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the-tragic-heroine · 1 year

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死鬼祭 | Shiki Matsuri

fandom: tokyo revengers

characters: kurokawa izana, kakucho, haitani ran, haitani rindou, madarame shion, kokonoi hajime

pairings: tenjiku x female reader

cw: blood, violence, minor character death, supernatural elements, she/her pronouns used for reader

tags: @akemiixx01

—✧ SUMMARY ✧—

The villagers say that you cursed them all. You believe that they were the ones who cursed you. (Or, in which the circumstances of your unfortunate birth woke a forgotten, slumbering god.)

Very vague depictions of the supernatural here, and a few cameos of specific yokai if you can spot them! Title is based off of a song by KODOKULOVE! More characters may be added as the story progresses.

Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

CHAPTER 伍 FIVE

Without Izana around, the atmosphere at the shrine felt lighter. Still, you were left with a nagging discomfort at his absence, and you had to wonder if it was a side-effect of your growing anxiety as of late—or if you really did genuinely miss him. Sometimes, you found yourself touching your own lips, questioning if perhaps Izana’s late-night visit had just been a dream conjured up by your own fraying mind. It was difficult to dwell too long on the thought, however, as your companions had grown quite adept at keeping you preoccupied throughout the passing days.

Ran, as lazy as ever, had begun insisting you do his hair every morning, regardless of whether or not he had anything to do that day. While his preferred hairstyle of choice was his signature twin braids, he occasionally asked for something different—and, it was with much shame that you admitted you didn’t quite know how.

“I didn’t really have anyone to teach me, or anyone to practice on aside from myself,” you explained. “Even braids I only learned recently…”

“You know,” Ran said, flashing you a lazy smile that never failed to make your heart beat a little faster, “I’ve been quite jealous of Rindou stealing away all your time with his stupid ‘lessons’. How about I teach you a lil somethin’ of my own? Here, lemme show you.”

His long, lithe fingers, which you had seen wielding a ceremonial staff to cleanse the shrine grounds many times before, were gentle when they guided your hands to your own hair. He was so close now, face mere centimetres away from yours as the two of you sat opposite from one another on the tatami. You hoped he could not hear the loud thumping of your traitorous heart.

“You’re blushing,” he said, and in embarrassed instinct you began to lean away, only for Ran’s hand to shoot forward and wrap around the back of your neck to hold you in place. “Ah-ah, stay still.”

“W-Wait,” you stammered, cheeks going red-hot. “This is a little—”

“Shush.” The sudden intensity of his lavender eyes pinned you down. The hand not on your neck drifted from your hair to cup your face, thumb pressing underneath your chin to keep your head tilted up to look at him. “Let me be a little selfish today, princess.”

When he kissed you, you found that you didn’t mind a selfish Ran. Not at all.

—✧—

Rindou was pissed.

You already knew that the younger Haitani brother was quick to anger, though his temper usually fizzled out rather quickly. From what you had learned from him during his lessons, it was rarely anything more than surface-level annoyance; despite the sadism he displayed during fights, you found that he never harbored any real hatred. This time, however…

Rindou was pissed and he was avoiding you.

At first, Ran had seemed rather smug about it, so you assumed that the two were squabbling over something stupid again—but when you bumped into Rindou in the hall and he didn’t even look at you, you found it odd. When you approached him later (with much difficulty, as he seemed to make it his mission to make himself as scarce as possible) to ask him something and he looked you dead in the eye before walking off, you had a sneaking suspicion over what he was mad about. When this pattern continued over the next few days, that suspicion was confirmed: Ran had told him he had kissed you. Bragged about it, probably. It definitely didn’t help that ever since then, Ran had been much touchier than before.

So, you did the only thing you could think of doing. The second you caught sight of him, you gave chase. If anything, the shock then sheer panic that flashed across his face was rewarding enough, because when he took off running, you knew there was no way in hell you were going to catch him.

“What the—” Ran stepped aside as his brother flew past him, shortly followed by you. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

Neither of you paid him any heed. With your focus locked onto Rindou’s receding back, you barely heard the eldest Haitani—and failed to see the slightly crooked floorboard jutting out in front of your feet.

“Ack—”

Instead of crashing to the floor, you tumbled right into Rindou’s arms.

“You idiot,” he hissed, grip tightening around your body. “You could’ve hurt yourself—”

“I wouldn’t have if you just stopped avoiding me—”

You had barely finished your sentence when Rindou crashed his lips onto yours.

“Stupid bro,” he grumbled in-between furious kisses, all while you clutched onto his clothing in a dazed stupor. “Show-off. Ugh— Stop wriggling.”

A distance away, Ran watched as Rindou dragged you to the direction of his room. Twirling a braid around one finger, he let out an exasperated sigh—but there was a small smile that tugged at his lips. “Little brothers. Never know how to share.”

—✧—

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on anymore,” Shion deadpanned. “I walked in on both Ran AND Rindou making out with you. Several times. Right in the fuckin’ hallway! What the actual fuck!”

“I don’t know either!” you cried out, cheeks an angry shade of red. “It’s just been kinda happening and I can’t really stop them—”

“Bull. Shit,” he sneered, his upper lip curling to expose one of his sharp canines. “You know damn well that if you told ‘em to stop, they would. Izana might be the fuckin’ god around here but you might as well be one too, princess.”

Your mouth snapped shut, shame written all over your face. At your stricken expression, Shion burst out into bitter laughter. “Look, it’s fine. Whatever the fuck’s goin’ on, Izana probably doesn’t give a shit—as long as you’re happy. Keeps the belief goin’, or something. Without ya, none of us would be here. Just…” He waved his hands around. “It makes me feel left out, okay?!”

A beat passed. “Huh?”

“They’re always doin’ shit like this,” he complained. “Leavin’ me out of things! Actin’ like I’m an idiot!”

“Shion—”

“Give me one, too!”

“Shion?!”

Somehow, you still found yourself laughing in his arms, all while he grumbled and leaned in for another kiss.

—✧—

Kakucho raised an eyebrow at you when you meekly approached him one afternoon. He had kept entirely quiet about his… fellow spirits and your affairs, despite having bore witness to it more times than he would have liked. Still, it was none of his business, and while he made sure to reprimand the others whenever they got too overwhelming, he acted like nothing was out of the ordinary around you. Until…

“Kakucho,” you said, staring up at him nervously. “Do you… not like me?”

“What?”

“You… I mean, well, with the others having been, you know…” He watched incredulously as you waved your hands around in obvious embarrassment. “Um. I thought that maybe you would end up doing something like that, too…”

“I’m not a degenerate,” he stated bluntly. “I’m not going to do anything to you.”

You flushed bright red at his remark. “…Okay. I-I’m sorry I asked and… for making you uncomfortable. Please just pretend I never said anything.” Before you could rush away, however, Kakucho held up a hand to stop you.

“Wait.”

You froze.

“I’m not going to do anything to you…” He paused, and now his cheeks were turning slightly pink, too. “…Unless you want me to, that is.”

I stared at him, mouth open. Still, I hesitated. “But… do you want to?”

The corners of his eyes lifted as he smiled softly, carefully lifting a hand to brush his calloused fingers across the apple of your soft cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

When he pulled you in, you couldn’t help but think that the touch of his lips felt like coming home.

—✧—

An unfamiliar voice drifted to your ears whilst in the middle of sweeping leaves from the courtyard. “So this is the lady of the hour that I’ve been hearing all about.”

Startled, you looked all around, seeing nobody there.

“Up here, miss.”

You tilted your head to the roof. There sat a man you had never seen before, one leg propping up his arm and the other dangling over the edge. His black hair hung in wavy locks on one side, partially obscuring one of two piercing, slitted black eyes. Though he appeared completely human at first, you were able to glimpse the telltale shimmer of several ghostly fox tails waving behind him, along with a set of matching ears.

“Um,” you said, blinking rapidly, wondering if you should call for help. Thankfully, the sound of the stranger’s voice was enough to summon Kakucho, who did not seem all that surprised to see him.

“Ah, Kokonoi,” he said. “I was wondering when you would finally drop by.”

“You know me,” the kitsune said, sticking out his tongue. “No money? No Koko.”

“[Name].” Kakucho nodded at you. “This is Kokonoi Hajime. He’s not often around, but he too is one of Izana’s servants. He isn’t bound to him the way we are, however—just a stray that stuck around.”

Kokonoi waved a hand at you, waggling his fingers and grinning. You smiled and waved awkwardly back, mumbling out a polite, “Nice to meet you.”

“What brings you here, then?” Kakucho crossed his arms. “And come down from there. It’s a pain to look up at you.”

With the grace of a feather, Kokonoi obliged, landing on the grass in front of the two of you and tucking both hands neatly into the sleeves of his haori in the same motion. He was still smiling cheekily at you. “Izana told me to notify him once the preparations are almost ready. I figured I should visit to see the little miss at the same time. Come to find, Izana isn’t here—so why not stay for a while longer?” He stuck out his tongue again. “Now I know why you’re all so enamoured. She’s sweet.”

“Back off,” Kakucho grunted, gritting his teeth. Kokonoi laughed.

“Ease up, guard dog,” he said. “Don’t want to scare her off, do you?”

You fidgeted in place, not quite liking how they were talking about you as if you weren’t even there, and muttered out, “I don’t think much else can scare me at this point.” That earned you a loud cackle from the black-haired fox spirit.

“Atta girl,” he said, bending slightly at the waist so he could look you in the eye. You found yourself gazing back, fascinated by his slitted pupils and long lashes. Despite your initial misgivings, there was no sign of that underlying darkness you had grown so accustomed to after several months of living with Izana and his men. Kokonoi appeared to notice the change in your expression and his face softened.

“Sweet thing,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. One long, sharp fingernail grazed the surface of your skin. “What have they been doing to you?”

“Enough,” Kakucho said gruffly, wrenching Kokonoi away from you and shoving him backward. The kitsune did not even stumble. “If you have nothing else to say, then you can leave.”

“What a brute,” he chuckled, but it was dry and humorless. “Fine. Tell Izana I have a message for him, yeah? Usually I would charge a fee, but I’m feeling generous today so I’ll let it slide.”

Kakucho jerked his chin at him in a silent order to continue. Kokonoi shrugged his shoulders.

“As requested, I’ve finished gathering them,” he said. “I had to bribe a good number, but that’s to be expected. Izana isn’t as strong as he used to be, after all.” His eyes flitted over to you. “In fact, I’m rather impressed. Who knew that the faith of one single human girl would be enough to command a god and his entire army.”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“I knew it,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to believe it, but… you guys are really going to destroy the village, aren’t you?”

Kakucho could not meet your gaze. This time, the sympathetic look on Kokonoi’s face made your skin crawl.

“Why?” you asked, voice shaking as you recalled the village mother’s agony in her last moments. “Why would you go that far?”

“I’ll tell her myself.”

The three of you whirled around to find Izana standing there, white locks and red earrings blowing in the faint breeze. Both Kokonoi and Kakucho bowed at the waist in perfect synchronisation when he approached, uttering out a simultaneous, “Welcome home, master.” Izana did not bother to even look at them as he passed, hypnotic lavender eyes fixated solely on you. He held out a hand for you to take; you knew it was not a request. With a deep breath, you placed your palm in his, and he laced his fingers together with yours.

“Come take a walk with me,” he said, smiling down at you. “There is something I need to show you.”

Your eyes darted from Izana to Kokonoi to Kakucho, then back again, and again. Though they had already straightened up, both men still kept their heads bowed—but they were close enough that you could glimpse the looks in both of their eyes. While the two of them wore the same cold grimace, Kokonoi’s eyes had gone from an amused, sparkling onyx to a dull charcoal. Kakucho’s, however… Your gut twisted itself to pieces at the sight of pure self-loathing in the wide-eyed glare he burned into the ground.

Left with no other choice, you followed Izana into the forest.

You had wandered through the trees yourself many times, before their arrival: foraging for berries, picking herbs and mushrooms, or simply allowing the chirping of birds to calm you. Nowadays, because of the ever-lurking threat of malevolent spirits leaking from the village, you barely found the opportunity to stroll. Back then, you might have thought the forest to be peacefully quiet—but at Izana’s side, you realised with a shiver just how wrong you were. Without the rustling of leaves in the wind, the buzzing of insects, or those lovely birdsongs drifting down from the canopies above, you came to understand just how loud a forest naturally should be.

Was it because of the demons? Or… was it because of him?

“You’re frightened,” Izana remarked.

“I’m not,” you protested, a little too quickly. He laughed in response, the movement making his earrings swing.

“You already know that I will not hurt you,” he said, “but you are not worried about yourself, are you? You are worried about the people.” When you did not reply, he continued talking. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, little one. You and Kakucho are both very much alike. Try as you might to hide it, you still wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“And you?” you blurted out before you could think to stop yourself. “Where has your heart gone?”

When he stopped walking, your stomach lurched, fearing that you had really done it this time. But there was no hint of anger in his eyes when he turned to face you; only that same melancholy you witnessed on the evening he kissed you in your room, tinged with a bitterness you could not yet comprehend.

“That is what I intended to show you,” he said. “Today, we are making a journey. All the way back to the very beginning.”

#tokyo revengers x reader #tkrv x reader #tenjiku x reader #kurokawa izana x reader #kakucho x reader #haitani ran x reader #haitani rindou x reader #madarame shion x reader #kokonoi hajime x reader #kind of #enjoy this moment of happiness before the chaos of chapter 6 #the full fic is already up on ao3 #my writing

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after-witch · 3 years

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Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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amysubmits · 3 years

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“Just Knowing” & Communication

I got an ask recently asking if I could write something about how doms seem to sometimes “instinctively know” things about their sub, and how communication plays into that.

I thought it was a great point, and I had an experience that I’d been wanting to share in some way, that I thought would work well within that concept. Anyway, here goes...

I have shared experiences where CD reads my needs seamlessly. Those moments can feel almost magical and that makes me want to share them. I have occasionally heard from people who seem to think CD is nearly capable of reading my mind, as a result of posts like that. It’s not my intention to give that impression.

There are occasional moments where I am shocked at how he knows things I didn’t say. I’ve also shared that sometimes those moments where he perfectly meets my needs are often the moments where I feel the most owned. That’s because him knowing and meeting my needs feels so intensely intimate, and so much of our D/s comes down to emotional intimacy.

He isn’t a mind reader, though. We have been together over a decade now, and he’s observant. I think that deserves a big mention, when discussing how he ‘just knows’ things about me. He notices my body language, and how I react to things. He learns a lot about me by simply paying close attention. This is really important to me. Him naturally watching me, noticing my mood and such, is a big way that he makes me feel loved. I couldn’t be with someone who wasn’t naturally drawn to try to learn me, and pay close attention to me. Just him being someone who pays attention is a huge part of how I feel loved. It shows me that he wants to know as much as he can about me, and that he wants to meet my needs. More than that, his desire to want to learn my needs period, matters. There are some people who just don’t wish to get that deep with their partner, they don’t care to know their partner like the back of their had. That would be a problem, for me, because I do want that level of intimacy. Part of how I knew that CD had that desire for deeper intimacy, was how he tried to learn what he could by observing me.

At the same time, being mindful of your loved one’s body language, facial expressions and behaviors only goes so far. You can’t observe your way into knowing exactly what someone wants or needs. You just can’t. Certain things just have to be explicitly stated. While a good portion of our emotional intimacy comes from paying close attention to each other, more of it comes from our communication.

The truth is, there have been times where I’ve been frustrated that CD didn’t catch something. I’ve occasionally had the emotional reaction of almost feeling neglected because he didn’t notice something about me. And that? Is not a healthy reaction for me to have. That reaction is something I have to try to be conscious of, and I can’t allow myself to run away with those feelings. I have to recognize them and fight back against them. Because I can’t expect him to read my mind, or to pick up on everything, to ‘just know’ everything, or anything, really. If he isn’t aware of something, it is my responsibility to communicate.

We were new to D/s in particular, we talked about our needs and wants all the time, often daily. Getting started with D/s requires really thorough communication so that you know the boundaries and limits of the dynamic, and so that you know what is expected of each of you. Even though we tried to hammer out our dynamic in advance, we found ourselves experiencing scenarios that we weren’t sure how they ‘should’ be handled with our D/s, because we couldn’t pre-plan our D/s for how to go about every possible scenario that life may throw at us. So whenever we experienced something new and didn’t know how to handle it, we’d have to discuss how we wanted to handle it. Or in there cases we’d handle a situation and then realize we wished it had been handled differently, and we’d discuss that and plan to do differently next time.

After a while (many months?) it got to where we had the basics down and we didn’t need to talk about things as often anymore. We didn’t have to discuss it multiple times a week anymore, but perhaps a couple times a month was sufficient. Still, the frequency ebbs and flows. We go through phases, even now, 6 years in, of discussing our D/s more or less often. It mainly depends on whether we’re facing new things in life or making changes to our rules or the rest of our dynamic, or whether life is normal and our dynamic is unchanged. If we make changes, that means we’ll communicate about our D/s more often for a while, usually. Tons of what we know about each other and our needs are things we’ve learned through all that communication. Way more than we’ve learned by just observing each other.

Our “meta-talks” (discussions about our D/s) are perhaps one of the areas that I don’t give enough attention to on this blog. They’re often very private feeling, so it’s hard to feel comfortable sharing much about them.

A couple of months ago after a meta-talk, we came to the conclusion that it would be helpful for us to focus on making sure I feel very seen. It wasn’t that I had stopped feeling seen...but more that our current life circumstances were making me need to feel more seen than usual. Anyway, CD had me make him a list of things that made me feel seen, to share with him.

The things I shared on that list were all things he had done “naturally” before. So it was more about sharing with him what things he does that make me feel particularly seen. Still, I did over-think it, a little bit. I wondered if it would feel different for him to do these things for me after I shared them with him, rather than doing them purely instinctually, like he had in the past. Would it feel less genuine? Would I be able to absorb it and really effectively feel see if I suspected he was doing this for the purpose of making me feel seen?

Early on, I did feel a bit bashful or self-conscious when I noticed him doing those things a little bit more often. I felt a bit insecure like “Oh, he just thinks he has to do that because I need to feel more seen.” and for some reason that cheapened it a little in my mind, and also made me feel a bit selfish or something. Worrying about being a burden on people is a deep seeded insecurity of mine that comes in up all sorts of ways. So it’s not surprising that my brain tried to twist this into ‘he just feels obligated to’. Even early on when I was feeling those insecurities, I was feeling seen, at the same time. As more time went on though, those insecurities softened and I was able to recognize that these things were feeling fulfilling to him, too, which further eased my insecurities.

This is just one example of how our direct communication has benefitted our D/s. When this type of thing occurs over the course of many years, I hope you can imagine how that can assist with creating those “he just knows” moments.

I think a lot of good relationships have similar experiences with hesitating to share exactly what you want from your partner. The love is there, the good intent is there, but unless you tell your partner exactly what makes you feel the best...you can’t magically expect them to know. Yet many of us have this instinct that “I can’t tell them exactly how I’d like them to treat me, or it won’t be as ‘real’”.

I think D/s often complicates this issue even farther. Subs hesitate to ask for ‘too much’ because they don’t want to be too needy, or to feel like they’re taking charge or telling their doms what to do. Which I think is a valid concern. In my view, the answer to that potential problem isn’t to avoid sharing what make you feel good. Instead, it’s just to be mindful of the way that you are communicating, so that you are sharing the knowledge of your needs or desires without telling them what to do.

Communicating in great detail is a huge part of how we find the intimacy that we’re after with D/s. Understanding in detail what makes each other feel dominant and submissive does SO much to assist us with keeping our D/s on track, and to keep each other feeling loved and cared for. These deep, difficult, detailed discussions are also helpful to our D/s because they make me realize how safe our relationship is. That sense of security allows me to let go and be more submissive.

As I said earlier, I understand that instinct that if you tell someone exactly what you want, and then they do it, your initial instinct may be to feel like it’s less meaningful when they do it. Like asking for it somehow ‘cheapened’ it.

I think that is a largely misguided instinct, though. I think that if you tell someone what feels good to you, and they do it just to placate you or please you? You can tell they’re just phoning it in. And if you tell them what makes you feel good, and they do it because they enjoy making you feel good? You’ll feel that too.

It’s similar to how starting D/s worked for us. When I first asked for it, I worried it would be something he did just for me. But once he found meaning in it himself? I could tell that our D/s was fulfilling for him, that it was giving him joy, and that he was really feeling the connection with me through this dynamic. It was just easy to see that he was really ‘feeling it’. A similar thing can happen with "smaller” things such as specific acts of love, care or service.

#writing #sccwriting #d/s #domestic discipline

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siennahrobek · 3 years

Text

He hadn’t realized it, but Alpha-17 had been waiting for this moment. This time. Whatever.

His loyalty had always been to the Republic, rather strictly, thanks to his training and upbringing, even though it never seemed like the government had cared about him or anyone else. It was something he was used to. The trainers didn’t care about anything but what they were being paid. The Kaminoans didn’t care about anything aside from progress in their work and perfection from the clones. Before, it hadn’t mattered. He did his job; that was his purpose, his whole reason for being. There was nothing else.

And then the war started. The Jedi came.

And then, despite the death and fighting and everything else, the jedi cared.

General Shaak Ti and General Kenobi had been adamant to save the clones still in tubes during the first invasion of Kamino, despite the fact that it would have been more efficient and easier just to destroy them.

They had been steadfast in saving lives.

Time had gone on and the jedi fought alongside them. Died alongside them. They encouraged speech and individuality and names.

Alpha-17 didn’t exactly know when his outlook had shifted but it had and now, he had committed mutiny against his planet, against everyone, to save his brothers from being brainwashed completely, to have the one thing they had freedom of taken away. He had committed mutiny to help them, to help the jedi. The Jedi that the clones had been made for, the jedi that had accepted them so readily and the jedi whose fates were intertwined with their own.

