#yes I spent most of this episode on the floor but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sadesluvr · 8 months ago

Text

Sins of the Flesh

The one where a religious housewife fights temptation with her gardener.

(JJ Maybank x Reader)

A/N: Second JJ fic! (I haven't forgotten about The Hills!!) This was based off of Charlotte & Trey’s marriage in Sex and the City, specifically the episode where she kisses her gardener! Also, based off Gaby & John in Desperate Housewives, but less weird. Reader is literally the both of them combined, with religious guilt turned up to 100. Check the tags before reading, and minors DNI.

This is a long one, so the ending is a little rushed…Enjoy!

Also credit to @starfxkr and @dulc3vida for their lamb! readers which was a big inspo 🫶🏼✨

Word Count: 5K

Tags: SMUT / Slow burn / Themes of religion / Blasphemy / Infidelity / Cuckolding / Religious guilt / Lots of discussion about pregnancy / Misogyny, kinda / Kook! Reader / Moments of soft! JJ / Unprotected sex / Oral sex, F receiving / Creampies / Corruption & Religion kink / Dirty talk (JJ is a yapper)

Gif by @cyberpunkes !

Your dreams always started off the same.

The sun peeked through the sheer linen curtains, warm rays tickling your nose as it whispered to you that dawn had arrived. Gently, you brushed the sleep away from your eyes as you writhed amongst your silk white sheets, morning breeze making your sensitive nipples harden ever so slightly. As you awoke from your slumber, you stroked the opposite side of your bed, frowning as you found it to be empty.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, glancing around the room in search of something familiar. The hand carved dresser in the opposite corner? Check. Your Bible on the nightstand? Check. The soft, distant cries of a baby from another room? Unfamiliar.

It was always then that you’d wake up, coming to realise that your dream wasn’t so far from reality after all.

You lived on Figure Eight, a place where only the wealthiest and most desirable citizens resided in white palaces with acres of greenery surrounding them. Of course you were no exception; having married an heir to an automotive company just under a year ago.

It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar to a life of luxury - you’d been born a preacher's daughter right up until you’d become a wife - and had always been told that God had intended for you to be more fortunate than those around you. Yes, you worshipped the crucifix, but yours had always been diamond encrusted. It was just what God wanted.

Much more than anything else, it was your duty to continue his wish by remaining a virgin until you were married, and subsequently continuing the lineage with children of your own.

Apparently, that part did not come as easy.

Hank, your husband, had insisted that it was nothing more than a case of trying, yet at every turn seemed to fail. You’d begun to have a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t a problem on your end, but his, despite his growing insistence otherwise.

Each passing day meant that your biological clock ticked away, and it was weighing on you that you were failing at the one thing you’d given most of your life towards. On days like these, the only thing that brought you peace was your garden, its lush greens and vibrant purples reminding you of the hours spent at the community garden of the chapel of your fathers church.

Things, whilst relatively breezy, just weren’t so simple anymore.

Gasping, you tightened your baby pink robe around your body as you dragged yourself out of bed, hoping to at least greet Hank with a beverage before he went to work.

You practically glided through the house as you made your way along the mahogany floors, down the grand staircase and out of the double doors, careful not to fall down the porch steps as the slight humidity hit you.

Your husband was by the steps, but he didn’t seem alone.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I —-“

You paused once you realised he was speaking to someone. A young man, with blonde hair, a loose fitting tee and shorts, was sitting on the stairs - as if he were being told off - his face seemingly lethargic and uninterested. You caught his eye as he angled to face you, and he quickly adjusted his cap, shifting the brim around so that he could see you clearer.

You flashed him a brief, somewhat uncomfortable smile before you were pulled into a side hug, with Hank placing a kiss to your lips.

“You were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you,” Hank said softly. “We did get rather rowdy last night, didn’t we?” he murmured, and you patted his chest, not wanting an outsider to hear of such unsavoury things.

“This is the time, I feel it,” he announced before nodding at the blonde. “That’s why I’ve hired a gardener. Now I know you love your plants, and you can still go about the little things, but all that labour just isn’t going to work.” he told you. “We need you in top condition, especially once the baby arrives. The smallest things can affect our chances, you know.” he finished, and you nodded.

There was certainly no denying that Hank was a good husband. What man would want their young wife out in the North Carolina sun for upwards of two hours a day? Not to mention all of the wild plants that could’ve lurked. Even if you weren’t yet pregnant, it just made sense, right?

“I’ve given him a basic rate,” he said, adjusting his tie before lowering his voice. “Money’s on the table and our valuables are in the safe. He’s one of those Pogues…just watch him, you know how they are.” Hank warned quietly, but loud enough to assert dominance.

With a final kiss he was off, and you were left with the strange Pogue boy on the front porch. As odd as it sounded, perhaps the boy’s presence would be a blessing, for as much as you loved solitude, it was rather lonely at times. You supposed it would give you something to do.

“Blink twice if you need help,” a cool voice said, causing you to whip your head towards it. You hadn’t noticed that the blonde had been staring at you, nor that you’d been momentarily zoned out.

“Kidding, I know how you Kooks operate…” he said, vaguely judgmental as he stood to his feet. Even though he was on the step below you, you couldn’t help but notice that he was bigger than you, in height and muscle, making you step back in shock and bunching your robe up in your hands.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Lady. I’m just here for the money. ‘Names JJ by the way,” he said, and you were surprised to see him stick out his hand.

Regaining your senses, you shook it back, giving him your name and a soft smile. He didn’t respond, instead allowing for a smirk to appear across his face before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“So, uh, where d’ya want me to start?”

༼ ♰ ༽

The first time you’d had an unsavoury encounter with JJ Maybank had actually been later that day. The boy hadn’t been shy - in the slightest - about staring at you, peeking over the bushes as he watched you prune your bonsai on the deck, face as close as possible to its leaves as you made sure it was immaculate. Unfortunately, this had meant that you were hunched over, giving the blonde a view of the top of your cleavage; not enough to be considered adulterous, but enough to tempt him into some lewd thoughts.

You’d made eye contact with him, and he’d made no effort to break it with yours, instead smirking and flashing you a disingenuous nod. Pursing your lips, you remembered the look in his eye; as if he were trying to figure you out and yet simultaneously seeing right through you. Being a preacher's daughter, it was a look you’d been given a thousand times before, and yet you’d never been so unsure of its intentions until now. Perhaps it was because he was a Pogue boy, and you were a Kook housewife, alone in a house together whilst your husband was at least an hour away. You’d heard all the stories about their savagery; how life in The Cut was so brutal that everyone was on edge, just waiting for an opportunity to go off.

What was JJ capable of? Would you be a good enough wife and Catholic to withstand it?

More importantly, why did it worry you so?

“...The bush is lovely, by the way.”

His voice drew you from your thoughts.

“Excuse me?” you blinked.

“Your bush,” JJ said with a grin, pointing to the plant in front of you. “It’s all nice and shit. It’s trimmed perfectly,” he mused. “Either you’ve got a lot of time or you just have magic hands…That’s because of all your Jesus stuff, right?”

You sucked in a breath.

“I adore plants,” you said rather bluntly. “They keep me busy.”

“Funny. I usually prefer to smoke mine…I guess you don’t have much going on anyway,” he continued, dropping the hedge scissors to his side as he stopped his motions, giving you his full attention. “Other than what? Look pretty and have babies? You Kooks are swimming in so much you don’t even know where to begin ��“

“Are you rather done?” You interjected, ignoring the fact that he’d complimented you. “We’re not paying you to talk.”

JJ chuckled and scratched the back of his head, seemingly enjoying your outburst.

“Hey,” he shrugged. “What your old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

༼ ♰ ༽

The other time came after a particularly strenuous lunch with Hank’s parents at the country club. As expected, you were met with the question of grandchildren, to which all you could do was nod and drink your sweet tea, insisting that you were “praying to God”. Of course, that wasn’t an entire lie within itself, but the nature of your prayer was much more defamatory to their very son - something that would make your father’s head spin with utter disgust if he’d ever heard. All of the trying, near misses and downright failures were beginning to take a toll on you, and the deepest, most hidden parts of yourself were questioning whether you wanted a baby at all.

Sighing, you remembered how you barely had had a break, as the moment you’d taken your heels off JJ had arrived - surprisingly on time - ready to get to work. It had seemed like he’d just come from the beach; his signature cap jumbled around his blonde locks and his button up rather undone, exposing his toned chest. Whether it had been from the droplets of the ocean, or beads of sweat from the long journey up, you found yourself strangely enticed by the condensation on his chest, only visible when illuminated by the sun, as if it were his own spotlight.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” JJ nodded, flashing you one of his signature cheeky smiles. You mustered a soft, vaguely curt smile, instead taking interest in his necklace.

“Shark tooth,” he said, watching you with wide eyes. “I think it’s pretty cool, but I don’t think it would match with your getup…Those things eat girls like you alive,” he finished, running his tongue over his lips as he let out a smooth hum.

Surprisingly, you laughed.

“I’m not a girl, JJ,” you insisted. “I’m a woman,”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, shifting his weight as he glanced at you, a distant, but glossy look in his eye. “You may be married, but you’re still just a little girl playing make-believe…You and I both know something’s missing.” he finished assuredly, cocking a brow knowingly.

Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head.

“Nothing’s missing,” you said through gritted teeth. “And even if it were, it’s between me and my husband.”

“And God?”

You tutted.

“And God.”

You could hear him chuckle at this, and imagined his cheeky smile as you turned to make your way into the house, with JJ following after you, parting off into the garden as you disappeared into another room.

You didn’t know how long later; perhaps thirty minutes or five, but you found yourself by the window to the back door, watching JJ through the sheer curtains as you took in his physique, specifically his lithe fingers and firm grip as they pushed the lawnmower. For some reason, he’d stripped his shirt off, and there was no denying that the sight was making you forget about your terrible afternoon, much more causing a tingling in your loins. You knew all too well that it was the feeling of sin.

Distracted, you hadn’t realised that JJ had caught you looking. He grinned, nodding his head in your erection before he hunched over the handle, flexing his chest muscles in the process.

“I hope you don’t mind, it's pretty hot out here,” he shrugged, a brazen glimmer in his eye before he glanced down at his body, and back up at you. “Plus, I know you liked the look of my necklace, so…”

༼ ♰ ༽

“This is the third smoke sesh you’ve almost missed,” John B said, brow raised as Sarah nodded. “What’s up with that?”

JJ chuckled, shaking his head as he sat down on a chair next to Pope and leisurely cracked open a beer. Around him were faces of intrigue; though more concerned if anything (given his nature), and he tapped an index finger on his lips.

“Getting some of that sweet Kook cash, my friend,” he drawled. “You all should try it sometime,”

“Since when do you work overtime?” Kie snorted, cocking her head.

“Since the day I found out that the business dude's wife is a total MILF,” JJ shrugged, rolling a blunt. “And she’s not even pregnant yet!”

Kie and Sarah scoffed and rolled their eyes, with the tanned girl flicking her hair back before she spoke.

“You know she’s only like, 26, 27? Hank’s like 45 or something, it’s kinda weird…” Sarah said leisurely. “She seems sweet though, even if all the other wives are weird about her,”

JJ excitedly slapped the table before raising his hands in victory.

“So I’m in!” He declared before turning to Pope, who was, if not a little uncomfortable, certainly wide eyed. “I’m telling you, man, say the word and I can get you in on this. It’s like those movies, y’know? Except it’s way hotter because she’s like super religious and is practically a virgin…You should see the dresses she wears - oh, man - they’re like all girly and proper…She’s like the First Lady, bro — I’m telling you, I’m like, in love with her —“

Pope shook his head.

“...That’s not love, dude.”

“It’s gotta be, cause we haven’t even hooked up yet,”

“Yet? She’s married!” Kie exclaimed.

“Marriage doesn’t mean shit, trust me,” JJ shrugged, leaning back as his legs bounced uncontrollably. “I’m this close!” he said, making a motion with his fingers.

“Hank will literally kill you!” Pope spluttered. “And by de facto that probably means us too!”

JJ shrugged, thinking of the way the sweetheart neckline of your sundresses clung to your chest and rode ever so slightly up your thigh as you’d sit down.

“Hey, of all the ways I could die, that would definitely not be the worst,”

༼ ♰ ༽

“Did you take it properly?”

“Yes, Hank,” you sighed, masking your frustration as much as possible. “It’s negative. Perhaps we should wait a while, maybe a family isn’t part of our journey yet —“

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, wiping his hand across his mouth. “We’re inviting the pastor over this Sunday and we’re talking this out. It may be embarrassing but…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to listen to him much longer. What more was there to say? You’d tried every diet, been to every specialist and had tried some rather strenuous positions in bed all to knock you up, and yet somehow it was still a problem on your end. Hank was a stubborn man, and no amount of prayer would change that.

Instead, you noticed JJ, leisurely cutting at your rose bush as he listened into your conversation, his head cocked and jaw clenched. He was dressed in one of his vests; the sides split dangerously low as they exposed his muscular arms and toned stomach, and you hated how much you wanted Hank to leave right there and then so he could peel it off and work shirtless. From your usual view by the window you never noticed how impressive his legs were either; how his calves curved perfectly as they rose up and disappeared into the material of his shorts, nor how they rode up slightly when he’d bend down, exposing his large thighs. He reminded you of all those boys - the ‘charlatans’ who, according to your father, only wanted you for one thing.

It was painfully ironic that this was the one thing you were craving.

Hank was still talking - though the subject had inexplicably changed - when you noticed that JJ was staring at his index finger, squeezing it as red liquid oozed from his fingertip. Your eyes widened, and you seized the opportunity to finally send Hank away.

“Bandages are in the bathroom under the stairs,” you said, turning to the blonde, and breaking the older man from his thoughts. JJ nodded and walked off, all under the watchful eye of your husband.

“You shouldn’t let him in there alone,” he murmured, and you sighed, distracting yourself by fixing his collar.

“He’s been with us for three months now…I trust him,” you said softly with a shrug.

Hank grunted.

“Maybe if you stop talking, I could go in there and supervise him.” you said with a soft, inconspicuous chuckle. He seemed to get the point, and you quickly said your goodbyes, sending him off with a custom kiss to his lips. On all the other days you’d done this, it had felt special, but today it was noticeably empty. Perhaps you needed the pastor more than you’d thought.

As expected, JJ hadn’t returned outside, instead leaning over the marble countertops of your island, a bloodied tissue balled up in front of him. He looked a little different than he did in the direct sun; possibly due to the golden haze affecting your vision (and judgement), as the cool tones of the interior made the cerulean of his irises pop just a little more, showing off his pupils, widened under the wanting glaze in his eyes. You never felt scared around JJ - rather the opposite - but his fixed gaze and silence in the moment was particularly ominous.

“...How’s your hand?” you said, clearing your throat.

“Fine,” he mumbled, glancing down at them before looking up. “I’ve had worse,”

“Let me see,” you announced, walking around the island to sit next to him, closing the gap between you. You took his lithe fingers in your own, analysing how red and raw his knuckles were. For a young man, his hands were somewhat aged; likely because of his life as a rogue, which both somewhat scared you and made you sympathise with him more.

Fixating on his finger, you tried to ignore the way he leaned into you, shifting his weight so that he appeared taller, the warm skin of his arms pressing against your own. He smelt fresh, if not admittedly a little musty, and the smell mingled with your own daisy perfume, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’ve got a splinter,” you continued. “This has to be removed or it could get infected —“

“It’s not —“ JJ said defensively, and you cut him off with pleading eyes.

“Please, I insist,”

He softened, nodding his head before you moved around the room to find your first aid kit. You’d done it with such ease; as if you were some kind of Mary Poppins - or better yet the Virgin Mary - and he suddenly couldn’t seem to figure out whether he wanted to take advantage of your kindness, or be on the receiving end of it. As much as his cock throbbed at the idea of fucking the repressed, religious housewife and cucking her POS husband, he couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d fallen - literally and metaphorically - and all the times his ‘dad’ had hit on him, ultimately coming back to how much he’d needed someone to nurse his wounds. In an alternate world, you could’ve been that somebody, but he was lucky enough to have his friends.

Once you'd made your way back to him, you sat down on one of the stools, careful as you handled his slightly swollen finger, going through the motions of wiping it with antiseptic before you began to poke at the skin with tweezers.

Moments passed, and you’d spent it in silence.

“Any luck?” JJ perked up.

You nodded and wiped the tweezers on a section of gauze.

“It’s all out now, just make sure it’s cov—“

“With the baby,” he said, cutting you off. Your blood ran cold, and you dropped his hand, staring him in the eye. Part of you was mortified, no matter how obvious it had been that JJ was listening in earlier.

“That is far too inappropriate to talk about with you,” you stammered.“And it’s really none of your business,”

JJ pursed his lips and flexed his limbs as he watched you scramble. It was as if this were amusing to him.

“My bad,” he snorted. “I just think he’s an asshole, y’know, and you’re so good to me…” he said, pausing to run his tongue over his lips as he stared at you. “Other than the money, why are you with him? Isn’t the whole point of the Bible to be nice to people and stuff?”

Pitifully, you chuckled at his childishness as you shook your head.

“It’s also about being a provider. He loves me, JJ, he really does —“

“Yeah, ‘cause you being a virgin had nothing to do with it…” he spat, causing you to anxiously tug at your crucifix, “He can’t even give you a baby,”

“…I mean, that’s the thing you want most, right? What does it say that he can’t even give that to you?”

The statement rang true in your head as you ran your palms down the sides of your sundress, strangely desperate to hit something. Was that the right emotion? You couldn’t tell; you just knew that your body was hot, your heart racing as the pulse of blood flooded your ears, and there was an inexplicable urge to surrender, even though you wanted to run. You couldn’t even face the boy as you spoke, instead beginning to make your way out of the room.

“JJ…I-I think you should go…” you stammered, burying your face in your hands as you left, the sound of JJ’s boots hitting your marble floors telling you that you weren’t going to be alone anytime soon. He shook his head and bit his lip in frustration as he followed after you into the sunroom.

