#warning Shaw is MEAN but I am not!

[sebastianshaw]

Thoughts on Otis if you're still accepting?

“Strange fellow, and I’m not fond of rats. But they’re survivors and I admire that. I suppose you could pick worse animals to pal around with, if you must. Me, I’ll keep out of the sewers and to my California king size beds, thank you.”

@ratwhsprs

[setacourse4home]

Look, I think it's gonna be okay but I just want this on the record:

I am still highly salty over Captain Shaw dying in Picard S3. So if Rayner doesn't make it through Discovery S5? I am gonna be annoyed.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 1)

Summary: The reader receives an anonymous text from a new client needing an off the books patch job. However he's annoyingly good looking and the last thing you need is some ex-special ops guy hanging around. Unfortunately for you, Russell Shaw isn't the kind of guy to walk away when he knows something's wrong...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury

A/N: Contains minor spoilers for Tracker 1x12. Please enjoy the start of this new series! I'm not sure how long it will go but thanks for coming on this ride with me!

__________

Your ears perked up on Saturday morning when your phone buzzed on the coffee table before you. Not your everyday one but your one for work. You swiped it open, pursing your lips when you saw it was from an unknown number.

Need a patch job on a quilt. Doug recommended you as a good seamstress in the area.

Alright, well at least this guy knew one of your clients. Doug wasn’t a regular but you’d seen him once or twice over the years which meant the person on the other end wasn’t a cop most likely.

I can fit you in. More complicated the patch, the more it’ll cost.

Not an issue.

You hummed and stood up, grabbing your coffee mug along the way.

129 Edwards Ave in twenty minutes. Use the red back door.

You took a long sip and went over to the kitchen, tossing the rest down the sink, leaving the mug to be cleaned later. 

You just hoped this job wasn’t as bad as the last one.

Eighteen minutes later you heard the back door open and then silence, a moment’s hesitation as your new client entered what looked like a storage area. You flipped a light switch, illuminating the small enter sign over the doorway to the room you were prepping in. A few moments later there were heavy boots against the cement ground as he entered, turning to tile, your head lifting. 

A man in his forties, a quite handsome one at that, gave the small operating room a cursory glance before settling on you, determining you were the only one there. Meanwhile your gaze shot to his injured left arm, a gunshot from the looks of it. You only spotted one bloody bullet hole and figured that was the worst of it from the way he cradled his forearm.

“You the seamstress?” he asked quietly, scanning the counter full of medical equipment and metal table in the center of the room. 

“Take a seat,” you said, patting the table. You went to a sink and washed up, making sure to keep him in view at all times. He winced and struggled to get the coat off, finally managing and revealing a quick patch job had been done. After drying your hands, you snapped on some gloves, the man’s coat and overshirt now on the table behind him.

“Russell Shaw by the way,” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, carefully taking his forearm in one hand, the top of his muscular bicep in the other. You turned his arm slightly, Russell wincing again. “Looks like a through and through. We’ll do a quick x-ray to make sure there’s no shrapnel and then we’ll get you stitched up and I’ll send you home with some supplies and instructions to care for it. This your only injury?”

“Yeah. Doug said you were good.”

“I am,” you said, offering him a brief smile, he returned. “Do you have any PTSD? Going to come at me if I I need to use a scalpel?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m good with all that.”

You hummed, guiding him to lay back. Three minutes later you were pushing your x-ray machine aside and taking the lead vest away, Russell sitting upright. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“You can ask, don’t mean I’ll answer, sweetie,” you said back, hanging up the vest and going to your laptop on the counter.

“How does one get into this line of work?” he asked.

“Asks the man that’s ex-special ops and does private contract gigs, not to mention killed probably three people minimum tonight.” You glanced over to him, Russell tilting his head. “I know who Doug is and what he does. Makes sense you do it too. You have blood under your fingernails and given the splatter patterns on your jeans, you had multiple different angled shots so multiple bodies you hit.”

“...And you don’t report that sort of thing?” he asked cautiously. You determined his x-ray looked good and washed up again, putting on more new gloves. By the time you were standing before him again, he looked nervous.

“On occasion. But only the monsters. You, you don’t strike me as a monster, Russell,” you said, wiping some antiseptic over his entry and exit wounds. He flinched but only slightly at the quick burn. A moment later you were giving him something to numb the area.

“Someone took Doug. Someone bad. They would have come back if I hadn’t done what needed to be done.” You wiped sterile gauze over his wound and then flushed it, Russell watching your graceful movements with interest.

“Like I said, not a monster.” You hummed as you worked, Russell fixated on you carefully cleaning and then pulling the skin back together, tying it up neatly. You wiped away the evidence of his blood and wrapped his bicep in thick gauze, taping it down so he could still get movement without worrying about it coming off.

You chucked your gloves in the trash and nodded back to the door behind you.

“There’s a shower in there and some brushes. Turn it on low, scrub yourself clean, under your nails too. Use the blue soap. When you’re done, throw everything away in the bin, including your bloody clothes. You leave your boots, anything you want to keep out here with me. There’s men’s sweats and some shirts on the shelf. By the time you’re done, your boots and other items will have no trace of wherever you’ve been. Got it?”

“I do like a woman that takes charge.” He smirked, sliding off the table and dropping slowly to kneel to unlace his shoes, still looking up at you. “Full service deal you got going here.”

“Yes it is and here’s a friendly reminder for my new client. You come anywhere near me with your dick out, I’ll make you regret being alive. Understand, sweetie?” you said, patting his cheek. “Off you go.”

“God damn, I love you,” he muttered under his breath. You rolled your eyes but smirked when your back was to him. Ten minutes later the room was clean and Russell exited the bathroom with damp, slicked back hair wearing a plain white t-shirt, black hanes sweat pants and white socks. You nodded to where his shoes sat on the end of the counter, Russell taking a seat in the chair nearby as he slipped them on.

After he checked he had his phone, keys and wallet, he raised himself to his feet, pulling out his wallet. 

“What do I owe you?”

“A thousand.” To your surprise, he didn’t flinch at that number. But like most of your clients, he didn’t have the cash on him, at least not that much. Russell smirked as he glanced back in the bathroom.

“Smart woman. You keep the evidence as ransom until your clients pay up. You won’t destroy that until after I pay, will you.” 

“Not until we get to know each other better do I do that sort of thing without payment. Seeing as you’re new and a friend of Doug’s, I’ll give you to the end of next week to pull it together. I offer payment plan options and other alternative forms of care if shit ever really hit the fan for you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, putting down five hundred dollar bills. “I can bring the other half back here later today. Just need to run to an ATM.”

“Text me when you got the rest. I’ll send you a place to meet,” you said, nodding towards the door. He gave you a small salute and shook his head with a smile. 

Forty minutes later you were sitting at a table in the cafe three blocks over, happily sipping on your coffee while working your way through a cheese danish. You spotted Russell when he came in. He gave you a quick, adorably awkward wave and ordered himself a drink. A few minutes later he was sitting down across from you, a small cup and what appeared to be a banana muffin in hand.

“You’re a coffee snob aren’t you. This place is pricey,” he teased, his brow furrowing when he had a drink from his styrofoam cup. “Shit. That’s fucking good.”

“Beats whatever motel crap I’m sure you’re used to,” you said, his gaze hardening for a split second. “Sorry. I always tail my first time clients to make sure they aren’t…you know who. You know the Elkwood Lodge on route 8 is cleaner and cheaper than what you’re paying for now.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. You shrugged and simply grinned, taking another bite of danish. He licked his lips, pointing at the yet to be touched danish beside you. “Was that one for me?”

“God no. I fucking love danishes and these are incredible,” you said, finishing off the first and biting into the other.

“You are something else,” he said, smirking when he slid a white envelope across the table. You tucked it into your jacket pocket, Russell picking at his own muffin. “You ain’t going to check it’s all there?”

“You’re a smart man, Russell. I think you know not to screw me over.” He looked you up and down, earning a pointed response. “Keep that gutter mind to yourself.”

“If I’m in the gutter, you’re right there with me,” he said, absently rubbing his injured arm. “And uh, if it gets infected or I think it is, I should reach out?”

“Absolutely. That ain’t a normal injury you’re used to. Don’t play tough guy, tough guy.” He nodded, his body twisting ever so slightly towards a standing position. “Nope. Stay for at least five minutes, then you can go.”

“You really like telling me what to do, don’t you,” he grinned. 

“Russell.” Hss grin was wide before he took a long drag of coffee, humming as it went down. 

“What if I want to stay more than five minutes?” You paused mid-chew of your danish. “Come on, one conversation won’t kill you.”

“I don’t get involved with clients.”

“Alright. I respect that but this ain’t my end goal. I’m going to have a normal life someday. I make a pretty mean homebrew. Going to get some land, open up a brewery, have some food, make it a little family place everybody can enjoy. So that’s my goal. I sure as hell know working as a seamstress ain’t your end goal either. So again, what’s the harm in one conversation?”

You bit your bottom lip, Russell’s expression changing, ever so slightly. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered. “What-“

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your fucking face did. You don’t want to be a seamstress, do you? Can you not get out of your line of work?” You glanced out the window, even the wonderful flavors of the pastry doing nothing to help the unease in your gut. “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Sorry. I…I’m just crabby because I didn’t have my morning coffee until just now.”

“Nice try.” You glared at him, his green eyes remarkably gentle. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Now either you tell me what’s going on or I’m going to poke around myself and I guarantee that’s going to be a lot more dangerous and you’ll just have to patch me up even more. What do you say?”

You stared at him and stared at him and stared at him for what felt like forever. Then you took out the envelope and handed it back to him, along with the five hundred in your purse. 

“Go buy me two more cheese danishes and a large caramel frappe to go. Then take me to your motel room. This is a long fucking story.”

__________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Liability ||

Summary: When you nearly compromise The Organization on a job because of your impulsiveness, your boss August Walker decides it's time for a demotion; since you clearly still have much training ahead of you.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own August Walker or any of the other Henry Cavill characters mentioned. This is a mature and morally gray story so browse at your own discretion. Minors do not interact.

Pairing: Mafia Boss!August Walker | Hench(wo)man!You.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, m!dom, f!sub, the relationship is probably morally gray, slapping, throat fucking, power imbalance, pet names, hair pulling, deep throating, gun play, smut with plot (I am sorry I just couldn't stop), humiliation, degradation, camera play.

Note: Oh, my God! It's finally here, first Auggie fic go boom~ 

MASTERLIST

✟

"You're out, do not call again." You sighed into the phone and momentarily shut your eyes in frustration as you kept an eye out through the window of the dingy motel that you crouched next to, trying to stay one with the darkness of the room. 

"Boss…" It had taken you risking your life to buy a new sim card just to get him to pick up your call. "Come on, the whole thing would have gone south–"

"You have been told more times than can be counted to not take matters into your own hands" your form stiffened when you noticed a man from a rival gang casually stroll by the motel as he pretended to be a passerby. Fuck. As your eyes scanned the area you realized that you were slowly getting surrounded. "If anything goes against the plans it is protocol for the team to regroup and–"

"Boss… The Angels…" Had it not been August on the line, you would have masked the panic in your voice with not much effort or hesitation. "T- They're here…" There was a brief silence.

And then;

"That's your problem now, Y/n" your throat tightened when he did not use your gang alias. "I told you" there was shuffling on his side. Sweat broke out on your skin. That meant he was done with the conversation. "You're out." 

The line went dead.

Your tongue felt swollen as you glanced at the briefcase you had put everything on the line for. 

Just to lose anyways. 

Yes, alright. Maybe you had ignored Marshall's order to abort the mission and fought off Shaw because Kent had been incompetent enough to mess up hacking the target car's engine in time. And yes, maybe you had risked exposure by following the vehicle. But the fact of the matter was, no one had died and the asset was recovered all the same. The mask that you wore on missions had ensured the protection of your identity and though anyone from your line of work could tell it was Walker's notorious Wraith, no identifiable features meant no evidence.

But no. 

How could things ever end that easily? 

Solo being the asshole that he was just had to rat about the entire ordeal to Walker. 

Okay sure, maybe you had to shake off cops because one of the men inside the car had noticed you following them. And maybe you had had to wait for the streets to cool off for the rest of the day but that did not mean you had betrayed them by running away with the asset or something! 

Even if you had gotten caught -which you never did; hence your alias-, your boss should have known that you would sooner die tortured in a shithole slammer cell than rat.

You bit your tongue as you tossed the phone on the table after breaking the sim card, watching the inevitable unfold before you with vigilant eyes that stung from the moisture accumulating behind them as you readied what little weapons that you had on hand. 

The growing tightness in your throat was tugging at the back of your oral muscle and your jaw was aching from the strength it took you not to cave into emotion. But you held your nose high and snorted at the rivals– enemies before rolling your moist eyes at them. You could not help but critique them even then because if they were trying to blend in, they were frankly doing a shit job. 

"Of course" you snickered as you got up and went to stash the briefcase in the best spot you could find. 

The Diablos had teamed up with The Angels and the irony of that was not lost on you. 

So it took the State's top two gangs -that were arch rivals under usual circumstances- to bring The Wraith down, huh?

Being young and impulsive as you were, you had pissed all the wrong people off under August's wing.  You had earned it through your knack for casual brutality which was so devastating and sickening in nature that it seemed something innate for you. 

But now that the affiliation was gone, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of the once mighty Wraith. 

You burst into a cold chuckle again. 

All these men just to try to take down one girl, huh?

Crouching behind the bed with your gun aimed at the door after you had successfully hidden the cause of your demise in the most secure spot you could find -not wanting your foes to succeed even now-, you sucked in an icy breath and braced yourself for what was coming. "Here goes" you whispered to yourself as you pushed your airpods in your ears and blasted your music through them probably one last time. 

For if these were the last minutes of your life, you wanted to go out guns blazing with your favorite tunes blocking the ugly out.

That, and the emotions that were trying to dominate your mind and crawl down your eyes in your body's attempt to deal with the overwhelming sentiments surging through your body like electricity. 

No. 

August Walker's Wraith didn't do emotions– 

Wait. 

Fuck. 

You bit your tongue as you cussed at yourself. You did not belong to anyone. 

Especially not an asshole who had the audacity to doubt your intentions even after you had submitted to him everything you had had to offer. 

Service, body, mind, soul… heart. 

Your true drive behind striving to always get the job done was only to please him. It had been for a long time at this point. And so yes, you sometimes resorted to undesirable, disobedient means to achieve the goal but it was all only to make him happy. 

Richer. 

Contrary to the popular belief which had been spread around The Organization by Solo, you did not do it to move up the hierarchy. At least, not anymore. Sure, ambition had been your initial motivation before everything but nothing in the world mattered except for Master anymore. 

… The same Master that had abandoned you when you needed him most.

A humorless snicker escaped you at the thought and you couldn't help but shake your head. At the end, you were just like all those foolish girls that had come before you in different shapes and forms, belonging to different times and contexts; discarded cold and teary eyed at a crossroads for anyone willing in the end.

You had gotten lost in your thoughts, eyes focused on the door but peripherals ignorant to your surroundings; the flashes bouncing off the windows and the smoke of dust and gas permeating the air outside. 

You lost track of the minutes and songs that passed in mere fleeting moments to you as you forced yourself to recall basically everything despite the agony that you felt. You deserved the torture. A reflection on your entire life and how futile it had turned out to be in the end was important. It was only fair.

A man had been your undoing, this sentence wasn't enough. But it was all you knew in the moment. 

You were so completely focused on denying yourself any tears that you failed to take notice of a member of The Angels slamming into the glass of one of the windows as he was obliterated with some 7mm bullets.

It was only when the door shook by getting kicked that your heart and body jumped alike; pulling you back to the present, your heart strings tugging. Your hand tightened around your weapon. This is it. Clenching your jaw tight, you stabilized your breathing and waited for the enemy to kick the door in. The thought of just how pathetically you were cornered made you snicker as you shook your head.

Only, when the door swung free and you went to press the trigger did your chuckle die in your throat. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Your heart weighed down in your chest until it was too much for your chest to hold and it let the organ fall into your stomach. 

Your breaths tightened.

The strength from your lungs drained.

Your fingers yanked the melodies away from your ears faster than you could register. 

Almost as though your body was suddenly on autopilot.

"B- Boss…?" 

The silhouette of a seething August blocked the doorway, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each pant of his breaths as his lungs churned. When his fingers roughly clawed at the switchboard to turn the lights on, his dark, glossy eyes came into your view before the rest of him did. 

The man was covered in blood as his pistol that held a metallic hue glinted in one of his hands. If you didn't know any better you would have said it seemed as though brief relief washed over his otherwise furious face when his bulging eyes finally located you in the room. Though his face instantly hardened of any emotion the moment it happened. His jaw clenched tighter as his eyebrows drew apart from each other, the cold blue of his eyes that were livid with chaos somewhat calming down while you gaped at him in shock.

The Boss never came down to the field himself. 

You had heard it had been a long time since he had last done it.

… All you had asked was for some backup.

What were you to make of this?

How–

"Kneel" oh.

But Master could. 

And he had. 

A ghost of a smile played on your lips as you rose and walked over to the middle of the room quicker than you could think, eyes wide and glassy. Your weapon slipped through your fingers the same time as when you collapsed on your knees in front of him; awaiting his next command with all the self-respect and ego you had conjured up in the last few minutes long forgotten. 

Nothing else mattered anymore. 

For Master was here.

There was no need for you to think anymore.

All that needed to be done now was to sit back and obey without question. 

August calmly walked over to you and stopped when he was towering over you, letting out an intentionally exaggerated sigh as he propped the tip of his weapon under your chin. "Liability" he had called you that the day Gus -your mentor and guardian figure in the whole organization- had finally presented you to him; The Boss, after months of trials. 

Your bottom lip wobbled with all that was cycloning through your head but you dared not speak. 

He had a way of making you feel so small and vulnerable it melted away your resolve every time.  

"Impulsive" the back of August's free hand that was covered in splatters of blood struck across your face and your head lolled to the side. "Stubborn" now your other cheek was caught in his fingers and you let your face swing free in the direction of the slap. Master was the only man who could treat you that way and you were nothing to deny him of his wishes. 

The barrel of his gun brought your chin back to the center again. "Headstrong" as another strike caused your face to sway in the same humiliating way, the knowledge that were he some other man you would have torn your revenge for treating you like this out of him sent tremors down your abdomen. 

You could but you wouldn't. 

Because it was August; the sole proprietor of your entire existence. 

The tip of his Sig Sauer brought you back in idle position again. "Non-compliant" as you received another harsh strike, you bit back your rising ire for though you submitted to him wholeheartedly, getting pushed around had never been your forte. 

But Master can do whatever he wants, you're his for treating however he desires. 

He was worthy of being worshiped.

Maybe he was the only man who deserved such service. 

And perhaps that was the reason why your hips clenched as hard as they did each time he treated you like you were nothing but part of the dirt under his shoe.

Like right now.

August centered you again and your insides threatened to boil over when you noticed that the broken door was open wide as it swayed with the gentle breeze of the night, the gap helping the guys to a perfect view of the inside of the room. 

You. 

And Master.

Whilst Syverson and Phillips had the decency -the latter probably only because you were a daughter figure to him- to look away, Solo, Shaw and Kent watched on shamelessly as they stood clutching their rifles, ready to shoot down any potential threat. 

"Disobedient" as your head lolled aside again, you felt your cheek sting just a bit harder than the other one due to the way your teeth dug in it, the gazes from outside only making it all the more worse. 

Your eyes traveled back to Master's darker, much stern ones. Fuck. You felt hot slick pool in your underwear. "Amateur" a whimper escaped you as the realization that the others could see you so vulnerable and submissive pricked the skin of your ears. "Overconfident" besides, this very personal dynamic you shared with your boss was private and none of your colleagues knew about it. So either August was ignorant of the door or he was so serious about whatever he was about to do to you, he didn't care. 

Although, since the man had an extremely vigilant nature, you doubted the former was the case. 

Which only left you with the latter conclusion… 

This time around, your face was recentered -you were never to do that yourself unless ordered to do so- not with the Sauer but with a harsh grip on your hair. "Seems to me you were not trained well enough to know your place, little girl" he had bent down to put his face in close proximity to yours, pulling you up by the grip he had on your head to meet him halfway.

Your lips fell agape as your knees burned, shaking just a little as you tried to triumph the induced Parkinson's. It was not easy to make the Wraith tremble. But championing impossibilities had always been August Walker's specialty. "Y- Yes, Master…" Cold, shaky breaths left you as you trembled under his glare. Your loins ignited to life and you couldn't help but subconsciously rock your hips against empty air. "P- Please t- teach me, Master…" You risked speaking out of turn, determined to win him back no matter what for you no longer remembered how it was like to function without him.

Without the sense of sanity and balance his commands created for you. 

And you were not willing to relearn it.

Ever. 

"Hm" August mused with obvious sarcasm. "Or," he let go of your hair and stood back up to his full height, raising the gun before pressing the cold, bloody tip to your forehead, "I could save us all a whole lot of time and just put you out of everyone's misery." His thumb moved to click the safety off, the sound flipping your stomach in the most vile of ways, none of which were concern for your wellbeing. 

"Whatever you deem fit, Master" keeping your eyes trained on him, you went on a limb and slowly moved to crane your head backwards and let the barrel crown trail between your eyebrows and down your nose. "Thank you, Master" the silent yet bright rage in his cold blue orbs caused for a shiver to run down your spine. 

Suddenly, the certainty that you were now sure to survive the night that had kindled after his arrival was extinguished just like that.

