#wesperwrites

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Fear x Anger story/Fanfic???👀

(There’s literally none anywhere😭)

Maybe a date night while they’re on dream duty idkkk u pick🫠

Short and sweet :)

---

“How can you sit there and watch this shit?” Growling petulantly as he sat himself on the sofa, a mug in both hands, Anger glared up at the screen and shook his head. 

Beside him, lifting his blanket and settling it over the both of them, Fear shrugged, blowing the steam from the top of his mug as Anger passed it to him.

“Riley needs her dreams monitored.” He said simply, taking a careful first sip. “Stress nightmares are a very real possibility right now, what with finals week coming up.”

“I know that,” The red emotion huffed, settling heavily against the cushions and throwing an arm around Fear’s middle, tugging him close. “I just can’t believe this is what those morons down there think pass for dreams these days. What a fucking joke.”

“They’re not that bad,” Glancing sidelong at his partner, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, Fear chuckled lightly. “Sometimes they’re kind of amusing. In a… weird sort of way.”

Frowning back at him, Anger quirked a brow. 

“Christ, the bar really is in the fucking dirt, isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, come on, look at it this way— at least they’re harmless.”

“Harmless for Riley, maybe, but they make me wanna put my fist through a wall. We gotta watch this garbage, too, so you’d think the assholes making it would have just a little bit of respect for us.”

“Okay, Mister Dramatic—” Fear found himself smirking at that, biting his lip to suppress a little laugh. “You don’t have to watch them, you know. No one’s making you stay.”

Scoffing, Anger rolled his eyes. Though he looked annoyed, it was impossible for Fear to miss the way his arm had tightened about his waist as he lifted his mug to his lips and sipped loudly, as though trying to mask it.

“Bullshit,” The red emotion grumbled into his coffee after a little pause, pointedly ignoring the knowing look taking shape on his partner’s face. “I’d never hear the end of it if I left.”

“Uh-huh. Like that’s ever stopped you before.” Fear hummed as he shifted just a bit closer, snaking an arm around Anger’s shoulders. “For as much as you complain, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be— you like doing dream duty with me.”

Growling, Anger slumped lower in his seat, his frown deepening despite the warmth that immediately blossomed in his core and rose quickly to his cheeks.

“Bite me.” He muttered almost inaudibly, sighing exaggeratedly as Fear leaned closer still, laying his head atop his.

“It’s okay— you can admit that you like being cozy, holding me, getting some alone time—”

“Fear— this coffee’s really fucking hot, you sure you wanna keep talking?” 

At that, Fear snorted aloud, failing to stifle his laughter, and Anger, amidst an indignant huff, couldn’t help but soften, the corners of his scowl twitching into a faint smile.

“Fine— point taken.” Fear chuckled, pressing his lips to Anger’s temple in a soft, playful kiss. “I am right, though. You love—”

“Fear.”

“Okay, alright— I’ll shut up.”

[wesper-ao3feed]

One meeting had to change it?

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/j9Gv4ZD by WesperWriters Wylan went into the meeting with a new family and came out alone. Again. But it’s nothing he couldn’t handle right? He lived his life after his mother died alone so it won’t be hard. As long as Van Eck and the crows can just leave him alone after being the ones to do this.   The crows find out about Wylans father and things are assumed and guilt and shame are felt by all. (Each chapter is a specific crow acting towards Wylan but they are all assholes in every chapter) Words: 1992, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Shadow and Bone (TV), Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Jan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Inej Ghafa, Kaz Brekker, Matthias Helvar Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik, Kaz Brekker & Jesper Fahey & Inej Ghafa & Matthias Helvar & Wylan Van Eck & Nina Zenik Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Wylan Van Eck Needs a Hug, Flirty Jesper Fahey, Jesper Fahey Loves Wylan Van Eck, Hurt Wylan Van Eck, Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Homophobia, Eating Disorders, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent Jan Van Eck, Jan Van Eck Bashing, Dyslexic Wylan Van Eck, Protective Jesper Fahey, Protective Nina Zenik, Kaz Brekker Has Feelings, kaz brekker can feel guilt, crazy right?, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Ketterdam (Grishaverse), Crows as Found Family (Six of Crows), Mutual Pining, Bad Communication, Miscommunication, First time tagging read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/j9Gv4ZD

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Tremors

340 words, Lethal AU

⚠️ If descriptions of seizures/epilepsy bother you, don't proceed!

—

It was the blankness Igna noticed first. The absence. Something he felt before he saw.

Watching Fenton as he wavered in place, his eyes vacant, Igna’s stomach fell, knowing at once what was coming. Something he’d seen before. Seen often.

“...Fen.” He said, stepping close, his hands raised, ready.

Fenton didn’t hear him. The lights went off in his eyes, his knees buckled, and like a puppet cut from its strings, he dropped, hard, into Igna’s waiting arms.

“Got you,” Igna whispered, cradling him as the whole of his body immediately tightened, arched, trying to fold itself in half. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

It was hard to watch. 

Gurgling, spitting up bile, Fenton twisted and writhed for what felt like hours, his every muscle straining violently against something that wasn’t there, eyes wide but unseeing, and Igna could do nothing but hold him, murmuring to him in a soft, low voice.

“Come on,” he urged, rubbing a hand gently up and down Fenton’s back, trying to coax the muscles to loosen, to soothe the tremors away. “Come back to me. That’s it.”

—

Eventually, mercifully, the seizure passed.

Dazed, drooling, it was with a small series of final, full-body shudders that Fenton at last stopped fighting himself, his eyelids drooping heavily, the fit having taken everything he had and then some.

Limp now in Igna’s arms, his head lolled to one side, his eyes glassy and dull, like those of a corpse. Though he was breathing, if shallowly, he looked so pale and lifeless that it made Igna’s chest ache.

“That was a rough one,” Igna murmured, wiping the froth of spittle from the corner of Fenton’s mouth with the back of his sleeve and cradling him closer, protectively. “You’re going to be sore.”

The words didn’t register. His gaze distant, empty, Fenton stared through him, seeing nothing. It still wasn’t Fenton that Igna held. Not really.

Even so, Igna never stopped talking, choosing to believe that Fenton could hear him, wherever he was. That his voice helped lead him back.

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The New Attorney

488 words, Attorney AU

The first time Mr. Poole and Mr. Becker met Ms. Riggsby (Anxiety) c:

—

“...—Your Honor— s—sorry, motion to recess?” Stiffening, feeling the eyes of Mr. Becker, the jury, everyone suddenly on him, Mr. Poole stood up from the counsel table, smoothing his hands over his jacket. “The Defense would like a short break before we continue.”

“...Mr. Poole,” The judge said after a long pause, looking sternly at him over her glasses. “With all due respect, your partner is in the middle of a line of questioning.”

“Ah— yes, I know, Your Honor. But, uhm, the Plaintiff is… having difficulty, and I would like to give her the chance to collect herself before we proceed with the cross examination, if that’s alright.”

At that, across the room, frazzled, shaking, Ms. Riggsby shrunk down in her chair, her gaze darting to Poole, eyes vaguely shiny with unshed tears.

“Fred— what the Hell are you doing?” Poole heard Becker mutter to him under his breath and ignored him, glancing between Riggsby and the judge, who studied the agitated orange attorney for what felt like forever before sighing deeply, her frown falling into a look of resignation.

“Fine. We’ll resume in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Poole said almost distractedly, watching as Riggsby bolted through the courtroom doors at almost the precise instant the judge’s gavel struck the block.

It was a strangely familiar sight, stirring something in him that he couldn’t name as the room erupted into whispering and Becker approached him, his frustrated glare darting between the doors and his husband’s transfixed face.

“You wanna explain yourself?” The short attorney huffed, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I had the witness right where I wanted ‘em!”

“You need to cool down a little— you’re freaking her out.” Poole shot back after a little pause, turning to him with an unimpressed frown and crossing his arms. “She should have objected to you like six times.”

“I— what?” Becker barked, his eyes widening a fraction. “Why should I care if I’m freaking her out?”

“Because, Ira, this is obviously her first trial and I think you’re being excessively severe.” 

“Excessively severe? Jesus, Fred, last I checked, this was a courtroom, not a daycare.”

