds to take off his shoes and shed himself off his coat, getting in your bed and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into him and let you cuddle yourself into him.

You basically sleep until your stomach growls as you become hungrier the more you’ve been ignoring it most of the morning, pushing aside your basic human needs to stay a little longer in Ross’ arms.

He brings you the cookies that were left from yesterday in a little plate and a glass of water, at your request, whilst you go to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

When you come back into your room, you shove one cookie into your mouth before starting your gift show and tell.

A warmth spreads through the both of you as you show him the most mundane and unimpressive gifts you’ve gotten, except for the pretty little necklace his parents got you of course, but it makes you laugh how since the last time you had done this, your presents went from an iPod mini, books and pretty dresses, to a pair of fuzzy socks and a set of floral pattern baking utensils.

You finish getting ready after you show him your presents, and he watches your every move attentively from your bed, which he has made very quickly before throwing himself over it again.

He grabs a pillow and places it over his eyes when you go to lift up your pyjama shirt, it’s not like you haven’t changed in front of the other before, but it’s been so long that he feels the need to offer you privacy.

He hears you snort at him as you sort through your wardrobe for a shirt, a jumper and a pair of jeans. And he smiles into the pillow when you mumble, “Silly,” as you finish buttoning your jeans.

“You can look now,” you say as you finish putting your shirt on.

And Ross catches a glimpse of the skin of your stomach when he lowers the pillow back onto the mattress.

He shifts from his side to his front to hide the way you affect him. He would’ve put the pillow on his lap but it would’ve been too obvious. He hopes he has a second to adjust himself without you looking when you’re about to leave.

You offer him the biggest of smiles before turning to look at yourself in the mirror and fixing your hair, putting a bit of makeup on your face to look decent for when you go to exchange gifts with your friends at Matty’s house.

Ross is entirely entranced watching you through the mirror, he can’t stop thinking about how he’s always thought you were pretty. But somehow, with time, you’ve only grown more and more beautiful.

As if that was even possible.

You’re just unreal, truly. He can’t understand the mystery of you. And he doesn’t really need to, all he wishes to do is to witness it.

When you go downstairs, Ross follows behind a bit slower since he stayed hidden behind your door adjusting himself for a few seconds while you went ahead, you shout to your parents that you’ll be going to Ross’ and then Matty’s so you’d probably come back home after tea.

They say, “Alright, have fun!” back and you’re off.

But not before Ross catches your wrist before you can walk away from the bottom of the stairs.

You stumble into his chest and he swiftly cups your jaw, tilting your head in the perfect angle for him to lean in and catch your lips in a soft kiss that steals your breath away. It’s slow and delicate, like he’s taking in the way your lips slot perfectly together, trying to memorise how your mouths move with each other.

You’re speechless when he pulls back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth before he points upwards, “Mistletoe.”

A scoff slips past your lips. “Didn’t know you were such a rule follower,” you tease. He’s so smooth it makes you want to scream.

He shrugs, “Depends on the rule.”

Despite the fact that you assure Ross’ mum that you’ve had breakfast—Ross snitches on you saying it was just cookies and a glass of water—, you’re fed a healthy amount of leftovers for breakfast the second you walk into the MacDonald’s home.

Only thirty minutes later, you’re upstairs in Ross’ room with a mug of hot chocolate as he shows off the gifts he got this year. Which, again, makes you laugh because it’s yet again more proof about the fact that you’re too old now and all you get is adult gifts.

You can’t help but snort when he shows off the beanie and scarf your parents got him, but ultimately admit he looks adorable all bundled up in the matching cotton set.

He wears the beanie proudly when you both walk up to Matty’s, while you have the scarf wrapped around your neck after you quickly snatched it from his room before leaving his house.

When you get to the Healy residence, it’s enough of a shock to see the two of you arriving at the same time. George is the one to ask with a frown if you had walked up there together and you nod with smiles on your faces.

Matty elbows Adam when he notices your accessories match.

The curly headed boy really tries his best to hide his curiosity but he can only last fifteen minutes into the catch up you’ve all fallen into before he asks, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

It’s a shock when you nonchalantly answer, “Oh, we broke up.”

And even more of a shock when you beam after the words leave your mouth.

Ross smiles just as big, proud of you for being so strong about that situation. No one really knows about it and it shows. Yes, you had been confiding in Matty about your struggles feeling extremely lonely in uni but you had never told him the reality about your boyfriend, knowing damn well how it looked that you got into that relationship because you were so desperate to feel something.

You had so much to tell everyone, but this wasn’t the time. Not yet.

