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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

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WILDEST FANTASIES (part 2)

⚫️A/N: you guys blew me away with the reaction to part one, thank you so much!! it was amazing reading all the comments and i really hope you'll like this part just as much! next update however i think will only happen after christmas since i have three fics planned to come out during the holidays!

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WARNING: sexual content

⚫️WORD COUNT: 5.2k

SERIES MASTERPOST

“Cheers to the bitch, whose written porn Professor Styles is reading!”

Ramona and Kostas giggle as your glasses clink in the middle, but your eyes widen at her.

“Can you not scream that in a packed bar, Ram?” you gape at her, eyeing Dean by her side who is not supposed to know about the story, but judging from how unfazed he is, Ramona told him everything.

“He knows,” Ramona confirms your suspicion and you roll your eyes at her, taking a sip from your drink.

This week has been exhausting for the three of you, Ramona has been miserable without Dean who just returned to town yesterday, Kostas got dumped by the guy he’s been seeing for a few weeks and you… well, you wrote a dirty fanfiction of your professor and accidentally turned it in as your assignment, got busted and then found out he’s been reading it in his free time after finding a copy on his desk. What a wild ride it has been!

You all agreed you need to get out of the apartment a bit, let loose and have some fun, so you decided to reserve a table at the bar closest to the campus that’s that most popular place in the neighborhood to have some drinks, dance and let loose.

It’s been two days since you left your paper on Professor Styles’ desk along with his copy of your dirty story to let him know he was busted. You haven’t heard of him since then, though his only choice to get in contact with you would be via emails and it’s not exactly a topic that should be discussed online. Now you’re just curiously waiting for Wednesday to roll around and see what his next step will be.

Tonight however you’re determined to forget about it all and just enjoy yourself, maybe meet someone new and exciting, you’re definitely in the mood to mess around a bit and you’ve seen a few promising, handsome guys around tonight.

“With the dirty mind you have, you better not give Ramona shit about phone sexing though,” Dean snorts, reaching for his beer.

“My writing is silent, can’t be heard over the wall,” you retort and Ramona slaps your arm in warning. “Alright, sorry! I won’t bring it up again. But you can’t tease me about Professor Styles either.”

“It’s not teasing, I’m actually jealous. Do you guys think he jerked off to your story?” Ramona asks so naturally as if one, you weren’t sitting in a packed bar and two, her boyfriend wasn’t sitting right next to her. It always amazes you how laid back they are, having been together for almost three years, they are definitely comfortable enough around each other to talk about riskier things without ending up having a fight.

“Definitely,” Kostas nods confidently and you just laugh at how invested they are in the story. “I’m surprised the paper wasn’t drenched in cum.”

“Oh my God!” you gasp at how unhinged he is. “Can we just not talk about my professor’s cum?”

“I love how that sounds coming from your mouth,” Ramona cackles before downing her drink and you do the same. You’re gonna need the alcohol to put up with these idiots you call your roommates and friends.

Luckily, they ditch the whole dirty professor thing and let you forget about it for one night. One drink follows the other and soon enough you all move to the dance floor, enjoying the upbeat pop music the DJ is playing tonight. You see a lot of familiar faces from campus and classes, but there’s a fair amount of new ones as well.

When you go to get yourself another drink you notice a handsome, blonde guy checking you out not far down the bar from you. He looks definitely older than the college boys from school, but not inappropriately old for you to feel uncomfortable by his interest in you. He looks to be around thirty, which is still in the range of what you consider decent for your twenty-three years old self.

You ask for your drink and wait for the bartender to return with it, in the meantime you wait patiently, trying your best to look like you haven’t even noticed the guy. From the corner of your eye you see him downing his drink at once before saying something to the guys he is with before heading your way.

“I’m only visiting here, but now I feel like I’ve been missing out not coming here earlier.”

Turning to your left you finally see him, he looks handsome, piercing blue eyes, dirty blonde hair and a cheeky, boyish smirk as he leans against the bar sideways.

“Judging from your accent you’ve come a long way to be here,” you smile back at him coyly and he raises his eyebrows impressed.

“And where do you think I’m from?”

“Undoubtedly Ireland,” you answer confidently. “Am I right?”

“Absolutely,” he nods chuckling before he sticks his hand out. “I’m Niall.”

“Y/N. Nice to meet you,” you smile, shaking his hand just as the bartender places your drink in front of you.

“I’ll pay for this and can I get a beer too?” Niall nods at the bartender and he disappears right away.

“What brings you here all the way from Ireland, Niall?” you cock your head to the side as you grab your drink and take a sip.

“Just visiting some friends. Finally got a longer vacation, thought I would come and see what’s happening overseas,” he smirks, leisurely leaning against the bar. He is wearing a fitted black shirt with short sleeves and a pair of white pants, he looks undeniably good and charming, you’re a bit surprised you caught his eyes, but it also boosts your ego.

“That sounds nice.”

“And I assume you’re a student around here?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“I am, yes. Second year of my master’s.”

“Wow, so you’re not only unbelievably beautiful, but smart too!”

You love his accent, how the words roll off his tongue and you can’t hold your smile back as he shamelessly checks you out.

“And what are you studying?”

“Mathematics,” you answer proudly, because most of the time it earns you some surprised and amused looks. Most people assume you’re probably majoring in English or something similar, and though you have an evident passion for literature, which explains why you’re taking Creative Writing for extra credits, you knew you have better chances in a field that has a high demand. You worked hard to be good at what you study and you’ll most likely score a nice job fresh out of college as a statistician at some multinational company earning more than at most starter jobs.

“Wow. I’m gonna have to think twice what I’m saying, because you are definitely the smarter out of the two of us,” Niall chuckles. The bartender returns with his beer and he pays for the drinks before the guy moves on to the next customer.

“What do you do? I’m sure you’re good at something I’m not.”

“I do a lot of things, but lately I’ve been focusing on producing music.”

“Really? Is there a chance I’ve heard something you’ve had business with?”

“There is, though I’ve been working mostly with artists in the UK and generally in Europe.”

“Well, I assure you that you know more about music than I do,” you smirk at him, brushing your hair over your shoulders seductively. Niall catches onto it, his gaze wanders down the length of your neck and shoulder before it returns to your face.

The two of you chat for a while, the conversation flows easily and Niall is flirting heavily with you. You start inching closer to each other until your arm is pressed against his chest and his fingers occasionally dance over your shoulder.

“Can I be brutally honest with you, Y/N? I feel like I can come clean to you,” he sighs at one point.

“Of course, go ahead,” you nod smiling, though you have a feeling what he is about to say.

“I feel like we are great together and I would love to take this even further, but you need to know that I’m not looking for anything serious. I’m not from around here, came here for a good time and that’s exactly what I’m looking for tonight as well.”

Some girls would get offended by his words, but not you, especially since you feel the same way. He is charming and a great company, but definitely not the type you’d even consider thinking about long term. The perfect candidate for some easy fun.

“Mm, and you think that you can find that with me, huh?” you smirk at him slyly, running your tongue across your lips. He doesn’t miss the action, his blue eyes glistening when they return to your gaze.

“Definitely. I hope I didn’t get the wrong vibes.”

“Not at all,” you smirk at him. “Why don’t we go dance a bit and then… see where the night heads?”

“Are you reading my mind,” he chuckles and taking your hand he pulls you to the dance floor, melting into the moving crowd.

You feel no shame as you hook your arms around his neck, his hands grabbing onto your waist as he pulls you against him. He dances well, maybe even better than you, the way he moves his hips is definitely outstanding. This is just what you needed, having fun with no expectations with a hot Irish guy, just letting the steam out after a long and tiring week.

You can tell he is thinking about going in for a kiss, but you beat him and pull him down, lips pressing against his as the two of you unite in a hot, passionate kiss, your bodies still moving to the rhythm, one of his hands flat against your back while the other one wanders down to your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze, just hard enough to make you moan against his mouth.

There is no doubt you’ll go home with him if he asks and you have a feeling he definitely wants to leave with you.

You feel a tug on your arm and pulling back from Niall you’re met with Ramona right next to you with an apologetic look on her face. She leans closer to your ear so you can hear her words.

“There’s a bit of a situation. Kostas totally trashed himself, we should take him home. Dean can help, but he can’t spend the night and I don’t want to stay alone with him if he starts throwing up.”

Damn it, Kostas!

Though you’re disappointed you have to go home without Niall, you know you can’t let your friends alone. Ramona mouths ‘I’m so sorry’ as she looks back at you, peeking at the oblivious Niall who still has his arms around you.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” you tell her and nodding she disappears in the crowd.

“Everything alright?” Niall asks leaning closer.

“I’m really sorry, but one of my roommates drank too much, we need to take him home.”

Part of you is afraid that he’ll flip at you, any guy your age would be pissed they spent so much time with you and then they can’t have their happy ending. However, Niall only seems worried.

“Oh, I understand. Do you need help with him?”

“I’m not sure what state he is in, I gotta check,” you sigh. Niall takes your hand and the two of you make your way out of the bar.

Stepping out into the cool evening, you spot your friends to the right. Kostas is sitting on the ground, his back against the brick wall and he has his eyes closed, he looks pretty sick, Ramona didn’t exaggerate.

“Shit, we should call an Uber, there’s no way he can walk home,” you grimace, taking a look at him.

“Yeah, already called one,” Ramona nods, holding her phone up. “It’ll be here in five.”

“Cool.” Turning you face Niall with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry we have to end the evening like this.”

“No worries, your friend really needs your help.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Another week.”

“Give me your phone,” you tell him smirking and he follows your trail of thoughts just right. He hands his phone to you and watches you type your number in quickly, giving yourself a ring so you have his number as well before handing it back to him. “Maybe we can continue what we started sometime before you leave.”

“Definitely,” he nods smirking. The car pulls over and Dean starts to pull Kostas up from the ground as Ramona opens the car door.

“See you later then,” you smile at Niall, kissing him one last time before going over to help Dean out.

The three of you manage to get him in the car and you finally head home in one piece. Kostas starts throwing up the moment you get home, you barely make it with him to the bathroom, so you left just in time.

“I’m never drinking again!” he growls, his head hanging into the toilet. You just laugh at him, dragging his jeans off of him while Ramona gets his bed ready for him.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but once he has emptied everything he drank tonight, you can finally drag him to bed and he basically faints as soon as his head hits the pillow.

“So, who was the hot guy you danced with?” Ramona asks in excitement as the two of you are sitting in the kitchen, hydrating a bit before heading to bed as well.

“His name is Niall, he is Irish,” you tell her with a coy smirk.

“He seemed older,” she hums.

“Thirty-two.”

“Wow, he is almost a decade older than you!” Ramona gawks at you with an impressed smirk.

“I know, but he was hot, right?” you chuckle, chugging down your water. “There’s a chance we are meeting up before he leaves.”

“Go girl!” she cheers, making you laugh.

You chat a bit more before both of you head to bed. All the alcohol got you quite tired so it feels nice to sink into the mattress and finally sleep it all off.

Even though you haven’t seen Professor Styles since Wednesday and you’ve had an amazing time with Niall, you still dream about the professor that evening. Something very similar to your story. A chapter two, maybe.

Harry can’t help but growl when he walks out of his bedroom in the morning on Sunday and see a trail of clothes on the floor leading to the guest bedroom. He stops in his tracks as he stares down at the discarded pieces, taking a good look at them, realizing that there are no women’s clothes among them, only the ones he saw his friend leave the house, though that doesn’t mean he came back on his own.

Picking up the clothes he throws them into the hamper in the bathroom before heading into the kitchen to make some coffee and breakfast. Last night Niall begged him to come with him and some of his buddies to the bar, but he was adamant to stay at home, knowing well that place is always packed with students from campus. Though he likes to think of himself as a well-liked teacher, getting drunk with his students is not something he is fine with doing.

Especially not after the week he just had.

When he walked into his office on Thursday and saw your paper on his desk his life flashed in front of his eyes upon noticing what laid next to it. He panicked, almost threw up and then ended up destroying the printed version even though he still has the file on his computer. He thought about deleting it as well, and he did, but only from his work computer. It’s still very much there on his laptop that’s now in his bedroom.

He knows that you know that he kept the document. Not only that, but you saw his markings, making it obvious that he did more than just reading. Damn, he wanted to jump out the window when he realized the trouble he brought on himself. But he couldn’t help himself.

At first he was furious when he saw what kind of work you uploaded as your assignment. Reading the first few lines it became clear that this wasn’t your story you’ve started working on this semester and he wanted to write you an email instantly, but then he kept reading. And then he read it again. And again. And by the fourth time he was rock hard.

He went to take a cold shower, but it did not help. He ended up jerking off in the shower, thinking about the scene from your story and he didn’t even think about someone else instead of you. He saw your face clearly as he made himself come and he came harder than ever probably. He hated himself for that.

And then there was your face when he confronted you about the mistake. How lost you looked, how innocent, he could barely believe those lines that got him hard came from you. But when you mentioned not getting punished, he almost lost his fucking mind.

He wanted to punish you, but not in a way that was acceptable within the school’s walls. He pictured you across his lap in that tiny skirt you wrote about, baring your ass for him as he slaps his hand against it several times, making you whimper and moan until you’re so wet he just needs to fuck you senseless.

The eggs start sizzling in the pan in front of him and it snaps him out of his dirty thoughts. It’s been occurring quite often, catching himself thinking about the things you want him to do to you and the things he came up with. The list is still unfinished.

The door of the guest bedroom opens and he hears a set of lazily dragged feet tapping on the floor before the bathroom door opens and closes. Harry grabs two plates as he divides the eggs just when the toasts pop up in the toaster. By the time Niall emerges from the bathroom, his breakfast is already waiting for him on the kitchen island.

“Thank you, Mother. You always take great care of me,” he jokes in a hoarse tone as he climbs up to the stool.

“How is the hangover after thirty?” Harry bites back, only earning a grimace from his friend as he joins him on the stool next to him.

“You should have come, we had a blast!” he groans as he digs into the food. “So many pretty young girls, amazing!”

“And that’s exactly the reason why I didn’t go, I told you. I probably teach half of them.”

“I’m sure they would love to fulfill their fantasy of hooking up with their teacher,” Niall laughs, still not taking it as seriously as Harry does. Harry wants to snap at him, but the first thing that pops into his mind is your specific fantasy he had the luck to read about.

“Aren’t you a little too old for these young girls?” he grumbles at last, stuffing his mouth with eggs.

“I apparently was not for the one I danced with, because she was very much okay to have my tongue down his throat!” he cackles, clearly proud of himself.

“Then how come you came home alone?” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Her friend drank too much and they had to take him home. But don’t worry, I got her number.”

“And what? You’ll just meet up with her for a quick round?”

“That is exactly what I plan to do.”

“Is she planning the same thing?”

“For your information, yes. I was honest with her, told her I’m not looking for anything serious, just a bit of fun and she was completely on board with that. Very mature of her, she could have easily told me to fuck off for looking for just some fucking.”

Niall finishes his food and loads the dishes into the dishwasher before pouring himself some more coffee while Harry is still eating. Harry glances up at his friend and for a moment he sees the same guy he befriended all this time ago.

The two of them have been long time friends, having gone to the same high school. Niall was always the wilder one out of them, but it was part of the balance. Harry was there to ground him when he was going off the charts. Niall was a great enthusiast of women even when he couldn’t even grow a beard. He always had at least two girls he was after and never backed out of a challenge. Though through the years he has definitely matured and even had a few serious relationships, he can still get back to the groove so easily when he has no one tying him down.

“I thought I would invite her over this afternoon, if it’s alright by you.”

Harry freezes, the fork dropping from his hand as he looks up at his friend.

“Absolutely not?!”

“What? Why? Come on, man. You wouldn’t say no if you saw her! Damn, she looked so fine, smooth skin, sweet scent, she moved so good on the dance floor, I can’t miss out on her!”

“What if she is my student, Niall? You can’t bring her here!”

“Chill, I’m pretty sure she is not your student, she is studying math, probably has nothing to do with the English department,” Niall scoffs, downing his second cup of coffee before putting the mug into the dishwasher as well.

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“There’s a great chance. Come on, are you really gonna be a cockblock?”

“Why can’t you go after women your age that don’t go to the school I teach at?” Harry growls shaking his head, already knowing he won’t say no to his friend. Niall would annoy him until he changes his mind and he is not in the mood to put up with the pestering. “She can come over but I won’t be here, just in case.”

“Bro, I owe you, big time!” Niall chuckles, patting his back as he walks past him.

“You already owe me for letting you stay here. You earn three times as much as I do and yet you didn’t bother booking a hotel room. You could bring anyone there, you know that?”

“But it’s so amazing being with my best buddy, just like in college, remember?” Niall chuckles before disappearing in the bathroom. A few moments later Harry hears the water running. Sighing he puts his own dishes into the dishwasher before cleaning up in the kitchen and retreating into his room, trying to ignore the feeling in his guts that something will definitely go off the rails soon.

Niall’s guest is set to come over around six. Harry made dinner plans with Nina Alvarez from the university, they’ve been spending more time together since her divorce a couple of months ago, though it’s strictly friendly on Harry’s side.

Now he is just trying to squeeze in some work before he is forced out of his own home so his friend could have a nice fuck. It really is like college all over again, when he and Niall shared a dorm room the first year.

His nose buried in a stack of essays for his International Literature class, he is working through the lines relentlessly, marking everything that’s out of place or nonsense before scribbling a point and grade on them.

When he has come across the third paper that had the eerily similar bullshit in it, he realizes he needs to take a break.

“Wankers,” he growls, putting those three in one stack so he can question the students about it. Other teachers would just simply fail them, but Harry is not trying to chase anyone out of school. He would rather have them redo it and get maybe a grade lower because of their fuck-up instead of just giving them an F without a word.

He turns to his computer, answering an email quickly before he checks some of the assignments handed in online. He got a notification of a late upload and it takes him to the page for his Creative Writing class and without skipping a beat, his eyes snap down to your name in the list.

Now everyone has their assignment attached, except you, since he has deleted yours out of the system, afraid that someone else might see it and get the both of you into trouble. You for sending it in and him for not reporting it. But as he hovers the cursor above your name he thinks about the downloaded document that’s buried deep on his computer.

He pulls up the folder he saved it into and opens up the menu where he has the chance to delete it. He brings the cursor above it and his finger lingers on the touchpad, so close to clicking on it, but instead of getting rid of the cursed document, he ends up opening it.

His adrenaline rises again as his eyes scan over the first page, knowing the words all too well. The thought of you creeps into his mind, your innocent, pretty face as you sit at his lecture and take notes, occasionally answering questions. The way you often tug your hair behind your ears so it doesn’t fall into your face when you’re writing, the curve of your nose that dips into your cupid’s bow and then your soft lips.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t find you attractive. You definitely caught his attention the first time you walked into his class, but that was supposed to be it. You are not the first pretty girl to sit through his rambling about writing and fiction and he knew he would forget about you easily. But then you pulled this stupid stunt and he hasn’t been able to think about anything else than the dirty fantasy of yours you let him in on accidentally.

Before he could stop himself, he starts rereading the story again, feeling himself hardening in his sweatpants by the time he reaches the end of the first page.

“Fuck,” he adjusts himself, mouth going dry when he gets to the part where you go into detail how you touch his hard cock for the first time, what it feels like under your touch and how wet it makes you to think about that you got him so hard.

The adjusting turns into gentle squeezing, he palms himself as he devours the story as if it was his first time reading and before he could realize it, he pulls his cock out of his pants and underwear, his erection weighing into his palm, begging for relief as he starts stroking himself. He wants to believe that your writing only gets him so worked up because it’s been too long since the last time he was with anyone. He is not a fan of casual hookups, so ever since he broke up with his previous girlfriend over six months ago, it’s been only his hands and porn that got him off time to time.

But deep down he knows that it’s you.

He is reading your story with growing hunger, his hand jerking him off relentlessly as he pushes himself closer to his relief, picturing everything just as you wrote, seeing it all happen like a movie in front of his eyes. When he almost moans out loud at the part where you go on and on about clenching your walls around him as he fucks into you on the tiny sofa he has in his office, he reminds himself that he is not alone and the last thing he needs is Niall busting him jerking off like a teenager. Also, side note, he hasn’t been able to look at that sofa since he has read your story.

His climax reaches him when you come in the story, the way you describe how the sensation sets you on fire has him in a chokehold every time he reads it. He pushes himself away from the desk just in time so his cum doesn’t get on any of the essays he discarded to pleasure himself. He tugs on his twitching dick a few more times, his hand and sweatpants on his thighs covered in his sticky, hot cum, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high.

When the fog of his pleasure disappears he takes a look at himself and a wave of shame washes over him. He knows it’s fucked up and he knows that it’s gonna get even worse when he has to face you again, knowing that you saw the print on his desk in his office, but he just can’t control himself. It’s like you live rent free in his head in your stupid school girl uniform that makes him hard in a heartbeat.

He cleans himself up and changes his pants, hoping Niall won’t notice that it’s a different one than the one he wore in the morning. Checking the time he sees that it’s five, so he’ll have to leave soon if he doesn’t want to run into Niall’s guest.

Walking out of his room he hears his friend talking on the phone in the guest bedroom. Though he is here on vacation, he still has some business to do and he’s been making calls a few times every day, it’s probably one of those again.

Locking himself up in the bathroom Harry washes his face, the cold water sobering him up from his little jerk-party in his room. When he stares at his reflection in the mirror he tries to figure out who this guy is that’s looking back at him, because he knows for a fact that the man he believed himself to be would never do what he just did minutes ago.

On his way back to his bedroom he hears the doorbell ring and he stops, checking the time again. It’s only five fifteen, so it can’t be Niall’s girl. His friend is still talking in his room, evidently arguing with someone so Harry thinks it’s probably just his neighbor.

He usually checks out who’s at the door through the peephole, but he is so all over the place that he just walks up to the door and swings it open. A mistake that a moment later gives him a heart attack.

Because it’s not his neighbor, not even Jehovah’s Witnesses though he wishes they were standing there. Anything would be better than the sight of him.

You’re standing there, dressed in a simple, black dress, a bottle of wine in your hands and at first you seem just as surprised to see him as he is. But you snap out of it faster than he is, a coy smile tugging on your lips as you let out a chuckle.

“Well, this is one hell of a plot twist, don’t you think, Professor Styles?”

NEXT PART

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed!

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monstersandmaw · 2 years

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Male each-uisge (sea kelpie) x female reader (nsfw) - Part Two

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a part two of Rhion’s story, commissioned from me by @wordlesswander. I hope you folks enjoy!

Please note that the reader has been changed from gender neutral to cis female.

Contents: slightly possessive behaviour, and mention of past near-drowning (from part one), please tell me if I need to add anything else. Wordcount: 6161

Part One (gender neutral reader, sfw)

At the click of the front door behind you, Rhion rose from his usual spot on the sofa in the old fisherman’s cottage with a sinuous motion and stalked over. His white, milky eyes looked blind in the half light, but he could see just fine, and he wore an intense expression on his sharply handsome face as he approached.

“Rhion?” you asked, juggling shopping bags in both hands. “Everything alright?”

“You were gone for ages,” he said, his raspy voice harsh and a pout on his pretty lips.

You chuckled, used to his mannerisms by now.

It wasn’t separation anxiety, as you’d first thought. Rhion’s folk were protective of their chosen mates — protective to the point of possessive — and sure enough, the moment you set the bags down in the cottage’s tiny kitchen, he wrapped his arms around you and turned you to face him. He began to mouth at your neck, raking sharp teeth over your flesh and biting at your pulse point until you gasped and tipped back against the counter, desire spiking.

The last six months with Rhion had been intense to say the least.

It hadn’t taken him nearly as long to heal from his injuries as it would have done a human, and with his life as an each-uisge in the churning waters of the sea just beyond the coastal village apparently behind him, he had set to learning all about the human world with a fervour that had sometimes almost frightened you sometimes. Rhion did nothing by halves after all. He’d figured out all the appliances in the home, though he still shied away from using the television or a phone or computer alone, finding the interconnectivity of the internet more daunting than even the greatest depths of the ocean.

Now, with his slender, wiry body pressed against yours, his arousal growing as he tried to mark you as his own, he began to growl. “You smell like other people,” he snarled in your ear, biting your ear lobe so hard you yelped.

“Rhion, we talked about this,” you said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him firmly but gently away from you.

He raised his lip, but nodded.

“I told you I won’t let anyone near me who isn’t friend or family, and I’m not letting anyone near me the way I let you. Ok?”

The shifter nodded, but his face was sullen. His instincts were warring with his desire to keep you happy, and it made him miserable.

“Come here,” you said, and he reacted to the reward immediately, nuzzling your hand where it cupped his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“We’re different species, Rhion. And your society is cutthroat. I know you just want to protect me, and I know you respect my boundaries. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, and you wouldn’t be under this roof any more.”

He nodded and let his hands fall to your waist. For a long time he was quiet, standing in front of you with his head bowed, his long black hair falling down his spine to his hips, and his mottled grey-green skin gleaming softly in the low light of the room. “You need some help unpacking?” he asked, shooting a look at the shopping.

“Thank you.”

That night, after a supper of fish — cooked for you, and raw for Rhion — you drew your knees up and idly checked your emails on your phone. With a frown, and a little curious noise, you opened up an alert from an estate agency where you’d registered your interest for ‘seaside cottages in Scotland’.

Beside you, Rhion reached over and stroked your hair out of your eyes. “Everything alright?” he asked. His voice was like crushed sea-shells, harsh but still beautiful, and he always had such tenderness when he spoke to you that it made your heart clench.

“Yeah. Look,” and you turned the phone around to show him the photographs from the listing.

He scowled at it, the harsh light stinging his eyes, so you fetched your laptop to show him on a larger screen. Together, you scrolled through the photographs of the small cottage. It sat on one of the more remote Hebridean islands, but it had electricity, gas and internet, which was more than most. It was also reasonably priced. With your income and the ability to work online, the mortgage calculator at the bottom of the page showed you that you could afford it. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if Rhion could shift freely again — he hadn’t shifted back to his each-uisge’s equine form since his herd had nearly torn him to ribbons — he could feed himself, and you didn't need all that much.

“You want to look at it?” he asked. “Where is it? Is it far from here?”

“We’ll have to take the ferry,” you said, pulling up the map. “Not sure how we’re going to hide you though,” you added, eyeing his mottled skin. Gloves and long sleeves only got him so far. There was no hiding his face and eyes easily without him looking conspicuously covered up.

“If it’s beside the sea, I could shift and swim there,” he said, and the note of hope in his voice was obvious.

You sighed and leaned into him. He was always cool, no matter how warm the advancing summer got, and his fingers raked through your hair in a steady, calming rhythm, like the lapping waves of an incoming tide. Soon, you would lose yourself to it.

In the end, and with a good bit of help from a satellite map of the ferry dock on the mainland, you figured out a plan. You parked the car at a cove near the ferry dock, and Rhion stepped out of the passenger side, his eyes fixed on the churning sea. It wouldn’t be a gentle crossing for you on a day with winds that strong, but he could cut through the waves like a navy warship. The car ride had been a different matter, and you’d had to pull over a couple of times for him to empty his stomach onto the side of the road. Now though, he looked like a man thirsting for a drink after days without water.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, you called to him. “Wait…”

He stopped on the beach and turned to face you. With his hands soft at his sides, his long hair lifting like a banner in the wind that whipped the sea to a frothing foam beyond, he looked wild and beautiful. You ran to him and flung your arms around his neck, startling a laugh out of him that was more like a whinny. He hugged you back, fiercely, and planted a kiss at your temple.

“Your heart’s racing,” he said when he pulled back, his strange, eerie, fae-like features alight with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I’m scared,” you admitted, gaze dropping to the cold, wet sand at your feet. “You know I haven’t been near the sea since I nearly drowned…”

“Since I frightened you,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“You saved me,” you said. “But yeah.” You’d had two nightmares just that previous night about the time he’d dragged you down and into a cave, accessible through the roiling sea below or through a small blow hole in the top. In your nightmares though, it wasn’t Rhion dragging you down to the deep to strip the flesh from your bones, but another of his herd, and the rest of them circled like menacing shadows in the murk beneath you as you went down, down, down…

“Hey. I’ll follow the ferry,” he said. “I won’t let anything in the sea hurt you. I swore it then, and I hold to my word.” He whispered your name and kissed you. “I need to shift now though. Or you’ll miss the boat.”

You nodded, knowing he was right, and you took his clothes from him while he stripped un-selfconsciously on the deserted beach, and then strode unflinching into the biting Atlantic waves.

The water thrashed and seethed for a moment in a way that had nothing to do with the currents, and then there was no trace of him.

“He’s fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “He’s fine. He’s fine…”

You didn’t exactly find yourself keen to approach the foaming waterline, but you couldn't help yourself. The summer sun was strong, but the wind bit into your clothes and you were glad for the fleece to keep it out as you stared into the water, waiting.

Finally, his black head broke the surface, his forelock draped rather artistically across one white eye, and he opened his mouth and whinnied at you. It was a clear rebuke to get going, and you relaxed. “See you soon, Rhion,” you smiled and he nodded, pawing at the water with a great big hoof and thrashing his eel-like tail behind him in a flourish as he disappeared into the depths.

It had been far too long for a creature like him to be away from the sea, and your heart clenched at the thought. “Please let this house be what we want,” you muttered as you climbed the beach back to the car and drove off towards the little stone ferry dock.

As it turned out, the journey over wasn’t too bad. The crew of the small ferry was friendly, and one of them shot you a look and laughed gently. “Looking a wee bit green around the gills there,” the older woman said. She was tough and muscled, with weathered skin and storm-grey in her hair. Her big brown eyes glinted playfully as she added, “You need a bucket?”

You shook your head. “Not the biggest fan of the open sea,” you said. “I’ll be happy when we get to the other side.”

“Captain knows these waters, lass,” she said, coiling a rope up on itself to stow away as the ferry lurched to the side. The woman’s body absorbed the movement, but you slammed your hip into a rail on the side and yelped. “Better sit down…” she grinned.

“Yeah,” you croaked and staggered off to sit and watch the sea rear up and down outside.

You looked out for him, though he was obviously being careful. When you stepped off the ramp of the ferry at the other end though, feeling thoroughly green and wrung-out, you overheard one of the crew talking on a phone and a chill dropped through you.

“What? An each-uisge? In Tidewater Bay? You’re sure?”

Tidewater Bay was the name from the estate agency listing.

Rhion.

You ran.

With your rucksack smashing into your back, you raced up the stone harbour wall and away from the ferry, but from behind you heard a shout. You didn’t stop. Chest heaving, you arrived at the cottage five minutes later. It sat almost right on the waterfront, protected from the sea by huge, dark rocks on the shoreline and the narrow lane that looped along the coast like a ribbon. You skidded to a halt on the gravel parking spot outside the house when you saw four people gathered there, and all of them turned to face you as one.

Their expressions were dark, their eyes dangerous, and the set of their shoulders spoke of rumbling aggression. They knew. They were there because Rhion had been spotted, and they knew what he was. Were they shifters too? Or human hunters who knew about the supernatural; the ones Rhion had told you of all those months ago that would gladly mount an each-uisge’s head to the wall.

“Where is he?” you whispered, terror gripping your heart. “I swear, if anything’s happened to him…” you choked off a sob and stood there, shaking with rage and terror.

The oldest of the four figures stepped forward, with a wary, curious light in his eyes. He had short grey hair and a steely look to him, and he loomed over you as he approached. In an almost impenetrably-thick Scottish accent, he demanded, “You know about him, human?”

“‘Human’… wait, what are you?”

He growled, lifting his lip on one side and showing a thick canine. “His kind is not welcome here.”

“Please…” you begged, panting and thinking frantically. “We thought… We thought he’d be safe here. He’s on his own — he left his herd for me, because of me. We just want somewhere to live by the sea where he’ll be safe. Please… don’t hurt him.”

From the water came the irate scream of a horse in distress and you didn’t think. You just set off running again. “Rhion!”

In a tidal pool, gnashing his sharp-toothed jaw and kicking the water to a churning foam with his forelegs, you spotted Rhion. His eyes rolled with fury and his ears were pinned back tight against his head, and on the beach you saw two more figures — one a man and the other a woman with bigger muscles than him.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” you yelled as you halted and they turned to look at you. They each had long utility knives in their hands; the kind that would slice through a rope - or a creature - in a flash.

“He’s a monster,” the man snarled. “His kind hunt everything. You know they eat humans, right?”

“Please… Rhion has lived with me as a human for the past six months after his herd nearly killed him, just for wanting to be with me,” you begged frantically. “He saved my life when he could have drowned me and taken me to his herd. Please… I’m begging you. Don’t hurt him.” You raked your hand through your hair as the wind tugged at it. “We’ll go. We came to look at the house, but we’ll go. We’ll get the next ferry and we’ll leave. Just… don't hurt him… Please…”

You so frantic that you missed the footsteps coming up behind you on the shingle beach entirely.

Again, Rhion screamed a warning at you and you spun just as a heavy hand landed on your shoulder. In the water, bones cracked and sinews tore and reshaped themselves as Rhion shifted, desperate to reach you, to protect you. The man who had gripped your shoulder was the older man from outside the cottage and he studied you carefully with dark, steady eyes.

“You’re telling the truth, lass,” he said. “You know what he is, and yet you still defend him?”

Before anyone could react, Rhion hurled himself from the icy water shoving past the man who’d been guarding the beach. “Don’t you touch her!” he screamed. The man lunged for him and caught him by the arm, but Rhion rounded on him, thrashing and spitting like a rabid animal.

For a horrible moment you thought Rhion was going to tear his throat out, or that the man would stab him with that knife, and you screamed, “Stop!”

Rhion froze, still snarling.

“Stop. Everyone, just… stop.”

With eyes wide, you extracted a silent promise of stillness from him, and he nodded, however reluctantly. You tasted salt on the air, unsure whether it was taste of the sea or whether you’d bitten your lip, and the wind sliced into your cheeks in the silence that followed.

You dug into your rucksack for Rhion’s clothes and walked over to him, shrugging the older man’s heavy hand off you. You gave Rhion his clothes and told him to dress. He was clearly furious, but he followed your lead.