It would be about three days until they would arrive and virtually every single clone was working nonstop. The city was near completely torn apart by the time the ships under Kenobi’s command came into their space and kept off to the side of the planet, far enough away that they could make an escape if a ship began to fire upon them.

Alpha-17 and Commander Colt messaged the ships, indicating their safe orbit around the planet. Several gunships come down to the planet side with an entire slew of jedi and clones. Commander Colt had found General Shaak Ti and sagged in relief but Alpha-17’s attention was behind her, where General Kenobi strode off the gunship with Commander Cody and Captain Rex by his side.

Storming up to them, Alpha-17 stopped in front of the trio, staring at General Kenobi up and down with such intensity, he nearly thought the Jedi would combust into flames.

“Uh…sir?” Captain Rex questioned.

“At least you’re wearing some armor again,” Alpha-17 told the general instead, rather gruffly. General Kenobi’s smile was a bit weak but no less genuine. “Where is that scamp of an apprentice of yours, he’s usually right behind you.”

“It is good to see you, as well, captain,” General Kenobi greeted. “Your blunt honesty has been sorely missed. I am sorry to say that…that Anakin’s allegiance lies with the Empire now.”

“The Empire that tried brainwashed my brothers and tried to kill all the jedi,” Alpha-17 replied, flatly. Wordlessly, General Kenobi nodded. Alpha decided not to say any more on the matter. “We have a war room set up. Your bridge said you need to try and contact any of the jedi out in the field.”

“Yes, we have warned many, but now we have to plan on what we are going to do as well as thoughts on where to rendezvous,” General Kenobi explained. “It is also a bit of a roll call, as we don’t…know who survived.

“Master Kenobi,” a new voice called out as a human man walked towards them. Alpha-17 looked over and watched him warily.

“Alpha-17, this is Battle Master Cin Drallig,” General Kenobi introduced to a long-haired Jedi. “I think you two will get along fairly well. Master Drallig, Captain Alpha-17.”

“Well met, Captain,” the battle master greeted. Alpha-17 imagined with a title like battle master, General Kenobi was probably, irritatingly, correct. He did sound like someone he would perhaps get along with. “I have a feeling we may be working together often.”

Alpha-17 took his hand with the shake. “Why would you say that sir?”

Battle master Drallig just smirked. “Just a feeling.”

The captain led them towards the inner workings of what was left of the city and towards the large room with a nearly just as big holo table. There were already several jedi and nearly just as many clone officers standing around the edges.

He watched as General Kenobi, flanked by General Ti and battle master Drallig, straightened himself, taking a deep breath before the giant holo table flickered to life, the visage of several jedi and sometimes their respective commanders with them popping up in blue form.

There was many of them.

He imagined it was a relief to the other jedi. Alpha-17 tried to take stock of all those who were standing around. There were a few that Alpha-17 recognized, including Wolffe’s general, General Koon and Bly’s as well, General Secura but for the most part, he knew very few of them. The former looked as calm and put together as always, even though his arm was bandaged up to his side. General Secura was leaning forward, her own holo call trembling as her eyes nearly blazed which looked still intimidating even with the slew of wrappings around one of her lekku.

“As many of you are aware,” General Kenobi started, coolly. “The Republic has fallen, an Empire has rose in its place with the dark lord of the Sith at its head. We have been deceived and in it, the Temple has been lost. Former chancellor – now emperor – Palpatine is the Sith Lord we have been searching for.”

There were gasps all around, horrified stares and even a bit of pained denials.

“Right under our nose,” General Secura snarled.

“It is…very good to know that many have you survived,” General Kenobi interrupted. “We have a lot more pressing matters to attend, however. One of my communications officers, Menace, will take down everyone’s names of here and I will want you to tell him your situation so we can keep track. If you are not with your soldiers and/or do not have access to a holo table and are listening via long distance commlink, Menace will be your voice and ears if necessary. Whatever you need,” he continued, gesturing to the clone that was sitting in the corner, surrounded by equipment. He looked up and waved, indicating his presence.

There were nods around the table.

“We are currently on the planet Kamino, picking up any supplies and the clones that wish to come with us,” General Kenobi started up again in explanation, keeping his back straight and his posture perfect that even Alpha could appreciate it. “We do not know how much time we have so we are quickly working to evacuate all the young ones, the clones and then any resources they want to take.”

“I know…. I know they were chipped and that is not their fault,” a general Alpha-17 didn’t recognize said warily, swallowing heavily. “And they have the right to choose… but can we trust them?”

There were very few bristles but mostly shifts in posture with glances away from the Jedi.

“I have worked much with Alpha-17 during the beginnings of the war,” General Kenobi replied, firmly. He could see General Shaak Ti and a few others straightening with a near looming presence. “I trust him. Although first loyalties were to the Republic and the Jedi second, since the Republic has been replaced with an Empire…”

General Secura snickered with a gleaming grin. “Loophole.”

“And with him is my Commander, Colt, who I do trust,” General Shaak Ti cut in, seriously. Although her expression was as collected as he had ever seen it, her tone was underlaid with something that would not be argued. Commander Colt smiled faintly, just slightly shy at the praise.

“It appears that you are doing well in facilitating our survival, General Kenobi,” General Tapal commended with a nod. The Lasat General shifted while his padawan, a young human child, glanced up at him and grinned, keeping himself so close to his master that he was nearly hanging onto him. General Kenobi acknowledge him and then glanced towards Healer Che to take over.

The twi’lek healer had been one that Alpha-17 knew, he had spent some time in the healers, ward and he had come to respect the master healer. She was no argument and never took any crap from anyone.

“The chips within the clones are not difficult to remove,” Healer Che started to explain, pulling up diagrams and scans, clicking and swiping through some of the holo table as she sent the visuals to the others across the galaxy. “If one has the right droid or scanner, it is a very simple surgery. The only problem is you need a level five minimum atomic scan to find it which I don’t think many ships have. If you have the requisite medical droid, I would just allow them to do it. It does not take long, and the recovery time is short,” she added, calmly. “If you have a scanner capable of the level of scan and excellent medics with steady hands, they can remove it fairly easily if you would like.”

“However,” Commander Colt cut in. “If you find yourself in a pinch and being surrounded by activated brothers, we do have a pulse that will nullify the effects of the chips for several hours,” he added, pulling up his own research to replace that of the healer. It showed schematics on a small generator. “Only use it once and only if necessary because we don’t know the effect of several pulses. It should give you enough time to escape. I will have General Kenobi’s officer send you the specs of its creation. All ships should be able to scramble up the parts fairly easy.”

“That is a start,” General Koon rumbled through his mask and vocoder, shifting his wounded arm. Alpha-17 could see Commander Wolffe barely concealing a snarl right next to him. “Is there any other way to avoid the chips being activated? Do we know how they are activated?”

“Currently, at least the Empire’s voice does that with specific orders,” Alpha-17 found himself stepping up to speak. “It started with Commander Cody after he got a call from the emperor. We suspect he probably contacted, or tried to contact, the Marshal Commanders and from there, the Commander’s orders would relay the activation.”

“Proximity also appears to be a large way of the activation being spread,” Commander Colt added.

“So, we limit communications as much as possible, especially with the clones until they can be de-chipped,” General Secura shrugged. “That seems mostly doable.”

“But where do we go from here?” an older jedi rumbled.

“Right now, we move away from the Empire. Start moving towards the outer rim, towards wild space,” Battle master Drallig started, his voice rather booming in the room they were in. “The Empire will start to scramble what forces and resources they have to come after us and our men. They know current locations so move, group together if you can. If you are near another jedi or fleet that has not been activated, join together.”

“I am working on which planet would be the best to retreat to,” an older woman with tightly bound white hair, stepped forward. Her voice was no nonsense and serious with no room for argument. “I have a team as well helping to figure out the best place to go. Because we need a planet that is inhabitable to accommodate as many as we can, outside of the Empire’s view and not within their memory.”

“You have not gotten there yet,” one of the field generals noted.

She shook her head. “Not quite. I am working as quickly as I can. We cannot be running around trying to find a planet. It will be some time for all of us to come together, but we will keep in touch.”

“Ration your food, take care of each other,” General Shaak Ti added. “And fuel, get it where and when you can. I imagine very soon the Empire will make getting resources very difficult, if not impossible, to gather. Gather what you can.”

“I imagine we will have quite the fleet,” General Billaba hummed. The padawan next to her barely suppressed a snicker.

“That leads me to my next point,” General Kenobi added, glancing between Commander Cody and Alpha-17.

Alpha narrowed his eyes, suspiciously as he waited for the general to continue.

“Like I told the jedi here, I have offered the clones a place with us,” he started slowly. “And like I said, I know I didn’t particularly have the authority to do so but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Master Koon assured with a bit of a chuckle. “I do believe it would have been unanimous.”

“And well, Alpha-17 and Commander Colt had already committed mutiny with the intent of following us,” he added, glancing at Alpha-17 with a dry, vaguely amused look. There was something else there in his look that Alpha-17 wasn’t entirely sure on. “However, I have noted that if any freed clones do not wish to make this journey with us, we will let them go to wherever they would want, with our blessings.”

Alpha-17 was a little surprised by the nods around the room, although even he could tell there was some vague disappointed even through the calls.

“I will relay it to the others,” Commander Cody said, although Alpha-17 knew him. His tone had a tint of dryness. “Don’t expect any other answers, however.”

“Same here on Kamino,” Alpha-17 grunted.

He doubted anyone else could see it but something in General Kenobi’s shoulders shifted.

“Besides,” Commander Colt interjected. “We don’t really have any experience with cadets, we could use some help with the tubies,” he admitted.

“Tubies?” a general echoed.

“Babies,” General Shaak Ti amended with a smile.

“We are not abandoning the galaxy,” General Kenobi announced with a breath. “But we need a plan. We must rebuild, regain strength before we can do anything about the Empire. We will not abandon people, nor the rest of the clones.”

“But we do need a plan,” General Koon agreed, nodding.

“Which we will do,” battle master Drallig assured.

“We will find somewhere very ancient, old and obscure. Far from minds and memory,” the white-haired woman added. “A place of refuge where we can plan our next moves.”

“Does anyone have any questions?”

“I’m sure I can speak for everyone when I say numerous,” General Billaba noted with a curiously raised brow. “But I do imagine you will not have much time to gather from Kamino and get away before the Empire catches up.”

“Menace will gather a list of everyone,” General Kenobi started again. “Please keep in touch with him and his team with updates on your positions as you move so we can keep together. Everything we add will be coded. He has a few things to send to you as well.”

“We have survived thus far,” General Koon rumbled, the vocoder easy and low, nearly crackling through the call. “And if we work together, we will continue to survive this.”

***

“That seemed rather successful, Master Kenobi,” battle master Drallig noted with a sly smile as they walked out of the war room. The large holo call had lasted a little longer, with more questions, answers and suggestions. Commander Cody, Captain Rex and Alpha-17 walked behind, following the jedi easily. The others had filed out, the six of them were some of the last few, leaving only Menace and his team to gather a list and give out necessary information. “Many are alive,” he added, glancing over at the other generals.

“There is hope,” General Shaak Ti agreed, calmly. “And we must also keep in mind, there are very possibly still others who have lived but were unable to make contact. We should have Menace’s team to search for other commcodes to send messages, just in case.”

General Kenobi nodded. “That is a good idea, Master.”

“I will return to the ship and set it up,” she hummed.

“I have something you need to see,” Alpha-17 announced, shooting a glance at General Kenobi. His mouth had been moving before his brain caught up but at this point, he figured it would be a good moment to do it. He was met with a rather fond but confused look. “It won’t take long.”

“Alright,” General Kenobi replied with a small shrug. “Commander Cody, Captain Rex, would you mind going with Master Drallig and Master Shaak Ti back up to our ship for a final count on what field Jedi have responded and survived?”

Commander Cody gave the both of them a rather suspicious look but the few of them walked off towards the landing platform where their gunship would be waiting. Alpha-17 barely waited before he gestured for the general to follow, unwilling to impart answers as he walked through what was left of the city. They got towards his destination and opened the door.

Good, they were still waiting for their transportation to one of the cruisers.

“Hey guys,” Alpha-17 greeted a group of younglings, gruffly, his voice mumbling through, trying not to sound too fond of the inhabitants of the room. “I brought you someone you’ll want to see.”

The room was full of a small group of cadets, nearly a dozen of them. They were all the same, as the clones were, and the expressions on their faces were nearly exactly the same as well but their voices shifted into different types of gasps and light screeches.

One of them stepped forward towards General Kenobi, eyes shining as he stared up at him. General Kenobi just glanced down and then looked back up at Alpha-17, quite thoroughly confused. It was almost comical.

“Is that…” one of the children asked.

“Yes,” Alpha-17 affirmed.

“General Kenobi!” they cried in shock, nearly tripping over one another to get a closer look. General Kenobi just smiled warmly down at him, taking it in stride as he walked forth into the gaggle of children although he was completely bewildered and puzzled, and it showed.

“Hello there,” he greeted softly as he let the kids climb over him.

“Seven!” one of them shrieked, making the captain crinkle his nose in some irritation. General Kenobi just shot him a small laugh, shaking his head. He had no idea what was going on but if there was one thing the alpha clone knew, he loved children. The young clone glared at the captain with a firm pout, shaking his head vehemently. “You did not tell us we were going to meet our finder.”

“My apologies,” General Kenobi said, already holding a child in his arms and several others clinging to his legs as he turned towards the captain. “I’m your what now?”

Alpha-17 groaned lightly and shook his head, nearly bringing his hands up to cover his face, the cadet staring at him, intently. He let out a sigh of resignation and then a breath as he began to clarify. “General Shaak Ti, when she visits the cadets, she tells them about the Jedi. She tells them a lot of things,” he explained. “I don’t know how it happened or where it came from, but she told a class once about Jedi finders, their role in bringing children to the Temple and into the Order. She explained their importance and how many children had relationships with their finders growing up. When she was asked…she rather insinuated that our… the clone “finder” was, well, you,” he explained, a bit uncertainly. “It kind of snowballed from there and now nearly every young cadet class knows and well, thinks that way.”

General Kenobi stopped and stared at him for a long moment. Even Alpha-17 could determine his reaction.

And he kept staring.

Would this man just have a reaction already?

And then, abruptly, he burst out into such laughter to the point that Alpha-17 nearly thought he was crying. The general hugged the child in his arm closer and laughed some more, his shoulder and whole body shaking from the movement. Apparently, he found this hilarious, Alpha-17 mused.

“I would love to be considered your finder, dear ones.”

He was glad he had brought General Kenobi here, for this small moment.

***

He had originally intended on going to General Kenobi’s flagship, but he was redirected towards a modified cruiser that had appeared not long ago by the battle master Drallig. The trip was quiet and although Alpha-17 was fairly certain he wasn’t anywhere near force sensitive, even he thought he could feel the gratitude and happiness echoing off of the General.

He had made the right choice, starting his mutiny without approval.

As they walked off the gunship and onto the docking bay of the venator, General Kenobi let a small, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, general.”

General Kenobi opened his mouth to say something else, but his eyes caught sight of another, and his gaze dragged over the area. He stepped back, nearly tripping over a box as his eyes widened.

“Sir?”

The general practically flew across the docking bay. Alpha-17 caught sight of the battle master, Drallig, at the other end, alongside another jedi. Dark skin, even darker hair, weird yellow stripe over his face and nose. Alpha-17 felt like he had seen him before. Nonetheless, Alpha-17 jogged after him, quickly on his heels.

The general nearly threw himself at the other jedi, tightening his grip around him in a fierce hug. Such public display Alpha-17 hadn’t seen from his general was rather rare so this must have been an importance person to him. Kenobi tucked himself into space, squeezing the man tightly. The other jedi looked utterly surprised but before he could even think of hugging – or not – back, General Kenobi hastily pulled away a few steps and didn’t even meet the other Jedi’s gaze.

“My apologies, Quinlan,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That was uncalled for, I do sincerely apologize for touching without permission. I will take my leave.”

The other Jedi – Quinlan – looked just confused and befuddled in a way that almost, just almost, would have made Alpha-17 laugh. He didn’t even think a jedi couldhave that expression. General Kenobi hurriedly shuffled away down the hall, presumably towards the bridge.

“What was that about?” Quinlan asked, glancing at the battle master for answers but his eyes ended up trailing general Kenobi as he walked away. Alpha-17 was ready to follow him but for the moment, somehow his feet wouldn’t move.

The battle master sighed and frowned. “Anakin Skywalker has fallen to the dark side, and he is now the new Sith apprentice. He is the one who led the attack on the Temple.”

Some kind of understanding fell upon the Jedi’s face as it twisted into something horrified of some type.

Alpha-17 didn’t know what that meant.

“Force,” he whispered under his breath.

And then he took off after the general. Alpha-17 rolled his eyes and sighed, barely catching a glimpse of the battle master before jogging off after him. “Again,” he muttered, keeping just behind the unfamiliar jedi.

“Obi-Wan!” the jedi shouted out.

General Kenobi stiffened and hesitated before finally stopping. He let out a soft sigh and turned around, forcing himself to look up at the man. “Quinlan,” he greeted, fairly evenly despite the shaking in his voice.

“Hey, hey buddy,” Quinlan murmured, carefully putting his hand on General Kenobi’s pauldron. “Master Drallig told me about Anakin. I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.”

General Kenobi took a shaky breath. “I don’t…I don’t think I can really talk about it right now,” he admitted quietly, just barely leaning into the other jedi’s touch.

“Alright,” he agreed, and he didn’t seem to bothered by the notion. He quite quickly changed the subject which ended up being a good call. “Dex says you have a friend for life, ya know.”

Glancing at him, General Kenobi ended up with a small smile. “You were one of the jedi that Dex said he had.”

“Yeah. I found Master Windu. He’s in pretty rough shape but I think he might make it through, probably because I got him into a bacta tank quicker. Wanna hear how I took over the entire medical venator star cruiser,” Quinlan said with a grin.

An eyebrow raised on General Kenobi’s face but there was a relief in that, probably due to the fact that a jedi he knew was alive. “You…took over a ship? Full of clones around Coruscant.”

The long-haired jedi laughed. “Oh, let me tell you. It was kind of awesome. Not as hard as I thought, considering. But since I am a shadow, so you know, it is part of my skill set,” he winked and it made the general smile back at him, although lightly.

Alpha-17 just walked and listened as the jedi went to a full, long tirade about how he had taken over the ship and escaped with the clones. He couldn’t help be grateful, the jedi had rescued hundreds of his brothers, some of which may have been killed outright due to the fact they were sick or wounded. Still, he already had the feeling that this Quinlan character was kind of annoying.

“Dex is amazing, let me tell you,” Quinlan had said with the biggest grin. Something must have been going on with General Kenobi in the force or whatever because practically every time the man twitched, the other jedi would get happier and speak brighter. “I made a plan and needed some guys to help me out. Within the hour, the hour, Obi-Wan, he had gotten me a lineup of dozens of beings to pick from for my heist. He has got some serious connections!”

General Kenobi smiled and it was warm. Alpha-17 could almost feel it. “Dex is good like that,” he agreed. “I found Kamino because of him.”

Quinlan continued to explain the rest of the couple of days. His plan had been mildly impressive and well thought out, even Alpha-17 could begrudgingly admit. The jedi did not go in halfcocked and impulsively. And the fact that he checked to make sure there wasn’t a jedi on board, so the chips probably hadn’t been activated was probably smart. At least he didn’t jump aboard the first ship he came across and took over the bridge, just hoping nothing would go wrong.

There were a couple medical stations across the galaxy and several more pelta-class medical frigates that traveled with wounded soldiers aboard. There wasn’t a medical station orbiting Coruscant, as they were around the rest of the galaxy. Clones weren’t allowed to be treated on planet mingled with the regular citizens, although the Jedi often treated clones in their own Healing Halls frequently. They didn’t just go around turning people away who needed care.

One of the large venator cruisers had been converted into somewhat of a medical station, or at least, used as one. It was the main place where clones were treated for illness or injuries, when they could make it there. It was a good one to take over, he imagined, if one had a good plan. Which apparently the master jedi had.

There must not have been any jedi stationed at the medical facility during the time because Quinlan explained how he made sure that none of the chips had been activated. He had shut down communications with jammers around the ship and eventually took it over, locking up most of the natborns that weren’t cooperative and confiscating long range commlinks. Men were locked in certain portions of the ship to where they were stationed, at least those just handling the ship. Medics themselves were dechipped so they could continue to help those who needed it. Everything was neat and tidy and even Alpha-17 had to be impressed.

It was not only a well-thought-out mission and operation but a successful one as well. Quinlan had brought back an entire venator crew of clones with as well as many other, although wounded, brothers as well.

By the time he was done, General Kenobi’s smile was rather wide, and he offered his congratulations to the other jedi. He was thankful, Alpha-17 quickly realized. Not only had he saved people that General Kenobi valued, but he had kept his mind off of Skywalker. He hadn’t even pushed; he didn’t even ask. Nothing circled back to it.

The jedi explained about the Commander he came across, Hound, and how he had helped him. The guy was a mad man and apparently, Quinlan appreciated that sort of thing. They had rather hit it off, along with his mastiff, Grizzler, who went everywhere Hound did.

Alpha-17 wasn’t sure whether he should be worried.

“Do we know who all survived?” Quinlan asked, nudging General Kenobi gently.

“One of the officers, Menace, is compiling a list of those who have responded or were present at the meeting,” General Kenobi replied with a nod. “As far as I could tell during the meeting, it seemed quite a fair few had blocked communications or escaped in time. Aalya was one of them,” he assured. “She looked just a little banged up but okay. Her troops weren’t activated.”

