#i can’t believe I’ve let my fear of them and their judgement hold me back for so long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aggravatetheaxe · 3 years

Note

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

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genevievemd · 2 years

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Book: Open Heart: Second Year (2.16) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 718 Rating: G Category: Fluff, Ethan POV Trope(s):

A/N: After dropping Louise off at rehab, Ethan has a startling revelation.

Warnings: none

A/N: Just some baby fluff to end your day. Includes the fluff prompt for @choicesficwriterscreations “Please be prompt” Event.

And as always, this is set in my canon, aka Saraland, Open Heart (Sara’s Version) if you will.

They pull quietly into the parking lot of Edenbrook, his hand still tightly holding hers. There was so much Ethan wanted to say to Genevieve on the drive back from the rehab center. But, there was really no proper way to thank her for what’s she’s given him.

Dealing with his mother’s return, and her addiction, was one of the hardest things Ethan has ever had to endure. It opened wounds he’d previously thought had healed, put a wedge between him and his father, had Ethan feeling like the lonely eleven year old boy he once was.

And Genevieve had given him a place to feel everything, offering him a soft smile and warm hug. A steady hand to hold.

All while going through her own trauma.

She was there for him, like no one else. And that meant more to Ethan than he could ever put into words.

“You okay?” Her voice is gentle, accompanied by her hand squeezing his.

“Surprisingly, yes. Thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. Just knowing I have someone, truly, have someone I can turn to, means everything.” He turns in his seat to face her the best he can, his throat suddenly tight with emotion.

The sun coming through the passenger side window illuminates her in a halo. Making her appear like an angel sent from heaven. He doesn’t even believe in heaven, or hell, or angels. But in that moment, he’s almost willing.

Because if there was anyone worthy of a title like that, it was her.

She was beautiful, full of patience and grace, with a heart so big it could cover the entire city of Boston. Genevieve offered him everything he needed without ever expecting anything in return.

“What?” She tilts her head, eyebrow raised.

“I…” Ethan takes a deep breath, reaching to take her other hand.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, as if it’s steadily singing I Love You, Genevieve. He’s so ridiculously in love with her that it consumes every inch of his body and soul.

But he can’t tell her that, not yet. Not with their relationship still a secret, the hospital still in danger of closing, and her still trying to find her footing after the attack.

He’ll tell her, when the time is right. For now, he’ll settle for another truth. One that startled him just as much as his revolution of never-ending love.

“I feel safe with you.”

“You do?” Genevieve’s lips part in shock, leaning over the center console to place a hand over his heart.

“I do. I’ve never felt this kind of peace, like I could let someone in, but you… I’m at a loss as to how to explain it, for once I don’t have the words, but you’ve made me feel as though I can be myself and feel whatever I need without fear of judgement.”

“Ethan,” She gives him the most sincere and softest smile, before quickly pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m honored to know I’ve made you feel safe, because you’ve done the same for me.”

“I’m glad.” He takes her face in his hand, thumb caressing her skin. “I’ll always be your safe haven, G. Always.”

“”Right back at you, babe.”

“I know that was a joke, but I honestly don’t hate it as much as I have in the past.”

“Good to know.” Gen smiles before closing the distance between them once more.

The warmth of her lips is a startling contrast to the winter chill slowly filling the car. It seeps into his bones, replacing the cold left by the sting of his mother’s return and the unease of forgiving her.

“We should probably go inside.” Gen tries to pull away, but Ethan is having none of it.

Unwilling to let this movement of peace end.

“Not yet. One more kiss, and then I’ll let you go.”

“Just one?”

“For now.”

As their lips connect once more, he’s suddenly struck with the vision of a future.

With Genevieve.

Where they both achieve every goal they have, where her career blossoms without any set up from their relationship, where they’re irreversibly in love and completely safe in everything.

And for the first time, Ethan isn't afraid of the dream. He wants it, more than anything.

A/N: And yet, he still takes like a whole year to tell G he loves her lol. What a dummy.

Tagging Separately

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #ethan x gen

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Interesting Encounters

Corpse Husband *& Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Paranoia and Fear of Invasion of Privacy

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse has an interesting run-in with his regular delivery girl, having the chance to talk to her for the first time despite her having been delivering to his door for months. It’s a big step in overcoming his anxiety and paranoia when talking to strangers.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! Hope you come across the final product of your request and give it a read and if so I hope you like it! Sorry for the wait, I hope it was worth it though! Love, Vy ❤

It’s a regular Monday morning, close to 10AM and Corpse’s face is practically glued to the sound editing app he’s downloaded, playing around with some cool effects to add to his voice in the background of the new song he’s been working on. He hasn’t been able to sleep a wink thanks to the immense excitement, not that he would’ve been able to regardless, but the tune and the lines have been stuck in his head all throughout the weekend and he knows they’ll be bothering him until he turns them into something other people will be able to listen and give an opinion on as well. So far he’s done plenty of work but there’s plenty more to go until it’s done. He’s at that point he usually needs feedback and wants to ask for it but would rather not to avoid either too harsh judgement or fake praise.

He slides the headset off, deciding to take a break for the sake of his sanity before he drives himself to insanity with the intensity of his focus on this new piece. His brain just so conveniently sends him a reminder that his groceries are probably waiting for him outside the door. He has, as of the last half a year or so, had someone deliver his groceries to him to avoid trips to the grocery store with both the whole pandemic situation and the growth of following which translates to growth of the risk of him getting recognized. That’s the main reason - and maybe the only one - as to why he doesn’t interact with the people who deliver to him either. He always gives his delivery person the instruction to leave whatever he’s ordered at the doorstep and if it’s not takeout to not even ring the doorbell.

That being said, the deliverer of his groceries doesn’t ring the doorbell to give him the kind reminder to be responsible, but luckily he hasn’t forgotten to collect them yet in the six months he’s been practicing this delivery technique.

Going to the front door and looking out of the peephole, he confirms there are several full plastic bags waiting to be picked up on the mat. With the person who brought them not in sight, Corpse unlocks the door and steps out to bring in the groceries for the week. Taking them to the kitchen, he unpacks the goods in the three bags. At first glance he would’ve been fooled, seeing as how it seems that all he has ordered is there. But, each Monday, he receives exactly four bags of groceries. One is missing. He rolls his eyes thinking he didn’t see it outside and left it there while he was hurriedly collecting the rest so he gets up to go grab it real quick.

While in the meantime...

Y/N looks through the remainder of bags in her minivan, making a route in her head for what roads and shortcuts she can take to deliver the last of the groceries to the respective homes they need to be taken to. Upon looking through them, however, she sees a bag labeled ‘MM’ that she uses short for ‘Mystery Man’, aka the guy who never opens the door to greet her whenever she delivers him anything. She works for several delivery services such as takeout, groceries, clothes even and has delivered to that apartment hundreds of times but has never met the resident, giving her the right to call him Mystery Man, aka ‘MM’.

“Ah, shit.“ She mumbles under her breath, realizing she failed to grab the fourth bag when on her way up to MM’s apartment.

Coming to terms with the fact that she’ll have to lose another five minutes going back up to his floor, she grabs the bag and takes off running back inside the building and up the stairs, deciding it would be quicker than taking the elevator.

Just as she arrives to the floor, heading straight for the door, it opens, freezing her in her tracks as her eyebrows shoot up. At the doorstep stands a guy with an eye patch who looks more surprised and maybe even a little terrified than her. Taking in that Mystery Man is not such a mystery anymore, she returns to her professionalism, remaining at a distance and outstretching the hand holding the bag towards him.

“Sorry, forgot to drop this one off as well, I’m a bit all over the place today.“ She says in her most professional voice.

Corpse too regains his composure and takes the handed bag from Y/N gloved hand. Before he can think twice about it he says, “Thanks, uh...”

“Y/N.“ She says, “I’ve delivered to you countless times, it’s funny you don’t know my name but it’s to be expected since I’ve never seen you. This would be a good time to tell me your name so I don’t have to call you Mystery Man anymore.“ She laughs, cutting her own laughter off barely a second later when she realizes what she’s said, “Oh, fucking shit...”

Corpse chuckles, clear amusement in the sound, “Mystery Man? Interesting, interesting. If I ever become a superhero I’ll make sure to pick that name.” He fails to even pay mind to the fact that he’s spoken a lot more than he’d usually feel comfortable with.

Y/N laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck, “Yeah, sorry about that. I promise to come up with a better one if you’re not willing to tell me your real one. Like....Pirate, for example?” she suggests, raising her shoulders.

He can’t help but let out a laugh, “You’d be surprised, but my name is not so far from your mark. It’s, um....” He’s not looking forward to the judgmental look or the questions he might receive in response to his statement but he succumbs to the expected disappointment, “My name’s Corpse.”

Surprisingly, she just smiles - a smile he cannot see due to the surgical mask she’s wearing but the crinkle at the corners of her eyes gives it away. “Cool! Well, I better get going then.”

Just as she turns to head for the elevator this time, seeing as she’s still out of breath from the run up the stairs, Corpse gets an idea he’d probably not be too fond of if he gave himself time to think it over. Which is exactly why he didn’t.

“Hey!“ He calls after her, gaining her attention immediately, causing her to turn around, “You got a minute? I need a little help with something...“

Y/N’s eyebrows raise a little, a moment before she shrugs her shoulders, “Meh, I’m already behind schedule, what’s an extra minute gonna do?” And just like that, they strut their way back towards his apartment.

He can’t help but chuckle, taking the opportunity to crack a joke, “This is how people often get killed. You don’t just walk into a stranger’s apartment like that.”

She scoffs as she passes the threshold, “Believe it or not, you can learn a lot about a person based on the groceries they buy. And trust me buddy, you’re not a murderer.” Earning herself a laugh and a nod with that remark, she continues, “You do appear to be an artist with all the cheap food you’re buying though.”

Corpse laughs yet again, a hint of nervousness is sensed in his laugh this time around though, “Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re still gonna call me an artist when you hear this song I’ve been working on. Not even out of the box yet.”

Y/N stops in her tracks, “Well, well, well, aren’t I honored to be one of the lucky people hearing this before its release.”

“The first hearing it before its release.“ He corrects her with a pointed look, not missing the excitement that arose in her eyes.

“Let’s hear it then!“

Of all the friendship stories that exist, no one can say this ain’t a unique one.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Everybody Talks Too Much (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Mute!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence Summary: Whenever Cassandra gets angry, no one wants to deal with her. Well, no one but you, that is. Thankfully, the middle child appreciates your company... not that she'd ever admit it. Notes: Another self-indulgent fic with a selectively mute reader. This one's a lil different. Sections in italic are mostly indications that the reader is miming actions in order to communicate, though there are a few internal thoughts that are marked as such. Unlike the past two I've done, this takes place pre-relationship, so there's some mutual pining of sorts. I think that's the word.

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

Among the many servants of Castle Dimitrescu, there were a number of secret rules to be followed. Guidelines that were never written down, only spoken in hushed whispers, for specific (and dangerous) circumstances. Most could be divided into one of two categories: 1, how to reduce the chances of a Lady of the house killing someone. 2, how to make sure that if they kill someone, it will not be you. Of these rules, there was one that you knew best of all, despite never having been told it. Why? Because you have observed it time and time again. After all, the rule revolved around you. To put it plainly… If Cassandra Dimitrescu was in an awful mood, but had yet to draw blood, send in the mute.

Even now, as you rushed down a corridor, you did not know why this rule was in place. You simply knew that you had been summoned countless times by frantic maidens, to go serve their volatile mistress. Admittedly you did understand their eagerness to thrust the task upon someone else. Cassandra was often considered the deadliest of the Dimitrescu daughters, for she was the quickest to anger, the one with the deepest bloodlust, and took the longest to calm down. Personally, you disagreed, believing that it wasn’t terribly hard to know what she did and did not like. All it took was some observation. It was Daniela who scared you, seeing as she was unpredictable. She didn’t even need to be in a bad mood to want to kill you.

Of course, that didn’t necessarily mean that you saw no danger in working with Cassandra. In fact, you saw a fair bit, such as now: Right as you round the corner, a shiny object hurls past your head, embedding itself into the wall. Had you been walking ever so slightly faster… Well, you preferred not to dwell on such things, especially not when the one who threw the thing was still nearby. Based on the howling laughter and swarm of insects that moves around you, the intended target was Lady Daniela. Across the room is the markswoman herself; Cassandra stood tall, huffing in anger, staring at the spot her sister had just vacated from.

“Damn it!” She yelled, stomping her foot as if the resulting shockwave might do what her weapon had not. Oddly amused, you’re quick to remove the sickle from the wall, careful as to not damage it. It’s a tad dirty, but nothing you can’t fix with your handy pocket cloth. Cleaning as you walk, you slowly move towards your employer, not even bothering to spare her a glance. After all, you had your own rules for dealing with her.

(1: Avoid eye contact for at least one minute after an outburst.)

By the time you make it to Cassandra, the minute has come and gone, allowing you to ever-so politely look her in the eyes when you return her blade. She scoffs, then practically rips the sickle from your hands. This was your job, however, so you made no complaints. Not that you could, at least not verbally. Instead, you gave a short bow of acknowledgement. Afterwards you stood still, awaiting either instructions or a dismissal. Neither came.

“I can’t believe that little shit tried to take my favorite dagger and thought she could get away with it! Agh, the nerve of her! Can you believe this?” Cassandra snapped, turning to you as if you might agree with her. Nod, simple yet effective. “At least you know how to handle a blade. Damn Daniela is lucky she didn’t get any scratches on mine.” Then she pulls the knife in question from its place on her belt, letting it gleam in the light. A soft exhale, head tipping to the side, wow is it pretty. So is the one holding it. Your mind wanders but your gaze does not. Always polite, always ready to serve.

(2: Do not get distracted; she is no patient lover, rather a demanding boss.)

“Cassandra! What was all that noise a minute ago?” Someone called, interrupting your ‘conversation’. The speaker soon appears, being none other than Lady Bela, the most reasonable of the castle residents. Though that meant little, considering the nature of her family. As if to prove your point, Cassandra merely rolls her eyes in reply, refusing to divulge the truth. And so Bela turned her gaze to you, perking a brow. “Feeling up to talking today?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Of course, your hands are already moving, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. This is a game you know intimately.

A hand goes to your belt, moving to pull a nonexistent blade from its sheath. Raising it, moving it forward then back several times, launching it towards the wall- towards the hole left behind. Then shifting, waving your hand in front of your face while exhaling a sharp breath. Flinching. An exaggerated gulp, pretending to check if your nose is still attached, sighing in relief. Lastly, an inclination of your head towards the culprit. Cassandra.

