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duskspring · 5 months

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Gifts - Dew/Everyone

Domestic December - Day 10

Summary: Dew gets the pack gifts for the season

Content (do let me know if I forgot anything!): Slightly anxious Dew, fluff, some quick kisses, talk of gender exploration and euphoria in relation to Rain

Word count: ~3.5k

A/N: Some parts of this fic are inspired by some headcanons I've posted before [My Main Masterlist]

The night was loud and unholy. The entire ghoul pack had gathered in their common room, celebrating the end of year festivities. Movies had been watched, board games played and so, so much alcohol consumed. It had, by all accounts, been a great night. But not for Dewdrop.

Yes, he’d been having a lot of fun, but there was a part of him distracted. He’d had an edge of anxiety all night, waiting for the right moment to resolve it. He knew he couldn’t wait much longer, since the night was starting to reach its natural conclusion in those wee hours of the morning.

He sat on a chair on the side of the room, leg bouncing. Two strong arms suddenly came down to lean on his shoulders from behind. He’d recognize those arms anywhere.

“What’s the matter, Droplet?” Swiss asked, “You’ve been a nervous wreck all night.”

“I’m not.” Dew argued unconvinsingly, before sighing. He knew he needed to just get it over with.

He stood up without another word, moving to his room. Swiss immediately followed him in concern.

“Hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean-”

“Nothing’s wrong, Swiss. I just need to grab something,” He stopped his stride, turning to Swiss with an almost pleading look in his eyes, “Please just wait here for a second.”

The multi ghoul was confused, but didn’t want to overstep. He subtly nodded a few times, “Alright.” He took a step backwards, his eyes staying on Dew, before turning back to the rest of the pack.

On shaky legs, Dew quickly made his way to his room. He had two plastic shopping bags waiting there for him, as well as a little separate package on his desk and another item off to the side for later. He put the separate one in his pocket before picking up the bags and marching back. He couldn’t stop now. If he just kept walking and got this over with, it'd be done. It wasn’t a big deal. Worst case scenario, the thought was still there, right?

“Ooh, whatcha got there?” Aurora asked the second he walked in. All eyes turned to him and he froze.

Just get it over with.

“Find out for yourself.” He said dismissively, putting the bags down and plopping himself down on the couch.

Aurora immediately crawled towards the bags. Half of the pack came a little closer as well, while the other half sat back, though still curious and anticipating.

Aurora dug through the first bag, grabbing the first thing she could get her claws on. She examined the wrapped package, soon spotting the name ‘Mountain’ written in Dew’s messy handwriting.

“Mounty, it’s for you.” She announced, throwing it over her shoulder without looking away from the bag.

Cirrus luckily caught it, passing it to Mountain. He looked at Dew in pleasant surprise, looking at the little flat square in his palm. The wrapping was messy, even on such a small present.

“Can I open it?” He asked dew.

“It’s your life. Do what you want.” The fire ghoul’s anxiety was getting worse, making him act dismissive as if it would distance him from the gifts.

He delicately unwrapped the package, without tearing the dotted paper. The first thing he was met with was an empty rectangle of cardboard. He turned it around, causing dew, who was paying very close attention, to bring his legs up against his chest.

Mountain looked over the cardboard a second, then third time, wanting to make sure he was reading it all correctly. There was a bit of text on there, next to a shitty doodle of a flower and what he could only assume was supposed to be Dew, all made with black permanent marker. The words were hard to make out.

“Exchangeable for one… at- attemoon?”

“For one afternoon of help in the garden.” Dew quickly mumbled in explanation.

Mountain looked up in surprise, “You hate the garden.” He noted.

“Well, if you don’t like it you could just say so!” The fire ghoul said defensively, his anxiety reaching its peak.

Mountain’s expression softened, “Dew… Thank you.” He got up, awkwardly bending over to wrap his arms around his packmate.

Dew was shaking like crazy, ready to cry at the positive reaction.

Meanwhile, Aurora had thrown a few more packages over her shoulder. Rain, Aether and Cirrus all got theirs. The little multi ghoulette huffed as she reached the bottom of the first bag, quickly moving onto the next. After throwing something to Phantom, she finally reached her own. She squealed in excitement, forgetting the few people that still hadn’t gotten their own and immediately violently unwrapping hers.

She found herself holding a small ziplock baggie. She saw Sunshine’s face, photoshopped onto a sun through it, quickly opening it up to investigate. It quickly became obvious that she was holding a little pile of different kinds of stickers. Apart from the Sunshine one, there were stickers based on everyone in the pack, all shitilly photoshopped in some relation from their element or name. There were stickers further referencing inside jokes, as well as some logos from Aurora’s favorite bands.

“Dewy, these are awesome!” She giggled, happily shaking her hands.

Cumulus came closer to her to look at the stickers, giggling at them herself, “Did you make these yourself?” She asked him.

Mountain pulled away so Dew could answer. He did so with a nod, “Aurora likes stickers. Easy.” Coming up with and putting together all the designs had actually been a nightmare, but he would never admit to that. He had zero regret, seeing Aurora’s reaction.

Based on the ghoulette’s excitement, everyone quickly dug into their own gifts. Cumulus handed out the few that hadn’t reached their reciprocate yet, including her own.

Phantom’s gift has a funny texture, only upping his curiosity. He rushed to unpack his, gasping and stuttering in excitement when he saw what it was. He could barely hold on to it with how much his hands shook.

“Whatcha got there, buddy?” Swiss asked, smiling at Phantom’s excitement.

Dew let out a sigh of relief. He’d been perhaps most nervous about Phantom’s gift, thinking it wasn’t good enough. Too lame or cheap, not personal enough. Seeing the quintessence ghoul’s eyes light up forced every last bit of anxiety to leave him.

The gift had indeed been simple, a little bat shaped fidget toy. You could spin its head around in circles, pull its wings back and forth and squish its little feet. Phantom immediately went to town on it, unresponsive to most outside stimuli.

Cumulus went next. Unwrapping her gift gracefully, much like Mountain had done. Her heart swelled as her hands grasped a book. Not just any book, but a photo album.

“Dew…” She said his name in adoration, flipping through the pages. Most pictures had been made by her. They were all labelled with a date and the place or situation in which they were taken. It was separated into three chapters: tour, home and Cumulus. The first chapter included photos from the stage, backstage and the tourbus. The second showed all the various shenanigans the pack experienced at the abbey. But it was the third that was most meaningful to Cumulus. She didn’t have a lot of pictures of herself, always being the one to take them of others. But Dew had somehow gathered just about every good picture ever taken of her, even some she had never seen before.

Cumulus quickly pushed the book into Cirrus’s hands, afraid she’d cry all over it. She sniffled, still seated on the ground. She made grabby hands to Dew, beckoning him over into her arms. The two entered a crushing hug while the book was passed around to everyone in the room, laughing and reminiscing.

“You fuckhead, really?!” Sunshine yelled in good spirit at Dew, holding up the book on a page containing a very unflattering picture of her napping on the tour bus. Drool leaked out the corner of her mouth, Swiss and Phantom posing next to her, pointing at the lewd drawings they’d made on her cheeks.

“It’s a good picture.” Dew argued with a smile, earning him a pillow to the face.

Sunshine rushed over in his disorientation, straddling his chest and miming punching him in the face a few times. They both laughed, Sunshine getting off of him again.

“Didn’t even get me a gift.” She mumbled, although her smile faltered a little. She’d been one of only two who didn’t have a gift in the bag. She was confused and hurt, but didn’t want to make a scene and risk ruining it for everyone else.

Dew looked at her face, silently reaching into his pocket and sliding her the little gift he’d kept separately in his pocket with a wink.

Sunshine immediately thought she knew what it might be, covering the package with her hand so no one could see. When everyone seemed distracted, she moved her legs up and unwrapped the gift behind them without looking down. She examined it with her hands, having a hard time not reacting. Quickly she let her eyes drift down, nearly screaming when she saw the lighter in her hands.

All the lighters she used to own had been confiscated for… reasons. And she technically wasn’t allowed to get any new ones.

She turned to Dew with a devious smirk, making him regret the gift almost instantly. But when she shuffled over and put her arm around his shoulders and rested her head against it, he knew it’d been a good call. He felt a lot calmer already, excited to witness the rest unpacking.

Cirrus went next. She tried opening it carefully, before just tearing it apart when it was taking too long. Her gift was one of the few in a proper cardboard box, also being the biggest. It carried the name of a clothing brand she was vaguely aware of.

She looked at Dew with squinted eyes. Curious, suspicious.

She opened it up to indeed be met with a sleek deep blue fabric. She picked and held it up, realizing there was another part of the same color in the box as well.

No way.

“Dew.” She stressed his name, putting her arms down again.

“Yes, dear?” He asked with a grin.

“Dew.” She looked again. It was unmistakable. He’d gotten her a suit. A full, fancy, proper suit, “I complained about not having a suit last week, how did you-”

“Guess I just know you really well.” His dismissive attitude came back with a shrug, not mentioning the fact that he’d run around town in a blind panic trying to get it on time during the busy season.

“I…” She struggled to find the words to express her gratitude.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Put it on!” Sunshine hyped her up.

Cirrus’ eyes lit up, throwing the jacket back down in the box and rushing out the room with it all.

“Alright, alright, now I’m done waiting,” Swiss said, looking straight at Dew, “I assume you haven’t forgotten about me.” There hadn’t been a gift for him in the bags either, but he knew better than to assume Dew didn’t get him anything.

The fire ghoul nodded, “One second.” And left the room.

His feet produced quick taps through the hallway, even though he was wearing socks. He hadn’t been able to bring Swiss’ gift in earlier, since it couldn’t really be wrapped.

“Dewdrop,” Right as he was about to pick it up, Cirrus’ voice came from behind him. He turned to the doorway, greeted by the sight of Cirrus in her brand new, impeccably sharp suit.

“I’m so glad it fits.” Was the first thing he said.

The ghoulette took quick strides towards him, hugging his head into her chest. She could be quite reserved sometimes, so she was glad to have caught Dew on his own.

“It looks great. Thank you so much. I love it.” Her voice shook a little with the sincerity it carried.

Dew stood semi awkwardly when she pulled back, “Phew,” He said stoically, though he did mean it and she knew that, “Guess you should show it to the rest then. I’ll be right behind.”

Cirrus nodded enthusiastically, skipping her way back to the rest of the pack.

Dew let out another relieved breath when she was out of sight. He really didn’t know why he'd been so scared to begin with. He knew his packmates well.

He could hear the excited oh’s and ah’s from the common room and knew he shouldn’t keep Swiss waiting too much longer. He waited another half a minute so Cirrus could have her moment, before picking up the gift and making his own way back.

“You did not!” Since Swiss’ gift wasn’t wrapped he could see clear as day what it was right off the bat.

“Maybe I did. Why don’t you have some fun with it?” Dew teased, holding out a very distinct guitar. At least it was distinct to Swiss.

He would recognize that damn thing anywhere. It was the first guitar he’d ever learned to play on, never allowed to take it on tour. When he returned from his first set of shows he was told he wouldn’t need the old model anymore, since it was best for him to get used to what he always used on stage. He’d never seen it again after that and a sentimental part of him had always missed it. But it was undeniable. This was the exact guitar.

The multi ghoul had never stood up so fast, making his way to Dew and practically yanking the instrument from his hands.

He inspected it, as if there was any doubt it was the right one.

“Hey, I know that! I learned to play with that thing.” Phantom mentioned.

“And it’s good that you did,” Dew interjected, “cause that’s how I figured out where they stored it. Don’t tell anyone.” The last sentence was said very quickly, giving Swiss a serious look that revealed that Dew did, in fact, steal the guitar.

Swiss looked at him with the same adoration he’d been shown earlier, but even more intense, “I cannot thank you enough.” The multi ghoul’s voice was low, soft. He’d never meant something this much in this life.

It almost caught Dew off guard, only able to nod and smile in response.

While Swiss excitedly moved to play a song, Aether had made his way to Dew’s side and led him back to one of the couches with a hand on his shoulder. Their legs touched when they sat down, making Dew move his head to Aether’s shoulder like Sunshine had done with him before.

“Should I be scared?” The quintessence ghoul asked half-jokingly, holding up the little box his gift resided in.

Dew shrugged, “Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Do you trust me?” Aether exhaled a laugh. Dew knew damn well he trusted him, he just wanted to hear him say it. He played this game a lot.

“Well, alright, alright. I trust you. Let’s see.” He removed the wrapping paper, not afraid to tear it but also not doing so in an aggressive manner.

He thought his eyes would bulge out of his skull with how wide they opened. Whatever he’d been expecting was nothing like this.

The little black ring box felt smooth in his hands, “I didn’t know you were so into human customs.” Aether smirked at Dew. The fire ghoul looked a little confused, until his friend clarified, “Are you asking me to marry you?” He already knew the answer was no, but it was fun to tease.

Dew scoffed, but couldn’t hide his smile, “You wish.”

Aether finally opened the box. The ring was a silver band, with dark purple waves decorating it all around.

“Saw it at a store, back in Cincinnati. It reminded me of quintessence, so I thought-”

The fire ghoul was cut off with a quick kiss on his lips. Aether’s face was so full of adoration, it made them both feel crazy.

“Four months,” Aether realized, “You’ve been sitting on this, and managed to keep it a secret, for four months.”

“I take it you like it.” Dew looked away from Aether’s face for a moment, a little bit of insecurity still lingering.

Aether forced him to look back with a hand on his chin, “It is perfect,” He kissed him again, “I just wish I got you something in return.”

“Please, don’t worry about it.” He nearly begged. Giving gifts had already been a struggle, let alone receiving them.

Aether dropped down, his head resting in Dew’s lap. He smiled up at him, fitting the ring onto his finger.

That left only one. Rain had waited with his gift, wanting to properly see everyone else’s reaction before getting caught up himself.

His was only a little smaller than Cirrus’ had been. He didn’t want to expect anything, afraid of being disappointed if he did. But he had a hunch. He tried not to focus on it, yet he couldn’t help a part of him hoping he was correct.

“Open it up already, I’m tired!” Aurora encouraged him, getting a poke in the ribs from Cirrus.

Rain took a breath, telling himself he'd be thankful either way. Because he would be. His heart swelled at the events of the evening, how much thought Dew had put into each and every single gift, finding things he knew everyone would like. And Dew knew him very well, right? Yes, he did, but Rain still scolded himself for his hope and expectation.

A strip of the wrapping paper tore away slowly, revealing the cardboard box underneath. Rain let out a shaky breath, forcing the rest of it out of the way.

Swiss jokingly started drum rolling with his hands on his legs, the rest of the room slowly joining in. It only made Rain take more time. He felt exposed with all eyes on him. What if he had an unfavorable reaction?

There truly only was one way to find out. He opened the box. His tense muscles relaxed in an instant. He knew exactly what it was. And god dammit he had guessed correctly.

Dew had not been anxious in the slightest about Rain’s gift, already knowing he’d love it. Although he hadn’t counted on Rain doubling over his gift, tears streaming down his face with a quiet sob.

The rest of the room couldn’t see the gift, some stares and raised eyebrows making their way towards Dew. But his face was confident, a small smile reassuring everyone that Rain’s reaction must be of joy.

The fire ghoul got up, knowing Rain would want to hug or kiss or fuck him on the spot. The second his ass touched the couch, Rain clung onto him, his cries somehow managing to sound overjoyed indeed.

The gift may not have seemed like a lot to most people. It was a blue ankle length dress with glitters on the top part and flowers embroidered on the skirt.

But it meant the world to Rain. He’d been wearing skirts more often, mostly in the privacy of his own room. It wasn’t that he feared judgement, he knew the other ghouls, as well as the siblings, would never look at him differently for it. But he just wanted to explore and experiment a bit at his own pace. Dew was the only person he’d discussed this with in detail, having shown him this exact dress. He’d been wanting to get it really bad for a while but always felt like something was holding him back.

Not anymore.

“No pressure,” Dew whispered into Rain’s hair, “but I’d love to see you in it some time.”

The water ghoul looked up, quickly wiping the tears off his face. He smiled, hurriedly getting up and running out with the box like Cirrus had done before.

“What was it? What was it?” Phantom quickly asked.

“Give him just a minute and you’ll see.” Dew responded.

Indeed a minute later, Rain shyly stepped back into the room. There was definite excitement for everyone, some showing it more strongly than others.

“Give us a twirl!” Cumulus encouraged, causing Rain to do just that.

He felt majestic in it. A fairytale princess come to life straight out of a storybook. It was euphoric, “How did you know my size?” He asked Dew.

“I don’t know if you realize, but I’m pretty familiar with your body.” He explained.

Rain smiled wider, walking up to Dew and picking him up right off of the couch. He twirled around again, with him in his arms this time.

“Thank you so much. This really means the world.”

“Everyone say ‘thank you, Dew’.” Aether said.

A big chorus of thank you’s sounded through the common room. Phantom came up to Dew, still suspended in Rain’s arms, and joined their hug. Soon enough it was a group hug with the whole pack.

Dew had already stopped worrying, but the reinforcement of everyone’s gratitude made him feel even sillier for ever worrying in the first place. He loved his fellow ghouls and they clearly loved him back.

[My Main Masterlist | Domestic December Masterlist]

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technically-ghostly-collection · 10 months

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I said I’d be writing a Miguel O’Hara fan fiction. This is my first time actually posting a fan fic. It’s a slow burn, a brief summary is you’re a journalist in Nueva York. And your saved by the one and only Spiderman 2099.

If this does well I’ll post part two, I’ve already finished writing this fan fic in Google Docs and it does get smutty so I’ll be sure to disclose that if, again, this does well.

Part one | Part two | Part three

TW: Action Sequence, Violent Crime, Weapons, and Retaliation

Word count: 1,371

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When you published that article against Alcamex and their unethical working conditions and practices you didn’t expect that you’d get your ass handed to you for it. Or that you’d meet the one and only spiderman because of it. Fidgeting and squirming in your seat as your publisher agonizes over your article. You watch their eyes skimming over the screen. “So… what’s the verdict?” you ask anxiously.

“Well I think it’s fantastic, well written, academic. This is probably the best thing you’ve written yet” they look up over their glasses at you. “However, I hope you’re ready for the repercussions that will come from this. This will put a target on your back and you need to be prepared for that.”

You laugh a bit, sweat starting to make your collar damp. “I think I’ll be fine, what are they gonna do? Threaten me? Sue me? I’m the best journalist in Nueva York. There would be too much media coverage if they did anything to me.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

Weeks later and those words are still echoing in your mind as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if it really was worth it in the end. As predicted those death threats came through but surprisingly there hasn’t been any legal action taken against you. The worst part is that’s what you’re most anxious about, ‘why hasn’t mr. Stone taken action yet’ you think to yourself.

Eventually after rolling your anxieties through your mind a few more times you slip into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning for a few hours before you hear something on the fire escape, eyes flying open the sudden noise shocking your system. At first you think it’s nothing, your downstairs neighbor uses the fire escape more often then you’d like but in an apartment complex can you really have peace? You try to roll over and go back to sleep when the sound of your window creaking open makes you sit up. Your heart rate rises and you can feel your breath quicken, you wait a few moments before hearing the window slide back in place.

‘Oh god I’m gonna die’ you think to yourself. In a panic you reach for the bat you keep beside your bed and slip a sock on the thicker end in case the intruder catches it. You slowly creep towards your door frame and tuck away in your closet, trying to take deep breaths to calm your heart. ‘Please just be a really smart racoon or possum or something’.

Your breath hitches as the door starts to slowly creaking open, eyes widening as you see a masked person creep in holding a gun. You swallow hard and wait for them to be fully in the room before jumping out and swinging at the intruder's head. Luckily for you, your sock trick has been successful, you don’t have enough time to figure out how they turned and caught the bat so quickly before you take another swing at their chest this time. You land a nice wack to their right side and watch the gun drop, kicking it across the room. You drop the bat before jumping onto the intruder as they scramble for the gun despite their new injury.

