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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Fool’s Rush In

Chapter 18

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Book: TRR AU

Warnings: Language, crude talk, and the usual bad writing.

I had planned from the beginning to end this series after the next chapter and an epilogue, but call me crazy, I love it too much. So while this part of the story will end, I still plan to update with one-shots or stories from time to time. If you’re just done with it, let me know.

Also, this chapter felt a little off to me, so I apologize if it's terrible, but I think I ended on a good note.

Thanks @burnsoslow for prereading.and usage of your girl, who finally got to make her debut.

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"Damn it, Riley! Pick up!" Liam grumbled as he lowered the cell phone from his ear and tossed it in the seat beside him. The royal jet had been in the air for a little over four hours already, and he'd grown frustrated at getting her voice mail each time. Surely, she was home by now.

Even though it was the middle of the night in Las Vegas, it was worth interrupting her. He had tried unsuccessfully to contact Riley since he packed his bags earlier and hastily headed for the airstrip. By this point, there must have been a dozen or so messages left on her phone without so much as a hint she'd gotten them.

While time wasn't an issue -- he'd get to Las Vegas one way or the other -- it was the desperation to hear from his new wife and tell her he knew precisely why she left.

And that he loved her.

Tilting his head back against the headrest, he swiveled side-to-side in his luxury chair while tightly clutching his freshly poured scotch. The security footage he watched earlier that morning replayed in his mind again. There were no doubts about what it showed: Madeleine confronted Riley outside their quarters just minutes after leaving the ball. Without sound, however, no one could ascertain specifically what was said among the two women. It was clear though, Riley was not a willing participant in that conversation. When they saw the disk held up in the Countess' hands, and the look of sheer horror on his pussycat's face, that told Liam all he needed to know. This was a blackmail situation, plain and simple, that included assault; those flowers he found scattered on the ground when he returned to his quarters last night all made sense now. This act was deliberate and treasonous, and Liam would ensure his ex-fiancee paid handsomely for it.

After they viewed the footage several more times, the Royal Guard was immediately summoned to Krona to find Madeleine and take her into custody. Liam knew it was a long shot whether his guards could pull that sting off, but he was working with what he had at the moment.

Despite whatever happened next, there was one thing the King was confident of: He was prepared to give up his entire Kingdom to get his girl back. Returning to Cordonia without her was not an option.

Shaking his tumbler of partially melted ice cubes, Liam leaned forward and steadily poured another bottle of scotch into his glass. As soon as he sat back and raised the fresh beverage to his lips, he was startled by the ringing of his cell phone. In a rush to answer, he hastily set the drink aside and snatched his phone up from where he tossed it earlier.

"Hello! Love?" He answered, hopeful it was her.

"Hey, little brother. Love you too ... Say, do you know if the palace has a Spanish tickler or a breast ripper? Asking for a friend."

Liam furrowed his brows in confusion before rising from his seat, plopping a knee down on its cushioned bottom, and glancing to the back of the plane. "Leo? Why are you calling me? We're on the same damn plane. I'm looking right at you."

"Nevermind that. Listen, I figured out a way to take care of Madeleine once and for all. Behold ..." Leo held up a leather-bound book and waved it over his head while Liam squinted from the front of the plane to get a better look. "... The King Constantine Guide To Fucking Torture In The 21st Century; Father gave it to me after my investiture ceremony. The way I see it, there really is no other option here than to tie her to a tree in front of the palace, invite the public to watch for a modest fee, and do some cool shit with iron rods and spikes. I got dibs on the knee-splitter, though."

"Leo ..." Liam began to warn his brother how ridiculous that plan was before stopping himself and staring off into the distance for a moment in thought. "Wait ... is there anything about flaying in that book?"

"Hell yeah there is! And if you're interested in thumbscrews, my buddy, Pete, has a trunk full of them. He uses them for ass play, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind letting us borrow them to split Maddie's thumbs in half." Leo let out a maniacal laugh.

Liam chuckled, despite the peculiarity of the conversation. "I'm not going to lie and tell you I'm not interested -- to the contrary, actually. And while I appreciate your help in seeing that Madeleine is brought to justice, I think we better stick to more lawful means."

"Boo, you whore!" The line went dead with a click.

Liam held the phone away from his ear, watching Leo sink down into his chair in a huff. "Really?" He called back in agitation. Met with the silent treatment and a middle finger from his disgruntled brother, Liam rolled his eyes, then slumped back down into his seat. Maybe he'd try to call Riley again.

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

The phone on Riley's nightstand buzzed again. She knew it was another call from Liam, and while she felt remorseful for ignoring all of his calls and texts, she couldn't bring herself to look at or answer them quite yet. The sooner all ties between them were broken, she believed, the quicker he could forget all about her and the mess she made of everything.

But even her willpower was slipping. Riley slid her hand out from under the pillow and reached over to pick up her phone. Holding it to her chest, she contemplated for a second just reading his texts and returning his calls, but Madeleine had warned to end all contact with him. Obviously, she was curious about what he had to say, but it was too risky. I'm so sorry, Liam.

Hitting the power button on her cell, the light on the device faded to black before she tossed it in the nightstand drawer.

Early the next morning, Riley's eyes flickered open to the sound of a banging on her front door, followed by the incessant ringing of her doorbell. Feeling exhausted from a lack of sleep, mainly because of crying and unable to think about anything other than how she hurt Liam, Riley decided to ignore it. She just wanted to be left alone, and eventually, they'd give up and leave, right?

