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holly-the-trash-writer · 1 year

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Guilt

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/n lies unconscious in a hospital bed while Spencer drowns in guilt. You had felt that Spencer was cheating on you with Maeve and were going to stay with someone else before you got shot. Finding this out causes Spencer to snap and lash out at one of his closest friends.

Part 2

Word Count: 2,866

A/N: This has been a WIP for years! It was apart of a series with my own OC but I decided to change it to a Reader fic. The amount of WIPs I have is ridiculous!!!!!

Spencer sat at Y/n's hospital bed in silence. Tears were continuously streaming down his face, his breaths were shaky and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your unmoving face.

There was a tube coming out of your mouth to help your breathing. So many different wires were coming out of your body and attached to multiple beeping machines.

He was holding your right hand in both of his, your skin wasn’t freezing cold but it was colder than he prefers it to be.

You had only came out of surgery half an hour ago but they won’t know if it was successful until you wake up. Which could be between the next few seconds and never.

Never was something Spencer was trying his hardest not to think about.

There was so much he needed to tell you. So many things he had to say.

The last time you were together you had fought. You told him that he’s been speaking to Maeve too much and that he's been ignoring you. Spending more time with this woman.

Spencer had told you that you were being ridiculous and then you had to go on a case and Spencer never got the chance to talk anymore about it.

You had been furious at him and now Spencer was angry at himself as well.

He had called you ridiculous for coming to him about your feelings. This resulted in you refusing to be his partner in the field. Which led to you going with Morgan. Which ended in you getting shot.

This is when Spencer’s brain began connecting things that didn’t match up.

If he had listened to you he could’ve gotten you out of harm’s way.

Not speaking to Maeve meant you wouldn’t have fought and you never would’ve been shot.

He was supposed to protect you.

It should be him lying there. Not his sweet girl.

There was a knock on the door and Spencer barely reacted as Garcia and Emily came in.

“Hey, how is she doin’?” Emily asked softly.

Spencer turned his head a little towards them, “She... uh.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before trying again, “They said everything went well but we won’t know the damage until she wakes up.”

Garcia's eyes watered as she stared at your body. “When will she wake up?”

Spencer's eyes filled with tears, a sad smile forming as he squeezed your hand, “When she’s ready.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to see that it was Maeve.

Again.

Along with the twenty missed calls from Maeve.

He rubbed his eyes before pressing answer, “Spencer Reid.”

“Oh my God. Spencer, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Are you alright?”

This statement didn’t sit well in his stomach.

If you miss an appointment with your doctor, they don’t leave twenty missed calls on your phone.

They wait for you to reschedule.

He glanced at the other two women who were trying their best not to listen in. Although Garcia was looking particularly peeved about something.

Then he glanced down at you and any words he was going to say to Maeve turned to ash in his mouth. He felt sick.

Now he understood what you meant.

“Now, isn’t a good time. I’ll call you next week.” He didn’t wait for a response before he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

Garcia shifted uncomfortably, “Was... was that her?”

“Who?” Spencer’s brain wasn’t even functioning at 20%. He couldn’t think things through clearly.

“Doctor Maeve.” Garcia mocked.

Spencer frowned, “Yes. Why?”

Emily gave Penelope a pointed look.

A look that did not go unnoticed by Spencer, “What? What is it?”

Emily put her hands up in a calming gesture, as if trying to approach a cornered animal. “Spencer. You must understand, we don’t mean to pry but Y/n spoke to Morgan and he didn’t know what to do so he told Garcia, who told me.”

Spencer rubbed his eyes for the fourth time in ten minutes, he did not have the energy for this, “Told you what? What are you talking about?” Spencer was getting agitated now. Why can’t they just tell him? He hated not getting to the point.

“Well, Y/n came to Morgan two weeks ago and was quite upset.”

Spencer frowned as he looked at you again. Two weeks ago? You didn’t seem upset two weeks ago.

“She had some concerns about this doctor that you’ve been speaking to.” Emily explained.

Garcia huffed, “She told Derek that she had suspicions that you were cheating on her.” She spoke with daggers in her eyes.

Spencer froze.

What?!

He stiffened in his seat as he stared at his unconscious fiancé in shock.

You thought he was cheating on you?

You might never wake up again and your last thoughts of him would be the fight and thoughts of his, supposed, adultery.

How?! How could you think that he could even look at anyone that wasn’t you?

“I. Would. Never.” He punctuated every damn word so they got his point, trying to blink away the fresh batch of tears that filled his eyes.

“She planned to stay with Morgan and Savannah for a couple of days-" Garcia told him.

Spencer tore his eyes away from the bed to gawk at Garcia, “She what?”

Emily placed her hand on Garcia’s arm and spoke next, “Yesterday, Derek had... overheard one of your conversations with the doctor and he spoke to Y/n about it. So, she decided she would go and stay with him for a few days to sort out her head before coming to you about it.”

Spencer was furious. Not only did you think he was cheating on you, half of the team now suspected him of it too and no one even had the decency to ask him. And what was this phone call that was so damning that Derek had to run and tell his fiancé? Why didn’t Derek just ask him instead of almost ruining his relationship without him even knowing about it!

Spencer was shaking with rage. He stood abruptly from his chair and turned to the girls, pointing to Y/n’s bed he ordered out, “Stay with her.” before he stormed outside to head to the waiting room.

He saw red. He couldn’t think of anything except for the anger he felt.

Quickly turning the corner he saw the rest of the team sitting and talking as if nothing was wrong.

J.J noticed him first and stood up, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan following suit.

“Spence, any news?” she asked gently.

Spencer didn’t even hear her; never slowed his pace either. As soon as Morgan was within arm’s reach he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and swung as hard as he could.

His fist made connection with Morgan’s cheek and from the shock of Spencer’s actions it knocked Morgan off kilter. Morgan stumbled and placed his hand to his cheek.

The punch clearly did more harm to Spencer than Morgan, but he didn’t care. The pain in his hand was welcomed. It cut through the hurt that was clutched around his heart.

The others cried out in shock as they tried to digest what just happened.

“What the hell, kid?!” Morgan yelled at him.

“’What the hell’ is right!” Spencer growled back as he stepped up to the other man and pushed his shoulders, “Sneaking behind my back? Telling my fiancé that I had some secret affair because of some phone call you didn’t hear the entirety of!”

Spencer was seething, the rest of the team gaping at him never having seen him so furious before, “You could’ve just asked! But no, the whole team had to get involved. And now I hear she was planning on living with you for a few days?!” Spencer clenched his possibly broken fist again. “She’s in a coma and may never wake up again and her last thoughts of me will be the thought that I was getting with someone else.”

Spencer inhaled sharply as his rage at Morgan turned to rage at himself.

“Spencer!” J.J shouted, “Stop!”

His sharp inhales quickly turned to hyperventilation, his brain was in overdrive, a million thoughts and memories were spinning around his head and he just wanted it to stop.

So he stopped it the only way he knew how.

Instead of hitting Morgan, Spencer turned at the last second and hit the wall.

He fell to his knees and cried as he hit the wall again and again and again and again.

Blood smeared across the white wall as he broke the skin on the knuckles. The physical pain overrode his senses and he chased the feeling.

That was until Hotch grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the wall causing Spencer to lose his balance and fall back into Hotch's arms which quickly locked around him.

“Stop! Get off of me! Hotch, let go!” Spencer squirmed as he tried to fight against his boss. His back was pressed tightly against Hotch’s chest, his legs bent in front of him and he kept slapping at Hotch’s arms to let go.

Hotch just shushed him and held him tighter. Completely understanding his anger. He’s been there and the best thing for Spencer is to calm down enough so he can go back and sit with Y/n instead of giving in to his anger and doing something else that he will regret.

Once Spencer figured out that he wasn’t going anywhere the fight drained out of him and he stopped slapping at the arms circled around him.

While Spencer was hunched over Hotch gave the rest of the team a nod to clear the area and give the two some space.

Hotch pulled one Spencer’s shoulders to shift his position so that Spencer curled into his chest.

Once Hotch placed a comforting hand over Spencer’s head a sob broke past his lips and the entire dam broke. Spencer cried his heart out.

He could barely breathe, inhaling only made him choke on his sobs and made him feel worse.

“What if I never get to speak to her again?” he whispered between sobs. “Never get to tell her that she’s the only one for me.”

“Spencer you need to breathe.” Hotch told him gently, “You need to calm down. Breathe with me.”

Spencer felt Hotch’s chest rising and falling against him. He closed his eyes and tried to follow his boss’ actions.

After a moment, Spencer was finally able to take a deep breath. The oxygen flooded his brain and the fog cleared. His entire body shivered before he came to his senses.

Blinking hard he realised he was curled into Hotch’s chest, cocooned in his arms.

He shouldn’t be here.

He was sitting on the hospital floor instead of in with Y/n. He slowly sat up and Hotch let his arms fall from around him.

“You alright?”

Spencer wiped his left hand over his face, “Fine. Fine. Yeah. I need to uh, I need to go to Y/n.”

He put his right hand behind him to support his weight, but an agonising pain shot through his hand and he fell onto his elbow with a grunt.

“Here, let me see.” Hotch knelt over him and held out his hand.

Spencer shook his head and used his other hand to support his weight as he got off the floor, dusting himself off as best he could, “I’m fine.” He held his right arm close to him as he stood up straight.

He looked around and noticed that J.J, Rossi and Morgan are nowhere to be seen… which is probably for the best.

The shame of what he’s done washed over him like a bucket of ice water. He just punched his best friend in front of his team then proceeded to have a break down in his boss’ arms.

“Spencer.” Hotch called out. “You’re not fine, let me see your hand.”

Spencer shook his head and walked out of the waiting room without saying anything.

Stopping just outside Y/n’s room he looked in the window, you hadn’t moved a muscle.

Emily was sat by your bedside holding your hand.

The pain of the possibility of losing her was too much for him. His only relief was the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes were already puffy and sore, and he felt dehydrated. He sighed as he raised his left hand to wipe the tears away, cursing himself for his behaviour.

“Spencer.” Hotch stood at his side, “You need to get your hand looked at, and I’m sure the nurse wouldn’t mind doing it by Y/n’s bedside.” He knew Spencer probably doesn’t want his hand looked at for at least three reasons; he doesn’t want to leave Y/n’s side for much longer, he feels embarrassed or shameful or he feels the need to punish himself.

He agreed as long as he can stay beside Y/n, “Okay.” He opened the door and the bleeps of the machine’s filled his ears.

That was your heartbeat.

He lowered himself into the chair at your right side and raised his left hand to hold hers. His right hand was tucked into his chest. The throbbing was excruciating but he welcomed it.

He pointedly avoided Emily’s worried expression before she smiled at him and left the room without word.

A nurse came bustling into the room a few moments later with a tray of equipment, clearly fetched by Hotch. She stood next to him and Spencer raised his hand to let her do what she needed to do. Hissing as she cleaned the cuts on his knuckles.

The nurse didn’t mind his silence and talked calmly to him as she worked, “You did quite the number on your hand.” She wiped away the blood and inspected his fingers, “You’ve definitely broken a few knuckles, I’m going to wrap your fingers in a splint and then bandage you up, okay?”

Spencer nodded, “Okay.” He said quietly.

She taped his middle and ring finger together and then bandaged his entire hand down to his wrist. “Now, keep this on for the next two weeks and then come back in so we can give you an x-ray and review the damage.”

Spencer nodded, “Thank you.”

The nurse left and Spencer was alone with Y/n once more. He stared at his right hand that was now resting on the bed.

How could he do this? Throw a tantrum while the love of his life lies in bed fighting for her life.

He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed.

“Hi.” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. He hasn’t been this nervous to talk to you since you first met. “You always told me that I needed to talk more, but I- I have no words for what I’ve done. I’ve done something terrible. Actually, I’ve done a few terrible things.” The tears formed once more, and his head pounded from the pressure. “I may never get the chance to say this to you but I am so, so, sorry. I made you feel that you weren’t special to me anymore, that I don’t love you which is the furthest thing from the truth.”

Spencer played with a strand of your hair that was laying on your shoulder.

“How could I ever be with someone else? No one could ever, ever take your place in my heart.”

He gently lifted your hand in both of his, his head felt heavy, so he bent over and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. “I love you more than anything in this world. When you wake up I’m going to spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you. And I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. So, please wake up. Please.”

He had been talking when it happened so he never heard it.

You weren’t breathing in the same rhythm as before.

When he finally noticed, he frowned as he looked you over. He slowly got to his feet as he scanned the machines. Right before his eyes some of the numbers began to climb as others started to fall.

Spencer scrambled past the chair and ripped open the door to your room, “Doctor! I need a doctor here now!” He yelled out before running back to your side, “Y/n, sweetheart if you can hear me; don’t give up. Please.”

Two doctors and a nurse sprinted into the room.

“Sir, sir!” The nurse grabbed Spencer’s shoulder, “We need you to leave.”

Spencer shook his head frantically, trying to keep up with everything that the doctors were saying to each other, “I can’t.” he whispered to himself.

“Sir! Please!” The nurse pushed at Spencer’s shoulders until he was outside the room and the door was shut in his face.

The rest of the team had heard the commotion and had run to the room as well.

Rossi placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as the entire team watched the doctors place paddles on your chest and shock you.

Again.

And again.

#spencer x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 7 months

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Can't Avoid It Forever

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: fear of needles, fluff

Summary: Spencer needs to go to the doctor to get his blood drawn, but the most difficult part is finding him.

Square Filled: jack hotchner (2021) for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

“Have you seen Spencer?” you ask someone.

“No, sorry.”

You sigh and continue searching for your boyfriend who has to be in here somewhere. He’s not in the offices, you’ve already checked the garage, and the floor above and below the BAU. You walk through the double glass doors into the bullpen and see Derek by the filing cabinet.

“Derek, where is Spencer?”

“Uh, he’s not at his desk?”

You look over to see it empty.

“No. Where is he?”

“I don’t know. Last I saw him, he was at his desk. Sorry, mama.”

You know he knows where he is but instead of pressuring him to tell you, you move onto the next person you see. JJ walks over to Spencer’s desk to deliver some files, so you slink up to her side and a sweet smile.

“Hey, JJ.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Have you seen Spencer?”

“Last I saw he was in the break room getting some coffee. You know him and his coffee,” she chuckles nervously.

“He better be,” you mumble.

The only person in the break room is Emily who is sipping suspiciously on her drink. She barely looks at you when you enter which makes you narrow your eyes in suspicion.

“Hey, Em.”

“Oh, hey Y/N. What’s up?”

“Where’s Spencer?”

“Uh, last I heard he’s in Pen’s office.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Emily. I have been running all over this fucking building looking for him.”

“What?” she fake gasps. “I swear, I’m pretty sure he’s in there.”

You groan and leave the break room, missing the way Emily snickers in her hands. You walk over to Pen’s office and knock once before entering. She’s the only one in here but Spencer isn’t anywhere to be found.

“What’s up, sugar?” Penelope smiles.

“Where is Spencer?”

“Last I saw--”

“Do not lie to me, Penelope. Where the hell is Spencer?”

If anyone were to break under your stare, it’d be Penelope. The second she squirms in her chair you know you’ve got her right where you want her.

“He told me not to tell you.”

“Did you know I can hurt someone twenty-one different ways? Half of which you won’t see me coming.”

“Hey, no need to get violent.” You raise one eyebrow and she sighs in defeat. “He’s locked himself in the family bathroom.”

“Thank you,” you smile sweetly.

You leave her office and go to the only family bathroom in the BAU which is located outside the bullpen but before the elevator. You knock twice on the door without saying anything. If Spencer hears it’s you, then he won’t open the door. When he doesn’t answer, you knock three more times.

“Who is it?” Spencer asks.

Without answering him, you keep knocking until he gets annoyed at you. He opens the door to tell off whoever it is, but as soon as he sees it’s you, he tries to close the door on you.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

You slam your foot into the bathroom before he can shut it on you, and you push it open with all your strength.

“Oh, hey, Y/N. What’s up?” Spencer says casually.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“I’ve been right here.”

“Come on, we have to go.”

“I need to get back to my desk. JJ has some files for me to do.”

“You know damn well Hotch gave you the rest of the day off. Don’t lie to me.”

“But we need to babysit Jack. You know how Hotch likes us to be punctual.”

“That’s not until after school which is in five hours.” Spencer tries to think of another excuse as to why he doesn’t want to leave but you’re not going to give him the chance. “No more stalling. You need your blood drawn. You’re going to the doctor.”

You grab his hand and pull him from the bathroom to drag him all the way to your car. He’s been dreading this doctor’s appointment all week but his doctor needs this blood sample from him. Spencer bounces his leg nervously as you pull out of the parking lot. You reach over and place your hand on his leg to give him some comfort.

“Baby, I know you’re scared. I know you hate needles, but the doctor found something in your blood. They need another sample to make sure it’s not dangerous.”

“I know,” he sighs. Ever since Tobias and his use of Dilaudid, he’s been deathly afraid of needles. He doesn't care if it’s for personal or medical use. He is terrified but he knows this needs to happen. “That doesn’t make me any less nervous.”

“Would you feel better if we got ice cream afterward?”

Spencer’s leg stops bouncing at the thought of a sweet dessert.

“Will there be sprinkles?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “there will be sprinkles.”

“Okay, fine.”

He’s the biggest baby but he’s your baby.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fiction

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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isn't it romantic? | myg (01)

ENTRY ONE: Me Before You

⟶ SERIES MASTERPOST

Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader; side/past taehyung x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: coworkers to lovers, magazine writers au, fluff, angst, eventual smut; central themes of cheating (not between yoongi and oc), swearing (a staple in this household 😗), one bit is a lilllll suggestive?, mentions of drinking, i think that's it hmmm, barely edited bc u know how we do

word count: 5.1k

note: this is the yoongi brainrot speaking !!! the banner for this entry is one of my all time favorite pics of him and i will find a way to use it in everything !!! but erhm yeah iir is officially starting and i'm very curious to see what y'all think about it 😗 please like it haha jk no i'm serious please like it it's my baby

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I waste my breath on a prayer, you don't care, I was never a part of your plan, You can't make a God of somebody, Who's not even half of a half-decent man.

I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus

Half your life, you hated blue.

You often associated it with so many bad things - loss, betrayal, loneliness. The great big storm. The end of life.

Most of the pigtails-wearing girls in your class disliked it because it was often a boy’s color. You hated it because of a stranger on a beach.

Then you discovered Blue Side (as ironic as the name was), the magazine that everybody and their mother was reading. There was this column - the Love Maze (as corny as it sounded) - that had your 15-year-old self hooked from the first article you read, “Flirty Pickup Lines to Text Your Crush”. It gave you a nice little distraction from the reality of your fucked up family.

You’d get home from school and dive right into it. You could count on the maze for a new article every day, covering all kinds of things - cute little quizzes, daily love horoscopes, relationship tidbits…

You started reading it religiously because it was stupid, and fun, but it was more than that too. They covered real-life stories of actual people, which you’d never really thought about. For the most part, it was tedious. Rekindling with an old flame whilst grocery shopping, accidentally spilling coffee on a stranger who then asked you out on the spot, etc. Things like that. You found them so… unremarkable.

But then it went beyond that, when they told their stories looking back on years and years after that first happenstance. How there was love in the mundane. How there was love every single day, even on the bad ones. How there was a spark that two people cared for and nurtured into a warm fire that never burnt out.

How there was love.

How there was always love.

To you, that was magical. It was something you’d only ever heard about in fairytales when you were a kid.

You still remember the exact moment when it all changed for you.

You met Kim Taehyung during your third week at Blue Side, where you were a wide-eyed assistant editor who somehow wiggled her way into a position there, and he was an effortlessly charming graphic designer.

Admittedly, the first time that you two had ever talked, wasn’t under ideal circumstances. You were tucked away behind the office building, nails digging into your palms at 3PM on a sunny but freezing afternoon, willing your tears to stay where they belonged. You’d felt severely underqualified, like you were only flailing about, trying to keep your head above water but something kept pulling at your feet, not stopping until you were at the very bottom. People always talked about how your early 20s were the most beautiful and freeing years, when you could truly live and feel your youth blossom all around you. But that just wasn’t true. Those were the loneliest years of your life.

Taehyung had found you then, while he was out for a quick smoke break. He could’ve made a lame excuse and left, or simply pretended to not notice you were even there, but he stayed. He approached you and asked what was wrong. He offered you words of reassurance and encouragement even though you were nothing but a stranger to him.