What you didn’t anticipate is that the intruder would have a friend come along with them, you feel hands grab your sides and gasp as you’re pried off your original target and tossed to the ground. You scramble to your feet and manage to dodge a punch before intruder number two lands a punch to your ribs. You gasp and grit your teeth, swinging at their head before hearing a gunshot ring out and feeling the skin on your side rip. You scream out and hold your side, luckily it just side swiped you, the adrenaline is keeping you going as you rush to the kitchen to get a knife or some other weapon. You dive behind the counter as more gunshots ring out, you can hear the wood slipping as the bullets claw through the island counter.

You wait for the gunshots to cease before grabbing the knife block, quickly ducking again and grabbing the giant chef's knife. ‘I’m so glad I sharpened these’ you think to yourself, trying to peek through the bullet holes at your attackers. You feel one of the aspiring murders grab your hair before you see them, scream out as they drag you around the counter and toss you across the room. You try to reorient yourself and get a grasp of your surroundings, the room is pitch black and all you can do is hold the knife close to your body, ready to be used.

“Who the fuck are you?! What do you want from me?!” you yell out, your eyes finally start to adjust and you see one of your attackers start to charge you. You slash the knife wildly and manage to catch their chest, you hear them scream out before they slap the knife out of your hand. You try to dive for it but the intruder grabs your arm and drags you back. “Get the fuck away from me! Get off me!”

In a panic you pull against the intruder and manage to bite his hand, your mouth filling with a metallic taste as he yells out again and punches you right in the nose. You’re instantly crying from the impact, hearing a sickening crack as your nose starts to spill blood down your face. Before you can think, you feel a gun press to your forehead and you start shaking.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was accepting your fate but you find yourself glaring up at your attackers, giving them a challenging look.

“Fucking shoot you coward” you grit out.

You close your eyes, anticipating the bullet to crash through you before hearing one of the intruders shout and the gun being removed from your forehead. Your eyes shoot open and you can see the man’s hand wrapped in glowing red rope, the glass from the window scattered across the floor as a man climbs through. All you can do is watch as the new contender kicks the original intruder and starts wrapping them in the ropes.

You feel pain enveloping your head again and scream out as the second intruder grabs your hair and pulls you up, getting you in a choke hold and holding you to his chest.

“Don’t come a step closer spiderman! Or I’ll kill the snake!” he shouts as he flexes his arm, making you gag and gasp for air.

There’s no fucking way spiderman is in your living room right now, then again, you hardly expected to be held hostage by an unknown intruder. You try to pull his arm away from your throat, refusing to give up and try to bite his arm before he covers your mouth with a gloved hand. You can feel his fingertips dig into your face and start crying more as his thumb presses against your freshly broken nose.

You watch spiderman pause, assessing the situation. You start to feel light headed as the oxygen is drained out of your lungs, clawing desperately at the intruder’s arm before feeling him suddenly release his grip on you. Gasping for air you fall to the ground and cough, swallowing as much oxygen as possible, at this point you could care less about the intruders, you’re just happy you’re alive.

You hear a scream ring out behind you and a body drop, you scramble away from the noise and turn around and watch spiderman wiping some blood off his lips, your former attacker laying at his feet and deathly still. He quickly pulls his mask back down as if you could see his features through the darkness before dragging the intruders to the window.

“T-thank you” you cough out, your throat and lungs now sore from the lack of air. The spider-man nods, not even saying a word before he grabs the two intruders and tosses them onto the fire escape. He turns back to look at you one last time before climbing out and dragging the intruders off with him.

#miguel o’hara #fanfic #slow burn #miguel o’hara x reader #nonbinary #fem!mc #they lean on the fem side #it’s gonna be a doozy #action #violent crime #there’sanactionsequence #this is my first fanfic #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #this turns into smut I promise

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malice-ov-mercy · 5 months

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Somewhere Along the Way - Part 3: Love You

(x)

Pairing: Will Ramos x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: an implied almost nude photo

A/N: Text message fics are still cool right? Is the flashback maybe out of place for this part??? Yes. Do I care???? NO. The other parts + masterlist will be linked when they get posted!

Word Count: 2.8k

Tag list: @circle-with-me @witchyweeb34 @xxrainstorm @sammyjoeee @littlefoxkota @cookiesupplier @bngurngheart @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @lacktoesandtoddlerants

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Will Ramos.

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Will Ramos Masterlist

Somewhere Masterlist

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Will 🌺 : how are the cats doing?

A full day barely passed and he was already worried. I can’t fault him though. The cats were basically his children. They liked me plenty, but I wasn’t Will.

They’re fine. They miss you though.

Will 🌺 : I miss them too

I chuckled, startlingly the cat napping on my chest.

Will 🌺 : Idk if I miss them or you more though

My cheeks warmed. How am I supposed to respond to that?

It’s barely been a day, Will.

Will 🌺 : what? I’m not allowed to miss my best friend?

I felt a stab of pain in my chest. Best friend. Even a whole continent away, he was still twisting my brain and heart around. I had every right to be upset at being called nothing more than best friend, but that’s exactly what I was, at least until we talked. We may not even be friends after that. Depending on how it goes, that could be good or bad.

Isn’t it super late over there? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?

Will 🌺 : I can’t. I miss my cats too much.

Will 🌺 : Can you send me pictures of them? Please?

I rolled my eyes, but did what he asked. The still sleeping cat on my chest made it difficult to snap a picture. I couldn’t bend my arms enough to get a picture of just him, so I awkwardly held my phone out and ended up taking an almost full body shot. I noticed too late how little clothing I was wearing. The picture was already sent. Shit. Everything was covered, but only barely. I didn’t feel the need to cover up much since I was here alone.

Will 🌺 : That’s gotta be one of my favorite pictures of my cat. Shame I can’t post it though.

Will 🌺 : unless…?

ABSOLUTELY NOT WILL.

———

Our texts became far and few between the last few days as he became busy with sound checks and other tour obligations. Plus, I figured he was making sure to enjoy his time. Truth be told, I was thankful for the lull in our conversation. It gave me time to think. Though, the shirtless photo he sent me always seemed to be front and center in my mind, clouding and fogging up my brain.

There was a whole month to go before we would see each other again. Four-ish weeks until I could hug Will again. Thirty days until we—maybe—shared another kiss. Seven hundred and thirty hours. Over forty thousand minutes. Two million seconds worth of drowning myself in anxiety.

I mulled over everything I wanted to say over and over again, but nothing seemed right. Confessing was the most obvious choice, but the anxiety and dread told me it was stupid. Letting that night be what it was and chalking it up to a heated exchange also didn’t work. I had no chance in hell of keeping up a facade. I’d barely managed to do it this far.

Either Will and I were going to try this out, or we would no longer be in each other's lives. That was the worst case scenario and would shatter me. Losing my best friend was a very real and terrifying possibility.

———

WILL’S POV

“Do you love her?” Austin questioned.

I didn’t appreciate the sudden interrogation I found myself in. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the water.

“Of course I do, she’s my fucking best friend.” I twisted the cap of the bottle haphazardly, spilling a few droplets on the table.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

The look he gave me was stern. I felt like a kid getting in trouble.

“Listen man, I ain’t tryin to get in you and your girl’s business, but—“

“We’re not together.” I cut him off.

“No?” Austin’s eyes widened, clearly not buying it. “Then what was that kiss at the airport? What was friendly about that? You never kiss any of us like that.”

We stared each other down, neither one of us wavering. Any retort I had got caught in my throat. Austin was right. He knew it, I knew it.

“I—“ I sighed, feeling defeated. I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Okay. Maybe… I do. But—“

“My brother in Christ,” Austin interjected, “You’d have to a fucking idiot to not realize she feels the same.”

“Fine, so I’m an idiot.”

I plopped down on the couch, heaving a heavy sigh and scrunching my eyes closed. I gnawed on my bottom lip. A loose strip of chapped skin tore, causing a small split to form. My tongue caught the metallic tang of blood. I sensed Austin’s searing glare. I already felt horrible enough and I didn’t need him antagonizing me.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he stated. I shot him a scathing, disapproving look that he blatantly ignored.

“Do. You. Love. Her?”

My heart twisted. I did. I do. I hate that it hit me so late and that I couldn’t be with her right now.

“Yes.”

The weight I expected to lift from my chest only got heavier. It was suffocating. My lungs felt like they were being crushed every time I breathed. The confines of my rib cage wouldn’t expand enough to allow air in.

“I… I do love her. So much. But…” my voice trailed off.

Austin scoffed. “‘But’? But what! Fucking tell her!”

I shook my head. “Dude, I can’t. I’m halfway across the world. I can’t… I can’t screw shit up anymore than I have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Austin quirked a brow and I cringed, scratching the back of my head.

“Well, uh…”

I puffed my cheeks. Austin waited for me to continue. I focused intensely on the floor.

A perfect recreation of that night played in my head as I struggled to explain.

I remembered the bright, shining grin on her face and blush on her cheeks when I thanked her for the flowers. She put so much thought into that arrangement, I could tell. Something stirred when she smiled at me like that. I needed any excuse to be closer to her then and there. The kiss would have been fine, I should have stopped there, but how easily her legs spread the more I caressed her thigh and the intoxicating taste and feel of her lips… I would have given her my life that instant if she asked.

My fate sealed when she came undone in my hand. I’d be craving more and more of her for the rest of my life.

At some point while I was rambling, Austin sat beside me. When I finished, he smacked me upside the head.

“You’re not a fucking idiot, you’re a fucking dumbass.”

——

Two weeks passed. Our conversations became far and few between. Tour was well underway so I tried to not let it bother me too much. I missed him though, more than I ever have.

I glanced at my phone, debating on sending a quick text. It was super late for him. He was likely fast asleep.

——

WILL’S POV

I hovered over the send button, internally fighting myself. My leg bounced wildly as I stared at my message. I typed it out so many times and erased just as many. Why did I find it so difficult to talk to her?

___

I could feel a burning hot, searing set of eyes on me. It heated every inch of my skin, radiating from the top of my head down to my toes. I briefly glanced in the direction of the gaze, finding Will eyeing me down. My breath caught in my throat and my heart skipped. I smiled shyly and offered a small wave. He stood rigid, not responding in any way. I felt a pull towards him that I never had before.

“You know,” Andrew’s gentle voice snapped me out of Will’s hypnotic gaze. I almost forgot we were talking mere moments ago.

“He’s never subtle in the way he watches you.”

“What do you mean?” I look back at Andrew. Will must have looked somewhere else because my skin no longer felt like it was going to burst in flames.

Andrew laughed, the sound light and airy.

“How long did you say you’ve known Will?”

I blinked, confused by the shift in conversation. “Uh, since high school. Why?”

He hummed, an amused smirk tugging his lips.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I’ve never seen a man look at his best friend the way Will looks at you.”

My brows furrowed—then I realized what he was saying. A heat blazed over my face.

“Oh! No! No. He— Will— We don’t—“

It’s like I forgot how to speak with how horribly I stammered. I took a deep breath to compose myself.

“There’s nothing between us.” I replied, ignoring the sinking feeling in my chest.

“Hm, I think there is, you both just don’t know it.”

Before I could speak, a gentle hand touched my lower back and startled me. I jumped out of my skin, instantly relaxing when I saw who the hand was attached to.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Will apologized, a warm smile on his face.

His eyes twinkled as he stared at me. My heart hammered behind my rib cage, something it did every time he was near anymore.

“It’s getting late, are you ready to leave?”

I glimpsed at Andrew who had a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Uh—“

“Probably a good idea,” Andrew interrupted. “It’s a long flight tomorrow.”

Will cocked his head and glanced down at me with raised brows. Once again I found myself lost in the depths of his warm brown eyes. His hand slid to rest on my hip, pulling me ever so slightly closer.

“(Y/N)?”

My name sounded heavenly coming from his mouth. Did it always sound like that?

“Sure.” I forced a smile.

I held my hand out to Andrew. “It was nice meeting you again.”

He chuckled, taking my hand and giving it a light shake. “Eventually we’ll move past the awkward handshake I hope.”

“Hopefully.” I giggled.

Will and Andrew shared a quick bro hug and a few playful jabs at each other. He slipped easily beside me and steered us toward the door.

“Are you not saying bye to everyone else?”

“I already did before I came to get you.”

—————

The drive to my place was short, but it felt like it lasted an eternity. My mind spiraled the entire time. Will’s hand on my thigh and the mindless, gentle caress of his thumb certainly didn’t help quiet my thoughts. Andrew’s words lingering in my head made the gesture seem more than what it was— or what I always thought it was, which was nothing.

Did he? Did I?

No. No way.

“Andrew’s right.” Will said suddenly.

“What?” My head snapped to look at him. Did he hear our conversation?

“About the flight. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

Will cut the engine and I glanced out the window to see my house. Headlights passing by provided enough light for me to catch a glimpse of Will’s reflection in the window. An unfamiliar weight filled my stomach, but the familiar heat of his eyes warmed my bones. I didn’t need the reflection to tell me he was staring.

“Let me walk you to the door.”

I didn’t have time to protest before he stepped out of the car and opened my door. He held his hand out for me. I scoffed, but happily accepted the help. Lacing our fingers together—another thing he did all the time that now had me questioning everything—Will led me up the short sidewalk and to my door.

He tightened his grip when I tried to let go.

“Don’t go in yet. Stay out here.” His voice was soft, almost pleading.

I raised a brow. “You can come in, you know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I should.”

“O…kay. So, what are we going to do out here?”

Will gently tugged my arm and enveloped me in a tender hug. I melted into his embrace. His hugs were the best and I was going to miss them so much while he was gone.

“I’m gonna miss you so much.”

I propped my chin on his chest and looked up at him. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

His gaze didn’t burn like it had earlier. A hint of fire was still there, but what I saw now was mostly sadness.

“It’s not that long, Will.”

He bumped his forehead against mine, somehow tugging me even closer.

“I know.”

The sensation of his whispered breath on my lips made me dizzy. I clung onto him, fearing I would either fall or float away. He’d never been this close to me before. I didn’t know how to react. My lips were dry and if I tried to lick them, I’m sure I would graze Will’s. Would that be so bad though? He had nice lips. I bet they were soft. I craned my neck a little more, reaching for the temptation of a kiss in front of me.

Will did kiss me, but only my cheek.

“I should go.” His lips lingered.

“Okay.”

What was I thinking? Why did I think he would kiss me? Why did I want him to kiss me?

He pressed his lips together in a half smile. “See you when I get back?”

I nodded. Will kissed my cheek again then stepped back, taking my air with him.

“Let me know when you get home, okay?” I reached for his hand and squeezed it. “And when you leave tomorrow. And when you land, no matter what time it is.”

He chuckled, squeezing my hand back. “I will.”

“And call me when you have the time, too.”

“I promise.”

My fingers ached from how hard I was squeezing Will’s hand. It would be a while until I could say in person again.

“I love you. Be safe. Don’t do anything fucking stupid.”

“Oh I’m going to do so much stupid shit.”

“William.” I glared at him.

His laugh was loud and spread across his entire face.

“I’ll only be a little stupid. Don’t worry.”

Seeing I wasn’t convinced, he brought our intertwined hands to his lips and kissed the back of my hand.

“I’ll be fine (Y/N), I swear. I’ll be safe. I love you too.”

————

Will: I’m home

Good! Now get to sleep! You have demonic noises to make on a different continent soon!

Will: Yes mom.

Ew. Gross. Don’t ever call me that again.

————

Will: I’m leaving for the airport now. I’ll let you know when I land. <3

————

“Hello?”

“Hey!”

A bright and energetic voice greeted me. Why did he call me so early?

“Will, it’s like five in the morning. Why are you calling me?”

“Oh shit. My bad. I forgot about the time difference. I just wanted to let you know I landed.”

“And you couldn’t have just texted me?”

I could almost feel his dejected, sad puppy expression from here.

“Sorry. I just… wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

His words sent my heart into overdrive.

“That’s very sweet, but it hasn’t been that long. We literally just saw each other.”

“I know but we’ve never been this far apart. It’s weird.”

“Well when you make it big, take me with you next time.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, right.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re incredibly talented and they’d be idiots to not keep you full time. You guys blend so well together, it’s like it was meant to be.”

Silence. A long moment of silence. It was so quiet on the other line that I thought our call dropped.

“Will?”

“I’m here. I’m just… I’m grateful to have you. You’re the best, you know that?”

I smiled. “I’m grateful to have you too. And as much as I’d love to keep talking, I am very tired, so could I please go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, sorry again for waking you up.”

“It’s fine. Now go enjoy yourself.”

“I’ll try. Good night. Uh, morning? Fuck, I don’t know. Enjoy the rest of your sleep.”

“I will. Good night Will.” I said with a laugh.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The line went dead. I stared at my phone until it locked. We said it all the time, but that one held an unfamiliar weight. A scowl settled heavy on my face. I could feel every fold and wrinkle it created. Something felt different. It was foreign to me. Of course I love him. He’s my best friend, why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I tell him? More importantly, why did that one feel like more?

My phone screen lit up with a message from Will. I looked past the notification to the collage of pictures of Will and I throughout the years. Full faced grins and hugs reflected back at me.

Will: Thank you for believing in me so much. It means a lot :) I’ll try to call at a better time next time. Love you <3

And then it hit me like a fucking truck.

Andrew was right.

I loved Will.

#will ramos x reader #will ramos fanfiction #will ramos fanfic #will ramos fic #lorna shore fanfiction #lorna shore fanfic #lorna shore fic

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chubbydino · 11 months

Text

the WGA strike & my future as a writer

cazio here. hey. maybe you’ve noticed my chapter updates slowing down over the past few months. you also may have heard me talking about being unemployed. how do those two correlate? i’ve spent the past month in a state of so much stress & anxiety i can’t focus on anything, that’s how.

the writer’s strike/impending SAG strike (read: studio greed) is having a ripple effect on everyone in film. non-union employees (like me) are suddenly looking at potentially being jobless until 2024 with no union to help us. the singular emergency relief fund for non-union workers in entertainment won’t let us apply for aid until our bank statements prove there aren’t enough funds to pay the bills--and our request could still be denied.

as a freelancer, i typically have 6 months of savings ready to go. now i’m looking at 8 months of unemployment due to the timing of my last job ending.

in a perfect world, i would write fanfic for a living. but all of us fandom folks know it’s illegal to profit off of fanfic.

however, i do plan to be a full time writer someday. i’m in the process of finishing up the second draft of my first commercial manuscript to get published, but even if i get an agent tomorrow, it will be at least a year before i see anything come of that.

i’m starting work on another manuscript to have ready to go when the time comes--in fact, i’m converting phantoms and pencil marks into an original work called Phantom Pains. this means character and story changes that will bring new insight and new scenes & storylines to readers, even those who read the fanfic version (as in 50k words of more content).

i will be posting the first draft of the new original story chapter by chapter, exclusively on my ko-fi for my supporters.

Phantom Pains Summary & Info

Phantom Pains Chapter 1 (for supporters only)

click here to support me on ko-fi. (the membership tier names should be familiar lol)

if you don’t care about an original work, that’s fine. i get it--fanfic is special because we all know the characters involved. i have a maxiel fanfic outline and a piarles outline in the pipeline for when FG and MIATT are finished, but right now those chapter updates are excruciatingly slow, since every time i sit down at my laptop i’m faced with either writing a story for fun or applying to corporate jobs in the worst job market since 2008 (lol).

supporting me as a writer is also supporting my ability write for fun (aka fanfic). by supporting my original work, you’re helping to alleviate a crushing amount of stress preventing me from providing content for you all.

fool’s gold started after my friend lindsey sent me coffee money to sit down and write for a few hours. that $5 created the (as of this writing) most popular f1 rpf fic ever published on ao3.

if you’ve ever enjoyed one of my stories, please consider supporting me on ko-fi via membership or one-time donation.

even a small amount can make a difference - if the number of people who read each of my chapter updates bought me a $5 coffee, i’d be safe for even the worst-case scenario.

https://ko-fi.com/cazio

if you feel so inclined, please reblog to spread the word.