Except they didn't.

Annoyed, she let out a sigh and then eased herself up out of bed; the pain in her back was still a problem. Tossing a robe over her body, she slowly made her way down the stairs of her townhome -- each step excruciating -- until she finally made it to the door.

Twisting the lock, she opened the entry door, before letting out a sudden gasp at the tearful person standing on the other side.

"Oh my God, Riley! Y-You're alive! You're really alive!"

"Alyssa?" Riley's best friend from New York pulled her into a relieved hug, nearly sobbing at that point. "What're you doing here?"

"I thought something terrible happened to you, but now that I can see you're still among the living ..." she sniffled before pulling back and narrowing her blazing blue eyes at her friend. "Where have you been? I've been trying to get ahold of you ever since you texted me that you were boarding a plane in Cordonia, and that something serious happened involving Tyler. You promised me you'd call as soon as you landed--"

"I know. I'm so sorry. It was late ..."

" -- and you didn't. Then I worried, even more, when you didn't answer any of my calls back. I had to book the first red-eye flight here to make sure you were all right." Finished with her rant, a huffing Alyssa's jaw immediately clenched. "Now, what did that shithead ex of yours do? I'll kill him if he hurt you, Ri. I might be small, but I'm scrappy like an alleycat. You know I'll claw his eyes out."

Riley let out a light chuckle; Alyssa was always overprotective of her and had a clever way with words, but quickly, that chuckle faded into a teary frown. "Oh, Lyss," she whimpered as her face fell into her hands.

Alyssa quickly wrapped her arms around Riley and pulled her into a warm embrace. "Aww, Riley. Sweetie, it's going to be okay," she soothed.

Stepping inside, Alyssa kicked the door shut and led them both over to the sofa. Sensing Riley was in pain -- and not just emotional -- she helped lower her troubled best friend onto the couch. "I want you to start from the beginning and tell me everything that happened."

The best friends had remained in contact over the last several weeks. It was Alyssa's frantic morning phone call over a month ago that alerted Riley to the news coverage of her impromptu marriage to Liam, having saw it on the news.

And while Alyssa was aware of everything about Cordonia and Liam, and how Riley fit into all that from their prior conversations, she listened intently while it was revealed to her the details of the incident with Madeleine and the video her ex-husband gave to the Countess.

Grabbing a tissue from the end table, Alyssa handed it to Riley. "So this cow confronted you with that disgusting video and basically blackmailed you into leaving, or she would release it to the press?" Riley nodded somberly.."Ugh, I want this treasonous bitch thrown in the dungeon, subjected to live-streamed daily anal fistings with giant Hulk gloves ... And Tyler, I want to break every bone in his rotten body, one at a time. And I want to leave him there afterwards, dripping just enough water on his lips, so he doesn't die of dehydration, screaming in agony for the weeks it will take to die of starvation."

Riley's face scrunched up. "God, Alyssa."

Alyssa shrugged. "What? I don't care; it's what they deserve for hurting you. Did you at least tell Liam what happened?"

This time, Riley shook her head. "No. Madeleine warned me if I told him, she would release the video, and then the council would likely force him to step down. I won't allow him to lose everything for someone like me."

Irritated, Alyssa pressed a palm to her forehead. "Why are you like this?"

"Like, what?" Riley asked in exasperation.

"That whole, 'someone like me,' part. He wanted to stay married to you. He made you the queen of his country. You've said he couldn't keep his goddamn hands off you for two seconds. And more importantly, you told me you have never felt more loved in your life, than you do when you're with him. The fact that you still question your worthiness to him blows my mind."

Alyssa reached for Riley's shaky hand, able to tell by the tears sliding down her cheeks and the soft whimpers that she'd touched on something. "You're his pussycat, Riley. Liam already lost everything when you left him. Tell me you know that."

Riley wiped at her face., her voice stifled, "I just wanted to protect him."

"I know." Alyssa smiled softly. "But you needed to give him the chance to decide what he wanted. You made it for him because you know he'd choose you, regardless if he lost everything else; that's how much he loves you, Ri. You can't protect someone who loves you by hurting them. Besides, he's the King; he can simply execute the council if he wants to -- Liam’s not going anywhere."

"You just HAD to add that last part in, didn't you?" Riley laughed, feeling a sense of ease as her mood lightened. It felt good to talk to someone who could help her make sense of everything and realize she hadn’t exactly made the best call by leaving and not telling Liam what happened. "But what do I do about this video? What if Madeleine releases it to the public?"

"Yeah, a video of a married woman having sex with her husband -- Oh, the shame!" she retorted. "Look, you'll be famous on Pornhub for a few weeks, and it'll fizzle out. I know that doesn't make it all better, but you have a lot of people who love you ... we'll be there for you if that happens. Besides, it's Gonzo Dick; I doubt anyone will wanna watch anyway."

Riley snorted out at the nickname she gave her ex-husband. "Stop making me laugh."

Alyssa cracked a grin. "Nah. If I can make you laugh at that asshole's expense and his crooked dick, then it's worth it."

"Well,” she breathed, “ I suppose I should get dressed and call Liam. Tell him what happened, and hopefully, he'll … forgive .." her voice trailed off at tasting an increasing collection of bile in her throat and a familiar rumble in her stomach.

“What’s wrong?”

Riley frowned. "Damn it, why do I keep getting sick?"

