#maybe if I can get back into it I'll post a snippet of one of my old works

[noctisvixen]

I'm debating if I want to get into writing Hermitcraft fics to post on AO3.

Like, I write Hermitcraft fics for myself, they're super unpolished and 90% are abandoned because I know I don't have to finish them and I wanna do a different prompt. Though 7/10, I return to the older ones to add a little more to it because *brain rot*.

But like... What if I did write with the intention to post?? I have AUs that are story exclusive, where they aren't flippin animals. It'd be fun and then at least my AO3 account wouldn't just be blank.

[thepencilnerd]

Your Man

thank you very much to @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft, and @letsgobarbs for including me in the 𝘈 𝘋𝑂𝘊𝑇𝘖𝑅 𝐴 𝐷𝘈𝑌 writing event <3 i cannot wait to dive into the pieces written by my fellow writers (check out the full post for every tagged gem!) prompt: "I think to be so dumb must be nice." | colour: black 🖤 pairing: jack abbot x f!resident reader summary: You and Jack have been bickering your way through night shifts for ages now—until two flying trays, a stitched-up hand, and one too many almost-confessions turn everything into something neither of you can ignore. content/warnings: enemies to lovers (all the banter, jabs, & sarcasm), slow-burn, emotionally repressed idiots to emotionally repressed idiots in love, depiction of harassment towards healthcare workers, protective!reader & protective!jack, fluff, angst, Robby being done with both of you wc: 5.2k a/n: i def could have gone a certain direction *cough cough* but i was overcome with a sudden craving for enemies to lovers / "they're both stubborn and it's complicated tropes," so i present to you this emotionally constipated snippet of my heart 🩺🖤

It was a well-known fact that you always clocked in after Jack Abbot.

Not because you meant to. At least, not exactly.

It started one night during your first week on night shift. You’d been cramming for exams all day, convinced you could fit in just one more practice block before your shift—just one more. But you dozed off somewhere around question 43, mouth open against the back of your textbook, a puddle of drool collecting around what once was a diagram of the cardiac chambers.

You sprinted in at 6:45pm, flustered and un-caffeinated, only to find Jack already there. Leaning against the nurses’ station with a cup of coffee like he’d been born in that spot, annoyingly calm and smirking like he’d seen this coming.

"Cutting it close, Dr. L/N," he’d said, not even looking up from his chart. "Careful. That’s how habits start."

He was right.

At first, you were apologetic—nervous and over-eager, all stammered greetings and shuffled charts. Jack didn’t seem to notice you beyond the bare minimum, and you chalked that up to his status, his seniority, his general aura of don’t talk to me unless someone is actively dying.

But things changed. Somewhere between covering for each other during rounds, tagging out on disaster admits, and a running tally of how many times you each got paged during a single trauma night, familiarity set in. You became colleagues. Then reluctant allies. And somewhere along the line—rivals. Enemies, depending on who you asked and on how bad the night was going.

One time, you were both elbow-deep in post-codes, barely functioning off stale coffee and mutual spite, when he passed you a chart and muttered, "Try not to kill this one with your bedside manner."

You took it without looking up from the board above you. "I'll match your emotional range and we'll both be fine."

You were never late, but it soon became a silent game. He always beat you at it. Whether it was by five minutes or five steps, you never let yourself get there before him. A superstition, maybe. A routine. A rhythm. And because you liked to keep him on edge—just to get a reaction out of him.

Seeing Jack colored with shades of affect, even if it was playfully annoyed, was fun. It made him predictable, addictive, a full 180 from his usual stone-cold demeanor. He’d scowl, grumble something about professionalism, and still let you win half the time. It became a kind of game, and you were very good at it.

Now as a senior resident awaiting board licensure, it was practically tradition.

He was already at the nurses’ station, sipping black coffee like it was fuel and he was a half-full tank, eyes scanning over charts. His voice cut through the hum of bedlam as you approached. "Late again, Dr. L/N. At least you're consistent."

You flipped him off without breaking stride. "And yet, somehow, the hospital hasn't burned down yet. Miraculous, wouldn't you say so, Dr. Abbot?"

He raised a brow, the faintest smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Not even ten minutes in and already have our claws out, do we?"

"Oh, Jack," you pouted, "this is just foreplay."

"Ah, is that what you call passive-aggressive incompetence now?"

"Bold of you to assume it’s passive," you fired back, picking up an iPad and scanning through your list of patients for the night. "Or that I’m incompetent, considering I actually round with patients instead of brooding in corners like a gargoyle."

"Gargoyle?" he echoed. "I’m flattered you’ve been staring long enough to come up with nicknames."

"Please," you scoffed. "Your aura of gloom is visible from space. NASA actually filed a complaint saying it was interfering with their ability to conduct research."

Jack paused for a beat, gaze flicking over you more intently than usual. "Did you eat before your shift?"

You eyes were glued on the iPad, your only response a single head bobble "no."

He didn’t like that. Robby could tell from the way his jaw flexed slightly—but he said nothing. Just hummed under his breath and looked back at his clipboard.

Robby had been watching through his glasses the entire time, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a dad wrangling in two over-caffeinated siblings. He blinked at the two of you, then sighed—long, theatrical, the kind of sigh that said he had survived more codes than he could count but this was titrating his patience.

"You two ever gonna kiss, or just keep trying to murder each other with sarcasm?" He took his glasses off to bury his face in his hands with a groan.

Jack didn’t look up, turning the page over on his clipboard. "I prefer homicide. Cleaner paperwork."

"Honestly, I'd take an explosive diarrhea case over having this conversation," you muttered, half to Robby, half to yourself, rubbing at the bridge of your nose like the words might erase Jack from your field of vision. 

Robby would be remiss if he didn't catch the way neither of you clocked his kiss and make up comment. He stared at you both, mouth frozen in a half-smile that said he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or launch you into separate time zones. He gave it two full seconds—long enough to confirm that you were both still hopeless—before shaking his head in defeat.

"I think," Robby hummed, patting both of your shoulders like a tired camp counselor, "to be so dumb must be nice."

You and Jack had the same unimpressed expression locked and loaded—scowls sharp and identical, contempt trained squarely on Robby, both of you about to mouth off in perfect sync.

He walked off before either of you could open your mouths. 

—

By 3am, the fatigue and hunger were chewing holes in your composure.

Too many admits. Not enough staff. Shen being chronically unbothered. Myrna threatening to murder her wife—when you and Jack turned to ask if she had a wife, matching expressions of disbelief already locked in place, she looked at you deadpan and asked, "You wanna get hitched?"

And always—always—Jack.

Fucking Jack.

With his clipboard full of passive-aggressive notes in that damn attractive calligraphy handwriting.

His tone clipped like a warning and welcome all at once.

And his black scrubs making him look like the grim reaper of constructive criticism and deconstructive mental undressing.

"Patient in six?" you asked.

"CT just came back. Small bowel obstruction. Classic presentation, apparently."

You glanced his way. "Told you it wasn’t just post-op gas."

Jack didn’t miss a beat. "And yet, you were already quoting discharge guidelines to the new intern before radiology even called back."

You shot him a look. Walsh would be proud of you for that one. "I was outlining possibilities. It’s called methodical thinking—must not be a concept you’re familiar with."

He grinned, lazy and unbothered. "Chaos works for me. You panic without bullet points."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the only attending I know who thrives in complete chaos and calls it a ‘method.’"

"And you’re the only resident I know who color-codes her trauma alerts."

The edge of your lip curled. "That’s called being prepared."

He gestured vaguely. "It’s called being uptight."

You arched a brow. "Spoken like someone who thinks organized is a four-letter word that starts with 'f' and ends with 'k'."

He leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. "Spoken like someone who secretly enjoys cleaning up after my messes."

You blinked once. Then grinned wider. "One day, your beloved chaos is going to bite you in the ass."

He tapped your chart as he walked past. "I guess it’s a good thing you’ve already alphabetized the first aid supplies for me."

—

By 3:20, the storm hit.

Lightning cracked the sky. Power flickered. The backup generator hummed to life with a groan. You should've brought an extra jacket to keep in your locker but it would end up disappearing anyway. Jack was in the hallway already, flashlight in hand.

"OR’s shut down. We’re triaging manually. You good?"

You nodded, biting your tongue. This wasn’t the time.

You worked side by side in the makeshift command center. Tension simmered beneath the quiet coordination—until a grabby frat-boy type from bay four decided he didn’t like being told to sit still and wait.

It happened fast.

He flung the tray off his bed, sending instruments clattering across the floor. You instinctively raised your hand to shield your face—just as a stray scalpel nicked the back of your hand, slicing a sharp, shallow arc. The pain didn’t register immediately. Jack did.

He was on the guy in an instant, stepping in front of you, voice low and lethal. "Sit. Down." The words came out all but minced. 

Security had already been called, but Jack looked like he wanted to break the guy’s face just for breathing in your direction. He didn’t even turn back to you until the orderlies dragged the patient away.

Then his hand was cupping your elbow, his voice much softer. "Let me see it."

You hissed as he inspected the cut. "It’s not deep."

"You’re bleeding on my chaos," he muttered, guiding you gently to an empty room.

You snorted through the blossoming pain. "Told you my color-coding wasn’t excessive."

He grabbed a suture kit, pulling gloves on with the kind of care you usually saw him reserve for crics and broken ribs. "Hold still."

"Bossy."

"Only when someone I like gets stabbed in the hand."

Your breathing hitched. "Like, huh?"

Jack’s attention was fixed on your hand. "Don’t make it weird."

You smiled, watching him thread the needle, so close, so focused. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy. Quite the opposite. It felt warm. Easy. He worked methodically, hands sure, touch gentle, eyes flicking up every few seconds to check your expression like it mattered more than the wound. As he cleaned around the cut and prepped the lidocaine syringe, you both said it in unison—

"Slight prick and a burn."

You laughed under your breath, both at his expression of surprise and your synchrony. "God. That phrase is ingrained in my soul. I think I said it to a grapefruit during my 5th year."

Jack’s lips twitched. "I said it to a patient’s plush raccoon once."

You watched his hands move with steady precision, stitching you up like he had all the time in the world. The storm outside cracked again, but neither of you flinched.

"Make sure I don’t scar, Doc," you teased, settling in as he prepped the suture. "I need these hands to make magic and miracles happen. Might even become a hand model if this whole medicine thing doesn’t pan out."

Jack didn’t look up, but you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I’ll do my best, ma’am. But if you end up on a billboard somewhere, I expect royalties."

You snorted. "In your dreams."

Jack didn’t say anything at first—just gave you a small, private smile like he was tucking something away in the back of his mind. Like he was keeping it just for himself.

And this time, when you looked at him, he didn’t look away.

For a few minutes, the raindrops tapping against the windows were the only sound that filled the empty space. Jack didn't speak. He just kept his gaze on your hand, now bandaged, resting on the edge of the tray table like it had never been hurt. You watched him watching you, your heart thudding quietly in your throat. 

"You always take care of your disasters this nicely?" you mumbled.

He smirked. "Only the pretty ones."

You didn’t speak of it.

Not until later, when the lights came back and the halls emptied and you were alone in the break room.

You noticed it as he leaned against the counter, scrubs rumpled, hair even more so. His scrubs were black, as always—just rumpled enough to prove he'd been moving all night, just fitted enough to be infuriating. You took a sip of water, eyeing him from across the break room table as you both took a seat. Something about the way the fluorescent light caught the curve of his jaw made the words slip out before you could stop them.

"Do you own anything that isn’t black?" you asked, voice light with sudden curiosity. "Or is your off-duty wardrobe just a series of increasingly gothic-toned hoodies that match your work-wear?"

Jack glanced up from his coffee, one brow arched. "It hides blood."

You stared. "You really don’t let anyone in, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away, just sipped his coffee and stared out at the empty hallway beyond the break room.

Finally, with a shrug that didn’t quite match the weight behind it, he said, "You’re one to talk."

That made you laugh, but it came out softer than expected. "Guess we’re both pretty terrible at normal."

Jack’s lips twitched. "Normal’s overrated."

You leaned back in your chair, legs stretched out in front of you, the tips of your sneakers barely brushing his. Neither of you moved. 

Suddenly, Jack got up and yanked open a small drawer by the coffee machine and pulled out a sad-looking granola bar, handing it to you without meeting your eyes.

"Eat this."

Your brow furrowed, suspicious. "Seriously?"

"You haven’t eaten since yesterday," he muttered, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. Like he hadn’t noticed.

You stared at the wrapper, then at him. "You really had that locked and loaded?"

He didn’t answer. Just crossed his arms and stuck the bar out at you further. "It’s chocolate. Don’t make me regret it."

Instead of prying further, your hand reached out slowly and took it, eyes still narrowed, studying him like he’d just burnt out a fuse in your brain.

Silence washed over you again. Occasionally filled by the sound of you munching on your granola bar and taking measured sips of your coffee. After a few minutes and one crumpled granola bar later, you caught Jack sneaking a glance at you over the rim of his cup.

You didn’t say anything—just raised a brow.

He looked away like he hadn’t been watching you at all.

But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

The words crept out of your mouth carefully. "Do you think..." 

Jack looked up, gaze intent. 

"Nevermind," you stopped yourself. 

He leaned in closer, the space between you shrinking into something almost unbearable. Not quite touching, not even brushing—but the air thickened under the weight of his stare. That kind of eye contact that felt like it could crack glass. Steady. Searching.

You let the quiet spool between you like a thread someone might tug, if they were brave enough.

"It's rude to start things you don't intend on finishing," he stated simply.

You blinked, still caught in the current of that look, then leaned in a little—almost like you were about to whisper a secret. Jack mirrored you without hesitation, like it was instinct.

Your voice was barely above a murmur. "Do you think..."

He waited, gaze steady, maybe even a tinge of hope if you squinted.

"...that the real reason you thrive in chaos is because it matches your personality?" you deadpanned.

Jack exhaled sharply, the ghost of a scoff tugging at his mouth. He sat back, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

You grinned, eyes bright and playful. "What? I finished it."

"Barely," he muttered, but he was smiling too.

A few beats passed. You both sat in the lingering quiet, the kind that settled in only after long shifts and half-spoken things.

Then he leaned in—just a little—mirroring what you'd done earlier. You furrowed your brows, curious.

He lowered his voice, almost conspiratorial. "Do you think..."

You leaned in too, expecting something real, something heavy.

"...that you secretly enjoy being wrong? Because, statistically, it’s seems like your favorite hobby."

Your jaw dropped to let out a puff of air, baffled by his audacity, and pushed his arm. "God, you’re insufferable."

He chuckled under his breath. "And yet, here you are."

You gave him a sideways glance, lips quirking. "I will admit that it’s in my top five favorite hobbies. But it still doesn’t beat ‘annoying Jack Abbot.’ That one’s undefeated."

Jack shook his head, eyes warm and lips softened in a grin. "You’d miss me if I ever stopped letting you win."

Your only response was a coy smile. You nudged his foot with yours beneath the table, and he glanced down at the contact. He nudged back, subtle and sure, like he didn’t want the moment to end just yet—then looked back up at you. Something passed between the pair of you—unspoken, tentative, curious.

The room fell quiet again, comfortable this time. Neither of you moved to leave.

Until Jack's phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, then cursed under his breath. "Room seven. It's that kid who demanded to speak to the 'head doctor' because I wouldn't give him dilaudid for a tension headache."

You raised a brow. "So... a normal Friday?"

"Basically."

You watched him go, expecting a quick de-escalation. Room seven. You knew who that was. Height rivaled only by his ego. Frat letters drawn across his bare chest like illiterate war paint. Barked at nurses like he owned the floor. The kind of guy who made everything someone else's problem, backed by daddy’s legal team and a two-semester record of hazing infractions.

Jack had said he’d handle it. He always did. Especially with these types. It was like they were on a rotation—every Friday night, a new brand of uninhibited pre-frontal cortex, privileged chaos.

But then you heard his voice—Jack’s—sharp and too loud from down the hall. A clatter followed, unmistakable. Tray to tile. A chair scraping. Then another crash. A shout that definitely wasn’t Jack’s.

You were already moving.

By the time you rounded the corner, the frat boy was mid-lunge, fury twisting his face as he hurled a tray toward Jack’s head like he was reenacting some half-remembered bar fight. Jack ducked, barely—but he was boxed in, too close to the wall.