You were touched by his simple act of kindness and his endearing smile. Maybe it’s because you’d never been offered much kindness throughout your life that his small gesture seemed like everything. In a way, it was everything. He looked like the kind of fairytale love that you’d only seen in movies, only read about in Love Maze. To this day, a part of you still thinks that you fell in love with him the very second he asked, “Are you okay?”

The timing felt right.

Taehyung felt right.

He, too, was like the sun in the middle of a cold and isolating winter.

You remember the color of his sweater, and it was then that you realized blue didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[15:39] You: what r u doing tonight?

[15:45] Tae ♡: probably just head home after the gym. play a couple matches with Jungkook. hope i don’t die boiling water for ramen and hit the hay early

[15:46] Tae ♡: miss you :(

[15:49] You: thanks

[15:52] Tae ♡: mean

[15:53] You: lol 😇

[15:54] You: i miss you too <3

[15:56] Tae ♡: can’t you come back earlier?

[15:58] You: there’s only a week left. you’re a big boy, u can handle it :)

That was a lie. You were already on the train when you sent him that text, bouncing your leg all the way back to the city at the mere thought of surprising him with your early return. You’d taken a leave from work to visit your family, spent some time somewhere quieter, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

You watch as the scenery passes by, fast-paced like you’re in a montage. The rest of forever is right around the corner. You wish you could skip to your happily ever after and not have to rewind the tape ever again.

When the diamond on your ring finger catches the sunlight coming from outside the window, you allow yourself a blissful sigh as you gaze at the jewelry adorning your hand. But if you’re being honest, it doesn’t fit anymore, at least that’s what you’ve noticed over the past month. It’s a little loose now, not quite noticeable but you can still make out the slight difference if you concentrate hard enough. You should get it resized soon, maybe later this week now that your schedule has cleared up earlier than expected.

Three weeks is a lot of time to spend around only your family, you realize. You thought you could do it - seeing that you hadn’t been back in a while - but the second you stepped foot into your childhood home, you remembered what a dysfunctional household you had.

It was nice while it lasted, which wasn’t very long. You did all you could, bit your tongue and tried to suppress that unresolved anger until it eventually became too much to handle. Your mom has always been a complainer. Nobody likes talking about it, but she’d bring up the same old shit almost every day even though you all know what happened. Your dad would just sit there and listen as she berates him in front of you and your sister, and you suppose he keeps quiet because there’s really nothing to be said in his defense. It was his crime, and this is his punishment.

Sometimes, you wonder why dad still stays. Sometimes, you wonder why mom still lets him.

You just wanted to go, even though this was supposed to be home. You want to leave every time you visit, and it’s a haunting feeling that keeps following you around your whole life. Why is home always a place you want to leave?

When you arrived back in the city, the first place you went to was Taehyung’s apartment. You lounged about, enjoying the much needed silence after two whole weeks with your family, killing time as you waited for your fiance to return from work.

You thought about you and Taehyung, and how your wedding was only months away but this was still his place. You wondered why you hadn’t moved in yet, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Even though you spent most days of the week at Taehyung’s, you still had your own place.

Twenty minutes before he was usually supposed to come home, you ordered from his favorite restaurant, so he would have a proper meal once he was back, instead of half-assing his dinner with flavorless ramen like he’d planned.

But Taehyung didn’t come back, and the food has been cold for hours now.

You glance at your phone again.

11:02 PM.

No new notifications.

The last message you sent him was around 8:30 - just a simple Whatcha doing? - but he hasn’t replied.

There’s a small part of you that goes into a dark place, and you physically have to shake off the thoughts. Taehyung has never given you a reason not to trust him, but still, the wandering thoughts can’t help themselves. Is it insecurity, or paranoia? Or have you been programmed to be skeptical after everything that’s happened?

Maybe he’s just caught up with work. Maybe the guys at the office had last minute plans. Maybe Jungkook showed up unannounced and dragged Taehyung into one of his shenanigans again. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why he isn’t home when he said he would be.

You wait for him. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do.

You don’t get any indication of life until some time after midnight, when the door opens and you hear him stumble into the hallway. The first thing that escapes you is a sigh of relief - relieved that he’s home, safe and sound, and not out there somewhere doing things you would really not even let yourself imagine. You sit there on the couch, shrouded by darkness, now even more committed to making him squeal out of his skin after (unintentionally) making you wait for hours like that.

You carefully listen to the sounds coming from down the hall, trying to time when you’ll jump up and shock him.

There’s his shoes dropping to the floor carelessly. There’s some shuffling as he moves about, navigating his way through the dark. There’s a light thud, the sound of something hitting the wall softly.

A sharp intake of breath. His familiar groan, muffled. A whimper, feminine.

Your mind instantly blanks, and that nervous breath from before has suddenly found its way back into your lungs, growing in size until you stand up and say, “Tae?”

Somebody shrieks, and it’s neither you nor Taehyung.

When he switches on the lights, you don’t know what to focus on first - your fiance with his shirt unbuttoned, red lipstick smudged around the corners of his mouth; or the woman next to him with her back against the wall, hair disheveled, one strap of her pretty blue dress pulled down.

Huh.

If this was what you wanted, then you suppose you succeeded.

Taehyung stares at you, eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he searches for words. “Y/N, I-” he stutters, “w-what are you doing here?”

You’ve seen this exact moment in movies, read it in books and online posts on the Blue Side forum from people seeking advice. You witnessed your own mother go through it when you had just learned how to read.

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you steady yourself. You’re not sure what your face is showing, if it’s even showing anything at all. You’re being pulled apart in every direction. Things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to feel as an adult. It’s not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn’t gotten over it, even though it’s been decades. This is the kind of hurt that chases you wherever you go, never relenting until it makes sure it has a home deep within your bones.

You inhale a shaky breath, and take a step back when Taehyung starts approaching you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking on the apology.

You don’t want to hear any of it. You don’t want to be here anymore. For the second time today, you’re leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again.

Somewhere in the back of your head, a tiny voice echoes, There it is.

You run out of there, feeling like the ceiling is going to collapse on you. You hear him call out your name, but his voice drifts further and further away as you move. Taehyung isn’t even following you. The faint scent of whiskey on his breath follows you out, but not him.

You keep moving until you’re out on the street, until you can’t even see the building anymore. You shiver from the chilly air, and the influx of emotions that threatens to make you burst. Lightning cuts across the night sky, flashing bright for a split second before everything dulls into darkness again. The forecast said it was going to rain tonight, you recall. Your phone in your bag vibrates the whole time, but still, no one follows you.

Your feet slow to a halt when the first drop of rain hits the ground. You’re not even sure how long you were walking, but now that you’ve stopped, you notice the shiver is gone. You’re standing completely still, and that those seismic waves in the center of your chest from earlier are nowhere to be found.

Oh. You’re doing it again.

Heavier drops start to dampen the earth.

You don’t know where else to go.

Not your own apartment. Not now. No, it’s too empty there.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, that you’re just undeserving of a place to belong.

You open your phone to find his name on your screen, next to the words (7) missed calls. You ring up the only person you can, and when she finally picks up, you say, “Can I come over?”

Even when your voice cracks, you don’t cry. The earthquake never comes.

Sohee takes you in like the good friend she is. You’re grateful that she was someone you could count on to always have your back at work, who then turned into one of your best friends outside of the office too.

She gives you some clothes to change into, and doesn’t question anything when you ask if you could spend the night. Though, you have a feeling that she knows who this is about. She leaves you alone to get some rest, but it’s probably because she has work in the morning too, and it was already 1:30AM when you interrupted her peace and quiet with the call.

You don’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, you think about your mom, and how she must have felt when she found out about your dad’s infidelity, time and time again. It’s true what they say, children really don’t know a lot about their parents.

How did she feel when she first found out? You can’t imagine what it must have been like, going through all of that while having two kids to think about too.

You feel bad that just yesterday, you’d been so annoyed with her that you cut your trip short.

Outside Sohee’s windows, the sky cries, like it’s grieving in place of you, its tears drowning the earth in waves of sorrow. For a moment, you consider stepping out there, to feel the rain on your face and in your hair. But in the end, you stay inside, where you’re sheltered and dry.

You don’t realize that the sun has risen until Sohee knocks on your - well, her - door.

She cracks it open gently. “Babe?” she asks, tentative like you’re a cornered animal, ready to bolt at any given moment. “Are you up?”

You lie in her bed, feeling so foreign in your own skin. You reckon your eyes must be bloodshot from the lack of sleep. You haven’t even cried once.

“I’m alive,” you tell her, as you stare up at the ceiling. There are no stars here, just plain cream-colored paint.

“Okay,” you hear her say, then she pauses for a moment, clearly not knowing how to proceed.

Sohee approaches you, sits on the bed, and gives you a smile. She pats your hair, and it reminds you of your sister. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I have some time before I meet Namjoon for breakfast.”

You sit up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It’s been switched off since you got here, and when you turn it back on, a flurry of texts light up the device until the screen lags. Messages from Taehyung, asking where you were, begging you to tell him if you were safe.

You open the texts to show him that you’ve read them. That should be enough of an answer.

You test the words in your mouth for a moment. “Taehyung cheated on me,” you say, thinking that if you verbalize it, it would be real and you would finally feel bad. That it was just a delayed reaction, that you were just too in shock to process anything. You want to feel bad, but it doesn’t work.

Sohee’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” she asks in disbelief, half because of the nature of the news itself, and half because of how calm you are.

“He cheated on me,” you repeat and still, nothing surfaces. If anything, it backfires. You can physically feel yourself doing it again - shutting down. “I caught him last night.”

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. This isn’t a normal person’s reaction after they found out their fiance was cheating on them.

But.

It is a you reaction.

You keep doing this, even when you don’t mean to. You ran away last night, and you’re running away now. Your body shuts out every negative emotion until you feel nothing at all. It’s stupid that you do this, and it’s stupid that you don’t know how to stop doing it.

Fight or flight, and you choose flight every time. Every single fucking time.

You wish you could give Sohee something, anything would do. Scream, cry, go back to your apartment to set fire to all of Taehyung’s belongings. Anything would be better than this complete lack of emotions you’re showing.

You watch her face as it happens, things that you should be feeling but aren’t. She’s mostly shocked, angry, but not hurt. How could she? She wasn’t the one being played for a fool. You wish you could ask her to give you some of that anger, even if it’s only a fraction.

You don’t see Taehyung again until two days later, when he shows up at your door. Even when he’s standing in front of you, words spilling from his lips like prayers instead of apologies, you just feel… empty.

You let him inside, and the second that the door closes behind him, you fill up with unease. All your walls are up again, your system on high alert. Everything in your body is telling you that there’s an intruder in your space. Your feet are ready to bolt, just itching to get out of there Go, your head says, you’re not safe here.

Taehyung approaches you, tries to hold your hand, but you just shrug him off. The man in front of you visibly deflates, and despite the way his face falls, you don’t soften.

The first thing he asks you is, “Why didn’t you cry?”

“What?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “Did you cry?”

Reluctantly, you admit, “No.”

Then he just stares at you. When his judgmental gaze holds yours, you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not mourning the death of this relationship. Guilty that you’re just letting it go, but the truth is you don’t have any fight in you. You don’t see the point in trying to salvage what’s no longer alive.

“Do you even love me?” His voice is hard when he asks this, like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Of course I love you,” you say, but it lacks conviction. You both know it. The words sound so flaccid coming out of your mouth.

But you love him.

You do.

Did?

“Then why didn’t you cry?”

How do you tell him that you can’t? That you don’t know how?

How do you tell him that if you could, you would reach inside and claw out your feelings like digging for water in a desert.

What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t a high school crush, or a casual summer fling.

You two were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him. If there’s anything that could make you break through those godforsaken defense mechanisms to let the hurt in, it should be this.

“Did you kiss someone else just to see if I would cry?” you ask. Your voice is even, and you can see that it makes Taehyung more frustrated than he already is.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. You notice his blue sweater, and you stop him before he can say anything else. Obviously, it looks a lot more worn than it did back then, but over the years you’ve always found it endearing. It’s the first memory that you have of him. It was always something you could cherish.

Now, you can’t even bear to look at it.

It’s then that you realize it doesn’t matter what answer he gives you. Yes? No? It genuinely doesn’t matter. There is nothing that can make you see him the same way ever again.

You run your thumb over the ring on your finger, twisting it for a moment to memorize the feel of it. It’s the last thing that ties you to him. “You can have this back,” you say, handing the piece of jewelry back to him.

When a relationship ends, especially for a reason like this, people tend to think it’ll go down in a kdrama-esque fashion - crying, slapping, throwing water in the other person’s face. But that’s not what this is. It’s not cathartic; sometimes the end of a relationship is just a fizzle, doesn’t even make it to a fullburn. It might be unsatisfying, but it happens every day. It’s not always a pivotal point; sometimes it’s just a point.

Taehyung stares at the object in his palm. “That’s it?” he asks in disbelief. “We’re breaking up?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’re not even gonna ask me anything? Who she was, how it started, how long it’s been going on?”

The other morning, Sohee had asked you to elaborate after you told her what happened, but there was just not that much to tell. You were there. He brought someone else home. End of story.

It was enough for Sohee to call him every name in the book and curse his entire bloodline though.

You suppose that’s a reasonable reaction. Taehyung cheated. You never thought he was a person capable of doing that. Three years of your life, down the drain. There’s nothing left to save.

“Okay,” you shrug tiredly, like you’re just having a casual and dull conversation about the weather. “Who was she? How did it start? How long has it been going on?”

Your name comes out of his mouth, sounding like a scoff. “Ask it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” you say. “What difference does it make? Knowing doesn’t change the fact that you still cheated on me. You know what I’ve been through and you still fucked it up. You did the worst thing you could ever do to me.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I messed up badly, and I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. I will never deny that what I did wasn’t wrong. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re to blame for this too? You never want to admit that it could be your fault too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. I keep having to put up with your baggage.” Then he shuts right up, barely even makes it through the last syllable before he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a second, clearly realizing that out of all the things he could’ve said, that was grossly out of line. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean th-”

And now you’re getting angry for the wrong reasons.

“You cheated but somehow it’s my fault, right?” you snap. “Boohoo. Sorry that you’ve had to put up with me all these years. I’m such a burden, right? Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I think you should leave.”

You think it’s the steel in your voice as you say this that makes him stop arguing.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. You’re someone who tears up when you see stray dogs, who cries alongside the fictional characters in your favorite show. And yet, as you watch your own fiance leave…

The door clicks shut as he exits your life, but everything he said stays behind, clings to your walls and festers like mold.

The second you step onto the floor, everyone grows quiet. Lively chatter turns into hushed whispers. People go back to making their morning coffee, side-eyeing each other in a way that’s not meant to be very subtle.

You quietly make your way to your desk, all the while feeling the nosy pairs of eyes on you as you walk. You don’t know how word got out, but you were sure that everyone would know eventually. You just didn’t expect it’d be this soon. Sohee would never do that to you, and you highly doubt that Taehyung would go around broadcasting his infidelity.

As you set your stuff down, you make eye contact with the new intern who sits a few spots away from you. You haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she’s a nice girl. She gives you a small smile in greeting, and even though you know she doesn’t mean to pity you, you can still see it in her eyes.

A minute later, Sohee comes up to you. “Hey, babe,” she says, leaning on your desk with two plastic cups in her hands. One iced latte and one mango smoothie. She puts the yellow-colored beverage down and nudges it toward you, a little lackluster and unlike her usual playful self.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the smoothie with a smile, commenting, “Interesting morning so far. Never thought I’d ever be the subject of office gossip.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know who was Taehyung’s… uhm… y’know?”

It’s okay. She can say it. You can handle it.

You already feel nothing, and there’s nothing you can even do to rectify it. Might as well lean into it, right?

Or maybe you should just go to therapy.

“No,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, uhm, now that the whole office knows, I think you should hear this from me first…” Sohee bites her bottom lip as she gauges your reaction. When you only sigh and give her the go-ahead, she continues, “It was Yura from Marketing.”

“What?”

“Yura from Marketing. You know the one. Brought muffins for the whole office on her first day? A little too bubbly for my taste. But yeah, she was at work the other day and suddenly burst into tears at, like, 10AM, and that’s how everybody found out.”

Of course. Even though people here are surrounded by celebrity gossip on the daily, nothing beats the good old-fashioned office affair. Why bother with celebrity gossip when you have front row seats to live drama unfolding ten feet away?

You take a sip of your smoothie, swallowing down the inkling of irritation that tickles the back of your throat. “Well,” you say, “I’m glad the downfall of my relationship is like a circus animal for them to gawk at. Can’t wait until they move onto the next big thing.”

“Honestly, it might blow over sooner than you think. The Love Doctor is back today.”

“What?” Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, glancing up at her in surprise as you put your drink down. “Doesn’t he work at the Paris office?”

“He used to work here. We joined around the same time. Then he transferred to Paris a few years ago. Nobody even knows why. One day he just upped and left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here? I didn’t have time t-”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks, I only just found out,” Sohee chuckles, holding a finger against your mouth to shush you. “We all know you used to have a major lady boner for him.”

“I do not.” You don’t even know what he looks like, just his name when it appears in the byline of an article. “I admire him.”

Which is true, you do admire him. He’s your own version of a freaking rockstar. Though, you have to admit that Love Doctor is a huge cliche of a nickname, and significantly reduces the scope of his brilliance. The way that man writes makes it seem like he’s experienced lifetimes and is now here to pass on his wisdom.

He doesn’t feel like a mere magazine writer like yourself. There’s something in his words that turns you inside out, makes you experience things that you’ve never even gone through. He flows like poetry, and leaves you stunned every time.

Okay, maybe you do have a lady boner, but for his brain.

Which… is probably something you should never say out loud.

Someone walks in then, a man you’ve never seen before. He looks around your age, if not a couple of years older. He bypasses all of the other desks without saying anything, not a single Hi or Good morning. He doesn’t look like the type to speak if not spoken to.

Then he walks over to where you and Sohee sit, and sets his bag on the empty desk next to yours.

You look at Sohee, and she just shrugs.

It can’t be him. Surely, it’s not…?

“Min Yoongi,” she says in greeting.

Oh, it is.

He spares her a nod before he looks away again. “Sohee.”

Is that the Parisian way? Is that how people normally greet someone they haven’t seen in years? Sohee and him were only colleagues, but still, the least you could do is pretend.

You’re not one to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon, seriously? Were you wrong for expecting the person who writes about love in its most raw and beautiful form to look… not like Grumpy Cat personified? It makes you even more fucking intimidated. And he’s going to be sitting next to you? The fuck?

As he sits down, you blink, still a bit dazed, not sure how to process this. Sohee gently pushes you forward, which makes you nearly stumble right into him. You turn to her with a glare, but she just motions to him, mouthing ‘Go on.’

You clear your throat, wiping your hand on your pants before you hold it out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to sound as professional as you can. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

He glances at you, and reaches out to meet your outstretched hand in a barely-there handshake. “Yoongi.”

754 notes · View notes

green-eyedfirework · 29 days

Text

Dick has had to concentrate on his breathing the entire day. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. The count is the only thing letting him hold it together. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

Jason isn’t here, to get himself into trouble by saying or doing the wrong thing. Marian has been bundled off to Leslie—despite Prince Grant’s assurance that he isn’t going to send her away, Dick doesn’t want her in this suite.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Breathe.

“My god, that took so long,” the prince groans, shutting the door with a bang. Dick can hear the bolt slide shut. “Personally, I think Daniel’s pissed we gave him so little notice, that ceremony dragged forever.”

Dick registers the note of irritation in his mate’s scent and has to fight to stay where he is. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. He can hear his mate moving around the room, can hear the rustle of cloth and the squeak of the wooden cabinets.

“Dick?” He nearly stutters on his next breath as he lifts his gaze to meet his mate’s eyes. Grant is squinting at him, shirt off, standing in front of the closet. “You okay? You’ve been standing there for a minute.”

Dick forces himself to move. One foot after the other. Thankfully, his closet is on the other side of the room. One foot after the other. He can do this. “I apologize,” he rasps quietly, “I got caught up in my thoughts.”

“No need for an apology,” Grant replies easily, “I was just worried that you’d turned into a mannequin.” His tone makes it a joke, but that’s exactly how Dick feels. Like a wind-up toy, robotically moving through the motions, carefully and neatly undoing the knots that hold up his mating silks. A wind-up toy that’s not sure when it’ll run out of juice.

Halfway through the knots, his fingers stutter. An omega’s mating silks are not designed to be removed by one person. Last time, this did not matter. Last time—last time it was ripped off of him before he could utter a single protest.