Tension fell from Quinlan’s shoulders. “Thank, Obes.”

“Of course,” he added. And then, his commlink beeped urgently. General Kenobi opened it up and a gruff voice burst though. “This is Kenobi.”

“Master Kenobi,” battle master Drallig replied. “You should get back down to the loading bay. Something has happened.”

Several medical officers rushed down the halls around them. Alpha-17 caught one of them by the arm, stopping him abruptly. “Officer, what is going on?”

“A ship came out of hyperspace a few minutes ago!” the soldier reported, worriedly. “It open fired on one of our ships and then stopped. We think it is full of activated clones and there are injured jedi,” he said before pulling away and running off again.

General Kenobi swallowed heavily and the three of them chased after the group back down the hall. The loading back was a mad house of yelling officers and wounded soldiers. Out in space, it could be seen one of the ships was partially on fire with several fighters surrounding it, ready to destroy if necessary.

“Whose ship is that?”

A rolling cot ran down from a ship towards the hall. Alpha-17 watched as General Kenobi stared wide eyed. The man on the gurney was a male, a jedi from the robes, he imagined with short blonde hair that was practically soaked in blood. There was a lot of blood.

A lot.

General Kenobi’s breath got caught in this throat, his eyes wide and his hand gripping Quinlan’s vambrace so tight he thought it would crack. “Master Feemor,” he whispered.

“Feemor?” Quinlan muttered under his breath. “Where…”

Alpha-17’s old general backed up a few steps as a realization came across him. “Oh God, Ahsoka,” his head whipped around, frantically. “Where is Ahsoka? Has anyone seen Ahsoka Tano?!” he shouted out, turning and turning and turning.

“I…I’m here, Master,” a new, feminine voice announced, although rather quiet. The three of them turned around. There was a clone next to her although he had quite a few mechanical parts, more so than Alpha-17 had seen on any others. A Togruta jedi was standing there, her arms hugging herself and her eyes downcast.

General Kenobi sighed in relief. “Ahsoka, what in the galaxy happened?”

#we are burning stars #we are burning stars au #they live!#order 66 #order 66 au #many survive #pro jedi fic #pro jedi #pro clone #jedi positive #look this got a little long for this story #honestly i can't believe how long this story is #yikes #im a bit jittery so im just gonna leave this here #the fate of luminara and yoda is unknown #otherwise i know who survives #currently #i think haha

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suddencolds · 3 years

Text

Unreliable | Genshin Impact

Another G/ensh/in snzfic w Diluc and Kaeya! ft. Kaeya coming down w/ a fever and doing work with the knights instead of taking it easy and... misunderstandings.

—

Like always, it starts small—a headache he barely notices, the sort of fatigue he’s sure he can sleep off, a prickling sort of coldness that has him wishing he’d grabbed an extra jacket on the way out. That's what Kaeya thinks, at least, until he’s standing out in the courtyard after the knights have retired for the night. It’s freezing out, he realizes. Perhaps he should be concerned. He finds himself wondering if such a dip in temperature is reasonable for Mondstadt in the middle of spring, then finds himself wondering if it’s really just the weather that’s out of the ordinary.

Either way, he tells himself it’s nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix.

When he wakes up the next morning, though, he’s disproportionally exhausted, and the headache hasn’t gotten any better. He’s cold, too, which is new. It’s not as if his room is colder than usual, and even with his cryo vision, he’s been enviably impervious to cold temperatures all his life, with few exceptions.

He sits a little longer than usual at the kitchen table, makes himself tea, and cradles the mug close to him, shivering. It’s nothing worth canceling for, he’s sure. He’ll get their usual work done efficiently—work with the knights is always more tedious than it is difficult, but it’s not like he can't rush through it. Then he’ll unwind at the tavern tonight, drink enough to shake this annoying chill that’s settling deep in his bones, and then sleep it off.

The walk to headquarters feels longer and more taxing than usual. The route’s familiar enough that he doesn’t have to think about it, so he lets his mind wander instead. He’s really only half-paying attention to where he’s going.

The first sneeze, predictably, catches him off guard. He barely has time to duck into the crook of his elbow.

“hihH.. hiih’IESCHHuu!”

Kaeya stumbles, narrowly avoids bumping into someone, and opens his mouth to apologize. When he looks up, though, the apology dies in his throat.

“Oh,” he says, sniffling. “It’s you. Morning, Diluc.”

Diluc is staring at him, looking a little stunned. “...Good morning,” he says finally.

Kaeya steps neatly to the side and turns to keep walking. Unfortunately, he only gets a few steps away when his breath is hitching again, and he’s lifting his forearm to his face as his eyes squeeze shut.

“hh!... hiiHH’ESCHH’uu!”

From behind him, Diluc says, “Are you getting sick?”

It sounds less like a question than an accusation. Kaeya sighs, his shoulders stilling. Of course, leave it to Diluc to see right through him. He turns around. “Aw, Diluc,” he says. The grin comes easily, as it always does. “Are you worried about me?”

It doesn't have the desired effect of ending the conversation immediately. Diluc just stares back at him, looking… annoyed. And something else.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Would it make a difference if I was?”

“Of course.” As if it’s a fact. “The Knights won’t want you there if you��re sick, I’m sure.”

“Oh?” Kaeya smirks at him, crossing his arms in hopes of suppressing a not-so-subtle shiver. He should really get moving—at least walking warms him up a little, but standing out here in the cold is only serving to exacerbate his headache. “Since when have you been concerned about what goes on with the Knights?”

Diluc’s jaw clenches. “I’m not.”

“Okay, then if it’s not them,” Kaeya says, “since when have you been concerned about me?”

He’s being deliberately difficult, he knows. Diluc’s silence, in response, is expected. Kaeya laughs through the tightness in his chest. Of course, after all this time, Kaeya’s left caring for someone who’s already cut him out of his life—tale as old as time. He should really get better at picking his attachments. “Sorry, I’ll stop asking questions we both know the answer to.”

Diluc just frowns at him. He’s still watching with Kaeya with the same intensity, so when Kaeya feels his breath catch, he thinks it’s only logical for him to turn away, if only so that Diluc doesn’t have to watch his expression twist as—

“hIIH’ESCHh’uu! hhH!... hHEHh’DSCHhH’u! Ngh…”

The sneezes are forceful enough that when he straightens, still sniffling, he feels the exhaustion settle. It takes everything in him not to let his shoulders slump.

“It would be an inconvenience to everyone involved if you overextended yourself fighting,” Diluc says finally.

Kaeya shrugs a shoulder, “I know my limits.”

“If you wanted to take the day off, I could easily pick up where you left off.”

“Please, there’s no need.”

Diluc scoffs, crossing his arms. “Considering what the knights get done usually, I doubt I would notice myself putting in any extra work at all.”

That startles a genuine laugh out of him. “So eager to steal the show? I assure you, I’m—f-fine… hh!” Talk about bad timing. The sharp gasp leaves him too preoccupied to see Diluc’s expression. “hhH.. hIIh’ESSChh’u!” He shivers, almost reflexively. He must not be making a good case for himself, standing here letting Diluc see him with what must be a burgeoning head cold. Diluc’s offer is tempting, too—if he sticks around for too long, he might actually be persuaded into accepting, and that wouldn’t be good for either of them. “I’ve worked through worse.” “I realize. That’s not the point.”

“Your concern is misplaced. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get moving. Jean will have my head if I get there late. I’m sure you’ll understand.” Kaeya lifts a hand to wave and starts off again. Diluc doesn’t call for him this time, and he doesn’t look back.

—

“You never know when to give up, do you?” Kaeya says.

He sidesteps as one of the treasure hoarders shoots a beam of electricity at him. He can hear crackle as it bounces off the stone wall behind him. “This would go much faster if you’d just tell me where you’ve hidden the documents.” One of the treasure hoarders makes a mistake of stepping in range—Kaeya swings his sword, quick and cutting, and knocks him to the ground. Another one of the treasure hoarders shoves him backwards. This time Kaeya has to fight to keep the grimace off his face. Treasure hoarders are barely a threat; their strength comes in the fact that they travel together, and it’s distracting to counter attacks from all sides. But on their own they’re weak; usually, an attack like this wouldn’t make him lose his balance.

Today, he’s unsteady on his feet and he stumbles a little. Another treasure hoarder takes the opening to slam into his ribs with a shovel. His back hits the stone wall behind him, hard enough to bruise.

“Fat chance. I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” one of the treasure hoarders says. “It’s six against one, and you're not at your best.”

Kaeya grits his teeth, coughing, and sends a steam of cryo back before the same treasure hoarder can shove him back again. “Nice trick. I wonder when you’re going to learn that shovels aren’t great as weapons.”

The use of magic takes more out of him than it should, and he blinks past sudden dizziness. He and Amber split up twenty minutes ago, which isn’t uncommon for them. It’s not as if there’s anything in the temple they can’t face alone, and they cover more ground this way. The rest of the knights are off chasing off a new influx of hilichurls just on the outskirts of town. Though, this temple goes deeper than he’d expected; he’s starting to regret making the call not to bring any of them with him.

One of the treasure hoarders lunges for him. Kaeya parries with his sword, steps quickly to the right so he can block another hit. He barely notices when one of the bow wielders from the side hits him in the shoulder with a cryo-infused shot. The ice spreads immediately, cold enough to burn, and he grits his teeth, suppressing a shiver as he catches his breath.

He’s off today. This fight should already be over. His head is swimming, and the coldness is making him need to—

“heEh’ISSHhh’uu! hhD’DSCHhh-uu!” He covers by reflex, which is a waste of motion that leaves him scrambling to reposition himself to evade another hit. The magic thrumming under his fingertips is a welcome relief. It’s about time. He darts forward with his sword, summoning enough cryo magic to send icicles careening around his waist—the opening they leave him is small, but it’s enough—and brings his sword down hard.

Thankfully, most of it is muscle memory, even though he’s tired, and with the ice around him dealing damage to anyone who gets too close, the rest of the fight is easy. When the last treasure hoarder crumples to the ground, Kaeya slumps backwards to lean against the wall, still shaky, and shuts his eyes for a second. He reminds himself to breathe. He’s no idea how close he is to done with clearing the temple. He’s been at it for hours now, and his head is aching, and there are no windows nearby to let him know how dark it’s gotten outside.

His cryo is getting less reliable, too—a consequence of his exhaustion, he thinks. He’s not sure how much more he can push himself.

For a moment, he contemplates finding Amber. He thinks he can backtrack far enough to find the hallway where they’d split paths. But then again, he’d been the one who had insisted he could handle this on his own.

A slip of paper catches his attention. One of the treasure hoarders must have dropped it while they were fighting. Kaeya picks it up, dusting it off a little.

He recognizes, faintly, what must be the layout of the temple. If he’s not mistaken, there’s a room marked that’s just a few hallways down from here. He perks up. It saves him time looking. He pockets the map. This will be fast, he tells himself. Just a couple more fights, and then they’ll have all that they came for.

He’s shivering again, even though he isn’t sweating, which is probably a bad sign. He lifts an arm, buries his head into the crook of his arm as his breath hitches again.

“hHh’DSCHh’hh! snf… Hhh… hiHh’ESCCh’uu!”

The sound echoes faintly off of the stone walls. He’s freezing. The cryo shot has worn off by now, but still, he can’t shake the chill that’s worked his way into his muscles. Maybe this is more than just a cold after all.

It doesn’t matter, though. It will all be worth it soon. He can handle another room of treasure hoarders.

—

When he gets to the room marked on the map, though, he finds—to his dismay—that it’s not full of treasure hoarders.

Instead, at the center of the room are three cryo abyss mages, convening for some sort of ritual. Kaeya curses to himself. He needs to find Amber to break their shields—his cryo magic is going to have no effect on them, and physical attacks are always painstakingly slow at breaking elemental shields. Three abyss mages would be a challenge on a good day, and today isn’t a good day.

He’s already turning to make his escape when one of them teleports next to him. He can feel the chill of the ice shield for its proximity to him. The other two follow suit, blinking into existence just an arm’s length away. He can hear their laughter, even if their language is foreign to him.

Shit. “Amber?” He calls. But she isn’t nearby—she must not be, otherwise he would’ve heard her.

He lifts his sword. Their mages’s shields are hard, as always. His arms protest with the effort. Now that they’ve seen him, it’s not going to be easy for him to make an escape, so he thinks he’ll have to see it through.

Except for the fact that his head’s pounding, and he’s shivering hard. Having the cryo shields so close to him isn’t helping, and his whole body feels sluggish and slow. Exhaustion weighs heavy on him as he backs away, narrowly avoiding another cryo hit. Amber’s baron bunny would be really helpful right now, but Amber isn’t here.

If he can stall long enough to get them to teleport somewhere else, long enough to let him make an escape—

One of the mages sends a flash of magic towards him. This time, stepping out of the way gets him hit by a spell from one of the other mages. It knocks him backwards off his feet. He lands hard, and though he has a hand out, it barely lessens the impact. When he opens his eyes, his vision is swimming. He sees another one raise its staff to cast, and swallows against the sharp pang of panic. Maybe if they’re merciful, they’ll leave him here and go back to their ritual, or maybe—

The next thing he registers is startling warmth. His first thought is that maybe Amber’s found him after all, but when he looks up, he sees a familiar phoenix, its wings searing, slicing through the ice shields so cleanly that it looks like they’re made up of air. Beside it is a man with fiery red hair, looking with every inch of him pissed off.

He almost laughs with the relief.

“Diluc?”

Kaeya’s already grabbing his sword, but before he can get fully to his feet, Diluc says, “Don’t even think about getting up.”

Kaeya finds he’s too tired to protest, so he sits back down. Diluc handles the abyss mages swiftly. They are never a threat once their shields are broken anyway. Kaeya watches him, a little blearily, from the ground.

“Your timing is very impressive,” he says, when Diluc is done. Diluc sheathes his claymore, stopping to stand just out of reach.

“Your choices are not,” Diluc retorts. “I thought you said you knew your limits.”

“I do.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t have gotten cornered.”

“Ah,” Kaeya says, smiling softly. “Just because I know my limits doesn't mean I honor them. Someone would’ve found me eventually.” His breath hitches again, and he ducks his head, cupping a hand over his mouth—

“hiIH’ESCHHh’uu!”

It’s very vocal and scrapes embarrassingly at his throat. He coughs, lowering his hand. His voice is starting to sound rough.

“I can handle it from here,” he says, wincing as he shifts. “You don’t have to stay.”

Diluc sucks in a breath. When Kaeya looks up, he’s surprised to find that Diluc’s hands are clenched at his sides. “Have you ever considered that this is selfish?” Diluc says. “You throw yourself into danger without any regard for the consequences. Have you ever thought about what kind of trouble that poses for others?”

Kaeya shrugs. “Funny. I don’t remember asking for your help. It wouldn’t have been your burden if you’d stayed out of it. The Knights would’ve found me.”

“There is no one else around,” Diluc says.

Kaeya waves a hand dismissively. “Amber is here somewhere.” “She doesn’t know you’re in danger. I’m sure she expects that you’re fine, given that I suspect that that’s what you told her.” He seems to take Kaeya’s silence as confirmation. “Are you dishonest to yourself? Or do you only lie to others?”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Kaeya says, narrowing his eye. Now that he’s not in the middle of a fight, his exhaustion is starting to catch up with him. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation with Diluc right now. “If worse came to worst, the Knights would be perfectly fine without me.” He smiles, resting his chin on his hand. “You were, weren’t you?”

He expects Diluc to say something equally bitter in response, but Diluc just stares at him, expressionless except for how his eyes widen just a fraction. If Kaeya didn’t know better, he’d think that Diluc almost looks…

...hurt. Kaeya startles at it. It feels like an expression he’s not supposed to see. It makes him want to take it back—reassure Diluc that it hadn’t been what he’d meant to say—except what about he’d just said had been inaccurate, really? He opens his mouth to speak, but then his body beats him to it—

“hiiH’GKkt!-…” He can feel his eyes watering. Normally he’s not uneasy about sneezing, but the fact that Diluc’s watching right now makes him a little self-conscious—they’re in the middle of argument right now, for fuck’s sake. He presses the back of his hand to his face, his shoulders trembling. “hhHh… hIIH’NGKkt! hhH… hHh!... hh... hiIH’ESCChh’uu!”

Diluc sighs, the tension slipping from his shoulders as he crosses his arms. When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Are you injured?”

Kaeya blinks. It’s not the question he expects.

“Not really,” he answers honestly. There’s a bruise on his ribs where the treasure hoarder had hit him earlier, and his arm is bleeding a little from the spell. Diluc sounds so uncharacteristically concerned that Kaeya musters a smile. “Thanks to you. I’ve been saved by Mondstadt’s own Darknight Hero—heh, I suppose I should be honored.”

Diluc rolls his eyes. “It’s a stupid title.” He heads over to the edge of the room, looking through the crates that have been pushed up against the wall. “Are these documents important to you?”

“They’re what we came for,” Kaeya says. “Just toss them to me, I’ll handle them. I’m going to find outrider Amber. You don’t have to stay.” He moves to stand, keeping a hand on the wall for balance, and shuts his eyes against a wave of dizziness. Diluc, who’s crossed the room while he’s been speaking, catches his arm to steady him.

“You'll head home straight after?” Diluc says as he lets go, though there’s an edge to his voice that implies that Kaeya doesn’t have a choice.

“Well, technically I’ll report to headquarters first to drop off the documents. But after that, yes.”

Diluc nods once. “Go home and get some rest. You need it.” He hands off the documents, standing straighter, and heads toward the door.

“Wait, Diluc,” Kaeya says hastily. He folds the documents and slips them into his pocket. “Thanks. For finding me.”

Diluc stares back at him for a moment. Then he sighs, his eyebrows unfurrowing, and shakes his head. “You can thank me by making sure it doesn’t happen again,” he says, and continues walking.

#sneeze fic #snzfic #gen/shin impact #i.. can't write action #and.. so ... i think the best way to read this fic is to #completely skim all the action parts...#and stop when you get back to the dialogue #i'm not that happy with this! i wasn't going to post it here but #maybe it's good just for organization if i post whatever i write even if i don't love it so #here it is #my fic

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peeterparkr · 4 years

Text

perfidy;tom holland|12

chapter 12: the antagonist

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

chapter summary:

per·fi·dy /ˈpərfədē/ (noun): 1: the quality or state of being faithless or disloyal: TREACHERY. 2: an act or an instance of disloyalty 3: deceitfulness; untrustworthiness.

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: swearing,,alcohol mention, french, tom trying to flirt

word count: 6.9k

here’s a playlist

and here’s another one

and here’s another one inspired by 1D

social media before you read (IMPORTANT FOR THE CHAPTER) :

during chapter: Sam freaks out. Tom and y/n text and subtweet. Y/N is not jealous.

after chapter: Y/N loves Dirty Dancing. Timmy doesn’t. People reach out and a group chat is made.

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

It was no secret that Timothée was very, very observant. Some people thought he was quiet, he wasn’t, not with the right people. He loved to laugh and make people laugh. He was a simple man. He liked to stay with things that made him happy, and get rid off things that didn’t. He was someone who didn’t need much, if he enjoyed a sunset, he’d stay quiet to watch it. If he found something funny, he laughed. If he liked a song, he listened to it. He wasn’t complicated at all. But he was fascinated by everything, by life, by people. Even if he was simple, he was a man with intense emotions. And he liked complex people.

Complicated minds.

Like y/n. He was never bored with her. How delicate she was, and how she put attention in details. How he’d noticed she was a little bit of a kleptomaniac. Not in a bad way. But he noticed how she’d sometimes pick up a pebble when they’d go to their dates near the river, or how she’d keep the movie tickets, or how she’d always pick up maps of whatever places they went to.

But Timmy, Timmy had feelings. Very strong feelings.

So of course when he saw what he saw, the love of his life kissing another man, he had to go to the bathroom and wash off his face. He leaned against the sink. Of course he’d seen it coming, but not as soon.

Not that soon.

He stared at his reflection. He needed to calm down.

He had spoken about it once with y/n. How heartbreaks can be felt.

It felt like a dagger across his chest, all the way down to his stomach.

He wished he hadn’t seen this. He hadn’t expected it, not today. Not when he’d seen them ignore each other. What the fuck had led to that kiss?

Sure, he knew it would come. Not that soon.

But Timmy had been observant, and he saw the way she looked at him. He knew this was coming. Not that soon. But not that soon.

But it was so obvious, they had stopped with their usual bickering, she would laugh more. Less fighting. And she’d blush sometimes when Tom looked at her. Of course this all came from the fact that Tom and y/n were spending more time together. Timmy liked to hope that nothing else had happened.

But after seeing them kiss… he wasn’t that sure.

Because he’d seen her, laughing when Tom was in makeup or wardrobe as he would actually make sure to make her smile. The way that Tom would playfully smear whatever condiment his lunch was having. Or the way he’d randomly lean over to whisper to her.

And yes, they had continued with the whole hate speech but it was different. Timothee had noticed.

And he’d seen Tom. And of course he had seen Tom drooling for his ex girlfriend before.

How Tom would look at her from the other side of the room, or how he’d actually pay attention to her. Tom could be ignoring everyone in the room but whenever y/n spoke he’d look up, even if it was just to make an insult.

Or how Tom would turn away whenever y/n kissed Tim. Timothee saw the way Tom would have to clench his jaw and take a deep breath.

And then y/n’s last birthday. The bloody vinyl. It didn’t technically bother him, because y/n had smiled but Tom was so obvious.

But he wasn’t sure that y/n felt the same, y/n had been so keen on making sure everyone knew she hated him. And she genuinely did. But what about now?

Because she looked hurt whenever Tom walked into a room, especially at the beginning of their relationship. Tim had never known what had happened between them. The uncertainty had him anxious.

