#ryan's bed is the one against the window

[hoperays-song]

Sing Floorplans PT.2: Ryan and Johnny's Hotel Room

Modernly Decorated

Floor to ceiling window

Two Bookshelves

Fake Fireplace

TV

Storage Cabinet

Shared Dresser

Two Twin Beds

Couch

Small Coffee Table

Ensuite Bathroom

Two Rugs

[corroded-hellfire]

Could we perhaps get a blurb/chapter of when Eliza was born - maybe Eddie thinking back that this is so different than how Brittany was, when Y/N got into labor, where they were and how they reacted?

+ could you write about Eliza being born? I would love to see their reactions and eddie helping reader out plss

+ Please, let us in on the labor with Eddie and Reader from "As you wish". Did Y/N curse Eddie out, threatening to kick his ass or did Eddie do a prince Harry (God I hope not) and use all the gas?

I thought this would be a good chance to tell the story of two births of two very important Munsons, ten years apart 💕

Warnings: childbirth and all that comes with it, Brittany, not a warning but the italic sections are flashbacks/in the past

Words: 7.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The blaring wail of Eddie’s alarm clock wakes you up from your night of fitful sleep. It’s hard to remember the last time you had a full peaceful eight hours. The soreness in your lower back and the increasing pressure in your pelvis have been your loyal companions for the past few weeks, determined on not letting you have a moment of comfort. 

Next to you, Eddie smacks his hand against the clock. The whining stops and the bed shifts as Eddie rolls over and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Your answering groan makes your husband let out a soft chuckle as he pushes himself up into a seated position. Figuring it’ll be better to get up than continue to lay there so uncomfortably, you roll onto your side and shove yourself up until you’re sitting. A look down at your feet reveals that your ankles are swollen. Again.

“Know what today is?” Eddie asks as he opens his underwear drawer. 

“Uh huh,” you hum. The mattress springs squeak as you stand up. 

“Think she’ll make her grand entrance today?” he asks.

“Doubt it,” you say through a yawn. “Babies are never born on their due date.”

Eddie strips off his shirt and comes around the bed to give you a proper good morning kiss. 

“How you feeling, baby?”

“Peachy,” you grunt. “Gonna go get the boys up.”

Luckily, neither Ryan nor Luke gives you any trouble waking up or getting ready for school. They know how you’ve been feeling lately and have been great about helping you out when they can. 

“Bye!” Ryan says as he slips his backpack on. 

“Have a good day,” Eddie says, ruffling both boys’ hair.

You press a kiss to the top of their heads and Luke rubs a hand across your swollen belly. 

“Be good in there, Eliza!”

A smile grows on your face at his words. They head out the door to the bus stop, Ryan giving you one last wave before you close the door.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out,” Eddie says. He walks over and cups your face in his warm hands. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” you assure him. 

He nods and presses a sweet kiss against your lips. 

“Relax and get some rest.”

“Okay.” You give him another kiss in return. “Have a good day at work.”

“Love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

Not even two minutes after Eddie walks out the door, you plop down in front of the television with the remote. The only thing on at this time of day are soap operas, which have started to become an addiction of yours since there’s nothing else for you to do. 

Fortunately, one of today’s plotlines is so boring and you predicted the identical twin brother twist a week ago, so you manage to fall asleep. It’s only a cat nap, but you’ll take anything you can get these days. 

A different kind of discomfort awakens you this time. Your stomach growls so loudly it feels like it rattles the windows. You rally the strength to get up from the couch, and with a little help from the arms and back of it, you’re standing. 

An infomercial for some Chuck Norris Total Gym blathers on as background noise as you walk–or more like waddle–into the kitchen. A peanut butter and banana sandwich has been a go-to for you during this pregnancy—after Luke happily introduced it to you one day over the summer. There’s something about the rich nuttiness and the sweetness of the fruit together between two pieces of bread that makes Eliza very happy in your womb. 

Once you’ve got peanut butter spread on both slices of bread, you move to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. The moment your hand touches the yellow peel, you feel a twinge of pain shoot from your lower back, through your tummy, and down into your pelvis. Your hand braces you against the counter as you breathe through the pain. 

What the hell was that? You think to yourself. That fucking hurt.

You take a deep breath and grab the banana. As you turn back to your sandwich and peel open the piece of fruit, it hits you.

Were those…contractions? No, you tell yourself, shaking your head. It had to be something else.

“No one ever actually has their baby on the due date,” you say into the quiet kitchen. “Maybe I have to pee again. I swear, this little girl thinks my bladder is a trampoline.”

Once you’re finished up in the bathroom, you head back to finish making your sandwich. But the minute you pick up the butter knife, another stab of pain attacks.

“Oh boy,” you say, one hand dropping the knife and going to your lower back, while the other rests on your bump. “You’re ready to come out, aren’t you? You heard that doctor say ‘October 7th’ and you made a note on a calendar, huh?”

The mental image of the baby in your belly marking the date off on a calendar makes you smile as you waddle over to the phone hanging on the wall. The line rings twice before someone picks up.

“Scott’s Auto Body, this is Mark speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mark.” You breathe through another twinge of pain. “Is Eddie there?”

“Yeah, let me go grab him for you,” Mark says.

“Thanks.”

It feels like an eternity as you hear the phone being put down, shuffling noises in the background, then low murmuring voices, until finally the phone is being moved again and you finally hear your husband’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say. “I, um, think I’m having contractions.”

“You are?”

It’s hard to tell if that’s excitement or urgency in his voice. Probably both.

“Yeah, the first one I just waved off as a fluke. But they’ve happened a couple of times now.”

“Alright, I’m on my way home, princess,” Eddie says, and you can already hear him moving around, starting the process. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “They’re quick and not too close together yet. I’ll start counting when I feel the next one.”

“Good.” The sound of his keys jingling comes through the phone. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I love you.” 

A hint of giddiness is already creeping into his tone. He’s wanted a baby girl for so long, and she’s finally ready to make her appearance. You make a mental note to think of Eddie’s excitement anytime a contraction overwhelms you. Of course, you have your own excitement, and lots of it, but seeing Eddie be so truly happy is one thing that could get you through all the pain in the world. 

Eddie unsheathes his sword as the azure dragon flies overhead. Too far for him to even reach if he threw his sword. The blood red skies cast a purple shadow on the giant winged creature. But Eddie’s almost there. He can see the tower in the distance, normally not a rough journey, but there’s bound to be something guarding the locked-away maiden.

As he gets closer, Eddie sees that it’s a female Cloud Giant tasked with keeping people like him away. Only the most noble who dare to help the poor young thing locked away. 

Eddie picks up speed, his sword at the ready as he approaches the giant, then—bam! Something lands against Eddie’s cheek. He looks up, seeing if the dragon perhaps swooped down to swipe the knight with his tail. But the skies are clear. So, Eddie continues forward. Bam! What the hell is—

Eddie is jolted back into consciousness by his own pillow smacking his face. 

“What the…” Eddie grumbles in a scratchy, sleepy voice. “What’s going on?

He rubs his bleary eyes and sees that Brittany is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

“Britt?”

Eddie stumbles to his feet and clicks on his bedside lamp before walking around the bed to check on his wife. The first thing he notices is that the crotch of her nightgown and the sheets below her are wet. 

Wow, this baby must really be messing with her bladder if—wait. 

“Your water broke?” Eddie's voice suddenly has no trace of sleepiness in it. 

“Yeah.”

Brittany isn’t looking at him. Instead, she looks down at her hands resting on her large bump. 

“Come on, let’s get you changed,” Eddie says, gently slipping his hand beneath one of her arms so he can help her up. 

Brittany groans once she’s on her feet and Eddie hurriedly turns towards their dresser and digs for something she can change into.

“Contractions?” Eddie asks as he grabs a pair of sweatpants.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her. 

Eddie quickly helps Brittany into her clothes and grabs her already prepared overnight bag from the closet. He slowly leads his wife into the living room so she can rest on the couch while he grabs Ryan. 

The twenty-two-month-old is sleeping soundly in his crib. Eddie hates to disturb him, but the ball is already in motion. 

“Wha?” Ryan croaks as Eddie scoops him up and holds him against his chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he tells his son. “Go back to sleep.”

Ryan thunks his head down on Eddie’s shoulder and immediately begins lightly snoring. 

The soft whistle in his ear makes Eddie smile as he steps into the kitchen to use the nearest phone. He quickly dials a number he knows by heart and waits for someone to pick up at the plant.

“Yeah, hi, is Wayne there? Yeah, Munson,” Eddie says into the receiver. He hikes Ryan up a little higher on his chest while he waits for the phone to get passed.

“Hello?”

Eddie’s never been happier to hear that gruff voice.

“Hey! It’s, uh, me. So, Brittany’s water broke and Ryan needs—”

“I’ll punch out right now and meet ya at the trailer.”

God, Eddie loves his uncle. 

“Okay, see you there.”

Eddie heads back into the living room and helps Brittany up with one hand while the other keeps a good hold on Ryan. Somehow, Eddie manages to get them both in the car, all buckled and ready to go. 

“Whew.” Eddie takes a deep breath in the driver’s seat. He takes one more before he starts the car. “Here we go.”

The moment Eddie walks through the front door, he makes sure you’re sitting down and comfortable. Sitting down? Yes. Comfortable? Not so much. 

But you’re content with your peanut butter and banana sandwich as your husband presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Nine minutes apart,” you inform him through a mouthful of peanut butter. 

Eddie chuckles at the muffled words.

“Okay. I’m gonna get changed, then call Wayne so he can be here for when the boys get home.”

You nod and take another bite of your sandwich. 

Eddie comes back just as another contraction is starting. You set your plate down on the couch to your right and Eddie takes a seat on the other side of you. One of your hands braces you against the cushion you’re sitting on, and Eddie slips his hand into your free one. 

“Just squeeze my hand, okay? And breathe.”

The pulsating wracks your body as you focus on taking in a large lungful of air. You hold it for a few seconds, counting time by the number of gentle squeezes you give Eddie’s hand, then let it out. 

“Ugh,” you groan when the pain releases you. You flop back on the couch, tipping your chin up as you try and catch your breath. “That was the longest one so far.”

“We’ll start timing that too,” Eddie says. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek before pressing a few to the back of your hands. His hands stall when you let out a deep sigh.

“Do you not want me to be touching you? What do you need?” There’s a shake in his voice that angers you, because you know exactly why and who made him unsure of how to comfort a woman in labor.

“Yes, I want you to touch me,” you say, grabbing his hand in both of yours. “Your touch calms me.”

It doesn’t escape your notice that his shoulders sag in relief before he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

“Just let me know what you want me to do,” he says.

“This,” you reply, leaning into his arms. Your eyes slip closed as you snuggle up to the warmth of his body. “Want you.”

“I’m not leaving your side, princess,” he assures you. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You nod against his neck and Eddie swipes up the remote. He flips through the channels, but it’s the middle of a Tuesday, so there’s not a whole lot on.

“I can grab a tape or a DVD?” your husband offers.

You shake your head, holding onto him even tighter.

“Don’t want you to move. Whatever you find is fine.”

“Alright, well…I guess we’ll watch The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Eddie feels your chuckle rumble against his chest.

“That’s fine,” you say.

It’s only seconds before another contraction starts, and Eddie can tell by the way your fingertips dig into him. This one lasts about as long as the previous one, and you’re able to get semi-comfortable against your husband again.

The house is quiet, the two of you on the couch, watching a movie that neither of you have any real interest in. The low volume only makes the loud pop that echoes through the room even more pronounced. 

“My water just…”

“Yes, it did.”

A heavy pause hangs in the air as the two of you stare at one another. It’s obvious you have to get up and get going now, but the realization that this is really happening is sinking in for you both. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out in a whisper.

This breaks Eddie out of his trance. He starts to laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Here we go, sweetheart.”

He helps you up off the couch and into your room so you can change clothes. With your husband's help, you slip into a dry pair of sweatpants, an oversized Ghostbusters t-shirt Luke got you when you complained that there were no comfy maternity shirts, and one of Eddie’s hoodies on top of it—even though you can’t zip it up. Your old college backpack has been filled with supplies for weeks, all in preparation for this moment. Eddie slides onto one of his shoulders and walks with you to the front door.

Just as the two of you step into the living room, the door opens. Wayne steps inside and it takes four seconds for his eyes to go from you to Eddie, to the bag hanging on his shoulder, then back to you.

“Thank God you’re here,” you sigh in relief. 

If for some reason he hadn’t arrived here before the boys got home, you knew they’d be okay for a while, but you’ll be able to relax more knowing that their grandpa is here with them. 

“Heading out to the hospital?” Wayne asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers with a nod. “Her water broke.”

A smile graces the older man’s features, and it softens him.

“You got this, darlin’,” he says as he opens the front door wide enough for you and Eddie to get through.

You shoot him a grateful smile as you step outside.

“We’ll call when we have any update,” Eddie tells his uncle.

Wayne just nods and pats Eddie on the back as he passes. The two of you walk to your car together and Wayne watches from the entryway, not wanting to go inside yet in case he can help in any way. 

Once you’re securely in the car, Eddie waves to Wayne before slipping into the driver’s seat. As he adjusts the rearview mirror, his eyes catch on the car seat that’s been installed for the past two weeks. It brings a smile to his face as he starts the engine.

“Let’s have us a baby,” Eddie says as he shifts the car into reverse. 

As soon as you arrive at the hospital, it’s very quick work when Eddie alerts them you’re in labor. You’re brought right to a room and hooked up to lines and so many wires you’re not even sure what they’re all for. 

Your doctor shows up not too long after you’re settled into your bed and says you’re not quite ready to push yet. Your contractions are getting closer together, but they’re not quite at the active labor phase yet. 

Now after being hurried up to this room and all set up to go, there’s nothing to do. The flurry of activity kept your mind off the pain that was creeping up in intensity each time it snuck up on you. But now that there’s nothing to occupy your mind, it feels like it’s all that fills your head.

“Do you want some pain meds, baby?” Eddie asks, slipping his hand into yours.

He must’ve noticed the way you were gritting your teeth hard enough to wear them down to nubs. 

“I can have some?” you ask.

“Sure, sweetheart. Let me go get the nurse.”

Eddie is right and the nurse is able to administer some medicine that allows you to relax a little. It takes enough of the edge off that you’re able to focus on and appreciate Eddie’s attempts to distract you from the pain and boredom. 

Your husband had prepared ahead of time and had slipped his battered and well-loved copy of The Two Towers into your overnight bag. He now brings the story to life for you, reading with such passion, and doing different funny voices for the different characters.

“‘Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours,’” Eddie reads to you. “‘But that’s a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it – and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We’ve got – you’ve got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we’re in the same tale still! It’s going on. Don’t the great tales never end?’ ‘No, they never end as tales,’ said Frodo. ‘But the people in them come, and go when their part’s ended. Our part will end later – or sooner.’” 

Then it’s time for the doctor to check how dilated you are and the timing of your contractions. It’s still not time, she tells you with a sympathetic smile before heading out to attend to other patients. 

Now, Eddie finds a pile of old magazines and newspapers strewn about a small table in the corner. He picks up an outdated print of the Washington Post at random, sits in the chair he’s positioned near your head, and begins to read a news article in an over-the-top news anchor voice.

“The first musical number epitomized the kind of commercialized outrageousness that MTV has perfected in recent years. It featured Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, decked out in white wedding ensembles in a homage to Madonna, who famously wore a wedding dress on MTV's first Video Music Awards broadcast in 1984, when she performed ‘Like a Virgin.’ Madonna appeared dressed as a groom, and the number, which also briefly featured Missy Elliott, provided the evening's first gyrating rumps, as well as a truly yechy moment: The sight of oversexed old Madonna tongue-kissing oversexed young Spears. It didn't seem outrageous or sultry; it smacked of desperation.”

“Such outrage,” you joke with a shake of your head. 

“Kids today,” Eddie says with an over dramatic sigh. “All their music is just noise.”

You giggle and reach for his hand. He gladly takes it and laces his fingers with yours.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

“I’m good,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “My wonderful, loving husband is doing a great job of keeping me entertained.”

A smile that can only be described as adoring grows on Eddie’s face. He leans forward and presses kisses to your knuckles.

“Anything for you.”

By the time the hospital staff gets Brittany up to her room and hooked up to all the equipment, the doctor says it’s not long before she can start pushing. Which also means that there’s no time to give her any drugs—no matter how much she begs. 

“Ugh! This sucks,” Brittany complains once it’s just her and Eddie in the room. 

“I know,” Eddie says. 

“Do you?” she snaps back.

“I mean, I…” Eddie stutters over his words. “I was there when Ryan was born. I know the pain you were in then.”

“At least they were able to give me something for pain then. Now I can’t even get a fucking Tylenol.” 

“Do you want to talk about something to keep your mind off it?” Eddie offers. He scoots his chair up to the edge of the bed and rests a hand on Brittany’s blanket-covered thigh. 

“Fine,” the blonde grunts out. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um…what about middle names? We haven’t decided yet.”

“Didn’t we?” Brittany sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No,” Eddie replies. “Just first names. Luke for boy, Lucy for girl.” 

“Fine. So, Ryan’s middle name is after your uncle because you just had to do that,” Brittany rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. “What about from my family?”

“What names do you like?” Eddie says between clenched teeth. She's having my baby, she’s having my baby, she’s having my baby, he reminds himself over and over again. 

“Anatoly,” Brittany says. “For a boy.”

“Luke Anatoly Munson.” Eddie wrinkles his nose at how the name sounds out loud. “I don’t think that goes.”

“Fine.” Brittany’s silent for a moment as she considers other names. “Andrei?”

Eddie internally sighs. He’s always thought it was cool that much of Brittany’s family emigrated from Russia, but the land’s native names don’t flow well with “Luke Munson.” 

“Aleksandr,” Brittany suggests, pulling Eddie out of his own head. 

“Huh.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, letting the name roll around his brain. It's a good one, he thinks. But…

“Should we use the American spelling?” Eddie asks.

“Why, so he can be named after your dad?” Brittany bites out.

The room is silent as Eddie furrows his brow. He shakes his head in confusion as a nurse steps in to check on the monitors Brittany is hooked up to. 

“That’s not…Britt, that isn’t my dad’s name.”

“What?” Brittany stares at her husband as if he has three heads. “Of course it is.”

“People called him ‘Al’, yeah,” Eddie starts. “But his full name is Alan. Not Alexander.” 

“Oh.” Brittany waves a hand dismissively as if not knowing her husband’s dad’s name after years together is nothing—a common mistake, even. 

Eddie shakes his head, shoving the irritation to the back of his mind for the time being. There will be plenty of time later to be annoyed by Brittany’s ignorance and apathy. After the baby is born.

The tension grows in his neck, so Eddie rolls his shoulders and leans back in his chair.

“So, Luke Alexander Munson for a boy?” Eddie checks.

“Sure,” Brittany says as another contraction washes over her. The way her eyes squeeze shut so tightly and her teeth clench with a vengeance pangs Eddie’s heart. 

“And for a girl,” Brittany grits out, obviously trying to talk through the pain in an attempt to ignore it, “Lucy Alexandra Munson.”

“That’s pretty.”

Eddie goes to take his wife’s hand as her body relaxes from the fading contraction. But Brittany snatches her hand back.

“Please, just don’t…touch me.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Eddie barely has time to feel the sting of rejection before the doctor is back in the room to check on Brittany’s progress. 

“Good news,” the doctor announces. “You’re dilated enough. It’s time to start pushing.” 

“Oh boy,” Brittany mutters, trying to garner strength from her exhausted body. 

The room is a flurry of activity as nurses prepare everything the doctor might need. 

Eddie stands and goes to reach for his wife’s hand before remembering she doesn’t want to be touched. But as another contraction wracks her body, Brittany reaches up and grabs his hand. It brings a small smile to Eddie’s lips, despite how hard she’s gripping it because of her pain. 

“Alright, Brittany,” the doctor says as he gets into position at the end of the bed, “we’re going to try pushing now.”

“We?” Brittany barks out in a strained and breathless laugh. 

“Well, mostly you,” the doctor teases as a nurse goes to stand on Brittany’s other side, opposite of Eddie. 

“Alright, honey,” the nurse says, putting one hand on Brittany’s shoulder. “Push when the doctor counts to three.”

“One, two…”

He doesn’t even get to three before Brittany starts squeezing the life out of Eddie’s hand. Eddie just clenches his teeth and takes it though, willing to soak up any pain that he can from his wife. 

“Jesus, fuck!” Brittany shouts through her pushing. Her face is already sweaty, matting hair to her forehead. Eddie’s quick to brush it away with his free hand.

“You’re doing so good, Britt,” Eddie encourages. “You’ve got this.”

Brittany nods, either in acknowledgment of his words or just because she wants him to shut up. 

“Almost there, Mrs. Munson,” the doctor says.

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. When Ryan was born, they were at it for a while before he decided to make his grand entrance into the world. People had told him that second babies tend to come out quicker, but Eddie didn’t know this one was practically banging down the door to get out. 

“This one’s got some mettle,” Eddie says. 

“Just like Dad,” Brittany grits out and it takes Eddie a second to get her joke. 

Mettle, metal? He got it. 

Eddie huffs a laugh, honestly impressed by her ability to come up with a joke while she’s trying to pass a human being through her body. 

“Okay, now just one more biiig push,” the doctor says. 

“Come on, hun,” Eddie cheers, bracing his hand against Brittany’s as she channels everything in her to push. 

“Almost there, almost there…” the doctor repeats. 

Suddenly the shrill sound of an infant wailing fills the small room. It’s the most beautiful sound Eddie has ever heard. 

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces, holding the newborn up enough for the parents to see. 

Brittany drops Eddie’s hand out of pure exhaustion, but there’s a smile on her face as she drops back against the pillows. The baby is handed to a nurse for initial cleanup. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says softly to Brittany. 

She tilts her head up and gives him a sleepy smile. 

The softness in her gaze has Eddie leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. Surprisingly, she kisses him back. 

“Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?” the doctor asks.

“Yes,” Eddie responds before the doctor can even finish the question.

He walks down to the foot of the bed and takes the pair of scissors to the umbilical cord, snipping it in two. Eddie hands the scissors back blindly, as his eyes never leave his newborn son. No detail escapes his notice as he watches a nurse gently take him and lay him on Brittany’s chest. 

“Oh, hi,” Brittany says, one hand covering the entirety of his little back. 

Eddie comes back up to the head of the bed and beams down at his wife and baby. Brittany glances up at him, then back down. 

“Look at this beautiful boy,” Eddie coos. 

Brittany chuckles and Eddie leans down to kiss her head, then the newborn’s.

“Beautiful little Luke,” Brittany says. 

A nurse takes him back to fully clean him up and swaddle him in a soft white blanket. 

“You want to hold him?” the nurse asks Eddie.

“Yes.” Eddie nods emphatically and holds out his arms. 

The moment the gentle weight lands in his arms, Eddie’s eyes fill with tears. 

“Hi, my boy.”

“To place a call outside of the hospital, please press nine.”

Eddie does as the automated voice tells him and leans back in his chair. You let your head loll to the side, the scratchy pillow brushing against your cheek as you watch your husband. This brief respite from contractions allows you to smile when you hear the echo of Ryan’s voice come from the phone.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, grinning as well. “How was school?”

“Good! Isthebabyhereyet?” 

His eagerness makes Eddie chuckle. 

“No, no baby yet. Just figured I’d check in with you guys.”

“What he say?!” Luke shouts in the background. 

“No baby!” Ryan tells him. 

The phone shuffles back and forth before Luke says, “Just share it!”

“Uh, you both there?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah!” they say at the same time. 

“Did you ask—”

“Not yet, I—”

Eddie tilts his head to the side as they bicker. He somehow deciphers that they want to talk to you.

“You can talk to her if you hush up and behave.”

Both boys fall silent at that. There’s a small pause before Ryan says, “Okay.”

“Good.” Eddie nods and hands the phone over to you.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” two young voices call at the same time. 

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks.

As if his question summoned it, a contraction rears its ugly head. Your forehead furrows as you try to ignore it and focus on the conversation with the boys.

“I’m doing okay.”

“Do you hurt?” Luke asks. 

Your free hand bangs against the bed rail in an attempt to keep from shouting in pain. Eddie sits up straighter in his chair, concern filling his eyes. He motions to the phone, silently asking if you want him to take it back. 

“Little bit,” you grit out to answer Luke while shaking your head to answer Eddie. 

“Did they give you any medicine?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, a while ago. So, uh, what did you guys do at school today?”

“Nothing really,” Luke says. “Oh, you and Dad have to come down to the school and get the meat thermometer.”

“The what?” you ask. 

“The meat thermometer.”

“Luke, what are you talking about?”

Eddie looks at you, questioningly, and you shrug your shoulders. 

“Me and my friend Kevin wanted to test the temperature of the cafeteria hot dogs, so I brought the meat thermometer. But then we got caught and the lunch lady took it. So now you need to get it.”

“You did what?” You hear Wayne’s muffled shout. 

“We wanted to make sure it was safe!” Luke defends. 

The contraction finally releases you and you’re able to relax as much as you can in the lumpy hospital bed. 

“What about you, Ry?” you ask.

“I didn’t care how hot the meat was,” he says, completely serious.

You laugh and it helps your body wash away that lingering whisper of pain.

“No,” you say. “What did you do at school today?”

“We have to write papers for history class, and we started today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the paper on?” you ask, trying to think of anything except the next contraction. 

“Everyone got assigned some kind of job we have to study. I got dentist.”

“And what did you learn today?” As much as Luke’s shenanigans can keep you entertained, they can also stress you out. But Ryan loves to go into detail about what he’s working on at school and this shall hopefully provide you with a relaxing distraction. 

“Uhh…” Ryan hums as he thinks. “The first dental school in America was founded by Horace H. Hayden and Chaplin A. Harris.”

“When?” you press.

“1840. In Maryland, in case you were gonna ask!”

It’s impossible not to smile at how well the boy knows you.

“Good job, Ry,” you tell him. “I’m proud of you.”

The beginnings of a new contraction appear, and your fingers tighten around the phone receiver. You spy your doctor out in the hallway and use it as an excuse.

“Alright, boys,” you start, “my doctor is coming so I gotta go, okay? Daddy will call when there’s an update.”