“They’re selkies,” he hissed at you as he snatched the t-shirt from your fingers and un-selfconsciously dressed himself, heedless of his damp skin. Shifters were obviously used to a degree of nudity, you supposed; the selkies certainly didn’t seem all that bothered. You would have been mortified.

“Selkies…” you breathed, and turned to look again at the man who seemed to be their leader.

A second, slightly younger man approached the leader and took his hand with a quiet look. He long, dark brown hair, tied up in a messy bun and with an attractive white streak at the front. “You’ve come to look at the house, you say?” he asked quietly, and to your surprise, he had an Irish accent.

“Yes. I didn’t know this was a selkie community,” you said, shooting Rhion a sidelong look. In your time together, he’d told you all about the various other creatures of the sea, including the sealfolk. Loyal, close-knit, and wary of humans, they could be dangerous when provoked, but they didn’t usually go looking for trouble. Not like Rhion’s kind. No one liked the each-uisge. Not even those few kelpies who chose to haunt the rock pools and shorelines over the boggy ponds on the highlands. No one but you, it seemed.

Well, let it never be said you followed the crowd.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have… Honestly I don’t know. But we could have handled this better.”

The selkie holding the leader’s hand smiled suddenly and nodded once before leaning in to whisper in the other’s ear.

With a soft growl, the older man nodded. “Tell us everything.”

You turned to Rhion, who shrugged petulantly, and you sighed.

Before you could start talking though, an older woman who might have been the sister of the selkie’s leader spoke up. “Why don’t we go up to the house? We can get out of this wind, and the girl can tell her story.”

It was abundantly clear that Rhion wasn’t welcome. They all shot him looks like he was about to lunge for one of them like a great white shark, but he stepped in close to you and snatched up your hand, gripping it so tightly your bones creaked. “They don’t want us here,” he whispered as you all made your way up the beach towards the whitewashed cottage. “We should go.”

“Not yet,” you replied, trying to get him to ease up his hold a bit with a little wiggle of your fingers. “It’s beautiful here, and they seem like reasonable people.”

Rhion huffed, but followed by your side, glowering at the selkies with his milky eyes.

All six of the selkies accompanied you into the open door of the tiny cottage, and you couldn’t help but notice how close Rhion stood to you as you came to a halt in the living room of the simply-furnished house and they fanned out around you. If he was afraid, he was hiding it behind a layer of sullen fury. Their expressions ranged from glowering to curious, but the leader was hardest of all to read.

“You can call me Alastair,” he said, breaking the tension. “This is my husband Roan, and our twins, Finn and Moira.” The two muscular siblings from the beach nodded in turn without smiling, and Alastair’s husband grinned at you. You warmed immediately to him, and gave the others a polite nod of your own. The remaining two were introduced as Claire and Simon.

Roan ushered you to sit, and with that, you began your story. They listened attentively, and by the time you reached the natural end of the tale, you got the impression they’d warmed to you in turn. Just a fraction. You prayed they had a soft spot for strays.

Roan nuzzled Alastair’s short, bearded jaw, and laughed softly. “Let them stay, love,” he said in his warm baritone. “Might be useful to have an each-uisge on our side. Those orca merfolk are getting too cocky for their own good, and they're hunting in our waters.”

Moira snorted and barked a laugh. She too had an Irish accent. “Can you imagine their faces if they see something like him swimming around, with all his teeth and his freaky tail?”

Rhion bared those teeth at her and she hissed right back, making Finn smack her on the arm. He didn’t look any keener than her to have Rhion around, but he voiced no protest either.

“Why don’t I show you the house,” Claire interjected diplomatically, the older, grey-haired woman standing from where she’d been perched on the arm of a battered old armchair.

The others all filed out, but Alastair stayed with Claire to show you the house, and you learned that they were indeed siblings.

“It’s beautiful here,” you sighed once the tour of the modest little cottage was over and the four of you returned to the open plan kitchen-living area. “Can I ask why it’s available?”

A cloud skidded over Alastair’s brown eyes, and Claire laid a hand on his arm. “Our brother lived here. He’s… returned to the sea.”

From behind you, where Rhion stood with his hands resting quietly on your hips as he often did to ground himself, he murmured, “May they find peace in the lullaby of the sea.”

Alastair’s shock was open as he turned to look at him.

Rhion met his gaze without expression, and Alastair let out a long exhale. “You two really are strange,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his short, grey beard. “Let’s go, Claire. You can think it over and come to the harbour master’s station when you’ve made your decision. Just pull the door to behind you when you leave.”

In the silence of their departure, Rhion turned to you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “Wasn't expecting all that, not going to lie,” you breathed, sinking down onto the sofa with watery knees. Rhion curled up beside you, drawing his legs up and nuzzling against your neck.

“What do you want to do?”

“I love it,” you said, gazing around at the whitewashed walls and the way the silvery light danced over the grey flagstone floor, the sea whispering audibly outside. “The house is cosy, it’s got a wood-burning stove — I’ve always wanted one of those — and the little town looked gorgeous with all its coloured houses… At least, what I saw of it as we were coming in to the harbour did. I ran straight here once I heard the guy on the ferry say the word ‘each-uisge’.”

“I love you,” Rhion blurted. “I… I don’t want you to live somewhere where they’re going to make you feel unwelcome…”

“I think you can win them over,” you grinned. “You won me over. You remember how scared I was of you when we first met? I thought for weeks you were going to eat me…”

“Don’t like the taste of humans. I told you that.”

You snorted. “You also told me you like the taste of seals. Maybe they picked up on that?”

He drew his lip up in a petulant snarl. “I can forgo hunting seals if it means we get to live somewhere you’re happy.”

“True love,” you laughed, and kissed him.

You hooked your legs over his lap, straddling his skinny, wiry thighs, and watched his white eyes go wide. There was always a moment with Rhion when he went completely slack beneath your attentions, and it never failed to fill you with wonder. “I do love you,” he said as he gazed up at you.

“I know you do,” you said before you kissed him. You didn’t linger, not wanting to get distracted, and knowing that Rhion was always easy to distract with sex.

After you climbed out of his lap though, he sat there watching you move around the house and explore it a little more closely. Eventually, over an hour later, you and Rhion walked along the road together towards the harbour master’s station. Rhion had a hoodie on and tugged the hood up as you entered the town, but there was hardly anyone around. You wondered how many of them knew about the selkies.

The door to the station opened while you were still approaching, and Finn came out. He had the big, ‘strong-but-soft’ body you’d expect of someone who can turn into a seal, but his sister, who had been wearing a muscle-tee and cargo shorts, was built like a tank.

“Is Alastair there?” you asked, trying not to let your voice crack.

Finn stepped to the side without a word and pushed the door open, holding it while you and Rhion entered. You chirruped a quick ‘thank you’ at him, and he turned away and stalked off towards town. Moira lingered, scowling.

Alastair was seated in the small sitting room just inside the door — a space barely large enough for an ancient TV set and a couple of armchairs — and beyond you glimpsed a room with a view over the harbour.

“Nice spot to work,” you said as you came to a halt with Rhion.

“Tis that,” Alastair agreed without getting up. “You made your decision then.”

“We have,” you smiled, taking Rhion’s hand. “If it’s alright with you, we’d like to put in an offer on the house. It’s a beautiful spot, and we need somewhere to start over. The fact that there’s already a community of shore-folk here I think will be a good thing. I know you’re different, but… Rhion’s been alone for a long time, and I think…” You glanced up at him to find him scowling, but there was a flush to his mottled cheeks and a gleam in his eyes that spoke of emotions lurking beneath the surface. “… I think he could find a home here too.”

“You’ll have to hunt elsewhere,” Alastair growled.

“I won’t hurt your people,” Rhion promised. “There’s plenty else to hunt here besides. I just want to feel the sea again. No offence,” he said, shooting you a cringing look. “I mean… We’re only supposed to shift like this as a last resort. I’m not supposed to stay like this. I need…” he choked off and looked away. “I need this.”

Alastair nodded and stood with a grunt of effort, knuckling the small of his back. “We all talked it over, and it’s not in our nature to turn away those in need. If you swear by the salt in your blood that you will do no harm to our people, then we will let you stay and welcome you and your partner into our community, each-uisge.”

Rhion looked oddly tearful as he heard the selkie leader’s words, and he took a deep, steadying breath through his nose. “Thank you, elder,” he said in his scraping voice. “I swear never to do or bring intentional harm to you or yours.”

Alastair cracked a wry smile and held out his hand. You both shook it, his palm leathery and rough after years of working a fishing boat, and he said, “When do you want to move in?”

“I thought it usually takes a while with estate agents and all the legal stuff?” you asked, following him back out into the blustery summer day. Moira was nowhere to be seen now.

“Eh,” Alastair shrugged. “You can stay there from whenever you like. The place could use some livening up.”

In the end, it only took you about a month to move your belongings from one house to the next, and to your surprise, Finn and Moira helped you willingly. They brought Finn’s van over and lugged all your boxes of stuff into the back of it, and drove it over to the island while you and Rhion took the car. Rhion threw up again, which Moira though hilarious when you mentioned it, and Rhion took a fortnight to forgive you for blabbering about it to her.

As the summer reached its height, Rhion spent more and more time in the water, twisting and rolling luxuriantly in the shallows or venturing off around the westward side of the island where the water was deeper and the currents stronger. On days when Rhion said he needed to go hunting, you would wander into the village, and sometimes you’d help Finn bringing in the lobster pots, but even though you went out on the water with the selkies, you never ever went in it.

On one afternoon in late August, you and Moira sat on the beach together outside the cottage. The sun had been baking down on you for nearly an hour, and Moira suddenly growled and pushed herself upright. Her body was incredible and it was hard not to feel self-conscious around her, so you looked away when she grinned down at you. “You coming in the water?” she asked. “I’m going to cook if I sit here on the sand any longer.”

She didn’t have her sealskin with her, so you assumed she wasn’t going to shift, and as she strode away down the short stretch of sand, you sighed. She stopped and looked back at you, murmuring your name questioningly.

“I nearly drowned,” you said, and her dark eyes widened. “I was out on the water on my own, and I fell overboard. Rhion saved me, but I haven’t been able to go back in the sea since.”

“Can you swim?” she asked, and you nodded. “Why don’t you just come and paddle. I won’t let you get hurt.” She then snorted and added, “I think your boyfriend would actually eat me if I did.”

“He trusts you,” you said, standing up and dog-earing your cheap paperback to keep the page. “He wouldn’t have gone off hunting and left me here with you if he didn’t.” Moira looked oddly touched at that.

You wandered to the edge of the sea while she strode away into it and ducked under, emerging a moment or two later and floating back towards you. “Still can’t believe we’ve got one of his kind here though. You know how vicious they can be, right?”

“Yeah. I watched them drag Rhion away and nearly rip him to shreds when they found him with me. He’s different.”

For a while, you just stood there with the cold water lapping at your shins, until a familiar shape bobbed around the corner, and you giggled. “It’s not fair that Finn is so cute as a seal…” you snickered, trying not to.

“He’s fucking adorable,” Moira agreed. “You should have heard Isla going on and on about it the other day.”

“Has he asked her out yet?”

“Nope, the coward,” she grinned as Finn joined you.

“Hey Finn,” you smiled and he nodded once before doing a lazy roll in the gentle waves. The urge to boop his big black nose was overwhelming. You thought you deserved a medal for restraining yourself.

“Come on in,” Moira said, looking up at you.

Finn blinked encouragingly at you as well, and you laughed. “How is anyone supposed to say no to those eyes?” you asked, and he snuffed a little puff of water out of his nostrils in mock outrage. “Fine, but if I get panicky, you get me to shore again immediately, deal?”

They both nodded.

In the end, being back in the shallow waters of the sound wasn’t entirely awful. It wasn’t particularly relaxing to start with, but Finn kept buoying you up when you felt you were out of your depth, and Moira swam beside you within easy reach.

A shape moved in the deep a while later, and Finn looked down before rolling his eyes. A second later, a black horse’s head shoved itself between you and Finn’s soft pelt, and sharp teeth gnashed a harmless warning at him. Finn barked a rebuke at him and swam off. The two had yet to come to an understanding, but Moira, for all her brusque looks and sleek muscle, was actually the more open minded of the twins.

Rhion nuzzled you and you laughed. “Jealous?”

He huffed. “Yes.”

“Don’t be, silly. I’m getting tired though.”

“Climb on my back,” he said, turning his sleek body in the water.

Even Moira raised her eyebrows at that. Everyone knew what happened to women who climbed on the backs of kelpies and each-uisge. “At least I know I won’t slide off,” you muttered darkly as you slid a leg over the transition between horse hair and sleek eel-skin. And, as you’d expected, you stuck.

After a while though, you began to get cold and shivery, despite the heat of the summer sun, and you leaned forwards to whisper in his ear. “Take me back now?”

He nodded and dipped into the water just low enough to swim easily without dunking you below the surface, and when he reached the sand, you slid off to lie on your back next to him in the shallows. Moira stayed in the water while you sat up, and Rhion began to shift.

It was never pleasant to hear him rearranging his body like that, and once it was over he heaved a few shuddering breaths and looked up at you.

Oh, you knew that look, and it always meant trouble of the very best kind.

“Rhion?” you asked slowly.

“Indoors. Now,” he growled.

From behind you, Moira made a noise of feigned disgust. “Gross. I’ll see you later,” she grimaced. “Go away.”

Laughing, you followed Rhion up the beach and into the house. He was already naked, and you had only your bikini on. Rhion took your face in his hands and kissed you hard, tasting you and nipping at your lips with a series of moans that got louder and louder the more aroused he became. He tasted of salt water, but you didn’t mind.

“Want you,” he gasped, pulling back and undoing the string of your bikini top. His mouth went straight to your bared nipple, already budded from the cold, and you gasped. You scarcely made it to the bedroom before he was on top of you, snarling and rubbing his cheek on on you, scenting you. “You’re mine,” he growled, kneading your breast with one hand and grinding his hips against you.

“And you’re mine,” you hissed right back, guiding his cock to your entrance as you parted your legs for him.

He gasped when he felt the slick heat of you, and he paused, his tip just inside you. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, I want to taste you.”

You shook your head. “I want you. Now.”

He didn’t wait to be told twice, and sheathed himself inside you.

Sometimes when you and Rhion had sex, he was sweet and gentle, making it last for hours and drawing out your pleasure until you were shaking all over and begging for him to let you come, but now was not such a time. Rhion filled you, claimed you, growling and heaving, pushing deep, his hands gripping your shoulders hard enough that he might bruise you, leaning down between thrusts to take your neck between his teeth and suck marks into your skin. It was the closest you came to being devoured by him, and it was bliss.

You gave yourself to his attentions, letting him have you. Sometimes he needed to reassure himself that you were real, that he truly did belong to you, and all you could do was lie back and tell him you loved him with each breath, each kiss, each clench of your muscles around him.

Rhion was not normally loud, but that time, seated deep inside you, he threw back his head and screamed when he came, his hips pressed right up against you as you pulled him somehow even deeper with your legs around his hips. His wet hair trailed down his spine, and he held your hips in a grip so tight it might have hurt if the pleasure hadn’t been so intense.

He came hard, eyes screwed shut, sharp teeth clenched in a rictus of ecstasy, and when he was finally spent, he collapsed forwards on top of you, breathing hard and shaking.

“Rhion?” you asked, trailing your fingers down his shoulders as he lay atop your chest, cock still deep inside you. “You alright?”

He nodded, his face pressed against your neck, and his arms tightened a fraction around you. He didn’t move for a long time. Then he slowly raised his head and you met his beautiful white eyes. “Was that too much?” he asked. “I… I got… I got carried way. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Your answering kiss surprised him. “If it had been too much, I’d have said so, and you’d have stopped. It wasn’t, so I didn’t.”

“I know I can be… intense,” he said, looking away.

You smiled and clenched softly around him, making him groan and rest his forehead on your collarbone.

“Mmm,” you agreed. “You are intense, Rhion, but you love me. And I’m yours.”

“M’yours,” he mumbled without lifting his head.

It was another five minutes at least before he was actually able to move, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to mind at all.

___

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

It’s Alright, I’ve Got You.

Requested?: Yep! @gingeraleluke sent it in and of course I had to write it. One of Dwight’s weapons falls from under a table and Y/N steps on it, prompting Jim to go full blown protective bf even though no-one knows they’re dating!

Word Count: 4.0K+

Author’s Note: I solemnly swear to write as much Jim Halpert fanfiction as y’all want. He is a bean and I love writing Office-universe stuff. After that smut that I released, we do need some fluff though.

Warning: gore, and descriptions of injury. Otherwise, floof.

You couldn’t remember the last time a storm raged with such force over Scranton, but it did little to keep you in your flat that Tuesday morning. Perhaps, in hindsight, it was a bad omen, a warning of things to come, but you we determined that morning, too stubborn to call in sick or wait for the pouring rains to soften their attack.

That morning, you washed and dried your hair like it wasn’t about to frizz in the humidity, you put on waterproof mascara and set your face with hope the makeup wouldn’t run; you ate your breakfast and drank your first cup of coffee of the morning like the roads outside weren’t a few raindrops from flooding; and you left your apartment, an umbrella over your head as you trotted to your car and tried to ignore the water splashing onto your tights. With a few flips of the key, clearing the exhaust of water, you started your car and breathed a sigh of relief once you were on your way to work. The rain had done little permanent damage, and you were hopeful you would find a parking spot close to the door.

Today was important for you, a meeting with clients at the office to discuss a major shipment you and Jim had been organising for months now, the last thing you wanted to do was be late for it. The job itself was uninteresting to say the least, but you knew you wouldn’t let yourself let Jim down. He was your best friend, your sales partner, and as of recently, the realised love of your life.

Of course, you hadn’t told your co-workers, apart from Pam; but she was a trusted confidante. Apart from her, your relationship was very much private, how both of you liked it for the moment. There was no too-personal questions about sex from Michael, no creepy postulations from Dwight, no dirty glances from Angela for being ‘ruined’: in short, you had peace to work through your relationship at your pace, and it was going great as a result. You’d tell them all soon, obviously, but when was still undetermined.

You slowed at a stop light, your windscreen wipers struggling to keep your window clear for the sheer amount of rain, and you signalled left, deciding to turn on your fog lights on top of your low beams. The roads were too treacherous to avoid safety, and you felt safer as you turned onto the main road, joining a stream of traffic heading into the centre of Scranton, though it was thinner than usual.

The trip to work took longer than usual, but you still arrived early, and gave yourself a moment to prepare yourself for the dash to the door. You tucked your keys into your purse, planning to lock your car from the reception, and you checked your makeup in your rear mirror once more, making sure that your lips were still unsmudged, that the mascara was holding up the title of waterproof. With a final check you had collected your belongings, you kicked your car door out and opened your umbrella against the ice-cold pellets of aqua. You were swift, careful in your heels to avoid drains and broken cement blocks on the path that could splash more water on you.

“Mind if I share?” A voice called through the din of water hitting the ground, and you found a rather wet Jim by your side, his frozen hands coming to your waist and urging you forward as you both fended off the rain with your umbrella. Once you had gotten under the entryway, you shook out your saving grace and closed it, turning to find Jim holding open the front door for you.

“Halpert, you look like a drenched dog.” You stated in place of thanking him for the courtesy, walking into the Scranton Business Park building that housed Dunder Mifflin. Jim followed, deciding to play the part you had assigned and shake the water from his hair, spraying your dress skirt with rainwater. You squealed at the action, letting down your professional demeanour to giggle at the goof you called a boyfriend. After a quick glance behind you to see if anyone was around, you pulled Jim over to you by a sopping wet tie and pressed your lips to his. Sweet, chaste, a secret gesture.

“I always knew you were a dog person.” He responded, capturing your lips once more with a cheeky smile. “Good morning, Y/L/N…” He grinned, sauntering toward the elevator like he hadn’t left your breathless at 8.32 in the morning. You followed after him, the doors opening and both of you stepping into the lift. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the steel, fixing your lipstick quickly as you shot up to your floor. You felt a presence behind you, Jim’s hands resting on your waist for a second time, and you could make out his hazy reflection in the metal.

“Are you still up for a movie tonight?” You asked, unable to stop the blush that rose on your cheeks as Jim’s lips pressed onto the top of your hair, which had managed to survive the weather rather miraculously.

“Like I could ever say no to you.” Jim responded, lifting one of your hands and holding it in his own. Despite the size difference, they fit together perfectly. “I love you.” He whispered in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek just before the doors opened to your floor, and just as soon as he was there he was gone, off into the office. You tried to quell the smile that had caused dimples in your cheeks as you walked in, but failed rather miserably.

“Why are you so happy?” Were the first words you were greeted with as you came through the door to the office, from a rather moody Dwight of all people. You took off your coat, Pam not yet at her desk for a greeting, and walked over to your desk across from the spectacled asshole, seating yourself and exaggerating the smile into a maniacal grin.

“You know Dwight, people are allowed to be happy in spite of the weather. You’d know if you had ever experienced real emotion. Tell me, do robots need to go in for MOTs?” You were quick and sharp with your tongue when you wanted to be, and earned a chuckle from Jim, who had begun printing off the last of the files needed for the day’s meeting.

“If I were a robot, Y/N, I’d be part of a superior race. Your flesh vessel would be no match for my metal structure.” Dwight countered, and Jim looked over from the copy machine.

“You hear that? Sounds like something a robot would say.” Jim shrugged, sending a wink your way.

The rest of your co-workers trudged their way into the office, each one wetter than the last. It seemed like the rain you had battled against was just the start of whatever bizarrely named storm had landed atop your city that day. With Pam’s appearance, the poor thing shaking from the cold, you disappeared into the kitchen to pour her a warm cup of coffee, sorting one for Jim as well.

“You, Y/N, are the angel I’ve always needed.” Pam smiled through chattering teeth as you handed over her favourite mug, walking back to set down Jim’s coffee without a second glance.

“It’s mutual, Pam. What happened? You look like you’ve been plucked out the Atlantic.” You asked, walking round her desk to help her take off her jacket and cardigan, both items soaked so thoroughly you were sure you could fill a bath with the water retained in the items.

“My car wouldn’t start, so I had to get the bus… The thing stopped two blocks away, this is the result of sprinting through the rain.” Pam pouted as she spoke, and you smiled sadly at her. She took another sip of her coffee, plopping onto her chair, seeming to be contemplating something over the beverage. “Does Kelly still keep a hairdryer here?” She asked.

“You know, I was about to suggest the exact same thing. I have the morning basically free until my meeting at 11.45. Why don’t I fetch the space heater to keep you warm, and we can dry off your clothes in the bathroom?” You offered, throwing her wet cardigan over your arm, and leaning down to press a kiss to your friend’s cheek.

“God, Pam you look awful.” A voice interrupted your kind gesture, Michael stood by the coat rack, taking off a jacket that looked like it belonged in the artic tundra. “Wet to the core- oh! That’s what she said!” He called out in excitement, laughing at his own innuendo.

“Michael, there’s a call waiting on line two.” You lied, and he raised an eyebrow.

“But-”

“Go be busy and leave Pam be.” You ordered, and Michael nodded, moping as he headed into his office. While you were a nice enough person, you kept up a rather stern persona in the office, and Michael perhaps was or was not a little scared of you. You departed from Pam’s desk, walking to your own and calling Michael’s phone from your own.

“Hello?” Michael answered, and you smiled at him through the window.

“Morning Michael. Have you got the 11.45 scheduled in?” You reminded with a sweet voice, watching Michael frantically look for his calendar.

“Uh… Uh, yeah! I do! Wait a minute, I didn’t schedule this in…” He muttered, dropping the phone and walking to the door of his office. “Thanks Pam.” He called, startling the young woman, but leaving a smile on her face, nonetheless. You put down the phone, quickly checking your emails and making sure you were set for later that morning.

“Jim, you alright to take care of the rest of the printing?” You asked, glancing over and trying your best to keep your heart from melting. Jim was sat at his desk, brow furrowed as he proof-read something on his screen, sipping his coffee rather absentmindedly. “Jim.” You repeated, and his head shot up, the crease disappearing as a smile formed.

“On it.” He responded, giving you leave to find Kelly’s hairdryer and ring out Pam’s cardigan.

“Why does Y/N get to slack off?” Dwight muttered once you had disappeared through the kitchen door. Jim watched you leave for a moment before coming back to, looking over at an unhappy Dwight.

“She’s not slacking off, Dwight, she’s doing a co-worker a favour. You should try it once and a while.” Jim countered, putting Dwight on the defensive.

“I’ll have you know that if it weren’t for me, none of you in this office would be safe.” He was sure in his words, but a phone call came through before Jim could question what his colleague could possibly mean.

11 am rolled around fast, and with Pam’s cardigan ringed out and blow-dried, along with a few other team members’ outer wears (Jim’s tie included), you were finally starting to feel nervous. As much as you enjoyed helping your colleagues out, having even taken off your shoes to get around the office quicker, you realised as you distributed the dry clothes to individuals that you were just trying to preoccupy yourself. This meeting was important, and while you had no doubts in Jim or yourself, you had a feeling you were missing something.

“Water!” You squeaked as you handed over a scarf to Oscar, who raised an amused eyebrow at you.

“Don’t you think we’ve got enough outside?” He asked, and you laughed a little.

“Sorry, for the meeting today. I should clean up some matching water glasses for the clients.” You explained, lifting a sweater from your arm and passing it to Angela. She seemed in a good mood today, perhaps because in between your drying of clothes you had offered her a cat shaped cookie to go with her coffee. Andy had probably brought them in to amuse her.

“That’s a very clever idea, Y/N. We won’t keep you from getting started on that.” She said, and you nodded, knowing that Angela had politely dismissed you to focus on her work. You marched through to the kitchen, lifting the nicest glass tumblers you could find and beginning to wash a set of six, humming as you did.

“I know what you’re doing.” A familiar voice came from behind you, Jim placing a hand on the small of your back for a second to reach around you. “Why are you so nervous? We’re the dream team, cutie. The clients will love us.”

“I know, I know…” You sighed, lifting two of the glasses from the suds and placing them on the drying rack. “I’m just… It’s a big deal, I feel like if one thing goes wrong…” Jim cut you off with a shake of the head, picking up a tea towel to dry off the cups.

“Y/N, you wrote and printed six-chapter binder about the entire order. From processing to delivery, with notes on every possible question they could ask. You then made Dwight and I memorise the binder, like we don’t have other clients.” Jim teased you, placing the dried glasses onto a serving platter. You glanced at the clock, 11.20 am. 25 minutes to go.

“You’re right… Like always.” You gave in, happily defeated, and set down the final tumblers and the water jug on the drying rack, Jim swift on his self-assigned role in your cleaning chain.

“Here, I have an idea.” He began, filling up the jug with cold water. “Why don’t you head to the break room, get yourself something as sweet as you, make sure you don’t go into the meeting low on sugar.” Jim suggested, pulling a slightly damp $5 bill from his pocket. You reached to grab it, Jim then deciding to be an ass and lift it higher than you could reach.

“You keep this up the whole office will know we screw, Halpert.” You warned, batting your eyes as a pretty please. Jim just laughed lightly, handing the money over and grinning from ear to ear. You smirked back. “I love you, you know.” You said quickly, walking from the kitchen to the annexe, waving a quick hello to Kelly, who was enjoying her warm and dry faux fur wrap, while Jim just smiled to himself and went about carrying the water jug and galsses through to the conference room.

You slipped into the empty break room and took a deep breath. Jim was right, there was nothing to fear about this meeting: the clients were great people, understanding, and the shipment was all ready to go in the warehouse. You rolled the cricks out of your neck, stretching your arms up to the fluorescent lights to relieve whatever tension remained. You headed for the vending machine, skirting round a pulled-out chair and stopping to face the machine stocked full of goodies. By the looks of it, the machine must have been refilled in the last few days, and your fingers hovered over the array of treats, stopping on your favourite, one that you hadn’t seen in the vendor in months.

Slotting in the bill, you typed in your choice, and when the change came through, you picked out Jim’s favourite candy too, a little thank you for his calming techniques. You scooped the snacks out the bottom, swivelling around a little to quick and bumping into the chair you had been so careful to avoid coming over.

With the bump, you knocked into one of the tables and ended up stumbling. Your auxiliary foot did it’s best to steady you, but you were falling over. So, you placed down your dominant foot despite the odd angle with as much force as you could, frightened to hit the ground and possibly rip your tight right before a big meeting.

There’s a moment when one realises a mistake before it occurs, but cannot change it. It happened as your strong foot was about a cm from the ground, a pinch. Your mind immediately registered that you were probably stepping onto a tac or upturned loose staple, and you were ready to mumble curses under your breathe and feel a quick nip.

What came instead was blinding pain that forced you to the floor, banging your head on the damned chair that caused all this on the way down. The snacks you have so carefully thought out flew across the room, and you instinctively reached for your foot, only to pull your hand back when you cut yourself. The amount of blood covering your hand was dizzying, and as you finally felt the pain take full control of your head, you did the only thing you could think of.

You screamed.

No-one in the office was expecting to hear a scream at 11.30 in the office, especially not one so haunting. For a second, everyone was still, Michael silencing his rant about Staples, hands across the room moving from keyboards in a moment of terror.

And then the second scream came, and Jim flew into action.

He had been at his desk, making sure he had printed off everything the pair of you needed, and trying to block out Michael’s nonstop talk when he heard it. And, to be fair, he never had heard you scream in terror before, it took him a second to register the sound. And it froze him too, this haunting call, it froze the office. But when the second one rang out, he was certain it was you, and propelled himself towards the breakroom, where Kelly now stood, Pam and the rest o the team hot on your tail.

Jim had never seen so much blood, You were barely awake on the floor, the carpet below you now a crimson colour, one of your hands clutched to your chest. All Jim could see for a moment was the red, but he knocked it quickly from his mind. You were hurting, he needed to get you help.

“Y/N, it’s alright, I’ve got you… Come on Y/L/N, look at me…” He begged, dress pants now stained with blood as he knelt down and lifted you from the ground. A few team members had to step away from the sight, Michael included, leaving Jim with a very select team.

“Stanley I need you opening doors. Meredith, can you find any sort of towels, we need to stop the bleeding… Jesus Christ what is in you foot Y/L/N?” The question was more to himself than to the team, who watched in curiosity at how Jim interacted with you: he cradled you close, he barked orders, the worry on his face was clear.

He was scared for your wellbeing.

“You know, if she hadn’t been slacking off none of this would have happened.” Dwight piped up out of the blue, causing heads to turn as Meredith passed towels to Pam, who carefully began wrapping Y/N’s foot to stop the bleeding, Meredith then moving to wrap Y/N’s hand.

“Dwight, what did you do?” Jim asked, pausing for a moment to look at his desk mate. When he received no response, Jim lost it. “WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO DWIGHT?!” He shouted, all eyes on the pair. Dwight tried to look strong, righteous, but the façade was quickly faltering.

“I-I keep weapons in the office… For protection.”

“Protection?!” Pam snapped. “There’s a throwing star in Y/L/N’s foot, Dwight!”

“I’m good with small, long distance objects.” Dwight shrugged, and Jim looked like he would murder Dwight on the spot if it weren’t for you in his arms. His Y/N.

“Let’s get her to the hospital before she loses any more blood. Pam, you’re driving. Andy, Dwight, take over the pitch meeting. Fuck it up and there’s hell to pay. And Dwight?” Jim called back as he, Stanley and Pam made there way towards the exit. “If anything, and I mean anything, happens to Y/N because of your goddamn bullshit, you will not live to see tomorrow.” Jim warned, and Dwight visibly gulped, watching the quartet left with a lump in his throat.

When you woke up, you were scared. You felt weak, your whole body ached, and your head pounded like no-one’s business. There was also a lot of pressure around your hand and foot, the material you wore felt funny, and you were in a bed that was most certainly not your own.

And then it came back. The pain, the blacking out. You were in a hospital.

You tried to sit up straight, your heart monitor to your right beginning to beep faster and faster, you frantic in your search for any sort of explanation.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright baby, it’s all good.” A voice came from your left, a blurry figure you quickly recognised as Jim running to your side from the corner of the room. You blinked away the tears to see clearly, and he smiled, instantly calming you. “You’ve been through quite a bit Y/L/N, you need to stay comfy in bed.” He instructed, taking a second to disappear before pulling over a chair to sit by your side.

“What-what time is it?” You asked, lifting a hand to hold Jim’s. Your eyes widened. “The client deal-”

“Andy and Michael have sorted it all out. That binder you made really saved their asses.” Jim assured before glancing at the wall clock. “Almost 7… You were out for a while, they had to put you under anaesthesia and everything.” Jim explained, and you took in his appearance completely. He was out of his work clothes, changed into a t-shirt and jeans no doubt brought in by Pam, and despite his dishevelled hair and brow creased from worry, he look his usually self. Except for the bandage around his arm.

“What happened?” You asked, reaching over to touch it.

“You lost a far bit of blood, and even though I should really know it I had no clue what blood type you were. But I’m O Negative, and the hospital needed an emergency transfusion…” Jim shrugged like it was nothing, but you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

“I can’t believe how clumsy I was.” You whispered, shaking your head in shame. You had stepped on something and fallen down, and Jim had to donate blood to you? He was quick to shush you though, leaning over and placing kisses on your forehead.

“Baby, this wasn’t your fault… It was Dwight’s actually.” Jim paused to steady his breathing. “The asshat hid weapons around the office, one of them being the ninja star that got lodged in your foot and required surgery to remove.” You blinked a few times, trying to process the words, make sense of what you had just been told. Dwight… Weapons… Ninja Stars…

When Jim saw the smile on your face, he was caught off guard, but as you started to giggle he soon clicked and joined in the laughter. It was ridiculous, such a bizarre idea that it would only happen at your office building with Dwight.

After a few moments of shared laughter, the tension in the room eased, a knock sounded on the door, a doctor entering the room with a smile.

“Miss Y/L/N, glad to see you up and smiling. I was hoping we could run over your next few weeks, the precautions you’ll have to take until you hand and foot heal.” They asked, and you nodded, Jim pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding your good hand between his, his thumbing stroking your knuckles and the rain continued to storm outside.

