#it feels like in the last week it’s been so bad!!! cannot block and report them fast enough!!

[geryone]

anyone else getting a huge influx of spam blogs following them

[paintbrush-kinnie]

uh. hi. it's been a bit.

for the longest time, i've been, to put it bluntly, fucking terrified to actually talk about the situation that happened & take accountability for it. i was scared that if i did, i would only make the situation worse. but i've realized that nobody owes me forgiveness, and that if i don't say something, i'll be stuck digging myself into a pit of self pity.

i'll start off with this: i treated willow like absolute shit. i,,, don't know why, honestly. i was getting unreasonably upset with someone who did nothing wrong. at this time, i was being groomed, and my groomer happened to be convincing me that willow was bad & evil, when she really wasn't. i'm not gonna fault my groomer & only my groomer though, because i was the one who decided to lash out.

i shouldn't have passed around screenshots of the conversation, either. i found the conversation i was having with friends during my other conversation with willow funny, and i thought it would be okay to share out of context. it really wasn't though, it was just getting people involved with a stupid argument & making them uncomfortable.

if i remember correctly, i was also getting flamed for lesbophobia & racism, which is... honestly, still really confusing? the person i was trying to report to willow was lesbian iirc, but i didn't bring their sexuality into the conversation. like. at all. i think the racism comments also came from me assuming this person was white, which they weren't. i will own up to this, though. i am white, & i live in an area with mostly white people. i didn't remember this person ever stating their race, so i assumed they were white. that was just ignorant bias on my part, and i apologize for making that assumption.

and, last thing i wanna mention- i believe i was being accused of ableism too, and i wanna explain where i think that accusation came from. an old friend of mine, retro, is a system. when i learned this information, i basically knew nothing about systems & didn't bother learning. i had made retro uncomfortable with comments i made, and they broke ties with me because of that.

i fully deserved retro blocking me. i never bothered to learn about systems at that time, and i never bothered asking. it was incredibly shitty on my part, and i should've educated myself. i've been questioning if i'm a system, too, which makes me feel even worse about my comments.

overall, i was just... really dumb throughout this entire drama. i had the chance to make it better & explain myself, but i take it out of fear. i can't go back and change my actions, but i've been working on changing myself & growing. i've learned a lot since this whole thing started, and i hope to no longer dwell on this part of my past that i've thought about far too often. i'm sorry, and i know i cannot force any of you to forgive me.

i will not be coming back to this account, nor will i be sharing the current tumblr that i use. i intend on deactivating this account soon, but i'm. not too sure when. i'll probably still keep it up for a week or two, idk for certain. again, i'm sorry. to willow, retro, and anyone else i've hurt & upset. i hope to leave this bit of my past behind, and i hope that gives closure to the drama that happened. i don't expect to be able to reconnect with any of my old mutuals, and i don't really intend on interacting with them, either.

i'm glad that i was able to make friends through this account. i really needed it, considering my mental space at the time. if you've read this far, thank you, and bye. i'll be signing off now- hopefully for the last time.

[thessalian]

Thess vs A Really Bad Day

A brief synopsis of today:

Typing Queue: *nearly 400 dictations long because techs came in at the weekend*

Typing Queue: *additionally, five massively long dictations left for me to deal with because cherry-picking*

Scruffman: Hey, could you send these reports to this bunch?

Me: [sending] Here are the reports we had available; please note that one of these hasn’t been authorised yet.

This Bunch: YOU FORGOT ONE; PLEASE SEND IT.

Me: As per my previous email*, that one was not authorised so I cannot send it.

As Per My Previous Email: *shorthand for “CAN YOU NOT FUCKING READ?!?”*

Scruffman: Oh, hey, [Violet] made a mistake and ticked this one report as done without typing it last week; can you do this one?

This One Report: *is nine minutes long*

Me: *yelling at my walls about why the fuck he didn’t get Violet to fix her own fucking mistake*

This One Report: *is long and complicated and a mess, and also skips around eight different places because dude kept adding shit mid block key*

Me: *FINALLY manages to get through the long complicated drawn-out bullshit and get a bit more shit done*

Temp: *literally takes one long bit of dictation from three hours ago OUT OF HER OWN QUEUE and leaves it at the top of the dication queue for me to deal with*

Temp: *also cherry-picks the easier bits of typing and leaves me with the one with the complicated dictations that someone did on a really bad microphone*

Me: *didn’t even have time to deal with those because of the one from three hours ago*

Typing Queue: *is still nearly 400 dictations long*

If the techs are going to keep coming in at weekends, we need more staff. I am in so much pain. Clearly the extra five hours a week were a mistake, but I can’t take them back now, not only because I need the money but also because I am clearly needed, but I am not enough. We are swamped. We went from comfortably staffed to understaffed because of the two people who left and were never replaced, and we can’t go on like this. But Scruffman doesn’t seem to care, so what the fuck do I know?

And I swear if they all keep dumping the long complicated bullshit on me with no consideration for the fact that I am doing the lion’s share of it, I am going to have a nervous breakdown.

...Does this earn me takeaway curry? I should cook but I think this earns me takeaway curry. Eh, I’ll see how I feel in an hour or so, once there have been meds etc.

[emeraldbabygirl]

BIG TW

Sometimes I go, so I deleted the twitter app so I wouldn’t get notifications and wouldn’t be tempted to go into the app and see things I didn’t want to see on Moonbin and I’ve been trying to avoiding going on insta cause a lot of his friends are posting goodbye messages and things and it just is really hard to see so I thought YouTube was okay but I keep scrolling down too far and see something I wish I hadn’t. So if you do my want to read this scroll past it cause I just want to get it out but I don’t want to bother any of my friends who might be sleeping with this and O just don’t want to bring up Moonbin with them cause it’s really hard to talk about him still tbh I’m trying to block him out cause every time I think about him or see a fun lil silly video on him I get sad all over again like I cannot imagine losing someone so close to you. I’ve lost a lot of pets and my step grandpa passed awhile ago but I wasn’t really upset about it and the pets I don’t think can compare to losing a brother, a son, a friend bit anyway … last week I think idk idk how long it was I saw some video about the manager or someone who found Moonbin and I made a post I think talking about how the thumbnail really bothered me and it’s still burned in my brain I wish I could get rid of it but then I saw comments that were speculation that Moonbin died of a heart attack and that, despite it being still bad it made me feel a little better that it was a physical health problem and not a mental health one but then as far as the way everyone is talking about him and the letters the members wrote it seems like maybe it was him taking his own life and it’s so crazy how some people can really be strong enough to do that whatever method the use cause geez there’s so many and each one is horrible but some just seem so much more heartbreaking and hard to understand how and why someone would do that. Then there was the Blitzers thumbnail for the new mv that bothered me and I wish wuzo would change it especially since it came out like a day or two after Moonbin passed and now I see some video talking about his autopsy and just seeing and hearing about Moonbin and autopsy in the same fucking sentence doesn’t sit with me it doesn’t feel right it still I still can’t believe he’s gone and every time I read anything at all about him leaving I wish it was a dream cause it’s just not fair. It’s not fair that he had to leave so soon and it’s not fair that sua will never see him again and it’s not fair that his parents and family and friends will never see him again. It said in the thumbnail “he didn’t want to go” but what does that mean? That’s makes it sound like he didn’t want to go like to the store or to the whatever who words something like that if someone kills themself? They didn’t want to go where?

I haven’t cried as much as I was the last time was Tuesday cause I saw the pictures of all the nesquick chocy milk path in front of the building and tonight but I just keep seeing that lil face of his, he’s half moon eyes and his lil smile and every time I look at the moon at work I just think of him and become delusional thinking he went to the moon like people used to say. But when I see his lil face I can’t imagine being a parent and losing a child and seeing them, I can’t imagine his parents and poor sua his little sister seeing that face with no color and just a lifeless body in a casket and having to say goodbye to him and hearing and seeing news articles or reporters trying to invade your privacy and making things worse and not letting your family have some sort of peace so they can grieve without being constantly reminded that your child is gone and I just can’t understand why people just want to end everything and I don’t understand how anyone could have the guts to do something like that. Like maybe if you were doing something that was fast and easy and painless but what if Moonbin was in pain and crying and screaming for help in his last hours and no one was there for him. He was all alone and I don’t understand why. I can’t stop thinking about how he was alone, if though he had so many friends and everyone loved and appreciated him and other idols looked up to him but he was alone he still felt alone and idek how he felt cause I’m not him but what if he regretted it after like what happens if someone say they take pills so them can just fall asleep what happens if they’re alone and they start to panic and regret what they did and they can’t get help cause they’re all alone and they’re scared and their mind is racing or or they really just completely calm and content with leaving and not saying goodbye to anyone. Maybe that’s why the Oneus mv set me off like they’re so calm and stuff until the very last moments where they realize what’s happening and they can’t stop it. I wonder if some people think that or if they are just emotionless and ready to leave everything behind not knowing if there is an afterlife or anything like that.

And I know so many people have said that Moonbin would want us to be happy and remember the happy memories and share happy things and things like that and yeah that’s a lot better than bawling your eyes out everyday and wishing for things that can’t happen but it’s not easy to only think of happy times and stuff after losing a loved one. I have laughed and smiled and stuff after Moonbin left but I’m still being reminded that he’s not around and that’s not something I want to think about. I can’t even bring myself to fully accept even typing that he’s the ‘d’ word cause I don’t want to it feels wrong to say it. Saying that he left to another world and he’s “in a better place” sounds nicer than saying he passed. I remember when I saw the article and it said something along the lines of “fantagio entertainment confirms moonbin’s passing” and at first I was literally “passing of what?” And then the comments made me realize he died and then I went to the group chat and literally asked if it was a joke. I remember when Jonghyun died and I didn’t react until weeks later, like maybe you stop breathing for a bit or you just freeze cause you’re so shocked and you do my know how to react, how does anyone react to that. Imagine his family and group members reacting, I mean Eunwoo was over here in the states for Coachella having fun imagine the emotional shock of having fun and being happy to getting hit with the news that your fellow group member and friend is dead. And his parents and sua like how do you even react to that? Like some people maybe don’t react at all cause they just don’t believe it and then you start to realize that it’s actually real and you can’t understand and don’t want to believe it. I wonder if they tried to call him or tried to reach him thinking he’d pick up. I can’t imagine if I tried to call my brother or if I came home one day and he was not alive because what do you do in that situation? It seems like it would be easier to understand the concept of someone having a heart attack or they got killed than them killing themselves. It’s so hard cause I’ve gotten mad at my brother sometimes if he says anything about wanting to kill himself and I’ve just been so upset with him that I wonder if sua just feels upset and is maybe even mad at Moonbin. It not what, I mean you shouldn’t be mad at someone if they don’t want to live you should just be gentle and let them know that you’re there for them but sometimes I have gotten so mad at my brother sometimes because I just think he’s so selfish and stupid for wanting to kill himself and it makes me so mad and Idk how I would act if he ever did that and it’s not fair cause people will mental illness and depression they suffer and life is hard enough as it is but having that on top of everything else is no walk in the park and if they’re suffering everyday and just can’t take it anymore you shouldn’t be mad at them but it’s so hard not to be if you think they just gave up and then that doesn’t help you feel better it just makes everything worse.

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 7: This WEEK

I know I say this every week, but this week has been so brutal and I don’t even know how I’m supposed to get over it. It’s mostly the heat and how I’ve just completely given up trying to live a normal human life in temperatures like this, like I am just putting in zero effort here, but it’s not just that. People who think that the weather matters to them but it actually doesn’t because they never go outside are also reporting a this is just A WEEK feeling. (In the words of one co-worker, in response to a comment about it basically being like Friday now, “It’s been Friday since last week.”)

Here’s some stuff that’s happened:

Bicyclist passed too close to me on the law school path (not as bad as other bike incidents in the past but I mentioned it after it happened so it’s become lore)

Co-worker had a weird animal encounter at home, I think geese

Large cockroach in TS

Youths in the library, whose adventures include: attempting to solicit people for cheerleading money donations; using cleaning fluid to spray paint dongs on the microfiche reader; not hearing the get-out announcement and thus toeing the line of actually leaving on time

Really just a whole saga about the youths

Another last minute circ position interview and drama surrounding it

40-45 minute fire drill

Three straight work days of heat index 100+ degree temperatures

Missed my bus and had to spend more time in the 100+ degree heat

Also I missed the bus because I was at the stop at the usual time/on the early side and it was somehow even earlier than that (making me wonder if it missed the whole loop to be honest), and the next loop it was erring toward late and today it was a solid 10 minutes late so what is the truth

Le Grand Piano

Cupcake staff birthday party (this isn’t a bad thing but we did talk a lot about public transportation and sometimes the work-socializing does overwhelm me)

Local attorney called again asking about the book he wants to take out of our trash and my supervisor got so mad about it she was fuming and threatening to rescind her nice deed (offering him the book) to his FACE

Main campus library announced it wants to put a purchase request button the shared Primo homepage, and this news was shared at like 3:45 in the afternoon and immediately sparked a Teams firestorm. Which I’m sure will continue tomorrow as I wade into it

I found out that if you search my co-worker’s name in google images you’ll find 2 photos of him working at another library in his 20s and I shared these with B and his response was “wtf he’s hot.” And now I can’t unsee it

Apparently all the journal staff are incompetent this year and it’s causing some drama

I’ve become obsessed with figuring out if the new Starbucks is open (want that PSL lol) and I just cannot tell. The construction gate is gone but yesterday the entrance was blocked by a line of chairs? Today it was not blocked but it looked dark and abandoned inside? The only news about it is from Dec/Jan talking about how it had a tentative start date of “late summer” and it’s impossible to just search for the address because it’s the second one on the same road (it’s a long road).

…That actually is objectively kind of a lot.

I’m in such a deep hole, I’m not sure how to climb out of it and feel like a normal person again.

[captains-simp]

hey! so i love wanda and i was wondering if you could write one kind of enemies to lovers or something like that where reader and wanda don't get along well, jealous scene or maybe a very suggestive fight. very angst but happy fluffy ending please

Enemies to lovers owns my whole gay heart and I CANNOT write it without there being sexual tension so xksksjsks smut alert

@g-cordelia hope it's okay to combine your request with this too so there's a healthy dose of angst and fluff with it

"Please don't go."

"Don't you fucking lie to me."

Warnings: choking, fingering, spanking, strap on sex, mentions of oral and hints at mild injury

6k words

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Your actions jeopardised the whole mission." Steve said sternly before raising his voice when he saw he received no reaction from you or the redhead. "Whatever is going on between you has to stop!"

"You say that like it's ever been any different." Natasha added.

The pair that usually felt like the protective big brother and sister of the team where acing the role of disappointed parents. Admittedly that did make you feel bad, but Wanda showed no signs of giving an apology and you would be damned if you did first.

Natasha and Steve waited for any kind of response from either of you and got nothing. You and Wanda continued to glare at each other from opposite sides of the table, your stubnorness stopping either of you from looking at the two standing at the head of the table.

"Just write up your reports." Steve sighed, giving into the tension of the room before anyone else. If it had been just you, Wanda and Natasha there was no telling how long you'd be in there.

You both got up from the table at the same time, still refusing to break eye contact.

"Y/n stay behind a minute." Oh so they're switching it up to disappointed teachers now. Your attention fell to Steve in a look of confusion although that didn't mean you missed the smirk that played on the corner of Wanda's lips. You cursed her like a sailor in your head and hoped she heard but her back was to you and she was strolling out the room.

"I thought you guys were getting better." Steve sighed as he leant against the table.

"We were when we didn't have to talk to each other." You said honestly. There had been a few weeks prior where you and Wanda had had no missions together and therefore had no reason to talk or train with one another.

"You can't resort to avoiding each other as a way to solve your problems. All that does is make things escalate even more when you're actually together which will inevitably happen. Because believe it or not you two are on the same side and have to act like it." Natasha said sternly. You stared down at the table and thought about how how her words were. But it wasn't like you had that warning before.

When the pair infront of you knew you weren't going to say anything in response Steve filled the silence once again. "You're both suspended from missions until you can learn to work together." He decided.

"What?!" You cried as you snapped your head towards them and stood up. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly." Natasha said. You looked frantically between the two in disbelief.

"Alright." You said finally and clenched your jaw. You turned around and left the room without objection from the two Avengers, heading straight towards Wanda's room.

You never really knew why you and Wanda never got on. Maybe it was because she reminded you so much of the popular girls in high school you always envied while wanting them in your bed...no, it definetly couldn't be that. You just didn't know what.

It didn't take long to get there when you were walking like you were out for blood, that wouldn't be an unexpected result of what you planned. You banged on her door several times in a closed fist so it didn't take her long to answer.

She looked concerned when she opened the door and as soon as she realised it was you that same smirk from the meeting room fell back into place.

"Did they ground you?" She asked as she leant against the doorframe.

"Suspended." You spat. A shit eating grin started to appear but you wiped that off her face instantly. "Both of us."

"What the fuck? I didn't-"

"Yes you fucking did and now I'm paying for it too. You wanna know the best part? We can't go back in the field until we can work together nicely." You said bitterly.

"Why don't they just keep us on separate missions?"

"You can go ask them that later. Right now we're training." You said simply and you grabbed her forearm and pulled her out of her room down the corridor.

"We just got back." Wanda argued but followed you anyway after slapping your hand off her.

"Not prepared to put the work in, witchy?" You mocked, not looking at her as you marched through the compound.

"Don't call me that?" Wanda warned as she kept your pace.

"What are you gonna do? Read my mind?" You continued to taunt as you arrived in the gym and made your way to the mats.

Wanda put her red jacket on the floor and stepped away to take up her position as she eyed you. "I could snap all your bones into pieces so small they could be mistaken for ash." Wanda said stoicly.

"I don't think that's gonna get you another mission." You replied calmly, knowing that while there was a truth to Wanda's words she would never give you more than a split lip or bloody nose in the worst training sessions.

"Don't be a smartass y/n, it doesn't suit you." Your jaw clenched at her words.

Without warning, the entirety of your right arm lit up in flames and was aimed at Wanda in an instant.

You sent a wave of fire her way that she swiftly engulfed in her powers and sent back towards you. She looked less than impressed from your warningless attack.

"That was tacky." She said.

"I know, seemed fitting for you." You grinned but stopped when the red mist surrounded your body and lifted you into the air before a larger wave of fire was sent hurtling down to the redhead. The wall of fire blocked her view of you and subsequently dropped you to the ground as she dealt with the flames.

As soon as you landed and the fire parted you sent another blast Wanda's way only for her to do the exact same thing. You both ducked at the same time, your powers hitting opposite walls and leaving marks Tony would be on your asses about when he found out.

Wanda was clearly thinking the same thing. "We can't use our powers in an enclosed space, especially not yours." She said, her accent thickly woven into her voice.

"Okay then, let's see if Natasha's lessons have paid off." You said as you raised your fists and got into your defensive stance. Wanda mirrored you the way she had been taught and narrowed her eyes.

"They definelty have." She insisted as her eyes flickered over your form to try and identify your weak points already in a very obvious way.

"Just try to keep up." You mocked and swiftly moved to swipe her legs out from under her but she was surprisingly prepared. She jumped up to avoid your attack and kicked her leg out mid air and landed it on the center of your chest. You stumbled back in shock while Wanda looked very proud of herself. The last time you saw Wanda train it was clear she wasn't familiar with close range hand to hand combat. You hadn't expected her to improve so significantly in such a short amount of time.

You gritted your teeth and went for her stomach this time which she easily avoided but wasn't expecting another attack to follow so quickly. She blocked the continuous blows from you until you saw your moments and kicked one of her legs out from under her. Your mistake was thinking you succeeded the moment she was down because she spun around and kicked both of your legs out. You caught yourself partly as Wanda stood up so you were on kneeling.

Wanda's smirk was quick to take place when she saw your position, not missing the opportunity. "You look good when you're on your knees." She quipped.

Your eyes widened at her boldness and a heat rose up your neck that you knew wasn't your powers. You rolled back on the balls of your feet and swiftly stood up to look anywhere but the smug redhead infront of you.

"No snarky remark for that?" She challenged and you charged at her again. Anger feuled your attacks making them miscordinated and all round bad.

"Shut the fuck up, Maximoff." You huffed and made her grin even more at the clear signs that she was getting to you.

One of your punches was pushed to the side and Wanda took the chance to show you just how much she had learnt from Nat. You weren't entirely sure how she even did it it was so quick. Your arm was outstretched behind your back painfully due to Wanda's unrelenting grip on it and made it that much easier to push one of your legs down onto the floor. She held you like that for longer than necessary, soaking up the view of you struggling in her grasp.

"Get off." You snapped and winced when she pulled your arm back more.

"What's the magic word?" She teased.

"Now." You demanded. She tutted and pulled harder. "Maximoff!" You ordered through the pain. She leaned down beside you as her voice dropped to a low whisper.

"Beg." It was one word but you couldn't deny the effect it had on you. It was as though her light breath on your ear shot throughout your body and settled in a place you really didn't want it to.

You were about to object and tell her to stop being a bitch but her grip tightened and she pulled to a point where you thought your arm might just snap off under any more pressure.