And yet, you parted your lips when the beginning of the barrel reached your mouth, sheathing it in your oral cavity and between your cheeks, the length causing them to hollow as you looked up at him. The metallic taste of the blood spatters that the Sauer was covered in caused your taste buds to sting as it further invaded your balmy cavern and the apex scratched against your throat. You tried not to cough, breathing through the nose as your hips helplessly rocked again with a mind of their own, the discomfort in the back of your mouth bringing tears to your eyes.

You were too far gone for this man. 

And there was no rationalizing or denying it.

"Now that's more like the pet I raised" your pussy clenched and you whined softly, wanting nothing more for the still seething man to take you against every surface available in the most depraved of ways. Each one that you were familiar with. "Remembering your place already, aren't you?" His now eased up breathing slowly started to clamber again as he reached for his fly with his free hand, pistoning the weapon in and out of your mouth to demonstrate how his cock was about to defile your mouth. Though you were to never move a single muscle out of turn, you could not help but bob your head along the Sauer in a horizontal fashion while your holes clenched again. 

You had come too close today. 

It could never happen again… if your boss would even allow there to be another time, that was. 

But for now, there were amends that needed making.

"Now then, what do we say?" August nearly slithered as he pulled the Sauer out of your mouth but didn't holster it, instead letting it dangle by one hand whilst the other tangled in your hair to pull you closer to his cock. 

"Want you in me, Master…" You resisted the urge to just open your mouth and move up on it.

You had angered him enough for a while. 

"Want me?" You cowered at his faux amusement that came out as a growl due to how enraged he was. 

"N- No…"

"No?" You gulped to yourself before trying again.  

"No–" you shook your head in panic, raking your mind to come up with an appropriate response. "I- I mean… N- Need you, Master…" Yes, that was certainly better. "Please…" Your bottom lip quivered as your words wavered with a pleading wanton in them. "N- Need you."

"And where do you need me?" The lack of contempt in his manner indicated that you were on the right track. Or at least somewhere near it.

"M- Mouth, M- Master…" Your nails dug into your thighs as you tried your best to hold back from touching him.

Disobedient girls didn't deserve to touch their Masters.

"And why do you need me in your mouth?" He let go of your hair to pump his monstrous girth a couple times as he stroked your cheek with the barrel of the Sauer. 

"T- To fuck my face, Master." You answered honestly, completely ignorant of how shocked Kent was at what was unfolding. 

Usually you were much more vigilant than this single minded mess you had become, but this was just the effect August had on you. 

"Is that right?" A twisted smirk made its way on his face. "And why do you need me to do such a humiliating thing to you, little girl?" You hadn't realized that your heart was thumping until its erratic beating began to put strain on your chest. 

"To be reminded of my place, Master." That seemed to finally create at least a semblance of satisfaction and your Master allowed you the tip of his cock at last. 

"And where is your place?" He waited patiently even though his body was clearly having a hard time holding back now that your warm lips circled his leaking tip. 

"Under you" you spoke through a mouthful of dick. "On my knees" you tried to kiss it to show your devotion but the puckering of your lips caused a loud suckling sound. His features twitched. "At your service, always" something else, a hungry dark, now mixed in with the bright lividness of his cold blue eyes and he grunted before pulling you closer by your hair, trailing the gun all the way down to your chest now. 

"That's right" he let go of your hair to slap your cheek before resuming his hold on the strands, grunting at the way his cock felt the vibration of his own palm from when he had struck you. "And you better remember that the next time you want to break protocol" your eyes widened in realization and hope flashed in your eyes. 

A chance. 

You tried to respond but his cock was too far into your mouth for you to be able to let out a coherent answer. Ao you chose to hum and unintentionally sent waves of pleasure all the way down to his balls. Well, all's well that ends well, right? You began to bob your head up and down with a newfound optimism, peeking up at his humongous form with pure adoration in your eyes. 

August cursed under his breath at the sight of you so submissive and comfortable in your humility. The sheer love and devotion in your eyes as your warm cavity clung to his cock, the mass of your lashes fluttering each time your face slid all the way down his length and the way his tip brushed your gag reflex with each movement, the stubble on his crotch tickling your nose as you did, it was all too much for him to handle with civility. 

"Use your hands" so he finally allowed you what you had been craving for. You felt your pussy throb when his thick veins twitched against your grainy tongue. "Go ahead, show me what you are good for" his voice was gravelly as the Sauer slipped into the neckline of your shirt and he let you feel the cold metal against your skin. 

You gladly complied, moaning at the feeling of the weapon against you, hoisting yourself further upwards on your heels as you reached for his balls with one hand and palmed them generously. Your head rotated each time you moved in on his cock, other hand working fast to pump him each time you pulled back until you were only sucking on his tip. 

"Look at you" August hooked one foot against your knee and pushed it apart to create more distance between your legs. "Maybe you should retire as solely my toy for the rest of your days, huh?" Leaving the weapon hanging from your shirt and tucked tightly in your bra, the older man clicked the safety on before clasping his fist around your throat. "You're much better at it than the job, anyway" the corners of your shoulders jutted upwards when his cock finally breached your swallow tract and tears fell from your eyes at last in thick drops at last.

Glancing up at August with your bloodshot eyes, you darted your tongue out to trace as much the circumference of his ballsack as you possibly could. He cursed heavily. "Just like that… good girl" the back of your throat was warm and even more inviting, enveloping him in such a way that an imprint of his cock appeared on your delicate skin, the ridges grazing against August's palm that pressed against it. 

Your head was now dizzy due to the lack of air but you did not care as you unplugged your mouth just enough to wheeze in as much air as you possibly could, releasing a fat wad of hot spit down the intimidating length of his cock that you pumped messily with your hand. There was a dull ache in your scalp because of the taut grip that he had on your hair. Your lungs burned. Your ears were on the verge of melting along your brain. Your jaw ticked due to his size. Your throat stretched each time he violated its inner cavity. Your pussy throbbed for attention and your abdomen pulsated painfully.

But none of it mattered. 

So long as you got to satisfy your Master, everything was bearable.  

"Fucking hell" August groused as he stilled your head in one place to reach as low as he could possibly go down the back of your oral cavity, pistoning short-paced thrusts up and down the space to fuck his orgasm out. Your trembling hands gripped his knees as you felt a strain in your jaw due to how his sack was widening it, obediently licking and sucking at his balls to the best of your ability. 

Somewhere amidst the thrusting and swallowing, your windpipe catched a drop and you coughed, further intensifying the man's pleasure as the turbulence caused a mix of your spit and his cum to spray out of your nose before it trailed down to your lips. 

August fished his phone out of his jacket and quickly snapped a shot of your state. 

Hair disheveled, mouth full of cock, red eyes full of tears that stained your flush cheeks, thick strings of drool and his seed dripping down your chin. 

"Make yourself look pretty for me" he nodded at you with a brief glance to his cock and where it connected with you. 

The camera was still trained at you when you obediently pulled him out with a gag and cough while pumping the rest of his cum out and onto your face. The flash of the lenses nearly blinded you as you looked up in the video that he was recording now, your tongue and swollen lips glistening as you painted yourself pearlescent. 

"Now, what do we say?" August panted once you were done. 

"Thank you so much f- for giving me a chance a- and fucking my face, Master" your voice was hoarse and a near whisper as you forced it out through your worked out mouth, licking your lips to collect as much of him as possible. 

"That's fucking right" he ended the video by squeezing your cheeks in his grip until your cum covered features scrunched in the most humiliating way before he landed a last slap to your cheek. 

August fixed himself up professionally like he didn't just fuck your throat into oblivion and you submissively waited on your knees, awaiting his next command. After he was satisfied with his appearance, the man wiped his hands on your jacket before he took his gun out from between your boobs and holstered it. 

"Up" raising one of his hands above his head, he snapped his fingers and allowed you the privilege of leaning on one of his arms as you scrambled up to your feet. 

A very stunned Shaw was by his side within the next second, his ears a deep, almost embarrassed red. "Retrieve the asset" the younger male awkwardly looked at your obscene state as you wordlessly nodded in the direction of the briefcase stash. "Now," August's fingers snaked around your hair again as he glanced down at you, "let's get my estranged Wraith home" your head lolled in his direction as he began to walk towards one of the many sleek black SUVs parked outside. 

"You have been demoted" he informed you once you had both settled in the backseat of one of the vehicles. August thrusted his phone in your hand. It displayed the picture that he had taken just a few minutes ago. "We will begin right from the start; the basement" your heart dropped. Oh, fuck. You had only been down there once and it was not a place where August was pleasant in any sense. And your sadistic lover was never much agreeable in the affectionate sense anyways. You definitely still had a lot to atone for. "Keep looking at this picture. I don't want your eyes off it for a second" the menace in his tone made you gulp as the humiliating picture burnt its way into your eyesockets.

A few seconds passed before you felt August's hands slip around your ass but you dared not look up to express your wonder. "Now… about that weeping little pussy of yours…" Honestly, it was hard not to notice. The stain you had made for yourself was too dark and wide for anyone to miss.  

✟

Thots and reblogs are much appreciated <3

Tags <3: @kittymiaow @enchantedbytomandhenry @thearcana-moonlight @lainiespicewrites @diannana @juliaorpll78 @slut-for-henry-cavill @chocolatecherryblossomsweets @sonnenbroesel @lovenewfandoms @secretdream2

[jokeringcutio]

Albert Shaw x (younger f girlfriend) Reader - Unwind (Explicit/Smut)

Fandom: Black Phone

Pairing: Albert Shaw (the Grabber) x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Rough sex on the couch, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Older man/younger woman, Age difference/Age Gap, Girlfriend Reader, College Reader, Mention of parents, mention of not being on birth control. (Not beta-read)

Unwind

The warmth of Albert Shaw's cozy living room enveloped you. The two of you were set on the grey soft couch, the flickering lights of the television screen forming patterns over Albert’s face. The sound was turned off – there were adverts on anyway. And so you studied him instead.

You thought back to the day you met Albert - a kid's birthday party, your younger brother's. His magical performance had left everyone in awe. You smiled at the memory as he sat across from you, his chestnut hair framing his face, flecks of grey at the roots.

How he had captured your heart with just a smile. You came to understand that picking you out as his assistant had not been a coincidence at all. But, as he later told you once things between you got serious, it had been love at first sight. And he had wanted to see you from up close.

"Another child went missing last night," you said softly, an uneasy tension settling over the room while outside the wind howled like a beast. "They're calling him the Grabber."

Albert flinched, his bright blue eyes darkening for a moment. He glanced towards the basement door, then back at you. "That's terrible," he muttered, his voice low and gruff. You noticed the way his fingers tapped nervously on the armrest of the couch, but you continued talking, trying to fill the silence that threatened to swallow you both.

"Everyone in Denver is terrified. No one knows who it could be." Your voice wavered, betraying your own fear. "Can you imagine what those poor families must be going through?"

Albert pursed his lips, staring ahead of him before his blue eyes finally found yours. You didn’t need to voice the fear that was deep inside of you. Your brother was just the right age to be of interest to the mysterious kidnapper that plagued your city.

“I don’t want you to worry about it, dear,” he said, voice low and smooth. Whenever you heard him you felt butterflies fluttering deep inside. How could a man sound like this and be real? It sounded too good to be true. But here he was, with you, comforting you.

“If you worry about your brother, know that I am here,” his hand gave yours a gentle squeeze, and a small smile played on his lips. “I’ll make sure the Grabber doesn’t get him.”

You let out a soft laugh. His words were exactly what you needed to hear. “Then I am happy to have such a heroic man as my boyfriend.”

Next to your side, Albert seemed to stiffen, then his eyes settled on you again and he placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Yeah,” was all he said. But you’d noticed it. Something was off about him, had been off for a while. But today it was worse. There was a certain glint to his eyes, a twitch to his hands. As if he was nervous.

"Albert," you said gently, noticing his jitteriness. "Is everything alright? Did something happen at work?"

He avoided your gaze and shook his head. "No, nothing happened. I'm just... a little on edge, that's all." His fingers brushed against yours as he let out a low chuckle. "You know what could help me relax, though, don't you?"

You furrowed your brow, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. He had always been a bit cryptic, but this time, you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

“Want some tea? Or a massage?” You stuttered, thinking of all the possible things that could help make him relax. “I could run you a hot bath?”

“Hmm, a massage sounds about right,” Albert hummed, hand withdrawing from the armrest as he turned to look at you, blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the room. “A very specific massage.”

You blinked at him, mind raking over the possible types of massage that there existed. “Sure,’ you said.

You watched as he moved his hands downward until they rested above the bulge between his legs. In the dim light, you hadn’t quite recognized the tent he was sporting. And when he remained silent and just observed you patiently, as if waiting for something, you grew worried.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, concern lacing your voice. You wanted to be there for him, to support him through whatever was causing him distress.

"Maybe you could... help me unwind?" Albert suggested with a sly grin, leaning closer to you. His hand slid up your arm, fingertips sending shivers down your spine. "You've got such a soothing touch."

You blinked in confusion, still not fully grasping the implications of his words. Your heart pounded in your chest, an odd mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbling within you. Albert's closeness was both comforting and electrifying, and you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

"Of course," you murmured, unsure of what he truly desired, yet eager to bring him relief from his tension.

His lips descended on your hair again, then slowly trailed down to your cheek. Open-mouthed kisses, with his tongue peeking out every now and again. His hand grasped yours and placed it on his bulge where you felt him swell underneath your palm and e fabric. Your eyes widened when you finally understood what this was all leading to.

"Albert," you whispered, realization finally dawning upon you. "You want me to...?"

"Help me find release," he finished your sentence, his voice husky and low. The intensity in his bright blue eyes darkened as desire consumed him.

"Of course," you breathed, a shiver of anticipation running through you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His lips met yours hungrily, pressing forcefully against your own.

He responded with a needy growl, his hands gripping your waist tightly, almost painfully so.

"Such a good girl," he praised between fevered kisses, his chestnut brown hair brushing against your face as he moved to your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there. Your whimpers only seemed to spur him on further as his hand slid underneath your shirt and bra.

He peeled away your clothes one by one, mouth feverishly covering all parts of you, leaving no part of you unexplored. All the while, your hand moved up and down his bulge, still covered by his pants. A wet spot had started to form, soaking through his clothes. And a low groan near your ear made you look up to see a hunger in his eyes that left you breathless.

His rough hands explored every inch of your body, leaving no part untouched. The forcefulness of his actions sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making you acutely aware of how much you craved this side of him. He bent you over the couch, flipped you, and angled you in such ways as gave him the most pleasure. The light of the television lit your body and formed patterns of fireworks and stars across your naked skin as Albert undid his belt.

The revelation made your mouth water. It wasn’t that you hadn’t ever done this before. Albert had been quite persuasive and you had been just as hungry for him to allow him to take you to his bed. You’d bled for him that first time, had tasted him out of curiosity, had allowed him to own you completely and fuck all of your holes. And now that he craved you, you felt you craved him as well.

Let him unwind. You could do with a little fun yourself.

"Please," you gasped, desperate for him to take you completely. "I need you, Albert."

He didn't need any more encouragement. He flipped you over until you were lying on your tummy on the couch. His hand pressed your head down while the other traced past your hip – gently.

His breath stuttered –  a deep inhale that sounded more like a beast ready to pounce on its prey. Perhaps it was, because, in one swift motion, he entered you, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. He moved his hips without allowing you to accommodate, tight pussy being stretched unreasonably past its limits. The pain quickly gave way to exquisite pleasure as he started to move, and you pushed your hands against the couch as he thrust into you with a ferocity that made your head spin. The loud moan that escaped you had Albert halt.

“Be quiet now, baby girl,” his low voice grunted. “We don’t want to wake Samson.”

You glanced over at where the dog was, thinking that surely the creature would not mind. But Albert had been more often like this. One day he wanted you to scream, the next he wanted no one to know he was fucking his much younger girlfriend.

“Can you be quiet for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep silent. But it took effort as his hips pushed against your pelvis deliciously hard, like a man possessed. For a moment you thought about asking him to be gentler with you, but then you remembered you’d promised to help him out. And if this was what he needed, then let him have it. You could take it.

He moved with fierce movements, cockhead hitting your cervix with bruising force, over and over. It was different than any fucking you had before. How could you remain silent like this?

You gasped and clawed your fingers against the couch in an attempt to get some leverage. He straightened his spine and then raised your hips, propping a pillow underneath, before he bore down deep inside of your cunt, grunting and groaning as he punished your pussy relentlessly with harsh thrusts. He was no longer a man, but something from Hell. Something devilish, both in looks and actions.

“So tight,” he groaned, words like hoarse whispers falling from his lips. “So fucking good.”

Soft gasps and unbidden moans escaped your lips as wet squelching sounds filled the room. A dull ache was felt deep below, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. The scent of sex tainted the air and sweat made your bodies shimmer in the flickering lights.

Animalistic groans escaped the man above you and you wished you could see him. But he had your head pushed forward onto the couch, ass against his chest while his cock nestled deep inside your cunt while he groaned. He pulsed deep inside of you. Had he come? He hadn’t, right?

He left you no time to ponder because his hand grasped your hair and pulled at it, hand forming a fist as he lifted you from your current position. He was thrusting harshly inside of you again. You’d never known him like this before. So wild, so violent. Yet your pussy loved it, walls fluttering around his shaft in a way you never had experienced before.

The thrusts were deep, too deep perhaps, and you were gasping, biting back pleas to be gentle because you fucking loved it. You loved how he roughly manhandled you until you knew that bruises from his hands would form on your arms and hips.

You loved how good his cock felt battering deep inside your cunt even if you knew it would leave you sore for days to come. You loved how he dominated you, uncaring about your well-being or your wishes or the fact that he wasn’t supposed to come inside. His hips moved against yours roughly, and as he tried to reposition you – being so strong despite his age – your arm bumped against the table next to the couch, accidentally knocking something off the table. You turned your head to look, even if Albert tried to pull you back for a kiss.

The television’s light became bright, illuminating a hideous grin that stared up at you. Taunting. Haunting.

“What is that mask doing here?” you wondered, catching a glimpse of what could only be described as a demonic-looking mask, bigger than Albert’s head.

Your head was forcefully tugged aside, the grip on your hair making you flinch and unable to look at the mask any longer, as Albert guided you back onto the couch until you were on your back with him on top, legs spread wide at either side of his chest, allowing him to plow as deep inside of you as your tight little channel allowed. When he re-entered you, the slick sounds were a disturbing indicator of how wet he had made you.

“I said, keep your mouth shut,” Albert said through gritted teeth, forcing your head to turn so you were looking at him again. A thrust of his hips, a wet squelch as cum slipped past the hilt of his cock, escaping the depths of your cunt.

He was on his way to his second orgasm, hips stuttering irregularly against your own. You did not see it though, only heard the wet sounds from where your bodies met and felt the irregularity of his thrusts.

“Lips sealed, sweetheart,” he muttered before he descended upon you once more, lips hungrily working against your own.

You gasped, allowing him easy access until his tongue was licking against yours. You kissed him back just as eagerly, hands finding a way to his chest to hold him – perhaps teasing his nipples a bit deliberately but he had definitely earned that.

The kiss ended abruptly. Your mind was foggy and no longer focused on the hideous mask you had seen. Instead, all you could focus on was his mesmerizing blue half-lidded eyes as he studied you in between thrusts. His right hand grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. His left rested on your waist, near your hipbone, pressing down possessively.

It felt good, so good.

"Mine," he grunted, eyes locked onto yours as he claimed you entirely. His relentless pace continued, pushing you both towards a precipice neither of you could resist.

"Yours," you managed to choke out, overcome by the intensity of the moment. The hard fucking was delicious, the battering of his cock against your cervix sent ripples of pleasure down your core until your walls pulsed around his shaft, milking him, begging him to come.

He hunched over you, his chest warm against your breasts as he rutted into you like a beast in heat. As the wave of ecstasy crashed over you, his grip held your hands above your head while your pussy pulsed around his throbbing cock. You gasped as he leaned in even further, folding you even more than you were, getting in so deep it hurt.

"Remember this," Albert panted, his gaze never leaving yours. The world around you seemed to blur and fade away, leaving only the two of you tangled together in a moment of raw, unbridled passion. “Only I can give you what you crave.”

And you believed him. He had ruined you, he once told you. And in this moment, you fully believed he had.

Albert groaned your name in your ear as he came, as the warmth of his cum filled you for a second time and a low groan exhibited his release. Wordlessly, Albert moved his hips against you, his cock moving inside you with less force now, thrusts light. You gasped, eyes searching for his. But he was studying the way your bodies connected. Another low groan as he carefully slipped from your core.

A deep sigh and a rustle of the couch as Albert got up off it to get some tissues. You watched through half-lidded eyes how he cleaned his cock, then got out some fresh tissues to dab between your legs. He halted there, looking up at you to make sure he had your attention, tissue still pressed against your weeping cunt.

“I got a bit rough with you, sweetheart,” he said, although you were not quite sure if it was an apology or just a statement.

You flashed him a small smile, lying on your back, sated. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you quipped.

Albert grinned and continued wiping your sore pussy clean. You noticed the copious amount of cum that came into the tissues, but decided not to comment on any of it. You’d get the morning-after pill, you decided quietly. He didn’t need to know or worry, and neither should you.

After you were both presentable again, you felt how Albert scooted on the couch with you. He held you close, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. His lips, tender and searching, found yours in a kiss that was both soft and intense. It felt as if he was trying to convey his deepest emotions through the delicate press of skin against skin.

"God," he murmured, his breath warm on your cheek. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, banishing the chill that had begun to seep into your bones. You smiled, nestling closer to him as your fingers traced lazy patterns on the expanse of his chest.

