giving you a small snippet of my obikin christmas fic for the first week of december! think of it as a door of your advent calendar :D
“Watch out, his guard dog will bite you,” Quinlan grins, downing the rest of his mulled wine in one go. Anakin makes a mental note to cut him off the alcohol just to spite him.
Ahsoka only waves him off though. “Anakin is all bark and no bite,” she says.
“I swear I saw him bite someone in a bar fight once,” Rex contradicts her, and yeah, that sounds vaguely familiar to Anakin. He also does bite Obi-Wan sometimes, but that’s another piece of information that he keeps to himself.
“And he can throw punches,” Cody agrees.
“I’ll punch you if you call me a guard dog again,” Anakin says, halfway meaning it.
Thinking about the first time you’re making out with Katsuki.
You didn’t expect things to get so heavy so quickly, but it’s hard to complain when you’re pressed so snugly against his side with your shirt off, one of his hands hooked under your ass.
He grins when he pulls away from your mouth to unbutton your jeans, slipping them down just a little.
“Matching set, huh?” He’s all too smug, his smile almost predatory when he gazes down at you. Too confident, too easy for him, and it feels a little like he’s laughing at you, embarrassment making your tongue a little sharp.
“I’m always matching, you’re not that special,” you wish it sounds more convincing, but you’re a little breathless from his kisses and his touches, already stretching to taste his mouth again.
He pulls away a little bit at that, his smile faltering for just a moment as he gazes down at you curiously.
“That was rude,” he tuts after a moment, keeping his mouth just out of reach of yours as he turns for his drink, taking a long sip of that whiskey you couldn’t dream of affording.
You immediately feel guilty, but before you can apologize, his fingers are gripping your cheeks, holding your mouth open for him to press his thumb against your tongue, his eyes sharp as he watches yours flutter shut.
“So pliant for someone so mean,” he laughs softly, and your cheeks redden, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip as he finally closes in again, breath warm over your mouth when he speaks.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/3
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander
Additional Tags: Trans Shane Hollander, cryptic pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Family Feels, flangst, Fluff and Angst, Parent Shane Hollander, Parent Ilya Rozanov, they have the world's cutest baby and she is a surprise, Protect trans kids
Summary:
Jane
[1 image]
The photo was of a brand fucking new baby who was still scrunched up from being inside the womb. The baby was small, red faced, with dark blonde hair and watery bluish eyes. She was pretty cute though.
Ilya wasn’t sure why Shane was sending him a photo of a random newborn. Was it a teammate’s kid?
Lily
Cute! Whose baby is that?
Jane
She’s ours
Lily
What?
Jane
I had a baby an hour ago
***
Before Ilya and Shane meet at the cottage, Shane very very unexpectedly has a baby. Chaos (and love) ensues.
If you need a complete refresher or would like to jump into this story, the masterlist can be found here
4.4k words. Very light sexual themes.
Azriel had flown them back to the edge of Persepolis in silence before winnowing them the rest of the way home. His face had remained a stoic, stony thing. Hard hazel eyes scouting their path meticulously but always carefully remaining averted from her.
She thought she felt his gaze burning the side of her face a few times, sensed his chest constricting as if he were about to say something, but then he’d stop himself. If he was going to apologise for his outburst then she would accept, but she wasn’t going to beg for it. Nor make it easy for him. He’d acted like an ass, and she was sick of letting people get away with it. The entire way home was such a stark contrast to their flight in.
They had stayed only one night in Helion’s palace, needing the time to rehash her vision with the High Lord and then devise a plan to assist in anything they may need to avoid allowing Beron to be successful in the matter of the looming Spring Court invasion.
Helion, graciously, had agreed to provide aide, in whichever way he could. And she and Azriel had played their parts well. They had agreed the citizens of Spring couldn’t be left to defend for themselves against the might of the Autumn armies, and that their safety would be of utmost importance, along with stopping Beron from successfully taking over the fraught territory. Impeding Beron’s triumph in turn seemed imperative in protecting the humans who inhabited the land just below Springs’ borders, too.
After all matters of importance had been decided upon and planned for, Helion had invited them to drink and dine with him in his private parlour that night. Elain accepted graciously, but Azriel had politely declined, claiming he had reports to complete that had become pressing.
She tasted the lie in the air, knowing the Shadowsinger was avoiding her, as he had been since their argument in his room. She had been deflated that they had found themselves back in this awkward territory after seemingly coming so close to being friends again. But she decided not to wallow, not to let his broodiness seep into her own attitude. If she had just one night here, out from under the watchful eyes of all of those from the Night Court, then she would damn well enjoy it.