The rest period wasn’t long, and after two weeks your hand had healed to a sufficient degree that you could use crutches and get back to work. You first day back on the job compromised of a surprise party, cake, Dwight apologising multiple times and very little work.

What was best about it all though? Jim, right by your side, the whole office now quite aware of where you stood with each other: which was, no matter what, side by side.

Bonus, you got to keep the throwing star, and it has since been framed in the office, rightly labelled as ‘How the office found out Jim and Y/N were dating’.

#jim halpert x reader #fluff #jim halpert #the office #fanfiction #john krasinski

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

To Look On Tempests and Not Be Shaken

Summary: In the wake of a blazing row and an empty apartment, Aaron finds Spencer's well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare's sonnets and recalls the morning after their wedding, when Spencer sat on his lap and read Sonnet 116 to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fighting and making up, married hotchreid, relationship dynamics, introspection, fluff, shakespeare/literature

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

(Set in S11, AU in which Haley/Aaron divorced in S1 and Aaron/Spencer married in S4.)

It wasn’t really either of their faults: work was relentless at the moment and they hadn’t had any real time for one another in weeks. That’s not really a consolation to either Spencer or Aaron, however, when they’re in the middle of a blazing row that has them both drowning in flames of anger and passion, unable to see one another for the smoke filling their apartment.

“Aaron, this is the fourth case in a row that you’ve stayed at the office past 4 in the morning to wrap up the paperwork,” Spencer shouts, frustration rising in his chest as he tugs at his hair, already feeling far too overwhelmed. Aaron is looking as unbothered and stoic as he always does during their fights, and even though Spencer is fully aware of the emotion that will be stirring under his carefully constructed mask, it doesn’t make it any less exasperating.

“You know as well as I do that this sort of work load is completely unavoidable,” Aaron says lowly, anger finally audible in his voice. It’s not as satisfying as Spencer had hoped. “We can’t keep rehashing this same old argument. I’m the Unit Chief of a team in one of the most prestigious FBI departments. I have a responsibility.”

“You have a responsibility to me and Jack as well,” Spencer cries, fury bubbling over as he thinks of Jack and just how much he deserves. “We deserve your time just as much as fucking serial killers do.”

Aaron visibly flinches as Spencer swears, an occurrence rare enough to indicate serious emotion. “This is exactly the argument I used to have with Haley, Spencer,” he says harshly. “I refuse to have it with you, too. If you can’t handle it then maybe you should leave, just like she did, hm?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe that means there’s an element of truth in it then, Aaron?” Spencer asks, voice breaking slightly as the scale tips away from uncontained ire towards hopeless misery. He turns away from his husband, trying in vain to conceal his crumpled face and damp eyes. “And you know I would never do that to you; don’t you dare throw your unresolved issues back in my face.”

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Aaron says, voice and face hardened; Spencer can almost see the walls he’s building up again, the stubborn refusal to concede any point. “You’re not being rational. I’m going to bed.”

His stomach twists with the desperation of the situation as he says quietly to Aaron’s turned, retreating back, “What happened to never going to bed angry?” He doesn’t turn back around.

⭐️

Aaron waits in bed for Spencer to join him, fully intending to feign sleep the moment he enters the bedroom but nevertheless longing to know he’s safely tucked next to him in bed. When he hears the quiet click of the front door and checks the time to see he’s been waiting for almost 25 minutes, though, a panicked feeling fills his chest. He throws the covers back and treads out to the living room, only to be met with a decidedly empty room. If he was a more spiritual man he’d say he could still feel the angry aura of their previous argument lingering over the furniture. Really what he feels is the inevitable, empty vacuum a home without Spencer in it is bound to house.

He sits down on the sofa, just on the wrong side of too cold in his threadbare t-shirt and underwear, and buries his head in his hands. The problem is that he knows Spencer’s right. He and Jack both deserve better than this kind of life, of course they do. Jack deserves a father, Spencer deserves a husband. Admitting such a fact, however, requires humility, vulnerability, failure almost. It means telling his boss that he needs reinforcements, that he can’t continue with the 80+ hour weeks, that he’s not as strong as he used to be.

That sort of thing takes a courage that feels so far out of reach, though, and he’s left defending a place he doesn’t want to be in against people he loves more than anything in the world.

Forcing himself out of his miserable carousel of thoughts and regrets, he pulls his head from his hands and catches sight of a note on the coffee table, his name scrawled across it in Spencer’s handwriting. Immediately, his heart sinks: it’s unlikely a love letter. It’s far more likely it’s a note of good riddance, an announcement of abandonment.

Turning it over in his shaking hands, he reads:

I’ve gone to stay with Derek and Penelope for the night. I will pick up Jack from Jessica’s in the morning, on my way home. I love you. Spencer

He immediately feels guilt at ever having thought that Spencer would be cruel enough to leave him in the same way he’s been left himself one too many times. His husband has an incredible amount of love filling his heart, and he’s simply incapable of such cruelty. It’s been a fear of his for many years, that Spencer would grow unhappy but be too kind to leave, prioritising Aaron above himself. He knows it’s Haley’s fault for embedding such fear and doubt in his heart all those years ago, but he can’t help but berate himself for ever doubting Spencer.

It’s not like they’re about to break up. When he considers the situation logically, he knows that. He loves Spencer, Spencer loves him, and ultimately, he’s going to relent. He’s going to draw on whatever shreds of courage remain in his tattered and beaten soul and do whatever it takes to make his family happy, to give them what they deserve. He just has no idea how to cross the gaping chasm that stands in the way of reaching that eventuality.

He goes to place the note back down on the coffee table, but his eyes land on the book it had originally rested on: Spencer’s well-loved copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He picks it up, sort of absent-mindedly, thumbing the pages the love of his life has read countless times, holding on to the book as an emotional connection to Spencer. It’s travelled their entire relationship with them; he remembers it laying on his spare bedside table back when Spencer visited his apartment in the dead of night, terrified of anyone finding them out. He’d read the poems over and over again, long into the night. Aaron can’t help but smile at the memory of Spencer’s unique quirks.

Eventually, his absent fiddling lands him on a page Spencer’s visited time and time again. A worn leather bookmark Aaron recognises as one of Diana’s gifts marks the page titled Sonnet 116. Tired and lovelorn, he begins reading.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare

((Modern Translation, if you’d prefer:

I will not admit that interferences are possible in the union of two people In love. Love that changes when circumstances do is not love, Nor if it bends when someone tries to destroy it: Oh no! It is an eternally fixed point, Which may watch storms but is never shaken by them; it is the guiding star for ever lost ship: Its distance may be measured but its quality cannot be. Love does not fall victim to Time, though features of youth Are eventually entrapped by him; Love doesn’t change as hours and weeks race past, But endures until death. If this is wrong, and I’m proved incorrect, Then I never wrote, and no man ever loved.))

The words come rushing back to him as soon as he reads them: it had been a contender for Spencer’s chosen poem at their wedding. He’d eventually gone with I loved you first by Christina Rosetti, the perfect compliment to his own choice of I love you by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, but on their first morning as a married couple, laid in their warm and comfortable bed, Spencer had pulled out this very book and straddled Aaron’s thighs, reading it to him with an earnest expression. He remembers the air being punched out of his chest as he’d looked up at a bright-eyed 27-year-old Spencer who had been through so much already but still held all the grace and innocence he did on his first day at the BAU.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear runs down his nose and splashes on the page. What really tips him over the edge is reading Spencer’s small, chicken-scratch annotations around the poem, noting different points in their relationship, events between the two of them that prove the words of an Englishman born 400 years earlier.

It’s so easy for him to doubt how much Spencer loves him - insecurities and the trauma of his separation from Haley consume him far too often - but he’s holding the tangible, physical proof. This is undeniable, this is the evidence his doubtful, damaged heart yearns for, and the furious, raging, endlessly tumultuous waters inside him settle for the first time in weeks.

⭐️

The second Aaron’s alarm goes off at 6am, he gets started on the plan he’d formed as soon as the words of Shakespeare’s sonnet had sunk in. The email he’d composed the night before is the first thing his laptop screen displays when he powers it on, and he presses send on the uncompromising, demanding letter he’d addressed to Cruz. Finally feeling good about the entire situation, he turns the coffee maker on and gets dressed; Spencer’s an early riser but he’s determined to get to Derek and Penelope’s before he leaves.

The relief is freeing, and he feels light for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t quite realised just how much it had all been weighing on him until he’d finally found the courage to cut it free.

Armed with two coffees and Shakespeare’s sonnets, he heads downstairs to the taxi he’d ordered the night before. The city races past in front of the slow and steady sunrise, dawn marking a new chapter in Aaron’s life that he’s determined to make worth it. Slowly the thick of the city fades into the suburbs, and the taxi slows down as they wind through the maze of identical looking streets until they arrive at Derek and Penelope’s home.

He pays the taxi driver as quickly as possible and sighs in relief at the sight of Spencer’s car still on the drive as he climbs out of the vehicle, carefully balancing his two coffees, still warm in their thermal mugs. Fully aware that Derek and Penelope are absolutely going to chew him out the minute they lay eyes on him, he hesitantly rings the doorbell.

“Man, what the hell?” Derek exclaims, clearly exasperated as he swings the door open, revealing a sorry looking Aaron Hotchner standing sheepishly on his doorstep.

“I know,” Aaron replies immediately, trying to portray as much regret and understanding with his body language as is possible when holding two coffees with your husband’s most prized possession perched precariously under your arm. “I know, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I need to see Spencer.”

Derek looks thoroughly put out just being in Aaron’s presence, but after a moment or two of hesitation he relents, opening the door wider to let him through. “Alright,” he sighs. “I’ll ask if he’s okay to see you.”

He parks Aaron in the living room and then leaves to go and find Spencer. Only seconds later, he hears the hurried click of kitten heels on the wooden floor and internally cringes; if facing Derek was bad, facing Penelope will be infinitely more painful.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Penelope shouts before she’s even fully entered the living room, “I have never, and I mean never been more disappointed in you. I don’t think you fully appreciate how lucky you are. You may be my boss but that does not mean I will not chew you out when you screw up this bad. Anyone who makes my Spencer cry is in my bad books for at least two weeks. You are in the dog house, you understand me? The dog house.”

She’s thankfully cut off from continuing her rant by Spencer’s shy, hesitant appearance at the doorway. Penelope immediately rushes over and gives him a hug, whispering something in his ear that Aaron doesn’t catch but makes Spencer giggle. She reaches up to ruffle his hair before patting his cheek fondly and casting a furious glare in Aaron’s direction as she vacates the living room.

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, breaking the silence left in the wake of Storm Penelope. “I bought you a coffee.”

“What are you doing here, Aaron?” Spencer asks, clearly a little confused but still accepting the drink.

“I know you said that you’d come home this morning but I had to come and get you,” he replies, standing up from his seat on the couch and taking a few steps forward. “Look… your note last night, it was on top of this book. And in my absent-minded cloud of misery I was looking through it and came across Sonnet 116.”

A flicker of recognition lights up Spencer’s eyes as his face softens a little at the sight of his beloved book.

“Do you remember? Climbing into my lap on our one day wedding anniversary and reading it to me? Back then I was partly distracted by the gorgeous man in my arms but last night… Spencer, the words hit home in a way I haven’t felt before. Not to mention your annotations; I felt like I was reading a journal of our love story, which I know was probably your intention all along.” He shakes his head, trying to get back on track. “I’ve been an idiot, a rotten fool, and I’m so sorry. I emailed Cruz this morning.

“You did?” Spencer looks up, surprise filling his features for a second before a small, hopeful smile takes over. “What did you say?”

“That I couldn’t continue with the workload and I needed reinforcements. That I would work the same hours for two more weeks to allow them to find an adequate solution, but after that I’ll be reducing my hours to align almost directly with yours,” he says, tentatively gauging Spencer’s reaction.

It’s made pretty easy for him when Spencer’s hesitantly hopeful smile blossoms into a wide grin, relaxing his posture as relief overtakes his body and he throws himself into Aaron’s arms. Aaron buries his face into his husband’s curls and lets himself breathe easy, feeling infinitely better with Spencer wrapped up in his arms again, just where he belongs.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Aaron whispers as he pulls Spencer impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry, too,” Spencer sighs, nestling his face further into Aaron’s neck. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. But, you’re here now, and that’s what counts.”

“I love you, you know that?” Aaron murmurs, pulling away slightly so he can look Spencer in the eyes, trying to convey his sincerity as well as possible.

“I know,” he smiles. “I love you, too.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Aaron says, patting Spencer’s side gently. “Let’s get out of here before Penelope comes to stab me with her high heels.”

Spencer giggles at that. “I don’t know, maybe, I’d like to see that,” he teases, digging his finger into Aaron’s ribs for good measure.

“Oh, stop it you,” Aaron smiles fondly before kissing the top of Spencer’s head, feeling happier in this moment than he’d ever thought possible again last night. Peace is finally restored in Aaron Hotchner’s heart, all thanks to one rather ancient English playwright and an academic for a husband. “Let’s go and get Jack,” he says, longing to have his whole family back together, to restore the equilibrium of a tumultuous few weeks.

Spencer leans down to kiss his shoulder as they walk out of the Morgan-Garcia household, and it’s enough to keep him warm the whole way home.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

#hotchreid #my writing #hotchreid fic #hotchreid writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid

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stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland · 3 years

Text

🙂 - ɟ

Hiii babies and dear Anons 👋🏼🤗 Here’s another post with the answers to the asks Mari sent me. Enjoy 🙃

Hi @sawwyouuinadream 👋🏼😄 I’ve already talked about how C exaggerated for the sake of the songs in my ‘💭- ɟ’ post (8th question) [click on the #f anon of this post to see all my others]. As for the rest, you need to understand the difference between our normal life and theirs, especially when they were in the group. You can’t compare your life and what you would do with your girlfriend in their place simply because they’re completely different things. Any parent of famous artists who gets the chance to spend time with their child when they can, seizes the opportunity. I saw it with 5H, I saw it and keep seeing it with Ari, I saw it in Taylor’s documentary, and many others. But not all artists have this luck.

5H were far from home, always around the world, without parents most of the time, and with fans who recognized them. Unlike the other parents who didn’t always have the opportunity to be with them because of work, the most present were Sinu, papa H (Jerry, Ally’s dad), and mama Dre (Andrea, Normani’s mom; as much as Sinu and continued as Sinu even after the hiatus). The only difference is that Camila suffers from depression and variants of OCD (diagnosed in 2015) and for these reasons, Sinu has always tried to be as present as possible. She only became a regular presence after C’s explosion in early September 2016. And, honestly? I don’t know where Camila would be without her mom. I don’t think she could have gotten through most of the things. I don’t think she would be in the industry anymore.

Now, I’d like to remind you of something else: we only see 5/10% of their lives. And that 5/10%, is ONLY what they want to show. You said that Sinu always accompanied C on dates? That’s not true. We saw Sinu with them a couple of times when they went shopping, once for dinner at Katsuya’s, and once at the beach in Australia. And these are literally only five times in what, four years that C was in 5H? Do you really think those were their only dates? Or that those can even be called dates and not just spending time with the mother-in-law? Come on. Try to look at it differently. Try to look at it from a broader perspective. Try to look at the big picture.

I send you a hug 🤗

No, dear Anon. Lauren was together with Camila. That whole conversation was based on Camila teasing Lauren. That episode was another confirmation for me regarding their first kiss. Lauren answering “Kind of” because Camila literally nearly passed out from nervousness is one of the things that amuses me the most.

Oh and, dear Anon? Bread Simplified, aka I don’t know what lips are, was just another one of her PRs. I don’t know how this is still something to doubt about. 75/80% of all Hollywood couples are fake, and as I said earlier, we only see 5/10% of what they want to show us about their lives. I’ve said this before and will write it again: “Any PR relationship involving Camren is simply this: fake, and for publicity and narrative purposes”. Real relationships, dear Anon, are not public ones. They’re the ones we don’t see.

I’m still a little bit confused about your ask actually if I have to be honest, dear Anon. I’ll answer based on what I understood.

None of the five of them are with Syco Music anymore because it has integrated with Sony Music Entertainment and therefore doesn’t exist anymore.

Only Camila and Lauren are with Syco Entertainment simply because only the two of them were asked to sign. Simon never cared about the group per se. He wanted Lauren and Camila from the start and he got them. He created an opportunity to prepare them for that world and for their eventual solo careers. How? By creating 5H. By creating three products (C, L, and 5H) at once that would make him money.

Because, dear Anon, as twisted as it sounds, it’s part of their publicity. I’ll explain myself better. Camren sells. From the beginning. A large part of the 5H fans became their fans BECAUSE of Camren. The labels still use them when needed. For labels, it’s okay to get people talking. It’s okay to get them to speculate, take their name out there, create buzz, create gossip, everything’s okay, EXCEPT confirming it. The important thing is the publicity. The important thing is to sell what they want to sell, and many times, they use Camren to do it. And it works. It works EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Plus, I think both C&L also had fun doing it to “keep the boat afloat”. More in the past than now tho.

I know about the rest of the pictures because it was said a while back by a guy who said he was yet another ‘insider’, dear Anon. This guy even published an email that was supposed to be from 2017 from TMZ to Roger in which they were supposed to have a meeting to discuss the extension of the agreement made not to publish the dossier. It’s actually old news, and it indeed seems strange to me that you’re only finding out now 🙃 Has anyone ever talked about it here on Tumblr?

But anyway. That he was an insider, I have my serious doubts. That the email picture was specially created, perhaps by him himself, I’m sure of it because it looks more fake than a plastic flower. That TMZ actually has a dossier on them, is very likely because this is another one of the many ways paparazzi agencies make money.

Dear Anon, I guess this ask of yours is due to your reading of my last post. If you’ve read it, then you have also read the sentence that I will now copy: “Everyone’s ready to point the finger when they don’t even know what is really going on behind the scenes”. You’re doing the same thing. You’re doing the same thing because all I see here is Roger did this and Roger did that, but you don’t know that. You don’t know why he did certain things. You don’t know why he didn’t do certain things. You don’t know why he handled some things in one way and some things in another. You know nothing, yet you’re pointing the finger.

I understand that you’re speaking based on what you see, believe me, I understand, but you’re judging without knowing. We know this PR is for Skittles, so what do you know if the deals made were exactly for Roger to promote him more? What do you know if the deals made were exactly for Roger to do or not do certain things? And more importantly, what do you know that Roger no longer has Camila’s best interests at heart? Just because of this show? Come on!

I’ll try to be clearer this time because I’ve noticed that many, like you, didn’t get the big picture of my last post. The labels decide everything. Camila can choose certain things, propose ideas, and be more liberally creative, but she doesn’t have the last word. If Camila comes up with the idea for a video she wants to make, but the labels don’t like it, then she can’t make that video. If Camila wants to perform a song in a certain way, but the labels don’t approve of a thing, then Camila has to change that thing in order to perform it. If the labels say no, then it’s no. Periodt.

Camila accepted the PR. COVID has changed things. She couldn’t expect such a thing. Hell, none of us could have expected a worldwide pandemic. But things turned out this way, and now she’s miserable. The choice she had initially made has backfired on her, and there’s nothing she can do to change that because it’s a legally binding contract. Neither she nor Roger, whom I remind you is also an attorney, can do anything about it.

I made this little scene for you. I hope that with this, you’ll see things a little more clearly.

*During the meeting*

“And that’s the idea” Roger says as Simon continues to look at the various set designs and documents by nodding

“So.. what do you think?” Camila asks anxiously and with a small hopeful smile

“I think we only need to change a couple of things, but for the rest, everything’s fine” Simon replies

“Really?” Camila asks excitedly

“Yes, really” Simon replies with a chuckle due to her enthusiasm “Good job, Camilla”

“Yay!” Camila cheers towards Roger. She’s too happy to care about the cringe due to the mispronunciation of her name. She’s used to hearing him call her that for years now.

“What are the changes you were referring to?” Roger asks him

“Oh, you know, this and this” Simon replies, turning the set designs towards them “It’s a little too…” “Gay?” Camila asks with a laugh, finishing his sentence

“We knew, but she wanted to try anyway” Roger says, indicating Camila with his palm “So, by changing those two things, we’re ready to go? We’re gonna shoot the video in a week”

“Yes, I approve. Everything’s all right” Simon says, handing the set designs back

“Thanks, Simon” Camila says, getting up together with Roger ready to leave the room

“Oh and, Camilla? Remember what we talked about” Simon tells her as soon as she gets to the door

“But-” “Remember what we agreed on” Simon says, interrupting her

With a sigh, Camila nods and turns to look at Roger who smiles at her sympathetically. With another sigh, this time of acceptance and determination, Camila positions herself behind Roger, who’s bending his knees to get down and is bringing his torso forward.

“Um.. what exactly are you two doing?” Simon asks, confused and curious at the same time

“When you tell me to jump, I ask you ‘how high?’, right?” Camila answers him as she climbs on Roger’s back

Simon nods with an even more puzzled expression.

“I’m helping her jump from higher” Roger explains to him

*the end*

This is just a silly example, but I hope it helped you understand the dynamics better. I also copied and pasted another piece of my previous post as a reminder: “If Roger does certain things that you may not like at first glance, before accusing him, please wait. Wait till you see why he’s doing what he’s doing, and then if you really don’t like it, then point the finger. But if you have to do it for no good reason, then don’t. You’d only going to look worse after. Same thing for Camila. They have a reason for doing what they do, so just wait before speaking and judging.”

Have a great day too, dear 😊

I don’t think you’re gonna like my analysis, dear Anon, but you asked for it, so here it is.

I’d like to start by saying that Thinkin’ Bout One is a half-demo. It’s not a completed song and it’s from ‘The Hurting. The Healing. The Loving.’ era, so even before the album title changed to ‘Camila’. I’m talking about the very beginning. When Havana wasn’t even remotely ready to be complete, or recorded if that’s why. When I Have Questions had just been recorded or was about to be recorded. I’m talking about the end of 2016.

The demo is pretty messed up because there is no intro, verses, pre-chorus, chorus, etc., like in a normal song. The quality and the way the demo is structured reminds me a lot of the GarageBand Camila times. To be honest, I think that’s how it was recorded. I think Camila created the demo on her own and then she abandoned it once she started recording other songs that would adapt and fit in the true direction of the album.

The reason I said I don’t think you’re gonna like my analysis is because this song, it’s not about Lauren. I have reason to think this song is for someone else, but without dwelling on that, I’ll explain why in my opinion it’s not about Lauren through my interpretation.

“Where you at

Come baby show me where you at

Finally got time off work

Tryina disappear off the map with ya

What’s love gotta do with it

This my vacation time

Bathin suits and tan line

Thirst trap for your timeline”

Camila is asking this somebody where they are. Camila was still working with Lauren in 2016. She knew where Lauren was because she was with her, this somebody wasn’t. She’s asking them to meet and spend those days she had free together. She’s asking them to go together to a place where they could be off the radar. A place with a warm climate. And she’s not asking them to see it as a romantic getaway, but just as a vacation. Love was the last of her thoughts given what she was going through with Lauren that year.

“Num num num num num

Pass the henny not the rum

I go num num num num num

If I decide to give you sum

Talkin talkin talkin

All this time that we been rockin

Hey”

“Sip a lil this

Sip a little that

Now this ain’t nothin but a fact

I need you come and take control”

This vacation that Camila proposes also included alcohol and other activities, if you know what I mean. I’ll explain the slang she uses here to indicate those two very things.

In case you didn’t know, num is the slang for making out. Henny is the slang for Hennessy, which is a brand of cognac. It’s used a lot together with coke for a simple two-ingredient cocktail, and indeed, Camila specifies that she prefers henny over rum (rum and coke) in her simple two-ingredient cocktail. Sum is the slang for some. Now that you know, I believe you can put the pieces together and better understand the puns she used here.

And that’s all. There’s nothing about Lauren for me. There’s nothing deep about it. Just another distraction. And for me, for my timeline, this event happened during the 7/27 tour break. The break that lasted from July 6 to 26 before starting the North American part.

Hello to you too dear Anon 😄 No, I personally don’t think those scenes represent her experiences exactly as they happened. I think she and Dave (Meyers) represented her experience in a cinematic and straight way, but with symbols that represented Lauren.

For example, the fact that Dylan plays the piano is to represent an artist, aka music, aka Lauren. The flower on the back of his shirt in the kiss scene: Lauren. The book’s scene you mentioned? The scene is represented in winter with snow, yet in her memory, they’re both represented dressed in a light way, aka ‘In Miami, where winters are hot’ (Sangria Wine’s verse 2) [or even in L.A. since the winter climate is much more similar to the spring one]. They both like to read, so the book was a perfect clue. Alcohol and fights were represented in a much stronger way than I think they happened in reality because we all know that Lauren is not a violent person. The moon? There’s not even the need to explain it. Oh and, the fact that she’s holding hands with herself at the end of the video is also a representation of what we saw in the Havana music video. The “I do love you. But I love me more” that we saw there. With that scene at the end of the Consequences music video, Camila shows us that she has finally managed to love herself.

So dear Anon, to me, that video is just an artistic representation of how things went. And thanks. I hadn’t watched that video in a long time, but I went to re-watch it for you, so thank you, dear 🥰

🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍🤸🏻‍♀‍

Aaand I’m done 😄 I hope I was helpful in this case too. As always, I’m available for those who have questions, so feel free to ask 😊 Thanks once again to you for asking me and Mari for making this exchange possible 😍

As usual, remember to be kind, to others and to yourself. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. I send you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗 I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️

___

This was awesome, thanks again F. BTW, the marks on the asks is a small detail I couldn’t erase but you can read them anyway, so sorry bout that.

#submission #f anon #anon #asks #answers #that small story with Simon

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jessmt · 4 years

Text

Trust in Me

Summary: You've always had trust issues. In this world, it's all for one and none for all.

Or, at least you thought it was, until Jesse came along.

A close look into Lake's mind throughout season two and afterwards

Notes:

So, fun fact! This piece was originally meant for a zine that I'd applied for, but I never heard back from them, so I just assumed that it...wasn't happening anymore? Never even got a "sorry, we went with someone else/we're full" email back from any of the administrators. Oh well.

I've always had a soft-spot for fics written in a second person perspective. It's hard to write well, but some of my favorite fics I've ever read were second person fics. I've always found them so in-tune with the characters' and reader's emotions. I hope I did it justice, because I love Jesse and Lake an unhealthy amount.

AO3

You’ve always had trust issues.

Yeah, yeah, you know how edgy that sounds when you say it out loud. But you don’t mean it in the same way as those narcissistic teenage boys who call themselves lone wolves and act like an ass to everyone they meet for no reason.

You don’t have a choice. If you were naturally the approachable type with groups of friends in the double digits, you’d be just as happy. You’ve never told anyone, but if you’re going to be honest with yourself, you think you’d actually be happier that way. But it’s not, and it’s entirely because you know you can’t.

Everyone who takes a good look at you for longer than, say, a quick glance, automatically assumes two things about you. One, that you’re going to hurt them if they approach you, and two, that you’re a fugitive. And while there are the passive few who would rather not get involved at all, because they don’t want the Flecs to take them in beside you (even though that’s not how it works at all), most of them report you on sight. The worst of them will grab the closest reflective surface they can find and shove it in your face. Which is never fair, because all you’ve done since Tulip set you free is aimlessly wander around the train.

As a matter of fact, you don’t even trust Tulip that much. You’re sure that part of it is still because you’re holding a grudge against her for being forced to live as her reflection for thirteen years, which, okay, she couldn’t control. But it took you breaking down sobbing in front of her for Tulip to agree to help you at all, and that was already after one of her friends had called the Flecs on you.

You’re never just you. You’re a copy, you’re a reflection, you’re a criminal, you’re a sliver. Nobody ever gives you enough time to even ask you for your name, let alone give you enough time to even think of one. You’re not a person, you’re a mistake. Nobody cares about you, and if you need to shut everyone else out just to keep yourself alive, then so be it. If it’s gotta be all for one, then it’s gotta be none for all, because nobody cares about you.

Or so you thought.

Jesse Cosay changed your life in ways that you can’t describe. Yeah, okay, he never called the Flecs on you, and even when he had the chance to turn you in he refused (and actually listened to your story before he made that decision, Tulip), but that’s not what you’re talking about.

Anyone can be a good person. Anyone can just say “no, that’s awful, I’m not just gonna turn her in”. Most of the passengers on the train probably would’ve said the same thing, if they thought that helping you escape could help lower their number. Jesse was willing to help at the expense of his number going up, but that’s still beside the point.

He’s the first person to actually listen to you. He’s a chatterbox for sure, but he genuinely hangs on to what you have to say.

“I’m MT,” you’d told him when you first met. It’s the first real name you’ve ever given yourself, and you still kind of hated it, all things considering, but the more times he said it and the more enthusiastic he sounded when he used it, the less you started to hate it.

But the less you started hating your name, the more you realized how fleeting all of this is going to be.

The more comfortable you let yourself become, you realize, the quicker it’ll all be taken from you. Once Jesse’s number hits zero, you’re right back where you started. You’ll be stripped of your name, since nobody will give you the time of day to listen for it. You’ll be a copy, a reflection, a sliver.

You try not to let it bother you, because you already know what’s going to happen if you do. That’s how Tulip ended up on the train to begin with, by pretending that she wasn’t bothered by her parents separating. I’m fine! She’d claimed, but the longer she tried to convince herself she was okay, the less and less she spoke to her own best friend.

And, well, maybe it’s a bit premature to call for sure, and you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it if you ever said it out loud, but Jesse’s the closest thing you’ve got to a best friend. If you stop talking to him a few days before you’re never gonna see him again, you’re both gonna be miserable, which is just going to make matters so much worse.

You bury the feeling down, take your anger and frustration out on the Flecs, and that disgusting parasite, and pray Jesse doesn’t notice.

But Jesse “I’m friends with everyone I meet” Cosay notices right away, and he says the words you never expected to hear from anybody.

“I’m not just gonna leave you here with the Flecs chasing after you”.

Not “oh, I’ll try”, or a sympathetic hug, or a teary-eyed premature goodbye hug as everything’s just hitting him for the first time. “I won’t”, he promises, like he’s been planning this since the first time they encountered the Flecs in the Map Car.

He wants you to come with him. It’s not a fun hypothetical to imagine to pass the time, like all of his mirror questions had been. It’s a demand, rather than a question, because he knows that you’ll be miserable if you stay.

Your cheeks burn, and you’re speechless.

You regret nothing, you tell yourself, as tears pour down your cheeks. You’re covered in dirt and mud and every equivalent of blood you can think of, but you regret none of it as you swing your crowbar at steward after steward. You don’t care anymore, you tell yourself. You don’t care if you have to take the damn train apart gear by gear.

You already lost Jesse, and when the damned train still wouldn’t give you a number after everything, after you’re sure you’ve gone through more trauma than all of the passengers combined, there went your hope. And you’re not the kind of person who feels sad and gloomy when you’re feeling hopeless, oh no. You get angry. You get pissed. You run into the next room, guns blazing, ready to kick the shit out of the next person who even looks at you the wrong way.

Hope and positivity are a rarity for you, so when it’s forcefully ripped from your hands, you’ll do everything in your power to take it back twice as forcefully. It’s embarrassing, really, that you’re an angry crier, because you really need these sons of bitches to know that you’re paying them back tenfold.

You never fully understood what people meant by blind rage until you do right now. You just keep swinging, and swinging, since nobody’s paying attention to you anyway. Someone’s gotta cave eventually, right? Destructive behavior is a sure-fire symptom of trauma, isn’t it? Someone’s gonna come by and realize you’re acting out of hurt, and give you some random number so you can work out your problems and eventually get out of here, right?

Well, you’re half-right.

“Hello!” One-One chimes, eerily cheery for the situation at hand. “Please stop destroying my stewards”.

“Unless you want me to write up your obituary”, his gloomy counterpart chimes in.

And...threat aside, a tiny part of you is relieved. He’s Tulip’s friend, so there’s a chance he’ll understand, right? All you need to do is just explain everything, and you’ll be free to go, right?

You couldn’t be more wrong. He’s just babbling on about how you’re just there to help, how you were never really Jesse’s friend, and you’re close to crying again. You want to believe it’s out of anger, because you know that can’t be true, but you’re too burned out on anger and too exhausted to really fully convince yourself of anything.

Until One-One pulls up his list of passengers, and just two little words on his screen are enough to make your heart stop.

In-Progress.

Jesse Cosay: In Progress.

If One-One is talking to you at all on the way over to the Tape Car, you can’t hear a word he’s saying. Your heart is beating so hard in your chest that it’s making your ears ring, and as One-One carries Jesse back to the Number Car, you’re pretty sure you’re actually vibrating, because you can’t believe this is actually happening.

It’s an indescribable feeling, knowing that he cares about you. It’s indescribable, knowing he doesn’t take the word promise for granted.

He came back for you.

He literally went through hell and back, just to spend more time with you.

Now you feel like crying for an entirely new reason.

Jesse Cosay is something else.

You’ve been living with him for six months now, and he still insists on making every day a new experience for you. “Fourteen years on a train is nothing compared to four months off of it!” he’d exclaimed exasperatedly when you asked him about it. That’s not how it works, but you never argued against it.

It’s a sweet gesture. He’s gone out of his way to make you as happy as he possibly can ever since you broke down sobbing the first day you were off the train. You were able to wait until Nate went back home, thank god, but it was the ugly, uncontrollable kind of sobbing that overpowers your body so much that you end up sprawled across the ground looking like a complete and utter fool because you’re too overwhelmed. You’re still not entirely sure if you were overwhelmed in a good way, or overwhelmed in a bad way, but you remember pretty clearly the way Jesse held you in his arms and helped you to your feet when you were ready.

You hadn’t even told him what happened yet, but he was already promising you that you’re safe, it’s never going to happen, and that he’s personally going to make sure that your experience in Arizona is a significantly better one than the one you had on the train. That made you laugh, because literally anything would be better than what you went through on that train, but you know that he meant it.