In, hold, out.

“Dick? Are you having trouble with the dress? Do you want some help?”

In, hold, out.

“If it pleases Your Majesty.” Dick’s surprised his voice doesn’t waver.

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Grant laughs as he moves closer. Dick can hear him stop right behind him. “Just Grant is fine.” A broad hand brushes against his side as fingers tug efficiently but none-too-delicately at the knots. The cloth gives way, peeling off rather faster than his pounding heart appreciates. “They really make this difficult, huh.”

In, hold, out.

Grant’s fingers slide against his bare back as the half the silks slide off, and something in Dick snaps.

He’s untethered. Unmoored. Drifting. Something in his mind attempts to hide from the oncoming pain, and it shatters his control.

“The gods must be smiling on me, sweetheart, because we got you all to ourselves—”

“Fucking breed another pup into you—”

“Omega bitch, this is where you belong—”

“Do that again—bite him again, look at him, so good and quiet—”

“Yes, take it, take it you fucking whore—”

“What the hell do you have to cry about—”

“Be grateful—”

“You’ve got four of us to take care of you, sweetheart—”

“Dick? Dick?” The memory-scent of alpha lust is abruptly replaced by shock and fear. “Dick, what—Dick, please say something, Dick!”

There’s a stinging pain on one cheek and Dick realizes his eyes are open. He’s kneeling on something cold and rough, an arm around his shoulders keeping him upright, and he’s staring up at an alarmed face.

“Are you okay?” Grant looks very concerned. When he bends lower, all Dick can smell is his scent, blanketing everything around them. “Should I get the doctor?”

“No.” Dick’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. “I’m fine.”

“You went gray and collapsed, Dick, that isn’t fine,” Grant says firmly, blue eyes scanning over him, the same icy color as his father’s, “Was it something you ate? Are you ill?” Grant tightens his grip and hauls Dick up easily. “Here, you’ll be more comfortable on the bed.”

Dick can feel something inside him shrivel. Grant puts him down delicately, and then comes back with a blanket that he wraps Dick up in, before scurrying away and coming back with a glass of water.

The world feels distinctly off-kilter.

Dick doesn’t know when Grant got possessed by Jason’s spirit, but his stomach is twisting uneasily and he just wants this over with. It isn’t permanent, he has to remember that, Grant is the Crown Prince of Defiance, he won’t stay mated to Dick, it isn’t permanent.

“I’m fine,” Dick says raggedly, unwrapping the blanket. He sets the water aside, his stomach is already tied into knots. “Just—get this over with.” It’s ruder than he wanted, but Dick is too tired to care. There’s no point in walking on eggshells around alphas, Grant will hurt him either way.

The remainder of the knots are easy to undo and the silks fall off, pooling at his waist. Dick takes a shuddering breath—in, hold, out—and looks up to gauge what he should do next.

Grant is staring at him blankly. “Get what over with?” he asks in a curiously flat tone.

Dick goes very still. His rudeness was more egregious than he thought. Terror carves through his veins as he stumbles off the bed to crumple to his knees, bowing his head as he fights not to tremble. “I—I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dick forces past numb lips, something shrieking in his ears, “I did not mean to imply anything less than gratefulness for the honor of being your mate. I am not suffering from anything that would bar you from consummating the bond—”

“Dick,” Grant cuts him off. Dick looks up to see his mate several steps away, staring at him in a cross between shock and horror. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

Dick stares at him. He doesn’t—his head is empty. Something is roaring in his ears. In, hold, out. He doesn’t understand.

Grant’s expression crumples into something distressed. “Dick, this is political, remember?” his voice urges, desperate, “It’s just to keep Luthor’s hounds off the scent. You have my bite, that’s all we need, we don’t need to consummate anything.” He takes a shaky breath and crouches to be at eye level, still several feet away. “I’m not going to touch you,” Grant says, slow and even and firm.

He doesn’t start laughing after he says it. His eyes don’t flash with cruelty or mockery. His scent is filtering around the room, and Dick can smell nothing but sincerity.

“I’m not going to touch you,” Grant repeats, his gaze intent on Dick.

Dick starts crying. The prickling won’t stop, it feels like something’s unspooled in his soul, and Dick furiously rubs at his face but the tears keep coming. “Dick?” comes hesitantly and softly and Dick clamps his mouth shut on a hiccup and tries to stop crying and ends up burying his face in his hands in a futile attempt to halt the tears.

“Dick?” Grant sounds so uncertain, “Dick, do you—shall I get someone?” Dick shakes his head, he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, he doesn’t want his mate to see him like this, he just wants to hide.

The last time he cried this badly, Marian had just asked him why she didn’t have a Papa like all the other kids. Jason had seen the expression on Dick’s face and whisked Marian away, explaining that she was so special she got the very best Mama, and Dick locked himself in his room and sobbed until he had no tears left.

Dick can hear Grant moving, can hear a glass being set down near him as he curls up and hides his face against his knees. A soft weight drops on top of him and Dick flinches before he realizes it’s just a blanket. The footsteps fade away.

He doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s like something inside him unraveled, a tightness he kept locked up, and the sobs feel like they’re draining poison from him. He cried at his last mating too, but he cried in pain, touched by hands he didn’t want on him, consigned to a life of eternal torment, unable to fight back.

Now he’s crying at the brush of a future he didn’t think possible.

It takes a long time before the tears peter out. The blanket is soft and Dick scrubs at his face before going for the water to soothe his sore throat and quiet the hiccups. The room is quiet, but more than that, the room is empty, but Dick doesn’t have time to feel alarmed before Grant pokes his head through the door.

“I heard…” the alpha trails off when he meets Dick’s gaze, visibly wincing, “I, ah. How are you—how are you feeling?”

Like shit. But arguably less like shit than he thought he was going to feel, so he supposes that’s a positive. “I’m sorry,” Dick croaks out. He doubts that having his mate fall to pieces is what Grant was expecting from this night—the crying undoubtedly messed up his makeup, he’s huddled under the blanket like a sad lump, and—

“No!” Grant says immediately, eyes wide, “No, shit—no, Dick, I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t think—I didn’t realize that you thought—I didn’t explain,” he finishes, sounding miserable, “How this was going to go. It’s just—it’s just for the public perception. Until Luthor backs off. You don’t have to—you don’t owe me—I’m not asking—” he blows out a sharp breath and rubs a hand over his face. “This isn’t real,” he says finally, “It’s not a real mating, and I don’t expect you to act like my mate, and I’m never going to touch you without your permission, okay?”

Dick nods.

Grant smiles, though it doesn’t look as bright as his previous ones. “Do you—can I help you with anything?” he asks nervously, hovering in the doorway, “I’ll sleep in the sitting room, the door’s locked so no one will be able to tell the difference. Do you want me to get the doctor?”

Dick shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says throatily. Grant doesn’t look like he believes him, but he just nods and closes the door behind him.

Dick slowly pushes himself up till he’s sitting on the bed. He’s exhausted, wrung out like a worn dishcloth, but he can’t help the part of him that calls it a trick. That keeps watching the door. Slade Wilson is a man good enough at manipulation to keep an entire empire under his control, and Grant is his alpha heir.

There has to be a trick.

Dick curls up on the bed, dressed in softer clothes, and waits for the creak of the door. Waits and waits and waits, until the darkness and exhaustion conspire to pull him under, and he falls asleep.

~#~

Grant is gone when Dick wakes up the next morning—he isn’t in the sitting room, there’s no trace that he slept there last night, and the guard outside said he left early. Dick had deliberately not scheduled anything important for today, assuming he’d need at least the day to negotiate with his alpha to return to work, so he finds himself aimlessly wandering the path to Leslie’s rooms.

“Your Highness,” Leslie looks visibly surprised when he pokes his head in, “Good morning. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, I came to pick up Marian,” Dick says, and goes along as Leslie ushers him into a chair.

The doctor looks at him with her uncannily piercing gaze. “Do you need an examination?” she asks, her tone matter-of-fact and her eyes concerned.

“No,” Dick jolts up from the chair, “No, nothing like that. Just Marian, please.”

“A contraceptive?” Leslie asks, quieter.

“No,” Dick has to fight the flush, “No, Leslie, nothing—nothing happened.” There’s no one else in Leslie’s office, but he still drops his voice to a whisper, “There’s no—he said he won’t—it’s not a real mating.”

Leslie, to her credit, doesn’t display the incredulity she’s sure to be feeling. “Okay,” she says simply, before motioning to Dick’s face, “You might want to wash up, Your Highness, anyone would think you spent the whole night crying.”

Dick flushes again, but takes her point. By the time Leslie returns with Marian, he looks more put together—he can do nothing about the dark circles, but his eyes are no longer puffy. Marian still scowls when she sees him, all of three years old and a little alpha princess determined to control everything she sees.

“You don’t look good,” she accuses as he scoops her up, poking at his cheek, “You missed bedtime. Aunt Leslie doesn’t do the voices.”

Dick doesn’t bother to point out that Jason’s the one who does the voices, not him, instead dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry, Mari, I won’t miss bedtime today. Do you want to come picking flowers with me?”

“Flowers!” Marian shrieks in his ear, and all’s forgiven on her end. Leslie, however, still looks grave.

“Are you sure?” she asks lowly, “She can stay here longer—”

“I’m sure,” Dick says, even but firm. Grant didn’t touch him. Grant didn’t hurt him. Grant didn’t even come into his room. He was never concerned about Grant hurting Marian, just about being unable to hide his injuries from his child, and if he’s not getting injured, the point is moot. “Thank you for watching her.”

“It was my honor, Your Highness.” Leslie’s gaze follows him out, a tangible presence against his back.

Leslie’s concern is not the only one he’s faced with. Several people ask him how he’s doing, ask him if he’s okay, ask him if he needs some extra food or water or balm or medicine. Even more people watch silently, narrowed eyes intent on his gait, on his face, on the bite on his neck visible with his low-collared shirt.

Needless to say, he’s more than happy to get out of the castle for a few hours to make flower crowns in a meadow with his daughter.

He runs into Grant when he returns for lunch, laughing at Marian trying to hold all her flowers in too-small hands and nearly walking straight into the Crown Prince in the atrium. Grant steadies him before he can fall and then blinks when he takes a full look at Dick.

“I see someone had a fun morning,” Grant says, raising a hand and darting a look at Dick, as though asking for permission. Dick dips his head in the slightest of nods, confused, and holds still as Grant reaches up and—adjusts the flower crown on his head. “Now it’s perfect,” Grant smiles, and sweeps into a mock bow, “Your Highness.”

“Your Majesty,” Dick gives a practiced smile and does an equally teasing curtsy back, aware of the many, many people watching. Luthor cannot know that this whole thing is just pretend. “Would you like one as well?” Dick is holding Marian’s attempt, a crown half falling apart in his hands, but Grant gamely ducks his head for Dick to crown him.

He smiles at Dick when he straightens, the Crown Prince of Defiance with a three-year-old’s best attempt at flower braiding in his hair, and Dick can see hearts melting all across the room. “I’ll see you in the evening,” Grant says, a hand under Dick’s elbow as he kisses the air above Dick’s forehead.

Dick scans the room as Grant strides away, and sees most looks of suspicion fading. All except Marian, who is holding two fistfuls of squished petals and staring after Grant with a narrowed scowl.

Dick hasn’t exactly explained the situation to her, too mired in panic himself, and that’s clearly a mistake he has to rectify.

~#~

It’s late by the time Grant finally makes it to his rooms, and there’s a headache pounding behind his temples. The smooth workings at the beginning of his visit deteriorated soon after they announced the mating, and today, without Dick there, it felt like people were deliberately stalling him.

In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s actually the case.

There’s giggling coming from inside the suite and the scent of a happy pup, and he follows it to find Dick and Marian ensconced on the couch. Dick is reading her a story, and Marian is interrupting him every other word, and despite that, Dick looks at her fondly.

They both look up when Grant enters, and for a moment, Grant is frozen. Should he leave? This is his suite, he really doesn’t have anywhere else to go, but they both looked so unguarded in that moment before they realized he was there.

“Your Majesty,” Dick says, straightening, before a smile spreads across his face, “You’re still wearing the crown.”

What crown, Grant thinks dumbly, before he remembers the flowers. His hand immediately flies up, knocking a few flowers askew—the whole thing is tangled in his hair. Dick’s smile widens a fraction before it returns to his usual polite expression.

“I’d entirely forgotten about it,” Grant says, trying very hard not to stare at Dick. The thing is, Dick is a very attractive omega—the first moment he saw the steel in Dick’s eyes as he calmly dismissed a subpar plan, Grant couldn’t help but want.

But Dick doesn’t want. And that is the problem.

Admittedly, Grant wasn’t only thinking of the strategic benefits when he suggested the mating—more time spent with Dick, more time to get to know him, and a casual testing of the waters of how the rest of the empire would react to him mating with a prince of a conquered territory—but he had never expected this.

Dick’s terror—because Grant was all but choking on the scent as Dick shivered on the stone, looking up at him like he expected Grant to attack him for the audacity of feeling faint—and his tears, and the desperate, disbelieving look in his eyes when Grant swore that he wouldn’t touch him…

Well. Grant didn’t get much sleep last night, and even spending the morning hacking away at training posts pretending that they were the alpha who dared to put that terror in Dick’s mind didn’t help. Everyone staring at him like he’s a monster—Dick’s fear had to come from somewhere, somewhere real, and if Dick expected Grant to—to rape him when Grant never said anything of the sort, had in fact said they would annul the mating once their troops were in position—he’s probably not the only one.

Grant doesn’t know what shadows he treads on, only that they’re there. He could ask—he’s the Crown Prince of Defiance, he could have every gory detail by the morning—but the memory of Dick’s terror-stricken expression arrests him. He could leave it be, step carefully where he knows the ground isn’t stable, and make sure his intentions are always clear.

The priority is Luthor and Gotham’s safety. Dick’s safety. Grant can handle a few black looks.

“Silly, you’re just making it worse,” Marian clambers off the couch and glares at him. Dick scrambles after her, immediately pulling her up into the safety of his arms. Grant tries not to feel slighted. “What did I say about calling people names, Mari?” Dick hums quietly. The princess pouts. “Apologize to His Majesty, please.”

“I’m sorry,” the little princess dutifully recites, looking incredibly put-upon. Grant has to press his lips together to hide the smile. “Are you my Papa?” she asks.

Grant chokes.

“Mari,” Dick’s cheeks are red, “I already explained this. We’re going to be staying with Prince Grant. He is not your Papa.”

“Only pack stays together,” Marian narrows her eyes, “Uncle Jay said.”

“Sometimes, friends stay together too,” Dick exhales slowly, “Don’t believe everything your Uncle Jay says.”

Marian is still eyeing him with a calculating expression. Pup or not, it’s clear she’s an alpha.

“...Can you do voices? Mama’s bad at reading stories.”

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Dick looks exhausted, “I’ll get her to bed. I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“It’s no bother,” Grant gives him a hesitant smile before turning to the little princess, “And yes, I do happen to be good at voices.” Rose has always called Grant dramatic. “May I tell you a story, Princess Marian?”

The suspicious look in her eyes disappears to glee. Dick is looking at him with a soft kind of incredulity, like he’s not willing to believe what he’s seeing, but he’s okay going along with it.

~#~

Grant’s continued stay on the sitting room couch is halted by Marian finding him there one morning, bulldozing over all his objections, and dragging him into the bedroom. Grant gives Dick a look that is very close to panic, and Dick can’t help but laugh.

There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind who the next ruler of Gotham is going to be, and Mari is a force unto herself.

Grant won’t hurt Mari, Dick knows that, Dick believes that, and he okays Grant joining them on the bed. All it takes is one servant to enter their suite unexpectedly and find out Grant is living on the couch, after all, for Luthor to decide that Gotham is easy prey.

The prince still keeps his hands to himself, even then. He silently asks Dick’s permission before touching him in public, even though the whole point of this mating is to put on the act of a happy couple, and Dick is starting to believe that Grant will actually keep his word.

It’s a startling thing, to sleep in the same bed as a strange alpha, and trust that he will not hurt you.

Grant may be the Crown Prince of Defiance, but he’s soft in ways that Slade isn’t—Dick can not, for example, imagine Slade sitting on a bed with a bouncy, wriggly three-year-old, ignoring the pup crawling over him while trying to have a serious conversation.

“Luthor’s envoys will be here tomorrow,” Grant says as Mari attempts to crawl up his back, “They will be scrutinizing us carefully.”

“Yes,” Dick says, not betraying the jolt of fear at where this conversation is heading.

“We have to be convincing.” The dread the words would’ve inspired is undercut by Mari spilling off of Grant’s back with a startled shriek and a muffled omph as she lands on the pillow.

“Yes.”

“I’ll—is it okay if I hold your waist when you stand next to me?”

“Grant,” Dick exhales, almost exasperated. He isn’t made of goddamn porcelain. “It’s okay to put an arm around my waist or hold my hand or brush hair out of my face. You don’t have to keep asking permission. I will tell you to stop if I don’t want it.”

Grant briefly squints, but drops the topic. “Okay,” he says slowly, “What about kissing?” His scent is beginning to leak anxiety, “I just—they’ll expect us to be close, and it doesn’t have to be on the lips, it just—”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay,” Dick repeats slowly. Kissing. Honestly. Dick agreed to this thinking of several worse things than kissing. “You can kiss me. On the lips.”

Grant looks poleaxed, like he was never expecting Dick to agree. “Okay,” he repeats, wide-eyed, “Okay. I’ll squeeze your hand before I do it, okay? You can pull your hand away if you change your mind and want me to stop.”

Dick stares at him, caught in a moment of how is this real, how is he real, before Marian pops up between the both of them. “I want kissies!” she demands.

“Oh, do you?” Dick laughs and tickles her and bends down to loudly kiss all over her belly as she shrieks in glee. When he looks up, Grant is watching them with warm fondness—Dick can smell the faintest scent of want, but for the first time in years, the scent doesn’t make something cold crawl down his spine.

~#~

Grant does indeed squeeze Dick’s hand before bending in for a kiss in front of Luthor’s envoys. Dick holds his mate’s hand for the rest of the day, and squeezes a couple of times to catch some kisses of his own. Grant is warm, and he smells nice, and Dick feels dizzy and giddy in equal measure, like he’s a teenager again, sneaking kisses behind the stables.

Their mood is infectious. By the time Luthor’s envoys leave—Dick has informed them, in no uncertain terms, that their trade agreement is unacceptable, with Grant’s hard-eyed glare backing him up, and shot down every one of their half-hearted revisions—they look resigned.

Gotham is not easy prey. Lex Luthor will find no chinks here.

#my snippets #the rabbit died #deleted scenes from a planned sequel #royalty au #past noncon #fear of noncon #political marriage #omegaverse #dick/grant

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aphroditestempleimagines · 5 months

Text

Mortal - Chapter 1

A Suguru Geto x fem!Reader fanfiction -16+

Words: 1983

Warnings: Blood, Mentions of Death, Violence, wounds, hospital, heavy angst

Summary: Mimico and Nanako get into a horrible car accident after a drunk night with their friends. Geto is called to the hospital where he discovers you, a human plagued by cursed spirits and a cursed life, who saved his two precious daughters' lives from the fire.

It was quite late at night when Suguru closed the door to his private apartments in the temple. He crawled onto his futon, his eyes barely kept open. He rubbed his temples as he drained the pitcher of water his subordinates left by his bed.

"What a day", his rough voice murmured.

He tapped on the screen of his phone. It was quite late indeed. Nanako and Mimiko had still not returned from their party. He slid his finger down the screen to unlock it and dialled Nanako's phone number; she was bound to pick up. A few moments later the rhythmic beats of the dial were replaced by the loud background of techno music.

"I promise we're going", Nanako's voice said before Sigiri could even ask a question.

"It's already quite late young miss. And you didn't even call"

"I know I know", she whined.

Geto let out a short chuckle. "Are you girls having fun?"

"Lots!", Nanako beamed.

"Alright. You are excused", Suguru said, "But it's time to come home now."

The girl let out a gruff. "Yeeeess we will"

"I'll be waiting for you", Suguru warned, "I won't go to sleep until you come back"

"Ok Geto-san, we're coming", she said before giving him her goodbyes and hanging up.

Geto shook his head. He had been fearful of the time the girls reached this age and now he was experiencing it first-hand. He lay on his side, scrolling down his phone as he read through their messages. He checked on their Instagrams and smiled at the various stories they had uploaded from their night at the party. He knew the kids were from good sorcerer families, even though they themselves did not know his relation to the two girls. He tried to stay awake, but his exhaustion weighed down on his eyelids more than he could lift.