She had changed into a more comfortable but no less stunning dress for the evening. A flowing gown that still resembled the Day Court fashion, but less stuffy and embellished, the colour a deep jade. Its bodice still hugged her torso and the skirts billowed around her slender legs, but the added gold embellishments were stripped, leaving her more relaxed to eat and lounge with the High Lord’s company for the night.
There were perhaps two dozen High Fae gathered in Helion’s private parlour when she joined them that evening, the room dimly lit with flickering glass lanterns strewn across the marble floors. Males and females alike dressed in gowns and robes in a kaleidoscope of deep jewelled tones were lounging on puffy, cloud like cream-coloured cushions, or draped across low-lying, deep-seated settees.
Some attendees were already entangled in varying degrees of lust and desire, whilst others merely enjoyed the view and ambiance or discussion around them. Swathes of fine gold organza draped and folded from the low ceiling, giving one the sense that they were nestled within a giant ornate nest, the delicate fabric muffling the sounds of neighbouring conversations and impassioned touching alike.
Crystal decanters of ruby, sapphire and emerald held various wines and liquors. Females in billowing magenta pants and exposed bellies floated around the room offering trays of plump dates, rosewater and orange-blossom flavoured jellies, and a sweet flaky pastry treat called baklava. Brass platters of fresh figs, soft cheeses and olives were spread across the scattered tables around the room.
It was all so decadent and lush. And although Elain usually shied away from such scenes of debauchery, she found herself once again drawn into the thrall of the Day Court customs. Emboldened by the absence of anyone who reallyknew her.
Here she could be anyone, here she could enjoy something she would normally not care to want, if even just for just a little while. It wasn’t something she longed for often, not at all. But on the occasion, it felt like a refreshing change. Like she could slip on a different mask and play make believe for just one night.
She had spent that evening in Leto’s company, her sandals kicked off and strewn about on the floor before her and her legs tucked beneath her on a soft, cream loveseat. They had not spoken or seen each other since the last time she had been in Day, which had been months ago, and she had forgotten how easy he was to talk to. She had forgotten how charming his smile was, how his rich olive skin seemed to glow from within, how his pale green eyes peered so intently at her as she spoke. But despite all of this, of how truly lovely this male was, she found her thoughts wandering up to the room beside hers. The room that she knew was currently occupied with the brooding shadowsinger.
After his outburst, she figured Azriel must have been jealous of Leto. That he had sensed something between them and surmised some sort of scenario for himself. Never mind that all that had happened between them was a few kisses and heavy petting when she had last spent time here. Having indulged in a few glasses of Day Court wine had left Elain feeling lightheaded and a touch rambunctious.
Sure, they were very hot and heavy kisses that still made her blush when she remembered them; how she had brazenly straddled his lap, how his hands had grazed across her burning skin, how his tongue had traced wicked paths up her throat and along her collar bones. She had explained to Leto that she was just looking for some light-hearted fun, nothing serious. He had merely replied that she was a beautiful young female, and she was entitled to do as she pleased. That there was no judgement in the Day Court.
She wasn’t sure if he knew the status of her mateship. Not that it meant anything to her. But she didn’t bring it up and graciously, neither did he.
During that first visit, they had indulged in a night of laughing and drinking and passionate foreplay, Elain draped over Leto’s lap as he ravished her lips, chest and neck. She’d never done such a thing, her human sensibilities always holding her back- but she found the more time she spent with the fae, the less she cared about trivial things such as decorum and propriety. She was free to do as she pleased, and she’d be damned if she was going to let a couple of stubborn males dictate what or who she should be doing. She belonged to no one.
So, she had enjoyed herself this visit too, although she had refrained from partaking in anything physical with Leto this time. He didn’t push her and seemed genuinely happy to just enjoy her company, talking with her into the early hours of the morning. When people started dispersing; either retiring to their quarters alone, or to finish what had been started with one or several partners, they too turned in for the night.
Leto had walked her to her door and left her with a sweet kiss on the back of her hand, wishing her a restful sleep.
Entering her room that night, Elain hadn’t heard a single sound coming from the occupant next door. And yet a restful sleep was far from reach.
~
Elain sat on a plush leather couch in the main library of the river manor, a small fire crackling before her as the weather had finally started to turn colder. The looming clouds outside had been foreboding enough to have her forgo any of her gardening duties today, instead opting to hunt down any books about Seers, controlling one’s powers, and how to strengthen one’s mind to the onslaught of various magics.