#formula 1 #author #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #writers strike #long post sorry

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fbfh · 1 year

Text

rocks at your window pt. 9 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year

additionally, we're working towards a ricky x therapy plot so he's going to start expressing some symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy eventually and has a good support system but he gets worse before he gets better yk. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 9.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, not really fluff but a lot of high highs and a lot of low lows

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: miss jenn is a legend icon queen slay goddess (cited two times), iconic interactions between the cast, jealous ricky being a cutie, ricky and EJ are not bros yet, nini has gone from messy to borderline evil, your mom is a legend, kourtney anxiety foreshadowing, opening night/theatre vibes so strong it made me tear up a little /hj, lynne bowen is a horrible horrible toxic person!!!, todd jumpscare, ricky has a mental breakdown, EJ is trying his best but horribly misreads the situation, ricky is in a crisis, ricky bpd episode, art to cope :'), ricky has a good support system, reader is good in a crisis, nini is REALLY testing your patience, gina gets a well deserved moment to shine, terrible theatre etiquette, ricky gets emotionally ambushed, mike is a good dad, nini gets yelled at by reader (slay), reader yells at lynne (slay), reader gets slapped (in a dramatic way not a violent or sexy way), reader gets called a slut as an insult, ricky defends you, messy necessary screaming match (slay), things are said that cannot be unsaid :/

summary: opening night is just as magical and incredible as ricky hoped it would be, just as wonderful as you made it sound - until the worst case scenario comes to fruition. but the show must go on, right?

song recs: something about this night - finding neverland obc, twenty million people - my favorite year obc, opening up - waitress obc, twinkle in her eye - leann rimes, window seat - amelie obc, this is how I disappear (instrumental) - my chemical romance, un organo suona - ennio morricone, the music and the mirror - a chorus line obc, holding onto you - twenty one pilots, you oughta know - jagged little pill obc

other media: "art is not a luxury, it's sustinance" - ethan hawke ted talk clip, "and the way he sings sends a chill right through me" - lullaby for the taken lyric by kimya dawson, "what a mother does for you out of obligation vs what a mother does for you because she wants to" - text post/poem by tumblr user vympr,

a/n: fangz to cici for reading!!! I felt like my immortal chapter 6 "paragraph" 4 while writing the last part trying not to under or overuse dialog tags lmao. remember when I said it's gonna get messy? it gets worse :)

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

You and Ricky had been planning to get to the El Rey early on opening night since tech week, to make sure you have plenty of extra time to get ready, warm up, and get in character. Plus, you’ve been telling him how much you’ve missed just being in theaters, and near stages. The more time you’re there, the better. When you’re on the way over Ricky couldn’t shake the excitement gripping him. You can’t seem shake the feeling something was going to go wrong.

It was different from nerves, different from anxiety or worries that everyone can get before a big event. It was the same small, nudging feeling you got the night the basement flooded during your run in Matilda. It’s not as bad as it had been that time, but you take in a breath, steadying yourself and knowing you should be ready for anything. When you do, the feeling is quickly overshadowed by your excitement. You haven’t acted in far too long, and you’re ecstatic that you’ll get to perform again soon.

Once you get to the theater, you and Ricky are the first to sign the sign in sheet. You draw a little smiley face next to his name, and when he glances back at you, eyes falling on the paper. He smiles, struck by sudden joy at the little face. He leans back over and grabs a pen, drawing a smiley next to your name on the line below. Miss Jenn glances down when he returns the pen.

“Oh!” she exclaims, seeing the little faces, “How cute. I love this energy we’re creating.” she gestures vaguely before shooing you off to your respective dressing rooms to get ready.

Soon everyone’s there, and you’re once again wrapped up in the familiar hustle and bustle of show nights. You and your castmates are simultaneously getting in costume, warming up, and trying to get ready while helping each other’s hair and makeup. Ashlyn and Nini join you in an impromptu karaoke session, singing your hearts out to Bop to the Top while Nina riffs and harmonizes. The boys, one or two rooms away, start singing Getcha Head in the Game at the same time. In spite of the chaotic cacophony of voices, it's both a good way to warm up, and a good outlet for the nervous energy growing, bouncing from one person to the next, turning electric.

Kourney enters suddenly, grabbing some bobby pins.

"Do you know if you have any safety pins?" She asks.

"Uh," you pause doing your hair, tying it up into a bouncy low half updo, and fumble through your bag, "how many do you need?"

"Two or three?" She says hopefully. No matter how many you buy, bobby pins and safety pins always seem to be in short supply at every theater you've been to. You dig around for a minute before finding them, handing them to Kourtney.

"Thank you!" She declares, "Seb's shirt just completely-"

"Has anyone seen my glasses?" Ashlyn asks, and Kourtney pauses, noticing she's not wearing them.

"Shit," Kourtney mutters, both of you looking around for them.

"Knock knock!" Comes Seb’s voice from behind the door.

"Decent!" You and Ashlyn reply in unison. Seb enters, holding the side of his shirt together with his hands.

"Any luck?" He asks Kourtney.

"Right here," she replies, holding up the safety pins. "Turn around." Nina puts in her headphones and starts doing some vocal exercises and scales to warm up a little more. Seb lifts up his jacket so Kourtney can pin the ripped seam back together.

"Oh," she remembers, "have you seen Ashlyn’s glasses?"

"The really big ones?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"Nope." He shrugs. She turns to Ashlyn.

"We'll find them." Kourtney reassures her. Seb heads back to his dressing room he shares with Ricky and EJ, and you move on to the last few steps of your makeup routine.

"Where are they?" Ashlyn huffs rhetorically. Natalie pokes her head in a moment later.

"40 minutes till show time!"

"Thank you 40!" The three of you reply together. A little while later, you’re finally dressed and waiting for the glue on your eyelashes to get tacky, when you hear EJ call your name. You stumble out of your dressing room, zipping up your boot, and you’re greeted with EJ in his Chad costume, clearly in a huff.

“Can you help me with my eyeliner?” he asks, a slightly petulant tone to his voice, handing you a black pencil. You laugh.

“Yeah, hold on.” you go back into your dressing room, passing by Seb telling Kourtney something. You dig through your makeup bag as Seb reenters, Darbus glasses in hand, presenting them to Ashlyn.

"Where were they?" She exclaims.

"The prop table!" He says.

"Why?" Ash asks, stating your thoughts exactly.

"Natalie says they're technically a prop because in the detention scene when you…" you find what you're looking for, missing the tail end of his sentence as you leave a moment later with a stiff angled brush in hand. You grab EJ and lead him to the stairs where he can sit down. He does so, and you rub the bristles against the eyeliner, demonstrating for him.

“This will make the application a lot more precise. Close your eyes…” you instruct, tilting his head back. You smudge the outside of his lash lines, careful not to make it look like too much.

“Okay, now this is the scary part…” you trail off, gently lifting up his eyelid. “I swear I’m not going to stab you, just look down and don’t blink.” you instruct at the worried look on his face. You tight line the middle of his lash line for a defined, natural effect, then repeat the step on the other side.

“Okay,” you say, pulling away to check that it looks even, unaware of Ricky standing a few feet away, watching you hold EJ’s face. You look so focused, and a twinge of jealousy flashes through his stomach, wishing you were holding his face, looking focused at him like that.

“You should be good,” you say, and Ricky approaches, dragging you away as EJ thanks you.

“I just need to borrow her for a second.” he cuts EJ off, smiling tensely at him - one he returns. Ricky takes you a few feet away while EJ goes back into their dressing room.

“What’s up?” you ask. He lets out a breathy laugh.

“I just… I can’t figure out this whole bronzer thing.” You bite back a smile. You know that it’s bullshit, specifically because you went through his whole stage makeup routine with him twice last night. He could do his makeup and anyone else’s with one hand tied behind his back, so he obviously just wants your attention. You can’t deny that it’s really cute - and it’s working. He’s probably nervous, you figure. You chuckle, taking the brush from him.

“Make a fish face,” you instruct, sucking in your cheeks and puckering your lips. His face mirrors yours, and you blend the product into his foundation. Your hand rests on his jaw, angling it this way and that until you’re satisfied with your work. He glances briefly back at the stairs, where EJ has long since left. Ricky’s about to look for any other excuse to keep you here for a few more minutes, your eyes light up, remembering something.

“Oh!” you exclaim, turning around, “Stay right here.” You’re back a moment later after digging through your bag past bobby pins, safety pins, your water bottle, script, sewing kit, extra makeup, makeup wipes, bandaids, and throat lozenges. You grab a small box, holding it triumphantly before running back out to Ricky in the hall. You stand in front of him, that glimmer in your eye.

“I have a surprise.” Excitement swirls in his chest.

“What is it?” he asks, trying to suppress the anticipatory giggle bubbling up, his energy matching yours. You hand him the small box, and he looks at it, confused. He opens it slowly, pulling out a little charm. It’s a dog tag with the number 14, and a metallic T on a jump ring.

“Oh my god…” he breathes, looking at it closer. You’re beaming, so glad that he likes it.

“You know,” you say softly, “something to remember your first show by. And your heart ring was looking kind of lonely.” You smile, pointing to the plastic ring he still wears around his neck, waiting until the last possible minute to take it off. You barely get the words out before he grabs your arms, pulling you close and kissing you. His lips are warm as they move against yours, and for a split second, you forget where you are, completely losing context for everything around you.

“I love-” he murmurs against your mouth, freezing for an instant. Your hearts skip a beat in tandem, then he cuts himself off to kiss you again. “I love it.” he finishes. You smile against his lips, pulling away very reluctantly. He leans back in, pressing a few more kisses to your lips before you wiggle out of his grasp.

“Ricky!” you laugh, “We’re gonna mess up our makeup. We can kiss after the show.” He runs his fingers up and down your arms, gazing at you as you talk. You have all his attention.

“Okay,” he says in that light hearted, joking tone of his that always makes you laugh, “but I’m gonna hold you to that.” You laugh again, and he takes off his necklace so you can slip on the new charm. After getting it fixed on the chain, you reattach it to his neck.

At the end of the hall where you’re standing, Nina lingers, watching Ricky touch you and kiss you like that. It makes her sick, and she finds herself holding back a gag. Her hours of research had turned into days, and she has your playbill.com page open on her phone at this very moment. She’s torn, reminiscing over how much she loved your performances and how obsessed with you she was as a kid, and simultaneously fuming over it. You’ve done all this professional work, you’ve acted on Broadway, and now you’re here at East High?

She scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. She wanted so badly to be you, to have your perfect life, and you threw it all away for what? To come do crappy high school theatre in a town that couldn’t be further from New York? She fights a laugh suddenly, realizing just how much dirt she has on you. There must be a reason you’ve been keeping this secret, lying to everyone, lying to Ricky. She shakes her head. She doesn’t know why yet, but she’s going to find out.

35 minutes before curtain, Miss Jenn gathers everyone for circle time, and a cast meeting to boost morale before the show. Everyone is finally in costume and Kourtney follows Seb, makeup pallet in hand, adjusting the finishing touches to the glitter on his cheeks. You can feel the energy stirring and growing, electric between all of you.

“Most of you know that our dazzling Taylor had to leave under family circumstances. Gina sends her love and support, but has left for the east coast and will not be able to make it to tonight’s performance.” Miss Jenn says. You and Ricky share a look, trying not to be too obvious. You got Gina a plane ticket together, and your mom is at the airport right now to pick her up. The last you heard from her, Gina’s flight was delayed. Now there’s only a slim chance she’ll get here in time. You silently keep your fingers crossed, praying to whatever theatre gods are out there that she’ll make it to the theater before it's too late.

“And so,” Miss Jenn continues, “I have asked… Kourtney to fill in, in her place!”

The room erupts into cheers. Kourtney smiles, eyes on the floor bashfully. She’s praying she doesn’t seem as nervous as she feels. It’s not that she didn’t expect you guys to be supportive of her subbing in as Taylor, but seeing first hand how excited everyone is for her eases some of the worries that have been building up.

“Now,” Miss Jenn continues, “everyone join hands.” After some heartfelt words of encouragement and other usual circle time warm ups, she claps her hands.

“Let’s go, wildcats! 20 minutes to curtain!”

Once again, the room erupts into cheers.

“Now, if I can get my main characters and my ensemble members starting the show with a mic on stage for mic check?” she directs, pointing towards the way to the wings. You walk with everyone else towards the stage, pausing when you pass Miss Jenn.

“Do you want me to help Kourtney get ready?” you ask. Her hair and makeup are done, she just has to get in costume, but you can sense that she needs a pep talk.

“That would be fantastic,” she says with a look that indicates she thinks Kourtney could use a pep talk too, “thank you, Sharpay.” She pulls out her walkie to let Big Red know you and Kourtney are going to be released from mic check early to finish getting ready. After singing We’re All In This Together while Big Red adjusts your volume from the sound booth, Kourtney sings Bop to the Top, voice getting louder and quieter as Red tweaks the settings. Once you’ve both gotten the thumbs up, you scurry backstage to your dressing room, handing her costume pieces while she gets changed.

“Oh, wait,” you say before she pulls on her top. You grab your setting spray you use for shows from your bag. “Close your eyes.” You mist her face with the product, fanning it dry so it doesn’t smudge.

“Thanks,” she says. You take one look at her expression, and can tell she’s nervous.

“You okay?” You ask. She hesitates, then sighs.

“I had two weeks to learn all my lines. I had two weeks to learn all the lines and the songs, I haven’t even gotten to rehearse on stage with you guys, and I’m just so worried I’m going to blow it, or choke in front of everyone…” she trails off. This is clearly the tip of the iceberg, and she fiddles with her bracelets, trying to get out some nervous energy.

“There is no way you’re going to choke.” you say confidently, “You know this show inside and out! Plus, haven’t you been running lines with Nini the whole time?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she replies, listening carefully, trying to grab onto your reassurance.

“Almost all of Taylor’s scenes are with Gabriella.” You state. Her expression changes as she realizes you’re right. She knows this part better than she was giving herself credit for.

“Plus there will be scripts in the wings if you need to refresh between scenes.”

“Yeah,” she says again, more confident this time. “I know my lines, I know the songs, I know the dances - mostly, at least - so it’s all going to be fine! Even if the choreography in Stick to the Status Quo is still totally terrifying, and I have no idea how to dance with a lunch tray or do a death wack, it’s going to be fine!” Her laughter turned from relieved to slightly panicked again.

“You think you’re nervous for Stick to the Status Quo?” you ask rhetorically, a comedic note to your voice, “I have to get caked in the face!” You exclaim with a chuckle. You’ve only practiced with an actual cake once, during the last tech rehearsal, and it was messy, to say the least. Literally and figuratively.

Kourtney laughs, remembering the whipped cream that got everywhere, how loud you were yelling in character before storming off. It took more makeup wipes than you'd expected to get the sticky sugar off your face.

“We’ll get through it together.” You state, holding out your hand. She squeezes it, reassuringly.

“Yeah. We will.”

“Five minutes to places!” Natalie calls, poking her head in.

“Thank you five!” you both reply. You check your phone one last time, the new text from your mom stating that she’s still at the airport, waiting for Gina’s flight. You text Ricky the same thing, letting him know you’re all still waiting for more updates on the delay. The good news is that your mom’s friend from work - who was planning on coming to see the show anyway - is going to stream the show to your mom until she can get there, that way she won’t miss anything.

It doesn’t feel like five minutes has gone by when Natalie is calling for places, ushering everybody into the wings and into their starting places and positions. Hushed whispers of encouragement and break a leg spread through the wings, and everyone falls silent as Miss Jenn begins her curtain speech. It’s unusual for a group of such high energy people to be so still, so quiet, and you soak up every moment of it. This is your favorite part - or one of them, at least; it's those few fleeting minutes when everyone’s backstage in the wings, the opening of the show is seconds away and hurdling closer and closer with every breath, every heartbeat. This is one of those magical, transformative, fleeting times that can only really be described as in between.

You never knew just how much you would miss this, the distinct and irreplaceable energy, the feeling of being in a theater. Tears spring to your eyes as it really hits you that you’re home, back where you’ve always needed to be. You close your eyes, taking deep, measured breaths to focus, to get into that headspace of being in character. Even with your eyes closed, you can feel it around you; the rich wood and cement mixing into different sections of the floor, the heavy curtains, the grid and catwalk and lights, all intangibly high and far away. It’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful that you don’t know how your body is supposed to contain it. You know now that you could never leave, not really. Theatre will always be your home, and you know this feeling will only solidify more and more with time. You realize, too, that it’s a home that will always grow and change and evolve with you, because that’s in its eternal, fleeting nature. That’s the most beautiful part, you think.

You squeeze Seb’s hand in excitement and encouragement and every other good thing, a gesture that he returns. In spite of the silence and the stillness, you know that everyone is just as excited as you are. Ricky’s in the opposite wing, or else you’d be squeezing his hand right now too right now. You use this moment, this stillness that's growing and getting more charged with energy every second, to become laser focused on giving this performance everything you've got - on really getting your head in the game.

Nini looks around, then over at Ricky - again. He’s been avoiding her this whole night, and she can’t stand it. She leans closer.

“I need to talk to you. After the show.” someone shushes her, and she lowers her voice, continuing. “She’s been lying to you about everything. You don’t know everything about her, Ricky.”

“Yes, I-” he cuts himself off, not wanting to feed into this. Not now. “I have to get into character.” He says, moving away from her. He tries to focus on the energy the cast is creating around him, on becoming Troy. He takes a breath, centering himself.

“Without further ado, I am proud to present… East High’s High School Musical: the Musical!” Miss Jenn’s voice is drowned out by applause, and the music begins.

The first few songs and scenes go smoothly; everyone is on time and remembering their cues, and the audience couldn’t be more engaged, applauding and laughing right when you want them to. During Jack Scott’s announcements after Darbus reveals what the winter musical is going to be, you leave to get ready for What I’ve Been Looking For. You pass by Ricky, who’s quick changing for Get’cha Head in the Game, and shoot him a big thumbs up.

“Great job!” you whisper enthusiastically, stomping your feet quietly in excitement.

“Thanks,” he smiles, beaming as he pulls on his jersey. He watches you scurry down the hall before getting nudged toward the stage right before his cue. He shakes his head, wondering why he let Nini get him so worked up before. Of course he knows you. He knows everything about you! There’s absolutely nothing on earth you could tell him that would throw him off, or scare him away from you. She’s probably just making something up to get in his head, to drive a wedge between you. That seems like something she would do lately.

“Let’s see some hustle! Move, move, move!” Coach Bolton calls from onstage, and Ricky jogs over to him, as ready as he'll ever be.

“Sorry I’m late, coach.”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he’s trying to stay in character and stay focused on the scene, Nini’s words are still echoing in the back of his mind, throwing him off a little. He catches his dad’s eye in the crowd as the music starts. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this proud, and it steadies Ricky. He takes in a breath, and begins to sing. Part way through the song, he notices a woman in the crowd who looks weirdly like his mom. He doesn’t miss a beat, making sure to look in his dad’s direction instead. That’s weird, he thinks, but it can’t be her. There’s no way she’d come all the way from Chicago for something like this. Just like what Nini said to him before the show, he won’t let that distract him from performing, and tries not to let that throw him off.

During the dance break, he gets hooked up to his harness, and his stomach erupts into excited butterflies as he slowly moves up. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd that turns into cheers as he hovers in front of the hoop, ball in hand. Up here, he’s not blinded by the stage lights, and he looks down at the crowd, able to see his dad’s face even better than before. He’s filled with such euphoria, he knows you’re right - nothing can beat this feeling. He feels more alive, more awake than he ever has, simultaneously enveloped by a deep sense of peace, of rightness that he doesn’t want to let go of.

On the other side of the auditorium, someone moves, catching his eye. Some guy is making his way into his seat, presumably because he showed up late. He leans over to his date, kissing her and touching her leg. Nothing could have prepared Ricky for what he saw when he pulled away. Past the blinding stage lights, his stomach plummets back down to earth as he’s able to make out more faces in the audience - including hers. She’s here. She’s really here, and she brought that douchebag with her. She’s whispering something in that bastard’s ear, barely five rows away from his dad. They’re all over each other, talking close and kissing and smiling.