After rushing to the bathroom with Alyssa's help, Riley came out moments later, flushed and perspiring. Alyssa, who waited outside the door to make sure she was all right, eyed her friend with grave concern. "Ri, are you sure you don't have a concussion? You said that Madeleine caused you to fall, and you complained you’ve been getting sick a lot. Is there any chance you hit your head too?"

Riley considered for a moment before shaking her head. "I don't think so. I mean, it all happened so fast I don't really remember, but my head doesn't hurt."

"OH NO! You have memory loss too, on top of the vomiting and a hurt back? Riley, you need to go to the hospital now. This is serious."

"Alyssa, I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital," Riley dismissed and hobbled past her friend toward the kitchen. "You always worry too much."

Alyssa followed behind her, brows bumped together in a scowl. "Because you're a stubborn ass who never listens, that's why. You need to get checked out," she insisted. Riley paid no attention as made her way to the fridge; that reaction only served to piss Alyssa off. "You can ignore me all you want, but you know as well as I do, I'll just keep annoying the hell out of you until you do it … I'll sing every Dave Matthews song ever written -- On repeat."

Riley shut the fridge door and turned at the threat, giving her a dismayed glare. "You wouldn't."

Alyssa tilted her chin. "You know damn well I would. I have... so much to say, so much to say, so much --"

"Please stop! I'm going."

---------

At Valley Hospital and Medical Center, Drake sat slumped down in the waiting room of the E.R; a thawed ice pack covered his crotch. His increasingly irritated self caught sight of a nurse escorting yet another patient back for examination. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Tired of waiting, he cast the ice pack aside and marched straddle-legged to the triage desk where a beefy nurse with a scowl sat filing her nails. "How much longer is this gonna take?" He demanded bitterly.

The nurse remained focused on her nails and answered in a careless fashion. "You'll get called back when it's your turn, Mr. Walker."

"My turn? MY TURN? I've been here for 15 fucking hours waiting for my turn. I've watched one person after the next walk right in, get treated, and leave. Whose ass do I actually have to lick to get treatment around here?"

Unimpressed with his theatrics, she folded her arms on the desk and looked up at Drake with a glower. "Look. You got kicked in the wang by a hooker. Shit happens. It's not the end of the world. Go home, have a beer, and a good laugh. You'll live." She resumed her filing.

Drake ran both hands through his rumpled hair, letting out a sardonic laugh. "I cannot fucking believe you just said that to me. I suffer trauma on my transplanted dick, and the greatest healthcare minds in the world tell me to have a beer and laugh about it?" his voice shrieked.

The nurse blew on her nails. "That's what I said."

That snarky remark sent him even further over the edge. A red-faced Drake pounded two white-knuckled fists on the desk and leaned down into her space. "Now you listen here, lady. I demand to be seen right now, or so help me, I'll tear this whole goddamn place apart brick-by-fucking-brick! Do you understand me?"

Having none of that, the nurse, who was several inches taller than a startled Drake expected, sprung for her chair and loomed over him menacingly. Drake flinched when she rammed the nail file at him and threatened, "Now, you listen.You can either sit your ass down, or I will sit you down. Do you understand me?"

He didn't understand. He would never understand.

A security guard who heard the commotion casually approached the agitated pair and placed a firm hold on Drake's elbow. "Do we have a problem here, Betty Lou?"

She shook her head, sizing Drake up. "No, just some whiny-ass Karen griping about his dick."

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

Several moments later, Alyssa and Riley exited an Uber and wandered into the waiting area, making their way up to the triage line -- or what they thought was a line. It was actually Drake still standing there, continuing to protest his case to anyone who would listen and demanding to speak to someone in charge.

While Riley dug through her purse to retrieve her health insurance card, Alyssa couldn't help but be taken in by the fiery debacle taking place in front of them. She inched a little closer, unable to help herself; it was good drama and sucked her right in.

Catching a glimpse of Drake’s sour face, she cocked her head introspectively; there was something oddly familiar about the man in the denim shirt going off. Alyssa tapped her chin. Where have I seen him before?

Before long, the realization set in, and her eyes snapped wide open. She nudged Riley with an elbow and leaned over, whispering, "Hey, isn't that the guy from the news who had the penis transplant? It looks just like him."

Knowing precisely who that was by the description, Riley popped her head up to look. She hadn't known Drake well, only that he was Liam's best friend, and after having spent time together on the plane ride to Cordonia with him, that her maid-of-honor had given him several venereal diseases. "Drake?" she called out.

While Alyssa zoned in on his groin, curious as to what was in there, Drake broke away from the dispute and turned his focus toward the familiar-sounding voice. She was a connection to home and a long-sought-after friendly face. "Riley? Liam's insta-bride, Riley?"

She let out a light chuckle and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose that's how you would know me ... What are you doing at the hospital? Is your body rejecting the ..." Her embarrassed gaze dropped lower with a gulp. " ... thing?"

"No!" he barked. "I just got attacked by that ... uh, someone."

"You got attacked?" Shocked, Riley placed a hand over her chest. "Why would someone attack you? Are you okay?"

Feeling incensed by the memory, Drake shook his head and muttered. "It's a long story ... What about you? What are you doing here? Thought you were in Cordonia with Liam?"

She inhaled a deep breath through her nostrils and forced a smile. "It's a long story too."