The books she had collected were currently sat in a stack beside her on a small brass pedestal, a heavy tome open in her lap, but the words before her swayed in and out of focus. Her mind was unable to fixate on the topic before her, ironically. The broody Spymaster incessantly floating into her mind instead.
It had been almost a week since they had returned from Day, and beyond their initial meeting with Rhys upon their immediate return to Velaris, Elain had not heard a peep from Azriel. She wasn’t even sure if he had been staying at the river manor, let alone if he was anywhere in the entirety of the Night Court.
It seemed every time there had been some sort of conflict between them, they would choose to run away. Her to the far reaches of Prythian, Azriel to the Mother knows where. She hated it. And she was sick of having to tiptoe around males. It was bad enough when Lucien imposed his presence upon her during his seldom visits to Velaris, but the thought of needing to avoid Azriel too? She could no longer stand the thought.
Snapping the book shut with a loud thud, Elain stood, flinging the leather-bound pages behind her on the cushion she had previously sat in. A small groan of frustration left her lips as she paced, back and forth, her feet wearing a path across the plush rug along the face of the fireplace.
Elain was fed up, aggravated of this cat and mouse game, the unpredictability of this situation between herself and Azriel. They couldn’t continue avoiding each other forever, and further to that she had the nagging suspicion that there was something he wasn’t being completely honest with her about. She was tired of the restless nights and simply of not knowing. Of not knowing where he was, when he would return, if he was safe, how he felt, how she felt. It was growing tiresome and once again she decided that she couldn’t wait.
She couldn’t wait until an appropriate time to corner him, to speak with him. She couldn’t wait for him to come strolling through the door in his worn leathers, his face weary. She wouldn’t.
And so, she once again closed her eyes. Delving further and further into that mysterious well of power that rumbled deep within, she allowed the pull of the void to lead her along the path to Azriel as she winnowed.
~
Before Elain had even opened her eyes, she felt the cold, harsh wind whipping against her skirts, tangling in her long hair. She hadn’t thought to don a cloak in her urgency to go, and truth be told, the bite of the icy air only bolstered her resolve.
Cracking her eyes open to reveal the scene she had winnowed to, she learnt why the wind was so arctic here, why it so ferociously whipped about her.
Standing near the edge of a rocky cliffside, she peered around her, spotting Azriel about twenty paces ahead. His back was turned to her, his mighty wings a strong dark force against the strong gale. He stood deathly still, the only movement was his raven hair that whipped wildly about his face, and a few lone shadows that swirled about his feet, caressed his neck.
Elain couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by him, the mighty warrior on the edge of the jagged cliff. His strong thighs planting him securely to the ground beneath his feet, the two siphons upon those brutally scarred hands the only source of brightness in the otherwise moody scene before her.
A shadow coiled about his ear before disappearing, and Azriel turned, a look of mild surprise lining his face as he beheld Elain standing in the knee length grassy meadow at his back. Before he could turn around completely, Elain’s feet moved. She was grateful she hadn’t winnowed to directly on top of him this time, but she didn’t let the insecurity of that dredged up memory show as she closed the distance between them.
His deep voice floated over to her on the back of a strong gust of wind. “How did you find me?”
Once she was within a few paces of him, she halted, standing before him with her shoulders thrown back. Elain chose to ignore his question. She wasn’t sure how she had found him anyway. It was as if some part of her knew where she could find Azriel, where she could always find Azriel. But she wasn’t going to admit that. She’d never admit the pull she felt toward him, the bright, invisible thread that seemed to bind them.
“I winnowed,” she responded instead. A vague enough answer that perhaps alerted him to her hedging but provided enough information to the Spymaster that confirmed they remained alone. That no one had brought her here. That they could speak freely.
“Is everything ok?” he responded. She spied a few shadows darting away, no doubt off to gather information about any happenings he should be aware of, any danger.
“Everyone is fine. I just wanted to speak with you.”
His face gave nothing away, even as his eyes bore into hers unwaveringly, seemingly trying to read her expression in return. “What about?”
Elain scoffed at the question somewhat unkindly, his seemingly feigned naivety grating on her patience. “What about?You have been avoiding me since the day we arrived in Persepolis. Barely three words have been uttered. You cannot be that obtuse, Azriel.”
His eyebrows bunched together as a dimple appeared in the tan skin of his smooth cheek. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with her last remark or trying to hide his surprise.
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he murmured adamantly, clasping his hands behind his back, a muscle in his neck twitching.
“Oh yes you have, you haven’t been home in over a week, nor present at a single meal,” she bit back, her muscles now tensed against the ice cold winds.
“I’ve been busy with the looming conflict in Spring. I…I’ve been coming home late and leaving before you rise.”