It’s only when she points up at him that he snaps out of it. He realizes the pit has been waitin for his cue a beat or two longer than usual, and follows up quickly with it. He had dropped his basketball when he was up there, and he’s scrambling to make it through the rest of the number. He tries desperately to get back into character, to focus on the lyrics and choreography, to focus on the music instead of what he just saw in front of him, but he can’t shake what just happened, what he just saw. Even as he’s being pulled backstage to change into the costume for his next scene, it takes all his effort not to let that overwhelm him. He can’t crumble right now, not like this. There’s a whole cast and crew, all his friends, that are counting on him. He gets some water, tries to pull himself together.

EJ looks for Ricky backstage, having a few minutes before their next scene. Even he has to admit he was impressed with Ricky’s performance back there. He looked so conflicted, so torn between basketball and singing. He even managed to make his distracted blocking and choreography look so organic EJ was worried he’d messed up for a second. He’s been giving him a hard time, butting heads on and off stage, but Ricky is really shining tonight. He’s committed, and EJ has to commend him for that.

“Ricky,” he says, just loudly enough to get his attention. Ricky turns around. “I have to hand it to you; you’re doing great out there, man. You deserve all the applause you’re getting.”

Ricky takes a breath, closing his water bottle.

“Thanks.”

He stares into space to the ceiling on EJ’s right, gripping his water bottle until his knuckles have a white cast to them. EJ’s brow furrows. He actually seems a little out of it.

“Are you okay?” he asks carefully. They’re not really close like that, but even EJ can see that he seems a little off.

“I’m fine,” he says a little too fast. “I am totally fine. Because it’s opening night, and nothing’s going to ruin this.”

Suddenly it makes sense. He knows exactly what Ricky’s going through. He sighs.

“Look, everybody gets stage fright. Just take a deep breath, and use the music and your lines to stay grounded.” He claps Ricky on the shoulder supportively.

“Thanks,” he chokes out again. EJ leaves to fix his mic tape, and Ricky is once again exactly where he doesn’t want to be - alone with his thoughts. Even though EJ has no idea of the scope of issues Ricky’s dealing with right now, his advice might still work. Instead of waiting in his dressing room, he hovers in the wings, going over the chemistry class scene as it happens, waiting for the lights to go down so he can talk to you, or at least be near you. He’s so tempted to barge onstage and drag you away with him. Instead he listens closely to your dialog with Gabriella. Just hearing your voice is enough for him to hold on to for now.

The lights go down, and you exit into the wings. You’re surprised to find Ricky there - he usually comes up about half way through Jack Scott’s narration. One look at his face and you know something’s wrong. Before you can ask, he’s pulling you into a less busy area by the prop table.

“She’s here.” He grips your arm, hand shaking. He doesn’t need to say anything else, you already have a full grasp on the gravity of the situation, the effect this is having on him.

“Here?” you ask, needing to clarify, and he nods. “Are you okay?” you ask sincerely.

“I’m…” he struggles for an answer, “trying to be.” You take his hands in yours so gently he doesn’t even notice until your thumbs are stroking his skin reassuringly.

“Okay,” you say calmly, and he can see the gears turning, see you figuring out the perfect solution as you speak. “Why don’t you have some water, stay right here, and I’ll go get Miss Jenn, okay?”

He nods, and you move quickly to Natalie, asking her if she knows where Miss Jenn is. She picks up her walkie talkie, asking Miss Jenn to come to the stage right wing. Jack’s narration scene wraps up and the crew changes the set to Darbus’s detention. You have seconds before you have to get out there, and you turn to Ricky, worried about him.

“Are you going to be okay?” you ask in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah.” he says, “I think so.”

You see Miss Jenn walking toward the stage right wing as you’re about to head onstage.

“We’ll talk to her right after.” you tell him in a hushed, reassuring whisper. You give his hand one more squeeze before you find your places in the dark. Moments later, the lights are up, and the scene begins. In all the time you’ve spent acting, you’ve gotten very good at staying in character, compartmentalizing thoughts and worries about your personal life while you’re onstage. You find it a little more difficult to keep the disgust at Lynne Bowen’s blatant lack of basic respect, or even awareness for the consequences of her actions, buried in the back of your mind as the scene plays out.

Sitting on the wooden flooring of the stage, warm under the bright lights, Ricky does exactly what he’s supposed to do - he uses the scene and dialog to stay grounded. He follows the dialog while doing his stage business, listening for his cues just like Miss Jenn thought him to do. If he stays in character, he doesn’t have to think about any offstage drama. As long as he doesn’t look out to that section of seats, as long as he can keep his eyes from being magnetically drawn there, he’s going to be fine. He stays in character, stays right there as Troy, clinging to his character like a life raft. If he can be Troy, he doesn’t have to worry about everything he’s going to have to deal with as Ricky for just a few more minutes. It's desperate and fleeting, but it's the only thing he can do right now.

Soon, the lights are down, and you’re hustling toward the stage right wing, where you know Miss Jenn is waiting. He finds your hand in the dark, the sparkly pink sequins on your outfit unmistakable even in the darkness. He holds onto you desperately, until you’re both standing in front of Miss Jenn. She knows from one look that whatever is going on, it’s bad.

“Um," Ricky starts, swallowing hard, "my mom is here…” he hates that his voice is already trembling so soon. It sounds more like a question than a statement, and his stomach twists at how foreign the word now feels in his mouth. My mom. The last time he called her that had been months ago when he told you and Miss Jenn what had happened. Ever since he’s only referred to her through pronouns and as briefly as possible, trying to disconnect the person she is from who she was supposed to be. Who he thought she was. The closest he’s gotten to addressing her has been vague statements; she didn’t call back, or I think that was her recipe, let’s find a different one. Actually saying it, actually calling her that makes his jaw feel stiff.

“My god.” Miss Jenn says softly, unable to believe that she could have the audacity to show up unannounced after what she put Ricky through. Ricky hesitates, and she knows there’s more. She nods, waiting for him to continue.

“And she, uh,” he swallows thickly, hating his throat for tightening up so much when he has to sing in a few minutes, “she brought her boyfriend…” Your eyes widen and Miss Jenn gasps.

“They’re in the sixth row, they keep talking and kissing, and-” he cuts himself off, unable to continue. His hands are balled up, tight and shaking.

“Okay. Ricky, sweetie, why don’t we talk about this somewhere a little more private.” You both guide him to the boys’ dressing room, and after making sure no one’s in there, she sits down facing him, and takes his hands in hers.

“From the beginning, what happened?”

He was barely able to get it out the first time, but now he can’t stop. Everything he’s been trying so hard to ignore and shove down for the last 20 minutes - and it’s felt way longer than 20 minutes - comes tumbling out. He doesn't think he could stop talking if he tried. He doesn’t even realize how loud he’s getting until Miss Jenn gently shushes him.

“We don’t want the audience to hear us.” he nods, taking a breath for the first time since he started talking. You left a minute ago to check on how much time you have before the next scene, and reenter the dressing room now, looking stressed.

“They’re almost done with Auditions.” you state. You need to go up there now, you and Seb have What I’ve Been Looking For soon, and you don’t want to miss your cue.

“Go,” she says. Ricky nods, so you do, knowing that Miss Jenn has this under control, that she can help Ricky right now. Your footsteps recede, and Ricky turns back to Miss Jenn.

“Ricky,” she starts calmly, “what she did was wildly inappropriate.” He already feels a little better, less crazy, and he waits for her to continue.

“Showing up unannounced with a…" she chooses her words carefully, "date, was… probably the worst thing that could have happened tonight.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs in agreement. She continues.

“You have every right to be as upset as you are. Whatever you need right now, just tell me, okay?” He nods. “I think what we should do is get your dad, and let him know what’s going on. I can try to have one of the ushers escort her out, but I’m sure the last thing you want tonight is even more drama.”

“Got that right,” he breathes, relieved.

“I’m going to talk to EJ and see if he can go on as Troy-”

“What? No.” he protests.

“Ricky-”

“No, Miss Jenn- I have to play Troy. Please, I have to!”

“It might be best for you-”

He stands up suddenly. “What’s best for me is going out there; acting and singing, like we rehearsed - like I’m supposed to! Please, you can’t…”

“Okay,” she says, standing up and trying to calm him down a little. “Okay. If you think you can do it, you can go back out there.”

He relaxes a little.

“Thank you.” his voice breaks as he speaks, and she realizes how badly he needs this right now.

“Why don’t we revisit this at intermission, see how you’re feeling then? Just to check up on you.” she adds quickly.

“Okay.” he agrees. She puts a hand on his arm.

“I’m going to let EJ know to get ready, just in case you change your mind. We’ve got to be ready for anything, right?” She smiles gently, one he tries to return.

“Right,” he says. A stagehand pokes his head into the room.

“Troy, we need you.”

“Be right there,” Miss Jenn says. She claps her hand over Ricky’s one more time. “Okay, Ricky, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go out there and sing a ballad with Gabriella that will make the audience swoon,” he smiles, “and I am going to do my best to get this situation resolved as quickly and discreetly as possible. If anything else happens, or you need anything, come tell me right away.”

“Okay.” he says, this time, with a note of determination in his voice. Miss Jenn pats him on the back, sending him off. He runs through the halls, making it just in time. Once he’s in the wings, she pulls out her phone to text Mike, and fill him in on everything that’s going on. He enters on Gabriella’s cue, and Miss Jenn pauses, watching him deliver his lines. All the distress, all the pain melts away as he steps into character.

It’s giving him a break from everything, she thinks, it has been the whole time. Theatre isn’t just a luxury or a passion for some people, it’s a means of survival. It hits her all at once, that in staying here, in facing the challenges and struggles that came from directing this show, she’s helping Ricky through one of the hardest things he’ll ever go through. She’s become the person she needed when she was his age; with only one parent, feeling completely lost at sea. Her chest squeezes, and she watches them sing, their voices sending a chill through her.

Backstage, in the few dark moments of the set change for Cellular Fusion, Nina somehow manages to corner you.

“What did you do to him?” she demands, and you know she’s referring to Ricky, who exited to the other wing. You stare at her, aghast. You lean in close, lowering your voice, desperately holding on to your professionalism.

“We have to go onstage, literally right now. I am not doing this with you right now.”

“Huh,” she scoffs with a fake smile, “you’re one to talk.” You have approximately two seconds to look at her, baffled by everything she’s saying, before you have to go on. You enter, and hit your mark. At the cue, you and Seb begin to harmonize. Right as you do, your phone - tucked away in the wings - silently begins to buzz. Your phone lights up with a text from your mom, informing you that Gina’s flight has finally landed, and they’ll be at the theater any minute.

You run off stage as Cellular Fusion wraps up, and Miss Jenn and Carlos are trying to figure out what to do about the Taylor dance break coming up. Kourtney has been doing great so far, but she doesn’t think she can handle choreography that complicated with so little time to rehearse.

“I could tell the pit to cut that section…” Carlos offers. You check your phone and your eyes light up, looking at the doorway.

“Uh,” you start with a smile, “I don’t think that will be an issue…”

Miss Jenn, Carlos, and Kourtney look over at Gina, smiling timidly.

“Oh, thank god,” Miss Jenn chokes out. She turns to Kourtney, then Gina. “You, go out there before you miss your cue. And you, quick change into something more 2006 before the dance break.”

They both agree, and a stagehand runs over with something for Gina to change into, guiding her to the dressing rooms.

“Is he doing any better?” you ask Miss Jenn before you go on. You don’t have much time, but you need to know if he’s okay.

“A little,” she says, “I think.” You both know it’s better than nothing, and you’re just hoping whatever he’s doing keeps working.

Stick to the Status Quo couldn’t be going any better. There’s so much happening, so much organized chaos, that he forgets about everything for a few wonderful minutes. There’s no time to think about that when he’s dancing on tables, begging his classmates not to sacrifice their individuality so they can fit in. It only gets better when you and Seb enter toward the end of the number. You look so genuinely pissed off that people are breaking free from the boxes they’ve been put in, and your voices sound perfect harmonizing together, reverberating through the auditorium.

He tries in vain to stop Zeke from giving you a cake, watching with bated breath as it smashes into your face. He turns away, just like he’s supposed to, but his eyes accidentally land on the one place in the audience he shouldn't be looking at. His stomach plummets. Has she been on her phone this whole time? After running from everything this whole night, it finally gets the best of him. He can’t stand it any longer, running into the wings as you let out an ear shattering scream, loud enough to finally make her look up.

“Someone… is going… to pay for this!” you yell furiously, before the lights go down. The curtain draws to a close as applause thunders through the building. The lights in the house go up for intermission, and you hear a slow rise of chatter as people mill about and make conversation as you exit the stage. You grab a makeup wipe a stagehand has ready, thanking them as Natalie calls out that intermission is starting, and you have 20 minutes to places for act two.

“Thank you 20,” you call out distractedly, searching for Ricky. You run to the back, wiping the rest of the whipped cream off your face, and check the boys dressing room to see if he’s in there. He is, sitting in there by himself, seeming worse than before. One look at his face and you know something else happened.

“She was on her fucking phone the whole time!” he states in disbelief, “Like…” The words dry up as he holds a pillow in his lap in a death grip.

“Oh my god…” you say, shaking your head. He’s not doing good, clearly. No one would be in his position. He pulls you in for a hug as soon as you’re close enough, one you reciprocate. He holds onto you tight, feeling just a little more stable as soon as you’re in his arms. Surrounded by your familiar grasp, it’s just a little easier to breathe, to think clearly. Unfortunately, it also means he has a much clearer grasp on everything that’s happened tonight and how it’s affecting him, how he feels about it. His dad is right behind you, and he lets go of you long enough to stand up and greet him. His dad pulls him into a hug, patting his back.

“I’m so sorry, kid. I had no idea she was going to pull something like this.” Mike’s voice wavers, and when Ricky doesn’t answer, you know it’s because he’s choked up. Miss Jenn enters a moment later, walking over to Ricky and Mike.

“The both of them have been removed from the premises.” She states.

“Thank you,” Mike says earnestly.

“Oh, it was nothing a little faked parking violation couldn't take care of," she says, earning a small smile from Mike. She turns to Ricky, continuing. “I filled you dad in on what’s been going on, too.”

“Maybe we should just go home,” Mike offers, knowing he probably won’t want to.

“No,” he protests, “I can do act two, I want to. Plus, if we leave now, she’ll know where we are and she’s going to ambush us again, and-”

“The one place you’re guaranteed not to run into her is here at the theater.” you finish quietly.

“Yeah,” Ricky agrees, motioning to you. Mike considers, weighing his options. Since she’s gone, if Ricky thinks he can handle it, he doesn’t see why he can’t do the second half of the show - especially since he seems to want to so badly. Maybe now isn’t the time to take that away from him, even if he means well.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But if anything happens, if you change your mind at all-”

“You’re the first to know.” Ricky agrees quickly.

“I want you to stay plugged in with me, okay?” Mike says, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Text me when you’re not onstage, let me know how you’re doing.” Ricky agrees again. Miss Jenn looks between them.

“Alright. Well, in that case, Ricky, you should get changed for act two.” She says with a tentative smile. He nods.

“Thank you. Thank you guys.” he says sincerely to his dad and Miss Jenn. Before you leave, you catch his eye.

“I’m going to refill my water, then I’ll be back here, okay?”

“Sounds good." He says, "Hurry back,” he adds quickly, giving you that sweet look with those big puppy dog eyes, and it makes your chest squeeze.

“Absolutely.” you agree.

You barely leave the dressing room before you're met with Nina. She barges forward and stands in front of you, arms crossed, and you realize she's waiting for you to move out of the way so she can get into the boys' dressing room. You don't budge.

“I need to talk to Ricky. I heard what happened, and I'm the only one who can convince him to go on for the second act, and I don’t need you-”

“Wow,” you begin, cutting her off, once again amazed at her audacity, “now is really not a good time. Don’t go in there and stir things up.”

She looks you up and down, letting out an indignant scoff.

“Don’t act like you know him like that. I’ve known him since we were in kindergarten, I know him better than anyone.”

You take in a deep breath, trying so hard to stay patient.

“Sure. You know him better than anyone.” you say, in a pacifying tone, “So you should know the last thing he needs is more pressure on him when he’s in the middle of a family crisis, right?” The question is rhetorical, and you continue, patience with her finally starting to run thin. “If you actually care about him, then for the sake of his well being you’ll leave him alone and let him get through this. Now is really not the time, Nina, read the goddamn room!”

The sentence is finished with an aggravated, humorless laugh. Your priorities right now are Ricky, and getting through opening night. You need to help him process some of the shit that's been happening tonight, make sure he’s okay, so he can perform like he wants to. The last thing he needs is Nina barging in there and telling him he’s letting the cast down, or that he’s not serious about theatre, and that he should have quit after auditions - all of which you’ve heard more times than you can count over the duration of rehearsals, even up to a few days ago.

You’ve tried so hard to be patient with her, but dear god, she’s really starting to get on your last nerve - nevermind the fact that you have a special type of hatred for the kind of people like Nina, who shit on people that are still learning about something they have more experience in; like telling someone they’re not serious about theatre because it’s their first show, for example.

“Do not fuck with him right now.” you state, rolling your eyes at her shocked expression.

You push past her, walking over to the water fountain. She watches you walk away, mouth hanging open, and lets out an indignant scoff. You swear to god, if one more thing goes wrong tonight, if one more person tries you, you’re going to absolutely lose it. You take a few deep breaths as you fill up your bottle, trying to calm down and center yourself a little. Once you’re done, you start to walk back to the dressing rooms, but you’re stopped by a woman who is definitely not cast or crew. She sees you and approaches, seeming a little pissy.

“I’m looking for Ricky Bowen?” she states. As she speaks, your stomach drops.

You recognize her voice from when you heard it on the phone, and from the voicemail Ricky showed you over Thanksgiving. This is Lynne Bowen. As in, the Lynne Bowen. The one that left. The same woman who’s made such a tactless and selfish decisions over and over that have ultimately caused her son to be on the verge of a breakdown just down the hall from where you’re standing right now.

“You are not supposed to be back here.” you state, desperately trying to figure out how to handle this. You pull out your phone and text Miss Jenn, ‘code red, really need backup’.

“Can you just tell me where Ricky Bowen is? I’m his mother.” she says it in a way immediately expects sympathy from you, sympathy she doesn’t receive. You stare at her blankly, and she continues, much less kind than she’d been pretending to be. “I need to see my son, okay? Maybe when you’re a mother someday you’ll understand-”

You’re not sure what about her, about the way she’s talking to you specifically is the last straw for you, but your patience is already running so thin it’s practically transparent. Against your better judgment, you cut her off.

“He does not want to see you. He doesn’t want to speak to you - or be anywhere near you right now, for the record - and you need to fucking respect that, okay?” you say decisively, offense written all over her face, “And you are really not allowed to be backstage if you’re not cast or crew, which you’re clearly not-”

“You are way out of line, young lady!” she yells, “I don’t care if he doesn’t want to talk. I’ll talk to him if I want to; I’m his mother.” She adjusts her purse, clearly expecting you to fold, to tell her where he is. You know you should keep your mouth shut, you know you should be diplomatic and patient and professional like you always are, you should wait for Miss Jenn to handle this, but you’ve spent the past three months watching Ricky suffer because of this woman and her choices. You can’t stay quiet when the woman who hurt him is right in front of you.

“I think you lost the right to pull that shit when you walked out the door and chose not to be in his life!” you snap, a dangerous smile on your face. The stunned look on her face is better than anything you’ve ever seen. It’s clear no one has ever tried to take her down a peg until now.

“How dare-”

“You gave him a free pass to hate you forever, because you’re not the parent who stayed! You didn’t try-”

Your words lose momentum as you find yourself suddenly looking at the wall to your right, your cheek stinging. The sound of her slapping you across the face echos across the walls for a moment before fading away, and you freeze, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from shock.

“Listen here you little slut,” she says, much more ferocious than before. All facades of a concerned mother have melted away. “You have no right to talk to me like that-”

“What the fuck?!”

You snap out of it, and she turns around at Ricky’s voice at the end of the hall.

“Ricky, my baby,” she starts, walking toward him, but she’s thrown off at how distant he seems toward her. “I’m sorry you had to see that, this girl is so-”

“Don’t ever talk about her like that again.” His voice is stone cold as he brushes past her, analyzing your expression closely to see if you’re alright.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice shaky.

“I’m fine,” you say as calmly as possible, “are you okay?”