Drake peeked over his shoulder at Nurse Ratchet, giving him a gimlet-eyed stare from behind her computer screen. He groused and turned to face Riley again. "I've got time."

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

Nearly 12 hours after takeoff, the royal jet touched down in sunny Las Vegas, an hour ahead of schedule. Liam and Leo stepped off the plane and strolled across the tarmac to the awaiting vehicle, where a smiling man held the rear passenger door open.

"Bastien," Liam greeted as he approached. "Good to see you again."

"Your Majesty." He bowed. "Likewise ... I have the rental car you requested, and the Queen's address is already programmed into the GPS. Should take no more than 30 minutes to get there."

"Perfect,” he replied, clapping Bastien’s shoulder.“Thanks for having everything ready to go."

Liam had contacted the head guard -- who was still jailed for non-support -- and gained him a day-long pass to provide security detail. Bastien was also to stay in contact with his guards to oversee the capture and detainment of Madeleine.

Bastien took their bags, and the brothers hopped into the back of the Escalade. Once they pulled away from the airport, the directions led the group west. The head guard glanced briefly in the rearview mirror as he drove on. “I want to thank you for giving me a second chance. It’s nice to be out of that place, even if just for the day.”

Liam smiled back. “Not a problem, good man. I can’t think of anyone else I trust more for the job than you … though I’m not sure why. Anyway, do you have any updates on the Madeleine situation?”

“Yes, sir. I contacted my colleagues again just before you arrived. Countess Madeleine was taken by surprise when our guards arrived at her family estate in Krona. Once in custody, she was immediately transported to Valtoria for detention, exactly as you requested.”

"That's terrific news ... Wait ...Did you say, Valtoria?" Liam asked with puzzlement in his tone.

"Yes, sir. As you requested."

"Man, please tell me Mads tried to fight them off, and they had to use the taser on her," Leo insisted as he held his crossed fingers in the air. "A billy club ... a rubber hose ... something."

"There may have been a brief verbal exchange and some threats, but the Countess promised if they permitted access to her computer to send a quick email, she would go with them peacefully and without further protest. There didn't seem to be any harm in doing so, and she followed through with her word. Sorry to break it to you, Prince Leo, but no tasers were harmed in her capture."

"Well, fiddle shit." Leo glanced over at his brother --who was still scratching his head -- in disappointment. "If only I'd been able to get that shock collar on her while I was engaged to her, you wouldn't be in this mess right now. She just squirmed too much. I’m sorry I let you down, little brother."

"It's fine, Leo; it's not the first time,” Liam said dryly before turning his head away from Leo to face the front again. "Can we get back to Madeleine being taken to Valtoria? I never requested that. An accused of the Crown is always placed in the palace dungeon. There aren't even cells in Valtoria to hold her in. What am I missing here?"

Approaching a stoplight, Bastien lightly pressed the brakes, then met Liam’s gaze in the mirror. “The orders I was given to pass along to the guards from you earlier were clear in your text: Once she’s taken into custody, she is to be sent to Valtoria and placed in the cage with the monkey until further notice. That’s what they --”

“Mongo! They put her in the cage with Mongo?” Liam exploded before pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing there was no point in asking how that message got mixed up. “Goddamn it, Leo! Why are you, you, sometimes?” He ran a swift hand down his face and turned to glare at his brother. “Do you realize they consider that cruel and unusual punishment? Did you ever stop to consider how much shit I'm going to hear over this if this gets out?" He let out a sharp breath and threw his hands in the air."How? How did you do it?"

"It's simple pimple, Liam. When you went to the bathroom, I grabbed your phone," he replied bluntly with a shrug. "And according to page 24 of Father's torture book: It's not considered cruel and unusual punishment, as long as she has food, water, and clean shelter -- which she does. Or ... if she's housed with a member of the royal family -- which she is. Mongo is the heir to the throne, so we've got that covered too. So just relax, little bro; Leo’s got it all taken care of for you."

Liam dropped his chin to his chest, then let out a weary breath. “Bastien, call the guards and have them move her to the palace at once.”

As Bastien placed the call, Liam shifted in his seat so that he was staring out the window. He put a palm over his mouth to conceal the curved lips that formed a devilish grin, trying to contain the unbearable urge to bust out laughing. Oh, Maddie ... I hope you and Mongo had one hell of a time together.

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

Back at the hospital, Riley situated herself on the gurney while a nurse prepared to check her vitals and ask general health questions.

In the next bay over, separated by a thin sliding curtain, Drake was finally attended to after Riley reluctantly, but willfully, played up her celebrity status. Once she threatened to have the hospital shut down -- which she doubted was even possible on her end -- the proverbial red carpet was rolled out for both of them; she was still a queen, afterall.

Steps were then taken to ensure they both received the royal treatment, so to speak. That wasn’t typically how Riley preferred to handle situations; she hated big fusses over her. But in the end, she did help one of Liam’s oldest friends finally get the medical attention he needed, so it was worth trying.

The blood pressure cuff on Riley’s arm squeezed tighter just as one of the doctors stepped inside and slid the curtain all the way closed. His cheerful greeting drew Riley's fixed gaze away from the changing numbers on the monitor beside her bed, and she smiled up at him.

The doctor was tall and thin, with thick spectacles perched near the tip of his nose. He gave a brief nod to Alyssa, who was sitting in a chair at Riley’s bedside, rubbing her shoulder. Scanning the patient chart, he spoke without looking up, "Queen Riley, it says here you suffered a fall?"