Especially because he knew it was related to the night they’d met. Not sure why he thought so.

But he knew y/n had been so difficult to start dating and to tumble down her walls. But he’d fallen in love with her from the first moment he’d seen her. He remembered her, running into the classroom, with her hair wet from the rain and a coffee in her hand, as she was carrying tons of bags. Not sure what for.

And she’d quietly snuck into the back, and made a mess while pulling out that old notebook. Too old fashioned.

And he remembered how she’d dropped her stuff making everyone turn around to see her, and that had made Timothee laugh under his breath.

And then when they started to actually talk, after the night in the club, he remembered how y/n had been… sad. And he’d seen her blossom again, slowly. Then she finally accepted to go on a date with him, and she’d been so nervous and quiet but giggly. He remembered how she had been reserved, but then she’d kissed his cheek. Timmy knew she still had one of the flowers he’d given her.

And that’s all it took him to fall in love with her and knowing he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

They were meant to be, it was so ridiculous. Their favourite movies, their favourite colors. It seemed stupid not to think they were meant for each other.

But maybe she didn’t think that way. Because Tom… Tom.

But this all came to 4 months ago. He hadn’t gotten down in one knee, but he knew y/n, so he might have stolen the idea from her favourite movie. A film canister. And he remembered giving it to her, it was a little inside joke they had. He’d give her little notes in them.

But he hadn’t expected her reaction. You know, usually, Timmy was so observant that he could know what could happen. How did he not see that she’d say no? How could he know she’d open the film canister and not want the ring inside it.

Timmy knew y/n wasn’t an ‘I love you’ giver, she didn’t say it that much. She had her own way of saying it. ‘Shut up, you’re an idiot.’ ‘Oh my god, you’re sooo silly’ ‘You’re dumb.’ Yes, not the best. but Tim had caught on to it.

But she hadn’t said it that one time.

Shed just stayed quiet, and she had simply stopped saying it. But she’d said those words: ‘Tim, I need you to know that I love you but right now I’m not ready for this.’

And that’s when it had gone downhill. Because love blinds us. And she’s stopped saying it. She’d say: ‘I love you’, but it didn’t feel like it. She didn’t say “you’re so silly,” and roll her eyes with a smile. Not anymore.

And well, he’d been blinded again if he thought y/n wouldn’t go running to Tom after Tim told her too.

Timmy wasn’t of the jealous type, he trusted y/n. But when y/n had said those words 3 months ago, he’d been conflicted. Drunk words are sober thoughts, and y/n had said it: ‘There’s still a part of me that will always wonder if Tom’s the love of my life.’

But Tom wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

Was it too pretentious of Tim to believe he was the one for y/n? But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that, even if they were barely lies. Even if right now he could barely trust himself.

Or y/n. But right now, he knew this wasn’t y/n trying to hurt him.

Not really.

But Tom couldn’t be the love of her life, because Tom… was her perfidy. Tim had told her once.

“He will gain my trust and then betray it, on purpose,” Y/N had said.

“Perfidy.”

Y/N had looked up, frowning, as she was scattering around a storyboard. “Hm?”

What had Tom done this time? He couldn’t even remember.

Tim was on her bed, throwing a ball up and down. “Such a pretty word for such a horrible feeling,” explained Timmy as he turned to her. “It was used in the context of war, when someone pretends to be good to earn their enemies trust just to deliberately betray them.”

“Perfidy, yes… That’s Tom, my perfidy.”

Why was she kissing her perfidy?

But Tim wanted to turn into her perfidy right now, so of course he had to stop it. If she was so in love with the idea of someone hurting her, did he have to? And he wouldn’t.

He, with rage controlling every muscle in his body, went for the choreographer, claiming Tom was looking for him. Timmy wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t walk in. Y/N didn’t need to know he’d seen them.

Tim probably needed a cigarette, or two or three. He needed to calm down.

But he walked in 5 minutes after the choreographer, and he noticed how y/n’s smile could brighten up the whole room. And her sight was on Tom and only Tom.

She was sitting down, watching Tom rehearsing. She didn’t even notice Timmy was in the room as well.

And then he heard her:

“Oh my god, Thomas stop, you’re an idiot.”

That’s when he had walked out of that room. But he still had some hope. Tom, after all, was her perfidy. Timothee had to wait until Tom betrayed y/n again.

And after that, y/n had noticed that Tim had changed. The next days were different. Tim would avoid her. He didn’t even look her in the eyes. But y/n thought it was for the best.

But Tom had been different, too. He hadn’t asked her out again, but they haven’t… had anything else either.

Well, maybe, almost.

After seeing Tom dance, and after that kiss it was no secret y/n was left with hunger for more. So of course, when he’d finished she had made sure nobody was watching, she’d placed her hands on the sides of his head and kissed him.

He’d kissed back right away, of course, his hands in her waist as he had pulled her closer. But he had immediately pulled back.

“No, y/n, I want to do this right, I mean it. No more… Whatever this is, I want to do this right.”

And that had y/n thinking. And y/n would spend more time with him, even more time with him. But they had kept their bickering.

And she had been able to write more and keep sending her little notes to Alessandra.

Sam had come to set once and he’d been particularly weird, watching y/n very observantly. And he’d asked about Timmy. But it hurt, because Timmy wasn’t around anymore. Y/N had cried once about it, at home, when nobody saw her.

But when Sam and Haz had come to set, Tom had… been nice. Y/N hadn’t, she had to keep up the whole hatred act going on.

“Hey, but what’s up with that group chat?” Y/N asked. “I really need some context”

“I don’t know,” Sam chuckled. “Haz?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Haz grinned. “I just love enemies who fall in love with each other.”

Y/N frowned. “Ah, yeah, good trope, kind of impossible in real life.”

“Is it really?” Harrison smirked.

“Yes, because they’re enemies, and enemies usually disagree on everything, so,” Y/N rolled her eyes. “But why did you make that group-”

“Let’s see if your enemy agrees,” he smirked. “Tom?”

Tom looked up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“Thoughts on enemies falling in love with each other?” Haz smirked.

Sam snickered.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Impossible.”

“Huh, he agrees with you,” Harrison laughed. “Who would’ve thought?”

That hadn’t stopped.

And it hadn’t really stopped.

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re silly.”

It hadn’t stopped. Like that day when y/n had told Tom she’d do his makeup and made him look like a clown. Y/N had laughed all day about it. Haz had been there too.

“Huh, funny, y/n is once again making a clown out of you,” he had said.

But something had changed. Tom was… nicer. Actual gentleman. And he would find excuses to randomly touch her, like pulling her hair back, or lifting up her chin, and pointing out her outfits. He’d kissed her cheek once. Y/N had thought about it since. So sweet.

But she seemed like a teenager all over again.

Especially because they had talked about where he wanted to go with this.

“When will you finally let me ask you out,” Tom asked once after hours on set, they were going to go hang out with the cast and crew. They’d be leaving in a few days to New York to continue filming. Y/N was texting Tim if he was going to go, too. Tim didn’t answer.

Y/N didn’t know why he had all of sudden become so cold but he’d said to her that he was giving her her space. But y/n missed Tim. You know, it’s normal, she was so used to having him around. Even as a friend.

“Why do you even want to ask me out?” Y/N asked, looking up. Tom was driving. “Please I need to know, you already got what you wanted,” Y/N pointed out.

“What?” He chuckled. “What do I even want?”

“We’ve slept together Tom, we don’t need to sugar coat it, we could keep up-”

“Who said that’s what I want.”

“What else would you want, dumbass?” She wondered.

Tom chuckled. “A date’s goal is not to have sex with someone.”

“Well, what’s your goal?” She rolled her eyes.

“I dunno, y/n,” he sighed. “And though your clothes look prettier on the floor, that’s not where I’m trying to go with-- I mean,” he coughed. “I want that, too, you know? But--I also want to make you smile.”

She chuckled. “You do that already,” she grinned.

“Oh yes, but I do that with everybody,” he chuckled.

“You’re an idiot,” she stated.

“Well, yeah, but I’m trying to be your idiot,” he gulped. “Like hold your stupid hand whenever I want to and shit.”

“Hold my stupid hand?” She giggled

“Yes, and...cuddle you,” he cleared his throat. “Aggressively cuddle you, I mean.”

“Tom Holland are you trying to flirt with me?” She smirked.

He laughed. “Been trying to for the past month but thanks for noticing.”

Y/N looked at him. “Well, what exactly is your goal?”

Tom pursed his lips. “A relationship, didn’t you get it from what I just told you?”

That’s when y/n had gone quiet. The question had remained in the air. Her chest had curled up, and she had to look out the window.

“Y/N?” He asked, with fear.

She kept quiet, for a bit more. Until they arrived.

“When?” She finally asked, as he’d parked.

Tom’s eyes widened. “What?”

She cleared her throat. “When would this… date take place?”

“Are you accepting?” He grinned.

“We’re leaving soon to New York and I need to… pack,” she looked away. “And tomorrow I know you’re going out with James and I am going out with my friends so…When?”

“Leave that to me,” He grinned, and he’d kissed her cheek.

Timmy was there, for sure. And he had glanced at y/n, and he’d clenched his jaw when he saw Tom had pulled out the chair for y/n, and sat right beside her.

Timmy had ignored y/n.

But Timmy hadn’t played fair.

“So, Mads, Tom,” Tim grinned, the dinner was honestly going phenomena. “You guys have excellent chemistry.”

“We do!” Madison grinned.

Tom chuckled. “Huh.”

“Yeah, why don’t you guys date,” Tim had pushed.

Maddison grinned. “Huh, Tom had asked me out once but—“

“Oh, you did, Tom?” Timmy asked.

Y/N only turned slightly to look at him.

“I—Only asked you for lunch, I think we’re good as friends Mads, let’s keep it professional,” Tom had answered, glaring at Tim.

The night continued, Tom had rested his arm behind y/n’s back. And Tim kept playing that game he had. As if he was trying to prove something to Tom. And he decided to stop ignoring y/n, a little too much for Tom’s convenience.

“No, but—His face!” Timmy laughed. “No, y/n here—I swear, you remember right?”

“Stop,” y/n laughed. “Sometimes I am super stupid!”

“Half an hour, trying to get directions, imagine this! No one speaks French but me, and y/n had taken like 4 lessons!” Tim laughed. “That didn’t stop her from claiming she is soooo good at french, and she was the one who wanted to speak!”

“I—I was okay,” y/n laughed. “Hey, you were my teacher! If anything this is your fault.”

““But—“This other guy, blue shirt, name is not important. “how bad could it be? Mispronouncing one word?“

“no, it was bad!” Y/N laughed.

“Okay, but there is a difference, okay? Between poutine and putain!” Timothee laughed. “But okay, okay, she went completely serious, and she just approached the old man, she was—She was going for it,” Tom grinned. “And she goes with this face,” Tim sucked in his cheeks. “High pitched voice: ‘excusez-moi, monsieurrrr, ou est-ce-que nous—-pouvons? Pouvons? Trouver…. PUTAIN!”

Y/N covered her face. Tom chuckled.

“Why—what does that mean?” Tom frowned, angry that y/n clearly still had that connection and dynamic with Tim.

“So you see, poutine is a Canadian dish, and putain.... Means whore. Basically she asked where we could get whores instead of poutine! Big difference y/n!” Tim laughed.

The whole table burst into laughter.

“Wait, how do you guys know each other?” Maddison asked, watching Tim and y/n. “I—I mean I know Tom and y/n are childhood friends but you, Timmy?”

Y/N cleared her throat.

“Well—Uh,” Tim smiled sadly.

“They went to college together,” Tom was the one to answer.

“We used to date,” Tim said.

Maddison widened her sight. “Oh, and what happened?” Maddison chuckled. “You guys have great chemistry.”

Tim locked eyes with y/n but then he glanced at Tom.

y/n cleared her throat. “Well, Mads, that’s a story for another time.”

Tom shrugged. “Sometimes it doesn’t work out, it’s no big deal.”

Tim clenched his jaw. “Yeah, and we… We were supposed to be apart but then y/n took this job, so… Who knows?” Timmy grinned at y/n.

Y/N took a long sip of her drink.

Tom also wanted to play that game, which had basically turned into a ‘who has more anecdotes with y/n’ kind of game.

“No, but we actually knocked the piano over,” Tom explained, between laughs.

“Why?” Someone else, green t-shirt, asked. “How do you knock a piano over?”

“We are enemies,” y/n explained. “And sometimes—“She chuckled. “We went too far.”

Tom had proven that he had more. But they all seemed… Different. Tom realized how different from the stories Timmy had his own stories were. Because Timmy built it up, in a way that made Tom boil up with jealousy again as if he was reliving it again.

But then he’d pulled out the card, the whole, I’ve known her my whole life, and he’d be winning again. But Timmy. Timmy didn’t even make it seem like a competition. He was just.. Being Timmy. Proving that even if he’d known her for only three years, he knew y/n.

And they continued with that game, until y/n had caught on to it. She was not amused.

But she had ignored them, both. She was angry, Tom could notice.

“Hey so—I bought a Polaroid,” Tom said almost at the end of the evening.

Y/N had stopped, to look at him. “You what?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, as he pulled it out. “So, we might as well take a picture all together, yeah?”

Tim had also been skeptical.

And they had taken a picture.

Timmy had kissed y/n’s cheek to say goodbye.

When they were making the way back to the car, Tom was still looking at the picture. And still thinking about the way Tim had placed his lips against y/n, so slowly. As if trying to prove something to Tom.

“Wait, y/n?”

She looked back at him.

“Can I take a picture of you, idiot?” Tom asked.

She rolled her eyes with a smile. “No.”

“Why not?” He frowned, quickly reaching out for her, taking her hand.

“What for? So you can give it to Tim and prove a point?” She asked.

He pursed his lips. “No, to keep this moment.”

She coughed as she tried to avoid his gaze. “You know, I’m not amused by whatever you were doing, both of you--”

“He started.”

“He didn’t,” she crossed her arms. “And if you think that this is a game and--”

“Well, I’m winning, anyway, I’m the one taking you home.”

“So I’m a prize?” She snapped.

“No, no I didn’t…” Tom squeezed his eyes shut. “No, I’m sorry.”

Y/N believed in little things that made up a person, certain events, songs, and even insignificant things, like a beer cap or a napkin stained with lipstick. There are times when it’s impossible to take a picture and even more impossible to take a polaroid. Like after she’d danced with Tom. She really didn’t want to read much into it, because he knew how Tom was. Tim had said it, Tom was her perfidy.

But she had wanted to take a picture.

She hugged herself, watching him

“Do you even know how to use a Polaroid?” She questioned him.

“It’s just taking a picture, y/n,” he looked away. “Forget it.”

“And what kind of moment is there to keep here?” She wondered. “Walking in a parking lot?”

He scoffed. “The fact you accepted to go out with me.”

She smiled. “Ah, but I didn’t say yes, did I?” She smirked.

His eyes widened. “But I thought—“

“Sh, let’s just take that damn picture, silly,” she grinned as she took the camera off his hands, leaned over to his side.

Tom blinked but then leaned away, as she smiled as she snapped the picture.

He stared down as she waited for the picture to dry out, he placed a soft loving kiss to her cheek.

She blushed and then blinked, looking at himself “Now let's go, dumbass,” she cleared her throat.

He snickered watching her.

“Dumbass in a… cute and caring way,” she added, before coughing away the awkwardness.

This was going to be different.

Tom had changed. Of course, he had to be subtle otherwise he knew y/n would go insane. But little by little he had been nicer, he wondered if she’d noticed. It seemed that after that very one particular kiss, y/n had sensed something changing, too. But he could only pretend to be her enemy for just a little bit longer. Of course, some habits couldn’t wear out but this was… different.

Y/N seemed to be conflicted, though. There were times when he saw her building up her walls, and being defensive but just as if she was reminded of something, she’d let loose.

His brother and friend had noticed a change, too. Texting, all day. And they’d said that y/n had been too observant. Haz had been bothering y/n in front of Tom:

“You were totally checking him out.”

“I was not,” Y/N had said.

“Don’t worry, he checks you out all the time, too.”

Of course, he wanted to kill Harrison.

But he knew y/n was being defensive. But there old habits that didn’t wear out, like him casually pushing her away when he walked by. Or her flipping him off whenever he looked at her.

“Dumbass” “Idiot.” “Stupid.” Those weren’t going to go away.

But they were flirting.

And now she’d accepted a date. And Tom had to think of a date. Would they have their first date in New York? They couldn’t.

Tom had gone to her apartment by surprise to help her pack.

It was only for two weeks but he, as stupid and cheesy as it may seem, wanted to make sure she packed outfits for what he had planned.

But it didn’t make sense, did it? He knew he couldn’t—the dates couldn’t be usual.

And then his mind was going places to where the date would go, he did have a certain idea. But he was debating on little details? Did he have to get her flowers?

He knew she loved flowers. But he couldn’t just choose yellow flowers. But what other kind of flowers? He remembered how difficult it was to choose flowers for her, how does one choose flowers for a girl who has a garden in her eyes?

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, as she was folding some clothes but she looked up as Tom was looking at her wall full of Polaroids and picked up a hanger.

“I’m— going to hang this one,” Tom smirked as he fanned the picture they’d taken at the parking lot.

Y/N laughed. “And who says I want your silly face hanging there?”

He chuckled as he walked over, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“I’m going to hang it out anyway,” he claimed with a smile and then placed a kiss on her cheek.

She rolled her eyes.

She cleared out her throat after a while, as Tom was only admiring her wall.

“So—Uh, what exactly?” She cleared her throat. “Should I pack for—the date?“

He grinned. “Ah, right,” he chuckled. “Well all your clothes are ugly so it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right, you’re going to be showing your stupid face so it won’t matter,” she snapped. “Hey… wait toss me that pink scarf from that top drawer, idiot.”

“Top—?”he stared at the drawers and decided to randomly open one. And that definitely was pleased with that drawer. “Oh.”

“What?”

A drawer full of lingerie.

“Yeah these—All of this drawer is coming.”

Y/N looked up. “Huh?”

He smirked as he pulled out a very nice set of pink bikini lingerie. Very, very nice. With flowers. “Especially this one,” he waved the two pieced set in the air. “This, this one is for the date.”

“Oh my god,” y/n ran over to try and pull it off his hands and close the drawer. “That was not the top drawer, oh my god, you’re so stupid.”

Tom lifted up his hand and ran away with the set as he couldn’t stop laughing. Y/N rushed after him.

“Thomas!”

And he was faster than her, but this felt like when they were kids, when Tom stole something from y/n. This felt so familiar.

“Thomas, oh my god,” she continued as he rushed back to her bedroom and casually placed it in her suitcase.

“That, you’re wearing that,” he smirked, as she punched him in his arm. “That’s the outfit for the date.

“No,” she took it out.

Tom grinned again, placing it back in. “Yes.”

“There won’t be a date now,” she rolled her eyes, chuckling.

“Why not?” He pouted. “That’s a great outfit.”

“Because you’re acting like a child,” she said, chuckling, still embarrassed as she took the set back where it belonged.

Tom rushed after her, hugging her from behind. “Well, not for the date but you should pack it anyway,” he grinned.

“Just in case?” She laughed.

“Oh, no, I’m 100% sure you’ll end up wearing it,” he sassed, hands in her waist, brushing his lips against her ear, fanning his breath against her neck.

“I wouldn’t be that sure, idiot, the odds are actually very small,” she laughed, pushing him away.

But he pulled her back to him, staring at her lips. “Why?”

He grinned.

“Because I’m still deciding whether or not I want to do this,” she bit her lip, watching him.

“I’m not trying to break your heart this time, you know,” he reminded her as he cupped her cheeks.

“No, but I’m afraid I am,” she had said.

He didn’t know what that meant, and though he was dying to kiss her, he hadn’t. He didn’t. He couldn’t, he had to do it right.

He helped her again, and he might or might have not slipped the set in again, she didn’t say anything this time.

“What’s… this?” Tom asked as he was lurking through her closet, he found two shoeboxes. One said Tim, one said Tom. He frowned.

Y/N looked up again, with fear, not wanting to deal with yet another shenanigan made by Tom.

“What?”

“It’s got my name in it,” Tom pointed out. And then y/n rushed to shut her closet door closed, realizing what he’d seend.

“None of your business,” she said, with a nervous smile.

“What is it?” He chuckled nervously.

“Nothing,” she emphasized.

He frowned. “Why do you have a Tim box? And why do you have a Tom box?”

Y/N looked away. “Nothing.”

He poked her sides. “Y/N?”

“The…”She closed her eyes. “The TIm box is stuff that belongs to him that I haven't’ had the guts to give him back.”

“And… the one with my name?”

She shrugged, calmly. “That’s where I keep track of your schedule, you know I hate using the phone calendar, so it’s there.”

“May I see it?” Tom asked.

“No, because you’re going to mess everything up,” she said, pushing him away, and then pulling him to the front door. “Now, it’s getting late and you should probably leave because I need to get ready to hang out with my friends.”

And he was going to hang out with James. Not sure why James seemed so cold lately. They’d have a beer. Tom kept thinking about the box.

Tom saw James as a big brotherly figure, in a way that James had constantly given him advice and in a way that James was not afraid to call him out on his bullshit. But it was also kind of scary. Especially due to the fact that Tom now felt guilty that he’d slept with y/n, and Tom knew how protective James was when it came to y/n.

Of course, you know, the first chit chat that’s only catching up wasn’t intense. But Tom was sweating, because he feared that James would ask him about it. And he was scared because he had once heard James say: ‘Tim is the one for y/n, they’re so perfect for each other it’s ridiculous.’

And James was the first one to call Tom out whenever he’d crossed lines with y/n. James understood that they had the whole enemies thing, but James didn’t let Tom pull any kind of bad bullshit.