"Me neither," you whispered, feeling a sense of belonging that you hadn't known was possible.

Moments later, Albert reluctantly untangled himself from you, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to memorize every detail. With a soft kiss placed on your forehead, he rose from the couch and made his way to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you were left alone with your thoughts. The memory of Albert's rough touch lingered on your skin. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized just how much you'd enjoyed it. The raw, unbridled passion. You enjoyed it too.

And then, how you had allowed him to fully conquer you. It should raise questions. In a way, it did, because you should have stopped him from having this unprotected sex when he knew you weren’t on the pill. You wanted to, but… something about money. Plus, you were still in college and your parents were being a bitch about you dating anyone.

You couldn't help but wonder how you could introduce Albert to them. They would surely question your relationship with someone so much older than you. But you were certain they would come to see what a genuinely incredible man he was – if only they could look past the age difference. They had liked him at your brother’s party. Your dad had always spoken highly of Albert, knowing him of the Denver bowling team.

Carefully, you got off the couch, not completely surprised when a squelch announced some more cum escaping your core. Annoyed by the mess that dribbled down your legs, and the fact that Albert was keeping the bathroom occupied, you threw on your sweater and walked to the kitchen instead.

You rinsed your hands with water before taking another tissue to dab between your legs. Was sex always this messy, you wondered? The times you and Albert had been at it, he’d often pulled out and cum over your chest. You’d even swallowed his load a few times. But this… this was new.

Not to say you didn’t like it.

Lost in thought, you were startled by a sudden pounding noise coming from the direction of the basement door. Your heart skipped a beat as the eerie sound echoed through the otherwise silent house.

"Albert?" you called out, hoping that the noise was nothing more than a trick of your imagination. But the banging continued, insistent and undeniable.

“Samson?” you asked, hoping it was Albert’s dog. But Samson came padding around the corner and looked at you with blurry eyes, as if your call had just awoken him.

“Hmm, not Samson then,” you whispered, patting the dog on his head and telling him he was a good boy – even if Samson sniffed between your legs, pressing his wet nose a bit too close to your private parts before letting out a happy yip and scurrying back into the living room again.

Tentatively, you pulled the sweater lower so it covered most of your hips, making you feel a little less exposed as you as you approached the door. A sense of dread began to worm its way into your chest, tightening its grip with every step you took.

"Albert?" you called again, more urgently this time. There was no response, only the relentless pounding that seemed to grow louder with each passing second.

Finally, you reached the door, your hand hovering uncertainly above the doorknob. Inhaling a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever lay beyond. With your heart hammering in your chest, you grasped the cold metal and turned it.

~

Fin

~

AN: Whoops, sorry not so sorry about that ending. Anyway, I wrote this in a hurry and slept 12 hours after my latest hospital visit yesterday, so pardon any inconsistencies or mistakes.

Liked my work? :)

♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡

Love you all

[star-dust-stuf]

Albert Shaw x fem!reader

title: go ahead and cry little girl

warnings: none, pure rotting fluff

a/n: yes! another one, as always this has nothing to do with sex or abuse. listen to the song daddy issues by the neighborhood. sorry for typos, with love!

-

He left the basement door unlocked. He wanted me to play the game because if I didn't he wouldnt want to keep me here and I wanted to stay, stay with him. So I had no choice but to play and I never really knew how far I was able to go, once I made it up the steps it wasn't so hard because I've done it before, but I really didn't want to leave. 

But this time was different, I saw him in a chair in the kitchen, facing the steps to the basement, he was sleeping, his soft snoring. I didn't want to play this game at all, at all. I knew if I didn't hed force me to leave. He wouldn't kill me believe it or not because he knew id rather die that leave him. He knew I wouldn't tell a soul. 

I was barefoot, in the nightgown he gave me. The time floor was cold, he had his shoes on, he was definitely ready for something. I got close to him and tilted my head at him, he had his mask on like always but I could see his eyes were closed.

The back door was right there and I aprouched it, it was locked so when I unlocked it made a loud click and my fight or flight kicked in and I ran out that door. I didn't know if he woke but he did, he was in a shock but he didn't hesitate to get his van from his garage and chase me down the block. 

I was running, the cold night wind hitting my face and my hair. My feet hitting the hard pavement, what am I supposed to do? Would it be reasonable to scream for help? No. But what am I supposed to do? 

He stopped his van and got out as fast as he could, he ran after me. He took me down on the hard ground, on the wet grass, I cried out in pain and he immediately covered my mouth as a porch light turned on from across the street, he whispered in my ear, his voice was rough and mean sounding. "Say one word..."

I was breathing heavily, I couldn't help it. The adrenaline i felt to the tension made me start to cry, he felt bad for this and he felt he was being unreasonable. He put his lips to the side of my head and kissed me gently. "Hush." He said softly. 

His arm that was around my torso, I put my hands and gripped him a little, he kept whispering in my ear and trying to keep me from making any noises, which he knew I wouldn't do it intentionally. "Shh, shh, shh." 

He kissed my cheek, and when that porch light turned off he looked around for a second then lifted me over his shoulder, I didnt really know what to do, but I couldnt do anything or maybe I just didn't want to. He put me in the back of his van and I could tell he was angry by the way he slammed the door. 

We got back to his home, he carried me down to the basement and set me on the bed, tossing my gentle. He was breathing heavily, his fists clenched and his eyes narrowed to me. "Why would you do that... To me?" 

His voice was heavy, dark, his chest rising and falling with every breath. "I thought if i-." I tear up. "If I didn't try to... Escape, you wouldn't let me stay..." 

His breathing slowed, it was more calm and his eyes soften. "I was so scared... You didnt want to stay with me, you didn't want to be loved by me." 

I look at him, tears falling down my cheeks. "No, Albert. I thought if I didn't play that game you'd hurt me." 

Albert looked at me, his blue eyes shining in the dim light. "You dont listen. Bunny, I've told you. In any way you think i'd hurt you, is that fear I want you to let go of. I will never do something so terrible to you, the mere thought of trying to hurt you... To touch you. It's sickening." 

He scowled softly at me as he sat on the mattress, he strokes my cheek with his thumb and wiped the tears. "You don't have to think you have to hurt yourself to stay with me, that would be the opposite of why I took you." 

My tears grew heavy he saw this and without hesitation he pulled me tight to his chest. He put gentle pressure on my back and whispered in my ears, in a lullaby like tone. "I'm right here. And leaving is the only way you'll get away from me, and will never let anyone take you away from me."

[miyaheestar]

live reaction to the pack wedding audio

KISS SJSGJS DAVID KISS HAIII HAI DAVID 🥺🥺🥺

"i just want a little time with you today, before everything goes crazy" MSHSMHDMSHSM IM GONNA GO INSANE

IM GOING INSANE IM IM GOING IM INSANE IM ACTUALLY DGINGSJSYSISGSKGAJA

"how are you feeling?" NOT GOOD MY BODY TEMPERATURE IS HIGH IM GOING INSANE FYM YOU TOO

"WE MADE IT" WHAT IF I DONT MADE IT WHAF IF I CRY WHAT IF YOU DIE DO NAWT SAY YOU LOVE ME I WILL CRY DAVID SHAW I WILL ACTUALLY CRY SO HARD

"WE'RE GETTING MARRIED TODAY"HE SOUNDS SO FUCKING HAPPY AND SOFT IM ACTUALLY CRYING IM NOT NAWT OKAY IM NOT PLS DONT DO THIS TO ME PLS

"beautiful" i haven't showered and i didn't sleep and it's 7 am in the morning are you blind

"you are. especially first thing in the morning. still all sleepy and cuddly and relaxed. im the luckiest man in the world to get to see it everyday.. for the rest of my life" do you want me to die?

MGSMSGSMSHSM I WANNA CRY SEND HELP SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOS SOSBSOSBSOSBSOSJSOSOSOSOSOSOSOSOWIS

pls i will actually cry

"you fucking menace" IM YOUR MENACE HAH

KISS

ASHER ASHER ASHER ASHER ASHER ASHER ASHWR ASHWR ASHERA AHEEDHA ASHER AHSER ASHW AAGE

oh he eepy baby 🥺

good morning asher 🥺

"oh my god it's actually today holy shit it's actually happening" HE'S LIKE ME FOR REAL FOR REAL

"when did you wake up" you think i sleep?

WOAHWOAHWOAHWOAH SEXY?? AYO I KNOW I AM SEXY

"IM GONNA BE YOUR HUSBAND" WHAT IF I CRY WHAT IF I CRY WHA IF I ACTUALLY LOSE IT THEN WHST IF I DIE WHAT IF YOU DIE OH GOD DON'T DIE ASHER PLEASE

IM TEARING UP DONT DO THIS TO ME

ASHER I LOVE YOU SO MUCH WHY YOU'RE NOT REAL

"I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BABE" I SAID IT FIRST SO THAT MEANS I LOVE YOU MORE

DAMN RIGHT ASHER DAMN RIGHTTTTT

"about the person who matters to me more than anything else in the whole damn world" STOP STOP THIS OFFICER OFFICER A WEREWOLF TRYNNA SEDUCE ME HE TRYNNA SEDUCE ME SIR I WILL DIE SIR IM BEING SEDUCED

okay scene change

SAM AND ASHER AUGSUAGUAGUAGUAGAUFAUAGAHHUFAHHHH

"mate pairs shouldn't see each other in the morning" DAMN RIGHT SO TRUE HEWL YEAHHH

MILOOOOOO MY BIG.. um SMALL BIG BOY

"grouchy grandpa" HELPPPP "now don't you start." HELLAGSISGSKSG HAHAHAHAHA

"oh my mistake" YOU'RE SO SASSY

... ITS JUST SILENCE HELPP IM CRYING

ERIK PLEASE HAHAHAHAHA YOU'RE SO 😭😭😭

ERIK BODOH LAH KAU NI 😭😭😭😭

HELP PLEASE ENOUGH SILENCE PLS THIS IS WAY TOO FUNNY I'LL THROW UP

IM CRYING

STOP THIS

IT'S TOO LONG STOP THE SILENCE ERIK I WILL EAT YOUR HAIR AND YOU'LL BE BALD

ERIK

LMAO MILO NOT THE WARNING

CHRISSY

"are you trying to look like you got married in wind tunnel" HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HELPPP MILO PLEASE

"im fine.. i-im not" ME TOO ME TOO ME TOO ME TOO ME TOO ME TOO ME TOO

aww grandpa sam 🥺🥺🥺

AWWW DAVID HELPING ASHER

"david, can i ask you something?"

STOP STIP SRSOSO STIP SFOP STOP BITCH STOP I WIWLL CRY

"well i did" DO YOU WABT ME TO KILL EVERYONE THEN MYSELF

im not okag im not ojay im not okay I AM NOT OKAY

i cant do this I'll actually pass out

i cant

im hypervinelantagwtbf

"my dad-" SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP DAVID SHAW SHUT UP

"i picked you because you're the one person i trust more than anyone else. you made me feel safe." I WILL ACTUALLY LOSE IT

I WILL LOSE IT

I WILL NO

I WIGSKSGWK

I AM GONNA CRY

"i was a decent alpha but i wasn't a very good friend" so you want me to kill myself

i am genuinely gonna cry

THEY'RE HUGGING IM GONNA CRYYYYYYY IN GONANNAHSGSISFWKSFISV IM NOT OKAY

"ash euw" I LOVE THAT

MILO DO NAWT HURT MA MAN I WILL EAT YOUR REMAINING HEIGHT

MILO SPEECH

"how much does it pay" BOSGSISGSJGAHAGAGAGAGAHAHAGAHA STAPH

what if i jump

i will jump

i won't

i will

i wont

I WILL SOB I WILL WIBSUSVWKSGSJ STOPAHSGSOGSOSGS

IM GETTING MARRIED YALL

IM IM IM IM

IM GONNA GET MARRIED

it sounds like asher and david getting married LMAO

"um" classic opening

asher if you cry YOU BETTER BE CRYING okay he's gonna cry

what if asher dies after his vows

I WILL BE A WIDOW OH GOD

"i love you" IM GONNA KILL MYSELF AND EAT ERIK'S HAIR

so it's just silence and giggles for babe's speech

got it

it's okay i love asher's giggles

"angel" I WILL JUMP BRO

I WILL

I WILL

I WONT IM SCARED OF HEIGHTS

david please cry

PLEASE CRY

GO FULL ON SOBBING

why guy is not angel's brother

HE'S CRYING YALL CHEERS

CHEERS

and he's laughing too

BUT HE'S CRYING YEAYYYYY

LMAO MILO HAHAHAHAGAHA PLEASEEEE

IT SOUNDS LIKE ASHER AND DAVID KISSING WOAH

... I NEED MORE

ERIK ERIK ERIKSON

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (5/?)

Part summary: With Leigh, it feels like for every step forward, you end up taking two steps back.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.600+ | Warnings Some angst, het stuff | A/N: Texts in italic indicate they happened in the past. We get an insight about R's past with Matt and a little surprise at the end.

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Next part

-

You'd hardly expect to meet a decent guy on the street nowadays.

Though, to be fair, it's less about meeting him and more about running straight into him. At the moment, you don't give it much thought. You distinctly remember wincing from the impact, feeling solid muscle and jutting bones, and a surge of irritation bubbles up inside you because you're not exactly having the best day. But then, the man you ran into looks up, and his face is all apologies. 

He looks like he might cry if you don't forgive him, so you do. As you stand there, trying to process the situation, he notices the coffee spilled all over the floor—your coffee, which has now created a sad, dark puddle around your feet.

“Can I buy you another coffee?”

Despite the kind gesture, you find yourself shaking your head, more keen on changing out of your coffee-stained coat than sticking around any longer.

From a few steps away, his impatient friend calls out, “Are you coming, Matt?”

“Yeah, just wait a sec,” Matt responds, his attention still on you. You usually don’t trust men running into you without an agenda, but there’s something about him that tells you he didn’t mean to, and that he’s more than willing to make up for it.

“No, thanks. I got it…”

He looks unnecessarily worried as he leans in a bit closer. “You sure about that?” he asks. 

His brown eyes are the friendliest pair you’ve seen in a while. And being essentially alone in this new town, they pull you in like gravity.

“Y-Yes. Just watch where you’re going next time,” you stammer, attempting to stabilize your shaky legs.

“Matt!”

Matt nods hesitantly, then mumbles, “Sorry, I have to go. Again, I'm really sorry,” before his gaze releases you, and you feel its force that held you in a vice-like grip easing away. 

As you're walking away, you keep having to tell yourself not to look over your shoulder, even though every part of you kind of wants to.

You guess you must be really lonely, to cling onto the first bit of kindness someone throws your way.

-

Your deliberate attempts to bump into Leigh finally pay off one brisk Friday morning. But it’s not in the way you’ve imagined it would go.

The town is just waking up, the chill in the air biting at your cheeks as you take your routine jog through the quiet streets. You've discovered that running suits you better than yoga, mainly because it's something you can do solo, and you've always leaned towards activities where you can be by yourself. You’re tired, but you try to lift your knees higher with every stride, keeping your cadence in check.

Turning a corner, a sudden commotion catches your attention. A group of rowdy teenagers barrel down the sidewalk, loud and oblivious to anything but their own world. One of them, a bit too caught up in the fun, nearly crashes into you, forcing you to swerve unexpectedly.

In your effort to dodge, you step right into the path of Leigh Shaw. 

It all happens too fast; there's no chance for either of you to do anything else. You crash into each other, the impact sending a jolt through your bodies. You tumble sideways, your arm shooting out instinctively, breaking your fall and softening the impact as you land. Leigh lets out a sharp yelp as she staggers forward from the force of the collision, a look of shock quickly spreading across her face. As she falls, her knee scrapes against the rough concrete, and when she finally sits up, there's a noticeable gash, bleeding freely.

“Oh my god, I am so, so sorry,” you blurt out, horrified at the sight. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

She grimaces, glancing at her knee, then back at you. “Well, I've definitely been better,” she says, trying to keep her voice light despite the pain. You give her a hand up, and as she leans on you for support, you can't help but notice she's dressed in denim shorts, a blue parka, and flip-flops—not exactly the attire for a morning jog. The sun's just starting to show its face, and you're left wondering where she's headed so early, if she's not out for a run or something.

Looking around, you notice the roll-up shutters of nearby establishments are still down, indicating they won't be opening anytime soon. It’s apparent that there's nowhere immediate to find help or a first-aid kit. You scratch the back of your neck, an awkward idea coming to you.

“I don’t think there’s nowhere we can ask for help,” you start, trying not to sound too anxious about what you’re about to suggest. “I've got a first-aid kit at my place, though. It's not far. We could fix you up there, if you're okay with it?”

Leigh takes a beat, and then gives you a nod. “I guess that's my best option right now. Lead the way.”

As you start walking, Leigh instinctively grabs your arm for support. Your foot have barely hit the pavement when she suddenly grips tighter, fingers clawing into your arm as she lets out a hiss of pain. The wound must have stretched as she bent her knee to take a step, and with the way she's limping, you realize making her walk is a bad call.

“Shit, I'm really sorry,” you apologize again, the situation dawning on you. This isn't at all how you wanted to run into Leigh again, especially after trying to find a way to reconnect since the dinner in her car. “Let me get an Uber.”

Leigh starts to object, but you're already pulling out your phone. The last thing you wanted was for your attempt to help to end up hurting her more.

-

“So, where were you headed earlier?” you ask casually, hoping not to pry too much. “Doesn't seem like you were out for a run like I was.”

Leigh’s injury is more severe than you first thought; after hitting a rough patch on the pavement, her knee took the brunt of the fall. The skin is scraped away in several places, revealing angry, reddened flesh beneath. 

“Grocery, or something,” Leigh mumbles, distracted and wincing a bit as you ready another dab of antiseptic for her knee. The moment the cotton touches the wound, she can't help but jerk away slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur, soothingly, noticing she's struggling to stay still. To help steady her, you gently hold onto her calf, and that's when you feel your cheeks start to warm up. “I'll be as quick as I can,” you promise, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

“I’m okay. You're doing...fine,” Leigh sighs between clenched teeth, obviously trying to downplay her discomfort. 

You know you're not fine, certainly not in the way Leigh means. All you can hear is yours and Leigh’s breathing, and your heart stuttering in your chest, because despite barely seeing Leigh in recent weeks, this annoying little crush won’t go away. It’s weird enough that she’s Matt’s wife, and you can't shake the feeling that you’re probably the last person she’d ever look at that way. Not to mention, you're not even sure if she's into women.

Once you’re done cleaning her wound, you carefully wrap a bandage around her knee. Then, you head to the fridge to grab some ice, noticing Leigh's puzzled look when you return.

“What’s that for?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.

“I have a feeling you're going to have a bone bruise after that fall,” you explain, handing her the ice wrapped in a cloth. “This should help with the pain and keep the swelling down.”

She accepts it, a small smile of gratitude on her face as she says, “Thanks.”

“No problem, it's my fault anyway.”

“It was an accident,” Leigh points out.

An accident that, if I'm being honest with myself, I was somewhat hoping for, you reflect with regret.

Leigh looks relieved as she presses the ice against her knee, eyes closing for a moment. With the immediate pain taken care of, you can't help but wonder again where she was headed earlier as you start pulling ingredients out of the fridge to whip up some breakfast.

“Hope you're hungry,” you say, flashing a smile as you fire up the stove.

“I'm fine, really,” she says, but the moment the bacon starts sizzling, she caves. “Actually, I could eat.”

With your back to her, you could smirk all you want at her change of heart. After frying up the bacon and eggs, you pull out some leftover rice and begin chopping garlic.

“What are you making?” Leigh asks suddenly from behind you.

“This is something I picked up on my travels through Southeast Asia,” you share as you cook. “Can't do bacon and eggs without it anymore. But I'll get some toast going for you.”

Leigh's face lights up, almost childlike. “Toast sounds great.”

You and Leigh settle into your meal, you with your plate of garlic rice, bacon, and eggs, and Leigh with her toast done just right alongside her bacon and eggs. She surprises you by complimenting how you cooked the eggs, noticing they're slightly burnt to a crisp around the edges.

“I've never had my eggs quite like this before,” she says.

“Oh, that?” you chuckle. “Learned the technique by accident some time ago. Got distracted and ended up leaving them on the heat a bit too long.”

She laughs too, and soon enough, you're both just talking like old friends, the conversation breezy and effortless. You begin to get a real sense of Leigh's sense of humor and it complements yours in the best way. Leigh loops back to when you mentioned visiting Southeast Asia, and you're more than happy to share your experiences, considering she's never left the country.

“...I’m pretty sure Hawaii counts, right? With the weather and everything, plus it’s really far—”

You’re still cracking up over some joke she made moments ago, and now you’re wondering if you’ll ever stop. 

“No way, Leigh, it doesn’t work like that!” you get out between laughs, holding onto your stomach as you shake with laughter.

The more you talk, the more Leigh hangs on every word, making you feel surprisingly at ease. Sharing stories about places you've been and things you've seen becomes less about bragging and more about just sharing your adventures with someone who’s really listening. It's kind of refreshing, actually, feeling this free to dive into your memories with someone so interested.

That is until the topic eventually shifts to your fitness routine. It's then that Leigh offhandedly mentions, “You'll probably see more progress with the new instructor next week. I heard she’s got a certificate and all.”

You pause, fork paused mid-air. “New instructor? You’re not leading the class next week?”

Leigh simply shakes her head no.

“Then, when are you coming back?”

Leigh takes a breath before saying, “I actually quit.”

Hearing her say she’s left the studio nearly makes you spit out your breakfast. You're halfway through a bite, trying to wrap your head around the news, when suddenly, Leigh checks her phone. Before you can even dive into a million questions about why she quit, she's saying she needs to head home.