“So, you’ve been avoiding me.”
“As I said, I’ve been busy,” he bit out, not conceding to her inferences.
“Well, we’re here now, and I’ve had enough,” her temper was rising at his petulance.
“Enough of what?”
Enough of what? Elain heard her own heartbeat pounding wildly in her ears, her temper flaring with every passing word Azriel uttered. She exploded, her voice coming out louder than before, her arms splayed out wide. “Of running! Of you running, of me running. I’ve had enough!”
“I haven’t been running—"
“Oh, come off it, Azriel!” she shouted, cutting him off from telling more lies.
“What do you want me to say?” He too was growing exasperated now. Good. She’d had enough of his stoic composure. She’s gladly see him unravel if it meant he was honest.
“The truth! Tell me the truth! I know there is something you are not being honest about.”
Azriel’s jaw clenched, the only sign that she had said something with some certainty behind it. Even still, he seemed reluctant to speak his mind.
“Is it really that bad? The thought of kissing me?” She had uttered the words so softly; she couldn’t swallow them before they had come tumbling out.
His face cracked, his shoulders softening slightly, his hands flinching at his sides as if they ached to reach for her. It was clear he hadn’t expected such candor from her, nor had she expected to let that admission free from her private thoughts.
His voice came out as a croak, his eyes peering down upon her beseechingly. “No. it’s not that. Elain…”
His words drifted off, fading into nothing, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly, the scars on his hands stretched over his clenched fists. His eyes darted across her face, his expression giving nothing away, and yet something charged went taught between them. That mysterious thread once again pulling.
“Azriel…”
She started the sentence but truly wasn’t mindful of how she’d finish it. But no sooner had his name slipped from between her lips he was stalking toward her. His long legs ate up the space between them in just a few paces and in the next moment he had reached out with those beautiful hands and buried them into her hair.
Before she could register his intentions, he had swooped down and captured her lips with his. Azriel kissed her so desperately, so passionately, that the air had been knocked from her lungs. He had utterly caught her by surprise and she couldn’t react, her body wilting in his arms. Melting hopelessly into his embrace.
Her arms hung limply at her sides as he pulled away slightly, his face still so close to hers, lips swollen from their kiss, his bright hazel eyes churning as they searched her face. In vain he searched for an answer, for a sign that what he had done was ok, that she too, had wanted this.
Before he could pull away, she had grabbed the front of his leathers, tugging him down toward her and this time Elain kissed him with back the same amount of gusto. The same amount of aching need leaching from every swipe of her tongue, every bite of her lips, every sweep of her hands dragging along his neck, asking a question she desperately longed to find the answer to.
He answered, leaving no query as to what his intentions were.
His kiss consumed her, like flames licking languidly at her very soul, slowly devouring her until there was nothing left. Elain threw herself into the kiss, allowing her hands to wander down his hard chest, around his shoulders, the nape of his neck. He groaned in response, a bestial thing born from his gut, his very essence singing in answer to hers.
Her slight hands inched beneath the collar of his leathers, and he shivered as the pads of her fingers caressed along his hot skin. She was burning and burning and burning in his arms. So many months of longing, so many moments of visceral need, so many feelings pulling at her from every direction.
And yet… she still did not know. She didn’t know what this all meant, why he had pulled away all those months ago, why he chose now to act on his feelings. Did he in fact feel anything for her? Or was this merely a physical need? Did he care for her at all? He had, once again, ran away from a problem.
Before the fire burning low in her belly could completely douse the dwindling clarity in her mind, she tore her lips away from his. As painful as it was to do so, they couldn’t leave this conversation lingering once more.
“Azriel… Az— wait,” she gasped as he latched his lips onto the side of her neck, his tongue laving at the skin there, pulling and swirling across the length of her throat as if he couldn’t stop himself from tasting her. A groan escaped his throat as he continued sucking at her and she couldn’t help the flutter of her eyes at the deep sound, the vibrations against her neck shooting straight through her centre.
“Azriel,” she moaned at a particularly delicious swipe of his tongue against her burning skin, “stop—” she mewled weakly.
No sooner had that final word fallen from her mouth, Azriel had flung himself off her. Snatching his hands away from her body and dragging them roughly through his hair he panted, remorse etched painfully on his face.
“Elain, I— I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me,” he spluttered as he continued to back away from her as if she had bitten venom into his veins. Self-hatred lined his face, truly believing he had done something wrong, something she did not wish.
“Azriel, no- that’s not what I meant. Its ok, I wanted this. Just, stop retreating. Stop running away. I only mean— if you cannot speak openly with me, then you have no right to my body, either.”
