#and then I was trying to write address on envelopes for the save-the-dates

[carterashofficial]

Today Daisy ate various types of dirt, peed on Teddy’s head, tried to get me to play with her instead of doing important wedding-planning things, and then decided to cry and whine until I sat with her.

This was all within the space of three hours. Apparently she saves the mischief for when I’m there b/c mom says she’s an angel (Note: Daisy is not an angel)

[cr3sswellsgf]

miss you terribly - maiko week '24 day 2

prompt - separation. in which zuko (accidentally) sends mai a bunch of letters while traveling. still pathetically in love.

Spending time away from Mai was hard. That was, Zuko thought, a universal truth.

Needless to say, Zuko hated spending time away from her, but, much to his dismay, with him being the newly appointed Firelord (with a mission of uniting the four nations and bringing peace, no less), he had a lot of political affairs to take care of, which included far too much traveling and time away from his darling. So, to combat the pure, unfathomable agony that was having to sleep in a bed all lonely and alone and in his lonesome—he deserved massive compensation and many pats on the back for surviving these trying times, truly— he’d taken to writing letters.

At first, he had started writing them as a way to fill his time and cope with the boredom of traveling alone, and he would just keep them in a small pocket in his luggage— that is, he was too shy to send them to her. He knew that, rationally, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was normal to send letters to your significant other when you were away, dammit! But he still couldn’t let go of that small part of him that was afraid she would, worst case scenario, think it was weird and corny, or, best case scenario, wouldn’t care much for the notion altogether.

He knew that that, too, was completely irrational. Irrational to an embarrassing extent, even.

Mai loved and accepted him. She’d shown that time and time again. She’d supported him and stood by him through the worst times of his life. Times when, he thought, he absolutely did not deserve that unconditional love from her. He still thought he didn’t deserve that, sometimes. So thinking she would judge him for writing letters was just plain stupid honestly, but for now, he was satisfied keeping them hidden.

“Firelord Zuko,” his personal assistant called out, interrupting his train of thought. He sighed and put away the piece of parchment he’d just finished signing off; it was another letter. The fourth or fifth one this week, if he had to guess. Not that he was setting aside time daily to write them or anything. Or that he’d started that ritual months ago, and by now had probably accumulated over a thousand letters. Totally not that whatsoever. Absolutely not.

“Come in.”

“Sir, you are required in the meeting hall.”

He held back the urge to snort. Yeah, sure, require him in the meeting hall, why don’t you?

He shoved the letter among a small stack of papers on his desk, official documents he’d have to send out and such. It was frustrating when fellow nation leaders treated him like a child. Sure, he was only eighteen, but it seemed that everyone conveniently forgot that he practically saved the world with the Avatar.

“I will be right with you,” he replied tightly, effectively dismissing his assistant.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Mai was in her chambers when she got a knock on the door, and Ty Lee, who was hanging out with her that day and had stepped out momentarily to retrieve a package that had just arrived in the mail, told her that something had arrived for her.

A stack of letters.

“From Zuko?” she asked, repeating what her friend had just said in confusion.

“Yup!” Ty Lee grinned and tossed the large stack of envelopes onto her friend’s bed. “Boyfie’s clearly been missing you then.”

Mai smiled, huffing out an amused breath. She’d wondered if he’d ever get the courage to send her those letters.

She’d stumbled upon some letters a while back, when Zuko had asked her to retrieve something from his room, and she ended up accidentally looking through the wrong set of drawers. She didn’t read them of course, though she’d noticed they were all addressed to her and dated over something like seven months’ time, out of respect for him.

So it was safe to say she was at least a little happy that he’d sent her some. Mai excitedly grabbed the letters, unable to hold back the giddy grin on her face. She had really missed him. “I’m so glad,” she said truthfully, counting the envelopes in her hand.

“Oh, my God, this must be, like, a letter for everyday he’s been gone,” Ty Lee said in amazement, having been counting along with her friend. “See? I told you you had nothing to worry about!”

Mai smiled, blush rising on her cheeks. Ty Lee was referring to a concern Mai had brought up to her earlier. She was talking about how it kind of upset her when Zuko would go on trips without her and they’d have to go so long without any form of contact. She knew he enjoyed writing letters, and that to him, it wasn’t just one of those things he did out of necessity. He appreciated the intimacy of exchanging handwritten letters, said there was something special about getting to see the little ink splotches, the differences in penmanship, the scratched out words and phrases when someone has a change of mind, the misspelled words, even the different type of paper everyone used said so much about them.

“So then why doesn’t he send me any?” she’d complained to Ty Lee, burying her face in her pillow, frustrated.

Mai was the type to bottle her feelings, and she wasn’t really much for having heart-to-hearts. Of course, she was always willing to lend a listening ear to her friends, and was very empathetic and caring, contrary to what people might think, but she rarely talked about her own feelings. She’d always been that way, never really knew how to articulate her feelings well, and felt weird doing it, too, so at some point she’d just stopped trying altogether.

So for her to be telling Ty Lee about this right now really spoke to how hurt she must’ve been feeling, even if she wanted to play it off as some casual thought that had occurred to her.

Ty Lee had told her that she was probably just overthinking it and that there was nothing to worry about, but she’d felt incredibly for her friend.

“Well, I’ll leave you to read those.” Ty Lee winked at Mai, grinning. “I need to head back now anyway.”

Mai frowned, not wanting her friend to leave so soon, but Ty Lee insisted that she really did need to go, so Mai begrudgingly walked her out. Once back in her room, though, Mai shut the door and jumped onto her bed, grabbing for the letters again.

She gingerly opened the first one and started reading.

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

Mai,

How are you, my love?

I trust that everything is well over at the Fire Nation, mostly because no one has sent me any concerning correspondences, but more than that, I trust you wholeheartedly. More importantly, though, I hope you’re doing well.

I, for one, am not.

I miss you terribly. This trip so far has been unbearable, and I wish very badly that you were here. At least then these meetings wouldn’t be as utterly boring. Did you know that they wish to impose sanctions on cabbage selling here? I thought it was quite the odd thing to take issue with, at first, but apparently there is a ‘bigger picture’ or something.

Anyway, today is our half-anniversary. And I know you don’t get the concept of half-anniversaries, because ‘why celebrate prematurely?’—yes, I am still salty about that— but I still think it is worth celebrating. I think love is always worth celebrating, especially ours. This is why I thought of sending over a gift anyway, but I was afraid it would get lost on the way.

Regardless, happy half-anniversary. I love you and I miss you and I cannot wait to get home so I can look at your pretty face.

Yours always,

Zuko

˗ ♡ ˗

Mai,

Did you know that some turtleducks can live up to thousands of years? I learnt that from a particularly riveting trivia book I found in our library, years ago. It was back when we had broken up, that one time. I was so miserable I filled my time with reading through the palace’s collection of books. Some were admittedly a lot more entertaining than others, but I ended up amassing a lot of random facts about wholly unrelated topics, so I wouldn’t say it was a complete waste.

For example, did you know that kissing someone you love prolongs your lifetime exponentially? As in, the more kisses the better.

Okay, I totally just made that up as an excuse to get more kisses, but you believed it for a second there, didn’t you? It sounds believable enough, if you ask me. (And hey, better safe than sorry, right?)

There’s really no purpose for this letter, if I’m completely honest. There’s nothing for me to report on, and there’s nothing specific on my mind I want to share with you or anything, but I believe there is something to be said about the beauty in the mundane; something about being able to appreciate the ordinary things with the people you love most. Something about those meaningless conversations where the sound of a lover’s voice matters more than what they’re actually saying. Something about listening for the sake of listening. Loving for the sake of loving. Ceaselessly and unconditionally.

I don’t think I could ever tire of hearing you talk.

Yours always,

Zuko

˗ ♡ ˗

Mai,

I suspect this will be a shorter letter, because I really only have one thing to tell you. I don’t think I say it enough, and even though I don’t presently plan on showing you these letters, I think I’d like to say it anyway.

Thank you.

Thank you for being there. Thank you for staying. Thank you for not giving up on me even when you had every right to. Thank you for loving me, even when I don’t deserve it. Thank you for allowing me to love you. Thank you for accepting my love. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for showing me time and time again that I don’t need to constantly try so hard around you, but still unintentionally pushing me to be my best regardless. Thank you for putting me in my place when I’m an asshole. Thank you for calling me out on my shortcomings, but always being impossibly loving about it. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for laughing at my jokes. Thank you for staying up to talk on those nights I can’t sleep. Thank you for soothing my worries away when they get too suffocating. Thank you for listening. Thank you for talking.

I could go on, but I probably don’t have enough paper on me right now, so I’ll settle for saying this: Thank you for existing. You’re my favourite person, by a long shot. I love you. I’m glad you exist.

Yours always,

Zuko

˗ ♡ ˗

Mai,

What do you think about marriage?

I know we’ve talked about this before, but it always seemed like a faraway possibility. We were so young then, but now, we’re, well… older..?

God, I suck at this.

What I’m trying to say is: Are you still open to the idea of marrying me?

This is not me proposing, of course, but it has admittedly been on my mind a lot lately. To clarify, I know we’re in it for the long haul. I am absolutely and utterly and hopelessly devoted to you, marriage or not. I don’t care about titles, for I don’t think any official title could add to or take away from the brilliance of our love. I am yours as long as you will have me.

But sometimes I worry I am depriving you of something you might long for. So, please, answer me this. Would you do me the honour of marrying me, someday? It could be extravagant, full of big, fancy fruit tarts or whatever it is you may desire, or it could be a private affair with just us. Whatever it is, I am at your service. That is, of course, only if you want to. I don’t think I need an official document to prove what I feel for you (though I think it may be beneficial for you on a political front, too, with me being Firelord and all?), but if it is something you desire, I would be more than happy to oblige.

This letter is weird, and I suppose this is me saying that I want so desperately to marry you. I love loving you, and I want to be able to do it until my last breath, if you’ll allow me. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m glad you exist. I am forever and always—

Yours,

Zuko

⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩

And so the letters went on. They varied in length and content. Some had her laughing and blushing, while others had her heart aching.

She concluded that these letters were probably sent mistakenly, but she realised she didn’t really mind. He was bound to have noticed this by now, so it was only a matter of time before he sent some indication of that. Either in the form of another letter, or just him coming home and them having a conversation about this.

It would probably be the latter, though, if she was honest.

Unless… A thought occurred to her.

She was going to write a letter of her own.

She let out a quiet giggle, he was so not gonna see this coming.

Pulling out a piece of her really special letter paper (the kind she only saved for really special occasions), she sighed, her mind already constructing and reconstructing the letter she was going to write. When she began writing, she realised why Zuko liked exchanging letters so much. It was much more special than she’d anticipated.

Maybe—hopefully—they’d make this a habit. She really loved this boy, didn’t she?

----

@/kvohru on twt & ao3!

[decadentpandawasteland]

Hello, today marks Day 4 of my writing challenge, but I've decided to combine today and tomorrow's. Today's prompt is a conversation between two characters. Character A: "I never really knew you, did I?"

Character B: "No, I guess not."

This one hits a little closer to home, for reasons I'm sure you'll be able to put together, but I won't get into detail. As always, thank you for reading, and feedback is always welcome. I genuinely appreciate it :)

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

It all started with a letter.

We were new homeowners, dealing with the joys and costs of it. We put in new carpet, had painted the walls, even rearranged a few rooms. Sewerage had backed up and flooded our basement a couple inches. Luckily between insurance and some saved up money I had, we were able to cover the expense. It definitely hit our finances, which were made even worse by her losing her job. Ironically it was the job we had met at. It was also the job where she had met him.

Fall was here, she hadn't been looking for jobs, which had been fine. I was okay saddling the financial burden for a bit. She had been going through sleepless nights for a few months now. Odd things had turned up, food that she never said anything about, flowers once too. The one I'm most ashamed of ignoring through was coming home at almost midnight for her to have a full face of makeup on, her hair curled, just in pajamas. She had a lot of headaches. So many that we had stopped being physical for a while.

One day, we had decided to deep clean the house. She offered to weed the garden, while I picked up trash and swept. That's when I found it. A little lime green envelope with his name and address written on it, our address was in the top corner. I recognized the handwriting immediately as hers. She wrote in a curvy, not-quite cursive style that was hard to miss. I threw it on the couch and continued cleaning, trying to take my mind off of it. I'm sure there was a reason, right?

She came inside, a little sweaty and dirty. She walked into our kitchen and got a glass of water. That's when I grabbed the letter and joined her in the kitchen.

“So what's this?” I asked. A blink of fear across her face and then confusion.

“I'm not sure.” She said before throwing it away, grabbing the trash bag it was in and throwing more trash into it.

I was worried because a few months ago she had called me in tears, saying things like “It's not true” and “Don't believe what they might have said”. It turned out there were some rumors going around her work that she was spending a lot of time with him in almost the exact same way she had done with me when I had worked there. I told her that I trusted her and didn't think much of it. I filed his name away as someone to keep an eye on, but nothing more. Frankly, I didn't think I had a lot of room to talk, with my own history of getting close with women I wasn't dating, but I never stepped over the line of cheating. But goddamn did I toe it. It had been the source of a lot of our pervious fights, but she didn't bring it up. I cut contact with that woman, done and done.

“Okay, but why does it have his name on it?” I asked, reaching for the trash bag. She handed it to me and I walked back into the living room, continuing to clean.

“There's a girl at work, Amanda. She was really close to him, but I guess he moved or something. She gave it to me to send to him.” She said, her eyes glancing at the almost full trash bag I had sat on the ground.

“Huh, that's weird. Why couldn't she send it? It has our address on it too.” I pointed out. A thought had crossed my mind. “I might be being paranoid, but I'll feel better after I read it.” I said, staring to get up from my seat on the couch, reaching for the bag. I hadn't realized it, but she had stepped between me and the trash bag.

“No. She put her confidence in me and I don't want to snoop on their relationship.” She said, her voice was getting an edge to it. “I'll just throw it away, okay? Then we don't have to worry about it. She can send another if she wants to.”

“If you're just going to throw it away, then there's no harm in me reading it. It'll make me feel better. Does her trust matter more to you than my peace of mind?” I said, still reaching.

That's when she pushed me.

She had spent the entirety of our relationship telling me about her previous relationships, how they put hands on her pushing or pulling one way or another. How one assaulted her, while one of his friends recorded it from the bushes.

She pushed me the same way he had pushed her. Even to this day, I don't think she realizes the scope of what she had done. I was so shocked by the action that I actually sat back down. That's when she got in my personal space. That's when I finally started thinking that this wasn't the woman I had been with for five years.

I shot up. There was a big size difference between the two of us. Without the shock of the action, the strangeness of it all, I walked through her. She tried fighting, yelling, begging, but at the end of it all, she knew the game was up. The bubble popped.

The trash bag was ripped from around her. I started looking through it. She was saying something, but the ringing in my ears blocked out most of it. My only focus was finding that lime green envelope. I just said fuck it, dumping the bag out. She had buried it at the very bottom.

“You're not going to like it,” she said, it finally registered what she was saying. I stopped looking at her, that disgusting green filled my entire world.

I ripped it open.

My entire universe cracked reading it. I felt it shift. I felt it fall and shatter into a billion irreparable pieces. The words ‘love of my life’, ‘spend together forever', and ‘I love you’. The letter landed on the couch I was sitting on. I don't remember setting it down. Tears streamed down my face. We sat in silence for what felt like a millenia. She started to get up, to try and say something.

“Do not fucking move.” I said, without looking up. “You better not fucking move a fucking inch.”

“I never really knew you, did I?” I asked, wiping away tears.

“No. You didn't.” She said, her voice small and quiet.

“You could have just been honest with me. That you didn't love me, that you didn't believe in us.” The words came out, cracked and raw. A full twelve hours of yelling and screaming will do that to a throat.

“I didn't want to hurt you…” She said again, refusing to look me in the eye. She was curled up on the step leading to the landing. She absent-mindedly played with the old wooden rail.

“You didn't want to hurt me? Really? That's what you're going with,” I couldn't take it anymore, “YOU DIDN'T WANT TO HURT ME SO YOU STARTED DATING HIM, WHILE YOU WERE WITH ME?!” I lashed out. “So what? I was just a placeholder? Someone to keep your fucking bed warm?”

She looked up, defeated. “What do you want me to say? I wasn't happy. I wasn't ready. We moved into so much, so quickly. We never dealt with your fuck ups. We just slid them under the rug! All those times I saw you texting her and I cried and cried and you didn't do shit to help me!”

“It was your idea to buy the fucking house! It was your idea to talk about marriage and kids and building this fucking life together! How long ago did the cheating start? Huh? When did the cheating start you fucking bitch?” My mind was racing, flares of intense, all consuming, scorched earth rage was burning in my chest. “Fucking answer me!”

“... I'm not sure. Before they put the new carpet in.” Her words rang in my mind like a bell atop a church.

“We… We put the carpet in a month after we moved in…” That fire reignited and refused to stop. This had been going on so much longer than I knew. “I should have fucking left you alone with them. That's what you deserve, you fucking cunt.” Her eyes went wide, finally I saw tears form. It took me calling her something that I never wanted to use for it to register. I think she thought she could talk her way out of it. That this was something I'd only be angry for a while about. But it clicked then. It clicked that we were done.

[tngrace]

1st Fight

This ended up way longer than I expected and I had a little help from the discord in some parts so thanks babes! There will be a part 2 to this at some point as well as a Meet Spicy fic that I’m excited to write. Hope yall enjoy!

Discord babes: @callsign-dragonbaron @mrsjaderogers @bayisdying @biehnybaby @askmarinaandothers @mischief-siriusly-managed @cycbaby @callsignscupcake​

Bradshaws’ Masterlist; TG/TGM Masterlist

Spicy and Rooster have been dating close to a year, living together for a couple months, when they have their first major fight. Sure they've had arguments and squabbles, but nothing ever serious or anything that lasted more than a couple of hours. You could say they'd been in the honeymoon phase for a while. But it all comes crashing down with one seemingly harmless envelope. 

Rooster gets the mail that day, flipping through it and tossing the junk. He lays the envelope aside since it was addressed to Spicy, but he's intrigued that it's from a lawyer's office in North Carolina. He doesn't think too much of it until he watches all the color drain from her face as she picks it up. 

"Babe? Everything ok?" 

"I uh… yea, yea, everything's fine." She opens it carefully, pulling out the stack of papers, her hand finding her mouth. 

"You sure? You don't look so good."

She sinks into the nearest chair, just staring at the papers in her hand. "Grace?" 

"I can't believe he finally signed them," she murmurs so softly. 

"Huh? Who signed what?" Bradley was totally confused, and she didn't seem able to offer up any answers just yet. 

"My…. Ex. He…" she sighs as her head drops to her chest. She knew she should've told him everything from the beginning, but it was really nice to have a really amazing, easy on the eyes, guy interested in her. Then she got to know just what a sweet, loving person Bradley was and the right time never came to tell him about all her messy baggage. 

She drops the papers to the table, letting out a deep sigh. She meets his eyes, knowing he deserved that much from her. "Bradley, I… I was married and my ex finally signed the divorce papers."

She can see the shock settle into his face and she has to break eye contact. "You were married?" He chokes out. He feels like his world has just been completely flipped upside down and he's in a free fall in his jet. 

Spicy nods. "It's….it's why I moved out here. I wasn't intending on keeping it from you. I just…." 

"You just did! Fuck…  you…. God you've been married this whole time!" 

"Bradley… it's... No. I was separated for six months before I saved enough to move all the way across the country. It took almost a year before we even started talking. I haven't been married in almost three years." 

"Legally you've been married!" He's pacing the kitchen, looking absolutely wrecked. She knows nothing she says right now will make it better. 

"Yea… guess there's not a good way to say 'Oh hey by the way you're dating and living with a married person!'"

"I wasn't trying to keep it from you. I swear. I just…. I got swept up in the fact that someone like you could want me. And then I realized how truly amazing you are and I fell so in love and I just… there wasn't a good time."

"That's not fair." She can feel the tears building in her eyes. 

"No. This wasn't fair, Grace. You should've told me. I…. I need some air." He grabs his keys and he's out the door before she can even blink. She doesn't move from the table for almost two hours, staring at the papers, waiting to see if he was going to come back. She has no one but herself to blame and she knows it. 

She sits there for almost two hours just staring at the papers and crying. She knew she'd screwed up royally, but she hadn't thought he'd actually leave. She should've known better after he told her about his fight with Mav over his academy papers. When she's convinced herself he's not coming back, she throws some clothes in a bag and texts him. 

You don't have to stay gone all night. I know I screwed up and I know you don't want to see me right now and I don't blame you. Not one bit. You can come home. Imma get a room for the night and when you wanna talk you can call me. Just know I love you a lot and I'm really sorry. 

Bradley drives around for an hour before he stops at the beach. He's always found it easier to think with the waves crashing along the shore. He feels a mixture of things and he doesn't know where to start first. He feels like their whole relationship had been a lie, but his biggest question is why she didn't tell him. He thought they told each other everything. 

She leaves before she can think twice about it, heading for a hotel near town. She knows she could go to anyone of the guys who had become like uncles to her too or any one of Bradley's friends that had become her friends. But, this was her problem, her mistake and she wasn't going to bother them with it. It’s times like these when she wishes her brother wasn’t all the way across the country.

--

His phone was in the Bronco so he didn't get her text until two hours after she sent it. "Fuck!" He screams hitting his steering wheel. He tries to call her but she doesn't answer. 

He tries her a couple more times on his drive back to the house, but she doesn't answer. He wants to be surprised she's not there, but he's not because she told him she was leaving. He searches the house for some clues as to where she is, but comes up empty. He tries a few more times to call her, but they're going straight to voice-mail now. 

Baby you didn't have to leave. That's your home too. I'm sorry I left. Please pick up.

He doesn't think she would call any of their friends. As much as she's getting closer to them, she won't tell them about this, yet. He tries to think which of his uncles she'd go to, and as much as he knows he's going to catch an earful, he knows Slider should be his first call. Of all his uncles Grace had taken to Slider the most, and he's starting to think it's because Slider was so protective of his people and made her feel safe. 