Your thoughts are spinning, but you don’t miss the opportunity to offer her a ride.

“You drive?” Leigh looks surprised. 

“Yeah, just got the car this weekend,” you manage to say, still reeling from the shock that Leigh won't be at Beautiful Beast anymore.

“Are you sure? I can just call a cab,” Leigh mutters, probably noticing you're a bit out of it. 

“No, really, I insist,” you say. Making her walk on that knee seems like the last thing you should do. 

Leigh tries to brush it off once more, “Again, an accident.”

You ignore her, grabbing your keys from a dusty fishbowl. “Doesn't mean I won't be kicking myself over it.”

She lets out a sigh, and you can't quite tell if she's resigned or just annoyed. 

-

As you pull up in front of Leigh's house for the first time, you're immediately taken in by its typical three-bedroom layout. The lawn, however, looks like it hasn't seen a mower in quite some time, giving the place a lived-in, somewhat neglected feel. You quickly get out of the car to help Leigh to the front step.

Then, out of nowhere, Leigh curses, patting down her pockets in a panic. “Fuck, I forgot my keys.”

“But someone should be home, right?” you ask.

Leigh rings the doorbell, her expression turning sour. “Yeah, my sister,” she mutters, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.

You're taken aback when, a few seconds later, it's Jules from the studio who opens the door. The sharp look they exchange isn't lost on you; it's clear there's more to the story than just Leigh coming home without her keys. You're gearing up to say goodbye, assuming Leigh will head inside, but instead, she turns to you and says, “Wait right here.”

You do as she says, glancing at the ground, shuffling your feet back and forth.

“Hi, I'm Jules, Leigh's sister. I've seen you around at Beautiful Beast. You're one of Leigh's clients?” Jules smiles at you, politely offering a hand for you to shake. You accept it and introduce yourself in return. Watching her face, you see the moment she puts it all together. 

“Oh, you're the vet who Matt had—I'm sorry. It's just, I wasn't expecting to see you here, helping Leigh home.”

You knew where that first sentence was going, but you're silently thankful Jules decided to pull back and not finish it. You force a smile as you explain how you got here. “She was out for groceries, and I kind of ran into her, leading to a bit of a fall, and now—”

“No, she wasn’t,” Jules cuts in sharply. 

“Sorry?”

“Leigh didn't come home last night,” she says. But before you have a chance to process this new information, Leigh returns, clutching a fifty-dollar bill.

“For the trouble,” she tells you, getting in front of Jules.

You attempt to wave it off. “Hey, you don't have to do that—”

But Leigh isn't taking no for an answer, she presses the bill into your hand. You never see it coming what happens next: she plants a quick peck on your cheek, effectively shutting down any further protests. The spot where her lips brushed against your skin tingles, and it’s all you can think about for a moment. Without waiting for you to react properly, Leigh starts herding Jules back inside the house, throwing over her shoulder a quick, “Thanks again, Y/N. Bye.”

You're left there, holding the bill in one hand, touching your cheek with the other, and staring at the closed door, suddenly very aware of how little you actually know about what's going on in Leigh's life.

-

Suzie shoots you that knowing look again as you head out of the clinic decked out in your active gear.

This time, a blush creeps up on your cheeks, memories of your chat with her about someone “making those sweat sessions worth it” floating back, and you try your best not to let your thoughts drift to Leigh. But then it hits you that she won't be there. Despite your dedication, the sheer excitement of going to the studio isn't quite what it used to be without her as your instructor.

Just as Suzie is about to lock up, the door bursts open. A man rushes in, cradling a small dog in his arms, panic written all over his face. He explains, breathless, that his pet is struggling with labor.

Suzie looks back at you. “I could call Foreman for this,” she says, already reaching for her phone. You stand there for a second, deliberating. Leigh won't be at the class; she's no longer at the Beautiful Beast. 

Then, making up your mind, you hold out a hand to stop Suzie. “No, there’s no need. I've got this.”

-

It feels like you've just walked into one of those old-timey romantic movies, where chivalry isn’t dead and everything turns out way better than you could've ever hoped. In hindsight, it’s better. Because it’s real, and you're right in the middle of it, living a dream you didn't even know you had, with the kind of guy you thought only existed in those movies.

The night air is cool and light, brushing against your skin as the car slows to a stop in front of your apartment. To say the least, it's been an unexpected evening for a first date, and easily one of the best.

As Matt pulls up to your building, he turns to you, a sheepish grin lighting up his face. “Well, here we are,” he says, as if surprised you've arrived so soon. 

You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. So you stay put in the passenger seat, doing your best to draw out the last strands of the evening.

“So, Nick was the mastermind behind all this?” you tease, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. 

Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that... I had no clue he asked for your number until he handed it to me and said, ‘You owe me one’.”

“He’s the perfect wingman, then?”

“I guess you could say that,” Matt agrees, smiling. “I didn't tell him about my interest in you, but Nick knew anyway. He's good at reading people, always has been.”

“I see,” you say, your gaze following the contours of his cheeks, which carry a soft pink blush. It could be from the red wine you both enjoyed at dinner, or, you find yourself hoping, it might be because of you. “Well, he has my thanks. I really thought he was the one interested in me though.”

Matt laughs, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. “No, it was always me. Since the moment I, uh, ran into you.”

There’s a moment where you both just stare at each other, tacitly acknowledging the serendipity of it all—the accidental meeting that could've ended with a simple apology and nothing more. 

Yet here you are.

“You know, I'm glad it was you,” you profess, feeling a boldness that usually isn't there. 

Matt breaks into a huge grin, but it's really in his eyes where you can see just how happy your remark has made him.

“Would you... maybe want to do this again? Without the running into each other part, I mean,” he says softly.

You laugh, nodding. “I'd like that. Just maybe start with coffee next time. And no spilling.”

“Deal,” he says, his grin infectious.

As you step out of the car, a proposition forms in your mind and you backtrack.

“Would you like to get that coffee now?”

-

Sometimes, you find yourself dreaming about your memories with Matt, particularly the part Leigh interrogated you about. Even though you stuck to the facts, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were somehow deceiving her.

You wonder if this is why you haven't been able to sleep for days. That, coupled with the fact that you've been handling emergencies yourself instead of calling Foreman as you used to. Suzie has mentioned that since you're taking on all the emergency cases, you might be overcompensating your intern. You don’t tell Suzie though that your work has become a welcome distraction from the realization that your new hobby no longer holds your interest, leaving you with extra hours to fill before returning to the solitude of your apartment.

And without seeing Leigh, there’s only your own head to get your fill of her. You find yourself thinking about her now and then, about what she's been doing, wondering if she's found a new job after leaving her yoga instructor position. She crosses your mind at the most random hours of the day, take right now, for example—staring at this little 8-day-old Shih Tzu puppy in the incubator, its fur somehow has you thinking of Leigh's hair color.

The puppy was part of a litter brought in for a C-section. Tragically, its mother didn't survive, and the owner, possibly overwhelmed by the situation and the impending bills, abandoned them. Out of four puppies, this one, the runt of the litter, was the sole survivor.

“What are we going to do with you, huh?” you muse aloud, the puppy blinking back with innocent eyes. “I can't take you for myself; you'd just end up living here in the clinic with me. And let's be honest, living in a hospital can't be much fun, right? It’s not safe either, exposes you to diseases.”

You sigh, brushing its length with your forefinger. “The other choice is to send you to a shelter. I'm sure someone would fall head over heels for you and adopt you in no time. But,” you sigh, your heart heavy, “I can't guarantee that'll happen quickly, as much as we both might want it to.”

“Finding where you fit in this big world isn't easy, you know? It's like searching for that one place, or that one person, where you could simply just… belong to. But I guess when you finally find it, it feels like winning the lottery, right?”

The puppy makes a noise, automatically bringing a smile to your lips. You wonder if Leigh has ever thought of the same thing—about searching for where she belongs after losing her home and everything familiar when Matt passed away. Perhaps it's even scarier for her. The thought of finding that one thing that's uniquely ours, only to lose it forever. What if we're only given one thing that's truly meant for us?

And once it's gone, what does that leave us with?

-

One sleepless night, after deciding to bring the puppy home for a more personal touch in its care, a thought crosses your mind. What if you could restore some of what was inadvertently taken from Leigh? Maybe bring back a piece of home and purpose that seemed to have slipped through her fingers when her world turned upside down?

It’s true, the puppy's late-night energy partly nudged the thought your way, but deep down, you believe Leigh will be perfect for him. You're sure she'll adore him, and he's bound to love her just as much.

Just as you're settling back to attempt sleep again, your phone starts ringing. You blink at the screen, disbelief washing over you as you see it's Leigh calling—the same woman you've recently realized you have feelings for, and who's been on your mind just moments ago. A part of you wonders if she dialed the wrong number by mistake, but it keeps ringing, compelling you to answer.

“Leigh?” you answer, the name almost a question in itself.

On the other end, you hear her take a deep breath—an ironic move given how the call exudes a vibe of urgency. Then, she speaks, her voice clear yet carrying an undercurrent of something you can't quite place. 

“Y/N Are you available to talk right now?”

“Yeah, I am. What's going on—”

“No, not on the phone. Can you meet me right now?”

You glance down at yourself, noting your sleep shorts and tee. You're so comfortable and cozy in bed, and the puppy had just gotten to sleep. It's tempting to reschedule this some other time. But the thought of Leigh Shaw on the other end of the line, coupled with the worrying nature of her request, tilts the balance. The idea of saying no, only to find out something bad happened to her, is something you know you wouldn’t forgive yourself for.

“Yes, I can meet you,” you say, hurrying your movements and snatching your jacket from the cabinet. “Where?”

-

The date doesn't end with just late-night coffee.

Matt's hand is on your ass, fingers digging in like he owns the place. You’re gripping his tie, pulling him in, again and again. Both of you are still wearing all your clothes, but they're starting to feel like barriers as you both lean into each other, striving to get as close as humanly possible.

The invitation for a nightcap, decaffeinated per his request, had both of you sitting a bit too close on the couch, sharing silly smiles over steaming cups as if you were already lost in love. When the cups were drained, conversation drifted dangerously towards the topic of sex, and that's when you caught yourself staring at Matt's lips. Before he had a chance to react, you were going for it, giving into weeks of pent-up sexual tension.

Matt's lips find their way to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Encouraged by the heat of the moment, your fingers start to work on the buttons of Matt's shirt, eager to explore further. 

But then his hands caught yours.

“W-Wait…”

You’re stunned, pulling back almost reflexively, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to figure out if you crossed a line.

“Did I... do something wrong?” you ask.

Matt shakes his head and then kisses you on the forehead. He further reassures you by saying, “No, no, it's not you. I just think we might be rushing things a bit. I really like you, and I want us to be sure about this, you know?”

Inside, you’re a mess of wants and needs, but as much as you want him tonight, you realize you want him even more tomorrow, and the day after. You won't rush this, especially if he's not ready. So, you nod, squashing down the throbbing between your legs as you try to concentrate on anything but his half-open shirt. 

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything,” he adds, wearing that apologetic look on his face that got you the first time.

In response, you hold Matt's face gently, giving him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. “I really like you too,” you say, despite feeling like those words pale in comparison to what you truly feel for him.

Standing up, you figure he'll say his goodbyes and head out. But instead, Matt looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“I don't want to rush things,” he repeats. “But, I also don't really want to leave just yet. Would it be okay if I stayed the night?”

The request takes you by surprise, a warm fluttering sensation bubbling up inside you at the thought of him wanting to stay. “Of course, you can stay,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I hope you're okay with the couch.”

Matt laughs and starts pulling off his socks. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

-

Ever since Leigh asked to meet at a gas station on the sketchier side of town, your anxiety hasn't settled. It's a part of town known for trouble, somewhere you'd rather not be, especially in the dead of night. It doesn’t matter, because you’re hopelessly driven by concern and an unspoken affection that won't let you say no to her, no matter the time or place.

You walk up to the convenience store next to the gas station, its fluorescent lights flickering ominously, almost like you've just stepped into the opening scene of a horror movie. It's dead silent, aside from a radio playing inside the store, turned up by the person manning it in a feeble attempt to fill the silence or maybe to keep company. Leigh is inside, visible through the large, pane-glass window, nursing a coffee, alone. The way she's standing, something's off. 

You make your way towards her, hands buried deep in the comfort of your hoodie's pockets. 

“Hey—”

She's like a coiled spring at the sound of your voice. That should’ve been your first clue.

“Why did you lie?” Leigh asks point-blank.

“Leigh, I—What do you mean?”

Leigh's face twists into a grimace that chills you to the bone, a clear sign that tonight's going down one of two paths: either you both find a way through this mess, or she cuts you out for good. But you're lost, genuinely clueless about any lie she's accusing you of. You've been straight with her, at least you think you have.

Her nostrils flare, her eyes burning holes into you as she waits for some sort of confession. But all you can give her is a dumbfounded look.

After a while, Leigh's patience wears thin. “We're not doing this here,” she growls, glaring at the lone store clerk, who seems amused and makes no attempt to hide his interest in eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Leigh, I seriously don't know what you're talking about.”

“Just come with me,” she snaps, ushering you back outside, pulling at your arm with a grip that leaves no room for argument. It's painful, the way her nails dig into your skin, but you suppose you deserve it, whatever it might be. If it helps her release her anger, you're willing to bear it.

Leigh stops, plants her hands on her hips, and just looks at you, like she's waiting for something to click in your head. “Leigh, please—” you start, but you're cut off not by her anger this time, but by the sight of her eyes glistening, fighting back tears.

“You're really going to make me say it?” she manages to choke out, before giving a humorless laugh and running a frustrated hand over her face. Before you can protest again, she thrusts a phone into your hand. It's lit up, a text conversation open and waiting. As you scroll through the messages, your mouth opens in shock. They're from Matt. 

Skimming through the texts, your jaw nearly hits the ground. He's recounting your first date, detailing how the night ended with him at your place. He admits nothing happened, but not for a lack of desire. Instead, he confesses he held back because he's still wrestling with the fact that he's married to Leigh. He mentions wanting to make sure when he jumps in with you, he's not dragging any “chains” along.

He goes on, saying he felt you were on the same page, ready to go further, and implies the only reason things didn't heat up was because he had self-control. Reading this, you can't decide if Matt's just showing off or if he's trying to justify his half-steps to whoever's reading this on the other end.

“Whose phone is this?” you blurt out, the only question that registers in your brain. It turns out to be the wrong thing to say, though, as it’s precisely the spark that ignites Leigh's fury, sending it cascading over the edge.

“Don’t fucking change the subject!”

You press your lips into a thin line, your own frustration simmering. “I didn't lie to you, Leigh.” You wave the phone with Matt’s messages like some kind of proof, arguing, “He even says here nothing happened!”

“It's not just about what did or didn't happen!” she fires back, her eyes blazing. “You wanted it to happen. You were ready to go there with him. You wanted more, and you're still not owning up to it.”

At this point, keeping your emotions under wraps isn't an option anymore. 

“Yes! Of course, I wanted to go there with him,” you explode, your hands coming up in the air in surrender. “I found him attractive, thought he was a great guy, and—single, Leigh! I thought he was single when I was falling for him, okay? Are you happy now?”

Leigh's response is to laugh, but it's not a happy sound. It's bitter, mocking, and it just keeps going. 

You're standing there, breathing hard, your breath visible in the chilly air, when it hits you why she’s so upset: When you were telling her the details of your affair, you made it sound as if what happened—or almost happened—was just a casual fling. And Leigh, she just soaked up that version. In doing so, she somehow managed to forgive Matt, forgive you for your role in it, and even toy with the idea of being friends with you.

You made her believe it didn’t mean anything more than what she meant to him. It ripped off the bandage and thrust a knife back into her wound.

After Leigh's laughter fizzles out, the cold seems to bite a little harder, and you notice her shivering—whether from the cold or the tumult of emotions, you can't tell. She's just in shorts and a thin shirt, unprepared for the temperature drop.

Seeing her like this, vulnerable and cold, you feel the urge to just hug her and make her feel a fraction of how badly you regret deceiving her all along. Because saying “I'm sorry” feels way too small for the giant mess of feelings you're dealing with, especially the ones about her that you didn't even realize were piling up until now.

“Leigh,” you whisper, bargaining for something you don’t know.

She meets your gaze, a bit more peace in her eyes now, but that doesn't stop the tears from finally rolling down her cheeks. She's about to speak when suddenly a car pulls up in front of you, its headlights flashing across your faces, momentarily blinding you both.

A man steps out of the car, and Leigh recognizes him immediately. You do too, although it takes you a second longer to realize. Before either of you could react, he's already launching into a tirade. “Leigh, what the hell? Leaving in the middle of the night, stealing my phone—”

“Not now, Danny.”

You freeze, every fiber of your being locking onto the newcomer—because you're almost certain Leigh misspoke. 

His name is not Danny.

It’s Nick.

[aggro-my-beloved]

Prom? (Shaw Pack x Listeners Imagine)

note: I just made an A03 to post my works on as well, please feel free to follow and interact with my stuff there if that's more comfortable for you! (@aggro_my_beloved)--I also realize it's not prom season, but I never got to go to mine and am simply coping. TLDR: let me live :)

pairings: miloxdarlin' (non-canon), asherxarden (non-canon), davidxasher? (non-canon) davidxangel, miloxsweetheart, samxdarlin', asherxbabe

warning(s): mentions of childhood trauma, gambling addictions, alcohol addictions, sex addictions, an overall depiction of a horrible father.

summary: The pack reminisces about Dahlia High's prom night, and Marie may have overshared a little too much about hers.

word count: 2.2k

estimated read time: 10.5 mins

2010

Marie drew back to admire her son, donning a crooked cotton tie, his father’s black leather loafers scuffed to hell and loose on his feet, as well as a toothy smile. The improvisations of his wear are minor faults, hardly noticeable to the naked eye with thanks to his mother’s stitchwork. The three-piece suit tunic that once hung to his lower thighs, and pants that skirted the floor now fit him like he was born in it. 

“Look how handsome you are,” Marie clasped her hands and guided them to shield her face. It may hide her gummy smile but does little for her eyes prickling with tears. 

“Ma, please don’t cry.” Milo’s plea proved fruitless, as the interlocked fingers separated to wipe desperately at the dark circles beneath her eyes. Perhaps it was the endless nights the woman spent hunching over a sewing machine or the number of times Mrs. Chen, who owned the dry cleaner on 3rd, sent the old suit through the cycle. The stench of cigarette smoke was seemingly embedded into the fabric no matter what she tried. “Like bad tattoo, Miss Greer—it cannot be undone!” 

Milo didn’t mind the lingering smell, for he’s had years of training his nose not to curl in the backseat for fear of his dad’s scornful gaze clocking him in the rearview mirror. One particular coughing fit from his younger years resulted in the boy being sent to his room for being disrespectful—but he heard his father explaining to his mother amidst his tramping down the hall that the glaze over his eyes and reddening cheeks was “simply hay fever.” 

He hoped that, for the sake of his date, he could mask the smell with enough cologne to go somewhat undetected.

 

“You don’t think Dad will be upset about his clothes missing, do ya?” Milo’s nervous chuckle hangs in the air.

“When he waltzes in the door from this week’s business trip, I doubt he’ll be awake enough to notice.” Marie’s copious euphemisms for Colm and his dangerous compulsions did not go unnoticed by Milo at age seven. The ten years added to his belt only gave him time to decode them. Awake really means sober. Business trips are in reference to casinos, bars, or brothels—a very flexible term, to the boy’s surprise. He wants to applaud the front he’d seen through like glass since childhood.

 

“Besides,” her hand occupies itself with the navy tie, still askew, and aligns the windsor to perch evenly below his folded collar, “this is your night. You deserve to feel special, and so does this date of yours.”

 

Milo scoffs, fighting his eyes not to roll up to the popcorn ceiling. Facing his mother’s curiosity was no harder than the water stain from the upstairs neighbor’s dishwasher.

 

“How’d I know this would come up?” 

“Come on, I’m your mother. I deserve to know who my little boy’s become so smitten for.” 

“You’ll see them one day, ma. Patience is a virtue, after all.” It’s Marie’s turn to scoff and turn her cheek.

“Please, I only said that to get you to wait till Christmas for your Xbox.” She eyes the clock on the wall, reading six-thirty. 

“You said the gang would be here to pick you up by now, right?” Milo also cocks his head to see the time. 

“With Ash driving, they’ll be lucky to make it here alive.” His mother’s eyes are boring into his instantly, with furrowed brows and a frown to complement them. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” Another nervous chuckle filled the space before it was cut off by a gasp. Milo’s hands pat around his jacket pockets, eyes flying around the room frantically. “Shit, I forgot-“

“No, you didn’t.” Marie shuffles to Milo’s desk, opening a lower compartment where she’d stowed away his boutonnière and his date’s corsage. “I figured this would be a spot you never check. You said their favorite color is—“

“Yes, yes oh this is perfect! Thank you, ma.” Milo leans forward to kiss her cheek and envelope her petite body into a hug. 

“Still don’t know this person’s name, don’t you think that’s kinda odd?” A series of knocks resound on the front door, cueing Milo to sigh and extend an offer he knew his mother couldn’t refuse. 

“Would you like to meet them, ma?” 

Marie raced him down the hall before he could finish his question. There’s an untimed beating in his chest that he can’t stop. Is it from the excitement of tonight, or who he’d be spending it with? 