“Oh, knock it off.” Rolling his eyes, Poole glanced back to the courtroom doors, his frown softening a little. “I was like that once, too, you know. Try being compassionate for once.”

“It’s not our job to be compassionate.” Becker grumbled, following Poole’s gaze and nearly groaning aloud. “So what if our opposition is squirrelly and can’t handle being cross-examined? That just means our client is better at picking legal representation than hers is.”

“Okay— you’re being a real jerk, you know that?” Stepping past his husband with a huff, Poole found himself moving to leave without a second thought.

“Oh, come on, where are you going?” Becker called after him, raising his hands in an exasperated gesture when Poole’s reply came.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

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AGHHHH FIRST OFF I LOVE UR AUS ESPECIALLY THE ATTORNEY AU!!!!!! Also do you happen to have any more attorney writing crumbs, maybe some sweet stuff 🥺 No pressure at all!!!!!! It’s just hard to find good Feanger writings anywhere now and I love your work so so much

Hmmmm... the only other thing I have right now that isn't depressing is this!

Occurs early on in their professional relationship, maybe a year or so after they met ;)

---

"The fuck did that guy just say to you?"

Nearly jolting to a halt on the sidewalk, Mr. Poole blinked and turned back to see Mr. Becker standing at the top of the courthouse stairs, eyes locked on the stranger's back as he sauntered away.

"S—... I'm sorry?" Poole answered with a stutter, caught entirely off guard as Becker came marching down to stand beside him.

"You heard me," The prosecutor huffed, jabbing a thumb behind him and leveling Poole with a stern frown. "That jackass called you a fucking fa—"

"Don't—" Poole quickly cut him off, and, seeing Becker's scowl darken, grimaced, sheepishly sinking in on himself. "You don't need to... repeat it, uhm— sorry, Mr. Becker, don't worry about it, alright? It doesn't— I'm, uhm... I'm fine. I've heard it before, it's nothing I can't handle."

"I didn't think you couldn't," Becker snarled, seeming unaware of the way Poole was squirming vaguely under his intense stare. "But it doesn't matter if you can handle it or not— he has no right saying that about you, nobody does. I ought to punch his goddamn teeth down his throat. I ought to—"

He broke off, starting off in the same direction the stranger had gone, fists balling at his sides, and was just as quickly stopped by Poole catching him by the sleeve— a contact that startled them both.

Immediately, Poole muttered an almost inaudible apology, whipping his hand away and averting his gaze as Becker looked back at him, looking incredulous for a long few moments before his face fell to a sort of bitter resignation. Poole could practically see the aggression deflate out of him, then, and be replaced with a cold aloofness that was obviously a cover for... something else— though he couldn't even begin to imagine what.

"Whatever." The prosecutor eventually sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and stiffly starting down the sidewalk in the other direction without another word.

"...Uhm..." Poole half-started, unsure how to process what had just happened— or how he should feel about it. "H—Have a good night..."

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How did feangers first kiss happen? (I feel like it would’ve been on accident it just gives me fear and anger vibes lmao) 😏

maybe a little something like this? 🤭

---

“What… the Hell was that about?” Sputtering, rubbing at his cheek with the back of his hand, Anger turned a startled glare onto Fear, who had immediately shrunk away to the other side of the sofa, eyes wide, a burgundy blush overcoming his entire face.

“Uhm—” He stammered, wringing his hands in his lap. “I, uh, I didn’t— I wasn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I don’t know what came over me—”

Unmoving, his entire body hardened, stiff, Anger watched his partner stammer and trip over his words with an affronted bafflement as he attempted to smother down the burning in his own face and the unexpected, erratic thumping in his chest. Though there was still some small sense of irritation at being caught off-guard, he found himself more than a little transfixed by the warmth that was stubbornly lingering where Fear’s lips had just been.

It felt… nice. Nicer than it probably had any right to be given who it had come from, Anger thought distractedly as he went on watching Fear squirm under his gaze, mumbling a litany of apologetic nonsense, and was only vaguely aware of the swell of fondness unfurling in his chest.

“Sh—Shut up, would ya?” He finally snapped, his tone sounding strained as he cut off Fear mid-sentence, bringing his stammering to an abrupt stop. “It’s not that big of a deal— if you wanted to pull something like that, you could have just asked.”

At that, Fear shot him a dumbfounded look, seemingly taken aback by that response while Anger raised an impatient eyebrow in return.

“A… Asked—?” Fear repeated, sounding almost mystified. “...I mean, would you have… you know, said yes if I asked—?”

“We’ve been together for a month, what the fuck do you think?” Anger scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“...O—Oh.” Blinking, biting his lip, Fear let out a nervous breath of laughter. “So… does that mean I can… uhm, c—can…—”

“Jesus— quit being such a baby and get over here.” Grabbing Fear by the wrist and tugging him close, the words left Anger in a huff as he yanked his partner down and crashed their mouths together in a graceless kiss.

Immediately, Fear stiffened with a muffled sound of surprise, smothered by the awkward clashing of their lips, neither of them knowing quite what to do with each other, only managing to fumble against each other for a few moments before they broke apart.

It was a heavy, uncomfortably stifling few seconds that lapsed then, the both of them simply staring at each other in shocked silence for a short eternity, lips parted on unspoken words until Anger bristled, a growl rising in his throat as he pulled Fear down for another kiss, more certain this time.

Although it was still clumsy and sloppy, their mouths moving against each other’s with no sense of rhythm or timing, teeth knocking together more often than not, it was getting easier by the second, Anger winding his arms around Fear to pull him closer still and his partner melting against him like putty, his hands lifting to cup Anger’s face, while they both slowly figured out how they were meant to fit together.

Under his hands, Anger could feel the faintest of tremors running through Fear, the purple emotion shaking against him as they kissed, a soft, sweet breath wavering out from between his lips every time they parted and came back together, and despite himself, Anger felt the corners of his mouth twitch up in a slight grin.

Certainly, he liked this more than he thought he would.

When they finally separated for the last time, it was with some degree of reluctance— the pair blinking dazedly at one another while their breath mingled, as though breaking out of a trance. In that moment, Fear looked like a lovestruck puppy, his eyes half-lidded and his head cocked just slightly to one side, and Anger wasn’t sure why, but something about the sight had his stomach flipping.

After a beat, however, reality suddenly caught up with them— their closeness proving to be a bit too embarrassing now that the moment had passed— and the two abruptly sprung apart, Fear scrambling back to the other end of the couch while Anger retracted his arms and crossed them tightly over his chest.

“That— uhm, that was…” Clearing his throat and brushing his fingers lightly over his lips, Fear murmured, a bashful smile spreading over his face. “...Nice. R—Really nice.”

The corners of Anger’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly at that, though he did nothing more than nod, his fingers drumming against his arms as a stilted silence settled over them and they both looked awkwardly away.

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Ill Met by Moonlight

478 words, Vampire AU

For those asking for more Vampire AU stuff, here's the first time Lord Nikolaevich met Juliane <3

—

It had been a loud crash that startled Juliane from her reading— a clattering in her larder, the unmistakable sound of an intruder.

Arming herself with a broomstick, she crept from her chamber, steadfast, as slivers of evening sunshine flitted in through the window shutters. Never in her life had she felt her heart beating so fast, and yet her hands were steady, her mind sharp and focused.

All the while, the house was silent— straining her ears for a sound, she could hear nothing but her own breath as she approached the larder door and stopped, hesitating, her hand poised upon the handle.

“If… If there’s someone in there, you’d better come out this instant,” She called out, her voice stronger than she had expected it to be. “I’m warning you, I’m armed!”

From within, there was no reply.

Swallowing hard, gripping the broomstick tighter, she steeled herself and threw open the door, only to freeze in place as a pair of piercing purple eyes, cutting easily through the shadows of the farthest corner within, met hers.

Immediately, her blood turned to ice in her veins, the eerie glow sending a chill racing up her spine.

“V—Vampire—!” She heard herself gasp, the broomstick clattering uselessly out of her hands as she saw the beast react to her presence, leaping to its feet.

There was no time to run— faster than lightning, it lunged from its hiding place, and Juliane quickly shut her eyes, bracing herself for the sharp pain of fangs at her throat, for the inevitable, cold embrace of death— but neither came.

Instead, it was two shaking hands she felt, the creature grabbing her shoulders as it staggered into her, the thick, pungent smell of blood falling over her like a wave.