“Hey, wait — fuck — I didn’t mean —“

“JJ please!” You begged, facing him as your chest heaved and your eyes were as wide as saucers. You shouldn’t have strolled into here; the heat that poured in from the glass was unbearable, and you longed to open the doors and indulge in the feeling of cool air. If you could just do that, perhaps you’d feel better? If not, you’d certainly be seeing the Reverend about a dip in the water of penance.

Either way, everything was too much, and you had no clue about just how much worse things were about to get.

“You’re not crying, are you?”

“No,” you sighed. “I-I just feel awful. I’m a horrible person, I’m going to hell, I –”

You wanted to fight against the fact that JJ had pulled you into a hug, but as you buried your face into his neck you felt otherwise. There was something strangely arousing about his musky smell, and judging by the feeling of his cock against your thigh, he felt the same.

As if you didn’t know that.

“Shh, it’s okay…You’re fine…” he whispered, pulling away to glance down at you, gauging your reaction. “Let me take care of you…”

“JJ, I can’t —“

Your words were swallowed by his kiss; his lips hungry as they attacked your own, whilst his hands invaded your body, planting themselves on your hips before moving down to grope your ass. You let out a soft moan as he gave it a gentle squeeze before he made his way back up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. He pulled away, eyes burning into your own longingly, yet still a little dumbfounded; and stayed there, his grip unwavering.

“I’m dying for you, Mama,” he said earnestly, gaze flickering down to your heaving bosom, your crucifix twinkling in the sunlight. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, ‘kay?”

You nodded as you peeled the straps of your dress down your shoulders, heart pounding as you revealed yourself to a man who was not your husband - and yet it felt like your wedding night all over again.

JJ sucked in a breath as he watched you undress, unable to hide his smirk as he shifted off his shorts with ease and palmed his cock through his boxers. He could see the outline of your nipples peeking through the lacy, baby pink material, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself once he had his hands on you. Fuck, he could barely even do it now.

“C’mere,” he commanded, silver rings glistening as he beckoned you over. A heat began to pool in your stomach as you walked over to him; sensually, reverently, skin breaking into goosebumps as his fingers danced along the skin of your back, swiftly unhooking the material of your bra. You were straddling him now, running your fingers through his tousled hair as you kissed him, gently grinding along his clothed cock and making JJ let out a soft groan. He revelled in the feeling of your warm skin against his own, and slid his hands down your body to grasp your hips, pushing them down with gentle force against his pelvis.

“JJ…” you gasped. Your heart fluttered, not ready to accept the fact that you were about to take another man’s cock - one that was longer, and probably far more satisfactory. “It’s –”

He shushed you again.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you…Just let go…”

You couldn’t deny how good the act of dry humping felt, the folds of your aching clit tangible through the sheer material of your panties as his cock traced and embedded on your core; a blob of precum spreading across your inner thighs. JJ’s pink lips were latched onto your nipple, sucking and biting at your skin, determined to leave a mark.

He wanted your husband to see that his property had been defiled - by a Pogue boy no less - all under the watchful eye of God.

After a few moments, he flipped you, your head falling to the other side of the couch as you now found him on top of you, his necklace dangling in your face as he gazed down at you.

“ ‘He ever eaten you out before?” he said snarkily.

“…Huh?”

“Didn’t think so,”

Before you knew it, he’d disappeared between your legs, sliding your panties down in a swift manner and burying his tongue inside of you. He hadn’t given you any warning, but the hot, wet sensation was surprisingly pleasurable.

JJ was touching you like no man had ever before; using his mouth and hands to explore your crevice, flicking and lapping at the obscene amount of juices that coated your folds. You whimpered and gripped a pillow, frantic to find some sense of security - only for JJ to pull it from you, tossing it to the other side of the room.

“Nuh-uh,” he began, his voice muffled. “Fuck the pillow. You hold onto me, baby…” he drawled, a hand sliding under your ass and onto the curve of your lower back to angle you higher; silver rings digging into your skin as he held you there. Biting your lip, you fought the urge to blaspheme and laced your fingers through his hair, digging at his roots as he fucked you with his tongue, searching for that oh-so sweet spot.

“You taste so good, Mama…” JJ cooed, lost in your walls, borderline breathless from the way you were squeezing his head between your thighs and drawing him deeper. “…I bet that pussy feels like heaven,”

Perhaps it was the mention of paradise, but his dirty talk sent you over the edge. It was as if you’d been shocked; as if an electrifying pulse of light had run through you, making your back arch and toes curl, swallowing JJ’s face whole.

It was incredibly obscene.

You’d barely caught your breath when JJ had climbed back up, indulging you in a passionate kiss and smearing your juices all over your face. Tracing your fingers down his spine, you didn’t break eye contact with him as you pushed down his boxers with one hand and palming his aching cock. It was somewhat heavy with a considerable length, and he chuckled as you shut your eyes and said a silent prayer - not only for what you were about to do, but just how much you were going to enjoy it.

“Hold still,” JJ commanded, breaths shaky as he began to push into you. “‘Imma give you what you want baby…Fuck –”

JJ was loud, but you didn’t care.

It was all too overstimulating; from the dull pain that came from your legs spread so pornographically as they dangled off of his shoulders, to the sound of his pelvis slapping against your own as he rutted into you. You left graceful scars along his back as your manicured nails dug into his sun-kissed skin, crawling at him as you begged for him to go deeper.

“You like this, huh? I know Jesus probably wouldn’t be too happy about this, but pretty girls like you deserve to get what they want…Shit…” he groaned, sliding in and out of you with ease. “Besides, if I give you a baby it’s just me being a good neighbour, right?”

A baby.

That had been the whole reason for your foul mood as of late.

Would Hank ever know? Could you explain it away? How could you function with JJ still around? Your family, your friends…God? How could you ever atone for such a sin?

Realistically, none of that mattered now. Especially not when JJ was fucking you like a rabbit; his hair buried in the crook of your neck and his legs bent as he pressed you into the sofa, yearning to consume you.

“JJ…” you whined, “I think I’m gonna –”

“Shit, me too baby,” he groaned. “This pussy is so fucking good…Just swallowing me up ‘n shit — I should’ve started working earlier…”

His balls were slapping against your skin now, and you began to see white as he fucked into you, his tip hitting your sweet spot and making you clench around him, legs trembling as you came. It wasn’t too long until he followed after you, your clear juices mixing with his hot cum as he continued to fuck you, rolling his hips in a slow but sensual manner as he made sure you felt - and were filled - with every inch of him.

Which was why it wasn’t surprising that you found yourself pregnant two weeks later.

EPILOGUE.

#florence writes!!#jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx smut #obx x reader #jj maybank x reader smut #catholic! reader #religion kink #obx imagine

295 notes · View notes

ingravinoveritas · 9 months ago

Note

So came I came across this repost from Al that a fan posted yesterday to which she reposted and to have her say and ad I much I can see she trying to defend ms with the radio getting his name wrong it a common thing for poor ms and I don't think this personally was the guys fault and I think they was reading from a script which I think most radio presenters have I think.

But the thing I noticed also was yes she was trying to defend her parter but also seems complaining that she and the children have to endure listening to the station in the car all the time and that like a another red flag like they literally have nothing in common and I'm still wondering why they still together. Cos I've noticed since michael been London he seems alot happier and heathly cos he closer to his best friend and beaming also. Can we have him stay permanently in London and not go bk to Wales in May.

What ur thoughts on this repost for Al I would to hear

(Grouping these together for ease of answering.)

I had this sent to me a little while ago and I'm...well, it takes a lot to floor me these days, especially in this fandom, but...I think this did it. Because there is so much going on here, and almost none of it is good.

On the surface, I know this very much looks like AL defending Michael, but I do not think that's what this was about at all. I think she saw BBC Radio 6 tagged in the original tweet and saw an opportunity to gain attention due to the proximity of a high-profile account. The way she did it, however, was by making something related to Michael about her. Again. And again, the wording of this retweet takes it from AL defending him to something else entirely.

Saying that she has to "endure" Michael listening to this radio show in the car is just a terrible look, as if listening to something he enjoys is so unbearably awful, and that she only puts up with because she's stuck in a car with him. It feels like she's literally complaining about Michael under the pretense of defending him, and I don't know how she (or anyone else) thinks this is okay.

The thing is, the whole "Martin Sheen" thing has become a running joke precisely because Michael has been dealing with this not just for his whole career, but his entire life. It's something he has frequently talked about, and I can imagine that it has been challenging on so many levels, but Michael also knows that Martin Sheen has been in the business for 60 years, and more than that, he is also a fan of Martin's. He's even talked about being introduced to him at a party years ago (I can't remember by whom, but Michael described the person as saying "Mr. President, meet Mr. Prime Minister"--referring to Martin and Michael's roles in The West Wing and The Queen, respectively).

So yes, the overarching point is that Michael doesn't blame Martin Sheen for these repeated mix-ups, and actually respects him as an actor and person. And when he has felt annoyed about this happening (as he did in 2020 when an ITV announcer called him the wrong name prior to a new episode of Quiz), Michael has had no problem calling it out himself on his own social media. Which speaks to your point @thetardisisblueandroseistoo about her trying to speak on Michael's behalf, and again doing a miserable job of it.

Also, what Michael hasn't done--and I suspect would be horrified at Anna doing--is go after the hosts of a show that he just appeared on yesterday. Particularly a show with hosts he is a tremendous fan of, as he spent a good portion of his appearance gushing about them and how much he enjoys listening to the show. I think he would more than understand the one host making this mistake--given his age and how much more embedded Martin Sheen is in pop culture--and would certainly exercise a lot more graciousness than to write a nasty tweet like the one AL did above.

That's the best way I can describe it: Shades of what we saw in the Insta story from last week, with that same self-aggrandizing, passive-aggressive (and now also kind of bitter) tone. There are a hundred other ways she could have responded to this, yet what she chose was to get in a dig at Michael, plus QT a fan tweet so that it could be misconstrued as her yelling at the fan. And again, in the cases where Michael has called out announcers or others for getting his name wrong, it's because he felt he deserved to have his name said correctly. In this case, however, it seems that AL wants the presenter to get Michael's name right because not doing so is an inconvenience to her.

Those were my impressions of AL's tweet, at any rate. All I can say is that from my perspective, if this was her attempting to defend Michael, it could not have been more backhanded. Glad to hear from my followers as well about your thoughts on this. Thanks for writing in! x

#angel19924 #thetardisisblueandroseistoo #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #at this point i honestly do not understand why she is even still with him #when it seems like she can't stand anything about him #also every time she posts something now it just seems to get more awful #i don't even know anymore #there was just no reason for any of this #and yet #anna lundberg #discourse

82 notes · View notes

ellswritings · 11 days ago

Text

Wolf’s Bane 1x09

Episode 10

A pair of headlights flash into Fallon’s eyes as she roughly turns the wheel to Derek’s sleek black Camaro. Stiles is in the seat next to her, Scott in the back. She’s pushing around sixty miles per hour in a twenty-five mile zone, but with the person in the large SUV behind them, she’s getting dangerously close to just flooring it.

“Fallon, if you could stop driving like a freaking grandmother, that would be great!” Stiles chides sarcastically.

“If I go any faster, I’m gonna flip, Stiles!” She snaps, turning a sharp corner causing the car to lift up on one side slightly. “Besides, I am not crashing Derek’s car. He would have my head on a stick!”

The brunette and Scott had managed to make up not long after the full moon. While the words he said still stung, his apology was pretty awesome. He showed up to her house with a bouquet of moonflowers, her favorite, and a whole box of pizza for them to share. He also spent ninety percent of the night groveling and telling her to slap him for what he said, which she never did, but she appreciated the sentiment.

Hence why she’s now part of some elaborate plan to confuse the police and hunters of Derek’s whereabouts. The three teens are driving his car while Derek chases after the Alpha as the police are chasing him. But they are also chasing the trio. They don’t know how the plan came into action, but it’s way too late to stop now.

“Fallon, I really don’t think you’re grasping the concept of a car chase, here!” Stiles yells at her again.

“I’m not going any faster! It’ll kill us,” she tries to reason with him.

“Well, if you don’t go any faster, they’re gonna kill us!” He turns to point to the hunters chasing them, but the SUV seems to have disappeared. “They’re gone.”

“Damn it,” Fallon grumbles, taking that as her sign to floor it. “Derek, if I crash your car… please don’t kill me,” she whispers.

Stiles turns his police radio on and the voice of his father echoes through the car, “All units, suspect is on foot, heading into the iron works.”

“Copy that,” the girl replies, speeding up before turning down a dark alleyway she knows leads to the iron works. They see a small explosion and a few hunters loading their weapons as Derek lays on the ground. The brunette rolls down the passenger side window, forcing Stiles into the back as she skids to an unsafe stop. “Get in!” She yells.

Shots are fired as the werewolf runs as fast as he can, jumping expertly through the small window and sliding in next to Fallon. She pushes her foot to the floor as bullets bounce off the side of the Camaro. The tires screech loudly as she zooms out of the iron works. “Oh so now you go over a hundred,” Stiles snarks. “Just because Derek’s in the car?”

“No, you idiot. Because we’re being shot at!” She yells, while glaring at him through the rearview mirror. “Now shut up and let me drive,”

“God, Derek, what part of laying low don’t you understand?” Scott asks frustratedly.

“Damn it, I had him!” Derek exclaims, completely ignoring Scott.

“Who?” Stiles leans forward from his spot beside Scott. “The Alpha?”

“Yes!” Derek scoffs impatiently. “He was right in front of me, and the freakin’ police showed up,” he growls under his breath out of pure annoyance.

“Whoa! Hey, they’re just doing their jobs–” Stiles tries to defend his fathers and his deputies choice of profession, but is cut off by Derek throwing a glare his way.

“Yeah, thanks to someone who decided to make me the most wanted fugitive in the entire state!” Derek snaps sarcastically. Stiles opens and closes his mouth, not knowing how to defend himself. Scott has his guilty face on while Fallon puts her finger up, offended.

“Okay, first of all, I never agreed with anything they said to the police. I just said I wanted to go home. Your name never came out of my mouth,” she argues.

“Both hands on the wheel!” Derek yells at her, gripping her right hand and placing it firmly around the steering wheel.

“Stop yelling at me!” Fallon screams back at him, making the man raise his eyebrows at her.

“Did you really just yell at me to get me to stop yelling at you?”

“Okay!” Stiles cuts them both off. “Can we get back on track please? You said you had the Alpha. How did you find him?”

Derek stays silent, not revealing his information to any of them. Scott scoffs at his immature behavior, “Can you trust us for at least half a second.”

“No,” he responds bluntly.

“Fallon? Can you trust Fallon?” Stiles asks quickly.

“Yes.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. His brain short circuits before he grips onto the head of Derek’s chair. “Are you serious? You trust her? He asks offendedly. “How about all three of us?”

“Or just me,” Fallon smiles smugly at Stiles through the rearview mirror. “We all know he’s not gonna trust you guys any time soon. So why don’t we just let him explain?”

Derek nods, turning to physically only address Fallon. “Look, the last time I talked to my sister, she was close to figuring something out. She found two things. The first was a guy named Harris.”

Harris. As in Adrian Harris? Their chemistry teacher? While she would love to believe that he’s a murderous Alpha werewolf so there could be a reason to explain his rude behavior, he just doesn’t seem like the supernatural type. The man himself is a jerk, but not enough to be running around at night killing people. In fact, he seems like the person to be more afraid of a werewolf rather than being one. Or is that what the Alpha wants them all to think?

“Our chemistry teacher?” Stiles asks in just as much disbelief as Fallon.

The girl turns the car down another quiet side road as Scott furrows his eyebrows, “Why him?”

“I don’t know yet,” Derek answers.

“What’s the second thing?” Fallon asks, briefly looking towards Derek.

Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded up piece of paper. He unfolds it so they can all see it clearly and holds it up for them to see. It’s a wolf inside of what could possibly be a pendant. “Some kind of symbol,” Derek says. When Scott gets a good look at it, he groans quietly, rolling his eyes. “What? You know what this is?” The man questions aggressively, needing answers sooner rather than later.

“I’ve seen it on a necklace,” Scott sighs. “Allison’s necklace.”

“Oh, what a relief,” Fallon snarks. “That shouldn’t pose an issue.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Scott pushes the door to the high school open, Fallon and Stiles following behind him. The werewolf huffs, “This is gonna be impossible, you know.” He tells them pessimistically.

“Why can’t one of you two just ask her to borrow it?” Stiles suggests. “I mean, she doesn’t hate Fallon.”

“It would still raise a couple of questions if I just randomly asked for her necklace, Stiles,” Fallon points out. “Her family barely trusts me as it is.”

“Weren’t you over there just the other day?” The boy questions.

“Yes,” Fallon nods. “But that doesn’t mean they’re gonna be totally fine with me just taking Allison’s necklace. They’ll want an explanation.”

“So just lie,” Stiles shrugs. “You’re good at that.”

“Thank you?” She furrows her eyebrows. “But I’m still not gonna do it. Her mom scares me.”

Stiles groans overdramatically, throwing his head back, “Scott?” He asks hopefully.

“How would I even get it from her?”

“It's easy! You just say, ‘Hey, Allison, can I borrow your necklace to see if there's anything on it or in it that can lead me to an Alpha Werewolf that I need to kill in order to get back together with you?’” Stiles answers unseriously.

“You’re not helping,” Scott glares at him.

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

“She won’t talk to me,” Scott huffs. “What if she, like, only takes it off in the shower or something?”

“That's why you ease… that's why you ease back into it, okay?” He pats Scott’s shoulders. “Get back on her good side. Remind her of the good times. And then you ask for the necklace.“

Fallon can see the distant look on Scott’s eyes, “You’re thinking about her in the shower aren’t you?” She asks monotonously.

“…Yeah,” he admits sheepishly.

“All right. Stay focused, okay?” Stiles shakes him straight. “Get the necklace. Get the Alpha. Get cured. Get Allison. In that order. Got it?”