“Hi there, I’m M-“ 

“Hey, Mrs. Greer.” The figure lowered their head to the ground and dug the toe of their shoe into the concrete outside. Their hair appeared silky to the touch, skin looking just as soft as it glistened in the setting sun. The jewel tone of their wear complemented their complexion—comparable to a god(dess), their aura was all beauty and grace. 

“Tank?!” Marie gasps. “Oh my gosh, please don’t tell Milo I called you that. He isn’t supposed to know I still eavesdrop on his conversations. You know what, let’s pretend this conversation never happened.” 

“What never happened?” Milo tried not to choke on the cologne he’d spritzed on himself before dashing to find his mother. 

Marie and Tank exchange a knowing look and suspicious smiles. They reply in unison, “Nothing.” 

He squints his eyes, emitting a skeptical hum. “Already keeping secrets from me, huh?” He folds his arms defensively. “I expect this from you, but you…” His finger wags back and forth from his date to his mother.

“Consider it a trust exercise, babe.” Tank steps inside fully to clutch Milo’s hand with a shy smile. 

“Babe,” Marie whispers, “so that means…you two?” 

“Oh c’mon Mrs. G, it was only a matter of time.” Blonde, spiked hair, and sunglasses peek around the corner of the door, and Asher’s dazzling smile introduces itself to the three. “Who knows, maybe there will come a day you realize what you’ve been looking for has been here that whole time.” He lifted the sunglasses to shoot Marie a wink. 

“Oh god, please ignore him. He’s on his third redbull and feeling extra bold.” Tank explains with a shake of her head. “Keep dreaming, Asher.” They add.

“And feel free to not wake up.” Milo chides, urging the two to giggle. “You look good, by the way.” He and Tank lock eyes.

“Thanks,” their eyes flicker up and down to take in their date. They add in a low voice, “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

“You don’t have a date, Asher?” Inquires Marie. Silence falls between the three teens before they’re all laughing wildly at the parent’s cluelessness. 

“What’s so funny? Asher’s…” The boy’s eyes grow big, awaiting Marie’s words of flattery and reassurance. His ego deflates when she starts over. “He could have a date if he wanted to.” 

“He does.” Milo squeaks through his laughter. “Well, in a way.” 

“If you can call it that.” A low, rough voice disrupted everyone’s laughter as David marched into the room. 

“David. Oh! Wait, you two…huh, strangely that makes more sense than I thought.” Marie hums, shrugging her shoulders.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“I’m confused.”

Marie opens and closes her mouth, unsure of how to respond. “Wait, you two aren’t...?”

“I’m going with Arden. She and I agreed that if we couldn’t find dates by this weekend, we would go together.” 

“Pity date.” Tank coughs into their elbow. 

“Where is Arden? Is she hiding back there?” Marie cranes her neck for a better angle at the apartment’s threshold.

“Waiting in the car with Chrissy and Amanda. And it’s still a date.” Asher argues, sparing a glance towards his fellow pack member. “That’s more than big guy over here can say.” Asher juts a thumb toward David’s looming body in the back. 

“Awe, David, why aren’t you going with anybody?” Growing a few inches this past summer (in several places) along with enough facial hair for a 5 o’clock shadow promised David enough street cred for a few romantic ventures. His pack mates went as far as placing bets on which of their peers would win their friend over enough to accompany him to the dance but were all left in shock as he turned every choice of theirs down. Marie’s question didn’t faze David. He’d explained it a million times to his friends and father this past week. 

“Going stag. It’s just a personal choice.” The mom snorts at this.

“I remember when I went to my senior prom. It was the same night your father and I got together. Nobody had asked me, and he was planning to “go stag” as well. A couple of drinks of punch and one slow dance later, we were in the locker rooms just—“Four pairs of eyes were on Marie now, who realized she’d gotten too caught up in reminiscing. 

“Uh, forget about it. The end’s not that important.” She waves off with darkening cheeks and a sheepish smile.

“I think it’s kind of interesting. I bet the songs and outfits were so much different years ago.” Tank interjects with a smile. 

“Yeah, how long ago was your prom, Ma?” Adds Milo, who takes the opportunity to snake his arm around Tank’s waist. They sidle up closer to him as a result.

“How old are you?” 

_________________________________________

Present Day

“I can’t believe how long ago that was.” The four friends peer down at the photo of them gussied up and taken by Marie. Asher was still in his sunglasses and throwing up a "rock on" sign with his tongue out, David had his arms crossed and was rolling his eyes at the ridiculous pose. Tank and Milo stood back to back, finger guns held under their chins and against their chests with goofy smiles. Fourteen years of the developed picture left it with sun spots and wrinkled corners, but the memories of that night still felt new to each of them. 

“We look sick as hell!” Asher nods. “Well, except David. He just looked sick of us.” 

“Some things never change.” Angel pipes up, daring to bring a finger to the corner of their mate’s mouth and lift it. 

“I think it was just you that he was sick of, Ash. There’s only so much pop music this stick-in-the-mud can handle.” Tank points. 

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea to play Taylor Swift the whole car ride there! You’re pointing fingers at the wrong guy.” Asher raises his hands defensively. 

“Well, it wasn’t me either. Only Amanda and Arden listened to her.” 

“Didn’t Christian request the DJ to play Paper Rings at our wedding?” Babe tilts their head in wonder, breaking their concentration away from the photo. 

“I’d love to see you in that getup now, darlin’.” Sam chuckles against Tank’s ear.

“You’ll have to dig in my closet for it. I’m not even sure I still own that.” They laugh to themselves, suddenly nostalgic for their high school days. 

“I have a question: whatever happened between you two?” Sweetheart inquires, looking between the past couple. There wasn’t a trace of jealousy in their voice, their aura, just pure curiosity. 

“I think it was just a summer fling. By the time graduation came around, neither of us felt that mate connection with each other. So what was the point of pursuing it, you know?” Tank nods along to Milo’s brief explanation as if they were mentally checking off every word. 

“Ooh, ooh! Remember how good the punch was?” Ash interrupts. 

“I’m surprised you remember. You had half the bowl.” Says Milo. 

“So?” Asher replies. The three all choke back laughter. 

“The shit was practically jungle juice! I could taste seven different liquors from one sip. And I’m pretty sure David escorted you to the locker rooms 'cause you were about to hurl.” Tank says. 

“The locker rooms, huh? Did you two happen to share a dance…one of the slow variety?” Milo quirks an eyebrow. 

“...it’s a possibility,” David mumbles with a scowl. Everybody on the couch begins giggling mischievously. “Wasn’t my fault the little shit wouldn’t let me drive him home because Hey There Delilah started playing. Anyway, it was barely a slow dance, he was just leaning on me the whole time whining about how nauseous he felt.”

“Hope y’all left room for Jesus in that gym,” Babe smirks. 

“I think I also shared a slow dance with uh…Kathy Boone? No, Karly B–”

“Karly Brown! As in our classmate in the third period, Karly Brown? So, you technically went to prom with Karly Brown?” Tank leans forward on the loveseat occupied by them and Sam, who’s now invested in his mate’s eager tone. 

"Two slow dances with two different people? On the same night? You little slut!" Angel hisses teasingly. 

"I can't believe I got Karly Brown's sloppy seconds," Asher whines. I thought what we had was special, Davey!" The alpha chooses to ignore their pestering in favor of Tank's question. 

“In a way, I g-guess.” David shrugs. “Why?”

“You two owe me twenty bucks!” They declare. "Suck it!" 

[winchestergirl2]

May Reading Rec List

To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖

Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Reading Recs Masterlist

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Darken (Masterlist) @impala-dreamer

Authors Summary: ~You woke up in a trashed motel room covered in someone else’s blood and no memories of the past week.~

Without Her @foreverwayward

Authors Summary: Dean mourns the loss of the love of his life.

Tattooed @coffee-obsessed-writer

Authors Summary: Dean takes you to get ink

Sam Winchester

Lean On @winchester-fantasies

Authors Summary: Sam finds you years later after leaving you for Ruby. Set early in season 5. Inspired by the song “Lean On” by Major Lazer & DJ Snake.

Carry Me @welikeimagines-andfandoms

Authors Summary: Fun fluffy Drabble with the moose

You Lost Me @tattooed-on-my-wayward-soul

Authors Summary: Sam chose Ruby over the reader, now Ruby is gone and the reader and Sam are no longer together but Sam still loves her. The three go to watch the Supernatural play and Sam’s see what he really did to the reader.

Sam and Dean Winchester

Sleeping Arrangements @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis

Authors Summary: Imagine sharing a bed with Sam and Dean.  No smut, but oh how we wish…

Dawson's Creek

CJ Braxton

One Exception @zepskies

Authors Summary: Joey has invited you to a party at Pacey’s apartment, and CJ has agreed to go, despite the contentious history between him and your new friends. He doesn’t want to be the reason you miss out on a good thing, but it also means he’ll have to hide his apprehension (and his alcoholism).  

Tracker

Russell Shaw

So Close @thebiggerbear

Authors Summary: You meet Colter and Russell at the morgue to help them gain access. Had you known how this was really going to go, you might have pushed Colter's call to voicemail.

Close Enough @thebiggerbear

Authors Summary: When you'd met the Shaws at the morgue the day before, you thought that had been the end of it and you wouldn't need to see one Shaw brother in particular again. Little did you know that Colter was about to once again ask for your help and not only would you be forced to see Russell again but things were about to change drastically for the both of you.

Waiting For The Real Thing @rizlowwritessortof

Authors Summary: You can't serve in the same unit with somebody without getting pretty close. She managed to survive around him until a couple of years ago. And when she hears about their brother-in-arms troubles, she heads that way to help out. Of course, Russ beat her to it. And now she just can't make herself leave without seeing him.

A Line And A Half @zepskies

Authors Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

Walker

Cordell Walker

Moonlight Whiskey @idreamofplaid

Authors Summary: Cordell plans a romantic night for the reader that brings back memories from decades ago.

Ten Inch Hero

Boaz Priestly

When Broken Is Easily Fixed @deanbrainrotwritings

Authors Summary: priestly broke up with tish (yes!) uh, i mean… you watch him be pathetic and sad with his big wet green eyes.

Big Sky

Beau Arlen

Untitled drabble @anklesoverackles

[sylvia-forest]

[CN] Shaw's Monkey King Date

⚡Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Date which hasn’t been released in EN yet!⚡

[Released Date: 17 June 2024]

You can read the Prologue from here!

[Section 1]

The late nights in the small town are much denser than in the city.

Even though it's nearly midnight, Shaw and I are still sitting at opposite ends of the sofa playing with our phones, indicating that neither of us intends to sleep.

Shaw: Music cut. MC: You've already cut three pieces. Shaw: That may mean that this playlist is no longer good and it’s time to change the playlist. MC [angrily]: Don't question my musical taste!

I glared at him, warning Shaw not to secretly change my playlist. Seeing my firmness, he shrugged and backed down.

Shaw: Okay, this part is okay now, I feel like I can continue listening to it.

He adjusted his headphones and lazily slouched a bit further down, his gaze returning to his own phone screen.

Seizing the opportunity, I glanced at the progress bar of the player. Good, good, once this song finishes, it'll be perfectly timed.

I subtly adjusted my sitting position and quietly retrieved the confetti cannon that I had hidden under the pillow.

I no longer paid any attention to what the singer was singing about in the headphones; my heartbeat and the pounding bass drum were the only things I could feel, growing faster and more restless.

58, 59, 60......!

I pulled out the confetti cannon and pulled the string—Bang!

MC: Happy Birthday!!

The sharp sound of the confetti cannon and the song "Happy Birthday" from the playlist rang out simultaneously, interrupting the chirping of cicadas outside.

Amid the falling streamers, I beamed a wide smile at Shaw. He set down his phone and nodded back at me.

Shaw: Thanks. MC [confused]: ??

This guy, his reaction to my perfectly timed birthday surprise is so calm! I pouted in dissatisfaction.

MC: Shouldn't you be more surprised, more amazed? Shaw: It's a bit difficult.

Shaw brushed off the streamers from his face and smiled.

Shaw: After all, I am the one who brought you here to celebrate my birthday. You have been procrastinating and refusing to go to bed. I have already predicted what will happen at 12 o'clock. Shaw: Furthermore, if you have more "surprises" waiting for me until daylight, and you surprised me now, what's next?

Shaw [in a low playful tone]: Or are you saying that you want...

Shaw cleared his throat, and I suddenly felt uneasy.

Shaw [DAMN HIS SARCASTIC VOICE SOUNDS SO HILARIOUS]: Oh my, you actually sent me such a loud birthday wish right at midnight on June twenty-first. I'm so pleasantly surprised, moved, and touched that it brings tears to my eyes. MC: Stop! Stop! STOP!

I was grossed out by Shaw's cheesiness, covered in goosebumps, and quickly tried to cover his mouth, but he easily caught my wrist with one hand.

Shaw raised an eyebrow at me, his tone teasing.

Shaw [teasingly]: Do I need to continue praising you? MC: Hmph, never mind then.

I wrinkled my nose and tried to take my wrist out of his hand.

He tightened his grip unexpectedly, even pulling me forward a bit, causing me to lose my balance and fall onto him.

Shaw: Do you want to ignore me? Don’t you want to hear me finish what I have to say?

Feeling frustrated, I lightly bumped my chin against his chest twice to prompt him to continue.

Shaw: Even though it wasn't a surprise, you're the first one today to wish me a happy birthday, and I appreciate that. MC: Just satisfied? Shaw: I'm very happy too, that's why I wanted to tease you. MC: ... Such a perverse taste. Shaw: How can you call it perverse taste? It's the privilege of the birthday star, I'm the boss today.

Thinking back to the past few years when I teased him on his birthday saying "Birthday star is the boss," I feel like I'm lifting a rock only to drop it on my own foot

As I was speaking, Shaw's phone kept buzzing intermittently. Just as I was about to glance curiously at it, Shaw had already responded.

Shaw: Just some birthday wishes.

I took his phone and unlocked the screen. I scrolled up and down a couple of times, and sure enough, I saw familiar faces.

There were colleagues from Isolate, the owner of the Live House, Professor Shen who had already sent his greetings earlier in the day, and the old neighbors...

MC [excitedly]: Wow, without realizing it, you've become so popular.

Shaw [displeased]: Why do your words sound so strange? Could it be that I was not popular before? MC: It definitely wasn't as good as it is now.

Shaw's mouth curled into a subtle smile, and he responded with a prolonged "hmm."

Shaw: Now that you mention it, it’s true that ever since I met you, you've been organizing all sorts of surprise events with this group, making them more enthusiastic than ever.

I laughed and scrolled up again, and suddenly a text message sent during the day fell into my eyes.

Magician Zhang: Don't forget about tomorrow's show. You need to be there by 1 PM.

I read out the text in the text message and was a little confused.

MC: What program? Shaw: Hasn't Magician Zhang been learning ancient magic tricks here for several months? He has a performance tomorrow and asked me to do an opening act to warm up the crowd. MC: That's it...wait a minute! MC: Isn't the "tomorrow" he mentioned actually today? Why are you still taking on a warm-up performance on your birthday?

Shaw was a little confused, obviously not following my logic.

Shaw [confused]: What do you mean? MC: What I mean is...

My lips trembled a bit. Although I felt confident when I thought about it, I felt a bit unsure when I actually said it out loud.

MC [resigned look]: I feel like something always comes up on your birthday to disturb the celebration. MC: There's never a time when the whole 24 hours are completely mine. MC: It's just a little... upsetting.

Shaw [surprised]: ……

Shaw was obviously a little surprised, and then he seemed to have thought of something and raised the corners of his mouth again.

Shaw [teases her]: Completely yours? Oh, you want us to be like conjoined twins? MC: Is that not allowed? Shaw [in a good mood]: Of course it is. Then for tomorrow's little performance, you can join me on stage. MC [dumbfounded]: Huh??

—

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

—

[Section 2]

Even though it was just a small warm-up performance, we still arrived early at the town theater.

There was already a banner at the entrance of the courtyard promoting today's ancient magic performance. I looked up and tried to recognize it for a while.

MC: ... "Journey to the West"? How are they going to perform "Journey to the West" with ancient magic tricks?

Shaw: It's like regular magic tricks, but with some storyline elements added to make it more interesting for the audience. MC: Storyline elements... We're not going to have to perform too, are we? Shaw: Who knows.

Shaw spread his hands with a smile, clearly teasing me again.

Shaw: Anyway, you go over there and change, and I'll see you in the yard later.

After he finished speaking, he took a few steps forward, then, as if sensing my gaze, he turned back, the corners of his mouth curving into a slight, enigmatic smile.

Shaw: You even want my time when I'm changing clothes? MC [shouts]: ...I didn't mean to be conjoined to that extent!

My face heated up, and I quickly turned around and slipped into the dressing room.

There was already a stylist waiting in the dressing room. After I sat down, I couldn't help but ask her.

MC: How long will this show take?

The stylist picked up the makeup brush and smiled at me.

Stylist: It should only take three to five minutes. Stylist: Shaw specifically told us not to take up too much of his time because his girlfriend is waiting for him.

These words sounded a bit strange, and I couldn't help but pout a little.

MC: ... He didn't tell you guys that I'm demanding and bossy, did he? Stylist: No. What he actually said was, "My girlfriend came all the way to spend my birthday with me, so of course, I belong to her. Non-negotiable, five minutes."

I imagined Shaw negotiating the time with them for the performance and couldn't help but laugh.

During our chat, the stylist had swiftly finished my look. I looked at the "fairy" in the mirror and let out a sigh of relief.

MC: Thank goodness... I thought I might have to play some centipede or spider demon. Stylist: How could we make you play a demon? After all, the Monkey King hadn't even started his journey to the West at that point. MC: Monkey King? You mean he wants to act… Child: Wow, Your Majesty, you're so handsome!

The noise of children suddenly came from outside, interrupting my words.

The stylist understood and pointed towards the door. I smiled knowingly, lifted my skirt, and quietly went over to push the door open.

The warm rays of the morning sun filled the courtyard and also fell on the shining figure in the center of the courtyard.

Shaw was dressed in a bright red Sun Wukong costume, surrounded by a group of children.

Even though he is wearing heavy shoulder armor, it does not appear heavy or cumbersome. Instead, it accentuates his heroic and upright appearance.

Child: Your Majesty, I want to see you wield the golden cudgel! Child: I want to see it too! I want to see it too!

Shaw [irritated]: Tsk, why don’t you watch Old Man Zhang? Isn’t his performance better? Child: He is better, but the king is more handsome! MC [burst into laughter]: Hahahaha!

I burst into laughter hearing the group of "monkey children" praising Shaw excitedly. 

When Shaw heard my laughter, his gaze immediately locked onto me, with a hint of pleading in his eyes.

Shaw [sigh in relief]: Are you finally ready? Shall we go? MC [playfully]: Um... no, I also want to see Your Majesty perform a bit~

I intentionally pronounced "Your Majesty" in a playful and teasing tone. Shaw visibly tensed, then gritted his teeth and walked towards me with determination.

Shaw: What do you want to play? Let me play with you first—

Shaw's large hand gripped my waist and began to tickle me.

I couldn't resist, laughing and trying to evade him, but I couldn't escape his embrace.

Shaw: Still want to play? MC: No, hahaha nope!

I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe and quickly raised my hands in surrender.

The group of children looked at the two of us curiously, and one of them suddenly understood.

Child: Your Majesty, you're so powerful, you've already subdued the demoness! MC [angrily]: I'm not the demoness!

How childish. The moment those words slipped out, I felt so childish. Unfortunately, the kids in front of us were even more enthusiastic, pointing at the two of us.

Child: But you're the one tempting the Monkey King! In the cartoons, it's said that the Monkey King must stay away from women! MC: Ah, what a mess... Shaw!

I was both amused and exasperated, so I decided to play along with their "Your Majesty."

Since the children started talking, Shaw's chest kept vibrating from trying not to burst into laughter.

Seeing a hint of embarrassment on my face now, he struggled to hold back his laughter and waved his hand at the kids.

Shaw: Did you hear? She's Ling Gege's girlfriend, MC.

[T/N]: "Gege" (哥哥) is a Chinese term that means "older brother". It is often used as a term of endearment or respect towards an older male, similar to how "big brother" might be used in English.

Shaw: Right now, I haven't transformed yet, so I'm not the Monkey King, and she's not a demoness. Shaw: Later, even if I do become the Monkey King, she won't be a demoness, she'll be a fairy sister, got it? Child: Oh…. Shaw: Alright, didn't you say you wanted to grab a good spot at the stage? Let's go before it's too late.

The children seemed to understand, but as soon as they heard that they had to occupy a seat, they stopped thinking about it and all went out in a swarm.

I watched their figures disappear at the doorway and lightly tapped Shaw's hand resting on my back.

MC: Shaw, do you know your explanation just now had a bit of a loophole that didn't quite satisfy me?

Shaw [confused]: ?What loophole.

I tilted my face up, tiptoed slightly closer to him.

The warmth from my lips intentionally brushed past his tense jawline as our breaths mingled.

MC: Are you really planning to "stay away from women" once you transform into the Monkey King?

—

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

—

[Section 3]

Of course he won't be close to women. On the contrary, I'll step up my game even more.

This guy really can't handle any provocation... or teasing at all.

I nervously pressed my lips together, not wanting the others backstage to notice that I had just been "tormented" by Shaw.

[You guys can already guess what might've happened 🤭, the consequences of provoking Shaw]

After chatting with Magician Zhang a few words, Shaw turned and walked towards me.

Shaw: Just wait for 20 more minutes. When the drumming starts up front, we'll go on stage. MC [anxious]: Wait, wait, go on stage directly? Don’t we need to practice? Shaw: Do you still need to practice something you have played a hundred times?