"Gosling, what's up?" Slider answers on the second ring. 

He lets out a sigh as he sinks onto his front porch steps. "You haven't heard from Spicy tonight have you?"

"No. Should I have?"

"I dunno. I was hoping maybe so."

"What's going on Bradley?" 

"We…" another deep sigh. "We had our first actual fight and I…. I needed air and left. I was at the beach and my phone was in the Bronco so I didn't get her text that she was gonna leave to give me space. I've tried… fuck I've tried calling her and she won't answer and I have no idea where she is, but I want her to come home."

"Kid… I swear I thought you'd gotten smarter. You don't ever actually leave in a fight! Damn it Bradley I thought you'd learned. If you need air you step outside. You don't leave for hours without checking your phone!" 

"I know…" he sighs. "I fucked up. What's new?" 

"Bradley…" Slider sighs, and Bradley can see him pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation in his mind, like he's seen hundreds of times throughout his life. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what happened? Maybe I can help you piece together where she is?" 

So he does. He spills everything start to finish, and the longer he talks the worse he feels about his reactions. Slider is quiet for the longest, and Bradley pulls the phone back to make sure Slider is still there. 

“Bradley I swear to God you’re an idiot! You grew up hearing about the absolute best love story ever, and I know you don’t remember that much and I hate that, but you knew how much your dad loved your mom and how much he worshiped her and treated her like gold, and you do this shit with your girl?! That’s not very Nick or Carole of you kid. You know better Bradley. You’re better than this and you know your dad would tell you the same thing, after your mom smacked you in the back of the head.” 

Bradley feels the tears slip down his cheeks because he knows Slider’s right. He should’ve learned after the last major fight in his life, but he clearly didn’t. Knowing how upset Slider is, and knowing his parents would be ten times worse breaks him completely and he can’t stop the tears. 

"Well, she's not going to any of your friends with this. And since she didn't call me, I'm gonna assume she's not calling anyone else. Why don't you check with Penny just to make sure and I'll try and call her. But Bradley… she is one of the best things to ever happen to you kid. You better apologize and fix this. Do not let her get away." 

"I will. I swear. I just want her back. She's my world Uncle Sli." 

"I know kiddo. I know. We'll find her, I promise." 

"Thanks… for not killing me." 

Slider chuckles softly. "I would never." 

He gets a laugh from Bradley, and promises to check back in a few before hanging up. Bradley calls Penny which is as much of a dead end as calling Slider. He gets in his Bronco and starts driving, trying to think of where she would be. 

He drives around for an hour wishing his parents were there to give him some advice and not be so stupid before Slider sends him a text with an address and a room number. "She knows you're coming. Don't make this worse." 

"Thank you!" 

Bradley heads to the address and groans to himself when he realizes what motel she's at. "Oh baby what am I gonna do with you," he sighs to himself. 

He heads straight to her room and knocks. He waits a few minutes and then knocks again. "Grace… It's me. Can I please come in?" 

He doesn't hear anything and he bites his lip to keep a sigh in. "Baby… I will sit out here all night if I have to. I'm not leaving. Please let me in so we can talk." 

It's another couple of minutes before he hears the chain release, then the handle. She pulls it open slowly and it breaks Bradley's heart even more in two to see the tear tracks on her cheeks and her red puffy eyes. 

"Can I hug you?" He whispers. He gently closes the door behind himself, flipping the lock waiting on her decision. 

When she nods, he pulls her into his arms and holds on tight. She practically collapses against his chest, sobs wracking her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left," he murmurs over and over into her hair. 

He holds her while she cries, and eventually just picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, and carries her to the bed. He sits down and holds her against him, softly rubbing her back until she calms down. "Can we talk about this?" He asks her quietly. 

He can feel her biting her lip against his chest, and he keeps his hand rubbing softly up and down her back. "If you don't want to talk right now, that's ok too. Can I at least take you home? Or somewhere that's not here if you don't want to come home with me?" 

She stays quiet, and it takes all he has not to let out another sigh. He fucked up and now he's working on her terms, and while he is known for his patience at work, not being able to fix this instantly is killing him inside. He kisses the top of her head as he tightens his arms around her. "I'm not going to be mad with what you decide, baby." 

"Can I stay at Slider's for the night? And then… maybe we can talk tomorrow?" 

"Of course. If that's what you want. I… can I drop you off? And I'll get your car later."

"Yea. That… yea that works." He helps her up and she grabs her bag, she hadn't even unpacked yet and follows him out the door. He takes the keys back to the desk for her, and is able to get some of her money back surprisingly. He helps her into the Bronco and sends Slider a text that they are on the way. 

Once he pulls into the driveway, he grabs her bag and follows her to the door. Slider and Whiskey are waiting in the doorway, Whiskey pulling Grace into her arms and out of the doorway. Bradley passes Grace’s bag over to Slider. “She wants to stay here tonight. I uh… she says we might can talk tomorrow… so..” 

“Come here Bradley.” Bradley sighs but follows his uncle in to the kitchen. Slider pushes him down into a chair, before pulling a chair across from him. “Wanna talk?” 

“Not really,” Bradley sighs; he's already had enough lectures from his uncle for one night. “I fucked up… majorly. And now I might lose her.” 

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen kiddo. Yea, you fucked up. No doubt there. But you also didn’t wait several years to figure it out either. Grace loves you, Gosling, a lot. This can be fixed.” 

Bradley nods as Slider ruffles his hair. “Come on, the couch is ready for you.” 

“Huh?” Bradley looks so adorably confused Slider is instantly reminded of when he was a kid and his uncles talked about things over his head. 

“You didn’t think I was letting you leave here either? You look as rough as she does. You’re lucky I let you drive around looking for her. Ice will be here in a minute and we’ll go get her jeep and bring it back here. But you are staying.” 

“I…” 

“It wasn’t up for argument kid.” 

“Yes, sir,” he sighs, before collapsing on the couch. 

Slider sits on the edge of the coffee table across from him. “B.. Grace might be my kid now, but you’ve been ours a lot longer and nothing is going to change that ok? You’re still ours even when you mess up. We didn’t leave with the academy and we’re not leaving now. But I also won't hesitate to call you on your shit when your wrong. Especially when it hurts her. But i still love you no matter what, so try to get some rest.” 

Bradley’s not sure that’s going to happen, but he does at least pretend. He hears Slider and Ice leave to go get Grace’s jeep, and he hears Whiskey head off to bed. “Talk to me dad,” he whispers and in the next instant his phone pings with a text. 

Bradley chuckles softly. He swears his uncles gossip more than women, but it drives Slider’s point home that he still has his family. 

From Mav: Just checking in kiddo. Heard it’s been a rough night. Call me if you need anything. 

He shouldn’t be surprised when his phone rings, but he kinda is. “I’m fine Mav. I promise.” 

To Mav: I fucked up. Nothing new. Maybe this time I’ll have better luck figuring things out.

“Mmmm yea. That text wasn’t convincing kiddo. Wanna talk about it?’

“Her divorce papers came today, and I didn’t exactly take it well… it wasn’t… well it wasn’t academy level, but it was close. Then I left and left my phone in the bronco while I was on the beach and well… I missed her text telling me she was leaving. Sli found her for me and now we’re here.” 

“Oh kiddo…” 

“Yea I know. I shouldn’t have left etc etc. Sli already read me the riot act.” 

Mav chuckles. “I’m sure he did. Spicy kinda became his kid.” 

“Yea I know… I just… How do I fix this?” 

“Mmm not sure I’m the best person to be asking that Baby Goose. But… you’re going to have to do some apologizing for leaving. And you need to hear her out. I know she was quiet and shy and reserved when she got here, and there’s a reason behind that, and I don’t know if you know the reason or not, but I’m gonna bet it has something to do with the ex. So you need to just listen when she’s ready to talk and do a lot of apologizing. And B?” 

“Yea?” 

“You gotta prove to her, this won’t happen again. You can’t just keep leaving.” 

“I know,” he sighs softly. “I’m gonna make it right.” 

“I know ya will. Get some sleep kiddo.” 

“I’ll try.” 

He tosses his phone back on the coffee table and stares at the ceiling deep in thought. He hears Sli return and pretends to be asleep, so Slider will go on to bed. He’s definitely improved from his teenage years of faking being asleep because after throwing a blanket over him, Slider does go to bed. 

Bradley’s not sure how much time has passed with him lying there staring at the ceiling, but he knows it couldn’t have been too long since Slider got back. So he’s a little surprised when he hears a door open down the hallway and light footsteps coming his way. He fakes sleep again, until he feels his arm lifted and a body he knows better than anything curl up alongside him. 

“Baby?” he whispers, tightening his arm around her when he feels her tense.

“Sorry I..” 

“Couldn't sleep? Me either.” 

“I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore. It just… felt weird.” 

“I know what ya mean.” He runs his hand up and down her back letting the silence envelope them. “Do you wanna go back to bed?” 

“This is ok,” she whispers. It’s not maybe five minutes and he feels her breathing even out letting him know she’s asleep. He adjusts her so she’s laying on top of him, her face turned into his neck, so she won’t roll off the couch, and then he’s sound asleep too.  That’s how Slider finds them in the morning, and he can’t help but shake his head with a smile. He knows they’ll get through this and be ok. 

[thebreakfastgenie]

📓! :)

For you, a TWW fic!

This is called The Ellsberg Variant and I've actually tried to write it but it hasn't worked out well so far, so I just daydream about it. The name comes from Daniel Ellsberg, a State Department staffer. The same guys who later did Watergate broke into his psychiatrist's office looking for embarrassing information. They didn't find anything, but I thought, what if that happened to Josh and they did find the records about his PTSD? This is set sometime around season 3/4, after H. Con. 172.

It starts with a large envelope being deliver by messenger. The sender is anonymous, but it's a well-known messenger service and passes security screening. It's addressed to the Press Secretary, so Carol takes it to CJ. CJ opens it and immediately tell Carol to close the door and clear her schedule. Inside is an advance copy of the week's issue of a tabloid. The cover is a picture of Josh, some badly edited stock pictures of pills, and the headline "Bartet's Loony Bin." Inside, the story contains extensive quotes and even scans of Josh's medical records, which were obviously stolen. After she reads it, CJ does some investigating, and finds out several weeks ago there was a break-in at an office park where Josh's therapist has an office. Josh, preferring not to be recognized, goes to therapy about an hour away in suburban Virginia. The break-in was briefly covered in local news, but the owners of the building and the security company they contract with tried to keep it quiet to save face. Nothing was reported missing, but it turned out photocopies were made of several patients' confidential records, with the originals being returned. The theory is that someone in the Republican Party bought Josh's records, intending to use them in the hearings, but the president took the censure deal and wrapped the hearings up before Josh had to testify. Not wanting them to go to waste, they gave them to the tabloid to try to damage the reelection campaign.

CJ calls Leo. CJ and Leo tell Josh together. At first he's angry that CJ waited three hours to tell him, but she explains she wanted to know what they were dealing with. The issue is going to be published in a few days and anything they do to try and stop will just draw more attention to it. They bring in Toby and Sam pretty quickly, which Josh isn't wild about but he agrees is unavoidable. They wonder what they should do, and Josh says it's obvious: he has to resign. Leo says no. Josh tries to argue. Leo says he tried to resign when he rehab records were made public, but the president wouldn't let him, so he's just saving Josh time by saying no before the president can. Everyone tries to insist the PTSD doesn't affect his work, so Josh brings up the Oval Office incident. Leo says there were only four people in the room and none of them are going to tell anyone, but Josh reminds him they already have. Leo says their conversations with Stanley were confidential and Josh points out he has no reason to trust that. CJ says Stanley's original assessment wasn't included in the published documents, but they don't know what all has been stolen, and Josh needs to get a copy of his medical records and cross-reference with what's being published. They discuss that the legitimate news media will be able to report on the break-in and the tabloids publishing the documents, so they'll carry the story even though the documents are stolen.

I haven't figured out exactly how they handle it yet, but some things that come up:

Telling the president

Telling Donna

Josh meeting with Amy to fill her in on details they never talked about while they were dating. Amy ends up being a supportive friend.

CJ going to Danny for help.

Josh meeting with Mandy, because she's in pubic relations, to see if she can help.

They speculate on whether the person who sent them the copy was trying to extort them or just wanted to warn them. They may or not eventually find out, but the reader does, that it was a low-level employee at the tabloid who objected to the story, and after being unable to stop it, swiped an advance copy and had it sent to the White House to give them time to prepare.

It ends happily; things suck for a while but Josh keeps his job and the president is re-elected. I think it's gen, maybe a it pre-Josh/Donna but it doesn't push them together. Sam might make different choices in season 4 as a result.

[introvert--weeb]

Hello Can we talk about your talent girl you're shinning ❤💅💅

But seriously you're work is awesome

Tell me plz if I can request this:

Takemitchi coming back to the past not understanding what is missing for the future

He is in one of toman meeting waiting for the "talk" but he hear some noise behind the tree 🌳and when he go to see he find micky and his gf(s/o) kissing and being lovey dovey and then he understands that she is the reason of mickeys dark implusion (dk if i wrot it good)

Like her dying in his arms so like takemitchi want to save both of them (I'm sucker for this type of angst 🤧)

Sorry if this is too much 😅you don't have to do it just wanted to cry

Love 💘😻💜💛💚🧡💘😻💜💛💚🧡

Oh my god! I'm so glad you are enjoying my writing and thank you so much! You have just made my whole week with that! ❤️😭❤️

Of course! I am a sucker for angst (if you couldn't tell from my posts) and this is just amazing!!

Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you enjoy this @kimrena-stuff

--

Mikey X f!reader (fluff with angst)

TW: mentions of death, sadness, blood, violence, canon divergence, alternate timeline

--

The future still wasn't perfect in Takemichi's eyes. Sure, most of the people he tried saving survived but there still was no happy ending for any of them. And once again, Hinata had been killed.

It was confusing him. Surely he had made sure that everything was fixed in the past? What was he missing that could have caused another bad future. The blond had even asked Chifuyu about any events that could be coming up that would cause Mikey to turn out the same as he had every other future. Was it Kisaki? But Kisaki had been fired from Toman.

Chifuyu could not offer much information, after all, he did not know the future and Mikey hadn't declared a war on any other gangs since last time Takemichi had gone back. So there was no luck in that department. Maybe they were both overlooking something small that would be massive in the future?

Takemichi was sort of thankful that he had been called up about the Toman meeting that was happening that night. He could find his answer there, he was sure. After all, each meeting he had gone to so far had provided him with an idea of what was going to happen.

He had arrived at the shrine earlier than most other members. The only ones he really knew that had arrived were Draken, Mitsuya and Chifuyu considering that was who he hitched a ride with. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except Mikey wasn't with Draken as he usually would be.

Curiosity had gotten the better of the young Toman, he had went to ask Draken where the captain was. Draken simply pointed over to a gathering of trees, explaining that Mikey could usually be found there before meetings start. That seemed to only make the boy's curiosity worse, wondering what Mikey could be doing in the cover of the trees.

He couldn't be meeting up with Kisaki still, could he? Is that why the future was not getting any better? Panic filled Takemichi as he approached the trees. If he was talking with Kisaki then that could be his only chance to stop it and create the perfect future he wanted!

It was as he was getting closer that he heard what he thought was two voices talking quietly. Not quiet enough where it could be considered whispering but enough where Takemichi couldn't make out the words being exchanged. He could tell one of them was definitely Mikey but the other could have been anyone. Had Mikey decided to ally himself with someone even more dangerous than Kisaki was proving to be? After all, nobody in Toman had been able to see Mikey in the future so it could be possible.

Trying his best to hide himself from Mikey, Takemichi peeked his head around to find a sight that made his cheeks flush a dark red. Mikey had both hands against a tree trunk with an absolute hottie between them. At first, it seemed a little alarming for the younger blond until he had noticed the soft smile and blush that dusted your features.

It was only when Mikey leaned down to press a kiss to your lips that Takemichi had felt he was overstaying his welcome. Especially since he wasn't really welcome in the first place. He was simply a creepy peeper at that moment. Why did he keep ending up in these types of moments that made him look like a creep?! First it was with Emma and now he was essentially watching his captain make out with his girlfriend.

"I love you, Mikey." Your voice was breathless from that kiss, your eyes sparkling as they stared into your lover's dark ones. It was obvious to anyone that you were both so in love with each other. Hell, you were sneaking off together at any moment you could find just to be all lovey dovey with each other.

"I love you more, Y/N."

Takemichi had caught that small snippet of your conversation as he was trying to silently walk away. He really didn't want to be caught by the Invincible Mikey staring at the loving exchange after all. But it did get him thinking. Had you ever been mentioned in the future? Surely if you were this in love, you would remain by Mikey's side forever?

The Toman meeting started as it usually did. You would be sat on the stairs while your boyfriend would address the issues related to the gang. Everyone knew who you were, you would always be at the meetings after all unless you had to attend to other business. That would explain why Takemichi hadn't seen you. You must have been attending to other things every meeting that the blond went to. All throughout the meeting, Takemichi could only try and recall if you're present in some way in the future. Surely you would still be hanging around with the same people 12 years later.

He would have to contact Naoto in the future as soon as he could. After all, if there was something big that was going to happen then he would want to find out as soon as he could. And so, as soon as the meeting was finished, he made his way to the Tachibana household to find young Naoto.

"So, how did it go? Were you able to change anything?" That was the first thing Naoto asked once Takemichi had woken up. It was the same routine each time. Naoto would ask if he had changed anything, knowing that it wasn't enough since Hinata was still dead. But maybe if something had changed, they were a little bit closer to finding out what was causing this chain of reactions.

Takemichi shook his head and then dived headfirst into his question. He had asked if you were ever mentioned in one way or another. Maybe if you were still alive, something must have happened between you and Mikey which he could prevent from occurring. Just thinking back on how in love you both were with each other, he was beginning to doubt that it was a simple break up.

It had taken the two males a full hour until your name had popped up in their searches. It really didn't help that Takemichi only knew your first name and that you would hang out with Toman. The news article had filled the computer screen, a photo of you smiling in the top corner of the page. It gave off a vibe that didn't match the contents of the article.

You had been stabbed 15 times in the chest and stomach during a gang brawl between Toman and a gang Takemichi hadn't heard of yet. You were rushed to the hospital but had died before the doctors could reach you. It stated that it was a boy named Manjiro Sano that had brought you in.

It all started to make sense now. You had been caught up in the brawl and had sustained injuries that had ended your life. So Mikey had lost himself when you had died in his arms as he tried his best to save you.

Takemichi checked the date on which you had died. 2 days from today. Why wasn't this brawl mentioned at the Toman meeting?! Did Mikey keep it a secret or was it a spontaneous confrontation? Takemichi could only guess it was the second option. Especially since the brawl would take place at Toman's meeting spot at the shrine.

"I need to save Y/N from dying. That is what we were missing! If she survives, Mikey won't lose another piece of himself." And with that, the handshake that activated the time leaping had taken place.

Takemichi had explained his plan to Chifuyu. Explained how there would be a brawl the next day at the shrine and how that is possibly the trigger for the bad futures. After all, Mikey might stay sane with you by his side. Chifuyu couldn't believe what he was hearing. A gang would have the balls to enter the meeting place of Toman just to start a fight? They must either hold a huge grudge against them or were just plain insane. No gang was to ever enter another gang's meeting spot as it was seen as sacred.

The blond had vowed that he would do anything he could to protect you from harm and ultimately save Mikey from his dark future. Even if he had to glue himself to your side, he would make sure nothing happened to you. He would make up for the time he had failed to save Baji.

You and Mikey continued with your routine. Enter the tree clearing and spend some quality time together. You both exchanged kisses, splitting the dorayaki you would keep on you for your boyfriend, and joking around. Everything a couple in love should do.

The day of the brawl had arrived and so had the rival gang. It was in the middle of Mikey addressing his gang that the opponent's had arrived. The shock was quickly erased as the fighting began. Mikey had made sure you stayed close behind him so he could keep you safe, even though you could fight. Maybe not as well as most of the Toman members but you were capable of keeping yourself safe.

Takemichi scanned the entire shrine area in search of you. Relief had briefly enveloped the middle schooler. After all, if Mikey was with you, nobody could touch you. Or that's what everyone had thought. You had been separated from Mikey as soon as the gang members discovered you were cared for deeply by him. They had thought that if they got you, they could win the fight.

It was if the world was entering slow motion. Takemichi tried to push his way to where you were being dragged, the determination to save everyone being his main driving force. Mikey had yet to notice you were no longer behind him, too focused on taking out the leader and winning the brawl so he could take you home where you would be safe. However, that plan was quickly becoming less likely.

"Shit! Move out of my way!" Takemichi had panic pumping throughout his veins. If he couldn't get to you in time, there was no second chance. It was times like this that made him realise just how human he was. He was one boy, not a God. He could only do so much. But he was sure as hell gonna try and save you.

"Y/N!" Takemichi's voice carried across the entirety of the battlefield. So much so that everyone had frozen, especially Mikey. He turned his gaze to behind him where he thought you were only to find you were missing. Frantic, his dark eyes scanned the area until they rested on you being held against your will. The boy who held you had his arm across your neck, squeezing so you couldn't call out to your boyfriend. However, it was the knife that he pointed to your chest that had Mikey scared.

Takemichi was the only person who didn't freeze, pushing his way past the bodies that stood like statues. He could make it! He could save everyone with this one action! He was convinced that this was why Mikey had given into his dark impulses and why no-one could get their happily ever afters.

He was too late. The knife had pierced through your chest, narrowly missing any vital organs. This had seemed to spur the younger blond to increase his speed, trying to keep in mind that you could survive if he kept the stabs to a minimum. After all, the news article had explained how you had been stabbed 15 times. One was fixable. One he could deal with.

Mikey couldn't seem to move. His love had been stabbed. For no other reason than they were there and sticking by him. This wasn't fair. You had nothing to do with what the problem was and you shouldn't be paying the price for it either.