He turned pleading eyes toward her, his face stricken, still believing he had done something wicked, had forced himself on her. Seducing her into something that she didn’t wish.
She knew no words would be able to lift him out of the spiral he was currently plunging into so instead she showed him. Showed him that she trusted him, that she longed for his touch, that she wished for it day and night. But before she could completely succumb to those desires, she needed an explanation. She needed an understanding of where they stood, what she meant to him, why he had left her so abruptly that Solstice.
Stalking up to him and grasping his hands in hers, she looked up into his face, hoping to portray nothing but sincerity, trust, comfort in his near presence.
“Azriel, please. Just tell me. Tell me what it is. What it all means. Why you’re jealous of Leto, why you avoided me for all those months, why you called me a mistake…”
A chocking sound escaped his throat. He looked stricken, his shoulders sagging with the weight of a secret she knew not. His eyes had closed but as he opened them his hazel irises burned brighter than she had ever seen them, appearing almost golden in the light of the setting sun.
“You are not a mistake Elain. You have no idea how abhorrently those words haunt me. How my actions haunt me, just. Please. Please try to understand.”
“Understand what? Azriel, stop evading speaking your truth! Please, just say… something.”
“I can’t—” a rasping sound clawed its way to his lips, as if the words were chocking him.
“Elain, I’m sorry. You deserve better.”
Pulling his hands from hers he inched backwards once more, edging closer and closer to that cliff.
“Azriel! Stop running!” she cried, her mouth twisting in pain despite her attempts at willing it not to.
His hazel eyes guttered at the sight; the same devastation she felt reflected on his handsome face.
As if his legs moved on their own accord, he stalked back to her, reaching for her like a man finding nirvana. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tilting her face up to his, her doe eyes wide as she peered back at him. He held her tenderly as if he had possession of the most precious thing in the world in the palm of his hands. His thumb traced her jaw and he looked down upon her as if he wished for nothing more than to simply exist in her embrace. “I’m not running, Elain. But please, let me…let me fix something first. I’ll see you at home. I promise.”
With those words, he pressed his lips to her forehead for one long, pointed moment before he retreated again and stepped off the edge of the cliff. Elain gasped, forgetting herself before his wings shot out from behind him, catching a current and carrying him away.
Elain lifted her fingers to her lips, feeling they were indeed swollen from his passionate kisses. That this all just wasn’t a dream, a vision cruelly planted in her mind to torment her further.
She stood on that blustery cliff edge watching him fly away until he was but a dark speck upon the horizon in the far distance, high above the lights of Velaris, just winking to life as the sun set upon the city she called home.
~
Hours later Elain was being woken up by an urgent hand shaking her shoulder. She hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep, spending hours tossing and turning in her bed back at the manor. She had awaited Azriel’s return, straining her ears to hear any movement from his room down the hall, but such a thing never occurred. Her younger sisters’ tattooed fingers dug into her shoulder as her eyes adjusted to the first rays of morning light.
“Elain. Elain. Wake up. Beron has made his move. His armies march south.”
Elain bolted up in bed, the words clanging in her brain like a clapper pounding against the inside of its bell.
Elain scrambled within her bed sheets, fighting to free herself from the tangle of quilts and furs.
“I’ll get dressed immediately; I just need a minute,” she babbled, her voice thick from sleep.
“No Elain, wait. I need you to stay with Nyx, protect him,” Feyre instructed, the voice of the High Lady making its request. “Rhys and Az have already gone ahead. Cassian is gathering the Illyrian troops. Nesta and I are leaving shortly to meet them, and Mor is on her way too. Amren will stay behind with you to protect the city.”
Elain wanted to argue, wanted to insist she go with them. Help them in any way she could. But she knew why her sister asked her of this. She wasn’t a warrior. Was not trained in combat. Although no one could settle and care for Nyx outside of his parents like she could, something still twinged in her heart about being separated from them all during this time. But she knew this is where she was most useful.
Elain nodded her head just once, her sister seeming to sag in relief that Elain hadn’t put up more of a fight.
“Thank you,” Feyre breathed, “Send word with the twins if something comes up.”
“We’ll be fine, I promise,” Elain vowed. Feyre saw it for what it was; that Elain would protect Nyx with her life. Today and always.
Feyre squeezed her shoulder before turning away, her long braid swinging down her back against the leathers she had already donned. Time and time again her family had gone into battle, had been flung into conflict and danger and terrors beyond her wildest dreams. Elain couldn’t help but wonder when their luck would finally run out.
“Feyre?” Elain called from her bed, the urgency evident in her voice.