"Please." You cried through gritted teeth. She instantly let go all too quickly and you collapsed onto the mat on your front. You heard her chuckle menacingly but cut herself off when Nat appeared in the doorway.

"We told you to write up your reports, not train." Natasha scolded as she watched you massage your shoulder and glare at Wanda.

"Sorry, just got a bit carried away." Wanda smiled, her innocent and sweet act that she put up for everyone except you returning. "Y/n's had enough now anyway." She smirked to herself.

"Fucking psycho." You muttered loud enough for her to hear but not Nat. Her jaw visibly clenched from that making you revel in the small victory as you finally got up from the mat.

"Just get on with the reports." Nat sighed and turned to leave as Wanda called out.

"On it."

"Aww, you trying to be a good girl, Maximoff?" You mocked as the pain subsided and your need to overrule what had happened came through.

"I don't have the time to stress over that, not when I'm busy putting brats in their place." Wanda said as she advanced towards you with a look you had only ever seen aimed at those you were fighting against.

"What?" You whispered as you backed up and felt your back hit the wall. Wanda's hand came up suddenly and wrapped itself around your throat firmly and cut off your breathing. Your eyes widened as you grabbed at her hands but she didn't budge. She looked amused at your efforts as her head tilted slightly to the side.

"And you certainly need to learn your place." She took her hand away and left you gasping for air for a split second before grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the gym.

You stumbled a little as you tried to keep up with Wanda's long strides you could usually match. Your whole body was already trembling in anticipation, more so by the tension filled silence between you both as you travelled through the compound and ended up outside the redhead's room.

She opened her door and shoved you into her room swiftly. You didn't have much chance to take in your surroundings because the Sokovian gripped the back of your neck and forced you to lay on your stomach on her bed.

She made quick work of your clothes, discarding them to some soon forgotten about corner.

You turned your head to the side and gripped the sheets as you felt Wanda's slim fingers trialing up the back of your thighs before she gripped them roughly and forced them apart and lifted your lower half up. Her fingers returned and glided along your drippikg folds, collecting your arousal as she reveled in the effect she had on you.

"What was it that made you this wet, slut? Was it being on your knees for me? Begging me? Or did you enjoy the pain? I bet you enjoyed me choking you too." She chuckled darkly and didn't wait for you to respond.

She slipped two fingers inside your soaking cunt without warning making you gasp out in pleasure. Her fingers curled inside you beautifully, brushing some kind of nerve ending every second they were buried inside you. She had you a moaning, quivering mess in no time.

"Wanda...fuck! Right there, oh God!" She snickered against your skin as she worked her fingers expertly. Even then she wanted to test you. Well it was more that she was setting you up for failure.

"Shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear another sound from that whiny mouth." She ordered and you couldn't help but shiver from her dominant nature.

Of course it didn't last long. Her fingers felt so damn perfect inside you and you couldn't help but moan at the unspeakable pleasure.

She brought her hand down fast and landed it on your ass with a harsh smack that echoed through the room. She did it to both of your asscheeks until they were bright red and you were trembling. The sadistic redhead didn't stop there, she continued to rain down smacks that edged you further to your edge with the pleasurable pain.

Soon, you were moaning into the air as you came around Wanda's slim fingers, desperatly clenching around them in an attempt to prolong the pleasure. Thankfully, she kept pumping her fingers inside you, not caring when the overstimulation kicked in. She even started scissoring her fingers inside you, stretching your walls in a way that has you whimper loudly.

"Gotta stretch you a little to get you ready for my piece, sweetheart." She said in a sinister tone. "There's no way you'd be able to take it otherwise, it's already going to reck you with its size." She husked into your ear and withdrew her fingers, spanking you again when you whined.

Wanda got off the bed and disappeared into her closet, shortly returning with a large strap secured around her waist and pointed at you. You whimpered at the sight of it, not sure you could handle its size.

The Sokovian kneeled behind you and gripped your hips with both her hands as she lined up the strap with your entrance.

"I'm going to fill you up so nicely, Princess. Gonna have your cumming in no time." She husked, her voice dripping with lust.

A scream was ripped from your throat when Wanda thrust the entirety of the strap into your pussy. She set about her harsh, abusing pace instantly and preened at the sound of the pleasure filled cries that left you.

She grabbed a fistful of your hair and slammed your head down into the pillows on your side do she could still hear all of your desperate moans. The rough action earned the redhead a cry of her name.

Her pace was unrelenting, everytime she thrust back into you she somehow managed to hit deeper, pounding the toy against the most sensitive and pleasurable part of your cunt.

"Mommy!" You moaned loudly, not realising your slip up until the words left your lips. Your eyes widened and you feared Wanda's response, but what you got was a smack from the redhead that stung your ass in the best way. Her fucked you with increasing vigor too, wanting you title to spill from your lips again. And it did. Over and over, each time going straight to Wanda's pussy.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You whimpered as you gripped onto the sheets tighter to prepare yourself for your release. But Wanda pulled the strap out the the very tip and held it there as she leant over to whisper in your ear.

"Beg me." She ordered and you whimpered again. It wasn't like you hadn't already submitted to the red head you hated but begging would be something that would loom over you for a while.

Your thoughts clashed with the overwhelming need from your pussy as it desleratly tried to clamp down on the tip that didn't provide nearly enough pleasure.

"Please, Wanda." You whispered.

"Please who?" She asked sweetly, clearly testing you making you groan.

"Please, mommy just let me cum." You whined and Wanda smacked your ass hard. She edged the dildo in further ever so slowly and stopped again.

"Mommy, please! I need to cum." You tried again, desperation seeping into your voice. Wanda hummed.

"I can see that." She mused as she rubbed small circles on your throbbing and soaked clit. "I just don't see why I should, brat." She punctuated the name with a harsh slap to your ass again and you caught onto what she was hinting at.

"Please, I'll...I'll be so good for you, mommy."

"Yeah, baby?"

"Yes! Please mommy I'll be so so good for you. Just please please let me c-" You were abruptly cut off by your own whorish moan as Wanda snapped her hips forwards and filled you up entirely.

One of her hands tangled itself in your hair and forced your head down into the pillows, not stopping your incoherent babbles filling the room along with the sound of your pussy being fucked by Wanda and her thighs slapping against yours.

The Sokovian tugged on your hair again so your head was off the pillow.

"I'm gonna cum!" You cried out into the air.

"That's it, baby. Soak my fucking cock." And with that demand you came harder than you ever had around Wanda's strap and moaned continuously as the redhead prolonged your pleasure by continuing to pound into you.

But it soon became too much for your sensitive pussy. You squirmed away from Wanda but she placed one hand on the middle of your back to keep you flat against the bed.

"Too much." You managed to say, however the redhead didn't seem to care.

"I'm nowhere near done with you, Princess."

*

Laying panting and gripping onto Wanda's bedsheets like a lifeline wasn't exactly what you expected to be doing on a Thursday night. You were drenched in sweat and although Wanda had pulled out the toy minutes prior, you were sure you could still feel it filling you up, the faint throbbing a forewarning of what was to come.

It took you a while to gather the strength to get up. With anyone else you probably would have just stayed the night in their bed, but you weren't sure you could do that with Wanda. Although she wouldn't kick you out, you didn't like the thought of sleeping beside the redhead. It seemed far too...soft? Whatever it was, you were sure Wanda would agree.

You searched for your clothes while she took a most likely deliberately long shower, images of her naked figure covered in water invading your mind.

Once you cursed them away they were just replaced with flashes of what you had been doing for all those hours, remembering how she pulled on your hair as she praised you when you went down on her. Of course you did that while on your knees.

What happened between you and Wanda wasn't a one time thing. In fact it became increasingly common until you were in each other's beds almost every night. You would have been fuck buddies if you had considered each other a friend.

It worked. You and Wanda were able to work out your pent up frustration towards each other in a way that didn't hurt one another....well, if that didn't include the scratches along Wanda's back and the constant aching between your legs.

You didn't even make snide comments about each other in meetings or during training. You were able to keep everything in the bedroom.

The success of what you two had going forced you to ignore the noteable change in feelings you had towards Wanda. You saw her differently but couldn't quite tell how. Sometimes it was as though the unplaceable emotion you had towards her from from start spiked and other times you were purely confused.

It was always most prominent after she made you crash over the edge of bliss or when she came undone beneath you. Those moments when your bodies went limp and you were caught up in each other's embrace because you didn't have the energy to move. Hearing her exhausted breathing match her rising and falling chest and faint heartbeat if you had your head on her chest. Those tender moments were the ones that caught you off guard.

You refused to make a big deal out of it though. You refused to investigate your feelings or even acknowledge them. What you had with Wanda was the most efficient thing you could do. You didn't want to muck it up but you knew it couldn't go on forever. Another labelless feeling emerged at that thought.

Natasha was the only one who knew what you were doing. Neither of you told her, the spy was able to figure it all out on her own quickly and confronted you both about it once, only saying to be careful. That was the only time she addressed it verbally but you could always feel her watching you both carefully when you trained.

You thought it was going great. You and Wanda had finally been cleared for a mission that you would both be on, the team certainly needed the man power. That was until Nat told you otherwise.

"What do you mean I'm not going?!" You exclaimed across the room. You had seen Nat in the meeting room looking up something on her tablet and had gone in to enquire something about the mission that was long forgotten.

"I've thought about it and you and Wanda still aren't deemed the most reliable when put together for a mission, with this one being as important as it is we can't afford to make mistakes." Natasha sighed.

"So why don't you take Wanda off the mission? I have more experience."

"Her powers are perfectly fitted to this mission, we need her."

"And not me." You knew you came across as petty, but you had been dying to go back into the field.

"Y/n." Nat tried but you scoffed and glared at the screens with those assigned to the mission. Your eyes found Wanda's picture first and your jaw clenched at the sight of her ridiculously attractive face.

"What did she say to you?" You demanded as something clicked in your brain.

"She didn't say anything, this is my judgement." Natasha began but you didn't buy it.

"We both know if it was you you would have told me as soon as you decided it. You had no issue with me and Wanda being on this mission before. Hell, you cleared us both for the field." Nat glanced down at her tablet guiltily as she searched her brain for another hopeless lie.

"This is unbelievable." You scoffed and turned sharply on your heels to storm out of the room, ignoring your name being called by Nat.

You soon found Wanda in the kitchen making herself a coffee as she hummed softly. You willed your brain to ignore the warmth you got from seeing the redhead in her own, peaceful world.

"Do you have a problem with me?" You demanded, snapping her out of her trance. She visibly figited when she saw you approach her and lean on the edge of the kitchen island on you hands with an expectant look.

"No?" She said, seeming unsure.

"Don't you fucking lie to me." She seemed startled by your increasing aggression.

"What are you talking about?" She asked as she stirred her drink.

"Don't play dumb with me, Maximoff. You got me off the mission!" Wanda stopped her movements as she froze, clearly caught off guard by your discovery. Given how Nat had acted you guessed you weren't meant to find out it was Wanda who said something.

"It's for the best." She finally said but avoided your eye.

"It is not your place to decide what's best for me, you don't get to do that." You argued.

"There should only be a few people on the mission." She tried.

"I know that, I've seen the intel. But we already discussed that those people should be powered. Why am I being taken off?" You demanded again.

"It's dangerous." She muttered as she stared down at her drink.

"It's my fucking job. You think I don't know that."

"Of course you do, but there's a bigger risk than the usual missions we've been on. A bigger risk of you getting hurt." She muttered the last bit, like she wasn't entirely sure she wanted you to hear her. Granted, Wanda showing concern for your safety was new.

"Any one of us could get hurt." You said, lowering your voice marginally.

"But it's you I'm worried about." She insisted. It was your turn to become uncomfortable, shifting slightly under her gaze that held something new.

"I can take care of myself." You said as you crossed your arms, feeling a sudden defensive need to protect yourself.

"I know... but I care about you." You exhaled slowly, becoming increasingly uncomfortable at the tone of her voice. "If something happened to you..." She continued, "I don't know what I would do." Her voice was barely above a whisper, the softness laced in it undeniable. It sparked something in you. Something you didn't want to accept.

"Good luck on your mission, Maximoff." You said through gritted teeth and went to leave but Wanda was behind you instantly and took ahold of your hand to pull you back.

"Wait, I wasn't done-"

"Well I am." You snapped and yanked your hand out of her grip.

"What..?" She said slowly.

"If you don't want to work with me then we won't, no need to keep fucking anymore." You huffed and went to walk away.

"That wasn't what I-"

"Stop!" It wasn't a cry of anger. It was pure desperation. Your pleading look took Wanda by surprise and pained her to see. "Just stop before you say something you can't unsay." You said shakily. Your unspoken message was received. You didn't want to hear about Wanda's feelings towards you. She just didn't know it was because you were afraid that it would uncover what you had been feeling all along. You couldn't handle it. You were scared.

Wanda nodded, defeated, and let you go. You were filled with grief as you walked away, your footsteps feeling heavier than usual. You wanted to look back, to go back to her. But you couldn't.

*

You distracted yourself with a particularly ruthless training session the day of Wanda's mission. Carol showed you no mercy in sparring, weight lifting and boxing - even encouraging power use every now and then. But your mind still wandered to the redhead the way it usually did.

When you finally collapsed on the mat in defeat Carol chuckled and tossed you your waterbottle before encouraging an ice bath and strolling out of the gym for her evening flight.

You stayed on the floor for a while after you finished your water, only stopping staring up at the ceiling when Nat's outline blocked the lights. You sat up and looked at her hopefully, seeing that she was back from monitoring the mission and didn't seem distraught or upset.

"How did it go?" You asked as she sat down across from you.

"It was a success." She said but she didn't seem all that happy.

"And everyone's okay?" You asked cautiously. Nat gave a half shug and sighed lightly.

"There was ice - a lot if it and it was so cold. Dangerously cold." Nat started. You tried not to clench your jaw or show any signs of annoyance, knowing there was no need to point out that mission was fitted for you and your powers that would have guaranteed everyone's safety.

"Wanda got a little cut up, it was impossible to fight on that ground." You eyed the door and bit your lip, refraining from giving in to the urge to go see her.

"She doesn't want to talk to anyone right now, but she needs seeing to the cut." Nat said as she placed a first aid kit down infront of you. She was back already? And why did you have the kit?

"She won't see anyone either." Nat said before you could verbally question her. It took a moment for you to understand what she was saying.

"I don't think she wants to see me, Nat." You said as you pushed it back her way only for her to toss it into your lap.

"Goddmit, y/n. Can you two stop dancing around each other and actually talk?!" She exclaimed.

"We tried that-"

"Talking, y/n, not shouting or arguing. Talking." She said firmly and got up before you could protest further.

You pondered over what Natasha said for a while. You knew she had a good point, that talking was exactly what you should have done from the start, but it was just another thing that frightened you.

"Your job is facing your fears." You muttered aloud to yourself.

You finally got up from the ground, first aid kit in hand, and trudged along the compound towards Wanda's room. You tried to figure out what you could say on the way. But it all came out a jumbled mess that made no sense. Multiple times you stopped in the hallways and considered turning back before convincing yourself to keep going.

You knocked softly on Wanda's door and was surprised that it opened for you. The redhead in question was sat on her bed with a pillow in her lap, fiddling with her hands the way she always did when she was anxious or deep in thought. That evening it was both.

She glanced up at you as you closed the door but turned back to her pillow quickly when you gave her a short smile that didn't quite meet your eyes.

Regardless, you cautiously walked towards her bed and sat down next to her with the small box between you. You brought one of your legs up under you so you could face Wanda and eyed the cut above her eyebrow in concern. She still didn't say anything, neither did you.

You opened up the small box and got out a pack of wound closure strips and carefully unwrapped one. Wanda didn't object to you gently holding the area around her cut as you placed the strip on and lightly smoothed over the edges until you were sure it would stay on.

"I let my emotions cloud my judgement." She mumbled as you prepped another strip.

"It happens to all of us." You said.

"But I didn't listen to you. I should have." You sighed and stopped unwrapping the strip to look up at the redhead and watch her closely. She looked back at you with a guilty and pained expression that was full of regret.

"Yeah." You nodded slowly as you went back to the medical tape and raised your hands to put it on but the Sokovian held your wrist to stop you. "What's done is done, so just let me put these on and we're good." You said but she still didn't let go.

"Just like that?" She questioned.

"The mission was a success. If I'd had been there you wouldn't have gotten hurt, that's all."

"You were really mad though." She continued and you put your hands down to rest them, not failing to notice that Wanda was still holding your wrist but with a much lighter grip.

"It's hard to stay mad at you." You admitted.

"You've always been mad at me."

"Well it wasn't exactly like you were the friendliest person to me." You pointed out. "I was never mad at you, Wanda. I just hated that... that you made me feel something I've never trusted, so I didn't trust you. It was never your fault, I was unfair." You admitted as you stared down at the tape the whole time, afraid to meet the redhead's eyes.

"What did you feel?" Wanda asked, her voice void of emotion making it more difficult for you to say. You gulped as you continued to stare at the tape, willing yourself to give Wanda the answer she needed. The answer she deserved.

"Love." You voice shook. "I loved... love you." You were shaking more as you finally looked up at Wanda. Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted like there was a million thoughts trying to be heard but without the ability to.

She didn't say anything for a while. A long while. She stared at you in disbelief then at her pillow as though it would give her all the answers.

Tears rushed to your eyes that you tried to blink away as your head swam with curses to yourself for admitting your feelings. You had opened up and been vulnerable to Wanda, and the result was the exact reason you had sworn to never do it again.

Once you were sure she wasn't going to say anything to you, you took it as your cue to leave. To leave so Wanda could prepare her rejection speech for you. However, as soon as you put your hand to the door she spoke out.

"Please don't go."

You turned around slowly and met her light brown eyes you had always found impossible not to get lost in when you had your fingers or tongue inside her. You timidly went back to the bed and paused before sitting down next to her, facing the wall instead of her this time.

"I thought it was one sided." She started and you felt yourself begin to shake with nerves again. "I thought you didn't love me back." You looked to Wanda quickly and searched her features for any signs of a lie, any signs that she was setting you up to push you down but she was gazing back at you longingly with tears glistening in her eyes.

"When you confronted me about the mission, I was going to say it then, you knew that." You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded, remembering the fear you felt in that moment.

"I wasn't ready, I thought I wouldn't ever be but," You took a deep breath "I want to try, for you." You took ahold of Wanda's hand to reiterate your point. "I care about you too Wanda, so much. More than I could ever express or even handle and I didn't know what to do about it. I mean we've tried a fair few things now," You both laughed a little, "but it I don't think any of them are going to work as well as accepting it and...and I don't know." You looked to her for guidance because fuck did you need it. You needed Wanda to guide you down whatever path you chose to take, as long as she was there with you.

"Maybe we could start with something small." She suggested with a small smile that made her eyes shine.

"Like a coffee date?" You tried.

"Exactly like that." She confirmed, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Then I'll pick you up around 2." You said cheesily making Wanda laugh. "But first, I have to finish tending to this cut." You declared as you turned around to face her entirely and crossed your legs under you, pausing for a moment to give Wanda a short and sweet kiss.

[callmeshakespurr]

Hey, if you're requests are open could you do a Rick Flag × Male Villian Reader (fluff) idk something cute where Rick Flag ends up falling in love with Male Reader, and the feeling is mutual. Idk you can fo what you want with it. ❤

Rick Flag x Male Reader

Requested: yes

Category: fluff, just a little bit of angst

Warnings: slight torture (?), i mention a knife like,, once

Note: I haven’t watched Suicide Squad in some time, so this could’ve turned out just the tiniest bit yandere, I hope you don’t mind! Also- I kinda struggled with this cause its my first time writing an actual one shot, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways (:

Tysm for requesting, hope you enjoy it <3

“Where is he?”, Amanda Waller called out as she walked down the hallway, towards the high security room you were currently kept in — Colonal Richard ‘Rick’ Flag not far behind her.

Her call grabbed the attention of the two guards, who stood in front of your cell.

“Is he in there?”, Amanda asked again, approaching the door with fast steps. One of the guards nodded and opened the thick metal door to let the director and the colonel in.

Amanda Waller had tried to get her hands on you for almost five years now, after you first made an apperiance in a club, killing two people. After that, several assassinations followed. Nobody knew who you exactly were, what you looked like, who you worked for; you were like a shadow — what people then came to call you, Shadow.

The major reason of why nobody could get a hold of you even in the slightest bit, was because you always vanished before anybody could even spot you.

After two years of not being able to catch you, the police gave up on further investigation in your cases. Amanda didn’t break so easily though. She wanted you in one of those cells she kept so many freaks in already, and she wasn’t going to give up until she had you sitting behind one of those metal doors, unable to escape her.

After all these years of going after you, she did manage to find out two major things about you. Why you always managed to escape without anyone catching a glimpse of you, and what your weakness was.

All these things led to the present situation.

You sat in a dark room, the only light source being a small lamp, dangling from the ceiling. Your ankles were tightly cuffed to the chair you were sitting on, on your wrists and neck you felt something cold and heavy, which seemed to send small electric shocks through your body every few seconds.

You weren’t sure where you exactly were, since you passed out before they got you. Hell, you didn’t even know who ‘they’ were.

You closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on your thoughts, which was not as easy as you hoped it would be. To say that you were in pain was an understatement. The electricity flowing through your body kept you from thinking straight, and send a wave of pure pain through your limbs with every shock you got.

A female voice ripped you from your trance, and you slowly opened your eyes again, head still hanging low. You knew that voice and you knew that you didn’t stand a chance anymore.

“Your powers won’t work anymore, unless i allow you to use them, so don’t even try.”, that voice belonged to none other than Amanda Waller, probably the only person on this planet you actually feared. You were never scared of what her minions could do to you, no. You were scared of what she could do to you if she ever managed to get you — which almost happened on several occasions.

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the pain that came over you again, as you frantically tried to somehow sort your thoughts and find a way out of this, but nothing seemed to work. There was no way out of this. There was no escaping this. The feeling of helplessness washed over you, a feeling you didn’t like at all.

“You’re Y/N L/N, you’re a teleporter, thats how you managed to always vanish before the police got to the crime scene”, Amanda spoke, watching you as you sat there on the chair, staring at the ground, unable to move a single muscle. “It took me some time, but i managed to figure out how to block your powers”, she continued, taking slow steps towards you “Teleporters are extremely sensitive to electricity, some mightve even already died due to the constant pain if they were in your place.” She stopped right in front of you, looking down at your slumped figure, the only thing restraining you from falling over being the thick metallic handcuffs that kept your hands tied behind the chair.

Amanda grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. Your sight was blurry and it cost you a lot of strength to even keep your eyes open, but you did manage to make out the silhouette of a rather tall person standing at the entrance of the cell, watching the whole scene, before your focus was back on the woman in front of you. “You’re actually a very pretty boy, Y/N, and very smart too, it’s a shame that you decided to end up like this.”, she said, before letting your face go. “Rick, take him to get the injection, then get his things and introduce him to the team. After that, you can take him to his provided cell.”

The man standing at the door — Rick, you assumed — made his way towards you, as Waller left the room, leaving you to the colonel.

Rick helped you out of the cuffs, that kept you strapped to the chair. Looking at you, he almost felt bad, you looked so drained and helpless. He had never exactly agreed with anything Amanda Waller did, but seeing what just a few hours under her control did with you was another level of not agreeing with something she did.

“Can you stand?”, the colonel asked and you nodded, slowly rising from the chair. Your legs wobbled beneath your weight and you instinctively grabbed onto whats next to you, which just so happened to be Ricks Arm.

After making sure you had gathered enough strength, he began to walk with you towards the door.

time skip

It’s been a little over a week now since they’ve brought you here — you think. Every day was the same. Sitting on the cold floor of your cell, staring at the camera in the corner of your ceiling, some guard bringing you food, you not eating it, some guard taking it away again and reporting everything to someone, more staring at the camera, someone bringing you food again, you not eating it again, the guard taking it away again and reporting everything, all over again, everyday.

The only slightest bit good and entertaining thing was the colonel — Rick Flag, as you learned was his name — checking up on you every now and then when he didn’t have anything better to do. You didn’t quite understand why Rick was making efforts to look after you, just for you to not answer his questions anyways, but you appreciated it. It made everything a little more bearable.

Of course, you were one of the bad guys, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a life outside of assassinations.

When you weren’t working for other bad guys, you loved to just sit in your apartment and read, you loved to go onto high buildings and watch over the city. You dreamed of leaving everything behind and exploring the world someday. You worked at your favourite coffee shop, hell you even had a cat. The thought of your only friend being probably already dead or suffering made you sad, but what could you do about it?

Sometimes, you wish you hadn’t picked the path you were on, but looking back at the time you chose to work for the bad guys, you didn’t really have a choice.

Your train of thoughts was interrupted, when you heard the door to your cell open. Hoping it would be Rick, you looked up, your eyes only half open from the lack of strength you had. What you did not expect was to see Amanda Waller standing in front of you, Rick Flag behind her.

“Stand up”, the woman demanded. You listened, as it was of no use to resist her orders. You slowly got up on your feet, which didn’t last long, since you almost immediately fell over, landing painfully hard on your knees. To your suprise, Rick immediately rushed to your side, helping you stand up again.

“I don’t need him on missions like this”, Waller spoke as she watched you lean onto Rick for support. “Take him to the base, the council and I will be waiting there in the meeting room for him.” With that, Waller left again.

The way to the car wasn’t long, but with you almost not being able to stand on you own, let alone walk on your own, it took a little longer, which only fueled your anxiety. The ride to the base was even worse though, since nobody talked and you had five guards sitting around you.

Finally arriving at the door of the meeting room, which was located in the base, the two guards standing in front of it immediately opened the door as soon as they saw the colonel.

The room was quiet at an instance, when you stepped a food inside, Rick following very close behind you — just in case something should happen.

Amanda Waller stood in front of a group of suit wearing men who all sat at one big round table, most likely discussing something. She gestured you to come next to her, to which you complied.

“And who is this now, Director Waller? A new addition to your group of- freaks?”, asked one of the men as he looked you up and down, probably doubting that someone like you could be much of an good asset.

“This, Gentlemen,”, she grabbed your arm and moved you a little forward, making you almost tumble “is Y/N L/N or ‘Shadow’, he was an assassin for almost five years now, working for several other bad guys. Nobody got a hold of him till now due to his teleporting ability. He has over a hundred confirmed kills and not once did anyone ever get near him. I’m using these electric cuffs”, she grabbed your arm again and lifted it up to present the metal cuff, which was secured around your arm “to block his powers, which means he cannot teleport, as long as the electric shocks are on full power. As soon as I turn down the power a little, he can use his power, it is more draining and limited to a certain radius, but it works. I have him under full control and I want him on the team.” Murmurs broke out between the people in the room, as soon as she finished.

“I’m sorry, director, but do you really think it’s a good idea to put another- another misfit on that team? They’re bad guys and will always stay bad guys, and their freaky abilities make them even more dangerous.”, one of the men in suits spoke.

“As I said, I have him under full control, gentlemen. Let me demonstrate.”, Amanda spoke, turning to you, as the people sitting at the table sat back.

Waller took out some kind of remote and tapped on something. First your body tensed due to all the stress and pain you were under at the moment, but as soon as Amanda tapped on the remote, the electric shocks suddenly weren’t as intense as they were before, and your whole body relaxed, your eyes almost watering due to the wave of relief washing over you.

Rick was more than tense while watched the whole situation, only realizing in how much pain you actually were when Waller turned down the intensity of the electric shocks emmitting from the metallic cuffs you were wearing.

Waller looked you in the eyes with a serious expression on her face. “You disobey, you die, got that?” And suddenly you remembered the injection they gave you, when they first brought you here.

Seeing you had no other choice than obeying her, you simply gave her a small nod and looked around the room, taking in every detail. You looked at the small table in front of you, spotting a sharp knife, which you figured was put there by Amanda specifically for you in this exact situation.

With fast movements, you grabbed the knife and teleported to the other side of the room, holding the knife to one of the mens throat. Everyone in the room stiffened even more, and you heard at least three guns clicking.

Looking up, your eyes met Rick’s, before you looked over to Waller, who was already fixated on you. You slowly pressed the knife more against the man’s throat, wanting to see what Waller was going to do. The next electric shock came and you almost yelled out in pain, letting the knife fall, teleporting back to Waller and falling to your knees, clutching the metal around your neck.

Rick wanted to rush to help you, but was quickly held back by Amanda, gesturing him to wait.

“As you can see, I can control his powers however i want to, and should he disobey in any way, or should his powers bolt”, she tilted your head with her finger, than pressed onto the spot on your neck where they injected you, “he dies.”

Still staring at the ground, you swallowed harshly. You’ve never wanted to go back in time and undo all the bad things that happened so badly like in this specific moment. Maybe if you’re parents hadn’t ever found about your ability, you would still be at home, with your family, not here, being tortured by some government lady who wanted to use you as a weapon.

“There’s one more thing. I don’t need him on any mission in this shape. He needs to recover, quickly, and while doing so, I want him under Rick Flags complete supervision. It might cost a little more effort, but think about of how much use he will be for us”, Amanda said, a mischievous expression crossing her face for a few seconds, that going unnoticed by you and pretty much everyone else in the room.

time skip

Three whole months had passed. You’ve been staying with Rick ever since Amanda Waller announced that he had to fully supervise you.

The time you spent with Rick made you feel as if everything wasn’t so bad after all. Occasional talking here and there, Rick cooking something for the both of you every now and then, you almost felt normal again — weren’t there the electric cuffs reminding you of what was real every few minutes.

Over the past three months, your sleep only got worse. You got used to the constant pain by now, but the electricity didn’t only affect you physically, it also messed up your thoughts like hell. Sometimes you didn’t know where up and down was anymore, everything was all over the place inside your mind.

That was also the reason, you were up right now, in the middle of the night, sitting at the big window in your bedroom, looking over the city. You hugged your knees tightly to your chest, and rested you chin on them, letting a few tears slip. You hadn’t cried in a long time, but you were just so exhausted. You were never this close to giving up than right now. Nothing seemed to ever be okay again, you couldn’t do anything but accept your fate.

Being to entangled in your own thoughts, you didn’t hear your bedroom door open.

It didn’t take Rick a long time to spot you in your place at the window. He just came home from a mission that Amanda Waller had wanted you on, but Rick insisted on giving you a little more time to deal with everything.

The tall man closed the door as quietly as he could behind him, which seemed to not be quiet enough, since you jumped slightly at the noise, quickly standing up and turning around. Rick gave you an apologetic look, before slowly walking towards you, “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked, I just wanted to check up on you and see if you’re alright-“ “It’s fine, I’m fine”, you interrupted him, wiping your tears quickly, taking a deep breath.

Rick frowned, he had never seen you cry before. He cared too much for you and he knew it, he just couldn’t help himself. Stopping in front of you, he looked down at you, only for his eyes to meet yours. For a moment, you both got lost in each others eyes, before you ripped your gaze away, looking to the side.

“Do you want anything else from me?”, you asked shakily, getting a little nervous with his burning stare on you.

“I actually do, yes-“, he hesitated for a moment. You looked up at him with a questioning expression. “Close your eyes”, you complied, closing your eyes slightly, one hand moving to hold onto Rick’s shirt so you didn’t lose your balance. You felt him lean down slightly, till you could fell his warm breath on your cheek. You surpressed a shiver, as he carefully tilted your head.

Now, you didn’t really know what to expect; you and Rick had gotten closer but you weren’t sure, if there were actual romantic feelings, or if he just pitied you, so a kiss wasn’t exactly what you expected. But you definitely would’ve expected it more than what happened next.

A small ‘click’ echoed through the dark room, the next thing you knew was, that all the pain suddenly disappeared. Your eyes watered when you felt Rick’s fingers carefully removing the heavy metallic cuffs around your wrists and neco, pure relief washing over you. Your leaned your body onto Rick’s, unable to support your own weight for a few moments.

When you had finally gained control over your own body again, you moved back a few centimetres and looked up to Rick, who met your confused eyes. “I couldn’t bear to see you in so much pain any longer, so I triedmy best to convince her and I’d say I’m lucky that she trusts me with you.”, the colonel smiled a little, raising a hand to softly carress your cheek. Your eyes widened. He quickly removed his hand again and apologized, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Rick took a step back, still being careful so you didn’t lose balance again, “I should go, and you should sleep, you need to be well rested and-“

You were fast to interrupt him by taking a quick step towards him, getting a little on your tiptoes, before pressing a small kiss to Rick’s lips. You carefully looked him in the eyes again, “I don’t know either, but it just felt like the right thing to do.”

It took the man a few seconds to process what just happened, but when he did, he was quick to kiss you again, his soft lips over yours, moving slowly, as you kissed back. He put his hands on your waist, while you locked yours behind his neck. You kissed for a few moments, before the both of you had to breathe again. “Thank you”, you whispered against Rick’s lips, before receiving another small peck. “Sleep with me tonight?”, he asked quietly, getting lost in your eyes again. You gave him a small nod, allowing him to pick you up and carry you to his room, both of you smiling as you fell onto the mattress.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part II

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 8900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie

On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.

The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.

You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."

You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"

Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"

"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."

"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"

You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."

He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"

You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.

You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.

"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."

"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.

He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.

"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."

Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"

If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?

---

"God, what an asshole!"

"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.

You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"

"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."

"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."

"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."

You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."

Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"

"I miss you, too. 'Bye."

You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?

"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.

"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.

"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.

"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."

You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"

"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.

"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."

"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."

"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."

"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.

You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."

He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.

“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.

---

Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.

One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.

As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.

"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."

"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.

Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.

"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."

You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.

You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.

You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"

Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."

Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.

You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.

"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."

You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?

"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"

"Please, call me Jack."

"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?

"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.

You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"

You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.

"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.

"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.

"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.

"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.

"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"

Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.

He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."

Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.

"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"

"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”

Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.

Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.

"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.

Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."

You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."

You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."

“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.

“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”

You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.

Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?

"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.

"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"

"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."

"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."

You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."

He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."

Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?

---

"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

You gulped. "I kissed him."

"What?! Why?"

"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"

She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."

"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”

"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.

"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”

“What?!”

“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”

“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”

“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."

You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."

"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."

"Thanks, I will. You too."

You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?

---

You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.

The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.

You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"

That motherfucker.

Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.

"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"

"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.

Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.

"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.

You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."

He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.

You threw your head back and cackled.

"What's so funny?"

"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."

He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."

You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"

Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.

Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.

"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"

You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"

"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.

When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.

“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”

You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”

---

The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.

You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.

“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.

“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”

“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.

The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.

Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.

“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”

He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”

“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”

You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”

When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.

You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.

You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.

“You ever want one of those?”

“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”

“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”

You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.

“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.

Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”

That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”

He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”

You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”

He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.

You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.

You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.

When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”

He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.

“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”

“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”

You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”

You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.

The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.

Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.

You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.

Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.

“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”

Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.

“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”

You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”

Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”

“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”

Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”

“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”

Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.

Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.

“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.

His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.

Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.

You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.

“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.

When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.

You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.

---

Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.

On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”

“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”

Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”

Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”

“Me, too.”

You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?

You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.

When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.

You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?

He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you get my flowers?”

You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”

You interrupted him. “Paloma.”

“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.

Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”

Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”

You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”

Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.

You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.

“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”

“Frankie, hi. I was just-”

“Oh, do you two already know-”

“We used to-”

You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.

“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.

“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”

You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.

“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.

Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”

“Paloma and I are going out.”

“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”

Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”

Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.

“WHAT?”

“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---

"Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

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[yetanotherhoeforpedro]

Sinfully Armored

Summary: After Din Djarin had lost everything: his ship, his child, his way, and found himself as rightful leader of the Mandalore, he’s glad when an opportunity arises to escape all of his responsibilities. Grogu doesn’t seem to adapt well to his destined life in the New Jedi Order and handling the little rascal is simply too much for Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, who has to rebuild the entire Jedi Order and help in the founding of the New Republic. As a last resort, he contacts the mysterious Mandalorian, who seemed to have formed a strong bond with the Jedi foundling, to help Grogu accept his Jedi heritage and finally let go of the past. What Mando didn’t know is that on top of being given the chance to escape his duties, he’d meet you.

Notes: see ‘Sinfully armored’ on AO3

Chapter 1 - Strange Revelations 

It has been the Maker knows how many days since you arrived at this desolate planet in the Outer Rim. The planets where you had to scout for Imperial Scum all started to blend into one after weeks and weeks on this expedition. The same dreary landscapes, shady people and shabby buildings on every single one. The Empire has left its dirty imprints throughout the entire galaxy and its people, including you.

The rundown bar you found yourself in right now must have seen better days as well. You swirled your drink lazily and scowled at the remaining dregs. This next part of your job was always the worst, impossibly done sober. You absolutely despised any kind of peaceful interaction with sympathizers of the Empire, even though you knew hate was not an emotion you should feel as a Jedi.

You drowned your glass in one big swallow and smoothly slid the it across the counter with a few credits. Before the bartender even reacted to your movement, you were already gone. The mud made an unsatisfying, squelching sound under your boots as you maneuvered through the narrow streets of Wakuda. Your nose scrunched at the mere smell of the place. Why the secret underground organization you were supposed to track down chose this of all places to build their base is beyond you, but you guessed it fit their morals.

As you neared the location you tracked the Imperial scum down to, you noticed a few snipers on the roof of the half-ruined building in your peripheral. Deep down you hoped they’d be skilled just so that you’d have a bit of a challenge as a distraction. They weren’t, since they didn’t even notice you until you were too close. Maybe their stupid helmets blocked their vision, you couldn’t even blame them. A quick swipe of the force knocked them out and you proceeded with your task.

Through a crack in the roof, you could spy on the meeting taking place underneath you. You leaned down a bit to get a better view and watched the scene unfold.

There were 6 people assembled in the room, but the woman at the head of the table stuck out especially to you with her glowing red hair. When she raised her voice, everyone went quiet. This woman clearly had an air of authority surrounding her. She began in a conspiring tone: “Fellow members of the First Galactic Empire, I have called you here today because troublesome news reached me. The New Jedi Order of Luke Skywalker keeps gaining more and more power. If the New Republic is backed by such a strong force of Jedi knights, our chances of rebuilding the Empire are slim to none.” The woman surveyed the room full of expectant eyes. No one dared to interrupt her. “So, we must take action. I have already contacted Grand Admiral Thrawn…”

The rest of her sentence didn’t reach your ears as you heard that name. As far as you knew, the notorious man died during the Battle of Endor with most of the other Imperial generals. If there was any truth to her claim that he was still alive, the New Republic and everything you stood for was in great peril. The old hatred started to boil up inside of you once again and it was all you could do to not jump down there and finish all of them in your fit of rage. To calm yourself, you reached deep into the Force as Luke had taught you. You reminded yourself that it was him and the Jedi’s goal of a peaceful galaxy you were doing all of this for and the discussion that broke out beneath you abruptly caught your attention again.

“That’s absolutely impossible! How would we even train those children? It’s not like we have a Sith Lord to train them!” a small man with shockingly pale skin exclaimed. “Leave that to me and the more experienced generals, we have everything under control. All you need to do is collect the force sensitive children from the systems I’ll send you out to,” the woman answered. The small man nodded once and the woman seemed satisfied. She pulled out a little device, flipped a switch and a holographic map appeared at the center of the table. As you glanced at the map, something pocked at the back of your mind. Why did it look so familiar?

But before you could observe it more closely and identify the feeling, the comm at your wrist vibrated. Luke always had such an unfortunate timing for someone so in tune with the Force. You cursed under your breath and accepted the transmission. After all, he wouldn’t contact you if it wasn’t important.  

“Report back to the Jedi Temple immediately,” he stated. “What? But I’m in the middle of a mission! I just made a discovery of great importance,” you protested. “Alright, but get back as soon as possible. May the Force be with you.” The connection snapped and you focused on the meeting again.

“Do not disappoint me,” the woman commanded. That was an obvious dismissal. After cursing Luke’s awful timing once again, you decided to track the leader of the meeting, which couldn’t be too hard, considering her hair was shining like a beacon. However, as you scaled down the building and looked down the street, she and her co-conspirators had vanished into thin air. How odd. But it was a blessing of sorts because you were eager to get off this planet and return to the Jedi Temple. Thrawn was alive?  It was all you could think about as you cut through the winding streets of Wakuda once again. The man who had taken so much from you had not been avenged? A sick part of you was thrilled about the opportunity to get revenge yourself, but it was outweighed by your general anxiety.

The sudden gleaming of a hull caught your eye and your pace quickened. As you turned around the corner, the magnificent ship arising before you obscured the view of your tiny, wreckage of an X-Wing. The rusty ship had accompanied you on many missions and despite its state, you had grown quite fond of it, but couldn’t be bothered to clean it. It wouldn’t matter anyway; it would just get dirty again in the next place you landed. You climbed into the cockpit and took off.

As you activated hyperspace, you tried to shake Thrawn off your mind and it quickly filled with other enigmas. You reconsidered the strange Déjà-vu you felt when you saw the map. You were sure you had seen it before sometime, but when and where exactly? Why would you have seen an imperial map? And how could they have left without a single trace? Who was the strange woman?

After pondering about these questions turned out to be futile, you began to wonder what could have been urgent enough for Luke to call you back from your mission. While you would have been jumping at the chance to finally leave these shitty systems under normal circumstances, the situation just got interesting and all you wanted to do was track the Imperial scum down and kill them one by one before they could do any more harm. But Luke had to lecture you on discipline far too many times and this mission was your chance to show him that he could trust you.

Still…How would you ever find out where they had gone now? You should have damned Luke’s orders and followed them somehow when you still could, what if they got to the children first? Shit, why didn’t you think straight? It seems like all of your focus and composure had left you once Thrawn’s name had perturbated your thoughts. All of the old grief and hate resurfaced again and threatened to drown you.  

You took a deep breath and pushed those emotions as far back as you could. The logical action right now would be to contact Luke immediately, he needed to send out someone else to stop the bandits. While you were short on Jedi, the New Republic would sure have someone to take care of the problem. If only you knew where they went, they’d be long gone if the Republic needed to investigate their whereabouts first. You sighed and called Luke.