It felt like an eternity for Takemichi to reach where you were. His legs were screaming at him to stop and his heart was beating a million miles a minute. In the time it took him to get to you, you had sustained another two stabs in your stomach and chest. The person doing it was nothing short of a monster. He didn't care that you were innocent or that you were a girl. He just continued his mission.

The sound of skin to skin contact echoed, a sickening crack following along. Takemichi had landed the hardest punch he could muster against the side profile of the monster. The crack was the jaw breaking underneath the force. You were released as the perpetrator stumbled backwards, falling as he lost consciousness. Takemichi had made it but he wasn't confident that it was in time. He couldn't help but watch as you smiled and fell sideways. Fueled simply by the adrenaline, he had carefully picked you up in his arms before starting his journey to the hospital.

Draken had been the one to snap Mikey out of his daze, telling him to get his bike. There was no way that Takemichi would get there in time if he was simply thinking of running. And so that's what Mikey did. He fired up his precious bike, ordering the young blond to climb onto the back before speeding his way to the closest medical facility.

Due to all of this, you had survived. Takemichi had succeeded in saving you and thus saving Mikey. There was a possibility that the future would be good this time.

Once he had heard you were alive and doing well, Mikey had finally let himself react. Tears fell one after the other down his cheeks and relief had lifted his heart. He wouldn't lose you. You were alive because of Takemitchy. That is something Mikey couldn't thank the younger blond enough for. He had saved your life when Mikey could do nothing but watch.

Everyone expressed their gratitude for Takemichi. After all, they couldn't imagine what Mikey would turn out like if he had lost you during that fight. Takemichi had an idea but wasn't about to spill what the future he knew was like. Speaking of which, he did wonder how this had affected his future. Would everyone finally have their happy endings? He sure did hope so.

As soon as Naoto had shook his hand, Takemichi had found himself sitting at a table with a can of beer in his hand. Confused on what was going on, he glanced around at his surroundings. He was currently in a home that looked nothing like his apartment. Photos of a couple he vaguely recognised littered the walls, there was the scent of takeout wafting in the air, and the noise was loud yet joyful.

A few days later, Takemichi decided to head back to where he belonged. 12 years in the future. You had been discharged from the hospital and probably on a date with Mikey as he approached the Tachibana residence. Thinking about it, Mikey had seemed to brighten up more ever since you had been allowed out of the hospital. Takemichi laughed as he recalled Mikey buried under a large bouquet of your favourite flowers and a giant plushie of your favourite animal on that day. You had simply laughed before peppering the Toman leader's face in kisses. You had also planted a peck on the younger boy's cheek as a sign of how grateful you were to him. After all, if Takemichi hadn't done any of that, you wouldn't be able to spend anymore time with Mikey. You owed him your life.

That's when Takemichi realised he had done it. Hinata was chatting happily with Yuzuha and Hakkai about their experiences in Europe; Mitsuya, Smiley and Angry were laughing about some inside joke no-one knew about; Pah-chin and Peh-yan were discussing business relating to the real estate agency; Kazutora and Inui were drinking in the corner, simply observing the festivities; and Draken was chatting away happily to Mikey, his arm around Emma's waist as she tried to soothe their baby. Takemichi had saved them all. They were all OK. Most of all, Hinata was alive.

"Anyone needing any refills?" your voice trailed in from where you stood in the doorway connecting the living room and kitchen. You looked almost the same except for a few features. Takemichi knew at that moment that this was the perfect future for everyone, especially when Hinata had come over and kissed his cheek. The discussion around the room had suddenly become one as everyone spoke about the upcoming weddings between you and Mikey as well as the one between Takemichi and Hinata. For the first time in a long time, Takemichi could let go of the weight he had carried around and enjoy his life with his friends and his fiancé.

[i-lovethatforme]

petermay edit to marjorie by taylor swift…..😢😢

hrmph: a fic where May knows Peter too well. (also me just seeing this says edit and not a fic and so sorry to you idk how to do those and i already wrote this bye love you)

Peter hasn't been this terrified since the statue of liberty. Since he lost everyone he's ever loved. He's been vaguely content to be alone for the past three years because loneliness is all he deserves and there hasn't been anyone to tell him to stop. To open himself back up to love. To do anything that suggests he doesn't have to come home to a cold apartment and a mountain of bills.

There's been no one because he made sure there was no one.

But somehow, he has a letter addressed to him. And it's from May. And he knows from the way she dated the envelope that she wrote it hours before she died. He doesn't know what it says because his fingers are trembling too much to possibly open it.

But he knows that somewhere in her words, she's going to tell him it's okay. That she's happy. And he's hardwired to listen to her. To trust her. So he'll have to revaluate how he throws himself into patrol to cope with his grief if she so much as mentions it.

But more than that. He'll have to come to terms with the fact that she's truly gone. He'll have to live with the fact that she's dead, even if he convinces himself she's still around when he sees a bunch of yellow daffodils. Or when he sees meatloaf in the store that he always wants to buy but knows he'll never eat. Or when he sees someone at FEAST.

But her living on in the small things that bring him happiness is enough. It will have to be enough because he tears the envelope open. It's too late to pretend.

He chokes down a sob at her frantic writing. God, the way he misses her. Peter swallows thickly, rubbing the back of his hand over his face to keep stray tears away from her words as he reads.

Hey sweetheart,

I’m hiding in your bedroom right now. I just offered Otto saltwater because he’s an octopus so I’m taking a break to wallow with my shame and think about my life choices - and write this letter to you. Just in case.

Right now you’re working on fixing a few issues with the guys in the lab. Something I don't quite understand because everyone was talking too fast and honestly, it’s a little boring - but I trust you. I’ve always trusted you - so I’m just hanging around. I trust you but I’m not leaving my son with a couple of creepy villains even if they do seem semi subdued right now.

You've got a good plan - I think, but I still can’t tell if it’s going to go well if I’m honest. I never did have your optimism. Because you’re just so good. And I’m so proud of you - I’ve always been proud of you. You’re the kindest person I know (even if I do wish you’d put your bowl in the dishwasher so I didn't have to tut every day I see it).

But just remember, with great power comes great responsibility. And remember not to be so kind you forget to be clever. Though, I think you’re probably crazy enough to think you can save the world and smart enough to pull it off. That’s my boy. Always just the best guy I know.

But if you’re reading this - I’m probably ten toes into heaven, huh?

I want you to know whatever happened - I was never scared, okay? How could I be? I’m going to see Ben. And we’ll talk about how grown up you are - how you’ve still got your chubby little cheeks and your fluffy eyebrow. How unbelievably proud of you we are.

And whatever it was that took me down - hopefully, something cool, right? I’m going to haunt someone if I was taken out by falling debris. Whatever it was, please don’t blame yourself. I want you to promise me, okay? Just that you’ll try. You’ll at least try to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. Promise me that you’ll just try - for me, okay? That’s all you’ve got to do.

I love you to the end of my life and more - but my choices have always been my own. Whatever happened, however I died. I did it entirely happy to at least be with you. I would never leave you alone.

Ugh, that got heavy so let's talk about - oh! (you just had a successful trial downstairs, I can hear you calling MJ about it…) Let's talk about MJ. I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much I adore Michelle. (She told me to call her MJ… it only took me a few minutes, jealous it took you years?) She’s great! I knew she would be - she likes you so she’s already got a good head on her shoulders. Plus, not that it matters, but she’s beautiful. You sure know how to pick them, bug boy.

I know not everyone loves for the first time and gets lucky for the rest of their life. Not like Ben and I. So, whoever you end up with. Just love them as Ben loved me and how we love you, wholly, completely and so they never feel alone - even if you have to leave them.

Speaking of… We had some fun, didn’t we? I can’t believe it was barely two years ago that I taught (well, we found a youtube video but semantics) you how to tie a tie. And how to dance! (Even if I’ve seen your moves since and it’s possible another lesson is necessary.) I hope you’re still dancing.

Raising you was the best thing I’ve ever done. The absolute joy of my life. Having a child was never in our plans and I can’t think how now - I can’t remember a time when you weren’t here. When you weren’t the largest part of my heart. And though if you’re reading this - I’ve already gone, just know that I’ve never been anything but proud to be your mum.

And because I’ve had that privilege - because I know you. Here are a few more parting pearls of wisdom you know I just love to give you.

Stop hiding from everyone.

Wash behind your ears.

You’re allowed to be loved. You are so deserving of love.

Throw that beanie out, sweetie.

Throw happiness around like confetti.

And for the last time my boy, but remember it’s forever and always, I larb you.

P.S. I put the recipe for my meatloaf on the back. (I heard Otto talking and I’m not sure I can face going back outside yet.)

P.P.S I put the brownie one on there as well - so you can actually use that instead of ignoring it.

P.P.P.S I larb you.

Peter's not sure how many times he rereads the letter, but the words an imprinted into his mind. The way she'd be so disappointed in how his life is going. The way she only even wanted him to be happy. The way she put her entire life on hold to make sure he always was happy.

So, he pulls his phone out and puts a song on. It doesn't matter which one if he's honest. He's a little stiff, his hips barely moving and his arms won't loosen up but he hasn't used his body for much more than throwing punches and dodging hits for so long. But by the third song, it gets easier. He remembers the way May taught him in their living room. The colours on the pillows, the smell of the candles, the sound of May grimacing at his attempts at being smooth.

It's the closest he's felt to her since he lost her. Even with the times he visits her grave. It's nothing like right now.

It's better already. He's happier already and he only really needed a pep talk from May. That's all he ever needed. Maybe he'll reach out to MJ or Ned... but for right now, he sways around his apartment and he thinks about May.

It's as if she's still alive. He knows better. But he still feels her around. He knows better. But she's still around.

[writefightandflightclub]

Return to Sender: (Richard Alonso Muñoz x GN reader)

What is this? This is 4/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. I’m not gonna share the prompt as it’s spoilery, but it was requested by @sergeantkane​ who is a genius for picking this combo! It’s a prompt about LOVE LETTERS! Omg! And thus, it matches perfectly with Richard (trust me, I had NOT made that connection when I made the prompt list :P). Thank you so much for requesting, Clarke, and I hope you enjoy it. I’m excited about this one!

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Oh, I really quite like this one. Hope it makes you feel as soft as I did for Richard while writing it! Also- it’s my first bash at writing him, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who helped with film details too: those not already tagged in the post- @prurientpuddlejumper​ @witchyavenger​ @veuliee2​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @pascal-isaac​

Word count: 4.5 k. So not a blurb, then? :P

Rating: Mature, for light steam (not explicit, but 18+ or out, please!)

Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Mild angst (but it ends well), Steamy. Kissing, brief non-explicit mention of erection. Implied coitus (cut scene). Richard works in a “correctional facility”. Small mention of attempted break-in. If I missed any let me know.

Tagging: @anetteaneta​ @isvvc-pvscvl​ @nowritingonthewall​ @supernovafeather​ (ONLY READ IF 18+)

GIF by @nathan-bateman​

“Have you ever received a love letter?” Richard wonders shyly, without looking up from his crossword puzzle, his long eyelashes fanned out as his gaze dances over the monochrome squares.

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up immediately from your magazine, which you are idly leafing through, a breath catching in your chest.

You bristle at the question, and yet Richard seems either entirely oblivious, or entirely determined not to look-up at you. Perhaps both. So, instead of looking, he simply slurps the dregs of his milkshake, and pushes his plate of waffle remnants further toward the far end of the diner booth.

When he finally raises his gaze – a gentle prompt for you to answer him- his eyes are large and shining under the fluorescent lights as he peers at you over his glass, dabbing at his thick moustache with a paper napkin shortly after.

“No, never,” you state sadly, heeding his prompt with a small smile and a shake of your head. Not even a love e-mail.

“I’m surprised,” he flatters with a cautious smile. And, if you’re not mistaken, his eyes light-up with the faintest trace of desire. The barest undercurrent of passion, which is enough to have your heart beating like a drum. You notice it sometimes; this dull heat emanating off of him. It is a spark which never ignites, however - to your endless disappointment; you would fan that flame if only you knew how.

You swallow. He’s surprised? He can’t be that surprised, you think, a stone sinking through your stomach as you dwell too long on the topic of love letters, and meanwhile, Richard’s attention seamlessly diverts back to 3 across.

“You deserve one,” he says, still looking at the page, but a smile animating his wiry moustache. “A letter.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a spiralling sadness catching hold of you. Does he not understand what this is doing to you? This painful reminder? “Can we drop it, Richard?” you say tensely, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are even more soft and cautious than usual, causing you to admonish yourself for the bite in your tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course,” he smiles thinly, apologetically.

It’s simply the new job, you think. Director of Communications. The man has letters on the brain. Richard is so considerate, that you realise he must not intend to hurt you in dredging up the past; he would never. In a way though, you think, it’s even worse that he brings it up so… casually. You can only conclude he has forgotten that you sent your letter to him at all. Had your heartfelt words, declaring your love, had so little impact on him?

Maybe that’s it. After all, they seemed to have so little impact upon him at the time. What could you expect years later? On the other hand, you -apparently- remain rather sore about the topic, all this time later. It’s natural to be sensitive though, isn’t it? You’d written him a love letter and he didn’t write you back. He didn’t say it back. Didn’t feel it back.

And, perhaps it still stings so much, even all these years later, because you never did stop loving him, even if he never started loving you.

Feeling a sudden, overwhelming haste to leave, you thumb through the pages of your magazine so furiously that the next table turn their heads to look at you, until you find what you were searching for.

“Here, Richard. The article I mentioned. Dramatherapy for people who are incarcerated.”

You fold the magazine back on itself, fobbing it off on him with an unprecedented urgency, hurriedly signalling to the waitress that you’d like the check. The roomy diner booth suddenly feels suffocating, and you want to get out. Meanwhile, oblivious, Richard chuckles at the title of the article -some kind of pun, you recall- as you try to push down the unpleasant emotions surfacing within you.

“Thank you for this,” he smiles, looking up at you earnestly. Looking concerned as he reads the expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes fix on the table, where his fingertips inch hesitantly across the surface, hovering moments from yours as he debates whether to extend comfort. You make the decision for him, snatching your hand back from his reach.

“Yes. I’m Fine,” you say, unconvincingly. “Can we please go? I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Richard agrees gently. He looks a little flustered, but, now sensing your urgency, he begins to sweep up his papers and to shrug on his jacket. He pulls out a small comb to fix his neat curls in place, and offers you a soft smile. “Maybe we can go to the park next?” he suggests.  

As much as you want to run, you nod, some of your agitation dissipating now that the prior topic seems to be forgotten. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” You school your expression into something calm, and you offer him a reassuring smile as his soulful eyes dance over you, a lingering but unobtrusive concern there.

As you split the check, you tell yourself for the millionth time that being his friend is enough; but even after the millionth time, you can’t quite believe it.

Still, today -Sunday- is your one day with him this week. And, no matter what you can’t have; you’ll take anything you can get.

He’s too dear to you to settle for anything less.

************

One month later:

You crouch in amongst the boxes on Richard’s front lawn. He is having a clear-out, setting out some items for goodwill, and some for a neighbourhood yard sale happening next weekend.

You are having fun assisting him in sifting through various items, occasionally bursting into a fit of laughter when he reveals yet another ill-informed, late night shopping channel “bargain” – usually some new-fangled, scarcely-used exercise contraption, which he proceeds to demonstrate in good-humour, making you fold over clutching your stomach in mirth. Occasionally, as you rifle through the boxes, you’ll be overcome by a pang of sentimentality when he uncovers an item with a memory attached; and -no matter how useless- he usually sneaks said item into his ever-growing “to-keep” pile.

“But this is the picnic hamper we took to Bound Beach Island! For your birthday, remember?”  

“Yeah, Richard, but it’s battered! It has holes! It needs to go.”

“It was a beautiful day. The light and the dunes were beautiful… and… and y-“

“-Oh my goodness, what is this?! Please for the love of God tell me you never actually wore this!”

You work through the midday sun until you come to a tired, dead halt on the grass, finally parking your ass down and wiping your brow. Richard looks warm too, a “v” of sweat soaking his old, oversized “Save the Turtles” t-shirt. No - he really doesn’t throw anything away. You smile fondly, though, remembering his sea turtle phase. Of course, he’d read some article. He always was looking for a cause.

“I’ll make us some iced tea,” Richard announces with a tired puff of breath, looking more spent than he probably wants to admit after shuttling the various boxes. Still, the way his grizzled curls have fallen away from his harsh side-part appeals to you, sitting disobedient and undone on his forehead.

Thinking of him undone, you hear a faint beating of drums sound in your chest.

You ignore the music though, like always, instead smiling gratefully as he heads inside, and you take a second to collect yourself before dragging the nearest box towards you, deciding you may as well continue. This next box is taped securely shut, and you chuckle quietly to yourself when you notice it’s labelled “workout-gear”.

You peel the packing tape away and open it up, scooping out the pile of miscellaneous papers sitting right on top. Beginning to leaf through, you surmise it’s mainly unopened junk mail; mainly garishly printed promotional flyers - from a pizzeria which closed down years ago, you recognise. Probably hastily stuffed in before his last move and never dealt with. Absent-mindedly, you begin to bundle it up for the recycling pile, when a smaller, more humble envelope drops out on to your lap, a hand-scrawled address on the front. The stationary is resoundingly familiar.

In fact, everything about it is familiar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as it immediately dawns on you.

It’s your letter.

The letter you sent him, all those years ago. You’d needed to be apart from him- needed to go away to take care of family, and you simply couldn’t go without letting him know. Letting him know you were in love with him.

The memory is like a slow knife sinking into your chest as you idly turn it over in your hands.

But… It can’t be…?

It’s… unopened.

All the air leaves you lungs.

No. No. It doesn’t make a shred of sense.

You’d spoken to him right afterward, on the phone. The first time he’d called after you left town he’d almost pleaded with you, giving you an unequivocally clear, and endlessly painful answer that he didn’t want what you wanted. What you’d written about. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he simply wanted to be friends. “I- I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay exactly like it is between us – please? Can we still talk every day?”

But if he didn’t read it…?

You heart pounds so hard that you hear blood rushing in your ears.

He doesn’t know.

His words didn’t mean what you…

Oh my god. All this time.  

You shoot abruptly to standing when you see him approach, as if you’ve been caught red-handed, guiltily stuffing the letter into your back pocket before he can ask you what it is, an abundance of thoughts screaming in your head.

He hands you the glass of tea, ice tinkling gently, and you take it from him, the coolness shocking your palms.

Assessing what you’ve been up to in his absence, and noting the carcass of another box, Richard glances down at the pile of papers strewn at your feet. He looks suddenly worried for a moment, as if you might have found an old porn stash or something – and he looks just as suddenly relieved when he sees they are more innocent papers, scooping them up from the grass.

“Richard?” you say, your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and the letter burning a hole in your pocket as he drops the items into the recycling. He hums for you to go on. “Do you... You know when I moved away...?” your voice is strained, and you gulp hard. “Just before, do you remember getting any unusual letters or... weird post from me?”

“Like what kind of thing?” he asks curiously, turning back to you.

“I don’t know exactly,” you lie, nervously. “I have a feeling I sent you something? A sappy goodbye thing?”

You see him mull it over, combing his impressive moustache with his fingers. “I don’t remember, sorry. But apparently I was drowning in junk mail at that apartment. Maybe it got lost, or returned to sender?”

Despite everything, you exhale a small laugh. In a roundabout way, you suppose it had been returned to sender after all. You look at the ground.

“Was it important?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looks at you.

Biding time, you take a sip of your tea while you search for an answer. It’s refreshing.

“It… Uh. It was a long, long time ago. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” you muse, masking your sadness, and he nods, looking at least half-satisfied with your answer.

Except, it does matter. It matters more than anything. And, with a sudden, overwhelming need to grab on to the past, you track to the “to go” box, rescuing the battered picnic basket from the pile of junk.

“You shouldn’t get rid of this,” you state, your back to Richard, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice falters. You tense as you feel him settle by your side, his hand hovering tentatively at the small of your back but never quite touching. “It was a beautiful day.”

“No,” he insists. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hang on to it.”

His words are like a punch in the gut. You turn your head to your side, where Richard is, your eyes and heart almost overflowing.

Noting your sadness, and connecting it to the picnic basket, he does everything he can to smooth things over, like always. “We can get a new one,” he says, his brown eyes sweet and hopeful and bright.

You love him. You love him still and you can’t help but turn towards him and reach out your arms, dragging him in for a hug.

“No! No, I’m sweaty,” he protests self-consciously, but you don’t care. You just need to hold him, even only for a moment – and, for a moment he stills as you loop around him, never quite clutching you back.

When you pull away though, you could swear that dim spark of passion is present in his eyes again. That spark that never catches, no matter how much or how often or how hard you wish it would. Oh, how you wish.

“Don’t ever change, Richard,” you say sincerely, your voice imbued with fondness. “Okay? You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”

His eyes are immediately soft and bashful again, the colour of his cheeks deepening a little, a crimson undertone blooming under his brown skin.

“Yes. Okay,” he offers, with a nod, his eyes creasing at the corners, and his posture even bolstered by the compliment, you could swear, his chest puffing out proudly.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ignore the unread words in the back of your pocket; but for the life of you, you can’t ignore those drums.

************

One month later:

You bundle the yapping, happy little white dog into your arms, relieved that she’s okay as her little tail happily beats against your arm.

“Are you okay, Lady?” you coo as she nuzzles her snoot into your face, eagerly lapping little kisses on to your cheek. “Thanks goodness, sweet little floof,” you baby-talk as your eyes quickly scan around Richard’s place, setting his spare key down on the kitchen counter.

You’d barrelled across town to get here, after receiving a call about an attempted break-in. His neighbour to the left had your contact details in case of an emergency -it’s not very easy to reach him at work, of course- so here you are. You came to give things a quick checking over, assured that no-one suspicious had continued to loiter. Richard won’t be much longer -his shift has nearly ended, and you’d left him a voicemail so you’re sure he’ll hurry- but you still thought you’d go on ahead of him, especially so that he wouldn’t worry about Lady.