He’s decidedly not, but he tries to pull himself together.

“If you are, that’s all that matters.” Behind him, growing impatient, Lynne takes a step forward.

“Ricky,” she demands. He takes a breath, and leans closer to you.

“You should change for act two.” You look between them, wishing there was something else you could do, some way that you could make this better. You agree, stopping before you leave for your dressing room.

“Text me if you need anything.” you say seriously, and he agrees, understanding the subtext of your words. Text you if he needs backup, or if it gets to be too much, because you’re there for him. Lynne moves toward him again.

“Can we talk?” she says with a domineering tone to her voice, and you both know it’s not a question. You want to object, but all he wants is to get her away from you. He nods, indicating you should go, and you do - albeit, very reluctantly. He turns back to her.

“Yeah,” he says seriously, “I think we need to.”

She grabs his arm to lead him down another stretch of hallway, but he shakes her off immediately, walking a few feet in front of her.

“Ricky, are you alright?” she demands, once they’re relatively out of earshot. She crosses her arms. “I was so worried about you when you ran offstage like that.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.” he murmurs. She either ignores him or doesn’t hear. Regardless, she continues.

“Why did you leave? Is it stage fright? Because a lot of people are counting on you, honey. You made a commitment to this-”

“You’re one to talk about commitment,” he mutters, voice low, but loud enough to be heard. His impulse control is not at all where it should be, especially with how she just talked to you, what she called you.

“I’m sorry?” Lynne demands. She’s not used to Ricky yelling at her. She’s always had a lot of influence over him. He used to do everything she said, he’s always been such a mama’s boy until now.

“I mean, do you ever think about anyone besides yourself?” he snaps, “Did you even care that you ruined the only thing I’ve been able to count on in my life- I can never get this night back, Lynne. And now…” he trails off, trying so hard to regulate his emotions, even though he knows he’s out of control. He takes a shaky breath, trying with everything he has inside him to reign it back in a little.

“...Why would you bring him to the show?”

Lynne looks stunned at his question.

“Wh-” she starts, “This is about Todd?”

“Why would you bring him here?” He demands, repeating himself.

“I…” she struggles for an answer, “wanted him to meet you.” she infuses as much guilt into her words as she can. He should feel bad for the way he’s speaking to her. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to throw you off.”

It doesn’t work this time, and he refuses to back down, to fawn for her. He doesn’t buy it for a second.

“So you waited until I was suspended, mid air over a basketball hoop, for me to see you all… cozied up together? You didn’t think - not for one second - that might be just a little upsetting to me?!”

“Ricky-”

“And what about dad, huh? How do you think he feels watching you feel each other up right in front of him?” tears brim in the corners of his eyes as everything he’s been suppressing all night, all these weeks and months finally breaks the surface. She lets out an indignant scoff and tries to say something, but he ignores her and keeps going. It’s an avalanche now, and he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“He didn’t leave the couch for a week after you left!” he roars, remembering how hard it was to see his dad like that, to have to be the one to drag him out of it.

“...I didn’t know that-”

“How could you?!” he laughs bitterly, "You weren't there!" He screams. He doesn't think it's ever felt better to say something than it does now. "You weren't there the whole time I was rehearsing, you weren't the one running lines and going over blocking, and teaching me how to listen for cues and do stage makeup and quick change! You weren't there for any of the work that went into this, and you just waltz in here with the newest guy you're screwing to your fucking son's musical like you've been here the whole time, but you havent!" He's never yelled at her like this, but a part of him thinks after how much she hurt him - and his dad - it's long overdue. "You don't get to enjoy this show, and you don't get to be around me, or dad, or anything we do because you walked out!"

"You are way out of line-" she starts, voice cracking.

"No, you know what’s way out of line?" He demands, all too ready to throw her words back in her face. "Breaking my heart, breaking dad’s heart, then acting like everything is fine when it’s not!"

"You think I wanted to leave you?!" She screams back at him.

"Yeah," he answers quickly, "I do, because you did! And you know what? I'm glad you left." He spits, watching the pain grow in her eyes, his words like venom.

"All you do is hurt us."

She blinks like she was just slapped. He takes a step forward, shaking, angry tears silently spilling from his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and dead serious.

"Don't call me anymore."

Before she can say anything, he starts to walk away. She calls out to him, desperate to get the last word in, to make him know how much pain his words have caused her.

"You are really hurting me, Ricky." She says, voice shaking as she cries, "you're breaking your mother's heart."

The sound of his mother crying like that because of something he said should have wrecked him, but he pushes away any last remaining scraps of guilt his rage hasn't burned away yet. He turns back to her, no love in his eyes, and laughs bitterly.

"Yeah, I guess it runs in the family. You know, the one thing I got from you is the ability to ruin any relationship I have, so thanks for that, mom." He spits, turning to leave. She takes a step forward.

"Don’t you walk away from me-"

"Like mother like son, huh?" He barks. With that, he's gone. He doesn't stick around for any more of her manipulation or guilt tactics. He just really, really needs to see you right now.

#ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen angst #hsmtmts #hsmtmts x reader #hsmtmts angst #high school musical the musical the series #high school musical the musical the series x reader #high school musical the musical the series angst #:)#brace yourself #not sorry for this btw #it does in fact get worse #rocks at your window

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

Text

Home - Chapter One

Revenge - (re·venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Well, it took longer to get this out than I hoped, but better late than never! I love The Way Home and I am loving writing this version of them.

A quick shout out to @aubreyprc who, no matter how much she screams at me over the next several weeks for this fic, was involved in planting this very firmly in my head when we were in Blackpool for the weekend last year.

I do have some ideas for a series of one shots between The Way Home and this fic. Just a series of moments in the 16 years between them meeting in college and the start of this sequel. Let me know if you'd be interested!

Chapters will be posted every Friday.

-x-

Words: 3.1k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Fall 2007 - Arlington, VA

Emily wakes up to the feeling of small hands pressing into her cheeks and the comforting scent of her daughter's shampoo surrounding her.

“Daddy says it’s time to wake up, Mama,” Eleanor says, her attempts at whispering somehow louder than her usual voice. She opens her eyes and looks at her little girl, who smiles widely at her, “Morning!”

“Good morning, Ellie,” she replies, her voice rough with sleep, and she looks briefly at her husband's side of the bed and is unsurprised to find it empty, the sheets cold to the touch indicating that he’d been up for a while. He’d always been a morning person, even back when they were in college, and it was something he had passed on to their five-year-old who was already dressed and ready for school, her hair in perfect braids that Aaron had clearly paid close attention to. “You look pretty.”

The little girl beams, her smile getting impossibly wider, “Like Mommy.”

Emily chuckles, knowing that was absolutely not the case right now. That she likely had remnants of yesterday's mascara smudged under her eyes, never quite coming all the way off no matter how many steps there were in her skincare routine, and her hair would be a mess.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” she says, sitting up just enough to pull Eleanor into her arms, something that the little girl needs no encouragement for. It had become part of their morning routine all the way back when Eleanor was a tiny dot of a thing, content to be in her mother’s embrace for a while before the day began. Emily knows thats why Aaron would always send their daughter up to wake her up just a few minutes before her alarm went off, so they could start the day in a way they both loved.

It was strange to think that Eleanor was now the age Jack had been when Emily first met him. She hoped that the years would go slower this time around, that it wouldn’t feel like she blinked and then had a teenager going off to college, but time had always been a thief and she knew it always would be. The vague fear that Eleanor would be her only chance at motherhood always lingered in the back of her mind. The losses she’d had before she had her little girl were enough to make her anxious just at the prospect of getting pregnant again, but they were trying. Both she and Aaron keen to have one more child.

She pulls her daughter closer just at the thought of it, excitement and anxiety bubbling in her stomach in equal measure, and she smiles as Eleanor wraps both of her hands around one of hers before she starts to trace one of her fingers up and down the scar on Emily’s forearm. The now thin silver line stretched from her wrist to halfway to her elbow. It was the only physical scar she had from that time, the only reminder etched onto her skin. She always found herself oddly grateful for it, a physical manifestation of the worst time of her life, because it was proof it happened.

Something she needed when the mental scars, which she knew would never fully heal, reared their ugly heads. She hated that every time her throat was sore she could feel Ian’s hand wrapped around it. That whenever the first sign of a cold would enter their home, Eleanor coughing as she came home from school, she knew it was only a matter of time until she’d feel the familiar scratchiness. The nightmares would follow shortly afterwards, they always did, and she’d wake up to Aaron talking her through it, knowing from experience that if he touched her before she was fully awake and aware of her surroundings he’d only add to the torture her subconscious had lined up for her. A grim showreel of things she wishes she could forget.

The hardest thing to grabble with was that she couldn’t wish she had never met Ian, because without him she never would have moved and met Aaron. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, a joke of sorts from the universe that had no punchline, that the very worst thing that had ever happened to her had led her to the best.

The alarm on her nightstand rings out, and she reaches to turn it off before pressing a kiss to Eleanor’s forehead, “Ok honey, you go downstairs and tell Daddy I’ll be there in a minute.”

Eleanor nods before she scrambles off the bed, talking over her shoulder as she goes, “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you too, Ellie,” she replies, smiling as she watches her daughter run down the hallway, her footsteps slowing as she reaches the stairs. Emily stretches her arms over her head as she climbs out of bed, sighing as she rubs at her eyes before she leaves the room, ready to go downstairs and join her family.

She yawns as she walks into the kitchen, distracted by the thought of work and everything she needed to get done that day, and she almost walks straight into Aaron. He stops her just in time, his hands on her shoulders as he holds her in place, a wry smile on his face.

“What is it with you and always walking into me?” He asks, his tired eyes sparkling with love for her as he leans down to kiss her cheek.

She rolls her eyes at him but can’t help but smile as she remembers the first time they met. How she’d walked straight into him, distracted by moving to a new town and the things she’d never quite been able to escape. He always brought it up, exaggerating how they met for all of their friends, false claims that she’d literally knocked him over, the first impression so strong he’d had no choice but to fall in love with her.

“Any excuse to get caught by you,” she quips, winking at him as he kisses her cheek before he lets her go, “Do you have a busy day today?”

Ever since he’d successfully prosecuted George Foyet a year ago he’d become one of the Attorney General’s favourite prosecutors and was now often given the most high-profile cases in DC. It was everything he’d trained for, those long nights in law school when she’d switch between helping him study and distracting him to give him a well-earned break, paying off. There were rumours the Attorney General was training him up to eventually replace him.

“No court, thankfully,” he replies, turning to the kitchen counter where Eleanor was sitting to finish pouring the milk into her cereal, “But a lot of casework to look over,” he puts their daughter’s cereal in front of her and then turns back to Emily, “You?”

“Just a lot of meetings,” she says, grimacing as she thinks of her day. There were times when she missed being more actively involved in social work, but mostly she was grateful for what she did now. Working closely with government officials to help create policies to protect the most vulnerable in society. It was a change she made when she had Eleanor, something that allowed her to spend more time with her family. “But I’ll be able to pick up this one from school,” she says, playing with one of Eleanor’s braids, “How about you sweet girl? Busy day at Kindergarten?”

Eleanor shrugs and continues eating her cereal. Aaron chuckles and kisses his wife’s temple before moving past her to make coffee.

“You go get ready, sweetheart,” he says, smiling at his wife, “I’ll get your breakfast sorted.” She nods and turns to head back upstairs, ready for the day ahead of her.

When she looked back on that morning in the coming weeks, she was grateful for it, for the last taste of normalcy before their lives were turned upside down.

___

“A spokesperson for Red Onion State Prison has confirmed that the riot is now under control-”

Emily switches the tv channel from the news, something Aaron liked to watch when he couldn’t sleep, to a cartoon for Eleanor.

“Right, sweet girl,” she says, kissing the top of her daughter's head as the little girl settles on the couch, “Mommy has to do a little bit more work, ok? And then when Daddy gets home we’ll have dinner.”

Eleanor nods, her focus on the tv already and Emily kisses her head once more before she heads towards the dining room. She sits at the table, about to read over some paperwork, when she hears the doorbell ringing. She stands up and shakes her head at the thundering footsteps from her daughter, who seemed to always create a lot of noise despite being small, running down the hallway. She reaches the front door seconds before Eleanor and raises her eyebrow at her.

“Eleanor Brooke Hotchner, what have we said about you answering the door?” She says, grateful that she’s able to hide her amusement at her daughter's enthusiasm. Eleanor was such a happy little girl, always excited to see the people she loves, and Emily couldn’t help but wonder what she herself could have been like if Elizabeth had been a little more like the mother Emily always strove to be.

Eleanor looks up at her, her eyes wide in a way that Aaron always said she got from her, “Not to do it because it could be anybody.”

“Exactly,” Emily says, squeezing her shoulder, “We’ve got to be safe, right?”

“But Mommy it’s not just anybody it’s Aunt Haley, I saw her car,” Eleanor exclaims, almost bouncing back and forth on her feet with excitement at the prospect of seeing her favourite person outside of her direct family.

Emily shakes her head, and smiles, “Well, I guess we’d better let her in then, huh?” She turns and opens the door, smiling at her friend as she comes into view, her arms loaded with Pyrex dishes, “Hi Haley, sorry about that.”

“It’s ok,” she chuckles, the sparkle in her eyes letting her know she’s heard their conversation from outside, she looks down at Eleanor who smiles and rushes to Haley, wrapping her arms tight around her, “Well hello to you too, El.”

“Let Aunt Haley in the door at least, Ellie,” Emily says, reaching to take the food Haley had brought for them from her hands, “I’ll take these,” she says gratefully, “You know, you really don’t have to cook for us.”

“Well someone has to,” Haley replies, wrapping her arms around Eleanor and guiding her into the house, closing the door behind her, “Neither you nor Aaron can cook anything apart from boxed Mac and Cheese,” she quips, following Emily into the kitchen, Eleanor still wrapped around her, “Besides, it took my mind off of things.”

Emily pauses just before she puts the casseroles down and she turns to look at her friend. There was tension in her shoulders and a sense of sadness in her eyes, her smile a little tighter than usual, and Emily sighs.

“Ellie,” she says, turning her attention to her daughter, “Why don’t you go play for a little bit and then find all those drawings you did at school for Aunt Haley? I know she’d love to see them.”

“You did drawings for me?” Haley says, looking down at Ellie, her voice full of enthusiasm that was only partially exaggerated, “I’m excited to see them.”

“Ok!” Eleanor says, dislodging herself from Haley and running out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she is out of earshot, Emily leans against the kitchen counter and looks at Haley.

“Is this a glass of wine conversation or a coffee conversation?” She asks, and Haley chuckles humourlessly, sitting on one of the stools at the counter.

“Rick moved out today.”

Emily groans sympathetically, “Wine it is,” she says, placing her hand over her friends before she turns to the fridge, “What happened?”

Haley had met Rick several years ago at a work conference, and they’d hit it off. At first, Aaron had been unsure about the relationship, worried about his son spending so much time with someone he barely knew, and Emily had been the one to point out he’d moved on to her. That Haley had accepted someone else in her son’s life even if the road to where they were now was rocky at the start. Their friendship was forged the day Haley saved her from Ian. A case of being in the right place at the right time that led to where they were now - Emily and Aaron’s daughter calling the woman he once would have married ‘aunt.’

More recently, especially since Jack had left for college the year before, Haley’s relationship with Rick had seemed to slowly unravel. Ever since Haley was twenty her entire life had been about her son and doing the best for him that she could, and all of a sudden she had time to do what she wanted. It’s when the differences between her and the man she’d been with for 6 years started to show. She wanted to get married, but he didn’t. He wanted a kid, and she didn’t want to start all over again.

“We just…didn’t want the same things,” Haley says, smiling gratefully when Emily passes her a glass of wine, “He kept talking about kids and I’ve been so clear from the start that I didn’t want any more. I guess he thought I’d change my mind.”

“I’m sorry Haley,” she says, sitting next to her, “I know you love him.”

“Yeah,” she chokes out, “I do,” she shakes her head at herself and has a sip of wine, “I’m sure he’ll move on. Find someone a bit younger to have a family with, I seem to be a good practise long term girlfriend” she looks at Emily, and clears her throat, “Sorry, no offence.”

Emily smiles, “None taken.”

It was easy to forget sometimes that Haley and Aaron had ever been together. She wondered if it was because she’d never seen it. She’d come into their lives after they had already broken up. There were no romantic feelings between the two of them, but Emily knew that Aaron loved Haley as a friend and the mother of his son.

“Anyway, I came here to distract myself,” Haley says, “How are you?”

Emily blows out a breath, “Ok, I guess,” she replies, shrugging, “Work is pretty steady at the moment. Aaron is doing really well with his work.” Haley smiles at her indulgently, her eyebrow raised, “Are you really asking me about the baby thing?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately, her eyes sparkling, “I don’t want a baby of my own but I want to spoil another one of yours.”

Emily shakes her head, “Well, we are trying,” she says, “And if…” she swallows thickly, a tight smile spreading over her face, “If it happens you will be the first to know. Apart from Aaron of course.”

Haley reaches out and places her hand on Emily’s arm, “It will happen. I’m sure of it.”

Emily chuckles, “Well I’m glad someone is.”

A door flys open upstairs, and the time Eleanor had allowed them as she played had clearly come to an end.

“I found the drawings!”

Emily and Haley exchange a soft smile and then Emily shouts towards the stairs, “Come and show us, sweetie.”

___

Aaron picks up his briefcase and rolls his neck as he prepares to leave his office, excited to get home to his wife and daughter.

He’s barely made it into the hallway, still standing in the doorway of his office, when one of the assistant attorneys approaches him, a grim look on his face.

“Grant,” Aaron groans, “Please don’t tell me it’s a new case. Surely it can wait until morning. I’d quite like to get home.”

“No,” Grant says, shaking his head, “Nothing like that. Have you heard about what happened at Red Onion State?”

Aaron nods, “Yes, there was a riot. It’s being reported that it’s all under control now.”

“It is,” Grant replies, clearly choosing his words carefully, clearing his throat, “But…two prisoners escaped. Cell mates. The prison guards believe that the riot was started so they could get out.”

Aaron feels a pit form in his stomach and his chest gets tighter, a sense of foreboding that he can’t describe washing over him.

“Why are you telling me this? Is it someone I put away?”

Grant nods, “It’s George Foyet.”

Aaron sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before looking back at the other man, “He escaped custody before his trial, he knows what he’s doing,” he shakes his head, “I assume they’ve followed the usual procedures.”

“State troopers are checking all vehicles in the surrounding area and every cop has an up-to-date photo of him, we’ll capture him.”

“Ok, thank you,” Aaron says, “I appreciate the heads up, at least I can tell my wife before it ends up on the news.”

George Foyet had made some pretty distinct threats towards Aaron when they were in court, and had twice had to be removed from the courtroom by order of the judge. When he told Emily about it she’d worried. Concerned that on the off chance Foyet did get found not guilty, he’d come after Aaron.

“Of course,” Grant says, and he turns to leave, but Aaron stops him.

“Who was the other prisoner? His cellmate?” Aaron asks out of curiosity, sure that whoever it was wouldn’t compare to the danger that George Foyet would pose to the general public.

“Oh,” Grant says, “Some guy who got put away for attempting to murder his ex-girlfriend,” he adds, shaking his head, “He tried to choke her to death in the middle of the street.”

Aaron feels everything slow down around him, his throat going dry as he tries to swallow against the fear that climbs up it, the taste of it bitter against his tongue.

He hoped he was wrong. That his instincts that were kicking in were incorrect. He couldn’t tell her this. Couldn’t tell his wife that the man who had caused her such pain, who still managed to sneak his way into her subconscious and haunt her in her dreams even after all this time, had escaped. It couldn’t be him.

It couldn’t be him.

“What’s his name?” He demands, his fists tight by his side and his jaw tense.

“Uh, I’d have to look again, he’s not-”

It couldn’t be him.

“His name, Anderson.”

Grant flinches at the use of his surname, at the way Aaron spits it out like its poison, “It’s Irish. Donavon? No. Doyle. His name is Ian Doyle.”