You didn’t think. Just moved.

"Hey!" you barked, adrenaline surging. You threw yourself at him, coming at him like a freight train and making him fall back onto the bed with a grunt. A nurse hit the emergency call. Security swarmed seconds later.

Jack had grabbed your arm and pulled you back—tight but not painful—pulling you just out of the fray. "What the hell?"

You glared at him, chest heaving. "Returning the favor."

He didn’t let go.

"On-call room. Now."

He practically hauled you down the hall, his hand never leaving yours. You were both silent until the door shut behind you. He pressed his palms to the counter and stared at it like it had personally offended him.

"What was that?" His voice was sharp, unfiltered, pissed in a way you didn’t see often—not like this. Not when it was about you. "You could’ve gotten hurt."

"So could you." You leaned against the metal bunkbed frame, still catching your breath. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

His Adam's apple bobbed, slow, like the movement itself took restraint. His jaw was tight, eyes darker than usual.

"You're reckless," he said quietly.

"Takes one to know one," you laughed.

Jack didn’t.

He stepped forward instead, jaw clenched. "You have no regard for your safety and only for that of others."

You took a step back.

"You will go out of your way to treat and protect everyone around you at the expense of your own well-being."

Another step back. Any closer and—

"Do you understand," he said, each word measured, devastating, "how much I worry about you?"

Your heartbeat was a war drum now—loud, insistent, thunderous.

"Do you know how much I think about you? How much I plan for the worst every time you throw yourself between danger and someone else without a second thought?" he added, voice cracking just enough to reveal the truth beneath it. Laid bare.

"When you walk into the ER and you haven't eaten since the night before and I can see it—you're running on caffeine and impulse and whatever scraps of adrenaline are left."

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn’t stop there. "When you give your jacket to a freezing patient and spend the next six hours shivering without saying a word—like that’s normal."

You swallowed. "It wasn’t cold..."

Jack’s voice sharpened. "You forget your umbrella and show up soaked but act like it's fine. Like it’s not freezing. Like you didn’t just volunteer to get sick."

Your fingers twitched against your side.

"And when you blow off your own wound care to finish a chart. Or cover a code blue for someone else even though your shift ended twenty minutes ago."

You looked away. His eyes never left you.

He stepped even closer, willing you to look at him. "When you pretend you’re made of steel. And then crack alone in the stairwell when you think no one’s looking."

It felt like ice cold water had dropped from the ceiling.

"Jack—" you managed to force out. 

He held up a hand and turned around, cutting you off. "Please." 

He couldn’t hear it. Not unless you felt the same. Not unless you'd listened, actually listened, for once. He’d rather bleed out not knowing than survive a rejection he couldn’t patch. Just colleagues. He'd switch over to day shift if he had to. Robby could put in a word for him. Temporary, at least until he found a new hospital. Maybe in a different city. Of a different state.

He looked anywhere but you, turning like he meant to leave, like he could walk it off and pretend none of this ever happened.

"Jack, please..." The words came out desperate, begging, pleading for him to stop.

He didn't meet your eyes—couldn't. "I'll see you at the nurses station." 

"Oh, for the love of God—" You reached forward and yanked him back by his forearm.

And then your lips were on his.

It wasn’t clean or careful. It was a crash—years of tension detonating all at once. He froze for half a second, eyes wide open like his brain was short-circuiting, then kissed you back with everything he had and more. Desperation, disbelief, hunger—it all poured out of him like water breaking through a dam.

Your hands cradled his face, thumbs grazing over the light stubble along his jaw, fingertips brushing the sharp edges of his cheekbones like you were learning him by touch alone. He kissed you like he couldn’t stand to stop, and you held him like you weren’t going to let him. He tasted like spearmint—sharp and stubborn—the gum he always carried in his pocket, and behind that, burnt coffee and something so distinctly Jack it made your limbs tingle.

His hands found your waist, your jaw, your back—grasping like he didn’t trust the moment to be real unless he mapped every inch of you with his fingertips. You were pressed chest to chest, and it still didn’t feel close enough.

Jack had kissed people before. He had slept with people before. He'd been married, for God's sake. But this—this—was unreal. This was heat and gravity and every inch of restraint he’d stitched into place finally tearing wide open. This was the reason human beings fought in wars. Why people wrote poetry and ruined perfectly stable lives for one perfect, maddening kiss. Why everything else material and immaterial suddenly paled in comparison.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging salt and pepper curls just enough to make him groan, low and wrecked against your lips.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, share the oxygen in your lungs, the little gasp you made when his thumb grazed the spot behind your ear just right. He devoured everything you gave him and kissed you like a man who had run out of time and patience.

Because he had.

He’d wanted this too long to pretend otherwise, and he'd sooner die than deprive either of you from this any longer. 

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting lightly against his. Both of you were gasping, eyes locked in the kind of dazed silence that usually followed adrenaline crashes. 

"Took you long enough, old man," you whispered, lips still brushing his.

Jack blinked once, twice. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like the thought had crossed his mind a thousand times, but the reality of you—this—hit harder than he’d prepared for.

"You feel the same?" he asked quietly, in a tone that was more awe than question.

You nodded. "Since before either of us were brave enough to say it."

Jack let out a breath that shook at the edges. "I thought if I let it slip—if I looked too long, said too much—you’d shut me out."

"I thought if I admitted it, it would ruin everything."

"It didn’t," he murmured, leaning his forehead against yours.

"No," you whispered. "It finally made sense of everything."

Jack blinked again, almost like he hadn’t fully registered it until now. His gaze swept over your face, pausing at your lips, then your eyes, as if searching for the lie he couldn’t find.

"You really mean that?" he asked, quieter now. Not disbelieving—just internalizing.

You nodded again, slower this time. "I don’t do this if I don’t."

Jack let out another breath, but it wasn’t shaky this time—it was solid. Grounded. Relieved. He laughed under it, the sound warm and slightly incredulous.

"You really are impossible," he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

"And you’re dramatic," you whispered back, smiling.

"Fair," he said. "But you’re still mine."

"Yeah," you said. "I think I always was."

Jack huffed a breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Careful. You just kissed your attending. That kind of power could go to your head."

You grinned, still breathless. "Please. You kissed me back like your life depended on it."

"Who says it didn't?" he asked rhetorically, so quietly it almost got lost in the air between you.

Your fingers drifted to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing softly along the hairline, anchoring him there. Jack shivered. Not from cold—never from cold.

"Thank you," you admitted. "For taking care of me while I was busy taking care of everyone else."

His grip on your waist tightened, grounding himself, and then he leaned in again. This time it was slower. Less frantic. His lips found the curve of your neck, warm and reverent. You gasped—quietly—but it was enough. He kissed lower, just beneath your jaw, and your hands curled in the fabric at his shoulders.

"Always." The word left his lips like a prayer.

His fingers traced the hem of your scrub top, ghosting up your sides like he was overriding any and all memories of anything else other than you. No dissonance. Just Jack, desperate to feel something real in a world that never gave him space to.

You pressed closer, kissed the corner of his mouth. "You taste like that godawful spearmint gum."

He grinned against your skin. "You love it."

Another scoff. "If throwing myself in front of a raging frat boy was all it took to get you to shut up and kiss me, I would've done it ages ago."

Jack pulled back just enough to look at you, smug. "If you do that again, I’m going to make you do my charting for a week."

You snorted. "With pleasure."

He didn’t argue. Just dipped his head and kissed you again.

—

You woke in the on-call room, a mess of tangled limbs and haphazardly strewn clothes. Your cheek pressed to the rise and fall of his chest. The storm had long passed, but its echo lingered in the hush around you. Jack’s arm was slung low around your waist, fingers drawing lazy, absent-minded shapes against your hip like he didn’t know how to stop touching you now that he’d started.

"For what it’s worth, I still think you’re a pain in the ass," you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

His chest rumbled beneath your cheek. "Likewise," he said, but it came out softer than usual.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, your hand brushing gently across his ribs, then settling over his heart. "Don’t get used to this."

His brow arched. "This?" If you looked hard enough, you might have seen worry flash across his face. 

"Me being nice."

Relief painted his expression. He smiled, full and rare. "You’re the one curled into me like a particularly mouthy cat."

You buried your face in his chest. "Shut up."

His fingers tightened slightly at your hip. "Not complaining. Just saying... I could get used to this."

You looked up again, caught the vulnerability flickering there before he blinked it away. Your thumb brushed his jaw, and you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth, a smile blooming in its wake.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Me too."

—

A few weeks and an undetermined number of shifts later, you walked through the double doors of the ER wearing a black hoodie—oversized and unassuming to anyone else, but unmistakable to anyone who knew him.

Robby and Dana spotted it from a mile away. The frayed drawstring, the hole near the front pocket, the faded cuff seams—the one he always reached for when the weather dropped below 60 degrees, too tired to bother, or too raw to pretend. Jack’s favorite and now second most prized possession.

The first being the shirt you wore when you stayed the night for the first time—oversized and soft, probably older than the first year med students—borrowed without asking. He never washed it. Claimed it smelled like you now and he'd keep it that way.

No one said a word.

Except Robby, who walked past and muttered, "Finally." Then, as you and Jack strolled side by side toward the nurses’ station—still bickering, now with smiles tucked behind every jab—he held out a fist to Jack.

Jack bumped it without hesitation.

Robby grinned. "Took you long enough."

"Shut up," you and Jack muttered in unison, but neither of you stopped smiling.

Jack's hand brushed yours between steps, a casual touch that lingered just long enough to say everything he couldn't say out loud in front of witnesses. You let your pinky hook around his for a second before letting go—just a flash of something soft beneath the usual snark.

"Didn't know we allowed pets in the ER," Dana remarked from her chair before looking up through her glasses. "Or are those lovebirds I hear?"

You smirked. "We’re just evolving."

Jack raised a brow. "Into better people?"

"No," you replied. "Into slightly better-functioning disasters. I am, anyway. Jack’s still somewhere between disaster and cryptid."

He bumped your shoulder gently before giving you a playful wink. "Speak for yourself. I was already perfect."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. A smile crept up like second nature. You'd get him next time.

Robby snorted. "God, you two are insufferable."

You turned just enough to shoot him a smug look. "You love it."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I do. But if I walk in on you making out in the supply closet, I’m blackmailing both of you. With photos."

Jack didn’t even flinch. "Make sure you get our good angles."

You could definitely get used to this.

[magickizu]

Shop Repairs

Crossover dp x dc. So I've got this time line in mind, for my crossover AU and this is a snippet of it. Master Post: Lost Retirement

Jason has to find a solution, quickly: during the last mission his bike received more damage, than he had planned. Bringing it back to the cave will take too long, not to mention the repair time, that he can't make time for! And here's another thing: for like the past week or so, the pits have been acting extremely weird. Bubbling and flaring up randomly, like this pissed off but not revenging rage, if that makes sense?? What is going on???

Jason absolutely hated his luck: not only did these bastards get away, not only was it a pain in the ass anyway to hunt them down, not only did they take their goods with them as they fled after, not only kicking Hood's ass- ohohoho no! Of course his sweet baby had to be pulled into it! They used his bike as shield!! HIS FUCKING BIKE-!!!

The silvered raven groans annoyed, the pits are flaring up again too! He can't even get to the bat cave and fix her up, because he needs her by tomorrow and he does not have the right parts. Let alone the time, since he's got this meeting with this building company to talk over the plans for the Alley's new community gardens he wants to build. So naturally he's on his way to bring her to the only guy he trusts with her, when suddenly the pits flare up again!- right, rightrightright... Of course that wasn't enough, since the pit seemed to have even more problems in the past week, with him feeling like he got run over by trucks. The constant whispering and screeching and hissing about an intruder in his territory, inside his head- ...at this point it's just tiring.

Red Hood was deep in thought, in fact he was so deep in thought, that his feet have carried him all the way to the little mechanics shop and maybe, just maybe, he could be a little lucky today? Please? And they have everything and the damage wasn't as bad as it seemed? The pit is rumbling and gurgling disgustingly and he can see the green tinge slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. Panic floods him, there's not a single one of the birds or bats around to help him now-

Hood tried his best, to take deep breaths. Steady his thoughts and fight back, imagining Dick would be there helping him concentrate. The mental image of his family just being there for him, helped a little, lately their bond has gotten better and Jason can definitely tell- snap out of it! He can't have a panic attack in the middle of the road! Not as the Red Hood at least... With one last, deep breath Hood's feet begin to move again, as he rounded the corner and pulled into the open garage door or the workshop.

"Ah-hah! The Red Hood," the old man behind the little counter laughs and stands up, Hood's shoulders relax at the sight and sound of him. "Tell me, tell me niño, what can I do for you? Have not seen you in a while, eh?" Mateo, the owner, shakes the vigilante's hand with a big smile and a small hug.

"Hey Tío," he greets back, hugging back briefly and gently. "My bike got... Involved in the action... Please tell me you can fix her by tomorrow, Tío." If it wasn't for the modulator in his mask, Hood would have sounded tired, which Mateo must have known, as he started to laugh out loud before answering.

"Alright, alright. I'll take a look, eh? But no promises." Mateo leaned down slowly with a huff and a grunt, until the man kneeled in front of the motorcycle. He called out for someone, after trying his best to look at the machine. Hood couldn't hear what Mateo said, he was too distracted with suddenly being confronted by Mateo's high age. Neither Jason, nor Red Hood have been here in a while and he mentally scolded himself for it. Jason helped out here and there, ever since he came back, ever since before Bruce... Mateo has always been there- been right here. Hood just wasn't ready yet; Jason wasn't ready. He hadn't realised how old the man was really getting, until now. Now that he sees him squinting at the details, sees him having trouble with finer motor skills of the machinery and now even so much as getting back up again after kneeling down. Hood forced himself back to reality, when Mateo tried to get back up but only grunted, he was about to take a step closer, help, something when-

"¡¡Tío!!" Suddenly a young man was faster. Analysis; same blue overalls as Mateo, just that the upper part is tied around his waist, dirty white t-shirt, work gloves, steel toed work shoes and one black sleeve, seemingly some kind of compression cuffs, on his right arm covering it completely- must be working here, well enough acquaintaned with Mateo, was in the back probably does the work now. Pale skin, dark raven hair with a few snow white streaks- good style! Hehe... And bright blue eyes, that are full of worry and- "Tío, how often did I tell you, just say something! ¿¡Eres estúpido!?" The young man scolded the older, grinning and chuckling one, but Hood didn't listen he was just staring... Jason couldn't look away from these electric blue eyes, that reflected in a strange neon green, that he just knows. The pit was bubbling over, growling and screaming at him and panic rose up like a lump in his throat, nearly clogging it and slowly suffocating him, as his vision is tinging green, bit by bit. This is not happening now, not now!! Shit!! What is he supposed to do!?

Suddenly the same voice breaks through to him; "...fuck, it's you..." And they both look at each other for a moment, then Hood reached for his gun immediately, the second the other man moved- He is the intruder! Shred him... "Wait! I-I'm so sorry! Ancients... I had an offering, but I forgot it at home. I swear, I do not mean any harm, to your haunt nor people nor you! I never meant to be disrespectful." The man held his hands up in surrender and the green subsided slightly from Jason's vision- how?? "-look; if it's good for you, I'll have her ready by tomorrow, as you asked, free of charge. Can that be my offering? Would that be acceptable for you?" And the pits calmed down... Hood stood there, frozen in place, overwhelmed and absolutely shocked, yet strangely relieved. The man also didn't sound hysterical, just calm enough to make it believable that... He wasn't scared... Against every bit of sanity left in his brain, the Hood nodded, his hand no longer hovering over his gun's holster. He straightened up.

"Explain." He growled, shocked by himself how much venom there was in his voice and how deep the rumbling of the growl was... As if it's coming from his chest. But moreover: what does this guy have to do with the pits!? And why the F U C K can he calm it down by T A L K I N G!?

"Okay, listen..." The man sighs, then contemplates something, looking Hood up and down, asassing him. "Alright, uhm... Name's Danny, my siblings and I just got here. We won't make any trouble and just need a place to stay, for now. The only reason I'm entering your haunt is because I work here and it's the only place that would hire me. Again my offering of doing a full round up on your bike still stands. If you don't wanna accept, that's your choice and I'll find something else, somewhere else. Okay?" Hood did listen; the man's alone, apparently desperate for money or else other places would do, he takes care of his siblings and cares for people seeing his instant worry about the old man, peaceful indeed with immediate surrender... And even a useful offering. ...what?