“Okay,” Ryan says.

“Love you!” Luke adds.

“I love you both, too. 

Eddie hangs up the phone for you just as your doctor actually does walk into your room. 

“How are we feeling Mrs. Munson?” she asks you. 

You’ve been “Mrs. Munson” for eight months now but it still gives you butterflies every time you hear it.

“Contraction-y,” you tell Dr. Hahn. 

She chuckles and nods her head in understanding. 

“That makes sense, you know, with the contractions and all.” She tugs two medical gloves out of the box marked “medium”. “Alright, I’m just gonna check how your dilation is going.”

As you lay back to let the doctor do her thing, Eddie leans forward and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Should I be concerned about whatever it is that Luke did now?” he asks. 

“I think it’s okay,” you say with a chuckle. “Apparently, you just have to go to school to pick up a meat thermometer he brought to check the temperature of the school hot dogs.”

Eddie stares at you, his face almost as blank and emotionless as you’ve ever seen it. You can practically see his brain attempting to digest this information, but it thinks it’s reading the data incorrectly. 

“He what?” Eddie finally asks.

Luckily, Dr. Hahn saves you from admitting you have no idea what goes on in the mind of Luke Munson. 

“Well, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn says, “the time has arrived. You’re fully dilated now; time to start pushing.”

You’ve known all along that you’d have to do this—hell, you’ve known it for about eight months now—but the reality of actually pushing a person out of your body is sobering. How did this moment finally arrive? Weren’t you and Eddie just sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting for the results of the pregnancy test? And now you’re supposed to start pushing? You feel as if you’ve had no time to prepare. Prepare for this labor, prepare for taking the baby home, prepare to be a fully-fledged mom to a newborn. 

A moment of serenity washes over you as your mind reminds you of one important factor, though: this is your and Eddie’s baby. You are bringing a child into this world that is half you and half the man you love. A baby who is the product of the love that you both easily fell into and fought like hell to make work. Suddenly, labor doesn’t seem so bad. It may hurt, but to you it is a privilege and honor to bring this little girl, and everything she stands for, into the world. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah,” you assure him with a small smile. “I’m ready to meet our baby.”

The infectious grin that spreads on Eddie’s face warms your heart and gives you a boost of strength to get this show on the road.

Eddie stands up as Dr. Hahn gets everything situated. He slips his hand into yours and leans down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here with you, princess,” he says softly. “You’re the strongest woman—no, person I know.”

His words have your eyes filling with tears and the hormones certainly aren’t helping. 

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, here comes another contraction,” Dr. Hahn says, looking at the monitors that you’re hooked up to. “We’re gonna try pushing on this one, Mrs. Munson, okay?”

“Okay.”

The wobble in your voice is clear. Eddie presses a kiss to the back of your hand. Just as his lips brush your skin, you feel the now-familiar pressure that precedes a contraction. 

“Oof,” you groan as the intensity increases.

“Alright, now…push,” Dr. Hahn instructs. 

You take the deepest breath that your pain will allow, grit your teeth, and clutch your husband’s hand as you begin to push.

“Great job, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn praises. “Keep it going.”

And it does keep going. And going. And going. 

But fifty-three minutes later, you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

Shrill, high-pitched wails fill the room, and you immediately begin sobbing. 

“Here she is,” Dr. Hahn says, holding her at an angle you can see. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”

Even covered in vernix and blood, your new daughter is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. A nurse places her on your chest, and the moment you feel that skin-to-skin contact with her, you’re done for. She already has you wrapped around her little finger.

The newborn continues her cries, escalating to a new pitch every time she gets another lungful of air. It’s as if she’s a royal, informing all her subjects of her many woes. 

Eddie leans in and kisses your lips, the tears on your face mingling with the ones on his. When your husband pulls back to stare at his baby girl, his face is filled with awe and adoration. 

“She’s here,” he whispers to no one in particular. 

“Do you want to cut the cord, Mr. Munson?” Dr. Hahn asks.

Eddie reaches for the scissors a nurse is holding out to him and he has them in his hand before you could say “Ryan and Luke’s new baby sister.”

This is Eddie’s third time doing this, so he knows right where to line the scissors up even before Dr. Hahn instructs him. Eddie severs the cord and a nurse takes the baby so she can have a proper cleaning. 

Neither your nor Eddie’s eyes leave the newborn as she’s swaddled up in a nice warm blanket.

“Do we have a name yet?” The nurse asks as she slides a pink hat onto the tiny baby’s head.

“Eliza,” you say proudly. Tears fill your eyes at the sound of her name out loud. Out loud now that she’s here. This precious little bean that’s been growing inside of you for so long is finally here, a real little person you get to hold and love on. 

“Eliza Marie Munson,” Eddie says, the same emotions that you’re going through reflecting in his voice. 

“Well, Dad,” the nurse says as she picks up Eliza and turns towards Eddie. “Would you like to hold your baby girl Eliza?”

Your husband nods emphatically, reminding you of Luke when he’s asked if he wants to go to the toy store. The nurse gently transfers Eliza to her father’s arms, and you watch as his face morphs as he holds his daughter for the first time.

“H-Hi, Eliza.” Eddie sniffs and clears his throat, trying to shove the tears away. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I can’t believe that I actually have a daughter.” Slowly, Eddie leans in to press his lips to her soft, smooth forehead. Eliza coos and her face scrunches up adorably. “You wanna know something, Eliza? You have the best mommy in the world. And now I have the two most perfect girls in the world.”

Eddie looks up at you with a gentle smile. Tears are falling down your cheeks so rapidly that it feels like you’re playing whack-a-mole as you try to wipe them all away. 

Your husband stands next to the bed and nods at you, signaling for you to ready your arms for the baby. You gladly accept the warm little bundle, and more tears begin to cascade as you gaze down at her gorgeous little face. 

“Hi, baby girl. I’m your mommy.” Saying the words aloud sounds odd to your ears. Sure, you’ve basically been a mother to Luke and Ryan for years now, but you never introduced yourself to them as “mommy.” But that’s what you are, from Eliza’s first breath, you’re her mom for her entire life. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He reaches down and rubs a warm hand against your shoulder.

“I’m wonderful,” you say. “It’s weird, though. Having Eliza from this very first moment of her life, I now wish even more that I could’ve known the boys as soon as they came into the world.”

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Trust me, princess. This has been the least dramatic and stressful of all the kids’ births.”

You chuckle as well, and the sound seems to tickle Eliza. Her tiny head moves from side to side slowly, as if she’s shaking her head no in slow motion.

“I can’t wait for them to meet her,” you say.

“Guess I need to make a phone call home.”

The door to the hospital room clearly needs some oil as it squeaks open. Wayne steps inside, a curious Ryan in his arms. The almost-two-year-old gazes around the room with wide eyes, taking in all the unfamiliar equipment.

“Hey, you!” Eddie says as he takes the little boy from his uncle. “Did you have a good day with Grandpa?”

“Yep,” Ryan says, still taking in his new surroundings. “Play catch.”

“You played catch?” Eddie asks, his pitch rising in that faux excitement adults use when talking to young children.

“Uh huh!”

“That sounds like fun. Guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re a big brother now,” Eddie tells him. 

“Baby?” Ryan asks.

“Yes! Mommy had the baby. Do you want to meet him?”

Ryan nods enthusiastically, trying to look around his dad’s head to catch a glimpse of his mother. She comes into view as Eddie turns and walks towards the hospital bed, where Brittany is cradling a sleeping Luke. 

Eddie gently sets his older son down on the bed next to his mom.

“Hi, Ryan,” Brittany says softly. “Come here, look at the baby.”

Cautiously, Ryan shuffles forward and peers at the blanket-wrapped bundle.

“This is your little brother, Ry,” Eddie says. “You guys are going to be best friends.” 

“Do you want to hold him, Wayne?” Brittany asks, fighting back a yawn.

“‘Course.” 

Brittany carefully hands him over, and Wayne looks down at his new grandson in absolute wonder.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest baby?” Wayne says to Luke.

As the older man cradles the baby, Ryan stands up and taps his dad’s arm. Eddie hums in question and raises his eyebrows at the toddler.

“Up, up,” Ryan says, holding his arms up.

It melts Eddie’s heart that Ryan wants to be held up next to his new brother. The room is quiet, save for the echoes of hospital sounds drifting in. 

Luke starts to squirm, unable to move much in his swaddled state. 

“Britt?” Eddie looks over his shoulder at his wife. “Do you have the pacifier?”

“Oh, yeah.” The blue pacifier that Luke has already shown an affinity for is on the bedside table, and Brittany hands it to her husband, who pops it into the baby’s mouth. Immediately, Luke calms back down, sucking furiously as he slips back into sleep.

Ryan leans over as far as he can in his dad’s arms, peering down at his brother in awe.

“My baby,” Ryan declares.

The adults in the room chuckle. 

“Can you say hi to Luke, Ryan?” Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down the elder boy’s back.

Ryan grins, his adorable baby teeth on display. He’s mesmerized by the new family member, and it fills Eddie with a warmth he’s never felt before. Ryan tries to lean over even more, wanting to be as close as possible.

“Hi, Luke!”

The comfortable quiet in the hospital room cocoons you, your husband, and your daughter as you all lounge in the bed. Your head rests on Eddie’s shoulder while Eliza sleeps soundly in his arms. Both of you are just staring at her, already completely wrapped around her little finger.

“She’s so beautiful,” you whisper. 

“Just like her mom,” Eddie replies, just as quiet. 

“Her mom needs a shower,” you say. “Badly. I feel all gross after getting all sweaty.”

“You still looked gorgeous, even giving birth.” Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair. 

The slight movement causes Eliza to fuss, wiggling like a little worm in her father’s grip. Her whines hurt your heart.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie coos. He lays his head against yours.

Eddie begins to hum, and you quickly recognize the song as Sweet Child O’ Mine. All it takes is a minute of her dad’s soothing tone to lull the baby girl right back to sleep.

[cevans-is-classic]

18+ Only. Mommy issues/kink, submissive Homelander, sexual themes, language, drug use.

My Master Post

Homelander

First part: Selfish Boy

Second Part: Listen to me

@chocolate-floof for non sexual homelander fics

It takes four days before he feels his hands itching to touch you.

Four days since he’s felt your touch, smelled your hair, heard your voice. 

Four days of being surrounded by idiots or sycophants

Things are worse. 

No matter what step he takes everything crumbles before his eyes and he can only bullshit his way for so long.

He needs you more than ever before — maybe he should keep you here? 

Hide you in a place only he knows.

Somewhere no one else can touch you, where he has you ready day in and day out. 

He’s dreamed of being here, wrapped in your arms, floating in that wonderful place where he doesn’t exist. 

You were here — your voice being used to soothe others — while he was in a tailspin.

Sage betrayed him, A-Train dug out his tracker, and Ryan? He keeps that in the back of his mind, refusing to feel the heartache he carries. 

Ryan is his son, and he loves him. 

He should listen to him. 

“Well?” He snaps his head to the left. 

You leaned on your windowsill, arms crossed, the sun rings a circle of light in your hair. He can’t make his mouth work. You’re smiling at him, head cocked to the side with a fondness in your eyes. 

He wants to hurt you

 “What?”

You raise a brow. “Are you going to come in? Not to complain, but people will notice a superhero on my porch.” 

Oh. 

He straightens his back when you roll your eyes. The window closes with a suction noise — the screen sliding down. He watches until you disappear, then waits for the door to open. 

It does. 

He sees what you’re wearing and nearly begs to touch you. 

“Come on, Johnny.” 

Stepping over your threshold relaxes his shoulders and covers him in warmth and safety. Your house smells like warm flowers and lemon, faint, hanging in the air. 

Your arms are around him before he takes in the candles around the room. He’s watching the group of them burn, thickening the smell. Your arms startle him when you wrap around his neck, your toes tipping to bring your face close to him. Your nose nudges his ear, humming tunelessly. 

Homelander isn’t sure if he should touch you. 

He wants to. 

“It’s okay, Baby. I want you to hold me.” It tastes like chocolate on his tongue when he swallows it, the sweetness of it travels into his lungs. 

He sighs and pulls you in, his hands landing on your hips. He bumps his forehead against you until you notch your head back and smile up at him.

“Why did you come to me, hmm? What can I do for my good boy?”

He isn’t a fan of music. The mumbled lyrics about dying or useless love-drunk teenagers being drilled into people’s minds. It played too loud, danced too much, and talked about it. 

He doesn’t listen to music, but he listens to you.

Your voice rings in his ears. 

He sees the light behind his eyes, pink, soft, trickling down to his chest where it heats his heart. The soft murmurs a symphony in his head, he keeps listening as he lifts you into your arms and carries you to the guest room. 

Not your room. 

He doesn’t deserve your room. 

“Johnny,” he rests you on the bed, “Come here.” 

Stepping back, Homelander takes all of you in. Your leg stretches, sliding your feet along the sheets. Your arms stretch over your head the blue cropped shirt rising to show the barest hint of your chest. 

If he wanted to, he could reach in and rip your heart out. Hold it in his fists and squeeze as he watches you choke to death. 

It’d be easy. 

He’d be able to shove pieces of it into your mouth and down your throat while the light dies from your eyes. 

Homelander crawls towards you, sliding between Your legs touching your stomach with his nose and into the curve of your chest.

“John.” 

He whimpers.

“You came to me for a reason, Johnny. Mind sharing with the class?” 

He shakes his head but feels the lie in his core. 

He came to you to unwind, be free, and let someone else control him the way he deserves. His head hasn’t stopped spinning and the urge to wrap around himself until he’s a small little boy again aches in his chest. 

The Homelander needs nothing. 

He’s perfect.

You guide his head to rest on your chest, carding through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp. He whimpers into you nuzzling his nose along your collar trying to find comfort, find his safe place. 

“You need someone to care about you.” Your voices drizzle honey over his body, “My baby boy. You’re such a powerful hero saving people, smiling for cameras and controlling those around you. It gets tiring being what others expect of you, but even more so when you know nothing else, yes, baby?” 

It hurts him to hear those words. 

To hear someone telling him the truth.

“I need you.” His nose your chest seeking your nipple. 

You smack his cheek, “That special, you selfish boy. You don’t deserve it.”

John whimpers again, whining, whistling from his nose. 

He craves you.

“You know what you deserve?” He blinks up at you, feeling excitement stir in his chest. It drips arousal to his core, tingling his legs, and making his body shake. 

“What do I deserve, Mommy?” He sounds desperate.

You hum gliding your fingers down his nose, tracing his lips to trail along his neck and push his Adam’s Apple in. John choked for a fraction of a second, fear mingling with the burning in his stomach. 

He can’t choke to death.

They tried. 

Sucking the air from his lungs until he choked, but it never stopped,d there was always more. They were endless about it, how deep he can swim, how high he can fly. 

“What do you think, My Sweet Boy?.” You stopped pushing against his neck, moving your hand down his chest. He’s still wearing the suit. It gives him vertigo being in this place with you whispering in his ear making him into John not Homelander all by your hand trailing over his suit top. 

He watches you walk your fingers over the muscles in his suit. Embarrassment flames in his chest knowing that all the fucking suits. He’s flat, stomach rock hard but he can’t get visible abs. Only a tight stomach that tapers into sharp hip bones showing off his lean build. 

He hates himself. 

“A kiss?” He’d beg for your lips on his.

“I don’t think so.” A warm blanket drags across his skin, prickling goosebumps to life. His nipples tingle with the softest brush over them to make his hips jerk, mind going fuzzy. 

You aren’t touching beneath his suit. 

“I think you deserve to want more, to crave more, but not have it.” His skin turns icy. The warmth of your voice disappears. Freeze burns his skin a blanket of frost replaces the safe, home, warm feeling.

“But-”

“What was that?” You stop touching him. 

Losing your hands ghosting over him is excruciating.

You should touch him, kiss him, let him sink deep like he deserves because he’s the strongest superhero. 

The best superhero. 

He’s perfect and perfection deserves whatever perfection wants. 

“I want you.” 

“Do you?” Your nails are at his neck. John doesn’t feel the pain. He feels the dig into his skin, your words pouring ice into his veins. Every nerve is light up, burning, aching.

 He feels too hot and too cold all at once. 

Tears burn his eyes.

“Do you want me, or do you want to be in control? The more you hold back, the more you refuse to let me in the colder you’ll be. I can make you drop deeper than the ocean. You won’t know what’s good or what’s bad because selfish, naughty boys don’t deserve to feel good.” 

“I deserve nothing.” He cries, “Nothing.” John sobs, deep heavy sobs that rattle his chest. He cries into your collar, begging out loud for your forgiveness. 

John wants the warmth to come back. “Please.” He cries.

He wants the pain to stop, the reeling in his mind that takes him away from his floating place. All he wants is to fall into the silk wrap of your voice and let you hold him.

“That’s right, baby boy.” 

He takes a breath. 

The blanket returns.

“You deserve nothing but what I wish to give you. Everything else you take and take, but here in this room, in my arms, you only have what I want you to have.” Your fingers are back in his hair, stroking it back, pulling tight at the base. 

You come into view with the harsh tug of his scalp. “You’re beautiful.” 

His tears fall in fiery streaks down his cheeks. “I’m not - I don’t-”

You pop his cheek, “You deserve what I give you. If I say you’re beautiful, you do not argue with me, boy. Now say it.” 

He can’t see you past the pool of tears. “I’m,” His voice trembles, “I’m beautiful.” 

Another pop, “Louder.” 

He sobs, “I’m beautiful.” 

Another pop, harder, followed by a brush of your fingers, “Almost, baby, I want to believe you but I don’t.”

Shame boils his stomach the bile burning his throat.

He wants to make you happy. He wants to keep you happy and he can’t. When you’re not happy — he’s stuck in those ugly dark places inside himself. 

“I’m beautiful.” It comes out clear, strong, the voice of a real man and not the Vought-made man he is, “I’m beautiful.” 

“Yes, baby.” Silk over his skin, clouds rested beneath him, helping him float. “You are beautiful, my sweet boy. All of you.” The snap of his suit flap pricks the fog in his mind. He feels your hand slide in, pulling the other snaps. His suit becomes looser, falling from his frame, your nails dragging over his undershirt. 

“All wrapped up in this patriotic suit, like a gift. I like gifts, fun ones too, gifts that I can play with. Do you like gifts, Johnny?” He waits for you to undo his suit pants. Instead, you grab his hands, untangling them from your shirt. He follows you as you press your lips to his knuckles.

His cock throbs, stomach tightening. 

Your lips aren’t his to have.

He must earn every single one. 

You kiss the top of his head with a long, searing kiss.

John wants you to kiss him everywhere, over his ribs, licking his nipples until he shivers.

He wants them all.

If he gets nothing but your kiss, he’ll break apart from pleasure. 

“I want you to go change. I have your soft clothes in the closet. Be sure to brush your teeth and comb your hair.” 

“What-” 

“I want you to feel snug. I want to hold you until you fall asleep and I can’t do that in this, can I? You want me to take care of you, right?” 

With heavy legs, he steps up from the bed. The sheets rustle, then your hands drape over his shoulders, pulling the suit top off. The eagles make a dull thud when they hit the ground and the skin of Homelander sheds. You come up his chest from his ribs, hands sliding beneath his shirt to lift and lift until he pulls it over his head. 

You hum warm hands following the path of his spine. “Beautiful indeed.” 

He shivers, groin tightening again, cock kicking in his pants. 

Pleasure radiates from your words of appreciation. Your cooing sounds as your hands travel back up his ribs to his chest. You squeeze what little he has, praise him for being strong, and flick your thumbs over his nipples. 

His body shakes, and trembles, he’s worried his knees will give out when you kiss his shoulder and it blooms pure pleasure inside him.

“Take your pants off.” He undoes the snaps, letting your hands follow his when he pushes them down. 

“I should make you wear panties.” He moans, deep, dragging from his chest, and he wants it.

He wears the satin kind that wraps around his cock like a fucking hug.

You asked him once, kicked your legs when he dropped his pants and showed the silk blue panties. The black bow stretched from the curve of his cock and you’d cooed at him as he leaked. 

“Please.” 

You chuckle, “Go into the closet, baby, get your clothes, and come back out here.” 

He forgot to kick off once to fly. He rose higher than before but couldn’t straighten himself out and free-fell to the ground. Leaving you behind in your bed, if only to change clothes, feels scarier than falling to his death.

(He thought so at fourteen, at least)

He goes as told first to the adjoining bathroom to find his toothbrush and scrub his mouth raw. Afterwards, with mint stinging his tongue he steps into the closet flicking on the light as he steps inside. Instinct that takes him to the dresser on the left old wood, and broken handles. The shirts are in the second drawer and he pulls a soft green one from the confines followed by a pair of shorts that stop mid-thigh. 

You smile at him when he wears them, crooking your finger and beckoning him closer. 

You laid out on the bed again, a joint in your fingers the smoke rising from your lips in concentric rings. He follows them with his eyes as he steps closer, hitching his knee onto the bed. You open your legs, guiding him to slide between them, and lay back on your chest. 

The smoke smells that pungent weed smell he detests. 

Drugs only worked on him in copious amounts and what’s the point of that when a simple word from you is the greatest high he’s ever experienced?

“Mommy-” You take another drag, blowing it out then sucking in another. He hears your heart slowing down, feels your body relax under him, and knows happy snuggles are his to have. 

When the joint has burned to your fingers, you stubbed it on your nightstand, burning marks into the deep wood, “Come here, Sweet Boy.” Your leg drapes over his hip as the other settles to the side. One hand goes to his hair and the other rests on his back. “Rest. If you’re good, I’ll give you a surprise.” 

He closes his eyes with a smile.

[infernalodie]

𝐖𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 || 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐎𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐚

“𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘺𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤“

Inspo: Bryson Tiller - We Both Know Ryan Beatty - Multiple Endings

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: You two were stuck with one another...

Warnings: Smut, strap-on, soft as hell but still angsty.

Words: 1616

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

So much space.

So much time.

She wasn’t yours and you weren’t hers, but you were trying to make it something. Trying to build something on the monthly hookups the two of you shared. Or the meet-ups that were away from the public eye.

Even when she yelled at you over the phone, pushing you further away, you still wrote to her. Because although it may have been your ego still intact from the pretties girl on the planet braiding you for using her, she was stuck with you, much as you were with her. The nights spent together were some of the best you saw yourself having since you put everything into making her feel at home. You gave her a separate bed to sleep if she wasn’t there for sex. You made the best meals you could so she didn’t leave with an empty stomach. And you gave your ear for her to rant about work and whatever left her stressed out.

You allowed her to lean on you for space from agents, fans, and paparazzi. And even though she never explicitly said how she felt, the sex spoke enough. How her lips pressed to yours. How her hips rolled back on her favourite strap. How soft her voice was with you after the matter. It felt like she spelt how she felt about you with her tongue every heated kiss. Painting a picture that was the ideal ending to this chase.

So many meaningless fights of her tearing you piece by piece, trying to force an argument that had little to no importance than what was right in front of her. You knew you weren’t the ideal girl. You knew she wanted something with a strong foundation. And you wanted to be that collum she could cling to during hard times.

But it felt like there were multiple outcomes to this issue.

Too many factors in an equation that you don’t have the skill to solve.

Yet, with the rain pelting against your apartment windows, and thunder echoing out in the night sky, you could push it to the back of your mind. Fixating on the girl bent over in front of you. Body bare to display the beautiful curves of her figure and bruises of your lips sucking at her flesh.

Jenna’s makeup was smeared into the silk sheets. Drool spilled from her swollen lips and soaked the fabric. She was absent from any thoughts that could be logical. Only focused on the way your hands kneaded at her ass. You were grabbing at the fat and forcing her back on the strap, ripping a moan from the trembling girl. Her knees shaking at the initial intrusion.

It must’ve been the 3rd time she’d cummed. At this point, her mind became jumbled with too many things that could allow her to be coherent with anything. All that was coherent was your whispered praises and a strap that had a white creamy ring around the base. Something she would be embarrassed to see. She knew it would boost your ego because she knew you were the only one able to make her like this. You were the only one to have her broken as she was.

Tiredly, you leaned over her with your hands caging her head. But it pulled a whine from the girl's lips when the harness was pressed to her skin. Able to feel the radiating heat of your body mending with her own. You kissed softly to her temple, letting your hips thrust languidly. And daringly, hoping to help to guide her hand in crafting the painting, your hands slid over hers, fingers interlocking.

She didn’t make a noise besides the mewls rolling from her lips. Nothing that could tell you there was a clear line in the sand becoming obscured by your crossing. And if there was going to be a fight after this, you would enjoy her moment of vulnerability.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, words spoken into her cheek which you gently kissed. “Taking me so well.”

All that was returned was a moan at a particularly hard pound of your hips. Sharp and abrupt from the softness you were providing. Usually, you would as hard as possible. Give her a sense of relief from everything going on in her busy lifestyle. But tonight, after missing her for a few months, you wanted to take your time. Build her up on a podium of ecstasy before ripping it right out from underneath her.

As gently as you could, you lifted her trembling frame to be flush with yours. Sweat pressing against one another with warm breaths intertwining. Your hands moved in slow and calculated movements. Running over each curve and imperfection Jenna thought was unworthy to be shown to her partners. But you caressed each with a delicacy you could only give. Praising her body to be nothing less than divine creation.

Finding balance with one hand pressed to her stomach, you grounded your hips against her ass. Eyes flickering shut by Jenna’s arms reaching back and sliding through your hair, nails digging into your scalp. You leaned in close, lips pressing to her shoulder and all the way up to her neck.

With your other hand, you slipped down and found solace with your fingers pressing to her clit. Initially, it was sudden tight circles traced into the bud. But with each choked moan that escaped Jenna, the circles were vigorous and desperate. A completely different trajectory from what once as she thought you were wanting to go.

Jenna’s breaths were short and choked as she lifted her head with a hazy vision. Your defined tempo set her on the road to her release. And with one of your hands firmly pressing against her stomach and the other toying with her clit, she was reaching the end of the path quickly.

Firm pats were placed against her clit, sending her body into overdrive and snapping the knot that had been there since her last climax. Leaving her crying in your arms, body attempting to bend and writhe against your sheets. But you held her close, pressing soft and delicate kisses to her vibrating body. “There you go, sweetheart. Just let go. Good girl~” You praised, hips languidly thrusting to help her down from the high until she was panting in your hold.