-x-

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unsettledink · 2 years

Text

An interesting thread on comments and comment culture passed by on my dash, and for some reason it hooked me in. As usual, I started off wanting to say one thing and next thing I know, I'm 4k in with thoughts that everyone wants to hear. Right?

I left most of it on the post, talking about how comments used to be conversations, and how it never feels like people address the vulnerability of leaving a comment when they try and encourage more feedback.

I don't have answers. It's a cultural shift and how do things end up shifting again? Something big like a new platform or a radical change will probably have to appear before things go in a different direction, whatever it may be.

So no, I don't have an answer. I can say what helps me out, personally, when trying to remember why I want to go through the work of leaving a comment:

I write. I know from the other side what comments feel like. I remind myself of the excitement of seeing a notification pop up. (Obviously if you don't write, this doesn't help that much lol.)

Whatever I fear them judging me for, I can almost guarantee someone else has already judged me for something much worse. I mean, come on. I know the sort of things I write or rec.

I've done it enough I have a template in my head of how to write a comment. There are a few resources for that floating around that are good for getting started. Practice makes perfect.

Applying techniques from therapy. I'm not great at it, or have really internalized it, but at least aware that my fears are being egged on by anxiety, by past bad experiences, by the special hell of rejection sensitive dysphoria.

Easier said than done, especially on certain days, but just... running out of fucks to give. Like, oh my god self, so what if some author thinks I was too enthusiastic about their fic? What does it matter? They're just another random person on the internet, what are they going to do? Laugh at me? Then they're the one being a jackass, AND they don't get any more comments. Whatever.

And on that last one, if it's feeling impossible, like it'll never happen... holy shit this is going to sound condescending, but give it some time. Me from 10 years ago would have laughed at the idea of not caring what someone else thought. At some point, without me really noticing, I just could not care what some rando on the internet thought. It wasn't an active 'no I'm not going to care', it was 'wow I cannot find the energy to give a shit about you'. (But I can still find it to be mad when someone is Wrong on the Internet, so.)

I bring that up because every time I find out someone's age lately, I'm like, Jesus Christ. I forget how young fandom - esp tumblr - skews. Cause of course, I'm still young! It's not like I'm old, it's just that everyone is... younger... than... me. Wait. But for real, being in your late teens SUCKS. (Maybe you're lucky and they don't, but I doubt.) Being in your early 20's somehow sucks even more??? Being in your 20's period sucks. You couldn't pay me to be 20-anything again.

(Thinking of all the fandom people on here 20, 30 years older than me being like lol, you're still so freaking young :D )

Every comment I get these days I hoard like a dragon, and anytime I'm feeling crappy about writing or about some new thing being a bomb, I pull those suckers out and reread them for ages. I've got a whole doc just of tumblr comments, cause there's no other good way to find them again. if I'm really desperate, I go poke to see if there's any new bookmarks on my fic, in case they dropped a tag or put in a collection of favs or left a note of some sort (ya'll know authors can see those right?).

And I'd say I'm a pretty confident writer. I know I write a lot of niche stuff in tiny fandoms, so comparatively, I probably get a lot of comments. I have a moderately high opinion of my writing skills, so I'm mostly not sitting there going 'oh god I'm the worst writer ever', whereas I know that's the case for a LOT of fic writers. I'm mostly just sitting there like 'why didn't it hit the spot? why won't anyone say anything? I am so desperate to talk shop please anyone give me an excuse!!'.

So just... yeah. Throw an emoji at me. Throw a gif at me. Throw a novel that takes six comment boxes at me. Throw the exact same comment at fifteen different chapters/fics. I love it all.

(And hey. If you just lurk and read, it's okay. I get it. I still love you too.)

#archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #writing #commenting on commenting #comments #my rambles

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lawgrain · 1 year

Note

Hi, I saw your post about appropriate commenting on AO3, it helps me so much since I am looking for it.

If you don't mind answering, recently I have written a fic for a less popular ship on a fandom.

There is this one commenter that keeps mentioning how the character I wrote is similar to another fic belonging to the same fandom but for a more popular ship/pairing.

I have never heard of this fic let alone read it.

It was uncomfortable for me to read the comment, because even though there are some compliments there, it feels as if this one commenter is comparing my work to this other fic.

For example

1. Will character A do the same as character B from this "Title"?

2. It's fun to read another "Title"-esque fic

Am I being to sensitive here? I get that there are compliments here and there, but is it justified to delete their comments?

I am not sure about their intention but they have commented several times and each times the same commenter said the same thing about another fic and how my fic is very similar to it. I didn't reply to this one commenter, others don't mention anything about this other fic.

I feel like it is quite rude mentioning someone else's work under the comment of another person's work and imply it is quite similar though not saying it outright.

Is it? I genuinely want to know because I need another perspective on this.

If it is not, do you have any advice that you can give? Your insight would be very helpful.

A fic doesn't invent an entire genre, but this one commenter makes it seems like it does (& I am copying it or something).

Thank you for your time.

Okay, real talk, delete that shit.

I’m sorry I didn’t see this till now btw. Really anything that upon seeing make you feel negative emotions, just delete it. One of my biggest mistake in writing was worrying about the comment section. It really fast tracked me into burn out and anxiety.

You don’t need to explain yourself and many writers don’t even go to their comment section. It’s not rude to ignore it. In this case, I feel the person you’re describing is being rude, even if unknowingly. Wether or not the person is being rude, you are well within your rights to ignore it or delete it.

I think I mentioned it in the post you reference but there was a time where someone used a fic I liked to put me down. It really just doesn’t feel great to hear about others in a manner to make you doubt yourself.

And really, not a goddamn person has an idea that hasn’t been done before. There’s not a concept that hasn’t been thought, it’s your take on it that matters. So don’t let anyone shame you for that. I’ll be the first to say that the fics I’ve written have been done before in a way. There’s thousands of bullying stories. There millions of stories with an abusive mother. There’s a ton of fics that reference similar if not the same topics I do. It just can’t matter to me if I’m going to get better as a writer. If it does than there’s not a word I could write.

I’m very passionate in defending you on this. I of course don’t know every detail of what’s going on but this is my take on it. I ended up getting very wrapped up in comments, both positive and negative, and that’s one of the worst things I did to myself. If I can help someone not to fall into that fate, I’d love to

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cleaning-has-its-benefits · 10 months

Text

I think now I’ve experienced what “kill your darlings” meant!

Maybe.

Anyways, this time I wanted to make a post about a deleted scene of a fic I'm still working on, rather than a whole shelved fic.

The scene would have been pretty much "my take" on the day of the recital, from Basil's pov.

(I don't think I'm good at character analysis, so take all of this as a grain of salt and me just messing around with ideas.)

As I've read different fics that are about (or include) the day of the recital, there's always... I'm not sure how to call it, but it's about Basil's motivation, or how it's handled, that stands out to me. At least in the ones I've read, Basil is focused on saving Sunny, which yeah, that's the point. What I mean is that Basil is more preoccupied of getting Sunny out of trouble than anything, and doesn't spare many thoughts about, like, Mari dying right in front of him.

I'm not sure if I explained well, but I guess I feel sometimes Basil acts and thinks there as if Sunny accidentally killed some random person rather than one of his dearest friends, y'know? And I thought that it would be neat if there were more fics focusing on Basil trying (and probably failing) to process Mari's death in this situation.

So for that I wanted to write an scene of the day of the recital from Basil's pov where he mostly tries to make sense of what he just witnessed, and simply try to process the fact Mari just died, when barely some minutes ago she was alive. It all happened really fast. It's a horrible thing, but considering Basil's abandonment issues, this it's pretty much his worst fear come true. After helping Sunny carry Mari upstairs (and have plenty of opportunities to look at her inexpressive face) and laying her in the bed, Basil would just look at Sunny try to wake up Mari for a long time, when finally things slow down a bit, but Basil is still pretty much in shock, so that's why he doesn't make a move of helping Sunny wake up Mari or to comfort him.

And things would stay like that for a good while, Sunny calling Mari's name while Basil watches, Mari's death just settling in, asking himself why did this happen (not in the sense of the events that led to this, you know? the death itself is already too much to handle for him to even add into the mix that Sunny is the one who killed her), thinking about everything that made Mari herself and that they just lost, of how unfair all of this is, things like that. What will be of the group now without Mari? His thoughts eventually lead to the others and how they'll react when they come back.

It's only then that it dawns on him. He looks at the clock, seeing how much time is left before the others come back, before their friends, the parents, the neighbors learn of what happened. he realizes that if someone gets to know what happened, then they will take away Sunny to incarcerate him, maybe for the rest of his life (anxiety would surely make him think of the worst-case scenario). They might never get to see him again, so in that case they might as well consider him gone. Like Mari.

Losing Mari is already too much to handle, but losing Sunny as well, on the same day?

There's absolutely nothing Basil can do to save Mari, so that's where his motivation to save Sunny at any cost comes from. Maybe making his motivation in this one rooted in his worst fear rather than loyalty.

As my main point was to write about Basil’s thoughts regarding Mari’s sudden death, I didn’t thought a lot about how basil comes up with the idea of solving this by making it look like a suicide… I admit I went with the easy route of leaving it off-screen. In any case, it would be an act of desperation, with Basil not understanding the full extent of what he did until years passed. In any case, he would be mentally apologizing to Mari during the whole ordeal.

So basically, Basil would think a lot about Mari's death before even thinking about saving Sunny and "what was left" of the group. For this, Basil's motivation would have been more about preserving the group friend, avoiding losing another of his loved ones, rather than just wanting to get Sunny out of trouble. This wouldn't turn out very well, as everyone would go separate ways trying to cope, but at least Sunny wasn't taken away to be incarcerated in a tiny room where he would be at 24/7 without way for Basil to get in contact with him for years to come, right?

I liked this scene, but I decided to cut it because it didn't fit the rest of the fic, and the more I think about it, the rest of the fic didn't fit it either. It was easy to tell this scene was pretty much shoe-horned in.

Also, this scene needed much more space to really shine, and more set up, too. Before this, Mari only has like two scenes, so her death isn’t really felt for the fic’s own merits.

What really pains me of cutting this scene is Sunny's dialogue. You see, in all the previous scenes Sunny doesn't have a single line of dialogue, because he's more comfortable with non-verbal communication here. This is the only scene where he speaks, to beg Mari to wake up and swear he never wanted to hurt her. I thought this was a really great way of showing his desperation... and this is also the why I wouldn't post this scene as a stand-alone. I like this a lot :(

But you know how this could work the best? With a fic that focuses on Basil & Sunny & Mari's dynamic, around 5k words to really settle. I thought this could be of the month preceding the recital. Basil mentions he spends more time lately at Sunny and Mari's house in his album, so it could be about that. A pretty fluffy fic, with Mari being sisterly towards Basil, with just a few sprinkled reminders that the clock is ticking. If I felt particularly evil, maybe I would add an scene where Mari and Basil team up to annoy Sunny about being the baby of the group and, jokingly, Mari tell Basil that, when she's not available, he has to be the one to look after Sunny and protect him from danger. Yeah, with a fic like that the scene of the day of the recital would fit well!

But I already have many wips to work on so I won't write this anytime soon, if ever.

Normally I would copy-paste what I had written here, but since it’s barely above a bullet-point, I don’t think it’s worth it.

#ideas that i'll never finish or even start

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velvetmel0n · 4 years

Text

Insatiable

Summary: The Mandalorian has a run in with some rather odd pollen while hunting for a quarry and you try to fix it

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Automatic dub-con due to the pollen, penetrative sex, sex against a wall, Mando finds a loophole to take his helmet off but everything else stays on, the Child is sleeping don’t worry, little bit of cockwarming, soft ending

A/N: Me, posting fic during daylight hours? I’m just as surprised as you are, who am I

@damerondjarin @rzrcrst @okay-hotshot @beskars @acomplicatedprofession @huliabitch @pascalplease @darksideofclarke @thesefleshfailures @justawriterwithdreams @generaldamneron @criminal-cookies @someplace-darker @amarvelousmandalorian @roxypeanut @leahsafae @bunnyart-blog @duamuteffe @themandjalorian @hopelikethesun @dindjarindiaries @paniclana @winters-buck @pedropascalito @agentpike @hiscyarika @lesqui @mandadoration @the-huttslayer @poeticandors @tintinwrites @mserynlarsen @hystericalmedicine @queenofheavenandhell @himbopoes @qveenbvtch @bookshelvesandteacups @yougottakeeponkeepinon

Something is— something is wrong with the Mandalorian. The fact that he’s returning without the quarry is concerning enough but the way he’s moving, the way he’s hauling himself up the ramp and out of the jungle like he’s hurt is what sends your heart rocketing into your throat. You can’t see any chinks in the beskar even as he steps into the light of the Razor Crest and the rational part of your brain realizes that the lack of any outward signs of injury, that his armor is still in place, should make you feel better.

Instead what it does is make you swallow, makes you want to reach out and run your hands along the gleaming metal and the thick fabric between the plates, fingers probing for something to fix. “Mando?” You hate how your voice sounds even as it’s leaving your mouth, thin and shaking under its own weight and you feel the anxiety curdle in your gut.

You had just put the Child down for the night and thought it was funny, this odd turn your life had taken in these last months. Going from odd job doer to nurse maid and medic and whatever else a situation may call for. You didn’t realize how attached you’d truly grown to it until now.

The Mandalorian grunts and the sound is ragged at the edges, and you watch with wide eyes as he sits heavily on the cot as if his legs won’t support him any longer and he— he starts tearing at his gloves, at his arm braces. Any other time you’d be fascinated by the skin he’s showing you, normally only glimpsed through blood and bacta spray, but now it only makes your blood run cold.

“Something got under the helmet,” His voice is slurred, the words crashing into one another before they leave the confines of his mouth. He sounds like he drank an entire jug of spotchka by himself and your brain starts to prickle with realization. “Just— I feel so, feel so hot,”

You swallow, careful to keep your distance now when just moments before you had wanted to run to him. “Did you notice any smells? Any...strange tastes in your mouth?” You know enough botany to have dread settling low in your stomach, replacing the anxiety that had been threatening to overtake you. You don’t think this planet houses a lethal strain— uncomfortable, yes. Life altering, perhaps. But not lethal.

The questions make him pause, thank Maker, because this is the most skin he’s ever shown you and already the guilt is gnawing. You know his Creed, piecing it together from the stories you’ve heard about the Mandalorians and from his own mouth, and you are terrified. Terrified that he’ll go for his helmet next, that you won’t be able to stop him in time and then what? What comes after?

“It smelled...sweet, but, but more than that—” He doesn’t know how to explain how it smelled sweet and spiced and soft. As soft as he knows your hands are when you patch him up somewhere he can’t reach, as soft as he imagines other places are. He shakes his head hard to dislodge that thought but it’s already taken hold and now he can’t stop.

He’s having trouble remembering why it’s a bad idea to reach out for you, drag you into his lap and fill his hands and his mouth with you, gorge himself on sensation until he’s sick with it. He feels like he’s burning up, boiling from the inside out and his mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton but it’s watering for you.

His mouth. That’s right, you asked him if he tasted anything. He did— some strange, flavored heat having curled into his mouth and he can’t describe the taste, just knows that it was good and he won’t be opposed to tasting it again.

“I don’t know, something— something good,” The edges of his voice are fuzzed out by the vocoder but the rasp isn’t smoothed and his words skitter down your spine to settle low in your belly. You had spent months perfecting how you deal with the Mandalorian; friendly, compassionate, maybe a little teasing, but most of all understanding of his Creed and the Way and that meant ignoring the affection that had started to fester not long after you’d met. Ignoring the way your mind wandered at night or when you were alone, and it was all going to come crashing down because he’d had a run in with fucking adamari pollen.

If the circumstances weren’t so dire you think you’d laugh because this is ridiculous.

You swallow and raise your hands like you’re trying to placate something feral, show it that you mean it no harm. “We need to stay away from each other for the next few hours, alright?” You hate the way your voice sounds, thin and shaking underneath its own weight and you aren’t sure what you’re more scared of— him forgetting himself or you letting him.

He’s breathing harshly but he only tilts his helmet at you, not realizing what you’re trying to say so you try again, tongue flicking over your suddenly dry lips. “You’ve heard of adamari, right?”

That causes him to still right down to his labored breathing and you rush to reassure him the only way you know how. “This one isn’t lethal we just— you just have to ride it out,” Maker, did he bring any in with him? You can feel yourself warming, goosebumps rising on your flesh the longer he looks at you from behind that dark visor but that could just be the Mandalorian himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, not even slightly, but it most certainly is the worst time.

“It’s going to get worse, isn’t it?” The words rumble through the vocoder and you can only nod, seeing the way his hands fist atop his thighs and you swallow thickly. You know you can’t stop him, you know you won’t want to stop him once he puts his hands on you and that’s why one of you has to leave.

“Look, it’s probably going to last the rest of the night. At least,” You tack the words on as an afterthought, figuring you should warn him before he’s too far gone, remembering how depending on the strain and the dosage the effects can last anywhere between a few hours to a couple days.

You watch as the Mandalorian flexes his hands before he straps his braces back on, fitting his hands back into his gloves slowly as if the movements of covering himself back up are paining him now in some ironic twist of fate. “I’ll go.” The words are simple, brooking no arguments. Maybe they would have inspired more confidence if they hadn’t sounded like they were pushed through gritted teeth.

He hauls himself to standing, a mass of gleaming beskar and you hold your breath as he walks past you, not missing the way he pauses, the way his helmet cants towards you. “Take care of the kid for me,” It’s a forgone conclusion at this point but you understand his need to say it still and you nod, murmuring a simple ‘of course’ into the still air. He doesn’t resume walking right away, instead watching you for long, drawn out moments that make you feel like an ash-rabbit caught in a snare before he stumbles down the ramp, shaking his head.

You’re trembling as you shut the ship back up, not able to tell if your sigh is one of relief or disappointment as he keeps walking into the jungle.

Should you— should you activate the ground security protocols? You probably should in case something other than the Mandalorian tries to get in, but it almost feels like a betrayal as you do. You aren’t afraid of him, not really, and you don’t want him to think that you are. What you’re afraid of is you inadvertently causing his life to unravel because you can’t keep your eyes closed. You’re afraid that it’s the pollen to blame for this, that no part of him actually wants you.

You try to distract yourself by checking on the Child, sleeping peacefully in his crib and you hope he remains that way for the rest of the night. You press a button on the machine and the canopy slides back into place, blocking out all the lights and noises of the Crest and you almost wish you could join him.

You wonder if the famed Mandalorian discipline will be enough to keep away during the long hours of the night, that it will somehow overcome the effects of the drugging plant. Maybe he’ll get far enough away before it really slams into him.

You spend hours like this, unable to keep yourself from pacing around the Crest and jumping at every little noise, from the ship settling to the sounds of the jungle outside, and all the while wondering. Wondering how he’s faring, if it’s gotten worse yet. If he’s in pain and if it would have been a better idea to let him stay and help him. He might not have reached for his helmet like you’re so afraid of.

It’s the middle of the night and your nerves have started to dull, sleep beginning to pull on the edges of your brain. Nothing has activated the ground security protocols and you’ve found the rhythm in the noise of the nightbugs and the creatures and the groans of the Razor Crest. The Child hasn’t woken despite your pacing and nervous energy thrumming out, and all is well.

And then the lights go out.

Adrenaline surges through your body and your heart kicks into a relentless pace and you almost feel like you’re floating with the sudden onset of energy as you spring from your place on the floor. No alarms are blaring. There are no sounds you don’t already recognize and there is nothing banging on the hull of the ship, demanding to be let inside.

The Mandalorian has returned. The Mandalorian has returned and you can’t see a thing.

Arousal and anxiety clash in your gut, colliding until you’re shaking and you don’t know which is which. The dark serves as a loophole, but how strong is it? The urge to run wells up within you so strongly that you almost gasp, feeling your way through the dark as you try to figure out a place to hide.

What if he regrets it, afterwards? Thinks it’s shameful and can’t bear to be around you anymore? Even worse, what if it’s never spoken of again and you have to live with the knowledge of what he feels like, his skin against your own and buried inside of you and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

Your blood is rushing in your ears as you creep through the gloom, your mind racing. There are only so many places to hide in the Razor Crest and your first instinct is to hurl yourself into the storage closet he calls a bunk and seal yourself up in it but you know that would be asking for trouble. You think if you can make it to the ladder you might have a shot of scrambling up, sealing the hatch before the Mandalorian reaches you.