Looking around, thankfully all seems well, and you don’t think anyone made it inside after all. Slowly then, you allow your nerves to calm and your heart to settle, bouncing the little bundle of fur in your arms, and feeding her a treat from the packet on top of the microwave, just in case she’d been stressed out.

Calming, you can’t help but smile as you look around, absorbing all the little details of Richard. You do hang out in his apartment a fair amount, but most often you will meet or sit outdoors, when the weather allows. After all, he loves to feel the sun and fresh air on his face, especially after spending all day cooped-up in windowless rooms. To you though, this Richard-ness is like a breath of fresh air, and you let it all wash over you, drinking in the details of his simple daily routine. The discarded half-plate of frijoles and rice by the sink. The ironing-board piled with identical uniform-issue shirts, pants, and plain white t-shirts. The photos on the fridge door – some of you and him too.

Doing a lap of the living space, you further note the dining-for-one TV table, evidence of his relatively solitary existence, and you can almost see him sitting there. Can almost hear his soft voice relating the far-fetched storylines of his favourite telenovelas. You imagine him chuckling warmly - perhaps shedding a tear sometimes too.

You decide you should pop your head into the bedroom and bathroom to check there too, for good measure, and you set Lady down, the dog trotting along at your heels. Once you’ve done a loop, you sigh, seeking out a fresh task, and you circle back to the sink, scraping his discarded plate and rinsing it, stacking it in the dishrack. Then, you move towards the TV chair, intending simply to sit yourself down and wait for Richard to come home. After all, you’re here now - you may as well say hello; or, maybe you can even prepare him dinner after his long shift, you muse.

As you revisit the small, rickety table, however, your eyes more keenly notice that a bunch of papers are strewn over it, all identical- a series of pastel pink leaves of paper and envelopes.

Letters.

Handwritten, in his familiar scrawl.

Letters addressed to you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, as you wonder what they could be. You don’t want to invade his privacy, of course, but perhaps this is something that’s meant for you? After all, sometimes he leaves you notes when you come over to feed or walk Lady.  

Still, this feels different, and, with a lump in your throat that you don’t quite understand, you pick up one of the leaves at random, skimming the first line, yet feeling only more confused than you did before.  

You see your name at the head of the paper, followed by the words “my dearest love,”, and underneath, some other half-formed paragraphs, scribbled over and crossed out.

No, you shake your head, your stomach flipping over. That can’t be right, you think, even as your fingers scramble for another leaf - for leaf upon leaf, until you piece together what’s going on. Until, with every line you read, fragments of both English and Spanish, you feel as though you are piecing together his heart.

Could it be true? Is this really true?

Your fingers dive for a sheet more developed that the rest, where you see paragraphs of writing, and you devour the words like you are starved of love; for you are, aren’t you? Starved? And yet, you suddenly feel so full. Brimming.

My darling,

There are infinite ways to fall in love. Some are elemental, like a raging fire. A shock of lightning on first sight. Some are slow-burning and constant, the heat of friendship warming your hearth, defrosting your iced fingertips when you come in from the cold.

There are infinite ways to fall in love, and I should know, my heart, as I have experienced every one of them with you.

You can barely read the rest as tears blur your eyes, and your hand comes to clamp over your mouth as realisation sinks through to the pit of you, the page quaking -like a leaf- in your fingers.

You make my heart beat like a drum. When I look at you, I am music, without being played. When you’re with me I am dancing, without movement. If only you would touch my skin, I feel like I would sing. If only you would-

“-Are you safe? Are you alright?” Richard asks from behind you, and you tear your eyes away from the page with a start. You were so absorbed by this swell of beating music that you didn’t hear the scrape of his key in the lock. You didn’t hear his hurried footsteps coming up behind you.  

“Richard,” you suspire, and for once his touch is on you without hesitation, his hands clasped around each of your shoulders, slowly running down your arms, and you nod quickly to reassure him, your mouth opening wordlessly. You’re safe.

His touch is warm through your clothes, and you think he is right- your skin would sing for him too if he touched you. Your love rattles you, like drums beating musically in your chest, pulsing through your body.

Then, Richard clocks your sideward, guilty glance at the pile of letters, and you see his panic instantly surface at the thought of all his unsent and unspoken words laid bare before you. All the pieces of his heart exposed.

At first, he looks apologetic, but then you step forwards a little more, into the circle of his arms. Arms which suddenly fall, unsure, at his sides once again. And, achingly slow, endlessly sure, you lift up you hand and you place it on his chest, over his heart, smoothing over his shirt and over the cool metal of the shield he wears there. You feel his heart really is beating like a drum. His chest is rising and falling beneath your hand, his breath quickened – eyes nervous.

You step a little closer, and your fingers continue their slow crawl, dancing up around his collar, inching further up until your fingers finally brush the bare skin at the nape of his neck, pushing up into the curls behind his ears, your thumb skimming his sideburn. You touch him, with your fingertips, and he does sing for you, a half-choked moan leaving his mouth at your tender caress.

“Richard,” you say breathily, searching his face, eyes openly appraising his beauty. “Don’t worry, sweet man. I love you too.” And, when you next meet his eyes there is no nervousness there. Not any longer. Instead, you find his dark, expressive eyes brewing with adoration, and that gentle but ever ascending note of passion.

“Darling, can I kiss you?” he pleads, his voice dogged by desire, his brow knitting together and his hands slipping bravely to your waist, circling you as you arch into him.

“Yes. Yes,” you say, and his mouth meets yours in a desperate, tumultuous crush. You sing too, your skin thrumming as you finally know the feeling of his thick moustache brushing against you. As you taste the sweet flavour of cherry sucker on his kiss. As you finally feel the texture of his slicked curls beneath your fingertips.

You kiss, urgently, until you are each smiling too broadly to continue, and instead Richard beams and presses sweet, intermittent kisses all over – your cheeks, your forehead, your hair, your neck- his moustache tickling wherever it touches. His hands are everywhere they can be politely, roaming over your back and your arms and your hair, and it feels so good to finally be held like this.

Eventually, he pulls back, his smile no longer tugging at his lips so keenly -lips now kiss flushed with deep colour- but shining in his liquid eyes. “How long have you loved me back?” he asks in a still choked, disbelieving voice.

You bite your lip, but then allow your face to split in a radiant, unrestrained grin.

Always. Always. I loved you first, you think.

You reach for your bag, reluctant to break from him so trailing your love’s hand in yours- and you fish out the letter. The one you’ve carried around since it was returned to you. “Take a look, Richard,” you encourage.

He looks from you to the small envelope, turning it in his spare hand as you pass it to him. “What is this?”

His brows rise in confusion as you tap the stamped postmark with your index finger. Years. Years ago.

“I sent you a letter,” you explain. “Telling you I loved you. That I love you,” you correct, squeezing his hand tightly in yours, amazed at how natural it feels already, to touch him.

He audibly gasps in air, looking pained. Devastated. “I never got it. I would’ve-“, he fumbles for words, but he can’t finish them, the magnitude of all those years lost to yearning too big to wrap his lips around. “I never got it,” he repeats sorrowfully.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about that now,” you soothe. “I got your letter.” And, as you engulf him with your arms a soft smile takes over his features once again. He can’t help it.

“I’m so glad you did,” he beams, drawing you to him for another kiss, which you eagerly accept, opening your mouth to him.

God, he’s a good kisser, his tongue in you deep and eager, and the heat generated is quick to catch, a fire lit in the pit of you. That moustache is a divine thing too, his lips soft and full beneath, his mild-mannered tongue positively sinful as it works against yours.

Letting the kiss grow, you grab hold of him by the belt to draw his body closer to yours, arching your hips into his, and you feel an impressive bulge greet you as you do so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bashfully, angling his hips away from you, in case you’re not ready for… that yet. “You’re perfection. So perfect, I… I’m a little bit, uh, excited.”

You don’t blame him. You’re a little bit excited too. There’s a drum beating in your chest. Music in your heart. A song everywhere. A dance in your body.

“W-would you like to take me to the bedroom, Richard?” you purr, softly. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You wish you could capture the bliss which sparks in his eyes then, and keep stoking it forever more. His whole being glows as if you are the sun shining down on him. He loves the sun on his face. He loves you.

He loves you.

*******

Later that night:

At some point after round three, Richard is ravenous, and so you head to the kitchen to grab some snacks. One of Richard’s plaid shirts wards off the slight chill, settled over your otherwise naked body. As you microwave something quick, you can barely keep the smile from your face – even more so as you glance over at the table full of half-finished letters. As the microwave pings and you grab out the plate, another idea occurs to you, and you simply can’t help yourself.

So, you pad mysteriously back towards the bedroom, where Richard is waiting. The blanket is slung low over his hips, skimming the dark trail of hair which draws your gaze down beyond his abdomen. He is covered, and yet you bloom blissfully with heat at your new-found knowledge of what lays beneath. He’s laying with one hand folded behind his head, and one hand rested on the soft, roundness of his stomach, which you had laid your head on only moments ago.

Richard’s eyes shine with unadulterated admiration as you enter, and you flash him a mischievous smile as you transfer the plate to his hands, and subsequently tip a cascade of his letters into the middle of the bed.

“What’s all this?” he asks, with a contented laugh as you bounce eagerly into bed by his side, humming in equal contentment as you slot yourself under his arm.  

“I want you to read them to me. Will you?” you ask, sweetly, and he looks bashful all over again. “No-one has ever sent me a love letter.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles. “Or I thought so…”

He hesitates, perhaps feeling shy, but he wraps his arm around you securely, nuzzling you into his side as he picks up the closest leaf of paper.

He hums gratefully as you begin to stroke his smooth chest. He really does sing whenever you touch him.

“They’re not finished,” he caveats. “I wanted to find the perfect words and I… I couldn’t.”

“The words don’t have to be perfect. It’s more important that they’re delivered,” you say, your voice soft as you sink into him, and so, he gently clears his throat and he begins to read, his words and his rich, soothing voice filtering over you like warm sunshine.

After a moment listening, and letting his love and his letters envelop you, you interrupt him gently. “My sweet man. Promise me you’ll never write me another love letter?”

“Are they that awful?!” Richard exclaims.

“No!” you laugh, into his chest, tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just… I think I hate love letters, Richard. They’ve only ever kept me from you.”

His expression becomes wistful, lost in thought until a smile finally captures him. Then, with a finger curling gently under your chin, he dips down to plant a small kiss to the very tip of your nose.

“No more letters then,” he promises softly. “Let’s always promise to say it out loud from now on. Let’s talk every day.”

You heart full, you bring your hand up to caress his cheek, before planting a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips; and, despite what you’d just suggested, you plead for him to keep reading to you, his voice and his love lulling you to sleep in his arms.

With the love letters as kindling, your dim spark finally catches, your fire now blazing. You set it in a hearth in your chest, and you vow to keep it stoked for always.

THE END

Bonus:

[tinyyoungblood]

the novelty of lines | tom holland

summary: being trapped with your boyfriend in a bookstore can go many different ways. good and not so good. like getting hit on by a stranger. but does that really matter if tom knows exactly what to do?

pairing: tom holland x reader

word count: 2229

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: if this doesn’t get deleted again, i’ll buy everyone ice cream *laughs through the pain* sorry to anyone who might have already come across the first post:/ this is my first submission to @hollandsrecs​​ ‘s 1k bingo writing event! go check out her amazing fic recs! 

* * *

The echo of another thunder bellowed through the streets, making you shudder and lean into Tom for a sense of safety. His hand grazed your waist and you nuzzled yourself further into his body. “You okay?” You looked up to worried brown eyes and nodded once.

“I’ve always thought being stuck in a bookstore could be quite romantic. Turns out it has some Purge potential too.”

His chuckle conjured a small smile on your lips and you felt him trace tiny shapes into your skin. “Well, the rain does add something,” he said and you hummed. Letting go of your waist, you were turned to face him. “How about you go look for that book we came for, and I’ll go check out some new books they got in the back? We can meet in a few and when the storm is over, we can go grab some coffee. Sounds good?”

You nodded affirmatively and the twinkling in your eyes made his heart melt. “Add some baked goods and you got yourself a happy girlfriend.” Pressing a soft kiss on your lips, you both parted ways and with a fuzzy heart, you watched as Tom disappeared behind a shelf before you started your own quest of finding the newest book of your favorite author. Thanks to an abundance of afternoons spent in this place, you naturally navigated toward a table in the middle of the room that most likely contained what you were looking for—and your inner compass didn’t disappoint. It only took a few seconds until your gaze fell on the familiar name and a smile curved around your lips. Picking up the hardcover, you tugged a few strands of hair behind your ear and examined the paperback in awe.

Unbeknownst to you, your little gesture had caught the attention of a guy your age and invited him to come talk to you. It took you by surprise, but he was polite, so you let yourself have an easy five minutes conversation until he started to hit on you.

Tom was just rounding the corner again when he heard a familiar laugh. He immediately recognized your fake laugh and it made him stop in his tracks. Peering around the corner, his eyes landed on a guy chatting you up. Knowing exactly what was going to happen to the poor guy shooting his shot, he leaned against the wall to enjoy the show for a second.

“So what is a pretty thing like you doing here all by herself?” The guy asked with a smirk pestering his lips.

You eyed him and cocked your head to the side. “Where?”

Taken aback, he stared at you for a moment. “Uhm, you know, here.” He laughed awkwardly and Tom smiled to himself.

Acting like the light bulb over your head lit up, you replied, “Oh, you mean in Chicago?”

Tom had to stifle his laugh as the confused guy ran his hand through his hair. The interaction was painful to witness, but it brought up sweet memories. This was exactly what you did when the two of you had first met in London. You were in a coffee shop and Tom was hitting on you, hopefully, a bit smoother though, and in response, you acted slow and dull like you were doing at the moment. Tom, of course, saw right through and called you out on it. He remembered you only laughed and didn’t hesitate to call him out on his crap too, and that was the start of a beautiful friendship. It didn’t take long for you two to start dating after.

But in contrast to Tom, the guy didn’t seem to pick up on your way to cease the conversation and tried his last sprinkles of luck. “S-Sure…Are you here often?” He hinted and once more, you feigned confusion.

“You mean at the bookstore?”

For a second, you swore you saw his spirit left his body. But he was determined to keep going. “Chicago, bookstore, same thing, right?” He let out a forced laugh and you couldn’t help but smile amusedly. You did have to give him some credit for the effort.

“Hmm. I live in Chicago, so yeah.” His eyes lit up and you felt bad for leading him on, thus deciding to end this talk as fast as possible.

“Sweet, so chances are high that we will meet again…right?” He asked suggestively and you decided to top it off with the sweet cherry of obliviousness.

“No silly, I don’t live in the bookstore, so I guess the chances are pretty slim.” Tom’s eyes widened and he had to cup his mouth to silence his laugh. The guy stared at you dumbfounded and you were almost certain he would leave now. To your luck, that was not the case.

“You can always give me your address?” He tried again and that was Tom’s cue to walk up to you. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he gave the baffled guy a meek smile.

“Sorry, pal. She lost the piece of paper that has her address on it.” Glancing to him with wide eyes, you forced a quizzical smile and Tom grinned back broadly. “Ready to go, darling?” You hummed and turned around to walk away. Looking over your shoulder again, you gave the guy an apologetic smile and lifted your shoulder in a shrug before wandering off with Tom.

When you were out of his earshot, you halted and pointed at the prominent smirk on your boyfriend’s face. “You asshole.” He pursed his lips amusedly.

“What a cute pet name.”

“You were listening to our conversation,” you accused and he shrugged.

“Possibly.”

You gasped and narrowed your eyes at him. The corner of your lips, however, quirked up and you had to hit his shoulder in response to his cocked brow. “You could’ve saved me earlier!”

Tom snickered. “But where’s the fun in that, darling?”

Pouting, you turned your back to him and feigned interest in some of the books displayed on the table in front of you. Suddenly, two arms snaked around your waist, and you were pulled backward, prompting you to squeal in surprise. “Tom!”

He whispered into your ear, “Shhh, I’m trying to be a romantic asshole right now.” He dragged you to the very back of the store where he usually spent most of his time, so you genuinely expected him to simply show you a new book he found. Just in his very dramatic own way. When he let you go and you were planted on steady feet again, you whipped around to face him.

“Not cool.” You jabbed your finger into his chest and he rolled his eyes at you.

Pecking your nose, he stepped aside and revealed a big purple velvet blanket placed neatly in the corner of the store. It was covered in mismatched pillows of all colors, and Tom watched carefully as your eyes widened—fairy lights reflecting in them. You stepped forward and picked up one of the two white mugs that carried the soft smell of hot chocolate.  “Did you do this all by yourself?” You asked, your words laced with every inch of surprise you felt at the moment.

He nodded proudly. “Hannah didn’t mind, so I thought, why not make your romantic bookstore dreams come true.” He shrugged casually, but you could see that he was just as excited as you were. “You like it?”

You placed the mug on the ground and faced him. “Do I like—Tom, I love it! This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I still can’t believe it.” Your eyes were twinkling with joy, resembling a starry night sky, and he couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. Softly pulling you forward, you pressed your lips on his and the sweet taste made his heart flutter. You pressed him closer and closer, fingers threading through his soft curls while his hands roamed your sides. Gently pulling away again, you giggled at the dreamy look on his face and grabbed his hand. Once the two of you were seated on the soft blanket, hidden away from the rest of the store due to the big shelves, you were quick to bring the mug up to your lips to get a taste.

Mirroring your action, a strong swirl of chocolate enveloped Tom’s tongue and spread warmth down his throat. You moaned at the sweetness and let your head fall back. “This is too good.” Tom agreed and picked up the book you were still holding in your hand. Reading through the synopsis on the back, a small smile edged around his lips and you giggled. “Tom, that’s a thriller about a guy who goes on a killing spree. Why are you grinning like a psycho?”

He let out a brief laugh. “I’m not laughing because of the book.” He tossed it on your lap. “I just can’t stop thinking about how you did the exact same thing when we first met. You know, with the acting slow.”

The fact that he remembered made you smile and you lifted your shoulder in a half shrug. “I do it with everybody who hits on me.”

“Like a bit?” He asked curiously and took another sip from his mug.

You cocked your head to the side and thought about it. “Kinda. You really have no other choice when guys come up to you with the dumbest lines. It’s a default setting.”

Feigning offense, he slapped his hand on his chest. “I beg to differ! I did not say a dumb line.”

“Probably not the dumbest line I’ve heard.” You brought the mug up to your lips. “But very dumb nonetheless.” Tom furrowed his brows and pouted at you, making you giggle. “Do you remember what you said?”

His gaze averted to the ground for a second, but he shook his head. “No…But it couldn’t have been any dumber than what he said.” Tom jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and you grinned.

“If only you knew…” you trailed off teasingly and he leaned forward.

“What was it?”

You hummed and shrugged playfully, making him grab your mug and set it aside with his own. “Y/N Y/L/N, tell me how I made a fool of myself the day we met.” You had to bit your bottom lip to cease the smile, but that gave Tom the last push to lean forward and tackle you to the ground, fingers attacking your sides and the sound of your laughter seeped through the quiet bookstore.

“T-Tom! S-stop it—Tom, I mean i-it,” you coaxed out and Tom leaned down to your ear.

“Are you going to tell me what I said to you that day?” Reluctantly, you nodded. His hands left your side and you sat up while the last bits of your hysteria died down. Dramatically wiping away some tears, you shuffled forward and placed your arms on his shoulder to lock your fingers behind his head. His eyes locked with yours and he waited in anticipation as you fought with your lopsided grin. You cleared your throat for suspense.

“On the day we met, you came to my booth, and sat down. Then you looked me straight in the eye and asked me Are you from England? ‘Cause I can really see a queen in you.”

You watched as Tom internally broke down from the crippling cringe. He was blushing madly and the tip of his ears were bloodshot red, making you giggle and press a quick kiss on his warm cheek. When you wanted to pull away, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to nuzzle his head in the crook of your neck. “I can’t believe I said that,” he mumbled and you laughed.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. It could’ve been way worse.” He leaned back to look at you.

“Oh yeah? How? I can’t see a way to outdo that. It’s really bad, I’m surprised you didn’t die of a stroke that day.”

“Bet. Harrison once came up to me all excited to read me a pickup line he found on Buzzfeed. I think it went My dick is called Big Ben. And you know where you'll find it. And then he just giggled and ran away.”

Tom broke out laughing. At this point, you were sure people must have thought you two were crazy but you didn’t mind. “Oh my god, what did you tell him?” He reached out to your waist as you turned around to lean your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your figure and you sighed contently.

“Well, he was already halfway across the yard, but I told him afterward that it’s a great line and that he should use it sometime at the pub. I think he actually did.”

Tom’s chest vibrated against your back as the sweet sound of his laughter swept you off the ground. Seeing him this happy was everything to you and you closed your eyes for a second, just to open them again right after to make sure that you weren’t dreaming. Spending an afternoon trapped in a bookstore with your boyfriend during a thunderstorm sounded like it came straight from a novel, but apparently, you lived inside your own novel and within it, you were allowed to dream as much as you wished.

* * *

it’s been a while since my last one shot, so i hope this makes up for it! hope you enjoyed it and if you did, feel free to leave some feedback. thank you as always for reading! have a wonderful day/night peeps <3

taglist: @honeypie-holland​ @himarisolace​​ @duskholland​​ @insidiousslut​​ @siriuslyslyslytherin​​ @hollandsrecs​​ @quaksonhehe​​ @chloecreatesfictions​​ @writertoo18​

[tropes-and-tales]

Elegies and Aubades, Part One

Characters:  Richard Alonso Muñoz and F!Reader

WC:  2854

Other Pieces:  This is part one.  You can find the series here.

CW:  Talk of crime but not explicit.  Yearning.

AN:  Many states don’t allow visitation at all for death row inmates, and those that do usually perform them with a partition between the prisoner and the visitor.  Because this is fiction (fan-fiction, at that), I didn’t bother with those details.

________________

Even if you hadn’t sent a bit of poetry that got caught in Richard’s head, he would have eventually been pulled into your orbit anyway because you write a lot of letters.  