You told him, later that night, and for the second time that day he held you in his arms as you shook and focused on nothing else but steadying your breathing. He didn’t say a single word unless you prompted him to, or he wanted to ask a question in the shyest tone of voice you’ve ever heard. It made you laugh, every single time, and you had to lightly tap on his wrist every time to silently tell him It’s okay, I’m laughing, and no, it’s not a stupid question.

It’s….adorable, how much he cares about you. And not at all in a sarcastic kind of way, either. He’s got this really sheepish smile, and he’s always brushing his hair out of the way, and when he hugs you to comfort you he touches you really lightly like he’s afraid you’re going to flinch even though he already verbally asked if it’s okay to hug you. It makes you laugh, when you think about it too much, and you’re painfully aware of the blush on your cheeks that accompany your laughter.

You can’t help yourself. He’s so goofy, and chatty, and cheerful, and friendly, and so the exact opposite as yourself from when you first met. But he’s so sweet, and honest, and caring, and...trusting. He trusts so easily, and where you would’ve rolled your eyes in his direction less than a year ago, it’s your favorite thing about him today, because you don’t know where you’d be today if it weren’t for his trust in you.

You’re not great at expressing your feelings. You’ve always known that about yourself. You suppose that’s probably the trauma talking, because if you’d even dared to express yourself to anyone on the train you’d be a pile of sand by the next morning. But you’ve been stewing in your feelings for Jesse for nearly two months, and you’re not sure how much longer you can take keeping it in. When you come from a place that always valued telling the truth, even if it was difficult, it’s a hard habit to break.

Okay, that’s not a hundred percent true. A few nights into your stay at Jesse’s place, you stumbled down the stairs in a fit of insomnia looking for a cup of water just to try and see if walking up and down the stairs would tire you out. Jesse’s mom was in the living room watching television, and you paused, unsure of whether you should keep going or if you should sneak back up the stairs and try again in an hour.

“Oh, hello, Lake”, she said, turning from her seat on the couch to face you. Well, that answered your question. “Is something wrong?”

You scratched at the back of your head as you made your way towards the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep,” you replied, digging through the cupboard looking for a clean cup.

Mrs. Cosay patted at the couch beside her. “Oh, well you’re free to join me on the couch and see if my boring old movie helps to put you to sleep”.

You snorted at the idea, but figured it was probably a better idea than jogging up and down the stairs to tire yourself out.

You don’t remember the title of the movie now, but you do remember that it was some rom-com from the 80’s, since Tulip was never interested in those. Which, of course, was exactly the reason you wanted to check it out.

Spite really is the best motivator, you’d told yourself, but you ended up enjoying the movie a lot more than you thought you did. You’d tried watching a few other movies like it, just to see if Mrs. Cosay had just been watching a particularly interesting movie, but it turns out that no, you just really have a soft spot for romantic comedies. Maybe especially the really cheesy ones set to pop music from the early 2000’s. You’d deny it for sure if you were ever asked about it, but it was...interesting, to learn that kind of thing about yourself.

Tulip had never really been one for relationships, and here you were, living with your best friend, a class-A example of those soulmate AU fanfictions you definitely haven’t read. It’s not that you necessarily believe in soulmates, or anything, it’s just that you’re well aware that you experience a lot of….feelings, when you read them.

You’ve wanted to tell Jesse how you feel about him all week. Ever since his school let out for the summer, he’s been in an even cheerier mood than usual, and every time he directs that smile in your direction you swear you just want to pull him into your lap and kiss him.

But every time you get close to confessing, you freeze. Your ingrained trust issues always stop you in your tracks. If he says no, your friendship will be ruined and you can’t live there anymore. If he says yes and then you break up, you won’t be friends anymore. If if if if.

You hate that word. If. You wished it wouldn’t exist, or at the very least, that it would stop repeating itself on loop in your head. You shouldn’t need that word, because you know that Jesse is different. You know that things are going to be okay.

You trust him. You trust that you’ll be okay.

He said he wants to surprise you today. The way he’s practically bouncing up and down on his feet and pacing back and forth while he’s waiting for you to lace up your boots makes it seem like he’s about to take you on the most extravagant adventure you’ve ever been on. You’re laughing again, and pause to lace your boots up even slower, just for the sake of his exasperated reaction.

You flick him in the forehead, for good measure, and you’re out the door. He insists on walking, for the ~element of surprise~ , which, okay, has got to be the cutest, dorkiest thing he’s ever done. He swears it’s not a walk, but it’s not like it makes a difference to you. You’re walking side by side, and your hands are almost touching, and part of you is wondering if it’s purposeful on his part.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been walking when Jesse stops in front of….an ice cream parlor.

“Surprise!” he beams. “One of my friends from school works here, and he was just telling me they restocked last night before closing, so we can get any ice cream you want”.

You honestly don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re the reason his family keeps running out of ice cream and that this will not, in fact, be your first experience eating the miracle of ice cream, or whatever. You settle for rolling your eyes, hoping that he won’t take your silence for a no.

Actually, speaking of silence, there’s nobody else here yet, and if you’ve learned anything from all of those dumb movies, there’s really no better time to just go for it then when you’re alone.

“Jesse, wait” you say, reaching out to take his hand in your own just before he can head up to the counter to order. “We should talk”.

“Yeah?” Jesse replies, turning to you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah”, you say, bringing your hands up to eye level. “Everything’s great. I just...wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you, Jesse”.

He grins, and you swear to god it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. “Aww, you’re my best friend too!”

Your heart jumps in your chest. You take a few subtle steps closer, and hope he notices. He does, but doesn’t take a step back. Okay, that’s a good sign. “No, Jesse, I mean…” you pause, and the little devil on your shoulder is whispering all the things that can go wrong again. You shake your head, to clear those thoughts, and when you look up to meet his eyes again your foreheads are practically touching.

“I…” you start, and he can tell that you’re getting anxious, because he’s placing his free hand on top of yours.

“You…?” he asks quietly, his head tilting quietly to the side.

You take a deep breath. “Jesse...I trust you”.

And all of a sudden you want to curl up and die. You hadn’t meant to say trust. You had meant to say something else, but you were too busy arguing against yourself that you didn’t realize it until it was already out of your mouth. You want to backtrack, you want to apologize, you want to take it back, but you can’t, because if you try to take it back then it’s just gonna sound like you don’t actually trust him, or-

Jesse cups a hand to your cheek, startling you back into reality. He’s smiling, but not as exuberantly as he had been earlier.

“I trust you too,” he says, and leans forward to gently kiss you on the cheek.

#my writing #infinity train #jesslake #infinity train book 2

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btsbaereacts · 4 years

Text

Namjoon Soulmate AU: Dreams

Namjoon Soulmate AU: The man you’ve been dreaming of is the kindest person you’ve ever met. When you realize who he is, you start to lose hope that you’ll ever meet him.

. Master List . Synopsis Page . Jin . Yoongi . Jungkook . J-Hope . Taehyung . Jimin .

Soulmate Link: Dreams

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Honestly, this was a weird one for me to write. Not that I don’t love it, I just struggled with getting it going I think. I’m in grad school, and I have a ton to do today, but I really wanted to get this out to you. LMK if you want a part 2, because I feel like it’s really unfinished....

*not my gif*

The night of your 17th birthday, you were too excited to fall asleep. You couldn’t wait to meet your soulmate. Finally, at 2am you managed to fall asleep.

Soon enough, you woke up. Instantly disapointed that nothing had happened in your sleep, you started getting ready for school.

“Here’s your breakfast,” you mom said pushing a bowl of oatmeal towards you. You mumbled a ‘thank you’ before digging in. “How did you sleep?”

You knew what she meant. On your 17th birthday, you and your soulmate were officially linked. You would be able to talk to them in your dreams, and as you got closer to meeting them, the connection would grow stronger and stronger. Eventually, you would be able to see them, then finally be able to touch them. “Nothing happened,” you didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, honey,” your mom touched your shoulder softly, “this happens sometimes.”

She explained that in cases where you were older than your soulmate, that you wouldn’t be able to hear them until they also turned 17. She also mentioned that your soulmate needed to be asleep too for the link to work.

The first 6 months after you turned 17 were extremely disapointing. You still hadn’t heard your soulmate, and it was miserable. Not only did you feel bad for yourself, but all of your friends and teachers had also heard.

“Hello?” You heard someone ask softly.

“Yes? Yes! Wait can you hear me?” You walked around the dream, praying it was real.

“Yeah, hi. Are you my soulmate?” The voice asked. It sounded hopeful and calm.

“I guess so,” you smiled to yourself, knowing they wouldn’t be able to see you.

“Wow, did you just turn 17 then? I’ve been waiting for so long.”

“No,” you replied, a bit confused, “I’m nearly 18 now.”

“Oh,” the voice mumbled, “why couldn’t I hear your before?”

“I’m not sure…”

After a few months of occasionally being able to talk to your soulmate, you had figured out that it was not a connection problem, but a timezone problem. You weren’t close enough to them yet to be able to talk about yourselves personally, but you had guessed that they must live somewhere where your sleeping and theirs almost never matched. You had begun napping more often just to talk to them.

You were nearly 23 years old, and you could clearly hear your soulmate's voice. His voice, and especially his laugh, made you smile as soon as you heard him in each dream. As time went on, you started to be able to make out an outline of him.

The first day you saw him, and really saw him, you were shocked at how handsome he was. He was tall, with light hair, and dimples that you couldn’t stop looking at. Instantly though, you knew you had seen him before. Maybe he just looked familiar, but deep down, you knew him.

“Lila,” you asked your younger sister, “what’s that band you’re always listening to? The Korean one?”

“Oh, BTS!” She smiled.

“Do you have pictures of them?”

“Obviously, let me show you,” she said, pulling out her phone and scrolling through what looked like hundreds of pictures of the boys. You gasped, seeing his face again.

“Lila, you’re like my best friend. And I don’t want you to freak out, but I have to tell someone.”

“What, Y/N, you’re scaring me?” You knew you shouldn’t tell her, but she was only 3 years younger than you and basically your favorite person in the world.

“He’s my soulmate. I finally saw him last night.” You pointed at Namjoon.

“Namjoon is your soulmate? WHAT!” She tackled you. “Oh my god, this is so cool, I’m so excited!”

“I don’t think it’s going to work out.” You said.

“Y/N, don’t think like that. Does he want it to work? Talk to him, I’m sure you guys will be able to figure it out.”

“Y/N,” Namjoon called to you.

“Hi,” you smiled. You wanted to bring this up with him, but you didn’t know how. “I know who you are.”

“Oh, you figured it out,” he said, bringing his hand to the back of his neck.

“My younger sister is obsessed with you guys, and I knew I recognized you.”

“And you?” He looked at you hopefully.

“I’ve only really listened to your music when I’m with her honestly.” You mentally facepalmed, thinking you should have at least listened to 1 of his songs.

“Oh yeah,” he laughed awkwardly, “that’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“So, I don’t know how this is going to work.” You didn’t want to sound so pessimistic, but honestly, he was a superstar.

“If we can see each other, it means we’re closer to meeting. Don’t give up yet; not before we get to meet.” You couldn’t bear to look at him, but you could hear the sadness in his voice.

“How can we meet? We live so far apart.”

“We’re going on a world tour in a few weeks, come to a show?”

“I didn’t get tickets.”

“I can get you tickets.” He reassured you. You felt yourself stir, and quickly said goodbye before waking up.

Waking up one morning, you received an email. Inside, were two tickets to the BTS concert. You and Namjoon were finally able to exchange contact information in your dreams. It definitely meant that you would end up going to his concert and meeting him.

The day of the concert came quickly, and you and Lila were ready. You had picked out your outfits, your hairstyles, makeup, and you had rehearsed meeting Namjoon in person in your head hundreds of times. He had explained in a dream that you would go to the fanmeet after the concert to meet him. He told you to go last in line, so that you could have more time to talk to him. He wasn’t the first in the group to find his soulmate, but he was the only one who had a foreign soulmate. The other boys could just find their soulmates in Korea without creating all of these plans to meet.

The concert was amazing. You knew it would be, but you couldn’t help but marvel at all of the talent. Namjoon was especially talented, you thought. The way he smiled and laughed at the other boys while they ran around the stage made you smile. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about you in the audience. You knew that he was busy, so there was no way. The boys were clearly joking about something, but without knowing any Korean, you didn’t think anything of it.

“Sorry ARMY, Namjoon is afraid to look at the left side of the stage,” Jungkook laughed into his microphone.

Instantly everyone began screaming, asking him why. “Oh haha,” Namjoon laughed awkwardly. “I have a friend watching.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “That’s you,” Lila shoved against you. You couldn’t look at the stage. You didn’t want this to be the first time you really saw each other.

After the concert, you dragged Lila to the back of the fanmeet line. She whined a little bit about having to wait so long, but she understood. After over an hour of waiting, you could start to see the boys. Your heart sped up. There he was, looking as perfect as ever.

“Hi, I’m Lila!” She nearly yelled at V and Jungkook, the first boys at the table. They smiled, quickly autographing her album, sighing that you were the last ones in line.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You didn’t have a copy of their album to sign, so you just sort of awkwardly nodded at them.

“Oh. OH.” V’s eyes went wide looking at you. “Namjoon!”

Namjoon slowly looked over from the album he was signing to see you standing at the end of the table. You saw his face light up, and you couldn’t help but blush. The other boys hurried the last of the fans out of the room, and before you could say anything, Namjoon was running around the table and throwing himself into you.

“Aw, I got a picture!” Lila squealed in the background.

“Wow, you’re so beautiful.” Namjoon said, looking deep into your eyes.

“I can’t believe this,” you whispered to him. You were afraid to let go of his hands, like he might walk away and never come back.

“Let me introduce you,” he said, pulling you towards the other boys. Lila had clearly already found a new group of friends in them as they talked animatedly. “This is Y/N, my soulmate.” Namjoon said with the biggest smile on his face.

After the world tour was finished, you couldn’t wait to be able to have more time to Facetime your boyfriend. You still lived at home, while he would be going back to Korea. You hadn’t talked much about the future, but you knew it needed to come up eventually.

“Y/N, I miss you so much.” He breathed into the phone. You could hear how exhausted he was, but knew that he couldn’t go a day without talking to you, even just for 5 minutes.

“I miss you, too. You know, now that the tour is ending, we should probably figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Yeah, do you want to come to Korea? I know you can’t just move here, but just for a vacation? We can talk in person and figure it out. I can get you and Lila airfare.” He mentioned. You loved how understanding he was. You didn’t not want to be with him, but you knew that picking up and moving to Korea was a huge change. You didn’t speak any Korean, you wouldn’t be able to get a job there, and you didn’t know anyone else.

“Yeah, that would be fun. Obviously, Lila will be excited.” You laughed. You hoped that you could figure everything out in person once you landed.

Tag list (open): @mizz-kraziii @cmxo03 @kaepjjang365

#bts soulmate au #bts soulmate #soulmate au #namjoon soulmate au #bts #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts writing #namjoon #rap monster #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon soulmate #soulmates #au #fanfiction

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paradisobound · 4 years

Text

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 4

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 2.7k (this chapter)

Warnings: None for this chapter

Updates Every Tuesday at 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

Thanks to my lovely beta @phanandpenguins who has been doing a great job of editing these chapters for me!

READ ON AO3 | READ ON WATTPAD

Phil is having a heated argument with someone when Dan arrives to the office on Thursday morning. There is tension in the air and Dan feels like everyone is too hyper focused on the argument that is taking place to focus on their own work. Dan had never seen the guy before, but he stands tall and broad over Phil as he hovers above the desk. He looks mean, and definitely like someone Dan should avoid so he makes a mental note of it.

“We sold out of the Marmon book in the first day,” The man says. “What kind of a rookie mistake is that, Phil?”

“It’s not my rookie mistake!” Phil shouted back. “It was your superior who wouldn’t allow for us to print more than 5,000 copies when I requested 7,500.”

“Don’t start blaming it on…”

Dan stopped listening because the arguing did nothing but make the anxiety in his chest weigh heavier and heavier. He opened his laptop and loaded up the manuscript that he had been working on for his author and pulled up some of the edits he had made. He was beginning to scroll to where he had bookmarked to look at next but the arguing grew louder and he got more and more distracted.

He turned his head and saw Mitch was working unphased next to him, scribbling some red marks onto a printed storyboard, “Hey, Mitch?” Dan asks and Mitch turns his head, “So I can’t help but listen to that fight and I guess I’m confused why it’s a bad thing that Phil’s author’s book sold out so fast? Isn’t it a good thing that you’re making sales? ”

Mitch furrowed his brows and then perked up and opened his mouth, “Yes and no, really. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How so?” Dan asks, genuinely curious.

“Well, if a book sells out the same day that it comes out, then that’s not good for the author’s sales because it’ll take another week or two for us to do another printing by the time the printer gets around to it. By that point the book will have sadly been forgotten by most people. So it’s better to have just enough copies and do a second printing than to sell out and have to wait with nothing out there to be sold.”

Dan nods his head because that does make a lot of sense, “So is the man Phil is arguing with in charge of that process then?”

“Yes!” Mitch answers with a smile.

“So...who is he?”

“Oh! That’s…”

“Me.”

Dan stiffens and turns his head to come face to face with the man he had just sworn he would avoid. His dark hair is sticking straight up in places and his eyes are so dark they’re like black holes. Dan instantly feels more intimidated than before.

“Damien” He says, adding on before Dan can catch his bearings. “I’m the head of the sales department here at Onyx. I take care of how many copies your book gets.”

Dan just stiffens further and forces out a smile before Damien turns on his heels and walks away, leaving a trail of overconfidence in his way that left Dan feeling more uneasy. Dan turns to Mitch, his mouth agape, “Is...is he always like that?”

Mitch shrugs, “Actually no. He can be tough when he wants to be but honestly, he’s also nice. Just probably have to get to know him. I’m sure he was on edge from his conversation with Phil.”

Dan nods and agrees because sure, that’s honestly probably it . So Dan turns back in his seat and goes back to working on his manuscript again.

He gets through quite a bit of it before his hands start to cramp and his stomach starts to rumble. When he stands up from his desk, he takes a second to look over towards Phil’s desk but he notices Phil isn’t there, which being honest is a bit unusual , Dan thinks. He makes his way into the breakroom and stuffs some money into a vending machine to get a lousy cup of noodles for his lunch.

Dan takes the container of noodles and opens the top and pours some of the hot water from the coffee maker into it. He lays the lid back closed and sits and waits for his noodles to start working their magic to give him a hint of satisfaction for his hunger. He knows he hasn’t been eating properly but he genuinely doesn’t have the time to make himself something else besides quick food.

People from the floor come and go as they please which leaves Dan sitting all alone at the table with no one to talk to but he’s not entirely upset about that either. He’s been so busy lately that having this short break was actually a bit of a reprieve.

His noodles become finished far too quick and he pushes a couple pound coins in the vending machine for a candy bar and begins to nibble on that just as he leaves the break room. He goes to his desk and takes a seat, looking to Phil’s desk on instinct and for some reason, Dan feels a little bit calmer seeing Phil now sat behind his mounds of papers, running his hands through his hair.

***

Dan decides to leave the office as soon as he sends the manuscript with corrections back to his author. He emails her the corrections and then prints out a copy for himself to take home and look over one more time. His deadline is rapidly approaching and he wants his first time being an editor for this author to go as smoothly as possible.

Dan’s exhausted, and as he walks off from the elevator, he feels like the weight of the world is on his body, holding him down and barely keeping him upright. He needs some proper food and maybe a few drinks. Probably also some water. Has he even drank water in the last week? He doesn’t remember which probably says a lot more than it should.

He shuffles his feet as he walks and he rounds the corner to the exit when he sees Phil and Damien talking next to the doorway. Damien is enjoying a cigarette and Phil is stood with his arms crossed. Dan steps back and hides behind the corner because he doesn’t want to intrude.

Are they arguing? Is something else happening between them? Dan feels uneasy all over again and his stomach starts to hurt at the thought. But he wants to get home, and in order to leave, he has to pass them which means he’s going to have to walk by them and deal with whatever they are saying.

He turns the corner and begins to walk past them when he sees Phil start to laugh, throwing his head back and Damien laughing along with him, cigarette smoke funneling from his lips. He puts out his cigarette and looks at Phil and just as Dan is trying to walk by, he hears, “ Are you up for that drink?”

Dan is suddenly confused. So Phil and Damien were friends? But why were they screaming at each other earlier. It had to be just work things, right?

“Oh Dan!”

Dan stops in his tracks at Phil’s voice calling after him.

Dan turns around and faces Phil who is zipping his jacket up a bit further on his neck, “Damien and I are on our way to the bar for a few drinks if you want to join?”

Dan shakes his head and declines, “No, I just want to get home and get some rest.”

Before Phil can say anything, Dan just nods goodbye and hikes the hood up on his jacket and leaves the building into the bitter cold of December evenings. He puts his hands into his pockets and walks half of his commute, only taking the tube when he physically couldn’t stand the cold on his cheeks anymore.

His apartment is chillier than he would care to admit so he turns the heat on a bit higher when he passes through the front door. His stomach is rumbling so he goes to his refrigerator and opens it up to see nothing but wilted greens and spoiled food. He shuts the door and lets out a sigh.

He could order out, but that would require spending more money and he doesn’t have a lot of that at the moment. He ends up not finding any food suitable for eating and he flops himself down on his couch, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before he has to go to his miserable bed.

Dan’s eyes are just starting to close when his phone begins to buzz in his pocket and he pulls it out to see an email from his author.

Re: Finished Manuscript Edits

Hi Dan,

Just finished looking over your edits and I’ve made some adjustments accordingly. Please let me know what you think. I would love more feedback.

Best,

Veronica “Roni” Tully

Dan sits up straighter on the couch and immediately lunges for his bag at the end of the cushion. He opens it up and grabs his laptop and boots up his email. He loads her edits and her storyboard and sees that she has made a lot more corrections and so he hits print on the document and hears the printer in the corner whirl to life.

He throws his laptop to the side and sets down on the floor with the manuscript sprawled in front of him on his coffee table. He grabs his red pen out of his bag that he’s learnt he needs to carry with him at all times and uncaps it and begins to get to work.

He tries to work diligently, taking into consideration everything he’s learnt from his few short weeks of being a graphic novel editor. But he soon can feel like he’s not doing something right and it takes away any of his ability to finish the rest of the manuscript.

As much as he doesn’t want to, he knows he needs to get ahold of Phil somehow. He has Phil’s number from their brief exchanges at work but he doesn’t want to text him, especially when Phil just said he and Damien were going out for drinks.

Dan will need to email him the manuscript. He quickly grabs for his laptop again and loads his email and attaches the file and sends it to Phil with the note reading that he would like Phil to look over the manuscript and help him a bit in making corrections. He no longer hits send when his phone vibrates and he looks down to see a message on his screen.

Phil: I’m right next door. Bring me your corrections

Dan feels mortified. He can’t just go next door and bring Phil the corrections because now he feels like a moron for emailing him them to begin with! He sits chewing at his nails until a knock appears on his door and it startles him. He gets up and rushes over to it, opening it.

“I’m right next door,” Phil repeats as soon as the door opens. “You literally just have to walk two steps.”

“I...I…”

“Where are your corrections?” Phil asks, extending his hand. “I’ll look over your corrections but I’m not going to do them for you.”

Dan’s cheeks heat up and he blushed as he turned on his heels and rushed back to grabs his corrections from the coffee table and hands them to Phil. Phil shuffles through them and then stills, “Come over to my apartment.”

Dan furrows his brows, “Why?”

“Just...come with me and we’ll look over the corrections together,” Phil says, stepping backwards and not allowing Dan to say otherwise.

Dan swallows and follows him out of the door to his apartment. Phil pushes the door open and they step inside. Dan looks at the surroundings around him and is actually impressed by how nice everything looks. Everything looks so precise to him…. so not Phil.

“So first off,” Phil says as he sits down at his kitchen table, “tell me why you made the corrections that you did.” Phil flips through the pages a bit more and then stops and shoves a page at him. “Especially the ones on this page.”

Dan looks down and sees that this is the page where he made the most corrections, but that’s basically because he found this part a bit boring compared to the rest of the story. He stutters for a moment and then finally says exactly that, “I thought this part was boring.”

“Why?” Phil quizzed.

“Because it didn’t go with the rest of her story. The pictures don’t do anything for the rest of the novel.”

“So why did you suggest these specific corrections?” Phil pressed.

Dan stuttered a bit but he failed to answer right away and Phil noticed. He picked up a red marker and uncapped it with his teeth, blowing the cover onto the floor as he marked for two different panels to be switched around, “This is all you needed to do,” Phil says. “The rest of the corrections don’t actually enhance the storyboard like you just explained to me.”

“But I thought…”

“Dan, you can’t do these corrections half-assed.”

“I’m not doing them half-assed!” Dan countered. “I did exactly what I remember you teaching me to do!”

Phil shook his head, “You’re doing too much.”

Dan feels like his head is spinning. So is he half-assing his work or doing too much ?

“I…”

“Here,” Phil says, shuffling through the pages again, “Let’s go through each page together.”

Dan nods his head, feeling even more mortified than before and let Phil flip through each page correcting and fixing more.

By the time they were done, the storyboard had much more red on it than before and many corrections crossed out and redone. He looks down at it and feels like his heart is sinking out of his chest because he feels like he’s just completely shit on his authors work.

But the truth is that his author’s work is fantastic and that’s why they need these corrections to push them past fantastic to amazing. Every author wants to be a best seller but this is the only way to do so.

Dan gathers the papers and puts them into a pile and stands up from Phil’s kitchen chair, “Thank you.”

Phil looks up at him and nods, “You’re welcome.”

He starts to walk to the door but is stopped when Phil’s voice cuts through his head, “We still haven’t talked about us, ya know.”

Dan feels the color drain from his face and he swallows down the knot in his throat, “There isn’t anything to discuss.”

“So you’re not even gonna talk about how we used to love each other?” Phil asks, standing up from his chair. “You’re going to just ignore that…”

“You broke up with me,” Dan says, turning around to face Phil, “You’re the one who broke my heart.”

“Oh is that how you remember it?” Phil asks, his voice rising in volume. “You’re remembering that I broke up with you .”

“Because that’s what happened!”

“Dan,” Phil shook his head, “You’re the one who literally slapped me across the face and then ran out of my house. I never heard from you after that.”

“I…”

“I know you don’t remember it,” Phil says, his voice going tense, “But maybe it would be nice if you tried.”

Phil all but pushes him out before Dan can get an answer and he stands on the other side of Phil’s door with the storyboard hugged to his chest and tears coming up to his eyes.

Dan had spent years trying to repress the memories of Phil and what had happened, and there was no way in hell he was going to let himself remember them all over again.

Even if it cuts deep inside his core.

Just as he turns to go to his apartment, he hears footsteps coming down the hallway and he turns his head just in time to see Damien walking towards them, and Dan momentarily forgets how to breathe. He grabs the door handle for his apartment and jumps inside, shutting the door just in time to hear the knocking of Damien’s hand on Phil’s door.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #first love fic #second chances #angst #fluff #princesslexi763fics

25 notes · View notes

arlakos · 4 years

Text

Discovery, an Anti-Hero Queen Bee story.

Marinette groaned as she again arrived just in the nick of time into class. With the Bee Miraculous still presumed missing, Hawkmoths Akumas and the rumors of an unknown hero stopping crime gangs, the scarlet heroine in disguise was really tired as of late, to the point where she had little time to do any sketches for new clothing ideas. It honestly felt a bit miserable.

Surprisingly though, being a Guardian was ok, at least for the time being. Fu had left an email and a password for her, revealing a digital copy of the Miraculous book but completely decoded, allowing her to read the book and learn about the Miraculi and the Guardians. Fu also left some videos explaining some important tibits about the order and the Miraculous in the event he could not explain it himself. While she hadn’t got the chance to read the entirety of the book, she hoped that it would help her in stopping Hawkmoth. And hiding the Miracle Box had also been easy as well for the time being.

Still, her easy Guardian Life didn’t help with her considerably more difficult normal and hero lives, as she came into class with an extra-strong coffee and a loud yawn.

“Marinette. I am glad you got here on time, but I do recommend that you set your alarm early.” Ms. Bustier said, with a small frown on her face.

“(Yawn) Sorry Miss Bustier,” Marinette replied sleepily.

Ms. Bustiers face shifted from disappointment to concern. “I also recommend that you take the opportunity to get some proper sleep. While I understand that you have responsibilities outside of school, it should never impact your ability to function. Please do take the time to get some proper sleep. I can call your family to recommend they put you off work for a while if you wish. I understand it can be busy at times at your family bakery.”

“Wha-Nono, it's fine! My family doesn't make me work all the time. I have just been... spending too much time working on some designs! My imagination leaves me up all the time” Marinette lied, hoping she sounded convincing enough. “It’s not an issue, I’ll just stop working on the designs for a while to sleep. Besides, I’m fine now! I’ve got a cup of coffee. See?” she said as she raised her latte.

Ms. Bustier frowned in worry. “Very well. But if you keep coming to school tired, I will have to call your parents.”

“Got it.”

“And drinking a coffee doesn't count as resting. It’s not healthy.”

“Yes Ms. Bustier,” Marinette said as she sat down next to Alya. The bell rings, and everyone gets their books out.

Later on, as they get into some course work, Alya leans into Marinette. “Girl, are you alright? You have been coming into class tired as of late. And coffee? Since when did you like coffee?”

Marinette raised her cup in response “It’s an acquired taste.” she replied as she took another sip, “Besides, like your one to talk.” Marinette said as she points towards Alya’s own.

Alya smiles. “Touche Marinette. Anyway, have I got news for you...”

“What, another Akuma fight? If I had a euro for every time you sent me another video-”

“It’s even better!” She leans into Marinette’s ear “I managed to get a video of the unknown hero!”

“What?!” Marinette refrained herself from yelling as she whisper-yelled to Alya.

“It’s true, I managed to get a video as I went out with my family the other night. Apparently, they managed to stop another drug deal as it was going down. The cops had shown up when I saw the hero leave. I managed to get a recording of the hero leaving, but I couldn't really tell much of it-”

“Ahem! Alya, what did I say about talking in class?” Ms. Bustier said from the front of the class.

Alya sheepishly grinned “Sorry Ms. Bustier. I’ll stop.”

“Please see to it that you do. You have your midterm exams soon, and I want you all to be prepared.” Ms bustier says as she turns to the board, saying the last part to the whole class.

As Bustier is writing on the board, Alya slips a note to Marinette.

“Talk after class.”

Marinette nods and looks at the board...

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

After class finishes, the two friends sit outside at one of the tables.

“So... the video?” Marinette asks.

Alya nods, and shows the video of the hero leaving the crime scene, Alya pauses on a part where the details are much more clearer.

“Sorry, this was all I could get. They were really far, and the quality started to drop. Isn’t it exciting?!”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Marinette says as she squints her eyes at the picture.

“Girl? You ok?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Hey, could you send me a copy?”

“Sure! No problem! Normally you don’t really tend to like these kinda things but that new hero does seem interesting huh?”

“Yeah. They are.” Marinette says as the looks the image on her own phone.

Based on the look of the hero, it was clear from the get-go that the hero was female, given the particular body shape. So with that far being known, that narrows the search down by half, which was still a lot.

What was interesting about the hero was that the suit had none of the key characteristics that most of the other heroes had about their costumes. Even from the glimpse in the book about the Miraculi, it had little to no identifiable markings of what animal it represented. The suit seemed to be mostly a black or very dark color, and despite it seeming to have a few bright-colored stripes, it was impossible to tell what color they were as there was very little lighting.

Worse still, the hero was wearing a helmet, so it was impossible to tell if the hero was wearing a miraculous on their head.

So this left Marinette with some details

1.The hero was a female.

2.The suit had no identifiable markings, color scheme, or miraculous, so its possible that the wielder wasn’t a miraculous wielder.

3. Another possible idea was that Hawkmoth kept the Bee Miraculous and that he akumatised someone with it to be his agent to infiltrate the team. Although considering that the hero made no move to get close to the miraculous team, it was very unlikely. Though it could just also be possible that Hawkmoth hated drugs. That would be a shocker.

“So, what do you think?” Alya asked.

“It’s cool Alya. I just think there isn’t much info for you to go by with anything.”

“But still! Wouldn’t it be cool if we had a new hero?! Fighting alongside the forces of Ladybug and Cat Noir and Rena...” Alya trailed off, as her smile shifted into a frown.

Marinette reacted normally, but inside she grimaced. After Lila joined Hawkmoth, she had to tell the heroes what had happened to them after the battle, and how it was likely none of them could become heroes again due to the risk of Hawkmoth knowing who they were. Alya had taken it the worst, with her crying on Nino’s shoulder after the explanation. Alya had ended up taking out her anger on the now-abandoned Lila after the events. Marinette wasn’t sure what had happened, but after Alya left the bathroom after she had confronted Lila, the latter came out later with tears on her face and a look of fear. She had ended up leaving school a week later and moving to another one nearby, which she assumed was because of Alya threatening Lila with something, likely threatening to reveal her as a willing accomplice working with Hawkmoth.

Marinette however, waited normally and waited for her to recover.

“S-So! Still. A new hero huh?” Alya said although Marinette could tell she was not in the mood like before.

“Are you ok Alya?”

“N-nothing! I-I’m fine. I-I...I have to go.” Alya said as she ran off to the bathroom.

Marinette looked at the retreating Alya with worry, before looking at the photo containing the masked hero...

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

“Tikki?”

“Yes, Marinette?”

Marinette finally returned home after the long day of studying.

“Is it possible for a miraculous wielder to change their outfit’s colors?”

“Well yes, Marinette. Any wielder can change the design of the outfit to fit their-”

“I’m not talking about the design, I’m talking about the colors. Can they change those?”

“Huh, why do you ask?” Tikki says as she munched on a macaron.

“This new hero that has come out... she started to appear after Hawkmoth akumatised Miracle Queen, but she doesn’t seem to be anyone I know of... the suit she has also had stripes.” Marinette says as she shows Tikki the photo.

Tikki glances at the photo, then back at Marinette. “Why is that important?”

“Because only Queen Bee has stripes Tikki, or at least stripes of those type.”