When you let her go, she safely slipped off your pieces. Mewling in sensitivity before rolling onto her side, sweeping strands from her sweaty forehead. Leaving you to undo the harness and let it drop by your feet. Sitting on the edge of the bed right by her feet. A hand resting on her thigh and rubbing the limb gently, smiling faintly at its faint twitches.

These moments after all the sex or even when the two of you just sat in the room in silence, it was the most normal you got from Jenna. It’s where you allowed yourself to fantasize. But you knew that in a minute or two, she would already be telling you she was leaving and would give you a call the next time she came into the city. Leaving you to nod quietly and show her out before you were left alone for another long duration of months.

The cycle would continue for however long either of you saw it being ideal for your lives.

Jenna cleared her throat, exhaling heavily as she walked to her panties you had tossed dismissively 2 hours ago and slipped them on. “I’ll be back in 3 months. I have some reshoots for a movie, so I won’t be able to text or call much,” she explained. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Why don’t you stay for a bit longer?” You inquired, gaining the girl’s attention. “You could stay over or something.”

The proposition made Jenna smile. Not one of interest, but amusement. “This is “no strings attached” remember?” Jenna reminded, shakily slipping her jeans on with trembling legs. “I’m trying to make it so coming here doesn’t bring any media wondering what I do with my free time.”

“So, this can’t ever be anything?” You murmured, somewhat hoping that your voice was blocked out by the rain hitting your bedroom window. But from how Jenna tensed at the question, you knew your wish had been denied.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, continuing to dress herself. “As much as I would love to go over the specifics of our agreement, I don’t have time. I got work tomorrow.”

Biting your bottom lip, you nodded to yourself.

You must’ve been mistaken by your own clouded thoughts. Maybe it was all in your head. Although that was likely the truth, you hated the idea of it. After placing all your chips on red, you’d taken the risk of bringing her into your space and life. And you thought she would’ve understood that and maybe garnered some feelings.

Seeing her out, she didn’t bid you farewell or give you a glance in acknowledgment. Simply the cold shoulder. Enough for you to know that the mood had been disfigured by your wants and needs. And when you shut that front door, you turned to the living room with windows spanning across the room, you felt that familiar tingle at the tip of your nose.

No matter how far you tried to go, forgetting her. Or how much work she drowned herself in, the two of you would end up back here—pronouncing love in the twist of bodies and weightless moans until either of you worked up some courage to speak the truth.

You just hoped it would come sooner than later.

[seeingivy]

lacy, oh lacy

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: oopsie. mentions of blood/injury. I think drinking is like briefly mentioned at one point.

an: ok. ok. the song line up in this one is so random i swear.

songs mentioned: peace by taylor swift, city of stars by ryan gosling and emma stone, promiscuous by nelly, lacy by olivia rodrigo

previous part linked here

--

You return home and stay there for an entire month, despite protests from Danny and Sareen. But anytime they try to push back, you remind them. 

Your older brother split his head open because someone threw a brick through his window. Because of a situation they got you involved in. 

Granted, they’re not fully to blame since you did agree to it, but Levi and Hange vehemently disagree. The two of them were very passionate about the fact that managers have a responsibility to protect their artists and the fact that Danny and Sareen even asked you to do something like this has them fuming. And by them, you mean Levi. He yelled at them on the phone after the pictures dropped. 

Regardless, your contract with them won’t be over until the end of the year. The only way you can terminate is if you break the deal with the record company, but then you have to promise them majority royalties that you make with any other songs you release until the two years are up. 

Which isn’t bad. You could just not write music for two years. But there’s some sense of loyalty, a need to maintain face so someone else does sign with you later on, you’ve proved you’ll be loyal. And that your records won’t suffer because of internal politics. 

But for now, all you’re focused on is Colt and Falco. 

Falco, who is quite literally a human cat (in the cute way, not the Catoru Gojo way), is currently nestled up in your lap and fast asleep. After two hours of playing Rocket League, which you actually suck at, and then another two hours of arguing about how stupid the game is (cars playing soccer???), he finally passed out. 

Colt knocks, the scar along his hairline bright red, as he hands you a bowl of cereal and settles onto your bed with his laptop. Which he’s been doing often lately - lingering around in your room, never leaving you alone. Hovering. 

He’s applying for summer internships, because apparently that’s a thing that normal people and not celebrities do. Not that you would know anything about that. 

“Thanks Colt.” 

He gives you a hum as he types away on his laptop, his jaw clenched in concentration. But all you can do is stare at that bright red line near his golden blonde hair and how angry it looks. There’s four sets of stitches in place, the area around the entire mark so pink and swollen. And he’s blinking too hard, eyes squinting at the laptop even though the brightness is all the way down. Meaning, his head is still hurting. You make a mental note to call the doctor again tomorrow. 

“Y/N.” 

“What?” 

“Quit staring.” 

“I’m not staring. And stop being so loud, Coco is sleeping.” you whisper. 

“Were you born yesterday? He’d sleep through the apocalypse if he had to.”

You bring your hand down to Falco’s hair, soft under your touch, as he snores into your legs. 

“Not lately. Y-yesterday, he came into my room crying in the middle of the night. Said he had a nightmare of glass shattering but it was just someone parking across the street.” 

Colt looks over, his glasses resting against his nose, and gives Falco a worried look. 

“He just- he was there when it happened, that’s all.” Colt murmurs, voice all quiet.

“You never told me what did happen.” 

Colt closes the screen of his laptop and sets the computer in between you, as he readjusts on his side. His hand is now in Falco’s hair, making a mess of his already matted hair. 

“I-I was sitting in your room.”  

“Huh? Why?” 

“I do that when I miss you. Just sit in here, with Chelsea and all these god awful posters you have.” 

You smile, reaching forward to squeeze his hand which he rolls his eyes at. 

“You’re cute. You miss me?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Okay, Jesus.” 

“Falco came to sit with me too. Also, he totally ate chocolate on your bed and spilled some on the carpet.” 

“Remind me to kill him when he wakes up. Is that what’s under that god awful rug you guys put in here?” you respond, grating your teeth. 

He ignores the comment all together and keeps going. 

“I kept getting a lot of texts from my classmates and stuff like that, like a few hours after. About the pictures of you and the rumors and all that. And I called you and Eren picked up and he told me about how you came to him, all bloody and cold. He told me that you were finally sleeping so he didn’t wake you. Said to call him back if I needed something.” 

Sweet, sweet Eren. 

“And then I heard it. This rustling, by the side doors. Now, I know that Sandra putting the trash cans back is really loud from your room, but it was Friday. Trash day is on Tuesday. So I peeked my head out the window to see what the noise was and that’s when they threw the brick. It went through the glass and hit me.” 

You clench his hand, which he shakes his head at. He’s rubbing small circles into your skin as he keeps going, his voice so hollow it bothers you. 

“I fell over. Started bleeding onto your carpet and Falco finally noticed. And, and he was holding my head trying to stop the bleeding. He figured it was the right thing to do after how much Grey’s Anatomy you’ve forced him to watch. Mom and Dad came in and I told them to call Eren and not you, because you were probably still asleep. Eren sent us a security detail super fast, he said it’s the one he’s been using since he was a kid so we can trust them. They got here in like twenty minutes and did the stitches on me.” 

You look at him and he wraps his arms around you, Falco meshed in between the two of you. And you stay that way for a while, in each other's embrace, as the guilt sits with you. And when Colt falls asleep too, you reach for your notebook and scribble the lyrics down. 

As long as danger is near And it's just around the corner, darling 'Cause it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

You slide out of their embrace, leaving the two of them tangled on your bed as you hike your knees to your chest and sit on the floor to write properly. And when you lift the rug on the ground out of curiosity and piece it all together - that they’re covering up the dark, brown mark of Colt’s blood on your carpet, you keep writing. 

I’ll give you my sunshine, give you my best But the rain is always going to come if you’re standing with me  Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? 

Your phone buzzes three times and you reach for it, sliding it open to read the notification. 

eren: attachment, two images 

eren: saw you earlier today. ur face card is insane. 

You open up the picture, one of him and Lana in Los Angeles with a billboard of you in the back. You had seen them on Twitter, Spotify putting up big pictures of the Ribbons album cover, with Multi-Platinum in shiny letters right next to it. 

The first picture is of Eren and Lana blowing kisses towards the billboard of you and the second is Eren choking Lana a few seconds after. The photos are live, so you hold down and watch Eren and Lana move in the picture, Eren’s laugh coming through. 

you: please don’t choke my wife. she’s too hot to die young. 

eren: i hate you guys. i really do. 

you: are you jealous? 

eren: you were mine first >:P

eren: how’s falco? he hasn’t responded to my text since yday :/ 

you: please stop texting my thirteen year old brother. you’re such a loser. 

you: idk. he had a nightmare last night about what happened. i don’t think he’s taking it too well. 

eren: it’s hard. he’s still so little. how’s colt?

you: his cut looks like it hurts and he keeps squinting at his computer still. i feel like he’s trying to put on a brave face for me or something. 

eren: he’s older than you and he’s always taken care of you. he’s going to do that still, and you should just let him. how are you? 

You pause. 

You’re sick to your stomach. Because all you’ve been able to do is read what people say about you online. And what gets you, is that everyone thinks you’re so fake. And you think so hard, read so much into what they’re saying, that you almost start thinking it’s true. 

Is the “I’m a small town Canadian girl an act?” You haven’t lived here in years. And you can’t say you’re not famous anymore  - because you’ve literally broken records before, multiple times over. And you’re not really a fraud anymore, despite the fact that you still feel like one. You fake relationships, your friends don’t like you, and…and…..

You’re fake. Your mistakes are on display and some people think you deserve to die for it. 

eren: where’d you go?

you: sorry. im trying my best to hold on. i was just writing a song. 

eren: LEMME SEE. 

you: no. 

eren: LET ME SEE. 

You take a picture of the lyrics, messily scribbled in your book and send him a picture. And then nearly a minute later, Eren’s name is flashing across your screen and he’s calling you. You quickly walk into Falco’s room and take a seat by his little balcony, sliding the call open. 

“Hi Eren.”

“Oh, Y/N. Sweetheart.” 

And at the sound of him calling you that, of him calling you sweetheart still, has tears burning down your face and tiny sobs leaving your mouth. 

“If the rain is always going to come if I’m standing with you, I’ll just hold an umbrella.” 

“Eren.” 

“That’s how they feel about it too. Both of them. I know it’s different when it’s me because I understand, because we’re used to this, but they love you. You are enough for them, even if you come with this thing behind you. That you can’t control, mind you.” 

“I know that, Eren. But I want them to have that, I want their lives to be peaceful and I want Falco to sleep through the night without waking up. I don’t want to give Colt to get hurt because of me-” 

“Every time I call them, all I hear is them worried about you. That you’re going to pull away from them, because you’re scared of hurting them. And-and I told you how much it sucks when you’re on the other side of that. Granted, Zeke’s a sick fuck who did it to mess with me but…please don’t do that to Colt or Falco. You’re going to actually hurt them if you do that. Pull away.”  

You pause, taking in Eren’s words. Eren and Zeke. Zeke got canceled and stopped talking to Eren all together. Insulted him, made fun of him, and didn’t say anything at all. And, and it hurt him so bad that when Eren told you, that he was crying. 

No. You’re not doing that to Falco or to Colt. God forbid they feel like they’re unlovable because you can’t let them in.

“You-you’re right, Eren. Thanks. That-that actually helps.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I-I didn’t even realize. I forgot that this has happened to you. Are-are you okay? I know this type of thing can be triggering, I should have asked before.” you respond. 

He’s quiet. 

“Eren?” 

“Yeah. It-it wasn’t easy.” 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve-” 

“No, no. I don’t mean like, it wasn’t easy and you shouldn’t have come to me. It was more…eye-opening I guess. It hadn’t happened in so long that I forgot about it. It was a harsh reality check when it was you of all people knocking on my door. I hate that I can’t protect you from these types of things.” 

“I’m sorry, Eren. You-” 

You pause. What do you say? What do you say to him when this is all he’s known? All he’ll ever know? And when you know all too well that there really is nothing he can do? 

“You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. Knowing you’re here with me is enough.” 

Fucking mind reader. You hate it when he does this. 

“God. Quit reading my mind.” 

“Can’t help it. I know you like the back of my hand. And I am saying that in earnest. This shit sucks, I’ve dealt with it forever. But you make things easy. Your presence is enough comfort, okay?” 

There’s a beat on the phone call. He doesn’t speak and you don’t either. And you can feel your cheeks burning. 

“Eren?” 

“Hm?” 

“Since when do you call my brothers?” you ask, sniffling. 

“Ah, you know. Since it happened. But in all fairness, Falco calls me first most of the time.” 

“How many times have you talked to him?” 

“Like every day or every other day at least. Kid is so ridiculous.” 

“Eren. You don’t even call me that much.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“No, it’s not the same if I have to ask you to do it. And plus, your new best friend is probably going to get all mad at me.” you tease, trying not to laugh. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart. I’ll call you more, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Don’t say yeah like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“God, Y/N. Quit flirting with me or I’m going to fall in love with you.” 

Your heart does a somersault, a cartwheel, a back handspring, and everything in between. Eren throws blankets over your barbed wire and shamelessly flirts with you after like it’s nothing. 

--

The song comes out in the middle of your preliminary press tour for Ten Things I Hate About You and instantly becomes a hot topic the interviewees focus on. You’ve been stuck working all day. You can’t even comment on whether or not the song is about you if you wanted to. 

Historia released her latest single, for her new and upcoming album, called Lacy. And everyone thinks the song is about you, that it’s a response to dorothea. And when you get home from the warm lights nearly cooking you on the stage, you immediately run and pull up the video on your computer, Yuuta and Rika taking residence in your room while you do. 

The music video is simple, a black and white video of Historia and Eren in a recording studio, singing the song. Eren’s nimble hands are plucking the strings of the guitar and Historia’s sweet, soft voice is carrying the vocals. 

Ooh, I care, I care, I care Like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time Watching, hidden in plain sight And ooh, I try, I try, I try But it takes over my life, I see you everywhere The sweetest torture one could bear

You keep listening, focusing intently on how anyone could even connect the song to you. Granted, from what you’re gathering, the song is about someone Historia knows that she idolizes, focuses on so much that it makes her feel bad about herself. Like an obsession. 

You are put into constant competition with each other, down to the time your records come out. People make it a point to comment on who would become a triple threat first - her or you - or pigeon hole the tiniest details into some big feud between the two of you. The only time your song leaves the #1 spot on the top of the charts is when Historia releases a new one, the only time her movie falls in popularity is because yours comes out. 

But that doesn’t mean it’s about you. 

Ooh, I care, I care, I care Like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots You got the one thing that I want Ooh, I try, I try, I try Try to rationalize, people are people But it's like you're made of angel dust

You freeze. That’s where the connection comes in. The ribbons in your hair. Not only is your record literally called Ribbons, but the entire tour, press, even the cover of the album is you with varying colors of ribbons in your hair. 

If that’s true, then…Historia stopped talking to you because of it? Because people pit her against you one too many times and it makes her feel bad about herself? You reach for your phone. 

you: eren. 

eren: y/n. what can i do you for?

you: is lacy about me? 

eren: just saw ur lip sync battle with sukuna. i’m inconsolable. 

He’s changing the subject. Though, you were waiting for him to bring that up. Your final stop on the press tour before finishing and returning to filming was doing the infamous lip sync battle - with you and Sukuna against Yuuta and Rika. And in true Yuuta and Rika fashion, they did a super lovey dovey rendition of City of Stars, from La La Land. Which only made it funnier that you and Sukuna just sang Promiscuous and made it rain dollar bills on each other. 

you: i’m sure your heart is very broken. but quit changing the subject. 

eren: it is. i’ll never love again. 

you: eren. answer the question. you know how much this entire hisu thing has bothered me. 

eren: i’m sorry, sweetheart. you know i can’t talk about things historia told me in confidence, as much as i want to. 

you: eren. are you seriously telling me that historia stopped being my friend because OTHER PEOPLE were comparing us? that’s so stupid. 

eren: don’t pigeon hole the lyrics. you don’t even know if it’s about you. and even if it is, give historia some slack. this entire thing we do is complicated. and she’s always felt things so deeply. 

you: you’re a traitor. you’re supposed to be on my side. 

eren: sometimes being the devil's advocate is being on your side. 

you: don’t quote me back to me. being annoying isn’t a good look on you. 

You throw your phone back and replay the song. Four times, each time doing exactly what Eren told you not to do and pigeonholing the lyrics. But you keep going over it in your head. That if it really is about you, then the way you are, the success you have is so obsessive for Historia that it made her start hating herself. That she feels like she can’t compare, so much so, that she’d avoid you all together. 

It stings. You were girls together. 

The last time you talked to Historia was months ago, when you were still taking your month off and staying with Colt and Falco. And even that was an exception to her normal radio silence and the miles she put between you two. 

The call came in the middle of the night, right after you made sure Falco and Colt were both asleep. What you were expecting was Eren - who was too overprotective and kept calling to check if you were okay. But instead, Historia’s name and the picture of the two of you - fast asleep on the couch on the Attack on Titan set - was flashing across the screen. 

“Y/N?”

“Hisu? Is it really you.” 

She awkwardly laughs. 

“Yeah. Hi. I was just calling to check up on you. I would take time off to come see you like everyone else but I’m stuck on set.” 

“No problem. I-I’m staying home anyways. With Coco and Colt.” 

“That’s nice. I’m glad, you-you never were one to take a break.” 

You pause. 

“So. Um-” 

“You’re okay, right? I-I saw the pictures. The entire thing is really shitty and I’m sorry it happened to you.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. How are you?” 

“I’m about to go on release my album in a few months. Then go on tour. ” 

“Yeah, I’ve been watching all the press. You’re amazing, I-I’m really excited to listen, yeah? I’ve always been your number one fan.” 

There’s a beat. She doesn’t respond right away and the silence sticks in your mind, even if it’s only for a few seconds. 

“Thanks, Y/N. You’ve always been really sweet.” 

“You too, yeah?” 

“Listen. I have to go. But take it easy, yeah?” 

“Okay. Bye Hisu.” 

It’s static. 

You reach for your phone and pull up the chat between you and her and text. 

you: just listened to lacy, hisu. another hit, once again. 

And after you can’t help but think about it. Are these the compliments that hit like bullets on skin? She never responds. You take that as a yes. 

--

You stare at the screen, eyes focused on the texts. That have been bothering you for a few days. Five texts, all left unanswered by Eren. 

Your novelty is wearing off. Eren’s done talking to you. 

You’re making it up. You’re making it up and it’s only because you’re so used to his quick witted responses that it’s bothering you. That he hasn’t responded yet. You read them over again, double, triple checking what you said. 

you: saw this ugly toad ceramic at the store. reminded me of you. 

you: i’ll buy it for you. 

you: i think jean is going to propose to mika. and i know they’ve literally been together since we were fifteen but we are ONLY TWENTY TWO. 

you: it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other!!! 

you: armin and i were thinking of coming down for your birthday! meet all ur lil set friends and see connie again and stuff :’) 

It sits with you in a weird way. Because you know that he responded to Armin an hour ago, about his birthday. And said that it was best that you both didn’t come just because of how busy it was, that he’d probably only get to spend an hour with you guys. 

Armin is insistent on going anyway. And you just miss Eren. Sukuna pads into the room and finds you like this, with your phone flat on your bed and the way you’re leaning over the covers and staring intently at it. 

“Just climb in, why don’t you?” he mutters, falling flat on your bed. 

“Hello to you too. Why are you in my trailer?” 

“Bored. Lonely. Horny. Take your pick.” 

You roll your eyes and side shuffle to make room for him, his stupid musky smell enveloping the air. What you were expecting to be an unpleasant co-star was anything but, because you and Sukuna have slowly been sweeping hearts. 

From the way you guys argue during press, how Sukuna shamelessly flirts with you, to your shared need to fight with each other - you’re quickly ramping up the popularity around the rom-com you aren’t even done filming. 

“So. What the fuck are you staring at?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Talk.” he says sternly, lifting his hand to knock on your head. 

Absolute caveman. 

“Can I ask you a weird question?” 

“Sure.” 

“How are you so blunt?” 

He turns over, a look of confusion spread on his face. You follow suit and turn over too, eyes focused on the tattoos that litter his skin. All the way around his neck and his arms and on instinct, you nervously reach for your own. 

“Are you tired of being a pushover, Y/N?” 

“What? I’m not a pushover, I’m just-” 

You stop. Maybe not the word you would use, people pleaser seems more like the explanation for it. Maybe if you cared less about Eren, about what he thought of you, it would be easier. Maybe if you wanted him less it would be easier to be his friend.  

“I’m going to tell you something and you can’t repeat it to anyone, doll. I’m trusting you here, okay?” 

“Okay. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

“I learned quickly that you can’t let anyone have a pull on you. Because when you do, you’ll do anything. Believe anything. And it’ll be your downfall if you let it.” 

You take in his words. And he doesn’t talk for a while, eyes focused on the brown ceiling of your trailer. 

“I went a long time without doing what I felt was right. What people were pulling me to do this and that, what I had to do. And when I reached a certain point, I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror.” he says. 

“Well, I hardly doubt it was thousands, Sukuna. You’re quite irritating.” 

He brings his hand down on your face, laughing. His face is uncharacteristically soft and he resembles Yuuji too much. Granted, they are fucking twins but the expression - it’s one you’ve only seen reflected on his face and never Sukuna’s. 

“You’re tolerable when you’re like this, Y/N. You’re always such a pain in the fucking ass.” 

“You’re normal like this. It’s nice. You should do it more often.” 

There’s a beat. And he’s thinking. 

“Being blunt is the only way I’m sure. That I’m being myself, because that’s what’s coming to mind. And in a place where almost everyone is lying, trying to pit everyone else against each other and bring them down for entertainment, honesty is the only way I make it out.” 

You nod, sinking in his words. Thinking back to Sukuna, when you met him. When he was on again and off again with Hyla, how he said that he would just get pulled so deeply into things that he didn’t even realize what was going on till he was out of it. That it was blinding.

“So what was bothering you?” 

“Ah. You know, the whole Historia thing.” 

He laughs. 

“Lacy, oh lacy. Skin like puff pastry.” 

You snort. 

“I can’t even tell if that’s a compliment or not. Aren’t puff pastries really dry and crumbly?” 

“I think she meant to say pasty. Like a ghost.” he responds. 

“I don’t know, Sukuna. I guess I feel bad. That we’re always in competition and that it seems like my mere existence just makes it hard for her.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Hm?” 

“You know what Historia does when she puts you on a pedestal?” 

“What?” 

“Gives herself no room to stand next to you. And leaves you up there alone.” he says, the tone in his voice definitive. 

You pause. 

“When the fuck did you become so wise?” 

“Beauty and brains, Y/N. There isn’t a thing I can’t do.” he responds, giving you a stupid smirk. 

--

The pictures drop on Twitter three weeks later, on your last week of filming, and give you a bittersweet reaction. The first one, when you see it, makes your heart drop. Maybe even break a little. 

Eren and Hyla, all curled up on a yacht kissing each other. Eren looks great, phenomenal even, and people make no point to keep that information to themselves. He’s getting more and more fit as time goes on, the stupid sunglasses he’s wearing, and his hair long again - people are going feral for Eren Jaeger. And Hyla is Hyla - gorgeous, brilliant, and beautiful. 

Granted, this entire feeling is on you for making the assumption. That Eren taking care of you after the Ricky thing, that you guys constantly text again like you used to, is any inclination that he likes you. Especially when he started slipping away. 

It’s simple. Eren’s your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. You dropped the ball and let him go and now he’s someone else’s. 

You’re fish together because you’re friends, because you get each other. And that alone is a testament to your relationship. That it can’t be replaced. 

But it doesn’t make it sting any less. Especially when he gives you no warning beforehand. 

But in a nice, karmic way, the second picture makes it all better. It’s Eren throwing up over the side of the boat. Right after kissing Hyla. 

Eren and his sensitive stomach save the day. He’s trending for both how great he looks and for how ridiculous it is that he literally vomited after kissing his girlfriend. 

“Sukuna. Come here.” 

“Hm? What do you want?” 

“Let’s send him a picture.” you say, pointing at the pictures. 

Sukuna, in true Sukuna fashion, has printed out both pictures and framed them for the trailer. 

For Sukuna, the entire ordeal is priceless. Because Eren and Hyla being together is funny, but Hyla being so atrocious that Eren throws up after they kiss is even funnier. He’s already tweeted so much about it that everyone’s dying over Sukuna and how petty he is. Truly, the only person who could get away with this. 

You debate addressing the elephant in the room with Eren. Granted, calling a model like Hyla an elephant is almost ironic but, you digress.

If it was a big deal, he would give you a warning. So you shouldn't. But maybe you should tell him you don't care and that it's okay that he's with her.

What are you saying? He doesn't need your permission. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You put the frame against the mirror, making sure Eren can see you and Sukuna laughing in the reflection as you take a picture of the frame. And the fact that Sukuna’s not wearing a shirt, that he’s leaning all over you, should trigger some type of reaction. Or you at least hope it will. 

“Give him hell, doll. Stupid prick.” he says, shuffling away back to the other side of his trailer. 

You give him a smile as you slide open your phone, sending him the picture. And then you follow and plop onto Sukuna’s bed, which has him nearly trying to cut off your circulation by smothering a pillow in your face. 

A gentleman. 

you: eren jaeger, the man that you are 

eren: FUCKING STOP. JEAN IS ALREADY DOGGING ME ON TWITTER. 

you: an instant classic. you are never living this down, my friend. 

you: the fact that connie has said nothing yet is almost concerning. this has him written all over it. 

eren: tell sukuna i will kill him. he’s got his dirty paws ALL OVER YOU TOO

you: possessive much? 

eren: i am a simple man. and you two together has been a sore spot for me since i was sixteen. there’s only so much i can stomach. 

you: protect your peace, king. this movie is not going to be easy for you. 

eren: WHY?????

you: has a lot of smooching. and you KNOW sukuna gets carried away. 

eren: blocked. I hate you. 

eren: never talk to me again. i refuse to come to the premiere. 

you: hehe. 

eren: do NOT hehe me. im going to cry myself to sleep. do you relish in my pain? 

you: a little bit. sweet dreams!!! 

eren disliked a message. 