The next thing he remembers is a loud banging on his door. He shook his head awake. He checked his phone; an hour had passed. The girls should had been home by now. The banging continued. He rubbed his eyes as he pulled himself onto his feet.

"Miguel?", he frowned as he slid the door open, "What the-"

"There's been an accident!"

Miguel's words almost stopped Suguru's heart. His eyes grew wide. "What...did you say?", he stuttered.

"We have to go to the hospital! NOW!"

Miguel left to wake up the rest of their little family. Suguru stood there, on the doorstep of his bedroom, unable to move anywhere else but down. He clung to the doorframe, his body trembling in fear.

It was happening again. It was all happening again. The world around him was spinning like a roller coaster. His fingers dug on his chest as if trying to reach his breaking heart. He barely registered Miguel's voice as he returned.

"SUGURU!", Miguel shook Geto's shoulders. Suguru was finally able to focus his gaze. "Get yourself together. They're not dead"

A sliver of hope brightened Suguru's eyes. It gave him the strength to summon one of his curses and carry his family to the roof of the human hospitals the girls had been taken to. Geto ran down the flights of stairs. When he finally found a staff locker room he quickly sneaked inside.

"What are you doing?", Larue followed him, "The twins are bound to be in the emergency room"

Suguru was already half-way into changing from his Buddhist robes into doctor attire. "I'd be damned if I let their primitive medicine touch them", he spat as he gathered his long hair under a blue plastic hat. "What if...what if they...", he could not say that forbidden word, "We can do something! Reverse curse energy can heal them even if they are on the verge...on..."

Larue grabbed a spare shirt and coat and put them on. He covered his square jaw with a mask and nodded his head to Satoru. He'd follow him in whatever he did.

They ran to the emergency room. The others were already sitting outside. Geto used one of his curse spirits to make some of the staff start coughing uncontrollably. Then he and Larue appeared as saviours out of nowhere. He stood over the bed where his girls lay. His hand petted Nanako's hair in sorrow. Her bright eyes which used to be full of life were firmly closed as she breathed through a tube. He lifted the thin blue cover the monkeys had placed over her body to operate. She had a lot of cuts and even more bruises. A few burns were even imprinted on the left side of her body. Her sister was a little bit better. She must had protected her; she always did.

He had never wished Shoko to have followed him more than he did on that moment. He concentrated with all his might to heal the two girls, at least enough to get them out of death's reach. He managed to fix Nanako's internal bleeding and restored Mimiko's ribs to their rightful place before the nurses took notice.

"Did you take proper scans?", Larue asked the nurses, "Cause they don't look to be in need of an operation"

The humans did not believe them until they saw the new scans with their own eyes. Geto was amused by their astonished gaze as they tried to understand the great difference between what they were seeing and their original diagnosis.

"To err is human", said Geto as the girls were transferred into a recovery wing, "We should be glad our colleague spotted the mistake before we endangered the lives of two young girls with an unsanctioned operation".

His charm was enough to win them over. He thanked the mask he wore on his face at the emergency room for saving him from complications when he went to visit the girls as himself. He sat by their bed as they slept soundly. He would try to heal them again when he recovered his strength.

"Are you a monk, sir?", one of the nurses asked, to which Geto nodded. "I see...I suppose it makes sense, they really had luck on their side, didn't they?"

Suguru frowned. "What do you mean?", he turned his gaze to the woman.

"Oh...well..I thought you knew sir...", she fidgeted with the folder she held in her hands, "T'was a drunk driver...I'm afraid their friends died instantly upon collision"

A chill ran through Geto's spine. He looked at the two daughters he had raised, the two daughters that could had been taken aw from him so easily. "They...died?", his voice trembled.

"I'm sorry to say sir", the nurse whined, "Were you taking care of them as well at the temple?"

Suguru shook his head. Damn monkeys. More sorcerers' lives were taken away, this time directly by the hand of those vermin. "What about the driver?", he asked.

"The police are looking for him, sir. His car fell of the bridge as it ricocheted"

Geto clenched his fists. He was almost certainly dead. There was nothing for him to do to make him suffer for hurting his girls.

"Honestly I don't know if I could have done it", the nurse's voice broke through Geto's buzzing thoughts.

He turned to look at her again. "What did you say?"

"That woman sir", the nurse responded, "She called the fire department, then went and carried the girls outside. Lucky thing she did the car was completely enveloped by fire when the trucks got there"

"A woman? What woman?"

"I don't know sir. She's at the other end of the hall. She suffered quite a few burns so we had her treated too"

Suguru frowned. He held his daughters' hands in his as he sat between the two beds. Was that woman another one of their friends? Did she see the accident and ran to help?

"Geto-san", Nanako stirred as soon as the nurse left the room.

Suguru hushed her. "Stay still for now, we'll make you all better in a bit"

"What...happened?", she struggled to say.

"You were in an accident", Geto cupped her hair, "The bastard who hurt you is already dea-"

"Mimiko", Nanako tried to get up, "How's Mimiko?"

"Shhhh", Suguru laid her back down, "She's fine, she's asleep. Look"

Mimiko's gaze turned to her sister but her heart did not settle. "Is she...is she alright?"

"She's fine darling", Suguru reassured, "You're both fine. I made sure"

A few tears of relief pricked her eyes as she settled back in her pillow.

"Suguru", Miguel called from the door. He gestured to the corridor. Suguru left a kiss on each of his daughters' foreheads before following Miguel. He pointed at the smoking area. There, an old friend waited for him.

"If it isn't the wanted criminal", Shoko joked but there was no joy in her voice.

"Shoko...what..."

She put out her cigarette and tossed the bud in the closest bin. "No one knows I'm here. Not even Satoru", she cut him off before he could ask, "One of your new acquaintances came into my lab and let me know what happened"

Shoko walked up to him and pulled him into her arms. Suguru had not realised how much he had needed that.

"So...you're here to help?"

Suguru felt her nod behind him. "Of course", she said, "Just give me an hour and they'll be discharged. Your friend...Laure? He told me you already put in a lot of cursed energy to get them to their current level."

"Thank you, Shoko"

She let him go, her gaze turning serious. "You better disappear as soon as I'm finished. I'd rather if I didn't lose any more friends"

She gave him a kind smile and a pat on his shoulder before going to the girls' room. Suguru felt warmth overcome him. Sorcerers helping sorcerers; That was his one true dream.

As he got out into the hallway he peeked through the open door of the room on the side. He did not mean to, yet as the deed was done the nurse's words came back to him. He saw a young woman. Her hands wrapped in bandages, she sat on the hospital bed with a book on her lap and her gaze turned towards the falling snowflakes outside her window. He stood at the doorstep before he could properly think. There was some curse energy coming from her even though it was not all that strong. He lowered his head. How disappointing.

"Hello", she called to him as he turned to leave, "May I help you?"

He turned to meet her gaze. That's when he spotted the small curse spirit that clung to her body, weighing on her soul like leeches.

"Are you lost?", she asked again. Her gaze was soft and kind like an April cloud watering the fields.

"Ah...eh...no", Suguru said, "Were you the one that helped the girls at room 214?"

"Are they ok?", her eyes widened in fear, "Did something happen? The nurse told me they were stable!"

"They're fine!", Suguru waved his palms at her, "They...uh....They're my daughters. I just wanted to...uhh"

What was he doing? Was he about to thank one of those monkeys? Seriously? Her eyes were confused at his lack of response. After a moment her face relaxed into a kind smile.

"I'm so glad at least they're alright", she said before lowering her gaze, "I wasn't able to get anyone else out"

The old Suguru would had comforted her. He would had gone to her side and placed his hand on her shoulder, letting her know she had done more than enough with the strength she was given at birth. But...he was not the old Suguru anymore. No matter how much his old self screamed at him, he gave her a nod and returned to his family.

#suguru getou #suguru x reader #Mortal #suguru geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #hurt comfort

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anthrofreshtodeath · 2 months

Note

Looking forward to this prompt like always.

maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship

here it is! I have no idea what I just wrote but, you know, here we go:

—-

The Childhood Cancer Awareness Gala. If anything in Maura’s life is a black tie affair, it’s this. It comes once a year, in May, just as the spring gives way to summer temperatures, and, unfortunately, when the nascent MLB season really starts to take shape. Which usually means she takes a man, a doctor most times, instead of Jane: the person with whom she much prefers to attend these things. Not only is Jane Maura’s best friend - and thus makes it all genuinely more bearable - Jane has all the social skills Maura wishes she did when it came to fellow donors and hot shots. There are celebrities at this thing, for god’s sake. And that makes Maura nervous, especially since Jane so often has about five to eight games to catch up on by the time late May rolls around and refuses to come. Last time Maura had to bring a surgeon. But this year, by some miracle, the Red Sox have an off day on this Tuesday night, the same that the Gala is on.

And Maura had known this fact for months. In fact, as soon as the regular season schedule was released. That meant that she started her get-Jane-to-the-Gala campaign while snow still raged outside and the year had barely begun. It culminates in the black, strapless gown she wears now, the one showing off her tanned shoulders and her three hundred dollar haircut complete with layers and highlights and the smell of priceless product. There are heels that highlight her calves and make her ass look fantastic; there is a pendant on her neck that draws attention to her perfectly supported breasts. There’s even a diamond ring on her right ring finger, big and belonging once to her mother, because Jane likes to look at things that remind her of tradition.

And Maura had promised, not with words per se, but quite forcefully, quite convincingly, that Jane’s attendance would be worthwhile. The promise had consisted of some rather pointed modeling in the guest bedroom while Jane sat in a lounge chair and watched, of even more pointed half-states of undress, including dropping the garment in front of her with her heels still on so that she could bend over in the skimpiest pair of underwear appropriate for a platonic home fashion show that she owned. It also consisted of the subtle increase in hand jewelry, answers to Jane’s questions about it being, “My mother gave it to me. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it anymore; she finds such signs of commitment provincial. I vehemently disagree - especially when the signs are so exquisite. Don’t you think?”

Jane had sniffled. She’d stood, looking stiff and stupid as her mouth gaped at the ring Maura held out, before she finally said, “it’s on the wrong hand.”

Maura had chuckled warmly and replied, “for now.”

The stupidity intensified up until Jane mopped her jaw off the floor and excused herself to return upstairs. Maura then understood that she didn’t even need to invite Jane: she just needed to bring the Gala up.

That happened about two weeks after the ring incident, which was about two weeks after the dress fitting. Maura stood in front of the vanity in her bedroom’s en suite, rubbing a European moisturizer into the skin just over her cheek bones. “You know, the Childhood Cancer Awareness Gala is on the 28th this year,” she said with the most practiced nonchalance as she frowned to get more of the product into her pores.

Jane had grunted. She leaned against the threshold to the bathroom and crossed her arms, using tox results for their current case as the excuse to be in Mauara’s inner sanctum. Maura had at least given her the courtesy of relaying those lab results before bringing the fundraiser up. “‘S an off day,” Jane said.

Maura made a curious sound. “Hmm. Really?”

“Yeah,” Jane confirmed. “Want me to tag along?”

Maura pursed her lips so she didn’t smile. Jane isn’t hers. But she knows a secret: Jane wants to be, and so she admits she played a little dirty to have gotten Jane to accompany her.

Honestly, though, that was the nonverbal content of Maura’s promise: go, and becoming mine is a distinct, dirty possibility for you. “I’d like that,” she told Jane. “Do you need something to wear?”

She knew what Jane would say. Well, she knew the answer. Jane ended up saying, “I”ve seen what you’re wearing; I think I can cobble something together.”

Contrary to what even Jane herself might have believed, Maura hadn’t wanted to go shopping for Jane anyway - she wanted it on the table that Jane would be dressing to compliment her. Because that meant Jane in a suit. And Maura is attracted to the Jane she knows, not the Jane she can conjure by draping her in couture.

And so, Jane is here, at the Childhood Cancer Awareness Gala, in May, instead of in front of a ballgame somewhere. Jane is here in a suit, with a very expensive white silk shirt under the jacket, with a sleeker, more understated boot than the aggressive block heel she often wears to work, her hair wild and beautiful and the perfect compliment to her sharp features.

It is, by all accounts as Maura returns from the restroom, a win. A complete victory on all fronts. Except, that is, Jane stands close to Doctor Melissa Henry - world renowned OBGYN and overall knockout - listening intently enough, leaning in close enough, to hear above the sociable din.

Jane’s long fingers hold her champagne flute by the rim, the drink Maura had procured for her long before the trip to the restroom, and Jane hasn’t touched it. Hasn’t had a sip. Which, of course not, because Doctor Henry is Puerto Rican and curvaceous and a genius. Why would Jane interrupt her spell to imbibe?

Doctor Henry leans close and says something into Jane’s ear, Jane who turns into the gesture yet again, and suddenly, they are both chuckling. And by god, it’s Jane’s handsome chuckle - the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes and bestows upon her a crooked little grin.

Normally, Maura respects the hell out of Doctor Henry as a leader in the field of women’s medicine. She’s serious and principled and warm… and that’s the damn problem. Maura did a fucking bend and snap to get Jane here (thank Jane’s modern media bootcamp for that particularly relevant reference); she’s not letting go this easily.

And again, she intends to fight dirty.

She marches across the crowded ballroom to where the two women stand, where Doctor Henry places a steadying hand on Jane’s shoulder because her heels are tall and her ankles are crossed. A man bumps into a deadset Maura, by accident, but it only fuels her resolve. She continues, gaze forward, back straight, clutch in front of her hips (the ones that sway as she walks), until she approaches Jane and Doctor Henry. Then she stops.

For all her missing of social mores, Maura can synthesize the details of a situation like no other. So just as she approaches, she comes up to Jane’s left, because Jane’s right is occupied with the champagne. And also, coincidentally, Doctor Henry. All for the better, though, because this means that for her next act, the ring on her hand can do all the heavy lifting, even if it’s a mirror image of where it’s supposed to be.

Her fingers find the ones at Jane’s side, and they slither between them. Once they’re all but entwined, she drags them up, skin brushing as they curl, just before manicured fingers scratch Jane’s palm one time. Then as she fans them back out, down and united again, she kisses Jane’s covered shoulder. Jane shivers and Maura knows it’s because of the metal rubbing on her ring finger. “My mother’s bete noir is here,” she says into the fabric of Jane’s jacket, relishing the delicate scratch against her gloss-softened lips. “The feud is as alive as ever.”

Boom.

Between the touching and the comment just for her, she’s got Jane. She knows she’s got Jane because instead of a statement about how rude it is not to greet the third party, Jane says in that gravel-rich timbre, “she still telling the story about how her daughter styled… who?”

“The Roman Prince of Cerveteri? At least once a function,” Maura replies quickly, all as she turns her gaze on Doctor Henry. “So sorry, Melissa - family issues. You know how it is.”

Family. Issues.

Jane stiffens further, grows warmer; Maura knows there’s blushing even if she can only see Melissa Henry’s straight-out-of-a-catalog face.

“That I do,” Doctor Henry says. Gracefully she steps away from Jane. Is that a bit of fear Maura sees, too? “Do uh, do you two need a drink? I think I’m headed to the bar.”

Jane smiles with her lips closed and simply holds up her champagne flute. I’ve got plenty.

“I’ve had enough for the evening, but thank you,” Maura answers with a cordial smile.

When Doctor Henry walks away after a nod and a smirk of her own, Jane snorts. “I don’t think she’s coming back,” she says.

“God, I hope not,” says Maura. When Jane, without letting go of Maura’s hand, downs her entire drink and steps close enough for their fronts to touch, Maura honors the nonverbal request for an embrace by wrapping her free arm around Jane’s shoulders. “When you’re here, when you accompany me to these events, you’re mine,” she asserts with a growl of her own.

“I’m yours all the time,” Jane counters. She rests her head in the crook of Maura’s neck because in heels, Maura is tall enough.

Maura squeezes, and laughs lowly. “I know.”

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #rizzoli and isles #otp prompts February 2024 #featuring Neanderthal Jane #and also Neanderthal Maura apparently lol #I just know they went home and fucked nasty after this

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kiddbegins · 5 months

Text

Did you really love me? - Connor Rhodes

Requested: yes

Word count: 1,318

Warnings: angst, no happy ending

A/n: if someone said ‘they brought me back to life’ over someone they left me for that’d be it for me

Masterlist

“Did you ever really love me?”

Breakups suck. Like, really suck. Seriously, who the hell wants to be sat in their room, watching disney movies in the hopes of cheering themselves up with ice cream in one hand and left over pizza in front of them?

It didn’t help that you saw a future with him. Connor Rhodes, found his way into your heart then decided to rip it out with his bare hands. He said he found someone else, someone that brought him back to life. Some great feelings that stirred up. (That was pure sarcasm by the way.)

No, in reality it felt like he’d taken both your heart and your soul and crumbled it to pieces. Years down the drain. That first year of pining over the slightly older surgeon that you worked closely with followed by the next two years.

Sure you should have seen it coming. Less time spent together and half the time you were together, there were fights speckled in. Over stupid shit. Leaving things around, forgetting to do something, missing a date. It was already being written in stone that you two weren’t going to last but you couldn’t take the signs at face value.

You just loved him so much. Every argument you thought maybe it was just a step to things working out. But it wasn’t. Now you’d spent the week in your apartment, using paid time off to wallow in your own pity.

And tomorrow was going to be your first day back at work. Your first day seeing him since everything happened. You had no idea what the hell you were going to do. Natalie and Will sort of had a plan in place, one they could only do so much about.

“We see him coming and we’ll make sure he asks one of us for help, or if you need a consult we’ll take over when he’s there, easy.” Natalie was proud of her plan, her boyfriend just nodding along knowing that was not how any of that was going to work.

You guys were doctors. It wasn’t like they’d always have time to be a personal block between you and the surgeon. Which was proven true the literal first patient you had. Will and Natalie were actually treated the sibling of the boy you had under your care who needed surgery.

And of course the surgeon in question was none other than Dr. Rhodes. Sure you could be professional but that was also when you completely avoided looking in the dark haired man’s direction. Something that was picked up by and brought up by the boy’s mother.

“Do the two of you have an issue with one another? Because I’d like for my doctors to be able to communicate so that I know my baby is getting the best care there is.” Her arms folded tightly across her chest as your mouth gaped.

Were you supposed to lie? Tell her that you and the man next to you were fine? You could handle him. But as much as you believed that, you couldn’t stop the tears pricking at your eyes when you so much as glanced at the back of his head.

Slightly you cleared your throat. “We’re okay, but uh, if it’ll make you feel better, I can have Dr. Halstead, who’s with your other son, take over here.” You spoke with a faint smile, the mother nodding tightly.

It was obvious she didn’t believe you just as much as you didn’t believe yourself and you didn’t want to make this day any worse for her. “Will, uh, could we switch? Mom’s asking for a different doctor.” She bit at her cheek, the look on her face giving away that that wasn’t the entire story but there was no time to question it.

“Yeah sure, we’re just finishing up his labs here.” Natalie gave you a soft smile as the rest of the shift continued, this time without any hiccups. And crossovers were smoother than that one. And once it was over, you were right back where you were that morning.

Crying on your couch.

Except, about halfway through your rewatch of Dirty Dancing, there was a knock on the front door. You weren’t expecting anybody and when you pulled open the front door, you were staring back at the last person you ever expected to grace your entrance way again.

“Connor?”

He gave a tight smile, sucking in a breath, “Can I come in?” You had to fight to hold back the scoff that nearly came out, raising your eyebrows. Who did he think he was just showing up, a week after you two broke up.

Annoyed, you went to shut the door with a roll of the eye, only stopping when the man grabbed the edge of it. “Y/n, please. Look, I just want to talk okay? We work together for god sakes, you have to learn to at least look me in the eye. Especially if we’re taking care of the same patient.”

As much as you wanted to pretend he was wrong, he wasn’t. Begrudgingly, you stepped aside, letting him come in. It was silent for a couple moments, the man taking in the mess that had fallen upon your apartment.

In all honesty, he wasn’t that aware that the breakup had affected you this much. Obviously he knew you were upset, the lack of your appearance at work was enough proof of that. But seeing the messed up couch, the take out containers and half empty tissue box just put things into perspective.

“Alright, are you going to say something or just judge the state of my house? Because I seriously-”

“Just tell me whatever you’ve been dying to tell me, y/n.” He cut you off, turning his attention back to you fully. “I can tell from the look on your face that you want to say something but you’re not letting yourself, and I know how much stuff like that eats at you.”

