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nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | lila salt, so much salt

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life.

w.c | 8.1k

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass.

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it.

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?”

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess...

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared.

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.”

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads.

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child.

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.”

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.”

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The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate?

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain.

Was it...?

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps.

Perhaps it was possible.

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise.

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?”

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?”

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?”

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.”

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.”

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Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily.

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks.

No.

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again.

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead.

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them.

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!”

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines.

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?”

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.”

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for.

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support.

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl.

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,).

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything.

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed.

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

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The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one.

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on.

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.”

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one.

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart.

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done.

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks.

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation.

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself.

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill.

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers?

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!”

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.”

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter.

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?”

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen.

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face.

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was.

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.”

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.”

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery.

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being.

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge.

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Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had.

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist.

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white.

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...?

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.”

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom.

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?”

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion.

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“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string.

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done.

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.”

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone.

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!”

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her...

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on.

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...”

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?”

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.”

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...”

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?”

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word.

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.”

───��──── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.”

A collective choir of groans rounded the class.

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?”

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely?

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed.

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?”

“... No.”

“...”

“... Maybe.”

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.”

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.”

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?”

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.”

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression.

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?”

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?”

This elicited another round of groans.

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally.

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery.

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam!

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled.

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette?

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right?

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point.

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft.

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other?

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.”

Alya was silent.

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes.

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?”

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally.

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates.

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job.

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.”

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom.

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?”

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.”

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know...

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.”

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.”

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row.

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.”

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him.

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?”

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered.

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.”

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in.

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled.

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea.

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?”

The class agreed, nodding along.

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president.

This is your problem now.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?”

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?”

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly.

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.”

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?”

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile.

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—”

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.”

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’.

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?”

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice.

“Determination was always one of your good traits.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there.

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.”

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations.

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond.

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come.

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet.

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars.

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write...

#ml salt #ml saltfic #saltfic #lila salt #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien salt #miraculous ladybug #alya salt #[ris writes]—✧

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luvmxmh · 2 years

Text

dad fit meets grandmacore

ADRIAN APPRECIATION WEEK

Day 2: favorite outfit / fake dating

Pairing: Adrian Chase/Reader

Disclaimers: gender-neutral reader but is described with traditionally-feminine clothing, a police officer interrupts adrian and reader making out

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary:

“—can you call me Adrian now?”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself for a second. How in the Vigilante logic did the pain not register for him?

You know what? Fuck this.

Grabbing him by his collar, you kiss him intensely.

“Sure thing Adrian.” is the last thing you say to him before making your way out of the car.

Is your life a goddamn sitcom?

Author's Note: i have accepted the fact that i can never be punctual a day in my life (unfortunately). so um i'll be double posting day 2 & 3 within today and day 4 a little more later than that

Cross-posted on AO3

Black ops meetings often mean you have to dress professionally—or as professional as you can get without drawing attention from other civilians.

It’s not exactly an inconvenience to you. You’re a bit on the meticulous side of things when it comes to conjuring an outfit of the day. But it does feel like a two-person household whenever you assess your closet.

On one end of the rack, there are clothes dark enough to be worn by Harcourt. They’re your go-to for whatever the hell ARGUS assigns you to. That is, unless they’re sending you undercover.

Then here’s the clothes you wear that made some kids from your block call you… grandma.

You really shouldn’t get agitated over this. These are the stuff you like to wear off-mission. So what? It was either this, or vintage housewife—which you’re actually relatively impartial about. At first you thought it would be funny to wear your grandmother’s hand-me-downs, then you realized how comfortable you felt in them and that fanaticism for old people-esque clothes spiraled from there.

You’re glad the team never hangs out at Fennel Fields anymore. Their penne is gamey and you can’t risk being associated with Chase at his other job. The only exception might be Peacemaker, who’s known to be the object of Chase’s shameless admiration.

You’re quite glad you hang out with a posse of weirdos, because you don’t think anyone else will tolerate a thirty-something year old hanging around the block in what looks like some Golden Girl cosplay. You’re the agent usually sent for infiltration missions, so it’s ironic and you like it.

“Do they always look this suspicious in casual wear?”

Speak of the devil.

“No, Leota.” You sit down between her and Economos, “I’m just fifty-years-old.”

Economos sighs, “Yeah that’s just how they dress outside missions.”

“I don’t think even young grandmas look this young!” Smith exclaims, his gloved hand referring to you as you remove your sunglasses. It’s not even that dark out, but you went with it because summer solstice basically chose your outfit consisting of a floral head scarf, a cardigan over a button-up and long, breezy skirt. It just made sense to you to wear it today, tripping over air aside.

“I was half-expecting you to show up in clogs,” Harcourt quips.

Okay, wow.

“So I’m resident grandma now?” You grumble. You don’t want to admit you did almost wear clogs because you couldn’t find your more comfortable doll shoes from the rest. “Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical.”

“I think you look great,” Chase says to you from across the booth, “If I were a grandma I’d think you’re super fashionable.”

Smith scoffs and elbows him, “Stop sucking up to them, dude. You look like a single father who’s sworn to only go after cougars now.”

“I’m not! And I don’t! I’m bisexual and I don’t discriminate against gender, race and even age. Hypothetically, if I was a GILF hunter, I would proudly say it.”

“I appreciate the compliment Chase, but never say GILF ever again.” You sigh.

Adebayo nods in agreement and resignation while Economos already has his face in his hands.

Harcourt rolls her eyes, “Okay guys, that’s enough.”

It doesn’t take long for your group to get comfortable (if they weren’t already) as your meals get served. Dinner is as mundane as usual; it’s probably to offset all the other non-civilian shit you do on (mostly) weekdays.

The restaurant sends a waitress to politely kick you out once they’re nearing closing time. Adebayo and Harcourt carpooled here together while Economos, Adrian and Smith have their own cars.

It’s too late into the night to catch a bus ride, and you’re certain your feet will kill you if you walk. You really should’ve biked your way here. You spot Chase fiddling with his pockets

“Hey,” you say when you approach him, “Is it okay if I tag along with? I don’t have a ride home, and I’m too anxious to wait at any of the stops here.”

“Oh, sure I don’t mind. Just—just hold on a sec.”

It’s your usual summer night, and you’re glad most of what you’re wearing right now are modestly appropriate for the chill. You lean back to Chase’s car, trying not to imagine what his muscles look like beneath his wool sweater.

“You look like a Golden Girl, you know.”

For effect, you try to pose like they did. Unfortunately, their signature poses would consist of four people. You aren’t four people in the physical sense, but right now you don’t think undercover identities could be relevant to the conversation.

“Is this a good enough impression.”

He blinks and you quickly drop the dramatic stance. How embarrassing. You pretend to rummage around the messenger bag you’ve slung on your shoulder. Not in a across-the-body type of sling of course, lest it disrupts your aesthetic.

You didn’t even confirm if he’s watched Golden Girls. Goddamnit. You try not to remember how strangely you’ve inflected the word ‘impression’. Goddamnit. Oh man. Goddamnit.

“Sorry, um. Forget I did that.”

As if on cue, he grins at you brightly, like you actually made him forget on command. What weirdos, the both of you.

“Well, I think you look cute. Even for a grandma.”

“You look great yourself,” you say, scanning his outfit, “Dad.”

He looks down at his shirt-sweater combo before looking back up to you, “Do I really look like a dad?”

“You kind of stand like one too.”

“I’m not posing.”

You laugh. “Scared you’ll embarrass yourself like I did?”

“Yes to the first half and no to the other half,” he says, “I don’t think it was embarrassing. Maybe a bit awkward for your angles, though.”

Once he finally finds his keys he opens the car door for you and you attempt to get in as gracefully as you can manage with your skirt on.

This would be the first time you have been inside Chase’s Sebring. “Your bat-mobile’s nice.”

“Dude.” He looks at you incredulously as he gets into the driver’s seat. “It’s the Vigilante-mobile.”

You shrug, “Same difference.”

“I don’t know what made you think that, or what even was your thought process behind that, but—”

Throughout the ride he gets into multiple tangents from what you started the conversation with. You can’t exactly complain. His enthusiasm rubs off on you, magnified by the jazz playing on the radio when he put a DVD in.

It dawns to you how little you feel the time has passed when Chase parks by the curb to your apartment building..

“So… this is your stop.”

“I know where my house is, Chase,” you chuckle. “Nervous that the night’s ending?”

From what you could distinguish from his expression, he seems disappointed. His gaze remains fixed at the road, and you wish he would at least look at you as you take your leave. “Honestly, kinda. You’ve been great company.”

They orange glow of the nearby lamp post and the harsh shine of the moonlight paints a pretty picture on his face. Or maybe he’s just really handsome, you honestly can’t tell.

There’s a feeling in your chest that compels you to move closer to him—a leap of faith—, a tentative something that just feels right.

Just as you lean forward to press a chaste kiss on his cheek, he turns his head to you.

Chase looks as surprised as you feel. You probably look like a duck from his perspective right now.

You break the accidental lip-lock, ready to apologize when he dives in straight for your lips. He’s intense, probably out of practice but the way he’s holding down your thigh and your face right now is oh my god—

You wrap your arms around his neck, desperate to feel him closer. He caresses the space between your ear and your jawline as he cradles your face in his palms. It almost feels too intimate, like you’re rushing into this but you lost all care in the world when he kisses you with such fervor you forgot this isn’t what you’ve planned for,

Chase pulls away to catch his breath. You can’t say you blame him, but his flustered face leaves you breathless in a different sort of way.

“I’ve been—”

A series of knocks interrupt him, catching both of you off-guard. You look behind him to see a police officer. Motherfucker.

Even through the window, his voice is audible. “My God, what are you kids doing in there?”

Oh, holy shit.

“It’s alright officer, we're divorced.”

After that awkward confrontation with the officer, it leaves you in a weird limbo of a situation with Chase.

“So what do we—”

“Hey, I think I’ve liked you—”

“You what?”

Chase does this weird thing with his lips where it scrunches along his nose. It’s strange but you wait for him to say his piece.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while and I just wanted to let you know that. I know I’m not the best at expressing my emotions but you just… bring it out of me.”

“... seriously?”

“If I was being sarcastic, I think I would say it.”

You stare at him in astonishment, so he proceeds to say, “I was about to ask you earlier if we could hang out, just the two of us this time. Then that cop just had to show up to ruin the mood—”

“I’d love to!” you say, more enthusiastically than expected, “I mean, yeah. I’d love to.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Okay. Okay. That’s more than great.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, preparing to lean in to kiss his cheek— for real this time—as a way to say goodnight.

“Oh, and one last thing—!”

The first time, it sent your mind reeling because of how romantic (albeit a bit dubious descriptor you have to admit) it was. The second time he accidentally fucking headbutts you.

“—can you call me Adrian now?”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself for a second. Is his head made out of stone? How in the Vigilante logic did the pain not register for him?

You know what? Fuck this.

Grabbing him by his collar, you kiss him intensely before making your way out of the car.

“Sure thing Adrian!”

Is your life a goddamn sitcom?

You flop on top of your comforter (“—ow!”), burying your face in them. It’s not even past eight yet but you feel exhausted already.

Adrian’s (Oh my goodness, Adrian. That’s half of his government name that you could say now) probably still driving to his place. You hope he’s touching his lips, thinking about yours, like some rom-com scene.

Sitting back against your pillows, you put on your bifocals to continue your progress in candy crush, using solely your index finger to move the colorful candies. For all your denial, you do act like a grandma. And for the sake of fashion stereotypes (and your amusement), you hope Adrian acts a little like a dad too.

#acweek22 #my writing #peacemaker #adrian chase #adrian chase/reader #adrian chase x reader #vigilante/reader #vigilante x reader

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my-shields-are-down · 2 years

Text

Come satisfy me….

Lucy had had enough. Time to do something. If I’m going to do this, I need to figure out when to do it and then no second guesses, just do it. Great! My life has become a 1990s Nike commercial.

Six weeks had passed since the undercover op - where the most “action” Lucy got was a grandmother kiss on her cheek and a side hug. Good thing we practiced kissing like old people. The Feds had taken over the case and blocked them from future collaboration, leaving the team at a loss for next steps.

Personally, she and Tim seemed to be in a holding pattern, trapped in a Groundhog-Day-like existence repeating the same things each night, but not resolving anything. She was so frustrated. Ugh. They’d grab take out, go to his house, eat, watch a movie or walk the dog and then nothing. No conversation, no resolution, no sex. Nothing. They were acting like the kiss never happened.

Lucy knew it happened. She remembered and replayed every glorious second of that kiss and how she felt in super-slo-mo. She got off on those memories most nights with “scream-in-your-pillow-so-your-impressionable-roommate-doesn’t-hear-you” orgasms. Good god, if fingering herself made her come so hard and so quickly, what would actual sex with Sergeant Zaddy be like? Lucy was determined to find out.

The following Thursday when Tim suggested Pizza, Lucy said that there was a new Asian place by her house. Since she had to grab some stuff for Tamara -who was home with a cold (not), she’d grab the food and be along shortly there after. She made sure to special order Tim’s noodles to include the secret spices her girlfriend told her we’re aphrodisiacs and ordered a spicier version for herself. She also ordered a dozen oysters on the half shell and caviar - big time obvious aphrodisiac. She also swung by the house to take off her bra (freedom!) and replace it with a lavender, wafer thin cami top with strategically placed peonies on it, and a matching deep purple v-neck cardigan that never stayed on her shoulder (oops!), she mussed up her hair and put it in a soft ponytail that hung down her back and applied plum lip stain and smudged it slightly off center which made her lips look plumper. Lastly, she swapped out her sensible shoes and jeans for curve hugging stretchy leggings and her peony covered CFM ankle boots which made her butt more grabbable. She looked like she’d just been savagely kissed. Perfect.