Feyre turned; her blue grey eyes bright with concern. “Yes?”
“Please make sure you come home. All of you.”
Feyre nodded solemnly before she turned back, and Elain could do nothing but watch her sister retreating from her room for what she desperately hoped wasn’t the last time.
The sound of something slapping against the floor interrupted their conversation, and when he dared to look over Viktor’s shoulder, he saw a giant, lizard-like creature barreling at them full speed. It was terrifying just by its size, since it was longer than him from end to end, and was a little shorter than a great dane, but objectively, it was a beautiful creature. It was mostly pale pink, with purple highlights along its spine and belly, big brown eyes, and a long tail with fin-like parts on each side that fanned out in a blue color, indicating water was a large part of its natural habitat.
It made a beeline to Viktor, stopping in its tracks in front of him as it rattled the spines on its back. The Herald didn’t seem phased in the slightest by this, and simply pet its wide head with his metal hand.
Jayce felt his mouth drop open a little. “Question,”
Something smug lined Viktor’s tone, “Rio here is a subject Singed unwillingly gifted me.
Summary: With Shimmer rampant, and his The Council in corrupt waters, Jayce travels to the Undercity to get to the bottom of Shimmer production to expose his colleagues. Coincidentally, his long-time adversary, Viktor, is also looking to end the Shimmer Crisis for the sake of Zaun’s health. Normally, Jayce wouldn’t trust an enemy, but he has no funds or allies in his research. He could only hope he wasn’t making a mistake.
Status: In Progress. Frequent Updates.
Ratings & Warnings: T for Canon-Typical Violence and Minor Character Death, Shimmer Abuse.
(Just a fair warning: this was not beta-read unless you count me reading it to myself.)
Summary: Your life is somewhat boring, though you have no one to blame other than yourself. You keep to yourself and never go out unless it's for work or class. It's for good reason; at least, that's what you tell yourself. Nonetheless, you can't help but feel a little lonely.
Who are you kidding? You're really lonely.
Whether it be coincidence or fate, one fateful night, the universe decides to give you a companion, someone to rely on.
However, you never guessed that he would be the one to bring you out of the rock you've been hiding under.
Warnings/Contents: Again- not beta-read, slight violence? (It's not that serious) Reader has a poor self-image, sunshine/grumpy, fluff, might have smut? Strangers/friends to lovers, language, Action if you squint (I'm very bad at writing that, so probably not much).
a/n - I don't know how many chapters this will be, but hopefully, you will have a fun ride. If there are any tags or warnings I missed, let me know! More Tags will probably be added as the fic goes on.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
Considering how edgy your mind seemed, you never understood why life was so hectic. Always grab and go, never slowing down. The saying I'll sleep when I'm dead has become less of a little quip and more of a lifestyle for you. Of course, you weren't always like this. Growing up, you were a giddy little thing. Curious and outspoken. Never leaving one soul unventured in grade school. Then high school rolled around, and your curiosity was turned quiet. Friends were fading away, and strange looks were all you knew then. All you had at that point was assignments and work.
The isolating behavior made you anxious, questioning every movement that wasn't yours. At times, you even put yourself under the microscope of your own paranoia. Judging everything about yourself, from your face to your stomach and how disfigured you thought it looked. Sure, you had a bit of a belly, probably enough to be considered slightly chubby- nothing to be ashamed of, right? Hell- even the tiny mole on your inner thigh was under inspection, even though it looked more like someone had placed a black dot on your skin with a Sharpie marker than it did a mole. It still caused you to cringe at yourself. High school had not done you any favors in that regard. God, high school was a nightmare for you. That whole span of your life was a nightmare.
College was supposed to be less shitty, and while it was considerably so, it had its challenges.
Even though popular girls and cliques were no longer a threat to you now, somehow, classes had become your biggest antagonist. Every day, you sat in class. Listened intently to lecture after lecture, struggling to keep up and take notes. You'd miss essential points that your professor insisted were on the test but were too scared to ask anyone for help. So there you'd sit, waiting for everyone to leave, just to awkwardly ask the instructor if they could email you the PowerPoint. Feeling stupid and hoping no one was silently judging you.
Tests, Finals, Essays, Assignments... Everything was being piled onto you. That wasn't even the most hectic part of your life.
Your job was the vain of your existence.
You worked at a local coffee shop, and while people would always romanticize the occupation. The pay was good, but there were better places for a meet-cute.
