#Also worried about work/finances from missed work... I was only given four days away from work. Worried it's not gonna be enough.

[iero]

The closer my wisdom teeth surgery date gets (It's in a week from today), the more nervous I fucking get. A surgery that is usually for late teens/early 20 year olds has become one of the most nerve wracking things anticipated in a long time.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

vulnerability. – chap. 1.

Read the prologue here

Story info:

Pair: Byun Baekhyun x Reader

Rating: +18 for mentions of s*x and violence (future chapters)

Genre: angst, smut

Chapter info:

Release date: 16th May 2021

Word count: 3 727

Warnings: mentions of trauma (nothing descriptive)

Vulnerability Masterlist || Fanfiction Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Taglist:

@shesdreaminginoverdose @mybiasdashboard @marimsun @byuns-asscheeks @multi--kpop--fanfics @vunv @making-me-blush @skittlez-area512 @bloopbloopkai @byuns-asscheeks @baekyeonoreo @kimcarinaa

Please, always comment on the newest chapter if you wish to be added to/removed from the taglist. I will be also checking the tags, so if you're shy – feel free to leave a note this way.

Previous (Prologue)

Chap. 1.

Living in a small apartment close to the city center was not always convenient.

You regretted you couldn’t buy all the pretty things that you saw in stores or on Pinterest, because they���d easily overwhelm the limited space. Your neighbors constantly reminded you that they’re a few meters away from you, with screams, children’s cries, music, or chopping meat at 2 AM if that’s what a particular neighbor decided to do.

Fortunately, as the time passed, you got used to most of it and started to appreciate the small space, almost effortless to keep clean, close to both your university and the workplace, and the city center – an area that was always restless during the long days and nights that you spent watching it through your tall window, as if waiting for someone to look back at you.

Despite the comfort of living alone that you tried to indulge in, you couldn’t help growing lonelier and lonelier with every passing day. At the very least, your job and university often took the worries off your mind, and they eventually became your whole life, an existence that focused on never-ending effort in the name of better future, as though there was nothing in the present worth fighting for.

You studied finance; you didn’t give it much hope at first, but it ended up becoming interesting as you started connecting the dots and realizing how broad and important this topic was. Yet, as any newborn financier, you used your secret knowledge in the mysterious field of retail. In other words, you worked part-time as a cashier in a convenience store. Twenty four years old, on your way to getting that famous Master’s degree, already more than halfway through the process, yet – education without experience mattered nothing, as you realized the very moment you started looking for your first job, unable to keep counting on your parents. Not like you wanted to stay in touch with them, anyway.

Adulthood was difficult; the small apartment, due to its location, costed more than your whole family’s used to in your hometown. A small scholarship kept you set up with electricity and water fees, but for WiFi you needed to depend on a close-by library with a good signal; it turned out to have the connection good enough to reach from at least one place in your apartment, the one you coincidentally used for occasional observations. You weren’t sure whether you discovered the WiFi while sitting or if you developed the observing habit upon having to spend your time there over any other place. The only downside of this solution was that some sites were blocked after a scandal over men in the library performing actions other than polite studying, with the help of library computers. The event was outrageous to some, but primarily it became an object of jokes and memes all thorough the city, and maybe even country-wide to some extent. Either way, in times of need, your phone still had its meager data transfer. Good enough.

It was Saturday now; Saturdays were good but busy, because you worked at nights, then slept the shift off, and after you woke up, you could go and study all that you missed throughout the week, if for any reason the classes didn’t sound appealing enough or something else happened, distracting you from them. You spent Saturday afternoons either by the window of your room (where the WiFi reached) or just went straight to the library – a place way more spacious than your own apartment, and quieter as well. The only issue was, that you couldn’t snack in there and you ought to stay quiet. You decided to go with the latter and set foot towards the library.

Therefore, when your phone suddenly rang there, a few faces snapped towards you in obvious disapproval; you cursed internally, before you even managed to pull the phone out of your pocket, because you panicked so much that your hands shook at the initial attempt to do so. You got up from your seat and quickly disappeared between the bookshelves, where the people staying by the tables wouldn’t hear you so well anymore.

“Hello?” you whispered into the phone.

“Hello. Am I disturbing you?”

Your heart dropped as you recognized the voice, although you weren’t completely certain if you recognized it well, it sounded a bit different through the phone. The number was unknown on your phone, but there was only one person that could be calling you today.

You took a few seconds to compose yourself; less than you actually needed, but just enough so that the silence would not turn awkward.

“Um… I can’t talk loudly, but that’s okay.”

“I can call you later.”

“N-no need to, I’ll just whisper.”

“Okay, then.” He was quiet for a few seconds, but you heard some shuffling on the other side. “Do you have time tonight?”

The question was sudden, so you weren’t completely sure, if you did. But your mind felt too empty to figure that out, anyway.

“No. I mean, yes. Sorry, I meant I don’t have plans. So, um, yes, I’m free.” This didn’t sound professional at all. However, you heard quiet laughter on the other side and exhaled almost audibly in relief; it was the first time you heard him laugh with you, and it served to calm your nerves like a wave of calmness coming over you.

“Well, do you want to meet? I’m going to a museum and I don’t feel like going alone. What about that?”

“A museum? That… sounds nice.” When was the last time you’ve been to one? What a perfect opportunity to make a fool out of yourself. “What time?”

“Around six? If that’s okay with you.” If you remembered well, it had to be around three now.

“Sounds alright, where should we meet?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay. Thank you.” What were you exactly thanking him for? Hard to tell. But you heard him laugh again; you felt like he’s mocking you, but you quickly realized it couldn’t be the case – a warm voice like this couldn’t be ill-intended.

“Sure thing, you’re welcome. We’re set up, then?”

“A-actually, I have a question, if it’s not a problem.” You bit on your lip, knowing than in less than ten seconds, you were going to probably embarrass yourself in front of an educated and serious adult.

“What’s the matter?” he asked politely.

“So, um… What should I wear?”

* * *

You were grateful for the few tips given by Byun Baekhyun at the end of your conversation, because otherwise you’d either be underdressed or overdressed. You ended up wearing a more elegant university attire, something you usually wore for exams, but which didn’t make you appear too formal; a long, woolen skirt that was your private treasure due to its ability to keep you warm even in winter (and it was still spring; the weather was questionable), as well as leather shoes, a beige shirt and a thick, knitted cardigan. You felt quite modest; something told you that it wasn’t a regular date. You didn’t feel a need to reveal anything, or to focus on your feminine attributes. You just felt like it wouldn’t serve any purpose. As long as Baekhyun was concerned, you had an impression that he’s more interested in your mind than in the way you look – the clothes you wore last time, just a little bit revealing and suggestive, had done nothing to save you. You wanted only to look appropriate, and you were sure you managed to achieve at least that.

As you found out soon enough, he wasn’t particularly dressed up, either. A button-up shirt without without a tie – bow or neck type – and jeans, made of high-quality denim, not like the ripped through or worn out ones people sometimes wore. And a suede coat. Although he wasn’t dressed up to look attractive, it would be difficult not to feel attracted to him. Byun Baekhyun had his own aura of independence and considerate distance connected with subtle proximity, and this time, you had the chance to appreciate this harmony, working perfectly for him, highlighting his soft masculinity. Even more so, when you noted a small, gentle smile that appeared on his lips when he spotted you leaving your apartment block.

“Hi there” he spoke.

“Hi there” you replied.

“The museum is nearby, so I didn’t take the car, is that okay?”

It was probably too late to change the means of transport anyway, so the question was pointless. But no, you didn’t mind.

“It’s okay. What museum are we going to?”

He put hands in the pockets of his coat and tilted his head to the side, observing as you approached. You crossed your hands over your chest; it was a bit colder than you expected, and the skirt only warmed you up at the bottom, the wind still reached the top.

“You should put on something warmer. It’ll get even colder on the way back” he spoke. “Go back and get yourself a jacket, I’ll wait.”

You wanted to oppose and say it’s alright, but you didn’t; it didn’t feel right to argue with him. You only nodded and went home to retrieve a better outwear; you were back in no time.

“So? Which museum?”

You looked up at Baekhyun: the man walked by your side, or – in fact – you were walking by his; he stayed in control of the situation, but resonated with warmth and peacefulness rather than the coldness and stillness you experienced last time. And especially as he spoke, you found yourself easing into the conversation more naturally, and your initial fear quickly turned into innocent shyness upon the older man’s presence.

“A complex of museums nearby. There’s everything there, a historical museum of the region, one about the history of mining worldwide, and an art museum. I wanted to see the last one, I heard they unveiled a few new pieces since the the last time I went. You’re not local?” He glanced at you with polite curiosity.

“Not really. I moved here to study” you explained. “I know the nearby area, but I’m not too… um, social. I only know where to do the cheapest groceries and where they sell the best bread.”

“Where?”

“Behind the river, by the intersection with the highway. It looks small but really, you should try it out. Especially their cinnamon rolls.”

Baekhyun hummed.

“That sounds nice. I can recommend the best pizza in return.”

“You eat takeouts often?”

“Yep.”

“You’d save money if you cooked for yourself. Pizzas are expensive.”

Another warm laugh reached your ears, and through them, your heart as well.

“I’ll save money if I spend the time for cooking on working instead.”

“Okay, that’s a valid point. But homemade food is healthier.”

“Depends on where you buy your takeout.” He seemed to have an answer to your every doubt. “I wouldn’t trust just any restaurant, you know? It’s basically what my diet consists of.”

“Variety is also important. Don’t argue with me on that.”

“I won’t. But I won’t take you for a pizza, if that’s your stance on that.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want it” you remarked right away; he replied with laugh, which you found yourself copying naturally.

The conversation flowed smoothly, reaching more or less unimportant topics: the city life, current events, your university, possible career, Baekhyun’s interests – you found out he likes music; it’s too sad to work in silence – and the museum you were going to.

The place you felt initially quite neutral about, brought you more peace than you expected it to. It looked harmonious and the lights were soft. No one hurried through the gallery, and the paintings, although not so interesting at first, you soon learned to appreciate, trying to catch onto small details that, you could tell, Baekhyun already knew by heart, but he smiled every single time you pointed at something specific that caught your attention, even if it was as silly as matching colors, or realistically portrayed lights – these were your favorites.

And, slowly but surely, you got accustomed to the pretty sights, excitement turning into relaxation, and even Baekhyun himself seemed more content than you thought he’d be in your presence.

“You’re different,” you spoke as the two of you sat on a bench in front of one of the tall, monumental pieces; this one was a modern painting full of splashes and mixed colors, soft browns, yellows, and greens, so big that it definitely wouldn’t fit in your bedroom – the first thought you had upon seeing its size.

Despite the painting being in the very center of the gallery, you were the only ones watching it now.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re different today than you were yesterday” you elaborate. “Less… intimidating” you tried to put your thoughts into words.

Baekhyun laughed in response; the laughter was soft and warm, which made you exhale in relief – you feared that he’d feel offended at the remark.

“Yesterday was different. I needed to test you.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared at the painting as he leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees and shifting a little bit, probably thinking how to say the thing he had to say, without causing misunderstandings. You stared at him, completely having lost interest in the painting by now, ready to hear out whatever was to be spoken.

“People often come to me because they’re attracted to me. Well, not blaming them” he grinned; you rolled your eyes a little, but it did relieve the tension, most likely according to his own intention. “However, I’m not interested in romantic relationships. If you come to me expecting a date, you’ll get disappointed. And you won’t be able to handle what it is truly about, if I’m the only thing keeping you interested. It’ll be a hassle for the both of us.”

He glanced at you only briefly, ensuring that you’ve heard him so far before shifting his eyes back forward.

“So I’m always like this at first, just to see how determined you are, and how you behave under pressure. Then I leave you for a few minutes so you have the time to reconsider and leave if willing. That’s a safety measure for you.” He stopped for just a few seconds. “And you – all of you – always check what’s on the other side of the sheet. That’s a safety measure for me.”

“Safety measure?”

“Trust is the basis of the whole deal. If you don’t admit, that you looked at it, it means you’ll keep hiding things later on as well, and I can’t have that.”

“So if I…”

“Yes. If you didn’t correct your statement, we wouldn’t be here right now.” The words sounded ominous even despite the calm tone that Baekhyun used.

“I understand.”

You actually did; the strange aura of yesterday’s meeting finally started to clear out, leaving the simplest facts that all fit into the bigger picture. Yet, you still didn’t know enough. There were more things, more questions, each of which demanded an answer of its own. However, you were still unsure of your stance, and of what Baekhyun had planned for you – for the both of you.

“Will you accept me, then?” you asked finally, breaking through the silence.

“I don’t know yet” he replied in an honest tone, finally reciprocating your gaze. His features were soft, you could tell, he tried not to hurt you with his words. “You’re a nice girl, but I’m not sure if it’ll work out. I need more time. Primarily, I need to get to know you better. And I feel like you need more time, too.”

You nodded slowly.

“Could you, um… tell me more about it?”

“About what I do?”

“Yeah. You didn’t tell me much last time. You mostly only asked questions.”

“True. I may answer some of yours, if you’d like. What are you interested in?”

You cleared your throat; some questions seemed more intrusive than the others and you preferred to leave them for later.

“What would you want to do with me, if we set up a um… a scene?” Is that how you professionally call it? You didn’t remember all that well; you were, in fact, with no experience, only the Internet and your own curiosity to lead you forward – the temptation to explore your interests had been progressing in silence up until now.

“Well, depends on what would be suitable. I do different things with different people. Sometimes, it’s about what they like, and sometimes about what I like, and, the most often, it’s about what we both like. Everyone needs a different approach. I enjoy finding the right approach, and exploring it. It’s different when you start with a virgin, different when you start with a brat, different when you start with someone experienced, different when you start with someone with trauma. The last type is a person I don’t like engaging in. It’s a vulnerable ground and the person often seeks relief instead of therapy. I’m not a therapist. I’m a dominant.”

You took your time to analyze his words and put them all together in your head before you spoke again.

“You wrote something like that on the sheet. That I may have trauma.”

“That’s different,” Baekhyun was quick to elaborate. “Everyone has trauma of sort. Childhood traumas are more common than you think. I meant specifically trauma that comes from similar ground as the one I’m on. It’s not the case for you. According to what you said, you’ve never had any experiences like this and never engaged sexually or romantically.”

Pointing that out hurt a little; yes, so what if you’re 24 years old and a virgin? You had the right to choose your pace. But, you quickly realized, it was your own insecurity poking at you, because Baekhyun sounded anything but judgmental. He didn’t seem particularly impressed either – and you were thankful for that as well. You’ve seen enough men sounding excited when a woman was discovered to be unexperienced. You hated that even more than those who made fun of you; and in the long run, you just learned not to overshare. Telling Baekhyun this truth wasn’t the easiest, so having him say it so casually was definitely weird in your ear.

“However, that’s also a vulnerable point. You don’t know what you’re getting into. It looks different on the screen or in the books than it is in real life. I’m not going to reject you just because you’re new, because everyone’s been at some point. But you must understand, it’s a responsibility, and I don’t want to take one I’m not capable of handling.”

“Have you ever been with someone else like that?”

“With a virgin?”

“…Yeah.”

“Yes. Once. But I didn’t handle it too well back then.”

“What do you mean?”

Baekhyun rubbed his chin, pressing his lips together in slight uneasiness. But you didn’t revoke your question – maybe you should have, for the sake of his comfort, but you felt that the answer wouldn’t be meaningless to you.

“She wanted to be exclusive,” the man finally answered. “I tolerated her for too long. I should have broken the deal as soon as I started seeing red flags, instead of ending up sleeping with her. It made everything only worse.” He spoke quietly, making sure people passing by at times would hear no word. You heard everything clearly, though. “That’s why I’m more picky now. Breaking the deal is not a good thing if it comes from one side. It may leave the other devastated, that’s why I’d rather reduce the risk in advance.”

He looked at your face, seeking understanding and acceptance. You nodded slowly, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible. You didn’t want to add to the pain already displayed on his own. But you appreciated his transparency.

“Does it mean that sex is not always involved?”

“With me, it rarely is” he admitted patiently. “I’m not against it, but I usually do other things. People rarely expect it, and I never pry. Mainly, because in this particular case, I do expect exclusivity. So, as long as no sex is involved, I know some of my subs are dating other people, or even engaging with other doms. However, for safety reasons I demand health checks prior to intercourse, and so on. Not just for me, but because I’m not exclusive myself.” You wondered if his choice of vocabulary was meant to make things less awkward. “However, actual sex is only one of the possibilities. Sexual pleasure that doesn’t involve direct touch may be used as a tool for training, for rewarding and for punishing, even as entertainment… not necessarily to the person it influences. As I said, it depends on who it’s done with. And it may take different forms, too. What’s your stance on that?”

“I don’t feel like I’d be able to as much as undress in front of someone who’s not my doctor” you answered almost instantly, the answer obvious to you, a matter you’ve thought about enough. “Although… well, I suppose it takes time. I’m not against the idea, just… you know.”

Baekhyun only nodded; you glanced at him, feeling a need for any reply that’d soothe you a little.

“I understand. That’s okay.”

You figured it out now; using more formal language made it less embarrassing to listen to. It’s like he tore the words off emotions and left facts only, and you found yourself easing into saying more and more, your embarrassment dissolving as well. No judgments were made.

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

“A lot, to be honest. But I think I know enough for now.”

Right as you said the last words, a sound echoed in the museum, in a soft female voice saying that the museum will close in fifteen minutes.

You took one last glance at the huge painting in front of you, but you felt like, at this point, you wouldn’t find anything new among the random stains and splatters. Baekhyun got up from his seat on the bench and so did you. You spotted him hide a small yawn behind his hand.

The day was coming to an end, and so was your small date – as un-date-ish as it could be.

* * *

Please, reblog if you enjoyed, it'll help me a bunch!

Author's note: hope you're enjoying it so far! Trying to give it a bit sense before more things happen, and, hopefully, this chapter clears it out a little bit. Feel free to talk to me if anything is unclear!

Next (Chapter 2.)

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hey babe??? How would Arthur react if the reader generously payed one of his bills for him??? Because they could??? 🤔🤔🤔

Gennnnnn ~ 🥰🥰🥰 OMG I love this!🖤 Discord does so much for my inspiration with writing istg. I hope you like this, thank you for sending this prompt in!💜

Word count: 1, 566.

There had been a folded letter sat inside a hastily opened envelope atop the kitchen counter for days. Out of respect for Arthur had you not glanced at the text, even though it was within your right to do so as the second occupant of apartment 8J. You were curious, it was true, but you also knew Arthur well enough to know that if he wanted you to read the letter, he would have shown it to you upon first opening it. The way he had actually reacted, which was to muffle painful laughter between tightly clamped lips and to shove the letter back inside the envelope before he tossed it on the kitchen counter without a second glance, told you all you needed to know about the topic of the letter.

It was a bill and, evidently, it was one Arthur couldn’t afford to pay.

The longer the letter sat upon the counter, the more tense Arthur seemed to become and you knew that it wouldn’t be long before you would have to broach the topic of finances with him. Arthur hid his feelings well and you knew that anyone who didn’t care - and that was to say, the vast majority of the city of Gotham - wouldn’t notice the way he seemed to shrink into himself every time he stepped into the kitchen. But you knew him like the backs of your hands and you could see him and his worry, the way his strong, dark brows furrowed deeper and deeper with every passing day and still did the envelope not shift even a centimetre from where it had been thrown.

On day four, you had finally had enough.

Arthur couldn’t pay his bill, however much it was, and so you planned to go down to Gotham Central Bank and pay it for him. You decided to not tell Arthur until after the fact; so that there could be no stopping you. You were stubborn and once you set your mind to something, it would be carried out no matter what it was, and while you didn’t want to go behind Arthur’s back and make it seem like you were no longer communicating with him about apartment decisions, you also knew how important this bill was and that, while Arthur couldn’t pay it, you could... with some shifting and moving around. 

You wouldn’t tell him that, though, before or after the fact. 

He would feel guilty enough as it was, this you knew, and you refused to add onto that.

When all was said and done and the bill was paid, you headed back home and put the bill away for safekeeping in the folder which held your financial records. You felt guilty about going behind Arthur’s back but logic kept kicking in and Arthur finally came home just at the point that you had rationalised that you had done the right thing overall. You would have some trouble yourself in the coming weeks, but there was an extra shift or two you could pick up at work along the way. It would work out, and even if it didn’t... you had helped Arthur and that was all you ever wanted to do for him. The love came on its own and, oh, how desperately you loved him. 

You were relaxing in front of the television, your feet sore from your long day, and Arthur’s resounding cackle shattered the tranquillity of the apartment. You sprung up and rushed over to him. With one hand clamped over his mouth, his laughter muffled, and his other hand pointed to the corner of the counter, you understood exactly why Arthur was so distressed that he had launched into another attack and you felt more spikes of guilt. You should have said something as soon as Arthur was in the door. 

“Oh, honey, no,” You rushed to comfort Arthur by running a hand up and down his back in soothing, fluid motions. You could feel his every vertebrae and it made you sick to your stomach to see the physical weaknesses which he had to deal with every day, let alone the ones which existed solely within his mind. “Just breathe, Arthur, you’re okay, it’s okay,” You filled the air with sweet nothings, knowing were you of just how beneficial and how grounding your voice was to the tortured man. As Arthur came down from his attack, you continued to rub his back... and you started to explain the situation. You had been foolish to not do it as soon as he came home, but it was pointless and even counter-productive to blame yourself and to feel guilty for it now. 

“I... I paid the bill, darling. I’m so sorry, but I saw it lying around and I saw how stressed it was making you. I had some extra money lying around - “ you winced at your white lie but Arthur, still mostly hunched over was he, completely missed the look on your face, “so I took the liberty of paying it for you. I - I wanted to do something for you, just because I could, and I - “ shit. Arthur was still struggling to breathe and you felt awful for not mentioning it before. “It’s safe in our money folder, angel. I’m so sorry I didn’t - “

Arthur straightened up with some visible effort and the look on his face made your heart jump into your throat. His sea green eyes were glassy from tears and you knew not if it was because of the laughing attack or if it was from your words. With an educated guess, you would put it down to a combination of the two factors; so gentle and so emotional a soul was he that the slightest thing could affect him. 

“Wh - what did - what did you say?”