Twenty minutes she’s walking into Tim’s house with bags of food. He sees the changes in her looks and his body starts to respond - much like it did during that kiss. He swallows as he watches her sweater fall off her shoulder, taking the slim strap with it and leaving her shoulder bare. She makes no move to lift it up and it continues to sink lower as she sets the food onto platters. Oh god, he can see the side of her breast from this angle. Oh my. The sweater keeps dragging the camisole down.. and just as it looks like her breast might be freed, she pulls the sweater back up into place… but he realizes she’s not wearing a bra…. He’s now semi hard, and growing harder by the minute.

They sit down to eat in silence until Lucy asks him questions about the future he sees for himself… “I know a fair amount about your past, but now what you dream about for your future. Tell me something I don’t know. She talks about wanting to travel the world and have passionate love affairs on every continent and getting married and having babies. He talk about family and making Deputy Chief and being head over heels in love. Lucy makes sure he eats the bulk of his meal and encourages her sweater to slip a time or two more.

After clearing the dishes, they move to the sofa and she makes sure to lean back right next to him- their shoulders are touching. When Tim asks what she wants to watch - she suggests an older documentary on Sade…. Soon his house is full of Sade’s music. When “No Ordinary Love starts playing in the background, Lucy starts glancing at him, well at his neck really. Tim is totally relaxed, yet hyper aware of Lucy, and insanely turned on. His mouth still burns from some unknown spice and he’s pretty sure Lucy is seducing him without touching him. For now he’s content to have her take the lead, but if she doesn’t do something soon he’s going to.

Tim notices Lucy glancing at him and turns to look at her. “hi -what’s going on?” She shifts her position and grabs his head (her sweater is off her shoulder!), looks behind his ear, and says, “hang on, I thought I saw something. “Tim sits up a little straighter… Lucy thinks to herself - now. Do it now. She flips her leg over his legs and moves so she’s straddling him, and simultaneously grabs him by the chin and turns his head to the right. His hands fall to her hips.

“Let me check something.” She releases her grip on his chin, spreads her legs farther apart so she slides further into his lap until she can feel how hard he is and he can feel her shape line up with his. As he pants out her name, she kisses him like she did before and the world explodes in pleasure. She rocks her hips against his and he can’t help but groan. His hands slide up inside her camisole to grab her shoulders and pull her down closer to him.

Lucy and Tim are locked together in a passionate embrace. She breaks the kiss and pulls slightly away. “I thought so. Kissing you is the most fantastic thing ever. I really want kiss you with no clothes on in this position and ride you into oblivion. Could we do that? Please?”

Tim gazes at Lucy through hooded eyes, swallows and says, “Alexa - please turn off the tv, dim the lights, light the fireplace and play “Me Fucking Lucy Fantasy” soundtrack on shuffle, starting with #3. No Ordinary Love starts again as the light in the room dims. Tim looks at her while reaching down to undo his zipper, “now you’ll live out the fantasy I’ve played in my head every night since we kissed. The playlist is 5-hours long as I usually come 10-15+ times minimum. You ready?”

“Challenge accepted. Let’s go!”

#chenford #i love them #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #seduction #a little less conversation a little more action please #just do it

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alice-beaumont-ravenclaw · 2 years

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Fascinating Hat

A/N #1: Here is the second fic (and last original fic) for the Summer Break Challenge of @usernoneexistent

Recommended reading: Stolen Dance | There’s Something About Alice

Alice was leaning against the window frame, looking at the grey clouds floating above the sea and the Irish countryside. Her daily dose of rain would start soon. Weather in Ireland was boringly predictable: sun, cloudy, rain, sun. But when would that sequence of events happen, there lay the mystery. She heard the sound of the crashing waves as the sea became more active with the approach of the rain.

She was lost in those thoughts when there was a knock on the door. Had he forgotten his key? She went to open it and who she saw surprised her.

“Andre?” she exclaimed, surprised to see her long-time friend standing on her doorstep in the middle of nowhere.

“Oh, thank Merlin, this is your house! I first went to the wrong house, and a man wearing a vest and no shirt opened the door. I nearly had a heart attack.”

Alice smirked. “Don’t see a lot of countryside fashion in New York, do you?” she said, stepping aside to let him in.

“I would not call what I saw fashion,” said Andre as he made his way to the kitchen and sat on a simple wooden chair. “Speaking of fashion,” he added, eyeing her outfit of a simple oversized cardigan worn over a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

��Andre, I can’t wear designer clothes in a small Irish village; I would stick out like a sore thumb!” exclaimed Alice.

“You could wear them inside the house,” replied Andre.

Alice let out a sigh of exasperation. This reminded her so much of their school days, except that she was now a grown woman who could take care of her own outfits. “Andre, if you came all the way here just to see how I dress in the countryside, you have your answer and can now leave.”

Andre raised his hand in self-defence. “I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess. I just really miss dressing you.”

Alice sat down in front of him, her cheek resting in her hand. “I’ll admit I do miss wearing my fancier clothes.”

“If you miss the fancier lifestyle, why don’t you just come back to New York? You’d be just as safe there as you are over here. You can’t honestly tell me you enjoy spending your time here, in the middle of nowhere,” he said, looking at his humble surroundings.

“While this is not the Ritz, I still have great childhood memories here. I used to come here with my grandmother when I went to live with her after Jacob’s disappearance,” reminisced Alice.

“Come on, even with childhood memories, after having lived in Tokyo, this must feel like a complete change. Unless…”

Alice stared at him, narrowing her eyes.

Andre met her gaze with a smirk. “Unless this reminds you a bit of your time in Romania?”

Alice looked away. “How do you—”

“I still talk to him, you know. He didn’t tell me anything but that Tokyo Tower snowglobe… Let’s just say him trying to hide it quickly confirmed my suspicions.”

Alice looked back at Andre. “So, you saw that snowglobe? Is that how Barnaby…?”

“No, but I think Catherine let it slip. Unlike Malkia and Usagi, she can’t resist his puppy dog eyes.”

“Neither can I…” said Alice, sighing. “Anyway, why are you here exactly?”

“Right! We were so busy reminiscing, I forgot to tell you,” said Andre as he took out an envelope from a pocket inside his jacket. “You are invited to Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

A tense smile appeared on Alice’s face. “That’s very nice of them, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea. With Voldemort’s followers acting out now that everybody knows he has returned, I don’t want to risk it. I may not be their main target, but I’m not their favourite person either.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not asking you to walk the streets of London. It’s just a wedding at The Burrows. Since Harry Potter will be there, there’s probably going to be dozens of Aurors, including your favourite Metamorphmagus…”

“I don’t know.”

“Fleur really insisted for you to be there. She already sees you as her future sister-in-law,” said Andre, an ever-so-subtle sly smile appearing on his face.

Alice glared at him. “Don’t go there.”

Andre shrugged. “I just meant that Bill sees you as his little sister.”

“Sure you did.”

“Anyway, I might have something to convince you,” he said, taking a paper from his pocket and placing it on the table.

Alice looked down at the paper. “Is that… a sketch?”

“Your wedding outfit!”

“You’ve drawn a sketch before even knowing if I would accept the invitation?”

“I wanted to come prepared.”

Alice chuckled as she pulled the paper toward her. “It’s really great, as always. But I’m not wearing that hat,” she said, pointing at something on the paper.

“It’s not a hat; it’s a fascinator.”

“Fascinating. But I’m still not wearing it. And I’m not even sure I’ll come anyway.”

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint Bill, or any other member of the Weasley family, now, would you?”

“Andre…” warned Alice.

“I meant Molly and Arthur. You haven’t seen them in a while.”

“True,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “But I don’t know. I would have to ask—”

At that moment, there was another knock on the door. Alice went to open it, and when she returned to the kitchen, a tall, handsome man with chestnut hair and green eyes was following her.

“I was so excited to go feed and pet the neighbour’s sheep; I forgot my—” the man was explaining when he saw Andre.

“Hey, Barnaby,” said Andre, waving to his former schoolmate and Alice’s current boyfriend. He couldn’t deny that, standing next to each other, Alice and Barnaby looked like a power couple, even when dressed in countryside outfits. But even if they looked picture-perfect, he knew all too well who was Alice’s perfect match.

“Oh, hey Andre, what are you doing here?” asked Barnaby.

Andre took one of the invitations. “You two have been invited to Bill’s wedding.”

“A wedding! I love weddings!” exclaimed Barnaby.

“But Alice isn’t sure she wants to go,” said Andre, pouting.

Barnaby turned to Alice with sadness in his eyes. “Why not?”

“I don’t know… I’m afraid it might be too risky.”

“Please, Alice, seeing the gang again would be so much fun. And I’ll be there to protect you,” he said, pleading.

She looked into his green eyes. How could she say no to those puppy-dog eyes? She kissed him on the cheek. “Alright, we’ll go.”

Barnaby gave her a big hug before giving her a quick peck on the lips. “Great! Oh, I wonder if my bowtruckle suit still fits me!” he said, running off to the bedroom.

“His bowtruckle suit? Does he mean the one he wore at the Celestial Ball?” asked Andre.

Alice nodded.

“I don’t see how a suit he wore when he was 15 would still fit him.” Andre sighed. “I guess I’ll have to use my magic. After that, I’ll get to do your outfit,” he said with a smile.

“I’m still not wearing that hat,” said Alice as she started to leave the kitchen to help Barnaby find his suit.

“Fascinator!” exclaimed Andre as he followed her.

“Still not wearing it!”

A/N #2: I hope you enjoyed it! Also a big thanks to @lifeofkaze for beta reading this fic! I have no fic planned for the "Watermelon" prompt of the challenge, and the other prompts will get fics from my Brazil series.

#summer break challenge 2022 #hphm fanfic #alice beaumont #post hogwarts #jacob’s sibling #hogwarts mystery #andre egwu #hogwarts mystery mc #charlie weasley #barnaby lee

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maybege · 3 years

Text

... Stays In Quantico - FBI Part 2

Summary: Back in Quantico, you are reminded just how difficult your situation is. (Part 2 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.1k | Rating: T

Warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack

Here we are! I am so excited to finally start sharing this story with you. Having binged through all 15 seasons, I just want to say now that (1) this story will be canon-divergent and (2) it will be a slow burn. It is my first longer story about Hotch and I hope I will do his character justice. As always, you can find the posting schedule linked in my masterlist.

Have fun reading and let me know what you think.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“I don’t know what to think.”

“This is not the kind of job where you don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

“Hard to believe from someone who just told me she doesn’t know what to think.”

You shifted in your seat. The office you were in was colder than the bullpen of the BAU and you wished you had remembered to bring your cardigan with you. Now all you were wearing was your short-sleeved dress and heels.

To be fair, you had presumed this would just be a standard meeting with the in-house therapist. After the incident in Kansas City, it seemed like standard procedure and you were glad to have been offered this opportunity.

Now though, sitting in the way too soft armchair with the brunette older woman looking at you over her glasses, this felt more like an evaluation than anything else. And you absolutely hated it.

You looked at the still-life of a fruit bowl on the right wall, right next to a bookshelf full of framed certificates. A woman who was proud of her accomplishments.

The first and last time you had had an evaluation was when you had first started working at the FBI and back then you had been sure that you had failed it. You had been sure you had failed all of it.

Your grandmother always used to say that if you looked for flaws long enough you would find them.

Dr Johnson looked like she spent her life looking for flaws.

“Tell me again why you chose to work for the FBI – and the BAU specifically.”

You would not make it anyway. Fuck it.

“There is so much hurt in the world,” you started, watching her eyebrows rise over the frames of her glasses, “I would feel better knowing I am trying to do something against it. And as for the BAU,” you shrugged, “Chief Sector Strauss approached me about it and I thought I would be stupid not to take the opportunity.”

She hummed, looking down at her file. “You don’t have any official FBI training.”

“No.”

“Any formal police training?”

“No.”

“Gun training?”

You hid your smile at the thought of the recent debacle for the gun qualification.

“I took down an UnSub in Kansas City last week,” you reminded her, “That is why I am here.”

She did not react to it. “In fact,” she leafed through the papers in her hand, “You only recently finished college. How did that go for you?”

“Good,” you nodded, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, “It was good.”

“What did you major in?”

“English,” you replied and when you saw her raised eyebrow, tried to elaborate, “Um, English literature to be exact and I have a minor in law as well.”

“Why only a minor?”

“Pardon me?”

“Why did you only minor in law? Were you not good enough?”

To cover the unease from her question, you crossed your legs. “I had no interest in law,” you answered truthfully, “My passion was and is with literature.”

The full truth was, you simply did not like law students. That and the pressure they were under was, you were convinced, what brought many lawyers to an early grave. But she did not need to know that about you.

Ironic that you had ended up in the BAU after all this.

Totally not stressful.

She said your name, then, slowly, and leant forward. You tensed, knowing that look too well. Was this the moment she would tell you that you had failed the valuation? The moment Hotch would come into the office and hand you your resignation with that disappointed look in his eyes.

Maybe the way Kansas City had ended was just a way to disguise the true going-ons of your work here in Quantico?

“You have been here, what, seven months now, Agent?”

“Yes, eight months, coming February,” you replied, meeting her gaze and swallowing the dryness of your throat.

“Would you say you have adjusted to your life here in Virginia?”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

Dr Johnson made a vague gesture as if encompassing everything and anything, “Do you have friends here? Family? How do you get on with your colleagues?”

Well, you certainly had not been expecting this kind of question.

“I live together with a friend,” you answered slowly, “My family lives in Idaho.”

“Idaho,” Johnson smiled, “A long way from home, no?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Agent, I am not going to lie,” she sighed, putting her pen down on the notepad, “I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.”

You’re not the only one, you thought with a grimace.

“I am sure you are a good person, that your motivations for working here are true,” she elaborated, “But your lack of training? Your lack of … experience,” she gave you a pitiful look, “I am simply not convinced you are cut out for the work we need here.”

You had always thought it but hearing someone else say it to your face hit deeper than you ever could have thought. Your fingers started to tremble and you clasped your hands together, squeezing them to somehow force yourself to remain with as much dignity as you could.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would keep your tears at bay, “What – what does that mean?”

“As there are no reasons for a suspension based on your mental health, the next step would be that I get in contact with your supervisor,” she threw a look on her paper, “SSA Aaron Hotchner, is that correct?” you nodded and she continued, “A written evaluation of your role at the BAU will be requested and then we will go from there. Best case scenario is you won’t leave at all, worst case scenario …”, she trailed off.