Scott nods, “Get the necklace.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The school day had been pretty uneventful for Fallon. She had gone to her classes as normal, finished some homework, read a couple chapters of her book, and doodled in some of her notebooks. She thought she’d be able to get through the whole day with something terrible happening, until Scott came up to her and Stiles and informed them that Jackson “knows what he is.”

“How the hell did he even find out?” The girl asks questioningly. “What could’ve given it away?”

“I have no idea,” Scott replies nervously.

“Did he say it out loud?” Stiles waves his hands around worriedly. “The word?”

“What word?”

“Werewolf,” Stiles whispers loud enough for only them to hear. “Did he say ‘I know you’re a werewolf?’”

“No,” Scott sighs impatiently. “But he implied it pretty freaking clearly!”

“Okay, maybe it’s not as bad as we’re making it out to be,” Fallon says calmly. “I mean, he doesn’t technically have any proof of it, right?”

“Exactly,” Stiles nods. “And if he wanted to tell someone, who would believe him, anyway?”

“How about Allison’s father?” Scott says pointedly. He’s right. If Jackson were to tell Chris or Kate for that matter, Scott would have to go into hiding for the rest of his life.

“…Okay, it’s bad,” Fallon rubs the back of her neck.

“I need a cure– right now,” Scott insists desperately.

“Does he know about Allison’s father?” Stiles looks at Scott curiously.

“I don’t know.”

Stiles puts his hand out, stopping Fallon and Scott from moving any further. “Okay, where’s Derek?” He questions, wondering if the older man could be of some assistance.

“Hiding like we told him to,” Fallon answers with a shrug. “Why?”

“I have another idea…” he says mischievously. “It’s gonna take a little time and finesse, though.”

Fallon bites the inside of her cheek. Time and finesse with Stiles usually means something that is bordering illegal. The last time he used those specific words was when he wanted to take Fallon to the candy store downtown at one in the morning and lower her down through the air ducts because they were closed. His reasoning was “I really want salt water taffy.”

“Stiles, we have the quarterfinals tonight,” Fallon reminds him seriously. “And keep in mind, it’s also your first game. We can’t do anything to risk that, especially since your dad is coming.”

“I know, I know…” he waves her off, but she knows that with whatever he’s planning, something could definitely go wrong. He looks back at Scott, “Look do you have a plan for Allison yet?”

“She’s in my next class.”

Stiles pats his shoulder, “Get the necklace.” He grabs Fallon’s hand, pulling her along behind him, “And you are coming with me.”

Fallon’s heart sinks as she realizes now that she must be an instrumental part in his scheme. She turns back to Scott and mouths, ‘help me.’

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

“You sent her romantic photos of the two of you?” Fallon asks in disbelief as she sits down in her seat at the lunch table across from Scott, Stiles sitting next to her. Allison had just ran to Fallon in complete tears, pulling her out of her class. Scott had sent her photos of them being close and lovey with each other which only made the poor girl feel guilty for her decision. While Fallon believes she was a bit over dramatic and rash in deciding to break up with Scott, he took the absolute wrong route to try and get the necklace. “What the hell were you thinking? I mean, there’s no way you actually thought that would get her to give you the necklace.”

“I didn’t even think it was that bad,” Scott frowns. “I thought it was sweet.”

Scott, she already feels like crap for dumping you,” Fallon points out. “Sending her those photos was like a punch to the gut. No wonder she told you not to talk to her anymore. There were so many better ways to have handled that.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he says quietly. “I really thought it was a nice gesture.”

“…So, she’s not giving you the necklace?” Stiles brings up awkwardly.

“She’s not giving me the necklace,” Scott answers quickly and irritably, angry that’s the only part Stiles seems to care about.

“Did you find anything else out?” Stiles asks, taking a decent bite out of his cheeseburger.

Scott looks to the roof frustratedly, “Just that I know nothing about girls, and that they’re totally psychotic.”

Fallon takes a bite of her peanut butter and jelly with a sarcastic nod, “Right, we’re psychotic when you're the one who thought it would be a great idea to send romantic photos to your ex-girlfriend to get her necklace. When instead you could’ve just said ‘hey, I don’t mean to be weird, I know we’re broken up, but I just wanted to say that’s a really cool pendant.’ But y’know, why would you want to do that? That would just be too easy.”

Stiles nods along with her words, Scott glaring at him slightly. “Okay, I came up with a Plan B just in case something like this happened,” he reveals.

“What’s Plan B?”

“Just steal the stupid thing!” He says bluntly, moving to open his drink.

“Why wasn’t that Plan A?” Fallon furrows her eyebrows. “I could’ve done that, easy.” It’s true. She and Allison have gym together, so when they were changing she could’ve easily gotten it off of her. Not that she likes to make a habit out of stealing people’s things, but this is for the greater good of Scott’s life.

“Do we really think that’s the best way?” Scott asks unsurely. “Couldn’t we at least try getting to Harris?”

Stiles shakes his head, “My dad put him under a twenty-four hour protective detail, okay? The necklace is all we got. Steal it,” he commands. “Thank you. Better it be you than Fallon who’s apparently itching to steal something,” he sends her a weird look.

“Okay, I’m not itching,” she defends herself. “I just like to steal sometimes. It makes my heart go fast.”

“I don’t know if I want to call you adorable or scary,” Stiles stares at her.

The three of them continue eating their lunch. Fallon steals one of Stiles’ fries while he takes one of her cookies. The two of them don’t notice Scott’s uncomfortability until he shifts in his seat to look at them, “Guys, he’s watching us.” He nods his head towards a table in the distance.

Fallon and Stiles look up, noticing Jackson staring at them with a smug smirk. It sends chills down her skin the way his predatory gaze is stuck on them. Ever since Scott’s made it onto Coach’s radar, Jackson has been absolutely insufferable. He really wasn’t that bad before, but now she questions why she even became friends with him in the first place.

“I wanna punch him,” she mumbles. “… again. But this time harder. Like I want to break his nose.” She glares at Jackson, but the blonde isn’t focused enough on her to see her anger.

“Okay…” Stiles places a hesitant hand on her back, rubbing it up and down. “Easy there killer.”

The two of them notice Scott zoning out and going slightly pale. Stiles leans forward, “What’s wrong?”

“Jackson's talking to me,” Scott tells them worriedly. He scoots forward in his seat, panicking as he tries to get closer to his best friends. “He knows I can hear him. Look at me. Just talk to me. Act normal. Pretend that nothing's happening.”

“Just let me go over there and punch him,” Fallon begs. “Seriously, I’ll get him to stop talking. Maybe I can take Stiles with me and he can kill him with his sarcasm and supernatural ability to annoy people.”

“Hey!” The boy smacks her, offended.

“Would one of you guys just say something!” Scott whispers. “Just talk to me!”

“I can’t think of anything– my mind’s completely blank,” Stiles sets his water bottle down.

Scott looks at him baffled, “Your mind is blank? You can’t think of something to say?”

Stiles defends himself, “Not under this kind of pressure.”

“Technically we are talking to you,” Fallon says pointedly. “Your stiff posture is what’s giving it away.” She glances back up and furrows her brows, “And he’s not even sitting there anymore.”

Scott spins around quickly, noting the blonde’s absence. His concern grows, “Where the hell is he?”

“Looking for me, McCall? I'm right here. So, what else can you do? Huh? Can you see better? Are you stronger, more powerful? No, I knew there was no way you suddenly got that good at lacrosse... Which means you're actually a cheater, aren't you? I mean, can you even play lacrosse?”

“Yes,” Scott mutters defensively out of nowhere. He squeezes the water bottle in his hand so tightly that his whole arm begins to shake.

Fallon reaches forward, encasing her hands around his, “Scott…” she warns. “Don’t feed into it. Ignore him.”

“I'll bet my new co-captain's gonna score a bunch of shots tonight, aren't you? And while you're pretending you're not a lying cheat, I'm gonna ruin your life if you don't give me what I want. And you know what I'm gonna start with? Her.”

Scott��s entire body goes rigid. Fallon wishes she could hear what antagonizing words Jackson’s saying to him. “Scott, what’s going on?” Stiles asks, concerned. “What’s happening?”

“Talk to us,” Fallon begs, trying to pull him out of whatever angry trance he’s in. “What is he saying to you?”

He stays completely silent, only listening to Jackson’s mumbling. Stiles snaps his fingers in front of Scott’s face, but it doesn’t even earn a blink from the zoned out boy. The two friends try to search the lunch room, but Jackson is nowhere to be found.

“I'm gonna destroy any chance you'll ever have with her. And, when I'm done with that, I'm gonna get her all alone, and I'm gonna get my hands all over that tight little body.”

Scott’s hand quakes violently as he brings his water bottle up to his mouth, taking a sip to try and calm himself down. Fallon’s leg bounces up and down as she watches Scott with troubled eyes. Is he going to turn in the middle of the lunch room? Or just go and murder Jackson?

Stiles leans closer to his best friend, “Scott, come on, you can’t let him do this. You can’t let him have this kind of power over you, okay?”

“I'm gonna do everything you never got the chance to do, and Scott? She's gonna beg for more.”

Scott is now gripping his plastic tray with a deadly amount of force. His face is starting to flush red with anger as the plastic in his hands begins to crack under the pressure.

“I bet she likes to get loud. Maybe she's even a screamer. How are you gonna feel, Scott... When she's screaming my name?”

Fallon and Stiles grip onto each other as the tray finally snaps in half, causing his plate to fall with a loud crash onto the table. Pretty much every head in the lunch room turned to look at them. Fallon’s lips form in a tight line as she raises her hand to dismiss their new audience.

“Proceed with your business,” she says. “We’re fine… everything is just fine,” she mumbles the last part quietly, but Stiles and Scott know that they are so far from fine.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

“I don’t understand why my presence is required for you to look up what Allison’s pendant means,” Fallon tells Stiles as she enters his room behind him, flopping down on his bed like she usually does.

“Because you’re better at taking notes than I am,” he shrugs as if it’s obvious. “And I didn’t wanna do it by myself… so there’s that.” He waves his hand in the air, “And I’m feeding your sorry ass, so don’t act like it’s that big of a burden.”

“True,” Fallon sighs contently. “I suppose I can’t complain.”

“Exactly,” Stiles nods. “Y’know what’s really funny? Normally dogs are either food or toy motivated, but it seems I’ve found a human that’s also motivated by food.”

“Are you calling me a dog?” She sits up, glaring daggers at him.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m just saying you have dog-like tendencies.”

“You may be right,” she admits gruffly. “I’m starting to get the urge to attack.” The two of them make prolonged eye contact before she surges forward making the boy flinch with a small yelp. She throws her head back, cackling loudly at his fear of her.

She’s still laughing when Noah calls out for his son, “Hey, Stiles!”

Fallon sits up from her spot, but her eyes turn as wide as saucers when she sees Derek Hale staring directly at her, “Holy shi–” she tries to scream.

She’s swiftly cut off by Derek picking her up from the bed and pulling her out of sight behind the slightly ajar door. He slaps a hand over her mouth, pushing her body into the wall. He cages her in, one arm on the side of her head while his one hand remains on her mouth. She squirms under his hold making him tighten his grip.

“Relax,” he whispers through clenched teeth. “Don't say a word.”

Stiles barely turns, not even hearing the sudden commotion behind him. “Yo, D–” He jumps slightly when he sees his best friend pinned to the door, “Derek?”

The brooding man moves his free hand in front of his lips, using his finger to signal Stiles to shut up. He could have easily done that to Fallon, but apparently that would’ve been too easy. He uses the same finger to point to the halfway open door as the sheriff comes up to talk to his son.

Stiles sends Fallon a panicked look before stumbling over to the door, shutting it a bit more behind him so his father can’t see the poor girl being shoved against his bedroom wall. The door rattles on its hinges making Derek roll his eyes.

“What’d you say?” They hear the sheriff say.

Stiles tries to play it cool, “What? I said, ‘Yo, D–Dad,” he scoffs out a laugh as if it was obvious.

“Is Fallon here?” He wonders. “I thought I heard the two of you come in together.”

“Uh. Y-Yeah, she’s here. In my room…” Stiles stutters awkwardly. “Just studying and stuff. Y’know, ‘cause she’s smart.”

Fallon cringes at his rambling. Sheriff Stilinski sends his son a small grin, “You ever gonna tell that poor girl how you feel about her?”

Fallon and Stiles’ eyes shoot wide open at the sentence. Stiles splutters profusely while Fallon simply glares at Derek who has an amused eyebrow raised. Still not a hint of a smile though.

“I’m sorry, what?!” His son shakes his head. “No. No, no, no, no. Fallon and me– just friends. No feelings. In fact, I don’t even think she’s a girl. She doesn’t count.”

“Yeah,” Noah nods skeptically. “That's what they all say.“ He shakes off the playfully tone before sighing, “Anyway, listen, I’ve got something that I’ve got to take care of, but I’m gonna be there tonight,” he promises. “I mean, your first game!”

Fallon huffs under Derek’s hand which still hasn’t moved. It’s Stiles’ first game, and the semifinal, and he ends up getting stuck trying to figure out all this werewolf drama for Scott. He deserves a chance to play in the spotlight for once. Scott better get that necklace, if not for himself, then at least for Stiles’ sake. At this rate, especially with Derek here, she doesn’t even think she’ll be able to play tonight.

Stiles nods his head up and down, “My first game!” Stiles repeats with a small fist bump into the air. She couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or actual excitement, but knowing Stiles and their current situation, it’s probably the former. “Guh– it’s great! Awesome. Uh, good!”

“I’m very happy for you,” Noah smiles genuinely. “And I’m really proud of you.”

Fallon expected Stiles to just thank his dad or say ‘I love you,’ but she should’ve known better. “Thanks… Me too. I’m happy and proud… of myself.”

“So, they’re really gonna let you play, right?” Noah asks unsurely, still having a hard time grasping the concept of his son being first line.

Stiles beams, “Yeah, Dad– I’m first line. Believe that?”

Noah nods, “I’m very proud.”

“Oh, me too,” Stiles says with a rushed smile. “Again, I’m–”

Sheriff Stilinski leans forward, pulling Stiles in for the most awkward hug Fallon has ever witnessed. They pay each other on the back, “Huggie, huggie…” Stiles mutters weirdly. “Huggie.”

“Idiot,” Fallon says, still muffled by Derek’s hand.

Noah looks at his son oddly but nonetheless nods, “See you there,” he waves at his son before taking off down the stairs. Fallon lets out a breath of relief as Derek lets her go. She lightly pushes him out of her way, glaring at him as she goes to move. She gasps though as Stiles closes the door, Derek taking the opportunity to then pin him to it.

She gapes at him, “What is with you and pinning people to things?”

Derek ignores her, snarling at Stiles as he goes to open his mouth. “If you say one word–”

“Oh, what? You mean like, ‘Hey dad, Derek Hale’s in my room. Bring your gun?!’” Stiles cuts him off sassily. Derek falters for a moment, realizing that Stiles does technically have the power in this situation. They told him to hide, but he chose to come to the Sheriff’s house. The only thing protecting him right now is Stiles’ silence. “Yeah, that’s right. If I’m harboring your fugitive ass, it’s my house,” he slaps Derek’s chest cockily making Fallon smirk, “my rules, buddy.”

Derek clenches his jaw. He remains silent, but eventually he slowly nods, releasing his tight grip on Stiles. He pulls down the boy's jacket to rearrange it from where he pulled it out of proportion during his attempt at threatening him. Stiles huffs out a laugh, and being his usual self, does the same for Derek's leather jacket

That earns a menacing jerk of the head from Derek causing Stiles to flinch similarly to when Fallon pretended to surge at him earlier. “Oh my God!” He says fearfully before returning to his desk.

Fallon stays on Stiles’ bed, glancing at Derek every few seconds to make sure he doesn’t try to pin her to the wall again. Her mind is still a little fuzzy from the first time. Whether it be from the lack of oxygen or because she secretly enjoyed it, they’ll never know.

“Scott didn’t get the necklace?” Derek asks, following Stiles over to his laptop.

“No. He's still working on it. But, there's something else we can try.” He spins in his chair to face Derek. “The night we were trapped at the school, Scott sent a text to Allison asking her to meet him there.”

“So? Derek shrugs, not seeing how that pertains to their current issue.

“So…” Fallon leans forward in a patronizing tone, almost as if she were explaining it to a child, “It wasn’t Scott.”

Derek glances at her like he wants to throw her through a wall rather than pin her to it. “Well, can you guys find out who sent it?” He questions aggressively.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “At least not one of us,” he points between himself and Fallon. “But I think I know someone who can…”

Stiles pulls out his phone and as soon as she sees the smirk on Stiles’ face and the words “lab work” come out of his mouth, she already knew who he was calling.

Danny.

He probably has no clue that Stiles knows about his previous run-ins with the law. The only reason Fallon knows is because he and her are really close. She’s pretty sure the only people he’s told are her and Jackson. She groans, “Stiles, you can’t just ambush him like this.”

“Do you have a better idea?” He scoffs.

“Uh, yeah,” she nods. “Just tell him you need a favor and that you’ll owe him one. He’s a pretty easy going guy if you haven’t noticed.”

“This is more fun,” Stiles shrugs. His phone pings with a message from Danny, “I’ll be right back. He’s here.” Stiles runs out of the room, leaving Derek and Fallon alone until he returns.

She gazes at the man, “So… that was a pretty aggressive greeting,” she says sarcastically, recalling the way he didn’t even say hello to her when he came in.

Derek’s eyes flicked to her, his expression as unreadable as ever. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at her with that intense gaze that always seemed to see right through her. Fallon forces herself not to look away, refusing to be intimidated by his silence.

“I heard your heartbeat rising,” Derek finally said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

Fallon feels her cheeks flush slightly at his words, and she quickly covers it with a scoff. “Oh, please. You had me pinned against a wall with your hand over my mouth. My heart was racing because I thought you were going to suffocate me, not because I enjoyed it.”