You nostrils flared as you looked up at him, “You don’t get to say that you know anything about me anymore Connor. You don’t. Not with all the shit that’s happened.” Your words came out harsher than you meant to and for a second you realized that maybe you did have some choice words for him.

“I’m sorry. I just, I want you to be able to get on with things. Move on, not have to worry about me when you’re at work.”

“I’m always going to Connor! I love you.” Your voice cracked along with the dam that was keeping your tears at bay. “With my entire heart, and you left. So I’m sorry if I can’t just get past that in seven days.” You tightly crossed your arms over your chest, sniffling.

If anything was embarrassing it was crying in front of someone that was the source of the tears streaming down your face. And you hated it. You absolutely despised how he was capable of all these emotions spilling from you and that you couldn’t even keep yourself from showing it.

“You know what. I do have something.” You cleared your throat, the anger fading and bringing back the heaviness in your chest. Connor nodded, gesturing for you to continue, his gaze on you entirely. “Did you ever even love me?”

The softness of the question made Connor’s heart drop, his eyes flicking over your face. The lack of response made you scoff, nodding tightly. “Alright. That’s enough of an answer for me. You can go now.”

“Wait no, I did-”

“Go.” You practically yelled, squeezing your eyes shut and pointing at the door to your left. “And don’t try to talk to me again unless it’s work related.” The sound of the door opening and shutting was all you heard before you let yourself crumple onto the couch, crying until you couldn’t cry anymore.

JOIN CONNORS TAGLIST HERE!

Tags: @winchesterszvonecek @everything-fandom @thebejeweledwatercat @mrspeacem1nusone @wnbweasley @alexxavicry @halsteadbrasil, @natashamea18 @katieemazz @firetruckstuckley

#connor rhodes one shot #connor Rhodes #connor rhodes fic #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #connor Rhodes and reader #chicago med #one chicago oneshot #one chicago x reader #one chicago #chicago med one shot #chicagomed #connorrhodes #teddy writes #teddy writes connor rhodes #teddy writes chicago med #teddy writes one chicago

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pastelwitchling · 25 days

Text

If you’re taking prompts; Isobel takes Alex as a plus one to some event as Kyle can’t come.

***

“How do I look?” Isobel asked for the tenth time that night, fixing her already perfect hair and patting down her already perfect silver dress.

Alex smiled and brought her hand up to his lips for a delicate kiss. “Perfect,” he said. “Now would you please stop panicking?"

“Panicking?” she scoffed, looking around at the gallery filled with her wealthy guests. “Who’s panicking? I’m not panicking. Why would I be panicking? Just because Kyle’s hospital donations all rely on me and my gala?”

Alex grinned. “Is that how Kyle put it?”

She tried to glare, but the thought of her fiancé softened her usually tough edges and her expression ended up more of a pout. “No. Kyle said he didn’t need me to put on a gala at all, that the annual Roswell’s-Doctors’-Bake-Sale usually pulled in more than enough funding.”

“But . . .” Alex prompted.

Her glare actually did sharpen this time. “But I’ve seen the way those rich housewives try to bid for my man like he’s the one on sale, and if I have to hold an elegant party to save him from their poorly-manicured claws, I’ll do it.”

“Woof,” Michael smirked from where he leaned against the table nearby, a flute of champagne in hand and completely at odds with his wild curls. “The world of fancy dresses and bubbles is more brutal than we thought, babe. Aren’t you glad I’m here?”

“Remind me why again?” Isobel hissed. “I gave Alex the invite.”

“I go where he goes,” Michael said simply. “And he wouldn’t have had to be here if your future husband hadn’t faked a fever.”

“He didn’t fake anything,” she snapped. “For your information, he’s barely been able to keep anything down the last two days!”

“Even more pathetic, if you ask me,” Michael grumbled. “What kind of doctor gets sick?”

“You’re such a – couldn’t you at least have worn a suit? Alex wore a suit.”

Alex had indeed worn a suit. He’d been surprised he still had it; a black jacket and pants with a white undershirt that he’d kept from his military days for their own occasional gala. Except this time, of course, he wore a gold chain necklace from his mother with an aquamarine stone in the center, his gold wedding ring, one piercing in his ear, string bracelets with engraved silver charms that Michael had made him, and his hair was tousled because this time, Alex wasn’t forcing it down with his buddy’s hair gel and it didn’t know how to settle otherwise.

Michael shrugged. He wore his classic jeans and flannel shirt, open halfway down his chest and revealing his chest hair. “Alex likes my clothes.”

“Alex likes the half-naked body underneath,” Isobel retorted with a curled lip. “Ew, gross, now I’m imagining you naked.”

“You’re welcome,” Michael smirked, and Alex held up his hands, standing between them.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s okay, guys, we’ve got a long night with each other, so let’s just . . .” he narrowed his eyes at Isobel. “Somehow, I thought Kyle not being here meant I wouldn’t have to break up any fights.”

“He’s rubbing off on her,” Michael said grimly, and winced. “Yuck, now I’m thinking about Valenti rubbing on you." He made a gagging motion which Isobel tried to whack him for, and would’ve if Alex wasn’t there to gently catch her wrist and give her hand another kiss.

“Look over there,” he pointed. “That woman’s been eying that painting for the last two minutes, if you want to swoop in . . .”

He trailed off, but Isobel was already gasping and making a beeline straight for her. When she was gone, Alex turned to the table and picked up a quiche.

“Can’t you give her a break tonight?” he said. “She’s doing this to help Kyle.”

“No, she’s not, Alex,” Michael said, annoyed. “She’s doing this because she’s jealous over seeing him around anyone else.”

“Some of those women crowd into him,” Alex defended, “and he’s representing the hospital, he can’t exactly shove them away, can he?” Michael scoffed, and Alex turned to him, hip against the table as he crossed his arms. “You know, this reaction really is rich, coming from the guy that almost set a tour bus on fire when one guy tried to hit on me.”

“He was a singer,” Michael snarled at once, and Alex had the feeling he still remembered every face that had ever flirted with Alex in the past. Probably to take their tires out if they ever drove into Roswell again. “And he was talking about his bandmates sharing you!”

Alex shrugged a shoulder. “It would’ve been consensual.”

Michael stared. “Are you trying to make me set this place on fire?”

Alex laughed and turned back to watch the rest of the gallery. It really was such a gorgeous place; the glass dome, the birds and angels engraved in gold on the ivory walls, the pretty people in pretty clothes and smell fancy food and sounds of tinkling laughter in the air. It was no wonder Isobel seemed so much in her element in places like this; it was like living in an art piece.

“You want one of those?”

Alex blinked. “Hm? One of what?”

Michael gestured again with his glass. “Those.”

He raised a brow. “The paintings?”

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. Was he blushing? “The drawings.”

“They’re masterpieces, Michael.”

“Sure, those.” He squinted at one plaque. The night had just started, how tipsy was he? “This guy’s famous, right?”

“You mean Van Gogh?” Alex tried not to smile. “Yeah, Michael, pretty famous dude.”

Michael heard the silent teasing anyway and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yes, these. Do you want one?”

“Why?” he tilted his head. “You going to get me one?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. He was definitely blushing. “How expensive can they be anyway?”

Alex decided to spare his wonderful husband the shock, and inched closer to Michael until their arms were brushing. “I’m okay. I already have the most gorgeous artwork coming home with me.”

Michael, in his hazy thoughts, took a second to work out what Alex had said, and his shoulders slumped. “Oh ha ha.”

Alex was already laughing under his breath, his shoulders shaking, but when he looked back at Michael, he found his gaze focused, sober and serious and something very private on Alex.

“You’re the most beautiful in any room, baby,” he said.

Warmth bloomed in Alex’s chest, and he blushed, looking down. “Thank you, hubby.”

Michael twined their pinkies together, and Alex looked up at him just as Isobel suddenly appeared and said, “Alex, quick, I think I got the lady close to writing a check, I need some eye candy to sweeten the deal.”

Alex’s brows pinched. “Is that supposed to be me?”

She rolled her eyes, looking too much like her brother. “Come on, hurry up, the hospital’s depending on you – Michael, no, just Alex!”

Michael, who had already pushed off the table, threw his head back to finish the last of his drink and set the glass down, albeit roughly.

“I already told you, sis,” he said jealously, ever the gorgeous hypocrite, “where he goes, I go.”

***

I'm quite proud of this one. Happy malex Monday ❤️

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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morallyinept · 2 months

Text

Shoot: The Rake Magazine, October 2016, Issue 48

Photographer: Anders Overgaard

Interviewer: Tom Chamberlin

Grooming: Jessica Ortiz

Full interview, behind the scenes, outtakes & shoot photographs below. 👇🏻

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

• Cover shot and original images used in the magazine

• Outtakes and behind the scenes images.

• Full Interview

As a stickler for timing, it was a tad disconcerting for me that half an hour into an hour-long interview, Pedro Pascal was still barely a year old. The family history of this actor is a story in itself, one that Pedro intends to write one day.

Happily, Pedro was very generous with his time, and, as with our photoshoot at The Carlyle Hotel in New York, and with every role he has played, he understands the difference between a hash-job and a job well done. Perhaps this is why Pedro will be on screen pretty much non-stop for the next year and is fast building an enviable C.V.

His roles as a protagonist span big-budget Hollywood movies and the finer works of subscription television, namely Game of Thrones and Narcos, whose second series is currently available on Netflix. It turns out he is also the epitome of America: an immigrant who has taken his talent and ambition and made a success of himself in a country that takes people in and gives them a chance to succeed. And The Rake was given the opportunity of an in-depth discussion with this star player.

I should firstly elaborate on the extraordinary tale of his early life. His family name is Balmaceda, his father is a doctor, and his late mother (whose maiden name was Pascal) welcomed José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal into the world on April 2, 1975 in Santiago, Chile. Those of you familiar with the South American governments of the time will know that this was not a simple epoch in which to be born in Chile. It was less than two years since Augusto Pinochet had deposed Salvador Allende, the first democratically elected head of state in Chile, in a coup d’état. Allende killed himself in the coup but his supporters remained a thorn in the junta’s side. So, as any self-respecting dictator would, Pinochet found opposition members, rounded them up, and tortured them for information on other dissenters who could be found, rounded up, and so on.

One such occasion was some years later, when our cover star enters the fray. A cousin of Pascal’s mother was Andrés Pascal Allende, a powerful revolutionary and supporter of his uncle. One day, during a gunfight, this freedom fighter would be given medical aid and shelter chez Balmaceda, and it would be this gesture that put the family on the ‘list’. Pedro recalls (through no memory of his own but that of his father’s) that, “the Pascal family wasn’t particularly safe." He adds: “There was a priest who was brought [Andrés], who had been shot in the leg, to my mum and dad’s house. My father took him in, hid them for a few days, and patched up his leg. I was a baby, my sister was just three, and she says she has a vague memory of being really angry that our parents had put strangers’shit in her bedroom, including guns and stuff.”

The innocence of youth! But the story becomes more and more like a Bourne movie: “The priest was taken into custody and tortured; he gave names, and they went looking for my father at the hospital he worked at. By chance it got to him that they were downstairs, asking where to find Dr. José Balmaceda. My father sneaks out the back and gets my mum, his sister gets my sister and me. They work out that their only option is to go into hiding, which they do for about six months, and they end up sneaking into the Venezuelan embassy and sought asylum.”

You can see why we spent so long on the subject. His light-hearted approach to talking about this may be because he was too young (about nine months old when they came out of hiding) to have been affected by the process, but there is pride in his parents’ actions, the way in which they carried him and his sister to safety in a climate in which even children were not safe. The solution wasn’t ‘doing an Assange’ and locking themselves in the embassy - they had to leave.

Though they would ultimately settle in the United States, it was Denmark that took them in first. Pascal was still too young to recall a great deal; after a year his father was contacted by a Chilean professor in San Antonio, Texas, and was offered a job. San Antonio was a great place for South American immigrants. With a large Spanish-speaking population, it wasn’t as much of a departure, or culture shock, for the family as Denmark had been.

They lived there until 1986, and it was during this time that he developed a love of movies and the desire to become an actor. He says of that time: “Strangely it was my father’s fault, because he was a huge moviegoer and he would take us to the movies a few times a week throughout my childhood. Of course, we got cable television and HBO came into the fold. Uncensored, uninterrupted movies in your living room: it was some kind of fucking miracle. I remember sitting there and it feeling like absolute magic to me. I remember perfectly watching my first movie on HBO and thinking it was magic.”

While television was developing its appeal, cinema was the family craze, and his father was the most zealous disciple. Pascal adds: “I am telling you, we would go several times a week. And it wouldn’t matter, if my dad wanted to see a movie, and there wasn’t a babysitter, we would go with him or he’d just want to take us. It is my father and Steven Spielberg’s fault - Spielberg being the ruling aesthetic of Hollywood at that time. Throw MTV and Nickelodeon into the mix, and public school systems in San Antonio and very cool parents - these were socialising us and forming us. It is in such stark contrast to what it would be in Chile. In Chile I have 34 first cousins. And in Texas it was just us.”

Though he is a self-confessed “dork”, his hinting at loneliness, and his circumstances as an immigrant in a poor neighbourhood in San Antonio being a psychological burden, is an interesting passage through which he developed his sense of imagination, fantasy and the requisite skills as an actor. “I spent so much time alone and I wasn’t allowed to watch cable from morning into night, so my options were me and my imagination and it was all so completely ruled by the idea of being on these movie adventures,” he says. “I remember seeing Rambo and The Big Chill. I was fascinated by [The Big Chill], as JoBeth Williams was the mother in Poltergeist, which I had seen seven times already in the movie theatre, and I was shouting, ‘That’s the mum from Poltergeist, this movie is amazing!’ I was a big reader as well. I read Stephen King from a very young age.” He tellingly concludes that movies “ruled my imagination and to an extent my identity."

His isolation grew when his father moved the family to California when Pedro was 11. His father was part of a team of fertility experts that had pioneered an advanced form of I.V.F. called gamete intra-fallopian transfer, or GIFT. But this move took him away from a Spanish-speaking neighbourhood and into Newport Beach, Orange County, “which is about a 99.9 per cent white town." He found it hard to fit in, though not because of how he looked. “It was more a matter of me being a nerd and a movie geek and not a good surfer and interested in art,” he says. “I already knew I wanted to be an actor.” His determination had been made manifest by spending his free time reading plays and going to see Search and Destroy by Howard Korder at the South Coast Repertory, which left him “fucking floored."

This problematic period in his youth might explain why he decided to move to the other side of the country, to New York City, to study theatre, where his inclination to academia was compromised by metropolitan life. He says: “Once I made it to New York I wasn’t reading the things I was supposed to read. I was a terrible student.” The Tisch School of the Arts, a school with an impressive list of alumni, including Woody Allen, Alec Baldwin and Billy Crystal, nevertheless provided a stable platform for him to pursue his acting ambitions. He could break out from being the little child in a strange town and muck in with like-minded people in a city founded on immigration and pluralism.

This time in his life ushered in the beginning of a long-standing friendship with American Horror Story and (gravely underappreciated) Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip star Sarah Paulson. Pedro’s charisma made it very easy to become friends with him, Paulson tells The Rake, explaining that it was a “just-add-water friendship." What drew her to Pedro, she adds, was that “he had an enormous amount of gravitas and at the same time a great deal of levity. He would be the first person to fall on the floor laughing.”

After Tisch he found himself working plenty in theatre, too. One particular play, Beauty of the Father, at the Manhattan Theatre Club would begin another friendship with an acting luminary, Star Wars and Ex Machina star Oscar Isaac. Isaac told The Rake, in regards to both of them achieving recognition around the same time and at similar ages: “We started off-Broadway, so for both of us it has been a parallel path where we have been treading the boards together and facing a lot of uphill climbing and rejection and trying to make a living here in New York. To be able to go on that journey together and for me to be able to see him explode on to the scene, I couldn’t be prouder of him.” He says of Pedro: “He is someone who has a very profound depth to him. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he has a great mind and incredible empathy, and he is also incredibly sharp-witted and fun to be around.”

Pascal would find that achieving the kind of success he had imagined was to be parked while he worked solely to support himself. He did the rounds, doing irregular slots on long-running U.S. television shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, NYPD Blue, Law & Order, Without a Trace and CSI. He says: “The idea of experiencing exposure or being on the cover of a magazine like The Rake was totally abandoned at a certain point well into my thirties, once I’d learnt how to live and support myself as an actor and be unknown outside a small community. I had come to terms with the idea of just hoping to work.” This is the fate of 90 per cent of actors who graduate from drama schools, and frankly the realisation and acceptance of living a life in which you support yourself with work speaks to a very grounded, grateful and pragmatic individual.

Fortunately for us, his prospects soon changed.

In 2014 he appeared in the world’s biggest T.V. show since Friends, Game of Thrones. It was the fourth series that saw the arrival of a new kind of Alpha male in a series with no shortage of them. Pascal played Oberyn Martell, the Prince of Dorne. However, where Charles Dance’s anti-hero ne plus ultra Tywin Lannister commanded the ‘patriarchy’ side of masculinity, and there was the brutish, drinking and farting muscle mass that was Rory McCann as The Hound, Pascal’s Oberyn was a more complex and interesting personification of masculinity and sexuality. Oberyn was affecting from the start, and even before we see Pascal’s incarnation he is described as “not a man for welcome parties” who is famous for “fucking half of Westeros."

His demeanour was a refreshing change to the grimy, armour-clad male leads that were a mainstay of the storyline: colourful, well-groomed, softly spoken yet threatening. You get an idea of the nature of the character from Tyrion Lannister’s face (threatened, anxious) when he discovers who had come from Dorne for the royal wedding. Then, when we meet Oberyn, in long, elegant robes of mustard and gold, there is a menace and intent; the audience salivates as it waits to find out what he is capable of. And we are kept waiting. What is most interesting about Oberyn is that his lust is not limited to the fairer sex. Oberyn is a sexual omnivore: he has what he describes as his paramour, Ellaria Sand (played by Indira Varma), who acts as both angel and devil on his shoulders, reminding him that he can take whatever he wants.

His fluid sexuality is culturally under-represented in film, television and certainly music. The co-creators of the show, D.B. Weiss and David Benioff, have used the fantastical setting of Westeros to curate a fascinating experiment into what a ‘man’ really is and how audiences react to sexual behaviour. It is not controversial to say that even hinting at homosexual tendencies can put off a chunk of the male audience, sad as that may be. The fact that Oberyn is convincing as masculine, strong and fierce, without any suggestion that his sexuality will undermine his masculinity for the audience, is a real feat in developing cultural norms. It is a benchmark for progressive leading men, and considering the success of this one, we hope there is more to follow.

Not only is Oberyn bisexual, he is openly so. His arrogance and comfort with himself means that he needn’t hide it like many other characters in the series do. Pascal says: “It’s fucking hilarious because straight guys fucking love Oberyn. In talking to D.B. Weiss and David Benioff, I was really surprised to hear that through the audition process there were takes on Oberyn that, because in the audition scene it is revealed that he includes a man in the mix of his orgy and reveals himself to be bisexual, they would immediately interpret him as more effeminate and add that quality to the character. What had been so right for them was my not having done that. It is interesting because it never even occurred to me that he wouldn’t be so completely male and have the quality of something Alpha and archetypically masculine. It made complete sense that the world was his and every part of it was his, and everything he wanted to partake of, it is very much in the writing.”

Benioff took the time to speak to The Rake to lend some words of praise to Pascal. He says: “It was a very difficult part to cast because [Oberyn] encompasses so many contradictions: he is charismatic, he is ferocious, he is sexy, but also he can be quiet and intimate. It can be very hard to find someone who can do everything. He can be hard to pin down because he is so multi- faceted. A big problem was that no one felt quite sexy enough.”

And then along comes our cover star, who “did a very cheap video on his iPhone. It couldn’t have been more low-rent, but it was incredibly compelling. It’s interesting, as it’s not that we had a particular look at the time. We didn’t know what we wanted until we saw it, and with Pedro it was pretty clear.” He adds of Pedro’s interpretation: “He brought a sense of humour to the part. There’s something fun about someone with a sense of humour who is utterly fearless. There is also something a little insane about that.”

Pedro enjoyed the rakish side of his character; the costume designer Michele Clapton helped him tap into the character’s braggadocio. He says: “Stylistically, what Michele did, I’m never going to look that good again. I mean, that fucking mustard robe with the leather belt and sometimes a sash. These are all feminine garbs that could not have been more masculine. It made me feel so powerful and male.”