Of course, she did not need to finish the sentence for you to know what she was saying.

Worst case scenario: You would leave the FBI.

Realization washed over you and you smiled tightly at her. “Thank you, Dr Johnson,” you stood up, reaching a polite hand out to her which she took, “If you will excuse me, I should get back to my desk while I still can.”

Dr Johnson smiled kindly at you which only made it worse. She was pitying you. She felt sorry for you. Sorry for your incompetence, sorry for you not belonging in this place.

You felt like you would throw up any minute.

“Of course, Agent,” she said softly, “I will inform your supervisor of my recommendation. You will receive a copy of the protocol within the next week.”

You nodded, not meeting her eyes as you hurried out of her office.

The staff washroom on the third floor was always empty.

You knew that from the fact that you had often used it as a refuge after nearly dissolving into tears in the bullpen. That and the fact that the third floor was far away enough for anyone of the BAU to search for you here made it the perfect place to come after your talk with Dr Johnson.

You threw a look on your watch.

Six minutes. You would give yourself six minutes and then you would go to your desk and work on those reports and show Dr Johnson that you loved your job and that you were capable of doing it. You would show her that you were not the anxious, incompetent student she saw in you but someone who could be an asset to the team.

I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.

Tears shot into your eyes and you locked the little cabin behind you, sitting on the edge of the toilet as you rushed to grab a few pieces of toilet paper.

The first sob echoed in the tiled room and you pressed the tissues to your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds somewhat. Your skin felt too hot and too tight and you could already see how your makeup would be ruined by the tears no matter how hard you tried.

And you had left your backup mascara in your bag at your desk.

Great. Just great.

Anxiety filled you at the thought of having to prove yourself even more than before. After Kansas City and Hotch’s encouraging words, you had somehow hoped that the hard part was over now. That you could focus on delivering good work instead of questioning if everyone doubted your belonging in the unit.

But maybe they were and they were just too polite to mention it? Maybe Dr Johnson was finally saying what they all wanted to spare you from?

Tears were rolling freely over your cheeks now, dropping onto your dress and you cursed, trying to wipe it away and somehow keep your face dry. There were still quite a few hours left in the workday and although you hoped there would not be a case coming in today, you were working along with a team of profilers.

You were like an open book to them even if there was the agreement to not profile each other.

A look on your watch told you it was nearly time to go and you took a moment to listen if anybody was there before stepping out of the little cubicle. It was completely abandoned.

Much like you had expected, you looked an absolute mess and just seeing yourself in the mirror brought fresh tears into your eyes.

“Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity,” you echoed the motto, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths, “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.”

“Hey, kid, how did it go?”

You entered the chaotic bullpen, just barely avoiding crashing into Anderson before making your way to your desk. Reid was seated across from you which meant that no matter how much of a mess you left at the end of a day, it still looked comparably neat.

Now though, it was nearly empty.

“Hi Derek,” you smiled tightly, your eyes still irritated from your impromptu cry session as you sat down at your desk.

You had splashed cold water on your face in hopes of somehow feeling and looking better. Still, you immediately went for your bag, scrambling to find your emergency mascara and lipstick to sneak back into the washroom before anyone noticed.

Especially –

“Agent,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the office and you winced, feeling the heat of tears collecting in your eyes again. You stayed ducked over your bag, hoping that maybe he did not mean you. Maybe he wanted to talk to Derek or Emily or Reid or –

Cleanly polished shoes appeared in your field of vision and you swallowed.

“In my office. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled, hastily wiping your cheek of a stray tear before straightening and following him up the stairs. You ignored Derek’s worried look, instead choosing to straighten your shoulders and stoically look ahead.

This was but an extension of the interview with Dr Johnson. You could do this even if the man terrified and intrigued you more than he should.

You had barely stepped foot in his office when he sat down. “Close the door. Sit down.”

You did, feeling much smaller than you had in Dr Johnson’s office. His lips were tight and he looked incredibly displeased, even for Hotch’s standards. You must have majorly messed up.

His hands were clasped in front of him and your eyes fell to his fingers. You swallowed heavily, hands wringing in your lap as you waited for him to start talking.

“Dr Johnson just informed me that a written evaluation of your performance on this team is being requested.”

“Sir, I can explain, I –“

He raised a hand, effectively silencing you and your mouth snapped shut.

“You do not need to explain anything,” he said calmly, “Dr Johnson is only doing her job and after what happened last week, it might not be such a bad idea.”

You nodded, trying to not seem as nervous as you were.

“Do not worry yourself over it. I meant what I said in Kansas,” he stated, facial expression unreadable, “You are a valuable addition to this team and I look forward to seeing your contributions in the future.”

“Yes, Sir,” you looked down on your hands, trying to hide your nervousness, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Call me Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish smile. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded on top of it as he looked at you. And fuck, it should be forbidden to look this good. You froze, licking your lips and hoping you would be able to blame it on the dryness of your lips instead of you imagining what it would be like to feel his mouth on yours.

Not the time, a rational part of your brain reminded you, So not the fucking time.

Shuffling through the crowded metro you pressed your phone to your ear.

“I promise, it is all right, mom,” you assured her, letting yourself fall into one of the free seats, keeping your bag pressed against your chest. An elderly woman threw you an offended look and shuffled away from you as if you had any interest in stealing her dog off her hands.

“I am just worried, honey,” your mom said on the other side of the phone, “We are all worried. It is a hard job, isn’t it? And why do they keep putting you up for evaluations? You haven’t even been there for a full year!”

“Mom –“

“Are you okay?” she interrupted you in that voice that only your mom had, “Truly okay?

Your head fell against the window of the wagon, the heaviness of the day washing over you. You took a shuddering breath, “No, Mom, I – I don’t think I am.”

There was a sigh on the other side of the line. She was disappointed and worried, you could hear it already and it did not help to calm the anxiety raging in your stomach. You could almost see her in front of you, the pity in her eyes and the little furrow between her brows.

“You can always come home, hon, you know that, right?” she asked carefully and you cringed at how quiet she was being, “We can still find somewhere else for you to work. A nice option. You can come back home and dad and I will help you. I know it can take some time to find a good position. But you had so much fun doing literature, why not go back to it? You don’t have to stick there if it doesn’t make you happy.”

“But it does make me happy, mom,” you protested, wincing at how desperate you sounded, before adding quietly, “Saving people is what I want to do. And I can do it.”

“I am not saying you can’t, sweetie,” she assured you, “But maybe it is not what you should do with your life, hm?”

You could see that the light was on in the living room when you entered the small hallway. The sounds of the TV washed over your ears and you smiled.

“I’m home!”

A non-committal grunt answered you and you grinned, knowing that he was probably too entranced in whatever crime show he was currently watching. You let your keys fall onto the little side table and made sure to lock the deadbolt before making your way to Josh.

Your heels made clicking sounds on the floor and you took care to be as quiet as possible. “Hi,” you grinned, waving at him.

Josh was tall and lanky. And despite being offended if you ever told him that – looked exactly like one would imagine a law student to look. He was always well dressed and took great care when it came to all things cultural. He drank the best wine, read all the important books, watched all the niche movies to impress people.

Sometimes you joked that of the two of you, he was the one who could be expected to work for a government institution.

“It’s late,” he commented, nodding to the screen, “You’re usually here by the second episode.”

“I wanted to get some reports done,” you explained, shrugging out of your coat, “Had a chat with my boss today again. I thought it might be better to not give any more opportunities to criticize me. How was your day?”

“Boring,” he replied, “Attended that one event about intellectual property and want to lunch with a few friends from uni. You should come with us sometime, you will like them.”

You nodded, already thinking ahead of a day when you would have enough free time to join him and his friends. Dr Jones’ words about having a strong social life to fall back to echoed in your mind and you decided to make more of an effort to make friends.

It would be all right.

There was some Chinese takeout in Josh’s lap and you spotted a few grocery bags in the small hallway to your room and the kitchen.

“Did you get me the bananas like I asked?” you asked, slipping out of your heels.

Josh kept munching on his noddle, making a vague gesture that led you into the kitchen. And there, on the tiny dining table were two green bananas.

“They are not even ripe yet,” you called into the living room, “And I asked for four bananas, not two.”

“What do you need them for anyway?”

“I wanted to bake banana bread,” you said, turning to get out some flour and chocolate chips, “It’s an easy breakfast to have in the metro.”

Josh sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing himself onto the black dining chair. “You barely eat at home anyway, that’ll just go to waste.”

“Which is exactly why it is nice to have something ready to eat on the go,” you explained, wondering if he had overheard your words.

Cracking two eggs into a bowl, you hummed. “I could bring it into the office,” you mused, starting to mush up the bananas, “I think JJ mentioned she liked it once.”

“To the colleagues that despise you?”

You frowned, “They don’t despise me. They are very nice to me, Josh.”

Josh took the last bite of his noodles, setting down the little container “By the way, Greg is coming over tonight.

“But it’s almost midnight,” you stated, throwing a confused look towards the clock, just to make sure, “Didn’t you say you will leave for that Seattle trip tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if it gets too late he will just stay on the couch,” Josh replied, shrugging. You nodded, not saying anything but knowing deep down that George would occupy the bathroom that morning so you would have to get up even earlier than normal.

That would be a stressful day.

#maybege writes #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Text

Outside the Lines

for @archivalpride month! the prompt was ‘sharing clothes’ so I decided to add on a bit to my More than Enough archives polycule fic. you don’t need to read it beforehand, though. 2.2k words, cw in the tags.

Jon likes Sasha’s clothes. Particularly, her cardigans.

They’re warm, oversized things in pastel colors, chunky cable knits and ancient pullovers, smelling faintly of jasmine and sandalwood. There’s always one draped over the back of her chair at work, at home. Sometimes a pile of them.

“Just in case,” she said knowingly, when Jon mentioned the teetering pile on the back of her office chair.

“Of what, a blizzard?” he replied archly, to which she had no response.

But Jon runs cold, so it makes sense that he’d like them. And eye them. And eventually, borrow them.

“You look good in pink,” she said casually, walking by him cozily wrapped up, surrounded by books for his latest case. “You should wear it more often.” Jon just grumbled in response.

It now sits on the back of his chair.

Point is, they’re not strangers to sharing clothes. Once they move in together, the lines blur even more. Jon’s scarves become hers, her jackets become his. It’s nice when the someone’s scent begins to remind you of home. Embarrassingly, he’s come to think of it like a hug when she’s not around. Perhaps she feels the same way, but Jon’s not going to bring it up. He’s not that maudlin.

“You need to stop me from online shopping,” she groans one day, dropping a pile of clothing into his lap that must have been from the newly-arrived and altogether giant box he found on the steps of their flat. Jon had raised an eyebrow as she guiltily hauled it to her room and got to work. “I swear, I don’t remember ordering half of this.”

“Far be it from me to get between a James and her phone,” he replies, picking through the pile of utterly un-Sasha-like clothing. It’s all floaty tops and tiny skirts, nothing like what she usually gravitates toward. She certainly has more...adventurous tastes, when she’s intoxicated.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you at all,” Jon retorts, picking up the most offensive piece from the pile with his thumb and pointer finger: a muted brown, and yet somehow sparkly miniskirt. He raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Really?”

“I was not in my right state of mind, you know that.” She ran a hand over her face, refusing to look him in the eye. “Anyway, see if there’s anything in there you like. Otherwise, it’s all going back.”

Jon very much doubts there’s much in here for him - not a chunky knit in sight. The tops aren’t too bad, but a bit too sheer for his liking, and if he’s going to layer, he’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. He pushes the pile off his lap when something catches his eye. Buried beneath two very loud shirts is something black, with bits of lace. He pulls it out to find a simple black dress, high-necked with pearl buttons and slightly puffed sleeves. It’s modest, but covered in a delicate lace pattern. His grip tightens incrementally. “You don’t like this?”

Sasha peeks her head around the corner. “S’bit short on me. You should try it on, though. It’s cute.”

Jon flushes. It’s something he might’ve worn in uni, when he and Georgie made a night of it and Jon had just enough liquid courage. Now, though, it doesn’t fit with his professional persona and strict uniform of blazers, vests, and button ups. He needed to be taken seriously, and he didn’t feel he could do that if he was...experimenting, as his grandmother would phrase it. His hair he still wears long, the only vestige of that life he kept. “Oh,” he responds automatically, “I couldn’t.”

Sasha blinks. “I think you’d look really nice. Put your hair up, maybe add some earrings.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.” She comes behind his perch on the sofa, gathering his hair up in her hand and pulling it from his face. “Leave a few pieces out, y’know, artfully messy.” She takes the dress and pulls it up against his body. “What do you think?”

“Um, maybe,” he barely manages to whisper. It feels nice, right. He can see it in his mind’s eye - it looks very him. Not feminine or masculine, just pretty. Just Jon. “I’ll think about it.”

He thinks about it. The dress hangs in the back of his closet, untouched and passed over many a morning. He tried it on and Sasha had been right- of course she was, she’s good at that sort of thing when not inebriated. Maybe one day he’d wear it out - not to work, but to drinks or something.

Maybe.

It’s not until months down the line that he tugs it out, on one of those days where he feels like his body doesn’t make sense and names sound wrong in his ears. Drinks with Tim, the newest recruit to their department. Hard won drinks, if Jon might add; Tim was just starting to open up to them. He tugs the dress over his head and digs through a plate on his dresser for the long silver earrings Sasha gave him last Christmas. He studiously avoids the mirror on his way out the door, throwing his bag over his shoulder and standing in the doorway, as if waiting for Sasha’s reaction.

This was a bad idea, he thinks as his palms start to sweat. You look ridiculous, you shouldn’t have- his thoughts are interrupted by a gentle hand tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Sasha smiles at him.

“Oh, you’re perfect.”

Tim thinks so too.

----------

“Oh man, I’ve got to get rid of that.”