“What’s wrong?” His hologram appeared in front you instantly. “A lot,” you responded dryly. “You’ll not be pleased about what I just discovered – before I was so rudely interrupted by you, that is.” He frowned at your sarcasm, this was obviously not the time for it, but you couldn't help it. It had become a sort of coping mechanism for you, a way to shield yourself from issues lest they touch you personally. “Grand Admiral Thrawn – or some doppelgänger of him – is still alive and in direct contact with the leftovers of the Empire.”

Luke was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “That is bad news indeed, I’ll need to inform Leia and Han so that they can alert our troops. Your assistance has been most valuable to us,” he replied finally, oddly formal. Still, you nodded curtly at the approval.

“Wait,” you intercepted as he was about to disconnect. “Unfortunately, there’s more. I overheard that they plan to rebuild the Sith Order, but on a far grander scale. I only caught a glimpse, but they had some map that directs them towards force-sensitive children all across the universe. While I have no clue as to how they would train them – unless they had a secret Sith Lord up their sleeves as well – we cannot let them take the children. The Jedi Order needs them.”  This time, Luke’s silence lasted even longer, to the point where it was almost painful. You forced the words forming on your tongue to fill the silence back – yet another nervous habit of yours – and mirrored his quiet. Until you gave in and broke it: “I did not disappoint when I warned you that I had some bad news, huh?”

Luke gave you a no-nonsense-look. “No, you did not. Do you think you can recall the map and lead us to the children?” he inquired. “Um…I’ve tried, but to no avail. However, the map looked oddly familiar. No idea where I could have seen it before, but I trust my instincts.” You shrug, though it doesn’t reflect your sentiments in the slightest.

“You said this map leads them to force-sensitive children?” he repeated slowly, more to himself. “Yeah.” – “In that case, I might know just where to look.” Before you could ask him what he meant by that he was gone. You let out an exasperated sigh. He took the whole mysterious Jedi image way too seriously, in your opinion.

You spent the rest of the flight dissociating in space, as one does. In a way, you were doing the meditation exercises Luke taught you. Time bent around you, it could have been minutes or hours until you arrived back at Coruscant. The blinding lights of the capitol made you snap back to reality as you swiftly descended.

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

You spotted Luke, facing the wall, quickly as you entered the council chamber, which was empty except for him. The few other “Jedi” seemed to be on missions as well. The “Council” consisted of a bunch of half-trained Jedi knights and one other survivor of Order 66, Master Vamora who appeared too fragile to still be an active fighter, but he was a stubborn old bastard. Not that it wasn’t an immense blessing to have at least one Jedi of the Old Order in your midst who was fully trained. He was extremely cranky and righteous though.

Luke turned back around to you. You did a double take as you took him in, seeing what the hologram had concealed. At first you noticed his eyes and the black rings underneath them, then the hollow of his cheekbones, his general paleness and crouched stance. He looked really exhausted, to say the least. Not being able to hold yourself back, you commented: “What happened to you? You look like you went through some shit.” At that, you earned a small grin from him that made some of the color reappear on his face.

Your heart jumped a little at the sight, you had to admit he was quite handsome, especially when he smiled. It wasn’t just ideological reasons keeping you in his Jedi Order after all, although you felt a twinge of guilt every time your stupid, horny brain produced these immoral thoughts. It was absolutely illegal for a Jedi to harbor such feelings, much less act on them, at least according to your set of morals. Luke himself had been conceived out of such an improper relation and since he did not grow up learning about the old set of Jedi rules, he had seen no use in implementing any such rule in his Jedi Order (much to the displeasure of Master Vamora, who had quite a lot to complain about today’s youth). You, on the other hand, had been indoctrinated the old set of rules from a small age on and you tried to stick to them in honor of those who saved you from your horrible fate and the sacrifices of those who had not been as lucky as you. But Luke did have a point. He claimed that love was not a crime or a weakness to be punished but rather a virtue that differentiates you from those who strayed to the Dark Side. Frankly, he was just a little too horny for his own good. He was well known for his bohemian lifestyle, sharing his bed with both men and women.

“That’s why I had to call you back here. I am being tormented endlessly by a little green monster,” he replied with a smirk on his face, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, but before you could inquire further, the door slid open behind you and you snapped around.

This day just kept getting weirder, or maybe you were extremely sleep-deprived as well. There was a Mandalorian with a little green creature that eerily resembled Master Yoda (if he were young and cute instead of old and wrinkly as he had appeared the last time you saw him) cradled in his arms standing in front of you. His armor was unlike any you had ever seen before, pure beskar and shimmering as it reflected the bright city lights. He looked exactly like the legendary warrior race of Mandalore you had only ever heard rumors about, straight out of a myth. Considering those rumors, didn’t they absolutely despise the Jedi? Suddenly alarmed, you pulled your lightsaber from your belt. The Mandalorian didn’t move, only cocked his head to the side. Even though you couldn’t see his face underneath the helmet, you felt like his eyes were piercing you. You stared right back at him, not moving an inch, thumb resting on the switch of your weapon, ready to activate it should he attack. Not that your lightsaber could do much damage to him, as he was dressed in beskar from head to toe. But what about the child in his arms? Maybe he wasn’t up for a fight after all. With a sick disappointment – how challenging would it be to fight such a legendary warrior? – you put your weapon back on your belt again. The Mandalorian kept staring at you, standing still as a machine.

This time it was Luke who broke the silence, as you were too entranced to say anything at all.  “There is the source of my eternal torment.” He strolled up to you in a relaxed manner. It was his calm posture and the underlying humor and fondness in his voice that kept you from attacking the strangers. The green creature turned its head and stared at you innocently with its huge, black eyes. You sensed it suddenly through the Force and did a double take in surprise. It reached its small arms out to you, but the Mandalorian took a step back from you rather than let the child closer to you. “This…this is why you called me back?” You shot Luke an incredulous, slightly offended look, to which he returned another wicked grin. “Yes.”

“Elaborate, please?” You didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in your voice. “This is my good friend…” He gestured to the Mandalorian. “Um, I actually don’t know his name, I just call him Mando. Everyone does.” He smirked at the warrior. “And this little fellah is Grogu, a Jedi foundling I took upon me to train.” The look Luke gave the child was so full of love that it seemed almost too intimate to witness. “Mando saved him from the Empire and took great care of him. Frankly, he cared for him too well. Grogu has formed such a strong attachment to him that it’s nearly impossible to train him. The little rascal is incredibly stubborn if his daddy isn’t around.”

A bit more enlightened, but still unaware of your place in this family drama, you waited for Luke to continue. “Since I have a ton of obligations, I don’t have time to train the little one and detach him from his savior.” Oh no. You hoped this wouldn’t be heading in the direction you thought it was. “You, on the other hand, have less responsibilities.” Fuck. "So, I decided that you should train him. And let his dad tag along until he can let him go.”

No fucking way. “I am not a damn babysitter! Neither do I care to get involved in this clearly complicated family structure! I have a mission, Luke. I need to get to those…,” you paused, suddenly all too aware that you had an audience, “…thieves and stop them.” Luke grinned at you, as if he expected that answer from you. “Isn’t it super convenient that our friend Mando here is a professional bounty hunter, eager to earn a few credits from the Republic?”

You shifted your gaze back to the silent warrior and the kid. “I am supposed to train this rip-off Yoda while on a mission? That’s just pointless, I won’t have time to teach him anything at all!” you pointed out. You were not interested in training another Jedi, especially not one that resembled Master Yoda and everything you lost so much. “You’ll have plenty of free time while traveling through space and he can learn a lot more in real situations than I could ever teach him,” Luke argued. “You want us to take him along on a hunt?” a modulated voice interjected. “No way, that’s far too dangerous for him as long as he’s untrained!” Luke wasn’t kidding about the bond, the man in armor clearly cared deeply for the child. Interesting.

“You need to stop being such a helicopter parent if you want him to live an independent life,” your Jedi companion retorted. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your throat and a visor turned back to you. “I don’t trust her with my child”, the Mandalorian stated curtly. You scowled at him. “You shouldn’t have brought him to the Jedi if you had a problem with him being in the custody of a Jedi,” you snarled at the intruder, suddenly not caring that you didn’t even want this child in the first place and simply wanting to disagree with him. “It’s not the Jedi I don’t trust, it’s you and your attitude.” – “Is it because I called him a ‘rip-off Yoda’?” You flashed him a sweet smile.

“I see you two’ll get along just fine,” Luke said, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. “You could leave for the first child tomorrow.” At that, your attention snapped back to him. “What do you mean? Did you find the map?” – “Of course, as it was our map they stole in the first place.” Now your Déjà-vu made complete sense and you cursed yourself for not having come to this conclusion earlier. Obviously the Jedi had a map with the locations of force-sensitive children – possible new Jedi. The situation was even graver than you expected. “Get some rest now, you seem to need it almost as much as I do.” Luke winked at you. Accepting defeat for now and realizing how exhausted you truly were, you gave Luke a short nod before departing from the room and retiring to your chambers to finally get some well-deserved sleep.

Chapter 2

Masterlist

[stiltonbasket]

Hi!! Could I perhaps request LQR baby-sitting A-Yu and A-Lan for the renouncement verse? Thanks, love you <333

(brief author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

Lan Qiren’s nephews keep overworking themselves. 

This wouldn’t be a bad thing if they hadn’t been doing it for the last several years, but it’s beginning to wear on them. Xichen’s eyes are always red and swollen from writing letters by candlelight, and Lan Qiren doesn’t remember the last time he saw Wangji without trade reports in his arms and spit-up milk on his robes, so he finally puts his foot down and decides to give all three of them a break in early autumn. 

“Xichen, go take a soak in the hot springs,” he orders, sweeping into the hanshi and shoving everything on Lan Xichen’s desk up one of his sleeves. “Now.”

Lan Xichen is so exhausted that he tries to paint a line of calligraphy onto the expensive wood of his writing table. “Shufu?” 

“You heard me,” Lan Qiren scolds. “Go on! I’ll finish the petition forms by tomorrow.” 

Somewhat bewildered, Lan Xichen ambles out through the hanshi’s back door and splashes into the hot spring, leaving Lan Qiren to march down to the jingshi and confiscate all of Wangji’s trade contracts. He also confiscates baby A-Lan, who is lying in Lan Wangji’s lap and trying to eat his jade pendant. 

“What are you doing?” Wangji asks, watching him tug the rest of his letters out of Wei Ying’s hands and stuff those up his sleeves, too. “Uncle?” 

“You and Wei Ying need a rest,” he announces. “I am taking your work to the meishi, and I am also taking your children. Do not come to fetch them until sunset.” 

And with that, he straps Wei Shuilan to his chest and takes Lan Yu by the hand, bundling them off to his own residence before their parents have time to do much more than blink at him in confusion. 

“Huh,” Wei Wuxian says, after he leaves. “I think your uncle has a point, actually. Let’s go to bed, Lan Zhan.”

__

When Lan Qiren gets back to the meishi, he settles A-Lan down for a nap and gives Xiao-Yu a snack and some silver puzzle rings to improve his hand-eye coordination. “It almost reminds me of the old days,” he sighs, as Shuilan kicks her chubby little feet before falling asleep with her thumb in her mouth. “Even if Wangji never went down for naps without a fuss.” 

Lan Qiren was nineteen when he became acting sect leader, and he was also nineteen when he received custody of Xichen: not coincidentally, because the clan hoped that taking charge of the sect would prevent him from raising his nephew and allow one of them to take over his care instead. But Lan Qiren was nothing if not stubborn, so Lan Huan went with him everywhere—to meetings, discussion conferences, and even the odd wedding now and then, and was generally such an amiable baby that he adjusted to his uncle’s fraught travelling schedule without a fuss. In fact, the first time Lan Huan met Jiang Yanli had been during a week-long cultivation event at Lotus Pier, yawning in a sling on Lan Qiren’s back while Jiang Yanli napped on Jiang Fengmian’s chest, and Jiang Fengmian had even mentioned the possibility of a betrothal between the two babies when they were older. 

“My wife wants to contract an engagement between Xiao-Li and a son born to her sworn sister, but Jin-zongzhu and Jin-furen have not yet had a child,” Jiang-zongzhu had sighed, letting his daughter’s little fingers wrap around his. He looked heartbroken at the mere thought of parting from her, Lan Qiren remembers—which was probably why he named her yan li, to hate separation, because Jiang Yanli’s premature birth nearly stole her away from her parents the moment she entered the world. 

“Lanling is closer to Gusu than Yunmeng,” Lan Qiren pointed out. Yunmeng Jiang would make an excellent alliance by marriage, and he was fairly certain at the time that Jiang Yanli would grow up to resemble her mild-mannered father rather than her hot-tempered mother. He was right, of course, since Jiang-guniang took after Jiang Fengmian in both looks and character, but contracting a betrothal with her for Xichen would have done both of them a disservice—because Xichen could never have loved her as she would have wanted to be loved, and he could never have given her children, either. 

“Shugong?” a little voice says at Lan Qiren’s elbow, distracting him from the possibility of a world where Lan Huan married Jiang Yanli and crippled Lanling Jin’s influence after the Sunshot Campaign. “Xiao-Yu is done with the puzzle. I have another one?”

“Already?” Lan Qiren asks. This is yet another trait Xiaohui inherited from Wei Wuxian despite not being related to him, and Lan Qiren feels his heart swell with pride at his great-nephew’s intelligence. “Then you may play with the wooden blocks on that shelf, and see how high you can build your tower without letting it fall over.”

Xiao-Yu settles down on the hearthrug to stack up the fine-carved building blocks, and Lan Qiren goes through his nephew’s papers in peace for another hour before A-Lan wakes up from her nap and wails for her milk at the top of her lungs. 

“Do not cry,” Lan Qiren soothes, securing the child in her swaddle before heating a bottle with a warming talisman. “Here is your supper, and your xiongzhang is there on the mat.”

He has to keep A-Lan in his arms after that, since his tiny great-niece is so used to being held that putting her down would break her little heart; and Lan Qiren would rather die than let go of her, because he dearly misses holding his nephews, and not so long ago he was certain he would never have the chance to hold a baby again. 

And then, as if cuddling A-Lan to his chest wasn’t wonderful enough, Xiao-Yu pulls one of Wangji’s old picture books out of Lan Qiren’s storage trunk and runs over to sit in his lap, pushing the trade contracts aside and replacing them with the fable of the magic lotus lantern.

“Shugong, read to Xiao-Yu?” the little boy begs, snuggling into Lan Qiren’s overgown next to his cooing baby sister. “A-Die likes this story best.”

Of course he does, Lan Qiren thinks, as he flips the cover open and starts to read. The tale of the magic lotus lantern was written about a child whose mother was stolen away from him, taken back to the heavens by force when her godly brother discovered the magic lantern that illuminated her way to the mortal world—and for a while Wangji believed that his mother was like the immortal Sanshengmu, who loved a human man and had a child with him before returning to the realm she came from. Sanshengmu’s story ended with her being reunited with her husband and son, and the little Wangji never gave up hope that his own mother might come back in much the same way, even after he was old enough to stop believing in fairy stories. 

“Why did they fight?” Xiao-Yu asks, leaning closer to see the picture of the goddess’s lover with his brush and scroll. “That’s against the rules!”

“Sometimes people who love one another fight because they cannot understand their feelings,” Lan Qiren tells him, tapping the point of his soft button nose. “So it was with Sanshengmu and Liu Yanchang-gongzi, and when he awoke, she revealed her true identity, and explained why she sent a rainstorm to plague him after she read his poem. 

“Both apologized profusely. Days went by, and Liu Yanchang finally recovered. By then the goddess and the scholar had fallen deeply in love, and marriage naturally ensued. Encouraged by Goddess Sanshengmu, Liu Yanchang continued with his journey to the capital to take the imperial examination, and months later, the goddess gave birth to their son, whom she named Chenxiang.

“At the same time, the goddess’s celestial family had learned about her marriage to an earthly man. Her brother, known as Divine Erlang, found his unruly sister and demanded that she renounce her new family and return with him to their heavenly home, but Sanshengmu refused, and battled him with the power of her magical lotus lantern…”

__

“I want to paint a portrait of this,” Wei Wuxian whispers, when he and Lan Zhan creep into the meishi after sunset to find Lan Qiren fast asleep on the floor, with A-Lan snoozing on his chest and Xiao-Yu curled up in the crook of his arm. “They’re so sweet, Lan Zhan!”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan murmurs, his eyes softening as he looks at the open book on his uncle’s desk. Lan Qiren clearly just finished reading it before he fell asleep, because the book is open to the very last picture; a color painting of a goddess embracing a youth and an older man with a lotus-shaped lantern hanging at the crook of her elbow. “Bring a blanket and a pillow, Wei Ying. We should let them sleep.”

(Lan Qiren often finds himself toting his little great-nephew and niece around the Cloud Recesses after that, and Xiao-Yu’s favorite place to play in his parents’ absence is always the house where his shugong lives.)

[pterodactylterrace]

Guys Like You Chapter 17

Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 17

Chapter Summary: We'll get through this, I promise.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: I'm almost 100% sure this is legally inaccurate. It's a work of fiction, though so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Also, vomiting and mentions of anxiety/poor mental state. Mentions of prior abuse.

{Prologue} {Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3} {Chapter 4} {Chapter 5} {Chapter 6} {Chapter 7} {Chapter 8} {Chapter 9} {Chapter 10} {Chapter 11} {Chapter 12} {Chapter 13} {Chapter 14} {Chapter 15} {Chapter 16}

Lawyers, attorneys, case building, legal proceedings and court dates all swam around Faye's head to the point she was dizzy. Henry had taken immediate action and gotten in touch with his legal team right away, ultimately being referred to someone more specialized in custody cases who agreed to work with Faye's sister on the case. He as not about to let that slime ball come back after years and take their baby from them.

First, they had to file for Faye to be the sole parent and guardian of Briar, sighting the years long abandonment for terminating any rights he may have had. Then, they had to gather up everything they could proving he was an unfit father, picking at old wounds that Faye would rather be left alone. All she'd had to do was get in contact with her sister and within minutes she had over a dozen pictures of just as many occasions with Faye battered and bruised, or with her fingers in casts, or her lip split. Faye hadn't even known her sister had been taking them, but she had also blocked out a lot of that time of her life. Her sister had always been the more responsible level headed one anyway. She'd probably taken them just in case something like this ever happened.

Her sister had also filed for a restraining order against him on her behalf. She knew what kind of person he was and having a legal order of protection against him was a solid idea. It prevented him from intimidating Faye or trying to just take Briar.

Overall, they were assured by almost everyone that he stood no chance. He had walked out of her life before she was even born and never tried to be in contact since. No judge in their right mind would listen to a word he had to say.

That did very little to settle Faye's anxiety. Over the next few weeks Henry would often find her crying silently, her mind a million miles away dwelling on the what ifs. Briar had moved to sleeping in their bed the same night they had gotten the letter, more for Faye's sake than anything else. Having her daughter close was one of the few things that calmed her down anymore. Henry had tried everything he could think of to take her mind off of what was happening, but with little success. All it would take is one look at Briar and Faye would start tearing up again.

Faye had gotten so bad she would barely eat. She would only pick at her food, nibbling on a few bites here and there. Henry could tell she was losing weight, but he was unable to convince her to actually eat more. She just kept telling him she felt sick all the time. A few times she had even worked herself up into such an anxious mess that she was physically sick. Henry had yet to meet her ex, but he knew he hated him more than he had ever hated anyone in his life. Whoever that slime ball was, he had severely crossed the line. The woman he loved was a wreck because of him, something had to be done.

Henry took it upon himself to pack everyone for the trip to the states, not wanting to add anymore stress to Faye if he didn't have to. Briar had been given Dramamine before the flight and again almost halfway through to keep her from getting sick. Faye's chronically empty stomach faired far worse. She was in and out of the small airplane bathroom, Henry dutifully following each time as she brought up bile or nothing at all, her stomach desperate to rid itself of contents it didn't even have. She even threw up the Dramamine he'd gotten her to take. It was times like this he was eternally grateful he was able to fly privately. The entire flight would have been a nightmare if they had to deal with other passengers at the same time.

He had booked the biggest suite he could within a reasonable distance of the court house where hearings were meant to be held. They wanted to have some privacy before everything happened, though they were planning on staying with Faye's parents afterwards until they went back home. Faye wanted to be impressed and thankful for everything he was doing for her and her daughter, once again, but she didn't have the energy to do much more than squeeze him tight, resting her weary head against his strong chest.

"It'll be alright, darling. No one is going to take our princess away." Henry assured, tilting her head up to kiss her gently.

"It's just dredging up so many bad memories." Faye admitted shakily, wiping her eyes before more tears could fall. Between throwing up and crying she was sure she was dehydrated, her head pounding in synch with her heart to prove it.

"I know, but they're in the past now."

"But they're not." Faye hiccupped, hiding her face in his chest again. "All of this is happening right now."

"This is the last time he is going to have any contact with either of you. Go and take a long shower, darling. Try to relax. You need your sleep."

"I know I look awful." Faye sighed, reluctantly stepping away from him.