Pedro waxes lyrical about his employers on Game of Thrones: “To be honest with you, my take on the part had everything to do with what was on the page. I looked up Oberyn in the books and it’s all told through the perspective of Tyrion Lannister - it’s a very cool character, but the way David and Dan [Weiss] fleshed him out on the show was a pure set-up for success for me. I give all credit to them: it was their idea to create a progressive, radical badass that two straight married men have a crush on. You could tell they loved this guy. That was why it ended up being so good, and I understand that it could have gone in the wrong direction by being interpreted differently, but I didn’t see it in any other way.”

The demise of Oberyn was the first time in four years I wanted to pack in watching the series. There was a sense of having had enough with the show for not giving me enough of this character. They held back on how exciting Oberyn could be, with his athleticism and the insouciant cool of fighting a man wielding a sword that was, as Pedro puts it, “quite literally my height” - and, of course, the way in which he ‘dispatched’ him. Going from that high of poetic justice - from being everyone’s favourite spear-wielding hero - to the crushing low of the red-porridge mess of his head crushed on the floor in the space of five minutes was genius television making; never was an audience so crushed as well.

Even Pedro hated it.

When I shared with him my frustration, he related by saying: “Yes, because it feels terrible. Why should I go to bed with this horrific feeling in my heart? I love that people felt that way about Oberyn because I had felt that way about the Red Wedding (a shocking scene in which several major characters were killed off at a wedding feast). I almost stopped. I was in the process of auditioning for Oberyn and I had already had my heart crushed. I remember thinking very specifically, ‘Soon it’s time for bed and I’m in a place of such darkness because of watching television - this isn’t good for me’.”

Fortunately, Pascal’s particular brand of bravura masculinity returned in 2015 with Narcos, Netflix’s true events epic about Pablo Escobar and the rise of the Colombian drug trade. It is a show The Economist describes as “doing a better job than most narco-dramas in getting across the brutal seediness of the drugs business.” Pascal plays Javier Peña, a man who isn’t afraid to break a few eggs to make his omelette, a man very much part of the aforementioned brutal seediness.

In an era in which scrutiny of our institutions is critical, a show set in a time when there was plenty brushed under the carpet conducts an interesting moral waltz with the audience’s empathy. Pedro says: “I don’t see him as moral. I see him as pragmatic and work obsessed. It is all due credit to the creators of the show, who allow me to interpret the character in the most interesting way possible. I love that Peña and the writers of Narcos and Netflix are totally game for him being a character who exists more ambiguously and represents the greyer elements of this drugs war that the U.S. gets involved with. I think he, as a character, is definitely wanting to get the job done however he sees fit, and this is a guy who never got married, who never had attachments, who could easily disappear into this world with nothing to lose, and I think that’s what makes him good at it and helps him achieve some of his objectives - because he can assimilate, he can participate, he can get on the inside culturally and psychologically, and be totally badass, of course.”

He has plenty more to do in the second series, so the challenge for Pascal is to elevate the performance and not leave it still and stagnant, a challenge he revels in. He says: “I feel like, in a way, the first season is, in terms of the character, somewhat of an introduction and opens up the opportunity to see more in the second season. When you meet him he’s already on the inside, he’s having sex with a gorgeous prostitute who he has this strange relationship to: they are lovers, she’s his informant, they are friends, and we don’t get that many private adventures of Peña in the first season. I would say in the second series there is more opportunity to spend a little more time with that character, so it almost feels like season one and season two is a two-act play, and in the second act Peña has more to do.”

Now, as expected, momentum is very much in Pedro’s favour. Next year will be a big year for him. We have seen a trailer for his first feature film, The Great Wall, the first attempt by anyone at joining the forces of eastern and western cinema. He teams up with Matt Damon in this cross-cultural epic directed by Zhang Yimou. He says of the film that, “We shot it in China for five months. When I was just graduating from college, Matt Damon turned into a comet as an actor, and rightly so, so he has been very famous for most of my adult life. It was a big deal to go work alongside someone as famous and talented as he is. From my perspective he has always been much more an actor than a celebrity.”

When he began talking about Zhang Yimou, his unashamed inner nerd came to the fore: “When I expanded my curiosities as I got older, I was reading plays but I was also getting into independent and foreign cinema. I saw Raise the Red Lantern in 1991, and saw The Story of Qiu Ju by myself because I was that much of a fucking dork - I walked by myself to see the Chinese movie that was playing - and I saw Shanghai Triad four times at the Angelika [in New York] while I was at college. I saw it early and said to friends, ‘Have you seen this?’ I took two friends and I took my mom when she visited New York to go see Zhang Yimou’s films. I had a period in the nineties when I was really quite obsessed with his movies. He showed what he could do with Hero and House of Flying Daggers, which were very different from his arthouse films he made in the nineties, which are all brilliant, and now this is taking it a step further because it is a big Hollywood ‘creature-feature’ that meets epic Chinese cinema. So for me it was very surreal, because I had admired him as a filmmaker and one I never expected to meet or work with - and then in my first film. I was working with him alongside Matt Damon and Willem Dafoe and Andy Lau and an amazing Chinese crew and brilliant Chinese actors. I had no idea how it would turn out but it was a very surreal experience.”

Damon was able to talk to The Rake about having Pedro as a teammate on the movie. It may be obvious as to why Damon, one of the most respected and loved men in Hollywood, would have been picked for the part, but why the relative newcomer Pascal? Damon without hesitation answers: “He was picked because he was the best actor available for the part; he is a fantastic actor.” He cited Pedro’s time acting in the theatre in New York as the way in which he developed his craft. He says: “He came out of [Tisch] 20 years ago and just started doing theatre. If you can last into your forties doing that - he had his 10,000 hours a decade and a half ago. He’s really mastered his craft and you can see that with the level of technique and how agile he is as an actor, he can really do anything. I’d say he can dial up or dial down whatever the director needs. When you are that versatile, it is a real boon to a director because they can temper the piece exactly how they like. It’s really fun to play off him because he does different things, he has a lot of fun and there is a lot of joy in his work, and we laughed a lot. I have always said about great actors that they are good enough for both of you - they’re so overwhelming that they pull you right into the scene. Personally I end up not having to work because I am being taken, like you board a train and you go along for the ride. That’s what it is like working with Pedro, he is a really uniquely talented guy, but that comes from years of theatre in New York. It is not just the raw talent, he has honed his technique over the last couple of years.”

Pedro feels his rise to fame in his early forties comes as a double-edged sword. On the one hand fame at a young age “fucks you up. I don’t think that as a rule, but it can fuck you up.” On the other hand, “in my experience I feel quite naïve. I was doing plays and guest spots and some bullshit indie films that no one will ever see. It is interesting to be completely grown up and feel like a freshman.”

Kingsman: The Golden Circle, which is due out next year, was the same for him. He says: “I was just in some kind of strange candy shop doing Kingsman 2, finding myself in a scene with Jeff Bridges and Colin Firth and Halle Berry and Channing Tatum and getting to meet Julianne Moore. It was really kind of a movie experience on crack." And reveals that Jack Daniels, is the biggest badass of them all.

This is all to say that Pedro Pascal, the political refugee who employed all of his talent, all of his ambition and passion to create a success of the opportunity given to him in the land of the free, is very much Mr. America. His old friend Sarah Paulson says that, “It is a very sweet thing - watching him land where I always thought he should land. Proud doesn’t begin to cover it; it feels righteous.”

America is built on the type of tolerance, kindness, humility and skill that Pedro Pascal embodies. And his rise to prominence comes at a time when there is a narrative - one that is extremely close to executive power - suggesting walling off Central and South American immigrants, a suggestion Pedro says is “revealing some of the ugliest things of which we are capable as a nation”. Damon agrees with The Rake, saying, “I’ve often thought, especially listening to Donald Trump do his thing, that Pedro’s is the quintessential American story, and that’s why we don’t build walls.”

Perhaps it is the responsibility of magazines like ours to make clear that no one is more American than Pedro Pascal. And it is only fitting that, as America continues to seek progress - the repealing of ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’, its first black president, perhaps its first female president, a fairer medical system - Pedro embodies everything beautiful about a beautiful country, and it feels righteous.

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal photoshoot #pedro pascal the rake #pedro pascal interview #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal photos #pedro pascal words #pedro pascal magazine

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fromabasementonthehilll · 9 months

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May I request and 1996 Shauna Shipman x Fem!reader? Where Shauna is a vampire and she gets with reader?

It's okay if you can I just wanted to ask

Teeth (pt.1)

͙⁺･༓☾ - Summary: You had been attacked by a wild ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎animal, if it even was one. You slowly ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎begin to question your friends behaviour.

Pairing: Vampire!Shauna Shipman x reader

Warnings: blood/gore

Part two

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A blood rush induced haze, one hand limp, heart heavy with numb ground assailing legs; you ran. You didn't know how long you were running for, but you knew you couldn't stop, because it wouldn't. you couldn't feel the bottom half of your body, you traced the foreboding forest with your teary eyes, unsure of where to go. Looking behind, you'd convinced yourself that it was gone, that bloodlust creature that sunk its teeth into you on your way back home, and so you slid down against a rough tree, the wind healing the soreness in your breathless throat and the scorching heat that built up in your face.

"Yeah, I don't know, I think it was a wolf or something" you sat in the cafeteria the next day with a few of your friends, "Oh my god I'm so sorry (y/n), I knew I should've driven you home" Lottie apologised, "Are there wolves in New Jersey? I'm not sure we have them, it could've been a serial killer y'know.." Van exclaimed spookily to your side, you simply gave her a confused look. "I didn't know you were out yesterday night, is the wound bad?" Shauna asked across the table in front of you, weirdly sincere guilt covering her expression. You adjusted the bandage on your upper arm, "The doctors said it could take a few weeks to heal, luckily I didn't have to stay overnight at the hospital, but goddamn it hurts. The worst part is that they don't even know what could've bitten me." It hurt, a lot. You were taking so many painkillers that you were constantly disoriented, barely keeping up with school assignments. "You can stay at mine tonight if it helps," Shauna offered. It made sense, she lived further away from the place that you were attacked, and you couldn't help but fear walking there again. "And I could drive you home whenever you want." She finished, you accepted the invitation, it would probably cause you less stress, and you'd most likely manage to convince her to help you study. Shauna cursed herself out, mentally - why had she offered? She cant be close to you, nothing good will come out of it. Her eyebrows furrowed in thought, you noticed.

After school you wanted to go straight home. You sat in Shauna's car, "Hey, thank you for this, Shauna." You watched her as a slight smile painted her worried face, "Of course."

"You can sleep on the bed," she gestured, "No, no it's okay, I'm not going to steal your bed too." You chuckled, she laughed back, "No really, I don't mind," Both of you left it at that, going downstairs to watch TV. You caught onto the fact that she would stay as far from you as possible, do I smell? What's up with her.

You felt bad, I mean you basically just decided to live at Shauna's house, though she did offer after all. You admired how she kept her bedroom neat and tidy, the art on her walls, though you noticed something odd when she opened her closet. A white t-shirt, ripped at the torso with a few blood stains. As much as you could brush it off - it worried you, maybe even scared you. You didn't ask, however. It felt weird to pry after she'd been so kind to you after your attack.

You two were listening to music in her bedroom, you watched her as she danced while drawing something, it felt like every other time you'd stay over at hers. You sang along, "This is my favourite song." Hearing you, she turned up the volume, "Me too," she sat beside you on the bed, still miles away somehow, "I have a whole collection of CDs if you wanna check it out? I also have a bunch of movies on VHS if you wanna watch something.." Shauna looked at you deeply, watching the way your hair moved with you, how your body listened to her words closely. And In all honesty you felt happy, you liked being around her.

You smiled, hugging her. "Shit, (y/n)." She stood up so quickly, mouth agape and sad eyes in worry. "Are you okay? Did I do something? Shauna I'm sorry I just wanted to-" She cut you off, you stared at her in attempt to figure out what the fuck was going on, and right before she turned away the bedroom light highlighted a slight crimson glow in her eye, almost unnoticeable. "It's nothing, I mean you didn't do anything, I'm sorry." Suddenly the music felt like dull background noise, you looked away, bewildered. She sat back down on her desk as if nothing happened. You began worrying, worrying too much for your own good. "Shauna, talk to me." Receiving no response, you followed up, this time trying even harder to get her to talk. "Why do you have a blood stained shirt? It's all ripped up - are you okay? Tell me what's going on!" "It's nothing okay? Forget it." Finally seeing more than just the shakiness of her head from behind, you raised your eyebrows as she turned to you. "No it doesn't make sense, you invite me over to your house but don't want to be around me." This time both of you stand up, flaring your arms around as you two argued about nothing. "There's nothing wrong, alright! Gosh why do you have to be so.."

"So what?"

"Nothing."

The rest of the night was quiet, her parents weren't home, so she had decided to sleep in their room instead. The only time you two would really speak was when it was necessary. It felt wrong, all of it. Arguing with Shauna was at the bottom of your bucket list, you never argued with her. It's not like you two never hugged before, you were close friends and were always getting up into each others faces, she'd just act weird around you lately.

In the meantime you had noticed Shauna would sneak out in the middle of the night, and on top of everything else, it made you jittery; confused, most importantly distressed.

"Lot, somethings up with Shauna, I know it"

"Shes probably just on her period or something"

"Really, Lottie? That's the dumbest thing you could say right now." You sat in the lockers after practice, on the complete other side of Jackie and Shauna. "You keep looking at her, just to talk to her I mean you guys practically live together now she can't just block you out?" You scoffed at Lottie, it had been a few days since you started sleeping over at Shauna's. "She can and she has, I barely even speak to her, she won't tell me anything." Tying your laces extra tight, Lottie reassured you. "The Halloween party's soon, everything will be fine. But... she could be turning into a werewolf or something, watch out!" She crept up and jumped at you as you finished tying your laces, your heart skipped a beat "Shit Lottie don't do that!" She laughed menacingly before helping you pack up. Admittedly, you were on edge, fighting with Shauna wasn't the best for your stress levels, and your arm hadn't gotten any better. If anything, it hurt even more.

"Hey, (y/n)." Shauna stopped you outside of the changing rooms. "Shauna?" Darkness cast her under eyes, she clearly wasn't sleeping. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to fight with you." Her sheepish stance didn't bother you, at this point you were just upset. "And yet you're still standing 3 feet away from me." Stern, just how you meant to say it. She swallowed her words, carefully tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, you looked at her every detail, still searching for answers. Shauna wanted to be close to you, she wanted to hug you, she wanted to listen to music with you without having to be careful - but she just couldn't.

"I'm going home today, don't worry." You began walking off. "Wait - (y/n), you don't have to leave," She was cut off, "I do, clearly." You tried your hardest not to sound like an asshole, but you really believed she didn't want you there, and she did nothing to disprove that. Shauna was still staring at you, pleading with nothing but guilt in her eyes. "You can't go, how will you get home? You live so far away from everything I won't be able to drive you home everyday." You dismissed her tries to reason your stay, "You won't have to, I'm not counting on that." Still metres away.

"What? Don't tell me you're going to walk, what if that person attacks you again?"

"Person? Shauna it was an animal, why would a person bite me, and it's probably gone by now. Just forget it."

"No, stay."

A sense of urgency lingered in her voice, you wanted to ask why she pleaded so much for you to stay, but you just walked away.

It would be a lie to say you didn't feel scared walking home. As you inched closer to the place you got attacked, the sun began setting and your hands began shaking, you could almost feel the adrenaline ready to kick in at any moment, but nothing happened. You were out of the forest, or so you thought. Relief began settling until it was broken by the bushes in front of you.

Blood filled eyes chased after you, you stood for a moment, cursing yourself for not just giving into Shauna. You glared at it, as much as you could considering how fast it was moving. It looked human. You ran back into the trees as fast as your legs could carry you, weak from your state. Branches cut and bruised you, reopening the wound that impaled your arm. Van was right all along, and you were wrong to act so reckless.

Ruptured moonlight casted onto your vision, soon distrusted by the red eyes you sought to escape. They moved around, cautious of nearing you. Regaining consciousness, you had realised you failed. You ran so fast and failed. It was now upon you, as you felt a pair of eyes stalking you. You smelled it, the blood, creeping around you like flies to rot. "Oh my god. Fuck." A familiar voice startled you, though you were in such a daze it all sounded distorted. You gave into the voice, seeking aid from anything you could. "Shauna?", weak, but hopeful, you spoke.

"(y/n), I'm so sorry, please just.."

The distortion began to dissipate, fading away into the night as you tried your hardest to get up, vision focusing on the face in front of you. The pale moonlight accentuated her face in all the right ways, her pretty doe eyes looked sadder than they ever were as they attempted to look at you without squinting, her lips were ridden with thick blood as they trembled. You sat up, in silence for a moment as the hurt throughout your body seeped in while the adrenaline left entirely. "Shauna, what happened?" You desperately hoped it was the last time you had to ask her that, hoped that she would give an answer to all of this, hoped that you wouldn't have to be stuck in the endless, incoherent maze that you thought only occurred in your restless dreams. "I'm sorry," She began trying to construct her sentence, you shifted your gaze onto her ripped, blood soaked flannel.

"It's me (y/n),"

"I attacked you."

Another phase of silence stayed within the air momentarily. You closed your eyes for a moment, unable to focus on her words while trying to adjust your eyes. You stuttered for a second, blocking out the pain shooting throughout your entire body as hard as you could.

"You?"

"I would do anything to take it back, I swear, please just," Shauna despised it, all of it. She hated who she had become and it consumed her. She looked at your fragile state, how you pleaded with your gaze for her to give you an answer, an explanation.

"I'm a vampire, (y/n)." Those were the last words you expected to hear from her. Shauna never even admitted it to herself, she doesn't know how it happened, she just dealt with it, and now you had to too. "Don't joke around Shauna, I'm being serious." Your voice whiny and sore, seeking for an ending to all of this. "I am serious, I swear, just let me take you to a hospital, you're bleeding out" You interrupted her increasingly louder voice.

"Prove it."

"What?" She was metres away from you yet again, it all began to make sense, but it seemed surreal. Vampires were fiction, you couldn't wrap your head around it unless she showed you. Lifting yourself up from the ground, you looked at her.

"I cant do it (y/n), it's dangerous."

"Just do it, please. I'm tired."

Her body whispered towards you, moving alongside the peace bringing wind. You watched her eyes shine red. It wasn't a pronounced red, it was a certain glow that you couldn't describe, shuffling in between the honey brown colour that she had. You, on the other hand, were drenched in red, you knew what it would do to a vampire, though her presence omitted a strange security that wrapped around you. Shauna tried her hardest not to hurt you, you knew how much she cared for you, but this time it was different. You stared at her as she stood before you, the closeness you hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. You wanted to feel the warmth of her again, her touch. After the attack it all seemed to disappear.

If you focused your eyes enough you could see how her canines had been honed all of a sudden, like the edge of a blade. Tears formed in her eyes with every step she took, you steadied yourself as you began to feel the brunt of your wounds. You could tell she was hungry, and it controlled you, just as it controlled her. You began acting more reckless by the second, yearning for her.

"Kiss me"

Her mouth pronounced a shaky o shape, exposing her fangs to you unintentionally. Ever since she had accidentally bitten you, her hunger for you grew, and you could sense it.

"Shauna, please."

Bloodlust eyes watched your fresh wounds in avoidance, unsure hands resting on your body.

She had given into her hunger for you, roughly matching her lips to yours. You fell into the kiss, feeling the stabbing of her fangs onto your bottom lip. Your gashes ached as her hands gripped you like you were prey. Her lust tasted metallic, you ran your hands through her messed up hair, though it was too much for her. In a flash, she had disappeared.

Woken up by the peering eyes of your doctor, the fluorescent hospital lights burned your eyes. You noticed gifts on the bedside table and 'get well soon cards', but none from Shauna.

"Tell me your full name, please."

"(y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Do you recall what happened to you?"

You were unsure of what to say, it all felt like a hazy dream.

"No, I passed out."

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #shauna x reader #shauna shipman #yellowjackets oneshot #yellowjackets fanfic #shauna shipman x reader

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abbyromanoff · 1 year

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Not feeling well

Gif source: @cthulhus-curse

Pairings: Natasha x gn!reader

Summary: You caught some sort of cold while your girlfriend, Nat, was on a mission. She returns only to find you terribly sick.

Warnings: mentions of vomiting, swearing, kissing, fluff that’s really it

No one is allowed to copy my work, reblog as their own, or steal it.