Sukuna leans over and reads the messages as Yuuji and Rika walk in, with Yuuta and Annie in tow. You give them all a smile as they fall onto the bed with you two, stuck in their own conversations. Annie and Rika are talking about Rika’s birthday that’s coming up and Yuuji’s too busy trying to swipe Annie’s phone, for god knows what reason. 

“This is insane. He’s all but fucking another girl on a yacht but talking to you like this? After ignoring you too?” Sukuna mutters, glaring at you. 

“It’s not like that. We-we’re just friends. And it’s funny to joke about it.” 

“You’re just friends. Yeah, and I’m the Thirteenth Disciple of Jesus, Y/N.” he responds, bitingly sarcastic. 

“You and Judas would get along.” you respond. 

“You’re being stupid. I’m not buying you ice cream when you come to me crying when he stops texting you.” 

“You would. Begrudgingly, probably while hurling a bunch of insults at me, but you would.” 

He reaches forward and flicks your forehead. A telltale sign that even he knows he would, because he isn’t rejecting the notion. Yuuta scoots over and flicks Sukuna’s hand off, giving you a smile. 

“What are you arguing about over here?” he asks, giving you a warm smile. 

“Eren.” 

“Oh, I just saw the pictures. Poor guy.” Yuuta says, an awkward hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Yuuta. Got a question.” you say, propping up on your elbows. 

You explain the whole situation to Yuuta. That you and Eren dated. And then you didn’t. And then he saved you from Ricky, that you guys were texting again, but he’s dating Hyla now, full on and out in the open. And then let him read the texts and ask him. 

“Now tell me, Yuu. Who is in the wrong?” 

“Sukuna.” 

You give Yuuta a glimmering smile as Sukuna rolls his eyes, reaching forward to headbutt both of you down into the mattress. You both protest and smack him off, giving him the finger. 

“The only person on this Earth who is more goo goo ga ga and down horrendous than you is Yuuta. You picked a biased person to intervene.” he says, seething. 

“Did not. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, quit playing dumb, doll. Yuuta and Maki are worse than you and Eren. Break up, make up, argue loud as fuck in the middle of the street, just to be kissing in the park the next day.” 

“You just don’t get it. You can’t relate to the situation, Sukuna. Sometimes you just can’t stay away. Have you ever been in love?” 

“Every time I look at you, doll.” 

“Ugh. You’re disgusting.” 

“You love it.” 

The bell rings outside the trailer, signaling the call time for set, and Sukuna makes it a point to give you his warning. 

“You’re treading on thin ice, doll. And when you fall, it’s going to be no one’s fault but your own.” 

“For someone who claims he’s not a disciple of Jesus, you sure like to act self righteous as fuck all the time.” you respond, pushing him into the food cart near the directors chair. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes as he drags you by the arm to your chairs, propped up, as you watch Yuuta and Rika take their marks, with Annie and Yuuji in the back. Sukuna’s glaring at you, bloody murder, unable to drop what he’s talking about. 

“Look. Even for normal people, it’s never a good sign to be friends with your exes. And I bet he’s already being suspicious as fuck, despite the fact that he puts this whole goofy best friend persona on and flirts with you once in a while.” 

“He does not. He-he’s not like that, all calculated and manipulative. You know him, he’s like a walking cheeseball.” 

“He was a walking cheese ball. But at some point, you become the people you surround yourself with.” 

“Okay, Sukuna. I fucking hate it when you’re all cryptic as fuck. You go on and on about how fucked up the people Eren’s around are. But you never once say what they actually do.” 

He frowns, glaring at you. 

“Why do you think Connie and Eren are fighting?” 

You pause, thrown off by the question. 

“Connie and Eren aren’t fighting. They’re like best friends. Connie’s even going to be in his next movie, Sukuna.” 

“You said it yourself. It’s weird that Connie hasn’t commented on Eren’s whole vomit-gate moment. They’re filming a movie together, but they haven’t taken any pictures. And I can bet you ten bucks that Eren hasn’t said shit about him being there.” 

You don’t respond. Because he’s right. Eren hasn’t said anything about being there. And Connie hasn’t even talked to you in weeks. 

“It bothers you, doesn’t it? That he’s pulling away?” 

“Eren isn’t pulling away, Sukuna. He just has a girlfriend, it’s obviously not going to be the same between us as before.” 

“Bullshit. You know he’s pulling away. What does he do? Forget to text back once in a while but then flirt to make it better? Tell you you’re pretty when pictures of him and Hyla drop? You’re ignoring every gut feeling you have about him because you want to keep him around.” 

“Fuck you, Sukuna.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes. 

This is what you hate about Sukuna. His persistent need to point out things you so blatantly choose to ignore. That he pokes holes in what you and Eren have, valid holes that bother you at night, that only validate what you think is true. 

You need Eren more than he needs you. You like Eren more than he likes you. And he’s going to leave you far behind, at the end of all of this. 

Sukuna reaches forward, fingers swiping the tears off your cheeks as he rolls his eyes. 

“Stop fucking crying.” 

“You’re so rude.” 

“I’m not rude. You’re just a bitch.” 

You smack his face out of your space. 

“When you’re ready for it, I’m here to help you. There’s nothing I do better than revenge, doll.” 

You scoff. 

“Save your unadulterated rage for the camera. And don’t get too excited when I lean in to kiss you.” he responds, tucking your hair behind your ear and giving you a wink as he slides over to his mark. 

You’re going to kill him. 

--

Six weeks of freedom from Sukuna and you’re hiding in the bushes with Armin, Annie, Connie, Sasha, and Marco next to you. Hands locked together as you watch Jean and Mikasa in the distance. And you make your best efforts not to cry, to not fully sob at the second time you’ve been able to witness a love so warm. 

It’s all so soft. So warm, so sweet, so much like Levi and Hange’s vow renewal that it makes your heart swell, to the biggest of shapes, for the two of them. 

Mikasa is getting engaged. Engaged to Jean, who has always been so sure of her. So quick to run to her defense, to love her like it’s his second nature. They’re going to be together, by each other's side, drunk at award shows and holding hands in taxis for the rest of their lives. 

Mikasa is wearing a white dress, soft and willowy, with her low cut Doc Martens. You convinced her that you just wanted to take her out for brunch, drive by the ocean a little bit before you leave town again. Because Jean had approached you, all squirrel like and antsy, and showed you the beautifully ornate ring he had gotten her and asked you to help her. 

And Jean. Sweet Jean, he’s fumbling with the box in the pocket as he talks to her. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you can quickly tell that Mikasa is comforting Jean. That he’s stumbling over his words, his feelings, but she’s standing there and holding his hand. Walking him through them. 

And then Jean’s on one knee. Smiling up at her so hard he’s squinting, soft tears falling out of his eyes and her surprised expression. And she brings her hand up to her chest, right over her heart and falls to her knees to meet him, the two of them hugging each other so hard that it makes your chest squelch. 

“Crybaby.” Marco mutters, reaching over to swipe your tears. 

“Shut up.” 

You look back at them, at Jean and Mikasa lying down in the grass tangled in each other's arms, and can’t wait any longer. The five of you - Marco, Annie, Armin, Sasha, and you - run up and pile on, the six of you crying in each other's arms, pink faces. Armin snaps a polaroid picture of Jean and Mikasa - her hands wrapped around his face and the softest look on his face when he smiles back at her. And then one of you and Marco crying, holding each other for good measure. 

You reach for Mikasa’s hands the second Jean finally lets her go to hug Armin and Marco and your eyes are positively burning. 

“Oh, Mika. I’m so, so happy for you.” 

She’s crying. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes are red, and she has the full marks of love on her face. The softest kind of love. 

“Thank you, Y/N. You-you’re a treasure. I love you. Thank you for not letting me wear that ugly green dress earlier.” 

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her, and press a kiss to the side of her face. 

Your heart aches. For green eyes, brown hair, and a soft smirk that no one else gets to see. For snarky comments, for shameless flirting, for every hurt feeling in your chest being smoothed over like it was nothing. 

Jean and Mikasa make you long, long so ruefully for this feeling. The way they look at each other, the way he keeps tissues in all his pockets because she gets sniffly outside, how Mikasa is the only person who can handle him. The feeling you used to have. 

You’ve decided then and there. You’re going to get him back. And luckily for you, you’re flying to Seattle and in nine hours you’ll be there with him. On his birthday, with all this love you’re going to share again. 

You’re fish together. You’re not swimming forward without him. 

“Hey. Where’s Con? We should get ready to leave soon.” Armin asks, pointing at his watch. 

You look around at the crowd of you, Marco holding Mikasa’s hand in his as he admires the ring and gives Jean a smile. 

Where is Connie? 

You shrug as you tell Armin to stay, to keep taking pictures of the two of them, as you march around the garden, looking around for him. And you find him, knees hiked to his chest, crouched over with red eyes and a pink nose. You immediately reach for him and place your hand on his shoulder, which he immediately flinches at and then releases.

“Connie?” you ask, caught off guard. 

He relaxes when he realizes it’s just you and aggressively wipes the back of his hand against his nose and smiles. 

“Hey. My bad, they just got me too emotional in there. Fucking saps they are, I just love them so much.” 

“Okay. Con, are you okay? You-you don’t look so good.” 

He smiles again and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s sweating and…green. He places his hands against your cheeks and squeezes, his voice soft when he talks. 

“Always the type to worry, aren't you? I promise I’m fine, Y/N. Help me finish packing because I actually didn’t start.” 

“Huh? We leave in like an hour.” 

“Exactly why I need your help!” 

He stands up and pulls you along with him, your arms linked together, as you recruit Armin and Marco to help you pack. And you ignore the feeling, as you climb on the plane, nestled in between Armin and Connie, and focus on the important thing. 

Brown hair, green eyes, and the soft smile. 

You’re getting him back.

--

next part linked here

an, again: guess who is getting blocked on his birthday. eren no middle name jaeger.

taglist:

@k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @squirrelspoetry @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp. @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

[blakeprentiss]

Aaron

my gif | read on AO3

Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss

summary: following a surprisingly emotional case for the usually well-tempered boss, hotch seeks out comfort in his favorite dark-haired agent, which obviously leads to a confession or two.

wc: 2335

warnings: none (?)

a/n: alternate ending to 7x10 the bittersweet science (the bloodlusting boxer). first fic i have written in two years pls be nice feedback is so appreciated xox enjoy!!

Any case involving kids is tough on the team, especially those who have one of their own. Factor in a young boy dying, however, and that’s enough to make move the usually stoic Aaron Hotchner to tears.

Which is exactly what was happening in that hospital room, Hotch having brought unsub Jimmy Hall to spend his last moments with his son. Standing far back enough to give the family some privacy, but still keeping an eye on the suspect of course, Hotch did his best to ignore the heartbreaking scene in front of him.

“You fought a hell of a fight, Ryan,” Hall spoke through sobs, his ex-wife a mess on the opposite side of the bed. Hotch felt it then, a salty droplet staining his face, and another one trickling to the floor. His expression never changed, however, doing as much as he could to maintain his professional look.

Emily and Rossi had met Hotch and Spencer at the hospital after learning of the outcome of Hall’s match, citing their presence as a second duo to help escort the unsub back to the precinct. In reality, Emily’s brain had gone on autopilot, creating such an excuse to mask her real reason for coming. She knew what Hotch would be feeling in those moments in that room, and she couldn’t bear for him to deal with it alone, if he even did at all.

Rossi didn’t mind this, of course. He always sensed the romantic tension between the two since his first day back in the unit, him and the other 5 team members having a bet going on how long it would take for the spark to finally be ignited. So, when he and Emily reached Spencer in the hallway outside of the Hall room, the three agents lined up against the wall.

Spencer made a bit of small talk about the case that had now begun the closing process, but in all honesty, Emily didn’t hear a word that was said. Her eyes were fixated on the man opposite the small pane of glass, his emotionless expression unwavering.

The three of them heard the unwelcome tone of the monitor flatlining, looking amongst each other solemnly. Minutes later, the door was opening as Hotch wheeled the unsub out of the room. Wordlessly, Rossi took the chair from the other man and begun leading him towards his own room, while Spencer brought his ex-wife in the opposite direction to console here. Aaron replaced Spencer’s position next to Emily on the wall, his eyes fixating on a painting across from the two of them.

“Rossi said he would take care of all the paperwork at the precinct and close up,” Emily spoke, turning to look at the man next to her. If she looked close enough, she could see the faint tear stain on his left cheek. “Let’s go back to the hotel, I’ll drive.”

Aaron nodded, wordlessly beginning to walk with Emily towards where she had left the car just hours before. Their hands found each other as soon as the hospital door closed, making both of their heart rates jump ever so slightly, though both would just chalk it up to the events of the night.

Aaron, ever the gentleman, opened the driver’s side door for Emily before slipping into the seat beside her. He wasn’t surprised by the blush creeping up her cheeks, he noticed it the first time he made the same gesture all those years ago. She turned on the car and begun the short drive back to their hotel. Classical music quietly played through the car radio, and Emily often turned to look at Hotch. She would see him staring out the window each time, but that’s because she was focused on the road each time he would steal a glance.

Soon enough, the pair arrived at the hotel, making their way to the elevator. The ride to the 12th floor was short, but felt like eternity for the two of them. Both lost in their own thoughts about love and life and death, neither noticed how close the other was until their arms brushed against each other. Aaron turned to Emily and looked down at her, a ghost of a smile on his face. A sad smile, but one nonetheless. She looked up, and he could sense the concern in her eyes.

“Thank you for the ride back, Prentiss,” he said softly, his brain itching to brush the fallen piece of hair behind her ear.

“You don’t have to thank me, Hotch,” Emily laughed quietly. “That’s what teammates are for.” She immediately had to hold back a wince at her word choice, knowing damn well she just friendzoned her boss. Then again, she didn’t feel as if this was the time or place to confess to feelings she’d been harboring for nearly five years. “Will you be alright tonight?” She asked to change the subject, out of concern for both her dignity and her boss’ mental state.

“I always am, Prentiss,” Hotch spoke as the elevator came to a stop. The two walked down the same hallway, Emily stopping at her door first. “Goodnight, Emily. Get some rest,” Aaron said softly, his hand brushing against Emily’s back in a way that toed the line of professionalism.

Emily did her best to not freeze at the touch of her boss in what some would consider to be quite a sensual spot. “Thank you, you too,” she managed to get out in a relatively normal tone. “Goodnight, Aaron.” Hotch gave Emily a nod before retreating to his own room, just a few doors down.

The first thing Emily did when entering her room for the night was turn the shower on and dig through her go-bag for the most comfortable clothing she could find. Hopping into the shower, she let the near-boiling water run over her skin as if she was trying to cook away the details of this case. After standing in the shower for what very well could’ve been over an hour, she stepped out and put on her clothes. She was just about to get into bed when there was a knock at her door. Assuming it would be JJ, she didn’t bother throwing on a hoodie before opening the door.

That felt like a mistake to her when she found Aaron opposite the door frame. It felt even worse when she became painfully aware that his eyes were briefly on her low cut, extremely cropped red tank top, which left hardly anything to imagination. And then she watched his eyes make their way to her low-rise sweatpants. Truly she could never feel more embarrassed than in that moment.

“Is everything alright?” Emily asked as she brought her arms up to her chest, itching to draw attention away from her. “Do we have another case?”

“No, no new case,” Hotch spoke quietly, meeting Emily’s gaze. “Do you mind if I just come in for a bit?” He looked away, almost embarrassed to be seeking out company from his subordinate at such an hour. Emily didn’t see it that way, of course, mainly because she could feel the emotions radiating off of Aaron.

“Of course you can,” she smiled and moved out of the way to let the older man in. Shutting the door, they both moved to sit on the edge of the king-sized bed. The pair sat in silence, but it was comfortable - neither felt any pressure to speak like they would if they were in the presence of anyone else. After a while, however, Emily wanted to say something, she just didn’t know what. She turned to look at the man next to her, who she found staring at the wall as tears slowly fell. “Oh, Aaron,” she sighed, putting her hand to his face and turning him to look at her. Her heart damn near broke at seeing him in such pain, the feeling reminiscent of when she had been there for him after he had lost Haley. She pulled him into a hug instinctively, his head seeking solace on her chest as she rubbed soothing circles into his skin. Neither were aware of the eroticism behind the position in that moment, both focused on the hurt and comforting in the present.

“I have no idea why this is affecting me so deeply,” Aaron laughed. “It’s not funny,” he added after seeing the woman’s puzzled look at his chuckle. “I usually have no true emotional reaction when cases involve kids, or the kids of unsubs, but this time I did and I can’t figure out why.”

His hands felt around until it found hers once again, the two of them grasping at each other like it was a lifeline.

“I think it’s because you saw that boy dying and it triggered you to think about what could’ve happened that day,” Emily said, looking at Aaron as he wiped a tear from his face. She didn’t have to specify what day or who could’ve died, they both knew what she meant.

“Doesn’t help that Dave’s been up my ass about dating too,” Aaron added, grabbing Emily’s attention even more. She couldn’t possibly figure out how that had to do with the idea of Jack dying. “He’s been pushing me to date since it’s been almost two years since Haley died, and I think you’re right, the details of this case must have triggered something in me.”

”Grief hits us in the least expecting places,” Emily commented.

“That it does,” Aaron agreed, turning his gaze back to the way. Emily did the same, and the two were silent again for a while.

“Rossi’s right though,” Emily said after a while, eyes staring at the same spot on the wall as the man next to her. “You probably should start dating again.”

“I’ve already had my eye on someone for a while,” Aaron said softly. This time it was him turning to look at the younger woman, using his hand to bring her head towards him before she even had a chance to react to his words. “And I know she’s been doing the same.”

“Really?” Emily asked, feigning innocence. “How do you know she’s into you?”

”There’s a reason they made me the leader of this team,” Aaron said, the insinuation that Emily doubted his ever so present profiling skills making her blush. “But in all honesty, she’s always there when I need her most, even if I don’t realize it myself at the time.” Emily smiled softly at that moment, her cheeks nearly burning as she used her free hand to fiddle with the waistband of her pants. “Plus, she loves to wear a certain red tank top on days when I have a perfect view,” Aaron added, making Emily laugh. His face moved closer to hers, as if asking for permission. Emily nodded and not a moment later, his lips were on hers, encapsulating them in a soft yet passionate kiss.

They broke apart after a while, when it got to the point when air became necessary. “Thank you,” Aaron smiled at her, wrapping his arms around Emily.

“For kissing you?” Emily joked softly. “I’m kidding, I know what you meant,” she added, pulling him into a hug. “I will always be there for you, no matter what.” Her hands ran through his hair, his making their way to the small of her back. “Would you like to stay the night?” She asked. Realizing how suggestive that sounded, especially after the past few minutes, she added quickly, “That way you don’t have to be alone tonight.”

“I’d like that, thank you, Em,” Aaron smiled. The two broke away, climbing under the covers. Their bodies drew to each other like magnets do to metals, reaching for each other until it was impossible to move any further.

“Is that really what gave it away?” Emily asked, moving her head into his chest as the two settled down for the night. “The red tank top?”

”Sort of, but it’s not what really confirmed my thoughts.”

“Well, what was it then?” Emily asked, wanting to know her tell.

”You called me Aaron today,” he said, planting a kiss to her temple. “Twice actually. You hadn’t done that since you found me in the hospital after Foyet got to me, and then again after Haley. And it slips out sometimes when we’re in private.”

”Oh,” Emily said sheepishly, a smile creeping up her face. “I guess I didn’t really try too hard to keep it professional.”

”Oh I didn’t mind one bit,” Aaron laughed, putting his arm around his girl, feeling her breathing even out as they both drifted to sleep.

***

”So, have you taken my advice?” Rossi asked, sitting across from Hotch on the jet. With the case closed and nothing but paperwork to look forward to at the office, the team resorted to their favorite pastime of gossiping. Today’s topic of conversation seemed to have focused itself on the boss man’s dating life, as it so happened to be recently.

“You’ll be happy to know I have a date on Friday,” Aaron said simply, his attention not leaving his paperwork. Emily’s attention was piqued, however, her eyes raising up from her book.

“Atta boy Hotch!” Morgan said excitedly, clapping Aaron’s back from the next seat over. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“You hardly know her,” Aaron commented, eliciting a scoff from a certain blonde across the table.

“I saw what room you went into last night,” JJ said, causing eyes to fall on the only other woman on the jet.

“That was for work business only!” Emily exclaimed. It technically wasn’t a lie, he had come in to discuss the feelings regarding the case.

“Em, I saw him leave your room late this morning when I came back from the gym,” JJ said, eliciting a blush from the raven haired woman as she nudged her.

“Aw man!” Morgan yelled, drawing the attention to himself. “Penelope owes me 50 bucks!”

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Yesterday, there were hints in the Israeli media at what the IDF has found in the Shifa hospital in Gaza, and that was linked to a statement by its director that Israeli soldiers had removed bodies from the hospital complex's refrigerators. I was sure that the director's words would be used to paint Israelis as inhumane, and sure enough, that's what happened (I even saw one tweet implying the Israeli soldiers took the bodies to posthumously rape them). Last night and today, it was confirmed that among the bodies taken from Shifa, two had been identified as those of hostages murdered in captivity by Hamas.

One was 64 years old Yehudit Weiss, whose husband Shmulik was murdered in front of her eyes before she was kidnapped. She was a cancer patient, in need of medications, it's possible Hamas realized that she's going to die anyway, and finished her off.

The other was 19 years old Noa Marziano, who Hamas forced to tape a vid for Israel, asking not to bomb Gaza, so the hostages wouldn't be accidentally killed. Despite having filmed this 4 days into Noa's captivity, Hamas only released the vid a day before the IDF was able to confirm that the terrorists had murdered Noa in captivity. Yesterday, Noa's mom was still begging Israel to retrieve her daughter's body, so there could be a funeral. Today, it was held in the city of Modi'in, with the presence of thousands of people.

May their memory be a blessing.

In a Hamas terrorist's home in Beit Hanoun, they found weapons hidden in children's beds:

Some of how the IDF knows to locate these weapons is based on intercepted phone calls between Gazan terrorists. Here's one exposing how two Palestinian Islamic Jihad terrorists are going to use a baby stroller to hide weapons:

I can't believe we've gotten to that point, but... apparently it's now socially okay to come out against condemning antisemitism at a US Ivy League university. Condemning antisemitism. This is at Harvard, where anti-Israel speech is still very much allowed.

I don't have a good enough response, so have an excellent one from Daniel Ryan Spaulding, who isn't even Jewish, but apparently does have a soul:

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A post shared by Daniel-Ryan Spaulding (@danielryanspaulding)

The Israeli who was mortally injured in the terrorist attack on the road to Jerusalem is a soldier, who has later died of his wounds. His name is Avraham Fatna, he was 20 years old, and he's a hero who saved countless lives, by stopping the terrorists from executing a much bloodier attack on civilians inside Jerusalem. On a personal note, my mom was out and about in the city yesterday, so I feel this very close to home.

May his memory be a blessing.

This is Reut Karp and her son Lavi:

On Oct 7, Lavi and his sister Daria were staying with their dad (Reut's ex husband) Dvir in kibbutz Re'im. Hamas' terrorists murdered Dvir and his girlfriend Stav right in front of the kids, who were hiding in the bomb shelter. Daria called her mom, and for three hours, Reut stayed on the line with her, calming them down, until a neighbor came and saved the kids. Reut said that all she knew was, that if she wouldn't stay calm, neither would her kids. This is a part of the conversation she had with Daria:

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- Daria, where's Dad? - He's dead on the floor. - He's dead on the floor? - Yes. - Are you sure that he's dead? - Yes, he's lying on the floor. - He's not moving? - Mom, I'm scared. - Shhhh... Is he next to you? - Who? - Is he next to you, Daria? - I don't know. - Shhhh... Don't talk, don't talk, don't talk. How did they get in if he locked up [the house]? How did they get in if he locked up [the house]? I can't understand how they got in. Daria, did you lock up the house? - Yes, but they broke in. - Where did they break in from, from the window? - I don't know. - Okay, shhhh... I'm with you. - Mom, I'm scared. - Daria, I'm here, don't talk, don't talk.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 15

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca. 

AN: This story lives!!! Lol I'll try to be more consistent about finishing the last few chapters on this story for those who are still following it.

ASIG Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,000 Warnings: 18+ for some spiciness, angst.

15: Schemes & Lies

Three months after Butcher and Helena each accepted job offers, they had developed a kind of rhythm. On days like today, when he was home and actually woke beside her in bed, their mornings could afford to be lazy.

She woke to his hand slipping under her shirt as he moved in closer behind her. His bare chest met her back, and she felt his warmth. She had to stifle a smile, though her eyes remained closed while another hand brushed her dark hair away from her neck and pressed a nipping kiss just under her ear. His beard prickled along her skin.

“You can stop pretending you’re asleep,” he rumbled.

A real smile crept across her face as his fingers danced tantalizingly between her breasts. She breathed in deep and hummed with a little stretch, as if she were just waking up.

She gave herself away by purposefully rubbing her ass against his growing length. It earned a grunt from him, followed by a chuckle.

“All right, you fucking asked for it,” said Butcher.

Helena giggled and turned her head to accept a kiss. But before the morning could well and truly kick off, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

They paused. She was the first to sigh and let her hand fall away from where it had begun to sift through his short hair.

“That’s you, babe,” she said.

“I know,” came his surly reply. Her amused smile returned while she watched him twist away to reach for the phone. He answered it without getting out of bed.

Predictably, it was Hughie. Supe Affairs had another case for him, Kimiko, and Frenchie. Some telekinetic supe was robbing stores without even entering the building.

By the time he hung up, Helena was ready for what her boyfriend was about to say when he sat up in bed and turned to her.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said.

She nodded and laid a hand on his chest. “Be safe.”

He briefly covered her hand and nodded. He hesitated for a moment, but he leaned over and pressed a parting kiss to her hairline.

Then, they each got out of bed to start the day. Butcher eventually left after freshening up and getting dressed, with a to-go mug filled with a fresh batch of Cuban coffee. When his car peeled out of the driveway, heading for the city, Helena saw that the coast was clear.