"Just as beautiful as ever." Henry corrected, digging through the bags to find Faye's shower bag and something for her to change into. While she was in the bathroom, Henry convinced the half asleep toddler to get ready for bed, handing her a pair of zip up pajamas along with her diaper, reminding her to go potty before he would zip her up.

The child was tucked into the middle of one of the beds, hugging her stuffed bunny tightly and falling asleep almost instantly. Henry went to check on Faye once he was sure she was asleep, smiling softly when he saw her stepping out of the shower.

"Feeling any better?"

"Not really." Faye sighed, letting Henry take the towel from her and dry her off.

"It will be over soon, I promise." Henry assured, pulling one of the shirts she had stolen from him over her head.

"Not soon enough."

~*~

"She ran out as soon as she found out she was pregnant. I tried to track her down for years, but I never could find her. That's the only reason I haven't been in my daughter's life. I could never find an address for either of them. She just vanished."

Faye felt her skin crawl at his words, physically shrinking away from him the moment he laid eyes on her. Everything just came flooding back, and suddenly she was right where she was years ago, having to put up with his lies and manipulations. She could feel more bile threatening to creep up her throat every time she looked at him.

"As you can see, the defendant never filed for sole custody of the child until very recently. It is our belief that she is using the child against my client for some perceived wrongs. She has even fled the country to make sure that my client has no access to the child."

"Alright. Miss Warren?" The judge shifted his attention to the other side of the room. "Is the plaintiff the biological father of the child?"

"Yes." Faye answered softly.

"And did you try to reach out to him after the birth of the child?"

"No, I did not. He left the second he found out I was pregnant. He avoided my attempts to contact him up until I gave birth. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with us."

"And did you in fact leave the country with the child in an effort to avoid contact with the plaintiff?"

"No. I left because I had a job offer in another country. My daughter came with me, because she is my daughter."

"Your honor, if I may?" Delilah stepped in, squeezing her sister's hand supportively.

"Go ahead Miss... Warren."

"As you can see from the documents I have provided, my client has only moved three times in the last five years. The first was into an apartment in the same town she resided in with the plaintiff before their split. She held a lease in that same apartment until a year and a half ago when she moved to England. She only recently moved from there into a home that she shares with her current boyfriend. For the plaintiff to be unable to locate my client, he would have had put little to no effort into actually looking for her."

"Does Mr. Young have any evidence of him attempting to locate the defendant? What efforts did he make?"

"My client did the searching by himself, there is no paper trail of his efforts."

"So you cannot provide any evidence of his attempts to locate the defendant or the child in question?"

"No your honor."

"Now, Miss Warren... the lawyer, do you have a statement to make?"

"Yes, your honor. As you can see from the documents I have provided you with, my client suffered abuse at the hands of the plaintiff for years. There are not only pictures of the injuries, but also documentation from several emergency room visits due to 'blunt force trauma' along with multiple domestic violence reports against the plaintiff. The plaintiff left shortly after my client revealed her pregnancy and no attempts to contact my client or the child in question are able to be confirmed. Tell me, Mr. Young. If you were so invested in your unborn child, what was the child's expected due date? On what day did my client suffer a miscarriage of one of the children she was carrying? What do you even know about the child you want in your life so badly now?"

"I don't know anything, that bit- the defendant kept her from me."

"Kept her from you, or you didn't try to make any contact?"

"I tried to make contact!"

"Enough, Mr. Young." The judge sighed, leaning back to look at the papers in front of him. "Tell me Miss Warren, what does the child in question know about the plaintiff?"

"Nothing." Faye replied softly. "She didn't have a father in her life."

"Would it be alright if we spoke to the child?" The judge asked, looking over to where Briar sat in the back of the room, playing with her stuffed bunny under Henry's watchful eye.

"Briar?" Faye called, the child popping up and running over to her mother. "Would you be ok talking to everyone?"

"Ok, Mama!" Briar eagerly accepted, scurrying over to the chair she had seen everyone else take a turn sitting in.

"Hello Briar." The judge greeted, smiling warmly at the child.

"Hi." Briar giggled, squeezing her bunny to her chest.

"I like your bunny. He is very well behaved."

"We be good." Briar confirmed, nodding her head surely.

"Now, Briar, can you tell me about your family?"

"Yeah! I have my mama and that my aunt Lilah! I see Nana and Grampy on the phone too! Oh! And I met Papa family too! We play in the big yard, then we all went to sleep in the couch room and they were all giggling, but I was good!"

"You met your Papa's family?" The judge asked, his brow furrowing.

"I like Papa family." Briar giggled.

"Mr. Young, has the child had contact with your family?" The judge asked.

"Yes, she has recently met my family."

"Mama?"

"Hold on sweetie, Mommy needs to talk to Aunt Delilah." Faye rushed out, turning her terrified eyes to her sister. "What is he doing? Briar has never met his family. I've never met his family!"

"I thought he just congealed in a gutter somewhere. What is Briar talking about? Who's family did she meet?" Delilah whispered back.

"Henry's. She calls him Papa, we met them just a few weeks ago."

"That's kind of adorable, we will circle back to that after we deal with this douchebag. Can you prove she's never met dingus's family?"

"We've only been back in the States for two days. I don't even know where his family lives. Like I said, I never even met them!"

"That's something. Where's her passport?" Delilah mumbled to herself, shifting through the various papers in front of her.

"Papa? Papa, I gotta go!" Briar whimpered, squirming in her seat.

"I'll take you since Miss Warren is too busy." David quickly offered, popping up and reaching for the child before anyone else had a chance to react.

"No!" Briar screamed, kicking and wiggling when he picked her up. "No! Not Papa! Not Papa! Help! Mama!"

"Hey, it's me. It's Papa!" David tried, attempting to wrangle the thrashing child.

"NOT PAPA! WANT HENRY PAPA!" Briar screeched, hitting him in the face with her stuffed bunny.

"David, put her down! You're scaring her!" Faye yelled, anxious tears welling in her eyes. She wasn't sure if it was her heart in her throat, or if the water she'd been sipping on was trying to make a reappearance. The sight of him touching her daughter was enough to make her sick.

"Mr. Young!" The Judge barked, finally succeeding in getting him to release the struggling child. Briar dashed to the back of the room, throwing her arms around Henry's legs, frantically trying to climb him as she cried.

"Hey, it's ok Princess." Henry soothed, lifting her up and holding her tight. "Can you go and sit by Mama after you go potty?"

"NO!" Briar squealed again. "Papa stay! Bad man! Mama!" Briar blubbered almost incoherently, squeezing her bunny tight as she gasped between sobs.

"Ok, ok. I'll be right here. I'll make sure the mean man doesn't touch you or Mummy again, I promise." Henry assured, grimacing when he felt a warm wetness soaking through his shirt. "Princess? Did you have an accident?" Henry asked her quietly, glaring daggers at the other man when she shakily nodded her head.

"He... he scare me."

"I know, it's alright. We'll get you cleaned up, ok?"

"Your honor, may I ask the child a question?" Delilah ventured, standing up and placing her hand on Briar's back to get her attention. "Briar, who is your Papa?"

"Papa." Briar sniveled, hiding her snotty, tear stained face in Henry's neck.

"Your honor, as you can see from the copy of the child's passport, she has only been back in the United States for just over two days. She has never met the plaintiff's parents in her life. She is clearly terrified of him, too. Can we please stop all this nonsense?"

"I've heard all I need to." The Judge decided, turning to look at David. "Mr. Young, you have lied to me several times and provided me no substantial evidence regarding any of your claims. The child does not feel safe with you, and for good reason considering the numerous cases of domestic violence against you. Your parental rights are hereby terminated, and the defendant's request for an order of protection is granted, effective immediately."

"You can't be serious!" He growled, turning his furious eyes to the judge.

"I am very serious, Mr. Young. Even if you did genuinely want to be in the child's life, your previous convictions against the defendant prove you to be unfit to care for her." The Judge continued.

"She's ok." Faye breathed shakily, finally forcing herself to stand on shaky legs, Henry instantly wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her.

"I told you everything would be ok." Henry whispered, kissing her forehead softly. "No one is taking our princess away."

"I sorry Mama. I had accident." Briar sniffled.

"It's ok baby. Did you pee on the mean man?"

"Uh-hu. He scary." Briar mumbled. "No sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to him." Henry assured. "How about we go back to the hotel and get you a bath? We can go out for ice cream after."

"Please." Briar whimpered, continuing to hide in Henry's neck.

"No need to be upset. You're not in any trouble." Faye soothed.

"How about you? How are you doing?" Henry asked Faye, gently leading her out the door.

"Better? I don't know. I'm happy but still so anxious." Faye admitted.

"After all of this I don't blame you, but it's over now, darling. It's all over."

Faye and Briar ended up sharing a long bath when they got back to the hotel, giving Henry time to use the exercise room to relieve some of his own tensions. He had no idea what he would have done if they had been ordered to share custody. He hadn't known the little girl for very long, but she was still his world. He was willing to give up anything if it meant keeping his family together.

When he had gotten back to the hotel room, both of his girls were dressed, Briar happily attempting to dry her mother's hair while she sat on the floor, calling out directions to the little girl. She handed the dryer off to her mother as soon as she saw Henry, happily throwing her arms around his legs.

"You back!"

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm back." Henry chuckled, picking her up and kissing her forehead. "You have to try harder than that to get rid of me."

"Ewww! Papa you smelly!" Briar whined, covering her nose with both hands.

"The audacity!" Henry gasped, hugging her even tighter, laughing when she groaned in protest. "I in no way smell like a sweaty gym sock."

"You icky, Papa!" Briar repeated, pushing his face away with one hand, the other covering her nose. "You take a bath. I get you toys!" She decided, wiggling to be let down. Both adults nodded along as Briar monologued her choices in what Henry should take with him, tossing each one into the tub. She had decided upon a rubber duck, a wash cloth, a Captain America action figure, a horse figurine, the hotel mouthwash and carefully placed his razor on the side of the tub, sternly reminding him not to cut his hair again.

"Ok, princess. Promise I won't cut my hair again." Henry agreed for what had to be the hundredth time since he'd had to cut his hair for work months ago.

"Briar, how about we go finish getting ready, and then when Papa's done, we can all go see Nana and Grampy?" Faye offered, wincing at the decibel of the scream that erupted from the little girl's chest.

"NANA! GRAMPY!" She cheered, racing past her mother, digging through her bag to look for her shoes.

"You might want to hurry, I don't know how long I can keep her here." Faye chuckled, her brows crinkling when she saw the look on Henry's face. "What? You said you were ok with meeting my parents..."

"No, it's not that. That's the first time I've seen you laugh in weeks." Henry pointed out, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I'm trying to do better. Sorry I've been miserable to be around."

"Don't apologize for how you feel. Anyone would be upset if they had to go through that. I want you happy again, but I don't want you to force it. I want you to be really happy."

"Well, you can make me happier if you showered. The man stink is overwhelming." Faye teased, Henry rolling his eyes at her. "I see how it is, right back to teaming up on me. Just so you know, Kal is usually on my side."

"Guess we'll have to have a tiebreaker then." Faye shrugged, smirking as she left him alone in the bathroom with a shocked smile on his face.

When they finally arrived at Faye's parents home, Briar was about to burst from her seat in excitement. Faye barely got her out of the car before she was scurrying up the front steps, frantically ringing the doorbell. Faye followed behind her daughter, relaxing even more once she was in the familiar surroundings.

Delilah was the one to answer the door, her hair still up in it's sleek, professional updo, though she had changed into more comfortable clothes once she had gotten back to her parent's house. Briar audibly groaned when she saw her aunt for the second time that day.  "Aunt Lilah! Where Nana?"

"She's in the kitchen, waiting on you." Delilah laughed, moving out of the child's way and wrapping her sister in a hug. "Told you we'd get through this."

"My sister, always there to save my ass."

"And you thought law school was a stupid idea."

"You said the same thing about art school, and look what it got me." Faye teased, nodding at Henry as he made his way up the stairs.

"Ok, you got me there. No one in my law firm looks anything like that. All the ones that ask me out for drinks are fat, bald and married."

"Is that where your standards are now?"

"Basically." Delilah laughed, ushering the two inside.

"Faye!" A short older woman cheered, bustling in from the back of the house with Briar on her hip.

"Hi Mom!" Faye greeted, pulling away from Henry to hug her mother. "Mom, I'd like you to meet my partner, Henry."

"Partner?" Her mother questioned, giving her daughter a strange look.

"It just sounds better than 'boyfriend'. More sophisticated."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Warren." Henry cut in, offering his hand to her only to be pulled into a surprisingly tight bear hug.

"Now, now! We hug around here!"

"Papa give good hugs!" Briar giggled.

"Yes, he does." The older woman agreed, patting his shoulder before venturing back into the house.

"Dad is around here somewhere. Probably break-fixing something." Faye mumbled, taking a quick glance around in an attempt to discern where he was.

"Just follow the sound of objects crying, you'll find him." Delilah laughed. "I think he said something about fixing the ceiling fan in the gremlin's room."

"Which one are you staying in?" Faye asked.

"I'll bite the bullet and sleep in the gremlin room. Not very often you have the chance to score in your childhood bedroom." Delilah teased, Henry shifting his gaze uncomfortably anywhere else.

"Like that isn't what happened when we visited your parents." Faye scoffed, grabbing his hand to lead him down the hallway.

"That's different." Henry mumbled, hefting their bags up as she pulled him away.

"How?"

"They're my family. There's not much I could do by now that one of us hasn't done before."

"Relax, I'm pretty sure my sister knows we've had sex by now. I would know, I told her."

"Only good things I assume?"

"Well the conversation started with me telling her she gave me the wrong size condoms when I moved away."

"Wonderful." Henry sighed, fighting back a laugh when he was led into a room with two twin beds against opposing walls.

"If you want I can help you push those together." A voice from behind offered. "Hi, I'm the dad."

"Hello, sir. I'm Henry." He greeted, setting the bags down and offering his hand, the other man gripping it firmly and resting his other hand on his elbow, giving a curt nod.

Faye's father wasted no time in sequestering Henry off into a different bedroom to hold up the ceiling fan while he worked on it. Henry wasn't sure what he was doing, and he had a feeling he didn't know what he was doing himself. He was either trying to find a bad wire, or attempting to electrocute both of them.

Faye and her sister had wandered back to the living room, curling up on the couch with her head in her sister's lap catching up on everything that had happened while they had been apart. Delilah had been killing it in her law firm, to say the least. She'd bought her first condo and a cat to go with it. The cat hated her, despite her many attempts to befriend the feline now sharing her home.

Briar spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen with her Nana, 'helping' her make cookies and brownies. Naturally, she had to sample everything that was being made. She also got sole ownership of the spatula, and she made sure everyone knew it, loudly yelling it to the rest of the house.

They weren't all back in the same room again until dinner time, Briar happily explaining to Henry that she had been the one to make the 'sketti' as she kept calling it. He had doubts to the validity of that statement. He also quickly figured out where Faye had learned to cook. Faye finally did more than pick at her food, actually inhaling three plates of her favorite comfort dish. After they had all stuffed themselves, the three travelers decided to head to bed, the combination of jet lag, the day's events, and the amount of carbs they had just consumed almost putting them into a coma at the table.

Briar went straight into the room at the end of the hall as soon as her pajamas were on, happily leaping onto the giant canopy bed. Surrounding it were stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes, along with tumble mats, a slide, a small ball pit, a mini trampoline and the biggest dollhouse Henry had ever seen. One wall was a chalkboard, several of Briar's artworks still decorating it from the last time she was there, the other walls were painted a soft purple, her name written in big silver letters on the wall behind the bed, peering proudly through the posters of the canopy.

"It's her room at my parent's house." Faye shrugged.

"Tell me again how I'm the one that spoils her?"

"There's more stuff in here now than there used to be."

"No there's not!" Delilah called from down the hall, Faye shooting an annoyed look over her shoulder.

"They're her grandparents, they're supposed to spoil her."

"Is this the biggest room in the house?"

"It used to be our playroom. Dad wanted to turn it into a home theater before I had Briar."

"Papa, watch!" Briar gasped, picking up a remote and turning on the TV mounted on the wall across from her bed.

"A TV of her own in her room." Henry half laughed. "And I get yelled at for sneaking her a biscuit!"

"You sneak her cookies just before dinner!"

"Your mother has been stuffing her with cookies since we got here."

"She hasn't seen her in a while?"

"That settles it, until I end up getting that kid her own pony I don't want to hear another word about me spoiling her." Henry snorted.

"She asked you for a pony, didn't she?"

"It's come up." Henry confirmed, tucking the sleepy, squirmy child in tightly with her bunny under her arm.

"She's not getting a pony." Faye grouched, kissing her daughter's forehead.

"But I want a pony." Briar pouted.

"Where will you keep a pony?"

"The stable where Papa ride horseys."

"You know, Mommy is pretty sure she asked Papa not to take you out there." Faye grouched accusingly, glaring at Henry as he pointedly avoided her gaze.

"She started crying." Henry mumbled, giving her a pathetic look. "I can't say no when she's that upset. It was just the once, I promise. She only pat them, she didn't get on a single horse."

"Wanna ride horsey."

"Anything else you do that I should know about?" Faye asked, raising a brow at her boyfriend.

"I leave my underwear on the bathroom floor every night then put them in the hamper each morning before you wake up."

"Strangely specific."

"It has been eating me up inside for ages. I finally feel free."

It felt like no time at all that Faye was curled up in her old bed, Henry sleeping in the one that used to be her sisters. It felt like even less time before she was jerked out of sleep, her stomach protesting strongly, bile rising into her throat. She jumped out of bed and rushed across the hall to the bathroom, not even taking the time to turn on the lights before violently emptying herself of everything she had eaten that day. Henry was right there only a few seconds later, having been awoken by her frantic rush to the bathroom. He held her hair back at the base of her neck, rubbing her back softly and trying to focus on anything other than her vomiting. He should have been used to it after Faye being literally worried sick for weeks, but the smell got to him every time.

"I think I ate too much." Faye whimpered, using some tissue to wipe her mouth and tossing it into the bowl, flushing it along with everything she'd just thrown up.

"You haven't eaten much in weeks, darling. Maybe you should try pacing yourself more?" Henry suggested, slowly helping her to her feet to rinse her mouth out.

"I know, but I just love my mom's spaghetti so much." Faye whined.

"I'm sure she'll make it again if you just ask her."

"Well that seems obvious now."

"Think you can go back to bed?" Henry asked, leading her back across the hall at her small nod.

After another two days of feeling nauseous, they had all come to the conclusion that her immune system must have been weakened by the stress of everything and caused her to catch some stomach bug. After a week and a half, she was wondering what kind of super bug she had managed to contract. The only time she could keep food down was when she would nibble at things throughout the day. Just how long would it take for her stomach to get used to food again before she could keep it down? She'd hoped she would be able to stomach something more substantial on their last full day with her family, muscling down her mother's homemade waffles until lunchtime. Two bites of mashed potatoes was all it took to tip her over the top, landing right back in the bathroom with Henry holding her hair back.

Thankfully they had noticed the pattern of small bits of food staying down in time for them to fly back to England. The fatigue of her being sick, along with how emotional she was about not being able to actually spend as much time with her family as she would have liked while she was there had her sleeping almost the entire flight. That left Henry dealing with Briar's motion sickness. He was slowly becoming convinced his entire world would be nothing but vomit for the foreseeable future. Faye finally gets to where she can eat just fine, only for Briar to be throwing up kool-aid and vanilla wafers while her mother got some well deserved rest. It was a good thing he loved his girls, otherwise he may begin to resent them soon.

@weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay  @nostalgicb-txh

Ok, my taglist got deleted somehow. If I missed anyone, I’m sorry. If you want to be added, let me know. I’m doing my best to make the tags work, but it’s not going great, my dudes.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Resentment

Okay, my incredulity about unironically playing Rick Astley aside: today. Was. HELL.

I woke up already feeling the hurt - the bone-and-muscle deep ache that speaks of a really, really bad day. I knew it was coming. Of course I fucking did. I've been overdoing it for weeks. It was always going to catch up. I just hoped it'd remain at a lower level for just a couple of more days.

But nope. Nope, today was the first day of what promises to be quite some while of excruciating pain. Yaaaaaaaaay.

But still, work needs doing. Thankfully, I did not get a panicked phone call begging me to come into the office. I did wake up earlier than I wanted to because of a text message, but it turns out that was the announcement that my new digibox arrives tomorrow (BT is apparently sending out a new digibox for its TV customers and I have zero idea why because mine works just fine, and this means I'm going to have to enter my bloody Netflix password into the thing again the next time I want to watch something and I haaaaaaaate having to use the fucking remote to enter a password). So at least I didn't have to commute.

That was basically the only good thing about today.

Someone else was typing a bit, today. I don't know who was typing a bit, but someone was. I know because the queue kept shrinking by ten or so reports every so often. The problem was that, once again, the ones that disappeared were those under a minute in length and dictated by someone with a fully comprehensible accent and no tendency to shift around the place or generally fuck up. No, I got all those. The fucking placentas (two of which the person dictating them started two days ago and finished early this afternoon, which dumped them right into the top of the typing queue because it goes by date created, not date completed). The prostate biopsies that are always six blocks or more, always with someone who refuses to state that there are fragments in with the cores until the block key, despite needing that information to exist in the fucking body of the report. The hysterectomies, one by a dude who seems to exist to make a typist bounce around the report, to the point of putting the number of specimens per block at the end of the block key instead of after each block where they belong. And a twelve-minute monstrosity by the guy I am always left to type for because his accent is a pain and he always does reports around the ten-minute mark and ... there's too much about this guy to hate. Well, insofar as his dictation goes - he's a lovely guy with a frustrating way of working, is all.