Richard can recognize your curling handwriting, the nice cream-colored stationary that you write on.  It’s edged in a dark blue line with a tiny embossed dragonfly in the top right corner, and Richard always pulls off one of his latex gloves to run his finger over the rich stationary.  It’s sensual, like something from a bygone era, when people wrote missives to each other.

In the silence of his workday, the silence of his home at night, he allows himself more fantasies about you.  He makes a lot of assumptions, out of necessity – he’s never met you, doesn’t even know what you look like.  He imagines the type of woman who has special stationary instead of torn-off notebook paper.  He imagines the type of woman who sends melancholic poetry to a man on death row instead of deludedly chipper lines about appeals and parole that will never come.  

He imagines receiving a letter from you, seeing that flourish of handwriting dashed across the envelope.  Sent to his home address.  He imagines opening it slowly, smelling the inside of the envelope for some lingering bit of perfume…

You still send bits of poetry, but your letters have more salient details now.  Bit by bit, he pieces yours and Burns’ life together, and Richard realizes early on that the prisoner is your brother.  Or a half-brother.  Step-brother, maybe.  You bring up memories of a shared childhood, and the intimacy you share with Burns seems to be familial, not romantic.

Remember when you made a parachute out of plastic bags and jumped off the roof, thinking you could fly?  You broke your wrist and I was so jealous of your cast for some reason…

Remember when we dammed up the stream behind grandma’s house and flooded her yard?  She made us cut our own switches…

Remember when we both got chicken pox and spent the entire week watching movies and eating pizza?  I rewatched “Legend” the other day – kid movies were dark when we were little!

Burns’ letters back to you are less frequent, but his add color to the picture Richard is sketching of you in his mind.  The prisoner vacillates between indulging in your memories, asking after the health of certain relatives.  Sometimes he begs you to come visit, and other times he tells you not to bother.  

Of course I’m coming to visit you, you responded in one letter.  It’s the reason I moved here and got a job here.

You shouldn’t have done that, he replied.  You have to stop trying to save me.  It’s the end of the line now.

All the more reason for me to be here was all you wrote back.

-----

There was no reason for Richard to be working the detail that stood guard over the visitation room, but the stars align:  another guard calls out sick, and Richard jumps on the opportunity.  He’ll get paid double-time for his effort, at the very least.

The death row prisoners are granted a monthly visit from approved guests, and it happens on a set date and time, everyone crammed into one room that would be hot and stifling by the end of the hour.

It’s a painstaking process:  marching each prisoner into the room, screening each visitor.  Richard has the easy task of just standing along the parameter of the room – he pretends not to watch anything, trying to grant the prisoners a bit of make-believe privacy.  One by one, they file in.  One by one, their visitors join them.

Richard sees you immediately, and his heart lurches at the sight of you, even though he doesn’t know for certain that it’s you.  You stand out amongst the rest of the visitors:  you lack the world-weary expression of the wives and mothers, the girlfriends left to fend for themselves in the outside world with unruly children and not enough money.  

You have the solemn eyes of someone that has seen some tragedy, though.  It’s not far from how Richard imagined you, really:  the doleful eyes that sweep across the room, the folded hands on the metal tabletop.  The way you cross your ankles, uncross them, re-cross them.

Then Burns is brought in, his hands shackled to his waist, your face lights up like the sun, and Richard knows for certain that you are the woman he has been fantasizing about for a month now.

And he knows that his fantasies pale in comparison to the genuine article.

-----

The visit is uneventful.  They usually are, in Richard’s experience.  Death row prisoners should conjure up visions of violent men, almost monsters, but the prisoners here are all quiet.  Docile.  Any fire left in them is saved for writing to their lawyers, writing for appeals or clemency or any sort of miracle.

Burns is no different, and Richard pretends not to watch you and the prisoner.  But the two of you talk – halting at first, then more naturally.  Sometimes you say something that makes Burns laugh, and his laughter makes you smile, which makes Richard’s heart skip a beat.

Like that first line of poetry, your smile stays with him.  It’s the last thing he sees in his mind’s eye before he falls asleep.

-----

The next month, another visit.  Richard volunteers to help screen the visitors, which makes his fellow guards laugh:  no one ever wants to do the screening.  They tease him, ask him if he has his eyes set on some woman who visits – because most of the visitors are women.  

“Easy pickings,” one guard remarks with a smirk, and Richard flushes at how close to the mark they are.

It’s miserable work, scanning for contraband with the metal detector, sometimes turning away visitors who aren’t approved to enter the prison.  But it pays off:  you’re there.

Richard tries to play it cool, but Richard is anything but cool.  His hands shake when he sees you in line, and he fumbles the clipboard as he checks the name of the woman he is screening.  One by one, he processes the visitors, screens them for contraband, waves them through to the next guard who leads them into the visiting room.

When the line finally advances and you’re standing in front of him, he can hardly look you in the eye.  His mouth goes dry, and he doesn’t even ask for your name – you just offer it without waiting for him to ask.

If you notice his discomfort, you don’t give a sign.  You stand passively as he runs the metal detecting wand over you, as he (with hands still shaking) pats along your sides with the back of his gloved hands for anything hidden on your person.  When he waves you through, you gift him a curt nod and a small smile, and you murmur thanks.  For a too-brief moment, he’s close enough to smell you – the warm scent of sandalwood and something else, something like cinnamon.

It’s enough for Richard.  The man deals with his lonely life as he always does:  by creating a richly imagined second life, in his head.  Other men may content themselves with more perverse or base imaginings, but Richard’s fantasy of you is just like he is – sweetly domestic, mostly innocent.  He imagines you gifting him that small smile over dinner, imagines you murmuring thanks when he refills your wine glass.

He imagines that warm scent of you – sandalwood, cinnamon – slowly filling his home until it’s your home too.

The fantasy sustains him for an entire month.

-----

The next month, another visitation day.  The weather is warm, and trickles of sweat make their way down his neck, between his shoulder blades.  The security screening area is more empty than usual.  It makes sense – it’s a holiday weekend, and loyalties to the death row inmates are thin.  Why give up an entire golden afternoon for someone who will never experience another day like it?

You’re there, though.  Richard steadies himself this time, and his hands barely shake.  It’s a side effect of his inane little fantasies about you – he has a false familiarity with you.  

Like before, he wands you for contraband, pats you down gingerly.  Like before, you nod and smile at him, tell him thank you.

But this time?  You start to step away from him, but you turn at the last moment.  You clear your throat to get his attention, and when he turns to face you, the smile on your face is apologetic.

“Sorry,” you say.  “I was wondering if it’s okay to use the vending machine here?  To take in something for my brother?”  You point to the corner of the room at the soda and candy vending machines.  When he’s unable to answer you right away, you continue, a little uncertainly.  “I’ve noticed other people take in snacks, but I wasn’t sure – “

“Yes,” he replies.  His voice is a strange croak, half rough, half high-pitched, like some teenager entering puberty.  He clears his throat and repeats himself.  “Yes, you can use the vending machines.”

That earns him a real smile, like the ones you give your brother.  Richard watches as you fish in your pants pocket for a few bills, then watches as you feed them one by one into the machines.

Maybe you feel his eyes on you.  There’s no one else in line, and Richard is at least partially unmanned by the smile you gave him.  You turn, your arms laden with junk food, and shrug a little at him.

“I suppose I overdid it,” you say ruefully.  “Would you like something?”

Richard wishes he could.  He’d do anything to prolong the moment, awkward though he may be.  Instead, he shakes his head.  

What he means to say is, I’d love to accept a candy bar from you, but we are prohibited from taking anything from visitors, as it may give the appearance of potential bribery.  Then he could make some joke about how easily prison guards can be bought, for the price of a Kit-Kat bar or a bag of pork rinds.  Then you’d laugh, and maybe you’d think of him on your drive home, the prison guard who made you laugh in a decidedly humorless place.

What he actually says is, “I can’t take a bribe.”  And then he winces when he hears it, when he recognizes how his mouth mistranslated his brain.

Your eyes go a little wide at that, but then – unbelievably – you laugh.  It’s a happy sound, rare in prison, and Richard can’t help but smile at you.

But then another guard waves you into the visitation room, and you duck your head in a sort of nod at Richard and go to join your brother, who is already waiting.

-----

Between monthly visitations, your letters continue.

Richard processes nearly one a day from you.  Sometimes they are only half a page, a quickly dashed off missive explaining the busy mundanities in your life.

Sometimes they are longer – pages and pages – and it’s clear that you and your brother are working through the trauma of the same awful childhood.  Your memories of that time gradually give way to darker ones, and Richard researches Burns’ case closer to get insight into you.

Justin Burns:  a rap sheet as long as a telephone wire stretching down a street.  It’s a familiar tale – the man was well-acquainted with the juvenile system.  There were notes in his file about interventions from Child Protective Services, how Burns and his siblings (you included, and the thought makes Richard squirm in retroactive sympathy) were in and out of foster care and group homes.  There was documented neglect.  Documented abuse.

Then Burns graduated to the world of adult prisons.  There was everything from simple assault to B&E to grand theft auto to drug charges.  It all culminated with the crime that landed him on death row – a triple homicide during a drug deal gone wrong.  

Normally, a charge like that would have gotten him life without the possibility of parole, but Justin Burns has a few things working against him.  Firstly, he killed an undercover cop, and while there was plenty of anecdotal evidence that the cop was dirty, the prosecutor played up the fallen hero angle and the jury ate it up.

Secondly, Justin Burns is dirt poor.  His lawyer was court-appointed and barely bothered to offer a defense.

Richard boots up his ancient computer at night to research the trial.  He pulls up the same few articles every time, the ones that show you in the courtroom in the accompanying picture.  The prosecution’s side of the courtroom was packed; Justin’s side was just you and a handful of press.

The images of you are blurry.  The focus of the photographer was Justin, after all, and you only appear over his shoulder as a hazy form, like those Victorian photos where people moved too soon and ruined the picture.  But it’s enough for Richard – he can make out the deep frown on your face, the sad eyes as they gazed at the back of your brother’s head.

-----

The summer passes, and as it does, Richard learns more about you.

He learns from your letters that you work at the local university.  In the short, quick letters, you usually apologize to your brother because you are busy creating lesson plans, syllabi, presentations.  In your longer letters, you describe your small office on campus, the other professors in your department, your plans for your students in the fall.

He also learns that you’re one of those people who learns the names of the periphery characters in your life.  You’re the type of person who reads a person’s nametag and calls them by it; he imagines that you address your barista, your waitresses, your bartenders with the same easy familiarity that you now address him.

“Officer Muñoz,” you greet him every time now as he screens you.  “Can I tempt you with a bribe?  A bag of Funyuns, perhaps, in exchange for a favor?”

And Richard is able to play along, though his palms sweat and itch at the stress of joking around with such a beautiful woman.

“Depends on the favor,” he replies every time.

“Oh, nothing big,” you play along.  “Just a cake for my brother, and it certainly won’t have a file baked into it.”

It makes him chuckle every time, which makes you chuckle, and it feeds into the fantasies of you that pretty much take up all of his waking hours and plenty of his sleeping ones too.

It’s the visit in August when it really starts.  You and Richard do your usual routine (the other guard rolls his eyes elaborately at it), and then you go into the visitation room to meet with your brother.  Richard, as always, takes his post on the perimeter of the room.  

As always, he stands close enough to eavesdrop but far away enough to not be obvious.  The eavesdropping shames him, but not enough to stop him from doing it.

It’s the August visit, and you and your brother chat, and Richard misses whatever Burns says, but it makes you jerk a thumb over your shoulder, pointing at him.

Which makes Burns look around you at Richard and then back at you.

“Oh, that’s Richard,” he tells you.  “He runs the letter room.”  Burns gives you a smile and adds, “be careful what you write to me, because he reads everything.”

You make a sound of outrage, you say something about an invasion of privacy, but your brother sighs and explains the obvious – the prison system has to screen for things.  

“What things?” you ask, still scandalized.

Your brother blinks and ticks points off of his fingers.  “Porn, probably.  Death threats.  Escape plans.  They have to make sure I’m not planning a hit on any witnesses from my trial, and that you aren’t going to carry them out for me.”

It makes you snort.  “I didn’t think of that.”

Burns grins at you, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.  “Of course you didn’t think of that.  That’s why you’re sitting there and I’m sitting here.”

-----

It’s the very next letter, the one you must have written after your visit in August.  There’s pages and pages for your brother, but at the very end, in a post-script, there’s a message for him.

All it says is, Hello Officer Muñoz.  I hope you have a good day of spying on the mail.  But there’s a little smiley face after it, and Richard can picture you pausing after your signed name, maybe putting the end of your pen in your mouth and chewing it thoughtfully.  