“They didn't look yellow though. Are you sure its Chloe? It could just be some other person. Besides, I don’t think they were wearing a miraculous.”

“I dunno. I mean, I never saw her wear a miraculous to school, but that doesn’t mean that she couldn’t have worn it. So Tikki, is it possible that a suit can change colors?”

“Hmm... I don’t know?”

“You... don’t?”

“Nobody has ever tried it. For the most part, all wielders have chosen their designs based on what they are comfortable with, but none of them have ever attempted to change the color of their suit. It might be possible, but nobody has ever tried to do so.

“Well, if we are going to find out, there’s only one way to do so. Tikki, spots on!”

As Tikki entered the miraculous, Marinette focused.

‘Ok Miraculous. Please make my suit to be as stealthy as possible. I don't care how you do it, just make sure it works and that it has little of my color as possible As far as I’m concerned, I want no one to be able to recognize me as Ladybug!’

A bright flash emanated the room, and as the light fell, Marinette looked at herself in the mirror... and shock filled her body.

If Ladybug's bright, spandex covered body was the most detectable outfit she could have made, then this outfit was the complete opposite. The suit’s color was almost completely gone, leaving a black suit with dark red rings, but unlike the other suit, weren’t completely filled.

Her face, however, was also indistinguishable from her normal Ladybug self. She wore a hood over the top of her head, and her mouth was covered by a face mask, though it did not impact her breathing. Her mask was still there, but the red was extremely darker than usual.

To sum it all up, she looked nothing like her usual self.

“Tikki...Spots off.” Marinette said though it was a surprise when the mask changed her voice somewhat to sound different. As the suit fell, Tikki came out in shock.

“Oh my... you really can change the color of the outfit.”

“Yeah Tikki... but now this just makes the situation worse. It’s likely that whoever is the hero is using the bee miraculous, as we now know it can be disguised.”

“But that still doesn’t answer the question of who the person is. For all we know, it could be someone else.”

“Hmm... maybe,” Marinette said to herself. She suddenly ran off and grabbed her phone, along with photo book

“But I know someone who can help. Tikki, spots On!”

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

Max Kante smiled to himself as he finished making the final adjustments to Markov’s power container. As he closed the panel and replaced the rechargeable power back, Markov came back online.

“So... how do you feel?” Max asked.

“Quite efficient!” Markov declared making a spin in the air. “Thanks to the modifications you made, I know consume power at a rate of 20 percent less than the previous design. According to my calculations, I should be able to remain functional for up to an additional hour!”

“I’m glad! But it shouldn’t be a major problem for now! Let's go and recover Markov, I have to be ready tomorrow for another day of test revision.”

Max went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, afterward he slipped into a pair of pajamas as he felt the air from the open window on his body-

Wait a second, Max didn’t open his window-

“Max!”

Max yelled as a person dressed in black appeared in his hindsight. Max fell backward in shock

“Ah! Who are you? What do you want?! Please don’t take my stuff, I have been working on a new gadget for too long to lose it! Max, activate the-”

“Nono, please stop! I’m- goddamn this stupid mask and its voice change!” The intruder said before they pulled it down, revealing a familiar face to Max. “I’m Ladybug.”

“Ladybug? Oh thank god you’re not here to steal my stuff. Speaking of which, why are you here and what is with the change in the outfit? According to my calculations, there is a 95% chance that people would mistake you for a criminal-” Max said before being interrupted.

“Yeah I know, I was trying something different with the outfit and I forgot to change it back. But that’s not the problem. I need your help.”

“Oh sure,” Max said as he stood back up “What is the issue.”

“I found from an anonymous source a picture of the hero that has been working at night. It’s pretty low rez, but I was hoping you could help me find out who it was?”

“That is possible, but what’s with the worry.”

“I have a feeling that the person is the wearer of the Bee Miraculous. That Miraculous was lost when Hawkmoth akumatised Lila into Miracle Queen”

“...That is a good point.” Max said after a brief pause. “Alright, send me the photo.”

Ladybug used her yoyo to send the picture to Max, having gotten the photo from her own phone. Max plugged his phone into the computer, and the image showed up.

“Normally, such photos would be impossible to be recognized from a distance. But thankfully as it is still digital, I can use my enhancement application to clear up the photo and make it more visible. Also, it's really good for photoshop.”

As Max got to work with the app, a minute later, the image started to finally become clearer. Ladybug could see the stripes on the outfit, and although they were positioned differently, she could clearly see they were yellow, a trait shared only with the Bee Miraculous. Though the person wasn’t wearing a miraculous

“There, does this help in your goals?” Max, asked.

“Not yet,” Ladybug replied.

Marinette gave Max a photo.

“I got this from a girl named Marinette, who takes a lot of photos of your class.”

Max took the photo in confusion. “This is a picture of Chloe. Why would you-” realization crossed his face. “Oh. So you think this new hero is Chloe.”

Ladybug nodded. “Not entirely, but I have to be sure. Do you or Markov have an app that can match body types.”

“Uh... W-Well not at the moment but-”

“Not to worry!” Markov exclaimed to Ladybug. “We should be able to come up with an app with that function pretty soon. If you give us at least 16.5 hours and 10 minutes, not only will the app be done, but we should have the results for you as well. Since we already have your hero contact number, we’ll send you the results as soon as possible.

Ladybug smiled. “Thank you Markov. And thank you Max, for helping with the image.”

“Not a problem, we’ll have the results after school for you.”

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

The next day Marinette had class as usual with Alya, who for the most part recovered from yesterday, but still seemed melancholic. Still, it didn't stop them from spending the rest of the day as normal.

For lunch, however, Alya was busy doing something, so Marinette was left alone to eat by herself.

As Marinette was finishing off her sandwich, she saw Chloe sitting by herself on another table, probably deciding for once to eat at school instead of the hotel. Marinette decided to take an opportunity. Marinette walked up to her at the table.

“Hi Chloe.”

Chloe turned to Marinette. “Dupain-Cheng” she replied rather cordially, although a little surprised.

Marinette was a little shock expected a sneering voice instead of a non-insulting tone, but it either Chloe wasn’t in the mood today, or she actually was trying to be nice. ‘Though to be fair, it was probably the former,’ Marinette thought as she looked at Chloe.

“I’m sorry, is there something on my face? Spit it out, I’m in the middle of having lunch.”

‘And there it is,’ Marinette though. Sighing, she pulled out her phone. “Sorry Chloe, I just wanted to show you something. I got this photo a couple of days ago. I just wanted to see if you recognized the person in the photo.”

With a raised eyebrow, Chloe carefully took the phone from Marinette and had a look at the image. While she was looking, Marinette was noting if Chloe seemed to recognize the person in the photo or anything else that could give her away.

Chloe however, seemed just as confused by it as she was because she showed no signs of recognition. ‘Either that or she is really good at hiding it,’ a doubtful part of her mind though.

“It’s a person wearing a suit and a helmet. What am I supposed to know about it?”

“Me and Alya were talking the other day.” Marinette said “We were having a look at the image, and the suit, while mostly black, happened to have some bright colored stripes. Naturally, the image was taken in the dark, so we couldn’t be sure. But they did seem to be… yellow.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Look. I’m going, to be frank. We think the person was using the Bee Miraculous.”

That seemed to get a reaction out of Chloe. Her eyebrows frowned, she was gritting her teeth as she stared down angrily, and her fist was trembling, as well as the rest of her body. For a second, Marinette was worried she pressed the wrong button.

Instead, however, Chloe let out and angry puff and slumped. “So I got replaced, huh?”

“What?” Marinette asked.

Chloe looked at Marinette. She recomposed herself, but it was obvious she was still angry. “I don’t know who that person is, Marinette. Ladybug hadn’t given me the miraculous since that day with Sabrina. I had hoped that after that day, that Ladybug would have called me again to help her. It wasn’t like I was the only one with their identity revealed, Kagami was as well! But I’m guessing this pic made it final huh?”

“Well, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Ladybug give a person a miraculous if they don't even help with the akuma-”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!” Chloe yelled. Seeing the outburst attracted some attention, Chloe calmed down again, though she was clearly at her limit. “I thought I knew Ladybug. That she was kind and amazing, and that she thought of me as a friend. But it seems like I don’t. Not with this new ‘hero’ running around with my miraculous.” Chloe said angrily, as though expecting it belonged to her. “It seems Ladybug has her own secrets. Perhaps she is not as trustworthy as people think if she can just leave people like her name is Audrey-” Chloe stopped as if realizing what she was about to say. Marinette grimaced as she realized what she had done to Chloe

“Chloe-” Marinette started to speak, only to be cut off by Chloe’s raise of a hand.

“I really don’t want to talk about it. Thank you Marinette, thanks to you, I learned that i was unceremoniously replaced, abandoned by Ladybug just like my Mom and that Ladybug seems to have her own secrets to keep, and I also lost my appetite.” Chloe started to pack away the remains of her lunch. “I think I’ll go for a walk now. Have a good day Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Chloe I am so sorry-”

“Just. Go.”

Chloe walked off, and Marinette stood there feeling more confused and sad than ever, and with more questions than answers.

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

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. Marinette was walking home when Tikki popped up from the bag.

“Max has sent a message! I think he’s got the results ready!”

So this was the moment of truth.

Marinette slipped into a nearby alleyway, and with a flash of light, Ladybug jumped from the top of the alleyway onto the nearest rooftop. Opening the yoyo, Ladybug looked at the screen that popped up and hesitated.

Ladybug hoped that she was wrong, that she was wrong with the belief that Chloe was this masked assailant. Chloe didn’t seem to carry around a miraculous around with her in school, else she probably would have bragged about having it with her or try to keep it close to her. Plus Chloe seemed genuinely torn apart when Marinette presented the knowledge that the person was wearing the Bee miraculous instead of her and believing that Ladybug had abandoned her, which had left Marinette with a sore feeling for the rest of the day. Sure, it was still a big issue on who the masked hero was and where the Bee miraculous was, but at least it meant that Chloe was being honest.

Still, one way or another, Ladybug had to know the truth. Ladybug opened the message and began reading.

HELLO THERE. MAX HERE.

LIKE I PROMISED, MARKOV WAS ABLE TO DEVELOP A PROGRAM TO ANALYSE THE BODY SHAPES OF THE MASKED ASSAILANT AND CHLOE TO SEE IF THEY MATCHED. IT UNFORTUNATELY TOOK A WHILE TO DO SO, AS WHEN ANALYSING THE IMAGES, THE WAS SOME SORT OF ERROR IN THE SYSTEMS THAT KEPT PREVENTING US FROM LOOKING AT THE IMAGES.

LUCKILY MARKOV HAD IDENTIFIED THE EFFECTS OF THE ERROR AND CONCLUDED WITH A 99% CONFIDENCE IT WAS SOME SORT OF MAGICAL GLAMOUR THAT IS GENERATED TO PROTECT THE MIRACULOUS WIELDERS, WHICH LIKELY CONFIRMS THE THEORY THAT THE MASKED INDIVIDUAL IS EQUIPPED WITH A MIRACULOUS.

UNFORTUNATELY, THIS MEANT WE HAD TO DEVELOP A SUBPROGRAM TO HELP REMOVE THE DISTORTION ERRORS, BUT EVEN THEN I HAVE NO CLUE IF THE PROGRAM HAS DONE ITS JOB SUCCESSFULLY, AS THERE WERE A LOT OF GLITCHES BEING CAUSED BY THE GLAMOU, AND IT COULD ALSO HAVE BEEN FABRICATED BY THE MAGIC.

IN ANY CASE, HERE ARE THE RESULTS

CHEERS

MAX AND MARKOV

RESULTS

ANALYSIS

UNKNOWN INDIVIDUAL=CHLOE BOURGEOIS - 95% SIMILAR BODY TYPES

P<0.05 -STATISTICALLY VIABLE

….

Ladybug almost wanted to throw the yoyo onto the ground.

Ladybug sent the results to her actual phone, put the yoyo away, and zipped back home, all the while ignoring the feelings of anger, betrayal, and sadness that welled up within her.

Ladybug stopped by the bakery and dropped into the alleyway. Ladybug transformed back into Marinette and entered the side bakery door.

“Hello my little flower? How was you da-” Tom said with a smile, but was quickly brushed aside by Marinette.

“Not right now papa!” Marinette said as she stormed past him.

“Marinette!” Sabine said in shock and anger. “What is the matter with you-” Upon seeing Marinette’s face filled with tears, Sabine's face softened into worry and concern. “Marinette did something happen at school today?”

Marinette shook her head, although with the tears in her face it didn’t give much satisfaction to her parents worried. “No there wasn’t. I-I just can't talk about this! I’m sorry!”

Marinette quickly marched up to her room, opening and closing the hatch to her room hurriedly.

Marinette threw her bag onto her bed, sat in her chair and started sobbing. Tikki flew out of the bag a moment later, with worry visible on her face.

“Marinette-”

“She lied to me Tikki. She looked at me and lied straight to my face! Both as Ladybug and as Marinette!”

“Marinette, calm down, you need to think about this rationally-”

“Calm Down? Calm Down?!” Marinette angrily said as she stood up from her chair “You saw the results! I had been entrusted by Master Fu to keep the box of the Miraculi safe! Just one miraculous being lost was enough for someone like Hawkmoth to grip the city with fear! With Mayura helping him, we almost lost had Fu not given up his memories to prevent Hawkmoth from finding out who we were! What would happen if there was a third one missing and used in bad hands, without me knowing where it was?!”

“Marinette, nothing has happened for you to warrant acting this way! Chloe may have taken the miraculous, but there haven’t been reports of her doing anything bad! Even if she did deceive you, there’s no excuse for you to act like she could go bad at any moment.”

“But what if she does?! What if Hawkmoth akumatises her and takes the miraculous from her?! What if she decides to use her powers for her own gain, or Mayura persuades her to join them when I have no idea where the Miraculous is! She stole the Miraculous Tikki, without my knowledge! And I’m not going to let her get away with it.”

“Then, what are you going to do?!” Tikki said frustratingly.

“I’m going to go to that hotel and take back the miraculous, that’s what!”

“You can’t! If you go to the hotel with the way you are now, they’ll assume you have gone rogue. And if you attack Chloe while she is surrounded by hotel staff, you could risk someone being akumatised!”

Marinette paused for a moment. “You’re right,” she said calmly, though tense. “I can’t do that.”

Tikki sighed. “Thank you, Marinette. Now, let's take some time to calm down. Let’s draw a couple of things, listen to some music, and tonight we can talk to Chat Noir and discuss this- Wait.” Tikki turned to see Marinette walk away. “Where are you going?!”

Marinette walked to the other side of the room and grabbed a chest, opening it to reveal the miracle (egg) box. Tikki watched as she pressed the spots on the egg, which opened to reveal the miraculi inside. Marinette took a nearby bag and started taking the Miraculi out. The Fox, turtle, dragon, monkey, snake, and Horse miraculous all went into the bag. Marinette almost reached for the bunny miraculous, but instead left it there.

“Marinette, what are you doing?”

“Chloe has been making appearances at night. One the same days we don’t have patrol. Tonight is one of those nights. I’ll sneak off to give everyone their respective miraculi, and with everyone there, we’ll sneak up and take back the Bee! Then everything will go back to normal. As it should be.” Marinette said confidently as she zipped up the bag.

“Wait Marinette, don’t do this. We should talk about this-”

“Not this time! I lost my mentor, my team, and almost my partner because of everything. I won’t hesitate! Tikki , Spots on!”

Tikki was reluctantly sucked into the miraculous, and Ladybug stood in Marinette’s place, this time wearing the stealth suit.

As it was now the afternoon, and very dark, Ladybug zipped out of her room into the night. Going to where Alya (and by extension Nino, who was with her tonight) should be, Ladybug resolved never to let anything like this happen again. She would take down Queen Bee, take the Bee Miraculous back, and everything would be back to normal, everything safe and sound. And she would never let Chloe touch the Bee miraculous again.

For the first time since losing her Master and friend, Ladybug was angry

And she was out for blood.

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That was the first part of a two-part story. Confrontation (the second chapter) should be done sometime later! If anyone has any questions about the AU, feel free to send an ask about the AU and I’ll try to reply as soon as I can! No spoilers about the next part though (even if I did point it out in my first AU post).

Also many thanks (as always!) to @twin-books, who helped me polish the ideas about my AU and has always been there to help!

#Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug AU #Season 4 AU #long-fic #Anti-Hero Queen Bee AU #A fair bit of Angst #Chloe redemption

17 notes · View notes

blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Not a Boot

@deepestfirefun - it’s late and i’m miserable, couldn’t sleep, hope you like this :D

…

Adam Lambert - For Your Entertainment lyrics used

...

Singing to yourself you opened the box of cold medicine you pushed one of the tablets free of to then pop between your lips and swallow with a swig of water. Bearing through the aching of your body and the end of your fever you were coming off of on yet another trip to the toilet after your near gallon of water today. Hoping that the tune would somehow make the meds kick in faster.

So hot

Out the box

Can you pick up the pace?

In a slide out of the bathroom you eyed the normal set up for your online videos, small cartoons of your own making you posted on your website about any and everything, how you made your living, tiny bit ridiculous to some. But still getting a job with a serious company required experience, and training, both of which you were lacking and forcing yourself by practice, practice, practice. Faceless to the world you entertained literally millions of followers and were finally getting some slap in the face offers from actual networks to put a full ‘professional’ team on a few of your stories. Yet they were offers all the same and you knew more were sure to follow.

Turn it up

Heat it up

I need to be entertained

The latest offer coming on the heels of some surprising tabloid fodder you were certain was part of your fever. A five page add with your face in a few passing pictures entering the lavish hotel a few minutes before one of the Ereborean Princes, Dwalin Durin. Not a direct heir but cousin to the third in line, Crown Prince Thorin. Serious, broad, bold, adventurous and downright delectable in every way from his tailored suits and surprisingly fitting hairstyle with both sides of his head shaved and the center in thick beaded braids. Usually off in the world exploring between his competitive water polo team games that had him off to represent the country in the last games to victory alongside two of his cousins, Crown Prince Thorin and Prince Frerin.

Not ten minutes after you had been seen leaving, an outstanding sundress clad woman in the sea of suit wearing men bustling in and out, the Prince left as well leaving for some assumptions to be made of a hidden affair the crown was hiding from the public.

It was laughable, but the image of pretending to have a lunch alone with the stunning Prince adoringly scattered in your episodes, along with other royals, who all loved their respectably humorous roles in them, it was tempting and almost painful to have lost out on without having had the chance.

Push the limit

Are you with it?

Baby, don't be afraid

I'm a hurt 'ya real good, baby

Turning from the cutout you eyed the clip you pressed of the Elf King in his cameo on your show, dancing in a top hat, cane and tails with shimmering cape in a sea of ents as a comment on his new forest path plan. Conservation and a promise to plant 500,000 new saplings this year to replace the portion they had to do a preventive burn to ready for the expected heat wave on the tail end of a bout of bad storms. You agreed fully, and in the comic had added a banner with the info on how others could help he surely would appreciate the help and attention for it in a more entertaining way than a press conference.

Let's go

It's my show

Baby, do what I say

Don't trip off the glitz

That I'm gonna display

I told ya

I'm a hold ya down until you're amazed

Give it to ya 'til you're screaming my name

Still the tabloid was on your mind and saving your clip and work you closed out of feeling the drowsiness amping up again you smacked your lips craving fruit and pulled up the site for your favorite fruit baskets and you scrolled through. And that was all you could remember before waking up the next morning in your bed under a mess of covers and painful tingling as you’d slept wrong on two limbs you groaned through their awakening debating if you truly needed them.

No escaping when I start

Once I'm in I own your heart

There's no way you'll ring the alarm

So hold on until it's over

***

Grumbling from a sore post workout lounging session at the doorbell sounding Dwalin closed his eyes for a moment hearing the head guard approaching the door after closing the door to the living room he was in. From the security check at the front gate and the next at the gate for the cottage he shared with the young Princes across from the one housing Princes Dis and her husband Vili and two small boys on the lavish Palace grounds in the center of Erebor the teen carrying the delivery had arrived terribly nervous from the ordeal to grin widely at the next guard he encountered. A medium sized fruit bouquet along with a manila folder, all of which had been confirmed that it was fully sealed and not tampered with while the documents inside the checked and copied. The original remained with the main guards at the Palace for further inspection while the copies of the message had been passed on for delivery.

Oh, do you know what you got into?

Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do?

'Cause it's about to get rough for you

I'm here for your entertainment

Through the now open door the box was carried and the seal broken for unveiling the plastic dome encased and wrapped fruit bouquet that had the trio of Princes inching closer to. Glancing up at the guard Thorin asked, “Gran is upping her demands on fruit intake?”

The guard shook his head stating, “No, your highness, special delivery for Prince Dwalin.” The folder was passed over making his brows furrow in thanking the guard who bowed his head and retreated from the room while the brothers moved to sit beside their cousin.

Instantly a smirk eased across his lips seeing the folded letter with writing across the front of it clearly feminine he read aloud, “To the Dashing, ooh, dashing.” That made the brothers chuckle around him and bump his arms with theirs, “Dashing Prince Dwalin.”

Opening the letter he cleared his throat and read in a curious tone, “Truly a pity for the children’s sake that we have never met. Hope you enjoyed your lunch, mine was perfectly mundane.” In a turn of the note over he asked, “What the-..?” Peering into the folder he pulled out the copy of a section of the tabloid sent along with it, and let out a chuckle reading the title under the title under the pictures set side by side of you and the Prince having some secret affair with the sweater held against your belly alluding to a hidden baby. Across the final page there was a heart and the runes he read out, “When we are old and grey, look back and say, it wasn’t a boot, she bought me some fruit.”

In a loud laugh Frerin says, “At least it rhymes.”

Thorin laughed out, “Downright adorable, cousin.”

Dwalin shook his head, “At least she has a sense of humor about it.”

Frerin stole a glance seeing Dwalin looking at your picture again then said, “Perhaps Gran might allow you to meet her.”

At that Dwalin couldn’t help but smirk to himself and set the papers aside to start sampling on the food making him rumble out, “She certainly won’t object her choice of snack to deliver.”

Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet

'Ya thought an angel swept you off ya feet

But I'm about to turn up the heat

I'm here for your entertainment

***

A doorbell had you groaning and lazily swinging your leg over in a turn to plant your foot on the side of your bed in a climb to your feet. Under your breath you mumbled, “Why, why is someone at my door? I know no one, no one knows me. Who is spoiling my perfectly dreadful lounging evening?”

Unlocking the door you swung it open and on the other side of it for some inexplicable reason you let out a shriek and slammed the door in the face of the Royal Messenger now wide eyed with his head tilted slightly when you cracked the door open again with your hand over your mouth and you cleared your throat, “I apologize. You did not deserve that. I just woke up, sorry, yes? Do you need directions?”

With a hint of a smirk he replied, “No, Miss Pear. I am here to pass on a message.”

“A-, for me? Is this about the dancing penguin episode?”

With a playful smirk he reached into his pocket and passed you a sealed envelope with a telling orange bag, accepting the envelope he nodded his head at the envelope, “I was tasked to ensure you opened the pair of them.”

“Ah,” in a glance at the row of photographers on the sidewalk outside your stoop then stepped back, in a glance through the front hall he stepped forward and let you close the door and set the bag down on the chest beside the door to break the seal on the envelope.

“Miss Pear,

I must say it was a pleasant surprise to have received your gift and message. Lunch was tolerable, work as usual. If you are free Thursday at eleven. Hope you enjoy the gift, pictures were a bit unfocused, to help find you.

The ‘Dashing’ Prince Dwalin.”

Inhaling sharply you felt your face turning red as you mumbled, “I sent a gift, to the Prince,” turning around you hurried through the archway on your right to start the search for your phone only to head for your laptop catching a glimpse of the Guard peeking in at you pulling up your email and confirmation of the message you had added to the delivery of fruit making you smooth your hands over your face. “I can only imagine what I wrote.”

In a groan you popped up and made your way back to the front hall where you flashed the Guard another grin and went to peer into the bag and pull out a periwinkle cardigan luring a pitiful squeak from you when you noticed the brand on the buttons and label.

Looking up at him you asked, “Seriously? This is a loaner or something?”

He shook his head, “No, it is yours to keep. I am to ask if you are free?”

“I-, yes?”

With a nod he stated, “A car will be around to fetch you. Enjoy your day, Miss Pear.”

In a whisper you replied, “You too,” watching him move to step out through your front door holding in his chuckles only to pause asking, “This is like a dress thing?” His brow inched up, “If you know, would this be a wear a dress thing?”

“That would probably be a safe bet.” Earning a nod from you along with soft thanks he nodded to in return while closing the door behind him finally freeing his chuckle while you turned to head to your closet to see if you had anything nice while also being casual.

It's alright

You'll be fine

Baby, I'm in control

“Your Highness, Miss Pear is free on Thursday.”

Turning to face the Guard he grinned and asked as the brothers grouped around him and he asked, “What did she say? Precisely.”

In a chuckle the Guard asked, “The very first thing?” Dwalin nodded and he said, “Miss Pear, shrieked at me.” Making their brows shoot up, “And slammed the door.” In his chuckle he continued, “Then promptly opened the door to apologize saying I didn’t deserve that and she had just woken up. Asked if I needed directions.” The grins on the Princes grew as he shared the rest of the encounter.

Frerin, “She was uncertain of what she had sent?”

The guard nodded, “She did not seem hung over,” answering their question, “I did notice cold remedies on her coffee table.”

In a chuckle Thorin said, “That explains it. Stirring a fever in the poor Lass.”

Dwalin couldn’t help but chuckle saying, “Perhaps we should send some soup as well?” Looking to his cousins who chuckled again and went to help him pick his clothes.

Take the pain

Take the pleasure

I'm the master of both

More days of painful practice to ready for the first match of the season and more than usual he was nervous for it because you would be there. Surely thanks to the soup and other herbal remedies you were sure to be fully mended and able to sit through the match comfortably as well as dinner after if you agreed to it. Exhaling steadily he shook his hands and finished fixing his hair and beard back into their usual beaded braids before heading to join is cousins off to the pre match meeting.

Close your eyes

Not your mind

Let me into your soul

I'm a work it 'til you're totally blown

With lips parted you saw you were off to the stadium around the official pool for a water polo match. Internally you were excited to see a full match in person only to have seen clips of the sport before. Right to the boxed off set of stands up next to the home side you were led and found yourself alone mumbling internally, “Great, lovely time.” Glancing up to see the box of cameramen photographing you and pointing as if they had recognized you. Eyes followed their attention and brushing the skirt against your thighs on the navy blue dress fully covering your chest with capped sleeves hidden under the open periwinkle cardigan was hard to miss. As were the stockings you had on sheer from your waist to mid thigh then pitch black down to your heeled velour black booties when you crossed your legs. A tilt of your head had the long raven curls eased over your chest to smooth your fingers through it ignoring the flashes making your purple eyes flash brighter luring more and more when the tip of a pointed ear came into view.

All at once the stands erupted in the entrance of the teams, and in the filing to their seats on your right you caught the eye of the Prince now, after a stunned moment of staring with a smirk on his face at your quick flinch of a wave he chuckled at then glanced between his cousins hanging over him commenting on you.

No escaping when I start

Once I'm in I own your heart

There's no way you'll ring the alarm

So hold on until it's over

Run ragged and trying not to focus on how you were taking the match finally they won and to his discovery from Thorin you had kept biting your lip and cheek, while Frerin said you had seemed a bit slow on reacting to the match making them assume you weren’t that well versed in the game. A welcome discovery where he could teach you and share his passion for the sport you might come to love too. Only in their filing out a glance back had him noticing your own path heading up the steps again stirring up a few moments of panic until through the guards waiting in the locker room he heard you had gone to the bathroom.

Oh, do you know what you got into?

Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do?

'Cause it's about to get rough for you

I'm here for your entertainment

The message was passed on and brought back to a private area back by the locker rooms no doubt for meeting fans or officials. Up at the pictures on the wall you smirked tracing back the history only to have your head shift at the sound of the door creaking. When your head turned however suddenly your hands clasped over your mouth in a shriek making the same Guard from earlier snicker and glance up for a moment to keep from crying when you lowered your hands to say in a shake of your head, “I did not just scream in your face.”

His brows inched up, “Oh you didn’t? My mistake then, Miss Pear.” Smiling wider at you.

“Nope, full respectful curtsy and formal greeting.”

“A lovely one it was too.” He chuckled out feeling his cousins watching him from the door behind you beaming at the blush on your ears.

“Thank you, for the sweater, and the soups, and herbs. And in my defense of the note I was on some very strong cough medicine.” In the deepening of his gaze into yours seeing the silver flecks trapped inside your eyes and random silver hairs woven into your tight curls helping to make your hair shimmer you asked, “What did I write?”

Shaking his head he replied playfully, “I think I might keep that to myself. But I did admire the poem.”

“Oh I didn’t!”

In a chuckle he nodded, “You did.”

In a momentary press of your palm to your cheek you mumbled, “I’m dreadful with poems.”

He chuckled again looking you over then said, “I have a table reserved if you wanted to join me for dinner. And no need to enter separately.” In the twitch of your brow upwards he added, “Come on, for the kids.”

“Kids?”

He chuckled again asking, “I have to ask, how often do you end up sending gifts to Nobles.”

After a nip of your lip you answered, “Never.”

“Oh really, and what would your parents think?”

You shrugged, “For mom, probably be glad to hear of something other than school or nappies. Not counting hearing about Dad’s day in office.”

Making his brow inch up, “What does he do?”

“He’s Thain,” in his moments pause you said, “Hobbitons don’t have Kings, we have Thains. They’re elected but my family’s been in office for sixty three generations.”

“Oh, shouldn’t you have a guard then?”

“Well, I have 13 sisters and 6 brothers,” dropping his jaw, “with another on the way, doubt we have enough security for us all. Besides, I’m the well behaved one.”

At that he chuckled again, “I bet.” In a shift on his feet his hand motioned to the side, “Dinner?” After your quick nod the brothers rushed away and hid for your walk out to head to the waiting car and the photographers waiting to capture every moment. While all he could think of was how badly he wanted to kiss that blush back onto your cheeks.

Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet

'Ya thought an angel swept ya off your feet

Well I'm about to turn up the heat

I'm here for your entertainment

Pt 2

#31 daywritingchallengebydeepestfirefun #Dwalin x Reader OC

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illyrianwingspans · 4 years

Text

Do Not Go Gentle: Appointments

Link to song: Appointments by Julien Baker

Synopsis: Feyre makes good on her promise to Rhys, and Rhys makes good on his promise to Feyre.

TW: Brief and non-graphic mention of self-harm, suicide and domestic abuse.

Ao3 link

Chapter 16: Appointments

“How are you feeling today, Feyre?”

How was I feeling? I didn’t know. My body felt like TV static with the volume on low. Crackling, bustling, full of nervous energy, but dim. Quiet. How was I supposed to explain that to him without sounding like a true basket case?

He sat in the chaise across from me. It was grey, muted, soft. Everything in his office was. There were great, wide panoramic windows, and outside rain pattered softly against the windows. Another week of rain in Prythian, as though it was just for me.

The couch beneath me was soft, comfortable. I sank into it when I’d sat down minutes ago and settled in after sitting in the waiting room. When I’d first walked into the clinic, there were others in the chairs. A older man, probably in his forties, was thumbing a magazine, but not looking at it. Just staring at the walls around him, flicking through the magazine, as though his fingers were soaking in the articles through his skin. A woman about my age listening to music on her phone, eyes closed, head leaned back on the wall. I’d only stared at my feet as the sound of the secretary typing away on her computer filled the empty space, paperwork clutched in my fingers. I’d filled them out on Saturday, and Rhys had them scanned and emailed that day, but they needed more paper copies handed from me in person.

“Miss Archeron?” The secretary had called out. I’d pushed up from my seat and shuffled over to the counter, presenting her with the five sheets I’d meticulously filled out. They were thorough, extremely thorough—so much so that when I’d filled them out at Rhys’s kitchen counter, I was clenching my teeth, ticking off the boxes that applied.

Suicidality:

Ideation: No-Active-Passive

Plan: No-Yes (describe): Jump

Attempts: No-Yes-More than one

Date of last attempt: March 27th

Lethality of attempt(s): Low-Moderate-High

Thankfully, Rhys had left me alone that night leaning over the kitchen island, pen tapping against the cold marble. Every question was like another stab in the gut.

Self-Harm Behaviour:

Current: No-Yes (describe): Cutting

Past: No-Yes (describe): Cutting, two years ago

When it got to family history and prior or current relationships, I nearly tore up the papers right then and there and walked out of the townhouse. Instead, I scribbled down my answers as concisely and quickly as possible to not feel the sting of the words.

In my hands, handing over the papers, it felt like I was yet again giving pieces of myself over, letting them cut open my brain and take a peak of the scrambled, decayed remains inside.

The secretary, a kind-smiled woman in her early thirties, pointed to a blue door where the gold plaque read Dr. Angèl Suriel, PhD. I’d knocked softly on the door, heard a muffled, “Come in!” From the other side. The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the faint smell of fried chicken.

“Sorry,” he’d said, hunched over his desk further in the back of the room, next to the windows on the back wall. There’d been a rustling of a food takeout bag before he’d shoved the top drawer of his desk closed. “Just got some lunch quickly.”

He opened a window, and lit a candle on his desk next to his jar of identical pencils, then turned to face me. Angèl Suriel was an older man, tall and thin with darker skin. His accent was slightly lilted, definitely Spanish judging by his first name. He’d smiled warmly when he faced me and extended his hand, which he’d brushed on his tan trousers moments before.

“Angèl Suriel,” he'd presented himself, and I’d shaken his hand weakly. “But call me Suriel. No doctor formalities, please.” He’d smiled. “You must be Feyre.”

I nodded, eyes diverting from his. They were brilliant blue, so pale, contrasting against his tanner skin.

Staring at him now, sitting five feet across from me on his chaise with a file in his lap, I wondered how the hell Rhys had found this guy. Why he’d needed to find him, in the first place.

How was I feeling? How was I feeling?