So yeah, apparently it's now actually policy to leave me all the difficult, frustrating, and just plain egregious bits of dictation. Scruffman knows how bad this is for me. Apparently we just don't care anymore. Fuck.

So now I hurt worse. Anything I might want to do except become duvet burrito is going to hinder my ability to even half-recover in time for tomorrow. I mean, everyone but Violet is supposed to be back tomorrow but that has never helped before and I cannot imagine it's going to help now, at least not in the "Give [Thess] the long and annoying stuff" department. Thing is, if I'm denied some kind of enjoyable activity, I'm just going to be grumpy and resentful. Well. More so than I already am. Because I am resentful. I am resentful of being lumbered with the shit no one else wants to do (because I don't want to do it either; I just do it because it's my job and I wouldn't be so pissed off if everyone did their share). I am resentful of having been obliged to manage more or less on my own for three weeks beyond people grabbing a few of the simpler and easier reports (the ones I enjoy and tend to use to decompress). Basically it feels like everything is dumping on me right now and I am just fed right the fuck up.

And I still have one more day of this shit before I can have some time off. Which will more or less be blown trying to recover from the bullshit of the last few weeks. And if I don't manage to get some kind of recovery done between now and Saturday night, I might have to cancel my Saturday D&D game again, which I really don't want to do but if Friday continues like the last few weeks...

I'm just really, really fed up. Frustrated and resentful and tired and in a lot of pain and clearly I need this time off so, so badly. It wouldn't be anywhere near this bad if I didn't get saddled with everything.

I wish I had the energy and lack of pain to just punch something.

[chilligyu]

info: im jaebum/reader, teen+, strangers to lovers au genre: soft angst, romance | word ct: 5.1k warnings: suggestive themes summary: for years, jaebum tried to forget the woman who broke his heart. little did he know that she wasn’t so easily forgotten, and that her face would haunt him at every turn. note: so I started this three years ago after listening to got7′s face for the first time and I’ve been editing it and forgetting it ever since. lol maybe someone will enjoy it

“Jaebum, I’m sorry.”

Okay.

“I really am.”

Okay.

“Please understand—”

Okay.

“Jae? Don’t just stand there.”

Okay.

“Please—please say something!”

Like what?

Jaebum didn’t know what she expected him to say, not after that. After she ripped out his heart.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

She just stood there in the doorway, bag in hand, waiting for his response with tears in her eyes. He knew she was trying to stay strong, he could see her lip trembling as she held it between her teeth. How long would she wait there? How long would she bat her eyelashes at him innocently waiting for him to make it all okay? What did she even want from him? Forgiveness? Reassurance? Did she think that somehow an apology would make their breakup hurt any less?

“Goodbye, Seohyun.” He forced out through clenched teeth. “Thanks for everything.”

“Wait—Jaebum—!”

Closing the door on both her and their three year relationship, Jaebum couldn’t remember what he did next. He couldn’t remember clawing every photograph off the walls, he couldn’t remember how his fingers stung as they dug into the plaster. He couldn’t recall pulling every plate from their cabinets, he couldn’t recall how his feet bled when he stepped on the broken porcelain. He couldn’t recollect how much he hated the man who stared at him in the mirror, he couldn’t recollect how his fist destroyed the glass and how it finally reflected how he felt inside.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

That was over a year ago. And it felt like an eternity to him. Looking at himself now, suit neatly pressed, shoes freshly shined, he didn’t see any semblance of the man from that night. After he destroyed everything that reminded him of her, as he saw the pictures of happier times reduced to embers in the fireplace, he made himself a promise. He swore that he would never let anyone ruin him so completely ever again. Steeling his heart and caging it in ice, he wouldn’t even give them the chance.

Never again.

“Jae?” Jinyoung inquired, knuckles rasping against Jaebum’s door. “We’re heading out for drinks, want to come with?”

He didn’t even look up from the reports he was filing. “Can’t. I’m busy.”

Jinyoung crossed his arms. “Shocker. You’re always busy.”

“That comes with being the boss.” Jaebum countered easily.

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung leaned against the doorframe. “C’mon, Jae, just pretend you’re a regular guy and not an office robot for a couple of hours. Would it hurt to have a little fun?”

“Maybe. Socializing is against my programming.” Jaebum teased in a robot voice. “I cannot acquiesce to your request.”

“Dammit Jae.” Jinyoung sighed in disbelief. “Your humor is wasted in this tiny little room. Go out with us. Free yourself from the confines of this dastardly place. One night with the guys isn’t going to kill you. And if it does, I’ll buy lunch for a week. Scouts honor.”

Jaebum snickered quietly. “Alright, if it gets you to shut up I’ll go out for a couple of hours.”

“And do a couple of shots?” Jinyoung pressed hopefully.

“Don’t push your luck, Jin.” Jaebum chastised him, leering over his glasses. “I’ll have a glass of wine and that’s it.”

“I’ll take it.” Jinyoung shrugged. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. You want to catch a ride with me?”

Pursing his lips, Jaebum shook his head. “I’ve got to turn these in before I go. I’ll meet you there if you text me the address.”

Jinyoung narrowed his eyes at his friend suspiciously. “I swear to God, Jae, if you flake on us I’m going to come back here and kick your sorry ass.”

“Like you could take me.” Jaebum smirked. “Just go, I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

Jinyoung didn’t relent, his head dragging as he headed towards his own office. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Im Jaebum. You’re not going to fool me.”

“I’m not trying to fool you.” Jaebum informed him. “But if you keep bothering me I’m going to magically find a stack of financial statements that need to be filed. And who better to file them than my good buddy Park Jinyoung—”

“See you there!” Jinyoung interrupted, dashing down the hall like his heels were on fire. “I’ll text you!”

Chuckling at the expense of his friend, Jaebum leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against his leg. He couldn’t remember the last time he went out just to go out. It had been too long since he was desperate for the numbing sensation of alcohol pulsing through his veins to simply function normally. The last time he could remember drinking he couldn’t recall anything that happened after. Not until he woke up in some woman’s bed that he didn’t bother to learn the name of. He wanted to feel bad, or at least some part of him did. Because she wasn’t the first, and she most certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Not tonight. He decided. Not this time.

When his phone lit up, a text message from Jinyoung waiting for him impatiently, Jaebum quickly got to work. As much as he tried to keep his stoic face in front of his friend, he needed to get out of the office. If he had to read another poorly written report littered with inaccuracies and spelling errors, he was going to lose his mind. Jinyoung’s offer could not have come soon enough.

By the time he was done, the sun was already starting to set. Cursing underneath his breath, Jaebum grabbed his coat and bolted out the door. Opting to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, he checked the bus schedule while tugging on his gloves. Jinyoung had already been at the bar much longer than he’d like, meaning that Jaebum wasn’t going to get out of the night unscathed. Lucky for him he was always prepared for such occasions. The bottle of aspirin in his desk drawer and him were about to be fast friends.

“Jae!” Jinyoung screamed through the phone. “Where are you!”

Jaebum groaned loudly as he made it out to the street. “I’m sorry, I’m still at the office. But I’m leaving now, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“You better be!” Jinyoung continued. “Because I’ll—I’ll kick your ass if you’re not!”

“Shut up Jinyoung, you’re drunk.” He muttered, ending the call and stuffing his phone in his pocket.

Wrapping his scarf around his neck, Jaebum walked briskly to the bus station just down the block. Instantly regretting turning down Jinyoung’s offer for a ride when the cold winter air pelted his skin. Opening his eyes even the slightest caused his eyes to water, each step he took sent a chill down his spine, frost nipped at the tips of his ears, he could barely stand it.

As he waited less than patiently, Jaebum found himself watching the people that passed him. An elderly woman wearing a mismatched set of mittens, a small dog in a boorish sweater jogging along beside her. Two school boys fussing over a handheld video game, laughing jovially despite their harsh words. A young couple walking hand in hand, their eyes filled with affection and warmth, leaving Jaebum with a foul taste in his mouth.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

Lighting a cigarette, he did his best not to think about Seohyun. About how she left him on a night just like this. How each kiss on her eager lips tasted like lies. How her brown eyes hollowed out his very soul. And how each promise she made cut him like knives. Jaebum had been trying to erase her from his life for a whole year. But no matter how much he drank, or how many women he kissed, he could still taste her on his tongue.

Even cigarettes do nothing to mask her taste. He mused, inhaling deeply and savoring the tobacco that filled his lungs.

When the bus pulled up to the curb, Jaebum dropped his unfinished cigarette in the street. Sighing, he tapped his foot impatiently as the doors opened and people spilled out onto the sidewalk. He had completely forgotten how cramped public transport could get during the winter. Another reason why he hated the desolate season. And Jinyoung’s persistent drunken text messages and calls weren’t helping his rapidly souring mood.

“What is it now, Jinyoung?” Jaebum exasperated, getting on the bus and swiping his card.

“Do you know that fish cake shop by the bar?” Jinyoung asked sluggishly. “The one that I really really like?”

Jaebum pinched the bridge of his nose as he found a seat at the back of the bus. “No, I do not. But I take it you want me to stop there?”

“Yeeeesss.” He dragged out. “I’m dying for a good fish cake.”

Sometimes I wonder how we’re friends. “Alright, fine, I’ll get you your stupid fish cake. How far away from the bar is the shop?”

“Not far at all!” Jinyoung exclaimed. “Just down the street a ways, you can’t miss it! Thanks Jae! You’re the best!”

Beep beep beep.

Pocketing his phone, Jaebum did his best not to let the night get away from him. He had to keep reminding himself that all of his problems could easily be solved with the bottle of scotch that was waiting at the bar. Jinyoung owed him, and getting free drinks out of him while he was drunk was an easy task for Jaebum. All of that was worth the annoying errands that his best friend was infamous for sending him on.

There’s a scotch on the rocks waiting for you. He told himself over and over again. Do it for the scotch. Scotch can get you through anything.

“Now approaching, Namdaemun Market. Thank you for choosing Seoul Public Transportation, have a nice day.”

As the bus rolled to a complete stop, Jaebum quickly stood and waited for the doors to open. Shouldering past the new borders, he apologized quietly, thankful to finally be off the cramped bus and back out on the street. Even if it was a bit colder than he remembered. Shivering, he pulled his lapel taught over his face, scanning his surroundings for the fish cake shop he was supposed to visit. What he found instead was a ghost from his past. A ghost with hair as black as the hole she gouged into his chest.

Seohyun? He swallowed nervously, his palms sweating despite the brisk December air. Is it really her? Please—please tell me that I’m seeing things.

It had to be her, he knew it deep down inside. He knew by the way his heart stopped, how his stomach sank, that it couldn’t be anyone else. But—his mind wasn’t so easily convinced. How could it be her? How could Lee Seohyun be standing right in front of him? Just as beautiful as the day she ripped out his heart without a care in the world. Waiting outside an electronics kiosk, a lollipop stick protruding from her perfect cherry red lips and a guitar slung over her shoulder as if—

A guitar? Jaebum questioned. Since when does Seohyun know how to—

Realization dawned on Jaebum almost instantly. His eyes were playing tricks on him, like they had so many times before. It wasn’t Seohyun, it would never be Seohyun. No matter how much a small miniscule part of him still wanted her back in his arms, she never would be his. The woman before him was simply his projection of something he would never have. Underneath his breath, Jaebum cursed himself for being hung up on her after all this time.

Still, his gaze didn’t waver as he watched the Seohyun look alike walk down the street. The resemblance was uncanny, had he been intoxicated he would’ve surely mistaken her for Seohyun. She even walked like her. The way her hips swayed—Jaebum couldn’t bring himself to look away. She was beautiful, breathtaking, mysterious, entrancing, the same dangerous formula that Jaebum became addicted to so easily.

For a brief moment, he couldn’t find the differences between them. From the way her dark hair fell languidly over her shoulders, the way her lips twitched into a hesitant smile, how her eyes glistened with a palpable passion. It was almost as if he was looking at a direct reflection of a memory. One he would’ve preferred to remain lost to time.

I need to get to this fish cake shop. Jaebum reminded himself. More importantly, I need to get the hell out of here.

Gathering his runaway thoughts, he started down the busy street, doing his best to avoid the mysterious woman. She was a reminder that he couldn’t afford to fall back into the hole that Seohyun cast him into. The man that loved Seohyun wasn’t one that Jaebum admired. In fact, he was a man that Jaebum tried time and time again to erase. And, until that exact moment, he thought he was doing a fair job of it.

“Get your fish cakes here! Best around!”

Jaebum’s ears perked up at the shouting vendor, appreciating the distraction more than he cared to admit. Besides, his head was in a complete haze ever since he spotted that woman. He wouldn’t have been able to find the shop on his own even if he ran right into the door. Which he practically did. The control Seohyun still had over him terrified him to no end. And he had only seen a woman who looked like her, it wasn’t even her. He shuttered to imagine what would’ve happened if she was really there. Whispering in his ear, her hands gliding up his body, the curves of her body beneath him—

“Jaebum…”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jaebum willed her husky voice away. The shivers that travelled down his spine—he had to ignore them. He had to get away from her. Ducking into the shop, he quickly purchased the fish cakes and left without a word to the clerk. He feared his own voice, feared how it would betray him. The only thing that mattered to him was getting to the bar and as far away from her as possible.

Without really paying attention to where he was going, Jaebum shouldered past someone and sent them stumbling backwards. Unconsciously, he reached out to steady them, taking hold of their wrist and pulling them in close to him before realizing who it was. It was her. Her. Her slender wrists were within his grasp, her dark eyes looked up at him in surprise, and coherent thought evaded him.

“Thanks!” She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I really should look where I’m going.”

At that close distance she looked even more like Seohyun. Jaebum didn’t think it was physically possible, but the proof was right in front of him. The scent of her perfume filled his senses, taking him back to a time when her fragrance was the only thing between them. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, he tried to respond, he tried to say anything that could distract himself from her lips. Her perfectly shaped cherry red lips…

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she offered him a dangerous look. “Not much of a talker, are you?”

Jaebum never made it to the bar that night.

He woke up the next morning tangled in sheets that weren’t his own. Lying beside him was the woman who unknowingly unravelled every effort he had made to forget about Seohyun. She made him painfully aware that his previous beliefs were nothing more than optimistic delusions. Jaebum hadn’t moved past her, not even in the slightest. He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

As was customary after every one night stand he stumbled into, he quickly pulled his clothes back on and quietly left her apartment without bothering to wake her. He called for a taxi, pointedly ignoring all of the angry texts and numerous voicemails left by Jinyoung as he made his way home. Jaebum wasn’t in the mood to explain himself. Ironically enough, all he wanted to do was drink. He settled for a silent ride through the city that was supposed to save him from himself, but he was beyond saving.

Days passed and he couldn’t shake the memory of Seohyun’s lookalike beneath him. She was a rarity, an anomaly that wandered into his life without any sort of warning. And as easily as she traipsed through his thoughts, she was gone. Frankly that was his own fault, he did it for his own good but it didn’t matter to him. He wanted her, he wanted more, his body ached for her in a way that was all too familiar. He sat at his desk, fists clenched in rage, hating himself for falling back into his old ways. All he wanted was a life without Seohyun, he wasn’t sure it was possible anymore.

At first, he was determined to stay away from her. He willed his thoughts and memories to the back of his mind, trying to get on with his life once more. But it wasn’t so simple. He found himself back on that street corner without realizing how he got there just a few nights later. Diligently looking for the cherry red lips that stained his own and drove him wild.

He would always find his way back to her.

“Did you miss me?”

She came up beside him with a coy smirk, she already knew his answer.

“Still not much of a talker, are you?”

Soon after they would wind up in bed again, as it was slowly becoming their routine. Jaebum had never felt more connected to a complete stranger, someone who could’ve easily gone through life without ever meeting him. He had Seohyun back, in some way. Like a ghost from the past letting him have one last glance at what could’ve been. He could’ve been happy, he was happy. Now he didn’t know what he was. All he knew was her because that was all he wanted to know. And he wanted to know more. 

On the first day he learned her lips, on the second day he learned her name.

On the third day she learned his.

“Jae...” She breathed beneath him, desperate for him as he was for her. “Please…”

He loved how she said his name. It pained him that he couldn’t say hers.

“Jae.” She tested on her tongue. “You called me Seohyun again.”

He watched absentmindedly as her delicate fingers dusted over his skin, offering nothing more than a quiet, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She mused. “I just need to know, someone you’re running from or running to?”

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

“Both.”

She visibly winced at his honesty. “Well, I hope I can help with that a little.”

And she did. Her lips pressed against his jaw as her hand slid down his abdomen, he hissed in response and took her in his arms. She was—magic. The second his mind would be occupied by thoughts of Seohyun she would pull him in with her own hypnotic gaze, letting him forget about the woman that brought them together in the first place. It didn’t last for long, but the reprieve was appreciated nevertheless.

On the fourth day he called her Seohyun again. The fifth day was the same.

On the sixth day he said her name and she smiled.

He lost track of the days after that.

The moment their relationship stopped being casual and became something more wasn’t entirely obvious to Jaebum. One day he simply woke up and instead of hoping to see her again soon he decided that soon wasn’t enough. They started to see each other every single day, some of those days didn’t end up in bed either. Maybe that’s when he noticed that she was more to him than he originally intended. Maybe that’s when he knew he was doomed to be in love with Seohyun for the rest of his life. Forever seeking her out in the woman he had hoped would make him forget.

One morning when she was gathering her things, giving Jaebum the space he had so foolishly convinced himself he needed, he asked her to stay. So she stayed. He couldn’t ever remember things with Seohyun being so simple. Seohyun was a woman that made Jaebum fight for every inch, beg for every moment, he was addicted to her and didn’t realize how quickly she was killing him. While he didn’t want to admit it, the moment she left him was probably the kindest thing she had ever done.

But she was perfect and he still loved her.

He hated himself, as he spent more time with her and could only see Seohyun in her eyes, he hated himself. He had hoped that they would separate, that he would see her for her and not for the woman he hated and loved all at once. Because she was perfect just as Seohyun was, all he had to do was wait for the inevitable. Either he would get fed up with her or she would realize the truth. She would learn that she was a replacement for someone that wasn’t worth replacing. Someone he evidently couldn’t let go.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind.” She whispered, dusting her fingers over his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

What hurt him most, was that she loved him. She loved him. Not some version of him that only existed as a ghost in her mind, as a lie she couldn’t give up. She loved him for exactly who he was. A man who looked at her and saw another, who reached for her everyday, who was haunted by a touch that was forever ingrained in his skin. He was disgusted by the man she loved, by himself. But if he ever told her the truth, he knew it would break her heart.

Break her like Seohyun destroyed him.

And then she would be gone.

So he would continue to lie to her, betray her no matter how much his own words tore him up inside. A sensation that was all too familiar, one he knew better than most after knowing Seohyun for as long as he did. Ironically, he was just like her. Selfish to the very end. 

“I’m alright.” He lied easily as always.

Except she wasn’t convinced, not in the slightest. She had never been convinced of his lies, he could tell just by looking at her that she was enduring his facade as much as he was. Pretending to be fooled so they could continue in blissful ignorance. Because she knew his heart better than even he did, a heart that had long since been locked away. Because she loved him despite everything that he was. And everything that he wasn’t.

It was close to their anniversary when he decided that enough was enough. She had introduced him to her friends, her parents, and he had done the same. Their lives had become intertwined to a point that severing their ties could only result in a catastrophic mess. He had to come clean, he had to put his heart at ease and end the nightmare he almost believed was a dream. He had to let Seohyun go, he had to let her go. Once and for all he had to free himself from her grasp and break a heart that belonged to a woman whose only mistake was running into a man in a fish cake shop.

“I don’t love you anymore, Jaebum. I’m sorry.”

His heart ached as he thought about that day, hated how much his own actions would soon imitate that very moment. Looking at someone who loved you with everything that they had and telling them that it was all over. That you never loved them. That everything was a lie. That you were nothing but a monster.

God I need a drink.

So to put a bit of distance between them, to gather his thoughts, he went to the bar that technically started it all. He ordered his usual drink, he pretended to watch a game that didn’t interest him, and he sat in silence as the moments ticked by. Every now and again the bartender would try to strike up a conversation, but after being ignored for the fifth time he finally gave up. Jaebum wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be a decent human being, it was taking every concerted effort he could afford to keep himself from falling apart at the seams.

And despite the fact that he had been sitting at the bar with two fingers of scotch in front of him for nearly an hour, he had yet to take a single sip. He kept swirling it in his hand instead, using it more as a distraction from his rampant thoughts than a means to soothe his agitated nerves. As much as he wanted to get the whole ordeal over with, he couldn’t get drunk. He had been selfish enough in the past year, he had to endure the next few hours sober because she deserved more than what she was given. She deserved more respect than he had ever offered her. And he deserved the misery he was destined for.