“N—No, no, shh—” It hushed her, its soft voice cracking, trembling, and she dared open her eyes at the sound of its pleading, finding herself mere inches from its face, the fear in its gaze unmistakable. “Please, don’t scream, I—I won’t hurt you, I promise—”

Before her, the vampire was a rather pitiful sight— wobbling vaguely in place, his fine clothes were torn, disheveled, and a quick glance down revealed the fletching of a crossbow bolt jutting from his chest, just above his heart.

It was clear to her what had happened.

“Please— please, don’t call for anyone—” The vampire whimpered, releasing his hold on her and staggering back a step. “I—I won’t stay, I’ll be gone as soon as the sun goes down, I swear, just don’t turn me over to them, I beg you…”

The way he spoke, the look in his eyes, was desperate, pleading.

Never in her life had she heard of such a thing. A vampire, begging for mercy? An obvious trick, surely, a ploy to lower her guard.

And yet, it was without thought that she found herself reaching out to catch him when he started to fall.

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Ego Death

I've decided I worked too damn hard on this to not share it publicly, so here's a tidbit of story related to our good friends, oblivious Mr. Poole and temperamental Mr. Becker :')

Warning for swearing, and for Mr. Becker overall being really mean

“Wait, Mr. Becker— Ira, please—”

Nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled along the polished courthouse floor, Mr. Poole reached out in desperation to catch the arm of the prosecutor, who was all too quick to jerk himself away, halting and turning fast enough that Poole nearly crashed into him.

“What, Poole, what more could you possibly have to say?” His tone sharp as a blade, his eyes sharper, Becker fixed the other lawyer under a glare that made him flinch.

Swallowing hard against the dryness in his mouth, Poole took a quick step back, clasping his hands together in an attempt to hide their trembling.

“I—I just… I wanted to apologize. For— For what I said, I didn’t mean to make light of an… uh, exhausting trial, I was just trying to be lighthearted, you know, I didn’t mean any offense—”

“You don’t have a clue what you’ve caused, do you?” Becker’s words suddenly cut like a knife through his words, and Mr. Poole found his voice dying in his throat, his face paling.

“S… Sorry—?”

“I needed to win that case.” Becker’s voice was low, dangerous— it set a shiver crawling up Poole’s spine. “He was guilty, Poole. You know he was. And you let him walk.”

“Mr. Becker, I—I don’t… Th—there was no way for you to prove that, not beyond reasonable doubt—”

“He was guilty.” Becker repeated, interrupting him. The look in his eyes was nearly murderous, his jaw set tight as his words came through clenched teeth. “And you let him fucking walk.”

“I didn’t let him do anything.” Mr. Poole quickly retorted, though his tone was hardly assertive, wavering subtly as he fought to hold Becker’s gaze. “The jury declared him innocent. My duty is to protect the rights of my clients, and I did my job. That’s all. That’s all.”

“Oh, spare me, Poole, I’m not a fucking idiot. You think I don’t know what this has all been about?” Becker took a step forward, and Poole instinctively took one back. “You think I don’t see right through you, through your fucking charade?”

His stomach twisting into a knot, Poole’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to respond.

Becker didn’t give him the chance.

 “I don’t wanna hear you talk about your duty. You don’t give a shit about your clients.” The prosecutor spat, his eyes blazing. “You don’t give a shit about justice. All you care about is yourself, and the little power trip you get from winning over me, from taking every goddamn opportunity to undermine my work and make me look incompetent.”

“What— incompetent?” Poole sputtered a nervous sound that was something between a scoff and a laugh. “Ira, please, it’s not like that at all—”

“No, ‘course not. You’d never admit it if it was, but regardless of whether you’re willing to say it out loud, you know it’s true. And that murderer got away with what he did because of it. Because you were too damn focused on beating me to give a shit about anything else.”

“I wasn’t— Ira, it’s my job. If there was evidence to convict him, you would have presented it— but you didn’t. So he was acquitted. End of story. I-I don’t know what you want from me.”

Poole didn’t miss the way Becker’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working tensely as he regarded the other in a small moment of bitter, uncomfortable silence, a storm brewing just behind his eyes.

“...Is that how you ease your fucking conscience, Poole? Is that what you tell yourself— that the blood is on my hands? That I should have tried harder?”

“W-well, I mean…” The defense attorney hesitated, a few seconds too long. “You were the prosecutor…”

It was a simple statement, nothing more than a fact, and yet in the moment immediately following, he saw Becker’s expression darken to something wholly unreadable, the tension in his shoulders building as his fists clenched at his sides, and felt that it might have been the most foolish thing he’d ever said.

“That’s— I didn’t—” Poole stammered quickly, the words spilling from his mouth before he could catch them. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then how did you mean it?” Becker hissed, the question almost accusatory, as if he were daring Poole to answer. “Enlighten me.”

“I—I only meant, uhm—” He took a quick breath. “Sorry, I just— All I’m trying to say is that it… it isn’t my fault that you didn’t have enough evidence to convict. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t— uh, doing your best, or anything like that, you just— you had no case. It was my job to make sure the jury knew that. And that— that’s it. 

“All I can do is represent my client to the best of my ability, and I did. I’m sorry you didn’t get the outcome you wanted, but, uh… you know, that’s… that’s the job. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s nothing personal.” Becker echoed him through a mirthless chuckle. “And yet you had the balls to gloat about it to my face after the fact. To make a goddamn joke of it and act like it didn’t fucking matter.”

Poole opened his mouth, a weak protest already half-formed on his tongue, but before he could speak, Becker continued, his voice rising slightly.

“And now you have the fucking nerve to stand here and lie to my face, like I didn’t see the look in your eyes every time you thought you caught me slipping, like the pleasure you get isn’t so obvious. You’re an embarrassment.”

Staring at the other lawyer in stunned silence for a moment, Poole wasn’t sure how to respond, a flurry of indignant protests swirling through his head, his mouth dry, the lump in his throat keeping him from making a sound.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Poole.” The prosecutor spat the other’s name like a curse. “What you’re doing isn’t justice. Not even close. And if you think that I’m going to just... let you pretend that it is just because you’ve convinced yourself ‘it’s just a job,’ then you can go fuck yourself.”

And with those words, Becker sharply turned and started down the hallway, leaving no room for Poole to protest, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the polished tile as he stomped away.

It was all Poole could do to not collapse where he stood just then, his legs weak and unsteady, his chest constricting painfully around his thudding heart. He felt nauseous, his stomach churning with a kind of hollow, numb dread. 

He wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear.

But there was something else, too— something that kept him grounded in that endless moment that burned in his throat much hotter than shame or guilt, rising in his chest like bile and choking the air from his lungs, saving him from the urge to come apart at the seams. It was unfamiliar, ugly— it left a foul taste in his mouth, made him cringe— but he was all the same entirely consumed by it in that moment, possessed.

And as he stared blankly after Becker’s retreating figure, his thoughts racing nearly as fast as his pulse, the feeling bloomed in his heart and erupted, searing his tongue as it did.

“I—I—I don’t get you, Ira, you know that!?” 

The words rushed from him almost involuntarily, and the sound of his own wavering but defiant voice piercing the tense silence nearly made him flinch.

Becker stopped. Tensing as soon as he registered the words, he went rigid, the faintest hint of movement in his shoulders the only thing giving him away. 

But he did not turn.

Even so, the fact that the other had heard him was enough for Poole to blunder forward, stumbling over his words as an angry warmth rose in his cheeks.

“All I’ve done, all I’ve ever done is try to be on good terms with you, to try to be friendly, and I— I can’t understand how you manage to take even that and… twist it into some sort of personal attack. I’ve tried so hard to understand you, to make peace with you last, but you won’t have it. You don’t even want to try. I-it’s like you’re determined to hate me no matter what, like in your eyes, everything I do is somehow wrong when all I’m guilty of is doing my job the best way I know how— just like you. 

“I m-mean— why is it so wrong of me to want to succeed, to put my clients best interests first, but it’s perfectly fine for you? Why is it so immoral when I try as hard as I can to win when that is exactly what you do, what any lawyer does?”

Poole stopped for a breath, a momentary pause during which Becker still did move nor speak, standing eerily motionless, as though he were carved from stone.

