#so it stayed on my head the whole night without having to reapply!

[njori]

Went as Denji on Friday of Anime North!!

Power is @othermonsters and Makima is carrut.ink on instagram!

[fryktheciller]

in a bathroom

knox overstreet x fem!reader

summary: he ends up in the bathroom with you, and you almost gain something from it.

notes: i SUCK at making summaries and it shows. don't cancel me for not forgetting about the chris story it's an important part and i had to write about it also i kind of hate him in this story at some point but lord is he fine

tw: kinda suggestive??? also light swearing

There wasn’t a party you didn’t go to. 

You didn’t really attend them for the people, with whom a couple of sweet smiles and flattering words were enough to start and end a whole conversation for the whole night, and you didn’t even go for the stupid and drunk games they played. It was for the alcohol, really, and one person. Only one. And it wasn’t even noble to wish to see him. You might have seen him three times, maybe not even that, and never even talked to him: all you did was laugh under your breath when he took Chet’s well deserved punch in the nose, and not get black out drunk on purpose just so you could look at him. 

Saying you didn’t have any hopes was useless. Everybody knew it. He was so lost in Chris that he’d barely even look at you. The only warranty you had was his (and yours) state of drunkenness, which led both of you—but mainly him, let’s be honest— to do dumb actions.

 

The beer slowly made its way down your throat, cooling it down first and lighting up a barely satisfying fire in your guts. You looked down at your shoes, then at the sink, lit up by the faint and loud light above the mirror that was in front of it. You’ve been thinking about him all night; “how’d he even have the guts to show up after what he’s done?” was the thought that kept your mind busy. You took another sip from the red plastic glass, and then the beer was over. You placed it back down on the cold tiles of the floor; the action took you out of the hive of thoughts you had running in your mind and made you realize how sore your butt was. 

You slowly got up, your legs barely keeping you up as a black shadow left just a circle in your visual field, your head was spinning, the limbs numb as you tried hard not to faint on the spot. You took a deep breath.

 “‘M not even that bad, oh my god…”

You huffed and looked at yourself into the mirror with a small smile. Whatever was left of the red lipstick was tracing around your lips, leaving the center of your pale lips exposed, and the hair all puffy and frizzy. You leaned in, lipstick in hand, and carefully reapplied it, fixing the small smears with your hand. 

“There’s no hope, unless…”

You straightened up, and began rummaging through cupboards and drawers, looking for a solution for your hair. 

“How could there be nothing– no oils, no combs…this girl survives without a comb? How do you even do that…” 

You huffed once more, closing, defeated, the cupboard next to the mirror and sitting back on the ground, eyes fixated on the ceiling. 

The door opened and closed quickly. A tall and slender figure leaned its back on it as soon as the door was shut down, rather loudly, and sighed heavily. It took you a couple of seconds to shift your gaze from the ceiling to the intruder— no one less than Knox Overstreet. Your stomach dropped, and your cheeks flared up; if by sitting back on the ground your body lost all trace of energy, his sudden entrance made it regain every drop of it that the alcohol took away from you. 

—Oh, uuh…sorry…maybe I shouldn't have…come in… — he stuttered, opening the door once more and hesitantly leaving the room, his own cheeks reddening just a little. 

—It’s…fine, you- you can stay…i don’t mind…— you chuckle, almost nervously.

Hold on, you were really going to ask him to stay? Out of all people? A weird and deep pain in the stomach hit you; you almost couldn’t believe it. 

He smiled faintly and entered the room once more, closing the door behind him. You got up and smiled tiredly. 

—You are..?

—Dalton.

—Dal…Dalton? Dalton Dalton?

—Suppose you know my brother.

—Charlie, yes, ‘f course. sure…uuuh…Knox. Knox Overstreet.— and he offered you his hand, which you took and shook weakly. 

You looked at him, almost with tenderness, as he looked around the room, clearly lost. 

The pain in the stomach came back, hader this time; it felt like you were being punched— no, worse, stabbed in the guts over and over. Your knees buckled. Harder than before; and a weird sense of hate for him and pretty much everything washed over you. 

“A cigarette will fix anything…god how i’m tired…” and you took the worn out pack of cigarettes with one of matches stuck roughly in it.

—Do you smoke?

—I do…thanks.

You handed him one of the cigarettes and put one for yourself dangling from your lips. You could already feel the lovely effect nicotine had on you, tiring you out even more in anticipation. You curved a little and made a small semicircle around the match and the cigarette, but he placed a surprisingly warm and soft hand on yours.

—It's only polite that I light you up.

You smiled faintly at him, trying hard to conceal the most tender and hardest flutter your heart must have had in your whole life, and handed him the matches. He swiftly lit up the match, then you, and finally himself; you took long drags, watching him step on the half burnt match on the ground absentmindedly, all you could think about was how amazing it felt to smoke in such a situation. You two stood in silence for a few minutes, then you turned around and sat on the windowsill.

He opened his mouth, as if to talk, but hesitated for a few seconds.

—Really awkward and impolite to ask, but do you know about…what happened..?— his tone was hushed, almost vulnerable as he exhaled the smoke in short puffs from his nose. 

You smiled and put out the cigarette, nodding as you did so.

—Of course. Everybody knows. 

—Charlie must have told you I was– well, I still am much of a dick.

—I know that. But it wasn’t news when Charlie told me. I was there that night. 

You looked down at the ground for a few seconds, then began swinging your legs. 

—You look so much like a Welton schoolboy, you know,— you blurted out, looking at him.

—Why did I never see you? Anywhere at all?

You shrugged, chuckling. 

—Don’t come here often?

—It’s not that…I don't have…demands. I don’t come here to kiss on the forehead the girl I like knowing that she has a boyfriend who could break my rib cage if he tried hard enough. I come here to drink. And…really, that’s it. 

The other reason you had to attend parties so avidly almost slipped out of your mouth, but you swallowed it down. 

He nodded, half smiling. 

—Can’t tell if I should be offended or flattered. I don’t wanna look like a “Welton schoolboy”

You laughed heartily and shook your head. 

—Flattered. Definitely. I’d attend Welton if it accepted girls.

—What? You can’t be serious,— he laughed, cocking an eyebrow like he does most of the time.

—Do you know how fun it would be to attend the same school as my brother? The rumors I could spread, oh my god, don’t get me started on them.

He laughed heartily in response, and you with him.

—You sure don’t attend Welton, which leads me to ask… where do you study?  

—Lone Pine institute. Welton, but worse. And for girls, too. 

—Should i say i’m sorry or what..?— he laughed

You laughed along with him; the air was becoming lighter and both of you noticed. He made a few steps towards you and sat on the ground, leaning back on the bathtub. 

—Go and fetch us a drink like the gentleman you’re supposed to be?

—I just sat down. Also, I don't wanna throw myself into a sea of horny and drunk teenagers. 

You scoff, and chuckle a little. 

—Are you really that much of a babygirl?

—Why don’t you go instead, little miss?

You chuckled at his nickname; it made you both furious and endeared. 

—The roles have switched, I assume?

—They have. Now go, go.— he gestured towards the door and chuckled. 

You rolled your eyes in response, but got off the windowsill nevertheless. 

—Want me to bring something in particular?

—Come back alive.

Your cheeks flared up a little more than they should have; and you hastily made your way outside the room, closing the door behind you and leaning against it for a few seconds. 

“I feel like some kind of Austen’s character,” you thought, smiling stupidly. 

You got off the door, walking slowly in the half-empty rooms. Red, plastic cups and crystal glasses scattered all over the kitchen table and pretty much every surface around. Looking for a clean one was useless, so you grabbed the only unopened bottles you could find under the table: clear, low-quality gin and fancy brandy. 

The route for the bathroom was the same, except the air was thicker and heavier than it was when you first left the room; your cheeks lit up once more, burning, practically— 

you still couldn’t believe you were alone, together. 

—The gentleman you are, Overstreet,— you mocked him, entering the room and shutting the door behind you. 

He was startled, and knew you could tell. He had your lipstick in hand, which he clearly tried, by the red stain on the back of his hand; he quickly placed it back on the sink and chuckled nervously, almost. 

—Interested? ‘S a pretty shade of red.

He looked at you, almost in panic and blushed ever so slightly. 

—It is, I suppose…

—you tried it on and you suppose?,— you laughed and handed him the bottle of gin. Then made your way back to the windowsill.

He just smiled in response and also sat back down on the floor. 

—No glasses?

—Unless you wanna drink other people’s saliva, no. 

You both laughed heartily, as you cracked open the bottle of brandy and took a few sips. 

He copied you, scrunching his face as the alcohol went down to his guts. 

—Don’t drink often?

—You know Welton.

—I also know the poets. And charlie. 

He laughed and you with him. 

—I suppose you drink…more than i do

—less than you think, maybe. Lone Pine’s stricter than they give it credit for

Silence falls and you both keep drinking and staring at the ground. 

—Do you really think that…me and Chris…

You shrugged and took another sip. 

—I know very little about both of you. But you’re not her type. And maybe neither Chet is. I really just can’t stand the guy. 

He looked at you, interrogatives in his gaze.

—She’s a lesbian, in my humble opinion. But she can do whatever she wants. I don’t give a fuck, really. 

He laughed heartily, and you with him. 

—Wanna switch?— and he handed you the half empty bottle of gin.

—You really are a babygirl, aren’t you?

He laughed with sarcasm, then got up and took your bottle while giving you his. 

You both drank in silence for a little while, the quiet sound of crickets and the liquids sloshing in the bottles filling the room. 

You couldn’t help but think that drinking from the same bottle was like some sort of kiss, or something like that; you cursed your stupid mind for such thoughts and sent the idea down your guts with the bitter and fat gin. 

—Suppose you think of me as a dick.

—You are, and nobody can deny it,— you smiled faintly at him— although, if it can hel you, there’s worse out there. 

He smiled, almost mechanically. 

—I regret it, honestly. 

—Why, was there a time you didn’t? You made a huge, maybe not even that, a bigger-than-huge mistake. Did you realize it?

He nodded, and you felt a little guilty for getting so aggressive with your words. He looked down and kept drinking. Awkward minutes of silence passed again, where you both drank and stared at the ground. Another outrageously ridiculous thought crossed your mind, but you swallowed it with the gin. 

—You do like brandy, hm?

He chuckled and nodded in response, looking at the bottle in his hands and then at the one between your thighs. 

—You’re a gin lover yourself

You chuckled and blushed faintly.

—What would you have done?

—If I had a persistent unrequited admirer like you?

He nodded. 

—And I was a prick’s girlfriend?

Again, he nodded.

You shrugged and smiled.

—I wouldn't have thrown myself into your arms, but I wouldn't have stayed with the dickhead either. 

—So?

—Difficult situation. I would’ve ran away. 

He laughed heartily, and you both drank some more. The air suddenly became lighter, your cheeks didn’t flare up as often and as heavily as they would just a few minutes ago: the alcohol was kicking in for both of you. 

Silence again. The bottles were almost empty, and the night became colder, more humid and the faint light above the mirror shinier.

—You’re pretty, by the way. A lot. 

You smiled again; the slurred words that came out of his mouth didn’t even have that much of an effect on you; maybe he didn't even mean it. 

—Thanks, but it's the gin you’ve been chugging on for at least three quarters of an hour speaking, not you.

You both laugh, a little too much for your ugly and drunk joke. 

—I mean it. Unless you're taken, otherwise act like I said nothing. 

—Me? Taken? Oh, please,— you laugh heartily. 

—Hard to believe.

—Admit that if I said that I was taken, it would have been really ironic. 

He laughed and you followed him, then he got up slowly and stood between your knees. 

—Do I get punched if I kiss you?

—You have a surprisingly high tolerance.

He kissed you. Deeply. The taste of the low quality gin mixing with the sweet and familiar brandy on his lips. He held you by the waist, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him even closer. You pulled back a little, tracing the outline of his lips with wet and slow kisses; he tried to kiss you back but failed. He leaned down on you, tightening his arms around your waist, and kissed you again, sweetly, this time. 

—Promise me we’re going out after this?

—Dead Poets’ honor.

You kissed him once more and slowly got off the windowsill as his hands moved down to your hips. 

You didn’t think, you couldn't think even if you tried your best in a situation like the one you were living in: with your arms around his neck and his own leaving your hips and looking for the zipper on your dress. Soon his lips left your mouth, moving lower and lower and lavishing your skin with kisses as the dress got loose and began sliding down your body; to be really fair, you didn’t even notice him undressing you; your focus was more on trying hard not to swoon right there and then when his lips left your own to smother in languid kisses your neck.

The dress fell slowly off your body, hampered by his firm grip on your hips, and ended up leaving only your chest and stomach exposed. And as he kept acting on impulse, you can't help but think it's only a fling and nothing more in a bathroom during  a party, and that his promise was just something to say.

Maybe Chris was still there, in the head that was now kissing your chest and trying so hard to undo your bra; or maybe not—maybe in that head full of love and illusions and dumb, reckless thoughts—there was you. You didn't dare to ask; you'd never dare to ask. Their motto was carpe diem, or something like that; “might as well follow it for once,"  you thought. 

—I think I met  the love of my life in a bathroom,— he muttered against your skin, trailing back up to your lips and letting the dress fall to your feet.

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 12

Pairing: Mingi x gn!Reader Prompt: Nipple Play WC: 1k Summary: Mingi loves being your boyfriend, except when the latest expansion releases for your favorite game. All he wants is some attention and maybe for you to come to bed. TW/CW: Implied consent, dom(ish) Mingi, Mingi is a brat, denied orgasm (reader), nipple play (reader receiving), no sex defining genitalia mentioned

Mingi sat on the couch, legs stretched long, propped against the armrest with his eyes scanning a manga. He was comfy. Ostensibly, it was a perfect night in for him. Except for you. You sat in your gaming chair at your desk, totally absorbed in the gaming you’d been playing for the past week.  Normally, he loved your hobby, it was nice having a nerd for a partner. There’s a lot of things about being a nerd that you just don’t have to explain if your partner is also a nerd. Tonight though, he was lonely. Mingi wouldn’t have minded it as much if you’d even been coming to bed at a normal hour with him for your nightly cuddle session. But you hadn’t. You’d stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning, leaving a cold space next to him. “Are you going to come to bed with me tonight?” Mingi pokes his head up over the black and white pages of his book, asking with a hopeful lilt. “Uh, yeah. I will,” you answer, eyes glazed over, reflection of your character prominent in your bluelight glasses. He knows the answer is automatic, on autopilot, in one ear out of the other. It annoys him. “So if I say i’m going to be now-” he says slowly, skeptically, “-you’d come too?” “Yeah. Sure.” Again you answer without tearing your eyes from your precious monitor. “Okay well I’m going to bed then, are you coming?” “Sorry I just have to get back to the hub city, then I can.” It’s a lie he’s heard every night. An easy small lie. But he’s just so tired of hearing it. Circling your chair he hovers. He knows you hate hovering but he does it anyway. The pressure of his presence makes the back of your neck tense. “How close are you to stopping?” He places his hands on your shoulders, squeezing slightly. “I don’t know Mingi.” He leans on the top of your chair, rocking it upright. “Do you mind if I just…watch you?” You sigh heavily. “Okay but only if you massage my neck.” “Deal.”

Starting at the base of your head where your skull and spine meet he drags his thumbs down, warming up your stiff muscles. In long light strokes his hands glide over your shoulders, layers of tension falling off with each sweep. Slowly Mingi notices your character bumping into corners of scenery briefly, your head nodding forward with even the slightest pressure. You moan as he presses just a bit harder on a difficult knot in the side of your neck, tendon twanging as he rubs circles into it. “Feels so good,” you sound drunk, slurring your words together dreamily. You whole torso sways with his motions, eyes closing.

“Come to bed,” Mingi whispers in your ear, pausing briefly. “No, I just have one more- one more thing i gotta do.” You sit back upright in your chair, reapplying your concentration to the task at hand. With a sigh Mingi starts to withdraw from your side, “I guess I’ll go first-” “Wait! Can you continue?” You look at him, pleading. “To make sure I actually go to bed, please?” Mingi sighs and nods, returning behind you, hands resting with his fingertips just barely  brushing your collar bone. This time he lets his hands wander more to the side and front of your neck. To give a balanced massage of course. Gently pinching the upper trapezius, he watches your posture soften once more. You lean with each push and pull up and down the column of your neck, letting out small airy whines of appreciation. 

He knows it’s a devious plan but Mingi want attention. And what Mingi wants, Mingi will find a way to get. Unfortunately for you, he knows your weakness because he shares it. Your chest. Slowly his fingertips circle their way down to your upper chest muscles. Pressing all four fingers of each hand on either side and rubbing in large languid circles you moan and melt. “Mingi, don’t stop, that feels so good,” your eyes closed, you lean back into your chair, chin tilted up towards him. “Does it?” He coos. “Does it feel good?” Hands sliding a little lower, to brush over your sternum, you sigh. “Yeah. So good.” “How about this?” Palms on your chest his fingers brush over your nipples, barely concealed by your shirt. The small gesture tingles, curling your toes, your breath catching briefly. He teases with butterfly touches flitting over your chest, tickling and sparking your nerve endings. Back arching into his touch you’re still desperate to complete your objective, wrenching your eyelids open and eyes to focus by sheer force of will. Your breaths become louder, lips pressing thinner. Mingi smiles, it’s his revenge.

Cupping your chest his thumbs trace the outside of your pebbling nipples, imprint growing quickly obvious in your comfy clothing. He delights in the fraught expression that crosses your face, the moan barely muffled by your pinched mouth. Grabbing handfuls of your flesh he kneads your chest, gasping with you as your body moves with him. “Mingi!” “What?” He asks, tone flirtatious. Barely faking that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. The pads of his thumbs flick up and down, your thighs pressing together as the fire in your core builds from a flicker to flame almost too large to ignore. “I have to. I have to finish,” you breathlessly insist, eyelids fluttering, fingers clenching your mouse. “Of course, of course you have to.” He coos, pulling your shirt up and tucking it under your arms.  “Don’t mind me at all.” Crouching down next to you he cups your chest with one hand, flicking his tongue quickly over your pebbled nipple, testing your resolve. Huffing the flame turns to a full blaze, unable to relieve the pressure mounting in your core. “Mingi, please,” you beg quietly. “Finish your ‘one last thing’, I can wait.” That’s how you know you’ve fucked up. Mingis lips wrap around your pert nipple, sucking harshly, releasing with a pop. White knuckling your keyboard and mouth he lashes an all out attack on your chest. Lashing his tongue over one nipple as his hand pinches and twists the other. You writhe in your chair unable to find solace for your aching core, chest practically pinned back in your seat. “Mingi, I can’t, I can’t, please, I can’t,” you tremble and twist. “I can’t finish-I can’t finish like this.” He smiles. “Then come to bed.”

It’s a short one! Sorry. This one's for all the gamers out there.

[shemarmooresfedora]

Can’t Be Your Secret Anymore

Summary: You hardly expected the next time you saw Spencer after your big fight is him coming out of an ambulance on a stretcher.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Nurse!Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: one swear word, arguing, hospitals, fluffy ending!

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: this is an anon request!!! anon, i hope i did your wonderful request justice! my asks are always open for anything (random concepts, full-fleshed ideas, or just random thoughts/questions)

Masterlist

“Sorry, I’m home late, sweetheart. The team wanted to go out for drinks after work and then Savannah wouldn’t let me leave until I did karaoke,” Spencer chuckled, “Luckily, she was drunk enough that I slipped out without ever having to fulfill my promise.”

Spencer’s smile faded once he realized you weren’t smiling too.

“Why did Savannah get to go but I can’t? We have been dating longer than her and Derek,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Baby, it’s not the same thing…” Spencer began to say.

You shot up from the couch, “It is too the same thing, Spencer. I have asked you at least 5 times to meet your team and you always say it’s not the right time. When will it be the right time, Spencer? A year? Ten? I can’t wait around until you decide I’m good enough for your friends,” you began walking around his apartment, collecting your things.

“No, Y/N. Please stay. You can meet them! You can meet them, I swear! Please don’t go,” Spencer desperately begged.

“I never wanted a pity invite,” you sighed, “Goodbye, Spencer. Call me if you would finally like to commit to me for once.”

The gentle closing of his apartment door cracked Spencer’s heart in half. He snuck out early from the bar in hopes of being cuddled up with you but now he was all alone.

-

A week. It had been a week since you walked out of Spencer’s apartment only to be met with radio silence. If you were being honest, you hadn’t really expected Spencer to make no attempt to get back together with you. But if he really didn’t want you back, you needed to start moving on with your life.

“Y/N, we’ve got an incoming ambulance,” Linda, the other on-call ER nurse said, snapping you out of your daze.

You jogged out to the ambulance bay, suiting up with rubber gloves.

The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the entrance as the paramedics unloaded the stretcher.

“White male. Early 30’s. GSW to the neck. Pulse is thready,” the paramedic stated.

The patient’s eyes opened slightly for just a second and they locked with yours.

“Spencer,” you whispered under your breath as his eyes closed again.

You and Linda rolled him up the OR before returning back to the ER floor. You took a seat at the desk and put your head in your hands. You were trying to control your breathing because being in the elevator with your barely alive ex-boyfriend was not how you expected this night to go.

“Do you know Reid?”

Your head snapped up to the muscular man that travelled in the ambulance with him.

“What?” you asked, even though you heard him the first time.

“It sounded like you said ‘Spencer’ when you pulled him out of the ambulance. I was just asking if you knew him,” Derek said.

“Um, kind of. We have a mutual friend so I’ve seen him around but I really don’t know him that well,” you lied.

It pained you to say that you didn’t know Spencer well at all when he was fighting for his life in surgery but then again, did you really? The mutual friend technically wasn’t a lie because you guys were set up by Patricia, a librarian, because you were the only two people under 60 that came into the library regularly.

Derek didn’t seem to be convinced but he nodded and stepped away regardless.

When the head surgeon working on Spencer came out, you purposely pretended to be doing a task close to where his whole team had gathered.

“Dr. Reid is expected to make a full recovery,” you heard, you let out an instant exhale of relief, “He is in Room E105 if you would like to see him now.”

Shit. That was the wing you were in charge of post-op for. The surgeon found you and handed you the clipboard of Spencer’s file before returning back upstairs.

You slowly made your way to the room. Thank god, you could see he was still unconscious through the door. You knocked lightly on the open door to alert the team of your presence.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Y/L/N. I’m in charge of Spenc-I mean Dr. Reid’s post-op. I just need to check his vitals real quick,” you informed them.

A blonde woman with bright bold clothing that you assumed was Penelope, based on what Spencer told you, backed away from Spencer to give you room to work, “Do whatever you need to do, sweetheart.”

That sent a pang through your chest. Spencer always called you ‘sweetheart’ but maybe that was just because he could never bring himself to call you ‘love’.

“He’s all set. I’ll be back in an hour,” you flashed a polite smile before quickly leaving the room that felt like it was suffocating you.

“Thank you!” Penelope called after you.

-

An hour later, you picked up Spencer’s clipboard once again and headed to his room, stopping in your tracks when you saw he was awake.

You made brief eye contact before you whipped around and speed-walked back down the hall.

“Linda, can you take my patient in E105 please?” you pleaded.

“Is it super gross?” she cringed.

“No, it’s just someone I’d rather not talk to right now. It’s just a vital check for a post-op GSW,” you informed her, “I’ll let you take an extra 5 minutes on break and I’ll do all the bedpan changes.”

“Fine,” Linda grabbed the clipboard and headed to Spencer’s room.

Linda decided to take her slightly longer break right after doing Spencer’s post-op. So when his ‘call nurse’ button started rapidly going off, you had no one to turn to.

You sprinted down the hallway to his room and quickly opened the door to see him sitting up, perfectly fine with the remote in his hand.

“Are you dying?” you asked flatly.

“Without you, yes I am,” Spencer replied.

You rolled your eyes and let out a humorless chuckle before heading to the door once again.

“Wait, Y/N!” he urged.

You didn’t turn around until you heard a ripping sound followed by a loud ‘ow’. When you turned around, you saw Spencer had pulled his bandage half off.

“Spencer! Why did you do that? I have other patients to tend to,” you grabbed the roll of gauze on the table.

“Now you have to listen to me as you reapply my gauze,” Spencer explained.

“Where did your team go? Can’t you bother them?” you huffed.

“You met them?”

“Don’t worry. I said I barely knew you through a mutual friend. I know how terrible it would be for you if they found out you were dating me,” you assured him.

“No, no! That’s not what I want. I want to scream from the rooftops that you’re my girlfriend. I just get scared that once we make it official to everyone, it will be even harder when I lose you,” Spencer admitted.

“Why do you think you’re going to lose me?”

“Because you’re way out of my league. Sometimes I still think you’re just a figment of my imagination and this couldn’t possibly be real,” Spencer confessed.

“Spencer, you’re a hot genius FBI agent. If anybody is out of anybody’s league, it’s you.”