You knew not at this point whether repeating yourself would be any more beneficial than fetching the receipt which contained the proof of your words, so you threw a, “hang on, Arthur,” over your shoulder as you dashed over to your bag. Quickly did you retrieve the receipt, crinkled now due to a lack of care, and you returned to your love’s side. “Here, darling. I paid the bill. It’s all taken care of.” You held out the receipt and with shaking hands did Arthur take it from you. 

His beautiful eyes, accentuated now with red around the outside, roamed over the small piece of paper and he chuckled once. “Wh-why would you - Y/N, I can’t - I can’t pay this back, h-how - “ Arthur put the receipt on the counter where the bill had initially been and his hand smoothed over it, and then he slid his hand across his chest, up, up, to caress his face. He was grounding himself and in that moment were you so proud of him for trying to keep himself where he was; in the room with you. Oh, how you loved him.

“No, baby,” You pulled Arthur into a hug, your hands once more rubbing along his back as you did your best to soothe him and to keep him calm, “You don’t need to pay me back. We live together - we share the finances. I did this because I wanted to, I promise. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” You thought that perhaps Arthur needed to hear more, so you said, “I saw how badly this was worrying you and I wanted to help you, I wanted to do something for you. You work so hard and I hate how - “

Cool, thin lips crashed into yours and you stumbled backwards a pace before deceptively strong arms wound around your body and tugged you into a lithe form to hold you steady, to keep you still. Mumbles of, “thank you” and “I love you” rushed passed those same lips to punctuate the kisses which then rained down upon your face, and you could only keep your eyes shut and smile as Arthur smothered you in love. “You’re the best part of me, Y/N, and I love you. What can - how can I - “

You didn’t want Arthur doubting himself or feeling guilty for even a moment, and though you hesitated to ask for this in case Arthur began to feel like he had to earn affection from you, you could only say, “ I love you, too, Arthur, so much. How about you just cuddle me?” You grinned to think of being cuddled; it was all you thought about even when you were cuddling, so addictive was Arthur’s presence in your life and so intoxicated with him were you.

His consenting smile was blinding but you had no chance to catch your breath before his lips were upon yours once more. And if tears and kisses fell like rain from Arthur, well, who were you to deny him a chance to express himself? You only held him, you only stayed and that... was more important than anything else you could have done.

Long since had Arthur craved for his one and only person... and after almost thirty six years, after all that time of watching, waiting, yearning and bleeding metaphorically and physically... Right at the point where Arthur had given up on himself and on his horrific life...

There you were.

[pocket-clown]

A Place in your Home; A Place in your Heart | Arthur Fleck x reader 

// original request: Hi! I love your writings 💖 and I shyly wanted to request something. ^^ I wonder if you could write about Reader that has a difficult situation and has to find a new place to live, but doesnt have enough money? Arthur wants to help her and offers her that she can live with him. They've not dated for long but it's serious and the're much in love. She wants to move in with him, but she's afraid it wouldn not work out for many reasons, but eventually she agrees and Arthur is immensely happy. ^^

// A/N: This originally was going to be a longer fic, but I’ve been struggling with writing yet again, so I figured breaking it down into headcanons was easier than taking eons longer to write something more detailed.

thanks for the request, @dont-be-alarmed

It had been nearly three weeks since you were given the news, the words barely making their way over the fuzzy phone lines, voice as uncaring as ever.

Due to a better suited tenant making an offer, your lease was not going to be renewed, and you needed to be out by the end of the month - no if, ands, or buts about it.

Your lifestyle was a hand to mouth one; paycheck to paycheck, your weekly earnings were just enough to cover rent and basic necessities with little left over to save, splurges on luxuries being an occasional, very rare treat.

With your rainy day savings, your actual savings, and the total accumulation of the profit you made from selling various items that you could, you barely had enough to cover even a deposit on any of the nearby apartments - let alone deposit, and the first month’s rent. 

In short, you were screwed.

You were screwed, and it was eating at you. Day and night, the thought loomed over you like the piles of trash that littered the city, threatening to topple over on passersby at any moment. 

Had you been given a much more reasonably timed heads up, it wouldn’t have been even half an issue, yet you were left to do nothing but lay in bed, eyes burning as you stared at the television, seeing but not really watching the program on it. You’d been pulled from your restless sleep by the sound of a glass bottle dropping and shattering somewhere outside, and given that it was nearly four in the morning, you were about to give up on sleep. 

Even in your sleepy haze, did the weight of the situation hit you like a truck, your stomach tightening with anxiety, the churning twist of panic, worry, and hopelessness making your eyes blur with tears as you shifted your gaze to the ceiling.

You couldn’t help but almost pitifully chuckle at that - soon, there wouldn’t even be a ceiling for you to cry over.

December was nearly on its last legs with Christmas just around the corner; the days of autumn bleeding into those of winter as you found yourself growing more and more grateful each day that your boyfriend’s apartment was one of the few that had a functioning heating system. Temperatures dipped below freezing more often than not, and you often had to take a moment to brace yourself before you stepped outside as the air’s freeze physically hurt sometimes - your eyes, nose, and fingers on the days you forgot your gloves stinging from the wind, while any exposed skin reddened from the nip of the wind. 

It was thoughts of days like those that made you brief a sigh of relief and sink back into the couch of Arthur’s living room, one of his softest blankets fluffed and draped around your body as you curled your legs under yourself, warm and safe from the harsh weather outside, and the even harsher population of the city.

It was also thoughts of days like those that reminded you that this wasn’t going to last. 

“Love, what’s on your mind?”

As in tune with your emotions as ever, Arthur noticed that you were particularly quiet that evening, lost in your thoughts as you didn’t even pay any mind to the television - set to the weekly airing of The Murray Franklin Show.

You hadn’t even told Arthur what was going on, the fear of stressing your already overworked boyfriend out keeping you from opening your mouth. 

“Huh? Oh - nothing,” You blinked, turning your attention from the carpet to the television. “I’m just tired.” You spoke, fingertips picking at the frayed hem of the blanket currently wrapped around your body.

Another hint for Arthur: no Art, no Artie tacked on the end to your reply. From the corner of your eye could you see him through the passthrough, eyeing you from his spot at the kitchen counter where he was taking the utmost care to not spill the mug of hot chocolate he was making you as he stirred it.

Even though your relationship was hardly out of its infancy, you both knew each other well enough to tell when something was wrong. Arthur was already so very in tune with your emotions, so you knew he wasn’t just going to let your morose mood go without a question or two, and you knew yourself enough to know that something about Arthur’s concern hit a soft spot in your heart, rendering you unable to keep much from him once he managed to get into your head. 

He seemed almost sad as he now stood in the entrance to the living room, his lips settled into a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on you. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze, the guilt from keeping something so major from him eating at you, but the uncertainty and apprehension of not only how you’d bring it up with Arthur, but how he’d react.

One of your worst fears was Arthur jumping on the opportunity to have you live with him. Not because you didn’t want to, not because you didn’t trust him or anything of the sort - but Arthur had a habit of putting the needs of others, especially your own, miles above his own. Money was much tighter for him than it was for you, and hell you had no idea if even combining incomes would be much help. No doubt that it would be some, but whether it would be enough, especially given the uncertain job climate of Gotham, left you scratching your head. 

Arthur took a seat next to you, the drink he brought you placed on the coffee table, and with a deep breath, you let it spill out faster than you really meant for it to.

Your lease was ending in just over a week. Your landlord had no intent of renewing it because someone else was moving in, and you had no money to move elsewhere yet, even after your best efforts at earning enough. You had no where to go, nothing to do, no way to remedy the situation - and time was running out.

Hell, you had no idea if at this point you even could do anything beyond accepting the inevitable.

“Why... don’t you stay here?” 

Arthur’s meek, yet hopeful voice raising such a suggestion made your ears perk up. You hadn’t even thought about that - but immediately did you know that it wouldn’t work. At least not yet.

“Art - I can’t do that, you know I can’t.” You couldn’t look at him as you spoke, the thought of being able to live in with him making your heart skip a beat, but the knowledge that it almost most definitely was not realistic at the moment making it hard to swallow.

“Why can’t you?”

“It won’t work - it’s not going to work.”

Though instantly you regret speaking those words, wincing once you realized what they implied. You knew Arthur and his anxieties well enough to know that it wasn’t improbable that he took “it won’t work” as meaning, you didn’t have enough faith in your relationship for it to work.

“ - Not like that,” You were quick to correct yourself, hoping to save the situation before it became more angst ridden. “I mean, living together. At least right now. Money is already tight for you, isn’t it? And I mean, it’s not like my own job is the most stable right now.”

“Y/N, do you really think that matters?” Arthur looked almost angry as he spoke, as if the fact that you were concerned about finances was ridiculous in such a situation. You knew Arthur enough to know he wasn’t actually mad, at least not at you, but still on edge at the threat of your loss of shelter. “You’ll be homeless, and - and who knows what could happen to you out there -” The hitch in Arthur’s breath as he spoke, coupled with the way his left hand gripped at the fabric of his trousers clued you in that this was something extremely distressing for him. 

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, yet you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away. “Arthur -”

“Please,” Arthur’s hand shot out for your own, his warm from holding the hot drink previously as he held your hand tight in his own. “Y/N, please.. Don’t worry about money, we’ll figure it out - but it’s dangerous, it’s awful out there and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you -” 

Had you not stopped him midsentence with a gentle “Hey -”, you’d no doubt Arthur would’ve either succumbed to a fit of laughter, tears, or both.

“ - Arthur, hey,” Your free hand that wasn’t kept in his own reached for his shoulder, tugging gently on the fabric of that brown cardigan you so loved, pulling him closer to you. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his breath just barely noticeable against the fabric of your chest. “I dont... I don’t know what I’d do, either - Arthur I just don’t want to add more to your plate, you’re already so overworked, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”

You could feel Arthur shake his head at your words, but he didn’t speak - not that you blamed him.

With your lips now pressed to the top of his head, you took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. That comforting scent you’ve come to love and seek out within the few months you’ve been with him - the scent you, really, wouldn’t mind being surrounded by all of the time. 

“We’ll try,” You said finally, not missing how Arthur seemed to tense up at your words. “Arthur I... would love to stay here - I would, love to live with you. It’s going to take some time to adjust - never mind actually making the move - but... I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

You could’ve laughed at how Arthur shot up at this, his eyes wide as he seemed full of disbelief for a moment before your own reassuring smile sparked a growing grin on his face. “Do you really mean it, Y/N?”

“Waking up with, going to bed next to, coming home to you doesn’t sound all too bad, the more I think about it,” You whispered, your body finding its way to Arthur’s as his arms pulled you close. 

Maybe this home wouldn’t be so bad. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------taglist;

@ajokeformur-ray​​​ @theangelmaker  @fleckcmscott   @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend​  @tsukiakarinobara​​ @darknessisafriend​​ @honking4joker  @sgtsavoytruffle​​ @smol-nari

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 18

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~2,300

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, mentions of death

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

Taglist: @symbiont13

Start from the beginning   Previous Chapter   Next Chapter  

Read on AO3   Masterlist

Lilah took time to explore the rest of the house while Brasa was busy closing the finances for the month. The door at the end of the hallway was still locked, and she wished she’d snagged Seth’s lock pick set while she had the chance. After making a note to order one online, Lilah veered off to the far side of the house, behind the living room.

There was a stairwell that still smelled of freshly sawed wood, unvarnished, leading to an expansive loft. Like the rest of the house, the walls and ceiling were stone. Also like the rest of the house, it was bare.

Clearly, it was meant to be an office of some kind, bookshelves lining the walls. An adjoining half bath was tucked in the back, with a linen closet stocked with towels. Lilah stood in the middle of it, thinking that it was odd that there was no window. In any other building, there would be a lookout over the property. But, as with most things where Brasa was concerned, this was not like any other building.

Moving back downstairs, Lilah passed through the living room to a smaller office. Brasa was sitting at the desk, tapping away on a keyboard. He looked up in interest as she entered the room. Lilah waved to him, indicating that he should ignore her. His work seemed constant—a barrage of emails to answer when he woke, phone calls that seemed to take hours, text message updates from Javier. Running his business was somewhat more than a full time job.

There were times when Lilah spent almost all her waking hours alone. She’d taken to riding with him to the bar and parking herself in one of the booths as a mean of distraction. The bar manager had good taste in music, and Lilah found that she could actually take some time to relax.

Still, she missed her friends, and she missed the work. A couple times a day, she would get an email or a text—she was disappointed every time by the sender. Seth hadn’t so much as checked in, though Kate occasionally sent her an update. It looked to Lilah that she was going to have to find a new crew. The thought was not entirely palatable. To keep the feeling at bay, Lilah turned her attention back to the décor.

Like Brasa’s other office, this room was plush and touched here and there with soft, luxurious accents. It was the only room in the house that seemed to reflect the inhabitant. There were fewer books here, but the ones that were stacked on the shelves were old, most of them looking handmade. She didn’t dare touch them for fear of damaging the clearly valuable tomes, though every once in a while, her fingers itched to snag one and secret it away.

Like the room above, there was an adjoining bathroom. Simple. Stocked with supplies. Lilah made a circle around the room, touching the marble counter top, and then went back into the office. She clocked Brasa still on the phone, his expression thunderous. It was starting to become a pattern. He’d answer the phone, and bad news would come.

There was no soothing him when he found out that another shipment had gone missing or that Benny had gained a significant number of acolytes. His anger would blossom in a quiet way that left him pacing in thought. All she could do was wait for him to run out of steam, usually laying down next to her, pulling her into his body in comfort.

Leaning against a bookshelf, Lilah waited. He would do as he had done in the past, come to her when he was ready.

When he’d concluded that call, Brasa turned off his monitor and pushed to standing. He tugged on his leather gloves, looking lost in thought. The worry creasing his brow was deeper than it had ever been, and she could feel something like grief emanating through the bond. It pushed her to approach him first.

“What happened?” Lilah asked pointedly, provoked by the distress in his expression.

He glanced at her, saying, “Benny tried to open the portal.”

Aghast, Lilah spit out, “He didn’t.”

“He did,” Brasa replied, stepping around his desk, “He failed. But, it wasn’t without consequence.”

Lilah followed him out into the living room, “Was anyone hurt?”

He nodded, heading for the coat closet and shrugging on his preferred leather coat, “Yes.”

Lilah didn’t like the abrupt answers, the way he wouldn’t look at her. She didn’t know what it meant that he’d failed to open the portal—only that she was relieved by it.

“I’m coming with you,” she announced, stepping into a pair of boots and zipping up the sides.

Brasa hesitated, and she could tell he was about to tell her ‘no.’ Staring at her, he changed his mind, nodding once and reaching for her hand. He led her out to the hidden garage, helped her into the SUV. As they drove, he periodically checked his phone. No new information ever popped up onto the screen. Lilah touched his arm, squeezing it in what she hoped was comfort. He looked at her sidelong, then took her hand, holding it the whole way.

When they arrived at the bar, it was chaos. People milled about, some of them injured. Lilah covered her mouth to hide the gag as the smell hit her nose. Burned flesh. Blood. Fear. It mixed together into something that she couldn’t describe with any other word than ‘horror’. She’d seen war documentaries with less gore. The room was both quiet and loud, the silence interspersed regularly with the moans of those who hurt.

Some of the victims were missing limbs, almost all were burned in some way, shape, or form. Lilah took the crowd in, took in the ones that were trying to help. Crates of blood bags were being hauled out to where Javier stood. He directed traffic, issuing orders with authority that might have surprised her in any other situation. Here, he was shining with leadership that he normally eschewed.

Blood was being applied as a poultice, dripped over wounds and into open mouths. Lilah struggled to contain her reaction, struggled to understand the medicine for what it was. She thought that maybe she’d gotten used to how her world had turned, but what she was looking at was at least three or four steps in the wrong direction.

Brasa guided her to Javier, the hand at the small of her back a reassurance that she definitely appreciated. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, and overwhelmed. There was a very real possibility that she might pass out. Swallowing down what threatened to rise, Lilah forced her spine to straighten, carried herself with strength she did not have.

“How many?” Brasa asked, pulling off his glasses and observing the room with a clinical eye.

Javier scratched at the skin above his brow, his other hand holding onto a silver cane that matched the silver of his belt buckle. He was dressed in a black suit, black shirt, black tie, black shoes. Lilah noted that he wore a silver pinky ring that glinted in the light. Even in utter disaster, Javier was dressed for the occasion.

“Seventy five,” he answered, “I’ve already sent the least injured to our barracks. We will provide them with food and rest. The others…”

He gestured to the crowd strewn across the bar. Some of them were lying on the floor, being tended to by staff. Some were propped up against the walls or laying on the tables. Still others were sitting at the bar. All of them look shell shocked, their gazes in the middle distance. Almost none were talking. Absolutely none were smiling.

As she looked at them, Lilah had never felt more helpless. This was so far out of her wheelhouse that she couldn’t quite get herself anchored.  She didn’t know what to do with her hands, didn’t know if she should say something or remain quiet.

“I’ve talked with a few of them,” Javier continued, “He almost did it.”

That stopped Lilah cold. All of the pain in the room had nearly resulted in much worse. The ‘almost’ of his success made her chest hurt with unrelenting anxiety. If he had succeeded, if he attempted to do it again, there would be dire consequences no matter the outcome.

Brasa hissed, his lips curling, “I knew he would try.”

Javier dipped his head congenially, “They tell me that there are possibly a dozen that were taken, that Benny sacrificed to the portal before it collapsed.”

Brasa nodded, saying nothing and eyeing the victims. Lilah wanted to ask questions. She wanted to know what it meant that he’d been able to make a sacrifice, that he’d been able to contact Xibalba. She also wanted to know if the near success had created a rift in the portal, something for Benny to dig his fingers into so that he could rip it wide open.

“He’s getting too close.”

“I know that,” Brasa seethed, “We’ll have to kill him.”

Javier’s lips thinned, “He’s gone to ground.”

“Then we will root him out.”

There was fire underneath Brasa’s words. His voice was low, angry, ruthless. Lilah couldn’t blame him.  For Brasa, the people in this room were under his protection. Benny had infringed upon his territory, had done what Brasa had expressly forbidden. It was understandable that he would want to retaliate in kind.

What surprised Lilah was the guilt hiding stealthily behind her shock. If she had advocated to Benny to be killed sooner, if she had let Brasa do what he’d originally planned to do down in those caves...if she hadn’t interfered, a lot of people might have avoided suffering. And yet, Lilah knew that she could not have lived with herself if she hadn’t given Benny the opportunity to do what was right. If she had signed on wholesale to their slaughter, she would have counted herself as no better than him.

“As you wish.”

Knowing that she would be more in that way than able to provide any help, Lilah let Brasa pull her into his public office. The quiet, when they closed the door behind them, was a heavy thing. Lilah hadn’t even realized how loud the bar proper actually was, with the groans of the injured sounding almost constantly. She blinked back angry, impotent tears, wanting to be strong. Or, she wanted the appearance of strength, if only for Brasa’s sake.

Brasa sat at his desk, elbows landing atop it. His head sank into the cradle of his hands, a long, slow breath pushed through his nose. Lilah leaned a hip on the corner nearest to him, one hand soothing over his shoulder. She could think of no words of comfort, nothing that could right the immeasurable wrong that had been committed.

“We need to close that portal,” he murmured, sniffing as he leaned back to slouch in his chair.

Lilah’s hand dropped to her lap, “We do.”

He looked lost, bereft. Lilah wanted to gather him into her arms and rock side to side, wanted to ruffle the curls of his hair, wanted to take the heavy weight from him. And yet, there was nothing that could bring his people back, nothing that could heal the deep wound Benny’s attempt had made.

She said that only thing she could, “We still need the knife.”

Brasa ticked his head to the side, “Yes, we do.”

Lilah grabbed on to the opportunity to do something, “Tell me where to find the knife. I’ll get it and bring it back here while you see to the injured.”

Brasa was already shaking his head, “I can’t risk you. Not now.”

She knew he’d say that, knew it like she knew no one could get at the knife as fast or as efficiently as she could. Lilah may not be a politician, or a diplomat, but she could steal with the best of them. He could run point here while she took care of business out there.

“Its not a risk,” Lilah lied, “Benny will be in hiding until he tries again. He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

One leg kicked out and pulled the rolling chair forward so that Brasa could take her hand, “I’ll send someone to get the knife.”

Lilah thought for a moment about relenting. And then she thought about the people outside, she thought about how useless she felt. She needed this. Not because someone else couldn’t do it, but because she needed to feel like she was contributing. That need rode her hard, pushing past whatever fear she might have for her own life.

“You’ll send me,” she enunciated clearly, “You know I can get in and get out with no problem. I’ll be back in forty eight hours, tops.”

The beginnings of a plan had already started to form in her mind. Her bags were already packed, a possible partner already selected. She could do this.

His eyes narrowed, “Its in Iceland.”

The plan pivoted a little, but the main points remained the same. A change in locale was no true barrier to getting it done.

“Seventy two hours, tops,” Lilah countered.

He said nothing, but she could see the gears turning in his head as he worked around the problem. Lilah might not be able to help the injured just outside their door, but this she could do. She could get him the last item he needed to stop any further attempts on the portal.

“You know I can do it. Just show me where it is.”

Brasa stood and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, “You will take my plane. You will take a weapon. You will tell me the plan before you leave.”

“I can do that.”