"I'm just Riley, please," she requested.

The doctor looked up from the paperwork and nodded with an understanding smile. "Of course."

After the initial exam concluded, Alyssa remained behind after the doctor ordered x-rays and transport had wheeled Riley down to radiology.

Bouncing her crossed leg as she scrolled through her phone, Alyssa tried to bide her time until Riley returned. An air conditioning vent overhead that she didn’t realize drowned out so much noise around her, suddenly flipped off. Able to catch the conversation on the other side of the curtain better, she listened with a broken heart as Drake reluctantly described to an attending, the worst days of his life. Alyssa shuddered as he recalled the moment his penis fell off, rolled across the bed, and dropped onto Ethan Ramsey’s leather shoe during an exam. “That poor man. I just want to hug him,” she muttered.

Her little ears perked when the doctor mentioned he was “going to have a look at it.” In her curious mind, there were no doubts that she was too. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a peek at the first transplant of its kind; no way was she going to miss out on that.

Alyssa slid to the edge of her seat and raised her hand to up to the curtain, easing a tiny portion of it aside. Her blue eyes crinkled with frustration at a nurse who was blocking her view. “Move your ass,” she whispered to herself.

Unable to get a good view, she gave up that spot and eyed the other opening in the curtain at the far end of the room. Sliding off her chair to a crouching position on the floor, Alyssa crab-walked as fast as she could without falling off balance until she made it to the other side. Crooking a stealthy finger along the seam of the curtain, she hoped and prayed Drake’s genital exam wasn’t through yet. What her eyes saw on that gurney when she pulled the fabric aside caused her heart to jolt out of her chest.

Alyssa cupped a hand over her gaping mouth before stepping back and letting the curtain fall loosely shut again. Dropping her hand limply at her side, staring blankly at nothing, she mouthed, “Oh. My. God.”

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

Down in the radiology department, Riley sat patiently in her wheelchair, waiting for the tech to return to take the x-rays. Enjoying the lighter feeling of having an empty bladder again, she let out a contented sigh; she was about to bust earlier. That mandatory urine sample couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.

Left alone to ruminate in her thoughts, Riley wondered about those phone calls she ignored last night from Liam. The regret she felt over her actions the last 26 hours continued to mount up. And it took a heart-to-heart with her best friend to really put things into perspective. Her decisions weren’t the best course to take, even if they were done with the most loving of intentions.

There was a lot to make up to Liam, and she only hoped that it wasn’t too late. Could he even forgive her for all of it?

She wished he was there with her right now. If she knew him the way she thought she did, he’d be standing around telling inappropriate jokes to make her laugh or embarrass her with his silly antics. It was like Liam could be two different people sometimes: Kingly and stoic around everyone else, but the second it was just him alone with her, he was such a big kid. Somehow, she could bring out his true self; the one where he felt comfortable enough to be silly and playful. And as much as she tried to play them off, those little pet names he gave her -- she chuckled to herself as they popped into her head -- were funny. What the hell even was a knucklehead mcspazzatron?

“Miss Brooks” Riley shook herself of her thoughts as the x-ray tech returned and made her way over. “I apologize that took so long.”

Riley smiled up at her. “No need to apologize… Are you ready for me now?”

“Not exactly,” she teased in such a cheery tone, Riley slightly lowered her eyelids, holding her gaze. “You most likely won’t be getting x-rays today, sweetie.” She held a fisted hand out to Riley and opened her palm to reveal the small object inside. “You’re pregnant.”

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

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#fools rush in #liam x mc #liam x riley #king liam #prince liam #the royal romance #trr #choices fanfiction #bbrandy2002

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softspiderling · 5 years

Text

no air | p.p.

anonymous said:

How about 33 with peter!

→ 33. An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it from this prompt list

Summary: Short breath, panic flooding through the veins, sweat trickling down the sides. Peter knew the symptoms of a panic attack just all too well after a fight with a certain villain from space. Didn’t mean he knew how to prevent them, though. Luckily, you were by his side to help.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Song I listened to while writing: No Air by Jordin Sparks feat. Chris Brown

Author’s Note: whooops this turned out angstier than it was supposed to, y’all can probably tell that this was inspired by Stydia’s first kiss. Also this was supposed to be uploaded on Saturday, but the past few days have been crazy, so today it is.

Warnings: post-endgame, mentions of a panic attack

Word Count: 1,1k

Peter was swaying on his feet as he landed on the fire escape in front of his bedroom window. It was a particular rough night patrolling, with several attempted muggings, a fire breaking out in a communal building and a cat that was stuck on a tree.

It was needless to say that Peter was exhausted. He pulled the mask off his face and pushed the window open before slipping inside, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“May,” He called out, pressing the spider emblem on his chest and letting the suit drop to the floor.

“I am home!”

No reply.

Peter pulled on some sweats and grabbed a sweatshirt before he padded into the hallway.

“May? You home?”

Stepping into the living room, he stilled at the scene that was in front of him: clothes strewn around, the chairs looked like they were kicked over and there was a broken vase on the floor.

He frowned and eyed the floor, his breath hitching in his throat when he saw bloods of drop on the wooden floor.

“May!” Peter called out again, his voice breaking.

“No no no no no, not again. Not May!”

His breath started coming up short and he was clutching his chest, his eyes wide in panic.

He just lost Mr. Stark, he couldn’t bear losing someone else.