“A-and you know what, Ira, while I’m on the topic of hypocrisy— you say that I’m the one obsessed with winning, but maybe you should take a look at yourself! You lose one case to me and—and all of a sudden I’m an embarrassment, I’m the scum of the earth and I should be ashamed because it’s somehow all my fault instead of yours. Like I went out of my way to make sure you’d lose, just to spite you. For what? What exactly do you think I stand to gain from making an enemy out of you? I admire and respect you! I always have! I’d never deliberately do anything to humiliate you or sabotage your work or— or anything else like that.

“I m-mean— yes, I’ll admit, what I said to you after today’s verdict was inappropriate. I was excited, and in hindsight, I shouldn’t have tried to joke with you. But you know, I don’t think that’s what got you upset, no. Y—You want to know what I really think? I think you’re just a sore loser.”

Poole fell silent then, trembling, a little out of breath. His eyes stung, tiny beads of frustrated tears going unnoticed as he stubbornly willed himself not to fall apart under the pressure of his own boldness.

He would come to regret what he’d just said— it was the one thing he knew to be certain in the long, fragile seconds that followed. Before him, Becker was perfectly still, the air surrounding him thick and heavy, tense. It was impossible to tell how he was taking the words Poole had carelessly flung at him, how damaging they might be to their already shaky dynamic, to any future relationship they might hope to have.

“A sore loser.” When the prosecutor finally spoke, he repeated Poole’s words slowly, his tone empty, dull, devoid of any inflection. Within it, a concealed darkness. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”

Poole felt his stomach lurch, and held his breath, watching stiffly as slowly, very slowly, Becker turned, facing Poole with a stare so empty that for a split second he was unrecognizable. Then, unpredictably, he laughed, a low, mirthless rumble, carrying an audible edge of resentment, of grief, lifting off his lips like a whisper.

“You still don’t get it, do you? Tell me, Poole, are you the one who had to apologize to the victim’s family? Are you the one who promised them justice, only to have a jury of good, smart people decide to free a killer anyway? Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Poole didn’t have an answer, staring in stunned silence instead, feeling his face grow pale. Becker shook his head, the barest hint of a smile still ghosting his lips, rueful, sardonic.

“A murderer walked free today. You understand that? I gave everything I could to try and stop that from happening. I went after him as hard as I could. And it still wasn’t enough. He got away. Every goddamn effort I made, everything I worked towards, it was for nothing.”

“Ira—” Poole began softly, instinctively.

“So yeah, I am a fucking sore loser.” Becker ignored him, almost as if he hadn’t even spoken at all, his voice rising as he took a sudden step forward. “If nothing else, that is exactly what I am, because I do nothing but fight my damned hardest to help make the world a better place, to keep this shithole from getting worse, only to constantly fail and have you treat it like a fucking joke. 

“I’m fucking sick and tired of it, Poole, I’m sick of all my hard work being constantly thrown back in my face by a spineless dickhead who can’t be bothered to grow the fuck up and take anything seriously, a piss-poor parody of a lawyer whose head is so far up his own ass he can’t see the damage he’s done— can’t even begin to understand, or care.”

“That’s…” The defense attorney murmured, and nearly choked on the words, feeling his face grow warm with indignation as he fought to keep his composure. “Th-that’s hurtful.”

“Hurtful? You wouldn’t know hurtful if it came up and spat in your smug fucking face. You want to know what’s hurtful? Do you have any idea how painful it is to have you constantly up my ass, pretending you give a shit about me when after all the work I do, all the sacrifices I make trying to bring a scumbag to justice, you fuck me over and then celebrate when I fail?”

“I didn’t celebrate—”

“You did!” Becker roared, the rage hiding just behind his tired, bitter eyes suddenly breaking free as he took another step closer and shoved Poole as hard as he could. In that precise moment, stumbling back, Poole could smell smoke. “I saw you today, after the verdict. I saw the way you looked at me, with that cocky glint in your eye, and I know that I wasn’t imagining the self-satisfaction in your voice when you ran your mouth at me, because you somehow think it’s funny to look me in the face and act like this is all just a stupid game, knowing that my work is everything to me. That is what’s fucking hurtful.”

“Wh—what do you want from me, then?!” Poole cried, a raw, wavering sound. “I tried to explain, to apologize, but you made it rather clear that anything I could possibly say means less than nothing to you!”

“And why shouldn’t it?” The prosecutor shot back. “Why the fuck should I believe a single word out of your pathetic mouth when all you have ever done is string me along?”

“B—Because…! Because o-of our hist—...”

Poole silenced abruptly, as though he’d caught himself on the cusp of saying something unspeakable, something he couldn’t take back, color rising in his cheeks before he quickly looked away.

Eyeing him guardedly, a fleeting confusion passing over his face, Becker found himself perceiving in the other’s expression what had gone unsaid after just a short moment of search, and immediately scoffed.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Poole, I know you’re not that stupid. What makes you think I give a rat’s ass about our so-called history?—”

“S—Stop it—” Poole quickly said, his tone sounding a little more defensive than he intended. “Whatever you’re going to say, you’re wrong. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, maybe you want to act like it doesn’t matter, but I know that it matters, and so do you.” 

Exhaling a shaking breath, Poole risked returning his gaze to the others, and found that Becker’s steely gaze had narrowed slightly at him, studying him almost warily. Behind his eyes, a strange flicker of emotion, an unnameable turmoil, betrayed itself, and in the very same moment, something else took the place of rage in his expression. Something equally unpleasant, but subtler, harder to understand.

“I can’t forget what happened between us that night,” With another quivering breath, Poole went on, squirming vaguely under Becker’s eyes working to dissect him as he spoke. “I tried to— I know that’s what you probably… w-wanted me to do— but I just can’t, because what you and I had for just those few hours was real, whether you want it to be or not. 

“What I feel is real. And I know you believed me when I told you that night, I saw the look in your eyes when I said it, Ira, y-you knew it was the truth. How does that not lend any weight to the sincerity of what I’m trying to tell you now?”

The prosecutor averted his eyes. As if reluctant to acknowledge even the memory, there was a brief period in which he stared wordlessly down the hallway behind them, his mouth set in a hard, stern line.

“Look, I... I know you don’t… really understand me.” Poole ventured, his tone softening, his heart aching in a way it couldn’t bear to name. “But if nothing else, after what happened that night, you at least know that the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.”

A heavy silence fell over them then.

Where anger had once been was now a tense, palpable void— a mutual reluctance that settled in the space between them, thick with something bittersweet and unfinished. Though it shook his resolve, Poole did not look away.

Before him, Becker had grown stiff where he stood as though the other’s words had physically pained him— his gaze sharp and cold, a hollow quality to his face that made it impossible to know for certain what it was he felt, if anything at all.

He was silent for what felt like a long time, his jaw set, his stare fixed intensely on nothing as the storm behind his gaze raged on, hidden, sapping the fire from his eyes until nothing was left but a terrible coldness. And when he finally spoke again, Poole wasn’t sure which he hated more— Becker’s rage or the emptiness that had replaced it.

“...You know something, Poole?” He asked, his voice almost toneless as it rumbled between them. “What good does knowing your feelings do me now, after everything you’ve done? What good is your sincerity to me when you and I will never be on the same side? 

“Maybe I did understand you, once. Maybe I even trusted you. Maybe I believed you were capable of doing the right thing. But I sure as hell don’t anymore, because I have no idea who you are, or what the fuck is going on in that head of yours. All I know for certain nowadays is that you only care about yourself, and you can’t even begin to imagine how sick that makes me feel. I really do wish you could see that through your fucking naivety, because every word that comes out of your mouth means fuck all to me when you’ve proven time and time again that you’re a goddamn walking contradiction.

“You’re a fraud and a coward, Poole, a selfish, spineless liar with so much damn gall that you can stand there with a straight face and pretend I ought to be moved by anything that you have to say after all the ways that you have trampled over the last shredded fucking scraps of respect I may have had for you. And yet that still isn’t even the worst thing you’ve ever done to me, is it? Is it?”

An awful, wrenching moment passed in which Poole did not— or perhaps, simply could not— respond to those cruel words. His heart twisted, a familiar stinging welling in his eyes against his wishes. 

He held his breath.