[brajeshupadhyay]

Thousands of us have picked up a surprise savings habit in lockdown, a Money Mail survey reveals today. The coronavirus crisis has inflicted job losses and pay cuts – and still threatens to kill off many struggling businesses. But despite the doom and gloom, many Mail readers have found they are saving hundreds of pounds thanks to lockdown, and becoming more financially secure as a result. Spending cuts: Despite the doom and gloom, many readers have found themselves saving hundreds of pounds thanks to lockdown and becoming more financially secure as a result  Large expenses such as holidays, commuting costs and entertainment have vanished following unprecedented social-distancing restrictions – giving households the chance to set aside money during an economically uncertain time. Exclusive research for Money Mail by Consumer Intelligence today suggests 16 per cent of people now feel financially better off. Almost half are spending less since social-distancing restrictions were introduced, with 38 per cent saving more. Nearly four in five families say they have more money to spend since lockdown, with a quarter having between £200 and £500 more in disposable income each month. The findings come as figures from the Bank of England yesterday showed the nation saved £16.2 billion in April. In the six months to February households saved an average of £5 billion every month. What is more, households cleared an astonishing £5 billion of credit-card debt, which was more than double the previous record of £2.4 billion paid off in March. In a standard month the nation would usually clear £300 million of credit-card debt. Becky O’Connor, personal finance specialist at insurer Royal London, says: ‘A financial divide has opened up during lockdown. ‘While some are really struggling on reduced incomes, there’s another group whose experience has been almost the exact opposite. ‘If you are in a position to do so, there might never be a better time to ‘build back better’ and save.’ Here, Money Mail meets some of the nation’s new ‘accidental savers’. At last, I’ve managed to build a little nest egg  By HENRY DEEDES  All my life I’ve been a spender rather than a saver. Whatever I’ve earned during my career, my bank account has always puffed and wheezed its way through to pay day. I’ve tried to be sensible. I’ve opened saving accounts, dabbled in Isas. I even bought Premium Bonds once. Much good it’s done me. You see, any disposable cash I’ve ever had has this annoying habit of winking at me through the computer glass, urging me to go out and enjoy it. Terrible, I know, but there’s something innately therapeutic about rewarding yourself after a busy week with a little something.  A case of wine, something new to hang in the flat. Perhaps another ill-advised addition to the summer wardrobe from a tempting online emporium. Invariably, no sooner have I clicked the purchase button and the boiler will suddenly crank to halt and there’ll be nothing in the cookie jar to pay for a repair. I never learn. Lockdown has changed all that. Like a lot of people, I imagine, being trapped inside an apartment for the best part of three months has brought about a vast reduction in expenses. No need now for expensive Travelcards, pricey gym memberships or all those overpriced cups of coffee every day. And that’s before you’ve taken into account what I used to spend going out to see friends.  Remember socialising? Drinks rounds, restaurant bills. I dread to think how much I used to splurge on late-night Uber journeys during normal times. But it was a lot. And so with all these weighty charges lifted from my balance sheet, I’ve started to experience a novelty. When I check my balance at the end of the month, there’s now actually something left in the kitty. In the past I’d have been tempted to do something extravagant. ‘Why not?’ would have been my attitude. But in these times of enforced isolation, that thinking has been replaced with what’s the point? Instead, I’ve been putting it in an online investment Isa with savings app Moneybox. I pay a set amount in each month, as well as any additional funds I might have left over.  It also has a nifty feature which rounds up all my debit card transactions to the nearest pound and automatically squirrels away the extra cash. H ow satisfying it has been, how oddly empowering. Each time I check to see how my savings are accruing I now get that same whoosh of excitement I used to get when an Amazon parcel would plonk through my letterbox. It would be nice to think that when this is all over, when the High Street tills begin to ring again and when the beer pumps start flowing, I will be able to maintain this spirit of restraint.  If nothing else, this pandemic has taught us how quickly life can go south. In bleak times it pays to be prudent. Doubtless this is the last thing Chancellor Rishi Sunak wants to hear. As we re-emerge from lockdown, he needs as many idiots like me as possible flashing their plastic around with reckless abandon to get our ravaged economy moving. But if this crisis does make some a little more financially responsible, surely that’s no bad thing in the long term.   I have cleared my credit card    Olivia McCulla, who works in PR, has saved by moving back in with her parents By moving back in with her parents, Olivia McCulla, who works in PR, has saved enough to pay off her £1,000 credit card debt. She still pays £775 a month in rent for her flat in North-West London but gets £100 back that would usually go on bills because she isn’t there. Her £120-a-month travel costs and £150-a-week work lunch habit have also disappeared while she works from her parents’ home near Leeds. She has also saved thousands after the two hen-dos and four weddings she was supposed to attend this summer were postponed. However, she now has eight weddings in the diary next year to budget for. Olivia, 29, who wants to buy a property in the next few years, has opened a new savings account. She says: ‘It feels more important than ever to have a rainy-day fund with things being so uncertain. ‘In London I was paying £9.50 for a gin and tonic and through the nose for a very small flat I dread going back to. ‘Lockdown has made me question if I even want to buy in London.’ Before the coronavirus crisis, Olivia was saving about £100 a month. Her father Bernard, 65, and his wife Susan, 66, have seen their household costs rise slightly since their daughter moved home but are also saving money each month.  They previously spent £100 eating out each week, so their bank balance is boosted by £400 a month. And instead of paying a tradesman £2,000 to replace his patio with a flower garden, Bernard did it himself and slashed the cost in half. Before social-distancing regulations were relaxed, Bernard was also saving £180 a month on his golf and walking-football memberships. He says: ‘We are very fortunate. Lockdown has made me think we should live more for today and enjoy our pensions more.’ I feel guilty I’m better off  Quids in: Ashleigh Meale is saving between £500 and £700 a month Ashleigh Meale says her ‘stripped-back life’ means she is now saving between £500 and £700 a month. This is despite her grocery bill doubling to £400 a month and signing up to a TV and film- streaming service costing £60 a year. Before lockdown, the 27-year-old recruitment consultant, who is currently working from home, was putting away between £250 and £500 but would spend hundreds of pounds a month socialising with friends at expensive bars and restaurants.  Now, she and her boyfriend Rob, 38, cook their meals from scratch at home. Ashleigh, who lives in Sheffield, is also saving £70 a month by working from home and not having to pay to commute by bus. She has also been unable to spend money on holidays since the Government warned against non-essential travel. Ashleigh admits that, while she is not a natural saver, she has now realised how much she spends unnecessarily and hopes to remain mindful about what expenses she reintroduces when restrictions are finally lifted. She says: ‘Feeling better off financially during this time is a strange position to be in and it does make me feel guilty when so many people are struggling. But it has given me time to re-evaluate things, and I have no intention of blowing what I’ve saved. ‘I don’t need to be out all the time spending money on eating out and drinks when I could be just as happy with a barbecue in someone’s garden. What I have missed the most is my friends — not the expensive socialising.’ Pay cut but £400-a-month saving  Sally Walsh is saving an extra £400 a month on top of £200 she was already setting aside in a help-to-buy Isa Sally Walsh was worried when she was told she would have to take a 10 per cent pay cut in March. But despite the shock announcement, the 24-year-old engineer has found her finances have improved during lockdown. She is now saving an extra £400 a month on top of £200 she was already setting aside in a help-to-buy Isa. Since working from home, Sally has saved around £200 a month by not having to commute to central London, and a further £200 by not eating or drinking out after work. The only bill to go up is her food cost now she cooks almost every meal at home. Sally, who has lived with her parents in Bromley, South-East London since graduating, is determined to continue saving even after lockdown lifts. She says: ‘My goal is to move out as soon as possible. I feel like I am closer to it now. ‘I don’t have to spend so much on going out. I hope I will soon be able to have people over and cook for them.’ Childcare cut by thousands  Claire Jarrett and her partner Jon Howell are saving £50 a day in train fares alone Claire Jarrett and her partner Jon Howell have saved enough since lockdown to pay for renovations on their home. The couple need to fix the roof on their house in West Malling, Kent, and want to make the garden more child-friendly for their one-year-old daughter, Eleanor, to play. Claire, 31, had only been back at work for two days after returning from maternity leave before staff were told they had to work from home. With Jon, also 31, working from home too, they are saving £50 a day in train fares alone by not having to commute to the insurance firm where they both work in Bromley, South-East London. They are also saving around £5 a day on lunches at work, £80 a month on petrol and £200 a month by not eating out. But their biggest saving has been on childcare. It usually costs ��800 a month to send Eleanor to nursery — but the couple have not had to pay since March. It has helped the couple to replenish their savings after Claire’s maternity leave and move their renovation plans a bit further forward. However Claire says their financial gain is likely to be short-lived. She says: ‘Lockdown has made us realise we do not need to go out as much but lots of the costs will be re-introduced when life goes back to normal, unfortunately.’ Not relying on investments  Retired Gerry Short is making savings by not playing golf, employing a cleaner or taking weekend theatre trips Retired Gerry Short has seen such a drop in his spending that he has decided to stop withdrawing income from his investments for the next couple of years. Gerry, 61, a former college principal, has two pensions that pay £20,000 a year. He gets a further £16,000 a year from investments.  After the pandemic hit the stock market, his investments plummeted. While they have recovered slightly, he wants to give them time to recover. His reduced outgoings mean he can do this as he is making savings on weekend theatre trips which can cost up to £100 a time.  He was refunded £60 of his golf-club membership. He also stopped spending £20 on drinks three or four times a week after games.  The father-of-one, who lives in Leicestershire, also no longer employs a cleaner, which cost £100 a month. He says: ‘I was aware I was spending a lot as a distraction after my wife died and knew it couldn’t continue. Lockdown has given me time to plan further in the future.’ Windfall from lost holiday  Dannielle Phillips has had to put expensive holiday plans on halt Dannielle Phillips, 32, spends most of her spare cash on trips away. But since lockdown kicked in, expensive holiday plans have ground to a halt. She has already got an £870 refund for a trip to Mexico that was supposed to take place in April. And she has received a £500 voucher she can use to re-book her holiday to Portugal in June for next year. Dannielle, a senior marketing consultant, had always put £250 a month into Premium Bonds, but has since increased this to £750 a month. Since lockdown began, she has saved around £2,500 in total, which she says would have been impossible for her before. She has always checked her banking apps frequently, but is definitely more aware of incoming and outgoing transactions now. Dannielle, who lives in Croydon, South London, says she also feels very lucky it worked out like this because she had originally handed in her notice in February and was planning to leave after finishing a project six weeks later. But the new job she had been offered fell through so her company agreed to rehire her. Dannielle says: ‘I am looking forward to lockdown ending but also dreading it because I will need to rebalance old habits. ‘I’m going to try to budget more at the weekends because I want to keep saving to buy a house. ‘Building up my savings has become more important to me because the future feels so uncertain.’ a.murray@dailymail.co.uk Some links in this article may be affiliate links. If you click on them we may earn a small commission. That helps us fund This Is Money, and keep it free to use. We do not write articles to promote products. We do not allow any commercial relationship to affect our editorial independence. The post UK’s accidental savers: Poll shows many are better off in lockdown  appeared first on Sansaar Times.

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/06/uks-accidental-savers-poll-shows-many.html

[mysteryoftheshockwave]

Call Of Duty: Zombies Storyline Part 3 (Mob Of The Dead - Shadows Of Evil)

MOB OF THE DEAD  -1922 - Salvatore "Sal" DeLuca opens gambling houses across Chicago. This marks the beginning of the DeLuca Crime Family.  -1923 - Billy Handsome joins the DeLuca Crime Family as a hit man. Sal will come to look at Billy as the son he never had.

 -1923 - An expert in gambling and rigging sporting events, Michael "Finn" O'Leary begins working for Sal.  -1924 - Finn marries Angelina Bow, an aspiring starlet with delusions of grandeur.  -1929 - Sal writes of his frustration with "Chicago's Finest". After many years of successful bribes with the City, it becomes clear that is no longer an option.  -1930 - Sal begins to work with Albert "Al" Arlington, an associate in Los Angeles known for being a master schemer and bank robber.  -1930 - Finn informs his lawyer he will not accept divorce from Angelina, saying "she can leave this marriage the day she leaves this Earth."  -1931 - After an LA heist for Sal goes wrong, Al wakes up in the hospital.  -1931 - While in the hospital, Al submits 'Icarus From Mars' for publication as a comic strip. It is his third attempt - it is denied, again.  -1931 - Angry and frustrated with his collapsing empire, Sal kills a prostitute. No longer willing to turn a blind eye, Chicago PD arrests him.  -1931 - In an operation against the DeLuca Crime Family, Billy is arrested for multiple homicides.  -1931 - In an operation against the DeLuca Crime Family, Finn is arrested by Chicago PD when his wife offers evidence against him.  -1932 - Al is arrested for his role in the LA Heist.  -1932 - Sal is found guilty of murder. He is sentenced to life in prison at Alcatraz.  -1932 - Billy is found guilty of 116 counts of murder. He is sentenced to life in prison at Alcatraz.  -1932 - Finn is found guilty of sixteen counts of gambling fraud. He will serve his sentence at Alcatraz.  -1932 - Sal and Billy arrive at Alcatraz Island.  -1932 - Finn arrives at Alcatraz Island.  -1932 - Al is found guilty of grand larceny, grand theft auto, arson, conspiracy and battery. He will serve his sentence at Alcatraz.  -1932 - Al arrives at Alcatraz Island.  -1933 - Stanley Ferguson begins working at Alcatraz Island.  -1933 - Al convinces Sal, Finn and Billy that they can build a plane and escape Alcatraz.  -1933 - Realizing the plane will never be completed and embittered with rage, Sal, Finn and Billy plot to get revenge on Al.  -1933 - Finn, Sal and Billy lure Al to the roof and kill him.  -1934 - Stepping through a rift, Richtofen secures the blood samples of Sal and Finn.  -1934 - Found guilty of Al's murder, Sal, Finn and Billy are executed by electric chair.  -[OUTSIDE TIME IN PURGATORY] MOB OF THE DEAD - Sal, Finn, Billy and Al battle waves of the undead as they find themselves trapped in a seemingly endless cycle.  -1940 - Richtofen arrives in Dimension 63, where he contacts members of the Illuminati and enlists their help to build a laboratory facility beneath Alcatraz.  -1940 - Richtofen meets with Stanley Ferguson and convinces him to assist with the Illuminati's construction of the Alcatraz laboratory.  -1941 - Stanley Ferguson reports that the laboratory has been completed, and that the subjects will be placed in the stasis chambers upon arrival.  -(last time I gotta type this ever again) 1941 - Richtofen returns to the lab under Alcatraz where he meets Victis, arriving from the Empty Earth with the Kronorium. Upon reading the Kronorium, Richtofen discovers numerous timelines documenting their fates and learns about the Blood Vials. He would later write on the page "I know now what I must do. - E.R. 4/7/41." Richtofen enters a rift to acquire the blood of Sal and Finn. After delivering the blood to his younger self and recovering the Blood Vials belonging to Victis, he returns. Victis is placed 'on ice', to be kept safe until they are needed next.  -1941 - Primis arrives to collect the Victis blood samples from Richtofen. Following Primis' departure, Richtofen learns the location of the Summoning Key and travels to his next destination.  -1942 - Stanley Ferguson leaves employment at Alcatraz.

SHADOWS OF EVIL  -1943 - Posing as Mr. Rapt, The Shadowman hires The Reporter to recover artifacts from the South Pacific and Russia.  -1943 - The Reporter recovers the artifacts from the South Pacific and Russia. Among them is the Summoning Key.  -1943 - As per Mr. Rapt's request, The Reporter speaks to Stanley Ferguson, a retired guard from Alcatraz. Stanley gives a detailed of the deaths of Al Arlington, Billy Handsome, Finn O'Leary and Sal DeLuca.  -1943 - At Mr. Rapt's request, The Reporter arrives in Morg City to take in its sights, sounds and smells.  -1944 - A meteor shower rains over Morg City.  -1944 - The Reporter notes stranges mold now growing all over the city. He also notes people are getting sick and acting delirious.  -1944 - A Fruit Vendor tells the Reporter about the Ancient Order of the Keepers, and how they're the only ones "holding back the forces of the apocalypse." He talks of people hearing "chanting... from beneath the city."  -1944 - The Reporter sends Mr. Rapt a telegram providing details and contact information for Nero, Jessica Rose, Floyd Campbell and Jack Vincent.  -1944 - Aware of The Shadowman's actions, Monty writes to The Reporter, warning him to not give the Summoning Key to anyone.  -1944 - Jessica Rose learns a photographer is in possession of compromising pictures of her.  -1944 - Pretending to be a Company Executive, The Shadowman tells Nero's Lawyer that Nero's wife has taken out substantial loans in his name. Nero has fifteen days to settle before the company seeks reparation. Facing multiple debts due to his wife's spending habits, Nero decides to kill his wife and use her life insurance to pay the debt.  -1944 - Masquerading as an Internal Affairs officer, The Shadowman tries to convince Jack Vincent's partner to admit that Jack is "on the take." Upon learning that Internal Affairs is snooping around, Jack plots to kill the snitch who could provide evidence against him.  -1944 - The Shadowman poses as a Film Director interested in hiring Jessica Rose for a leading role, He tells her producer the part is hers. Afraid that the photographer could jeopardize her chance at stardom, she asks him to meet her, so they can "sort stuff out."  -1944 - Posing as a Jounalist, The Shadowman suggests Floyd Campbell is a "journeyman fighter' to Floyd's Promotor. Wanting to garuntee his shot at the title, Floyd decides to wear brass knuckles under his gloves for his fight with Tony King.  -1944 - Nero misses a call from his Lawyer, informing him the documents were forges and there's nothing to worry about.  -1944 - Jack misses a call from his Partner, saying he has his back with Internal Affairs and has nothing to worry about.  -1944 - Floyd misses a call from his Promotor that the fight was a success and that he has a shot at the title.  -1944 - Jessica misses a call from her Producer. He says he didn't have a good feeling about the director and it didn't work out. However, he's scored her a lead in a musical he and his partner are financing.  -1944 - Jessica kills the photographer and secures the incriminating photographs.  -1944 - Jack kills the snitch who could turn him over to Internal Affairs.  -1944 - Floyd kills Tony King in the boxing match and cashes in on his winnings.  -1944 - Nero kills his wife in a 'work accident', cashing in her life insurance policy to square away the debts.  -1944 - Richtofen arrives in Morg City to secure the Summoning Key.  -1944 - Richtofen learns The Reporter has the Summoning Key and confronts him. The Reporter waves Monty's letter at Richtofen and orders him to stay away before attacking him. Richtofen kills The Reporter in self-defense.  -1944 - SHADOWS OF EVIL - Nero, Jack, Floyd and Jessica are knocked unconscious at the Black Lace burlesque club. They wake up in a twisted version of Morg City, shifted slightly from reality. Told they can atone for their sins by The Shadowman, all four are tricked into performing rituals. Jessica sacrifices her producer, Jack sacrifies his partner, Floyd sacrifies his promotor, and Nero sacrifices his lawyer. Completing the require rituals, the Apothicons are given access to Dimension 63. Realizing they've been duped, the four work with the Keepers to defeat The Shadowman. They trap him in the Summoning Key, but before they can hand it over ot the Keepers, Primis Richtofen arrives and steals the Key. Richtofen travels to Dimension 2210 to secure an innocent Richtofen Soul. He delivers the soul to the House. From within the Summoning Key, The Shadowman states, "I'll be seeing you..."  -1944 - The Apothicons destroy Dimension 63.

As of 9:16 PM on 7/28/19, this is all that has been put onto the Call Of Duty: Zombies Storyline (Official). However, the story doesn't end here. I will add the information for 'Blood Of The Dead', 'Classified', and 'Alpha Omega' onto the already existing storyline. That shouldn't take too long as I've already typed them all up, but I just wanted to get the main story out of the way. Thank you for all your patience and I hope you can wait for all the in-game storyline quotes. I have over 10,000 in-game quotes to sift through to determine if they are useful in terms of story. Alpha Omega is gonna take the longest, but will likely have the most, or will closely follow the other two Black Ops IIII maps. Anyway, that's all now, I'll stop rambling. Enjoy the finished Call Of Duty: Zombies Storyline. :)

[incorrectsanders]

Coming Home Part 2 (Mall Employee AU)

Part 2, Part 2, Part 2, Part 2

Here we have the fluffy ending

This fic is part of my Mall Employee AU Read about Logan and Virgil’s relationship here and Patton and Roman’s here. Read Part 1 of Coming Home here 

Relationship: Platonic Thomas/Virgil

Genre: Hurt/Comfort? Angst with a happy ending?

Summary: Virgil is a foster kid that feels alone in the world. Thomas is his boss who just wants to help him.

Warnings: Minor character death, nightmares, implied afterlife, implied communication with spirits, food mention

“Get up. Your social worker is here.” 

The harsh voice made Virgil shoot up in his bed and for once he wasn’t even upset about it. He was thankful, really. He’d been in a the middle of a particularly upsetting dream. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“D-Dad?” 

The man was blurry around the edges. He was hard to look at, everything was so bright around him. 

“Everything’s working itself out, my little Stormcloud. I’m sorry I had to leave you, but it was my time.”

“Daddy... no, come back. Please- I need you!”

Virgil could make out the smallest smile on his face. He kept trying to reach out, but his father was too far. He couldn’t touch him. 

“It’s all going to be fine. You trust him, okay? He’s going to take good care of you. I’m already so grateful for him, he’s going to do what I couldn’t.”

“What?” Virgil whimpered. None of this made any sense. All he knew was he wanted his dad back. 

“And don’t you ever forget that I love you more than anything in the world, my little Stormcloud.” 

He was getting harder to see now, further away. Virgil was getting more and more distressed. 

“Dad! Please, come back!” 

Virgil sighed, shaking his head and kneading his palms against his eyes. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream... 

“Virgil!”

“I’m coming!” He quickly through on a pair of jeans and a shirt before he was rushing down the stairs. Wait- why was his social worker here? That never happened, were they moving him again? Usually once he settled into a house they didn’t come unless it was time to take him to a new one. He had been here for a pretty long time though, maybe his foster parents were finally getting rid of him. God, he just hoped he’d stay close so he could keep his job. He made friends at the mall, he had friends for the first time ever. Even when he was a kid, he’d been too shy to make friends. But Patton, Logan, Roman And Remy were so nice... and he loved Thomas, Joan, and Tayln too. They were just so kind, he didn’t want to have to leave them... 

This was so unfair... anytime he started getting comfortable, he’d end up being torn away. This was the worst one yet. He was so happy with his job and his friends! God, he hated the foster system.

His social worker’s optimism was not helping right now.

“Virgil! Its so nice to see you, I have good news!” The woman chirped. He was never really sure if he appreciated her energy or not. On one hand, she was very loud. But on the other hand, she was extremely good at comforting him. 

“You do?” Virgil asked slowly. This could be anything, really.

“I think we’ve found you a forever family.” She said. Virgil couldn’t help but perk up a tiny bit. A forever family? But he was sixteen- no one wanted to adopt a sixteen year old. This had to be a joke, right?

“I... really?”

“Really! Well, it’s a single father who wants to adopt you. We have a meeting with him set up this afternoon. If you decide you like him, we should be able to have you with him in a few days. If you decide against it, then that’s completely fine. You have to consent to this too, don’t worry. But Virgil, I think you’re going to like this man very much.” She said. 