He had imagined you writing to him, and in his mind, this counts.  It absolutely counts.  It’s the closest thing Richard has gotten to a handwritten letter in…well, in his entire life.  And it sets a warm flush of feeling in his chest that takes a long, long time to fade.

~~~Tag List~~~ @isvvc-pvscvl​   @bananas-pajamas  @rachelxwayne​   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​  @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bowieisawizard   @crowleysqueenofhell​   @evee87​   @differentshadesofgray​   @glimmerglittergirl​   @greyfairie​  @inlovewith3​   @madpanda75​   @mommakat32​   @mrs-endless​  @southern-magnolia​      @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​

[getitinbusan]

10 years with Jungkook

California

You met Jeon Jeongguk in the summer of 2012. Two kids brought together by a calling to California and a chance at making it big. Best friends from the start, what happens when only one of you becomes successful? Do you ever forget your first love? 

Childhood friends to lovers, angst and smut.

Words:  4600

Warnings: 18 plus smut. Oral F, Sex MF, Swearing. Pretty Mild for me. This is a previously posted fic that has been updated and reworked.

It was a rare rainy August day in California. The heavy drops created a sad melody on the window as you put the dishes away. Tired and lonely, the feeling in your gut kept nagging at you, maybe it was time to give up. 

The savings account was drained, there were no jobs to be found and  this was the second month of falling short on rent. Surely it would only be a matter of time before your roommates would stop exchanging house cleaning for money. 

Hanging the threadbare towel over its hook you stood in the kitchen, your mood mirroring the dim light of the afternoon. Feeling frusterated and stupid, it had taken you way longer than it should have to realize that in LA, you were nothing. Not pretty enough, rich enough, skinny enough or talented enough to ever make it big. So this is how the great Califonia chapter of your life would end, not by choice but necessity. 

Gathering up the mail that was strewn across the countertop, you shuffled through it sorting its priority. Junk mail, bills, personal…one in particular standing out. Your heart began pounding as you took in the details.

The penmanship was nice, black ink on an unassuming envelope. But it was the stamp that caught your attention. It was sent from Korea.

Flipping it in your hand you examined the torn top. The letter, having been read, was cradled back safely inside. Addressed to your roommate a frown crept onto your face. Why wouldn’t he write to you?

It was a ridiculously hopeful notion but you widened the envelope and inhaled trying to find a trace of his fragrance, something, anything to trigger a happy memory. Cool California nights were the best excuse. How many times had you borrowed his sweaters just to have his smell on you?

You missed him. It had been a year and a half and you couldn't help but once again ponder the nagging question that always crept back. If you hadn't forced him to break the rules would he still be a part of your life? 

It was too tempting to resist, your fingers pinched the paper inside of the envelope and pulled it free. 

I’m feeling low, I don’t know who I am, only who I’m supposed to be.

What would life be like if I had stayed in California? We could all be roommates, hanging out and having fun, going to the beach on weekends.

Does she even think about me?

It sounds greedy that with how much I have right now, it’s not enough. I would give anything to wake up in bed beside her everyday. I want more than anything to be able to talk to her about these things but I can’t. I’ve made the mistake of trading her for fame and now I’m destined to keep her at an arm’s length so she’ll never know the price I paid.

How does she even see me? As an Idol? As the boy who abandoned her? Has she forgotten the good days we spent together?

I’ve been wrestling with myself, whoever that is. I wish I could be the teenage boy from that long ago summer again. I wrote this song thinking about it…

~When I see you smile in the screen

You’re good at everything

You’re just perfect

Feels like I've never been you

Do you even see me?

Do you know who I am?

Or how do I look now?

You don’t like me like that

I want to be your decalcomania~

I’m afraid I may not get back for a while, please write. Your friendship and thoughts of her are the only things that are keeping me tethered to some semblance of reality.

JK

Clutching the letter to your chest, your mind took you back to that day. 

"Decalcomania, the art or process of transferring pictures and designs. Making a copy of the original on a different medium"  

Reading the description on the wall you’d both stood laughing at the piece's strange name, Decalcomania. The gallery visit felt like lifetimes ago but you still remembered clearly. You remembered, not because the piece had struck you as particularly special but because that's where you had decided that Jeongguk's laugh was the best sound you'd ever heard.  

California had lured you into its promise when you turned 14. Having been accepted to an  intensive dance program at The Movement Lifestyle Studio you packed up and headed West for the summer. 

It was July and it was hot, the dancers stepping off the bus one at a time took their places in the studio.

Looking around there were so many older kids, you were probably one of the youngest. Calling out names they put you into groups, it appeared to be by age so you made your way across the unfamiliar wooden floor to the tiny gathering of teens in the darkened corner.

Shy introductions were made as one more member was ushered over to where you had congregated. “This is Jeongguk.” 

He had the cutest smile and barely spoke english but his eyes twinkled like the constellations. Immediately drawn to each other you became fast friends.

Absolutely exhausted by the end of the first few days he quietly knocked at your door.

He was homesick and lonely, used to being surrounded by his six members, he couldn’t sleep well without someone beside him. You let him crawl into bed with you, you were 14 and it was innocent. 

Inseparable, days and nights were spent side by side, the others began referring to you as the twins. It was the best summer of your life but like every boy meets girl summer story, it had to come to a close. Promising through tears to keep in touch and stay friends you went your separate ways. 

Jeongguk would send silly videos of his practice sessions, goofing around with the other members.  He’d facetime and text but he always loved to send handwritten letters.

They lived in a box under your bed and contained stories of how hard he was working to become an idol. He always signed off with, "I miss you,” and a few lines of lyrics he’d written.

You didn’t know then how important they would become, the only tangible piece of him you could still hold on to.  

Whenever he came back to America you did everything you could to see him. You always found a way to get to the small tour stops whenever they came through. 2015 was the first, then KCon in 2016, but 2017, it was different.

Facetiming you with the news that they were bringing the Wings tour to NY, Chicago and Anaheim, he asked if you’d be part of the dance crew. How could you turn down two weeks with Jungkook the hottest new K-pop Idol? They were getting bigger, more popular and their lives were changing rapidly.

He had strict rules, girls were completely off limits. No talking, no hugging, no smiling at one another, any little thing could be easily misconstrued by the fans. Everything had to be done in secret. Jungkook would sneak you into his hotel room where you would spend your nights together catching up. The boys would bring you in food and cover for him while you both stayed locked away out of sight.

While happy to be with him, you could tell there was an underlying sadness he was holding on to.

"I wish I could go and explore the city with you like we used to," his voice trailed off.

You were laying in each other’s arms cuddling on his bed.  Leaning over he kissed the top of your head.

"All I really want is to take you on a proper date."

You snuggled closer into his side as he exhaled deeply, releasing his secret. 

"I’ve been waiting so long to become someone, a man worthy of your affection. Now I’m stuck. I have everything I wanted and I’m not allowed to share it with you."

His arms gripped you tighter.

"I’m sorry, this is a terrible confession. I don’t expect you to love me back, not under these circumstances, I just need you to know, you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved and there won’t be anybody else, ever." 

Every bit of his confession, every moment of that last night in the hotel room had stuck with you to this day. The words of a 19 year old boy whose life had become bigger than the feelings of two people.

He'd left in the morning without knowing. You were a coward, too afraid to tell him you loved him too.  

LA became your home right after they left Anaheim. Focused on your dancing, if you became good enough, maybe you could join the tour with him. 

A letter with a big bouquet of flowers arrived a few weeks later. 

"Congratulations on your new house in LA!

I hope that all of you are getting along as roommates, it’s hard living with others sometimes.

Last night I dreamt that I was there with you and all of our friends. We were having a party on the beach and we sat together watching the sunset.

Do you remember after practice when we would skateboard as fast as we could to the ocean so we wouldn’t miss the colors?

Maybe one day my toes can feel the sand there again.

I miss you, I miss me… the me I am when I get to be with you.

We're coming back in October for a few days and I’m hoping I can see you, I’m lonely already.   

Jeongguk

~Won’t you please stay in dreams

I can hear the sea from far away

Across the dream, over the bush

Go there where it becomes clear

Take my hands now

You are the cause of my euphoria

When I’m with you, I’m in utopia~

By the time The AMAs came, the plan had been finalized. You would steal Jungkook away so that you could take him on your first real date.

Having enlisted Namjoon to help, he was your inside man. The boys, happy to help finally get you together, would cover for his whereabouts with management. The day before the awards they were only scheduled for styling, as long as he wasn’t late for the press rounds the next afternoon your plan could work.

It was Namjoon’s job to get him out of the building. Telling him to follow his lead, Joon convinced the managers that Jungkook must have eaten something bad for lunch. Claiming to not feel well, he was whisked away to meet you at the hotel’s back receiving door. 

Sitting in the shiny red rented convertible you tossed him a pair of sunglasses. What you wouldn’t give now to see that smile again.

Barely giving him time to get in you’d sped away heading straight for In And Out Burger.

"Kookie, I hope you’re ready for the best day of your life! We’re going to eat until we explode, drink and party at the beach and then, instead of returning you to your fancy 5 star hotel you’re staying the night in my crappy little house with a tiny uncomfortable bed!!"

He laughed, that perfect laugh. It was so pure and honest, thinking about it now made you sad. Was that the last moment he'd gotten to be his true self? Jeongguk the man not Jungkook the personna? 

Knowing you only had one day to give him everything, one day to show him you loved him, you tried to make the best of it.

Picking up the food Jungkook held onto the red and white bags in the passenger seat, sneaking his hand in to steal fries when he thought you weren’t looking. If you weren’t sure you were in love with him before you you certainly were now.

Pulling up beside the tree on the beach he was stunned, "Ahhh Jagi, I can’t believe you brought me here."

Happy that it meant as much to him as it did to you, you both sat on the branch and ate. Two blocks from the old studio this used to be your escape. Every break you’d make your way to the tree for some time alone, together. 

With the burgers done he turned to you and smiled. It felt like he wanted to say something, but stupidly, you'd cut him short leading him back towards the car.

Making your way through your checklist you brought him back to where you'd first met. The Movement studios students were starstruck when he walked in. After insisting that he teach some choreography, he reluctantly led the class.

Your eyes were glued to him as he moved in front of the mirrors, no longer that awkward teenager but a full grown man mesmerizing you with his every move.

Getting back to the car he stopped you before you reached for the handle. Putting his arms around you he pulled you in close. But again, you resisted him. 

"You stink Jungkook, our next stop is the ocean."

You remember pulling away. How stupid you were, you should have held on to him longer. Reaching into the back seat you revealed a pair of swim shorts and a towel. He looked disappointed that you kept interrupting his attempts at intimacy. It broke your heart but you had a plan and limited time to execute it. 

The Ocean was chilly but the wind was warm, he came out of the change room with the shorts on but still wearing his shirt.

"Kookie, this isn’t Korea, you don’t have to be so modest here. Plus, you should grab some sun, you may not believe it but when your skin is sunkissed," you grinned, "you look really sexy."

He raised his eyebrows and quickly removed the shirt at your request.

Running into the water you splashed and played and he took great pleasure in picking you up and throwing you as far as he could.

The sun was getting ready to set and you wanted to dry off before the cooler air set in.

Leading him back to the shore you both laid down on the towel. He put his arm around you and you cuddled into his side.

"My god Guk, look at your abs!"

He blushed like crazy as you traced the muscles on his stomach.

"Stop, it tickles," he giggled.

But you didn’t, you kept tickling him until he held you so tight you couldn’t move. He had you pinned, flipping you on your back he shook his wet hair flinging water droplets all over you. Pleased with himself he leaned in closer to you, his eyes asking for permission to kiss you. As the gap between you got narrower you could hear his name being shouted and footsteps running closer. He flopped onto his back and sighed as your roommates and friends piled on top of him.

Eating, drinking and catching up with everyone you watched each other from across the bonfire. Moving from person to person he slowly made his way back to your side.

"Welcome back." Running your hand through the back of his hair, it was now or never. 

Pulling him closer your lips finally met in the way they were destined, soft, slow and full of love. His hands instinctively moved to cup your face as the world stopped around you.

"I love you," you whispered.

Nose to nose he smiled at you and it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

It didn’t last long, his phone started going off incessantly. The managers knew, you’d been careless, photos and videos of him from the studio had been posted online.

"I’m so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble."

His eyes turned hungry as he grabbed your hand.

"You promised I wouldn’t be going back to my hotel tonight, let’s get out of here."

If he was going to get in trouble anyway, why stop now?  

The drive back to your place was quiet, adrenaline and hormones flowing like electricity through you both. The time for smiling was over as the seriousness of the situation lingered in the air between you.

It wasn’t just being in trouble or being caught, but the fact that you both knew what was going to happen when you stepped into your bedroom. One act that would change everything between you, it held the power to change the dynamic of your relationship forever.

Leading him to your room you closed the door and stood staring at him as he sat on your bed. He raked his fingers through his hair before he spoke.

"I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to be able to make love to you. BUT I also know that when I leave I’m not going to get to see you again for a very long time." His head hung low. "Management is going to do everything possible to keep us apart and that won’t be fair to you. I think that maybe we should just let our happy memories of today be enough, I don’t want you to regret anything. " 

Walking closer you stood between his legs and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"The only thing I'll regret is never getting to experience all of you. I can’t live not knowing how it feels to be totally yours even if it's only for one night."

He rested his head against your chest, "You’ll always be mine."

His hands traveled to the hem of your shirt and his fingers ran over the soft skin of your stomach. Undoing the button of your jeans he slowly slid them down your legs and you stepped out of them. 

Standing up he lifted the thin fabric of your shirt over your head and you stood before him waiting as he took his off too. Unclasping your bra he sighed as he looked at you taking in your shape, his fingertips hovering over your hard nipples.

"I’ve never done this before," he confessed.

"Me either," you whispered. "I've only ever wanted it to be you."

More relaxed he let his mouth start exploring your body. You were goosebumps and shivers beneath him as his tongue found it’s home between your legs.

He was soft and careful, placing his lips over your clit sucking it in delicately until your moans couldn’t be contained any longer. You could feel his eyes burning into you as he watched in awe as his finger slid inside you.

"It feels good Kookie, please…"

You could feel his mouth stopping to smile before he picked up speed. Moving your hips to eagerly meet his mouth you were unravelling quickly.

"The way you taste is better than anything I had imagined."

Devouring you in sessions between his words of adoration you came hard on his tongue. 

"I'm really regretting running you all over town today when we could have just been here...doing that.. " You were out of breath. 

"I was worried that I wouldn't be any good." He grinned at you pleased with himself. 

Moving up to where your head lay on the pillow he pushed the dampened hair off your face, "Are you ok? Do you need anything?"

He placed his forehead against yours.

"I just want you. I need you to know I'm yours, forever. 

Rolling a condom on he moved slowly to line himself up with your entrance.

"Tell me if you need me to stop okay?"

He pushed carefully, slowly stretching you around him. Watching intently for discomfort he froze when he saw the tears welling in your eyes.

"Shit, I’m so sorry, let’s stop, I didn’t mean to hurt you." He was apologetic as he thumbed away the tears.

"No," you delicately kissed his lips. "I’m okay… I’m just so happy, so overwhelmed with how much I’m feeling right now."

He smiled down at you, pressing his body closer he gave another push until he was fully inside. Your bodies fell into a beautifully choreographed rhythm until Jungkook was so lost in pleasure he began to move at his own pace. Quicker and deeper he moved until he finally spilled into the condom. 

Laying together in euphoria you kissed, and kissed, and kissed until you finally found sleep while wrapped around one other.

Every few hours he’d wake you up. His hands running over your body checking to make sure you weren't just a dream. You’d made love each time, everytime better than the last.

It was 9 am when he caressed you awake once more.

"I have to leave soon. I don’t want to." He spoke in whispers nestled into your neck. "Please tell me to stay."

Your heart broke at his words. "If I ask you to stay, I’m selfish, you’ll always wonder if you made the right decision." The tears came, knowing you had to do what was right. "If I tell you to go, your dreams come true… ” your voice trailed off.

"And I’ll always wonder if I made the right decision,” he finished. 

Your phone started ringing and you knew time was up.

It was Joon, "I’m outside. Sorry, I held them off as long as I could. I told them that I’d come get him so you could at least have time to say goodbye."

Your tears fell out in heavy ugly sobs, "Okay, five minutes… and Joon… thanks, I know you’re probably in trouble too."

Hanging up you turned back, Jungkook was already out of bed with his clothes thrown on. He stood with open arms bravely waiting. 

"Thank you for yesterday I'll never forget it."

Laying your head against his chest you took a moment to listen to his heartbeat. You could hear him sniffle and knew he was crying too.

You flashed back remembering that night long ago when he came to you homesick, holding you so he could sleep while he tried to hide his tears. There was a knock at the door and Namjoon’s voice broke through the moment.

"We’ve got to go Jungkook."

Stepping away you’d left his shirt soaked in tears, handing him his sweater he pushed it back towards you. "You keep it."

He kissed you one last time before opening the door to reveal Namjoon's weary face. His Hyung put his arm around his shoulder and led him to the car.

Turning one last time he looked back, his eyes were filled with tears as he gave a small wave before getting in the back of the big black sedan. 

For months you pretended that management was the only thing keeping you apart.

You held on to that silly notion until May when they were coming for the Billboard awards. For weeks leading up you waited for a message, a secret meeting arrangement, but you got nothing. His image was all over the TV and his voice echoed through your empty heart. Then, just like that, it was over and he was gone again. 

Now, here you stood in your kitchen, his letter bringing him to the forefront of your mind and opening old wounds.

He was just as sad as you but what could you do? 

Picking up a pen you began writing… 

I shouldn’t have done it but I read it in your letter

You said to a friend that you wish you were doing better

I wanted to reach out but I never said a thing

You don’t ever have to be stronger than you really are

And honey, you don’t ever have to act cooler than you think you should

You’re brighter than the brightest stars

You’re scared to win, scared to lose

I’ve heard the war was over if you really choose

The one in and around you

You hate the heat, you got the blues

You’re changing like the weather, oh, that’s so like you

I’ll pick you up

I’ll catch you on the flipside

If you come back to California

We’ll do whatever you want, travel wherever, how far

We’ll hit up all the old places

We’ll have a party, we can dance till dawn… 

Y/N

October came again and a chill was in the air, the smell of the ocean hit your nose and you stopped to take it in.

Bundled in Jungkook’s hoodie you threw your bag over your shoulder and began your walk to work. You'd gotten lucky, Movement had hired you just as you were about to give up and leave California. Filled with hope and excitement a new intensive program was scheduled to start today and you were going to meet the future superstars of the dance world. 

Memories flooded your mind as you made your way through the familiar neighborhood. It still hurt, but things were beginning to feel happy again. Writing the letter had given you closure, he knew how you felt and beyond that there was nothing else you could do.

Opening the heavy door to the studio you caught a familiar reflection moving in the mirror.  Chalk marker in hand he was writing something, It couldn’t be?

Hearing the door click back into place he turned to face you.

"Hi."

He walked towards you slowly. Unsure of what your reaction would be, he approached with caution.

"Hi."

You were breathless, in the months of not seeing him he’d only grown more handsome.

"I can’t change what happened… and for the rest of my life I’ll be sorry for all of the time we missed."

He was getting closer.

"But I can’t take another day not knowing if I can fix this… somehow…"

He reached for your hand but you pulled it away. His head fell in disappointment.

"Jungkook, I can’t listen to this… look at me."

Reaching for his chin you pulled his head up until he was facing you again.

"I refuse to listen to you apologize for something that is out of your control. Your life was decided before you met me and I am nothing but grateful that I got to appear in some part of your story."

He tilted his head and pressed a small kiss into the hand that was still holding his chin.

"God I’ve missed you." He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

"How long are you here? I’ve got to teach class.. It’s the first day but I’d love it if we could catch up?"

He laughed at you and your knees buckled at the sound of his happiness.

Taking his chance he pressed his lips to yours and you could feel the smile forming on his face.

"I’m your private lesson Jagi, I’ve booked you for the next two weeks."

Taking a step back you had to ask, "How Jungkook? What will you be giving up?"

Pulling you back to his embrace he began to dance with you.

"There is no more giving up, on anything. Our contracts were over and I only had one thing I wouldn’t negotiate on, that’s you." 

He guided you to look at the mirror.

"I wrote you something."

~Please call my name one more time

I’m standing under the frozen light, 

but I’ll walk step by step towards you

Still with you ~

"I promise I’ll never let you go again."

[leahseclipse]

Live for me (Spencer Reid x Reader) 💔

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: While working on a case, Spencer and y/n get kidnapped by the unsub. For everything to end: one has to die.

Warnings: ⚠️ THIS STORY DOES NOT HAVE A GOOD ENDING AT ALL, DON'T READ IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS KIND OF TOPIC; DON'T FORGET TO GET SUPPORT AFTER READING ⚠️; death of major characters, loss of a person, grief, medication use, overdose, suicide, cursing, angst, depression, sad stuff……...

A/N: I cried as much as you are right now. I wrote a bit of it around 1am. Had to watch the unauthorized documentary of Matthew to cheer me up, and you should totally do it. Either that, or criminal minds bloopers, fun cm videos like "bau being kids", etc

Word count: 2.1k

"Hey. You're finally awake."

As you woke up, you only felt cold. You could tell by the ambiance that you weren't inside a room, but outside.

You could hear the faint sounds of cars, guessing that you could be at a high level.

"Come on, we have a game to start. You don't want to make us wait, do you?"

Us?

You looked around, realizing what he meant by 'us'.

It was him...and Spencer.

His eyes were wide open, locked in yours.

"Why are you doing that?"

"Because it's fun. Don't you like to have fun? Everyone does! That's why I gathered two lovebirds here. It'll double the fun! I'm smart, I know."

"You're nothing but an asshole. You're stupid as hell!" You yelled.

"No. I'm not."

"Your face tells me the fucking contrary!"

"Shut up. SHUT UP. YOU'RE MAKING ME WASTE TIME."

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE." You barely had time to place another word that he had punched you in the face, blood dripping out of your nose.

"Stop! Don't touch her!" Spencer yelled.

"She deserved it. She was being an annoying bitch. And I hate people like her."

"I...I'm not done." You muttered.

"Huh? What did you say?"

"I said I'm not done!"

"Done with what ? Me? Oh yeah, you're not. But soon, you'll be."

"Not until you're dead." You said.

"Unfortunately, I won't be the one who will die tonight. It'll be...one of you. One will live, one will die. Only one winner will come out of here alive, not two."

"We'll see that."

"No we won't. Not if you're dead."

"Dare touching her." Spencer said.

"Aw, your husband is so loyal. I'm gonna cry."

"You're gonna cry even more when you'll get to spend the rest of your life in prison; if someone doesn't kill you before."

"I am unstoppable honey. I'm as fast as the speed of the light. Here's the proof, I have been killing for ten years, no one found me. The only thing police had done was to send people that knew of the murders, had witnessed them, but didn't commit it. They all were sort of proud, not knowing that the real killer was still on the loose."

"The team will come. You're trapped. This is where everything ends for you."

"Nuh-uh. For you, not for me. I'm a free man, you're a soon to be dead girl, and you, a soon to be dead man."

"What a fool you're making out of yourself. You're a fucking coward, you're stupid as hell, worthless, you're so full of shit! Just shut the hell—" You spat out, as he raised his gun to your head.

"Now what, huh?"

"Now what? You want me to repeat myself?"

"Dare to do it."

"You're weak."

"Don't get me started."

"Just fucking surrender at this point, your pathetic life is ruined, you have nothing—" You couldn't even finish your sentence. You never got to.

He had shot you in front of the terrified eyes of Spencer.

You were now laying on the floor, a pool of blood growing bigger next to your head. A stray tear had fallen from your eye, the last tear you had shed.

Spencer's screams echoed, as a loud sound came from the door that had soon been opened.

The whole team was shocked at the sight of the scene. You, on the floor, possibly dead, and Spencer's eyes on you.

The guy had attempted to point his gun at Spencer to kill him as well, but then three shots were heard. Next thing everyone saw, he fell on the floor.

The last memories were a blur. Spencer only remembered the sobs of the team, arms wrapping around him, nothingness, he suddenly felt empty.

You were gone.

No.

That wasn't real.

It couldn't.

You couldn't be dead.

It wasn't possible.

It…wasn't.

--------

A week has passed since your death. He had stayed in his apartment, wrapped in a blanket. Only breathing. He wasn't doing anything and hasn't been going out since your funeral.

Part of him didn't want to come. He didn't want that to happen. But at the same time, he would have regretted it forever if he hadn't come.

He had found himself in your room, at 7AM, looking at the stuff in the drawers, until a pack of envelopes caught his attention.