“And you’re a hot ER nurse who probably saves more lives than I do on a daily basis and...I love you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, he finally said it. A sign of commitment.

“I love you too,” you spoke softly, gently pressing down the last strip of gauze on his neck.

You heard chattering approaching and the whole team appeared at the door with food and drinks in their hand.

“Alright, Dr. Reid,” you shot up from the edge of the bed, “Your gauze is all set. Press the button again if you have any other complications. Enjoy your dinner. Remember only jell-o or soup,” you headed to the door.

“Y/N, wait,” Spencer grabbed your wrist before you got very far and then interlocked your hand with his, “Guys, this is my beautiful and amazing girlfriend, Y/N, who I love very much.”

“Um-hi,” you waved.

Derek looked between the both of you and grinned.

“We were just going to have some dinner if you would like to join us, Y/N,” Penelope offered.

“Sure! Let me just tell Linda I’m taking my break,” you smiled.

You tried to leave again but Spencer still wouldn’t let your hand go.

“Spence, I’ll be right back,” you promised.

“I need a kiss before you go,” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes playfully before leaning down to give him a loving kiss that made up for all the kisses you lost over the past week.

taglist (just ask to be added or removed): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Princess and the Miller

A/N: In honor of @monsieurbruhl​ reaching 1,000 followers as well because I can’t stop thinking about her post, I decided to make a Tonda one-shot. It deviates a little from the original post, but I hope you all still like it. BTW I haven’t read the book or seen the movie, but after reading up on it, I am going to go with an alternate version of this world. Hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Tonda x Fem!Reader. No use of Y/N.

Warnings: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluffy Smut, Happy Ending.

You had always been told that when you turned 21, you’d marry a prince. It was a marriage arranged since your infancy, you hadn’t met your betrothed and yet you were in a carriage on your way to his kingdom to marry him. You tried your best to find the best in the situation, tried to get some semblance of an idea of who the man you’d soon call husband, but all you got were very generic answers. He’s speaks several languages, plays many instruments, charming, handsome. But no one told you whether he was kind, generous, or good. Your eyes fell on the greenery whirling past your carriage as you felt your nerves grow.

Silently, you prayed that the prince you’d soon be married to would be kind, that you could learn to love the man and try to have a happy life. Your prayers quickly stopped as suddenly, the carriage had rocked and jumped wildly and then before you knew it, the carriage tipped over and things went black. A pounding in your head was the first thing you clearly knew before your eyes managed to open and focus enough to see the destruction before you. The coachman that was riding with you was trapped beneath the carriage and you could hear the soft whimpering of pain. You stand, though your leg was in great pain, and despite your own weaken state, you tried to help by pushing against the carriage, but to no avail. You looked around and noticed smoke in the sky. Someone lived by, they will help.

Running towards the direction, you press on, despite your own body aching, your head swimming with light headedness, because you had to help. Tired, but you managed to reach a mill, and saw a figure whose back was turned from you. “Excuse me,” your voice low and hoarse. The figure doesn’t hear at first and continues with his work, so you move forward, your body leaning against a pile of wood, which you knock down on accident.

The figure whipped his head around and at first seemed ready to fight but seeing you, blood dripping from your head, your weaken state, made him soften. “Please help,” you manage before passing out.

The next thing you knew, you wake up in a bed, your head bandaged, your leg in a splint and the pain subsided a bit and everything started to slowly come back to you. You try to get up from bed only to be hushed and pushed back gently. “No, don’t get up.”

It’s then do you take a look at your rescuer. He was older than you, can’t be no more than ten years older, but his wavy brown hair which he tied back, to his warm brown eyes and friendly smile made him seem boyish. “The coachman,” you say suddenly, “My carriage had crashed, he needs help,” you say, trying once again to get up.

“Alright,” he says, once again gently, pushing you back down, “I’ll go and see. In which direction did you come from?” You tell him to the best of your knowledge, but your head hurts so much, and you feel as if you want to cry. He offers you a small wooden bowl and brings it to your lips. “Drink. It’ll help with the pain.”

You do as your told, what else did you have to lose? Once he makes sure you drank all of it, he settles you back down and goes to find the carriage. Laying there, you wait and the pain in your head fades, allowing you the chance to wonder what will happen now; will your betrothed start to get worried if you are not there by tomorrow and have a search party sent for you? Will your father when he doesn’t receive word from you? Quite a bit of time goes by before you realize that the man returns, and his face is grave.

“I am sorry miss, but the coachman is dead. He died before I found the carriage.” His brown eyes grow tender with remorse and silently offers sympathy.

You cry, not only because the coachman was a good man you knew growing up, but because you felt completely and utterly alone. How you wished you were home now, wished you never left to be engaged, wished you were with your family now. The man does not say anything to you for a long time, leaves the cottage with a shovel in hand, and you knew what he was going to do. His absence allows you time to grieve, time to accept the situation, and when he returns, he still gives you space, waiting for you to speak first. He tells you he had buried the coachman, but you don’t feel like you could respond without crying, so you remain silent. When you do speak first, it is late in the night before he decides to retire to sleep. 

“What is your name?”

“Tonda.”

“Thank you, Tonda.”

Crying yourself to sleep, you wake and it takes you some time to realize where you are but are quickly comforted by the sight of those same soft brown eyes, sitting by the fire, stirring the pot. “Good morning, did you sleep well?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” He gets up to bring you some porridge, gesturing for you to eat. “Where am I?”

“In my mill, just on the outskirts of Schwarzkollm, a small village, simple, but good. Where were you heading off to, maybe I know a way to get there.” You thought to not tell him the whole truth, withhold your being a princess, but looking into his eyes, you feel as if you can utterly trust him with anything. So, you explain that you were on your way to be married, that your betrothed was expecting you any day and must be worried. He took your being a princess well and instead of acting like everyone else who fell to their knees and dare not look at you, he continued to look at you, like you were an actual human being, not a symbol as your father once described you. “I know the kingdom, it’s a half a day’s ride from here. I’ll take you there as soon as I am sure you are feeling better.”

“Oh, thank you, Tonda! Thank you!” You clasp his hands into yours, a gesture of gratefulness, but somehow the touch made your cheeks grow warm. Perhaps it was because you realized that this was the first time you had been alone with a man that was not your father, perhaps it was because of how close both of your bodies were, or perhaps it was the look in Tonda’s eyes that made your stomach flutter like a million butterflies.

Word quickly spread that Tonda had a visitor in his mill, a young and pretty woman at it too, and people came to know the story, though you asked Tonda to not revel your true identity. Tonda was polite and kind enough to try to hold many of them back, certain it would overwhelm you, especially from the trauma you suffered the day before. But a few older women get by, offering food, clothing, and remedies to help you feel better, and you thank them graciously, knowing they mean well. You become grateful to be alone once again with Tonda, so you could have some peace.

He is gentle when he checks your bandages, cleans the wounds, and reapplies fresh wrappings. “You have only a small cut on your forehead, that’ll heal soon, but your ankle looks very bad,” he observes and you have to agree with him, what with it’s dark purple bruises and deep cuts that even grazing it caused great pains. “Stay off it for as long as you can; the longer you stay still, the quicker it’ll heal.”

You stay in bed, applying ointments and herbs that Tonda and the older women bring to you, while Tonda does his chores as well as trying to care for you. Feeling guilty, you offer to do little things to help, such as peel potatoes and mend clothes, little things you didn’t think mattered, but did mean so much to Tonda.

You wondered how you’d pay him back, especially since he was good enough to grab your trunk from the wreck and brought it to the mill. It wasn’t the clothes or the trinkets you cared about, but your books. Your father took great care to have you educated, to read and write, know your math and history. One day, Tonda noticed you reading and asked about it. “Oh it’s one of my favorites, but then again, I am partial to love stories. I’m almost done with it, you can read it after if you like.”

His cheeks grew red. “Oh, that’s kind of you, but-”

“But what?”

He looks down then admits, “I can’t read.”

You look at him surprised, such a capable and bright man stood before you, and he didn’t know how to read! “Well, how about this? As a way to repay you, I can teach you to read and write in the evenings, and whatever else you’d like to learn. What do you say?”

At first, Tonda tried to refuse, saying that there was no need to repay him, but after arguing that it would be good for him when he does business in the village, he at last accepts.  And so went your life for the next month. During the day, Tonda worked on the mill while you tried your best to help in bed, then in the evenings, you taught Tonda how to read and write. He was a quick learner and so proud of himself that you couldn’t help but to be proud as well.

In the time between, you both came to understand each other. Tonda proved to be a kind, gentle soul who loved animals and children, with a quick wit and a wonderful sense of humor. His father taught him to fight, which you were grateful to hear that he had little cause to use his skills, his mother taught him how to cook, which is why you were always asking for second helpings of his food. He told you how he was orphaned when he was quite young, and had lived on his own since, how while there were times he didn’t mind the peaceful quiet, he struggled with the solitude.

You told him how you understood what he meant, often feeling all alone in the big castle, how your being a middle child and not a boy, your worth was measured in how good of a wife you could one day be. You tell him of your apprehensions of your upcoming marriage, how small and insignificant you feel in this world, especially since there had not been any word on anyone trying to find you.

“No one is insignificant. We all have a reason, a purpose. Even a blade of grass has a purpose, for that blade of grass may very well be shelter to an ant, the nourishment an animal needs to live. You have your purpose, you may not yet know it now, but you will. You’ll mean something great to someone, and they’ll find they can’t live without you.”

Your heart thumps harshly against your chest, the look in his eyes, the tenderness in his voice all touched you so deeply, that you almost forgot to breathe. He turns away from you, looking as if he spoke something he shouldn’t.

The next day, you try to walk. The bruises have gone and the cuts have turned to faint scars, but it is still a little sore. Tonda stands by your side as you attempt to walk and with each attempt, you get further and further. While the sight of you getting better should have been a moment to celebrate, neither of you say the words, but both remember his promise. “I don’t think I am quite healed yet,” you speak before he does, “I think we ought to wait until I am able to walk completely, perhaps another week, just to be sure.” You are grateful when Tonda happily agrees and lets you remain with him.

A week turns to two, and those two turns to four. You learn from him how to work the mill, helping him more and more, going into the village with him, meeting the people properly. You don’t hear the whispers of the villagers, certain that you and Tonda were courting, but it’s perhaps better that you didn’t it would only make things complicated. And still, two months and no word, no sign of either kingdoms looking for you.

Eventually, you dare ask Tonda to take you to your betrothed kingdom. You just have to know what happened, why no one came for you, to let them know you were safe. A flash of pain shoot across his eyes, but being the honorable man he was, he hitched his horse and the two of you rode on. When you did reach the kingdom, you were surprised to see celebrating going on, ribbons everywhere, flower petals falling from the sky, cheers from the crowd.

“Excuse me, what is happening?” Tonda asked a passing villager.

“The prince is married!” said the villager, running off towards the castle.

You and Tonda stare at each other bewildered. Trumpets sound and you see, standing on the balcony is the prince you were to marry, and beside him, your sister, as his bride. The sight is like a stab in the heart, not because you had wanted to marry the prince, but because you knew the truth now. No one came for you because in their eyes, you were dispensable, if not you, another will easily take your place. 

The realization made you break down, sobbing as Tonda took you away, carried you even as you were so overcome with despair. He helps you back on the horse and together, he brings you back to his mill. The entire ride, you are sobbing into his back, holding on to him for dear life, your heart utterly broken. It’s dusk when you return to the mill, and ever the gentleman, Tonda helps you down from the horse and escorts you back in, making a fire when he sees you shiver. “I am so sorry, my princess,” he says at last softly, “They do not deserve you if they think you can be easily replaced like that.”

“I’m just,” you say low and brokenly, as you sit in the closest chair, “Not the blade of grass they needed it seems.”

He quickly kneels before you, taking your hands into his and makes you look into his eyes. “You are more than a blade of grass; you are the sky, the earth and the oceans. You are everything that makes life worth living for, and that prince and your father are fools to not realize that. You mean something great to me, always.”

You stare deep into his soft brown eyes and it hits you. Tonda, the man who rescued you, who cared for you, listened and taught you, you were in love with him. Yes, it was clear now, and the revelation helped to ease the heartbreak. Taking his face into your hands, you reached forward and kissed him. It was gentle at first, beautiful, something you had always read about in the romance stories and it made you both gasp when you parted.

You don’t know who prompted it, you feel as if it was you, but you can't be certain, but what you do know is that Tonda carried you to the bed, clothes stripped from the both of you and for the first time for either for you, you laid down together and carefully learned together these first throes of passion and love. His coarse hands were gentle on your skin, his lips everywhere as if he couldn’t dare part with you, his movements gentle and slow, not wanting to rush this breathtaking moment. He sighs and moans at the feeling of your soft hands running down the planes of his back, combing through his long wavy hair, the soft whimpering of your voice in his ear. 

“I love you,” his speaks desperately, lovingly, hopelessly, “I love you, love you, always.”

Hours later and you stare into the small fire as it slowly diminishes and Tonda curled behind you, sleeping. Today was a whirlwind of emotions, and yet, you couldn’t find it within yourself to feel guilty for how it ended. It stung to think your own father didn’t care, that to the world you were dead. In his sleep, Tonda pulled you closer and nuzzled himself closer to you, making you smile.

Well, you think, perhaps it’s better that the world thinks me dead, to earn this second chance to truly live. And live you did with your sweet miller, happily ever after, in fact.

Tagging those who I think would be interested: @monsieurbruhl​, @creme-bruhlee​, @bruehl​, @neonheart1244​, @justfangirlthingies​, @git-it-got-it-good​, @daniel-bruhhl​, @cazzyimagines​ 

[annie-mit-ie]

Glimpses: Part 14a (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

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Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter

Summary: The cast goes out for dinner.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Well hello there again! I was scheduled for work today but my shift got cancelled, so I had some time to go on with the story. Today's story doesn't begin with a gif - but it ends with one. Additionally, I am very anxious for everyone's reaction. Please don't kill me. xxx A.

Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl @spacehahn @sarahp-stan @agentbrownierso @our-blood-is-our-ink

Playlist! :)

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On set has always been Kathryn’s favorite place to be. Ever since she can think, she wanted to be an actress. It’s overwhelming sometimes, that’s for sure. But watching the movies at the end, after the projects are done, is the most rewarding thing to her. 

It’s Wednesday afternoon, today was a short day because the director scheduled some night shootings at the beginning of the week and promised to give everyone off earlier on Wednesday so the cast could go out for dinner. That’s why Kathryn is sitting in her Trailer with manager Jennifer and assistant Agnes (Ben is already off for the day) as they enjoy a cup of coffee as they chat about the upcoming weeks.

Kathryn is sprawled out on the couch, propping her feet up on Jennifer’s lap who doesn’t mind to have a little less personal space. Jennifer is studying the week’s schedule on her iPad as Kathryn stares at the ceiling. 

“Do you know what you want to wear to dinner today?” Kathryn props her head up to look at Jennifer and tries to find a quick answer.

She hates questions about outfits because usually she just throws on a blazer to whatever shirt she is wearing that day and calls is a day. As if anyone cares what she is wearing. Also, with no social media she wouldn’t notice bad press anyway.

Realizing Kathryn hasn’t thought of it yet, Agnes gets up and walks towards her wardrobe. Kathryn’s eyes follow her.

“Thank you, Aggie, just a black blazer would be great. Did I bring one? I’ll just wear it with the shirt I’m wearing. No fuzz and all.” Kathryn says apologetically. She feels bad for not getting up and arranging her clothes herself, but she is completely exhausted and can’t find the strength to get up just yet.

The three woman chat for a little longer before Kathryn sits down to reapply her makeup and fix her hair. There’s a knock on the door. Once again, Agnes is the one who gets up to open it as Jennifer is on a call with a magazine who wants to interview Kathryn soon.

“Hello! Can I he-“ The redhead nearly falls out of the trailer as she is faced with one of Kathryn’s co stars. The actor smiles at her softly, offering a hand to steady her.

“Is Kathryn here?” He asks in a raspy, low voice and peeks his head into the trailer. Kathryn, who has turned around from where she is seated, makes eye contact with him and offers a slow wave to say hello.

“K! We’re slowly but surely getting ready to leave and I thought I’d give you a heads up and maybe even take you with me already.” Hearing this nickname from anyone but you makes Kathryn feel very uneasy and her whole inside flinches as she realizes that, if she doesn’t speak up about it, he will continue using it. But at the same time: what is she supposed to say? She can’t just call him out for something like that because that could make her seem extremely unfriendly right away.

Realizing an answer is long overdue, she nods and checks herself in the mirror. “Can I get… like 10 more minutes, Jeff? I’ll come find you immediately.”

He shoots her a bright smile “Don’t worry! Let’s make it 15 and I’ll pick you up again.” And with that he leaves the trailer again.

Jennifer, who ended the call just a moment ago, looks up from the tablet to grin at Kathryn. “What a gentleman.” She winks.

“Treating you just the way you deserve to be treated.” Agnes also winks at her and Kathryn wishes she could just slap both of them. Lovingly, obviously.

Jennifer gets her attention back. “So…. Are you gonna go with him?”

“IS IT GONNA BE A DATE?” The younger woman jumps in excitedly.

Kathryn turns around to actually face her two closest people again without a mirror being the transmitting point. “Guys, you know I’ve been spending time with Y/N. That would be extremely unfair to her. I couldn’t.”

Agnes starts nodding as Jennifer takes her attention off the tablet for a moment and fully faces Kathryn. “I know, but let’s face it. She is much younger than you, doesn’t know a thing about the business and she won’t be here for a long long time. And of she would be here then press would go absolutely wild and you know that!”

“But… she makes me happy.” Kathryn won’t let her manager talk for herself and over her feelings like that and smiles as she sees her assistant nod behind Jennifer’s back over the remark.

“Might be, but still. My point stands. As your manager I have to tell you that both could be an extreme distraction, but at least he is here and you don’t have to stay up extremely late to communicate.” Jennifer looks back at her tablet, where she furiously starts typing. “Also. He has a very clean record and seems genuinely nice.”

“Let’s put on the red lipstick you brought, Kathryn! I’ll help you.” Agnes smiles and gets up from where she is seated to step closer to Kathryn, pushing her red hair behind her ears.

As they look at each other in the mirror and Kathryn’s eyes meet hers, she realizes how emotional her boss seems to be over the whole situation. Realizing Agnes is about to make another remark, Kathryn slightly shakes her head as she keeps intense eye contact and reaches for the lipstick to distract herself.

Just a moment later, Jeffrey knocks on the door again.

“There she is!” He exclaims, reaching for Kathryn’s hand who is about to step out of the trailer. “The most beautiful woman on set.”

She blushes and slaps his arm that is intertwined with hers all while jokingly rolling her eyes. “Oh shush.” She laughs.

“Just spilling some facts. Let’s go, I’ll drive. The others left just a moment ago and I offered to bring you.”

It’s a short drive and the two hold a casual conversation about previous projects and the mood is good. He seems to actually be quiet the gentleman as he immediately walks around the car and opens the door for her to get out. It’s just now becomes clear that it wasn’t a smart idea to leave later than the others.

Word must have spread and paparazzi and a handful of fans are building a crowd in front of the restaurant. For aesthetic reasons, the restaurant’s entrance is made out to look like a red carpet - the perfect opportunity to shoot some pictures of the stars.

The whole cast is still outside, waiting for Jeff and Kathryn all while handing out autographs. Paparazzi line up to get the perfect shot of the whole cast. Someone from the restaurant seems to be outside already to organize and manage the situation and give the cast some space. He talks the paparazzi down to take a single picture of all of them together.

Kathryn gets seemingly uneasy. She never really does a lot of big press for her projects and events like the Grammys are so organized that she doesn’t get to experience chaos like this, especially with no security around. Jeffrey turns around to look at her. “Hold on to me, we’ll be inside in a minute.”

She smiles thankfully and intertwines their arms again on their way inside. As they are all stopped for the cast picture, the fans line up with the paparazzi to get some pictures themselves. There is a moment of silence as the hotel manager arranges everyone and clears the chaos. A random girl in the back of the people suddenly jumps up and, thereby, grabs everyone’s attention. “I LOVE YOU, KATHRYN.” She jumps again. “YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL, KATHRYN.” She yells, prompting Kathryn to break out into the most beautiful smile, a sight that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeffrey who smiles back at her, creating a moment that is captured by a fan’s phone.

Dinner itself is calming and everyone has a good time. Kathryn loves to get to know everyone this way and they stay for multiple hours until the sun has long set and it seems like everyone is on their third desert, just to drag out the time.

Slightly intoxicated from all the wine she has had with the female co star next to her, Kathryn smiles at Jeffrey. “Thank you for offering a ride, by the way. I feel like I haven’t said that yet.”

“You are very welcome.” He replies and places his hand on her upper thigh for a moment as the two of them look at each other for a little too long.

“Kathryn! Another glass?” She actress next to Kathryn grabs her attention as the waiter offers to pour another one. Overthinking for a moment, Kathryn ends up declining the glass and asks for a water instead. She doesn’t want to be hungover tomorrow.

As it nears midnight, the cast slowly but surely makes their way back home and Jeff reaches out for Kathryn once again to help her up from the table. Just like before, he offers her a right back home to the hotel that she is staying in over night. They realize they are living on the same floor as they make their way back to her room. 

Kathryn, who’s red lipstick has already worn off from all the food and drinks she’s had, stumbles slightly. Not because she is drunk, but because of how tired she feels. There are no words to describe how glad she is that she doesn’t have to work early the next morning. Her first shoot isn’t until 3pm, so she will definitely be sleeping in.

Jeffrey guides her all the way to her room and watches her as she let’s herself in. He stays in the door frame, leaning against it as his eyes follow her every step. Kathryn takes off her blazer and ruffles through her hair after putting her jewelry on a plate on her table.

In her background, Jeffrey, who is still standing where she left him, clears his throat. “Come and spend the night with me.”

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.2

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Two: Cherry: The engagement party. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: mild cursing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, jealousy, mentions of alcohol, this chapter is a lil fluffy, this series is going to be a real slow burn babyyy

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A/N: thank you all so much for the kindest feedback to the first chapter! i am so glad you liked it, genuinely it means so much to me!! you are all so sweet! 

-

Things between you and the hazel-eyed doctor have been strange to say the least. On most days, Spencer would avoid you like the plague. He no longer came into work before everyone else, he no longer walked you to your car at the end of the day. Your conversations were not only rare but also short and most often work related. He refused to sit next to you on the jet, and stopped going out with the group for afterwork drinks if he knew you’d be there. 

Overall, Spencer didn’t engage with you at all unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Of course the team immediately picked up on the shift in dynamic between the two of you. Profilers profiled. Even though Spencer and you haven't officially said anything was going on, everyone knew. It was obvious. 

You were glad however that they all kept their thoughts to themselves. The last thing you needed was for everyone to get involved with something that was simply between you and the brunette doctor. 

“What’s this?” Spencer asked confused as you placed a brown paper bag on the desk in front of him. 

“It’s breakfast.” You replied. Shooting you a hesitant look, the brunette doctor opened the bag and peeped inside. “I brought you a scone. I baked them myself last night, and this one is for you.” You added shrugging your shoulders lightly while Spencer retrieved the pastry. 

“You didn’t have to. What about-” Knowing what he was about to ask, you cut him off. “Don’t worry genius, everyone got one this morning before you came in. This one is rightfully yours.”

Spencer looked up at you, and half-smiled. “Thank you.” You immediately smiled back. “Don’t mention it.”

It was a strange feeling, being this nervous around him. Even after your breakup, you remained close. The two of you continuously dangled on this thin line between less than a relationship, more than a friendship. To an outsider it was definitely weird, but it was unique to your situation since neither of you really wanted to break up in the first place. The circumstances forced you too.

Spencer was your go-to person for pretty much anything, just as you were his. Which is why his current cold shoulder hurt your feelings. 

Truth be told, you found his attitude to be quite childish and immature. Yes, how he was feeling about your recent engagement was completely valid but as selfish as it may seem in your eyes there was no need for him to completely cut you off. 

“Look, I know things have been odd between us.” You began, resting your body weight against the edge of his desk. “But I just want you to know that I-”

He shook his head. “Please don’t finish that sentence.” “Spencer...” “No Y/N, I mean it. I don’t want you to tell me that you will always care about me, or that I will always have a place in your heart because that frankly doesn't make me feel any better about any of this.” He stated. 

“O-okay.” You breathed and turned your attention away from him, breaking eye contact. “So I guess that’s it then? You don’t want to be my friend anymore?” You asked without looking back at him. 

Spencer didn’t say anything. What could he say? That he didn’t want to be your friend because he wanted more? He couldn’t say that. That would make things even more complicated because as far as you were concerned he already moved on. As far as you were concerned Spencer wasn't in love with you, so he couldn't tell you now after all this time that he was. 

Which is why he distanced himself these last few weeks. It was easier to ignore you, to not talk to you unless he had to. It was easier to pretend you didn’t exist because if you didn’t exist the pain in his chest was imaginary. 