You’re pointedly ignoring the fact that he probably has some sort of nightvision equipped in his helmet and can obviously see better than you if he’s plunging the Crest into absolute darkness on a whim.

You don’t even think you breath as you move, barely picking your feet off the floor and somehow forcing yourself to go slow, to take your time so you don’t run headfirst into a wall. The goosebumps are back and the hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you feel so thoroughly watched that you think you can feel his eyes on your like a caress.

You don’t know how far you make it before you feel a heavy hand on the center of your back, pushing you up against the wall and then the Mandalorian is pressing himself against you, trapping you between two layers of solid metal and you almost keen from the sensation of it.

“M’sorry, I— I tried, so hard, I’m sorry,” He slurs into your ear and all the breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a gust because you’re not hearing the blurry, filtered voice through the vocoder anymore and you can feel his lips on your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin desperately. He’s taken his gloves off too and his hands are everywhere.

They slip beneath your tunic without warning and his skin is fever hot and rough, and you can’t stop yourself from shaking if you try when he grasps your breasts, cupping their fullness and squeezing, forcing a whine from your throat. He keeps mumbling apologies against your neck, soothing bites with his tongue and gasping for breath because there’s just so much of you he’s never touched, never felt like this and you’re so soft and warm and he’s losing his mind.

“S’okay, really,” You do your best to reassure him but you think the pollen is rubbing off you, it has to be because it’s like once he got you in his arms all that anxiety and fear that was festering and curdling in your stomach turned to pure heat in a single instant and you can feel the wetness already slicking the insides of your thighs.

His chin hooks over your shoulder and you think he’s trying to watch himself play with you— you have no idea if he can even see but the idea that he’s trying cranks you higher. Your other senses have heightened to compensate for the lack of vision and maybe that’s the reason why you almost cry when his fingers clasp around your nipples. He pinches and rolls the puckering flesh, and you’re unable to stop the sob of his name that leaves your mouth. “M-Mando,”

The sound of that word on your lips, little more than a gasping moan, is what breaks him the rest of the way. The words come pouring out of his mouth then and fill your head up until the sound of them and his touch are the only things that exist for you.

“Wanted this for s-so long and you— you’re—” You’re letting me, the thought finishes unspoken because he can’t believe it. You’re arching your spine and reaching behind you, clawing at any part of him you can reach and he loves it. He loves the way you taste and the sounds that are pouring from your lips and he’s never been this hard in his life.

His hands finally come unglued from your breasts and rasp down your side, his rough palms catching on your skin and the contrast has you both shaking. The Mandalorian doesn’t waste time, isn’t capable of it as he shoves his hand underneath the waistband of your pants and your underwear and— and he fucking chokes.

You’re so warm and wet that for a moment all he can do is groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his big body shuddering against your own. He drags a finger through your slit, in awe of just how wet you are for him as you rock in his palm. He can’t get over the fact that you’re almost sobbing for him now as he rubs the calloused pads of his fingers sloppily over your clit and he can feel your thighs quiver.

“Im-imagined this,” He can’t stop himself from talking, needing to get the words out, to let you know that it isn’t pollen that’s caused all this. It only sped up the timeline, pushing him off the cliff he’s spent the past months edging towards. “Didn’t know yo-you’d be this— this warm,” His voice cracks on the last word and he groans raggedly into your ear because at that exact moment he’s slicking two of his fingers into your weeping cunt and some part of him thinks this is a hallucination. This has to be a hallucination because there’s no way you’re this hot, there’s no way you’re drenching his hand and moaning for him.

He tells you as much, rasping right into your ear how tight you are, how good you’re taking his fingers. How he’s been dying for this.

You try to brace yourself against the wall as your hips bear down on his thick fingers, able to feel the dips and ridges of his knuckles while your free hand clutches at the arm he has wound around your waist to keep you crushed against him. Tears collect in the corners of your eyes and you already feel so full but you’re greedy, and maybe the pollen has rubbed off on you after all because as amazing as his fingers are spearing up into you, you want his cock more.

You try to tell him but when you open your mouth to do so the only thing that comes out is a whimper because the Mandalorian is pressing the heel of his hand hard into your pubic bone while his fingers work, grinding your clit against his hand. You can feel the bridge of his nose pressing into the line of your jaw, his breath huffing over your skin and it’s all too much.

You feel yourself clamp down on his fingers and your mouth hangs open and the only thing you can hear is the Mandalorian’s moan in your ear. He presses you harder into the wall and his hand stills, keeping the pressure on your clit and just curling his fingers within you. You don’t notice how your nails are digging into his wrist and the hand you have on the wall is shaking as it reaches back, blindly seeking the Mandalorian to pull him closer as your hips stutter and grind into his palm.

You don’t realize you’ve started begging him until the buzzing clears from your head. “Please, p-please, Man-Mando, just— I need your cock,” You sound as wrecked as you feel and the Mandalorian grunts somewhere behind you, ripping at his belt before the words are fully out of your mouth. You want to help him but your hands are shaking too much and you’re still trying to remember how to breathe properly when you feel a blunt pressure against your slippery folds.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder and you’re rocking impatiently on just his tip, whining at the feel of his hands now gripping your hips to try and hold you still. You still haven’t gotten used to the feel of his bare hands on you and it’s like each brush of them, every squeeze and and rub making you feel almost delirious. They’re hot against you, fingers digging in around the bone and somewhere in a hazy part of your mind you know you’ll have marks later, a roadmap of where and how he touched you and you can’t wait to trace your fingertips over them in the daylight.

Any control he’s managed to cling to is gone and he’s helpless not to buck his hips, filling you up in one decisive thrust that sends you lurching into the wall. You cry out from the sensation of his cock splitting you open, the stretch pinching just enough for the pain to put the pleasure into focus, sharpening it to a razor’s edge.

This is what he’s been hiding underneath all that beskar? The thought slides across your mind like a tendril of smoke, half formed and nearly transparent before it blinks out of existence as fast as it came into being because the Mandalorian is rutting over you, armor biting into the backs of your thighs as he tries to press as close as physically possible each time he bottoms out within you.

He’s barely pulling out, as if he can’t stand the thought of separating from you even just the few inches he needs for leverage, is something unbearable and it is glorious. The tears have spilled from your eyes and his hands are clutching you, arms banding around your front to keep you molded to his chest so tightly that your breathing is restricted from the pressure across your chest but you can’t manage to care.

You aren’t being granted any sort of reprieve from how deliciously full you are and you think you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it drags inside you, scraping heavily against that one specific spot that’s causing you to see stars in the darkness, pinpricks of light igniting behind your eyelids. His name is falling pathetically from your lips, your high pitched and needy and he just keeps going. His mouth at your ear, slurring how you feel around him, how well you’re taking him and how he never wants to leave your heat.

You use his voice, so much clearer without the vocoder, as a homing beacon and reach a trembling hand over your shoulder, sifting your fingers through the sweaty curls you find at the nape of his neck. He shudders and snarls when you give them an experimental tug and you feel it right down to your toes— so you do it again.

He digs his hips into yours in a rhythm that borders on brutal and you’re only able to last for so long because the arm around your stomach drops low and he’s pressing his fingers into your clit again, quick and desperate. And then, almost before you realize what’s happening, your vision is whiting out and your pussy is clamping down around his cock, your flesh pulsing around him as you hang, suspended time time and unable to feel anything but the pleasure as it rockets up your spine and covers your skin like syrup, thick and sticky-sweet. Your mouth is hanging open but no sound comes out at first and— and then you’re mewling some pitiful parody of his name because he’s fucking you through the first orgasm and on into the second if he doesn’t stop.

Which he doesn’t. You’re sensitive and shaking and he isn’t stopping, driving into you again and again before he stills, cock buried as deep as he could manage and he moans. The sound is broken against your shoulder, blunt teeth indenting your skin and you’re sure you’ve never heard anything better. Liquid heat fills you, makes you arch and writhe and feel almost like a lothcat in heat.

The Mandalorian doesn’t move away from you like you had been so afraid of just hours before, doesn’t rush to cover himself or start offering apologies. Instead you feel him panting against your upper back and he slackens his bite, laving at the marks he left with his tongue. He squeezes you tighter and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, rumbling a single word that has you quivering all over again—

“More.”

Hours later you’re sprawled atop the Mandalorian, your cheek resting against the cool metal of his cuirass and his cock still buried in you. You have no idea how long you’ve been laying like that, his hand drifting across your back, tracing nonsense patterns along your spine with his bare fingers. He put his helmet back on sometime during the night and as much as you missed the access to his mouth, the sound of his unfiltered voice, you understood.

You’re drifting somewhere between being awake and unconsciousness, only aware of the feel of his hands, the hard lines of beskar pressing into your skin, and how full you feel, reminded of that in particular every time you so much as twitch.

You hum in sleepy acknowledgement when he calls your name, only raising your head when he squeezes your shoulder and gives it a little shake. You rest your chin on your hand and fix his visor with what you hope isn’t a look of lazy contempt, though whatever your expression may have been it melts at the first touch of his hand on your cheek and you can’t resist the urge to nuzzle into his warm palm. The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that your eyes are starting to drift shut when he begins to speak, soft and slow. “This, it— it started because of the pollen,” He lets the words hang in the air and you have the sense that he chose the words carefully. He doesn’t take his hand from you, letting you lean the weight of your head into his palm, thumb stroking the delicate skin underneath your eye so slowly you don’t know if he realizes what he’s doing.

You don’t answer him right away, instead you lift yourself up just enough for you to be able to reach his helmet, doing your best to ignore the way his cock drags along your sensitive walls and you can feel him tense right through the beskar. You don’t reach for it. You don’t even move your hands from where they’re braced against his chest. Instead you move slowly and carefully, leaning forward to press your lips to the visor in a soft kiss before you settle back onto his chest.

You hear his sigh through the vocoder, the tension seeping out from underneath you and you feel your lips pulling into a smile as you close your eyes. You’re higher up than you were before, just enough for your cheek to press into the softer spot between his cuirass and his pauldron and you want to hum with contentment. You know that you have to talk about this sooner or later, but for now you only want to bask in the afterglow, in the languid soreness that’s settling into your muscles.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #mandalorian smut #star wars fic #star wars smut #first time writing mando and first time writing sex pollen we've got a double whammy folks

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expectingtofly · 3 years

Text

Take a Load Off

2.5k

fluff, post-canon, human!cas, anxious dean, established dean/cas

(i saw this post by @emptymeg and couldn’t get it out of my head, so here’s a fic :)

also posted on ao3

“What’s in the box?” Dean asked, coming into the library to see Cas setting a large package on the map table with a huff. The table creaked under its weight. “Hey, name that movie.”

Cas cocked his head. “What movie?”

Dean groaned. “Seriously, dude, you’re hopeless. What’s in the box! Brad Pitt?” Cas shrugged and Dean sighed. “Forget it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas said, fetching scissors from a drawer, “This box is for you. I bought you something.”

“Oh?” Dean came to the table, interest even more piqued. “What kind of something?”

Cas gave him a look. “Not what you’re thinking.” He cut through the tape securing the box. “I read that this can relieve stress and help you sleep better.”

“I already know something that can do that.” He added a wink for good measure.

“So,” Cas continued, ignoring him, “I thought you should try it. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately and I’m worried about your anxiety levels.”

“Wait a moment,” Dean protested. “What do you mean, my ‘anxiety levels’?” Cas opened the box and he leaned over to look at the contents. Folded, silky dark grey fabric. “What is that, a blanket?”

“A weighted blanket,” Cas corrected, heaving it out of the box. “Twenty pounds.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He plucked at the fabric. “This is supposed to help?"

“It’s proven by science.” He nodded at a chair by Dean. “Go, sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down and Cas draped the blanket over him. “Fuck.” Dean lifted his arms up under the blanket, then dropped them. “This is actually heavy.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Cas deadpanned and Dean kicked at him. Cas pulled a brochure out of the box. “Soft cotton filled with poly pellets,” he read. “Alleviate anxiety and increase serotonin.” He studied Dean, eyes squinted. “You still look tense.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean shoved the blanket to the floor with a thump. “Think you got duped.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Cas grumbled, picking it up off the ground. “You have to give it a chance.”

“I just gave it a chance.” Standing, he brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead, gave him his best you love me smile. “Now, do you really wanna help me relax?”

Cas studied him for a long moment, then said, “Okay.” He carefully folded the blanket. “We’re keeping this, though. I still think it’ll work.”

Dean made a face behind his back and started to follow him out of the room, but the phone Sam had recently installed in the library for a hunter hotline started ringing. He groaned and Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Do I have to?” Dean asked him.

“I suppose so,” Cas sighed and set the blanket down on a chair. Turns out the call was from a hunter out near Boise who needed help with a case. Of course, Sam was away visiting Eileen, so he and Cas got stuck spending the next two hours going over the case information, trying to figure out what the monster was. They finally settled on vetala, a whole pack of them, and after instructing the hunter on how to kill them, Dean hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. “Who knows how big the pack is. Could be a whole dozen of the freaks.”

“Well, now she knows how to kill them,” Cas said. “And there’s other hunters in the area who can help.”

“Yeah...” Dean fiddled with his pen, tapping it on the open pages of his dad’s journal.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean realized he was frowning. “Nothing.” Flexing his shoulders, he stretched out his back, stiff from poring over books. “Just, three people are already dead. I better be right that it’s a pack of vetala.”

Reaching over, Cas rubbed his back in small circles and Dean leaned back into his hand. “We did all we could, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t so sure that was true. But, short of driving all night out to Boise, he supposed there wasn’t much else they could do. Still, he didn’t like the idea that he might’ve missed a clue, might’ve misled the hunter. He clicked his pen again and again, going over the case in his mind, worst case scenarios—

“Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asked, and Dean glanced at him.

“No.” Dropping the pen, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Don’t think I can now.”

“Would you say you’re feeling stressed? Anxious, perhaps?” Cas deliberately looked to his right and Dean followed his gaze to the weighted blanket folded on a chair.

“Dude, don’t even start.”

“You should use it,” Cas urged. “There’s no shame in feeling anxious, I often feel the same way too.”

“I’ve dealt with worse before, this is nothing new. Just comes with the job.”

Cas sighed. “You put too much on your shoulders.”

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, comes with the job.” If he wasn’t always on edge, he figured he was doing things wrong. Get too comfortable and bad things happened. Just the way it was.

“Still, you can admit you need a break.”

“Jeez, Cas, I’m wounded.” Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood. “Don’t stay up too late.” He seemed to hesitate, fighting against saying more, and Dean said,

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look too convinced, but he kissed Dean goodnight and headed off to their bedroom.

Dean cleaned up the mess of books and papers on the table, turned off the lamps just to do something with his hands. Normally, this is when he’d grab a drink, try to calm his head, but he’d been trying to cut back lately—blame Cas’ concern for his liver—so instead he decided to head to the Dean Cave. Maybe a few episodes of Dr. Sexy would distract himself enough to sleep.

Leaving the room, his eyes fell on the weighted blanket again. Cas and his ridiculous ideas. If Dean hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, that was just the result of living their kind of life. Nothing to do about it. Ignore the stress or end up drowning in it, that was his motto.

(And a horrible coping method, according to Sam and Cas)

Either way, lying under twenty pounds of “cotton and poly pellets” wasn’t going to help. Though the blanket had been really soft, he’d give it that.

He forgot all about it the following day, though, when Sam found a case a few towns over, and Dean and Cas drove over to meet him there. Disturbed gravesites, people disappearing near the cemetery at night. A ghoul, by all signs. A day of morgue visits and interviewing witnesses, then another two days of sitting parked in the cemetery, waiting for the ghoul to emerge again and feed. Dean was almost happy to see the thing when it crawled out of its grave. Almost.

Killing the damn thing hadn’t been too easy. But after inadvertently destroying a few gravestones, nearly falling into an open grave, and narrowly avoiding losing a few limbs, they finally bashed the ghoul’s brains in thoroughly, and split up from the cemetery. Dean went to speak to the latest victim’s mother while Cas and Sam got rid of the remains.

Returning to the bunker first, Dean showered, blood and ghoul remains washing away down the drain. But even the warm water couldn’t ease the jitteriness sitting high in his chest. The ghoul had been strong, fast, and Dean’s heart had leapt into his throat when it got a hold of Sam. Even Cas had struggled to stop the thing, gunshots only serving to anger the son of a bitch more.

Getting out of the shower, he scrubbed himself dry with his towel, inspected a cut along his arm. Not deep enough for stitches. If Sam had avoided a concussion, they were lucky. The ghoul was dead, at least. Left a dozen ruined graves and a few torn apart teenagers in its wake, but dead.

As he changed into clean clothes, he heard the bunker door open. “All good?” he asked, entering the war room to find Sam and Cas setting down their bags.

“If you mean will the trunk always reek like ghoul, then yes,” Sam said. He grimaced as he took off his boots, muddy footprints already leaving a trail down the bunker stairs. Then he glanced at his phone and smiled, said, “Eileen’s calling.”

“Whipped,” Dean mouthed at him as Sam answered his phone, smiling at the screen and walking off down the hallway. “Well,” he told Cas, ”you look like shit.”

Cas gave him his best, I can smite you even without my grace look. “Charming.” He headed off down the hallway towards their bedroom and Dean followed. “How did Mrs. Landis take the news?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Uh, 'bout how you'd expect, I guess. Told her a bear had gotten to her son, but it was all taken care of now. Not much else to say.”

The mother had sobbed and thanked him. He’d done a piss poor job of comforting her and left with an all-too-familiar sick feeling in his stomach; they hadn’t done enough, they could never save everyone.

“And you?” Cas asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Dean as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Are you alright?”

Dean started to nod, say fine, but he knew Cas would see straight through the lie. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shrugged, dropping his hands into his lap. “Just shook up. Coulda been a bad one.”

Cas nodded as he pulled off his trenchcoat, the edges bloody and muddy. “We’re all safe. You don’t have to torture yourself thinking about what could’ve happened.”

Dean shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know.” Easier said than done.

He heard Cas’s footsteps, then felt Cas’ fingers on his cheek and tilted his head into his palm. Breathed in and out. Cas smelled like blood and guts and sweat, not a particularly pleasant combination, but his hand was warm and his other hand was carding through his hair and, shit, that felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” Cas said quietly. “You need rest.”

Dean nodded and Cas kissed the top of his head. He left to take a shower and Dean scrubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck, this hunt had been a close one. Closer than they’d had in a long time.

Dropping his hands, his eyes settled on the weighted blanket that Cas had left folded on the chair at the desk, a silent plea for him to use it. He rolled his eyes. Anxious, his ass.

He started to pull the covers back on the bed, but the thought of lying down with the hunt running on repeat through his head was less than appealing. Cas’ trenchcoat hung bloody on the wall, and Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, adrenaline and nerves still rushing through him.

Alright, maybe a little anxious.

With a glance at the door to convince himself Cas would be in the shower for a little while longer, he grabbed the blanket, brought it to their bed.

Getting under the covers, he draped the blanket over himself and lay down, shifting to get comfortable. Once settled, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the miracle blanket to work its wonders. How much money had Cas spent on this shit? He really had to hide the credit cards.

He shifted again, the mattress creaking, and dropped back with a huff. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cas trying to help, but a twenty-pound blanket wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a full night of sleep and a blow job and an all-expenses-paid trip to Cancún. His nose was itchy, his knee was bruised, his back was fucked up from getting thrown against a gravestone, Sam had already found another case in Albuquerque, and, fuck, he was just so damn tired.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the sensation of his chest tightening. He could feel the blanket rise and fall with every deliberate breath, and he counted like Sam had taught him years ago when he’d woken with a panic attack—breathe in for seven seconds, hold for four, let out for eight.

Don’t think about what could’ve happened. We’re all safe. Cas is safe, Sam is safe. I’m safe.