“No,” Becker said quietly, a subtle pain coloring the sound of his voice. “The absolute fucking lowest you have ever stooped, Mr. Freddie Poole, was somehow getting me to actually care about a shameless, two-faced prick like you.”

“Ira…—” Poole pleaded desperately, fighting a losing war to choke down the lump that now ached painfully in his throat.

“Save it— you need to listen to me very fucking carefully now, because I’m only going to say this once. Don’t come near my office, don’t come near my cases, I don’t even want to see your sorry ass in this fucking courthouse. I want you out of my goddamn life for good. Do you hear me?”

Shakily exhaling, struggling against the tears gathering in his vision, Poole found himself in that precise moment going wholly numb, as though something within him had just then given out, had died. It was a moment of unreality, an abrupt shift as the weight of those final, decisive words washed over him and took hold. 

“Y... You don’t mean that,” Poole whispered tremulously, a feeble denial. “You can’t.” 

Becker, however, did not humor him, did not even hesitate, delivering his next words with a cold, unfeeling finality as he turned and began to walk away.

“Try me.”

[ghxstlly]

have Becker and Poole ever broken up then got back together?

The short answer? No!

The long answer...

---

Staring at Poole from across the room, Becker was almost stunned by how quickly the energy surrounding them had turned to ice, the words he’d carelessly spat out only moments earlier hanging in the air like rancid smoke.

Between them, it was almost as though time itself had stopped, the pair frozen on two sides of an invisible divide, their fight and the things they had said to each other suddenly feeling so pointless, so unimportant that Becker could barely remember what they’d been arguing about in the first place.

In that same instant, what had been frustration and indignance on Poole’s face had shattered into an almost childlike look of hurt, his posture visibly deflating as the fight bled out of him, and Becker knew, right then, that the argument was over.

“...You… What?” Poole’s voice, when he finally managed to speak, was barely above a timid whisper, fragile and choked with emotion. “You think… You think we should… s—separate?”

It was a painful, sobering feeling that struck Becker at that— a cold splash of guilt beyond comparison. Setting his jaw, he cursed under his breath, struggling to face the pain in his husband’s eyes, in that moment feeling like the absolute scum of the earth.

“I— I didn’t mean it like that,” He tried, unable to keep from sounding frustrated, defensive, even as his gut twisted into a hard knot. “I just— look, I’m fed up, Fred, I’m fed up with you not listening to a damn word I say, with us fighting all the time, and I want for us to stop and figure out how to get along again because otherwise we’re just gonna keep doing this over and over and over again. That’s all I was trying to say.”

Staring at him, his arms folded around himself almost protectively, Poole looked small, wounded, like he wanted to disappear into the floor. And for a long, fragile moment, he was completely silent, his gaze searching Becker’s face, before he suddenly sniffled, his eyes welling with tears.

“But… You said… Ira, is that really what you want?...” Swallowing thickly, Poole tried to blink back the tears, only for them to start to spill down his cheeks anyway. “D—Do you want us to split up?”

“No— damn it, come on—” Becker sighed, crossing the room and attempting to reach out, only for his husband to take a small step back, twisting away from his touch.

“It’s okay if you do,” Poole insisted, his voice wavering as he fought his hardest to keep his composure.  “I mean— I—I don’t want you to be unhappy, so… I don’t mind… I don’t m—mind leaving—”

“Stop it—” Becker snapped, and quickly caught himself, running a hand over his face in an attempt to calm down, to find the right words, before he continued. “Don’t… say things like that. I’m not unhappy, and I sure as Hell don’t want a divorce. I just want you to listen, to meet me halfway for once, before this marriage ends up in the fucking ground and we start hating each other. Understand?”

Pausing, then, he found himself holding his breath, thrown by the confusing mix of painful emotions welling up inside of him as he watched Poole process his words, watched his lip quiver, his eyes glitter with fear, and, with an awkward, rough sigh, reached out again, this time succeeding in pulling his husband into his arms.

“...Alright, look, I’m… I’m s—… sorry.” He forced the word out, his voice sounding strained, the unfamiliarity of the apology making him feel awkward and uncomfortably vulnerable. “I lost my temper, okay? I lost it and said something stupid— some idiotic, asinine shit that I don’t mean. I don’t want to split up, not even for a night, much less forever, because even when you piss me off, I still… love you. You know that, and you know I wouldn’t have married you if I thought I could be happier without you. You’re my husband— my fucking everything. And I’m not about to let that change.”

Poole stayed silent. 

In the long, tortuous moment that followed the apology, as though stunned, he was tense and still in Becker’s embrace, standing there taking in those words, as rare as they were from his husband, for a short eternity, a long period of agonizing nothing until at last he abruptly crumpled like a paper doll, sinking against Becker with a soft sob. 

Wincing, Becker immediately lowered them both to the floor, gathering him against his chest in a tight, protective hold.

It had been a long time since he’d last heard Poole cry, and the sound of it now, small and pitiful, made his throat feel tight knowing that he had been the one to cause it.

“Ira, I—I… I don’t want to lose you…” He heard Poole weep into his shoulder, his hands trembling lightly where they clung onto the back of his shirt. “Please, I’m s—so scared of losing you…”

“You’re not going to. We’ll figure this out. We will.” Becker muttered almost bitterly, the words gruff and half-swallowed as he took a deep breath in a bid to extinguish another swell of frustrated guilt. “...Christ, Freddie— I hate seeing you like this.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, then, he tightened his hold and simply sat there, feeling sick to his stomach.

 “You shouldn’t be crying over a fucking jackass like me.”

[ghxstlly]

how did feangers (or Becker and pooles lol) wedding go? 🫢

Ive actually wrritten about how their wedding went!

Here you are, for your reading pleasure <3

---

Pacing in tight circles, surely wearing a hole in the parlor’s carpet, Mr. Poole reached shaking hands up to adjust his bowtie for what had to have been the hundredth time as he glanced up at the clock and stifled a wince, for not even a full five minutes had passed since his last check.

“Pull yourself together, Freddie,” He whispered firmly to the empty room, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in a bid to clear his thoughts. “Y—You can do this. Confidence, poise— just like in the courtroom. Easy peasy. You will be perfectly fine. It’s just a wedding, your wedding, n—nothing to be… ah, nervous about.”

Almost immediately, he deflated at his own words, stopping his incessant pacing to sink into the nearest seat, his head falling into his hands. A strange, weak chuckle escaped his mouth, then, followed closely by a distraught whimper as he did all he could to stave off a bout of nervous tears and wondered how it was that he was meant to get through this without having a nervous breakdown.

This had all seemed so simple in theory.

“Freddie?” Startling him out of his fretting, a voice unexpectedly called from just behind the parlor door, accompanied by a soft knock. With a sharp gasp, Poole bolted upright, hurriedly clearing his throat, trying his best to assume some false facade of composure and only partially succeeding.

“I, erm— y—yes, come in!” He called back, and quickly perked up when it was June who entered, gently shutting the door behind her. “Oh— M—Miss Kelly, hello!”

“Hi, Freddie,” She said sweetly, and, blinking down at the hand that Poole had awkwardly extended for a handshake as she approached, giggled and rolled her eyes, tugging him into a tight hug instead.

“Thank you again— I’m still just so glad you could make it,” Poole murmured against her shoulder, voice wobbling slightly as he tenderly returned her embrace. When they broke apart, her hands slid down to his, squeezing them reassuringly. “I—I know you’re busy, so, it— really means a lot.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world. I’m so, so happy for you, both of you.” She beamed, the sincerity in her words soothing over Poole and working to calm his frayed nerves. “I thought I’d stop by before the ceremony, just to check up, see how you’re doing. You look so handsome! White looks good on you— and I love the bowtie!”

Grinning bashfully, Poole glanced away, bringing one hand up to give said bowtie a little tweak, adjusting it absentmindedly as a light warmth bloomed in his cheeks.

“Heh— thank you, it’s, uhm— it was a gift, from— from Ira, actually.” He said, a dreamy little smile playing about his face as he spoke.

“Your husband?” June corrected, and almost burst out laughing when apparently just hearing the word aloud was enough to make a scarlet flush explode across Poole’s face.

“Y—Yea—yeah—” The lawyer managed to stammer, biting his bottom lip and trying in vain to hold back a huge, silly grin. “I mean— he will be in... In about f—forty-three minutes, anyway. If— if things, uhm, run according to schedule.”