“Fine.” You snapped your head back to look at him. “I knew that you wouldn't take my engagement well, but never in a million years would I have thought that you would act like a complete dick about it.” The tone of your voice jarring. “I know that maybe you’re hurting Spencer, but like you said we both moved on so honestly grow the fuck up.” You spat before walking away. Only once has he heard you speak like this, back when he decided to break your heart and end your relationship.

Spencer cursed under his breath; something he didn’t do very often. He sunk back in his chair, and ran one hand through his already messy hair before sighing. You were right. He was being a dick, but again it was easier. It was easier to be an asshole than to deal with the turmoil currently going on inside of him. 

Although it may not seem that way, the last thing Spencer wanted to do was to hurt you. He was unhappy, yes. In retrospect he could have shown it less, he could have tried harder to truly be happy for you, because not once did you ever wish him unwell. Your breakup was hasty, and messy, and you had every right to hate him forever because of how it went down. But you didn’t. Apart from the initial shock, you were never angry with him. You stayed by his side, as a friend.

It dawned on Spencer in that moment, that’s why he was so vexed. It wasn't because of you; a friend. Spencer was angry with himself. He was the one that ended it despite your pleas. He was the one that cut you off. He was the one that pushed you into Ethan’s arms. It was because of him you were now engaged to someone that wasn't him. And he unfairly took that anger out on you. 

Tonight was your engagement party. He decided that he was going to go. It will be painful to see you in the arms of another, but he will show his support because that’s what friends do. Friends. 

The restaurant you picked wasn’t that far from where he lived. For a moment Spencer found your choice to be quite odd, given the history the two of you had with the place. But he quickly shook the thought away - it must be a coincidence. 

He stepped inside, and his gaze instantly landed on you. Wow. Gorgeous didn't even began to describe how you looked right now. You wore a figure-hugging white dress with a plunge neck, and floral appliqué detail. Spencer was mesmerised. And if it wasn’t for the fact that you were in a public place, surrounded by people that were here to celebrate you and your fiancé, he would have kept his gaze on you the whole night. 

Steadily, Spencer approached to congratulate you. 

It was then he noticed how Ethan’s jaw was locked. How even though Ethan had an arm around your waist, the two of you weren't standing right next to each other as a couple in love should be. When he got a little closer, Spencer also noticed how the makeup under your eyes was reapplied almost as if you had been crying. And that the smile currently present on your face was fake. Despite the occasion, you didn't look happy at all. 

“Spencer.” His heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name coming out of your lips. Your eyes locked, and he could have sworn they lit up. “I- Thank you for coming.” You reached out your hand to gently squeeze his forearm, and smiled at him warmly. A real smile. 

The brunette doctor couldn't help but smile back. “I wouldn't miss it.” He replied. It was a lie, but it looked like one you needed to hear. You let your hand fall back to your side, just as Spencer turned his attention to the surgeon. 

“Nice to see you again Spencer.” Ethan uttered, a hint of vexation in his voice. “You too Ethan, and congratulations.” “Thank you.” Ethan glanced down at you briefly. “I’m a lucky guy.” He kissed the side of your head, before excusing himself to talk to another guest. 

Of course Spencer noticed that even though you leaned into Ethan’s touch, a small act that stirred the jealousy inside of the brunette agent, your body relaxed the second Ethan was out of sight. Sudden concern flooded through him. But before he could ask what was on your mind, you reached out your hand to straighten his tie. 

"I’m glad you’re here Spencer.” A soft smile circled your lips. It took every fibre of his being not to take your hand in his, and hold it right there on his chest. “I am really sorry about what I said this morning.” 

“No, I’m sorry Y/N.” He responded. “I hope you know that you will always be my friend, no matter what.”

“Good.” You let your hand fall and looked around the party. “Well, I better go and mingle.” You glanced back at the hazel-eyed doctor and sighed. “Wish me luck doctor.” 

Spencer wanted to stop you, but he knew better to bring up whatever was bothering you now. Knowing you, you wouldn't say anything anyway. Not in front of all these people. 

“Good luck.” Spencer smiled kindly. He watched you disappear into the crowd before heading off to find his friends.

An hour in and the party was in full swing. Chatter, drinking, and even dancing. Everyone seemed to be having a great time. Everyone but you. 

You did your best to keep your head up and enjoy yourself but no matter how hard you tried, the feeling just wasn't there. With a drink in hand, you talked to your guests one by one. At this point in the night you have heard it all. From congratulations, to wedding planning suggestions, and even tips on having a  successful marriage.

Which is why you were glad that Ethan came up behind you and asked you to step outside. Even if the feeling was short lived.

“Listen babe, I have to go.” He stated. You furrowed your brows confused. “What do you mean you have to go?” Ethan sighed. “The hospital called. It’s an emergency.” 

“You told me that if anything happened they had you covered.” 

“Y/N don’t do this right now.” He breathed. 

“Don’t do what? It’s our engagement party Ethan.” You stated, annoyance levels rising. “My family flew from across to the country to celebrate with us. My dad is here to get to know you and you’re just-” “The hospital called Y/N. You know how this works, or did you forget the time you were supposed to meet my parents you got hailed away on a case.” He gritted.

“That’s different!” You snapped, taking a step toward him. “How is that different Y/N?! Work is work!” Ethan grumbled. “Because you told me that if anything happened they had you covered.” You repeated sternly. 

“I don’t have time for this.” Ethan waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll stay at the hospital tonight.” And just like that he began to walk away. You wanted to yell after him but you knew it wasn't a good idea to get involved in his theatrics. So instead you wiped the single tear that was currently trailing down your face, and headed back inside. 

Thankfully no-one even noticed the two of you were gone - or so you thought. As you let out a deep breath, Penelope appeared in front of you. The bubbly blonde linked her arm with yours and eagerly pulled you gently across the restaurant to a table where the rest of the girls sat.

“Sit, sit.” She pointed to one of the empty chairs. “You look like you need a break sweetie.” “Thank you.” You breathed while plopping down and making yourself comfortable.

“So, how’s your night going?” Tara asked while taking a sip of her drink. “Are you having fun?” “Honestly, I’m exhausted. If I hear another comment on how you should never go to bed angry with your spouse I am going to throw myself out a window.” You replied making the girls laugh.

“It’s only uphill from here.” JJ joked. You rolled your eyes at her playfully. “Way to cheer me up honey.” “Anytime.” She shoot you a wink just as Luke and Spencer joined. Luke placed a tray of tequila shots on the table and pulled up a chair next to Penelope. 

“Hey, where did Ethan go?” He asked while sitting down. “I saw you guys leave when we were at the bar and only you came back.” Garcia nudged his arm, and he instantly knew that he shouldn't have said anything. He smiled at you apologetically as an inaudible sigh escaped your lips. “He got called to an emergency at the hospital.” No-one said anything. They just glanced between one another. 

“Excuse me.” You muttered getting to your feet, and as you walked away you heard Garcia say to Alves: “Way to go newbie.”.

The brunette agent suddenly jumped out in front of you causing a halt in your step. He placed his hands on your shoulders, and you hesitantly looked up to meet his comforting gaze. 

“Stopped me to say I told you so.” You mumbled fighting back tears. 

“I would never do that.” He affirmed even though he didn't have to because your statement was only rhetorical. Spencer was not the kind of man to gloat, or make you feel even worse than you already were. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.” 

“I’m not.” You replied honestly. “I mean my fiancé just left our engagement party, he told me he's not coming home tonight, and to top it all off he-” You bit your tongue. You couldn't tell him that last part. “Never mind. I don't want to bother you with my problems.” 

“You could never bother me. Never.” Spencer reassured.

A tiny smile circled your lips. “That’s sweet Spencer, and you have no idea how much it means to me.” He smiled back. “However, this is a party, so we best go and try have a little fun.” “Y/N...” He wanted to protest but you lifted up your hand and placed it on top of his. “I promise one of these days I will unload all my shit on you doctor. Tonight is just not that night.” 

Spencer nodded slowly agreeing with your promise. You smiled at him, still holding his hand. The two of you stood completely frozen and soundless; as if there was no-one else in the restaurant, no party. 

Spencer’s heart was thumping so hard in his chest he thought it would burst at any given second. And even though his mind was racing in circles, there was a permanent image stuck vividly. You. He wondered if in that moment you felt as strong of a connection as he did.

His question was answered when you dropped your hand and broke the eye contact. The imaginary glass shattered; he was brought back to earth. 

He dropped his arms too, and cleared his throat. 

“Pumpkin, just exactly where is that fiancé of yours?” Your dad asked, suddenly appearing next to you. “He was supposed to-” His eyes landed on Spencer.  “As I live and breathe, Dr. Reid.” Your dad smiled. “I would shake your hand but I remember you’re not the biggest fan of that.”

“That’s alright Mr. Y/L/N.” Spencer responded reaching out his hand. “Good evening sir.” He greeted while shaking your dads hand. “Please son, we’ve known each other long enough, just call me Anthony. Plus if my memory serves me correctly I think I’ve asked you this before.” 

Spencer smiled softly. “Right, of course. How’ve you been Anthony?” 

Your dad smiled back. “Ah you know son, I can’t complain.” “Dad’s retired now, so he is spending a lot of time reading, going on walks.” You chimed in making your dad roll his eyes. He looked at Spencer. “Truthfully son, I am bored out of my mind. Retirement is boring.” 

“Dad, it’s well earned rest.” You noted.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead pumpkin.” Anthony joked causing you to gently nudge his arm. “Dad!” Spencer couldn't help but chuckle. 

Anthony waved his hand in front of his face before changing the subject. “Now, where is that fiancé of yours?” He asked again. “He had to go to work.” You answered, and Spencer could see that although he didn't say anything your dad wasn't impressed. 

“Well pumpkin, if he’s gone then would you mind calling me a cab back to the hotel? I’ll leave you kids to enjoy the rest of your night, and I will see you tomorrow for brunch as planned.” You nodded, kissed his cheek, and stepped away to call the taxi leaving Spencer and Anthony alone.

Once you were out of earshot, Anthony turned to Spencer. “Keep an eye on her for me, won’t you son?” He asked. “I want what’s best for my only daughter, and between you and me Dr. Reid, she doesn't seem happy.” 

Spencer didn't know what to say. He felt slightly guilty for not being there fore you these last couple of weeks. After tonight, and noticing the odd dynamic between you and Ethan, he agreed with your dad. Maybe if he hadn't been so distant he'd have noticed earlier? However, Spencer knew that if he told you how he felt you’d only go back to arguing and that’s the last thing he wanted. 

“I know it is a lot to ask given your history, and I will completely understand if you decline but quite frankly son, you’re the only person I can count on.”

“Don’t worry sir.” Spencer began. “I will keep an eye on her.” Anthony smiled at Spencer’s response. He placed a grateful hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gratefully. “Thank you Dr. Reid.” 

You rejoined them shortly after that. As your dad said his goodbyes, you asked him to text you when he got back to the hotel safely. 

Soon you and Spencer were alone once again - well not entirely given the party was in full swing. 

“Let me buy you a drink.” Spencer offered. You giggled looking back up at him. “It’s an open bar doctor.” You pointed out making Spencer chuckle. “Then let me order you a drink and keep you company.” He corrected himself. “Maybe ward off crazy relatives. How does that sound?”

“Given that my aunt May has been eyeing me for the last fifteen minutes, and she’s quite the talker, it sounds good doctor.” You replied. With a wide grin, Spencer extended his arm and pointed in the direction of the bar. “After you.”

No matter what his assumptions about your relationship with Ethan were, Spencer’s priority from this point on was going to be keeping that promise he made to your dad. 

Maybe it wasn’t over for him yet. Maybe he could still win you back. Truth be told he really wanted to try, but that was no longer important.

Being your friend was. As much as that would potentially suck.

I confess I can tell that you are at your best I'm selfish so I'm hating it

-

A/N: hello friends! i hope you liked the second chapter of this mini-series. i’d love to hear your feedback and what you think will happen next! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

taglist: @girloncorneliastreet​, @haylaansmi​, @rexorangecouny​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​

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[jatphantomsimagines]

Before Us (2) | Luke Patterson

Synopsis: In 1995, Sunset Curve was set to play The Orpheum. 25 years later they wake up in a whole new world and Luke finds somebody he once used to know.

Authors Note: I apologize ahead of time because this chapter is mainly filler, just gotta move the story along (and also show y’all Julie + Riley’s friendship)

PREVIOUS | NEXT

__/—–\__

All night long all Riley could think about was how quiet Julie had been at school after her crying session in the hallway. She was worried, so she decided upon waking up that she would head over to Julie’s house and walk with her to school. 

She had made it quickly, her thoughts clouded with the music that flooded through her headphones. They were old recordings she had found of her mom’s music, having moved them to her computer and changing them to a playable format. It was comfortable for her to be able to hear her mom, being able to sing along with her. Every so often there would be a duet, a boy's voice chiming in and singing along. 

Riley wasn’t sure who it was, not knowing much about her mom’s past besides what her dad had told her. This mystery man sang in Riley’s ears, her nerves calming and easing her anxieties about walking into Julie’s house unannounced. 

Walking up to the house, she could hear something coming from the backyard and she removed one of her headphones. Riley made her way down the stairs to Julie’s garage, heading over to the doors she could hear the familiar sound of piano chords being played and Julie’s voice ringing out through the open air. She echoed, energy seeming to buzz around Riley causing the hair on her arms to stand up. 

Tears came into her eyes and before she could stop herself she was running over and pushing the door open and looking Julie dead on. The girl continued singing, a smile lighting up her face and their gazes meeting. Julie finished singing and called the girl over, Riley joining the girl on the piano bench. The feeling was familiar, having been in this position so many times throughout their childhood. 

As Julie was about to speak up, both their attentions were brought over to the door where Flynn was storming in. 

“Carlos told me you’d be out here.” The two stared her down, waiting for her to continue. “The three of us need to talk.” 

“Are you okay?” Julie asked, Riley motioning for the girl to come closer to the piano, genuine worry flitting across her face. 

“No, I’m not okay Julie. You just got kicked out of music! I’ve been up all night thinking about what I was going to say. Might’ve drank seven sodas, but I need to get this out.” 

Riley couldn’t help but giggle, piping up quietly. “I thought that was how you spent most nights.” 

Flynn turned to look at the girl, rolling her eyes the same way Julie did when she was teased. Riley knew that the girls loved her antics, and even if they got annoyed sometimes they wouldn’t hesitate to be the first people to fight for her. 

“Look Julie, you can’t give up music. And Riley agrees.” Riley shook her head, looking very serious as Flynn motioned to her. “Your music is like a gift so that would be a tragedy. So, you’re basically cancelling Christmas, and I love Christmas.”

“May I add, I also love Christmas.” Julie couldn’t help but laugh at that comment, Flynn continuing on her rant without even batting an eyelash.

“When we were six we all promised to be in a band together. The Triple Threat.”

“I never agreed to that name.” Julie piped up. 

“Yeah well Riley did and that’s two versus one, anyways! Jules, if you leave the music program the three of us will be apart forever. That’s just what happens.” She joined the other two on the bench and Riley reached around Julie so she could rub Flynn’s back lightly. She knew that the other girl was over exaggerating but her worries were still valid and Riley wanted to ease them. 

“Sure we’ll see each other in the hall sometime, but we’ll have different lives, make new friends.”

“That’s not true. Can I please talk now?” Julie pleaded with the other girl and Flynn finally relented. “I just played the piano and sang again.”

A look of shook covered Flynn’s face and she laughed, looking between the two girls in disbelief. Riley nodded, still not quite believing it herself that her best friend was playing music again. 

“What? Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Well she would've had you not barged in and let your seven soda’s kick in.” Riley pointed out. 

“I’m so happy for you! And us!” She quickly grabbed Riley’s hand and squealed. “Look at you, looking all, I don’t know, alive again!”

“What made you play again?” Riley asked, bumping her shoulder gently about Julie’s. She was curious, wondering if Julie had managed to work through her grief during the night. 

“I found this song my mom wrote me.” She paused showing the two girls the song on the piano. Riley read it over and felt her heart clench. The song was all about moving on and moving forward, exactly what Julie needed right now. She hugged the girl tightly, still holding Flynn’s hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“I was so afraid to play it. Anything involving music reminds me of her. And then I woke up this morning, realizing that’s why I should play it. To keep her memory alive.” Flynn awed slightly and moved closer, wrapping herself around Julie’s other side and joining the group hug. Flynn gasped, pulling away quickly and speaking. 

“We need to tell Mrs. Harrison you can play so you can stay in school and our lives won’t be the awful pictures I just painted for you.” Riley laughed, standing up and dragging both girls with her. They made their way out of the garage together, Julie stopping to close the door behind herself. 

“Oh hey.” Julie speaking caused both Flynn and Riley to turn around and face the girl. Riley raised an eyebrow as Julie stared at the empty space next to her and Flynn coughed. She turned to look at the girls, realizing they were still there. “Let’s hustle.” 

And with that Julie was ushering the two girls off and on their way to school. The three of them huddled together laughing and talking about how they were going to convince Mrs. Harrison to let Julie stay in the music program. 

The easiest decision the three of them could come up with was to let Julie perform in front of her, hoping that Julie’s “killer voice and pure talent” would blow her away, Flynn’s words. Riley agreed, piping in that once Mrs. Harrison heard Julie again she would let her back into the program. 

Time seemed to pass by quickly as the three of them talked and talked, laughing away at each other’s stupid okes and making silly quips here and there. The energy around the three of them was comfortable, a relaxing presence that brought all of them some peace. 

“Do you think she’ll really let me back in?” Julie asked as the three girls walked up and into the school. 

“She has too, you’re too good to let go.” Riley answered. 

`

“Believe me, I think it’s wonderful that you sang again. I prayed for this moment for almost a year. But it’s too late.” Mrs. Harrison gave the girls an apologetic look and Riley felt her shoulders slump. There was no way it could end like this. She hadn’t even given Julie an actual chance to prove herself. 

“But what if you just hear her play, you know she’s amazing.” Riley pleaded. Mrs. Harrison shook her head. 

“It wouldn’t matter. A new student starts tomorrow. There’s only--” 

“So many spots.” Julie finished, knowing the line by now. “And if I don’t participate, I’m out. I know.” 

“I did everything I could to keep you here this year, but Principal Lessa was very clear that yesterday was your last chance. You’ll have to reapply next semester.” The bell rang as Mrs. Harrison finished explaining the situation to the girls and Riley couldn’t help but feel as if they had lost one of the most important battles of their lives. 

They had worked so hard, she had seen the progress Julie had made, had even heard her sing alone that morning. The sound of Julie finally letting go of all the pent up emotions she had been harboring and pouring them out into the best version of themselves. 

“I’m truly sorry.” She finished. Students began to file in for the next class and Riley led the girls out of the room, Flynn slinging her arm around Julie’s shoulders, trying to offer some comfort from the situation. 

The girls looked between each other and Riley sighed, the familiar action of her hands sliding into her pockets offering her some minor comfort. The jacket she wore belonged to her mother, something she had seen her wearing many times in photos of her own youth, and while Julie played music to stay connected to her mother, Riley went through her things and wore her clothes. 

“This sucks.” She kicked her toe into the ground, rubbing her shoe until a small sprout of pain surfaced. A frown stayed placed on her lips, Julie looking up at her and taking her hand in her own. 

“It’s going to be okay, I’ll get in next semester.”

“But you’re playing music now! You should be allowed to have the tools and training that we do, who cares if you needed some time.” Riley groaned and gripped her hair in hands. Julie ran over quickly, recognizing the action as a stress habit the other had developed after being in the car accident that killed her mother.  

“Riley, breathe.” Julie led the breaths, placing a hand on Riley’s diaphragm, just as her mother had done when the girl would have panic attacks at their home. After a few moments of breathing, Riley calmed down and the urge to pull at herself went away. 

“Thank you, mi cielo.”

-

Before Us Tags:

@vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​ @dpaccione​ @ashleyleblancx​

[outlawsworld]

Trusting Strangers - Chapter 12

Arthur Morgan x Female reader

Summary: Reader and Arthur's relationship in now not so secret. She spends one on one time with Dutch and also some alone time with Arthur.

Warning: robbing, mentions of smut but nothing too bad!

Notes: sorry it's taken me so long with this chapter. I've taken a bit of time off over Christmas. Please let me know what you think....can't wait to write the next chapter after this ending 🤤

You can also read my work on my ao3 account Outlaws_world !!

Chapter 1

--

You had been tossing and turning all night. Each time you were drifting off back to sleep your memories reminded you of the events of last night. As it started to get lighter outside you decided to go check on Dallas. Sleep wasn't coming easy and you decided to make yourself useful instead of just laying in your tent. The cut around Dallas' limb had started to scab over and there was no sign of infection. You reapplied some of the herbs that Charles had given you and fed the horses. It must have been early as everyone was still fast asleep in camp and the morning birds had only just started chirping in the trees. You made yourself a coffee and stood at the end of the dock looking out over the lake. The sun was rising over the hills which filled the sky with a burnt orange. You took in a deep breath which filled your lungs with the freshness of the air before taking a sip from your coffee. There were a couple of birds floating on the water and you watched as they sat there, still and silent. You were so lost in focusing on the stillness of the morning that you didn't hear the footsteps behind you.

''Mornin' Miss (Y/L/N)'' you spun round quickly to see Dutch had walked up behind you. He was smoking on a cigar and smiling at you.

''Mornin' Dutch'' you spoke hesitantly after you caught your breath.

''Sorry dear, I didn't mean to frighten you'' he smirked. Even though it was first thing in the morning, Dutch didn't have a hair out of place and he dressed so smartly. You must have looked scruffy in comparison as you had the same clothes on from yesterday and hadn't combed your hair yet. He came to stand next to you as you both looked over the water. ''You alright after last night?'' he questioned, not taking his eyes away from the view.

''Yeah'' you paused. ''I didn't mean for it to escalate the way it did'' you tried to defend yourself. Dutch sighed as he looked at you.

''It ain't your fault Miss (Y/L/N)'' his voice was hushed as the camp was starting to stir behind you. ''Arthur has taken quite a shine to you. I realise you two seem to be gettin' on rather well'' he scanned your face waiting for your reaction. You continued to look out over the lake hoping that he would avert his gaze. ''I hope this ain't gonna be a problem''. You look at him slightly taken aback by what he had just said.

''I don't know what you mean?'' you question, looking directly into his gaze now.

''You have settled in well here (Y/N). You have also pulled your weight and done well on jobs'' he paused taking a drag from his cigar and blowing it out over the lake. ''I want to see this for myself. What are you doing today?’’ he questioned ignoring your confusion.

‘’I was going to see about those horses with John this mornin’.’’ You scanned the camp trying to find him.

‘’That can wait’’ he protested. ‘’ Ride with me to Rhodes. I’ll let you get on with your morning chores and then come find me’’ he eyed you up and down before adding ‘’ I’ll inform John of the change of plan, the horses can wait for tomorrow’’.

''Of course Dutch'' you said shyly. He patted you on the shoulder before walking back into camp and leaving you standing on the dock by yourself.

You thought about Dutch's words as you sipped on the rest of your coffee. Gaining Dutch's trust was a hard task when you first joined the gang and the last thing you wanted was to jeopardise that. You hoped that your time spent with him would allow you to finally prove your full worth to him. ‘I hope this ain’t gonna be a problem’, what did he mean by that? There was a slight nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach as you thought he might not approve of your relationship with Arthur. Was that what this trip to Rhodes was going to be about? 

You tried to ignore the feeling as you made your way back into camp. Most people had started to stir and were getting on with their chores. Although you knew Dutch would let John know about the change of plan, you wanted to tell John yourself and to clear the air from last night. When you couldn’t find him anywhere around camp you made your way over to the dirty dishes and began cleaning. You had only just gotten settled into your work when Tilly and Karen both decided to settle down next to you. As you glanced up, you saw the huge grins plastered across their faces and automatically rolled your eyes.

''Awwh come on now, don't be like that'' Karen giggled. You looked into the wash bucked and concentrated on the dish in your hand. Trying to block out the eager girls stares.

''You can't hide from us in a pile of dirty dishes, ya know'' Tilly smirked at you. You looked up and sighed. She was right, no matter what you did, you couldn't avoid them forever. ''You gonna tell us then?''.

''Tell you what?'' you smirked.

''Don't play dumb. Tell us about what happened last night'' Karen scoffed. She sat next to you with a ripped shirt in hand as she tried to sew the seam back together.

''With Micah?'' you questioned.

''No you idiot. With Arthur'' Karen tutted. ''He was clearly protective over ya, never seen him so riled up. Micah must have struck a nerve talkin' bout you like that'' she giggled as she spoke. You knew that being cooped up in the camp all day can be boring, so the girls lived for any gossip or drama. You shook your head and sighed looking over to see Arthur was sat on his cot writing something in his journal. He looked so fixated on what he was jotting down, you couldn’t help but wish he was by your side right now to answer the questions that were being thrown at you.