The cafe was always busy, which you guessed was great for the owners. They were a lovely middle-aged couple whose two little gremlins were barely starting middle school. You weren't a bitch by any means; you were honestly happy for the success the couple's coffee shop was having. You'd been working there since they had just opened about a year ago, and surprise, surprise. Who knew your newfound peace would be obliterated by an on-slot of teens and young adults wanting to try a new trendy coffee spot they saw online.
Now that Dutch Bros. was old news, you had customers left and right, taking orders and making drinks. Half the time, you felt like you couldn't even think for yourself until closing; the contents of your mind were filled with orders you'd soon forget the moment your head hit the pillows of your bed at the end of the day. However, you'd been able to cope with the obnoxious trials of life with a little thing called routine. Yes, if you could just focus on completing the day's tasks every day. Maybe your existence on this only habitable planet will be bearable for the rest of your life.
So that's what you did, for almost two years, that's what you've been doing. Besides the occasional surprise spam caller, everything had been going smoothly. It felt like nothing could go wrong and that nothing might ever go wrong again. This could work. Sure, It was lonely, but it meant less drama for you, no conflicting parties, no attachments, and no loss.
•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ
It was a Tuesday night. You had a typical day: classes in the morning and a fifteen-minute nap before work in the afternoon. On Tuesdays, it was your turn to close up shop for the night. It was already late, and the clock on the wall showed 10PM in bright red typewriter font. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you sluggishly walk from behind the register and up to the double doors of the cafe, eyelids heavy with a desire to sleep. You reach to lock them before any last-minute night owls in need of coffee come and force you to clean the machines again. Suddenly, a hand from behind the glass doors reaches for the handle; you look up to see a skinny man with stubble, pale, and a bit rugged, a tired expression taking hold of his face. You pulled the door open with hidden reluctance; you knew it was game over once you made eye contact with the customer.
The disheveled man seemed to walk inside quickly, pulling his hood over his head, which surprised you, but you didn't mention it. Maybe he was just a fast walker. Plus, it was kinda cold in here. When you followed him toward the register, you noticed the bag he was holding in front of him, almost like he was trying to hide it; it was a regular backpack, nothing out of the ordinary, and it looked exactly like your own. A black bag with crimson tassels on the zippers. A muffled noise was coming from the bag, a beeping sound; it didn't sound like any ringer you'd heard before.
"Uh- can I take your order?" You ask, not paying any mind to the annoying beeping.
He clears his throat. "Yeah- yeah, um..."
His eyes wander towards the breakroom behind you. Your backpack was packed and ready to go by the room's door once you dealt with this last customer. The blond man looks back at you, not wanting to arouse suspicion. "Can I just get a muffin?"
You ring him up, 2.72, just like it always was. He hands you his credit card, his eyes flicking from your bag to you and the darkness of the night behind him. His voice sounded shaky, but you didn't pay any attention to it either; you just wanted to get home. To get to your routine. This whole situation was making you a little anxious. At least the beeping had stopped.
Once the man got his muffin, he sat at one of the open tables in the suppose-to-be-closed-5-minutes-ago cafe. He opened his phone, calling someone to come and pick him up; a nervous-sounding conversation that you didn't really pay any attention to as you grabbed a tablecloth and spray from the back and began to clean; you had your suspicions of course, which is why you decided to clean with only one earbud this time instead of two. It didn't really stop you from spraying, wiping, and jamming out to yourself as the man behind you ate his muffin and called his friend. Making sure every table was spotless, you overheard your manager discussing raises earlier today, even if the pay was good. Money was money, and a little extra couldn't hurt to have. It would be one less thing to worry about.
As you turned around to clean the rest of the tables, you saw that the man was gone, muffin untouched. The door's little bell rang, signaling that the strange man had just walked out. Your head turned towards the sound; you shrugged and walked up to the doors and locked them.
Not wanting any more weirdos coming in and making you anymore late to your nightly routine.
You picked up after the man, keeping the muffin. Aw, yes, free food—a simple pleasure no human could refuse to indulge in. Technically, you weren't stealing; someone paid for it. Plus, with how he acted, it didn't seem like he was coming back. Placing the muffin in a brown paper bag, you go right back to wiping down tables, the time reading midnight once you finish.
"Damn it." You say to yourself, slinging one of the straps of your backpack onto your shoulder. Reading the time almost made you want to burst into tears. Maybe it was just frustration or the sleep you lacked that was putting a lump in your throat. As much as you liked the tranquillity your little routine provided, you were sad and lonely and so, so tired. It was starting to become overwhelming.
You took a deep breath, ignored the clock on the wall, and turned off the cafe lights. The sooner you got home, the better. All you needed was sleep. That's all you need.
Beep-!
What?