“They will,” Withdrawing her hands, June gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and glanced towards the clock. “I’ll make sure everything is taken care of, don’t you worry.”

“Hah, that’s a relief. I really appreciate it— frankly I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you.” Poole chuckled, a note of relieved gratitude in his tone.

“Don’t be silly,” His friend hummed, waving a playfully dismissive hand. “You would have been fine. I’m just here to make things extra easy. So! How’re you feeling? Butterflies in your tummy?”

“Uhm,” Chuckling nervously, the lawyer averted his gaze and lifted a fidgety hand to the back of his neck. “That would be an understatement.”

“I should’ve guessed.” June nodded understandingly, offering him a sympathetic smile. “But, you know— the scary part will be over before you know it, and you won’t even remember being nervous. Try not to stress so much and just enjoy yourself— it’s your wedding, after all. Let me handle the stressful parts.”

Smiling sheepishly, Poole took a deep, steadying breath and nodded appreciatively.

“I’ll, uh— I’ll try. Thanks.”

“No need to thank me! It really is my pleasure.” She said, beaming for a moment before she abruptly perked up and clapped her hands together. “Oh— I almost forgot— before I leave, there is… one little thing that needs your attention.”

Immediately, Poole stiffened, reflexively standing up straighter as worry returned to his face with a vengeance.

“Wh—what?” He fretted, perhaps a tad more urgently than he intended to sound. “I, uhm, I’m sure I can take care of it really quickly, whatever it is—”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that—” She interrupted quickly, raising a placating hand to halt his anxious babbling in its tracks. “It’s just… I really think you should check on Ira.”

Poole blinked, visibly deflating as his brow furrowed with confusion.

“On… Ira?” He echoed cautiously, failing to suppress a concerned wince. “Is… I mean, is he okay—?”

“He’s fine, don’t worry,” June assured him, laying a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I just think it would do him some good to see you before the ceremony— that’s all.”

Tilting his head slightly, Poole held her gaze, wracking his brain for any possible understanding he may be lacking in the matter before humming nervously, almost sounding hesitant to speak.

“Ah… But, uhm… Is that even allowed—?” He asked slowly, and nearly jumped when June made a quick ‘pft’ noise, waving a dismissive hand.

“Tradition shradition, Freddie, no one cares about all of those silly wedding rules. As your Maid of Honor, I am allowing it.” Nudging him with her elbow, June giggled and winked playfully. “He needs you right now, and honestly, I think you need him, too.”

“I—...” Poole faltered, smiling sheepishly as June raised a brow at him. “...Okay. Ye—yeah, you’re probably right. You’re… usually right.”

“I know.” His friend hummed teasingly, looping her arm around his and gently leading him out of the parlor. “I’ll walk you over.”

Sighing softly, the lawyer merely nodded, falling into an awkward silence as he was guided down the hall, across the venue to a closed door secluded at the very end of a short corridor. Though it was a rather short journey, Poole couldn’t help feeling that the few moments it took to get there were the longest of his day so far, as just being outside of his dressing room was enough for the gravity of everything to sink in, a little less than comfortably.

June was none the wiser— releasing Poole’s arm as they approached, she had stopped a few paces short of the door and nudged him forward, smiling encouragingly as he glanced about as though expecting to be reprimanded by some nonexistent chaperone.

“Go on, now— he’ll be happy to see you. Trust me.” She whispered sweetly, turning as she began to walk the opposite way, but not before pecking him on the cheek with a proud, loving smile. “See you soon!”

Murmuring his thanks as she strode away down the hall, Poole felt almost paralyzed with apprehension, watching her a short while before dragging his attention to the door he’d been led to. For a few long, drawn out seconds, he simply gazed at it, his mind wandering unhelpfully back to the swarm of uneasy what-ifs and uncertainties that seemed bent on clouding his thoughts, before he reached up and rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood.

It was an empty pause that followed— a long, uncomfortable silence— before a sharp reply snapped from behind the door.

“Christ, what now?”

“Sorry, it’s— it’s just me.” Poole called back nervously and listened for movement, hearing nothing for a few beats before a series of footsteps approached and the door swung open.

“Fred?” Sounding nearly incredulous, Mr. Becker stood in the entryway, eyes widening a fraction as they swept over the nervous lawyer fidgeting before him.

“Hi,” Poole squeaked, a timid half-smile rising to his face as he waved limply, quickly taking in his fiancé’s appearance, feeling his heart skip a beat despite the knot of nerves that had formed in his stomach. “Uhm— how... are you?”

“The Hell are you doing here?” Becker demanded, ignoring the question as he grabbed the taller lawyer by the wrist and pulled him sharply inside, turning to him with an intense, unintentionally intimidating glare the instant the door was shut behind him. “We’re on in half an hour, are you nuts?”

“I, uhm— well,” Poole quickly said, voice hitching as he tugged lightly on his collar. “First of all, you look great— uh, I mean, really— g—great. Uhm, second— Miss Kelly came by and said I should drop in on you. She… said that you— that you, ah…— n—needed to see me?”

“What? June said that?” Becker barked, and Poole shrugged innocently, nodding.

“Well, what she said was… uhm… Er, y—yeah, that was… pretty much verbatim, actually—”

Immediately, cutting Poole short, the shorter lawyer made a frustrated growling noise, something between a sigh and a snarl as a complicated expression, an odd sort of gruff embarrassment, washed over his face, his eyes quickly darting away.

“Great.” Was all he said, balling his fists at his side and turning away to stalk further into the room, his whole form visibly tense.

Blinking owlishly after him, Poole paused for a beat, taking a moment to observe his agitated fiancé, his brow furrowing with worry at the display, before carefully pursuing a few steps behind.

“Are you… is everything okay—?” He prompted gently,  setting a hand on Becker’s stiff shoulder and ducking his head, trying to meet his eyes, but the other lawyer merely shook him off and continued to fume.

“Fine. Swell.” Becker gritted out, his tone tight but transparently forced in its hardness. Even with his back turned, Poole could see the tension in his shoulders, in his clenched fists, and frowned a little at the obvious lie.

“Nice try.” He said flatly, putting his hands on his hips. “Really, Ira, what is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me— you know that never works.” Poole huffed, his frown deepening when Becker stubbornly twisted away as he tried to face him. “Come on, talk to me. I—I mean, are… are you having second thoughts—?”

At that, his fiancé abruptly whirled to face him, whipping around so fast that Poole instinctively flinched, taking a startled step backward as the shorter lawyer rounded on him.

“What kind of fucking question is that?” Becker snapped, a mingled look of hurt and anger flashing in his eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Okay— sorry, look, I—I don’t know, you just— something is obviously wrong, and you won’t tell me, so—…”

He stopped.

Something in his fiancé’s expression had caught his attention just as his eyes met that fiery glare— something so impossibly out of place that it rendered Poole simply stunned for a moment, stricken by the sight.

It was a vague shimmer— a suggestion of moisture gathering along the edges of the shorter lawyer’s sharp gaze, restrained but all the same gleaming unshed in his eyes.

“Are—… Ira, are you… tearing up?” Softening, Poole’s brows knitted together, his voice dropping to a tender murmur, and immediately, Becker reared back, affronted, as though he’d just been slapped.

“No—” He snapped, turning away and bringing a hand up to angrily swipe at his eyes. “My fucking— my eyes are itchy, I’m probably allergic to all the goddamned perfume everyone’s wearing.”

For a moment, Poole only looked at him, his expression growing softer still as he came to understand what it was that had upset Becker so— and, in the process, could hardly suppress the tender smile that vaguely took shape on his face at the realization.

“You’re nervous.” He stated slowly, and watched as his fiancé seemed to deflate a bit in response, his shoulders slumping with a burdened sigh. “You’re… scared.”

There was a pause after he spoke, a heavy moment of silence while Becker visibly struggled with himself, his mouth twisting into a hard grimace, before he finally relented and nodded stiffly.

“...Of course I’m fucking scared.” Becker admitted in a gruff, mumbling tone, and when Poole remained silent, waiting for him to continue, he tightened his jaw, unable to hide the tiny, almost imperceptible wobble in his voice as he continued more quietly, as if embarrassed by his own words. “How the Hell some people manage to go through this multiple times, I will never understand. It’s just… ours feels like such a big deal. It feels like everything— like it needs to go exactly according to plan, but I don’t know what I’m doing and I… don’t want to fuck anything up. To fuck us up.