Virgil calmed down a little at that. The thought of a single father adopting him was scary- it sounded a little triggering because of how much he missed his own father. Plus, what if this guy lived far away? What if he didn’t let Virgil work? What if he decided Virgil wasn’t allowed to hang around his friends because they were almost all older than him? He supposed he could ask all these questions... but what if he was too anxious to? 

The car ride to the diner was even more nerve wracking. His social worker kept trying to distract him but it wasn’t working very well. He was too stressed. 

All that stress morphed into surprise the second that he walked into the diner and saw Thomas waiting there for him. The other had a sheepish smile on his face and was holding a gift bag. Virgil couldn’t even speak, he was too shocked.

“Hey, Vi... I hope you don’t mind that I kept this from you. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.” He said softly. Virgil glanced between the two of them, his mouth to the floor. His social worker had this knowing glint in her eyes and oh god- she’d known. This entire time. How long had this been in the works? Thomas hadn’t said anything...

“I... why would you do this?” He whispered. He didn’t trust anything else. He was too scared he would start crying. 

“You’re an amazing kid, Virgil. From the second I met you I knew you were meant to do amazing things. You were dealt a bad hand, and I think it’s time someone changes that. I want to see you succeed. I want to see you go to college and graduate and make something of yourself. If you’d let me, Virgil, I’d really like to adopt you.” Thomas was shifting back and forth now, like he did when he dealt with particularly forceful customers. He was nervous... 

So many things were running through his head. Did Thomas have enough money to support him? Would Virgil be a burden to him? Would Thomas be able to focus on his business and job if he was taking care of Virgil? This was a bad idea, this was such a bad idea.

You trust him, okay? He’s going to take good care of you.

Virgil glanced back up to Thomas. He was a good man. He’d already done so much for him... he bought him food all the time, he bought him clothes, school supplies, a laptop. He scheduled Virgil when it was best for the young boy and he always made sure someone gave Virgil a ride home so he didn’t have to walk through the bad neighborhoods. Hell, Thomas went through this whole process just to have a chance of adopting Virgil. If he looked at it like that, it was easy to trust Thomas and believe that Thomas was going to take good care of him. 

“Yeah... yeah, I want you to adopt me.” He said shakily. Thomas immediately grinned and opened his arms for Virgil. 

Virgil held on tight, cried through the entire lunch, and did not let go until it was time for him to leave. He was so overwhelmed... behind his Dad, Thomas was the best man he’d ever met. He cared for Virgil and he went through all this trouble just to be able to make sure Virgil was safe. And now, Virgil was his child. Legally, he was his child. They just had to wait a few days for it to be finalized. He’d have a home again. He wouldn’t have to hide in his room when he was home, there was no worrying about leaving valuables at in his room. He wouldn’t have to hide the fact that he had a job because if his foster parents would have found out, they would have made him ‘help with the household finances’. Thank god they had hardly noticed him.

When they finally had to go, Thomas held out the gift bag to Virgil. Virgil immediately started shaking his head, assuming this was going to be another extravagant gift, but Thomas only laughed and gently shook the bag. 

“It’s nothing big. This was mine, my mom kept it so I could give it to my first child.” He assured.

Virgil hesitantly took it, ignoring the way his brain was screaming about he called me his child, I’m his child, he gave me this he didn’t have to give me this, he didn’t even have to tell me about it, he could have given it to the child he actually has oh my god he really considers me his child and opening it. 

A quick gasp left him when he pulled out a soft Winnie The Pooh plushie. It was floppy and fairly old and clearly well loved. But, it was also well cared for, he could tell just by looking at it how much this must of meant to Thomas when he was younger. It made him think of his own plushie. He had one like this when he was growing up, a Winnie The Pooh one that his Dad always told him his mom bought him. His mom, who had died only a few years after he was born. He didn’t remember her outside of pictures. When he’d left Valerie and Dahlia’s house, it was the only thing he’d been able to take because he’d happened to be holding it. But at his first foster home he was too trusting, he didn’t know the rules yet and he left it on his bed in his room that was shared with four other boys. His Pooh ended up in shreds and he ended up with four boys surrounding him and laughing in his face as they threw the pieces at him and mocked him. 

Virgil rushed forward to throw his arms around Thomas again, burying his face in the  man’s chest. The Pooh was clutched safely to him because he refused to let this one get ruined too. 

“P-Please take him home with you! Please, please, just take him home!”

Thomas didn’t find out exactly why Virgil didn’t want to take the plushie with him until years later. But, he assumed Virgil didn’t want it to get stolen from one of the other foster kids in his home so he’d just agreed to it and promised that he would keep the Pooh bear safe until Virgil finally came home.

***

“I know its not much yet. I wanted you to pick everything out.” Thomas explained as they walked into the room. There was only a full sized bed, a simple black platform frame for it and a matching black nightstand, desk, and dresser. The room was bigger than any one Virgil had ever had. “We can go out tomorrow and get some stuff for your room. For now...” He grinned, pulling out his card. “I know theres some art you’ve been eying online. Don’t think I don’t see you during your breaks.” He teased. “Hundred dollar limit, m’kay?” 

“Thomas!” Virgil whined, and Thomas only grinned and waved him off.

“C’mon, I told you I never get to spend my money! Think of this as all the birthdays and christmases I missed.” He said, ruffling his hair. “Besides, I can tell you want to do it.”

A smile slowly spread across Virgil’s lips and Thomas was sure Patton was trying to possess him because he wanted to squeal so bad when Virgil started bouncing on his toes. “Can I really?!”

“Yes, yeah, go on!” Thomas laughed. He couldn’t even handle the amount of love that started filling him as Virgil plopped down on his new bed, pulled out his laptop and started searching the internet. He was so precious like this, it was the happiest Thomas had ever seen him.

***

They didn’t have the adoption party until two weeks later. It was the most ridiculous thing that Virgil had ever seen. He’d insisted on just some pizza and cake and their group coming. He specifically said that he wanted nothing big and extravagant.

So why was Thomas leading him into a large room with about ten different inflatable slides, obstacle courses, and games? Virgil looked helplessly up at the man, who actually looked just as shocked as he did.

“Don’t look at me, Remy asked to handle the party.”

“And you let him?!” Virgil shrieked, glancing over to where Remy was standing with Logan, his signature Starbucks cup in hand and a smirk on his lips.

“There’s no way in hell your only source of income is the jewelry store! What do you do for a living, Remy?!” Logan was shouting. Virgil was glad he was asking because god, they all wanted to know.

“I work in a jewelry store.”

“You’re lying! Do you have another job? Are you an heir? Do you deal drugs?!”

“No... but I can get you some if you want them.”

Virgil rushed up to the man, immediately hitting him in the arm and pouting up at him.

“Hey! What was that for?! Shouldn’t you be grateful for this amazing party?!”

“You know I only asked for pizza and cake!”

“Both of which are here!”

“REMY!”

“Hey- I have no children! I have no partner! I live in a studio apartment and I have nothing to spend my money on! This is what I do!”

“HOW MUCH DO YOU EVEN MAKE IN A YEAR?!” Logan cut in.

“MORE THAN YOU, NERD.”

Virgil watched the two bicker back and forth a little longer before he was dragged away by Patton and wrapped up in a hug.

“Hi ViVi! Oh gosh, I’m just so happy, kiddo! You’re home now!” Patton squealed. Virgil couldn’t help but smile back. He always had a hard time holding onto any kind of negative emotion when Patton was around.

“Thanks, Pat. I’m really happy too.” Virgil grinned.

“Virgil. There’s two people here I really want you to see.” He heard Thomas’s voice pick up behind him. He smiled, turning on his heel to ask him who they were, and then immediately froze.

“Hi, Mi hijito...” Valerie whispered. Virgil gasped out, rushing forward to hug both of them at the same time.

“H-How?!”

“Thomas is a good friend of ours, Stormcloud. We’ve known him since college.” Dahlia said softly, hugging him tight. Virgil’s eyes welled up with tears at the nickname. He hadn’t heard it in so long...

“Oh Dios mio, it’s been so long! Everything happened so fast, we tried everything to get you back!”

“You did?!” Virgil asked, and he was sobbing now. God, this was embarrassing- all his friends were looking. It didn’t really matter, though. He could make an exception because it had been almost four years since he’d seen Valerie and Dahlia. They were practically his big sisters. He’d missed them so much...

“We only ever wanted you safe.” Dahlia sniffled, pulling back and giving him a small smile. “We wanted you back with us so we could figure out how to make that happen.” She explained.

“We saved you some things. There’s a box of it all in my trunk, you can take it home with you. We just kept it because we were sure we would find you again one day, even if we had to wait until you were eighteen.” Valerie said. Virgil took note of how both girls were rubbing the tears from their eyes.

That night, Virgil would sit down with Thomas and go through the box. He’d find his old comfort blanket and a jacket that still smelled like his father and cry in Thomas’ arms for hours. They’d find some photo albums and go through them together, and then Thomas would display them proudly on his bookshelf.

For now? He was going to enjoy his party with his new family.

***

Thomas knew he could do it. 

Virgil looked so much better, and it had only been two months since he came home. He wasn’t so bony anymore, but he was still pretty small and skinny. He hung out with his friends regularly now, even brought them home. He was always so helpful, he’d do chores and he was even learning how to cook dinner. He was focusing on his schooling and asking for help when he needed it. And most important, he looked happier. That’s all that really mattered to Thomas. That was his goal when he started the entire adoption process. 

“We should get Joan or Patton over here to help us with this.” Thomas laughed, glancing down at Virgil. He’d taken on a bit of an edgy persona with dark clothes and ripped jeans and eyeshadow and eyeliner. He listened to music too loudly but Thomas let it all happen because it’s what made Virgil happy. 

“We can do it, it’s just cooking some shrimp, Dad.” Virgil said. Thomas froze. He didn’t even think that Virgil noticed what had come out of his mouth. But Thomas noticed- god, he noticed and he also noticed the way his chest was swelling with pride and his eyes were welling up with tears. “And... no, we definitely overcooked that.” The boy laughed, then turned around and frowned immediately. “What’s-“ and then he stopped, paled, and yeah, if Virgil hadn’t realized what he said before he knew now.

Thomas needed him to know it was okay though, so he rushed forward, wrapped him up in a hug and held him the tightest he could without hurting him. 

He was crying, but he didn’t even care. Virgil called him dad.

Virgil was terrified for many reasons. He didn’t know if he made Thomas angry, he didn’t know if he upset him and now he would end up being thrown back into the system- it was all too much to think about. 

But then Thomas was hugging him and he was relaxing into it and now there was only one thing he was worried about. 

Was he betraying his Dad by giving Thomas that title? It was all that was on his mind as Thomas sniffled into his hair and held him close. 

I’m already so grateful for him, he’s going to do what I couldn’t. 

A small smile crossed his lips as the pieces slowly fell in place and it finally all made sense. 

“I love you, Dad.” He whispered. 

He was talking to two different people at the same time.

[omnomsauruswrites]

The Mark

Pairing: Darcy x Bucky

Summary:  What happens when Darcy is sent undercover to seduce a mark?

Warning: UHHHHHH SMUT

“No.”

“Excuse me?!” the feminine voice countered, becoming higher. “When did your tin ass start making decisions for me?”

“There is no way you are seducing a mark!” Bucky exclaimed.

“It sounds like you are trying to dictate what I can and cannot do. As a man who was used as an assassin against his will, I’d think you’d let me have free will. Apparently not!” she argued, finger jabbing into his muscled chest.

His metal hand grasped the finger. “This isn’t about what you can or cannot do, doll. This is about your safety.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Steve had asked her to help him with getting information about a sex trafficking ring, which meant high society and a night out. It also, meant going in alone and having back-up down the street. Bucky had about killed Steve when he found out what he had proposed to the dark-haired woman. He knew she would say yes because Captain Righteous would use the word ‘need’ to con her.

Her baby blues held anger. “I’m doing this,” she grounded out, ripping her finger away from him. “You can’t stop me!”

“I’ll tie you up….” he threatened, as she walked away, flipping him.

“I can’t breathe,” she mumbled as stepped out of the limo.

“You’ll do great,” Steve’s voice came into her ear.

“Uh Huh,” she whispered, straightening and smoothing out her dress.

It was emerald green with off the shoulder sleeves and a deep V. Her gravity defying bra pushed her girls higher, so that any attendee could see her ample cleavage. Her right hand stayed at her waist in security. She could do this. She could talk to the mark, make it home safe and sound and show Bucky just how good she was at being bait.

The mansion was in the Hamptons, as large as the one Tony had, but grander somehow. She tried to calm her nerves, as she walked up the steps. The doors were open and she was greeted by a doorman who instructed her to the large ballroom. “I’m in,” she mentioned quietly.

“Ok, so we are looking for Erik Leigh,” Steve’s voice explained, again for the fifth time that night. “He’s tall, black hair, muscular. Looks like a lacrosse player.’

“I know, Cap. Going in.”

The ballroom was huge, like any photo of one she’d ever seen. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, red curtains on the windows. It looked straight out of a castle in Europe, “I get be a princess for one night,” she muttered to herself.

She grabbed a champagne flute, as she walked deeper into the room. Eyes began falling on her and she had to remember her story. For the night, she was Josephine Van Burton. She resided in Connecticut and was down for a meeting in the city. Her mother Garnet had instructed she make an appearance.

She made small talk with some of the guests, as the hours passed, discussing the fake job she’d been given as a marketer. A pair of green eyes had began to linger on her occasionally, and she gave a small smile to the mark. Play it coy, she had told herself. Let him come to you. So she accepted the occasional dance and conversation, as she worked her way into another drink, another laugh.

“Having fun?” a voice breathed into her ear.

She shuddered at the voice- low and husky. It was one she had gotten too used to after he began sneaking into her bed because she put his nightmares at ease. She didn’t turn. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I’m watching your back.”

“You’re not supposed to be. Only I’m supposed to be here!” She wanted to stomp her foot at his arrogance, at his refusal to follow Steve’s order. Instead, her eyes flitted across the room, trying to keep an eye on the mark. “Leave.”

“No. You got your way the other day. I’m getting my way now. Now stay within my sights.”

She growled softly before her eyes landed on Erik. His eyes were solely focused on them. She smiled, straightening her spine. “Bye tin man,” she said, walking away, putting extra sway in her hips.

When she was in a few feet of the mark, her smile widened. “I seem to have caught your eyes. I’m Josephine,” she greeted, outstretching her hand.

His larger one took it and brought it to his lips. “Pleasure, Josephine. You look like a movie star in that dress. I’m Erik.”

She batted her eyelashes and licked her lips, before replying, “That’s very kind of you to say. This is your party isn’t?”

“It is. A celebration of my company’s recent success,” he explained, holding onto her hand.  “We must celebrate when we can.”

She made no move to retract her hand, as she felt Bucky’s gaze on her  back. She didn’t acknowledge him. She let her sights hold onto Erik. “I apologize, but I don’t know what you do?”

“Import and exports of goods,” he replied, pulling her closer. His hand tugged on a curl. “You do look quite lovely. Join me for a drink.”

Bucky watched her hand fall on the mark’s chest, arms and hands. Part of him wanted to march right over to her and carry her out on his shoulder. He felt very protective over her and it had only grown in the past month, since she allowed him to share her bed with no sexual overtones. No she had created a pillow wall, so that she could stay on one side. She had explained it was necessary because she’d cuddle him hardcore without. But he wanted that, dammit, he wanted the cuddling and the spooning. Didn’t she see that?

Apparently not because here she was flirting with the mark with his blood boiling. She had just flipped her dark hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck. His sex dreams started with him kissing her there before worshipping her. He turned his head.

This was a horrible idea. He knew it had been. She was still pissed and had locked him out of her apartment for the past four days, since he had ordered her not to go. She obviously ignored him if she was here now. He grabbed his sixth champagne flute, downing it, before turning back to her. Only problem was she was gone.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Erik whispered from behind her, as they walked the rose garden.

“It is,” she agreed, as she felt his fingers graze her skin.

She hummed at the touch and it dipped to trace the dress. “Do you have family?” he asked.

“My mother is in Connecticut,” she answered.

“Your father?”

“Dead.”

“Will she miss you?” he asked, as she turned to face him.

“Miss me?” she repeated.

“Oh yes, dear, a pretty thing like you, will fetch me a whole lot of money,” he explained.

“I don’t understand,” she stuttered, eyes widening, realizing he lured women at these events. She was the export.

His hand went to her neck, squeezing. “I’m in the sex business, darling,” he casually mentioned like he sold stocks in the Finance District. “And it’s a pity…” his finger traced her front, dipping into her dress, “that i won’t get a taste of you.”

His other hand brought out a needle from his pants pocket and she threw a punch to his face, hitting his nose. He cried out in pain, dropping the needle. He grabbed her left arm, his hand becoming a vice around her wrist. “That’s not nice,” he hissed, blood running from his nose.

His right hand went up and slapped her face and this time she was the one crying out. He dragged her deeper into the garden. The needle forgotten on the ground. Her dress tore on bushes that had overgrown. She struggled, dragging her feet, but he’d just jerk her forward.

He got her in a darker area and his eyes had gone wild. “I’m not supposed to try the merchandise,” he explained, hand once again squeezing her throat tighter this time. “But I think for you Josephine, I’ll make an exception.”

He pushed her against the rose bush behind her, thorns digging into her back. She cried out, hoping that Steve knew she was in trouble. She threw a stiletto at one of his legs, pushing him off her, but his grip on her neck cause her to follow him to the ground. “Such a fighter,” he praised, hands going under her skirt.

Then nothing. She looked up and he had been ripped off of her by Bucky. “Didn’t your mother tell you never to touch a lady like that?” Bucky questioned with venom in his voice, brandishing a knife out of nowhere.

She stumbled to her feet, stepping forward and putting her arm on Bucky’s forearm. “Bucky,” she whispered gently, as a reminder that he wasn’t a killer. “Bucky, I’m fine.”

She tried to ease his worries.”You are not fine,” he hissed, knife still pointed at the mark.

She heard the heavy footsteps, knew Bucky heard them too. A few more seconds and Steve appeared. “I got it Bucky,” Steve instructed. “Take care of her.”

Bucky hid the knife again, grabbing her forearm. He tugged her away, back to the front where the limo was waiting.

The drive back had been tense. Bucky had clenched and unclenched his fists without saying a word. His darkened eyes also never looked at her.

Darcy had taken in her injuries, mainly minor ones, scraped palms and forearms, scratches from the thorns, probably a handprint on her throat. When they arrived back at the Tower, she moved towards the elevator. Bucky followed, body still tense. “I’m taking you to medical,” he ordered.

“I’m fine,” she replied, eyes looking at his posture. “I can take care of it.”

“You’re going to medical and that’s final.”

She sighed. She knew he’d hover the whole time. Watch her with angry eyes. She just wanted to go to her room and pass out. So instead of following his order, she pushed the button to her floor. “Darcy,” he growled out.

“I’m going home.”

“You’re going to medical.”

She didn’t retort, just crossed her arms. The doors opened to the medical floor and Bucky moved to exit. She did not. She stood stoically still. “I will throw you over my shoulder, if you don’t move,” he threatened.

She glared at him, but didn’t move from her spot. His foot blocked the doors from closing. The standoff lasted 30 seconds before he made good on his threat.

He walked close behind her, as they finally made it to her floor. She had refused to look at him while being examined. Some of the scratch marks had been deep and gauze was now taped to her back. Her hands were also bound from the scraps on her forearms and hands. “Goodnight,” she mumbled, as FRIDAY opened her door.

He followed her in, unwilling to leave her side. She sighed, “Bucky…”

“Let me help, please,” he pleaded. His eyes grazed every gauze, every bruise. He could have lost her. “Please.”

She didn’t respond, just moved deeper into her apartment. “Doll…”

She whipped around. “No!” she argued. “You don’t get to use your soft voice and your puppy dog eyes. You didn’t trust me. You didn’t trust Steve. You don’t get what you want.”

“I wanted you safe! I wanted you out of harm's way!” he replied, closing the distance. “This isn’t some macho man thing, doll! This is about your life!”

“I can take care of myself! I did it before you came along and I’ll do it after you leave!”

Hurt etched itself across his face at her words. He knew she could take care of herself. He had seen it time and time again, but in the past month he wanted to take care of her, his feelings for her had grown.

She closed her eyes after seeing his face. She was beyond tired and frustrated. She got it. He cared, she just couldn’t take his overprotectiveness. “Bucky…” she whispered. “Let’s just…”

A calloused thumb swiped at her cheekbone. Her eyes opened to see that he was now right in front of her. “Please…”

He was pleading for what he didn’t know. To take care of her? To love her? To kiss her.?

Her blue eyes sparkled in the dim light. His hand held her jaw and he watched her lick her lips. It was all the invitation he needed before his lips crashed against hers. The kiss was passionate and needy and full of longing. His hands were placed precariously on her waist, careful of the bandages. She whimpered as his tongue begged for entrance, her mouth opening.

It was minutes before they pulled apart, chests heaving. “Bedroom,” he panted, gently picking her up and walking the 50 feet to the bedroom.

He placed her down gently, fingers going to the zipper of her dress and pulling it down. It fell from her to a puddle on the floor. Bruises marred her skin were she had been manhandled and fell. Rage flitted across his eyes and the urge to find the mark and stab him boiled beneath the surface. “Bucky…” she called softly.

Her voice brought him back to the present, as he realized how little she was now wearing. Her fingers went to push off his navy suit jacket and then the buttons of his white collared shirt. “Darce..” he choked out, when her nimble fingers touched his skin.

His lips went to kiss her jaw and then her neck softly. He had to make sure she was here. When he had found her, he had thought he had been too late. Then he realized, the guy was trying to rape her and then he saw red.

He walked her carefully to the bed, as she gently laid down. His eyes drank her in, as she undid her bra. He unbuckled his belt then unzipped his pants. He palmed himself through his boxers. She groaned, her hands caressing her breasts. “Bucky... please…”

He lost his pants, crawling up her body before beginning to kiss every bruise and every cut. He was going to worship her. She arched against his ministrations. “More..” she begged.

He smiled against her skin, before his flesh hand moved gently over her clothed core. Her hands buried in his hair. He felt her wetness soak her panties before he moved down her body with his lips, taking off the last barrier.