Your head whips around, trying to find the source of the repetitive noise. It was the same sound that was admitted from the man moments ago. The bright light of your phone illuminated your features as you turned the device on, checking if it was your phone possibly making the noise.
No notifications, definitely not you.
What was going on? It was late, you had a long walk home. You didn't need more problems. As you groan in frustration, you set your phone in the pocket of your sweats and look up at the ceiling defeatedly. It was settled; you've become insane. You pat yourself down in a feeble attempt to find the noise, even looking around the cafe, but nothing was found. You assume the noise is coming from your bag. Hopefully, your laptop isn't taking its final breaths, and the beeping was a sign for help.
You walk towards the glass doors of the coffee shop, ready to just give up and leave; at least you had your muffin, the only saving grace of the night.
"Forget it, this is pointless- Just go home, get some sleep... go home- get some sleep, go home- get some-" The beeping suddenly stops, and as you go to sigh in relief, your breath catches in your throat as you look up from the now unlocked door, a figure standing a few feet away from the doors, red- bright red crescents looking at you. The figure is encased in the dark. You stumble a step back, and the man takes a step forward, then another. Struggling breaths forcefully leave your mouth as you try and lock the door. Your hands are shaking too violently to lock the door, so you abandon the idea for a better one. Run.
You sprint for the backdoor, sliding along the clean wooden floor as you turn to go past the register counter. Almost tripping over yourself, you could hear the door swing open harshly and big, broad steps coming up behind you. Getting faster and faster to keep up with you- no, to catch you. Tears prickled at your eyes as you pushed through the backdoor into the alleyway. The man's hand barely grazed your skin as you ran, trying to grab you. A deep groaning of irritation could be heard behind you, which didn't help your palpitations. Your slowing speed only worsened your panic until he finally reached for you again and, this time, succeeded in gripping you.
"Ah-!" You slammed the ground harshly, the man's muscular body atop you, holding you by your biceps. The grip stung, almost like he had claws; it caused you to wince, a small noise of pain escaping your lips. "I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have taken anything!" You cry. "The guy didn't- seem like he wanted it!" At this point, you were trying anything to get him off you.
When he spoke, it sent shivers down your spine. A voice so deep and menacing that you thought it was the devil himself talking to you.
"Damn right, you shouldn't have; now, where's the watch!" He said, a rough snap in his tone.
You paused, sniffling. "W-watch?" you asked timidly, the answer practically squeezed out of you.
"Yes. The watch-! What else would I be talking about?" The masked man says, his irritation boiling with every word.
Hi everyone! Not really sure where to start with this, but I was reblogging some posts from the Choctaw tag last night/early this morning and wanted to talk about it, I guess? Basically, if anyone is up for talking about Choctaw or indigenous culture at any point, feel free to message me. If you’re not Choctaw or indigenous, you’re still welcome to like and reblog this post so hopefully someone who is can see it!
It’s a long story, but I found out very recently (as in a couple of days ago) that my family’s connection to Choctaw heritage is…more substantiated than I had thought? I went to a powwow last year and got flooded with a bunch of childhood memories about how family members used to tell me that we had some Choctaw heritage on my dad’s side. I eventually just tried not to think about it and rounded myself up to white, because it was through my paternal grandfather and he was never around much for my dad or his grandkids. And I am typically perceived as white, and all of my living blood relatives are white, so…it seemed like a no brainer.
The powwow made things come back for me, but I tried to ignore it again. And then my friend who’s mixed Native/white came to stay with me this week, and we’ve been talking about a lot of things, including Native identity. So I couldn’t really ignore it anymore, and I ended up texting my dad to ask if he knew anything about this, or if it was anything he’d ever explored.
My dad said that as far as he knows, he’s 1/16th Choctaw, and our ancestors were on the Trail of Tears and relocated to Oklahoma. Our last name was given to them to put them on the Indian List at the time. (At least that’s what my dad called it; after doing a bit of reading, I’m not sure if he means the Dawes Rolls or a different list.) And I am…having a hard time figuring out how to process the fact that my literal last name is from my ancestors being forcibly removed from their homeland and placed on a government list.
It makes it even more complicated that like…regardless of this, I still am mostly white and perceived as white. I don’t know how to identify or how to label…all of this. *gestures vaguely* I don’t want to appropriate anything or take something that isn’t culturally mine. So I guess I am just putting this out there in case anyone is open to talking with me, either in reblogs/replies or in DMs, about their experiences with Choctaw or Native culture and identity.
Again, you’re totally welcome to like and reblog this even if you’re not Choctaw or indigenous, so hopefully a person who is might see it. Thank you so much for reading!