However, James didn’t know about the yellow flowers. At least, Tom thought so.

But Tom wasn’t really paying attention; he was wondering what exactly that box could have.

“So, what’s going on with y/n?” James blurted out.

Tom almost spat his beer as he had to cough away his choking. “Hm?”

James laughed, rolling his eyes. “Are you not going to tell me?”

Tom felt sweat falling down his forehead as he stared at the older brother of the love of his life. Suddenly he regretted every single thing he’d pulled over the last month, from sleeping with her to waving around her underwear.

“Tell--tell you what?” Tom played dumb.

James watched Tom, and rolled his eyes scoffing. “Tom.”

Tom started to peel off the paper from the beer. “What?”

“She told me.”

“What—did she tell you?” Tom’s heart felt like it was going to pop right out of his chest.

James watched him. “That you asked her out…” He cackled. “Was she… supposed to tell me anything else?”

Tom felt his soul coming back to his body. He blushed as he let out a nervous snicker. “Ah, yeah. No, I mean, no that’s it but—Yeah I asked her out.”

“Well, that’s such a turn of events right?” James asked. “I thought you—hated her.”

Tom stared at his beer.

“I’m in love with her,” Tom stated.

James watched him, took a sip of his beer. “Okay. So?”

Tom frowned. “Aren’t you… surprised?”

“Oh, sorry,” James cleared his throat. “That’s brand new information!” He faked surprise.

Tom frowned. “What?”

“Okay, I know that, you haven’t been subtle and while all of you were running around pretending to be enemies, me, the grown up noticed a lot of things.”

Tom felt betrayed. He didn’t know why but he was offended. Why wasn’t he surprised? Sam and Haz had been… A little. But this was his best kept secret and James knew.

“What?” Tom repeated.

“Please you’ve been drooling over her your whole life,” James pushed. “I… I am only wondering, what’s up with this?”

“Well uh---”

“And what about Harry?” James questioned. “Because, Tom, this…He’s your brother, and I know you, I’ve seen you toy around with y/n and act all adorable but the moment Harry walks in you push her away, and you break her heart, and look, right now, she… She doesn’t have to deal with that kind of crap, alright?”

Tom watched him. “I know, I fucked up, but now… I… I really want to work this out.”

“Look, Tom, you’re… You’re my friend, okay?” James squeezed his eyes shut. “But she’s my sister and she comes first, and I don’t want you fooling around with her, okay? Besides… I don’t know how she’s going to react to all of this, alright?”

“Well, she seems to be up for it,” Tom sighed. “I’m not trying to fool around, I genuinely love her.”

James watched him and took a deep breath. “What about Tim?”

Tom clenched his jaw. “What about him?”

“I dunno,” James sighed. “I’d be nervous having around the man who proposed to the woman I love.”

“Tim… proposed?”

That was… Now that was brand new information.

Y/N wasn’t far from there, having dinner with her friends, Charlie and Danielle, whom she really hadn’t talked to in a while. They’d spoken about life, about Joe Holt, whom was now also hitting on Danielle, but had asked about y/n, and about Charlie’s tinder experience.

Y/N had been quiet. She had been thinking about Tom. And Tim, who had been texting her since that dinner. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. Because now guilt was invading her.

And she was confused. Was she falling back in love with Tom? And how dangerous was it to fall in love when she was writing about it?

When Tom had left, she’d opened Timmy’s box. A box full of secrets, of napkins, of movie tickets and beer caps, of an egg shell from the first time he’d ever made breakfast for her, and sweeteners of their first café date. Of memories and film canisters.

One very special film canister.

But she was thinking about Tom’s box. One filled with both good and bad memories. Dried out yellow flowers, and lipsticks she hadn’t touched in years because he’d kissed those. With scripts she’d written for them. And now, with a beer cap, from the first night they’d slept together. The package of pasta of when he’d cooked dinner for her, and now she’d taken that polaroid he’d hung to place it in her box, to remember the day he’d asked her out.

She didn’t want to ruin this. She really didn’t want to break his heart, she had to stop.

“Okay, spill it,” Charlie smirked. “Y/N I can’t believe you literally have to work for your wrost enemy and have your ex there!”

“I wouldn’t be able to do it,” Danielle pointed out. “How’s it going?”

Like hell. Y/N would be lying if she admitted that she would constantly be very stressed out. She cried, a lot. Besides, she was making a fool of herself. Who was she trying to kid? She was falling back in love with Tom. But then she still had feelings for Timmy. Because Timmy was perfect.

“It’s been fine,” she lied.

“Have you fucked Tom, yet?” Charlie asked.

Y/N blushed. “Why do you always assume--?”

“Ah, please, y/n, it’s all over you, you’ve got that glow everybody talks about, you’ve been getting laid so I can only assume it’s...No,” he paused himself. “Are you sleeping with perfect Timmo boy?”

Danielle chirped. “Oh my God, yes, you should get back together with him you made a perfect couple!”

“Honestly, yes, you guys were maaaade for each other,” Charlie sang.

Y/N only sipped of her cosmo.

“No, I didn’t sleep with Tim.”

Charlie watched her with a proud smirk. “Fine, don’t tell us… By the way Alessandra is loving everything you’re sending her,” Charlie laughed. “She said she’s doing your script, no doubt.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose. This couldn’t be happening. “But I don’t want to write it anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Danielle frowned. “It’s brilliant, I asked Alessandra today what it’s about and it’s brilliant! Enemies with benefits! How did you even come up with that?”

Y/N stayed quiet.

“Yes, the whole enemies to lovers, 80’s couple, revenge party kind of thing, it’s amazing,” Charlie added. “I love it, you should be proud of yourself.”

Y/N only sipped more. “I can’t--”

“Why not?” Danielle frowned.

Charlie then stopped to stare at y/n, as if he was connecting two and two. “Wait a minute.”

Y/N rubbed her face.

“You slept with Tom,” Charlie whispered. “You’re shitting me,” he pitched his voice. “You’re.. Shit, you’re kidding me, you’re.. You’re enemies with benefits with Tom.”

Danielle’s eyes widened as her mouth o-shaped with surprise.

“Sh, sh, ‘kay, yes, yes, I…” Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. “But… Look, I need to stop this, I need to change the script now, okay? I can’t write about this, it’s fucked up, I know it’s wrong and…I well.”

“You caught feelings,” Charlie smirked.

“What?”

“How do you even know this?” Danielle frowned.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Please a woman in love is easy to give away, and y/n here has always been in love with Tom so…” Charlie chuckled. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” y/n admitted. “No... Not in love. I’m not sure. I dunno. But okay, he asked me out and I think… I think it would be nice, you know?”

Charlie nodded. “But you’re afraid he’ll find the script.”

“Yes because it’ll blow up in my face,” y/n said.

Charlie nodded. “But then again…”He paused. “Look, I’ve been reading the script, you know Alessandra always makes me edit everything,” he remembered. “And from what I’ve caught on so far is you’re really trying to get your revenge because he broke your heart, I don’t know what’s fiction or not but you’ve made it clear he was an asshole.”

Y/N stayed quiet.

Danielle blinked. “And was he?”

“Yes,” y/n sighed. “But…”

“But?” Charlie watched her. “y/n, what do you want?”

“I don’t know anymore,” she sighed. “I… have feelings for him.”

“But you also said he was your… What did you call him? This weird word, that meant someone who’s only trying to get your trust to break your heart or some poetic shit like that?”

“I know,” y/n said. “I… Just...I want to believe this time it’s different and I… don’t want to break his heart.”

“But what if he breaks yours? What if he keeps on with that weird word, because look, y/n, even as much as I tried to ship you with him, deep down I’ve seen how shitty he’s been with you,” Charlie continued.

Danielle nodded. “That’s true, whenever he’s been at your parties, he was a really big asshole.”

Y/N nodded.

“He doesn’t have to find the script,” Charlie said. “Make sure he doesn’t and--”

“But what if they film it,” Y/N pushed. “What will I say then?”

“The story is different enough, I’m sure, I didn’t get it was you and Tom, but only because I know you and because Alessandra made sure to ask it was a based in real events kind of thing, but nobody else knows about it, it’s set in the 80’s, and if he asks about it--”

“But it’s…”

“Is it the same story?” Charlie questioned.

“No,” y/n shook her head. “No, I’ve made sure it’s different enough, I’ve only… made sure it’s about enemies with benefits and her trying to get her revenge but no, it’s got nothing to do with me, but you see the problem, right?”

“Well, I do,” Charlie admitted. “But--- You could say that it was only inspired by it.”

“That’s true...But do you really love him?” Danielle asked.

Y/N stayed quiet.

“Don’t you think he’ll break your heart first?” Charlie pushed.

Yes. He was going to break her heart first.

“He was that weird word, wasn’t he? what was it? Danielle I told you about it, how it was such a great word!”Charlie attempted to recall.

“Oh!” Danielle closed her eyes. “Yes, yes… Uh, serendipity?”

Charlie laughed. “No, that’s the movie with John Cuscak, but I know a word for you… stupidity.”

“It was something like… perdifidity,” Danielle recalled.

“Perfidy,” y/n said. “Yeah, he’ll probably commit perfidy.”

“So, when he does, then you’ll...be ready with your own perfidy,” Charlie said. “It’s only fair.”

But she really didn’t want to commit perfidy.

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puddygeeks · 3 years

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𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 - 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒅 𝒙 𝑶𝑪 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 9: 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒔

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. 𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Status: Ongoing

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑏𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 & 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝐴𝑈'𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘. 𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒��𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.

Eᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ: Pʀᴇ Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ 1

Chapter Nine

My office felt colder than usual when I returned from my trip, but I suspected that it was mostly due to the lack of the warm BAU team’s presence. It was difficult for me to concentrate on anything whilst Hotch’s offer repeated in my mind and I found myself mentally making a pros and cons list as I worked. There were so many factors to consider. In order to avoid any external influence I was careful to ensure that I made the decision alone, hesitating from discussing it with anyone after Ricky.

Following my brief break away from Interpol, it seemed as if I was even more swamped with work than when I left. It wasn’t long before I was feeling the stress of being spread too thinly between numerous teams. Requests for assistance from each of them mounted up around me and it became a struggle to suitably prioritise them.

As I busied myself with organising a list, a new task flashed up on my screen that made my blood chill. Etienne Vidal had submitted a request for my individual support with researching a suspect list, insisting in the notes that having my undivided attention would have a substantial benefit to this case.

Much to my disdain, I knew that it was only a matter of time before Shepard approved this with the perspective of improving our working relationship. I pushed my hair out of my face to massage my temples. Mentally, I was attempting to convince myself that I could manage another encounter with Vidal.

Before I’d even realised what I was doing, I found myself striding out of my office clutching a few files to my chest and decided to take myself to get a cup of herbal tea from a nearby café.

I felt immediately clearer the moment that I stepped out of the Interpol headquarters. The fresh air flowed through my loose hair, rejuvenating my worn down spirit. The tightly packed streets of Lyon were a welcome sight and I was thankful to at least be blessed with living in such a beautiful, historical city.

Opening up the files to flick through the information inside as I walked, I hoped that my picturesque surroundings might give me a fresh perspective. Even once I had settled within the charming café, I lingered for a while as I waited to feel ready to return to my desk.

Eventually, I mustered up the courage to begin strolling back in the direction of the office. I had decided not to overstay my welcome, leaving with my lovingly made hot drink in a takeaway cup and lost myself in documents to distract from the rising feeling of anxiety in my chest. I was completely enthralled in the files as I walked the halls of the building on autopilot, causing me not to notice the voice calling my name in a thick French accent until it was too late.

“My, my, Alice. I hope that you’re not trying to avoid me.”

The absence of formalities caused my stomach to lurch with recognition and I paused on the spot in horror as Vidal blocked my path. When I finally pulled my nose from the papers, I realised that I had been unfortunate enough to be caught in one of the least used hallways in the office.

The only rooms here were disused offices which had been utilised as storage for cold cases, decreasing it’s foot traffic to practically nothing. I had grown accustomed to taking this longer route back to my own space in order to avoid the rest of my team. However, today this plan had backfired, instead meaning that we would be highly unlikely to be interrupted.

“Oh. my apologies, Vidal. I was lost in work.” I answered with a forced smile,

Unwilling to engage in any further conversation I moved to pass him, but he immediately shifted himself to block me from leaving.

“You are so dedicated, ma poupée. It is admirable, but certainly too much for you.” He drawled, making no effort to hide the way that his gaze explored my entire body and his smile afterward made my skin crawl.

“I fear that you may have missed my request on your break, but Shepard has agreed for me to borrow your skills. It will allow you to relax for a while with only one case, and with me.” He explained confidently.

Even with all of the experience of his arrogance, I remained shocked by how genuinely he seemed to believe that he was doing me a favour by trapping me into working alongside him.

“Ah, I hadn’t seen it yet.” I admitted, attempting to contain my disappointment at this revelation so that I didn’t anger him. “Let me just finish the task that I’m on and I’ll find you when I’m done.” I instructed as I strained to keep the nerves from my smile, but it was obvious that he had no intention of allowing me to move yet.

“Come on, Alice. You don’t need to pretend to worry about the others. I should be your only priority.” He insisted, stepping closer to me again and in my efforts to regain some personal space, I ended up trapped between him and the wall. “I know that you have been spending more time with your FBI team recently, but you wouldn’t ever forget about me, would you ma chérie?” He asked, his voice slipping lower whilst his expression grew painfully serious.

Out of an overpowering feeling of intimidation, I shook my head vigorously in response. Vidal only seemed encouraged by his effect on me, smirking arrogantly as his face neared mine and I felt my hands begin to shake with nerves. I prayed for anyone to notice us, as I felt too paralysed with fear to do anything to stop him, but the hallway remained silently empty.

“Well, I do worry. You seem to be working with them more and more frequently. I would imagine that you’re getting to know each other very well. You were rudely defensive of that one young man during our consultation call.” He suggested, thinning his eyes at me suspiciously.

The reminder of my outburst in front of the BAU team caused me to cringe. His words were alarmingly accusatory and I couldn’t deny the feeling that he saw himself as entitled to the details of my life, specifically my love life.

A loud sound caused me to whimper as he pounded his hand against the wall behind me to frighten me, shifting to lean his weight on the surface so that he could confine me in position beneath him.

“There wouldn’t be anything going on between you and this Dr Reid that I should know about. Would there, Alice?” He questioned, the subtlety of his temper failing to escape my notice and I could hardly breathe from the intensity of his stare. “You know how I detest dishonesty.”

“No.” I whispered hurriedly, my voice shaking from stress as any sense of control rapidly dissolved into anxiety.

From my years of study I understood the effect that past trauma had on our natural fight or flight instincts, but experiencing it first hand gave me a level of insight that was frankly horrifying. I willed myself to confront him, to strike him out of my space with the power that my aunt had always encouraged me to own, or even to simply run away, but I had no control against my natural reaction, which was to freeze.

“That’s a good girl.” He breathed, a wicked smile filling his lips as he revelled in my obedience. Much to my terror, he leaned his face suffocatingly close to me and I felt like a caged animal under his gaze. “I don’t know what I would do if you betrayed me like that. You’re too special to belong to anyone else.” He soothed, so deep in his delusion that he was flattering me that it made him completely oblivious to my disgust.

My entire stomach felt as if it might literally drop out of my body as he reached out to push my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering against my cheek nauseatingly. He bit his lip in a way that he must have believed to be seductive and I realised with a new level of panic that he was inching closer, as if he intended to kiss me. My mind spun with a million thoughts as I urged myself to escape, but I couldn’t break out of the survival instinct that held me in place.

“Vidal! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Someone called out at the last possible moment before his lips touched mine and my breath caught in my throat. He seemed incredibly aggravated by the intrusion, taking a moment to compose himself before he finally stepped out of my space. His posture was still as he turned around to address the source of the voice.

“Prentiss. My apologies. I’m afraid that I am rather caught up with assisting Alice at the moment.” He drawled with a polite smile, clearly not even slightly flustered by being caught in the act.

The absolute control in his demeanour was especially chilling. It was an ability that I had seen frequently in the types of people that I assisted in catching for a living, allowing me to understand precisely how dangerous he was capable of being. I could barely think straight as I stared over at Emily who was standing at the far end of the hall.

“Yes. I can see that.” She answered curtly.

It was clear that she had no intention of allowing him to brush this encounter off as she strolled closer to get a better view of the situation. I jumped as I felt one of Vidal’s hands squeeze my arm painfully tight, silently warning me to play along with his ruse.

“Can this wait until later, Madame?” He enquired, the air of calm that he had previously possessed already slipping as he spoke and whilst his gaze was distracted by her, I risked meeting her eyes to communicate a desperate plea for her help.

“No. Actually, it can’t.” Emily insisted, maintaining an authoritative tone as she thinned her eyes at him and I could have burst from the relief of confirming that she had noticed my distress.

“You have an urgent call waiting and I’m afraid that I need Agent Hawthorne’s assistance for myself.” She added, turning her attention to me with concern that was subtle enough to escape Vidal’s notice.

Without any concern for him noticing her actions, she ushered me to come to her. I wasted no time in removing myself from his grip, rushing over to meet her with my eyes glued to the floor nervously. Even so, I could feel her fixing him with a stern glare, before she fell into step with me.

We walked in silence with her positioned at my side in a manner that would prevent anyone else from reaching me and she remained this way every single step back to my office.

As I stepped inside, she hesitated in the doorway to give me the chance to regain some personal space. Whilst I did this she continued to protect me, aligning herself so that entry to the room would be impossible for anyone else.

“I actually don’t have anything that I need you for. I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay. If there’s anything that I could do to-“

“I’m fine.” I answered abruptly, keen for this situation to be over as quickly as possible and Emily studied me sympathetically. “Thank you for checking on me, but I can handle it from here.” I added, subtly reassuring her that I would take action to protect myself if it was needed.

“I know that you can. If you change your mind, my phone is always on me.” She suggested with a caring smile.

After a few moments of silence, she reluctantly left the room. The moment that she departed, I closed the door behind her and moved furniture in front of it to prevent it from being easily opened again.

Tears of shock rolled down my cheeks as I felt my entire body shaking and I had to wrap my arms around myself to calm my anxiety. It was a method that I had been taught to use in triggering situations, but even knowing that I was barricaded in this room, I couldn’t convince myself to feel safe.

In the depths of my despair, I became aware of the only logical next step for my life. I opened my emails and began drafting a letter of acceptance to Hotch that ended with a simple question.

When can I start?

--⥈--

Emerging from my flight at the Virginia airport felt completely different this time. Despite getting to know it well from the numerous recent visits that I’d made over the past six weeks to get things organised, I was still excited to see it again. It was surreal to inform security that I was actually emigrating instead of visiting and I strolled out into the bright open space of arrivals with a sense of wonder.

Everything felt larger and grander, as if being seen through new eyes. I suspected that viewing it as a new start had a significant effect on my perception. There was even a relaxing scent in the air, something that lured me toward the exit with a feeling of hope and it was as if the strain of the past was melting away with every step that I took.

I could hardly believe my eyes when I noticed that instead of just Penelope waiting for me as we’d agreed, there was an embarrassingly large welcome sign covered in glitter, pom poms and complete with tiny flashing lights. It was being waved by her, Morgan, JJ and a bashful looking Spencer.

“Penelope! You are the absolute worst at no fuss!” I groaned as I reached her and she threw the part of the banner that she had been holding at Morgan so that she could embrace me tightly.

“I don’t care! I wanted to make sure that your new life here starts on the right foot.” She excused as she squeezed the life out of me and the others busied themselves with packing away the banner as I blushed furiously at them over her shoulder. “I can’t believe the day is finally here. I’m so excited! Oh, guys, we almost forgot.” She enthused as she released me to turn back to the group and I glanced nervously at them as she made some insistent gestures.

“Welcome to America!”

The other three were completely out of sync in their half hearted cheer, with Penelope contributing the loudest and most dramatic voice, whilst I smiled at them with burning cheeks.

“You’re all very sweet. Thank you.” I muttered gratefully, wishing that Penelope had at least given me enough of a heads up to wear something less tattered than my moving clothes, which weren’t what I would have chosen for spending time in anyone else’s company than hers.

Thanks to all of my planning visits, which allowed me to leave cases in storage at Ricky’s new place, combined with the fact that he had graciously accepted the boxes of possessions that I shipped to him in advance, I had hardly anything with me. There was no clothing in my flight bag, leaving me with only the white, off the shoulder blouse and ripped denim shorts that I was wearing and the few personal items that I’d needed to take care of myself for the last couple of weeks in France.

Penelope looped her arm through mine as we all moved toward the exit and I had the sensation that the surprises weren’t over just yet.

“So, we’ll start by collecting your stuff and then help you to get settled at the new place.” She announced, already wrapped up in the joy of the day, oblivious to how questioning my gaze was.

“When you say we, you still mean the two of us as we planned, right?” I enquired suspiciously, but the way that she chewed her lip as she considered how to explain herself gave her away.

“Please tell me that she hasn’t already roped all of you into this? I’m sure you have better ways to spend your days off than carrying my stuff around.” I gasped, glancing between the three other members of our group in horror, only to be met with amused smiles at my outrage.

“You got a moving truck booked?” Morgan interrogated, crossing his arms at me as if he was already prepared for my protests, but I could only shake my head cluelessly. “Well, it just so happens that I have one on loan from a friend for the day. You already know that I’m not about to let my baby girl spend her day doing a hundred trips in the car, when I can get this done in one. Just let it go, Poppins.” He asserted, glancing over at Penelope with a conspiratorial smile and I looked to JJ and Spencer in a silent plea for help.

“What kind of team would allow their newest member to struggle?” JJ asked, her kind nature seeping into her words. “You’ve got enough to worry about with a move this big. Let us help you to do this at least.” She added, smiling at me warmly and Spencer cleared his throat to gain my attention.