“MAY!”

He yelled out, crumbling to the floor, feeling helpless. His lungs were getting tighter and there was a ringing in his ear that couldn’t seem to stop. Peter felt like his head was going to explode any minute. When the door was thrown open, he winced and curled into a ball, covering his eyes as you stormed inside, panic written across your face.

You had been in the living room of your apartment, doing some late night homework when you heard Peter yelling out in panic. Since Tony Stark’s passing, it was fairly common that Peter would fall victim to panic attacks, and you somehow always ended up being the one who could snap him out of it.

“Peter? What’s wrong?” You asked and he stared at you, gasping for air.

“May- gone- can’t- breathe,” he gasped out and your eyes scanning over his face, moving him gently into a sitting position, hoping it would help him breathe.

“Okay okay, I want to help you but you need to breathe for me, okay?”

Peter nodded and tried to relax his breathing, but the only thing he could think about was May and Mr. Stark’s face as he took his last breath before succumbing to his wounds.

“I can’t,” He choked out and tears started to fill his eyes.

You knew it was only going to get worse with any second that passed, so you just leaned forward and pressed your lips against his, hoping you were doing the right thing.

His eyes widened and his breath stopped for a second before you pulled away. Peter let out a soft breath and you smiled wryly at him.

“You okay now?”

He nodded and his fingers touched his lips gingerly.

“You kissed me,” he said softly and you ducked your head.

“We learned in AP biology that holding your breath could stop a panic attack. And, uh, when I kissed you, you held your breath,” you explained and his cheeks tinged a faint pink.

“I did?”

You pressed your lips together in a smile, and nodded.

Peter smiled softly, in awe of your intelligence and the cool head you had kept in a stressful situation, before he remembered the cause of his panic attack, getting back on his feet.

“I need to find Aunt May.”

“What happened anyway?” You asked, concerned for the warm and loving neighbor of yours, knowing she was one of the only people Peter had left.

“I don’t know, I just got home from patrolling and I couldn’t find her anywhere and then I find this?” He gestured around the trashed living room, pacing nervously.

“I think she might have been taken,” Peter concluded and you nodded, exhaling softly.

“Okay do you want me to call the police or-“

“Why do you guys want to call the police?”

Your and Peter’s heads whipped towards the source of the voice and May was standing in the doorway of the apartment, which you had left open in the haste of getting to Peter.

“Aunt May!” Peter called out and rushed to her, throwing his arms around his aunt.

“Are you okay Peter?” She asked, full of concern while she was rubbing his back in comfort.

Apart from her frizzy hair and disheveled clothing, May looked like she was fine.

“Peter thought you were kidnapped when he got home to this trashed apartment,” you told her and her face fell, squeezing Peter tighter.

“I should have cleaned up before I left. Sorry I made you worry, Peter,” May said gently and he pulled away, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater.

“‘s fine as long as you’re okay,” Peter mumbled and gave his aunt a shaky smile. It was obvious that he was still not a 100 percent calmed down, but he was on his way.

“Alright, I’m going to get us some food after this crazy mess, Pete, do you mind cleaning up while I go pick up some food?” May asked, clapping into her hands.

Peter nodded and you smiled at May. “Get me a big portion of lasagna and I’ll help Peter clean up.”

“You got it!” May clacked with her teeth, shooting a finger gun at you and disappeared out of the door.

The two of you started cleaning up the living room one by one, exchanging shy smiles during, but no one spoke a word. It was when you were stacking the books back, that Peter bumped your shoulder with yours gently.

“So… You kissed me.”

“It helped you snap out of it, didn’t it?” you asked, with a glance to him.

He nodded and gave you a soft smile. “It did. But, uh. I can think of at least five other ways of getting me to hold my breath, and kissing is definitely not in the top five. Unless…”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Unless what?”

“Unless you’ve already thought of kissing me.”

You scoffed, but the flush on your cheeks gave you away.

Peter chuckled and ducked his head, before he straightened his back.

“Do you maybe want to go out with me sometime? Like a date?”

Your eyes widened at the question, but you nodded quickly.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot,” you told him and he smiled brightly at you, pecking you on the lips briefly.

You giggled, before you grabbed him by the sweatshirt to pull him closer for another kiss.

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destinyhixon-blog · 5 years

Photo

I have sat down to write this several times, and the only words that keep coming to mind are “Holy sh*t. I did this. I finally, finally DID THIS.”

WPPI GRAND MASTER.

To explain to the muggles out there (that’s non-photography folk), WPPI is “the largest show for professional, amateur and emerging wedding and portrait photographers and filmmakers, drawing attendees from all over the world for 4 days of conference, content and business building interaction.”* It’s a convention that I’ve been attending for eighteen years. It’s a place where I’ve met friends, friends who became loves, loves who became family. It’s a hectic, batshit crazy adrenaline rush of a week with classes, parties, meet-ups, competitions, camaraderie, trade show wanderings, and so very much more.

In short, it’s one of the best weeks of the year.

I went to WPPI for the first time when I was a brand new photographer. I knew maybe two people attending, had no idea who any of the speakers were, didn’t even know what the classes were all about, but I hopped that plane to Vegas from Florida ready to learn it all. I went back the next year, when I was pregnant. I went back the next year, and the year after that, and the years after that. I learned. I made friends. I met my husband in a hallway en route to some social event or another. I met contacts at the trade show that are dear collaborators and supporters of my business to this day. Every industry friend that I have can be traced somehow back to WPPI.