“I was aiming for Daniela. Not that it matters, nobody got hurt,” she stated, confident. Both hands clasped together, then tapping the palms together, mimicking a heartbeat at a reasonable pace. Suddenly a stomp. The beating stops, and you hold your hands next to your ear, as if listening for signs of life. Pause. Three seconds. Worried expression, eyes wide. Finally, fast as a gunshot, the heart beats again, wildly. At this, Bela shoots her sister a look of doubt, as well as judgement. Hoping to change the subject, Cassandra looks to you. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Rubbing your chin, thinking. Squinting for effect. Ah, got it! Both hands go to your sides, lifting the imaginary hem of a dress you aren’t wearing. Waltzing forward, yet in place, with the poise expected of a professional maid. Then the focus shifts to your face. Fear. A silent scream, a hand at your forehead, feeling like you… might… faint. Falling backwards, making a step at the very last second to prevent a real collapse. End scene.

“Someone was scared?” Bela asked, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. When you nod, she does as well, considering the implications. “Why would they send you?”

“I hardly care why, I just want to know who so I can kick their ass,” Cassandra interjects, taking a step closer to you. All you do in response is shrug. Unsurprisingly this is not enough to please her, and before you know it she’s wrapped a hand around your throat. “Give. Me. A. Name. Now.” A perked brow. Thoughts practically telegraphed. ‘What do you expect?’ Opening your mouth, slightly, then wide, back to almost closed. No sound comes out. Obviously. It’s not like you wanted to break your own rule, but in this case you had no choice.

(3: Give her whatever she wants, consequences be damned.)

Luckily for you, Bela acts as a foil to Cassandra, there to smooth the seas. Moving behind you, she reaches into your back pocket and retrieves the notepad you keep there. Then she’s handing it to you while making eye contact with her sister. Cassandra promptly releases you, though she’s clearly not pleased, going so far as to push you away in one last act of anger. Internally you roll your eyes. On the outside, however, you quickly write down everything you know… which isn’t much.

“I don’t remember who it was. A lot of people have asked. This happens a lot.” Then you hand the paper to Bela, who soon looks back up at you in confusion. Too antsy to wait for her own turn, Cassandra yoinks the notepad from her sister’s hands, reading it over several times before reacting.

“What the fuck? Why would they send you to me because somebody pissed their pants in fear? I’m going to kill someone. Ugh, I don’t- this doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Cassandra ranted, pacing back and forth, looking like she wanted to destroy something immediately. To your surprise, Bela doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. If anything, she looks amused, and smiles when the two of you make eye contact. Something tells you that she knows something that you don’t. Before you can react, she quietly retrieves your notepad and returns it to you. Then she pauses, thinking, eying you with curiosity.

“Why don’t you go for now? See if anyone thanks you for stepping in, hmm?” She suggested, tone implying that this was absolutely about something else entirely. Still, you don’t care to disobey, and so you bid the two of them farewell with a deep bow. As you leave, you can almost make out part of what they say next. But you’re certain that you must have heard incorrectly. “Showing your favoritism a little too much, sister? If even the servants can see it-” the rest of the sentence is cut off by angry muttering from Cassandra. After that you’re too far away to hear anymore. What a strange day...

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

“Hey, you know where Lady Cassandra’s room is, right?” Ygritte asked, casually, definitely not having just been told by someone else that you were the solution to her problem. Pretending that you were unaware of this, you give her a smile and a nod. Later, behind her back, you will mentally add her to your list of people to watch out for. Maybe even decide to refuse to share your biscuits with her. In the meantime, you pretend that you don’t mind whatever task she’s about to dump on you. “Can you bring these books to her? I really have to get back to the kitchen soon, and that’s in the opposite direction…”

Technically true. Something told you that the real problem was that Cassandra had been extra loud the past few days. Regardless, you accept the books from her, leaving before she even finishes thanking you. Why do people do this? I don’t get it, you think. It’s like they think I’m immune to her rage. If that were true, I’d gladly throw myself between her and others. But no, that’s not the case. Hmmph, if only they saw my scars. Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you keep walking, subconsciously rubbing the spot on your arm where Cassandra had cut you. Well, the worst spot. Being pain tolerant had made her take interest in you, during your first few weeks, but it’s what allowed you to learn her rules. Your rules, really.

Knock. Knock. A pause… three more, much softer. The door swings open, revealing your Lady, whose eyes widen at the sight of you. Tipping your hat (which you are not wearing), you greet her, forcing another smile. Then you present the books, free hand gesturing with a spiral motion towards them. She doesn’t respond. No, wait, she glances at the door hinges, considering closing the door in your face. Now both of you are staring at each other, daring the other to move.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she finally said. There’s a gruffness to her voice that you hadn’t expected. It’s unlike her usual tone, less angry, more tired. Were those bags under her eyes?... No, just smudged makeup. “Don’t just stand there- tell me why you’re here.” Again, you gesture to the books, extending your hands further towards her. This time she takes a half-step backwards to avoid you. Peculiar. “Someone else was supposed to bring them, dipshit. Fucking hell, why can’t anyone around here do their damn jobs?” At last, she takes the books from you, carrying them deeper into your room. Though she does not close the door, you assume that your job is done. Or maybe you simply do not wish to deal with a Cassandra who’s frustrated by your specific presence. Either way, it breaks one of your rules, though you do not remember until it is too late.

(4: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family.)

“Where the hell are you going?” The sound of buzzing flies, a blur of motion around you, then the form of Cassandra solidifying in front of you. One of her hands is raised, pressing against the center of your chest. She pushes you, hard, making you stumble backwards into her room. Next thing you know you’ve crashed onto her floor. A tad stunned, you bring a hand up to hold your head, blinking rapidly for a few seconds. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then someone’s trying to help you stand. “I didn’t say you could leave yet. Now c’mon, I’ve got stuff for you to do.” Then she’s guiding you to her bed, making you sit down on the end. Panicked thoughts race through your mind one after another. What exactly was she intending? Thankfully you don’t have to wait long to find out. “Read through these, and-” a pause, like she hadn’t known what she was going to say until she was already speaking- “take notes. Make a summary of the bookmarked sections, or whatever.” Handing you a couple books (neither of which being ones you had just brought to her), she sits on the other side of the bed, refusing to look at you. She does, however, say one last thing, voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay for a while, okay?”

Inside your head, you make a mental note to amend your list of rules.

(4.b: Do not leave until dismissed by a member of the family. If Cassandra asks you to stay, you stay, no matter what. It’s worth it.)

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #stayed up to write this #totes worth it

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yn-ymn-yln · 3 years

Note

Can i request a klaus mikaelson x reader where the reader is in hayleys place… a pregnant wolf but in the end klaus and her fall in love?

Okay lovie I got pretty carried away with this so it's kinda long... but thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Clarification

Klaus Mikaelson x reader

*I didn't want to copy the show verbatim so I basically made this completely different from what happens to Hayley I hope that's okay!*

“Nik I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!”

“LIAR!” The pain in his voice has you recoiling. How had things gotten so fucked up?

“I swear, I love you! Please stop!” The hybrid’s furious gaze turns to your father who challenges him for what you all know is the last time.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” Your father’s corpse drops unceremoniously to the ground within seconds. You can’t take your eyes off of the man that had raised you, tears slipping down your face.

“Remember this day Y/f/n Y/l/n. This is what happens when you betray the original hybrid.”

Three years ago, to the day Klaus Mikaelson had slaughtered every remaining blood relative of your pack right before your eyes, leaving you the sole survivor of his man-made massacre.

Standing at the entrance to the compound you hoped today would go smoother than that day had all those years ago.

Klaus didn’t speak after you’d said your piece. Letting the shared history between the two of you cloud his judgement he’s on you in a second. His hand is wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the wall before you even have the chance to react. Instantly your own hands fly to his wrists pulling harshly to try and free yourself and continue the conversation without conflict.

Klaus doesn’t let up though. His grip gets tighter with each passing second. As his eyes begin to glow, the veins beneath them appear in a show of dominance.

Problem was, you were never one to back down from a challenge.

Growling lowly, you refuse to submit to the hybrid before you. With all rational thoughts out the window you sink your teeth into the arm of the man holding you. His unrelenting choke hold falters offering you your only chance to slip free. You push past him and take shelter behind his oldest living brother.

“Please do tell, what exactly is going on here?” Ever the noble gentleman, Elijah tries to diffuse the rather abrupt display of aggression.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall past your lips without warning. Elijah didn’t know who you were, none of the Mikaelson’s did except for Klaus.

“Pardon?” Turning towards you, you can already see the look of disbelief color his features.

“She’s a liar! I’LL KILL HER!” The threat did little to scare you off. If he had really wanted you dead, he would have killed you three years ago when he had the chance.

“I’m not lying and we both fucking know it!” Lunging at you Klaus tries to maneuver around Elijah only to be stopped with a hand to his chest.

“I think that’s quite enough. What is your name?” He addresses the hybrid, then you.

“Y/n.”

“I find it hard to believe a woman I’ve never met harbors the child of my brother.” You chuckle humorlessly then.

“I do know him, have for years. He just doesn’t want you to know that.” Admittedly you had wounded more than Klaus’ pride when things had gone south between the two of you.

“Niklaus?” Elijah gives his younger brother a look that reads don’t fucking try lying to me. He doesn’t offer Elijah an explanation, opting instead to leave the room in a huff.

“I know this isn’t ideal, but I promise it’s his.”

“Very well, make yourself comfortable, we’ll find a witch in the morning.” You don’t ask him to elaborate, you knew they all needed proof, he needed proof. Without a word more you trudge up the stairs, Elijah following closely behind you. “If you’re lying about this, I’ll rip your heart out myself, you have my word.” hastily leaving the room you both had entered, he quietly shuts the door behind him.

There was nothing left to do now but wait.

Klaus Mikaelson should have been the last person you wanted to see. The remaining hatred you had for him should have been simmering but it wasn’t. You had never gotten a proper goodbye from the man that had stolen your heart. Your alcohol fogged mind told you there was no better time for a good bye than right now, and what better way to say it then to fall into the bed of the man you had once loved?

Klaus had eyed you suspiciously, his heart locked behind the walls he had built that fateful day.

You hadn’t even spoken, words had never been your winning feature. You had grabbed him by the collar pressing your lips to his.

It was heaven

He didn’t ask questions, choosing instead to lead you out of the bar hand in hand to the only safe place he knew.

His bed.

The months that had followed had been nothing short of chaotic. The witches of New Orleans had “officially” confirmed that you were in fact carrying the child of Klaus Mikaelson. He had taken the news rather poorly. Disappearing for weeks before finally surfacing at the compound again. Though he had returned, his icy demeanor towards you had stayed ever present. So, you kept as far away from him as you could. Until you didn’t.

You had been passing his study when the door had opened quickly causing you to stumble. You were sure your face was about to become very acquainted with the hardwood floor of the hall way when a pair of strong arms hand wrapped around your waist. You hadn’t meant to grip his wrist desperately, one hand flying to your barely showing baby bump.

“Your alright, I’ve got you.” His sentence was clipped, but that had been the most he had said to you since you stepped foot in the compound all those weeks ago.

“Thank you.” You’re not sure what had possessed you to bury your face in his chest but the warmth and comfort was worth the ire you were about to face. You’re surprised to look up and see him peering at you through confused eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t- It won’t happen again.” You leave before he has the chance to yell.

After your bout of clumsiness Klaus had laid off his harsh temper with you. You were sure it had been Elijah’s doing, probably some speech about stress being bad for the baby, but you didn’t mind. The somewhat calm atmosphere had brightened your mood considerably and gave you the tiniest shred of hope that maybe this wouldn’t be such a nightmare.

“ELIJAH!!!” You had never seen a thousand-year-old vampire move so fast in your life.

“What is it?! What’s wrong?!” His panic laced tone has a sheepish smile spreading on your face before you feel the tiny flutter again. Grabbing the originals hand, you place it on your stomach and wait.

“Come on little bean, you can do it.” The look of utter surprise that spreads across his face as a tiny thump reaches his hand is priceless.

“KLAUS COME HERE!” Elijah doesn’t move his hand, the wonder of human life making his undead heart melt. Klaus rushes into the room in much the same manor, the only difference being the glowing eyes and raised fist.

“Come feel!” You don’t hesitate to place his hand over your ever moving child. Elijah leaves the room then, wanting to give you and the father of said child a moment. “Do you feel it? Feel her?” A small smile spreads across the hybrids face his hand pressing slightly harder to the fading kick.

“I do. It’s amazing.” Silence fell upon the two of you, with it your doubts grew.

“What if I can’t do this?” The vulnerability in your words has Klaus looking at you in shock. He had never seen you so unsure of yourself.

“You can love, you are going to be a great mother.”

“No, I’m not, this baby is screwed and we both know it. Fuck, you can’t even look at me half the time. What kind of a family is she going to have?”

“This family isn’t perfect but it’s hers.” His words do little to comfort the growing fear inside your heart.

“I wish my dad was here.” The sob that rips from your throat is deafening, not for the first time Klaus wishes things had happened differently between the two of you.

“I’m sorry love.” You don’t let him finish, far too hormonal to not hug the father of your bastard kid. Klaus holds you tightly letting you release the built-up emotion, kissing your forehead every so often. “We will get through this, I promise.” Nodding your head, you stay firmly planted against the hybrid’s chest.

You hope he’s right.

Things weren’t perfect between you and Klaus, but with each passing day you saw the tension leave his shoulders and felt your anger slip through the cracks.

You loved him. It was simple, but none of it mattered if he didn’t love you back.

Sitting on the couch watching T.V. you traced patterns onto your stomach, mindlessly humming a melody that lived rent free in your mind. Klaus made his way into the living room, lifting your feet before placing them in his lap.

“What are you watching love?” The nickname had become a staple in the conversations between the two of you as of late.

“I’m not sure, I’m not really paying attention.”

“Why? Are you feeling alright?” Rubbing his hand up and down your leg you watch the man before you. Things had been so corrupt between you both, at one point you were sure you could never go back. Now though? You weren’t sure what to believe.

Nodding lightly, you try to defuse his worry.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.” The word hangs heavily in the air.

“What about us?” Inhaling a lengthy breath, you burst the perfect bubble you had been living in.

“I’m in love with you.” Klaus pauses his movement on your leg shifting his gaze to stare into yours.

“What?”

“I know a lot of shit happened between us Nik, and I know you don’t trust me but I love you. I don’t think I ever stopped. I know you might not feel the same” Your sentence is cut short by the hybrids lips connecting with your own.