He sat back on his haunches and stared at her. Her skin was flushed, hands grasping at the duvet. His hands spread her legs wider before bending over and his tongue swiped at her core. She bucked against his lips, as he thrusted his tongue inside her. He didn’t hold her down, just kept her legs spread.

She felt on fire from his touch. She never was this close to orgasming this quickly. But Bucky had her on this imaginary cliff and as she was about to let go, he pulled back, kissing her thighs. She cried out at the loss. He sucked a mark on her before licking her clit slowly. “Please… please… I need…”

“Need what?” he asked, his fingers playing with her lower lips. “What do you need, doll?”

She moaned, as the two fingers pushed inside of her. “You… need… you…”

He sucked her clit gently, as her fingers tangled in his hair. She tugged, trying to push him closer. His fingers speared her faster, pushing against her g-spot. He felt her legs begin to shake. He pulled his mouth away to watch her. “That’s it, doll,” he praised, eyes watching her face. “Cum for me. Cum all over my fingers.”

She arched her back, eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping the sheets. She screamed as she came, walls clutching his fingers. He didn’t stop moving his fingers, prolonging the shocks. “I can’t…” she choked out, her body trembling.

“You can,” he demanded. “You will and then I’ll bury my cock deep in you.”

His metal hand twisted a nipple and she cursed. The thumb of his flesh hand circled her hardened clit. He felt the flutter of another orgasm; he grinned. “Open your eyes, love, please.”

Her light blue eyes were now dark with lust and stared right at him. “Bucky…” she whimpered. “James…”

He groaned at the use of his first name. “You are so gorgeous. Be a good girl and cum again,” he instructed, his thumb making tighter circles. “Let me see that beautiful face in ecstasy.”

His praise set her off again and she clutched the sheets as she came. Her eyes never left his. He lined his cock at her entrance, removing his fingers and pushed inside her. She gasped, as her walls continued to flutter. “Mine,” he growled.

“Yours, all yours,” she agreed, never breaking eye contact. “Please… make me yours.”

He groaned at her request, moving her to sitting. He slid deeper into her, as they began to rock. He kissed the bruises of her neck. “I’ll protect you,” he promised against her skin. “No one will hurt you again.”

Her head fell back as he licked a nipple, his hands on her waist as they moved. The build up this time was slow. It was languid. It was memorizing and possessive. There were soft words and praises between them. Minutes went by as he felt the coil within him tighten. “Darce…” he whispered.

“I know, James. I know. Cum for me handsome.”

He moved his flesh hand between them so he could rub her clit, feeling her walls clench around him. “Not without you,” he argued, pulling back to see her hair matted to her forehead, eyes wild. “Love…”

Her lips sealed his, nails digging into his chest. She moved faster up and down, dragging him against her spot. She gasped against his lips. She did it again and again, before tipping her head back and screaming. Her walls tightened around his cock and he thrusted from beneath her, cumming moments later. He groaned her name and his forehead falling to her shoulder.

She moved slowly in his lips, letting them both feel the aftermath. He kissed her skin. “Darce..” he whispered.

Her fingers carded through his hair bringing him to look at her face. “I know, handsome. Me too.”

He smiled at her. She knew. His heart soared. He captured her lips in another searing kiss. This time full of passion and love. When he pulled away, “Never again, doll.”

She chuckled, fingers sweeping across his cheekbones. “Are you saying this is a one and done deal, tin man?” she joked.

He growled, “You know exactly, what I’m talking about, taser girl?”

She giggled, as his hand squeezed her hip. “No, next time we go undercover as a couple.”

@cchellacat @keldachick

[birth-fic-lover]

It’s not twins

Olivia was a loner but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to become a mother, she preferred living miles away from anyone and her partner didn’t mind since he was away most the year with work. Olivia and her love suited each other, they both were loners but they both wanted kids. She worked on from home on the computer, so she knew she wouldn’t have to worry about child care.

It didn't take long for their wishes to come true, they were both over the moon. Olivia missed having her own family around, though they were noisy she still loved them. Her many sisters were sad went she had made the decision to leave the big family, she often wondered growing up in such a big family was the reason she now wanted only a small number of people around her.  

During the second month of her pregnancy she was getting anxious for things to start to happen, then her stomach started churning. She dashed down the hall to the bathroom, where she threw herself over the toilet and was sick again and again. Stupid morning sickness, serves her right for wanting something to happen she thought unhappily.

A few weeks later Olivia felt rewarded by seeing her 10 week pregnant body. Standing sideways in front of the mirror she noticed the small pregnant belly and she could feel how firm it was. She wondered if it was normal to be showing this early though it was only a little, she knew it wasn’t obvious unless you looked for it.

Then at 16 weeks she noticed how puffy and tender her breasts were, she was amazed how much her body had changed and she was only 3 and a half months pregnant. She wished her partner was home to see this but he would be working away for next couple of months. She couldn't resist examining her pregnant body closer, she cupped hands over her tender swollen breasts and her nipples were hard. Each time her fingers brushed over them it felt so good.

A couple of weeks later when she hit the 4 months pregnant mark her condition was becoming more obvious, this was all proof that that a baby was growing inside her. So she didn’t mind that already she was struggling to fit in most her clothes and her once loose clothes were snug. But she was measuring larger then she was meant to, maybe she had been over eating or she had got the dates wrong.

A week or two later when she was doing the washing up she felt her first little flutter from deep inside her womb as my unborn baby moved for the first time. Dropping everything she took off the gloves and she moved her hands under her shirt to already round four months pregnant belly. “Well hello baby, I wondered what it was like having a baby move inside you. I wish your daddy was here too feel this."

Thinking about him she moved her hands higher and fondled her bare plump breasts under her top, she had given up with bras since no one would see her. Soon her nipples were hard and her four months pregnant body became more aroused as they were fondled by her slightly damp fingers.

She walked upstairs deciding to get out of her restricting clothes. As she caught herself in the bedroom mirror, she noticed she was definitely getting a belly. She just loved the way she looked when pregnant shape looked though her back was killing her. "Well baby, you’re a bit bigger than expected. But I don’t mind at all.” Olivia said rubbing her tummy. She had wanted this child for so long.

When she was five months pregnant, she picked up her man from the station glad her had finally came home. Though she noticed she had to push her seat back to accommodate the belly, it was unmistakable as it jutted out of her. When Roy got into the car his eyes looked like they were going to pop out his head. “how have you been?” he asked.

"Well there’s someone I want you to meet," she told him. Taking his hand, she moved it to where the baby was moving and kicking. "That's our baby" she said with a smile as he joined her in equally big smile.

"Wow! Are you sure there’s only one or maybe you’ve got your dates mixed? What do the doctors say?" her partner asked enjoying the feel of her stomach.

“Please don’t be mad, we do live so far away. To be honest I haven’t been going, I don’t like hospitals and women have been doing this for thousands of years” Olivia explains. 

Her partner left it he wanted to enjoy his time with her until he left again. She often couldn't help wondering if Roy ever looked at other girls when on business trips. He was always away more than he was at home, but he seemed so keen to become a father.

But when he was away she would enjoy her own body, her breasts were just starting to fill with milk, making them soft and nearly double their normal size, and they were so sensitive. She would spend the lonely nights enjoying her growing body, there was just something about her being pregnant. 

The night after Roy left to go back to work over seas she hand another of these sessions in her room. Her stomach was so firm and round and her hands were always drawn to her rounding pregnant tummy to feel the baby kick. It was such an amazing sensation. Moving her hands higher, she began to fondle her breasts and overly sensitive nipples. She had wrapped a robe around her naked gravid body, but at the rate she was growing it wasn’t going to fit for much longer.

At 6 months all Olivia could do a lot less around the house, she was starting too feel overdue already. Her baby was very active and very big, her breasts seemed to keep growing with her firm and smooth orb of a belly.

Recently the online supermarket stopped delivering since it was so far from the town. So once a week she would have to drive for an hour to get shopping, and it was getting tighter and tighter each time behind the steering wheel. Also each time took her a little longer than as she didn't want to do anything that would hurt the unborn baby. She hated going out in public as so many stared at her and her belly.

A month later Olivia was watching TV, her entire belly filled her lap. When she had clothes on she looked almost comical like she had just put a beach ball under her top it stood out so much. She then herd a knock on the door and when she answered it a not quite as pregnant women stood before her, Olivia invited her in.

“My name’s Carol, are you Olivia?” The women explained that the way the wife of Roy, that all this time he has been living 2 lives. That’s why neither of the women hardly saw him. Both of them cried and talked. “He always had a thing for wanting to spread his seed around the country, how far along are you?”

“I’m 33 weeks, what about you?” Olivia said feeling huge next to Carols tiny bump.

“I’m 20 weeks, i am really sorry to break the news to you. Especially because you got two babies on the way” Carol said.

“Oh no, it must be horrid finding out your husband’s had another women. Oh and I’m only carrying one, so we are totally even” Olivia explained. She was tired of people thinking it was twins, she couldn’t cope with two especially now she knew she would totally be on her own.

Olivia was lucky that she worked from home, though she was struggling now days to type with her bump in the way. She had sorted her finances so she could survive without money from the man who used her. She noticed that her belly seemed a lot lower than before, she was relived as the mystery of why everyone thought it was twins had been revealed obviously she was a month further along than first thought. She decided she must of got her maths wrong and she was just carrying larger because of that.

Squeezing behind the steering wheel of her car she did her weekly drive to the supermarket. She would hear people sometimes gossiping about her. "She's huge, she won’t admit it’s multiples" she heard one women whisper. "I heard she won’t even go get a check-up, she's going to have a shock if anything goes wrong" another woman added. 

The strong fast kicks from her unborn baby told her the baby was going to be born any day now, she was gave she had everything she needed at home. She payed for her shopping and wasn’t looking forward to her next trip next week. The journey back was long and uncomfortable for Olivia, she hoped the baby would come soon.

But the baby got bigger and stronger, and her breasts kept growing. Her nipples were always hard and leaking. She could feel the baby putting so much pressure on her hips, she was certain she was overdue. She was done with being pregnant, none of her clothes fit her.

One day when she awoke something felt different, she undressed and looked at herself in the mirror. If possible she was carrying the baby even lower as it had dropped into position to be born. She could only waddle around the house, and it seemed apart from a few robes she couldn’t really wear much either. She could feel the lack of space in her active belly.

One morning her plump breasts were so filled with milk that they actually were painful. Undoing the top buttons of her nightgown, she began fondling the nipple with her thumb until they were even firmer and taking them between her thumbs and forefingers milking her own breasts. The relief washes over her until she felt a twinge, she stops wondering if that a contraction. She waits and after an hour she knows enough have passed that she knows her baby will be born today.

The contractions were still mild and far apart so she washed her huge pregnant body for the last time. Her pregnant belly was huge and really low, unknown to her she was 38 weeks. She decided to put the nightgown back on for now, she slowly make her way downstairs. She didn’t want anyone, she wanted to do this one her own. Her labour kept progressing, with pains coming every 15 minutes and getting a little stronger. “Ooooohhhhh baby, I can tell you are going to be big being almost a month overdue”. She had decided that’s how overdue she must be, being this big.

She rode the contractions until she couldn’t take it any longer then waddled back up the stairs the contractions were coming every 10 minutes and make her double over and gasp for my breath. Suddenly there was intense pressure in her lower back and she gripped the table in the upstairs hall and moved her knees wide apart wanting to push as she groaned loudly. "Oh baby, not yet I need to do this slowly because you’re going to be big and I don’t want to damage myself".

But it all gets too much when her waters suddenly break and she can feel the baby enter the birth canal. She starts to crawl to her bedroom, “naaaggggggg baby pleeeeeese wait for me to get to the bed” she begs. But she knew her baby was going to be born right now, the contractions were different she felt the baby move and push though her lips as it crowns. She starts to pant and she sways her hips while on her hands and knees, she abandons the idea of going to her room she just wants the baby out.

She feels the head pop out of her, she then feels one shoulder leave then the other and the baby rushes out of her. Olivia looks at her son in wonder, "Wow, you’re so tiny, makes me wonder how this little guy made my belly so big.” She wobbly gets up and carries the baby to the bed and lays him down. She takes of the nightgown and then she lays next to her son, she get him to start feeding. 

She feels a strange sensation, but guesses it the afterbirth. She starts to do some experimental pushing, but the pain gets more and more intense as she feels something hard travelling down her birth canal. It feels like another baby but she refuses to believe it’s twins. She feels another long pain like a contraction that build up, shakily she feels down there and feels a head emerging. She can’t pretend anymore, she is having another baby.

On the next contraction she pushes with all she’s got, groaning then grunting then screaming as the baby's head pushed out in a gush. She gets the shoulders out with the next contraction and delivers the baby. Her baby now has a brother, looks like it was twins after all.

[dianhq]

hello, i’m eleanor, i’m from england and my pronouns are she/her !! this is my precious little child dian edelstein; she deserves the world but keeps getting screwed over by everyone. i’d love to plot with you all !! also, if you haven’t roleplayed with me before, this is constance zimmer, constance is precious and needs to be appreciated more !! please love her !!

[ constance zimmer, forty six, cisfemale, she/her ] ━ hey, I just saw [ dian arenson ] walking down the streets of crownsville. they’ve lived in town for [ two months ], and you can catch them around town working as an [ actress ]. I hear they’re known to be [ compassionate & genuine ] and [ impulsive & sensitive ]. if asked, they would say their aesthetic would be [ oversized jackets, cold cups of coffee & high heels]. ━ [ ooc: eleanor, 20, gmt, she/her] ▬▬

SUICIDE ATTEMPT TW, DEPRESSION TW, CHILD ABUSE TW.

dian was actually born in germany to a working class household barely holding themselves above the poverty line. she was named after her grandmother whose name was ‘diane’ but her mother wanted something different for her daughter so they both decided to drop the e.

everything that they worked for was for dian. when she was growing up, her parents started saving to make their daughter have the best start in life. they bought a television and were able to get their hands on some american tv shows on video for their daughter to learn. she was too young for her school to be teaching any english but they were determined to get her learning as quickly as possible. it was gruelling as she didn’t have much time for fun; her parents were more interested in her future than what she was feeling at that moment.

she had always been a charismatic child that loved to entertain and bring joy with her performances and that was when the penny dropped for her parents. her mother quickly started looking at agencies. this time was particularly tough because her parents were pressuring her and she didn’t see having another choice in the matter whilst her father put in so many extra hours so that they could all jet off to los angeles for an audition.

as she was only young, it didn’t take long for dian to be picked up by a tv show called “the generation house” that would run for eight seasons and it would be shot in new york city. dian was given the part of philippa ‘pippa’ williams, a main character. the money quickly came in and her parents were so proud of her. after their finances had sky-rocketed because of the girls’ success, they decided to settle in los angeles, buying a big house with some of their daughters earnings; they had worked hard and she would have been nowhere without them so it was all fair.

their was pressure on dian to keep providing for the family, they had another child and she couldn’t let her down. however, as they grew older, the responsibility was shifted on to her sister; she had it all, she was the intelligent one, she was able to attend school and she was the one that could be trusted. it was sad to thing that her first director was more of a father than her own.

it became clear to the girl throughout her teenage years that her mother and father loved her because they wanted the money and in rebellion, she tried to quit. however, her father and mother were very emotionally manipulative and decided that putting her down would be the best way forward as she always rose to the challenge. their daughter worked hard and was intelligent but there was always a lack of love from her parents as the need to impress them consumed her.

when she became eighteen, she finally got access to her money and cut her parents off completely. they have tried to contact her at various points in her life but she was never going to allow them to use her like that.

for around a year, she tried the whole rebellious child star thing but decided that it wasn’t for her; she loved her craft despite being forced into it and she wasn’t going to take that away from herself.

dian was eighteen and she was looking for something more substantial. however, the transition from child star to actress was very hard; no one could get past her previous roles, that were light-hearted and comedic. her only option was to go in to the independent film industry, to get down to the nitty-gritty, the meaningful and artistic films and some got recognition while some didn’t even make a final cut. it was deflating to be pushed in to the background after so much work in her early years. it worried her because she hadn’t had to time to get a proper education, she hadn’t gone to school and appeared to have made no actual friends; most of the cast members that she had worked with had gone their separate ways; most of the child actors were either in rehab or had quit as they decided that it wasn’t for them.

it took dian years to break back in to the blockbuster hits.

however, people did seem to walk all over her. because of her relationship with her parents, it encouraged dian to constantly overcompensate in relationships, both romantic and friendship and this never works out for her. she feels like she’s in the wrong constantly and needs to make up for everything.

dian is a serial monogamist; she’s been in relationships constantly since she was nineteen. think taylor swift but with a soul.

she is best known for her role in 2008′s ‘vices’ wherein she played harrison ford’s mistress; dian was nominated for an academy award but was beaten by kate winslet for the award. it wasn’t a secret that dian loved the limelight at times, it made her feel loved and the public seemed to adore her.  she deserved the recognition she got, some even said that winslet robbed dian that year.

the woman has three children and they all have different fathers.

she has won an acamdey award and been nominated three times; a talented queen !!

she has been married four times and they’ve always ended in disaster. dian doesn’t feel like she can ever be alone and as the media began to trash her and pick apart her decisions to keep on marrying these men, she felt like she needed it more.

dian tried to be around as much as she could for her children's’ childhood but her hectic schedule seemed to get in the way. she did spoil them slightly because she overcompensates in many ways. she’s also a doormat when it comes to her kids because every time she looks at them, she feels guilty that she missed so much in their lives.

when her fourth engagement came about to a screenwriter after just four months, tensions in her family rose instantly. her children were strongly advising against it but she didn’t want to listen and went along with it anyway. after she had chosen the guy over her children, the eldest two disowned her as they weren’t going to be there to help her pick up the pieces of another broken relationship. they were done counselling her over such matters and felt no obligation to make sure things were fine for her. although she was miserable from this situation and their attitude, dian pressured herself into the marriage as she saw it as her very last shot at true love. she had been impulsive and her own desperation had pushed her into a marriage with her eyes closed, something that she’d soon discover.

nine months into the marriage, dian caught her new husband cheating with one of her younger costars on set. she was absolutely devastated when he left her to be with the younger model; as she overcompensates a lot, she was even prepared to look past it and for them to start again but he rejected her and served her with divorce papers.

then she started engaging in reckless behaviour and even more of the public were taking a dislike to her; she was once america’s sweetheart and now she had been deduced to this desperate old woman that couldn’t keep a man in her life. her youngest child became worried for her but was easily influenced by the older two that told them to ignore it.

the media continued to slam her life choices and she didn’t feel like she had support from anyone. the day that her divorce was finalised, she tried to take her own life. it was an impulsive decision but everything seemed to be destroyed and it seemed like the only way out. her manager, assistant and children are the only ones who currently know; dian has just sort of vanished...

after that, she decided that she needed to take a break so all of her projects are either on hold or she’s been replaced by another actress. she bought a home in crownsville

 and has been living there with her youngest child who has assumed responsibility for her. dian feels incredibly guilty that they have to take care of her as well as the aftermath of her children feeling like they weren’t a good enough reason for her to stay.

dian is settling into crownsville but is being honest with herself and doesn’t know how long it’ll last. it creates a lot of distance between her and hollywood so it is her breathing space but knows that it can’t fix everything. she does need more professional help but is reluctant to take it as she sees herself as an inconvenience. she loves acting, or loved it but it leaked into her personal life and created this mess so she doesn’t know if she’ll ever go back into it again. it’s so soon after her ordeal that she hasn’t made much progress.

personality wise, she’s such a sweetheart and is kind to everyone but can also be extremely sensitive; if someone’s mean to her, chances are that her eyes are going to be welling up with tears. she wants to help everyone all the time but neglects herself quite a bit which isn’t what she should be doing at this difficult time in her life.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

FRIENDS: she needs people to talk to.

LISTENERS: those people who she’s friends with but end up acting like a therapist.

FANS: it would be cool if someone constantly fangirled over her.

HOOK UPS: sometimes the loneliness gets to her once more and she’s taken to sleeping with people too often now that she knows she can’t handle relationships. (she’s bisexual so come at me!)

ENEMIES: someone who thinks she’s just a self-entitled narcissistic has been actress would be interesting.

DRINKING BUDDIES: even though she’s supposed to stay away from the stuff, she does find herself in situations where she ends up going for a drink and can’t control herself.

LIFELINE: a really close friend that she can call in the middle of the night if she’s having any difficulty.

MENTEE: she would act as a motherly figure towards them and take them under her wing as she feels like a failure to her own children and just wants to get rid of that feeling of inadequacy.

[ittybittypbandj]

The Internship - Chapter 1

Trying my hand at a multi-chapter Bittyparse fic! 5 chapters, weekly updates. Also on ao3. <3

Summary:

Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start. This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.

Kent Parson loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career. He had friends, the world's greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.

He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.

Bitty frowned hard at the red bowtie. He twisted away from the mirror, tugging it off as he reached for the lavender one. Lordy, lavender was just as bad. How had all his favorite ties had become gauche overnight?

His mama had reassured him over Skype last night, "Don't worry, Dicky. You'll do great. You'll charm the socks off 'em. Before you know it, they'll be movin' you over to that food magazine you love so much." And he was gonna prove her right. He just needed to put in a little time, show them what he could do.

But how could he do it in a tie that screamed I don't know what I'm doing and by the way I’m bad with animals?

Okay fine, maybe it wasn't the tie's fault. If this were Jack’s first game of the season, Bitty would be reminding him to breathe right about now. He would be alright. He was Eric Richard Bittle. He could land a double Axel with his eyes closed and bake a flourless chocolate cake in Georgia in July. He could do this.

Bitty had moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago, eager to start his new internship in Manhattan. For the next three months he would be a Social Media Associate for Fancy Feline cat food. The job paid a stipend - not much, but enough to finance his matchbook-sized bedroom and name-brand butter - and there was a possibility at the end to extend his contract. It wasn't exactly his dream job, but what was a boy supposed to do? A year out of college, a degree in American Studies, and no experience? Employers weren't exactly banging down his door with offers.

A year ago, Bitty thought Jack was his future. At graduation, he had plans of moving in with Jack, finding a job in Providence, and settling down into their shared life.