"Fine." Hood sighed, the other man, Danny, also sighed probably from relief. Wait... Where the hell did Mateo go?? Upon realisation, the larger one looked around,

"...Mateo's in the back office. I just... I just sent him back. Uhm..." He fidgeted a little, then stuck his hand out awkwardly. "How about this: Hi, I'm Danny. I take care of the work here now... And you're the Red Hood, that's kinda cool- I mean you are cool, like,... Sorry, I'm new to Gotham." Then Danny smiled awkwardly at him, as if he didn't just threaten to get shot. Hood stared but slowly reached out to grab the hand and Danny's smile widened, revealing the smallest hint of fangs. Hoods guard should be up but for some reason... This somewhat aggressive friendliness was welcome, somehow. "Right! The Ducati!" Danny reminded himself and moved his attention and body to the machine straight away.

"...and you'll be able to get her ready by tomorrow?" Hood asked after a moment of watching him looking through his bike. Danny perked up, seemingly ripped from his focus;

"Huh? Oh, uh... Yes, definitely! Seems like nothing too vital got hit. The tank is still good, the engine and the battery are also unharmed; a blessing in disguise, it's just...maybe a handful of tubes and a couple cables. I'll get you a round check, change the oil and clean up the painting. Be back at..." Danny thought about it. "Would five sound good?" He offered and that was admittedly fast, yes. Hood hummed in agreement.

"Make it six, deal." The vigilante held his hand out to the mechanic, who shook his hand for the deal and then made a little surprise yelp, as he got hoisted back up. Surprisingly light, but lean built. No directly visible muscles, but Danny still holds up strong. With one last look at his baby, then a warning glare at Danny, who ironically seemed to understand as he lifted his hands in surrender again and a small smile.

"I promise, I'll take good care of her. Will make her purr like a kitten." Because if not... What is he talking about? That guy has his family waiting at home and can't even change locations properly. As Hood walked out and began to his closest save house, it suddenly clicked in his mind, when he realises one fundamental thing, as he listened to the streets in Crime Alley and nothing else... That's exactly it, for once Hood didn't hear anything from the pit... As if it's completely gone. The static sensation in his mind, only picked up again slowly, the further away he got.

So this Danny guy has something to do with the pits and Jason will find out how...

"Ta-da!" Danny grinned proudly, as he showed Red Hood his bike, looking brand knew right out the factory. His eyes grew wide under the mask,

"Holy shit..." Hood rounds the machine, softly gliding over every visible surface. Checking even some of the nooks and crannies, after all he has to make sure it's all in proper order. Danny crossed his arms, sure of himself. "... I'll admit, that's good work." Danny nods, his smile widening in appreciation for the man's work.

"Rev her." The smaller man instructed, Hood for once did what he was told without hesitation and it paid: as he ignited the engine and let her reel, the machine simply purred. Litteraly just purred. Low, menicing bass and silent efficiency...

"Holy shit!" He shut her off again, for now. "That..." Hood gestures in slight disbelief, "that's real good work. Thanks man." He holds out a hand, Danny looks down at it, less smiles and a little more perplexed but nonetheless, the shorter one grabs it. What he seemingly didn't expect was for Red Hood to haule him in shoulder bumper- ey, he may be the Red Hood, but he's still from the hood. Danny just starts smiling again. "I mean it, damn fine. I'll bring her around more often, when she needs it. How much?" He reaches for his wallet, cash only of course, but he got waved off.

"Nonsense. Is the least I can do." Danny made his way already around the counter, typing away at the computer and scribbling something in a black book.

"For what? You did the work-"

"-Woopsies! Looks like I already started closing our only register! Oh man, I'm such a dummy! Urgh! My clumsiness...!" Danny exaggerated dramatically, then leaned onto the counter with one elbow. The other hand on his hip, "forget it, the register's closed, we don't take payment anymore." That smug little bastard then had the audacity to start grinning and daringly lift an eyebrow. ...and honestly, the vigilanty couldn't help but smile at this. Danny can be a little shit, apparently, just as he himself which by all means is entertaining. Hell, even the pits began flairing up in an unusually positive way, almost like a low but friendly rumble in his rest.

"Okay, fine... But I can't let this stand unattended." Danny, yet again, waved him off. But there, just for a brief moment, the way his eyes sparked like an idea, he rushed to scribble something out. Then Danny came over.

"Alright... when you're done with your mission, shoot me a message. There's something I'd actually like to talk about..." The mechanic said, shifting a little nervously, but never loosing the hint of a smile on his lips. The pits gurgle a little shrill, almost like dieing chirping... Oh!- uninted, but good one, heh. But now Hood was definitely intrigued, for the lack of better words.

"...Sure." He agreed, with that he swung himself onto his sweet baby and nodded the other bey, who mirrored the action as response and took a few steps back, to give Hood enough space to start up. As he did right in that moment, then he was gone again, into the night.

Even the pits have massively quieted down again, after deeming the young mechanic non-threatening. Yeah, he still needs to figure out, what that guy has to do with the lazarus pits, but right now he's got one real big fish to catch, fillet and fry for what he did and did to his machine.

@georgiefreddie0829 @shirasorin

[y-elleven]

hi veny!!!! for ur tshd au, can we have rin as the monster please? i know u mentioned otoya first but i think creature rin could have so much potential!!!!

(p.s. i hope u get ur manga soon w/o damages💔)

hi nonnie!! i'm currently still powering through the otoya ver. so have this snippet in the meantime. i'll write + post the full thing tmr (maybe), so i hope u like this for now!!

rin is your best friend.

you have matching bracelets, go to school together, hang in your rooms and just exist in each other's space with all the entitlement that comes with known each other since before either of you even knew how to spell your own names. your first meeting at age five included a plastic dinosaur getting chucked at your head and a lot of crying. but when his older brother directed him to hold your hand so he could lead you both to an adult with little fuss, you held on tighter and hadn't let go since.

when sae left for some overseas soccer program a few years later, rin grew colder and less enthusiastic about anything but soccer. in a sleepy town like yours where the last exciting thing was watching the older itoshi brother leave for the city though, you learn to roll with his barbs and stick close to the most interesting person you know. the gods know rin needs it. for a guy who insists so strongly on being by himself, he's terrible at being alone.

lately though, he hasn't been feeling like your best friend.

the hiss and pop of a can opening up draws your attention back to the present.

rin doesn't sigh when he swings a leg over the bench to sit beside you, but his posture tells you that he's in one of his usual moods again. grumpy, standoffish, weirdly fixated on becoming self-sufficient and strong as soon as possible — what a handful. he remains colder than the snow dusting the streets.

he passes you the drink and tucks his pale hands back into his jacket, settling down in the space beside you per your routine. even if he says getting "treats" after school every day is a waste of both time and money, he still follows you to the store the nice auntie next-door runs, always. habits are hard to break for a guy like him.

you thank him for the canned coffee you'd been heckling him to buy you during your entire walk here. you don't bother hiding your laugh from the face he makes when you receive the can with both hands either. your fingers are red from the cold, so you're more than happy to wrap them around your successful itoshi-rin-scam. you take a sip and watch him just sit in your periphery. you don't even like coffee, but you keep drinking it anyway. it burns your tongue.

the silence stretches. one second. then two, three, four — slowly twisting like balloons into animal shapes. there's a buzzing from somewhere beside you and your gaze flickers to a moth on the lamp hanging by the shop's entrance. its wings flutter in response to an imagined breeze, looking like eyes blinking back at your own uneasy stare. teal eyes don't blink back at you though.

rin's hand on your wrist is the only reason you don't flinch.

"y/n?" he asks, in that faux unaffected tone he always uses.

rin went missing a few weeks ago after a fight with his brother. apparently, sae had returned earlier than expected and met with rin by chance at your school's soccer field. something happened that led to rin running away into the trees and sae knocking at your door at 6 in the morning the next day. his voice, strangely hoarse, carried the same unbothered frost in rin's, but his red-rimmed eyes said everything he couldn't. it had been terrifying to listen to — rin ran off into woods when the snow was falling heavier than usual. sae had spent the better part of the night calling out for his little brother to come back, armed only with his phone's flashlight and a voice that was quickly losing itself to the dry cold. sae only stopped and went back home when a few of your neighbors came out to see what was going on. he almost looked ashamed, standing at your doorstep with red fingers and even redder eyes. he'd asked you to come with him and the rest of the adults to look for rin.

("he might come if you call."

"you're making him sound like a dog.")

obviously, you went.

you didn't find rin on the first day. not on the second either. not on the third, the fourth — it was hell for you and sae. the adults started whispering. the other kids slowly started to stop attending your searches. sae grew wearier and angrier with each passing day while you clung to an optimism that you'd find him eventually if you just kept looking harder. in the temporary absence of your best friend, you clung to the next best thing until you could hold his hand again. you can't read rin's brother very well, but even you can tell he didn't particularly enjoy your company. the feeling's mutual. you'd prefer rin over sae any day. you just want him back.

the ending was anticlimactic but a good one: rin came back on his own after a week of being lost. he doesn't have any memory of what he'd been up to despite the agitated concerns from the adults around him. he seemed much more focused on getting something to eat and sleeping in his bed. sae left the next day.

now, you're sitting with rin. on the bench you've both been frequenting since middle school after class. his hand on your wrist is ice cold. you've long outgrown your "childish" habit of handholding, but you offer anyway. teasing him is part of your routine too.

when he puts his hand in yours with no fuss and curls those pretty fingers around your palm, the buzzing stops.

he makes a comment about you being stupid for not bringing gloves, mindlessly squeezing your hand like he's trying to warm them without noticing. it's a thoughtful gesture. very sweet and fitting for a tsundere-type like rin.

rin hasn't held your hand like this since you were ten.

snow keeps falling around you. the cold sinks past the flimsy shield your blazer provided the longer you sit there. the hand still in rin's grasp is slowly warming up. your other remains wrapped around your cooling drink.

rin doesn't like holding your hand. he also knows you don't like coffee.

you find it hard to look away from his eyes. teal and cool, unlike anything in this small town. unique. unnerving.

uncanny.

it's like you're caught in an impromptu staring contest. rin doesn't blink so neither will you. your eyes sting from the dry cold, but you refuse to lose first. you relent and adjust to rin's moods on a daily basis, so little victories like these are important.

rin is important. so important to you. you want him back.

the question that's been clawing at your throat ever since rin returned slams against your ribcage, or maybe that's just your heart trying to beat out of your chest. he's always given you butterflies. you think the moth you saw earlier must've gone somewhere else. it's so quiet now.

you really, really hope you're wrong.

"hey, can i ask you something weird?"

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hurricane - Part 7

{“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.”}

warnings/notes: no warnings that i can think of. as always, thank you to my writing therapist @lestapiastrisgirl. in the interest of transparency, this one is going to end here, for now. i feel like this is a good place to pause since i'm feeling a little...wrung out...creatively. i don't think emma&max's story is done quite yet but i also need to take a pause. i'll put together a little update post later this afternoon in case anyone is interested in what my summer plans are. OKAY! onto part seven!! word count: 6.8k

hurricane master list main master list ask me anything

The low hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware filled the trendy Miami restaurant that Charles had chosen. If it had been up to Max, he’d be back in his hotel room stewing over the fact that it was now Friday evening and Emma was still avoiding him. He picked at his fish, the Michelin starred chef’s excellently seared salmon tasing like ash in his mouth. Across the table, Charles was droning on about…something. What it was, Max wasn’t quite sure but his friend’s usual charm filled the space that Max couldn’t be bothered to worry about. Because Max was distracted, he was only catching snippets of the conversation, his attention constantly flitting to his phone that was lying face-up on the table beside him. 

No new messages. Not a single text from Emma since before sprint qualifying yesterday, and even that one had been a cool and even toned ‘they’re waiting for you in the media pen.’ She’d been the epitome of professional since they’d arrived in Miami but there was a slight edge to it now. It was still the same Emma that he’d come to know: competent, organized, ensuring that his schedule was strictly adhered to but there was something missing. The easy banter, the shared smiles, the comfortable intimacy that had begun to blossom between them since Emma had joined him in Japan had seemingly vanished overnight. 

She’d excused herself early again tonight, saying the jet lag was hitting her harder for some reason and that she’d wanted to get some sleep ahead of the sprint race tomorrow morning. Max hadn’t pushed but her icing him out had the panic building in his chest. The memory of falling asleep with Emma wrapped around him, the smell of her floral shampoo comforting him in a way he wasn’t familiar with was like an ache that he couldn’t make better. She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable that night, hadn’t seemed like he was pushing her too far. Maybe he had read it all wrong though because the memory of waking up alone that next morning was sharp and painful, blotting out the way he’d felt with Emma in his bed. 

He’d tried, of course, since they’d arrived in Miami. A few casual remarks during the pilates class on Thursday, an inside joke cracked softly amidst the bustle of the garage in between practice and sprint qualifying earlier in the day. They were desperate attempts to bridge this awkward chasm that Max was seemingly responsible for creating but nothing had worked. He’d been met with bright, almost brittle, friendliness that felt more like a shield than an invitation. 

It was driving him insane. 

Charles’ laughter faded as he noticed Max tapping his phone for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. He leaned forward slightly, something like concern playing on his face. “Everything alright? You seem a bit preoccupied tonight.” 

Max forced what he hoped looked like a nonchalant shrug, picking at a stray piece of potato on his plate. “Fine.” He clipped. “Just tired. Long day of dragging that car to places it doesn’t belong.” 

A wry, understanding smile ghosted across Charles’ face. “You usually handle that shit like it’s a walk in the park. You’ve been…” He pauses, looking at his friend thoughtfully. Charles had known Max for a long time, since they were children, so he was fairly confident in his ability to read the moods of the Dutchman. “Off since you got here. Did something happen earlier this week?” 

Max knew he was asking specifically about Emma. His jaw tightened, the muscle there fluttering as he tried to choose how to evade giving Charles a real answer. Charles senses that there’s more behind Max’s silence and he lets the question hang in the air between them for longer than he normally would. Lifting his wine glass, Charles takes a sip, casually observing Max over the rim. 

“It just seems like there’s tension there. Between you and Emma, that is.” He stated it like it was a fact, not a question. Max hated how easily Charles was able to read him. “She’s usually around during media day and in the garage. I don’t think I saw her leave Red Bull hospitality all day.” 

Max finally meets Charles’ gaze, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “She was just working, Charles. Catching up on things. Race weekends are busy, Miami especially.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Emma is never that quiet in the paddock, you know that. Even when she’s working, she’s usually lobbing sarcastic comments at Lando. Those two bicker like brother and sister most of the time. I think Ollie and Kimi were a little lost without her. They both asked me twice if I’d seen her and if I thought that she was mad at them.” He pauses again, choosing his words carefully. He knows Max and his propensity to shut down if challenged too hard. “You’re different too. You’ve been quieter than normal, distracted. Anxious even.” He leans closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Everything okay between you two?”  

Max hesitated for just a beat too long and Charles saw the walls crack open. He took a long sip of water, the cold doing little to cool the heated anxiety rising in his chest. He trusted Charles, more than most, and the weight of the anxiety that had been sitting in his stomach like a ball of lead for the last three days was unbearable. 

“Nope.” He admits, letting the singular word hang in the air like a confession. 

Charles sets down his wine glass, look of concern etched on his face. “Alright, what happened then?” 

Max scrubbed a hand over his face, unfamiliar with this level of vulnerability. But he was going crazy living in his head over this so he knew he needed to get it out. “Do you remember that storm we had the other night?” 

Charles nodded, but remains silent otherwise. 

“She is apparently terrified of storms and she kind of…ended up sleeping in my bed.” He paused. “With me.” The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the implication of what he’d just said. 

Charles blinked, brows rising slightly as a flicker of surprise crossed his features. He’d seen the way the two had interacted around each other, anyone with eyes could see the steady undercurrent of something more than just a professional relationship wanting to form. What Charles hadn’t realized was the depth of it. “With you?” 

Max nodded, a small, almost reflexive smile touching the corner of his mouth at the memory. “Just slept, nothing more.” 

“And?” 