Derek’s lips twitch, just barely, but it’s enough for Fallon to notice. “Sure,” he said, clearly not buying her excuse. He pushes off the wall and took a step closer to her, his presence once again filling the small space between them. “You’re not as good at hiding things as you think, Fallon.”

Her eyes narrow at his words, her stubbornness flaring up. “And you’re not as unreadable as you think, Derek.”

This time, it was Derek’s turn to scoff, though it was a much quieter sound. He takes another step closer, and Fallon finds herself involuntarily pressing herself further into the bed. “If that were true,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when I grabbed you.”

Fallon swallows hard, her heart beating a little faster as he looms over her. The girl knows he’s only saying that to get under her skin, to rattle her so she stops talking. She wasn’t going to let him win though. Fallon’s never been one to step down from a challenge. “You’re assuming I was flustered because of you,” she counters, trying to keep her voice steady. “Maybe I just don’t like being manhandled.”

Derek’s eyes flicker down for the briefest of moments before meeting her gaze again. “Keep telling yourself that,” he murmurs.

Fallon’s breath hitches slightly at the intensity in his voice, but she quickly masks it with a smirk. “I will.”

Before Derek could respond, the sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the tension between them. He quickly steps away, putting some distance between them as Stiles returns with Danny in tow.

“Fallon?” Danny tilts his head. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” she purses her lips, “nothing worth noting. Just kind of here… taking up space.”

“Are you gonna help us with lab work?” He asks curiously as Stiles plops back down in his chair.

“Actually,” Stiles gets his attention with a shake of his head. “We’re not doing lab work. I need you to do something else for us.”

“What?” Danny furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean we’re not doing lab work?” He scoffs. “That's why you invited me here.”

“That was a lie,” Siles shrugs nonchalantly. “Fallon and I need you to do something mucho importante. We need your crazy hacker skills to trace a text for us,” he blurts out, typing fervently on his computer.

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?” Danny shakes his head in disbelief.

“Trace a text,” Stiles enunciates condescendingly, as if Danny doesn’t understand the request.

Fallon feels bad for Danny. He genuinely came here to do lab work and Stiles just exploited his crime record. In the grand scheme of things, Danny doing this is going to be a big help, but they way he was manipulated into coming here might bite them back karmic wise in the future.

The brunette girl rolls her eyes, pulling Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. She should’ve been on the sixth book by now, but with all the supernatural issues going on, it’s been hard to find downtime. Her eyes gloss over the pages, immersing herself in the fictional world. The only issue is that as she tries to delve deeper, she can feel Derek’s stare on the back of her neck. It’s almost as if he expects her to conversate with him. She thought he’d love the fact he can just stand there in his broody silence, not being bothered by anyone.

“I came here to do lab work– that’s what lab partners do,” Danny tells him, growing increasingly more annoyed.

Stiles groans, running a hand through his buzzcut. “And we will! …Once you trace the text,” he says, making an ultimatum out of it.

Danny glares at him, “And what makes you think I know how?”

Stiles turns sheepish, stuttering slightly. Fallon doesn’t bother looking up from her book, “He looked up your arrest report,” she reveals monotonously, flipping the page.”

Danny’s face falls defeatedly, “I-I was thirteen,” he says defensively. “They dropped the charges.”

Stiles puts his hands up, indicating with his gesture that he’s not accusing Danny of anything. “Whatever,” he shrugs.

Danny looks like he considers it for a moment, but ultimately huffs and determinedly sets his backpack down. He takes a seat next to Stiles, “No. We’re doing lab work,” he insists.

Fallon sighs, finally looking up from her book. “Please, Danny…?” She begs nicely. “If you do this, I’ll seriously owe you one. I’ll even do your guys’ lab work,” she proposes.

“Wait, seriously?” Stiles spins around causing Fallon to narrow her eyes at him. “Nevermind…” he mumbles.

Danny looks like he wants to say yes, but his need to be a good student seems to be winning. He shakes his head, turning his attention back to Stiles’ computer. It doesn’t last for long though as his attention is pulled over to where Derek is sitting, reading Fallon’s copy of the Prisoner of Azkaban. She lends him a copy of whatever book he is on. He’s a pretty fast reader, she's noticed. He should be further along too, but with having to pretend to be dead for a bit, he fell behind. Fallon glances in Danny’s direction, noticing him slightly ogling Derek, not that the werewolf noticed.

“Who’s he again?” She hears Danny whisper to Stiles.

Derek slipped his jacket off a few moments prior, laying it next to Fallon’s spot on the bed. He’s in a tight-fitted light gray t-shirt. His muscles bulge out of the fabric, the lightness of the color really making his eyes pop. The top of his chest peeks out due to the buttons being undone, but no one in the room seems to mind.

Stiles tries to find a believable answer. He glances back at Derek before slowly turning back to Danny, “Um, my cousin…” he pauses, “Miguel.”

Fallon snorts rather loudly at the lie. She covers it up with a cough as all three boys turn to look at her. Derek’s glare stays on her the longest, not appreciating how humorous she’s finding the situation.

“Is that blood on his shirt?”

Fallon’s eyes widen. Sure enough, as she looks over at Derek, there’s a nice and noticeable blood stain right on his t-shirt. She shoots him a pointed look, “Where did that come from?” She seethes through clenched teeth. “What have you even been doing?”

Danny and Stiles can’t hear her though. “Yeah. Yes, well, he gets these horrible nosebleeds,” Stiles effortlessly excuses. He glances back at Derek with false politeness, “Hey, Miguel… I thought I told you you could borrow one of my shirts?”

Derek closes the book in one swift motion, never taking his glare off Stiles. With an unnecessary amount of aggression, he tosses it onto the bed as he stands up jerkily and walks over to the dresser. Fallon watches as he pulls his shirt over his head angrily, tossing it onto the ground.

The girl bites her lip as she watches him rummage through Stiles’ drawers. His back muscles flex with every moment, showing off the large tattoo that takes up most of his back. She tries to keep her focus on the book, but she’d have to be a nun to ignore the attractive man in front of her. If her father saw the way she was looking at Derek right now, he’d probably be sent into an early grave. Or go after him with a shotgun. No previous hunter training required.

“So, anyway, I mean, we both know you have the skills to trace that text, so we should probably–”

“Uh, Stiles,” Derek interrupts the boy who is still trying to convince Danny to contribute to their cause.

“Yes?” Stiles bats his eyelashes innocently.

He holds up a tiny black and white striped t-shirt. He pulls it in two different directions with his hands to emphasize his point, “This… no fit,” he says irritably.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Then try something else on.”

Fallon looks up at Derek, “Sorry,” she mouths at him. If she could help, she would. But there’s no way with Derek’s physique that he's going to find something that fits him in Stiles’ room.

She looks back down at her book, managing to finish the page she was on before Stiles’ voice pulls her back into the conversation. “Hey, that one looks pretty good, huh? What do you think, Danny?” He says nudging him to look at Derek.

Fallon’s jaw drops when she sees the bright orange and blue shirt covering Derek’s body. While the fit of it does bring out his… well, everything. It doesn't look very comfortable, nor is it his style. Derek clearly hates it as well as his usual scowl deepens. If Lydia were to see this monstrosity, she would throw Stiles in jail for even possessing a shirt that looks like that. She’s pretty sure Stiles has never even worn that in his life.

“Huh?” Danny shifts uncomfortably.

“The shirt?” Stiles continues to push on his opinion.

Danny looks at Derek, either finding him extremely attractive or extremely scary, Fallon couldn’t tell which. “It’s… It’s not really his color,” he says, swallowing thickly.

Danny’s gaze lingers for a moment as Derek takes off yet another shirt. Stiles leans over to the goalie with a smug smile, “You swing for a different team, but you still play ball, don’t you Danny boy?” He whispers menacingly, calling his lab partner out.

“You’re a horrible person.”

Stiles looks up at his curling as if actually pondering his terrible behavior, “I know. It keeps me awake at night.” He sleeps like a baby pretty much every night. It takes Fallon, Scott, and the aroma of chocolate chip pancakes to get him to wake up at sleepovers. “Anyway, about that text…”

“Stiles!” Derek shouts, his temper now officially snapped. He holds another shirt in his hands, but it’s obvious that one won’t work for him either. “None of these fit!”

Danny immediately turns back to the computer, not able to look at Derek change anymore. He begins typing, “I’ll need the ISP, the phone number, and the exact time of text.”

Fallon and Stiles make eye contact, quietly celebrating their little victory. Fallon jumps up, hugging Danny from behind, “You’re the best. Seriously, I meant what I said. I definitely owe you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy waves off. “Just lend me copy off your history notes and we’re even.”

“Done,” she nods happily.

They allow Danny to work for about thirty minutes in complete silence, which has to be a new record for Fallon and Stiles. The two of them collectively struggle to stay quiet for more than ten. But it was already enough of a struggle to convince Danny, they didn’t need to piss him off anymore than he already was. She watches impressed as information flies across the screen, all by Danny’s doing. Suddenly, he stops.

“There,” he points to the screen, causing Derek to walk closer so he can get a better look. He stands directly behind Fallon, his breath faintly hitting her neck causing chills to run down her spine. She shuffles over a bit to have more room, earning a curious look from Derek himself. “The text was sent from a computer.” He points towards the name, “This one.”

Fallon, Stiles, and Derek stare at the screen in shock and confusion. How could this be the computer the text was sent from?

“Registered to that account name?” Derek asks skeptically.

“No,” Fallon shakes her head. “No, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“That can’t be right,” Stiles breathes out.

On the bright screen in front of them reads the words Account registered to: Beacon Hills Hospital– Melissa McCall.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon sits in the backseat of Stiles’ jeep, Derek taking up the passenger seat. She knew better than to argue with him, either way she would’ve ended up in the same spot. Just one scenario he’s mad at her, and the other he’s not. Hence why she chose the latter. Her leg bounces up and down nervously as she checks the time on her phone. The game starts in less than thirty minutes. She has never missed a game out of her own free will, and Coach is gonna kill her when he realizes she’s not there already.

“Did you get the picture?” Scott asks Stiles through the phone. Fallon can hear the faint cheering from the crowd through the speaker and a pout crosses over her face. She should’ve gone with Scott to steal the necklace.

On the bright side, at least he found the pendant. He sent the group of three a picture of it, the real thing matching up with the sketch Derek showed them pretty well. All the important details seemed to be there. She might’ve made it a little neater if she drew it, but that’s just her inner artist's need for perfection.

The unlikely trio sits in the parking lot of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital Long Term Care facility. Derek forced Stiles to drive them there, but didn’t explain why. Said he would tell them when they got there.

“Yeah, I did, and it looks just like the drawing,” Stiles answers.

Derek grabs Stiles’ wrist with no remorse, pulling it at an awkward angle so he can talk into the phone. “Hey, is there something on the back of it? There's gotta be something-- an inscription, an opening, something…”

“No, no, the thing's flat,” Scott says, much to Derek’s disappointment. “And, no, it doesn't open. There's nothing in it, on it, around it, nothing. And where are you guys? You're supposed to be here. Coach is gonna go ballistic when he realizes neither of you are ready.”

“Where the hell is Bilinski?!” The hear Coach shout through the phone. Suddenly his voice becomes impossibly louder, “McCall! Where’s Donovan?” He asks, his tone of voice angry, and from what she can tell, a bit nervous. “Why isn’t she out here running drills? Is that her on the phone right now?” They hear a small scuffle go on, “Donovan! You better get your ass out on this field toot sweet or you’ll be running sucides until you actually commit suicide, do you understand me?!”

Fallon’s eyes shoot open. That definitely was not a bluff. The rest of her lacrosse career is going to be a living nightmare. Scott sighs, finally getting his phone back. “Stiles, you’re not gonna play if you’re not here to start,” he says sadly. “And Fallon, Coach might actually combust if you don’t show up.”

The girl groans, putting her head in her hands. “I know,” she mumbles.

Stiles feels an immense amount of frustration, throwing his hand up. “We know,” he sighs, realizing that they're sacrificing what could lead them to the semi-finals. “Look, if you see my dad, can you tell him… tell him I’ll be there. We’ll just be a little bit late, okay? All right, thanks.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and hands it to Fallon. “He said he needs to tell you something.”

She furrows her eyebrows but takes the phone anyway, “Hey Scotty, what’s up?” She greets, placing the phone next to her ear.

“Fall, I’m really sorry, but I may or may not have made a huge mistake,” he starts off, immediately making her nervous.

“What kind of mistake?” She asks, sending a worried look to Stiles.

“Chris caught me sneaking out of his house this afternoon when I went to steal the necklace. He started asking me questions about Derek and why I talk to him, and I may have mentioned that the two of you tend to talk a lot too. I promise I didn’t mean to. But you need to be careful, he–”

“Scott, why the hell would you tell him that I talk to Derek?” Fallon asks angrily. “I was the only one out of the three of us who had a decent relationship with that family!”

“I was under a lot of pressure, okay?” Scott tries to defend himself. “He just kept pushing for information and I just accidentally let it slip. I’m sorry…”

The girl groans loudly once more, a migraine slowly seeping its way into her head. “Okay, whatever. I-It’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out if he asks. Just try to keep Coach from losing his mind. We’ll be there soon. Okay, bye.”

Fallon didn’t have time to think about the future lecture from Chris Argent. He’s a really nice guy, despite the fact he’s been hunting one of her best friends since third grade and her other friend who happens to like taking her books. He’ll no doubt tell Michael about her secret relationship with Derek which means her father will actually send her to Azkaban. And by that she means, lock her in her room with cameras, only allowing her out for school with the occasional visit from Scott and Stiles. She’ll also probably lose her motorcycle privileges.

“You guys aren’t gonna make it,” Derek says bluntly.

Stiles nods with a sigh, “Yeah, we know.” Both of them were more than bummed, but Fallon felt worse for Stiles than she did herself. She’s gotten to play first line since she was a freshman. Scott also got a free ticket to first line due to the bite, but Stiles had to work his butt off to get to this point. She might love to read him for his lack of hand-eye coordination, but Stiles practiced pretty much every day up until all of this werewolf business started happening. It's sad watching him give up so much.

“And neither of you told him about his mom either.”

“And we’re not going to,” Fallon shakes her head. “Not until we find out the truth. Because I know Melissa would never do that. She couldn’t have. She’s not in the know about any of this. Hell, for a while, she didn’t even know about Allison, let alone her phone number.”

“Plus, last week, I saw her struggle to change the channel on the TV in the living room. Which she’s had for almost three years. Not exactly tech savvy enough to send a message from Scott’s phone through a computer,” Stiles adds.

Derek nods his head along with their words. “By the way, one more thing…” Stiles turns to look at the man but immediately regrets it as Derek takes the back of his head, harshly slamming his face into the steering wheel.

Fallon jumps as Stiles groans in pain, clutching his face. “Derek!” The girl screams, reaching up to slap his shoulder. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Oh God!” Stiles rubs his forehead which is now throbbing. “What the hell was–”

Derek cuts him off with a stiff point from his finger, “You know what that was for! Now go!” He gestures towards the doors of the care facility. “Both of you.”

Fallon rolls her eyes at his bossiness, pulling out her ”volunteer” ID. She’s starting to feel like maybe this was the only reason she was needed for Derek’s plan. Easy access into the hospital.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Stiles stays closely behind Fallon who leads them through the hallways of the hospital. The brunette girl has her phone pressed to her ear, talking to Derek who is telling them what to do as they go. Her confusion is growing more and more as she notices the odd abandonment of this branch. There should be more nurses walking around. She’s been in this unit before, even helped some paralyzed patients with physical therapy. Despite their terrible circumstances, the patients here are usually pretty Iively. This is one of her favorite parts of the hospital to do rounds in, so it’s concerning to see it so empty.

“Derek there’s no one here,” Fallon tells him. “We can’t find one nurse, let alone whoever you’re talking about.”

“Look, just ask for Jennifer,” Derek instructs strictly. “She’s been looking after my uncle.”

“Who even is your uncle?” Fallon questions. “Maybe I’ve checked in on him at some point.”

“No,” Derek denies. “They’ve only ever allowed Jennifer to work with him. That’s why you need to find her.”

Fallon trudges exasperatedly over to the room number Derek tells her. Stiles tries to listen in on the conversation so she decides to put the call on speaker. Once they arrive at the room they’re met with nothing. His bed is empty and freshly made, no one is occupying the wheelchair, nothing. It’s almost as if he disappeared into thin air, which isn’t exactly common for a comatose burn victim.

“Derek, he’s not here,” Fallon voices. “Like nowhere to be found. This room looks like it’s prepped to bring in a new patient, not like it’s been lived in.”

“What?” Derek asks, completely befuddled.

“He’s not here,” she enunciates. “It doesn’t look like he ever was. There’s no trace of anyone.”

There was a moment of silence, making both Stoles and Fallon grow increasingly more anxious. The tension becomes almost too much to handle until Derek bursts out into a yell, “Fallon, get out of there right now!” He screams. “It’s him! He’s the Alpha! You both need to get out!”

Fallon’s blood runs cold. She stumbles backwards, trying to push her and Stiles out of the abandoned room. The exit. That’s all that runs through her mind. Stiles catches her before she trips over her own feet. They both breath heavily as she grabs his hand, getting ready to bolt for the doors. But before they could even make a full turn, they are met with a looming figure. Derek’s uncle, Peter. The Alpha. He stands tall above them, a long trench coat covering his form. She wants to run away, scream even, the same feeling from the video store coming back. Especially when that smirk comes across his face. The same one she saw when he touched her with his claws. Her heart stops.

She’s absolutely terrified. This man could kill her without even thinking twice about it. But she knows she would throw herself into a pit of fire if it meant protecting Stiles. She takes a small step forward, pushing the boy behind her protectively. Peter looks almost amused by her action.

He smiles sinisterly, “You must be Fallon and Stiles.” The brunette girl couldn’t help but sympathize at the burns on the side of his face. They’re red, swollen, and discolored. No doubt one of the most painful injuries anyone could receive. She knows it’s wrong to feel even slightly and for the man as he’s killed so many people as well as having turned Scott, but after being wronged this way. Perhaps it’s not completely unjustified.