“You’d also be wrong in the assumption that we have anything better to do.” He shrugged comically, causing Morgan to frown at him in blatant disapproval.

“Hey. Speak for yourself, kid!” He remarked, knocking Spencer’s arm slightly in the kind of manner that an older brother would to annoy their younger sibling. “I see you people enough at work. I definitely have other things to do than follow you around on my weekends, too. I’m just here to help out a friend.”

“Wait. Does that include me?” Penelope stopped in her tracks, causing a collision amongst all of us as she faced down Morgan with a heavy expression of offence.

“You already know that it doesn’t, Sweetness. I can never see enough of you.” He crooned, earning a pleased smile from her before he turned back to me. “So, where’s our first stop, new girl?”

“Well, my cousin is working today, but he’s arranged for his housemate to let me in to collect my things. Here’s the address.”

--⥈--

“Ally. Please tell me that’s not a ladder up to your bed?” Penelope questioned with a blatant disbelief and I chuckled as I followed her into my new studio, carrying a case full of clothing up the stairs.

“I thought you’d like that. It’s quirky.” I remarked as I dragged the case inside behind her, catching her glancing around at my home.

The place was remarkably small, almost feeling full with just the two of us inside. I had to shift awkwardly as I tried to get past her. This had been the main reason for my reluctance about the team assisting us with the move, as I knew that we would be likely to be tripping over each other, rather than benefiting from their help. Judging from Penelope’s reaction, I was already dreading the others coming up from the van.

“It certainly is. It’s just so small.” She commented, looking over at me with concern and I shrugged in response. “I know that you’ll be the only one living here, but I’m worried that you’ll get claustrophobic. I mean, this place is like a bunk bed that grew up to identify as a studio.” She clarified, wanting to ensure that she wasn’t coming across as judgmental, but she didn’t need to worry as I chuckled in agreement.

“You could always stay with me until you find somewhere. I’ll even help you look for a place. It’ll be like a constant sleepover party!” She added enthusiastically, already seeming to get lost in the excitement of this concept.

“As much fun as that sounds, you don’t need to worry. It’s only temporary.” I admitted, causing her to furrow her brows in concern. It was obvious that she was worrying I had some secret plans to leave her again soon.

“I don’t have a long term contract for this place. Ricky recommended the owner as someone that he usually rents holiday homes like this from. I’ve got this place until the end of the month to give me a chance to get to know the area better, figure out what kind of place I’m really looking for.” I presented my plan, allowing Penelope to drop her shoulders in relief.

It was difficult to differentiate whether she was more appreciative of the revelation that I wouldn’t be leaving her, or that I wasn’t planning to live here for long. Either way, my explanation seemed to have put her mind at ease.

“Well, that’s a good thing. Because this place is not up to standard for a proper tenancy.” Morgan announced as he carried the heaviest box inside and though I scurried to get out of his way, Penelope seemed quite content to allow him to squeeze past her. “I’m gonna give your locks a proper check before I leave. They’re looking a little too old for my liking.” He added as he dropped the box, turning to examine the door with a sceptical expression, even from across the room.

“Hey. As the person with the most experience busting them open, I’ll trust your opinion on locks.” I teased, earning a cheeky smile before Morgan headed back out to grab some more stuff, taking Penelope with him.

After their comments, I took another look at the place and couldn’t understand their concern. It was already substantially nicer than the miserable flat that I’d rented in France, even if it was smaller. Sure, it was a tight squeeze to navigate, but it had all of the essentials. Unfortunately, most of them were contained within the same four walls, but I just thought of it as cosy.

The kitchen was simply a couple of cupboards along the side of the room where the dimensions more closely resembled those of a hallway than a living space. There was a sofa pushed up against the end of the cabinets to almost create a lounge and above it was a platform with a mattress which I felt gave the whole place a treehouse vibe. Lastly, there was a separate small bathroom and some stairs at the back of the studio that led to a rooftop that could almost be described as a balcony. It certainly wasn’t glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but it would give me a place to stay.

JJ entered the room struggling with a large box and I rushed over to take it from her before she hurt herself.

“This has got to be the third box labelled books so far, Alice. I’m seriously getting worried about you.” She chuckled playfully, looking around the place with interest during the time that I found a surface to dump the box. “Seriously. How many books do you need?” She asked with a warm sparkle in her eyes and before I could think of an excuse for my addiction, Spencer made his way inside.

“Comparatively, Alice's collection isn’t especially unreasonable. In the middle ages, the purchasing of multiple books was considered to be a hobby that was suitable exclusively for wealthy individuals.” He launched into defending me without a second thought and I was glad to have his support to push aside the embarrassment that I was feeling. “In the present day, the largest collection of books belongs to the Library of Congress, which houses more than 170 million items.”

“Wow. The dream.” I breathed, for a moment losing myself in the fantasy of being able to own a library of my own, until I was distracted by JJ looking between Spencer and I with a suspicious smile, leaving us to geek out without having to pretend that she was interested. “I’m sure that still wouldn’t keep you busy for long, though.” I teased as I turned to face Spencer and he smiled shyly at me.

“Will you be alright here?” He asked as he began to assess the space.

I had to admit that his concern had caught me off guard. The others were often open with their emotions, but Spencer was quieter, almost as if he was still deciding whether he could be himself around me. Although I hoped that in time he would relax, I had no intention of pushing him. For now, I was simply pleasantly surprised to find that he was just as protective of me as the rest of the team.

“Oh, sure. It’s kinda bare right now, but once I get some books on display and add a bunch of plants, it’ll be great.” I defended, hoping that he wouldn’t sense the nerves that I still held for this move. “Maybe I’ll even get some fairy lights for the edge of that loft bit.” I added thoughtfully as I pointed toward my bed, causing him to peek over at me with confusion, but before I could question it Morgan charged back inside the apartment with a heavy case containing a large majority of my clothing.

“She means string lights, pretty boy. It’s a Britishism.” He explained, causing Spencer to smile at me as if endeared by the idea and I shrugged, unaware that this was a term that was uncommon here. “That’s everything from the van. I don’t think we’re all gonna fit in your place, so how about grabbing some lunch out? I know a joint nearby.”

“Sure. My treat for all your help.” I offered as Spencer and I began to make our way to the door, only for Morgan to snatch my keys from my hand to test the locks protectively.

Once he was satisfied that the apartment was safe, we regrouped with the others and followed his lead to a small bar a couple of blocks away. Even in the distance, it was clear that it was a lively venue. On closer examination, I noticed a couple of decorative choices that indicated that it was probably a sports bar.

Everyone chatted happily as Morgan arranged a table outside in the sun, seeming as if he knew the owners and we took our seats whilst he caught up with them. The waiter provided us with menus whilst gesturing to Morgan, who joined us with a bright smile.

“Now. I know that you’re used to all of your food being boiled and beige, but you’re not living in the war anymore. It’s time to get modern. This here is some real American food that’s gonna blow your mind.” He announced, flashing me a cheeky wink but I simply rolled my eyes at him.

“Ah, yes. I’m in America now, the land of heart attack burgers and copious amounts of salt on absolutely everything. I’ll need bigger clothes in no time.” I retorted, causing laughter to pass around the table and Morgan shook his head at me.

“Alright. You just reserve your judgement for now. You’re gonna eat your words.” He argued, throwing a menu at me insistently.

Flipping through the pages of the menu, I was overwhelmed by choices. Though I’d experienced a few months of living in the States as a teenager and had actually spent the first four years of my life here, I considered myself proudly British at heart. I knew that the lifestyle was going to be the hardest adaptation for me to make.

With little other options that felt familiar, I ordered a grilled sandwich with fries and an ice tea, with Morgan raising a brow at me judgmentally for somehow slipping tea into my meal.

“So, Alice. Do you know anyone here other than us?” JJ asked, moving the conversation away from the British vs American war that Morgan and I had begun. “I heard that you’ve got family in the area?”

“Well, I’ve got Ricky, as you know. He is starting his second year at the University of Virginia, so he’s really local. Then I have two aunts in Florida and my grandma in New York. Plus, my dad who is on the West Coast somewhere, I think?” I listed openly, realising as I got to the end that I wasn't exactly sure where my flaky father was living at the moment.

“You’re not in touch with your dad?” Morgan investigated, studying me with an obvious curiosity and I shuffled awkwardly in my seat.

“Is it that obvious?” I chuckled under my breath, attempting to make light of it and I noticed Penelope out of the corner of my eye gesturing at him to drop his line of questioning. “He has a habit of moving from one fancy apartment to another in various superficial cities along the coast. He’s still out there chasing his Hugh Hefner, playboy dream.” I clarified, attempting not to cause them all to feel that I was shutting them out from the details of my life so soon, but Penelope dove in to change the topic.

“I actually made you something to help you to get situated.” She announced, dropping a large binder onto the table that caused me to stare back at her in confusion. “This bad boy has all of the details for local laundromats, gyms, take outs and everything else that you could possibly need, all based on our personal recommendations. I know that it can be hard to get into the swing of things in a new place, let alone a new country, so hopefully this makes that process a little less daunting for you.” She smiled and as I scanned the faces of the team around the table, I could tell that they had each contributed to this.

“That is so considerate!” I breathed, taking a quick flick through the pages with amazement and it was easy to tell how much work had gone into creating it. “Thank you so much. I honestly can’t even tell you how much this is going to help.”

“We’re here for you, Alice. We’re a team.” Spencer emphasised, meeting my eyes with a kind smile and my heart felt full at the sight of it.

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snesdudes · 3 years

Text

FIST FIGHTING WITH FIRE

chapter III

Pairing: Mason x f!Detective (Alice Santos)

Warnings: Book 3 demo SPOILERS!!! Cursing, some angst, mentions of sex, a guy being a creep™, I guess. Sorry if there are any mistakes!

Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: A week after that scene on Haley’s Bakery, Mason deals with the aftermath of his words... Or has he been dealing with it since the very moment he said them?

Read on ao3

chapter I ⭐ chapter II ⭐ chapter IV ⭐ chapter V

☾ 一一一一一一一一一 ☽

Outside the bar

"Can we just… not do this?" Alice spoke into the phone, her free hand running through her red hair and messing the waves she had carefully done that evening. A sigh from the other end of the line indicated her mother's reluctance to let it go.

"You seemed to be perfectly integrated with the Unit some days ago, and this week you made up a meeting with the Captain just to avoid coming to the warehouse."

Alice cringed, not her finest moment. "Look, I'm with them now, having a drink together. We're fine. Everything's fine."

"Does this have anything to do with what's been going on with Mason?"

Hearing his name made the detective snap. "Wait, is this you being a mother or being a boss?" She spat, venom on her every word. "Because you've barely gained the right to meddle in my life as either of those things."

The silence was deafening, and Alice's heartbeat kept getting faster and faster. "You weren't there when Bobby broke my heart, you don't have to be here now." Her voice cracked as she finished the sentence and she had to clear her throat.

"Is that what happened? Mason broke your heart?" Tears threatened to spill out of her green eyes at the genuine concern on Rebecca's voice.

"No, he didn't." She answered with a whisper, rebuilding her carefully placed walls.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. I have to go, they are waiting for me."

"Alice, wait, tell me -"

She finished the call and stared at the phone's screen for a few seconds, taking calming breaths and trying to swallow the tears. The Unit would pick up on any change in her mood so she better calm down fast.

"Detective Santos. That looked intense."

She turned around quickly, finding the bearded man they were discussing inside before her mother called. Alice cleared her throat and offered a wobbling smile. "Kinda. Mr Rogers, wasn't it?"

"Please, call me Owen." He said, a wolfish smile on his lips as he offered his hand to her. Alice couldn't help but think of all the times the smirks Mason threw her way had seemed wolfish to her, and how different the chill she felt going down her spine was to the one she was feeling now.

Still, she was the detective of this town, so she shook his hand as professionally as she could. He took advantage of the situation to pull her slightly towards him, making her stumble on her heels and gaining a frown from her.

"I couldn't exactly walk up to you inside, surrounded by those guys. Popular, aren't you?"

Alice pulled her hand away and took a step backwards, creating some distance. "Those are my friends. And I would carefully think about what you say next if I were you, because so far you're doing a terrible job at flirting with me."

Owen blinked, slightly taken aback by her brashness, but recovering quickly and assuming she was challenging him. He didn't know he had picked the worst moment to annoy the detective, who usually was rather friendly and generous with her smiles. But the night had been a whirlwind of emotions and she was feeling irritated, miserable and ready to either go home and curl into the bed or get back inside and get shit faced drunk. Definitely not in the mood to deal with this man.

"I'm just saying you've probably let some of them get a taste." His grin widened, eyes travelling down her body. "Thought maybe I could be next. I'm sure I could teach you a couple of things… or maybe you could show me what you can do."

She opened her mouth to reply when a low growl interrupted her, making Owen turn around and allowing Alice to see Mason standing there, fists clenched and eyes narrowed, lips curled in a snarl. He looked dangerous, even more so than he usually did, and Alice tried to look at him from a stranger's eyes. Everything in his body and expression was screaming 'predator'. It would be the kind of situation where your body asks you to run even if you aren't sure about why you should be running. You just know you should. But she didn't feel fear, his anger was not directed towards her. She felt a thrill going through her body at his presence, forgetting her bruised heart for a moment.

"What the fuck did you just say to her?" The words were still growled as he stepped forward, and Owen took a step backwards, nearly colliding with the detective, who moved aside and around him. Mason reached out a hand to her, not moving his stormy gaze from the bearded man. Not even thinking, she slipped her hand into his and he gently moved her closer until she was tucked against his side. The detective had expected Mason to push her behind him, not keeping her by his side. She felt both of their bodies relaxing slightly at the touch, as if being close to each other was the only thing they needed in the world.

Owen looked at them with slight fear in his eyes. He could swear he had seen a glimpse of inhumanly big fangs when the long-haired man snarled. Mason's hand rested on her waist and her manicured one grabbed his shirt, his dark hair falling down his face and getting mixed with her red locks, tickling her cheek. He looked at him as if he was about to rip him apart, and the look on the detective's face let him know she would very much allow it… maybe even help him.

"Look," he croaked, "I didn't know she was with you. No harm done, okay?"

But his words didn't have the desired reaction. Another growl, and his snarl widened. It was taking all his self control not to pounce on this guy, but he knew he shouldn't. "So it was okay to be a creep to her when you didn't know? But suddenly a bad idea now you know she's my girl?"

Mason didn't miss the way her heart leaped inside her chest at his words and a pang of satisfaction almost made him shudder. If he hadn't been so fucking angry at the man standing before them he would have probably gotten goosebumps at the way she subtly pressed herself closer before speaking.

"You gotta learn how to treat women like human beings, you fucking dirtbag. If I see you creeping on anyone of this town I'll have you arrested for harassment."

The man nodded enthusiastically as he took another step backwards. Mason rolled his eyes with a huff.

"One of us is gonna kick your ass if you don't get lost. Now."

That was enough, and in a few seconds they were left alone in the street. Mason relished on her closeness, the scent of her honey scented shampoo tickling his nose, the warmth of her body expanding through their clothes and seeming to reach inside him. But she cleared her throat and he lost it all. She took a step away from him and the hand that had been resting on her waist fell limp to his side.

"Thank you. It would have been awkward if the detective of the town punched a newcomer in the dick." She chuckled awkwardly. "So, you know, thank you."

"You already said that."

She met his eyes and his forced grin let her know he was trying to mess with her to lighten the mood.

"Right. We should, uh, go back." She moved to walk past him, but his long fingers curled around her forearm and she spinned around to meet his face, now suddenly serious. He opened his mouth and closed it, his brow furrowed as if what he was about to say was too difficult to say it out loud. His fingers loosened their grip and Alice thought he was going to let her go. Of course he was going to let her go. He wouldn't face the way he hurt her because that would mean he accepted they had something worth saving. Her eyes dropped to his grip, wanting to watch, forcing to accept, he was never going to make her stay.

But his fingers tightened with new force, and her gaze snapped back to his face.

Grey eyes, tempestuous with emotion, stared at her, moving wildly through her features before he finally found the words.

"Don't go."

Her breath caught on her throat at the thought that he wasn't just talking about going inside.

He feels those things, alright. You gotta be patient while he figures them out.

Felix's words echoed inside her mind. The seconds that went by seemed to last an eternity, before she nodded slowly. Mason's shoulders dropped as he exhaled, as if a great weight had been lifted off them.

"Okay, Mason."

Meanwhile, inside the bar

"Maybe one of us should have gone outside to mediate." Nate sighed, staring inside his glass of scotch. "Those two aren't exactly good at sharing how they feel."

"Who knows." Felix shrugged, a grin widening in his face. "Maybe they're already back at Allie's apartment."

"Why would they…? Oh." Nate realised, eyes widening.

"They say the bigger the fight, the best the make up sex gets." Felix wiggled his eyebrows. "If that's true, they're in for a hell of a night."

Nate cringed, very much wishing Felix hadn't put that image of his friends inside his brain. "Ugh. I just hope Mason finds a way to fix whatever he's done without hurting her anymore."

"She knew what she was getting into by getting involved with someone like Mason." Adam said matter of factly. "He doesn't really try to hide his brashness."

Nate nodded, Mason was all sharp edges and bluntness, while the detective was much softer, gentle. It was easy for someone like her to get cut while trying to hold on to someone like him. Maybe it was a matter of how many cuts and wounds she could resist before letting go. But he liked to believe that wouldn't happen - instead, her softness would envelope his sharpness, showing him a side of himself he didn't even know it existed. A small smile bloomed on Nate's face as the thought.

"I think they both have to learn how to be around each other now that their relationship is changing."

Adam shrugged, but Felix let out a dreamy sigh. "You're such a romantic, Natey. Mason would learn so much from you if he didn't get nauseous every time he thinks about love."

Nate chuckled. "You know, maybe that's about to change."

☾ 一一一一一一一一一 ☽

A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future! Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated 😍

TAGLIST: @agentnatesewell @gloynporslen @sunchipz @agentmasonjars @msjpuddleduck @utterlyinevitable @kat-tia801 @oxjenayxo

#here it iiiisss #they needed a push ok #me: now kiss #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #twc m #detective alice santos #twc mason #agent m #agent mason #mason x mc #mason x detective #mason x alice #twc detective

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ryuichirou · 4 years

Note

Could you share some of your erejean headcanons? 👀

Oh could I 👀 I’m glad you asked, anon! Because we do have some headcanons about EreJean…

As I already mentioned, we have a headcanon that they used to fool around together when they were cadets. Chemistry + intense arguing + stress + horniness did their thing. Even if they intended to keep it masturbation-only at first, it quickly became something more.

Jean was very horny back then, and Eren was helping him out. Jean was the first one to come with this type of problem. Jean really had no one else to turn to but Eren with this, he really needed him. He couldn’t ask Connie because Connie was an idiot and Jean was barely friends with anyone else. He maintained a rivals-friends relationship with Eren and it helped. It was just that one moment when Jean realised jerking off wasn’t enough and he wanted something else... That’s how it happened first. When Eren got horny, Jean would help him out too of course, that happened often too.

At some point they did it every time when they got an opportunity to be alone for like 5 minutes. If they were alone in a shower, it was the best case scenario.

Although there were a lot of situations when the rest of cadets would enter the showers at the worst possible moment. And the right thing to do would be to stop whatever they were doing, go to different corners of the room and make it seem like they were just showering before anyone noticed anything. But Eren got stubborn sometimes, so they had to continue having sex stealthily, which is almost impossible when the room is filled with loud guys. Reiner noticed that and helped them to avoid unnecessary attention at least once.

Technically Eren and Jean were just helping each other out, but still there are some feelings here. We have a headcanon that Jean has a crush on Eren, both in the canonverse and in the AUs where there are EreJean interactions.

After their cadet years they were too busy to continue their thing as often as they used to, but they still do it from time to time. Not enough for Jean’s taste, but he’d rather bite his own leg off than say that to Eren.

It also became more difficult for Jean to provoke Eren, this is why Jean complains so much about the fact that Eren is too moody now and always just mumbles something to himself while looking at his own hand. And this is why he was so shocked when Eren replied to his snarky comment back then before the Shiganshina Battle when they were having meat for dinner. He was extremely happy.

Their kisses were very awkward at first. They don’t kiss very often in general, but at first it was almost funny, because Eren was too aggressive and he basically attacked Jean’s mouth with his own. And Jean kind of wanted to take the process into more of a sensual territory, but he didn’t want to lose to Eren, and it ended up being just a straight-up fighting with tongues (and maybe bites). As a result, after about 15 minutes both of them were an exhausted drooling mess.

Jean tried to argue with Eren for the right to top at least once, but they both kind of knew that Jean didn’t really want that. Less than 3 minutes after Jean’s statement about the matter, he bottomed once again and his heart and body were satisfied.

Jean has conflicted feelings about him enjoying being pushed around by Eren as much as he does. He can act all offended and angry at Eren for treating him too aggressively or being rude to him, but it still makes him weak at the knees. The amount of times he moaned quietly when Eren said something mean to him during the process… a lot.

Jean also likes it when Eren is all mad and shouting, he provokes him a lot. Of course he’s sure that he just enjoys the fact that Eren is too emotional and is easy to provoke, it’s fun to poke a bear when the bear is this entertaining when mad. But there is a part of Jean that genuinely just likes it when Eren is grabbing him roughly after they had a fight in front of everyone.

This isn’t a headcanon per-se, it’s something that Isayama mention in the SnK Encyclopedia, but I still love this fact, so I’m gonna put it here anyway: Eren and Jean are very comfortable with each other physically.