2 more days. That’s how long until Nat is scheduled to return from her three week mission. And in that time of her being gone you got sick, the doctors said it was a nasty cold but you felt like you were dying. You were puking every morning, afternoon and night, you even took a pregnancy test to make sure it wasn’t just morning sickness or symptoms. You’d get freezing cold and then become boiling hot. Your face would go from blue lips and a pale color to sweat dripping down your forehead as your face was cherry red. Every time you ate it would come out of you someway whether it was from puking or going to the bathroom, you lost 4 pounds in the six days that you have been sick. Cho has been trying to figure out what it was, there was no way this could just be a cold. The team knew how miserable you were and let you relax, making sure you didn’t train or workout for the time being. You made them all swear they wouldn’t tell Nat as you knew if she found out she’d have someone else go on the job and would take care of you. And as much as you’d love for Nat to be here with you, you also knew that would mean more missions later on as Fury would say, ‘if you pass your mission on to someone else that’s double your own.’ Plus Nat enjoyed going on them and loved that thrill she got whenever she’d take someone down. So you sat in your bed, her side cold as you awaited for her arrival.

It was 2:06 P.M and you were about to take a nap, or at least try to when there was a knocking at your door. You yelled ‘come in’ to your best ability, it really only came out as a raspy, dry voice that could barely be heard. The door opened to reveal Peter trying his hardest not to drop the soup Wanda made. You noticed over the week that when you eat solid foods it ends up being puked out while liquidated foods weren’t as bad. You took the hot bowl out of his hands and put it down next to the half empty tissue box on your bedside table, thanking Peter as well.

“Of course, Y/N. Oh and Mr Stark gave me directions to,” he looks down at his hand with black sharpie on it that you could tell was written by him with how messy it was. “deliver your soup without spillage and inform you that Nat will be returning today.” He finished his sentence by looking back at you, staring into your red eyes with a smile on his face. You’d make a joke about the hand thing but you didn’t even have the energy to.

“Oh fuck, she’s gonna kill me when she sees me this sick.” As if you wanted to prove your point further you unwillingly started a large coughing fit at the end, successfully scratching the itch in the back of your throat. You continued the small talk with Peter for a few minutes until he left, saying he didn’t want to catch whatever you have. You couldn’t blame him, this was hell. So now you sat waiting for your girlfriend to return while slurping down the delicious soup Wanda made. You made a mental note to ask the witch on how to make it and started to clean up a bit. Even if you were tired and sore as ever you didn’t want Nat to come home to a huge mess.

Once you heard slight chatter downstairs you knew Nat has arrived back home and was most likely confused as why you weren’t there to greet her like always. Footsteps could be heard minutes later as she got closer and closer to your room. She slightly knocked while opening the door, peaking her head through she looked for you only to see you laying in bed covered in blankets.

“Y/N? You in he- ahh, there you are.” She walked over to your body ready to turn you over and give you a kiss only to find your pale face staring back.

“Holy shit! The guys told me you weren’t feeling well but I didn’t expect this,” She exclaimed. “Honey, can you tell me what’s wrong? Want me to warm you up a bath or get you something to eat?” You only shook your head as you laid still. She leaned back and told you to stay there and that she would be back. Minutes later you heard the same footsteps jogging towards your room.

“Okay I’m back. I know you said you weren’t hungry but I got you some saltines just in case, some ginger ale for your stomach, a hot bottle that Wanda said usually helps with periods but I thought ‘hey maybe this will work’. I got some-“ Her rambling was cut off as you pulled her into a big hug, not bothering to care about her getting sick too, only focusing on her body against yours. She put the stuff down and cradled you in her arms, not caring either about catching whatever you have. She felt tear drops drip onto her clothed shoulder causing her to pull back and examine your face with worry. You smiled up at her, or at least tried to.

“Thank you Nat. Thank you for doing this for me, I love you so much.” You said in a whispered voice. She stared back at you, a large grin overtaking her face as she took in what you said.

“I love you too sweetheart, so much.” She replied, wiping away the tears that arose to her eyes before continuing, “now come on, I’m going to run you a warm bath, I know you said you didn’t want one but we both know that’s a lie. And you eat up alright, you need something in your system.” She said as she walked to your shared bathroom turning on the bath. You groaned into the pillow as she ruined the sweet moment you shared, but nonetheless ate like she told you. You hoped it wouldn’t come up this time. She chuckled at the noise you released, god she couldn’t wait to marry you someday.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha x fem!reader

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emilysboy01 · 6 months

Text

Transmasc Reader x Teen!Lottie

Transmasc reader dating Lottie pre-crash, and going through the testosterone changes while she's stuck in Canada (based off this).

Also reader is on low dose testosterone, purely cause that's what I've done my own personal research in :)

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Pre-Crash:

As soon as you told her you were transmasc/wanted to go on testosterone, this girl was straight on the phone to her dad about getting you the best gender therapist, doctor, and surgeon, she could fine, so you could make you on the outside match the inside.

Always giving you kisses and calling you her best boy, I-

Gave you extra special kisses and calling you her brave boy (idahforebifbie). "It's only gonna be a week, sweet boy. I'll be back home soon, I promise." while saying goodbye to you and her parents before she left on the plane her dad had rented for the team.

~~~

Pre-Them Being Found:

Not hearing from her for that entire week broke you, going to the last appointment before getting your first dose in tears and alone.

Unfortunately the next time you heard from her parents was three weeks after your first injection, when her mom called you to say that the team had been deemed deceased.

Life went on for you over that year and a half. You moved to New York, cut your hair shorter, took your T-shots regularly.

Your voice grew deeper, your happy trail got thicker, you even gained a fair bit of facial hair, despite there being a gaping hole in your heart left by the girl you always said you'd marry one day.

Still keeping in touch with said girl's parents (mostly her mom, let's be honest, her dad's a bit of an ass), leaning on each other to try and mourn (to an extent), until you got the phone call. They found them.

~~~

Everything after??:

You sobbed for hours, but ultimately ended up agreeing to Ms Matthews' offer to fly you back to New Jersey, free of charge, since none of you knew the condition of any of the girls, or if she was even on the plane back.

Once you got there you waited and waited and waited, watching the rest of the girls walk off the plane, exchanging small smiles and waves at them, and just as they looked like they were about to shut the plane door, your eyes met hers. She knew it was you.

You bounded over to her, barely giving her enough time to get to the bottom of the steps of the plane and drop her bags, before you literally ran into her, and she held you tightly in her arms.

You both stayed like that for a good 20 minutes, before reluctantly pulling away.

"What is this?" You inquired, running your thumb along a faint scar on her forehead. "Oh that? That's nothing- what is this?!" She replied, lightly scratching her left hand over the small bits of facial hair that had started growing on the undersides of your jaw. "Oh that's nothing," You said, shooing the topic off slightly, resting your hands on her cheeks. "Wait until you see the happy trail." "You got a happy trail?!!" She exclaimed surprisingly, running her fingers through your short hair.

Let's just say you both spent hours upon hours after that, in the car on your way back to her house, then cuddled up together in her room, catching up on your progress, and slowly but surely, trying to get her to talk about some of the stuff that happened in the wilderness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi so I got a little carried away w/ these, and it's a little shorter then I thought it would be, but I just wanna keep you guys sat until the 1st, love y'all, hope this was okay @deerlottie xxx

-Harlow

#🪐Harlow/Nix🪐#harlow speaks 🦒#original content #mine not yours #yellowjackets #yellow jackets #charlotte matthews #charlotte matthews x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews thoughts

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mariaofdoranelle · 1 year

Text

Look at Us Now — Ch. 6

Fic masterlist

This chapter is a little atypical, but we’ll get to our regular schedule next week. I almost rewrote everything last minute because this is a little too charged, but I hope you like it 😅

Warnings: language, incarceration

Word count: 3,7k

Calling his students out for their little looks and whispers would only make things worse.

It was no surprise, considering how his night routine with Fenrys consisted on listening to all the gossip his friend learned throughout the day. News ran fast inside this base.

It took only one day for the entire Air Force to find out that Rowan was sent to the guardhouse for improper sexual conduct. It was only his fifth day, half of his sentence, and he was beginning to wonder if going to work was that much better than spending all his time in a cell. Rowan couldn’t stand all the curious or pitiful looks he was getting, and it was almost as bad as the shame he felt weighing down his chest.

“Whitethorn!” Lorcan barked, coming his way and scaring away the recruits around.

“Captain.” His salute was the same he’d do to any superior. They were friends, yes, but every step Rowan took had to be thinly calculated. He was doing everything by the book to regain his reputation.

“You are the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

Lorcan had his arms crossed, eyes narrowed at him. Rowan nodded in agreement.

“You’ve told me that plenty of times over the last five days, sir.”

“I got the doctor’s report on this last class two days ago. Turns out Galathynius didn’t do her test because she’s pregnant.”

Rowan nodded, not saying a word and feeling his stomach drop. As proud as he was to become a father, he didn’t like the way Lorcan, his boss, was leading this conversation.

“And don’t you think it’s strange that, right after that, her uncle locked you up?”

Rowan just hummed in acknowledgement. He would find out eventually, but Rowan was saving this conversation for a time where Lorcan wasn’t so pissed at him.

“And don’t you think it’s even stranger that Galathynius showed up at the training center thirty minutes ago, demanding to speak with you, even though you were busy and your position leaves you with no privileges whatsoever?”

“Where is she?”

Aelin was here. To talk to him. All of his insides twisted and quivered with the realization. He didn’t know if she was here to yell or make peace, but he’d take anything after five days of not being able to go after her because of his fucking sentence.

“She’s at my office.” Lorcan gripped Rowan’s forearm when he mentioned to leave. “I’m trying to help, but you’re walking a very thin line here, Whitethorn. Do not. Do. Anything. Dumb.” His friend squeezed his arm, making sure he understood how serious this was. “Copy that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope the kid puts some sense into your head,” Lorcan disclosed, but Rowan barely listened to him. He was walking as fast as he could, heart hammering against his chest each step he took.

When he opened Lorcan’s office door and recognized that silky golden hair, half of the weight on his shoulders vanished. The other part was still there, with promises of getting better or worse depending on how this conversation went.

“Did you read my letters?”

“All four of them.” Aelin gave him a tentative, close-lipped smile. “I would’ve come sooner if I knew about them. Lieutenant Moonbeam was delivering them at the wrong house.”

“Who did he gave them to?” His voice was taut and low as his mind ran the million different ways Fenrys could’ve got this wrong.

“Don’t worry.” She snorted. “He dropped them at my uncle’s, but I’m staying with my cousin now. Philippa gave them to me tonight, and I drove straight here.”

“Oh.” Rowan’s shoulders dropped in relief. It wasn’t Fenrys’ fault, then. Rowan was the one to give the wrong directions. “I didn’t know you moved.”

“It’s recent.” Aelin bit her lip. “I’ve been staying at Aedion’s spare room since Monday. It’s fine.”

Monday. She left her uncle’s house the day Darrow locked him up. Rowan wanted to ask if something happened, but he didn’t want to say anything that would risk his actual goal, that was getting on an agreement about the baby. Which he would start to work on now.

“I was a jerk the other day. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” She seemed much calmer than when she left on Monday. It was probably because of Rowan’s clumsy groveling through desperate letters.

He was going to be a father.

That word couldn’t seem to leave his head, and he didn’t want it to.

Coming from a big, loud, loving family, of course Rowan wanted to have kids. At the right time. Which definitely wasn’t now, but he could work with that. He could make things right.

“Look, I—“ Aelin ran a hand through her hair as she considered her words. “You were an ass. I was too. I’m still bummed that was how things went out, but we have to get our shit together for the kid, right? I don’t want to be one of those parents who can’t decide on anything without a judge.”

His eyebrows raised. Aelin said some shit about not letting him see the child, but he just assumed she was angry because of his outburst. Suing her for custody never crossed his mind.

“I’m sure we can work things out without lawyers.”

The way Aelin’s shoulders dropped was so visible he wondered how much she tortured herself with this insanity. One more proof that she didn’t seem to know him at all.

“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Dorian,” she continued when Rowan was too stunned to answer, “I—“

“Look, Aelin, you don’t need to apologize. I don’t care about that anymore,” He lied. But he’d get there sometime. ”I think we should focus on the baby from now on.”

“Okay.” She slowly nodded, processing his words. “I agree.”

“That’s why we should get married.”

It was their best option. Right now, Rowan had his hand and an unborn kid he would see, in the best-case scenario, half of their life. By marrying Aelin, he would have great sex and frequent contact with his kid. Ideally, a marriage needs love. Well, Rowan definitely wasn’t in love with Aelin, but marrying her was all a man could ask for. Objectively. Under his circumstances, at least.

“Absolutely not!” Aelin blurted. Then paused for a beat, blinking with her mouth ajar. “Rowan, we’ve known each other for only a few months. Why would you think that?” She asked in a quieter tone this time, but her eyes were still widened, staring at him.

“I-“ Rowan crossed his arms and stared at the wall beside him for a second. He swallowed. “I don’t wanna be a part-time dad,” he croaked out.

Aelin’s eyes immediately softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand.

“We can figure this out in a more… modern way. But that’s very chivalrous of you.” She had a small smile on. “Considering how we started.”

“Okay.” He sighed. “I guess we’ll do things the modern way.”

“It’s not like you actually wanted to marry me.” She snorted.

“Yeah, sure.”

Well, Rowan didn’t know what to add. He was ten days without his phone or laptop to research anything baby-related, which was driving him insane, so the only plan he made was the one about Aelin.

“So we’re finally on the same page about this?” She asked after a moment of silence.

Putting everything that happened aside so they could focus on the baby. They could do that.

˜˜

“What brings you here today?”

Maisie.

The desk sign read Dr. Yrene Towers, PhD, but the only person he could think of while reading it was Maisie.

Aelin looked at him. He didn’t say a thing. She cleared her throat.

“Hey, Yrene.” Aelin said in a small voice, and Rowan frowned at the usage of the doctor’s first name. Maybe they knew each other from Elide, or this is just how therapy goes. He shook it off as Aelin continued, “Our daughter has been making these drawings.”

The therapist took the phone and zoomed in the images of the same drawings Maisie’s teacher showed them.

“You do seem angry in these.”

“I know. And I don’t think my daughter has been doing me justice. I look a lot cuter in real life.” Aelin pasted on a smile and leaned back in the chair, but Rowan immediately recognized her false bravado.

“That sounds like a job for an art teacher.” Dr. Towers sent them an empathetic smile. “What can I help you two with?”

“We need to stop fighting,” Rowan blurted. He didn’t even want to be here, but since he was, he wanted to get this over with.

“Okay…” the therapist nodded and quickly typed something on her computer. “So you’re telling me you live in a high-conflict co-parenting situation, and want to stop fighting because of your daughter?”

They both confirmed.

“I think it’s great that you’re seeking therapy for that, and it really shows how much you care about your little girl, but I can’t make you stop fighting.” Rowan’s stomach dropped. He knew therapy would be fruitless. Dr. Towers continued, “What I can do instead is help you treat each other with kindness and respect even when you disagree on something.”

“That’s perfect.” Aelin nodded.

Rowan didn’t feel so sure.

Basically, the doctor had just told them they had no salvation. They’d fight to the day they die, it would just be less ugly. Rowan sighed. Well, he did promise Aelin he’d try her way of fixing things.

“I can work with that,” he offered when both women were looking at him.

“Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourselves?”

The therapist wanted to know all problematic parts of their relationship, right? Rowan assumed he should be honest.

“I guess it all started when Aelin lied to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you going to deny that?” Rowan sighed, hating that they were wasting time reminiscing things from five, six years ago instead of solving their current issues.

“I have nothing to deny, because I didn’t lie.”

“Okaaay!” Dr. Towers interrupted. “I usually start with the communication techniques after the introductions are made, but I think we can use them now.” She turned to him. “Rowan… can I call you Rowan? Mr. Whitethorn? Captain?”

“Rowan’s fine.”

“Okay, Rowan.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Can you tell Aelin your version of what happened, but without adding your interpretation or blaming her? Just the raw string of events.”

He did as he was told, explaining how she hid her relationship from that night at Aviator’s Ball to the pregnancy reveal. Aelin didn’t object.

“You did that step great,” Yrene praised. “Now, how did that make you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Well, that’s a valid response, but-” The therapist fumbled about in a drawer, but quickly took out a thick sheet of paper. “Can you try finding one emotion here that matches how you felt?”

The paper she gave him had Emotion Wheel written, and had so many feelings in so many colors, it almost made him dizzy. Rowan took his time to find one.

“I guess I felt… frustrated.” Rowan set his jaw. They agreed to do this feelings thing, so fuck it. “Jealous, too.”

Rowan couldn’t decipher the look in Aelin’s face, so he focused on the therapist.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Yrene encouraged. “Now the last step of this communication tool is to identify your needs and communicate them—“

“I’m sorry.” Aelin was fully turned to him, eyes earnest. “I was sure you wouldn’t sleep with me if you knew. Still am, actually. That’s why I didn’t tell you, and then things snowballed. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit.”

Rowan nodded, hoping he wasn’t blushing. Yes, he accepted doing therapy, but he hoped he wouldn’t need to talk about his sex life to a stranger.

After that, they stumbled through the past five years of their lives, disagreeing only a few times because they were doing that thing where they talked objectively. He didn’t know how many therapy sessions would take if Yrene wanted to disclose their feelings at each event, and Rowan hoped she wouldn’t try that.

Even if it was in polished, sugar coated words, forcing themselves to speak out loud every mistake they made was enough. Rowan didn’t want to delve into how he felt about that as well.

“Okay…” Yrene trailed while she worked on her notes. Rowan had never seen someone type so fast on a computer. “Another thing I like to do in the first session is to set goals.” Her gaze swept between the two of them. “Apart from improving communication skills, is there anything else you’d like to work on?”

“Healthy boundaries.”

Aelin’s reply was way too fast for his liking. Of course she’d request that.

“How do you feel about that, Rowan?” The therapist asked.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” He looked deep into Aelin’s smoldering eyes, defiant blue and green clashing together.

“Well, of course you don’t, Rowan. I don’t call you six times a day to check if you’ve managed to kill our daughter yet.”

He gripped his armchair a little too tightly. Of course Aelin would get a simple thing and twist until he looked like the bad guy.

“Aelin, listen to me—“

“No, you listen to me!” Despite her words, Aelin turned to their therapist. “You know how I feel about his calls!”

“But does he?” Yrene asked.

“You talk to her about me?” Rowan interrupted.

Aelin laughed, but it didn’t sound joyful at all.

“You have no idea the amount of shit I take from you, do you?” She paused for a second, the gold in her eyes ready to burn him. “Yes, Rowan, I do talk about you to my therapist. I talk about you so much I’m almost sending you the fucking bill!”

“You take shit from me?”

“Yes! And I still manage to respect you as a parent, unlike—“

“Unlike what? When did I ever—“

“You don’t even try to hide that you think I’m a shit mother!” She shouted with all the strength in her lungs.

Rowan froze, completely speechless by Aelin’s last sentence.

He had never even hinted that she’s a bad mother. Because he doesn’t think that, in the first place.

Yrene cleared her throat. “I think we should all take a deep—“

“I dare you to tell me one time I made you think you’re a bad mother,” he challenged, voice low and tight.

“Oh, you want it in chronological order? Or ranked by the one who hurt the most?” Aelin sneered. “Because this very morning you called to remind me to brush Maisie’s teeth. I mean, I must be a terrible mother if you feel the need to do that.”

“Oh, you’re hurt?” Rowan sneered. “You want to talk to me about being hurt? This is all your fault! I never, ever wanted to co-parent Maisie. You forced me to do this, and it’s fucking torture! If I have to go through this, the very least you could do is answer your phone and tell me if Maisie is letting you brush her teeth!”

“Okay!” Yrene cut in before Aelin could escalate that. “Why don’t we take a few deep breaths? In through the nose… hold on…. now out through the mouth… okay, you’re doing great. Once again…”

They both followed the therapist’s breathing exercise. Rowan could feel the boiling in his blood diminish every long breath, but it was still a small relief to his anger.

“Now, Rowan.” Yrene focused her gaze on him. “It’s really good that you’re opening up, this office is always a safe space for you to do that. It’s common to have concerns about your co-parent’s parenting style, but there are healthier ways to—“

“That’s not the case.” Rowan suppressed a groan. When did the conversation even get here? “I trust Aelin. I wouldn’t let my daughter stay with her if I didn’t.”

“How reassuring.”

Rowan ground his teeth together, trying to not let Aelin’s snark affect him.