Fallon grips Stiles’ hand tighter. She tries to even her breathing as she spins them around to run in the other direction, but they are met with the angry scowl of who they could only assume was Peter’s nurse, Jennifer. Of course, now they find her.

“What are you doing here?” She interrogates aggressively. “Visiting hours are over.”

Fallon drops her phone to the ground, not even cringing when the screen falls face down. She clenches her fists tightly, getting ready to beat the living daylights out of the woman in front of them. Until Stiles decides that now is the perfect time to have an existential crisis. Or epiphany, whichever one he’d like to classify it as.

He points to Jennifer with a slack jaw, “You…” He gasps loudly before looking back at Peter. “And him… You're-you're the one who-- Oh, my-- and he's-- Oh, my God, we’re gonna die.” He looks like he’s going to cry, just without the tears. “We’re gonna die,” he mumbles again.

Fallon feels a sudden surge of bravery. She turns her head towards Peter, nose flaring with anger. He has been non stop terrorizing her. Her thoughts plagued with the memory of him invading her space the way that he did. “That night at the video store… you sniffed me. You touched me. Why? Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance?”

Peter’s smirk deepened as he looked at Fallon. "There’s something different about you... something worth keeping around.” A dark gleam appears in his eyes, “Why waste such potential, such… power, when it’s staring me right in the face?” Her confusion and fear makes him glow, “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Fallon felt as if every part of her had been violated simply by his words. He thinks she has potential. Why would he want to keep her around? He does have a plan for her, something she doesn’t and would never want to be a part of. Before she could say or process anything else, a loud crack is heard as Derek smoothly slides into the hallway. He elbows Jennifer in the face, causing the red head to fall to the linoleum floor, hitting her head and knocking her out cold.

Peter cocks his head to the side with a faux frown, “That’s not nice,” he feigns offense. “She’s my nurse.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people,” Derek corrects, getting ready for a fight. “Get out of the way,” he orders the two teens.

Stiles looks like he’s about to pass out as he glances between the two werewolves. Fallon’s eyes meet Derek’s and she feels the urge to fight with him, to tell him that they can help, but the pointed look he gives her makes her surrender that foolish notion. She grabs Stiles’ arm and pulls them down to the floor, crawling out of the way of the upcoming brawl.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose?” Peter stalks closer to Derek, ignoring the teens who are pushing themselves against the wall below. “One of my own family?”

Derek roars loudly, his eyes shifting to their bright shade of blue. This probably isn’t the family reunion either of them were expecting. The brunette pushes Stiles further down the hall as she watches Derek bounce off the wall to tackle Peter. The Alpha grabs his nephew by the collar of his jacket, throwing him directly into the wall next to Stiles and Fallon.

“Shit!” The girl screams, rolling over in the other direction.

Paint and drywall crumble off the spot of impact. She and Stiles run the other way, trying not to get caught in the crossfire. Fallon watches Derek with worried eyes, but he doesn’t falter in the slightest from the rough impact. Despite the wall now having a Derek sized dent in it, the man himself appears fine.

Fallon flinches as Stiles yanks her away from the unconscious nurse. Peter reaches down, grabbing Derek by the neck as he drags him down the hallway. She wants to help in some way, but Derek specifically told them to get out of the way.

“My mind, my personality, we’re literally burned out of me,” Peter monologues dramatically. “I was being driven by pure instinct.” He drops Derek’s body on the floor with a loud thud before reaching over to his nurse and taking her keys.

Derek grunts, forcing himself to stand after being manhandled. “You want forgiveness?” He asks breathily before cocking his fist back and slamming it into Peter’s jaw. Fallon flinches from the contact, Peter’s head jerking in the other direction.

Peter takes the opportunity to grab Derek by the collar again, head butting him with an excessive amount of force. “I want understanding,” he answers.

He lifts his leg up, connecting it with Derek’s chest as he sends the man flying across the hallway. Fallon jumps out of the way, pulling Stiles behind her. “We need to get out of here,” she whispers urgently. Stiles nods in agreement, the two of them rounding the corner to head towards the doors. They can hear Peter in the distance.

Peter menacingly tilts his head towards his nephew, “Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years?” Derek spits out blood onto the floor, using his arms to push himself off of the floor. “Slowly healing, cell by cell. Even more slowly coming back to consciousness.”

Fallon bites the inside of her cheek, trying not to imagine how hurt Derek is. Flashes of his brutally beat up body from the night at the school enter her mind, but Stiles manages to keep her grounded as they try to find the best escape route.

“Yes, becoming an Alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can't help that.” Derek stands up, swinging at Peter who dodges his punches with scary precision. “I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.”

The moment Stiles and Fallon rush out of the exit door, they hear the loud sound of glass shattering. The brunette hesitates, but is pulled forward by Stiles. She looks back with only enough time to see Derek crawling away from Peter, the older man getting ready to abuse his nephew’s body again. She ignores the grunts and sounds of colliding fists, not knowing who is winning at this point.

And truthfully, she doesn’t want to know.

*ೃ༄ tags˚◞♡ ⃗

@iamaslytherin0 @famousrunaway1329

#derek hale #stiles stilinski #female reader #love story #lydia martin #scott mccall #teen wolf #allison argent #chris argent #jackson whittemore #melissa mccall #noah stilinski #teen wolf season 1 #derek hale imagine #derek hale x oc #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic

25 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 3 months ago

Text

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 1.7K~ Summary: In which Steven opens up to Peridot a little about his anxieties surrounding his recent “pink episodes.” Peridot thinks she can help him determine the root cause of this problem, but Steven— marooned amidst age-old insecurities and his fears of hurting those he loves— still isn’t convinced he wants anyone’s help.

Finished up a lil' short fic I've had the dialogue sketched out for since 2020.

Enjoy, folks!

“So, have you always glowed pink in your sleep like that…?” Peridot asks out of nowhere later that morning, pulling his attention away from the sordid, pulpy mess of a Great Northern teen drama playing on the television set.

Thoroughly thrown off by this query, Steven serves her an awkward half-laugh, scratching at the wispy hairs at the nape of his neck. “Erm, I—”

“Because I don’t remember it happening on any of those nights you used to spend with us at the barn. And as a Gem, my memory should be perfect.”

“Nah, you’re right,” he says with a bit of a weary sigh. “This is new. I, uh- I don’t really know why it’s happening. In fact…” Inhaling deep, he tries to ignore the tittering background distraction of TV characters Jazmin and Rodrigo’s latest stupid conflict as he considers how best to describe his latest predicament. This isn’t exactly a conversation that’s well suited as an aside while watching a show, but he doesn’t want to make a huge deal out of it. “To be honest, it’s kinda become a bit of a problem, lately.”

She tilts her head. “A problem? In what way?”

“Um, I— I can’t exactly control it,” he admits. “Whenever I turn pink, I’m faster, I’m stronger, but… I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I don’t like the thought of even carrying this kind of strength. And unlike all my other powers, I don’t have a single clue what emotion triggers it or why it’s happening in the first place.”

He nibbles at the inside of his lower lip, considering this quandary. Everything about his powers has felt… different, since that encounter with Jasper in the woods a few months back. More unmanageable. More… volatile. For a time he assumed that life was done throwing him new extensions to his hybrid ability, but with every unimaginable feat he’s achieved lately— the capacity to hurl another Gem miles into the sky… a sprint so fast the surrounding world slows to a screeching halt around him… a scream so potent it can shatter the floor, leaving nothing but a wide crater in its wake— it becomes more and more clear that the diamond at his core has only just begun to reveal the true magnitude of its potential energy.

And stars, that terrifies him.

He’s not used to holding his power back, he’s not used to such a lack of control. He may have spent his entire childhood fighting to hone these abilities he inherited into something useful, yes, but he didn’t want this.

Peridot hums thoughtfully, her fingers perched upon her chin. “Well, maybe we can figure that out!”

His brow creases inwards. “Huh-? What are you—”

“Like you just said, all your other powers are modulated by your emotions,” she points out, throwing her arms into a casual shrug. “I’m incredibly knowledgeable about the composition and development of Gems, and you know about all the human feelings stuff! Your problem with this ability is clearly built upon the complex interactions between your Gem and organic makeup, so the most logical choice would be to build an experiment out of it. I bring the necessary genius and my tech,” she says with a beaming grin, her excitement growing more palpable with each and every word, “and you bring your experience! I’m sure if we work together we can learn something about this new power of yours.”

“I-I…” he stammers, shoulders seizing tight as the fullest intent of her idea finally washes over him. “No!”

Her face plummets in an instant, his blunt dismissal stripping the winds of enthusiasm right out of her sails.

“O-oh. I just thought… since you helped me try to fix CPH,” she gestures towards today’s entertainment of choice, still running, “maybe I could sorta… return the favor for you?”

Heart hammering in his ribcage, Steven grinds his fingers into fists at his side.

“I don’t need to be fixed!” he insists, almost feeling sick to his stomach as that damned glowing pallor rises under his cheeks again anyways, a rote betrayal of all his futile claims. “Didn’t we just decide that’s the whole point of us hanging out now? That we don’t have to fix anything anymore?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“I’m fine, okay?” he snaps. “Really. I’m fine. I don’t need your help!”

Interrupting their long-forgotten entertainment, the television turns to static.

He gasps, tension wresting command of his every limb as he slams his hands over his mouth, wracked with embarrassment. H-he… oh geeze, he did it again, didn’t he? He raised his voice. He lost control, he snapped to pink. His breath hastens, rising to match the hurried, erratic tempo of all the excess energy currently surging through his hard-light veins like an untempered wildfire.

“Steven—?” Peridot utters, her features twisting with undeserved concern.

The white noise all but dominates his mind. Eyes growing glassy, his scattered perception hones in on the subtle threads of a second emotion evident within the Gem’s worried gaze, an emotion that strips the air straight from his lungs and makes him literally want to scream in his regret:

Apprehension.

Fear.

Considering all the horrid mistakes he’s made these past few weeks (graduation… his cactus… the mess he made of the Reef…), his lip trembles at the mere notion.

His own friend, afraid of him.

Gosh, he could’ve… he almost—

“I-I…” he stammers, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

Head buzzing with the oppressive specter of all manners of horrid what-ifs, he books it down the stairs and barricades himself inside the bathroom. Quivering hands fumble to lock the door. H-he… he just… he just needs to be alone when he gets like this, all tense and pink, every last sense locked on overdrive, his neural pathways swirling with a sense of terminal dread… his chest rising and falling so fast and heavy that there’s nothing else he can do— no quick salve to this panicked predicament— but sink to the floor like the shambling disaster he is and ride this wave out. It’s the only option he’s got. It’s the only way he can make this nauseating pallor recede back into the branching channels of the damned gem it came from. It’s the only thing he’s bodily capable of doing to guarantee he won’t unintentionally hurt someone like his own mother did.

(He’s assailed by an abrasive, neon pink as his shoulders scrunch inwards, all but powerless to stop that infernal barrier as it pinches ever smaller… his friends calling out, pleading for his help—)

Like he nearly did, too.

Slowly but surely… step by harrowing step… he’s almost beginning to grow afraid of himself.

A timid knock at the door blessedly interrupts his spiraling ruminations. Draws all that volatile energy back to his core as he breathes real slow, in and out, that eerie glow dissipating entirely.

It’s Peridot.

Because of course it is.

Because she’s too good a friend to not check up on him, even after such an unprompted expression of rudeness.

“Just a minute,” he says with a bit of a crack in his voice, dragging himself back up to his feet and crossing to the sink to wash his hands as if to naïvely delude himself (and her, really— but he doubts there’s a single universe that exists where she’s gullible enough to fall for such a petty deceit) that he came here to use the restroom instead of the far more pathetic reality.

And sure enough, when he pushes the door open and shuffles out into the living area, her normally affable and carefree expression is streaked with palpable worry. Well, shucks. So much for attempting to downplay his embarrassing little freak out.

Sighing heavy, he gives up the chase.

“I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. That wasn’t very kind of me, you were only trying to help. I just—” he pauses to dab away a stray tear threatening to leak from the very corner of his eyes— “gosh, I really don’t wanna feel like I’m burdening you with all of my personal nonsense.”

She frowns as she gazes up at him, shaking her head in blunt disagreement. “I don’t think you’re a burden.”

Steven shoves his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, his glance skirting away. “Thanks for the assurance, but… right now, it’s really hard for me to believe tha—”

Before he can so much as finish his sentence, his friend surges forwards. He genuinely can’t help the shaky little inhale he makes as her arms wrap tight around his torso, digits sinking in to the fabric of his shirt and her cheek pressed flush against his chest.

“Steven?” she begins with a dash of timidity, her voice a bit muffled in the throes of their gentle embrace. “It’s okay if you’re not okay. Sometimes… I’m not okay either.”

“Peridot, I-I didn’t—”

“Even now, I… I’m still really insecure about my status as an Era 2 Gem,” she continues, the lingering ache of this admission more than evident within the subtle warble of her tone. “About my diminished height, mostly. And my lack of certain standard abilities. But now, I have so many friends to help me through those feelings. And so do you!” she blurts out before he can even dare to protest otherwise. “Y’know—? I… I’m sorry for pushing the matter earlier. If you’re not ready to talk about any of this, I understand. But if you ever are ready… I’m here.”

Steven exhales slow and shakily, forcing himself to glide past all those skewed, battered mental instincts— instincts that are screaming for him to reject her offered affections and simply bolt away— to sink into her offered hug. His own grip tightens around her petite form. He clears his throat, pushing past all those nauseating layers of shame to express his actual feelings.

Daring to be brave. Daring to assert some of his genuine desires for once in his life, even if the only desires he can attach concrete meaning to at the moment are just an appeal for distraction, a craving for nothing but tiny, frivolous morsels of entertainment:

“Do you… maybe wanna finish that episode with me before you head back to Little Homeworld?”

“Hah!” she barks with laughter, her features lighting up like a bulb again. “You think you have to ask? Of course I still wanna watch more CPH! Go, go, go, go, go!” she chants, shooing him back up the stairs with a fervent wave of her arms. “Rodrigo can’t make fun of himself!”

#su #su future #steven universe #peridot #su fanfiction #su fanfic #my writing stuff

37 notes · View notes

igglemouse · 4 months ago

Text

I spent the morning in the shower full of despair and pain. I hated this. It certainly wasn't fair but the worst part about it is I could not do anything about it. I just had to accept it, accept that I'll never properly be part of the magical community and where did that leave me? Nowhere. Nowhere at all.

But the day must roll on. It sucks that I won't ever be able to practice magic in the realm, that my potential will always be stunted and blocked, but perhaps that is just fate?

Yes, I've tried to learn as much as I can on my own and I'm not sure if I've learned a single spell. It is difficult.

One of the few things passed down to me is my mother's witchy pot, an object I'll always cherish because it is a reminder of what I am or rather what I'm supposed to be...and yet, for me, it's nothing but a pot. I stare down at it, demanding answers that never come, and only receiving a few bubbles and steam.

That's all it is for me, a boiling pot of water. Nothing else, nothing more.

And so I fall right back into collecting. Finding a simple kind of joy from plucking a mushroom from its place or cracking a rock open hoping to find some bit of fortune because the only thing better than magic is simoleons. Would you rather be rich or a spellcaster? falls

But unfortunately for me (as usual) the jewelry I make is not likely to get much. Enough to pay the rent and keep my single belly full but not much more. I still hold out hope that one day, hopefully soon, that maybe I can bring in more simoleons through this little hobby of mines but who knows with my luck.

With dawn comes new energy to collect. This time flowers, herbs, more things that grow in the ground and more importantly things that grow outside of Cyril's castle...

And since I'm over here for a mission, other than collecting, I stay around until the rise of a full moon. Suddenly feeling once again a pull to the castle, that stony building that housed an unwelcoming vampire or two.

Feeling the urge to explore and feeling a pull from the castle I make my way to its entrance...

This time I do not get too far without Lilja being there to greet me, an expectant smile on her lips.

"Be careful of the path you are on," the warning in her voice is plain and clear but seeing her under better lighting makes me wonder about her age? A vampire can live forever, as long as they aren't murdered, basically, so she could be anywhere from 20 to 2000 years old. The thought is kind of terrifying. What does one do with all of that wisdom?

Any ways, I shake my head and give her the most careless shrug I can. "I'm tired of others choosing my path for me."

She gives me a sort of dubious look before the addition of a curt nod. Turning her back to guide me deeper inside once again. "Come then."

While I couldn't possibly guess the age of Lilja I did have better assumptions about the house. On the outside it showed its age, the stones crumbling, cracked, and almost looking as if any moment it might collapse in on itself but the fact that it was still standing told a story of resilience.

Inside told a different story, one of luxury and old simoleons and perhaps a group of vampires or sims that called this place home?

"I know why you are here," Lilja starts, finding a seat and offering me a place next to her as she took me in.

It was then that I realized that Lilja had the look of a prisoner and not a resident or even a guest. There was something about her eyes, a silent plea in them, that suggested that maybe she wasn't here on her own terms? Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm just a little paranoid because at any moment Cyril could pop up and then...then what? Last time I met him everything happened so fast and then I woke up in the middle of her floor and-

"You wish to be turned," Lilja assumed.

"No, not quite that just..." well, it was partly true. The Realm had denied me my magic but the magic of vampirism could be given for free. No, not for free, but close to free? Was it even possible, with the ward that protects me? "My mother practiced blood magic-"

"Yes...yes she did," the smile then on her lips was warm and welcomed this topic. "A dangerous but powerful magic, one you are willing to learn? My Maker would be willing to teach you, for a price I presume, but it is something he will have to consider when he's in a better condition. Your little attack on him has...sidelined him, I'm afraid to admit."

"Yes," I reply although I was a little confused. Wasn't he the one who attacked me? I remember a bit of of that night and of him, enough of him at least. There was something missing to him, he looked skeletal, dead, and his eyes were a white void of...well, nothing. That's sort of what a void is, isn't it? I made to scream and soon felt bony hard fingers dig into my muscles and felt his lips against my neck and then..."Yes, of course, when he's in better condition."