“I thought I would never hear you say that again.” Closing the gap again, you press your forehead to his.

“We both made mistakes. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

“I forgave you a long time ago.” At his words you feel the moisture begin to pool in the corner of your eyes.

“Me too.”

The love you and the hybrid shared had never faded, you both just needed a little clarification to see it.

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #the originals #requests

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alexromero · 3 years

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I feel like S/R is just a ploy for the press to come after R, but how NO ONE went lol wtf he's your 21 employee has me worried they're going to revisit it later. That + Ted/Sassy happening again (even if I don't think they'll be a thing) has me thinking the writers will pull a "soulmates aren't necessarily romantic" bs by the end. Never trust male writers.

you know anon, I think after this last episode I've begun to let go of my expectations just a little. there's a lot to be said for the way the show has dealt with this relationship (s/r) thus far that can't be erased. that, I think is an incredibly valid point to uphold the show to. now, as far as ted and rebecca goes... this episode exceeded my expectations. especially after episode eight.

I want to withhold my opinion overall until I see the last two episodes but if they're anything like episode ten... I'm genuinely excited once again to see where these two characters are going. I know this season is going to end in an incredibly dark and sad tone. that's been known since before the season aired.

that being said... I find it very hard to believe these writers would take the time to weave such an intricate and intimate relationship between these two characters not to go there. and I'm not saying this through any kind of subjectivity here. I'm saying in from an objective and practical stand point. Jason strikes me as a smart kind of guy. sure, as a writer he's made mistakes this season, especially with rebecca, but overall he has a vision. his vision for season two was individual journeys for both of these characters. whether we liked their journeys respectively, that's a whole other argument (one I've made before and we all know.)

going back to jason. he spent the better part of three to six months trying to find the perfect actress to play the role of rebecca. they went as far as auditioning famous celebrities and people apple wanted to pick. yet, jason picked hannah because she fit the role the best. it was the person he envisioned for the role of rebecca. he already has, in his mind, mapped out these journey for both of these characters and I don't see it being where they don't go to the full depth of their emotional capacities as adults who got divorced, underwent such intense traumas and came out of it to find one another. it's just a lot there for it to be this friendship in passing, where ted ends up with someone he's barely gotten to fully know. at least, know like he knows rebecca and connected w/ her the second they locked eyes.

what this season has shown us, both through them and through us as the audience, is just how much they rely and depend on one another. how much rebecca, no matter how many men she physically connects w/ (because I do find it interesting that she sleeps with sam at the first chance she gets & I don't say this in a judgemental tone, but in a "hey isn't it funny she was looking for an emotional connection and when she finds out its sam she immediately has sex with? funny how she's been using sex to cope all season as opposed to really opening herself up for a genuine connection w/ someone? & why she felt compelled to use two apps to make that happen?") it's all very interesting w/ rebecca because while she is putting herself out there, she's all holding back. she needs ted for all of her emotional needs (needing him at the pub w/ her mum, needing him at the funeral, needing him through food as she still relies on those biscuits, needing to know he's okay during his panic attack and needing him for emotional support during a talk w/ her mum) like we've seen how rebecca relies on this kind of emotional intimacy that should she ever really date someone and she still needs ted in this way... it would be awkward because a relationship, a romantic one that can last, begins in friendship and slowly morphs into what we see with rebecca in this season (the emotional validation and comfort ted brings to her.) this season for rebecca was about finding out what she doesn't want and for letting go. letting go of her father and her resentment and anger towards him. which is why she breaks it off with sam after. she has to let him go. let go of all the things she knows are only adding to the weight of her anger and grief. now, I know a lot of people aren't satisfied w/ the way she ended things because it leaves the "door open." tbh, rebecca in that moment realizes that he's... a kid. not in the infantilizing way but in the way that young people who are infatuated halfway in love with someone are. keeley tells her to be gentle. for rebecca, gentle is living that door open for sam and not shutting him off completely from the possibility of love for the future. not with her. but she doesn't want to be the one to make him resent love. a lot like her dad did and rupert.

for ted, I see it as a defense mechanism. he's incredibly afraid of a lot of things this season that have been bubbling since season one. his arc this season is all about overcoming his fears of not being present enough, or being enough for everyone. it's about his fear of not doing the right thing by everyone and forgetting to do well for himself. he's also someone who compartmentalizes. a lot. I mean, he thought that if he put the issues with his wife on pause and he left to Richmond, that somehow would fix their problems. time. he thought time would do it. but he's coming to realize that things are ever-changing and that sometimes the thing you may want is not really the thing you need. change is a hard thing for ted, just like it's a lot for other people (rebecca*). it also stems from his father's death. not just his death, but the way he did. ted is always afraid of losing people. of the suddenness of that loss and he's trying to overcome that fear this season. which is why I wouldn't be surprised to find out ted is scared of loving again. he's probably felt something for rebecca that is so strong and so scary he's... compartmentalized it for another day. he's also not aware yet of just how much he depends on rebecca. that need to bake for her every single day? that's stability. but once he found out she started dating? boy did he get spooked and started to withdraw. if you are at a distance, nothing can hurt you right?

this is just a tidbit into the many other thoughts I've had about this but I will say this... for someone who used to be afraid, like really don't the entire trajectory, I don't anymore. I'm certain that this is a love story where these two people come together. they are bound to one another by time (September 13, 1991 to be exact), and no other relationship, of love because that's what this show is about, can ever be it for either.

#ted lasso spoilers #anon #reply

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like-rain-or-confetti · 4 years

Text

Request: Ignorance (Volturi Leaders x Reader)

Judging by the atmosphere of the room, something was wrong. You turned to your three mates, skepticism all over your face. "What's wrong?" You asked warily, watching for any changes in your mates faces, even the slightest micro-movement. “Nothing you need to worry yourself about, my dear.” Aro responded with a reassuring smile. Whilst he was convincing, you didn't buy it. It didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep in, a reminder that you had been here before, in this exact situation. A thought rushed through your head but never left. “This doesn’t have something to do with Bella...does it?” You asked. “No.” Aro smiled at you gently. Again, convincing but you noticed the tiny details within each of your mates and those details led you to believe this was a lie.

You felt a pang in your chest, you had been here before. It always hurt to know your mates could and would lie to you again and again. “Why are you lying to me?” You had visibly faltered, hurt etched across your face. You were met with silence at first. “Why would you think that?” Caius responded. “Marcus looks like he just kicked a puppy, you are trying to will me to believe Aro with your eyes alone and Aro has a particular smile when he lies.” "It's a private matter." Aro responded. "A private matter? So of course I wasn't included." You said with a cold smile.

As you began to turn away, Aro responded. "We can tell you later-" "No. It's fine. We all know you won't. Don't let me interrupt." You interrupted him with a forced smile. Marcus was the next to speak. "No, (Y/N), we'll discuss-" Once again you interrupted, if you had to hear their excuses or empty promises again, you’d make Alec take away your senses for good. "No, how about you don't bother and neither will I." "If you want to be treated like an adult, (Y/N), then I advise you stop acting like a child." Caius’ words made you freeze mid-step and your blood boil. So much so, you had no doubt every vampire in the castle sensed it.

You had once made a comment that the three treated you like a child, whether it was the age gap or the fact you were human, you didn't appreciate it. You wanted them to trust you as you trusted them and instead they hid things from you under the pretences that you wouldn't understand. However, you swallowed back your rage, sending Caius a blank stare.

“We have received word from one of the Denali coven that the Cullen’s have created an immortal child.” Aro declared. Caius turned sharply to his brother, clearly displeased that he had revealed the secret. You, on the other hand, looked taken aback.”Bella and...?” You trailed off. Aro nodded. “You’re sure?” You responded quietly. “I saw for myself.” Aro assured you. “We’re about to vote on the situation.Perhaps we could use your involvement.” Aro continued. However Caius was quick to let his thoughts known. "They're human, reckless and don't understand, so why allow them a vote? We know what must be done. We do not offer second chances and this is breaking another law. We cannot cloud our judgement because of (Y/N)."

You used to be good friends with Bella, but that friendship had since fallen away ever since you had met your mates. Although, that was Edwards fault if anyone’s. You’d have likely never met if you hadn't gone to Italy with Bella and Alice. You turned to Caius with another hurt look upon your face. "I...I was going to agree with you." You said quietly. If the Cullen’s had broken the law, then what else could be done? Yet now Caius was treating you like the weakest link, like you’d betray them so easily. You crossed your arms before turning to leave the room. “(Y/N)-” Aro was following behind you in seconds and reached out for your arm but you pulled away from his reach. "Don't touch me." You mumbled, this time successfully leaving the room.

Within a second, Aro was back on his throne with his others. Aro turned to Caius. “I understand your motives brother but you don’t need to be so harsh.” Aro said icily. “I’m not going to dote to them like you two. When it comes down to it, I will say what needs to be said. If either of you did the same, perhaps I wouldn’t be the villain.” Caius shot back. “I’ll go to them.” Marcus said. “Ah yes, Marcus to the rescue from the evil Caius.” Caius scowled. “You do it to yourself, Caius.” Marcus said as he stood up.

You looked up to see Marcus in the doorway of his room, where you had went after the altercation. “Marcus, i’m really not in the mood to do this right now.” You began. “We didn’t want to upset you. We only had your benefit in mind.” "No, you hold me at arm's length and then make me feel bad about it. Like I did something wrong when the truth is you don't trust me enough to even give me the chance." You responded sourly.

Suddenly both Aro and Marcus were behind you. “You’ve done nothing wrong, cara mia and we do trust you. Of course, we trust you.” Aro explained. “We choose not to involve you because it seems, in our eyes, unnecessary stress on you. It’s our job to do this but that doesn’t mean it’s you must endure it.” “It’s not your job to shelter me!” You turned, arguing back. “I’m so tired of this!” “Tired of what, cara mia?” Aro pressed, knowing something else was bothering you.

You tended to bottle things up and eventually the emotions overflow from the even the smallest of changes at times. "I am tired of it being three against one. I am tired of only existing when it's convenient to you. I am tired of making excuses for him and I'm tired with you assuming that I won't leave all three of you!" You said loudly making the two men pause. You had never mentioned leaving before and it had never even crossed their minds on what to even think if you ever brought it up, never mind do. Aro seemed to clam up, his expression unreadable whilst Marcus looked almost terrified. "Don't say things like that! You don't mean it!" Marcus pleaded slightly. You stared at him. You sighed. Once again leaving the room. However only Marcus’ followed you this time. "I'm trying to talk to you!" "I don't want to talk!" You snapped back, storming into Caius’ room this time. "(Y/N), I love you- we love y-" You interrupted Marcus. "Don't say that!" You snapped.

That was your weakness and you loved them more than you could describe but you couldn’t go ignored. They couldn’t wish it away with those three little words. You couldn’t look at Marcus who looked absolutely heartbroken. “You’re pulling away.” He said quietly. “I can see it...you’re pulling away from us.” You said nothing and Marcus left the room.

An hour passed and Caius entered the room briskly, Aro and Marcus remaining at the door. “You two, leave. (Y/N) and I need to have a conversation alone.” “Excuse me?” You responded. "You're angry with me and releasing your anger on them. Be that adult and if you have something to say. Say it!" Caius turned to his brothers. “Get out.” "It drives me mad that you overlook everything I feel and do whatever is convenient for you! And you win! Every time, you always get your own way!" You said almost immediately. “It drives me to madness that I have to be careful with what i say because you assume the worst of me.” Caius shot back. "I hate that you make me feel so inferior!" You said louder, the anger rising in you once more. "I hate that you're so naive you fail to realise that I do this because you mean more to me than anything else! I want you to be happy, I want you to be protected!" Caius scowled. “I hate that you will drag out every situation until you win. Even now, you’re winning!” You argued back. Caius looked at you incredulously. “Don't you understand!? I've already lost! I'm losing you right now! Everything I have ever done is to protect you because if you're gone I won't be able to survive it! I'd rather you hated me and were safe than dead and loving me!" You moved closer, growing exasperated. "Caius, why don't you understand that there is other ways? I love you. I love all of you but everyday it's a tag team against me!" "You don't understand how much of a blessing you are and at the same time how stressful it is to know that any tiny little movement could hurt you!" Caius said flatly. You stared at him and Caius sighed. “You’re so stubborn.” Caius shook his head. "You won't want to hear it." "That's never stopped you before." You responded quietly. Caius sighed again. "I don't want to involve you. I fear that if I do and something hurt you...I can't fix it." “That deci-” "I don't want to force you to make any decisions! If you did, I couldn't live with you hating yourself. So if I did it and you hated me for it, I can live with that!" You were at a loss for words. Dumbstruck by Caius’ words. He had never been so vulnerable with you to actually admit his fears, especially involving you. “I want you to be loved and i want you to be happy. I cannot without a doubt expose you to these things and believe you wouldn’t be affected.” “Caius...” You pleaded, tears welling in your eyes. “I lost my friend for you. i haven’t contacted anyone in months since coming here. Bella was my best friend and i lost her. I gave her up for you. It might hurt, but it hurts more knowing that the three people i gave everything up for, are holding me at arms length.” You took hold of Caius’ arms who said nothing as you continued. “I am willing to face all of that, if it means i have you three with me. I can face all of it. I am willing to face it all if it means i get to keep you at my side. I don't want you hiding things from me, or pushing me away. That hurts more than any of it.”

A blur of black in the corner of your eye catch your attention. Once again Marcus and Aro were at the door. Meanwhile, Caius stared down at you with a surprisingly soft expression. "The truth is that we don't tell you a lot of things...but that doesn't mean we want to hurt you." Marcus spoke up. "Listen," You said softly, tugging Caius' hand and looking over at Aro and Marcus. "You will never have to worry about me leaving. I could never leave you behind." You turned your gaze to Caius, stepping closer to him. "Look at me." You whispered and Caius' gaze shifted. "Never." You promised him. "There have been so many more good times than bad and none of them could keep me from you." You closed the distance with a kiss that Caius was just as willing to return. One of his hands moving to your cheek. Even Marcus couldn't hold back a smile when you reached out towards them, beckoning for them. You broke the kiss to declare. "If you two don't hug me in the next three seconds I will cry."