My tongue felt swollen, limp and utterly useless in my mouth. I resorted to staring past him, over his shoulder, to the buildings in the background. They were like standing giants across the city, watching over, holding thousands of people with energy and moment and life, but so solemn and serious in appearance.

“Feyre?” He repeated.

I blinked. “How about you look in that file of yours and tell me how I’m feeling, Suriel.”

“Oh no, that’s not how this works,” he grinned. “It seems as though you’ve watched too much TV, miss Archeron. I’m not going to sit here and waste my time if you’re going to be resistant or unwilling to share. I’m only going to say this once, so listen to me.”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest as those crystal eyes met mine, and he leaned forward slightly in his seat.

“There are thousands of people in this city who suffer with the very same feelings and behaviours that you demonstrate. There are hundreds of people on my waiting list, right now, waiting for a call that they can finally see me and get the help they need. I work twelve hours a day seeing people, filling in charts, coordinating with hospitals and answering ER calls at three in the morning. I’m doing this as a favour for Rhys, and I’m doing this because I want to help you. It’s only going to work if you do your part as well. So if you’re here to waste my time, feel free to leave so I can get back to my fried chicken.”

I sat there shocked. My mouth was open in surprise, and all I could do was blurt, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Satisfied that I’d given him an answer, he resumed his position, one leg crossed across the other to balance the papers in his lap. “Okay,” he said, “how about we try this. On a scale of one to ten, one being your complete worst, and ten being your complete best, where do you think you fall?”

It took a few seconds to mull over before I murmured, “Three, I think.”

He nodded and wrote something done. “And Friday night? What number did you feel then?”

That one didn’t take as long. “Zero.”

“Zero,” he repeated. “You just broke my scale.”

Despite myself, I snorted.

“Tell me about what happened.”

Another question that settled within me like a stone sinking into water. I felt like I was holding it in the palm of my hands, turning it over slowly, examining its features, dips and curves, not knowing where to begin, or what to say.

“I don’t know what happened.” That was true. The details were so hazy. The timeline was broken in my head, only giving me fragments and pieces of those moments on the ledge.

In his lap, Suriel flipped over a paper and murmured, “It says here you were going to jump. Where were you?”

At the word jump, I flinched. Clutching my kneecaps, I blew out a shaky breath, still staring just past Suriel’s shoulder, never quite in his eyes. “At my friend Cassian’s apartment. Fifty storeys up.” I picked at the skin on my thumb, not knowing what to do with my hands.

“You went to a friend’s house? To carry out your plan?”

“I was staying at his place.”

“For how long?”

“I was there for about a week and a half.”

“Where did you live now?”

“With Rhys in his townhouse.”

“And before that?”

I wasn’t ready to go there yet. “My apartment.”

But Suriel watched me carefully, like he knew my answer was missing something.

I murmured, “With my ex-fiancee.”

His pen scribbled against the paper once more, and this time when he looked back up at me, he said, “You were at this friend’s apartment. Alone?”

I nodded. “He was still at work.”

“So,” he said, then paused for a bit, wondering how to phrase his next question, “do you remember the events, or maybe the emotions or thoughts that lead up to the execution of your plan?”

It was like I was back up on that building with Rhys’s voice echoing in my ears. I could practically feel the rain falling on my shoulders, my hair, my hands.

When Suriel pushed a Kleenex box on the small table between us, I realized it was because I was crying. The tear drops collected in my open palms like some sick offering to the gods of pain.

“Why am I doing this?” I whispered sinisterly, bitterness in my voice, my eyes as I narrowed them at Suriel, wanting to storm out of this fucking office and never look back. Rhys was wrong. He was a destructive, conniving asshole. “What the fuck is the point of this?

Suriel, not missing a beat, leaned forward as I did, and spoke in that low commanding voice of his he’d wielded only minutes ago. “The point of therapy, Feyre, is for you to get as close as possible to the ideal life you imagine and want for yourself. To solve the problems you face, to help hone your skills and speak your mind. Many of my clients walk into this office just like you, sometimes in worse shape, clinging to the notion that this is the enemy. That I am the enemy. But the only enemy right now in this room is you, you and your mind.”

I couldn’t stop myself from crying harder.

“I am not here to judge you. I am not here to pick apart your brains, but I need to know what the problem is, where to start, and where we can go from there. People walk into this office miserable and they leave with hope.”

Even the rain paused outside when I said, “I was kneeling in the entrance of the apartment. Crying.”

My mind went back to me curled into myself on the hardwood floor, when I’d shut out the world completely in my own little bubble of agony.

“I got up, ran to the bathroom, and tried to find pills, blades, anything, but the shelves were empty. Cassian must’ve been worried because he’d basically childproofed the entire damned place. But one thing he couldn’t take away from me was the fact he’d bought an apartment on the fiftieth floor.”

“And before that? Before you went out on the balcony? Why were you crying?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Words I hadn’t spoken to anyone, not a soul. Words I didn’t think I could even speak.

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

I clenched my eyes closed, only able to see his twisted snarl of fury when his hands had closed around my throat. When my chest had slammed into his desk. When his fists slammed into my ribs.

“Feyre, take a deep breath.”

Slowly, trembling, I forced a breath into my lungs. I choked it out in a sob.

“Good. Another one.”

This time it came a little easier. On the exhale of my third breath, I said, “My ex-fiancee was there.”

“Did you speak to him?”

I shook my head. “I heard him through the door. He’d found me with a tracker on my phone.”

“Why aren’t you together anymore?”

I thought of the elevator, of me crawling on my hands and knees, nails cracking as I tried to resist him dragging me across the carpet of the executive floor.

“Because he locked me up,” I wheezed. “He wasn’t my partner. He was my captor.”

There was an eerie silence, only broken by the soft sounds of my quiet sobs. Suriel’s eyes found mine, and when I looked up to him, I said, “He was my fiancee. And I loved him. I love him.”

“But,” Suriel sighed, “he abused you.”

“No,” I contradicted weakly, “not necessarily.”

“Was he ever physically violent with you? Did he ever intentionally hurt you, has he ever tried to manipulate you or repress you?”

Silence. And Suriel had his answer. As I reached for a tissue, Suriel wrote some more notes in his papers. He looked over his shoulder to the city scape, then turned those eyes to mine and wondered, “Have you talked to your friends since everything happened?”

I shook my head. “Only Rhys. He may have said something to them, but I’m not sure.”

“Okay. It says here you don’t have a job right now. Are you looking?”

I shrugged with one shoulder. “A little. Rhys offered me something short-term.”

Suriel said, “That’s good. I want you working on something right now, Feyre. Even if it’s from home, if it’s a skill or a hobby or a job, you need something right now to keep you distracted. I don’t know enough about your situation right now to give you more specific goals or coping mechanisms, but I’ve found the best thing for clients in your position is just to keep their mind focused on something else. Being alone with only your thoughts when they’re so toxic can lead you down the wrong roads.”

I nodded, hands pursed in my lap.

“Try to see what Rhys can do with that job, try to talk with some friends. Something light. You don’t need to tell them about what you’re going through if you’re not comfortable because you don’t owe anyone an explanation. So you know your homework?”

“Get a job. Talk to friends.”

He snorted. “Distract yourself, Feyre. With good things. Light things. Even if it’s a movie with Rhys or cooking dinner. And try to stay away from alcohol and substances.”

“Distraction.” I repeated.

“Distraction.” He confirmed, a light grin on his face. “And I’m afraid that’s all the time we have.”

I wiped my nose once more than stood, tissue clenched in my fingers. “Same time next week?” I wondered, heading towards the door.

Suriel smiled then said, “Sounds good to me. Thank you very much for today, Feyre. You’re doing extremely well so far.”

“Well, hopefully therapy is the one thing I won’t fuck up.”

He smiled, more of a smug, cheeky smile. I opened the door and it closed softly behind me, but not before hearing his drawer being pulled open, and the sound of that takeout bag rustling around.

***

The car door shut beside me, and Rhys turned on the ignition.

“How was it?”

The streets passed by, full of people, full of energy. “Were you there in the parking lot the whole time?”

He shrugged as he made a left turn, going the opposite way of home. I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you have better things to do? A company to manage?”

“My office is very flexible. Phone calls can be made from anywhere, including the comforts of my car.”

“You shouldn’t be sacrificing your work to take care of me.”

Rhys eyed me sideways. “Taking care of you is not a sacrifice. It’s as essential as any hour of tediousness in that stupid building.”

I sighed, my arms crossing across my chest. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere. How was the session? Do you like him? If not, we’ll find somebody else.”

The rain beat furiously against the windshield. Rhys increased the speed of his wipers. I said, “It was fine.”

“Fine.” It was more of an assertion than a question.

“He’s strange, but he’s good.” I glanced at him sidelong, and that calm concentration lining his features. “How did you find him?”

He shrugged. “Suriel was a very difficult man to track down. There’re many psychologists in Prythian, but not many that take on…these kinds of cases.”

“Which kinds?”

He looked at me then, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Suicidal ones.”

My next question was already on my lips, but a call came through, and Rhys touched the bluetooth piece in his left ear. “Yes Morrigan?”

I could hear her shrill voice distantly yelling at him to never call her that again. Rhys and her spoke of something for a few minutes, names and things I didn’t understand and didn’t care enough to try and decode. Finally, he said, “I’ll be there in a minute.” The call ended, and he pulled the piece out of his ear, discarding it in the cupholder. I looked out the window, curious as to where we were.

“Where are we going?”

Rhys said, “To the office. I have to pick up some things.”

My heart beat nervously. I knew that the circle would be in the office, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see them yet. But I remembered Suriel’s homework for me and sighed, knowing that it was best if I did have some sort of human contact. “Can I come?”

His smile was wicked and salacious. “But of course, darling. Let me take you into devil’s lair.”

***

Night Industries was nothing like Spring Corporations.

Everything, from the lobby to the reception to the workers was much more heavy duty. Sleek. Dripping with grace and elegance in a dark, ominous way. Black marble greeted us upon our entry where six security guards stood at their posts. Each nodded to Rhysand, who in turn greeted them all by name with a stern nod of his head. Rhys didn’t need to say anything as he marched past the reception desk towards the elevators. I went to reach for the button, but he shook his head.

“Executive floor is a little more protected than that.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“We do things a little different here than Spring.”

At that, he lead me down another corridor to the left and down to flights of stairs. I was about to ask where the hell he was taking me when we entered another lounge, with a different secretary, who instantly greeted us with a smile on her face. This place was darker, a dingy unsuspecting hallway that I wouldn’t have considered if ever I were to break in. I guess Rhys expected such a thing and acted accordingly.

“Good morning Nuala,” Rhys smiled as he laid his finger on the scanner presented to him by the dark haired woman. She didn’t say a word to him, only smiled at both of us as the tablet turned green and the door to what looked like a janitorial elevator opened. It reeked of metal and rust as we entered the wide space. On the interior, it was padded with black velvet and golden lining. Rhys pressed the button for the ninetieth floor, and we were going up.

“Your clients don’t find this a little sketchy when they visit?”

Rhys snorted. “My clients never cross the threshold of my real office.”

Another raise of my brows. He only said, “You can never be too careful, Feyre darling.”

We were silent the rest of the way up. Once the elevator doors opened once more, the space that greeted us was nothing like the beat-up receptionist’s office downstairs.

Everything was dark, but in a different way. Grey walls. Dark stained floors with a silver carpet leading down the main artery of the hallway. On each side were doors, definitely offices or file rooms hiding behind them. It was like an impenetrable fortress on all four sides. At the end of the corridor lay a set of black double doors with silver glinting handles. Lights shone at the bottom of each wall, lighting up the floors, leading your way to them. I only stood in shock at the stark differences between Spring and Night, the luxury and elegance that seemed oozing power and control here rather than tacky expensiveness in that ivory tower.

Before the doors, to the right hand side stood an empty office chair behind a black desk. An apple computer was there, unused, unoccupied, waiting for somebody to sit down.

“Who works there?”

“No one,” Rhys replied, as he laid his palm on his door handle. He waited a moment before a whir and a click sounded, then winked at me. “Only opens with my fingerprints on the door handle.”

How that worked, I had no clue. But once the doors opened, I swallowed hard at the scene that greeted me.

If… if his office was supposed to look grand, it was nothing compared to Rhys’s.

The walls were twenty feet high, and along the entire back wall stood windows reaching all the way from floor to ceiling. The light, despite the raining day, was bright and inviting, speckled with drops of precipitation outside. On the left side of the room lay an area for comfort, white leather couches and seats, enough for all the damn employees in this place to sit. A low grey marble table sat between the seats in the middle of the circle, currently obscured with documents and files piled up haphazardly. Stretched out across it though, was a map—a map of Prythian, marked up by different colour pens, from the Sidra to the major companies of Prythian and their headquarters. The colours made no distinct pattern I could decipher, but the entire thing seemed meticulously examined.

On the ceiling, light lined the space in strips, the source unseen beneath the black beams forming squares, each equally spaced apart. On the side wall were different alcoves, within one I could see acting as a coffee bar with a mini fridge beneath it. The others were wider, also lined with light—but barren.

“I’m waiting for the right art piece to put there.” He explained. “Nothing has quite tickled my fancy yet.”

I could paint for you, I thought, but then was disgusted by the notion of picking up a paint brush.

And to the left of the space was finally his desk. Nearly the length of the wall—the back of which was filled with books—and also dark to match his limited palette. Three screen monitors sat atop of it, and other files were strewn around, as though he’d left his office in a hurry. He strode over to it once he saw my shock had subsided it, and sat in his black leather chair with a sigh.

“Take a seat, Feyre. Won’t be too long.”

I sat in the grey leather chair across from him, still soaking in the room. It was gorgeous. Bigger than any apartment my sisters, father and I used to live in.

He fiddled around on his cellphone for a bit while I was still gazing across the city skyline, and minutes later came a knock at the door. Rhys checked the monitor, then pressed a button on his keyboard. The door opened, and in sauntered Mor.

“Seriously, I could’ve just emailed them to you. I don’t know why you’ve got to waste so much gas to drag your ass across the city for a stupid paper—” only she stopped when she saw me. Mor, beautiful as ever, wore a white pantsuit and her hair up in a high sleek ponytail to show off her gold hoop earrings. Her face broke into a smile, her red lipstick beaming, when she saw me.

“Feyre! He finally showed you around. What do you think? Don’t give him any credit for this place, I designed this thing from the ground up.”

“You’re a dirty liar, Morrigan. This place was built before you were born.”

“Don’t call me that again, Rhys, lest you want me to remove your favourite part. And you know full well that I was in charge of all the renovations, so look in the mirror next time you call someone a liar.”

Rhys rolled his eyes as Mor sauntered over and handed him the paper. His eyes scanned it for a few moments before they filled with dread. “Seriously?” He asked his cousin mournfully.

She only swallowed, eyes skirting over the words as well. “I’m sorry, Rhys.”

He sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll just add it to the rest of the chaos we have to deal with.”

As he opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a file, Mor came to sit beside me. Her hand found mine and gave it a squeeze, her brown eyes warm and bright. “You’re looking great, Feyre.”

I could tell by the kindness in her voice that she was being genuine, and not Ianthe’s sappy fake shrill that I was used to. “Thanks, Mor.” My voice was scratchy and low.

She turned her head to Rhys, who was collecting other papers from his desk to cram into the manila folder. “Have you talked to her about the position yet? It’d be nice to have someone new around the—”

One look from him and she stopped mid-conversation, then turned to me. “I picked up another set of clothes for you, by the way. After your comments from last time I went for more…comfort. Still very stylish, though, so not to worry.”

“Thanks. I didn’t really think the leather jacket look suited me.”

Mor laughed at my dryness, and Rhys only rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor.” A clear dismissal, but I only thought of what Suriel had given me for homework as Mor lifted from her seat and made her way to the door.

“Wait,” I said, looking into Mor’s soft eyes, who were filled with hope and excitement just at the sound of my voice. My heart swelled with the non-verbal support she held for me. “Why don’t you all come over tonight? For dinner?”

“Feyre, darling, please, that’s just asking for it.”

“Wait, no! That’s perfect! I’ll make cookies, and we can bring popcorn and snacks and oh, oh!” Mor jumped up and down excitedly, looking to Rhys with her eyes full of hope. “We can have a game night!”

“Dear Gods, Mor,” Rhys folded his hand into a steeple and closed his eyes, his features lined with misery. “Are you trying to scare her away?”

“Oh, you’re just old and cranky. Make yourself another coffee, for fuck’s sake. Have a little fun, Rhys. We’ll be there at seven!”

The door closed, and I could only work on trying to bite back my smile as I turned to face Rhys.

“You seriously don’t know what you’ve started, Feyre.”

“I’m just doing what Suriel suggested, Rhys,” I said sweetly. “Social interaction is good for the disturbed mind.”

He only chuckled and shook his head, amused. Then he stood, hands in the dark trousers he’d donned today. No suit—he’d worked from home most of the morning before my appointment. The black long-sleeve sweater he wore stretched over his muscles that rippled beneath as he faced the skyline below us.

“I did come here for that paper, but I guess while I’m at it I should make good on my promise to you.”

Pushing up from my chair, I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed over my chest. “Promise?”

“Yes. I said I’d have a job for you. And I do.” He was quiet for a few moments, the stars in his eyes glowing as he gazed at the cars below. “I need all the people I can get right now.”

“Why?” I breathed. The response, whatever it was, made my heart beat furiously in my chest.

“Because war is coming, Feyre.”

#dngg #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #sjm #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #feyre #rhys #rhysand #feysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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jessahmewren · 5 years

Text

“Birthday Boy Seeking Party Guests” / Queen / Bohemian Rhapsody Fan Fiction

Summary: Tired of spending birthday’s alone, John posts an ad on Craigslist hoping to spice things up. Set in the 2000′s.

Rating E for Everyone be aware here be smut.

Pairing: Poly

Word count: 7,556

Also on Ao3

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John erased what he’d written for what seemed like the tenth time, squinting at the screen on his laptop. He cracked his knuckles, taking another sip of wine. The bottle was more than half gone, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. It was the weekend, and he was spending it, like every other weekend, alone in his flat browsing the internet.

The wine settled in his bones, making him feel warm and heavy and a bit giddy. He opened up the Word document where the Craigslist Personal’s ad he’d been fumbling over for the past half hour sat half written.

“I am a single male seeking three men for a one night stand at my flat. I have no other preferences other than that you be reasonably good looking and clean. I will send a headshot and directions when you send one.”

Wait. The fuck? That sounded really off and vain. No way should he be writing this while drunk. Or, he thought miserably, writing this period. But anyway.

“I am a single male seeking three men for a one night stand at my flat. I am fit and disease free; please be the same. Details to be follow.”

Was that better, he wondered? Worse?

“I’ve never done this before; I’m not weird or even kinky…just a normal guy wanting to have a good time for once on his birthday.”

There, he thought. That sounded nice and normal, not scary like some of the other ads (seriously, the one asking for the fart buddy was a little out there…). He copied the ad and, before he could chicken out, pasted it into the text box.

He titled the ad “Birthday Boy Seeking Party Guests” and hit submit before he could talk himself out of it.

John checked his Myspace briefly before closing the laptop. His cat, Gwyneth, coiled around his legs. He reached down to stroke her ginger fur. “Again, lovely? You’ve already had your dinner,” he cooed fondly. He reached for a bit of chicken from the fridge, leftovers from his own meal. “Just a snack, now.” The cat was an absolute unit, and he couldn’t afford her getting any fatter.

He put the wine glass in the sink, nodding off slightly as the water ran. Gwyneth waddled off to her cat bed, sniffing it delicately before she sank into the pillowy softness. John smiled at her as he switched off the light and shuffled off to his bedroom.

As he lay down beneath the covers, he thought of his little Craigslist ad, and smiled.

Freddie woke up early for once, silencing his alarm on his phone and stumbling to the teapot. He put the kettle on and grabbed a lemon strudel before settling on the couch and opening his laptop.

Craigslist was still open from the night before where he had entertained himself with reading the personal ads. It was one of his favorite past times late at night…sitting with a bag of crisps with his legs crossed reading some of those wacky adds. As his kettle hummed, he decided to scroll further down the page.

He landed on John’s ad, and something made him smile. “I’m not weird or even kinky…” Freddie laughed at that. Why yes you are darling, you’re asking for a foursome for your birthday! Still, his smile never faltered. He clicked on the user name and opened up his email program.

“Hi John, I’m Freddie. I AM weird and VERY kinky, and would love to come to your birthday party ;). I have attached a headshot. Cheers.”

He hit send and closed the laptop. His kettle was boiling by now and he poured himself a cuppa. He thought about the email he’d just sent and sighed. It wasn’t likely he was going to get a reply, and if he did, he was up for it. He hooked up regularly with no problems. This time was likely to be any different.

Brian cursed to himself. He was late and the computer labs at the university were always nearly full around lunch. He had a paper due in two hours. Maybe he could swing it.

He found one open kiosk in the corner and settled in front of it, plugging in his flashdrive. After an hour of typing, Brian closed the document and submitted it to his professor. One more paper, one more assignment closer to his PhD. He took a moment to relax and opened up his Hotmail.

After a few moments of aimless clicking and deleting, he opened one of his Craigslist notifications. Unfortunately, the amp he had wanted for his guitar was already sold. He clicked the link anyway, the website opening in a new window. He browsed the website a bit, eventually landing on the Personals section.

He entertained himself for a while, admittedly enjoying the sexier ads. And then he read John’s.

Something about it struck him as honest, and Brian could respect that. Brian considered the prospect of fucking three other guys, a little thrill running through him. What would that even be like?

He decided, like a good doctoral researcher, that he needed more information. He emailed John.

Roger was drunk (and maybe something else). His limbs were loose, and he couldn’t feel his lips. An easy euphoria fell over him, throbbing in his skull in time with the pulsing music and the girl riding his lap. The friends he’d come over with were somewhere else, but there were others here. So many people just walking around him as this girl fucked him right here on the sofa.

“Lay back baby,” She said as she rode him, steadily lifting herself off of him, the wet squelch of her tight heat lost to the music and the chaos of the open room. She was pretty in an odd way, Roger thought. His body felt like it was on fire, and he felt the involuntary response of his orgasm winding its way to completion.

He gasped, coming inside the condom as she giggled and contracted around him. He was panting hard, his heart racing. Whatever he had taken was too much, he thought, too much this time. He felt sick. He pawed at the girl as she chased her own climax, pushing her off just as she came, nibbling at his sweat-slick skin.

“Thanks for the fuck,” she said as she slid off him. She pulled up her panties under her skirt and wobbled away.

He sagged back against the couch where no one seemed to pay attention to him, feeling used. Tears stung his eyes, and then someone called his name.

“Hey Roger, you done fucking around? Come play this game with us.”

He raised his head, the whole room swimming. Gingerly, he made his way over to the small gathering. There were shots set up in front of a laptop. Greg, the leader of the group, pushed Roger down in a chair.

“It’s youngest against oldest, and Rog, you’re the youngest. Whoever does the least amount of shots has to answer one of these Craigslist Personals ads. I’ve put them all in a random name generator so it’s totally fair.”

Roger felt sick. He knew he’d had too much to drink already, and there was no way he would win. He stared the other man down anyway.

Greg counted them out. “On your mark, get set, go!”

Roger started downing shots until he declared he’d had enough. He was nearly blackout drunk when they pulled the virtual lever on the random name generator. The ad title that came up was “Birthday Boy Seeking Party Guests.”

Roger was passed out on the couch when Greg sent the email to John along with a fetching photo of Roger smiling with friends while wearing his favorite sunglasses. Greg was sure to add, “you can’t tell, but my eyes are blue ;).”

John forgot about his little ad until the following evening, when he was coming home from the repair shop and remembered that he should probably check his email. He picked up dinner, fed Gwyneth and did just that, deleting the spam and adverts and noticing, to his surprise, several emails from Craigslist users.

He omitted some right away…not on a superficial bases, but just based on how they sounded. Bossy, arrogant, or their emails gave out a creepy vibe. The next one he clicked on was a bloke named Freddie.

“I AM weird AND kinky…” John laughed at that. That was mild compared to some of the other things he’d been told. It was rather endearing, actually. As the pic took forever to load, he thought Freddie might be interesting to get to know.

Then the pic finally opened and John’s mouth flew open.

Black, lustrous, shoulder-length hair framing the most stunning face…tan skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and jawline and those piercing brown kohl-lined eyes. He was easily the most exotic person John had ever laid eyes on. He was immediately attracted to him.

John hit reply and began typing. “I love your headshot. This may be a little forward, but would you like to come celebrate my birthday with me? You would be my first guest :).”

He gave him the time and place, included a headshot, and hit send, hoping for the best.

The next email was a bit longer and more thoughtful but just as intriguing.

“Hi there. My name is Brian. I am a college student getting my PhD. I saw your ad on Craigslist and I must say I am intrigued. I have never done anything like this, either. I would be interested in helping you celebrate your birthday if you provide a safe, clean environment in which to do so. Please provide photos of your flat.” Thanks –Bri”

John smiled. How considerate to think of a safe environment. Bri was definitely getting an email. He replied to Brian and included photos of his living room, kitchen, and bedroom (he left the bathroom out for reasons). Thankfully he had just tidied up. He also included a headshot.

The next email that caught his eye was from Roger. When the pic loaded, he was stunned to find a beautiful blond man with a winning smile standing in a group of friends.

“Hi! My name is Roger. I saw your ad on Craigslist. You can count me in! Just send me the time and place. Also, you can’t tell, but my eyes are blue ;).”

John smiled at his enthusiasm. He attached a headshot, gave him the details and hoped he would hear a little more from him.

John switched over to his Myspace and made a post for the first time in a long time. “Happy for new adventures,” it said with a sticker. And for the first time in a long time, he was.

Freddie was late, and he had just enough time for tea and maybe to check his email before he was needed at Splash, the high-end fashion boutique where he worked. He scrolled through his messages on his phone, reading a few replies, when one from Craigslist user John caught his eye.

“I love your headshot. This may be a little forward…”

Freddie smiled at that.

The pic finally loaded, and Freddie’s mouth watered at the sweet sight. A young man, early twenties, long brown hair, lovely green eyes, and the sweetest smile stared back at him. There were secrets in that smile, he thought, and Freddie wanted to find them out.

So Freddie had a date with not one but three other gents. He better get to work so he could find himself something new to wear.

“I want a double mocha latte, no whip, no drizzle, but soy sub on the milk,” the customer spouted off dryly, and Brian just nodded. He’d been working as a barista at Starbucks to help pay his way through college, and while things could get a little crazy, he mostly liked it. “No problem,” he said as he tried to smile. “Name please?”

The teenage girl grinned. “Princess of the Universe.” Brian’s face fell. “Alright miss I’ll try to fit that on the cup,” he muttered as he turned to make her coffee.

At his next break, he sat in the back and played Angry Birds on his phone until his email notifications pinged. John from Craigslist had written him back.

“Hi Bri! This is John. I really enjoyed your email and appreciate you thinking to ask about a safe environment. That is really important and is honestly something I would do. I have included the requested pictures of my flat. Thankfully I had just tidied up (haha).

The flat was neat and clean. Very homey. There was a fat orange cat nestled on the couch in one of the pics, and it made Brian smile. The headshot John had sent was of John in profile, looking out a window. His green eyes were luminous in the sunlight, and his long brown hair was pulled back over his shoulder. There was a slight smile on his face.

Brian hummed as he looked at it, eyes going over the smooth skin of the young man’s neck and where that skin stretched over the juncture of his jaw and cheek. He was lovely.

“Brian! You’ve got customers!”

Brian muttered a curse to himself.

“I’d very much like to attend,” Brian found himself typing. “Send me the details.”

His head was pounding, and the afternoon light of his bedroom hurt his eyes. Those were Roger’s first cognizant thoughts as he gradually returned to wakefulness after coming home last night and passing out on top of his sheets.

He doesn’t remember coming home, really, or how he got home. But he assumed Greg and his friends dumped him off here after he woke up on their couch.

It didn’t matter, not really. He stumbled home like this a few times a week and he invariably always recovered.

Roger peeled himself off the mattress, dragging himself into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He endured the light so he wouldn’t miss the toilet, and when he passed the mirror, he paused.

There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. His face was puffy, his hair in disarray. He looked older somehow, and he swore under his breath. Shit had to get better than this.

He peeled off last night’s clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray wash off the filth and sketchy memories. Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off and put on a pair of sweats. He had a few hours before he had to be at his bartending job at a local nightclub, so he decided to forego the tea and head straight for the coffee.

He settled into the couch, letting the weariness leech from his boned into the cushions. Sipping his coffee, he checked his email, frowning when he got a notification from Craigslist.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself, opening the email to find the top half of a picture loading.

It was a young man with soft green eyes crinkled at the edges, a wide smile and long brown hair. Something caught in his chest, something warm and fluttery, as he looked at it.

The email was underneath.

“Hello Roger! I’m John. I’m excited that you want to attend my birthday party. You’re my third guest, so that makes four of us, lol ;). I’m sending you the date and time below along with directions to my flat. I can’t wait to meet you in person. :).”

What the actual FUCK.

And suddenly it all came flooding back. The shot game, the lost bet. Roger’s heart sped up. Was he going to a foursome? Were they all dudes? His mouth went dry. While Roger had always been attracted to men, he had never actually slept with one. He swallowed. Could he actually do this?

FUCK.

There was no Emily Post etiquette guide for hosting a foursome, so John decided to wing it.

As he stared down into the homemade pasta sauce, he reasoned that food was a good move. Food brought people together, and togetherness brought sex. John smiled, satisfied with his ingenious if rather simplistic reasoning. He stirred the sauce, pausing before adding the browned ground beef. What were the odds that one of them was a vegetarian? He shrugged and dumped it in. Not too high.

The doorbell rang and John nearly jumped out of his skin. It was 6:05, and his guests weren’t due until 6:30. He frowned, turning the burner on low and moving to the peephole.

There, on the other side, was the same face he’d viewed in the email, only in living color. The sharp cheek bones, the elegant nose, the kohl lined eyes. John couldn’t get the door open fast enough.

“Freddie,” he almost breathed. His heart was beating fast and he self-consciously smoothed the hair around his face.

Freddie’s eyes flicked down to his chest, then back up to his face before he smiled, stepped into his space and smoothly kissed him, steadying his chin with the tips of his fingers.

John returned the kiss before breaking away, sputtering a little before getting his bearings. “Do you…do you always greet strangers like that?”

Freddie laughed smoothly. “No, silly.” He looked down, then back up at him, one neatly trimmed eyebrow cocked slightly. “But I’m excellent at following instructions.”

John flushed, remembering his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, and ushered him inside. “Um, can I get you something to drink?”

“I dunno, can you?” Freddie said smoothly as he walked through the living room of John’s flat, taking in every detail. He was impeccably dressed, John thought as he tracked him through the space. He stirred the sauce, leaving it to simmer and reached for a bottle of red wine, pouring Freddie a glass.

He handed it to the man who took it gratefully. “Something smells yummy. You didn’t have to cook, darling.”

John smiled, flushing at the epithet. “It’s just pasta. It’s nothing.”

Freddie settled on the couch, balancing the wine glass on his knee. “I hope you don’t mind that I arrived a little early. I always arrive early to these sorts of things. It keeps me safe.”

John nodded. “That’s smart actually. I don’t mind at all. I’m just glad you came.”

Freddie waggled his eyebrows over his wine glass. “I always come.”

John’s blush deepened, and Freddie laughed.

“I can’t help myself, darling, you’re just so damn cute when you do that.”

John lowered his glass. “Do what?”

“Blush like that. It’s precious.”

The two of them sat there for a few moments when Gwyneth took that opportunity to rub against Freddie’s leg.

“What a baby!”

John laughed as Gwyneth stretched and meowed, looking up at Freddie with affection. “I think she likes you.”

Freddie cooed and scratched her head. “I think I’m in love.”

When Brian arrived, John was busy straining the pasta, so Freddie got the door.

“Hello, darling,” he said brightly.

Brian looked at Freddie blankly. “You’re not John.”

“Come on in!” John called from the kitchen, and Brian side-stepped the man at the door a little nervously to meet the man in the kitchen.

“Um, sorry darling, but as I was about to say, “I’m Freddie.”

Brian looked down at the enigmatic man who had a delicate hand stuck out for him to shake. He took it.

Brian pressed his lips together. “Sorry about that earlier. I uh…I was just expecting John.”

Freddie patted his arm. “It’s alright love. We’re all a little jumpy. Just meeting and all that. But John is lovely. He even cooked.”

John appeared behind Brian, a dish towel over his shoulder. “Hello,” he said. “I’m John.”

Brian shook his hand, noticing the calloused fingers. The young man was trim in figure-hugging jeans and a crisp blue shirt that brought out the green in his eyes. Brian swallowed hard.

“Brian,” he said a little thinly.

John smiled, and it went straight to his gut. “I hope you like pasta Brian.” He walked to the counter and poured him a glass of wine.

Brian took it from him. “I do actually. Just no meat sauce. I’m a vegetarian.”

John looked horrified. “Fuckity fuck,” John he said allowed. “How about a salad?”

Freddie howled with laughter, the outburst so loud it scared Gwyneth under the couch. Brian just smiled softly, laying a hand on John’s shoulder. “That actually sounds lovely John.”

Brian made his way to the couch, followed closely by Freddie. The other man was observing him very keenly, taking in the softly curling hair and the sharp nose framing the delicate face. Brian was dressed very casually compared to Freddie, but he was no slouch. His neat jeans and tan blazer suited his slim physique very well.

John stared at the clock. It was crowding seven now, and Roger was nowhere to be found. A little pang of worry stabbed at his heart. It was possible that he might not show, and that was fine, but he was certainly looking forward to meeting him. He thought of the blue eyes the photo had hidden that he would never get to see.

Instead of worrying, he busied himself with plating the pasta and salads. Brian met him in the kitchen, setting his wine glass down. “Let me give you a hand, John.” His smile was genuine and warm, and John found that he liked it very much.

With two working it took half the time, and everyone had their food. Freddie looked around at the empty place setting and frowned. “Where’s number four?”