"It gives you some time to decide if this is indeed the path you wish to take. A dangerous course as blood magic requires sacrifice, from its user and from others," Lilja's manner of speech was so without soul at this moment that I wondered if she were a robot but I soon realized why. Her eyes, gray and searching, were locked onto my neck. She stared at it for a little too long, perhaps even licked her lips or maybe I imagined that part but if I were not protected by a ward I have a feeling I'd be her next meal.

"I'll think about it-"

"There are other things to consider but when and if the time comes."

With that she escorts me to the door, more amiable than moments before. "I believe I've had a moment of weakness," she jokes, tossing aside the fact that she was definitely imagining tearing into my neck. "Do think on it and I would not return unless your answer is yes...a ward is much like a door, from what I understand. Eventually, if someone bangs enough on it, it falls."

Yeah, I guess I'll give it some thought...

Episode List - Next Episode ' Frenemies'

#reblog #reblogs

31 notes · View notes

disaster-j · 2 months ago

Text

Let us make one thing very clear

Eddie is NOT OKAY with Gerard's bs behaviour

I don't need to watch the episode to know that's not what this is about. I've been with this character for six seasons I have followed him through quite a harrowing journey for six years of his life. I know the kind of person Eddie Diaz is and if you've watched this show you should too.

Eddie would never be OKAY with anything Gerard says or does. But Eddie spent most of his life struggling under his parents' expectations and Eddie has an army background and Eddie has been shown to be someone who is not comfortable with going against authority figures. It's part of why his argument with Bobby in s5 was so impactful and made it so clear that he was acting off. Because Eddie Diaz, as much as he is a fighter in his personal life, is a follower in the workspace.

On top of that, unlike Buck who is new to belonging to a minority and hasn't had to ever face bigotry targeted towards him, Eddie grew up with the last name Diaz in small-town Texas. He's very well acquainted with bigotry and has a better understanding of when fighting back works and when it will just blow up in your own face.

We saw in Hen Begins that while Hen fighting back was important to inspire the others to also fight back against Gerard, it wasn't until Chim, Sal and Tommy sent in complaints that they were able to make any kind of progress on the official front. In a situation like this it goes beyond just strength in numbers. You cannot fight it out alone without fucking up your own career. Take it from a queer woman working in a problematic environment in a patriarchal country, it's much easier to lose your job for standing up for yourself than it is to keep your head down and try to just get through the day.

And Gerard? Has the full support of a politician with a personal grudge. Think about it. What is Buck really gonna accomplish by yelling it out with Gerard on the fire station floor? Is it gonna help the situation or make everything that much worse for himself and possibly the others too? Is there perhaps a better way to deal with Gerard that doesn't risk losing their jobs which requires keeping your head down around the guy?

Bc trust me, if I hated my boss and wanted him out. I would not give him a reason to suspect me when he still has power over me. It's what Chim, Sal and Tommy did and it saved Hen's career and contributed to Gerard getting kicked tf out.

My point being. Yes it's good to stand up for what's right. But sometimes it's necessary to keep your head down and not get into useless arguments with someone who is not only incapable of understanding anyone's perspective other than their own but will also gladly ruin your life and career just bc he felt mildy provoked by your existence.

#911 abc #911 on abc #911 discourse #vincent gerrard #eddie diaz #evan buckley #y'all need to sit tf down and think about how things actually work in a professional setting #and the fact that these people have bills to pay and families to support #there's more than one way to fight a bigot #and there is absolutely nothing wrong with not wanting to risk your job over yelling back at an asshole who will never hear you anywa

17 notes · View notes

bengiyo · 7 months ago

Text

23.5 Ep 9 Stray Thoughts

Last week, the gang went to the school to watch a meteor shower together with the understanding of the romance overtones involved. Ongsa spent most of the episode flubbing making a move on Sun, but they ended up getting a decent kiss under the stars. Aylin remains one of the best characters in romance because she didn’t need any cajoling to ask Luna to watch the meteor shower with her nor to confess her feelings. Mawin came so close to properly asking Tinh out, but got too nervous. Ton was rejected by Chaoren, and ended up giving me crumbs with Mawin (Euro can still win, guys). My teacher yuri dreams continued to burn bright.

Laying on the floor like this doesn’t exactly look comfortable, but is the kind of silliness I’ve walked in on lesbians doing before.

NAME OF THE SHOW MENTIONED. FINISH YOUR DRINKS.

Yes, tell the people about Theia. It’s a cool bit of planetary history.

Latte looks so hot in every scene. Please put this dog in the A/C.

Wow we’re getting right to a potential separation, thought a study abroad summer program doesn’t sound like it’s years-long.

Episode 9: When the Earth Tilts

Aylin trying to be more social with her family is actually quite adorable.

Oh good. We’re teaching Ongsa how to ride a bicycle first.

Thank you, Luna, for always keeping things clear with Aylin. These four are really fun together. Sun is so consistent about this not-hiding approach.

Not my favorite big boy feeling like he’s gotta lose a ton of weight to be appealing. Gay body issues start so young.

I feel for Alpha. She’s the oldest and her sister and cousin are going through things without telling her anything.

I hope the teacher hit Alpha with a Mama Sandwich. I haven’t seen one in years since The Fosters ended.

What is up with all these girls just running away from home?

American fried rice? I suddenly feel embarrassed.

I kinda wish we’d spent more time with Alpha before all of this.

I feel positively about Luna helping Aylin have more social connections with the people in her life.

Get his ass, Aylin! Ton should learn to read when people don’t want to be bothered with his shit.

Did they want to do the Alpha plot earlier to make this scene with Sun land?

Okay, the towel drop was a nice touch. As with everything with the mains, I don’t think we got here smoothly, but I enjoyed the moment.

This show is so awkward. I’m not sure what’s going on and why it feels so off every week. I like individual moments but I have a hard time reflecting on this show and remembering things that occurred in the order in which they happened.

#Ben watches #23.5 the series #23.5 degrees #thai gl #gl series

28 notes · View notes

avrelia · 1 year ago

Text

In some AtLA fandom discussions I often find the most ridiculous argument – namely that Katara is forced to do all the household chores alone, and the Gaang doesn’t help her at all until Zuko shows up and takes on the chores to help her.

And it baffles me to no end.

Like people who claim to be fans of Katara think that the Gaang would force her to do something she didn’t want to do? And, namely, the household chores?

When Avatar the Last Airbender spent two episode discussing the division of labor, and Katara’s indignation when she perceived the existing situation to be unfair. She didn’t hide her anger to tell Sokka that he is sexist for letting her do all the housework because she was the girl. She didn’t mince words to tell Toph about accepting the way they all do the chores and participating in the chores in the group.

We don’t see her being angry at Aang in regards to doing chores. And I don’t believe she had her anger suppressed, or afraid of telling Aang off, or thinking he was a baby. I use my analytical skill to infer that he must have been doing all the necessary work without being told. After all, as an Air Nomad, he spent a lot of time traveling alone or in a small group, so I assumed he knew basic survival skills and could take care of himself.

True we don’t see the Gaang cleaning and cooking. But do we need to see them doing it every day to believe that they were doing it every time? We see them settling into some comfortable traveling routine when nobody complained of the rest not doing their share - and we know that Katara would not have hesitated to raise the issues again and again if she perceived unfairness.

Then Zuko joins the Gaang and we see him making tea for everyone. Does that mean he is now doing everything?

No, we are meant to understand that he is trying his best to be a part of the group and showing his best and most useful for the group ability – which is making tea.

Remember, until very recently, Zuko, even in exile, didn’t have to deal with household chores. Yes, he spent three years on a tiny ship, but on the ship there were other people who obtained food, cooked, cleaned, and let the prince do important things, like training, sulking, and looking for the Avatar. We have seen how pathetic his attempts at fishing were in the beginning of book 2. And sure, he had three months of life as a refugee where he had to learn how to live without servants. But I can hardly believe he learned more than Aang, Sokka, or even Toph, for whom secretly being able to take care of herself was a matter of pride.

Now, being able to make good tea was much more important to Zuko now, as part of him trying to show that he learned his Uncle Iroh’s lessons, both in tea and life. So it is important for us to see him making tea and bad jokes for the Gaang, as a part of his efforts to prove himself to be worthy.

On the other hand we don’t really need to see Aang sweeping the floors, and Toph cooking dinner to believe that they share household chores equally with everyone else. Just like we don’t see them eating and sleeping every day.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #aang #katara #zuko #the gaang #the chores #atla meta #my posts #found this in my drafts and decided to post #people still believe that Katara would be stuck to obediently doing chores alone #despite all evidence to the contrary

121 notes · View notes

freshlyrage · 6 months ago

Text

Running Like Water

Chapter 26

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 4.1k

IMPORTANT a/n: Hi... I said that if the Celtics won I'd post tonight so ya know! Here it is hehe. LETS GO CELTICS

Finally used the scene in Season 1 episode 5 of Narcos of Javi and Murphy in the car. There's a lot of perspective change in this one, this section will be like this most the time just because are characters are so far apart!

Ok bye enjoy

New Orleans 1988

“Do you remember being sixteen?”

You cackle, playing with the golden bee at your lobe, looking up at your student Chiron. He had been eating his lunch in your classroom for about two months since, the cafeterias ac is shit, his words. You dig into the cake your students bought you, they thought you would cancel their monday practice quiz with a little birthday celebration. They were greatly mistaken.

Today you're twenty-four. Everytime you think of it your brain freezes.

You remember being sixteen like it’s yesterday. You nod, washing down the store bought dry red velvety mess with water. “Yes. It sucked.”

Chiron laughs just the same, opening the pink milk box on his tray. “When were you sixteen? In 1950?”

You stare at him with your most deadpan look, shaking your head. “I turned sixteen in 1980. I was living in Laredo, Texas and I spent my birthday alone. I received flowers from my… friend and my mom took me dress shopping two days later. What was yours like?”

You and Chiron talk every day. You know he lives in a group home, you know he gets excited when he gets asked about his own life and even more excited when someone shares stories about theirs. He reminds you everyday that you want to have a son one day, you guess you’ll tell him when he's older. Hopefully then you could introduce your son to him and have a laugh about it.

Teaching has given you a purpose. Being away from home has given you a purpose. Knowing no one has given you a purpose. You tell him stories all the time, you’re going to sob when he walks across that stage in May.

“I went to the arcade with Teresa.” Teresa has been his girlfriend since the ninth grade, she went to St. Mary’s. They met doing community service and Chiron knows that they're going to be married. “She bought me this chain with her paycheck from Rouses. Are you doing anything for your birthday?”

You look at the picture of your little sister and niece sat up on her desk. Little three year old Sol holding Frankies babygirl Annie. “I still don’t know anyone out here but my coworkers so I’ll probably order in, watch Dirty Dancing and wait for a call from my brother.” You think of Javier for a moment, wondering if he knows today's your birthday.

You wonder if you have crossed his mind.

You saw him in the paper when you went home for christmas, you didn't visit your mother.

You went home to simply spoil the babies at Frankie's house. You drove right back to your third floor apartment in Nola. Cried into your pillow until you slept and did it all over again for three more nights. Chiron nods, you have told him small stories about your life because he loves to listen. You’re weary of sharing too much, only offering bits you know will make him feel seen. You let him cry when he said he tried to meet his father during Christmas break and he didn’t show. That's when you decided to tell him about your first trip to New Orleans.

Chiron frowns and sips his milk. He just got a haircut, flat top style, he had been growing his hair out the whole year for it. “Do you think Javier will call you?”

You smile at Chiron. He had been trying to pry information about your former lover for weeks. It all started after Christmas break when he cried about his father. You told him that family can be found anywhere, that your only family for a bit was your best friend who happened to be your boyfriend.

“Do you live with Javier now?”

You shook your head, “He moved away for work.” Nearly a lie, you didn’t feel it was appropriate to tell your seventeen year old student the painful details of your life.

Chiron went quiet for a few seconds, his face going inward. Eyes shy and sad, it happens every time he’s asked about his parents.

“So who is your family now?”

Andrea drops her keys on her kitchen counter being greeted by tiny tweets. She grins from ear to ear, placing her purse down on the couch. Walking to her cage, the two birds chirped.

“Are you singing Happy Birthday to me?” She gets on her tiptoes, offering her fingers to the babies, they take the chance. “Thank you, mommy’s going to watch Dirty Dancing because she’s lonely. Okay?”

She brings Jewel to her face in a phantom kiss while Harvey finds sanctuary on her shoulder.

She always wanted pets but her mother never allowed it. The second Andrea put down her deposit for her apartment, she hopped in her car and bought two blue budgies. They nipped and scurried away from her each time she approached them but after two months of persistence they finally warmed up to her. They’re now her best friends. She’s become a crazy bird lady. Just in September she left a date abruptly because she realized she hadn't fed them in a day and a half. Its safe to say she didn’t get a call back from Mr. Henning.

She sits on her couch after loading the VHS and yawning. Her birdies flying back to their cage.

That was the summer of 1963 - when everybody called me Baby, and it didn't occur to me to mind.

At 6pm she receives a call. Her heart sinks and for a moment she thinks, maybe.

But ultimately she knows not to be so silly, she knows she needs to be angry with him but she doesn’t have it in her anymore. She unravels herself from the nest she’s made on her couch and tip toes on the hardwood floor to her home phone.

She spoke to Genie this morning, receiving a happy birthday song from her brother and their baby’s incoherent babbles. They say little Annie is upset that Tia Andrea lives so far.

“Hello?” Andrea shushes her birds, they love to chirp when she’s on the phone.

“Happy Birthday Andrea,”

And she knows Don Chuchos voice anywhere.

Andrea closes her eyes at the sound. She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and she’s riddled with grief at the sound of his voice after nearly two years.

“Thank you Chucho.” Andrea remembers the way he looked at her when she sat in the blistering heat on Javier’s wedding day. He looked at her knowingly, he could see that beyond the made up face she was on the brink of a breakdown. “How’s everything back home?”

“You would know if you stopped by to see me last month.”

She winces. When Andrea came home for Christmas she made it her business to be seen by no one. Especially anyone who knew anything about Javi.

She was finally feeling better.

Everything was out in the open now, everyone knew their business. The scandal blew through town, she had to leave.

“I know, I'm sorry. I’m just still working through everything that happened. I knew if I stopped by your house it would bring up old memories.” Since Andrea moved to New Orleans she has gone back to Laredo five times. Two of the times she visited her mother, every other time was a straight shot to Frankie’s home. Calling him to make sure he takes Sol for the day so Andrea could see her too. She would spend two lovely nights on their plush couch and drive home the next day.

Through the crackle of the receiver Chucho hums in understanding.

In a twisted way Andrea always wanted him to be her father. She loved the idea of marrying Javier for more reasons than one. She wanted to officially be a part of his tiny family she loved so deeply.

“Would this be a bad time to talk about him?”

Andrea, the despondent girl. A girl alone, leaning against her lonely walls, a girl belonging to no one. Is a girl who cannot resist hearing about the one she loved.

Loves.

“Yes.” She allows it. He complies because she knows he must have no one to talk to about this.

“He told me last week that he’s seeing a specialist—therapist, once a week.”

She smiles. She remembers the last time they had sex they talked about reaching out for help. She supposes it’s her turn.

“That’s- I'm relieved to hear that. Is he doing okay out there?”

Andrea has a reoccurring nightmare. She’s walking to work, the heat is brutal and her hands are full of groceries. In her nightmare, one of the bags rip open, fruit falling on the concrete. Every time, she follows an apple that rolls until it hits a news stand. And there—there she sees his face. There she reads his public obituary, the slain American agent. There she dissolves to nothing and wakes up crying harder than she ever has. She cried until she felt like dissolving into nothing.

“He spares me details that would send me into a stroke but you know. It’s very dangerous work but he’ll make it back home in one piece. He’s too stubborn to die young.”

Her eyes flicker to the ground and her chin quivers at his words. “Do you miss him?” Is all she can mutter. She cannot be alone in this feeling. She doesn’t like to feel this way. She liked to believe that she gets along without him well, but sometimes the wind blows and it reminds her of summer nights in his bed and she isn’t sure she could go on lying to herself.

Chucho sighs, “He misses you.” He doesn’t answer your question. He knows what you wanted to ask. “He doesn’t tell me because he’s afraid, but every conversation I can hear it in his voice. He is still grieving being away from you, still grieving being deceived. I know you are too. But I wanted to call to tell you that he is okay. I want you to be okay too, Andrea.”

January 1988 Bogota, Colombia

There isn't much work being done. Scoping out for a sicario in a hundred degree weather wasn't ideal but it left some time for beers and ramblings. Murphy dug his hand into the cup holder for another sip of Club Colombiano. “So what year was this?” Murphy looks over to Javi. It had been almost a week since he last saw Hertz. His next session is in two days. He found himself walking with less weight. He even finally told Murphy the name of the girl whose picture is taped on the corner of his desk.

“1986” Javier rasps. “I was driving to the church. I was with my buddy Frankie. He was my best man.” He nearly whispers the last bit. “We were late. It was fucking blazing, 110 degrees. The whole bridal party was there sweating their balls off I’m sure. Frankie is shaking like a leaf next to me, like he’s fucking getting married. Looking for a lighter for a joint he rolled. Mind you, we're been in my bride's car since she arrived in a limousine.”

“Don’t tell me you left her at the altar.”

Javier deadpans, “Let me finish my story.” Murphy chuckles, pressing the cold beer to his neck. “He opens the glove compartment and some papers fall into his lap. And boom, we hit a traffic jam. Frankie, my best man, being the nosy fuck he his opens up the papers. He goes, three months pregnant as of June 6th, can't believe we’re both having kids. I swear to god–”

“No!” Murphy gasps.

“Yeah, Lorraine, the bride, and I hadn’t had sex since February of that year. She was showing a lot, I never thought twice when she told me she was five months along.” Murphy is staring at him like this was the juiciest television worthy story ever told. Javier looks blankly into the rolling hills of Colombia wondering why this happened to him. “I had dropped everything in my life to rush into a loveless marriage for the convenience of a family that wasn't even mine.” His eyes cast low and he feels sick. “So I turned the car around. And Andrea was there waiting to watch me marry someone else. In the heat.”