She got dressed for “work,” and she drove in the opposite direction—a couple of hours upstate. She sent a text each to both Grace and Ryan. By the time Helena got to the safe house, Ryan was already hanging out in the front yard waiting for her.

He ran up to her with a solid hug that almost bowled her over, but she accepted it with a laugh.

“Hey, buddy,” she greeted, carding her fingers warmly through his hair. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’ but the rent,” Ryan joked. She’d taught him that one when they were jamming out to ‘90s music while cooking dinner together last week.

“Damn right,” Helena grinned. She walked him inside, where Grace had been watching her charge from the front windows.  

“I need to run some errands. Are you all right here with him?” Grace asked. Helena nodded.

“Yeah, for sure,” she replied, before looking over at Ryan. “What’re we doing today? Trivial Pursuit, Sudoku, a movie?”

Ryan thought about it. Then he gave a smile that was all Becca.

“All three?” he suggested, and also implored with those big blue eyes.

Helena chuckled. This time, she ruffled his hair. “Okay, Sudoku and a movie first. Let’s pick one out.”

An hour later, they were nearly done with Jurassic Park: The Lost World when Ryan turned to Helena on the couch. A big bowl of popcorn was nestled between them, and their Sudoku booklets were long ago filled out. She’d have to bring more challenging ones next time.

“Can I ask you something?” said Ryan.

Helena nodded and paused the movie. “Shoot.”

“If you’re…together, why don’t you just come with Billy when he visits?” he asked.

She sighed; she’d thought she went over this already. “It’s not because I don’t want him to know I’m hanging out with you. It’s because this is important to me. The work I do with Grace is also important to me, but he’d rather I do something else… Billy wants me to be safe, but sometimes, I have to take risks in order to make a difference. Just like he’s doing with Supe Affairs.”

This was her conviction, and she couldn’t feel guilty about what she was doing, only that she was lying to him.

“I don’t get it,” Ryan said, his brows furrowing. “Are you doing something wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that I’m keeping it from him. But I don’t regret spending time with you, or working with Grace,” Helena replied. “Ryan, it’s natural to want to protect the people you care about. Like your mom. She made a lot of sacrifices to protect you, and that wasn’t wrong either.”

Ryan seemed to digest that, while Helena’s mind continued to churn. It had taken her a while to understand Becca’s choices, but if Helena could already feel this much of a desire to watch over Ryan and protect him, then she could only imagine what Becca had felt. Every day Helena spent with her best friend’s son was both a blessing and a curse: it reminded her of Becca, in the best and worst of ways.

She could also see him thinking, with that sad frown of his. It broke Helena’s heart, if she was honest. So she scooted over on the couch and tugged him into her side. He went willingly, resting against her when she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his back.

“But just so you know, I don’t come to see you because I have to,” she said. “I think we’ve got a good thing going here, don’t you?”

Ryan smiled, and he nodded before glancing up at her. “Can you tell me another story about her?”

“Hmm.” Helena searched through the archives of her brain. “Okay, we were in high school—”

A knock at the door interrupted her. Her entire body tensed.

“Ryan, go to your room. Don’t come out unless I tell you to, okay?” she said.

He opened his mouth to protest, but seeing her serious gaze, he nodded and got up to heed her instruction. Helena grabbed the gun Grace had told her was hidden under the coffee table, and cautiously she went to the front door and looked through the peephole.

She relaxed, expelling a breath. Fuck.

“It’s okay, Ryan!” she called back, and she opened the door to one Billy Butcher.

His dark brows rose a fraction, the surprise evident in his eyes. He nearly dropped the new Connect 4 game he held.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he asked.

Helena sighed and pushed the door open. “Nice greeting. Come in.”

Butcher grasped her arm and leaned in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ryan coming, but he still made a point to say lowly in her ear.

“You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, Hel.” His tone was cheeky, but it held an undercurrent of serious that she recognized well.

“We’ll hash it out at home. Don’t make a scene in front of Ryan,” she replied. She caught sight of Grace’s car pulling back into the driveway. “I’ll head out first.”

After saying a quick goodbye to Ryan with a hug (all the while ignoring Butcher’s eyes on her), Helena took her leave and started the long drive back home.

Butcher watched her go through the window. And when Grace entered the house, his grouch look let her know that they’d be having words.

He spent the better part of the afternoon catching up with Ryan and playing their new game. But when the kid finally went upstairs for a shower before the dinner Grace was cooking, Butcher cornered her in the kitchen.

“You’ve got some mighty fucking nerve, don’tcha?” he said.

Grace shot him a roll of her eyes. “Come off it, Butcher.”

“You should’ve fucking told me,” he said hotly. “You didn’t just let her back into the game. You pushed her right into the bloody center.”

Grace stopped stirring the spaghetti sauce to level him with a glare.

“Your actions have consequences,” she said coolly. “You could’ve left Helena well enough alone, and let her put Homelander, and all of Vought out of her mind. You are the one who can’t let go.” 

Butcher later found Helena back at her house. She had showered and dressed into one of her old college shirts, faded and rung smaller in the wash, and some skimpy shorts. If she was trying to distract him, she’d have to work a bit harder than that. (Though the sight of her, bare legs and braless, did catch his eye.)  

He turned off the TV while she was watching the latest episode of The Great British Bake Off and looked down on her with a face of stone. She curbed her inclination to spark off first.

“Look, I’m sorry I lied to you—”

“That’s the least of it,” Butcher snapped. “I don’t need you stepping into my business—”

“Excuse me,” she said tersely, and she pushed off the couch to meet his tense stance. “Ryan isn’t just your business. Becca was like a sister to me. You and I both know that she wanted her son taken care of.”

“Grace and I have it covered,” Butcher argued.

“Ryan would be lucky to see you once a month,” she countered. “And Grace can’t watch him every second of the day. Besides, he needs more than that. He needs as many friends and socialization as we can give him—”

“And what happens if Homelander finds him someday,” he reminded. “What the fuck happened to laying low?”

Helena made a sound of frustration and threw up her hands.

“Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just can’t do some stupid fucking data entry job,” she said. “I’ve been in this too long. And apparently, so have you.”  

Butcher didn’t have an answer for her.

So he left, and slammed the door behind him.

Helena didn’t know this, because Butcher screened his calls for the next two days. But he drove back into the city after seeing a text from Queen Maeve, of all people, on his latest burner phone.

He rented a by-the-hour motel for the express purpose of doing business. She had been giving him intel on rogue supes for months, acting as his undisclosed informant.

Tonight, she met him there with a few samples of Vought’s latest R&D project: V24. Supposedly, it gave someone superpowers for just 24 hours.

Why? Well, maybe it would give Butcher the edge he needed to end Homelander, once and for all.

But the pièce de resistance of that conversation was her latest tip: a weapon that could possibly kill Homelander, like it killed America’s first superhero.

Soldier Boy.

Helena was in a silently simmering rage when she got ahold of Frenchie over the phone. She paced the length of her living room. 

“I’m only going to ask this once, and I don’t want any bullshit, Frenchie,” she said. “Where is he?”

The other man gave a nervous chuckle. “Why’re you trying so hard to find Monsieur Charcutier?”

She paused; no one on the team, not even M.M. knew that she and Butcher were together. She made up an excuse on the fly.

“It’s about Ryan,” she said. “I’ve been helping Grace with a few projects, including his safety detail.”

“Truth be told, I haven’t seen him in a few days,” Frenchie admitted. “But, the last time he was here, he mentioned something about finding a supe named Gunpowder.”

Gunpowder? The name rung a bell, but not much of one.

“Why?” she asked. Frenchie heaved a sigh, but he eventually told her about Butcher’s latest plan (obsession)—finding the weapon that might’ve killed Soldier Boy forty years ago.

Helena hung up with Frenchie and made yet another call.

“Yes?” Grace answered.

“What do you know about Soldier Boy’s death?” Helena asked, in a tone that said she had no time and patience for any runaround.

There was a pause on the line.

Soon enough, however, Grace’s shrewd voice returned.

“I know he’s dead,” she said. “Whatever Butcher’s after this time, he’s chasing a ghost story.”

Helena wanted to believe that was true, but she had spent her entire career reading people. Reading a room, hearing the unspoken in what they said. And she had an inkling that her new boss was lying her ass off. 

Not even 24 hours after that conversation, Grace called Helena to ask for her help…and to drop a bomb.

“What the fuck? Victoria Neuman’s a supe?” she exclaimed, but soon covered her mouth, as if anyone could hear her in the privacy of her big empty house.

“It’s worse than that,” Grace sighed. She then explained that Hughie had seen her explode a man who knew her before she became Victoria Neuman. She’d been adopted from an orphanage as a child…by Stan Edgar, of all people.

Helena sat down hard on the living room couch and rubbed at her already aching head.

“And I fucking made her head of Supe Affairs,” Grace said. In her tone, Helena knew the woman was kicking herself.

“She knows where Ryan is?” Helena asked.

“Yes. I’ve already organized his relocation. Meet me at the following address, but don’t write it down.” 

Helena had a better photographic memory than she did an audible one, but she still remembered the numbers and street to the letter.

As always, Ryan was happy to see her. He came bounding to her when she got out of her car. Grace came out as well.

This house was old and situated on the verge of forest, virtually in the middle of nowhere, and cold and dreary with large gray clouds looming above.

“What’s the plan?” Helena asked Grace, after the three of them headed inside. Ryan showed Helena where the kitchen was so she could start making some tea; she needed something to calm her nerves.

“This is safe, for now, but we’ll need to keep moving,” said Grace. “It’s up to you whether you want to come with us.”

The unspoken second choice was staying at home, where Helena was most likely safer. At this point, if she were to keep visiting Grace and Ryan, she could potentially put his safety in jeopardy.

They had to assume Victoria had told Stan Edgar what she knew about Ryan’s first safe house. The fact that Homelander hadn’t come barging in for a year told them that either Victoria or Stan had kept the information to themselves (a small blessing). But Ryan had been even more exposed than they thought.

Helena watched Ryan carefully pour the hot water from the kettle into each of the mugs. She spoke lowly with Grace, even though they both knew that the child’s superior hearing would likely pick up on whatever they said.

“I don’t want to leave him,” Helena whispered.

“You have to think of what’s best for him,” Grace replied.

“I am,” Helena returned. “He needs us. All of us. Even Billy.”

Especially Billy, she thought.

Helena and Grace continued to go over the pros and cons of her continuing to make her visits to Ryan, but Helena was surprised when Grace answered a text with a frustrated sigh.

“Butcher’s coming,” she said.

“What? Now?” Helena said. Both hope and anger trilled through her. She hadn’t heard from him in a week, and now he was swooping in?

Well, she doubted he knew she would be here, to be fair.

An hour or so later, she was proven right. Butcher drove up with Kimiko, Hughie (who strangely had his right arm in a cast), and even M.M. They were just as surprised to see Helena, though they watched the scene unfolding between her and Butcher as they stared at one another with tension.

It didn’t break, even when Ryan came to all but tackle Butcher with a hug.

“Ooh,” Butcher grunted, hiding a frisson of pain as he hugged the kid back. “Easy does it, lad. Bloody death grip you got there.”

Ryan backed off slightly with concern. He’d noticed the same thing Helena did, apparently.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Butcher said with an easy smile. He patted the kid’s shoulder and began to lead him inside. Though his eyes met Helena’s as he passed her. They both knew they didn’t want to make a scene in front of Ryan.

But pulled him aside into the hall before he could have whatever tete-a-tete he wanted to have with Grace. Helena smacked him on the chest, making him flinch.

“Ey!” he protested, but she leveled a finger at him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Helena hissed. “You go radio silence on me for a week. I have to find out from Frenchie about your latest batshit crazy fucking scheme to end Homelander.”

Butcher’s teeth clenched in frustration, but he grasped her arm gently.

“Look, we can hash this out all you want later. But we’ve both got some fucking work to do here,” he said.

Helena shrugged his hand off her arm. “That’s no apology. Until you’re ready for that, I guess we have nothing to discuss.”

She turned on her heel and went into the room where Grace and the others were waiting, save for Kimiko, who was keeping an eye on Ryan in the backyard.

Butcher sighed and followed Helena into the large study. Helena stood by Grace with her arms crossed. Hughie stood opposite with M.M., who looked between Butcher and Helena shrewdly.

“Aw, hell nah,” he said.

Hughie’s brows drew together in confusion. “What?”

M.M. sighed and cast a finger between the simmering Helena and the tense shoulders of Butcher.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “How long’ve you two been fucking?”

Helena’s eyes widened, while Butcher’s went heavenward.

“Here we fuckin’ go,” he muttered.

“It’s not,” Helena tried to speak, with stops and false starts that had her blushing. “It’s not exactly like that.”

M.M. tilted his head and crossed his arms. “Yeah? What’s it like?”

“For Christ’s sake,” Butcher said.

“Whoa, what?” Hughie interjected.

“Can we please just,” Grace tried, but Helena finally raised her voice to cut over everyone.

“It’s a thing, okay! We’re together,” she said, though she sent Butcher a glare. “Though at the moment, that remains to be seen.”

A pregnant pause filled the room.

Hughie managed to utter, “Uh...how long’s this been going on?”

Helena sighed. “About a year.”

M.M. blinked in surprise, though it didn’t shock him to see that Grace clearly knew. He shook his head.

“Interesting.”

“Right, can we get back to the matter at hand?” Grace said. “Victoria Neuman. I’d very much like to hear the plan to eliminate her.”

“Well, that depends,” Butcher said. His hands slid into his pockets as he turned to her. “On what you can tell us about your holiday, down in Nicaragua.”

What? Helena thought. She turned to Grace with a frown.

“I’ve never been to Nicaragua,” said the agent.

“Oh really? ‘Cause a little birdy told me you were Payback’s case officer down there, on a classified job that Soldier Boy never came back from.”

The other woman tried to deny she knew anything about what Butcher was talking about…but after he threatened to expose all of her contacts and agents in the CIA, both active and inactive. Helena looked at Butcher incredulously, wondering where his soul had gone to.

He avoided her gaze and remained steady on Grace. This was how he got results.

“It was part of Operation Charly,” Grace eventually admitted, though through her disgust at Butcher.

To Helena’s further surprise, Grace admitted to participating in a secret CIA operation in 1984 for the Cold War efforts against the Russians. In which the CIA trafficked cocaine into the U.S. to fund the government’s efforts.

And Vought American, led by a young Stan Edgar, leveraged enough political power to try partnering their team of supes with American soldiers. Their team was Payback, led by Soldier Boy, Vought’s first superhero.

Helena had been a records keeper, among other things. She knew Soldier Boy’s story all too well. His backstory had been carefully crafted: a “rags to riches” story that framed a poor young kid from hard knocks into taking the world’s first super serum in 1944. He’d led his own unit in World War II, fighting against the Nazis and for the American dream.

His entire career had been tickertape parades, shitty movies, and even a few cheesy music videos that had been chart toppers in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Helena had seen them all. And she’d come to learn, just as well, that they’d been completely fabricated.

Now, she had to listen to Grace tell her story. About how the cast of Payback had fucked up the entire mission.

But Butcher paused her story halfway through, looking pale and almost green as he made his way down the hall to the bathroom. Helena frowned. She held a waiting hand up at Grace and went to follow him.

She heard the flush of a toilet, more than once, after the sounds of his upheaval. She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed when Butcher finally emerged. He stopped short, meeting her gaze. In his, she saw that his eyes were red and glossy. His skin was ashen and dewy with sweat. She could faintly smell chemicals on him. Her head tilted.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“‘M fine, Hel.”

“Nope. Try again.” She stepped into his orbit and looked up at his face. This didn’t look like a bad burrito or a stomach bug. This looked worse. Like withdrawal. “Oh my God. Are you on something?”

Butcher looked away from her. She grasped his trench coat and made him look at her.

“What the hell is going on with you? Jesus, Billy. Talk to me,” she pleaded. “When were you going to tell me about this Soldier Boy thing?”

Again, he didn’t want to seem to answer her. Her lips pursed.

“Look, I know you’ve got M.M. and the rest of the guys. But weren’t you and I in this together?” she asked.

Butcher made the mistake of looking into her eyes. There, he couldn’t lie.

“It’s temp. V. Or uh…V24,” he said.

Helena’s eyes went wide as her mouth fell open. “Oh my fucking…Billy.”

V24 was the last R&D project she heard about before she quit her job at Vought. She knew all too well what it was.

“Finally gives me the chance to level the fucking playing field,” he said. She grasped at his shirt.

“How the fuck did you get that? When I left, it was still in preliminary testing,” she said.

“Well, the mockups are a bit hairy, but it gets the fucking job done,” he said.

She let out an incredulous scoff, resting a hand on his pale cheek. “Clearly it isn’t without side effects.”

Butcher’s face was grim. “Small price to pay.”

Helena paused. Her expression dimmed from concern to shock, and then sadness. Her hand slowly fell from his cheek.

“You’re not going to stop,” she said shakily. “This vendetta you have against Homelander. You’re not gonna stop until you’re dead. Which means you’re giving up on us. On everything we have…or would’ve had.”

“Hel,” Butcher sighed. He tried to hold her, but she slipped away from his would-be embrace.

She shook her head, and tears welled up in her eyes. 

“You don’t really love me,” Helena realized, her lower lip trembling. “Either that, or you hate Homelander more.”

She didn’t give him a chance to touch her again. She walked away from him, down the hall and back into the room where Grace and the others were waiting. She scrubbed at her tears along the way.

Grace’s story culminated in Swatto giving away the CIA’s position. The cartel they were trying to avoid brought Russian special forces in as their allies.

A mass shootout ensued, in which all of Grace’s unit were massacred, and Soldier Boy had somehow been killed, his body taken far beyond the Iron Wall, along with whatever mystery weapon that could possibly kill an invulnerable supe.

Helena couldn’t help but see Grace in a new, more sour light. Yes, she’d been the sole survivor of a mass grave. But she had led an operation that had ruined the lives of thousands.

When Grace asked to speak to Butcher alone for a moment, Helena easily agreed. She needed a break from both of them. She left the room in disgust and joined M.M. on the porch outside. They watched Hughie join Kimiko in playing Connect 4 with Ryan.

“I’m sorry,” M.M. said. It earned her curious gaze. “I can’t even judge you for hooking up with Butcher, because I’m here now too.” 

She smiled faintly. Though a few minutes later, she frowned with a jolt as the front door slammed open. Out came Butcher, roiling mad. Grace was on his heels.

“What happened?” Hughie asked. He and Kimiko walked over with Ryan.

“We’re off,” Butcher snapped. He headed for his car without even looking their way. Ryan ran over to meet him.

“Butcher, wait up! Where-where’re you going?” he asked.

“The city,” Butcher spoke shortly. Helena got up to follow them. Worry churned in her gut, for both of them.

“When will I see you again?” asked Ryan.

“You won’t. Ain’t safe for you.” Butcher’s words were clipped, and none too gentle.

“Billy,” Helena tried to stop him. It took Ryan pushing at the man, showing a fraction of his super strength. It was clearly instinctual, born of desperation. But Helena saw the hint of wariness behind Butcher’s eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Ryan asked. Pleaded really, for an explanation, for some compassion. Butcher had seemed to be rung dry.

“I got to go,” he said.

That was when Ryan grabbed the man’s arm, with intentional strength. He huffed and puffed like he was on the verge of losing control.

“Ryan,” Helena warned, with worry in her eyes. She stepped up behind Butcher, who held out a protective hand against her coming closer.

“Ryan, let go,” Butcher said, with authority.

“No! You said you’d always watch out for me,” Ryan cried. “You promised!”

Butcher repeated himself, more firm, but still, the kid didn’t relent.

“I won’t let you!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to look at ya, after what you done to my Becca. Did you ever think of that?” Butcher snapped.

Helena gaped. Her shock was almost as visceral as Ryan’s dismay. He let go of Butcher with tears already welling up in his eyes.

His eyes that flashed red.

Helena gasped this time. It led Butcher to subtly shift his stance, so he was standing directly in front of her. He already regretted his words, but his anger and his pride wouldn’t allow him to do anything more than watch for what Ryan would do.

With a blink, the red haze was gone, but he reached for the chain of the Christopher’s medal around his neck and yanked it off. He threw it at Butcher’s feet.

“I hate you,” he said, in a trembling voice. He ran back into the house.

 Butcher turned around to find that Helena also had tears unshed in her eyes. She trembled with both shock and a thread of wary fear. Before he could ask if she was all right, she looked up at him like she didn’t know him.

“How could you do that?” she asked. “He’s just a kid, Billy!”

He glanced down at the ground. His face told her that he knew she was right, but out of his mouth came more resigned assholery.

“Yeah, well, what else is fucking new,” he said. Helena scoffed angrily.  

“You’re more than this,” she said. “I don’t care what the hell Grace told you. You don’t have to be this man.”

He tilted his head at her.

“And what would you have me be? Prince bloody fucking Charming?” Butcher shot back. “You can babysit that kid all you want, but you ain’t his fuckin’ mum! You ain’t Becca.”

A shaking breath fell from Helena’s lips. She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

Butcher saw it all play out across her face: shock, dismay, and deep hurt. Her tears welled up once more and slid down her cheeks. Behind her, he saw M.M., Grace, Hughie, and Kimiko. All of them saw a monster in human clothing.

Rather than torture himself further by staring at her face, he looked away. And like a coward, he began to turn from her to head for his car.

“If you walk away from me, I’m done,” Helena said. She watched him halt in his steps. “I’ll be fucking done with you for real.”

His steps halted for a moment.

She saw that it wasn’t enough to hold him, however. Her tears continued to fall as she watched him walk away from her, and she glared at his back all the while.

She accepted murmured apologies from M.M. and Hughie, and a sad look from Kimiko as they left to continue their mission: their hunt for Soldier Boy.

Helena felt rooted to where she stood, until Grace laid a hand on her shoulder.

Both women eventually turned back to the house. Helena wiped at her tears and went upstairs to find Ryan’s door. She leaned against it and let out a breath.

“You want to talk?” she offered.

“Leave me alone!” came the angry reply. But she knew he was crying, that his heart was shattered.  

She knew the feeling.

AN: 😬 Sorry for ending on angst, but we're headed into the meat of S3 now...

Next Time:

Butcher makes a deal, and Helena finally meets Soldier Boy! 😜

Soldier Boy distracted Helena from her thoughts, however, when he reached out to thumb at her chin, raising her face up to his. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked. His head quirked slightly. 

“Helena.” She guided his hand away with her own, but in one smooth motion, he’d taken her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. 

“The face that launched a thousand ships,” he teased. “I like it.”

“That was Helen,” she replied, subtly tugging her hand out of his. “You know, of Troy.”

But the bitch of the bunch was, she was actually blushing.

Keep Reading: PART 16

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[justsomerandomfanfic]

Real World Nightmares - Ryan!Ken X GN Reader

Title: Real World Nightmares

Ryan!Ken X GN Reader

Additional Characters: N/A

WC: 2,365

Warnings: Yelling, nightmares, crying, hurt/comfort, slight angst, and fluff

The sun shone down upon Ken, warming his face and chest as he groaned slightly, stretching his arms. Squinting his eyes, he lazily sat up, the soft comforter pooling in his lap. Yawning, he blindly ran his hand over your side of the bed, craving to feel your skin against his, but you were missing. Eyes flashing open, he looked over, and you were indeed gone. Frowning, Ken paused, smelling the wonderful scent of sizzling bacon. A small smile slowly slipped onto his face as he shuffled out of the bed. 

Dragging his feet against the soft cream carpet, Ken followed his nose straight to the kitchen, where you were making breakfast at the stove. Ken's smile immediately widened upon his ocean blue eyes meeting your figure. You looked so beautiful in the morning light that shined through the kitchen window as you hummed quietly to yourself. Ken felt his heart skip a beat, his cheeks flushing as he watched you pour the flour into a large mixing bowl; making pancakes or waffles it seemed.

Adorably waddling over, still a bit hazy with sleep, Ken stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head, smelling your shampoo, like he usually did in the mornings. But, before he could do or say anything more, he heard you screech abruptly as you stepped back, Ken's arms falling from your waist from the sudden movement. Ken's grin immediately dropped when you swirled around, a large frown on your face, eyes narrowed dangerously up at him. 

"Are you freaking serious, Ken!?" You cried out, gesturing to your shirt and the kitchen counter, covered white in spilled flour. "It's everywhere!" You continued, angrily brushing the flour from the front of your shirt; small puffs of white fluttering in the air. Ken felt terrible, reaching out to try and help, but at your sharp glare, he froze. "Why do you have to ruin everything?"

At that, Ken staggered back. Ruin? You had never spoken to him like that before. Never yelled at him. Never had Ken ever seen the hate that you held in your eyes as you glared at him. It wasn't very comforting. Your voice sounded cold, distant even. His brow furrowed, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. He stared at you, stunned and silent, a slight burning behind his eyes from unshed tears. 

You quickly turned away, beginning to clean up the mess, cursing under your breath. Ken felt a sudden pain in his chest and his heart began to pound wildly, his stomach churning uncomfortably. He didn't know what to do.

Swallowing thickly, his throat feeling terribly dry, he tried to reach out to help once more, wanting to help you, make you happy again, see your smile. But, as soon as he reached out, ready to lend a hand, you whipped around; Ken's eyes widened as he found himself staring directly into your blazing ones. The fire was there; burning inside your gaze.

"You're not helping," You stated bluntly, turning away again. "You'll just make things worse. Like always." You bit back.

"But-" Ken croaked out weakly, unable to form any further words. He wanted to hug you and apologize. To hold you, kiss you. He wanted to tell you it would be okay, that you would both get through this. 

"I wish I never met you." You growled, hands pressed tightly against the counter as you stared down at it, "I regret having ever met you."

Ken held in an agonized sob at your words, eyes brimming with tears, "But- But, Y/N-" He wanted to reach out, his hand stopping at your arm, pausing, he hesitated before dropping his hand back to his side. 

You turned back around, "I wish you stayed in Barbie Land, I wish you never wished to become human, I wish I never ran into you, and I wish I never met you."