''Would you just leave the poor girl alone'' Sadie interrupted, she was standing over the three of you with her hands on her hips.

''We were only asking'' Tilly spoke shyly.

''Yeah, well I'm tellin'. Can't you see she has enough to do without you two at her'' she gestured for the two girls to move which they did with a grunt and a couple wise remarks. Sadie came to sit beside you and grabbed a dish to clean. ''Told you they would find out'' she giggled. You couldn't help but smirk at her comment but you stayed silent. The two of you continued to wash the dishes. Your eyes scanned the camp to try find John but instead landed on Arthur walking towards you.

''Mornin' Ladies'' he tipped his hat to the both of you.

''Arthur'' Sadie greeted him as she carried on scrubbing one of the dishes.

‘’(Y/N), can I have a word?’’ his voice was hushed as if to try and not draw too much attention to us. You glanced at Sadie who gave you an approving nod before you dried your hands on your trousers and stood up to follow Arthur. The giggling coming from the other girls behind you were more then obvious, but you ignored them. You followed Arthur back towards the dock where you had been standing not too long ago.

‘’You alright?’’ Arthur asked as you reached the dock. He placed a hand softly on your lower arm, almost taking your hand whilst looking straight into your eyes. His touch suddenly warmed your whole body and your cheeks flushed red. You were slightly embarrassed to how easily this man could change your whole mood with a simple touch. His bright blue eyes were unavoidable, you could see the corner of his mouth was upturned as he looked at you which only made your heart race faster.

‘’I am now’’ you smiled up at him. He smiled sweetly back at you as he intertwined his fingers in yours. Quickly, you glanced back towards the camp to see if anyone was watching. Before you could let go of his hand and pull away, Arthur’s free hand reached your cheek to move your face back to focus on him.

‘’Cat’s outta the bag (Y/N)’’ he smirked at your panicked reaction. ‘’I guess I’m to blame for that’’ his hand cupped your cheek still as he looked from your eyes to your lips. He was right, everyone in camp knew by now that something was going on. There was no point in hiding it. ‘’I just wanted to make sure that you were alright with it all?’’ he lowered his voice slightly as you dropped your eyes to look down at the floor.

You wanted to say how much you hated that people were already trying to know all your business, you hated that the attention was focused on the two of you because you were the biggest news in camp. Being on your own for so long you had gotten used to no one paying you any attention and you liked it that way, you never had to explain yourself to anyone. The words couldn’t form in your mouth and as you looked back up to meet Arthur’s eyes all of your worries seemed to fade away. If the whole camp knowing meant that the both of you could stop sneaking around and be together then you didn’t seem to care. All that mattered to you was Arthur.

‘’I’m alright. Though you owe me’’ you smirked at him. ‘’You don’t have to deal with the girls wanting to know every detail’’. Arthur laughed shyly as he pulled you closer to him. He leaned down and kissed you softly. It didn’t feel like your previous kisses, you were very aware that anyone could be watching but it felt more meaningful somehow. You didn’t have to hide your affection for one another. You felt a warm feeling at the fact that Arthur was happy for the camp to know about his feeling towards you.

‘’How about I take you outta camp for the night?’’ Arthur smiled leaning his forehead against yours.

‘’Deal’’ you smiled before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. The two of you slowly made your way back into camp before Mrs Grimshaw came over to tell you both to stop slacking. As you walked into the heart of camp you noticed everyone’s attention was on the both of you and you could feel a hot flush run through your body.

‘’I better finish my chores’’ you gestured back towards Sadie who was still busy washing dishes. Arthur smiled before leaning down and kissing your cheek in front of the whole camp. The gesture produced a gasp and whispers that could be heard from the girls who were watching the both of you. You bit your lip and your cheeks flushed once more before heading back towards Sadie. You sat down next to her and continued with your work, you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face.

‘’I hope you know that I can’t save you from the oncomin’ questions now’’ Sadie giggled. It was as if the other girls had heard Sadie’s comment because almost instantly they had all gathered round you.

‘’When did it happen?’’

‘’Is he a good kisser?’’

‘’Is he romantic?’’

Their questions came thick and fast and you did your best at answering as Sadie sat smirking at you. You must have looked like a rabbit when face to face with a cougar as the questions piled in. Once you washed the last dish you stood up and held your hands up in surrender.

‘’Alright, alright. Enough questions for one day’’ the girls all sighed with the loss of excitement. ‘’I’ll see y'all later’’ you took no time in waiting for their response as you strode across camp to find Dutch. As you crossed camp you scanned it to see if John had made an appearance. He was still nowhere to be seen so you shrugged it off. Dutch was sat in his tent reading one of his novels when you approached him.

‘’Ahh (Y/N)’’ he closed the book as he saw you stood in the opening of his tent. ‘’You ready to go?’’.

‘’Yeah’’ you nodded as he put his book down on his cot and gestured for you to lead the way to the horses. Dallas favouring his leg still so you took one of the spare horses for the day. You both mounted up and you followed closely behind Dutch as he led the way out of camp and onto the main road to town. The both of you rode in silence which only made you more nervous. Dutch had always been kind to you and impressed with your work but you had never had to prove yourself to him before or spent any time with him alone. Luckily Rhodes wasn’t too far from camp and you both hitched your horses outside of the saloon before making your way inside. Dutch ordered you both a beer and you took a seat at a free table in the corner of the room. The saloon was quiet as it was only midday but there was a piano player which filled the empty atmosphere.

‘’So, I want to see first hand what you can do Miss’’ Dutch broke the silence as you took a sip from your beer. ‘’I’ve heard a lot of great things but never seen it for myself’’ he smirked at you before joining you in a drink. You didn’t exactly know what Dutch was expecting. All the jobs that you have done for the gang had been planned by someone else and you just did as you were told.

‘’What’s the plan?’’ you asked, slightly confused.

‘’No plan’’ Dutch raised his eyebrows. ‘’Just do what you do best’’ he leant back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, expecting to watch a show. You took a deep breath and glanced around the bar trying to find a target. Rhodes wasn’t too far away from the city of Saint Denis which meant many rich folk passed through regularly. You spotted a couple of men sat at the bar, both well dressed and merrily drinking. They looked like they were celebrating something as they toasted to one another’s success. You quickly gulped the rest of your drink before giving Dutch a nod in their direction. Dutch glanced over at the two men and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a mischievous smile before he nodded at you. You straightened out your clothing and fixed your hair before making your way over to the bar to stand next to the two men.

You gestured for the bartender before ordering another beer. Once, you had been served your drink you stood, leaning on the bar in a way that would attract a man’s eye to the curve of your bum. One of the men took the bait straight away and turned his attention to you as you began to drink your beer.

‘’What is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing in a town like this?’’ he leaned towards you. His breath stank of alcohol and his eyes were slightly glazed over indicating he was a lot more drunk then you had first thought.

‘’Just passin’ through’’ you smiled sweetly placing a hand on his forearm. ‘’How about yourself?’’. Before you knew it, you were standing in between the two men drinking your beer and creating convocation. They both had closed some sort of business deal that you paid no interest too and were celebrating. You hummed along whilst congratulating them. They were both quite young, handsome men so you acted as though you were falling for their charms. After your second beer that they had bought you, you decided to take your leave and go back to Dutch. Both the men were slightly disappointed that you were leaving however, they let you go without any complaints.

‘’I think it’s best we leave now’’ you smiled at Dutch who sat watching you with a confused expression. He didn’t question you and followed you out of the saloon and to your horses.

‘’(Y/N), I think you missed the point of this trip’’ he finally turned to you before you mounted your horse. You grinned at him, before he could say another word you produced 2 watches, $20, a golden ring, a packet of cigarettes and what seemed to be an engagement ring from your pockets. You placed all the items in Dutch’s hand.

‘’Pretty sure we can sell this stuff at the general store. Plus, I found out that they have a bunch of deeds back at their house which isn’t too far from here. Turns out they will both be out of town on business next week. Might be worth a look’’ you smirked feeling pretty pleased with yourself.

‘’Well I must say, I am impressed’’ Dutch nodded at you, you couldn't help but hear the slight shock in his voice. This only made you more smug about doing a good job. ‘’Let’s go see what we can get for these’’ Dutch chuckled as he stuffed the items into his pockets. The both of you mounted up and began to head to the main street. As you were riding down the street you passed by Hosea and Arthur. They were on their way to the saloon with a wagon full of moonshine. Hosea had dressed Arthur up in a hat and a pipe sticking out of his mouth and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. They both tipped their hats to you as you passed one another but no words were exchanged. Arthur rolled his eyes as he saw the amusement on both yours and Dutch's faces.

"He's never been one for playing dress up" Dutch remarked. "No doubt we will get an earful later" he bellowed whilst laughing.

Dutch and yourself entered the general store and sold the items for $40 altogether. He decided to buy you a broach of a horse’s head cast in bronze that you had taken a shine too. You thanked him on the way out before pinning the broach to your shirt. The two of you began your journey back to camp ignoring the noises coming from the saloon. Clearly whatever Hosea and Arthur was up to was working in their favour.

‘’Good work today Miss (Y/L/N)’’ he smiled at you as you rode side by side. ‘’I’m glad we found you’’. This made you light up. You knew Dutch was hard to please and to hear him say these things only made you feel more at home in the gang. Although, you couldn't help but think of your convocation that you had by the dock that morning. You hadn't spoken about your relationship with Arthur this whole trip, which you originally though that's what this was about.

‘’Thanks Dutch’’ you smiled at him. ‘’Can I ask you a question?’’ he nodded at you to continue. You cleared your throat and gathered up the courage before speaking up. ‘’Earlier, you said that you hope that me and Arthur don’t become a problem, what did you mean?’’ you asked so shyly that you thought he might not have even been able to hear you. You heard him take a deep breath in as you looked at the road in front of you, avoiding his gaze. The silence was deafening, the only sound was your heart racing as Dutch thought about your question.

‘’I meant no offence’’ he cleared his throat before carrying on. ‘’Things like relationships can be a hard thing with the way we live. They can get in the way and distract us from our responsibilities. As long as you know the gang comes above anything else, it shouldn’t be a problem. Keep up the hard work’’ Dutch scanned your face for your reaction. You looked up to catch his gaze before nodding. "And Miss (Y/L/N), I won't tolerate any more fighting in camp" he warned looking straight into you.

‘’I understand. It won’t get in the way’’ you promised Dutch. Although you knew he meant well you couldn’t help but feel he thought you might take Arthur away from his work or even the gang. You had no intension of doing so as you knew how much the gang meant to him, and how much it was starting to mean to you as well. It was like a family, one that you have been needing for so long.

Once you were back in camp Dutch left you to tend to the horses. You brushed the borrowed horse and the Count before feeding them some carrots as a treat. It wasn’t long before the sun began to set on another day and you helped yourself to some of Pearson’s stew. Lenny came to keep you company and sat on the log next to you by the fire. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn't interested enough to ask about your and Arthur's relationship. Lenny was the youngest in the gang but he talked as though he was the oldest. He was incredibly smart and always good company.

‘’You seen John today?’’ you asked as you scanned the camp still unable to locate John.

‘’Yeah, he has been on guard most of the day, didn’t want anyone to relieve him of his post’’ Lenny shrugged. You turned your nose up at the thought of John wanting to be on guard all day. He hated that job, he always complained that it was boring. Maybe something had happened between him and Abigail which made him want to be by himself for a while. You were about to go and check on him when you saw Arthur ride back into camp. He dismounted Siego and marched over to speak to Dutch and Micah. You and Lenny both tried to overhear their conversation without any luck. Whatever they were taking about, you could tell Arthur wasn't too pleased about it. You turned your attention back to the remainders of your stew and scraped the bowl clean.

‘’Ma’am’’ Arthur drew your attention from your bowl. He held his hand out for you to take which you did gladly. He pulled you onto your feet before taking your bowl from you and placing it in the wash tub. ‘’You ready to go?’’ he questioned, his tone was slightly irritated still by his convocation with Dutch. You had completely forgotten about going out of camp with Arthur tonight but you nodded to not irritate him further. You said your goodbyes to Lenny before grabbing a couple of spare clothes from your tent and meeting Arthur by the horses.

You rode together back into Rhodes. Arthur remained quiet for the ride, you could tell something had angered him but you didn’t want to pry just yet. Instead you decided to let him calm down. Arthur led you up to the Rhodes hotel, you glanced at him slightly shocked. You had expected to go back to the open field that you had slept the other night. You followed sheepishly behind him, trying to remember the last time you had slept in a real bed. Arthur paid for a room and for a bath each before grabbing the key and guiding you to the room.

The room was spacious, with a double bed in the middle of the back wall and a wardrobe to the side. There was a draw at each bedside with a lantern placed on each one. As it was already dark outside so the room was slightly dim lit but that didn't faze you. You gingerly walked around the room and placed your things to one side. As you passed each draw, you automatically searched through them to see if there were any leftover belongings.

‘’We ain’t robbin’ the place’’ Arthur smirked as he watched you open and close all the empty draws.

‘’I know’’ you giggled slightly embarrassed. ‘’I don’t remember the last time I stayed inside that’s all’’ you felt the softness of the bed and took a deep breath in.

‘’Well we needed to get away from camp. Thought this would be better then a cold night outside" he watched you with a smile.

"You alright?" you finally asked. "Ya seem irritated".

"Nahh it's just Micah. Thinks it's a good idea to rob both the Grey's and the Braithwight's" he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't think it's the best idea but Dutch seems to take his side" he placed his things in the same pile as yours before walking over to you and placing both his hands on your waist. You place your arms around his neck and pull him close to you for a full enbrace.

"Doesn't seem smart but I'm sure Dutch knows what he's doin'." You tried to reassure him. The truth was you thought it was dumb too. It was a small town and people talk, even with a family feud they would still know it was us that robbed from them. You let go of him just enough so that you could see his face. His jaw was tense and his eyes were looking over your shoulder, deep in thought. You place your hand on his cheek to bring his eyes round to focus back on you, just like he had done earlier. His jaw relaxed as his eyes met yours. You kissed him gently, you could feel his whole body relax when your lips met. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, as if not wanting to ever let you go. You broke the kiss and smiled up at him.

"I'm sorry, let's not talk about the gang tonight" he smirked. ‘’Why don’t ya go get a bath, I’ll get mine after’’. You nodded at him before grabbing some clothes and walking out of your room and down the hall to the bath.

You submerged yourself in the warm water hesitantly. The water felt lovely against your skin, better then washing yourself in the cold lake. You took your time in scrubbing your body head to toe, using the soap provided. It smelt of lavender and filled the room with it’s relaxing scent. Once you had finished you sat in the bath for a couple moments, embracing the last of the warm water before climbing out and drying yourself. You pulled on the clean clothes you had packed before tip toeing your way back to the room. When you walked back in you were surprised to find Arthur was not there. He must have gone to the second bathroom that you had noticed. You perched on the edge of the bed, feeling it dip from your weight. It was so soft and you couldn't wait to have a comfy night sleep. You sat there for a while before deciding to get ready for bed, it was getting late and you were begining to tire. As you rummaged through your things you realised you had forgotten your nightwear. You rolled your eyes and breathed out an irritated sigh at your forgetfulness. Instead you decided to slip on Arthur's shirt that he had given you weeks ago on your hunting trip and remove your trousers. Once, to were comfortable you climbed onto the bed laying down with your head placed on the plump pillow.

There was a knock at the door before Arthur crept back inside the room. He closed the door behind himself before finally letting his eyes find you. His mouth dropped slightly before he took a large gulp finding you in this slight state of undress. The shirt you had borrowed fell down to the middle of your thighs but both your legs were on show to him. You sat up slightly leaning on both elbows and you let yourself look over him. He was standing at the door with just his jeans on, his suspenders left to hang by his legs. You couldn’t help but gaze over him, his upper body was toned with hair gracing his chest leading a path down his stomach into his jeans. The both of you were silent as you allowed yourself to explore with your eyes. Your heart was racing in your chest and a new warm feeling began aching between your legs. You had both seen each other like this when you spent the night away from camp hunting but at that point you avoided looking over each other. This time you both welcomed each other to look. You could feel your heart begining to race as you felt his eyes wonder down your body.

‘’I wondered where my shirt had gotten too’’ Arthur said in a low tone as he slowly made his way over to you. His voice seemed to vibrate through you, making the ache between your legs worsen. This feeling was foreign to you and you began to think something was wrong with you.

‘’I may have forgotten to give it back’’ you admitted shyly, watching every step he made towards you. His shoulders were broad leading to his muscled arms that you longed to warp around you. You couldn't hide the slight shaking in your breath as he got closer. Arthur slowly sat down on the bed beside you and licked his lips. Your chest felt like it was going to burst open as he rested a hand on the bare skin of your leg, just below your knee. The sensation of just his touch sent shivers throught your body. The heat between your legs was intensifying with every passing moment and a knot in the bottom of your stomach started to grow. You slowly looked over his body and back up to meet his striking blue eyes. He didn't shy his gaze away once you met his. There was a look on his face you had never seen before. It was hungry but weary at the same time. You suddenly had a growing awareness of your need for him. You needed him to kiss you. You needed him to touch you and you needed him to relieve this unfamiliar burning feeling between your legs.

--

Chapter 13

@kashasenpai

[cellsshapedlikestars]

jonsa prompt: adventures in dorne ☀️

hi anon! Thanks for the prompt! ❤️❤️

(once again this turned out longer than the ‘drabble’ it’s supposed to be but oh well)

xx

Dorne is not going to plan.

Sure, they'd spent weeks and weeks talking excitedly about it, their post-grad trip to the southern coast: the sun, the sand, the ocean. It had all sounded delightful to her Northern ears.

But the reality is that she's spent nearly every moment on the beach under an umbrella, having learned a painful lesson in just the first few hours that her complexion was not meant to handle this much sun. How she had managed to burn in the time it took for them to unload their bags from the rental car into the rental house, she has no idea - it had to have been fifteen minutes, tops, and yet there she was with reddened cheeks, nose, and shoulders. In her audacity, she had slapped some sunscreen on and they'd gone to the beach and she'd learned the hard way that you need to reapply sunscreen, especially after going into the water.

So now her nose is peeling and every bit of exposed skin is tender and red and she's miserable under this umbrella. Next to her, Jeyne is so hungover she can barely move, and Beth managed to twist her ankle on the way back from the bar last night. They're a sad bunch.

All in all, Dorne is not turning out the way she wanted it to.

“I need a drink,” she tells Jeyne, who groans in response and turns over onto her stomach. Out near the ocean, Beth is limping around on her bad ankle, but at least it looks like she's flirting with some cute Dornish boy.

Good, maybe one of us will have some fun on this trip, Sansa thinks bitterly. Back in Winterfell, they'd giggled over finding some cute Dornish boys to show them around the town. It had been a lovely, stupid dream.

She heads up towards the line of bars at the edge of the beach, giant hat on her head to provide at least a little shelter (she had just reapplied her sunscreen, but she's not taking any chances. She'd spent all night researching sun poisoning and she is not going to risk it).

On her way, she eyes up the resort down the beach. She and Jeyne and Beth had decided to go as cheap as they could – the plane tickets were crazy expensive this time of year and the tiny little rental house they'd managed to snag was criminally overpriced. But she knew staying at The Black Dragon would have been much more expensive (she had researched it, though, sighing wistfully at the state of the art spa and the luxurious suites. The Targaryens ran the finest hotels, though she'd only ever been in one once, with Joffrey last year. The hotel had been wonderful, Joffrey not so much).

Instead of going to a beautiful beachside resort bar with free drinks included in some package, she instead heads to a much less fancy one open to the public.

The bar is crowded with people just like her – the recently graduated, ready to celebrate their last bits of freedom before succumbing to finding a job and becoming an Adult. She has to push her way through the throng of people, wincing as her burnt arms and shoulders scrape against bodies. The air is thick and hot under the canopy, despite the open sides. When she manages to push her way to the front, she can see three bartenders all busy but she can't manage to get close enough to flag one down.

Some girl pushes forward and knocks Sansa back and she hisses in pain as her burned shoulder strikes a solid mass behind her.

“Whoa,” a voice says and hands come up to brace her arms as she regains her balance – a kind gesture, but one that is causing her even more pain and she pulls away from the grip with a grimace. “Sorry,” the voice says and when she turns, she finds some guy standing and staring at her shoulder. When she looks down, she can see the white imprints of his hands slowly fading back to red. “Looks painful,” he nods at her arm and she rolls her eyes at how obvious that is.

“Turns out, I'm not exactly made for the sun,” she says and he lets out a small laugh and that's when she really gets a good look at him.

Well, she thinks, perhaps this trip wasn't going to be a total loss.

“Need a drink?” he asks and nods at the bar. In their short time talking, she has somehow managed to get pushed even further away from the bar and she nods. “What do you want?”

“Honestly? Just water,” she decides. She had been coming for a real drink, but now that she's in this mass of bodies, all she can think is how dehydrated she must be. “I was also gonna get one for my friend.”

He nods and then moves and she watches in confusion as he slides behind the bar and leans down and grabs two water bottles from out of nowhere. She opens her mouth to protest – sure the lines are long but stealing isn't the option – when she sees one of the bartenders give him a nod and her savior nods back before coming back over to her.

“Impressive,” she says over the din of the crowd and if she leans a little closer than necessary for him to hear, well, he doesn't seem to mind.

“I know the owner,” he shrugs but she thinks he looks proud of himself. “Wanna get out of here?”

She can't decide if this is a cheesy pickup line or not but she doesn't really care because she does want to get out of here. She follows him out and back onto the beach.

“Jon,” he holds out his hand and she maneuvers the water bottle she's holding into the crook of her arm, wipes the condensation off her hand onto her wrap, and takes his hand.

“Sansa.”

Gods, what did all those romance stories she used to read talk about? Sparks flying at the first touch? An immediate connection? Nonsense, she would have told anyone just thirty seconds prior.

“You're far from home,” he says and now that they're out of the crowd, she can hear the slight Northern accent in his own voice, though it's much less pronounced than her own.

“Winterfell,” she explains and he nods. “You?”

“I used to live in White Harbor with my mom when I was a kid,” he explains. “Moved around a lot after that.”

“And now you live here?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Mostly just working here for the summer,” he says, but doesn't elaborate.

“And when it's not the summer?”

She's not sure why she's prying. It's rude and she and Jeyne and Beth had been talking about finding summer flings. Flings do not need a background. In fact, she's pretty sure the whole point of a fling is to not know that much about the other person, to not get involved.

“Move around a lot,” he says again. “For work.”

“You're a spy,” she jokes and that makes him break out into a smile and oh, he looks very nice when he smiles.

“You caught me,” he laughs.

“Not a very good one if I was able to figure it out.”

She expects him to make some sort of joke about killing her now that she knows his secret, but just as he's opening his mouth to say something, a boy with nearly white blonde hair sidles up next to Jon and, without acknowledging Jon's presence, gives her a once over.

“Well hello,” he drawls with a blinding smile that might have been charming if it weren't for the fact that she was clearly talking to Jon. “Who might you be?”

“None of your business,” she snaps (her mother would probably be appalled at her manners but really, how rude is it to interrupt a conversation to hit on her?)

The blonde doesn't seem shaken at all, he just grins.

“I'm Aegon,” he extends a hand that she does not take. His clothes are expensive and well tailored and she wants to cry at the fact that he's in those shoes in the sand. They'll be ruined forever and he doesn't seem to care. He's clearly some rich asshole from the resort.

“I'm not interested.”

Instead of being put off, he laughs and then turns to look at Jon with a raised eyebrow.

“But you're interested in this guy?” he points at Jon with a shit eating grin as Jon glares back. “I didn't mention my last name, it's Aegon Targaryen.”

Honestly, if it hadn't been for Joffrey, if she was still the girl she was in high school, she might have swooned at that. Might have thought he was some prince just because he had money and a name. As it is, she's had just about enough of lazy, arrogant heirs.

Instead of responding to him, she turns back to Jon and says “sorry, people with money seem to think they can get away with anything. You were about to say something?”

If Aegon Targaryen is insulted that she's ignoring him, he doesn't show it. In fact, he looks downright gleeful, which is actually more worrying.

“Fine,” Aegon interrupts again, sighing wistfully, like his fun is ruined. “I'll go. But before I do-” he turns to Jon and claps him on the shoulder, “dad's looking for you.”

For a moment she is frozen to the spot as Jon groans.

Dad?

They are not brothers, she thinks, looking between them for any resemblance – Aegon is all pale hair and pale skin and pale eyes and expensive clothing and Jon is dark hair and tanned skin and jeans and a t-shirt.

When Jon doesn't argue, she realizes it must be true and when she looks a bit harder, she thinks maybe the nose is the same, but that's all she can really see.

“Sorry to interrupt your flirting,” Aegon grins, “but there's some issue and dad wants you to sort it out.”

“You sure he asked for me and you're not just trying to get out of doing it yourself?”