Tim motions to the blazer in Sasha’s hand. “Hasn’t fit me since uni. Y’know, when I got these guns.” Sasha rolls her eyes as he makes an exaggerated motion with his arms. They’ve been cleaning out Tim’s apartment for the past few hours, she and Tim in the bedroom while Jon sorted through his books in the living room. She suspects he’s doing more reading than sorting.

“Why’d you keep it, then?” She holds the hanger up, smoothing the fabric out with her hand. It’s heavy, quality fabric. A shame to get rid of it.

“Dunno, just one of those things,” he shrugs, throwing another pair of joggers onto the bed. “It was expensive, but I only ever wore it to interviews for internships and the like. You can toss it in the donate pile.”

She hums idly, making no motion to get rid of it. She’s rather fond of blazers, has quite a few in her collection. They’re nice when she wants to be a bit more dressy and professional. A woman’s outfit can occasionally be her armor, particularly in academia, and nothing says ‘take me seriously’ like a nicely fitted jacket and skirt. Never mind how it makes her feel. But this is very much a men’s blazer, barely a nip at the waist and with nothing to outline the curve of her body. And yet.

She shoves it in her bag. If she doesn’t like it, she’ll throw it out.

_______

When Jon and Tim are tucked in bed, she tries it on.

She doesn’t know why she’s being so secretive about this. It’s not like Jon and Tim will care, it’s just clothes. Lord knows she’s encouraged Jon to wear whatever he wants, and there’s no surefire way to get Tim blushing like wearing one of his pullovers. But there’s something that feels a bit transgressive about it. She was generally drawn to more feminine looks, growing up as a tall girl there’s an inherent (perhaps taught) idea that making herself look smaller and delicate would make her more appealing. Appealing for what? She always wanted to ask. But she knows the answer now. It’s taken near a decade to get the slouch out of her posture and to get comfortable wearing heels.

It seems silly to feel so cowed by a blazer. She’s thirty years old, unmarried and living with two partners. She stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. Her hands shouldn’t be shaking. For Christ’s sake, just put it on.

She slips her arms into the sleeves, pausing to inhale the leftover scent of Tim, his laundry detergent and the after shave he occasionally wears. Her entire body warms, like stepping into a bath. She slips the rest of it on, pausing to adjust the shirt underneath. When she looks in the mirror, she can’t help the grin that fills her face. She looks good. Her broad shoulders fit the line of the jacket perfectly, her curves hidden and barely even suggested by the cut. It is decidedly not feminine.

She likes it.

It takes her twenty minutes to drag herself from the bathroom and back into bed. She lies awake through Tim’s light snores and Jon’s murmuring, filled with a strange, nervous excitement. It’s just a blazer, she thinks to herself somewhat giddily. It’s just clothes. But when she throws it on that Monday morning and steps into the kitchen, she starts to think it might be more than that. She walks a little taller, feels a bit more at home in her skin. Tim choking on his orange juice when he sees her is just an added bonus.

“Glad you kept it,” he stutters out, once he manages to stop gaping.

She’s glad too.

______

Martin’s sitting on Jon’s bed, watching as he runs a brush through his hair.

Jon’s hair is lovely, long and shiny. His own he keeps rather short, though the curls are getting a bit unruly these days. When he was a child, his mother insisted he keep it long, just like she insisted on a great many other things. But he shed all of that, got as far away from it as possible. And yet, eyeing the silvery tray on Jon’s dresser, he has to admit he’s curious.

It’s full of delicate, pretty accessories- hair clips and necklaces and earrings. Jon’s like a magpie, collecting shiny things; though this collection is mostly gifts from the three of them. It’s a little dance they like to do- Jon sees something in a store, stares a little too long, insists he doesn’t need it, and eventually it ends up in their flat.

Their flat. He’s still getting used to it. He’s never felt at home anywhere, but he’s starting to think he has one now. Listening to Jon hum as he cooks, Tim reading aloud from his recent article deep-dive, Sasha butting in with a comment - these are all good things. The background noise to his days that used to be filled with silence.

And he’s never been around people so at home with themselves. Martin is so used to putting an effort into how he presents himself in the world, he’s never enjoyed being misconstrued. A strange, delicate balance of pride in who he is at war with a desperate need to be understood and accepted. Palatable. Easier to put yourself in a box with clear labels than to deal with the confusion and the questions. Any passing thought or fleeting impulse that goes outside the lines is dismissed.

But nothing about his situation now is easily labeled, to be honest. It’s hard enough explaining his relationship status to others, though Sasha has a little spiel ready to rattle off at a moment’s notice. They’re all so comfortable with each other, with themselves. It makes him both a bit braver and a bit more afraid.

While Jon scurries off to flick through his closet, Martin gets up, walking over to the collection and picking up the small moth broach he’d gotten him on one of their first dates, before Tim started to come along. The memory brings a smile to his face.

“Oh, it’s lovely, Martin.” Jon had immediately pinned it to his jacket, before reaching down to grab a bag at his feet. “And ah, actually- I got something for you too?”

A little Highland cow plushie. So he had been listening to his rant on Scotland the other day. It still sits in place of pride on his desk.

“Do you want to try one?” Martin jumps at the sound of Jon’s voice, dropping the pin unceremoniously back into the pile as if he’d been burnt. He turns around, prepared to voice a thousand excuses, a knee-jerk reaction.

“No, it’s-”

But Jon’s already sorting through the pile with clever fingers, hand lingering over a thin barrette with a tiny, gold flower. Pretty, simple. Martin’s hand itches to reach out but he draws it into a tight fist. Admiring is one thing, but actually wearing it-

“C’mere.” He thinks he should refuse but instead he leans down, lets Jon’s fingers wind their way through his hair and feels a settled weight against his head.

“There.” Jon smiles. “That’ll do quite nicely.”

He looks in the mirror. Oh.

It’s barely even noticeable, just a small clip bringing the longest of his curls behind his ear. But Jon’s right. It looks nice. It goes with his hair and it doesn’t feel feminine or wrong, just a comfortable weight against his head reminding him he belongs, he’s loved. And that Martin’s still himself, even if he steps outside of the box every now and then.

“You don’t have to keep it in if you-”

“No. I like it.” He straightens his spine, tilts his head. Smiles. Jon smiles back.

Yeah. He likes it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31803076

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sixmapleleafs · 3 years

Text

in your arms // frederik andersen

Warning: smut, relatively soft but some graphic description and language, innocence kink (kind of), brief mentions of anxiety and a bad day

Tears threatened to spill as you headed out towards your parked car, today had probably been the worst day you’d had since you started teaching. For some reason the kids were bouncing off the walls all day, unable to stay focused on any of the tasks you had set and whenever you tried to get their attention they purposefully ignored you, which led to you raising your voice properly for the first time and having to give a few of the kids a variety of different punishments for their rude behaviour. Usually, you wouldn’t be so harsh, you often allowed them to talk whilst working or freely share their ideas and opinions with the class but the things you were trying to teach were very important and if they didn’t give it their full attention then they would really struggle with the upcoming topics. ‘At least it’s Friday’ you thought to yourself as you unlocked your car and got in, that meant you had two days where you could sleep in and relax, and also that Freddie would be back in the city before you woke up tomorrow morning. Your phone buzzed in your coat pocket as you started the car, a message from Fred lighting up the screen.

How’s your day going? I miss you

The first few tears escaped as you read his message over and over again a few times, you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about how much you missed him, honestly it scared you a little how fast you were falling for him, but knowing he missed you made you believe he might be feeling the same way. You knew things had moved fast between the two of you in terms of how quickly you had opened up to each other - though you had yet to be intimate in a physical way - you assumed it was because you were honest with him before you started dating, you had already told him about your anxiety and your previous relationship and the toll it had taken on you mentally and he had been nothing but supportive as a friend, so it shouldn’t have surprised you that when he became more than a friend he let you set the pace of things.

Not great :( can’t wait to see you tomorrow

Shutting off your phone, you threw it into your bag and started driving back to your apartment. As soon as you got there you headed straight to the couch, flopping down rather dramatically and letting out a sigh of relief knowing you could stay there all night if you wanted to. After a few minutes you pulled yourself up deciding to place an order for food from your new favourite restaurant, one Fred had taken you to a few weeks ago, the food was a little on the expensive side but you wanted to treat yourself. Once the order was placed you had a shower before getting changed into something more comfortable and putting on your Spotify playlist as you sorted through all the pieces of work you had taken home to grade over the weekend, then you cleaned up a few things in your apartment so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the mess. Your food arrived very promptly and you settled on the couch with your plate, putting on an episode of the big bang theory to enjoy whilst you ate.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when there was knock on your door, dragging your attention away from the episode you were currently halfway through. Your brows furrowed in confusion, who would be knocking on your door this late in the evening? Peeking through the peep hole you saw a delivery man so you quickly unlocked the door and pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself as you greeted him.

“Miss Y/l/n?” He questioned politely, and you nodded in response. He smiled and turned to his side picking up a rather large bouquet of flowers, you let out a small gasp as you realised they must be for you. “Where would you like them miss?” He asked and you stepped aside to let him in.

“Just on the counter please” you couldn’t help but smile as you knew exactly who had sent them to you, “thank you”.

“No problem, have a nice evening” he smiled and headed back out if your apartment as you returned the sentiment. The flowers were absolutely beautiful, the different shades of pink complimented each other and you admired how the colours fit perfectly with the subtle hints if dusty pink you had around your apartment - something Fred had undoubtedly picked up on. A little white card was nestled in between the roses and you picked it up carefully to read the small black font.

I hope these make your day a little better :) - F

You smiled at the simple but thoughtful message, such a sweet gesture that you definitely weren’t used to. Grabbing your phone you quickly found Fred’s contact and hit the call button, the game wasn’t supposed to start for a few more hours due to the time difference so you hoped he would be free to chat. Just as you hoped he picked up on the second ring, his soft voice greeting you through the phone.

“Thank you for the flowers, you really didn’t need to do that” you didn’t like him spending money on you but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Its no problem my love” your heart fluttered at the sweet name he had never used before, “I wanted to cheer you up a little, even if I couldn’t be there tonight”.

“Well they definitely made me smile, they’re so beautiful” you gently ran your fingers over the delicate flowers, “they’re my favourite you know - roses” you felt the need to let him know for some reason but his small chuckle told you he already knew that.

“Yeah, I remember you said your grandmother grows them so I thought they probably would be” your cheeks ached from how much you were smiling and you knew you were definitely screwed, you were too far gone for this man. “Do you want to talk about your day?” His voice interrupted your racing mind and you could tell what was going through his head - trying not pry too much in case you didn’t want to talk but also concerned enough to ask. It wasn’t often that you showed him you were struggling, you had gotten very good at hiding your feelings but when you did let him in he tried his hardest to prove he was there to listen, not judge. So you told him about your day, all the things that had gone wrong and how you felt like you were failing even though you knew maybe you were being a little dramatic. He listened through all of your anxious rambling, his steady breathing helping to keep you calm before he jumped in with his advice.

“Whenever I have a bad game you always tell me that the next ones a fresh start, a clean slate and I think the same applies here baby. When you go back in on Monday things will be different, you’ll have another chance and everyday after that will be a new day. These kids are usually well-behaved right? Today they were just full of energy and couldn’t focus, just like Monday will be a different for you, it’ll be different for them and you’ll be able to get through to them”.

The two of you talked for a while until you let out a rather big yawn and Fred chuckled telling you to head to bed and that he’d see you tomorrow. Your next request fell from your lips before you could stop them.

“Can you stay here tonight?” You bit your nails nervously as you waited for his response.

“Are you sure?” His voice deep and intense as he questioned you, you bit your lip at the sound, unconsciously clenching your thighs.

“I just want to see you, please Fred” you begged slightly over the phone and you heard his release of breath over the phone and how he had to clear his throat before telling you he’d be there.

You were already asleep by the time Fred made his way to your apartment. He had told you not to wait up for him since the plane wouldn’t be landing until the early hours of the morning, and you happily welcomed sleep after the stressful day you’d had. He let himself in and due to the late hour he headed straight for your bedroom, the game had been fairly dull, an easy win for the leafs and though he was tired from the trip he was glad you had asked him to spend the night at yours, something fairly new to your relationship but a sign you were putting your trust in him. He knew you’d be asleep so he tried to be as quiet as possible when he removed his suit, though despite his best efforts you still stirred in your sleep, eventually opening your eyes.

“Fred?” You questioned, yawning and rubbing your eyes as you sat up in bed. It was then that he noticed you were wearing one of his t-shirts and he smiled at your sleepy expression, you looked adorable.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, elskede”

“Its ok” you mumbled, another yawn following as you returned his smile. He continued to undress and your cheeks heated as you tried to keep your eyes off of him. “You played really well tonight” you mentioned out of nowhere and his own cheeks turned red at your compliment. He made his way over to the bed, leaning over to place a kiss to your forehead before ducking down and capturing your lips, the kiss was far from innocent but he pulled away before he could get lost in it, knowing he’d have a hard time controlling himself if he didn’t, you were irresistible on a normal day and now that you were wearing his shirt and what he could only assume would be a pair of panties underneath, his desire for you was something else - but he’d never rush you into anything so he pulled away and got comfy under the covers, opening he arms to invite you to cuddle into him.

You peppered a few kisses along his chest and up his neck, as far as you could reach from where you were tucked under his arm. His hand was rubbing up and down your spine, reaching a little lower each time until it ran over your ass, you let out a breath as he turned to face you. He leant over to capture your lips once more, the kiss holding as much passionate and pent up lust as the last. The two of you laid next to each other, exchanging kisses and running your hands over each others bodies until Fred pulled back to press light kisses against your neck. The moan that fell from your lips was so sweet and oh so innocent, and it made his cock pulse with need.

Fred would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about having you laid out beneath him, breathy moans falling from your lips freely as he made love to you. He often imagined the two of you in various scenarios when he lay awake at night in his hotel room, or in the shower after a date, hand wrapped around his cock with thoughts of you on your knees for him, with his hands in your hair and your mouth on his cock, or what it would be like to hear you moan and whimper as he pounded into you. Sometimes he’d wake up in the morning with his cock straining against his boxers, leaking and begging to be touched after a particularly vivid dream of you spread out on his kitchen table screaming his name with his head between your thighs. He knew it was wrong to think of you that way, but he couldn’t help it. You carried a sense of innocence that drew him in and made him want to take it away, he wanted to be the one to show you all the ways a man could make you feel and so when you let his name fall from your lips in a breathy moan - he was hard as a rock without so much as touch to his cock.