#twilight #volturi #the volturi #aro volturi #marcus volturi #caius volturi #reader #one shot #oneshot #request

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Note

hi can you write about spending a valentine’s day with gray pls?

valentine’s day smut w/ gray? + more haha sorry couldn’t put them all in

A/N: I’m sorry this is a day late. It was supposed to be 90% smut but somehow it took on a mind of its own and turned into this monster.

warnings: smut, extremely cheesy, way too long

***

It should be a given understanding that Valentine’s Day is the dumbest, most antiquated, overrated holiday that’s ever existed. That had always been your take on it, even as a little kid — the worry of spelling your classmates’ names correctly on cards imprinted with cheesy Scooby Doo and Spongebob puns; the expectation to dress up nice in the hopes you would get asked to be someone’s Valentine in the hallways of middle school; the potential embarrassment of being the only person in class who didn’t get bought one of those stupid roses from a ‘secret admirer’ in high school.

There’s simply too much pressure surrounding the idea of professing your love or even your mere fondness for anyone and everyone in your life. The fear of rejection if you do, and the judgement if you don’t. It had always made you anxious, whether you had someone to share the day with or not.

But this Valentine’s Day, as a young twenty-something, you were actually (secretly) looking forward to it. Conner was your first adult relationship, with the title of ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and labels and commitment. He’s cute and smart and charming and yours. So, sue you if you were quietly anticipating wearing that SavageXFenty set beneath a brand new dress while you went to dinner after being greeted at the door with roses and a box of chocolates.

And yet here you are, on February 14th, hood of your sweater drawn over your head as you rummage through your freezer with a clear target in your mind. Your eyes are blurry and swollen, but you find the pint of birthday cake Nada Moo with ease, and you slam the freezer door closed a little harder than you really mean to as soon as it’s in your grasp.

You’ve just popped the lid off when your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter where you’ve plopped down to eat your depression snack in a more acceptable place than your bed or the couch.

You see Grayson’s name accompanied by a goofy, up-close picture of him smiling filling the screen, and hesitate. He’s one of your best friends, and clearly done nothing wrong, but you’re not sure you’re capable of handling anyone of the male species right now after...everything.

At the end of the day, though, it’s Grayson. He knows heartbreak almost better than anyone, and you’ve coached him through it on more than one occasion. Maybe he can spew back some of your own advice if it comes to that.

You swipe the bar at the bottom of the screen, and your ceiling suddenly replaces the image of his silly, handsome face. “Sup?”

“Yo. Am I interrupting anything? Sorry, just remembered what day it is.”

You swallow. “Uh no, you’re not.”

“What’s wrong?”

You bite your lip hard, digging your spoon into the softened ice cream. Was it that obvious just from your voice that you had been upset? Or does he just know you that well?

“Nothing.”

“You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie. Let me see your face.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you concede. “No. I’ve been crying.”

He’s quiet, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his own face in the corner of the screen. You shove the chunk of ice cream past your lips, and after a moment he says with a softer tone, “Crying on Valentine’s Day is never a good sign.”

You’re glad that you’ve gotten so much of your tears out already, because you feel the inevitable prickle behind your eyes that would have been full-blown waterworks a few hours ago. You scoop another bite. “Conner cheated on me — has been, cheating on me. I found out last night.”

Grayson sighs your name, and something about the genuine sympathy in his voice makes you even more emotional. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. What a piece of shit.”

You shrug even though he can’t see, and sniffle past the lump in your throat. “It’s whatever. I’m still in shock more than anything. Hurts like hell, though, still. I let him have it when I saw the texts and he hasn’t tried to call me once. No texts. Nothing.”

He’s silent, but it’s that raging silence you know oh so well from him. It doesn’t happen often, but anyone who knows Grayson Dolan knows that when his volume comes down, he means business. A loud and obnoxious Grayson is a happy one, but a brooding and quiet one means serious business.

“Do you want me to go beat his ass? I’ll do it.”

A smile cracks your scowl before you know it, and you shake your head. “No thanks, Gray. As much as I’d love to see that happen, I like your face the way it is. And not on a mugshot.”

He chuckles a little, and you feel your chest lift some just hearing the familiar depth of it. “Well, do you at least want me to come over later? I totally get if you need to be alone, but I know from experience sometimes what helps the most is having good friends around.”

You’re a little surprised. “You don’t have a date?”

“Nope.”

“No one from the roster hitting you up?”

“I don’t have a roster,” he argues playfully, but you both know that’s a lie, if not at least a stretch of the truth. “And even if I did, you’re more important. Always.”

You sigh and take another bite. His words make your neck tingle and your toes wiggle, but you ignore it; your brain is full of confusion as it is. “That makes one man in my life who thinks so, I guess.”

You finally prop your phone up against the fruit basket sitting in the middle of your bar so he can see you. Grayson takes in your image, which admittedly must look kind of pathetic, and you watch his jaw clench and release in a way that you can’t deny is utterly sexy.

“Is an hour okay? Tell Vanessa to come, too.”

“Benito took her to Tulum for the weekend,” you say, referring to your best friend and her boyfriend. “She did threaten to get on a plane and come home early for me, though.”

Grayson grins crookedly, but his jaw is still tight. “Well, tell her you’re in good hands. See you in an hour?”

You give it one last quick consideration; you already feel this much better just talking to him on the phone. Nothing bad could come from him being in your apartment, and you trust him. “Yeah, that’s fine. But just so you know, I’m already at the stage of eating ice cream at 10:30 AM.”

“Did you forget you’re talking to the emotional ice cream eating champion? No judgement here.”

You finally let out a giggle, your spirits officially lifted. “I’ll see you soon.”

True to his word, Grayson arrives at your door about an hour later, his arms laden with milkshakes from Monty’s, a gift bag decorated all over with sparkly hearts, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.

You’re stunned. The only thing you’d managed to do in the time it took him to get here was take a quick shower in attempts to rid your face of some of the puffiness, throw on some shorts this time with a fresh hoodie, and toss the used tissues scattered around your place into the garbage.

Before you can say anything, he holds out the flowers. “They were out of roses. But I know you like pink.”

You reach out for them slowly, eyes wide, your fingers brushing his when you grasp the plastic wrapping. His cheeks are a similar color to the petals, and it makes both your heart and your lips smile.

“Peonies are my favorite,” you say truthfully. “And yes, especially pink ones. Thank you, Gray.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, sounding relieved.

As he crosses the threshold of your door, he leans down to kiss your cheek, and you can’t help but hum quietly and pull him in for a hug. “That gift better not be for me, either,” you mumble into his chest.

Grayson pulls back, his eyes sparkling, but keeps you close with an arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. “Oh, this? No, this is for my other best friend I’m trying to cheer up on Valentine’s Day.”

You slap his arm playfully, and lead him into your kitchen, pulling out a vase from the cabinet beneath your sink for the flowers.

The bag has a few gifts in it: a new Comfy (“I remembered you ruined yours when that ketchup bottle exploded all over you the other day”); a huge bag of watermelon sour patch kids (“I know they’re your favorite. Also ice cream gives you brain freeze after the first pint or so, trust me”); and a heart shaped box of your favorite chocolates (“you can eat them or burn them, I wasn’t sure which you’d appreciate more but either is fine with me.”)

You appreciated all of it, more than he would ever understand. All you can do is fling yourself at him weakly, completely overwhelmed. “Fuck you, you’re gonna make me cry all over again.”

Grayson envelops you in those huge, muscular arms, cooing behind that laugh you love so much. “Is that a really backwards way of saying thank you?”

You grunt in affirmation, and with you still wrapped up in his arms, he starts waddling the two of you back the short distance into your living room.

“Here,” he says, coaxing you down into the blanket nest you had created on the couch. “You chill and find a movie. I’ll make popcorn.”

You do, and he does, and the next few hours are spent lounging about in your apartment. Having him here with you is doing wonders from keeping your mind from going down the paths you’d been spiraling towards ever since you saw the messages between Conner and no less than four other girls on Snapchat. You don’t believe in snooping, but finding the first one had been an accident when he received the snap while you had his phone, and your finger happened to press the icon at just the right moment.

In your eyes, though, the image of one pair of tits that weren’t your own was enough justification to see what else you could find.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of relieved,” you told Grayson a while later, Shrek playing on the TV quietly. He’s sitting next to you, far enough apart for there to be couch space between the two of you, but close enough to share the oversized blanket thrown over your laps. “Obviously what he did is so fucking shitty and I’m not justifying it in any way, but I can be honest with myself now and realize I wasn’t in that relationship for the right reasons. There wasn’t anything there emotionally at the end of the day.”

“You still have every right to feel hurt by what he did, though. It’s a huge violation of trust,” Grayson assures, reaching out and squeezing your hand gently.

You squeeze back and grimace at him. “Yeah.” You let out a little mirthless laugh and shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing, too. And finding out the day before Valentine’s, no less. Like, I just wanted to look cute, have a nice dinner, have some nice sex, and just... I don’t know. Have an actual Valentine’s day for once. No pressure or anxiety or anything.”

Grayson stares at you in that way he does — so intense and almost intimidating if there wasn’t a genuine warmth behind it. You’re suddenly aware of his thumb brushing the back of your hand slowly. He squeezes your fingers again.

“So, let’s do it, then. You and me.”

You arch a brow at him, smiling at the rosiness in his cheeks when he realizes what he might have implied. “The dinner part, I mean. And the dressing up. Even though I think you look plenty cute right now.”

You roll your eyes, but for the countless time that day, your heart flutters happily. Looking back, you can’t remember the last time Conner had complimented your appearance, let alone after hours of crying and lazing around in sweats, sugar crystals stuck to the corner of your lip.

“That would be great, except there’s no way we’re getting into any restaurant at this point,” you remind him. “Probably no delivery, either.”

“I’ll cook for you,” he counters, throwing the blanket off his legs and standing up with a groan. He stops to stretch, and the way his arms go over his head makes his shirt ride up at the bottom, exposing a chunk of hard muscles and golden skin.

You swallow, eyes trailing up the rest of his torso appreciatively. “I don’t have much.”

He’s already rummaging through your pantry, though, and pulls out a half-full box of pasta, a jar of marinara sauce, and a leftover chunk of sourdough bread. “You got salad stuff?”

You nod, and he opens the fridge to find some lettuce, peppers, and other salad fixings before setting them with the pasta ingredients on the counter. “Go get dressed, look as cute or not cute as you want. I’ll take care of this.”

He’s absolutely unreal. “Gray-”

Grayson holds up his hand. “Ah, no, I’m doing this. You deserve it. Also, I’m hungry. It’s a win-win.”

Your stomach growls as well, and that’s all the convincing you need. While he gets busy in the kitchen, you tidy up the living area some before heading to your room. You feel a little silly, making your third outfit change of the day, but you also like the giddiness in the pit of your belly at the thought of Grayson doing all of this for you. You might as well take advantage of having someone like him in your life. Show him some Valentine’s appreciation of your own.

You forgo the slinky red number you had planned to wear to the restaurant with Conner, and opt instead for a rather unsuspecting blouse-jeans combo, which happen to both respectively frame your tits and ass perfectly.

The lacy, bright pink set in the back of your closet might have made it beneath your clothes, though. The prettiness of it made you feel that much better, even if no one else was going to see it.

Maybe.

Padding back into your kitchen after running a flat iron through your hair and throwing on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss, you find Grayson draining the pasta into a colander in the sink.

Grayson does a double-take when he sees you standing there admiring the flex of his bicep as he holds the pot. “Hey! You look amazing.”

“If you say so,” you joke, bumping his hip with yours as. You pass him to pull plates and bowls out of the cabinet.

“I do,” he insists quietly.

Arm outstretched mid-reach, you look over at him, locking eyes with his hazel ones. He looks a little surprised by the words that left his mouth, like he meant for them to stay inside his head. There must be some kind of challenge in your gaze, daring him to elaborate.

He busies himself with the pasta again hastily, his voice low. “Conner is a fucking idiot. To do that to you. To let you go. You don’t deserve that. Especially not today.”

Plates in hand, you rest them gently on the counter with your lower lip caught between your teeth, and peer over at this handsome man you’re so proud and lucky to call your best friend. He’s everything you thought Conner was — cute and smart and charming — but so much more — beautiful and good and kind.

And he’s been right here in front of you the whole time.

You reach out and touch his elbow softly. The hairs on his forearm are crisp but soft, and you follow them down to that gleaming watch on his wrist.

“You know,” you start quietly, fingers tracing the links of the band before flipping his hand over to trace the lines of his palm, “you keep talking about what I deserve today. But you deserve all that and more. You deserve someone’s love that matches your own.”

He watches your delicate fingers on his large, calloused palm, then trails his eyes up to yours when he feels their attention on his face. A piece of hair flops into his eyes, and you reach up without thinking or any hesitation to push it away again with a little smile playing on your glossy lips.

You look down and lay your palm flat against his, admiring the difference in size between your hands for a moment before interlocking your fingers with his.

“I love you.”

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise; he beat you to the words.

“In case that wasn’t obvious,” Grayson continues, turning towards you. “And I hope that’s not too much for you to handle, with everything you’ve had hap-”

“I love you too, Gray,” you interrupt, stepping that much closer to him so you’re nearly chest-to-chest with him.

“Yeah?” He sounds almost boyish in his astonishment, and it makes you want to hold him tight and never let go.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “A lot. I’m sorry it took me getting dumped to realize it.”

He shakes his head, his hand resting on your cheek gently. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod once before he’s swiftly ducking down to claim your lips with his. They’re soft and pliable, and you feel their effects from the nerves in your scalp all the way down to your bare toes.

“Grayson,” you breathe, lashes fluttering open as he pulls back just enough to look at you concernedly.

You smile, bigger and brighter than you have all day, and cup his stubbled cheeks with your hands, scratching your nails gently against his jaw. “I just wanted to say your name.”

Grayson grins now, too. He kisses you more insistently now that he’s got the taste of you on his tongue, which he flicks against the underside of your top lip as he breaks the kiss. “Say it again.”

“Make me,” you challenege, voice breathy and excited, eyes closed as you savor his sweet breath against your lips. “In my room.” You feel him tense up a bit, and you open your eyes to meet his questioning gaze, biting back a smile at the inevitable hope also shining there. “I’m sure.”

With that, Grayson hauls you up into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist with a squeal as he buries his face into your neck. He starts making the way to your bedroom, cooked food left long forgotten in the kitchen behind you.

“Are you wearing my signature scent?” he asks, inhaling your skin deeply.

“Mmhm,” you hum, threading your fingers through the back of his thick hair. It’s so long again, and you give the dark strands a sharp tug that makes him grunt. “Part one of my gift to you. Since you got so many for me today.”

“Part one, huh?” he says, crossing the threshold of your room. “What’s part two?”

“What I’m wearing underneath this,” you whisper in his ear, giggling loudly when he lies you down on the bed with more of a toss than he might have intended. “If you want it, that is.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind at the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t, and you take that as enough encouragement to tug at the bow tying your forest green silk wrap blouse together.