Max nodded again, “And I liked it. More than I should have. It felt right. Natural almost. Like she belonged there.” His smile faded then, replaced by a frown. “And she’s been avoiding me ever since. She’s being professional. Polite. But it’s not the same. Like she regrets what happened or something, like I crossed a line and she’s angry I took advantage of her or something. This whole week she’s been distant.” He pulled out his phone again, his thumb brushing over her name in his contact list. Sunshine. “I keep waiting for her to text me, for some sign that she’s not completely regretting it, or me.” 

Charles watched him as he rambled. Spiraled, really. He could see the turmoil on his friends face, the unguarded vulnerability in his eyes. “Have you talked to her about it?” He asked gently. “About what happened, how you feel.” 

Max rolled his eye, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. “I haven’t had the chance. Or I haven’t taken the chance because I’m afraid of the answer. I thought we were going in one direction and suddenly, she’s made a u-turn and I’m left trying to follow her lead. I don’t want to push her, she’s been through a lot already but this is driving me insane. I don’t know what to do, Charles.” 

“You need to talk to her, my friend. This is just going to fester and if you’re not careful, it’s going to effect your performance this weekend.” 

Max heaved a sigh, picking at the last bits of his salmon. He knew Charles was right. Of course Charles was right. He was being a coward and needed to suck it up. Emma meant more to him than this and he was allowing her to drift away. He didn’t want to lose her but from the way she was retreating from him already, Max knew hew as already headed that way. He needed to make a move and needed to make it fast. 

Picking up his phone, Max opened up the string of messages between him and Emma and typed out a quick text and hit send before he could second guess his actions. 

Hey Sunshine, I think we need to talk. 

********

The early morning sun hung low over the skyline, barely breaching the high rise buildings at Emma’s back. She sat near the water’s edge of a quiet stretch of beach, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. The text message she’d woken up to this morning stared back at her like a snake poised to bite. 

The green and white striped beach towel she’d nicked from the hotel pool was feather soft beneath her as Emma stretched out on the sand, toes pointed in a delicious stretch that she could feel beginning to burn. The beach was quiet at this time of the day, the only ones taking in the serene setting was Emma, a couple walking down the beach hand in hand, and a few seagulls. 

Emma leaned back on the palms of her hands, fingers digging deeply into the warm sand beneath her. 

As she stared out over the water watching the white tipped waves roll in over and over, her mind kept flickering back to the text message Max had sent last night. He’d called her Sunshine again and she hated the way her heart fluttered at the nickname only Max used. She’d never asked why he’d picked the nickname, just preened under the attention every time he’d used it. And then he’d said they’d needed to talk. Her stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought. Was he regretting what had happened? Was he rethinking the whole arrangement they had? Did Max want to fire her?

 How had this gotten away from her so quickly? One moment she was dealing with her anxieties the best way she knew how and the next, Max was there, trying to take care of her like no one had ever wanted to. She couldn’t be falling for Max. It just wasn’t a good idea. He was her boss. Her boss that also happened to be her best friend’s older brother. 

It was so messy. 

Emma hated messy. 

But with the mess came contentment. It had felt so right. So easy and natural, to just curl up in Max’s bed beside him, tucked into his side like she had belonged there all along. How could it be messy if it was what was supposed to happen all along? 

Emma wasn’t built for this kind of vulnerability. Not after a lifetime of self-reliance and independence. Vulnerability was terrifying and something that was for other people. She couldn’t afford it and she didn’t want to risk the only stable thing in her life. The ingrained fear of history repeating itself, of this fragile connection she’d developed with Max shattering like glass, was a constant source of anxiety for her ever since she woke up the morning before.  

She rubbed at her temples, the bright sunlight beating down on her from the height of its daily trek across the sky, doing little to help the spiraling she was doing. 

Enough. 

Enough of this overthinking. 

Emma knew herself well enough to know that she needed help to get out of this hole she was digging herself deeper and deeper. She couldn’t go to Max. And her mother was out of the question, she still hadn’t spoken to Gloria since the day she had accused Emma of sleeping with Max (ironic, considering the position she was in right now). She reached for her phone and begun to scroll through her contacts. Her finger hovered over Victoria’s contact. Could she go to Vic for this? She’d always been there for Emma in the past, when her overthinking had gotten the best of her. But this was about her brother of all people. There was no way to pretend she was spiraling about another person, Vic would see right through her. 

You’ve got to trust her. A small voice whispered in Emma’s head as she debated what she should do. Vic is your best friend. It’ll be okay. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Emma hit Victoria’s contact before listening to it ring. 

“Bestie!!!” Victoria picked up on only the second ring, voice cheerful and happy. It had been a while since the two had been able to catch up and Emma grinned at the sound of her best friend’s voice. “How’s Miami?” 

Emma leaned back on the beach towel, closing her eyes. “Hot.” She groaned. 

“I bet. I don’t know why the FIA thought Florida in May was a good idea.”

“Especially after two straight weeks in the Middle East too. Like, have some mercy on us.” 

Victoria chuckled. In the background, Emma could hear the sounds of her 2 boys playing together. “So, how are things going with Max? Is he being nice to you?” 

Emma had to tamp down a laugh at the sheer absurdity of the question. “He’s fine. More than fine, actually.” She said, voice shaky. 

That seemed to pique Victoria’s interest. “Oh?” 

If there was one thing that Victoria was good at, it was letting Emma talk at her own pace. She could tell there was something there, something deeper going on that had prompted the call from the way Emma ended that sentence but she knew better than to push. Victoria knew that pushing Emma on anything would only result in her shutting down. From the way her voice wavered when she had answered her question, Victoria knew that this was going to take a little cajoling. 

“You know how we got that really bad storm in Monaco Tuesday night?” 

“Yeah. It sounded pretty crazy from your texts. You’re not the biggest fan of thunderstorms, are you?” 

Emma chuckled, dragging a single finger through the sun-warmed sand. “Not at all.” 

“So…” Victoria prompted again, patiently waiting for her best friend to spill. 

“Once we stopped texting, I was all alone and I started to get really anxious. So anxious that I started baking.” 

On the other end of the line, Victoria winced. She knew Emma stress-baked while she was anxious but it usually had to be pretty bad for her to switch the oven on that late at night. She idly wondered where her brother was going to come into play in this story. 

“And then Max found me in his kitchen at 2 in the morning.” 

“He did? Was he sleepwalking? Usually once that man is asleep, he is out for the night.” 

Emma was surprised to hear this because she knew how quiet she had been that night. It made her wonder why Max had woken up in the first place. She had just assumed he was a light sleeper and that she had been too loud. 

“No, he was wide awake. I think the lights in the kitchen woke him up or something.” 

Another beat of silence. Victoria was clearly trying to piece things together. Emma knew she was dragging the story out far too dramatically but she was seriously reconsidering what she was about to confess. “And then what happened?” Victoria asked softly. 

Emma hesitated, the image of Max’s concerned face in the dim kitchen light flashing through her mind. “He…he was really nice about it, Vic. He didn’t make fun of me for being scared, didn’t say I was being stupid or say my baking was a dumb or anything. He just, sort of stayed. And then the storm got worse and…” Emma draws in a big breath, closing her eyes. “And by then it was nearly 3 in the morning and we had a flight to catch, so he wanted me to get some sleep but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep so he asked if I wanted to try sleeping with him…” 

The last bit of the story comes out in a hurried rush and Emma shuts her eyes tight as soon as the truth is out in the open. For a moment, Victoria is quiet, like she was trying to figure out how to respond. “You slept with him in his bed?” 

Emma can’t read her best friend’s tone so she just replies with a simple “Yeah.” Before she squeezes her eyes tighter. Here it comes. The anger. The explosion. The accusal of betrayal. 

A longer silence stretched between them. Emma could practically hear Victoria’s mind racing all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. 

Finally, Victoria was able to form a proper sentence. “Well, it’s about damn time.” 

“Wait. What?” Emma’s head spins. “You’re not mad? Worried? Disappointed?” 

“Mad? Oh my God, Em! I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen between you two since like, day one. Disappointed? Why on earth would I be disappointed? My best friend might be finally be realizing what an amazing guy my incredibly stubborn brother is!” 

Emma let out a shaky laugh, the butterflies in her stomach settling into something almost manageable as she realized her feelings for Max might not cost her her best friend. “It’s so complicated though, Vic! He’s my boss! I could lose my job. What if it was just a one time thing? A pity snuggle, if you will?” 

The laugh that bursts out of Victoria has Emma laughing uncertainly herself. “I’m dying at the term ‘pity snuggle’, please. Max hates being touched, hates people in his space so the fact that he allowed you to sleep in his bed? That man is down bad for you.” 

“I don’t know, Vic. What if I’m reading way too much into this? And I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose him in my life. I don’t want to mess this up.” 

“Okay, hold on. Breathe.” Victoria says firmly. “First of all, you’re amazing at your job. There’s no way he would ever fire you, the entire senior leadership team at Red Bull would riot. You’ve whipped that man into shape quicker than anyone on staff has been able to. Secondly, my brother may be a stupid idiot, but he’s not cruel. If he didn’t have feelings for you, he wouldn’t have had you in his bed, he wouldn’t have comforted you like that.” Victoria pauses for a moment, as if she wants to let Emma absorb everything that she’s saying. “And third, I know you have your reasons to be caution and to not trust someone’s intentions but Max isn’t them, Em. He’s a decent guy when he’s not yelling at GP about how shit his steering is.” 

Emma snort laughed at that but found herself nodding along. “I know.” She whispered, willing her head to go along with the logic that her heart was already trying to follow. “He texted me last night. I didn’t see it until this morning but he wants to talk.”

“Okay! This is good!” Victoria started. 

“Good? Vic! No one ever started a good conversation off with ‘we need to talk’. Never!” 

Victoria hummed, “See, normally you’re right but this is Max we’re talking about. He texts like a 70 year old most of the time, he probably just thought this was easiest.” 

Emma squinted at the horizon. That didn’t quite sound like the Max she knew. He was always texting her. Stories about what Helmut was bitching about that day, questions about her day, quick check-ins. But, she reminded herself, this was Victoria’s brother so she probably knew better. 

“Just see what he has to say and then go from there. Because I’m guessing that you’ve spent the last however many days spiraling in your head.” 

“I hate how predictable I am.” Emma grumbled, rolling her eyes. 

Victora chuckles, “Please for the love of all that is holy, my dear, stop overthinking everything that happens. It’s okay to maybe allow yourself to want this, Em.” 

And that was the exact problem, wasn’t it? Because if Emma started to want this thing between her and Max to take root in her heart and grow into something, that meant opening herself up to a new level of hurt she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to ever come back from. 

********

‘Yeah, I think we do. After the sprint today though. Focus on the race, k? 

Max stared down at the text Emma had sent him a few hours ago. He’d been at the track early, preferring to spend the morning of a race day alone, getting into his head. Sometimes Emma drove with him but more often than not, she found her way to the track on her own. Max hadn’t even bothered asking her if she wanted to come with him because his text had gone unanswered last night. Anxiety had churned in his stomach until well past midnight. He assumed she had just fallen asleep early but the ‘what ifs’ played over and over in his head until the sleep had finally swept him under. 

The reply had come just as he was walking out of his hotel room, the relief of Emma finally answering him had felt like a cold splash of water in the middle of the Miami heat. He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to focus on anything other than finally getting everything out in the open though. If he’d had his way, Max would have gone right over to her room that morning before leaving but he knew he shouldn’t push her. 

He knew Emma’s routine on a race weekend by now and as he checked his watch for what felt like the fifth time in sixty seconds, he frowned. She was late. He scanned the Red Bull hospitality suite looking for the familiar shock of long blonde hair, listened for her laugh but…nothing. 

“Hey, Laurie, have you seen Emma?” 

The PR intern that Emma was particularly close with swiveled her head in Max’s direction, cheeks going a bit pink. “Oh! Um! No, not this morning. She was still getting ready when I had to leave so she said she’d grab an Uber.” 

Max frowned. It was nearly time for him to get in the car for the sprint race. It was pouring rain, a random storm popping up wasn’t unheard of in the spring but the torrent of rain that beat against the windows was going to make the sprint race interesting for sure. They were already talking about a delay. Max was hoping the rain would hold though. He drove his best in the wet and he’d need every ounce of luck he had to pull out a decent finish today.

“It’s going to take her forever to get here, what with the traffic and now with this rain.” He murmured, more to himself than to Laurie, who looked like she didn’t quite know how to respond. His eyes flicked over to the brunette, seemingly suddenly realizing that she was still waiting for him to talk. “Will you let me know if she shows up?” 

Laurie nodded, a smile touching her lips before she turned around to continue on her way. 

Max glanced at his phone again. He needed to get changed and then over to the garage for some last minute prep. He couldn’t hang around the hospitality area for much longer but there was something twisting in his stomach at the thought of not seeing Emma before he got in the car. It made him uncomfortable, not knowing if she was going to make it or not. Not knowing what she was going to say after the race. She could be prepared to end it right then. Maybe that was why she was late, she was busy trying to find a flight home or figure out what she was going to do after she quit. 

“Max, you’ve got to start getting ready.” Rupert appears over his shoulder suddenly, tapping at his watch. 

Max nodded, glancing at the door one last time. “Yeah. I’m going. Hey, if you see Emma can you let her know I’m looking for her.” 

Rupert nodded, “Of course. She’ll be here soon, I’m sure.” 

Max started towards the stairs that led to his drivers room as he pulled out his phone to type a message. Everything okay? You’re usually not this late…am I going to see you before I get in the car?

Three dots appeared almost instantly and then disappeared. Appeared again for a beat and then a message: traffic is a fucking nightmare. I’m so sorry I’m late, I’m trying. 

Max shucked off his team kit before slipping into his fireproofs and race suit. As he started out towards the garage, he replied: Not mad, just be safe. 

He tucked his phone back in his pocket, anxiety somewhat calmed knowing that Emma was on her way and wasn’t trying to flee the country. Max was finally able to switch into racing mode for what felt like the first time all day. He was meticulous about it, his preparation. Check in with GP, talk about setup, take a look at track conditions (terrible) and the weather (even worse), and then it was helmet on and time to focus. 

There was still a bit of his attention that was elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, every flash of blonde caught his eye, tricking him into thinking it was Emma but as Max slipped on his racing boots, listening to GP talk about final setups he was still looking for her. 

“Alright, lets get onto the grid. The race will probably be delayed because of the rain but they want us out there now.” GP said in his ear, yanking Max’s focus back to what mattered. 

He’d have to get into the car without seeing her and it was driving him insane. 

And then he saw it. 

A flash of blonde hair followed by the voice that he could pick out of a loud room with ease. Emma. She had just jogged into the garage, gauzy white maxi skit swishing at her feet. She was flushed and slightly out of breath, like she’d run in from the paddock. Max was surprised to see one of his team jackets around her shoulders, a few sizes too big for her petite frame. 

He was already half-way into the car, there was no way he could get out to go see her without causing a scene, something that he knew she wouldn’t like. So he settled for eye contact and a wink, both of which drew a small smile from her and it was enough to allow Max to focus on the task at hand. 

And then the race went completely sideways. 

*******

Emma watched in horror from the garage as Max’s race fell apart. 

A pit lane mistake. 

Damaged front wing. 

Ten second penalty. 

The sight of his name tumbling down to the bottom of the timing tower. 

Everything went so bad so quick and Emma had to just sit and watch the entire thing play out in front of her. She had flashbacks to Bahrain, how angry Max had been with the team and himself afterwards. This was going to be worse. The mistake by the crew was inexcusable and from her spot in the viewing area in the garage, she could practically see steam pouring out of Christian’s ears. 

She watched at Max got out of the car, do his post-race check-in with the FIA, and then make a beeline out of the garage. He didn’t even stop to say anything to GP, didn’t take his helmet off, nothing. She’d never seen him this angry and she didn’t quite know what to do. Part of her wanted to go running after him but Emma didn’t quite know her place here. She was his assistant, not family. She didn’t know if he’d want to see her, talk to her, especially with this thing they had hanging heavy between them. Now wasn’t the time to bring up personal shit, she knew that. Especially when she knew Max was going to have to regroup in just a few hours and somehow put together a good qualifying session. 

“Emma.” Her head snapped in the direction of her name being called. She was surprised to see it was GP. “Go make sure he’s okay, yeah?” 

Emma bit her lip, eyes bouncing between where the engineer stood and the door that Max had just stormed out of. “Are you sure?” 