Shaw raised an eyebrow and suddenly snapped his fingers near my ear. Startled, I turned my head and saw that he had magically produced a paper flower in his hand.

MC [surprised]: …..?!

Although I knew Shaw could perform some tricks and magic, I always found myself gaping in awe whenever I saw it firsthand.

After a few stammering sounds, I remembered I should say something.

MC: What I mean is, you’ve got it all figured out, but I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do on stage. MC: I don’t have much acting experience, what should I do if I mess it up for you? Shaw: Hmm, now that you mention it, we should definitely rehearse a bit.

As Shaw spoke, he took hold of my wrist and led me to the prop room backstage.

Shaw took out a plate from the corner, played with it twice, and handed it to me.

Shaw: The rehearsal is pretty simple. After all, this role suits you perfectly. Just stand there holding the tray and make your favorite expression. MC [dumbfounded]: What expression? Shaw: Just like a pufferfish, all puffed up and glaring at me. MC: Shaw, I don’t—! Shaw [pleased with his provocation]: Yes, that's the expression.

I glared even harder, but my cheeks deflated as I let out a huff.

MC: Then I just hold an empty plate and stare at you? Shaw: Of course, the plate is not empty, serve it well.

Shaw smiled and, once again, pulled out a few glass beads from some hidden pocket. He placed them on the tray and covered them with a red cloth.

Shaw: You are now delivering elixirs for Lao Jun, but I stop you along the way. Shaw [acting mode on x1]: Fairy, can you let me see what you are holding in your hand?

I blinked and realized that he was guiding me, and I couldn't help but become playful.

MC: Nothing, just an empty plate. Shaw [x2]: Really? But how come I smell the scent of elixirs?

Shaw leaned in and sniffed the plate twice, then suddenly turned his gaze towards me.

Before I could react, his hand swiftly brushed past my temple, plucking one of my hairpins.

He clasped his hands around the hairpin, and when he opened them again, it had turned into one of the glass beads that had just been on the tray.

MC [shocked]: ….Oh?! Shaw [x3]: So, the elixir wasn't hidden in the tray but transformed into the fairy's hairpin flower, making it harder for me to find.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, leaning in closer with an intense gaze.

Shaw [in a sly voice x4]: Fairies are so cunning.

He should have said these words in the tone of a Monkey King.

But maybe because he wasn't rehearsing seriously, I clearly knew: the voice was Shaw's, the face was Shaw's, and the person teasing me right now... was Shaw.

The lips that had been kissed by him earlier began to warm up, the heat gradually spreading to my cheeks. I struggled under his gaze, unwilling to concede yet unable to resist.

MC [blushing hard]: You, you took away the elixir, how can I give it to Laojun? Shaw [x5]: Of course, I won't just take the fairy's elixir for nothing. I'll make it up to you with something even better. He flicked his cloak and lifted the red cloth on the tray, but didn't fully uncover it. Shaw [x6]: I have several peaches that ripen once every nine thousand years. Eating them will grant us longevity equal to that of heaven and earth, and our ages will match those of the sun and moon.

He suddenly unveiled the red cloth, revealing several bright pink peaches on the plate.

Shaw's eyebrows arched in unabashed delight, his eyes outlined with fiery red eyeshadow that seemed to burn through my very soul.

Shaw [in a light tone]: Fairy, would you like to... share eternal life with me?

I stared at him blankly, my lips parting and closing before I finally spoke dully.

MC: If we have longevity equal to that of heaven and earth, then I'll have to celebrate thousands of birthdays for you. It would be exhausting!

Shaw burst into laughter. He seemed to say something softly afterward, but the booming drum announcing the start of the performance outside drowned out his voice.

Before we got ready to go on stage, I asked him one last question.

MC: By the way, how do your tricks always manage to fool me? Shaw: Why do you say?

Shaw smirked, looking very pleased with himself.

Shaw: Magic is all about guiding attention, creating something out of nothing. Shaw [he sounded so happy here]: But with you, there's no need for guidance, because you only see me.

—

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

—

[Section 4]

The little program ended smoothly.

After the appetizer, it was time for the main event: Magic Zhang's portrayal of "Sun Wukong" took the stage.

Magic Zhang had already set up the stage with colorful balls, swords, beans, and rings from his tricks. I was about to watch the master's performance when suddenly, I heard a cold snort beside me.

Shaw: Caught the work bug? MC: No, I'm just an audience member... Shaw: Audience members can't do that.

Shaw didn't hesitate to cover my sight with his hand and gently turned my chin towards him with his other hand.

Shaw: He's the Six-Eared Macaque, I'm the true Monkey King. It's time for you to come with me.

As we wished, no one disturbed us for the rest of the time, not even the group of followers who seemed to have disappeared somewhere.

He and I walked around the town leisurely, and finally returned to the entrance of the theater.

Magic Zhang's performance had long ended, and the gradually setting sun fell on the empty stage. Shaw looked around.

Shaw: It's about time. Shall we change clothes and head back to the inn for cake? MC: Who said I left the cake at the inn?

Thinking about the biggest surprise I had prepared to show Shaw today, my voice couldn't help but carry a hint of excitement.

MC: While I've enjoyed watching you perform today, I actually have a magic trick of my own to show you.

I pulled out a chair and asked Shaw to sit down, and pointed to the high stage in front of me.

MC: Guests, please be seated, this fairy is about to take the stage!

Shaw's lips curled with interest as he nodded and took a seat.

I walked towards the stage and brought out a screen I had prepared earlier.

MC: ... Grandpa Zhang said it should be wedged here so people in the audience won't see the hidden passage......

I carefully adjusted the angle of the screen according to the method that Magic Zhang had taught me before. After making sure that nothing went wrong, I waved to Shaw.

MC: Watch closely now, my magic trick is called... Shrinking into Inches, Emerging from the Earth!

With solemnity, I gestured and chanted incantations in front of my sole audience member, slowly moving towards the hidden passage.

At the exact moment when the screen completely blocked my figure, I swiftly jumped into the hidden passage and dashed towards another exit.

The path was dimly lit underfoot, and my dress billowed wildly, so I simply held it all in my hands.

I may not have the ability to shrink into inches or emerge from the earth, but I have a heart that races towards him without hesitation.

MC: Phew... almost there!

On the table at the exit sat the cake that the stylist had set up for me earlier. After calming my breath for a moment, I picked it up and lifted the curtain to reveal it.

MC: Shaw, happy birthday————

The final note of joy lingered on my lips.

Because the moment the curtain was raised, Shaw stood in front of me, staring at me intently.

I had lost count of how many times today my mouth had dropped open in astonishment. My dumbfounded expression inevitably made him burst into laughter.

MC: You, you knew I would show up here?

Shaw: I know almost all of Magic Zhang's magic tricks and mechanisms. MC: But this... This isn't you trying to steal my thunder, is it? MC: Shaw, can't you give me a sense of accomplishment? MC: You will make me look very stupid…

Shaw [lowers his voice]: Why are you being silly?

Shaw interrupted my scattered thoughts and pulled me out of the dim passage.

Shaw: It's not that you're not capable of acting. Shaw: Pretending to be surprised intentionally, you find it cheesy and foolish. Shaw: Besides, someone told me they wanted to be conjoined twins with me for 24 hours, so I didn't want to wait, and I couldn't wait. Shaw [whispers lightly, barely hiding his hidden emotions]: MC, you've been running for too long, I can't wait any longer.

Shaw repeated twice that he couldn't wait, turning my slight disappointment into a bittersweet feeling.

But I still had a bit of unwillingness lingering, so I couldn't help but ask him.

MC: So, did I not manage to give you any surprises or unexpected moments today? Shaw [satisfied]: Of course you did, but I'm not telling you.

Shaw returned to his usual cunning self, taking my cake and placing it on the table.

Shaw: By the way, you didn't finish saying "happy birthday" to me just now. You need to say it again.

Do we still need to add some solemn reflections and vows during our blessings? It seems unnecessary now.

Because those things have long been mixed into various half-true and half-joking remarks between us, inadvertently becoming our promises.

I gazed into his bright eyes, where there was a dazzling sparkle.

MC: Happy birthday, Shaw.

I hope his fiery eyes can see through my heart.

I sat with him in the empty theater, sharing cake and chatting away, even the amber twilight tinted with sweetness.

MC: I'm curious though, even though you perform at Live House, it's always this cool style, no interaction with the audience at all. MC: But tricks are meant to amuse the audience. It’s not quite like your character. Why did you agree to this show?

Shaw: I didn't want to agree to it at first, but I liked the role very much. MC: Do you mean you really like it? Are you referring to the Monkey King? Shaw: uh-huh. MC: Do you like the Monkey King? Shaw: What do you mean, you don't like it?

Shaw's rhetorical question was a bit too natural, so I waved my hand with a smile.

MC: No, no, I mean I didn’t expect you to like the Monkey King enough to be willing to play him.

Shaw raised an eyebrow, his fork gliding through the cream twice.

Shaw: I didn't have the chance when I was young. Growing up, I had to experience it at least once.

I caught the key words instantly.

MC: Your childhood dream was not to become the Monkey King, right? Shaw: Don't you want to?

The tone of this rhetorical question is even more natural this time. I'm both surprised and amused, always feeling...

It was as if I was holding the hand of kid Shaw whom I had never seen before.

Now I seem to have only one last question left for this perfect birthday.

MC: So why have you been in such a good mood lately? Just because you get to play the Monkey King?

Shaw [ponders over a bit]: Yes and no. Mainly because here, I can satisfy what I wanted to do when I was young—unrestrained, free, and easy. MC: You seem pretty free and easy in Loveland City too. Shaw: It's different. MC: What's the difference?

I asked this question twice, but Shaw didn't answer. He just looked at me with a smile.

After a while, he suddenly spoke.

Shaw [hesitant]: MC, do you think I seem particularly childish and domineering today? MC: Hm?

Upon careful reflection, today's Shaw indeed rigorously exercised the authority of "the birthday star is the greatest," appearing much more assertive and straightforward than usual.

Upon this realization, the question he just avoided answering... I seem to have... a hint of an answer. I chuckled.

MC: Perhaps just a little bit, but it's nice to give yourself a reason to be childish for a day, isn't it? MC: And there is someone to be childish with you.

I pointed to myself. Shaw looked satisfied, leaned over, and took away the last trace of cream from my lips.

Shaw [pleased with her answer]: That's right, it's great to have you by my side. Shaw: "The Monkey King" has had enough freedom. It's time to return with you to Loveland City, back to the mortal world.

—

🙉 Epilogue 

🙉 Call

🙉 Texts

🙉 Video call 

🙉 ASMR 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

"Note from the translator"

Heya! I hope all of you're in good health. It has been a while since I last posted something, life has been quite hectic for me 🫠. Annnyways first of all I apologize if you find my translations sloppy or find any mistakes, plz feel free to tell me. I'm currently so busy right now that I've hardly had time for other stuff, Summer courses + internships are quite overwhelming 😵‍💫for me. So plz don't think that I've given up on Shaw cuz I'll never ever give up on him😤!! I'll translate his content wholeheartedly but do expect late updates from me! I just wanted to clarify this so that you guys don't think that I've abandoned this blog.

That's all from me! Thank you sooooo much for all of your support and please continue supporting me in the future cuz it adds more fuel to my motivation🥰! Have a nice day!

—

[fluentmoviequoter]

Soft Spot

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x shy!assistant!fem!reader

Summary: When you're kidnapped and used as a pawn, Deacon sets out to find you. Once you're tied up together, he changes his goals regarding your safety, finding a soft spot in the kidnappers and himself.

Warnings: spoilers (rewrite) for SWAT episode 3x15 "Knockout"; angst to fluff

Word Count: 3.4k+ words

A/N: Deacon in a suit + Street's scene in the luxury box = one of the best episodes.

Picture from Pinterest

You have only been Gio Torres’s personal assistant for a week - since he arrived in Los Angeles - but he got attached to you quickly. Your shy demeanor and kindness toward his wife made it easy for Gio to decide he likes you.

“Where are we going?” you ask quietly.

“To meet the security team, hermana,” Gio answers, smiling as he wraps his arm around Esther.

Frowning when you think of meeting even more people, Gio takes pity on you and offers to handle the introductions.

“They don’t need to know who I am, Gio,” you remind him. “I’m just here for you and Esther.”

Gio tilts his head to the side as Esther replies, “And if they want to meet you?”

“I hope they don’t,” you mumble.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you enter the arena, a few men in suits are standing around a television displaying the building’s blueprint. You notice the one closest to the screen is attractive and immediately drop your chin as he looks toward you. Walking behind Gio, though, you don’t expect he’ll even realize you’re there. Most people don’t.

“Hey, champ,” the other man greets. “This is my business partner, David Kay. He’s managing our security team. Meet Gio Torres, reigning welterweight champion of the world, and his wife Esther.” 

David shakes hands with Gio and Esther before the other man excuses himself to answer his phone. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says. “And please, call me Deacon.”

“Diacono? Like padre, priest?” Gio asks.

“No, no, it’s just a nickname.” Deacon looks to Esther to ask, “It’s your first?”

“Yes,” she replies happily.

Deacon turns toward you, extending his hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

You shake his hand, giving him a small smile as you say your name. “I’m Gio’s assistant.”

“Nice to meet you as well, and I guess that means we’re kind of working together.”

Nodding, you’re glad when Gio draws Deacon’s attention away.

“You know, this place is so… new. We had nothing like it in Havana,” Gio explains. “One day we will.”

“Well, best of luck to you tonight,” Deacon says. “And congratulations.”

“Gracias, Padre.”

You shake your head at Gio’s nickname, smiling at Deacon again as you follow Gio and Esther out of the arena. You can feel Deacon’s eyes on you, and your neck warms at the attention.

“Someone likes padre,” Esther teases, bumping her elbow against your arm.

Rolling your eyes, you keep your head down so your giddy smile doesn’t betray your secrecy.

“Sí, claro,” Gio agrees, chuckling.

✯✯✯✯✯

Gio sent you to find Deacon, telling you he wants to give him something for his SWAT team. You don’t know how Gio learned he was a SWAT agent when he isn’t working in private security, but it’s your job to get what Gio wants, so you go. Standing to the side and waiting for him to notice you, you accidentally overhear his conversation.

“Aren’t these fights usually in Vegas?” the woman beside him asks.

“Yeah,” Deacon answers. “But Maxwell wanted to fight in his own hometown.”

“Why does the former champion get to call the shots?”

“That’s why.”

Deacon points to Jackie Shaw, who you had the displeasure of meeting this morning. He’s full of himself and has a wandering eye. He may be the biggest promoter and responsible for the biggest fight of the season, but he does not seem like a good man.

“I’m gonna make the rounds,” Deacon says, turning toward you. He stops when he sees you, smiling as he says your name.

“You remembered?”

“How could I not?”

Pressing your lips together and dropping your eyes to the floor, you say, “Gio wants to see you when you have a minute.”

“I can go now. Care to show me the way?”

Looking up, the smile on his face makes you think he knows that his actions are impacting you. When he falls into step beside you, keeping his attention on you as you walk, you realize that Esther was right; you do like him, but you’ll never be able to act on it.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Oi, Padre,” Gio greets as you lead Deacon into the room.

“I’m going to go with the driver to get Esther from the hotel,” you tell Gio. 

You nod at Deacon on your way out, and the look he gives you makes you wish you could stay.

✯✯✯✯✯

You walk out of the hotel, answering an email from Jackie Shaw’s marketing team as you get in the car. Esther should be out in a moment, but the door beside you opens suddenly, and a man you don’t recognize climbs inside.

“Uh, I think you’re in the wrong car,” you tell him.

The car begins moving, and you ask the driver to go back, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. When you look out the window, the man beside you unsheathes a serrated knife, holding it up so you can see it.

“Don’t yell for help,” he demands.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon is doing his rounds again when he stops by Gio’s locker room.

“My nephews are gonna go nuts. Thank you,” Chris says, accepting a signed poster.

“De nada,” Gio replies.

Esther and one of the security guards enter the room, and Deacon looks over when Esther says your name.

“No esta aqui?” Esther asks.

“No.”

They continue speaking in Spanish, and Deacon can tell they’re distressed and concerned about something. He doesn’t like that your name is involved.

“What’s wrong?” he asks Chris.

“His assistant disappeared from the hotel. His trainer’s out looking for her.”

Someone knocks on the door, and Deacon steps in front of him. “Hey, not now. You can get a selfie later.”

“Hey, Torres, I’m supposed to deliver this to you,” the man says.

“Let me see that. Chris,” Deacon calls.

“Stand right here. Don’t move,” Chris demands, pulling the man into the room.

“There’s a voice mail.” Deacon presses play, his jaw clenched as he listens to the distorted voice.

‘We have your hermana, your assistant. Lose this fight or she dies. No cops, or your wife is next.’

✯✯✯✯✯

“You got the wrong girl!” a man yells.

You flinch at the sudden noise. Tied to a chair, blindfolded, and gagged, you have no way of knowing who the men are or what they're doing in here.

“How do you mistake her for Gio’s pregnant wife?”

“She was in the car, I didn’t know!”

“He likes her, so it’ll have to work. That or we find another chance to get the wife.”

“It’ll work.”

That’s what you’re worried about.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What can I do to help?” Gio asks.

“Your weigh-in’s about to start. If you don’t show up, people will know something’s wrong,” Chris answers. “It might alert the kidnappers.”

“I know this is hard. But you have to go out there and pretend that everything is normal. We have people with your wife, they can’t get to her, and we’re doing everything we can to find the people who did this,” Deacon promises.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon notices a man filming Gio at the weigh-in and follows him out of the arena, pausing in an alley to call Hondo.

“Yeah, Deac, talk to me. What’s going on?” Hondo asks.

“There was a suspicious guy around the weigh-in. White, six foot, 25 to 30. It’s probably nothing, but I want to check it out,” Deacon replies. “He walked into an old factory six blocks from the arena.”

“You got an address?”

“Twelfth and Maple. Northwest alley.”

“Street’s callin’ for backup, Deac.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Secured to the chair and blindfolded, you can’t see when people come or go, and have no idea where you are. Several men have been in and out, and you try to breathe quietly and listen for them.

A voice - Deacon, you know immediately - says your name before asking, “Are you okay? I’m here to help.” He lifts the blindfold over your head and says, “Hey.”

You pant as he pulls the gag from your mouth, nodding as you thank him. Deacon kneels beside you, keeping a hand on your arm. He pulls his phone from his pocket and talks while he unties you.

“Hey, Hondo,” he says. “I found her. She’s tied up, but she’s okay.”

You shake your arm, trying to alert Deacon of the men entering the room, but it doesn’t work, so you turn your head toward him, hoping to find comfort in his presence.

“Stand up,” one of the men commands.

Deacon drops something into a box, moving his phone to his pocket as he stands and raises his hands in surrender. Both men point guns at Deacon, and you push back against your chair, hoping that this doesn’t end terribly.

“I probably shouldn’t be here, huh?” Deacon asks. “I followed him from the weigh-in. I was in the room when Torres heard the message, and- and he begged me not to do anything, but I… I thought if I found his assistant, you know, maybe he’d give a reward or something. Look, the name is Schupatz. I’m just a security guard. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Turn around,” the men demand.

“I don’t want to cause any problems.”

Deacon turns, and you flinch when he’s hit over the head with the butt of a gun. Bringing your shoulder to your cheek, you look away and try to hide, but the man turns to you, forcing you to drink a strange-colored medicine before everything goes dark.

✯✯✯✯✯

You regain consciousness before Deacon, watching him as you sit in the dusty room. He tips his head back and groans before opening his eyes.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Are you?”

With Deacon’s complete attention on you, despite the life-threatening situation, you grow shy and can only shrug.

“Did they hurt you?”

“Gave me medicine that knocked me out,” you explain.

“You feel okay?”

Nodding, you look at Deacon’s shoes.

“I don’t know the men who did this, but help is on the way,” Deacon promises. “There are people looking for you. They’ll come for me too. I’m a police officer.”

“SWAT,” you murmur.

“How’d you- Gio. Right?” Deacon looks around, and you flex your wrists under the rope. “All right, we got to get out of here. They need you alive as leverage until Gio loses the fight. But they’ll get rid of me soon enough. Unless we get out of here first.”

“What can I do?”

“Best thing you can do? Stay calm. I’m gonna get us out of here.”

You nod as Deacon moves his arms, trying to find a way to get free.

“Will Gio really lose?” you ask, looking at Deacon’s face.

“For you? Of course.”

He smiles as he answers, and you find it much easier to stay calm.

“Who’s Schupatz?”

“A clue to help my team find us, I hope.”

Nodding, you fall silent again. While you watch Deacon, you take his advice to stay calm and trust him. He’s breathing deeply from trying to free himself, and when he pauses, you decide to try talking to him again.

“The medicine they made me drink… will it hurt me?”

“Nah. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Gio and Esther have to be okay. If they have to leave early because of me, and their baby is born in Cuba, their lives are as good as over. They need to stay in America, Deacon. Tonight can’t be the end for them.”

“No, and it won’t be,” Deacon agrees, raising his arms again before the door opens.

You fold in on yourself, moving back as a man kneels before you, offering an open bottle.

“It’s just water,” he says.

Looking at Deacon, you wait for him to say, “It’s okay,” before taking a drink.

You feel a bit better, your dry lips and throat soothed by the water, but you furrow your brows at the look on Deacon’s face. He waits for the men to exit, closing the door behind them, to speak.

“I think we just found their soft spot,” he explains. He doesn’t mention that he’s developing his own soft spot for you.