Sansa has known these men for all of five minutes but she can already sense this is a common argument from the easy smile on Aegon's face and the exhausted tone of Jon's voice.

“East wing,” the blonde says, giving Jon, then her, one last smile before he walks off.

“Sorry,” Jon mutters and throws a look over his shoulder, down the beach, and when she follows his gaze, she finds herself looking straight at The Black Dragon.

“It's ok,” she tries not to let her disappointment (and, honestly, surprised confusion) show in her voice. “I should get this to my friend and make sure she's still alive,” she indicates the water bottles in her hand and when she looks out onto the beach, she can see Beth is back at their blanket and chatting to a Jeyne who has her head buried in her arms.

“Maybe I could see you later?” The words rush out of him and she thinks he wasn't really planning to say them and her heart gives a wild leap in her chest.

Her mind is screaming at her to stay away if he's a Targaryen. Look how terrible Joffrey had been; the Targaryens are an even older name, even wealthier. Old, old money.

“Even though I insulted your brother?” she manages to get out.

“Half brother,” he shrugs. “Plus, he deserves it.” She can't think of a single thing to say and she watches him shove his hands into his pockets and she realizes she never answered his question.

“Later?”

“If you want,” he's quick to add, like he can tell his half brother has thrown her for a loop. “I could take you to dinner? Somewhere maybe that isn't...” he gestures back towards the resort. “Unless that's where you want to go?”

“No, somewhere else is fine,” she finds herself agreeing without really realizing the words are coming out of her. And then suddenly she's handing over her phone and he's giving her his and she's putting her number into it and she tries to calm her racing heart.

He hands her back her phone with a smile that isn't nearly as smooth and charming as Aegon's had been, but is somehow much more endearing.

“I'll call you,” he promises before taking off in the direction of The Black Dragon.

A fling, that's all this needs to be. If he's anything like Joffrey, she can be rid of him easily, no harm, no foul. And even if he's not a monster like Joffrey but was still an entitled rich kid, that doesn't mean she can't have some fun with him. Just a nice, casual, summer fling.

As he's walking away, he turns to look back over his shoulder and he gives her another smile that crinkles up the corners of his eyes and she takes a deep breath to calm herself.

Just a summer fling, she tells herself. Definitely just a summer fling.

[nazyalenskyism]

Shadows in My Mind

Summary: It wasn't supposed to happen like this, not yet. A/N: I really don't know how to tag this fic but it's been sitting in my drafts for a few months and I hope you like it! As always feedback appreciated, and thanks for taking the time to read! <3 The rest of the fic is under the cut!

Ao3: Shadows in My Mind

        “No,” she hissed, pressing all of her weight into her hands but the pallor of his skin kept worsening despite her efforts. “No. Hey. Stay awake!” Zoya snapped, tapping his cheek with her blood stained fingers. She fought back a wince as she left scarlet prints on his face, his unfocused eyes fluttering open at the sharp pain she’d dealt him. “I won’t let you leave me, you idiot. You’re not allowed to leave.” Zoya couldn’t even summon the horror that would usually wash over her when tears rose in her eyes. She rarely let them fall, but now, they streamed down her face as her best efforts yielded no results. She continued pushing down on the wound, feeling Nikolai’s weary gaze on her when she paused for a moment, using her Squallers’ abilities to throw her voice, calling for someone, anyone, even though she knew there would be no answer. ‘This can’t be how this ends,’  Zoya let herself despair for a moment before turning back to Nikolai,  ‘he was supposed to have more time.’ She steeled herself, ripping off a sleeve of her bloodied and torn shirt, pressing it into the wound. Her bones were tired, her powers screaming, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the ground and close her eyes, but she couldn’t afford that-- not until she’d saved Nikolai. ‘If I save him, then everything will be fine.’ 

        “Okay,” she whispered, “okay, we can do this. I just have to reapply pressure before I get you onto your feet.” She reached out, faltering when warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. Nikolai looked up at her, pale, bloodied and beaten, but his eyes were still bright. “Nikolai you need to stand up, if you can walk, we’ll do that, or I’ll carry you.” ‘Whatever it takes,’ she thought, trying to pull herself from his grip, but he was surprisingly strong. 

        “Zoya,” he said hoarsely, “it’s no use, dear.”

        “No,” she snapped, looking at him incredulously, “you’re always the one babbling on about hope and optimism, you do not get to tell me it’s futile. Not now,” but in her heart, she realized that she was at yet another funeral, being left behind again. He was going to leave her. He had promised that he would come back. He was leaving her.

        “Nazyalensky,” Nikolai muttered, fingers brushing away the tears that had spilled from her eyes. “Don’t shed tears for me, I don’t like seeing you cry.”

        “Well I don’t like seeing you--” she broke off, she couldn’t do this. 

        “Hey,” he said softly, “I need you to go back to the others, there’s a document with the finance minister, and another with Tolya. I need you to put them into action immediately, don’t give anyone a chance to hurt our country.”

        ‘Our country’. “You’re not thinking about Ravka, not right now.” 

        “I’m running low on moments,” he replied, and to her horror his eyes were shining too. 

        “We can try,” she insisted, “we can’t be too far from the others.” 

        “No,” he said firmly, “I’m fine where I am. I need you to do something for me.” She nodded without hesitation and he continued, “let’s pretend we’re an old married couple.” 

        “What?” Zoya croaked.

        “Tell me a lie. Tell me it will be alright,” his eyes were wide, imploring.

        She pulled on her best guise, what he’d taught her, how to play the part. “Don’t be daft, of course you’ll be fine. You think that your best general would let you d--” she choked back a sob. “That she would let you die? No, you’re going to make it back to the camp, and the healers will patch you up perfectly, or else they’ll have me to deal with. You’ll ride back to a capital on your favourite horse in your best coat, the victorious king of a resilient country.”

        “Will there be a ball in my honour?” the corners of his lips pulled up, “I would’ve loved to dance with every lady in the country.”

        “Of course,” she replied, clinging on to the moment, this moment that was just them as if nothing was wrong, as if this was not their last moment like this. “They’ll write ballads in your honour, and perform hours into the night, the festivities will last for weeks, until you can’t stomach any more parties. All the ladies will be fawning over a chance to dance with their handsome king” 

        “Handsome?” he let out a laugh, wincing immediately, clutching at the wound in his side. Zoya carefully peeled his hand back, replacing it with her own over the injury. She tried not to think about how feverish his skin was under her hand, how his blood had soaked through the fabric of her balled shirt sleeve. ‘I need to remember everything about this moment.’

        “Yes. Handsome.”

        His eyes found hers, a steadfast sincerity behind them. “You’re forgetting how the king may dance with every woman in the country, but the entire evening, his eyes will only be on one.”

“You will meet a nice girl, fall hopelessly in love, have too many children to inherit your throne, and you will grow old with a family and country that love you as you deserve, ” Zoya continued, attempting to ignore his words, the look in his eyes. 

        “The woman whose name the wind whispers in his dreams.”

        She pushed on, “you will be a fantastic king, you will--”

        “And if he never summoned the courage to follow his heart, he would spend every day of the rest of his life wondering what could have been if he had been able to make a queen out of his ruthless general.” 

        “Nikolai--”

        “Zoya,” he whispered, “I fear that I don’t have much time left. Can I ask of one more favour from you?”

        “I thought kings never begged.” She bit out as Nikolai pushed aside new tears, his hand warm against her cheek.

        He gave her a sad smile, “is it truly begging when asking something of a queen? If not, then it will be our secret.” His voice was growing fainter with each word and Zoya felt her heart lurching. She was not ready. ‘Help me’ she implored to the dragon inside her, but the Saints were quiet, like they always were. No one would be coming to save her, they never did.

        She nodded resolutely, “what do you need?” 

        “Will you kiss me sweetly? In my dreams you always do, and this seems like nothing if not a dream of mine.” 

        “Nikolai you--”

        “Nazyalensky, humour me please. I know you don’t share my sentiments but--” 

        He was cut off as Zoya dipped down, pressing her lips against his fiercely with years worth of longing, hope, desperation combined with her heart’s mournful goodbye to a future they would never see. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her harder until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

        She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his. “That was sweeter than I ever dreamed,” he said quietly. 

        Zoya took his hand in hers, “don’t go.” 

        “I have to,” his voice was barely there now. She drew back, his fluttering eyelids racking another sob from her chest. “I’ll see you again one day, I hope.” He pushed open his eyes, gazing at her intently, as if struggling to commit each detail to memory, to hold onto the picture for a moment longer. “Don’t forget me.” Nikolai drew their intertwined hands towards him, pressing a brief kiss against her knuckles. 

        “I won’t.” 

        “I know,” he smiled up at her, before closing his eyes. “I’m only going to take a short nap, Zoya dear. Wake me up when our friends are here.”

        She was fully weeping now, “I will, Nikolai. I will.” 

        The world was quiet for a few moments, Nikolai’s slowing breaths the only sound. 

        Then, as quick as sleep, he was gone. 

        For a shining moment, she didn’t believe it, but it shattered all too quickly when she pressed her fingers to his neck. Nothing. He was truly gone.

        “No, no, no,” she murmured, throwing herself over his warm body, crying out as she felt the wind knock out of her chest, her lungs aching from impact. A searing bright light and stars engulfed her vision and she fell back, breathless, cold, smooth tile delivering another blow to her battered body. 

        She blinked rapidly, attempting to right herself, her surroundings only just beginning to register in her mind. She was in a secret cell hidden behind the Darkling’s, now Nikolai’s war room in the Little Palace. It was the place that they were keeping the Darkling— or at least had been— until he had escaped, wreaking havoc and delivering the fatal blow to Nikolai.

        ‘Nikolai,’ Zoya thought, scrambling to her feet despite the pain. How had she gotten here? She had been in the middle of a barren battlefield, her body thrown over her king’s lifeless one… had she been captured? Where was his body? Zoya glanced down at the broken skin on her hands that had braced her fall backwards. They were clean, no trace blood. She frowned, her shirt was whole, her kefta clasped overtop of it. Last she’d remembered, it had been torn off her back as she fought in battle. Looking up, Zoya found a chair that had toppled over laying at her feet, and a metal table before her, and behind it, was the Darkling, a predatory smile playing at his lips.

        “Did you like that little dream?” his voice was as smooth as glass, his hands bound together before him. “All those tears for your little boy king, did you cry like that for me, Zoya?”

        She said nothing, her head still fuzzy. ‘What was happening?’

        “No,” he continued, his eyes fixed on her, trying to gauge her emotions. She knew this game, he found the gaps in your armor and twisted the knife until you were writhing on the floor and he was satisfied with his work. “I don’t suppose you did, you were pretending to hate me at the time, what with the way that you turned against me,” he sneered, raising an eyebrow at her unflinching demeanor. So it had all been fake? Then why did it feel so real? She could feel Nikolai’s lifeless presence over her like an enormous weight, even now. 

        “What was that?” Zoya asked, pushing to make her tone as even as possible. Her fingers dug into her crossed arms, forcing herself to stay in place. She needed answers, she couldn’t afford to run out of the room and make sure that Nikolai was actually okay. As her head cleared, she began to remember what had happened. She’d volunteered to try to get the Darkling to talk, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to have to deal with him. It was her fault that he was back and she refused to let him hurt her friends again. Nikolai had been hesitant, and the look he’d given her at the meeting was puzzling. She had assumed it was because of the story she’d told him that night in the Fold, about what the Darkling had said to her. But now, after whatever she had just experienced, she wasn’t so sure.

        “That,” the Darkling began, pulling Zoya’s attention back to him. “That was a little glimpse into your future.”

        Zoya rolled her eyes, unable to help herself, “let me guess, that’s what’ll happen if I don’t let you go?” 

        “No,” he leaned back in his chair, “it’s inevitable now, that’s the only outcome left after what you and your prince did in the fold.”

        “King,” she replied absently. She didn’t believe him for a second, but the vision had been so real-- she could still feel Nikolai’s blood on her hands, his lips pressing against hers, his lack of a pulse under her frantic fingers. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t her future. The Saints hadn’t been able to determine this for her and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let the man in front of her try to. 

        “So it can’t be stopped then?” 

        He looked up at her, “oh noble Zoya, so desperate to save everyone. First it was those cubs, then your aunt, Juris, and now the Lantsov pup. As much as you try, they all die in the end. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be.”

        ‘No. No. You don’t let him play these games.’  Her inner thoughts were echoed by the dragon inside of her, and it took everything to stop herself from slamming the Darkling’s face into the table. As she took a step towards him, planning her next move with blood roaring in her ears, the door behind her flung open. 

        “Zoya, we need you.”

        She frowned, she needed answers. “ Give me a minute,” she called.

        “Now, Commander.” 

        “Ask your little king how he felt about that vision.”

        Zoya spun around on him, unable to hide her shock. “You showed it to him?

        “Why don’t you ask him what it felt like to die? He should remember that feeling, it’s going to happen again sooner than later.”

        Zoya forced her feet out the door, slamming it behind her as she followed Tolya into the viewing room, where a mirror looked out at their prisoner. 

        “What is it?”

        “What happened in there? You froze, and the next thing I knew you were crashing to the ground.”

        She waved him off impatiently, her heart still racing from the Darkling’s parting words, “where’s Nikolai?”

        “He’s with Ehri in the gardens, why?”

        “Go check,” she said, her chest tightening, “go check on them now.”

        “What’s wrong?” he asked, briefly touching her arm. His face was full of concern and Zoya couldn’t take anymore heartbreak now. She couldn’t imagine the possibility that anything might take her friends from her.

        “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Go now, and check on David and Genya and Tamar too, that’s an order.”

        He shot her another puzzled look before leaving her alone in the observation room, while the quiet slowly began to consume her. She didn’t order her friends around, not like that, but with every passing second she felt more of her control slip away. Her heart was full of pain, she couldn’t see anything but red.

        He’s fine, it’s alright. They’re all unharmed. But it wasn’t enough. She sank to the floor, knees drawn to her chest, numb as the dream repeated itself again and again in her mind. All the while her king strolled through the gardens, entertaining his future queen at his side, unaware that all she could feel was his lifeless body under her, as she watched him die over and over again.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Prompt 15?

Thanks for the prompt, dude!

15. Drunkenly confessing feelings

That Floaty Feeling

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 3927

Summary:

How long has Michelle been the kind of girl who stays long after the party's over? About as long as Peter's been the kind of guy who passes out drunk on a pool float.

Michelle doesn’t go home because there’s nothing interesting to go home to. Griping parents, or maybe sleeping parents, and the inevitability of there being nothing good on TV, everything determinedly uncompelling enough to counter the secret pleasure she gets from sitting on the floor in the dark, too close to the screen with the volume on low. She’s fifteen. She’s ready for her simple pleasures to be a little less simple.

Anyway, it’s nice here now. She sits on the kitchen counter, both knees up and legs crossed at the ankles, to feel the air coming through the window screen. It’s not quite cool, but it’s a breeze and therefore better than the sticky stillness of the large house. Why does anyone like the weather in mid-August?

When Michelle slides reluctantly off the edge to stand on the tile floor, her movement rattles plastic bottles and tin cans, sloshes water from a forgotten ice tray―the tools of mixed drinks concocted by an amateur hand. Or dozens of them. Every teenage boy becomes a bartender at a house party, by his own estimation. That’s why she’s getting up. It may seem quiet enough from her perch in the kitchen, but drinks made too strong have their predictable effects and there are some people at this party that she cares about. So what if she’s never exactly mentioned it? Michelle figures the words will come in their own time, like the vomiting that will come to anyone who drank some of the combos she identifies based on which bottles are clustered together on the countertop and kitchen table.

She wanders.

Ned and Betty are on the couch in the living room, staring at each other shyly and sleepily like they forget that they were making out hard the last time Michelle passed through. Flash is sitting against a wall by his DJing stuff, rhythmically (and irritatingly) clunking the side of a plastic cup in and out. He attempts to draw her into an argument that she can barely decipher with his slurring and more changes in dynamic than he uses with music, so she ignores him. The person Michelle doesn’t find is Liz, who is presumably upstairs. She could be drunkenly reapplying and overexaggerating her makeup in the bathroom, going van Gogh-swirly on the eyes and Picasso-pointy on the lips; or weeping over an unrequited crush in her bedroom while her best friends hold her hands, petting her shoulders and the tops of her feet; or even banging some guy in the spare room just because they’re both young and alive and not immune to the rituals of summer’s-almost-over high school parties. Michelle has no problem with any of her decathlon captain’s theoretical choices. As long as the guy with Liz is not the same guy Michelle has not yet admitted she’s looking for. Even coming close to acknowledging her feelings makes her too warm, the back of her neck clammy, so she darts quietly through Liz’s parents’ house, re-entering and exiting the empty kitchen, pushing out the heavy back door.

Her sudden breathy snort is disbelief. She’s found him. Peter’s in the pool.

Specifically, he’s lying on an inflatable lounger, drifting on top of the water, which is great news because it looks like he’s asleep and if he wasn’t riding this lime-green floaty he probably would’ve drowned. He still could. The idiot might roll over and flop right into the deep end. The floaty could be defective and slowly deflate beneath him. Michelle doesn’t want to rescue Peter Parker, but she’s here and she could. Calling Ned to deal with his friend himself or just throwing empty cans at Peter until he wakes up don’t occur to her. Instead, Michelle glances around the backyard, dark but for the wavering shine from lights along the walls of the pool below the surface. Aha, pool shed. She approaches.

It’s really more of a pool gazebo, practically a pool guest house, as she swings the door open and tries to judge the size of the space in the dark. Luckily, she doesn’t need to venture far; the tool for the job at hand is cradled in a pair of hooks mounted to the wall just inside. Michelle emerges with the pole of a blue leaf skimmer gripped in her hand and returns to the pool’s edge. Where she hesitates.

Peter shifts in his sleep. She’s hardly seen him since school let out a month and a half ago. Is he taller? Unlikely. She doesn’t mean to be watching him, but when she realizes she is, she takes a swift look over her shoulder. Nobody staring out the back door, no curious faces in the windows. There’s honestly nothing to see. At most, someone might think she’s come out here to murder Peter with a leaf skimmer, which everyone would probably accept as so on-brand for the sarcastic asocial girl (who only really lights up when she overhears words like ‘unsolved,’ ‘conspiracy,’ and ‘cereal’―homophones are the source of many of her day-to-day disappointments) that her quietly simmering crush would remain unnoticed. When his chest rises and falls peacefully, Michelle starts to lean forward. PANIC. She plants the end of the skimmer in a gap between the large patio stones to prevent herself from toppling into the pool. This will not turn into a situation where she’s the one who needs to be saved. She sighs and accepts that she better reel this dork (crush? Who said crush?) in.

Balance regained and heart rate returning to normal, Michelle takes hold of the skimmer’s net and reaches across the water with the handle. It takes some adjusting, some extending and angling, but she gets the end of the pole in the floaty’s cupholder. She breathes deeply, always watching Peter’s face, as she tows him along the surface of the water, walking at the pool’s edge to the shallow end. A soft swish, the bright noises of bugs at night. Then, the inflatable chair is bumping the wide steps and Peter stirs. No, shhh, Michelle thinks, go back to sleep. But that’s ridiculous. He has to be awake for her to get him out of the pool. If he doesn’t get out of the pool, her rescue is incomplete. He has to get out, say an awkward thanks, and stroll into the house to find Ned. Or Liz. Oh, Michelle’s aware of the way Liz has been warming to Peter. She likes Liz a lot―at the same time, she wants to stand between the two of them like the Great Wall of China. That’s a normal thing to feel, right?

Peter seems groggy from sleep, but Michelle’s voice shoots up in alarm as he begins to stretch. She won’t have him ruin her rescue by dunking himself at the last minute. The grin he gives at her warning makes her realize it’s not sleep grogginess. This guy is drunk. Incredibly, a nap on a pool floaty has done nothing to speed his sobriety.

“Michelle,” he tells her, “get off the roof.”

“I’m not on the roof, you’re in the pool.”

He gives her a look like he doubts this very much and tilts to the side, trying to check out his surroundings. It sends a surge of worry through her, panic like when she almost fell in.

“Just… trust me. You’re in the pool.”

“Oh. You coming in? D’you wanna share this…”

Either he can’t recall the word ‘chair’ or he’s having trouble identifying the thing he’s lying on as a chair. She kinda can’t blame him. It’s a weird place to wake up.

“No, I’m trying to get you out before you drown like a moron.”

“Aquaman can’t drown,” Peter protests.

Michelle groans.

“I didn’t say Aquaman, I said a moron.”

“S’not my favourite either, but I wouldn’ call him a moron,” he mumbles disgruntledly.

“Would you stop being so…!” She takes a breath. He’s smiling up at her again. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

She tosses the skimmer away onto the lawn, steps onto the pool’s dry top step and crouches, extending her hands towards him.

“I’ll help you out,” Peter counters.

It’s weirdly suggestive, the way he says it. Like a drunken doofus who stranded himself on a pool floaty has any possible power of seduction. Like he’d want to use it on her if he did. Michelle’s pretty sure the Liz thing is mutual.

“Where’s my Ned? M’Ned. Ned. Ned?” he asks as they clasp hands (his are smooth and cool) and Peter eyes the wet stairs that he’s going to have to navigate since he seems to lack the necessary coordination to pull himself out onto the stones. If he picked one step higher, he wouldn’t dip the legs of his shorts in the water, but of course he does. Thankfully, he appears to find his footing (where are his shoes?), still sitting on the edge of the floaty as it squeals and tries to tip.

“Inside. Possibly defiling a couch with Betty.”

“S’not a bad idea,” Peter jokes with a sloppy grin as Michelle tugs him forward.

He slips on the wet step and she slips on too much momentum, but he’s somehow competent enough to steady her, their hands now squeezing each other. He’s close. His breath is warm and beery. What fifteen-year-old goes to a party and gets this drunk on beer? Gross. Michelle only holds his hands long enough to make sure he gets up the steps without falling back in. When she tries to let him go, Peter holds on.

“S’slippy,” he points out. He skates one foot out along the stones and leaves a slick trail of pool water.

“Fine. But only to the door.”

He beams to be allowed to hold her hand. She assumes he’s really afraid of slipping and cracking his head open. That’s… not unreasonable.

“Not with Betty,” he blurts right after making her pause. There’s a pine tree in the yard and Peter’s pulling a needle out of the soft arch of his foot.

“What?”

Michelle’s losing patience for this whole thing. It’s too much! He needs too much! She should’ve just gotten Ned. She can’t care for Peter like this, like a babysitter. Why didn’t she go home? She didn’t need this night of holding his hand and feeling his wet shorts touch her leg when he staggered too close.

“I don’ want Betty on the couch.”

“I hope you don’t want Betty at all. Because she’s into your best friend,” Michelle clarifies with a nervous swallow.

“Right.”

What the hell does he mean? Is she supposed to know?

“They looked pretty tame when I left,” she volunteers.

“Sometimes people do,” Peter replies with the cryptic wisdom reserved for the inebriated, and young children having a Wednesday Addams-type phase.

“Yeah, well.”

It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a couple blunt words meant to shut him up, neutralize any thoughtful implications of what he says. Michelle finally shakes off his hand and gives his back a gentle shove towards the door. She isn’t anticipating Peter bracing his arms against the frame, making her collide with his back because she expected him to keep moving. It’s really bad that she doesn’t back up immediately. Really bad. So bad. She can feel his heart beating through his back and her front, his science t-shirt and her striped one. What if she raised her hands to touch his back again, softer? What if she lowered her head until her forehead found the nape of his neck? Michelle’s lips part. In a few seconds, Peter opens the door and moves on like nothing happened.

Not totally though, because while she’s preoccupied with closing the door after them, he grabs her hand again. Michelle jolts, then notices his fingers are more than the welcoming cool she felt outside. They’re chilled. That stupid inflatable wasn’t a lot to have between his body and the water of the pool as the temperature finally started to drop after midnight.

“Michelle,” he says seriously, fingers wriggling as he holds her hand like he’s trying to figure out a way for his not to slide off. “I really―”

“You’re cold,” she says. “You’re too wobbly for me to have any confidence in letting you warm up by moving around. Maybe you should borrow a shower. They have one in the ground floor bathroom, isn’t that weird? I saw it before.”

Yes, Michelle’s rambling. Shower. Peter.

“You’re really great. I think you’re so… the best. Smart pretty.”

“Oh,” she replies. He probably means ‘pretty smart.’

Suddenly, his sort of dreamy expression changes.

“Might throw up before I shower.”

“Good call,” Michelle says, racing ahead of Peter’s stumbling steps to fling open the bathroom door. She closes it much more carefully to offer privacy while he pukes.