“And I know that’s an asinine thing to be worried about— but it would appear that all this wedding shit has a way of making me into a goddamn basket case because it’s been bothering me like you wouldn’t believe. I feel like I’m gonna blow a gasket on what should be the happiest day of my life, for Christ’s sake.”

Huffing loudly, then, he turned and raised his gaze, and as he met Poole’s eyes and saw how gently, how affectionately he was looking at him, he couldn’t quite help the tiny, shaky sigh that escaped him as some tension eased out of his posture.

“...Well, anyway. I said it— I’m fucking scared of our wedding. Happy?”

Humming lightly, Poole mused for a moment, fidgeting vaguely before he took a small step forward and carefully reached down, fingers delicately ghosting over Becker’s wrist until the shorter lawyer unfurled his fist and accepted his hand.

“I get it,” He murmured, rubbing his thumb reassuringly over Becker’s knuckles. “Really, I do— for me, uhm… Scared doesn’t even begin to cover it. I am— I’m completely petrified.”

Holding his gaze, Becker studied him almost skeptically, an incredulous frown playing about his face while Poole squeezed his hand, a lopsided, shy grin curving his lips.

“In fact, I, uh... I honestly thought I was going to throw up twenty minutes ago. Or pass out. Or both.” A tiny huffing laugh escaped him at that, his smile growing when he noticed a hint of wry amusement flickering in his fiancé’s eyes.  “Point is, I—I know this is scary, but… you aren’t alone. We’re in this together, and we’ll figure it out. Or… something… Heh.”

Ducking his head a bit, as though embarrassed by his own words, Poole bit his lip and shuffled his feet a bit before continuing, his cheeks flushing.

“Whatever, you know what I mean. We’re gonna be just fine, you and I— as long as we have each other, it doesn’t matter if we don’t know what we’re doing. Together we can— well, you know. Make it work. And Ira, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you could possibly mess this up even if you tried, because... well, uhm, I—I couldn’t ask for a… better partner.”

A pause.

“Really, I mean it. I never believed this day would come, you know— when we met I thought you were sort of— ah, rude and scary. And abrasive. And loud. But now, I think you are the most— the— the, uhm—”

“Okay— that’s enough.” Becker interrupted. Although he was rolling his eyes, Poole could easily see a teasing smirk pulling at his lips, his agitation easing away as he tugged Poole by the hand into a one-armed hug. “Christ, you sound like a damn Hallmark card— save it for the ceremony, would ya?”

Chuckling sheepishly, Poole flushed a little, leaning down into the embrace and resting his head atop his fiancé’s as he returned the hug with both arms.

“Heh— sorry.”

For a little while they remained like that, simply holding one another, enjoying the welcome silence and swell of warmth in their shared proximity. For the first time all morning, Poole felt grounded, protected, as though a heavy weight had been lifted from him while he basked in his fiancé’s secure presence, breathing him in, savoring the moment of peace. Wherever his butterflies had gone, they were forgotten now, leaving behind an odd, bubbling feeling that he almost wanted to call excitement.

It was pleasant, he had to admit.

When at last they parted, Becker kept his arm around his waist, gazing up at him with a fondness exclusive to him, a rare look that made Poole feel weak in the knees.

“...Thanks, by the way.” Becker rumbled out his gratitude, his tone a bit awkward and gruff but the words unambiguously sincere. “That helped.”

Standing up a bit straighter, Poole brightened, biting his lip in a bid to restrain a toothy smile.

“Heh— o—of course, anyti—” He stammered bashfully, only to be cut off by Becker suddenly grabbing him by the lapels and dragging him down for a passionate kiss— one he eagerly leaned into, his legs nearly giving out on him in the process.

Breaking apart just a few short moments later, it was with reluctance, a low, shaking murmur escaping Poole as Becker pecked him once, twice more on the lips before setting him back upright and smirking at him, undoubtedly amused by the flustered, dazed look he’d managed to put on his face.

“Alright, c’mon— let’s go get this show on the road.”

[ghxstlly]

how did Becker and Poole meet? (Like what was their first interaction and their opinions of eachother) btw I love your blog your so underrated 😭❤️

AUURGH YOURE TOO KIND 😭😭😭😭

Short fic below the cut! 😉❤️💜

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Blinking down at his papers, the once organized stack now occupying the courthouse floor in a mess, Mr. Becker shot the person that’d just walked into him a withering glare.

“Sorry— so sorry, hah, clumsy me—” The stranger laughed sheepishly as he knelt down, hastily gathering up Becker’s scattered documents and righting them into an uneven stack before passing them back. “H—Here.”

“...Thanks.” Becker rumbled, tucking the stack under his arm almost protectively and fixing the stranger with a short, pointed look— Christ, he’s lanky.

Chuckling awkwardly, the stranger nodded, fidgeting a bit as he lingered a bit too close for comfort, before he abruptly jolted, as though he’d just then remembered something, and extended a shaking hand.

“Ah— sorry, I’m, uh, Freddie. Freddie Poole.” He said, a shaky, toothy grin forming on his face. “A—Attorney-at-law.”

Warily, Becker shook his hand, squeezing a bit too tightly as he looked him over, his eyes taking in his skinny frame, his big purple eyes and especially the tacky ladybug print bowtie he was wearing— something he failed to hide a subtle, disdainful scoff at.

“Becker.” He said stiffly after an uncomfortably long pause, resisting the urge to wipe his hand off on his slacks as he yanked it back.

At that, Poole faltered a bit, shoulders hunching in slightly as his gaze darted to the side, his grin shrinking a little before it came right back, bigger and toothier than before, like he was trying to make up for his sudden loss of confidence.

It was almost a little creepy.

“Hah, uhm,” Poole huffed a short laugh, rocking on his heels enough that Becker could see that he was wearing mismatched socks. “W—Well, Mr. Becker— it’s nice to meet you! I look forward to, er, working with you.  Or… working near you… in the same court, anyway, heh.”

Becker didn’t even try to hide his eye-roll, grunting shortly in acknowledgement.

“...Sure.” Was all he said, giving Poole one last dismissive once-over before shouldering past him.

Behind him, the other attorney was quick to call out a parting goodbye and another apology for bumping into him, and Becker made a point of ignoring him, a scowl fixed firmly on his face as he walked away.

What a fucking character.

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Hear me out: SICK DAY PROMPT.

sorry for the wait! i did attorney AU because I'm obssessed with them and adore them with my whole heart and soul, hope that's okay <33333

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Cracking his eyes open a sliver to the sound of the bedroom door opening, Becker stirred faintly, turning his head to the side in time to see his husband slipping into the room, glass of water in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.

“...I thought you went to work.” He heard himself say, his voice little more than a croak, and immediately winced at the painful hoarseness of his throat.

“I did, for a little while.” Setting his things on the nightstand and perching himself on the edge of the bed, Poole spoke softly, noticeably trying to keep his volume down. “But I couldn’t focus, so I came home to take care of you.”

“Great. Our clients are gonna be pissed.” Becker complained, scowling a little when his husband simply shrugged, indifferent, and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead.

 “It seems like your fever from this morning has gone down.” He mused after a few beats of silence, and let his hand fall to cup the side of his husband’s face. “Are you feeling any better?”

“No—” Pausing to cough roughly, Becker weakly pushed his hand away. “Worse.”

“Worse? Worse how?”

“I feel like I got hit by a bus, that’s how.”

Pursing his lips into a worried frown, Poole furrowed his brow, unfazed by his husband’s sour attitude. 

“That’s less than ideal. I think you might have the flu.” He murmured, then paused, sighing a little. “...I really wish you went and got your flu shot weeks ago like I told you to.”

“Freddie.” Immediately squeezing his eyes shut, Becker groaned miserably and let his head loll back into his pillow. “No nagging, please, my head is fucking killing me.”

Though he rolled his eyes, more than used to his husband’s bad habits when it came to staying healthy, an affectionate, sympathetic look nonetheless took the place of annoyance on Poole’s face.