"P- Please, Y/N-"

"I wish I never fell in love with you." And with those words, Ken saw his world shatter into pieces. He felt like he couldn't breathe like his insides were being ripped out piece by piece. Tears streamed down his face as his heart shattered all over again. But his completely heartbroken appearance didn't stop you from continuing, "I don't know why I loved you in the first place. You are always around me, I hardly have space to myself. If we go out, you practically hang off of me, being all clingy. You honestly embarrass me whenever I go out or when we have company. I always end up taking care of you, like a baby! What is wrong with you? Can't you see how much trouble you're causing me? How much trouble are you causing everyone?!" You seethed, finally breaking eye contact to glare at the floor instead.

Ken blinked, trying to process what you said. What had happened? What had happened that made you so cruel? Maybe you were right... Maybe he did spend too much time with you... Maybe he should stay away from you... But... You still cared about him, right? That's what he thought... At least, he hoped he believed it. Ken didn't realize it until now, but he had been standing there, frozen in shock and horror, for quite some time. 

"I- I didn't mean to." He muttered out, shaking, "I'm sorry..."

But you weren't listening anymore. Turning back around to face the stove, you scoffed. "Don't worry. I've already packed your stuff. Don’t bother coming back." With those words, you left Ken alone in the kitchen, in shock. You packed his bags with the ease of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Turning his head to follow you as you left, he noticed the packed suitcase sitting near the front door. Ken was as hurt as he was confused, he hadn't noticed that when he woke up. 

You were planning on him leaving. 

Where was he going to go? Back to Barbie Land? He'd have to...

"Ken?"

He didn't want to leave the kitchen, he felt like his feet were super glued to the floor. 

"Ken."

Why would you say all of those terrible things? He loved you...

He loved you...

"Ken!"

Sucking a deep breath, Ken jolted, sitting upright. Eyes shooting open, he rapidly blinked the tears from his eyes, feeling them slip onto his already wet cheeks. Confused, he looked around him, seeing the dark bedroom, and you beside him. Upon seeing you, his chest felt tight, his breathing picking up speed. He gripped the blanket tightly, fingers digging into the fabric, sweat dripping down his temple.

You reached forward, your fingers just brushing his arm, making him flinch. You frowned, dropping your hand, clearly worried. You watched as Ken quickly shut his eyes, tears still cascading down his cheeks as he curled up upon himself; his knees coming up to his chest. Clearly, the nightmare that he had, had really spooked him. 

"Ken..." You muttered, your heart breaking as Ken flinched at the sound of your voice. "Ken... You had a nightmare." You spoke softly, sighing as Ken shook his head, digging his chin further between his knees and heaving chest. 

"You hate me..." He whimpered out, your heart-shattering at his voice, "And I... I can't..." Ken trailed off as he pulled the blankets closer to his body, burying his face into his knees. Your eyes softened, watching as Ken buried his head into his knees.

"Hey, no, baby. I could never hate you." You whispered, "It was all a bad dream. Whatever happened in that dream didn't happen... It's not real... Okay?" You tried to reassure him, taking a chance and scooting closer to him. "It's one of the worst things about being human, having nightmares. They may seem real at the time, but they're not, okay? You're safe. You're home." You waited, hoping that he would calm down enough to listen to you. But, it seemed like he wouldn't.

Ken didn't know who or what to trust anymore. Whatever had happened was terrifying. His worst fears had come true, and now, he didn't know where to turn. What to do. He could barely think straight. Everything was spinning. His whole world had been turned upside down. He didn’t know what to think anymore.

Upon seeing that his breathing was becoming rather quick, you immediately became more worried, seeing all the signs of an oncoming panic attack. "Ken." You shuffled closer, "Ken, I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart."

"You... Said... You said you hated me." He exclaimed, his voice muffled, sounding so defeated. 

"I would never say that, Kenny, you know that." You insisted, scooting in front of him, sitting upon the back of your thighs as you slowly reached out, gently taking his hands that were wrapped around his legs. "Ken, look at me, please." It took a moment, but soon Ken slowly looked up, staring at you with the saddest blue eyes that you had ever seen. Shoulders dropping, you felt like crying yourself. "There, okay. Ken, I need you to calm down, okay? Just try and breathe." You urged him gently, looking at him, waiting patiently for him to comply. "Breathe, please." You pleaded quietly, squeezing his hands in yours gently.

After several moments, Ken closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, his eyes remaining squeezed shut. Taking that as a good sign, you began to rub up and down on his arms as you continued to wait; soon enough, Ken opened his eyes once more.

"It wasn't real?" He asked, his voice soft and hesitant.

"No, it wasn't real. Not everything in the Real World is… Well, real. You were just having a bad dream." You smiled softly, reassuringly, as Ken nodded, his grip loosening slightly as he sighed softly.

Reaching up, you gently wiped the tears from his face, your thumbs brushing against the apples of his cheeks. "Okay..." He murmured, leaning into your touch, shutting his eyes once again. "It felt so real... It- It-"

"It wasn't." You interrupted him, "Do you want to tell me what happened? I know it sometimes helps."

Ken thought about it, taking a deep, shaky, as he pouted. "It was about you."

Your chest tightened as your frown deepened, "What about me?"

"You- I woke up... I accidentally spilled flour... You yelled at me..." Ken felt more tears gather in his eyes, unable to look up at you, his voice quiet and broken. "You told me you regretted meeting me. That you..." He felt sick, "That you regretted loving me. You told me to leave you."

Eyes widening, you felt your bottom lip quiver, "Oh, Ken," You sighed, scooting impossibly closer to the broken man before you, your hands remaining on his cheeks; one hand slipping away to brush the sweaty hair from his forehead before again resting softly back his cheek. "Ken, sweetheart. I do not regret meeting you. And I definitely do not regret loving you. And I would not make you leave. You're everything to me. I love you oh so much." You pressed your lips against his forehead, heart fluttering as he shivered beneath your touch.

"Really?" He managed to choke out, looking up at you with those beautiful blue hues that you adored so much.

"Of course." You breathed out, "I would be crazy not to love you. You are so incredibly kind and generous. You always make me laugh and smile, even when I’m sad or have had a bad day. You make me feel so loved, from the way you look at me, to the things that you say and do. When you smile, I'm sure that the world stops. When you kiss me, my stomach does so many summersaults. You lighten my heart, my soul, with just a simple brush of your fingertips or just a simple glance. You're perfect, Ken. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I love you. So, so very much." You smiled sadly, holding his face in your hands tenderly; your own cheeks began to warm as you spoke.

His lips quivered slightly as he bit his lip, blinking back more tears that threatened to spill over. "I'm- I'm not too- Too clingy?" He asked in an uncertain tone. "I don't bother you too much? You don't find me annoying?" He added hesitantly.

"Too clingy? I think I'm the too clingy one. I could hug you for hours, days even." You chuckled a little, eyes raking over his face briefly before looking into his eyes, "I don't think you're clingy. I love how much you show affection. I love the random kisses, hugs, hand-holding, everything. And you are absolutely the opposite of annoying, Ken. Never annoying. Never." You assured him, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks subconsciously.

Ken felt like his heart was about to burst, as his bottom lip trembled again. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks as he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you tightly. Ken felt a surge of emotions rush through his chest and veins as he pulled you into his lap, hugging you tight. Closing his eyes, Ken breathed deeply, trying to steady himself, but he couldn't stop the smile from forming across his face. The warmth and comfort that radiated from you as you hugged him made him feel safe and secure. He held you close, pressing his nose against your neck. 

"I love you," Ken mumbled against your skin, "I love you so much..."

"I love you more... More than anything... More than anything else in the entire world." You murmured, peppering kisses to his temple gently, stroking his hair, your nails softly dragging across his scalp.

As if it wasn't already comforting to hear your words, Ken felt even more comforted by your touches. As he held you tighter, he couldn't help but let out a sob. It was all a nightmare. All just one big bad dream. He couldn't help the feeling of overwhelming relief, happiness, and love that flooded his body. He couldn't help but feel soothed. He felt warm. He felt safe. He felt loved.

---

Main Masterlist | Barbie Masterlist

[fipindustries]

a gay romantic comedy

because its the genre of movie i most grew up with my brain cant stop coming up with ideas for all family romantic comedies and one specific idea wont leave my brain: a straight guy who realizes he is gay. So now that im bed ridden with some mysterious illness ill take the time to get into it.

Warning: this gets stupid long.

Now you have to understand, the specific genre im thinking of is mid 2000s romantic comedy, so this straight guy, he is like aggresively heteronormative. He is kind of doofy, a little douchey but with a heart of gold. He is scott pilgrim. He is the type of guy that could have been played by paul rudd or ben stiller or seth rogen, right?

The movie starts with him going through a breakup with a girl, she complains that he never pays her attention, he never shows affection because he is too lost in his world of videogames and pot and, oh btw, he is lousy in bed. She storms off and he can barely muster the energy to call her back. He seems despondent but also kind of relieved.

So he goes to hang out with his stoner friends to lick gis wounds, and these guys are like the prototypical douchebags, james franco is tgere, jonah hill is there, fucking matthew lillard is there. And they are laughing it off and trying to tell him that he should "totally forget that bitch dude, there is always fresh pussy". They also take the chance to make fun of him a little for all his previois short lived failed relationships with women.

And then one of the whips out a gay porn because he claims "one of the actors there totally looks like jonah dude, is like really fucked up" and our protagonist, lets call him paul, is like, "aw i dunno guys, i dont think i want to watch this, i never watched gay porn before" and we cut to a series of flashbacks where he was raised by hilariously catholic parents who told him if he ever masturbated his fand would catch gangreene.

But they ignore him and put on the movie and first of all the actor does not look at all like jonah, at most they both have a jewfro, second as the scene goes on and the guys are laughing their asses off and going on about how "gross" and "fucked up" it is and can you believe some people are into this shit? Paul is slowly realizibg that, oh fuck, this is actually doing it for him. So he tries to disimulate and act normal but he is swea12ting and he clearly has a boner and is breathing hard and one of the guys asks "hey are you ok?" And he says some quick excuse to run out.

We cut to him running down the streets of downtown at night and he is freaking out because wherever he sees he sees hots guys in billboards and construction workers that look really buff and maybe he collides against a freddy mercury impersonator who offers him a hand when he falls to the ground that he rejects as he runs back to his apartment.

Once he is there he tries to prove to himself that he is definetly not gay so he tries to watch a normal straight porn but as it goes on he realizes he is looking at the guy not the girl. Then he sees his room is filled with posters of rambo and silvester stallone and he tears them down and its all a hilariously over the top breakdown. He flushes is macho action figures down the toilet, he tries to throw away his wolverine comics, at one point he is about to throw a vhs of chuck norris out the window but hen he realizes he just cant do it and collapses on the groubd crying

Next day he wakes up in the middle of his kitchen by the banging of the door, it is the one positive female influence he has in his life, his sister, who heard what happened and wants to see if he is ok.

He is like "im not ok" and he goes on about how he has "big news, terrible, terrible news" and he makes a huge deal out of it and the sister (played by, lets say, meg ryan) is like really worried and he finally is like "im gay!!! :((((("

And the sister is like "thats it?" And he is like "what do you mean thats it!?"

And then she completly deflates the tension and gives a speech about how its [current year] and its totally normal to be gay now a days and starts listing a bunch of celebrities that ard out and proud. So this calms him down a little and she goes on to say that this is actually a great opportunity for him, he just discovered there is a whole new flavor of ice cream he can enjoy and all the new doors this opens and is basically the speech the therapist gives to mel gibson in "what women want" and paul starts realizibg this could actually be an interesting experiment. What finally seals the deal is the sister saying "you know how you always had a hard time with girls? Well imagine now how much easier it should be for you to be with guys"

So then we go on to a montage of the guy exploring his new identity, maybe a shopping sequence where he tries a bunch of stereotipical gay outfits where his sister shakes her head at every single one. He goes to watch broadway shows, we see him watching will and grace or the ellen show. And finally the big one, he goes to a gay bar.

He is uncomfortable at first because he has no idea of the culture or the scene. Maybe he hits it off with a bunch of dudes, eventually he relaxes and starts to have fun. By the end of the night he walks off with like party hats and novelty glasses and confetti but, oh no! He comes across his douchy friends!

They ask him what is going on and "why is he dressed like a fag" and paul is stuttering, freezing in front of the headlights, not knowing what to say when a big dude we dont recognize walks in and he is like "hey! You forgot your acting check, for the short film you just acted in (wink wink)" and he bails paul in front of his friends. The friends walk off satisfied and paul is thanking the buff guy profusely and the guy is like "dont worry about it, after all, us fags have to stick together"

By the way the guy is none other than hugh jackman.

They immediatly hit it off. Its a meet cute. They have chemistry and a lot of fun. We get to another sequence of paul trying to figure out how to date a guy after years of only dating girls. He brings him flowers and chocolates, he tries to open the door for him at restaurants and pay for the check. At this hugh explain he doesnt have to treat him like a girl and insists on splitting the check. So then paul, wracking his brain for ideas for dates tries to invite him to a romantic comedy but hugh is like "actually i like to go see underground wrestling".

This opens a new set of funny highjinks were they are there watching the show and maybe paul gets dragged into the fight because this is a funny comedy world where wrestling is real. And there are lots of funny slapstick and hugh rescues him and carries him off in a reference to the movie "the bodyguard".

There are other funny scenes we can do like them going to pride parade or maybe paul and hugh coming across the catholic parents and through a series of misunderstandings and wordgames (maybe encouraged by paul to stay in the closet) the parents think hugh is like a roomate or a coworker "we share a room, we sleep in bunkbeds, uh, hugh likes to be the top [rimshot]"

Then finally comes the big moment. They are in bed together, they are making out, things are getting really steamy and hugh starts making advances to take paul's pants off. Maybe, agains because of misunderstandings, hugh thinks pauls wants to bottom and then the last remains of pauls heteronormativity kick in and he freaks out. He pushes hugh off, makes a huge scene. Maybe says some hurtful things, hugh is clearly upset at this and starts talking about how he is tired of paul hiding him or whatever. Its a huge fight. Paul storms off.

We have out obligatory sequence before the third act where our protagonists sulks and reflects on his choices and he is back to hanging out with his stoner friends who are saying a bunch of homophobic jokes and how things are "totally gay" and "dude that is so fucking gay" and maybe they are at the park jeering at a lesbian couple. And the paul decides he had enough and finds the courage to stand up to his friends.

He starts by telling them to cut it off with the homo jokes and calling bad things gay all the times and what is wrong with being gay anyway? And his friends are like "what are you? Gay?"

And he proudly says "yes, i am"

And his friends are all shocked into silence.

" now if you excuse me, i have to apologize with my boyfriend"

And then he runs off, and maybe the lesbians he defended yell "go get it white boy!"

So he has to run across the city to find his boyfriend, and the pop rock song swells in the background.

Now hugh is probably at a big event like an art gallery or a baseball game or maybe at an airport. The point is that is a big space with a big crowd, maybe for extra points pauls parents are there as well.

So paul comes in and does a big emotional gesture where he apologizes to hugh in front of everyone and he loudly comes out of the closet in front of all of new york (because of cpurse this happens in new york, in fact fuck it, its christmass too). And there is a big applause and he kisses hugh in front of everyone and maybe the mother comically faints.

And then hugh is like, really touched, but also there was no need to do this whole scene. "Paul, im a switch"

We cut to an epilogue years later where they are getting married in central park, and everyone is there. The sister is crying of happyness, the parents are lightly clapping through gritted teeth, the stoner friends are actually there and they are cheering and hollering and doing a big ruckus.

Hugh throws the bouquet of flowers and maybe jonah hill grabs it and he looks around and, why the fuck not, there is the gay porn star that sort of looks like him and he winks.

Our happy couple rides off into the sunset. The end.

Depending on how edgy we want to be we can have scenes of them doing hardcore gay sex during the credits, otherwise just a scene of both of them in bed after the sex, we get one last chance for our actors to improv some funny lines while "you get what you give" by the new radicals plays over the credits.

The end

[unseededtoast]

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Two

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

wc: 2.6k

My hands go to their wounds and I try to stop the bleeding. But there's too much blood, there's too much.

A tapping on my shoulder wakes me up, and I open my eyes to see Lucas' shadow standing in front of me. He's clutching his plush dinosaur close to his chest. He probably had a nightmare or something. I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up, facing him.

"What's up tough guy?" I whisper and grab him, sitting him next to me on the bed. I turn on my bedside lamp and see that he's been crying. With careful hands, I wipe his tears and wait for him to tell me what's wrong. His bottom lip trembles and his eyebrows are drawn tightly together.

"The noises." He says through staggered breaths. He starts crying again and I bring him in close to me, hugging him tightly against my body as he cries. My fingers rake through his hair in an attempt to calm him down, and try to listen for anything out of the ordinary.

There are police sirens nearby, maybe down the street? Which is odd, seeing as how they were there when I fell asleep. A few moments later I hear helicopters overhead, sounds like there might be two or three but I can't tell for sure. An uneasy pit in my stomach surfaces, and I nudge Ryan awake. That man can sleep through anything, so it's no surprise Lucas' presence didn't disturb him.

Ryan groans and rubs his eyes, squinting them open in the soft light. He sees Lucas and I on the bed and sits up, suddenly alert.

"What's wrong?" He asks, clearing his throat. I usually never wake him up when Lucas comes to our room, unless Lucas specifically asks for his dad to put him back to bed.

"The noises." I repeat Lucas' words to Ryan, giving him a pointed stare as to tell him I am also concerned. Ryan must hear the sirens and he pushes the covers away, going over to our bedroom window to pull the curtains back so he can see outside.

"Holy shit." He sounds surprised, and I am as well. Ryan never swears in front of Lucas. Quickly, Ryan pulls the curtains back and I hug Lucas into my body, so that he can't see the silent conversation that I'm having with Ryan. A simple shared glance is enough to tell me that something is wrong. My heart drops to my stomach, but I force myself to stay composed for Lucas.

Ryan opens our closet and grabs our travel bags, unzipping them on the bed. His intense demeanor lets me know that something is seriously wrong, Ryan is always laid back and typically underreacts to situations. So if he's openly packing our bags, something is incredibly wrong. And I'm willing to bet the police sirens and helicopters have a lot to do with whatever is happening.

I grab Lucas and carry him through the house, sitting him on his bed and drying his tears once more. He sucks in sharp breaths between cries and holds his beloved plushie to his chest. I smile at him, trying to act casual and collected. I rearrange his hair and kiss his forehead,

"Do you want to see if you can go potty for me? I'll give you whatever sticker you want." I encourage him to use the bathroom before we leave, and I know he loves his reward for using the bathroom "like a big boy" he says. He nods his head and toddles off to the bathroom, giving me time to find a bag for him.

My hands shake as I open his closet and grab a duffel bag we use for his travelling needs. I set it on his bed and go through his wardrobe, picking short sleeved shirts, long sleeved shirts, long pants, short pants, pajamas, and plenty of extra socks and underwear. Luckily, his clothing is small and I can fit almost all of it in the bag. I don't know where we're going or how long we'll be gone, but I want to be sure Lucas will be taken care of. I zip the duffel bag and grab an old diaper bag out of his closet, packing some pull-ups for emergencies if we need them and make room to pack some snacks for him.

While Lucas is still in the bathroom, I make my way to the kitchen and pack his favorite puff snacks, fruit snacks, and anything else I know he likes that won't go bad in the bag. For good measure, I pack some water bottles as well. When I return to Lucas' room he's back from the bathroom and I smile, picking him back up with trembling hands.

"Good job buddy! Let's go pick out your sticker." I say with false excitement and grab the sticker book that sits atop his dresser. I flip through the pages and let him pick his favorite one and I stick it on his shirt. He smiles down at the sticker as I place him back on the ground.

I grab one of his jackets and help him put it on, and I make sure he's got a good pair of socks on his feet. Knowing he hates wearing shoes, I put his little slip-ons on, knowing that if I can help it, he'll be attached to my hip and won't have to do much, if any, walking on his own.

I toss the diaper bag on my shoulder and grab the duffel bag in one hand, and hoist up Lucas on my free side. Encumbered by the bags and my son, I meet Ryan out in the living room, who looks terrified. He rubs his hands through his hair and paces back and forth, blowing out a sharp breath. Lucas has his head resting on my shoulder and Ryan gives me a wide-eyed look before he speaks in a low voice.

"Don't let him see what's out there, cover his eyes. When we walk out of the door, keep your eyes on my back. Please trust me on this one, Noelle. Put the bags in the trunk and sit with Lucas in the backseat. The quicker we can get out of here, the better." I don't think twice to question him, knowing that his judgment is sound in this moment. I lick my lips and swallow the bile rising in my throat, ready to follow Ryan. He takes a deep breath and grabs our bags before he goes to the front door. It looks like he takes a moment to hype himself up to open the door, but once he does, all hell breaks loose.

I hear sirens and see the flashing lights down on our street. People are screaming.

"Hey buddy look at me okay? We're going on a surprise vacation!" My voice wavers as I speak, but I need Lucas to keep his eyes on me. His grip tightens on my shirt, he's scared of what he hears. I look over to him and meet his watery blue eyes, pushing all signs of fear off of my face.

Ryan opens the trunk of our car and loads our bags into it, taking both bags off of me while I keep Lucas' attention with whatever words I can find. Once the bags are off my shoulder, I waste no time in going to the driver's side back door of our car and opening it, placing Lucas in his car seat.

As I buckle him in, my gaze lifts through the passenger window which is facing down the street, where the commotion is. In the middle of the road I see a body laying there, illuminated by red and blue lights. My breath catches in my throat and I fumble with the latches of his car seat, too disturbed by what I'm seeing to pay attention.

"Noelle, come on." Ryan's eager voice breaks my gaze away from the body and I successfully get Lucas strapped in. Quickly, I cross the car and get into the back passenger side, just as Ryan told me to.

Without hesitation, Ryan backs out of our driveway, letting me observe the body in the road. Whoever it is, is most definitely dead. Their skull is cracked open on the pavement, brains and blood pouring out of the extensive wound. My heart thumps in my chest and my mouth goes dry. Whatever this is, is nothing good.

Ryan speeds out of our neighborhood and I quickly notice how many cars are out on the road at this time of night. Helicopters and planes crowd in the sky. My blood turns to ice in my veins as a dreadful thought crosses my mind. What if this is related to the sickness on the news? What if it finally made its way here?

Lucas' sniffles break me out of my downward spiral and I take his small hands in my own, rubbing gentle circles on the back of his hands. His dinosaur now sits on his lap. To distract him from the chaos outside, I just start talking to him about anything and everything.

I notice that we drive down back streets and dirt roads, avoiding town and any main avenues. However, the back routes are just as crowded as the main ones usually are. It's almost as if everyone is trying to get out of here at the same time. Horns blare as we come to a standstill on the only road out of this small town. I hear car doors slam and people start shouting at one another.

Ryan and I make eye contact with each other through the rearview mirror, fear equally present in our eyes. A sudden commotion right outside the windshield breaks our gazes apart, and we watch the unfolding scene with wide, terrified eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing man? Use your big ass truck and go through the field dumbass!" The man's words are full of anger and desperation. The driver of the truck yells back,

"I can't you fuckin' moron. Jam is all the way up there to the exit." He motions down to where we're headed. If the exit is jammed up, the highway is full.

My mind starts formulating a way out of this town without the highway, but nothing comes to mind immediately. Any way out of this town requires getting on the highway. Another yell from further up sounds out in the night. A piercing scream, one that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Seconds later, people begin running past our car, away from the exit and back towards town. People fall and stumble as they try to flee, and nobody helps them up, they all keep running. Whatever is up there is terrifying enough for people to abandon their sense of compassion. It's anarchy out there.

"Stay here." Ryan's voice is strong and decisive. He gets out of the car and stands on the hood to get a vantage point of what's going on. I turn to Lucas and try to comfort him the best I can. Tears are falling down his face, and I wipe them away.

"It's okay Lucas, I'm right here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I'm here, mommy's got you." My voice is soft, and I mean the words I say with every fiber of my being. I lean forward and put a delicate kiss on the top of his forehead.

It doesn't take Ryan long to get off the hood, and he goes straight for Lucas. With desperate hands, Ryan goes to unbuckle Lucas and gives me more instructions.

"We have to go on foot. I'll explain later, but something bad is happening up there. We have to go, now." His voice is strained and loud. Without a second thought, I lean over the backseat into the trunk and search blindly for Lucas' diaper bag. Luckily, it's small enough to fit through the gap between the seat and the ceiling, and I sling it on my shoulder. I take another second to grab Lucas' dinosaur plush and then follow Ryan through the crowd.

They're a few steps ahead of me, but I'm right behind them. Ryan keeps Lucas on his hip, one hand protectively securing his head so he isn't jostled around too much. People brush past me as they run away from the traffic jam, causing me to trip a few times.

We jog at a good pace for a while, until we come back to town; the same place we're actively trying to get away from. The small town is full of screaming, crying people running all different directions. It seems like Ryan has a plan, and goes full steam ahead.

We reach the buildings and see large army trucks barreling down the street, heavily armed soldiers jumping out and shouting orders. My steps slow a little as reality begins sinking in. This is just like what I saw on the news yesterday with Lisa. It is here. I tear my gaze away from the trucks and focus on following Ryan.

We approach the back of the local tire shop, an old brick building where the screams and shouts are only slightly muffled. Ryan stops to catch his breath momentarily and I rush to his side, checking to see if Lucas is okay. Other than being scared, he's alright. I kiss his forehead,

"Mommy's got you." I whisper in Lucas' ear. He grabs fistfuls of Ryan's shirt in an attempt to bring himself some sort of comfort. Ryan looks up to me and I reach out to him, my hand resting on his bicep.

"We're going to be okay." My voice isn't very convincing, but Ryan nods.

"We're going to be okay." He confirms with an equally unconvincing voice. We stare into each others eyes for a few fleeting seconds before Ryan starts moving again.

We run past the back of the tire shop and Ryan goes to turn the corner which would lead us back to the main road. I'm a few paces behind them, and Ryan turns the corner before I do.

Within seconds, I hear agonizing screams.

When I turn the corner, it's as if time stands still. Ryan is on the ground, a man is on top of him and blood is pouring out of his shoulder. Lucas is trapped underneath Ryan's body, screeching out. Before I can move a muscle, the man on top of Ryan pounces on Lucas, and I watch in terror as the deranged man bites Lucas in the neck.

Gunshots ring out, the man falls limp.