With a heavy exhalation, she sinks to the floor, back sliding down the wood door, bevelled detailing abusing her spine. She hears a flush, a splash of water, and maybe the rustle of clothing. Thinking about Peter dropping his clothes to the tiles makes her antsy and wary of being caught here. Not that she’s actually doing anything more than sitting alone on the ground a couple hours past the party’s peak. Idly, Michelle hopes he did get totally naked. Just because, if he entered the shower with some item of clothing still on, what was the point of so carefully extracting him from the pool? She’s not worried, she just doesn’t want him to cancel out her considerable efforts. Her moderate efforts. It’s basically been no trouble. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered. She thinks about Liz upstairs. Yep, why help Peter? There’s nothing in it for Michelle.

The water shuts off after a couple minutes. Peter makes a sound like he’s about to fall and Michelle bolts to her feet, hand hovering over the doorknob, before she hears him catch himself and sigh in relief. She lowers herself to the floor again, embarrassed by her reaction. He doesn’t need her here. He’ll probably be surprised if she’s hanging around when he comes out.

“Michelle?” Peter asks through the door. “You there?”

Her eyes widen and her body tenses. Should she jump up and run away? Hightail it to the living room and pretend she’s been there with Ned and Betty while he showered? If they’ve started making out again, they won’t even notice that she hasn’t been there the whole time. Peter taps feebly at the door. Or maybe he’s resting his head against it. She stays put.

“Yeah. What?”

“Thanks for helping me.”

He sounds about as pathetic as a Victorian orphan.

“I had nothing better to do,” Michelle assures him, tracing the grout between tiles with her fingertip.

“You coulda jus’ watched me. I know you do that. Watch me. Sometimes. I think you do.”

Shit. She should’ve run. Her mouth opens and a squeaky groan comes out as she tries to compose a response.

“I didn’t know you were such a narcissist. Trust me, I have more important things to do with my time,” she says, still outlining tiles like they’re tiny tracks and her fingers are trains she could board to escape this conversation. “You must’ve imagined it.”

He opens the door so quietly―Liz’s parents must take care of their hinges―that Michelle flops backwards as Peter goes to step out and tumbles against his shins.

“I really like you,” he says as she cranes to stare up at him. His wet hair drips on her cheek.

Michelle just shakes her head and starts to scramble to her feet. Peter attempts to help her up by grabbing beneath her arms, nearly groping her boob in the process, though it’s clearly not intentional because when she turns, standing, she can tell he’s still not his soberest self.

“Wanna forget I said that,” Peter says.

She scrutinizes his flushed face and the slightly dazed look in his eyes. Was that a question? Is he requesting that she forget, for the sake of his own self-consciousness? Or is it a statement? He regrets saying it so much that he’s expressing, to her face, that he wishes he hadn’t. Her gaze drops to his t-shirt. The neck’s getting wet as water continues to drain down from his hair. Has this boy ever heard of a towel? Michelle should not have to look at him with his pink cheeks and his normally gelled hair loosened into hanging, wet curls along his forehead.

“You helped me,” he says, and wraps her in a hug.

Which she quickly wriggles out of. This is not the relationship, not the friendship, they have. He’s drunk and he likes Liz―mature, responsible, gorgeous Liz―not her.

“You smell like beer,” Michelle informs him, so he won’t be offended by the way she rejected physical contact. Or maybe so he will be offended. She doesn’t trust this. He’d probably be all cozy and grateful with any idiot who happened to haul him out of that pool. At least he doesn’t smell like barf.

“I didn’ even like it.”

His expression is scrunched and adorable in, like, a toddler kind of way. Whatever, he’s dumb and she doesn’t have a crush on him.

“You just, what, drank every bottle you found to make sure?”

Peter sighs dramatically and tilts sideways, clearly intending to lean against the bathroom’s doorframe and clearly going to miss it because his spatial awareness is not the greatest right now. Michelle grabs his arms.

“Coffee,” she blurts. “Do you like coffee?”

“No,” Peter whines. “I jus’ like you.”

“You keep saying that,” Michelle mutters to herself, glancing away like Ned will appear and reclaim his best friend if she looks around for him enough times. She takes Peter’s hand again (he smiles like he’s happy to give it) and leads him to the kitchen.

“What are we doing?”

“Um,” she says, pulling open cupboards, “making you coffee.”

“Ok.”

“Ok? A minute ago you said you don’t like it. I was kinda expecting a tantrum.”

“S’gross,” he states as he rests against the counter next to her. “But I like being with you. I like you.”

Michelle laughs weakly.

“Sure you do,” she says.

“Yeah and this is gonna take forever.”

“Why would it take forever?” she asks, digging into a drawer.

“Liz’s parents don’ drink coffee.”

She straightens up and stares at Peter, who slides closer, grinning innocently.

“How do you know that?”

He frowns in hazy thought.

“She was drinking it one time and said her parents wouldnapprove. Wouldnapprove,” he repeats, struggling to separate his words. He gives up. “They wouldn’ like it.”

“Right. So. There’s no coffee in this house?”

“Don’ think so.”

“If you wanted to spend time with me, you wouldn’t have told me that,” Michelle points out. “Now I don’t have to search this kitchen.”

“Why were you?”

“For coffee, dumbass.”

“Why?”

“To… clear your head. Make you stop acting weird.” She blushes and turns away from him. What’s her next move? Drag him to Ned and finally leave this house and its lingering party guests?

“Because I was in the pool,” Peter says gravely.

Michelle turns back.

“No, not because you were in the pool. Because of… because you said… Other reasons.”

Annoyingly, he just smiles at her.

“I’m nice,” he tells her.

She snorts.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m nice. Lemme be nice to you.”

“Well, it was already super nice listening to you vomit, so I think I’m good. I’ll go find Ned and he can take it from here.”

She’s two steps away when Peter speaks.

“I thought I liked Liz.” Michelle flinches. “She’s really great, but I feel different about you.”

She wants to flip him off or tell him to shut up―simple methods she’s used to push him away at school, but between the vulnerability in his voice and the fact that he’s still tipsy, she’s scared that being too harsh could make him burst into tears.

“You’re just… you think I saved you. You’ve got some kind of drunk hero-worship thing going on,” she diagnoses, not turning around.

“I thought I would be able to talk to you,” he says quietly. “I saw you over and over all night and I was never really, never ready,” he corrects, “to talk to you, so I kept getting another beer.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says gently.

“Don’ remember why I went in the pool.”

“You’re just dramatic like that.”

“Maybe,” Peter sighs. “Am I still drunk?”

“Yeah, dude.”

“I’ve been drunk forever.”

“That’s why I was getting you coffee,” Michelle reminds him, turning back.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Coffee. I should… tell Ned.”

This plan is vague and it’s possible that he’ll abandon it, but she can’t abandon him because Peter pushes off the counter and grabs her hand as he barrels out of the kitchen. The plan holds long enough for them to find Ned (and Betty) asleep on the living room couch. Michelle assess them and decides they look minorly dishevelled―enough that they probably made out again, but not enough that anything more than that went down. Betty’s hairband is askew where she laid her head on Ned’s chest.

“He’s asleep,” Peter says, too loud. Michelle shushes him and pulls him away. “Now what?” he asks in a noisy whisper.

“Well, you should probably stay with―”

“You. I’ll be better after coffee,” he promises. “Way better.”

“Better at what? At remembering you don’t actually like me?”

“I like you.”

“You’re confused.”

“You’re confused.”

“Great comeback,” she says flatly.

“Let’s see. After coffee. I’ll still like you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Parker,” Michelle says because she’s scared of his insistence. He’s making it harder and harder to brush off as some stupid thing he said to her when he was drunk with every reiteration.

“If we don’ get coffee, you’ll never know if you were right. Don’ you wanna know if you were right?” he baits.

She glares at him. He beams.

“Look,” Peter continues, yanking something from his pocket, “I didn’ drop my wallet in the pool!”

“Congratulations.”

“I can pay for coffee!”

“You’re not paying,” she says with a firmness that startles them both. “Because, because you’re under the influence and shouldn’t be making financial decisions.”

“A coffee decision isn’ a financial decision,” he argues.

“Of course it is. So, I’ll pay.”

“We’re going? Yes!”

“Shhh!”

Michelle rolls her eyes and frees her hand from Peter’s to let him follow her to the front door on his own two feet. There are his shoes, at last, kicked off to the side. She waits while he stomps his feet into them, then blinks in the darkness as they step out into the early morning. It has to be coming up on four o’clock.

“There’s probably a twenty-four-hour place nearby,” she says, nervous as they set out.

“’K.”

“You’re too trusting. What if I was kidnapping you?”

“I could get away,” Peter brags. “You don’ even have that thing.”

“What thing?”

He mimes for her.

“The skimmer,” she interprets. “Right. Every would-be kidnapper’s weapon of choice.”

Peter’s holding her hand again by the time they reach the end of the street. Michelle doesn’t know how it happened.

“Why’d you help me?” he asks while she looks left and right, considering the likeliest direction for the cup of coffee that’ll assist Peter in his return to sobriety so they can clear this whole thing up. Back to the reality of her one-sided crush. “I forget.”

She makes her decision.

“Because,” she tells him. “There was nothing good on TV.”

more clichéd tropes and prompts

[p-artsypants]

Integrity (Part 4)

Ao3 | FF.net

As they claimed their seats, Adrien was aware of dirty looks being thrown in his direction. 

Is this how Marinette felt when Lila lied about her? 

Alya leaned forward in her seat. “Adrien, I’ll talk to some of the girls. I’ll get them to do that critical thinking thing you mentioned. And I’ll try to get Kim to apologize. What he said was just stupid.” 

“Thanks Alya, I appreciate it.” 

Miss Bustier entered the room. “Alright class, let’s get started.” 

“Miss Bustier!” Rose called, putting her hand up. “I think it’s best if Adrien left. Lila shouldn’t have to be in the same room as her abuser!” 

“Abuser? What’s going on?” 

Adrien dropped his head into his hands, exasperated. 

“Adrien touched Lila inappropriately, and when she told Gabriel about it, he fired her!” 

Miss Bustier looked horrified. “Class! This sort of thing is really none of your business! If this did happen, Lila needs to come to talk to me about it in private. I would like to be accommodating, but I find it unfair to deny class to someone without due cause.” 

“There is due cause!” Max yelled. 

“I have heard nothing about this from Lila herself, or Mr. Damocles. Has a restraining order been filed? Has any sort of investigation been launched? I find it extremely hard to believe Adrien would do something like this.” 

“That’s what Gabriel said!” Lila wailed. “He said Adrien was a perfect angel and he’d never do anything wrong! No one’s believed me yet! So why would Mr. Damocles?!” 

There was a knock at the door. 

Miss Bustier held up a finger, asking for a moment of silence, before she went to open it. 

Gabriel Agreste, looking minutely more frazzled than usual, strolled into the room, in person. 

Adrien swallowed and clenched his fists. 

The room was silent and tense. 

“Adrien, may I talk to you out in the hall, in private?” 

Trembling, Adrien answered. “No. You read my note.” 

“There’s nothing for you to be afraid of. Stop being so dramatic.” 

“I think I have every right to be afraid of you.” He whispered, the damn of emotions he had held back all morning just threatening to burst. 

Marinette got up from her seat, only to sit next to him, her arm around his shoulders. 

The action didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. 

Gabriel’s nostrils flared. “Did you tell her?” 

“No.” Technically, not a lie. “I haven’t said anything to anyone. She just...saw I was upset.”

“About what?” Asked Kim. “That you lied about Lila?” 

Gabriel’s steely gaze pierced Kim, forcing him to shut up. “This is none of your business, shut up.” 

Kim swallowed and shrank into his seat. 

“Now,” Gabriel continued, hedging his words. “I need to clear up some of what happened last night. It seems that you have assumed the worst. I don’t want to discuss it in front of your peers. Step into the hall with me.” 

Marinette squeezed his shoulder. 

“No. I don’t want to. I’m not comfortable with that.” 

“I don’t care about comfort right now, Adrien. I care about—“ he bit his tongue, censoring himself. “I care about our family.”

“If you care about our family, then know I’m scared of you.” 

Gabriel exhaled roughly. “You don’t need to be.” 

“The evidence says otherwise.” Adrien spoke softly. “So either say what you need to say, or go. I’m not moving.”

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, loosing some locks and becoming even more frazzled appearing. “Please?”

Adrien shook his head.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, and considered his words. “I told you I trust you. I’m...sorry, about what happened last night. It wasn’t fair, but I was...paranoid, and frantic. That caused my regrettable actions.” 

“Did you ever find it?” Adrien asked. 

“No. And I don’t think I will. I have reason to believe I’ve been betrayed. So it’s over.” He breathed a long sigh. “There’s no reason for you to stay away.” 

“With all due respect, Father, I need some time to trust you again. And forcing me to come home won’t magically fix that.” 

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists. It looked like he wanted to yell, to fight, to grab Adrien by the wrist and drag him out. 

But he did none of those things. 

“You’re a good kid, Adrien. I surmise you’ll be a great man. A better man than I ever was. I’ll give you your space.” He placed Adrien’s phone on the desk. “Just, please text me every once in a while, just so I know you’re safe. Alright?” 

Adrien took it. “I can do that.” 

“I’m sorry it came to this.” It looked like he had more to say, but he hesitated with so many eyes on him. So he just didn’t say anything and headed for the door. 

“Mr. Agreste?” Miss Bustier asked. 

He stopped in the doorway. 

“It seems like there’s a bit of...a catastrophe going on in my class at the moment. I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation?” 

“This is none of your business, Madame. Adrien and I will clear it up.” 

“With all due respect, sir. Lila has already gotten everyone involved. My students seem to want Adrien to leave the class.” 

He turned and looked at her. “What? Whatever for? She’s got nothing to do with this.” 

“Could you explain what Lila said to you yesterday?” 

“Miss Rossi?” Gabriel looked back at her, eyebrows furrowed, and then at Adrien. “Oh. I had forgotten. I didn’t speak to Miss Rossi yesterday. Adrien and I had a long talk about trust. He confided that he wasn’t uncomfortable around her because she touched him in a way he didn’t like, and asked that he not model with her anymore. I made the decision to fire her. I served her severance papers, and one of my managers contacted her. I didn’t talk to her at all.” 

“Mr. Agreste! How can you be so cruel to me?!” Lila shouted, real betrayal in her voice. “You said you trusted me! I could come to you about any problems I had! And I did! Your son molested me, and you fired me instead of believing me! And now you’re acting like it didn’t even happen!” 

“Do you have your severance papers with you?” He asked. 

Lila’s eyes widened. “No, they’re at home with my mother.” 

“I have a copy on my phone. Along with all severance letters we serve, because they are fairly similar in terms and conditions.” He took it out, and pulled it up. “Here, Madame, if you wouldn’t mind reading this.” He handed the phone to Miss Bustier. “Since Miss Rossi wants an audience, I will give her one.”

Miss Bustier studied the screen for a moment. “This looks like a scanned pdf of a letter, signed by Mr. Agreste. It reads as follows: 

“‘Mme. Lila Rossi, 

“I regret to inform you that we have decided to terminate your contract with Gabriel as of today. This decision is based on several conditions, as witnessed and corroborated by several Gabriel employees. These conditions include unprofessional behavior on set, including excessive noise when asked to be quiet, not following instructions, and yelling at other staff; tardiness and unexplained absences, falsified resume, and sexual harassment of another Gabriel employee. As per the terms of your contract, you will receive the allotted amount of your last modeling session, as enclosed with this letter. Please be advised as you apply for further employment, putting Gabriel on the application as a reference will automatically forward this letter of termination to your next employer. If you would like to reapply at Gabriel, you may do so after a two year waiting period. A second termination will result in a complete ban from Gabriel, including all positions of employment and communications with employees. Depending on the severity of your terms of termination, Gabriel reserves the right to seek legal compensation.

“Signed, Gabriel Agreste.” 

“Thank you,” Gabriel took his phone back. “In case you didn’t realize, I work with a lot of models. There are situations where changing happens in front of other people. We take sexual harassment very seriously. Adrien came to me first about this, and so I acted on it. If you want to counter sue and maintain that he’s at fault, feel free to do so. But, if it turns out you’re lying about this, and it goes to court, you’re looking at jail time.” 

Lila swallowed. “I’m not lying. I never lie.” 

“Like the time you lied to get into my house? Sure. I’ll see you in court then.” 

“Wait...” Lila paled. “We don’t need to take this to court. Just bring me back on as a model, and I’ll drop the whole thing.” 

“No.” Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t make any decisions without my lawyer present.” He turned towards the door. “One last thing,” he glanced over his shoulder at Marinette. “Take care of him, Miss Dupain-Cheng. He’s fragile.” And then he left. 

Desperate to not lose this game, Lila started her crocodile tears. “No! It can’t be! I can’t afford a lawyer! There’s no way I’ll win this case! I’ll lose just like all the other girls!” 

“Wait a second,” Mylene spoke up, hope in her voice. “You were just telling us last week that your uncle is one of the top attorneys in Florence! Surely he’ll help you!” 

Oops. 

“Oh...yes, I guess...I had forgotten about that.” 

“I think you’re going to need a good lawyer if you’re going to continue to lie.” Spoke Chloe, standing up. “I’m sorry Miss Bustier, I think we need to clear this up before class even starts, don’t you think?” 

Miss Bustier sighed. “I still maintain that we don’t need to be discussing this, but I know no one is going to be paying attention in class after all of that’s been said.” She walked around the front of her desk, leaning against it with her arms and legs crossed. “This is a very serious issue. This isn’t a courtroom, and I’m not making any judgement calls. If there truly is a problem here between Adrien and Lila, it will be solved in the courtroom.” She narrowed her eyes at her students. “But you all see and talk to each other every day. Rumors and one sided stories are going to spread either way. I’d rather have everyone have the same information and draw their own conclusions to maintain their own relationships. Nothing said here is to leave this classroom. So, let’s talk.” 

Marinette had yet to move from Adrien’s side. And she hadn’t spoken since coming into the classroom. 

Ever since Miracle Queen, Marinette had been disappointed in Chloe. There had seemed to be some hope for her, and yet Hawkmoth’s—or Gabriel’s rather—temptation to get the bee back had just been too strong. 

How many second chances could a girl get? Of course she was going to stand up for Adrien. He was her oldest friend. 

Marinette opted to watch patiently and see just where this went. 

“Lila, we know what Mr. Agreste said and what his timeline was. What happened to you yesterday, if you would share?”

“I don’t know…it’s just so painful.” Lila wiped a tear away. “But, yesterday, after Marinette burned me with her coffee—“ 

“When did that happen?” Miss Bustier asked, patiently. 

“Right after class. You had a meeting and we were all hanging out and talking. Everyone witnessed it.” 

“The coffee was cold, and I tripped.” Marinette defended, exhausted over this plot point.

“Either way,” Lila continued. “I went to the bakery and told Marinette’s mother what she did. She called my mother and told her that I deserved what happened to me!” 

Miss Bustier frowned. “Sabine said that?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Nino scoffed.

“So then I went to Mr. Agreste.” 

“Why?” Asked Alya. “What prompted that?” 

“W-well at first, I wanted to let Gabriel know what kind of company his son was keeping, but then when I got there, everything spilled out! I confessed that Adrien molested me and he fired me!” 

“So, when did you punch Adrien?” Asked Max. 

“Afterwards! Adrien came home and he tried to grab me and threaten me! I punched him!” 

“What time did that happen?” 

“Right after school.” 

“I was with Marinette until 8 yesterday. You can ask my bodyguard, and her parents.”

“And I have the text you sent me at 6.” Nino held up his phone. “You were still with her then.” 

“Th-then it was after 8!” Lila clarified. “I wasn’t paying attention to time!”

“Okay.” Miss Bustier spoke calmly. “Now, Adrien. What about you?” 

His eyes slid over to Marinette’s for reassurance. 

She squeezed his hand. 

“After the coffee incident, I ran to the locker room to catch up with Marinette. She wasn’t doing well, and I offered to walk her home. Then we noticed an akuma coming after her, so we tried to run. She almost got akumatized, but she fought it off. Then she cried for a while. I stayed and watched out for another akuma. Then, we went to her house just as Lila was leaving. As she passed, she said ‘I’m going to your father next’ while smiling.” 

“That’s not true!” Lila shouted. 

“Lila, Adrien was quiet and patient through your account. You need to let him speak.”

She huffed and fell into her seat.

“I stayed at her house for a while until my father called, telling me to come home. He said that he ‘knew’ Marinette was violent. I knew that he thought that because of Lila. So I confessed that I didn’t feel safe around her, and that he shouldn’t trust her. He allowed me to stay with Marinette for dinner, and then when I came home, we talked more in length about how I felt. Then…things happened…and well. I don’t want to talk about it. But Lila wasn’t at my house when I came home. Last time I saw her was when she was leaving the bakery.”

“Okay,” nodded Miss Bustier. “You’ve both given your side of the story. You’re both accusing the other of inappropriate behavior. One of you is lying. But until you admit it, we’ll never know. But, this moment will shape the perceptions of your classmate’s opinions. I hope everyone sees how dangerous lying and manipulating is. Does anyone have anything they want to say as character testimony?”   

Chloe raised her hand. “Adrikins, I’m going to put you on blast.” She grinned wickedly at him. 

He shrugged, helpless. 

“Adrien Agreste, male model, top student, all around great guy, is desperately, hopelessly, and pathetically in love with one Ladybug.” 

Nino snickered from Adrien’s side. “Oh, we been knew.” 

“Every time Adrien and I talked, he would dissolve into talking about one of three women. A. His mother, of whom he missed dearly and was a saint of a woman. 2. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of whom he respects and admires. And lastly, and most importantly, Ladybug. He talks about her the most. Ladybug this, Ladybug that. I love—loved Ladybug as much as the next girl but honestly, it was a little annoying. ‘I wonder how soft her hair is. Are her eyes the same bluebell blue without the mask? I wonder how far she could throw me? Do you think we could make it work if we dated?’” She mocked a gagging sound. “Never once did say anything sexual about her. Never did he ever mention Lila. And never has he had any sort of romantic relationship with anyone.” 

There were nods around the classroom, as students agreed with this logic. 

“However. Lila has lied to me, personally. She told me she had a secret code that got Ladybug to come to her when she needed help. It didn’t work, and I almost got akumatized over it. Furthermore, as we have already discussed, it was Lila’s evidence that got Marinette expelled, and Lila’s admission to having some stupid disease that reversed the punishment. Are all of you numb nuts starting to see the pattern here?” 

Nino stood, ready to present his own opinions. “Lila has promised us connections. She’s boasted about people she knows to get us parties, favors, and whatever else we need. But not once has she followed through. And not to mention all the ailments she’s claimed to have.” 

“It’s not fair to pick on someone for being disabled, Nino.” Kim argued back. 

“I’m not. Because she’s not disabled.” He pulled up his tablet. “I started keeping a list of her ailments, so Alya and I could make sure everything we did as a class was inclusive to her.” He raised a brow. “I don’t think Lila keeps track of her own illnesses.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Tinnitus in the left ear. Tinnitus in the right ear. Arthritis in the left wrist, arthritis in the right wrist. Ulnar necrosis in the left wrist. Fibromyalgia. Multiple Sclerosis. Cystic fibrosis. Asthma. Glaucoma. Seizures. Vertigo. OCD. ADHD. High blood pressure. Low blood pressure. Heart murmur. Anemia. Allergic to wheat, dairy, gluten, chocolate, soy, nuts, mold, shellfish, corn, cats, dogs, feathers, wool, polyester, and hot peppers.” 

“That’s all correct.” Lila stated cooly. 

“Except you eat pasta for every meal, and you only mention your allergies when someone brings in food, making yourself the center of attention. And you never seem like you’re in any pain unless it’s convenient to get out of an activity. My grandma has MS, and it’s no joke. Also, I double checked with the nurse this morning to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I shared my list with her, and she was really concerned because she didn’t have any of that on your file. She only had one thing written down. Do you know what it was?” 

Lila just stared at him, daring him. 

“Mythomania. Pathological lying. So your lying disease was the only truth you told. I deduce this was put on your file after you told Mr. Damocles.” 

Lila frowned at him. “Nino! I thought we were friends! How could you turn on me and lie like this? I know you and Adrien are friends but—“ 

“But nothing! Lila, you’re not my friend! You don’t listen to me, you don’t remember things I tell you, unless you can twist them to your favor! I mention an artist I like? You suddenly know them. You inspired them. But they’re shy and don’t meet with fans. I mention a movie I like? You were there during production. You know the director. But he’s out of the country on holiday. It’s the same story over and over. What’s my brother’s name?” 

Lila stammered. “It’s...it’s Mark!” 

“It’s Chris, and you’ve babysat him before!” 

“I have short term memory loss!” 

Marinette snapped her fingers. “Nino, make sure to add that to her list of illnesses.” 

“Oh my god.” Alya breathed. 

“What?” 

“That right there. I saw it. Her lying in real time. She didn’t even hesitate, just lied to cover her tracks. She’s been doing that the whole time!” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Marinette stated, calmly. 

“I noticed this not too long ago,” continued Nino. “I assumed she was just exaggerating for attention. A storyteller. It was harmless. But yesterday, when she outed Marinette’s crush, lied about the coffee, and then went to tattle at the bakery? That was too much. I realized her lying wasn’t just telling stories. She was really dangerous. Especially in a time with Akumas.” 