Murphy rarely knew who Andrea was other than the pretty ex-girlfriend whose picture is taped on his desk; he didn’t tell him too much. The story is enticing, he supposes. Exhilarating from the outside.

Murphy grins, “Well, you saved her a lifetime of hell.”

He knows it’s true, his inner monologue being spat right back in his face yet he can’t seem to swallow that reality. He's a weak man, he hoped that Murphy would tell him he was wrong, that he needed to get up on a plane this instant and find his girl.

He’s silent for a moment. “Yeah, she never spoke to me again, Andrea I mean. She’ll probably be married to a-a stock broker or some shit when I come home.” If I come home, he intends to say but decides maybe this wasn’t the moment. “Trust me, she’s better off.”

“I told my partner, Steve Murphy, about the wedding.”

“That's amazing, Javier.” She sits back down in her brown leather chair, sipping her tea from her small yellow thermo. “How did you feel afterward?” Javier went home to drink himself to sleep. He decides to keep that detail to himself, before reaching forward to sip water instead of fulfilling his urge to light up.

“I felt like I’ve taken some sort of step forward. Then I remembered how it was telling Andrea. Then I felt like I regressed once again, I didn't wake up for work the next morning. This Tuesday I mean.” She’s taking it all in, yet something i n her twinkles. He sees her satisfaction, she knows this is a shy way of telling her he’s ready to talk about it again. Things are changing for him so quickly.

“We were cut for time last week.”

“We were.”

“So,”

“So.” Javier's eyes jet to the plush rug below him. “I walked to her house the night I agreed to marry Lorraine.”

June 18th 1986

He stopped by The Tap before strolling his way into your neighborhood. Sitting on a barstool like he would do back in High School, eyes peeled to the door wondering if his mother would miraculously walk in. This time he doesn’t drink so much, he pushes three beers back and feels sad enough to see you. Sad enough to break your heart. Liquid courage? Is that what they call it? He feels a buzz in his spine.

Somehow he ends up at your door.

“Javi, are you alright? It's late.” You whisper, closing the front door behind you. It reminds him of the time he walked to your house after getting wasted. Catching you in Cabaret makeup, you turning bright red under white paint.

This time you’re bare faced and so much more of a woman. Javier studies you in a buzzed haze, you’re concerned and it’s pissing him off. There you are, barefoot on your porch. Caught off guard and still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. You step down one step. He wants to drop to his knees and apologize.

You sense his sorrow so you step back up to be near to his height, placing your hands on his face. Holding his face, “Baby, are you okay?” He knows your worried little face, he knows that somehow in that brain of yours—you’re conspiring what you could have done wrong. Yet it’s never you, it’s always him. You’ve never done wrong.

“Hey…” You whisper, attempting to soothe his quivering chin with a kiss.

He looks away. Looking into your eyes will kill him. Rejecting your kiss all together. “I’m sorry.” Javier’s voice breaks, and he isn’t embarrassed but he wants to die. He wants it to end because he feels your body go cold without even having to look at you. He’s crying and hiding his face, holding you close and hard. Sobbing into your chest, staining your gray shirt like you did his when he left the first time. “I’m so sorry—I knew I wouldn’t be right for you—Querida, I’m sorry.”

----

He crushes your body with his. He’s muttering words about a wedding, a pregnancy and you’re being crushed. You’re losing air and you hope he squeezes you tighter, hope your eyes fog and you fall.

Hope to wake up in a cold sweat, and it's all a bad dream. Hope to call him to hang out at the lake.

He’s crying, and its the worst sound you’ve ever heard. Saying he didn’t mean to become a father. He doesn’t mean to hurt you. He doesn’t know why he hurts you. He says he doesn’t want to be married to her. Calling you sweet names and cursing his own.

You tell him over and over that it’s okay. Yet you hope he crushes you until you disappear.

“It’s okay—Javi please, it’s okay— I understand.” You run a hand through his hair and lower your bodies to sit on the steps. It’s 2 am. He’s drunk and unable to give you details without crying in your lap now but you know all that you need to know.

When you saw her—Lorraine. When you saw her wide nose and round little belly you felt fear running through your veins. And you slept with that panic, you dismissed it but your bones felt it. Your intuition told you that the two of you will never be the same. You saw him stare at her belly for a second too long and there—right there— you knew you were in the way of something.

Eventually he feels okay enough to sit up straight. He still can’t look at you and you miss him in your lap when he does. You miss being able to hide yourself from him. You miss being able to shut your eyes in agony at each word of consolation. Now he can see you, even if he doesn’t look you in the eye he can see you.

You’re able to understand that she’s five months, that they gave him a choice. To never see her and his child, child— his child— or get married. Through it all you tell him it’s okay.

“I don’t think I have another choice— I can’t be.-“

“A deadbeat.” You finish for him and he doesn’t respond. The two of you have a million unspoken words between the two of you.

Look at me, look at what happens when you abandon your child. Look what girls like me put up with. Look at me, you hurt me and I'm still thinking of ways to make it work in my broken little brain.

He knows what his mother did, how could he ever? How? So you could never find it in you to be angry.

“I’m sorry— I just can’t.”

You shut your eyes and lean back into the steps of your home. The sky was bright that night, you couldn’t understand why the universe still presented its beauty during such a moment.

“When will you get married?” You suppose maybe you like to hurt yourself.

“They said two weeks.”

You drop your head into your hands and let out a sob. Heart slamming against your ribs, drowning in it. You fear that you’ll become one with earth, a puddle seeping into the grass ahead of you. You feel his panic next to you. He’s whispering your name, and tearing against the back of your head. Your shoulders wrack and you try to speak.

But you decide silence is all you can handle.

So you stay like this for a few minutes.

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” You ask finally, pathetically.

And he’s quick to nod, “Yes—please.” His deep voice sends a vibration down your spine. And the two of you walk into your home, without fear—no room for such a silly feeling.

He undresses and you do too.

He faces the ceiling and you fear neither of you will catch any hours tonight. You still curl into his chest, for the last time. Feeling his warm tan skin below your ear. You count his heartbeats for minutes at a time. You count your own, attempting to make it stop on your own. Your stomach hurts so badly, you may cry just from that. But you think that you’re a twenty two year old woman who is somehow all cried out. You think of the sun coming up and him getting up to leave, you wonder what the next two weeks will look like.

You’re sure that if you could you’d stay just like this, together and avoidant until it’s time. Just like you planned a week ago when your only fear was him leaving to Colombia.

You know he’d do the same because the two of you love pain like no other. You stay in your inferno of a brain for nearly an hour. You know he can’t sleep.

“What are we going to do?” He asks and you frown.

“Go our separate ways.”

“I don’t want to.” He’s quick to respond, angry.

“I know.”

“Do you want to?”

“No. But I have to. You have to.”

“As long as I know you, I'll want you, Andrea.”

You shut your eyes and breathe. You hope he forgets you. You hope you can. You suppose you have to try.

“After the wedding, I don’t think I’ll ever want to speak to you again.”

You feel him intake a shaky breath. Your heart breaks again. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

His chest rises, “It’s okay. I understand.” You nod, the post of the earrings he bought you scraping his skin. “We probably shouldn’t see each other after today.” He admits and you know he’s right.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I could be a bridesmaid?” You attempt to joke and he doesn’t laugh. You can’t tell what he does but he shivers.

“Not funny.”

“I’m sorry.” You exhale. And there the two of you are pensive. Already missing each other.

He sighs and it's silent once more. “I really love you.”

You sigh just the same and you love him more. You decide you couldn’t say it out loud this time.

Colombia 1988

His elbow is rested on the arm of the chair and his mouth is pressed to a fist. Eyes closed for a few moments. He thinks of the silence of that night, how he hasn't heard you say I love you since. The words that kept him going, but fuck it, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. He made their life such a mess, over and over again. Again his brain regresses to that of a child, of his own head when he was eleven, when he tore up his mothers room and stained her poetry with his tears.

He has spent two years suffering, he knows there will be no winning. He lost you. He came here prematurely hoping to win in some way. To bring some good, save some people but he realized there's no winning here either. Just suffering and corruption. The longer he watches people die he swears his faith chips slowly with it.

So he looks over his shoulder once or twice when he leaves his session. There were very few words spoken by Dr. Hertz but what can you do when his story silences so many?

He wishes it could silence his own thoughts but instead it festers and crowds his brain in the most crucial moments. Like when he led a raid in a bar in Medellin and swore the woman who sat at the bar with a gun to her head was you. In genuine panic he freezes, the casualties raised from 24 to 25 at that moment. All because of you—him—all because of his thoughts of you, plaguing him.

And he thinks of you in the most insignificant moments. Insignificant like burying himself deep in the cunt of a woman who’s being paid. He thinks of you and can't keep it up from the guilt. What a curse it is to feel so deeply about someone.

He remembers once, you lie beside him half asleep and mumbling like you did after sex. You said that sometimes love scares you so much that for a time you wished to never feel it. He thought of you so crazy, he fears he understands you now.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

24 notes · View notes

offside-the-lines · 11 months ago

Text

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 4. Four-leaf Clover

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 4 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Tito’s been playing again, and during his first stretch of away games begins to miss home. Well, Evie’s home anyway. When he sees her in the bar, he can’t help but show it. Barzy calls him out on his lies.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Warning: heavy alcohol consumption, and kissing under the influence Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 5.5k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

Four-leaf Clover

Tito — March 9

Tito walks through Evie’s front door, his feet dragging like cement on her floor. It wasn’t even a long road trip, only three games and six days, but they took a late flight, still in their game day suits, right after the game in DC so they could be ready for the back-to-back tomorrow. Today?

He was happy to be back playing and delighted to be back in the normal rhythm of training, games, and travel. But every game is a slog, and the weight of a loss feels even heavier on a team that loses more than it wins.

Not to mention, the long calls with his agent and dad meant he spent most of his waking hours on the roadie thinking about the future. It was hard not to feel increasingly pessimistic when you feel like you’re barely making an impact on a bottom-of-the-table team.

So, yeah, he’s exhausted. His thoughts are moving like sludge through a clogged pipe when he realizes that Evie has been talking to him for a while.

She looks up at him expectantly from where she sits in front of her computer, surrounded by papers and books. She’s wearing her glasses, and her hair is tied in a messy bun, whisps falling around her face. She’s wearing another sweater he had left behind. If he’s honest, most of his favorite comfortable clothes are in her closet now. He feels so relieved to see her he could cry.

He smiles at her softly, “Hey. Sorry. What did you say?”

She laughs. “I knew you weren’t listening.” She shakes her head and stands up, walking over to him.

His body sways towards her without his meaning to.

“Woah, okay.” She catches him in a hug. “Brutal week, huh?”

His arms tighten around her, holding her firmly to him. He hums, burying his face in her neck and sinking into the scent of her perfume and conditioner.

She leans back and smiles at him in a way that makes his body feel even more like jelly than it did, “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you to bed.”

She reaches up and loosens his tie as he just blinks at her. He cooperates as she takes his suit jacket and hangs it up on the kitchen bar stool. She pushes him towards her bedroom, causing him to grunt in confusion.

“Look, you’re tired. It was a crazy game, and you took a long flight. And, to top it all off, you have another game tomorrow. Which is fucking ridiculous, by the way. You’re sleeping in the bed.”

“What?” he mumbles, “No. It’s okay. I can do the couch.”

“I’m not arguing with you on this. Go get ready for bed.”

“But,” he pauses, turning towards her in the doorway of her room, “What about you? I'm not letting you sleep on the couch in your own apartment.”

She looks at him assessingly before shaking her head and smiling, “Okay then.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go.” She closes her laptop and turns off the lights, pushing him further into her room.

His feet drag as his head swims with confusion. “You’re staying in here, too?”

“Yes, dumbass. Might as well take advantage of this king bed.” Her voice softens. “Is that okay with you?”

“Oh,” he says, surprised, “Yes, please.”

He unbuttons his shirt as she rummages around in the closet. When she re-emerges, she’s holding a t-shirt and sweatpants. As he takes the rest of his suit off and hangs it on the nearest empty hanger, she remains standing in front of the closet stock still, eyes never leaving him. He puts a hand on her waist as he reaches around her to hang up his suit, dropping a kiss on her cheek as he takes the clothes in her hand.

If he was less tired, he might have caught the way her eyes linger on the ripple of his body, unable to look away as he changed. He might have seen the flush on her cheeks that she wills away before following him into the bathroom.

His eyes flutter closed as he leans against the sink when they're both brushing their teeth. As he starts to walk back into the bedroom, he remembers something important.

“Oh!”

“Yes?” Evie mumbles through her toothbrush, her eyes wide through the mirror as he stands close behind her, holding her waist.

“I tried to buy some tea when we were in Arizona. I tried to find the type you have here, but I couldn’t find it. Can you tell me what it’s called?”

“I can give you a box,” she says, standing stock still.

“Oh!” he whispers, “Thanks.”

He drops a kiss on her shoulder before trudging into the bedroom. He means to wait for her to join him, but he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Evie — March 17

Evie has never understood why St Patrick’s Day is so popular in the US, but that doesn’t stop her from agreeing to go out with the girls to celebrate. She revels in the group around her in the crowded club; it’s nice to have a group of friends in Chicago. Six months ago, that would've felt impossible.

Well, technically, she guesses, she has two groups of friends. She sees Kelsey, Leanne, and the others every few days, whether it’s for lunch, dinner, or a night out.

When Tito’s in town, she’ll join him and the team on the rare occasion that he goes out with them. Lately, she’s also been getting texts from Alandra when the team's traveling, inviting her over for viewing parties.

It feels weird to sit amongst the wives and girlfriends of the other players, though, so Evie prefers watching at home. Besides, Leanne has really gotten into the sport, so she always has company.

Her friends have been talking about St Patrick’s Day since the New Year’s party, where there was a spirited debate over the merits of house parties and nights out. The Night Out evangelists put together a bar and club crawl that started early in the evening. And Evie can really feel the alcohol in her system as she sways to the music.

Somewhere in her distant memory, she can recall Tito calling her around the second bar they visited. The team had won tonight and were in the mood to celebrate. Tito was high on his two-goal performance and sounded excited to actually go out with the team for once. She was happy for him.

She pulls out her phone— it’s now past midnight— and opens up her text messages.

To Tito 🌞🏒: whre r u?????

“Hey, Genevieve! Don’t be rude! Put your phone away,” Kelsey yells over the thrum of music.

Leanne peaks over her shoulder. “Who’ you textin’?” she slurs.

“Hey,” Evie squeaks, stuffing her phone back in her pockets. “Tito. He’s supposed to come find us.”

“What is it,” someone calls over. Evie’s not quick enough to figure out who.

“Gigi’s texting Tito again,” Leanne sings, making a wild gesture that knocks into a random passerby. “Oops.”

It only takes a second for the wolf whistles to begin.

Evie squeezes her eyes shut and knows precisely what’s in her near future.

Kelsey leans in conspiratorially, “Speaking of— You've got to be tapping that, right? I mean, holy shit. He's so fucking hot. Come on, you’ve got to tell us. What’s he packin’ under there?”

“Guys,” she whines, “We’ve literally been over this—”

“Okay, but like, you’ve got to be fucking right? You can’t have that body around 24/7 and not be hitting it.”

A wave of assent ripples through the group, and Evie feels something settle in her gut. Warm and tight across her lower belly. It makes her feel irritated and on edge.

“No, Leanne, we're not fucking. We hang out, we watch TV, we make and eat food, we sleep. That’s it.” She reaches for one of the shots on their table and slams it down.

“Oooh, she’s a little defensive,” Evie hears someone say.

“Yeah, she has to be so fucking wound up. Seeing all that and not getting any,” Kelsey tries to cover it as a mumble, but her voice is louder than she intends it to be.

“I literally picked up the other week. You were all literally there.” Evie rolls her eyes and glares at her friends. She pointedly has not and will not tell them about how that night ended.

“I guess you’re right,” Leanne says, putting her arm around Evie’s shoulder, “That girl was so fucking hot too. I don’t know how you do it. Well, I mean, I do. You’re hot. They’re hot. It’s just math. Still. Leave some for the rest of us, Jesus.”

Evie stares at the shots on the table and considers if alcohol poisoning would get her out of this conversation.

Kelsey interrupts her thoughts again, “But wait, wasn’t he on a roadie that night, though? Are you sure you guys are totally cool with each other hooking up with other people?”

Evie sighs and bangs her head on the table. “Guys, you've watched us wingman each other. What the fuck're you on right now?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Kelsey looks suitably chastised as she downs her own shot. Evie considers whether she should be cut off but ultimately decides she’s probably fine.

Her thoughts are interrupted again when Kelsey whispers in her ear, “So, like, if I sleep with him, you’d be okay with that.”

Evie feels her teeth clench, and her body stiffen as the room tilts a little. She forces her body to relax. She hasn’t had enough to drink to throw up right now.

“Yeah, have at it, Kels.”

When she looks over, Kelsey isn’t at all convinced, but she doesn’t seem to want to explore the topic any further. Thank God.

Evie takes a deep breath and takes another shot.

“Okay,” she says, loud and cheery, “We got another stop on this party tour?”

Leanne pulls out the map, to cheers around the table, everyone moving on quickly.

“I think Underground’s next. We can go now, what do you think?”

“Uh, yeah! Sounds great! Let’s go!” Evie announces.

As they step onto the curb, her phone rings. When she checks it, her screen is filled with a picture of Tito asleep on her couch, which she has saved as his contact photo. The image melts the remaining tension in her shoulder; she smiles and answers the call.

“Hey Tito, hold on,” she says into her phone before looking up at her friends. “You guys go on without me. I’ll meet you at the next place.”

“Are you sure?” Leanne says.

“Yeah, you guys go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay.” Leanne gives her a squeeze before walking off with the rest of the group.