GP nodded, removing his headset and placing it on the counter beside him. “You’re probably the only who he’ll see right now. He needs you.” 

Emma’s heart thudded at GP’s words. She didn’t know if she trusted her instincts here but she trusted GP, he’d known Max for years. Emma nodded, something in her chest clicking into place, a surge of nervous energy cutting through her. She didn’t hesitate, turning and practically jogging towards the door Max had just disappeared through. She knew the layout of the paddock well enough to know that he was probably on his way back to his drivers room at the back of Red Bull’s hospitality. 

Getting through the crowded paddock wasn’t all that difficult and before she knew it, Emma was standing outside the door of Max’s drivers room, her hand hovering over the cool metal handle. A thousand things raced through her mind. Was there anything helpful she could say in the moment? Was GP right, did he need her? Would he even want to see her? Would her anxieties be proven right and would he fire her on the spot?

She needed to stop spiraling. Victoria’s words played in her head: Max wasn’t cruel. He didn’t do things that he didn’t want to. He cared about her. She wanted to badly to believe that, to know that on the other side of this door, she’d find the Max she’d begun falling for the moment he came to her rescue at Victoria’s request. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly, so softly she barely made a sound against the door. Without waiting for a response, her anxiety and need to put eyes on Max, overriding any sense of propriety, she pushed it open and stepped inside. 

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the relentless Miami sun. Max was standing at the window, his back to her, and his shoulders were slumped in a way she hadn’t seen from him since Bahrain. The air in the room was thick with raw frustration and disappointment. 

He didn’t turn around immediately and for one heart-wrenching moment, Emma wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe he did want to be alone. Maybe GP had been wrong and she’d overstepped once again. Her mother’s voice started to sound in her head. She’d made another mistake and this one was going to cost her. 

“Max?” She called softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

But he did. Max’s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. He remained still for another beat and then slowly, deliberately he turned. 

The sight of his face made Emma’s heart clench. His usual sharp, focused gaze was clouded with a raw mixture of anger and hurt. Jaw tight, there was a muscle twitching in his cheek, he looked lost. Heartbroken. Defeated. Vulnerable in a way that Emma knew no one else got to see. 

When his eyes focused on her, when he realized who it was that was in his room to see his despair though, something shifted. The anger didn’t completely vanish, but a flicker of surprise, then something softer, warmer, replaced some of the harshness. It was like a dam had cracked, allowing Emma a glimpse of the vulnerability he usually kept so fiercely guarded. 

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the clock that hung above the doorway behind Emma. Max’s gaze searched hers, a silent question in his stormy blue eyes. And in that moment, standing in the dim quiet of his drivers room, surrounded by the remnants of a disastrous race, all of the carefully constructed walls they had both erected to keep each other out since Monaco crumbled away like sand castles at high tide. 

All that was left was the raw, undeniable connection that had sparked between them on a sidewalk in the middle of a Monegasque neighborhood. A connection neither of them could, or would, deny any longer. Emma searched Max’s face for confirmation that she wasn’t the only one feeling the seismic shift between them. That she wasn’t alone in the way she felt the air turn warm, anticipatory almost. What she saw in Max’s eyes wasn’t the anger or frustration that had been so plainly laid across his face just moments before. No, that was gone. What she saw was a deep, almost desperate longing, a desire that she hadn’t ever seen turned in her direction in her entire life. 

In that moment, Emma knew. Emma knew so profoundly and certainly that GP had been right. Max did need her. And more than that, she realized that she terrifyingly, desperately, needed Max too. Needed him in a way that she had never let herself need someone before because she’d never been allowed to need someone in the way that she needed Max. It was almost a need on a molecular level. A magnetic level. 

“You came.” Max said roughly, almost a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the fact that she had come after him. The anger still simmered beneath the surface, that was evident in the tightness of his jaw, but the surprise of seeing Emma there in his drivers room, still tucked into his jacket, had momentarily eclipsed it. 

Emma’s heart clenched at the need in his voice, the statement that was so raw and vulnerable. “Of course I did.” She replied softly, her voice trembling a bit. She took a small step further into the room. “You needed me.” It wasn’t a question, just a simple statement of fact, finally a recognition of the bond that had formed between them over the last weeks they’d spent together. 

With one statement, one look, the professional boundaries, the carefully constructed walls, meant nothing. All that mattered was the fact that both Emma and Max were finally ready to admit there was something raw and real between them, something that couldn’t be denied any longer because it was making the both of them miserable. 

A flicker of something that looked a lot like relief washed over Max’s face, softening the harsh lines of the lingering anger. He took one step. And then another. One last one and he had closed the distance between them. His eyes searched hers, a silent plea for reassurance. He didn’t want to make the same mistake as before, didn’t want to push her into something that she regretted. But something in Max’s heart told him that the night in Monaco that he’d held her until she’d felt safe enough to sleep wasn’t a mistake, it hadn’t been something she regretted. 

Without another word, without hesitation, he reached out, his rough hands framing the softness of her face. His thumbs brushed softly against her cheeks, the touch sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Emma’s breath caught, her own hands rising instinctively to capture his wrists, fingers gripping him tightly. 

His gaze dropped to hers for one single, fleeting moment and a silent question passed between them. They both knew that there was no going back after this. If they crossed this line, everything was going to change. Everything would become real, the feelings that had been simmering just below the surface would be out in the open. No take backs. Nothing. It was a prospect that both terrified and thrilled Emma as she let her eyes dip from Max’s intense gaze down to his lips and quickly back up again.

And then, Max closed the remaining distance, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender all at the same time. It wasn’t a gently brush like the almost-kiss in Monaco. This was a calming kiss. A release of all the pent-up emotions, the fear, the longing, the unspoken connection that had been simmering between them since the moment Max had rescued her in his green Aston Martin. 

Emma met his kiss with a fervor of her own. All of her anxieties and uncertainties melted away the moment Max’s lips pressed into hers, warm and unyielding, demanding and gentle all at the same time. The world outside of the room they stood in ceased to exist. The disastrous race, the difficult season, the weight of a difficult family situation. It all fell away and the world around them quieted. 

The kiss deepened, the initial urgency softening into tender exploration. Max’s hands tightened slightly on Emma’s face, his thumb stroking her cheek gently as his lips moved over hers with a sort of reverence she had never felt before. Emma leaned into the kiss, her own hands sliding up his arms, the rough fabric of his race suit scratching against the palms of her hands. The lingering scent of burnt rubber and motor oil clung to him but none of that mattered to Emma. All that mattered was that Max was kissing her and she had never felt like this in her entire life. 

His lips parted slightly, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips and Emma opened for him, sighing with relief at the feeling of having him so close. Her hips tipped forward, desperate for their own friction and Max dropped a hand to her waist, pulling her impossibly closer into his body. He needed to be closer to her, needed to feel how she responded to him, how she opened for him in a desperate attempt to show him how much she needed him, wanted him. 

The anxiety that had been a constant companion to them both over the last few days began to recede, replaced by a warmth that shimmered between them. Something clicked into place and it was like this was how it was always supposed to be. Emma’s arms instinctively circled his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. The nearness of him, the solid feel of his body against hers, it all felt like coming home. It was a sense of belonging with someone, to someone, that Emma hadn’t realized she’d been searching for. 

The kiss finally softened, their lips parting with a soft sigh. A breathess silence hung between them for a moment, the weight of the past few days lifting with each breath. Emma’s forehead rested against Max’s chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of Max’s lips. “Well,” He murmured into her hair, voice still husky. “That definitely wasn’t in your job description.” 

Emma chuckled, pulling back slightly to look up at him, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. Max decided then and there that shade of pink was his new favorite color. “Hmm…” she mused, grinning wickedly. “Maybe I should add ‘proficient in stress-reducing strategies’ to my resume now. Think HR will approve?” 

Max’s grin widened, the tension that had been clouding his features since Emma had walked through the door finally easing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, the warmth of his mouth on her skin sending a shiver down Emma’s spine. 

“As much as I’d like to thoroughly discuss the finer points of that particular skill set,” He murmured against her skin, “I think the FIA might have something to say about me me missing the entirety of my media duties if I don’t get into the media pen in the next ten minutes.” He pulled away slightly, a wry smile on his face. 

Emma shook her head, “Who would’ve thought it would be you reminding me about being on time to media duties.” 

Max rolled his eyes before turning to grab his water bottle from the couch behind him. When he faced Emma again, his heart clenched at the sheer happiness sitting brightly on her face. He decided then and there that he’d spend the rest of his life making sure Emma always looked like that when she looked at him.

 “Come on, Sunshine,” He started, holding his hand out to twine his fingers with his. “We don’t want to keep the media waiting.”  

[twobehonest]

Guys please I've been maybe rewriting how I would go about rewriting Heroes of Olympus (mainly books 2-3 because those are the ones that focus on Camp Jupiter the most) and how my take about the Imperial Trio (Octavian, Jason, Reyna) would go / work.

Now ngl I know if I had to follow the plot of the books we would have 0 time to actually go over any specific characteristics rather than what's really physical for most characters but shhhh

(NOTE: this is NOT the FULL post of my rewrite, this is just to get some of my thoughts out while they're still fresh. There's things subject to change :)) )

In this rewrite (and I guess AU in a sense?), Octavian is the son of Janus, and also may or may not be anemic, caused by chimerism, which is hinted at via vitiligo.

I may or may not put Octavian in the Senate, because uh, Augurs kinda do jackshit unless there's a prophecy. Also he's treated like he got no power fr but that shouldn't be the case, so I'm working out how the 3 balances of power do work.

I'm thinking that Reyna, Jason, and Octavian are trailblazers and progressed Camp Jupiter exponentially while focusing on their individual talents. Octavian, being the more politically and religiously focused one, while having the powers of Janus, (Which I've interpreted some of the power Janus-kids and legacies have are either naturally good decisions making (or being confident in their decisions) or being jackshit at decision-making in general while being able to interpret someone's intentions as well, even if they lie or not.) Reyna with warfare and such, and Jason with the more social aspects, such as responding to concerns about anything really (but once Jason is missing, this all suddenly shifts to Octavian.)

Also, apparently Janus can see in both the past and the future, I don't really know which myth Rick took from so. For my sake, let's say Octavian got born with the rarer powers of being able to see someone's past and future.

Which diverges into more things, but one of them is the eventual blackmail of Hazel, to get her to stop nagging him about Jason's appearance and give him a second. He's stressed, and dealing with the loss of Jason still while nobody is willing to get off his back. He's doing his best, he can't spawn answers out of nowhere. So, besides his best judgement, he snaps and unintentionally-intentionally blackmails her, souring the relationship between both of them indefinitely. He gets a lot more snappy, and seems to hang around people who are more quiet. Like Reyna. Who he was already friends with, and maybe Dakota (literally just a reason to have character interaction with people other than the main characters for Octavian)

[Anyways I'll speak about it more soon enough when I actually finish the entire art piece and actually articulate my thoughts about it. This was just a tiny snippet, hope you found some interest in it or something, since somehow you guys liked the Gaia using Octavian as a host AU 💀]

[hemi-demi]

Protocol day! I get to yap ❤️

Magnus Protocol Episode 32 spoilers below cut, as well as mild spoilers for my own fic "I am Here":

Ok, so this is just a personal kicking my feet giddy as shit moment for me, let me indulge.

I loved loved loved this episode. While I'm not 100% how this case fits into the narrative (aside from the parallels of someone identifying with a building as the same as how the custodian became one with the Hilltop Center) I'm clearly just a sucker for "buildings that hate you."

But like... y'all, I was trying not to cry. Just like look at this.

Transcripts from episode:

Y'ALL. I am so unwell. It's Martin Norris reading this statement. I got to hear him say the words, exactly how I heard them in my head. Like...I'm just beside myself. This was so lovely.

Snippet from my fic "I am Here":

I can't tell you how much I was just fucking vibrating listening to this episode. The statement was beautifully written and played with themes I clearly adore, AND I got to hear this. There's other lines that killed me, but I'm getting deeper into spoilers at that point, so I'll stop there.

Just, ough. I'm so happy. I'm curious what inspired this statement in particular, as well! I wouldn't be surprised if the game Control and the Oldest House was a part of it, considering it's overall inspirations to Protocol; with its brutalist architecture that actively attacks the player. Although the game Kitty Horrorshow's Anatomy was a big inspiration for my own fic, which I highly recommend folks play. One of my favorite gaming experiences.

Ok, other stuff this episode! I'll probably update my other post about this, but one of the last lines from Alice is further backing up my "Luke isn't human/is a doppelganger" theory. I'm curious to see how it goes.

Colin's flesh showing up randomly is fascinating, and reminds me of this line from TMA ep65 Binary

So this feels as if the body can't entirely integrate. Too fleshy. Maybe a part of Colin is fighting to sever himself from Freddy as he can never fully become one with it, or maybe it just can't digest him properly. The presence of teeth also reminded me of a teratoma tumor as well.

Ok, I think that's all the yapping I have in me. I loved this episode so much, for very personal reasons that probably only matter to me, but I'm allowed that dammit, lol.

[morbethgames]

New Update Is Out!

First and foremost, new update is out! It's kind of a small one, but it's a scene with Hawks where they are debriefing the PC on the case. Lots of variation in those 10k or so words, so you'll probably only see about 2k of it per playthrough.

Well everybody, I had been taking a bit of time. Admittedly, and a bit… embarrassingly… coding like, 30 different variations of Lance's happy-fun-time burnt me out. But, it gave me time to really think about things for the game and scenes that should be in there and where their place in the story is. As well as a scene or two I could probably cut so the game doesn't take another year. It's all about that balance of whether or not you can say a scene happened, versus which scenes need to be shown happening. Maybe it can be added in later, but right now, the priority is definitely the time skip scenes and the main story.

But one thing that is refreshing, and a little scary, is seeing the fact that the first scene for chapter 5 is now set up in the game to start being written in. Chapter 5. The final chapter of the game. It's been 3 years. Now, it's gonna be another few months (few as in upper few) until it's finished because Chapter 5 is going to be the chapter with the most variations yet. Multiple TBI's to code. Multiple endings. Multiple paths. It's gonna be a huge chapter. But I'm gonna be starting it (in between finishing up the time skip scenes of course). It's absolutely wild to think about.

There are gonna be some scenes in the final game that aren't going to be in the demo, so the incentive to purchase the game is still gonna be there, but as of right now, the plan is to fully beta test this game. Including the ending. Because what's important to me is making sure I get it right, and in order to do that, I need people to help test it. Whether or not I'll do that publicly through to the ending here or not is yet to be seen. I may ask a couple people to beta test it in private. I'm honestly not sure yet. Maybe it'll be a patreon thing; who knows?

What I do know is this game has been, and will be until it's finished, a great lesson. I have a habit of starting things and not finishing them. Obviously I wasn't gonna say that before because then people wouldn't be invested in the game. But I think it's quite obvious at this point that I'm absolutely going to finish this project, and that is a huge accomplishment for me. It's proof that I can do something like this and see it through to the end.

But yeah, thanks everyone for continuing to come back and check out the game. Now that the current version of the demo is finished, I'll be posting a bit more on Patreon as well. Snippets and whatnot. I figured since I released the little mini-extra scenes game on there I could take another week or two to focus on finishing this up.

As always, stay brilliant.

-Vi

🛡️Patreon | Forum Page | Demo Link🛡️

[tlbodine]

Stuck? Try junebugging.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but we're 5 days into nanowrimo so maybe this will be helpful.

Do you want the safety and surety of knowing what happens next in your story but can't stick to an outline? Does knowing in advance what will happen suck the joy out of discovery writing? Do you try to wing it through plots but get tangled in plot holes or have a story that runs out of steam because you can't figure out what went wrong? Are you at your most creative when you have a little bit of guidance? Do you tend to under-write? Do you get ideas in your head for random scenes and snippets that drop from the sky without context?

If any of these apply to you, junebugging a draft might be for you!

What Is Junebugging?

Since you're on Tumblr, you might already be familiar with the concept of junebugging as it relates to cleaning. If not -- I think the idea was first introduced to me by @jumpingjacktrash.

The basic idea is that you tackle cleaning by way of controlled chaos. You pick a specific area you want to focus on, like your kitchen sink, and then wander off to deal with other things as they occur to you, but always returning back to that area. You end up cleaning a little bit at a time in an order that may not make sense to an outsider but which keeps you from getting overwhelmed and discouraged.