After Bitty moved to Providence, he’d sent resume after resume to employers but couldn’t find a job. Jack was out of town frequently and Bitty didn’t have any local friends – Lardo and Shitty and Holster and Ransom were all in Boston, which was just far enough away to be logistically difficult – and he found himself more isolated than he expected.

Bitty also realized that he’d only experienced Jack’s intensity and anxiety through the rosy lens of infatuation. They both struggled with the shift in their living situation, lord knows it was as hard on Jack as it was on him. In April when Jack’s playoff run ended abruptly from a wrist injury and an eight-week recovery, Bitty’d been ready to poke out his own eye rather than face another day of both of them at home, dancing around the fact that this just wasn’t working.

And so, after they’d finally talked and cried and shared a joint session with Jack’s therapist, Bitty and Jack called it quits and Bitty tearfully phoned Lardo to break the news. He’d stayed on her and Shitty’s lumpy couch in Boston for two months while Shitty called in a family favor and helped him land this internship.

Even after everything, Bitty was feeling hopeful. All he needed was a few months' experience and a job on his resume more substantial than ‘running a baking vlog’. He took a deep breath and released it, checked his hair one last time, queued up Queen Bey on his headphones, and headed for the subway.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty’s first day at the office was a whirlwind of new faces and information. Meesha, Bitty’s fellow intern and apparently the person in charge, led him on a brisk tour through the office and he practically skip-jogged to keep up with her. While they walked, she peppered him with information about the department.

"You’ll coordinate the images and story for all the social media platforms, and you’ll directly manage the endorsement relationships." Meesha glanced over her shoulder to check that he was keeping up. "I do all the site and ad placement, and Tito runs the admin side. We're all a hot mess this week prepping for Kit, but don’t worry - we'll get you settled in just fine."

"Kit?" Bitty asked.

"Oh yeah, Kit Purrson. She's launching as the face of Fancy Feline in, like, three weeks. Totes adorbs and has a crazy-ass following. We've got, like, a zillion things to do to get ready. I'm sure you'll jump right in. You've used Visio, right?"

By lunch, Bitty’s head was swirling with acronyms and spreadsheets. It felt a little like in figure skating when he’d come out of a scratch spin too fast - the world was wobbly and the colors were spinning, but he was confident it would right itself if he grinned and skated through it.

"Heeeey, how's our new boy doin'?" someone yelled as they passed his and Meesha’s cubicle. Bitty spied styled black hair over the cubicle wall.

"Hey Tito!” Meesha called back. “He's great!"

Tito appeared from around the corner, eight coffees in two to-go containers balanced masterfully on one arm. He read the lids and carefully passed one to Meesha. "You guys ready for our guest today? I’m totally having him sign something.”

Meesha rolled her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant coffee. “You are seriously the lamest. Sports are a consumerist construct and the guy is basically, like, Kit’s chaperone. She’s the real star.”

Tito laughed and offered a cup to Bitty, “Hey Eric, I wasn’t sure what to get you. How’s a vanilla sugar oat milk latte? It’s the special across the street.”

Bitty grinned. “Thanks, hon!” His first day was turning out pretty great.

Meesha steered Bitty into a large conference room. Tito ran to his desk for a hat and marker before joining the people assembling around the conference table. Lordy, he hadn’t been lying about an autograph. Who was this guy?

A dozen folks chatted quietly around the table. Their guest was apparently running late, and Meesha took the opportunity to fill Bitty in on launch plans. As she was explaining the finer points of multi-platform synchronization, Bitty heard a man’s laughter down the hall. His ears perked up. Did he know that voice? Surely it couldn’t be –

Bitty’s head jerked up as an effortlessly well-dressed man in a royal blue snapback stepped into the room. Their eyes locked.

Oh lord. Kent Parson.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent scowled at Kit, his chin resting on his hands on the cold hardwood.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got to eat it.”

Kit sniffed the dish daintily, nonplussed.

“I know, princess,” he wheedled, “but daddy’s going to make you the most famous li’l furbaby on the internet. You’ll pass grumpy cat like he forgot how to frown. All you have to do is eat the gross food.”

Kit mrowled in disapproval and Kent rearranged his awkward limbs. So this is what his adulthood had come to, he mused. Two condos, three sports cars, a slew of hockey awards, and apparently a cat too picky to eat the goddamn food she was paid a shitload of money to represent.

Tonight’s standoff had lasted an hour, and Kent would be damned if he let Kit win again.

He scratched his nose. He probably should be doing the prep work the Fancy Feline team needed before Kit’s photo shoot. At the meeting today, they’d given him a to-do list that rivaled his off-season training goals. He was supposed to check with Eric Bittle if he had any questions.

Speaking of which, why had Eric Blast-from-the-Past Bittle even been there today? Kent would have appreciated a goddamn heads-up, that’s for sure.

Eric looked good, he thought. A little taller and sharper than he remembered. His hair game was on point. Kent had only seen him a couple times in the four years since the Samwell party where they first met, and of course Eric had grown up, but seriously – he was hot now.

But why the hell was he in New York City? And was this related to the charming, old-man text messages Jack had started to send Kent out of the blue a month ago?

Kent debated texting Jack to ask, but it was a horrible idea. Either Jack and Eric were still together and Jack would send awkward Canadian nonsense about how great Eric was, or they weren’t together and Jack would get pissed and shut Kent out of his life again.

Kent sighed and climbed to his feet, heading to the refrigerator for Kit’s specialty wet food and a glass of white wine to wash down the bitter taste of defeat. He would fight the cat food battle another day. As Kit scarfed down hand-seared filet mignon, Kent sipped his wine and fiddled with his phone.

Kent: hey dude what’s up? I saw your boy today.

Jack: Hey Kent.

Jack: What?

Well shitballs, this was already turning out to be a terrible idea. No turning back now, Kent reasoned.

Kent: Eric was at a business meeting today. all suited up and shit.

Kent: what’s he doing in NYC? u guys ok?

Jack: Oh.

Jack: We broke up in April.

Kent: shit Zimms, that really blows. he seemed like a cool guy

Jack: Yeah.

Kent: sometimes it just doesn’t work out, y’know? i’m sure you’ll find somebody great

Jack: How was the meeting?

Kent: oh

Kent: it was good. boring as watching ice melt but productive I guess

Kent: eric looks good, I mean not in a weird creepy way but he looks like he’s doing ok?

[Jack is typing…]

[Last message received 8:54pm]

Kent: hey, did you see the new netflix show where ordinary people recreate fancy cakes and that crazy lady yells at everybody?

Kent: it’s the tits

Jack: No, but I’ll check it out.

Kent: dooo iiit

Jack: What’s the name?

Kent: fuck if I know. it’s the one with the previews of nasty looking cakes and ppl getting screamed at. you can’t miss it. it’s a goddamn gem.

Jack: Sounds like it.

Jack: And, thanks Parse. I’m glad he’s doing OK.

Kent: no problem man

Kent: any time

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty paced all eight feet of his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.

He was supposed to be starting a new life! In a city of eight million people, how had he stumbled upon the one person connected to his life with Jack? And how was he supposed to be professional and work with said person, when everyone (well, maybe just Bitty) knew that he was secretly a manipulative asshole?

Good gracious, he might be freaking out just a little. He needed reassurance. Who could he talk to that knew the situation and would be supportive and not weird?

Bitty: LARDOOOOO

Lardo: BITTTYYYY

Lardo: Why the yelling, Bits?

Bitty: I am coordinating a photo shoot at Kent Parson’s house next week. KENT PARSON’S HOUSE

Lardo: That’s sick bro.

Lardo: They’re giving you a lot of responsibility right away. Nice.

Bitty: -_-;

Bitty: I think you’re missing the point

Bitty: KENT PARSON KENT PARSON KENT PARSON

Lardo: Lol Bitty cool your jets. He’s been pretty chill lately, hasn’t he?

Bitty: If you mean ‘not making my boyfriend have any more panic attacks’, then yes he’s been chill

Bitty: But I’d say that’s a VERY low bar to hurdle

Lardo: Have you met him yet? How was it?

Lardo: Does he know you and Jack broke up?

Bitty: I’m pretty sure he didn’t know who I WAS

Bitty: Period.

Lardo: No way, dude. You’ve meet him multiple times, right?

Bitty: twice, 3 times if you count the disaster at the Haus

Lardo: He totally remembers you, dude. You’re unforgettable.

Lardo: You’re like a delightful minor superhero.

Lardo: You’re Antman.

Bitty: Ugggghhh this is the worst

Bitty: and Antman, seriously? We are SO gonna talk about that later

Lardo: Bitty, bro of my heart, it’s truth time. You sitting down?

Bitty: *sits*

Lardo: Good.

Lardo: Here’s the thing. Kent Parson is just a dude. A dude with some fucked-up history respective to one JLZ, but still just a dude.

Bitty: I know, but…

Lardo: Hush, Padawan.

Bitty: -_- *hushes*

Lardo: He’s probs not an evil person. You’ve only ever seen him in relation to J, and they went thru some messed up shit as kids. When he’s not dealing with that, he’s probably a boring-ass adult with a job and a cat. You can’t judge him forever based on the 3 times you’ve met.

Lardo: Was he awful the other times?

Bitty: Well no, mostly just at Epikegster

Bitty: But he was Really Bad that time

Lardo: I get it Bits, but if that’s his only awful moment, then the dude already has like a 67% not-awful rate.

Bitty: So you’re saying I’m all worked up over nothin?

Lardo: Maybe? Give him a chance.

Lardo: You don’t have to be BFFs. Just be professional and friendly until he gives you a reason not to be. If it turns out he’s a dickhead, you have my blessing to fuck up his shit.

Bitty: Thanks Lards. Mind if I snap you outfit choices later?

Lardo: Do it. Matching polish?

Bitty: Yes’m but toes only. I miss your help with fingers. It gets all smudgy when I do it

Lardo: I miss you, bro.

Bitty: You too :-*

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent pressed the center button on his phone again…8:51am. This was officially the longest morning in the history of time.

So far he’d gone for a run, made a smoothie, showered, arranged the throw pillows, hidden the dopey photo of him and his sis at Disneyland, brushed Kit. Now he was sitting on the couch, running shoes bouncing on the marble coffee table as he waited for the Fancy Feline team to arrive. Maybe he should make coffee? He hopped up, re-fluffed the pillows, and headed to the kitchen.

The crew arrived promptly at nine, accepting the hot mugs of coffee Kent passed around. Eric shook his hand and started up a pleasant and professional stream of small talk as the photographer set up tripods and the assistant unfolded white umbrellas.

Unfortunately, Kit decided this was her party and she could hide if she wanted to. She spent the first hour perched on the bookcase, refusing to budge for treats or catnip.

Kent couldn’t blame her. Usually it was just her and him in the apartment, and even when he had people over, she generally ignored them and slept in the bedroom on the Monsieur Taco pillow he won her at Coney Island. Having a half-dozen strangers in her space, hovering over her with cameras and lights? He’d probably peace out too, if he were her.

After thirty minutes and no success, Kent relinquished the catnip to the assistant and excused himself to start a fresh pot of coffee. From the kitchen counter, he found himself watching Eric.

Eric was frowning as the drama unfolded, his lean torso hunched in concentration. His right foot tapped impatiently on the rug. It wasn’t Eric’s job to get Kit to participate. Eric had explained this to Kent while they were setting up, that his role today was to make sure they got all the shots they needed for the campaign.

As Kent watched him now, Eric nodded to himself like he’d made a decision and marched over to the bookcase. He began talking animatedly with the photographer and gesturing rapidly, taking charge of the situation like a tiny major general. Kent was impressed. Hell, even Kit watched him with interest.

Kent felt a little like a jerk – he’d always thought Eric was childish and annoying, based on their past brief interactions and Eric’s animated Twitter feed (not that he’d internet stalked him, pssh). But maybe Kent had it wrong. This version of Eric seemed full-to-bursting with charisma and natural leadership. Hell, even Queen Kit respected it.

As Eric directed the strategy to coax Kit off her perch and over to the windowsill, Kent couldn’t help but stare. Eric glowed warm and golden, like Southern sunlight was radiating from his pores. He looked good in control.

Kent’s stomach did a pleasant swoop as he thought about Eric taking control in other ways. Or what it would take to convince Eric to give up that control, to go soft and pliant and let Kent – or someone, whatever – do the controlling.

His chest tingled warmly. This probably wasn’t the best train of thought for a professional gathering; nothing like sporting a quarter chub at ten a.m. with people here to photograph your cat. He sighed, rearranged his junk, and headed back into the living room with the coffee pot.

The rest of the shoot ran smoothly. Kit, once she felt comfortable, totally hammed it up for the camera. Eric took behind-the-scenes videos and sent the best ones to Kent. They all shared high-fives when a video Kent tweeted of himself ineptly juggling cat toys got retweeted by George Takei. In celebration of their good social media fortune, Kent poured everyone mimosas.

Before Kent knew it, it was late afternoon and the photographer’s assistant started to disassemble the equipment. Eric herded everyone to the sofa where he handed out packets of instructions and debriefed them on next steps, and then the crew shook hands and headed out one by one.

As Kent shut the door after the last person, he wandered into the kitchen to find Eric still in the apartment, loading the dishwasher.

“Dude, you really don’t need to do that. I can do it after you go.”

“Kent Parson,” Eric scolded, “my mama would never forgive me if I left a host with a mess to clean up. It’s nothin’, really.”

“Thanks, man,” Kent replied. It was cool of Eric to offer and, if Kent was being honest, he probably would have left it a mess until his housecleaner came tomorrow. He started to consolidate cardboard containers of Chinese food.

They worked in silence in the spacious kitchen, making quick work of the cleanup. Kent caught Eric humming to himself. He recognized the tune – All For You by Janet Jackson – and sang along to Eric’s humming.

Eric let out a surprised huff, his cheeks pink. “Oh lordy! Was I singing that out loud?”

Kent just laughed and pulled out his phone, and one of his favorite pop mixes began playing from hidden speakers. Eric bopped his head to Janelle Monae as he dried the glasses. Kent lip-synced into a bottle of soy sauce like it was a microphone.

As Kent reached around Eric’s shoulder to place the wine glasses on a high shelf, their eyes met and Kent winked. He’d enjoyed a few mimosas and Eric was cute, so sue him. He just thought it’d be fun to make Eric blush, and his efforts were thoroughly rewarded. Eric’s blush spread from his face down his neck, reddening the soft skin at the base of his throat.

Kent felt the warm tingly feelings in his chest again. Shit, Eric was cute.

Abruptly, Eric turned and said, “I really should get going. We’ve got the kitchen under control and I need to upload these videos before tomorrow.”

Kent felt oddly deflated, although of course Eric was going to leave when they finished cleaning. He should probably apologize in case his wink had made Eric uncomfortable. Kent spent his days around gross hockey players, maybe he’d just committed some corporate sexual harassment shit and he didn’t even know it. Kent fished around for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a creeper.

He smiled and tried, “Kit really enjoyed having you here today. You’re good with cats.”

“Ha, thanks.” Bitty twisted the dishtowel in his hands. “I’m not really a cat person, but Kit’s great. Y’all’ve got a really special bond.”

“Maybe you could come over and get some more candid shots sometime?” Kent made a face. For Christ’s sake, he sounded ridiculous. “I mean, the ones today were really good.”

Eric’s face did something complicated. Kent watched him bite his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Eric replied finally, “but no. I should go.”

“Oh,” Kent exhaled, “Yeah, of course. Sure thing, man.”

Kent helped Eric retrieve his things and walked him to the entryway. As Kent shut the door behind him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

[badonk-writing-vault]

Dysfunction-saturated Conflicts

Waking with a crick in his neck was not ideal. The realization that he only had one was because Randall’s arm was hooked around it, made it a bit more bearable. He hadn’t realized he was a snuggler, and that knowledge was enough to push back any irritation over being sore. However, he did sit up enough to extract Randall’s limb from beneath so he could rub out the knot before it caused a headache. Randall stirred briefly before settling once more and Dalton felt himself smile. He couldn’t remember ever waking up before Randall, and knowing now that he’d been missing out on clingy arms and fantastic bed head was enough to make him chuckle quietly. 

He didn’t know how long he watched him sleep, but it was long enough to realize he’d never seen Randall looking so sweet and at peace. He’d never noticed the constant tension in his face until he could see that his brows naturally curved higher, while his mouth settled into a pout. Dalton wondered how much effort it took him, keeping his face so serene and neutral in public all the time, or if it just came naturally at that point. Randall wouldn’t tell him either way if he were to ask, so Dalton just worked on committing the natural curves of his sleeping face to memory instead.

When he finally looked away to pull his phone out he groaned quietly at the time displayed there. He’d been hoping to spend a bit more time with Randall after waking up, perhaps to discuss what had happened last night, but there would be no way he could do that now and make it to work on time. He still needed to shower and run to his place to get a change of clothes.

Carefully, he removed himself from bed, offering a discarded pillow to Randall’s searching hands when he stirred again. The sight of him latching onto the thing and pulling it tight to his chest had Dalton biting his lip to keep from laughing. Why couldn’t Randall be so endearing when he was awake? 

He didn’t know, but he stole a picture before putting his phone away and heading out of the room. The office would be expecting him within two hours, and he figured if he left right then, he would have plenty of time to shower, eat, read up on a couple of budget outlines and faculty reports, and get to work with fifteen minutes to spare, but he still paused when he reached the living room. 

He could do all of that, it was true, but he couldn’t ignore the small part of him that was still half-asleep next to Randall. The part that told him he couldn’t just leave without at least waking him to ask if he was feeling alright. But doing something like that wasn’t something he’d ever done before, and it certainly didn’t match their routine… and he’d already disturbed the routine enough as it was with last night’s stunt. Not that Randall had seemed to mind, but the point stood nonetheless.

But still, leaving him without doing something felt wrong. 

Which was how he found himself in the kitchen, scrambling eggs and spreading jam over toast, making mental notes on what to bring over for food the next time he planned to stay the night-- seriously, did those two ever eat? He knew they both had hangups with food, but sometimes he wondered... 

The rattling of the front door being opened and closed had him nearly dropping the spatula which was currently being used to put eggs onto a plate for Randall and Dalton cursed. He went to call out and ask who was there but didn’t get far before Hyacinth’s voice echoed throughout the house.

               “Yo Raze, I’m home! Wake up, I got you some… eats…”

Dalton waved his free hand at her as she trailed off and met his gaze across the room. He could see the full range of fear, confusion, and then annoyance flit across her face and he offered her a short, “hey,” before her hand tightened around the bag hanging from it. She dropped said bag unceremoniously on the counter with a huff. From what he could read off the wrinkled plastic, the food she’d brought was from the cafe a block from their building that served mostly pastries at that time of the day. He knew Randall liked sweet things, but he also knew after listening to his complaining, that Hyacinth didn’t often get him any.

               “What are you doing here?”

She sounded about as accusatory as he expected and Dalton shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to get into a pissing match with the woman so early in the morning, nor did he want to risk waking Randall with bickering.

               “Making breakfast.”

               “... Why do you look like you just rolled out of bed?”

               “Because I did?”

He was certain his bewilderment over that line of questioning was evident in his tone, but Hyacinth was not quick to provide explanation. Instead her expression shifted. He wasn’t sure what the raised brows and thinned lips were supposed to mean, but given her overall demeanor, it wasn’t good.

               “I see. Well. If you’ll excuse me.”

She walked down the hall before he could think to ask where she was going, and when it dawned on him that she was going to wake Randall, it was too late to stop her. That didn’t mean he didn’t try, though. Ten steps out of the kitchen later, Randall was rubbing sleep out of his eyes and nearly walking right into him, a twitchy-eyed Hyacinth on his tail.

               “Oh,” he blinked and looked up, trademark crooked smile on his face, “Hey, Dalton. You’re still here?”

               “I uh, made breakfast?” 

Dalton pointed towards the kitchen and Randall’s eyes lit up. His presence seemed entirely forgotten when he pushed past him to get to the food. 

               “Yeah,” Hyacinth piped up, “I brought you breakfast, too. Y’know, cuz I thought you’d be hungry. If I’d known he was gonna be around, I wouldn’t’ve bothered, but.”

There was a bite behind her words that hadn’t been there a moment ago and Dalton got the distinct feeling that he was missing something. However, if he was, Randall didn’t seem keen on sharing, because he only shot Hyacinth another grin and shoved some egg into his mouth. 

               “Yeah, not something I planned for.”

There was something off about his tone, too-- an added lilt to his voice that Dalton had come to note meant he was holding off on snarky, psychologically scarring comments. He’d never heard that kind of tone being directed at Hyacinth, though, and suddenly he got the impression that he had perhaps overstayed his welcome. Perhaps he should have opted to go home and eat there instead of getting stuck in the middle of… whatever all of this was.

               “I was heading out, if that’s what you were referring to.”

Hyacinth shot him a look that left him thinking he shouldn’t have spoken at all. He shrugged it off while absentmindedly accepting the piece of toast that Randall had decided to shove into his peripheral vision. It was a silent hint to make good on that plan and leave and Dalton took it.

On his way downstairs, he cursed Hyacinth’s ill-timed arrival. Even if he hadn’t planned on getting into a long conversation with Randall about the change in status quo, and if they planned on letting it remain or pretend it never happened and continue as they had been, he still had wanted to touch on the subject. There wouldn’t be a chance to do that for some time now, either, given the fact that they both had a lot on their plates, with him balancing the firm’s finances and staff and Randall trying to find the missing Vern. 

Still, he hazard sending a text.

To: Associate 🔪

We should get dinner when things calm down. Lobster? On me. Obviously. 

Sent 7:42am

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

The week had been busy for so many reasons, all of them manageable, but what made it near impossible to relax had to be Hymn. Ever since she’d seen Dalton at home, she’d been giving him the cold shoulder. Refusing to eat with him, only giving him curt responses in text and person, not doing his laundry or offering to drive him places-- and he didn’t even know why. 

He knew she and Dalton didn’t quite get along, but his mere presence shouldn’t have been that big a deal. He could understand her initial upset over his being there for the whole anniversary thing, but it had been four days. He figured she’d have gotten over it by then.

But when noon rolled around and she still didn’t speak more than necessary, he decided it might just be best to stop talking to her, too. Everything he said in regards to what he’d been up to with the case seemed to agitate her, so giving her time to herself to unwind or… whatever it was she needed to do, would be for the best.