His heartbeat slowly settled. The blanket’s weight was strangely comforting, warm, trapping him under the covers. Forced to stay still, he felt his limbs slowly relax into the mattress, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his back easing and hands curling loosely along the sheets.

Okay. Shit. Maybe there was something to this weighted blanket thing. His mind grew hazier as his thoughts began to wander, and he found himself drifting off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and startled his eyes open.

“You’re using it,” Cas whispered excitedly, standing in the doorway. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck off,” Dean told him. He would’ve flipped him off, but that would require lifting his hand out from under the blanket and he was too—dammit, Cas was right—relaxed to move.

“I knew it would be perfect,” Cas said, sounding too triumphant. Shutting the door softly, he got into bed next to him—well, tried to. He shoved at the blanket encroaching on his side of the bed. “Dean, move over.”

“Nope.” Dean shut his eyes again. “Reap what you have sown.”

Grumbling, Cas turned off the light and got under the covers with more rustling and movement than necessary. Finally, he settled down. The bunker hummed, the heating running, the pipes in the walls creaking as a shower turned on down the hallway. The blanket heavy on top of him, Dean began to fall asleep again.

“Are you really gonna keep that on all night?” Cas asked, disturbing the quiet.

“Yup.”

Cas huffed and Dean could only keep up the ruse for a few more seconds before lifting the edge of the blanket. “Come on, get under.”

Sliding over, Cas got underneath, and they laid side by side, pressed against each other. Their fingers brushed, and Dean crooked a finger around Cas’ thumb.

“This is nice,” Cas commented, voice quiet. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

“Mhm.” He was starting to think he should’ve bought one of these things a long time ago. He hadn’t realized how strung out he was before until now, all the tension in his body slipping away.

Cas shifted onto his side and Dean blinked open his eyes to look at him. “I guess I was right all along, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t push it.” He caught Cas’ smile in the dark and elbowed him on principle before shifting over to kiss him. Then he tugged at Cas’ arm and turned onto his side, prompting Cas to press close against his back and wrap an arm around him.

He smiled, eyes falling shut at the warm press of the blanket and Cas’ body around his. Now he was relaxed.

tag list:

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007 @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @thetrueliesofafangirl @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @theangelwiththewormstache @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

#missed all the drama about the 15x20 script bc i was writing this last night #finale who?#dean and cas are alive and thriving #destiel fic #cw anxiety #expectingtofly writes #fluff

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zackcollins · 3 years

Text

speechless || bo bichette

masterlist

Author’s Note: Hello! Everyone gets a treat of a second fic today because I was in a mood to write. Hope that’s okay. Idk man. When you’re in the mood to write, you write. And sometimes, you just wanna post right away because you’re too impatient to wait. Ya know? Anyways. GIF credit to glasnow!

Warnings: An anxiety attack. That’s probably it??? I don’t think there’s anything else. Feel free to let me know otherwise and I’ll fix this warnings section for you.

Word Count: 1.9k+

Title: Speechless by Dan + Shay

Additional: The reader should be gender neutral again! I don’t think I used any identifying language or pronouns or anything. If I did, it was accidental because I was hella distracted watching my dog while my grandparents went grocery shopping. As always, let me know how I did because constructive criticism is always welcomed!

Tagging: @whimsical-daydreams @donttelltheelf-x

You had suffered from severe anxiety; it had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember. At this point, it had totally consumed you. You could hardly do anything anymore without your anxiety trying to take over in some form or another. It was the worst feeling in the world.

That's why it was like all your prayers had been answered when Bo waltzed into your life. For the first time in your life, you were able to open up about your anxiety with someone. There was just something about Bo that made you feel safe, secure, and like nothing would ever hurt you again.

You had been dating for about two and a half years before your relationship changed. It changed on what had otherwise been a quiet day in the middle of February. Snow was falling outside of your house, blowing around peacefully in the evening breeze. You were sitting on the window seat of the living room window, staring out onto the street while idly sipping on a mug of hot chocolate.

Somewhere outside, you heard a dog distantly barking. You found it odd because to the best of your knowledge, nobody in the housing community you and Bo lived in had a dog. Most of them had cats because they were easier for their housekeepers to look after when they were away on business trips or vacation. You quickly shook it out of your mind, though, thinking it only to be a dog that had wandered in from somewhere nearby. It wasn't entirely unlikely for that to happen because some of the people in the housing communities on either side had been known to let their dogs roam freely from time to time.

A couple of minutes later, you heard the front door to the house open. That snapped you out of thinking about the barking dog because you needed to know who walked in. Turning around, you heaved a relieved sign when you saw Bo standing in the entryway. You felt a little anxious, however, when you saw that he had placed a rather large box at his feet. Placing your hot chocolate on the windowsill, you walked over to Bo.

"What's this, sweetie?" You asked, walking all the way around the box. You wanted to see if it had some sort of label or marking on it that would hint at what was inside; it did not. All it had was a pink ribbon embossed with white hearts tied around it.

Bo smiled as he was undressing from his winter apparel. He tossed his hat into the closet. He unzipped his coat and carefully placed it on one of the coat hooks beside the door. Lastly came his boots. He slipped out of those and tossed them haphazardly onto the plastic boot mat you had bought specifically for the winter so snow wouldn’t be tracked all over your house. He ended up bowling over your boots and a spare pair of boots you kept in case of emergencies. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Bo raised his arms in surrender as he stepped forward and gave you a quick kiss. You relaxed, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his back. When you pulled apart, Bo stepped aside and motioned to the box.

"If you wanna know what’s inside,” Bo produced a pocket knife seemingly out of nowhere because you didn’t know him to carry one. He handed it to you and motioned to the box a second time. “All you have to do is open it.”

You walked forward and leaned over, carefully cutting the ribbon a couple of times so that it was easier to untangle from the box. Once you had all of the ribbon untangled and balled up, you placed it along with the knife on the console table next to you. When you looked back at Bo, he gave you an encouraging nod and a soft smile. You bit your lip nervously as you carefully lifted the lid off of the box. What was inside made you blink in surprise. Staring back at you was a beagle puppy. You had to blink a couple of more times, just to make sure that truly weren't imagining this. When you surmised that this was, in fact, a real dog sitting in the box, you lifted them out, cradling them in your arms. They even kissed you on the chin a couple of times. That was also all it took for you to be absolutely smitten with this puppy.

Just as you went to put the puppy down, the light from the chandelier made something on their collar glisten. At first, you thought it was name tags or the city registration tags. But, when you examined it, you discovered that it was an engagement ring. You turned to ask Bo about it. Much to your surprise, he was down on one knee, holding his hands out. You handed him the dog (who you could now see was a boy), thinking that was what he wanted. Bo chuckled as he scritched the dog behind the ears. The dog sighed, jackrabbitting his back foot in satisfaction. You huffed an amused breath, rolling your eyes and chuckling.

Bo carefully put the dog down and took the ring off of his collar. He gave him a few more ear scritches which made the dog flop on the floor and curl in a ball. Bo rolled his eyes before he looked up at you, holding the ring in your direction.

"Since I know I'm the best thing to happen to you and you're the best thing to happen to me," Bo paused, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes, "I was wondering if you'd marry me?"

You clammed up. You felt your anxiety wash over you like a giant wave crashing into the surf. You fell to the floor, chanting a bunch of incoherent nonsense as you curled into a ball and clutched your knees tightly to your chest. You rocked back and forth, tears streaming down your face as you continued to death-grip your knees. It was then that you felt Bo wrap you in his arms. He cradled you, rocking you in time with how you were rocking yourself. Only, he was doing it softer, gentler. He was also mumbling some of his stats from last season, the stats from the hockey game you watched yesterday. Hell, he even started mumbling what you needed to buy when you went grocery shopping the next time. Anything mundane and boring because he knew that was what generally helped you out of anxiety episodes. The more boring the better. It gave a sense of normalcy and order that helped your brain to focus on the everyday parts of life as opposed to the falsehoods of meaningless compliments that people only said to you when you were in the middle of an anxiety episode.

Hearing about baseball and hockey stats as well as what groceries you needed to buy helped remarkably well. You calmed down relatively quickly given how badly this attack had started. You tilted your head, looking Bo in the eyes. Your eyes were full of a question that didn’t need to be asked but probably should be anyways. Bo, knowing how to read you by now, simply nodded. He met you halfway as you connected your lips. You shared a brief, albeit meaningful kiss.

When you broke your lips apart, you held your hand out. "Of course I'll marry you."

You smiled, though it was a little awkward because you were still recovering from your anxiety attack, as Bo placed the ring on your finger. You moved your hand around, looking at the ring from every angle. It was a gorgeous ring. It was also simple and not very flashy. Which is something you had told Bo you wanted when the time came for him to finally propose. You weren’t a flashy or extravagant person so there was no need to have a flashy or extravagant ring. The thought of having an expensive or flashy ring made you really anxious. You were afraid that somebody would break in and steal it from you. And you didn’t want to live the entire rest of your life in fear that someone was going to break into your house to steal something from you. You had told Bo that that was no way to live. That’s why you were content with a small, simple ring. You didn’t have to live in a constant state of anxiety that some schmuck off the street was going to get the wise idea to break in one night and rob you of it. And the ring Bo had picked was exactly the ring you had been eyeing the last time you were in a jewellery store. So, it worked out even better.

Bo snapped you out of your thought by grabbing you by the chin with his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your face up so that you were looking at each other directly. Bo’s eyes flitted down to your lips and then quickly back up to look at you. You nodded as best you could with Bo holding onto your chin, a soft smile breaking out across your lips. Bo smiled back, dropping his hand away from your chin. He, instead, grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers. You huffed softly before you leaned forward and connected your lips with Bo’s. Bo smirked into the kiss, bringing his other hand up and resting it against your shoulder. The kiss was far more passionate than the first and you swore it could’ve gone on forever and ever. The only reason you stopped was because the puppy weaseled his way in between you and licked both of your noses. Bo laughed and booped the puppy on his nose. You made an amused noise and scritched the puppy's chest.

Bo turned back to you after you both spent a few moments playing with the puppy. "Sorry for surprising you. I know how you hate surprises."

"It's alright, Bo. It would've defeated the whole purpose if you told me," you responded, moving in closer to Bo.

At that moment, the puppy plopped himself down in between the two of you. You both scratched him behind either ear. He made a soft groan of appreciation, before falling fast asleep. He was snoring softly after a few moments which made both you and Bo chuckle bemusedly.

"What do we name him?" Bo asked, picking him up and placing him in your lap.

"Biscuit!" You replied with excitement. The dog responded to that, briefly opening his eyes and snuffling before he went back to sleep. "See! He likes that name."

Your smile grew wider as your leaned down and gave Biscuit a kiss on the head. He snuffled again, his tail wagging against your knee. You lit up significantly, almost forgetting that you had had an anxiety attack a few minutes ago.

“Scratch that,” you said, a smile beaming on your face. “He loves that name.”

Bo just shook his head, chuckled, and waved a dismissive hand at you. "You're such a huge dork. You know that, right?"

"But I’m your huge dork," you replied, pointing to the ring on your finger as proof of that claim.

"Yes, yes you are."

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

The Right Chapter 27 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Hello my loves! Just a reminder that this chapter is posting from the queue as I am on vacation--- I will be checking in periodically but less active than usual and not updating the tag list! Hope y’all enjoy this one :)

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: food mention, hangover mention, discussion of parenting, canon-typical mentions of violence

wordcount: 2k

When you woke up the next morning, you’re somewhere between completely refreshed and wickedly hungover. You need a bacon egg and cheese on an everything bagel and a big cup of coffee stat if you are going to get anything at all done today. Aaron, of course, must have gotten up hours ago, and has long past left the bedroom by the time you rise at nearly 11. When you roll to get out of bed, you notice that he’s left you advil, water, and a sleeve of saltines just in case you were feeling nauseous. You smiled, sitting up gingerly to sip at the water and take the pills. Once you were sure your stomach was fine, you slid out of bed and found Jack and Aaron in the kitchen, cooking up bacon and frying eggs while The Beatles played in the background. The boys hadn’t noticed you yet, and you decided not to call attention to yourself-- taking the moment to commit this mental image to memory, of Jack on his father’s hip, Aaron rocking back and forth as he pushed scrambled eggs around a frying pan, smiling and giggling and not thinking about work or serial killers or the next time he’d be pulled away.

When the song fades out, Aaron looks up, seeing you leaning against the doorway to the hall.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?” He asks, looking you up and down for signs of a hangover.

“I’m okay. I’ll be better after breakfast,” you tell him. “And a big hug from my favorite Hotchner!” You add, crossing the kitchen and taking Jack from his father, shooting Aaron a knowing glance that said “I’m pretty sure physical therapy didn’t clear you for that. Especially not after last night.”

“I cracked the eggs. There’s no shells in them, Mom.” Jack says, and the world stops. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s slipped up, but Aaron and you both freeze, whipping your heads to look at each other with equally bewildered glances.

“I’m sure you did a great job, buddy!” You tell Jack, after a moment that feels like hours, not wanting to ignore him but not quite sure how to address what had happened, and Aaron wasn’t being much help.

“Breakfast is ready,” Aaron says, handing you exactly what you needed-- a bacon and egg sandwich, along with a hashbrown, some fruit, and a big cup of coffee.

“You might be the perfect man.” You tell him gratefully, and he smirks at you as the three of you sit down at the table and eat.

You and Aaron make casual conversation for a little while before Jack poses a question. “Dad, can we take my kite out today?” Jack asks as he spears a sausage link on his fork.

“It’s not really windy enough to fly a kite today, buddy, but we can go for a bike ride or play some soccer if you want,” Aaron responds before taking a sip of coffee.

“And we’ll all go?” Jack asks, looking across the table at you.

“Of course,” you tell him. “We’ll all go to the park with you.”

“Okay. Can I be excused?” He asks, and Aaron nods.

“Go ahead, just make sure you wash your hands and your face. You’ve got syrup everywhere,” He chuckles, and Jack scoots out his chair and leaves the table.

As soon as Jack is out of eyesight, you speak up. “So, are we gonna talk about that, or what?” You say in a hushed tone, not wanting Jack to overhear.

“I didn’t tell him to do that,” Aaron says.

“Neither did I,” you assure him.

“Are you upset?” Aaron asks, a furrow in his brow that just about broke your heart. Silly, silly man.

“No, of course not. Not if you aren’t.” You assure him.

“I just… he can’t forget Haley. He’s all that is left of her.” Aaron says with a deep sigh, and your eyes well up in tears.

“No, Aaron, he hasn’t and he won’t. We won’t let him.” You say, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “And if you don’t want him to call me Mom, I understand.”

“That’s not it. It’s just… bringing a lot up for me, is all.” He says.

“That’s normal, honey. You should think about it for a while, maybe talk about it just with him. No matter what you decide, you’re not going to disappoint me or him. But it’s okay to need some time with this.” You say, standing up to wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing a kiss to the junction of his shoulder and his neck.

“Thank you, for understanding me and for respecting her.” he tells you, raising one hand to cover yours where they met over his heart, craning his neck to leave a kiss on your wrist.

“Baby, have you seen my phone?” You asked, realizing that you haven’t checked it all morning.

“It’s charging next to mine on the bedside table. You were having a little trouble with the charger when we got in last night,” he chuckles at the memory of your drunken antics from the night before.

You go into the other room to grab your phones, noticing that you have two missed calls from Penelope--- you only just missed her. You dial her back as you head back towards the kitchen to help Aaron clean up.

“Where are you right now?” Garcia asks you as soon as the line connects, and your face twists up in confusion as you put your plate in the dishwasher.

“I’m at Aaron’s place, where are you?” You ask, not understanding her line of questioning.

“Is Jack in the room with you?”

“Garcia, what’s going on?” You ask, starting to get nervous. Aaron turns to face you, sensing your anxiety and you place a hand on his forearm for support.

“Last night, when we were all at the bar, a girl was kidnapped, who based on the description, looks a hell of a lot like you. A neighbor saw the guy, and based on the he neighbor’s description--

“It looks like Josh,” you finished Garcia’s sentence, and you felt Aaron tense under your fingers. He puts his palm out, silently asking for your phone, and you pass it to him without even telling Garcia that you were putting him on.

You were scared, terrified even, but you knew that the best thing you could do right then was be a profiler. You left Aaron to settle the details, and went into his bedroom to find something work-appropriate to wear. By the time you came back out, Aaron was off the phone.

“I called the rest of the team in, they’re going to meet us at the office. We’re going to get this loser, and we’re going to get him today,” Aaron lets out, and you nod.

“I’ll take Jack over to Jess’s,” you say, turning back towards Jack’s room, and he stopped you.

“No. You stay with me. Jess is on her way,” Aaron says, and she knocks at the door at the next moment. “I just told her that we got called in,” he tells you as he answers the door.

“Morning, guys,” she says as she steps in, entirely too chipper for the terror that’s rolling through your stomach in waves. “Duty calls, right?” She smiles at you, and you use all the power you have to muster a smile back.

“Yeah, even at the worst times,” you’re impressed that you strung that many words together.

“Any idea when you’ll be back?” She asks, and you shake your head.

“We’ve really got to go,” Aaron says, coming back into the room with Jack, who gives you and his father both hugs before you have to leave. You squeeze him extra tight before Aaron ushers you out of the apartment and towards the car.

“I am not going to let anything happen to you.” Aaron tells you after a few moments of tense, silent driving.

“I know,” you say noncommittally, and it’s back to silence.

“You can’t go in the field.” You both say after a moment.

“Darling, you have to understand--”

“No, Aaron, it’s not even up for debate. You’re out because of your leg, and JJ is pregnant. The team needs me, and I can’t sit this one out because either one of us is emotional about it,” You argue, and Aaron heaves a sigh.

“I wish Elle were here. Josh wouldn’t even still be a problem.” Aaron grumbles out, and despite yourself, you burst out laughing. Aaron’s shocked at first by your reaction, but after a moment, he lets out a laugh, too.

“Aaron, that’s awful. You were upset with Elle for months, even after she left. You’re better than that.” You say, still smiling even though it really wasn’t funny at all.

“Yeah, well, when you hobbled out to my car with a black eye, I think I began to understand Elle a little bit better than I did at the time.” Aaron tells you.

You think of the girl Josh has taken now-- being punished only for the sin of resembling you. No doubt she had her own black eye to match yours, plus god only knows what else at this point, nearly twelve hours after being taken. You swallowed thickly. After a moment, you speak up again.

“You knew that this was going to happen, didn’t you?” You ask quietly-- it’s a genuine question, not an accusation, but it still breaks Aaron’s heart. “That’s why you weren’t excited or relieved like I was when he got arrested.”

“I knew it was a possibility,” he confirms. “I didn’t want to say anything to you, because there was no way to know-- and I didn’t want you to have to keep living in fear,” he explains.

“I’m gonna get this son of a bitch,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Aaron.

The team is already waiting for the two of you in the roundtable room while you arrive, although there’s really no need to brief, so you all launch into a profile while Garcia digs for more information.

“What do we know about the unsub?” Aaron asks the team.

“He’s a power-seeker. He uses physical force as a method of coercion.” Morgan says, and Reid scribbles his statement onto a whiteboard.

“He doesn’t react well when challenged--- his demeanor completely changed when he came here and Hotch went after him.” Emily adds.

“True, but he had no problem going toe-to-toe with Morgan.” JJ contradicts.

“Based on the message he left with the flowers, he’s displaying early indicators of stalking behavior. If that’s escalated far enough, it’s possible that Josh might really believe that the woman that he’s taken is Y/N.” Spencer says, and you nod. For her sake, you hoped not. He had a hell of a lot of pent up anger towards you, and you didn’t want this poor girl to take the brunt of it.

“What’s her name?” You asked, quietly, and with everyone talking over you, you almost think no one hears you, until Aaron leans in a little closer.

“What’s that, darling?” He asks.

“What’s her name?” You say again, and his brow furrows in confusion.

“Who’s name?”

“The girl who’s taking the beating with my name on it right now,” you spit out, and the rest of the team stops talking over you. “The least I can do is learn her name and go talk to her parents.” You say, packing your stuff up.

“Her name is Anna Reardon. We’ll send the address to your phone,” Emily tells you, and you turn on your heel and walk out.

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