The folds part open and expose your chest, clad in that pink lace demi-cup bra with the cage detailing over the tops of your breasts. Grayson moans and dips down to nuzzle your cleavage, breathing in the scent of your warm skin. His hands trail up your sides, from your hips to your rib cage, until they settle in the dips of your waist. His touch ignites you, makes your back arch and your hips grind up against his thigh between your legs, just from the sensation of his hands on these new parts of your body.

“Grayson,” you sigh, and he smirks up at you with his chin on your tits when he realizes that’s all it took for you to say his name again.

You grab his cheeks and kiss that smugness away, shifting your legs so they’re wrapped around his waist once again, pushing down on the small of his back to get your centers to meet.

Both of you gasp into each other’s mouths when his erection rubs against your pussy, even through all the layers of clothing still on your bodies. You reach down blindly, still attacking his mouth with yours, and feel around for his belt.

His pants come off, followed by yours, and he sits you up enough to push your blouse off your shoulders rather gently considering the intensity of everything. Once the garment is tossed over his shoulder, you’re down to nothing but that pretty lingerie and he in his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment of pause and clarity for the two of you, staring into one another’s eyes as the reality hits of what you’re about to do. What it means to both of you. Grayson stares down at you, and places a hand over your rapidly thumping heart.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, dragging his hand up your chest, over your throat, until he’s cupping you’re cheek and stroking your lip with his thumb.

You smile in return, then part your lips with your eyes locked on his, encouraging him silently to slip that digit in your mouth.

Grayson’s eyes darken, and he offers you his pointer finger instead, swallowing hard when you suck and swirl your soft, wet tongue around it.

Suddenly, he’s rolling the two of you over, switching positions so he’s on his back and you straddle him. You smile happily, taking your turn to duck down and attach your lips to the pulse point his neck, grinding down on his cock with a slow, steady rhythm.

“You’re so amazing, Gray,” you tell him, nipping at the lobe of his ear before kissing the underside of his chin. “Can’t believe you’re all mine now.”

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he growls back, cursing when you trail your kisses down the center of his body, giving each one of those moon’s their own special attention before continuing down.

When you get to the waistband of his underwear, you trail your tongue on the edge of the elastic and watch his abs contract with each shaky breath he takes. One little move of your hands, and you’ll finally get to see what he’s really packing.

But before you can even hook your fingers there to pull down, he’s tugging on your hair. “Fuck, fuck, c’mere. Please.”

You pout, but follow his lead, licking back up his muscular torso until he’s able to drag you to him for a deep, wet kiss.

“Sit on my face,” he demands, shuffling down on the pillow to make more room for you.

That takes you off guard. “But—”

“Do it. Please. I fucking have to taste you.”

Your body must be working ahead of your brain, because before you know it, you’re straddling Grayson’s face, his tongue is sweeping through the wetness in your slit, and his dark eyes are peering up at you from between your thighs.

“Oh... oh!” you cry out when his tongue starts flicking against your clit. He goes back to swiping up all your arousal, then suctions his lips around your clit. He’s using one hand to hold the lace of your thong aside, and the other dips first one finger, then two inside of you. “Oh, fuck, that’s so good...”

Grayson moans, the vibrations erupting around your clit and sending you right to the edge already. You reach back and palm his cock, rock hard in his underwear still, and squeeze as he makes you cum all over his mouth.

He gets his fill of your cum as he groans and keeps up the motion of his fingers, the pressure of his lips, the softness of his tongue as your pussy pulses with each contraction of your orgasm. You wait for him to start letting up, but something about the way he’s working you just makes those waves stay steady rather than die down again. Maybe that’s his intention, because when you drop your head down to look at him with your mouth wet and agape, there’s a sparkling mischief in his eyes has he eats you out like his last meal.

Your hips grind against his face of their own accord, and you delve one hand in his hair while the other supports you on the headboard. You gasp out a quivering, breathless laugh as it all becomes just too much, and you try to lift off his mouth.

Grayson isn’t having it, though. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you down, reveling in the moans and whimpers and squeals as he makes you cum again.

“Oh my god — enough, enough, I can’t...” you whine, shoving on his forehead until he releases you and drops his head to the pillow. You could already see it by the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, but he’s smirking wide, chest heaving as you slink your way down his body.

You collapse next to him in a daze, and he rolls on top of you smoothly, peppering little kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your nose. When you’re back in your right mind, you nudge blindly at his face so his lips find yours. He tastes like your pussy, and you sigh happily as you lift your heavy arms to wrap around his neck while his scoop beneath you, holding you close.

You continue to indulge in each other for a while, in the kisses you hadn’t been allowed to share until now. There’s something exciting about his familiarity and yet also this strange newness that has you absolutely desperate for him in every way.

“This is crazy,” you say when you pull back for air, studying his face hovering right above yours. You push back that stubborn chunk of hair that keeps falling into his eyes with a soft smile. “How did we end up here?”

Grayson turns his head to press his lips to your palm. “I don’t know. Is it too much? Should we stop?”

You shake your head vehemently, and he grins. “No, please. I think I just have to grasp that you’re really... mine now.”

He chuckles. “How do you think I felt watching you with that loser for five months?”

The mention of Conner makes you feel nothing — nothing other than gratitude for Grayson, that is. You slide your hands down his back, over his ribs, across his abs until your hand cups his dick.

His hips thrust into your touch, and you grin up at him demurely as you finally delve your hand past his waistband until you’ve got his length completely in your grasp.

He’s hot and hard and thick, and you start stroking him just to gauge the reaction in his face. He doesn’t disappoint, his jaw gaping open slightly, his breaths picking up, a flush rising to the apples of his cheeks.

Without warning, he reaches down and grasps your wrist. You pout, but he asks hastily. “Are we gonna have sex?”

You smirk. “Hell yeah.”

Grayson grins and shakes his head. “Alright, then you gotta stop.”

“Already?” you tease, letting him sit back and hook his fingers in the tiny string of your thong at your hips.

He gives you a look as he pulls the scrap of lace down your legs, then stands to push down his own underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you wish he’d let you blow him some before you hit the main event, but he says, “I’ve wanted you for too long to take any chances about screwing up the first time.”

You melt a little, reaching for him as he climbs back on the bed. “There should be some condoms in the drawer there. Just to be safe after... you know.”

He nods and dips down to kiss you before leaning over to riffle through the top drawer of your nightstand. He comes back with a purple square, which you take from him.

“Gotta practice an activity safely,” you wink, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his shaft quickly.

“Shut up.” Grayson rolls his eyes, but smiles softly as he settles between your legs just right. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper, gasping as he starts to sink inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as your walls suck him in and grip him tight.

He goes slow for a couple of minutes, allowing both of you time to adjust to each other. He stretches you out so much better than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you can’t help but clench around him when you see those tattoos and smell his cologne and hear his voice — all things that remind you that this is Grayson fucking you.

He growls the first time you do it, then sits up hastily, pulling his face out of your neck when you do it again. He tucks his knees beneath him, sits on his heels, and hauls your hips into his lap as the speed of his thrusts picks up incrementally. Until he’s fucking you for real, and your tits bounce in your bra with every upstroke.

You shove an arm beneath your pillow, enunciating the curves of your body, and watch his expressions as he fights to hold back. His hair is disheveled, lip caught tight between his teeth and muffling his deep, satisfied sounds that mingle with your open higher-pitched ones. He catches your eye and his hands on your hips grip you so tight for a moment that you’re sure little bruises will be there in the morning — not that you mind.

“Fuck,” he whispers harshly before slowing his hips and shifting down to give you a deep, sloppy kiss. “Turn over.”

You moan into his mouth, then follow his order, rolling onto your front as soon as he pulls out. You expect him to haul your hips up into the air, but he moves your hair off your neck and trails sweet kisses from shoulder to shoulder, his hand sweeping down the subtle curve of your back until he’s gripping your ass.

Grayson’s hand moves down your thigh and pushes it up and out once he’s cupping the back of your knee. The angle encourages you to twist your upper half until you have sight of him once again in all his angled, sweaty, muscular glory.

“Fuck me, baby,” you beg him, already anticipating the fullness inside you again. Needing it.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asks needlessly, pushing into your pussy once again. You moan loudly, either in confirmation or from pure pleasure, it doesn’t matter. The angle is tighter, the tip of his dick hitting a spot so perfectly accurate inside of you that you can’t concentrate on anything other than how good he’s making you feel. “Yeah. So fucking sexy. So beautiful...”

“Gray.. oh fuck yes, right there,” you whimper, catching onto his arm as he leans over you and gives you those hard, steady strokes.

“Open your eyes, baby, lemme see them when you cum,” he growls out.

You open them as much as you can, your vision blurry, but you can still make out those handsome features soaking in the pleasure on your face. Watching and waiting for you to get yours so he can get his.

As soon as you’re clenching like a vice around him, Grayson is letting go into the condom. You can vaguely feel the throb of him as he cums in spurts, the sound of his masculine, drawn-out groans making you shiver and tense up even more on his dick. If it’s possible for anyone to sound as sexy as they look, Grayson achieves that in spades.

He collapses on the bed next to you, and you have just enough strength to roll over until he’s got you gathered in his arms. You nuzzle into his chest and try to process everything. You had been hoping for nice sex today, and instead you got the best sex of your life.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence while you both catch your breath, after he pulls and ties off the condom, you smile into his cooling skin with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you for making this the best Valentine’s Day of my life. Especially after it was starting to look like the worst.”

“You made this the best day of my life, period,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Gray.”

#the relief i have in finishing this lmao #im sorry its a day late this took way more effort than i thought it would #dolan twins #grayson dolan #smut #blurb #g blurb

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

Note

Loved your tags on the Brenda Strong reblog! We need it as the new supercorp au!

Well, sOMEONE gave me an idea of OG!Lillian losing her memory and staying with Eliza for a while, and all day during work I was daydreaming of amnesia!Lillian slowly being told her life and being eager and excited to meet her daughter, only to find herself facing off against each member of the superfriends first as they try to suss out whether the memory loss is legit and/or whether she deserves to be in Lena’s presence. But finally she passes the final test (Kara) and when Lena still resists meeting her, Lillian overhears her trying to explain why it’s a bad idea. “None of you get it: she is a master manipulator. Lex didn’t exist in a vacuum-- he had to learn it from somewhere, and he learned it from our father and from her.”

But Kara ultimately talks her into it, and Lillian finally finds herself face to face with the woman who is her daughter. Her beautiful, beautiful daughter. Except her daughter doesn’t do anything except sit there-- no eye contact, no attempts at conversation. Lillian finally breaks the silence. “It’s so good to finally see you...”

She reaches over to take Lena’s hand, but Lena pulls away before she can make contact. Lillian instead lets her hand rest on the table between them. A peace offering.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. About your work in National City.”

Lena doesn’t respond.

“They say you’re a such a force for good--”

“Just-- stop,” Lena says finally. “You might have fooled them, but I’m not.”

“What they’ve told you is true-- I don’t remember--”

“And even if that were true, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Finally, Lena meets her eye, but her gaze is cold. Cruel. “You are not a good person.”

Lillian’s heart falls, and only now does she realize how bad an idea this had been.

“I spent half of my life trying to earn your love and the other half trying to get away from you. Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you weasel your way into my life after I’ve finally gotten you out of it.”

So... it doesn’t go well. Ostensibly, Lena and Kara are in Midvale to visit Eliza over the fourth of July weekend. Kara planned to spend the night in her childhood home, but Lena refuses.

“I won’t be under the same roof as her--”

“I’ll leave,” Lillian says.

Eliza looks at her in sympathy, but doesn’t protest. “Perhaps it would be for the best. We can put you up in the local bed and breakfast for the weekend, and then after...”

After. After doesn’t matter to Lillian. Not when her only free and living child wants nothing to do with her. She lets Eliza make the plans, and collects her meager belongings into a borrowed suitcase. In a bout of stubborn refusal to quit, when Eliza invites her to the community cookout and fireworks display, Lillian accepts. If only to be in the vicinity of Lena, to observe her daughter and feel a part of her in even so distant a way, if only for the opportunity to show Lena that she is different than whoever she might have been.

But when she arrives the following afternoon, she learns that Lena remained behind alone. “To watch the house,” Eliza says, though the excuse is clear to everyone who hears it. Lillian also notices that her daughter’s partner Kara is also missing.

“Called back to work in National City,” is the official party line, but Lillian isn’t sure she believes it any more than she believes Lena’s excuse. She tries to enjoy herself, but her thoughts are blocks away, with the woman who refuses to be her daughter.

The evening deepens to night, and as the fireworks display commences, Lillian tries to lose herself in the explosions that rock the very air. Soon though, the feeling of wrongness that’s been following Lillian all night catches up to her with a foggy sky and the scent of not sulphur, but woodsmoke.

“Fire!” a voice cries. “Fire! Fire!”

All heads snap towards the distant voice, and widen when they spot the glow of a building fire in the direction of Eliza’s cul-de-sac. The crowd on the beach move as one towards the scene, Lillian at the lead. Heart pounding against her ribs, she hears the wail of sirens approaching: too distant, too slow.

“Lena!” she screams as the burning house comes into view. “Lena!”

Lena isn’t on the street-- she isn’t anywhere to be seen. Realization hits like a bolt of lightning, and someone tries to hook an arm around her as she makes for the front door. Lillian wrenches herself free. “My daughter is in there!”

They aren’t strong enough or quick enough to stop her before she barrels through the front door. Lillian’s brain works rapidly to piece together that if the fire started on the ground floor, then the only reason Lena wouldn’t have made it out is if she were asleep on the top floor, where she would likely be unconscious from smoke inhalation. She thunders up the stairs, coughing as the smoke grows dense. Staying low, she sweeps through each room until she finds Lena in the attic room, unconscious on Kara’s bed.

Lillian gathers her daughter up as best she can and drags her back downstairs, through the front door and out onto the grass of the front lawn, coughing all the way. Eliza and her daughter Alex look at her as though they’ve seen a ghost, but all Lillian can think of is that her daughter isn’t coughing.

“She isn’t breathing!” she cries, desperately. Tears spill down her cheeks, and not just from the smoke. Without hesitating, she lays Lena flat and begins to administer rescue breathing. Counting and breathing and crying, her world narrows to her task alone, until the hands of paramedics crowd her vision, moving her aside even as they reach for Lena.

“It’s all right ma’am,” one says gently. “We’ve got her from here.”