John worried his lip. “I don’t really know,” he said honestly. “I’m sure he’ll make it.”

Freddie smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes they don’t love. Nerves and all.”

Almost on cue, there came a tentative knock at the door. John stood a little too fast before settling himself down enough to answer it. He knew before looking through the peephole who it was.

Roger was dressed in a fashionable leather jacket and matching pants that hugged his figure. His trademark sunglasses were in the collar of his frayed t-shirt, no doubt purchased that way. His hair was messy-chic. John couldn’t stop staring at him until those blue eyes popped up to meet his. “You’re John?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammered out. “Nice to meet you Roger.” Roger shook it rather limply as he breezed into the living room, not giving John more than a glance. He stiffened when he heard voices from the kitchen.

“There you are!” Freddie called out to him. “Thought this was going to be a threesome. And while that’s still lovely, I do hate it when plans change,” he pouted.

Roger turned rather haltingly to face the other two men who had been eating and chatting, getting to know one another. Brian pointed to the open seat at the table, and Roger took it.

“Mind if I smoke John?”

John liked his voice…soft but still masculine. It made his stomach flutter. And while he smoked, he usually didn’t smoke inside because of Gwyneth. But he supposed—

“That’s fine,” John finally said. He watched as the fire from the lighter illuminated his fine features; he was certainly very beautiful, this Roger.

“I made dinner,” John offered, hoping to start a conversation with the man who had said very little since he arrived.

“Not hungry mate. Thanks though.”

John frowned a little, and Freddie cleared his throat.

“Well I’m Freddie, and this is Brian,” the ever talkative Freddie began with the introductions.

“Roger,” the newcomer mumbled around his cigarette.

They resumed eating and things grew quiet and bit awkward as Roger sat there smoking while everyone ate. He was very closed off, like he didn’t want to be there. John would need to get to the bottom of it if things progressed.

“Now that we’re all here, I’m a true bottom,” Freddie said matter-of-factly, “so I hope there are some tops among us.”

John nearly choked on his penne, and Brian had to pat him on the back, a fond smile on his face. “It doesn’t matter to me either way,” Brian said, his face growing hot.

“Me neither,” John said quietly.

Roger took a bored drag on his cigarette. “Top,” he muttered.

Freddie’s eyes grew wide. “Really…”

Roger snapped his gaze Freddie’s way. “Yeah, that’s right. Is that so hard to believe, you wanker?”

Freddie put his hands up in defense. “No reason to be nasty, love. Just took me by surprise is all. You just give off…bottomy vibes.”

Roger stubbed out his cigarette in his empty plate. “What the FUCK is that supposed to mean?”

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Nothing darling. Forget it.”

Roger had stood, fists balled at his hips, and he was gyrating with anger. John and Brian were looking on, wide-eyed, wondering where all of this would go.

Until Freddie stood and hugged the man.

Roger relaxed into his grip, his head dropping to his shoulder. He sighed, arms relaxing at his sides.

“Darling, it’s alright,” Freddie soothed against him. “It’s all alright now.”

And when Freddie pulled away, he kissed him softly on the lips.

Roger hummed in surprise before relenting into the kiss, letting his mouth go pliant against the other man’s and enjoying the faint hint of tomato sauce and chapstick on his tongue. When Freddie released him, he sighed.

“Why—why did you do that?”

Freddie reached up to thumb at his chin. “Darling, you looked like you needed it. When’s the last time someone hugged you?”

Roger’s eyes stung with oncoming tears, but he willed them back down. His lack of an answer was enough for Freddie.

“Let us take care of you tonight,” he said sweetly. “Show you true affection. Make you feel good.”

“Yeah,” Roger found himself saying. It sounded so nice, after all, to be truly wanted and cared for, if only for the night.

Brian and John were beside them now, and John leaned in and lay a hand on Roger’s arm. “Are we ok?”

Roger nodded, feeling much more at ease. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

John smiled. “Let’s clean up, yeah? Then maybe we can move this into the bedroom.”

“You uh…You mind if I just watch for a while?”

Roger had gotten his shirt off, and then nerves had taken over. Freddie was on all fours, moaning into John’s talented fingers as he opened him up, his heavy cock straining with need.

John shot him a smile. “Sure love. Do what you’re comfortable with,” he said as he punched another moan out of Freddie, twisting those fingers inside of his tight walls.

Roger eased off the bed before a hand grabbed him. “Hey,” Brian said, hazel eyes soft with lust.

Roger swallowed, the tall man’s kind smile making him feel instantly at ease.

He smiled, his heartrate going down a bit.

“Where are you off to?” Brian answered innocently. He was crowding his space, the bare skin of his chest now flush with his as he bent his head to nose at his hair.

“That chair in the corner,” Roger said softly. “I was gonna watch.”

Brian placed a little kiss to his hair. “Not gonna play?”

Roger’s throat was dry, and he was straining in his trousers. “Not right now,” he trailed off.

Brian kissed further down the side of his face. “Pity,” he said as his hands traveled over Rogers bum.

“You ever had a really good blowjob, Roger? One that makes you feel like you’re exploding into a billion stars?” Brian finally reached his mouth and locked lips with him, his tongue curling around his, kissing him so deeply it stole Roger’s breath.

Roger moaned in spite of himself, leaning into Brian’s touch. Brian released him, never breaking eye-contact. “Well, have you?”

He answered him truthfully. “I guess not,” he said a little breathlessly.

Brian smiled. “That’s what I was hoping you would say.”

“Can you take a fourth finger baby?” Freddie just moaned, gripping the sheets as he tossed his head back. John slid it in, delighting in the way Freddie just fluttered around him, drawing him in like he was born to take it. He worked his fingers in and out of him, hitting his prostate to make him moan. The sound of Brian going down on Roger was in his ears and it home to John that this foursome dream of his was really happening, this little birthday fantasy of his was real.

John pressed kisses into Freddie’s neck, making sure his fingers kept up a steady pressure. Freddie just moaned—he was so vocal—and thrust his hips up to meet his fingers.

“Need your cock,” he finally breathed. “Give it to me John.”

Roger shivered as Brian circled the head of his cock with his tongue, licking the slit before descending on him again. Brian took him all the way to the base, his nose buried in the dark blond hair there, Roger’s hot length stretching his throat with every bob of his head.

Above him, Roger was coming undone. He was making little keening sounds as Brian played with his balls while sucking him off, moaning and sputtering that he wouldn’t last long. It didn’t matter to Brian. He loved this.

The man grabbed a handful of his hair just before coming hot and full down his throat, his back arching prettily. Brian swallowed him down, finally pulling off him when he was sure he was finished.

Brian dabbed at his mouth as Roger looked at him with a little bit of awe.

“You good?” he asked Roger as he sat back on his knees, smiling up at him.

“Incredible,” Roger sighed. “That was better than X.”

Brian frowned. “X?”

“Ecstasy? The party drug?” Roger looked perplexed that the man had never heard of it.

He dug in his pocket and produced a little baggie and handed it to Brian, who pushed it away.

“Sorry mate, but I’m not down for that. Brian looked nervously over his shoulder. John doesn’t look the type either, so I’d put that away if I were you.”

Roger stuffed the baggie of pills back into his pocket. “Do I look like the type?” he said as he zipped up his fly.

Brian just sat there, thinking.

Freddie had one hand on his leaking cock, stroking it in rhythm to John’s thrusts. His head was pressed into the mattress, and he was having the time of his life.

“Harder John. Fuck me harder babe. Like you mean it!”

John loved how vocal Freddie had been to begin with, but now he was being outright bratty. John hitched Freddie’s hips higher, angling them so he could aim directly at his prostate. Freddie’s body was slicked with sweat as was his own, so maneuvering them was no easy feat. He pulled out of Freddie and then slammed back down again.

“God yes that’s it lover,” Freddie mumbled into the sheets as he set up a blistering pace, wet flesh slapping against each other as he John chased his release. Freddie was furiously stroking himself, so it wouldn’t be long for him. Through Freddie’s plaintive, sharp moans, he could feel the crest of his orgasm stop right at the edge. He tightened his grip on Freddie, emptying into the condom as wave after wave of pleasure gripped him. Somewhere through the fog he heard Freddie come right after.

Brian followed Roger into living room, where he was trying to collect his things. “You’re leaving?”

Roger turned on Brian, his hands on his hips. “I don’t have much choice, now do I?”

Brian shrugged. “You always have a choice.”

“I don’t belong here,” Roger said, shaking his head. “I’m not even gay.”

Brian’s eyes widened. “Are you sure about that?”

Roger shook his head, withdrawing the little baggie of pills. “Ah fuck it,” he said as he poured a few in his hand.

Brian approached him slowly. “I can’t let you do that, Roger. Take those pills. Not on my watch.”

Roger clutched the pills in his hand tightly to his chest. “What the fuck do you care, Brian? You’re just some guy who blew me off. You don’t know me?” He was vibrating with rage, his eyes wide. “You don’t own me!”

Brian shook his head. “Listen to yourself. You sound like a child. We’re talking about drugs, here, Roger. You could seriously hurt yourself.”

“Yeah well, I hope I do,” He spat.

Brian had no choice. “John! Freddie! I need you in here!”

The two of them came rushing in, John in a robe and Freddie struggling into pants. “Brian, what’s wrong?”

“Roger has drugs,” Brian got out quickly. “Ecstasy. He’s about to take some.”

Freddie stepped forward between them. “Oh darling that shit is hell on you. You don’t want to do that. Tell me what’s up.”

Roger relaxed a little. “Nothing,” he whispered. The pills were sweating and melting in his hand. “I just needed to get out of my head for a little while.”

John was watching the proceedings, trying not to panic. No way did he want drugs in his house, but he also didn’t want to see Roger hurt.

Freddie nodded. “I so understand that love. That’s why I hook up a lot. Sex helps me forget some nasty things in my past and some things that are going on in my daily you know? It’s a nice escape. Plus it’s legal and it doesn’t hurt me as long as I’m safe.”

Roger’s hand relaxed a little on the pills. “Yeah that makes sense,” he conceded. “I’m glad you have that.”

Freddie nodded again, getting close enough to Roger to smooth some of the hair that hung around his face behind his ear. Roger seemed to lean into his touch. “Did you enjoy your time with Brian, him? Freddie couldn’t keep the wicked smile from his face. “Sure sounded liked you did.”

Roger smiled then. “Yeah it was really nice.”

“I bet. Might have to see how nice it is, huh Brian?” Freddie said as he threw a wink over his shoulder at Brian who just laughed at him, shaking his head.

Freddie grabbed Roger’s hand. “Give me these darling…they’re all melted now, anyway. Come have some fun with us instead.”

Roger’s lips were dry as Freddie pried the pills from his grip. “I’ve never…I’ve never been with a man,” he admitted.

“A virgin?!” Freddie gasped, “Oh our boy’s a virgin…we’ll have to take extra special care of him won’t we boys?”

Freddie discreetly handed off the baggie of pills and the few tablets to John who promptly went into the bathroom to flush them.

“Yes,” he said as he stroked his face. “We’ll take extra good care of you love. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Brian stroked the young man’s face as John worked on the fly of his dark jeans, easing them down his hips. His cock sprung free…no pants underneath, and John smiled, stroking him lightly. Freddie hummed, squeezing Brian’s buttocks as he wrapped an arm around his waist.

“You sure you’re ok with this Roger?” John’s voice was husky with want, his eyes flicking up briefly from the young man’s cock to his blue eyes where they looked down at him expectantly.

“Yes,” Roger said, leaning into Brian’s hand on his face, his eyes fluttering closed. “I want this.”

Freddie smiled, tightening his arms around Brian. They walked Roger back until his legs touched the bed. He sat down, easing onto the soft comforter while they helped him scoot back. Brian was between his legs in an instant, easing between his thighs to skate his hands along his chest and arms while Freddie cradled his head in his lap. Roger’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted in a pretty bow, and John bent to kiss them, unable to help himself.

Roger sighed, giving himself over to the kiss, letting his tongue dart out to meet John’s as his arms strained against Freddie hands. At some point, the dark-haired man had pressed his arms down into the mattress.

Roger panicked for a split second, then the thrill of the restraint sank into his bones, and he truly felt free.

“That’s it baby,” Freddie soothed, “Just let go and let us take over.” Roger stared up into the man’s soft brown eyes, feeling a strange sense of peace.

Brian was making slow circles on his hip, thumbing the sensitive skin there. “Roger,” he said softly. “Do you want to top?” His hazel eyes bore into his. “It’s your first time. It’s easier that way.”

Roger worried his lip. “No,” he said firmly. “I want to do it like Freddie did.”

Freddie smirked a little, still stroking his hair. “I knew it. He’s a natural bottom.”

John giggled a little, tossing Brian the lube. “Open him up nice and slow Brian. Your fingers are slender.”

John crawled over to Freddie, pulling his head up and kissing him firmly. Freddie groaned into John’s mouth, letting his hand slide up his chest. “Up for round two love?”

John just hummed. “Maybe. Maybe not. On your knees, True Bottom.” John pushed Freddie down on his knees, smacking his bum on the way down. Freddie fell forward, grunting as he hit the mattress, landing on all fours.

He shivered as John climbed up behind him. He could feel his warm breath on the back of his thigh, whispering over his bum as John’s hands settled there. He parted his cheeks, and Freddie hardly had time to catch his breath before John had licked a hot strip up the cleft of his buttocks.

“Fuck!” Freddie cried out, his whole body jerking under John’s mouth. John smiled against him, and Freddie felt the wry grin against his skin.

Brian eased a pillow beneath Roger’s hips, watching Roger for any sign of discomfort. He betrayed none; he seemed as relaxed as he did when Freddie was cradling his head. Indeed, Freddie had now clasped the blond’s hand while being eaten out, a look of sheet bliss on his face, and Roger gripped it tightly.

“We’re going to do this very slowly, Roger. It will feel different at first, but then it will feel good, ok?”

Roger nodded his head, taking in a breath.

Brian tutted. “Don’t hold your breath love. Blow it out for me. Just try to relax, ok? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Brian smiled at him, and Roger returned it. Brian had the sweetest, most genuine smile, and while he didn’t really know the man, he knew instinctively that he could trust him.

He warmed the lube in is fingers before circling Roger’s entrance with smooth, calculated movements, relaxing the tight muscle. He pushed one in, and Roger jumped a little.

“How does that feel Roger? Talk to me.”

“Different,” he breathed. “Not bad.”

Brian smiled. He began working the finger in and out of Roger rhythmically until he felt Roger relax around him, then he added a second.

Roger jerked, a little half-moan escaping his lips. Brian cocked an eyebrow. “Is that better?”

“Y-yeah,” Roger stammered. “It’s ok.”

Brian aimed for his prostate, finding the little bundle of nerves in moments, and Roger nearly folded in half. “Just ok?”

Roger was panting, a fine sweat on his brow, and he unconsciously thrust onto Brian’s fingers. “So good,” he said, his grip on Freddie’s hand tightening.

Freddie preened. “Look at you baby boy—ahh—taking those fingers so well. I knew you could do it.”

Freddie looked ruined, very near coming, and the sounds coming from John were bordering on obscene. Roger couldn’t see him, but whatever he was doing to Freddie it sounded like he was enjoying it.

Brian twisted the fingers against him, making him writhe and squirm, until he added a third.

Roger winced at the sting, the stretch of a third finger, but Brian was gentle in coaxing him open. He was leaned over him, planting little kisses on his collarbone, his throat, and finally smothering his moans with his own mouth. It all felt so intimate, not at all like his drug-fueled shags. Tears began to spring in his eyes.

Brian noticed immediately. “Roger, am I hurting you? He lost the fingers immediately. “Talk to me, Roger.”

“No,” Roger choked out. “Give me more please.”

John laughed as he was helping Freddie clean up. “You’ve got him begging Brian. So beautiful for us.”

The fingers returned, a little rougher this time, a little more insistent. Roger’s legs were open wide and he was almost swallowing Brian’s hand.

“You’re ready, gorgeous. I think my work here is done.” Brian withdrew his hand, wiping it on his thigh, and met John in the middle of the bed. He kissed him deeply. “You have him nice and open for me?” Brian murmured softly.

John nodded. “He’s all yours. I bet you can get him to come again.”

Brian squeezed John’s arm, locking eyes with him. “Be gentle with Roger.”

John blinked up at him. “Of course Bri,” he said, using his sign off from his email. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting him.”

Brian smiled. “I know.”

John crawled over to Roger, who was still red-faced, his chest heaving. He leaned over him, giving him a tender kiss. “Hello love. Don’t you look ravishing like this?”

John cradled his face in his hand, then trailed it down his chest to tease at a nipple. “I’m going to take good care of you, yeah?”

Roger only nodded, his eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and irresistible.

John slid on a condom, coating it with lube. He pressed against Roger’s open entrance, letting his cockhead push at the rim. He looked up at Roger. “We don’t have to do this. It’s up to you.”

Roger shook his head. “I want it,” he said throwing his back into the pillow. “Give it to me.”

John pushed gently inside, watching Roger’s intake of breath, is fluttering eyelids at the sudden onslaught of being filled. He gave him a moment to adjust, the vice-like grip of him around him, hot and incredibly tight driving him mad with the need to move.

“I’m ok,” Roger said finally. “Go ahead.”

He had one arm over his face and his lip between his teeth, but for his first time he was taking cock so well. John basically made love to him…slow, measured strokes, his face buried in his shoulder and his hips undulating over his. He had one hand on Roger’s cock, slowly stroking it in time with his thrusts.

Then Roger started kissing him…hungry, desperate kisses that made the fire rise in his blood. That, coupled with the feeling of how bloody close they were, their bodies nearly fused together, made John want to give it to him just a little harder.

“Hitch your legs around me baby. Come on, that’s it.” John increased his pace, and little whines started coming from the back of Roger’s throat.

“You doing ok?”

Roger nodded furiously. “Gonna come,” he managed.

Freddie and Brian rolled over close to the couple, Freddie taking over for John by working Roger’s cock, and Brian sweeping the hair back from John’s neck and placing an encouraging kiss there.

John could feel his own orgasm building, a tightly packed explosion of euphoria ready to burst at any moment. It was finally punched out of him when Roger looked up at him with those blue eyes and said “Just let go…” He had been the one who had been so careful with him, but it finally took permission from Roger for him to get release.

With Freddie’s help, Roger came right after.

The four of them lay beautifully spent, bodies sweating and coming down from their highs. Roger lit a cigarette and shared it with Freddie.

“We never cut the birthday cake,” John mused.

Brian laughed. “What time is it?”

Someone looked at their phone. “10:20.”

Roger smiled. “Well, it’s still your birthday.”

John laughed. “Indeed it is. Who’s up for some post-coital cake?”

Freddie grimaced. “That does not sound right.”

They all tumbled out of bed toward the kitchen where John dished up the plates and began serving cake.

John flushed. “Um, before you go, you’re free to use the shower. Freshen up a bit if you like. Or, you could stay over…”

Something flashed in their eyes, and they all shared a look.

“I’m actually off tomorrow,” Freddie said.

“I don’t work until nighttime,” Roger added.

“My shift at the coffee shop doesn’t start until ten,” Brian replied.

John brightened. “Well, that’s great! I mean, I wouldn’t want you traveling so late and all. Let’s take our cake back to bed, shall we?”

John gathered up the plates and began to traipse back to the bedroom, but as soon as he got out of sight, Freddie grabbed a piece of paper and put his phone number on it, then gave it to Brian and then Roger and let them do the same. At the bottom, he wrote “Happy Birthday” with a heart and stuck it on the fridge for John to find later. Then, all three of them followed John back into the bedroom to finish their cake.

-0-0-0-

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veridium · 5 years

Text

heartbreak warfare

WELCOME TO MORE QUEER PAIN

Hope ya’ll are ready for some shit. Because I brought the shit. Heaping dose, because I have had a wonderful day and feel all mushy. Enjoy!

part one // last episode

-- The man was a no-good blond bastard with too much wool in his wardrobe and clumsy taste in flowers. White carnations represent pure love, and he had the audacity to come around with a fist of them. He should have crawled up the stairs on his knees if he wanted to present pure love. Yelling at him made Olivia feel close to the goddess Medusa in levels of vindicated fury, though she was inconvenienced by the lack of hair snakes.

Despite her almighty and supernatural ire, Ellinor granting him entry is something she disagrees with but ultimately respects: her best friend is tired, and deserves to feel loved, and maybe the one silver lining is that there isn’t much else Cullen Rutherfudger can mess up more. Maybe if they get it together she won’t have to peel her up off the floor next weekend. Damn, had their standards for a good Saturday crashed down below sea level.

But, she will be keeping a close eye on him. A very close, and scathing, eye. To be fair, the man shows up and tows the line when he has fucked up; which is more than she can say for who she once thought of as a potential suitor as Sunday passes with no word. Potential suitor. Ugh, that kind of working only happens when you’ve paid attention to someone who’s a rhetorical romantic. Too much attention.

Monday comes, and is mundane. She keeps a low profile, and attends classes with little fuss; her Professor asks how she is doing because of her silence in class discussion, and she gives an excuse about getting over a head cold. Yeah, right. Besides lecture and a short shift at the gym, she goes back home to continue being reclusive. She does not cross paths with Ellinor much, though she fields the almost hourly texts asking her how she is, where she is, and if she needs anything. Ellinor is doing that innocent thing all friends do when they find themselves luckier in personal exploits than their loved ones: sympathy that is all-too-easily swallowed as pity when you’ve been kicked down one-too-many times.

Tuesday also comes and goes. Classes and a midterm exam, one she completes with confidence; cold war history is interesting enough. It helped that she had someone, for a brief time, to rant about it and dissect things. During the free response portion she uses a word Cassandra did during one of their debates: “pejorative.” How the hell she knew that word was whatever.

Then, Wednesday. Even though it’s only been a few days, when she wakes up to Ellinor’s voice it feels like it’s been a century since the last time she’s heard it.

“Liv, release the hostage oreos.” Oh, great. Long time no see, and she’s come into her room just to attack her for her life choices.

Olivia growls and hides away, bastard red velvet oreos in her clutches. “Bite me.”

“Liv. Come on,” Ellinor’s standing by her bed, hands on her hips like a fed up soccer mom trying to get her kid up for school. “You haven’t been responding to my texts and you don’t answer the door. I worried you ate yourself into a coma. I keep hearing the Scientist on repeat through your door. I think I can play the piano part off of just memory alone.”

“Good, maybe Cullen would enjoy another concert.”

“Olivia!”

She gives in and rolls over, tossing the oreos to her without looking. “Fine! Have at ‘em.” Ellinor misses and they fall onto the floor with a sharp, plastic crack. The worst part though is the thought that comes immediately after they crash: Cassandra would have caught it.

She groans again and tosses her comforter over her head. “What time is it? My alarm hasn’t gone off.”

“I caught it as it went off, bitch,” Ellinor grumbles. The sound of her picking up the oreos and tossing them to the table. She cares. I shouldn’t be so mean. She cares.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Seriously, are you alright? You haven’t dropped off the radar with me since that time you shaved half your eyebrows off at the Homecoming after party, remember?”

Oh, Jesus. How could she forget. “Mm. I’m fine. I’ve just been swamped with homework.”

“You? Olivia Sinclair, swamped by homework?” Ellinor’s voice veers farther away, towards the door. “Shit, the rapture must be upon us.”

“Give me a break, please. What are you doing up so early anyway? You don’t have class until…” that was a silly question. There could only be one reason she would be up and about like this. A week ago, it would have been the promise of coffee by Olivia. Now, it’s the promise of someone else’s coffee. Blond roast. Bleh.

“...Uh,” Ellinor chuckles nervously, “Nothing. I’m just hanging out. If you’d rather be left alone, I can go back to--”

“Don’t lay an egg, Ellinor.” Olivia gripes, stretching her toes. “You can say you’re up for him. I’m not a widow. Have fun, whatever it is you heteros do at the crack of dawn besides milking cows and...I don’t know, watching TLC or something.”

Silence. Ellinor sighs, and opens the door. “Okay, Olivia.” Dammit, she feels bad. Ellinor shouldn’t be feeling bad. She deserves to be happy, and she deserves a best friend who would support her being happy. Olivia flips over to lay face down and continue loathing herself. Every bone in her body wants to snarl and hide from everything good and cheery. Soon, Cassandra won’t be the only one steering clear of her, if she keeps this up.

Just outside her shut door, she hears a deeper voice. A deeper, calmer voice. Then Ellinor’s more opinionated tone. She says something bossy -- sounding like ‘I’m gonna kill your roommate for this, I hope you know.’ A sigh immediately responds. Typical. Cullen better have prepared himself to be with a woman who didn’t pull any punches, who could fight her own fights...and sometimes, fights that belong to her friends who have grown too tired of it all.

All she can do is wonder what it’ll take to feel okay again. It is one thing to say you’re hard to love, and make people miserable. It’s another to have someone confirm it so unapologetically.

Wednesday is as repetitive in the first half as Monday was: the same lectures, and then eventually a couple hours in the TA office waiting for nothing and no one to show up for assistance while she grades Blackboard responses to the week’s study question.

She’s in the thick of it when an email notification pops up on her laptop. Her women’s history 305 Professor, saying they’re switching texts for next week’s discussions. They’re going to study Heloise, a 11th century French nun and scholar. Great, fantastic, except none of their texts are about her. The Professor kindly asks they search for the suggested reading online or in the library. Olivia would be completely okay with digging up the text online if her laptop hadn’t just been salvaged from a virus stemming for the last time she did so.

Besides, the library was a reliable source. Why not do something she’s good at, and dig?

With a half hour left in her office hours she takes the liberty to stroll down to the main campus library. The book in particular is old so it should be in the stocks. When she goes to a computer and checks the catalog, she finds one copy is still available; her class’s rush to obtain it free hasn’t nosed her out completely just yet.

The Dewey decimal number takes her to a shelf on the fourth floor, but after 20 minutes of searching she uncovers nothing. No book, no Heloise. Defeated, she stands alone in the aisle and looks around one last time. It should be here, there’s no reason it shouldn’t. It said so in the database.

Climbing down to the main floor, she takes the issue up with the work study student manning the checkout desk.

“I’m sorry,” she says after looking it up on her own computer, “it’s been incorrectly logged. It happens.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“We have a couple satellite locations in town where our reserves are loaned long-term; sometimes their books are kept under our organized log when it’s with them.”

“So...so it is here. In town, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it should be. It’s just at one of our outsourced places.”

She asks if she can check them out still, and to her relief, the answer is yes. The kind woman writes down the address and name of the place for her, so that she can find it for herself once and for all. Handing it to her with a nice-enough smile, she sees her off.

Olivia makes it through the metal detectors before checking the piece of paper with pencil writing.

‘203 Northeast Lillian Way.’ Why is that so familiar? Shit. No, no, no, no. She rips her phone out and starts scrolling feverishly with her thumb through the old and taboo messages between her and she-who-still-shall-not-be-named. Lo and behold, it’s the worst possible outcome: the Church library. Of course, they would demand premium on books about a French Nun. How poetic.

She stands outside the library for a few minutes and deliberates her choices. With any luck, Cassandra is elsewhere -- it’s mid-afternoon, she probably has practice, or volunteer hours, or class. She tries, but she can’t remember for sure what her Tues/Thurs routine is. It’s been that long, or it’s been that hard to have her in her life. Regardless, she needs the book, and if she can get a hold of it she can make a photocopy and give it back with no harm done. It takes her a while, but she convinces herself to make a break for it: pulling out her keys from her bag and heading straight for the blue parking lot where her trusty car is awaiting.

All the same, she can’t help but curse her luck.

The drive to the Church would make her emotional if she had any emotions left to give. Days of alternating between crying, eating junk food, denial, and good ol’-fashioned anger have jaded her. At this point, she would dare the fates that be to make her days. The point between her pulling into the parking lot, turning her car off, and walking inside is all a surreal blur. Once she would have rather walked on a chain-link fence edge barefoot than set foot in a House of God, and now it’s twice in one month’s time.

Walking down the center aisle of the hall isn’t the same without Cassandra there to burst open a door on the other side. The stained glass isn’t as colorful, and the bread bowls aren’t as interesting. Still, thankfully, she finds herself left alone like before: no one to pretend they care about her soul, or ask if she’s been saved. The whole place feels like a ghost town, actually -- an odd thing for 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday. But who is she to judge? The Pope?

A right, then a left, then up stairs. She logs it all in her head. There’s so much more room in the hallway with just her. Too much room. Eventually, she finds the double-doors. One cocked open, with a wooden stopper wedged underneath it. She hesitates to show herself: she’s not as modest as she was when she first came around, black high-waisted shorts with tights on under, with a black short-sleeve v-neck tucked in. Heels, because, of course -- and they clank on the wood floor.

But she does go in. Brave enough, finally, after a couple breaths: and she’s vindicated for doing so. No one’s in. No school kids hiding out, no Missionary interns studying away. No Cassandra, either, skulking or pacing with a book in her hands contemplating the secrets of the universe. Fabulous, she can pull out the paper in her pocket with the decimal system number, find the damn book, and be out like a thief in the night. The mischievous fates have been thwarted, so it seems. If she ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and feet, being back where Cassandra first surprised, she can be on with her day.

Coming towards the standalone shelves rowed together, she studies the note she made for herself. The first shelf is way too early in the alphabet, so she comes around to the middle and peeks down the first section. Nothing and no one, and still in the C’s-E’s. She needs J.

Then, the sound of paper rubbing against itself. Like a page being turned. She freezes, takes a breath, and approaches the corner of the second aisle.

God, please, no, anyone but--but it’s her.

Her shoes are hitting the ground too hard for her presence to be a secret, and she knows well enough. She stops, and a heel grades against the wood grain. Cassandra -- dressed in black leggings and a sweatshirt, over-sized, and the most casual she’s ever seen her styled -- is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Up against the stacks, with several books piled around her. One open in her hands, kept in her lap. At the noise of Olivia’s footfalls she looks up. Not expecting her, clearly, her eyes go wide and she jerks up to her feet in the blink of an eye. Agile enough to do so without stumbling all over herself, but not confident enough to stand all tall and proud. Not like she did in the gallery.

Olivia steps back, and she can feel her face sour. She crinkles the paper in her hand, and it bends beneath a fist. She doesn’t respond, only glares with steeled hopelessness.

Cassandra closes the book in her hands. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I came for a book.” Iced, and disdainful.

Her face strains a bit, and she adjusts. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her bottom lip and holds her ground. “That is all.” It’s crushing her slowly, the priorities: yell at her, say sorry again, cry, beg. Too many needs and too many wants. She takes a page out of Cassandra’s metaphorical book and holds it all in under a guise of self-sufficient introversion.

“I...okay. D-do you need--”

“No. I know how to work a library.”

“...Alright.” She accepts it, and nods. Olivia sucks on her teeth. They both try to get on with whatever it is they were up to before they were aware of each other’s presence: Cassandra, sitting back down on the ground, and Olivia investigating the far end of the shelf. She tracks down the J’s, but there’s no book in sight. Again. First, twice, and thrice she checks the row where it should be. A couple minutes have passed, and she’s left standing there with no reward to her risk.

She lets out a sigh through puckered lips.

“What are you looking for?” Cassandra’s voice, clear and calm.

She keeps her eyes on the shelf, clinging to the paper. “I don’t need your help.”

“Um…” she treads lightly, very lightly, “some of the shelves are disorganized, because of the students.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. She’ll never find this damn book, she’ll never do her homework, she’ll just drop out and call it good.

“I’m…” she starts, but stops when Cassandra suddenly shows up next to her, having risen to her feet without so much as a sound. She takes hold of the paper that is in a death grip in Olivia’s hands, one which she releases against her better judgement.

She raises a brow. “Hm.”

“It’s--it’s a book with copies of letters from--”

“Heloise and Abelard. I know this anthology, I had it for...um, hm. You won’t find it here, though.”

Olivia slouches, and frustration escapes her. “What? Again?!”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head, and then turns around, “it’s over here.” Without a word, she walks away, with the presumption that Olivia will come along. An audacious presumption; if she had not come all the way across town to track down the damn thing she would have laughed and said ‘fat chance.’ Beggars can’t be choosers.

They go to the back corner, where there are rows of tall volume books that look like dictionaries. The shelf above them is where Cassandra slants onto her toes and searches. Olivia does her best to keep her eyes preoccupied elsewhere -- anywhere else, but her -- and waits patiently. Finally she falls back, pulling a book out that’s rather small and thin. But it’s weirdly pink, like the catalog image.

“Here,” she breaths, pivoting back to her and holding it out.

Olivia stares at the outstretched book, brow pressing low as she bites back more bitterness on her mind. She takes it, gripping onto the opposite diagonal corner to Cassandra’s grip.

“T-Thanks.” She spits out, holding it to her stomach. “Do you know if I have to….to do anything special to check it out from here? Or do I just take it to the main library?”

“You just take it there…” Cassandra confirms, reaching across her own stomach and clasping onto her elbow.

“Okay.” Olivia keeps her eyes to the ground, and her responses curt. “Thanks again. I’ll be going now.”

“Olivia, I’m sorry.” The words cut through the air like a chef’s knife. Eager, and quick, like it’s the last word she’ll ever get in edgewise. Olivia has turned to the side by the time she hears it, and she stops cold. The book to her belly now feels like armor she can’t live without. She can’t bare to look at her, at whatever face she’s making. It’ll be too sincere, too heartfelt.

“I really don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t, but you deserve to.”

“You thought I deserved to hear a great deal of things.”

“I...I know. And…”

“What?”

“And it was unfair of me. I shouldn’t have cornered you, when you were already feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t right.”

Olivia sucks in her gut; the words she is saying are too poignant to face with a chin tucked in shame. She looks, only to feel punished for it: Cassandra is frowning, and not the way she does by default. It is a sad one. It makes Olivia’s heart skip, and plummet at the same time.

“Y-you know, Cassandra,” she replies, her voice brittle as her throat gets thicker with tears she thought she had long run out of, “I...I just wish I knew what your secret was.”

Cassandra blinks a few times, beautiful black eyelashes fluttering. “My secret?”