Ryan has stopped screaming, Lucas has stopped moving. Their blood flows out of them and stains the pavement. My body begins hyperventilating and moving on its own, crouching down to my loves.

My hands go to their wounds and I try to stop the bleeding. But there's too much blood, there's too much. Frantically, I try anything to save them.

"No, no no no no no no." My sobs rake through my body as I see Lucas' lifeless blue eyes staring up at the night sky. Ryan's eyes stare straight at the side of the building, equally as lifeless.

I feel hands loop around my arms, dragging me away from my family. I fight back, thrashing and screaming. I feel the bag around my shoulder get taken off, and Lucas' plush ripped from my hands, leaving only a scrap in my possession.

My body is dragged backwards and I'm tossed in the back of a large armored truck as I scream and cry for my family. I see their lifeless bodies on the ground one final time before the door of the truck is slammed in my face.

Part Three

[angstyaches]

The Hexagon: Aftermath, Part Two

Hexagon Parts 1 - 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Aftermath Part 1

Not as long as Charlie's aftermath fic, but still 3500ish.

CW: stress-induced stomach ache, strained found family dynamic, treatment of burn, guilt (on both sides), general bad head space and anxiety, vampire body horror, disordered eating, trauma mentions.

___

Shayne was guided to his room to find his door slightly ajar. He was sure he hadn’t left it like that. Felix and Elliott must have been going in and out, looking for any hints if he’d been home or not. The thought made his insides curdle. 

He realised he was subconsciously cradling his bandaged hand against his stomach. He had just about forgotten about the pain of the burn, yet his body was hyper-aware of the damaged, badly-wrapped skin.  

As he reached his bedroom window, he ran his good hand through his hair. It was horribly tangled and in need of washing. He parted the curtains in the centre and scanned the surrounding area; an anxious habit. There was nothing to look at but chimney pots and sleepy, one-lane back streets, but that didn’t do anything to calm him. 

He turned around, remembering that he wasn’t alone. 

Elliott’s brow had been furrowed with intent since they’d walked out of Ryan’s office. He held the mug handle with one hand and kept it balanced with a finger against the outer lip. 

“Do you know where she is?” Shayne asked. 

“Who?” 

“Nancy!” 

“Jesus, Shayne.” Elliott rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. What’s so urgent?” 

“I really need to –” Shayne felt his hand slam against the windowsill as his heart skipped a beat and his vision pitched. He exhaled slowly. Need? Seriously?

“What you need is to sit the hell down,” Elliott said, gesturing to the bed, then nodding to the mug in his hands. “And to eat something.” 

Shayne’s stomach churned against his bandaged hand. A wave of horror rolled through him as he realised he was shaking again. He had stopped shaking hours ago. Why was it starting again now? 

He sank down on the edge of his bed. He pressed his fingers into the duvet, ignoring the crackling pain in his palm. For a while, he had been so sure that he would never see his room at the townhouse again. Or speak to Elliott again.

Or... eat.

“Are you going to be good and drink this all by yourself?” Elliott asked. A faint, familiar smirk played on his face. “Or do I have to feed you like an infant?” 

Goosebumps tricklled up and down Shayne’s arms. The steam rising from the mug seemed to fill the air with a toxic fog that made it impossible to breathe.

Aren't you hungry, little monster?

His view of Elliott standing there was suddenly distorted behind a sheen of tears.

“Whoa. Fuck,” Elliott said softly.

Useless, pathetic, disgusting. The stroke of chilled fingertips on the back of Shayne's neck made him shudder.

“I was kidding, man.” 

Shayne wiped his eyes with a sleeve that was definitely not clean enough for the task. Horror and shame swelled up in his throat; he really should be showering and changing his clothes. But he should also be letting Ryan check his vitals, and he should be talking to Nancy about the witch with the door, and he should be comforting Charlie while he waited for his parents to come. 

There was nothing that he wasn’t failing at.

Even the simplest task – eating – was too overwhelming to even think about. He realised that was what had made him tremble, and once he acknowledged it, the shaking worsened; he had held it together for three days in the face of possible starvation, and the sight of a cup of broth was what had finished him off. 

“Look.” Elliott’s weight caused a tilt in the mattress as he sat. The mug abandoned somewhere, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “I really don’t know how to act in these kinds of situations. I know it’s a problem.” 

Shayne swallowed. His stomach felt as though it were being slowly wound around something long and cold and sharp.

“I can’t even imagine what you’ve –” Elliott looked towards the door, as though looking for a way to escape. He pulled his hands from his pockets again and scratched at the back of his neck.

Shayne wouldn't have held it again him; he almost wished he would just leave. Shayne had already been so much of a burden on Ryan that she had sent him away; making Elliott's life miserable wouldn't be of any use to anyone, so...

“I’m sorry, Shayne.” 

It was said so softly that Shayne had to run it through his brain a few times before it clicked. He tried to look at Elliott, but those amber eyes wouldn't meet his.

“What?” Shayne felt hollow. Helpless. “I... You came. We wouldn't have made it home –”

Elliott's hands slammed into fists on his knees.

“I should have come looking for you sooner!” he shouted, gritting his teeth. His fists curled into puffs of black smoke, his hands vanishing and reappearing several times in quick succession.

“El –”

“I had...” Elliott hesitated, lips parted, as though he might gag on whatever words he was trying to form. “I had a horrible feeling that something had happened, and instead of taking action, I sat on it. And it's exactly like –”

Elliott didn't have to say Madelyn's name for Shayne to know what he was comparing the situation to.

And yet, Shayne couldn’t think of anything to say. Or maybe it was because there was too much he should say, and it was all bottlenecking in his throat. But if the situation had been reversed, there would have been nothing anyone could say to stop him from blaming himself. He hated admitting it, but he and Elliott were similar in that way.

The fact remained, though; it was Shayne's fault that Elliott felt so deeply guilty over this. If he had gotten over his abandonment issues - or, better yet, if he'd managed to keep everything inside and never let Elliott know about them - then Elliott wouldn't have felt the need to be so protective of him.

“When we catch whoever did this,” Elliott seethed, “the Conclave’s not even going to have a chance to prosecute, because I’m going to rip them to fucking shreds first.” 

Shayne squeezed the duvet under his hands. The anger and stress rolled off Elliott in waves, and Shayne felt it all seep through him, chilling his blood until it joined his own worries in the pit of his stomach. 

The Conclave.  

What had happened to him and Charlie had been a crime, in a very literal sense. He hadn’t thought about it like that before, but it seemed painfully obvious now. There were probably laws in place to stop accidents like that from happening. It was probably illegal to set up entrapment spells and leave them unattended for days on end. That witch had run away from Shayne because they’d known that they had done something wrong.

They hadn’t been running from him; they had been running from the wider consequences. 

Fuck. Why did that sting, somehow? 

“Alright,” Elliott sighed raggedly. He relaxed his fists, flexing his hands, as though checking that his fingers were all present and accounted for. Then, as though looking at his own hands had reminded him, he looked down at where Shayne was gripping the bed. “First things first, I suppose. Let me fix that.” 

Shayne followed Elliott’s gaze. He reached for the end of the gauze that looped around his palm and the back of his hand, crossing both sides of his thumb. Shit. His hands were shaking so much. He’d tried doing it himself because he hadn’t wanted Ryan touching him, and he sure as fuck wasn't about to let Elliott handle it.

“Oh. It’s fine, El,” he said, but Elliott had already stood and walked over to Shayne's desk. “I can do it myself.” 

“Did you put some of this on it?” Elliott turned to show Shayne a tub of ointment that Ryan had sent over.

“Yes.” 

“Did you clean the wound beforehand?” 

“No, I left it full of dirt and sweat,” Shayne mumbled.

Elliott looked less than impressed.

“Of course, I fucking cleaned it, asshole.” 

“Yeah, well, you play fast and loose with your own wellbeing often enough,” Elliott shrugged, sauntering back over to the edge of the bed, “I had to ask.” 

Shayne struggled to keep still as Elliott kneeled on the floor and reached for his hand. He kept his eyes pinned on the duvet, next to his thigh, and tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person.  

Elliott clicked his tongue as he peered as the damaged skin under the gauze. “How did you even get out?” 

The witch in the cloak.  

The door.  

The magic.  

Shayne’s heart missed a beat. “What?” 

“If the wards burned you this badly from touching them once,” Elliott said, “how did you manage to get out?”

Shayne opened his mouth. His explanation died in his throat.

The Conclave.

All this time, Shayne hadn't thought any further into the future than telling Nancy everything he knew about the person who had set up the hexagon and then disappeared through a magic door in the forest. That had seemed like the smartest, most responsible thing to do.

But... Elliott and Ryan didn't know yet, Shayne realised, that he had actually seen the person who had taken down the wards - presumably, the same person who had put the trap there in the first place.

Once they knew that, there would be questions. He hadn't seen much of their physical appearance, but surely as soon as he started describing the disappearing door, it wouldn't be too hard to track down the witch who was associated with them.

And then they'd be caught, and if Elliott didn't get to them first, the Conclave would deal with them - whatever that entailed.

Either way, it meant that Shayne would never get a chance to speak to them. To find out what they knew about demons, or about the Other Side, or about...

No. He couldn't let himself think about the rest. Not while everything was so uncertain.

God, Shayne's stomach hurt.

“Did the wards just magically let themselves down after a certain amount of time?”

“Mmm,” Shayne hummed half-heartedly.

“Huh,” Elliott mused. “That’s very odd, right? Your mother's wards stood at Mulberry for what? Ten, eleven years?”

Shayne's skin tingled with cold sweat. Shit. He hadn’t meant to tell an outright lie. He had just really wanted Elliott to stop grilling him, he... he needed more time to think; since this all began, it felt like he hadn’t been given a chance to fucking think. He had to consider what telling the truth might lead to. To sort through the jumbled mess in his head.  

He hadn’t even talked to Charlie about what had happened yet. 

Thankfully, Elliott seemed to have switched to musing to himself, rather than pressing Shayne for any more details.

“... work of a witch might not be as... durable as that. I'm sure Nancy will know a lot more.” Elliott bumped his knuckles against Shayne's leg. The unnecessary contact was annoying as fuck, but grounding. “Hey. It’s okay, you know.” 

“I know it’s okay, shithead.” Shayne winced when he heard himself. He didn't need Elliott catching on to how tense he was making himself. He looked pointedly at his palm. Elliott had just finished unpeeling the gauze and was ready to start applying it again. “I’ve... had worse.” 

“So have I.” Elliott’s tone was brusque and a little dismissive. “That's not what I was talking about.” 

“Then what?” Shayne demanded, breathless with anxiety from trying to piece together what Elliott knew and didn't know. 

“I meant that it’s okay to let someone do something for you.” 

Shayne knew where this was going. That phone call. The dread in his heart as he blurted out, I wouldn’t usually ask, as though it wouldn't have mattered one way or another. As though there was anyone else he would call. As though saving face with Elliott had been more important than getting Charlie to safety. 

The tension in his belly crept towards his throat. Was there nothing he could think about anymore, without running into that twisting tightness?

“For example,” Elliott continued, “dress a burn when you don't have two free hands to do it yourself. Or, you know, drop everything to go and save your ass from the middle of nowhere, after you've been stranded for –”

Tears flooded Shayne’s eyes again. “I already thanked you for that.” 

Elliott's amber eyes narrowed, focused on laying layers of gauze neatly on top of one another. “I didn't ask you to thank me.” 

“Then what d’you want from me, El?” Shayne demanded, even though what he wanted to know was, Why are you making me feel even more like a piece of shit?!

“I want you to ask me for help and not sound like you expect me to say no!” Elliott threw back his head as a grey haze swept across his throat.

His entire neck blurred, dissolving into tiny, black apparitions that fluttered in place. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in air through his fangs. His flesh reformed, but as it did, he yanked a little too hard on the gauze. 

“Shit,” Elliott breathed, loosening the fabric. “Sorry, kid.” 

“It’s fine,” Shayne muttered hoarsely. His burn only ached marginally more thanks to the added pressure. If anything, he was a bit grateful for the rise in physical, surface-level pain. It grounded him again, long enough to realise how terrible Elliott looked, even while fully corporeal. “Are you...?” 

A low growl bubbled in Elliott's throat. Shayne somehow understood it to mean not now.

“Okay.” Shayne hugged his free arm closer to his stomach. “I didn’t – I didn’t expect you say no.”

Elliott grunted.

“But,” Shayne mumbled, “I might have expected you to expect me to... expect you to say no.” 

Elliott’s hands stopped wrapping gauze back and forth over Shayne’s palm. He steadied Shayne’s wrist in his hand, gentle enough that Shayne could have shaken his hand free if he'd wanted to. Elliott let out a deep, huffing sigh and raised his face, one eyebrow arched, his lips pulled tight. 

“What?” Shayne complained, though he knew very fucking well how crazy he sounded. He had hoped Elliott would have done him a favour and let it go.

Elliott let out a soft chuckle. He reached for something on the floor, next to his knee. Small and plastic, with a serrated edge on one side. Elliott cut off a sliver of white tape and pressed it to Shayne's bandage, smoothing it across the back of his hand.

“The gauze isn’t self-adhesive,” Elliott said. “It doesn’t hold by itself.” 

Shayne was too tired to internalise the fact that there was one more thing he’d done wrong; his capacity for guilt and self-criticism was maxed out. Knowing that Elliott would at least expect a show of indignance, he distantly muttered, “I knew that.” 

“Uh-huh.” Elliott stood, taking the tape and the spare gauze in his hands. “Broth time?” 

Steadily, Shayne let his gaze wander towards the mug on his desk. A tight, acidic force closed in on his throat as he imagined putting anything near his mouth. He wasn’t just sure that he would be sick as soon as soon as it reached his stomach; everything felt so twisted up that it seemed impossible that he’d even be able to swallow. 

But he let himself look towards the broth a few seconds longer, hoping it was enough to make Elliott believe that he was really considering it.  

“Actually...” He cleared his throat. His stomach sank as Elliott turned to look at him, alarm lighting up his eyes. “I’m so fucking tired, El. I just really want to shower and get some sleep.” 

Elliott’s fingers closed around the rim of the mug. He didn’t lift it, though his gaze lay steadily on its contents. And as much as he wanted to seem in control, Shayne could feel how his body had started to shrink inwards, as though it could fold up and tuck itself away. 

“Please, El.” The voice that came from Shayne’s mouth didn’t feel like his own. The wetness in his eyes didn’t, either. His teeth rattled together, and trying to make them stop only made it worse. “Don’t. Don’t make me.” 

Elliott’s fingers twitched, then lifted clear of the mug's rim. 

“I won’t. Of course I won’t. You... You deserve to do this at your own pace.” Elliott folded his arms. His fingers tapped rhythmically at his elbow. “If Ryan asks me, I will have to tell her the truth, though. I didn’t physically see you eat anything.” 

Shayne nodded, trying not to scowl too hard. It wasn’t as though he’d expected Elliott to lie to Ryan for him anyway. Besides, he knew it was far more likely that it would be Charlie, not Ryan, who jumped down Elliott's throat with questions about Shayne's food intake.

“But... I trust you,” Elliott said softly, though the hollow look in his eyes seemed to betray the fact that he was already regretting it. He arched an eyebrow again, as though silently begging Shayne not to fuck this up.

The shard of guilt going through Shayne’s stomach gave a painful pulse. The tears on his face were laced with ungratefulness, and he quickly brushed them away – with his unwrapped hand – in the hopes that Elliott hadn’t noticed them.

“Thank you,” he tried to say, but it got lost in the bubble of pressure at the back of his throat.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Elliott took a step backwards, towards the bedroom door. He paused and eyed Shayne’s hand. “I know it’ll be a pain in the ass, but try to keep those bandages dry in the shower.” 

Shayne nodded. 

“I’m sure someone will be around to check on you after a bit. Maybe let Ryan check your vitals next time you see her. You can call it a favour for me.” 

Great. Shayne nodded again, though he was ninety percent sure that he would lock up with fear as soon as Ryan came near him with the intent of monitoring the activity inside his body. He fidgeted, squeezing his sides. He couldn’t wait for Elliott to leave, and he hated himself for it.

“None of us want to lose you, kid.” 

As soon as he was alone, Shayne had expected to curl up on the bed, right where he was. After everything, he wasn’t even in the mood for a hot shower anymore, feeling he didn’t deserve to wash off the three days’ worth of misery that clung to his skin and his hair. Without someone instructing – or, being honest, begging – him to take care of himself, he’d expected to feel no urgency to do so, and would instead wallow in the hopelessness of everything that was happening. 

Instead, he waited for about a minute after Elliott had closed the door behind him. A distant car horn blew. Hot water grumbled through the twists and turns of the pipes in the walls. Shayne’s teeth continued to rattle in short bursts. But his mind had gone quiet and he had no idea what to do about that.

He took a shaky breath. What was it Elliott had said? First things first. 

Shayne stood and retrieved the mug from his desk before returning to the bed. He sat with his legs crossed beneath him, subconsciously taking up the smallest space possible on the mattress. 

He took a couple of long, slow sips, barely pausing between each one. The warmth of the broth soothed his throat, taking the edge off the tightening ache. The ache that had been put there as punishment for his lies and his failures. It was so undeserved that he gagged, and he had to double over slightly to stop his body from instantly rejecting everything he’d swallowed. He laid his bandaged hand gently over his belly, imagining he could feel the broth sitting like a rock under his ribs, squeezing its way down through the knots and twists his stomach had gotten itself into. 

He reached for his nightstand and laid the mug down with a shaking hand. His breath was coming in shallow, pained gasps, like he’d just sprinted from Mulberry all the way here. He’d barely drunk one-third of the broth Elliott had left him, but it would have to do for now.  

Instead of brushing them away, he let the tears run freely down his face as he undressed for the shower.

[slasher-smasher]

Teleporting Keys (Homelander x OC)

This is for my very first submission to @cozycornerevents, prompt: "Where are my keys?" Masterlist

No warning besides not beta read, just HL having terrible hiding spots for things, OC is Cassidy Bishop.

Cassidy wasn't the most meticulous person but she did like to have her everyday items to have a specific place for easy locating. With her hectic schedule, she needed to be able to be out of the door when she got paged from the hospital. 

Her phone –depending on its battery charge– gets set down on the counter in the kitchen so she will be able to hear its ringing when she has her nose shoved into a book on the couch or if she was in a baking mood and was mixing batter while listening to her gramophone.

Her wallet on her dresser, next to the phone charger she uses when she goes to bed.

The sketchbook and pencils had their home on the bookshelf in the living room. Normally she kept them under her bed so she would be able to reach under when inspiration struck but her nosey boyfriend liked to snoop and pull it out to flick through her sketches making her face flush when he gives her a cheeky grin as he sees a new picture of him. His favorites are the ones where he looked heroic mid-flight. 

Her keys hanging from their hook by the door. The little Lego versions of Ryan and Homelander that former made her for her birthday swung by their keychain.

Usually, Homelander comes by to pick her up to spend the night at the tower –which she insisted that she could drive herself there but he just sneers at the idea of her getting in the death box on wheels more than she has to– and takes her home so she can drive to work.

After a serious sit down, she made it clear to Homeander how important her job is to her and that she was a professional so being late is unacceptable. Though that did little to deter the clingy superhero from dragging her back to the warm bed for early morning cuddles. He still made sure she had time to get ready at home. This week was odd though.

One day, after coming home from a long night of celebration of his newly appointed Homelander Day –much to Cassidy’s exasperation about his need to be the center of attention– Cassidy was just about to reach for her keys before stopping short when she saw an empty space.

“Uh. That's strange,” she mumbled as she turned back to the kitchen to see if she left them on the counter. Homelander practically snatched her up and flew out of the window right as she walked through the front door so she couldn't remember where she set them.

After checking other places when she couldn't locate them in the kitchen, she glanced at her watch and started to worry as her time to start her shift crept closer. Biting her lip she pulled out her phone and dialed her lover.

The deep teasing voice that greeted her ears as he answered almost made her immediately hang up and surrender to public transportation and take the lateness, “Changed your mind already? I was just thinking that sunlight would look amazing on you when you're pressed against the glass overlooking the city as I fuck you.”

Over a hundred years old and she still felt flustered at his vulgarity.

“Hush you pervert. I need a favor. I cannot find my keys and I am going to be late. Do you think you can fly here and take me to work?” she knew he would be more insufferable since he has been whining about how dangerous vehicles are and she had a safer way of transportation. His godly self. He would think this as going out of his way to her rescue.

She heard Homelander let out a dramatic sigh, clearly relishing the opportunity to be her knight in shining armor. “I suppose I can make an exception this time, kitten. But you owe me a special treat for this favor,” he purred into the phone, his tone full of smug satisfaction.

Bastard acting like it would inconvenience him. That brat.

She rolled her eyes at his predictable request, Cassidy simply replied, “Fine, fine. Just hurry up before I'm late for work. And no flying too fast this time, you know how much it messes up my hair. I look like fucking Doc Brown before I can fix it.”

With a chuckle, Homelander assured her he would be there shortly and hung up the call. Cassidy couldn't help but smile despite her annoyance at his arrogance. As she waited by the door for him to arrive, she wondered where the keys could be.

She ended up finding them in her bag that she keeps all her art supplies in on the floor by the bookshelf. She forgot that she put them in there when she parked.

That’s when things got weird. Every other day her keys would go missing. She was incredibly confused because she swore that she would put them on their hook when she gets home but it’s not totally strange how often Homelander would sweep in and steal her attention. Plus he was more than eager to take her to work. What made her suspicious was the odd locations she found her keys later in the week.

Once, she found them in the refrigerator, chilling next to a carton of milk. Another time, they were nestled on the cushion of her favorite armchair, as if they were taking a nap. The most perplexing discovery was when Cassidy stumbled upon her keys hanging from a tree branch in her backyard, glinting in the sunlight.

She wasn’t oblivious. She could correlate the teleporting keys and Homelanders earnest want to have her fly with him. Cassidy couldn't help but feel a mix of exasperation and amusement at Homelander's need to have her to himself just a little longer and knew his distrust of cars was legitimate so his fear for her safety was very sweet. Even if she could heal if anything happened.

She decided to confront him about it one evening as they lounged on the couch, his arm wrapped around her shoulders possessively. "John, where are my keys?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Homelander feigned innocence, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Keys? What keys, babe? I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied smoothly, though a flicker of a smirk danced on his lips.

“Uh huh,” Cassidy wasn’t buying it as she craned her neck back to glance at the once again empty key hook.

He chuckled softly and pulled her closer. “Hey now, you’re the one that keeps having old lady moments and puts them in weird places. Not my fault.”

The jab about her real age and him turning this around on her made her eye twitch but she just sighed and snuggled more into his side. “You know, if you wanna go flying, you can just ask. No need to be sneaky. Nice attempt though.”

Homelander's smirk widened as he leaned down to press a kiss to Cassidy's temple. "Who said I was being sneaky? Just trying to keep you on your toes," he replied playfully, running a hand through her hair.

Cassidy couldn't help but laugh at his antics as she shook her head in fond exasperation. "Well, consider me on my toes then. But seriously, what were you thinking with the fridge and the tree in the backyard?" she teased, poking him in the side.

Homelander let out a dramatic scoff, pretending to be offended. "The tree was genius, you just got lucky missy. For the fridge, I actually didn’t mean to leave the keys in there. I might have gotten distracted," he said with an impish grin, knowing his slip-up had been caught. Cassidy couldn't help but chuckle at his admission, shaking her head in amusement.

"Well, I’ll need to remember milk is a good Homelander diversion," she teased, giving him a playful nudge. Homelander chuckled and pulled her into a tight embrace, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

After a moment Homelander asked in that unsure quiet voice, “So you do want to go flying with me?”

Cassidy looked up at Homelander with a soft smile, her eyes filled with affection. "Of course I do, John. I always enjoy flying with you," she replied, running a hand through his hair “Besides that one time.” They both remembered how their reunion went about. Homelander's face lit up with a bright smile as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, preparing to take off into the night sky.

[inkmonster21]

A Cowboy’s Love

Yellowstone Ryan x OC!Dutton

Part THREE

Series Masterlist

This is Part FOUR

🤠

As the first alarm sounds, Hattie and Ryan are still blissfully entwined in each other's arms, their bodies comfortably tangled in the sheets. The room is filled with the early morning sunlight, casting a warm and intimate atmosphere.

Hattie's hand reaches over towards the nightstand, her fingers grasping the alarm clock and silencing its blaring tone. With a soft, sleepy sigh, she rolls back towards Ryan, their bodies still closely entwined. "You've got to get up," Hattie says to Ryan. "You've got to sneak back into the bunkhouse."

Ryan groans in response to Hattie's words, clearly not eager to leave the comfort of the bed and the warmth of her presence. "But I don't want to get up," he protests lazily, his arms still wrapped around her, pulling her closer.

Hattie's smile widens as she feels Ryan's reluctance to leave. She understands his desire to stay in the moment, wrapped up in their embrace. She gently untangles herself from their embrace and sits up on the edge of the bed, looking back at him with a mischievous grin.

She grabs his shirt from the floor and throws it in his face, "Get up." Ryan chuckles as the shirt, playfully hits his face. "Alright, alright," he grumbles, reluctantly sitting up in the bed. He looks at her with a mix of sleepy annoyance and adoration.

Just as Ryan is about to leave the room, a thought flashes across his mind. He quickly turns back to Hattie, grabbing her into a passionate kiss. Despite his sleepy state, there is a hunger and intensity in his kiss, as if trying to convey all his feelings and possessiveness through that single moment.

"Dinner. This weekend." He holds her tighter, his hands gently yet possessively clinging to her form. There's a hint of urgency in his voice. He needs confirmation that this plan will happen. He wasn't going to waste his only real chance.

Hattie sighs against his lips, "Fine. You win, cowboy." A wave of victorious satisfaction washes over Ryan, his features lighting up with a satisfied smirk. "Fine," he repeats, reveling in Hattie's surrender to his plans. He presses one last, possessive kiss against her lips before finally pulling away, knowing he has won this round.

Ryan quietly opens the window and shimmies out onto the tree branch that stretches towards the window. He looks back at Hattie, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he gives her a quick wink. With practiced ease, he begins to descend down the tree, his movements graceful and agile.