Lillian follows them to the hospital, and waits as her daughter is treated for smoke inhalation. Soon, she’s informed that Lena is comatose, and on a respirator.

“I’d like to sit with her, please.”

No one thinks to tell her no. And so Lillian waits, for hours, over a day for her daughter to wake. Doctors come in and apprise her of Lena’s condition, but nothing prepares her for the fear that creeps into Lena’s eyes when they finally open, and she realizes there’s a tube down her throat. Nothing prepares Lillian for the way that fear amplifies the moment Lena lays eyes on her.

“Sweetheart, please,” she begs, “it’s okay, you’re okay. Please, calm down--”

But when Lillian reaches for her daughter’s hand Lena recoils again, and begins to thrash against the restraints that have kept her from pulling out her tube. Choked, muttering sobs emerge around the tube, and sickening gurgles chill Lillian to the core even as a new body inserts itself between them.

“Lena!” Kara says, taking Lena’s face between her hands. “It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe. Please, calm down... come on, breathe with me. In... out... don’t fight the tube, Lena, okay? Breathe with it... in... out...”

Slowly the monitors cease their shrill screaming, and only then does Lillian realize that doctors have converged as well, only to hold back until Lena was calm again.

“It’s okay, Lena. She’s leaving. She’s leaving...”

And Lillian does. She leaves the room, and doesn’t look back.

---

She can’t leave the hospital. Lillian makes it as far as the emergency room doors before the pull of Lena draws her back. This time, she sits with the others, waiting with bated breath for Kara to come back with news.

When she does, Kara sits next Lillian directly.

“They’ve extubated her,” the girl says softly. Woman, really. Kara is young, comparatively, yet old beyond her years with a weight Lillian can’t quite place. She offers Lillian a tired smile. “She’ll be okay.”

“She was afraid of me.”

Kara nods, not bothering to deny the truth. “She thought.... well, it doesn’t matter what she thought.” She runs a hand across her eyes. “You saved her life.”

“She’s my daughter.” The words come soft, almost plaintive, as though Lillian herself can’t quite believe them.

“Thank you,” is all Kara returns.

---

Lena’s released a few days later. Kara takes her home to National City, and Lillian believes it to be the end of anything she might have had with her daughter. She tries to banish it from her mind, and focuses instead on Eliza, who now has the unfortunate burden of having had her home burn to the ground. They, at least, are friends, and Eliza seems to appreciate her support, however meager it is.

Two days later, Lillian gets a call she isn’t expecting.

“She wants to see you,” Kara says.

Lillian leaves Midvale that very minute with Eliza’s blessing. She makes the drive in record time, and soon finds herself in an apartment that’s both lavish and cozy, full of a warm life she thus far hasn’t been privy to.

In the bedroom, Lena sits propped up with pillows, a box of tissues on one side and a waste bin on the other. “Sorry for the mess,” Lena croaks, cracking open one eye as the door creaks shut behind Lillian. “What I’m coughing up hasn’t exactly been pretty.”

Lillian sits on the furthest end of the bed. She itches to reach for Lena, to care and to mother her, but folds her hands in her lap instead in deference to the undercurrent of wariness that still runs through her daughter’s voice.

“You saved my life,” is all Lena says after a moment. “Usually you don’t do that unless you have an ulterior motive. Like murder.”

Lillian flinches, but then freezes when she catches the slight hint of a smile playing at Lena’s lips.

“Joking,” comes the rasping assurance. “Old-you would’ve gotten it.”

Instead of jumping in on the joke, Lillian finds herself fighting tears. “I really haven’t been much of a mother to you, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.” But this time it comes without malice, without judgement.

Lillian wipes her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lena. I wish-- I wish I had been better to you. You-- you deserve--- every happiness.”

“I do,” Lena agrees again. “But the good news is, I finally have people who let me believe that.”

“Good,” Lillian says breathlessly. “That’s... good.”

A long moment of silence passes between them.

“I believe you,” Lena admits finally. Her shoulders lift in a shrug. “I don’t know what that means for anything between us, but--- I believe that you’re not... yourself.”

Lillian nods carefully. “It’s hard to hear the things I did. It feels like some other person entirely. I know it’s not,” she says quickly, “not really. But... I want to be better than her. Than who I was.”

Lena looks at her carefully. This time, Lillian looks back, holding her daughter’s gaze.

“Will you help me?”

#brenda strong #good mom lillian #amnesia fic #angst #little bit of whump #at least i'm on brand #right?#based on that recent photo #couple posts back

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

Note

okay hear me out the cardigan, betty, august love triagle to reader x fred x angelina i've been thinking about it since folklore came

PROMPT: based on cardigan, betty, and august by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) Y/N and Fred see each other after 7 years and she finally lets him know that she knew that he cheated on her with Angelina all those years ago. (fred lives au lol)

also my submission for @wand3ringr0s3‘s 1.9k follower writing challenge!

“i knew it was too good to be true.”

“was in love with you. was.”

WC: 1.5K+

WARNINGS: infidelity, angst

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

cardigan x betty x august (f.w one shot)

“Why did you leave?”

You froze in your spot when you heard those words come out of Fred’s lips. The party behind the two of you was still in full swing— a party where his sister and her groom were celebrating their undying love for one another; Unbeknownst to them, just a few feet away, was the dying breath of another love.

You turned to face the man you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. You thought about the years you’ve wasted pining after Fred Weasley, dreaming of him like he was the one who put the stars in the sky. He was your safety blanket, one to cover you with a sense of comfort and belonging in a way that nobody was ever able to. He clouded your judgement until you didn’t know right from wrong anymore, and yet, not once did he take advantage of his hold on you— because he’s a good man.

And you hated it.

You hated how even though he was the same man who made you doubt in the power of love; even though he was the man who haunted you in your darkest hours; even though he was the man who laid beside a woman who wasn’t you, tangled in the white sheets while he was supposed to be devoted to you; you still knew he was a good man.

“You don’t get to ask me questions,” you breathed out, shutting your eyes tightly. You couldn’t look him in the eye, not while his eyes are flaming with anger and suffering.

“The hell I don’t!” he exclaimed, stomping over to you. His tone was harsh, but even that couldn’t mask the quivering of his words. “Why did you leave me?”

You finally opened your eyes, after feeling his breath tickling your skin, “You left me first, Fred.”

His eyebrows furrowed, genuine confusion evident in his features. Fred gulped, blinking a few times, not expecting that answer, “What are you on about?”

“Angelina Johnson.”

And just like that, Fred felt his knees grow weak.

His face paled, all color draining from his once red cheeks. He knows exactly what you were talking about. But he wished he didn’t.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice turning into a broken whisper, “I-I can explain.”

“No need,” you dismissed, staring at your feet. You kicked around the grass, sending small pebbles to ripple across the garden. “It’s been years, Fred. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Obviously, it does,” he insisted, stepping closer to you. He couldn’t help but shed a tear when you took a step back.

You shyly looked at your fingers, unable to look at him in the eyes once more. It has been seven years since you found him sleeping soundly beside Angelina Johnson, right before the war. You confessed your feelings for him a few hours before that night, even going so far as kissing him under the moonlight before you went off to fight in the battle of Hogwarts the next day. You didn’t speak to him the entire time and you left without another word once the war was over.

“Can we talk about this?”

“No, Fred,” you hissed, not even bothering to wipe the tears that were falling from your eyes, “Do you know how many times I’ve cried while we were still at Hogwarts because people would whisper about how bloody pathetic I am for being madly in love with you? You daft git! I would’ve done anything for you, Fred. Everyone but you could see that.”

You grimaced as you continued, “Do you know how it feels to confess your love for someone and then finding them in bed with another woman not even a day later? Do you know how it feels to lose your best friend and the one you love all in a blink of an eye?”

“Y/N, listen-”

“No, you listen,” you exhaled. In that small moment of silence, you faintly heard the crowd chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” and you felt so guilty having this conversation during two of your closest friends’ magical night. You looked at Fred, “I was so happy that night, you know? We’ve been best friends for ages before that and you always told me that I was deserving of love. I never believed you until that night because Merlin, if I’m deserving of Fred Weasley then maybe I am deserving of love.”

“You are,” he squeaked, trembling like your words were daggers stabbing him.

You ignored him, “I felt so stupid after seeing you with Angelina because then I knew it was too good to be true. I couldn’t even bring myself to confront you about it.”

“I-” you chuckled humorlessly, throat beginning to close up, “I wanted you, Fred. A-and obviously, you belonged to someone else and I just… I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t be here anymore! How I managed to still be friends with Ginny or visit Charlie in Romania when I was there for work— knowing full well that I saw you every time I looked at them— without bursting into tears, I don’t know! But I left for me, Fred. I needed to put myself back together again.”

“Y/N, if I had known you’re in love with me-”

“Was in love with you,” you corrected, although you didn’t know if what you were saying was the truth, “Was.”

He flinched but continued, “-was in love with me, then I wouldn’t hav-”

“Wouldn’t have fucked her?”

Fred faltered, your words twisting the knife that was already buried in his chest. He nodded sadly, “Yeah.”

“Fred, you would’ve done it anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t!” he pleaded, rushing over to you. “I wouldn’t because I was in love with you! I’m still in love with you! Had I known you weren’t just saying that because we were going into war, I swear Y/N things would’ve been so different.”

“Please save it,” you placed a hand on his chest, keeping him at arms distance.

He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips as he peppered kisses to your knuckles. His tears touched your skin, the warmth of it making you shudder. You pulled your hand that he held closer to you, wanting to feel him near you, even just for a moment. You watched in despair as he murmured apologies into your skin.

His eyes were closed, eyelashes touching the scar on the crease of your index finger. Fred looked at you through blurred vision, eyes red from crying and pleading. You couldn’t hear anything else but his sobs, the sounds from the wedding long forgotten. Fred whispered, not knowing if you were even listening to him anymore.

Please. Please. Please.

You stared at the boy in front of you in all his glory, vulnerable for you. Subconsciously you stroked his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, humming as he nudged his face into your touch. Fred’s bottom lip quivered, twisting his head to kiss your palm. He whispered again.

Please. Please. Please.

“Freddie,” you finally spoke. You felt his lips twitch to a smile at the way his nickname still sounded so smooth rolling off your tongue, so sweet like honey.

“Hm?”

“I want to forgive you.”

“So please forgive me,” he said so softly you almost didn’t catch it.

You pulled your hand away, holding it close to your chest. You stared at each other, taking in each other’s presence for the first time in seven years. He looked more mature. The years you’ve spent apart were kind to him. He looked more handsome than ever.

You stared at the scar on his eyebrow— the one that he got when he tried to teach you how to fly in your third year. You stared at his eyes— the same ones you used to dream about waking up next to in the morning. You stared at his lips— the ones that you had the pleasure to feel on yours on that forsaken night.

“I want to forgive you,” you echoed, allowing yourself to bask in his presence one last time, “But I can’t, Fred.”

Silence.

“You-” you paused, collecting yourself before continuing. You looked up at the sky briefly, letting out a shaky breath, “You broke me. I have spent years trying to fix myself. All those years apart, all I’ve done is try to forget you but you’re everywhere, Fred. You’re the person in my dreams and in my nightmares all together. Everything reminds me of you.”

“And I’d be lying to myself if I said I don’t love you because I do,” you confessed, now looking at him intently, “I fear that I’ll always love you. I fear that I’ll always be tied to you. I fear that you’re probably the love of my life and I hate the part of me that still hopes that you are.”

“Because if love is supposed to feel like this— if love is supposed to hurt like this— then I’d rather not love anyone for the rest of my life,” you began to quiet down, wiping the tears on your cheeks. You started to walk back to the party, deciding that you’ve missed too much of the night already, “It was good to see you, Freddie.”

Fred watched as you retreated back to the party, a fake smile plastered on your face. He stood there in the dark, crying silently and blaming himself for the mistake he made seven years ago, as he watched the love of his life give up on him.

tags: @rexorangecouny

#wand3ring1.9kchallenge #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #frances x taylor swift x harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x yn #fred weasley fanfic #frances writes #frances song fics

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 4 years

Note

By the end of avatar it's pretty clear that the gaang have no problem with/are friends with mai (suki playing pai sho with her, katara watching, sokka including her in his picture) so I was wondering how you think mai and the gaang's relationship developed from the coronation to the end scene

“This is Mai,” Zuko said. “My girlfriend.”

The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Right. Mai kind of wanted to die. They were just… staring at her. She hadn’t expected a positive reaction, by any means, but no reaction at all…? Ugh. Little was worse.

“It’s nice to officially meet you!” Aang said, giving her a bright smile. The rest of the group followed with tentative waves and a few nods in her general direction.

The awkwardness might have gone on another five minutes if she and Zuko hadn’t been asked for by an advisor, cutting her introduction short. Well, Zuko had been asked for, and he’d slipped his hand into hers before pulling her along. So she hadn’t been given much say in the matter.

“They’ll come around,” Zuko told her later, when they were lying in bed. “You’ll see.” He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “They took me in, after all.”

Mai wanted to believe him. “If you say so.”

Sokka was first.

Mai saw him struggling to walk down the steps of the palace, awkwardly attempting to maneuver his crutches but wincing every time his injured leg hit the ground.

“Let me help,” she offered, lifting his arm around her shoulders to help take the weight off his foot. Perhaps she should have waited for him to give confirmation, but in some ways Sokka reminded her of Zuko - rarely willing to accept assistance, even when he needed it. He let her take his crutches, though, and she interpreted that as a sign of silent cooperation.

Sokka gave her a crooked grin when they’d reached the foot of the steps. “Thanks.”

She nodded curtly, returning his crutches to him. “It was no trouble.” She turned to walk away, but stiffened and stopped in her tracks as Sokka placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I, uh… This is kind of random, but I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for - for what you did at the Boiling Rock.” Sokka cleared his throat. “For saving us. Me. My dad. Suki. Zuko.”

Mai winced at the memory. The despair, the rage Azula’s eyes. The paralyzing fear that had ripped through her chest when she’d watched her friend - if Azula could ever be called that - drop into her lightning stance. And yet…

She’d do it again. A hundred times.

“I don’t think you should be thanking me for doing the right thing,” Mai said as she slowly turned around. “For doing the bare minimum, really.”

Sokka laughed. “Maybe you’re right. But from what I’ve heard, treason against the Fire Nation isn’t usually considered the bare minimum.” He hesitated, then offered her a grateful smile. “I mean it, though. If you hadn’t saved us…” Something akin to grief flickered in his eyes. An expression that was a little more raw, a little more tired. “I can’t lose anyone else,” he finally said. “So thank you, Mai.”