So when Dalton texted him that he was finally free to do the dinner he’d mentioned some days earlier, Randall texted a confirmation with glee. At least one person wanted to be around and talk with him. 

He didn’t need Hymn for everything… He didn’t. Besides, it would be nice to see Dalton after so many short interactions in the professional work setting. Even after tracking Vern down, there hadn’t been any time to just sit and chat, so the dinner would be a nice way for them to catch up without any social constraints-- which he only found a problem because he did his best to behave for Dalton, who for some reason, still cared about what people thought of the people he slept with. 

Nobody was perfect.

The rest of the day, he decided to finish writing up the reports he supposedly ‘should have sent in yesterday’ and then get ready for dinner.

Dalton hadn’t said it was a date, which was a relief given the last proper interaction they’d had-- he’d almost worried Dalton had gotten the wrong impression and thought they were suddenly going to do feelings or something in their game. But Dalton seemed as calm and casual as he always had been, so Randall took that to mean everything was status quo and this was just going to be their usual dine & bang thing.

Which meant wearing something that could be easily ripped off would be essential.

He bit his lip at the prospect of Dalton throwing him around a little. It had been awhile-- two weeks or so-- which meant he also needed to put on something that was going to tease Dalton throughout dinner. His own face smirking flashed at him briefly when he walked past one of the mirrors in his closet as he went to select his things and he had to laugh to himself. Dalton was right, he did look like a sneaky bastard when he was planning things.

He would really be cursing him for that tonight, he thought slyly as he grabbed one of his bags from the shelf and checked to make sure the correct strap-on was inside. Satisfied that it was, he nodded to himself and shoved his wallet into one of the outer pockets. 

Dalton always enjoyed when he dressed simply, and though Randall found it a bit more boring than what he knew he could do with his clothes, he also found he liked the lack of layers and complicated buttons and straps when things were getting heated. With that thought in mind, he opted for a simple blouse and slacks he knew hugged his ass in a way that would have Dalton drooling. The flowy button up shirt meant no heels (that would be far to much ‘lady’ for him to be able to enjoy himself), but that didn’t stop him from adding some other delicate details, like the nice silver earrings that had just enough diamond to catch the eye, but not enough to be garrish, and a quick flick of blue eyeliner.

He went about the rest of his routine with practiced ease and when he stepped out of the bathroom, he felt like he’d picked a particularly nice ensemble. If the way Hymn was eyeing him like he’d been abducted by aliens with ‘actual fashion sense’ was any indication, she thought the same thing.

Oh, right. Hymn. He hadn’t told her he was going out, but she didn’t seem all that surprised by his dressing up.

               “Do I look nice?”

               “Yeah…” she frowned. “You don’t usually get so dressed up for girls’ night, though. What’s the occasion?”

Girls’ Night.

Shit.

No, it was fine. She’d been angry or something as of late and hadn’t seemed like she would be in the mood for hanging out. It was fine that he’d made plans, because he would be giving her the clearly much-needed space she’d obviously been craving-- why else would she have continued icing him out?

               “Well, that would be because I’m not dressed up for girls’ night.”

               “Come again?”

               “I’m going out with Dalton.”

               “What.”

An angry fissure formed between her brows and Randall groaned. He could already see the lecture coming and he did not want to hear it.

               “Oh, you know, do you?” She crossed her arms, shifting on the couch to better face him. “Then you know you’re being super shitty. Great.”

               “I’m being shitty?” Randall almost dropped his bag, irritation building up over her reaction. “You’ve been nasty all week and I’m the one being shitty?”

               “You’re the one ditching me! We haven’t had a girls’ night in weeks, and you’re seriously trying to lecture me about being annoyed that you’re skipping out on me again? Seriously?”

She’d gotten up at that point, but she hadn’t moved. Randall knew that meant she planned on this either being resolved quickly, or becoming a screaming match. Either way, she intended to be standing there for some time. 

Well, she could stand there all night. 

               “I was working. You know I was-- it wasn’t ‘skipping out’. Besides, it wasn’t like you haven’t been hanging out with your girlfriend.”

               “Because you won’t hang out with me.”

               “Again, I’ve been work--”

               “Yeah, and when you haven’t been working, you’ve been fucking off with Dalton! Don’t think I don’t know where all your freetime has been going.”

He wondered if his face was growing as red as hers. He crossed his arms to keep from running his hands through his recently combed hair. 

               “I work with Dalton. It’s not as if he’s been with me every second of every day.”

“Oh really? You could’ve fooled me.”

He narrowed his eyes as her glare intensified. The pitch in her voice, like she’d been getting ready to scream and then thought better of it at the last moment, made him pause. She definitely had more to say on that line of thought. He wanted to know what it was.

      ��        “What is your problem with Dalton? You act like he’s--”

               “He’s encroaching on our life, Razr! He’s taking up fun Razr and I’m getting stuck with tired Razr who doesn’t want to do anything but complain about clients and bug me about laundry-- I’m not your fucking maid, by the way.”

Perhaps she was correct that Dalton had been around more often than not, but he resented the implication that he’d been treating her with so little respect as a result of being around the man. If anything, she should have been grateful to Dalton for his constant reminders to text her and let her know he’d be late, or that he was bringing dinner home. Half the time, Dalton was the reason he remembered to do considerate things. Even if he just barely tolerated Hyacinth.

               “You’re being unfair, Hymn. You have been in a foul mood since Monday, and Dalton has nothing to do with it.”

               “The hell he doesn’t! You let him stay with you on her anniversary! You never let me do that! What the actual fuck was that about, huh?!”

Oh. So she hadn’t been as over it as he’d thought. Well, wasn’t that just too bad for her, then? 

               “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my having someone around to help me relax on the day of my mother’s death was difficult for you.”

               “Fuck you, that’s not how I meant it and you know it.”

               “Maybe so, but the point still stands.”

               “It doesn’t! It doesn't stand! A fuckbuddy should not be taking so much of your time. It’s really screwing with my life schedule--”

Randall snorted. He couldn’t help it. 

               “I’m sorry, my having sex is interfering with your life? Are you for real, Hyacinth? What about you, and your million-girlfriends-a-month routine? You think that doesn’t make planning things difficult for me?”

It may have been a low blow to bring up her relationship problems, but he could think of no better example to throw back at her for her hypocrisy. If Dalton was messing her up, she should’ve been taking into account how her numerous lady friends upset him. She’d stopped having time for him long before he’d gotten busy.

               “Really?”

Her voice quieted, but hardened at the edges and Randall waited for the blow she’d been preparing. She always got quiet when she was getting ready to be extra cruel.

               “You are a fucking. Asshole. Not to mention selfish. You are the one who encourages me to keep trying after each and every breakup. You are the one who tells me it's fine to take time for myself if I need to sort some things out, because my relationships are important and I should try to make them work. So don’t you try to throw that back in my face and say it’s all my fault.

“You are my best. Friend. Razr. We moved here together, we bought this place together… We did everything together. Yet it feels like I’m the only one who even lives here anymore! You’ve been off doing whatever the fuck it is you do all day, and I’ve been here, wondering if today’s the day you’re gonna pull your head outta your ass and realize I’ve been waiting to hang with you.”

Oh, that was a load of horseshit if he’d ever heard it. She had not been just ‘waiting around.’ She had a life outside of him too, and she was not about to make him feel guilty for that. She wasn’t.

               “I’ve been busy,” he stated again, “and I don’t owe it to you to buy you dinner and take you to the movies. We’re not married!”

               “Yeah, neither are you and Dalton, but you seem to be fine with getting all close and cozy with him-- putting him first but not me! Why? Why is dinner with him more important than me?”

If he took a moment to note the crack in her voice, he might have cared more about where she’d been emotionally the entirety of the argument, but her treatment over the last few days still had him highly embittered and he pointed a finger at her to emphasize when he spoke.

               “Because you have been a bitch to me! Not Dalton. You. And I’m not gonna pass up free lobster to hang out with someone who's barely been speaking to me!”

               “I’m sorry if I can’t just bounce back from an unresolved conflict like you can-- some of us require more than a ‘yeah, he was here, but it’s all good’! Look, you keep abandoning me for your stupid fuckbuddy and it’s ridiculous!”

               “You’re just jealous I have somebody to fuck. Sorry if I’m the only one in this house that can have a relationship that lasts longer than a month.”

Even lower blow. He’d feel bad about it later. For the time being the words had their desired effect. Hymn visibly deflated. Not from defeat, but it was close enough-- he’d be able to leave the house without her texting him that they were not done talking.

“You know what? Just go. Just go on your fucking date. I don’t care.”

Her walking off and heading for her bedroom was all the signal he needed that it was time to leave, and Randall wasted no time doing so, ignoring the small bead of not-guilt sitting in his chest as he headed downstairs where Trisha was waiting to take him to the restaurant. 

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

Dinner sucked.

Or rather, dinner was fantastic. Everything tasted perfect, his mouth was in heaven and he was dying to get to the main course, but he couldn’t enjoy any of it. His and Hymn’s argument still swam at the forefront of his mind and left him feeling more agitated as the seconds passed. 

He hated her for it. Dalton had lit up when he’d seen him, face scrunched softly in a smile that made his glasses slide down his nose just the slightest bit. He’d complimented his outfit, he’d poured him some wine-- he’d even gotten the fruity tasting kind that Randall never bothered to learn the name of but liked nonetheless.

And he hadn’t been able to enjoy any of it because of Hyacinth and her damn… feeling ‘abandoned.’

               “Okay, that’s it. What’s wrong?”

               “What?”

Dalton jolted him out of his internal stewing and Randall blinked at him, taking in the frown of inquiry. He sent one right back and waited for him to explain himself.

               “I’ve been talking all night and you’ve barely said a word.”

               “Oh, it’s nothing,” he lied, “just thinking about the last time I was here.”

               “Must have been pretty bad. You looked like you wanted to murder that plate.” 

He raised a brow and Randall knew he wouldn’t be able to get him to just drop it. He inwardly groaned at the prospect of telling him what had happened. It would be his luck that he would take Hymn’s side.

               “... Ah.”

               “So?” 

Dalton leaned forward a bit, expectantly, and Randall wished more than anything that their food would just arrive so that he could have a reasonable excuse not to talk.

Yet even as he thought that, the words came spilling out of his mouth, only to leave a bitter taste on his tongue.

               “Hymn’s being stupid. Nothing new.”

               “Huh. You don’t call her stupid. That’s new. I thought you adored her?” 

               “Well, apparently she doesn’t adore me anymore because I’ve been daring to have a life outside of her.” 

               “I don’t follow.”

               “I’ve been spending too much time with…” 

Dalton raised a brow, a nudge for him to finish and Randall picked up his fork to inspect it. He didn’t want to let him know that his spending time with him specifically was what was getting to her-- he didn’t want Dalton to objectively think about how much time they’d been spending together. 

He decided to quickly round it off with: “...other people, and she’s bitter about it.”

Dalton frowned. “Okay, but… didn’t you get the same way when she had a life outside of you?”

He hated him sometimes. Of all the times he could have been listening to him when he’d gone on a tirade in the past, of course it had been when he’d confided in Dalton that Hymn had been spending so much time with her new girl that she’d hardly paid him any attention. He’d been more than happy to distract from his frustrations at that point, but… he also hadn’t forgotten. Damn.

Randall put his fork down and hastily took a sip of his wine, hoping the flush in his face wasn’t too noticeable. Knowing his luck, it was, and Dalton knew he’d made a fair point. 

Still, as indignant as he’d been about Hymn’s lady friends, he’d had a more valid reason to be upset, he thought.

               “Well… that was different.” 

               “How so?” 

               “She had actual relationships. Like… dating ones. There was a future potentially with the people she was with… I don’t like the idea of her leaving me, okay?”

Dalton got quiet and it was Randall’s turn to frown. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking, or if he was bothered by his unintentional dig at the fact that they weren’t dating or going anywhere with a real future. And then Hymn’s words echoing at him to ‘go on his date’ and he shook his head for being stupid to think Dalton would think like that. They both knew they weren’t serious or heading for anything big. 

He just needed a minute to gather his thoughts, it seemed, so Randall gave it to him. Eventually he did speak again, though Randall started to wish he’d just stayed silent.

               “So… I mean, she’s upset that you’re not hanging out with her. Maybe she feels the same way-- like you not being around is the same as abandoning her.”

Randall wanted to stab someone. “She used that exact word. Abandoning.”

               “Hm. Guess there’s merit to it, then.” 

Dalton nodded to himself, seeming satisfied with that. 

Randall decided maybe he just wanted to stab him. Leave it to him to get to the root of the problem and make him feel like a colossal ass. Funnily enough, Dalton was one of the only people who could do that. He refused to think too hard on that one.

               “Or maybe you both just talk in similar ways.”

Dalton’s expression remained unmoved. “Or maybe you’re deflecting so you don’t feel bad.”

               “I don’t do that.”

               “Bullshit.” 

It was more a laugh than anything, and Randall smiled a bit, but still, he couldn’t find true amusement in the moment. And he wasn’t ready to just give in-- he still had some valid points of his own.

               “Fine, so I do that. So what? It doesn’t change the fact that she’s being selfish.”

“You’re right. But that also doesn’t change the fact that she’s been feeling neglected and you tried to make her feel bad about having feelings.”

Damn him.

               “So what, I should apologize to her?”

Dalton blinked, like he hadn’t expected him to come around that fast, and Randall took a brief moment to enjoy that fact before he realized that Dalton looked pleased. “... Yeah, actually.”

Randall wanted to ask when exactly Dalton had become so keen on offering him life advice, especially when said advice would interrupt something they were in the middle of, but instead he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

               “Oh joy.”

               “Cool,” Dalton’s chair creaked as he rose quickly from it, “let’s go do that--”

               “You don’t wanna finish dinner?”

He paused in his task of pulling Randall’s seat out and affixed him with a serious look, one that made him shiver involuntarily and wish that the circumstances leading up to it weren’t so boner-killing. 

               “Randall, you and your best friend just had a bad fight and you think I’m gonna make you postpone a needed chat for food?”

He supposed he was right. As was becoming usual as of late, which was also something he didn’t want to give too much thought. 

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

The drive back to the apartment building was uneventful. Dalton put the radio on and neither of them spoke, though Randall was eighty percent sure that they should have. It wasn’t every day that Dalton offered to help him repair his relationships, after all. Nor was it every day they went out to dinner and then… abandoned that and everything attached to it, in order to do so.

But they said nothing, and when they pulled up to the curb, Randall let himself out. Dalton didn’t move, adjusting something in the car, and a sudden panic ran through him at the idea of him driving off. Randall ducked his head back into the vehicle to stare at him a moment.

               “What?”

               “Thank you. Don’t leave.”

               “Wh--”

He shut the door before Dalton could ask for an explanation and quickly headed inside and upstairs.

What he was to say once the doors opened and he was spit into the house, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps apologies were in order, but he was still perturbed by her attitude towards him the past few days. If she had said something in the first place about being hurt, they could have avoided the whole fight altogether. Instead she’d just stewed in it. What had she expected, for him to pick up on all the little passive-aggressive hints she dropped? Just because he was a profiler didn’t mean he constantly analyzed his friends. Of all people, he’d thought she understood that.

Despite that, he did get the feeling that if he said something like that to her, things would spiral downhill again. According to past-Dalton, he couldn’t make everything about himself when apologizing, even if he thought he was justified in doing so. It irked him to no end, that. But the advice had done wonders in making the things he said, sincere or no, palatable. 

So when the elevator opened and spit him out onto the landing, he took a deep breath to prepare himself and opened the door.

Hymn was where he expected her to be: on the couch, surfing Netflix for some sort of horror movie. At least she was predictable in her misery and hadn’t decided to go out without him in a show of rebellion.

               “What do you want?”

She asked without bothering to turn and look at him and Randall sighed. She was still flipping through movie titles, but the aggression she’d turned towards the remote buttons broadcasted her mood pretty clearly. There would be no way of doing anything delicately, so Randall went to pick at his nails while he spoke.

               “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” 

That got her attention. He could feel her eyes suddenly snap to him. But it was his turn to not look at her and he continued focusing on his hands.

               “What I said was uncalled for. Your feelings are valid…” even if they’re a little bit wrong, he decided not to add. “I should have consulted you before going out with Dalton so often-- or, taken your feelings into account, I guess.”

               “You guess?”

               “Oh drop it,” he finally shot her a scowl, “neither of us are good at this thing.” 

She countered with a small smirk and tilted her head. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

                “I… was just thinking about it at dinner. Perhaps I was a bit unfair to you.”

               “A bit?” He could just hear the long tirade coming, but it stopped short as what he’d said seemed to register with her. “Wait, you left dinner. Why?”

Because Dalton made me. 

               “Because it was bugging me that you were going to be sitting here like a sad-sack, and it was ruining what could have been a perfectly good meal.”

               “Oh, I see,” her frown returned, “so you’re apologizing so you don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

               “Isn’t that why anyone apologizes?”

That was the wrong thing to say. He knew that as the words exited his mouth and he kicked himself for letting his tongue run wild. Hymn crossed her arms defensively over her chest and hummed in a way that was neither thoughtful or impressed.

               “Well, who’s the selfish one now?”

               “Oh, c’mon! I can know what I did was insensitive and still not want to feel bad about it forever! You’ve done it on multiple occasions.”

               “Razr, do you actually feel bad about what you did, or are you just saying these things because you know I want to hear them.”

He supposed he could lie. It wouldn’t be difficult and he could sell it well enough for her to buy. But then, it wouldn’t be a real apology then, or something. So with a small grimace, he steeled himself for whatever reaction she gave, and offered her the truth.

               “A bit of both, to be honest.”

Another hum. Different this time, more acknowledgement.

               “Fine. Then while you’re being honest, answer me this.”

He shrugged, “I’ll try.”

               “Why did you let Dalton stay?”

Why indeed. He’d been asking himself that question nearly the whole time the man had been there. There was no denying that Dalton’s presence had served to soothe him in a way Hyacinth or Idoya’s never had-- he’d been able to actually talk about it. He hadn’t done that in a long while. And Dalton hadn’t pitied him or tried to make him feel better, like others might have. He simply accepted that it was his past and had let him have his couple hours of uselessness while he dealt with the memory of it. He’d taken care of him.

Randall knew, given the option, Hymn would have as well, but it wouldn’t have been the same. Her and Dalton’s brands of comfort were like night and day. Where she gave him support by doing whatever she could to make him feel better and hoping something would stick, Dalton took his time and was a strong presence to just have near… and he didn’t try to make it better. That was the biggest thing, if he truly got down to the basic reasons why he’d let him stay. 

Hyacinth tried to make things better. She hated when he was upset-- given enough time around it, the mood rubbed off on her, and so she did everything she could to fix it. Dalton didn’t. He let the problems be, he didn’t try to make them go away. 

He’d let him deal with his sadness in the way he wanted to, and all he’d done was make sure his basic needs were taken care of. He’d been attentive, but not overbearing. 

How he could have begun to explain that to Hymn, however, he was unsure. He would have to tread carefully, lest he accidentally offend her.

               “Because he’s… him, and you’re you.”

               “What’s that supposed to mean?”

               “It means…” 

he groaned, dragging hands through his hair while searching for something, anything that worked. 

               “It means… that… ugh, that you know me in ways he doesn’t and… it’s easier. That way. To handle things.”

               “Oh.”

               “Yeah.”

               “Okay.”

Randall wondered how many more single words they could pass between one another before it got painfully awkward. He tried not to think how awkward it was having Hymn’s expression leave angry and disappointed and shift to surprise… maybe a little pitying. He could’ve done without that one. 

At least she wasn’t angry. He supposed that was a win. And now that she was calmer, he could stroke her friendship ego a bit to soften her up. True as his words were when he did things like that, he always had to lay it on a little thicker than he would’ve prefered. 

               “I don’t like fighting with you, Hymn. You know I don’t.”

She shrugged, but he could tell she was getting there, if the way the corner of her mouth twitched could be believed. 

               “You’re my favorite,” he continued, hazarding a couple of steps closer, “Always have been and always will be.”

Her features softened just a bit at that. “Yeah?”

               “Always,” he repeated, closing the gap and leaning against the back of the couch and putting a hand over the one she had thrown over the couch. “You know I love you more than the rest of humanity.”

               “Even Dalton?” 

There was something in her voice, partly fond and partly defensive and Randall took a moment to think on the best way to answer. He didn’t quite know where Dalton stood in his personal list of best to worst, but he certainly was high up. Still, there were a few factors that should’ve been keeping him below Hymn. He didn’t know if they were staying properly put, given how much everything between he and Dalton had been fluctuating as of late, but he did know it was safe to say he didn’t feel for him the same way he felt for her. He never would.

               “I don’t love Dalton. I fuck Dalton.”

That earned the smallest snort from her and Randall felt like the wall that had been built up during their fight got knocked over with it. The mask over Hymn’s face lifted and he realized that she had some tears swimming behind her eyes. That wouldn’t do at all, and it was that thought that had him closing the gap between them.

She let him and the intense wave of relief that hit him when she returned his hug had him dropping his face into her hair. 

               “I’ll always love you, Hymn&m.”

She laughed a bit more solidly at the childhood nickname and tightened her grip on his waist. 

               “M’sorry I’m such a bitch,” she mumbled against his chest and he pat her hair in his silent ‘it’s alright’ even as he corrected her.

               “You aren’t a bitch. You were being a bitch. Different, remember?”

She nodded and Randall let himself get as comfortable as he could, hugging from behind a couch, until several minutes had passed and he couldn’t help but break the silence before she did something silly like start crying. He didn’t know if she would, but he didn’t want to risk it by letting her stew.

               “Please don’t put on Chucky. I do not want that creepy rapist doll on my watch history.”

               “What, you don’t like the perpetual murder smile?”

               “Or the horribly colored hair, no,” he agreed, releasing her so she could get back to searching movies.

When she finally settled on one (Silence of the Lambs. Because of course she would), she pulled the throw from beneath where he’d settled his hands on the back cushion and tucked it around her legs. As the opening sequences played out, she piped up again. 

               “So did you really leave Dalton to talk?”

Oh. Yes. Dalton.

The reminder that he was still outside, and had been for nearly fifteen minutes by that point smacked him upside the head and he was left feeling torn. On one end, he didn’t want to leave Hymn right after reconciling with her, because he didn’t want that apology to fall flat by abandoning her once more, but at the same time, he didn’t want to run out on Dalton, who was the reason any of this had turned out the way it had. 