The change in the dynamic between you and Ross is obvious, especially after consecutive years of clear, growing distance in between the two of you. But no one comments on it because they don’t want to disturb the return of a friendship that had been, from the very beginning, the core of the unity of your friend group. Even if the girls aren’t here celebrating with all of you anymore, Ross and you had been the ones to bring all of you together once upon a time, and it’s certainly refreshing for the boys to see that restored.

So when the New Year’s Eve party comes around, the group is a little more rowdy and you and Ross don’t stray far from each other’s side.

It might be because it feels like you’re all back in 2006 when you were still in high school and nothing had changed just yet, that Matty and George cause more and more ruckus. It’s certainly entertaining to watch but when George is stopped by a drunk Hann from doing a frontflip from the top of the stairs, and possibly breaking his bones, Ross pulls you outside for some peace and quiet as it’s really close to midnight.

The cold air makes you shiver and sobers you up a little, but god bless Ross MacDonald for offering you a cigarette then.

You place it between your lips and let him light it up, he struggles a bit with the strong wind but you help him by cupping your hands around the end of the stick.

Taking a long drag, you let the smoke in your lungs start to relax you and bring you the warmth you so desperately want right now.

The mess going on inside is still loud despite Ross closing the door, and suddenly, the memory of that 2006 New Year’s Eve night comes flashing back to the forefront of your mind.

“This is giving me some serious déjà vu,” you say as you hold in the smoke for a few seconds before letting it out upwards.

He knows exactly what you mean, he’s been thinking about it from the second you stepped foot in the house, but he still plays dumb, “Hmmm, really?”

You nod, taking a drag before saying, “Yeah. If I remember correctly, it was 2006 and we had come out to escape a very drunk Matty and George thrashing everything inside so we could have a calm countdown. We were sharing a fag, and the countdown started.”

As if rehearsed, you hear drunk voices loudly starting to countdown from ten inside the house.

Ten, nine, eight…

“And?” Ross pushes you to continue.

Biting your bottom lip, you try your best to hold back from smirking as you casually add, “And I said happy new year.”

He hums, “Not forgetting something?”

“Am I?” you play dumb, holding the cigarette between your fingers as you look at him.

Seven, six, five, four…

He turns to look at you, taking one little step towards you to invade your space, and nods, “I reckon, yeah.”

Your brows furrow and you cock your head to the side as you feign confusion.

“Mind refreshing my memory?”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

He pounces on your lips harshly, and it’s this time that desperation shines through the movement of his mouth on yours. His tongue doesn’t waste a second to slip past your parted lips and he groans when he tastes the tart tobacco on your tongue along with the vodka cranberry you’ve been having all night.

His trimmed beard itches your skin in a way that drives you mad and you can only think about how you would really like to get used to it. Your mind betrays you thinking about how it could feel brushing between your thighs, your arms swing around his neck and your fingers run up his scalp, making him moan into your mouth.

Three, two, one…

Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen and you pull back, panting, but a smirk doesn’t fail to break on your face and you breathlessly quip, “Ah yes, I remember now.”

Your cheekiness has him groaning again before he dips back for another kiss, his arm wrapped so tightly around your waist that you’re pressed impossibly close to his front, you cling onto him just as passionately and let everything you’re feeling in the moment show through the way your mouth moves along with his.

Revelling in the taste of him, the feel of him.

The two of you tune out the loud drunk voices wishing each other a happy new year on the other side of the door.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” he says against your mouth when he pulls back slightly.

Your breaths mix, becoming one as you try to get back oxygen into your lungs. Your nails dig into his scalp, wishing for there to be a way for you to melt into him. You can think of a few ways you can even come close to becoming one with him.

Your pupils are blown when you open your eyes and look into his, “Happy New Year, Ross.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The pride that swells your chest every time Ross sends you a picture of a place he and the boys are touring is impossible to explain with words.

You burst into tears every time you talk about your talented boys travelling around the world after the hit their debut album had been. The scolding you got for missing a day of work to go up to Manchester and celebrate their first number one album was definitely worth it, for celebrating their talent and the success they deserved was one of the best fucking days of your life.

After a few months of touring, the boys have finally come back home for the holidays. The 17th of December they played their last gig of the tour in some festival in Virginia, and on the 18th they had come back to their shared flat in Manchester.

So you were up in Manchester too.

“Love, you need to dial it down on the speed,” you tell Ross when you come back into the kitchen after taking your stuff to Ross’ room.

The second you got to the flat, you had been greeted with loads of hugs and kisses from the boys and far too many stories for you to hear in one afternoon. Your bag had been left forgotten by the door where you dropped it when George came running to crush you in a hug that you welcomed gracefully, and then the rest of them followed.