Mai stared at him in perhaps more shock than was necessary, because Sokka laughed again.

“Can I hug you?” he asked. “It’s kind of an official thing to dub you as part of my friend group.”

Mai hesitated, but nodded, and Sokka shuffled forward to pull her into a brief, tight embrace that Mai was surprised to find herself returning.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a hugger,” she said after releasing him.

Sokka chuckled. “For a long time, I guess I wasn’t.” He winked at her. “But things change, right?”

She supposed they did.

Aang was second.

Mai wondered, perhaps, if he would have been first, had his duties as the Avatar not taken up so much of his time, especially in those first days after the war had formally ended.

“Hi, Mai!” Aang said cheerily, waving at her from atop his bison. “Want to take a ride on Appa with me?”

Mai glanced around her, as if someone else named Mai would appear from behind a pillar to take him up on his offer. When none did, she responded with a hesitant nod.

She wished Zuko was there.

“Do you need help getting up?” Aang asked as she walked towards him, pausing when she reached Appa’s side. “I can provide a boost if you need it.”

Mai raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk unwittingly inching onto her lips. “Could you provide a boost even if I don’t need it?”

Aang returned her smirk with a wide grin. “Your wish is my command, Lady Mai.”

Mai was mortified to admit that a startled yelp escaped her lips as Aang airbended her up and onto Appa’s saddle, but he didn’t comment on it. She supposed he was probably used to that sort of sound being an instinctive reaction.

“Ready?” Aang asked. He didn’t wait for her to respond before gently snapping the bison’s reins. “Yip yip, Appa!”

He reminded her of Ty Lee in that respect - never waiting for an answer unless one was truly required.

Appa roared and took off into the sky. Mai kept her eyes squeezed shut for longer than she’d care to admit.

After the initial anxiety of flying higher than she ever had in her life faded, Mai found herself relaxing into her seat on the saddle, one elbow resting comfortably on the edge. Aang chattered aimlessly about post-war plans, and Mai commented every now and then if his ramblings had to do with Zuko. It was… strange. Everything about Aang caused a tiny smile to rest perpetually on her face.

No wonder her boyfriend was so fond of him.

“Wanna go higher?” Aang offered at one point, an excited twinkle in his eyes.

Mai didn’t respond at first, staring upwards at the endless pink sky. “Can you take me into the clouds?” she finally asked.

Aang laughed. “Let’s find out!”

Katara was third.

“I told you, Zuko can’t see anyone right now!”

Mai paused upon hearing the irritation that drenched Katara’s voice. She’d just turned the corner into the hallway that Zuko’s room was off of, and, trusting her better judgement, chose to hang back.

Katara was staring down a tall man in formal robes - oh. Ew. Mai recognized him as one of Zuko’s more annoying advisors. Her boyfriend hated the man, too.

“Kata-”

“Master Katara.” She glared at the noble, and respect bubbled in Mai’s chest.

“Master Katara.” Mai relished in the discomfort of the man’s tone. “I understand that you wish to allow the Fire Lord as much rest as possible, but he has responsibilities he cannot abandon -”

“Zuko can’t fulfill those responsibilities immediately after a healing session!” Katara snapped. “How would you like if someone bandaged your broken arm and expected you to lift weights afterwards?”

The advisor stared at her in confusion. “But my arm isn’t broken.”

Katara placed her hand atop the flask that rested on her hip. “Not yet.”

Mai bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing as blood drained from the man’s face. He gave Katara a hasty apology and took his leave.

That interaction had certainly raised her spirits.

But no visitors…

Mai’s grip tightened on the ceramic plate in her hands. The cup of tea resting atop it quivered. If Katara said Zuko wasn’t seeing anyone at the time, then she would respect that decision. She was no exception to the rules just because Zuko was her boyfriend.

Besides, Zuko was probably fine. She didn’t need to check on him, she was just letting her worries get the best of her again -

“Mai?”

Mai blinked upon hearing her name called. Blood rushed to her cheeks when she realized it was Katara who had spoken. “Yes?”

Katara gave her a warm smile, gesturing towards the plate in her hands. “Is that for Zuko?”

Mai hesitated, but nodded. “Tea,” she explained briefly. “I… tried to make it like Iroh does.” She took a step backwards. “But I can bring it back later, after more time has passed -”

Katara laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Mai. Zuko would never forgive me if I didn’t let you in.” She tilted her head. “Besides. You know you’re always welcome.”

Mai’s grip on the plate slackened, and she found herself returning Katara’s smile.

Toph was fourth.

“Mai! Spar with me!”

Mai was startled by the sudden interruption, though years of practice prevented her from showing it. “Why?” She’d never been the earthbender’s go-to partner before.

“Because knives are made of metal,” Toph said, as if it should have been obvious. “I want to see if I can bend projectiles mid-air. Or at least better detect the path they’ll follow so I can earthbend a wall to block them.”

Mai raised an eyebrow. “And why would I agree to let you bend my knives?”

Toph grinned at her. “Who said anything about using yours?”

Mai’s eyes widened as Toph procured a large box from behind her back.

“We’ll practice with these. Don’t ask where I got them.”

Mai accepted the box from Toph, unable to stop the sharp gasp that escaped her lips as she admired the assortment of blades. “Alright,” she finally said, picking out a set of steel kunai. “I’ll spar with you. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

Mai spun one of the knives around her index finger. “Let me keep some of these when we’re done.”

Toph burst out laughing. “Oh, I knew I’d like you.” She smirked at Mai. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Suki was last.

They’d run into each other. Literally. Mai spilled all the papers she’d been holding, and Suki had immediately apologized before offering to help her sort back through them. She’d almost turned the girl down, but…

“I haven’t seen you much,” Mai commented as they were putting the documents into piles based on their contents. “Compared to the rest of Zuko’s friends, I mean.”

Suki shrugged. “I’ve been spending most of my time with Sokka and the Kyoshi warriors. We’re thinking about heading back home soon.”

Mai nodded. She placed a document about the differences between crowning a Fire Lord and a Fire Lady in its appropriate stack. She hesitated, then asked, “Does… Do you know if Ty Lee plans to go with you?”

Suki blew air out her lips. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think she wants nothing more than to get out of the Fire Nation, but there are other days where… where I don’t think she can imagine leaving you and Zuko behind.”

Mai’s heart seized in her chest. Spirits, she needed to talk to her friend. New responsibilities after the war had kept them apart more days of the week than Mai liked. “I see.”

Suki offered her a sympathetic smile. “Sorry I can’t be more specific. I think I just” - she shook her head - “I don’t know Ty Lee well enough yet to read her and her feelings. The other girls had a chance to connect with her in prison, but I’d already escaped the Boiling Rock and was on the run with Sokka at that point, so I just… don’t have the same level of experience with her yet.”

Mai clenched the scroll in her hand so tightly she was half-concerned she’d tear a hole through it. “Speaking of prisons…” She licked her lips, her mouth having suddenly gone dry. “I… I wanted to apologize,” she continued after a momentary pause. Mai didn’t like how her voice had dropped close to a whisper.

Suki tilted her head in confusion, though there was a keen recognition in her eyes that made Mai wonder if she was merely feigning puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“I attacked you and your - your kinswomen. When you were protecting Appa.” Mai smoothed the scroll across the table before placing it in its appropriate stack. She didn’t dare meet the warrior’s eyes. “We got you arrested and sent to the Boiling Rock. And - I know an apology doesn’t make up for that, but…” She forced herself to look upwards. There was no bitterness, no resentment in Suki’s gaze. It was kinder than she deserved. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve or expect your forgiveness, but - I’m sorry.”

Mai had hurt Suki the most among Zuko’s new friends. There was no changing that. And she knew she would never be able to make up for the months in isolation the girl had endured, either, no matter what she did. No matter how much she wanted to. Wished she could.

Mai didn’t blame her for staying silent.

Then Suki sighed, unfurling the paper in her hands. “I had mixed feelings about you. For a long time.” She skimmed something on the scroll before placing it aside. “On the one hand, you put me in prison. On the other…” She gave Mai a tentative smile. “You freed me from it.”

Mai’s heart skipped a beat. “That doesn’t make it fair -”

Suki laughed, cutting her off. “At this point, I don’t think ‘fair’ exists. Not after what all of us have been through.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “But like I said. I had mixed feelings about you.” She gave Mai a soft smile. “I know how Sokka thinks you’re the funniest person to walk the Earth since his father. How Katara lets you visit Zuko after their healing sessions, even though she’s probably not supposed to. And spirits, Mai, the way Zuko looks at you…” She shook her head, winking at her. “You won my friends over a long time ago. It was only a matter of time before you won me over, too.”

An unfamiliar warmth settled in Mai’s chest, and a tentative smile inched onto her lips. “Thank you.”

Suki waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it. And with you around, at least I won’t be the only sane person in our group anymore.”

Mai snorted, recalling an earlier incident of Sokka daring Zuko to eat raw tart batter while Toph egged them on. ‘Egged’ in two ways - both very different, but both equally frustrating. “Will that really make much of a difference?”

Suki snickered. “Maybe not for them, but…” She handed Mai a scroll to be placed on a stack too far for her to reach. “I think I’ll appreciate the company.”

Mai accepted the paper, and she smiled at Suki. “I think I will, too.” She placed the smoothed-out scroll in its appropriate pile. “Care to join me for a game of Pai Sho later?”

“Oh, count me in! That sounds like a great cooldown.”

Well… Mai wouldn’t describe Pai Sho in exactly that fashion. But she figured Suki would learn that on her own time, and chose not to comment. “I look forward to it.”

That night, Mai slipped into Zuko’s bedchambers under the cover of darkness, as she’d been inclined to do ever since his return to the Fire Nation. Zuko’s eyes lit up upon seeing her, and he moved to make room for her beside him on his bed. She sat down, and rolled her eyes but didn’t protest as Zuko wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her into his lap.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked, nuzzling his face into the back of her neck. He asked her the same question every night, and every night she told him the same answer - no. Then she’d gripe about whatever little thing had irked her over the course of the day. It was foolish, yet cathartic, and she knew Zuko didn’t mind. He probably found it entertaining.

“You know what?” Mai mused, thinking back to the mixture of glee and exasperation that had crossed Suki’s face numerous times during their earlier Pai Sho game. “I think I did.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow. “Wow. What happened?”

Mai shrugged. Five faces floated through her mind, all people she’d grown to care for over the past few weeks. People who’d grown to care for her in return. “Nothing special. Just… spent a little time with some new friends.”

Zuko chuckled, and she had a feeling he knew exactly the people she was referring to. “I’m glad to hear it.” He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Don’t kill me, but…” She didn’t need to turn around to know he was smirking. “I told you they’d come around.”

Mai groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

“Make me?”

She sighed, turning around so she could properly face her boyfriend. “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

(Mai made sure to silence him before he could answer.)

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rotshop · 3 years

Text

HELLO welcome to another thing i write on complete impulse with no planning other than Vibes

i refuse to proof read this sux to suck </3

2b likes to think he's a logical man. He likes to think that he's able to think his way through situations fairly well and that his judgement is trustworthy enough. He likes to think that he's educated enough to not have to worry about problems that're thrown at him too much.

You put that theory to the test.

It wasn't a surprise when he'd attacked you the moment he'd seen you, mistaking you for The Auditor. A part of his mind nagged that you were a touch too tall and it seemed like your licks and spines of shadows were much calmer, only a few sticking out from your figure. Yet the higher part of him threw that out, judgement deeming The Auditor had simply altered his form slightly. Yet, when you turned to him, unfazed by any of the bullets that simply went straight through you, holes being filled once more within milliseconds, he knew he was wrong.

He hated admitting he was wrong, some stubbornness mixed with a sensitive ego that he did his best to put on the back-burner preventing him from doing so. He didn't like when things didn't go to his way ; his vision. He liked to believe that he was smart enough to have control and some level of peace even though he knew he never would really have such things. Despite his stubbornness though, he knew he couldn't make an excuse to trick himself with this case.

While it was true that for the most part you resembled The Auditor in a near mirror image (with only a few notable differences), there was one big detail that you lacked. While Auditor's eyes served to be his one and only facial feature, you lacked any completely. You were one towering silhouette that light couldn't shed anything on, it made you impossible to not notice. It felt so wrong to look and just see nothing, it made something in his gut churn and twist together as a lifeline. He can't remember the last time he felt this much genuine fear.

There was a breath of silence, his own being held as he kept his gun trained on you while you stayed motionless. He could only imagine you were staring down at him, with what emotion or intonation was a complete mystery to him. It was driving him mad just how little wiggle room he had here and how little knowledge he could use here. He regretted walking into this building in search of supplies, he regretted turning the corner and causing as much noise as he did with the other bandits littering the structure.

Eventually, you cut through the tension that'd built up, taking one slow step and then another. It didn't take too long for him to notice the bulb above him flickering, him multitasking between glancing up at it in a mix of confusion and dry irritation while trying to keep you in his sights.

He felt his heart drop when he'd noticed what'd changed, what feature you'd suddenly gained. Teeth. They stood our against you with their blood red colour, impossible to not notice and for him to properly tear his eyes away from. They weren't some stereotypical shark's teeth, almost startlingly humanoid with the exception of how pointed your canines were.

He was so caught up in that detail that he failed to notice how you were circling around him, gaze never leaving ; like a starved wolf staring down a wounded deer. He'd attempted to take a step back, caught off guard when something caught him by the ankle, sending him to the ground. His pistol had fallen from his hand in the process with a clatter, him cursing quickly before reaching out to it.

He never got to make contact. It what felt like seconds you'd whipped it out of the way with a tendril, it hitting the wall with a harsh sound. You'd stopped your pacing, instead standing across from him wordlessly. He'd panicked further at that, making some sort of attempt to scramble up off the ground to no success. You ended up dragging him up off the ground, shadowy limb wrapped around his ankles tightly.

You seemed content enough with the irritation and fear clearly printed on his face as you sighed, leaning down till you were -presumably- at eye level.

"It's rude to attack someone you don't know anything about, you could end up getting yourself hurt."

That only provoked him further. He scoffed harshly, glaring at you as hard as he could manage with all the blood rushing to his head, "Getting myself hurt? That's a bold fucking comment from the one who's been toying with me for fuck knows how long now."

You tilted your head to the side and grinned (Or, at least, he assumed you did from how the molars at the ends of your mouth seemed to perk upwards a bit) , "It's not even been 10 minutes."

"That's not exactly helping your case."

You shrugged, straightening back out to your normal height, "I didn't come to make a case, sorry to disappoint. I was simply curious as to what was going on here."