“Well, lucky for you, I stopped by the pharmacy and got something that’ll help you feel better.” Reaching for the paper bag on the nightstand, Poole produced a bottle of liquid medicine, giving it a couple of gentle shakes. “It’s Nycoldrin, it’s good for congestion and pain. Here, sit up a little.”

Growling a little when he felt his husband slide an arm behind his shoulders to help prop him up, Becker huffed a reluctant sigh, lifting himself into a half-seated position as Poole adjusted his pillow such that it could support him.

“Christ, why can’t you just go back to the office and leave me be?” He grumbled, watching with a weary scowl as Poole carefully prepared a dose of bright red syrup, the sight of it alone turning his already-upset stomach. “You know how much paperwork we’re gonna be behind on?”

“I’m not worried about that right now, I’m worried about you.” Poole countered patiently, shooting him an almost chiding smile. “Believe it or not, caring for my sick husband, whom I love, is pretty high on my list of priorities.”

Setting his jaw in an attempt to maintain a tough front, realizing more and more how much he was relishing being doted on, Becker glanced away. 

“...I don’t need you coddling me.” He rumbled almost inaudibly, and in response Poole merely hummed, pressing the plastic cup of syrup to his lips.

“I know. Swallow.”

Begrudgingly, Becker did as he was told, grimacing at the awful, cloying taste and grunting irritably in complaint. 

“Cherry-flavored asshole— my fucking favorite.”

“It’s not that bad.” Poole objected, giving him an exasperated, albeit vaguely amused look before retrieving the glass of water from the nightstand and handing it to him. “Here, sip.”

Eagerly this time, Becker drank, sipping as instructed and sighing a breath of relief as the ice-cold liquid immediately soothed some of the painful burning in his throat and washed away the lingering aftertaste of the medicine. He hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was, blinking almost dazedly when he found himself draining the whole glass.

“You haven’t had any water today, have you?” Poole observed knowingly, taking back the empty glass and frowning a little when Becker scoffed.

“Lay off, would ya? I’ve been sleeping.”

“Still. Staying hydrated will do you a world of good when you’re this sick.” Setting the glass on the nightstand, Poole stood, then, and eased his husband back down onto his back.

Sighing appreciatively, Becker let himself relax, watching through an increasingly sleepy haze as Poole pulled the covers up to his chest, tucking him in like a child. Though it made him want to roll his eyes, he couldn’t resist savoring the attention, nor could he stop himself from smiling faintly when Poole laid a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Get some rest, now.” He instructed in a tone both firm and affectionate. “I’ll wake you in a few hours with some hot soup.”

“Fine,” Becker mumbled, his eyes sliding shut, though not before he added, very quietly, “...Thanks. Love ya.”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that his husband was smiling, his response coming after a short, fond silence.

“I love you, too.”

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Semicolon

586 words, Attorney AU

TW: Non-violent suicide attempt

Occurs roughly 1 month after Ego Death

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Ira,

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this. I know you said you wanted me out of your life, so when/if this reaches you and you don’t want to read it, that’s okay.

I’m not exactly sure what’s going to happen after tonight— it’s not something I can plan for, but I think I can safely say that you won’t be hearing from me again. I think that makes this a pretty good time to clear the air.

Meeting you was the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. 

We were a disaster waiting to happen. I should have known better. I should have listened to my instincts. I don’t know why I didn’t— that wasn’t like me at all. I guess I wanted you bad enough to try and be something I’m not.

I just had no idea it could hurt so bad. It isn’t at all like people say, or how it looks in movies or books. It isn’t beautiful, or sweet. It is raw and ugly and awful, like being eaten from the inside.

Is that how it’s supposed to feel? Or did I do it all wrong? Maybe I was never meant to feel this way about someone. Maybe I'm not strong enough for it. I guess I’ll never know.

But despite all that, something I realized in the time since we last spoke is that I would gladly do it all over again if I could, even knowing how it ends.

I don’t regret knowing you. Not even a little.

You have the most integrity of anyone I've ever met. You’re fierce. You’re brave. You’re everything I’m not.

You deserve to be happy. You deserve someone strong like you, someone you can trust. Someone who won’t let you down. I wish it could have been me.

And even though I know I was stupid for feeling the way I did about you, I think I’d be more stupid not to. I love you, and I miss you, and I hope that someday you might miss me too, even if just a little bit.

I’m aware that sounds kind of pathetic, but I suppose there isn’t any point in being anything other than honest right now.

That’s all. Thank you for being a part of my life.

I’m sorry I had to complicate things.

—Freddie

—

In his trembling hands, a small mound of white pills sat like pearls. He looked at them for a long time, counting them, thinking about nothing.

He brought them to his mouth, paused, wavered, and drew away. 

It’s not going to hurt. There’s nothing to be scared of.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his eyes.

In front of him, a blanket of sticky notes hid his reflection, crowding the mirror, the bathroom wall, the medicine cabinet, their messages scribbled in shaky blue pen, desperate, fearful.

You'll get through this.

Everything will be okay.

One step at a time.

Though they begged and pleaded, they could not reach him where he was, now, suspended in a moment of eerie calmness, of detachment, and soon the pills were back against his lips, but they would not pass. 

He gagged. He choked. His mouth refused them, again and again and again.

No matter how many times he tried, he could not swallow them. A terrible, frustrated sob tore from his throat, his vision blurring with tears.

He felt his lips moving, saying, I can’t, I can’t, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice.

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A new Feanger Fanfiction in 2022??!!?? It’s more likely than you think!!!!

please enjoy i worked rather hard on this :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43806129

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Someone's gotta crush! 👀 (SUPER short Feanger Oneshot)

I can't find the original message I got requesting this, so I can't remember who submitted the prompt, but it was "Write about how they both realized that they were both crushing on each other"

This is specifically from Fear's side, since I couldn't figure out a way to blend both Fear and Anger into one response.

I'll do Anger's eventually! (I am a very slow writer c':)

Fear wasn’t sure when exactly his feelings for Anger had appeared.

Whether they’d showed up over time or came all at once, he didn’t know— just that the butterflies in his stomach, the heart palpitations and the warm tingles on his skin like the touch of electricity were suddenly there one day, affecting him in a way he couldn’t explain.

They’d started off small, negligible— they were little sparks of warmth in his chest when he made eye contact with Anger, or his heart skipping beats whenever his hand accidentally brushed the other’s. But over time, they grew larger, more vibrant as they bloomed and much more difficult to not notice, making Fear’s heart flutter wildly and his breath catch whenever he caught himself staring, and despite the obvious signs, Fear tried for a little while to pass these new feelings off as nothing but natural symptoms of his anxiety— just the result of increased stress, a lack of sleep, too much caffeine or perhaps a bit of all three. 

Nevertheless, that simply wasn’t it and he knew it from the start, because while Fear was not ignorant, nor was he inattentive to his surroundings, he was above all a terrible liar.

He’d tried his hardest to choke down the comfortable, safe lie that his new feelings were innocuous, that they meant nothing and would eventually go away, but in the end he simply could not convince himself that his heart nearly stopping whenever Anger merely looked in his general direction was nothing but coincidence because the truth was obvious— these feelings were symptoms of being in love.

Naturally, this was very difficult for him to accept— it felt unreal, impossible. Completely ridiculous even, because he’d never imagined himself being in love, nor could he imagine anyone loving him, let alone Anger of all emotions.

Yet here he was, overwhelmed with the sense that he wanted to spend all his time with Anger if he could help it. He loved the sound of his rough voice, he loved the scent of cinnamon, black coffee and smoke that clung to the air around him, he loved the way he commanded respect and authority in everything he did and he even loved the way he furrowed his brow into a tight scowl whenever he was really focusing on something.

To Fear, it was scary— terrifying— just how many things he found himself loving about the emotion that he was pretty sure hated him, how much he found himself craving Anger’s attention and his protection even though he knew he shouldn’t be, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

He was hopelessly, fatally in love. 

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ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʜᴏʀʀɪʙʟᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴜʀꜱᴇ

About 🦇

Kaltxì/Salut/Hi, I'm Wes(per)! I'm a 23 y/o multifandom artist, certifiable vampire expert and software engineer.

Check out my Carrd that's where all my personally identifiable information is

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Main fandom right now is Inside Out - I'm so serious about being the CEO of Feanger if you think you're more insane than I am about them I WILL PROVE YOU WRONG /LH

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