How Does Junebugging Work in Writing?

OK, so that's great, but how does this work with writing? Well. In my case, the general idea is to jump between writing linearly, outlining, and writing out of order. It usually looks something like:

Start free-writing a scene, feeling my way through it and enjoying the discovery process.

Thinking, ok, now I have this scene, did anything need to happen to lead up to it? Do I need to go back and add some foreshadowing? Does this scene set anything up that needs to be paid off? And then jump forward/back to make those adjustments.

I'll usually have a bunch of disconnected ideas of ideas that have popped into my head, so I'll write those down in a list somewhere and then try to figure out what goes in between them and what order it goes in.

I'll write what I call "micro-scenes" which is where I'll just sketch out a few essential elements of what's going on without worrying too much about details, description, etc. -- just he did this, she said that, the setting was this, real bare-bones script. Then I can come back through and flesh out each of those microscenes into an actual scene later.

Got a story that has a complex structure? No problem. Write through each storyline one at a time and then chop them up and weave them together afterward. Write all the B plot scenes first then come back through to do A plot and C plot. Move the pieces around like legos. No one ever has to know.

This method works for me because I can't "decide" story elements in advance. I have never been able to just sit down and "figure out" what happens in a story beyond a couple steps ahead -- I have to discovery-write my way forward. But at the same time, that gets really daunting. So I zoom forward with micro-scenes, roughing out the beats in the most bare-bones way possible, then when I run out of clear vision for what happens next I backtrack, flesh out those scenes, build in connective tissue, etc. and by then I will probably find more inspiration to jump forward.

It's basically folding drafting, outlining, and revising all together into a single phase of writing, which is chaotic and goes against everything people teach you, but if it works? then it fuckin works.

Anyway, sorry for the jumbled-up post, I'm dashing this off quickly while I heat up a pizza and I'm about to dive back into my WIP -- but I hope this was a little helpful. If nothing else, take this as my blanket permission that it's 100% OK to jump around, write out of order, write messy, outline sometimes, pants sometimes, and do whatever else it takes just to get through the story. You've got this. Good luck.

[catholicfacade]

are you ever gonna post the whole fic u posted the wip of ? 🥺🥺

hiiii, so im still working on it :(( im a suuuper slow writer unfortunately and im genuinely like +10k words deep into just chapter one and its probably only halfway done !!! real slow burn enjoyers rise !!! i might end up splitting chapter one into two parts because of this, i appreciate everyones patience who's cared about my work thus far !!! i know it's not what you want but i'll post another snippet since it is wip wednesday ! i hope you enjoy it in the meantime🤍 -ego⋆♱✮

WIP

pairing: joost klein x f! OC

content: RPF!!!, yearning, pining, slow burn, miscommunication, angst, anxiety, insecurity, val is so sensitive

word count: 2.4k

authors note: still chapter one except things are not so happy rn and they wont be for a while after this :(( my first wip 🤍

It shouldn’t sting, but it does.

Valentine has tried to brush off the moments of painful self-awareness where it’s clear, at least to her, she doesn’t entirely fit in here. All of these new friends in her life are nice! An unexpected but welcome addition to life in The Netherlands. But sometimes, it is so excruciatingly obvious she is not as welcome in their lives as they are in hers. She tries not to feel guilty about being the introvert in a group full of extraverts, it just always hits her so hard at the worst times.

Some nights the conversations are easily flowing, Stuntje, Appie, Lyon, and Daan telling stories, upon stories, upon stories of crazy things the group has done together. Joost is of course standing a little too close to Val for her liking, she can smell his cologne and his cigarettes, it’s making her light headed in the best way. He’s smiling so brightly at his friends, his arm nearly grazing Val’s every time he doubles over with laughter. And then all of a sudden the conversation switches to Dutch and Val gets thrown off, she can maybe understand half of it, but she feels so lost all of a sudden, like she disappeared. Then she feels guilty about feeling guilty, understanding that she is the only non-Dutchie standing amongst this group of people. Of course they’re all going to speak Dutch together. It wouldn’t be fair to make them speak English.

And yet there’s this unavoidable wave of loneliness that washes over her whenever it happens. It’s isolating to be standing amongst friends who are so deep into a story, laughing together, nodding and smiling at one another, while Valentine is forgotten, sometimes even unintentionally pushed out of the circle, doing her best to sneak away quietly to hide in the bathroom. It’s childish, she thinks, to be on the verge of crying because no one is talking to her. It’s selfish to think she’s invisible. But she feels like an intruder in these peoples lives, suddenly aware of how much she doesn’t understand about them. Maybe will never get to understand about them.

When Valentine goes home early, she feels like she’s just doing what’s best to mitigate this awkward situation. She tries to collect herself in the bathroom, swallowing that empty feeling down as far as it will go and walks back out with a fresh excuse made to end the night early. It’s always work, “I just remembered I have a blouse that needs stitching,” or “April needs me in the store early tomorrow, gotta go sorry.” It was only a matter of time before someone caught on that this was her only way of getting out of things, and it was only a matter of time before they stopped caring to have her around. She just wished it wasn’t Joost who would make it so obvious.

Standing all togther in their private section of the club, Apson is in the middle of telling a story about how he almost got beat up for filming a tik tok in front of some guys store, “I tried to say, ‘it’s for a video, it’s for a video’, but he kept cursing at me in Romanian, man! I put my hands up, right?” He recreates the gesture, “I said ‘I do it for tik tok, you ever heard of tik tok, man?’ And he went berserk!”

Everyone begins losing it over the way Appie starts mimicking the store owner’s yelling. Joost seems like he can hardly breathe he’s laughing so hard! As Valentine stands directly next to Joost, she can’t help but sneak a few looks at him, the way his whole face expresses joy, it lights up instantly, there’s no emotion he could try and hide on that face. She thinks it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. His laugh is so genuinely infectious. The butterflies she feels in her stomach flutter, happy that Apson is the star of the show right now so no one can see her stealing glances at Joost every couple of seconds.

After a minute everyone begins to calm down, including Apson who even managed to make himself laugh super hard. Something in Val’s memory clicks for her as she speaks up, “I guess that’s why you had to get permission from April, huh? Didn’t want her to beat you up?”

“Jesus, Val—” Joost genuinely seems taken aback by her presence, brows lifted and eyes widened as he turns to her, “You’re still here? You’re so quiet—I thought you would’ve left hours ago!” He looks immediately to his friends who laugh in loud validation at Valentine’s expense. Joost laughs the hardest of them all.

Is that really it then? She’s so insignificant to him he hasn’t even realized she’s been standing next to him the entire time? No one even bothers to acknowledge what she said. They just keep laughing as Joost starts telling them another story of his own.

Val feels weak, the cup in her hand suddenly weighing 20 pounds, her knees are wobbling. Alanis is the only one not laughing, she catches Valentines eye and gives her a soft, sympathetic smile, probably having suffered some burns herself at some point, being the only girl in the friend group. Val smiles back, though the feeling of smiling is currently foreign to her, she’s just going through the motions.

Once Alanis looks away, Val slips away from the group quietly, grabbing her bag and her coat, heading out the door as quickly as possible without full on running.

The deep January freezing temperatures hit her like a ton of bricks but maybe it’s what she needs…or deserves. Fucking Joost—she thinks to herself. Valentine starts walking in the direction of her apartment.

Why did she have to feel so drawn to him? They clearly have nothing in common. He clearly doesn’t even think about her. She is this invisible little thing to him. Fuck fuck fuck Joost! Why does she care so much about him? It shouldn’t matter anyway, it was just a joke. She’s being such a sensitive little bitch about everything. And now all of her “friends” are going to think she’s super weird and melodramatic for leaving like that. If they can even be bothered to notice she’s gone that is.

Tears prick her eyes as she tries to blink them away, to no avail, they fall, freezing almost instantly on her face, leaving her so unbearably cold. It happens the entire walk home. Valentine is genuinely freezing half to death by the time she makes it back to her apartment. She sighs deeply once inside, cupping her face in her hands. Her teeth are chattering, her fingertips are frozen, and so are her cheeks, the tears she cried having turned into little flecks of ice.

Her body barely has enough strength to strip herself of her frosty clothing and run herself a bath, but she somehow manages it. Sitting against the edge of the bathtub, running the hot water, Valentine reaches into her discarded bag and takes out her phone. Battery dead. Oh well. It will have to wait until after her bath to be charged. It’s not like she stupidly believes anyone will reach out anyway, she’ll never get her hopes up like that ever again. It ends up forgotten on top of the pile of clothes now adorning the bathroom floor. 

-

“—daarna boekte ik altijd mijn eigen optredens!” [after that I always booked my own gigs] Joost nods while finishing his story, Appie and Stuntje laugh, Daan shakes his head, and Alanis has gone off somewhere.

“Heyyy jongens,” Stuntje calls out suddenly, “Who wants another round~?” He says in a sing-song tone while shaking his empty cup.

“I need one, man.” Daan says.

Appie shakes his head, “Ik ga naar huis. Waar is Alanis?” [I’m going home. Where is Alanis?] Appie walks away toward the bathroom, the other three guys just shrug at each other.

“A drink, Joost?” Stuntje asks, pointing to Joosts cup.

“Nee, man.” Joost shakes his head, swirling around his cup which sits half-full.

Daan and Stuntje head to the bar leaving Joost by himself in their section. A familiar, lingering sweetness in the air makes his lip twitch unconsciously into a smile, only one person enters his mind now that he’s alone. Joost searches for Valentine in her usual places, he wants to have a good sit down with her, watch her eyes light up when he gives her all the attention in the world—completely undivided now, he wants to hear her laugh because he hasn’t heard that sweet noise even once tonight! He wants to casually throw an arm around her and watch her blush, offer her a friendly rub on the arm as he innocently tucks her closer to his chest. But Valentine’s not sitting at the table or on the couch, she’s not standing in her corner or getting a drink at the bar. Joost furrows his brows, she couldn’t be on the dance floor could she? He strains his eyes trying to search the jumping crowd from afar but there’s absolutely no sign of that fiery head of hair anywhere.

Joost stares into the crowd of moving bodies for a while and then looks down at his watch, barely a few minutes past 10pm, where could she be? Out of the corner of his eye he catches Alanis coming back to grab her bag.

“Hey, is Valentine still in the bathroom or something?” Joost asks.

Alanis frowns slightly as she swings her purse over her shoulder, “She went home, Joost. I think your little comment made her feel stupid, she looked upset.”

“What?” Joosts heart nearly stops beating. He’s genuinely confused. “But I was joking…why would she leave?”

Alanis shrugs, “She never says anything, and that was the first time she decided to speak up, and you really embarrassed her for it.”

Joost goes red in the face, blinking rapidly, realizing that he had unintentionally probably fucked up Valentines entire night by humiliating her. And that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

“Shit.” He breathes out, a weight crushing his chest.

“You coming?” Appie calls to Alanis from outside of the section, loud music still pumping through the club even though it feels like mere noise to Joost right now.

“Ja!” Alanis yells back, reaching out and giving Joost a squeeze to the arm, “You didn’t mean it and I’m sure she’ll get over it.” She tries to cheer him up but Joost only replies with a weak nod. “Goodnight Joost.”

“Night Alanis.” Joost watches her walk away and he waves one last time to Appie as the two head home.

-

Exhaustion. It hits Valentine so hard. Her eyes feel so heavy it hurts. The hot water still stings her previously frozen flesh, that hurts too. And so does her head. The image of Joosts face haunting her, replaying back his words and his laughter, the shocked look in his eyes when he acknowledged her…it almost looked like he’d never seen her before. Valentine cringes physically, shoulders coming up close to her ears, she hugs her knees to her chest and hides her face as though it’s all happening again. The water splashes around her with her repetitive movements as she rocks back and forth. She just wants the laughing to stop.

And she wants Joost to disappear.

She stays like that until her body can no longer bare still being awake. Her obsessive, circling thoughts have turned her brain to mush. And everything that happens after her bath goes by in a haze. But at least she’s warm.

The last thing Valentine does is fumble in the dark for her phone charger, slipping it into her phone before instantly passing out in her bed. Not a single thought passes through her mind that someone would want to call her tonight. She easily falls asleep feeling forgotten.

-

Stuntje and Daan have gotten into a heated conversation over at the bar, drinks sitting forgotten in front of them as they drunkly converse loudly with the guy sitting next to them. Joost is now completely alone in the section, heat still sitting under his face and heart still beating wearily.

He goes and sits in his usual spot, right next to where Valentine would usually be this time of night. He looks at the empty space next to him and realizes again that he’s been so stupid with his mouth when he hadn’t meant to be. If only Valentine could know that her absence is being noticed, more than that, it’s hurting him. Joost is alone. Friends are not far away, but he feels more alone now than ever. He hurt the girl he’s been admiring for months, she should be here, she should feel like she belongs, that she isn’t going to be embarrassed because she’s different, that she isn’t going to be made fun of by some stupid Dutch guy that’s actually so enamored with her.

It’s a cold night, snowing, she was definitely wearing a skirt…and heels. Joost is sick to his stomach, he pulls out his phone and quickly pulls up Valentines contact, their previous messages flashing in Joosts eyes, filled with brief small-talk, niceties, and nothing more.

22:18

J: Did you leave? :(

J: Sorry if I said something wrong. Really didn’t mean it.

J: Please call me.

J: I just want to know if you got home safe, I’m worried :(

J: I’m really really sorry Valentine.

--delivered--

Joost watches his screen for any sign of Valentine reading his messages, his leg bouncing up and down rapidly, he re-reads his own words over and over again, wondering if it’s too forward—not that he really cares actually—his stomach is twisted with anxiousness and nothing could stop it unless Valentine called him.

Joost hates waiting more than anything so five minutes passing, watching that little delivered icon never change, it feels like a fucking lifetime. He has to step out to smoke and standing there in the heavy snowfall just makes him feel even worse. The cigarette barely eases his mind so he tries to call Val. No answer. There’s not much more he can do, he assumes she really hates him now, and he just wants to know if she’s okay.

Reaching the last long drag of his cigarette confirms his decision, tomorrow if Valentine still hasn’t replied, he will go to April’s store and check on her in person.

[phoenixyfriend]

i was someone who did originally follow you for star wars stuff (and i still like ur star wars stuff), but honestly i’m… now, like, less inclined to unfollow when you post abt things like colourpop or the news and such. like, maybe i’m just not following the right people, but it is really nice to follow someone who explains issues in a way that i think is really accessible, does so without guilt tripping, and also in a way that outlines concrete steps one can take to mitigate them. like, i’ve never read twilight but most of my friends did, and i never knew about the racism in it until you explained it in a way that doesn’t guilt-trip people for liking it but also explains how to mitigate some of the harm caused by it. if i had social media other than tumblr i can probably guarantee your posts about this would’ve gotten me to messages the company. also there aren’t many blogs that tag as thoroughly as you (i have no idea how you do it - i tried, it took so much of my energy and was so confusing to remember - but i really like it since it helps so much with filtering). so yeah lol sorry this got long, but i just wanted to say that i can see how people are unfollowing, but also as someone who originally came here for sw stuff i like the way you post about things in general, it’s actually made you noticeable enough on my dash that i wouldn’t really unfollow now, yk?

Context

ANON THIS IS SO SWEET I IMMEDIATELY TOOK SCREENSHOTS AND RAN OFF TO SHOW SOME FRIENDS

I do take pride in explaining things in ways that I hope are understandable and not too guilt-trippy and follow that Persuasive Essay Structure where you include a call to action.

Also I have two tricks to make my tagging faster:

Download Xkit Rewritten and use the Quick Tags function for anything you tag a LOT (I'll add a snippet of some of mine at bottom)

I frequently draft instead of reblog. That means I can use the quick tags once I get back to my laptop, and if I've drafted a lot of posts that are about one topic that I don't plan to come back too in the future (e.g. the superbowl), I can copy-paste that into the freeform part of the quick tags.

Some of my quicktags as seen in the extension (I have 22 in total at the moment):

This is how it shows up on my drafts page. The "Tags (comma separated)" bit is the freeform:

[starrseeker]

Still Call You Mine

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!reader

Content warnings: Heartbreak, angst, alcohol use, a snippet of unwanted touch, fluff at the end?