I began speaking and teaching there. First small classes, then to larger ballrooms. I stepped foot on a demo stage at the trade show for the first time at WPPI, graduating to bigger stages, culminating in being a speaker for Canon USA. I fumbled with my words, my keynotes, my ability to translate technical ability into tangible takeaways for class attendees.

I also started entering print competition.

What is that? Well, to also borrow words from WPPI’s website , “WPPI’s The Annual: 16×20 Print, Album and Filmmaking competition is the most prestigious wedding, portrait and print competition in the world, and the capstone event of the WPPI Conference + Show, with an awards ceremony honoring the most illustrious photographers of the year, many of whom spend their entire year preparing for this competition. The competition culminates with live judging at WPPI’s yearly conference and a gallery exhibition at the show taking place in Las Vegas. Prizes include the Grand Awards and crystal trophies.”

Every year I took the time to sort through my images from the year prior, culling and culling again to get that final dozen or so of the best of the best. The images that made my heart sing. The images that depicted the decisive moment. The best light, best pose, best examples of my technical and artistic ability. I had them printed, packed them with gentle hands into their shipping cases, sent them to Vegas, crossed my fingers, and lived and died over the two days of judging until I saw how I did.

Sometimes I did well. My scores were great, I won awards, I managed to get two coveted Grand Awards, I gave some speeches, my trophy case grew. Sometimes I did terribly, and I’d find myself hiding in a Vegas bathroom stall angrily wiping at my eyes with tissues until the hurt of a bad score stopped stinging. Sometimes the yearly glass of champagne post-awards ceremony that I shared with my friend Justine was a glass of celebration, sometimes a “we blew it this year” drink of misery.

But you know what? Every good score, every bad score, every lovingly assembled print case – it all made me better. A better photographer, year after year. A better teacher and educator, as I balanced between entrant and judge. A better human being. A more sympathetic creator of images. A more careful holder of the frantically beating hearts of every other entrant who put their feelings and their work on the line when they dared to share their work with a panel of judges.

There is an Honors of Excellence point system with the WPPI competition. Your top four scoring entries (no matter how many you enter) go towards your Honors of Excellence point total. I could tell you about how the point system works, or you could just read it here – their site describes it better than I ever could. Your points and “wins” help you rise up through the WPPI Titles and Designations, which are:

  5 points = Associate of WPPI title.

15 additional points (for a total of 20+ points) = Master of WPPI title.

15 additional points (for a total of 35+ points) = Double Master of WPPI title.

15 additional points (for a total of 50+ points accumulated) = Triple Master of WPPI title.

15 additional points (for a total of 65+ points accumulated) = Grand Master of WPPI title. NOTE: In order to actually receive the Grand Master of WPPI, the member must have also received 5 gold awards or above and at least 1 Grand Award from The Annual: 16×20 Print, Album and Filmmaking Competition (past Premiere Grand Awards don’t count) at some point during their time in the program. The Grand Master of WPPI title holds a lot of prestige. It will be difficult to obtain because of the amount of skill and longevity that is needed to achieve it. But it is still attainable enough to encourage members to work towards that title. No one who earns this award will be unworthy of it—they will have earned it over a number of years and with consistently highest scoring prints.

I have been entering The Annual: 16×20 Print, Album and Filmmaking Competition since 2007. I have entered a total of 107 prints. I have lived, died, breathed, cried, rage-screamed, and cartwheeled over my cases of images every single year.

And this year, I became a Grand Master.

I am only the seventh person in WPPI history to do this. The second woman. And the first and only female wedding photographer.

To say I am overwhelmed is a vast understatement.

Here are some of the 107 images over the years that have helped me reach this point:

When the award was given to me at the Awards Ceremony on one of the final nights of the convention, I completely blacked out once I got up out of my chair to accept it. You see, my dear friend Melissa is the one who reads out the designations, and she’d crafted a speech that I had not been prepared to hear. It was eloquent and beautiful, spoke of me so kindly, and reduced me to a mess of tears.

Here is the aforementioned choke-crying that I was doing at this point – thank you to Gerardo Soto for capturing this so sweetly:

I am a very, very private person. My personal life is just that – personal, mine, quiet. I have tried for a long time to separate my personal life from my professional life, and I am aware that sometimes that can make me appear a little cold, a little apart, a little hard to get to know. I keep my husband and my children in a quiet place, because they’re mine-all-mine, and I don’t open up very often outside my social circle. I keep my heart to myself, it’s been kicked too many times in this difficult industry, so I hold it tight and share it infrequently. I value my reputation too much to let too much out, and as an unfortunate result, I also don’t let too much in.

It’s a long standing joke at WPPI that I don’t go to parties – and if I do? I can usually be found in a corner trying to read a book, or as an example from this year, hiding literally on the floor behind a bar. As in, tucked under a friend’s arm on the floor just away. And when there were too many people, I bolted for the quiet of a nearly empty restaurant and the dear sweetness of conversation with close friends.

However? Even though I spend a lot of time running from large gatherings, the love that I have for this industry and the people in it is so huge that sometimes it cracks me open and pours out of my eyes.