Ross had been quite distracting with the amount of kisses he stole before the guys gagged enough times to have him leave you alone and then they took you to the settee where they sat you down and told you all about the tour.

But then Adam’s girlfriend came over and they went off on a date, George went out to meet his girlfriend at a restaurant, and Matty was off to his parent’s house to visit them and little Louis who had been missing him loads.

That was when Ross finally had you all to himself, and despite the fact that he was itching to get you in his room, he hadn’t been able to say no to baking cookies with you first.

The same cookies you had made him and his family the day he gave you the potatoes back on Christmas day 2002. It just felt right to choose that recipe in particular.

Ross frowns as he looks at the mixer quickly, maybe too quickly, mixing the sugar and butter together, “Why? It’ll be over faster and we can go to my room.”

The smirk on his face makes you chuckle, and you shake your head as you walk up to him. “Oh, you’re awfully confident,” you tut before wrapping your arms around his neck.

He wraps his arms around your waist and dips his head to kiss you but you pull back slightly, he raises his brows in question, “Thought you had missed me.”

“I did,” you assure, your eyes falling to his lips, but you pull back again when he dips down for a kiss once more. You love to tease him you’ve found ever since you got together at the beginning of the year, and so you do, “But I think you missed me more, didn’t you?”

With that voice of yours, it’s impossible for him to deny it. He fights a groan but lets his hands fall slowly down your waist and lower back to your ass and there, he squeezes harshly as he says, “I certainly did.”

You swallow a moan but the hunger in your eyes is clear and a mirror of his, but before you can get too carried away, you let your hands run down his chest and you pat it twice before demanding, “Okay, stop it. Let’s finish this first.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” he agrees easily.

Just because it’s you. It’s hard for him to be stubborn when it’s you.

When the cookies are in the oven, he tries to distract you with those kisses of his that leave you breathless and needy, but you really have to remind yourself of the danger it would entail if you let yourself fall into your boyfriend’s charms and leave the cookies to burn.

It’s only when all three batches of them are out and on the cooling rack, which Ross definitely bought just for the times you came around and wanted to bake, that you and Ross run off to his room and make up for the time you’ve spent apart.

That’s how most of the days that you’re back together go: either tangled in between the sheets, indulging in each other’s touch and letting the devotion you feel for the other translate in your bodies becoming one, or cuddling as you watch film after film—or rewatching the three seasons of Game of Thrones, which he’s certainly obsessed with, and you definitely tease him about how much you fancy Jon Snow as if he doesn’t resemble him.

You go Christmas shopping together but split for an hour in the middle of your afternoon to buy each other your gifts, coming back giggling as you hide your gifts from the other but definitely try to guess what you’ve got as you go back to the flat.

The best time is when you’re all getting ready to go back to Wilmslow, like a big happy family you take up every seat in Matty’s car and it’s a chaotic thirty minute drive that makes your heart swell inside your chest.

The afternoon of the 24th, it is starting to snow outside and you two are cosied up on the settee with a shitty American Christmas film playing in the background as you go through your pictures throughout the years.

“Ross, look at you!” you coo loudly when you find a polaroid of him with a birthday hat on which is dated June 6th 2003. “A baby!”

He grimaces at the look of his long hair, styled to the side of his forehead and brushed down and straight like a cow had licked it, “Ugh, that’s a mess.”

You scoff and chat back, “No, you were so cute,” before going back to pouting over the picture of him.

He hadn’t started growing proper facial hair yet and he looked like a baby after he had shaved the patchy beard he always got back then. Nostalgia hits you as you remember how cute you thought he was back then and you still do. Somehow, your crush on your boyfriend only gets stronger with time.

“‘Were’?” he questions you with a raise of his brows.

You want to laugh at him for sticking to that bit of your words but swallow it to tease, “Yeah, ‘were’.”

A screech leaves you when his fingers come to mercilessly tickle your sides and you thrash around the settee as he comes to hover over you and continue his attack.

It’s a mix of shrieks and cackles and begs for him to stop that fill the room and overpower the sound of Will Ferrell’s voice, the pictures have all spilled on the floor as you kicked your legs and waved your arms around helplessly.

“Baby, stop!” you beg again and this time he listens, leaning in to press a bunch of kisses all over your face before pulling back and helping you sit back up on the settee.

The two of you start gathering the pictures from the floor then and sorting them through the years. But it is then that you notice the gap in between years, when you had been so foolish to ruin things all because of your bitterness.

The sorrowful words leave you as you flip through the handful of pictures from 2006 and the clear difference with only the few from 2007 and then the lack of them from 2008 to 2011. “So many years with no pictures…”

Ross blames it on him though, “I was an idiot.”