A/N: So I won't lie, this probably isn't good. I typically only write for my own pleasure and enjoyment. My hubby was the one who finally convinced me to post something of mine. (I have like 20 different stories saved in my drafts lol.) It's also been a very long time since I've written fan fiction so be easy on me. No idea where I was actually going with this but hope you enjoy it anyways.

You had been heartbroken for weeks. The ache within never went away, a constant reminder that a piece of you was no more. You didn't know where to start. Where to pick up the pieces that had broken apart.

One crisp afternoon you sat within your new apartment. It was too painful to stay at the House of Wind anymore. Constant reminders of what once was. Memories that had been made. It was too much.

The fresh air blew through the open windows, giving you a slight reprieve of the throbbing in your chest. Taking a deep breath of the summer air before sipping the tea you cradled in your hands. How you managed to muster up the energy to brew it was a curious question.

Maybe this is when healing began. The small moments within life that slowly, oh so slowly, brought some life back to you. The ones that give you the feeling that everything will be okay.

A knock at the door stole you from your thoughts. Mindlessly you stood, crossing the space to open the door. Mor wasted no time entering. Almost knocking into you as she began her rant. Emerie walked behind her. Giving you a small smile that seemed almost apologetic.

"Okay. I can't take it anymore Y/N. Everyone has let you mope around for weeks. You've all but shut us out. It's time to get past this part." Mor's hands flailed around as If to prove her point. An argument was on your tongue but she sent you a withering glare.

"Don't even. We are going out tonight, whether you want to or not. You have been locked up in this apartment since you moved out. It's time to get out and remember the bad bitch that you are." She placed a hand on her hip, her expression daring you to get out of it.

Emerie placed a gentle had on your shoulder, sending her mate a look. "What she means to say Y/N, is that sitting here in pity isn't going to help you. We miss you, and we want to help ease this pain." Her tone was soft as she looked at me. It almost brought tears to your eyes.

You pondered for a moment as both females stared at you. Waiting. You turned the idea in your mind. You did miss your friends. You missed the normalcy from before. You let out a reluctant sigh, nodding your head.

"Alright." You said hesitantly. "I'll go out." Emerie sent you an encouraging smile. Mor had a mischievous grin growing on her lips. That was never good.

"Great! We're going to the House. I have something you can wear." You sent Mor a cautious look. Anxiety filling your chest at the thought of going back there.

"Is...Is he going to be there?" you questioned. You weren't ready to face him. Not yet.

It was Emerie who spoke up. "No. Rhysand sent him on an assignment first thing this morning." You let out a breath you'd been holding. That tightness in your chest eased up.

"Alright. Let's go then." You wondered if this was the right decision.

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

You kept tugging at the short dress that adorned your body. The black fabric had a V neckline that left little to the imagination. The sheer sleeves ended at your wrists, giving you a classy look. Paired with the diamond necklace that Mor let you borrow.

"Stop tugging at it. You look wonderful." Feyre spoke as you kept looking in the mirror. Feyre had decided to join the group tonight which made you feel at ease. You and Feyre were the closest besides Mor. Though you didn't see much of her since she and Rhys built their new estate.

"I just feel so...exposed." You muttered. This dress wasn't something you would normally opt for but Mor wasn't taking to your disapproval. You took yourself in again. Hair curled in loose waves that cascaded down your back. Silver shimmery eyes paired with red lipstick. For the first time in a while you felt pretty for once.

"Well you look hot, so get over it." Nesta commented as she fixed her hair. You rolled your eyes playfully. Nesta never was one to bite her tongue.

Everyone was essentially ready for your night out. Nerves shot up your spine as it hit you this is the first time you'll be going out without him. The thought made your mood dampen slightly. Mor noticed the change.

"Hey. None of that. We're going out to have fun. I refuse to let you sulk tonight." She came over, looping her arm through yours. "Now, cheer up cause we're getting drunk tonight." Her grin was contagious as the others began to hoot and holler.

With your arms still interlocked, she led you out of her room. Feyre, Nesta and Emerie following suit. You'd gone halfway down the stairs when it hit you. "Shit. Hold on, I forgot my purse. I'll be right back."

You turned as Feyre said they'd wait for you by the door. Running back up the stairs to Mor's room. You'd found your black bag on the vanity, quickly grabbing it. The heels you wore were already beginning to make your feet throb.

Closing the door behind you before walking quickly down the corridor. Feeling bad to keep everyone waiting. You rounded the corner when you ran into the wall. The force of it knocking you backwards, right on your ass before two arms snaked around your midsection. Catching you before you made a complete fool of yourself.

"Gods, i'm so sor-" Your words were lost as you saw who it was that caught you. Your body tensing so hard you were sure you'd be sore tomorrow.

Hues of golden amber stared down at you. His gaze raking over you, the dress you wore, your makeup. A slight frown tugged at his usual neutral expression.

"Azriel I- I didn't think you were here." You stepped back from him as if he'd set you on fire. His gaze still lingered on your outfit.

"Finished early." He huffed, not elaborating further. His gaze meeting yours as he spoke. Flickers of irritation and something else you couldn't decipher within those eyes. "Where are you going?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling too exposed in front of him. "Mor wanted to take me out tonight. A group of us are going to Rita's." You muttered, wanting to just winnow away at this point.

He said nothing as he just stared at you. Your gaze fell to the floor unable to handle the intensity of those eyes. You saw his hand twitch slightly before he curled it into a fist. The shadows that swarmed him were frantic, as if they were agitated.

The silence stretched on, tension building with each second. So much had been left unsaid. Azriel seemed to consider something for a moment. His mouth opening to speak before you cut him off.

"Well I gotta go. They're waiting for me." You rushed the words out before stepping around him. Hurriedly stepping down the stairwell, doing your best not to trip in your heels. The girls all gave you a weird look when you rushed to the door.

"Did something happen?" Emerie questioned as you marched out the door. You didn't answer the question.

"Let's just go." You said as you began the walk to Rita's

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

The bass reverberated through your chest. Drink after drink flowing through your veins. For the first time in weeks you felt free. You didn't care about anything as you danced with Mor. A thin sheet of sweat covering your body with each movement.

Laughter filled the air between you two. The others danced nearby, you didn't catch the joyful looks they gave you. They were so happy to see you as yourself after everything that had conspired.

You needed another drink with all the dancing. Leaning into Mor's ear telling her that you were heading to the bar for a refill. You walked over to the crystal surface, the bartender immediately taking your cup. You'd been here so often, they knew what you preferred. As you waited a handsome male approached you. Brown hair, green eyes that mimicked the forest after a thunderstorm. He was cute, but he wasn't who you wanted.

"I've been mustering up the courage to talk to you all night." He had a pretty smile as his eyes raked down your body. It felt wrong. "Can I buy you a drink?"

The bartender set your glass back down, sending a courteous smile. You held the glass up. "Sorry. Maybe next time?" You offered even though you knew there wouldn't be a next time.

"Well at least allow me a dance then?" He pursued, grabbing your wrist gently. Unease bloomed in your gut from the action.

"I'm sorry. My friends are waiting on me. I should go." His hand tightened on your wrist when you tried walking away. A drip of fear trickled down your spine.

"Just one dance, that's all I'm asking for sweetness." You cringed at the pet name. You took a step back again only for his grip to tighten again. It was beginning to be painful.

"Please, let me go." You struggled for a moment before a deep velvety voice broke through your fight or flight mindset.

"The lady said no. Now, do yourself a favor and let her go." You felt his presence behind you. Felt the anger rolling off him in waves as he stared down the male in front of you. The fae scoffed before releasing your wrist. At least he knew he wouldn't win against the spymaster.

You cradled your wrist to your chest, red marks from the males grip were beginning to show.

"Are you alright?" You closed your eyes for a moment. You had hoped he'd leave after this. He was standing in front of you when your eyes opened.

"I'm fine." Your response was short, clipped. Irritation at the whole situation settling in. You rubbed the red angry skin before turning to go back to the girls.

A gentle hand on your arm stopped you. "Talk to me." He spoke to you. All of the emotions you'd locked away threatened to release right then and there. You swallowed them down, instead letting out a scoff.

"Did you follow us?" You accused him. His eyes turned dark. His body language went stiff.

"What does it matter?" He countered. That stupid mask of cool calm overtaking his face. You felt the urge to slap it off.

"What does-" Anger swirled in your chest at his deflection "You have no right to be following us."

"If I hadn't, that fae would've had his grimy hands all over you." You were taken aback by his angry tone.

"That's not your concern anymore." You seethed. Suddenly, a scarred hand grabbed your upper arm. His grip was firm as he dragged you out of the club. Walking into the alleyway but you yanked your arm away from him.

"How dare you. You have no right to be doing this." Your voice was full of rage. Azriel's eyes darkened at your words. He stepped forward, closing the space between you.

He backed you against the wall, his arms caging you in on either side of your head. "No right? What do you think would've happened had I not shown up? You think he would've taken you home and whispered pretty words to you all night? Do you believe he'd treat you like a lady?"

His voice was low, a hint of the predator that he was shown through. His night chilled air and cedar scent surrounded you as he leaned down to your ear. "No one will ever be able to give you what you want, princess. No matter where you go, what you do, who you see, you are still mine." He growled.

Your knees felt like they'd give out. The closeness of him clouding your senses before you pulled it together.

"You left me. You were the one who decided to walk away from us. I don't belong to you." Absolute certainty laced in your words. Though your thoughts were the complete opposite. You wanted to give in to him but that wasn't right. Wasn't fair.

He grabbed your chin between his index finger and thumb. Your head tilted back to look at him. Heat roared in his eyes at your challenge. His thumb gently traced your bottom lip, his gaze narrowing in on your soft lips.

"I walked away because you deserve better. Not because I wanted to." He corrected.

"How am I supposed to know that? You don't talk to me Azriel. You never have. All you did was shut me out when something happened. You push me away thinking it's for the best but it's not." You argued with him. "I don't want better. I don't want easier. I don't want simple. I want you, you selfish illyri-" His lips crashing against yours cut you off.

His kiss was heated, desperate, full of passion. His tongue finding yours as teeth clashed. Both of you had felt the weight and hardship of being separated that it only made your reunion more needy. His hand that held your chin slipped to the back of your hand. His fingers tangling within the soft curls, angling your head just right to nip your bottom lip that elicited a soft groan from you.

He smirked against your lips at the sound. Claiming your lips with yours for what felt like forever before he pulled away. Both yours and his chest were falling rapidly as you tried catching your breath. He leaned his forehead against yours.

"There's no words I can use to explain how sorry I am. I shouldn't have shut you out. I shouldn't have walked away from you." He panted. "I love you Y/N. Nothing is ever going to change that."

Your eyes searched his for any sign of hesitation. That this was some kind of trick. Maybe even a dream. When he looked at you for some type of response, desperation in his gaze, you knew it wasn't.

"You have a lot to make up for." Your breathing was even now, and you were still partially reluctant. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I'll make everything up to you, even if I have to spend eternity doing so." His words were sincere. His hands reached down to the back of your thighs, picking you up with ease. A small shriek leaving you from the action, your hands clasping behind his neck instantly.

His wings flared out behind him. "And I'll start by taking you home. Where you belong."

[oh-no-its-bird]

Mayhaps I want to ask about "genderfuck"

From this ask meme

Oh this is a fun one actually, like, in my heart. It's also an Ichigo one, full disclaimer, so

SUMMARY // Hatake Ichigo and the trials and tribulations of being a shinobi girl hitting puberty, who just so happened to have been born a boy. --- "Maybe I should just castrate myself." Ichigo sniffled. "Ichigo," Her mother sighed, still patient. "You are not allowed to try and castrate yourself till at least 20." "But it'll be too late by then!" She wailed.

I think I might have already posted this one snippet of it bc I remember thinking it was funny, but oh well Ill just post it anyways if that is the case.

But like, eunuch Hikaku mention:

"I bet Hikaku-sama would know how to castrate someone." Ichigo mumbled, kicking at the floor dejectedly, and her mother paused. "Why in the world would Uchiha Hikaku know how to safely castrate someone?" Ichigo stared at her mother blankly, who stared back with an equally confused expression. "Um, cuz he's a eunuch, right?" "Excuse me?" Ichigo frowned. "He had to chop of his own thing, for some mission in the Daimyo's court or something, right? Before he became clan heir?" "Where did you hear that?" "The twins told me!" Ichigo scowled, oddly miffed by her mother's doubt. "And you believed them?" Ichigo planted her fists on her hips. "Well when I asked Kagami, he believed it too! And every time after that when I mentioned it to people, no one argued!" "Hatake Ichigo," her mother began, setting down her knife with a soft clack onto the cutting board. Ichigo froze at her mothers dangerously level tone. "Have you been going around telling people that the Uchiha clan heir is a eunuch." "Um." Was all she could manage, finally realizing she may have messed up. Just a bit.

Anyways I thought it'd be fun to tackle being trans specifically set in early konoha, and all take a fun little peek at all the world building aspects I could possibly dig into with it!

I have an older post still buried in my drafts about my takes on how it's interesting to think ab how Konoha developing as a village might have impacted the trans experience of its shinobi and civillians— specifically from the standpoint of paperwork.

Thinking something along the lines of, earlier konoha had more unregistered home births and messy paperwork that also made it very easy to go in and change details of by simply going to an office and saying "Hey btw my mom filled out this form wrong when I was born. I'm a girl just so u know." And you'll just kinda get a shrug and a "oh ok cool, I'll change that then"

Vs more modern Konoha where you might get some more complicated loops to jump through and extra paperwork stating specifically that you are trans and would like to Officially Request (tm) a change in the presenting gender listed on your file and also would you like to sign up for our hormone therapy or any gender affirming surgery?

Just like. Thinking ab the little things and progression and changes through time (none specifically good or bad) at how things are done depending on the state of the village. Fun to think about

Sorry anyways:

For this oneshot, if I ever continue it, I also would have fun in playing with how different clans and groups see gender.

Like, Ichigo goes to the Orochi who are rather infamously gender apathetic and kinda just do their own thing as part of their clan culture.

The Shiranui make a cameo with their concepts of how gender can be used as a weapon and presenting yourself certain ways is just another tool in the box to play with for a shinobi

The Inuzuka come in w their matriarchal clan to talk ab the concept of womanhood or smthn quirky like that, I'm not too sure yet but I think it'd be neat if they were there

Just. Having fun exploring the ways different clans and their cultures view and interact with gender. Some clans are welcome to the concept of trans people, some clans legit just don't care, some clans have trans ideas built into their identity, others might think it a bit strange but ultimately not their buisness, etc.

Then also the differences between how shinobi clans treat gender and transness vs how civilians treat it (w the shinobi caring a whole lot less ab it all. Probably bc they have other things to worry about)

Early Konoha is already so ripe w potential as a melting pot of cultures meeting for the first time ever ,,, I wanna play with it.

I will say tho going into it and still now, I kinda just plan on steering clear of transphobia— if it were to appear it'd be in flashes and get a "damn, that's crazy. Anyways." Reaction from Ichigo as she goes back to asking Tobirama if he has a cure for her growing a beard

I like playing things as straight as possible and really leaning hard into "ok but what are ALL the reactions I can get out of this and how do I play with them" but I kinda just. Don't wanna write that. This'd be a fun, silly comedy about a ninja girl learning ab shinobi clan history and gender culture and I will indulge myself on that

ANYWAYS ! thank u for playing the ask game w me Domoz, sorry I dive bombed u w Ichigo for ur reply rip

[futuremrsreid]

Love Like Ghosts - Chapter One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Hotchner!Reader

Warnings: Angst, flirty talk, Spencer isn’t an asshole he’s just deeply traumatized

A/N: Bear in mind, English isn’t my first language. This one is short, I guess it’s more of a prologue. Read this post for backstory on the reader

"I'm back in DC. Will you meet me for coffee tomorrow? At 3 p.m., the usual place? I heard you guys are on official time-out for a few weeks."

I waited 5 hours and 30 minutes, but no reply came. Good thing I didn't care about sounding desperate.

"Please, Spencer. I just want to talk."

"I'll be there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My fingers nervously fiddled with the menu laid out before me. The clock at the small café showed me the same time my phone already did. 2:55 pm. 5 minutes before we said we would meet, but for Spencer, that meant he was late. And since the last at least dozen times we had met here, he was always 10 minutes early.