“Yeah. Your secret. The one behind how you always look so undaunted and...and un-phased,” she closes her eyes to hold back tears, and cradles the book in both hands against her. “You know, Cullen talks to Ellinor, and Ellinor talks to me. I hear about how you are minding your own business, going about your day, while I cry myself to sleep or eat my body weight in Taco Bell. Every time. It hurts, but I tell myself, ‘oh, she’s just coping in her own way, she has to be as messed up as I am about this, just as torn up, just as…” she takes a shallow breath, but it does little to assuage her. “‘She has to be just as inexplicably messed up as I am.’ But even when I worried you didn’t care, or that you were indifferent, never did I think you would walk into the room and rip my heart out the way you did.”

Cassandra had become more and more engrossed in a painful kind of way, the more she talked. It wasn’t hard to understand -- it was probably the most brutally candid Olivia had ever been in her presence. Bearing her most cringe-worthy sides of her survival, for reasons she could not articulate half as well.

“So…” she sharply sniffled, “I just want to know what the secret is. What you do, what you...you tell yourself, that makes you so magically put-together. Maybe it’s the same shit you take that convinces you that I’m the one tormenting you when I…” she closes her eyes again, but a stray, small tear runs down the outside corner of her eye. That is enough for her. “You know, whatever. I’m...I’m not gonna…” she started to walk back, verbally and physically, expecting nothing else but her own shame.

A few steps, and then, the second twist of the knife.

“Liv, please.” Once again, she asks, and once again, Olivia stops. This time, her back is to her.

“I…” Cassandra takes a moment, collecting her breath by the sounds of it. “Cullen knows me, but he doesn’t know...me. He sees me coming and going, but he doesn’t know what happens while I’m getting by. If he did, he’d tell Ellinor--or, probably you, more like--that from the moment you first spoke to me I haven’t been able to get your voice out of my head. I’ve never been good with sentimentality, much as I appreciate it. But when I’m...when I’m around you it feels like I don’t have to worry. If anything’s been a secret, it’s been that.”

The sensation of hugging her in this room is still fresh. The way her arms wrapped around her waist, the way her breath felt against her neck. The briefness of it, and wishing it could last. But nothing lasts. Head high as much as she could pretend, she swallows stiff and keeps her eyes on the door for just a beat longer. Then, she faces her again. And Cassandra, she...her red eyes, her slightly red, tired eyes. It’s horrible.

“If you were so crazy about me, then why didn’t you kiss me? I was all yours, I was--”

“Because I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“...You…”

Cassandra sighs tersely, rubbing the side of her face. Exasperated. “I didn’t want the first time I ever kissed you to be during a fight about you being slut-shamed and me invading your privacy, alright? Is that...is that so much to ask? That if I was going to...to let myself be with a woman, a woman like you, that that kind of thing would be a little more special?!”

“I would have agreed, if you would have just talked to me! About anything!” Olivia shifted, now head-on with her. “You said you knew what you wanted, Cassandra, but that’s just it. You knew. I may have had my hopes and...and you may have been right about me having more of a clue than I admitted, but a clue is not consent. It isn’t a consensus. When you rejected me, I felt like an ass! Like I had taken advantage of you in some way.”

“Something you would have known wasn’t the case if you would have just stayed and listened to me! I was trying to tell you!”

“Trying?!”

“Yes! Or have you forgotten how hard it was to say out loud to the first girl you ever liked that you had feelings for her, and you were terrified she’d walk out?!”

“I did--!” She begins to hiss back, but stops. Forgiveness was an easier visitor when it came to certain suffering. She couldn’t swing the gavel when it came to that: it was like breaking ten different rules of queer code. Ugh, dammit. “Intimidated or not, we’re adults. This isn’t a recess, or homeroom, it’s...it’s life. I don’t get it, you’re always so...just...mature, with everything else but this.”

Cassandra half-nodded, and folded her arms. “The heart of man is a labyrinth, whose windings are very difficult to be discovered.”

Olivia delayed her retort, a bit off-guard. “...Um...yeah, that is...one way of putting it.”

Cassandra’s sweetly sore, peering down at the ground. “It’s an excerpt, from one of Heloise’s letters to Abelard. It’s...it’s after one where he implores her to revoke their union for the sake of God, but she refuses.”

Who even is this woman? Some thesaurus of mankind’s broken desires, reincarnated into one toned, statuesque, androgynous body? Is she even real?

“Yeah, well...Abelard was an elitist asshole who wasn’t worth it. And you’re still pompous, I take it.”

She smirks again, but not as sadly, as her eyes meet hers again. “Maybe so, on both counts. However, he still encouraged her in her work, and her learning.”

“Yes, as a means to punish her for behavior he deemed carnal even though he was a complicit beneficiary of if, not to mention--”

“Behavior he was punished for as well, rather grotesquely, if I can recall.”

Olivia’s hold on the book loosens, and she looks down at it, before back at her. “He...yeah. I mean, it was just a little...castration. It be like that sometimes.” They stare once again, and she clamps down on her tongue. They’re both fighting back something, some kind of expression, though Olivia denies the hope that Cassandra wishes to smile as she does. That is, until they both cough up a chuckle. The first in a long time; she can hardly remember the last occasion. That hurts.

After a moment, she gathers her wits. She slides the book into her shoulder back, and gets back to the unsavory topic.

“We’ve made a mess, haven’t we.” She can’t help but smile. Cassandra could run her heart through the mud and gravel, and then say something clever, and that’d be all it takes. She’d smile.

“I’m afraid so. They must think we’re devising to kill each other,” Cassandra says, coming forward. There’s no need of explanation as to who she’s referring to. In a flash, images of a very worried Ellinor and slightly scared Cullen come to mind.

“You would deserve it.”

A wry smirk. “Oh, would I?”

“Yes, you were a dick.”

“And you were an insensitive snob.”

Olivia chokes back another laugh. “Compared to the company you keep, Cassandra, I’m a down-home piece of apple pie.”

Cassandra scoffs. “Leliana? Ugh, God,” she grins, “she only pulls that act when she’s trying to pull something. She was being an ass, but, she was just...trying to protect me. I’m sure she’ll appear out of nowhere and explain herself, so, be prepared.”

“Oh, wonderful, I crave her company,” she mocks, eyes rolling gently as she looks back towards the door. “Why doesn’t she just show up now? I’m eager for more mortifying company.”

“She knew I wanted to be left alone. She does listen, you know.”

“...Oh. Well, damn.” That was a nice thing. Boundaries, huh, who knew. She can sympathize -- Olivia also has a friend who left her alone after one too many acidic quips. Oh, Ellinor. Though she wants to, she can’t crucify the woman for wanting to put up a fight for her friend. “Look, I know it makes me an asshole every time, but, I really should be going this time around. I have things to do tonight, and I really just needed to get this….this book.” She says it, but she hates it.

She hates it even more when Cassandra frowns, and blinks her eyes away. “I understand, no, it’s alright. You can’t just stay in every room I find you in.”

“No, I can’t, hah.” But I wish I could.

“Hey, Olivia?” she says one last time. Her full name. It’s nice, without all the malice.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes brighten a little. Bravery. “I...I hope that you’ll be happy. Whatever that means for you. You deserve it.”

It’s a stab to the side, clean and direct through her ribs and into her gut. Her voice saying ‘I think you knew what I wanted,’ rings loud and clear in her mind again. Wanted. Not want, wanted. And now this. Oh no, Cassandra, please, please don’t tell me you’ve really let go.

“...Thank you, Cassandra. I...I wish the same for you.” I wish it, and I wish it’d happen with me. Be with me. Ask me to stay. This time I’ll stay, I promise. Just ask it.

“Thanks. Um, drive safe, okay?” More of those polite, detached manners. Again. No, no, no.

“Yeah, um,” Olivia swallows, “I will. See you around, maybe?”

“Yeah. I think so.” A smile. She’s smiling. Oh God, she really has accepted it. That they aren’t meant for each other. Like Heloise and Abelard: Olivia as Heloise, ranting and raving in her letters about having been consumed by amorous affection. And then there’s Abelard, pointing her away towards higher callings, wishing her the best. Fuck Abelard, and fuck this.

Olivia tries her hardest to hide it, and she manages a wide grin and wave before leaving. She makes it out the hallway, down the side aisle of the Church pews, out the door, and into her car.

Slamming the car door behind her, she sinks into her compact leather seat and bangs her head against the headrest. Cassandra is letting her go. She did at the gallery, technically, but now it hurts in a different way. A way she feels no enraged pride in, no vanity. No need for spiteful indifference. She wants to take it all back, this time.

The one thing she couldn’t say, and perhaps will always regret, is that Cassandra was right. She is right. And now, she’s giving Olivia what she wants, what she clamors for, all the time. She’s giving it rather than trying to change her. So this is what respect feels like from someone who wants to love you.

The book stays in her lap as she drives home. When she stops at every red light, she clutches where Cassandra held it. If it were all a movie, this would be where she’d drive off into the sunset after her coming-of-age tale, leaving the reckless love behind. But she wants to do anything but that.

How long will it be until she finally stops? The answer is now.

She brakes hard and pulls into a street parking spot -- one of the luckiest moments of her life. Digging in her bag on the passenger’s seat, she finds her phone. Thumbing and thumbing, until she finds her name and the message thread she could never make herself delete.

--You know what’d make me happy? Because I have a couple ideas on the subject. The first is Friday night, at 11. Stay awake, or miss out.

#college au update #adventures of ellinor and olivia #modern!Olivia #ellinor trevelyan #day & age #WOOO AN UPDATE

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natasha-cole · 5 years

Text

Worlds Collide Chapter 26

Summary: Reader and Billy are back together. That’s all that matters to Reader. She has weeded out the toxic people in her life, but not without paying a price. Due to contracts that had been drawn up and agreed upon years ago, Reader parting ways with her mother and publicist could cost her everything.

Word Count: 3207

Warnings: angst, fluff, bad parenting

Notes: HELLO my lovelies! It’s been a while. I really struggled with this part, and perhaps it’s not totally realistic, but hey, I’m just a writer.

Masterlist

You and Billy returned home the following day. You were still in disbelief that he had actually showed up in Vancouver just to talk to you, but the fact that he did made you remember why you loved him so much.

He was the one person in the world who never gave up on you, even if sometimes you felt like he should.

Every word that you had been too afraid to say to him had finally been said, and the forgiveness that you didn’t think you deserved had been given to you. You felt as if nothing could come in between the two of you, even when things seemed impossible.

You never thought you could be in this place again; with him, happy, loved… You chalked it up to your newfound freedom and sudden sense of accomplishment since you had removed certain people in your life. All you knew was that you would do everything in your power to never lose him again.

The two of you slipped easily back into your old ways easily. You’d spend your days together now that you were on break and he wasn’t working too much. You’d take turns spending the night at each other’s places; ordering takeout and just being together. He never brought up the things that you had done again, and you were grateful that he was willing to put all of that in the past and just move forward with you.

It helped tremendously that you didn’t have Jen or your mother breathing down your neck, encouraging you to make different choices, and demanding things from you. Now, you were free. And you had honestly never felt happier.

Things should have been really good at this point. You had worked so hard to make a better life for yourself. But, you learned rather quickly during that first week back home and back with Billy that some toxic people just don’t let go.

***

All it took was a short email to remind you that you weren’t quite in the clear yet when it came to your mother and the people who surrounded you during your entire career. Honestly, you hadn’t thought about your contracts and what all of this could mean if you chose to break those contracts. In fact, you really didn’t know much about your own contracts at all.

You turned to Billy while the two of you spent time together at your place, when you realized you didn’t quite understand what the email from your mother was getting at. All he could do was give you a concerned look as he asked to see a copy of the contract.

You hastily retrieved it and handed it over to him, hoping that he at least understood what was going on.

He spent a long time reading it over, flipping back and forth between the pages, and occasionally letting out frustrated sighs as he pushed his glasses up so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So, what exactly does this mean?” You asked, as he finally set the documents down to indicate that he was finished reading them.

“Did you not read the contracts that you signed?”

“I was young. A teenager…”

“You didn’t read them and you didn’t have a lawyer look over them,” he said.

“I- I didn’t know I had to. I think my mom had someone look them over,” you argued. “I was told that everything was in my best interest.”

“By your mother?”

“She’s still my mother.”

“You let her draw this contract up, didn’t you?”

“What was I supposed to do? I wanted to just be free and she wanted to be rid of me. Regardless of our relationship, I never thought she’d screw me over.”

“Well, she did. This contract is airtight. It also completely benefits everyone but you. Please tell me you were a minor when you signed these. At least then you’d have some chance in fighting this.”

“I wasn’t. I had just turned eighteen.”

“How?” Billy began, shaking his head in confusion. “How did you get yourself into this situation in the first place? A contract between you and your manager and publicist is one thing… but how is she even involved?”

“Like I said, maybe I didn’t necessarily read anything.”

“She controls most of your finances?” He sighed, running a hand over his face.

You felt stupid right now. Back then, you had been so eager to leave home and be far away from her, and she seemed to want the same thing. When your acting career began to pick up, she was the one who contacted you about it. After a bit of berating from her, she offered to draw up contracts so that you wouldn’t get yourself into trouble. She claimed you were too childish and stupid to handle things like money and having control over those who would work for you.

She had told you that she would hire a team on your behalf. She was a smart woman who you assumed knew people and had your best interest at heart, if only to not make her look bad.

Over the years, you had realized that the people she had helping you through this were not out to help you benefit, but by the time you saw it, what could you do?

Still, you never imagined that she would purposely hurt you.

“What else does she have control over, Y/N?” Billy asked as he set the contract down.

You shrugged, blushing as he asked. You really didn’t want to tell him. You didn’t want him to know how stupid you were. “Tell me, so we can figure this out.”

“Well,” you began. “She is technically my manager... so, a lot."

“That woman…” he muttered, looking even more frustrated than before. “She has completely screwed you over. Seriously, I’m not even all the way through this contract, but I can tell you that she made absolutely sure that if you ever decided to fire any of these people working for you, it would not go well for you.”

“Okay,” you said quietly.

You stared at the ground, unsure of how to react to this. Not once had you ever read those papers. You had blindly allowed her to basically manage you without your knowledge and you really didn’t want to know more about what all of this meant for you.

“You need to read this,” he said firmly. “You need to understand it. I get that you were young and naive back then, but you have no excuse now.”

You sat across from him at the table, reaching out as he handed the stack of papers to you. He was right. You had been an idiot before and just assumed people would treat you with respect. It was time for you to know exactly what you had gotten yourself into and what the repercussions of firing everyone would do to you.

After a couple of hours of reading, and asking Billy a lot of questions on the things that you didn’t understand; which often resulted in him consulting with Rob who had a better understanding of the acting business and contracts in general; you sat there, feeling defeated and ready to cry.

“What does this mean?” You asked again.

“It means that if you choose to go through with letting everyone go and breaking this contract, you might be getting yourself into a bad situation.”

“So, my choices are; do what I’ve needed to do for years and in return be completely miserable; or, keep these people in my life, no matter how miserable they make me so I don’t lose everything?”

“It’s not even a decision, Y/N,” Billy replied. “You can't let them stay in your life like this. You can’t let them continue to have this power over you.”

“I break this contract, and they get everything. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know for sure, but that’s what it looks like,” he said honestly. “Look, I don’t know a lot about all of this. My advice would be to get real advice from a lawyer. You have a lawyer, right?”

“I do,” you replied.

“Do you have a lawyer that wasn’t hired by your mother?”

You frowned, realizing that everyone that your mother had surrounded you with were people that she handpicked. There was no way you’d be getting real help from anyone that technically worked for her.

“Maybe I need to find a different lawyer,” you stated.

***

You had been advised to meet with a lawyer that was recommended to you by Rob as soon as possible. He was pretty certain that there wasn’t much you could do, but if anyone would know, it would be a lawyer.

You found yourself in a stuffy meeting room, anxious and early for your appointment. You fidgeted in your seat, now wishing that you had asked Billy to come with you, but knowing that this was something you had to do on your own. Still, Billy had such a calming effect on you and he would have been really useful right now.

You waited for a few minutes until a man entered the room. You recognized him as the lawyer that Rob had sent you the contact information of.

He sat down across from you, his eyes meeting yours as he let out a drawn out sigh. Right away, you knew this was not going to be a good meeting.

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N,” he started. He reached out to shake your hand and you obliged, nodding at him and letting out a quick ‘hello’ in return.

“Well, I’ve familiarized myself with your case and your contract, and I think we should cut to the chase.”

“Please do,” you said quietly, eager to hear that perhaps it wasn’t all a lot cause.

“I’m obligated to let you know that your mother has offered to renegotiate the terms of the contract, as long as you agree to keep on all staff that worked for you.”

“Then no,” you said quickly. “That’s not an option.”

He eyed you and you were unsure if he thought of you as a complete idiot or maybe a pretty smart woman considering the circumstances and that mess of a contract.

“Alright. Then let’s discuss this.”

He opened a file folder and began to shuffle through paperwork. You suddenly became nervous as his expression remained rather stoic.

“You’re already in breach of contract. In doing so, you’re legally obligated to pay settlements to all fired employees binded to the contract.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you chuckled.

“It is,” he said sternly. “You also paid each of your employees a lot of money as it was.”

“Of course I did.”

“It’s also not funny.”

“Okay.”

“After talking in great length with your accountant,” he continued, “I’m concerned. Your savings is not what is usual for a celebrity of your status.”

“Well, I paid my employees really well apparently, and what can I say? I also have expensive taste.”

“Yes, and hardly enough money to cover the costs calculated to pay these settlements.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re going to find yourself in a lot more legal trouble than you thought.”

“How much?” You asked. “How much money do I have and what do I have to come up with?”

He passed you a slip of paper and you cautiously opened it to read it. You were more broke than you thought. It didn’t help that you had an unknown number of people possibly dipping into your saving, and your acquired expensive taste in belongings also didn’t help.

“Okay, how much do I need to cover these costs?”

“Well, we made a quick estimation; settlement costs, my fees… everything… you could lose your house, Y/N. Your car… anything of value could be taken if you can’t afford to pay these settlements.”

You sucked in a breath and leaned back in your chair as you took a moment to let it all sink in. Of course. Of course this was happening right now. Not only was it almost impossible to remove that woman for your life, she had ensured that it would be financially difficult to so if you chose to walk away and cut ties.

No matter what you did, it was as if she was one step ahead, making sure that you suffered.

“Can I fight this?” You asked finally, praying that there was some sliver of hope that you could possibly win and walk away from this unscathed.

“Honestly, no,” he replied. “That’s your signature on the contract. It’s a legal document and it’s very well written. No stone was left unturned here to make sure that the people who work for you get theirs in the end.”

“What are my options?”

“Well, you can take up the offer to renegotiate the terms, possibly avoid any financial burden from this; or you pay everyone what you promised them should a breach of contract happen.”

“That’s… that’s a lot of money,” you said, now trying to fight back tears. “A lot of money that I don’t have.”

“Well, you do have assets,” he continued. “I know it’s not ideal having to start all over, but selling your property would likely cover these costs.”

“So, I can just sell my house, my car, all my stuff; and I can pay these fees and be done with it all?”

“Well, by calculations, yes you could do that. You’d be left with nothing really in the end though. Are you sure this isn’t a situation that can’t be handled otherwise. Not many actors get the offer for a renegotiation.”

“Absolutely not,” you said sternly. “I can’t- I can’t let that woman control any part of my life anymore. I’ll do anything to get rid of her.”

“So…” he hesitated, watching you as you let the options replay in your mind once again.

“So, I’ll do it. I’ll just walk away. They can have whatever. I don’t care.”

“Look, this is only our first day meeting about this. I just want to make sure you understand the seriousness of the situation. We can discuss it more in depth, see if we can’t find other options…”

“I don’t want that. I just want to be done with this. With her.”

“So, it appears that you’ve made a decision.”

“Yes, I have. Just tell me what I need to do to end this.”

***

You walked away from that meeting feeling defeated. The weight of the reality of what was to come was a lot for you to carry. Everything that you had worked so hard for, would be gone. Everything that you had earned in spite of her would now be hers.

It was poetic in a way. Of course the victim here would eventually lose everything to her tormentor. Still, you had also worked so hard at becoming a stronger person; a person who could be on her own and who could make decisions for herself. In a way, you felt proud for still choosing to walk away. You figured the reality of it would come later when you were truly left with nothing.

You called Billy as you got into your car, asking him to meet you for lunch so that you could talk to him about what had happened.

He agreed and you took a deep breath as you hung up the phone, now focused on your next destination

***

Over lunch, you explained the meeting to Billy in as much detail as you could recall. It had been a lot to take in and it was still a lot to register.

“Wow,” he breathed out when you had finished your explanation. “I- I really thought you might have had some chance in fighting some of that.”

“It is what it is,” you chuckled.

“So, they’re really just going to drain your bank account?” He asked as if he couldn’t even believe it himself.

“Well, I’m paying a lot of money in settlements to break this contract. Then there’s the lawyer fees…”

“Well, you’ll be done with it all though,” he replied hopefully. “That’ll be a relief. And hey, you’re amazing. You’ll get amazing jobs and make even more money.”

“Yeah, I also was already kinda broke though. I didn’t realize… but I spent a lot of money and possibly overpaid people who worked for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m selling my house,” you said. “And my car and anything else of value.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Who knew that if I really wanted her out of my life, it would mean she would screw me over?”

“So, now what?” He asked.

“I’m not really sure,” you sighed. “I expect I’ll be okay, once this is all done and over with and I can manage my own career from here on out, or maybe hire a real manager.”

“So, you’re really just broke and homeless now?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at you in disbelief.

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. “It’s actually quite humbling.”

“I guess I better pay for lunch then,” he smiled.

Perhaps it wasn’t really a joking manner, after all, you were still trying to process the seriousness of it all. But, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. Maybe it was the fact that you felt some relief over being done with these people, even if it meant losing everything; or maybe it was the way that he sat across from you, that warm smile peeking out from behind that mess of a beard and those gorgeous eyes looking at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Whatever it was, you felt okay. You honestly felt that, as long as you had him next to you, you’d be fine.

“And I guess you can sleep at my place tonight,” he added. “Not sure what you’ll do after that though.”

“I’ll manage. Anything I make now that I’m out of that contract is mine, I think. And, hey! I have actual friends now, I’m sure someone will give me a place to crash.”

“Stop it,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “I’m joking. I mean, my place isn’t as nice as yours was, but if you need a place to stay…”

“I couldn’t intrude…”

“Of course I’m offering, Y/N.”

“I really hate it when people pity me,” you whined.

“It’s not pity,” he said firmly. “It’s just love.”

You gave him an honest smile. Nothing felt better than to hear that word come from his lips as he directed it at you. Yeah, you would be fine.

“God, I really do love you,” you reminded him.

“You know, maybe it’s for the best that you’re down on your luck. I don’t know if I would have built up the courage to convince you to move in with me otherwise.”

“Move in with you?”

“Might as well,” he shrugged. “I kinda like having you around. And I also think that you kinda need me right now.”

“Well, regardless of my behavior in the past, you should know that you are all I ever needed all along.”

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#worlds collide #billy moran x reader #billy moran rpf

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awake-and-strange · 5 years

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This obituary by Janis Ian about Anne McCaffrey is very A Passion for Friends:

There've been so many mentions of Anne McCaffrey in the post below, I thought to post this homage I wrote for Locus Magazine when Annie died. I miss her, a lot. I kept a few of the most precious books she gave me, but last time I opened one I burst into tears... I feel fortunate to have loved someone so wonderful, to have been loved in return, and to miss her this much. From Locus Magazine: THE MASTERHARPER IS GONE "I have a shIelf of comfort books, which I read when the world closes in on me or something untoward happens." —Anne McCaffrey I miss her fiercely, more than I have any right to miss her. I remind myself of this whenever I run into her at the library and am stricken with tears. She was not kin, was not connected to me by family ties, not even a distant cousin. Not even Jewish. I have no right to miss her this much. And once in a while, when I chide myself for my silly sentimentality, the sudden lightning that pierces my heart gives way to a duller, deeper pain. One I can live with, perhaps. Like today, waking to a terrible cold, with headache and foggy brain I reach for solace. Put on my red flannel comfort shirt, add my favorite PJ bottoms, then a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Make my favorite tea, cover myself with an old patchwork quilt, and reach blindly for a book on my “comfort shelf.” Of course. I can’t escape her. Hours later, still miserable, I finish "All the Weyrs of Pern" for the umpteenth time, and scold myself for the tears that fall – first, because she is gone, and second, because I never really succeeded in telling her just how much she meant to me. I’d never heard of her when I stumbled across for "The Ship Who Sang" at my local library. I wrote to her, saying that it had moved me profoundly, wondering how a prose writer could have such a clear understanding of a musician’s soul. Being one myself, I said, a musician that is, and would like to send a copy of my last record in gratitude. She responded with a laugh that she had never heard of me but oh my, her children had, and could we trade books for recordings? And so, we began. I raced through everything she sent – such generosity, so much that it took two large boxes to ship it all. She, in turn, told me that while she appreciated the beauty of my “Jesse” and the clarity of “At 17”, she was writing her current novel to the beat of my one disco hit, “Fly Too High.” I laughed aloud because it made an artist’s sense to me – dragons flew, and Anne flew with them, regardless of the beat. It was the third or fourth email that she began with the salutation “Dear Petal,”. Petal. Me? I responded that of all the things I’d been called, no one had ever dreamed to name me “Petal”. She answered briskly that obviously, they’d never seen me bloom. From that day forward, I was her Petal, and she my Orchid. We corresponded ferociously, both all-or-nothing no-holds-barred types, Aries to the hilt. Weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Dropped out at times when one of us was “on tour”, came back to it as we could. The time passed. Her beloved agent died. My parents passed away. She got a scathing review; I sent a few of my own. She was stuck on a chapter, I was stuck on a verse. We got unstuck, stuck again, and through it all we talked, comforting one another as only a “good hot cuppa” can. She picked me up herself in Dublin, leaning on a cane, nervous to meet in the flesh until I ran into her arms and smothered her with hugs. She drove between the hedgerows with complete abandon, a total disregard for ruts or speed limits, while I clutched the seat and wondered who’d get the bigger headline if we crashed. Annie, I decided, for she was truly a two-column, bold print kind of gal. By then, she was always “Annie” to me, or “Annie Mac”. My larger than life friend, who consorted daily with dragons and starlight, her own luster never dimming beside them. Once, after she showed me the rock cliffs of the Guiness Estate and explained that Benden Hold looked just like that, she asked if I would write a theme for it. For the movie? I said. “Yes”, she said, “A theme. Because if Menolly came to life, it would be with your voice.” I say this not to brag, but to indicate the trust between us – such trust that when I got home, with no film in sight, I began sketching out some notes for “Lessa’s Song”. I wanted it to be haunting, the way her words haunted me. I wanted it to be sweeping, like the thrust of dragon wings. I wanted it to be everything I could bring to her, a gift for someone whose words took me out of my world and into hers. As she said herself, “That’s what writing is all about, after all, making others see what you have put down on the page and believing that it does, or could, exist and you want to go there.” I hope someday to finish that melody. I hope it’s good enough for a MasterHarper to sing. I hope she regarded me worthy of the title. Because that’s what she was for so many of us – the MasterHarper, singing in prose, songs that reminded us of where we’d been, and what we could become. She came and stayed with us in Nashville, bringing a broken shoulder and trusting me to care for her. We visited Andre Norton, Annie insisting I not just drive but sit with them and listen to “a bit of gossip”. These two women—one writing at a time when pseudonyms were necessary for a woman to get published, the other cracking the New York Times bestseller list with, of all things, a science fiction book, and by a female at that!—talked of publishers, rumors, scandals old and new, while I sat as silent as an unopened book, wishing I’d thought to bring a tape recorder. At first, as her health declined, she bore it cheerfully. “I’m bionic now, Petal, complete with metal knees!” she declared. “Better than ever, and no pain.” She kept to her writing schedule, doing what she could to help her body retain its youth. Swam every day, bragged about her granddaughter’s accomplishments at school – “First prize, don’tcha know!” and commiserated over our various surgeries. We sound like a couple of old Yiddishe mamas, comparing whose surgery was worse! I laughed, and she laughed along with me. Neither of us reckoned on the psychic toll. “Old age is not for the faint of heart,” she quoted, as her energy began to leech away. How is it we artists always forget just how hard it is to write? how much work it is? How can we ignore the vast psychic drain that accompanies every act of creation? We both knew it from her Pern books, when going between enervated even the hardiest of dragon riders. But somehow, we never expected it in “real” life. It’s only when we lose that effervescence, through age, through illness, through sheer attrition, that we realize how necessary it is to our work. How fundamental to our beings. “I can’t write.” She confessed the shameful secret to me not once, but dozens of times, as if repetition would prove it a lie. At first, playing the friend, I tried to reassure her. Then don’t! Take some time off, Annie. Restore your body, and the brain will follow. Talent doesn’t just disappear, you know – it lies in wait. But she knew better. “I'm still not writing. I think I know how Andre Norton is feeling, too, because I suspect that she's finding it very difficult to write, as the wellspring and flexibility that did us so much service is drying up in our old age. And no false flattery. AT 76 I AM old, and she's in her nineties. It takes a lot of energy to write, as much as it takes you to keep on adding flavor to your song presentation. Sorry to blah at you but you're one of the few people who does understand the matter when an artist questions their output.” I responded in kind. "No worries talking to me about not writing... I sure as hell know the amount of energy it consumes. Every time you sit down to write, it's a performance. Only you don't have the luxury of props - no lights, sound, other actors to step behind when the inevitable fatigue hits. Heck, Annie, I'm feeling it more and more now, and you've got a quarter century on me. I notice it mid-show; two hours used to be a piece of cake. Now I feel myself flagging at 45 minutes, and I really look forward to that 20 minute intermission, if only so I can have some water and sit for a few minutes. "Same with writing, for me. Used to be able to sit and write for 6 hours at a stretch. Now I'm good for two if I'm lucky. Part of it's my back, but most of it is - I fear - just that I'm older. It sucks." And she wrote back. “Must write. There are IRS problems. You wouldn’t believe. Mouths to feed, people depending on. Advances already spent and gone. Must write.” And so, she wrote, but for a while there was no joy in it. Still, I loved what she wrote, and told her so. I was proud of our friendship, not because she was so damned famous, but because she was so damned good. She even used my name in a book – Ladyholder Janissian in Skies of Pern – and roared with laughter when I admitted I’d been so wrapped up in the story that I hadn’t even noticed. But she knew – as artists always do – that while her ability to plot continued apace, the actual writing of it was becoming an endurance contest she couldn’t hope to win. “Turn more of it over to Todd,” I argued. Her son had a real knack for a sentence, but it was hard for Annie to let go. Of course. What artist can? “His words may not sing the way yours do – yet. He doesn’t have your lyrical grace – yet. But he will, Annie, you’ve just got to let him breathe!” I said it and said it and said it, to no avail. Then came a day when, 25 years younger and an ocean away, I finally lost patience and angrily berated her. “Damnit Annie, quit complaining and just stop! By God, you have created a mountain of work, an incredible legacy that will endure and be read by zillions of people long after both of us are gone – so quit whining about what you cannot do and start looking at what you have done. It’s time, Anne. Take this unbearable weight off your shoulders and stop!” I sent the email off and waited for her response, fearing I’d gone too far. A day. Then another. Finally, sure I’d lost a friend, I called to ask just how angry she was with me. Oh, no, not at all, she’s “in hospital.” She took a fall. She’d write soon. And she did, quoting me and saying “I knew you, of all people, would make sense.” A sweeter absolution I’ve never had. We continued our friendship, bitching about our bodies, menopause, the inevitable “drying up” of everything that comes with the feminine mystique. You cannot imagine the luxury, for me, to have a compatriot a quarter-century older. As an artist, I admired her work. But as a woman, I was relieved to have someone relentlessly honest about what was to come in my own life. We traded constantly. I sent her Lhasa de Sela, Sara Bettens. She sent stories about her animals, and the garden. One spring she changed my salutation to “Dear Crocus Petal – there are eight coming up now!” We planned to visit Prague together in September ’01, but then came 9/11, and I chickened out. To be brutally honest, I was afraid to fly. Annie gently took me to task, then went off with someone else instead. I will regret that for the rest of my life. She went into the hospital for the last time while I was touring the UK – just a ferry boat and an ocean of commitments away. Knowing how out of touch she’d feel, how fretful she’d be, I tried to call every day. We fell into a pattern – I’d wait until I was in the van, then phone her up and tell an off color joke, a bawdy story, a bit of kindly gossip. Sometimes about people we knew in common, Harlan perhaps, or Scott Card, whose work she admired. Sometimes just a silly series of puns I’d found on line. Whatever it was, I wanted to make her laugh, because I loved to hear her laugh. She died while I was on vacation, just days after the tour’s end. I’d brought a copy of Dragonsinger with me because on vacation, I always brought a few “comfort re-reads.” I’d fallen asleep over it, waking to an email from Gigi. Please keep it quiet until I can reach everyone, she asked. My older brother Alec is still in flight, and we don’t want him seeing it in the paper before I can reach him. I called with sleep still in my eyes and heard the hum of people behind Gigi’s answering voice. It was fast, it was painless, it was everything Annie had wanted. No lingering. A “good death” for her. But not for me. It’s hard to open my computer knowing there will be no “Dear Petal.” It’s hard, after knowing such a warm and giving shelter, to go without. Sometimes I run across a sentence that sings to me, and jot it down to show her. And sometimes, when she leaps out at me from the cover of a book, I remember she is gone, and it hits me like lightning, fast and lethal and completely unexpected. It stops my breath, until I remind myself that she is gone, but I am still here. When the lightning hits, I comfort myself with this. The beauty of Anne’s writing is that she makes it all seem, not just possible, but normal. For men to go dragonback. For women to become ships. For young, unwanted girls to become MasterHarpers. For brains to pair with brawns, and sing opera under alien skies. And for an unlikely friendship to bloom, a pairing no one could have imagined, between a petal on earth, and an orchid in flight.

#a passion for friends #janis ian #anne mccaffrey #petal and orchid

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