Hattie stands there, watching Ryan descend from the window, a mix of emotions swirling within her. She hates the warmth and excitement that fills her at his actions, the way her heart flutters with a sense of connection. Yet at the same time, she's wary of opening herself up to potential heartache. The fear of being hurt once again casts a shadow over her feelings for Ryan.

The words of, Lee, reverberate through Hattie's mind. "Give Ryan a shot." She knows Lee wants what's best for her, but taking that leap of faith is terrifying. The thought of letting her guard down, of giving Ryan a chance, fills her with both excitement and anxiety.

Hattie finally tears herself away from the window, reluctantly pulling away from the sight of Ryan. She takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the tangle of emotions that the interaction has stirred within her. With determination, she steers her focus towards getting ready for the day, immersing herself in the mundane tasks to distract her from the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind.

She starts from the bottom of her shirt, buttoning up each button. Just as she comes to her chest her mind becomes stoic, she pauses and looks in the mirror at the brand. Hattie's fingers brush gently against the Y branding on her chest, the permanent mark a sign of her deep connection to the ranch and the land she calls home. The thought of leaving, of uprooting herself from this place, never crosses her mind. This land, this soil, is as much a part of her as her own heart. And she knows, with every fiber of her being, that she would rather die on this soil than leave it behind.

Ryan enters the bunkhouse, attempting to sneak in quietly and draw as little attention as possible. A few of the hands are already awake, sipping their morning coffee. Loyd, alert as always, notices Ryan's disheveled appearance and messy hair, but he chooses not to comment, simply acknowledging his presence with a nod.

Colby, one of Ryan's closest friends, couldn't resist the urge to poke fun at him. "Where have you been?" he asks slyly, a smirk on his face. He notices Ryan's tousled hair and bed clothes, the evidence of a night spent elsewhere all too clear. Ryan tries to play it cool, shaking his head and feigning ignorance. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he replies innocently. But the telltale signs of his night's activities are still clearly visible on his disheveled appearance, making his denial all the more unconvincing.

Colby smirks, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Ryan with amusement. "Yeah, right," he says sarcastically. "You look like you've just rolled out of someone's bed. It's a bit obvious, man."

Ryan shrugs at Colby's comment, not wanting to give in to his friend's teasing. He moves to his locker and begins the process of getting ready for the day, trying to ignore the smug grin on Colby's face.

Hattie stands next to her trusty horse, the morning sun just starting to cast its warm rays over the ranch. She glances down at her horse, running a soothing hand over its mane as she waits for the arrival of the new hand.

Jimmy's eyes widen in wonder as he takes in the sight of the vast ranch spread out before him. The gravel road crunches under his feet as he walks closer towards Rip's voice.

Rip's authoritative tone breaks through the air, calling out for Jimmy. "Jimmy! Get over here! You're late!" Rip's impatient words cut through the stillness of the morning.

Rip doesn't waste any time as Jimmy gets within earshot, his tone stern and no-nonsense. "Give me your stuff," he demands, holding out his hand. There's an air of authority in his voice, expecting immediate compliance from the new hand.

Rip takes charge of the situation, gesturing towards Hattie as he gives instructions to Jimmy. "This is Hattie. You'll be doing everything she says," he says in a firm tone. There's a hint of warning in his words, a reminder to not disobey or question Hattie's authority.

Hattie greets Jimmy with a friendly nod and a warm, genuine smile. "Hey there, Jimmy," she says, her voice soft and welcoming. She takes a moment to size him up, curious about the new addition to the team.

Rip's impatience grows as Jimmy hesitates, and he quickly snaps at him again. "Get on the horse, Jimmy!" He punctuates his command with a sharp kick in the ass, pushing him towards the horse.

Hattie lets out a small, amused laugh as she watches the scene unfold. She can't help but feel a bit of sympathy for Jimmy, being put through the wringer as the new guy on the team. The thought flashes across her mind: being on the lowest rung of the ladder sucks.

As Rip leads the way on horseback, they pass by the livestock agents, and Ryan stands there, sporting his official vest and sunglasses. Hattie can't help but feel a pang of worry in her heart. They were venturing into potentially dangerous territory, trying to reclaim the cattle that grazed on reservation land. The reservations weren't known for backing down without a fight.

Hattie stops her horse for a moment as she spots Lee, her older brother. Her voice carries a thread of worry as she addresses him. "Be safe," she says, concern etched on her face. The weight of the situation hangs in the air, and the plea for his safety is clear in her words.

Lee responds to her concern with a reassuring smile, his confidence radiating from his expression. He knows the risks involved but isn't letting the threat faze him.

The group continues their ride, making their way up the mountain and following the flow of the river. The scenery around them is rugged and picturesque, the babbling of the river providing a calming soundtrack to their journey.

"So, you... you're the boss today?" Jimmy asks with a small smile. Trying to make conversation.  A small, wry smile tugs at the corner of Hattie's lips as she responds to Jimmy's question. "Kinda," she replies, her voice holding a hint of authority.

Rip chimes in, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She's the one giving your orders, so you better listen up, Jimmy," he says with a firm emphasis. His words carry a warning; disobedience will not be tolerated.

Hattie halts the group and points to a certain spot on the map, referencing the instructions John had given her earlier. "Here's good," she says, her finger tracing the line on the map. John had a clear plan, wanting to alter the flow of the river to prevent the new housing development from accessing it. His protectiveness over his land was evident.

Jimmy follows Hattie's instructions, and the group begins to set up the sticks of dynamite in the designated area. He glances over at Hattie with a mix of curiosity and worry, his brow furrowing with uncertainty as he wonders how this plan is going to unfold.

Jimmy's voice breaks the silence as he asks the question that has been gnawing at him. "Isn't this illegal?" he queries, genuine concern in his tone. The thought of resorting to explosives to change the course of the river does raise some ethical and legal questions.

Rip's response to Jimmy's question is firm and to the point. "You're a criminal. Why do you care?" His words carry a hint of sarcasm, highlighting the irony in Jimmy's line of thought. Rip's attitude is clear – legality doesn't matter in their world; in Yellowstone.

Jimmy shrugs nonchalantly, his reply hinting at a naivete about the situation. "I just thought working on the Yellowstone would keep me from doing stuff like this," he says, his statement betraying a belief that this job would somehow shield him from the less-than-legal aspects of ranch life.

Rip chimes in with his own perspective, his voice carrying a blunt and unapologetic tone. "Working for the Yellowstone is what keeps you from getting caught when you do stuff like this," he says, emphasizing the sense of protection and privilege that comes with being part of the ranch. Rip's words serve as a reminder that the boundaries of the law are blurry when it comes to protecting the Yellowstone way of life.

Hattie looks over the setup, her eyes scanning the placement of the dynamite sticks. She gives a satisfied nod, her approval clear. "Looks good," she declares, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. The group rides away from the sight, putting enough distance between themselves and the explosives to ensure their safety. They stop at a safe vantage point, awaiting the outcome of their explosive intervention.

There's a loud explosion as the dynamite does its job, and the river is violently altered by the blast. The force sends water flowing in a new direction, completely changing the course of the river, as planned. The group making camp for the night only to ride by in the early hours of the morning.

As Hattie rides back on horseback, she can't shake off the sense of dread that has settled within her. Every mile they cover brings a tightening feeling in her chest, a gnawing sense that something is amiss. The weight of her worry grows with each mile they travel, adding to the unease that surrounds her.

As the ranch finally comes into view, Hattie's heart sinks. Instead of the comfort and familiarity it usually brings, an ominous feeling hangs in the air, casting a shadow over the usually idyllic scenery. Something is wrong.

Hattie's voice is soft yet urgent as she asks the question aloud, "Kacey?" her eyes widen in horror as she takes in the sight before her. She rides faster, the sense of dread growing stronger with each passing second. As she arrives, the sight of Kacey, covered in blood and with wide, frightened eyes, confirms her worst fears.

Hattie's voice is laced with worry as she approaches Kacey, her eyes locked onto the sight of the blood covering her brother. "Kacey, what happened?" she questions, urgently seeking answers to the horrifying scene unfolding before them.

Kacey struggles to collect his thoughts, his voice catching in his throat. He shakes his head, his hand running through his hair in a fruitless attempt to rid himself of the memories seared in his mind. "Lee..." he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. The gravity of the situation is clear in his expressions.

Hattie can't hold back the tears as they stream down her cheeks. Her voice is barely above a horrified whisper as she speaks. "No..." she utters, her heart shattering as the realization of what has happened sinks in. 

Hattie's grief turns into a visceral scream, and she collapses to the grass below, her body hitting the ground as her despair takes over. The enormity of the situation is too much to bear, and her anguished cry echoes through the ranch, carrying her anguish and heartbreak.

Hattie crumpled onto the ground, her body succumbing to the overwhelming grief. The loss of her beloved eldest brother was an unimaginable blow, shaking the very foundations of her being. She couldn't fathom the reality of it; it was too painful to accept.

Jamie pleaded with Kacey, desperate for answers and details about the incident. However, Kacey remained tight-lipped, refusing to share the specifics of what had happened. He vowed to keep the details to himself, sealing the memory within the soil where it had unfolded.

Ryan notices Hattie crumpled on the grass, her sobs wracking her body. His heart aches for her, knowing the devastating loss she has endured. He runs to her side, the knowledge of Lee's death and the profound impact it's had on Hattie fueling his urgent steps.

Ryan wraps Hattie in a tight embrace, pulling her close to his chest. She clings onto him, her sobs muffled against his chest. The despair pours out of her, her grief consuming her and leaving her raw and vulnerable. Ryan's voice is gentle, but firm, as he speaks to Hattie. "Come on," he says, his arms still securely wrapped around her. He encourages her to get up, supporting her weight as he begins to guide her inside.

Ryan leads Hattie to her room, his arm around her shoulders as he provides a steady and comforting presence by her side. The grief is palpable between them, a tangible weight that fills the air, but Ryan remains unwavering in his support. His presence serves as a pillar for Hattie, a silent reassurance that she is not alone in her pain.

Ryan guides Hattie to the bed, his touch gentle and tender as he settles her onto the sheets. She curls up, her silent sobs muffled by the fabric, her grief consuming her. Ryan stands beside the bed, torn between wanting to console her and give her space to process the overwhelming emotions.

As Hattie continues to cry silently, Ryan battles with himself on what to do. Part of him yearns to comfort her, to find the right words to soothe her pain. Another part tells him to give her space, to let her grieve in her own way. The room is filled with the weight of her sorrow, the silence only amplified by the faint sound of her tears seeping into the sheets.

Ryan's voice cuts through the silence of the room, his words carrying a mix of gentleness and concern as he asks the question. "Hattie, how can I help?" His voice is soft, but there's an earnestness in his tone. He stands by the bed, watching as she continues to silently sob into the sheets. He wants to do something, anything, to ease her pain and comfort her through this unimaginable grief.

Hattie's world has shattered, and the pain she's experiencing is unlike anything she's ever known. She can't fathom what could possibly alleviate this agony that threatens to consume her. The magnitude of her despair leaves her feeling lost, unsure of how to even begin to cope with the gaping void that now resides in her heart.

Hattie's voice, barely audible, breaks the silence in the room. "Hold me," she whispers, the vulnerability in her words palpable. She needs comfort, someone to anchor her in the storm of her emotions. Ryan responds immediately, his heart aching for her. He climbs onto the bed beside her, carefully wrapping his arms around her trembling frame.

Ryan gently pulls Hattie into his embrace, cradling her against his chest. She succumbs to the warmth and comfort of his touch, her body seeking solace in his steady presence. He holds her close, his strong arms encircling her as she continues to silently sob, soaking the fabric beneath them with her tears.

With Hattie in his arms, Ryan holds her close, his grip firm yet tender. He allows her to grieve, to vent her pain through her silent sobs. His presence is steadfast, a solid rock against the turmoil that threatens to consume her. The room is filled with the sound of her muffled cries, drowning all other noise as Ryan simply holds her, offering the comfort and strength she needs in her darkest hour.

[feraltuxedo]

The Runaway by FeralTuxedo Rated E Summary: DI Aziraphale Fell is tasked with investigating the death of a young sex worker. With the help of witness Anthony Crowley, he sets off on a mission to uncover dark secrets while keeping his own. If anyone finds out that the victim spent the last night of his life with him, everything could be over. A gritty cop drama AU.

Started posting my new AU! I know, now is a weird time to do that, but I've been sitting on this one for a while and I'm quite excited about it. It's a shamelessly trope-y gritty crime thriller/drama. Detective Aziraphale and sex worker Crowley solve a murder mystery together. Complications and smut ensue.

Excerpt from chapter 1 under the cut.

They entered yet another identical room. A small bed in a small space with a small window looking out onto the enormous car park. The witness lay back on the bed, his all black clothes and fiery red hair stark against the white sheets. He had his forearms crossed behind his head, which he lifted in irritation as if he’d just been interrupted from his nap.

He made no effort to move or to sit up, and so Aziraphale squeezed himself onto the thin sliver of bed free between his long legs and the edge of the mattress. Like a hospital visitor at a sick bed.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Aziraphale Fell,’ he began, ‘and over there is my colleague Detective Constable Anathema Device. You’ve met her already.’

‘Yeah, I remember.’

The man winked at Device, but she was much too cool-headed to react to it.

‘So.’ The word was long and flat in his accent. ‘Is this where you ask me all the same questions she did earlier so you can see if I’m lying?’

‘Yes,’ Aziraphale said simply.

Behind him, Device shifted uncomfortably. But Aziraphale knew this type of witness, too. The type that didn’t need kindly reassurances as much as straightforward honesty. The type that hid their trauma behind a facade of cool detachment.

Anthony Crowley would be just like that. Inappropriate jokes and laddish posturing, anything to distract from the horrible sight Aziraphale knew he would not forget anytime soon. From the grief that was, at this very moment, building and gaining momentum at the pit of his stomach, ready to rise up and consume him.

‘If you could just repeat your name, age, and address. And perhaps this would be easier if you were to sit up.’

Anthony Crowley grinned and wiggled on the mattress.

‘Yeah I bet it would be easier. But I’m really comfortable like this, so you’ll just have to deal with it.’

Device actually huffed. Unprofessional perhaps, but then she had been subjected to this man’s maddening attempts at provocation much longer than Aziraphale had. He crossed his arms and waited. The man relented.

‘Anthony James Crowley. I live at 666 Eden Close in Kilburn, and I’m twenty-three.’

Twenty-three. Barely older than Ryan Jones the receptionist, and yet Crowley appeared so much more cynical than his years. He didn’t look old, by any means. No sign of the crow’s feet that had been permanent features on Aziraphale’s face since some time around his thirty-sixth birthday. No, Crowley’s face was chiseled, his body taut even laid out on a bed like that, like a cobra ready to strike at any moment.

He reminded Aziraphale an awful lot of Eric.

‘Can you tell me what happened last night and this morning?’ he asked, before the thought had a chance to take hold and derail him.

‘Sure. I got some missed calls from Eric during the night, but I didn’t see them until the morning. Tried to call him back but he didn’t answer, so I called the hotel instead.’

‘Wait a moment.’

He’d let Ryan Jones talk, but with someone like Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale knew it was best not to give them any opportunity to gloss over details.

‘How did you know he was here? Where were you at the time?’

‘We’ve got location sharing on between our phones. And I was at an AirBnB in Camden.’

Good Lord, this was like pulling teeth. Crowley was not going to volunteer any information. No wonder Device had been so exasperated.

‘Why were you at an AirBnB in Camden if you live in Kilburn?’

‘Just fancied a mini-break, that’s all.’

‘Mr Crowley—’

‘Mr Policeman—’

‘That’s DI Fell to you.’

Crowley grinned, as if he’d won an argument.

‘Fine. I was in Camden because that’s where I was getting fucked up the arse by an American tourist who just so happened to be staying at an AirBnB there.’

He studied Aziraphale for a reaction of shock or outrage. Well, he would not give him the satisfaction.

‘We’ll need the exact address and, if you can provide it, the name of your American… friend.’

‘To confirm the alibi, right?’

This time, Aziraphale did not assent.

‘How do you know Mr Blaine?’

‘We’re mates.’

‘Did you know where he was last night?’

Aziraphale felt his heart race as soon as he asked the question. Tried his best not to let it show. As it happened, he was rather good at repressing his inner thoughts.

‘Yeah,’ Crowley said, and Aziraphale’s hand tightened on the duvet cover. ‘We were on the pull together, in Soho. He got lucky first. Went off with some guy.’

Soho. Aziraphale had just left his favourite sushi place, where he’d been by himself as always. Eric had stumbled into his path, asking for a light. The way he’d looked at him, sweat-soaked from dancing, with the cocky air of a beautiful man who knew he was beautiful.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would stop breathing and the game would be up.

[canberramaidan]

Book One in the Brindabella Secrets series from HarperCollins Australia.

The Landowner’s Secret (Brindabella Secrets #1)

New South Wales, 1885

When Alice Ryan wakes to find thugs surrounding her cottage, on the hunt for her no-good brother, she escapes into the surrounding bush.

It is wealthy landowner Robert Farrer who finds her the next morning, dishevelled, injured, and utterly unwilling to share what she knows. With criminals on the loose and rumours that reckless bushrangers have returned to the area, Robert is determined to keep Alice out of danger, and insists on taking her into his home-despite the scandal it may cause. Convincing her to stay on with him for her own safety, however, is going to take some work.

What Robert doesn’t expect is his growing attraction to the forthright, unruly woman staying in his home. Before either of them can settle into their odd new situation, their home and wellbeing come under threat and they will need to trust each other to survive. But they are both keeping secrets, secrets that have the potential to ruin their burgeoning love, their livelihood … and their lives.

CHAPTER 1

Alice Ryan woke at the first shout, and sat bolt upright at the second.

With her mind still muddled by sleep, her body shook with fright before she even realised what was happening. She felt the unease, the disturbance in the night. This far out the bush was usually still, the quietness punctuated only by the odd scuffle of a possum or rustle of wind in the trees. But right now there was an energy that didn’t belong.

Curling her fingers into the counterpane, she waited in dreadful anticipation.

There. A voice—faint, but distinct—reached her ears, becoming louder as she sat frozen in place.

Someone was out there, in the dark.

‘Ian?’ she whispered, uncertain. Who else could it be but her brother, and yet … Some instinct stopped her from calling out and confirming she was home. And just as it took complete hold, a second voice joined the first.

Slipping free of the blanket and pressing her bare feet to the floor, she clutched the bed’s footboard and waited. And waited.

The light of a flame—so dim at first she thought she’d imagined it—flashed not too far beyond the cottage’s small window. It wasn’t much, but it was so foreign in the darkness of the scrub.

She strained to make out any sounds that weren’t meant to be there, but heard next to nothing over the pounding in her ears. Moments later the light flashed by again. It was closer this time.

Alice startled; clapped a hand to her mouth.

This was all wrong. Nobody had a reason to be there, on a road that led to nothing but her home. This far out she was all alone, except for—

Endmoor.

If she could slip out unnoticed, she could reach the big homestead beyond the trees on foot—thieves or troublemakers would be mad to try anything with Robert Farrer. The landowner was too wealthy, with too many men on his property, and no doubt he had better weapons than she did if it came to that.

Alice made her decision in an instant.

Moving fast, she struggled into her frock and grabbed her shawl from the end of the bed before slipping a hand beneath the mattress for the small packet she kept hidden there. She stuffed it down the front of her bodice, shaking with fright and determination.

Trying her best to be quiet, she scrambled across to press her back against the cool wall near the door.

One of the men spoke again but she still couldn’t make out the words. There were at least two of them and they weren’t just talking, but laughing. Whacks echoed through the night air, as though they were hitting at the scrub with sticks, and then she heard more laughter in amongst the other sounds of the night.

Whatever they were about, it was a game to them. Likely a drunken game …

Alice curled her toes against the freezing floor and hugged herself tightly, willing them to just go, just leave her be and make their fun elsewhere. The voices came more loudly from the front of the house. Her only way of escape was through there.

Cursing her rotten luck, her absent brother, and all the trouble life brought down on her, she took a big breath for courage and lurched past the window as fast as she could, scrambling in the darkness for the small knife she’d left on the table.

‘Ian, you bastard!’ The call came from so close by her heart nearly stopped.

Desperation took over then, and she chose speed over silence. Fumbling in the shadows with frozen fingers, shoving her way through the bits and pieces she’d left on the table that evening, she patted about desperately until they hit a strip of cold metal. The knife.

‘Help me, help me,’ she whispered to a God who’d never listened before, and gripped the handle firmly, her other hand shaking, while she once again backed up against the wall.

Bracing herself for anything, she pulled back the curtain only enough to get a glimpse of the clearing around the porch. In a sliver of moonlight she could just make out the figures of grown men dotted around the clearing. Further down the trail, near the road, she saw more forms and shadows. Horses, she realised with even more dread in her belly. She sure as hell couldn’t outrun those.

Shaking more, she cast her mind out beyond them all, mapping herself a route of escape. If they were here for Ian, they were out of luck. As usual he was nowhere to be found.

She let the curtain slip back through her fingers and then bent to grasp the laces of the boots left beside the door. There was no time to tug them on, nor to find her stockings.

She nearly shrieked with surprise when something whacked directly against the outside of the house, but held fast and slapped a hand over her mouth again as she waited for what’d come next.

‘Are you comin’ out, or are we comin’ to get you?’ one of them called. It was not a familiar voice.

‘We don’t have all night!’ yelled another.

There was more laughing. More jokes.

Alice rose carefully, quickly tugging the shawl more tightly around herself without letting her grip on the knife loosen. She edged the door open the tiniest amount, trying to peer beyond the intruders to find the fastest direction into the trees. The boots banged lightly against the old wood, and she pressed her lips tightly together in frustration.

‘Maybe there’s no one ’ere. I swear, James, if we’re out ’ere freezin’ our bloody arses off for no reason …’

‘Someone’s ’ere. There’s smoke comin’ from the chimney and I saw movement at the window just now.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Alice whispered, becoming number and shakier than before. ‘Bloody, bloody hell.’

There was silence then except for the shuffling of shoes in the dirt. And then a third man spoke.

‘Maybe it’s the sister.’

‘There’s a sister?’

An awful pause followed. And then, ‘Is she pretty?’

Alice wished the bottom of the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Fear icier than the chill in the air ran over her from head-top to heels. She knew more about physical fighting than any proper lady ever would, but she was still a scrap of a thing and not likely to get far before they …

‘There’s only one way to find out.’ The first man said. ‘James? Kick in the door.’

‘Not bloody likely,’ she whispered. She’d go to the devil before she let that happen or let a single one of them put his grubby paws on her.

And with those thoughts giving her fresh determination, she flung the door open and ran.

There was a shout of surprise, and then a bark of amusement at the sight of her, but all she focused on was the security of the trees ahead. She bolted like a barefooted colt for an opening between two old eucalypts.

Gasping in pain at the scrapes of sticks on the ground and—worse—the dull thuds of bone connecting with rocks buried in the dirt, in her urgency she almost smacked face-first into the nearest tree. A low branch scraped along her cheek as she slipped into the cover of the bush, and she sucked in a short breath at the sting.

She ducked behind a big gum tree and stared hard into the night, willing her eyes to adjust to the frightening, sudden darkness while more calls came from close by.

She needed those boots on before she ruined her feet too much to run. Stuffing the knife quickly into a pocket, she dropped down and slipped her bare feet into the worn leather; there was no time to bother with the laces. It was going to rub terribly, but she’d had blisters before and there were worse things in the world.

Rising with a hand against the trunk to steady herself, she knotted the shawl at her breast as tightly as she could, gathering her courage to leave the cover of the plants, and ran on.

The men tracking her had no such qualms about keeping quiet; she bit her lip hard when they spoke again.

‘Ian, we saw you, you fool. Are ya goin’ to hide in the bush all night?’

‘Are you daft? That’s not Ryan, not unless he’s wearing a frock.’

That set them all off laughing. The whole night was just so much fun for the lot of them. And then they took up the chase with a thunder of footsteps as they dived after her full into the scrub.

Alice gasped for breath, the autumn chill in the air burning her throat, and only fear of stumbling into a dark ditch and breaking an ankle made her moderate her steps. This part of the land dipped and rose at the oddest times, which was why her father had never bothered with the clearing of it.

A rustle and a thud came from not far away, followed by a string of swearing. One of them had gone and smacked into a branch.

Using the cover of their shouts to pick up a little more speed, she darted to the left, taking herself closer to those horses the intruders had arrived on, hoping against hope they’d not expect that. She’d no real idea what her plan was, but surely making it to the road was better than being tracked through the trees for the rest of the night.

If those louts knew Ian, and if her brother owed them something, then none of this was good news. It wasn’t as though the either of them had anything much to hand over.

Her pursuers veered off to her right and Alice realised she’d chosen the best path. With a pace increased to match her growing confidence, she picked her way along on the tips of her toes in an attempt to disguise her steps, and kept one hand outstretched to feel her way and not meet the same fate as the fellow with the branch, the handle of the knife in the other.

Don’t go and stab yourself, Alice Ryan.

The boots rubbed at the backs of her heels, and she hissed and then hissed some more at the sting of it.

She was going to kill Ian the next time she saw him. And if she got back home in the morning and discovered those men had destroyed her neat house and eaten all of her food, she was going to board up the door and never let her useless brother back in.

The next shout stopped her in her tracks and ripped her from her temper.

It had come from in front of her.

Alice dropped behind the nearest bush and clung to its rough branches as an argument unfolded up ahead. The tone of the words was harsh, carrying across to her only in indecipherable sounds at first. She snatched her hand back from a prickle when she grasped a twig too hard as she strained to hear.

A crack of a branch and the shriek of a bat decided things for her: she used the cover of the quarrel to dart ahead, again risking sound for speed.

‘You want to wait out the whole winter? You’re daft if you do.’

‘It’ll be worth it, I reckon. Yes, I say we wait for the date like we’re told to.’

‘Madness. We don’t need Ian Ryan’s help for that.’

Alice covered another ten or fifteen yards before the argument became louder, shouts echoing across the night,

reverberating around her, surrounding her and lighting up the shadows. She no longer had any idea where the men were, only that she couldn’t risk running any more.

Panting desperately, her heart beating so fast she thought she’d faint, she collapsed on the ground by a fallen tree, clasped her little knife tighter still, huddled into a ball, and waited.