But you won’t let him take the blame all on his own, “Oh babe, I was too.”

He smiles sadly at the pictures but when he looks at you, his smile grows wider, “We’ll make up for it.”

His hand brushes your hair behind your ears and you nod, agreeing, “Definitely,” before kissing the palm of his hand softly.

Your boyfriend’s face melts in adoration and his voice drops an octave as he speaks, “I’m never letting you go, you know that right?”

The stupidest smile tugs at the corners of your mouth then before you reply, “I wouldn’t dream of ever leaving.”

Carefully setting the pictures aside, he shuffles closer to you and kisses you soft and sweet. His lips move on your with the same intent that his fingers dig into your cheeks.

Your hands come over his, wanting to keep his touch there, for him to never stop holding you like this and he confirms that he’ll never even think of doing it when he pulls back and mumbles against your lips, “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

The fluttering in your belly and the electricity that buzzes through you never dwindles, no matter how many times you hear him say that.

Nothing’s been easier and felt more natural in your life than saying it back, “Love you so much more, babe.”

You love telling him how much you love him and you love even more seeing his cheeks tint pink when he hears you say it. He always struggles maintaining eye contact after you let it slip past your lips like he can’t help but become putty in your hands when you utter those three words to him.

And you can’t help but giggle at the effect you have on him.

He basically throws himself forward and hides his face in your neck, but he forgets his size and strength for he makes you tumble backwards and fall on the settee with him over you, stealing your breath away.

He doesn’t move when you groan about him crushing you, he only nuzzles in your neck more and you just let it happen. Having him on top of you is your favourite feeling in the world after all, so you just let him melt over you and you even bring your hands up to his head, scratching his head and massaging his scalp. He moans and groans, getting you all flustered in the process.

You can hear his breathing evening out and his heartbeat becoming more regular, so you know he’s about to fall asleep and you smile at the thought of falling asleep like this right now, but the front door opens and your parents walk back into the house with a handful of bags each.

“Did you buy everything mum?” you ask like you have every year since the potato fiasco in 2002.

“Yes,” she calls back with an annoyed sigh like every year.

But you keep taunting her, “Didn’t forget a thing?”

She indulges you as she sing-songs, “Not one.”

You hum, continuing to play with Ross’ hair, “How about the potatoes?”

Ross smirks at your taunting and shakes his head. But then your mum tiredly answers from the kitchen, “They’re here, who do you think I–...”

The trailing off has you and Ross holding your breaths, and then you hear your mum’s loud cursing, “Oh bollocks!”

And the two of you can’t stop the cackles that leave you.

Trying to speak in between laughter is hard and your mum can barely make out your words when you ask, “Did you forget the potatoes?”

“Yeah…”

Tears spill from your eyes as you continue to laugh, “You’ve got something against them I swear, woman.”

“Could you go get some, please?” your mum asks, seeing that there’s still some time left before the shops close down.

You sigh tiredly but actually give in, “Sure.”

Ross leans in and kisses your lips softly and, unfortunately, very briefly.

“Don’t worry. I got it,” he whispers against your mouth, a hint of cockiness in his tone that makes you smirk and play along to what he’s trying to do.

“Will you take some Christmas cookies in exchange for them?” your fingers continue playing with his hair, but you pout to try and play onto the pity you want him to take on you.

He hums like he’s thinking about it but he settles for something else, “Actually, I’ll take a kiss.”

“Just one?” you question with your brows raised.

He gasps like it’s a miracle you’re offering more than one, “Oh well, if you’re feeling generous.”

Your fingers trail down the sides of his face until you can rub circles on his cheeks with your thumbs, “Christmas is all about giving, isn’t it?”

The words echo inside his mind, and he smirks harder knowing what he’s meant to say, “I guess it is.”

A breathy chuckle leaves you, and he steals it by smashing your lips together. Every time he kisses you, you lose track of time and everything around you loses its meaning. You’re completely blinded by him, overcome by his existence, full of everything he has to give you.

Unfortunately, you can’t continue losing yourself in him for your mum shouts from the kitchen, “Oi! Go get the potatoes, you two!”

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A/N: This was actually so much fun to plot but a bit tricky to write, so I truly hope you enjoyed the final product!! Kinda wishing I wrote more holiday themed fics now, but I promise I'll try to bring more of them soon, as many as my heart can take lol. I'll take this opportunity to thank you for reading and sending in your reactions, for accompanying me through this crazy year. Love yous so much and I wish you all the happiest new year!!! MWAHHH xxxx

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