He fixed you another look, curiosity creeping up despite the logic in his mind saying he should be furious. You only gave a quiet chuckle in response, beginning to pace around him once more as you continued.

"I guess that's not entirely helpful, is it? My apologies. I shouldn't be giving too much away on the first date," you grinned a bit again as he gave you another, weaker glare, "Buuut I'll say this. I've seen your little..group, for a while now. You're quite the bunch I must say."

"Can you cut to the part where you say you have to kill me or hold me hostage or whatever?"

You laughed, him blanking as something else twisted in him at the sound. He could see you shake your head a bit at that as you recollected yourself, "No, I'm afraid not. I don't have any intentions to hurt you or your friends. In fact, I'd rather prefer the opposite."

"You've all caused quite the ruckus around here, it's clear that there's a definite struggle of powers and balanced at play. Without a tragedy, nobody likes watching opera, without it it's just loud noise and shitty rich people who'll expire within weeks. So, I would like to make things more balanced, just so things are more 50/50," you continued.

"Right, and how exactly are gonna do that?"

You shrugged as you came back in front of him again, him having to crane his neck to look up at you properly, "Well, I was hoping you would be able to help me out with that. I can either just give a few little hints about things you would -no offense- take fucking ages to find or I could drop off supplies."

He'd paused for a few brief moments as he considered it. You were definitely something to keep a tab on in terms of you not selling them out or anything. While a part of him yelled to not trust you by any means or lengths, another insisted there wasn't any real maliciousness in your offer.

You tilted your head to the side once more, "So, do we have a deal?"

He stared for another few moments wordlessly, watching for any kind of tell or give that you were bluffing. Yet, as you simply looked back at him without much motion or any real sign of mal-intent, he realized it wouldn't work. So, after a hesitation he let out a small breath he didn't know he'd been holding onto.

"If you put me the hell down then yeah, sure."

#2bdamned x reader #madcom x reader #madcom imagines #madness combat x reader #madness combat imagines #idk maybe ill continue this and make it more obviously /r another time #gaslight gatekeep girlboss x manipulate mansplain malewife real #rot writes

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bordeleaubeau · 4 years

Text

idk you yet - luke hughes (part one)

wc: 2830

warnings: probably a few curses, i honestly can’t really remember:)

inspired by idk you yet by alexander 23.

---

how can you miss someone you’ve never met?

the words forming on luke’s arm startle him at first. there’s a tingling tickle-like feeling as each letter appears, but luke can barely believe his eyes. he was just about to turn seventeen and until that moment he had no sign of his soulmate whatsoever. but now? now he had proof on his arm that his soulmate was out there somewhere. that meant the boys could finally stop teasing him in the locker room about possibly not having a soulmate.

it felt like everyone around luke knew their soulmate was out there. it was such a rare possibility that someone didn’t have a soulmate - if their soulmate passed away, chances are they would too due to the pain from the loss. and, well, luke hadn’t died yet, so that was his only hope of his soulmate being out there.

the initial shock is soon replaced by pure adrenaline. luke can barely pay attention to what ever mrs. clemmens is writing on the board; all he can focus on is writing back to his soulmate. whoever she might be.

i don’t know you yet, but i need you. do you know how long i’ve waited to hear from you?

you’re smiling down at your arm - it was always a game whenever you’d finally be able to contact your soulmate. some were able to as soon as their fifteenth birthday, some couldn’t until their eighteenth. and well, if you hadn’t contacted them by then, there was some bad news to be delivered. but it was all a waiting game. the day you were able to contact them was supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life, but there was only one catch: your soulmate could be thousands of miles from you.

and what about me with you?

“mr. hughes!”

luke’s attention snaps to the front of the classroom, where the middle aged woman now has her hands on her hips staring at one of her best pupils. luke’s eyes are wide, the color draining from his face as each head of his classmates turn to look at him.

“care to share what’s gotten you so smiley, luke? or will you pay attention to my lesson for at least three seconds?” luke sputters for a few seconds, causing the woman’s eyebrows to spike up in question. “out with it.”

“i’ll, i’ll pay attention, mrs. clemmens.” the brunette finally manages to get out, sinking back in his seat. the color returns to his face, but this time it’s the same shade of red as the apple on mrs. clemmen’s desk. he didn’t want to leave her hanging, but he wasn’t going to risk getting in trouble again. he wasn’t going to out himself for finally finding his soulmate - and being one of the last in his grade to do so.

luke feels his phone vibrate in his sweatshirt pocket, and upon just the right moment he pulls his phone out to see tyler had messaged him.

tyler b: were you finally able to talk to her?

luke isn’t able to respond to tyler in fear that mrs. clemmens will have a few words for him, and surely enough he didn’t need to get into any more trouble with one of his teachers. one more write up and he was going to be benched for an entire month. so against his better judgement, he sticks his hands in his pockets and pays attention to the lesson going on. all while trying to ignore the tickle feeling on his hand.

“i can’t believe you were finally able to talk to him!” mal gushes, her eyes glued to your arm that had a mix of jet black and purple ink scrawled on it. there was game @7 written on your hand in purple ink, along with a star next to it. “how do you think tyler is going to react?”

your heart nearly drops in your chest. tyler. your boyfriend - of almost a year, in fact. in the midst of it all you seemed to of forgotten about him, your mind elsewhere, and it was on your soulmate. your soulmate that wasn’t him.

“i have to tell him, don’t i?” you look up at your best friend, eyes glossier than they had been seconds before. “mal, i dunno, i dunno if i can do that. tyler is- he’s so sweet. he’s gonna be crushed.”

“who’s gonna be crushed?”

speak of the devil.

tyler drops his bag on the floor, sitting down in the seat next to you like he always did in english class. mal notices the slight tension, turning back to face forward in her seat as she waits for class to begin. you take a quick breath, turning to your boyfriend, you grasp both of his hands in yours. “ty, i have to tell you something.”

tyler’s eyes glance down to your wrist, and only the slightest bit is showing from the sleeves of your sweater riding up, but he sees it. the black ink. “anything, y/n.” he clears his throat, pretending like he hadn’t seen anything at all.

“you’re not my soulmate.”

“i know.”

your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you watch as tyler slides up the sleeve of his hoodie. there are a few little sentences scrawled on his skin, ones that were clearly not on yours. you can’t quite find the words to say. your mouth opens and closes a few times before finally, you’re stumped, and you sit back in your seat with your eyebrows furrowed. you let go of his hands, your own falling into your lap.

“how long?” you finally manage to muster out, meeting his regretful eyes. he had reassured you multiple times that he hadn’t heard from his soulmate yet, but you should’ve gone against your better judgement when he was suddenly wearing long sleeves all the time. and it wasn't just for the winter, you now realized.

“about, about three months.” he notices the look on your face, and just like moments before he takes your hands in his. “y/n, just because you aren’t my soulmate doesn’t mean i never loved you. i still do love you. i just-”

“it’s okay, i get it.” you cut him off, pulling your hands away from his. “it’s okay, ty. i just wish you would have told me sooner, that’s all.” your voice trails off to a whisper. tyler grabs your hand once more, and he presses a kiss to the back of it.

“friends?” he asks, and when you nod your head, he presses another kiss to your skin before releasing his hold on your hand. you have to swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. of course you were upset - you had every reason to be. but you weren’t expecting to be this upset, and you also weren’t expecting tyler to say he already knew the two of you weren’t soulmates.

the english period seems to drag on and on, and after what feels like two hours the bell rings. “walk with me to lunch?” you hear the brunette next to you speak, and you find yourself nodding. “y/n/n, please, talk to me. i hate when you’re mad a me.”

“i’m not mad at you, ty. i promise you that. i just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” tyler gives you a tight lipped smile, and before the two of you can start to walk to the cafeteria, tyler pulls his hoodie off, revealing his inked arm. it’s a pang to the heart, but you know that you’ll get over it eventually. “what’s she like?” you ask quietly, the two of you starting the few minute trek across the school.

“she’s, she’s really nice. she’s pretty, too. i follow her on instagram, actually. her name is gabby.” tyler glances over at you a few times as he speaks, and you can only find yourself to be nodding along to his words. “i know she’s my soulmate and all, y/n, but she isn’t you.”

you stop in your tracks, causing tyler to turn around to look at you. “don’t. don’t say that. she’s your soulmate, and i’m not, for a reason, tyler boucher. don’t say that about her. i’m sure she’s lovely, and she’s everything that i can’t be for you.”

“i’m sorry i just-” tyler cuts himself off with a sigh, going to reach for your hand but he stops halfway. “i wanted it to be you. i thought it was you. and then one day, i had writing on my wrist, and i looked at yours and it wasn’t there. i know that’s supposed to be one of the happiest days of our life, but it was one of the worst for me. because i wanted it to be you, y/n. so bad.”

to say the least, the two of you were pretty much the ‘it’ couple. your entire friend group adored you both, and you were the first girl that the boys allowed over when they all hung out - but only occasionally. it was never an all the time thing, which you understood. but still, you and tyler had been through a lot together for not even being together a year.

“it all happens for a reason,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes as your feet start moving again, and tyler is following after you, quickly matching your pace. “i just, i don’t know, tyler. there’s not much we can do about it and that’s fine.”

“you’re right.” the brunette mumbles, head hanging in despair as you walked down the steps to go into the cafeteria. the rest of the walk between the two of you is silent, but a comfortable one.

the lunch table you, tyler, all of the boys, mal, and a few other girls came into view. and as soon as they realized tyler wasn’t wearing his sweatshirt and his arms were fully exposed, along with the pen ink and the looks on your faces, they all knew. they knew that you finally knew.

the conversations going on didn’t completely stop, but they quieted down for a few brief moments when you and tyler took your usual seats. you try to avoid the eyes of your friends, but it’s nearly impossible. your eyes catch luke’s, and he’s giving you the puppy dog eyes from the other side of the table.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, and all you can do is shake your head ever so slightly. “oh, y/n.”

luke wants to reach across the table and grab your hands, but he wants to save himself from the teasing he’s sure he would get from the boys if they saw the girly handwriting on the back of his hand. “i’ll be alright, lu. promise.” you give him a reassuring smile, but of course he doesn’t believe it. not in the slightest.

“are you still gonna come to our game tonight?” tyler asks quietly from your right side, and when you turn to look at him he’s already looking down at you. if this was yesterday, you would’ve leaned up the three inches and kissed him.

“of course i’m gonna.” you say, eyes glancing down to his lips but you quickly turn away to look down at your hands. “there’s no where else i’d rather be, ty. besides, luke is still my best friend and i still have to support him.”

luke sends you a smile from across the table, one that makes you smile right back at him. for majority of the lunch period, everyone leaves you alone to wallow in your own sadness. even luke couldn’t cheer you up, and that was something. you know you shouldn’t be this upset - this happened to like, every couple that dated before finding their soulmate. but for some reason you thought you and tyler were the exception.

another period drags on, and after what feels like forever you find yourself getting up from your designated lunch spot. luke stands, waiting for you to walk to the other side of the table so the two of you can go to art class together. “see you boys tonight,” you call over your shoulder, tearing your eyes away from tyler, and walking away hearing the boys responding saying they’ll see you later that night.

“rant. cry. do whatever you have to do.” luke says, glancing over at his best friend that looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. luke had been waiting all day to tell you that he had finally heard from his soulmate - but as soon as he saw the look on your face he held back. he didn’t want to rub it in when you had just found out about tyler. the biggest secret he had ever kept from you.

“i just,” you purse your lips, eyes locked straight forward to avoid looking at him. “i just wish he would’ve told me. the last few months of our relationship feel like a complete lie.”

“y/n, tyler absolutely adored you. he still adores you. he never even stopped. and i can tell you for a fact that he still loves you. he’s always talking about you - he was talking about you when we were in second period today!” luke exclaims, and finally you look over at him. “i can promise you, y/n, it was not a lie, it never was.”

you can only shake your head, bottom lip between your teeth as the tears well up in your eyes. “it was supposed to be him, lu. ty and i have talked about our entire future together because we swore we were gonna end up being soulmates.”

“maybe you are soulmates,” luke says, holding open the door of the art room for you. “it’s just, not in the way you’d prefer. ty and you are soulmates, but just not romantically. do you get what i’m saying?”

“i guess.” you sigh, luke following into the classroom after you walk in. his heart yearns for you - he wants to lift up his sleeve and show you the purple ink, but he can’t bring himself to do that.

later that night you find yourself getting ready for tyler and luke’s game, trying to decide between the 13 or the 6 jersey - jerseys the two boys had fought numerous times over which one you would wear. once tyler found out luke had given you one of his old jerseys he had outgrown, he was immediately giving you one of his as well. that was even before you and tyler were dating - he always had the biggest crush on you.

which was why he was sitting in his stall, head in his hands wondering where he had went wrong.

“ty, buddy, what’s going on?” dylan asks, noticing the brunette that has his head hung. immediately, tyler lifts his head and dylan’s eyes widen. “you look like shit, dude.”

“i feel like shit,” tyler grumbles, slowly moving to tie the laces of his skates that he always saved until the very end of gearing up. he catches a glimpse of the ink on his arm and he grimaces, wishing he could just wiped away at his skin and everything would disappear. that everything would be okay.

luke catches the eyes of his best friend and he frowns seeing the hurt in his eyes. “are you still upset about y/n?” he asks cautiously, fingers working at his laces, eyes barely glancing back up to tyler.

“yeah, i am actually. i know i don’t really have a right to be upset and all, but it still feels wrong. we went through a lot together, it just doesn’t feel real that we aren’t really soulmates. that the . girl i was practically in love with since i got here isn’t my soulmate.” tyler shakes his head as he spills his feelings for the day out. he couldn’t wait until he got to step onto the ice and forget about the day’s events.

until he saw you sitting in your normal seat, and instead of the number 13 jersey, you were wearing the one with the 6, and the seven letter last name on the back was now one letter shorter.

“oh fuck me,” tyler grumbles, and you’d be lying if you said your heart strings didn’t tug seeing him step out onto the ice. if the two of you had only been dating for two months rather than almost a year, maybe you would’ve felt different about the situation. but that was tyler. your tyler. or rather, gabby’s tyler now.

“y/n?” bella asks from besides you, trying to tear your sad eyes away from the brunette. when you finally do and look over at one of your best friends, she sees your teary eyes and her face softens. “oh, y/n/n. you’re taking this hard, aren’t you?”

“i don’t want my soulmate if it isn’t tyler.”

#luke hughes #jack hughes #tyler boucher #ntdp #usntdp #hockey #fuck the NHL #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic

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