Marinette and Adrien both tried not to smile, hiding the joy that that wasn’t a problem anymore. 

“So what’s it going to be, Lila?” Chloe asked, arms crossed. “Are you going to fess up now? Or are you going to go to court with Mr. Agreste and face jail time?”

Lila’s jaw shifted as she gnawed on her tongue. “Can I speak without being interrupted?”

Chloe scoffed. “Only if you aren’t going to lie your way out of this.” 

Lila narrowed her eyes at her, but didn’t reply. Instead, she explained, “some of my stories are exaggerated.” 

Someone snorted.

“I wanted to be the interesting new girl. I didn’t mean any harm in it. I was just telling you all what you wanted to hear. But apparently this was horrible according to Marinette. She threatened me in the bathroom, and said that she was going to expose me as a liar. I told her that that wasn’t going to happen. But she insisted that the truth was more important to her than friendship. I think it was jealousy. Adrien was being friendly, and Alya interviewed me. Suddenly, all her hard work and generosity didn’t matter, because I was more interesting. She kept up warning me, reprimanding me like I was a child, and trying to humiliate me in front of everyone. I knew the only peace I was going to get would be to get her to leave.”

Alya folded her arms. “So you…fabricated evidence to get her expelled?” 

“To be honest, I just wanted to shake her up, get her to realize what she was messing with was dangerous and unfair. I didn’t know Mr. Damocles was going to expel her.” 

“Shake me up? Is that what you were trying to do when you laid on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and pretended I pushed you down?”

“You wouldn’t back off!” 

“I just wanted you to be honest with people! Lying like you were was going to lead to disappointment! I didn’t want you hurting my friends!”

“That’s a fine excuse. But are you sure you weren’t a little bit jealous?”

Marinette groaned. “Jealous? No. Worried? Yes. I didn’t like the way you were hanging off of Adrien—”

“Oh, like the way you’re hanging off him now?”

Marinette prepared to retort, before Adrien wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her tightly. 

“She’s not hanging off of me,” Adrien explained. “She’s the only thing keeping me steady right now.” 

Nino was quick to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. 

Marinette hugged Adrien tight, and then continued. “I was worried about the way you were hanging around with Adrien. Like I said, the lies you were telling could only lead to disappointment, like it has with Nino. You might think they’re harmless, but when you constantly let someone down, you do a lot of damage.”

Something about that sentence got Adrien right in the gut. It was just like his father. He was trying hard to save his mother, and thought disappointing Adrien wasn’t a big deal in the long run. But instead, he left lasting damage. Self doubt, trust issues, and hopelessness. Marinette was right. 

“Oh, like you don’t lie and bail on everyone all the time anyways? Do you know how many times I had to pick up babysitting for Alya and Nino because you suddenly ‘forgot’ about some other obligation? Or all the times you gave a flimsy excuse to leave a hang out? Alya told me all about it. You’re hiding something big.”

Miss Bustier spoke up. “This conversation is supposed to be solving what happened between Lila and Adrien, whatever Marinette has to do in her free time has nothing to do with it.” 

“I think it does!” Lila argued. “It’s very hypocritical for Marinette to point her finger at me and call me a liar, when she’s doing the same thing!” 

Miss Bustier frowned. “She has been slacking in her representative duties…” 

Marinette gaped at her. “I thought you were on my side!” 

“I’m staying neutral.” Miss Bustier said firmly. “I think it’s important we get our grievances out so we can have a more wholesome learning environment. It’s up to you to answer. You’re not under oath.”

Marinette frowned. True, she could lie. Though it would be a really sucky time to do so. Furthermore, Hawkmoth was gone, so her identity wasn't as crucial to hide. But she really didn’t want Lila to know, especially after that stunt she pulled with Oni-chan. 

“Whatcha thinking about, Marinette?” Asked Lila, “trying to come up with a convincing lie?” 

“I’m trying to weigh the consequences of telling this truth. Because it’s not just my secret. So therefore, it’s not right to share it. I haven’t done anything wrong, so I don’t think I’ll explain myself.” She shrugged.

“Petty.” Lila bit.

“I think it’s fair.” Alya disagreed. “If it’s something that affects others, she shouldn’t have to share.” 

It affected everyone in Paris actually, not just her and Chat Noir. And so Marinette let out a breath of relief.

“Okay,” stated Alix, trying to clarify what had happened. “So, Marinette knew you were lying, so you ‘accidentally’ got her expelled to get her to leave you alone. But what I don’t understand is why you’re bringing up beef with Adrien all of a sudden. We thought you guys were together, and you modeled together…and then he started dating Kagami. What’s the story there?” 

“I’m not dating Kagami.” Adrien clarified. “I considered it, but…I don’t actually have any feelings for her. I just didn’t know how to say no. But as I said, I told my father I didn’t like the way she was touching me. This had been going on for a while…”

“What prompted you to tell your dad?” Alya asked. 

“Well, after what happened yesterday after class, I walked Marinette home. She had almost gotten akumatized, and I wanted to watch over her. Lila had gone to the bakery and told Sabine her side of the story. She was about to bring down the hammer, but I asked her if she trusted Marinette. That…that made me wonder if my father trusted me. If I could go to him with my problems and he would understand. Lila went to him and told him her side of the story as well, and he called me home. But I asked if he trusted me, and then told him I didn’t like Lila and…well, everything else. We continued the conversation when I got home. I’m assuming that since I actually made a stand, he took it seriously.” 

“Wait wait,” Alya spoke. “Lila, you went to tattle at the bakery, and to Gabriel?”

”I thought Gabriel should know about the kind of friends he’s keeping.” 

Adrien laughed. It wasn’t a funny laugh, it was actually very painful, as he remembered a cutting blow from last night. “Lila spied on me for my father. He used her to find out what was going on in class.”

“Ew.” Nino stated. “That’s super skeevy.” 

“Um, I’m a spy? Why don’t you talk to little miss ‘I followed Adrien and Lila and fished a book out of the trash’?”

Heads swiveled back to Marinette. 

“You should be glad I followed you! Adrien got taken out of school for losing that book! He’d be gone for good if I hadn’t rescued it from the trash! You stole it from him and threw it away!” 

The heads swiveled back to Lila. 

“How was I supposed to know it was important?”

Marinette threw her hands up in the air. “It doesn’t matter! It didn’t belong to you! So don’t throw it away!” 

“You know, I’m glad you brought that day up, Lila. Because that was when I knew you had a lying problem.” 

“You knew she was a liar a long time ago?” Asked Nino. 

“Of course. But I didn’t know she was being malicious. Like you, I thought she might just be lying to get attention. In fact, it worked for a little bit. I thought she really was friends with Ladybug. But then Ladybug herself came up to us and blew that lie out of the water.” 

Lila jutted out her jaw, trembling with anger. 

“Ladybug called her out too?” Asked Alya.

“It makes sense,” Adrien continued. “Why would Ladybug be happy about anyone claiming to be a weakness to her? Alya, you were already targeted a lot just as the leader of the Ladyblog. Of course she’d be pissed about a civilian painting a giant target on their back.” 

Alya gasped, “oh my god! I didn’t even think about that when I posted that interview! Lila, you could have been targeted and hurt! Not just by Akuma, but anyone else who wanted to know Ladybug’s identity!” 

“Well, nothing happened.” Lila shrugged. “Ladybug and Chat Noir would protect me no matter what, anyways!” 

“Yes, like how Chat Noir saved you from Kagami when you ‘twisted your ankle’?” He put in quotes. 

Lila gaped. “How did you know about that?” 

Marinette was wondering the same thing. 

“Chat Noir helped me sneak a bag out of my room last night. Then we talked.” 

“Oh, so now you’re friends with Chat Noir?” Kim scoffed. 

“Not particularly. He helped me out a whole lot last night, but I haven’t spoken to him much before that.” 

“Ugh, you keep mentioning last night like it was the biggest thing that’s ever happened, and yet you refuse to talk about it! Now Chat Noir was there? What else?” 

“Adrien has already stated that whatever happened between him and his father is private and that they don’t want to talk about it.” Miss Bustier reminded, patiently. “If it has nothing to do with Lila, then I don’t think he needs to bring it up.” 

“But isn’t omitting the truth still lying?” Asked Lila. “Both Marinette and Adrien are being dishonest and hiding things, and I find it extremely unfair to be accused of lying if they aren’t telling the truth!” 

“And I think if whatever they’re hiding has nothing to do with you, Lila, it doesn’t need to be brought up.” Said Alya, crossing her arms. 

“Alya! You don’t believe me? What about standing with your fellow woman?” 

Alya frowned. “Okay, Adrien’s been my friend longer than you, and I find it hard to believe he’d do anything wrong. And second, I’m supposed to believe you because we’re both girls?” 

Kim shot to his feet, “As I said previously, men can’t be molested! Especially models! I think you’re just being a coward, Agreste!” 

Adrien hunched his shoulders. 

Seeing the opportunity for a teaching moment, Alix reached over and grabbed Kim’s butt, making him yelp and shuffle away. 

“What the hell was that?!” 

“What? Didn’t like it?” Alix asked with a coy smile. 

“Uh, no? Not from you.”

“Because you aren’t attracted to me?” 

“I mean, yeah?” 

“Now imagine if I was Lila and you’re Adrien.” 

It was like a lightbulb went off above Kim’s head. “Oh.” He turned to look at Adrien. “I get it. I’m so sorry.” 

“While I don’t agree with the method,” Miss Bustier explained, “I’m glad you see what the problem is, Kim. No one should be touched without their permission, no matter how ‘attractive’ the perpetrator is.” 

“Attractiveness is a sliding scale anyways.” Added Alya, “just because some people find Lila and Adrien attractive, doesn’t mean everyone does. And Adrien already mentioned he’s not attracted to Lila.” 

“Yeah, I guess…I just don’t see it. Lila is really pretty!” 

Adrien just shrugged. “She’s just not my type.” He looked to the teacher. “Miss Bustier, I think we’re kind of going around in circles at this point. Can we wrap this up?” 

“Sure. Does anyone have anything else they want to add or need clarification on?”

Everyone shook their heads. 

“Good. I’m sorry to air out dirty laundry, but I really wanted to avoid gossip. Right now, this classroom is your world. When you grow up, scandals and mistakes will be made by all sorts of people. I want to teach you now to do your research and not just blindly follow whatever source you find first. Alright?”

“But we didn’t solve anything.” Rose lamented. 

“Our goal was not to find out who did what to who. It was to bring both sides of the story forward, and allow everyone to consider who they are going to believe versus who they won’t. It’s up to you to decide if you are loyal even when faced with deception. And if you can be open-minded enough to listen to others.”

The room was silent as she let them all milk over that thought. 

“Then let’s get into today’s social studies lesson. I think there’s some practical crossovers between what just happened.”

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) kyr'yc STAR WARS

Kix had been frozen for fifty years.

Everything he had loved, everything he had fought for - it was all gone. Everything had been destroyed because Kix had failed. He had failed Fives, failed Jesse and Rec - he had failed the Republic and the Jedi, and now it had all been ruined. His brothers had been brainwashed and killed all the while Kix slept on in stasis, unaware of it all happening, not even knowing that he wasn’t still sleeping in his office, desperately following the trail Fives had left behind and being driven mad by it.

He must not have been careful enough, because he had been taken before he could bring his information to the High Generals. Taken and frozen and lost for fifty years.

He’s the last clone alive. He had missed Rex by almost thirty years - Rex who, according to records, had lived beyond the fall of the Republic and the slaughter of the Jedi. Rex had survived to be an old man and had helped the Rebellion overthrow the Empire. He had died in his sleep almost thirty years ago, believing himself to be the last, and unaware that Kix had been stolen and frozen the whole time. Rex had died as an old man, and Kix was alone before he had even been aware of it.

Kix moves through life in a haze after he wakes up, untethered and alone and without a reason to continue on, but still he moves, unable to stop. He’s living in a galaxy not his own, lost and trying to find anything that could make him feel whole again. He’s a clone alone in a galaxy that never wanted him, without the brothers that had surrounded him from the moment he had been decanted. Even when he was lonely, he had never been alone, but now - now he has nothing and no one.

Clones were never never made to be alone; they were made to operate in teams, they were designed to work in cohesive units. They never coped well by themselves, it was something even the Kaminoans had known, and had stopped forcing them into solitary after the massive rise in suicides that they had had to deal with. Clones preferred death to being alone, they fell into depressive, self-destructive spirals if removed from their networks, and the massive number of deaths that had followed the introduction of one-man survival missions had convinced even the Kaminoans to stop separating clones from each other when it had gotten too costly.

It’s hard, not eating his own blaster now, especially on bad days when he wants nothing more than to go see his brothers once more. He sees Rex and Jesse when he closes his eyes, he hears Hardcase’s laugh, Fives’ voice, and Echo’s bad jokes. He imagines sitting in their bunkroom on the Resolute, eating snacks that Jesse had smuggled onto the ship, watching Dogma braid Tup’s long hair while Jesse and Hardcase wrestle at his feet and Fives and Echo bicker about the most ridiculous of subjects. Rex would have watched from a distance, needing to keep up the image of their strict Captain, but eventually they’d manage to wheedle him into joining them. They would sleep in a clone pile, surrounded by warmth and brothers and the feeling of safety and home. Kix would always wake up alone though, reality sinking in once more, and - Force, he wants that again.

He wants to be surrounded by his brothers again, to be with people who understand him on levels no one else does. But he can never do it, not matter how much he wants to. He can’t bring himself to pull the trigger because he sees Coric’s sad eyes every time they’d have to lie on another form after another body had been found with a hole through their heads, he sees Rex’s desperation as he talks brothers away from the edge. He remembers Fives’ shaking hands after Lola Sayu when they’d had to wrestle a syringe out of his grasp, and the broken, wailing noises he’d made afterwards.

They’d want Kix to keep moving, so that’s what he does. He stays with Ithano and his crew for a time, enjoying wild jaunts across the Galaxy hunting for treasure and adventure, but he doesn’t stay with the pirates and they don’t force him to. He drifts for a time, and gets lost once or twice. He finds the remains of the 332nd’s crashed ship and cries in front of Jesse’s grave, holding the cracked, weathered helmet in his hands as if it were his brother, apologizing to the thousands of beings he had failed and the brothers who had died because of him. He doesn’t want to imagine Jesse’s last moments, but it’s hard not to when he sees the jagged cracks in the helmet Jesse had oh-so lovingly painted after making it to ARC, promising to do Fives’ memory proud. He would have been forcibly turned against their Captain and Commander because Kix had failed to honour Fives’ last request. He would have died when the ship went down, and Kix hopes it was on impact. He hopes Jesse hadn’t been in too much pain.

Kix keeps moving, he owes that much to his brothers. He continues living for them, and when he hears of a wanna-be Empire trying to gain a foothold in the Galaxy, Kix goes to the Resistance. No one recognizes him as a clone, not as a relic of an age long past, instead he’s just Kix, a combat medic who wants to help. He knows how to fight and is a good teacher for anyone Command throws at him, and the Resistance needs whoever they can take.

He flourishes in war - he would have never thought he’d miss having to stitch people back together, but somehow he had. Kix is a clone, he had been made to fight. It gives him a purpose again, to protect the New Republic.

It also gives him the chance to build a new network.

Kix finds a young man in the medical bay one night as he finishes some paperwork for General Organa, and the kid who had been supposed to be heavily drugged stirs. He’s young with dark skin and doe eyes that remind Kix of his youngest brothers after their first battles, wearing a pair of loose sleep pants and a back-full of bacta wraps. He’s trying to sit up in the bed, struggling against the wires and machines around him as he gasps through his panic.

Kix is at his side within seconds, carefully taking the boy by his shoulder, avoiding the thick bandages around his torso, “Hey, no. Stay down kid.” He advises, and large dark eyes turn to him in surprise and groggy confusion. “My name is Kix, I’m a Resistance medic. You’re safe.” He soothes.

“I - the - Starkiller base?” He croaks, and Kix tilts his head, offering the boy a comforting smile that doesn’t feel as fake as it normally does.

“Destroyed, kid.”

The young man lets out a breath of relief, and lets Kix push him back into the bed to lay on his stomach once more, “That’s good.” He murmurs, before alarm sparks in his eyes again. “Rey?”

“Well,” Kix starts, moving to fuss with the kid’s bandages so that he could inspect the injury. “We don’t have any casualty reports on a Rey, so I can say that they’re not in the medbay.” The boy relaxes, “You, on the other hand, have been in bacta for the last week and a half.” He finally manages to wrestle the wrappings off of the kid, and he lets out a shocked hiss at the sight of the massive injury twisting across his spine. “How did you get a lightsaber burn?” He demands - there hadn’t been any notes about lightsaber burns in any files he had read. But then again, who the hell would know what they were looking at with the Jedi reduced to nothing but a legend and a scary story to tell misbehaving children.

The young man blinks lethargically, the cocktail of drugs in his system probably taking effect again with the drop of his adrenaline levels. “Tried to fight Kylo Ren.” He grunts, “Lost.”

“Got some balls on you then. But that was a stupid thing to do” He had seen what lightsabers could do - he had stared at brothers hacked apart too often not to. “You’re lucky to be alive, kid.”

“Not a kid.” The kid mumbles, watching sleepily as Kix starts reapplying bacta to the wound. His cheek is smushed into the pillow, much like how Tup had once slept, his short curls a mess that reminded Kix way too much of Dogma’s before the younger trooper managed to slick it back in the morning.

It makes his heart hurt to look at him, but it’s nice to see his brothers somewhere in this messed up Galaxy.

Kix shakes himself, letting out a sardonic snort, “Well, you haven’t exactly told me your name, kid.”

He pouts sleepily, enough Fives in his expression that it aches, “FN-2187.”

Kix freezes, horror washing over him and a sick feeling in his stomach; he thought there wouldn’t be anymore children with numbers instead of names with the destruction of Kamino, but apparently that was too much to hope for. The kid - because Kix can’t even bring himself to call another person by a number, not again - flinches under his hands, like he was bracing for a blow.

If there was even more of a reason to hate Imperials, Kix was looking at it.

Dark eyes dart away from him nervously, and the kid licks his lips. “Finn.” He says quietly, a little desperate, “My name is Finn. And I’m not a number.”

Kix swallows. He stills the shaking in his hands and keeps working, “It’s nice to meet you, Finn.” He tells him honestly, and watches, a little heartbroken, as shock blooms in Finn’s wide eyes. “I’m CT-6116, but my name is Kix.” Finn’s breath catches, “I’m not a number either.”

“You’re like me.” Finn whispers in awe, voice cracking. “I’m not alone.”

“Not anymore, vod’ika.” Kix promises, throat thick and eyes burning, and he means it.

Finn wouldn’t be alone, not if he had anything to say about it.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

day four - some other beginning's end

MEETING AGAIN AFTER HIGH SCHOOL

A/N: DAY FOUR!! GIVE IT UP FOR DAY FOUR!! WOOOO ! This fic is set in a college AU. Peter is a bartender, MJ’s a DD for her friend group. Ba da bing. Ba da boom. Enjoy!!

Thanks @spideychelleweek​ for giving us this fun week of amazing content!!

So, here’s about 6k of a few Brad Davis references, Peter being a hot bartender, MJ being MJ, a splash of grenadine, and too much nostalgic music. 

Read here or on AO3

-

MJ’s not sure what it is—it could be her friends tipsily singing (if one could even call it that) along to Take Me Home Tonight on spotify after some pre-bar drinks at Cindy’s place, or it could be the jagweed in the car behind her currently riding up her ass, or it could be the constant texts from her newly made ex-flame lighting up her phone—but something about tonight is making her regret agreeing to be the designated driver on Girl’s Night With Three Exclamation Points. 

Of course, she’s always happy—no, willing—to drive her friends to and from home on a night of drinking. She’d much rather know they were safe with her or the occasional Uber instead of just going about it themselves. But she honestly doesn’t feel like going out tonight. Normally, she’d be fine going with them, but after the emotional labor of having to end it—whatever “it” was—with a guy who she really just wasn’t feeling “it” with, she would have been happy to stay at home reading all night. 

And yet, both of them, Cindy and Felicia, endlessly insisted that she get herself out there again. That she needed to keep meeting new people. That she should play the field now that Brad’s officially out of the picture. And it would be so fun, they said. Even if she’s the sober, they said.

It’s not like she doesn’t think she’ll have a good time; going out with two of her best friends almost always brings about some interesting, funny stories. That’s not to say it’s ever unpleasant when the three of them hit the town. Sure, there are times when MJ would rather spend a quiet evening in, and times when MJ ends up wanting to turn in early, but she’s never actively disliked going out.

But...

She isn’t exactly feeling it tonight. 

Felicia sits in the front with her, faking a cough as she starts the song over. “Oh—Oh shit. How’d that happen?” She asks innocently as Eddie Money starts to sing again. 

Cindy laughs from the backseat. “Felicia, oh my God,” She groans, drawing out the ‘a’ in her friend’s name. “You’ve played that song four times already!” 

“Five times, actually,” MJ pipes in, not moving her gaze from the traffic ahead. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Felicia says with a not-so-innocent smirk. She squints her eyes, pretend-examining Michelle’s phone. “Something’s wrong with your Spotify or something, MJ. I dunno what to tell you. It just keeps playing the greatest song ever composed over and over again.”

“Uh-huh.” MJ passes her friend a doubtful side-eye glance. “Tragic.”

“You should get that fixed,” Cindy says while unsuccessfully suppressing a snort.

And despite all the surrounding factors stomping on every last of her nerves, a fond smile pulls at the corner of MJ’s mouth. 

“Okay, Cindy, remember the mission.” Felicia pulls down her mirror, reapplying her dark purple lipstick. “Get MJ some ass.”

Michelle’s exceedingly glad that she has such control driving, otherwise she might have crashed at that comment. “I don’t need any ass.”

“Some dick?” Cindy asks from her place in the backseat. 

Felicia reaches her hand back for a high-five.

“I especially don’t need any dick tonight. Not looking for any one night stands.” MJ’s hands flex on the steering wheel. “Besides, why—why are you even trying to hook me up with someone tonight? I’m literally your only ride.”

“We can call an Uber,” Felicia says without even looking up from her own phone. 

Cindy nods. 

“Guys, I’m really not looking for anything,” MJ says. “I tried the whole hook-up thing already. It sucked.”

“That’s because Brad sucked,” Felicia says with an almost playful roll of her eyes. 

MJ does laugh at that. “I mean, you’re not wrong there, but I don’t think it was exclusively his fault.” After a pause, she continues. “I don’t know, I just don’t think I’m a hook-up person. I have to actually enjoy spending more than five minutes with someone at a time before I can have sex with them.”

Cindy sits back in her seat. “That’s fair.”

“And Brad was at a solid four minutes fifty-seven seconds,” she jokes.

“That’s generous,” Felicia mutters under her breath. 

Snorting, MJ clicks her turn signal, pulling them into a parking spot about two blocks from the dive bar Cindy had picked for their evening. 

She loves her friends, she really, truly does. 

But right now? She’s tired. She doesn’t want to go into a crowded, loud bar, and be hit on by weirdos. She doesn’t think she even has the energy to come up with clever retorts to any creepy one-liners. 

They exit the car, the two other girls still snickering to themselves, clearly not holding their pre-bar tequila shots well. 

It’s crowded, that’s for sure, but not nearly as horrible as MJ thought it might be. There are only a few people at the bar, a majority of the patrons scattered throughout the place. Felicia points out the three bartenders working, and though MJ can’t hear her over the chatter and music, she’s pretty sure whatever she said was along the lines of how hot they all were. 

The three girls move to stand at the bar, MJ resting her elbow on the counter, waiting patiently. 

Almost immediately, one of the bartenders takes notice. He grins a bright, friendly grin as he starts to make his way over. 

“Ooooh, jackpot,” Felicia mutters under her breath as she leans forward on the bar. 

MJ will give Felicia credit where credit is due. This one is cute; brown curls, nice, warm smile and kind eyes, etc. He’s shorter than the other guy and not really as modelesque as the girl, but there’s this undeniable charm about him. 

And at the same time, something undeniably familiar that MJ can’t quite place. 

“What’s up, guys?” The bartender asks, throwing his white towel over his shoulder. “What can I get ya?”

“I’ll have a screwdriver,” Cindy says.

Felicia flashes a flirty smirk, smokey eyes squinting. “Dark and stormy.”

The cute bartender stops at MJ, seemingly oblivious to Felicia’s flirting.

“Just a water, thanks,” MJ says, pressing her lips together into a thin, yet polite smile. 

“Designated driver. Respect,” he replies with a firm nod, though he seems to do a double take when he really looks at her. For a second, his smile grows as a look of recognition falls over his face. Almost as quickly, however, he finds his composure. 

But his smile—the one that’s seemingly directed right at her—stays, and it makes her feel like she just did a shot of Everclear. Everything in her turns to jelly, and she’s suddenly mad at herself for swooning over this random white boy. 