✯✯✯✯✯

You force yourself to cry, screaming in faux pain as you push yourself against the control you’re tied to. Hooking your arm through it, pretending to be trapped, you follow Deacon’s instructions exactly.

“Hey, she needs help!” Deacon yells toward the door. “She’s losing circulation!”

The door opens, and two men enter, looking between you and Deacon.

“She tried to turn around and her arm got caught, you need to get her help,” Deacon explains. “Look, I’m a trained medic. All right? Let me out of here. Let me help her.”

“Unlock him,” one of the men says.

You continue your act as Deacon is released, standing before pushing one of the men against the wall and reaching for his taser. The second man grabs Deacon from behind, slamming him against the metal machinery he’s been tied to for what seems like forever. He groans as the men resecure his bindings, elevating his arms over his head.

“Torres is gonna lose the fight. He’s gonna do whatever you want, so there is no reason to keep her trapped like an animal,” Deacon exclaims. “Let her go.”

The men leave without another word, and you lean your face against your hands as Deacon’s chin drops toward his chest.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How much time do you think we have?” You stretch your legs toward Deacon, wishing you were feeling talkative for any other reason.

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“What are we going to do? And please don’t say you don’t know.”

Deacon chuckles, raising his shoulders. “Ow.”

“What?” you ask, looking up as Deacon moves his hands on the metal beam above him.

You hear the wire around his wrists scrubbing, and you know it has to be torture on his shoulders, but you grow hopeful at the prospect of Deacon freeing himself.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Footsteps,” you alert, just as Deacon’s arms drop, the wire snapping.

He rises, stumbling as he gains his bearings before moving to a corner behind the door to wait. Deacon is keeping his promise, and once you are safe, he’s going to try to make you shy again. It’s not necessarily a noble goal, but if it’s enough to get him through the fight, that’s all he needs.

One man enters, and Deacon waits for him to walk past before wrapping one arm around his neck, pulling tightly until the man collapses. You watch as Deacon finds a taser in his pocket, taking it before moving to untie you.

“All right. Come here,” Deacon whispers, helping you to your feet. “Are you in any actual pain or was that just really good acting?”

“I’m okay.”

Deacon looks into your eyes, nodding before leading you into a hallway. Someone yells, the sound echoing through the building.

“You can go without me, Deacon,” you offer, trying to release his hand.

His grip tightens, and he pulls you closer. “No, listen. Go in here. I’m going to lock you in here. You’ll be safe. Trust me, they’re gonna think you escaped. You just stay as quiet as possible.”

You grab his hand again, finding the courage to look directly into his brown eyes as you ask, “Will you come back?”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

You nod, releasing his hand and stepping back as the metal door closes on you.

✯✯✯✯✯

While you grow scared, alone in a locked room, Deacon is working on keeping his promise. A few blocks away, Gio is throwing a fight to save you. If your life weren’t in danger, you wouldn’t be able to handle this much attention.

You hear a police officer radio that a suspect is down and call for help. The door opens, and a man in a SWAT uniform identifies himself as a police officer.

“I got you,” he says, leading you to another officer, who takes you toward the door.

In another part of the theater, Deacon climbs onto the edge of a balcony, waiting for the right moment to drop onto the Schupatz lookalike, attempting to tase him before fighting over a gun. As they roll over one another, the trigger is pulled, and several bullets are fired into the large projector screen showing the fight.

Deacon rises to his hands and knees, knocking the other man off balance as he stands. Moving behind him, Deacon tackles the man, knocking over the projector as they fall together. Pinning the man to the floor, Deacon punches him until he stops fighting back.

“Deac!” Tan yells, entering the theater.

Deacon says your name and Hondo answers, “She’s outside with the EMTs.”

“We got the whole crew,” Street adds.

“It’s good to see you, Schupatz,” Hondo jokes.

“Good to see you, too,” Deacon replies. “All of you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

At the same time that Gio learns you are safe and turns the tide of the fight, you are watching the theater entrance for Deacon. When he walks out, rushing toward you, you stand and meet him halfway, hugging him tightly and pressing your face into his dirty blazer.

“Your face is cut, sir, we’re gonna need to tape that,” an EMT says.

“Give me a minute,” Deacon answers, tightening his grip on you.

“Let ‘em do their job,” you murmur.

Deacon huffs, and you feel his heartbeat as you pull away. Holding your hand, Deacon pulls you with him as the paramedic cleans and tapes the cut on his cheekbone.

“Still pretty,” you whisper.

Smiling widely, Deacon turns his head toward you. When you duck your head and try to pull your hand from Deacon’s, he chuckles and tugs you closer.

“This would be a terrible time to find out you’re leaving with Torres,” he murmurs.

You shake your head, explaining you’re based in Los Angeles but do freelance work with celebrities while they’re in town. Deacon is sure you’re a popular choice, unwilling or unable to talk to celebrities simply because of who you are.

“Esther went into labor,” Hondo tells Deacon. “They’re at Shaw Memorial.”

Deacon leads you to a grey Dodge Charger, taking the keys from Street before helping you into the passenger seat. He smiles as he drives, glad he completed both promises: getting you out safe and making you shy afterward.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hi,” you greet, walking into Esther’s hospital room.

Deacon enters behind you, waiting at the foot of the bed while you hug Gio and Esther, extending a finger to their new baby. Chris arrives a moment later, and Gio turns his attention to her and Deacon.

“I’m not sure how to thank you,” he expresses, hugging Chris.

Deacon watches you and the baby, a caring look in his eye accompanying his smile.

“Padre,” Gio greets, shaking Deacon’s hand before hugging him too.

You roll your eyes at the nickname again, and Deacon smiles when he notices.

“Mira,” Gio says, directing attention to his son.

“We name him Jorge,” Esther adds.

“Congratulations,” Chris offers.

“Welcome to the world, little man,” Deacon cheers, looking at Jorge before his eyes return to you.

Chris moves to close the door, and Deacon tears his eyes from you to speak to Gio and Esther. “So I know this isn’t a great time, but the Cuban delegation is camped out down the hall. This might be our only chance to talk.”

“They charted a flight to Havana for you, leaving Monday morning,” Chris adds.

“So I contacted your immigration lawyer in San Francisco, and he said he’ll be here Sunday night.”

“Thank you so much,” Gio replies. “Pero, how did you know?”

“Someone gets talktative when they’re held hostage,” Deacon jokes, looking over at you.

“Gracias, hermana,” Gio says, pulling you into another hug.

You’re glad to hide from Deacon for a moment, but when it’s time to leave, he takes your hand, and your skin warms immediately.

“I shouldn’t talk to you ever again,” you tell him.

“But you will?” he asks.

You nod, and Deacon turns to you, the same caring look present in his eyes as he raises his free hand to your cheek.

“Then I’m glad I kept my promise.”

“Seems like you have a soft spot too,” you mumble against his hand, leaning toward him.

“Maybe I do,” Deacon agrees, smiling as he moves his hand, wrapping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. He kisses the crown of your head and laughs when you turn to hide against his suit again.

[cellarspider]

5/30 The pseudohistory of Prometheus

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

We return to a movie I wish to send on a journey down the Kola Superdeep Borehole, Prometheus.

And my insanity truly begins in this segment. We are only 1/10th of the way through the movie so far. Content warnings for discussion of racism in pseudoscience and historical anthropology, Spider getting hung up on logistics and space nerd stuff, and pictures of Yuri Knorozov, the most sour-faced man to ever live.

The cast sits down for a briefing. This is a scene with an easily identifiable narrative function: providing exposition to the theater audience. The act of doing a briefing makes sense. It is the last thing here that will.

We are introduced to a hologram of Peter Weyland, the financier of the expedition. The name means all sorts of Lore to the series, but what’s intensely distracting is that we seem to have caught Weyland halfway through applying his zombie makeup.

Weyland is played by Guy Pierce. As of the filming of this movie, he was somewhere around 45 years old. Yes, they smothered this Australian in old man drag so that he could play this character. This is a baffling decision, that only gets slightly less baffling if you know the production history of the movie, which I did not at the time.

Guy Pierce was hired to play a younger Peter Weyland. There’s a promo video out there of him giving a fictional TED Talk in the not-to-distant future of next Sunday AD 2023, there were various plans for him to appear in the movie proper. None of those scenes are actually in the movie. They refused to double-cast the role for some reason. While the practical effects in the movie are generally excellent and it does make the tiniest smidge of sense that a hypercapitalist asshole would be portrayed as a literal rubber-faced movie monster, this, like many things in Prometheus, made the movie a very weird sit. One where I was increasingly less open to going along with the movie’s fiction. You are telling me that this is an actual human man. I am not buying it. He looks far less human than David, the only non-human there.

Speaking of David, Weyland calls him “the closest thing to a son I will ever have”, and then immediately says David is an inhuman lesser being, who does not appreciate the specialness of his existence because he does not have a soul.

Which is funny, because I think you can see David’s soul leaving his body at this exact moment.

Weyland then tries to mash in some existential weight to the movie: they might finally get an answer for “why are we here?” and all that jazz! He also tries to explain why naming a ship Prometheus is totally not like calling it Titanic II: Don’t think about the part of the myth where Prometheus is chained to a rock and has his ever-regenerating liver eaten by an eagle every day! Think about the bit where he brought fire to mankind! We’re gonna bring back that bit!

And then the archaeologists take over the briefing, and this, THIS, is the bit where they entirely lost me. My suspension of disbelief had already been strained by multiple oddities up to this point. My skepticism about these characters in particular was already a bit elevated by their implied invocation of the ancient astronauts concept.

Turns out, only Vickers, Shaw, and Holloway know why they’re here. 

Two years away from Earth. On a massively expensive expedition that intends to make first contact with an alien culture, the first alien culture that humankind has ever found evidence of. Nobody has been briefed up until this point.

This is lunacy.

Explanations have been figured out by fans since then: this is a passion project by Weyland, an annoyance to the rest of the corporate structure that nobody else believes in. The movie eventually intimates this, through Vickers. 

Fans have thus speculated that Weyland was just quarantined off to do his little alien hunt, with no logistical support that would make it actually functional. He believed a crazy theory put forward by Shaw and Holloway, and everyone else wasn’t actually best-of-the-best, they were just whoever would take a big paycheck to do fuck-all for nearly five years of sleeping their way to and from their destination.

I am willing to consider that this was intentional. The movie possibly tries to confirm this with Mr. “I’m here for the money” Fifield, but none of the other characters have enough characterization to determine if this is the general trend.

How could we make a story that more clearly spells this out? Maybe Millburn the biologist could encounter more of the crew talking about the payout from taking the job, or reveal that he himself has some project he needs money for. It would also chip away at the dearth of character-building dialog for most of the cast.

As a result of those deficiencies in characterization, a lot of my discussion of plot points is going to be focused around what they do, rather than why. …Except when it is about the why, at which point the main commentary will be “WHY.”

In any case: while it makes sense, I'm still not certain the film meant for this character motivation. Prometheus is just so loudly explicit with so many of its plot points that it doesn’t seem like this is the case. The movie certainly believes in the sincerity and correctness of the archaeologists, though.

Unfortunately, it also immediately tells me that they’re a couple of wingnuts. I’m not sure if it intends to, for reasons I’ll get into after I foam at the mouth for a little while.

They present a series of artifacts to the crew: Egyptian, Mayan, Akkadian, Sumerian, Hittite, Hawaiian, and their Scottish cave painting. All of them feature “men worshiping giant beings”, who are pointing to what stargazer nerds call an asterism: a pattern of stars. Shaw and Holloway believe that these are aliens that engineered humans into their current state. Shaw literally says “it’s what I choose to believe” as the entirety of their justification for this.

Again: I knew the movie wanted me to take this as truth, within its universe. That’s the implicit deal the movie has made with the audience, this is truth. You are supposed to be contemplating the "whys" of it all. But the movie had also smacked me in the brain so many times in the past five minutes, that I, like Millburn the Biologist, was ready to call bullshit.

I appreciate him for doing so, and it shows he could have been a smart character, but sadly, he is in Prometheus.

Because he is a fictional biologist and I am an actual biologist, I will expand on his argument, as I descend into ranting for the rest of the post.

Millburn objects on the basis of evolutionary history, which the movie only partially succeeds in papering over: the implication is that evolution on Earth was directed with the deterministic outcome of creating something like humans.

This opens up a whole new can of worms that the movie doesn’t get into–when exactly did this engineering start? When great apes evolved? When mammals did? Tetrapods? Skeletons? DNA itself? After all, we know the aliens, now dubbed Engineers by the archaeologists, have DNA. Did they seed all life on Earth? How did they evolve? Our last universal common ancestor is believed to have already been using DNA 3-4 billion years ago, evolving out of a likely RNA-based genetic standard. Hominins diverged from other apes around 15-25 million years ago. What sort of culture would undertake a project that required at least 15 million years on the extreme low end?

All excellent questions! The movie is not concerned with them. I am, and that is part of why this movie still lives in a special, awful place in my head.

This isn’t actually what made me become actively hostile toward the archaeologists, though. What managed that, well! It was their archaeology. Anybody who had an Ancient Egypt Phase in their childhood should be able to articulate multiple reasons why the academic community would’ve laughed these guys out of the building.

Bigness in ancient egyptian art does not indicate literal size. It indicates importance. In fact, the artifacts the movie uses exclusively come from artistic traditions which feature hierarchical or non-literal scale. Do the Engineers turn out to actually be eight feet tall? Yes! Am I still annoyed by this? ABSOLUTELY.

You know what else is a big problem? Many of the cultures they reference here had written language! A LOT of written language! They include Egyptian, Sumerian, Babylonian, and Mayan art in their evidence, all of which not only wrote a LOT of things down, but had a habit of annotating a lot of their art with labels to tell you what was going on! You can actually see some on the props they used in this scene!

Beyond that, they had very prescribed formal styles, where you can follow the action entirely through gestures, held objects, attendant symbols, and clothing! If all these cultures, as implied, had actual, direct contact with aliens, recorded in the art presented here, we would know what they were told.

Skipping ahead of the movie for a minute: the Engineers were apparently not telling humans “we’re here in these stars, come find us”, they were telling humans “settle the fuck down or this is where the hurt’s going to come from”. 

Here's the thing. Ancient peoples weren't stupid. They wouldn't just not talk about this. If giant aliens came down from the sky and gave them a stern talking-to that contradicted their religion, that would be a big deal. And these characters specifically say the Engineers are being "worshiped" in these images! They're apparently taking onboard what's being said!

It is certainly possible for information to be lost. Over long time scales, that's unfortunately the rule, rather than the exception. But again: half the artifacts have writing on them!

I chose to believe that Shaw and Holloway simply did not attempt to read any available translations of attendant texts, and they were thus cursed for their foolishness by the ghosts of Mayan Studies pioneer Yuri Knorozov and Egyptologist Jean-François Champollion, and the still-extant spirit of Assyriologist Irving Finkel.

Knorozov knows your sins against Mayan Studies. Knorozov is a vengeful god. Chapollion and Finkel are likewise very cross.

Two last things stood out to me in the theater. One of them was extremely petty but tied into some very serious issues with pseudoscience, and the other one was not.

Pettiness first: the asterism shown in the artifacts is a pattern of six stars. The movie wants you to believe that it is very spooky that the only asterism that precisely matches this pattern are six stars that are too faint to see with the naked eye. This is laughable, both because the asterism is so generic-looking that I can think of several very visible asterisms that are good matches for the pattern, but it also recapitulates a bunch of really fucking annoying stuff from pseudoscientific bullshit. 

First: Pseudoscience and pseudohistory likes to make a big deal out of the fact that every culture has stories about the stars. Why? 

The sky is very important to every culture’s mythology, because every culture can see the sky. Like, that’s literally it. People can see the sky. They tell stories about it. There’s not much to do at night except look at the sky, when even keeping a fire lit can be an expensive prospect. It is not even the least bit weird when multiple cultures–all of them in the northern hemisphere in this case!–have stories about the same stars.

Second: Cultures varied in their ability to faithfully reproduce celestial landmarks in art and align their architecture, and were not as exact as modern techniques can manage. Pseudoscience will claim that they are exact, when it fits their pre-existing theory, or fudge the difference if they want something to fit their claims.

(This is a photoshopped image, by the way.)

Were the stone age temples of Malta secretly aligned with a particular star that foretold the doom of Atlantis, precisely tracking its location through the sky over thousands of years of Earth’s axial wobbling? No! They were roughly aligned with the sun. Sunlight is important when you don’t have electric lights. Were the Great Pyramids of Giza laid out ten thousand years ago to match the layout of the stars in Orion’s Belt, according to the designs of a legendary lost race of highly advanced non-African people? Were they tapping into the Earth’s magnetic field to generate energy? No! They were aligned with the cardinal directions, and they got them a bit wrong! 

Hell, if we want to play at that game, I found a decent match for the asterism in Stellarium's Egyptian constellation set. Just flip this 90 degrees clockwise and you'll see I'm totally right. Aliens confirmed.

I know the movie is trying to tell me that all the asterisms in the art are precise matches for each other and are thus impossible to explain without intercultural contact (or aliens!!), but it is also showing me that they are not that precise. So, it’s just showing me stars. At least in some of them. Their little charcoal lad from the Isle of Skye may be throwing fruit at his audience.

In fact, there's a further, probably unintentional link to pseudohistorical claims in the artifacts presented: the Maya artifact shown does not actually depict a "giant figure" being worshiped, in fact, it shows one instantly recognizable, known figure in Classical Maya history: It is an altered version of the ornately carved coffin lid of Kʼinich Janaab Pakal I (24 March 603 - 29 August 683), with the top quarter of the carving replaced with a star pattern that looks nothing like the ones on the other artifacts.

The carving shows Pakal in the pose of an infant, entering into death and being reborn. It is packed full of so many symbolic elements that can be easily recognized by those more familiar with the Classical Maya than I am.

Conspiracy theorist Erich von Däniken thought that it showed Pakal rocketing away on a spaceship. Däniken proposed this because he didn't understand the cultural symbolism, but he had seen pictures of astronauts before.

And on that note, 2,400 words into this rant, we get to the actually bad shit. Unfortunately, it ties into the issue I had with the premise to begin with: the real-world context of pseudoscientific claims of ancient alien contact. Specifically, the racism.

We’re going to unspool this more near the end of the movie, because there was further behind the scenes I was not aware of when I first saw Prometheus, and it just compounds this stuff. 

So, when I went on my first tangent on how unpleasant ancient alien theories are, one thing I highlighted is that the further from Western Civilization you get, the more these theories presuppose that fellow humans are incapable of building great works or imagining interesting things. No, they had to be guided, and explicitly shown things that they copied down to the best of their limited capability.

The only european example of alien contact they show is from the Upper Paleolithic, 37,000 years ago. All the examples around the Mediterranean and Mesopotamia range from 5,500-3,700 years ago. The examples from the Classical Maya and Hawaiʻi are from 620 and 680 CE. 

During this period, Tang Dynasty merchants were creating the first paper money as the famous female emperor Wu Zetian was on her way to the throne. The Prophet Muhammad went to al-Aqsa mosque, and we’re only eight years before the birth of Charlemagne’s grandfather. We’re no longer talking ancient, it’s just old.

I want to emphasize that the movie is presenting these not as depictions of myths that have been passed down–though there are more problems with that I’ll get into shortly–these are implied to be contemporary depictions of events witnessed by the artists, who were quite possibly instructed by the Engineers to record a precise pattern of stars. An equivalency is being drawn between stone age Europe, bronze age Africa and the Middle East, and a couple of startlingly recent Mesoamerican and Polynesian cultures. 

But let’s be generous. Maybe these aren’t supposed to be contemporary accounts in these two outlier cases: the movie’s script will certainly indicate later that they have no idea what they’ve implied here. Perhaps these are story traditions that were handed down from the Olmecs and Melanesian precursors of the first to sail to Hawaiʻi. 

Unfortunately, this just recapitulates a different racist trope: that European and more “developed” civilizations invented so much cool and comfortable material culture and philosophy that they forgot the Mystical Religious Truths of the old ways, which were preserved only in Primitive Lands and among Uneducated Peoples, where they never found anything better to do with their time. Oh, if only we had heeded the warnings from those spiritually attuned non-white people!

(Look, I only remember Devil (2010), which has 50% on Rotten Tomatoes, because M Night Shyamalan wrote and produced it, and this was two years after The Happening came out, so I watched it out of morbid curiosity. It's not as unbelievably bad as The Happening, but as shown in the clip above, the spiritually attuned latino security guard Ramirez attributes toast landing jelly side down to Satan. That is an actual thing that happens in the movie. He is proven right.)

But let's be even more generous: someone probably realized that they'd focused near-exclusively on Middle Eastern cultures, and wanted to throw in a couple from elsewhere. Sitting here, having seen the movie in full, this is the most likely option: their inclusion creates a contradiction with a later scene, and was thus probably not checked for consistency. These cultures were thrown in as a bit of background flavor. I list this last, because in the theater, there was no way to know this at the time.

That answer's still not great. Still leaves us in the same position, where Europeans are pretty much given their own agency, while other cultures need to be led.

Oh, and to anyone else who’s made it this far and knows the production history of Prometheus: don’t worry! I know what Ridley Scott told that one interviewer, about a contact between a less-ancient European power and the Engineers. I’m saving that one. I like to save that one, because strategic deployment of that quote made some of my IRL friends scream.

Next time: the Prometheus descends to an alien world, and I descend further into madness. I am going to drag you all down with me.

(Pictured: Yuri Knorozov, and my present mood.)