He took it in his hands, before a sob escaped his lips. He had immediately recognised your handwriting.

The first letter was addressed to him.

'Spence' was written on the back.

He opened it with shaky hands, reading the two first words.

Dear Spencer,

I know it's morbid to write this kind of letter, because I'm not dying soon, or dead; but, I wanted to write this for you and the other members, in case something happens to me. 

I wouldn't want to leave everyone behind without them knowing how much I loved them, you would have the right to know.

The letter for the other members of the team are also in the drawer you found yours, so please don't forget to give the letter.

If you are reading this, something happened, it means that I'm not alive anymore.

This letter is for you, the love of my life, my best friend, my colleague, my husband, first of all, I love you, I always have, and will always love you.

I want to thank you for being part of my life. 

You saved my life.

A week before I met you, I planned to commit suicide. I had no family, no friends, no one to count on anymore.

Everyone had left me behind. 

I don't have an eidetic memory, so I don't remember the exact hour, only the day, but I'm sure you do remember.

It was on a Sunday, 14….or 15th of June. The day I met you, was the day I planned to die. I was at the coffee shop, probably drinking the last coffee of my life. 

I wasn't dressed at all in a pretty way. I think I had a hoodie and old jeans. I had picked up my order and decided to sit at a table to try to enjoy the view as I wouldn't see it anymore.

I didn't put sugar at all in my coffee. I hated black coffee, but I didn't care anymore. Even if the coffee would spill on my clothes, I wouldn't care. 

Nothing mattered anymore. 

And, that's when you saved my life. 

The fact that the sugar was still next to the cup, unopened, apparently caught your attention.

I wish I was dressed better. I looked pathetic and horrible.

But you only saw what I didn't see anymore in me. You thought I was pretty, amazing.

I don't know how and why, we began talking, which ended with me, writing my number on your arm before leaving the shop.

That's when I decided I didn't want to die anymore, I wanted to live for you. Only you.

I can't thank you enough. You saved me. I could have died that day, and we would have never met. I would have never dated you, married you, and lived happily with you.

You made all of this possible.

Spencer, don't change. Stay the person you are. Not only you are the sun of my life, but you're the sun of everyone in the team.

Thank you for being with me.

And please, if anything happens, if I'm gone; live for me.

I love you.

Your wife, y/n.

He couldn't see you anymore.

By the time Spencer had finished reading your letter, tears were falling down his cheeks; he still couldn't believe the fact that you were gone.

He couldn't kiss you anymore.

He couldn't touch you anymore.

What would he wake up to each day? Only to an empty bed.

The only memory of you he'll have will be the pictures and the smell on your clothes. But eventually, the smell would go away, and the pictures would only remain frozen memories forever.

He would have to live without you, breathe without you, only prepare one cup of coffee instead of two, cook for only one person, leave the house without having someone to say goodbye to, come back without having someone to say hello to; his entire life was ruined.

You were his entire life, the reason he was living, breathing.

And now that you weren't here anymore, what was he supposed to do?

His life was senseless, useless without you. He couldn't live, enjoy life, while you were six feet under ground,

Dead.

It wasn't fair. 

None of it was fair.

He should have died that night.

It shouldn't have been you.

He collapsed into the bed, laying down on your pillow. It still smelled like you, he had desperately tried to pretend like you were still here, but you weren't, he couldn't hear your soft breathing, feel the air on his skin, your skin in contact with his, you weren't here, you wouldn't come back.

He had wished for it to be a bad dream, he had wished for it to only be a dream, and that you would be by his side again.

But it never happened.

He had to face the reality.

You were gone forever.

He had cried himself to sleep, holding your letter and one of your coats in his hands. 

Tomorrow, he'd wake up to an empty bed. 

Alone.

You would not be in the bed.

He would only wake up to the sound of the stupid alarm, not your voice.

He wouldn't feel your hands on his face, in his hair, on his body.

*

He hadn't slept at all.

He couldn't.

You were the only solution for him to sleep. No matter what was on his mind, no matter how stressed he was, when he'd feel you by his side, he would immediately calm down.

But now, he had nothing.

The apartment was empty.

Calm.

Soundless.

Lifeless.

For him, it wasn't his home anymore, only walls and flooring. 

He'd have to live there, every single item in the house reminding him of you. Every moment, every look, every breath, would remind him of you.

Everyone had tried to talk to him, and sat with him for hours. But he had only stared at the wall, with an empty look.

Technically, he was still alive, still breathing, but he was dead inside. No one recognized him anymore.

It had been a month since your death, it felt like five to him.

Every single second, minute, hour, day without you was unbearable.

If he had to live it was with you, and only you.

If you weren't there, he couldn't live.

He had no reason to.

The cold floor he was laying on had just reminded him that he was still alive. 

He felt so tired.

He didn't have the strength anymore.

He didn't want to fight anymore.

Not in a world where you didn't exist.

Not without you by his side.

Life had no meaning anymore.

The colors had been drained from the world from the moment life had left your body.

He hadn't felt this kind of peace for months. 

He closed his eyes, and a few minutes later,

He saw you.

You had a yellow dress on, his favorite. He called your name, and saw your beautiful eyes once again.

A sad smile was on your face, as he saw you walking towards him.

"Spencer, why are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry y/n. I'm so sorry. I tried. I couldn't live without you, it was impossible."

"Shh, shh...it's okay. You tried babe, you tried. Now you're here. That's all that matters."

"But y/n, I broke the promise. I couldn't live for you, I didn't do it." 

"Spencer, it's okay. Everything will go away, everything; because I'm here now, we're together. We're not away from each other anymore. I promise everything is going to be okay."

"...promise?"

"Promise." You took his hand, smiling at him. 

You turned out to be right, everything went away.

He could finally allow himself to be relieved.

Now, he could be by your side forever.

--

Dear y/n, 

So sorry.

I wrote this letter after you died. I had to tell you everything.

I'm sorry. 

I can't do it anymore, I love you too much to the point I can't live without you anymore.

I want you to know that I'm grateful for all of the moments we've spent together.

Thank you for being my girlfriend.

Thank you for marrying me.

I'm sorry we didn't live long enough to have children. I wish we could have.

I know we would have named them after the team. Garcia would have been their godmother.

You wanted to have two, I wanted three, or five, like Matt. 

I wanted to have mini versions of us running in the house. But it never happened, I'm sorry.

Thank you for all of these years you've spent with me.

I have never hated to be with you one single day. I always appreciated every day by your side.

You are so beautiful, don't forget that.

I could never thank you enough.

Spence.

I love you y/n.

--------

Left letters;

To the BAU, my family;

When I wrote this, I was still alive; but if you're reading it now, I'm not alive anymore. Something might have happened.

I want everyone to know what was on my mind.

Thank you for being an amazing team.

Derek, you were the brother I never had. You always stood by my side, and you can't imagine how grateful I am. I wish you the best, Savannah and Hank are lucky to have you by their side.

Hotch, you were like 'a step father', you protected me, listened to me, I could talk freely with you. Jack is an awesome little guy, I liked babysitting him.

Rossi, you also were like a father to me. You taught me how to cook, how to be better person, I owe you everything. I also want to thank you for marrying us at our wedding.

Emily, you are everything; a mother, sister, friend, I still remember all of the nights we've spent at the bar, on the couch eating ice cream, exchanging secrets, like little girls. I always had admired you.

Matthew, Luke, you guys have also the same role to me, you were the brothers I wished for, teasing me, pulling pranks on me, cheering me up, taking care of me, worrying just when I fell off my chair or when I had a paper cut.

JJ, you are amazing. You have made two wonderful children I loved to be around, they look exactly like you (No offense Will). You also were like Emily, my whole family.

It's the same for Tara, you had always listened to me. You are a strong and amazing woman.

I'm sorry if I repeated myself, but that is mostly because you guys are all my family, I feel the exact same way about everyone.

I am sorry for everything.

Garcia;

I'm sorry I couldn't live long enough to have children. You would have been their godmother, all of them.

You would have babysat them, even when I would have been free, you would have loved them so much.

You truly are the sun.

Thank you, everyone, for being yourself. You have brought me so much joy.

Whatever happens, don't change guys. Keep enlightening other people's lives like you always did.

I love you guys.

To the team;

y/n.

--

I'm sorry. Every time you guys were there, you had tried your best to cheer me up; and you did, but the pain had covered everything. The pain was stronger.

The pain won over everything.

I fought.

I tried.

But y/n was my whole life, and without her, I was nothing.

I missed her, so much. So much.

I'm so sorry.

Thank you for being a wonderful team.

Spencer.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Home Bound (Part 2)

Summary: With some help from Samson, Dean makes it back to the bunker and starts to process everything that’s happened...

Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,700ish

Warnings: language, angst, injury, mention of character death, mourning, supernatural events

A/N: Written entirely in Dean’s POV. Enjoy!

______

“Morning,” said Sam as I groggily sat up. He was cooking in the kitchen, humming a happy tune to himself.

“God, it’s barely seven in the morning,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“I’ve already been up for an hour,” he said. “Eggs?”

“If you’re offering,” I said, stumbling over to his bathroom. I changed back into my clothes, yawning as I sat down at the table. He put down a cup of coffee and plate of scrambled eggs along with some hot sauce. 

“You got any money to get by?” he asked, standing at his counter eating.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, wolfing down my food. 

“Here,” he said, pushing an envelope towards me. I leaned over and grabbed it, opening it up to find a wad of money. “It’s about five hundred. S’all I got laying around the house. That enough to get you home?”

“Samson I can’t accept this,” I said, putting the envelope back.

“I wasn’t really asking,” he said, setting it down on the table next to me. “I’d let you take my car but I need it for work.”

“Sam, it doesn’t look like you got much. I’m not taking your life savings,” I said.

“I have a bank account, jackass. It’s not my savings. Don’t worry about it. Go home, take care of what needs to be done and yourself. You’re getting closer to popping. Pay it forward some day,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, drinking down the last of my coffee. I tucked the envelope in my pocket and he set his mug down.

“I’ll drive you to the bus station,” he said. I put on my boots by the front door as he rummaged around in a closet. He pulled out a black winter coat and held it out to me. “For if you decide you need a walk again.”

“Write down your address,” I said, handing him back the envelope.

“Alright. I don’t want any money or the jacket back. Send me a Christmas card or something,” he said. He returned it after a moment and grabbed his keys as I slipped into the coat. “Better?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks man.”

“S’no problem. Let’s get you home.”

36 Hours Later

My hands were shoved in the fleece lined pockets as I walked up the dirt road to the bunker. The ice storm in Colorado had followed me all the way back to Kansas but the hooded winter coat made all the difference in the world. I couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and curl up in bed with one of Y/N’s blankets. 

What happened after...I wasn’t going to be able to put off later for much longer. Now that I was home though, I could let go and get my head on straight in the morning to figure out what had happened.

With a deep breath I stepped down to the door and opened it up. The heat had been left on and the hallway was cozy. I stepped through to the other door inside and found the lights were on too, exactly as they were when we’d all headed out. Just in case, Y/N said. She didn’t want to come home to a dark house.

I headed down the stairs and cut into the library, the space feeling far too big for just me.

“I miss you,” I said. I pinched my nose and heard a creak behind me. I spun around, eyes wide.

“Dean?” said Sam. My Sam, the one that must have died, must have, was right there, in pajamas and with a bowl of chips in his hand.

“I die and now you eat the crap, Sammy?” I said. He set the bowl down and rushed over, giving me a hug. “I’m getting you all wet.”

“Don’t care,” he said. He squeezed me hard and I let out a tiny gasp, Sam giving me some room after that. He looked confused though and shook his head. “How…”

“Was gonna ask you the same thing,” I said.

“I didn’t die. You pushed me out of the way,” he said.

“I don’t remember that,” I said. “You were right there. Since I woke up I assumed…”

Sam was smiling at me still but the hunter in him finally kicked in. I nodded to the cabinet where everything he’d need to test me was. Three minutes later he was hugging me too hard again.

“Relax, Sammy. Gonna pop my shoulder back out,” I said. He immediately released me and I cradled my arm. “I fixed it already.”

“Still. You should wear the sling Y/N bought,” he said. We wandered over to the infirmary and he dug around in a drawer until he pulled it out.

“Is she…” I said, taking off my jackets and slipping it on over my head. Sam shook his head and I sighed. “You don’t know that for sure. Up until five minutes ago you thought I was dead too.”

“True but, you know,” he said. I nodded, staring at the floor. “Cas is alright. Billie got him back from the empty. He’s up in heaven trying to help keep that going. They’re trying out this new method or something.”

“Not your memories?” I asked, heading for the kitchen.

“No. I mean kinda. More like, collective afterlife? It uses a lot less power I guess,” said Sam. “They’re doing small test groups right now he said. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“How’s he alive again?” I asked.

“Billie brought him back,” he said as we walked over to the kitchen.

“How’s Jack?”

“He’s doing okay. He got pretty hurt during the fight. I took care of him for a few weeks before he headed out. New God and all. He’s still learning.”

“He bring me back?” I asked.

“He doesn’t know how to do that yet. He says he feels like he will be able to someday, like it’s in his bones but he doesn’t know quite right now how to pull it off,” said Sam.

“So how am I back?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he said. I took a seat at the table, catching Y/N’s mug sat at the end in her usual spot. “We gave you guys a hunter’s funeral. There’s a little marker up in the woods a ways, in that clearing you two used to go have dates in.”

“There’s no body then.”

“No. Where’d you wake up?” he asked, taking two beers out of the fridge.

“Middle of nowhere Colorado,” I said. “Any idea why?”

“No, not really. Any place we ever hunt?”

“No. I met a guy. Samson, apparently dad and I saved his folks back in the day while you were at school. But they didn’t live there. I never...I never met the guy,” I said. “He knew who I was but he’d never met me.”

“You think he was lying?”

“He was nice to me when I was an ass. I don’t think he was playing at anything. How would he know what I looked like though?”

“It’s possible I suppose that he reached out to other hunters and learned more about you? I mean the girls got pictures of us. Maybe Eileen?”

“Maybe,” I said, shaking my head. “Shit, Sam. How’s-”

“She’s good,” said Sam with a small smile. “She’s over in Lawrence at the moment actually. She’s looking at houses for us.”

“You guys deserve to finally be together,” I said. “She’s good for you.”

“I know.”

“Gonna stop hunting?”

“I don’t really need to anymore. We kind of turned them all human,” said Sam. I cocked my head and he shrugged. “The hail mary? It worked. No more monsters.”

“That’s great,” I said, forcing a smile. Great. I couldn’t even bury myself in hunting to feel slightly less crappy. I was worthless.

“I’m heading out to meet Eileen in a few days. Come with me.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna intrude or-”

“You can have some space but you’re not staying here alone,” he said.

“Y/N’s dead. I have no job now. I’m not gonna be the brooding mope sitting at the end of your couch when you finally get to be with your girl.”

“Dean,” said Sam as I stood up.

“I really want to shower and sleep, Sammy. I’m cold and exhausted. Please,” I said.

“You’re gonna come with,” he said. I clenched my fist and glared over my shoulder. “Y/N wrote you a letter for if she didn’t make it back. It’s in your room. When I thought you both...I read it in case she wanted something to be done after she was gone. You know the only thing she said? You need to go live your life. She loves you and wants you to be happy.”

“Easy for her to say. She’s not here,” I said.

“Dean. I know this is raw for you and I’ve had four months to deal you didn’t. Don’t disrespect what she wanted.”

“Oh fuck you,” I said. I stormed out, pausing around the corner. I heard him behind me and slumped my shoulders down. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” he said.

“She was supposed to live, not me,” I said. “Cause she’s stronger than I am and I can’t deal with her not being in that bedroom when I go down this hall.”

“Dean. Grieve. Please. For the first time in your life, grieve properly. When you’re ready, you and me will go out to Lawrence. I’m gonna call Eileen and make sure she finds a place where you got a big room and your own bathroom and garage and all that. Until then, I’m gonna stay here. Ignore me, yell at me, whatever. I’m staying. Alright?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I want a pool too.”

“Dean.”

“Hot tub.”

“We’ll put one in.”

“Fine,” I said. He ruffled my hair and I headed down to the bathroom. I slipped out of my clothes, pulling out the envelope with a few hundred dollars left. “Sammy.”

“What?” he called back.

“Figure out who this guy was,” I said, holding the envelope out the door. “That’s his name and address.”

“Whiltiston,” said Sam, making a face. “You sure this is his name?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You wouldn’t know. About two months back, the Whiltiston family was in the news. National news. They’d been reunited with their daughter who was kidnapped as an infant. She was safe. The people who took her pretended to be her parents. They were real sickos. I’d hunt ‘em down if they weren’t already dead,” said Sam.

“So this guy’s her brother?” I asked.

“Yeah, there was a brother Sam I remember mentioned at the press conference. They didn’t show anyone but the dad but they were all really happy to be back together,” he said.

“Still doesn’t explain how he knows what I look like.”

“They said the girl has a sketchy memory of certain things. I mean they were bad people, Dean. It’s possible we worked her case and didn’t know?” he said.

“See if you can dig up a phone number for me too,” I said.

“Yeah. I’ll see if...you know, we’ve been in the national news before too. It’s entirely possible that one of his parents saw us on the news and told him that was you.”

“Oh. That’s...a lot more likely,” I said, frowning to myself. “Forget about it. Could you just slip in some extra cash in there for me? I’ll send it back along with the coat. The guy didn’t have much.”

“No problem. I’ll get you the phone number too. I know you’ll drive yourself nuts if you don’t know for sure.”

“Sam,” I said as he started to leave. “I’m really happy you’re not dead.”

“Me too. Take your shower. I’ll put out some pajamas for you.”

I nodded and shut the door, resting my head against the back of it. After a moment I went to the shower and turned the water on, forgetting about the prickly heat until my skin turned a slight pink and started to warm up. Somehow I got through with washing myself before I saw Y/N’s shampoo staring back at me in the cubby. I swallowed and picked it up, flipping open the cap and taking a deep inhale.

It took awhile and one concerned knock at the door to realize at some point I’d sat down with my knees in my chest, Y/N’s shampoo sat on the ground beside me.

“Dean? You okay? You’ve been in there for an hour,” said Sam. I buried my head down and heard the door creek open. “Dean? Answer me or I’m coming in.”

“I’m fine,” I said, voice raw and cracking with every syllable. Sam didn’t open the door anymore but he was still there.

“Turn off the water,” he said. I reached up and hit it off, wiping the back of my hand across my nose. “You have one minute to dry off and put on a towel.”

The door shut and I forced myself to get up. I patted myself off and got a towel around my waist, trying to wash my face off before Sam saw me.

“I’m coming in,” said Sam. One look at him said more than enough and I looked away. “I told you to grieve.”

“Her freaking shampoo bottle,” I said. Sam looked over to the shower and saw it on the ground, running his hand through his hair. “Why can’t I shove it down like every other time?”

“You know why. There’s no chance of you getting her back and she wouldn’t want you to do something stupid. You loved her. You’re always gonna love her. Dean, I’ve been there with Jessica. It’s gonna fuck you up real good for a while. I thought I’d never be happy again, not like that, and then I found Eileen. It feels like the end of your life but it’s not,” he said. “It’s not going away if you shove it down so just feel it.”

“Yeah,” I said. I brushed past him and went to my room, shutting the door to change. I left it closed and sat on the edge of the bed, catching his shadow under the door. It moved away after a minute and I let out a sigh. The room smelled musty which I appreciated. It was something different to focus on. 

I rolled over to Y/N’s side of the bed and saw the letter Sam had mentioned on her nightstand. I ripped it off and found it wasn’t as long as I’d expected. She probably did it last minute.

De, I love you. I’m always going to love you. I need you to try to keep loving and not shut the world out. Find some happiness again or I’m gonna haunt you like I’m your own personal Casper. Okay? You’ll get there someday. My big green flannel is in the closet if you need it. Be safe (I’ll keep an eye out for you though, promise).

My head glanced up and over to the closet, staring before I stood and opened it. At the end was her big oversized green flannel. She’d stolen so many of my clothes over the years she’d decided to get something of hers I could take for myself.

I pulled it off the hook and brought it back to bed, tugging it on before I lay back on the mattress.

It too was a little musty but there was the faint scent of her shampoo again filling the air. 

“Fuck, I miss you,” I said. I shut my eyes and turned off the light, hoping exhaustion would put me to sleep quickly.

_______

A/N: Read the Final Part here!

[searchingwardrobes]

Not the Type: 5/7

The muse has awakened! I feel awful for keeping ya'll waiting so long (5 months? seriously?!) for an update on this fic. I actually decided to split this chapter up once it reached 2k because I didn't want you waiting any longer for another chapter. So, this will now be 7 chapters plus an epilogue. Much thanks to my beta @hookedonapirate​ for untangling my awkward wording and making me sound so much better! You have a way of getting what I'm trying to say and making it flow. What would I do without you? Thanks to the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ mods for being so patient and understanding when I had to put this on the back burner. And finally, thank you to my dear friend @snowbellewells​ for helping me get the muse kickstarted again on this fic. You rock!

Oh, and fun fact: The part in this chapter about Ruby’s cheer injury really happened - to me when I was a cheerleader long, long ago . . .

Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she’s not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn’t ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that’s actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.

My loose Captain Swan AU of the movie Bring it On

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockwhovian​ @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna

Chapter Five

“You’ve got to let go of me for one second,” Emma giggled, her tone and the fact that she was simultaneously wrapping her free arm tighter around Killian’s waist completely contradicting her words.

“Do as I say, not as I do, hm?”

“I’m trying to get the mail!”

“So?”

“So you’re kissing my neck.”

“Hm, so I am.”

He flashed her a dazzling smile, his blue eyes slightly dazed, like he was drunk on love or something. Love? Emma wriggled free of his embrace as the word penetrated her lust filled, teenage brain. They couldn’t be in love or anything like that. This wasn’t a 90's rom com or something.

Killian was unfazed by her sudden distance, his hands still finding purchase on her elbow and hip; her hair still tickling his nose and mouth. She reached into the mailbox, pulled out an unusually thick stack and started flipping through it as Killian snaked his arms around her waist from behind and propped his chin on her shoulder. Emma wasn’t surprised to see college brochures; they had begun coming with increasing regularity now that she and her brother were juniors. One white envelope with blue writing gave her pause, however. It was addressed to her, and this was no brochure. It was a very official looking letter. Emma’s hands trembled as she tore it open.

“What is it?” Killian mumbled the question, far more interested in her neck at the moment.

Emma scanned the contents of the letter, and the more the words sank in, the more she trembled. So much so that the rest of the mail went fluttering to the sidewalk. Killian was finally pulled away from his obsession with her neck and spoke his next question with deep concern.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah . . . I, um,” she swallowed hard as conflicting emotions swirled in her brain. “The University of Kentucky is interested in recruiting me for their cheerleading squad.”

“That’s amazing, Swan!”

“You have no idea,” Emma said softly as she sank down onto the front step of her apartment building.

Killian gathered up the rest of the mail, then came and sat next to her. “Then continue in my cheerleading education, love.”

Emma chuckled, though she was also touched by the obvious interest he held in her pursuits, even if they weren’t necessarily in line with his.

“UK has the best cheer program in the country,” Emma explained. “They’ve won an insane number of national titles, probably more than any other college. You don’t just make the squad, you get a full ride. They’re that good.”

Killian lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “See? I knew you were bloody brilliant.”

Emma returned his bright smile with a shaky one of her own. “You’re so sweet.”

“You’re not excited about this?”

Emma bit her lip, staring at the letter in her hands until the words started to blur together. “I am. It’s just . . . this means they’ll be sending recruiters to our competitions. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“I’m sure you’ll rise to the occasion.”

Emma’s lips lifted in a half-hearted smile. Her head collapsed onto his shoulder, and he brushed his lips against her forehead.

“A full ride . . . “

She let the thought fade into the air. How could she screw up an offer like this? It would help Ruth out so much, and her brother, too.

Yeah, no pressure.

*******************************************************

“Hey, Em!”

One of Ruby’s dirty socks bounced off Emma’s head and landed in her lap. With a disgusted grumble, she batted it to the floor.

“Rubes, that’s gross!”

“Well, you’re sitting there, staring into space. Don’t tell me you’re suddenly embarrassed to put that thing on in front of everybody.”

Emma looked down at the sports bra still clutched in her right hand. They all learned early on that there was no modest way to squeeze your boobs into a sports bra, so the squad basically had to get real comfortable around each other real fast. And contrary to every teen movie ever made, there was nothing sexy about it. It was just athletes being a team in the locker room.

You know, like male athletes.

“Oh God, she’s contemplating sexism in sports again,” Ariel groaned.

“She is!” crowed Ruby. “Look how she’s staring at that sports bra!”

“You mean this torture device?” Emma quipped, waving the garment in the air like a feminist about to burn something.

“She isn’t wrong,” Mary Margaret put in.

“Well, I for one am thankful for the torture device,” Jasmine piped up.

“Here we go again,” groaned Tiana.

“It’s true!” Jasmine cried out. “I don’t want the girls flopping around. It hurts!”