And sometimes, not often but sometimes, I am at a loss for words. I didn’t prepare a speech on awards night when that huge crazy trophy was put into my hands, I stumbled through a huge knot in my throat and a burning desire to fall into the arms of those I love and cry it out. Therefore, I left out a lot of people who needed thanking, and I wanted to take some time to put it all into words so those words will live on a lot longer than a grainy iphone video of me mumbling at a microphone ever could.

So here we go. From the beginning. With all the thanks this heart can humanly hold:

My parents, Bill and Joyce. For sending me off to theatre school without once asking “How will you make money from this?” For saying “That sounds like a good idea” when I started a photography business. For being the actual best parents that anyone has ever had – go ahead and try to fight me on this, you’ll lose.

Mitch Stripling, who made my first website and told me to go. To do it already. Who held up our family when I didn’t have a real job. Who let me turn our garage into a studio. For this and a thousand other reasons, always.

My daughters, Emma and Olivia. Who are everything. EVERYTHING. My beautiful stepdaughters, Samantha and Alison. I celebrate the four of you, the amazing women you are becoming, the incredible forces you are.

Bill Hurter, Arlene Evans, and George Varanakis. Who gave me a stage, put me in my place when I needed it, held me when I cried in the hallway over one particular print that scored badly, gave me opportunities, took a chance on me, and gave me more than you could ever, ever imagine. Bill, you are so missed. Arlene and George, you are my family forever.

Tony Hewitt, who taught me to judge. Not just with my brain and my heart, but with the kindness and love in my words and my manner. Pete Wright, who guided our panel so beautifully this year. The kind hearts that I have judged with over the years – the love and care that you so passionately feel for every single image is palpable, and it’s been an honor to work by your side for the good of the prints and the love we all have for our industry.

Dan Neri and the team at Canon USA, who have given me the most inexplicably enormous honor of my career. Being an Explorer of Light is a literal dream come true, and I cannot thank you for how you’ve quite literally changed my life. I hope I do you proud.

My fellow Explorers of Light. You awe me on the daily.

Aaron, George, and Craig who helped The Wedding School become what it is today. Thank you, thank you.

The photographers I have taken workshops from, admired from afar, learned from online, and respected for years. From my very first time in the studio of Dina Ivory in Tallahassee to reveling in the mastery of the likes of Ben Shirk and Lola Melani, you have all raised me up. I hope that I have been able to do a fraction of that for other photographers. You all mean so much.

Rocco Ancora, the glorious joy of a human who has printed my images for the past many, many competitions. Not only does he inspire me to be a better photographer, he continually reminds me what it is to be a gracious, good-hearted human. And by extension, the exquisite Tanya. Who is, quite literally, a ray of sunshine.

Sandra Krauss, the loveliest friend and studio manager in the world. She holds Susan Stripling Photography together, and has quite literally held me together for over a decade.

The vendors that have transcended vendor-ship to become friends. Fundy, Tave, Cloudspot, Finao, Good Gallery, and far too many more to count. You’ve trusted me with your business and I’ve trusted you with mine, and we’ve become family along the way.

The Grand Masters who have come before me, and taught me so many, many ridiculously incredible things. Being on a list with you – Jennifer, Jerry, Rocco, everyone – it’s hilarious that anyone would rank my name next to yours. Jerry, you’ve been a dear friend from the beginning and I’ll snuggle on a beanbag with you any day of the week. Ryan, you’re my favorite person to awkwardly share a wedding with, and seeing your images forces me to raise my own bar every time I pick up a camera.

My friends. The people who have come and gone. The people who have been there from the beginning. The table of lunatics who exploded in screams and cried and forgot to take video on awards night, the ones who screamed and danced from afar, you know who you are. I��ve eaten mochi with you, cried in your arms, shopped with you, hidden from parties with you, danced in weird bars with you at 2am and then fled when we recognized people, eaten pizza in our pajamas while wearing a Hogwarts robe, laughed hysterically in hallways, stayed in your homes, had you stay in mine, argued with you, collaborated with you, and texted with you late into the night. You know how dearly I love you, trust you with my heart, and love you for all the amazingness you put into the world, all you do to raise up women, to do the work, to be pioneers for change, to be trustworthy beautiful people. I love you, I love you.

And lastly, at the very end, when all of my words are never enough – my husband, Cliff Mautner. In the overwhelming fear of sounding foolish while crying and speaking at the awards ceremony, I omitted his name from my list of thanks. As I’ve said before, I’m private to a fault with my personal life, and my fear of embarrassment while stumbling over my words led way to not mentioning my own husband. Cliff was an inspiration to me as a photographer before he was anything more on a personal level. We met when I was a very young photographer who couldn’t master backlight or one single speedlite off camera, stumbling to make my visions a reality. He helped me become the photographer I am today, and there is no way that I’d be the human that I am without him by my side. We make each other better in so many ways, and the heart-shattering thanks that I have to him for being my partner, my love, and my confidant is simply impossible to convey in words other than I love you. And I do, and I will. Every day. The end.

Thank you all for reading this far, I know it’s a lot. But receiving this Grand Master distinction is about more than just entering print competition and racking up scores. It’s about the family that has surrounded me for years, that family that WPPI has brought me, the loves and heart-explosions and surprises along the way. It’s about over a decade of my career spent chasing a goal that has bettered me in thousands of ways.

I’ve been told that I’m an inspiration to female photographers, to photographers in general, to business owners, to people trying to navigate this difficult industry. If I am, it’s only because of everyone mentioned above, this blindingly beautiful community, this gorgeous world.

Thank you. Thank you.

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