“I just feel better if I know what’s going on.”

”Do you mind talking a little more about that, Rowan?” Yrene’s face looked open, understanding.

Rowan sagged in his chair for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. The therapist looked like she already knew where he was going. Maybe she has mischievous, defiant little girls at home too.

“I always wake up thinking about Maisie.” He turned to Aelin, his voice was a lot calmer this time. ”And today I wondered if the cereal you gave her for breakfast is that one she loves that’s worse than sugar cubes. Then I wondered how you’re handling her teeth situation because she doesn’t like brushing her own teeth, but she needs to learn.” Rowan closed his eyes, ran a hand through his head and sighed. “Then I wondered if she had a tantrum, if you brushed her teeth for her, if she agreed to brush it herself. If she didn’t brush her teeth, will any of her classmates bully her for having bad breath? How would the teacher handle that?“

Rowan eyed the two women carefully studying him. Isn’t this obvious? This is how every parent’s mind works.

“So I decided to ask how brushing teeth went, otherwise next thing I know, I’m messing up my student’s reps because I’m pondering how many cavities I can afford to treat.”

Their therapist was nodding as she typed something on her computer. Aelin was looking so weirdly at him. It was a rare look, the one she wore now. It wasn’t anger, but didn’t look like pity as well. It made him want to take it all back.

“It seems like you’re constantly concerned over your kid.” He nodded, agreeing with the therapist. It isn’t a bad thing, it’s just a side effect of caring. She continued, “I think you’d benefit a lot from individual sessions, Rowan.”

“I’ll think about that.”

Yrene seemed satisfied with his answer, and he wondered if she knew he wouldn’t think about that. The amount of therapy he was currently getting was more than enough. In fact, he already felt drained from so much emotion talk. But then something clicked, and it made Rowan question his therapist’s methods even further.

“How come I’m the only one who needs more therapy? What about Aelin?”

The two women exchanged a look, and Aelin looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. She took a deep breath and turned to him.

“I’m already doing individual sessions,” Aelin said as quietly as her cheeks were red.

Rowan froze for a moment with his mouth ajar, letting the words sink in.

“You’re in therapy!?”

“Well, it seems like you’re in it too!” She snapped, her index finger pointing around the office in a circle.

“No, this is different.” His mouth opened and closed. He still couldn’t believe Aelin hid this from him. “You should’ve told me that! Why didn’t you tell me—“

“Because I report to you about Maisie, not myself!”

“Still! Since when do you do therapy? What’s wrong with you?”

Yrene opened her mouth, but Rowan beat her to it.

“Respectfully. I’m respectfully asking what’s wrong with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she spit out with crossed arms, but her burning red cheeks betrayed her stance. “I first started right after my parents died, then stopped. Started again in high school. I just start, stay until I get discharged, then come back when I feel like it. A lot of people do that, Rowan. It’s actually a good thing.”

Rowan didn’t say a word, he just stared, hoping he wasn’t gaping too much, trying to grasp all this new information.

Aelin is in therapy.

He didn’t even know she was struggling.

She had to be, right? No matter how she played it down, people don’t seek a therapist just because. Especially with how much it costs.

Was he the least attentive, sloppiest co-parent in the world?

Rowan tried to remember the last time he asked Aelin how she was before demanding something about Maisie, but nothing came to mind.

Perhaps that’s why she hates him so much.

Aelin and Rowan stayed there, just staring at each other, a mix of emotion floating between their eyes. Yrene cleared her throat when silence stretched for too long.

“Our time’s almost up. I think there’s a lot of space for progress here, if you’re willing to give it a try.”

If their session made the doctor feel positive, Rowan didn’t want to know what kind of shit that woman sees on a daily basis.

“We are.” Aelin’s answer came fast. Rowan nodded in confirmation.

“Very good.” Yrene gave them a small smile. “From now on, when you interact between sessions, I want you to try communicating how you feel about things, especially the ones you disagree with. And taking a pause before reacting if you feel like shouting, that’s an important one. Can you give it a try?”

They both agreed.

Do the feelings thing. Pause when he gets pissed off. It’d be an adjustment, but if other people could do it, Rowan was capable as well.

“Good.” Yrene typed something and focused back on them. “Do you mind if I give you one more homework?”

“Sure…” Rowan trailed, realizing that therapy was starting to look a lot harder than just attending weekly sessions.

“I think it’ll be good for you two to have quality time together.”

“What.” Was the only thing that came out of Aelin’s mouth. Rowan was stiff as a board.

Their proximity was the whole reason they ended up here. Spending more time with each other sounds like another disaster waiting to happen.

“You see, having fun together is like a savings account in a family. When something bad happens, it softens the blow. It’ll also be good for Maisie, so she can see her parents getting along.”

“How much quality time are we talking about?” Aelin asked, frowning.

“Could be as little as one hour a week. But it’s important that you try and be kind to each other, even it feels forced, so we can start new patterns.”

Rowan chewed the inside of his cheek, mulling this.

By spending time together, they could practice these communication skills. They could also change the narrative in Maisie’s head, making her think her parents get along even though they don’t. It was actually genius. No wonder Dr. Towers has a PhD.

“We can do that.” Rowan could barely believe his own words, but that’s how desperate he was.

When his gaze swept toward Aelin, she looked as determined as he felt.

A/N: Whenever someone says writers post fanfic for free, remember the amount of time I used in my very expensive therapy sessions to discuss and gather tips for this fic!! I have no regrets, though 🤣

My tag list is a little glitchy, but you can also use my side blog to get notifications -> @backtobl4ck-fics

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #aelin galathynius #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #look at us now #throne of glass fic

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thebroccolination · 2 months

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Krist's Thai Fans

My favorite thing about Krist's Thai fans is how kind they are. As long as you're respectful when you ask, they're more than willing to answer questions about him and clarify the past to people who are looking for context. That's what I've always done, and it really speaks to the kind of bond that exists between him and them that although interfans have happily tried to destroy his reputation overseas for years, his Thai fans are able to be this patient dealing with the same misinterpretations of his character over and over.

And a lot of them have been fans since SOTUS. I've spoken to some who attended the filming of SOTUS. Some have known this man since he was a teenager, and since he wears his heart on his sleeve, they know him better than most fans would know the average celebrity. At the BMF finale event, he started crying when he saw a fan he hadn't seen for months. He thought she'd lost interest, but it turned out she'd just gotten busy with work and had been donating to his food support for months instead.

Before I went to Thailand, my friend told me he'd been to a bunch of BL actor events and he said of all the fanbases he saw, Krist and his fans seemed the most like actual, genuine friends. And then I attended the BMF finale event and Krist's solo concert, and my friend was right. At the fan benefits portion of both, Krist not only recognized his fans, he had unique ways of interacting with each of them. One woman opened her arms and ran at him with a yell, and he grinned and yelled back. One guy walked up to him with a beaming smile and Krist lit up and hugged him. It wasn't a, "Hey…you!" thing, he knew these people well enough that he immediately recognized them and matched their energy.

Two friends, a guy and a girl, took a 3:1 photo with Krist, and it was clear from his nervousness that it was the guy's first time meeting Krist. He lingered after, said something to Krist, and Krist beamed and took his hands. The guy walked off the stage barely keeping it together, and his friend turned around and waved at Krist with a knowing smile.

Then, during a group photo, a woman and her friend told Krist that she'd been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and she would likely never meet him again. She was smiling, and he gave her a long hug. She passed away recently.

The reason I'm so enthusiastic about Krist as a person is because I saw firsthand the amount of energy and devotion he reserves for the people who care about him. Friends, family, coworkers, staff, fans. He could easily give half of what he does and it would still be admirable. The fan benefits for the second day of his solo concert went on until at least eleven at night, and the concert started at three. And he was there rehearsing from early morning after doing another concert with benefits the day before. And he was sick. He got through both days using steroids, and he was violently ill from them afterward.

And like, every time I think about this bond with his fans, I'm moved by how immensely kind his Thai fans specifically have always been to me. They've been through so incredibly much with the weird witch hunt against Krist spearheaded by international fans. He was tormented off social media in 2020, but his long-time Thai fans were still there. Watching as western people arrived in this fandom for the first time and started cheerfully spouting death threats at someone whose language they didn't even speak. These people saw one screenshot and an inflamatory TikTok or two and rather than ask anyone why Thai fans weren't also baying for his blood, they decided they knew best and that his fans must just be simps or idiots.

When I visited Thailand last year, it struck me how humble and kind most of these actors are. Be it because they have perspective from working other jobs (doctor, chef, etc.), and if they're like Krist and only work in the entertainment industry, they might just see their fans so often and at such close range that it's probably impossible to want to maintain an Aloof and Mysterious Distance from them. Maybe it's cultural, too. Here in Ireland, Irish people famously don't give a toss when they see Irish celebrities. I saw Hozier on the corner in my neighborhood a few weeks ago chatting with an unhoused man and no one at all reacted.

All this to say, since KristSingto will be active this year, and they'll likely have a series announced at the showcase, please encourage people to do more research than skim through a YouTube video called PROBLEMATIC BAD PEOPLE IT IS ACCEPTABLE TO BE MEAN TO. If not for Krist, then for his queer Thai fans who are, I can confirm, extremely tired of international fans coming into fandom with sanctimonious and cruel intentions that make the entire experience dramatically worse.

I promise you if Krist had ever been perceived as homophobic by his Thai fans, who know him far better than we do, then his queer Thai fans would still be saying something. He also wouldn't have primarily queer friends. Like, it's not one or two. Most of his friends are queer. The industry is queer.

Anyway, y'know. Another day, another casual effort to stamp out this nonsense so we can all enjoy KristSingto time in peace.

#i also just wanted to talk about his fans #they really are absolutely lovely #i'm as excited to go back to thailand later this year to meet his fans again as i am to see him #his solo concert especially was such a bright and happy time <3 #thai fandom has its own issues but overall it seems a lot more relaxed #krist perawat #thai bl

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asshlyyyy · 2 years

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Fairytale

Series Warnings: Language, fake relationship, lying, drinking, major depressive disorder, mommy issues. Mentions of occasionally sexula interactions/ wording. Maybe eventual smut. Individual chapter warnings will appear as needed.

Masterlist | Next Part

Chapter 1: Maid of Honor

Message from Jess at 10:23 AM Hey, Y/n! The girls and I are getting together for some brunch today! There's a chair with your name on it! Your response at 10:26 AM God, that sounds amazing! Just that my boyfriend and I already have plans for lunch :( Message from Jess at 10:28 AM That's okay! We have to meet up soon! I miss you girly! Your response at 10:30 AM I miss you too :(

Sometimes you felt bad doing all this lying, but it wasn't like it was harming anyone. You just didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Truth was... you couldn't find the motive to leave your house. Sure, it seemed unhealthy not to want to leave your home. However, you honestly just... you couldn't bare it. So, you made up the excuse that you had a boyfriend. But Y/n, don't you have a job? Of course, you had a job. You were just lucky enough to work from home.

You often times blamed it on your major depressive disorder. Now, it has calmed down over the years since you were first diagnosed with it. However, every day it still felt like a chain that kept you home. The only times you left were when your sister forced you out of the house. She couldn't always do that though. She lived in a different state, and honestly, you didn't blame her. California could get a bit crazy. Especially with all of these wannabe influencers.

With that being said. You used the boyfriend excuse plenty of times. In fact, you pretty much lost count. Now, this is a very normal excuse, especially when you have plans already with them... So, no one would question it. Yet, the only issue was... it was all a lie. You didn't have a boyfriend. Like hell! You couldn't even leave your damn house. How in hell would you get a boyfriend? Exactly, you couldn't.

Four years ago you hit the darkest moment of your life. The lowest of the low, and you kept it to yourself. You only really felt happy with you were with your family members. Four years is how long you've been using that goddamn excuse. You were diagnosed three and a half years ago. You went to your doctor, who sent you to a therapist who gave you the news. You met with them about once a week. So... once a week for three and a half years. That's... four times a month... which is forty-eight times a year... then 144 for three years... Plus twenty-four... that's... you've met with your therapist so far 168 times.

The major question is... did it help? Yes, for the most part, it did. For the most part, you knew that you had to work on it yourself. Which you have been. Your therapist suggested making a video diary a week. Sitting down and just going over everything that happened that week and how you felt. It was nice, and they held their home on your laptop. You haven't... you haven't reached that sense of content enough to go back and watch them.

As you stepped out of your shower, you wrapped a towel around your body. You had to make a video diary today, and you knew that you should wait till the end of the day... But the start of the week was Sunday, and so was the end of the week. You always recorded these things on Sundays... it just... it just worked. You grabbed a free towel and started to dry your hair, as the familiar tone of your ringer went off.

With curiosity in your mind, you made your way over to your bedroom where your phone rested. Flipping it over you heard your sister's name and smiled. You answered the phone and quickly put it on speaker.

"Is that Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo princess and heir to the throne of Genovia?" You teased as you answered the call. You could hear your sister's laugh from the other end. You smiled and pressed forward with drying your hair.

"Right, Y/n," she continued to laugh, "I have a question for you."

"Hit me," you encouraged her to go on. You looked in the mirror at your messy wet hair and tossed the towel into your bathroom. You'll pick that up once you're off the call.

"So, as you know I'm getting married in a couple of months. Three months exactly, and this may be last minute... But I have a huge huge huge question." She reminded you. Ah yes, your sister met her fiance Nicholas... yes you heard that right. He may very much be Nicholas Deveraux. You were very much all for Mia and Nicholas ending up together in that movie.

"Yes, of course, you would never forgive me if I forgot." You reminded her as you started to dig through your drawers. You just needed your comfy sweats and long-sleeved crewneck.

"I wanted to ask... if you could be my maid of honor...?" You gasped lightly and ran to your phone.

"No way! I would love to!" You heard your sister eeeee at your response. You found yourself joining her as you picked up the phone and pressed it against her ear. "I would be honored."

"This is great news, Y/n! Oh my gosh, oh! And bring your boyfriend! Everyone is dying to meet him, and not to mention... Nic would be very honored if he would be his best man." Your mouth gapped open, and your eyes widened. Did you hear that right? Someone wanted your imaginary boyfriend to be their best man?

"B-best man? I-I mean aren't they supposed to be a relative or a friend? Not a complete stranger?" You struggled to get your words out. Well, you struggled in general. You felt your heart just about to stop at any moment.

"Well, Nic and I talked, and we knew you would find a way to excuse your boyfriend from coming... This way, we knew he would feel bad. So, yes... Nic wants your boyfriend as his best man." She explained. This was that moment you were scared of. The moment that would give out you... This was the moment. FUCK.

"Okay yeah... that works... Yeah... When do we have to be there?" You asked. You were honestly hoping she would say a week before the wedding. Because then that would give you plenty of time to find someone to be your fake boyfriend.

"Well, I want your help during this whole time... And I know you work from home so that's amazing. Maybe in a week or two? Bring your boyfriend as well. We all need to get to know him, and this is the perfect time to do it." With every word that came out of her mouth, the more you felt a weight on your chest. It got harder to breathe and honestly all you wanted to do... was... well... you wanted to disappear.

"R-right well... I will see you then... Bye! Love you!" And you quickly hung up. You placed your phone down and immediately got under your sheets. You pulled them up and over your head and closed your eyes. Think of a better place. A place where you never made the boyfriend excuse. A place where you are happy... Go there... Go there.

Now, your sister always brought you happiness. She never pushed you or even laid out her troubles on you. Your brother was the same way. Your family was a very caring and loving family. They also respected everyone's privacy. So, when it came to them finding out about your boyfriend... They didn't push. They pushed a few times, but that's because you never even gave them a name. You couldn't even think of a name for your imaginary boyfriend! Maybe it was because you knew this would happen.

Yet, every holiday... they would ask you to bring your boyfriend. You would always decline and say that he couldn't make it due to prior engagements... or that he was simply sick. You never shared anything more about your said boyfriend. Sure, it looked a bit suspicious... but they respected you and you appreciated that.

After you found yourself, you got out of your bed. You made your bed and moved over to your desk. You sat down with a huff and lifted open your laptop. You pulled open the video recorder and started to record. You picked at your nails and bit at them, a habit you picked up on. It wasn't that it was out of nerves... it was more or less... it was your fidget.

"I received some bad news today... Well, bad for me..." You let out a breath and turned to look into the camera. You never spoke about your 'boyfriend' on a video before. Your therapist was the only one who would see these, so it wasn't like you were showing it to all your friends and family.

"As you know, my sister Mia got engaged a while back and she asked me to be her maid of honor. I was... well... I was honored," you chuckled lightly at your terrible joke. "Which is great news, don't get me wrong... but... she and her fiance, Nic, have decided to have my boyfriend as the best man."

"I never spoke about him before and it's quite literally because he is a lie. I made him up four years ago as an excuse to get out of things. And, I just kept using that excuse over and over again that everyone thinks I have this mysterious boyfriend that I don't like talking about." You started to ramble on.

"I'm supposed to leave in a week or two with my boyfriend to go back home. The only problem is... I have no boyfriend. So, now what? I ask my male friends, whom I have used the very same excuse on. No. It just wouldn't work. I made this excuse up so that I wouldn't have to explain to my friends why I don't want to hang out." You pulled out your phone and started to look through your contacts.

"Mike is gay... and has had the excuse used on him. Liam, John, Cody, some of these guys are just taken. Yet, I have all used the same excuse on. There's just no way I could ring one up and explain to them why I lied to them and all our friends." You paused as your eyes found a name that you haven't spoken to in a long time.

Austin Butler. You first met him when you first moved to California. He was the absolute kindest man you have ever met. He was actually your neighbor who lived right across the hall. You two haven't spoken in a long time. In fact, over four years ago, so in theory... You have never used the boyfriend excuse on him. Then again... sparking up a conversation with him after so long would be weird... What if he had a girlfriend? He had one when you met him... What makes you think he isn't in that same relationship?

"Austin Butler... he's one I haven't used it on... He's one I haven't talked to in so long... I mean... Hell... I don't even know what happened between us. It wasn't like it was some big falling out. We just got busy, and we stopped texting... stopped calling, and eventually, we stopped hanging out." You started to speak aloud.

"I moved to California a little over six years ago. I was just twenty-one... I had just gotten a job as a physiological criminal analyst. Which, is a job I still have today. I've talked about it a bit, but... I basically analyze people. See, why they have committed the crimes. I listen to tapes, and I read transcripts. All work is easy to do remotely. If there is a big case, then I have to go in person and meet with them personally. You catch the drift."

"Austin lived right across the hall from me. We met the first day I was moving in, and he offered to help carry my things to my apartment. He is such a nice guy. We got everything inside, we had some water and talked. I learned that he is an actor. We exchanged numbers and he left. We started to text continuously, and eventually, I met his girlfriend Vanessa. She seemed very nice, and honestly... God, she was hot. I may be straight, but I can appreciate a woman when I see one."

"He moved out roughly... a year and a half after we met. We still talked after he met, but without that... running into each other in the halls... we talked less and less as time went on. Till we eventually stopped talking. I thought about texting him a bit afterward, but all thought of that left the door soon after. I don't know, it just wouldn't feel right to text him just because I need him for a favor. It just sounds wrong."

You placed your phone down on the desk and looked out your floor-to-ceiling window. You let out a breath and thought about what you could do. Maybe you could just tell the truth... but that would just mess up your sister's wedding. Your fake boyfriend is supposed to be the best man. If there is no fake boyfriend, then there is no best man.

"Do you think someone on Tinder would be willing to go along with it?" You asked no one in particular. You knew the chances of that were very slim unless you somehow found the right guy... but you also knew that you were going to have to kiss this said fake boyfriend. So, it had to be someone you knew and were comfortable with, but goddamn you really did not want to both Austin. You turned back towards the camera and smiled softly.

"Besides this whole deal happening just now... my week was fine, and I need to go. I only have so long until I have to figure this out." You said and ended the recording. You titled it the day's date and sent it off to your therapist. You closed the laptop and picked up your phone once more.

You stood up and pulled up Austin's contact. You took a big gulp and pressed the call button. You placed it against your ear and stood up. You wrapped your arm around yourself and started to walk around the apartment. The pacing was something that... somehow eased you. Yes, quite weird, but you felt that if you kept moving nothing could affect you as much. Not to mention, you felt like curling up in a ball and crying. You didn't even know if Austin still had your number... it is very likely he would've just deleted it and forgotten all about you.

"Y/n?" You heard his voice. You felt your body stiffen. You weren't exactly expecting him to pick up. Let alone remember you!

"Austin... hey."

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