Which makes me think that there is a lot of shoving, pushing, grabbing, slapping, headbutting and other stuff going on when these two are in the same room together. A lot of it happens unconsciously, Eren can just kick Jean’s leg out of nowhere while they’re sitting next to each other talking to someone. And Jean will likely kick him back.

I’ve been thinking about it since Anon mentioned it the other day, and I accept this headcanon with my whole heart: Jean grew out his hair because it feels good when Eren pulls it. Of course he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself.

Jean secretly thinks that Eren is very handsome and cool. He’d never compliment him of course, but he might comment on how freakishly big Eren’s eyes are. Eren, however, talks a lot about how stupidly tall Jean is and how stupidly long and heavy his legs are. It ends up with another bickering, but Jean gets very obviously shy anyway.

Jean’s stupidly long legs are always super shaky after sex, Eren scoffs at it and compares Jean to a newborn baby horse every time.

Jean blushes A LOT. His entire body turns red when he’s turned on, his ears are very red, his face is red. His eyes get teary and he sweats a lot. He also breathes heavily and moans a lot (of course he’s trying to hold back, but Eren is too intense for him)

Jean is very loud and he doesn’t notice that a lot of times, he thinks that Eren exaggerates when he complains about it.

For that reason, Eren loves putting his hand over Jean’s mouth sometimes. But a lot of times he’s doing it just because he likes that.

Jean loves being manhandled and having sort of a rough sex just in general.

If we’re talking about an AU where both Erejean and Ereri are a thing, Eren would definitely notice how loud, whimpery and sensitive Jean is compared to Levi. He might even comment on how slutty and obvious Jean is, which would only make Jean even hornier.

Ghh I love EreJean very much and have a huge soft spot for Jean in general. Thanks for your question, Anon, it’s fun talking about them.

#replies #erejean #jean kirsein #eren yeager #headcanons

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soft-glitch · 3 years

Text

Through Thick And Thin

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog

Type: hurt/comfort, platonic fluff

Word count: about 2700 words

Author’s notes: this year was a mess. But I’m grateful for a few things that happened to me in 2020. One of these things is getting into the Sonic fandom, which helped me find joy in being creative again. Another is a budding friendship with someone really cool, that I can only hope will last for a long time.

This fic is kind of a gift to that person for New Year’s Day. To everyone, but especially to you O, I wish a happy new year and many good things to come.

- - - - -

It was not an easy morning.

Shadow had always been an early bird. He never needed much sleep compared to other mobians, thanks to his bio-engineered origins. This was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the days.

Being able to stay up most of the night during missions proved useful more than once. On the other hand, when ugly thoughts would assail him and sleeping them away was not an option, well… It was suddenly much less interesting.

On this last day of December, the hedgehog could not shake uneasy feelings. Between Eggman’s plotting and his own personal issues Shadow always had rough times, but this year had been… a lot.

Walking silently in the empty corridor, careful not to wake up anyone in the household, the dark mobian reached the kitchen and started preparing hot chocolate. Since most of his friends knew about his sweet tooth he didn’t bother hiding it anymore, and Rouge always made sure they were stocked up on cocoa.

While waiting for the milk to warm, he glanced at the clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The eerie calm of early hours often made Shadow slightly uncomfortable. Despite his introvert side enjoying the peaceful solitude, it was also a moment where his thoughts would simmer in his mind, either awoken by confuse dreams or simply emerging as the day started. He would often put some music or read a book to avoid thinking too hard about it.

Didn’t always work, though.

Taking a deep breath the hedgehog felt some relief at the sweet scent of chocolate. He took a small sip before moving to roll himself in blankets on the large couch. With a long and noisy yawn he reached for the remote and pointed it at the large TV screen in front of him. Maybe there was something nice to watch while waiting for his roommates to get up.

- - - - -

When Shadow opened his eyes again, sunlight was gently glowing through the translucent curtains of the living room. Which meant it was probably kind of late already. It seemed he fell back asleep at some point.

With a frown, he rubbed his dishevelled quills and took a look at his phone. Almost 11am, and no sign of Rouge or Omega... This was odd, especially since they planned on spending the New Year’s Eve together.

That’s when he noticed an envelope lying on the small coffee table, next to his now empty mug. It was plain kraft, with a small card inside that only offered an address and the words “At noon, don’t be late hun”.

Obviously from Rouge. She loved putting mystery and drama in everything she did. Shadow huffed and shook his head.

Irredeemable.

Did that mean his friends got up without waking him and prepared some kind of surprise? However silly it was, this simple envelope brought some warmth to the hedgehog’s heart. He got up to take a quick shower and prepare for the day, a small smile peeking at the corner of his lips.

- - - - -

The location was one Shadow didn’t particularly recognise, a small intersection in a popular part of the town. Since Team Dark lived in a suburban area and their job at G.U.N was usually all over the world, his knowledge of the city was lacklustre. Right as his phone displayed 12pm a text popped up on the screen.

Rouge Right behind the shoes store, a cafe.

The striped mobian rolled his eyes with a hint of amusement. Even for something as simple as a New Year between friends, the bat couldn’t help making some kind of fun game to play. Shadow would gladly proclaim it futile and childish, but he actually enjoyed these quirky adventures his best friend always peppered in his life.

What he saw next filled him with pure joy. Of course Rouge wouldn’t choose a random cafe to meet. She had to make it extra one way or another, and she just knew how to please him.

The Gentle Garden Chao Café & Flower Shop

Almost giddy at the idea of having some sweets surrounded by chao, the ultimate lifeform stepped into the small establishment. A quick glance around made him happy beyond words: soft muted lights and warm colours complemented vintage furniture, large potted plants adorned all sides of the place, and —most importantly— chao of every kind were all over the place, either walking, being cuddled by clients or sleeping on small pillows.

In the back of the room was a large counter, behind which a massive chalkboard displayed both the cafe menu and prices of various flower arrangements.

Before Shadow could go and talk to the barista, a familiar face caught his attention. Rouge was there, sitting nonchalantly and sipping some drink in the most ostentatious way possible.

The hedgehog smirked and sat in front of her.

“So...?” he started with a raised brow. “So what? Did you think I’d let you stay home for this special day?” Rouge huffed between two exaggerated sips. “It’s just New Year’s Eve, not an anniversary or something...” Shadow said, glancing at the table.

He realised an order of white chocolate cappuccino —his very favourite drink— and forêt noire —one of his favourite sweets— were set in front of him. For a second he felt something rise in his chest. A mix of gratitude and that odd yet pleasing vulnerability he could only feel with his closest friends.

“I know it’s just the new year.” the bat leaned on the table, her eyes both tender and serious. “I also know you haven’t been doing great lately. It’s been a difficult time, and of course it won’t magically be over as midnight comes, but...”

She looked in the distance, her eyes piercing through the windows and their cold winter lighting. Shadow could very clearly feel the bittersweet essence of her expression. This year had also been hard on her.

“We’re in this together, y’know.” she resumed, turning a gentle smile towards him. “And while I can’t resolve every problem we have, I can at least invite my emo bestie to enjoy some chao and indulge in sugary treats!”

The hedgehog chuckled at this, then raised his cappuccino mug. “Let’s have a good time, then. To us bitches.” he said with a knowing grin. “To us bitches!” she exclaimed happily. ”Now drink that ‘ccino, we have chao to cuddle.”

Some laughs and friendly banter later, two chao had found their way on Shadow. One was sleepily nested on his legs while the other was playing on his head, brushing his quills curiously.

“You really have your way with them, just like Omega...” Rouge remarked. She loved the little creatures very much, but she never seemed to attract them as easily as her two partners. No one really knew why and she honestly didn’t mind. It was fun enough to observe them from a distance: no risks of ruined haircut or having one mess with her wings.

“This is the best.” the hedgehog whispered, his voice full of emotion. His friend chuckled. Shadow was endearing in many ways, but his love for plants and creatures was unparalleled in an extremely wholesome way.

“Did you ever consider adopting one?” she asked before biting into her remaining pastry. Shadow’s expression became slightly somber as he looked at her. “I…” he sighed and scratched the sleeping one’s head. “I always wanted to, I guess. Even on the Ark, once we learned about them with Maria, we used to pretend having one. There was a plush, I don’t remember its name. We would play parents, bring it along for walks across the Ark, this kind of things.”

Rouge nodded sympathetically. Maria was less and less a sensitive subject as years went by, but Shadow was still defensive about these memories. Sharing them was one of the most intimate things he would do, and she felt honoured every time it happened.

“Maybe one day.” the hedgehog shrugged with a tired smile. ”Right now our lives are too dangerous. I can’t raise one properly as long as we keep fighting and going on missions Chaos knows where. – Let’s hope we get Eggman and his clique once and for all, then!” Rouge said with a grin. “Can’t wait to have you pester us with photos of your ugly little baby.”

The genuine laugh that followed made the bat beam with happiness.

- - - - -

The very specific atmosphere of New Year’s Eve was not lost to the two mobians as they strolled in the city. Streets were bustling with activity, but in a way that felt distinct from other winter holidays. The ambient anticipation was less frantic, almost… solemn. Instead of rushing for gifts and food, people seemed determined to enjoy the final hours of this year.

Shadow found it interesting, not without its charm. He was more used to strolls in mountains, lonely forests and small paths undulating through fields. The buzzing activity of the city was something else —very nice, though. Plus Rouge knew every neighbourhood surprisingly well, and offered him little fun facts and stories about all sorts of buildings and places.

“It’s a real shame we don’t get more free time between G.U.N and Eggman.” the bat lamented. “There are so many nice spots I’d love to visit with Omega and you. – We do have vacations once in a while.” Shadow replied. “Yeah, but they’re either ruined by some apocalyptic event or by an intense need for rest.” she sighed. “We can’t enjoy the Museum of Arts if we’re falling asleep every two paintings.”

The dark mobian nodded. Technically Omega and him didn’t need a lot of sleep, but being world-saving heroes brought its own kind of mental fatigue. Moments of calm and respite were too few and far between.

“Well. Next time we have some days off we’ll organise a Team Dark afternoon.” Shadow offered. “An exhibit or two, some games at the arcade. Maybe a small concert at a cafe. – Oh my. Hun, I’m impressed to see you take this kind of initiatives.” the bat replied.

The hedgehog gave her a friendly nudge. “Shut up, can’t let you make all the decisions. – I don’t see why not.” Rouge shrugged with a knowing smile.

They suddenly stopped. Without really realising it, the duo had reached the large avenue leading back to their house. As they exchanged a glance, Rouge winked. “Omega must be waiting for us. Let’s move!” she said cheerfully.

- - - - -

An immediate wave of relief filled Shadow as soon as they passed the front door. “Finally some warmth.” he sighed, removing his large coat and thick scarf. “I was expecting your lowered body temperatures.” Omega’s robotic voice answered from the kitchen. “Hot tea and biscuits are ready for immediate consumption. Made with love.”

Rouge snickered and Shadow repressed a chuckle. Both knew Omega was absolutely unable to cook anything without setting fire to it, so the biscuits were probably store-bought. They still appreciated the gesture greatly.

Everyone gathered around the table, remembering stories about the now-ending year and its numerous developments. Adrenaline-filled fights, obscure investigations and exhausting assignments went alongside hilarious mistakes, glorious teamwork… and even celebratory moments with all the other heroes of Mobius.

“Okay, but the award for the best party of the year still goes to Knuckles’ surprise birthday.” Rouge said confidently while helping Omega put on a colourful crochet beanie. “Ughh please. Let’s not talk about it.” Shadow groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. “It was extremely fun. The fireworks accident made it over 200% better than any other celebration.” the robot insisted. “Oh right, I almost forgot about that!” the bat laughed. “Poor Knuckie, having to deal with a fire hazard on his cherished island…”

Memories of the furious echidna shouting frantically brought a grin to Shadow’s face. “But!” Rouge added, ”I mostly remember someone having a few drinks too much and— – NOPE!” the hedgehog exclaimed as he brandished his hands. “No talk of this specific event shall happen in this house. Ever.”

Omega tapped his fingers on the table as he eyed his smaller friend. “It is a shame I did not record it for ulterior viewing.” Shadow’s glare was so intense the former badnik recoiled slightly.

“Oh well, it’s all in the past now.” Rouge mused teasingly. ”Good times, good times...”

- - - - -

The closet was absurdly full of useless trinkets and Shadow was very, very close to “fix” it with a Chaos blast.

Of course he wouldn’t, knowing how preciously Rouge kept all those odd items from her past. Jewels, foreign souvenirs, postcards, old plushies, photographs… All her memorabilia was kept there, in a mismatched mess mixed up with cleaning supplies, spare beddings and various tools.

“They should be somewhere near the bottom!” the bat shouted from across the flat. The hedgehog growled, his eyes desperately scanning the clutter in front of him. Finally he found what he came for.

Fairy lights. The essential accessory to any LRCS —Living Room Camping Session.

Shadow walked back to the main room, where a drying rack and several chairs formed a structure covered by sheets and blankets. Omega was evaluating whether the improvised tent was big enough for him. “It is perfect, Rouge. We will be able to fit within the designated comfy area.” he said before crawling underneath the colourful construction.

The hedgehog carefully hung the string of lights around and inside the tent before plugging it. Rouge grabbed some snacks and scuttled against the large robot, who fiddled with the remote until a title screen showed on the TV.

“Are we really watching this?” Shadow asked hesitantly. “Shadow. We all know your inclination for romance between organic beings. Please come cuddle so we can start the movie.” Omega said. “Don’t tell me you suddenly decided to hate cheesy fiction, sweetie.” Rouge added. “I would rather perish than lose your snarky remarks and teary-eyed spee— – Alright, I get it, I’m coming.” the hedgehog replied with a frown. “This better be good, though.”

It was everything but good. Outbursts of laughter and incredulous stares followed one another as the movie —a romantic parody of the famous blockbuster Attack On Mobius— kept getting more and more absurd. Omega threatened to turn himself off as he struggled to find any reasoning behind what was happening, and Rouge almost choked on her pop-corn near the end of the second part.

When the credits started rolling, the three buddies snuggled together. The winter night cold was no match for a group hug and thick quilts. Shadow eyed his phone and hummed.

“It’s almost midnight. – Does that mean we have to prepare a wish?” Rouge asked in a sleepy voice. “We don’t have to.” the hedgehog replied, glancing at his two friends.

Has to be an odd sight, he thought. A haphazard team with so many differences, united by pure luck in a challenging world. Chilling together in a makeshift tent in the middle of a flat like nothing else mattered. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the warm feelings. Being surrounded by such amazing souls for whom he really mattered. Knowing all the affection and dedication hidden behind that seemingly cold name, “Team Dark”.

“I wished for a pony.” Both Omega and Shadow looked at their bat friend with tilted heads. “What? They’re cute, I dunno.” she shrugged with a shit-eating grin. “What would you guys wish for? – Dual plasma swords.” the robot replied. “Maybe I should ask Miles when we cross paths again.”

Rouge rolled her eyes, then shouted curse words as she realised midnight was mere seconds away. Omega startled, making the whole tent fall on the team. The striped hedgehog quickly covered his muzzle with his hands, trying to suppress an irresistible laugh. No matter how hard life was, no matter the obstacles in his way, one thing was certain as the year came to an end.

Friendship was all he could wish for.

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #e-123 omega #fanfic #team dark

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honibee-arts · 4 years

Note

dramatic villain nie huaisang and hero jiang cheng? maybe nie huaisang flirts with the hero while jiang cheng is kinda horny but has a duty to fulfill?

Just a warning this gets a little steamy but its a kind of pan to the window vibe. I will mark this as NSFWish text to be safe though.

"Jie, I don't think I can get all of these people out of here in time.” Jiang Cheng panted into his headset, holding the crumbling ceiling up with one arm, watching the people run out.

He heard his sister sigh, her manicured nails clicking against her keyboard.

“Lightbearer and Moonbeam should be on the scene in the next two minutes.” she replied.

“Jie, I don’t have two minutes. This building is going to collapse in the next thirty fucking seconds.”

“A-Cheng, language.”

“I’m holding up a building, I don’t even have super strength. I’m gonna die like this. Can’t you tell them to hurry up?” He grit his teeth. He’s going to have a fucking hernia and broken bones after this shit, and he was going to make that stoic asshole Lightbearer pay for his goddamn medical bills. He probably had more than enough money.

“They’re going as fast as they can, A-Cheng.”

“And your boyfriend couldn’t come and help?”

“A-Xuan’s taking A-Ling today so you could patrol, remember?”

“It’s hard to remember when I’m being crushed.”

Jiang Cheng widened his stance, pushing the crumbling ceiling back up with both hands, growling in pain. Black spots began to gather in his vision, his static flickering across his visor from the strain on his suit.

“We’ll take it from here, thank you, Violet Spider.” Came Moonbeam’s firm yet gentle tone, taking the weight literally off of Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“About fucking time.” He wheezed, taking a deep breath as his arms dropped by his sides, wincing in pain.

“Would appreciate some gratitude.” Lightbearer huffed petulantly as he helped his brother carefully lift the falling ceiling back up, holding it there in an eerie white glow.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes as the remaining people rushed past them, scrambling to get out of there as quickly as possible. Jiang Cheng didn’t blame them in their haste, not one bit. He didn’t like being the one to hold that shit up.

“Are you alright, A-Cheng?” His sister asked in his earpiece, the display on his visor recalibrating.

“Yeah, yeah. Just. Exhausted...” he stood back and caught his breath.

“I’ll make sure to have some lotus rib soup for you when you get home, A-Cheng. I’ll check over your injuries too.”

“A-Jie, you don’t need to do that.”

“Aiya, hush. It’s nothing. I’ll check what the damages are to your suit too.”

“A-Jie...”

“No buts, A-Cheng.”

He sighed and looked down, his hair falling over his visor as he stared at the rubble beneath his feet.

“I’m going to have the longest goddamn nap in history after this.”

“You deserve it, A-Cheng.” A-Jie hummed. “Thank you, A-Xuan.” she said softly, sipping what Jiang Cheng assumed was a cup of tea handed to her by her boyfriend.

In his visor, purple warning symbols flared up in his periphery.

“A-Cheng-”

“On it.” He said as he spotted a flare of green a few blocks away. Gritting his teeth against the ache in his arms, Jiang Cheng jumped up onto the wall of the nearest building, scaling it as quickly as possible and sprinting across the rooftops.

Sometimes, only sometimes, Jiang Cheng hated this fucking job. Sure, he could have a normal 9-5 job and earn a stable income, but no, he just had to be born the son of Yunmeng’s protector and inherit her powers and mantle, along with a load of fucking pressure. He just had to have been trained intensely by his mother, day in and day out from the second his powers manifested at 11. He just had to have had the heroes instinct and the motto of “Attempt the impossible” drummed into him since he was a child.

As much as he wanted to push back against his instinct to protect in favour of his exhaustion sometimes, he couldn’t stop himself.

The blasts led him to the Jin Corporation office building in Yunping, only a half mile from the crumbling building he was just almost crushed under.

“A-Jie, the source is coming from the Jin Corp. offices in Yunping.”

“Mm. I saw. The building that you were just in was a Jin owned business too.” She replied thoughtfully.

“Does your boyfriend know anything about someone that might have been slated by his father? Cousin maybe?”

“Nothing. I know Jin Guangyao had a complicated relationship with Red Blade. There were rumours about him having something to do with his retirement.”

‘Retirement’ had been a delicate way of putting what happened to Red Blade. When Jiang Cheng had first come onto the hero scene, Red Blade had taken him under his wing. He had been something of an older brother figure, despite being the protector of Qinghe rather than Yunmeng.

He had been familiar with Jiang Cheng’s abilities, having also been mentored by Jiang Cheng’s predecessor. Everyone knew and respected Red Blade. His super strength and speed was matched by none, in his prime he could leap a building in a single bound and punch a meteor out of the sky without so much as a single scratch. With all that power however, came a price. Red Blade had been prone to feral rages which were difficult to pull him out of, very few people could. Moonbeam seemed to be the only one beside whoever was in his ear all the time who could do it.

About six months ago, Red Blade had disappeared for three days. Moonbeam had found him snarling and bleeding from his eyes, his right arm severed and his eyes white. How Red Blade had survived, Jiang Cheng had no idea. After a few weeks in a medically induced coma, Red Blade had announced his retirement and hung up his mantle for good. Only Moonbeam was said to know what had happened to him following his retirement. There was sometime unspoken between those two that Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite figure out but stank of probably resolved sexual tension.

“Shit!” Jiang Cheng cursed, narrowly avoiding a blast of green energy, rolling onto the nearest roof and ducking for cover.

“A-Cheng.” A-Jie chided.

“Like you didn’t say worse when you were being shot at.” Jiang Cheng argued, sending a bolt of violet lighting back.

“Back in the day, I didn’t run my mouth like a sailor, A-Cheng.”

“I bet you don’t miss this part of heroing, huh?”

“There are times I am grateful I took a permanent maternity leave, yes.” She replied. “A-Cheng! On your left! Someone’s coming your way, and its not anyone on the Lotus servers. Be on your guard.”

Jiang Cheng nodded and raised his hackles as a a figure cloaked in blinding green energy floated onto the building, their black heels clicking against the concrete roof. As soon as the figure was close enough, Jiang Cheng shot a bolt of lightning in their direction, yet, to his horror, it was deflected easily.

“Come on out little spider, I won’t hurt you.” The figure said.

Jiang Cheng swallowed thickly and stepped out, hackles still raised.

“Aiya, so defensive. Put your arms down so I can see your pretty face. I won’t try anything.” Jiang Cheng slowly lowered his arms but kept his guard up, stance firm. “So stubborn. That’s better though, hello handsome.”

The figure was slender, androgynous with long, dark hair that shone in their eerie green glow and flowed behind them in the wind, their eyes afire with the energy that seemed pulse from their entire being, almost drawing Jiang Cheng in like a moth to a particularly deadly yet hard to resist flame. Their body was wrapped in a skin-tight leather-like substance with mesh panels, leaving even less to the imagination, half of their face obscured by a mask that started at the neck and wrapped around his mouth and nose.