⛬

(Previous) | (Index) | (Next)

⛬

Citations for alt text ramblings:

https://www.almendron.com/artehistoria/arte/culturas/egyptian-art-in-age-of-the-pyramids/catalogue-fourth-dynasty/

[author-morgan]

Title: White Knight Pairing: Ser Erryk Cargyll x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: You and Erryk both know what it means when he swears the oath of the Kingsgaurd, but it does not make it any easier. Warnings: typical Westerosi shenanigans A belated Christmas and early Valentine's present for @mrsragnarlodbrok! ❤️🎁😘

For our love is a ghost that the others can't see.

HE COMES TO you in the night, bringing urgent tidings which leave him elated and distraught. For weeks there were whispers in the Red Keep of who the new members of the Kingsgaurd would be in the wake of Ser Robin Shaw and Ser Clement Crabb’s recent passing. Arryk and Erryk Cargyll’s names garnered much attention and praise from the Lords of the Court and Small Council in recent weeks. The twins are of noble stock from the Crownlands. They are fine men. Among the best warriors the Seven Kingdoms can offer, as so few returned from Prince Daemon’s war in the Stepstones.

The whispers were proven true at the feast to celebrate Prince Aemond’s fifth nameday —and with Aegon and Aemond quickly growing, the young princes would need their own sworn swords. The honor of serving alongside his brother in the Kingsguard is one Erryk has dreamt of since he was a boy. Now Viserys has extended that honor to both he and Arryk. But the vows he must take weigh heavy on his shoulders with the thought of you. 

“Do not let me dissuade you, Erryk.” His clear gaze flits up from the flagstone floor to you —smiling and happier about the news than him. “To be named a knight of the Kingsguard is among the highest of honors,” you reason. Boys dreamt of serving in the Kingsguard, and so few are ever offered the opportunity to fulfill their boyhood dreams. Despite it all, you know why he has come to you so distraught —it is the status of your courtship and the oath he must swear. 

You know the oaths knights swear well enough, and those of the Kingsguard too —have heard the young princes and boys at court whisper them with starry-eyed aspirations of donning the White Cloak one day. I swear to ward the King with all my strength and give my blood for His. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children. I shall guard His secrets, obey His commands, ride at His side and defend His name and honor. I pledge to His Grace my life and honor from this day to the end of my days.

He grips your hands, blue-grey eyes pleading with you to understand the gravity of this moment —what it means for the two of you and the future you’ve both thought and spoken about. “I must swear to never marry.” Erryk’s voice wavers as he echoes the oath. “To father no children and hold no lands.” I can live without a Keep and land to call my own, he thinks. “I do not wish to give you up.” It’s a hoarse whisper that makes your stomach churn with sorrow and heart ache.

You love Erryk, dearly, and for that, you cannot let him set aside such an honor for you —the daughter of a newly named vassal house of the Riverlands. His name will live on in history should he don the white cloak but would surely fade if he takes you to wed. And after all, given your position in court, it is unlikely you and Erryk will truly have to be parted from one another’s company. “I am one of Rheanyra’s ladies-in-waiting,” you remind him, gently, “and you are to be one of her sworn protectors.” You can see the corners of his lips twitch upward beneath his scraggly beard. “I do not think we will often be parted.”

Erryk’s brows furrow. “You would have me break my oath?”

“No!” You quickly exclaim. “I only meant we do not have to become strangers should you accept the king’s offer,” you explain. “We all must make sacrifices in this life, and I would not have you give up your dream for me, Erryk.”

Erryk exhales, his breath shaking —it seems as though you have decided for him. “Grant me one last night then, my lady,” he says, a whispered plea, as he looks at you, pinning you there with his warm, nigh doleful gaze, as though he can’t decide how to proceed or how to make this night last a lifetime. Erryk settles for a chaste kiss. It’s soft, save for the familiar scratch of his beard against your cheek and jaw and searching as he waits for you to give him an indication of where this night is to lead. And when your lips meet again, it's with intention —fingers threading into Erryk’s hair, anchoring yourself against him, and ruining the half-bun that keeps his long dark hair from falling in front of his face.

He moves forward, easing you back toward the bed —a plainly furnished wooden frame and a lumpy straw-and-feather stuffed mattress you’ve shared many times before. He lays you back, never once daring to part from your lips, your touch. Bliss makes your head spin, and upon coming up for air, you find his eyes staring into your own, communicating everything you could ever wish for and everything you can never have.

The chill of the night air turns your skin to gooseflesh as Erryk pushes up the hem of your chemise —the rough pads of his fingers brushing across your stomach and then higher. You squirm out of the thin piece of linen, and he tosses it aside, pausing above you for the briefest of moments. He breathes your name, a soft sigh; then his lips trace over your collarbone before he sits back on the edge of the bed, toeing off his boots.

He glances back up to your face and uses your arms to drag you closer to him, hooking them around his neck as he kisses you deeper this time. You feel his hands settle on your waist —warm and strong as he pulls you against him. He’s hot. Skin and mouth. And every touch and lingering caress sets you alight, burning on the inside. Erryk parts and stares down at you —memorizing the curve of your chin and upper lip, the soft glimmer and adoration in your eyes as you look at him. Between the ache in his heart and the voice in his head, it’s nigh too much, and he dips back down for another kiss, this time parting your lips, relishing the startled breath you give.

Your hands wander across his shoulders and back, gathering the linen of his tunic in your hands before pulling free the hem from his britches and drawing the off-white fabric up and overhead. Erryk shudders when your lips brush over his chest, fingertips wandering over the muscles of his arms and back —committing the feel of him to memory. But his hands wander too, and you can’t help but tense up when you feel his fingers ghost over you. Your legs spread wider for him, and you’re rewarded with a stroke from the entrance of your cunt to your clit.

He does it again before pressing a finger into your warmth, working you slowly open. Your hips jerk softly along with his movements. He hums when a second finger joins it, quickly kissing you again to hide the little whimpers you make with every move of his hand. He knows your body just as well as you do, and it’s easy to tell exactly how he needs to touch you to make you gasp and clench around his fingers —and he’s relentless in his efforts. His thumb rubs firmly against your clit, and you jolt.

“Erryk.” His name is a soft plea for more or to stop. You aren’t sure which. His free hand brushes a stray hair out of your face, and you smile up at him, unfocused and panting hard. You clumsily grab for him but get distracted by the fingers shifting inside you. He moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s found inside you —leaving your nerves tingling with every touch. His mouth finds yours again, and you run a hand through his hair, then his fingers angle themselves just right to stroke the spot that pushes you over the precipice.

Rising from the bed, he undoes his belt and the ties of his britches, stepping out of them and his drawers. Then he finally lets you touch him in return, and you run your hand along the length of his hard cock. He tilts your chin up with one finger to steal another kiss, and you let out a small sigh —willing to give anything to make this night last a lifetime. Erryk rejoins you on the bed and pulls you atop him, straddling his lap. You adjust yourself, and his hands settle at your hips to line your body up with his. He guides you downward, and you feel the head of his cock push inside your cunt. He bottoms out inside you in one smooth thrust that makes the air catch in your throat.

“Are you alright?” He asks, ever the gentleman, as his lips trail faint, soothing kisses along your shoulder. You nod wordlessly. There’s only the pleasant and familiar stretch of his cock. You give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze, and he lifts you by the hips and brings you back down onto him. He watches you, murmuring praises for you that would sound unbearably cheesy coming from anyone else. His stare is wide and unblinking as he appreciates the sight of your cunt taking him in over and over. Your knight is so romantic it should be embarrassing, but somehow all you feel is affection —another of his many talents. You pull him down for another kiss, long and slow until your lungs ache, and you can feel his lips curve into a smile against yours.

Erryk reads you like a book —a battle plan— ready to adjust his pace or intensity perfectly to match your wants before you can even ask aloud. He does all the work for you, his grip firm on your hips to guide you up and down along his cock. You shift in his arms to drag your lips down his neck, and he brings you down at an angle that’s just a bit different. Your body reacts immediately to the sudden stimulation, nigh severing the only thing keeping you tethered to shore in a sea of ecstasy. His own breath stutters in his throat at the feeling of you clenching around him. Erryk thinks he could spend the next thousand years like this, and it still wouldn’t be enough. And it drives him to madness to know this must be the last time to have like this.

You whimper and groan in frustration when he pulls you off him and lays you back on the bed, but then he’s clambering over you, the bedframe creaking with the shifting weight. Nestled between your legs, his cock nudges deeper and sends lazy tendrils of euphoria curling through you. Erryk’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, shining with love and lust and something akin to awe. You lean your head back, arching your body to better accept him, every ridge and vein of him dragging against you.

Hooking your legs around his waist, you roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure, your panting scarcely keeping up with the demand of your racing heart. His kiss is rough and desperate —a wet and messy meeting of mouths as his rhythm loses its steadiness and any semblance of control as he seeks his own end.

He lifts his mouth off yours, and rough fingertips slide between your bodies, pushing through the sweat and slick to strum your clit. His eyes are heavy and half-lidded as he borders the precipice of his pleasure, nearly there, dragging you with him for once more before he will allow himself his release. 

His cock throbs and twitches as your body tightens and clenches under the tender assault of his fingers. You let your head fall to the side, pulling you under the fog of ecstasy. Erryk doesn’t need much longer, only a handful more thrusts, before he gives in. For a moment, he remains like that, half leaning over you, his eyes shit, catching his breath. Then he shifts, and you can feel the extra warmth between your thighs.

Erryk’s gentle as he relaxes his arms, lowering himself to rest on top of you. He lays his head across your chest, ear pressed against your skin to listen to your heartbeat as you run your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, keeping him close. He’ll pull his softening cock out of you soon enough, but at the moment, all he wants is a minute of peace like this. A moment to remember.

With deliberate movement, Erryk shifts back, drawing your body with him as he lays down on the bed once again, pulling you with him. Softly, his palms smooth over your bare back, your figure pressed to his as warm skin sticks together. And his fingertips lightly trace back and forth over your neck as you carefully adjust your head, resting it once more on his chest —whispering your affections.

WHEN RHAENYRA WISHES to return to Dragonstone, you are among the first she asks to accompany her back to her ancestral home. It is the growing rift between her and the Queen that drives the heir to the Iron Throne across Blackwater Bay. Erryk already knows when you find him sharpening his sword outside Prince Aegon’s chambers. But the King has made him and his brother the protectors of Prince Aegon and Aemond. If but a fortnight sooner in her decision, Erryk would have still been Rhaenrya’s sworn shield. He holds you, weeping, for as long as he dares and promises this will not be goodbye. And you pluck up the courage to kiss his cheek before returning to your chambers to ready your belongings. But as you glance back over your shoulder at Ser Erryk Cargyll, he cannot help but wonder if taking the oath was truly the right thing to do.

He comes to pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenrya. Offering the crown of her father —and grandfather— as he recites the vows of the Kingsguard once again. And after little Visenya’s pyre is naught but ashes and the first war council concludes, he comes to you in the dark of night sans armor —echoing a night nigh a decade ago. You open the door to your room, surprised to find him standing before you after all these years apart. 

“Erryk?” He steps to you. “I...what are you–” Chapped lips softly cut off your nervous rambling, and you close your eyes, sinking into his warmth, his smell, nigh all your worries quickly forgotten. He envelops you in every sense of the word, and you let yourself wonder if this is what home truly feels like. Alas, quickly —too quickly— he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours and a hand atop the one that rests on his shoulder. Everything fades as Erryk whispers your name. You kiss him back without thought of consequence, hands moving to the nape of his neck to draw him closer, unwilling to be parted again. Oaths be damned, Erryk thinks, if Rhaenrya must have his head for this offense, then he’ll gladly walk to the gallows. 

[House of the Dragon taglist: @batmomphd / @beelanie / @crispmarshmallow / @crvshnburnn / @darkravenqueen98 / @dollvi3e / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @fictionaldistraction / @gallimaufrea / @hb8301 / @hc-geralt-23 / @holysmokesblog / @idkjj04 / @instabull / @javisjeanjacket / @katie007123 / @ksziggy / @lady-stark-winter-rose / @lillianastras / @lostingoogletranslate / @lucyhotchner / @michellepreg / @midnightmuze / @mikariell95 / @misskatiewrites / @moonlightsspirit / @moshpot24x / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @m1ndbrand / @nenelysian / @nerdy4itall / @newtsniffles / @notbrookie / @paprikabadger / @poisonedsultana / @purestxblood / @qhbr2013 / @safe-within-the-stars / @sandronebabyy / @sapphirehearteyes / @savagemickey03 / @schniiipsel / @singular-itae / @thewintersnoozer / @watercolorskyy / @xcallmetaniax / @xiakahazou /@xinyourdreamsx / @xxgarden / @23victoria ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my House of the Dragon taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[star-dust-stuf]

Albert Shaw x fem!reader

title: I don't fall like this

warnings: slight misapplying

a/n: shut uuuuuup, I love this. sorry for typos, and yes before you ask I love him so badly. this has nothing to do with sex or abuse. listen to the song how to disappear by lana del rey. enjoy babes.

-

All I wanted to do was yell at my stepfather, he never gave me a break throughout the day. I just exited the house, barefoot and in my pajamas. He wanted me to get the mail but it was in a cluster mailbox down the street, passed some houses and near the next turn. I hated making the mail runs. 

I walked on the slightly cold concrete and I was enjoying a bit of the sun setting sky. It was about five pm, I had dinner and didn't have my shower yet. But as I was trying to make it to the mailbox, I saw a man, and older man come from his black van, he has a top hat on and dark sunglasses.

He stumbled and my heart almost stopped. His groceries went everywhere, cans of soups, eggs, celery and a box of rice. He grunted and chuckled a little, crouched down to the food he had dropped on the ground, speaking to himself as if he didn't even see me. "Isn't that just peachy keen.." 

I stutter, "d-would like some help?" 

He looked up at me, he gave another light chuckle he saw my bare feet and my entire appearanc. "Ah... could you hand me my hat?" He pointed to the tophat I didn't even see it fall off his head when he had stumbled. It was by the wire gate and I grabbed it, handing it to him. 

"Thank you, young lady." His voice has a tone, a tone of calm and softness to it. He put his hat on. "I, am a part-time magician!" 

I watch him, my eyes almost fascinated. Deep down I flet something wrong but it never felt so right. I stayed and ignored that gut feeling isnide my belly. "I wish I could say I was one too." I say, but now I fear I said too much.

He tilted his head, his long hair blew in the small breeze as the sun turned the sky orange. "And may I ask why?"

I thought there was no point in not telling him why, not just daying simply because it's 'fun' because that's far from the truth, it was a solid black lie. "So I could disappear."

A small grin grew on his face, "I'm Albert..." 

I smile a little too, "y/n." 

"Beautiful name." He looked begind himself and over my shoulder like he was looking for something, someone... The coast was clear. "Would you like to see a magic trick?" 

He sounded cheerful. Whatll happen to me? Nothing... Nothing I don't think deep down I wouldnt want to happen. "Sure..." 

He grinned, pulling a spray can from his... Pocket? Did he just carry it around or was he... Was he planning something? Any child could walked by and he was ready with a magic trick. But deep down I knew that wasn't the case. He shook the spray can.

"What's that?" I ask.

He laughed, his voice was a little darker and he ignored my question, he opened the back of his  van, now this was about the time a smart person would run but my feet were glued to the floor, why can't I just move!? He looked at me almost surprised but he regained it back. "Why don't you step closer so I can show you?" 

His voice is soft, his voice is the meaning of escape. I approached his van, close to him and saw him stay still, he was so very.. polite in a way and he saw my fear in my eyes but my needs were more important... He knew that. He saw that. He has no interest to scare me, I was far different in a way he didnt want to lose. 

He pulled my arm, enough to get me to put my back on him and to restrain me, not en to cause me any discomfort. Be put his index finger and his thumb on each side of my jaw to get my mouth to open. My fight or flight kicked in I couldn't help but struggle a little under his grasp, he grunted. I was scared... He knew that. 

He opens my mouth and manages to spray whatever was in that spray can in my mouth, I squeezed my eyes, it burned in a way, I cried aloud softly. He let me lean against him as my eyes got heavy. "Ssh, shh..." he cooed in my ear.

I was panting softly, he looked around to make sure no one was around and picked my legs up gently to place me in the back of his van, putting locks of hair away from my face and then finally shutting the door. 'why didn't she scream?' He thought as he walked to the front of his van and opened the door. 'Why?' 

He made it back to his home, it was a small house, red in color. A large tree in front. He had parked and got me out gently though I was slightly unconscious, dizzy. Stairs? Wait... A basement. He lied me on the mattress, my eyesight was blurry. "Hmmh." I hum softly as I lift my head. 

"Don't try to walk, you'll fall... And get hurt." He said the last part with a slight anger in his voice. I looked at him... I grew so scared, he wore a mask, his entire face was covered. Was this even the same man? Yes... I could smell that same faded cologne on him and the same way he put locks of hair out of my face. 

"You dont have to be scared." He said shaking his head, his deep voice muffled in the mask. "I'm not gonna hurt you anymore, just needed you to calm down." 

I sit up a little, I looked around, it wasn't even hours. I saw the orange sunsetting light in the large basement coming from the small window above, way above. And the rugged mattress I was on. "Why didn't you run?" He asked. 

He was very curious... So was I. "I don't know..." My voice was slightly shaky. 

He sighs softly, putting his hands on his knees. "I suppose you meant what you said about... Disappearing?" 

I look at his masked face, "why do you wear that?" He was surprised, I asked so bluntly. "Are you ashamed of seeing your own face?" 

He immediately slapped me, I grunted and put my hand on the spot of my cheek he had hit. His breath got heavy,he didn't want to hurt me, he felt sad, not angry with me but at himself. "I have to be upstairs for a while..." his voice was almost as shaky as mine, like he was crying. 

I don't tell him not to leave, I don't say anything. I wasn't shocked he had gotten mad at my words and I wasn't angry at his actions. What it was, it bothered him, but he didn't do anything to hurt me further than that. The door locked... And by the end of that day, I never heard that door unlock since.

[gingiesworld]

At My Worst

Chapter Five

Leigh Shaw x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Danny is a dick

18+ MINORS DNI

Christmas came and went fast, although Y/N had to work over christmas day, Leigh made sure to have a second christmas at the Shaw house, which amused both her mom and Jules since they had never seen her so nervous.

Even now as she packed up her things as Y/N had asked her to move in with them as they looked for their own house. Wanting one near her mom and in the neighbourhood she grew up.

"Leigh!" The two heard as they were unloading the van.

"I'll be upstairs." Y/N kissed her temple before taking the box upstairs.

"Danny? Why are you here?" She asked him as he pointed to her hand.

"So it's true then." He scoffed as he shook his head. "You're not wearing Matt's ring."

"I know I'm not." She told him calmly. "This is Y/N's ring, my fiancè."

"So you're getting married? Did Matt mean so little to you?!" He questioned loudly, gaining the attention of passers by.

"He meant everything to me but it is almost five years since he died. Since he killed himself." Leigh told him angrily. "I am allowed to move on! Live my life and not dwell on the future that your brother promised to me before he went and hooked up with Nina."

"Leigh." Danny shrunk down as Leigh shook her head no.

"No, I am allowed to get my happy ever after. Y/N is my happy ever after and you are ruining one of the greatest days of my life." She told him as her eyes stung.

"I think you should leave." Y/N's voice sounded from beside Leigh.

"And you're the fiancè who is replacing my brother." Danny scoffed as Y/N stepped closer to him.

"I am not replacing anyone. Yes, your brother's passing was unfortunate but Leigh is allowed to move on. She has spent the better part of 3 years grieving so let her be happy." They told him sternly as Leigh wiped her eyes.

"Leigh." Danny tried as Leigh shook her head.

"Have a nice life Danny." She told him before she grabbed another box and headed inside.

"I'm sorry." He whispered as Y/N smiled at him. "Just take care of her."

"I intend to just that." Y/N told him. "I know it must be hard especially with your feelings for her but this is good for her."

"I know." He nodded as he stepped away slowly. "Just make sure she is happy and has the family she has always dreamed of." With that he had left in a hurry, leaving Y/N with the last of the boxes and locking the car.

"Are you ok?" Y/N asked her as she sat on the sofa, her head in her hands.

"I guess so." She whispered as Y/N took her hand in theirs. "I am allowed to move on so soon?"

"It isn't so soon Leigh, it's been five years since he passed away." They reassured her.

"You would say that." Leigh chuckled as she snatched her hand away. "You are my new fiancè. My set in stone as my mom said."

"Leigh, you're spiralling." They stood before her, resting their hands on her arms as she shook her head. "Breathe for me." The two had done breathing exercises until she started to sob, Y/N catching her and pulling her into them. Holding her as she cried, soon picking her up and taking her to their room, laying beside her as they held her. Bringing her some sort of comfort.

-----

As the weeks had went on, Leigh found herself attending group again, needing some guidance in her emotions. She had started to have doubts since the altercation with Danny, soon putting a hold on wedding preparations.

"I uh Y/N proposed to me a few weeks ago." Leigh started as she played with the ring on her finger. "I was happy, extremely happy for the first time in years. Well, I had never really felt happiness like it before, but as Y/N and I were moving my things into their apartment, Danny. My husband's brother showed up by chance. He uh seeing him has made me question is 3 years to short of time before moving on? It's just that things are amazing with Y/N and I feel guilty because I feel like I am forgetting Matt."

"That's completely understandable with how you're feeling." The councellor spoke. "And there is no definite time frame on grief or when you should move on. If it feels right to move on with this person, then don't question it. Let yourself be happy. If they are who you see your future with, go for it because you are allowed to be happy. To move on." As the time went on and everyone had shared their stories, Leigh's phone was on silent as she was getting multiple calls from her mom, jules and Governor Stevens.