“While this discussion is incredibly enlightening,” a voice said dryly from the doorway, “I’d prefer we start running our competition routine, if you ladies don’t mind.”

They all mumbled apologies to Coach Ava, along with promises to get out of the locker room as quickly as possible. Emma shed her blouse and regular bra, then struggled her way into her sports bra before slipping a cheer camp t-shirt over her head. She paused before one of the cracked mirrors that hung above a row of ancient porcelain sinks that dated back to the 1950s. Being a girls’ team that didn’t really bring in any ticket sales, the cheerleading squad was relegated to practicing in the old gym. It could've been worse, however. The seniors remembered their freshman year, before the new gym was built, when the cheerleaders were forced to practice in the atrium at the front of the school. The atrium was great for painting bust-throughs, but Emma couldn’t imagine having to practice there.

As Emma tugged her hair into a messy ponytail, she thought of the letter she had shoved in the front pocket of her backpack. She'd planned on showing it to Ruby and Mary Margaret, but for some reason, she'd lost her nerve. She sighed as she made her way out of the locker room. Letter or no letter, she had to get her head on straight.

As usual, the girls started off running a mile around the gym, and just like every other practice, Emma started off keeping pace with Ruby and Mary Margaret. Her mind was still a million miles away, however.

In Kentucky, she supposed. The bluegrass state. Was the grass really blue? I mean, it couldn’t be. How can grass be blue?

“Hey,” Ruby panted, leaning over her knees when the run was over, “what’s with you?”

“What’s what?”

Emma’s brow furrowed as she did a calf stretch. She was always getting charley horses in the middle of the night during competition season. Ruth kept bugging her to eat a banana every day, but she despised bananas. They were so mushy . . .

“Earth to Emma,” Mary Margaret laughed.

Ruby snapped her fingers in Emma’s face.

“What happened to the Emma we know and love?” she asked. “You know, the one who leaves us in the dust every practice, laughing her ass off the whole way?”

“It’s not my fault you two do a leisurely jog instead of a run.”

“Running is what you do when you’re being chased,” Mary Margaret countered. It was her usual argument.

Ruby narrowed her eyes at Emma. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“Lunges, girls, across the gym floor!” shouted Coach Ava, saving Emma from responding. She lined up with the rest of the squad along one side of the gym, then stepped forward with her right leg, her hands on her hips.

“Is it Killian?” Ruby hissed at her left.

“No!”

“Just drop it,” Mary Margaret snapped.

“Yeah,” Emma grunted as she lowered herself into another lunge, “it’s kinda hard to talk and do these at the same time.”

“Tiana, I wanna see a right angle on those lunges!” their coach called out. “Ruby, you might be able to keep your balance if you stop exercising your mouth!”

Emma laughed loudly as Ruby wobbled and almost went down. “Yeah, Rubes, I’d concentrate if I were you.”

And just to rub her friend’s face in it, Emma sped up her lunges, reaching the other side of the gym first.

“Excellent job,” Coach Ava praised her. “Smooth, with speed, and you didn’t lose your form.”

Ruby practically growled when Emma threw a smirk her way.

They did a few more drills, warmed up their tumbling with a few simple passes, then gathered on the mats to go through their routine. Coach Ava was still making a few simple changes, but for the most part, it was now all about committing it to muscle memory. They needed to be able to practically do the routine in their sleep by the time December rolled around. And that was only five weeks away.

The girls got into position, and the music started. They were opening with a tumbling peel off. The girls in the front did a standing back handspring, the girls in the middle a standing back tuck, and then . . .

Emma got to shine as she kept going. Out of a standing back tuck, into two back handsprings, and then finally into a full twisting double back as the music crescendoed. Usually, Emma’s adrenaline had her ending the pass with a huge smile on her face, but today she under-rotated and almost landed flat on her face. She tried to shake it off, but in the team’s first pyramid, she started to lose her balance, almost taking the rest of the team down with her. Emma chastised herself to get it together as her stunt group moved into position for their next stunt - a twist up

Their “theme” this year was hair. They whipped their ponytails a lot in the dance portion, and every song had to do with hair. In the next stunt, Emma had to pull up on her ponytail while she twisted up into an arabesque, as if she was pulling herself up by her hair.

It was a little like patting her head and rubbing her stomach at the same time, which was incredibly frustrating to Emma. The stupid hair pull was supposed to be a cool bit of choreography, not rocket science. Yet, once again, Emma seemed to get her arms, her long hair, and her legs tangled into a mass as she twisted upward. What happened next, Emma was never entirely sure. Ruby yelled, Emma felt herself tilting sideways and she panicked, making a rookie mistake - she attempted to jump down from the stunt. Her fist was still gripped in her hair, which she almost yanked out in the fall, and she kicked her spotter away - another rookie mistake. Thankfully, Coach Ava was able to dart forward in time to catch Emma. Behind her, she heard what she swore were skulls crashing together.

It was a pretty accurate description.

Ruby was swearing loudly as she clutched her chin. A little blood seeped between her fingers. Ashley covered her mouth with both hands, and Emma was alarmed to see a lot of blood rolling down the blonde’s chin and staining her shirt. Ava abandoned Emma to check on the two bases, barking at Mary Margaret to run and get the first aid kid.

Emma felt like the worst human being in the world. She clutched at her middle and kept whispering “I’m so sorry” over and over again, but no one paid her any attention.

Ava cleaned up the blood pouring from Ashley’s mouth enough to ascertain that all of her teeth were still intact. She just had a busted lip, something many of them had endured in the past. It was crazy how badly a mouth injury bled. As for Ruby, she didn't even need a band-aid once the blood was cleaned away with an antiseptic wipe.

“Watch it carefully for infection,” Coach Ava advised.

“Why?” Ruby asked with a furrowed brow.

Ava winced slightly before reluctantly explaining. “They're bite marks. Ashley’s teeth collided with your chin.”

“WHAT??” Ruby screeched.

The rest of the squad crowded around to see as Coach Ava tilted Ruby’s chin up for a better look. Sure enough, there were two teeth-shaped puncture marks, like she’d been attacked by a wild animal. Practically growling in irritation, Ruby shoved her teammates aside and rushed to the locker room for a better look.

Ruby’s scream moments later had all of the girls collapsing with laughter.

“Well,” Ava sighed, “I suppose we’re taking a little break before we run the routine again.”

*************************************************

“So Ruby has bite marks on her chin?”

Emma snort-laughed through her nose at the look on Killian’s face. “Yep. And the rumors about how she got them get more and more unbelievable as the day goes by.”

Killian rolled his eyes before taking a bite of his sandwich. “Bloody gits”

It was too cold now to sit under the trees in the school courtyard, so she and Killian were tucked into a hidden corner in the school atrium. They had to whisper, though, because sounds reverberated against the domed ceiling. Emma couldn’t imagine cheering in this space. How did the seniors not go deaf?

“It’s not really a sexy place for bite marks though,” Emma said as she licked Cheeto powder off her fingers.

“Yeah, I can think of far kinkier places.”

She smacked him in the chest as he waggled his eyebrows at her. She wanted to be indignant at his innuendo, but instead her cheeks burned as her mind plunged straight into the gutter. She already knew a little bit of what Killian could do with his teeth . . .

“Sorry,” he apologized, shifting gears faster than she would have thought possible, “I don’t mean to be an idiot like all the rest.”

Killian blushed and scratched behind his ear. She practically melted at the way he could so swiftly go from irrepressible flirt to sweet boyfriend. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Emma crumpled up the Cheeto bag and stuffed it into her lunch bag. She handed the wad of trash to her boyfriend sweetly, batting her lashes exaggeratedly. Killian took her trash, chuckling as he stood up.

“You don’t have to use doe eyes to get me to do things for you,” he told her before walking to the trash can beside the front doors.

“I don’t?”

“Never,” he answered as he returned to her side. He sat back down on the floor, his back against the wall, and pulled her snug against his chest.

“So you’ll just wait on me hand and foot?”

“Like the princess you are.”

“Wow, I should really take more advantage of how whipped you are,” she joked.

Killian retaliated by tickling her in the ribs. She wriggled and laughed, but made no attempt to pull away from him. She glanced around, saw no adults, and then pressed her lips to his.

He kissed her back, sliding a hand into her hair. They kept it brief, not wanting to get caught. Storybrooke High gave demerits for PDA. Emma was tempted to just take the demerits so she could kiss her boyfriend thoroughly, but Coach Ava would pull her from the competition line up if she got one more demerit. So Emma just sighed and snuggled against Killian’s chest. He began to idly play with her hair.

“How many demerits do you get for PDA?”

Emma craned her neck to look at him. “How did you know I was thinking that?”

He grinned down at her rakishly. “I didn’t. But how many?”

Emma frowned. “It’s not bad, but it’s still too many for me. I’ve already gotten five demerits and six will get me cut from competition.”

“Scandalous. How did you get five demerits, love?”

Emma grumbled as she shoved a stray hair out of her eyes. “The first two I got because I argued with Mr. Gold about a paper he unfairly gave me a C- on. Then he wrote me up just for questioning him about it!”

“The bastard. And the other three?”

“That was me being stupid. I used the vending machine after noon.”

Killian’s laughter shook his chest, making Emma smile.

“That’s a stupid rule anyway.”

“I know, right? I forgot my lunch!” Emma tightened her arms around Killian. “Principal Mills did let me keep the chips, though.”

They were silent for a moment. Killian was still playing with her hair. She felt him take a deep breath and release it.

“Have you told the squad yet? About UK?”

Emma sighed. She figured he would ask her this eventually. “I will.”

“Emma -”

“I will.” She knew she needed to. Her friends could tell something was off, and she couldn’t afford to be distracted at any more practices.

Or any competitions.

Of course, if she screwed up this badly at a competition, The University of Kentucky might change their minds.

[asian-hero]

52." Accidentally Witnessed kiss" with yaoyorozu...? Sorry i send a lot of ask for her but i like her a lot 😭

A/N: I’m sorry, but are you apologizing for requesting YAOYOROZU MOMO, aka the love of my life? Because if you are, I want you to know that I fucking love ALL the requests I get for her, and I will happily write whatever request you have for her. Please let me write more about my wife

52. “Accidentally Witnessed Kiss” from this kiss prompt list (feel free to send in a number and a character!)

Summary: Your relationship with Momo was a bit of a secret from the rest of your class. It wasn’t that the two of you were trying to hide, but it just never came up, and the two of you never felt that you needed to address it. So, what happens when one of your closest friends happens to walk in on the two of you? Spoiler alert: the rest of the class is told, and chaos ensues 

Words: 1,613

If there was anyone in the world who could make your day turn bright, then it’d be Yaoyorozu Momo. She could somehow make the worst of days into the best of days, and, if you were feeling particularly upset, she could hold enough happiness for the both of you. You knew that you had a crush on her when you first spoke to her, with how warm and comforted she made you feel, and you knew that you loved her when she, with a bright pink blush across her cheeks, accepted your confession, and agreed to go out on a date with you. Loving her was the easiest thing that you could’ve done, and you were grateful that she chose you out of all the options in the world.

The two of you had been going steady for almost a year, and while the two of you continued to grow comfortable in your relationship, with Momo eventually loosening up enough to actively seek your affection in public, it seemed as though your entire class didn’t get the memo, and just thought that the two of you were just very close. Those loving hugs that you’d envelop her in? Oh, you were simply just being an affectionate friend. The cuddling during 1-A movie nights? Well, that wasn’t too out of the norm, seeing as how Ashido and Hagakure also cuddled together. In fact, you were fairly certain that you could drape yourself over your loving girlfriend and tell her you love her in front of all of them, and they’d still assume that the two of you were just best friends.

However, it didn’t really bother either of you, though. Both of you didn’t feel the need to flaunt your relationship, to tell the whole world, in order to “prove” the validity of your relationship. You were perfectly comfortable with just the two of you, and a few less oblivious people, knowing about it. After all, you figured that they’d find out eventually, so there was no rush to tell them.

When they did find out, well, not only were they surprised, but you could also sense that they were offended that you hadn’t told them.

One morning, during one of your free days, you found yourself waking up to the quiet buzzing of your phone. Groaning, you felt around your nightstand, fumbling a few times, before you grabbed the source of the noise, pulling it back to you and pressing “accept call” without even looking at it.

“Hello?” You answered, your voice thick with sleep.

“Oh, did I wake you? I’m so sorry!”

Hearing the flustered voice at the other end of the line, a tired smile came across your face. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you spoke, “Yeah, but it’s okay. What’s up?”

You could practically hear the embarrassment radiating off of your lovely girlfriend, whom you have told multiple times that she never bothered you, no matter how early or late in the day it may be. After a couple beats of silence, she cleared her throat, having gained some sense of her composure.

“Well,” She started, and you could imagine the cute face she was making, “No one else is up yet, and I’m a little lonely, so would you like to have some tea with me?”

As soon as she said she was lonely, you were already out of your bed, grabbing one of your sweatshirts and heading out the door. “As if you needed to ask,”

Soon after, you hung up, telling her that you’d be down soon. Once you made it down to the kitchen, you noticed that Momo had her back to you, clearly occupied with something else. Sneakily, you walked up to her, only making your presence known when you hugged her waist from behind, pressing your face into her neck to land a soft kiss. You could feel her stiffen up for a moment, before realizing that it was you. With a quiet click of her tongue, she ruffled your hair.

“Good morning, my sneaky girlfriend,”

You smiled, humming softly as you moved to rest your chin on her shoulder, peering over to see what she was doing. Seeing the teapot that was laid out, and the two cups beside it, you took in a deep breath, trying to guess what she made.

“Black tea?”

She nodded her head, moving away from your grip to pour the both of you a cup. Handing you one, she smiled, moving to pinch your cheek. “It’s good for lowering your chance for heart disease, and can help to reduce clogged arteries,”

You bit your tongue to hold in some smart remark, wanting to tease her a bit on her vast knowledge of tea. Instead, you simply raised the cup to your lips, slowly sipping as you let the warmth and smell wake you up.

The two of you stood in silence, merely enjoying each other’s presence as you sipped your drinks. Every few seconds or so you’d look up from your cup to glance at the serene look on Momo’s face. While you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you lived for the little domestic moments like this. It wasn’t everyday that the two you got to hang out for the day, with nothing to do and nobody to save. With both of you studying earnestly in order to become the best heroes you could be, a lot of your time spent together was either in the presence of your classmates in the dorms, or by yourselves, doing homework or training together. It was rare for the both of you to just have time to yourselves, to be able to simply enjoy being next to each other. All of these intrusive thoughts started making your head spin, and you prayed that she couldn’t see just how flustered she was making you by just standing there. Taking another deep sip of your tea, you willed yourself to calm down, otherwise you think you would’ve just exploded right where you stood.

However, you found yourself slowly losing restraint, and the last straw was the loving stare that she gave you when she finally noticed your staring.

Tilting her head, she merely furrowed her brows, a confused smile finding its way to her lips, “Is there something on my face?”

Instead of answering her verbally, like you probably should have, you placed your cup on the counter, moving closer to her. Wrapping your arms around her waist, you pulled her in even closer, closing any gap that was between the two of you. You couldn’t help the giggles that came tumbling out of your lips at her blushing face, her words coming out in cute stutters. 

Deciding to take pity on the poor girl, you leaned in, your noses gently nuzzling against each other, before pressing a kiss to her lips.

Her lips were soft and plush, and you swore that you could taste the slightly bitter flavor from the black tea. In all honesty, the kiss was just meant to be a short little peck, but when you pulled away, you could feel Momo’s hands grip your sweatshirt tighter, as if complaining that you were leaving so soon. So, when you placed your lips back on hers, your gentle morning kiss turning into a gentle morning make out session, you truly were not to blame.

Your kisses were affectionate, yet lazy. Small pecks were being pressed all over her face, and when she began to pout from your lips being everywhere but on hers, you would cave, moving into a more, traditional kiss. Eventually, one of your hands had wandered from her hips to her face, moving to cup her cheek. She seemed quite content with the amount of affection she was receiving, though she still pulled your in closer, as if you were too far away for her liking.

You could honestly just stay in her arms all day, kissing her without a complaint in the world. However, the universe had other plans for the two of you, and that came in the form of an extremely shocked Ashido, who, upon stumbling into the kitchen, started gasping loudly while pointing at the two of you.

Eyes ripping wide open, your head whipped towards the shocked girl, a look of concern growing on your face. “What happened? Are you okay?”

She stared at you for a moment, almost as if you were the dumbest person on the planet. 

“You,” She started, pointing at the two of you, “You were just kissing?”

A look of confusion crossed your face, unsure of what she was getting at. “Yeah? Isn’t that what couples normally do?”

That didn’t seem to defuse the situation. In fact, it seemed to only make it worse, as Ashido gasped even louder before yelling, “You two are dating?”

You could feel Momo’s head rest against your shoulder, a quiet yet embarrassed groan coming from her. Rubbing her back soothingly, you nodded toward the pink haired girl, giving an answer to her question, “We’ve been dating. For almost a year now,”

Before you could even question her antics, she rushed out of the common area, shouting about how happy she was for the two of you, and how the rest of the class was going to be so happy. Looking down at the flustered girl in your arms, you pressed your lips to the crown of her head, a silent apology for what was to come.

Though, if there was one good thing about your classmates finally understanding that the two of you were together, it was that you could kiss her whenever you wanted.

[snacc-noir]

Unseal and Reveal

You may remember @jattendschaton‘s amazing idea for Chat and Lb writing their identities in envelopes for emergency reasons, then I added, what if Nathalie finds it hidden in Adrien’s room and assumes it was attached to a romantic gift, leading them to think Marinette was his girlfriend and confronting Adrien about it-

and yes it was a while ago and yes it’s been written but I couldn’t not write a dramatic addition myself, so now with permission from the idea op, i will present basically the crack version 

( @hermionemonica @lady-charinette @aremmen @laadychat y’all got it but you’re getting it again)

-

Her idea sounds affable at the start.

Notice: her idea.

Ladybug’s.

(He’s just putting that out there before anything starts.)

The new guardian is pacing on rooftops, pen smartly rolling between fingers even though she’s focussed on nothing of it. She’s mulling, debating, as if they hadn’t agreed to this lawed debauchery five minutes ago. It’s not even bad, he knows, and although the thrill has set a kind of buzz under his skin, Chat’s not exactly worried.  

He never is, is he?

The paper smiles at him where he’s relaxing, the paper that will soon have her name. There’s an odd temptation to put the untouched stack in his mouth. Maybe he’s tired of waiting, or maybe he just really wants the paper. Maybe it’s a cat thing.  

“And we can’t let anyone see the envelopes.”

“Well, duh,” he says, as if he’s sure that’s not going to happen.

“Hide it. Keep it safe, don’t, uh, don’t open it unless—”

“You trust me, right M’lady?”

Her hand crunches the pen. A sigh. “More than anyone.”

She’s nervous, of course; no one is supposed to know either of their identities, and here they are planning to materialise them. But it’s for the best, they reason, with her being guardian and having no one to know who she is in case of a dire emergency.

Emergency, he reminds himself. Only in an emergency. In fact, it’s likely for nothing. He doesn’t want there to be an emergency, and he doesn’t want that to be how he finds her identity, but he also doesn’t want to never know the name sealed in the scarlet envelope.

When she finally sits, she scribbles on the pink paper, guarding even the movement of her hands by hiked knees. Chat takes time writing his message, dotting smiles and pictures when she’s already up to licking the paper as if the more salvia guarantees more seal.

Reluctantly, she passes it.

-

The first week, Adrien glances at the spot behind his CD rack at least twice a day.

Three months, then four, and he’s slim to completely forgetting he has access to the love of his life’s identity – the best superhero in Paris, the most beautiful and competent woman in the world, the—

“Adrien. Your father requests a serious discussion in the atrium.”

And her identity is especially forgotten the afternoon he realises his may be on the line.

-

Nathalie finds a red letter in the masked cabinet of Adrien’s CD shelf two minutes after believing this whole “catch why Adrien’s disappearing” thing would uncover nothing. When designing the Agreste mansion, it seems Gabriel’s request for secretive spots in his future offspring’s room to catch them hiding admonishments in later years succeeded in the very end.  

Because this is far too suspicious not to take back.

A pink note inside, a scrawl of a feminine name within hearts. Addressed, “to the best partner ever”, and alarmingly cryptic. No other message. Possibly, it could’ve attached to a romantic gift.  

Gabriel Agreste knows exactly what it means.

-

“Adrien.”

His voice is ice as always. His face is unreadable as always – though Adrien’s found guessing “disappointed” proves correct eighty percent of the time. So although the poor boy is dying for some indication that his father has not found out he is Chat Noir, there is nothing to pick up from the scene: Gabriel’s passive, and Nathalie, as always, stands a bit off with a face almost the same – like a sibling that’s ratted another out and is mirroring the scolding authority, even to the way her arms are behind her.  

Adrien swallows.

“Fathe��”

“How long did you believe you could keep your impractical relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng from members of this household?”

Uh…

…

Um.

Frankly, Adrien’s never been more confused in his life.

Excuse him,

But what?!

Adrien’s alarmed, squinting, and even the hounding worries pause to make sure they’ve heard right as Nathalie pulls her hand into view.

Marinette. Relationship. Him. No mention of Chat Noir.

Yeah… what?

“What do y—”

His eyes leap. Nathalie’s hand.

The envelope.

The envelope.

Red, unsealed, and far too familiar.

Adrien stills.

“I don’t tolerate this insulting feign ignorance. Explain this immediately.”

“Explain…”

How his mouth even does that baffles him – not like he could physically be any more baffled, but if he could, any words that could manage out his gaping face would’ve increased his puzzlement.

Marinette.

Marinette.

Marinette.

The Dupain-Cheng Marinette.

Her name was already bouncing in his head the second his father phrased an incredulous question that implied he’s dating her—his sweet and adorable and talented good friend—but you know, now—

Now.

Well, now he kind of wishes he is.

Identity. Ladybug. Envelope. Marinette.

The card is faced so he can read the confirmation of his last suspicions. He’s too close to pretend it’s too blurry to read, even to himself, so the startlement of his eyes catch every, single, scribble – every word, every letter, every heart.

‘To the best partner ever.’

And beside a dash, trying to look like the smallest signage ever, is franticly scrawled,

‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng.’

Oh no.

“Why do you appear happy?”

Happy? Uh, no, no! This is awful.

“I’m not happy.”  

“You’re clearly smiling.”

He totally isn’t.

“I’m not!”

“Adrien, you seem on the verge of tears.”

He stifles a fist on his mouth. “What?”

“You seem like you’re about to burst,” Nathalie probes.

His father runs him over with a cold look. “Amused, Adrien? Is this matter pleasing you?”

No way! This– This is terrible.  

Atrocious even! He knows Ladybug’s identity!  

“I’m devastated,” he says, eyes wet and grin hurting.

Ladybug’s identity.

His fist hurts his mouth. A small noise fissures behind his hands.

“Did you– Did you just squeal?”

“Absolutely not!”  

This is, truly, the worst news.

“Enough of these games, Adrien! You have disobeyed your authorities with all this tomfoolery and damaged how you excel in your extracurriculars. This secret affair is to be terminated, unless you can explain. If you can even recover this, that i—are you crying?”

To be fair, he didn’t mean to break down in sobs, but you know he feels no one can blame him understanding all that is happening right now. Plus, it’s more a dignified silent weeping (if you ignore how he’s practically vibrating) amongst muted chokes.

“I’m not, Father.” He wipes his face, hoping it takes his grin off too. (It doesn’t. Nothing can.) “Continue.”

Gabriel clears his throat. Nathalie’s still holding the note, not sure what to do with Adrien, whether it be… no, comforting’s never been an option.  

“Can you reason this affiliation?”

“That I’m dating Marinette?”

Gabriel nods, his face souring.

Adrien realises that, although there’s technically many things he can do and say, he doesn’t have a clue what. His options seem… pretty inexistent. So he narrows his criteria down:

1. He has to say he’s dating Marinette.

(Pretty easy, that wishful lie is already established.)

2. He must make sure he stays dating Marinette.

But then he realises he’s freaking Chat Noir and lying to save identities is pretty much most of job.  

“She tutors me. Ever since you were disappointed in my A- in Maths, she’s helped me in most subjects so I wouldn’t drop grades in them as well, so we started hanging out more and, well one thing lead to another…” He rubs his neck. “She makes me happy, Father. I was falling behind because I haven’t been too happy since Mum left, and Marinette, she, well,”

He beams, shiny-eyed and damp-cheeked. “She’s made me feel happy again.”

Ha, not even his Grinch-of-a-dad can say no to that.

Reason, sentiment, hitting the soft spot with mum? – yeah, that was good.

His father’s gaze is calculating, and if emotion ever touches him, it may have flickered in his eyebrows, but it smooths like steal.  

Nathalie glances at her boss.

“Is that so?” Gabriel muses. “I… can see what even the mention of her can bring you to. This must have been… some gift attached.” The way he gives him a once-over should make Adrien feel embarrassed, not chuffed, but it does.  

Gabriel thinks for seconds longer. The space in the Agreste atrium burns with tense anticipation that stretches Adrien’s sense of time.  

His father steps down and places a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Continue to the tutoring if it picks up your grades. But monitor how much you sneak around, and try not to let schoolwork distract you from extracurriculars too much.”

And just like that, Gabriel Agreste is—

“One more thing. Nathalie, book me an appointment. I see it that Marinette Dupain-Cheng will soon be attending a dinner.”

–Causing Adrien more problems.

Thaaaat’s right. Proving the lie. With Marinette.

With Ladybug.

With Marinette!

“Eeep!”

Nathalie jolts her gaze to him, panic set in her flamed eyes as he stares back awkwardly.  

“I’ll– I’ll go call her.”

After he screams a million times, of course.