You could feel him hot and heavy against your thigh and the thought brought a rush of heat to your cheeks, if it was anyone else you would’ve pulled away but it was Freddie and you don’t think you could ever pull away from his touch. He was the reason for the heat building between your thighs and you couldn’t help yourself as you pulled his body closer to yours. He used his strength to move the two of you until his muscular thigh was between your legs, allowing you to grind your pussy over him, his tight muscles creating the perfect friction and desperate whines fell from your lips as your clit got the pressure it had been begging for.

Freddie immediately noticed your movements and groaned deeply in your ear, shifting his weight slightly so it would be easier for you to grind against him as he reconnected your lips. The new angle allowed his cock to rub against your own thigh and the friction on his sensitive head had him rutting against your body desperately. You were in your own state of euphoria as his tongue continued to fight yours for dominance and your hips moved freely against his toned thigh, your panties undoubtedly soaked through - in fact Fred could feel the damp fabric and just the thought of you dripping wet for him almost sent him over the edge right them and there.

“C’mon baby, cum with me” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it and your pussy clenched at his demand. You knew Fred would be dominating in bed, he was dominating in many situations and just because you hadn’t ventured into that part of your relationship didn’t mean you hadn’t spent many nights imagining the things he could do to your body, with his hands, his mouth, his cock. For a split second you thought about trailing your hand down his body and stroking his length but your nerves got the better of you and so you kept your arms wrapped around his neck, gripping onto his shoulders desperately as he continued to kiss you in the way only Fred could.

“Freddie” you whined as his lips found the sweet spot on your neck, the added sensation sending you over the edge. Your orgasm was intense and had you writhing underneath him as his own release followed yours rather quickly. You could feel the deep rumble in his chest as he groaned deeply against your skin. His body fell against yours as both of you came down from your highs, closing your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. A few minutes passed, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathing before Fred pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek causing you to open your eyes. He was smiling softly at you and you couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your own lips when your eyes met his.

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen imagine #smut #frederik andersen smut #freddie andersen imagine #freddie andersen #nhl imagines

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andrei-svech · 4 years

Text

today, tomorrow and all of our lives | n. mackinnon

Word Count: 7.3k Warnings: Some smut in the middle, swearing, minor character death. Summary: Leah reflects on her relationship with Nate through a series of memories they’ve shared in the minutes before they say I do. a/n: Full disclosure this is the first piece I’ve written in almost 10 years. It turned out way longer than expected and I am so terrified to post it but I hope you all love it as much as I do. Any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading!

As she looked into the mirror, running her fingers over the white silk lining her frame, all she felt was calm. Peace. She’d surprised herself in that regard. She’d expected nerves, expected anxiousness, but she didn’t feel either. She simply felt calm. Her fingers moved up toward the tulle settled neatly in her hair, then ran down the fabric of what had once been her grandmother’s veil. Her something borrowed. She thought of her grandmother then, of the relationship between her and her grandfather, one that had lasted almost sixty years before they’d left this life together, just months apart and still madly in love. The kind of love she’d hoped for as she watched them as a child, then as a teen, then as an adult. The same kind of love she felt she’d found when she met him. Her eyes closed, thinking back to the day she’d first laid eyes on him.

The excited little voices of the children filing back into her classroom brought a small smile to Leah’s face in an instant. Kindergarten had just finished art, and as she watched them come in and sit back at their tables, she silently thanked Mrs. Claskey for the lack of paint on their clothes and hands. There’d been a small (according to Mrs. Claskey, not so much to Leah) incident last week at the very end of art class that had somehow ended in Jack Ledger’s entire right arm and half of his shirt covered in brown paint. Of course the 5th graders had already been lined up at the door waiting to come in, so Mrs. Claskey hadn’t had time to clean him up. That’d been a fun afternoon at the sink for Jack and Leah. Once all of the children were seated, Leah stood from her rocking chair at the front of the room and raised her hand. Her students followed suit, having been conditioned to quiet down and raise their own hands when she did so. Their hands lowered as she began to speak.

“Alright, my friends. I know we’re excited, today’s a special day for us. We have new friends coming to spend time with us this week! Do we remember who they are?” As soon as she finished, little hands all over the room shot back up. Leah looked around, pointing to the tiny blonde in the far too large and, Leah suspected second hand, Avalanche jersey dead center. “Emory, who are they?” “The Colorado Avalanche, Ms. Brewer! They play hockey here, at the Pepsi Center! My dad says some day they’ll win the… the um…” “The Stanley Cup?” Leah supplied. That and what information Emory had spoken aloud was about all she knew of them as well, not really following the sport herself. “Yes!” Emory continued, “The Stanley Cup!” Leah nodded and clasped her hands together. “Good job Emory that’s right! Some of the players from the Avalanche are coming to meet us this afternoon. They’re just as excited to meet you as you are to meet them. But before we can do that, we need to talk about the rules for when we have guests in our classroom.” A small groan sounded throughout the room and Leah giggled under her breath. “Okay, okay. I know talking about our rules isn’t always fun, but we want to show them how kind and polite we can be, right?” Twenty-two heads nodded, so she continued. “Good! Okay, who can tell me our rules then? Thomas?” Her gaze fixed on the quiet boy in the back corner, smiling slightly at him as he straightened up in his chair. Leah had been subtly attempting to bring Thomas out of his shell throughout his time in her class. As she remembered his silence and lack of eye contact at the beginning of the year, she felt nothing but pride for how far he’d come. “We don’t leave our spot at the carpet unless you or our guest says that we can. We sit criss cross applesauce and don’t touch our friends while we’re listening. When we want to talk or as a question, we raise our hands until someone calls on us. And we always show kindness to our friends, our visitors and our teachers.” Leah felt a swell of pride at the last bit. She had a great group of kids this year, and though she knew she shouldn’t play favorites, if she’d had a list this class would be up at the top for years to come. Teaching at a school in a low income area of Denver wasn’t what she’d expected herself to do after graduation, but she adored it all the same, and the children she’d taught were all incredibly special to her.