Jiang Cheng swallowed thickly, ready to burst into action whenever necessary.

“And what should I call you?” Jiang Cheng said steadily.

“Well, I go by he/him pronouns, but I do quite like it when sexy men like you call me beautiful.” He giggled, bouncing on his heels a little. “Binary terms are horseshit anyway, gender is a social construct.”

“Not what I meant but. I don’t like misgendering people. Even if they’re tearing up half the fucking city. So. Thanks.”

“Well, I haven’t really given myself a name yet.” The man hummed, snapping open one of the fans in his hand and fluttering it lightly. “Kinda just wanted to do one thing and hang up the whole thing I guess.”

“And you wanted to what, not get caught?”

“Well, something of the sort.”

“And you assumed you could do this tearing up half the city looking like a green lava lamp dressed like a hooker?”

“A-Cheng! Be nice!”

“Yes, listen to your sister, A-Cheng.”

“How do you know that!” Jiang Cheng snapped, his hands sparking.

“Whoa, whoa, easy hot stuff, I mean you and your family no harm. You have your headset on way too loud and everyone can hear you saying A-Jie so. Go figure.”

“Alright... I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

“He seems genuine, A-Cheng. I’m going to log off for now, but I’ll keep an eye on your vitals and see if you seem like you need help.”

“Alright...” He heard the line go quiet, her lotus icon in the corner of his visor going totally transparent.

“Is it just us?” The man asked.

“Yeah. Just us. So. What the fuck is your deal?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“The Jin corporation have fucked plenty of innocent people over, but there are also innocent people in that tower you’re trying to destroy.”

“They’re collateral. I’ve accepted those losses.” The man said, his demeanour turning cold suddenly.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“You wouldn’t understand my motivations.” The man turned around and stared ahead at the slowly burning building ahead of them.

“Ugh, what is it with villains and cryptic bullshit? I can’t let you wreck the fucking building, okay?”

“Watch me.”

Jiang Cheng lunged and grabbed his arm, earning a blast of green energy to his solar plexus that sent him staggering. Today was not his day.

“If you want a fight, then fine.” The man said, rolling his shoulders. “I’m just sorry I’ll have to kick that glorious ass of yours.”

Jiang Cheng felt his cheeks flush.

“Oh please, the spandex doesn’t hide shit.” The man said before lunging at Jiang Cheng.

Yeah, okay. This was a day Jiang Cheng really hated his fucking job. His muscles screamed with exhaustion as the man tackled him to the roof, straddling him and pinning his arms above his head. Maybe he was tired and his resolve was slipping, or maybe he had been rocking a semi for a fair amount of the fight and could admit this man was fucking hot despite his different side of the law.

The tightly coiled strength in his deceivingly slender limbs forced Jiang Cheng down as he straddled his lap. As he brushed his groin, Jiang Cheng let out a slight groan.

“Hold on,” The man said, sitting back. “Are you hard? Does fighting me turn you on?”

“Sh-Shut up! Are we gonna fight or not?!” He struggled under his grip.

Fuck, okay. The man was right. This was humiliating. Why does he enjoy this?

“I dunno, do you want some help with that?” The man purred, his long, thick lashes fanning over his cheeks as he leaned in closer, shifting his hips ever so slightly and earning another groan from Jiang Cheng.

“Are you crazy? I’m meant to be fighting you!”

“I know but, I kinda like this vibe we have going. Do you?”

Jiang Cheng bit his lip and looked away, nodding.

“I need a verbal yes.”

“You care about that?”

“I’m an anarchist not a monster, damn. Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I... I like... this.”

“And is it a yes that you consent to this rooftop encounter?”

“C’mon I already said-”

“Yes or no spider. I won’t take that horseshit for an answer.”

“... Yes. I would like you to. Help me out.”

“Good,” he hummed, hooking a black gloved finger in his mask and tugging it down, revealing soft, pink lips pulled into a suggestive smirk. “I’m glad to be of service.” and he leaned down to press his lips to Jiang Cheng’s.

#sangcheng #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #nie huaisang #mdzs #cql #cheng qing ling #the untamed #mo dao zhu shi #ship prompts #nsfwi-sh text #my shitty writing

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formula365 · 3 years

Text

Making the pendulum swing - Turkish GP review

There are a lot of reasons motorsports fans love a race in a wet track. For one, rain is a great leveller, reducing the advantages of superior machinery and enhancing driver ability. Another reason is that it is fun to see some of the greatest drivers in the world have to wrestle with the steering wheel; reduced grip, at least to this level, is not a desirable outcome for every single race, but to have it on occasion makes for some great entertainment. And some spins are always a bit of fun to watch.

But the main reason why racing in the wet is so exciting is the unpredictability. These are special races, in which the logic of faster driver in a faster car will win does not (always) apply. Everybody loves an underdog, and these races are the biggest opportunities for unexpected winners in modern F1. Wet races can also provide plenty of changes in momentum, with the pendulum swinging in favour of one driver or another; if someone looks like being in control by lap 10, they might be out of it by lap 20 and back in it by lap 40.

This is exactly what we had in Istanbul this Sunday. Particularly in the first half, several drivers seemed to have the upper hand but, for one reason or another, they ended up falling down the order or, at the very least, could not compete with the eventual winner. In different periods of the race, Stroll, Perez, Verstappen and Albon all seemed like having the perfect set of circumstances to win the race. But Stroll couldn’t keep his tyres from graining, Verstappen and Albon spun out of contention and Perez decided to roll the dice and take the old tyres to the end, sacrificing pace for track position.

Perez’s strategy almost worked. Yes, he was significantly slower than several drivers behind him, and almost lost a place in the podium on the last lap, but he did manage his tyres superbly, as he usually does, to finish in a fine second place. It was, however, not enough to deal with the one man that continues to rise and astonish with how he makes the pendulum swing towards him.

Lewis Hamilton knew after qualifying that he didn’t need to do much in the race to clinch the world title. Bottas had struggled even more than he had, and was three places behind. Stay out of trouble, avoid crashing early and ensure Bottas finishes behind. The Finn made his job even easier by spinning on the opening lap and falling towards the back, from where he never recovered. A scoreless Bottas meant the title was in the bag. Hamilton didn’t need to push.

But he still went for it. He was stuck behind Vettel for a considerable period of time, which meant the Racing Points were too far down the road. As the pendulum swung between different drivers ahead of him, the champion-elect never really seemed with a shot of winning. But Hamilton bid his time and once he had clear air, he saw there was still an opportunity. And he is not one to waste opportunities. He clearly wanted to win the championship in style, not simply have it fall on his lap. In the past, he hasn’t often had the change to secure the title with a win. He wasn’t going to let that go this time around.

In the end, while all the other drivers who were there, or nearly there, made mistakes and lost their cool, Hamilton disappeared down the road, finishing a whopping 30-seconds-30 ahead of the pack. It was another demonstration, as if we needed more, that he does stand head and shoulders above everyone else on the grid. The young pretenders will have to wait a bit longer to dethrone him, because he shows no sign of losing his ability with age.

I try to not focus too much on the winners of a race, and not to write too often about Hamilton, but he makes it really difficult not to. He is a unique talent in the history of the sport and we should very much enjoy watching him while we can. Although there is plenty of talent in the coming generation, we might not see another driver like him for a long while.

Talking points * On Saturday it seemed impossible that we could see a Hamilton win. The Mercedes were completely out of pace, and it was Racing Point and Red Bull who had the fastest cars. It was an intense qualifying, that finished with a first pole for Lance Stroll. The Canadian gets a lot of stick because of his father’s money, but he does have bags of talent and he showed it on Saturday. The race might not have gone his way (Racing Point reporting there was damage to his front wing which caused the excessive tyre graining) but he should take comfort that, after a tough couple of months, he showed what he is capable of. He should use Saturday as a motivator to finish the season strongly. * Saturday also provided another concerning moment in terms of safety. At the start of Q2, drivers were sent out on track while marshalls were still in a run-off area, with a crane, recovering Latifi’s car. If your heart went racing back to Suzuka 2014, you were not alone. Race direction justified it by saying they had been informed the crane would be gone by the time drivers reached that point of the track, but there is no justification to even take that risk. A delay of 2 minutes would have been fine. After the issue with the marshalls on track at Imola, this is the second race in a row with less-than-optimal decisions from race direction. We should hope it’s not a trend, but Michael Masi appeared defensive afterwards and said he didn’t think anything should have been done differently. More than the decision itself, his reaction after the fact is not a good sign. * Wasn’t it great to see Vettel up on the podium again? He has had a torrid year, but had a quietly good race and was there to take advantage of his teammate’s error on the final chicane. It was probably his last podium in red, to leave a slightly sweeter taste to the end of his years with the Scuderia. * It was also great that he was there congratulating his great rival on another title. The respect Seb and Lewis have for each other is exemplary, both of them clearly aware of the hardships they had to go through to reach the very top. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see them go toe to toe more often in their careers. It should have been the great rivalry of this generation. * Sergio Perez’s form since it was announced he wouldn’t stay at Racing Point: P5, P4, P4, P7, P6, P2. And those P7 and P6 would have been P5 and P3 without strategy stumbles from the team. It’s ridiculous if he’s not on the grid next year. * McLaren continue to do what teams that reach the top do well: maximise their results and score valuable points even when their car is not the fastest. Both their cars started behind both Racing Points and Renaults, and yet, of those four drivers, only Perez finished ahead of them. Sainz had a bullet start and kept a cool head to finish P5, just behind the group fighting for the podium. His teammate had a horrible start and was last off the line, but recovered brilliantly to P8, and had a blistering pace towards the end, setting a fastest lap that was a second faster than the next best one. The car’s development might not have gone the way they hoped, but in every other aspect, this is a team firing on all cylinders. * Bottas had a nightmare race, seemingly incapable of keeping his car on the road. The team revealed he had suffered damage in a first lap contact with Esteban Ocon which could help explain his miserable day. Regardless of the causes, P14 is not a results anyone expects at Mercedes. At least now he is free to race the last 3 GPs without the title in his mind. I wonder if a pressure-less Bottas might put up some more of a fight in the coming weekends. * The two Red Bull drivers missed out on huge opportunities this weekend. After the first round of pit stops, the race was arguably Verstappen’s to lose, and, well, lose it he did. He was too greedy when trying to overtake Perez and destroyed his tyres in a spin, which forced to a second stop that effectively ended his race. If he was miserable after missing out on pole, I can’t imagine how he must have felt after the race. As for Albon, he is very much running out of time to impress the Red Bull hierarchy. After Verstappen spun, he was in great position to at least claim a podium, but like the Dutchman, he couldn’t keep his car on the road, and opened the door to Hamilton. To make matters worse, the driver who is apparently being considered to replace him finished second. Red Bull have said he will have until the end of the year to grab that seat, but one has to wonder how much can he genuinely do in the last 3 races after missing out on so many opportunities before? * What a tremendous qualifying from Alfa Romeo. Their pace disappeared on Sunday, but on Saturday Kimi and Gio were two of the stars, putting their cars in Q3. That this happened on Sauber’s 500th Grand Prix entry was only fitting; they couldn’t score points, but there was something for the team to celebrate about the weekend nonetheless.

* Renault’s topsy-turvy season continues. After 2 podiums in 3 races, they leave Turkey with just one point and their hopes of reaching third in the constructors’ championship dashed. They should do well in the final races of the season, as the power hungry Sakhir and the long straights of Yas Marina will favour their car, but if they want to be in the mix up front, they need to better understand the car and what makes it work (and what doesn’t). They have shown they can put together a competitive car, but they can’t win titles if they don’t show up every weekend.

#turkish gp #lewis hamilton #sergio perez #sebastian vettel #Lance Stroll #mclaren #Racing Point #Red Bull #Max Verstappen #alex albon #Carlos Sainz Jr #lando norris #alfa romeo #Kimi Raikkonen #antonio giovinazzi #renault

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

Text

Either/Or: Hands 2

Previously on Hands

The sun wasn’t a fair representation of the absolute drudgery of the entire day and the feelings that hung heavy in the hospital suite. Spring didn’t care about the bitterness that festered and stewed despite all the best intentions, and so it shone brightly and left streaks of yellow across the bed and floor, warming the sterile hospital bed.

None of that mattered until a certain doctor breezed into the room and threw open the curtains, not letting the beauty go wasted.

Lena didn’t move when the lights flooded her room. She didn’t blink or look up, but rather stared at her hands as they laid on the pillow in her lap. The scars were starting to heal, the faint red lines becoming pink, the hardware being removed. Sometimes she was afraid to move them, not because they hurt, but because it didn’t feel the same as it did before.

“I’m glad you’re up. You get so grumpy when I wake you.”

Only then did Lena look at the stranger in the room and roll her eyes.

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You are frequently grumpy.”

The stare that she gave didn’t really support her position that she wasn’t grumpy, but rather expressed a resigned kind of deference, wherein she knew that her grumpiness would be coddled and tolerated and eventually lightened by the girl who came in with the sunshine behind her.

“I have a lot to be grumpy about, if I actually was grumpy.”

“Why? You still have your hands, you’re not terrible to look at, you’re a reasonably good conversationalist--”

“And I can’t even play Twinkle Twinkle,” Lena interrupted.

“Yet. I will say,” Kara nodded, as she pulled up the stool and sat beside Lena’s bed, “that you are insanely bad at patience.”

“Give me a time then. You won’t give me a goal.”

“I had to see the progress and healing, wait for the hardware to come up, factor in any subsequent surgeries.”

“But I’m all done with that and being discharged today.”

“Yes, you are,” she nodded and pushed up her glasses.

Gingerly, Kara cleared her throat and reached forward to take Lena’s hand as she was now growingly increasingly good at doing without blushing. She blushed often when she was in a certain Luthor’s suite, and even more so when she touched her.

Lena watched her face with interest, something she was known to do frequently, unable to stop herself. She didn’t want to. Desperately, Lena wanted to sulk and let bitterness eat her alive and to hate life, which was made exceedingly difficult by a girl like Kara.

So instead of watching Kara’s intense eyes, Lena looked down at her hand because it was a safe place, even with Kara’s hands on her own.

To and fro, up and down, pushing against tightness and waiting to gauge Lena’s reaction, Kara went about her work professionally. She didn’t betray anything as she did the usual tests, which was unbelievably frustrating to the patient who thought herself getting used to the small tells of her brow or lip or eye.

“How does it feel?” Kara asked, still not looking up.

“Better. Hurts sometimes.”

“You’ve been doing the exercises and stretches I told you about?”

“I have been. All day. But I’m careful.”

Kara nodded and smiled to herself before setting down the hands in her own and taking a deep breath. She met Lena’s eyes and cocked her head to the side. It felt like an eternity and Lena waited eagerly.

“Two months until you’re doing scales. Six months until you’re getting very frustrated by your body not doing what you want it to do, and getting mad that I can’t make it work quicker.”

“I am going to have to learn to play all over again.”

“No, that skill doesn’t just disappear.”

“It does.”

“I don’t believe it, but if you do, do you think you can get it back?”

“I hope so.”

“You have to do more than that. Are you in this with me, Lena? Even if you end up hating me, even if you think you’re never going to get back, you have to believe you’re going to be the girl that blew me away when I watched you play on old videos.”

She didn’t think there’d be a hesitation, but something about the earnestness in Kara’s eyes made Lena really think over how much she meant the words and how tough the journey might be. When her voice failed her, she just nodded, slow and steady at first before quickly picking up the pace when the determination, and what some might call stubbornness, peaked its head. Kara grinned and nodded as well.

“I’m in it too,” she promised. “Whatever you need.”

“I’m going to put up a fight.”

Kara snorted a laugh and sat up, pushing away from the patient.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Ms. Luthor.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“Call you your name?”

“Yes. You know I hate that.”

“I’ll refrain as best I can.”

“It’ll be easier when I’m not a patient.”

“You’ll be my patient for at least six months, didn’t you hear my timeline?”

With her back turned to the hospital bed, Kara jotted down a few notes while Lena stared at her shoulders and debated what it would mean to leave. She wasn’t sure, suddenly, what it would mean to be without the sunshine in her life.

“You’re going see it through with me?”

“I plan on being front row of your next big concert. Complimentary tickets and all.”

“I can arrange that.”

Lena soaked in the smile as Kara made her way toward the door.

“I’ll see you before you leave, okay? Behave.”

“Yes ma’am.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Halfway through her day and Kara had too much to get done, just like every other day. A neverending barrage of patients and follow ups kept her bouncing around, keeping it together as best she could, but by lunchtime, it was already a long day she couldn’t wait to escape.

She didn’t want to think about the fact that her favorite patient was leaving. That wasn’t something that felt real because she couldn’t remember a time before Lena. It didn’t seem right. So Kara avoided that wing and she didn’t have lunch with Lena like she normally did. In fact, she kept checking her watch during sessions, afraid of what the end of the day might mean.

When she got the call to see the head of the department, she genuinely had no idea what it meant, but she wasn’t eager to do it.

“You wanted to see me, Cat?” Kara asked quietly as she tapped on her bosses door before being ushered in.

“How is it going with the Luthor?”

“To be expected, honestly. She’s coming along well enough.”

“The Luthors have requested your services, so I’ve split your cases to the department, and your focus will be on the youngest and her recovery.”

“I have patients though. People I’ve worked with--”

“And you’ll continue to work with them, but I need you focused on her recovery.”

“I am, but I have--” Kara furrowed and shook her head.

“This isn’t a request, Kara. This is what your schedule is going to be geared toward over the next few months.”

While she wanted to open her mouth and argue, and while she wanted to get more specifics, the look on her bosses face was disinterested enough for Kara to know that the conversation was over.

“Thank you. Please shut the door on your way out.”

As soon as the door clicked, Kara furrowed, even more confused about the rest of her day and aware that she didn’t have to parse those feelings about the youngest Luthor just yet, because even though she thought she’d see her often enough in physical therapy, it seemed like now it was going to be more often.

XXXXXXXXXX

With vaguely the same level of apprehension as she felt the very first day she read the folder that had Lena Luthor’s name on it, Kara found herself awkwardly shifting between her feet and re-reading the piece of paper with the address and passcode for the fancy high rise downtown, still unsure of how she got herself into this situation. Surely there were world-renowned doctors and specialists that money could have bought that would have done the same thing she was about to do.

The nerves didn’t leave her as she got onto the elevator she was directed toward, nor when she punched in the number and code for the penthouse but for just a moment, when all was quiet and she was somewhere halfway up the tall building, she took a deep breath.

The door opened to a well-lit space, open and inviting, and oddly almost exactly what Kara would picture for Lena, if she allowed herself to think about her. But she didn’t want to think about her friend that way, or rather, her patient.

From the quiet, a noise came, the soft twinkling of some piano keys, not particularly a song, but just a few key strokes, the same sound methodically before it changed to another. There wasn’t a melody, but Kara followed it anyway, moving through the open area toward a room bathed in sunlight. She passed a tall wall filled with shelves of books, with vines of green plants dripping down the sides. Plants covered almost everything, greenery seeping into the rather minimalist decor.

So naturally, Lena sat at the piano bench, the large grand, as if she was part of it, as if it was her natural habitat. Fingers ran along the keys.

“You’re jumping ahead a bit in my rebah schedule.”

“I don’t think I can go a day without touching the piano,” Lena smiled as she turned her head to greet the visitor. “Even if this is all I can do.”

“We’ll get you there.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Well, your family has effectively booked me to be your personal trainer for the next foreseeable future, so I’m all yours, Ms. Luthor.”

Lena just smiled and rested her hands on the keys, nodding to herself. Shyly, Kara sat beside her and looked down, afraid to touch such an expensive and important machine. But she moved her hands and began to play the notes, not making any sense, just making noise. And Lena followed, trying her best to add some sort of rhythm to the cacophony. All Kara was doing was echoing what she imagined a piano player would do, and as she stretched her hands, she focused on the movements, and realized just was was asked of the tendons and muscles. She was lost to the sound and picked up only on the movements, flexing and testing and knowing full well that things were even harder than she imagined.

Though she stopped all of a sudden, Lena followed Kara’s lead and took a deep breath, laughing as she finished the song.

“That was fun. You’re a natural.”

“You’re being too kind.”

“No no,” Lena laughed. “All you need is about 17 years of training.”

“I wasn’t meant to do this. You were though.”

“How can you tell?”

“You made chaos sound beautiful,” Kara explained. “That’s a gift.”

“I don’t believe in gifts, just practice.”

“You should. You have at least one.”

Normally, she’d fight it, but Kara was smiling and honest and sitting right there so that there shoulders were touching, and Lena found herself blushing at the idea of someone admiring her ability, so she just nodded.

“I’m sorry my parents did what they always do.”

“I can’t say I’d do anything different,” Kara shrugged. “If I had the money, I’d never stop demanding the best for my family.”

“I find it hard to believe you’d behave that way.”

That earned a snort.

“Maybe. But I’d want the best. I get it.”

“They’re overwhelming and overbearing, but they mean well.”

“I’m just honored they deemed me worthy of pulling strings.”

“You’re the only one I might listen to,” Lena informed her, shifting and walking away from the bench. “I have problems with authority. My father says it’s because I’m smarter than most in the room. I don’t think it’s that, just a very long stretch of my teenage years being obsessed with British punk.”

“Really?”

“Did you think I only listened to Mozart and Bach?”

“Kind of.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Are you ready to get started?”

“Do we have to?”

“We should. I want to hear you play, and I’m not going to stop until I do.”

The renewed burst of purpose made Lena feel empowered enough to agree, and despite herself, she thanked her parents for knowing exactly what she needed.

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