Once a couple of hours had passed, he decided it was time to face her. She would be starting dinner soon and he didn’t want her to waste her time. Not when he was going to be effectively kicking her out of his life forever. With a sigh, he put on his jacket to leave and pushed his untouched drink back towards the bartender. Then, a young woman took a seat beside him.

“Why don’t you let me join you for a drink?” She hummed seductively. “You’re looking a little stressed.”

 For fucks sake. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He returned without looking at her. “I’ve got better things to do.”

Apparently she wasn’t giving up so easily. “Is that anyway to talk to a pretty girl like me?”

Glancing at her, he wasn’t impressed. “Sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be. Drink by yourself if you’re so inclined.”

As he stood to leave, she took a firm grasp of his arm. “Jaebum? Are you seriously going to ignore me? Are you really that cruel?”

He rolled his eyes at her continued pathetic attempts. “You even learned my name, wow. How long have you been watching me?”

Turning back to look at her, he realized there was something familiar about her. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But that didn’t matter to him.

“Seriously, I’m not on the market.” He persisted. “Good day.”

“Jaebum!” She shouted in disbelief. “Do you seriously not recognize me? We dated for three fucking years, I feel like I’m owed more than a cold shoulder. Or are you the complete asshole you’ve always been?”

A chill ran down his spine.

“Don’t just stand there!”

No… it—it can’t be… that voice... 

“Say something!”

Seohyun?

Realization dawned on him, stomach acid rose in his throat. It had to be her, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind after hearing her say that. Those words, nearly those exact words were seared into his soul ages ago. That voice berated him for years. There was no way he would ever mistake that voice for anyone else. But—she didn’t look like the Seohyun he remembered. The mere sight of her didn’t drive him mad, he didn’t have to fight back the urge to throw himself at her feet. She was Seohyun without the best and the worst parts of her.

She wasn’t the woman he loved.

Not anymore.

“Wow…” He exhaled with a smile. “You’ve really changed, haven’t you.”

Which, now that the initial shock had worn off, he realized that she was the exact same. Painfully so. Her nails were freshly manicured, her hair and makeup were set perfectly in place, her clothes were fresh off the runway, she was Seohyun in every sense of the word. Perfectly plucked from time and placed in front of him. She was everything he thought he loved. Before he learned what love really looked like. And god it didn’t look like her.

“And you haven’t changed at all.” She huffed. “Still the rude asshole I dumped forever ago. I can’t believe I doubted myself for a second there, spotting you across the bar made it seem like the good old times. But I really made the right call, didn’t I?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You really did. Goodbye, Seohyun. Thanks for everything.”

She scoffed as he left. “Yeah, whatever.”

After that, Jaebum didn’t hesitate. He took off running for the bus stop, desperate to get home to a woman that he had loved for a whole year and just didn’t know it. He had been so sure that the love he felt for her was just a projection, that she only reminded him of Seohyun so that was the only reason he loved her. Never in all his life had he been happier to be wrong.

I love her… He chanted in his head, over and over again. I love her!

Once he got home, he burst through the door and stopped immediately when he saw her standing there. How had he never noticed before? She was beautiful, she was perfect, she was the woman he loved with his whole heart and he was a fool for not knowing sooner. She made him laugh, she made him smile, she made him forget about Seohyun a hundred times and even wiped her from his heart forever. And he was the idiot who thought it was all a lie.

“What’s wrong, Jaebum?” She asked innocently. “Is something on your mind?”

“Yes.” He confirmed easily, approaching her slowly and taking her hands in his. “I’ve done a lot of thinking, a lot of soul searching this past year, trying to make sense of my feelings for you. And I think I finally know what my brain has been telling me since the very beginning.”

There was a nervous glint to her eyes, but she played along. “What would that be?”

“That I love you.” He smiled. “I love you for being you and no one else.”

Those words, those simple words that wouldn’t make any sense to someone else, made her face light up like a fireworks display. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest, overwhelmed with a feeling he knew all too well. For the first time in four years, Jaebum could breathe. A huge weight had lifted from his shoulders, the ghost of Seohyun was finally gone. He was free.

“I love you too…” She mumbled. “I’ve loved you for so long…”

“I know.” He whispered gently, tilting her chin up and kissing her gently. “And I will thank you everyday for waiting for me.”

[fandomsilhouette]

they’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation)

The spotlight clicks on, floods the stage until the shadows are sent scampering away, every flaw and every fear in sharp contrast for the audience to feast upon; but what horrors lurk where the darkness prowls, trapped at the edges of the script like handcuffs around the actor? May life mirror art at the best of times, the worst of times. 

Happy @felinettenovember, y’all! We’re back to terrible o’clock writing times with @musicfren, who is collaborating with me on this fic-turned-mechanism-through-which-to-preach-on-the-spot-Hamlet-analysis. He’ll be posting the second part on his account tomorrow, during which the bulk of my meta nonsense is going to come through. Are you following him yet? @emzurl spoiled this whole story with their art and @dumpsdoods simply spoils me with theirs. 

Part 1 below. Part 2 upcoming.

“Alright, take ten, my dudes! We’ll go from Act III, Scene 1 after you get some snacks and chill.” 

Marinette lets out an amused laugh as she thumbs through her copy of the script, ignoring the throng of hungry students pushing past her, desperate for this grueling 5 hour rehearsal to end. Brevity may be the soul of wit, but certainly not of this play. Nino makes a good director, she thinkst: loud, relentlessly positive, able to carry the sagging energy of an entire unwilling highschool production on his shoulders.

But alas, poor Nino is fighting a losing battle. Everyone knows that the point of this play is the obligatory report they will all have to write for their literature class at the end of the week. Almost no one here can act, and Marinette’s arms are beginning to grow tired from carrying up the entire play. With scarcely a week left it looks like most people are planning to coast the rest of the way to a clean C+. The part of Hamlet still has not been cast.

Akuma attacks have pushed back the discussions they were meant to have on the play, and Bustier couldn’t cancel the major assignment for the unit; instead, she had told them to analyze the play through the role of their choice after embodying it for the few weeks it took to rehearse and perform the production. Their in-class discussions have been condensed into a take-home paper on top of the already obligatory theatre performance and pretty much everyone knows that Bustier would be lenient on them just for that. And Nino knows they know, and Marinette is starting to suspect that he is itching to “chill” like he keeps telling them to. 

Marinette chews on the corner of her pencil, running a finger over the veritable bloodbath of neat pink notes she’s crammed into the margins of every page. She’s on in the next scene, and she wants to make sure she’s got all the nuances of the character, her character, exactly as she plans to bring her to life. Looking over the script, Marinette starts to regret not typing the notes to begin with: her entire essay is definitely already fully composed. Maybe Max will consider building her an application that can scan the document and transpose it to a word processor as editable text… 

“Give me your hand, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.” 

Marinette looks up to see Felix quoting Shakespeare, trying very hard to look inconspicuous in his black stage-hand clothes, wheeling a stand of fake swords almost as tall as he was. She watches with some amusement as he struggles to set it upright, and makes absolutely no move to help him. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you on stage any time this week,” she says, sticking her tongue out and being far cuter than it had any right to be. Felix, sweating, scrambles for a riposte. 

“I hadn’t expected you out of the home ec room at all. Shouldn’t you be half-drowned in fabric or something?” 

She sends him a quizzical look. He wonders if the akuma attacks have scrambled her memory. “Because...you’ve got costumes to work on? As the play’s costume designer?” 

“Oh, I’m not doing costumes this year, actually.” Marinette laughs awkwardly. “I’m not even sure what I would write about if I were.” 

Felix stares at her. The sword he was carrying slid out of his grasp with a dull clang.

“...what are you writing about as a stagehand?” 

Felix decides to pretend the last few moments were a fever dream and focus on answering this one very reasonable question. “I’m looking at the blocking and the prop placement and the lighting and how it impacts the effect of the character portrayal on the audience and what information manages to get conveyed to the audience.” 

Marinette offers a suitably impressed ooh at this. “How far have you gotten with it?” 

“Darling, we don’t even have a Hamlet. The titular character. I’ve done nothing.” Felix offers the most deadpan look he can muster and startles at her giggle. “What, how far have you gotten?!”

Marinette flashes her script at him, more notes than dialogue at this point. 

“You are possibly the only person in the class thinking anything even remotely deep about this play. What is all that for?!” 

“Hopefully for a handwritten notes to editable text conversion app.” 

Felix only narrowly avoids gaping. What?! “...is that what’s scrawled on every corner of that script you’re clutching?” He grins crookedly at her, and her traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“...oh! no, um, those are my notes. For… my essay? I’ve written out the character analyses into where the text supports my arguments and… um… yeah.” She flushes with the realization that 1) that was completely out of context for him because 2) he cannot, in fact, read her mind. 

“...Marinette, for what do you possibly need notes?” 

“...to play my character?” 

“Oh, wow, are you playing a guy? Impressive, tiny girl.” He rakes his gaze down her body and Marinette is flushed for a whole new reason now. She pushes to her feet and doesn’t bother to care about the swords she knocks over. 

“I’m not, actually.” 

“Why?! Who is there to play among the female characters? Marinette, I took you as someone who plays characters of worth.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide with dangerous innocence “Are female characters not valuable?” 

“I-- no, that’s not what I meant and you know it! Shakespeare is historical, and male-centric, and writes women who do little more than parrot the views of the men around them if they get any dialogue at all. There’s no substance there! Who are you possibly going to play, Gertrude? Ophelia?!?” Felix’s tone makes it very clear what he thinks of the only two options she has available to her. 

Marinette sweeps past him coolly, her hair whipping against his cheek. “I am playing Ophelia, actually.”

Stumbling, Felix turns and gives her a wry grin. “Oh darn, I’m sorry for your loss.” He makes a valiant effort at replicating her stuck out tongue, not that Marinette is looking. It’s for the best: it’s not nearly as cute on him. 

“Excuse you?” Marinette halts in her tracks, shadowed amongst the heavy curtains of stageside. Her voice echoes hauntingly around the empty theatre. 

“...c’mon. Ophelia does less than Gertrude. She even has fewer lines!”

With great restraint, Marinette manages to do nothing more than turn to face Felix, trembling with repressed rage. “Does less? Ophelia is the only person in this play who does anything at all that isn’t driven by a madman’s plot! Ophelia is the only person in this play who can pull Hamlet out of insanity, even if for little more than a moment.” 

Frustrated, Felix tosses the nearest item at her and growls when she catches it neatly. It’s a victory when she stalks off across the stage to the opposite wing, gathering her notes and settling herself neatly in a prim fury. She’s wrong, she’s wrong, she’s wrong. He whirls around and starts rearranging everything she knocked over, grumbling under his breath. 

“Ophelia is the only character in that play who makes zero choices of her own. Even her death was a result of her tripping into a lake.”

There’s a crashing sound, and Felix spins back around to see Marinette bolt upright, tempestuous in her temper. Felix may have gotten a bit too loud with that last statement.

“How can you say that? That’s the most significant choice she makes in the whole play!”

Felix can feel the irritation rising, hot and ugly in his chest. Why is she being so stubborn? Marinette makes a gesture at him, quick and angry from the other side of the room. Felix squints and tilts his head, struggling to what she was doing from across the stage. Then all at once it hits him.

“Do… do you bite your thumb at me?!” He splutters in indignant incoherency, his grip tightening on whatever he’s holding until the plastic grooves bite into his skin. 

“I do bite my thumb at thee, sir.” 

Felix steps onto stage, glaring. Marinette matches him step for step, glare for angry glare. Nino gasps, cowers, and then grabs his camera.

The class, milling around aimlessly as their ten minutes ticked to an end, comes to a collective halt. Nino sheppards them out of the way of the camera’s shot. They flock without protest to the edges of the theatre, terrified to watch this trainwreck unfold, terrified they’ll miss even a second of it. The die has been cast. Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

Nino can only hope that the set backgrounds manage to come out of this intact.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

you were shunned and burned your cradle

Newsies Gen PG 4,365 words AO3 Living in New York isn't easy for a boy on his own. It's worse for Crutchie between his leg and the air itself trying to poison him. But things really can only go up.  For @i-got-personality as part of @newsies-secret-santa! You said you like Crutchie, canon era, and any kind of magic and well I hope that you like this!

Being a changeling in New York City hurts. It makes his skin itch and his lungs burn and his eyes water. From the iron that surrounds him, fills the very air along with the smoke. If he’s not careful when he reaches out or brushes against something his skin comes away with a sharp, searing scar.

Being a changeling hurts in a different way too. Knowing that, for whatever reason, his mother gave him up. That a human baby was far preferable to him and so he was left in some other child’s crib. To make matters worse, he was given up twice. That hurt even more.

On his crueler days, the ones filled with self-loathing, he blames himself. That it was some personal failing, his bum leg perhaps, that made his mother exchange him. That the same failing is why the woman who believed herself his mother threw him out onto the street. Logically, he knows this isn’t the case. For one, he remembers what happened to his leg and it involved an iron poker that proved to his mother he wasn’t really hers as fear burned in her eyes.

Being a changeling in New York hurts and it’s hard too. Trying to grow, to thrive, in a city that was made in opposition to your very nature. It’s even harder when you’re just a kid. When you’re living on the streets. His first few nights are the worst. He’s cold and hungry and tired and he hurts. Oh does he hurt.

Being a changeling is no walk in the park, though ironically walks in the park help some. Help a lot. Until he tires. But being a changeling in a city as big as New York means you’re not alone. Well, you’re never alone but there’s others too. If you know how to spot them.

He’s been sleeping in doorways and sneaking food from market stalls – but not begging, whether an innate part of being a one of the Folk or an innate part of himself he did not want or need anyone’s pity – for a few weeks when he sees her. She’s tall, very tall and with the tatters her skirts are in he’s able to see the pale pink of her calves from knee to muddy leather boots. It’s not a normal pink, not like the glimpses of his own cold cheeks in shop windows, but the dusty pink of a rose. Her fingers are the same color as she waves and calls, catching passersby’s eye and gesturing to the basket of flowers on her arm. The violets match her thick, plated hair and the bluebells her bright, solid-colored eyes.

He stops, shocked on the other side of the street, when he sees her. A cart and then trolley pass between them and still he can’t tear his gaze away. She’s smiling at him once the street is clear, wide and kind. The light almost sparks off her pointed teeth. She winks and crooks a long, thin finger to him. He crosses without another thought, barely managing to remember how to even walk before he’s in front of her.

“Hello little one,” she coos, tilting his chin up so he can meet her gaze. Her pink fingers then trail through his hair, straightening it, before running down to brush over his shoulders and tug lightly at his vest. This close he sees that she has small white flowers woven into the braid of her purple hair. They look like stars in a twilight sky and he’s fairly certain they sparkle too.

“Hello, miss,” he manages to reply.

Her grin sharpens. “You’re a polite young man. And that smile! Sweeter than stolen cream.”

At those words he can’t help but preen. “Thank you, miss. I quite like your hair myself. I’ve-” he stumbles, tightening his grip on the crutch under his arm, “I’ve never seen hair that color.”

Eyes widening, she straightens. “My, you’ve not met one of your own before, have you?”

“No, miss,” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. He reaches up to brush it back but she’s faster. Brushing it away with her rosy fingers again.

“But you know our ways?” She says it like a question but the flash of her eyes makes it a challenge.

He straightens, feeling so proud it borders on smug. “Never give your true name, always be polite, and nothing is a gift.”

Her head tilts and he honestly can’t tell if she’s thrilled or disappointed. Though they both know it’s not all the ways of the Folk, just the important ones. The ones the humans know in order not to err on their bad side. But for a changeling like him, it’s a good start and all true. That’s another thing he knows, the Folk cannot lie.

“Very good little one. You may know, but I doubt you have much practice. Let us strike a bargain, shall we?” Again, her head tilts and more than her long limbs or resemblance to a garden or sunset, this looks the oddest to him. Sets her apart from the humans still buffeting them on the busy street.

“Only be it fair and true,” he replies on instinct. Because, there’s nowhere else it could have possibly sprung from.

Pride and amusement has her spine straightening as she nods. “My proposition is thus; you give me the two buttons from your vest and I shall weave you a crown that will never wilt. That will remind you of who you are.”

He has to think about it, faerie bargains are notoriously tricks meant to cheat the person hapless enough to make one. There are normally catches and clauses. There are twists and double meanings and you always, always lose more than you gain. Yet, this seems simple. Straightforward. And it would be rude to say no.

“A trinket for a trinket,” he says, stalling.

She inclines her head. “A mortal trinket for a faerie trinket. A piece of a life that was and will be again.”

His heart and mind catch on that last bit but to puzzle it out could take all day and he’s getting hungry. He was trying to find food when he saw her in the first place. It’s a risk, but a benign one. “My two buttons for a flower crown woven by you that will never wilt.”

Again, her smile is sharp. But her knife his sharper as she leans forward and cuts the buttons from his vest, hand moving quickly to cup them before they can do more than fall from the fabric. She slips them into the folds of her skirt, her knife disappearing too. Just as quickly she begins to pluck flowers from her basket with her too long, stick thin fingers and begins to weave them into a crown and in a blink it’s on his head.

“May you wear it in good health,” she says and it’s a blessing he didn’t bargain for. His stomach twists and he nods; remembering not to thank her at the last moment. She flashes one last grin as she turns away, her skirts flaring out, and walks down the sidewalk.

He manages to not lose his flower crown as he falls in with a group of satyrs living in Battery Park, though he leaves after a few weeks when he learns the fish they always have for dinner comes straight from the aquarium in the castle. He goes back to sleeping in doorways and on fire escapes after that. He’s hungry all the time but he can never be sure if it’s his nature or his circumstances that cause it.

Eventually, his clothes become too thin and short, showing off his wrists and legs and strips of his stomach. Sleeping on fire escapes has a new bite as the fabric begins to cover less and less and more and more of his skin is exposed to the iron. The worst is how tight his boots have become, pinching and squeezing at his toes. He refuses to go barefoot though, not because of the cold but because it reminds him too much of the others. The women who walk on the breeze and become one with the trees. The men who blink at him before disappearing into shadows and around corners. The beings and creatures who pinch and poke and trick and steal and cackle and dance, dance, dance in between the oblivious crowds.

He finally manages to trade with an immigrant family from the Lower East Side, not feeling sad to hand over the last items his mother gave him in exchange for shoes that are just a hair too big and clothes that keep his skin from the sparking itch of his fire escape beds.

It’s this sleeping arrangement that gets him in trouble. Faeries are meant to be swifter, stronger than humans. But with his crutch he’s not able to outrun the police. A shopkeeper reports him for vagrancy and even his charms aren’t able to keep the police from dragging him to the Refuge.

Another boy, a newsboy, sees this from a little ways down the street. He freezes and his face darkens. His face with its too sharp angles and too bright eyes. The boy is moving before he has the time to process this, making a messy grab for a trinket from a nearby vendor’s cart, dropping his papers in the process. The police notice – everyone on the block notices – and grab him. The boy struggles but it’s a show, he can tell it’s just for show, and soon they’re both being lifted into the wagon.

The trial is short, the other boy cocky, and the warden at the Refuge cruel. At least here he has a bed, a real bed, for the first time in years. The other boy smooth talks his way into getting the one next to him.

“You can call me Jack, Jack Kelly. Though some of the boys call me Cowboy too,” he says with a quicksilver smile.

He raises a skeptical brow, his thoughts catching on the phrasing and the sharp points the boy’s ears come to. Sharp points that match his own.

“You’re like me,” he says instead of giving his name. He knows better than to give anyone his name. He knows Jack certainly isn’t this boy’s.

“Depends on what you mean by that,” Jack says slyly, stretching out on the thin bunk.

“How do you do it?” He asks with genuine curiosity, leaning forward so he can lower his voice and study Jack’s pleasantly bored expression.

Confusion pulls at Jack’s brow. “Do what?”

“Work as a newsboy.” It wasn’t obvious? “They lie all the time to make money.”

The quicksilver is back. “I never lie. I just embellish the truth. Tell a story. The facts are there, just maybe not all the facts. If it weren’t true, I couldn’t say it.” Jack shrugs and it’s an odd motion since he’s laying on his back with his hands propped behind his head. Made odder by the fact that it seems almost graceful. “It’s not so bad. Get to go all over the city and the lodging house means you’ve got a bed if you can afford it.”

He frowns at the non-sequitur. It deepens when he realizes it’s an abrupt topic change. “We’re stuck here and you’re offering me a job?” he can’t keep all the disbelief out of his voice. Even if he hadn’t checked, he could feel that the windows and doors were barred with thick iron rods.

“I’ll be out of here by dawn, question is if you’re coming with me?”

For a solid minute he weighs his options. The Refuge with its coldness and crying children. Jack with his silver tongue and faerie arrogance.

When they manage to sneak out into the courtyard a few hours later they’re met by the boys who helped break the lock and distract the guards. The first causes him to stop, he’s so obviously a sprite that the scowl is the only thing keeping him from laughing. The other is mortal and chomping on an unlit cigar, the scent of which still makes him wrinkle his nose. The four slink out and into an alley before twisting around the block and through another back alley until they’re farther and farther away.