“Good, Thomas! But there’s one more rule we forgot, the most important rule. I know we remember, so how about let’s all say it together?” “Have fun!” “Yes! Have fun! I don’t think it’ll be hard with these new friends.” She glanced up at the clock then that read one o’clock on the dot. “Okay friends, time to make our way to the carpet! Please find your spot in our circle.” As her students got up and made their way to their seats in front of the rocking chair, she heard multiple people enter her room and all twenty-three heads, including her own, turned toward the intruders. Leah studied them for a moment as they made their way through the desks toward the group. There were two of them, both in blue and burgundy jerseys graced with the numbers 29 and 92 and an A and a C, respectively. Excited gasps and whispers filled the front of the room. The first to reach them was 92, and probably the most conventionally attractive man Leah had ever seen in person. His perfectly straight, shining white teeth were on full display, a wide grin stretch prominently across his face. His attention was focused solely on the children, so Leah looked past him and settled her eyes on the other, 29. She was surprised to find his attention fixed on her. She was also surprised at the butterflies that filled her stomach when her eyes met his. The bright blue staring back at her was like a shock to her system. She felt herself blush and quickly averted her gaze down to the jeans, white tank top and baggy yellow cardigan she’d pulled from her closet that morning. ‘Probably would have been a good day to dress it up a bit, Leah.’ She quickly shook herself from her thoughts and smiled at 92, still unable to meet the eyes of 29. “Hi there! I’m Ms. Brewer. We’ve all really been looking forward to this, I know they have especially.” Leah gestured to her excited students, some of the visibly trying to stop themselves from squirming in their places. He smiled at her and took her outstretched hand, shaking it and then setting his sights back to the children. “Hi everybody, we’ve been really excited to meet you! I’m Gabe, and this is Nate.” He gestured behind him to number 29. Nate. The name bounced around her head like a stray pinball. Nathan Mackinnon. She remembered seeing his face plastered over billboards downtown, along with that of who she now remembered 92 to be, captain Gabriel Landeskog. The two large hockey players sat in the admittedly too small chairs in front of the group, and Leah quietly made her way to the corner of the room, plopping in her desk chair to watch the interaction between Gabe, Nate and her students. As they excitedly asked and answered questions and talked about school, hockey and life in general (as much as five and six year old children could), Leah found herself unable to look away from Nate. He wasn’t handsome in the way that Gabe was. His nose and teeth were slightly crooked, and his jaw a bit more squared, but she found him incredibly attractive all the same. He smiled brightly at the group of children in front of him and enthusiastically spoke with them, his laugh speeding up the butterflies she still felt. She again found herself shaking her from her own thoughts, looking down at the papers on her desk. Leah hadn’t dated anyone seriously since her disastrous relationship with Scott had ended just before her college graduation. They had met in high school and began dating junior year, when they were both far too young and impulsive to have actually found the kind of love that was meant to last. They were two different people from the start, Scott preferring to get plastered at a large house party, Leah preferring to spend her Friday night on the couch under a blanket watching bad television. They had somehow lasted through their first three and a half years of college together, though they spent large chunks of it arguing or in silence, before Leah had discovered that the last seven months of their relationship he’d spent in bed with a blonde he’d met in one of his classes. She’d been devastated, but deep down she’d known he wasn’t the man she was meant to marry. Following graduation, she’d packed her things, picked up and moved to Denver for a fresh start, and hadn’t looked back since. She blamed her lack of dating for her current thoughts about Nate. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she was surprised when she heard one of her students saying her name, immediately turning her attention back to the carpet ready to answer, though she found Millie still speaking to Gabe and Nate. “-she’s the best! She’s so much fun, even when she’s making us do our counting worksheets. Ooh, she lets us sing our weather song every morning, that’s my favorite part of the day.” Millie turned towards Leah and spoke directly to her, “Ms. Brewer, can you sing the song for them! It’s so much fun, they’ll love it.” Leah blushed slightly but chuckled as all twenty-two excited smiles and two curious pairs of eyes turned towards her. “Why don’t we all sing it together? Show them how great we are at it.” Leah led the excited group through their morning weather song about the rain, the snow, the wind and the sunshine and as they finished (loudly) she once again looked at the two blonde men and found Gabe smiling widely at the class while Nate looked at her with a small smile of his own. Her face warmed yet again as they all began clapping and laughing at her as she grinned and took a small bow in her chair. Conversation between Gabe and her students continued, but for a long moment Nate’s gaze remained fixed on her. She looked down at the papers on her desk again, trying not to read too much into his glances that were frequently aimed at her. All too quickly the two men stood from the chairs and bid goodbye to the students and after a collective “aww” and a round of high fives, left the room to meet the fifth graders waiting for them in the gym. As Leah focused on getting her students back to their seats at their tables, she didn’t notice Nate casting one last look through the door as they left, his eyes only set on her. By three o’clock all of her students were gone and Leah made her way around the room, cleaning up leftover trash and wiping the crumbs from their end of day snack from the tables. She jumped as she heard the deep voice coming from just outside her door. “Hi, did you need some help?” Her head snapped towards the voice and her eyes again met the bright blue that hadn’t left her mind for the rest of the afternoon. The small smile she’d gotten before was present on Nate’s face as he watched her drop the wad of colored paper in her hands into the trash. “Oh no thank you, I’ll be okay here.” She silently willed the butterflies dancing around her stomach and the blush painting her cheeks to go away as he stepped further into the classroom and waved her off, starting to push the chairs into the tables as he spoke again. “It’s no problem, it’ll go faster if we work together. Besides, Gabe’s somewhere shooting extra footage with our media team and this’ll get me out of that.” They both chuckled at that and she nodded, keeping her eyes averted as she helped push in the chairs. “I’m Nathan. Mackinnon. Nathan Mackinnon. But, um, everybody just sort of calls me Nate.” “Nice to meet you, Nate. I’m Leah, Leah Brewer.” She knew there were nerves in her voice, but she didn’t know if she’d imagined the hint of them in his. They worked in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “So, Leah, are you from Denver?” She shook her head. “No, I grew up in Murraysville. It’s in Pennsylvania, just outside of Pittsburgh.” He lit up a bit, turning towards her fully. “One of my best friends lives there, plays for the Penguins. Sidney’s his name, Sidney Crosby.” She shot him a playfully unimpressed glance as she stopped pushing in the chair. “Now Nate. I may not know much about hockey, but I can assure you, even I know who Sidney Crosby is.” She laughed quietly at the blush that tinted his cheeks and he chuckled along with her, shaking his head. “Yeah that was stupid, sorry.” They kept on cleaning up the last of the classroom until he plopped into the last chair. “So, what brought you to Denver all the way from the East Coast?”  Leah figured that since he’d sat down, he wasn’t planning on leaving right away, so she made her way to her rocking chair. She thought for a moment before she answered. It wasn’t like she could come right out and tell him Scott had emotionally destroyed her, so she settled for the cliche, generic answer she gave most people when they asked her. “I graduated from college and just… needed a fresh start.” He nodded slightly, but by the look he gave her, she knew he was curious for more. He didn’t press her, and the small talk moved onto other things, her job, then his job and then their families and friends. The conversation flowed so easily between them. By the time she realized almost forty-five minutes had passed, they were laughing and sharing stories as if they’d known each other for years, not hours. “Oh, it’s almost four o’clock, you should probably get back to Gabe and the rest of your team.” He sighed as they both looked at the clock, like he knew she was right but also like he didn’t want to leave. “You’re right. It was really nice meeting you though.” He stood from the chair as she returned the sentiment and turned to leave the room. He’d made it almost fully out the door before he stopped and turned around asking her one last question. “Listen, I don’t… this might be a little forward, I- would you maybe want to go out to dinner sometime? With me? Like, as a date?” She stared at him in surprise for a moment and then thought about her answer. Sure, she hadn’t really dated much since Scott, but it had been three years and thousands of miles since then. And there was something about Nate that intrigued her, something that had caused the butterflies to erupt the minute they’d made eye contact. Something that made her answer fairly easy. “Sure, Nate, I’d really like that.” The memory flooded away as she opened her eyes and looked back into the mirror. One dinner date had led to another, which had led to a few more, then spending the night at her place and then his. She’d met Cox then, which she was glad had gone well because, as Nate had told her later, he couldn’t date somebody Cox didn’t like. That had led to her meeting his teammates and their significant others, and him meeting her friends. That summer when his season and her semester had ended, they traveled to Murraysville where he met her family, and Nova Scotia where she met his. Before they knew it a little over a year had flown by and they’d bought their first house together. She chuckled at that memory, instantly thinking back to the mess of hockey players that had filled their home the day they moved in. “Josty come on, man! The box says fragile!” Leah giggled from her place in the kitchen at the sound of JT’s voice echoing down the hallway, and then at Nate’s voice, floating in from his spot in their living room. “Don’t break any more of my shit, Josty, you know I still haven’t forgiven you and Z for the broken lamp from the Christmas party.” Mel snorted across the counter, Jackie shaking her head as Leah placed the last of the bowls in the cabinet. “They’re a fucking mess, the whole group of them.” Jackie and Mel laughed and nodded in agreement before moving to start on loading the cutlery into the drawers. Leah made her way from the kitchen into the living room, passing by Gabe, EJ and Naz walking to the front door to pull more of the heavier pieces of furniture from the truck. “Thank you guys again for helping us with all of this. No way Nate could have done all the heavy lifting himself the softie.” She smirked at the indignant ‘hey!’ that came from their sofa and the boys chuckled before assuring her again it was no problem and heading for the door, EJ jostling her on his way. She rolled her eyes but smiled at the toothless grin she got in return, passing them to plop down next to her boyfriend, leaning heavily into his side and closing her eyes with a yawn as he lightly kissed her forehead. “Tired, baby?” “Mhm.” As she opened her eyes again, she finally took the chance to look around their living room, the large bay windows bathing the room in sunlight. Boxes were scattered around, the television still waiting to be mounted above the fireplace and the shelves empty, save for one photo. Her eyes landed on it and she smiled fondly, one of her favorites of the two of them. It was taken in Cole Harbour on one of their last trips. They sat together on the boat, her leaning against his side with his arms wrapped around her, much like they were now. They’d gone for a sunset cruise with Sid and Kathy and Tyson and Emma who had also come back up north, just chatting and enjoying the company when Kathy told them to pose, that the sunset created the perfect backdrop behind them. As they leaned into each other and smiled at the camera, Tyson said something from just beside Kathy that had drawn her attention as Kathy snapped the photo. She’s laughing in his direction in the photo, still leaning against Nate who’s smile is directed only at her. The love between the two of them is obvious, which is exactly why it’s one of her favorites. Leah is drawn from the memory captured in the photo when she feels Nate’s lips on the top of her head again and the smile on her face grows even wider. She listens to the sounds of a pot clattering to the floor in the kitchen followed by Jackie’s voice scolding EJ and Gabe and Mel laughing, Josty, JT and Burky pushing each other around in the hallway and Nate’s slow, even breathing right beside her on the couch. As her eyes closed once more, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever in her life felt as happy as she did in that moment. Nate’s fingers ran through her hair and she pulled slightly out of his embrace, taking a moment to silently study the man she’d so quickly found herself falling madly in love with. “What’s on your mind?” he asks her, and she finds herself overwhelmed with emotion as she tries to put her thoughts into words. “I love our friends. I love our new house, but I love even more that we get to make it a home. I love this life that I get to build with you. I love you Nate.” The silent exchange that directly followed was just as meaningful, if not more so, than the words she’d just spoken. She could feel it. He’d felt it too. “I love you, too.” He hadn’t said much, but what he had said had told her everything she needed to know. She’s yanked quickly from that memory as the door to the bridal suite opens. Linnea flounced into the room in her white tulle dress, looking every bit the little princess they all considered her to be. Mel shuffled in behind her before the door is closed again. The soft pink of her dress perfectly complimented her blonde hair and pale skin, amplifying her beauty even further. Mel and Gabe were two of the best things to come from her relationship with Nate, quickly becoming some of her very best friends. Through every hardship or struggle she’d faced during her relationship with Nate he’d been right there beside her, but the Landeskogs had been right there on her other side. She still feels a jolt of happiness when she remembers finding out about Linnea for the first time, and the first time she got to hold her. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as they entered the room, fiddling with the small diamond bracelet Mel had given to her as a gift the night before from both her and Gabe, her something new. Mel snorted, joking “What, already thinking about the honeymoon?” Of course she hadn’t been before, but she started to now, and she quickly tried to ignore the tingle she felt between her legs at the next memory, one from just a few weeks ago. “Oh fuck, yes.” Leah’s eyes were shut tightly, mouth wide open, one of Nate’s arms thrown across her lower stomach to keep her from squirming as his tongue slowly circled her clit. She was panting, hard, one of her hands wound tightly in his blonde hair while the other held onto their headboard. She’d already come once on his fingers, but he hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down. He groaned as he pulled away slightly, his mouth and chin covered in her wetness and let his eyes roam back up her body, flushed, until they met hers. “Fucking love your pussy, baby.” He dove back into her cunt then like it was a five-course meal as she tightened her grip on him and moaned loudly, her body thrashing and hurtling toward her second climax. She’d found out early on in their relationship that in contrast to how soft he was with her normally, in bed Nate was filthy. And she fucking loved it. They both shared a high sex drive, and when they first started dating, they’d gone at it like rabbits. In the morning in the shower before she left for work, on their couch when he’d gotten home from a game, one particularly exciting afternoon when he’d come home after practice and laid her out on his kitchen table. They constantly got each other off over FaceTime or Skype when he was on the road, and on their first bye week together they spent almost the entire five days of their trip fucking on every surface of the villa they’d rented. She’d been sore for almost a week. And after almost four years of dating, it hadn’t really slowed down at all. When Nate moved his tongue from inside her back to her clit, flattening it and shaking his head from side to side, she felt her orgasm crash over her. “Fuuuuck yes!” Her back arched sharply off the bed as she rode out the waves of her high, Nate continuing to lick and suck at her through it. As she worked to catch her breath, he kissed his way back up her body, biting down softly on her neck when he reached her sweet spot. “So sexy when you cum. Think you can give me one more, baby?” Though she was exhausted from the first two orgasms he’d given her, she still nodded enthusiastically and let her hand snake down his body, taking him in her hand and guiding him toward her center. She let out a sigh which turned into a quiet moan as he entered her. Of all the men she’d been with, which though admittedly wasn’t many, Nate was the biggest. His length was average, but he was thick, spreading her open and filling her better than any man ever had before. Their mouths met as he started to move inside of her, swallowing the noises she made. She knew it wouldn’t take much for either of them, her already sensitive from her first two highs and him keyed up from the reactions he’d gotten while giving them to her. As his thrusts picked up in both pace and in power, their kisses turned more into breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths before he moved back down to her neck then down further, taking one of her nipples into his mouth and biting before rolling it between his teeth. “Ah, daddy please, I need to come, I need to come.” She whined, rolling her hips up to meet his the best she could. He kept his pace and shook his head slightly. “Wait baby, wait for daddy. I’ll give you what you need, be patient.” He stopped for a moment and took her ankles into his hands, placing them up over his shoulders and she cried out as he began thrusting against her harder and faster, hitting a spot deeper in her than before. Her breathing went ragged and she struggled to get out anything but whines, which quickly turned into yells, then sobs. “Please daddy! Please, I’m gonna, I can’t- I need to cum!” she clawed at his back, her head lolling back against the pillows as she felt his hips begin to move more frantically and uncontrolled. “Yeah baby, fucking cum for me. Show daddy who makes you feel like this, who’s pussy this is.” She shrieked and seconds later felt her fluids gush around him, pulling a loud groan from him as he followed her over the edge. “Fuuuuuck yeah baby, your pussy feels so good when you cum around me. Fucking angel.” He grunted, filling her with his seed. They’d stopped using condoms six months in and he maintains it was one of the best decisions they’d made. She couldn’t help but agree with him as she felt his warmth pulsing inside of her. When they’d both given each other everything they had, he dropped down gently over her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she trembled through the aftershocks of her third high of the night. Soft kisses were planted across her neck and jaw and she lightly combed her fingers through the sweaty mess of blonde on the nape of his neck. These were some of her favorite moments with Nate. Just after a round of great sex when they just laid catching their breaths in the silence, still connected and just basking in the warmth of being together. All she was capable of thinking about in those moments was the man laying over her and how much she loved him. “I love you baby.” He whispered quietly to her as he pulled away from his place at her shoulder, leaving her with a languid, toe curling kiss on her lips and feelings of love for him swirling around her body. It was Mel snorting again that brought her back to reality and she turned toward the other blonde, realizing she’d been biting her lip as she got caught up in the memory. “Jesus, I was kidding. My child is in the room.” Mel smirked and Linnea answered perfectly with a giggle from her spot in the corner, making both women laugh. She turned back toward the mirror to readjust her veil for what felt like the twentieth time since it’d been put in her hair. Mel continued. “Anyways, we just came by to tell you we’ve got about 15 minutes to go time. Maid of honor duties and all.” She winked making both of them laugh again before she swept Linnea into her arms, heading for the door “We’ll leave you alone now, see you in a bit.” As she exited the room, another woman entered. “My baby. Look at you, you look beautiful.” Her mother moved to stand by her side in the mirror, placing a hand gently on her shoulder, eyes filling with tears as they met hers in the mirror. “Your dad would be so proud, sweetheart.” Her own eyes filled with tears this time and as she closed them, she could hear the beeping of the heart monitor and smell the sterile scent of the hospital as clear as day. She couldn’t breathe. The only word to describe her in that moment was numb. Her eyes traced the wires to the white linen blanket, up to the machine that measured the slow heartbeat of the first man she’d ever loved. A face eerily similar to her own, her father had never looked thinner and paler than he did laying there in his hospital gown. ‘Brain aneurysm. Ruptured. Hemorrhagic stroke.’ The words the doctor had spoken to them rested like a weight in her head and in her chest as she stared down at their hands, hers clutching tightly and his limp and unmoving. She couldn’t cry. Not yet. She’d been holding onto hope for days now that he would wake up, that they could talk about how terribly their Steelers were doing and laugh about the clumsiness of her mother. That they could drive home together in his car, singing terribly along to the old Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin tunes he’d brought her up on. That one day he could walk her down the aisle (‘Not until you’re 30!’) and hold his first grandchild. No matter how many times she’d heard the words braindead and pull the plug, she held onto that hope, the same hope she was starting to feel slip between her fingers. The beeping was the only sound in the room aside from her mother’s sniffling and Nate’s steady breathing. Her parents had divorced just before her fourth birthday, but they’d remained great friends and worked together to raise her, something she didn’t realize how grateful she was for until she reached adulthood. It was only fitting that she, Leah and Nate were the three present at his bedside as two of them were what he always called ‘the loves of his life’ and the third one of his ‘favorite people out there’ as he’d called Nate just a few months before. The doctor entered the room again and when Leah met his gaze it was somber. She looked away almost immediately, knowing what was coming as he started speaking to them again. “I’m sorry, we’ve done all that we can, but we believe at this point it’s about a five percent chance he’ll wake, and if he does, we can almost guarantee significant brain damage. It’s in my medical opinion that you may want to consider pulling him off of the life support.” She felt it then, the first tear slip down her cheek where she sat in the chair by her father’s side. She locked eyes with her mother and they both knew what they had to do. This isn’t the way he would have wanted to live, and that’s if he did, and she wasn’t going to put him through any pain and suffering simply because it would make her happy. An hour later, after the three of them had all spoken their goodbyes and spent their last minutes with him, the machines were turned off. The beeping stopped, her father’s hand, still clutched in her own smaller, softer one went cold. Leah wept. She laid down on the bed beside her father’s body and held him, weeping as the last signs of life left his body. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t get through this. She didn’t want to live a life without her dad’s obnoxiously loud laughter and world famous bear hugs. She didn’t know how she was going to pull herself from the grief crashing over her in waves. Then a warm hand circled her ankle from its place at the foot of the bed, thumb softly smoothing over the skin there. Nate. Her rock, her stability, the calm to help her weather the storm. He’d be right by her side through it, just as he had been in everything else since the day they’d met three years ago. She knew when she felt the letters he was tracing onto her skin. I love you. It was strange but through all of her grief then, she felt the slightest bit of joy, because she also knew that her father had gotten to know and love the man she was going to marry, the love of her life. Her mother quickly pulled a handkerchief from her clutch, chastising both herself and her daughter for ‘ruining her makeup.’ She giggled as she clutched her mother’s hand and then directed a small smile at the pair of sapphire earrings she wore, a gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday and now her something blue. He was there with her, she knew that he was. Quickly wiping at her eyes, she handed the handkerchief back to her mother and went to gather her bouquet from the small table but stopped when her eyes landed on her engagement ring. One that had belonged to Nate’s grandmother, her something old. She floated away into yet another memory, and by far one of the best of her life. The air was crisp and smelled of the first signs of winter as Leah and Nate walked hand in hand down the lakeside pathway through Confluence Park. This was her favorite time of year, filled with memories of pulling out the Christmas decorations far too early with her mother as her father just smirked and shook his head at them. Memories of home games spent with her girls in the family box cheering on the men they loved. Memories of cold mornings spent curled up on the couch with Nate under the blankets, Cox at their feet as they fell in and out of sleep, watching the snowfall through the bay windows. She smiled as Nate gently tugged at Cox’s leash, willing him to slow down as they strolled lazily behind him. “This is my favorite time of year. I know I always complain about how cold it gets, but nothing beats a winter day like this.” Nate brought their joint hands up to his lips to place a kiss and replied, “I know baby. It’s one of my favorite times of year too, just because you love it.” She laughed at the cheesiness of his statement but leaned into his side, looking up at him as they slowed even more. “I love you, you know.” He didn’t reply immediately so she continued walking, only stopping when he did, turning to gaze at him curiously. It was only then that she felt the trembling of his hand still clasped in hers. “Nate? Why are we stopping, are you okay?” Cox whined behind her, probably wondering the same thing. “Yeah baby I’m fine, I just needed to say something and I wanted your full attention when I did.” This intrigued her even further but she didn’t answer, waiting for him to say whatever it is she could see was stewing in there. He stared at her for a moment longer before he started to speak again. “There’s something that I haven’t told you. I spoke to your dad on the phone a few weeks before he died. Spoke to him for quite a while, actually?” Leah was now incredibly confused, so she waited for him to continue. “You know how much I loved and respected him. I don’t know how but in three years he became another father figure to me and I wanted his opinion on something important so I called him to ask.” “What did you ask him?” her interest was thoroughly peaked as Nate’s hand dropped to his pocket, until he pulled out a small velvet box and both hands came to cover her mouth when she realized what was happening. She went completely still, tears already coming to the surface as he took a step closer to her, one of his hands still holding Cox’s leash and the other the box. “I asked him for his blessing.” He looped the leash around his wrist, but Cox was still then, sitting on the pavement at her feet, tail wagging furiously though she knew he had no idea what was occurring. How much her life was about to change. Then Nate took one of her hands from her mouth, her left hand, and held it tightly in his own. “When I was growing up, I watched my parents all the time when they were together, and you could see it in their faces when they looked at each other. It was this pure, real, genuine kind of love that doesn’t scream at you. The kind of love that’s just there, the kind that looks like making each other breakfast or bringing each other the morning paper, the kind that’s sitting on the couch together doing two completely separate things but somehow still being connected, the kind that looks like smiling through raising two children together. I saw other people find it, Mel and Gabe, Erik and Jackie, Sid and Kath. I always wanted that kind of love, but I never believed that I would have it, that I would somehow be lucky enough to find someone that loved me like that or that I could love like that. I think I realized on our third date that even if it wasn’t there yet, I could see that kind of love with you, and then it happened. There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not thanking whoever’s up there in the sky or wherever they are,” she giggled slightly through her tears at that bit, “that I got lucky enough to fall in love with you. You are everything. You’re kind, you’re witty, you’re intelligent, you’re incredibly beautiful and you’re so loving to everyone around you. But especially me. You’ve loved me through every bad game, through every hotheaded tantrum, through every argument, through every loss and every heartache. It didn’t matter what I was facing, what we were facing, you’ve loved me through all of it and I can only hope to spend the rest of my life giving that love right back to you.” At this point she was ugly crying, clutching his hand so tightly her knuckles were turning white, but he pressed on. “This kind of love, the love we feel for each other is special, once in a lifetime. It doesn’t come around often and my grandma always told me when you find something like it you have to hold on as tightly as you can and never let go. This was hers, actually.” He opened the velvet box then and Leah gasped as she saw the simple round diamond set on a silver band. “After I called your dad to ask for his blessing and he not only told me yes but that he couldn’t be happier not only that his daughter had found someone she loved so much but someone who loved her the way she deserved,” she wept harder at that “I called grandma and told her I had found it, the kind of love she told me to never let go of, and the next time we were in town visiting her she gave me the ring. This ring is from a marriage full of that love and I thought it might be a good luck charm for us, not that we need it.” She laughed loudly at that and he grinned at her, but his smile softened and she found tears to match hers in his eyes as he dropped to one knee. “You’re it for me, baby. My best friend, my soulmate, the love of my life. I’ll never need to wonder again if I’ll ever find this kind of love because hopefully I’ll get to have it with you and the family we’ll build forever. If you say yes, I promise to fall asleep a little more in love with you today, tomorrow and all of our lives. I love you so much. Leah, will you marry me?” She didn’t even need to think, she knew. She’d known for years, just as she was it for him, he was it for her. “Yes. Yes, Nate. I love you. I love you.” He slid the elegant diamond onto her finger and his lips were immediately on hers, kissing her through their laughter and through their tears, over and over again. If you’d ask her, there weren’t words she could put together to describe the love she felt for him in that moment. Everything, every moment and memory that lead them to this place was worth it for the reward of getting to call him her husband for the rest of her life. They spent what felt like hours but could only have been minutes kissing and laughing in that park, elated at the idea of spending their lives together. As they finally pulled away from each other Nate excitedly pulled her left hand forward, flashing it at their dog proudly, making her laugh once again. “Cox, she said yes! Mom and I are getting married.” The knock on the door shook her from her happiest memory, Gabe standing proudly in it’s frame offering her his arm. When she’d thought about who would walk her down the aisle that day, though they’d never fill the void left in her father’s absence, Gabe was the only choice. The older brother she’d never had but had found in him. “Ready to be Mrs. Mackinnon, kid?” The nerves still didn’t come, the calm and the peace remaining. She grabbed the bouquet and crossed the room to take his arm. “Never been more ready in my life.” (+ bonus:) Their bedroom was still save for her husband’s soft snores and the hum of the ceiling fan. The clock on the bedside table next to her that was illuminated by the soft glow coming from her reading lamp read 3:53 am, but she didn’t feel the sleep gripping her like she probably should. She took the quiet moment to glance at the man sleeping soundly beside her, the man she’d called her husband for the last two years but her best friend for far longer. He was the man of her dreams and though they’d faced challenges, she wouldn’t have wanted to face them with anyone else. She scanned quickly back through all the memories she had of their relationship and smiled when they brought back the feelings of intense love between them. And as she looked down at the tiny baby nestled softly in her arms, his eyes an identical blue to his father’s, she remembered the words he’d said the day he proposed. “I promise to fall asleep a little more in love with you today, tomorrow and all of our lives.”