Evie pulls her phone back to her ear as she steps under the club's awning, wrapping her coat close to her.

“—lo? Are you still there? Hellloooooo,” she hears Tito’s voice calling.

“Hey, Tito. Sorry, I was just talking to the girls.”

“Oh, hi!” Tito says, way too loud, making her wince.

“Hi to you too, bud,” she laughs, “Maybe not so loud. You almost made me deaf.”

There’s a pause on the other end before she hears Tito whisper dramatically into his phone, “Oh. Sorry. I just got excited. I miss you.”

She laughs again, her cheeks straining with her smile. “That’s okay. Where are you?”

“Um… Hold on.” She hears some muffled noises on the other end of the line. “We're going somewhere else soon. Where are you?”

“That didn't answer my question, " she laughs. “I’m at SpyBar. In River North.”

She hears him repeat her location.

“Tito?”

“Yeah, chouchou! I’m in a cab! I’ll be there in…” She hears him lean away from the phone again and ask the driver how far away he is, first in French and then in English. “Ten minutes.”

“What? Okay?” she says in confusion.

“Don’t move, okay? I’m coming.”

She shakes her head. “Yeah, okay. I might go back inside because it’s freezing out here.”

“Oh, yeah,” his voice coming through bright on her phone, “That’s okay. I’ll find you!”

“No, Tito! Just text me when you get here, and I’ll come out. There’s a line.”

When she hears no response, she looks down to see he has already hung up. “Goddammit,” she says to herself.

Fifteen minutes later, she's standing at a high top in the corner of the room, eyeing her phone, her vision hazy, when a large body comes crashing into her.

She stumbles in surprise. “Wha—”

Strong hands spin her around.

Her brain registers Tito’s beaming smile for a split second before his lips crash into hers. His hands fly up to cradle her face roughly.

She makes a squeak of surprise, her hands clinging to his arms— were they always this firm— for balance.

Before she can process any of it, Tito leans back. She immediately misses the sensation of his warm lips against hers, and her body sways into him to chase them.

“Hi,” Tito says warmly, his eyes wild and unfocused, the corners of them crinkled in unbridled joy.

“Hi?” She looks up at him. At this moment, it hits her that Leanne and Kelsey are so right. He's probably the most beautiful person she’s ever seen. Her eyes trail down his sharp nose to his soft lips. She likes those lips. They smile.

“I missed you,” the lips say. One of the hands on Evie’s face trails down her neck, causing her to shiver. The other hand tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before resting on her waist.

“You saw me this morning.” Her hands slide from his arms— how are they so big— across his equally firm chest. She can hear her blood rushing in her ears as she feels him solid and warm beneath her fingers.

“I know,” he murmurs before leaning forward to plant a soft peck on her forehead. She feels more than hears him take a breath in, his shoulders relaxing.

He leans back, his eyes searching her face, but she’s distracted. Her own eyes feel unfocused as they get stuck on his tongue wetting his glistening lips before finally locking onto his crystal-clear eyes.

Whatever Tito’s looking for, he seems content to have found it when he smiles, and she can’t help but smile back.

The hand on her neck moves so gently she feels every hair on her body stand on end. His thumb moves to brush along her jaw, resting on her chin. He tilts her head back, and her mouth parts with the action, and she feels his chest rumble beneath her palms as he groans.

The second time his lips meet hers, she’s ready for them and she wastes no time. She’s always known they were full— she has eyes— but she can feel every millimeter of their softness against hers. She feels content to just explore his pillowy lips but is interrupted by the way his tongue brushes against her lips, setting a jolt of heat down her spine.

Her hands grab onto his black dress shirt, pulling him impossibly closer and deepening the kiss. She feels crazy with it; the way their tongues slide hot and wet, the way his hands drag reverently over her back, coming to rest on her hips.

Her fingers are tangled in his soft curls. She gives them a gentle tug, eliciting another deep noise from him that makes the warmth in her stomach grow blazing hot.

He gently bites her lip in retaliation, surprising a moan out of her. Somewhere in her brain, she notices how broad his hands feel, fingers digging into her hips lightly.

They both jump when Tito’s phone vibrates between their bodies. He pulls away, a soft smile on his face, before reaching into his pocket.

“The boys are at the Underground, and they’re just wondering where I am.” He rests his forehead against hers.

“Oh! That’s where my friends went, too.”

“Do you want to go there then?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” she smiles. She can feel her heart beating hard in her chest as the room sways a little around them.

“Okay, then.” He pauses. “Just one more thing before we go.”

“What?”

“Oh, you know, just this.”

He kisses her briefly.

“Wait, one more.”

Another kiss.

“Hang on. Okay, last one.”

Another kiss.

“There.”

She's laughing, rolling her eyes as she pushes him out of the club and into the cold Chicago air. The Underground is only a 10-minute walk from where they are, so they decide to walk hand-in-hand, chatting excitedly and laughing. At some point, Tito convinces her that he should give her a piggy-back ride. And that’s what their friends see when they walk up outside the club.

“Hey! Look! It’s Leanne. Oh, and your other friends! Oh! And the boys!” he shouts, attempting to point as he holds onto her calf.

Eventually, he agrees to let her down, but only because the bouncer insists. He doesn’t go far, though. He has an arm around her for the rest of the night, never leaving her side for even a moment until he's putting her in a cab with Leanne, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m not going to say anything,” Leanne says smugly as the door shuts.

Evie — March 18

The following morning, Evie wakes up with an incredible hangover. She groans as she rubs her eyes, wincing at the open windows. They must've forgotten to pull the blinds last night.

Tito…

She pauses, her head spinning. There’s something there as she freezes, pulling on that fuzzy thread of memory.

It comes back in a flash: wet pillowy lips sliding over hers, soft curly hair in her fingers, a broad palm firm on her waist, a warm callused thumb tracing her jaw, two deep pools of blue holding her gaze so tenderly.

She gasps; her eyes fly open.

Tito.

She looks over at her empty side, where she has grown accustomed to seeing Tito sleeping.

Right, he had to pack for a road trip. A road trip leaving today for the next week.

Fuck.

He will be back for only two days before he's gone for another week.

Double fuck.

Evie groans, pulls his pillow over her face, and screams into the swirling scents of her own conditioner and his cologne.

Tito — April 1

Tito’s glad he gets a day off in New York before their game against the Islanders. It lets him veg out on Mat’s couch all afternoon and evening— an entire 12 hours where he can pretend last year never happened.

He hates that this is one of only two places where he doesn’t feel like his skin is too tight for his body. At least in this space, he doesn’t have to think about all the calls with his agent about next season. He especially doesn’t have to think about the email in his inbox detailing his flight home on April 21st.

So he just enjoys spending time with Mat, playing video games like old times, and being in each other’s presence.

He’s glad he gets that time to enjoy blissful ignorance before he's rudely wrenched back into his real life while eating Thai food on Mat’s couch.

“So, any news about the contract situation?” Mat tries to sound casual and falls short by at least a mile.

“No, Barzy. If there was news, you’d know. You’d literally be like the first person I’d tell.”

Mat studies his face, and he must find something there because he shrugs.

“First person still, eh?” Mat’s face lights up in a cheeky smirk. “You sure? Are you sure I wouldn’t be the second? You think you’d call me before you’d call Evie.”

He says her name in a sing-songy voice, making Tito roll his eyes. Mat has gotten so much worse in his teasing about Evie since they met on FaceTime; Mat had loudly— embarrassingly— said, “You said she was hot; you didn’t tell me she was this gorgeous.” They apparently text now, too.

Tito heaves a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes. “Actually, you’re right. I’d probably call my dad first.”

Unfortunately, the glint has not left Mat’s eyes, which tells Tito he has found something to latch on to and has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

“So,” Mat says, casually chewing on his Pad Thai. “How’s Evie?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? You guys text now, don’t you?”

“You jealous, bud?”

Tito levels him with an unimpressed look. “Why would I be jealous? I literally see her every day.”

“Every day, eh?” Mat nods dramatically. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

Tito swears internally. How does Mat always do this? “Yes. I see my new best friend every day.”

Mat squawks so loud that Tito almost drops his green curry and points at him accusingly with his chopsticks. “What?! I told you that she was replacing me. Nah-uh, man. I am your best friend. And I will fight her. I will fly to Chicago right now and fight her.”

Tito chews smugly. “You’re going to travel. On a plane. To fist-fight a girl? Why don’t you take that energy onto the ice instead of all the yapping, eh?”

“Oh fuck you, Beau,” he spits, with no heat behind it. He eats his dinner, thinking for a bit before adding, “No ice talk in Barzy-Beau time.”

They eat their dinner in silence for a few seconds before Mat pipes up again, sighing dramatically, “I can’t believe you’ve fucking replaced me already. It’s been one year. All those years of work, down the drain. Did me helping you when you broke your arm in U-18 dev camp mean nothing to you?”

“Barz, this is why they call you a bitch baby.” Tito laughs again when he's rewarded with another squawk.

“No one calls me that!” he whines.

“Sure, bud.” Tito bumps his shoulder into Mat’s, smiling as Mat continues to rant while they finish their food.

After putting the empty take-out containers onto Mat’s coffee table, he flops back onto the couch with the controller.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about Evie,” Mat says, a few seconds into the NHL 24 game they’re playing.

“Not really, no.”

“Okay, so, like, any other hotties in Chicago?”

Flashes of Evie cross his mind, unprompted. He tries to think of literally any of the other girls he’s been with ever, but they all get replaced by her: the warm glint in her dark chocolate eyes, the buttery soft skin of her calf beneath his hands when they’re on the couch, or the way her smile makes his chest loosen even on the worst days.

And the hot slide of her lips against his.

Tito’s thumb slips, and his avatar misses the goal.

“Fuck! Uh, not really? I mean, I went out a bit earlier in the season, but I’m just so fucking exhausted now.”

Mat hums. “Sure, yeah. Anyone good enough you’d wanna see again?”

Tito’s traitorous mind can only supply the blurry flashes of Evie’s body pressed against his with the thrumming bass of club music in the background. The sensation of her hands curled in his hair. The little gasp-moan she made when he bit her lip. The way his fingers could span her entire waist.

He swallows hard, pushing those memories back down. “Come on, man. You know I never tell.”

Mat laughs softly. “Yeah, I know. Still worth a try, though.”

“You’re disgusting, man.”

Mat shrugs, feigning indifference. Tito bumps him hard with his shoulder.

“Hey!” he yells, elbowing Tito back, “That’s fucking interference.”

“What're you gonna do about it? Fight me?”

The conversation and the game devolve from there.

Later in the evening, Mat stands up to clean off the take-out boxes, an honest hallmark of growing up.

“You want anything to drink?” he asks from the kitchen.

Tito pauses and thinks, “Yeah, uh… Do you have any tea?”

There’s a silence in the kitchen before Mat appears in the doorway.

“Tea?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah? Leaves plus hot water? Leaf juice? I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” Tito smirks.

“Shut up,” Mat rolls his eyes, “Since when do you drink tea.”

“Since always? What’s it to you?”

Mat stares at him for an extended moment, brows furrowed, before walking back into the kitchen without another word.

“Um, Barz?” Tito calls after him, following him into the kitchen.

He sees Mat bent over, rummaging through his drawers loudly before turning around and throwing a tea bag at Tito.

“Here. You know where stuff is.” Mat walks past him back to the living room.

Tito stands for a second, confused, before following. “Dude, what the fuck was that?”

When Mat turns around, Tito's floored because Mat looks genuinely angry.

“Why are you lying to me?” Mat challenges, not a trace of his signature smirk on his face.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Tito stares at him blankly before shaking his head.

“Are you fucking serious right now, Beauvillier?” He pauses to assess Tito’s face. “Tea! Tea. You drink tea now? I've known you ten fucking years; I've seen you drink tea maybe three times.”

“Oh, come on, I drank tea.”

“No, you didn’t! But that is so not the fucking point, and you know it.” Mat walks back to him and pokes him hard in the chest. “So, tell me, why are you lying to me?”

Tito sighs and rubs his hands over his face, and when he opens his mouth to speak again, his voice comes out strained, “I’m not lying Mat. I swear.”

He feels Mat poke him again, gentler this time. “Okay. Fine. But if you’re not lying to me, then you're lying to yourself.”

“I— There’s—” Tito stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence, a panic setting into his chest.

Mat looks at him, and his expression softens before sighing, “Look, Beau. Tell me honestly. Where the fuck did you go when I asked you if you were seeing someone?”

His mind unhelpfully flashes him the image of Evie waking up next to him in the morning, sleep rumpled and utterly breathtaking. She makes a little squeak when she stretches, right as her eyes flutter open, and before she smiles at him. Tito’s always been an early riser, but even if he wasn’t, it’d been worth it just to see that every morning.

“Yes! See? That! Where the fuck did you just go?”

“I—” Tito takes a deep breath and fights through the tightness in his chest. “I can’t. I can’t, Mat.”

“Beau—”

“You know I can’t. She— I’m leaving Chicago in three weeks, Mat. I don’t know if I’m even going back to Chicago. I have no idea where I’m going to be next year.” He takes a shaking breath and looks past Mat’s shoulder and out of the living window.

“Beau— Tito, what are you talking about?” Mat asks gently.

“Barz, I know. Okay? I know. I know that I'm absolutely fucked. But it doesn’t matter because I can’t— I won’t do that to her. I've been in three different cities in the past year. Three different teams.” He fights through the wobble in his voice, barely above a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like to— You just don’t know what it’s like.”

“Tito, fucking talk to me, man. Please. Just word vomit. Get it all out. Like when you make yourself throw up when you’ve drunk too much. It sucks in the moment, but you’ll feel better after.”

Tito sinks heavily into the armchair next to the couch and buries his face in his hands. “It’s just… One day, a team's your life. You’re asked to give everything to that team. And you’re happy to. Because it’s your team. Those are your boys. It’s like who you are. Anthony Beauvillier, a New York Islander. Right?

“And then the next day, out of absolutely fucking nowhere, you’re just not that anymore. You’re now on a new team in a new city with new teammates and new support staff. Everything's different. But you’re supposed to act like everything's fine, and you have to slot right in, in this strange new place with strange new people, and be just as committed to this strange new team as you were to the old one. And pretend like the last few years of your life never even happened.

“So you do it. And you do it with a smile on your face and a positive mindset, or whatever. You power through until you make new friends, have new favorite spots to eat, and, just like, new everything. And you think, fuck, okay, this’ll be fine. You’re smiling more for real now instead of just because that’s what people expect from you.

“And then, one day, you’re eating breakfast and you get a call from your agent. And it’s happening all over again.” His voice breaks. “And I just have a feeling that this is just what my career is going to be like Mat.”

“No—” he hears Mat’s pained voice coming from next to him.

“No, it’s okay, Barz. Look, I’m really happy for you, and I love seeing you fucking killing it out there. And being an All-Star and all that. But that’s not me. And that’s fine, too. I’m doing fine. I promise. But I can’t fucking do that to someone— to her. Even if she feels the— I can’t ask her to do this fucking circus show with me, just ripping her from her home every however many months. Just being a little scared every single time the phone rings that it’s going to be that call again. I can’t—”

Tito presses the heels of his hands against his eyes hard, willing himself not to cry. He hears Mat shuffle around to hug him firmly and tries to breathe through the tightness constricting his chest.

“I’m sorry, Beau. I really am. I wish it didn’t have to be you. I wish you could stay— could've stayed.” Mat sounds like he might be crying a little, too.

“It’s okay. It’s gotta be someone, I guess.” He shrugs, wiping his hands from his eyes and running his fingers through his slightly messed-up hair. “It’s so fucking stupid because I still feel really fucking lucky to play in the show. Like this was the dream. You know that. I’m living my fucking dream. And I knew this was part of the deal. So I’m okay with it, but I can’t ask her to do this shit with me. She deserves better than this. And I’m really grateful she’s even just my friend at all. I’ll be okay with it staying that way. It doesn’t matter what I— It doesn’t matter.”

Mat gives him a final squeeze before letting him go and sitting back on the edge of the couch. “Have you thought about talking to Evie about this? Like, I think she should know.”

Tito shakes his head, staring at his damp hands. “No… I don’t know… Maybe… I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Well, I think it would be good to start with how you definitely want to marry her and have her babies because you’re an idiot who drinks tea now.”

Tito chortles and shoves Mat in the shoulders hard; he falls dramatically backward into the couch. “I’m not fucking saying that, Mathew.”

“Which part, eh?” Mat winks and wiggles his eyebrows.

Tito takes the pillow behind him and pelts it at Mat’s head. “Any of it, you dumb fuck,” he yells before they both burst out laughing.

When they finally calm down, Mat says, “For what it’s worth, she’s definitely into you too. Anyone who voluntarily spends that much time with you has to be mesmerized by something. Might be just the abs, but it could also be your personality.”

“God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me,” Mat beams at him, a smug grin stretched across his whole face.

“Urgh, fine. I do, Mat-Mat. Worst fucking choice ever. Should never have spoken to you at camp,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah? And what would you do without me?” Mat says in an exaggerated sing-song voice. He nudges Tito’s calf with his foot before standing up, “Come on, let’s make you that fucking tea.”

“I can’t believe you yelled at me over tea.” Tito stands up, following Mat to the kitchen again.

“I did not yell at you about tea. I yelled at you because you were being so fucking stupid, and it was pissing me off.”

“Do you even have a kettle?”

Mat throws him an unimpressed look, “No, I obviously don’t have a kettle. I was going to microwave it. God, she’s made you into a snob.”

“It's not snobby to make your tea at the right temperature.” Mat raises his eyebrows, and Tito laughs, “Okay, maybe. She’s right, though. Something about brewing temperature.”

“Whipped,” Mat mutters under his breath, causing Tito to hit him with a dishtowel.

Series Cover Page/Masterlist || Next Episode >>

Requests / Come chat about this with me!!! | Masterlist & Who I Write For & Taglist

#rox writes #tell me who i run to series #anthony beauvillier imagine #hockey imagine #nhl imagines #chicago blackhawks

25 notes · View notes