And again—it’s way too familiar.

“Thanks,” she finally forces herself to respond with a shy smile after a too-long silence. 

He seems to have gotten a little lost as well before clearing his throat, excusing himself as he starts to make the drinks. 

When he leaves to go grab some ingredients, as soon as he’s out of earshot, both friends spin to face her. 

“Okay, what was that?” Cindy demands. 

MJ jerks her head back in confusion. “What was what?” 

“Did you know him?” Felicia cuts in, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“No,” MJ finds herself answering quickly, finding herself getting defensive for no reason. “I don’t… think so? I mean, maybe he was in one of my classes freshman year. I don’t know.”

Something tells her that’s not it, but for the life of her she can’t figure out what it is.

Where the hell did she know this guy?

“Well, if you don’t know him already, you should,” Felicia gives her a playful nudge. “He’s cute. And he seems into you.”

Said Cute Bartender Boy passes by again, holding up his index finger and announcing that he’d be back in “just a second,” but not before throwing another wayward glance back at Michelle.

Felicia and Cindy turn to stare pointedly at her.

MJ can’t help the warmth creeping up her neck. She rolls her eyes, both at her friends and the fact that it’s all so very high school. “Shut up.”

Cute Bartender Boy comes back, Cindy’s and Felicia’s drinks in hand, both girls thanking him. “Yeah, sorry about the wait. Apparently, there’s a bachelorette party coming in later, so we’re getting ready for that.”

“You’re good,” MJ reassures him. 

Again, her two friends watch her. 

CBB (Cute Bartender Boy) smiles easily at her, before pressing his lips together, snapping his fingers against his palm lamely. “Water, right?” He asks again, clearing his throat.

She only nods, finding herself unable to keep a steady amount of eye contact before having to look down at her hands. 

He leans a little on the bar, putting one hand on his hip as he shakes his head. “Well, ma’am, I’m gonna need to see some ID for that.” 

She scoffs, glancing away again to hide the fact that she thought the dumb joke was funny at all. 

He smiles again—and it gives that same stupid, intoxicating feeling as it did before—turning around to grab a glass from behind him. 

The minuscule tilt of her head as she looks at him is unconscious. Truly, she feels as if she’s already met this guy, but she can’t figure out where. Everything about him is utterly familiar. 

“Mmhmm,” Felicia hums, quietly taking a sip of her drink, Cindy raising her brows and looking away. 

MJ’s startled out of her thoughts. She turns to glare at her friends. “What?”

“You do realize we’re still here, right?” Felicia teases. 

If MJ were an immature person, she might smack the drink right out of her smug friend’s hands, but she holds herself back, only considering the idea for a split-second. The image that flashes through her mind almost makes her smile. 

“Do we need to leave you two alone?” Cindy offers, throwing a thumb over her shoulder, the humored tint in her eyes sending an itch in MJ’s chest. “‘Cause we can go. It’s fine.”

“Will you guys calm down?” MJ shoots another warning glare as she turns to completely rest her arms on the bar. “We’re literally just talking.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Felicia nods, giving a sly wink before taking another sip of her drink. “I gotcha.”

Before Michelle can get the last word, CBB is back again, this time with her drink. “One water. On the rocks,” he says with a cheeky smile. “Enjoy.”

“Oh—” MJ wracks her brain for a comeback, her usual quick wit and dry sarcasm failing her at the last second. It takes an almost embarrassingly long amount of time for her to stammer out, “I wanted it neat, though.” 

But when he lets out a genuine laugh, a little of that embarrassment gives way to this dumb fluttering in her chest cavity. It’s then, as she glances around, she notices that both of her friends have disappeared into the bar, abandoning her entirely. 

And normally, she might be annoyed at that. She should be annoyed. But right now, as she’s trying to find a way to be mad, she’s coming up completely empty. She can’t find it in herself to care. 

“I can remake that water for you—” the bartender’s joking voice pulls her back. “If you want.”

The corners of her lips turn downward into a nonchalant frown as she waves him off. “No, no. It’s fine. It’s fine. I’ll live.” 

He lets out another quiet chuckle, but he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he lingers, toying with the white towel in his hands, opening his mouth and closing it again as if he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. 

“Uh—Um…” He rubs the back of his neck with a free hand. “Sorry if this is a weird question—and I don’t mean it in a weird way—but… Do I…? Know you…? From somewhere?”

He asks the question as if he already knows the answer. 

MJ pauses mid-sip, pulling away from her water. 

“‘Cause… You seem really… uh… Familiar.”

Again, it’s as if he’s only asking out of politeness.

“Not a weird question,” MJ finally says. “I was kinda getting that, too,” she adds quietly, almost too quiet to where he has to lean over the bar counter to hear her.

He seems to get a sense of confidence. “Did you by any chance go to Midtown Tech?”

Michelle nods slowly, taking another long sip of her water. “Yeah, I did. How’d you know?”

“I’m pretty sure we were in the same graduating class,” he says, squinting a little as he continues to look right at her, a thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

And then it hits her. 

Of course. 

High school.

It’s only been three years since she graduated. How could she have missed something so obvious?

And suddenly, the memories come flooding back. She knows exactly who this guy is. 

He was only the star of her thoughts, dreams, wishes, and doodles for a solid four years of her god damn life.

“Peter?” She asks, her head tilting to the side, her gaze almost calculating now. 

“That’s me,” he grins with a shrug, before pointing at her. “Michelle?” He breathes out, almost a sigh of relief, when she nods again. “I’m surprised you remember me!”

Remembers him? HA.

Oh, she remembers Peter Parker; she only had a crush the size of the sun on him throughout her entire four years in that hellhole. He was always so stupidly nice to people, no matter what, always wanting to do the right thing, to stand up for the little guy. Back then, he was a skinny, shrimpy guy with a wild mop of floppy dark curls that always seemed to get in his eyes. But now… his hair is shorter, still curly, but more styled. He’s less scrawny, more bulky, like the only other place he goes besides working at the bar is the gym. 

“I—I just didn’t recognize you at first!” MJ’s finally able to get out, finding herself stunned at how blind she had been. “You look… different.” She smiles fondly.

In the dimly lit bar, MJ can still see Peter blush. “Yeah…” He trails off, glancing around briefly. “Just uh—hittin’ the gym. Mostly. But I do a lot of… Free running. In my spare time. All the time. Every day. Yep.” His voice gets a little tight, and he clears his throat, glancing around the bar. “And—and you look great, too. Still. As usual!” He huffs out a nervous laugh. 

MJ’s brow scrunches slightly, not sure what exactly he means, but she still takes the compliment. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He grins. “I like your shirt,” He offers after a beat, his hands once again wringing the towel between them.

Michelle quickly glances down, suddenly forgetting what she was even wearing that night. She smiles briefly, seeing Joan of Arc staring back up at her. “Oh—” She breathes out. “Thanks. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

A beat of shared eye contact passes between them. 

Peter’s the first to look away this time; a group of older men are now standing at the bar, their boisterous laughter grabbing his attention. He turns to her again, mouth pulling into an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, his hand giving the counter a single, firm pat. 

He doesn’t need to come back, that much is obvious, but the way he throws one last glance over his shoulder at her makes her care less and less. 

It’s weird, though. Not necessarily bad, though. He looks different, now, that’s for sure, but she can tell he’s still that same goofy, kind nerd she fantasized dreamed about throughout all of her awkward teenage. And it’s funny, MJ’s never been one of those people who treats muscles, abs and whatever else has been deemed attractive by society as some sort of dealbreaker in a partner, and she hasn’t changed her tune at all, even presented with such a prime example in the past twenty minutes... but—

Maybe it’s the warm, glowing lights of the crowded bar, or the nostalgic music, she’s not sure. There’s just something about watching Peter make drinks, the way he smiles so warmly when talking, the way his eyes light up when he hears a funny jokes, the way he dances goofily as he enthusiastically sings along to the blaring sound of Smash Mouth, the way his jawline looks as if it could cut the very glasses that he pours drinks into, just... something about the way his biceps flex in that ridiculously tight, black t-shirt as he tosses the shaker over his shoulder—

“Told you I’d be right back.”

Michelle startles, catching herself before she falls forward, her hand coming out from holding her chin and onto the counter. “Oh, hey.”

“You good? Need to slow down on that water?” Peter asks with a teasing smirk, tilting his head down. “Do I need to cut you off?”

“Ha ha,” she retorts with a dry laugh. 

“Seriously, though; can I get you anything else?” He asks, though despite his words, his mischievous expression remains very much the same. “Anything besides water?”

“Nah, I’m good.” 

“You sure? I can get you a soda? Virgin margarita? I can make it look like you’re drinking.” He looks at her expectantly, eyebrows raised, head tilted slightly. “Ooh! I make a great Shirley Temple.”

“Aren’t those super easy to make?” 

He snorts. “I mean. Not for… Not for everyone.”

Michelle watches him back for a moment, her own gaze challenging his. “Okay,” she sits forward, leaning onto the bar. “Bring it on.” As he starts to turn away, she speaks again. “Shirley Temple, first, please.”

He gives her two solid thumbs up, and she swears he winks at her before spinning around again. 

It’s strange, how the same fluttery, gooey, youthful feelings can come back so easily; that she can time travel instantly with just a single smile and a silly crack of a joke. It’s not as if she hasn’t thought about Peter at all throughout her years at college; there’s been plenty of times where she’d accidentally reminisce about the old days and cringe about how obvious she always thought she was, and how he never really seemed to notice her. She doesn’t blame him for that, of course. As obvious as she had been, she’d never actually made any sort of move, forever watching from the sidelines as one of the background characters of his life. 

It’s never been a sad feeling, per se. It’s been one that makes her face and neck unbearably hot; makes her want to cover herself with a blanket and never come out again when she thinks about it in the minutes before she’s about to fall asleep. 

He returns moments later, a pretty red drink—with a cherry on top—in hand. He presents it to her with a dramatic flourish—though he’s careful not to let it spill. 

She stares blankly at him, raising a single brow. 

He cracks a half-smile. “Alright, madam. Here is your Sprite and grenadine.” He finishes it off by placing a grossly cute red and white striped straw in it. 

Michelle’s lips press into a fleeting smile. “Thank you very much.” She takes her drink, tipping it at him before taking a long, contemplative sip. Her brows furrow as she tastes the saccharine sweet grenadine. 

“Well?” Peter asks, leaning on the bar with one hand, the other tucked into his pocket. 

She sits back, cocking her head to the side as if in deep thought, smacking her lips for dramatic effect. She shrugs with a slight frown. “It’s alright.”

“Alright?” Peter lets out an almost offended, but good-humored, scoff. 

“Alright.”

“Damn.” Peter shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have talked it up so much, huh?”

“Yeah, my expectations were too high.”

Another moment passes, the sounds of lively chatter and Blink-182 becoming almost nonexistent in their little corner of the bar. Peter’s face twists into one of faux-disappointment, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Michelle only just able to prevent the smirk threatening to form on her own. 

Then, like a drunken tidal wave, that bachelorette party Peter had mentioned earlier comes screaming into the bar. 

Michelle can see the way the light in Peter’s eyes dies in that moment. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, baring an already tired smile. She covers her mouth, hiding the way the corners of her lips are violently twitching upward. 

Peter turns his attention back to her again. “I mean, at least they called ahead,” he says, trying to look on the bright side. “Most don’t.”

A piercing shriek of joy and laughter cuts through the air. 

Michelle flinches before finishing her drink, mostly in an effort not to make eye contact with any of the girls wearing the bright pink sashes that say things like ‘wild thing,’ ‘maid of dishonor,’ ‘shot queen,’ and—her personal favorite—’miss behaving.’ Her eyes drift back to meet Peter’s; his are wide and she can see the hint of fear behind them. 

“Oh, God,” he mutters under his breath. 

MJ doesn’t say anything else, offering a quick smile before breaking her maraschino cherry off the stem and tossing it into her mouth. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, his lips pressing together to fight off a smile as she chews. 

Peter watches as the bridal party approaches the bar, and he braces himself, knowing he’s about to have to walk away from the conversation, but relaxes when one of his colleagues takes over. His shoulders drop as he lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Harry,” he mutters under his breath. 

MJ stops twisting the cherry stem between her fingers, eyes flitting up to meet his, not hearing what he said. “What?”

Peter’s eyes move down to her hands, his arms folded across his chest as he rocks back on his heels. “You ever… You ever hear that… that weird thing about tying a cherry stem in a knot in your mouth?”

Her movement stills, and again, she looks up at him. That same, shot-taking warmth floods her system, and she wonders if somebody in the bar cranked the thermostat up. “I’ve heard of it,” she says, expression impassive.

“Ever tried it?” He asks, not-so-casually leaning on the bar. 

Is he… flirting?

Her jaw shifts, eyes narrowing as she stares carefully at him, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep any sort of smirk from forming. “I haven’t.” 

Something flashes in his eyes, something challenging. Competitive. Something that makes her cheeks burn. “I can actually do it.” The nonchalance returns. “Pretty fast, too.”

She wonders if she should take the bait. 

Folding her arms as she leans toward him, she eyes him carefully. “Okay, let’s see it, Parker.”

Peter breathes out with a smile, pulling one of the many cherries out of the cherry jar. He eats the fruit quickly, swallowing before tossing the stem into his mouth. It’s (unsurprisingly) difficult to hold eye contact with him, but MJ holds her ground, eyebrows raised as he successfully knots the stem in approximately fifteen seconds. 

He pulls it out triumphantly, a proud, cheeky smile stretched across his features as he presents his masterpiece. “Boom,” he says, placing the knotted stem down on a folded napkin. 

“Wow,” MJ draws out sarcastically. 

“You think you can do better?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare.

Wordlessly, she pops her stem into her mouth, and almost instantly, she realizes just how difficult it actually is. She’s sure the faces she’s pulling right now can’t be the least bit attractive, but something in her doesn’t care. Her tongue wrestles with the stem for an embarrassingly long amount of time—she can feel the beginnings of a cramp starting to form—and she makes the mistake of looking up at Peter watching her, trying not to laugh. Without warning, a bubble of laughter comes out of her. She brings her hand up to cover her mouth as soon as the snort happens.

Michelle’s not one to give up easily, but she knows a fruitless endeavor when she’s in one. “Ah, damn,” she says, pulling the stem out of her mouth and folding it into a napkin. “That’s… really hard.”

The snicker from across the counter pulls her attention back, and she’s not surprised at all to find Peter snickering at her failure. 

“Oh, shut up.” She throws the stem at him. 

“Hey!” He jumps to the side, just barely dodging it.“I have to clean that up!”

She scrunches her nose. “My bad.” 

Breaking eye contact, he moves to pick up the stem with a napkin, throwing it away. When he looks back at her again, the air seems to be sucked out of the very room, and she wonders if there’s some kind of weird magic at play that makes him just able to have that effect on her. 

Before she can say anything else, Miss Behavior and Bride-To-Be come up to the bar where they’re at. 

“Um, excuse me!” Miss Behavior snaps her fingers, grabbing Peter’s attention. “Um, hi!” She smiles a smile so sickeningly sweet. Her voice is nasal and high pitched, her words slurred. “Can we get some free shots? My friend’s getting married to this guy soon, so a round of tequila shots would be amaaaaaazing.”

Bride-To-Be flashes a bright, if not a little crooked, smile.

Peter offers a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry. Can’t.”

“But—” Miss Behavior’s jaw drops, as if what Peter’s just said is the worst thing to happen to anyone on this planet. Ever. Michelle’s surprised she doesn’t immediately ask to speak to the manager. “She’s getting married!”

“Yeah! I’m getting married,” Bride-To-Be beams, pushing her hand forward to show off the rock on her finger. 

“Congratulations!” Peter cheers, matching their excitement, though he flinches at the end. “But, free bridal shots are only on every other Tuesday.” He throws a quick wink at Michelle.

“Oh my Gooooooood! That’s so rude!” Miss Behavior whines. 

Peter nods, lips pressed into a thin smile. “That’s right. Every other Tuesday.”

Miss Behavior’s about to open her mouth again when Bride-To-Be stops her, holding a hand out. “What’s today?” She shouts over the music. “Saturday?” She hiccups, dragging her friend away and into the flock of other party members, her drunken shouting fading away under the music. “C’mon, Taylor.”

“Can’t wait,” Peter flashes a tight grin as he waves. He sighs, relaxing when they’re finally gone. 

Michelle stares at her empty glass. “Why did her sash say ‘Miss Behavior’?”

“Huh?” Peter looks up at her, brow pinched together in confusion. 

“Her sash… It said ‘Miss Behavior.’”

“Yeah, so?”

“Based on what the other sashes say, hers is supposed to imply that she misbehaves—” MJ’s eyes narrow as she continues to think out loud. “But… if she’s Miss Behavior… then she’s actually implying that she behaves.”

A snort of laughter suddenly comes out of Peter. He shakes his head as he covers his face. It takes him a second, but he gathers himself enough to actually make human conversation. Michelle only watches calmly, the corners of her mouth just barely twitching upward. 

“Oh, God—” He wipes at his eye. “Can I—” Another laugh. “Can I get you another drink?”

Michelle’s not sure if her dumb commentary was actually all that funny, but she’ll certainly take it. “Sure,” she replies.

He throws another easy grin her way before disappearing again. But he’s not gone long, coming back with a cup of clear liquid. With the same showmanship as with the Shirley Temple, he presents the drink to her, placing it in front of her, dropping a green olive in as a final touch. “Ta da!” He beams. “Virgin Martini!”

Michelle nearly chokes on the laugh that wants to come out of her. “...How?”

“Oh, it’s just water. With an olive in it.”

This time, she lets that laugh—that comes as more of a sudden, slightly undignified snort—out of her. “You just wasted an olive, then. For a dumb joke.”

“Nuh uh. Do you like olives?”

“They’re alright.”

“See? Not wasted at all.” He pauses a moment, still laughing. “Hang on, I’ll get you a real drink.” He blanches. “Not—Not a real-real drink… A—It’s a… You know what I mean.” He scurries off, and for the nth time that night, she fights off a laugh.

It doesn’t take long, and he comes back with a brand new, golden drink, garnished with a fancy looking orange and cherry flag. With not as much flair as before, he places it on the spot in front of her. “Aaaaand here you go. Enjoy.”

“What’s this?” She asks, toying with the thin straw. 

His eyes look upward, as if they might find the answer on the ceiling. “Mango, peach, orange juice,” he counts on his fingers. “And… some sweet n’ sour.”

She gives a quiet nod, going in to take a slow sip. And it’s damn good. It’s hard not to show it on her face, too. 

A slow smile stretches across his face, reaching his eyes. 

“Don’t you have other customers?” MJ asks, eyeing him carefully. The question isn’t meant to be rude. 

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, but I’m helping them.”

MJ fixes him with a deadpan stare. 

“Did you forget about Bride-To-Be and Miss Behavior already?”

“They don’t count.”

“Technically I helped them.”

“—Realize they couldn’t just get free shots,” she finishes for him. 

Peter looks down, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Seriously, it’s fine. As long as I make sure I’m helping out when I’m needed, I’m fine—and happy—to stay here talking to you.”

At that, it’s MJ’s turn to look away, her insides now seeming to fully turn to goo at this point. 

They spend what seems like mere seconds—but in reality is another hour-and-a-half—just talking; catching up on each other’s lives, how everything’s changed in the past three years. She asks about his Aunt, finding out that she’s happy again with some guy named, well, Happy. Peter asks about her life and her family, then asking how her art’s been coming along. 

In all honesty, she’s surprised he even mentions it, much less remembers that about her. 

They joke back and forth, just as they had in the beginnings of the night. She watches as he tends to a group of Boomers, trying to suppress her laughter as he just nods quietly to what they complain to him about. He looks over at her, grinning from ear to ear, unable to tear his eyes away as he pours a beer for one of the men. 

The beer slips out of his hand half-a-second later. 

Although the warm jitters have never left, Michelle can’t help but feel a sense of ease sitting here, talking with Peter. Listening to his stories about all the different customers he’s had to deal with; him listening to her ramble on and on about the latest true crime documentary she’s been watching. 

It’s shortly after the last call for alcohol that he steers the conversation in a new direction. 

“You wanna know something crazy?” He asks, voice a little softer as he leans forward on the bar. 

By now, the bar has slowly been emptying out, the volume of conversation dying with it. Now, she feels as though speaking at a normal volume might invite eavesdroppers.

“What?” MJ subconsciously leans in as well. 

Peter glances left and right before moving the tiniest bit closer. “I used to have the biggest crush on you in high school. I really liked you.”

MJ’s brain nearly short circuits at the new information, and it takes her a moment to catch up with what she thinks she just heard. 

What??

But, surprised as she is, she has enough of her bearings to come back with a way to mess with him, keeping her composure to some degree. “And that’s crazy? That you could like me?”

Peter’s eyes go wide, his jaw dropping as he rushes to correct himself. “What? No! No, Michelle, that’s not what I meant at all—”

“—I’m messing with you, dude.” She decides to take pity on him, pressing her lips together into a thin, timid smile. “And call me MJ.”

He breathes out in relief, nodding with her. “Oh, okay. Cool.”

Before she can respond, or perhaps investigate his new confession further, she feels a wobbly, leather-jacket clad arm wrap around her shoulder. “MJ!!” Felicia croons into her friend’s ear, Cindy popping up from behind her, just as drunk. “We just paid our tabs, let’s gooooooooo.”

“Goooooooooo!” Cindy chimes in.

MJ throws Peter a blank, tired stare, though there’s a fondness behind it. She shrugs her drunk friend off.  “Yeah, you guys go ahead, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Felicia pouts before glancing up, her face suddenly lighting up seeing Peter. “Oooooh you wanna talk to cute bartender some more. Okay. Okay. I see you.”

“I gotta pay my tab. God—shut up, Felicia!” MJ hastily spits out, face burning as she passes a side-eye glance to said cute bartender, who seems to be eating this up. 

“Nice, MJ,” Cindy not-so-subtly whispers in praise after giving Peter a glance. 

MJ wants to hide. “Guys—”

“—Come on, Cindy. Let’s leave these two alone,” Felicia snickers, dragging their friend to the door. 

“Fiiiiine.”

MJ slowly, ever so slowly, turns to Peter, not wanting to look him in the eye. She can feel his stupid grin on his stupid face without even seeing him as she pulls her wallet out. “Here, lemme just… pay my tab.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it.” Peter waves her off. 

Her gaze snaps up to his. It proves to still be a mistake, because that dumb, shit-eating grin is still there, but she holds her ground. “Uh, no, dude, I gotta pay.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.” His smile softens as he waves a dismissive hand. “It’s kind of an unspoken rule that we don’t charge DDs for non-alcoholic drinks and what not. Especially if they’re DDs that are super cool. And funny. And interesting. And pretty.”

She fights away the eyeroll threatening to show, feeling the heat engulfing her entire body. “Well, I gotta pay for something. How about the olive?”

Peter stands there, staring at her, the corner of his lip pulling upward. “The olive?”

“The olive.” She stares back, challenging him. 

It’s a staring contest between the two of them, one that MJ is determined to win. She has a plan, and in order to execute that plan, she needs to pay for something. 

After another second of her unwavering stare, Peter relents. “Well… Okay. That’s... ten cents? I guess. But like… Just know that I’m overcharging you.”

MJ laughs, handing him her card. 

Peter shakes his head as he runs the numbers at the register. He comes back with a receipt in hand, dropping a pen on top of it with a sense of finality. “Alright, ma’am. That’ll be ten cents.”

She takes the paper from him, grabbing the pen and scribbling something down before folding it up. When she hands it back to him, she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a single dime and handing it to him. “A tip for you,” she jokes as she gets up from her stool and makes her way to the exit. “One-hundred percent. Pretty good, huh?” 

With another shake of his head, he looks down as he pockets the coin, laughing. “Yes. Amazing. Thank you.”

His smile never leaves as the door closes behind her. 

--

“Well?” Felicia demands as they get back into the car. 

MJ stays quiet, pressing her lips together in an effort to hide the smirk starting to show. 

“Are you gonna tell us anything?” Cindy pleads as the engine starts. 

Without a word, Michelle pulls the car forward, finding herself slowly losing the neverending battle against that damn grin. She sighs, her hands relaxing at ten and two as she begins the drive home. 

“We’ll see,” is all she says. 

Her smile grows at the simultaneous, tired groan that comes from her friends. 

--

Peter wipes down the bar counter, the folded receipt burning a hole in his pocket as he finishes cleaning up as Closing Time blares around him. He quietly bops around to the music, glancing up every so often as the manager goes to lock the front door. 

He waits a moment, both of his hands hesitating mid-air before pulling the piece of paper out, unfolding it. 

His face warms, his heart thundering in his chest as he reads. 

A note.

On it, a phone number, and next to that, a neatly-written message that somehow makes his smile widen even more: 

I really like(d) you, too. 

  -  MJ