Hymn reminded him just how good she was at reading his inner turmoil then when she pulled back to give his face a quick sweep.

               “Oh. He brought you here, didn’t he?”

               “He’s still downstairs,” Randall hedged, not wanting to upset her again but also wanting to make his problem known.

If she ended up wanting him to stay, he would, but… he and Dalton still had some things to discuss-- at the very least, he owed him some gratitude for his help.

Thankfully, Hymn made his decision easy when she lightly shoved him away.

               “It’s fine, go finish your not-a-date. Just don’t flake out on me again.”

               “Sounds like a plan, baby!” He shouted, already halfway out the door. 

After getting her permission, he didn’t need to hide how anxious he’d been to get back outside. She shook her head at him but he shrugged it off. They were good now, so it was alright.

The elevator ride back downstairs was agonizingly slow, and he wondered if he shouldn’t have just taken the stairs when he was released into the lobby. His phone buzzed then and he pulled it out long enough to catch the notification of Dalton’s text asking if he should head home. He didn’t bother sending a reply, wasting none of his time getting outside and back over to the car. 

Dalton was still inside, looking at his phone, waiting for a reply, and Randall took a moment to watch him. Despite the way the night had progressed, Dalton didn’t look upset or put out, just concerned. Randall knew that concern was directed at him, too, when he got another text asking if things were okay.

Randall shook his head as he put his phone back into his pocket, his bewildered smile being beat upon by the cool night winds. Dalton made no sense to him sometimes. The man hated Hymn, and the feeling was obviously mutual, and yet he’d halted their time together in order to help him repair his relationship with her. Randall couldn’t recall the last time anyone, partner or no, had put him before themselves like that-- not even Hymn-- and he felt that same warmth from a few nights ago curl in his chest. 

Dalton’s surprised expression when he pulled the door open and subjected him to the abuse of the elements too, was enough to pull Randall’s small smile into a grin. He gestured for him to get out of the car, and with a confused shake of his head, Dalton did so. He closed the door and Dalton leaned against the side of the car. The overall look of slightly windblown, concerned, and well-dressed left Randall with the impression that the heat on his face had nothing to do with the cold, and he stepped into Dalton’s personal space, effectively trapping him between his body and the car.

No protest was made over the treatment. In fact, Dalton seemed to enjoy it, a smile curving his own features as he reached up to adjust his glasses. The motion was endearing and Randall found his hands wandering up to latch onto the scarf settled against Dalton’s chest. 

He looked down, a silent question on his face and Randall tilted his head up to look him in the eyes.

               “Thank you.” He said it so softly he wondered if it hadn’t been ripped away by the wind before it reached his ears, but the way Dalton’s shoulders relaxed, he’d heard.

               “You’re welcome,” he murmured back. 

Randall felt more than heard himself swallow hard. 

Having Dalton like this, gentle and hesitant, left him at a loss even as the air around them heated up with unspoken tension. It wasn’t bad, though. Quite the opposite in fact. But that was dangerous. 

They’d already gotten closer than he’d ever intended them to when Dalton dropped in unexpectedly and he’d spilled his guts out all over the living room floor, talking about his dead mother and dead name. 

But he couldn’t say he hadn’t wanted that.

He’d wanted Dalton to kiss him since the first time they’d gotten into bed together and remembered it the next day. He hadn’t. He hadn’t because that was a line they’d silently agreed should not be crossed. 

But then they had. And he’d really liked it. And he wanted to do it again. But doing that would mean changing the dynamic. They would no longer be people who worked together and occasionally woke up in the same bed. They would become people who went out to dinner and helped interpersonal relationships, and ended nights with shared breaths but not shared bodies. And that was not something either of them had signed up for.

Yet, he didn’t fear it. 

And as he used that scarf to pull Dalton’s face closer to his, he didn’t  look scared either. Still, he wasn’t about to break the code of the game before consulting his other player. When he felt Dalton’s breaths against his upper lip, he halted further movement with a hand to his chest. 

(Was it his imagination, or was it thrumming beneath his fingertips?)

               “Is this a violation of any laws?”

The joking question ended up sounding quite serious in the dark, huddled so close to one another. Dalton took it that way, too. His brows pulled tight and Randall found himself swallowing hard again. 

If he said it was, they could leave it as a one-time thing. They would have to. He could be fine with that, he supposed. There would always be a discontent part of him wanting more, sure, but he could understand if Dalton didn’t want the same things. But… Randall found he really wanted their wants to align.

Dalton clearing his throat could have been a gun going off in the silence and Randall tightened the hold on his scarf instinctively. 

               “Um… not to my knowledge.”

He wondered if his smile looked to Dalton as strange as it felt to him, tight and twitchy as he tried to keep a grin at bay.

               “Well, as the lawyer, you would know.”

               “I would.”

The tip of Dalton’s nose brushed his and Randall let himself be pulled forward. When Dalton closed the space between them, settling his hands on either side of his face, Randall hoped he didn’t hear the small squeak that escaped from the brief cold contact. It was a similar position from the last time they’d kissed, but different too. Dalton was more sure of himself, more confident in where he put his hands-- holding him so delicately, like he would spook and run off at any moment. 

There weren’t many instances he liked being handled like that, being made to feel as small as he was, but as he slotted their mouths together better and Dalton laughed softly against his lips, Randall concluded that this was one of those instances where he didn’t mind. Besides, Dalton’s hands were warm as his thumbs brushed across his cheeks. And he was a steady presence under his hands when he let his eyes flit closed, bringing his other hand up to dig into the lapels of Dalton’s jacket. 

He may have told Hymn not five minutes ago that he only used Dalton for sex, and that tonight hadn’t been a date, but... the current moment may have been making him a bit of a liar. He would never admit to anyone but maybe the smallest part of himself that it might have not been a not-date, but Randall found he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Not when Dalton was so soft and warm, and whispering, “You look beautiful, by the way,” before capturing his lips again.

He could live with being a liar.

[susanshomebiz]

2020 A Time For Gratitude

New Post has been published on http://www.escapingconformity.com/2020-a-time-for-gratitude/

2020 A Time For Gratitude

With Thanksgiving just a few days away it seems an appropriate time to reflect on my blessings. 

2020 has been a year the world will never forget. 

The highlights so far…it’s a little scary when you realize that 2020’s not over yet!

A worldwide pandemic with almost 1.5M deaths 

A US clearly divided by politics and election results

Extremely high unemployment 

Business closures and losses 

More named storms in one year than ever before

Wildfires in many parts of the US

Protesting and rioting in the streets

Empty store shelves and supply shortages

Quarantines and travel restrictions

And who can forget the most impactful issue of all…

The Toilet Paper Shortage!     

2020 may be the most challenging year to think about gratitude. At least I hope this has been one of the most challenging years of my life so far. We all know there is no guarantee it will be the worst.

So where do we start when it comes to being thankful?

Family

First for me is family. I am so grateful to have a kind loving husband who is my rock. He has been by my side for over 32 years so far and I can’t imagine life without him. We have raised four fantastic kids and survived the many ups and downs of marriage and family life together.

I couldn’t be more grateful for my four children. They are what kept me going during the tough times and are the foundation of my life. Of course they have all presented us with their fair share of heartaches and challenges but after all that is life. Being able to support each emotionally and sometimes physically is what keeps us all strong and connected.

The addition of two fabulous daughter-in-laws and four fantastic grandchildren has enhanced our family life even more. Strong women who love their men and are great moms is what every mom wants for her sons. Watching smart, beautiful, happy children play and knowing they are your legacy is a feeling of pride and satisfaction that is hard to describe.

A lovely memory that really brings home the feeling of family to me happened a few years ago. All four of my children and the three grandchildren we had at the time were playing together on a playground at a beautiful mountain resort.

I was standing up on a hill with my sister-in-law watching them play and laugh with a gorgeous mountain view in the distance. It was an idyllic scene. My sister-in-law looked at me, swept her hand across the horizon and said “Look at what you made!” My heart swelled with so much love and pride in that moment.

Family Losses

That year and that trip was bittersweet. That was the last Thanksgiving that my family was all together with my mom and stepdad. By late 2019 my mom’s Alzheimer’s disease had progressed to the point that she only recognized family members sporadically. My mom and stepdad moved into a nursing home in late 2019.

2020 was the first full year where I no longer had my mom for emotional support. Even though she is still alive, she’s not really here and I miss her. Distance and the virus have kept me from her for over a year. While we are able to FaceTime, most of the time I find it depressing because she doesn’t look well and rarely knows who I am.

In September 2020, I received a call from my dad that my only brother was killed in a motorcycle accident. Another tragic event to add to the year from hell. The loss has been especially hard for my dad. My dad and stepmom are in their 80s and are remarkably healthy for their age. I am very thankful to have them in my life. My only regret is that we live so far away and I don’t get a chance to spend much time with them.

2020 was the year my daughter lost her career as a result of a car accident. After over two years of physical therapy and one surgery it has been concluded that she will never recover enough to be able to perform her job without pain. It is especially hard as a parent to watch your child suffer and struggle with tough life decisions at such a young age. 

While these losses are heartbreaking, they only serve to make me appreciate the strength and support of my family even more. I am immensely grateful for the time we are able to spend together.

Health

I don’t think there has ever been a year when more of us worried about our health. The global pandemic has caused us to rethink everything we do. Whether visiting with family and friends or shopping and entertainment we have had to make changes in our behavior. Change is hard anyway but throw in the threat of death and that’s another issue entirely.  

We have been extremely fortunate in our family that so far no one has contracted Covid-19. One of my sons was on a Navy ship when the pandemic broke out. This caused us much anxiety since we didn’t know whether anyone on the ship had been exposed. Fortunately his ship wasn’t impacted and he returned from his 7 month sea duty as healthy as the day he left. 

My Navy son’s wife was home alone with two small children during the first 4 months of the pandemic. Not only do we live 12 hours away but civilians weren’t allowed on the base and military families weren’t allowed to travel out of the area. 

I definitely worried about them a lot but my amazing daughter-in-law handled it with ease and grace. Once she was confronted by a thoughtless woman at the grocery store who told her that she should leave her children home with their father when shopping. My daughter-in-law just ignored the comment. I would have had more than a few words for her, but my daughter-in-law being a better woman than I, said she didn’t want to upset the children.

Only one of our children had a public facing job (besides our Navy son) and wasn’t able to work from home. My husband is retired and I’m still working as a full-time Realtor. In Florida Real Estate agents are considered essential workers. Being self-employed I was able to decide for myself whether or not I wanted to work. Of course, not working when you’re a real estate agent means no income! 

My sister works as a home health care nurse. She’s the one I worry about the most. Working in a high risk position with health issues herself makes it very dangerous for her if she contracts Covid-19. She is also the primary caregivers for our parents in nursing care which compounds her risk.

So far we’ve only had one serious health issue in 2020. Cancer has returned in a very close family member. We can at least be grateful that it was found early and that the outlook is optimistic. Treatment will begin soon.  

We are grateful that the potential risk for most everyone in the family contracting Covid-19 are low and that so far no one has been impacted. Even better, very few friends of the family have contracted the virus or had serious health issues in 2020. While the impact of quarantine and travel restrictions has impacted everyone’s mental health, we all seem to be holding our own. 

Finances

I also have reason to celebrate my blessings when I look at the total financial impact of 2020 on my family. 

My two oldest children who both have small children are one income families. Both working spouses were able to keep their jobs so there was little to no financial impact for them. Also, no changes for my third son and his financial situation. Only my daughter suffered the loss of her job.

As mentioned previously, my daughter wasn’t able to continue to work in her chosen field and had to change jobs. We are thankful that she was able to find another job quickly. While it isn’t a job she plans to make a career, it seems to suffice during this time of transition.

My income has suffered somewhat, but hasn’t caused much impact to our day to day lifestyle so once again we have reason to be grateful. The bottom line is we all have a roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our backs. Life is good…considering the facts of 2020.

Final Thoughts

I must admit when I started thinking about what I could be grateful for this year I was a little stumped. Now when I look back at what I have written and all the blessings I have, I’m a little embarrassed. The fact that I had not been counting my blessings all along is sad given that I have so much.

I know there are many people in the world who have much less to be thankful for and that makes me very humble. I think if we all think about what we have to be thankful for every day we will be much happier people.

A common motivation exercise for business that I learned years ago is to write down 5 things I’m grateful for every day. I’m sad to say that I stopped using this technique quite a while ago. Now that I look back on 2020, this was the year that we all should have used this technique to help improve our overall outlook. 

We can all look forward to 2021 with gratitude for what we already have as well as optimism and hope that things will improve for everyone. Hope and optimism is something no one can take from us except ourselves. Everyone no matter what their current circumstances might be, can look ahead for better things to come.  

Reflecting on what really matters most in my life, that will always be my family and their well being. All in all near the end of 2020, we are still standing strong. Knowing that we all have each other’s back no matter what, is all I need in order to be grateful on this day and forever more.

[eliz1369]

Okitober Fest - Gift and Laugh

An Unusual Anniversary

Rating: G Length: 2,100 words Description: Modern AU set ~10 years after An Unearned Gift. After a hectic morning, Chizuru comes home ready to tackle the list of things she needs to get done. The problem is someone else has already beaten her to it.

This can also be read on FF and AO3

Chizuru set her keys on the counter as she took and released a deep breath.

That morning had been more than a little crazy. To start, her alarm hadn’t gone off when it was supposed to. It had gone off of course, but only just in time for her to get Sachiko and Natsumi up so they could get ready for school. That in and of itself would have been fine, but Natsumi had “forgotten” to do the last few problems on her math worksheet. So in between the normal school day rush of breakfast, lunches, and backpacks, Chizuru had been trying to help her daughter finish it without outright telling her the answers. As it was, they had only just made it to the bus on time. Thankfully with the homework completed.

With the girls and Souji gone for the day, she could now focus on the things that needed to get done around the house. She usually liked to get an earlier start, before the girls and Souji got up, but clearly that hadn’t happened. By the time she’d gotten up, Souji had already been gone.

Chizuru decided that since she was in the kitchen, she might as well start with the dishes. She walked over to the sink, starting to roll up her sleeves, but stopped in surprise. While the bowls and spoons from breakfast were there, the previous night’s dishes were clearly not where she had left them. Maybe Souji had moved them to the dishwasher?

Frowning, she checked the dishwasher but it was empty as well. What was going on? She made a quick circuit of the kitchen, checking for and finding each of the items she had used the previous night clean and put away in their correct places. Slowly she made her way back to the sink and absently began hand washing the bowls as she tried to figure out what was going on.

It was clear that Souji had done it, but had he also changed her alarm? While she was touched that he had thought of her and taken the time to do the dishes, it also bothered her slightly.

After the initial wave of joy at finding out she was pregnant with Sachiko, she and Souji had discussed at length what that meant for their lives. It had been non-negotiable that one of them would have to be home full time. While Kodo had been a caring father figure for her, he had also been gone frequently due to his work at the hospital, and Souji’s childhood had been even more chaotic than her own in terms of parental figures. It was important to both of them that any children they had would always have access to at least one of their parents. It made finances interesting to balance, but they were stable and happy and that was all either of them cared about.

Of the two of them, Chizuru had known without a doubt that it would be her who stayed home. Not because of any traditional roles, but simply because Souji was far more established in his job than she was in hers as a consultant. With the secrets shrouding her family gone, she had been ready to move forward with her life, and for her that had meant focusing on being a mother. Of course everyone had been sad to see her go, but they had also understood and given their full support.

That wasn’t to say she had stopped consulting entirely. Since Natsumi had started school, she had been able to use some of her free time during the day to do an occasional analysis for the team, even if it was still from home.

What nagged at Chizuru about Souji taking the time to do the dishes was that she didn’t know why he had done it. Even if it was just simply to make her day easier, it wasn’t fair for him to add work to his already busy schedule.

It took Chizuru a moment to realize that she was staring at an empty sink with all of the bowls and spoons neatly set out to dry next to it.

Shaking her head, she dried her hands on the nearby dish towel. There was nothing to be done about it now and there was certainly no use worrying over things she could just ask him about later. Chizuru pushed aside the little nagging voice and instead focused on the happier feeling of knowing that it was his way of letting her know he cared. Besides, there was still plenty left for her to do.

The laundry was next on her list, but again she was forced to stop and stare in disbelief. There was definitely something going on that she didn’t know about. Not only was the basket of dirty clothes empty, but everything had been washed, dried, and either folded or neatly laid out to be hung up. She was glad Souji had at least left her something to do this time, but that still didn’t explain why he was doing all of this in the first place.

When she stepped closer, her eye caught a post-it note with Souji’s handwriting on it.

Hope you didn’t mind a little extra sleep. You looked tired last night.

See you tonight.

~Souji (aka Your Fabulously Handsome Husband)

Chizuru couldn’t help a small giggle as she rolled her eyes. Fabulously handsome indeed…

Had he done all this simply because she had looked tired? Admittedly, she had been, but that only accounted for her alarm.

As she began mechanically placing clothes on hangers, she fought back a slight feeling of worry. Was it her birthday? It wasn’t Mother’s Day was it? Chizuru discarded each idea as impossible. She was pretty sure she would remember her own birthday and Mother’s day was in the spring…  

Chizuru accidentally dropped the shirt she was holding as a horrifying thought occurred to her. Had she somehow forgotten their anniversary?

She quickly discarded that idea as well as she picked the shirt up off the floor. Now she was just being ridiculous. Souji liked to do little things like this for her around their anniversary, which was probably why she had thought of it, but their anniversary was in March… not October.

With all of the major suspects ruled out, Chizuru had no idea what she was left with. Souji had changed her alarm to allow her to sleep in, done the dishes, and now he had done the laundry too… and all of it before she had woken up. Chizuru couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing some critical piece of information.

As soon as she had finished hanging up the last of the clothes, she walked back to the kitchen and pulled her phone out of her purse. She couldn’t leave a mystery like this unsolved and what better way to do that than to ask the source? She didn’t want to disrupt whatever he was doing with a call, but a text probably wouldn’t hurt.

C: What’s going on?

She hopped up onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar to wait, but it didn’t take him long to respond.

S: Nothing ;)

C: The dishes and laundry aren’t nothing.

She hesitated a moment before adding,

C: And neither is my alarm for that matter -.- but thank you for the extra sleep :)

S: Admit it, you needed it. Be ready to leave at 4. Kondou is picking up the girls.

C: Why? Where are we going?

S: It’s a surprise :P

No matter what she asked or how many times she asked it, Souji refused to give up any new information. When his responses became cat gifs, she finally gave up. His cryptic answers had only made her more curious, so when her eye caught Saito’s name just below Souji’s, she couldn’t resist.

C: Do you know what Souji is doing?

S: He is working.

Upon first inspection, it seemed Saito was simply taking her question at face value and giving his usual form of succinct answer… but Chizuru couldn’t help but feel that he was dodging her question. After so many years of knowing him, she had gotten much better at reading his reserved personality, even over text.

C: I meant do you know what he’s planning.

This time the pause before his response was longer

S: I have been asked not to tell you… but I would suggest you do as he asks.

C: ...all right. Thank you.

If Saito was in on it, then she could probably assume the rest of the team was too. Flipping back over to her conversation with Souji, she grinned as she began typing.

C: Okay Fabulously Handsome, I’ll be ready. But I would like some answers when you get home!

S: Will do :) and that’s Mr. Fabulously Handsome to you.

C: :P

The hours until four o'clock came seemed to drag by for Chizuru. She ran the errands she needed to, but her thoughts were elsewhere, constantly trying to puzzle out just what was going on. To distract herself, she began mixing up a batch of cookies. She knew the girls and Souji would appreciate the sweet treat.

In the end, her plan for distracting herself worked better than Chizuru had anticipated. She was just wrapping up the dough to chill in the fridge when she heard the sound of Souji’s keys in the door. Hurriedly she put the cookie dough in the fridge and wiped her hands before she grabbed her purse and went to meet him.

By the time she had rounded the corner, Souji had already closed the door behind him. A smile pulled at his lips as he held out a light jacket for her.

“You ready to go?”

Chizuru couldn’t help but smile as she nodded and slipped on a pair of flats.

As she took the jacket from him, she asked, “So do I get some answers now?”

Souji chuckled as he put a hand at the small of her back and began ushering her toward the door.

“We’re going to dinner and everyone is meeting us there. We decided it had been far too long since we all got together.”

Chizuru looked up at him in surprise, halting them both as she came to a stop. She hadn’t expected the source of all her worry and confusion to be so… normal.

“Then what about everything else? You didn’t have to do all that you know.”

“Yes I did.”

When she looked at him quizzically, Souji let out a small sigh as he turned to fully face her, his smile slipping into a more thoughtful and serious expression.

“Everyone was talking yesterday about how it’s right around the time you first showed up all those years ago. It made me think about how grateful I am you didn’t just turn around and leave after what a jerk I was.” She tried to speak, but he put a finger over her lips. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that, other than our daughters, you are the single most important person in my life.”

Chizuru tried to filter through the flurry of emotions rushing through her. She was relieved to finally understand why Souji had done everything, but his reason for it also touched her deeply. It wasn’t that she had ever doubted how he felt about her, but to have it displayed so earnestly and completely… well, it was safe to say it left her more than a tad emotional.

Despite her best efforts Chizuru couldn’t keep the tears from the corners of her eyes as his hand shifted to cradle her face and his thumb traced a path over her cheek.

Her voice cracked slightly as she said, “Oh… I thought I had forgotten our anniversary or something.”

Souji laughed as he pulled her closer until her head came to rest against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her. That carefree, honest laugh, untouched by any teasing, sarcasm, or cynicism was one of the most beautiful sounds to her. It didn’t matter that hearing it from him was normal now, she still treasured and stored away each one.

When his laughter turned into chuckles and faded away, the only sound breaking the comfortable silence between them was her occasional sniffle as she blinked back the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Finally Souji rested his cheek against the top of her head as he said, “So are we going to stand here all night, or can I take you to dinner? At this rate Shinpachi and Heisuke will probably be drunk by the time we get there.”

“In a minute,” she mumbled as she wound her arms tightly around him.

She did want to go to dinner and spend time with everyone, but more than that, she simply wanted him to hold her for just a bit longer.