I figured he didn't necessarily want to see me, but I never thought he would stand me up.

Maybe he had changed. I haven't seen him in so long, and from the snippets I had managed to get out of my dad, 3 months in prison did a number on him. My stomach churned at the thought.

Yet before my brain could spiral more, the small bell above the entrance rang, and Spencer Reid entered. His eyes scanned the few tables until he finally saw me.

I awkwardly waved at him, immediately chastising myself under my breath.

I felt like I couldn't breathe for the seconds it took for him to walk over. And when he finally sat down, my breath was still caught in my lungs.

His hair was longer and messy, his face pale and unshaven. Beautiful, like always, but in a devastatingly sad way.

"Hi", I said, voice cracking uncharacteristically. He noticed immediately.

"Hey", his reply was soft, despite his intense gaze on me.

"Thank you for coming. I won't hold you long. I get that you maybe don't really want to talk to me, but my dad told me what happened, and I just-", I stopped, not knowing how to put it without sounding desperate. "He said you were fine, but I wanted to see for myself."

"And?" his one-word reply came. I wasn’t sure how to handle this, to handle him. But I was never afraid to be honest with him, and I wouldn't start now.

"Well, either you have been lying to everybody, or you have been lying to yourself and everybody. You're clearly not fine." I could see that he didn't appreciate my answer, but we both knew I was right. He leaned back in his seat.

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?"

"What?"

"You said you'd get that I maybe wouldn't want to talk to you. Why would you think that?"

"Well, I-", I paused, unsure about what to say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

7 months ago

"Thank you for driving me home. I'm still embarrassed that you had to pick me up there. As I've told you at least 10 times now, I usually don't go there."

"What? You usually don't spend your free time in dirty sticky bars? Who would've thought...", he was barely able to hide his grin, but when I jokingly hit his shoulder in fake offense, he chuckled.

"No, and you know....Usually, I try to be the dirtiest and stickiest thing in a bar, which would be unachievable in a place like that." I joked and flashed him a mischievous grin, taking note of the redness spreading on his face.

"I hope you know that that's an extremely odd goal to have."

My reply came in a giggle and the rattling of my keys as I pushed them into the lock of my apartment door.

"Wanna come in? I can make you a cup of tea. I add ginger to it. It's actually famous in my family." He had never been in my apartment before. It was a line we hadn't crossed, and I wasn't sure he even wanted to. But when I opened the door and turned back around to him, there was a kind of longing in his eyes. Confirmation came in the form of a nod, his body following mine inside.

It really shouldn't have felt as forbidden as it did. I wasn’t a child. We weren't doing anything illegal. Yet my skin prickled when I felt the heat of his body behind mine.

"This is exactly how I imagined your apartment. I like it, it fits you."

"You imagined how I live...Interesting fact, Dr. Reid." I walked towards my small kitchen to make the tea I had promised him. "You imagined what my bedroom looks like as well?"  I heard him trip behind me.

"Did uh- Did you know someone's bedroom often reflects their personality because it’s in our nature to influence our environs to our choice and preferences. Over time, your bedroom reveals your personality and it develops a persona of its own. It's extremely improbable that any two bedrooms will look the same. So a tidy room can suggest a person is organized, detail-oriented, and perhaps even a bit of a perfectionist. Conversely, a messy room could indicate a more relaxed, less structured personality, or perhaps even a sign of underlying issues like disorganization or difficulty letting go of possessions."

"I bet you're just dying to see my bedroom to prove that theory."  I flashed a grin at him over my shoulder, my hands busy preparing our tea.

"I mean, the more data is input into a statistic, the more accurate it becomes." I breathed a laugh and put a mug with steaming tea in front of him.

"Bold." When I looked up, I was surprised to see that he's holding my gaze. "Also sounds like the beginning of a very nerdy adult movie." Cheeks warmed and eyes shy away, and after a moment, mine did too. I busied myself with sips of my tea.

“You usually use humor and sarcasm to deflect. Something you want to talk about?”

“No, not really. I mean, getting left alone in a dirty bar because my friend decided to leave with some guy wasn’t necessarily nice, but…other than that, I’m fine. And while I normally use my humor to deflect, I also often use it just to unnerve you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s fun. And it causes you to blush. And I just-” pause. I wasn’t sure if I should say it. But his eyes were expectantly following my every move, and so I set down my mug and took a step closer to him. “I guess I just like to cause a reaction in you.”

“But why?” His mug joined mine on the counter. We were suddenly so close that he would only have to raise his hand to touch me.

“Because…sometimes it feels like you try so hard not to have one. A reaction to me, I mean. Sometimes it feels like you distance yourself until you’re a thousand miles away, and the only way to reach you is to get you vulnerable enough so that my mind can touch yours. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

“Y/N I-” He sighed and looked away again. I could see it in his eyes, the distance.

“There! That is exactly what I mean. Why do you do that?” No answer came, so I grew frustrated. “Tell me why you won’t let me near.”

“Because I can’t!” His words were too loud for the tiny space we had created. “I just- I can’t.”

“But why?” My voice cracked on the words. It was quiet for another moment before I asked what I had been too afraid to ask this whole time. “Is it because I’m your boss’s daughter? Or is it because you think I’m too young for you?”

“That’s not-”

“Or is it because you’re too afraid to let someone in? Because if it is, I can understand that. Do you think this is easy for me? It’s not. But I-” He turned away suddenly.

“I should never have come inside. This isn’t good for either of us.” He turned away to leave, but I gripped his sweater with just enough force to stop him and turn towards me again. His eyes met mine and every word vanished from my mind. My defences were gone, and even if they weren’t, he wouldn’t listen to them anyway. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I rose up on my toes to kiss him, and his hands found the sides of my head like he had been waiting for it. Months of build-up came crashing down on us fast, but I felt alive. His lips were soft against mine, fingers buried in my hair.

We kissed until there was no air left in our lungs, and after that his lips moved to my jaw as the small of my back hit the kitchen counter.

A small moan escaped me from the impact, and everything shattered. 

I felt the cold air before I registered him moving away. He was halfway across my apartment when I came to my senses and went after him.

“Spencer, wait-”

“I told you I can’t do this, Y/N. We can’t do this!” I opened my mouth but he took the words right out of my mouth. “Don’t ask me why. We just can’t.”

“But-” Weak pleas on deaf ears.

“No. I am not repeating myself. I don’t think we should keep meeting. It will get both of us hurt.”

“Spencer!” But he was already out the door.

The next days were spent with more desperate pleas sent via text.

“Call me back, please.”

“I just want to talk.”

“Spencer, please just call me back.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“You kissed me back like you wanted to.”

“Can we just talk about this, please?”

“Are you going to ignore me forever?”

“You know, I could just turn up at your work, right? I’m a Hotchner after all.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I hope you know I would never do that.”

“But what about the next dinner party at Rossi’s? Are you gonna pretend I don’t exist?”

“Did that kiss truly mean nothing to you?”

The last message stung, sitting on read for days. But after three weeks, I managed to accept that it was over. Spencer Reid did not want me in his life. And as much as it hurt, I had to find a way to live with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You weren’t eager to talk to me before everything went to shit, so I figured it wouldn’t be any different now.” I finally said. My hands started fiddling with the menu again, our coffees cold and long forgotten. I could feel his eyes on me.

“The last time I saw you, you had a head injury and were terrified out of your mind. Of course, I wanted to see you. I wanted to make sure you’re alright too. I just- I didn’t know how to reach you and if you had your phone.” His confession made me look up to see his eyes already on me. I held his gaze for a moment, for about 3 heartbeats, before I forced a smile on my face.

“And?” I repeated his earlier question, trying to make it sound funny. From the look on his face, I hadn’t managed.

“Well, you seem physically fine. You’re nervous, but that's because of this situation. And the rest… I was never good at reading you, never knew what was going on in your head. I guess you get that from Hotch.” His hands reached out to take the menu from me, probably to keep me from accidentally ripping it. His fingers grazed my wrist unintentionally. I felt like I was going to burst into tears. “Will you tell me how you are?”

“Oh, I am fine. Like you promised all those months ago…Nothing happened to us, or me.”

“I hate to admit that I had no part in that.”

“You had other things to worry about.” I wasn’t sure if I could say it out loud. In prison for 3 months.

“Funny you say that, when in reality prison gave me too much time to worry about all of the things I couldn’t control. Like my mother getting sicker every day, and the fact that Scratch was still running around free, and I had no idea if you were okay.” My throat felt like it was getting tighter. I didn't expect him to worry so much.

“Penelope told me that your mother was better now. Is that not true?” 

“No, it is. She's better now. But things were getting worse for a while, which was mainly my fault.” Self-deprecation and shame laced his words. “It's a long story, and also the story of how I got framed for murder in the first place. I don't feel like telling it.”

“That's okay. You don't have to tell me anything.” My words were almost a whisper. “Are you talking to someone at least?” He paused and leaned back in his seat slightly, guarded.

“Yes. My reinstatement requires mandatory therapy, if that's what you mean.” 

“And how about a non-mandatory therapist? Because you and I both know you want to be reinstated and would keep things from them to achieve that.” I regretted my words the second they had left my mouth.

“Prentiss isn't worried, so neither should you.” Cold, harsh words, meant to throw me off, I'm sure.

“I'm not doubting your ability in the field, Spencer. I'm worried about you.”

“You don't think we are past that point?” I could see that he didn't really mean it, but he had said it nonetheless. And I knew he did it to hurt me. I swallowed down the tears that stung in my eyes.

“You just told me you worried about me while you were in prison. So why would you say that.” The hurt was visible in my voice.

“That's different.” His whole body tensed, arms crossing in front of him.

“How?” 

“It just is.”

“That's not a real answer and you know it!” The sadness disappeared and was replaced by hot, burning anger. “ ‘It just is’, ‘I can't’, ‘Don't ask me why, we just can’t’.” I said, mocking his voice. Bile rose in my throat, but I pushed it down. “I am not a stupid child, Spencer. You don't get to treat me like one! You might think that you don't owe me these explanations, but you do!”

“I don't owe you anything, Y/N.” He said it with such certainty and resentment that I couldn't stop the tears from flooding. The other people in the cafe were looking our way when an involuntary sob left me. “Y/N, I-” 

But the room suddenly felt too small, and the air too thick. I knew I had to leave now to keep at least some of my dignity. So I quickly grabbed my bag and scrambled out of the seat. 

He called my name again, but I didn't want to hear anything else from him.

[d1s1ntegrated]

shiggy with a s/o who’s equally as much of a loser as him :3 like they probably met in a discord vc (he’s the mod) or a league of legends match and he probably hates them at first and then gets a lil crush on them when they helped him mid-game or smth!!

thank u <3

hi love! i am working on a full-length fic where this is literally the entire plot omgomgomg, i'll post a little snippet here!

its still a wip so it wont be perfect but its first person perspective in this part, and i'm thinking of going back and forth between povs to show shig and readers sides equally.

also, reader is fem/afab, same age as shig, and alt. she has a quirk, too (not a healing one either).

this one does include quirks also! but it doesn't get into them for a bit, just a few convos.

some tags for the work entirely: slow burn, enemies to lovers, dabi x reader, shiggy x reader, reader is Not mentally stable, but no one else is either, the server is all the LOV and some others, incel behavior, boys being gross

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

i slide my headset off as we log off for the night and head to my bed, yawning as i climb in. i turn my lamp off and from my bedside table, i hear the infamous chime of discord as my screen lights the room. i groan and roll over, checking the message.

𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱2𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱

↪thx 4 playing tn, u weren't half bad

↪btw sorry for threatening to ban u for posting memes in general

i read the messages slowly and type out my response.

𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖘𝖙

↪gg dude, and np.

↪promise i wont spam ur precious server w memes again

↪gn bro

i turn my phone back off and close my eyes, only to hear my phone go off again. i sigh, contemplating on ignoring it, but i lazily grab it anyways.

𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱2𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱

↪would u ever wanna vid call :)

↪u can say no. its ok

i frown at the message for a minute. this is the same guy who, about an hour ago, was screaming at me for not being fast enough in game, calling me a fucking pleb.

but other than that...he was funny. and nice to talk to.

𝖙𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖘𝖙

↪for sure, we can tmr.

i type out a half-assed response but feel a ping of excitement inside of me. i fall asleep with my phone on my chest, waiting for a reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i wake up around 1pm, the daylight searing through my curtains. i feverishly reach for my phone, only to find it flung off the bed. i drape myself off the side to reach it, eager to read any messages.

i flit through the random notifications, only to find disappointment. i open up discord, wondering if maybe i just fell asleep with my phone on, but there's no response from him. i see him active and type out a message, ultimately deleting it. if he wants to respond, he will.

i haul myself out of bed and head to the shower, leaving my phone behind, slightly jaded knowing i was left on read. i let the warm water wash over me, soaking up the few minutes of peace before i exit and get dressed. i continue ignoring my phone until i hear a ping. i rush over to it, feeling slightly embarrassed that i'm this concerned already. i open discord again, expecting a message from him, but it's not there. instead, a string of messages from someone else sits unopened. my brows furrow and i open the dm confused.

𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚

↪yo

↪u played ovw w us last night right

↪u should play again tn w me, pretty.

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

again this is just a snippet >_< but i hope it tickles some anticipation ahhhhhhhhh. ik there isnt a lot sorry ;-;

[chock-and-bates]

if you're still doing it, what is get him back about?

(and for the other anon that mentioned it! but i'll be using your ask to post about the other story you asked about ❤️)

get him back! is my silly little fic for bearnelli (also heavy on lestappen [ofc] and some chollie)

Premise: Kimi’s been down bad for Ollie for over a year. But ever since their rookie f1 season started, he’s been beyond jealous that all his friend can seem to talk about is Charles Leclerc.  When he realizes that Ollie genuinely likes Charles, is, in fact, infatuated enough to consider making a move, he loses it and goes to Max for advice.  Surprisingly, Max turns out to be very willing to help Kimi get his man (while also staking a claim on his.)

this one is fun because i have two outlines and it might be a sillier 5 +1 thing or it might be a bit more toxic. i haven’t quite decided, but it will definitely include jealous kimi, jealous/possessive max, oblivious charles, and infatuated ollie (because @honeyandthunderstorms and I a chollie vision that is so fun, omg)... and some lestappen smut 😏.

Snippet under the cut!

“You seem upset,” Max tells Kimi carefully as they walk back through the paddock. “Are you all right?”

Glancing around, Kimi jerks his head to indicate Max to follow him to a quieter corner, one where he can speak more freely.

“Is Russell being a dickhead again,” Max asks, a little too knowingly. The Red Bull driver was always excited to hear about any issues that Kimi was having with his teammate.

“No, it is not George,” Kimi frowns, weighing how much to actually tell Max. It’s just- if he doesn’t talk to someone about this he thinks he’s going to explode.

“Then what?”

“It is Ollie.”

“Oh,” Kimi doesn’t like the teasing way Max smiles, his eyes crinkling, “What did Bearman do? I thought you two were mates?”

And look, Kimi could tell Max a lot about what Ollie has done. He could tell him how some nights Ollie is all Kimi can think about, or how one of his favorite things to do is make Ollie laugh, or maybe he could even tell Max about that wonderful, horrible kiss that happened last season…

But Kimi is not stupid, he knows better than to embarrass himself in front of someone like Max Verstappen.

In his angry state, he does not, however, have any issues with embarrassing Ollie.

“I need to get him to shut up about how in love he is with Leclerc.”

The smile quickly slides off Max's face.

“What?”

“He will not stop talking about Leclerc,” Kimi continues, already feeling himself getting worked up, “Any time we are hanging out, all I hear is ‘Charles said this’ or ‘I was watching Charles onboards’ or ‘Charles sat by me on the plane’. I cannot take anymore of him and his stupid crush! It is driving me crazy.”

Max has been listening closely, looking very serious all of a sudden, “You really think he has a crush?”

And Kimi knows he shouldn’t say anything more, should just leave it at that and keep Ollie’s secret. But the hurt and jealousy are still too overwhelming-

So Kimi scowls and continues, “I know he does, Max! Today I told him he should just kiss Leclerc already since he is so obsessed with him. Then he got all weird and asked me what I thought Leclerc would do if he did kiss him. Or if I thought Leclerc could ever like him.”

Max’s face twitches, “Oh, really?”