“We’re even now, Kelly,” the sprite finally growls once the sky begins to lighten.

“A deal’s a deal, Spot.” Jack offers his hand, spitting into it first. If he hadn’t already figured the boy was one of the Folk that would have confirmed it. The spit shake marks him as a newsie. Spot turns to him and the mortal, nodding at them both before turning off a side street and disappearing.

“Bell’s gonna ring soon,” the boy says, almost nervous as he bounces on his toes and glances down the street. His eyes dart to where Spot disappeared to, then to him, and finally back to Jack.

“And we’ll be there, right new kid?” Jack raises a brow at him. It’s a taunt.

“Course,” he replies. No bargain was struck, no deal made, but he is in Jack’s debt and they both know it.

Jack nods, smiles, and turns back to the mortal. “Go get in line, Race. Make sure Weasel don’t give us no grief for being late.”

Race, apparently, grins around the cigar and takes off running. Maybe that’s where the nickname comes from.

“You can trust Racetrack,” Jack tells him vaguely as they follow, “he’s good people.”

Or maybe that’s not where the nickname comes from.

In the next few weeks, he learns the ins and outs of selling from Jack. And of “charming folks” though truthfully, it’s just magic. Jack starts calling him “Kid” and the other newsies “Crutchie” and he doesn’t really care because neither are his name and that’s what matters. The night in the Refuge isn’t the first or last Jack spends there, but it is the only one that’s intentional. He works harder to repay Jack who seems less and less inclined to care.

Finally, he feels they’re even when he manages to discover the nook in the corner of the roof of the lodging house. The air is still filled with smoke and iron but not the smell and sounds of mortal boys. He takes careful trips up with bedding and supplies until he feels it’s suitable. Sleeping under the stars just feels right and he can tell Jack agrees by the expression on his face when he sees it.

They grow close. The other newsies learn he can predict the weather with startling accuracy and say it must be thanks to his leg, he never corrects them. They talk as the city chokes them, about going to someplace that’s nothing but stars. The money comes in fits and starts as he grows into his own sharp features. The other Folk avoid him but mortals feel almost compelled to buy his papers. Stories come in across the river of a young newsie rising through the ranks of Brooklyn and ruling with an iron fist. They don’t tell any of the others that the rumors sound an awful lot like the stories of Court drama they hear.

He keeps his own crown in the bag at his hip, as unchanging as the day he received it. Though now, years later and clothes traded and swapped and bought he misses the buttons she took. Misses having something that reminds him of the place he used to believe was home. For even his crutch is different, having long outgrown the original.

They’re teenagers too soon, a blink in their long lifetimes. With it comes something they don’t expect, an odd almost awed respect from the others. Except Race but he never counted. He’s tied up in Brooklyn as a rule and so is exempt. They never sought the power they seemingly have, power different than that which they were born with, and they discover it in the most dramatic way.

It starts with a raise in prices. A raise which isn’t fair, and they of all people would know. Jack is outraged, he is angry too but in a colder way.

The new boy, the one who either didn’t heed the stories of the old world or else his family hadn’t passed them on – and that did happen as people sought to keep the good and leave the monsters behind when they came to America and never would they imagine to find so many pretty ones in the center of the city – and offers his name as though it was on a platter. Even his little brother gives a nickname. But Jack had been kind and called him Davey and the others had too, much to Davey’s unknowing chagrin.

The new boy, Davey, matches Jack in his heat, at least momentarily, offering the spark to Jack’s powder and unknowingly unleashing that power.

When Jack says they should strike, they strike.

He finally understands the appeal of the Courts for the first time.

“Do you think she’s really going to show up tomorrow?” he asks that night on the rooftop, head still spinning from the rush of their decision. The thrill had dampened slightly after Jack told him of Spot’s reluctance to join them. Understandable, why would he want to risk losing the grip he kept on the tight leash he had over Brooklyn? And he didn’t owe Jack anymore. But this was as much for them as for the mortals. Righting a wrong against oneself was practically faerie law. Though the girl reporter was an intriguing thought and a twist even he hadn’t seen coming.

“I think so,” he can hear Jack’s smirk in the dark. “She told me her name was Katherine Plumber.”

“Really?” He’s surprised, the way she’d eyed him he thought she’d know better.

“Least it’s the name she publishes under,” Jack is almost proud.

“Clever,” he says happily.

“Too bad your charm doesn’t work in print,” Jack teases.

“I don’t need glamour to be charming. The smile’s just icing.”

Jack laughs, the sound floating up over the rooftops. “Good thing she’s bringing a camera.”

He grins up at the stars.

Like any war there are casualties. Unfortunately, he is one of them. Being back in the Refuge again is hard. The time stretches and shrinks in ways he never imagined possible and somehow he knows decades, centuries later he will look back on this and still wonder. The scent of iron is so heavy it’s dizzying and the press of bodies so close it makes everything seem small. These mortals with iron in their blood and salt on their skin surrounding him on all sides. He has the crown, somehow he has the crown. His crown. It marks him as other and for a time, some measure of time, he feels even more alone. So different from these humans serving penance without crime with him.

He takes it out one night, straining to see the pale petals in the paler light of the moon when that changes. The crown proves he is not alone. The faerie woman, the flower seller, took what was never his to begin with and gave him his true home. His first taste of community. Of finding others like himself. Of finding Jack with his silver tongue and smile. Of the newsies of Lower Manhattan with their bright spirits and easy laughs in the face of the City. Of righteous Davey and mischievous Les and clever Kath. Even of Spot and his politics and power games. He found his birthright in the world he was forsaken to and that realization rekindles something within, twisting the crown in his hands.

He feels less alone, turning his charm back on as the sun rises. Knowing that he is just one of hundreds here in the Refuge feeling like this. Uses his charm to learn that there are some who can get messages in and out. Others who can get him supplies. And in the night, despite complaints from his fellows for the candlelight, he writes to Jack urging him to not let his own fire go out.

He knows they’ll win, has never been in doubt of it. Jack said they would and Jack can’t lie. But he knows Jack, and knows that not being able to tell a lie does not mean you can’t lie to yourself. So, he writes and hopes that it gets to Jack in time.

The time slips and spins and he sleeps and waits and imagines and remembers and nearly misses a name being called. A name that was never really his but he took before he could talk and he hasn’t heard in so long he’d honestly almost forgotten it. The others part for him as he carefully makes his way to the stairs that will lead him to the ground floor and the door out of this place. He is thankful for his faerie grace as he moves with so many eyes on him, his crutch catching on the uneven floorboards but he walks with his head high. Walks right out the door. He’s not the only one to do so, but he is the first.

Relishing in the ability to breath in the wind again, he rides in the governor’s open topped carriage taking in lungfuls of it. Even when it carries the stale scent of trash and the river. His smile is so wide it almost hurts and he nearly forgets to smooth the points his teeth have grown into with the giddiness humming like magic under his skin. The people on the street stare to see such a grubby looking boy riding alone in such finery and he lets them, waving a bit and laughing to think that all this was done just for him. There’s a strange metaphor all tied up in it somewhere. A riddle he’ll spend the time puzzling out later. Right now he just breathes.

Seeing the crowd turn at the sound of hooves and whistles and the governor’s gesturing sends his heart speeding. He accepts the excitement buzzing throughout it and between his ears as some of the boys rush the carriage, holding out hands in silent offers to help him down. For once, he accepts. Jack’s grinning up on the small stage above the door to The World – another twisted metaphor for another time – but he quirks a brow too. Knowing he only allows this because so much focus has passed on to question about the police wagon that has followed behind him the whole way.

He makes a face at Jack in silent response before letting his own pride takeover. He spins and gestures to the wagon where police officers are herding out a man. Herding out the man who runs the Refuge. Who ran the Refuge. He can almost feel his excitement pricking at his fingers in the same way iron does as the governor agrees to let him do the honors. The feeling overpowers the actual feel of the iron manacles as he clamps them on the man’s wrist, letting his glamor slip and his smile turn cruel for just a blink in the process.

The celebrating ends sooner than expected, though that isn’t entirely true. Despite the newsies lining up and taking their papers, they all still chatter and cheer. Bubbling up and over at their win. Jack is talking with Spot, Davey, and Kath when he comes over after getting his own stack for the morning. Spot gives him a significant nod before spit shaking hands all around and heading off with his lieutenants. Racetrack trailing behind. It’s an odd mirror of their first meeting and he brushes the thought away as another problem for another time.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Kath says as she hugs him. He’s come to realize that she’s special in more ways than one. Her possession of the Sight just part of a larger enigma. Her willingness to pull him into her and easy offers of friendship another. He doesn’t argue though, squeezing her right back.

Davey offers a hand to shake once she frees him and a cautious smile. The caution has nothing to do with him though and everything to do with Davey’s own contradiction filled nature. “You were missed,” he says earnestly. Swatting at his little brother who begins babbling exactly how missed he was.

“So, how was the ride?” Jack slings an arm over his shoulders, wide smile as he pulls him in tight to his side.

“You struck a bargain,” he almost hisses through his own smile clenched teeth.

“We came to an agreement.” He feels more than sees Jack’s shrug.

“It was two deals,” Davey corrects with a stern turn to his mouth and a flash in his eyes. “Jack made two deals with Pulitzer.”

He pulls away, brushing off Jack’s hold. He stares hard at the other boy. Dares him to say something and damn himself. Say nothing and damn himself even further.

“The first was a deal only we could make,” Jack says smoothly. He doesn’t blink and his sharp features become sharper with the seriousness that overtakes him. He understands immediately. It was hard. It was cruel. And it doesn’t matter what exactly it was and who gave what because in the end Jack walked away with what mattered most.

“And the second?” he prompts.

Jack shrugs again, shares a glance with the others, and smirks. “We won.”

Truthfully, he should have expected that. He rolls his eyes. Later, under the stars and the smoke, breathing in as little iron as they can he’ll ask again. He’ll find out what he did to convince Spot. What the terms of the bargain were. Of both bargains. And whether Jack was going to tell Davey their true nature, since there was no point in telling Kath. They have all the time in the world to leave the city and see the stars. These people they’ve turned into a home have only a lifetime and he’s already decided that he’s going to make the most of it.

End notes can be found on ao3. Please leave a comment and lmk what you think there as well! :)

[sherrybaby14]

Blue Spiders - Chapter 2

Summary:  Fear pushes your relationship along.

Warnings:  Light horror, background alcohol, (I have not warned for everything possible, please read at your own risk)

Words: 2k

Pairing:  Therapist! Steve Rogers x female reader

Part One

She lived in an apartment.  That was problematic.  Houses were much easier to break in to undetected.  At least it wasn’t in a great neighborhood and the locks on her doors were pathetic.  All he needed was a credit card to break them.  He accomplished that task this morning.

Steve in no way wanted her death tied to him or the New England Butcher. The kill would be a quick one.  Gunshot, he hoped for a mugging gone bad, but it appeared she never left her place after dark.  

Ten days he had been watching her, observing, waiting for the moment to strike.  But she was always home before sundown, never to retreat again.  He wouldn’t risk a daytime public murder.  Too many loose ends.  

It looked like the next option would be breaking and entering.  Doable, but not ideal.  Look like a robbery.  Bullet to the head and the world would have one less awful person in it.  

Under normal circumstances Steve felt nothing when preparing for a kill.  Sometimes a mild rush of glee during the act and then a bit of euphoria after, especially if it was a victim he intended Agent Barnes to tie to the New England Butcher.  

But this felt different. Personal.  The few times he spotted her during the day he felt betrayed.  How could she lie to him about her identity to get a profile for some dumb blog?  And why did he feel a connection.  

His watch beeped and he checked the time.  Three thirty in the morning.  She would be fast asleep.  It would be over soon.  Then the euphoria would come just as it had with the others.  He was certain of it.  

The sound of his car door slamming echoed across the empty street as he began his walk in the shadows, four blocks away from his destination.  

~~

   You didn’t believe in a sixth sense, or you didn’t want to, but something was off.  Wrong.  You were being followed.  Could it be him?

   You finally felt somewhat safe here.  Comfortable enough you followed your passion and started to make a name for yourself.  Sure Miranda’s Museum of the Macabre wasn’t a big deal yet, but you were growing a following and you loved that type of reporting.  

   The last few days you were cursing yourself for even starting the thing.  Today when you got home and saw the locks weren’t working your paranoia vanished.  

   Whoever broke them was subtle about it.  If you hadn’t been paranoid you wouldn’t have noticed, thought that the chain was shut tight when a light tap would drop it.  The deadbolt hole was splintered and pressed back into place.  Anyone with a driver’s license and a shoulder would be able to break the thing down.  

   The right thing would have been to run, or call the police.  Neither option was intriguing.  So you sat next to the thing, waiting in the darkness.  Every time footsteps sounded outside the hall you steadied the shotgun, blinking away the tears that you might have to blow someone’s head off.  

   Maybe you were going crazy.  The locks had always been broken and you only noticed now?  Maybe nobody was following you.  Just the ghosts of your past.  

   Then, at almost four in the morning after standing guard for eight hours footsteps stopped in front of your door.  

   Your adrenaline flared.  You cocked the gun right as your knob started to turn.  It froze.  Fuck! They heard the noise.  

   The handle fell back in place.  They were leaving.  All the shaking you were feeling came flooding back.

   You needed to open the door.  Find out who they were, what they wanted.  But instead you collapsed, hugging the shotgun as the footsteps retreated.   Would you ever be safe?

~~

   Loss of sleep was an understatement.  Tonight you would get a hotel room.  Then decide if you wanted to call the cops, fix the door, or flee.  Life was exhausting enough and it felt like you’d only just started living.  

   The door to the office opened and you rose to your feet, pinning on your best smile as Dr. Rogers walked a patient out.  

   His face looked cold, but his blue eyes widened with surprise.  

   “Hi.”  You gave a nervous wave.  “I have something for you.”  

   His patient waved goodbye as you stepped forward, article in hand.  

   “What is this?”  He grabbed the pages.  

   “The article.  I said I would send over a copy, but I thought with the way things ended I should drop one off in person.”  You fidgeted, thinking about your run in with Barnes the last time.  “As promised, a glowing puff piece.  It will be in the weekend edition.”  

   You watched as his eyes’ scanned the pages.  His brow furrowed in confusion.  

   “Is something wrong?”  You rocked on your feet, hoping to see what line he was at.  “I taped the interview, but if I messed up a fact or misspoke there is time to correct before it goes to print.”  

   “So the article was real?”  The Doctor looked up at you with wide eyes.  “It wasn’t a ruse for your blog?”

   “Ah.”  You bit your lip as you looked away.  “I am sure Agent Barnes gave you an earful.  Yes the story was real.  I write human interest pieces,  Miranda’s Museum doesn’t really pay the bills.”  

   “So this is your real name?”  Steve squinted.  “Rachelle Miller?”  

   “No.”  You blinked.  “I write under multiple pen names.”  

   “So what is your real name?”  Steve folded his arms.  

   “Friends call me Vee.”  You shrugged.  

   “That’s not what I asked.”  His eyes locked on to yours.  

   You hadn’t spoken your real name in years.  Legally it was changed, and with all the pseudonyms you used you hadn’t spoken it outloud in years.  

   “Well, um, I will get out of your hair.  I am sure you have a busy day.  E-mail me if there are problems with the article.”  Your blood ran hot and you regretted coming here.  

   “No.”  His hand reached out and grabbed your arm.  

   You glanced at his fingers and then turned to see his intensite eyes bearing into your own.  His fingers slipped away.  

   “I mean with all do respect, but you look a little rough.”  He nodded to his office.  “Come in and have a drink.  I owe you an apology.”  

   “Me?”  You blinked and shook your head.  “Did Bucky tell you I am just a gossip columnist and was lying to you?  Using you for Miranda’s nefarious purposes?”  

   “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”  He made a playful shrug.  

   “Yeah.  I bet he left out the part where he asked me out nonstop for over a year until I was forced to write something nasty about him on my blog.”  You thought about the person at your door last night,  could it have been Bucky?  He didn’t seem the most stable.  “I may have crossed a line, but what I wrote wasn’t wrong and he,  well I think anyone who has met the man isn’t afraid to use the word obsessive to describe him.”  

   “I cannot confirm, deny, or discuss Agent Barnes.”  Doctor Rogers walked over to a small liquor cabinet.  “What would you like?”  

   “Bourbon?  Scotch?”  You took a seat.  “I’ll settle for anything brown with a nice burn.”  

   “Multiple pen names?”  The doctor came back over and handed you a drink.  “How many?”

   “Three I use on the regular.  I do a lot of freelance writing and they each have their own specialty.  Then several one offs.  I have used them one or two times and let them die.”  You took a sip and let the liquid hit your tongue, wanting to swirl it around your mouth and wishing it would numb your mind in the same way.  

   “Care to share why?”  He sat down and crossed his legs.  “That seems like a lot of compartmentalism.”

“Not a patient.”  You laughed as you leaned back.  

“Let me guess, they are all as generic as Miranda Balfour, Rachelle Miller?”  Dr. Rogers leaned back in his chair.  “You want a legitimate digital footprint, but not one that can be traced back to you.  Why?”  

“You sound like Bucky.”  You tilted your glass toward him.  “Only he has decided Miranda must be my real name.  I would not try to do a deep dive on me Doctor.  I am not interested in opening up.”  

“I am not your Doctor.  Please, call me Steve.”  His eyes scanned you up and down.  “You look very tired.  Late night?  I hope it wasn’t on my behalf.”  

“It was and it wasn’t.  In that order.”  You let out a sigh.  “Since you’re not my doctor Steve, and you can’t think I’m crazy since there is no medical relationship. I think someone, no, I know someone tried to break into my apartment early this morning.”

“Did you call the police?” A look of horror crossed his face as he leaned forward.  “You should not wait on that.”  

“I am not a fan of cops and they are not my fan either.”  You gritted your teeth before taking another sip.  “I cocked my gun too early.  Someone had been following me, all week.  I felt it in my bones.  And then I noticed my locks had been messed with.  So I waited and I felt so paranoid, but then the clock hits 3:44 and the handle jiggles.  I should have let the door open, blown their brains out without asking a single question.  But they heard the noise.  Ran off before I had the chance.”  

“There is a lot to unpack there.”  Steve reached out and touched your knee.  “Are you safe?”

“No.”  You smiled at him.  “Never.  I’m going to get a hotel room tonight.  Figure things out from there.  Get some sleep, a clear head.”  

“If you think someone is targeting you, you shouldn’t stay alone.”  His hand dragged away.  “Friends or family you can stay with?”  

“What was the line you used?  My work doesn’t leave much time for personal relationships.  I’m either writing a freelance story of working on the Miranda project.  Hoping someday it takes off and I can do that full time.”  

“I apologize for being so forward, but I can be your friend, or else your colleague in the work horse force.”  Steve set his glass down.  “And I have plenty of extra bedrooms.”  

You didn’t mean to display the cringe, and tried to bury it down, but there was a pain on his face.

“That is a very kind offer.”  You slammed the rest of your drink.  “But you are not my doctor, or my friend, you’re a stranger right now and I wouldn’t feel comfortable imposing.”  

“I understand.”  Steve grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled as you stood up.  “I would like to take you to dinner, are you free Friday?”  

“Now you’re really going to think I’m crazy, but with the strange feeling I was being followed and the incident last night, I have been scared to leave my apartment after dark.”  The liquor had relaxed your tongue too much.  “Well, now hotel.”  

“I will pick you up at your door, we can go to my place and I’ll cook for you, and then I will drive you home.”  There was something in his voice, this was the first time he had made this request in some time.  “You will be safe the entire time.”

“Alright.”  You couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling in your heart, like it was drawn to his.  Not mental, like a strange string was pulling you tigher.  “I am staying at the budget in on Wilcox.”  

He opened his mouth, but shut it right away and nodded.  You started to walk to the door and he followed.  Being in his office was the most relaxed you’d been in some time.  

“Friday then.”  He slipped you a piece of paper, you opened it up to see a phone number.  

“I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t just text me their number.”  You smiled eat him.  “You are old fashioned in all the right ways.”  

“Feel free to put that in your phone and use it.”  Steve looked serious.  “Any time, day or night.  I don’t approve of your distrust of law enforcement or wanting assistance, but I respect it.  Never hesitate to call if you need anything.”  

“Thank you.”  You looked at the ground, not wanting to face those blue eyes again, scared if you did you would end up being a roommate at the man's house.  “And thank you for believing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”  He was taken aback.  

“Sometimes I’m not even sure I believe myself.”  You blinked away tears and squared your shoulders looking him in the eyes.  “Anyone else would have told me it was late, I was tired, I almost killed a delivery man.”  

“I look forward to continuing this conversation on Friday.”  Steve gave a boyish grin.  “Or sooner, if you need anything at all.”  

“Friday then.”  You folded up the piece of paper and put it in your back pocket.  

It was odd to find something to look forward to and for a moment you wished you were crazy and not thinking about fleeing and starting over yet again.  

A/N:  Thanks for reading!  This is turning into a bit of a slow burn, but I think the next chapter will heat up! 

Tags:  @toozmanykids​