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bananaofswifts · 4 years

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Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

#taylor swift #evermore #review

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iwanthermidnightz · 4 years

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When she was 18, Taylor Swift wrote a song called “Fifteen.” “Back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine,” she sang, sounding more like a wizened great-grandmother than a rising senior.

“Fifteen” is evocative, if a little sanitized: Nimble mandolin strums mimic the nervous-excited butterflies of the first day of high school, as Swift sings of wide-eyed hope that “one of those senior boys will wink at you and say, ‘You know I haven’t seen you around before.’”

There was a certain emotional truth to the lyrics — do several years’ age difference ever seem more consequential than when you’re a teenager? — but some older listeners were skeptical. “You applaud her skill,” wrote a critic for the Guardian in a mixed review of Swift’s second album, “Fearless,” “while feeling slightly unsettled by the thought of a teenager pontificating away like Yoda.”

Swift, now 31, sings, “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” on “Folklore,” an LP that is both compositionally mature and braided throughout with references to the specific, oft-denigrated wisdom of teenagers. By the end of that song, “Cardigan,” the narrator has excavated such a heap of florid but emotionally lucid memories that she must conclude, with the force of a sudden revelation, “I knew everything when I was young.”

Though it’s not as flashy a topic as exes, fame or A-list celebrity feuds, age has long been a recurring theme in Swift’s work. A numerology enthusiast with a particular attachment to 13, Swift has also released a handful of songs whose titles refer to specific ages: “Seven,” “Fifteen,” and, of course, “22,” the chatty “Red” hit on which she summed up that particular junction of emerging adulthood as feeling “happy, free, confused and lonely at the same time.” Like her contemporary Adele, Swift seems to enjoy time-stamping her music, sometimes presenting it like a public-facing scrapbook that will always remind her what it felt like to be a certain age — even if, with their millions of fans and armfuls of Grammys, neither of these women is exactly typical.

Swift’s critics have often seemed even more hyper attuned to her age. Perhaps because precocity played such a role in her story from the beginning — at 14, she became the youngest artist to sign a publishing deal with Sony/ATV; at 20, she became the youngest to win the album of the year Grammy — many listeners have been fascinated with how her evolution into adulthood has, or hasn’t, played out in her songs. People comb Swift’s lyrics for allusions to sex, alcohol and profanity as meticulously as MPAA representatives do a borderline-PG movie. Particular attention was paid to her 2017 album “Reputation” and its several mentions of drunkenness and dive bars — even though Swift was 27 when it came out.

The relative puritanism of Swift’s music up until “Reputation” did feel like an intentional decision: Unlike the female pop stars who broadcast their “loss of innocence” as a sudden and irrevocable transformation, Swift seemed acutely conscious that she did not want to repel younger listeners — or lose the approval of their parents. At best, it felt like an acceptance of her status as a role model; at worst, it had the whiff of a marketing strategy.

But the mounting obsession with whether Swift was “acting her age” also reflected a larger societal double standard. Famous or not, women face much more intense scrutiny around age, whether it’s those constant cultural reminders of the biological clock’s supposed ticking or the imperative that women of all ages stay “fresh-faced” or risk their own obsolescence. (“People say I’m controversial,” Madonna said in 2016. “But I think the most controversial thing I have ever done is to stick around.”) And while girlish youth and ingenuity are rewarded in some contexts, they’re also easily dismissed as silly and frivolous as soon as that girl strays too close to the sun — as Swift has experienced time and again.

Despite having once been a teenage girl myself (unlike a lot of music critics), I confess that I am not completely free of these internalized biases. I was initially dismissive of “Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince,” a song that appeared on Swift’s 2019 album “Lover.” The first few times I heard it, I wondered what a grown woman on the cusp of 30 was doing still writing about homecoming queens and teenage gossip.

But over time, I’ve come to appreciate the song and its dark vision, which acknowledges cruelty, depression and the threat of sexual violence (“Boys will be boys then, where are the wise men?”) more directly than any of the songs Swift wrote when she was an actual teenager. The senior boys in this song are not the sort who wink and say to freshman girls wholesome things like, “Haven’t seen you around before” — which, unfortunately, makes them feel more authentic. Even the title “Miss Americana” alludes to a larger world outside the high school walls, and the greater systemic forces that keep such patterns repeating well into adulthood.

“Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince” now feels like a precursor to some of the richest songs on “Folklore,” which finds Swift returning once again to her school days with the keen, selectively observant eye of an adult. Consider “Seven,” an impressionistic recreation of her perspective at that age. The second verse, charmingly, plays like a first-grader’s breathless sequence of unguarded observations:

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why/And I think you should come live with me and we can be pirates, then you won’t have to cry.”

But “Seven” is not cutesy so much as poignant, because of the tensions that result when Swift’s adult perspective interjects. “Please, picture me in the trees, before I learned civility,” she sings in a yearning soprano, prompting the listener to wonder what sorts of feral pleasure she — and all of us — have exchanged for the supposed “civility” of adulthood.

Quite a few songs on “Evermore,” Swift’s second release of 2020, also toggle between past and present, conscious of what is lost and gained by the passage of time. The playful “Long Story Short” passes a note to Swift’s younger self (“Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things”), while “Dorothea,” like “Seven,” revisits a fevered childhood friendship from the cool perspective of adulthood.

Most striking is the bonus track “Right Where You Left Me,” a twangy tale of a “girl who got frozen” (“Time went on for everybody else, she won’t know it/She’s still 23, inside her fantasy”). That language echoes something Swift admits in the 2020 Netflix documentary “Miss Americana”: “There’s this thing people say about celebrities, that they’re frozen at the age they got famous. And that’s kind of what happened to me. I had a lot of growing up to do just trying to catch up to 29.”

But Swift’s recent songs, at their best, understand that “growing up” isn’t always a linear progression in the direction of something more valuable. Take the “Folklore” songs “Cardigan” and “Betty,” which use an interconnected set of characters to chronicle teenage drama and celebrate the heightened emotional knowledge of youth. “I’m only 17, I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you,” Swift sings in the voice of James, a high schooler who broke Betty’s heart and has shown up on her doorstep to ask forgiveness. Maybe that is a melodramatic thing to do; maybe it is the sort of thing adults could stand to do more often. Swift’s music helps us to remember that growing up doesn’t automatically mean growing wiser — it can just as easily mean compromise, self-denial and growing numb to emotions we once felt with bracing intensity.

In a gesture to regain control of her songs, Swift is currently rerecording her first six albums (her master recordings were recently sold by Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings to the investment firm Shamrock Capital). Last month she released a note-for-note update of her early hit “Love Story,” and has promised to release an entire new-old version of “Fearless (Taylor’s Version)” later this year. It has been amusing to think of Swift going back and inhabiting the voice of her teenage self: On the face of it, “Fifteen” is particularly surreal to imagine her singing as an adult.

In another way, though, “Fifteen” — with its distant reflections on the youthful folly of expectations — makes more sense and carries more emotional weight being sung by a 30-something than it does an 18-year-old. Perhaps Swift was preparing for such an exercise when she made “Folklore,” an album that shakes off years of scrutiny and finds her reveling in the creative freedom to be as young or as old as she wants to be.

#posting the whole article with my emphasis because i thought this was very interesting #taylor swift

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aliaslua · 3 years

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Right to live

Chapter 02 of my on going series: In broad daylight

Chapter summary: Michelangelo has a productive therapy session after his interview. April and Casey announce their wedding and in a jealousy crisis, Donatello has his first one-night-stand. Warning: This chapter contain light smut (mature, not explicit) if you're a minor please DON'T INTERACT. TW: Trauma mention (nothing too graphic or descriptive, but it does contain a short account of a panic attack).

Michelangelo started therapy after his first panic attack.

It was - maybe - the worst night of his life. At that point in time he didn’t even knew what a trigger was - and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to identify or anticipate his reaction. If felt like he was dying in a literal, visceral sense. It was like having a bomb growing inside his shell, the beating counting down to a heart attack, he felt his lips cold, his head heavy and the touch of Donatello’s hand in his shoulders felt cold against his skin for the first time in his life. He could still remembers his brothers calling to him and his inhuman effort to look them in the eyes, just as he gazed into the house he grew up in and didn’t recognize the color of the new floor tiles.

The rest was a blur.

Dr. Miller was April’s last effort to persuade Leo and Raph that Mikey needed professional counseling. At this point, Mikey didn't have enough will to have a strong opinion on his treatment, he didn't have the will to do anything, really. All his days were spent sleeping by day and having terrible night anxiety, followed by an earth-shattering cry until morning, when he went back to sleep. Despite their best effort to care for and protect the younger sibling, all of his brothers knew that he had become impossible to handle - and more important than that, his emotional and physical dependency got so intense that it was perfectly clear that there was nothing they could do: Michelangelo need help, professional help.

On the first day they entered Dr. Miller’s office, April had reassured everybody she had send the therapist recent photos of Mikey and explained all his possible triggers in detail. The clinic would open two hours early so that they could have privacy and that this first encounter would include Mikey, his brothers and Sara Miller only.

Mikey was so nervous he felt like this situation alone would end up triggering his next attack: his hands were sweaty, his chest heavy and the feeling in his stomach made him realize that maybe he would throw up all those recent pizza slices. When the door to her office opened, he felt an immediate relief upon looking at her.

Sara (as he would start calling her later) was a 67 years old black woman, wearing a knitted cardigan and a puffy ponytail. She looked at him with eyes free from any king of judgment: any kind of feeling at all, actually, it was very… neutral. After gazing at him and his brothers she had smiled lightly and then calmly said:

"Good morning. I am Dr. Miller. Are you Michelangelo?" Mikey just nodded " Welcome. Please, come in.”

So he did, on that Monday morning and all the next yet to come, for two years straight.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“Did you see the interview?” Mikey asked just as he entered her office, not even worrying about greeting Sara.

“Yes I did.” She answered with the same peaceful deep voice, unbothered by the absence of a greet “You looked very handsome.”

“I sure did!” The mutant turtle seated at the large red sofa, his body melting in the comfortable cushions, he grabbed one of the small pillows behind him and held it tight against his chest “Ugh! It was so fun!”

Sara smiled. She always gave him a kind of smile that made Mikey feel like she was the perfect embodiment of a fairytale grandma and for the first time, Michelangelo actually considered she might actually be someone else’s grandmother.

“I am glad to hear that. Did you do the exercises he practiced?”

Mikey hummed “It helped. But what really made all difference was that Leo was there. And April. Oh, April is getting married!” He announced “She and Casey told us about the engagement just after we all saw the interview air. It was a great night.” He stopped for a minute and laid his head against the couch, focusing on the abstract painting that always caught his attention since the first day he sat there, he knew his voice let out a sadness he was trying to hide. He didn’t need to pretend there.

“It was… Weird, I guess… Like, I should be happy for them, right? Casey is a nice man, he treats her right, they already have a life together, an apartment with a huge TV and an aquarium… I can’t argue with that, right? Right?” Sara didn’t answer, Michelangelo laid his head completely on the couch, staring at the sealing “She was my first love…. Or something like it. I feel so attached to her and…” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to measure all the feelings filling his chest “...I think I… Should I feel happy for her? Because I felt… Huh, I felt betrayed.”

“Do you feel resentment?” Dr. Miller finally asked, gazing calmly at him.

“Yeah, I guess… I didn’t know what I expected... and I don’t want to marry April. Not anymore, I mean. She is like a sister to me. No! It’s more than that… She’s like… I- It just.. it was all so fast! Everything is so fast right now, and she decided to announce just as the interview ended and I felt so… I felt so overshadowed!”

“You felt it was your night.”

“It WAS my night. And I don’t mean to sound selfish, you know? I just… Wished they had waited.”

Sara looked at her patient making a conscious effort to avoid giving away her own feelings, the enormous man in front her had a gloomy expression and tired eyes.

“Mikey, is not the first time you mention feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“ Overshadowed .” She quoted him.

“Yeah… I guess it's something I’ve been feeling for a while.”

“You mentioned once that you felt… Smushed, is the word you used.”

“Yeah. Smushed between my brothers.”

“Hmm” Sara nodded “What about that?”

“Well, you know about that… They are all special in their own way. Leo is the leader, Raph is the muscle, Donnie is the genius, I am the… Comic relief?”

“You sound like you are all characters of a cartoon.”

“We look like it!” Mikey said, humorous. Sara did her best to contain a tiny smile that formed in her cheeks.

“Well, you are your own person, Mikey. You don’t have to fulfill an imaginary role you fantasized for yourself.”

“Yeah I feel like you’re always telling me that.” He sighed “What this has to do with April?”

“You were telling me about her engagement…”

“Yeah. It was crazy… I mean, me, Leo and Raph kept it together but Donnie just… Bolted.” A nervous laugh escaped him “She told the news and he just… Left. I guess it was too much for him. You know, April was the only person we knew for so long… It was only natural to fall for her, right? She’s so nice, kind, and after the expected first meeting shock she treated us with… Dignity is the world Master Splinter likes to use... But then we all grew out of it.”

A long silence followed before he complemented:

“I guess Donnie didn’t”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

Donatello felt his feet too tight against the leather shoe and considered for the third time on that evening that maybe this was a terrible idea.

Ignoring his own better judgement, he knocked.

Alicia Ellis awakened in him two utterly contradictory and madding feelings: disgust and lust.

Many times he had tried - and succeeded- at disguising the amount of attention he paid to her body, especially since the context they first met didn’t allowed for flirtatious endeavors and despite knowing his physical body was searching it’s hormonal peak, Donatello proud himself on being utterly respectful: an effort that he felt he was making alone. Ellis never even tried to hide her indiscreet wants, playing with their encounters just enough to not be considered harassment, but clear enough to not allow ambiguity. Was that even possible? Donnie asked himself. Did it even matter now?

He felt disgusted mostly towards himself, actually, knowing full well why he had come to her apartment after that eventful night, just as the women he thought he could win over announced her engagement to the man he honestly felt he could one day surpass - pathetic, he beat himself again, cringing at the mere fact he once imagined a possible future for them, together. What a pathetic, emotional, delusional monster you are, dreaming about the pretty girl that once held your hand… And now you surrender to your most selfish desire, luring this woman who will be stupid enough to let you in.

This is going to ruin you. Was the last thing he thought before she opened the door.

She was astonishingly beautiful, with her thick luxurious wavy hair and round plump figure, pressed against a tight outfit he didn’t have enough interest to notice in detail.

“Took you long enough.” She said in a malicious tone, grabbing him by his belt. The apartment was warm, had a delicious floral smell and it was lit in subtle yellow light that mimicked candles. It was sexy, inviting and terribly scary, just like her.

This is going to ruin me . The feeling echoed towards Donnie as he willfully closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t hard for him to understand why a woman like her would take interest in being with a man like him, the internet had allowed Donnie to have a very indiscreet access to the human world - especially since people seemed really comfortable in sharing online things they wouldn’t even tell a best friend - and he knew way before they even came out to the surface that most probably wouldn’t be difficult to find someone willing to share a bed with him. Alicia was just a part of a very niche - yet not so small as one may think - group.

The thought brought him a small relief and a strike of courage that he much needed at that moment.

“I didn’t think you would come.” She said, bringing two glasses of a clear-yellow liquid. What an inappropriate move to bring a glass of white wine to a young adult not-yet-of-age , his better judgment told him as he accepted the glass, but wasn’t he 21 yet? Yes, he was... Maybe it was just judgment.

“Me neither” He answered after a sigh, too honest for his own sake.

“What changed your mind?” She mischievously asked, crossing her legs in an angle that brushed against his knee.

Donatello considered for a minute to said the truth, my heart was broken and honestly I really want to have sex, how would she respond to that? Was there a polite way of saying it? Instead, he said: “I’ve decided to change my approach on things.”

“Oh, really?” She smiled honestly “...And how’s that gonna happen?”

I will take every opportunity that life gives me, irrespective of its consequences, “I’ll stop sabotaging my wants…” He turned his body a little bit in her direction, he had planned a second sentence to follow but it seemed like he had already said all she needed to hear.

She slid her knee between his legs to climb his lap, brushing the space between the buttons of his shirt lightly. How quickly she hopped on top of him and how quickly his body responded to the feel of her warm perfumed breath against his neck. “That’s great to hear.”

It wasn’t Donatello’s first kiss but the tension of feeling the soft lips of a woman he barely knew nothing about added to the oh-so-suggestive friction of her thighs against his zipper made it an entirely new experience. If he granted himself a moment of reason, Donnie would most likely find her too hurried and eager - but again, what was his experience in this field? Wasn’t this how the encounter should go? What else was he expecting? Independent of what his reason may have considered, the friction of her palms against the now prominent bulge in his pants added to the delicious sounds coming from her throat made every single indecision go away.

He felt his head light and dizzy as their tongues danced against each other and the urge to feel relief made him bold. She answered the squeeze he gave her bottom with an audible moan that gave Donatello’s stomach a cold wave of shock along with the first visible stain in between his paints. She felt the thickness of his fluid against the fabric and smiled against his lips.

“Such a passionate… response.” She said in what sounded like a performative tone - well, she was a journalist.

He took her incentive and slide her tube dress above her ass, stoking it as he lowered his lips to her neck. Her skin was soft and the way it reacted to his mouth - the small flinches of her body and the building pressure between his legs could only compare to the amazing feeling of her silk soft thigh skin. She used her hands to guide his head further down, lowering the piece of garment herself, he instinctively took one of her nipples in his mouth, enjoying the contrast between the soft skin of her breasts and the beaded texture of her nipples.

When Alicia laid her body against him on the couch, he followed her moves and felt the soft pillow against his head, the discreet but unmistakable sound of his zipper being opened followed by her stocked gasp at his member followed by “Oh I’m gonna have fun tonight!”. Donatello held her waist closer to his own, trying to reach her lips again, wondering if he could say the same. The warmth between her legs and the delicious feeling that jolted through his body and she aligned him to her entry - and the irresistible pleasure of feeling his tip tease her plump lips - made him think that the most likely answer was yes .

...And what an unnecessary concern the wine proved to be: he didn’t even get to drink it.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“...you know, Raph made a friend.” Mikey had stood on his feet and now looked through the squared window. He had a regular habit of standing up during the sessions, usually as they were reaching the middle of the appointment. Sara it wrote down anyway, before adding:

“Really?”

Mikey hummed “...It’s a complicated story - but he left to buy a bear, this old man didn’t want to sell it to him, so he got really angry, so someone threatened to call the police, so he started to freak out and then this… girl appeared!” He was switching his body height between his legs “Clara. What a name! Heh- I don’t get to say that, huh? Well, her name was Clara and he said she looked like an anime version of a character from Fresh prince of bel air … Can you imagine?” He turned to look at her. Sara just nodded.

“Wanna hear some really crazy stuff? Raph told me that they were talking and she told him she saw my interview… and she said she was in love with me!” He offered his therapist an incredulous happy smile “ME! Can you believe it?”

Sara hummed and made another note.

“I know she was kidding, I don’t think she loves me. But saying it like this sounds like… Like I am a celebrity! Like she would like to know me… Like…”

“Like you have been seen.”

“HELL YEAH!” He exclaimed, sitting down on the couch again grabbing his trust-worthy pillow “... And that sucker didn’t even got her number…” A deep sigh followed silence. Very discreetly, Dr. Miller checked her watch.

“It doesn’t matter, really, it just made me realize… That I wished I had someone…”

More silence.

“-I know I already have someone, if that's what you’re gonna say… I know my brothers are my care net and that I have friends and confidants, and bla bla bla”.

“Well I wasn’t going to…” She said peacefully.

“ I want… A lover . Someone to be my special one. Someone to cherish and spoil and share my life with! Someone who can say they’re in love with me… For real.”

More deep silence.

“... And why don’t you?” She finally prompted. Michelangelo turned to look at her with a impatient expression:

“Are you kiddin’ me?”

“I am definitely not.”

“You can’t be that cynical!”

“I am not.”

“Sara…” He sighed uneasily “... not this again.” she heard pain in his words.

“You have the right to live, Mikey.” She gazed at him with the same kind eyes, letting her strong words get to him “...Just like anyone else.”

This time, that was an anxious silence. Michelangelo rubbed his hands together as if he was facing a cold storm “What if it happens again?”

“Then you will do what we practiced.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come “... Do you wanna remember it once again with me?”

He simply nodded.

“I am more…” She started.

“...than people perceive me.”

“I’ve the right…”

“...to occupy space.”

“No one…”

“No one can deny me my right to live.”

“That was great, Mikey.” Dr. Miller said kindly.

He squeezed the tears away from his eyes, not even realizing they were there. “...Yeah… Yeah, it was.”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

It was certainly.... Memorable , Donatello thought, staring at his brand new shoes as they made the path back to the lair. How was it again that he found himself in that situation? That sad looking, empty feeling, walk-of-shame. Oh, yeah, Alicia Ellis.

Something felt terrible wrong about that whole endeavor. He tried to think about the details, to analyze the facts: it has been clearly consensual, sober, communicative sex. So why did he feel like some part of him had been left behind in that apartment? Was it his clear shyness when they finally consumed the act or her generous overlook at his even clearer lack of experience? Had him fail his mission? Factually not! He performed… Fine - it was hard to measure, but she seemed pleased enough. He was also pleased… Physically, at least.

So why did he feel so… Empty?

He walked among the streets of New York without the concern his older brother seemed to carry. Donatello was always really good at not carrying - just as he was good at carrying too much . Oh, yes, his overthinking nature was still going to kill him, no matter how hard he tried to pretend like it didn’t matter at all.

Nothing mattered, everything mattered. What a contradictory and childish state of mind. Could he ever find balance? Would he ever be able to take risks and still be prudent? To be disappointed and not lose all faith? To love deeply and move over from it, stronger and ready to love again? Did he ever truly love her ?

He remembered her ring shining against the light, mocking his defeat. A zirconium, Casey Jones… Can’t even buy her a real diamond . He muttered to himself and the night, kicking a small rock in the path.

The worst part, the real strike of the devil - was the fact that she looked immensely happy. Heartbreakingly happy. And there was nothing, nothing in this world that Donnie could think that could justify taking this away from her - not even the fantasy that she could be happier.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the keys in his pocket. That was no way out of it: we would have to get over her. At least now he knew that running away to unknown women’s homes was not a viable solution.

#TMNT #TMNT Michelangelo #TMNT Donatello #TMNT Bayverse #tmnt smut #tmnt fanfic #in broad daylight #it took so long but I am really proud #the response to the first chapter was been lukewarm but I am happy with it anyway #mikey is my baby

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